summary: the reader thinks that bo likes feet, but he keeps denying it. then, he finally admits it, and indulges in it. (warnings for drunk sexual content!)
a/n: prompted by an anon who i definitely don’t know and love and cherish yeah no just an anonymous stranger for sure...anyway, don’t like don’t read, i know this fetish is not a lot of people’s cup of tea but any kinkshamers will be blocked.
words: 2,160
With how often he joked about it in his routines, you had a sneaking suspicion that Bo maybe, possibly, could theoretically, have a certain fetish that involved people’s lower extremities. But again, it was just a suspicion, and your sex life with him was already healthy and fucking fantastic. Why fix what isn’t broken? If he approached you with a fantasy, you would totally be down, but you weren’t going to try and push him to admit something that you might be totally wrong about anyway!
Other than the jokes, there were a few other instances that made you suspect that Bo had a thing for feet. The first time you caught on was during a movie night, where you’d gotten too warm in the L.A. summer to stay snuggled up to his side, and instead found yourself laying back against the couch with your legs thrown over his lap.
At some point during the film, he’d began massaging your socked feet, his thumb pressing into your arch and rubbing out the tension you’d barely realized you had been feeling.
You gave a little groan of pleasure as he pressed harder, squirming happily into the cushions and shutting your eyes, the movie completely forgotten.
When he moved from your right foot to the left, however, your ankle brushed against something, causing you to open your eyes…And realize that his cock was stiff in his sweatpants.
He met your eye, and in the blue light of the television, you could tell his face was flushed.
“Why are you turned on?” you asked, raising a brow.
Bo cleared his throat. “This movie, is just…So fucking hot,” he said.
Seeing as it was a horror film, you were glad that he was kidding, and you laughed at his attempt to deflect. “Do you like massaging my feet?”
“No, no, it’s not like that,” he replied, almost too quickly. “I just…You were making those sounds and it was so cute! If someone was eavesdropping, they’d think I was fingering you or something.”
You gave another chuckle, sitting up to scoot closer. “Well, it felt good! I didn’t know you were such a talented masseuse,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
He grinned before pressing a kiss to your temple. “I also give a damn good back rub, but you’d need to take your shirt off for that.”
He didn’t have to ask twice.
After the mind-blowing sex that followed, you sort of forgot about the foot thing for a while.
The next hint was after you attended an awards show with him, and made the mistake of wearing a very uncomfortable pair of shoes. You practically hobbled out of the car and into the house, your pride too strong to remove the godforsaken shoes before you were inside.
Bo gave a fond shake of his head as he watched you wince your way to the front door. When you bent down to begin removing the shoes however, he grabbed you around the waist. “Think you can keep ‘em on til we get to the bedroom?” he asked, his voice low.
You purposefully pushed your ass against him. “Maybe…May I ask why?”
“Nope,” he replied simply, giving your ass a little smack. “Just keep walking.”
And so, you did as you were told. You loved when Bo got dominant like that.
Bracing yourself through the discomfort, you managed to make it into the bedroom, where Bo promptly gave you a gentle push onto the bed. However, he didn’t pounce on you like you were expecting. Instead, he got down on his knees beside the bed and began removing your shoes, undoing each buckle with care.
It was an incredibly romantic gesture, and weirdly hot, too.
“Let me take care of you,” he all but whispered, his lips brushing the skin of your knee and making you shiver.
You gave a nod that he probably didn’t even notice, and he removed each of your shoes tenderly before placing them to the side. His thumb brushed the sole of your foot, making you pull back. You felt hypersensitive from being in those shoes all night, and you were also slightly self-conscious that you were probably sweaty. He didn’t seem to care about that, though.
No, instead, he was focused on the reaction his touch had caused.
“Ticklish?” he asked, smirking.
You blushed and gave him a light shove with the foot he wasn’t holding. “You know I am, asshole.”
He was still smirking, but his eyes narrowed, turning the expression from one of playful mischief to something almost…sadistic. “You know, you really shouldn’t be so rude to someone when they can so easily do this.” He snatched your ankle in his grip and wiggled his fingers along your foot, making you gasp and fall into a fit of giggles.
