mike x reader costar vibe i’m thinking maybe costar is playing tashi? or are we thinking more she’s playing grazi in west side story???🫣🫣 all i know is i want us to be as talented!!! he can’t be the star of the show… we are 💅 OMGGG maybe sneaking around because apparently he does that a lot? and then secretly dating on press. ideas ideas ideas.
i was enchanted to meet you <3
mike faist x costar! reader
tw not much! no smut just insinuated (this is my first time writing for mike instead of a character and i couldn’t decide how far to go hehe)
the first time you met mike faist, it was after your chemistry read. you had just stepped out of the audition room, flushed and half drenched from the july humidity. he was sitting in the lobby, hunched over his phone like a teenager waiting for a ride home from school. you recognized him immediately. he looked up as you passed, your eyes catching for only a second too long. "hey," he said, standing, "you’re tashi?” “today i am,” you shrugged, grinning. that made him smile—just a flicker, but enough. later, you’d learn that’s how mike is. always giving you just enough to want more.
filming started in the fall. boston was pretending to be new york, and the city felt like it was holding its breath—gray skies, quiet tension, leaves like dying embers scattered across sidewalks. you trained together. ate together. waited through lighting setups lying side by side on the court like kids after gym class, arms barely brushing, pretending not to notice. it was subtle at first, the way he watched you. like a note just off-key, barely audible. you told yourself you imagined it, but you knew the difference between acting and something real.
mike looked at you like he was terrified and fascinated all at once. you shot a scene in the locker room one day—tense, intimate, filled with subtext. between takes, he stayed quiet, hands on his knees, staring at the floor. "you okay?" you asked, approaching carefully. he looked up, eyes dark and unreadable. "you're really good at pretending you don't know how magnetic you are," he said quietly. the air thickened, but still, you said nothing.
that night, after drinks with the cast, he found you outside your hotel room, hands buried in his coat pockets. you didn’t say a word. you just stepped back, let him in. he kissed you like he wasn’t sure he was allowed, like you might vanish if he was too greedy with you. his hands hovered until you took them and placed them on your hips. “i’ve been thinking about this since the read-through,” he whispered into your skin. “i know,” you said, voice soft, “me too,” it wasn’t wild, it wasn’t frenzied. it was slow, aching, careful—two people starved for something that scared them. after, he stayed, just to hold you, his breath against your neck, heartbeat calm.
neither of you spoke about it in the morning. from then on, everything was a negotiation. there were moments you almost reached for him in public—instincts trained from rehearsal and habit—but had to curl your hands into fists.
on set, you gave nothing away. your co-stars joked about how well you and mike "got each other," but it never went deeper. except with josh. he always saw more than he let on. "you’re different when you look at him,” he said one day during blocking, “like you’re seeing something no one else does," you didn’t reply, just stared at your mark on the floor until the moment passed. it wasn’t always easy.
there were nights he wouldn’t text. nights where you both disappeared into your separate rooms, pretending the space was normal. he had a habit of pulling away when things got too close. "i don’t want to hurt you," he told you one night, back pressed to the wall, eyes full of guilt. "you’re not hurting me," you replied, though your throat felt tight. "you don’t know that," you walked up to him, placed a hand over his heart. “this is already mine. so whatever happens—it’s too late to undo it,” he kissed you like an apology, like a thank you. like surrender.
when the press tour began, everything shifted. photoshoots. interviews. staged candids. every headline speculating who was hooking up with who. and you and mike? perfectly professional. behind closed doors, though, he was quieter. you’d find him curled on hotel couches reading scripts he wouldn’t let you see yet. he’d brush a strand of hair behind your ear and say your name like a prayer, like it wasn’t safe in the air for too long. you once asked him, half-joking, “do you think this ends when the film does?” he looked at you with something breaking in his expression. "i think if it ends, it’ll be because we were too scared to admit it meant something," you didn’t laugh that time.
the premiere was surreal. flashes of cameras, fans screaming. you in a dress that cost more than your apartment, mike in a suit that made your stomach flip. you stood apart on the carpet. close enough for chemistry, far enough for deniability. when the movie played, and the final scene faded out—your face, tashi’s face, on the big screen, triumphant and hollow—you looked over. he was already looking at you. his eyes were glassy. your own stung. you didn’t need to say a thing.
