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nicksolemnlyswears · 11 months ago

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THE BEAR AND THE BEE HIVE

summary: in which carmy falls for the sweet café owner that supplies him with endless americanos

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

word count: 14.4k

warning: it's a little bit of a slow burn. sorry. i'm a sucker for it and i feel like carmy is a slow burn kinda guy. 18 +, cursing, smut, p in v, oral (m. receiving), fingering, they use protection guys! i deserve a pat in the back. nothing too wild. oh, and very brief mention of suicide.

a/n: i started writing this way back in october and then it was nearly done and i abandoned it. well i finally got around to completing it tonight!

this is my first time ever writing for carmy and i tried my best writing this. i love carmy and the show but i didn’t expect it to be hard to write him as a character. i wanted to get him right so i took my time with it and didn’t rush it. hopefully you guys like my carmy. enjoy!

i think i've had this stored in my drafts for like 4 months and it's time for me to set it free.

The cigarettes were not enough anymore. No matter how many smoke breaks Carmy took, he still felt the edge on his shoulders. A fear laced with anxiety that overtook him.

After deciding that blowing through yet another wall in his restaurant was the way to go, Carmy took a break. He needed it before he used the sledgehammer to destroy the restaurant in its entirety, along with his dream.

He remembers a coffee shop only a block away from The Bear and thinks he could use a coffee right about now. Maybe the mixture of caffeine and nicotine will be able to relax his shoulders, if only for an hour.

As soon as he opens the door, the smell of ground coffee beans greets him. He looks around, taking in the cozy ambiance the decorative wood brings to the place and the splashes of warm yellow that lighten it up.

Then he sees you, and his focus shifts entirely. His eyes only see you.

"Hi, welcome to Bee Hive!" You chirp with a small smile.

Carmy freezes, forgetting why he's there in the first place. He slowly steps up to the register, where you patiently wait for him. It's just after the lunch rush, so you're in no hurry.

He finds he's acting like a teenager who has just seen a pretty girl. Only he's not a teenager, and you're more than a pretty girl.

"What can I get for you today?" You ask, not noticing the effect you've had on him. You take a sharpie out of your yellow apron, preparing to scribble down his order in a cup.

Carmy has perfected the empty on the outside but screaming on the inside face. Strangers don't tend to know he's almost always losing his shit.

"I-I don't…sorry," Carmy looks at you briefly before diverting his eyes. He apologizes in a flurry, looking for an excuse for his weird behavior, "Uh, it's my first time here. What do you recommend?"

"It's not a problem," you say softly as if to calm him, "I'm a simple girl. I love the latte, but if you're looking for something stronger, the americano is one of the favorites."

Carmy nods as you ramble about the drinks, where the coffee beans come from, and the different notes of each blend. He hangs onto every word that slips from your lips. The static in his brain clearing up for the first time in hours.

It ends too soon as you realize you're talking too much and probably overwhelmed him. You sheepishly smile at him and trail off, but he continues to stare, waiting for you to continue.

"I'll take the Americano," Carmy nods, giving you a tight-lipped smile. Although he had been hanging to every one of your words, he was too focused on the shape of your lips and the sweet tone of your voice.

"Good choice," you nod, grabbing a cup from the tray beside you, "What's your name?"

Carmy looks up, slightly alarmed, as if you've asked for his social security number. "What?" He thinks you'll be forward and ask for his number next, seemingly forgetting how coffee orders work.

"Your name? For the order?" You explain, trying to ease his worries. He's odd, but in an endearing way. You believe this is his first time here because you're confident you would've remembered him.

"Fuck, right, yeah," he nervously says, pinching the bridge of his nose, "My name's Carmen."

"Your Americano will be right out, Carmen," you tell him, capping your sharpie back up.

Carmy quickly pays and stands to the side to wait for his order. He forces himself to not look at you or in your direction as you take other customers' orders. He just knows he's made a fool of himself already. Not that it matters. Why would it matter? He's there for the coffee. Nothing else, no one else.

As he walks out of Bee Hive, he sips his coffee. His shoulders instantly drop, and his fear-induced anxiety starts to dissipate for the moment. He's unsure if the effect is because of the caffeine or the thoughts of your pretty smile.

Visiting your coffee shop becomes routine for Carmy. Whenever things at The Bear become crazy -or he starts to lose his fuckin' mind- he makes his way to Bee Hive with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

For twenty minutes, he's free of Richie's constant hounding, Sugar's struggles with the permits and scheduling, and Sydney's disappointment because the menu is still extremely underway.

Each time he's stopped by, you've been there to greet him, and each time, you've left a little heart by Carmen's name, which makes his heart race in a peculiar way. His hands would touch his chest to check if it was heartburn, but it didn't feel like that. It's not anxiety either cause he knows pretty well how that feels.

All he knows is he hasn't done anything to deserve such a gesture. He's convinced himself you draw little hearts for everyone because he's not special.

One Thursday afternoon, Carmy realizes he doesn't know your name. He looks for a name tag, but you're not wearing one on your yellow apron. He should know your name if you insist on making small talk despite his short answers.

He can't help it. He gets too in his head to answer like a normal person, so his answers come out choppy and dry.

"Alright, Carmen, your order will be right out," you say, handing his cup to one of the baristas. You always hold out and ask him what he wants to order. He has the right to change his mind anytime, but for now, he's stuck with the americano, which he drowns in sugar.

As curiosity eats at him, he gathers the courage to ask. "Thanks. Hey, uh, I've-I’ve never gotten your name…” Carmy says, cursing at himself for not formulating the question correctly. His hand comes up to grip his hair instinctually.

Your smile widens when he asks your name. The silly crush you've developed for your customer fluttering to life. It's just a crush over a stranger, nothing to write home about.

You tell him your name but follow it with "-call me Honey. Everyone knows me by that name. I'm sure if you ask my friends about me with my real name, you'll throw them for a loop."

You're rambling, hoping he doesn't think calling you by your nickname is weird. Then again, how can he judge when he has a sister people call 'Sugar' and he and his siblings also don the nickname 'Bear.'

"Honey." Carmy repeats your nickname, smiling as he finds it fitting. "In that case, call me Carmy."

"Nice to properly meet you, Carmy," you say, grinning.

Like all the days before, Carmy steps aside and waits for his coffee. He doesn't let himself continue the conversation or ask more about you even if it’s everything he wants to do.

It's rare for Carmy to be in a good mood, and whenever it happens, it doesn't tend to last. His goal of opening a restaurant in 12 weeks makes it impossible for him to relax and enjoy the ride. To prolong this unusual feeling, Carmy stops by Bee Hive on his way to The Bear.

"Have you made your boss angry, Honey?" He asks as he pulls out his wallet to pay. He ordered the americano as he always does.

"No…why do you ask?" You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

"Uh, 'cause you-you're always here. Do you not take days off? Not that I'm complaining. I-I like seeing you here." Carmy's words get quieter as he speaks, red creeping up his neck. So much for trying to make a joke.

You look around the room and tell him, "Imma let you in on a little secret."

Carmy follows your hand, waving him to get closer. The smell of cigarettes invades your senses as you get close to him. You'd never admit that the mix of his cigarettes and your coffee is addicting. As both lean over the counter, you whisper, "I'm the boss. I can't run away even if I wanted to."

"You own the coffee shop," Carmy pans in shock.

Carmy is more than surprised at your words. Especially now that he knows how expensive it is to open a business. You can't be a day over 25 and own a successful coffee place. There is hope, after all.

"I do," you nod, standing straight once more.

A couple of years ago, you had inherited a hefty amount of money from an estranged aunt. Fresh out of college and with no real plan, you thought it would be a good moment to follow your dream and open the cozy café.

"How do you do it?" Carmy asks, amazed at the girl smiling at him. "I don't know if you know, but, um, I-I'm opening the restaurant around the block. Used to be The Beef?" He finishes grimly as he points to his side of the block.

"Oh, yeah. The guys who worked there helped me move some equipment when I first opened two years ago," you reveal, "Tell you what, whenever you have a break, come around. I'll give you a free americano and tell you all about it. Neighbor to neighbor."

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Carmy agrees. "I'll take you up on that."

Weeks go by, and Carmy seemingly forgets about Bee Hive and your pending conversation. You try not to overthink about his absence or how you might've scared him away. He's probably just busy remodeling his restaurant. You know better than anyone how much time that takes.

Still, his presence has become part of your routine, and you can't help but look at the door each time the bell rings. You expect to see him walking up to the counter, the remnants of cigarette smoke coming out his nose as he breathes.

You're pretty close to your assumption because Carmy has been dealing with the fire suppression test. They didn't fail the test once but twice, and if they didn't pass it on the third try, their plan to open the restaurant in 12 weeks goes out the window. Fak has tried everything, and nothing works.

He'd sent Richie once on a coffee run, but the fuckin' idiot went to the nearest Starbucks. Carmy had been looking forward to tasting your coffee and seeing his name in the cup with the little heart because he's 100% sure he's the only Carmen you know. It's not a common name in these parts of town.

One very early morning, he's walking to work, and as he passes Bee Hive, he sees you inside, wiping tables down before you open at 6:30.

Impulsively, he knocks on the glass, not giving himself the time to overthink things. You turn to look at the window and see him standing outside, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his familiar plaid jacket to protect himself from the chilly March air.

"Hey stranger," you greet him, opening the door and inviting him in.

"Hi," he breathes out, staring at you, "you're here early," he tries to casually mention.

You roll your eyes dramatically and say, "It's a downside of the job. Did you know people want coffee at the crack of dawn?"

You try acting as nonchalant as possible. It's not like you missed seeing one of your favorite customers, his beautiful blue eyes, or the way he rocks a simple white t-shirt.

"I had no idea," Carmy smiles, bringing his tattooed hand up to his lips, "I, uh, usually drink mine at night." That much is true. On those sleepless nights when insomnia takes over him, the best remedy is coffee.

"Would you make an exception and join me for a morning coffee at the crack ass of dawn?" Anxiously, you play with the rings on your fingers. It feels like you're asking the guy on a date when it's just a friendly coffee.

"As long as you have some business advice to spare?" Carmy responds shakily. He briefly looks down the street to glimpse at his restaurant. It's too early for anyone to be there yet.

"Deal."

Throwing the towel over your shoulder, you make your way behind the counter. Carmy attempts to make small talk with you as you prepare both drinks.

This is the first time he's watching you in action since you tend to stick to the cash register when he's around. It's not a coincidence. After the first time he came to Bee Hive, you wanted to see more of him, so you stationed yourself at the register where you'd be sure to see him, and he'd see you.

"Here you go." You place his coffee mug on the table along with yours before disappearing momentarily and returning with an orange soufflé coffee cake. You're pulling all the stops for Carmy to leave a good impression.

Carmy thanks you and sips his coffee, "Wow, this is fire!" He expected to taste an americano, but what you prepared was entirely different. He can make out hints of hazelnut and caramel in the coffee.

"Thanks. I took the liberty of changing your order. You can always come back to the americano, though…" you shrug shyly, looking at him over the rim of your mug.

"I-I appreciate it. Thanks." Carmy throws you a nervous grin. He gestures with his tattooed hand to dig into the cake you brought out. He shouldn't be the only one eating.

You and Carmy share the cake as you talk about yourselves and the crazy businesses you own. Somehow, talking to you comes easy to him. He's still nervous and scared to fuck things up, but the warm coffee and your even warmer smile ease him into it.

"How do you do it? This place is always packed, and you seem like you run a tight ship," Carmy wonders, playing with the fork. The cake is long gone, although the notes of orange remain on his tongue. Would you taste the same?

"It wasn't without mistakes. I had to learn a lot from my fuck ups and listen to my team because although I'm the owner, they are the ones doing most of the work. Whenever there's a flaw, they are the first to know," you speak softly, afraid of ruining the calm ambiance you've set up, twirling the small amount of coffee left in your mug.

It's your favorite part of morning coffee. When you have just the smallest bit of coffee left, and you know you'll never drink it because it's cold, but it gives you an excuse to remain where you are.

"So, all I gotta do is listen?" It's funny you say that because Carmy listens, but his friend's voices get muddled somewhere along the way. As much as he tries to focus on them, they merge together and form a cacophony in his head.

"A lot of listening and a lot of experimentation. I've been open for two years, and it's only been in the last six months that I can confidently tell you we found our groove," you admit with a grimace.

Bee Hive is your baby, but bringing it to life was everything but easy. You messed up so many times, costing you so much money. You didn't know shit about owning a business or building one from the ground up. Doing research and putting your pride aside to ask for help got you through it.

"I've only been doing this for, like, less than a fuckin' year, and I already want to pull my hair out," Carmy admits with a pitiful laugh.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you it gets better soon," you say apologetically, reaching for his hand that rests on the table.

Carmy freezes, glancing at your hand on top of his. He hasn't got a clue what to fucking do with the display of affection. Was it a display of affection? He doesn't fucking know. "It's, uh, it's, uh, it's alright. As-as long as you give me coffee, I think I can make it through," Carmen furrows his eyebrows as he stutters through the sentence.

"I can't wait to see what the award-winning chef does," you say, bringing your hand back to your lap, none the wiser to Carmy's internal struggle.

He should've done something to keep your hand on his. Place his other hand on yours or fucking turn his hand around to grasp it. He liked feeling your warm skin on his. It hasn't been a minute since you pulled away, and he's craving it already. It's ridiculous. Is he really that touch-starved that he's seeking affection from a near stranger?

He coughs and darts his eyes between the wooden table top and you, "Fuck. You-you know about that?"

"I might've done some research after finding out you're opening the restaurant. I got curious. I'm sorry." Apologizing is your default thing to do. Messing things up is your area of expertise. You really didn't think he'd mind you mentioning it.

"No, no, no, uh, you don't have to apologize. You just caught me off guard," Carmy shakes his head, reassuring both of you.

"Okay, good," you lightly smile at him, averting your eyes when your gazes meet.

If there's a time for you to make a move, it's now. Taking a shaky breath, you speak up, "I was wondering if you'd ever like to-."

A loud knock on the glass door interrupts you. You and Carmy jump and look towards the source of the noise. It's one of your regular clients, waving at you to open up. Looking at your watch, you see it's 6:30 already.

"Shit. I'm-I'm sorry I took so much of your time," Carmy apologizes, picking up his mug and the plate to put away.

You grab his wrist to make him stop in his tracks, "Relax. I enjoyed talking to you. Maybe we can do it again soon?"

Carmy nods wide-eyed. He likes the idea just as much as you do. You take away the mug and plate with a soft 'okay.' He then follows you to the door as you unlock it and turn the sign to 'open.'

"I, um, gotta go work on the menu. I'll probably be back later for another coffee?" Carmen asks you as if he's asking for permission, which you find adorable.

"I'll be behind the register," you say, watching him walk away. He turns his head back for a moment, and you catch the smile gracing his lips as yours turns to mimic him.

"Oh, he's cute," your customer, an older lady, says, watching him go along with you. "It's about time you got a boyfriend."

"Mrs. O'Hara, here for your tea?" You ask her, ignoring the comment about your love life. That woman will set you up with anyone. She does love her tea, though, and expects you to provide it on time.

It's slow, but Carmen warms up to you. Instead of grabbing his coffee to go, he now drinks it at the café, coincidentally around the same time you take your break.

He's been hesitantly opening up. It's not like he's telling you about how fucked up his family is or how his brother committed suicide. More often, it's about the restaurant and his work as a chef, the struggles of getting every permit they need on a tight schedule since they are supposed to open in about four weeks now, or the occasional childhood memory. It's everything you need to know at this stage.

You love listening to Carmy talk, even if you have to coax it out of him sometimes. He's passionate about the restaurant despite all the stress that comes from it, and he adores the people he works with. He's shy but not in a dorky way because he's actually fascinating. Before meeting him, you never knew that collecting denim was a thing.

The smell of cigarettes that clings to him is also tightly laced with his character. When you step outside to get some sun and the scent of someone smoking hits you, your heart instantly speeds up, hoping it's him coming for his daily americano, or to come swoop you away into a sunset.

"-I fell on my ass in the middle of the street. I was freaking out, thinking I was gonna get run over by a car," you exclaim as you tell Carmy about the crazy Christmas you spent in New York last year.

"It's New York. You probably would have been run over," Carmy chuckles along with you. "There was this one time I was running late and-" His phone vibrating interrupts him.

"Sorry, it's just the fridge guy," he tells you with a furrow of his eyebrows. You notice he does that a lot when he's thinking deeply. Carmy silences it and looks back over to you.

"You should pick that up. A busted fridge is the last thing you need. Trust me. Been there, done that." You encourage him to take the call. The restaurant is more important than your story about how you bruised your coccyx in New York.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Carm! Call him back before you forget," you insist, grabbing his empty cup to trash it. You don't give him any other option, leaving him there to help your employees with a faulty machine.

He watches you closely, closer than ever before. He allows himself to watch how you frown at the machine and how your ringed fingers fumble with the knobs. His eyes keep trailing down involuntarily, and they take in how nicely your jeans hug your ass.

He goes into a spiral into these old pair of Levi jeans popular in the 90s and how they would fit nicely with the shape of your hips and legs. Carmy continues on the tangent, imagining himself peeling them off your body.

The phone vibrating in his hand snaps him out of it. Clearing his throat, he picks up the phone and walks outside. He waves at you through the window as he makes his way back to The Bear. Your frustration at the machine vanishes momentarily as you wave back, except the machine splatters, forcing you to redirect your attention. When you look outside again, he's gone.

Stakes are high at The Bear. There's less than four weeks until Friends and Family, and there is much to do. Marcus has returned from Copenhagen and is working on the desserts. Tina is doing her job as the new sous chef. Fak and Sweeps are helping out wherever they can. And Richie is being Richie, trying to be open but resisting change.

"I need coffee or a pop. Anything with caffeine," Sydney says, throwing her head back. She and Carmen have been working on the chaos menu for hours, and she keeps messing up. Carmy insists that it's okay that they'll adjust and get it right soon, but she's beginning to lose hope.

"Me too. I'd kill for an espresso," Natalie agrees, softly rubbing her hand over her growing bump.

"I thought you couldn't have caffeine cause of the baby," Richie mentions, remembering Tiff's time while pregnant.

"I don't need you to fuckin' tell me what I can or can't eat, Richie," Natalie yells, glaring at him. Although he's right, the doctor told her to limit her caffeine intake. Hard to do when she's up all night thinking about everything she needs to do for The Bear.

"Shit. I'm sorry for fucking caring," Richie screams back, lifting his hands up in defense.

"I can go to the coffee place down the block. Get everyone something," Carmy pipes up, looking forward to seeing you today.

Natalie is quick to shoot that idea down, "You can't. The fridge guy is coming in 20 minutes."

"Fuck, that's right," Carmy groans, digging his head in his hands. His fingers rake through his hair, messing up his curls. He wanted to see you and talk to you, even if it was for five short minutes.

"I'll go," Sydney sighs. She needs to leave the kitchen for more than five minutes, or she'll go crazy, "Just tell me what you guys want to order."

Natalie grumbles about getting decaf, Richie orders a plain black coffee, and Carmy asks for his americano. As Sydney leaves to ask Marcus, Carmy yells after her, "Please, go to Bee Hive. If you get Starbucks, I'm gonna fucking lose it."

Richie and Natalie exchange a look. Richie because he's confused, and Natalie because she knows something is happening with Carmy. He's never been picky over coffee. In fact, they have an old coffee machine in the office that now goes unused because he's always at that coffee shop.

"Sorry, I didn't get the fuckin' memo. Since when is Starbucks bad?" Richie frowns, looking to get a rise out of Carmy.

"I don't think it's about the coffee, cousin," Natalie responds, directing her gaze towards her brother, who is hunched over the counters, chopping vegetables.

"If it's not about the coffee, what is it about?" Richie questions, crossing his arms.

"Shut the fuck up, Sugar," Carmy grumbles, looking at his sister with a glare. He already knows where she's going. She tried to bring it up a couple of days ago after she walked by the coffee shop and saw him being friendly with you.

Natalie smiles and responds, "Carmy has a crush on the barista."

"That's ridiculous. I don't have a crush on her." Carmy shakes his head, avoiding Richie and Natalie's eyes on him. They always do this. They gang up on him if he shows even the slightest interest in a girl. They think they can help, but all they do is embarrass him.

"Come on, Bear. Why else would you go almost every day to get coffee?" Natalie asks, giving him a look.

"Because it's good fuckin' coffee. Jesus, it's not that deep." Carmy grabs the veggies he chopped and drops them into a container to use later.

"It's okay to admit you like a pretty girl, cousin! I'm excited for you! Makes you human and not a lonely hermit," Richie jokes, pushing on Carmy's buttons. "When was the last time you got laid?"

"I swear to God, Richie. Shut the fuck up," Carmy points at him angrily.

"No, I should go with Sydney and see who this girl is!" Richie says, walking out of the half-built kitchen.

Carmy follows him instantly, "You're not going fuckin' anywhere, fuckin' jagoff." He's turning red from anger, seeing Richie with his mocking smile. Natalie follows behind them, amused at the situation. It reminds her of the banters they used to get in with Mickey.

"Admit that you like her," Richie shrugs, giving him a choice.

"No, I won't," Carmy refuses. "You always do this shit."

"Then, I'm going," Richie nods, stepping towards the door.

"Fuck! Shit, alright. I like her, okay? Don't fucking go anywhere," Carmy yells, rubbing a hand on his face out of frustration. It's like he's not allowed to keep anything good to himself.

"Was that so hard?" Richie grins, clapping a hand on Carmy's shoulder.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," Carmy grumbles, walking back to the kitchen. Natalie follows him with a smile, shaking her head at Richie.

Carmy sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. He has yet to admit that he likes you more than he should. He's been avoiding it, afraid of what it might lead to, or rather, what it might not.

He couldn't let Richie go see you. He has a big fuckin' mouth and will tell you Carmy has a crush on you whether it's true or not. Just like that, he feels the sour taste in his mouth, his heartburn making an appearance. Carmy should go look for his pepto before it gets worse.

Unaware of the argument back at The Bear, Sydney walks to Bee Hive. She's walked past many times but has yet to have the time to stop and try it out.

As she waits in line, she reads over the drinks menu. It's clear that it's been carefully curated. Starbucks has nothing on this menu. She can see why Carmy would prefer to come here instead.

When it's her turn to order, Sydney takes out her phone to recite everyone's drink order. She also points to a few pastries, thinking Marcus would like to try some of them and get inspiration. That and she knows Natalie will enjoy them as well.

You're sitting at a table close to the pickup counter. You often find yourself all over the store, ensuring everything goes smoothly. Sometimes, you stop to talk to your regulars and see how they're doing.

You notice Sydney struggling with all the cups she has to carry. It's proving difficult despite the to-go trays your barista put them in. Deciding to approach her, you ask, "Do you need help?"

"Oh, no. I'm fine, thanks," Sydney responds with a nervous smile. She's trying hard to grab everything, including the box with the pastries.

You continue watching her struggle because you know she needs help. You let her try and figure it out for one more minute before stepping in again when she almost drops two of the drinks, "Need some help now?"

"Yeah," Sydney sighs, "I guess I can leave one of the trays here, go to the restaurant, and come back for the rest," she speaks mostly to herself.

"Are you going far?"

"No, just the restaurant down the block," Sydney responds with a sigh, scratching her eyebrow as she tries to figure out the logistics of carrying the drinks. She could get a box to put everything in.

You perk up at her response. The only restaurant down the block is Carmen's. Could she work there? "Carmy's restaurant?"

"You know Carmy?" Sydney asks, tilting her head. Maybe Nat was right. Carmy spends his time here because of the woman in front of her.

"He comes here often. Anyway, I can go with you to help you out. It's not far, and I'd feel bad if your drinks got cold." You offer to help her out because you're a nice person. Not because you want a chance to see the curly-haired man you are developing feelings for.

"You really don't have to…"

"It's really not a problem," you press, grabbing one of the to-go trays and motioning for her to lead the way.

Sydney sighs in defeat and nods, "Thanks. I'm Sydney, by the way."

"I'm Honey," you smile, following her outside.

You chat all the way to the restaurant with Sydney. She reminds you of Carmy in some ways, so you can see why they are friends. Before arriving at the restaurant, Sydney apologizes in advance for any sort of mess there might be, including yelling.

