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reidecorating · 3 years

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L'amore Vero È Così (True Love is Like This)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

A/N: Woke up with a killer headache after celebrating the end of 2020 and thought writing something loosely based off events that took place on NYE would be a good cure. Hope this year’s been treating you all well!

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Summer nights and Spencer Reid make it hard for anyone to keep their hands to themselves. Add David Rossi’s holiday mansion and wine to the mix, and watch a dangerously hot fuse ignite

Warnings: Language (as in cursing AND me just completely butchering Italian), unprotected sex, penetrative sex

Masterlist

Maybe it was the Sauternes. Like a spark igniting along the fuse of dynamite, the sweet sting of white grape travelled down her throat, every sip exploding in kaleidoscopic vision and unfiltered words. Even so, it wasn’t the alcohol she was drunk on. No, not drunk - she wasn’t drunk - she was absolutely intoxicated. Not by anything of substance, but by an overwhelming desire for the man she had arrived with.

Spencer Reid often felt out of place standing in any absurdly large entranceway, belonging to the old Italian with new money, recurrently settling for shifting from shoe to shoe, before taking a deep breath and pressing the doorbell with the hand unoccupied by a bottle he wouldn’t be drinking from. However, his sobriety was far from the cause of his imposter syndrome. Rather, it was the way he always arrived alone, while, what felt like, the rest of the team trickled in with their spouses or significant others. Whilst pairs would dance to vinyl sounds of Bowie, leaving little room for him and the odd number his presence formed in the abacus of the group, he would loiter in a corner, or, on occasion, entertain his godson with a pack of cards. More frequently, he would rattle off excuses about needing the restroom, only to spend his time exploring the corridors of a rather impressive house. A get together at David Rossi’s holiday home was uncommon, and the last time Spencer had wound up here, he found himself inspecting the tiny forgotten library the man housed, attempting to decipher the various foreign books residing on its mahogany shelves as he heard his friends stumbling their way through the Salsa downstairs. L'isola di Arturo, with sterling lettering on its ageing spine showing a familiar pen name, had quickly become his favourite. When he’d first translated the pages, he had chuckled at the parallels between himself and its disconsolate protagonist. However, after years of his ongoing solitude, and lonely arrivals to a castle full of people, he finally had someone on his arm.

“Wait, what does this mean? I can make out the ‘amore’ but not much else,” That someone now squinted at the words his index finger underlined as he read her the words of that very book, aloud. “Hm?” He was visibly distracted by the Patchouli blend of orange and jasmine emanating from her skin as she leaned against his shoulder to read the page herself. “L'amore vero è così,” she whispered, unsure of the correct pronunciation but attempting it anyway. “Non ha nessuno scopo e nessuna ragione, e non si sottomette a nessun potere fuorché alla grazia umana,” she finished in a whisper, affecting Spencer in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Through fluttering eyelashes, she looked up at him, awaiting his rendition, and suddenly the temperature felt as if it had risen. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been here almost as many times as him; she knew her way around Rossi’s holiday home, but Spencer had insisted on showing her his favourite room, claiming she hadn’t seen it yet. Diverting her attention from Emily’s anecdotes, “I kind of want you all to myself for a little bit,” he whispered in a kiss on her shoulder, proceeding to take her hand and pull her away from chatter over a jug of Cuban rum and homemade pizza - making sure to dissect, in explanation, nearly every painting adorning the maze of hallways on their short trek. He cleared his throat, prying his gaze away from the skin her little black dress revealed, unabashedly scanning her lips before using his own to form words. “True love is like this,” he subtly eyed her reaction to his words as he tried hard to not transliterate the European language. “It has no purpose and no reason, and it does not submit to any power except human grace.” Spencer’s voice was a newly inked quill, ebbing and flowing through the hot air of the dimly lit room. The dark winged butterflies that had been floating around her stomach all evening fluttered in a frenzy at his words, and the way the chartreuse of his eyes had been absorbed by black as they laid on her. “For such a dark story, it’s so beautiful,” she exhaled in a hushed tone, stare not leaving his as he slowly slid the book into the hollow slot where it had previously inhabited, too occupied by reading her demeanour to pay the book any more attention. “You think so? The author, Morante, Elsa Morante, was actually considered the greatest writer of Italy’s postwar generation, at one point.” Spencer began to rest his weight against the wall as they conversed. “I feel as if we always hear about Bassani or Parise, and all the unorthodox things Landolfi wrote in the fifties. It’s very refreshing to hear of a woman getting some well deserved recognition in such a male dominated niche,” she remarked. A dimple appeared on Spencer’s cheek as he grinned at the way she sounded a lot like him. “Agreed. In fact, Morante actually claimed she wished she’d been born a boy, so that she could have all of these heroic adventures. Once, when she was asked about the hero of that book,” he pointed towards the worn copy of L'isola di Arturo, “she commented: ‘Arturo, c’est moi!’,”

“Living vicariously through him? Interesting,” she tilted her head slightly, “I also think its remarkable how beauty can emerge from so much pain,” she mulled aloud. His eyebrows raised at her words and the flux in her tone of voice. Slowly, she stepped towards him, forearms resting on his shoulders, entangling behind him.

Earlier, she’d had the privilege of styling him as he stood in front of their shared mirror, muttering complaints of how he had 'nothing to wear’. Now, she repeated maledictions to herself regarding the clothing she had chosen, in her head, as she admired the way his black shirt was rolled up at the sleeves - displaying intricate nerves shadowing his fingers and arms - and simultaneously unbuttoned temptingly low on his chest, exposing the silver chain presenting a small initial, hers. The summer night had made sure a thin veil of sweat coated his collarbones, glistening with his movements under the lamp light. “It’s not a surprising process though - I mean, after the year you’ve had, just look at how pretty you are,”

“Did you just-” he gulped, chuckling, “use the copious amounts of semi-resolved trauma I harbour to romance me?”

“I may have,” she whispered into the skin below his ear, both hands now tangled in his hair as he remained pressed up against the wall, grateful that every wound, fight and flaw had led them here. And she never ceased to make her gratitude known. Tonight, though, ever since she’d caught sight of his hand gripping a cold glass, the strong concoction presumably belonging to Luke, she hadn’t been able to stop envisioning his body on top of hers. Unbeknownst to her, his thoughts had been very similar from the second she’d chosen to wear the satin fabric, claiming it matched his shirt, while leaving very little to the imagination. “Y/N,” he spoke, his body involuntarily leaning into hers. “We can’t- Not now.” His body language betrayed his words. “I don’t study behaviour for a living, unlike everyone else here, but Spencer, right now, yours tells me we can,” she brought down a hand to squeeze his wrist, which was resting against her lower back. He couldn’t breathe. Tongue in cheek, he shook his head at her, a smirk breaking way. “You, my pretty lady, are something else,” he caved, switching their position in a more urgent manoeuvre than either of them anticipated. Spencer’s hands grasped her jaw, his breath fanning over her before his lips collided with hers, messily. A hand cradled the back of her head, heeding any impact with the wooden blockade behind her, fingers and hair tangling together. Her hands travelled along his body, pinky tugging on his necklace in pursuit of closeness, while her lips roamed around his bobbing Adam’s apple, eliciting an exquisite string of moans. Spencer’s leg wedged itself between hers, slowly grazing his thigh against her, using a firm grip to guide her hips downwards, her soft sighs and tugs at his roots only encouraging him.

The euphoria was short lived. A rapping on the library door tore them apart, its hinges creaking and giving way to an astounded looking Penelope Garcia. “Naughty!” she factitiously gasped. “I didn’t think the good doctor and his fine missus had it in them, but I was very, very wrong,”

“We were just-“ Y/N began, only to be cut off by the tipsy agent. “Save the excuses, beautiful lady. I was simply quested to find you two, and let you know that the rest of us are off to take a dip in the spa. Bring your boy toy, and scrumptious self, and join us ASAP - oh! And no funny business! There are children here,” Penelope gestured her two fingers away from her spectacles and towards each of them as a silent threat of ‘I’m watching you’. Y/N and Spencer exchanged a look, both flushed in different shades of red, on their way to creating a colour wheel. As Penelope spun on her heels and rushed to shut the door behind her, “Thank you, Penelope!” Y/N squeaked, Spencer exclaiming a timid “And sorry!” The two of them broke out into a fit of laughter, still frazzled. “I think I’m getting a little too comfortable with your team,” she grimaced, earning a laugh from the doctor. Later, as Spencer led her towards a bathroom, her arms occupied by a stack of towels, his hand on the small of her back, he dreaded the amount of self control he would need to invoke when the two of them would undress to change.

What she had said wasn’t entirely untrue. She was indeed very comfortable with his team. If Spencer could have met himself, a year ago, anxious to introduce who he was sure was the love of his life to his dearest friends, he would flick himself in the head. She, not alarmingly, managed to get along with everyone, almost better than he did. Somehow managing to find common ground, even with Aaron Hotchner. He recalls, one night, months ago, listening to her and the usually stoic man debate about which broadway production was better: The Producers or The Phantom of the Opera. Spencer also recalls exactly how riled up he became as he watched her put the ex-theatric-gone-lawyer in his place after calling upon Spencer for some Tony Award statistics. Admittedly, he actively needed to combat the green eyed monster on his back whenever she would go jogging with Luke - but the way she kissed him before leaving, on her tiptoes in her running shoes, whispering ‘I love you’, and ‘I’m really only going for Roxy’, helped. She had become family, the invisible stamp of approval having been silently awarded when they all saw the looks the two of them shared, the three subtle squeezes in their woven hands, and the way Spencer now smiled with his teeth - the way they way they would move the moon and the earth for one another.

Packed into the watery sauna, words exchanged between the group travelled into the atmosphere, a waxing gibbous eavesdropping overhead. She watched as Spencer squirmed across from her at the nearness to so many sweaty bodies, shoulders, elbows, knees and toes, belonging to anybody and everybody, poking him. Her eyes trailed along the dips and swells at the base of his neck, decorated in its usual, dainty, shimmering pendant, the bones there protruding as he slouched forward. Spencer’s hair was matted, condensation ironing chestnut ringlets to his forehead, complimenting his heated crimson cheeks. The butterflies returned, her stomach flipping as he ran his hand through the mop of curls to ease his discomfort. More of him - that was what she wanted. She hadn’t noticed, but she had been biting her lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. Pulling her back from her thoughts, a heavy exhale travelled past her left ear, changing the course of the steam emerging from the water - a stream of air enough to deflate a person, she noticed. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.” The blonde rested her head against the barrier of the tub, seeing bright patterns on her eyelids as they shut over her eyes momentarily. Y/N reached over and grasped one of her shoulders in a clinical manner. “Who are you, and what have you done with Jennifer and the gruelling tension in her neck and jaw?” She interrogated, lightheartedly. “What can I say? Stress is my middle name,” she chuckled. “While we’re on the topic, though... Maybe you could give me one of those trigger-point massages,” she opened one eye, an iris burning sapphire, the blue only rival to that of the one from The Tell Tale Heart, finding Y/N’s face. Retreating her hand, having made her point, she let out a laugh at JJ’s words, “I’m afraid that’ll cost y-” Y/N’s eyes widened at the familiar dialect of the words, a charlatan on JJ’s tongue. “Wait a minute, can you repeat what you just said, but slowly?”

“Oh, I know you heard me perfectly clear,” JJ smirked at her, eyebrows raising as her eyes shifted between the flustered woman and Spencer.