later, back in the hotel, you lay next to him, legs tangled, everything quiet. “i don’t know how to be with you when the world’s watching,” he said, voice barely audible. “then don’t be with me there,” you whispered, “just be with me here,” you placed his hand over your ribs. “can you feel that? that’s real. that’s all I care about,” he closed his eyes, and for a moment, the weight lifted. you never defined it. you didn’t have to.
it lived in glances, in fingertips brushing just once too long, in long voicemails after press days. in the fact that neither of you ever said goodbye, only "talk soon," like it was a promise you could keep if you just whispered it gently enough. maybe it would fade. maybe it wouldn’t. but it was yours, and no one could take that from you.
i need connor being a dick. like evil, he’s evil evil evil to reader!!!!!! because he likes her but he’s never really had these feelings for anyone and he thinks any attention is good attention, even if it really hurts the reader 🥴. angsty? maybe? whatever u want
you tie up your hair and you smile like it's no big deal </3
grumpy! connor x sunshine! reader
tw for bullying?? angst, mild* smut, hurt x comfort, mental illness
the last word you thought of when you thought of connor murphy was kind- angry, yes. cold, definitely. he had anger issues and a frigid look in his eyes and the sort of calloused demeanor that screamed at you to stay away. that would all be forgivable, ignorable even, if he wasn't so loud about it. he teased you incessantly, until one day the teasing grew into something more, something worse. childish nicknames turned into insults hurled across packed hallways, weary looks turned to harsh glares and gritted teeth. you'd been friends once, some semblance of it anyway, sharing snacks on the elementary school playground and secrets on torn out notebook paper. then 7th grade came, and his outbursts grew more frequent. he hated everything, it seemed. he hated class, hated cheerleaders (you thought he'd let it go when you tried out, it only made it worse), hated all of your new friends, hated everyone the two of you had gone to school with since the very beginning.
when senior year rolled around, he'd become worse than ever. he had two stints of rehab, one wilderness retreat undoubtedly forced by his parents, three years of weekly therapy sessions. the connor you'd once known was long gone, replaced by the shell of a boy with dark shadows under his blue eyes and a stack of bracelets covering all of his late night impulses. he didn't attend school events, and if he did it was worse than if he'd stayed home. you tried, against your better judgement, to speak to him graduation. you'd walked over to him in your best dress and blue grad gown, smiling like a peace offering. "congratulations, connor," you said, sweeping your eyes over his outfit- his usual black jeans and jacket, combat boots peeking out of the hem of the gown, "it's crazy to think we're this old, isn't it? i remember when we were kids-" "what do you want?" he cut you off, glaring down at you like he'd rather drop dead than continue the conversation. "oh, i just wanted to congratulate you, that's really all,"
"fuck you," he laughed, bitter and cold, "i don't need you to congratulate me," "i was just trying to be nice, connor," your chest ached, and you shivered despite the heavy gown on your arms. "you think i want you to be nice to me?" he laughed again, like it was insane, "fuck you, really, i mean that. fuck you and all your stupid, preppy friends, and your stupid cheer uniform. you're part of what made these four years so fucking bad," "okay," you just nodded, swallowing down tears, "i'm sorry you feel that way. i'll see you around, connor," you turned away before he could add insult to injury, blinking the tears from your lashline. you watched as he crossed the graduation stage, the way his hands shook as he took the diploma he'd barely earned. he exited the stage, and you assumed that was the last time you'd see him.
three months into the summer after graduation, you saw that familiar head of messy brown hair across a friend's party, his back pressed to the wall and a cigarette hanging from his lips. for a brief moment, you wished the two of you were perfect strangers. you wished you'd never known him, that he'd never called you a whore after you had your first kiss at a football game, that he'd never told everyone you slept with half of the school, that he'd never told you he hated you when you complimented his hair at prom. you wished you were just a girl, watching a boy from across the room, thinking of running her hands through his hair, of making the whole world go away. but that wasn't real, and he was glaring at you, the lights dancing off of his pale irises.
you thought back to sophomore year, when you’d sobbed and begged your parents to withdraw you from cheer. connor had been particularly vicious that day, leaving a note in messy handwriting pinned to your locker, reading ‘lincoln high school’s resident airhead.’ you’d wracked your brain, trying to think of anything you could’ve done to provoke him. he’d waved at you across the hallway that morning, barely perceptible, and you hadn’t waved back in fear of instigating anything further. maybe that had been in it. regardless, you stayed in cheer, and connor continued to cause problems. by the end of the year, he’d managed to tell nearly everyone that you only cheered to be closer to the football boys, that they probably passed you around in the locker room.
