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goldsainz · 6 months ago

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# DREW STARKEY — BEHIND THE SCENES !

MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ a recollection of moments from when you and drew filmed your first movie together.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ probably inaccurate acting scenes, slight angst.

003. NOTE !

✯ guys i’ve spent more time conjuring up ideas about the fictional movie (knowing greek mythology paid off) than actually writing this. again, zendaya is just a face claim for the social media parts but the reader can be imagined as anything or anyone you want! this is also the longest piece of writing i’ve ever done so i really hope it was worth the wait 🫶

word count : 6,6k

There was something undeniably thrilling about starting a new movie project. It wasn’t just the act of filming that exhilarated you, no, it was the entire experience: stepping into a fresh role, meeting new colleagues, and immersing yourself in the intricacies of a new story. Each character brought a unique set of challenges and emotions, making acting as intoxicating as it was fulfilling.

When your agent first mentioned Damien Chazelle’s latest project, it felt like the stars had aligned. A psychological thriller, a role so complex and sought after—it was the kind of opportunity actors dream about. After various auditions and callbacks, you finally got the call: you’d landed the part. But nothing could have prepared you for the shock of learning that Drew Starkey would also be starring in the film.

You’d first met Drew during Variety’s Actors on Actors interview series. The chemistry between you two had been immediate, magnetic, and brimming with potential. The interview itself was lighthearted, but fans couldn’t stop buzzing about the dynamic between you afterward. Social media was flooded with calls for you both to star in a film together. Little did they know that dream would soon become reality.

Your first day on set felt surreal. Despite all your preparation, a flicker of nervous energy pulsed in your chest. It wasn’t just about embodying Isabella, a role that demanded every ounce of emotional depth you had; it was about reuniting with Drew after the whirlwind of speculation and excitement that followed your previous encounter.

Then, as if on cue, you spotted him. He stood across the bustling set, deep in conversation with Damien Chazelle. Already in costume—tailored slacks, an impeccably pressed shirt, and a hint of disheveled hair that somehow enhanced his charm—he looked every bit the enigmatic and manipulative art dealer, Theo. It was almost unsettling how effortlessly he slipped into character.

A pang of nervous energy tightened in your chest, but you masked it quickly. You were no stranger to working alongside talented actors, but something about Drew made you want to push yourself even harder—to impress him, match his intensity, or simply hold your own against the charisma that seemed to radiate from him.

As Drew turned and caught sight of you, his expression shifted. A flicker of recognition passed over his face, followed by a grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He excused himself from his conversation with Damien and strode toward you, his step casual yet deliberate.

“Well, look who’s here,” he said, his tone teasing but undeniably warm. “The artist herself.”

“Drew,” you replied, matching his energy with a smirk. “Or should I say, Theo?”

“Touché,” he shot back, his grin widening as he stopped in front of you. “Guess we’re both stepping into some big shoes this time.”

The air between you hummed with unspoken energy, the hum of the crew around you fading into the background.

“So,” he began, his voice quieter now, tinged with sincerity. “How are you feeling about all this? Ready to dive into the chaos?”

You chuckled softly, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling beneath the surface. “As ready as I’ll ever be. And you?”

His gaze softened, the playful edge giving way to something earnest. “Same. But if there’s anyone who can bring Isabella to life, it’s you. You’ve got this.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, bolstering your confidence. “Thanks, Drew,” you said, your voice touched with gratitude. “That means a lot.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Just don’t forget to save some of that intensity for the scenes. I hear Theo and Isabella have… interesting dynamics.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curving your lips. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. Just try to keep up, Starkey.”

His laughter was genuine, the kind that made your chest feel lighter. “Challenge accepted.”

The set had an almost electric feel today. The tension in the air mirrored the intensity of the scene you were about to film, a confrontation that pushed Isabella to her limits. Drew had just finished his scenes as Theo, but instead of retreating to his trailer for a break, he chose to stay behind the cameras, watching you as you prepared for your big moment.

He leaned against a quiet corner of the set, his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving you. You were already in character, your body language shifting as you transformed into Isabella. Drew had seen it all; the way you could disappear into your role, the way you made every moment feel alive, even the smallest of gestures. It was magnetic, captivating, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

You were standing across from a male crew member, discussing the next scene. Drew noticed how naturally you interacted with him, the ease with which you joked around, the warm laughter that escaped you as you shared a quiet moment between takes. There was nothing flirtatious about it, nothing intentional. It was just your charm, your ability to connect with anyone, to make them feel like they were the only person in the room.

But as Drew watched, a pang of something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. The crew member—an assistant director, he knew—was praising you. “You’ve really outdone yourself today,” the man said with a grin, clapping you on the back. “Isabella’s depth? Incredible. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone pull that off quite like you.”

You smiled, your cheeks flushing with the kind of humility that made Drew’s heart ache. “Thank you, that’s all I wanted,” you said, clearly grateful for the acknowledgment but never one to boast.

Drew’s grip on the railing tightened, a strange feeling settling in his gut as he watched you laugh and engage so effortlessly. He had always admired your talent—hell, he had always been in awe of it—but today, for some reason, it felt different. The warmth in the crew member’s praise, the way he seemed to linger a little longer, a little too long, sent a sharp twinge of jealousy through Drew. He hated the way it felt, hated how quickly it consumed him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to be appreciated—he did. You deserved all the recognition in the world. But the knowledge that someone else was seeing the very qualities he had admired in you from the start, that someone else could see what made you so unique... it made something inside him stir.

And it wasn’t just admiration he felt for you—it was something deeper, something he had tried to ignore ever since that first interview. He could remember the spark between you both, the effortless connection that had only grown stronger since then. Every moment with you, every conversation, had somehow led him here. To this feeling, this painful realization that he wasn’t just drawn to you as a friend or a co-star—he was falling for you.

But he wasn’t sure if you saw him the same way. Or if you ever would.

He swallowed hard, trying to shake off the feeling, but it lingered, gnawing at him as the scene began. Drew watched from the shadows as you took your position, your posture shifting with the weight of Isabella’s inner turmoil. The camera rolled, and the world seemed to disappear. He wasn’t thinking about the crew member anymore, or the way you had smiled at him.

No, Drew was too focused on the way you delivered your lines. Every word you spoke seemed to come from a place of real pain, real desperation. It was like watching a storm roll in, one that consumed everything in its path.

When Damien called cut, the set fell silent for a beat. Drew’s breath caught in his throat. You were brilliant. He’d known it for a long time, but watching you right here, right now, brought it all to the forefront—how far you had come, how much of yourself you put into every scene.

He watched you stand tall, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes still distant from the intensity of the scene you’d just played. And as you looked around, Drew’s gaze softened. You were remarkable.

The crew member who had been praising you earlier walked up to you again, and Drew couldn’t help but feel that same uncomfortable stir in his chest. He had to admit, it wasn’t just the praise that bothered him—it was the way this guy kept looking at you. Drew quickly averted his eyes, his jaw tightening as he turned his attention back to the crew.

But as you turned toward Drew, your eyes meeting his for just a second, something passed between you, something unspoken. You offered him a small, genuine smile, the kind that only he seemed to get. And in that brief moment, everything else faded away.

He took a breath, forcing the jealousy back down. The weight of it, the sting, wasn’t going to cloud this moment. He knew what he felt. It was real, it was undeniable, and maybe, just maybe, there was still time to figure it all out. But for now, all he could do was admire you from afar, watch as you brought your character to life, and hope that one day, you’d see him the way he saw you.

And with that thought, Drew finally stepped forward, his resolve firming, ready to give you the space and respect you deserved while also knowing that there was so much more he wanted to say.

The scene you were filming was a culmination of everything Isabella had been building toward—raw, vulnerable, and utterly shattering. It wasn’t just a performance; it was a reckoning, the moment when all her carefully buried pain and longing erupted to the surface. Every word you spoke felt like tearing open a wound, every gesture a desperate plea for salvation. The air was thick with tension, and you could feel the weight of every eye on set, holding their breath, waiting to see if you could pull it off.

Drew, as Theo, stood before you, towering in every sense of the word. His presence wasn’t just physical; it consumed the space, dominating the scene like a storm about to break. His voice, low and cutting, delivered lines that felt like knives slicing through the air, leaving no room to hide. When his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity was unbearable, like he could see right into you—not just Isabella, but you.

The camera captured the moment your composure shattered, tears spilling as your voice cracked under the weight of the scene. You weren’t sure where Isabella ended and you began anymore. The pain felt too real, too sharp, and when Damien finally called “cut,” the word sliced through the tension like a knife. The silence that followed was deafening, a stark contrast to the storm you’d just weathered.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, the rawness of the moment clinging to you like a second skin. Your chest heaved as you struggled to come back to yourself, but the emotions wouldn’t let go. Your hands trembled at your sides, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought you might break apart completely.

“Hey,” Drew’s voice cut through the haze, soft but insistent. His hand was on your arm before you even realized he’d crossed the room. His touch was grounding, his presence a lifeline. “Look at me,” he said, his tone low, coaxing.

You turned your head slowly, meeting his eyes, and the concern there undid you. Your breath hitched, and a tear slid down your cheek before you could stop it. “I… I don’t know how long I can keep doing this,” you whispered, the words tumbling out, raw and unfiltered. “It’s too much. I feel like I’m drowning.”

Drew didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer, his hand sliding from your arm to your shoulder, then to the small of your back, pulling you gently but firmly into his embrace. You froze for a moment, caught between the instinct to hold it together and the overwhelming need to let go. His arms wrapped around you, warm and steady, and the dam broke.

“I can’t,” you choked out, your voice muffled against his chest. “I feel like I left everything out there, and there’s nothing left of me. Nothing.”

His grip tightened, his hand cradling the back of your head as his fingers threaded gently through your hair. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not empty. You’re just wide open right now, and that’s what makes this real. That’s what makes you extraordinary.”

You clung to him, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as sobs wracked your body. He didn’t rush you, didn’t try to fix it or make it better. He just held you, his own breathing steady and calm, like he was anchoring you to the world.

“I saw you out there,” he whispered after a moment, his lips brushing against your temple. “You weren’t just acting. You were her. Every ounce of pain, every flicker of hope—you brought it to life. You made them feel it. You made me feel it.”

You pulled back slightly, your tear-streaked face tilted up to meet his gaze. His eyes were glassy, his own emotions barely restrained, and the vulnerability between you was electric. “But what if it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice breaking.

“It is,” he said firmly, his hand cupping your face now, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “It’s more than enough. You’re enough.” His voice cracked on the last word, the raw sincerity in it making your chest tighten.

The world around you seemed to blur, the sounds of the crew preparing for the next take fading into the background. All you could see, all you could feel, was Drew. He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his hand steadying your shoulder.“You’ve got this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but laced with unwavering conviction. “And I’ve got you. Always.”

The day had been long—endless takes, precision, and the kind of emotional exhaustion that made every muscle in your body ache. Filming had wrapped for the day, but the atmosphere on set hadn’t fully shifted. The quiet hum of equipment and the occasional voices from the crew still echoed around you, but you felt the weight of the day lift as you retreated to the solitude of your trailer.

You were halfway through removing your costume when a soft knock at the door caught your attention. It was a gentle knock, familiar in its rhythm, and you immediately recognized it.

“Come in,” you called, already knowing who it was.

The door creaked open, and there stood Drew, leaning against the frame with a lazy smile that instantly made the tension in your shoulders ease.

“Long day?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, and there was a glint of playfulness in his eyes, but it was tempered with something warmer, something more tender.

“Understatement,” you replied, rolling your eyes, though your smile betrayed the exhaustion you were trying to hide.

He nodded and pushed the door open a little more, stepping inside. The space felt smaller with him in it, but somehow it didn’t feel crowded. It felt… comfortable. Safe.

Drew’s gaze drifted over to the small sofa beside the window, and without a word, he took a seat, kicking his shoes off and stretching his legs out. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he seemed to move, like he was made to fit into this small space as if he belonged here, with you.

You finished removing the last of the costume and dropped it into the nearby hamper, but instead of diving into your usual post-filming routine of unwinding, you found yourself walking over to him, drawn to the quiet energy between you. He looked up at you, his gaze softening as you neared.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper, as if the very sound of it could pull you closer.

You didn’t hesitat to sit down beside him. There was a comfortable silence between you two, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. You leaned back against the cushions, the heat from his body radiating beside you.

Drew turned his head slightly, catching your eye. His expression was different from how he’d been on set—this wasn’t the charismatic, calculated Theo. This was Drew, the man you had come to know off-camera. His gaze was tender, almost searching, as if he was asking permission for something more.

Without a word, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing over yours before lacing them together. The small contact sent a flutter through you, the simple act of his touch carrying an intimacy that felt far more profound than it had any right to be.

“Can I just…” he began, his voice trailing off for a moment before he squeezed your hand gently. “Can I just be here with you for a while? No cameras, no lines, just us?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’d like that.”

His thumb began to trace soft circles over the back of your hand, and you leaned into him, the quiet between you two settling into something even deeper than physical proximity. His body was warm, and his scent—fresh and slightly woody—wrapped around you like a blanket, comforting in its familiarity.

“You were incredible today,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His words held no pretense, just raw sincerity. “Every time I see you step into a scene, it’s like you bring something new to the table. I don’t know how you do it.”

You could feel your heart flutter at his praise, but instead of letting it sink in fully, you shifted your focus back to him, tilting your head slightly to catch his eyes. “What about you? You’re kind of a force to be reckoned with, Starkey.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and genuine, and you felt him shift closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “I’m just trying to keep up with you,” he teased, but there was no mistaking the fondness in his voice. He leaned in just enough for his breath to graze your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Before you could respond, he moved his hand from yours, slowly resting it on your cheek, his touch soft but possessive. The weight of his gaze locked onto yours, and you could feel the air shift between you—charged, magnetic, undeniable.

“I’ve wanted this moment for a while,” he admitted quietly, his thumb grazing your cheekbone.

Your pulse quickened, your breath hitching as his hand slid around to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You didn’t fight it; you closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with the kind of quiet longing that had built between you for weeks now.

The kiss deepened, and everything outside of the small trailer seemed to fade away. There was no set, no crew, no expectations—just the two of you, wrapped up in the space you had created together. It wasn’t hurried or urgent. It was soft, a tender promise without words, like something neither of you had realized you needed until it was happening.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you found yourself leaning your forehead against his, sharing the same air between you. He smiled, his eyes glimmering with something that went beyond attraction.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection.

You closed your eyes, savoring the quiet after the storm of emotions on set, the gentle sound of his heartbeat in your ear, and the warmth of his embrace. “Me too,” you whispered back, letting the moment stretch on, knowing it was one you’d carry with you long after the lights went down and the cameras stopped rolling.

The morning after your quiet, intimate moment in the trailer felt different. There was a strange kind of weight in the air between you and Drew that neither of you could ignore. The atmosphere on set was charged with an unspoken energy, the kind that hung between two people who had shared something personal but weren’t quite sure how to navigate it in the daylight.

As the crew began setting up for the first scene of the day, you found yourself standing off to the side, absentmindedly checking your script, but every now and then, your eyes would flicker toward Drew. He was standing with Damien, talking animatedly about something, but there was a tightness in his posture that wasn’t there before. He had always exuded confidence, but now, there was a subtle hesitance to his movements—like he was still figuring out where you stood with each other after the kiss.

You could feel it too. The usual camaraderie between you two was laced with something different now. The chemistry was still there, but it felt like a live wire; dangerous and unpredictable. The playful banter that had flowed so easily between you the day before seemed distant, replaced by awkward silences whenever you found yourselves in the same vicinity.

You tried to shake it off. This was your job. You were here to work, to give your best performance, and that had to come first. But no matter how much you told yourself to focus, the tension was inescapable.

The first scene you were filming together was a pivotal one—Isabella’s first real confrontation with Theo, a moment where everything changes between them. Your character was supposed to be cool and collected, but deep down, she was unraveling at the seams. You had to bring all that turmoil, all that internal chaos to the surface in a matter of moments.

When Damien called “Action,” the professional masks slipped on almost instinctively, and you both fell into character.

Drew’s performance was colder today, more distant, his usual charm replaced by a simmering, quiet intensity. His eyes, once warm and full of teasing, now held a cold calculation as they met yours. You could feel the weight of his gaze, and though it was just acting, the memory of the night before lingered, making the scene feel even more charged than it should have been.

“You think you have control of this, Isabella?” Theo’s voice was sharp, the words cutting through the air like a blade.

You shot back, the defiance in Isabella’s eyes glaring through your own. “Your entire scheme depends on me, Theo. Without me, it crumbles to dust. If that’s not control, I don’t know what is.”

The words came easily, but every time you locked eyes with Drew, there was a brief flicker of something behind his gaze—a flicker of the intimacy you’d shared, a memory that was suddenly alive in the space between you. It was hard to shake, and you could tell it was affecting his performance too. His lines weren’t as crisp as usual, his timing slightly off, as though he was distracted.

The tension was palpable, hanging over the scene like a cloud, and the moment you wrapped the scene, the silence that followed felt deafening.

Damien looked between the two of you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Let’s take a break,” he said after a moment, clearly sensing the shift in energy. “Maybe a few minutes to reset?”

You nodded quickly, eager for the space, for the chance to breathe outside of the tight bubble of tension. Drew, on the other hand, didn’t say anything. He simply nodded curtly, giving you a quick glance that made your stomach flip before turning away to walk toward the corner of the set.

You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Should you approach him? Pretend nothing had changed? Or should you give him space, let the awkwardness settle, and let the scene breathe?

You didn’t get the chance to think too long. A hand gently touched your shoulder, and you turned to find Cailee Spaney, your co-star, standing beside you, a concerned look on her face.

“You two okay?” she asked, her tone light, but there was a genuine curiosity behind it. She knew you both well enough to sense the shift.

You hesitated. “I think so. Just… a weird energy today, you know?”

Cailee’s eyes flickered over to where Drew stood, chatting with the crew but still glancing in your direction. “It’s pretty obvious to everyone. You’ve got to clear the air, or it’s going to keep hanging over both of you.”

You knew she was right. The unspoken tension between you and Drew wasn’t just something that could be ignored—it would affect the work, the connection between your characters, and maybe even the rest of the team’s comfort. But you weren’t sure how to fix it. How do you go from that intimate moment behind closed doors to this, to being back in the public eye with cameras rolling, no room for vulnerability?

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, Drew’s voice broke through, calling your name.

“Hey,” he said, walking toward you, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes uncertain but earnest. “Can we talk?”

You nodded, stepping a little closer to him. There was an intensity in his gaze now, but it wasn’t the cold, calculating Theo you’d seen on set. This was Drew, the one you knew—the one who had kissed you, the one who was just as affected by everything as you were.

