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waitimcomingtoo · 3 months

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Come See About Me

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Synopsis: Tom realizes he got you all wrong and slowly falls as he learns more about you during the press tour

Masterlist

“Oh shoot. I’m press with Y/n all week.” Tom said as he read an email from his team.

“Is that a bad thing?” Harry asked him.

“Not necessarily. I just don’t really know her that well. She was super reserved on set for the few days I shot with her. I wonder why they paired me with her.”

“Well, you’re the same age, right? The movie team probably just want to start romance rumors for publicity.”

“I don’t think that will happen. I barely got to know her during filming. I doubt anyone will see chemistry between us.” Tom replied. He started pacing around his hotel room and felt uncharacteristically nervous for the day ahead.

“Well for your sake, let’s hope you don’t see chemistry between you either.” Harry snorted.

“How do you mean?” Tom frowned.

“You know how messy relationships in the public eye can be. Just don’t go falling in love with this girl, okay? I do not want to watch you pine after your dark and mysterious costar.” Harry warned him.

“Psh. I won’t fall in love with her. That would never happen.” Tom scoffed and continued scrolling through his phone. He ended up on Instagram and saw that you had recently posted a photo. It was just a simple selfie in your hotel room which was probably just a few doors down from Tom’s. He found himself smiling and gave the photo a like. He may not have gotten to know you on set, but there’s no reason he couldn’t get to know you now.

“But if I did, why would that be bad?” Tom asked as he deep stalked your Instagram.

“The way I see it, there are two outcomes if you choose to pursue her. Option one is you get swept up in the excitement of promoting the movie and start reading into every little interaction between the two of you because that’s what the public is doing. So you convince yourself you’re in love with her and maybe she’ll even convince herself of the same thing. But once the press tour is over and you get to be with each other without any reason or purpose, you realize you never actually liked each other. And that’ll just end up breaking both your hearts. Even worse if only one of you realizes you never actually liked the other. God. That would be a nightmare.” Harry shivered.

“Okay.” Tom said slowly. “That was oddly specific. So what’s the other outcome?”

“You fall in love with her on this press tour and then it ends before you get a chance to tell her. So she flies off to film another movie and you’re stuck kicking yourself for not being honest with her sooner. And I’m stuck watching you whine about it.” Harry said simply.

“Or, hear me out, secret third option.” Tom proposed. “I fall for her and she falls for me and we have a great relationship. And maybe it lasts and maybe it doesn’t. But at least we gave it a shot. That could happen, right?”

“Maybe. But either way, she’s getting on a plane at the end of this press tour. And you can’t fall in love with someone who’s worlds away. Remember that.” Harry reminded him.

“I’m not gonna fall in love with her.” Tom insisted.

“Promise?” Harry asked skeptically.

“Yeah. Promise.” Tom said weakly. He looked at your picture one more time before shutting his phone off.

The next morning, Tom got into a black van that was going to take the cast to the building where the interviews were taking place. You got into the car shortly after with a huge smile on your face that Tom had never seen before. You were in a nice dress and full glam already, unintentionally earning yourself Tom’s full attention.

“Good morning.” You said enthusiastically as you sat in the seat beside him. He was slightly taken aback by how friendly you were being since he had only ever seen you being quiet and reserved.

“Oh, hello.” He smiled in surprise. “Good morning to you too, darling. How are you doing?”

“I’m really excited for today.” You admitted. “I haven’t done a big press tour like this before. I know they can be a little boring and repetitive but I can’t wait.”

“Yeah. These tours are pretty crazy. You get to see a lot of amazing places which is really cool. But you also get to answer the same question 100 times a day for a month straight. You’ll learn the highs and the lows pretty soon.”

“I’m ready for it all. But thanks for the warning. I appreciate any tips I can get.” You chuckled.

“You’re welcome. And don’t worry. You’ll get used to waking up at the crack of dawn and having a bunch of people you’ve never met poke you with makeup and hair stuff.”

“When?” You asked through a yawn. “Because I have a full face of makeup on before my brain is fully awake and it feels so very, very wrong.”

“Not soon enough.” He sighed. “I’ve learned to stay half asleep while the nice ladies apply my concealer.”

“Oh, so this complexion isn’t natural?” You teased and pointed to his face.

“Nope. You’re not the only one in full glam right now, darling.” He humored you, making you laugh.

“Careful. You don’t know if you can’t trust me yet. I might sell that piece of bad boy information to a news site and get you exposed.” You warned. It was Tom’s turn to laugh and he felt amazed that he had never seen this side of your personality before.

“I hope you don’t. I was just about to say that I’m glad I can share your first big press tour with you but now I feel we may have begun an enemies arch.”

“No. We can’t be enemies.” You whined playfully. “Because I was gonna say that I’m glad you’re here too. You always seem so relaxed and funny in interviews. I’m really hoping I don’t come off as nervous as I feel today.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t. It’ll feel just like a conversation.” He assured you. He was pleased to know you were a watcher of his interviews and wondered what else he’d uncover about you that day.

“Thank. I really appreciate you helping me with all this.”You said sincerely.

“It’s no trouble. If you have any other questions, just ask. I’ll help wherever I can.” He told you.

“Thanks, Tom.” You smiled at him. He smiled back and suddenly remembered what Harry had said the night before about not falling in love with you. Tom was just one conversation in and already struggling to keep his promise.

Once the van arrived at the building, you and Tom had makeup touch ups and were then sent into the junket room.

“Wow. I haven’t seen the poster yet.” You gasped and touched the poster with gentle fingertips. Tom watched you admiring it and smiled when he saw how proud you looked.

“You look good up there. I hope to see you on more posters.” He said and nudged you slightly.

“Like in Playboy?” You asked and looked insulted.

“What?” Tom gulped. “No, no, no. I didn’t-“

“I’m just messing with you.” You cut him off and nudged him back. He felt his hearts too racing and cracked a smile.

“You really had me for a second there, darling. I didn’t realize you had such a sense of humor. I guess I never heard you say much on set.”

“Thats because I found it hard to shake my character after filming all day. I guess I’m not used to separating that yet. I loved my character and all but I’m so glad to be done shooting her. She’s so dark and dramatic. It really affected my mood on set.” You told him as you both sat down in your chairs.

“Oh, wow. So you’re not quiet? You were just in character?”

“Quiet? I’ve never been described as quiet.” You laughed. “I was just in my emo phase on set because the material I was shooting was so dark. It bummed me out all day.”

“But you’re not bummed out today?” He asked with a coy smile.

“Fuck no. I’m ready to party.” You whispered to him just as the journalist came in. He burst out laughing at the unexpected expletive and earned himself a look from the journalist.

“Well alright then.” He chuckled.

That was the first of many times you made Tom laugh that day. The more interviews you did together, the more he learned about you and your personality. He paid attention to every anecdote and personal story you shared and was more and more fascinated each time.

When it came time for day two of the press tour, he could not wait to get back in there with you. The interviews were in the hotel that day and Tom got to the junket room first. When you got there, you handed him a hot cup of tea.

“For you.” You smiled and sat beside him. Tom looked at you curiously and you gestured for him to sip it. He took a sip and widened his eyes when he tasted it.

“This is exactly how I take my tea.” He said incredulous.

“I know. I was listening when you ordered at breakfast yesterday.” You said proudly.

“Thank you, darling. I really appreciate that.” He smiled fondly at you before taking another sip.

“Well I wanted to thank you for all your help yesterday.” You smiled shyly. “I was really nervous yesterday until we talked in the car. You made my first press day really memorable. So I did the normal courtesy of eavesdropping on you and brought you your favorite tea.”

“That was very kind of you. And you made my day yesterday a lot better than I was expecting so I should be thanking you too.”

“Then I’ll loudly tell someone else my favorite way to drink tea so that you can eavesdrop and surprise me.” You joked as the journalist walked in.

“How are you guys doing today?” The journalist asked to start the interview.

“I’m doing really well now that Y/n brought me tea.” Tom answered and took another sip.

“I’m also doing really well but because Tom didn’t bring me tea.” You said and looked at Tom to see if he found it funny.

“Why would that make you happy?” He laughed.

“Because I hate tea.” You shrugged.

“What? Don’t you know that is the worst thing you can say to an English person? And you just told me you had a favorite tea.”

“That was a joke. I actually hate tea.” You admitted.

“How can anyone hate tea?” Tom asked in exasperation.

“It’s just like hot, flavored water. I don’t understand what’s good about it. I hate soup too.“

“Soup too?” Tom gasped and pretended to clutch his petals.

“I think soup is so nasty. Why would I ever want to eat hot blended food?”

“If you hate soup and you hate tea, then what do you do when you’re sick?”

“I watch Fantastic Mr. Fox under my covers like a normal person.” You answered, making him laugh.

“This is very disturbing information to learn so early in the morning. You’ve surprised me, darling.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this.” You shrugged with a laugh.

The next day, Tom was pleased to see you already waiting in your chair for the interview to start. You were texting on your phone but looked up when he came into the room. Your makeup artists was touching up your lipstick so you couldn’t smile at him and opted for a wink. He found himself blushing at the wink and sat beside you.

“Morning, darling.”

“Good morning. No tea today?” You teased.

“I’ve already had my tea, for your information. I chugged it while I got my makeup done.”

You laughed but he wasn’t actually kidding about getting his makeup done. He was just happy that it made you laugh. Your makeup artists finished up and you checked your makeup in your phone camera.

“You look pretty.” Tom said before he could stop himself. You looked over at him in surprise before smiling.

“Why, thanks. So do you.” You said and shot him another wink. He blushed and looked down at his lap at the compliment.

“God, I’m gonna be thinking about lunch this entire interview.” You whispered to him.

“You didn’t eat at the craft service table?”

“I can’t eat that early in the morning.” You waved your hand. “It makes me nauseous. Now I’m wishing I did though. My kingdom for a cheese stick.”

“I hate cheese.” Tom grimaced.

“What? Even in stick form?” You asked him.

“Even in stick form.” He humored you. “And you can’t judge me because you hate the two most comforting foods on earth.”

“I’m judging you so hard right now.” You mumbled. Tom laughed as an idea came to him.

Before your next interview, Tom made a quick stop at the bakery across the street. You were already in the room waiting to start by the time he got back. He quickly fixed his hair before holding out a little brown paper bag.

“For you.” He said with a bashful smile.

“What is this?” You asked as you took the bag.

“Open it.” He said as he sat beside you. You gave him a curious look before opening the bag.

“Scone?” You gasped and looked up at him.

“Scone!” He smiled proudly.

“You got me a scone? Why?” You wondered and took the stone out of the bag.

“Because it was easier to find than a cheese stick.” He chuckled.

“I love you.” You cupped his chin before taking a bite of the scone. Tom froze and felt his face turn bright red at your words. You realized he had gone quiet and looked over at him.

“Sorry. Was it too soon to say that?” You asked with a mouthful of scone.

“I think so. Aren’t you supposed to wait three months?” He chuckled and touched a cold hand to his burning face.

“Too bad. The introduction of the scone sped up our relationship and now we’re in love.” You shrugged and took another bite. Tom laughed again and looked down at his laugh.

“So, uh, speaking of our relationship. Have you seen the way fans have been shipping us since our last few interviews hit the Internet? How weird is that?” He said and forced a laugh. He didn’t actually find it weird, he just wanted it see how you felt about the possibility of a relationship.

“I was actually deep into the fan edits last night to be perfectly honest with you.” You said through a laugh.

“Were you?” He asked in surprise.

“I was. And I heard that we’ve been secretly dating since May. Did you know that?”

“I did. I forgot to tell you. I’m sorry, darling. It must’ve slipped my mind.” He played along.

“That’s okay. I can’t be mad at you since you blessed me with a scone.”

The journalist came in once you had finished your scone and the interview began. Tom was barely paying attention to the questions and only focused on hearing your answers. He loved that he wasn’t getting to learn new things about you that he was too shy to ask.

“Unpopular opinion?” The journalist asked.

“A lot of people think cats are girls and dogs are boys but the real take here is that all seagulls are boys.”

“Woah, what? What makes all seagulls boys?” Tom asked you.

“A girl would never act like that.” You said simply, making Tom laugh.

“My unpopular opinion is that Y/n’s best movie is Look Mom, No Hands.” Tom said, making you burst out laughing.

“I know you did not just bring up my Disney Chanel original movie from when I was 11.”

“Yes I did. Because I watched it last night and I cried when you made the winning goal even after your glasses broke from the soccer ball hitting you in the face.”

“Oh my God.” You laughed. “The drama.”

“It was! The opposing team totally kicked it into your face on purpose because they knew you were the underdog. But nevertheless, she persisted. You made the winning goal and your team won the championship.”

“Wow. Way to spoil my movie from 15 years ago. And why were you even watching that?”

“Because I needed to know who I was working with everyday. It’s a part of your lore. Now that I know you’ve starred in a DCOM, I know I can trust you.”

“I was not the star. Bridget Mendler was the star. I was just the quirky best friend.” You reminded him, making Tom laugh.

“Well you were the only one I was looking at, okay darling? You were the star for me.” He said as he looked over at you. You smiled at his answer and nodded your head.

“Good answer. Favorite snack?” The journalist asked.

“Oh no. You’re gonna think I’m weird.” You smiled sheepishly.

“What? I could never, darling. What is it?” Tom asked and turned in his chair to face you.

“I put mustard on popcorn.” You grimaced.

“What the hell?” Tom’s nose scrunched in disgust.

“See! I knew you’d think I was a little freak.”

“Mustard? On popcorn? Why would anyone do that?”

“You’re thinking it’s worse than it is. Yellow mustard on lightly salted popcorn is really good, okay? Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“You’re gonna have to make it for me. Because I cannot imagine it’s good.” Tom shook his head.

“If I can get my hands on some mustard during this press tour, I will be at your door in a heartbeat.”

“It’s a date.”Tom replied, making you smile.

“It better be.” You answered, and he returned the smile.

Tom was fully in it now. Every second that he wasn’t with you, you were the only thing on his mind. You started spending your evenings together and grabbed dinner every night after your interviews. He was falling fast and getting worse and worse at hiding it. He posted a photo of the two of you that the paparazzi had taken while you were out to dinner and captioned it “I’d wait out in the cold all night just to take pictures of her too”. He tagged you and it wasn’t long before you were in his comments saying “he’s so obsessed with me it’s honestly embarrassing”. He smiled at the comment and wrote back “yes, and?” before going to bed.

The press tour was coming to an end and on the last day, Tom walked into the junket room to find only one chair in the room.

“Oh. No Y/n?” Tom asked his manager.

“Nope. Solo interviews today.” They replied. Tom faked a smile and sat in his chair. He hoped his disappointment wasn’t as obvious as it felt as he gave the interview alone. He did a few more solo interviews throughout the day and eventually got to his last one. It wasn’t long before the door opened up and you walked into the room with Tom’s water bottle.

“Hi. I’m crashing. Sorry.” You smiled sheepishly and walked into the room.

“That’s quite all right. Do you want a chair?” The journalist asked you.

“I’m good.” You smiled politely and sat on Tom’s knee. He immediately blushed and looked up at you.

“What are you doing here, darling?” Tom grinned.

“I finished early so I brought you juice.” You said and handed him the water bottle.

“What? No way.” He smiled in appreciation and opened up the water bottle to see apple juice inside.

“Juice!” You cheered.

“Juice!” He echoed. “Thank you, darling. What a nice surprise.”

“Well I had to get you back for the scone.“ You told him.

“So Tom, I have to ask about your Instagram post from yesterday. You tagged Y/n in an interesting place, Tom. Care to comment on that?” The journalist asked now that you had joined the interview.

“He tagged me there because it’s where you can usually find me.” You chuckled.

“Wait, I’m lost? Where did I tag her?” Tom asked. You and the journalist exchanged a look before you pulled out your phone to show Tom his own post from the night before. He had accidentally tagged you right on his crotch, making him turn red when he saw his mistake. And when he pieced together what you meant by what you had just said, he turned even redder.

“Oh my God. I swear, I’m just Instagram stupid. I didn’t mean to tag her there.” Tom explained.

“Yes he did. He tagged me in my location. Because that’s where I am.” You kept up the joke just to tease him.

“Where?” The journalist laughed.

“On Tom’s dick.” You shrugged. Tom covered his red face with his hands as you and the journalist laughed.

“People know that about me. If they can’t find me, they don’t ask “hey where’s Y/n?” because they already know where I am. It’s my happy place. My sanctuary. My home away from home.” You continued.

“No. No more. My mum watched these.” He playfully scolded you.

“Hey, you started this.” You reminded him.

“And I’m ending it.”

“Actually, I’m the one who has to end it. That’s all the time we have. Thanks guys.” The journalist said. The last interview was done, meaning the press tour was officially over. You stood up and adjusted your skirt before looking at Tom. He smiled softly but felt his disappointment return. The tour was over which meant today was his last day with you. He knew you’d keep in touch, but it would never be like this again, and that’s made him sad.

Instead of wallowing in his sadness, Tom did something about it. He stopped by the corner store before making his way to your hotel room. In his way there, he ran into his brother Harry. Harry took one look at the bag of popcorn in his hands and knew what was happening.

“You fell in love with her, didn’t you?” Harry snorted.

“Shut up.” Tom groaned. “I can still fire you.”

“You did the one thing you said you wouldn’t do. Now look at you. One your way to eat the most American combination of foods I have ever seen. You’re a disgrace to your homeland.”

“I couldn’t help it, okay? She made me fall for her. It’s all her fault, really. Now leave me alone. I have a girl to surprise with a disgusting snack.” Tom said and went on his way. He took a deep breath before knocking on your door. You opened your door for him and he held up his bag of supplies.

“Hey, you. What’s this?”You raised an eyebrow.

“Mustard and popcorn. You little freak.” He said with a teasing smile. Your lips curved into a smile as you stared at him.

“Get in here.” You instructed.

He went into your room and shut the door behind him as you poured the bag popcorn into two bowls. He did his best to hide his disgust as you squirt mustard over them both.

“Here. You’re gonna love this.” You said as you handed him his bowl.

“It smells like mustard.” He grimaced.

“Well, that’s 50% of the ingredients.”

“Okay. I’m doing it. I’m eating one.” He said and popped a mustard covered piece of popcorn into his mouth. You watched him as he chewed it and could tell he hated it.

“Well?” You asked.

“I’m gonna throw up.” He answered.

“Spit it out.” You laughed.

“No. You like this so I’m gonna force myself to like it too.” He said a begrudgingly swallowed the popcorn. You laughed at him but your smile slowly faded and you looked a little upset.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked you.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling kinda down tonight.” You told him.

“You are? What’s bothering you?”

“I guess I’m just sad the tours over. I don’t like when things end.” You admitted with a sad smile.

“I’m sad it’s over too. They usually exhaust me but I don’t know. I particularly enjoyed this one.” Tom replied sheepishly without meeting your eyes.

“You did?” You asked as you ate your popcorn.

“I did. Mostly because I enjoyed getting to know you.” He admitted and finally looked up at you. You smiled in surprise and scooted closer to him. Tom gulped and looked down at his lap. The tour was officially over so if he didn’t want you to get on a plane without ever knowing how he felt, he was gonna have to speak now.

“You know, before the tour started, my brother made me promise that I wasn’t gonna fall for you.” Tom admitted.

“What?” You laughed softly. “Why would he make you promise that?”

“I don’t know. He said it would only end in two ways.” Tom said and looked into your eyes with a sheepish smile.

“Which were?” You wondered.

“We get caught up in the excitement of the movie so we start a fling and then breakup when the tour ends.”

“Well that didn’t happen. So what was the other option?”

“I fall for you and never tell you. And the tour ends and you get on a plane and I regret it for the rest of my life. But I guess that option didn’t happen either since I told you.” He said as he never dropped your gaze. You stared into his eyes for a moment as you processed what he had just admitted.

“Well, what if there was a secret third option?”

“Secret third option?” Tom asked with intrigue.

“I mean, just because the tour is ending that doesn’t mean it has to be the end of you and me, does it?” You said and leaned in even closer.

“It doesn’t?” He gulped at your close proximity.

“I don’t think so. And look. You bought me food. That makes this is our first date.” You explained as you held up your bowl of popcorn.

“Well I’m happy to hear that but don’t expect a kiss with your mustard breath.” Tom mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

“What was that?” You played along.

“I said you’re so pretty and I have a giant crush on you and want us to be together.” He said quickly.

“Much better.” You smiled and popped some popcorn into your mouth.

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 2 months

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there's dirt on my face from when they buried me alive; i'll show you how to kiss, teach me how to breathe through these soil-laden lungs.

jw60 x reader: what happens at the renaissance faire does (not) stay at the renaissance faire.