They had a friendship of unfamiliar closeness, which JJ cherished. After nights of babysitting turning into wining with Merlot and dining on flaming dreaded cheese puffs, stashed away in an airtight container, upon JJ’s arrival home, the two had grown close. The agent was grateful for conversation veering away from work, and for someone seeing her from a different lens; one through which she wasn’t fizzled down to a petrie dish of a mother through a workaholic microscope. Y/N was curious to know how her famous mandatory-Spencer-de-stressing-trigger-point massages had come up in conversation between JJ and her, now guilty looking, boyfriend. She crossed her fingers in hopes that he’d spared the details of the events that usually took place following the neck rubs - another kind of de-stressing altogether. “Do you guys hear that? I think Will’s calling me- and I should go put Henry to bed… It’s quite late…” she exaggerated, wearing a redolent expression as she slunk away with a towel around her cold frame. “We’ll talk later, Jareau,” she looked up at JJ, after the shivering woman squeezed her shoulders in a bid goodnight, waving to the small crowd. Swiftly, Y/N’s gaze met Spencer’s, her figure not having left his vision once.

The yard and small pool was clearing out, save for Luke and Tara bickering in the corner, so, through the bubbling water, she waded in Spencer’s direction, noticing the way he was evidently mentally undressing her. As if by his telepathy, a thin strap of her bathing suit slipped from its place, causing the gears in Spencer’s head to stop turning as he swallowed thickly. “Hey handsome, long time no speak.” A soft smile graced his lips, adoration for her evident, in place of his muted response. Wordlessly, he slipped a finger beneath the strap, tentatively putting it back in place, refusing to break eye contact in some unspoken play for power. “What’re you up to?” She squinted, wondering exactly what his motives were. “Nothing much,” he pulled her closer by the waist, whispering in a gravelly voice only she could hear, “I’m just thinking about how you didn’t get the chance to finish what you started, earlier,”

“Are you implying that you want me to…” she floated onto his lap, hands draping around his neck to steady herself, “pick up where we left off?” The question left her mouth in a breathy whisper, straight into his ear. He turned to look at her, unblinking. “I’m implying, that I’ve had those pretty noises you make replaying in my head all night, and that I’d like to hear them again,”

“Remind me, doctor, which one of us said ‘we can’t’?,” she mocked his whine, rolling her eyes back. “I have a better suggestion, how about you remind me which one of us struggled to stand the last time we played this game?” The calmness of his voice was the antithesis of the fire she was feeling inside her. Satisfied with her speechlessness, his eyes drifted down her body as she pried herself off him, settling in the plastic indent of a hot tub seat to his side. The attention of the pair of lovers were drawn to Tara’s laughter as she stepped into a robe, calling it a night. “What’d we miss?” Spencer’s clueless innocence returned, as if the words he’d spoken before were now out of mind. Devilishly, Tara responded, “Oh, you know, just me completely destroying this man’s ego,”

“Doesn’t take much does it?” Y/N offered Tara her fist in solidarity. “No it does not,” Tara chuckled, bumping it with her own. “You guys do realise that I’m right here?” Luke scoffed, also drying himself off. “I think that adds to their point?” Spencer offered, pursing his lips, amused. “Well, I’m going to go and catch some sleep, and maybe even shed a few tears over what’s been said about me,” he playfully scowled at Tara walking away, throwing a middle finger at him through the air without looking back. “Trust me, they are very professional,” Spencer promised, turning towards his only remaining company in laughter. “I’m sure they are,” she joked returning a smile.

The two of them talked beneath an ink sky, stars like pinpricks in a blanket twinkling through their conversation, until she found herself on Spencer’s lap, once again, the ambience shifting to something far more carnal. Throughout the night, like a band of elastic stretching between two fingers, the tension between them had heightened. Now, they both tested the limits, anticipating its snap. His chlorine skin tasted electric on her tongue as she painted his neck and chest with a lilac rendition of the silver initial dangling there, letting his sighs catch in the shells of her ears. Allowing her tongue to explore his mouth, his hands tightened around her waist. “Mhm, no, Y/N,” he spoke, regaining his fleeting conscience. “This,” — kiss — “is a bad,” — kiss — “idea,”

“Spencer, look,” she glanced over at the house, and his eyes followed suite, craning his neck slightly. “What do you see?” She asked. “Aside from a house bigger than my entire apartment complex?” Her face was a deadpan. “All the lights are out, Spencer,” she gave him a look that said, come on, profiler, figure it out. Not a single connection formed in his head as he stared at the way the luminous blue of the night time water cast ripples on her skin - skin which was all over his. “All the lights are out… It’s late… and everyone’s asleep,” he reasoned, more to himself than in response to her insinuation. “We have no real chance of getting caught, plus…” her dark eyes were obscured by the eyelashes sheltering them as she tilted her head. “Would it be so bad if we did?” Two of her fingers danced along his chest, walking towards the damp hair at the nape of his neck, using the strands to pull him closer. “Everyone knowing exactly how good you make me feel?” She purred the last part in his ear, tugging at the cartilage with her teeth. Spencer partially whimpered. “Don’t hold back, gorgeous boy. You sound as good as you taste.” His eyes shut as his head hit the rim of the spa - only briefly losing himself once her mouth was on him again. “Someone’s talking like they’re in charge,” he tilted her chin up towards him, forcing her eyes onto his own. “I seem to be the one doing all the work here,” she teased. He kissed each of her collarbones, eyes still trained on hers. “You shouldn’t speak so soon.” With that, he undid the top of her swim suit, exposing her chest to the frigid night air, compelling a gasp. “Truthfully, I’ve been thinking about doing this a majority of the night.” The bass in his voice reached her core. “For someone who is so fastidious about cleanliness, you sure have a dirty, dirty mind, doct-” She never had the chance to finish the honorific, his lips moulding around a hardening nipple, allowing his fingers to toy with the other. Rolling his tongue around the bud, he smiled to himself as he heard her call out his name, over and over, as if her voice was coming through a scratched vinyl. “Where’s all the talk from before?”

“You’re evil,” she groaned, her hips bucking against his board short clad body.

Spencers lips travelled along the valley of her breasts, only to hike back up them at a tantalising pace, prehensile fingers covering the ground his mouth couldn’t. Her hands grasped so tight in his hair, he was sure the strands would fall out. A groan of his own left vibrations reverberating through her body, causing her heart to jump. “Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he gnarred, as his hands gripped her wrists, holding them behind her back. With his unoccupied hand, he dipped his fingers into what was left of her apparel. “Is this all for me?” He smirked at the ease with which his fingers slipped over her. “Don’t flatter yourself, we’re in water,”

“You’re so impolite - even when I’m spoiling you,” tutted Spencer. Retroceding his hand, determined to leave her on edge, and her skin a mirror image of his, he continued to pin her fragile hands back against the base of her spine. “S-Spencer, please,” her words struggled to make any sense, “please, I need more,” she panted out, moving purposefully along the growing outline in his shorts. The pleasure was overwhelming. Spencer fiddled with the material still covering her, pulling it aside to make way for himself in between her legs. His eyes softened, silently seeking permission, even as she impatiently pulled down his waistband. When she nodded and eased his ailing with a soft, lingering kiss, he slowly pushed himself into her, never failing to be acutely attentive to her comfort as if it was their first time together. “This was what you were after?” Teased Spencer, his hips speeding up. “So badly,” she uttered out a sigh. “Then take it like you want it.” She craved his adept touch, and she made that known. “S- Spencer, oh god,” she groaned, “you feel so fucking good.” His breathing became heavier, softs grunts and hisses filling her ears with every movement. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, whining in a destitute way at the full feeling. At a slower pace, one of Spencer’s hands guided her hips along himself, while the other traced infinity on her sensitive nerves. “Sweet girl- fuck, you feel like a dream,” he moaned as she tightened around him. Her toes curled, the warm water of the pool splashing her bare skin. Spencer occupied all of her senses, the same way she did his. “I’m so close,” she whimpered, before he used his nose to nudge her face upwards, her momentarily open eyes reflecting constellations. Spencer kissed her once more. Her hands long freed from his grip, she left traces of herself in the form of tiny red sickles on his freckled back as her nails released some frustration.

Dragging her fingers along his torso, she felt the muscles of his stomach tighten, hers doing the same. Shaky sighs wavered from her lips at the bliss Spencer was providing. “Keep your eyes open for me, angel,” she tried her hardest to focus on his lustfully blown pupils. “That’s it. Just look at what you do to me,” he gasped out, head falling backwards, eye contact broken - only for a second - before he gulped and looked back at her. “You’re breathtaking,” she whispered, hoarsely, stroking his sweaty cheekbone with her thumb. She could recognise the golden gates of heaven in his eyes as he came undone inside her, warmth spilling over her in every aspect. The knots in her stomach loosened shortly after his, curses spilling from both of them. She rode him through his release, fond of the way he left light kisses on her temple, whispering compliments and confessions of love. Once he was sure she’d caught her breath, and some air had returned to his own lungs, he kissed her, gently, in the summer sauna heat, beneath the stars.

A loud cough startled the two. Stood in the open French doors of the veranda, scotch in hand, and eyes screwed shut, was David Rossi. Their minds were in the same place, wondering why they hadn't listened to Penelope’s drunken advice. “When you two are done, please remember to turn the tub lights off - and put the filter on high.” She hid herself in Spencer’s chest, heartbeat in her ears, contemplating holding her breath for a really, really long time. Spencer was flushed red, his own nose buried in her neck so as to not face the older man. “Or better yet, put some money together to buy me an entirely new spa,” Rossi, laughed, opening one eye to catch sight of Spencer giving him a shameful thumbs up. Even as Rossi wandered away, their embarrassment remained a fresh burn. Spencer groaned as her tired hand fumbled with his disastrous hair, “I don’t even want to begin thinking about how much of that he heard,”

“Or saw,”

“Don’t!”

“I’m never going to be invited here ever again, am I?”

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atalho-s · 3 years

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Light Up The Dark

Part 1 | June

pairing: bartender!tom x famous!reader

warnings: some smut +18 (in this particular chapter it’s nothing TOO explicit, but miniors be aware), swear words?, drinking, let me know if anything else!

words: 4.9 k

summary: y/n is a famous horror writer. Her books are on the lips of the people and her face is on all the magazine covers of promising young people.

She has just moved to Los Angeles, the city of celebrities and luxury, when she starts to get a writer's block as she starts writing her newest book. A way to distract herself and seek inspiration leads her to have her destiny mapped out with a simple waiter named Tom who has a delicious british accent.

What happens when her inspiration comes back only after she spends a night with him and she only manages to write after being in the company of that guy she just met? Maybe he'll become her newest addiction.

a/n: english it’s not my first language, so i’m sorry for any mistake! this is a series i started writing a while ago, i hope y’all enjoy :) the reader it’s from brazil here, but you can replace from any country you want lol And obv i’m not from LA and never been there, so if i say something out of reality it’s bc of that 😂

"June arrived at the restaurant, sat down near the bar and looked around vaguely. The strange people's faces made her think better and maybe drink a shot of tequila too.

She opened his folder with the horrifying photos of the mysterious case. She felt sick to her stomach.

People said that by then she should have been used to see this kind of thing, but that was repulsive.

She wish the nightmare she had the night before was a way to solve that puzzle, but believing in the afterlife now wouldn't help her... If...If..."

- Damn it... - Y/n slammed her fist on the table. - Writer's block sucks. - She said and took the last sip of her tea.