“Look,” he started, his voice lower than usual. “I’m not… I don’t want this to be weird. I don’t want it to mess with the work, with the scenes. I just—”

“Yeah,” you interrupted softly, “me neither. It’s just… it’s hard to go back to pretending nothing happened.”

He smiled weakly, and you could see the tension in his face ease a little. “You’re right. But we’ve got this. We’ll figure it out. Just need to get through today, right?”

You took a deep breath, nodding. “Right.”

And for the first time since you’d kissed him, you both shared a moment of quiet understanding—no more words needed. You still didn’t know how this would all play out, but for now, you had a scene to finish, a role to play, and a bond that had quietly shifted in ways neither of you could ignore.

The last day on set arrived like a blur—one moment, you were just starting the project, and now, you were standing in the middle of the set for the final scene, everything winding down. It felt surreal, almost like you were moving through a dream. The camaraderie you’d built with the cast and crew, the long hours, the inside jokes, and the late-night rehearsals were all coming to a close. And yet, there was a weight in the air—one that had little to do with the wrap-up of the film.

You and Drew had navigated the tension between you both for weeks now, silently acknowledging it but never fully addressing it. Both of you had poured your energy into the project, the work taking center stage, but there had always been that quiet pull between you. Now, as you watched the final scene being set up, there was no denying it: this wasn’t just about wrapping the film. There was something unspoken that you knew needed to be said.

Drew was already on set, his costume as Theo impeccably sharp, his eyes distracted as he ran through lines under his breath. He looked different today—softer, like the walls he’d built around himself throughout the project were crumbling.

The last scene between Isabella and Theo was intense, charged with everything they’d been through together. It was a pivotal moment, where they both stood at a crossroads, neither sure of where the future would take them. The connection between you two felt more real than ever, and you knew this was the moment where it all had to come to a head—both on screen and off.

As the crew prepared for the final take, you caught Drew’s eye from across the set. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of hesitation, like he wanted to say something, but the moment wasn’t quite right. You couldn’t let it go.

You moved toward him, your footsteps echoing in the quiet before the chaos of the scene began. As you approached, Drew straightened up, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides.

"Hey," you said, offering him a small smile. “Ready to wrap this up?”

He returned the smile, but there was an unreadable look in his eyes. “Yeah, but... I’ve been thinking.”

You raised an eyebrow, a sense of curiosity stirring in your chest. “About?”

He shifted slightly, the weight of his words hanging between you two. “About us. About... everything.” He swallowed, his usual confident demeanor faltering. “You know, the way things have been between us. We’ve never really talked about it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The air between you felt thick, charged. It was as if the words had been waiting to spill out for weeks, and now, in the stillness of the final day, they couldn’t be contained any longer.

“Drew…” you started, your voice barely a whisper, unsure of what to say.

He stepped closer, the space between you narrowing until it felt like no one else existed. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while now,” he continued, his voice a little rougher than usual, the weight of his feelings making every word feel like it carried more meaning than it ever had before. “I can’t pretend anymore. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after how I feel about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to fade into the background. The noise of the set, the crew bustling about, even the upcoming scene—it all vanished as Drew’s words sank in.

“I care about you,” he said, his voice softer now, the intensity of his confession undeniable. “More than I’ve let on. More than I probably should. But I can’t ignore it anymore, and I don’t want to walk away from this without telling you.”

You stood there, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. It felt like a moment frozen in time—one that had been building for weeks, but now that it was finally here, you didn’t know how to respond.

For a beat, you didn’t say anything. You just looked at him, trying to process the rush of emotions his words had triggered. But then, a smile began to tug at the corners of your lips. You took a step closer to him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I’m glad you said that,” you whispered, your voice steady, but your emotions running wild beneath the surface. “I’ve been feeling the same way, Drew. I just didn’t know if you felt the same.”

He gave a small, relieved laugh, his eyes brightening with that familiar warmth. “I’ve been trying to convince myself to wait until the film wrapped, until everything calmed down. But every time I looked at you... it just felt like I was lying to myself.”

You laughed softly, the tension between you easing, replaced by something deeper, something real. “I think we’ve both been lying to ourselves,” you said, your hand unconsciously reaching out for his.

Drew’s fingers curled around yours, and for the first time in weeks, there was no awkwardness, no uncertainty—just the simple connection between you both, like a thread that had always been there, waiting to be pulled.

As the crew called for the final take, you both stood there for a moment longer, simply taking in the quiet of the moment before the storm of filming began again.

“Let’s finish this,” Drew said with a grin, his fingers still tightly holding yours.

You nodded, the anticipation in your chest matching the excitement in his eyes. "Yeah. Let’s do this."

The scene was about to begin, but for once, you weren’t worried about the cameras, the crew, or the pressure. For the first time in a long while, you were just here—with him. And that was enough.

As you both walked back onto set, side by side, you knew this moment, this day, was one that would stay with you long after the credits rolled. Drew had confessed his feelings, and the truth between you was no longer hidden. You had one more scene to film, but in that moment, it felt like the beginning of something entirely new.

The post-wrap party was everything you’d imagined it would be—laughter, music, and the celebratory sound ofclinking of glasses. The set was a distant memory now, the whirlwind of the past few months slowly fading into the background as you found yourself in the midst of the crew and cast, celebrating the end of a long, intense journey. The atmosphere was warm, filled with a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie.

Lights twinkled overhead, casting a soft glow over the gathering. The chatter was a mix of congratulatory remarks and funny anecdotes from behind the scenes. You could hear snippets of conversations as people relived the chaos of filming, the challenges, and the triumphs, but amidst it all, your eyes couldn’t help but drift back to Drew.

He was leaning against the bar, chatting with a few of the crew members. Even from across the room, you could feel the pull between you—the magnetic energy that had only intensified since that first kiss. The way he’d laughed with you on set, the way he’d confessed his feelings on that last day—it all felt like a beautiful dream, yet it was real. You couldn’t shake the quiet contentment that had settled in your chest, a feeling that only seemed to grow stronger with every passing minute.

Your heart warmed as you watched him, the soft light from the party highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, the playfulness in his eyes. Drew looked at home here, yet he had a way of making everything feel more meaningful just by being present. He was grounded and alive in a way that made you feel safe, as if you’d found a place in this world where you truly belonged.

Finally, your legs moved on their own, carrying you through the crowd. Each step brought you closer to him, closer to something that felt inevitable. And when he turned toward you, as if he’d sensed your approach, his eyes lit up with the warmth that had become familiar. There was no awkwardness now, no uncertainty—only the comfort of knowing that you and Drew were no longer tiptoeing around each other. What had started as something tentative had grown into something real, something undeniable.

“Hey,” Drew said with that soft smile of his, his voice like home. “I was wondering when you’d come over.”

You smiled back, moving closer to him, feeling the way his presence filled the space between you. “Couldn’t resist. The party’s fun, but... I’d rather be here with you,” you replied, your voice low and sincere.

Drew’s smile deepened, his gaze softening as he looked at you, his eyes full of something that went beyond simple affection. He raised his glass in a mock toast. “To the film, to the work, and to... us, I guess,” he said, a little shy but so genuine that it made your chest ache.

You lifted your own glass to meet his, the soft clink of the glasses an almost imperceptible note in the music that surrounded you. “To us,” you echoed, the words settling deep within you, filling the empty spaces you didn’t even realize existed. It was real now, the connection, the undeniable bond that had been growing between you since the moment you first locked eyes on set.

The music played softly in the background, but in that moment, it felt like everything was quieter—more intimate. You were standing there together, both of you caught in the soft embrace of a night that felt endless, where time stood still. Drew’s presence was a comfort you hadn’t known you needed, and as you stood beside him, a peace settled over you that you hadn’t expected.

“Are you happy with how everything turned out?” Drew asked, his voice sincere, his eyes searching yours for something only you could give him.

You thought for a moment, your heart beating steadily in your chest. The long hours, the late-night rehearsals, the emotional scenes—it had all been a whirlwind. But standing there with Drew, feeling the warmth of his hand resting just above your waist, everything felt clearer. “Yeah,” you said, your voice steady but filled with warmth. “I’m proud of everything we did. Proud of how far we’ve come.”

Drew nodded, his gaze softening, and his lips curved into a smile that made your heart flutter. “Same here. You were incredible. You brought Isabella to life in a way I never thought possible.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, you weren’t so bad yourself, Starkey. Theo was... captivating, to say the least.” The words were teasing, but your smile spoke of something deeper—a sense of admiration and respect for everything he’d brought to the character.

His laugh was soft, a sound that sent warmth through your veins, and he moved a little closer, the space between you disappearing. “Thanks. But I think you’re the one who made everything come together. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.” His words were simple, yet they carried a weight that made your chest tighten in the most wonderful way.

The connection between you deepened in that moment, like two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. Drew’s gaze softened, and his voice dropped to a quiet whisper. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured, taking a step closer, his hand slipping into yours. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I know it’s crazy, but... I don’t want this to be just a set thing. What we have, I mean. I don’t want it to end when the film does.”

Your heart raced, and without a second thought, you took a small step toward him, the space between you now nonexistent. “Me neither,” you whispered, your hand gently cupping his face as you looked into his eyes. “I think this is just the beginning, Drew.”

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, and his hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. Without another word, Drew leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in the softest kiss—a kiss that held everything unspoken. It was slow, a gentle exploration, as though both of you were savoring the moment, the sweetness of everything that had led you here.

When you pulled away, the world around you seemed to fade. The music, the laughter, the chatter—it all felt distant, as if the only thing that mattered was Drew, and the feeling of his arms around you, his lips on yours. “Then let’s see where it goes,” he said softly, his breath warm against your cheek.

You smiled, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. The world felt right in a way it hadn’t before. The film was over, but the connection you shared with Drew was just beginning to blossom, and you were content, certain that whatever happened next, you’d face it together.

The night continued around you, but for the two of you, it was just the beginning.

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octaneink · 5 months ago

Text

Food Market Dates

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary : A totally cute, innocent date at the market where they try out new foods Warnings: Implied sexual themes towards the end and a discussion about pineapple being on pizza Notes: I am sorry gang idk what happened to me when I was writing this. It was like I was possessed, mostly for that part at the end.

The train rattled along the tracks, the dreary UK weather outside the window a mix of grey skies and the occasional drizzle. Will sat next to you, his long legs stretched out into the aisle, his hand resting comfortably in yours. His thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles, a small, absentminded gesture that made your stomach flutter. He was scrolling through his phone with his free hand, the faint sound of whatever video he was watching barely audible over the hum of the train.

You, on the other hand, were engrossed in a book—paperback you’d picked up at the station earlier. It was one of those novels you loved, the kind that end up with a dog-eared cover and pages that smelt faintly of coffee. You were halfway through a particularly juicy scene when Will suddenly squeezed your hand, pulling your attention away from the page.

"You know what I’m most excited about today?" he asked, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the train.

You looked up, marking your page with a finger. "What? Finally admitting that I have impeccable taste in food?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "Impeccable taste? That’s a stretch. Remember the time you tried to convince me that pineapple belongs on pizza?"

"Because it does!"

"Because you’re wrong," he shot back, grinning.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. So what are you most excited about, then?"

He leaned back in his seat, his hand still warm in yours. "The food, obviously. But also… just this. You, me, no plans, no stress. Just a normal, chill day. No arguments about pizza toppings, no you stealing the last bite of dessert—"

"Hey, that was one time!"

"—and no me having to remind you that pineapple is a crime against pizza," he finished, his grin widening.

You nudged him with your shoulder, laughing softly. "Well, for the record, I’m excited too. Even if you do have terrible opinions about food."

"Oi, my opinions are flawless," he said, though the twinkle in his eyes suggested he knew exactly how flawed they were.

You shook your head, leaning into him slightly. The train swayed gently, and you let your eyes drift back to the window, watching the grey landscape blur past. Will’s hand tightened around yours, a silent reassurance that pulled your attention back to him.

"So," he said, his tone light and teasing, "what’s the first thing we’re getting at the market? And don’t say something weird like… I don’t know, candied eels."

You laughed, the sound soft and warm in the quiet carriage. "I was thinking skewers. Or maybe that tea place we saw last time. You know, the one with the really colourful drinks?"

"Ah, the one you made me try even though I said I didn’t like boba?"

"You loved it!"

"I tolerated it," he corrected, though the smile on his face betrayed him.

"Sure you did," you said, rolling your eyes. "And I’m sure you’ll tolerate it again today."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you felt his thumb brush over your knuckles again. "Fine. But only because you’re cute when you’re smug."

You shook your head, laughing softly, and let your gaze drift back to the window, the train rattled on, the rhythm of the tracks steady and comforting.

The market was a riot of colours and sounds—stalls draped in vibrant fabrics, the sharp hiss of oil hitting a hot griddle, and vendors’ voices rising above the hum of the crowd. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, sweet sauces, and the occasional waft of fresh herbs. Will walked beside you, his hand brushing yours every so often, his touch light but deliberate, as if he couldn’t quite resist the pull to be closer. The two of you wandered through the bustling aisles, the smell of freshly steamed dough and savoury fillings drawing you toward a stall selling bao buns.

You stopped in front of the stall, the golden, fluffy buns piled high on the griddle, their tops glistening under the soft glow of the stall’s lights. You pointed at the pork-filled ones, turning to Will with a grin. "Can we get these?"

He nodded, already pulling out his wallet. "Anything for you," he said, handing over the cash to the vendor with a quick smile. His voice was soft, almost tender, and it sent a little shiver down your spine. Turning to you, he added, “But don’t let it go to your head.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way his lips quirked into a smile made it hard to stay annoyed. There was something about the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the entire market—that made your heart skip a beat.

The vendor handed you a paper tray with two fluffy bao, the steam rising in delicate curls. Will leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he studied the buns. "Alright, let’s see if these are as good as they look," you said, picking one up and blowing on it gently before taking the first bite.

The rich, savoury filling hit your tongue, the flavours of tender pork, sweet hoisin, and a hint of ginger mingling perfectly. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a small, contented hum escaping you. When you opened your eyes, Will was watching you, his gaze soft and intent, as if he were memorising the way your face lit up.

"That good, huh?" He asked, his voice low and warm, like the first sip of tea on a cold morning.

You nodded, carefully breaking off a piece of the bao, making sure to get a bit of the tender pork, the sweet hoisin, and a hint of ginger in one perfect bite. Holding it out to him, you grinned. "Your turn."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your fingers as he took a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Alright, that’s incredible. Another one."

You laughed, breaking off another piece and holding it out to him. He took it from your fingers, his lips grazing your skin again, and this time, you felt the warmth of his breath against your hand. The simple act felt strangely intimate, and you couldn’t help the way your pulse quickened.

The two of you went back and forth, sharing the bao bun between you—breaking off pieces, you feeding Will, and laughing as you tried to avoid getting sauce on your hands. The warmth of the buns contrasted with the crisp autumn air, but it was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through your chest every time Will’s fingers brushed yours or his eyes met yours with that soft, knowing look.

By the time the bao was almost gone, you held up the last bite, raising an eyebrow at Will. "Final piece. Who gets it?"

He grinned, his eyes locking onto yours as he leaned in. His lips grazed your fingers again, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary as he took the bite. "Cheers, love," he said, his voice low and teasing, the endearment slipping out so naturally it made your breath catch.

Your fingers froze midair, the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin. You quickly looked away, pretending to fuss with the napkin, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. Will caught your reaction—the way your eyes flickered, the slight smile you tried to hide, the way your fingers lingered in the air for a second too long. He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a knowing smirk.

Before you could recover, he leaned in again, this time pressing a quick, soft peck to your lips. You blinked, startled, but before you could say anything, he pulled back slightly, his tongue darting out to lick his own lower lip. "Sorry," he said, his voice teasing, "you had a bit of sauce there."

You stared at him, your face burning. "There was no sauce," you protested, licking your lips.

He shrugged, his smirk widening as he followed your lips. "Could’ve sworn there was. Ah well, there's none now. You're welcome, by the way."

You shook your head, laughing softly to cover your fluster. Will glanced around the stall, taking in the steam rising from the griddle and the vibrant colours of the surrounding market. "Alright," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "What’s next?"

You and Will wandered through the aisles, the vibrant colours of the stalls and the chatter of vendors creating a lively backdrop. You had just left the bao stand, the taste of the fluffy buns still lingering on your tongue. Will walked beside you, his arm brushing against yours as you navigated the busy aisles. His hand occasionally grazed yours, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that felt deliberate, like he was testing the waters, seeing how close he could get without fully taking your hand. Each touch sent a little spark through you, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

"So," he said, glancing down at you with a grin, "what’s next? You’re the food expert here."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’m not an expert. I just like eating."

"Same thing," he replied, his tone teasing. "You’ve got that… vibe. Like you know what’s good."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile. "Alright, Mr. Compliments. Let’s see…"

You scanned the stalls as you walked, the two of you weaving through the crowd. The market was a maze of options—sizzling skewers, steaming dumplings, colourful desserts, and more. Will kept pace beside you, his hands in his pockets, but sometimes, he’d bump your shoulder or let his fingers brush against yours, sending little jolts of warmth through you. It was like he couldn’t help himself, and honestly, neither could you.

"Remember that time we tried to make bao buns at home?" he asked suddenly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "Don’t remind me. That was a disaster."

"Disaster?" he repeated, laughing. "Mate, we set off the smoke alarm. Twice."

"Yeah, because someone thought it was a good idea to crank the oven up to max," you shot back, grinning.

"Hey, I was following your instructions!"

"You were not!"

The two of you laughed, the memory of flour-covered counters and charred buns still fresh in your minds. Will nudged you with his elbow, his grin widening. "We should try it again sometime. Third time’s the charm, yeah?"

"Only if you promise not to touch the oven," you said, raising an eyebrow.

"Deal," he replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. His fingers brushed against yours as he lowered them, and you felt the warmth of his touch linger even after he pulled away. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the noise of the market seemed to fade into the background. There was something in his gaze—something soft and unguarded—that made your heart skip a beat.

As you continued walking, the smell of grilled meat caught your attention. You glanced toward a stall selling skewers—yakitori, grilled prawns, and lamb kebabs. The skewers were glistening with a sticky glaze, the aroma irresistible.

"Skewers?" you asked, nodding toward the stall.

Will followed your gaze, his eyes lighting up. "Skewers it is."

You approached the stall, the vendor busy flipping skewers on a hot grill. Will leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he studied the options. "Can we try one of each?" you asked, turning to Will.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Greedy today, aren’t we?" He teased, but he was already pulling out his wallet and handing over the cash. His fingers brushed against yours as he handed you the tray, and you felt a little shiver run down your spine.

The vendor handed you a paper tray with the skewers, the smell of charred meat and sweet marinade making your mouth water. Will watched as you picked up the lamb skewer, taking the first bite.