(warnings: blasphemous filth (it's honestly not bad), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), idk a little hair pulling, nothing too crazy (be proud of me!), but you should be warned about the insanity that is me writing slow burn. i know i'm forgetting a lot but all my usual suspects. (please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: well, favorites, did someone say longest story yet? no, size doesn't matter, but this is getting out of hand. we're over 15k, now. next time i'm just gonna hand you a novel. happy valentine's day from the writer that loves you the most. where to begin? no, i don't know anything about faire culture or even that much about theatre, but i hope you like this anyways, because i absolutely loved writing it. i guess goalies are for the heartbreakers (and jw60 is for people who have been demonized because they're hot). this is for those of us with a little bit of a reputation, a little bit of a history. you deserve someone who thinks you look like a princess when your tits are falling out of your corset. yeah, the pacing's probably a bit off, and i got carried away with his big doe-eyes, but shh! don't tell anyone. oh, and you guys can pry bad kisser jw60 from my cold, dead hands. you know how i used to say i hope you watch the canucks and think, wow, qh43 definitely wants something that's just his? i hope you watch the leafs (when jw60 comes back) and think, wow, sweetheart doesn't know how to kiss! and with that stiff upper neck, too, poor baby! of course, please tell me what you think, because i love it when you do. what else? thank you a million times for all the love. try to spot the baby leafs in the supporting cast. and i'm about halfway done with frat!jh86 (it's fun, you'll love it). thank you for being patient with me. go canucks. until next time, all my love).

the corset was making it really, really hard to breathe. you swore, tonight, when you finally unbound yourself, there would be indentations of the small brass eyelets in your spine, perhaps that your back would slink and melt into the ground, having grown accustomed to the relentless support of the tightly-tied ribbon.

"i don't want to hear it," jenny, your best friend, said, holding a hand up to silence you before you even spoke. "you look unreal. you'll thank me for this, babe, i swear it."

you shook your head at her. "i just don't get why i have to dress like a medieval prostitute," you mused, gesturing to yourself, then her, "and you get be, uh, whatever that is."

jenny threw a hairbrush at you, which you dodged. "i'm a jester. you know this. you know how important this is to me."

you sighed, because you did. jenny had been a regular at the old renaissance faire every summer since she was little. you were about to be seniors in university, but this summer, jenny had insisted that you join her, some kind of last hurrah before you began to walk an intertwined path for what would likely be the last time.

and as much as you didn't really have any interest in jousting, or feudal society, or turkey legs, or whatever it was that people did at these things, you loved jenny enough to be grateful that she wanted to share her special place with you.

you didn't ask why she insisted on being a court jester ever year. maybe that was just her true form.

you walked over to where she sat in front of her mirror, put your hands on her shoulders. "and you're the hottest jester i've ever seen," you said, kissing her on the top of the head. "but i still can't breathe in this."

"that's the point," jenny replied, waving you off.

you had wanted to design your own costume, as costume design was quite literally your passion. you'd designed for every school play and musical since freshman year, wanted to pursue it further after college.

jenny had seemed so excited, though, and it was her day, so you let her take the reigns. the way this get-up fit you, though, the revealing upper-thigh slit, the abundance of cleavage you were sporting, the draping lacey skirts, it all had you hoping this specific faire had a strict no-men policy. you could practically already feel the weight of slimy stares on your exposed leg, the top of your chest. not to mention your face, but that was a bit of a constant, not just today.

you finished your hair and makeup, perfected the wench/heroine/damsel look. you knew yourself to be capable of all but shapeshifting, with your design and artistic abilities, but this old-timey seductress look was a spectacle, that was for sure.

jenny squealed when she saw the finished look. you cracked a smile at her ensemble, a straight-up court jester, down to the bells on her pointed hat, the face paint that matched the color scheme of her costume. "you look great," you told her.

"it's about letting my inner jest shine through," she said, "and that's why i dressed you up. so you have enough sex appeal for the two of us."

you were going to ask why there needed to be any sex appeal at all, but when you finally arrived at the sight of the faire, it became clear that that was simply part of the show.

you weren't even out of place in your revealing get-up, among all of the corsets and pants that looked like tights, not at all, although you had to give jenny credit. out of the many wenches and princesses and knights and pirates and such, your costume was especially lovely.

jenny linked her arm with yours as you passed under the tented entrance. it smelled like charcoal smoke and sugar, like wet leaves and musk.

"welcome to paradise," jenny said, a bright, genuine smile on her round face.

you couldn't help but smile, too. smile at this almost-hilarious display of the modern obsession with the past, of the unrelenting pursuit of entertainment, of the shared desire to be someone, somewhere, sometime else. this faire was just human, in a way that could be sort of somber, but in a way that you read as beautiful.

"where to first?" you asked your friend.

for hours, you let her lead you from place to place, from memory to memory.

"this is where my cousin, brett, bought his crush a leather-bound notebook," jenny said, while you perused a leather goods stand. she winced. "think she had a boyfriend, though."

you took pictures of her with different characters, let her take pictures of you with them, after. you smiled, big and cheesy, next to guys on stilts, jugglers, acrobats.

"you're gonna love this one," jenny said, pulling you into a barn that sold soaps and other handmade goods. you held a candle to your nose, inhaled, closed your eyes at the subtle combination of pine and something slightly floral.

you held it out to your friend. "try this one," you offered, picking up another one to test. you left the barn with two new candles and a hand soap for your apartment at school.

"we have to avoid archery," jenny whispered to you from behind a hand as you waited in line for giant pickles.

"why?" you asked, tilting your head at her serious expression.

"pretty sure my high school ex still runs it," she said, "and not the fun one."

you successfully avoided her ex, tried mead (honestly, how did people ever drink that), had your fortune told.

"my mom used to be the fortune teller at her local faire," jenny told you, a wistful sort of look in her eyes. "it's how she met my dad."

your heart flipped. you were a sucker for a meet-cute. "really?" you asked, "how romantic, jen. we have to do it."

jenny went first, the bell on her hat jingling with each movement. she walked away with a vague promise of new opportunities ahead and a new light to step into.

you smiled when she relayed this information to you, grabbed her hands excitedly. "a new light?" you said, "like a center-stage light? like a lead role?"

jenny's eyes widened. you'd met her freshman year in the theatre department, you a bit of a loner with a knack for a sewing machine and her a talkative actress with a beautiful singing voice.

still, after three years of productions, jenny had never had a lead role. she had a affinity for playing the side kick, the best friend, the assistant, the villain's love interest.

but no one had seen what she was capable of more than you, and you knew this year would be the year. you couldn't wait to watch her give the last bow on opening night, with you clapping from the wings.

now, jenny grinned at you. "this is the year, babe," she agreed. "now you!"

she gave you a gentle push towards the booth. the woman running it was probably somewhere between fifty and sixty. she had the face of a person who took advantage of sunny days, of someone who didn't deny herself simple pleasures, who had spent years laughing.

you felt at ease with her when she took your hand, ran her fingers along the ridges of your palm.

"rough hands, girly," she said, shooting you a lighthearted wink. "you workin' too hard, eh?"

you smiled. "just hard enough, ma'am," you told her, to which she patted your hand lightly in approval.

"you'll keep working," she told you, "but you'll find some new fun, too. sooner than you think."

you thanked her, bid her a good day. you never were one to put much stock into this kind of thing, but you'd take a little more fun any day.

when you told jenny what your fortune had been, she bumped her hip against yours. "hopefully that means a new guy," she mused.

you rolled your eyes. "don't need a guy for fun, do i?"

"'course not," she said, waving you off. "just know you, babe."

"you make it sound like i'm some depraved witch," you teased.

she laughed, pulled you by the arm to the big tent in the center of the faire. "c'mon," she said, "it's time for the joust!"

the joust was the main event of the day, you had known this coming in. it was fun, a spectacle of men on horses. you found yourself fascinated with the way they had dressed the horses up, the funny way all the actors were talking, so distracting that you barely noticed when the joust actually happened.

you still applauded and whistled along with jenny, listened to her tell a story about one joust in which the horse ran in the opposite direction, right out of the tent. you were holding your stomach in gentle laughter as you made to finish your day off at the tavern.

the sky began to melt from a blue to a burnt orange, the air hazy with heat. you could feel a day of standing in your thighs, a day of heeled boots in your calves. the makeup on your face had stayed put, but you could feel the weight of it like a halloween mask. your hair pulled at your scalp, a bit.

"hey, thanks for being such a good sport about this," jenny said as she brought you back a massive jug of beer, setting it down on the table with her own.

"what?" you said, scrunching up your face. "this is awesome, jen. thank you for inviting me."

she rolled her eyes at you, but her smile was obviously pleased. "i know it's corny, and kinda weird, but it's, i don't know." she trailed off, a misty sort of look in her eye.

you took her hand from across the table. you got what she meant. with senior year about to start, everything had a new, foreign sort of gravity to it, like it might never happen again. like you might miss it, if you didn't breathe all of it in. "i get it," you told her. "and where else am i gonna get to dress like this?"

she grinned at you as you took a sip from your jug.

"little jenny jester? is that you?"

you both turned to see an old, old man in magician's robes. jenny squealed. "magic jarod!" she said, before turning to you. "be right back," she whispered, "family friend."

"go 'head," you said, waving her on. you watched her approach the man, give him a big hug. you smiled. it was pretty cool, to know people at an event like this. to have people know you.

you sipped on your beer, quickly realized there was no way you were going to finish it. to pass the time, you people-watched, tried to guess people's relations to each other. you admired people's costumes, made mental notes of unique beading patterns or interesting pleats.

at some point, you were torn from your lulled observance by a polite cough. "is this, uh, where the plus-ones hang out?"

you turned your head to the side slightly to see the owner of that deep, pleasant voice. if you were the type to wolf-whistle, this would have been the time to do it.

something thrummed in your chest as you took in the man who stood in front of you, now. maybe it was the height, maybe the lean, working sort of bulk, maybe the soft-looking, just long enough hair. maybe it was the impossibly blue eyes that you could see even in the dim light of the tavern at dusk. maybe it was the careful, straight posture, the high cheekbones, cut jaw.

or maybe it was the fact that he was dressed in some sort of homemade prince outfit, a loose cream blouse, dark trousers, a dainty tiara-like crown atop his head.

he shifted back on his heels ever-so-slightly under your gaze, like it was something tangible, something that meant something.

in the misty, warm lighting of these low ceilings, among the dirty tables and scent of beer, he appeared deliciously out of place, like some fabled savior, some ancient temptation disguised as an angel.

you gave him a small smile, leaning into the table, just a bit. "did you also come with a jester?" you asked, teasing.

his mouth quirked, a beautiful flush blooming across his cheeks at the sound of your voice. he gave a shake of his head that shook the longer curls around his ears. "'m with the knight," he said, nodding to the person who was currently talking to a woman dressed as a pirate, who appeared very confused. to be fair, the person she was talking to was in full armor.

you gestured to the open spot across the table from you. "keep my friend's spot warm until she gets back?"

he stepped closer until he was just across from you. until you could see how long his lashes were, how big his eyes were, doe-like and boyish. how, ever since you'd first made eye contact with him, his gaze hadn't dipped to your chest even once. which was a feat, even jenny had gotten distracted a couple of times.

he made eye contact like a religion, like it was so, so significant. you took a sip of your beer. "what kind of prince are you?" you asked, leaning your heavy head on a palm.

he gave a low short of chuckle, and the sound was a rumble through your body, shook you up from the inside out. he clasped his broad hands in front of himself. "the boring kind," he said.

you shook your head, laughed. "okay, then, boring prince," you said. "what's your name?"

he licked his lips, and your eyes tracked the movement. your hands felt jittery. "joseph," he said, then asked for yours. you gave it. his kind eyes shimmered at this piece of you. "and what kind of princess are you, sweetheart?"

you laughed, bit your lip to stifle it, as you didn't want him to think you were making fun of him. but, really, in what world was this a princess costume? maybe in an adult film, but not here.

he didn't seem offended, though, just gave you a pouty look dripping with mirth. "what?" he said. you had a feeling he was rarely on the outside of an inside joke.

"it's just funny," you told him, feeling honest and open in the light of his polite gentleness. "that you think 'm dressed as a princess."

"oh, yeah?" he asked. his tiara shifted on his head. "what're you dressed as, then?"

something different wafted through the air between the two of you, something stronger than just the smell of grime and alcohol. something that felt sluggish, sparkly, seductive.

because even now, he didn't look away from your eyes. and that was, somehow, so much more intimate than some desperate once-over, one that would get caught on your chest, your thighs.

"how many princesses do you know who show this much skin?" you asked instead of answering his question. your voice had grown gravelly without your permission.

you had almost dared him to look away from your eyes, to take you in fully, in all of your corset-strapped glory.

but he didn't. which had you almost begging that he would.

"at least one," he said, a lopsided grin slanting across his face. "at least you."

"you know," you started, thought for a second. you sucked on your teeth, and his gaze flickered to your mouth for one single, almost undetectable second. a second that sparked a fire underneath you, had victory horns blaring in the distance. "you're pretty charming for a boring prince, joseph."

that pretty blush grew deeper, made his stark stature appear comfortable, warm. you wanted more of it. you wanted to know it deeply and personally.

when had you shifted so close together? the both of you leaning across the small table like it wasn't even there, breathing in the same air, sharing so politely.

you wanted to make his kind eyes simmer, make his blood run hot. you were close, you knew it, you could feel it in his exhales, in the slight tremor of his hands.

"don't think 'm the charmer between us, sweetheart," he said, low, a secret.

"we can share the title, if you want," you offered. "i'd share with you."

he hummed, shifted on his elbows, restless. "that's kind of you," he said. there was a roughness to his tone that flipped your heart in your chest, wrapped your legs up in coiling heat.

"what can i say?" you said, "you're a good influence on me."

there was a pause, during which you reached a hand up and gently adjusted his tiara so that it sat straight on his head again. you tried not to ruminate on how soft his hair was under your fingertips, pretended not to notice how his gaze draped over your face like a weighted blanket as you focused on the task.

when you withdrew your hand, he was staring at you. it felt like there was no one else in the room. "there," you said.

"straightened me out, did you?" he rasped, those doe eyes drowsy.

your mouth quirked up in a smirk. "oh, joey, i couldn't straighten you out," you said, tilting your head.

"no?" he asked, almost disappointed, not really. "what, sweetheart? 'd you be a bad influence on me?" he teased, twisting your words.

you knew you had him.

you knew you had him, so you forced aside any sensuality from your tone, your expression. "oh, fuck, i think my necklace is stuck in my hair," you said, clutching your hair, wincing like it hurt, watching concern flood his delicate features so gracefully. "know it's a lot to ask, joseph, but could you come to bathroom with me and untangle it, please?"

"of course," he said, practically before you could get it out, letting you take one of his wide, warm hands and tug him to the bathroom. once he was inside, just behind you, you locked the door, dropped your hair, both hands now free.

he appeared confused for a second. "your necklace?" he asked, but he trailed off as you placed a hand on his chest, felt the silken material of his shirt under your palm.

you peered up at him through your lashes, cocked your head. "'d you really fall for that, joey?" you asked, almost shocked.

his firm chest rose and fell under your hand, his exhales coming out shaky. "you're very persuasive," he mustered.

you hummed, relished in the heat that simmered between the two of you, full-bodied and palpable. "'m sorry i lied," you whispered, because you felt compelled to, because you had a feeling it mattered.

"'s okay," he breathed, immediate in his forgiveness, finally moving his hands from his sides to rest gently on your hips. this decision seemed to take a lot out of him, which made you smile. like his desire was heavy, like he just needed somewhere to put it down. like he wanted to touch you, so badly, but needed permission, needed someone to tell him how.

"can i be a bad influence on you for a second?" you asked him, leaned forward into his chest, "please?"

he nodded, leaned back against the door like holding his posture straight was suddenly too much to endure, let out some affirmative sound, halfway between a breath and a whimper.

you kept one hand on his chest, pressed him into the door, snaked your other hand into his hair and rooted it there. his grip on your hips tightened, now hard and strong, his own hips angling up slightly, involuntarily.

"can i kiss you?" you asked, suddenly soft, despite his sudden strength. because you had a feeling it mattered. that he mattered.

"please," he said, basically a whine, which had you fisting his shirt and tugging him down, his lips meeting yours in something like a fairytale, something heated and passionate and glutted with relief.

something heated, in the way you pulled at his hair, how his hand reached around you to pull you closer, right up against him.

something passionate, in the way your knees felt wobbly as swallowed down his sounds, swore you could feel his heartbeat under your palm.

something glutted with relief, in the way his tiara fell from his head entirely, only recognized by the dull clatter of plastic against wood, in the way neither of you pulled away, in the way it only gave you more access to him.

he tasted like mint and something slightly earthy, like peppermint candy and flaky sea salt. you much preferred this, you decided in a moment, to the taste of weed brownies and red bull that distinguished the kisses you had grown accustomed to, at school.

it was something like a fairytale, but not because it was perfect.

because it wasn't perfect, not at all. joseph was actually kind of a bad kisser, you realized. nothing crazy, nothing jarring, but the tell-tale signs of inexperience hung off of him like a too-big jacket.

moments of too-much teeth, unsure hands, a stiff neck, they made you smile against his mouth, because it was obvious he didn't let just anyone into his space like this.

so when his teeth would clash against yours, you'd simply nip at his bottom lip, playful, forgiving.

when his hands would still, uncertain, you'd just place a hand over where one of his rested, held it there, let him know you felt him, still, unwavering.

when his neck would stiffen, you'd rub at the knots with a knuckle, trace your nails over his hairline, feel a shiver erupt under your fingertips.

until he grew more comfortable in his motions, more brave in his want. desire flowed between you both like gasoline, sharp-scented and flammable. he let out an especially uninhibited groan when you brought your hand down to rest on his waistline, but the sound was engulfed by three swift knocks on the door.

"get outta there, guys," some authoritative voice called. "we're not that kind of establishment."

reluctantly, you pulled away from each other, chests heaving. the top of your chest glowed with warmth.

your prince looked delightfully disheveled. the top button of his shirt had slipped undone, his hair beautifully fussed, his cheeks ruddy, lips swollen, eyes glossy.

you knelt down, gently, picked up his plastic tiara, pushed up on your toes to place it on his head again. when you pulled back, there was something more dangerous than pure lust in his gaze.

as much fun as you knew you could have with him, and as much as you wanted to, you knew jenny would be looking for you, ready to go home. you knew joseph had his knight to attend to. knew this perfect moment that you had summoned was all but gone.

you knew the chances of seeing him again were very slim. the thought made your stomach drop, a bit. you exhaled all of your expectations, let them fall to the ground like sediment as you placed a hand on the doorknob.

he still hadn't said a word, almost in a daze. "you're going?" he asked, a husky rasp, and you could have pouted. it felt cruel, to be leaving behind such a pretty boy, one with such kind eyes.

you nodded slowly.

he just gave you a goofy sort of sad smile, tilted his crown to you like the brim of a hat. "until we meet again, trouble," he said, "you've been a lovely bad influence."

you smiled back at him, actually felt yourself blush. "and you've been a deviously good one," you said, "goodbye, joey."

and so you left him, walked away, but you could still feel his lips on yours, could feel the steadiness of his eye contact, the endearing uncertainty of his grip.

when the night ended, you had walked away from the dashing prince, the one you had pulled apart at the seams, but you knew you wouldn't forget him. your not-so-boring prince, who you couldn't even call a hookup, couldn't deem a fling, so you just knew him as your storybook kiss.

and you didn't forget him, even as the last summer days melted into early september, even as school started back up again, as classes came back into full-swing, as senior year and the countdown to graduation began.

you and jenny moved your things from your summer lease to your on-campus apartment, reunited with your friends who had been away for the summer, got all your classes and credits in order.

before you knew it, it was the first theatre department meeting, and you found yourself in the auditorium on a hot tuesday afternoon, slotting into a seat next to jenny and benji, the set designer who you had worked closely with during all your previous productions.

"good to see you, benj," you said, smiling at him.

he grinned, returned the sentiment, but tilted his head back in mock anguish. "another year of madness," he mused, "here we go again."

"our last go-around," you reminded him, elbowing him softly.

jenny made a noise, shook her head. "don't say that to me," she warned, "swear i'll start crying."

after welcoming everyone back, and building an adequate amount of suspense, the theatre director announced the fall play to be romeo and juliet.