It s been a week since she couldn't write anything. She would write maybe two paragraphs, maybe even three if she got lucky, but she always ended up erasing it, because she always turned into something meaningless or too cliche.

Damn the time she had promised to deliver something to her editor by the end of the month. But she hadn't counted on the lack of ideas when she agreed to that.

She got up from her chair in frustration and crossed her arms, pacing, as if her creativity had gone out for a walk and she was waiting impatiently for it to come back.

Why had she agreed to write a new book in the first place? She didn't need money. Their previous four books were already making huge profits, and they were going to make a new television series based on one of them.

So why writing another one? Maybe because, she had been having too many nightmares lately. Many family and friends told her to see a psychologist, see if she didn't have some hidden trauma. But looking for a psychologist? Admitting your weaknesses and personal things to a stranger? Never. That would be horrifying.

Writing helped. Transferring his fears to pages was hers gift. When she wrote she didn't have nightmares, didn't see things, wasn't sad. It was like a drug, a calming medicine.

Maybe fame was also making her restless lately. She hated being the spotlight, being the magazine cover of promising young people. She hated to see her name highlighted. But she loved having readers, yes. She loved when someone felt good reading her books or in the good sense of the word: terrified by her stories.

At the height of her 25 years, he never thought her books would become famous at that point. She had always enjoyed writing since she was a child, but working with it was just an unattainable dream. Until, at age 19, she quit her hideous job as a hotel receptionist and decided to publish her first story.

Obviously there were many rejections, until a publisher agreed to publish their work. From then on, her books became more and more known. They called her the new horror genius, the mystery queen, and sometimes even "Stephen King's lost daughter."

She didn't think it was all that. But she accepted the descriptions gladly. No wonder her books didn't come out of the top spot on the best sellers.

Another thing that motivated her to continue with that story, was a phrase from her own idol mentioned, Stephen King: "good stories are those that stay in the head for a long time". And God only knew how that story had been with her for far too long. She always wanted to put it down on paper, so here she was trying to put into words what her head brought up as random thoughts.

But now she was having one of his first creative blocks. Obviously she had already had it with previous books, but nothing as frustrating as this one. She had been trying hard for days, which was exhausting.

She looked at the clock on the wall: 11pm. Who knows if she took another break before starting writing again? Maybe it would help to come up with more ideas.

She thought about watching a show or movie, but he wasn't in the mood. She looked at her long polka dot pajamas under her favorite warm robe and snorted. Go out? On a Thursday night? On a cold night? No way.

But what if it helped her have more writing material? Watching people on the street really helped. If June, the character in her book, was in a bar, maybe if she went to one too it would help to have something to build on.

Writers did it all the time. Describe places that already existed, situations similar to which they lived. So, it wouldn't be new. Maybe she'd even put the location in her tribute if helped she got out of her creative block.

She took a deep breath and went to take a shower. It was decided, she would go out. She put on her best jeans, a Ramones T-shirt with a leather jacket. It wasn't a fancy outfit, but she didn't intend to go somewhere fancy anyway. Her stylist would have been dying to see her now, but she didn't care one bit.

She went out pressing the bottom of the elevator. Y/n had lived on the top floor of a building for 2 months, right in downtown Los Angeles. Sometimes she didn't even know why she chose to live there, she hated the big city and what came with it: paparazzi, celebrities, crazy people who feel superior, wealth and luxury. She came from a humble family, so she always felt like an outsider.

Y/n arrived downstairs and left the condominium calling a taxi that was passing in the street just in time. She walked in and closed the door, crossing her arms, trying to ward off the cold.

- Good night miss, where are you going? - the driver asked looking at her in the rearview mirror.

- Good night... Actually I don't know, do you have any suggestions for a bar around here?- she asked looking out the window. She didn't even bother to look for suggestions for places nearby.

- Well, it depends on what you're looking for... Something luxurious or something fun? - He said and a smiled played on the corer of her mouth. Luxurious was the opposite of fun indeed.

- Something fun, of course.

- So, I suggest the new Seven Devils bar, it's less than 20 minutes from here... - he said.

- Interesting name... Could be. - She said shrugging.

- The name is kinda creepy, but the place is cozy and welcoming, I went once. - the driver said starting and entering the street that was practically empty for being a weekday.

- Cool... - Y/n said looking at the city lights through the window.

After nearly twenty minutes the taxi stopped in front of what appeared to be a small door with a security guard in front of it. The neon sign indicated the name of the place, it seemed a mysterious place for those who passed by without knowing it.

- Thanks. - Y/n said handing the driver the money.

- You're not the Y/n Y/l/n? I didn't want to say anything, but I'm a fan of you, I love your books, they help me pass the time while I wait for passengers. - the driver asked turning a little with one of the Y/n books in his hand. - Could you sign this for me?

- Sure! - Y/n spoke excitedly taking the book from his hand and leaving a message along with her signature. - Thanks for the tip of the place. Have a good night... - She said opening the door.

- No, thank you, have a good night miss. -he said and she smiled closing the door and the taxi left leaving her alone looking at the door in front of her.

She approached the security guard who wished her good night, giving her room to enter, after she showed her ID. Y/n entered a little afraid of what she would find. The door behind her closed and she looked around. It was really cozy as the taxi driver said, it had a part with several tables, which were a little empty and a bar with stools around. The place had a good atmosphere, one of those that people go there to meet and chat with friends, in the background there was a kind of pop song that she wasn't sure if she knew or not.

He slowly approached the bar and sat down on one of the stools. A woman with several tattoos appeared behind the counter and came to serve her.

- Good night! How can I serve you?- she asked with a smile.

- Good night... Hm... Maybe a martini? - Y/n said taking a look at the drinks on the shelf behind the attendant.

- Okay, I'll be back with your order, anything else?

- That's it for now, thanks. - She replied smiling and the attendant walked away.

Y/n kept looking around, watching people, maybe looking for some inspiration. Something that would turn the key in his mind. Many who were there were in groups of friends and were talking animatedly, laughing. Some young and some older, in suits and ties, perhaps coming out of work.

Until one guy in particular caught her attention. He wore the black uniform with the name of the place, with an apron tied around the waist of the same color, and was picking up some glasses from some empty tables. He had dark brown hair slicked back and eyes the same color, very expressive and large. A boy's face from the outside, but on the inside had a mysterious and confident air.

He balanced a tray full of things with an greatest skill in one hand and smiled at some people, he seemed charming because everytime he left a table he left people whispering and giggling embarrassed behind his back.

He walked over and entered the bar placing the tray behind the counter, came close to the other attendant who already had the Y/n martini ready and she could hear him talking, soon realizing he had a perfect accent.

- Sally, you can leave it to me, go take your break. Whose martini is it?- he asked taking a look around.

- Oh thank you, my feet are killing me. It's the girl over there. -she said indicating Y/n with her head and he looked at her, making Y/n realize that she was staring at him for too long, so she looked away embarrassed.

- Okay. - he said looking at where Y/n was sitting and stopped in front of her with the glass. - Good night miss, here is your order. - He spoke with a british accent. Only at that moment did Y/n realize that his accent was well loaded and God only knows how much she loved that accent.

- Oh yes, thank you very much. - She said raising her eyes to look at him and smiled then he blinked with one of his eyes and gave her one more look, before going to deliver another order to a man who was sitting a few benches away.

Y/n felt a shiver all of a sudden, that boy had made her legs a little weak and she didn't really know why. I mean, he was handsome, very handsome and he had a special charm, but it wasn't that much, was it? Maybe it was because it had been a while since she'd dated anyone. When was the last time? Two months ago? Since she had moved in she hadn't gone out with anyone, she had locked herself in her apartment and was writing like crazy. She didn't have time to go out, not even with her friends when she was working on a new book. Which brought them dissatisfaction from time to time, not just because she didn't hang around with them, but because she didn't even go out on one-night stands.

She never been the one that going out with a guy just for sex, she had to have some good first dates and maybe she would take him to see her apartment or go to his apartment. Friends of hers thought she was too old in her spirit, but what can he do? If she couldn't be bad girl once in a while. For a moment she thought, "For this english guy I would be" but shook her head away from the thoughts. She went back to analyzing him, dammit why did he have to be so fit? She could see that the T-shirt he was wearing highlighted his muscles that were only left to her imagination, she found herself biting her lip a bit and snatching her martini off the counter, taking a big sip.

The attendant approached again, drying some glasses with a towel, and took one more look in her direction where she looked away quickly making him smirk. He stopped in front of her again, bracing her arms on the counter, making her swallow hard. He didn't know why she was so nervous, he was just a guy, no biggie.

- I like the shirt. - He pointed with a smile, which made her think he had a beautiful and endearing smile. She looked down and then looked at him smiling too.

- Thank you... Ramones is everything... - she said and drank the last sip of her drink placing the empty glass in front of her right after. - Can you serve one more?

- Sure...- he said, still smiling, took the bottle and filled his glass again. - Trying to distract yourself on a thursday night?

- Yeah... you could say yes... - she said taking another sip. - Have you worked here for a long time?

- In fact, it's been almost six months since I moved to the United States and I've been working here for four months. -he said putting the towel that was in his hand on his shoulder.

- Hm... You're from London?

- I am, wow how did you find out? - he asked raising an eyebrow playfully and she smiled.

- Yeah, your accent really doesn't give out anything ... - she said and he gave a low laugh making her have more goose bumps.

- You also have a different accent, have you lived here for a long time? - he didn't know who she was, which was good. But it also wasn't like she was recognized all the time, despite her face being on magazine covers, she was still a writer, so she was only recognized by those who liked to read or who vaguely remembered her face.

- I was born in Brazil actually, but I've lived here for years, lived in another city for almost five years and now I've decided to come to Los Angeles two months ago...

- I see ... - he said organizing some drinks that were on the counter. - Do you like it here?

- More or less... It's a busy city, isn't it?

- Yeah, it's not for anyone. - He said shrugging. - I like it, I like the rush, but the glamor part really isn't me. - the attendant said and she smiled.

- You're right... I mean, I don't like the glam too much either... - She looked away at her nails.

- What do you work with? - he asked and she looked at him again.

- I'm a writer...

- Nice! What do you write? - He asked curious looking at her with attention.

- I write horror and thriller books.

- Interesting... I would never read, actually I'm not much of a reader anyway, but I wouldn't, because I'm terrified of those things. - He said crossing his arms and she laughed.

- Oh, it's not that terrifying, it's just stories. - She said leaning her elbows on the counter.

- Still, I prefer to have my good night's sleep intact. - He said and she laughed making him smile looking at her.

When she was about to say something, a customer signaled for him and he excused himself going towards the man who was furthest away.

Y/n sighed. She still didn't have any new ideas about her story, but she was entertained by that conversation. She liked not being recognized, she liked him not being interested in her books, for a moment she felt oblivious to anything, liked feeling disconnected from her world.

He returned shortly after and they started talking again. They talked about bands, movies, superficial celebrities and even politics (an important topic in Y/n's vision, who was very firm with her ideas, thankfully he had passed the test). She found out that he was the same age as her and that he moved to the US to look for something that would give him money or a perspective on life, ended up getting that job and intended to stay until he found a different area. The hours passed and they kept finding subjects to give their opinion or questions to ask each other.

- Did you go to college? - she asked after a while.

- No, I don't think I'm smart enough for that, or have the patience. What about you?

- Everyone is smart enough. I started going to business school, but I dropped out when my books started to pay off...

- Wow, your books should give you a good amount of money to be able to drop out of college and dedicate yourself to them...