As you near the building under renovation, your palms start to sweat. Maybe you shouldn't have come. You're showing up unannounced, and he's probably too busy to talk to you anyway. You can slip in and out without him noticing. That's the goal now.

You open the door for Sydney, letting her go through first, and quietly follow her into the restaurant. There's no time to escape, as all eyes are instantly on you.

Richie is arguing with Fak when he sees you walk in. He narrows his eyes as Carmy looks in your direction from the kitchen. With just one glance to Carmy's face, he knows who you're supposed to be.

"Guess I didn't have to go anywhere. She came to me," Richie whispers, rushing out the door.

"Shut the fuck up. Where are you going? Don't embarrass me!" Carmy whispers out to Richie unsuccessfully.

"Oh, you'll do that all by yourself," Richie throws over his shoulder.

"Honey, hey, what-what're you doing here?" Carmy speaks, not giving Richie a chance to open his big mouth. He stands between you and Richie, blocking him for the time being.

"Sydney needed help with the drinks," you answer nervously, averting your eyes.

"Oh, thanks for that. You didn't have to," Carmy approaches you and takes the drinks from your hands. His fingers brush with yours momentarily, causing you both to blush.

"I did, or else you probably wouldn't have anything to drink," you whisper to him.

Sydney, Fak, and Richie all watch the interaction amusedly. Richie has a big teasing grin on his face as he makes a plan in his head.

"Hi, I'm Richie! Carmy's cousin," he introduces himself, shoving Carmy to the side and shaking your hand enthusiastically. "I gotta say Carmen right here is obsessed with your coffee. He's banned us from getting Starbucks."

Carmy curses under his breath as Richie does precisely what he tells him not to. He has the urge to throw the coffee at him and run away.

"Is that right?" You ask, amused, looking over at Carmy with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh yeah," Richie answers for him as Carmy tries to find the right words to say. "Cousin, why don't you give the nice lady a tour of the place?"

"It's not done yet. Could be dangerous," Carmy hopelessly says with a gulp.

"Nonsense! You'll take care of her!" Richie insists. He takes the coffee from Carmy's hands and pushes him in your direction. "Go give her a tour."

Richie, Sydney, and Fak all disappear to the office to stay out of the way and try to snoop simultaneously. Fak sends Carmy a not-so-discreet thumbs-up that makes you giggle.

He's internally screaming at his so-called friends but is glad to see you. It was all he wanted before Sydney left to get their drinks. It's strange having you here at The Bear, though. He's so used to seeing you in your own space back at Bee Hive.

Trying to make things better, you say, "Sorry you've been roped into this. You probably have better things to do. I can go-"

Carmy doesn't let you finish. "No, stay. I want to show you around."

"Let's see what you got then, Berzatto," you grin, following him to the kitchen.

Carmy takes his time showing you The Bear. He wants you to stay. He wants to spend time with you but doesn't really know how to say it. So he takes it slow, answers your questions about the restaurant, shows you the front and how everything will be laid out, and introduces you to the ones around, including the fridge guy working on the handle.

Sadly, you get a call from Bee Hive asking you to come back. Carmy walks you outside, dreading having to say goodbye.

"I'm really excited for The Bear to open. You have a great place and team," you tell Carmy.

"I really got lucky with them, huh?" He asks, playing with a dish towel.

"I gotta go. I'll see you later, Berzatto." You don't know where you got the guts to lean towards him and kiss his cheek.

Carmy stays still as his face heats up. You start walking away and throw him a smile over your shoulder. When you're a distance away, he touches the cheek you kissed. Back inside, Richie runs over to Sugar to tell her what he just witnessed.

It's late when Carmy leaves The Bear. As he walks to the train station, he has his hands stuffed in his jacket pocket. On his way, he sees a lone light turned on in your café. Crossing the street to check it out, he sees you're still there with glasses perched on your nose in front of the computer.

He tries the door, and to his luck, it's open. You look in his direction, startled, but relax once you see it's him.

"Nice glasses," Carmy teases, pulling out a chair to sit.

"Are you making fun of me?" You purse your lips, propping your chin on your palm.

"No, I…I think you look cute with them," Carmy admits. After a stern talk from Sugar and Richie, he's realized he should probably make a proper move on you because if what they say is true, you also have a crush on him.

"Thanks," you blush, the light from your screen making it obvious to Carmy, who can't stop the corners of his lips from turning up into a smile.

"Late night?"

"One of my baristas is moving out of state. I have to find someone new, preferably who has experience," you say with a sigh. Glancing at him, you add, "Are you perhaps interested in the position?"

"Poaching me from my own restaurant, nice. I'll let you know I'm an excellent worker," Carmy jokes, tapping his fingers on the table.

There's no doubt in your mind he's an excellent worker. He has to be if he's considered one of the best up-and-coming chefs. Or to work in one of the best restaurants in the world with three Michelin stars.

"I don't know. I'll need references," you speak as if not believing him.

Carmy smiles and softly chuckles, "Fair enough."

There's a moment of silence between the two of you that Carmy is quick to fill, "So, uh, have you had dinner yet by chance?" This is it.

You shake your head no and look at him with hopeful eyes.

"Wanna go grab pizza? I know a place," he asks, finding your gaze on him.

"Say no more," you say, closing your laptop and taking off your glasses. "I'm starving."

Carmy waits for you to lock Bee Hive and grab your things. Then, you both walk to the pizza place. To pass the time, you and Carmy talk about your days and anything that comes to mind. Nothing serious as you get to know each other.

Waiting in line to order the pizza, you tell him all about your nickname and how you were donned 'Honey' to everyone who knows you. In return, he tells you about his nickname 'Bear' and why his restaurant is named as such. For the first time, he dares mention Mickey.

"Best pizza in Chicago," Carmy says, taking a slice of the pie and placing it on your plate.

"I'll see about that," you murmur. You wait until he has a slice of his own and dig in simultaneously.

"It's good, but this is not the best pizza place in Chicago," you say after chewing the first bite, "I'm gonna get your chef license revoked."

"Are you? With what proof? Have you tried all the pizza places to know?"

"I don't have to because I've tried the best," you hum, taking another bite. The cheese stretches as you pull it away.

"Oh yeah? Which one?" Carmy questions you, taking a drink of his beer.

"Mine. The pizza I make is the best," you shrug modestly.

"Wait. You cook?" Carmy asks, giving you a look of surprise.

Cooking is a universal thing. Most people know how to cook up to a degree, yet only some are as confident in their skills as you are. You know you're definitely not up to Carmy's level, but if there is something you know how to do properly, it's pizza.

"Yeah! You're not the only good cook here, Berzatto," you sass back at him, dipping the pizza crust in the marinara sauce.

"Sorry for assuming," he raises his palms.

"You're forgiven," you chirp.

"When will I try this famous pizza of yours then?" Carmy wonders. An attempt to see if you'd like to see more of him.

"I promise I'll make it for you once you open The Bear. You're too stressed to fully enjoy it now," you respond. You were reaching out. Throwing hints that you want this to continue in the foreseeable future.

The conversation continues to flow with an empty pizza box in front of you. Customers come and go until it's only the two of you and a drunk customer picking up his pizza.

"Tell me about your tattoos. Were they an act of rebellion or something else?"

It's an excuse to touch his hands. You reach for them, turning them to see the black ink on his hands and fingers. You gently trace over them with the pads of your fingers. Over the hand that's stabbed, the letters S.O.U. on his knuckles and the forget-me-nots. The one you're dying to touch, though, is the one on his bicep; you'd give anything to feel the hard muscle underneath the rolled-up sleeves of his white t-shirt.

"Uh, my first tattoo is the 773. Got it when I left Chicago for the first time. After that, I sort of became addicted to them. I found they helped my anxiety when it was becoming too much. The pain distracted me and made me feel stronger than I actually was," he says, letting you touch him. He finds that he likes it. Your touch is soft and warm. Comforting.

"So what you're trying to say is you're a masochist," you say, bouncing your eyebrows at him. Your touch goes further up his arm to turn it and look at the fish tattoo on his forearm.

"I guess so," Carmy responds with a breathy laugh, "Do you have any tattoos?"

"Maybe…" You shrug as the pads of your fingers trail back down to his palm until you pull them back towards you. Carmy instantly misses the feeling, opting to cross his arms to retain the warmth you left behind.

"It's bad, isn't it?" He says knowingly. Your reaction told him everything he needed to know.

"The worst," you grimace, shaking your head at the memory of you getting it.

"So, rebellion or something else?"

"Rebellion. For all the wrong reasons," you groan, burying your face in your hands, "Growing up, everyone saw me as a good girl because that's what I was. Breaking the rules terrified me. So, as a teenager, I didn't want to be seen as a goody two shoes, so the summer before I went to college, I decided that getting a tattoo would make me a badass."

"Did it work?"

"God, no. I only got the outline done 'cause it hurt like a bitch. Then I went crying to my parents, fully having a meltdown, apologizing for disappointing them," You scrunch your nose as you say the following words, "They laughed in my face, called me a wimp, and told me to suck it up."

Carmy fully laughs at your story. Head thrown back, eyes closing, "What did you get?"

"That's a secret, Berzatto," you purse your lips, avoiding responding. You just know he'll make fun of you for it.

Everyone who has seen your tattoo has made fun of you for it, yourself included. It's so silly and not badass. Carmy will have to wait to see your tattoo, and you hope this continues so he can see it up close.

"Really? That bad?" Carmy stares wide-eyed.

"It's terrible," you nod, leaning on the table. "We should probably get going before the waitress throws a fit."

Carmy looks over his shoulder to see the waitress glaring at them. It's five minutes till close, and they've made no move to go. He turns back to you and nods towards the door. Carmy helps you with your jacket and leaves a tip on the jar for the waitress. At that, she happily calls after them with a 'Good night!'

"Do you live far?" Carmy asks, seeing how dark it is now that most places have closed. There are too many lamp posts that aren't working. He'd feel better if he could walk you home or you called an Uber. Preferably the former.

"Only a couple of blocks away. Why?"

"It's late. Let me walk you home," Carmy says decidedly, not giving you much of a choice.

"Thanks," you respond with a small smile.

The pace you set is slow. You don't want your time with Carmy to end just yet. He's such an interesting and sweet guy. He's a little awkward, but it adds to his charm, and you can see he's trying.

Somewhere along the way, his hand brushes against yours briefly. Then, it happens again, and you decide to bite the bullet. You grasp his hand in yours.

"Is this okay?" You ask when he falls silent.

Carmy doesn't have a lot of experience with girls. He can't even remember the last time he held a girl's hand. All he knows is he doesn't remember ever feeling this good. "Yes, uh, this is okay."

Carmy walks you up to your front door when you reach your house. You unlock the door but stay outside face-to-face with Carmy.

"Thanks for the pizza," you say, fiddling with your fingers. You were about to make one more move for the night. Because as long as Carmy allows you, you'll keep pushing for more.

"Sorry, it wasn't the best," he retorts, rubbing his jaw with his hand. You notice he does that a lot when nervous.

"Your company made up for it," you reassure him, "g'night Carmy." You kiss his cheek goodbye, watching as his cheeks blush.

"Night," he whispers.

As you turn to leave, Carmy stops you by grabbing your wrist, "Wait-uh, can I? Uh-shit. Fuck it." For a second, Carmy shuts out the excessive thoughts in his head and does what he's been dying to do for weeks.

Carmy cups your jaw and kisses you. It's soft and slow. He gives you enough leeway to pull away if it's something you don't want, but you reciprocate eagerly. You've been waiting for this all night.

As confidence surges through his body, Carmy throws an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You wrap your arms around him, one of your hands resting on his neck, tangling on his curls. The tug of your fingers feels like heaven.

The kiss turns needy and desperate, your lips moving perfectly in sync. His tongue brushes over your lip; Carmy has been dying to test a theory. Are you as sweet as your name?

He's rewarded by a little noise in the back of your throat as he slips his tongue into your mouth. It's endearing, and he finds a way to make you do it again. With heads tilting to deepen the kiss, he concludes he was right. You're pure honey. Sweet and addicting.

When Carmy returns to his apartment, he gets the urge to create, to cook. He wants to bring your taste to life with his cooking. Something with honey.

"I was wondering if you'd want to come to the restaurant for Family and Friends."

You and Carmy are in your little office at Bee Hive. He stands between your legs as you sit on the desk. His lips are slightly red and swollen, and the hair at the nape of his neck is messier than usual.

"Hm, I could be persuaded," you pretend to think as you play with the golden chain around his neck, pulling him towards you.

"Yeah?" Carmy laughs, leaning to brush his lips against yours. When he feels you nod, he closes the small gap between the two of you.

His hands hold your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. He tastes like coffee, which is to be expected from the discarded cup beside you. It's funny how your relationship, if it could be called that, has moved all around Bee Hive from the register to the front and now to your office.

You're at a weird spot where you're not exactly friends because friends don't kiss, but you're not a couple either. It's a situationship for sure. You're content with what you have now, although you'd also love it if Carmy were to ask you to be more. You pin it on him being shy. He'll get around to it.

"What do you say?" Carmy questions as he kisses a trail from your cheek to your jaw.

"Consider me in," you giggle when he kisses a tickly spot.

Carmy brushes a strand of hair out of your face, remaining close to you. This is what he needs. After months of stress and anxiety of having to deal with The Beef, now The Bear, he needed you and your calming presence. Someone removed from the chaos, a safe haven.

He's quiet as his thoughts consume him, and you take the intimate position to fix his gold chain. Turning it so the clasp faces the back instead of the front. "I'm excited, Carmy," you say with a smile, brushing his cheek with your thumb.

"You can bring someone with you," Carmy offers nervously because he realizes he probably won't have the time to spend much time with you. "I-I don't think I'll be around much. I'm sorry. I'd understand if that makes you change your mind," Carmy drops his head as he braces himself for disappointment.

As the weeks pass, you learn more about Carmy and his insecurities. It doesn't deter you from wanting to be with him. Everyone has their issues. "Berzatto, stop. Look at me," you softly divert his attention, "I'd love to go and support you even if it's from the sidelines."

"You sure?" He asks once more.

If reassurance is what he needs, that's what you'll give. "Don't worry about me. This is your moment, Carmy. Enjoy it. I'll be around afterward."

"Thank you for understanding," Carmy responds, stealing one more kiss from you.

When he returns to The Bear, he helps Sydney prep the dishes they finally chose to serve. He notes how everything is laid out and anything they should fix before opening.

Richie struts into the kitchen with a suit on. Apparently, it's his thing now. Carmy figures staging at Chef Terry's restaurant had a good impact on him. All Carmy wanted was to show Richie he had what it takes. That he's not a fuck up.

"Glad to see things are going well with Honey," Richie thunders.

"What are you talking about?" Carmy says in a rush as he plates the lamb expertly.

"That thing on your neck," Richie says, motioning to his own neck. He has a smug look on his face.

"I don't have time for this, cousin," Carmy grumbles, wiping the plate where the sauce might've splattered.

Groaning, Richie grabs one of the new pans and holds it in front of Carmy. "I don't see anything," he frowns, looking at Richie for an explanation.

"Right here," Richie points towards the edge of his t-shirt around his neck.

Carmy pulls it back and finally spots what Richie has been referring to. There is a fading purple bruise on his skin, a hickey. You must've done it when he was back in your office. He'd been too busy touching you to notice.

Sydney, silently watching, pipes up, "No wonder he hasn't been as on edge lately." Carmy shoots her a glare, which causes her to shrug and laugh with a, "What? It's true."

"Ay, yo, Sugar, get in here!" Richie yells down the hall to the office.

"What is it?" Natalie barges in, afraid something went to shit.

Carmy ignores Richie as he babbles to Natalie what he found. His face is red, though, as Sydney nudges his side.

"That's enough about me. We have shit to do," Carmy shouts in his chef's voice.

Everyone in the kitchen, including Richie and Natalie, repeats, "Yes, chef!"

Walking out of the kitchen Richie, 'whispers' to Natalie, "I've always wondered if he likes to be called chef in bed."

"Fuck off, Richie," Natalie glares, but then it falls, and it's replaced with a teasing grin, "He definitely does."

"I heard that! Don't you two have better things to do?" Carmy screams at them.

"Yes, chef!"

Carmy keeps hearing Cicero's 'Uh-oh' throughout the whole day. He understands Cicero, he really does, but to call you a distraction?

His work with The Bear is only starting. They managed to make it to Friends and Family. Now, they have to keep up their best work to fill up the restaurant daily and have a waiting list. His work is far from done. He should listen to Cicero.

Cicero said it with the best of intentions. He doesn't want the Berzatto siblings to fail. He wants to believe they'll succeed and, most importantly, get him his money.

If there is something Cicero has learned throughout the years, it is that girls are distractions. They mean well, but oftentimes, they keep your eyes off the ball. Especially when it's a new relationship like Carmy's. Ultimately, it's up to Carmy to decide what he wants to do. Cicero has played his part by giving him his advice.

One last delivery is made to the restaurant an hour before opening. Richie is the one to receive it and place it in front of Carmy. "She's a keeper, Cousin," he says with a pointed look and a nod. He also wants the best for Carmy, and yet it doesn't align with Cicero.

You knew Carmy would be too stressed and all over the place to eat or drink, so you sent everyone at The Bear a drink and a pastry. One of the cups has Carmen's name with a little heart and 'good luck' written on it.

"Yeah, she is," Carmy sighs, turning the cup in his hands to look at the message. His thumb brushes over your handwriting longingly. Is listening to Cicero the wise thing to do? He's one of the most successful men he knows in his family.

When it's 10 minutes till open, Carmy changes into his uniform and looks in the mirror. His heart is racing, begging for Friends and Family not to be a complete failure. Walking out of the bathroom, Carmy is a man on a mission.

It starts relatively well, but like everything in Carmy's life, the kitchen starts welcoming in the chaos.

They are too slow getting the orders out, which causes Sydney to start doubting herself and asking Carmy to step in. He reassures her she's doing good. They just have to keep up the pace.

Then, one of the new chefs disappears mid-rush. Forcing Tina to work two stations and Marcus to step out of his to help Sydney. Carmy ignores some weird tension between them as he works on ensuring the dishes are good to go.

Next thing he knows, Sugar is rushing into the kitchen, yelling at him about forks. It's wasted time, as he can't do anything about it. A shrill reverberates inside his head as he looks at the ticking clock. It's enough to give him a headache.

With no one to take a dish to its table, Carmy takes it upon himself to do it. There's no time to re-fire or wait for someone. He places it on their table and pours the tea into their cups before retreating with an 'enjoy.'

He looks at his restaurant, and suddenly, the ringing in his head gets louder. Sitting in a booth is his old boss, staring back at him like he did back in New York. Like he was waiting for Carmy to fail.

His voice echoes in Carmy's head. Why are you so fuckin' slow. Hurry up. Go faster motherfucker. Talentless piece of shit.

Right before Carmy spirals, it all goes away. His focus shifts entirely as he sees you taking your seat for the night. The one he chose because he'd be able to see you from the kitchen. You have successfully blocked the mirage he'd conjured up.

You're there with your brother as Richie talks you up, thanking you for coming. As if sensing him, your eyes lock with Carmys. Shyly, you send him a wave, which he returns, thanking you in his head for getting there at the perfect time.

Carmy ducks back to the kitchen with newfound energy. Richie enters shortly after him.

"Chef, your girl is here."

"Thanks, Chef, um, do you have the notepad?" Carmy asks as he continues cleaning dishes and making sure each one is up to par.

"Here you go."

Taking the notepad from Richie, he begins scribbling. I love- No, too fuckin' soon. Thank you for- Nope, it's too stale.

I'm happy you're here, Honey. Wait for me after you're done? -Bear

"Here," Carmy hands it to him without even looking at Richie.

"Keep up the good work, Chefs," Richie yells out to the room before disappearing to the front of the house. The door swinging shut behind him.

"Yes, Chef!"

Something isn't working in the kitchen. They're too backed up, and no matter how hard they try, they're always a tad too slow. Through Sydney surrounding the wheel to Richie, Carmy steals glances out the kitchen window. You're smiling at whatever your brother says, your lips sipping the wine he chose. Carmy can get through this night because, in the end, you'll be waiting for him.

"There he is," you sing as you spot Carmy walking out of the kitchen. The chef's whites back in his locker as he sports his white t-shirt, jeans, and jacket.

Fak, who kept you company while Carmy finished up, speaks up next, "My brother, I'm gonna grab a sandwich and head home. Honey, it was a pleasure meeting you."

"You too, Neil!"

"Thanks for everything," Carmy tells him, giving him a hug and a pat like dudes do.

Carmy turns and grabs your hand to pull you close and kiss your cheek. "What did you think?"

"It was the most delicious thing I've ever tasted," you tell him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

There's a reason Carmy has had so many accolades despite his young age. He has a gift in the kitchen. The moment his food touched your taste buds, your life changed. He and Sydney outdid themselves, and the way everything flowed showed how much work they put into the restaurant.

"You're exaggerating," Carmy modestly says, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"I'm really not," you shake your head, pursing your lips. Carmy can't resist placing a small peck on your red-painted lips.

"What about your famous pizza?"

"No, it might be the best pizza in Chicago, but whatever I ate today topped it," you smile at him, scrunching your nose. "Consider your chef's license reinstated,"

"Thanks," Carmy laughs breathily, "Do you mind if we walk? I feel some of the rush still."

"Lead the way, Mr. Berzatto."

Carmy grabs your hand, leading you to the streets of Chicago. It's silent momentarily as the wind cools Carmy's heated face. He places his hand along with yours into his pocket.

"Did your brother like it?" He asks, breaking the ice.

"Oh yeah. I'm officially like the best sister ever," you respond, squeezing his hand.

You had accidentally forgotten that your brother had passed the Bar exam. So, you didn't have time to get him anything in celebration. You figured dinner at a lovely new restaurant would help while you got him a proper present.

"How did you feel throughout, though? It looked intense." You often found yourself looking through the small glass window into the kitchen. They were always on the move, looking for the next thing to do.

"It didn't just look like it. I'm used to it, though," Carmy admits with a sniff. Everyone's best and worst habits shone through for those couple of hours. It's an environment he's all too familiar with, in and out of the kitchen.

"That rough," you grimace.

"It's fine. We have a lot to work on, but it's a start, and it wasn't entirely terrible," Carmy says, thinking back on tonight. Before coming out to meet you, he wrote down a couple of things to go through with Sugar and Sydney.

"Good, 'cause I hope The Bear sticks around the block," you say, bumping your shoulder with his.

You invite Carmy into your house when you arrive. He takes up your offer, holding your hand to help you balance as you take your heels off. It reminds Carmy he forgot to mention how beautiful you looked today.

He follows you to the kitchen, watching your hips sway and your dress skirt swishing. Padding to the wine fridge, you pick out a bottle of red to celebrate.

Carmy indulges in looking at your legs as you stretch up to reach for the glasses of wine up in your cabinets. His blue eyes darken as your dress hikes up, exposing your pretty thighs.

His gaze darts back up at you when you turn around to place the glasses on the kitchen counter. You hand him the wine opener so he can do the honors because you suck at taking the cork out. It's why you mainly stick to cheaper wines with twist-off caps.

"Here is to The Bear and its amazing owner," you say, lifting your glass in front of you.

"Here's to not fuckin' it up entirely," Carmy follows, making you giggle. Your wine glasses clink, and you take a drink.

Placing the glass back down, Carmy pins you against the counter, his strong hands resting on the edge of it. You look at him through your lashes, a hand coming up to his chest to feel the steady thumping of his heart.

"You look beautiful. I like the dress," Carmy murmurs. It's better late than never.

The dress you wear is a pretty shade of light blue. Simple yet dressy. The neckline gives him a good view of your cleavage and has long sleeves to compensate for the shorter length. They currently cover the goosebumps lining your skin.

"Yeah? I picked it out thinking you might," you reveal, biting your lip. The shade reminded you of his eyes.

"You were right," he whispers, cupping your jaw. As pretty as the dress is, he's sure it'll look so much better on the floor.

Carmy closes his eyes as he leans down to kiss you. He's always struggled with words, so he hopes it's enough for you to catch what he's trying to say.