"our department hasn't put it on since the eighties," the director exclaimed, "and i have the utmost belief that we will make it every bit the magical tragedy it is."

jenny was squeezing your hand so hard it hurt. juliet had been one of her dream roles since she was in middle school, since she had watched the movie with claire danes.

already, your head was spinning with visions of shakespearean headpieces, draping dresses, flowery imagery, blushy makeup.

beside you, benji groaned. "oh jesus," he lamented, "please, please, no castles."

you and jenny laughed. benji was one of the most talented artists you knew, and he always pulled it together before opening night, but he was a true procrastinator, tended to be a bit of a lazybones. the cast and crew loved him for it. what was an artist without a little bit of torture?

auditions were set for thursday morning, callbacks on friday, the final cast list to be posted on monday.

you didn't need to be present for any of the auditioning process, so, for the next few days, you enjoyed what you knew from experience to be your last moments of free time for the rest of the semester.

you went to office hours for your design professors, as you always did at the beginning of classes, just to introduce yourself, get yourself properly situated for academic success.

after jenny's audition on thursday, you went out, celebrated what she assured you was an astounding monologue delivery. between salted rims and blue-colored cocktails, jenny flipped her phone screen your way to show you the email that confirmed her callback tomorrow.

you squealed, shook her by the shoulders, pure excitement flowing through you. this was the year, you knew it. this was it.

nothing out of the ordinary, you let one of your friends set you up with some guy on saturday night. he was cute enough, kind of scummy, but, up until recently, he would have been exactly your type. you'd been known to go for the guys who looked like they'd been around the block, a little fratty, a little jocky. this guy, across from you, fit the bill, you could give him that.

all throughout college, you hadn't been the type to judge too harshly if a guy was a little too glued to his phone over dinner, if he had the distinct posture of someone who grew up with money, if he spoke shortly to wait staff.

for some reason, though, tonight, you felt itchy at the fact that he had a tough time looking you in the eye for more than a few seconds, felt a practically motherly concern at the way his fingers twitched towards his phone if he went more than a few minutes without looking at it.

for some reason, tonight, more so than nights before, the memory of a certain stiff-spined prince, blushing pink and thinking you were a princess, even dressed your sluttiest, danced across your mind like a waltz.

you sort of hated how his memory had kind of ruined what, a few months ago, would have been a satisfying hook-up, resented how someone you were never going to see again was dictating, to any degree, who you would go home with, but, regardless, you gave this guy across from you a terrible excuse for your need to leave, set a fiver on the table to cover your drink, hurried out the door and home.

jenny was sprawled out on her bed when you opened the door, watching some trashy reality dating show for the millionth time.

"watching it again isn't gonna make kaitlyn make the right choice," you reminded her as you set your bag down, recognizing the season from a single line of dialogue.

jenny groaned. "i can dream," she said, then fixed her eyes on you. "you look hot," she observed, "what are you doing here?"

you smiled as you began to take your makeup off. "went out with that guy chase set me up with," you explained, then sighed.

"what, did he lose his eyeballs on the way to the bar?"

you laughed, shook your head at jenny's characteristically odd wording. "nope," you said, "eyeballs intact. i just wasn't into it, i guess."

"fair enough," jenny agreed.

"it was so weird, though," you continued, "like, he was exactly what i usually go for."

"so he was a grimy slacker with a good face who has a concerning obsession with his mom?"

you gasped, feigned offense. "how dare you?" you asked, to which she giggled. "that was only twice!"

jenny rubbed at her neck. "for real though," she pushed, "what do you think is different?"

you bit your lip, thought for a moment, looked down at the cotton pad in your hand, now smudged with clumps of mascara and smears of blush. you swallowed. for some reason the sight made you slightly nauseous, some reminder of guilt or dirtiness or low self-esteem, or something like that, something you didn't really want to get into.

"you remember when you took me to the faire?" you said, still not looking at jenny.

"'course."

you exhaled. "well, when you were talking to that magician guy, i met this guy-"

jenny bolted upright from her horizontal position. "wait," she cut you off, excitement making her tone vibrate. "you mean to tell me that you met a guy at my faire, and i'm just hearing about it now?"

"sorry," you conceded, looking up to meet her eye.

"don't be," she waved you off, hugged her pillow to her chest. "i knew your costume would work!"

you rolled your eyes at her, pulled one of your knees up to your chest.

"so?" she asked, urging you on with her eyes. "tell me about him."

"he was just so fucking polite," you told her. "and so pretty. and when i made out with him in the bathroom it was like he didn't know how to kiss me, but he wanted to be good at it. so bad. like he was almost embarrassed about it." you sighed. "i don't even know why 'm still thinking about him," you told her, and it was true, sort of.

"i do," jenny told you, cracked a smile when you shot her a look. "i know everything."

"enlighten me, all-knowing jester," you said, gesturing for her to elaborate.

"you always take the scumbags, babe," she told you, "and they're fun, sure, but now you've had a taste of the teacher's pet, mom's favorite, goes to church on sunday. once you go 'good guy,' you never go back."

"i don't know," you said, skeptical, "i feel like i'm putting too much stock into this. feel like he probably doesn't even remember me."

jenny blew out a breath. "yeah right," she said, "let me tell you something."

"please."

"as much as you're feeling hooked on the good guy, right now," she said, "i can guarantee he's plagued at night by his glimpse of the dark side."

you hummed, smiled. "and i'm the dark side, in this scenario?"

"babe," jenny said, "you're not a 'bad person,' but you're a 'bad girl.'"

you pouted, but you knew what she meant. knew that you were kind, a good listener, a good friend, that you were trustworthy and patient and generous, but also that you weren't above the simple pleasures. that you weren't one to turn down a free drink, were always down to get your hands (and reputation) a little dirty, and until recently, that you were a one-night-stand frequent.

you also knew that people liked to label you as the bad girl simply because of the way you looked, the way you flirted, the way you dressed.

"whatever," you said, shrugging, acting like it didn't matter, wanting to change the subject, knowing just how to do it. "monday's the big day, right?"

jenny gushed about her callback, how that juliet role was practically hers, how she didn't want to jinx it. you told her the truth, that you couldn't imagine anyone else for the role, that they'd have to be stupid not to cast her.

and they proved to be not stupid, monday morning, when the cast list was emailed out to the department. on you way between classes, you received a face-time call from jenny before you even finished reading the full list.

"we did it!" jenny screamed as her jubilant face filled up your screen.

you couldn't help but let your face split into a grin at her excitement. "i told you," you said, "i told you! this is your year, jen. you deserve this so much." you almost felt misty-eyed. "'m so proud of you."

she looked like she actually was crying, now. "stop, babe, or you're gonna get me going," she warned. "fuck, i can't believe it. a lead role! i can't wait to wear your designs center stage!"

"i can't wait, too," you said, and you meant it.

"i know you have class, i'll let you go," she said, "see you at the meeting at four. okay, bye." she gave one last look. "our year!" she squealed as she hung up, leaving you laughing as you walked into class.

finally, it was time for the all-department meeting, your last commitment of the day, when everyone involved in the production met, now that you all knew the cast, from the leads to the directors to the stage managers to the last freshman painting sets under benji's direction.

"morrison's a night. mare," was the first thing that benji said to you as you slid into the seat next to him.

you hummed. "who's morrison?"

"one of my freshman," he explained. "his girlfriend's in the cast, said he wants to 'keep an eye on her,' whatever that means."

you scrunched up your nose. "gross," you said.

"and he sucks at everything," benji said. "'m half tempted to tell him to just stand in the corner and not touch anything."

you laughed as the director clapped his hands on the stage to get everyone's attention, launched into the typical congratulations speech. you felt jenny sit to your right with a deep breath.

"little late, eh, jen?" benji whispered.

"can it, benny," she replied, to which benji scowled. he hated when she called him that.

"and now, we'll do a full introduction," the director was saying, "from the back of the house all the way to the front. i can not emphasize enough how important it is that we, here in the theatre, trust and love everyone around us."

"i love you so much," you whispered to benji, who smirked.

"'m not interested, babe, but so flattered," was his response.

"why don't we start with our leads? jennifer and carlos, please stand and introduce yourselves."

"yeah, jennifer," you whispered, giggling into your hand. benji shook next to you.

jenny smacked you on the shoulder as carlos went. your production's romeo was a senior, too, had been in the department as long as you and your friends. you were a little surprised he had gotten the role, if you were honest, had always thought his acted grief came across as a bit shallow.

then jenny went, standing up, waving to everyone. when she was done with her introduction, no one clapped louder than you and benji, even whistling, a sound that echoed through the space.

the rest of the cast went, then all the directors and behind the scenes people. eventually, benji and his team went, followed by the costume crew.

"hi, everyone," you said, standing up, giving them all your name. "i'm the head costumer designer, and i can't wait to help all of you look like the best versions of yourselves and characters." you had used that line since sophomore year.

more people followed, eventually even the ushers went, followed by the orchestra and band.

you were friends with some of the music kids, so you tried to pay closer attention.

"'sup guys, 'm matt, on percussion," a stocky guy said, then gestured to the guy next to him. you laughed when you heard him grunt, "go, dude."

"yeah, i'm bobby," his friend, the blonde one, said, giving an awkward wave, "i, uh, play guitar."

"jesus, how does he look hotter than last spring?" benji said, putting his head in his hands, referring to the crush he had harbored on the department's guitarist for two years. you rubbed his shoulder in comfort, but a voice you recognized made your gaze snap back.

"hello, everyone, my name is joseph, i'm your new pianist, and i'm so excited to get to know you all."

the next person went to speak, but you just blinked, swallowed your disbelief down like a too-big pill.

it couldn't be him, but it was. there stood your boring prince, in a button down and khakis, this time, no tiara to be found. it made you wonder if he still had it, somewhere, maybe his bedroom, if his gaze would catch on it sometimes and he would think of you. if it would make him blush.

there he stood, hair just a bit longer, but the rest all the same as the dream boy who lived in your memory. so pretty, his words so naturally kind, you barely even noticed that he mentioned he would be the pianist for the production, too distracted by the fact that he was here, in front of you, right now.

hands on your waist, his soft groans muffled against your lips, wide doe eyes looking at you like he couldn't bear to look away, it all flashed across your mind, made you stiffen, your exhale come out short.

"you okay?" jenny whispered to you.

"that's him," you said.

"who?" her brow was furrowed, confused.

"that's him," you repeated. "the guy from the faire."

benji turned to you. "no way you let her drag you to that geek fest," he said, but you both ignored him, jenny's eyes going wide.

"that's your good guy?" she clarified. "the piano man is the bad kisser?"

"lower your voice," you warned, your voice low, serious.

benji leaned in. "you kissed bambi, over there?"

"yes, benny, keep up," jenny said, barely sparing him a look. "babe, you need to talk to him. this is fate." she snapped her fingers. "this is literally what the fortune teller was talking about, work and fun and all that."

you bit your lip, looked towards joseph again. your heart stuttered in your chest when you found him to be already looking at you. his lips quirked up in a shy smile as his fingers fluttered in a gentle wave.

you let a smile drape across your face at his recognition, his cordiality, then winked at him.

he looked at his feet, shifted lightly on his feet. you swore you could see his nervous blush from here. it made you feel like you were coated in glitter.

finally, the meeting ended with the promise of an email containing a review of all the information discussed. as everyone stood up and made for the exits, jenny gently shoved towards the front, where joseph was talking with his friends. she grabbed the elbow of benji and walked in the other direction as he muttered something about always being the last to know things.

you walked down the auditorium aisle, joseph's eyes lifting to meet yours as you got close. his smile grew boyish and bashful as he registered your approach, stepped out of his lean against the stage, brushed his palms against his pants.

there was a pause that you noted, because what exactly could you say, here? what exactly could you do?

could you say hey, matt and bobby, i don't know how you know joseph, but i made out with him in the bathroom of a ren faire tavern and haven't stopped thinking about him since?

probably not.

instead, you just smiled, asked matt and bobby how their summers were. they had been in the theatre band since sophomore year, so you were familiar with them, at least enough to know what place matt was talking about when he mentioned his vacation home and who bobby was referring to when he mentioned his buddies on the team (the both of them were on the club hockey team at school).

matt clapped a heavy hand on joseph's shoulder. "woller's on the team with us," he explained, "convinced him to fill the piano void we had after the seniors graduated."

you hummed, turned your gaze back to joseph, relished in the endearing awkwardness you found. "joey and i have met, actually," you said.

bobby shrugged. "you go to the same school, not all that surprising."

it was sort of funny, now that you thought of it, that in three years, you hadn't crossed paths with joseph one time. not once did he catch your attention in the dining hall, not once did he drop a pen in your vicinity during a lecture, never did he accidentally bump into you between classes.

you'd gone three years without seeing those blue eyes, and since that chance encounter, you hadn't stopped thinking about them.

matt seemed to be more perceptive than bobby, though, giving a slight nod in understanding. "we'll leave you to catch up, then," he said, grabbing his backpack, tossing bobby his. "see you 'round, guys."

then the auditorium was empty, except for you and joseph. like a universe that existed only for the two of you. the high ceilings seemed barely suitable to fit the mass of emotion you felt.

you kept a safe step's distance. "hi, joey," you said, softer than you meant.

his eyes shimmered at your voice, at the nickname. "hi, trouble," he said, in that tone that felt like winter sunlight, "how are you?"

of course he would ask that, hands shoved into his pockets, of course he would ask that and really mean it, really care.

"'m good," you said. "really good, now. didn't know 'f i'd see you again."

he hummed, and it felt like power, to know that you both were thinking about the last time, to know for certain he was thinking of you, pushing him up against a door.

"how are you?" you reciprocated, leaning back on your heels.

he thought for a moment, the pause fat with nostalgia, ripe with promise. "pretty nervous, if 'm honest," he told you, looked down.

you couldn't hide your delight. "like you honest," you told him, and his blush deepened. he wanted to meet your gaze, so badly, you could tell, but it was almost like he didn't trust himself to, like he might get caught there forever.

he gave a breathy sort of laugh. it made your head spin.

you stepped closer to him, which tore his eyes up to yours. his chest heaved in what might have been a relieved sigh. "do your friends know?" you asked, and your voice had grown husky, softer, only for him.

he shook his head, his eyes welling up with genuine truth, like he would never. "no," he said.

"really?" you asked, cocked your head. "don't kiss and tell, joey?"

his ears bloomed pink, like the word kiss was some kind of curse, like all of it was too much to hear aloud. it had you almost regretting saying it. almost.

when he spoke, his voice cracked, slightly. "no, uh, can't say i do, sweetheart." he said.

you gave him a smile that curled with smokiness. "did you just wanna keep it to yourself, then?" you asked, let your gaze grow hooded. "maybe keep me to yourself?"

his breathing was heavier, and he was so close, and all you wanted to do was kiss him again, knead your knuckles into that stiff neck, feel him against you, but you didn't.

you didn't and then he spoke again. it was breathy, wavering. "think, maybe, uh, we should," he started, "think we should just be, uh, friends, sweetheart."

and you could have been disappointed, offended, even, but you weren't. you just took a small step back, smiled at him gently. let his words settle. "do you, joey?"

he gave a slight nod. "yeah, um, just 'cause of the show, and we'll be working closely, and such," he said. "for the sake of the show." something permissive and almost regretful, something practically compunctious flooded his bright, blue eyes, the way oil sullies a warm ocean gulf.

"thank god we have a pianist so dedicated to the production, then," you said, eyes wide, watched him blush further. "we should probably exchange numbers, then," you continued, "so we can do things that friends do."

he cleared his throat, nodded, entered his information into the phone you offered him. "it'll be good," he said, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you.

"it'll be so, so good," you amended, retreating, now walking towards the exit. "i promise, joey, 'll make it so good, for you."

for the second time, you left him, blushing, disheveled, this time with much more hope in your heart.

"so, did you talk to him?" jenny asked you over lunch the next day.

"and can you get him to talk to bobby about me?" benji asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"yes, and no," you said, making benji pout.

jenny stamped her feet under the table in fast succession. "so, what did you say? what did he say?"

you shrugged. "he said we should be just friends." it even sounded funny coming out of your mouth.

benji winced. "ouch," he said, blowing out a breath.

"i don't get it," jenny said, appearing genuinely confused.

"said it was for the good of the production, or something," you said.

"what a load of bullshit," jenny said, now almost angry.

you shrugged again.

"why aren't you upset?" benji asked, skeptical. "in all the time i've known you, you haven't been friendzoned once. it can't feel good to be slummin' it with the rest of us."

you laughed. "i'm not upset because i know he doesn't want to be friends, he just thinks it's the right thing to do."

"what's the difference?" jenny said, "regardless, he set his terms."

"and i'll be respectful of them," you said, and you meant it. you were not one to break hard-set boundaries, to act in a forceful or disrespectful way. "i'm a great friend."

benji narrowed his eyes. "so, you're just gonna be totally platonic with this guy?"

you nodded, leaned back in your seat.

"just friends with the only guy i've ever seen you think twice about?" jenny clarified.

"exactly," you reiterated. "just friends, nothing more." your mouth quirked. "until he inevitably decides otherwise."

benji rolled his eyes. "of course," he said, almost bitter. "the elusive long game."

"won't be that long," you corrected.

"how can you be so sure?"

you smiled at the memory. "his eyes," you said, honestly, almost guiltily. "bit of a dead giveaway."

joseph had declared you just friends, so that's what you would be, for the time being. you trusted he would come to his own conclusions as time passed, so you figured there really wasn't any reason to rush things. there were much worse things than being friends with a very kind person.

so you texted him the next morning, sent him a hey :) it's your favorite new friend, followed by your name, followed by a what're you doing later?

and of course he was a prompt responder, getting back to you in a matter of minutes. a Good Morning, Sweetheart, followed by a We have practice until 6:30, but I'm free after that. What did you have in mind?

his texts read a bit awkward and stiff, in all of their grammatical correctness, but it made you sigh, because what was he, if not a little awkward and stiff?

wanna study at my place? you sent, followed by i could walk you back from practice.

I'd like that. was his response, followed by Just to clarify, you mean actually study, right? That wasn't an innuendo?

now he had you smiling at your phone. get your head outta the gutter joey you texted, followed by just to study, followed by pinkie promise.

you could picture his blush as if you wear standing in front of him.

See you at 6:30, Trouble, was his last response.

you sort of thought it was funny that he called you that, and maybe it should have been a little offensive, because maybe you were tired of being associated with that kind of negativity. maybe you were tired of coming with a warning label, tired of feeling like all anyone saw when they looked at you was a pretty face wrapped up in red flags.

what was funnier, you supposed, was that you didn't mind it when he called you that. you didn't mind it because there was something you liked about being trouble to him, in particular. you liked being his sweetheart, probably more than you would admit to yourself, but there was something addictive about being important enough, singular enough, powerful enough to be deemed trouble by a person like him.

a person who just oozed with goodness, with righteousness, without any of the arrogance so typically marring the quality, a person whose smile leaked sunshine, who was distinct in their genuineness, whose honesty and kindness you swore you could taste, the way marshmallow fluff sticks to your teeth, grainy and sweet.

maybe you didn't love being trouble, but perhaps you didn't mind being his trouble.

that was the sentiment at the forefront of your mind as you entered the ice rink that the club team practiced at, a few minutes early, let the chillier air cool your face.

the last of the team was on the ice, just a few bodies picking up pucks and cones. you scanned the ice, didn't spot his distinct profile, so you just took a seat in the bleachers, enjoyed the rare moment of quiet, breathing in and out.

a quiet thudding noise drew your attention to the glass, where matt and bobby were waving you down. you hopped down from the bleachers while bobby opened the door to the ice, which made a heavy clanging sound.

"hey, guys," you said, now standing in front of them.

"you missed the fun part," bobby said. you had to crane your neck to look at them. they were taller in skates, a little more intimidating in full hockey pads than when they were goofing off in the pit of the theatre.

you laughed good-naturedly. "not here to watch you trick pucks off the crossbar," you said.

matt laughed. "why are you here, then?" he said.

you didn't quite answer, sucked on your teeth for a second. "where's joey?" you asked, instead.

bobby rolled his eyes.

matt just nodded towards the other end of the ice. "i'll tell him you're here," he said, skated away.

your eyes followed him, then widened. "he's a goalie?" you asked bobby. you tracked the big number sixty on the back of the jersey, the slow, deliberate skating motions, the posture you recognized.

"yeah, why?" bobby asked.

"i don't know," you said, "forgot that was even a position."

"it's the position for freaks," he clarified, leaning against the boards.

you scrunched up your face. but, you supposed, you had never met anyone quite like joseph. perhaps that made him a freak, to some degree.

matt skated back over and told bobby they had to get off the ice for the zamboni, telling you that joseph said he'd meet you by the exit.

you hadn't been waiting for five minutes before the three of them emerged from the locker room, holding water bottles and backpacks. your eyes, however, snagged on joseph like a thread on a nail, didn't leave. he looked too pretty like this, damp hair curling at the ends, face flushed with exertion and cold, his body visibly tired but also more relaxed than you'd seen him.

your throat went dry when he smiled at you. "hey, sweetheart," he said, easy.

"hi," you responded, clasped your hands behind your back, scared, if left to their own devices, they'd reach up and push that rogue curl from his forehead.

"where're you guys headed?" matt asked you as you pushed the doors open into the dusky night.