The rich, slightly gamey flavour of the lamb skewer hit your tongue, and you wrinkled your nose, clearly not a fan. You glanced at Will, who was already watching you with that amused glint in his eyes, like he’d been waiting for your reaction.

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed. "Not your thing, huh?"

You shook your head, handing the skewer to him. "Here, you can have it."

He took it without hesitation, biting into it as he kept his gaze on your face. "What’s wrong with it?" he asked, mouth full, his voice muffled but still teasing.

You shrugged, already reaching for the yakitori. "Just not my thing. Too… gamey."

Will chuckled, still chewing. "You’re just using me as a human bin, aren’t you?"

You grinned, taking a bite of the yakitori. The tender chicken, glazed with a sweet soy sauce, was perfect—juicy, flavourful, and exactly what you’d been craving. "Pretty much," you said, your mouth half-full. "But hey, you don’t seem to mind."

He finished the lamb skewer in a few quick bites, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb in a way that was unfairly distracting. "I don’t," he said, his tone light but his eyes lingering on you a beat too long. "But don’t think I won’t remember this next time you’re eyeing my fries."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Noted."

He reached for the grilled prawn next, holding it out to you. "Your turn."

You took a bite, the smoky flavour of the prawn hitting your tongue. It wasn’t bad—grilled to perfection with a hint of chilli and garlic—but it wasn’t your favourite either. You gently pushed the skewer back toward him. "Here, you can have this one too," you said, laughing.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression playful. "Are you sure? These look banging."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’m sure," you said, though a small part of you wondered if he’d noticed how your pulse quickened when his fingers brushed yours. You took another bite of the yakitori, the savoury flavour grounding you. "I’m sticking with this."

He shrugged, taking a bite of the prawn. His eyes lit up as he chewed. "Alright, you’re missing out. This is delicious."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’ll take your word for it."

Will reached for the yakitori, taking a small bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Okay, you’re right," he said, his voice warm and a little teasing. "This is superb."

You grinned, holding out the skewer to him. "I know, right? Want more?"

He shook his head, pushing it back toward you with a soft smile. "Nah, that one’s yours. I’ve got the prawns."

You smiled, taking another bite of the yakitori as Will glanced around the skewer stall, taking in the sizzling grill and the vibrant display of meats. His eyes lingered on the vendor flipping skewers with practiced ease, the flames from the grill casting a warm glow on his face. For a moment, you just watched him—the way his lips curved into a small smile, the way his shoulders relaxed as he leaned casually against the stall. He looked… happy. Content. And it made your chest feel impossibly warm.

"Right," he said, turning back to you with a grin. "What’s next? Drinks?"

You nodded, finishing the last bite of yakitori and tossing the skewer into a nearby bin. "Drinks sound perfect. But only if you’re paying."

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you felt his hand brush against yours again as he stepped closer. "You’re relentless, you know that?"

"Yep," you said, grinning up at him. "And you love it."

He didn’t deny it, just shook his head with that same soft smile as he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. "C’mon, then," he said, tugging you gently toward the next stall. "Let’s find something sweet to wash all this down."

As you wandered further into the market, you spotted a stand selling bubble tea. Visual samples of colourful drinks were lined up in tall plastic cups, the boba pearls glistening like little jewels at the bottom. You pulled Will over, studying the menu, your fingers still loosely intertwined with his. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, a small, absentminded gesture that made your stomach flutter.

After a moment, you pointed at the Thai iced tea and the classic milk tea with boba.

Will raised an eyebrow, his smirk playful. "Two drinks? Greedy, aren’t we?"

You smirked back, already reaching for your wallet, but he beat you to it, pulling out his own with a wink. "My treat," he said, handing over the cash before you could protest.

The vendor handed you the drinks, and you immediately took a sip of the Thai iced tea. It was sweet and creamy, the perfect balance of flavours. The rich, spiced tea blended perfectly with the condensed milk, and you couldn’t help but hum in approval, your eyes meeting his, Will was watching you his expression soft and amused.

"That good, huh?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, holding out the drink to him. "Your turn."

He took a sip, his eyes widening as the flavours hit his tongue. "Wow," he said, his tone genuinely surprised. "That’s… incredible. Not too sweet."

You laughed, taking the drink back. "Told you."

Next, he reached for the milk tea, taking a cautious sip. The chewy boba pearls rolled into his mouth as he chewed, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Okay, this is amazing too. How do you always know what’s good?"

You grinned, taking a sip of the milk tea yourself. The chewy boba was a pleasant surprise, and you couldn’t help but smile. "It’s a gift," you said, your tone teasing.

Will noticed your reaction, holding out his hand for the milk tea. "Let me try that again."

You handed it to him, and he took another sip, his eyes lighting up as he savoured it. "Yeah, no, this is definitely a winner. You’ve got impeccable taste."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I know."

Then he reached for the Thai iced tea again, taking a longer sip this time. His face lit up even more, a look of pure delight crossing his features. "Okay, wait, this one might be even better. How is that possible?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Of course you like the one I wanted. Typical."

Will grinned, holding the Thai iced tea out of your reach. "Finders keepers."

"Oi!" you protested, trying to grab it back.

He held it high above his head, laughing as you jumped to reach it. "You’re such a child," you said, though you couldn’t stop smiling.

Will finally relented, handing the drink back to you with a smirk. "Alright, alright. You can have it. But only because you’re cute when you pout."

You rolled your eyes, taking the Thai iced tea and taking another sip. Will glanced around the drink stall, taking in the colourful display of drinks, but his hand never left yours. His fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but notice how warm and solid his grip felt.

"Right," he said, turning back to you with a grin. "What’s next? Dessert?"

You nodded, "Dessert sounds perfect."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and you felt it vibrate through your chest. "You’re relentless, you know that?"

"Yep," you said, grinning up at him. "And you love it."

He didn’t deny it, just shook his head with that same soft smile as he tugged you gently toward the next stall. The market lights flickered on as the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. The air was cooler now, but you barely noticed, too focused on the warmth of his hand in yours and the way his shoulder brushed against yours as you walked.

The dessert stall was a colourful explosion of sweets—mochi, taiyaki, and towering soft serve cones in flavours like matcha, black sesame, and hojicha. You pointed at the matcha soft serve, the vibrant green ice cream swirling into a perfect peak, its colour so vivid it almost glowed under the soft lights of the stall. The earthy aroma of matcha wafted toward you, mingling with the sweet scent of condensed milk. "Can we get one of those?" you asked, turning to Will with a hopeful smile.

Will glanced at the cone, then back at you, his expression softening as he took in the way your eyes lit up. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached for his wallet, his fingers brushing against yours as he pulled it out. You couldn’t help but notice the way his lips curved into a small, private smile.

"If it makes you smile like that, of course," he said, his voice low and warm, like the first sip of tea on a cold morning. He handed over the cash to the vendor, his movements unhurried, as if he were savouring the moment as much as you were.

You and Will moved away from the stall, weaving through the bustling crowd until you found a quieter spot near the edge of the market. It wasn’t much—just a small alcove between two stalls, sheltered from the main flow of foot traffic—but it felt like your own little haven.

Will leaned casually against the wall, his shoulder brushing yours as you stood side by side. The hum of the market was still there, but it felt distant now, like background noise to the quiet moment you were sharing. You held the cone between you, the coolness of the ice cream a sharp contrast to the warmth of his body so close to yours.

"Alright, let’s see if this lives up to the hype," you said, leaning in and gently wrapping your lips around the creamy peak, sucking lightly to pull a bite of the cold, velvety ice cream into your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the soft serve like a whisper of spring—earthy, sweet, and impossibly smooth. The bitterness of the matcha balanced perfectly with the creamy sweetness, and you couldn’t help but let out a small, contented hum.

When you opened your eyes, you caught Will staring at you, his gaze lingering on your lips for a second too long. There was something in his expression—something soft and unguarded—that made your stomach flip.

"Your turn," you said, holding the cone out to him, pretending not to notice the faint flush creeping up your neck.

He blinked, snapping out of whatever thought had momentarily distracted him, and took the cone from you. But instead of taking a bite, he held it carefully in one hand, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft serve was starting to melt slightly, a tiny drip sliding down the side of the cone, but Will didn’t seem to care.

Before you could say anything, he stepped closer, his free hand sliding around your waist to pull you in. "I think I’d rather taste it this way," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

And then he kissed you.

His lips were warm and insistent, capturing yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. You could feel the cool sweetness of the matcha still lingering on your lips, and Will seemed determined to savour every bit of it. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he tilted your head just slightly, deepening the kiss.

At first, his tongue brushed against yours tentatively, a slow, teasing exploration that sent shivers down your spine. But then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, the kiss grew more insistent, more passionate. His tongue swept against yours, warm and searching, as if he were trying to memorise the taste of you mixed with the earthy sweetness of the matcha. You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, the fabric of his jumper soft under your fingertips. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, quickening just like yours.

The world around you seemed to fade away—the low chatter of the market, the sizzle of food on grills, the faint hum of music from a nearby stall. All that mattered was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, the way his body pressed close, solid and reassuring.

When he finally pulled back, it was only slightly, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. His blue eyes were dark, his pupils wide and blown with want, his gaze heavy with something that made your stomach flip. It wasn’t just unspoken—it was hunger, pure and undeniable. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment, sent a shiver down your spine.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice rough and a little unsteady, as if he were struggling to keep himself in check. "Definitely starting to see the appeal."

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, where a faint trace of matcha still lingered, and you could feel the slight tremor in his hand. It was as if he were holding himself back, but just barely. The air between you felt charged, electric, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the way he wanted to kiss you again, to pull you closer, to lose himself in you completely.

"Will," you started, your voice soft, but he shook his head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips.

"Don’t," he said, his voice low. "If you say my name like that, I’m not going to be able to stop."

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared up at him. There was no mistaking the desire in his eyes, the way his gaze dropped to your lips again, like he was already imagining kissing you a second time. He wanted you—wanted you in a way that was almost overwhelming, and it was written all over his face.

But instead of giving in, he stepped back slightly, his hand sliding from your waist. He glanced down at the cone, as if grounding himself, and let out a soft laugh. "Guess I got a little distracted," he said, his tone lighter now, though his eyes still burnt with that same intensity.

"Just a little," you said, teasing, though your voice was a little breathless. You couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers flexed around the cone, like he was fighting the urge to reach for you again. Before he could say anything, you reached out and gently took the cone from his hand, your fingers brushing against his in the process. The contact sent a little spark through you, and you saw his eyes darken as he watched you.

"Careful," you said, your tone light but your gaze holding his. "You’re going to drop it if you keep getting distracted."

He let out a soft laugh, though it sounded a little strained, and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, you’re not exactly helping," he said. His eyes dropped to your lips again, and you could see the way he was struggling to keep himself in check.

You took a small bite of the ice cream, the cool sweetness a sharp contrast to the heat building between you. Will watched you, his gaze intense, and you couldn’t help but tease him a little. "Want a taste?" you asked, holding the cone out to him, your tone innocent but your eyes playful.

He shook his head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips. "I already had my taste," he said, his voice dropping lower. "And it’s going to be a problem if I have another."

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. Will stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the cone. "But since you’re offering…" he said, his tone teasing as he took a small peice, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something in the way he looked at you, something raw and unguarded, that made your pulse quicken and your cheeks burn.

He handed the cone back to you with a smirk, his arm still wrapped around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. "Next time, though," he said, his tone playful but his eyes soft with something deeper, "I’m picking the flavour."

"Deal," you said, leaning into him, the warmth of his body a comforting contrast to the cool evening air. You took another bite of the ice cream, the earthy sweetness of the matcha mingling with the lingering taste of him on your lips. The market buzzed around you, but it felt distant, like the two of you were in your own little world.

Will’s thumb brushed lightly over your hip, his touch sending a shiver through you even through the layers of your clothes. "You know," he said, his voice low and warm, "I think this might be the best date we’ve ever had."

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. "Yeah," you agreed softly. "It’s pretty perfect."

He chuckled, the sound rich and full, and you felt it vibrate through your chest. "Glad you think so," he said, his tone light but his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Because I’m not done yet."

"Oh?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, though your voice was a little breathless.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Nope. Not even close."

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. "You’re horrible." you said, though the way your heart raced betrayed how much his words affected you.

Will grinned, pulling you closer as you continued walking through the market. The lights twinkled above, casting a warm glow over the stalls, and the scent of spices and sweets filled the air. His hand never left yours, his fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As you strolled, the sounds of the market fading into the background, you couldn’t help but think that moments like this—simple, sweet, and shared with him—were your favourite kind. Will’s hand in yours, his laughter in your ears, and the promise of more ahead made everything feel just a little bit magical.

😮‍💨 damn. I got carried away with this one… Was that kiss realistic? I've never kissed anyone that wasn't a peck, so I just guessed at what it would be like. Was that okay? Do people have any pointers for writing reasonable make out sessions? 🤭But anyways… I hope people enjoy!

#willne #will lenney #willne x fem!reader #willne x reader #will lenney x fem!reader #will lenney x reader #willne oneshot #will lenney oneshot #will lenney one shot

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persephone-writes · 8 months ago

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A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter One: The Omen

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Two ☆ Series Masterlist

Series Description: Being friends with Lily Evans was difficult when you were head over heels for her ex-boyfriend James. Your problems are only made worse when you begin receiving ominous omens that point to a less than desirable future.

General Fic Warnings & Tags: Marauders era seventh year, female reader (she/her/miss/etc.), use of Y/N and L/N, readers appearance is not described other than her generally being able-bodied and larger than a house elf, at some point the reader smokes cigarettes/weed/drinks alcohol (don't smoke, kids), swearing typical of an 18 year old lol, canon-typical violence, dueling, and first wizarding war stuff, mentions of the readers mother and father, mentions of characters getting sick after drinking but no descriptions.

Notes: hey! so just a fair warning that this is a slow burn and the first couple of chapters in are particularly plot heavy. Also, this is cross posted on my ao3 if you want to give it a read there instead :) Also fuck JKR we support trans rights on this blog

Word Count: 4.3k

The near silence of the library was a welcomed escape from the busy corridors and lively Common Room, which was always packed just after classes ended. Tomorrow was Friday and Gryffindor was playing a quidditch match this weekend, meaning your chance to have any amount of free time in the coming days relied heavily on some Thursday night cramming. At the heavy wooden table tucked between tall rows of books, you and Remus worked quietly. It was one of the rare times you were alone together, and his aura of calm placidity was exactly what you needed at the moment.

Despite your intentions of studying, the papers strewn out in front of you were beginning to give you a headache. If you were somewhere with a more lenient volume policy, you would’ve groaned rather dramatically in utter frustration or banged your head against the table top. It had been a long time since you’ve been this lost on an assignment, a Divination assignment, no less. Your eyes kept pulling away from the three different books laid before you, running instead along the dark shelves and bumpy leather spines. It was a treat when one of them flew from its place, skirting out of your nook and down the aisle in a blur of solid color.

You both had gotten one and a half lovely, serene hours of uninterrupted study time before your mutual friend came around the corner, plopping down suddenly in the seat beside you. Your daydreams were interrupted, replaced by an even better distraction. James smiled brightly at you, curly brown hair in a heap on top of his head. You couldn’t help but grin back, his pleasantness infectious even when you were in a sour mood.

“Hello,” you said, forgetting your work completely.

He returned your greeting before frowning at Remus over his complete lack of acknowledgment upon his arrival.

“What's got you so focused?” he whispered, glancing down at the parchment that Remus was writing on.

“Transfiguration,” he answered, still engrossed and only half listening. James shot him a funny look which caused you to stifle a laugh, though Remus was unamused.

“I can see you, you know,” he drawled.

James snickered quietly, attempting to keep up a his newfound facade as a serious student, lest he ruin his impeccable reputation.

“Why’re you slumming it here with us?” you asked James, your head coming to rest in your hand as you turned to face him. His wire-rimmed glasses began to fall, so he pushed them back up onto the bridge of his nose.

“He should be here to study,” Remus added, finally smirking to himself. James rolled his eyes, throwing his arms over the back of his chair.

“Can’t even pay your friends a visit anymore, I see.” He tipped his chair back on two legs, dangerously close to falling. After a moment of careful balancing, he returned all four legs to the floor where they belonged, his head lulling onto his shoulder. “Sirius ditched me to run off with Seraphina, and Peter and Marlene are joining forces on Herbology.”

Seraphina was Sirius’s most recent belle, but no one thought it would last much longer. She didn’t like that he smoked and he detested her revulsion to it. Before his date with her last weekend, he had to wash his hair twice and use far too much cologne, which gave everyone around him an awful headache. This may be the couple's last hoorah, as you had been with Sirius not three hours ago, each of you puffing smoke out of the window of an empty classroom.

“Why don’t you help?” you asked, referring to Peter and Marlene.

“Peter says I’m mean when I help,” answered James with a shrug.

“How awful,” you teased, watching as a large green book shot out of the shelf over Remus’ head, whipping left down the aisle. It was true that sometimes James couldn’t understand that things didn’t come so easy to everyone. Once, you had stupidly asked him for his help in DADA. Never again.

“That's all right,” James began again, “With those gits ditching me, you’re my new favorite. Not Remus, of course. He won’t give me enough attention.”

You hated when he did that: made you feel special. He couldn’t possibly be serious, as it was simply the perfect opportunity to take a dig at his friend. But Godric, did you want it to be true. Until now you had done a very good job at projecting a casual air about yourself, protecting your feelings behind a mask of mild indifference. You tried your best to regain what was left of your resolve, cracked by his stupid joke and the way he was looking so handsome today. It was criminal, really, an Azkaban level offense. You wanted to slap that lovely, teasing smile from his face and throw him under the invisibility cloak. Begrudgingly, you laughed, Remus snorting as he continued to scratch away with his quill.

“Oh, and I wasn’t before?” you said, hopefully hiding your fancy.

James rolled his eyes again, thankfully not having noticed anything out of the ordinary. You must’ve been an excellent actress, or James was an extraordinary friend, because he never seemed to catch on no matter how badly you slipped up. You weren’t sure if things were easier or harder when Lily was always hanging off his arm. Godric, had that been a tough eight months.

James then changed the subject to something less threatening to your long-held secret, much to your relief, “I’ve been running over some new maneuvers with the team. It’s taking some of the younger ones a bit to get the hang of, but we’re looking good. I don’t think Hufflepuff has a chance on Saturday.”

“That's great,” you whispered.

“Sirius came up with some of it, worked on it all day last Sunday with me. We’re calling it the Grumblesnad–”

James went on to explain, or attempt to explain, the rather complicated plays he and Sirius had invented. Half of the technical jargon you did not understand, though you were able to catch the gist. He seemed so eager to tell you that you refrained from stopping him too often, wanting to watch his eyes light up and hands wave mindlessly. You enjoyed when he was like this, entranced by his own excitement, unburdened and utterly content.