You smile into the kiss, blindly leaving your glass to the side to be able to touch him. Your palm presses against his chest and taut abdomen. He hides a nice amount of muscle under his t-shirts, a pleasant surprise.

Carmy easily lifts you up to sit down on the kitchen island. He steps between your legs, never breaking the heated kiss. The hands on your waist trail down to your thighs and under your dress. Carmy's tattooed hands squeeze your ass and thighs, earning him a moan from you.

This is the farthest you've ever gotten, and you're more than ready to have all of him. Carmy knows this, which leads to his thoughts getting out of control.

He has to make a decision now. Does he allow himself to be with you, or does he remain by himself like always? Richie's, Sugar's, Cicero's, and Sydney's voices all shout at him different things. Some are in favor, and others are in opposition. 'Uh oh.'

He can't lead you on and sleep with you if he will back out tomorrow. The voices become deafening in an instant, ripping him away from your embrace. His emotions bubbled over and spilled all over the place.

"Wait, stop, I just-" Carmy breathes heavily, taking a couple of steps back from you. Carmy's hand comes up to his forehead as he attempts to organize his thoughts.

"What's wrong?" You ask worriedly. Did you do something wrong?

Carmen's thoughts spill out his mouth without making much sense as he paces in your kitchen. "I can't stop thinking about it and owe it to my team..."

"Carm?" You slide off the kitchen counter, approaching him slowly.

"-keeps saying it's a distraction," he rambles mostly to himself. His heart is pounding painfully in his chest. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he was having a heart attack.

"Hey, hey, hey. What's a distraction?" Softly, you grab onto his arms, stopping him in his tracks, trying to find his lost gaze.

"You. Whatever this is," Carmy breathes, finally meeting your eyes, which he instantly regrets as your eyes turn sad.

The watering of your eyes is unintentional, as is the knot forming in your throat. "You think I'm distracting you?" You question barely above a whisper.

His response is instant, "Fuck, no, the opposite. W-When I'm with you or-or think about you, things get clearer, and it's-it's when I feel the most focused." Carmy holds your shoulders, comforting you because he never meant to hurt you. He can't stand the sad look in your eyes.

Slowly, you begin to piece together his rambling and conclude that other people have been telling him you're a distraction. You wonder if they don't want him to be happy. The Bear is the center of Carmy's life, and before that, it was the restaurant in New York. He deserves more than this crazy job.

"Then fuck what others tell you, Carmen. You deserve to have a life outside The Bear." Maybe you're selfish because you don't want to lose him, but you hope he believes your words.

"I-I don't. I don't deserve all your attention or your affection. I'm nothing special. I don't deserve you." Carmy says, shaking his head with furrowed brows.

Weeks ago, he had no source of enjoyment. He said it himself at the support group. Now, he has you, yet he can't bear the thought of you wanting to be with him. He feels like he's tricking you into a bad deal. That's what he is, though, isn't he? An overachieving fuck up with tons upon tons of baggage.

Carmen Berzatto is an anxious person with too many problems in his life. He has a fucked up family. His mother is a mentally unstable alcoholic. His brother was addicted to painkillers and decided that shooting himself on a bridge was better than living this life. That's without mentioning all the trauma he has from his job and the terrible people he's worked with.

What good does he have to offer you?

"Yes, you do," you reassure him, placing your hands on his cheeks. The cool metal of your rings soothes him somewhat, grounding him. "You deserve all that and more, Carmy. You're so sweet and kind and hard-working. You've been through shit. You deserve something good in life. Maybe it's me, or maybe it's not, but don't close yourself off."

You're begging at this point. Whatever this relationship is, it's just starting. He's not giving himself a chance. You like Carmy so damn much. He's funny without knowing it and thoughtful, too. There are so many qualities he doesn't realize he has.

His eyes watch you as tears line them. He's silently pleading for you to convince him. To get him out of his own head and forget the expectations others have on him.

"I'm not going to force you into anything, Carm. It's your call, but I've enjoyed our last couple of months together. I know we don't know each other completely, but I want to know everything about you. I have feelings for you, so whatever you decide, I'll support it."

Being honest is all you can do at this point. You pour your heart out and hope Carmy chooses you.

You and Carmy stand in the middle of your kitchen. Face to face, reaching out towards each other. It's clear as day that you want the same thing. It's only a matter of taking the right steps now.

"I can't let you go," Carmy responds, grabbing the hand on his cheek. His thumb brushes over the back of it.

"Then don't."

Carmy's decision is made. Without another thought, he smashes his lips against yours. He grabs the back of your neck, tilting your head to meet his heated kiss.

It's more intense now that the cards are on the table. Nothing to hold him back.

Tongues clash together as your bodies seek each other out. The temperature rises when Carmy lifts you up to wrap your legs around his hips. His hands are on the back of your thighs, holding tight onto you.

"Bedroom?" He asks, breaking the kiss, a trail of saliva between the two of you.

"Down the hallway," you breathe heavily, kissing down his neck.

Carmy makes it to the bedroom, opening the door with a bang. He spots your bed, placing you in the middle with him holding himself up on top of you.

He watches as your back meets the bed and your fair fans around you like a halo. The curvature of your breasts accentuated even more from the position.

Carmy hikes your leg further up his hips as he dips down to kiss a wet trail down to the neckline of your dress. He leaves open-mouthed kisses on the rounded flesh, nipping at the skin playfully when you arch your back to push more into him.

"Carmy," you breathe, cupping his jaw to pull him back to your lips. Grinding your hips, you manage to graze against his bulge.

"Shit," Carmy shakily curses, thrusting his hips to meet your touch once more.

Curiously, your hands wander across his body. Carmy's moans in your ear make your panties wetter than they already are.

You grasp the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and off. You're desperate to have him, your cunt aches for him. Your nails scratch down his firm stomach when he bites into your earlobe, softly calling your name.

"Unzip me," you pant, pushing him away and pulling your hair off to the side.

Carmy grabs the small zipper, pushing it down and exposing your pretty skin. As he slides the fabric off of you, he kisses your shoulders and back, taking note of the goosebumps on your skin.

His mind is in the present, and nothing can take it away from him. It's like a switch he managed to turn off in his brain. No more family drama, no more The Bear. It's just you...and him. Honey and Bear.

You stretch your neck to the side, giving Carmy more space to pepper kisses across the delicate skin. The dress pooling at your feet exposes your chest, and Carmy's hands come up from behind you. His fingers shyly brush up your stomach, tickling you, until they find your breasts.

He draws a moan from you as he squeezes them in his palms, pushing you back to meet his chest; turning your head to the side, you find his lips.

The kiss breaks when he slides one of his hands into your underwear, dipping his finger to feel your wetness. Your arm reaches back to dig your fist in his curls.

"You're soaked, Honey," he moans, finding your clit to tease it.

"Been waiting for so long, Carmy," you whine as your hips stutter along with the flicks of his wrist.

"I'm sorry. I'm here now," he purrs into your ear.

Carmy can hear the distinct 'shlick, shlick, shlick' of his fingers against your clit. It spurs him on as he slips a finger into you. He can't wait to have his cock inside of you, snug and warm.

"Oh my god, Carmen," you gasp when he prods another finger into your entrance. Hanging onto his arm across your chest, you roll your hips against his fingers.

"I got you," he says, digging his fingers deeper into you and curling them.

Your knees buckle as the tips of his fingers curl and hit your g spot repeatedly. If it weren't for him, you'd be on the floor. With your tummy tensing under the weight of the pleasure, you stutter out, "I'm gonna cum."

Carmy's hand is wet from your juices as he ups the ante. Just as your walls begin to squeeze around his fingers, he pulls them out to circle around your clit.

"Oh, f-fuck!" You squeal, throwing your head back onto his shoulder.

The way your clit softly twitches under the pads of his fingers fucks with Carmy. It makes his cock throb and leak into his jeans.

Untangling from his embrace, you place a breathless kiss on Carmy's lips. His slick digits dig into your hips as he prolongs it.

Blindly, you find the edge of his jeans and unbutton them. If Carmy notices, he doesn't say anything. You want to give him one more reason to stay with you.

He moans into your mouth when you grasp his length through his boxers. He's rock hard as he desperately ruts against your hand.

With your hold still on him, you push him to sit on the bed. Carmy looks up at you lustfully. You plant a single short kiss on his lips before kneeling on the floor between his legs. You leave love bites down his chest while looking up at him through your lashes.

Carmy brushes away any hair that falls on your face, his blue eyes focused solely on you. When you reach the waistband of his pants, you pull them down along with his underwear.

His length pops up from its confines, slapping against his tummy. Its tip is a pretty pink shade, with a thick length and a slight curve to it. You salivate instantly at the sight of it.

Carmy's nervous under you. It's been a long since he's been with someone else, and he's never been the most confident.

"Relax," you say teasingly, kissing around his lower tummy to calm him.

Finally, your hand wraps around his cock, lightly pumping it. Leaving sloppy kisses down his happy trail, you feel Carmy's stomach taut in anticipation.

It's been so fuckin' long.

With your eyes staring into his hungry ones, you kiss the pink head that glistens with pre, teasingly brushing it against your lips. Keeping eye contact, you lick his length from base to tip. You alternate between kissing and licking for a minute, enjoying watching Carmy squirm.

"Fuck, Honey," Carmy throws his head back at your torturous pace.

"Look at me," you sweetly say.

Taking mercy on him, you part your lips to take his length into your warm, wet mouth, bobbing your head to a steady rhythm. Prying one of Carmy's hands from the bedsheets, you place it in your hair, encouraging him to use you.

"Good girl," he moans, fisting your hair to force you to take more of his cock. You let your hands rest on his thighs, feeling the strong muscles underneath.

Carmen observes you with hooded eyes as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him expertly. He's obsessed with how your lips leave behind a tinge of red lipstick on his skin.

"Shit-Fuck me," he yells into the room when you swallow around him.

You want him to cum, but Carmy has other plans. He doesn't think he'll last long if you make him cum now, so after the stunt you pulled, he pulls you off his sensitive cock.

The sight in front of him is erotic as a string of saliva connects you to his cock. The tears lining your eyes and blushed nose add to that pretty picture.

"c'me 'ere," he says, helping you up and kissing you as he leads you back to the bed. He tugs off your wet panties, throwing them somewhere in the room.

You lay back on your pillows with Carmy slotted between your legs. It's torture having him so close and yet so far. Now that you've gotten a taste of his cock you need more.

Carmy touches the inside of your thighs, inching his way closer to your cunt. He instantly notices how fuckin' wet you are. You're dripping even more than before.

"Sucking me off, got you this wet, princess?" He asks, leaning his forehead against yours.

"Mhm, Carmy, wish you would've cum in my mouth," you admit, tilting your head up to brush your lips against his.

"You have such a dirty fuckin' mouth," he chuckles darkly.

Where did this side of you come from? You're usually so sweet and delicate. He should've known you would be a freak in bed. To think he almost let this all go.

"Carmen, please."

"Please, what?" Carmen teases, lining his cock against your opening, wetting his cock.

"Fuck me," you moan, kissing his jaw.

"'m gonna fuck you good, princess," he promises, with a shaky nod before he remembers, "Fuck! I-I don't have a condom with me."

"I should have some in my drawer," you mention breathlessly.

Carmy opens the condom in record time but is surprised when you take it from his hands and roll it down his shaft yourself. You just want an excuse to keep touching him.

With your leg hiked up, he aligns himself and slowly pushes in. You both gasp at the sensation. Carmy, for one, is trying to not bust a nut so soon because you're so tight and warm.

Meanwhile, you hold onto Carmy's back as he stretches you out. It's been so long, and your toys aren't nearly as thick as him. You breathily moan in his ear, which he takes as a good sign as he begins thrusting more forcefully and deeper.

Carmy hopes this isn't a dream, and if it is, he hopes he doesn't wake up anytime soon. He has one hand holding onto your thigh and the other holding himself up. His gold chain dangles above you as he picks his head up from its spot on your shoulder. You take the chance to tug on it, returning his attention to your lips.

"You feel so fuckin' good, princess," Carmy groans, squeezing your thigh.

"I love your cock, Carmy," you whine, feeling the drag of his cock on your walls. The pleasure is all-consuming, leaving a fuzzy feeling in your brain.

"You like when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes, yes, yes, keep going."

His hips snap hard against yours, hitting that spot each and every time. His pelvis hitting your clit. He squeezes your thigh, hips, and sides before his hand squeezes your tits, too, playing with your nipples.

Suddenly, he straightens up, pulling you down the bed to have you flushed against his pelvis. He's a sight for sore eyes that forces you to keep your eyes open.

His thrusts are more forceful like this, where he digs his fingers into the fat of your hips to pull you towards him with each snap. It makes your tits bounce, hypnotizing him.

Through your lustful gaze, he looks like a marble statue. His chest glimmers under the lowlights of your room as sweat clings to him, his chain jumping against the blushed skin of his chest, and his fucking hair falling over his pretty eyes. The set of his jaw could've been sculpted by Michaelangelo himself.

Your hands indulgently reach down to touch him in any way you can. You can only reach his stomach, where a nice pair of abs appear due to the effort.

"You like what you see?" Carmy teases. He's entirely lost on you because otherwise, he wouldn't be as cocky to say that.

"You're so handsome," you pitifully say. Your brain not computing as it should, but how can it when it's being fucked out of you?

Carmy doesn't know how to respond. It's not often he's called handsome or looked at as lustfully as you're looking at him. Thankfully, he doesn't need to say much as your eyes roll back and you squeeze your walls around him.

"Carmy, I'm so close," you pant, trying to find any part of him to hold. He offers you his hand, lacing your fingers together.

"Just a little longer, princess," Carmy groans as you clench around him. "Fuck, don't do that to me."

He glances down at the spot where you and him meet to see a ring of white on the base of his cock. He's enthralled with the way you stretch to accommodate him and the way your pink walls drag along his length when he pulls out. Fuckin' beautiful.

Putting all his knowledge to use, he thumbs your clit, making you jolt. He needs you to cum now, or he won't make it. His balls feel like they're about to burst.

"Carmy," you cry out, tightening the hold on his hand.

You teeter on the edge for only a second until you cum, waves of pleasure washing over you. Carmy curses from above you as your tightening walls choke his cock, making him cum too. He stutters his hips a couple more times, riding out his orgasm.

He leans back down again, catching your lips in a small kiss. His body slowly relaxes against yours as his head rests on your neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and perfume.

"That was good," you breathe heavily, rubbing your hands up and down your back. You're just starting to think clearly.

"Fuckin' amazing," he adds.

There's a beat of silence before you both burst out laughing.

A bubble encases you, and it can't be popped as long as you stay in your bedroom. Carmy doesn't want to leave; it's late already, and in a couple of hours, he has to get up and go to The Bear to repeat the process.

For once, he forgets about that and focuses solely on you. He has a couple of hours to spare. Sleep is overrated.

You face each other on the bed, talking in hushed whispers. Your fingers trace the '773' tattoo on his bicep like you've always wanted to do. It tickles Carmy, so he grabs your hand and kisses your palm.

"Now that I'm thinking about it. I didn't see your tattoo," he whispers to prevent disturbing the peace.

Your face warms at his words. You had forgotten about that. He's seen a lot of you in the past couple of hours. What's a bit more of skin?

"You missed my big bad tattoo?" you joke, poking his nose.

"Show me," he says with a lopsided smile.

You make it dramatic, rolling your eyes and giving him a big sigh. Sitting up on the bed, you peel the bed sheets from your body. Carmy props himself up on his elbow in anticipation.

Right there, on your left side and under the curve of your breast is a small outline of Winnie the Pooh's face. Carmy touches it, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. Unsurprisingly, it's precisely what he expected from you.

A few chuckles pass his lips as he pulls you back into his arms.

"Don't laugh. It made sense at the time," you whine, covering yourself back up.

Carmy pulls you to his chest, kissing your temple, "I'm sure it does. Pooh Bear loves his Honey," Just like he does.

"Exactly! Someone gets it!"

And he does because Carmy, aka The Bear, is quickly falling for his Honey.

A couple of days later, Carmy is back at your house helping you prepare the famous pizza you promised him. He lets you take the lead on everything, preferring to follow your instructions rather than let his mind run wild. It's not like you'll let him do most of the work anyway; it's your recipe, and you're protective over it.

"Can you chop up the veggies?" You ask him as you lay down the dough in a pan.

"Yes, Chef," he nods, kissing your cheek as he digs through your kitchen drawers for a knife.

"Oh, I like the sound of that," you muse, shaking your shoulders as you knead the dough to spread it.

"Don't let it get to your head, Hun," Carmy smiles, slicing the vegetables expertly.

Cooking with Carmy is surprisingly easier than you thought. He's not controlling over the kitchen or judgy. He lets you do your thing in peace, following your orders no matter how strange they might be. This is your kitchen, not his.

As you spread the sauce and cheese over one of the doughs, Carmy gets a call. He wipes his hands with a rag and picks it up. You only hear his side of the conversation.

"No, I'm off tonight. I'm with my girl. Call Sugar. She should be able to help you with that. Great. Thanks."

Carmy had promised himself that he would try to balance it all better. He has his team to help each other out. The Bear is a priority, but so are you because you help him keep whatever sanity he has left.

Carmy hangs up, and when he returns to you, he notices the grin on your lips as you put the toppings he chopped on the pizza.

"What's with the smile?" Carmy stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he props his head on your shoulder. Your hair tickles his nose, smelling the notes of coconut of your shampoo he digs his head farther into it.

"I'm your girl?" You ask, the smile still present on your face. He'd missed your initial reaction when you heard him call you 'my girl.' You almost dropped the container of pepperoni that was in your hands. It's a shock cause he never asked you to be his girl.

Carmy pauses and tenses up against you. "Uh, yes? Hold up. Turn around," he orders, as he places his hand on your hips to turn your body around.

"Yes, chef," you respond cheekily, your arms around his neck, careful not to touch his sweater with your messy hands.

"Aren't you my girl?" He frowns, rubbing a thumb over your hips.

"I could be, but I don't remember you asking," you pretend to think.

Carmy never directly asked you to be his girlfriend, and you never asked him to be your boyfriend. You might as well be a couple since you've been dating long enough. You decide to seize the opportunity now to get it out of him. Having a proper anniversary day would be nice because you hope this lasts.

"I see, my mistake," Carmy nods, catching your vibe, "Honey…"

"Yes, Carmy?" You blink innocently at him.

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend?" He finally asks.

You could joke around but decided against it cause the moment is perfect, "I'd love to," you nod, giving him a small kiss.

When the pizza is cooked, you bring it over to the dining table. Serving Carmy a pretty slice. Excitedly, you wait for him to bite into it and taste it.

"What do you think?" You ask expectantly.

"You were right. Best pizza in Chicago," Carmy agrees with an unbelievable laugh. He's got a lot to learn from you. It's the truth, or maybe he's blinded by his feelings. Only time will tell where you and Carmy will end up.

The End?

thank you guys for pulling through and reading! i know it's a slow burn but i hope you liked it! i certainly enjoyed writing it even though it took me like 4 months.

if you liked it, i would appreciate you liking it, commenting or reblogging. if you have some feedback feel free to send it my way too. i wanna get better at this whole writing thing!

thank you! bye xx

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #fanfiction #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #the bear fanfiction #the bear #carmy x reader #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader

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melefim · 1 month ago

Note

Another note on polling: Somehow, my phone number got added to the WinRed text list. They text me polls multiple times a week and I’ve clicked through to fill out a few of them negatively just for funsies.

I’ve never submitted a single one. Why? Because every one I’ve started to fill out, I get to the end and go to submit- but before you can do that, you HAVE to donate. It literally will not let you submit your answers without your credit card number and a decent amount of personal info.

I went back through my texts and found one from August that I hadn’t deleted yet- it’s not the most ridiculously biased one I’ve gotten, but you can definitely see which way they’re leaning.

Note what’s automatically selected- a $50 donation and a box checked to make it monthly. And if you try to change the donation number to zero:

It won’t accept it. You literally cannot submit answers to their polls without paying them.

Now, it’s entirely possible that they’re not even looking at the answers to these poll questions and it’s all just a very thinly veiled way for them to ask people for money. But just know that if you ever see someone touting poll results from WinRed, they only accepted answers from people who were willing to donate to Republicans to be able to take their survey.

Is there any plan for after Harris loses (which seems inevitable at this point)? People are pointedly not talking about after, so I assume that Trump winning really does mean everything is Over in a very final way.

...

Both of those assertions are wrong.

Polls are notoriously unreliable (and getting less reliable), and things are close. I honestly have no idea who's going to win. But right now, fivethirtyeight.com (which is the best overall politics predictor in the US, and has been for the last several election cycles) has Harris ahead by 1.3 points. So, no, Trump winning is not inevitable.

But especially with things this close and the election this close, this is the least likely time for people to be publicly talking about contingency plans for a Trump win. The more people think Trump is going to win, the less likely Harris voters are to show up at the polls ... which means that Trump is more likely to win. Talking about how awful a Trump presidency would be if he got elected can motivate people to vote, when paired with "but voting for Harris can help prevent that!" Talking about what to do after he wins (if he does) is much more concrete and much more likely to convince people that there's no point in voting, we need to move on to the next step of preparing for the inevitable. But it isn't inevitable! Not even close!

Organizations at all levels--political groups, advocacy groups, charities, legal aid groups, etc.--have been preparing all along. But the more you talk about those contingencies in public, the more likely you are to actually need them.

And the thing is, we know a Trump win would be bad. How bad, and in what way exactly ... depends on a lot of factors. His first term was bad, but he was prevented from achieving his goals because he is incapable of keeping competent people around, and nobody knew how to make the bureaucracy of government do what they wanted it to do. He may have fixed that problem, he may not. We know what his goals are and those of his closest allies. What we don't know is, would he be better able to carry those goals out this time if he wins, and if so, how many of them he will be able to enact. And what we, as leftists, can do in the event of a Trump presidencey depends on all of those things!

So it's much better to point out that the odds are in Harris' favor right now (even if not by much) and we need to go out and make sure they stay in Harris' favor.

#us politics #and I say ‘multiple times a week’ but it’s near daily right now #and of course they come from a different number every time #so no matter how many times I block/report as spam they still keep coming

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woso-dreamzzz · 3 months ago

Text

Shopping

Hardersson x Toddler!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You go shopping

It was meant to be a quick trip to get groceries.

Pernille was splitting her time between being your mother, going to training and still somehow finding time to do all the chores.

Magda put it on herself to pick up the slack when she came over to visit which was how she ended up in this situation here.

You sitting in the cart, waving around your girl-swan and your girl-moose happily as Magda considers whether Pernille will be able to tell if she buys the cheaper, own brand stuff.

The cart is pressed right up against one of the shelves to make sure it's not blocking the aisle as Magda wonders what bread to buy.

There's a colourful packet of cakes next to you and you reach for them.

You know what to do when you go grocery shopping because Momma taught you.

You throw your cakes into the cart.

Magda whirls around instantly, frowning at the sudden noise.

"Did you put something in?" She asks, finger reaching out to tickle your chin.

You giggle, kicking your legs out as you shake your head.

"No?" Magda says," I think you did. Because I wasn't the one that put these cakes in. No? I should put this back then."

"No, Morsa!" You say," Keep!"

"Keep? Are you paying, princesse? I don't think you have money."

"Momma money!"

"Momma's money? You're going to spend Momma's money?"

You nod, hand reaching back for a tub of brownies.

"Whoa? We're grocery shopping, not princesse shopping!

You stick your tongue out. "For Momma!"

"Are you sure that's for Momma and not for you?"

"Momma!"

Magda sighs, shaking her head softly as her hand runs over your soft hair. "Alright, princesse, let's make an agreement, alright? I'll let you choose two things from each aisle but-"

You cheer, little arms waving in the air and Magda can't help but smile.

"-But only two things, alright? Otherwise we'll go broke."

"What that mean?"

"Don't worry, princesse."

So, you get your cupcakes and your brownies and Magda finally decides on the slightly fancier bread.

"No, princesse." She intervenes quickly when she sees you eyeing up some sweets and you pout.

"You say two! Know my numbers!"

Perhaps teaching you your numbers this early was a mistake because you can count to five all by yourself and you definitely know how many two is.