- Yeah... You could say that. - She shrugged.

- You know looking at you closer like that...- he said getting a little closer and she held her breath for a moment. - I've seen you somewhere...

- Really? - She said raising her eyebrow and drinking from a straw, now with a different drink.

- I don't know, you're not strange to me... - he said putting his hand on his face thoughtfully.

- Well, I hope it's from somewhere nice. - She smiled and he smiled back looking at her. - Do you have a girlfriend or are you married? - Y/n asked and regretted a little, what was she thinking? He wasn't married, as he didn't have a ring on his finger as she'd noticed. But what was her intention by asking that question? She didn't even know, she just knew it had escaped her.

- Neither darling. - He replied smiling a little mischievously and she felt butterflies with the way he called her by that nickname and with that accent. - How about you?

- Neither ... - She replied avoiding looking at him, those eyes hypnotized her and she didn't like to feel at his mercy of a guy she had just met. She took the cell phone disguising but paid attention to the time. - My God, it's already 2:00 in the morning! I completely missed the time.

- I think the company ended up distracting you. - He said still not taking his eyes off her and she felt her cheeks heat up.

- Yeah, the chat was really good... But I have to go... - she said getting up.

- If you wait I can take you home, I'm already leaving, the bar is already closing. - he said and Y/n looked around seeing that some waiters were already collecting some things from the tables.

She thought for a moment, take a ride home with him? It didn't make sense, she had just met him, but at the same time she had enjoyed talking to him so much. He didn't seem like a bad person, but even so you would never know for sure. At the same time she never took any chances, why not let that pretty boy take her home? Finally, she thought: you know what? Screw this.

-Erm, ok...- She shrugged. - I'll go to the cashier to pay and wait for you outside?

- No need to pay darling, it's on me. - He spoke winking and she smiled.

- Oh no, I'll pay no problem...

- Your company has paid off your debt, it's ok. - He replied and she took a deep breath rolling her eyes.

- If you insist...- she said giving up.

He came out from behind the counter and motioned for her to follow him, arriving at the front door where the security was.

- Tuwaine, you can let her pass, it's on me. - He told the big guy and he looked at the english man, sawing his eyes suspiciously and smiling right away. Making Y/n laugh inside.

- Meet you outside? It will only take a few minutes - the attendant said and she nodded, leaving in the cold night.

She leaned against the door with her thoughts. She had come here just to get inspiration and to have her creative back, but she was coming home with an english guy. She didn't even recognize herself anymore, but to say she wasn't anxious (in a good way) was a lie.

She was lost in her thought, until minutes later he came out wearing a denim jacket, which made him look even more handsome.

- Let's go? - He said and she followed him to an old car parked right in front of the bar.

He opened the door for her to get in and she thanked him by sitting in the passenger seat, pulling on her seat belt as he closed the door. He sat down next to her right away, also putting on his belt.

- Hey, before we go: I didn't ask for your name! If you're going to take me home at least I have to know that- she asked realizing that she didn't even know that yet and he looked towards her smiling.

- Tom Holland. - He said stretching his hand. - Nice to meet you.

- Y/n Y/l/n- she said, squeezing his hand. And you can't deny that she felt butterflies in her stomach as she felt her skin on hers.

- Your name is not strange to me, I must have read it in one of your books in some shop window. - He said starting and leaving with the car.

- Yeah, who knows ... - she said and he turned on the radio leaving the volume low.

They were exchanging a few words until she indicated that they had arrived at the building where she lived. Tom parked and looked up in a daze.

- Wow, you really have money... - he said and she took off her belt turning towards him.

- A little bit...- she replied crossing her arms. - Well, thank you so much for the ride...

- You're welcome darling. - He said turning his eyes to her. Again that nickname that sounded perfect on his lips.

She turned around, but when she was about to open the door, she turned back to Tom, who was leaning with one hand on the steering wheel and watching her with attention. The next words escaped her again and she was afraid she'd regret it.

- Tom, do you want to come in? - She spoke still holding the door and the boy smiled.

- Sure ... - he said taking the key from the ignition and she shook her head slightly leaving.

He followed her and they entered the building. Tom looked at everything admired which made Y/n smile a little to herself. They entered the elevator and she pressed the penthouse button causing him to raise an eyebrow.

- You really must be a great writer. - he said and she laughed.

He leaned his back against the elevator wall, putting his hands in his pocket and looking her up and down, making her shy. He kept looking at her and it was making her nervous.

They were silent until the elevator opened after a while and they got out. Y/n put a password on the door and it swung open with a small click, she took held the latch and motioned for Tom to enter.

After the two of them entered she closed the door again behind her and watched Tom standing further on, looking around.

- Nice apartment...- he finally said.

- Thank you... - She leaned against the table at the entrance. She didn't know what to do next, maybe it had been a bad idea to bring him here. Why was she so impulsive that night? -Tom, I don't know why I invite you in, sorry...-she said a little nervous looking at her feet. He turned towards her, approaching and stopping in front of her.

- Are you sure you don't know? - He asked and she raised her head, seeing those brown eyes. She bit her bottom lip watching him closely. Damn he knew how to hypnotize her. He took another step and placed a hand on either side of her on the table, cornering her - Your body says otherwise, love... - he said softly feeling her breath hitch slowly and approaching his face to hers, alternating the look of your eyes to her lips. Y/n found another nickname that was perfect when he say.

He finally closed the distance by pressing his lips to hers. His lips were soft and warm, as if they were meant to be kissed. She returned the kiss willingly and when she laced her fingers in his neck, he licked her lower lip slowly asking for passage in which she opened them letting his tongue explore her mouth.

His hands gripped her waist and roamed her body greedily. As he kissed her, he caught her from behind her legs and sat her down on the entrance table, biting her bottom lip shortly after, provoking a low moan from her. He smiled against her lips and trailed kisses to her neck, attacking her skin with desire, making her throw her head back a little.

She grabbed his hair and pulled him back so she could kiss him. Which he gladly reciprocate. His kiss was urgent, but without being rude, he tasted like mint, making her want him even more.

His fingers found the button of her pants and he undid them quickly pulling them out, tossing them aside. When he came back he took her calf and kissed her leg up to her thighs, making her sigh. He moved up the kisses until he caught the hem of her shirt and pulled it up a little, kissing her stomach as well. Y/n didn't know what to do but feel goose bumps with every touch he gave. He then hiked up her shirt and she lifted her arms where he pulled her off, tossing along with her pants that were also on the floor.

She was just wearing her underwear in front of him, it made her a little excited and embarrassed at the same time, but the way he looked at her made her feel confident. He went back to kissing her body, this time kissing each covered breast in turn and reaching for the back of her bra and opening it. She helped him out tosiing to the side and he stood between her legs just watching her for a second, making her feel her cheeks heat up.

- Perfect... - he said with a low voice, as it was for himself and bent down to her breasts kissing each one of her nipples and then sucking them deliciously. Y/n moaned and bit her lip to keep her moans from getting louder, tangling her fingers in his hair again. He looked into her eyes for a few seconds and smiled slightly lowering his kisses to where she wanted him most.

He reached the hem of her panties and pulled them out slowly, kneeling between her legs and she looked at him with expectation. He returned the look and gave that smirk again.

- Look at you darling.... - That damn nickname. - Extremely wet and I haven't even touched you yet... - he said approaching and devouring her right away making her throw her head back with pleasure, biting her lips again to not sound so pathetic with her moans that insisted in wanting get out. - Oh, please don't drown out those wonderful sounds you make, I want to hear how good I'm making you feel. - He said in a husky tone, returning to his task after and she parted her lips letting her moans spread through the apartment.

****************************************************************************************

Y/n woke up the other day in her bed. She didn't even know how she got there, she just had flashes of the night before and how good she felt in each moment. She stretched and looked to the side seeing she was alone. She got up and put on a robe who was on the side of the bed.

After going to the bathroom and doing her morning hygiene routine she walked around the apartment looking around to see if Tom was somewhere else in the house, but found nothing. Which was understandable, it wasn't like she expected him to stay there and have breakfast with her and all.

She arrived in the kitchen and made black coffee and lean against the countertop. What that simple waiter had done to her was ridiculous, in a good sense, she felt great and kept remembering that accent that was stuck in her mind. He had consumed her in a way she had never imagined it she could be.

Taking a deep breath she set down turning her notebook on. Then opened her book and started writing.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #bartender!tom #waiter!tom #tom holland x famous!reader #bartender!tom x writer!reader #tom holland series

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xfilescat · 6 years

Text

something else (steve harrington x named!reader

word count: about 3k

warnings: none except language (maybe not even language, i might’ve taken out all the swearing lmao)

preview: “You were so caught up that you barely registered Hopper speaking. ‘Have you two been drinking already?’

Joyce chuckled. ‘I don’t think so, Hop. That’s not alcohol. That’s something else.’

‘Drugs?’

‘Something else.’”

A/N: umm hey guys! guess who’s back w another attempt at being a good writer!!! i gotta tell you something: i’ve literally written and scrapped like five entire fics since i posted “a river in egypt” because i do this thing where i reread something i’ve written so many times that i start to despise it. i’m basically holding myself at gunpoint to post this one because i really wanna break that cycle!! also forgive me for completely ignoring the release date of “we built this city.” this fic is set around june 1985 & the song came out in august of that year, but it’s just such a good example of a bad ‘80s song (now there’s an oxymoron for ya) that i had to pretend it came out earlier!! also, there is one prerequisite for reading this fic: you MUST either listen to or look up the lyrics to “he’s the greatest dancer” by sister sledge before you read this, otherwise you’ll be a little confused about a few jokes. anyway, i hope you enjoy cuz i had a lot of fun writing this. oh, and i’ve included a list of all the songs mentioned in this fic because i love music and i think it will help you to kinda feel what i was feeling when i wrote each scene :) so take a look!

songs used/implied/referenced: “last chance on the stairway” by duran duran

“he’s the greatest dancer” by sister sledge

“wonderful tonight” by eric clapton

“we built this city” by starship

“train in vain” by the clash

“one more night” by phil collins

June 1st, 1985 was the Hawkins High School senior prom, and from the moment you zipped up your sparkly dress and stepped into your sky-high heels, you told yourself that you were going to stick it out for the whole night. Yes, prom was an archaic, overrated triviality, but you figured that after all of the stuff that had happened last year, you could use a little triviality. Plus, you were there with Steve, so you knew that even if nothing else lived up to your expectations, you’d have a good time. He was your best friend.

You had to admit that the Hawkins High School prom committee had done a bang-up job of turning the run-down gymnasium into something halfway gorgeous. There were glimmering paper stars and streamers hanging from the rafters, a big shiny disco ball was casting flattering beams of light across everyone’s faces, and they had even gotten one of those classic balloon arches under which students posed for Mr. Comenski’s camera. It looked like a cheesy movie, but in a good way, an “I’ll remember this forever” way.

About a half hour before the end of prom, one of your favorite songs started to play. You and Steve were mingling with some friends at a table when you heard the first few notes, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the dance floor so fast you nearly knocked a couple of people over. He had to have the patience of a saint for putting up with you, for just smiling good-naturedly whenever you did things like that—which was often. When it came to you and your antics, there was never any question as to whether or not he was along for the ride. He always was.

“I gotta say,” you said after a few minutes of dancing. “This night isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.” You took his hand and twirled under it.

“I know.” Steve had to shout to be heard over Duran Duran. “This is really fun. The only thing I’d change is your dancing ability.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wow. Sorry I haven’t mastered your signature move of standing there and bopping your head. We can’t all have your god-given talent.”