Bo had tickled you plenty of times before, but never so intensely. It was usually a silly scramble for the remote, where his large hands grabbed wherever he could reach and squeezed until you surrendered. He had never been so delicate, so devious, and he’d never lingered on one spot for so long. His fingers found every spot that made you squeak, squeal, and snort until you were breathless and begging him to stop.
He did stop, releasing your ankle and rising to his feet, looking down at the disheveled puddle of giggles you had become with a satisfied smile. “Learn your lesson?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” you replied, still trying to catch your breath.
“Good,” he replied, before leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Now, you stay there and tell me what pajamas you want.”
You appreciated the way he took care of you after just tormenting you. It was almost like the soft cuddles that came after rough sex, like he was making up for his actions with love. Although you didn’t mind the roughness, nor had you really minded the tickling either, he just had to remind you that he could be gentle, too.
As you cuddled into him and began to fall asleep, you couldn’t shake the way his fingers on your feet had made you feel, or the look in his eyes as he watched your toes scrunch and spread in response to each ticklish touch. But before you could ask him what it had meant, he’d fallen asleep, and you followed shortly after.
But after a night of drinking with friends, your suspicions were finally confirmed. Back at home, a very tipsy Bo was trying to get in your pants.
“You’re too drunk,” you insisted, giggling as he fumbled with the zipper on his jeans.
After failing to unzip them for a few clumsy seconds, he started to giggle too, laying back against the bed. “But I’m horny,” he replied in a whining voice.
“We can talk about sexy things instead of doing them,” you suggested.
“But that’ll just make me more horny!” he complained.
“Or maybe it’ll sober you up enough to actually fuck me.”
At that, he perked up a little. “Alright, alright fine. What do you wanna talk about?”
“Do you have any kinks?” you asked. “Like, things we haven’t tried, I mean.”
Bo hummed. “I mean, I like rough stuff. You know I’m cool with being dominant or submissive, but I…I don’t know.”
You rolled onto your side, watching him expectantly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but whatever it is, I’m not gonna judge.”
Bo scrunched his face up adorably, like he was thinking really hard about what to say. “It’s embarrassing though!”
“Oh, come on,” you said, nudging his shoulder. “I pinky-promise that I won’t judge you.”
He covered his face with his hands. You’d never seen him so flustered before. It was really fucking cute. He mumbled something into his hands.
“What? I can’t hear you when you cover your mouth like that, dummy,” you teased, poking at his elbow.
“I like feet,” he said, pulling his hands away as he spoke before putting them right back over his blushing face.
‘Called it,’ you thought. But you didn’t want to voice that for fear of embarrassing him further, and so you feigned ignorance.
“Oh, baby, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about!” you said, scooting closer so you could snuggle into his chest. “It’s like, the most common fetish ever.”
“But it’s weird,” he replied.
“There are weird people in every fetish community, but a few bad apples don’t make it bad,” you said. “Seriously, I don’t think it’s weird. I’d be down to try it sometime, too, if you want.”
He gave a little groan. “You don’t have to humor me.”
“I’m not. I wanna please you, and if you have a fantasy, I want to fulfill it.”
He finally removed his hands from his face, his cheeks stained pink. “Seriously?”
You nodded and kissed his cheek. “Yes, seriously.”
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too. Still too drunk to get it up?” you asked teasingly.
He grinned. “Not at all.”
Bo did seem much more alert, and he sat up, propping himself against the headboard. “Can I…?”
You nodded, moving your position so that your feet were facing him.
His eyes went a little wide, and he licked his lips. Tentatively, he reached out and took one of your feet in his hands, running his palm over the bottom. You flinched reflexively, curling your toes.
He smirked. “You’re so sensitive here,” he said, using a single finger to drag down your sole.
You squeaked softly, feeling your own face heating up. “I can’t help it!”