"But sweeties make your teeth rot and you have such pretty teeth."

"I do?"

"Very pretty teeth. We don't want them to go bad, do we?"

You look longingly at the sweeties but ultimately drop them.

Magda's feeling quite proud of herself as she ticks everything off of the list while also limiting your grabby hands.

It all goes downhill the moment you get to the miscellaneous aisle.

Magda's never quite sure why so many supermarkets have that random aisle of things like kid's toys and slippers and dog coats but without fail, there's one in every supermarket Magda has ever been in.

But that aisle is the one where your grabby hands can't be contained.

"Hey!" Magda says," I know you know your numbers and I know you know that's more than two!"

She picks the little dressing gown you've chosen out of the cart and places it back on the rack.

You pout, jabbing a finger into your chest.

"Bein' good!" You insist," Momma says special prize for bein' good! Always!"

"You're hustling me!"

"Don' know that word."

"It means...It doesn't matter what it means because Momma isn't here right now. I'm in charge."

You bare your teeth at her like a little kitten with puffed up fur and Magda has to smother her laughter.

"Please, Morsa? Be like Momma?"

"No-No! Don't...Don't start crying! I...No...Please stop...Okay! Okay one extra present for good behaviour!"

You grin at her, suddenly no hint of tears are on your face and you turn to look at your options.

"That one!"

Pernille isn't expecting a lot when she gets home.

Magda only flew in yesterday so while she had offered to do some of the chores around the house, Pernille was totally okay if her girlfriend decided she was much too tired to do anything.

Looking after you can be the extent of anyone's energy sometimes.

But, she's pleasantly surprised to see her cupboards and fridge stocked full of fresh groceries and something simmering on the stove.

The less pleasant surprise is the massive cardboard castle that's been built in her living room.

You're stood in the middle of it, armed with a wooden play sword and a pen that you're using to scribble on the castle walls to make it to your liking.

Magda is outside of the castle in fairy wings and a wooden spoon as a wand.

"What's going on here?" Pernille says, brow raised," Where did we get this castle?"

"Shop," You answer, reaching with your sword to bonk Magda on the head," My gift for bein' good."

"And all of the new snacks we have? Magda?"

Magda, rubbing her head, lets out a bout of nervous laughter. "More gifts for being good?"

"Brownies for you, Momma!" You interrupt, grinning and bonking Magda on the head again," Wanna come into my castle?"

"What about me? Why can't I come in?"

You grin, sword coming down yet again. "You're the mean fairy, Morsa. Mean fairies can't come in!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #the big adventures universe

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thesummerpetrichor · 5 months ago

Text

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼: 𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸

Stepdad!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: The year is 1979 and it's the summer after graduation. You want to make the most of the vacation, but going to shady dance bars is a lot harder now that your new stepfather works for the DEA.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, cops and raids, stepdad trope and all that comes with, minor DUBCON, big juicy age gap [reader is 18/19 when she meets Javi, Javi is in his mid 40s], reader wears a dress, petnames, mommy issues ™ , alcohol consumption, mean!brat tamer!dom!Javi then soft!Javi, brat!reader, rough sex, “virginity” loss & minor mention of blood, sex in the woods on the hood of Javi’s car, mentions of F masturbation, some reader x oc, Javi gives reader her first orgasm, major size kink [Javi is bigger than the reader, can rough house with her], degradation, dumbification, reader is insanely horny, satanic levels of dirty talk, finger sucking, choking, spanking [with a belt and hand] , a few slaps [as always], fingering, unprotected P in V [be better!!], creampie. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶

Word count: 7.2k

A/N: I am impossibly excited for this stepdad trilogy. This is part 1/3 so it’s only 1/3 the fun and debauchery. Few Easter eggs thrown in.. see if you can spot em 🤭.This is set up after the events of season 2 and before the events of season 3, in a year where Javi is taking a break before Cali, but feel free to imagine otherwise. Enjoy!!

Masterlist

Once I had a love and it was a gas

Soon turned out had a heart of glass

Seemed like the real thing, only to find

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

Once I had a love and it was divine

Soon found out I was losing my mind

It seemed like the real thing, but I was so blind

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

You stood at the entrance, one foot tapping restlessly on the wooden floorboards. In an effort to keep your head down you fiddled aimlessly with the clasp on your watch, knowing full well you weren’t going to be paying attention to anything but the time that flashed on its face. An older, blonde woman came stomping onto the patio, swinging the wooden door behind you so hard on her way the rattle it produced when it slammed shut knocked the flimsy “BAR” sign right off. You jumped, then took another step away from the establishment.

You could almost feel the bass of the engine thrumming in your chest as it got closer. The tires crunched against the gravel as it neared. You still couldn’t see it. You hoped it was her.

It wasn’t long before a red convertible was nearing, the number plate sending a shaky, relieved sigh hurtling past your lips. Agitated, drunk and anxiety ridden, you ran towards and then jumped into Lorrain’s car– hoping and praying the ride would give you a beat to sober up.

It wasn’t the first time you’d had to sneak back into your room well past midnight. It was so much of a habit you could sell a course on how to accomplish it with the utmost skill and precision. What was rare, however, was having to perform the task while shaken up so severely. The side of your small, once welcoming home seemed more alien than ever, your bedroom looking far higher off the ground than you remembered.

Nevertheless, a few missteps and about 10 minutes later you stumbled through your open window, quickly stripping to your underwear and shoving your dirty, alcohol laced clothes under your bed. You cursed your “parents” at the fact that you still needed to do this shit like a fucking highschooler.

The sound of feet padding towards your bedroom door startled you, and you jumped to pull on your sleep shorts before what you knew was your stepdad coming up the stairs.

You hoped and prayed he hadn't caught wind of the way you screamed when your foot missed the ledge below your window, or worse, that his partner hadn’t given him a call to inform him of the familiar face he saw at the shack that night.

No matter how many times you liked to imagine he would bend you over his knee and discipline you, how many times you imagined it was him with his hand under your skirt or head between your legs as some clumsy 20 year old rutted against your thigh, you knew full well if Javier actually ever caught your antics, the consequences were going to be a whole lot less ideal than that.

As you jumped under the covers you recalled the way Agent Steve Murphy had cocked his head at you back at the bar. The way your stepfather’s partner had squinted his eyes at you in confusion, doing a double take at your skimpy outfit, short dress and boots, the way the men at the bar had their hands all over you.

You prayed it wasn’t too late before you turned your head away, that it wasn’t too late before you swiftly moved out of that bar, before he could be sure it was you he was seeing.

Because if he was, there would be absolute hell to pay.

—

One summer, when you were maybe eight or nine, you developed an absurd obsession with riding your bike up the slope that led away from your small town. Eventually, the uphill roads veered away, twisting and turning into a thousand different rocky paths that converged at one point only a few hundred metres from the large sign that welcomed people into the town. The singular, welcoming road led straight into the woods. Back then, it seemed endless, providing a warm, hospitable buffer for the hills that loomed over the town with a somewhat protective intimidation. Like the woods were watching over your every move.

Everyday, for three months, you’d bust out your front door at 18:00 on the dot and make the journey uphill. Exhaustively pushing your bike past that sign and into what was nature's much welcome respite from your mothers neglectful cruelty. You collected rocks by the stream that ran through those woods, leaves and flowers to keep in your room. It was like they were magic. Like they wanted to get to know you, be your friend. The trees formed a canopy over you, like they wanted to shield you from the winds and the setting sun, and most importantly from the town below.

One day you remember hearing some rustling coming from up the stream. You didn't think much of it, must have been a deer or something of the sort. You continued foraging for little flowers and rocks, that was until you came across something that didn't really belong. A piece of white lace. It looked new, but dirty, there was cotton under half of it. It seemed like it was part of a dress. Someone must have lost it up there. You didn't investigate. Things were calm and quiet again as usual, but it wasn't long before the rustling from upstream got louder, just slightly, and you heard the clatter of a metal rod to the ground, followed by a heavier, louder thud.

You turned on your heel and away from the stream, it took you four minutes to find the welcome sign to your town again. By 19:00 you were home.

You never went back to the woods again. That August your mother informed you you were going to school in the city.

—

To say you were unhappy to come home from boarding school to the news your mother was marrying a cop would be an understatement, and while you tried not to be too judgy and give him a chance, to say you were surprised when he turned out to be a complete authoritarian would be an even bigger understatement.

You knew of Agent Peña, he was somewhat of a local celebrity. You’d seen him on your summers home since you were sixteen- picking up beers at the convenience store, smoking cigarettes outside the petrol station. You and your friends would often drool over him, wait for him to show up at a neighbourhood barbeque, or catch him taking a walk around the block.

Eventually, you grew up, and outgrew your little hallway crush on the, now, mostly tiresome Agent Peña. Because soon you weren't sixteen. And his holier than thou, saviour complex, and affinity for order only made you roll your eyes. In fact he was quite annoying. He made little effort to contribute to the community, still riding his high from his days in Colombia.

You wondered why those people revered him like he was taking bullets for your town.

You were absolutely flabbergasted when you found out your mother was marrying him. At first, a little bit jealous for the teenager who once fawned over him, but quickly more concerned for the fact that he was actually someone who you’d have to interact with, and not just a piece of eye candy you could appreciate out and about.

Hell, he was becoming family, and your stepfather no less. It was torturous. You did not need another person to worry about in your home.

“So.. What’re you studying?” He crossed his left leg over the right, and asked you. His hand reached out to receive the glass of whiskey your mother poured him. He hadn’t been in your house for ten minutes and you already couldn’t stand his guts. Besides the fact that he was a cop, he had this air about him… what exactly, you weren’t quite sure. A superficial, macho exterior that felt like a bigger slap in the face than the fact that he was sitting on the nice, upholstered, expensive, armchair your father had paid for.

Unsurprisingly, Agent Peña often indulged you in riveting conversation about the dangers of indulging in alcohol and drugs at a young age as he puffed on his cigarette, and lectured you, in what you knew as truly your mothers fashion, about how young people these days didn't know a thing, and that they must always respect and follow the lead of their elders.

Much like mother dear, he paid little attention to you other than to reprimand you for whatever it was you weren’t doing correctly; for when you didn’t do the dishes on time, or were staying out too late, as if it was any of his business to even begin with. He seemed to really enjoy the protective dad role. It fit in well with the rest of his pathetic persona.

No wonder they got along.

You remember almost gagging when he boasted about the college you were set to attend, one arm slung across your shoulder, at the party your aunt threw for your graduation. Like he had absolutely anything to do with it. You excused yourself partly to avoid the embarrassment and partly to roll your eyes. A small part of you enjoyed his proud boasting, but you were not ready to unpack that yet.

In the time the couple weren’t circle jerking about their views, you were lucky enough to be the recipient of snide comments that were so obviously meant for your late father. To his credit Javier Peña didn’t involve himself in the conversation. You couldn’t say the same for a lot of your mother’s previous lovers.

Since you were ten years old you had been making your own decisions, doing what you wanted and living on your terms. To return to your home for the summer after graduation, now 18, and have to abide by someone else’s meaningless regulations, was a rather harsh slap in the face. Not to mention this someone had been in your life all of two months, and really enjoyed acting like he knew anything about you, or your family.

Sometimes, when you’d climb down the stairs of that quaint suburban home, the home that once belonged to your family, in the middle of the night to grab a glass of water or a snack, you’d see him sitting out on the porch, hunched over a whole bunch of shit you couldn’t bother caring about, with his ashtray dangerously close to all that flammable paper.

His shirt stretched deliciously over his back, his hand reaching out to ash his cigarette every once in a while. You were glad he was infuriating, had he not been such a prick it might have revived the little bit of a crush you had on him.

Sometimes you felt a little bit bad for rolling your eyes at him, or shutting down his attempts to initiate group plans. If you were being honest you were surprised when he didn’t blow up at you for talking back or being rude– that was when your mother wasn’t around. When she was, he didn’t have to. She would jump at any chance to start a fight. You were even more surprised when Javier tried to diffuse the situation.

You figured soon enough that perhaps the Javier Peña you met a few months prior was putting quite the show on for his overbearing, obnoxious lover. Of course, you were sure he hardly saw her that way. He was perhaps a lot smarter than you gave him credit for.

Javier often chided your mother when you spoke back to her, rather unexpectedly calling out her bad parenting and the behaviour she “modelled” for you when you were a child. You overheard them argue after a big blowout, from your room. It upset you that he was even getting involved. He tried to talk to you about it later, but that was the last thing you wanted to do.

Obviously, you knew your hatred of them both had something to do with your psychologically deprived childhood, but it baffled you how neither of them, especially wannabe father of the year Javier Peña, didn’t realised your isolated anger would perhaps be diminished if they stopped trying to meddle in your life, the one neither of them seemed to care about unless something about it upset them.

If he really cared about your wellbeing he’d take his wife and get the fuck out of your life. You were an adult, one that wasn’t going to listen to anyone, especially not the mother who packed you away all those years ago, and her hypocritical, infuriating husband.

Thats why, despite having almost gotten caught and having your ass handed to you less than forty eight hours prior, you were back at the shack, drink in hand, stupidly forgetting exactly what had you scrambling to get out there in the first place.

Who could have even blamed you? Your mother had been especially annoying that particular morning, and Javier and his buddies had colonised the house for a barbeque in the afternoon. In what even you recognised as somewhat juvenile rebelion, you decided the universe owed you some fun after having to endure their patronising, senseless chit chat all day.

It wasn’t even that late, but you were already feeling it, the effects of the countless drinks you had downed over the course of the few hours you had been dancing at the bar. Nothing unusual in that, men often offered to buy you drinks, handsome ones at that, and you didn’t have the money to live extravagantly. Besides, if you weren’t going to use your charm what was it even there for?

Was it Timmy? Tommy? You couldn't even recall his name by the time he was tossing you onto the counter in the bar’s bathroom. To be honest you couldn’t really figure out much of your surroundings, letting yourself get lost in the delicate, dizzy, tipsy haze as his hands slipped under your skirt to squeeze at your thighs. Your regular drunk hookup, or rather someone you disappointingly rolled around with till he finished and left you to roll your hips against your pillow wishing your hands were your Stepfather’s.

His lips brushed your neck, sloppily planting kisses up and down your skin, nipping at your collar bones as he pushed himself between your legs. You closed your eyes and imagined he was Javier. The thought made you moan and you reached for his collar to pull him closer. He didn't smell like Javi, wasn't as big, his chest wasn’t as firm, his arms didn't envelop you like Javi’s did.

You felt him swell against you, and you pushed against him, mind once again drifting to Javier standing at the grill in your backyard. His white linen shirt unbuttoned far too low, rolled up sleeves drawing your eyes to his forearms. He’d had a hand on his hip, a sliver of skin right above the band of his shorts just barely visible.

He smiled at you, and you had worried he’d caught you staring. You revelled in the image. You recalled how he leaned against the edge of the pool with the afternoon sun beating down on his golden skin. You imagined his hands moving under your bra to squeeze your breast.

You were rather embarrassingly enjoying the little montage of your stepdad that was playing in your head. You had almost forgotten it was tommy, or timmy rolling his hips against yours. If a loud, wall rattling thud hadn’t interrupted you, you would've enjoyed your little delusion even longer.

To say you were startled was an understatement, you practically leaped right off the counter. Unable to really gather your bearings in time, you barely registered timmy, or tommy, scrambling to fix his shirt, you yourself rushing to cover up and fix the top of your dress.

From the corner of your eye you caught a hand grab him by the shoulder and shove him towards the door, dragging him out of the bathroom and towards a building commotion outside. You heard people yelling, but couldn’t really make out what was going on.

When you looked up and found Javier looking dead at you, instead of your little fling, you damn near collapsed. He looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack. In a second he was shutting the door behind him, and flicking the lock. You would’ve ran, but its not like you could go anywhere, besides, hed gotten a good look at your face gawking at him, like a fucking moron.

It was over.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” you hopped off the counter and tumbled into his chest. He took you by the arm and dragged you right to the back of the bathroom, you struggled to remain on your feet but he didn’t really care. Much of your dizziness was thanks to your new found anxiety and had little to do with the vodka you’d been downing all night. This was definitely not an ideal situation. His grip on your arm tightened, and made you wince. You liked the sting, not so much the rest of the whole ordeal. “This where you’ve been fuckin’ going?” he seethed, coming close enough that your noses almost touched, he shook you lightly by the arm as he spoke.

You tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he pulled you closer. “None of your fucking business.” Sure, you weren’t on your best behaviour, but did he really think he could boss you around?

“Sure as hell’s my fucking business.” he took a look behind him, then turned back to you and leaned closer. “‘DEA agent’s step daughter dancing at illegal drug club’ sure gonna make a sweet headline.” His fingers dug into your flesh. Only then did it hit you why exactly he was in your dingy shack to begin with. You heard Timmy arguing with someone outside. You felt your palms become impossibly clammier.

“Just fucking turn me in then, asshole.” you got closer, and you were sure he could smell the vodka off your breath. You wished that sounded as courageous and bold out loud as it did in your head. His eyes jumped to your lips, and he rolled them, huffing in frustration. You felt your own eyes burn, and your vision became blurry. You didn't want to cry in front of that bastard. You looked away.

“To whom? Myself” his thumb smoothed over your skin, and his grip lightened. “Not gonna arrest you, fuckin’ idiot.” he rolled his eyes, then dropped your arm to put his hands on his hips. He looked down and sighed, massaging his temple and then glancing behind him again.

“Riskin it all for that fuckin’ looser?” He let out a half hearted laugh, looking somehow both disappointed and smug. You wanted to punch him in the face. You would have, if he didnt happen to be the only thing between you and one dozen other narcs outside.

He glanced at the ground for a second, then back at you and fixed the strap of your top that had slipped down your shoulder. “Get in the car.” he pointed behind you, and you looked in the direction to see a small, open window.

“Know you're good at climbing outta windows.” you felt your cheeks heat so much they burned. Your heart hadn’t really recovered from his big, surprise entry yet. You couldn't stand to look at his frustrated, let down face.

Javi cocked his head and raised his brows, whispering a strained “go”. You had no choice, you turned away from him and towards the window.

—

“Where are we going?”

He didn't look away from the road ahead. Hand gripping the steering wheel with a renewed annoyance. “Better stop asking questions before s’ too late brat.” You opened your mouth to speak, but quickly shut it right back up again. You decided it was probably a lot smarter to just shut up and not bother him any longer– regardless of the thousand questions and worries you had swimming in your head.

If you were lucky, he was going to drive the both of you right off a cliff, because if your mother caught any wind of what you had been doing, your plans for going to college, and living out of your house would fly right out the window. Not to mention the torture that would insue when she demanded to know your whereabouts all day everyday for the rest of the foreseeable future.

“Don't want ya hangin’ round the countryside, in these barns, nothing good happens in there.” he looked over you momentarily,

“Oh what? Are the cows joining in on the drug trade?”

“Newspaper boys, going missin’. Found him in the lake, about two miles from here.” you pressed your lips together.

The car ride thus passed in a painful, tense silence. Javier was clearly unhappy with the whole situation, but had decided not to immediately blow up in your face? Everything about that unsettled you. He was so shocked he seemed to be in denial. You'd much prefer if he just yelled at you and got it over with.

What else was there to do? Surely he wasn’t going to turn you over to the cops, he had his chance to do that already. However Javier never missed a chance to reprimand you, maybe he wanted to get a few words in before ruining your future.

You wouldn’t put it past him anyway.

The empty streets gave way to a narrow, winding road that cut through the woods. The familiar landscape of your small town faded away, replaced by shadowy silhouettes of trees that loomed closer and closer to the edge of the road. The headlights pierced the darkness, illuminating the dense foliage– closing in around you. The road twisted and turned, each bend bringing you deeper into the night, and further away from any civilisation.

Beginning to zone out, you kept your eyes ahead, now unable to recognise left from right, and importantly, exactly how far out from town you had come. It wasn’t long before the “farwell, drive safe” sign that stood at the edge of the woods was swiftly moving past your right shoulder. A pit was quick to form in your stomach, the lowered window by Javi’s side let the cool breeze in. It wrapped around you and made you shiver. The smell of the woods soon overcame you.

Eventually,the car came to a stop in a small clearing. You watched Javi, but he paid no attention to you. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of branches swaying in the wind. In the distance, an owl hooted, its call echoed through the trees. You felt like a child about to be reprimanded after getting in trouble at school. You could hear the ticking of the cooling engine, each sound amplified in the stillness of the night. The dark woods pressed in on you.

After what felt like an eternity, he opened his door, stepping out and gesturing for you to do the same with his head. Still absolutely clueless about what exactly he was doing, you decided just to follow along. He wasn’t going to actually kill you or anything. Probably just wanted to scare you. He had always thought he was a lot more scary than he actually was. At least that's what your brain was telling you. Your heart had other plans.

You watched from inside as Javi began to cross in front of you, for a good three seconds he stood directly ahead of you, facing you in the beams of the headlights. The sight made you shiver. He took a step out of the light. Taking a long deep breath to psych yourself up, after a short moment you opened your door. Javi placed his arm on the top of said door, leaning against it to watch you get out.

You almost tripped, but Javi caught you by the arm and manhandled you to the front of his truck. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the light, and when he turned you to face the hood it blinded you.

The scrape of your shoes against the damp soil, the crunch of the leaves– it was pretty much all you could really register. The moon shone bright, shining through the trees, but your eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness. “These woods are fucking haunted.” A bug landed on the side of your face and you jumped, shaking your head and swatting it away. Javier laughed behind you and you rolled your eyes. “Ghosts the least of your worries right now, bunny .”

“Fuckin gross.” He shook you by the arm, his voice now a tad bit more annoyed than it was a little earlier. “Oh really?” He pushed you against the hood of his car, your back now facing it. You couldn’t see his eyes, any part of his face at all, you could barely see anything. You wondered how he moved so confidently in the dark. He must have practice.

“I ain’t sneakin’ out to be a slut every night.” His hands moved to grab your waist and your heart jumped. You swallowed, feeling more defiant yet sceptical by the second. “Sorry you’re not getting any, but it's not my fault, dirty old man.” Before you could even gauge his reaction your head was snapping to the side, a sharp burn spreading across your cheek as Javier’s hand made contact with your skin.

“I'm not getting any?” he laughed, then took your face between his fingers and squeezed your cheeks together. You winced, and your vision got blurry. You felt your panties dampen embarrassingly. “I ain't the one lettin’ stupid boys rub up on me, bunny.” He shook your face gently, voice so seething and cruel you whimpered, somehow more desperate for him than you were before.

“Desperate little slut.” He grabbed you by the shoulders and flipped you around, and promptly told you to “shut that whore mouth” when you screamed that he could fuck right off. His fingers left tender spots all over your arms and waist, and you winced when he manhandled you into bending over the hood of his car.

He placed a hand on your back to press you down, the other held your waist in a death grip and you felt him press up against your ass. Your dress had ridden up, and surely left little to the imagination. The denim of his jeans rubbed against your upper thighs, and the tips of your shoes barely scraped the ground with how far up the hood of the car he had thrown you. You whimpered and he shushed you with a hand squeezing around your throat from behind.

You knew you had to be unjustifiably wet by this point. You felt yourself throb when Javi put his hands under your dress and grabbed the waistband of your panties. He pressed his hips into yours and you felt his bulge through the fabric.

The jingle of his belt sent a shiver down your spine, every hair on the back of your neck standing up at attention. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, still undecided about how exactly you felt about this entirely new development.

Your heart jumped when he ran the leather across your skin, slowly, perhaps to catch you off guard when he finally struck you with it. You lurched forward, the pain so sharp a tear was quick to roll down your cheek. He struck you again, holding you down with his other hand. The sound of each slash, and your whines that followed echoed in the distance.

“Think you’re fuckin cute, don’t you.” It was horribly embarrassing to be bent over the hood of his car, both palms on holding you up as best they could whilst he landed spank after spank on your bare ass. “Like bein a wild child?” Your scream echoed in the woods when his belt made sharp contact with your flesh. Your knees buckled but Javier's hand on your waist held you up before it was retreating to land another slap on your ass. Tears were dampening the neckline of your dress already, rolling down your neck and rendering you a bigger mess with every sharp spank of his belt.