Soon after James had finished his animated explanation of the Grumblesnad, it was just about time for dinner. The sun had gone down around an hour ago, leaving the library to be lit only by the large lamps hanging upon the walls. Although the room was warm and glowing, begging you to stay just a while longer, your hunger was beginning to get to you. You and Remus packed up your things, throwing all three of your Divination books into your bag. Remus held a thick, wide tome, the cover decorated with tangled vines and pale purple flowers.

“You guys go on without me,” he said, propping up the book in the crook of his elbow like the pose of a marble statue. “I’ve got to check this out.”

Remus walked past you and James to head down the labyrinthine aisles with another word, you and James following behind. You each left the library together, Remus promising again that he’d catch up.

Your journey was in silence for a while, James’s shoes clicking against the stone floor like a metronome. There were many other students heading your same direction, a few first or second years whizzing past in a fit of laughter. You smiled at the memory of your first few years at Hogwarts, remembering for the first time in a while that you’d be leaving here for good in a matter of months. You had been so shy at first, clinging to Lily like she was a buoy out in the ocean. Severus had done the same, though as the years went on he seemed to shrivel a bit, slinking back into the shadows while Lily moved farther into the light. She had dragged you along with her, practically forcing you to be friends with those who had remained acquaintances for the better part of five years. For this, you would always be eternally grateful.

You were pulled from your shameless reminiscing when James reached out for the strap of your bag, taking it from you before you could do anything about it.

“What’re you doing?” you asked as he threw it over his shoulder, adjusting the strap a bit.

“Godric, this thing is heavy,” he said, making a show if it dragging him down towards the floor. You laughed, soon beginning to play with your tie, not knowing what else to do with your hands.

“You don’t have to carry it for me,” you said softly, feeling rather bad. Now, each of his shoulders was carrying its own load, yours unburdened.

He shook his head immediately, curls flopping against his forehead.

“I don’t mind,” he said, brushing it off as if it were nothing at all. “Besides, you’ll end up falling to the dungeons carrying this thing.”

You bit your tongue so that you wouldn’t tell him how kind he was, how much he made you into someone rather witless. You dropped your hands, swinging them a few times before they met behind your back. It was getting worse. You could tell by the way you had to keep on reminding yourself to act like a normal person, constantly having to make sure you weren't letting anything on. It was difficult to pinpoint when this change occurred, though knowing the exact date and time wouldn't really do you much good in the end. Something in you was breaking, and it scared you shitless.

“But really," James said, holding onto the strap of your bag, "what do you have in this?”

You shrugged. “Just some books, a few boulders thrown in for good measure.”

He shoved you lightly on the shoulder, throwing you slightly off kilter. You giggled, cringing at yourself as you did. Soon you could see the large doors to the Great Hall up ahead, and you ran over to them. You then made a show of opening one for him, waiting patiently for him to catch up. He smiled, and you were glad to have put it there.

“Just trying to return the favor,” you said, laughing when he passed you, feigning displeasure.

He handed you back your bag as you parted ways, you heading over to your side of the table near Lily, him with the other Marauders. Walking down the aisle, you let out a silent sigh of blissful relief, having mostly rid yourself of him for the time being. No matter how much you enjoyed his company, it was an awful amount of work acting nonchalant, particularly when he kept being so nice. It was always better when you were in a group and he was forced to split his attention between multiple parties. Currently, mealtimes were becoming your new favorite.

As you sat down in your usual spot between Lily and Marlene, you plopped your bag down on floor behind you, which landed with a heavy thud. Lily glanced over her shoulder to look at it.

“Godric, what’s in that thing?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The fire in the Common Room popped, sending a flurry of orange sparks into the alcove of the stone hearth. Most had settled in for the night, filling the room with a steady stream chatter and scratching quills. James and Sirius sat across from each other at one of the small tables in the back doing schoolwork, Lily and Peter beside them playing a game of wizards chess. You and Remus were reading in two of the large armchairs, you with a muggle novel borrowed from Lily.

Sirius's elbows were resting on the table, his head in his hands and mouth slightly agape. He shook his head a bit, eyes wide as he started down at his papers.

“Do you think Professor Vector dreams in Arithmancy, or it’s just a hobby?”

You looked up from your book, noticing Sirius’s paper covered with exed out numbers and messily written notes. He still wore his uniform, though his tie was undone and the top two buttons of his shirt, which was growing wrinkled, had been opened. Lily's head popped up from where it was turned down towards her game, which she was currently winning. She leaned over to peer at his paper the best she could.

“What’s the matter?” she asked kindly. Sirius only gave her a glance before looking at James, who was stifling a laugh.

“It’s your fault,” said Sirius, scoffing at his friend’s continued chortling. “You forced me to take it third year. Should’ve been like Wormtail and gone the easy route.”

You all knew he was lying, for despite all his bitching and moaning, Sirius was just as bright as James. He’d complain endlessly about Arithmancy just as he had done last year when he convinced himself he’d flunk the O.W.L, in which he ultimately scored an O. Once and a while he might even brood over such fears, tucking himself away in a dark corner of the library to study, fighting off a great deal of unnecessary anxiety.

“Hey!” Peter piped up at the mention of his name, especially due to its use in such an offending fashion. Lily made an excellent move, snagging one of his knights. Peter groaned in frustration, momentarily distracted.

“Divination is a valuable subject, one that is often overlooked by certain individuals,” you defended, glaring at Sirius before offering Peter a much needed smile.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius said, flicking his head to get the hair out of his eyes. You shrugged, turning back to your book. “You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re good at it,” he grumbled, looking back down at his papers to concentrate on the confusing array of seemingly nonsensical numbers.

“Doesn’t take much,” said Remus from his armchair, legs curled up like a pretzel. Now you were grumbling, mumbling something about his “Stupid E in Ancient Runes.”

James began screwing the cap back on his inkwell, gathering his parchment into a neat pile before him. Lily and Peter had turned back to their game, Peter taking an awfully long while contemplating his next move. He finally made one, taking out one of her rooks.

“How’d your fish thing go?” James asked, looking between you and Peter. Your most recent Divinations project, which you had been working on in the library, involved Ichthyomancy, or the helpful power of fish in the prediction of one's fortune. You were to carefully observe the fish of the Great Lake for a few hours during a “completely and utterly random time of day!” and attempt to read your fortune for the coming weeks.

Peter sighed heavily at the mention of the project, sinking further into his chair. Lily was still glancing at the game board, twirling a lock of auburn hair between her fingers.

“Well…” said Peter, somewhat sniveling.

“Not having any luck?” you asked. “No pun intended.”

Peter sighed again, shaking his head. “Just when I think I’ve got something, they all seem to swim away. I think I’m repelling them or something.”

“Not surprising,” said Sirius, still focused on his own work.

“You should be studying,” Remus reminded him, to which Sirius surprisingly obeyed. If anyone could get Sirius to do something, it was Remus. It was if he possessed an ancient form of magic no one else knew.

“How about you,” James asked. “You said you were coming along swimmingly the other day.” You could tell he was rather proud of himself for that one from the look on his face, eyes glancing between the others as if to see if anyone else noticed. Any other time you would have readily appeased him and laughed, but all your willingness to jest had drained from you the moment he asked the question.

“Well…” you began, echoing Peter. You weren’t sure if you wanted to bring it up just yet, though you didn’t want to lie either. Your head fell back against the chair as you let out a small, crippled noise. “I thought I was, but then today in the library I was trying to cross reference the meaning, but I’m getting all these odd readings.”

“Like what?” Lily inquired, moving a piece on the board. Peter let out a breath of relief when all of his pieces remained safe.

“The first thing I saw right when I got out there was a school of eight orange fish heading with the current, due north. So, that's obviously unbridled joy. ”

“ Obviously ,” mumbled Remus.

You rolled your eyes and continued, “Then, there were twelve pink ones heading across, due west, not with or against the current. However, another joined in–”

“Oh,” said Lily, catching the meaning. Peter nodded in acknowledgment as well.

“Yeah, so heartache. But, that's not even the worst of it. After a few hours with nothing much happening, I spotted a red and purple fish amongst a school of white,” you trailed off, watching Lily’s face contort in confusion, her hands coming up to the arms of her chair.

“You’re kidding!”

James perked up, glancing between each of you, who like Peter didn’t seem to have a clue what any of it meant. Remus and Sirius had now been fully roused, book and schoolwork forgotten.

“What? What?” James asked, though neither you nor Lily replied soon enough for his liking. “Come on, what is it? What's so bad about a red and purple fish?”

Lily swallowed, turning to James. “Red and purple is bad. ”

“Really bad,” you added.

“Did you catch how many white ones were in the school?” Lily inquired.

“No, I’d guess around ten, but I can’t be sure.” You shot her a pained, slightly terrified expression, knowing the less white fish the better. Ten or so was not a good sign.

Lily sighed and all fell silent for a beat, the once easy atmosphere becoming tense and suffocating. You heard Peter picking at a loose thread on his seat.

“What does it mean?” James asked.

Lily answered, speaking slowly and with great purpose, “Well, in isolation, it can predict a discovery of sorts, though accompanied by so many of the white-” she faltered, eyes dancing to yours.

“It would seem to indicate a total loss of innocence,” you finished. Sirius perked, casting you an impish smirk.

“A loss of innocence?” he repeated, slow and so bloody irritating . “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Not that kind of innocence,” Lily corrected.

“It’s more like a complete change in worldview, like witnessing the death of a loved one,” you explained. Again came silence, Peter pursing his lips and lowering his head like a vigil for your fate.

“But, uh–” James stammered, “you said you also got signs of ‘unbridled joy.’ How can you have that and the death of a loved one?”

“I said like the death of a loved one.”

“That doesn’t change anything.” The intensity of his worry was blinding. You figured he had a lot of practice between Remus and Sirius.

“I don’t know how they’re supposed to connect. That’s why I’m so confused over it.” You turned to Lily. “Do you have any clue? Any at all?”

Lily sat deep in thought, a hand coming to her face. She rubbed down her cheek, her foot beginning to tap on the carpet. “No,” she said sadly, “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Before you had told anyone, you were easily able to brush it off as no big deal. Now, with your friend’s tensed jaws and pitying glances, your fears had been confirmed. You began to loathe yourself for drawing so much attention towards your problems, wishing that Lily would do something to hide her increasing concern. You didn't like seeing her like this, nor any of the others for that matter. Remus shifted around so he could sit properly in his chair, slipping a bookmark into the pages of his novel and tossing it aside.

“Does it have to be bad, per se?” he asked.

From the corner of your eye, you saw James running a finger along the neck of his sweater.

“I don’t think so," you said finally, "but I’m not sure what sort of prediction I could make based on what I’ve been able to gather. I have joy, heartache, and a loss of innocence. When I just had the joy and heartache, I thought that maybe something bad would happen that turned out to be good in the end, or that something good would turn out to be bad. There’s a million options for that, I could have easily come up with a reading to turn in for class. But that bloody red and purple fish had to come along and spoil the whole thing.” You let out an exasperated sigh, guilty once again for your rant, although no one seemed annoyed with you. On the contrary, all appeared genuinely saddened by your strange omen.

“It can’t be that bad, whatever it is," said Lily. "You know how Divination can be sometimes. You get this awful omen and it turns out that you just break a quill or get the flu.” She leaned over towards you, face full of a profound compassion that she had worn for so many before. It reminded you of the way she used to look at Severus years ago before their falling out, when he appeared to her a small, shy kid in need of a friend. For a brief moment, your worries switched from the omen to the acute possibility you would one day be like him, mourning the loss of her friendship caused by your own betrayal towards her.

"She's right," Peter offered, giving what he could. You smiled, trying to match his and Lily's enthusiasm.

“I ought to owl my parents, make sure the house hasn’t collapsed,” you joked, though no one seemed to find it very funny.

James said your name, downtrodden and caring. “It’ll be all right, I’m sure of it.”

“You could always ask Professor Quattlebaum,” Peter suggested, voice lifting a bit.

After a moment you nodded slowly, taking a short breath through your nose. “I probably should, though it might take from my grade.”

“Or you could go fishing just kill the slimy thing,” Sirius said, making a much better attempt at brightening the mood than yours was. “That has to have some sort of effect.”

“Not really how it works, Sirius,” said Lily solemnly.

“James is right,” you began, your tone as brave as you could bear, “it’ll be fine. It’s probably like you said, Lily. It’ll turn out to be so silly, then we’ll have a good laugh over worrying about it so much.”

After brushing off a few more comments of concern, you all went back to working quietly, Remus devouring his book once more. You tried to do the same, but your eyes seemed to gloss over the words without reading them. Eventually, Lily won the game with Peter, though didn’t gloat over her victory. As the evening lengthened, students meandered out of the Common Room and to their dormitories. Sirius was the only one left with schoolwork to do, excusing himself to his room so he could “focus on the dumbest subject in history…besides Divination.”

“How studious!” James called out to him, watching as he ascended the staircase. Sirius threw up his middle finger, not looking back.

It wasn’t long after that you checked your wristwatch, noticing it getting late. You excused yourself to your room, the others likely heading to bed themselves sooner rather than later.

When you entered your dormitory, Marlene and Dorcas were laid out on their beds chatting. Dorcas had an impressive pile of candy in front of her: Chocolate Frogs, Dolly Beads, Caramel Cobwebs, Fizzing Whizbees, and various forms of glimmering marshmallows. Marlene reached across the space between their beds and grabbed a pink, rose shaped one, taking a large bite out of it.

“Oi!” Dorcas protested, though Marlene only laughed maniacally, leaning back against her headboard.

“Having yourselves a feast, I see,” you said to them, kicking off your shoes beside your bed.

“ Dorcas is having a feast,” Marlene drawled, “and being rather stingy, too.”

“You’re aware it’s a Thursday?” you said with a smile, glancing over your shoulder to see Dorcas open up a Chocolate Frog package.

“I’m aware,” she said, grabbing the leaping frog in record time. It squirmed a bit in an attempt to hop away before growing still. Dorcas took a bite of it, pulling out the collectable card from the box. "Ugh, Artemisia Lufkin again?"

When you emerged from the lavatory ready for bed, Lily had just walked into the room, untying her shoes by the door. You climbed into your four-poster, getting ready to draw the curtains when she came up to you, mouth pulled to one side.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

You had unwisely hoped that nothing more would be said about your omen, now wishing more than ever you hadn't even brought it up to begin with. You couldn't think of a way she could help you any more than she already had, hating that she was likely racking her brain for solutions.

You nodded, smiling softly in an effort to ease her. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s like you said, it’ll turn out to be nothing.”

She nodded, her eyes drifting across your face before she gave you a small smile, turning to retrieve her own pajamas and leaving you to cocoon yourself in for the night. You pulled your curtains closed to the sound of Lily's footsteps creaking on an ancient floorboard.

End Notes: at any point in this series, if you notice something that should go under the warnings/tags, please let me know! The same goes for grammatical errors. this gal is dyslexic, so as Nick from New Girl so aptly put it, I'm not even sure if I know how to read, I've only just memorized a lot of words. Misspellings don't even look wrong to me lol

Chapter Two

#james potter x reader #james potter/reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fic #james potter series #james potter fluff #marauders era #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter slow burn

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sneezypeasy · 1 year ago

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The Lightning Scene, How Azula Targeted Katara (of All People), and the Doylist Reason Why That Matters

Mention Zuko's sacrifice for Katara in Sozin's Comet Part 3 as part of a pro-Zutara talking point, and invariably you'll get a Pavlovian response of:

"But Zuko would have taken the lightning for anyone."

(Not to be confused with the similar-sounding Pavlovan response, which is "Zuko's sacrifice ain't shit compared to a mouth-watering, strawberry-topped meringue dessert"*, which is actually the only valid counter-argument to how the lightning scene is a bona fide Zutara treasure, but I digress.)

Now, I've talked in depth about how the lightning scene is framed far more romantically than it had any right to be, regardless of how you might interpret the subject on paper; this is an argument which I still stand by 100%. That Zuko would have gotten barbecued for anyone, and that he was at the stage of his arc where his royal kebab-ness represented his final act of redemption, doesn't change the fact that the animators/soundtrack artists decided to pull out all the stops with making this scene hit romantic film tropes bingo by the time it played out on screen.

(I mean, we stan.)

There's also a deeper level to this conundrum, a layer which creeps up on you when you're standing in your kitchen at night, the fridge door open in front of you, your hungry, sleep-deprived brain trying to decide on what to grab for a midnight snack, and quite inexcusably you're struck with the question: Okay, Zuko may indeed have taken the lightning for just anyone, but would Azula have shot the lightning at just anyone?

But there's yet a deeper layer to this question, that I don't recall ever seeing anyone discuss (though if somebody has, mea culpa). And that is: would you have written Zuko taking the lightning for anyone else?

Or in other words, who Zuko would have taken the lightning for is the wrong question to be asking; the question we ought to be asking is who Zuko should have taken the lightning for, instead.

Get your pens out, your Doylist hats on, and turn to page 394. It's time to think like an author for a hot minute.

(If you don't know what I mean by Watsonian vs. Doylist analyses, and/or if you need a refresher course, go have a skim of the first section of this 'ere post and then scoot your ass back to this one.)

So. You're the author. You've written almost the entirety of an animated series (look at you!!) and now you're at the climax, which you've decided is going to be an epic, hero-villain showdown. Classic. Unlike previous battles between these two characters, your hero is going to have a significant advantage in this fight - partly due to his own development as a hero at the height of his strength and moral conviction, and partly because your villain has gone through a bit of a Britney Spears 2007 fiasco, and isn't quite at the top of her game here. If things keep going at this pace, your hero is going to win the fight fairly easily - actually, maybe even too easily. That's okay though, you're a talented writer and you know just what will raise the stakes and give the audience a well-timed "oh shit" moment: you're going to have the villain suddenly switch targets and aim for somebody else. The hero will be thrown off his groove, the villain will gain the upper hand, the turns will have indubitably tabled. Villains playing dirty is the number 1 rule in every villain handbook after all, and each of the last two times your hero's braved this sort of fight he's faced an opponent who ended up fighting dishonourably, so you've got a lovely Rule of Three perfectly lined up for the taking. Impeccable. The warm glow of triumph shines upon you, cherubs sing, your English teachers clap and shed tears of pride. (Except for that one teacher you had in year 8 who hated everybody, but she's a right bitch and we're not talking about her today.)