"mine," you said, not thinking anything of it, because it was the truth, because there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

then you saw the blush that tinted joseph's nose, dainty, but there. maybe it had sounded a little suggestive, but you had nothing to apologize for, and his reaction sort of hurt your feelings, for some reason.

you both said goodbye to matt and bobby, who were headed off to the dining hall, and continued on the walk to your apartment. "are you embarrassed?" you asked, not harshly, just truthfully. because it mattered.

it mattered if he thought you were the kind of person it was embarrassing to go home with. it mattered if he thought there was some kind of reputation with you that would become his through association.

it mattered if he thought you were an embarrassing kind of trouble, instead of a beautiful kind.

he didn't answer for a second, exhaled, and you squinted. "are you embarrassed of me?" you amended.

his gaze shot to yours, eyes flooded with concern, genuine worry. "what? no," he promised, "no, sweetheart, of course not of you."

and this made you feel better, a little. "what of, then?" you asked, in step besides his large frame.

a pause settled in the space between his hip and your waist, side by side, stride by stride.

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "it's just that," he started, took a breath, then started again. "i know it must seem weird to you, how flustered i get." you wanted to cut him off, correct him, but mostly you wanted him to continue. "'m not as comfortable as you, as confident."

"it's not weird," you promised, "i like how flustered you get. i like your blush." your fingers twitched. "i can try to dial it back, if it'd make you feel better. i can try to be, i don't know, less-"

he did cut you off, then. "no," he said, his voice breaking, only a bit. "don't, uh, change." he cleared his throat, squeezed his plastic water bottle, making it crinkle. "please."

you stared at the side of his face, for a second, any words dying in your throat. "really? aren't you scared 'll bring you over to the dark side, joey?" you said it like a joke, but it wasn't, not really. "aren't you scared i'll turn you bad?"

he looked at you, then, big blue eyes drunk with truth. "'m not scared of you, trouble," was all he said, and that was that.

you showed him up to your apartment, gave him a short tour.

"where do you usually do homework?" he asked, gentle.

"bedroom floor," you said, almost sheepish. "floor's the best place for critical thinking."

he laughed, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. "lead the way, then," he said.

so you sat with him, on the floor of your bedroom, for a couple hours, until the night made time feel viscous and thick, until your throat was rough from lack of use, until your eyelids felt heavy.

hours of you, doing physics problem sets, and him, finishing history readings. hours of work that were made comfortable, sleepy, by the shared presence of each other, of exhales and warmth and shifting limbs.

hours of work cut with questions about his day, about your classes, about him playing the piano, about your friendship with jenny, about his with bobby and matt, about your mom and his siblings and your design dreams and his uncertain ones.

before long it was past midnight, and you felt your eyes lingering too long on his full mouth, and his gaze felt too honey-sweet on your face. before long, it was time for him to go, before the late hour made you want to see just how far you could push just friends.

out of respect, though, and because you cared about him, at some point, you cleared your throat.

"i should probably go to sleep, soon," you said, a rasp to your voice.

he made to grab his things, pushed his massive body up from your floor. "me too," he said. "'s getting late."

he swung his backpack onto his shoulder and you walked him to the door. he opened it, turned back around, leaned against the frame, facing you.

he looked down at you, and your heart surged, your mind clouded with deja vu. "do you still have your tiara?" you asked, nodding up to his head.

his lips split into a smile as he gave a rough, low laugh. "yeah, sweetheart," he said, his eyes growing foggy with memory. "that's, uh, a keeper."

and it probably wasn't how he meant it, but it almost felt like he was saying you were a keeper, and no one had ever thought that before. you squeezed your hand into a fist. "remember when you said you were a boring prince?"

he nodded.

it took every inch of your discipline not to touch him, hug him, tug him down by his shirt and kiss him dumb. "you're not boring, joey," you said.

he swallowed, his eyes welling up with meaning. "how can you be so sure?" he asked, soft.

"you can't be," you explained, "or i would've been able to stop thinking about you."

his hooded gaze caught on your lips, and it would have been so easy to push up on your toes, slot your mouth against his, but you didn't.

his simmering eyes met yours again. "goodnight, sweetheart," he breathed.

"goodnight," you said, your smile fluttery, shutting the door gently behind him.

and so began the most confusing friendship of your life.

the semester progressed quickly, the pace constantly being pushed by your busy schedule. your days seemed to pass in a blink, filled by classes and exams and rehearsals and theatre commitments, fittings and design meetings and movie nights with jenny, lunches with benji.

jenny's juliet grew more and more compelling, benji grew more and more annoyed with his set crew.

the more time passed, the more frequently you were making plans with joseph, until he just became a part of your schedule. two days a week, you would study at your place, a different two days, you would go to his, instead.

he lived with some guys from the team, so the kitchen was a bit messy, and the decor was seriously lacking, but his room was spotlessly clean, actually sort of comfortable, so you didn't mind. he had a desk, but you had convinced him of the magic of the floor, so the floors of your respective bedrooms had become something of a safe place, a tall, tall tower, away from everything else, away from reality.

you came to find that there was absolutely nothing more comfortable than the warm silence that settled between the two of you like a glittery fog when you'd both get into a working groove, perhaps not talking for stretches of time, but the presence of each other easy enough to fall asleep in.

here and there, one of you would slice through the silence like a warm knife through salted butter, asking about something that had happened that morning, or practice, or rehearsal, or something.

he'd ask how your exam went, and his gaze would melt a bit when you'd gush about how you knew you nailed it.

"that's great, sweetheart," he'd say, his posture more relaxed in the nighttime drowsiness. "'m so proud of you."

maybe you'd ask how the game last weekend went, and his nose would twitch, just a bit.

he'd shrug, and the muscles in his neck would clench, and you'd want nothing more than to ease the tension there with your fingers. "fine," he'd say. "could've been better."

and you'd roll your eyes. "you always think you could've been better," you'd say, and it would be true. you had come to understand that he was a real perfectionist when it came to hockey.

he'd smile, lopsided, and your stomach would flip. "'cause i always could be," he'd say, and it would make you frown.

"i don't know," you'd say, the words coming out slow, like molten chocolate. you'd meet his lazy gaze. "don't think it gets much better than you."

nights of studying and walking him back from practice, days during which, when you were lucky, you could sneak a coffee break with him, began to feel normal, but not in the sense that you didn't feel especially grateful every time you saw him. you couldn't imagine an instance that his eyes wouldn't make your knees wobble, that his voice wouldn't make your heart jolt, a time when making him blush wouldn't feel like a triumph, when making him laugh wouldn't pull the most genuine smile from your own mouth.

you felt as if he'd been an abrupt reset to your whole system, ever since that dusky summer kiss against a door, like a startling ice bath to your entire being. for him, though, you didn't imagine your presence to be as shocking, instead more gradual, like your attention, your thinly-veiled attraction was like ivy, slowly overtaking an old brick building.

miraculously, for weeks and weeks, you kept your hands to yourself. sure, there was the occasional hug goodbye, which typically left you speechless, the more frequent touch of a hand here and there, over a glass of water or across a spread of notebooks. once, and only once, there was a firm arm around your waist, the time when you slipped while walking next to him, his quick reflexes meaning his arm shot out to wrap around you, pulling you back upright in a single motion.

you tried your best not to lean into his embrace, mentally applauded yourself for a job well done. "thanks for that," you said, clearing your throat.

he didn't let go of you immediately though, his hand lingering on your waist for a split second, his gaze shadowy, like in a trance.

"joey," you said, and it came out like a plea, because he couldn't touch you, not like this. it wasn't fair, and you were being so good. "don't do this to me."

that snapped him out of his daze, as he gently retracted his arm, settled it unnaturally next to his side, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with it, now that his palm had laid flat against your hip. what do you do with something sacred? "sorry, sweetheart," he said, and his voice was rough.

for the first time, though, you realized, with narrowing eyes, you got the sense that he was lying to you. that he wasn't actually sorry, not at all.

then there was the time that he showed up at your place unannounced, on a day when you hadn't made plans. "coming," you'd yelled out in response to a knock, fresh out of the shower, only a towel wrapped around you. you opened the door, almost yelped when you saw him in the frame, looking straight out of a fairytale with his hair in his face.

of course, he blushed, looked down when he registered your appearance, clicked his tongue as you held your towel tighter around you. "d'you, uh," he said, "do you always answer the door like this?"

you could have laughed at his gentle humor, despite him being so obviously flustered. "only for you, joey," you said, winking at him, making him go red, which made your smile grow as you swung the door open wider, wordlessly inviting him inside. "kidding. one sec, let me get dressed."

eventually, matt and bobby got used to your presence in their kitchen, in the bleachers of the rink. you met their fourth roommate, a tall, lanky defenseman you mistakenly called simon the first time you met him.

"not si-mon," he corrected, "si-mone."

"like the girl's name," bobby said, trying to help, to which simon whacked him on the back of the head.

"aren't athletes supposed to eat healthy?" you asked one time, when you were steeping one of the tea bags you had begun to keep at joseph's place, just for convenience's sake. you had walked in on matt, bobby, and simon making ice cream sundaes.

matt just waved you off. "it's different for club," he said.

bobby scowled. "last i checked, you don't pay rent here," he said, "no rent, no opinion."

"yeah," simon said, his accent slight as he put the ice cream carton back into the freezer. "why don't you go back to your own house?"

"because i'm studying," you said, to which you were on the receiving end of a chorus of groans.

"swear you guys are practically married," matt said. "remember when i walked in on you putting that gray shit on his face?"

you rolled your eyes. "that was a face mask, and it's good for your pores."

"he has you over here more in a week than my girl has been here in a month," simon continued.

you scoffed. "maybe you should fix that, then," you told him. "nothing to do with me. me and your roommate are just-"

"don't finish that sentence," bobby said, "for my sanity, don't do it."

"what's going on out here?" came that deep voice from behind you.

"nothing," simon said, "your girl called us athletes, though."

simon's wording had you almost sad, about to correct him, but something in you stopped. because was it really all that much of a lie? joseph didn't correct him, either, which had to count for something. had to mean something.

"bein' nice, trouble?" joseph asked, a lazy smile on his face.

"you know me," you said, to which his eyes shimmered. because he did, because it was true.

you could almost hear bobby's eye roll. "we'll see you at rehearsal tomorrow," he said on his way back to his room.

as opening night grew impossibly close, your path began to cross with joseph's more in the theatre, too.

as you'd get final measurements in, make some last minute adjustments to skirt lengths and blouse widths, you'd hear that telltale melody from the pit, so smooth it'd put a smile on your face.

once, you were doing a final check of jenny's costume, the last one she would wear before curtain close, and the music began.

jenny's grin grew teasing. "such a sap, now," she said.

"don't," you warned, "i'm the one with all the pins."

she put her hands up in surrender. "not a bad thing," she said, "it's really cute, actually. just can't believe you've lasted this long."

you sighed. "that makes the two of us."

benji popped in from the wing. "so proud of you," he said, "but one of you needs to do something. it's actually painful."

it was sort of crazy, you realized, to be anything but completely grateful and satisfied with being one of joseph's closest friends. it was a privilege, you knew that. it just kind of made you wish you'd never kissed him in the first place, that you didn't know what he felt like, sounded like, tasted like. you could be so completely content if you didn't know that.

"dude, you sound like a dying cat." you recognized matt's voice, assumed he was talking to bobby. "opening night's in two days."

you could picture bobby's disinterested shrug.

benji took this opportunity to walk all the way out onto the stage, clear his throat. "i think you sound great, bobby," he said.

there was a pause. "uh, thanks, man," was the short reply. "what was your name again?"

you winced. jenny shuttered. "brutal," she whispered.

"bob, you know benji," joseph said from the piano bench, ever the polite diplomat. "he paints all the sets."

bobby looked around, took in the castles and gardens that benji had worked so hard on. "you did these?" he asked. benji nodded. "pretty sick, dude," he said, impressed.

jenny put a hand over her heart. "oh, benji, you're so talented and handsome," she said, loudly, drawing everyone's attention.

benji rolled his eyes. "oh, fuck off, jen."

you caught joseph's gaze across the space, him at the piano, you bent down, fussing with jenny's hem.

hi, he mouthed, and your heart stirred.

hi, you mouthed back.

because of the packed and overlapping theatre schedule, you became closely acquainted with the way joseph played the piano, nothing like matt's violent percussion or bobby's novice-at-best guitar abilities. he played with a gentle intensity, a passionate perfectionism, which you supposed was just the way that he was.

you swore you could watch him get caught up in the notes, could follow the deft movements of his hands for hours and not get bored, because he wouldn't get bored.

finally, it was the day before opening night, and after completing the whole last minute checklist as well as all the department's traditions and superstitions, you went back to your workspace for just a second to triple check everything. you wanted everything to go smoothly tomorrow, no surprises. a few minutes into your last checks, though, there was a soft knock on your open door.

you looked up to find a tired pair of big blue eyes. "what're you doing here?" you asked, gentle. "look like you're about to fall asleep, joey."

he shook his head. "wide awake," he said, and he sounded it. "know it's a late night, but it's still thursday. i understand if you wanted to skip tonight, but-"

you waved him off, lugged your bag onto your shoulder. "yeah, right," you said. "not gettin' rid of me that easy."

he smiled, held the door open for you as you passed him, as you both began the walk to his place. the air was chilly, refreshing, but you shivered, nonetheless.

"cold?" he asked, and you nodded, to which he started to unbutton his shirt.

"what're you doing?" you said, and you couldn't help the shocked sort of tone your voice had taken on.

he gave a light laugh, handed you his button down, revealing a t-shirt underneath. he looked at you, almost guiltily, eyes a bit dark, as you shrugged your bag off, put his shirt on, then your backpack. "'m always prepared," he said.

"thank you," you said, and it looked like the words warmed him from the inside out. you figured, maybe, you'd push your luck. "god forbid you show a little skin."

the silence rumbled. it was dark, but it was as if you could feel the heat of his blush, felt it on your own face like a creamy foundation. "easy, trouble," he said, and it was quiet, hoarse.

soon enough he was holding the door of his apartment open, as he had so many times before, then he was leading you into his bedroom, but it felt so different, for some reason, so much heavier, harder, more heated.

you took your spot on the floor, spread out your notes, planning to get a little bit of studying done, as you knew you wouldn't finish any schoolwork tomorrow, with all the running around you were going to be doing. he took his spot across from you, maybe a little bit closer, which you pretended not to notice.

time passed as it usually did, in this situation, at this hour, in his company.

but then you'd catch him looking at you, feel it like a blistering singe, would look up to meet his gaze, only to find it back down on his homework, like the movement of your head was enough to scare him back into routine.

and then it happened again, and he wasn't even looking at your face, this time, he was staring at your middle, your body, which he never did, and you wanted to throw something at him, tell him to stop, please, because you couldn't handle it. his longing was too much to take, the way it was seeping through the walls like a aphrodisiac. if it was a challenge to keep your hands to yourself under normal circumstances, it was almost impossible, now, when he was hiding his want so poorly, almost like he wasn't trying to hide it at all.

the third time it happened, you cleared your throat. it was making you sort of nervous, and it was definitely getting your hopes up. "you starin' at me, joey?" you asked, not accusatory.

"sorry," he said, immediately, didn't meet your eyes.

you tilted your head. "that's the second time you've done that," you observed.

he looked up, at that. "what?"

"that's the second time you've lied to me about being sorry."

he swallowed, and your eyes tracked the motion. his flush was that of guilt, maybe a dull sort of shame.

"why're you embarrassed?" you asked, shifting a bit closer to him. "you're allowed to look at me, you know."

his blue eyes swam with promise as he let out what looked like a soft sigh of relief. "i am?" he asked.

you nodded, felt a little mean. maybe it was the fact that it had been months since his lips had been on yours, and the memory still sparked a fire inside of you. maybe it was the fact that you'd been so patient, maybe it was that you had a feeling the sight of you in his button-down, a little tight in the chest and by the hips, was making his throat dry. "you're allowed, joey, because we're such good friends."

something like a grunt rumbled in his throat, involuntary, and you squinted at him. you were right in front of him, now, sitting on your heels, watching his indecision weigh on him like a boulder between his shoulder blades.

"what?" you asked, the picture of innocence. "what's wrong?"

"nothing, sweetheart," he said, breathy, "nothing's wrong, it's just that-"

"what?" you pushed.

he didn't continue, just swallowed around his words, rested his elbows on his bent knees, notebooks strewn to the side.

you gave a little pout, leaned forward, so close, now, you could see the faint gold in the blue of his eyes. "don't like being my friend, joey?"

"no, i do-" he rushed, but you cut him off again.

"'ve been so good," you said, because it was true, "and you're being mean."

this seemed to sober him up, to turn his words to steel, steady and honest. this seemed to tap into a well of confidence you didn't even know he possessed, because he leaned forward, too, reached a broad hand out, brushed his thumb against your cheekbone, making your breath catch in your throat.

"i like being your friend," he said, and the words were like a soothing balm to your scorched reputation. then his gaze rippled with heat, and you remembered how you had gotten that reputation in the first place. he gave you a knowing sort of look. "but i want to kiss you, sweetheart. so badly."

you could have cried with relief, could have slapped him in the face for taking so long, could have made him wait a little bit longer just to be cruel, but instead, you just wrapped your arms around his neck, shifted forward, let him make space for you until your knees straddled his hips.

it felt like something religious that he was the one that pulled you closer, by your hips, that he was the one to dip his head down and meet you in a kiss that felt, simultaneously, like opening a door marked do not enter and finally, finally, coming home.

you tugged lightly at his hair, just wanting him closer, just wanting him as close as you could get him. his grip on one of your hips grew firm, confident, as the other hand splayed out on the side of your face, rough and warm.

you sighed into his mouth, because he tasted like how you remembered, like cool mint, and because he smelled so good, and because you felt so perfect, so safe.

his teeth knocked against yours, and his rhythm was off, and you had the feeling he was holding back, a little, but all of that was so him, was exactly the imperfect kiss you had been fixating on, but this time with the added passion of knowing him so genuinely, so deeply.

you dug a knuckle into his neck, worked at the knots under your touch. your movements grew slow, languished, lazy, as you softly rocked your hips against him, relished in the groan you pulled from him, making you pull away, just a little, feel him breathe heavy against you, his eyelids heavy. "so stiff, joey," you said, "relax for me, yeah?"

"yeah." he nodded, whined, slightly, when you shifted back and forth again. when his eyes caught yours again, there was something new there, a deeper desire, a question.

you leaned forwards, pressed your mouth messily to his jaw, down his neck. "just ask me," you said, between kisses, "you're allowed, baby, just ask me."

his voice was dazed, like it was hard to focus with your lips on his neck, with you grinding against him. you could feel him, firm and hard, underneath you. "just need," he tried, "just need something, sweetheart, please."

you pulled back, slightly, rested your cheek on his shoulder, giving you both a moment to catch your breath. "don't wanna rush you," you said into his collarbone, because you meant it, because it was important. "but 'll give you anything you want."

it felt so odd to even have to say that, because it seemed that everyone you'd been with, before, had already assumed this of you, that of course you'd give them anything, everything, because you were you, with that face, with that flirtatious smile, with that history.

it felt so lovely, to feel compelled to have to clarify that for him. because of course you would give him anything, everything, every single part of yourself, if he'd only ask.

he clasped his hands behind your back, exhaled slowly. "thank you," he whispered, and it broke your heart into a million pieces. when was the last time someone had thanked you for offering yourself up, like this? why did it almost make you want to cry?

"what do you want, baby?" you asked, running your nails along his neck, after his words had hardened around your heart like crystal, somehow still silken-soft. "will you let me make you feel good, hm? can i?"

you felt him take a deep breath against your chest. "please, sweetheart," he rasped. "please, need you, so bad."

"yeah?" you asked, shifting up and off of him, now kneeling beside his lap. "can i touch you?"

he nodded, and the heat in his eyes burned you. "please."

you reached a delicate hand forward, palmed his cock over his clothes, gentle, found him so hard and hot, while he hissed at first contact. "makin' me wait so long, baby, and you've been needin' me, too?" you teased, a soft grin on your swollen lips as you pulled him out fully, ran your hand along the length of him.

"'m sorry, sweetheart," he breathed, and it seemed funny, apologizing, then. "just wanted t'do the right thing."

you hummed, pumped him up and down, slowly, spit onto his length, kept going. "right thing, hm?" he nodded. "didn't feel right to me, baby," you said, picking up your pace, your grip wet and firm. he huffed, and his thighs tensed. "know what feels right?"

"what?" he asked, eyes pleading, practically spellbound by you, your steady stream of words, so different from him, rendered basically speechless.

"your cock in my hand," you answered, and of all things, he blushed. you bit your lip, because you had a feeling your word choice was the reason. you were pretty sure that, despite the circumstances, the thing that had your clean-tongued prince flustered was your dirty mouth. you pulled your touch away, let his eager hands help you out of his button down, your shirt underneath.

when you looked at him again, he was looking at you, already, with a galaxy in his eyes.