He grinned and nodded, easily sidestepping your sarcasm. “Did you know Sister Sledge actually wrote ‘He’s The Greatest Dancer’ about me?”

You laughed and placed your hands on his shoulders as “Last Chance on the Stairway” faded out and an old Eric Clapton song filled the room. “Ah, so you’re the ‘champion of dance.’”

“My moves would put you in a trance,” he confirmed as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You two began to slow dance, albeit a bit formally. There was a safe and friendly distance between you. Nothing like Carol and Tommy, who were literally making out with each other ten feet away from you. It was nice: you chatted as you swayed, joking around and singing along to the song. You shut your eyes and tried to memorize every single detail: how the way you were angled made the music sound a little louder in your right ear, how Steve’s hands felt around your waist, how badly your shoes hurt. In that moment, everything seemed special and everything seemed to be a part of something bigger and more beautiful.

Then, they cut Clapton short and started playing “We Built This City” for the second time that night and you opened your eyes the same reluctant way you do when you hear your alarm go off in the morning. You and Steve looked around at your fellow students kicking up their heels and then locked eyes in mutual confusion. You shrugged. Maybe nearly dying a couple times gave you and him a lower tolerance for bad music: life was too damn valuable to spend any second of it listening to Starship. Steve said something to you, but you couldn’t hear him. You leaned in closer. “What?”

“I said, do you wanna get out of here?”

You smiled in relief. “Yes, definitely.”

He immediately took your hand and led you off the dance floor. You made a beeline for the back door and to your surprise, he didn’t let go right away. Not even after the door swung shut behind you and there were no more crowds to get lost in.

It was tranquil outside. You could still hear the music from the gym, but other than that, there was no sound save for your heels clicking against the pavement. It made being on campus at night feel all the more surreal. So did holding Steve’s hand. “Hey,” you said, peering up at him. He looked almost unreal in the moonlight, and you had to tighten your grip on him to make sure that you weren’t dreaming. “Is this something we do now?” You started swinging your still-entwined hands. As close as you had become in the past few months, holding on this long was new.

He chuckled. “Sure, why not?”

“Alright, then. Cool.”

“Cool.”

You listened to your footsteps for a little while longer. Once you reached Steve’s car, you leaned against the passenger side while he unlocked the doors. You watched him fumble with his keys in the low light before he glanced across the roof at you. “Shannon?”

“Mhm?”

“Where are we even going?”

You rested your chin on top of your folded arms. “I dunno. Anywhere but here?”

“We could go grab some food to kill time before Tina’s party.”

You sighed. “Right. That. I forgot about that.” You knew that an after party was part of the whole prom deal, but you’d let it slip from your mind. Or maybe you’d blocked it out because it was too unpleasant to think about. Standing around in some stranger’s trashed house while your classmates did dumb, drunken shit wasn’t exactly your definition of a good time. You opened the door and slid into the passenger seat with another sigh.

Steve sat down behind the wheel and met your eyes with an authoritarian, knowing look on his face. You knew that look. You called it his “dad face.” It was usually aimed at one of the kids—or you—when they tried to do something stupid. “You don’t wanna go?”

“Don’t give me that damn look.” He laughed, and you fought back a smile before continuing. “It’s not that I don’t wanna go, it’s just that…” You trailed off.

“You don’t wanna go,” he finished for you.

You grinned. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “In all honesty, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about going, either. It’s just gonna be more of the same. Plus, Hargrove may not have shown up here, but there’s no way he’d miss out on free booze and I reeeally don’t want to deal with him tonight.”

“Exactly. So can we just ditch it?”

“Please.”

“Thank goodness.” You leaned back in your seat and sighed for a third time, this time in contentedness. “Now, what are we gonna do with all this free time?”

He thought it over for a moment as he started the car. You watched as a smile eventually spread across his face. “I have a great idea, Shan,” he said matter-of-factly, pulling out of his parking space.

“What is it?”

“Put your seatbelt on first.”

You complied. “Where are we going?”

“To a disco on the outskirts of Frisco.”

“Steve,” you giggled. “Come on.”

“Okay, okay. I know a couple of people who’re throwing a very exclusive party tonight, and it just so happens that we’re on the guest list.”

When you walked up to the front yard of Chief Hopper’s cabin, he and Joyce were sitting on the porch enjoying the weather. “You kids are back early,” he commented. You were far enough away that he had to shout for you to hear him.

“Yeah,” Steve called. “We skipped out on the whole after-prom thing.” He was helping you hold up your skirt so it wouldn’t get dragged across the forest floor. You were still in your dress and he was still in his tux even though you both had brought a change of clothes for Tina’s party. You knew that the kids would love to see you guys all dressed up.

“Good,” Hopper replied. “I don’t need any more drunk and stupid teenagers running around my town tonight doing drunk and stupid things.”

Your high heels were turning the leaves into a treacherous obstacle course, but you were determined to make it to the cabin without assistance. You stumbled once and steadied yourself, then another time, and then another time before Steve finally rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around your waist. You looked up at him and raised your eyebrows. “Is this something we do now?”

He burst out laughing and you couldn’t contain yourself, either—you were overcome by that inescapable, long-lasting kind of laughter that only inside jokes brought about. Steve’s dress shoes weren’t ideal for traipsing through the woods, either, so with all your giggling, neither of you were very surefooted. About thirty feet from the porch, you stepped onto a particularly slippery patch of leaves and went down, taking Steve with you. This only served to exacerbate your laughing fits. It suddenly seemed like absolutely everything was funny, from the leaves in your hair to the awkward position you had landed in. You were so caught up that you barely registered Hopper speaking. “Have you two been drinking already?”

Joyce chuckled. “I don’t think so, Hop. That’s not alcohol. That’s something else.”

“Drugs?”

“Something else.”

“Ah.”

After a few more seconds of mindlessness, Steve stood up and helped you to your feet. “Alright,” he said, dusting himself off. “We’re gonna make it this time. Are you good?”

You winced as you stretched out your arm and felt a fresh soreness in your elbow. “I’m good enough. I just need to…” You grabbed his shoulder and reached down to take off your shoes. “There. Now I can walk.” You bunched up your skirt so it wouldn’t drag and started toward the cabin. Steve fell into step beside you and muttered something under his breath about how you should’ve just taken your shoes off earlier. You went wide-eyed. “Oh, okay! Keep it up, Steve. Keep it up and you’ll be wearing these shoes.”

He laughed and looked at you like you were crazy. There was something else in his eyes, though, something intense and admiring, that threatened to send you reeling back down to the forest floor. “What the hell does that even mean?” His playful tone of voice was completely out of sync with that look.

“You heard me,” you replied, but you said it to the ground so he wouldn’t see you blush.

Once you reached the porch, you made small talk with Hopper and Joyce until a cacophony of voices drew you inside the cabin. The kids were huddled in front of the television watching some old soap opera. From what you could tell, they were parroting lines from the show in ridiculous voices and completely losing their minds over it. “Alright, kids,” Steve called as he took a seat at one of the chairs at the kitchen table and kicked off his shoes. “Party’s over. We’re back.”

El turned around first. When she saw you, her jaw dropped and she immediately ran over. “You look so pretty,” she said emphatically, twisting the skirt of your dress so that it sparkled in the light. You beamed and ruffled her hair.

Steve watched this interaction with that same dazzled look on his face from a few minutes before. When you met his eyes, however, he cleared his throat and turned to look over at the rest of the kids. “So, what have you guys been up to?”

Max leaned over the back of the sofa. “Never mind what we’re doing. Why are you home so early?”

“Yeah, it’s prom,” Lucas said. “Aren’t you supposed to be out all night?”

“I bet they got kicked out,” Dustin teased.

Mike scoffed. “They didn’t get kicked out. They’re not cool enough to get kicked out.”

“We didn’t get kicked out,” you confirmed. “Prom’s over. We just didn’t go to any after parties ’cause we’d rather hang out with you guys.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “And by the way, we are so cool enough to get kicked out.”

He and the kids then launched into a ridiculous debate about what you two would’ve had to have done to get yourselves thrown out of prom. You stopped listening after Will posited that you guys could have been shown the door because you only hung out with middle schoolers. You instead focused your attention on El, who was still studying your dress. “Shannon,” she said thoughtfully. “What is prom like?”

You motioned for her to follow you over to the couch. “Prom is really cliché, but really fun. You get to dress up and see your friends and just have a great time.” You set your high heels on the floor and relaxed into the cushions.

El sat down next to you and folded her legs. “What do you do there?”

“You dance, mostly.”

“Like at the Snowball?”

You half-smiled, half-cringed as memories of tense, uncomfortable slow dances with nervous preteen boys at your own Snowball flashed through your mind. “Yeah, sorta. But dancing at prom is different.”

“Different how?”

You thought about it for a minute. “Honestly, I can’t explain. It’s just different.”

“Geez, Shan. Don’t be so cryptic,” Dustin interrupted as he flopped onto the adjacent sofa. The debate must have been resolved because Steve and the others make their way over, too. Steve joined Dustin on the couch while Mike, Will, Max, and Lucas sat down on the floor.

You chuckled. “I’m not being cryptic! It’s just different. Here, you know what? We’ll show you.” You stood up and held out your hand to Steve.

He tore his eyes away from the television. “We will?”

“Just get up.”

He grinned, stood up, and took your hand. You started to pull him into the kitchen where there was more open space. “Wait,” he said, trying and failing to dig his sock-covered heels into the wood floor. “We’re gonna dance to this?” Something by The Clash was playing.

“No, not this.” You dropped his hand when you reached the kitchen and walked over to the radio. “Something more like…” you let yourself trail off as you tuned through different stations looking for an appropriate song: something slow, something sweet. You stopped when you heard the beginning of “One More Night” and turned it up loud. “Something more like this,” you said, walking back into the kitchen.

“Okay, everybody,” Steve said to the kids once you’d reached him. “Pay attention.” Five out of the six of them regarded you two with a casual interest, but El looked completely engaged. “If you’re leading, you’re gonna keep your hands right about here,” Steve said, putting his hands on your waist.

“That’s right,” you said. “No higher, no lower. Now, if you’re not leading, you’re going to put your hands on the other person’s shoulders like this.”

“We already know this stuff,” Mike interrupted. “We’ve all danced before.”

“Yeah,” Dustin agreed. “Hey, Mike, remember when your sister practically begged me to dance with her at the Snowball?” Mike whacked the teasing smirk off Dustin’s face with a pillow.

Steve shrugged. “Well, then consider this a refresher course.”

“And I told you, dancing at prom is different,” you added. “It’s a lot slower.” You began to move to the music.

“And closer,” Steve said, guiding you toward him until you two were pressed right up against each other. You looked at him and widened your eyes a little. That wasn’t how you had danced together at prom.

“So, uh, from here on,” you said quietly, “you just sorta sway.”

Steve nodded. “It’s easy.”

After that, neither of you spoke for a while. You just held each other and stepped from side to side. During the silence, Phil Collins sang the lyric “I will always be with you” and you realized that this wasn’t how best friends were supposed to dance with each other. The kids seemed to have picked up on that, too, because they’d all pointedly fixed their gazes back onto the TV. Out of nowhere, you began to laugh. You laughed because you were nervous, and you were nervous because you were young and a little in love. Steve leaned back and looked down at you. “Are you okay?” He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word.