Now here's the thing: your hero is a hero. Maybe he wasn't always a hero, but he certainly is one now. If the villain goes after an innocent third party, there's basically no-one your hero wouldn't sacrifice himself for. He's a hero! Heroes do be like that, it's kind of their thing. The villain could shoot a bolt of lightning at Bildad the Shuhite, and the only thing that'd stop our boy Redeemed Paladin Bravesoul McGee from shielding his foxy ass is the fact that Bildad the Shuhite has the audacity to exist in a totally different show (disgusten.)

But. You're holding the writer's pen. Minus crossover shenanigans you don't have the licensing or time-travel technology to achieve, you have full control over how this scene plays out. You get to decide which character to target to deliver the greatest emotional impact, the juiciest angst, the most powerful cinematic suspense. You get to decide whose life you'll put at risk, to make this scene the most intense spine-chilling heart-stopper it can possibly be.

This is the climax we're talking about, after all - now is not the time to go easy on the drama.

So.

Do you make the villain target just anyone?

Or do you make the villain target someone the hero cares about?

Perhaps, someone he cares about... a lot?

Maybe even, someone he cares about... more than anybody else?

You are the author. You are the God of this universe. You get to choose.

What would deliver the strongest punch?

If you happen to make the inadvisable decision of browsing through these tropes on TV tropes, aside from wasting the rest of your afternoon (you're welcome), you'll find that the examples listed are littered with threatened and dead love interests, and, well, there's a reason for that. For better or worse, romantic love is often portrayed by authors, and perceived by audiences, as a "true" form of love (often even, "the" true form of love). Which is responsible for the other is a chicken/egg situation, one I'm not going to go into for this post - and while I'm certainly not here to defend this perspective as objectively good, I do think it's worth acknowledging that it not only exists but is culturally rather ubiquitous. (If you're playing the love interest in a story with a hero v. a villain, you might wanna watch your back, is what I'm saying.)

Regardless of whether the vibe you're aiming for is romantic or platonic however, one thing is for certain: if you want maximum oomph, the way to achieve that is by making the villain go after the player whose death would hit the hero the hardest.

And like I said, this doesn't have to be played romantically (although it so often is). There are platonic examples in those trope pages, though it's also important to note that many of the platonic ones do show up in stories where a love interest isn't depicted/available/there's a strong "bromance" element/the hero is low-key ace - and keep in mind too that going that route sometimes runs a related risk of falling into queer-bait territory *coughJohnLockcough*

That said, if there is a canon love-interest available, one who's confessed her love for the hero, one who has since been imprisoned by the villain, one who can easily be written as being at the villain's disposal, and who could quite conveniently be whipped out for a mid-battle surprise round - you might find you have some explaining to do if you choose to wield your authorly powers to have the villain go after... idk, some other sheila instead.

(The fact that this ends up taking the hero out of the fight, and the person he sacrifices himself for subsequently throws herself into the arena risking life and limb to defeat the villain and rescue her saviour, also means the most satisfying way this plays out, narratively speaking, is if both of these characters happen to be the most important person in each other's lives - at least, as of that moment, anyway - but I think this post has gone on long enough, lol)

This is, by and large, a rebuttal post more than anything else, but the tl;dr here is - regardless of whether you want to read the scene as shippy or not, to downplay Zuko's sacrifice for Katara specifically as "not that deep™" because "Zuko would have taken the lightning for anyone anyway", suggests either that a) nobody should be reading into the implications of Katara being chosen as the person nearest and dearest to Zuko, so that putting her life in jeopardy can deliver the most powerful impact possible for an audience you'd bloody well hope are on the edge of their seats during the climax of your story or b) the writers made the inexplicable decision of having the villain threaten the life of... literally who the fuck ever, and ultimately landed on someone who's actually not all that important to the hero in the grand scheme of things - which is a cardinal writing sin if I ever saw one (even disregarding the Choice to then season it with mood lighting and sad violin music, on top of it all), and altogether something I'd be legitimately pissed about if my Zuko-OTP ship paired him with Mai, Sokka, or just about anybody else 😂

Most importantly c) I'm hungry, and I want snacks.

*The Aussies in the fandom will get this one. Everyone else can suffer in united confusion.

#zutara #anti anti zutara #lightning scene ramblings #meta #long post

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kkuzushi · 1 year ago

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Haii! Ive read your sub Heizou fic and omg... I kept thinking about scaramouche while reading it. I've also taken a liking to your page! Your writing is soo goodnendksjdnxw sub scaramouche fic when? 🥰🥰🎀🎀

(I feel like in going to interact with your page alot so can I be 🎸 anon? >_<)

“ 𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗮 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 ”

✦ 𝗰haracters: sub!scaramouche x dom!reader

✦ 𝗰w: mirror sex (at the end), implied orgasm denial, implied overstimulation, slight choking, cock can be interpreted as strap

✦ 𝘄ord count: 1.02k

✦ 𝗻otes: You’re always welcome to my page, lovely 🎸. This is written especially for you. <3

It became a routine for Scaramouche to send pictures of himself when wearing different outfits. It was just a time to time update, like you had asked, but he had gotten unexpectedly used to it.

For a man who has impeccable fashion taste, you would always shower him with compliments with every picture he sent—because of that, he saw it as a way to get your attention.

As usual, you received a notification from Scaramouche and it was a mirror shot. The picture was enough to make you smile but what took your attention was the message he sent after it.

"It's been a week, when are you coming over?"

Scaramouche had gotten clingy as well after establishing a relationship.. or maybe there's something he's after.

"My schedule's packed for this week, maybe by the end of the month we get to spend time again."

You replied, which he immediately read. It took a while for him to respond as it turns out, he was preparing another picture for you. Only this time, his shirt was lifted up, his teeth biting on the fabric to expose his stomach.

"How about right now?" He sent with the picture.

You could almost read where he's going along with this but you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

After a few back and forth bickering, his pictures and messages had only gotten more and more explicit.

"My bed's missing you."

"Wanna show me what 34+35 is equal to?"

"Something wants to be filled and it's not my expectations."

If only he knew how much you actually wanted to rail him right now. If your schedule wasn't so packed, you'd be having your way with him.

Though who said you can't? It didn't take long for you to arrive at his place, a sight you could never get tired of unfolding right before you.

Scaramouche's nails clawed your back, almost holding for dear life as you mindlessly pounded him to oblivion.

"Wait..! Too full~!!" His grip around you tightened as he squealed with every thrust you give him.

"For someone so teasing, you sure can't take a lot," You commented, grabbing his thighs to push back, spreading it out even more.

Scaramouche's eyes narrowed down at you, biting his lips gently before speaking, "I didn't expect that simple words would provoke you."

His statement made you chuckle before closing the distance between the two of you. His legs spread apart as you pushed your cock all the way inside, resting close to his prostate, making him squirm from the sensation.

"It didn't provoke me, Scara," you cooed to his ear, "It only motivated me."

Before he could respond, you bucked your hips, finally hitting his prostate. Scaramouche's eyes widened as he lets out what could only be described as a scream.

"ngAHh~!! ♡ ♡" His back arched from the sudden thrust to his prostate, a hoarse moan was forced out of him, eyes rolling back from the pleasure.

Your back has been marked to the core by his nails, it was painful yet you enjoyed the feeling—after all, it was the result of having your way with him.

Scaramouche's thighs starts to tremble, his head rolling back as moans after moans stream out of his throat.

Just the way his body reacts to his prostate getting abused turned you on, how could you ever get tired of fucking this man?

"Do I fuck you good, Scaramouche?" You grunted, hands on his waist to keep yourself moving on the same pace. The only answer given to you were mewls, poor Scaramouche can't even think properly as he seems to be seeing stars now.

"aH~ aH!~ goofmgnh~ sho goodddh~!! ♡" A few minutes after your question, Scaramouche starts to ramble, his tongue lolling out of his mouth with every word he says.

His cock was leaking precum, spilling all the way to his thighs. If he wasn't so focused on having your permission, he would've finished since then—but only good boys get that, right?

The sound of skin hitting skin was loud as you fucked Scaramouche harshly yet his moans were still louder than anything else. His pretty body was filled with fresh bitemarks and hickeys, even on places that's exposed easily. Not to worry, he won't be complaining anytime soon.

"fuck..! fuck! mnghah..!" He squealed as he watched your cock disappearing with every thrust you give, almost like his hole was sucking it in. His inner walls tightened, receiving a moan from you, "hagh- g-gonna cum!~ ♡"

His words served as a signal as you swiftly changed his position, turning him around to make him face his bedroom mirror. Scaramouche's eyes widened after realising your intentions.

"N-not like thisfhAHH~♡♡!!" Words were cut once his felt your cock fucking him in a rougher pace. You pinned his hands on his back, your free hand crawling up and wrapping around his neck so tenderly.

"Look at yourself as you cum," You whispered to his ear, your eyes staring at his in the mirror. The way you talked to him didn't help, everything was deliberately turning him on, his back arching further as he felt his body grow weak.

He was close, so close to finishing. Scaramouche knew that if he disobeyed this one last command from you, it's back to square one. His eyes never left the mirror, scanning the way his body gets pounded by you. The sight alone was making him scream in pleasure.

"mngha- cummi— i'm cummingghhaHH~!! ♡♡♡" Scaramouche's eyes rolled back, a long moan flowing out his mouth as his cock squirted cum all over the place, even reaching the mirror.

Once the white fluid stops spilling out of him, his volume decreased. What could only be heard now are heavy pants from him, his chest heaving with every breath he took.

"We're not yet done," his eyes widened once more as he hears you speak down to his nape, "You still have to make me cum, remember?"

Exhaustion has never felt this pleasing, Scaramouche knew he was in for a long night, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

#Genshin Impact #genshin impact #Genshin #genshin #genshin x reader #sub scaramouche #kunikuzushi #sub kunikuzushi #scaramouche x reader #sub scara #sub scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin scara #smut #smutfic #the balladeer #wanderer #modern scara #modern scaramouche

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kaysfanficcorner · 9 days ago

Text

The Camgirl and the Millionaire, Part 5

Pairing: Harry Castillo x Camgirl Reader

Summary: The truth is finally revealed. How will you and Harry recover?

Author's note: Welcome to the fifth and final installment of Camgirl. Thank you for coming along for the ride. I loved every obsessive second that this story poured out of me, even when I agonized over how to handle Cam's lie. These two are my new favorite couple. In fact, Harry and Cam are two of my favorite characters I've ever written. Telling their tale has truly been the highlight of my summer. Thank you, Mr. Castillo, for being the muse who blew in like a warm breeze and just wouldn't leave.

Thank you for reading, and thank you to those of you who have interacted or will interact with this story. You guys fueled the fire on this one and it means the world to me. Stay tuned for future chapters of my Din fic Out of this World, and keep an eye out for random one shots. You never know, I may feel the need to bring Harry and Cam back out for a fun little drabble here or there.

Warnings: AGNST. This is the big one guys. Feelings are going to get hurt on both sides for a minute; Fluff; Smut; Cursing; Drinking; THC; Other characters from the movie may or may not show up; Halloween Party shenanigans; Descriptions of sex toys and bdsm equipment; Harry learns about his own kinks; Reader is basically an OC at this point and I love her; Reader is thick; Reader is goth; Reader is a sex worker; Reader has pierced nipples; Mild spoilers for the film When Harry Met Sally; Love abound.

Minors DNI, Strictly 18+

Ao3

*****

You get your photo standing in front of one of the lavish fireplaces in Peter and Charlotte Castillo’s beautiful and gigantic home as Michael Jackson’s Thriller is blasting at full volume. The fireplace isn’t lit, but rather filled with spiderwebs and green string lights. You definitely have to give it to the hosts, the house is impeccably decorated for a big Halloween party. There are orange, purple, and green lights everywhere. Streamers and balloons of the same color palette hanging from every possible sconce or inch of crown molding. Spiders, bats, ghosts, and pumpkins as far as the eye can see. You’re already a little tipsy from the unnamed green punch in the giant witch cauldron on the center of the drinks table.

These people actually like Halloween, and it shows. Harry hadn’t been full of it when he said you and Peter would get along.

Harry looks exactly like you’d pictured, with his hair styled in a vintage side part. He’s wearing the black and gray striped dress shirt and high waisted pleated slacks just as you requested. Your man looks every bit the dashing vintage movie star.

The two of you pose as if slow dancing, like Price and the Skeleton in your picture back at home, and Harry tries his best to make the same far away look as the man he’s cosplaying. That was the accurate shot. Vanessa also takes a few of the two of you posing like a normal couple, smiling with your arms around each other, and then Harry grabs you and kisses you, and Vanessa also gets a picture of that.

“My makeup!” You shriek, swatting him away.

“You said when you got your picture and you were a little drunk.” Harry shrugs innocently, lips smeared with a bit of black. He’s also tipsy, seemingly more so than you, and the two of you have been sneaking puffs from your trusty dab pen since the party started.

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile creeping onto your lips. “I’m tipsy, not drunk. Yet.”

Harry groans into your neck. “Well I couldn’t wait any longer. I have been deprived of you for far too long this month. And it’s not going to get much better after tonight. I’m afraid I was right when I told you that I’ll be dealing with this work shit until Thanksgiving. We won’t have much time together for the next few weeks but I’m going to try my best.”

You frown, leaning into him. “You’re gonna make me wait that long to tell you the thing I need to tell you? I was hoping the party would loosen you up and we could talk this weekend.”

He’s definitely more than tipsy, leaning his weight into you as well, swaying a little. “I just don’t have much in the tank to give right now, sweetheart. You deserve me at full steam if it’s as important as you say it is. Let’s just have fun tonight and then I promise you I will make space for you as soon as I’m able to.”

“Alright, baby. Let’s just have fun,” you reluctantly agree, knowing right now is definitely not the time or place anyway. “Thank you for inviting me to this, I’m really happy that I finally got to meet your brother. Do you think he and Charlotte liked me?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Harry nods, moving the two of you over to get more drinks. “I can tell when Peter dislikes someone. And Charlotte warmed up to you pretty quickly after you complimented their costumes.”

Smiling, you take a generous sip of your refilled punch. This stuff is dangerous, and Harry has had a few more than you have. “They are certainly around my age if they are doing Juno and Michael Cera as a pregnancy costume. Lots of points for that in my book. That movie was all anyone talked about for a minute in high school.”

“I’m glad you knew what that was supposed to be because I had no idea.” Harry says with a shake of the head, laughing.

Vanessa and Charles come over to refill their own drinks, and Vanessa elbows you with a scrunched nose pointed across the room. “Oh man, that’s funny. There's a guy dressed as Captain America over there. I thought Marvel was out these days?”

You and Harry follow her gaze to a guy who is, indeed, dressed as Captain America. Minus the cowl, so you can fully see his handsome face. The date on his arm isn’t wearing anything that seems to match with this superhero, though. Instead the thin woman he’s with is wearing a hooded black gown covered in a beaded spiderweb design, accessorized with silver spider jewelry. She’s undeniably beautiful, and Captain America is actually pretty fucking hot.

Harry’s eyes bulge at the sight of that same couple entering the room. Then he looks mortified as they start to head towards the drink table and straight for the both of you.

“That’s my ex,” he’s whispering in your ear, “and her husband.”

“Are you okay?” You ask, worried suddenly that this is the one who got away or something.

“Oh yeah I’m fine. We were never going to work. I’m just shocked that they’re here and I’m not in the mood for small talk. Charlotte must have invited her.”

An eyebrow cocks, eyes drifting back to the webbed woman. “Is that the matchmaker girl?”

He nods, “Lucy, yeah.”

Just as he’s saying her name, the woman in question gracefully moves in beside him wearing a kind smile.

“Hi, Harry. I was wondering if we were going to see you here. You remember my husband, John?” She gestures to Cap, and then her eyes land on you. She looks you up and down and smiles. Genuinely. It’s not catty, as you’d been gearing up for it to be. “I like your costume. Cute makeup.”

Relieved, you tell her, “I love yours. That dress is killer.”

The men exchange greetings and you can’t help but think that the husband, John, looks incredibly pleased with himself as he shakes Harry's hand. It’s not necessarily a mean spirited face of smugness, more of a prideful ‘I won’ sort of look. If only John knew that Harry, as he once told you, later felt relieved after Lucy broke up with him. He was rushing into things with her because he was scared his time was running out to find someone.

“Congratulations on getting married by the way. This is my girlfriend,” Harry proudly introduces you, giving your name as his brown eyes meet yours fondly. “Her roommate, Vanessa, and Vanessa’s boyfriend Charles.”

After pleasantries and a round of drinks, Lucy fills Harry in that she took over a senior position at her job and John’s dipping his toe into other areas of the theater business with some minor success. Apparently he was once a failing actor too. At the mention of the theater business, John and Vanessa immediately get to talking. Eventually John brings up the new play he’s going to try his hand at directing, which is currently casting, and he tells Vanessa that she’d be great for the lead part. Charles is ever the supportive beau, and John gives Vanessa his info to set up an audition.

Luckily, Vanessa’s excitement about the offer is enough of a distraction that no one bothers to ask you what you do for a living. You’ve managed to skirt around the question all night, but it’s getting to be exhausting to keep avoiding answering it.

When Harry leaves to go to the bathroom and speak to Peter for a moment, you’re suddenly left talking to Lucy by yourself while the others grab some finger food. Some of it is even shaped like actual fingers.

Lucy seems like a nice enough girl around your age. When she initially walked over, you had the misplaced impression that she was going to be a bitch. But, she’s not. It actually makes you feel good to know that one of Harry’s exes is a decent enough person, and her husband seems like a good guy too.

Lucy smiles at you genuinely again and says, "Congratulations are in order for you as well, I think."

You choke a little on your drink, eyeing her. “Congratulations? For what?”

She just smiles even more, letting the striped black and orange straw of her drink stay briefly nestled in her white teeth. “For you and Harry. You’re who he’s been waiting for. I can see it.”

You’re cautious as you ask, “What do you mean by that?”

Shrugging as if it’s the most simple explanation in the world, Lucy tells you, “When Harry and I dated last year, all he wanted to do was fall in love. I couldn’t be that for him. But just seeing the two of you a little bit here tonight, it’s quite obvious that you’re the one for him. He loves you, even if he can’t see it yet.”

You’re so taken aback by that, and the substances in your system allow you to blurt out the truth to this stranger. Something about her aura is very inviting. “He warned me when we started dating that he thinks he's incapable of feeling love.”

Lucy chuckles, shaking her head. “He said that to me too. I told him he was wrong. I’m a professional matchmaker and I’ve married the love of my life. I like to think that I know what I’m talking about when it comes to love. He just needs to realize that’s what he’s feeling. And you need to let go of whatever it is that’s holding you back.”

“I-,” you’re stunned. How does she know something is holding you back?

Damn this observant woman for blindsiding you, just as Harry is coming back to wrap his arm around your waist and nuzzle his broad nose into your neck.