"what?" you asked, your mouth quirking up.

he laughed, lightly, shook his head. "just so pretty, sweetheart," he said, "just so, so pretty."

you scrunched up your face, but didn't hide your delighted smile as you went to kiss him on the jaw, hoisting your leg up and over him until you hovered above his lap. "pretty enough to fuck?" you asked, against his neck, right by his ear, and you smiled at the jolt of his hips, the shake of his breath. "tell me."

his hand braced the back of your neck, gave the softest rumble of a laugh, like whatever he was about to say was above him, like it was incomprehensible. "can i fuck you, trouble?" he asked, and you laughed, too, because the curse sounded so foreign on his lips.

it was something lovely to be laughing, with someone you trusted wholly, like this. with someone who thought, all that time ago, that you were a princess.

"watch your mouth, joey," you teased, giving him a false look of depravity as you reached under you, gripped him again, angled his cock to your core.

"such a," he began, his breath hitching when you began to sink down on him, "such a bad influence."

you groaned at the stretch as you pushed yourself down further, felt the burn of it in your throat, in your toes. you sucked on your teeth, had to close your eyes for a second as you clung to his neck for support.

finally, all the way in, you stayed still for a moment, adjusting, letting him adjust to you.

"this okay?" you whispered into his shoulder.

there was a pause. "you're perfect," he said, so genuinely it hurt. "feel so good, sweetheart."

you smiled. "can i move, baby?" he surprised you, then, answering you by gripping you harder and angling his hips up into you, slow and deep. you groaned at the sensation, fluttering in your stomach. "so good, joey," you breathed, then smiled, your tone turning devious when his other hand rooted in your hair, hard, steady. "fast learner, hm?" you asked, "already know what i like?"

his pace stuttered, but you met him thrust for thrust, up and down. "show me," he said, almost whiny, a slight sheen on the high points of his face, a flush on his neck and nose. "show me what you like, sweetheart." his eyes flooded with meaning. "want this t'be good for you, hm?"

your chest could have cracked open, because you couldn't remember the last time someone had wanted that, never mind voiced it to you. who would you be to deny him that?

you kissed his shoulder, showed him just how hard to tug at your hair. "you're so good to me, baby," you said, "too good to me, yeah?" you placed your palm over his hand, on your hip, moved it to your clit, showed him how to touch you. the friction made you clench around him, forcing a whimper from your mouth, a throaty groan from his as you both picked up your pace.

time didn't feel real, you supposed it never had, in this room. it had seemed irrelevant when you were working on mechanics problems for physics while he drafted papers for eastern european history, and it seemed irrelevant now, too.

for seconds or minutes or months, you felt yourself spiraling closer and closer, heat building inside of you as his thrusts grew jerky, as his breathing heaved, as the friction of his hand against your clit made you delirious.

your thighs felt hot with exertion as you moaned. "gonna make me cum, joey," you said, at some point, dreamy, "so deep inside of me, baby, feel you here." you placed a palm on your lower stomach to show him, pushed down, relished in the pressurized sensation.

"'m so close," he breathed, "so perfect, sweetheart, right there."

"fuck, let me have it," you pleaded, so warm and wet around him. "want it so bad, baby, let me feel you. let me take it."

he came apart at your words, his muscles tensing abruptly under your palms as his orgasm triggered your own, so sudden and staggering you swore your teeth were chattering. your head collapsed onto his shoulder as your eyes squeezed shut and he wrapped his arms around your back, holding you tight against his chest.

his shoulder was just barely damp with sweat under your cheek, and the air felt humid, heavy, like you could cup it in a palm.

when you opened your eyes, your flighty gaze caught on something shiny, just next to his desk, which had been taken over with completed lego sets. hanging on his open closet door was his tiara, you realized, from all those months ago. from before all the friendship and pining and making kingdoms out of bedroom floors.

it was sort of funny, how something like a cheap plastic crown could mean so much. if he hadn't worn it, what then? would any of this have even happened? if you hadn't reached up to straighten him out? hadn't made some joke about not being able to?

you laughed into him, and you could hear his smile. "what?" he rasped, making you look up at him. he looked straight out of a classical art museum, some kind of angel in acrylic, painted by a god-fearing sinner, all blushy cheeks and big, forgiving eyes, corded shoulders and lips wet with spit.

you massaged the back of his shoulders with a careful hand. "remember when you thought i was a princess?" you mused, the memory at the front of your mind.

"'course," he said. "most beautiful girl i'd ever seen."

you closed your eyes, exhaled, opened them again. "i was dressed as a wench," you said, but the joking tone you'd aimed for sounded dumb, following his honest confession.

he just smiled, a sliver of perfect teeth through pink lips. "don't know, trouble," he said, "pretty sure i know i princess when i see one. i was a prince, after all."

you hit him lightly on the chest, laughed. "i guess you know what you're talking about then, hm?"

he hummed. "oh, yeah," he confirmed, rubbing circles with his thumb into your lower back, "'specially when i'm talking about you."

and you thought, for the first time in a while, that maybe, to have someone talk about you wouldn't be a bad thing. that, perhaps, to have this somebody talk about you would be something quite special.

tomorrow, it would be daylight, and it would be busy, and the world would speed up again. tomorrow, benji would be late, of course, and bobby would mess up the chords to the interlude, and jenny would absolutely nail her first lead role. tomorrow, matt and simon would make a bunch of crude jokes and benji's freshman would give him a fruit basket to thank him for his leadership, and the theatre director would cry, because of how wonderful the production went.

tomorrow, a lot would happen.

but, tonight, there was just the boring prince of legos and piano keys, holding the unbecoming princess of bedpost notches and pleats. tonight, they resided over the kingdom of bad influence and embarrassed flushes.

and tonight, the kingdom was finally quiet.

fin.

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nohoney · 1 year

Text

Bakugou is stupid.

He’s the type to think that as long as he never actually crossed some physical boundary in a relationship then he wasn’t doing anything wrong. To him when the two of you were fighting, he was just going to someone who would understand him more than the arguing you were ready to give back. He’d be heard out and feeling refreshed and better, but yet he’d sour when he was back with you. You’d ask if he was ready to resolve the fight after needing space and he didn’t realize what his actions were doing to you when he left the way he did.

He’d send text messages like ‘you make me feel better’ to the other person but only ‘okay’ when it came to you.

When some type of good news happened, instead of telling you right away he’s telling the other person. When Bakugou feels like he’s catching some type of attitude from you over something stupid to him, he’s telling this other person.

What he doesn’t know is that he accidentally made this secret ghost between the two of you. One that haunted the relationship the deeper the chasm split the two of you. One that he didn’t mean to summon but was becoming more and more tangible with each passing moment he chose to keep his eyes on this other person rather than you.

“I have feelings for you.”

Bakugou’s heart stopped upon hearing those words. He was on a walk and ranting about another fight with you, wanting to get these ugly feelings out and wanting to feel better. As usual he ran to this person to hear him out, give him advice that he’d say he follow but not actually do, and would want to just skip to the part where they make him feel better and laugh before he leaves to a bitter you sitting on the couch. “What?” He dumbly asks.

“I have feelings for you.” They repeat.

He’s silent, an uncomfortable squeezing in his chest and he thinks of you instantly. If you heard this, you would not hesitate to rip this person apart. He already knew you didn’t like them because of the time he spent with this other person but you were always the jealous type from the very beginning. The two of you already had arguments about how frequently he left and how you didn’t like that he wouldn’t tell you right away he’d be with them.

Bakugou realizes now that you were right. He hates your jealousy, it was one of the things that made him feel suffocated sometimes. He didn’t like to talk about it over and over and over with you that he only wanted to be with you but you insisting that he was doing something wrong to make you feel this way.

“You know I’m with her.” Bakugou states but he feels a thickness in his voice when he speaks. For the first time, he feels guilt being around this person.

“Do you even want to be? You always come to me when you’re fighting with her and you tell me how much I understand you more, that you feel heard when she doesn’t do it for you. I think you don’t want to be with her.”

But Bakugou does, he does want to be with you. You’re in a shitty spot right now in the relationship, it’s been that way for a few months, but he still stuck around because he wanted to keep trying. You had it hard before and he wanted to be the one to show you that not all relationships end up with you being cheated on or abandoned.

He realizes now that he played into those fears, that every time he hid a text message or came back to reveal his whereabouts after the fact that you’d think of him as just another shitty, cheating guy. That even though he had never crossed any physical boundaries, Bakugou was crossing all the emotional ones and he felt guilty now that it struck him.

“I gotta go.” Bakugou briskly walks in the direction of his car.

“Are you fucking serious?! You spend all this time with me bitching about her and telling me that you feel better when you’re around me, and you’re gonna leave me like this?!”

Bakugou did feel a certain type of way with this person, this person that did understand him when you were having a hard time trying to, this person who knew the right things to say when he was in a bad mood, he did enjoy being with them.

But Bakugou wants you.

He has to show it and he only hopes that he hasn’t hurt you too bad so that he can reverse the damage. He comes back to the apartment and he can hear you ranting inside the bedroom with the door open just a crack.

“He’s always leaving when we have a fight and I know he’s with that little bitch right now and when he comes back, he’s gonna say nothing happened! I don’t know if I can stand one more guy lying to my face!” You angrily admit to whoever the person is you’re talking to, most likely your best friend. “I need—I’m gonna break up with him. I can’t stand this anymore with Katsuki. I’m fucking done with-“

Bakugou barges in when he hears those words, his heart hammering in his chest and he hopes that this isn’t too late for him to apologize and admit he was wrong.

You’re startled by his presence, looking offended at first before you sigh and telling the person on the phone that you would call them later.

“You’re back? Feeling better? Feeling refreshed?” You spit the last word with bitterness dripping off the last syllable. Bakugou used those exact words in his messages to the other person, messages that you read going through his phone whenever he’d forget to delete the text chain. “Have fun being with your lil fling?”

“Baby, it wasn’t like that.” Bakugou tries to explain and he needs to speak quickly before you pronounce the end of the relationship, “I shouldn’t—you’re right that I shouldn’t have done that to you. I shouldn’t have kept on leaving whenever we have a shitty argument. You’re right baby, okay?”

You look doubtful at him, searching his eyes and his body language for any kind of lie. Lies that you’re all too good at detecting because of how many times you’ve been screwed over. It’s almost like you’re angry that Bakugou presented himself with sincerity, that you wanted to look for a reason to stay upset with him. But you also sense that something is wrong and ask, “… what happened?”

“They… said they had feelings for me.” Bakugou confesses and he sees how anger flares in your eyes. He catches you by your arm when you try to walk past him because he knows that you want to go swing your fist in the other person’s face; he’s seen you do it before when another girl actually kissed him at a friend’s housewarming party. “Baby, no. I came here. I came straight here after they said that.”

“You came straight here to what? Came straight here to break up with me, right?! You wanna be with them so badly, fucking go! You always run away to be with them!” You try to pry off his hand off your arm and start to sniffle. “You hate being with me so much then just leave!”

Bakugou only wants to hold tighter, pulling you in and instead of the resistance he was expecting from you, you collapse in his arms instead and cry. Your tears wet the front of the t-shirt he’s wearing and your body is shaking as you sob. He lets you cry out all the anger that he knows he deserves from you, choosing to say nothing because he needs you to hear his words when you’ve calmed down.

His phone in his back pocket is vibrating like crazy. More than likely it’s texts from the other person, probably (and rightfully) also sending him angry messages.

The tears stop from you twenty minutes later but you’re curled up against the headboard of the bed, one of your favorite plushies in your arms as you listlessly look down at the quilt you and him purchased together. Bakugou sits close to you, his hand on your knee with his thumb idly brushing back and forth as he waits for you to speak. He knows that you hate looking so weak, he knows because he’s the same way too, it’s what the two of you bonded over when you began to start showing interest in him. He feels shameful that he’s the one who made you this way.

“… do you still love me?” You ask quietly.

“I do.” Bakugou confirms and hopes that he can salvage this.

“I don’t feel like you do. I feel like all I do is make you angry and make you push me away… you don’t want to try fixing our fights.”

You and Bakugou speak quietly to one another, going over all the faults of the relationship, what he does wrong and what you do wrong, and ultimately wondering what to do from there. Bakugou hopes that all the apologies he’s given to you, that he owes you, are enough for this to keep going. He waits quietly with bated breath as you think it over, your eyes looking to his before looking away.

He wonders if the agony waiting over your answer is what you felt waiting around for him.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou angst

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justmeinatree · 6 months

Text

Oh, I Think She Said

Summary : a tooth rotting harryween treat.

Word Count : 1k

A/N : this is the cheesiest thing i’ve ever written, i dont know whether to love it or hate it

“you can’t be scary for shit !” you laugh, playfully smacking harry’s arm.

you loved halloween, it was by far your favourite holiday. and being able to celebrate it with harryween was the icing on the cake.

you did have a self imposed rule though, that you needed to have the opportunity for some kind of horror makeup, seeing as your night costume was matching with harry and “this was a family show,” so harry didn’t want to be scary on stage.

so now here you were, spending your day with harry around the stadium, both of you sporting some kind of freaky makeup, as he had insisted that you do something for him as well.

the opportunities where harry lets you sit down with him and paint his face whichever way you want, are some of your favourite memories with him. he’s so trusting and fun loving, never wanting to know what you have planned, waiting for the surprise reveal, every time. in the end, he’s always so pleasantly surprised. looks himself over, admiring the details you’ve put in. and that’s just one example of when you really see the love he has for you, through the reflection in the mirror.

but right now, you wanted the photo that was being taken to match the vibe of the makeup and well, not a single bit of harry really matches the spookiness that is this makeup. he’s just a giant teddybear with black smeared on his face.

harry laughs, putting his hands up in defence before his strength takes hold over you, arms wrapping around your entire body, pinning you tightly to him.

you wiggle in his grip, trying to break free, but you both absolutely knew you weren’t going anywhere. harry’s much stronger than you are. you feel his lips pressing to your neck, his lips parting for his tongue to poke out, tasting your skin. “not letting you go until you apologize to me,” he murmurs against your ear and you can hear the smirk on his lips.

for a quick moment, you cuddle back into him, eyes closing, focusing on harry’s mouth against your neck. you faintly hear the clicking of a camera, photographer taking a few shots for you both, before someone else comes to whisk you away. the show was nearing, you needed to get into your costumes.

fluttering off hand in hand, you both end up in harry’s dressing room, washing off the dark makeup, going through an endless amount of wipes. your eyes focus through the mirror, on the costumes behind you, a flash of nervousness etching itself on your face.

harry notices, about to say something before hearing you, “do you think they’re gonna get it ?”

“mine alone ?” harry hums pensively, “maybe not. but it’s planned that the camera will flash to you, remember ? your costume really completes it. s’that why you’re nervous ?”

you shake your head, you had gotten used to the cameras a long time ago. “aren’t you nervous,” you ask quietly, looking up at him.

“have you seen what i’m wearing ? of course i’m nervous. nervous my prick’s gonna fall out,” he laughs, trying to lighten the mood. and it does work as he managed to pull a breathy laugh from you. but the worry is still present in your eyes.

“you know it’s time sweetheart,” he hums softly, smiling reassuringly at you. “can’t keep wearing this forever,” he nods towards you. “gotta let people know eventually.”

“i know,” you take a big breath, nodding. “i’m excited to tell everyone. i really am. but it’s still a bit scary, you know ?”

harry nods at that, leaning over to kiss the tip of your nose, then your lips, “i understand. and yes, i am a bit nervous too. but it’s a good nervous, yeah ?”

“mhmm,” you nod, kissing him again for a moment before he pulls away.

“right, can’t be late. lets do this baby,” he smiles, getting up with you and bringing you over to the clothes rack. you watch harry strip his robe off, as you do the same, both of you putting on your costumes.

they were fairly simple, but obvious none the less. you do take the time to laugh with harry as he slips on his tiny yellow shorts. christ, you really do hope tonight doesn’t end in a wardrobe malfunction. scary makeup would be far more appropriate for a family show.

fortunately for you, and in the spirit of harryween, the setlist has been altered. seeing as harry thought it to be totally unfair for you to be backstage for the entirety of the show, as the third song was coming up, a few notes from kiwi can be heard blaring through the speakers.

the crowd goes crazy, shocked to be hearing it so quickly in the set. harry’s spotted you, by the barricade, next to the security man you had both arranged this with.

he makes it through the first verse, chorus, second verse, and as the second round of the chorus comes up, harry changes up the lyrics, belting out, “she’s having my baby !”

and he’s pointing at you, the camera panning in your direction, as harry’s running up the catwalk to get to you.

there you are, on the big screen, jumping around and singing along, in your juno costume, and beginnings of a baby bump on full display, having gone with a fairly tight striped tshirt. this was your first opportunity to go out without a sweater in almost a month now, and you were revelling in it. harry’s costume of bleeker now making perfect sense to the crowd. although so far, it wasn’t like anyone minded his little yellow shorts.

the crowd was screaming, absolutely losing their minds, chanting excitedly. the camera panning to some fans with tears in their eyes as harry’s now made it to where you are, smiling wider than you think he ever has, dimples etched deep in his skin, blowing you kisses.

you can see the adoration, excitement, pride, joy, how deep this moment is hitting him as he can hear, can see, can feel almost 100 000 people radiate excitement and pride and joy right back at him.

the song comes to an end and the crowd is screaming so loud, harry doesn’t get the opportunity to address them right away.

as things quiet down just a bit, he chuckles into the mic, “look at my beautiful girl. i’m gonna be a dad !”

……

Masterlist

tags : @gorlsinmultifandoms @cc-horan

#harry styles #harryween #halloween #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles masterlist #harry styles writing #writings #justmeinatree

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star-girl69 · 3 months

Text

Cowboy Like Me

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Reader

—-

Part One - The Last Time

Part Two - Cowboy Like Me

Part Three - Tomorrow Never Came (coming soon!)

Part Four - Living Legend (coming soon!)

Part Five - Pretty When You Cry (coming soon!)

—-

synopsis: 15 years later, you’re still climbing into clarisse’s arms and knowing she’s gonna leave.

a/n: personally i love life but idk about y’all and creds to @nvirskies for helping me w bits of this 🫶

Cowboy Like Me - Taylor Swift

warnings: y’all already know what’s happening

—-

“And I… I’m scared.”

You hum, adjusting yourself in your seat so your heart doesn’t break.

“It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared all the time.”

Jane is one of the sweetest kids you’ve ever met since becoming the Camp Half-Blood therapist thing. After your traumatizing years, watching Clarisse come and go, years spent in her bed- you found yourself wanting to tell someone.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to feel safe, especially when she was gone.

You wanted to tell someone that you hated Clarisse La Rue’s guts and also you loved her so much you weren’t sure if you could ever get over her.

So, you became that person.

“You’re allowed to be scared, though,” Jane continues. “I can’t. I’m a daughter of Ares, Y/N. If he sniffs out weakness then he’ll never love me.”

Your conversations with Jane have by far been the hardest sessions you’ve ever had. They remind you so much of what you went through 15 years ago. Of what you watched her go through.

“And you’re human, Jane. To fear is to be human. You’ll always be part human, the same way you are part god. That’s what being a demigod is,” you smile.

“It’s just… human?” she says, nose scrunching.

“All of the emotions you feel, the ones you hate, the ones that distract you- those are the ones that come from your mortal parent. Ares cannot take those away, no matter how hard he tries.”

You let the kids spread around the rumors that this room is magical and soundproof. In reality, the Gods just don’t care enough to listen.

—-

It took a long time to get Chiron and Mr. D to see the benefits of having an actual licensed therapist at Camp. They were hesitant, but you insisted, so they gave you a one month trial. It took even longer to get someone to actually come talk to you, but after Jane blew up on one of her siblings and hurt them, she came to you.

She came to you crying, saying she hated being like this, she hated being so explosive. And it was slow, but you helped her, and now she has coping mechanisms and now the entirety of the Ares cabin and a good portion of the camp scrambles for appointments with you.

Jane always comes at 6:30 on Fridays. She eats her dinner quick and runs across camp to your office at the Big House. Sometimes she cries, sometimes she squeezes a stress ball so hard she might actually crush it, but she always talks. She always opens herself up, she learns and she grows.

After that hour, you turn around and lay in your bed, and you think about Clarisse.

You think about when she comes back, you’re not so cold anymore but your heart is frozen over. You cry, she asks you not to cry, not when she’s here. She did the impossible, she survived.

But you see it in her eyes. The thrill. She will do it again and again for him and you will be left there.

And as much as your aching heart tells you to forget about her- she’s yours. You’re hers.

She calls you baby and pretty girl even though years of stress has caused crows lines around your eyes. You are still trapped with her, like some sort of wretched mirror- except you’re gazing into another world where you’re both still young. Where you’re both still happy. Where she didn’t leave.

You think about that alternate reality a lot.

You think about it tonight.

You come to your room and you lay on your cold bed, wrap an arm around your waist and imagine the pillow under your head is her chest. It’s embarrassing. It’s embarrassing to love her so much that you pretend she’s still here. It’s embarrassing that you pretend you have all the answers- the campers look up at you like you do have all the answers, but you really don’t. You know absolutely nothing. But you’re good at pretending.