You moved your head in some semblance of a nod. You had stopped dancing by then and you started to sink down to the floor. Steve sat down, too, eyeing you cautiously. “Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know,” you managed to say. “I have no idea.” You squeezed your eyes shut and took a few deep breaths. Once you were calm, you opened your eyes and looked over at Steve. When you saw how utterly confused he was, though, with his face all scrunched up the way it gets when he’s doing his math homework, you started to giggle anew. This time, he did, too. You let yourself fall against his chest, your shoulders shaking with the force of your laughter. You felt giddy and weightless; you imagined that this must be what it felt like to be drunk. At some point, you lifted your head up just as he bent his down and your lips gently and innocently brushed against his.

The laughter stopped instantly as if someone had flipped a switch. At once, you drew his face to yours and kissed him again, this time on purpose and with fervor. He clutched you closer and reached one hand up to cup your cheek. Kissing him was like laughing with him: it was easy, it was intoxicating, and it was incredibly hard to stop. You only paused to pull away when you felt him smile against your lips. “What?”

He was already snickering. He could barely get the words out. “Is this—is this something we do now?”

You both fell back into hysterics and collapsed against each other. Your stomach was killing you and your eyes were watering and your bruised elbow was caught between Steve and the cabinet behind him, but you didn’t care. Especially not after Steve threw his arms around you and kissed you urgently. In that moment, you knew you weren’t just best friends anymore. You were something else.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington reader insert #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things reader insert

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awed-frog · 6 years

Note

Hey, I was just wondering do you have any thoughts on Barthes, death of the author? And I guess in extension the return of the author? Also slightly related, have you ever read any of Chris Krause's work? I read I love dick and I'm rather conflicted, I don't like the character but then I identify with her? Anyhow all the best x

Okay, so - as a disclaimer, I never had tons of classes in any of this stuff, so I’m hoping what follows makes some sense? If it doesn’t, it’s 100% my fault.

Anyway: the tl;dr is, I hate it with a vengeance and I never use it. On the contrary, it is very central to my life, and as close a certainty as I have on anything, that whatever we consume we should always ask ourselves: who is saying this? And why? And most of all, cui bono?

Oh, and a second disclaimer is that what I’ll allow *waves a generous hand* is that, like many other extreme, rebellious or wacky theories of the 1960s, it was probably Good and About Bloody Time that someone pushed back against the status quo, because some things back then needed to be broken down - but that doesn’t make those movements rational or right in themselves, you know what I mean? What matters is not the wrecking ball, but the new thing you’re planning to build on the ruins.

So - imo there are two big problems with the concept of ‘death of the author’ - one is the theory itself, and the other is how this theory is understood on tumblr and fandoms (from what I see on my dash, that is).

First of all, Barthes basically says that to understand a text, we shouldn’t go and explore its author (their life and other works, the historical context, what they’ve read and talked about with friends and stuff like that) because the author is born with the text, and the text already contains all that it’s necessary to its full understanding; also, the reader will supply the rest, because, in a way, the reader creates the text - and gives it meaning - just as much as the author.

To be perfectly honest, to me that’s downright bullshit. Knowing who the author was and what was happening around them is paramount to understanding what the hell the text is trying to say, you know? For instance, knowing Orwell took part in the Spanish Civil War makes Homage to Catalonia much more poignant, and the fact Burgess went through the exact same ordeal he describes in A Clockwork Orange (his wife was attacked and brutalized by a group of American soldiers in 1944) will change the way you read the book, as it bloody should, and the same is true of literally everything else, in my opinion. For instance, last week we went to see The Greatest Showman, a biopic of P. T. Barnum that’s horribly inaccurate and almost a parody of itself; but knowing full well what the polical climate is like today means I actually sort of liked the movie despite its many faults, because I recognized it as what it wanted to be: a ‘hymn to freakishness’, an exploration of what it means to be different, and that’s exactly what we’re in dire need of.

Now - what is true is that we’ll never be able to pin down exactly ‘what the author intended’, because authors may not know themselves and that’s just the world we live in and the kind of creatures we are. I met writers who’re extremely smart, attentive people completely dedicated to their craft, and all of them said there’s always this moment when some reader goes, I liked how that detail with the dead bird was a direct reference to Clara’s illness or something and it’s a light-bulb moment for them, and I mean - they wrote the damn thing, but still didn’t notice that detail was there and why it was important. It probably just sounded right, because that’s what happens when you’re good at something and do it daily: sometimes things just click and work and you don’t even stop to consider the whys and wherefores. But the fact that we don’t have a complete insight into our own minds doesn’t mean we should give up completely on interpreting art and literature, right? What would be the point of that? Because I always perceived Barthes’ theory as a kind of giving up, myself, a kind of Fuck, Le Grand Robert lists 100K words and I’ll never be able to learn all of them, I might as well stop my French classes, you know? And, like, no? You can speak and understand a language with 500 words - and whatever, your glimpse into that world won’t be perfect (and there’s no such thing as perfect, btw), but still better than nothing, right? So, anyway, I don’t much like this theory in itself.

As to its application to fandom life, well, here is where things get even worse. From what I see on tumblr, people generally think that ‘death of the author’ means their interpretation of what they see is always valid, and also that there is no right or wrong way to understand a story. And this bothers me a lot, because I see it as a direct consequence of a) capitalism doing its best to tailor its products to everyone by leaving out as many details as possible so that, Sure, Luke Skywalker can totally be gay, why not, and here is your Funko pop toy and your stickers and thanks for shopping with us and b) the age-old myth that science, now, that’s a hard and unforgiving discipline where there’s truths and untruths, but in the liberal arts, everyone’s opinion just counts the same (because you don’t need a degree to watch a movie and also the author is dead, so there). But, well - as the people who actually produce the content we enjoy know perfectly well, the author is not dead. There is a message in stories, and there is a right and a wrong way of reading them - if not on all the details, then on the main point of them; and, frankly, it’s weird how on the one hand we celebrate the triumph of this ‘everyone’s opinion is valid’ society we’re building (thus not simply killing the author, but bludgeoning the dead body with a blunt axe) and then on the other we loudly demand a world where artists are ‘unproblematic’ in their private lives (one example: the recent furore over Balthus’ painting in the Met). It looks like truly, this may be the era of the Schrödinger’s Author.

(And let me be clear: of course you’re allowed to like or dislike whatever you want based on your personal experiences and bias, but that’s your opinion, not any kind of truth. Like, a thing I found quite interesting in my personal life was a discussion I had with a woman from New Zealand about Thor: Ragnarok, a movie I mostly hated. One of the reasons for my disappointment in it was how Valkyrie had been represented: to me, her laddish drunkenness represented yet another attempt to insert women in a story while making them behave like men, a trend I profoundly despise. But, as that woman was kind enough to explain to me, from her perspective (and probably Waititi’s, since he’s from New Zealand and has explored the same subject in other movies) Valkyrie’s loss of focus and alcohol problems were there to evoke the plight of the Māori people, who, like other aboriginal communities, were forced into alcoholism and excised from their traditions when the ‘civilizing’ might of the the White Man showed up on their shores. This to say that I still don’t like the movie, but since Waititi was talking to a different audience, and they got the message, I’m wrong and he’s right, because I’m free to have an opinion on anything, but at the end of the day, he’s the goddamn author, alive and kicking.)

As for Chris Kraus, I don’t know her at all. I heard good things about the TV adapation of I love Dick? And as for what you say - fiction often reveals deeper truths about ourselves. I’d say that if you feel close to a character you don’t like, well, that’s a good starting point to understand (and change, or maybe learn to love) what it is that you don’t like about yourself? Anyway - sorry for the novel - I wish you a good afternoon/evening/whatever it is where you are!

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ohpedromypedros-main · 7 years

Text

Perfect Role

A/N: This was requested by @kittyk4892! I hope you enjoy it! <3

Author: @bill-skarsgard-writings

Word Count: 3,519

Characters: Bill x Reader, Stellan Skarsgård, few minor characters

Pairings: Bill x Reader

Warnings: mentions of insecurities, swearing, fluff

Your name: submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', myHandler); function myHandler() { var v = document.body.innerHTML; var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; v = v.replace(/\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, input); document.body.innerHTML = v; }

Summary: The reader and Bill have been best friends for over a decade and in her mind they’ll never be anything more, but when Bill lands his role as Pennywise in the new ‘IT’ adaptation, he decides he wants her to be his date for the premiere as well as something a little more than just friends.

(You will see why I used this gif instead of one where he looks sexy, okay? 😂)

Bill Skarsgård, a man you called your best friend since the two of you were teenagers, but thought you'd never call your boyfriend. You had a crush on Bill the moment you met him, but eventually realized that your crush would be just that. A crush. You believed that it would never become anything more. To you, he was too good for you. Your insecurities always got the best of you. Eating away at the back of your mind every time you were in his presence. You're not good enough for him. He's too attractive for you. As if he'd ever love you. Those were but a few of the thoughts that would fill your mind when you'd spend time with him.

You met Bill when you were 14. He was attending one of his father's movie premieres in LA and your mother, who was there to support Stellan, happened to bring you along that day. Your mom had met Stellan several years before on the set of a film they co-starred in. When she found out that he had a son your age, she suggested they'd have to get together some time to introduce you to each other. But unfortunately, the acting life got in the way of those plans and the introduction never happened. Not until the day of Stellan's movie premiere, 4 years later.

”Y/N, this is Mr. Skarsgård and his son Bill. We'll be attending the film tonight with them.”

”Hi,” you nodded, giving them a shy smile.

”Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. Your mother has talked a lot about you,” Stellan smiled in return.

”Really? Good things, I hope.”

”Nothing but good things,” he let out a soft chuckle before motioning to Bill. ”Bill is your age. I thought maybe you two could chat, get to know each other. Bill needs more friends.”

”I've got plenty of friends, dad. Quit your worrying.”

You giggled quietly, earning a smile from Bill.

”Anyway, don't listen to him. I've got tons of friends. They're all dudes, but they're still friends.”

”I know what you mean. All my friends are female. I've never actually met a guy I can actually click with, ya know?” You smiled.

”Yeah pretty much same here. Every girl I've ever met are either snobby or straight up bitchy.”

”Language,” Stellan warned.

Bill cleared his throat, avoiding his father's eyes. ”Sorry,” he mumbled.

You giggled again, your heart skipping a beat in your chest as he gave you another smile. That was it. The moment that would change your life forever.

You sat in your apartment located in downtown LA, typing away at your computer. You moved to LA a year after graduating high school to attend college, but ended up dropping out to pursue a career in writing. You wrote all sorts of things. Poetry, short stories, but currently you were working on your second novel. Your first novel was a slight success. You sold over 1,000 copies within half a year, which to you was pretty good because most beginners never do that well. Bill was one of your biggest supporters and of course one of your biggest fans. He tried comparing you to Stephen King, but you only laughed and told him that was an over-exaggeration. You knew you'd never be as amazing a writer as Stephen King, but the sole fact that Bill thought you were that good was what made you happy with your work.

Halfway through typing a paragraph you had deleted and rewrote multiples times, your cell phone began to ring. You grabbed it from the drawer of your desk and smiled wide when you saw that Bill was calling.

“Hey, Bill! What's up?”

“Y/N, you will never guess what role I just landed!”

“Uhmm... Is it a porno role?”

“Jesus no,” he laughed, knowing you were joking with him. “A lot better than porn.”

“Well shit, what could be better than that?”

“Let me give you a hint. Stephen King.”