he’d all but ruined your reputation, and worse, your self image. you hated passing him in the halls, but despite everything, you tried to be nice. he had a hard life, you knew, and he just needed a little kindness. time after time, it went unreciprocated, and the gap between the two of you only grew wider. you thought of all of this as you made your way to the back patio, away from him, a drink in your hand and a forced smile on your lips as you mingled. your body may have been leaned against the patio gate, but your mind was back in elementary school, back in a time where connor murphy was more than just the boy watching you from across the room. when he smiled and it looked like promise and comfort and friendship, before his eyes turned steely and his words grew sharp.
someone said your name, cutting through the music and chatter around you, and you looked up through your lashes, brows furrowed. there he was, just inches away from you, looking as if he didn’t understand why he was there himself. “hey, connor,” you hoped it came out casual, not as nervous as you felt, “what’s up?” “i just wanted to say it’s good to see you,” the words sounded foreign on his tongue. “yeah, okay,” you laughed halfheartedly, “you must be drunker than you look,”
something flashed in his eyes, and the casual demeanor slipped, “goddamn it, can’t you see i’m trying to be nice to you?” his teeth were gritted, jaw tight like he was holding something in, “i mean it, it’s good to see you,” “why would you possibly be nice to me?” you asked incredulously, “you hate me,” “i don’t hate you,” he shook his head, a stray hair dangling in his eyes. you thought, briefly, that you’d love to brush it away. “look, can we just talk? like normal people?” the sincerity in his voice startled you, and you found yourself nodding, “yeah, yeah. that’s fine,” “you look really pretty,” he said quietly, so soft that you almost didn’t catch it, “so, uhm, what college are you going to?”
“georgetown,” you smiled slightly, “you?” “jesus, that’s a really good school,” he choked on his drink, surprised, “i’m not going to school, actually, just gonna hang around here or something,” you thought back to a much younger connor, bright eyed and telling you all of his dreams and goals. hanging around maryland was definitely not one of them. “washington community is still taking applications,” you told him, “if you wanted to go there, i mean. i’m sure you could get a scholarship,” “i’m not going,” he sounded more tense now, the ease between you slipping, “it’s not about money, i’m just not the college type,” “right,” you nodded, hoping to get the conversation back on track, “have you been working this summer?”
the two of you stayed that way for two hours, catching up on everything you’d missed as the years had passed. he told you, just barely, about rehab and therapy. you told him, in turn, about the therapy you’d gone to as well. he looked surprised, slightly, his eyebrows raising. “why?” he asked, hesitant, “i mean, if you don’t mind,” “uh, i guess after the whole sleeping with the entire football team rumor got started, i was a little depressed,” you laughed as much as you could, hoping to appear like you managed to brush it off, “and i had some eating stuff i was dealing with. i’m fine, now, though. it wasn’t a big deal,”
something dangerously close to regret flickered through his expression. “look, i-” “please don’t,” you didn’t think you could bare his, his apology. not after all the years. “i just need to tell you,” he was pleading, almost, “i shouldn’t have treated you that way, okay? i was an idiot, and i was just hurt-” “you were hurt?” you nearly scoffed, “bullshit, connor,” it may have been the meanest thing you’d ever said to him- to anyone, really. “can we please just go somewhere we can talk alone?” he asked, eyes wide like he was afraid, “please, just give me five minutes,” you almost said no, almost told him that he’d done enough, but then you glanced at his wrist and spotted the messily tied friendship bracelet you’d made him when you were 9, blended in with the stack of rubber band logos and beaded chords. “fine,” you sighed, and let him lead you upstairs.
the confession came out all in one tumble of words. “you left me behind, i told you i was scared when we got to high school you’d get new friends and you did and i didn’t know what i was supposed to do with that, okay? and i lashed out, because it was all i could do just to get you to look at me again, even if it was bad. and i’m so sorry i let it go so far, and i’m sorry i hurt you, but i didn’t know what else to do-” “connor, hey,” you put a hand on his shoulder, hoping to soothe the trembling, “i didn’t forget about you, okay? i told you there was a real career for me in cheer, it looks good on college apps, and i couldn’t afford to miss that,” “but you didn’t even try with me anymore,” he looked so broken sitting there, so far removed from the angry boy you’d come to know recently. all the hurt you felt washed away, replaced by a sudden need to make this better, to show him you never forgot.