“Yeah? You get off on all those men touchin’ ya? Like being passed around like a cheap whore?” He gripped your hips so tight you didn’t even bother trying to wiggle out of his hold. “Should take ya to the office sometime, hand ya off to Steve, let him have some fun with you.”

You shook your head at that, there was only one man in the DEA offices you wanted, and unfortunately it wasn’t anybody that could actually be with. You clenched your thighs.

“Knew you were a fuckin’ nasty little girl.” He wedged his hand between them, pushing them apart and slightly spreading your thighs. His fingers rubbed over your clothed cunt, your panties now damp from all that had ensued. You shivered, then pushed back against his digits.

His fingers found your clit and you moaned. “Did ya cum?” he asked, referring to your little escapade at the bar. Suddenly, you were a whole lot less bold than you were a few moments ago, it wasn’t ideal to admit what you were going to, and it seemed almost impossible without sounding rather pathetic.

He stopped moving his fingers and pinched the inside of your thigh. “Answer me.” You whispered a “no” bracing yourself for whatever embarrassing comment Javier was going to throw back at you in response. “Huh.. No one fucked this tight little snatch before? Savin’ yourself for me?” he ruminated on the thought, sounding far more pleased than you would have desired. He wasn’t exactly right, but he definitely wasn’t wrong either.

When you remained quiet he leant beside your ear, lips ghosting the skin on your neck. “Hmm, that right? “Wish it was me instead of that stupid boy?” You groaned at his smug voice, then when his fingers slid under your panties and between your dripping folds. “Wished his finger’s were mine tonight, didnt you?” He cursed under his breath at how wet you were. “How many times d’you cum dreamin’ bout your stepdaddy fuckin your tight lil pussy…”

“Haven’t” You pressed your face against the metal of his car, cheeks on fire at your admission. He remained silent behind you for a beat, then gently lifted you to press your back to his chest with a hand around your throat. He pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss against your neck, and the hand that was between your legs slid under your dress to plam your tit through your bra. “Ever?”

You gasped as he pulled it down, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You shook your head and pressed back against his hard cock. The buckle of his belt dug into your skin and you could almost feel the sting against your ass once again. He pulled you impossibly closer to him, hand returning between your legs.

He rubbed your clit in slow circles and then pushed two fingers into your entrance. “Full of surprises, aren't ya?” you gasped at the stretch, his fingers were surely far bigger than your own, or any others that had been anywhere near your pussy. “don't blame ya’ bunny , nothing like the real thing, huh?”

You bit your lip harder to keep from moaning, already far closer to finishing than you had ever been before, especially when he stroked your walls, mercifully scissoring you open in an uncharacteristic show of thoughtfulness.

“So fuckin’ wet, bunny .” he curled his digits, reaching that sweet spot inside you as he thumbed your clit. You pushed back against him, feeling yourself continue to gush around his hand. “Gonna slide right in at this rate.”

He yanked your panties down with so much force you heard a few stitches rip in the silence. Javier groaned, and you leaned back against him when his hand moved away from your pussy to slide his hard cock between your thighs, his hips flush against yours. He squeezed your tit in his palm as he pulled back a little, sliding against your swollen cunt again.

You felt your arousal smear against your thighs. He muttered a strained “Can’t wait much longer, bunny” . You, yourself thought you might have gone crazy if he waited longer. He pulled his hips back again, notching the head at your entrance and pushing in in a single, slow thrust.

You winced and then moaned, body unable to adjust to the sheer size of him so quickly, yet still hungry for more. You hadn’t felt quite so full ever before, you could feel his cock deep inside you. Your hand covered his on your chest and you mewled and whimpered when he moved his hips, replicating the sharp thrust again, and then again.

It wasn’t long before he was pushing you back down against the hood of his car to get a better grip on your hips. He twisted your wrist as you reached out for him, holding both in one large palm as he found a steady rhythm. The almost unbearable stretch slowly melted away into a delicious, burning need, and in only a few moments you were pressing back against him, pleading for him to pick up his pace.

“You rub your pretty little cunt thinking ‘bout my cock splitting you open?” You moaned a “yes” every part of your body now hot with need as he kept fucking into your warm, wet, heat.

“How?” When you didn't answer he landed a spank to your ass, this time with his hand, and right over the spot his belt had left its sting on not so long ago. You yelped and surged forward. His hand on your hip pulled you back. You pulled yourself up, craving the heat of his chest against your back.

“On my- oooh” your palm landed over his, fingers wrapping around one of his larger ones as you cut yourself off with a moan “On my pillow.” The memory made you throb harder, and the hand that was holding Javiers guided it away from your hip and closer to the cut of your thigh, craving the feel of his fingers on your clit.

He squeezed the flesh of your thigh and chuckled, hot breath fanning against your now sweaty skin. “Thought as much. My little slut. Knew I heard ya..” he took your earlobe between his teeth for a moment, nipped and then licked a stripe up your neck “tryna make yourself cum. Couldn't figure it out yourself huh?”

You shook your head. “horny little girl, need me to do everything for ya.” You had indeed, countless times rather ashamedly. The thought that he’d possibly heard you long enough for it to be a problem, had likely fucked your mother at the thought, wishing it was you under him in her stead was a thought that would live in your head for all eternity.

He kissed your cheek, then pushed you back down. “S’why ya keep spreading your legs for the whole world huh?” He put a palm on the middle of your back, holding you down as he continued to thrust inside you. “Chasin’ cock all day long.”

“Can’t help this whore cunt huh? So desperate to cum.” holding yourself up on your forarms you raised your head, turning back to get a look at him fucking into your desperate pussy.

“Knew it the moment I fuckin’ saw you. Dumb slut got nothing to her name besides this sweet pussy. No one taught ya any manners, how to be a good little girl.” His thumb brushed over the cut of your jaw, fingers squeezing your cheeks. His index and middle fingers swiped your lips, and they instinctively parted to let him push them in. You sucked and drooled around his digits, doing little to contain your moans as he continued to fuck you from behind. The taste of your arousal sat heady on your tongue. “Always knew ya wanted it, stupid little slut.”

“Runnin that whore mouth all day like you're payin’ for the house.” his hips snapped towards yours, his cock buried deep inside you. “But it aint your house, bunny .” With the way your tits were pressing against the smooth metallic finish of his stupid pickup truck you were sure they were going to leave a mark.

You released his fingers with a pop, and he grabbed you by the hips and flipped you around, hurriedly tossing you onto the hood of his car till your feet were also planted firmly above the bumper. Before you could even register the movement he was slipping back inside you, you felt yourself pulse around his cock. You hoped and prayed no one was remotely near, your wailes and whines loud enough to travel far into the distance.

“Get that in your fuckin’ head” He tapped his index gently against your temple and you nodded, frantically pleading yes after yes. You felt him throb inside you, each drag of his cock building the tension in your belly. You felt your pussy squeeze around him, and you wiggled your hips closer to chase the feeling.

Your head turned side to side, your whole body buzzing at the heat between your legs. You don't think you’d ever felt anything like it. Sure, it felt good to touch yourself, but this, the feeling of his cock inside you, against your wet walls, it was entirely different.

The tension only built in your hips, your skin erupting in goosebumps as you hurtled closer and closer to the edge. Your palms squeezed your breasts, seeking purchase on any part of your body.

You lay your back down completely, watching the light hit him right in the face, falling against his features to create sharp lines of contrast. You’d take a good long look at him on top of you to save for later, but he was quickly pressing his lips to yours and your eyes fluttered shut.

The weight of his body on top of yours was enough to make you cum on your own, but the feeling of his lips was what really did it. For how rough and quick he was splitting you open, his mouth moved gently against yours, his warm tongue parting your lips and gliding into your mouth. You moaned against him and he bit your lip, sensing how close you were.

“Wanna see that face when you cum for me.” his palm tilted your face upwards, and while the rest of his fingers continued to squeeze around your neck his thumb slipped between your parted lips. Instinctively, you closed your mouth around him, drooling and moaning around his thumb when he hit the sweet spot inside you over and over. Your pussy clenched around his cock and you tried to whimper his name. You felt another word bubble in your throat but you closed your lips around his digit to push it away. Your eyes fluttered shut at the intensity.

“Cum for me, lil bunny” his words made you tumble over the edge, your cunt squeezing and gushing around his cock, your back arching off the hood of his car. His fingers squeezed around your neck, holding your face in place so he could get a good look at your eyes rolling back into your head.

It was like a blackout, your ears rang so loud and your lips loosened around his thumb, going slack as you rode out your high. You felt him throb inside you at the sight. You felt the ache deep inside you, all the pleasure bursting in a single climactic second. Your lips fell slack around his fingers, whole body twitching at the sensation.

Your climax set him off, and it wasn't long before he was burying himself inside your hot heat. His cock pulsed against your wet walls, painting your insides with his spend. He groaned and squeezed around your neck just a little harder. You sucked his thumb gently and heard him curse under his breath. You tried to keep your fluttering eyes on his face, watching intently as the aftershocks subsided and Javier's brows knit closer with his final few thrusts.

After a few moments he stilled inside you, taking a moment to catch his breath. He pulled his thumb from your warm mouth to brush your bottom lip, then let his own lips take their place. You felt him pull out and you winced at the burn. He put both your legs up on his shoulders and leaned between your legs.

You watched as his head disappeared between your legs to place a kiss to your inner thigh, and pull your panties back up your hips. You reached for him and he pulled you up to his chest. “Gotta clean up a lil bit, bunny..” he fixed your dress and lifted you off the hood and into his arms. “Ain’t nothing to worry about.” You already knew your painties were ruined for good with a red stain by that point.

You rested your forearms on his shoulders, quite liking being held in his arms. “Knew you were always to much of a fucking perv to be a good cop.” He smacked your ass again for good measure and placed you on the ground. “You aint’ too much of a slut to fuck your stepdaddy aint it?”

He stepped aside and you watched him do up his belt again, walking towards the driver's side of the car. You looked behind you and towards the expanse of the woods. The trees rustled, and you heard, presumably, the same owl hoot from the distance. A small crackle in the foliage had you swiftly walking to the passenger side and yanking open the door. You hopped inside and slammed it behind you.

Javier was reaching in the glove box to stash away his gun. “Please” You swallowed, looking towards him. “Please just don’t tell her. She's going to have a freak out.”

Javi glanced at you momentarily, then murmured a dismissive “yeah yeah” as he started up the engine. That wasn't good enough for you. “Please, she’ll give me hell, I can’t deal with it.” You shook your head, then shifted in your seat. He muttered another “yeah”, checking his pockets for the keys to your front door. God forbid they slipped out while he was fucking your brains out.

You turned towards him in your seat, both hands on the centre console. “Please.” Javier grabbed the keys, hooked them to his belt loop and dropped his head in a sigh. He turned towards you, taking a moment to reach over and buckle you into your seat.

“‘Ain’t gonna tell, so stop askin’ before I change my mind.” He knew he didn’t need to ask you to keep your mouth shut– perhaps the most humiliating part of this all.

“Okay.. yeah..” The headlights flashed as you began your journey back home, the exhaustion of the day catching up with you. You sank back, twisting in Javi’s direction, now curled up in the seat. His eyes remained on the road ahead. “Don’t do this shit again.”

“Just wanted some adventure.” your voice grew thick, and you yawned. “Next time ya want adventure watch a fuckin’ hitchcock film or something.” He reached out a hand to cup your cheek, engulfed it and patted it gently.

”Ain't always gonna be there to save your ass, bunny.”

—

PART II

In between

What I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine

Love is so confusing there's no peace of mind

If I fear I'm losing you. it's just no good

You teasing like you do

Eeek! Hope you enjoyed!! I’m very excited for this series, and I hope you are too! Please let me know what you think! Thank you to everyone who interacts with my work! Your comments and reblogs keep me writing 💗🐝

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kings-highway · 8 months ago

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Haikyuu ships ranked by how well I think they'd handle long distance:

1. Ushijima x Tendou. Duel autism "oh I forgot I haven't spoken to you in a week" works out so well. neither of them take it personally, theyre both so busy they dont even notice the time going by. They might not have any other friends but distance and time doesnt matter. Tendou sends a text at 12 in the afternoon and gets Ushijima's heart emoji back at 3am and thats totally normal. Ushijima visits for Valentines day and they fck like rabbits before he flies out again 72 hours later and Tendou forgets to call him for 2 weeks afterwards. They mail gifts back and forth but Ushijima couldnt answer for the life of him if asked what Tendou's schedule was. Everyone else hates how unbothered they are. It doesnt even cross their minds to be jealous or worried.

2. Oikawa x Iwaizumi. They've known each other so long that slipping into a long distance relationship thats literally a 12h difference is so easy. Schedules sync up immediately. Breakfast skype, dinner phone call, facetime movie nights and its basically like neither left. Their only problem is that neither can afford an in-person visit for like 18 months and that gets them down a bit but they compensate with an obscene amount of phone sex. Honestly, after spending all day every day together, this is a goddamn blessing since now they have new stories the other doesnt already know. Iwaizumi is a little on edge whenever Oikawa mentions some new friend he's made but overall they both trust each other.

3. Everyone else, should the situation arise

4. Kageyama x Hinata. Hinata goes to Brazil and Kageyama loses his goddamn mind. They CANNOT sync up their schedules for the life of them. Neither of them are comfortable being flirty over the phone and neither of then can afford to visit each other. They leave so many voicemails begging to arrange a time to call and they ALWAYS assume the other is mad at then when they dont answer texts even tho they should reasonable realize its like 2 am when they sent it for the other person. They make this everyone else's problem. Suga has to block Kageyama's number because he keeps calling to ask if he thinks Hinata has forgotten about him. Hinata hasn't forgotten about him, he's just on the other side of the world crying because he thinks Kageyama hates him for leaving. They're both idiots.

#haikyuu #haikyuu fandon #haikyuu ships #ushiten #ushijima x tendou #iwaoi #oikawa x iwaizumi #kagehina #kageyama x hinata

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prettyboyeddiemunson · 1 year ago

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what’s your favorite scary movie?

summary: porn star eddie is doing a halloween film with his costar, one that involves a certain mask.

pairing: porn star eddie x porn star reader

word count: 5.9k

warnings: being filmed, daddy kink, use of a realistic plastic knife (nothing weird with it, though), unprotected sex, creampies, choking, brief oral sex (m & f receiving), mentions of anal, breast play, anal fingering (f receiving), degradation, rough sex, kinda dubcon

a/n: im aware halloween is over, but its always Halloween in my mind! also, sorry if anything like this has been done. I just returned to tumblr, and haven’t read many fics here in like 8-9 months.

18+ ONLY. minors do not interact or follow, or you’re getting blocked.

————————————-

Ring! Ring!

The phone next to you was ringing its familiar ringtone, and you looked at it with an eye roll. Unknown number, typical. You were acting the part of someone who didn’t like spam calls, but you hated them just as much in real life, too. You turned your attention back to the TV, ready to forget all about it and delete any voice mail they may leave, when it began to ring again. The same number popped up, and you killed the call. They called again, and again, and after the fifth time, you’d finally had enough.

“What do you want?” you asked irritably.

“y/n,” a deep voice came over the phone. “How nice to catch you.”

“Who is this?” you asked.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, and you could hear a grin in his voice. “I was lonely, and thought I would give you a call.”

“Very funny,” you said. “Tell me who you are.”

“What’s the fun of that?” he asked. “Isn’t mystery supposed to be more fun?”

“Is it?” you asked. “You’re probably just someone I know, trying to play some kind of weird joke.”

“Am i?” he asked. “I don’t think I know you at all.”

“Then how did you know my name and my number?” you asked. “Answer me that.”

“Maybe I have my own methods,” he said. “Ever think of that?”

“Ha ha,” you said with an eye roll. You hung up, but the same number called again and you picked up. “Yes?”

“That wasn’t very wise of you,” he said dangerously. “You didn’t even let me ask my questions.”

“They’re probably something really fucking gross,” you said. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Now, now,” he said, tsking. “What do you take me for?”

“A pervert,” you said.

“You’re right,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “But that isn’t why I’m calling you.”

“No?” you asked with a chuckle. “Coulda fooled me.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” he asked, and you could almost hear the grin in his voice.

“What the fuck?” you asked, sitting up on the couch. “What kind of question is that?”

“Are you going to answer it?”

“No, now goodbye–”

“Hang up again, and you’ll regret it.”

The threatening tone of his voice gave you pause. “Who is this?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” he asked again.

“Whatever,” you said, and dared to hang up. It didn’t last long until he called again, and you rolled your eyes as you answered. “What?!”

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” he said. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m not gonna entertain you,” you said. “You’re a fucking creep.”

“Just answer my question and I’ll leave you alone,” he said.

“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “I really like Psycho, Halloween, Friday the 13th, The Exorcist.”

“I know you like Friday the 13th,” he said, and he laughed evilly on the other end. “I can see that you’re watching it right now.”

You froze, sitting bolt upright. “What did you just say?”

“Never mind that,” he said. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No..” you answered automatically, looking around the darkness of your windows for any signs of life. “How do you know what I’m watching…?”

“Just a guess,” he said.

You got up and turned on all the lights, looking around again to see if you could spot someone. “Look, I need to go–”

“Don’t hang up,” he nearly shouted.

“Look, this isn’t funny or cute anymore,” you said. “I’m really uncomfortable, so if you could please–”

“You look really sexy in your pretty lingerie,” he said. “I mean, I think that’s what it is. You’re wearing that pretty pink babydoll with a thong. You like to tease people, y/n? That isn’t very nice.”

“Fuck you, creep,” you said.

“You didn’t ask what my favorite scary movie is,” he said.

“I don’t care!” you cried. “Leave me alone!”

“It’s The Strangers,” he said, and you could swear his voice sounded different now. More echo, closer somehow. “You know, that movie where those people break into that house.”

“I’m–” you began, and your back collided with someone as you backed away.

You played the part of terrified really well, and you could see the cameraman giving you a thumbs up as you kept the facade. You turned around slowly, shouting in surprise when you came face to face with a man in a mask. He was in all black, and the rest of his mask was black as well, except for the face. It looked like a ghost, its mouth agape in some kind of eternal shock. In his hand was a knife, but you knew it wasn’t a real one. It was plastic that was made to look like the real deal, something the director found at a joke shop for a little bit of nothing. You shrieked and tried to run away, but he grabbed you and held you against his back as he stroked your hair in a near-loving gesture.

“Shh,” he said in your ear, trailing the knife down your arm. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Could have fooled me,” you said, feeling yourself already starting to get wet as you felt him hardening against your ass. “Why are you here, then?”

“I was hoping maybe I’d get lucky,” he purred, moving the knife between your breasts as you shivered. “You’re so much hotter up close.”

“And what do YOU look like under that thing?” you asked, your voice conveying the whole “stall him” vibe that the director wanted you to go for. “It’s not really fair that you see me and I can’t see you. If you’re really not gonna hurt me, then why won’t you show me?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “If you do one thing for me.”

“What?” you asked, turning your head so that you could look at him slightly.

“Show me those pretty, perfect tits,” he said in your ear, running the knife between them again. “Outside of that baby doll.”

“And what would you do for me in return?” you asked, turning around in his grip and looking into that mask. “Let me live?”

“Maybe,” he said, looking you up and down. “But first, I’ll just show you my face if you do. Let’s start there, yeah?”

You smirked at him, lowering the thin straps of the baby doll and biting your lip. “You’re probably some total asshole under there. I mean, who calls random women at nine on a Friday night, stalks them, then breaks into their house?”

“Keep going,” he said, his eyes on your breasts. “Show me.”

“You’re a real pervert, you know that?” you said.

“And look what you’re doing,” he said smugly. “Giving into me.”

“You came here to kill me,” you said. “I know that to be true, but it seems like you changed your mind. Why?”

“Because why would I waste such a good set of tits?” he asked. “And I know that pussy of yours is also perfect.”

You swallowed, but smirked as you pulled the baby doll down. You exposed your breasts to him, and heard him suck in a breath. That wasn’t scripted; it was his genuine reaction. You bit your lip again, smiling as you stood before him. He took the knife and dragged it over one erect nipple, causing you to shiver and moan slightly. That also wasn’t scripted or an act, and you knew that whatever happened from this point onward, it was going to be genuine. Well, aside from the basic acts they wanted you to perform on each other, but the reactions? It would be all you, and him.

“Like what you see?” you asked, shaking them a bit as he groaned.

“Fuck yes,” he said, his ringed hands coming up to grope them. You moaned a little, head tipping slightly as he massaged them in his hands. “I guess I need to hold up my end of the bargain, too, huh?”

“Mmm hmm,” you said, mewling as he gave your nipples a soft pinch. “Shit…”

He stepped back, and you whined at the loss of contact. He lifted the mask with one hand, revealing his face underneath. You acted as though you were surprised to see just how sexy he really was, and his pierced tongue came out between his lips with a devils-horn gesture at the top of his head. You smiled, moving closer to him and running your hands down his chest as he looked you up and down again. Soon, he was grabbing your head forcefully, and drawing your lips to his in a passionate, hard kiss. It turned sloppy, your hands wandering and his, too, finding purchase on your hips as he squeezed. Your tongue played with his piercing, and you could feel the presence of the cameraman in front of you both as you made out. One hand tangled in his hair, the other palming the big bulge that was forming in the front of his pants. His hands came up, grabbing your breasts hard as you moaned into his mouth. He tugged your lower lip between his teeth, moving away to start kissing down your neck.

“You feel so big,” you breathed, mewling as his teeth found your sweet spot. “Fuck…”

“You have no idea,” he said, pulling your body to his before grabbing your ass. “I want you so bad.”

“Come on,” you said, taking his hand and leading him into the living room. You pushed him down on the couch, straddling his lap before grinding against his dick. “You know what I want you to do?”

“What?” he panted.

“Want you to rip this thing off of me,” you said in his ear, tugging the lobe in your teeth.

“Oh?” he asked, grabbing the back of it and tearing it down the middle. “Like that?”

“Mmm hmm,” you hummed, kissing his neck as he moaned. “And I want you to put the mask back on.”

“Okay,” he said, smirking before his face disappeared beneath the Ghostface mask again.

“You know what else I want?” you asked, moaning as you continued to glide along his clothed erection.

“Hm?”

“I want that big, thick cock down my throat.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You could hear the smirk in his voice, and it would have infuriated you under any other circumstances. Right then, though, you were too turned on to care. You moved from your spot on his lap to slide to your knees, keeping your eyes on him as you did so. You palmed the bulge in his pants again, feeling how hard he was and suppressing a moan. He watched you from beneath the mask, both of his arms stretched along the back of the couch as you pulled his pants down. His breathing picked up a bit as you put your mouth over his cock through his boxers, and soon, you were pulling those down, too. He was exposed to you now, all nine inches of his thick, pierced, flushed erection at your mercy. As per the script, you teased him a little, sucking on his piercing before swirling your tongue around his slit. He mewled, panting as you took the tip in your lips and sucked eagerly. His arms remained on the back of the couch, not moving yet as you started planting messy, noisy, open mouthed kisses all over the entire length of his cock. You moved farther down to take his big balls into your mouth as well, sucking on them with a moan as you jerked him off skillfully. He was panting a little more heavily now, and you traced his large vein with your tongue as you made your way back up his length.

“Don’t fucking tease me,” he growled.

“Sorry, uh…” you said. “I don’t know what to call you.”

“You can call me Daddy,” he said, reaching down with one hand to stroke your cheek. “And what shall I call you, huh?”

“Anything you want,” you said with a wink, spitting on his cock and jerking him off. “Such a big dick, fuck.”

“What did I say about teasing?” he asked, tilting your chin up with the knife.

“Sorry, Daddy,” you said, opening your mouth and taking his entire cock.

You gagged for a moment until you got your reflex under control, which was something you’d gotten good at in the business. You could feel him in your throat, stretching, his piercing at the back of it as you drug your head up, then back down. He was moaning above you under the mask, his head tipped back as he tangled a hand in your hair. You looked up at him, bobbing your head slowly as you gripped his base in one hand. You began to jerk him off in time with your movements, ignoring the camera man as he came around to get some close up shots. It felt as if he wasn’t even there, that’s how into it you were starting to get. You could feel your pussy throbbing, wetness settling in the thong you still wore as you sucked him off.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, tugging on your hair as you hollowed your cheeks. “You’re so fucking good at that. You’re a filthy little cock slut, aren’t you? I mean, who else just gets on her knees for a man she’s just met, especially one who broke into her house to hurt her?”