The first time she visited camp she came to your room, cockily leaned against the door, and said something about how she had to meet the woman all of her younger siblings were gushing about. That night ended with her crying softly against your chest while you ran your hands through her hair.

And before, you went to colleges only an hour away from each other. When you were stressing about exams, when you got a bad grade, when the nights were cold and you missed her- you drove an hour and knocked on her door, and she let you in, into her bed, into her arms. She didn’t have let you into her heart, because you were always there.

When her roommate left for a few days for a family emergency, she asked her friends to take notes for her and drove to you. She stammered when you opened the door, tried to explain that she just couldn’t be alone, not anymore, not without you- and so she spent the next few days waiting in your room while you were at classes. You would sit in her lap while you did your homework, or she would just stand behind you at your desk and play with your hair. And you would spend your nights in her arms.

The second time she visited camp she didn’t say anything when she knocked on your door, and you just let her in. You spent the night laughing and reminiscing until you cried and she smiled sadly and asked you not to, and you tried for her, but you couldn’t. How can she expect you not to cry when she’s the one making you cry? When she’s cried herself over what happened between you?

The third, fourth, fifth, all the times she came to camp she would come to your door and sometimes you would cry, sometimes she would cry- sometimes you both would cry. Because how cruel is it to be held by the woman you love and know it’s not the girl you love? How cruel is it to know change?

—-

It’s not that you choose to love Clarisse. If you could choose, you wouldn’t love her. You would forget all about her. You dream about falling and hitting your head, waking up with a blank slate that’s untainted by her.

You don’t choose to love Clarisse.

Your skin doesn’t love her, not anymore- your cells replace every few weeks. And it’s been 2 months since she last came to camp. It’s your bones that love her. It’s something fundamental inside of you. Loving her is like moving- it takes so many little nerves and neurons to make it work- but it feels like nothing to you. Your bones love Clarisse.

And your bones surround your heart, and they trick you into loving her.

Every time she comes back you’re shocked by the way she isn’t her younger self. She’s older, there’s lines on her face, and she cut her hair a few inches shorter a few years ago. She carries herself different, partly because she’s grown and she’s learned to appreciate life a little more- she walks softer. And almost because you know she hurt her hip years ago, and you’ve spent nights kissing it and saying that she’ll be fine if she just gives it a little longer to heal.

You like to think that the reason she’s still able to go on quests and do everything she does is because of your healing touch.

But you see it sometimes, the way she walks softer, especially now after a long day. Its not that it hurts her, she’s just scared of putting a bit too much pressure on it so it does hurt her.

You watch her from the window. Smaller kids run past her, she’s listening absentmindedly to Abby James, the current counselor of the Ares cabin.

You giggle as she puts her hand on Abby’s shoulder and firmly says goodbye, pushing her off into the other direction- Abby is probably the most social Ares kid you’ve ever met. She’s a chatterbox, not in a bad or mean way, just a fact. Her long black hair swishes behind her as she turns, crossing her arms, and you’re sure you’ll be hearing about it in your next session.

You move back to the small couch- right by the door of your room. You sit there like you’re not expecting her, and you wait until you hear her footsteps up the stares to fix your hair and breathe in and out slowly.

She knocks.

“Come in,” you say, throwing your feet onto the coffee table and picking up a book about the history of psychology.

“Y/N,” she says. The door shuts behind her, she leans back against it.

“Hi, Clarisse,” you say, reduced to a child now that she’s in your presence. Now that you can look at her and see that she’s not her. “How are you?”

She snorts, walking past you and sitting in the armchair you sit in for your sessions.

“I don’t wanna play that shit tonight.”

“Hospitality?”

“Whatever you wanna call it,” she smiles, her feet touching yours on the coffee table. You feel a little breathless. You close the book, you weren’t even reading it, throwing it onto the coffee table.

She stares into your eyes.

“How have you been?”

You roll your eyes, but that just makes the tears more prominent.

“How is that any different?”

“‘Cause it’s you. ‘Cause I like hearing your voice.”

She leans back in the chair and gestures to you, so you cross your legs and sit up. You bite back the tears like a hyena with a fake laugh.

“Uh, I don’t know. The usual. All of my sessions are going good, not that I can really tell you. Why don’t I turn on some music?”

“Sure,” she says, leaning her face into her hands.

You walk past her and towards the bookshelf on the opposite wall, body screaming at the way your bare legs brush against her clothed knee.

It’s an old record player, somehow making the cut as not electronic enough to attract anything bad.

You don’t bother checking what you were last listening to. You just put the needle at the start of a song and hear the organs, the grand piano.

“I like this guy,” Clarisse says.

“Jeff Buckley,” you chuckle, smoothing down your camp t-shirt, adjusting your pajama shorts.

Looking out the door I see the rain // Fall upon the funeral mourners

You stand there for a moment longer, pretending to adjust your bookshelf, because you know you’ll start crying when you turn around and look at her.

So I’ll wait for you, love // And I’ll burn // Will I ever see your sweet return? // Oh, will I ever learn?

“Come back,” she says. She was just watching you avoid her. You could feel her eyes on you. You stiffen. “Please,” she adds, softly.

“It’s embarrassing,” you mutter, wiping the tears away.

“I’m just as embarrassing then, seeing how many times I’ve cried in this room. We cancel each other out.” You don’t turn, you can’t do it, you can’t let her see how much this effects you. “I don’t like it when you cry. Please, Y/N, come back.”

You take a deep breath and turn around, wanting to walk past her again, curious to see if she’ll reach out and pull you into the chair with her.

But she doesn’t get the chance too, because your eyes are blinded by tears, and the place where the rug curls up is always making you stumble. Except on days when she’s here, you’re so drained of everything, so you trip completely.

Your knees slam against the hardwood floor, Clarisse tries her best to catch you, but she was a foot too far to reach you- even with her fast reflexes.

And now you’re on your knees in front of her, crying even louder with burning knees.

“Y/N,” she breathes, and you drag yourself towards her, sobbing like a baby until you’re at her feet, resting your head in her lap. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s fine. I trip all the time.” You both know you’re not crying about that.

You press your face into the space between her leg and the cushion to muffle your loud cries.

You grab her legs, feral, nails digging through her cargo pants- but you don’t even reach skin.

“I love you so much, Clarisse,” you sob. “I love you. Don’t leave me tonight. Don’t leave me.”

She breathes out, it’s silent and you bite your tongue.

“I’ll stay tonight,” she says. “I was always gonna stay tonight, you don’t have to ask, baby.”

“Say you love me,” you whisper. “Say it, please.”

“I love you,” she says, her lips in your hair. “Of course I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

There is a certain desperation with demigod relationships. And you feel it now, you feel the desperate hands and the yearning hearts as you cry at her feet. And you feel your knees burn as you kneel before her. You listen to Jeff Buckley croon about love gone while you cry at her feet.

You can’t be embarrassed in this moment. Part of you feels like this is all just Clarisse’s problem, for being so beautiful you still love her, for leaving you and never putting you first. She has to hold you and fix you, she has to deal with the wet pant leg full of your tears. But really, you just want her to hold you. You just want to pretend she never left in the first place.

It’s never over // She is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

—-

“Are you hungry?” you ask when you finally let go of her, pushing her away as you wipe your wet face.

She studies you for a moment.

“Yeah,” she says, honestly. “What’cha got?”

You reach under the coffee table for the box of snacks you always keep incase someone gets hungry during a session. You’ve both moved to the couch for more space, Jeff Buckley is still going in the background- you’ll have to get up and flip it over soon, or put on something else.

She rifles through the bags of mortal snacks until she finds a bag of salt and vinegar chips.

“Thanks, baby,” she mutters, tearing into the bag. You lean against the couch and just watch her. It could be like this all the time. If she would just stay.

She tries to feed you one, but for some reason that feels too intimate and you shake your head. She shrugs and eats it, even though it was pressed up against your lips a second ago.

That’s the one thing you don’t do. You kiss each other everywhere, except for the lips. You touch her everywhere, except for her lips.

You cry in her arms and she kisses your head, she runs her hands down your body but doesn’t kiss you.

And you’re scared of it. You’re scared of kissing her. You still feel like you can leave, even after all the nights together, if you just don’t kiss her.

She gestures to the curtain that separates your bedroom from where you see campers. “I like the new curtain. Flowers,” she says.

You rake your eyes over the carefully crocheted patterns, pink and blue and yellow, purple and green and red, all turned into pretty flowers.

“A few kids from the Demeter cabin made it for me,” you smile, thinking of how proud they had been to give it to you. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It is,” Clarisse says, but she’s not looking at the curtain anymore. “Jane was talking about you all day,” she says after a moment. “She really loves you.”

“I love her. If she hadn’t come to me, then no one else would have, and I probably would have gotten thrown out. I don’t even know where I would have gone.”

“You could’ve come to me. You can always come to me.”

You have her address pinned to a bulletin board next to your bed.

“Yeah,” you mumble, playing with a loose thread on the back of the couch. “She reminds me a lot of you, you know.”

“Really?” she chuckles. “How?”

“I can’t tell you, silly. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“Well, you said she’s like me. So just tell me what I’m like.”

“Okay,” you mumble, thinking over every moment you’ve spent with Clarisse, every session with Jane. “Well, you have very big emotions. It’s hard for you to control them. But, you never really feel them. You never get to the root of the problem. So, when something actually happens, all you know how to do is recognize that you’re angry. You can’t figure out why.”

“You’re good at this shit,” she mumbles. You laugh.

“Hm, you forget that being a demigod means you’re half human, too. And you’re very loyal. You’re loyal to the wrong people, sometimes.”

She crunches up the empty bag of chips and drops it onto the coffee table.

“Don’t do that,” she says.

“Do what?”

She rubs her socks against your knees. “I jus’ wanna be here with you, right now. Don’t say anything else.”

“You asked me about Jane.” You scoff and she glares at you, but her feet are still touching you, and you sigh. “I’m sorry. I jus’ wanna be here with you, too.”

She stares at you for a long moment, unblinking. When she finally looks away, she’s rubbing tears out of her eyes. You move to sit on your knees, leaning towards her.

“Clar, don’t cry,” you say. “What happened?”

You take her face in your hands, so she can’t wipe away the tears. Staring into your eyes, she’s forced to let them fall. She puts her hands on your waist.

“Sometimes I jus’ think about how you’ll never forgive me.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“Let’s not talk about that right now, Clar. C’mon.”

“Is this room soundproof?” she asks, suddenly. You frown at first, not knowing what that has to do with anything- but then you remember.

You let the kids assume it’s soundproof in your early sessions. But eventually, when they ask, you tell them the truth. You tell them it’s not.

And when they get scared and ask if their godly parents will hear them- you put your hand on their arm and say no. No, they won’t hear you. It’s not that they can’t, it’s that they won’t. They won’t care.

“No. It’s not.”

She shakes her head and laughs.

“So, what? You just sit here and tell these kids that their parents don’t love them?”

“Because they don’t. A God’s love is not a human’s love, Clarisse, why-why dont you get it? It’s different. It’s just different. It’s not necessarily bad, it’s just not what these kids need.”

“You make them think that their parents don’t care about them.”

“Because they don’t! Fuck. They don’t, okay!”

She stares at you for a long time after your outburst.

“What is wrong with you?” she mutters, not necessarily mean but more genuinely curious. She truly believes your wrong in your hatred of the Gods.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? I spend my entire day helping kids. I spent my entire day handing them tissues, hugging them, teaching them coping skills. I have devoted my entire life to making sure no one ever felt how I felt. How am I the bad guy for helping them place the blame on who it really should be placed?”

“How you felt?”

You shuffle, sitting up taller.

“Yes, how I felt. How I feel. You don’t know what it was like for me, Clarisse. You don’t know what it was like to sleep without you and know that you were probably gone-”

“What the hell do you think I did every night of that quest?”

“But I didn’t leave you, Clarisse! I didn’t leave you. I have been waiting for you for years. You are the one who leaves me over and over again. And you- you have someone. I have no one, except for you. No one.”

Clarisse has a father. She has someone to blame, if she chose. She has someone to pray to, to cry to, to guide her.

What do you have? The unclaimed daughter of no one? The only person you belong to is Clarisse. And here she is, staring at you like you disgust her.

The anger falls away, because at your core you’re still a lonely 16 year old who needs her to come back, who needs to be claimed, who needs to be loved.

You’re a licensed psychologist. You know that you have deep, deep abandonment issues. You know that Clarisse is at the root of them. But the part of you that’s just a girl, your bones that will always love her, she’s everything to you. She’s all you have.

“Please don’t make us fight,” you cry, hands pressed to your cheeks. “You’re making me cry, Clarisse. Don’t make me cry.”

You watch her change entirely. It goes from the woman who can’t understand you to the girl who knows only you.

“I hate it when you cry,” she says, softly, a gateway back into her arms.

You throw yourself against her, trying your best not to cry for her, but you fail. Her lips are in your hair, your head against her chest. She smooths down your hair and begs you not to cry. Because for some reason, this feels like too much. For some reason, this hurts her the most.

Clarisse is self destructive just like you.

She helps you to your bed. She touches the flower curtain as you walk past.

Clarisse knows she’s hurting you and she knows you’re hurting her. You know you’re hurting her and you know she’s hurting you.

She takes off her uncomfortable clothes and slips under the blanket with you.

Clarisse loves you the same way you love her. Not by choice, but by nostalgia, by hope. She loves you because of what might be. You love her the same way. You both hope that one day it’ll all work out.

She tucks the blanket around you and cups your face. She tells you she’s sorry and whispers “I love you” one more time. You put your hand on her hip, the other pressing against your chest. You say you love her too. You say you love her so much you’re reduced to this less-than thing in her presence.

Clarisse doesn’t understand you. You don’t understand her. She’s nobody’s son, and you’re nobody’s daughter. You try to go about your day without her but you think about her on you so much.

It’s hard to do well on these nights when you know she’s gonna leave you. So you cry, you pretend, you relish this one night in her arms.

“I promise I don’t mean to hurt you,” she whispers. “I don’t. I love you so much. I want you to be happy, but I can’t let you go.” She traces her nose along your jawline. “I can’t let you be happy away from me.”

And it sounds so horrible and cruel, but the way she hurts you is so beautiful you can’t be bothered. She only hurts you because of love. Because she loves you, because she loves her father.

“I know,” you breathe. “I know everything. I don’t mean to hurt you either, I know exactly how you feel.”

A single tear falls down her face. “I can’t help but hurt you. I can’t help but let you hurt me.”

“I know, Clarisse,” you mutter. You press your lips to her cheek and swallow the salty tear falling down her face. “It feels so good, I know.”

Clarisse is a sadist like you. Clarisse is a masochist like you.

Clarisse is addicted to the pain just like you.

—-

me when i’m in an toxic and cosmically doomed relationship contest and my opponents are clarisse and y/n: 😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱

let me know if you cried in the comments below! 😘

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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a-little-unsteddie · 5 months

Text

stuck in your throat || 1.1

[here] | 1.2 | 1.3 | 1.4 | 1.5

ah hello hello :) i have finished chapter two and started into chapter three so i’m comfortable with starting to post the first chapter. idk how many parts each chapter will be, but after i finish posting all of each chapter, i will post the entire chapter on ao3.

i’ll be posting each chapter after i finish another one, so i’ll post chapter two after i finish writing chapter 3, so i always am one chapter ahead :)

this started because @/lexirosewrites followed me ages ago and i was possessed to write an omegaverse fic because of it, as a gift :D hope you enjoy <3

anyway, i think i’ve probably gone on a bit too long now, so enjoy chapter one, part one of stuck in your throat! it’s a bit short, but the next one is like almost 2k so i think it’ll even out :b

Steve sighed as he stared blearily at the screen in front of him, meticulously scanning his resume for what could have been the hundredth time. He needed it to be absolutely perfect before he sent it to any potential employers. He knew he didn’t have the most experience, given that the entirety of his knowledge of nannying came in the form of babysitting Dustin and his friends. Steve hardly counted that, considering the pups were almost all high school age at the time. Even if they were a bit much to deal with at the best of times.

Steve hoped that the fact he went to school to get his teaching license would make him stand out as a candidate.

“You’ve made it as perfect as you can.” Robin said from behind Steve, causing the omega to startle.

“Jesus, wear a bell or something.” he muttered with a grumpy glare in the alpha’s direction. He looked back at his laptop screen and sighed deeply. “No one’s gonna hire some washed up omega,” he threw his arms over his face, speaking with a whine. Robin plopped on their couch next to him and peered at the laptop screen curiously. She took it off Steve’s lap while ignoring his half-hearted protests. She scanned over it with a hum.

“You’re right,” she said with a firm nod, “no one wants to hire some washed up omega.” Steve gaped at her in shock and hurt, until Robin continued. “Good thing you’re applying, so they don’t have to!”

Steve scrunched his face up at her, sticking his tongue out. “Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, ho ho ho!” Robin said, squinting at the screen with a grin. “Looks like someone’s hiring a fulltime nanny and tutor!” she skimmed over the job ad and nodded firmly. “Apparently you’ll have to sign NDAs to work for them.” her eyes widened as she continued reading the advert. “And traveling? Sounds like exactly what you need. I’m sending your application to them.”

“What? Rob, no! I’m not done with my resum—” Steve scrambled to take the laptop from her.

“Too late!” Robin said, allowing the omega to take the laptop back.

“Robbie!” Steve whined, looking at the ‘thank you for your application!’ message that had popped up on the screen.

“What? You’ve been staring at your resume for like, six hours! It’s almost two in the morning!” she justified, feeling no remorse for pushing her friend to apply somewhere. “You weren’t going to do it, so I had to take matters into my own hands.”

Steve huffed and glared at her for a moment longer before looking at where she sent the application to. “Robbie, this looks like a perfect way to get trafficked,” he said flatly. “I mean, what kind of employer requires an NDA to be signed before they tell you who you’re working for?”

Robin shrugged, then leaned over and scrolled down to point out how much he could potentially make. “I dunno, but I’ll be with you every step of the way because that amount of money…” she whistled, flopping back into the couch.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Any place that requires an NDA probably won’t hire me, Robs. I’ve got no experience.”

“Yet!” Robin insisted, frowning at Steve. “No experience doesn’t mean you’re bad at it!”

“I could be! I don’t know!”

“You won’t be, dingus. Any pup will be better off if you’re their nanny.” Robin said in a rare moment of sincerity. Steve sighed and rolled his eyes fondly.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, but no less sincere. “Now help me pick a few other places to apply to.” he grumbled, knowing that Robin was right.

Someone would hire him, it was only a matter of time.

follow the tag #stuck in your throat or #siyt 🎤 to get notified when i post an update. i might do a tag list, but i make no promises because that seems stressful. i’ll only tag 18+ blogs, so either verify in the tags you’re 18+ or have it in your bio.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson (eventually)#eventual steddie #steve x eddie #stuck in your throat #siyt 🎤#tw omegaverse #tw a/b/o #unsteddie writing

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bumblinv · 1 year

Note

Hi! Are your requests open? If they are I'm just gonna leave this here, Neteyam, Ao'nung, Lo'ak (sperate) x OmaticayaGnReader who is sick, like flu for the na'vi or something like that, they have a fever and the chills and everything could it also be fluffy and absolutely adorable

--- personal doctors ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

neteyam, ao'nung, rotxo (seperated) x gn!metkayina!reader

you catch a cold, its time for your lover to take care of you

a/n ; im not good at writing lo’ak, so i bring you rotxo instead! i hope you dont mind<3

: ̗̀➛ neteyam

realizes your sickness even before you did

when you first sneeze or cough, his mind goes straight to the day before, recalling any peculiar food you've had

neteyam would notices too, when you pause between chores to massage your forehead

he will take over cleaning. making sure every corner is clean so you won't sneeze from the dust. he also makes sure you stay hydrated and even whips you up nutritious meals until your condition got better. usually, the fever never got up to you

but when it does, he goes in full momma mode

this man grows with 3 younger siblings, caring for someone is natural for him. he would stay by your side, whispering your name every few hours to wake you up, so he could feed and help you drink

neteyam might not be the best healer, like her sister, but he can make certain herb drinks

makes you ginger tea regularly to warm up your shivering body

you tend to get all sort of nightmares from your sickness, but dont worry, you’re waking up to neteyam since he’s cuddling you all night long. he will run his slender fingers through your hair, whispering comforting words to your ear

“everything’s okay, dear. i’m here”

we all need neteyam in our lives:(

: ̗̀➛ ao'ung

acts like he doesn’t care, but the moment your temperature starts to rise, he brings his mother straight to you

the tsahik would probably do nothing. she tell him to go ask kiri for some herb tea, and to make sure you drink and eat well, since fevers could heal by itself

but mans stressed

would refuse to let you lift a single muscle. he will be the one helping you change, wipe your face to keep you fresh, feeding you

since he’s not the best cook, he would ask tsireya to make you soups, wich she happily does. she makes great food, but your tongue tastes sour and your appetite is no where to be found

so ao'nung scolds you

“quit acting like a baby and please, just eat”

you know ao’nung. none of his scolding are anger, he’s just extremely worried.

watching you go to sleep after being scolded makes him feel like a villain. he would join you in bed and whispers an apology. gently bringing you closer to his chest as the both of you fall asleep

remember he's a worrier? it makes him act too much like a mom. he will insist on taking care of you, even when you're feeling better. will only stop until he's sure you're 100% healthy

ao'nung is a big softie

: ̗̀➛ rotxo

most clueless compared to the other 2

pls dont be mad, its not his fault

something tells me he’s an only child, a one that rarely got sick too, so he doesn’t know anything about caring for ill people

rotxo might be confused, but he’s not an idiot

the moment he touches your forehead and realizes you're scorching hot, rotxo instinctively wraps a fluffy blanket around you. the man will make you drink a lot of water, and went off running to the sullys

“what the fuck?”