You sat straight up in your chair, eyes widening at the mention of your favorite writer. There was only one Stephen King film you could think of at this very moment, one that had been rumored for months to be remade, but this time, it would be a movie and not a mini series for TV.

“Tell me you were cast in the fucking ‘IT’ movie.”

“Oh I was, but can you guess who I was cast for?”

You sat for a moment thinking of all the possibilities. He couldn't have been cast for any of the Loser's Club kids since he was too old for that. He could have been cast as one of them as an adult, though. But he didn't fit the description to play any of them. It couldn't be them. As you were running through all the possibilities in your head, it slowly, but finally hit you.

“Pennywise?!”

“Yep! Y/N, I'm playing fucking Pennywise in the new ‘IT’ movie.”

“Holy shit!” You screamed, jumping from your chair. “Bill, that is fucking amazing! Do you have any idea how proud I am of you right now?!”

“Oh I figured you would be. By the way,” he paused, silence filling the other end of the phone. You were about to speak when the ring of your door buzzer cut you off. You jumped slightly, walking out of your office to hit the speak button on the speaker system by your front door.

“Yeah?”

“Let me in, ya whack job.”

Bill laughed on the other end and you could only let out a squeal before hitting the door button to allow him entrance to the building. You swung your door open, patiently waiting for him in the doorway so you could greet him with a giant hug. It had been a few months since you last saw Bill and you missed him terribly. Of course the two of you would call and text each other daily, but it was his presence and that gorgeous face of his that you missed the most.

Bill turned the corner of your hallway and gave you the cheesiest grin on Earth. You laughed to yourself and as he finally reached you, threw your arms around him for a long overdue hug.

“Oh I've missed you so much!” You sighed, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.

“I've missed you too, Butthead.”

You giggled at his nickname for you before pulling back from the hug and motioning inside.

“Come in.”

“Thank you.”

You followed him in and closed the door behind you, a smile beaming on your face.

“I brought some celebratory champagne with me, since ya know, I just landed one of the greatest roles of my career.”

“I hope it's the good shit,” you laughed.

“Oh it is the good shit.”

He turned to you with a smile, pulling a bottle from a brown paper bag and holding up your favorite brand of champagne.

“You're literally the best.”

“I try,” he grinned.

“Let me go grab some glasses. You go take a seat in the living room and I'll be right there.”

“Sounds good to me.”

You bit your lip with a smile, heading into the kitchen to grab two glasses from the cabinet and bringing them out to the living room where Bill was already on the couch opening the bottle. You sat down next to him, handing him a glass, and holding out your own so he could pour you some champagne. After he filled his own glass, he raised it with a smile.

“To new beginnings.”

You grinned widely, holding up your glass and meeting Bill's gaze.

“To new beginnings.”

You clanked your glasses together and took a nice long sip, the clear golden liquid fizzing as it went down your throat. You cringed slightly, shaking the feeling away.

“Jeez, as much as I love this shit, I still can't get used to the feeling of the fizz as it goes down.”

“Yeah that's the only bad part about champagne, otherwise it's pretty damn good.”

You nodded your head, bringing your glass to your lips for another sip before giving Bill a smile.

“So, give me the deets. When does filming start?”

“Soon, actually. It's being filmed in Canada too.”

“Awesome! Do you have any idea what your Pennywise look is going to be yet?”

“Not yet. I think I'm finding out soon, though. They're probably still drawing the design up.”

“I hope it's creepy looking. Can you even be creepy looking?” You laughed.

He gave you this look, a look you hadn't seen him do in several years. His bottom lip came out into a point as his upper lip slightly tucked in, revealing his top teeth. His eyes stayed focused on yours and you bit back a laugh as he did his famous eye thing.

“This is why you're my best friend.”

He laughed softly, creeper status quickly changing to amusement.

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, will this be the last time I get to see you before filming starts?” You frowned, setting your glass down on the coffee table in front of you. Bill set his down as well, giving his head a stern shake.

“No. I was actually thinking of having you be on set with me while I film my scenes. I mean, that's if you want to. I figured it would help you out with your writing. Give you some inspiration and stuff.”

A wide grin spread across your face and you threw your arms around Bill's neck for a tight embrace.

“Really?! That sounds amazing! Would it be okay with the director and stuff, though?”

“I've already talked to him. He said it would be nice to have you.”

“Really?” You beamed.

“Mm yep! You can fly out to Canada with me. I'll give you details and everything when the time comes.”

“Sounds great!”

“I suggest you start packing now, though. You're gonna be away from home for quite a while.”

“I'm totally okay with that. I'll be with you.”

He chuckled softly, leaning over to press a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“Love you, Butthead.”

“Love you too,” you grinned.

Filming for ‘IT’ went spectacular. From what you were able to see, Bill did an amazing job playing Pennywise and the wardrobe they chose was certainly fitting for Bill's portrayal of him. After they wrapped up with the filming, you and Bill headed back to LA together. You could tell he was super stoked for the premiere of the movie and of course, you were too. You loved the original with Tim Curry, but you always wanted a darker film. One that was as dark, if not more dark than the book. You were a huge horror buff, as everyone could tell by your novel and several of your short stories, and you strived to be as good as Stephen King. You knew it wouldn't happen. In your mind, no one could ever be as good as the King himself, but one could only hope.

The premiere for ‘IT’ was nearing and Bill had been planning to ask you to be his date for the showing. He had a lot planned, actually. You were just completely oblivious to it all. Currently you were out helping him find something to wear to the premiere. You knew Bill had a unique and interesting fashion style, so you tried to find things more down his alley when you helped him look.

“I think you should look for something to wear as well since we're already out.”

You tilted your head confused, having no idea why he was telling you to look for something to wear. You weren't going to the premiere, or so you thought.

“Why would I need something to wear?” You asked, grabbing a vest and holding it up to show him, receiving a cringe in return.

“Because I want you to be my date to the premiere,” he replied, picking up a vest and observing it before putting it back in its spot.

You snapped your gaze up from the rack of vests, your heart suddenly pounding against your chest. If he weren't all the way on the other side of the rack, you were sure he'd hear the pounding himself.

“W-what? Me? Why? I'm sure there are prettier girls out there that you could bring. I'm surely nothing special.”

He lowered another vest he was looking at, a frown forming on his face at your comment. He sighed softly, setting the vest back where it sat before he grabbed it and walked around to stand in front of you, his hands reaching to cup your cheeks. You glanced up at him, a blush already beginning to burn across your face.

“Because I love you and want you to be there with me. You've been my biggest support throughout this whole thing, I don't want anyone else to experience this with me.”

You opened and closed your mouth several times before finally getting your words out, but they only came out above a whisper.

“Y-you love me?”

Bill had never said the entire “I love you” to you before. It was always “love you” or “love ya” in the way an opposite sex best friend would say. Bill looked down at you, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks as he gave you a smile.

“I've loved you from the moment I met you, Y/N. I've just always been afraid that I wasn't good enough for you.”

“That's funny, because that's exactly how it is for me.”

He quirked his head sideways, one eyebrow quirked as if to say “Really?”

“Bill, have you ever taken a good look at yourself? Inside and out? Everything about you is beyond perfect, but when I look at myself I see quite the opposite. I see someone that would never have a chance with Bill Skarsgård.”

“You're perfect to me. In every way possible. You're beautiful, funny, courageous, talented, spunky, outgoing. I could go on, trust me I could.”

“But--”

“Shh,” he hushed you with a press of his thumb against your lips, moving it to gently trace your bottom lip. “Don't say another negative thing about yourself, please. I love you, Y/N. Just the way you are.”

“I... I love you too, Bill.”

You looked up at him, eyes glistening with tears that began to form from the sudden burst of happiness flowing through you. Bill wiped away a tear that fell, a soft smile forming on his lips. He knew they were tears of happiness, not sad tears. A sudden wave of confidence washed over him and he leaned down to press his lips to yours, moving them in such a passionate, loving way that it took your breath away. You stepped closer to him, reaching one of your hands up to rest against his cheek, your lips moving in sync with his. After several seconds you both had to break the kiss to catch your breath, leaning your foreheads against one another.

“Y/N...” Bill whispered, eyes locking on yours.

“Yes?”

“I've... I've been wanting to ask you this for many, many years.”

You bit your lip, already having an idea of what he was about to ask you.

“Will you be my girl? My partner in crime? The woman I plan to spend the rest of my life with?”

You nodded your head rapidly, a happy sob escaping your lips.

“Yes, Bill, I will!”

He sighed in relief, pulling you in for another kiss.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his fingers tracing the outline of your jaw.

“I love you too,” you blushed. “So shall we continue searching for something to wear for the premiere of your biggest movie yet?”

“That would probably be a good idea,” he chuckled.

You smiled, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before moving to sift through the rest of the vests on the rack. Eventually, you came across an orange-poppy and blue colored zigzag printed vest and held it up, a questioning look in your eyes. He gave you a wide grin, nodding his head.

“Yes. That's it, that's the one. I already even have a shirt to wear with it.”

“Perfect! I'm glad you like my choice,” you giggled.

“Mmhm. Now it's time to find a dress for you to wear. Nothing too fancy, but something that will blow everyone away by your beauty.”

“And that sorta matches what you're wearing?”

“Maybe color wise,” he chuckled.

You smiled, walking back over to him to hand him the vest.

“Shall I check out the dress section while you buy your vest?”

“Yeah, see if you can find anything that'll go with the colors. If there's nothing here, there are plenty of other shops we can check out.”

“Sounds good to me,” you grinned.

You headed for the dress section, looking through all the dresses in your size, but nothing really caught your attention. You let out a defeated huff, walking over to where Bill was just finishing up at the register.

“No luck?”

You shook your head with a sigh.

“That's alright. We have plenty of other places to check.”

“Okay,” you smiled.

The two of you left the shop and headed for another one. It took you several shops before you finally found the perfect dress. You brought it over to Bill, a wide grin on your face.

“How's this? I think it matches perfectly with the orange color in your vest. At least I think it's orange...” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“I'd say it's some sort of a poppy-like orange, yeah,” he chuckled. “But yes I think it'll work. It'll give a little more emphasis to my outfit when you're next to me.”

“Perfect!” You squealed, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “I'll go buy this now.”

“Okay babe,” he chuckled, pecking your lips.

You walked over to the front register, handing the dress to the cashier behind the counter.

“Beautiful dress,” she smiled. “What's the special occasion?”

“A movie premiere,” you grinned. “My boyfriend's new movie is hitting theaters next month, but I get to go with him for the premiere of it.”

Just the thought of Bill finally being your boyfriend made you sigh happily. This was a day you always dreamed of, but never thought would actually come true.

“That sounds wonderful. I'm sure you'll have a great time.”

“Yeah! I'm excited for him,” you smiled, handing her your credit card so she could run it through.

Bill walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. You smiled up at him, resting your head against his chest. The cashier handed you your card back and stared up at Bill.

“Well, you failed to mention that your boyfriend is Bill Skarsgård.”

“Oh,” you giggled softly. “Sorry.”

“That's okay. I'm sorry, I'm just a big fan. You were amazing in Hemlock Grove.”

“Thank you! That means a lot,” he grinned. “Here.”

He grabbed a blank piece of paper that sat on the counter and signed it with a pen from his back pocket. The cashier's eyes brightened up and a huge smile crossed her face.

“Wow! Thank you so much!”

“No problem at all. Keep that in a safe place,” he winked.

She nodded happily, handing you your dress which she placed in a bag, as well as your receipt.