“It’s fucking hot,” Bo said. “I wonder if you could get turned on from this? I mean, a lot of people find their feet to be an erogenous zone. Wanna see if you’re one of those people?”
You nodded vigorously.
He sat up a little straighter, and brought her face closer to your foot. “Is it okay if I use my mouth?” he asked, and the dominant tone had faded slightly, the shyness peaking through.
“Yes,” you assured him.
You couldn’t have predicted how it would feel when Bo’s tongue licked a line from your heel to your toes, but the sensation caused you to gasp softly. The cold air against wet skin made you hyper-aware of how sensitive you were. And the strangest part was that it did feel good. Like, better than you had expected.
When his lips wrapped around your big toe and sucked, you surprised yourself with the soft moan that left your mouth. You could feel that bastard smile, the way his lips and tongue and teeth felt on your skin, and the way his stupid stubble scraped beneath your toes in a torturously ticklish way, but not enough to make you laugh, just enough have your nerves going haywire.
He took his time with each toe before switching to your other foot and giving it the same treatment, and by the time he’d pulled away, you were aware of the burning pit of arousal in your stomach, and the tell-tale sensation of a puddle in your underwear.
“What’d you think?” he asked.
“That felt fucking good,” you replied, chuckling softly. “Would you be into it if I gave you a footjob?”
Bo gave a little moan. “Fuck, yeah, I would.”
You giggled happily and sat up to help him undo his jeans, noticing the way his cock was straining to escape the fabric, and how his precum had soaked through the denim slightly. Once his hardon was free, he fumbled in the bedside drawer for some lube, which he poured generously into his hand and began to stroke himself. You watched him intently, lust in your eyes. Once he felt he was significantly lubed up, he gestured for you to begin.
Now, footjobs looked quite easy in porn, but you quickly realized it wasn’t quite so cut and dry. It took a bit of maneuvering before you found a position that worked. Eventually, you succeeded in finding a position that was both pleasurable for Bo, and comfortable enough for your legs.
Bo didn’t last very long, but you hadn’t expected him to. After fulfilling such a big fantasy of his, who could blame him for how quickly he came? Plus, it was kind of cute, too, watching his embarrassment at his poor stamina.
“Was that good?” you asked.
“Baby, that was fucking incredible,” he replied. “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you sooner, I…God, you’re fucking perfect.”
You preened under his praise, unable to wipe the lovestruck smile from your face. “Well, now that I know, we can spend plenty of time exploring this.”
Bo grinned, leaning forward so he could push you back onto the mattress so that he could return the favor of an earth-shattering orgasm.
Well, your suspicion had been correct, and it had been even better than you’d expected.
summary: bo is on tour on his birthday, and the reader flies out to surprise him after the show.
a/n: based on an anonymous prompt. thank you so much, anon!! i hope you enjoy it :) and hello i am back from a hiatus with new ~content~ (i made you your favorite, open wide)
words: 1,320
It wasn’t easy when Bo went on tour.
Sure, the two of you still spoke every day, but it wasn’t the same, just texting or FaceTiming. You missed the feeling of his hand in yours, the warmth of his body next to yours in bed.
It was nearly the end of August, and Bo’s birthday was in a few weeks. He’d made an offhand comment about how he didn’t have any specific plans for the day, and how he’d probably just do the show, go back to his hotel, and treat himself to some room service before hitting the road to the next city.
The thought of him spending his birthday alone made your heart ache, and so, on pure impulse, you booked a flight to Illinois, where he’d be playing on the 21st. The excitement to see him made it nearly impossible to keep it a secret, but your desire to surprise him gave you the strength to keep your lips locked.
The morning of your flight, you made sure to act like all was normal to Bo. You sent him normal, boring texts, even sent him a selfie you’d taken in your home days prior to appear like you were still there. The only person other than yourself who was aware of your plan was Bo’s tour manager, who had promised to sneak you backstage so Bo could see you after the show, and had also sworn to secrecy. It made you happy to know that Bo was surrounded by good people, who were looking out for him.