“sorry lo'ak! its an emergency!”

he got home with omaticayan food wraps in hand. you’re too sick to say anything, so when he lifts your head to feed you, you don’t protest

the one thing that scares you the most is that his jokes completely disappears

all his stupid jokes, gone.

not in a bad way, this man is just so dedicated on you that he stops joking around. he cannot stand that you're feeling all sick and uncomfortable and wants you back to your healthy self

this man is so serious, even when he tried feeding you raw cloves of garlic

one time, he heard kiri saying that garlics are ‘good for boosting the immune system’

he’s not wrong😭😭😭

but kiri hits him on the head once she founds out

instead of feeding you raw garlic, she gives you a mix of aged garlic and honey as medicine such an asian mom move

he feels bad afterwards, would kiss your entire face despite your protest

the next day, you wake up feeling fresh. but your lover boys voice got so hoarse from sore throat and complains about his sore limbs

yes, he got your fever and yes, he never regret kissing you, even when you're sick

#avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam #neteyam x reader #aonung #aonung x reader #rotxo #rotxo x reader #sick reader

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buckyispunk · 4 months

Text

Falling

Aloha Chapter Three~ Bucky Barnes x f!Reader (no use of Y/N)

read previous parts here!

masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: The events of Ocean Blue from Bucky's perspective, aka Bucky fights to win you back.

A/N: So so soooo sorry for the longer-than-expected wait everyone! Thank you to all who have been sticking it out with me! I hope this chapter makes up for it! Also - discontinuing tags after this chapter, follow @buckyispunkwrites and turn on notifs!!

Warnings: oral sex (f receiving), fingering, discussion of unhealthy relationships, slight overstimulation, dom!Bucky, drinking, insecure reader, please lmk if I missed anything

Word Count: 4.6k

“Dude,” Sam shoves Bucky’s shoulder, “I’m sure she’ll be out soon, you don’t have to keep staring at the door.”

Bucky reverts his attention to his friends, who are now laughing at his infatuated state. He debates for a second whether or not it’s worth it to think of a clever comeback, but he can’t bring himself to care enough. All Bucky cares about is when he’ll next be able to hear your laugh and watch the way your eyes sparkle in the sunlight. All he cares about right now is being with you.

And that scares Bucky. Absolutely terrifies him. The last time Bucky felt this way about someone, she betrayed every ounce of trust he ever put in her and Bucky had wound up wishing he never even met her in the first place. But even though he’s only known you a few days, something tells Bucky you’re nothing like his ex.

All he manages is a mumbled shut up.

He turns from his friends to go order another round, noting that Sam and Steve’s bottles are almost empty as well. As he leans against the bar waiting for the bartender, he feels a tap on his shoulder.

Bucky grins as he turns around.

“Been waiting for you, do-”

He cuts himself off when he realizes it’s not you he’s talking to, but some blonde woman he doesn’t recognize.

“Sorry,” he shakes his head, “thought you were someone else,” he explains, smile disappearing from his face.

“No worries,” she flases her white teeth at him, “I actually think your friend over there is kinda cute. The one that hasn’t stopped laughing for the last five minutes.”

Bucky sighs, relieved that the woman isn’t hitting on him. He’s never been great at rejecting people.

“Sam’s definitely something,” Bucky tilts his head in amusement.

“I was gonna buy him a drink, what does he like? Couldn’t see his bottle from where I’m sitting.”

“I was just ordering us another round, I’ll just give you his.”

Bucky turns back to the bartender and orders three beers for him and his friends.

“Thanks. Now let’s just hope he doesn’t fall out of his chair again when I give it to him.”

Bucky laughs as he remembers when, a few minutes ago, Sam had fallen to the ground laughing at Steve’s insistence that the Giants are super bowl bound this year. In that moment, as he listened to Sam’s hysterical laughter and Steve’s continued argument, he found himself wondering whether you’d be laughing along with Sam or if you were a die-hard Giants fan, like Steve.

He’s realized there’s so many things he doesn’t know about you: your favorite kind of flower, how you spend your time on rainy Sundays, where you grew up, whether you eat pumpkin or apple pie on Thanksgiving. And this realization has sparked an endless curiosity in Bucky. He has a sudden urge to ask you every possible question he can think of and then memorize each and every answer you tell him until he’s familiarized himself with every nook and cranny of your beautiful mind.

The bartender sets the drinks on the bar, snapping Bucky out of his trance.

“Have at it,” Bucky hands the woman the beer and she heads toward their seats.

Sam and Steve usually have no trouble finding women wherever the three of them go. Occasionally Bucky would get hit on at the bar or at a ball game, usually only indulging them for a minute or two before escaping to the bathroom. He had gone on a few dates over the years, but those only discouraged him.

One time his date had gotten so drunk that Bucky had to practically carry her to her door, where she then invited Bucky inside with clear intentions - an offer which Bucky had politely declined, of course. The girl after that had looked up from her phone no more than five times throughout the night, making halfhearted conversation as she scrolled through social media before thanking Bucky for dinner and ordering an Uber home. Needless to say, Bucky hasn’t had the best dating experiences since he’s been stateside.

Sam, on the otherhand, has a whole folder on his phone filled with different dating apps - Kinder? Tumble? - he doesn’t remember what they’re called. For the life of him, Bucky can’t understand the appeal of swiping through woman after woman and judging them based off of a couple of pictures. Cliches be damned, he needs the butterflies in his stomach that he can’t seem to get rid of when he looks into a girl’s eyes for the first time, testing her name out on his lips, the involuntary grin on his face after making her blush, the excitement of trying to earn her phone number so he can ask her out. He wants a Hallmark-esque story to tell about how he met his future wife.

At that, Bucky’s thoughts reflexively drift back to you and he turns to eye the door again. Seeing no sign of you, he lets out a sigh and heads back toward his friends. He sees the woman all but clinging onto Sam, who doesn’t mind one bit - if the grin on his face is anything to go by. Bucky hands Steve his beer and sits, passing the time discussing football with Steve.

Another twenty or so minutes go by before Bucky gets sick of watching Sam not-so-discreetly exchange dirty talk with the woman. Bucky finishes his beer and stands up to leave once Steve heads to the bathroom. Sam doesn’t see Bucky walk away - his tongue is too deep into the woman’s mouth for him to notice anything else.

Bucky heads toward the hotel, beginning to get worried about you. He gets into the elevator and presses the 5. Bucky doesn’t even notice the way he nervously taps his foot as the elevator climbs to your floor. He makes his way to your room and raises his hand, rapping his knuckles against the thick wood.

No answer.

He waits a few seconds before knocking again, harder.

Bucky feels his heart rate pick up ever so slightly when he calls your name and still doesn’t hear a response. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to call you and stops suddenly, cursing himself under his breath.

He’d never even gotten your phone number.

Fuck.

He slips his phone back into his pocket and his fingers brush aroom key. Your room key.

You had given him your room key earlier.

“Are you in there, doll? If you want me to go away then just say so. Promise I won’t be upset, sweetheart, just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

He knocks one last time and pulls the key card out to unlock the door.

“I’m coming in, doll.”

He cautiously steps into your room, calling out your name again. He does a quick scan of the bedroom and the bathroom before concluding that you’re not there.

As he heads back down to the lobby, he realizes he’s more frantic than he has any right to be. You’re not his to worry about. You’re not his to take care of. You’re not his. But he can figure that out later. Right now, he needs to make sure you’re okay.

He walks through the lobby and the gift shop racking his brain for anything he could have done to upset you. You seemed understanding when he left you in your room. Maybe you felt rejected when he declined your offer to shower with you? If only you’d known how hard it was for him to say no to you, how his self-control almost hadn’t been strong enough.

He rounds the corner to the hotel bar and instantly feels a weight lift off of his shoulders when he sees you sitting at the bar, wearing the Hawiian shirt that mirrors his own. Bucky makes his way across the room in quick strides.

“Hey, sweetheart. Are you okay?” He places his hand on your shoulder and you turn to look at him.

Any relief Bucky had felt just moments ago is gone as soon as he notices your tear-streaked face and watery eyes. He instantly reaches a gentle hand out to cup your face, which you promptly smack away.

Bucky raises his hands in the air, wanting to show that he isn’t a threat. A distressed and confused expression makes its way across Bucky’s face as his mind begins to race. He immediatley searches his memory again for what he could have done to upset you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, ready to come up with a solution; ready to console you; ready to do everything in his power to take your pain away. This is the first time Bucky’s seen you this upset, and in this moment he decides he’ll do his damndest to make sure he never sees you this upset again.

“Fuck off, Barnes,” you scoff, turning back towards the bar and downing the last of your drink.

Bucky stands with a dumbfounded look on his face, hands frozen in the air. Determined to make sure you’re okay, Bucky takes a seat next to you while you order another drink.

“Doll, what happened?”

Bucky feels as if his heart is about to pound out of his chest. It’s physically hurting him to see you like this, and it hurts him even more knowing that, based off your hostility towards him, it might be his fault.

“Did I do something, sweetheart?”

You turn to Bucky, eyes lit with what Bucky can only describe as rage.

“I don’t know, maybe you should ask that girl you were buying a drink for at the bar,” you scoff, an incredulous smirk on your face as the bartender places a fresh drink in front of you.

Bucky feels his whole body go tense at your words. His eyes close as he sucks in a strained breath, realizing how it must have looked if you had seen the interaction from afar.

“Please, let me explain. It wasn’t what it looked like, I promise.”

“Yeah right, James. Was that not you buying a drink for a fucking supermodel out there? Maybe it was your doppelganger out there that was laughing with her? I’m sure you weren’t trying to get in her pants. I’m sure it couldn’t have been the fact that there’s a hundred better-looking, more interesting women at this resort right now. I’m sure it wasn’t that you got what you wanted from me an-”

“Enough,” Bucky’s stern tone cuts you off.

He looks around and sees the attention your little spat has drawn. He softly says your name, ocean blue eyes boring into your own, pleading.

“Please, doll, let’s talk. Can we get out of here?”

He watches you contemplate for a moment before responding. Bucky’s eyes may have softened your resolution because you give in.

“Fine. I’ll hear you out, but that’s all I’m promising.”

“Of course,” Bucky nods enthusiastically as he stands from his chair, “if you still want nothing to do with me after I explain myself then I won’t bother you anymore. Swear.”

Bucky watches as you attempt to hop down from your barstool in your drunken state. You barely land on your feet, stumbling forward. Bucky reaches out instinctively, wrapping his hands around your forearms before you land face first on the hard floor.

“Careful, honey.”

You remove your arms from his grasp and head towards the lobby, Bucky following behind you. Bucky stops you with a light hand on your shoulder in front of the gift shop.

“Hey can you wait right here for a second?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, James?”

Bucky tries to ignore the twinge of pain he feels as you call him by his first name again.

“Please, just trust me. I’ll be back in one minute, just sit right here.”

He directs you to a couch before going into the hotel’s little store. Bucky tries to calm himself down as he walkes toward the little fridge and grabs a bottle of water. He struggles to wrap his head around that fact that the two of you went from playing football and scuba diving earlier today to him having to beg to talk to you.

He tries his best to be polite when the cashier asks him about his night, meanwhile he can’t shake the image of your devastated eyes at the bar. He couldn’t let you go on thinking he’d do that to you. Couldn’t let you go on thinking that he would use you and throw you aside like that.

After he pays, he grabs the water bottle and thanks his lucky stars when you’re still sitting where he left you.

“Drink this please, doll.” He extends the water bottle.

He’s expecting you to put up a fight, but to his surprise, you snatch the bottle from him and down half of it in one go.

“Good girl.”

Bucky doesn’t notice the effect his words have on you, even in your outraged state.

“Let’s go outside.”

Bucky’s hand hovers over your lower back as you walk, ready to reach out and steady you in case you stumble. Bucky guides you to the beach, almost empty at this hour. When you’re far enough away from the few people scattered around, Bucky plops down onto the sand and reaches a hand up to help you down next to him.

After you sit, Bucky keeps a lose grip on your hand. When you don’t make any attempts to pull it away, he tightens his grip and pulls your joint hands to rest on his thigh.

Bucky takes a deep breath before beginning.

“After I left you in your room, I went down to meet Sam and Steve at the bar. At one point, I got up to get everyone another round of drinks. That’s when that woman approached me. I was afraid she was going to hit on me at first, and if she had, believe me, I would have turned her down.”

“She wasn’t hitting on you?”

“No, sweetheart, she told me she thought Sam was cute. She wanted to buy him a drink and didn’t know what to get him, so I just gave her the beer I had bought for Sam and let her give it to him. She took the beer over and was sitting with Sam when I got back. For the most part, her and Sam were talking and kissing while me and Steve tried our best to ignore them. Eventually, Steve got up to go to the bathroom and I came to look for you because I had no desire to be around them any longer and I was worried about you.”

“Oh. So you and her weren’t flirting? You didn’t buy the drink for her?”

“‘course not doll.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Buck.”

Bucky feels the tension seep out of his bones when you call him ‘Buck’ instead of ‘James’.

“Don’t be, doll. I’m sorry for how that looked. And even more, I’m sorry that you thought I’d ever do that to you. I would never use you like that then just move on to another girl like it never happened. Besides, I haven’t even begun to get I want from you, honey.”

“Huh?”

“Earlier you said I’d just taken what I wanted from you. That’s not true.”

Bucky won’t have everything he wants from you until you know that being able to spend these last few days with you has made him feel like the luckiest man alive. Until he’s convinced you that you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. Until he’s able to help you overcome all those unwarranted insecurities stupid fucking Brock put in your head. Until you’re his.

Bucky’s afraid to say all of this out loud, both because he doesn’t want to scare you off and because he’s not ready to admit to himself how quickly and deeply he fell for you. So instead, he brings your hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to it.

Almost as if you understand, you don’t press the topic, just let out a little sigh at the feeling of Bucky’s soft lips on your skin.

“I really am sorry though, Buck. I overreacted. I guess I just thought you got bored of me and decided to leave, like Brock. Besides, it’s not like we’re exclusive. I mean we hardly know each other, it’s not my place to tell you what you can or can’t do with other women.”

“Doll, I wouldn’t waste time with other women when we’ve only got a few more days here. I’d spend every second of my time left here with you if I could,” Bucky rubs his thumb along your hand, hoping that you believe him. “Listen closely. I understand why you got upset. It looked bad. Also, Brock is quite possibly the dumbest man on the planet for having someone as fucking perfect as you and ‘getting bored’. I don’t know how you put up with that undeserving piece of shit for so long. You deserve to be fucking worshipped, don’t ever settle for anything less.”

“Thank you, Bucky,” he doesn’t miss the way your eyes start to water again at his words.

“Promise me, doll.”

“Promise what?”

“Promise me that you’ll never settle for anything less.”

Though the thought of you being with anyone else at all pains Bucky - he knows it shouldn’t -, he needs to know that no matter who you end up with after you leave Hawaii, you’re being treated right.

You hesitate for only a moment before responding.

“I promise, Buck.”

“So,” Bucky braces himself, “are we okay? If you want nothing to do with me, like I said before, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Yeah, Bucky” your lips curl into a gentle smile, “we’re okay.”

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief when you scoot yourself closer to him and lean against his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you tight, pressing a kiss to your head.

“Good. Now drink the rest of your water, sweetheart.”

Bucky uncaps the bottle and hands it to you. You sip on the water and Bucky feels at peace for the first time in hours, with you in his arms and the waves crashing onto the sand in front of him. He could stay here forever, he thinks. It’d give him plenty of time to ask you all those questions. Before he can get the chance, though, he feels you shiver.

“Shit, honey, are you cold?”

Bucky had been too preoccupied thinking to notice the breeze blowing against the two of you.

“Let’s go back,” he doesn’t wait for an answer from you before standing and helping you to your feet.

As soon as you stand, you interlace Bucky’s fingers with your own and the two of you make your way back to the hotel. You seem to be walking a lot more steady now, the bottle of water and time spent on the beach having sobered you up.

Bucky fills the walk back with apologies for hurting you and you reply with your own apologies for jumping to conclusions. By the time the two of you reach your floor, you agree to leave the events of the night behind you and move on.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Bucky questions, getting ready to say goodnight and turn toward his room.

Your response surprises Bucky.

“Do you want to come back to my room?” you smirk at Bucky and begin to run your hand up his forearm.

“Are you sure, doll? We don’t need to do anything.”

After everything that’s happened today, the last thing Bucky wants to do is make you feel like you’re being used. He needs you to know he’s spending time with you for the right reasons.

“I want to if you do, Buck.”

“Okay, but only if you’re certain.”

Bucky wouldn’t even be considering it if he didn’t think all the alcohol had worn off, but he hasn’t seen any signs of intoxication since the walk to the beach.

“You made me a promise in the dressing room.”

Bucky’s eyes darken as he recalls you getting on your knees for him in the hotel gift shop earlier.

“I did, didn’t I?”

Bucky leads the two of you to your room and unlocks it with the key card he still has.

“Can’t leave me hanging, Bucky.”

He’s sure you’re more than ready for some attention after he had edged you.

“You’re right about that baby.” he opens the door and walks in behind you.

Bucky can tell by the way you stand awkwardly in front of the bed, you’re waiting for him to give you an order. The realization makes his dick jump in his boxers. He typically prefered to be dominant in bed, and he’s grateful for the way you seem so eager to submit and let him take the reigns.

“Listen, doll, tonight is all about you. You were so good for me today. You did perfect and you earned your reward.”

Even if he didn’t actually do anything wrong, Bucky can’t help but feel responsible for the tears you shed today. He wants to rid the image of your watery eyes staring at him with hate from his mind and replace it with one of your face scrunched up in pleasure as you scream him name.

He needs to make it up to you.

Bucky pulls his shirt over his head as he stalks toward you, throwing it on the floor.

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed.”

Bucky does nothing to hide the ravenous look in his eyes as he watches you undress, he just palms his rapidly growing erection. He lets out a low curse when you expose your breasts to him. You remove your shorts, then look up to Bucky with a questioning look as you thumb the waistband of your panties.

“All of it, doll.”

You pull the fabric down your legs and lay back on the bed, waiting for Bucky’s next move.

Bucky allows himself to revel in this moment only for a second - you spread naked on the bed, waiting for him with desperate, pleading eyes - before he reminds himself that he’s supposed to be making it up to you right now.

Bucky stands by the edge of the bed and grabs your ankles. He drags your body down the bed with ease until your hips are on the end of the bed, legs hanging over the side. Bucky kneels down onto the floor, face level with your center.

Bucky is only slightly shocked at how wet your core is. He can’t help the groan that escapes him as he watches your slick pool out.

“Fuck, doll. You’re killing me here.”

You buck your hips up into the air seeking any sort of relief and Bucky throws your legs around his shoulders. He doesn’t even give you a chance to beg, he dives right in. He laps up the wetness that has escaped from your pussy before suckling your clit into his mouth and tonguing it.

You let out a shriek and it only spurs Bucky on.

He alternates between fucking his tongue into you and suctioning your clit between his full, pink lips.

“Fu- Bucky! I’m cl- oh god- I’m close!” Bucky thinks that he could spend the rest of his life down here, on his knees for you, if you continue making sounds like that.

He grips your thighs around his head, fingers almost bruising. He rapidly flicks his tongue over your clit and you come with a moan that Bucky thinks may be the second-best thing he’s ever heard - number one being your laugh, of course.

Bucky returns to your hole to drink up all of your release. He listens to your gasps as you ride out your high, hips bucking into his face.

“Okay, Buck, it’s- fuck- it’s too much, baby,” you try to pry your legs open around his head but his grip is unrelenting.

Bucky lifts his mouth off of you just long enough to say, “Not yet, honey. I want one more,” before he reattatches his mouth to your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He meant it when he said he could stay down here forever. He pays no mind to his stiff knees - sore from the hard floor, or the wet spot formed on his boxers from his leaking dick. He wants you to forget about all the pain you felt today, wants to eat you out until all you know is pleasure, until the only word your mouth is able to form is his name.