“i’m sorry,” he exhaled after a moment, “that’s all it comes down to. you can go if you want to, but i couldn’t have you go to college and never see me again thinking that i hate you when i never did,” you weren’t sure exactly what you were thinking when you kissed him. maybe it was the thought of never seeing him again, the idea of being at college hours away and not passing him in the halls, no matter how tense it had gotten. maybe it was just the nostalgia, the memories of a friendship long rotted by bitterness and societal expectations. one thing you knew for sure was that kissing him felt like home. he tasted like cigarettes and stale weed and cheap alcohol, but you were content anyway, warm in the feeling of his lips against yours.
he hesitated before melting into you, kissing you with pent up fervor, pulling you into his lap on the squeaky twin bed of whoever’s house it even was. “you taste so good,” he mumbled against your lips, his hands resting on your hips as he shifted your weight, pulling you flush against him. you just hummed in agreement, too focused on the feeling of him against you to conjure up a proper thought. you were so far gone you let yourself relax for the first time in months, mindlessly grinding your hips into his, kissing him like you’d been waiting your whole life to do it. in a way, you had.
his cool hands slid up the back of your tank top, a shiver moving down your spine at the feeling. “connor,” you panted into his mouth when his hands snuck higher, cupping your chest through the flimsy cotton. “you feel so good,” he groaned, squeezing you through your shirt until he finally waved and slipped his hand beneath your bra, a soft gasp leaving your throat, “so soft,” you didn’t know how to tell him that you’d dreamed of this, guilty and private in your bedroom, your thighs squeezed together as your mind flashed images of his hands all over you. connor, your constant torment, your great undoing.
“can’t have sex in here,” you whispered into the dim room, distantly aware that someone could knock at any moment. “not what i was trying to do,” he mumbled, chasing your lips, “fine just doing this, you don’t know how long i’ve waited, how much i’ve thought about it,” his voice was near a whine, desperate and shaky. “me too,” you murmured, “god, thought about you so much,” you leaned back into him, kissing him hard, hungry and selfish. he pulled you closer, your skirt riding up and exposing your cotton underwear as you pressed flush against the buckle of his jeans. a soft, surprised sound left you when he scooted you in his lap, the fabric of his jeans rubbing against you enough to have you wet in your panties. “oh, fuck,” he groaned, tipping his head back, “you’re so warm,”
“feels so good,” you panted, dizzy with need. he kissed you again, rocking your hips against his, holding you in place as he ground against your core. you could feel him, hard and restrained in his jeans, brushing your clit in all the right ways as he moved against you. your hands rested on your shoulders, holding yourself up as pleasure wracked your body, leaving you trembling in his lap as he kissed you like he was starving, swallowing your moans.
“oh, god,” he moaned into your mouth, his hips twitching, “god, baby, i’m gonna-“ “me too,” you nodded, burying your face in his neck, biting and licking at the salty skin there, “connor, please,” “i got you,” he panted, breathless, pulling you down harder into him until both of you were a mess of moans and bitten lips to restrain them. your underwear was soaked, sticking to you and leaving a damp spot on his dark jeans, mixing with the spot he’d created. “fuck,” he laughed breathlessly, kissing the top of your head, “made me come in my pants like a fuckin’ virgin,” “i’m flattered,” you smiled against his neck, hazy, “what a good compliment,”
“mhm,” he brushed your hair away from your face, kissing your cheek, still catching his breath, “so what now?” “now i desperately need a shower,” you scrunched your nose at the wetness pooled between your thighs, “and to get home before my parents set an amber alert,” “i meant for us,” his voice was uncharacteristically soft, “or was this just a one off?” “oh,” you sat up to get a good look at him, “no, i mean- i don’t want it to be a one off, anyway. do you?” “god no,” he laughed, shaking his head, “can i see you again tomorrow?”
“i’d like that,” you smiled softly, kissing his cheek, “d’you wanna walk me home?” “yeah, i’d really like that,” he nodded, helping you up on shaky legs. he led you through the party, hesitating before wrapping an arm around your waist. you smiled as he did, leaning into his arm, ignoring the surprised looks of all your so called friends as he walked you out. you’d deal with college in the morning, the concept of being away from him after this breakthrough. now you just basked in the way he looked in the streetlights, the hazy smile on his lips. it felt like coming home, like everything had been set right.