The flight went by smoothly, and you spent it listening to music and anxiously awaiting the moment you saw your boyfriend. When you landed, you went straight to the hotel that Bo was staying at; his tour manager informed the front desk that you’d be needing a spare key, which they provided with little interrogation, and you headed up to the room to drop off your stuff.
The show started at 7:00, and you wouldn’t be seeing him until after, not wanting to spring a big surprise on him moments before he was supposed to perform, so you had a bit of time to kill.
You ordered yourself an early dinner from room service, and started to get ready. You’d picked out your outfit carefully when you were packing, so it saved the stress of trying to find the perfect thing. You knew that you could show up in sweatpants or a ballgown and Bo wouldn’t care either way, he’d just be happy to see you, but it still felt nice to get dressed up for the occasion.
You arrived at the theater just after 7:00, so that you’d have no chance of running into Bo backstage. His manager snuck you in the back door and brought you back to watch his performance subtly from the wings, keeping yourself hidden in the curtains in case his gaze travelled too far to the left.
He was hilarious, as always. The crowd roared in laughter, exploded with applause, and Bo got through it all with no mistakes, and no visible anxiety. You were so proud of him.
As the lights went down and the crowd gave their final shouts, your heart began to race. It was time for Bo to find out what you’d done, your master plan to come to fruition.
Bo exited the stage and you were standing there, grinning at him.
He froze, confusion evident on his features for a moment before he, too, broke into a grin, and rushed forward to pull you into a hug. He was sweaty, but you didn’t care, burying your face in his neck and holding him close. The smell of his cologne, the way his arms felt around you. It hadn’t been that long since you’d seen him, but reuniting felt so good.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, breathless.
“Celebrating your birthday, of course,” you replied.
Bo shook his head fondly, unable to wipe the smile from his face. “You’re insane. When did you fly in?”
“This morning. My stuff’s already in your room,” you said.
Bo raised a brow, then looked to his manager, who gave a not-so-innocent shrug and smile.
***
Back at the hotel, it was obvious that Bo was tired, and while you urged him to get some rest, he refused, asking questions about what you’d been up to while he was gone, how the flight was, when you were leaving.
“My return flight is on the 27th,” you told him.
“Change it,” he said immediately. “Stay with me.”
“But I only brought enough clothes for a few days.”
He reached out his arms and snuggled close to your chest, now dressed in his pajamas. “I’ll buy you clothes. I’m not letting you leave me again,” he muttered.
Your heart just about melted at his words. “You’re being silly.”
“S’my job,” he replied.
“Do you wanna go to bed now?” you asked.
He shook his head. “No, I wanna spend time with you. Did you watch anything good on the plane?”
It was adorable, how he was trying to keep himself awake. You started to rub his back soothingly, trying to relax him enough so that he’d be unable to resist sleep much longer. “I just listened to music, there weren’t any good movies.”
He fell for it, too, leaning into the touch like a cat being pet, face nuzzled against your collarbone. He hummed in acknowledgement of what you said, but didn’t ask another question.
You continued to run your fingers up and down his spine, occasionally straying from side to side, drawing random patterns across his back.
Bo sighed contentedly, and you thought you’d finally got him to accept sleep, when your hands brushed over the back of his ribs and he squirmed, exhaling through his nose loudly.
Huh. That was new.
You did it again, and it gauged the same reaction.
This time, however, it was accompanied with a little whine.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, feeling suddenly mischievous.
“You’re tickling me,” he replied.
“Am I?” you asked, feigning innocence. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”
Before he’d left for tour, you and Bo had a handful of tickle fights, but he usually won them, and you rarely got a chance at the upperhand. You sort of assumed that he wasn’t very ticklish, but new evidence suggested otherwise.
Bo just replied with a grunt, but your focus was less on putting him to sleep now and more about milking your new discovery for all it was worth.
Hands poised on either side of his rib cage, you struck, unable to contain your own giggles as his body spasmed, arms flying to his sides in a futile attempt to protect himself from your touch.
“Hehey!” he laughed. “What’s this for?”