“Holy fu-ahh,” you grab the comforter beneath you for dear life.

“You can do it, doll. Don’t you wanna be a good girl for me?”

Bucky brings a hand up inbetween your legs and slips two fingers into your soaked pussy with no resistence.

“So fucking soaked baby. This little pussy really was desperate for me, huh?”

He curls his fingers until he feels that spongy spot inside you and continues brushing up against it when he hears your moans.

“Yes, Bucky! Right there, please!”

“No need, to beg tonight doll. I know exactly what you want and I’m gonna give it to you.”

Bucky sucks your mouth into his clit and ever so gently scrapes it with his teeth, eliciting a borderline pornographic moan of his name from you. He continues curling his fingers and focusing his mouth on your clit.

You don’t give him a verbal warning, but Bucky knows you’re about to come undone again by your breathing and the way you’re squeezing his fingers so tight he’s afraid you’ll push them out. He eats you through it, fucking you on his digits as you moan and gasp for breath.

He pulls his hand from your core and fucks you with his tongue until you start to whine from overstimulation and only then does he pull away, rising to his feet.

“Did so fucking perfect for me, baby,” he praises, “I’ll be right back, promise.”

He bends down and places a kiss on your damp forehead, and heads for the bathroom. Bucky is reminded of his hard-on when his zipper presses against it rather uncomfortably. He shucks off his pants and shoes on the way to the bathroom.

He grabs a washcloth and dampens it in the sink with warm water, and returns to you in his boxers. He gets back down onto his knees and spreads your legs. He drags the warm cloth through your folds, cleaning up the mixture of his spit and your arousal. Once he’s done the best he can, careful to avoid your oversensitive clit, he presses a kiss to the top of your mound.

He stands and throws the washcloth into the pile with the rest of the dirty clothes.

“Tired, doll?” Bucky fights back a laugh at the way your eyelids droop, struggling to stay open.

“No, Buck, lemme take care of you,” he sees your eyes drop to his boxers.

“Not a chance, honey. Told you tonight was all about you. Time for bed,” he smiles fondly at your attempt to take care of him.

You put up a brief fight, but Bucky manages to get you under the covers and climbs in next to you. You immediately curl into his chest when he’s beside you and Bucky’s thankful you can’t see the grin on his face.

He brings a hand to your hair and smoothes it down.

“Goodnight, angel.”

The only response Bucky gets from you is the light sound of your breaths, hot against his chest.

Once he’s positive you’re asleep, he allows himself to admit out loud, “I think I’m falling for you, doll.”

To be continued...

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dckweed · 4 months

Text

THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND ➺ bob floyd

summary: In which bob floyd gets himself into a bit of a pickle and calls on his hot, recently single neighbor to help him out, the situation is mutually beneficial..in more ways than one.

warnings: fake dating, violence, domestic violence mentioned, nicknames, slowburn, eventual smut.

this is an x reader fic where reader is referred to as sunshine or sunny as a nickname, also i know the moodboard is a lil wonky no one say anything im gonna fix it! i made it on my phone half asleep lmao.

part one: here

PART TWO - THE FAKE INSTAGRAM

After the whole fiasco of snorting water out of your nose and scaring the poor man half to death, Bob insists on taking you to the quaint coffee shop on the corner of the street you guys lived on, just a few steps away from the front doors of the apartment building. Reluctantly, you agree, curious to know more about the predicament your neighbor had gotten himself into. He lets you have a few minutes to throw a cropped zip up hoodie over yourself, and a baseball cap to help shade the still slightly visible bruise on your face before you meet him in the hallway. He had clipped Cosie to her leash and the excited little furball was yipping excitedly when you stepped out of your home, closing the door behind you.

“Hi Cosie baby!” You say excitedly, your voice sweeter than honey as you crouched down to her level to excitedly scratch her behind the ears like she loved. “You being a good girl for your dad?” You ask teasingly, you knew she could never be bad, and Bob practically treated her like a princess anyway.

“Always is..” Bob says, his accent drawling out a few of the syllables in a way that you just loved to hear. God, you thought to yourself, this man could record an audio book and have everyone swooning. “You ready?”

You smile, straightening up. “Yeah, lets go..”

He was truly a gentleman you noted, he held the door to the apartment building, and the coffee shop for you as if it was second nature, only humming in response to your simple thank you, and when he pulled the chair out for you at the small table on their outdoor patio, you hoped that he didn’t notice the blush on your neck and face. Were you really so used to guys that were such brutes that you got flustered by basic acts of kindness? He hadn’t argued with you too much on paying for your own drink, letting you do it after a small squabble..or maybe you really didn’t give him a choice..you had already payed with your phone while you were arguing before he had even gotten his wallet out of his back pocket.

“So,” You say as he sits across from you, looping Cosie’s leash to the more shaded side of the table. “Can you elaborate on the whole girlfriend thing for me?” Now it was him who was turning red.

He fidgets awkwardly with his hot, black coffee for a moment, those eyebrows knit tightly together again. He clears his throat before he speaks. “I kind of..already told all of my friends that we’re dating.” He says, you lean back in the chair, your head tilted slightly towards the sun as you listen to him. You enjoyed the warmth on your face.“I..i don’t know what came over me..we were all drinking, and they said something about dating it somehow turned to me..and i just..i’m so tired of Hangman and his fucking manwhore whorier than thou attitude and always teasing me for not going on dates all the time..”

“So you told them you were dating someone?” You ask, seeing where the story was going. You could tell that the story alone was irritating him by the was his hand clenched around his coffee cup and the tightness around his mouth, the tick in his jaw. You wondered how long he had been putting up with this ‘Hangman’ guy.

Bob nods. “And then they asked her name, and at the time the only thing i could come up with quickly enough to not seem suspicious was Sunny..so..” You laugh a little bit, this man was adorable, and obviously gentle even though he was clearly upset by what he was talking about. You liked that about him, you decided.

How could you not help him? And really, what could it hurt? “How long would you need me to be your girlfriend for?” You ask, bringing the straw of your iced latte to your lips, moaning softly as the heavy caramel flavor hit your tongue. You could drink it forever. You see his body sag a little at your words, a little more relaxed.

“Just long enough to make it believable.” He states, eyeing you from across the table. Cosie’s cold nose pokes your leg and you happily reach down and scratch her head, giving the little baby all the attention she wanted. “A couple of nights out with my friends, obviously, and im sure Nat will want to hang out with you one on one..” He says, actually thinking of the scenarios that would most likely take place. “A couple of official work events, probably, I would say, a few months..”

You turn your attention back to him, lips pursed. A few months? That would land you around the beginning of the year..through Christmas..you had agreed to go home for the holiday’s this year. You arched a brow as you thought. It would look good if you brought a man home to your family, especially a man like Bob, they would swoon all over him..you wouldn’t have to spend the whole week hearing your grandmother tell you that you should be married already, or have a family like your brother and sister.. “Okay, i’ll help you out, but only if the fake boyfriend thing can be used in my favor too..” You say. He nods immediately. “So..rules?”

The two of you talk for a couple of hours at the coffee shop, the little table filled with the occasional laughter as you talked about rules of the arrangement, and what would need to be done. Later on you found yourself on one side of your couch, Bob on the other as the two of you tried to work out a schedule.

“Can you meet with me and the crew at our usual bar tomorrow night?” He asks, looking up from his phone at you. Natasha and Jake were blowing up the group chat about meeting you and it was slowly driving him insane. He had about forty text messages from this morning until right that moment.

You shake your head. :”I have work tomorrow night, but i’m off Monday.” You say, looking up from your own phone. You had been texting your sister about your plans for the Holidays. “My sister wants to know where you’re from, and what you do and i dont think she’ll take ‘navy dude’ as an answer” Bob looks at you, slightly offended.

“Navy dude?” He asks, setting his phone down for just a moment. “Sunny, i’m not just a ‘navy dude’, i’m a weapons system officer. I control the weapons and radar in multi million dollar government aircraft.” He looked completely offended by your terminology and you struggled to hold in a giggle at the way he was explaining his official job title to you. “..and I’m from Montana.”

“That explains the accent.” You say, texting your sister back.

Bob scoffs. “Accent?” He’d never been told he had an accent before. “Where are you from? This is basic stuff we should probably know about each other if we want people to believe this, you know?” You hummed in response, he was definitely right. “Also, Phoenix wants to know what your instagram is..”

“Well, that depends on how much you want your friends to know about me.” You say, setting your phone down to look at him. He looks up at you, eyebrows furrowed again. You have the sudden urge to reach across the damn couch and smooth the area with your thumb, but you resist. “Don’t look at me like that, you know what i mean. Are they the judgemental type?” He opens his mouth, as if to protest and say no, but then closes it and gives a slight nod. “Okay, so fake insta it is.”

It was a good thing you already had a fake instagram account for your grandmother and other family members because it made it a hell of alot easier for you. “A fake instagram? Won’t they think something is weird if it doesn’t have any pictures of us together on it?” He asks, not fully sure of your plan. You roll your eyes and maneuver yourself so you’re laying in Bob’s lap, looking directly up at him.

His entire body goes stiff and you can’t tell if its from surprise or from being uncomfortable with your proximity, but you don’t move and after a few moments his thigh muscles untense. He smells good, you realize as you breathe in slightly. “My fake account isn’t exactly fake, okay?” You say, opening the instagram app on your phone and switching it to your second profile. “It’s just not the one I use mainly that i post on for my friends or well, if you were actually my boyfriend, you, to see..”

“Then what is the point of it?” He asks looking down at you, his accent flowing smoothly through you. His voice was a little quieter now that you were so close to him, and in all honesty you didn’t mind it one bit.

You chuckle, giving him your phone so he can scroll through it. “I normally use it for my grandma and other family members, so they won’t have a damn heart attack..they already don’t like my line of work, there’s no need to go killing them with some pictures.” Bob hums in response, scrolling through a few of the posts. “It’s the extremely tame version of my main account.”

His phone pings again and he grunts, rolling his eyes. Before he can even try to hand you your own back, you grab his off the arm of the couch above you and thank god that it was already unlocked. You gasp at the text. “Hangman wants proof that im a real girl and not just a figment of your imagination.” You say, an idea coming to mind. You roll off of his lap and quickly stand, pulling him by the forearm to his feet as he makes a disgruntled noise.

You lead him down the small hallway, past your bedroom and into your bathroom (which was thankfully not its usual disastrous mess of makeup and lingerie scattered everywhere). “Okay, stand there..” You grab him by the biceps, shocked at how solid they are because he honestly didn’t seem to be overly buff to you, and position him exactly where you want him.

“Sunny, what’re we doin’?” He sighs, letting you move him around every which way. He had to admit, he liked the way you grabbed his arms, the way you squeezed at his biceps. He tried not to let his mind linger too much on it though, tried not to notice the way that your fingertips left a trail of goosebumps in their wake every time they lingered anywhere on his bare skin.

“Taking pictures, duh.” You say as if it should have been obvious. You turn around, satisfied with his position, and face the mirror yourself, positioning his arm around your shoulders and over your chest as you press back against his surprisingly solid body. You weren’t exactly a short person by any means, but there was definitely a noticeable height difference between you and him. Your head just barely cleared his shoulders, his chin able to rest perfectly onto of your head. It made for a cute photo, you thought and you pretended not to notice the goofy smirk on his face as you captured the photo as stealthily as you could, leaning back into his chest as his chin rested on top of your head, his arm over your chest and your hand wrapped around his forearm as you took the picture, acutely aware of his hand just over the waistband of your lululemon pants.

You hum, thinking about what other positions would be cute enough to send to his friends and post to your fake insta account, you wanted to hard launch him to your family too if you were hard launching to his friends. You turn the camera of his phone front facing, and set it up to take rapid photos on a timer before you abruptly turn around and jump up, locking your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

“Smile at me.” You say, as your hand snakes up into his hair. You didn’t really have to though because he was already smiling at you in surprise as you leaned your forehead against his. “I didn’t think you’d be able to hold me.” You giggle suddenly, and the sound makes his smile grow wider as he adjusts his hands so they’re fulling on your ass, supporting you as he drops his head to your shoulder.

The whole ordeal of the photo session takes about fifteen minutes or so, and when you’re finished you lead him back out into the living room. “Sorry to jump on you like that, but i had to catch you off guard, i wanted it to look believable.” You say, sitting back down on the couch. He only hums in response, taking a spot next to you as he watches you pick through your favorite photos in his camera roll to text to yourself.

“You’re awfully good at that,” He ques, watching you edit some of the photos you had sent to your own phone, before you compose an instagram post of the best ones. “I always just take them and post them, i never thought that filters really mattered..”

You chuckle at the man, shaking your head. “What’s your instagram, bobby?” You ask, using your nickname for him as you type out a caption for the post.

“Oh, uh,” a slight blush heats up his neck and face and he clears his throat before responding. “It’s @thewizzo ..natasha actually came up with the handle.” You type it into your caption, eyebrows furrowed. You’re about to ask him what the hell a wizzo is when he answers it for you. “It’s uh, well, sometimes its a nickname, or another acronym for WSO..”

“Oh, snazzy..” You say showing him the post. It was a series of four photos and a small, but cute caption.

“Is it Bobby approved?” You ask. He gives you an affirmative nod and you hit the post button, knowing it would only be a matter of minutes before your sister and brother blow up your phone. “Okay, well, here’s to our fake relationship!” You say, attaching the photo of Bob holding you with his hands on your ass to a text with your instagram handle and sending it to his friends group chat.

The phone pings before you’ve even handed it back to him.

Hangman: holy fuck she’s real. Phee: shut up you moron, im following her rn!! Rooster: …wait i thought i was imagining this conversation last night Payback: oh, shit..way to go Bob!!

taglist!

@mamachasesmayhem @hangmandruigandmav @shotgunhallelujah @shiara04 @3tabbiesandalab @tgmreader @flrboyd @goosterroose @mrspedropascal5683 @sugajar

@dory-98 @justherebecausesafarisucks

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lovelytsunoda · 10 months

Text

stand by me // mick schumacher

summary: the past few seasons have been rough on mick, and sometimes all y/n could do was reassure him that she was there. because sometimes, standing by someone is the best that you can do.

pairing: mick schumacher x female reader

warnings: haas, guenther steiner. mentions of serious crashes. sad mickey, burning of old haas merch, angie makes an appearance

when the night has come, and the moon is the only light we see. i won't cry, no, no, no, i won't shed a tear. just as long as you tell me, say you're gonna stand by me.

it was one thing to watch your boyfriend hit a barrier at two hundred kilometres an hour.

it was a totally different thing for every mechanic in the garage to simply roll their eyes instead of expressing some iota of concern.

“what the fuck is wrong with these people.” y/n huffed, moving to push past the viewing desk, fully intent on fighting guenther in his own garage before louise pulled her back

“it’s not worth it.” the older woman reminded her as she tried to keep a clear head.

micks headset wasn’t working; it was like gary was talking to a wall. nobody knew if mick was okay, and the only reaction she could see from guenther was annoyance. even kevin had come over the comms to ask if mick was okay.

y/n took her headset off, stumbling over to gary as she tried to keep her emotions in check. getting upset wouldn’t be good for anybody, but that crash was bad. the car had essentially split in half, taking mick with it as the session was red flagged.

“gary, is he okay?” she asked shakily, reaching for something to hold on to. “gary, i need to know.”

“i can’t hear him talking, but I can hear movement. i think he’s trying to climb out, which is a good sign.”

she didn’t start breathing again until she knew he was out of the car, knew that her mickey was safe. when they brought him to the medical bay, louise helped her there on shaky legs, and she sat with mick while he called his mom, and then they both cried together.

but from that moment on, they knew his days with haas were numbered.

“gene called me a dead man walking.” his voice sounded so small. he had been transferred to a hospital and taken in for extra observation. his mother was flying in from switzerland, and the fluorescent lights were giving him a headache.

“gene haas better watch his fucking back.” y/n scowled. “what does he know about this goddamn sport? he’s a tax criminal!”

but that day changed things. even though he knew he had y/n in his corner, you could see the clouds in mick schumachers eyes, the little glimpses of his father coming through. he would t talk to her about it, insistent that he could somehow change gene’s mind.

next race weekend, she walked with sad eyes and a heavy heart towards the mercedes motorhome and the one man that she knew would never steer her wrong.

toto wolff had become something almost like a surrogate father for y/n once she had started hanging around the track more. the older man looked out for her when mick couldn’t. toto knew she had never felt at ease in the haas garage, that there was something about the atmosphere in guenther steiners garage that made her uncomfortable.

“hey, toto.” she sighed, sinking into the austrians arms as he opened the office door.

“hey, kiddo. how’s mick doing?”

she frowned, following toto into his office. “he won’t talk about it. he still thinks there’s something he can do, and he shuts me down every time I suggest he start talking another team. I think guenther is stringing him along.”

it hurt that mick was emotionally firewalling her. yes, they still talked, but never about his career. he always shut her down with that sad look of his, or a suggestively placed kiss, attempting to distract her from the topic with the thought of something else.

she was dead worried about him.

“the air is thinner where gunther is from. it’s impairing his ability to think properly.”

she snorted. “toto, I’m worried sick about mick, he needs to talk to someone. you knew his dad. so did bonno. maybe talking to someone who knew micheal will help. I don’t know, but I can’t let this keep going on.”

“I’ll give him a call. you’re doing the best you can, y/n. please don’t beat yourself up over doing or not doing enough. it’s going to take time for mick to feel like himself again.”

“I know. I just wish that there was more I could do.”

later that week, she and mick flew to texas to visit his sister and her boyfriend ian at the family ranch. the moon was high, refracting off the water and illuminating the evergreens. mick and ian sat outside by the fire pit, angie scampering around their feet. gina and y/n were inside the house, stuffing a cardboard bankers box full of old haas merch. it had become glaringly clear to both women that mick wasn't likely to have a seat the following season.

and mick wasn't taking it well. he was still processing it, but there had been times where she felt like the man she loved would cry himself to sleep. she had the suspicion that once she went to sleep, her lover began to cry, so that she would never see him in such pain.

gina and y/n came outside, two cardboard boxes in hand as they met the men by the fire pit. they had beer bottles in hand and sad smiles on their faces as y/n rejoined her boyfriend, sitting on his lap before gently kissing his cheek.

"don't think about it, mickey. you've talked to toto, right? and jost? you aren't completely out of options for next year." y/n frowned, running her thumb over mick's bare arm. "don't give up hope just yet."

mick kissed her softly, resting his cheek against her skin. "why did you put all of my old haas merch in a cardboard box?"

"because we're burning it." she said matter-of-factly, getting to her feet and grabbing a baseball cap from the top of the box. "it'll be cathartic."

she stood in front of the fire pit, listening to the wooden logs crackle and pop as she frisbee-threw the cap into the fire, watching the fabric catch fire. she flipped the bird at the burning object with both fingers, shouting insults at guenther steiner as she watched it burn.

“take that you old austrian bastard. I bet gunethers cock is like, minuscule and that’s why he has to call his boyfriend gene before he makes any decisions.”

mick laughed a little, pulling a polo shirt out of the box.

“I mean come in now, he calls gene more than he calls his wife.” gina added. “who fucking does that? if I was his wife I’d be asking for a divorce right about now.”

mick balled up the shirt in his hands, punting it into the fire as if it was a baseball. the fabric caught fire instantly, swallowed by the orange flames as they spread across the royal blue fabric, leaving blackened ash in its wake.

“you’re right.” mick exhales, putting an arm around his girlfriend . “that felt really good.”

lifting their beer bottles to the sky and turning up the stereo, all summer long by kid rock blasting loud enough that the speakers shook, the family sang along, throwing various haas-related memorabilia into the fire and watching it go up in a cloud of dark grey smoke.

“they made ugly-ass merch anyways.”

“uh, guys, is it supposed to smell this rancid?” ian asked, scrunching up his face at the smell of burning plastic and fabric.

“oh fuck.”

“we didn’t think this through! ian, come help me get some water to put this out with.”

ian and gina ran off to get water, angie barking after them as mick and y/n fanned at the fire, laughing crazily as they used their sweaters as fans, hoping to tamp down some of the blaze.

“hey, babe, I want to tell you something.” mick smiled. “I want you to be the first to know.”

giving up on fanning the fire, as the oxygen was making the situation worse, y/n paused, her wool sweater falling limp in her hands as she looked at her lover.

“toto wants me to sign as a reserve driver next year. he’s already lost nyck to alphatauri and I think stoffel is going to aston martin. if haas drop me, I still have options. I can still come back to the field somehow.”

“oh, mickey, that’s wonderful.” y/n gushed, throwing her sweater down on a deck chair before moving over to mick and wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” mick reminded her, kissing her softly, cradling her body in his arms as they swayed back and forth to ‘hero’ by enrique iglesias, the song playing softly in the background as they kissed in the stinky firelight.

angie padded towards the couple, nuzzling into y/n’s leg as they stared lovingly into each others eyes.

“I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, mickey.”