You responded by twisting your wrist, eyes still on him as you sucked him off messily. Drool cascaded from his dick and onto the floor below, and your throat was starting to hurt a bit from his piercing. But he was so hot, THIS was so hot, and you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. His hips bucked upward with a loud moan, and you choked as more of his cock went down your throat again. He stroked your cheek tenderly, before yanking you off of his dick. Spit bridged your lips to the tip, and you looked up at him in surprise. Was this scripted? You couldn’t quite remember, but either way, it sent a fresh wave of arousal to your cunt.

“Rub my dick across your tits,” he said.

“Those are one of my biggest insecurities,” you replied, but did as he asked as he moaned filthily. “But you like them, huh?”

“Fuck yes,” he panted, watching as you sucked his tip again. “You’re so hot.”

“Thanks,” you said, and you continued to alternate between rubbing his dick over your breasts and sucking him off. After a little while, he forced you to stop by grabbing your jaw. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re gonna make me cum if you keep that up,” he growled. “Did I say I was ready to cum yet?”

“No, Daddy,” you said, reaching out to jerk him off. “But I can’t stop worshipping this huge, perfect dick of yours.”

He grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the couch, causing you to whine. “Let me make you feel good.”

“You already did,” he said, grabbing your spit-soaked chin in one hand and forcing you to look up into his mask. “Now, it’s my turn.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to take him into your mouth again, but you were greeted by a light slap to your cheek. “What?”

“I said stop it,” he said, pushing you away as he got up off the couch. “Sit up here for me.”

You whined, but did as he said. You sat down on the couch, watching as he lifted the mask again. He kissed you hungrily, sloppily, one ringed hand squeezing your jaw before it found your throat. He choked you for a moment, and you moaned as his hands found your breasts. He massaged them skillfully, his rings cold against your heated skin, his fingers rubbing your nipples until they were hard buds. He pinched them, tugged on them, swiped his fingers across them, all while you moaned hotly in his mouth. He grabbed his plastic knife, running it over & between your breasts before dragging it over your waist and stomach.

“I’m going to show you just what I’m capable of,” he said, kissing down your neck after leaving a series of hickeys in his wake. He nipped at your collarbones, before he found your breasts. “You have the hottest body I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“All the other girls you broke in on weren’t as hot, huh?” you asked.

“Not even close,” he said, pulling one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking generously. “Such an amazing set of tits.”

“Fuck…” you whined, one hand in his hair as he tugged your nipple in his teeth. You knew the cameraman was probably getting a pretty good shot with that; Eddie was skilled, he knew what he was doing and how to work a woman’s body. You were reacting to him, wetness pooling in your thong, and you spread your legs for him as you grabbed one of his hands. “I want you to touch me. Please, I need it.”

“So needy, princess,” he said, giving your other nipple the same treatment as the last. He drug the knife down, running it over your cunt as he smirked. “I’ll bet you’re soaking wet for me, aren’t you? You’re such a depraved fucking slut, you know that? Putting out for me like this, soaking that pretty thong for me.”

“Touch me the right way and find out, asshole,” you challenged, and you could feel him grinning against your breast. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he said, smiling up at you as he started to kiss his way down your stomach. They weren’t gentle, tender kisses; they were needy, hard, bruising. You knew you’d have some marks there tomorrow. “Just that you think it’s so funny and cute to be calling me names right now, when I’ve got the upper hand.”

“Who says you’ve got the upper hand?” you asked, and he slapped your thigh hard as you yelped. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“Shut up,” he snarled, kneeling in front of you and spreading your legs as wide as they would go. He peeled off your thong, and the cameraman moved behind him to get a shot of your pussy. “Fuck, look at that. So fucking pretty and so goddamn wet.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, shivering as he ran the knife over your bare cunt. “Daddy…”

“I’m going to make you fucking scream, baby,” he said, and he immediately began to devour you.

You had never been eaten out like that before, either off camera or on. The way his pierced tongue moved through your cunt, so skillful and hungry, had you moaning loudly. You usually had to fake your moans, or at the very least, over exaggerate them. Not now; right now, every single noise that fell from your lips was genuine. He was devouring you, his tongue flicking your clit with every drag upward, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave more bruises. You reached down to grab his hair, and he moaned as you pulled it roughly. His piercing dragged through your saturated folds, slowly and teasingly, before he pressed it tightly against your clit. More wetness soaked his face, and his fingers soon joined the mix. The cameraman was getting some great shots, and Eddie began to fuck you roughly on his fingers while his mouth did its magic.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” you gasped, rutting against his face as you clenched around his fingers. “I need more.”

“More?” he asked, his free hand dragging the knife over your thigh. “How much more? I’m giving you all I can, you greedy whore.”

“I want more,” you insisted, your eyes nearly rolling back as he started sucking on your clit. “Please…”

“Is this what you want?” he asked, gathering some of your wetness on the fingers of his free hand and pushing a finger inside of your ass. “Huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped, looking down into his big brown eyes as he started to eat your pussy again. “Fuck, please…”

He took his fingers out of your cunt, instead focusing on your ass. He shook his head back & forth rapidly, growling, his eyes still trained on your face. You kept looking down at him, playing with your breasts as his tongue swirled your clit. You tugged your nipples, and soon he was slapping your hand away with his free one to take over. He squeezed it, massaging it, pinching the nipple as hard as he could. You cried out, and you could feel the familiar sensation in your lower stomach that indicated an orgasm was imminent. He kept going, lapping at your pussy as if his life depended on it, shaking his head occasionally, using his piercing to his advantage. He began to fuck you on his tongue as he fingered your ass, moaning as more of your taste flooded his tongue.

“So fucking good,” he mumbled, moaning as he reached down to jerk himself off. “I’m going to fucking cum just from eating your pussy.”

“I’d rather you cum inside of me,” you said. “I wanna feel that big dick in my tight, wet pussy right now. Wanna feel you pumping me full of cum, and feel how good you are inside of me. Please.”

“You’d rather cum around my dick?” he asked, raising a brow at you.

“Mmm hmm,” you said. “But you gotta put the mask back on.”

“Tired of my face already?” he teased, pulling his finger out and putting the mask back on. “Alright, have it your way. How do you want me to fuck you?”

“From behind,” you said.

“Just like a disgusting fucking whore, huh?” he asked, slapping your ass as you stood up. “I’m going to make you feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Then do it,” you said. “Stop talking about it and just do it already, asshole.”

He slapped your ass hard, leaving a large red handprint in his wake. You yelped but giggled, wiggling your ass toward him as he spanked it again. He held the knife to your throat, pulling you up by your head as his mouth found your ear. You could feel his giant cock throbbing against your ass, and knew he was close already. But if everything you heard about his reputation was true, you knew that didn’t mean anything. He could apparently hold off for quite awhile, even that close, and you were looking forward to having him inside of you. In fact, you needed it more than you ever needed anything. You were tired of doing films with men who had average or below average dicks; they didn’t do anything for you, and you always had to fake it. But with Eddie? You highly doubted you would have that problem.

“Keep calling me that and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” he said in your ear, pressing the hard plastic a little more firmly to your throat. “You’re in no position right now to be a fucking bitch.”

“I think I am,” you said, grinning smugly at him as you pushed back against his cock. “You’ve got me right where you want me, right? So, instead of making empty threats and being a douchebag, why don’t you just fuck me?”

He slapped your ass hard again, dragging the knife across your throat ever so gently. “You’re fucking lucky I think you’re so hot. Otherwise, I would be ending this right fucking now by cutting you wide open.”

“Fuck me already!” you said. “You’re–”

You were cut off by a loud moan as you felt him pushing inside of you. You cried out as his thick length stretched your pussy, and you could feel his piercing deep inside. He held onto your hips to anchor himself, bending you over the couch as he pushed himself deeper. You nearly screamed as you felt that piercing on your cervix, but it hurt so good. You reached down and squeezed his hand, and you could tell that he was trying hard not to break character to hold your hand. He had to know how it felt, and you could tell that he was holding back, even still. The director seemed not to notice, though; he just instructed his cameraman to get a shot of his cock buried deep inside of your pussy. He was almost fully inside, and it took you a minute to adjust to how it felt. Never had you been this full, never had anything felt so good, and you weren’t sure how long YOU would be able to last. He was moaning behind you, and you felt his dick twitch. That caused you to moan filthily, and you looked behind your shoulder into his masked face, a smirk on your own.

“What are you waiting for, Daddy?” you asked, biting your lip. “Fuck me.”

He started to thrust, keeping them slow and shallow at first. The cameraman looked up questioningly, and the director simply shrugged and instructed him to keep filming. You moaned, feeling that piercing against your cervix again with every movement inward. He kept hold of your hips, and soon, he was fucking you a little harder. You knew that he was making sure you were okay first, something that he seemingly didn’t do with any of his other costars. Maybe he found a soft spot for you, or maybe the rest of them were used to taking dicks his size. Either way, you thought the gesture of going off script was rather touching, and you looked back at him with a smile. You couldn’t tell if he was reciprocating, but the sharp thrust inside of you somehow told you that he was.

“You’re so fucking tight and wet,” he said, starting to absolutely DRILL you as you nearly screamed. “Listen to that, can you hear it?”

You could. As he fucked into you harder, you could hear just how wet you truly were for him. His fingers dug into your skin, his breath in your ear, and you just moaned as you clenched hard around him. That caused him to groan, and you smirked as you did it again. This brought another loud crack to your ass, and you yelped as the knife made another appearance at your throat.

“Stop doing that,” he growled. “You needy bitch.”

“Sorry,” you said, but did it again.

He stopped thrusting, putting the knife down to grab your throat with his hands. He choked you for a moment, chuckling darkly as you kept clenching around him. He began to move again but kept his grip, letting go only when you started clawing at his hands. He reached around to grope your breasts, rubbing the nipples as he absolutely pounded you against the couch. He was panting and groaning, the sounds filling the air as the cameraman got another shot of him fucking into you. You could feel your lower stomach tightening, but you weren’t ready for this to be over yet. Fuck, he felt so goddamn good; you never wanted it to end. You would have been content going on forever just like this, with him inside of you as you whined desperately. He knew you were getting desperate, too; he reached down, rubbing your clit in hard, fast circles as you cried out. You clenched again, his hands now on your shoulders as you braced against the couch. He drilled your needy, soaking cunt, each bump to your cervix causing you to moan even louder.

“Cum for me,” he said. “Show me just how much you fucking love what I’m doing to you. Show me what a greedy whore you are for my cock.”

You moaned, and were shocked to see that he was pulling out of you. The director was about to intervene, but Eddie was pushing you onto your back on the couch. He lifted your legs to his shoulders and pushed inside of you again, causing you to moan hotly as he filled you up again. The director stopped and instructed the cameraman to keep going, and you looked up into his masked face with a look of pleasure on yours. You arched under him, writhing, your hands finding his clothed back and digging your nails into the fabric. He pounded you hard, the new angle causing him to hit into your sweet spot. He didn’t use his entire cock this time; instead, he decided to get creative, and fucked directly into your G-spot. The feel of the piercing against it was so fucking good, and you tore at his dark shirt as he pounded against you.

“That’s it,” he cooed, the strokes of his cock remaining shallow and deep as your mouth fell slack. “Cum around my cock, princess.”

“Fuck,” you whined, your jaw still open as your head tipped back. “I’m gonna cum so hard, Daddy.”

“Cum for me,” he coaxed, his fingers rubbing hard circles on your clit again. “Do it for me. Show me how desperate you are to let some stranger fuck you like this.”

Tears began to leak out of your eyes. They weren’t bad; it was just so much, so overwhelming. You could tell that he was having doubts, so you sat up slightly to bury your face in his neck. He groaned, thrusting harder before pushing you back down. He pinned you to the couch, both of his large hands holding you down as he mercilessly pounded you. More tears leaked from your eyes, and he laughed wickedly under the mask.

“What’s wrong?” he taunted. “Is my dick too big for you, you disgusting slut? Can’t take it all?”

“No, i can,” you said, trying to get out of his grip.

“Then take it and cum for me,” he coaxed, fucking you as hard as he could. “Go ahead, show me you can do it.”

It didn’t take much more for you to cum. A few more strokes of his cock, a few more swipes with his fingers, and that was it. You screamed in pleasure, and none of that was exaggerated or fake, either. You squirted around him twice, and the director was staring in awe as the cameraman caught everything. You kept arching, moaning, bucking up against him as he continued to pound into you. He was panting above you under the mask, moaning as you felt him twitch inside of you. He was fighting hard to keep going, but you knew he was going to lose that fight very soon. You reached down and took his knife, holding it up with a smirk.

“You wanna hold this to my throat again?” you asked. “Maybe that would get you off.”

He took it and did just that, holding it on your throat as he pounded you. You moaned, clenching around him, bucking your hips up against his thrusts to aid him. He looked down at your breasts, then back to where the knife was held to your throat, and you felt him twitch twice. You knew it was coming and, sure enough, it did a moment later. He came hard inside of you, moaning through it, his head bowed as he allowed his orgasm to take him over. He continued to thrust until it was done, stopping and nearly collapsing on top of you before pulling out. But he wasn’t finished, and you already knew what was coming because of the script. He pulled you to a sitting position and opened your legs, eyeing your dripping cunt as he rubbed the knife between both of his hands.

“Look at that,” he said, running his fingers through your sensitive pussy before he knelt in front of you. “I made such a mess of you, didn’t I?”

“Mmm hmm,” you said, moaning as he lifted his mask. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“I think you know,” he said, dragging the knife over your thigh again before he started eating you out once more. “I’m nowhere close to being fucking done with you, you fucking slut. If you think that I am, then you’d better think again.”

“So much for scary movies, huh?” you asked, moaning as he began to devour your pussy even more desperately.

“I think this is much better,” he said, eating you out more feverishly. “You know what we should try? You know, since you’re such a filthy girl.”

“What?” you asked, moaning as he fucked you on his tongue.

“Giving it to you up the ass,” he said. “I think that would be fun, don’t you agree?”

“And cut!” the director called.

You whined as Eddie broke away from you, standing up as he helped you. The director was coming onto the set to talk to the cameraman, both of them seemingly pleased with what they’d gotten. Eddie sat the mask and the knife down on the couch, grabbing a water as someone on set offered one. He handed it to you, and you accepted it with a big smile. You took a drink, and Eddie’s hand was on your shoulder in a comforting gesture. He pulled his pants back up and gestured for someone to bring over your clothes. You slipped them on once they did, and Eddie wrapped your jacket around your shoulders for you with a smile.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I mean, I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I? I tried to be as careful–”

“No, I’m okay,” you assured him. “Really. I just wasn’t used to someone that big.”

“A lot of the women aren’t,” he said with an apologetic grin. “I always ask them to let me go in slow and careful, but they never really let me. I guess they don’t want to shatter the illusion. It’s just…you were crying, and i was so scared that i was hurting you.”

“Well, I can promise you that I’m totally fine,” you said, taking another sip of the water. “Do you think we did well enough for them?”

“Oh, I think we did,” he said with a chuckle.

“Something tells me they’ll be asking us to do another one together very soon,” you said.

“In that case,” he said, smiling as he leaned closer to you and offered an arm. “How about I buy you dinner? I know I’ve worked up a hell of an appetite tonight.”

You grinned, taking his arm with a nod. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

____________

taglist: @littledemondani @andvys @wroteclassicaly @succubusmunson @eddieschains @trashmouth-richie @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @reidsbtch @taintedcigs @happylilthought @sunkillerdreamer @battymunson @whore4romance @hallovoid @harrys-housewife14 @alovesongtheywrote @filthy-gorgeous @emmyshortcake @softgoodsstyles @deathlyweird

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson smut #ghostface eddie munson #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic

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lovexdeepspace · 9 months ago

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“life without you.”

summary; months after breaking up with them, they come for reconciliation.

warnings; heartbreak, break-ups

note; wowowow the first part to this blew up and i am so beyond thankful for all the love! after this comes more requests :D

!! divider by @cafekitsune !!

first part | angst ending

“we should probably see other people.”

༊*·˚. xavier

it had been a couple of months since you broke things off with xavier and the way his face had contorted into one of subtle shock made you feel, well, better about things. although it had pained you to say the words, knowing that he was instantly hit with something — be it guilt, regret, sadness, whatever — made you feel better knowing it meant he still cared enough about you.

though the months of silence that followed had you second guessing that notion, no matter how many times you tried to tell yourself it was normal for this to happen and that you should take advantage of this time. you would never admit to anyone the many nights you would spend on your couch, waiting around late at night hoping that knock would come on your door and your sleepy hunter would be on the other side.

perhaps you ended up manifesting it one too many times, however, because now you stand pj-clad in your doorway with one hand on your hip and a raised brow as xavier held out a round, marshmallow-looking stuffed bunny to you.

“what’s this?” you deadpanned, knowing exactly what he was doing — you just wanted to hear him say it.

xavier’s lips pressed into a tight line as he avoided your eyes and muttered, “i really screwed up. i didn’t realize how good things were with you until i lost you.”

you stayed silent, motioning for him to continue when he glanced your way.

“i don’t deserve to ask you for forgiveness, let alone should i expect you to take me back,” he said, holding your gaze, “but i’d be even more of a fool not to try. i’m so, so sorry i put you in such a shitty situation.”

xavier pushed the bunny a little closer to you, brightening a bit as you took it into your arms. it was soft and downright adorable, a stuffed reflection of the man in front of you(though, again, something else on the list of things that wouldn’t be admitted by you).

“i don’t expect you to answer me any time soon,” he added quickly, filling the silence, “so i’ll just —“

“xavier.”

the blonde immediately shut his mouth, giving you his rapt attention. with a sigh you look from the bunny to him before extending a hand to him, albeit hesitantly.

“i was in the middle of watching a movie,” you said, earning a confused look. “do you want to finish it with me?”

if your heart wasn’t racing by that point, the way xavier’s face broke out in a grin before he grabbed your hand excitedly and pulled you into your own apartment had it pounding against your rib cage like a drum.

༊*·˚. rafayel

you recieved a torrent of snarky, snappy texts following your brief break-up with rafayel. he switched between gaslighting you that nothing was happening and that you were overreacting to him acting nonchalant about the whole thing; it was so bad that you had to block his number before you even got back to your apartment, which was a few blocks away.

it was weird to not have your phone blowing up all day long but, at the same time, the silence was a sort of reprieve while you dealt with the emotional repercussions of the whole situation. it allowed you some peace of mind and gave you the space needed to cope and, with the months that followed, grow more comfortable with not being in a relationship anymore.

you had finally found yourself at peace once again, keeping yourself busy with things to do like trying out the new restaurant downtown. as you were getting ready to head out, a knock came from your front door.

“just a minute!” you called, adjusting the collar of your blouse in the mirror before heading to the door and opening it. “oh.”

standing in front of you was rafayel and thomas, the latter giving you a sweet smile and a wave.

“nice to see you!” he chirped before giving rafayel a shove on the shoulder and gesturing to you. “i’ll be in the car.”

“good seeing you, too, thomas,” you called as he walked off, then turned to rafayel. “so. it took your manager forcing you for you to come see me?”

rafayel pouted at you and crossed his arms over his chest. “last i checked, you’re the one who blocked my number.”

you barked out a laugh, unsure as to why you’d be surprised about the audacity of this man. “well, maybe it’s because you tried to downplay my feelings!”

“well i’m sorry, okay?” rafayel retorted, matching your raised volume. “there, happy?”

“happy?” you echoed, running a hand down your face. “rafayel, if you really think —”

“you’re right.”

you froze, biting back the rest of your statement and raising a brow. “i’m right?”

rafayel nodded, dropping his arms to his sides. “i fucked up. like truly, undoubtedly fucked up. and here i am, thinking i can just say sorry and fix it all but that’s not how it works. i’ve got this whole front to keep up to protect my stupid ego but. . .” he sniffles and you realize there are tears in his eyes but he continues before you can speak up.

“fuck my ego,” he spat, clearly more angry at himself with every word he spoke. “my life has been complete and utter shit without you in it. i thought i knew what i was doing but i was wrong and i can’t even begin to express how sorry i am. i don’t deserve forgiveness or anything from you but gods you deserved an apology and i hope this is at least somewhat sufficient.”

rafayel sniffled again, the tip of his nose reddening as he wiped at his eyes. you were shocked to say the least, rooted to the spot as you watched the man you always thought to be so invulnerable breaking down in front of you.

slowly you reached out and your hands pulled his away from his face. he looked at you with wide, teary eyes as your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing the few remaining tears away. he whispered your name and you sighed, feeling all the hardened feelings towards the artist and your breakup softening to mush.

“i’ve missed you,” he whispered, leaning into your touch, and everything gets thrown out the window as you press a quick kiss to his forehead, then his cheeks, then the corner of his lips.

“i missed you too,” you said quietly. “come inside — i’ll tell thomas that i’ll drive you home later.”

༊*·˚. zayne

his coldness towards you was to be expected but still stung more than you could’ve expected. what made the break-up even worse was that you had to do it at the hospital and she was present for it all. you had tripped over your words and felt like a fool but knew, deep down, it needed to be done to prevent you from spending another sleepless night.

you had accounted for the way you’d feel when you’d find his clothes in your laundry; you’d accounted for the way your heart would surge whenever the rare occurrence came that you’d see him out and about in linkon city; everything was thought out and prepared for to avoid feeling too harshly.

what you had failed to account for, however, was how you’d feel when you came home one day to find zayne sitting on your couch with at least ten different bouquets of flowers surrounding him.

first it was shock — you quite literally dropped all your belongings. zayne raised an eyebrow at your reaction as if it wasn’t incredibly surprising to see him sitting in your apartment after having months of no contact.

second it was realization — you hadn’t taken your spare key back. as soon as it hit you your shock wore off and you groaned, running a hand down your face. after a long day at work this was the last thing you were expecting and needed.

last came the indifference. you gestured to him, then to the door. zayne stood slowly and walked around the bouquets, heading for the door. you were surprised up until he shut the door and headed back to his original spot on the couch.

“zayne,” you deadpanned. “that was a sign for you to leave.”

“do you really want me to leave?” the doctor asked, his steely gaze sending shivers down your spine.

no. “why are you even here?” you asked, defeated, purposely avoiding the question. “months of not talking and you suddenly appear in my apartment? what gives?”

“i need to apologize,” zayne replied bluntly, gesturing to the plethora of flowers surrounding him. “did the flowers not make that obvious? are they not enough? should i have gotten more?”

he looked somewhat distraught as he looked around him and you shook your head with a sigh to cover up the way the corners of your mouth twitched. you’d hardly seen zayne so stressed let alone stressed over flowers and if they were enough for you.

“zayne, the flowers are lovely,” you assured him. “more than i know what to do with, though.”

zayne nodded slowly, a bit more at ease. he stood once more and walked over to you, stopping right in front of you. he took a deep breath and looked you square in the eye, though you noted the way his eyes flitted down to your lips for a split second.

“what i did, how i treated you, all of it was unacceptable,” he said softly and you couldn’t help but already feel him worming his way through your walls. “i don’t know what i was thinking — or if i was even thinking at all. you are the most caring, respectful, and loving partner anyone could ever ask for. i was so lucky to have you by my side and i foolishly messed everything up.”

you wanted to reach out and wrap your arms around him, truly, but he still looked as if he had more to say so you held yourself back for a moment longer.

“you are everything to me,” he said, “and i will do whatever i need to do to regain your trust, your love, everything. however long it takes — days, months, years, nothing else matters to me more than you.”

you were in awe of the man standing before you, so moved by his words and actions that you couldn’t help but wind your arms around him and pull him close to you. you could feel him relax in your embrace, something that nobody else could do no matter what. with your cheek pressed to his chest, you smiled to yourself as you felt him press a kiss to the crown of your head and his arms wrap tightly around you.

“since i went a little overboard with the flowers,” he mumbled, “do you think we should take them down to the hospital and give them out to the patients?”

there he was. your zayne. sweet, compassionate, loving zayne.

taglist; @chim-i @reialbert @circusclownsam @yegrnn @kreishin @xmikanx @frobin4ever @keitthen <3 & all the anons that requested this!