“Mm, I missed you, sweetheart,” he says, voice loose. “So glad you’re here with me tonight, baby.”

Lucy just sends you another knowing glance, before moving to slide up next to her superhero husband with a delicate hand on his forearm. John looks down at his wife with so much raw emotion, like when he looks at her it still takes his breath away every single time. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone make that kind of a face in real life. Maybe Lucy does know a thing or two about love.

“Someone’s drunk,” you murmur, nuzzling Harry back a little. More of the skeleton makeup has to have rubbed off on him by now, and you could care less.

He shakes his head against you, warm body pressing into you from behind. “You caught me, I’m a little drunk. But I’m being serious. The shit going on at work is miserable. I can’t have you around too much because you’re a distraction. When you’re around I just want to give the practice over to Peter and never think about work again. But just know, I think about you every time I have a moment to spare and I want things to go back to how they were when we started dating as soon as these fuckers are satisfied.”

You can’t help but think that once you tell him your secret and, as Lucy said, let go of what’s been holding you back, that things will never go back to the way they were again. All you can do is hope for the inevitable change to be a positive one.

*****

Later, late enough in the night for it to actually be November 1st, you’re seated on one of the big leather couches in the sitting room. Your body is exhausted from dancing, drinking, and eating far too much, and you’re very much ready to go to sleep. You ripped the space buns out an hour ago, so your hair is fluffed out and wild from a drunken Harry constantly having his thick fingers tangled in it.

Vanessa and Charles are on the verge of passing out on the loveseat to the left, and Peter and Charlotte are seated on the other couch directly across from you. Most of the guests have gone home for the night, and the only truly sober person left in the house is the pregnant woman. She's not long for the waking world though, clearly falling asleep against the armrest as her husband rubs her bare, swollen feet. She’s still dressed like a teenager from 2007 and her husband, wired from some sort of extra curricular stimulant he’s clearly on, still looks like he’s on the track team. It’s strange how you can see the resemblance, but he also looks nothing like Harry to you.

Similarly, you’re sitting up against one armrest of the couch you’re on and Harry is laying stretched out across the rest of it. His head is in your lap, and the man is fast asleep while you stroke his forehead with delicate fingertips. He got far more intoxicated than you did tonight, most likely because he’s been so stressed. He passed out shortly after his head hit your thighs.

“He really cares about you,” Peter says quietly but alertly, looking at Harry for a long moment and then he’s looking at you. “I can honestly tell you that I’ve never seen him like this before. Ever since he met you he's been like a different man. I mean that in a good way.”

Your chest swells, feeling comfortable enough in your loosened inhibitions to be honest with the younger Castillo. Should the older one wake up and hear you, then let him hear what your heart has to say. It’s likely he won’t be remembering this part of the night anyway. “He’s been really good for me. I like who I am when I’m with your brother. I know we haven’t been together long, but I care about him a lot too.”

“I can see that,” Peter smiles, glancing down at his dozing wife for a moment. “I knew I loved Charlotte after that first date through the matchmaking service. It took time to figure out how to navigate that, though. Just be patient with him when he’s stubborn. I know he thinks he’s destined to never be in love or some shit, but I also know he’s a fool for that.”

Christ, twice in one night a virtual stranger has filled your head with the notion that Harry might actually love you back. You’ve got to tell Harry about being a camgirl soon or you’re going to fall apart. Keeping up the charade isn’t working anymore, especially if the possibility for real love with Harry is on the line.

No, Peter. I’m the fool, you think bitterly.

“Just so long as he can be patient with me too,” you say, feeling your old friend guilt rear its ugly head once more. “I can be stubborn, and I’m definitely not perfect.”

Laughing, Peter shakes his head as if remembering a moment of Harry in the past. “Neither is he, trust me. But he’s always been a good big brother, even when I was a little shithead. When he cares about someone he’s all in. Good and bad.”

“All in,” you repeat softly, looking down at the man of your dreams, hoping to fuck that you can save this relationship from disaster. He looks so gorgeous when he sleeps, relaxed and soft, and you suddenly know in your heart that you would watch him sleep for the rest of your life if he’d let you.

“Peter, please take me to bed. I am so ready to be out of these clothes,” Charlotte mumbles sleepily, nestling further into the couch.

“Anything for you, M’lady,” Peter agrees, then he looks over at Mr. and Mrs. Frankenstein on the loveseat, then back at you. “I take it you guys need to crash here?”

“He was supposed to have a driver come get us, but I don’t even know if I can get him off this sofa,” you chuckle, brushing Harry’s dark hair with your fingers. It’s still a little hard from all the gel you used earlier.

Harry mumbles something incoherent in response and snuggles his head into your thighs with a little smile. You bend forward to kiss him, and then you look over at Vanessa and Charles who are very quickly fading with drooping heads.

“How am I as sober as I am?” you marvel, shaking your head. The dab pen is certainly calling.

Peter nods, moving to rise from his seat and help his very pregnant wife to sit back up. “We have plenty of space for all of you. Two guest rooms, one of which is on this floor. If you want I can help you get him into bed at least. The rest of it is on you.”

“Harry, baby,” you gently soothe, touching his face, “would you like to go to bed?”

“Not horny right now,” Harry mumbles, eyes still closed as he frowns.

Blushing, you’re ignoring Peter’s laugh from across the room. Vanessa, half coherent herself, also giggles and you just roll your eyes in response to her as you address your drunk boyfriend. “I’m not trying to sleep with you. I’m trying to go to sleep with you. Two totally different things.”

“Oh. Yeah, sleep ,” Harry says, adding, “that sounds nice.” He attempts to sit up, fails, and then he frowns deeply as he flops back onto your lap. Those brown eyes are still closed, until one suddenly pries open a little to look at you. “I don’t feel so good,” he whines, drawing out your name at the end of it.

You can’t help but smile. “I bet you don’t. I need you to drink some water for me before we get settled." As you say this, you are slowly coaxing him to sit up and this time he’s able to with your gentle assistance. All of his weight is leaning into you, and he starts nuzzling his face into your hair as his arms encircle you. Then he takes a huge sniff, and you realize that he’s inhaling your scent.

“Mm, love you, sweetheart,” Harry slurs, and in that instant everyone in the room freezes. “So pretty and perfect and you always smell so good. I love you.”

Hearing those words fall from his lips, twice in one sitting, makes your entire being fired up. “Harry,” you breathe, eyes misting over with tears.

Charlotte, standing now with her hands over her large belly, is suddenly wide awake. “Oh my god! He said it! Peter, did you hear that?!”

“He’s drunk,” you immediately deflect, shaking your head. “He’s probably just feeling it a lot.”

Harry frowns, leaning into you and slurring, “I am feeling it a lot. I looove you.”

“Harry, come on man let’s get you to bed,” Peter says, moving over to help his older brother up off the couch.

Between the two of you, you manage to get Harry down the hall and into the queen sized bed waiting for him in the guest room. It’s just as elegantly decorated as the rest of the lavish house, with a dark green and gold color scheme which you appreciate. Once Harry is securely on the mattress, Peter salutes you and bids you good luck.

For a few minutes you take a chance on leaving Harry alone, heading to wipe the remaining makeup off in the attached bathroom and then down the hall to the kitchen to grab a glass of water for your poor inebriated man.

Drunk or not, the man who fears he cannot feel love just said that he loves you three times. That’s got your stomach doing acrobatics inside your body.

By the time you get back to the room Harry’s pants and dress shirt are off and he’s laying face down on the bed, groaning into the mattress in a pair of tight fitted black boxer briefs and a cream colored undershirt.

“Your butt looks good,” you remark, coming to sit down beside him with one leg tucked under you. Running the fingers of your free hand through his dark hair, you add, “ I can’t believe you got undressed by yourself in this state. Do you think you can drink some water for me?”

“Do I have to?” He whines, voice muffled.

Shaking your head, you chuckle softly. “No, but I’d like you to hydrate so you don't get sick in the morning.”

“Already sick,” he groans, turning his head so that he can breathe properly again if you had to guess. “I threw up when you were in the kitchen.”

You lay a hand on his forehead, feeling how damp his face is. He also looks pale, so he definitely threw up. “That’s good, then. That means you needed to. Did it help?”

“A little. Room is kind of spinning now, though. Fuck, why did I do this to myself?”

“You had a good time, right? That’s all that matters.” The glass clinks against a ceramic coaster as you set it down. “Here, I’m putting it on the nightstand. It’s right there if you want to take a sip. I’ll let you sleep.”

Harry struggles, rolling his head over to face you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Smiling, you lean down to kiss his temple. “I’m glad I’m here too. I wonder if you’re going to remember any of this in the morning.”

His eyes widen comically. “Why? Did I do something embarrassing?"

“Nothing bad, no. If you meant what you said it’s a good thing. We’ll need to talk in the morning. I know you wanted to wait until that client was out of your hair, but what I need to tell you can’t wait any longer. Not now, though. You’re drunk and I’m exhausted. We can go to your place or something and talk when you’re feeling better.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, eyes squeezing shut. “When will the spinning stoooop , ugh.”

“When you sleep. Sleep, baby.” Kissing his temple once more, you move to get up from the bed and throw open the window. A chill immediately enters the room, but it feels good on your flared body as the dark curtains billow around you.

Harry makes a happy little noise in the bed, mumbling, “that feels nice,” as he curls himself up and pulls a blanket over his bottom half.

A smile creeps up your lips, even though there's a pit in your stomach. This is either going to go very well or very bad. It’s hard to imagine an in-between. All you know is that it’s time, and that in itself feels good in a scary ‘uncertain of the future’ kind of way. Maybe this can be the catalyst for something really great between you. An elevated understanding of each other, and of the relationship.

Pulling the dab pen out from your bra, which you subsequently remove from your torso entirely, you take a generous couple of puffs and blow them out of the window. Some of the vapor still gets trapped inside, but you’re pretty sure that at one point Peter was smoking a blunt out on the patio on top of whatever else he was taking for the festivities. If he and Charlotte notice, they probably won’t care. After getting high enough to feel relaxed, you close the window back up and turn off all the lights.

Climbing into bed next to Harry, you pull the covers over yourself and spoon up behind him. He’s breathing like he’s asleep, and as you close your eyes feeling truly stoned, you hear yourself whispering into the darkness, “I love you too, Harry. But I’m not an author and you deserve to finally know the truth.”

*****

The next morning, you awake to the sounds of Harry vomiting in the bathroom. Silently, you get up from the comfortable bed wishing to Satan himself that you had something besides this silly body suit to wear. The sun is up, and according to the digital clock on the night stand it’s nearly eleven in the morning. On bare feet you pad across the cool wooden floor over to the attached washroom, and just as you push the door open you see Harry’s left hand flush the toilet while his body droops down onto the white and black checkered tiles.

Kneeling down to touch his shoulder gently, you greet him, “Good morning. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Can I get you anything?”

He nods, eyes closed with a pained expression on his face. “Water.”

Moving to grab the glass from the night before, you’re entering the bathroom again as he’s sitting up. “Here,” you say with a supportive smile, handing it to him.

“I’m a little embarrassed,” Harry says as he takes a small sip, avoiding your eyes for a moment.

“Don’t be,” you assure him, sitting down on the tiles in front of him. “You were a very cute drunk. We had fun dancing and getting high. It was reminiscent of the night we met, just a little more intoxicated.”

Shaking his head, he glances at you bashfully. “I haven’t gotten that drunk since Peter’s bachelor party trip.”

Smiling warmly, you say, “See, your brother is just a bad influence. You are absolved of all blame, darling.”

Harry looks you up and down, frowning. “I’m convinced that I embarrassed myself.”

You dissuade him, “I promise you did not. Do you remember anything?”

He avoids your gaze again. “I think I do, actually. Did I tell you that I love you? Or was that a dream?”

Your breath hitches, “You did.”

Then his face falls a little. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk enough to do that.”

“Why?” You ask, frowning.

“Because I’m still not sure if I am feeling it or not.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh. So you didn’t mean it?”

Harry reaches out to grab your hand. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m worried that I don’t even know what love truly is. I’ve been thinking about whether or not I feel it with you for weeks. It’s been driving me crazy.”

You squeeze his fingers, hoping. “Well you sounded like you meant it last night. But you were drunk, and I know it could have just been you feeling things in the moment.”

“I’d certainly like to say it sober next time the urge arises.” He agrees.

A silence befalls you both, and as Harry sips his water your own urge arises. An urge to spill the beans once and for all.

“Harry, when you’re feeling better I want to talk to you. I know work has you stressed but this can’t wait any longer. Can we go to your apartment later and will you please give me some of your time today?”

Harry nods. He seems to think for a long moment, and then a look of realization falls across his face. “Wait a second, I’m remembering something else. Did you say that you’re not an author last night? I have a very fuzzy memory of you saying that. Everything was dark but I could still hear your voice.”

The thing that used to be your stomach is now a decent sized rock, and it hurts . “Like I said, we can talk when you’re feeling better.”

His face darkens a little, and a deep frown creases his features. He says your name, and the sound of it sends a chill through you. “I need to know what that was about. Why did you say that?”

Why are you so very very very stupid? “Fuck . I shouldn’t have said that last night, okay? I thought you were asleep and I was just affirming out loud that I was ready to talk to you. But this is not the place or time. You’re hungover and we’re on the floor in your brother’s guest bathroom. Someone can probably hear us.”

Harry scowls, which makes your blood run cold. His voice raises, but you wouldn’t call it yelling. “I don’t give a fuck where we are, or if anyone can hear, or if my head is pounding. Which it is, by the way. What the fuck does that mean? Are you a fucking author or not?”

Although you feel you have no right to really, you become a little defensive against the tone he’s using with you. You’re the one that lied. He should be allowed to sound pissed, but it scares you nonetheless. “It means I’m not an author, Harry. At least not in the sense that it makes me any money. I also told you that I loved you back last night, did you hear me say that?”

Harry just glosses over that last part completely, which edges the chisel closer to your heart. His voice goes from sounding big and angry, to very small and scared all in an instant. “Have you… Have you seriously been lying to me?”

His brown eyes look so hurt that you cannot hold contact with them, so your own eyes land on the tiled floor for a second before you force yourself to look at him again. You’ve got to be strong. You promised yourself that you would be strong. He was always going to get upset about this, it’s a matter of how you both recover now. “I have, but I promise you that I can explain myself. Will you allow me to do that in a better setting than this?”

He shakes his head, holding fingers to his temples, “No. I need to know what the fuck is going on. Fuck , my head really is pounding.”

“Harry, I really don’t want to do this here. Or while you’re hungover.”

Just then there’s a knock at the bathroom door which connects to the hallway, and you can hear Vanessa’s voice. “Hey, just checking in. Charlotte said it sounded like someone was yelling. Are you guys okay in there?”

“Yeah, we’re fine! Privacy, please!” You shout, pinching the bridge of your nose. Then you lower your voice to Harry. “This is what I’m talking about. We cannot do this here.”

He shakes his head, getting louder almost to spite you. As if he truly doesn’t care who hears. “Fuck that, dammit! Please tell me what the fuck is going on! I feel so fucking betrayed. Why did you lie to me?”

Head hanging in shame, you give him your only and lamest excuse, “When we met I assumed we would be a one night stand. I never expected things to go this far.”

Harry scoffs, “So why didn’t you tell the truth once it was more than a one night stand? You spent that entire weekend at my house. There were so many opportunities to tell me. But, no, it seems like you just used me. Is that all this is to you? Are you using me?”

Your emotions start to bubble over, voice finally raising a little too. Vanessa is surely outside of the room listening, if not all of them. But Harry doesn’t seem to care, so neither will you. “I didn’t tell you because of this! Because I was terrified that you would look at me or treat me differently. You rightly assumed that I was nouveau riche, and I felt like I needed to come up with something on the spot that night. I was afraid that if I told you how I earn my money then you wouldn’t like me anymore and we wouldn’t have ended up spending that beautiful weekend together. After that weekend I couldn’t face telling you because I didn’t want to lose you.”

His face goes even whiter, withering almost. “Jesus Christ… are you a hooker or something?”

You sigh, frustration and hurt filling you. “I’m not a prostitute, Harry. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” You’re starting to get up after hearing him say that, feeling like you’re the one who needs to vomit. Moving into the bedroom, you throw a hand up. “Hang on, I feel like I’m going to be sick. I wasn’t trying to do this right now, Harry. Fuck I had this whole thing planned where I was going to have you stand in the kitchen at your place. I was going to pull my laptop out on the island and show you everything.”

Harry’s getting to his feet as well, wobbling as he shakes his head in disbelief. “There is no fucking way that this is happening. Are you a porn actress, then?”

You move to the bed, sitting on the edge of it as you look up at him. “I am a sex worker, but I don’t fuck anybody. We’ve been exclusive this whole time. I’m an online escort, Harry. So it’s like a porn actress but I perform by myself, and I perform live. My clients can request things that they want to see me do. I was going to show you my site and my persona. I wanted to gently explain everything to you. I have some notes taken down back at my apartment with specific points I wanted to make.”

He looms over you, brow furrowed in frustration. It hurts so bad to see him look at you like that. “What points? That you’re a liar and a deceiver? I need you to be fucking honest with me if you are capable of honesty. Are you dating me because you eventually want to marry me for my money? Do you fucking care about me at all?” After asking that, he begins pacing frantically in front of you.

Hot tears instantly fill your eyes, falling freely. “Wow. You know, I was expecting the worst thing you might do when I told you this is call me a whore. And I’ve been dreading that moment for two months. But, no, you accusing me of being in this relationship for the money feels ten times worse than being called a whore. I might actually prefer that.”

His brow unfurrows slightly, rising in surprise. His feet stop moving. “So this has nothing to do with how much money I make?”

Now you’re simply just sobbing, feeling completely foolish and ashamed for letting things get to this point.

“No, god dammit! And it never once has! I am independently well off. I do not need, nor do I want a man simply because he has the money to take care of me. I’m not looking for a sugar daddy to save me from my fucked up life of endless bad choices. My job was not a bad choice, it was my choice. Believe it or not, I actually love my job. It’s fun, it makes me feel good about myself, and I make a ridiculous amount of money doing it. When I started my cam site, it was because I was broke and I was sick and tired of being turned away from acting jobs just because my ass is three sizes bigger than Vanessa’s. Three sizes! No one wanted me for anything other than frumpy background roles. Most of the time the rejection was a mean sounding comment about not fitting the ‘physical criteria.’ Do you know how soul crushing that was after years of it?”

You pause for a moment, and Harry seems to be considering something internally. But he doesn’t say anything, so you continue, “Then one month when the bar I used to work at was slow and I was desperate for rent money, a friend of mine suggested I try being a camgirl.”

“Was it Vanessa?” Harry asks.