“Thank you!” You beamed, taking Bill's hand in yours and walking with him out of the store. You made your way back to his car and placed both your bags in the trunk. You couldn't wait to wear the dress to the premiere. You knew already that you were going to look amazing in it, but all you cared about was how Bill looked at you while you wore it. “I can't wait for the premiere. It's going to be a great night, I just know it.”

“It's going to be a great night because you're going to be there to experience it with me,” he added.

You blushed, reaching to grab his hand once more.

“I love you, Bill.”

“I love you too, Y/N. More than you could ever imagine.”

He brought your hand up to his lips, lightly brushing them against your knuckles. A content sigh escaped your own lips and all you wanted was for this moment to last forever, which in your mind, it would.

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junker-town · 7 years

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The 27 best moments from the 2017 NBA Finals

From Rihanna, to 3-1 leads, to deleted “Cavs in 7” tweets, the NBA Finals held plenty of surprises.

Look, the basketball: it was good. But, with the exception of a wild Game 4, the NBA Finals unfolded as expected: The Warriors dominated and destroyed the Cavaliers, despite Cleveland’s best efforts.

While the final result wasn’t surprising, we did have some twists and turns along the way. From Rihanna’s appearance, to J.R. Smith’s deleted tweet, to KD and Steph’s moms dancing after a win, here are the best moments of the 2017 NBA Finals.

1. When Rihanna won Game 1

Rihanna showed up courtside and walked by Jeff Van Gundy, who was all of us when he yelled, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

Things only got better from there. Rihanna’s a huge LeBron fan, so she bowed to him during the game at one point, then turned around to dab on the fans who told her to sit down. Never tell Rihanna to sit down.

Amazing. Rihanna bows to LeBron then hits a dab and small waves a Warriors fan telling her to sit down. http://pic.twitter.com/q0IyIPIbGK

— Rob Perez (@World_Wide_Wob) June 2, 2017

Not long after, Rihanna’s long time friend and assistant Jenn Rosales yelled out “BRIIIICK” during a Durant free throw. Durant then appeared to stare Rihanna down after nailing a three-pointer, though that depends on who you ask. He wouldn’t confirm or deny. But, I mean ... show me a world in which Rihanna doesn’t get in someone’s head, and I’ll show you a world in which a current NBA team can beat the Warriors.

Steph Curry tried to play it off like Rihanna didn’t have everyone completely shaken, saying that she’s never been on a Warriors locker-room playlist. Which is clearly their loss: There are few songs inspire the vanquishing of enemies like Desperado.

2. When it came out that LeBron and KD once recorded a rap song together

The track is ... something. I mean, it’s not good. I mean, it’s bad. Let’s hope these guys don’t quit their day jobs to pursue their art anytime soon.

Here's the Lebron James-Kevin Durant secret track! 1 million retweets to release the whole song! @espn @NBA @CBSSports @SInow @SportsCenter http://pic.twitter.com/4oCIEHsSJP

— Spider Studios (@SpiderStudiosOH) June 5, 2017

3. When Jay Z taught the world how to take a truly great candid photo

He’s a pro.

4. When we learned that JaVale McGee has a hairless cat named Raja

Where were you when you realized that JaVale McGee not only owns a sphynx cat named Raja, but has created an Instagram account for her?

Where were you when you realized she gets massages?

Shoutout to @sootheapp for the massage.... Mike W. has magic fingers... #sphynxkitten #sphynx #sphynxcat #spynxlair #sphynxlove #sphynxcat #spynxtagram

A post shared by RAJA (@rajathesphynx) on Mar 11, 2016 at 3:02pm PST

5. When we all got to meet LintBron James

I am not in the business of being speechless, but this sculpture made out of 30 pounds of dryer lint rendered me completely mute.

LintBron James. She said she made this out of 30 pounds of dryer lint. http://pic.twitter.com/brkeeITHYn

— J.A. Adande (@jadande) June 7, 2017

Breathtaking.

6. When the dude washing the court pulled off the most incredible scooting motion America has ever seen

But you’ll just have to take a look and decide that for yourself.

7. When KD and Steph’s moms got super amped together after their sons won Game 3

Do you know how incredible it feels to watch your son torch another team in the NBA Finals? Unless your son is an NBA player, then no, you don’t. Seems pretty great, if this video of Sonya Curry and Wanda Durant celebrating after their sons won Game 3 is any indication.

MAMA CURRY AND MAMA DURANT ARE HYPE

A post shared by NBC SPORTS BAY AREA (@nbcsauthentic) on Jun 7, 2017 at 8:55pm PDT

8. When Mark Jackson said “full steam of head” instead of “full steam ahead”

LOL! I could be wrong (gotta check the facts) but I’m pretty sure this was the greatest mix up in the history of the English language. “Play it by year” and “in egg shell sits Deio” have nothing on “full steam of head.”

Slightly related: Highly recommend saying “that train has sailed” or “whatever toots your boat” in everyday conversation. Really kicks people for a loop.

9. When Kyle Korver dunked and Draymond Green smiled

Even Draymond Green liked Kyle Korver's dunk. ( Kyle Terada-USA Today) http://pic.twitter.com/wmYb003B5Z

— SB Nation (@SBNation) June 8, 2017

Look, it’s not every day that we get a Korver dunk, OK? Even Draymond realized this was something special to behold.

10. When Steph Curry appeared to maybe pretend to poop on the court and then said he didn’t (I know, I can’t believe this is where we are, either)

There was this whole thing where Steph squatted down on the court at one point during Game 3, and everyone was like, “Oooooh Steph mimed pooping on the floor!”

So a reporter asked about it:

“Steph, I’m sorry we keep asking you about squatting, but while Draymond and Steve were arguing with the ref and one of them got the technical, it looked like you squatted down. And were you just stretching there, and what did Richard Jefferson say to you?”

“Are you serious right now?” Curry said to the reporter.

“You got to be better,” Durant added.

Sports writers, folks.

11. When Jeff Van Gundy defended Khloe Kardashian?

JVG went on this whole soliloquy about how people should stop saying that Khloe is the reason Tristan Thompson has been playing badly. JVG: not a fan of the Kardashian Kurse.

12. When Dwyane Wade showed up in a track suit to Game 4, and the internet roasted him for it

Everybody had jokes when D. Wade appeared on the sidelines dressed like Usher.

Ready for Game 4 of the #NBAFinals... @stephenasmith, @DwyaneWade & @SHAQ! http://pic.twitter.com/lcLP3FzBhd

— NBA (@NBA) June 10, 2017

13. When Draymond did or didn’t get a technical for elbowing Iman Shumpert in the head

I mean, he did. But then when he got another technical, the refs said that the first technical was supposed to be on Steve Kerr, so Draymond didn’t end up getting tossed out of the game. Which is totally fine and normal and not at all something that would make anyone suggest the NBA is in anyway (to quote Ayesha Curry) “absolutely rigged for money.”

14. This goddamn self-alley-oop from LeBron James ...

LeBron makes me hyperaware of my physical limitations. How do you DO THIS in the middle of a GAME?!

15. ... which J.R. Smith credited to the fact that LeBron is a Gatorade Baby

JR in LeBron's self alley-oop: 'He's a Gatorade baby. He was made in a lab somewhere.' http://pic.twitter.com/41CEC3Trfx

— Sports Illustrated (@SInow) June 10, 2017

What on God’s green Earth is a Gatorade Baby, J.R.? The “made in a lab” part I largely agree with, given what LeBron can do, but the Gatorade part is giving me pause. Maybe J.R. is referring to those 90s ads where Mia Hamm ran around to that “Everything you can do I can do better” song.

Or maybe this doesn’t make sense nor mean anything, but we’re going to roll with it because it’s J.R.

16. When the third quarter of Game 4 turned into a WWE match

LeBron and KD mouthed off at each other, Draymond almost got ejected ... we were one metal ladder away from Undertaker coming out of retirement to drop Kerr with a piledriver.

17. When the Warriors blew a 3-0 lead and the internet exploded with 3-1 lead jokes

They wrote themselves. And namely consisted of: Remember that time the Warriors blew a 3-1 in the 2016 Finals with the first-ever unanimous MVP?

18. When Draymond basically called all of Cleveland stupid

I mean, if you’re going to play games like WWE matches, you can’t begrudge Draymond for really leaning into his role as a heel.

Cavs fans don't like Draymond. The feeling is mutual.

A post shared by SB Nation (@sbnation) on Jun 9, 2017 at 10:32pm PDT

19. When Snoop Dogg showed up to Game 5 dressed like Merlin

Maybe he didn’t get the memo that D.C. wasn’t in the finals, because he was doing his best Wizard impression.

Snoop x 40 Water x Stephen A http://pic.twitter.com/dWMcogXFDk

— Bay Area Sports Guy (@BASportsGuy) June 13, 2017

20. When LeBron dunked KD through space and time back to Oklahoma City in Game 5

The laws of physics don’t apply when you’re LeBron James.

21. When David West and Tristan Thompson got into a fight and accidentally kissed in Game 5

Things got heated on the court when West rebounded a layup that Kyrie missed in the second quarter of Game 5, and then Kyrie tried to take the ball back. West snapped, then Thompson got involved, and then all hell broke loose when the two big basketball men appeared to kiss each other before refs and teammates separated them.

The Bachelorette might’ve gotten pushed from Monday night because of Game 5, but at least we still got a make out. It raised the very important question: Is kissing on the court a technical foul?

22. When the intimate moments continued, and Draymond caught Klay and held him up in Game 5

“Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna turn around and desert youuuu...”

23. When the Warriors pulled away like a getaway car leaving a bank, went up 122 to 110 with three and a half minutes left, and we were all like, oh, that’s right. The Warriors have Kevin Durant. And this is all over. And it’s ending just the way we thought it would, only one game later, so we still got to make our 3-1 lead jokes, and now we can all go to sleep and wake up next June when the Warriors are in the Finals again

^That’s all I have to say about that.

24. When Wanda Durant also deserved to get a ring

KD and the real MVP ❤️ http://pic.twitter.com/LSPNrz00nO

— SB Nation (@SBNation) June 13, 2017

25. OK, fine, here’s a celebration picture because KD’s mom is in it

Photo by Ezra Shaw/Getty Images

26. And the best GIF of all time, maybe

When it’s a school night but ur parents let u stay out past ur bedtime http://pic.twitter.com/yUP8jMvXMH

— Pete Blackburn (@PeteBlackburn) June 13, 2017

Congrats, Warriors, on the basketball.

27. And finally, here it is, the best moment of the Finals: When J.R. Smith tweeted and then deleted “Cavs in 7”

Minutes after Game 3 ended, a tweet appeared on J.R. Smith’s timeline that said “Cavs in 7.” He or someone else deleted the tweet after it had racked up close to 40,000 retweets.

In the parking lot after the game, J.R. claimed he was hacked (classic) but that he agreed with whoever sent it.

Who knows. Maybe J.R. sent it. Maybe J.R. was hacked. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. Because that transparency — whether it was Russell Westbrook’s pettiness, or Draymond’s taunts, or the Celtics showing up to Game 6 against the Wizards in D.C. wearing all black — was what kept us on our toes this NBA season. We all knew what would happen. We all expected to be here. It was the little dramas, the glorious gossip, the deleted tweets that gave it life.

So here’s to next season. The Warriors just dunked on a year’s worth of 3-1 lead jokes, and it’s hard to imagine a world in which we don’t find ourselves right back here when June comes around again. So, to that I say: Cavs in 7, Gatorade babies.

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