#love and deepspace #rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #lads xavier #lads zayne #xavier #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #zayne #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year ago

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Yan Cheater + Cheater Reader

Yan Cheaters are funny lemme try-

Yan Cheater who sees their darling dearest out on the town alone. You should be with them, but they'll fix that shortly. You're the person of their dreams and after so many failed relationships they're happy to find the right one. On their way over, their entire world crumbles as you're seen hugging and chatting up some random with a closeness you've never showed them. The unfamiliar face slings an arm around your shoulder as you walk off together - laughing as if you were without guilt.

You heartless bitch. How could you? After they'd give you their heart - their everything. Fine, fuck you - they could do the same thing. After crying through the night and crying their eyes they hit up a past fling to forget all about you; aggravated that all they can think of as the look at their partner is features that remind them of you. They ignore your calls, block you on everything, and have the time of their life with whoever's available... And looks like you.

The first time you saw them with someone else you turned tail and ran, saving your tears for a better time and person. Good - run off. You know what you did. They won't chase you - no matter how red their heart bleeds after seeing you after so long. You meet again at a party a mutual friend left in the dark was throwing. You, for closure - them, looking for a new body to take home. They couldn't even hide their disgust as you stomped up to them, two lockets in hand.

"What the hell did I do to you...."

They scoff. Trying to play innocent? "You know what you did."

"No! No I don't! You ghost me for weeks and never seem to be home when I try to talk to you, but the second I see you, you have your arm around somebody else. As far I remember, we were happy together. What did I do to you to deserve this?!"

"Hm... I think it was roughly a month ago. You and that little whore you met outside that coffee shop that just opened."

"Coffee shop?... Wha-" Your eyes widen. Unable to control your anger, you slap them across the face so hard the blow rattles in their teeth. They clutch their jaw. You little-

"That was my cousin, asshole!"

You toss the necklaces to the ground, two sets of initials engraved on their fronts.

"You didn't even bother to ask me about it before you ran off. If you really loved me, you wouldn't say something instead of jumping to conclusions. I knew dating you was a mistake. You spineless coward."

Their tongue feels heavy, likely cut on their teeth from your blow - bleeding; just like the heart they thought they lost. In a way - they truly had.

"Couldn't get a refund since they were custom" You spit on the fallen jewelry as you turn your back to them. "Happy Anniversary."

They fall to their knees, crawling after you as you fall into the crowd - grabbing your ankle. "No, baby. Please, baby - I fucked up bad, I know, but I can make this up to you. Sweetheart please - I'll delete everyone in my phone right now, even my parents. You'll be the only one. You're all I need. Baby, see? I'm doing it - look. Look at me - I'm sorry. Angel? Honey? D- don't leave me... DON'T LEAVE ME."

You have to change your phone number the very next day from all the calls you receive from the burner phones they purchased that same night to speak their part. Jobs too - as they stand outside and harass customers since your boss refused to let them in by your own wishes - accusing everyone of trying to take you away from them. You return home one day to find your front door unlocked and before you can realize the danger you step inside - your ex waiting with a carbon copy of every gift you threw out and wearing everything you ever gave them.

"Darling... I'm wearing that shirt you bought me last Christmas. I honestly thought it was hideous - but...it came from you. I'm wearing that hoodie you thought you lost too. I lied because I wanted to have something that smells like you to keep. It doesn't smell much like you anymore. Only my tears. I'm sorry - I won't ever lie to you again. You're perfect. My sweet angel. Please...give me a second chance. I don't know what I'll do if you don't."

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere blurb #yandere concept #yandere drabble #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere cheater

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dalishious · 3 months ago

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Help the family of a martyred Palestinian journalist

Do you remember the martyred journalist, Ayat Khadoura?

(Original video from Ayat's instragram)

(Another video from Ayat you may remember seeing)

Her sister Ghadeer, and Ghadeer's children, who are still surviving in Ghazzah, need our help!

As of posting this, the GoFundMe has only reached €1,875 donations in the last couple of months; and that is to feed five people when a kilo if rice is upwards of $20. Last time my girlfriend @yetanotherlesbianonthiswebsite, one of Ghadeer's sisters, spoke to her, she said that it was never enough, and that they were experiencing extreme hunger. The situation is so serious that the number of donations coming in corresponds to being barely able to afford soap, of which one bottle has shot up to $50.

Ghadeer often writes my girlfriend about how tired she is, how scared she is about hearing the bombs fall. Recently, a school in which many people had taken refuge in Deir El-Balah mere blocks away from her was bombed by occupation forces. Can you imagine the pain of a family who cannot bury its sisters, brothers, aunts, and uncles, because their bodies are in pieces beneath rubble? Can you imagine how it feels to have more murdered siblings than living ones? Can you imagine the pain of a mother who hears their children scream? Can you imagine the pain of a family who sees the once young and happy girl become nothing but skin and bones? And yet, no genocide can last forever, and we desperately need your help to get them through this.

For anyone wondering, the GoFundMe is directly linked on Ayat's Instagram account, administrated in memoriam by Yasmin, one of the sisters, who is also the organizer of the fundraiser. (Yasmin is directly mentioned in the shared video from WaPo, as proof.)

I am asking everyone who sees this to PLEASE SHARE and also, if you can, PLEASE DONATE! Every little bit helps when it is a matter of life and safety on the line.

A few family photos are below.

Martyred siblings, Ayat, Ayoub, Suad, Alaa, and Adam, as well as Ghadeer's martyred grandparents:

Two of Ghadeer's children, Fida and Aed:

Despite everything, they shared the little food they had with a furry visitor:

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reidmarieprentiss · 2 months ago

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Too Damn Young: Part Two

Summary: You and Spencer have been separated for three years, is that enough time to move on? For you, it would appear it is. Spencer doesn't know what to do when he gets your save-the-date in the mail.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: talks of divorce, keeping secrets from partner, alcohol consumption, impulsive decisions, breakups, argument with intoxicated Spencer, happy ending

Word count: 14k

a/n: sorry this took so long i got a very specific case of writer's block for this story ://

main masterlist part one

Three years had passed since Spencer Reid had moved away from you, but despite the physical distance, the love and bond you shared had managed to survive. Though the romantic part of your relationship had ended, your friendship remained strong and unbreakable.

Spencer kept you updated on his work at the BAU, sharing stories from the field and the challenges he faced. When your mom got married, knowing how difficult that event was for you, Spencer took time off from work to attend the wedding with you. His support was unwavering, even when he couldn’t be there in person. You would visit Diana when Spencer couldn’t, helping out in ways that kept you connected not only to him but also to his family.

Spencer continued to speak with your father regularly, keeping that connection alive even as your lives had diverged in different directions. In all, the two of you remained close, and your friendship had evolved into something even more profound, built on shared experiences, trust, and the deep understanding that comes from truly knowing each other.

A rock was thrown into the friendship you shared with Spencer, however, when he received a save-the-date card in the mail, addressed to him. As soon as he saw your name on it, so many emotions swarmed through his body that it made him physically ill. He scanned the card, his hands trembling as he tried to process the words. You were getting married. Again.

Spencer hadn’t even known you were seeing anyone, and now you were marrying someone? The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. His stomach twisted, and before he could stop it, he wretched and threw up, the shock and emotions overwhelming him completely.

He knew, logically, that the two of you were long since over. He had tried to move on. He had seen people off and on, but never took anything too seriously, never fully allowed himself to fall. Because, in the back of his mind, Spencer had always assumed that the two of you were destined to find your way back to each other. He never let go of that hope, and now, seeing your save-the-date, that hope was shattered.

In a moment of sheer panic and desperation, Spencer dialed Derek’s number, his voice breaking as he begged, “Please, Derek… come over, I—I need you.” He was crying, the words tumbling out incoherently, leaving Derek no choice but to rush to his best friend’s side, not knowing what had caused such an outburst of emotion.

When Derek arrived, Spencer had managed to somewhat compose himself, though the distress was still written all over his face. He motioned for Derek to sit, and with shaky breaths, he spilled everything. From the day you and Spencer met in Tahoe, to the whirlwind of dating, to your marriage, and ultimately, the divorce. Spencer had kept this part of his life hidden from the team, only ever referring to you as a “friend from college,” never revealing the deep connection the two of you once shared.

Derek listened, taking it all in with wide eyes, surprised but trying to make sense of it. Spencer had never been one to open up about personal matters, let alone something this big.

Then, Spencer threw the save-the-date card onto the table in front of Derek, the final piece of the puzzle falling into place. Derek picked it up, his face softening with understanding. He could see why this had devastated Spencer, why the younger man had broken down.

“Man… I didn’t know,” Derek said quietly, his voice filled with empathy. “I didn’t know you were still holding onto that.”

Spencer rubbed his eyes, his whole body slumped in defeat. “I thought… I thought maybe one day… we’d find our way back to each other. But now… she’s marrying someone else.”

Derek shook his head, unsure of what advice to offer. How do you console someone who’s just realized the future they’d been holding onto no longer existed?

“I’m sorry, Reid,” Derek sighed, pulling Spencer into a tight hug, feeling the weight of his friend's emotions. He didn’t know what else to say. He could feel how deeply this was hurting Spencer, and it pained him to see his best friend like this. “What are you going to do?”

Spencer leaned into Derek’s embrace, his body still trembling slightly as he huffed out a breath. “I guess… I’m going to the wedding,” he said, his voice filled with resignation. “She’s my best friend. I can’t… not be there for her.”

Derek, trying to find a way to lift the mood, jolted Spencer a bit, grinning mischievously. “Excuse you? I thought your best friend was sitting in front of you right now.”

A small laugh escaped Spencer, a brief moment of light in the middle of his turmoil. “You're right,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “Thank you, Derek. Really.”

Derek smiled, glad to have gotten a laugh out of him, but he knew it would take more than that to pull Spencer out of his spiral. So, for the rest of the day, Derek stayed by his side, doing whatever Spencer wanted—whether it was playing chess, watching documentaries, or just sitting in silence. Anything to keep his mind off the fact that the love of his life was getting married to someone else.

And, perhaps worst of all, she hadn’t told him anything about it until the save-the-date arrived. That, Derek knew, was what was really eating at Spencer—the idea that he wasn’t as much a part of your life as he once thought.

—

Spencer hadn’t reached out since receiving your save-the-date, unable to find the right words. Instead, he threw himself into spending more time with his colleagues and friends, agreeing to every social outing they planned. He was trying to distract himself, to drown out the constant noise in his head about what your upcoming marriage meant for him.

Tonight, he found himself whiskey tasting with Rossi, Hotch, and Derek. As the evening wore on and the whiskey flowed freely, their conversations grew looser, more personal. Rossi and Hotch began comparing their divorce stories, laughing about their past pain and the fleeting joys of their marriages. Derek looked over at Spencer, knowing full well the turmoil going on beneath his quiet exterior, being the only one who knew about Spencer’s secret heartbreak.

Spencer seemed to be somewhere else entirely, lost in his own world, not really listening to the conversation. Derek wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but he was silently relieved when Spencer excused himself to go to the bathroom. Maybe it was better if he didn’t hear the rest of this conversation.

But instead of heading to the bathroom, Spencer stepped outside, pulling out his phone and making a decision he would soon regret. His fingers fumbled as he dialed your number. The alcohol had loosened his inhibitions, and all the pent-up frustration and hurt were boiling over.

The worst part? You answered.

“Spencer? Hi!” Your voice was warm but slightly distracted. “I’m still at work, is everything okay?”

Of course. The time difference. He hadn’t even thought about that. “I’m fine, Y/N,” he hiccuped, clearly not fine at all. “Well, no, I’m not. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?”

You were silent on the other end for a moment, the weight of his question hanging in the air. Finally, you sighed deeply. “Spencer… can we not do this right now? I can call you tomorrow.”

“No!” Spencer's voice was louder than intended, his frustration rising. “We need to do this now. I deserve an explanation.”

You sighed again, and Spencer could hear you moving around, likely retreating to a quieter place in your office. “Okay. Fair enough. I started seeing Noa about two years ago. They’re amazing, Spence. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“So you thought sending me a save-the-date was better?” Spencer’s voice raised again, the whiskey fueling his anger. “That’s messed up, and you know it.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I was scared. I’m sorry.”

Spencer’s brain was spinning, but one thought stood out. “Wait… you’ve only been together for two years?” His voice had grown darker, accusatory.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, okay?” you said, your voice strained but still calm, trying to diffuse the situation.

“You’re just rushing into marriage again!” Spencer shot back, the words spilling out before he could stop them. His frustration, his heartbreak, everything he had buried for the last five years, it all came pouring out.

“What?” you asked, your voice coming out small and weak, despite the fact that you wished it had been strong, confident, maybe even cold. But it wasn’t. The hurt you felt made it tremble.

Spencer scoffed, his frustration bubbling over. “You’re just jumping into another relationship without thinking about the consequences.”

You blinked, shocked at the accusation. “How would you know what I’m doing? I haven’t seen you since my mom’s wedding… that was three years ago,” you shot back, your voice firmer now, though still tinged with hurt.

“Right, how could I forget?” Spencer’s voice grew louder, his emotions spiraling out of control. “You were flirting with every pair of long legs that walked by, in front of me!”

You were taken aback, your heart pounding in disbelief. “What? No, I did not! And besides, what would it matter if I did?” you spat out, the pain in your voice evident now. “You left me, Spencer.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and full of unresolved heartache.

“Is that how you remember it?” Spencer asked, his heart breaking even more, his voice softer now but filled with sorrow.

“That’s how it happened,” you said, a tear slipping down your cheek, because as much as you loved him, as much as he had been a huge part of your life, the wound of his departure was still raw.

“Well, I’m very sorry that’s how you see it,” Spencer said, his voice steadying now as the alcohol-induced haze began to lift, leaving behind the weight of reality.

You nodded, even though you knew Spencer couldn’t see you, and tried to keep your voice from breaking. “Mhm,” you managed, holding back the sob that was lodged in your throat.

“That’s it?” Spencer pressed, his frustration giving way to something closer to disbelief.

“Mhm,” you repeated, not trusting yourself to say much more without unraveling completely.

“You don’t have anything else you want to say to me?”

A quiet, almost broken, “Mm mm,” was all you could offer. The tears were too close now, and speaking felt impossible.

There was a long pause on Spencer’s end, the tension between you both palpable even through the phone. “Bye, Y/N,” he said finally, the weight of those two words heavier than you’d ever imagined. And with that, Spencer hung up.

He returned to his friends at the whiskey tasting, but his heart wasn’t in it anymore. He opted out of the rest of the drinks, choosing instead to just sit in their company, trying to find some comfort in the camaraderie, even though his mind was miles away, back with you, replaying the conversation in his head.

—

As you sat in your office, the weight of the conversation with Spencer bearing down on you, the flood of emotions finally broke free. Your body shook with barely concealed sobs, and as much as you tried to hold it together, it was too much. The truth was painfully clear—you knew why you couldn’t bring yourself to tell Spencer about Noa. How could you possibly tell the man you were still in love with that you were marrying someone else, someone who was there to fill the void he left behind?

It wasn’t that you didn’t love Noa. You did—deeply. They were everything you could ask for in a partner—amazing, generous, loving, and you were genuinely ecstatic to marry them. But that didn’t change the fact that Spencer was still there in your heart, occupying a space that no one else ever could.

A knock sounded at the door, breaking through your thoughts. “Y/N? Sweetie, can I come in?” Alexi’s voice came from the other side. Your assistant manager, your number two, and more importantly, your best friend.

You wiped at your tear-streaked cheeks, trying to pull yourself together. “Yeah.”

Alexi pushed open the door, taking one look at your broken figure and immediately coming over. “Oh baby, what happened?” they asked, their voice soft with concern.

You sighed, pushing yourself up to sit on the desk beside them. “Spencer called… he’s upset.”

Alexi didn’t need you to explain more. They knew everything—they had been there after Spencer had left, helping you pick up the pieces of your life. They wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close in a comforting embrace. “I told you he wouldn’t react well,” they said, never one to sugarcoat the truth.

You let out a tearful laugh, nodding. “You did. And I should’ve listened.”

Alexi rubbed your back, offering silent support before they asked, “Are you going to tell Noa?”

You shook your head immediately. “No. Noa doesn’t need to know.”

Alexi’s sigh was deep, full of the understanding but firm truth they always brought to your conversations. “Yes, they do, sweetie. Spencer is always going to be a part of you. Noa deserves to know all of the person they’re marrying.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the truth of their words but resisting it all the same. “Spencer is… he’s mine, you know?” Your voice cracked slightly. “He’s a part of my past, encapsulated like a snow globe just for me. I don’t want Noa to know all the details. What if they don’t want to marry me if they do?”

Alexi squeezed your shoulder gently, looking you directly in the eyes. “Y/N… keeping secrets isn’t a good way to start a marriage. If Noa decides they don’t want to marry you because of what happened, then that’s how it’s going to be. But they deserve to know the whole person they’re committing to.”

The weight of their words sank in, but it didn’t make it any easier. You knew they were right. But admitting the depth of what Spencer still meant to you, and risking ruining another relationship because of it, felt impossible. Spencer was yours—a part of you that no one else could touch. And you didn’t want to lose anyone else by dragging him into your present, when he was meant to stay in the past, locked away safely in your heart and mind.

So you went along with the wedding planning, trying to stay present, but the excitement you had once felt for this kind of event was dimmed. Your moms, both of them now, took charge, pulling you and Alexi along for dress shopping. You went through the motions, smiling when you were supposed to, but in the back of your mind, it felt like something was always missing. Maybe it was because you had done this before—planning a wedding, preparing for a future you thought was set in stone. That time, you were marrying your best friend, your soulmate. Nothing could have brought you down.

Now, though, it felt like everything was falling apart.

You found a dress you didn’t hate, but when you discovered it wasn’t made in your size, your heart sank. The tailoring bills would be through the roof. And there was no way you could ask your parents to help with another wedding, let alone explain that to Noa. So you settled for a different dress, something more practical, less special. It was a compromise, and one of many.

Then there were the flowers—your (second) favorite flowers, the ones you had dreamed of having at your wedding since you got engaged. But you couldn’t have them. As it turned out, Noa was allergic. How that had eluded you for two years, you’d never know, but it felt like another loss, another thing you had to give up.

The food? That was another issue entirely. Noa was vegan and gluten-free, which was fine—you supported them in that. But it meant you couldn’t have any of the dishes you wanted at your wedding, and the excitement over picking a menu disappeared entirely. It wasn’t about the food; it was about the mounting compromises that made you feel like you were losing more of yourself in the process.

Then, as if the universe wanted to add insult to injury, the live band you’d booked canceled last minute. They refunded half the deposit, but it wasn’t nearly enough to book a new band, and you were left scrambling for a backup.

It was all a mess. And through it all, the only RSVP that mattered to you—Spencer’s—still remained unanswered. Even Diana had agreed to come, and your father had offered to travel with her from Nevada. But Spencer’s name sat unmarked on the list, and the weight of his silence felt heavier than everything else combined.

—

It was late, and the bullpen was eerily quiet—long after everyone else had gone home for the night. The soft, dim glow of desk lamps was the only light illuminating the space, and Spencer sat hunched over at his desk, staring blankly at a stack of files, though his mind was miles away. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t shake the thoughts of you that had been circling his mind like an endless loop ever since that phone call. The way your voice had cracked, the words you hadn't said hanging heavy in the silence afterward.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the weight of it all pressing down on his chest like a vice. Spencer didn’t notice Penelope walking out of her office until she was standing right in front of him, her bright pink coat draped over one arm, a concerned look etched on her face.

“Hey, Boy Wonder,” she said softly, leaning against his desk. “What are you still doing here? It’s way past your bedtime.”

Spencer glanced up at her, forcing a small, weak smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Just... thinking, I guess,” he murmured, looking back down at the files in front of him, though he wasn’t really reading them.

Penelope’s eyes narrowed slightly. She knew Spencer well enough to recognize when something was wrong, and this didn’t look like his typical bouts of insomnia. “Uh-uh, that won’t fly,” she said, her tone firm but gentle. “What’s really going on, Reid?”

He hesitated, his fingers nervously tapping against the edge of his desk. He didn’t know where to begin, how to explain the mess of feelings tangled up inside him—the regret, the longing, the fear that he’d lost you for good. But Penelope had a way of pulling things out of him, and before he knew it, he was talking. Telling her everything.

“It’s... it’s about someone from my past,” Spencer admitted, staring down at his hands. He could feel the heat rising in his face, the weight of the secret that he’d kept for so long bearing down on him. “Her name is Y/N. We... we were close.”

Penelope’s eyes widened as she quickly pulled out the chair across from Spencer and sat down, leaning in closer. “Wait, wait, wait, slow down,” she said, a look of shock and curiosity flashing across her face. “Who is Y/N? And how do I not know about her? You’ve never mentioned her before, Spencer!”

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, fidgeting nervously. “That’s kind of the point. I never told anyone. Well... except Morgan, recently. But... it’s complicated, Penelope.”

“Complicated how?” Penelope’s voice was gentle, but there was an urgency to it—a desire to understand. “How... close were you two?”

Spencer hesitated, his fingers tapping anxiously against the edge of his desk. He knew he couldn’t keep everything bottled up any longer. “We were... really close. We met when we were both eighteen, and we... got married. And then divorced. And then stayed friends,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out all at once. “And I never told anyone because it felt like... like this part of my life that didn’t fit with everything else. Like a different person I used to be.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped, and for once, she was speechless. Her eyes darted around his face, as if trying to comprehend the enormity of what he’d just shared. “Spencer Reid, you were married?” she finally managed to say, her voice squeaking at the end. “And divorced? And you never... you never said anything?”

Spencer gave a small, helpless shrug. “Yeah. I know, I should’ve told you all a long time ago. But it’s... it’s a lot to explain, and I guess I just... buried it.”

Penelope blinked a few times, trying to process everything. “Okay, okay,” she said, holding up a hand to stop herself from spiraling. “So... Y/N. You were married to her. And now you’re... friends?”

Spencer nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety at finally sharing this part of his life. “Yeah, friends. We kept in touch over the years. But she’s... she’s getting married again. And I... I found out through a save-the-date in the mail.”

“Whoa, wait, wait,” Penelope cut in, holding up her hand. “She’s getting married? Like, married married? And she didn’t tell you?”

He nodded, the pain in his chest tightening at the memory. “Yeah. And I got upset, and I—I probably said some things I shouldn’t have. And now... I can’t stop thinking about her, and it’s driving me crazy.”

Penelope’s expression softened, her eyes filled with understanding. She reached across the desk, placing her hand over Spencer’s. “Spencer,” she said softly, “you know why you can’t stop thinking about her, right?”

Spencer sighed, biting his lip as he nodded. “Because I still love her,” he admitted, the words feeling both like a relief and a weight off his shoulders. “I never stopped. I thought I was fine with just being her friend, with us being apart, but...”

“But you’re not fine,” Penelope finished for him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “And you don’t have to be. She was your first love, and that kind of thing doesn’t just go away.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “But she’s engaged, and she seems happy. I can’t just... disrupt her life like that.”

Penelope let out a soft huff, her eyes full of determination. “Spencer Reid, I know you like to overthink things, but this is one of those times where you need to be honest. If you have feelings for her, if you think there’s a chance—any chance—that she feels the same way, then you owe it to yourself to tell her. Before it’s too late.”

Spencer looked up at her, a flicker of hope mixing with fear in his eyes. “But what if it is too late? What if... what if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I just make everything worse?”

Penelope’s smile was soft but firm, her voice steady as she spoke. “That’s a risk you’ll have to take, Reid. But it’s better to take that risk than to spend the rest of your life wondering what if. You deserve to be happy. And if she’s the person who makes you happy, then you need to fight for that.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away, the weight of her words settling over him as he considered them. He had spent so long running from his feelings, trying to bury them under the guise of friendship, trying to convince himself that he was okay with you moving on. But the truth was, he wasn’t okay. And maybe, just maybe, he needed to do something about it.

“Thanks, Penelope,” he said quietly, a small, genuine smile finally tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I... I think I needed to hear that.”