You shrugged. “Your job is to make people laugh, right? I thought I’d return the favor.”
Your fingers climbed up from his ribs and slipped beneath his arms, making his laughter kick up a notch. “You could try telling a joke next time!” he cried, rolling away from you, which only opened his stomach up for your attack, which is where your wiggling fingers went for next.
Bo tipped his head back and laughed, more genuinely than you’d heard in a while. Maybe it was because FaceTime couldn’t truly capture how beautiful he sounded, but you were just grateful to hear it, to be there. To be with him, to be there.
“You’re gonna kill me on my birthday!” he said, hands fumbling to try and push yours away.
“Oh, alright.”
Taking pity on his flushed face and dramatic declaration, you stopped, smiling fondly as he caught his breath.
When he looked back up at you, a playful pout on his face, you made up your mind.
“I’ll change my flight home, but the underwear you buy me better be designer.”
summary: bo is stressed, and the reader tries to do something nice for him, but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.
a/n: thank you to @shit-post-things for the prompt!! here’s a nice mix of angst and fluff. i usually avoid writing angst but the idea was just so fun to explore. i hope y’all enjoy this!!
words: 985
It was no surprise that Bo could get easily stressed out when he was working. His career brought him so much anxiety, and it often manifested itself in him not sleeping, not eating, and when it was particularly bad, he began to act out.
Normally, it didn’t affect you. He was always kind and gentle with you, and even when he got into his bad moods, you were spared. You figured it was because the relationship was new, and he didn’t want to drive you away.
But after a year, he became less careful about letting you see him in a funk.
He was in his office, writing. He spent so much time in there, with a notebook, pen, and his keyboard. You could hear him playing, mumbling lyrics under his breath, stopping, and starting again.
That night, you planned to get him out of the house. You got dressed up and made a reservation at his favorite restaurant. He so often forgot his own needs, and you wanted to take care of him, take him out, make him feel special like he always did for you.
The reservation was for seven o’clock, and you knocked on the door to his office at six.
“What’s up?” he called through the door.
You pushed it open and leaned in the doorframe, smiling. “Stop whatever you’re working on and go get dressed. I made us dinner reservations.”
Instead of breaking into a smile like you’d expected, Bo shook his head.
“I can’t. I’ve got to finish this by tomorrow.”
“Oh, c’mon. You’ve been working so hard, don’t you want to get out for a night?” you asked, stepping into the room and closer to him, where he sat at the piano.
He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “I wish I could, baby, but if I stop now, I’m gonna get all thrown off.”
You reached a hand out to touch his arm gently. “Babe, why don’t—”
“I said no, okay?” he burst out, pulling his arm away from you.
Bo never raised his voice at you. Or, when he did, it was always in a playful manner. You never felt scared, or upset when he did so. But the way his expression was contorted in a scowl made your heart drop.
You took a few steps back, and you hated the way your voice wavered when you spoke. “Alright, fine. I’ll leave you alone. While you’re at it, you can sleep in here.”
And you walked out, slamming the door behind you.
You went back to the bedroom that you and Bo shared, stripped yourself of the nice outfit and put on your pajamas instead. You were too upset to even call the restaurant and cancel the reservation. Whatever, they’d give the table away when they realized no one was coming.
Although it was still early in the evening, you got into bed and allowed tears to fall.
Had that been your first fight? Over something so small, so silly?
You just wanted to do something nice for him.
You eventually fell asleep, cradling a pillow in your arms.
***
When you woke up, the bed was empty. It seemed that Bo had taken your advice and crashed on the couch in his office.
Good. After last night, you didn’t want to sleep beside him.
You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and sat up in bed.
It smelled like pancakes. Huh.
You stood, stretching, and walked out of the bedroom.
Bo was standing in the kitchen, cooking, humming to himself under his breath. When you paused in the doorway, he turned around as if he could sense you behind him.
“Y/N, I am so sorry about last night,” he said immediately. “I was a dick. You were just trying to be nice and I shut you down. And I should have never, ever raised my voice at you.”
You crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a look that signalled for him to keep talking.
He ran his hand through his hair. “I understand if you’re still upset, you have every right to be. But I made you breakfast, and it’d be a shame for it to go to waste, so will you humor me and come eat?”
After a moment, you nodded.
He gave a small smile and gestured for you to come sit, and you did so. He’d already made you a plate, and as much as you wanted to stay mad, the food looked so good.
“I finished the song,” he said, sitting down across from you at the table. “So, if you want to do a re-do of last night…”
“I don’t really want to go out,” you said with a shrug. “But if you want, we can order something. Watch a movie?”
He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.”
You couldn’t help it. You smiled, even if it was just a tiny bit. “I’m glad you finished the song. Maybe you can play it for me later?”
“I’d like that,” Bo said, smiling back.
It was impossible to stay mad at him then, with his goofy grin and the delicious food in front of you. You knew that his career was the biggest source of stress in his life, and his frustration had been understandable.
He promised to not let his work get in the way of your time together. You promised to not pull him away from work when he needed to focus.
The night ended with you two cuddled on the couch, a blanket over your laps, and Bruce sitting beside you. The movie was just background noise at that point, and you wound up dozing off with your head on his shoulder.
And when you woke up in bed with him beside you, you smiled, knowing that he must have carried you. Your gentle, kind, and caring boyfriend was back, and things were good again.
all that i'm after is a life full of laughter (bo burnham x reader)
summary: the reader is embarrassed about their laugh, but bo is determined to hear it.
a/n: this is one of the most self-indulgent things i have ever written. please forgive me.
words: 1065
You’ve always been embarrassed about your laugh.
Ever since you were a kid, people made you feel bad about it. You were too loud, too brazen, and when you laughed hard, it wasn’t uncommon for a snort to slip out.
It’s why you developed the habit of covering your mouth with your hand when you laughed, forcing yourself to be quiet, muffling sounds of your own joy.
How ironic, then, that you fell for a comedian.
Bo is funny. Obviously, it’s what his career is all about. But even off-stage, just in his most natural moments, he is hilarious. He’s always joking, being playful.
And his jokes come at the worst times, when your hands are full, or when you aren’t expecting it, so you have to fight the urge to tilt your head back and laugh, because you’re scared the sound will make him stop joking around.
It’s an ugly sound, you think. Why would he want to hear it?
If you wanted to keep him, you’d have to choke it back.
But he’s making it fucking difficult.
He’s running through some new material, testing it on you, and it’s hilarious, as always. You’re sitting on the couch, watching him with a smile. Whenever he says something particularly amusing, your hand comes up to slap over your mouth.
“If it’s not funny, you can tell me,” he says. “You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not pretending!”
Bo gives you a fond smile. “Then why do you keep burying your face in your hands?”
“Because that’s how I laugh,” you reply.
“Well, we can’t have that. If you want to boost my ego, I’ve gotta hear you.”
Your cheeks flush, and a feeling of unease settles in your stomach. He can’t hear you, no way.
“You don’t need me to inflate your ego anymore” you say. “Besides, isn’t the audience laughing enough?”
“Nope,” he replies. “Your opinion matters more to me than theirs.”
Well, it’s a sweet sentiment, but not the answer you wanted.
“My laugh is just quiet,” you say. “Sorry to disappoint.”
He gives you a look, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Everyone’s got a hidden laugh that only comes out when something really funny happens. I guess I’m just not funny enough for you,” he says, then puts on his best fake pout.
You roll your eyes, standing up and walking over to him, pressing a kiss to those pouting lips, hoping to change the subject.
He kisses you back, arms wrapping around your waist.
When he pulls back from the kiss, he keeps his arms tightly around you. “You know, there are other ways to make people laugh than just jokes.”
You’re about to ask what he means when you feel his fingers pressing into your sides.
“Bo, don’t you dare—!”
Your threat is cut off when he starts tickling, his pianist fingers quick and torturous, and instead of letting yourself laugh, you clamp your mouth shut.