You give a single shake of the head. “No, but she knows about this and she’s very supportive. Of the cam site, not of me lying to you. She’s been getting on to me about how wrong that was from the very beginning. Vanessa is on your side, Harry.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I don’t appreciate knowing that she was aware of this the whole time, but knowing she was in my corner actually makes me feel a little better.”

“She thinks you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and scolds me constantly about how I’m actively fucking this up,” you tell him somewhat bitterly, adding, “and I should have listened to her instead of being a coward.”

Harry doesn’t speak for a long moment, looking out at the little courtyard behind the house through the open window. Your gaze follows his, and you can’t help but think that November already looks gray and chilly. Hopefully it’s not a sign of bleak days ahead. Hopefully you can still save this before the day is through.

His voice is low, calmer than before. “What happened when you tried the cam site for the first time?”

You take a shaky breath and let everything go. Everything you’ve been trying to find the words to explain for two months just comes pouring out of you. “I made three hundred dollars in one sitting. Just to pretend a little bit and make some lonely person feel good about themselves for an hour. All I ever remember from that first session was the client telling me over and over and over that I had the perfect body. The kind of body people want to fuck.”

You stop for a moment, giving a laugh laced with cynicism. “Imagine how good that felt after years of working out and eating right and stressing about my weight before an audition that I knew I was never going to land anyway. After years of feeling self conscious, I could suddenly just be myself and make more money than I knew how to spend. Imagine how I felt to have finally found an acting gig that involved my clients telling me that my body was the most perfect thing in the world. Paying hundreds of dollars to see my body do things just for them, anything within reason, instead of getting rejected for not having an ideal body type for the general public. Being a camgirl taught me how to value my appearance as is. It makes me feel powerful and sexy, and it allows for me to finally be the materialistic boujee bitch I’ve always wanted to be. Do you know how good it feels to buy myself designer clothes and not have to worry how I’ll make rent? And to have the confidence to buy the kind of form fitting, stylish clothing that used to intimidate me? Being able to do that independently is the best feeling in the world.”

Harry’s looking at you so seriously now, his wet brown eyes boring into yours. He never interrupts, and so you keep going.

“So, no, I am not dating you because I want your money. I am dating you because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner. You make me laugh and you know how to dance to good music. You’ve got excellent taste in everything. But you’re also so smart that it’s intimidating. It still shocks me every day that I’m with someone who can run an entire company like you do. You’re also more down to Earth than one would expect. You’re sweet and kind, and sex with you is literally the best I’ve ever had. I act for my clients. I don’t act for you. What we share physically and emotionally is one hundred percent real, and it always has been. For me at least.”

His shoulders surprisingly soften after your long speech. Harry sits down beside you on the bed, still looking miserably hungover and hurt, but he sits next to you. That feels like a step in the right direction. His own eyes are welling with tears, and once he blinks they begin to fall. “I just can’t believe you’ve been lying to me for two months. That really hurts. It hurts more than I think I can really describe. I want to see it for myself, but I don’t think that your career bothers me. It’s certainly shocking, but lying is what I have a real problem with. It makes me worried that I could never trust you again after this.”

Nodding, you can only speak from the heart. “And that’s valid. But I never intended to hurt you. I love you, Harry. I think you could be the love of my life, honestly.”

He looks pained as he says, “People aren’t supposed to lie to the love of their life. Partners don’t lie to each other.”

You wince. “I promise you that everything else I’ve ever told you is completely true. Will you please allow me to try and explain myself? Explain why it felt like I couldn’t be honest with you at first?”

“Yes,” Harry breathes deeply, clearly trying not to cry. To your surprise, he reaches over and grabs your hand. “Please try to help me understand.”

“You told me that you wanted to earn my trust and, honestly, I did need to trust you before you could know about any of this. I know I lied and I know that was wrong, which means I’ve compromised your trust in me . I have been making myself sick over that fact for weeks. But what I once said to you about my profession being a private part of me was true. Do you expect me to tell every person I meet that I show my body online for money? Would you, if you were in my position?"

“I honestly don’t know how to answer that,” Harry says, his body language and tone much calmer than before. “But I want to understand.”

You’re taking a deep breath, steading yourself for another long rant. “When we met you felt like a dream come true and I let fear of rejection cause me to behave shamefully. I should have always been honest with you from the start. That first night together should have been when I told you this, when you first asked me what I do for a living. Out on the terrace when we were smoking together and catching our spark. But we were strangers that night, and the camgirl thing has actually scared a few potential lovers off in the past. I didn’t know you and you didn’t know me, and you’re not just some guy I met at a bar. You are Harry fucking Castillo. You’re an entirely different breed of man. I couldn’t bring myself to tell the truth to a very upper class millionaire who for some odd reason felt interested in me. Was I supposed to tell you that I paid for those Jimmy Choos with what I earned doing some extra kinky bondage stuff in a session? Immediately after we just met? I was terrified, and I’ve asked myself time and time again if you would have still spent that weekend with me if you had known what I really do for a living.”

Harry seems to consider this for a long moment. “I want to say that I would have because you seemed worth the risk, but I can’t speak for something that didn't actually happen.”

That stings a little but you press on, “The only lie I ever told you was that I was a smut author, which isn’t a complete lie. I have a few short stories published in some fetish magazines. I’d let you read those if you’re interested. I still work in the field of sexual fantasy, just in a different format than you were led to believe. Whenever I told you I was working, you just assumed that meant writing and I never corrected you. My private office in the apartment is actually my soundproof studio where I record my sessions. For the sake of transparency, I would like to show it to you if you’ll let me share this part of myself with you. If you can find a way to forgive me for this, that is.”

Harry thinks, and then a look of realization washes over his features. Some of the normal color has returned to his face. “When you got me off on FaceTime last week, was that similar to what you do?”

You smile, hopeful. “Yes, and I wasn’t faking anything for you like I do for my clients. That was the real me. You always get the real me.”

Harry seems to mull this over for a long time, and then he stands, holding his hand out to you. Tentatively, you take it and he pulls you up into a hug. After a moment’s hesitation you’re wrapping your arms around him. Part of you is worried that he’ll turn on you any moment, but you’ve got to continue trusting him.

Harry sighs into you before pulling apart enough to look you right in the eyes. “I’m not going to tell you this didn’t shock me or hurt me. But I believe I can forgive you for this if you give me time to process everything. I also ask that you forgive me for not being completely honest with you as well. If we’re going to make this work I want us to be honest from here on out. I’m not perfect. I’ve been hiding things from you too.”

Lurching, your stomach drops. “What are you talking about? What have you been keeping from me, Harry? Are you fucking married or something?”

He shakes his head profusely, looking mortified. “No! I’m not married!”

Relieved, your body relaxes. “What have you been hiding, then?”

Harry points down to the scars on his legs, the ones he told you were from a childhood bicycle accident. “I’ve been lying to you about these scars.”

Your eyes widen, brow rising. “What about them?”

Harry is suddenly so embarrassed sounding. “Everything you know about me is true except for one thing. You have no idea how much I relate to you about feeling rejected for your natural body. I think I can understand why what you do makes you feel good about yourself. Powerful, you said? My true height isn’t supposed to be six feet.”

Now you’re just confused, and Harry is clearly having a hard time holding your gaze. You stay silent, so he keeps going.

“My natural height is actually five foot six. I had an expensive, painful form of plastic surgery to gain six inches to my height when I was a young man. They broke my legs and forced the bones to heal in a way which forces them to gradually grow longer. It was intense and awful, but my life changed forever after that. Men suddenly respected me and women finally wanted me. So believe me, I do at least partially understand you. I feel powerful at this height. At five six I felt insignificant and small. It was the best two hundred thousand I’ve ever spent.”

“Holy fuck, Harry,” you exclaim, mouth dropping open.

“I know. Embarrassing, right?” He asks shyly.

You laugh, relieved. “No, it’s not embarrassing at all. And I forgive you for not telling me. I just think we are both so fucked up that we might actually be perfect for each other.”

Harry laughs too, “I still need time to process this, and tylenol, but I think you might actually be right about that.”

“So you really think you could forgive me?”

“I’d like to try. You’re worth the attempt, at least.”

*****

After a greasy fast food breakfast sandwich to set Harry’s stomach straight, which Charlotte had the foresight to order both to satiate her pregnancy cravings and for the poor hungover souls who would surely need them, the elder Castillo finally feels slightly more alive. After a puff off of your dab pen, he feels somewhat like a person again. The events of the morning seem like a hangover fever dream, but he knows that all of it really happened.

It’s very obvious that everyone who’d been awake at Peter’s house, which was thankfully only just Vanessa and Charlotte at the time, are painfully aware of every word which was just said in the downstairs guest room.

Upon exiting said room, you’d noted to him that Vanessa had been hiding around the corner and darted away looking awkward after getting caught. When the two of you came around that same corner, Charlotte was sitting at the kitchen table pretending to look at her phone and Vanessa was beside her pretending to thumb through the newspaper. Both women did a piss poor job of making it look convincing.

You asked to speak to Vanessa privately, so the two girls went to stand out in the small courtyard and speak over coffee. You’ve been out there talking for quite awhile, so all Harry can do is wait and try not to eavesdrop. It’s obvious enough what it’s about.

Harry watches the steam rise from your cup, and the cloud of breath leaving your mouth every few seconds as you frantically speak and occasionally cry a little. Even still, you look so beautiful to him. Even for that split second where learning you’d lied to him felt like being burned from the inside out, you still looked so beautiful to him. It’s like he simply can’t help it.

As your cheeks gradually grow redder from the cold, or from the emotional turmoil, Harry can’t help but think that the two of you just had your own version of Lucy and John’s infamous fight in the street. Sure, it’d been behind closed doors, but he knows that he hadn’t been keeping his voice down and he knows that he wouldn’t have given a damn if the entire island of Manhattan heard him. Harry Castillo’s passion for you is far too strong for any sense of propriety to matter anymore.

And that’s when it hits him, flooding his system all at once. He loves you. Harry Castillo fucking loves you, and he actually feels it. He feels it coursing through him like the very blood in his veins.

Charlotte chooses that moment to pipe up, looking outside at you for a long moment before her eyes land back on her brother-in-law. “Are you planning to forgive her? I won’t tell Peter, or your parents. But I heard everything. This house is old and the walls are thin. If you want my opinion, which I know you didn’t ask for, I think she deserves a second chance. I probably would have done anything to win Peter over when we first met. You Castillo boys are intimidating. Even if you are secretly short kings. And, yes, I know about that. All of your secrets are safe with me, but you owe me one, bro .” She says that last part in the exact same way Peter usually says it, and then she grins at Harry.

“Charlotte,” Harry says, sipping on his coffee with a small smile, “I’m glad you’re a part of this family.”

*****

“Okay. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. Fuck. This is terrifying.”

Both of you showered and rejuvenated, Harry watches as you use one of the keys on the keyring he’s seen you with a dozen times, turning the knob and throwing open the door to the mysterious third bedroom in your apartment. Vanessa graciously agreed to give the two of you the evening alone to sort this out.

Moving aside to allow him entry, you’re having trouble making eye contact with him for a moment. “Go ahead, you can take a look around and I’ll answer any questions you may have.”

Slowly, Harry sets one foot down into the room. Then the other. Suddenly he’s inside the space, and it’s nothing like what he was expecting. In the center of the room pushed long ways up against the wall, there’s a small four post canopy bed adorned with a sheer black fabric and orange string lights to give the space a gothic fairytale look. The bed itself is made up with a black satin comforter set, various sexually explicit throw pillows strategically placed up against the wall.

On either side of the bed, the dark purple walls are lined with shelving or hooks to store and display any sort of sex toy or bdsm tool imaginable. You’ve got everything, and you’ve got it sorted by kink or by what hole each device is meant for. He’s a little shocked to see some of the sizes of what’s on the shelf of anal plugs, and he’s also incredibly turned on by it.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Harry says, shaking his head. He looks around the room more, taking in the recording equipment across from the bed. “What name do you go by when you do this?”

You cringe a little, shrugging. “Raven Crowley. Corny, I know, but a goth girl named Raven sells. Every goth kid’s introduction to spooky shit is Edgar Allen Poe, whether they realize it or not. Crowley gains me extra points with the occult nerds. Or the Supernatural nerds. Those are mostly female clients, though.”

Harry nods thoughtfully, a smile creeping onto his lips. “Makes sense to me. You said you wear disguises when you do this?”

You nod, throwing open the closet. There Harry sees a small collection of high quality wigs, either various forms of colorful alternative hair styles or simple, elegant black hairstyles of varying lengths. The wigs are on display across the top storage shelf. Below that hangs a row of color coordinated, sensual and skimpy looking outfits in various fabrics. Under that sits a shoe rack filled with high heels he could never imagine you wearing. Huge chunky platforms, boots with lots of leather and straps. Hanging on the back of the closet door is a jewelry rack, filled with spiked chokers and various other items he doesn’t normally see you wear. All of it is such a contrast to your tasteful and sophisticated wardrobe in the closet of your real bedroom.

But Harry doesn’t dislike it, and that’s his biggest take away.

“Would it be weird to ask you if I can see you dressed like this?”

You shake your head, smiling. “I was kind of hoping you would want to see. Do you have a preference?”

“Whichever is your favorite,” he says, hoping he sounds supportive. Suddenly, he’s no longer freaked out by any of this, and all at once he does understand why a secret this big was way too intense to share with someone you only just met. This is something one can only share with a person they trust wholeheartedly, and now Harry Castillo just feels honored that he was able to earn that from you in such a short amount of time.

You coax him out of the room and shut the door, so Harry makes himself comfortable on the couch, taking in the apartment once again. Everything looks the same, and yet he feels like he’s seeing it in a new light. As his eyes scan over your belongings he imagines them commingling with his own belongings back at his place, and Harry comes to the conclusion that he is going to ask you to move in with him when Vanessa moves out. Plans in the back of his mind are already being set in motion.

Realizing that he loves you is it for him. Part of him realizes it’s what he’s been feeling all long, but now that he truly understands it everything is different. There are no questions of if this is going to work. He’s going to make it work, come hell or high water. No matter what happens when you open that door again, he loves you and he’s willing to try to understand anything you throw at him.

No sooner does he think that, and the door to your studio opens. Harry’s up off the couch in an instant. The overhead lights have been dimmed save for the orange string lights, and a purple led streaming up the wall from behind the bed. It gives the room an eerie glow, but he can still see just fine.

“Enter if you dare,” you’re saying in a spooky voice, and Harry realizes that you’re laid out across the bed on your side, head propped up in one hand. Your other arm is draped over your hip. When he gets a good look at you, his breath hitches in his throat.

With dramatic dark eye makeup and black lipstick, you look so different. The wig you chose is jet black, with a short 1920s flapper look to it. On your torso you’re wearing a black latex corset, with a matching miniskirt which barely covers your exposed ass or pussy from view. The material is so tight and shiny. With thigh high stockings and a pair of those chunky black platform heels, it’s almost like it’s not even you. But it is you. It’s hard for him to wrap his head around it. The black choker around your neck looks tight, and watching the leather dig into your neck is making him a little hard.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” Harry says, shaking his head in disbelief. “You look so different. Like a dominatrix or something."

You seem so worried, face faltering. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s a good thing. Just getting accustomed to it.” Harry comes to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. When he looks across the room at the camera set up he feels odd, though. “You’re not filming this, right?”

“Of course not!” You seem almost offended, but then you frown. “I guess that’s a fair question though.”

Harry looks at you, and then he’s taking your hand in his and bringing your knuckles to meet his lips. “You’re gorgeous in anything.”

“You’re just saying that,” you deflect, clearly worried that he’s trying to spare your feelings.

“I love you,” Harry says, meaning every single syllable as it slowly dances off the end of his tongue.

“You mean it this time?” You ask, eyes welling with tears for the second time today.

“I meant it last night too, I just didn’t know it yet. But I do. I love you. I finally understand how this feels,” he laughs, and his entire body is at ease. Saying it feels so good. “Maybe I’m just a late bloomer.”

“Maybe you needed a girl who matched your freak,” you say, moving as if you’re lifting up to kiss him. Then you stop just before his lips, and Harry’s wildly disappointed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to get this ridiculous lipstick all over you.”

Harry kisses you anyway, and his body slowly melts into yours. When he lifts up you laugh, wiping at his lips with your thumb. He’s laughing too, “What? No good?”

“Just odd,” you remark, smiling.

Harry looks at the wall of handcuffs and various switches. “So are you actually into this stuff or is it all a performance?”

“Which part?”

“Bondage? Being tied up and spanked? How do you perform with handcuffs on if this is something you do by yourself?”

“Vanessa usually helps with my more complicated bondage sessions. Off camera, of course. To answer your other question: I kind of like a little bit of everything. So doing whatever the client wants is fun because I can mix things up for myself. I do enjoy being tied up, but I also enjoy being the one to do the tying. I’m not as serious about kinks as some people are. Sex is just fun for me in all its forms.”

Something in Harry’s belly flares wildly at that, and his cock twitches. The slight hard on he’s been getting is now a full erection inside his sweatpants. His mouth feels dry as he tries to speak. “Um, would you be interested in tying me up?”

Your eyes light up at the suggestion, but then your brow furrows. “Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want you to try any of this because you want to impress me. I love our sex life and I don’t need any of this to be a part of it unless it’s really what you want. I love you just as you are, Harry.”

He kisses you again, and then he gets up from the bed and moves over to the items hanging from hooks on the wall. He picks out two pairs of handcuffs, normal metal ones, and then he picks out a length of black rope. For a split second he almost doesn’t grab it, worried he’s being too brazen, but then he’s pulling a ball gag down from the wall as well. The classic looking model with black leather straps and a red rubber ball in the center.

“I love you too, and I would like for you to tie me up, please.”

*****

“Hey Van, how’s jolly old England treating you?” You’re talking into the phone, looking down at your best friend through a poorly connected video call. Harry comes up behind you, arms encircling your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder to also look into the phone.

You’re in the living room of Harry’s apartment, backlit by the soft warm glow of the real pine tree the two of you picked out at a lot and decorated two weeks ago. Soft, jazzy instrumental versions of classic holiday songs are playing in the background.

“Merry Christmas, Vanessa,” Harry says, his handsome voice rumbling in your ear. “Where’s Charles?”

“Right here, mate,” the younger man says, head dipping into view for a moment, waving. “Guess what?” Vanessa asks, grinning like a lunatic.

Uh-oh. You smile innocently, acting none the wiser. “What, Van?” Get ready for it, here it comes.

“I’m getting MARRIED!” She shrieks, and when she tries to move her hand into the camera’s view, the screen freezes.

You shake the phone, as if that will help the connection somehow. “I can’t see the ring, babe. You’re gonna have to send me pics. But I love you and I am so happy for you both!”

“Congratulations,” Harry says, the side of his head nuzzling into yours.