“Oh, come on, you’re not gonna laugh for me?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.
You shake your head defiantly, although you’re sure you don’t look very sure of yourself.
Bo easily manages to lift your feet off the ground, laying you back against the couch and clambering on top of you, grinning. “You’ll give in eventually,” he says casually, then returns his fingers to your sides.
Your legs kick out, one hand coming to cover your blushing face while the other bats uselessly at him.
He takes the opportunity to tickle underneath your arm, and a squeak slips out.
“C’mon, Y/N, one little laugh is all I need to hear, then I’ll stop.”
“Fuck off,” you manage to say, breathless.
He gives a mock-offended gasp. “You’re not really in the position to be saying such mean things, hm? I’m the one who’s got you pinned.”
As if to accentuate his point, he takes one of your wrists in his hand and holds it above your head, tickling from your hip to armpit and making you arch your back off the couch.
You’re not going to be able to hold on much longer, you know it, and you’ve already accepted your fate. When he hears you, he’ll probably stop. Not because that’s what he’s promised, but because the sound will turn him off entirely.
Bo finds a particularly sensitive spot on your ribs and hones in on it, and that’s when the dam breaks loose.
The laughter you’d bottled up inside comes pouring out like water, all high-pitched and loud and embarrassing, and your eyes are squeezed shut so you can’t see if the disgust has taken over his features yet, but you’re sure it has.
And like you’d predicted, he stops.
You’re trying to catch your breath, and tentatively, you open one eye.
Bo is looking down at you, grinning. “There we go, that’s what I wanted to hear. Doesn’t it feel good to laugh a little?”
“Not when it sounds like that,” you reply, cheeks burning.
Bo furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”
“I know my laugh is ugly, that’s why I cover my mouth. I’m sorry you had to hear it.”
“Y/N, are you fucking kidding me?” he asks. “Your laugh is adorable. I’ve been trying to hear it for real since the day I met you. I figured you were always hiding it in your hands because you were shy, but I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about it.”
He’s still sitting on your waist, but he’s let go of your wrist.
“You don’t have to be nice about it,” you say. “I know it’s weird.”
“It’s not weird at all!” he replies, and the sincerity in his eyes makes you want to cry. “Whoever made you feel bad about something that’s literally just an expression of joy is a douchebag. I think my laugh is goofy, too. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop laughing.”
“I like your laugh,” you say.
“And I like yours,” he replies.
“If you say so.”
“Oh, I do say so. In fact, I think I want to hear it more…”
And before you can protest, his hands have returned to your sides, tickling without mercy.
When a snort slips out, he laughs along with you, and focuses on the spot that drew the noise out. And even though you’re still embarrassed, it feels good to know that Bo doesn’t mind.
summary: bo and the reader are just friends, but when he takes them out to dinner before his tour is going to take off, that just might change.
a/n: based on a prompt from @deborahmessingsfingers who wanted a fic about having a first kiss with bo!! the plot sort of just came to me and i also wrote this at like two o’clock in the morning.
words: 1,100
You and Bo are friends. Good friends, and have been for a few months now. But lately you’ve been thinking, wanting more.
You went to see his show last night, always excited to be a supportive, familiar face in the crowd. Now, he’s taking you out to dinner while he’s in town, claiming he didn’t want to miss out on spending time with you before his tour really kicks off.
The thought of him being states away doesn’t appeal to you very much, but hey, it’s all part of his job. It sucks to think that you’ll have to go without his hugs, the scent of his cologne, or having Bruce snuggle up to your lap when you visit.
But that’s in a few days, and you can’t dwell on it now, not when he’s sitting across from you at the table, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows, his glasses balanced on his nose as he scans the menu.
“The show went really well,” you say, wanting to break the silence.
His head perks up like a puppy hearing its name. “Yeah, I think it went alright. Do you think they could tell that I was nervous?” he asks.
You shake your head. “If you hadn’t told me, I’d have no idea.”
He lets out a little sigh of relief. “Thanks for coming tonight. To the show, obviously, but also, you know, to dinner.”
You smile. His eyes are fixed down at the menu again, although he doesn’t seem to be reading it. You assume that it’s post-show nerves and figure it’d be best to not point it out, and just let him work through it on his own.
While the two of you are pretty open with one another, anxiety is still something he’s working on. You don’t want to push him to talk about something he’s not comfortable discussing, especially on a night where you’re supposed to be celebrating.
The waitress comes around and takes down your orders. The restaurant is a regular spot for the two of you, and Bo orders the same thing he usually does.
When you tease him about it, he makes a joke about needing some consistency, since he’ll be in a different state every week soon enough.
The reminder that he’ll be gone drops your gaze to the tablecloth, giving a half-hearted chuckle at his comment.
“Hey,” he says, reaching across the table to nudge you gently. “What’s the long face for, hm?”
You look up, but avoid looking in his eyes. “I’m just gonna miss you, I guess.”
Bo’s cheeks color, although it’s barely noticeable in the restaurant’s dim light. He runs a hand through his hair. “I was actually thinking…”
But before he can finish telling you whatever he’s been thinking, the waitress returns with your food. The interaction makes Bo’s words slip your mind, and he appears to have forgotten, too.
You eat, bantering and chatting about the show, the upcoming tour, as well as your life and plans, too. He asks about work, your family. He scolds you for never taking time off.
You have to scoff at that, because it’s hypocritical of Bo to accuse anyone of working too hard. He’s always writing, rehearsing, and recording.
By the time you’ve finished eating, both too stuffed for dessert, you’ve almost forgotten that this is the last time you’ll be together for some time. But the wicked reminder still lingers in the back of your mind, and while it should make you savor the memories, it only causes sadness to wilt the edges of happy moments.
Bo insists on paying the check, despite your protests, and then offers to walk you home.
Sure, you could call an Uher, but both of you live close enough to the restaurant, and thankfully, you wore comfortable shoes. The evening is cool and breezy, but warm enough for a pleasant stroll.
Bo’s long legs fight to keep at your pace, and the closer you get to your apartment, the more you feel the urge to break through the small talk and tell him how much you’re going to miss him, but the words keep dying on your tongue.
You and Bo have never been overly emotional with one another. Sure, you hugged, and talked about deep shit, but there was always an unspoken tension that held you back from platonic ‘I-love-yous’ and allowing those hugs to linger.
You’re in front of the apartment building when you finally work up the courage, but before you can say anything, Bo is touching your hand.
“I know that this is horrible timing,” he starts. “But I couldn’t leave without doing this.”
And he leans in, having to bend his knees to press your lips together properly. The kiss takes you off guard for only a moment before you’re kissing back, wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into his touch, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his beer lingering on his lips.
And fuck, you hadn’t realized how badly you wanted this until he made the first move. It just feels right, standing there, with him. His lips on yours.
He’s reluctant to pull away, but he does so after a moment, his cheeks flushed and glasses a little lopsided. You reach up to fix them with a little laugh, and he chuckles, too.
“I told you it was bad timing,” he says.
“It is,” you agree. “But I’m not upset about it. In fact, I’m glad.”
He seems relieved. “I just…I couldn’t risk going on tour and being away, and, and the possibility of you meeting someone new, someone better while I was gone.”
“There’s no one better than you,” you reply, reaching up to place a hand on his cheek.
His skin is warm to the touch, and he leans into your palm like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Careful; you don’t want to feed my ego,” he warns, a smile playing on his lips.
You giggle. “Yeah, I guess not. But I mean it.”
Bo touches your waist gently, coaxing you closer to him. “You could always come visit,” he says.
You nod. “I would love to.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’ll have to keep me posted on when you have days free, and I can take time off of work—”
“Finally,” Bo mutters, making you grin.
“And we’ll make it work,” you finish, gazing into his eyes.
“That sounds like a pretty good plan to me,” he says.
Then, he kisses you again, and it feels less like a goodbye, and more like a beginning.