Vanessa, still frozen, says, “You’re the maid of honor, obviously! And Charles wants me to move in with him. We’ll have to talk about the apartment when I get back, but I’ll text you! I love you! Bye!”

The call ends, and you set your phone down on the bar to replace the item in your hand with the glass of a sweet, cinnamony drink Harry made you earlier. He calls it Christmas in a glass. It's certainly delicious, whatever it is. And strong.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, squeezing you from behind. Your free hand lifts up to cup his cheek.

Nodding, you take a sip. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve had over a month to mentally prepare for that. I’ll worry about the apartment shit after Christmas. I’m more worried about meeting your parents tomorrow. I really want them to like me. Especially your mom. Moms of sons are the hardest women to impress.”

Harry chuckles, spinning you around to face him. “If I could manage to get your dad to like me at Thanksgiving, then I think you’ll be just fine with my mom. We’ve been working on your Spanish, so that’ll help.”

The laugh which escapes you is more like a bark. “Are you kidding me? The second my mother googled your estimated net worth, my parents fell madly in love with you. I have to sell myself to your mom the old fashioned way. With charm and wit.”

“Both of which you have in abundance, sweetheart,” Harry grins, kissing you deeply for a moment. Then he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as he sways you to the music. It’s White Christmas and, ironically, it looks to be snowing outside.

After Halloween, after everything was finally out in the open between you and Harry, everything about the relationship changed for the better. The two of you have been inseparable from that moment on, evolved as both partners and lovers.

Harry had to leave New York for a few days in order to smooth things over with that needy client out in New Mexico, and while he was gone you had a new client of your own request a session with you. It didn’t occur to you that the username Señor _Castle78 could possibly be your boyfriend’s attempt to be clever until you started the session and his beautiful face appeared on the screen. You remember how his voice worked you over, saying, “I bet you miss having that sweet little pussy dripping with my cum, don’t you, sweetheart? I bet that you’re completely empty without me there to fill you up. I know all those toys you have are nothing compared to me.”

That is the first and only time you’ve ever had an orgasm on camera for real.

Once he was home from that trip and his job was finally back to normal, Harry then accompanied you to your hometown for Thanksgiving. Introducing him to your parents and sister only made things between you that much more serious. He fucked you quietly in your old bedroom, which still has your band and horror posters from high school all over the walls because your mom can’t let go of the past. What a time machine that felt like, getting felt up like a teenager in the room where you had once been one. You even had to do it on the floor, given that the creaking old mattress was the same one from back then too.

Now you’re getting ready to meet his parents in the morning, and everything feels like it’s headed in the right direction. Ever since you told the truth, you’ve known nothing but peace.

Harry lifts up when the song ends, smiling down at you with so much affection in his soft eyes. He looks so good in a dark green sweater and casual black pants, thick gray socks protecting his feet from the cold wood floors. Your heart swells for him, and then suddenly he's pulling you down the hallway by the hand.

“What are you doing, baby?” You laugh, letting him pull you easily.

“I’m giving you your Christmas present early,” Harry declares, stopping in front of the door to the spare bedroom. You honestly forgot that this room is even here. He pulls a key out of his pocket, and then he’s unlocking the door. “Hold out your hand,” he commands lightly.

You comply, and he drops the key into your palm. It’s small and gold, and looks brand new. “I already have a key to the apartment. What is this for?”

He grins, “Open the door and see.”

You turn the knob and push, and your chest swells as you step inside. “Harry,” you breathe, turning to face him. “I can’t believe you did this.”

Harry looks bashful, hands ringing in front of him. “Do you like it? Did I do a good job matching your aesthetic? I wanted it to look like you picked it all out yourself.”

Spinning around again, you take in the sight before your misty eyes.

It’s your camgirl studio, but wildly upgraded in several ways. The bed seems to be a true bdsm bed, with sturdy iron bars and places to tie ropes or hook chains. It’s backdropped with an elegant, blood red curtain of velvety fabric. The wall of toys next to the bed puts the one you have at home to shame. There’s even a brand new camera set up, and the closet space is twice as big.

He left the act of filling the closet up to you, but it doesn’t go unnoticed that inside of it hangs a single red lace one piece with an open crotch and a satin ribbon bow covering the breasts. It’s clearly meant to be unwrapped, leaving your pierced nipples that he loves so much as a little gift to himself. You’re sure you’ll be wearing it before the night is through, along with the red heels on the ground just below it.

Harry steps in beside you, reaching out to grab for your hand as he looks you in the eyes. “I want you to move in with me. Finish out your lease with Vanessa, but after that please move in. I set this up so you can feel free to carry on with your career for as long as you want to. Make your money and feel independent all you want, but I don’t expect you to pay rent or anything like that. Let me take care of you. Let me make this our home. Let me provide a home for you.”

Tears welling in your eyes, a little sob escapes your throat. “I was kind of secretly hoping that you would ask me to move in when the lease is up, but I wasn’t expecting this. The studio is beautiful.”

He grins devilishly. “Let me say that some of the things in here I did selfishly pick out hoping that we’d also get some personal use out of this room. Not quite like in Fifty Shades of Grey, but our own little place of debauchery. Whatever mood strikes us, whenever.”

“I mean, this bed seems a little too amazing to just be for sessions,” you say slyly, eyeing him. “I’d be disappointed if we didn’t get any personal use out of it… Maybe even tonight? Or right now?”

“Santa’s still out for the night, there’s still plenty of time to make it onto the naughty list,” Harry agrees, grinning as he moves in to pounce on you.

*****

Later, when you’re out cold in the normal bed after getting a few hours use out of the ‘fun bed’ as you now call it, Harry leans over and kisses your temple while you sleep. He’s too wired to sleep himself, too excited about the prospect of his future. In a few hours he’ll be introducing you to his parents. He’ll also be surprising you with another Christmas present besides the studio and the offer to move in. Two plane tickets to Paris for New Years Eve.

He moves gently out of the bed, padding over to his dresser across the dark room. There he slides open the second drawer down where he keeps his socks and underwear. Lifting a folded stack of identical black briefs, he smiles down at the little velvet box which was hidden underneath. He even surrounded it with a few pairs of socks for extra protection.

Harry sits the boxers on top of the dresser. He doesn’t dare pull the box out of the drawer at the risk of you waking to see him with it. But he reaches in and opens it just a crack, getting a sparkling glimpse of the oval onyx stone elegantly surrounded by smaller diamonds on a band of rose gold. A choice he agonized over for two weeks before he came up with a design which he feels best fits your personality.

Knowing how girls are, Harry knew better than to propose to you on the same day that your best friend was due to get engaged. So Christmas was off the table. He realized what he wanted to do shortly after Halloween, when the two of you watched When Harry Met Sally at his request one date night. You were curled up to him, bawling your eyes out as Billy Crystal declared his love for Meg Ryan on New Years Eve. That was when it clicked, and he knew in an instant that he was going to propose to you on the very same holiday.

At the stroke of midnight, in the most romantic city on Earth, Harry Castillo plans to get down on one knee and tell you, “I know this seems soon, but when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

The End

*****

Masterlist

*****

Taglist: @cheyxfu | @notahappystan

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lacroixqueen · 11 months ago

Text

i can fix him no really i can (18+, dubcon) ex bf deadpool x down bad reader

Summary: your ex boyfriend deadpool shows up at your apartment after many years and he's badly hurt so you need to help him but he also wants to fuck you because he's toxic :/

Pairing: ex bf deadpool x fem!reader with unresolved feelings

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings/Tags: dubcon, making out, flirting, wounded, angsty

It was Friday night, so naturally, it was pouring rain outside. You were already snuggled up in bed with a bowl of popcorn and your favorite movie locked and loaded ready to play. Until you realized exactly what this perfect evening was missing: ice cream. You quickly got up out of bed and moseyed your way into the kitchen.

Before you could swipe your favorite gelato from the top shelf, you heard a loud crash emanating from your living room window. You froze in your steps for a moment, and then grabbed the largest kitchen knife you could find in your vicinity.

Inching your way towards the noise, you were about to swing your weapon at the intruder before a nearby lamp flickered on and you laid eyes on a face you could recognize from a mile away.

“Holy fuck, put that shit down!” the assassin in all red and black exclaimed, taking the knife out of your hand with ease.

“Wade?!” you said, placing your hands on your hips. “What the hell are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in what, five years?”

“Great to see you again too, sweetheart,” he replied, noticeably clutching the lower part of his abdomen. “I just thought I’d swing by and say hi.”

“Wade, you are bleeding,” you pointed out, rushing to his side. “What the heck even happened to you?”

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he muttered through gritted teeth, sliding his arm over your shoulder, which immediately caused your back to tense up. “But if you want the short version of the story, let’s just say I pissed off someone who had a giant sword for an arm. Like, he drove that shit through my fucking brain! It’s okay though, I’ll get him back for that one of these days, he’ll see.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed as you guided him to sit down on your couch. “Just.. don’t go anywhere. I’m gonna grab some stuff real quick.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it!” he chuckled playfully. “Also, did you do something new with your hair? I love it. It’s like your old color but just subtly different. Hey, did you like tone it? Was it that salon next door? Because their cut and color deal is to die for.”

“Stop doing that,” you shot back, ambling over to your first aid cabinet.

“Stop doing what?” he said with a feigned innocence.

“You know what,” you responded bluntly, pulling out a set of tweezers, gauze, and saline.

“What, flirt with you?” Deadpool asked, sitting up a little bit more enthusiastically now. “Honey, we’ve been broken up for a long time, do you seriously think I would pick this moment to hit on you? Because you would be sorely mistaken. I am happy to report that I am 100% completely over our relationship and have moved on to bigger better things in life like car sales and snorting cocaine with Blind Al. Oh, she said she misses you by the way.”

“Your timing has never been impeccable,” you commented, kneeling before him with your wound care supplies. Before he could protest, you parted his legs open and rested your forearms on his thighs. This was making him blush harder than he would ever care to admit to you. “Now can you lift your suit up for me, please.”

“We’ve barely caught up for five minutes, and you want me to strip for you already?” Wade chirped, placing a melodramatic hand on his chest. “I mean, I’m all for it but aren’t we moving a little bit fast here?”

“You’re doing it again..” you sighed while shaking your head. “Can you just please not make this more awkward than it already is?”

He grumbled a bit before finally lifting up his suit, revealing a sizable gash slightly to the side of his V-line. There were multiple shards of glass embedded into the wound, glistening menacingly in the dim lighting of your living room.

“Holy shit, Wade,” you breathed while laying out your instruments. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“Look, maybe I pissed off an intergalactic space fascist or two,” he mumbled while shrugging his shoulders. “But who’s counting? Besides, the next time I get my hands on that freak I’m going to gut him from the inside out and make him eat it. Ooh, that would be satisfying, it’s making me so hard right now.”

“Always the pacifist,” you murmured sarcastically, taking your tweezers and dislodging one of the largest glass shards from his wound. “Have you ever considered, oh I don’t know, volunteering at the soup kitchen? Being a contributing member of your community? It doesn’t always have to be about bashing people’s faces in.”

“Jesus fucking shit on a stick motherfucker! Fuck!” he yelled as you removed the glass piece. “What kind of archaic method was that? At least numb me up first? Or I don’t know, buy me dinner?”

“Oh don’t be such a little bitch. If you wanted anesthetic, you could have just gone to the urgent care across the street,” you said matter-of-factly. “Besides, this isn’t exactly a professional clinic.”

Wade’s breathing became heavier when he noticed your soft tits pressing up against his leg as you focused harder on prying out a stubborn shard of glass. And how your lips curled into an adorable little pout when you were extra concentrated on something.

“You know, this would be the perfect opportunity to give me head right now,” he said with a smirk under his mask. “Like, you could not be in a better position.”

You tried to ignore his lewd statement, focusing on removing the smaller shards of glass in his wound. You gasped when you felt his leathered hands reach into your hair, gathering the locks between his fingers to form a ponytail.

“Wade!” you groaned, immediately setting down your tweezers. “I said stop, so quit it.” You shook his hands out of your hair, re-directing your attention back to his injury.

“Oh, but you always looked so hot doing it!” he reminisced, clasping his hands together like some dazed fangirl. “And you were amazing! Like, took the entire length, it’s like you didn’t even have a gag reflex! I’ve never seen anything like it. Oh, and you always swallowed without me even having to tell you. Do you know how rare of a find that is? Because I haven’t gotten head that good since the day we broke-”

“One more word out of your mouth and I’m literally not going to help you anymore,” you interrupted, staring him dead in the eye, which was quite effective at shutting him up.

You finally removed the last piece of glass, working a bit more efficiently now that he is not constantly interjecting with his fantasies about you.

“Aaand, all done!” you said, tucking the debris into a wad of gauze. You cleaned the wound with some saline and covered it with a large bandage. “Yay, that actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Well of course, I’m literally a self-healing mutant,” Wade replied, pulling his suit back down to cover his wound. “Someone has literally shot me in the head before, but here I am, still kicking!”

“But it’s not like you can just heal foreign bodies out of yourself,” you countered as you cleaned your bloodstained tweezers with some bleach and a cloth. “You would have been in pain for days if it weren’t for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” he sneered. “But thank you sweetheart, that actually did get me out of a pinch. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a big ugly bad guy to send back to his dimension, and time is money, so I really should get out there before he blows up another building downtown or God forbid beheads a baby or something.”

“Nope, you are going to stay right here,” you established as you closed the lid of your first aid kit. “Because I’m not gonna have you come back here multiple times again throughout the night and me not sleeping at all.”

“Wow, so now you’re just being a selfish bitch!” Wade said, crossing his arms over your chest. “Did you hear that, innocent bystanders? She could give less of a fuck if the world was set ablaze the next morning because I wasn’t there to stop it!”

“Oh, the world will be just fine,” you stated. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go to bed and you are going to sleep on the couch-”

As you got up, your stance wobbled a bit and you found yourself collapsing face forward onto Wade’s lap, your lips just barely brushing against his mask. You grasped onto his shoulders out of instinct, steadying yourself.

“Ohhh I see what you’re doing here!” the assassin called out. “You want me to stay so badly because you are just a horny little slut who can’t get enough of me! Well that’s no problem at all, because I am actually completely open and willing to do this, just know that my hard lines are scat, vomit, and furry. I don’t know why I can’t get into those animal costume things by the way, just something about the eyes..”

“I don’t want to sleep with you tonight, Wade Wilson,” you said, enunciating every single word. “I just.. lost balance.”

“Uh huh, ‘lost balance’,” he repeated, making air quotes with his fingers, his gaze not wavering. “Well if that’s the case, why don’t you kiss me and not do anything else? Since you’re so certain.”

“I’m not kissing you either,” you snapped, gasping a bit as you felt his hands slide over the curve of your waist, tugging gently at the fabric of your cami.

“You’re just saying that because you know if you did you wouldn’t be able to resist doing more,” he accused, voice darkening all of a sudden. He lifted up his mask to reveal just his lips. “So kiss me, Y/N. Since you’re sooo not attracted to me like that anymore.”

You sighed a bit as you felt the tips of his lips brush against yours, his hot breath entering your mouth, almost inviting you to lean in closer. You also realized you were never one to back down from a challenge. You went ahead and wrapped your arms around his neck, rolling your hips into his. You tilted your head slightly to the side, allowing a couple strands of hair to fall down your face.

So you kissed him, your soft pouty lips blending seamlessly with his bruised, callused mouth. He was hungry, voracious for you even, wanting you so desperately as he pushed his tongue into you. And you allowed him to. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer towards his body as you kissed him back. Your tongue twirled against his, a little whine escaping from your lips as he broke the kiss momentarily to catch his breath.

He grasped one of your bloodstained fingers, and sucked his own blood off of them, licking his lips mischievously after.

“W-wait, Wade, stop..” you gasped, leaning back a bit once you felt his hand sneak over your taut stomach and grasp your neck firmly. “I-I can’t do this.”

“Aw, but we were getting so into it babydoll,” Wade whined, his grip tightening a bit around your neck before finally releasing you. “What happened? Are you getting cold feet because you remembered I’m so good at it?”

“No, it’s just I can’t catch feelings for you again,” you admitted, unclasping your hands from over his shoulders. “I don’t like it when I get like this with you.”

You stood up from the couch and turned your back to him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Ugggghhhh you always get so dramatic like this,” he said, standing up to follow right behind you. “I promise you it’s not that serious. Think of it like this: just two people fooling around and then calling it a night. We don’t have to get into all that messy bullshit from the past if you don’t want to. We could just.. What’s the word my therapist says all the time.. Oh! Compartmentalize. Yeahhh that’s it. You know, you get really good at shit like that when you watch multiple people you care about die in front of you, it’s pretty great.”

“But it’s not that simple Wade, I can’t just..” you sighed as he wrapped his arms over your torso, pressing his chest tightly against your back. He slightly lifted up the bottom of your cami, playing with the top of your panties that peaked out of your shorts. “Please.. don’t do this to me.”

“What, this?” he asked before sliding his tongue over your exposed neck, still playing with the top of your lacy panties and twisting the little bows around his fingertips. “Love these by the way, are they new?”

“St-stop..” you stammered, breath quickening as he rolled up your tank top to eventually reveal your delicate bralette, which accentuated your cleavage perfectly. You felt his hot breath splash against your shoulder as he panted at the sight of your body gradually revealing itself to him.

“Wow, you look even better than I remember!” he commented, playing with the little ribbon in the center of your bra. He used the palm of his gloved hand to rub aching, undulating circles over your toned stomach. “Have you been working out? And by the way, love the statement piece, it goes really well with what you have under too! Ugh, I love when you wear a matching set for me, which reminds me, remember that gorgeous lingerie you had on that one Valentine’s day? I still can’t get it out of my head! Oooh, do you still have it? Because if so I would love to uh, borrow it for a few days if you don’t mind?”

You broke away from him, stepping towards your bedroom door, back still faced to him. “I have to go to sleep now,” you said, trying to conceal how flushed your cheeks were getting in the dim lighting. “You can use the sofa but please be gone by morning.”

You twisted the handle to enter your bedroom and slammed the door behind you. You pressed your back against the cold wood, trying to regulate your breathing by counting numbers and steadying yourself by grasping your dresser while the room spun.

“Welp, at least I tried,” you overheard Wade mutter nonchalantly. He stepped over to your living room window, unclasped the locks, and disappeared out into the night. Like it was just another pit stop in the evening for him.

Eventually, you found yourself back in bed, staring at the ceiling as your heart continued to pound against your chest. You tossed and turned the entire time, wide awake, until eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and had to find some relief.

So you regrettably, masturbated to the thought of him, legs shaking underneath your sheets while you clasped your hand over your mouth. This was something you did way more often than you care to admit. And only then was sleep able to reward you.