She grinned, standing up and patting his shoulder. “Anytime, genius. Now go home, get some rest, and think about what you’re going to say. You’ve got this.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving Spencer alone in the quiet bullpen, but with a sense of clarity he hadn’t felt in years. He knew what he needed to do. It was terrifying, it was messy, but it was right.

He needed to talk to you. To tell you how he felt. Before it really was too late.

—

The hours of the night ticked by slowly as Spencer lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his apartment. Every attempt to sleep had been thwarted by the constant thoughts of you—the weight of the conversation with Penelope, the memories of your time together, and the sharp, raw feeling that he was running out of time. He couldn’t shake it. Every breath felt heavier than the last, and the silence of his apartment only amplified the whirlwind of emotions crashing around in his head.

At some point, the moonlight gave way to the faintest hint of dawn, but still, Spencer didn’t sleep. He just lay there, feeling like a boy again, filled with that same sense of panic and yearning he hadn’t felt in years. But there, in the early morning light, it finally hit him—what he had to do.

He shot up in bed, heart pounding, the idea forming fully in his mind. He had to tell you. He couldn’t wait any longer; he couldn’t let the fear, or doubt, or whatever this was, stop him. He had to tell you how he felt, face-to-face. Whatever happened, whatever you said, at least then he could say he tried.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet, pacing the length of his room, grabbing his phone, his wallet, hastily packing a bag. He barely had time to think the plan through—there was no plan. There was only the need to see you, to make things right, or at least to make his feelings known. He booked a flight to California within minutes, his hands shaking as he entered his credit card details, the urgency pushing him forward with every click.

The airport was a blur of noise and motion. The world seemed to move around him while his focus remained narrowed to a single thought—you. Spencer sat in his seat on the plane, the hours of the flight feeling endless as his knee bounced restlessly, and his fingers drummed against the armrest. He had no idea what he would say to you, how he would find the words to make sense of everything. He only knew that he had to see you.

When the plane finally landed, the sun was bright and warm, the California heat a stark contrast to the cool air of Virginia. He didn’t even take a moment to collect himself; he just grabbed his bag and rushed through the terminal, out into the familiar streets he hadn’t seen in years. The world around him blurred with motion and sound, but none of it registered. His only thought was getting to you.

But as Spencer stepped outside of the airport, the rush of determination he felt on the plane quickly started to fizzle out. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut—he had no idea where you lived anymore. The apartment you had shared when you were married was long gone, and though he kept up with you through your phone calls and letters, he didn’t know if you and your fiancé had found a place of your own, if you were living together at all.

He stood on the sidewalk, the California sun beating down on him, making him feel both restless and lost. There was no time to panic, though; he had come all this way, and he couldn’t just stand there like a fool. He needed to find you. And fast.

The next best thing was to hail a cab and give the driver directions to the one place he knew you would eventually be—your bookstore. He paid the fare quickly and grabbed his bags, rushing inside the shop, his eyes darting around, scanning the familiar shelves, the worn floorboards, the comforting smell of old books.

A bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, and a young employee behind the counter looked up, offering a polite smile. “Hi, welcome in,” they said, but their voice didn’t really register. Spencer was too caught up in the whirlwind of his thoughts, in the desperation that had brought him here.

“Is Y/N here?” he rushed out, his voice high with nerves, his hands clenched tightly around the strap of his bag.

The employee’s smile faltered slightly at the urgency in his voice, and they gave him a curious look, one that seemed to ask who the hell he was and why he seemed so frantic. “Um, no, she’s not here,” they said slowly. “She’s wedding planning today.”

Spencer’s heart sank further. Of course, you’d be busy with wedding planning—it was all you were doing these days. But the reality of it stung, like a reminder that he was too late, that you were already too far gone into your new life.

“Do you know where I could find her?” he asked, trying to keep the pleading tone out of his voice but failing. He was holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, he could track you down.

But the employee just shook their head, their face softening into a look of pity. “No, sorry. I really don’t. I think she’s meeting with a wedding planner or looking at venues, something like that.”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the walls of the bookstore closing in on him. He had been so sure of what he needed to do, so convinced that coming here would give him the answers he was looking for. But now, standing there, with no clue where to go next, he felt like a man adrift, a stranger in a place that was once so familiar.

“Okay,” he managed to choke out, trying to keep his voice steady. “Thank you.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” the employee replied, their eyes still fixed on him like he was a puzzle they couldn’t quite figure out.

Spencer turned on his heel and walked out of the store, the bell chiming behind him as he left. He stood on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath to steady himself, to fight back the rising panic. He didn’t know where you were. He had no idea how to find you. And he had no plan.

But he wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

Spencer stood on the sidewalk, the desperation clawing at his chest like a living thing. His heart pounded, the reality of his situation finally starting to sink in. He had come all this way, but he didn’t know where to find you.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his fingers shaking as he quickly dialed Penelope. She picked up on the first ring, her voice chirping through the line. “Hey, genius, what’s up?”

“Penelope,” he said quickly, the urgency in his voice making it clear that this wasn’t a casual call. “I need your help. I need to know where Y/N lives. Can you find her address?”

“What? Wait, why? Spencer, what’s going on?” Penelope’s voice was full of confusion, and he could hear her clicking away on her keyboard in the background.

“There’s no time to explain. Please, just... please, Penelope, can you find it?” He knew he was asking a lot, putting her on the spot like this, but he didn’t know what else to do. He needed to see you.

“Okay, okay, hang on,” she said, the rapid clicking of her keyboard growing louder as she searched for your information. “Got it. She lives at XXXX S Higuera St.”

“Thank you,” Spencer said, the words rushing out of him like a breath he’d been holding in. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” Penelope said, her voice somewhere between worried and annoyed. “Now go get her, cowboy.”

Spencer hung up and flagged down another cab, rattling off your address to the driver, who sped off in the direction of your house. The drive felt longer than it should have, every minute dragging on like an eternity, the silence in the car filled only with the beating of his heart and the hum of the engine. He watched the city rush by in a blur, every moment bringing him closer to you.

When they finally pulled up to the row of houses, Spencer fumbled with his wallet, throwing bills at the driver and mumbling a hurried “Keep the change,” before jumping out, his bag slung over his shoulder. He stood in front of your house, staring at the navy-blue door that stood between him and you. This was it. There was no going back now.

He lifted his hand and knocked, the sound echoing louder than he anticipated, every thud ringing in his ears. And then he waited, holding his breath as he heard footsteps approaching the door, his whole body tense and shaking with anticipation.

The door swung open, and there you were. You looked different than he’d remembered, yet exactly the same. Your eyes widened in shock, your phone still pressed to your ear.

“Uh, Alexi, I’m going to have to call you back,” you said into the phone, your voice thick with surprise. “Yeah, I’m fine.” There was a pause, and then you said softly, “Thank you, love you too. Bye.” You hung up, your eyes never leaving his, the weight of the moment hanging heavy between you.

“Spencer? What the fuck?” you finally said, and the sound of your voice hit him like a punch—familiar, angry, bewildered, and all of it wrapped in a painful confusion.

He took a breath, trying to steady himself, to find the words he’d rehearsed in his mind a hundred times, but they all fled as he stood there, face-to-face with you. He was speechless, overwhelmed by everything he felt, and everything he hadn’t let himself feel for so long.

“I—” he started, but his voice faltered. He took another breath, gathering his thoughts. “I know this is... a surprise. I know you’re mad. But I had to come, Y/N. I had to see you. I just... I need to talk to you.”

“You couldn’t call?” you asked, the mix of surprise and annoyance evident in your voice. You were clearly caught off guard by his sudden appearance, and you had every right to be. Spencer was out of breath, the tension between you almost unbearable as he searched for the right words.

“It’s too important,” he managed, his voice a blend of urgency and regret. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the desperation to make you understand why he was here.

You stared at him for a moment longer, a storm of emotions flashing across your face—confusion, frustration, and something softer that he couldn't quite place. “Okay... come in.” Your voice was softer now, but guarded.

You stepped back, allowing him to walk into the foyer. The smell of your home washed over him—familiar, yet different from the last place you shared together. He followed as you led him into the living room, the warmth of the space feeling like an extension of you. The cozy seating, soft lighting, and small personal touches made it welcoming and lived-in.

“Just... stay here for a minute,” you said quietly before disappearing into another room, leaving Spencer standing awkwardly by the couch. He took in everything—the framed photos on the walls, the plants that seemed to thrive under your care, the comfortable arrangement of the furniture. It all felt so you, and so foreign to him at the same time.

After a few minutes, you returned, carrying two cups of tea in your hands. You set one down in front of him and sat down across from him, holding your own cup tightly, as if it was anchoring you. “Sorry,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t have your brand anymore.”

Spencer gave a small, understanding nod, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s okay,” he said softly. He cradled the cup between his hands, feeling the warmth seep through his fingers. He didn’t know how to start, how to break the silence that felt so loud between you. All he knew was that he needed to be here, to find the right words, to make sense of this tangled mess of feelings.

The only sound was the faint clinking of the spoon against the porcelain as you stirred your tea, neither of you looking at each other, both waiting for someone to break the silence.

Spencer glanced down at the steam rising from his cup, feeling the burn of your words more than the heat of the tea. He knew you were right—the last time you spoke, things were... ugly. Painful. He had been angry, and confused, and felt like he was losing you all over again.

“Why are you here, Spencer?” you sighed, your voice carrying the exhaustion of all the times you’d thought about him, about the complicated knot of your past. “Last time we talked, you seemed pretty pissed.”

He winced, gripping the cup tighter, feeling the porcelain edge bite into his skin. “I know,” he said quietly, finally daring to look up and meet your eyes. “I was... I was angry. And I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to take it out on you like that. I—” He paused, fumbling for the right words. “I shouldn’t have called you, not like that. It wasn’t fair.”

You stayed quiet, your eyes searching his face, waiting for the explanation you knew was coming. Spencer felt himself shrinking under the weight of your gaze, but he pressed on, knowing this was the only chance he had to make things right. “I came here because... because I need to talk to you. To see you.” He took a breath, the words coming out more rushed now, desperate. “And I know it’s selfish, but I couldn't stop thinking about you—about us. About everything we never said.”

The tension hung in the air, like a line pulled taut between you, ready to snap. He leaned forward, his voice pleading. “Please, just hear me out. Let me say what I came here to say.”

You felt your blood drain from your face, a cold, tingling numbness spreading through your body. This was it, the conversation you’d been dreading—and yet, somehow, you knew it was inevitable. Your heart hammered against your ribs, your skin prickling with anxiety as sweat began to bead on your upper lip. You swallowed hard, gripping your cup tightly, using it as your anchor, grounding yourself in the reality of this moment.

All you could do was nod. There were so many things you wanted to say, to shout, to demand from him—but the words lodged themselves in your throat, refusing to come out. So, you stayed silent, allowing Spencer to speak, knowing you needed to hear whatever he had traveled all this way to say.

He took a deep breath, his fingers shaking slightly as he set his cup down on the table. He couldn’t look at you directly; it was too much. Instead, his eyes darted around the room, focusing on anything but your face, as he tried to gather his thoughts.

“I know this is... a lot,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I know that I have no right to come here and just... drop all of this on you.” He ran a hand through his hair, a familiar nervous gesture that made your heart ache. “But I need to be honest, because I can’t keep living with these... feelings and regrets.”

He finally forced himself to look at you, his eyes searching yours, pleading silently for you to understand. “When I called you that night, I was angry. Not only at you, but at myself. Because I realized I’ve never let you go. I thought that maybe if I stayed away, if I just... buried everything, it would go away. But it hasn’t.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat, his words hitting you like a wave, pulling you under. Your heart pounded harder, hope, fear, and dread swirling in your chest.

Spencer’s voice shook as he continued, the vulnerability in his words cutting through the tension. “I came here to tell you that I still love you,” he said, his eyes burning into yours, his face a mask of raw emotion. “I don’t know what that means for us, or if it changes anything. I just... I needed you to know. Because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least tell you the truth.”

The silence that followed was deafening, your mind racing as you absorbed his confession. This was the moment you had both avoided for so long, the moment where everything hung in the balance. You could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, each beat echoing in the room as you processed his words.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Just... tell me what you’re thinking. Say something. Anything.”

“What do you want me to say?” you choked out, your voice strained and small, the whirlwind of emotions clawing at your insides making it impossible to find the right words. Everything he was saying felt like it came from a different lifetime—a different you, a different him, a different version of the love you used to share.

“Anything, please,” Spencer begged, his eyes wide and frantic as he searched your face for a hint of what you were feeling. “What are you thinking?”

You swallowed, feeling the words spill out before you could stop them. “I’m getting married,” you said, the reality of it crashing down on you like a wave.

Spencer’s head dropped immediately, his shoulders slumping as if all the life had drained out of him. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, sounding as if saying the words broke something inside him. “I just thought maybe—”

“Maybe?” You couldn’t keep the sharpness from your voice, the anger and pain flooding through your system and finding their way into the space between you. “Maybe what?” You snapped, your emotions boiling over, unable to place what exactly you were feeling—love, anger, guilt, sadness, all at once, and none of them making sense. “You think you can just show up here and what? That I’d—”

But before you could finish, before either of you could continue spiraling down this road of raw and messy confessions, the jingle of keys being put into a lock pierced through the tense air, and both of your heads snapped toward the front door. Your blood ran cold as you realized what it meant.

Noa was home.

Your fiancé stepped inside, the warm light from the hallway spilling in behind them, painting the moment in a surreal glow. They were smiling, the familiar, comforting smile that you had come to know so well—one that could normally bring you peace. But now, the sight of them there, standing in the doorway while Spencer sat on your couch, made your heart plummet.

“Hey, babe,” Noa’s voice was light and warm as they shrugged off their jacket, the smile still on their face, though it faltered slightly when they saw Spencer sitting in the living room. “Who’s this?”

Your throat tightened, your mouth suddenly dry, and you felt your voice catch as you tried to find the words to explain, to introduce, to do anything that made sense.

Spencer, too, had gone completely still, his face pale, as if the reality of your life without him had hit all at once. This was the moment he hadn’t prepared for, the part of your life that he didn’t fit into, and it was staring him straight in the face.

“Hey, baby,” you said, the words catching in your throat, but forcing them out with a smile that you hoped looked normal, even as you felt Spencer flinch beside you. He knew that phrase all too well—the way you’d say it when you greeted him after a long day, the warmth and comfort that came with it. But now it was meant for someone else, and the reality of that cut through him like a knife.

Noa’s eyes darted between the two of you, clearly trying to make sense of the situation, their smile wavering. “This is Spencer,” you continued, trying to keep your voice steady, trying to make the introduction sound casual, like this wasn’t a huge, life-altering moment. “Um, he’s an old friend. He was in the neighborhood and... stopped by.”

You hated the way the lie sat on your tongue, the way it felt so heavy, so wrong. But what choice did you have? How were you supposed to explain who Spencer was to you—what he was to you? Especially now, when everything was in chaos and your heart felt like it was being split in two. So, you forced yourself to smile, to make it seem like there was nothing more to it than a surprise visit from someone you used to know.

Noa’s face softened a bit, their guard dropping as they took a step closer, holding out a hand to Spencer. “Oh, nice to meet you,” they said kindly, their eyes gentle and curious. “I’ve heard a lot about Y/N’s friends from back in the day, but I don’t think your name ever came up.”

Spencer managed a tight smile, shaking Noa’s hand as he fought to steady himself. “Yeah, it’s... nice to meet you too,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, the discomfort and awkwardness bleeding into every word. It was all so surreal, so painfully normal on the surface when everything underneath was chaos.

Noa looked between the two of you again, oblivious to the tension, and then smiled wider, turning their attention back to you. “I picked up takeout from that place you love on 5th. Figured we could have a low-key night in.”

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat. “That sounds perfect. Really... perfect.”

Noa’s hand slipped around your waist, and you could feel Spencer's eyes burning into you, the unspoken words swirling around all of you like a storm. You knew you had to get him out of here—this wasn’t the time, and now was definitely not the place for whatever this was.

“Actually, um, Spencer was just leaving,” you said quickly, turning to him with pleading eyes. “Right, Spence?”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable, so many emotions passing through his eyes that it made you dizzy. But finally, he nodded, standing up slowly, the movement heavy with everything left unsaid. “Yeah... right. It was, um... nice seeing you, Y/N. Thanks for the tea.”

“Nonsense,” Noa cut in with a laugh, and you felt your stomach sink. “Join us,” they insisted, their voice warm and friendly as always. “I got enough for leftovers, but we’re fine with sharing, right, Y/N?” They gave you a light squeeze around your waist, completely unaware of the tension in the room, or the storm that had just been brewing moments before.

You felt your throat close up, the air around you becoming thin as panic gripped you. This was not supposed to happen—Spencer wasn’t supposed to stay, wasn’t supposed to be a part of this cozy, intimate meal with you and Noa. Your lives had already diverged, the gap too wide to bring together in a setting like this.

“Uh...” you started, your voice wavering, trying to find a way out of this without raising suspicion. But Noa’s hand was on your back, rubbing comforting circles, and they were looking at Spencer with nothing but open hospitality in their eyes.

“Come on, the more the merrier,” Noa urged, already turning to set their bags down on the counter, oblivious to the pleading look you gave Spencer.

Spencer’s face twisted with hesitation. He looked at you, then back at Noa, clearly torn between what he wanted and what he knew was best. “Really, I don’t want to intrude. I just... came to say hi.” His voice was small, and the vulnerability in it broke your heart all over again.

“No intrusion at all,” Noa said, already moving to unpack the takeout, arranging it on the table with a careless ease that made the whole situation seem almost normal. “I insist. Besides, you came all the way here. At least let us feed you before you head back.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat, the pressure of everything unsaid building up to a point you could barely contain. You could see the strain on Spencer’s face, the conflict in his eyes as he glanced between you and Noa. He didn’t want to be here, and you didn’t want him here either—not like this, not when it felt like every word spoken was laden with a secret.

But Noa’s smile was so open, so genuine, and your fiancé was already pulling plates out of the cabinet, laying them out for the three of you. You didn’t have it in you to make a scene, to start an argument you didn’t know how to finish.

“Spence... please, stay.” The words felt foreign as they left your mouth, and you hoped the slight tremor in your voice wasn’t noticeable. Noa didn't seem to pick up on it, too focused on setting the table and serving the food, but Spencer’s eyes caught yours, and you could see the depth of confusion and pain swimming behind them.

After a long moment, he gave a reluctant nod, sitting back down on the couch, his movements stiff and uneasy. “Okay... yeah, sure,” he said, forcing a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll stay.”

“Great!” Noa’s voice was bright and full of excitement as they motioned for you both to come to the table. “Let's eat.” They sat down, already starting to pass out food, while you and Spencer found seats across from each other.

The table felt small, impossibly so, as if there was no space for all the emotions crammed into the room. And as the three of you sat down to eat, your mind raced, wondering how you were supposed to navigate this impossible dinner, with the man you once loved—and maybe still loved—sitting across from you, and the person you were supposed to marry right by your side.

“So, Spencer,” Noa began as they served out portions of food onto each plate, completely oblivious to the tension coiled like a spring between you and Spencer. “How long have you and Y/N known each other?”

You nearly dropped your fork, your hand trembling as you pretended to focus on your plate. You couldn’t look at Spencer; you didn’t know what expression he’d have or what he might say. All you could do was silently will him to keep it vague, to stick to the basics and not let anything slip that could unravel everything.

Spencer cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat, poking at the food on his plate with his fork. “Uh… a while,” he said carefully, his voice steady but low. “We, um, met when I moved for college.”

“Yeah? That’s awesome!” Noa beamed, seemingly thrilled to learn more about your past. “What did you study, Spence?”

You winced at the nickname, one you’d used so many times before but now sounded wrong coming from someone else. You could see the way Spencer’s eyes flickered at the mention of it, but he smiled tightly, glancing over at you for the briefest second before looking back at Noa. “I, um, studied a few things. Math, engineering, some psychology…” He trailed off, clearly trying to keep it as bland as possible, but the tension in the air was palpable.

Noa continued, blissfully unaware of the underlying currents in the conversation. “Wow, that’s impressive! And you’re just in town for a visit? Or work?”

Spencer hesitated, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he searched for a response that wouldn’t set off alarms. “Uh, just… passing through, actually. Thought I’d… catch up with Y/N while I was here,” he finally said, each word feeling carefully weighed, trying to sound nonchalant but unable to hide the slight tremor in his voice.

“That’s so nice,” Noa said warmly, looking between the two of you. “Y/N always talks about her old friends, but it’s great to finally meet one in person. I’m glad she keeps up with people from back then.”

You gave a tight, forced smile, your stomach churning as you felt like you were teetering on a knife’s edge. “Yeah, you know me, always staying in touch,” you said quickly, trying to steer the conversation away from Spencer, away from the past, away from everything that felt like a ticking time bomb ready to explode if prodded too much.

“So, how long are you staying?” Noa asked, turning their attention back to Spencer, still friendly and curious. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, hoping Spencer would take the hint and not make this any more complicated than it already was.

“Oh, not long,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Just a short trip.” He paused, glancing at you again, the weight of his gaze almost too much to bear. “I, um… didn’t plan on staying long.”

“That’s a shame,” Noa said, completely missing the tense undercurrent between you two. “It would’ve been nice to spend more time getting to know you. Seems like you two must have been pretty close back then.”

“Yeah… something like that,” Spencer said softly, his eyes drifting down to his plate, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe, every second of this conversation digging you deeper into a pit you weren’t sure how to get out of. You just prayed—silently, desperately—that Spencer would keep his words guarded and that Noa wouldn’t start connecting any dots you weren’t ready to explain.

“Y/N, sweetums, you’re being awfully quiet,” Noa teased with a playful nudge to your side, and you saw Spencer’s eyes flicker as he tried to mask a cringe at the pet name. You never liked that one; it felt odd to you, and Spencer could tell. But Noa had started calling you that long ago, and it was one of those things you’d grown used to.

You forced a smile, praying it looked genuine. “Just letting you and Spencer get to know each other,” you said, but your voice came out strained, barely holding up under the weight of the situation. You could feel your nerves fraying, as if every word that left your mouth was the wrong one.

Noa, still blissfully oblivious to the palpable tension, brightened with an idea. “Oh! Spencer, are you coming to the wedding?” they asked, and you felt your stomach twist in knots. You knew Spencer hadn’t RSVP’d, and you were terrified of how he would respond. You could see him falter for a moment, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and you quickly jumped in before things could get worse.

“Spencer works for the FBI,” you said, hoping your voice sounded casual, steady, anything other than what you were really feeling. “He said he’d come if he doesn’t have a case.” You looked at him meaningfully, praying he’d go along with it, hoping he wouldn’t take this opportunity to say something more revealing.

“Oh, wow!” Noa’s eyes lit up in admiration, turning to Spencer with genuine curiosity. “That’s incredible! We’ll save a spot for you just in case.”

“Uh… yeah, thanks,” Spencer mumbled, the awkwardness in his tone barely masked by the polite smile he forced onto his face.

Dinner went on like that—Noa doing most of the talking, you scrambling to keep things on track, and Spencer struggling to navigate every question without giving too much away. You couldn’t stop fidgeting, feeling like every minute was an hour as you tried to balance between keeping up appearances and making sure nothing slipped that would reveal the tangled web of your history.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, dinner ended. Noa, always the gracious host, brought out tea and ushered everyone to the living room. The three of you settled onto the couches, the warmth of the tea doing nothing to ease the tension in your body. You noticed how close Spencer was sitting to you, his knee almost touching yours, and how Noa, in contrast, seemed so relaxed, not sensing any of the chaos swirling beneath the surface.

“I should probably get going,” Spencer said suddenly, setting his cup down on the coffee table and pushing himself up from the couch. He looked between you and Noa, the tension clear on his face, the evening clearly wearing on him.

“Where are you staying?” Noa asked, genuinely curious. “Do you need a ride?” They sat up straighter, eager to be helpful, and you held your breath, knowing that Spencer likely didn’t have a plan—he rarely ever did.

Spencer hesitated, clearly trying to come up with a response. “Oh, um… I’m not sure. I, uh… hadn’t really thought that far.”

The silence stretched thin, your heart pounding as you prayed Noa wouldn’t say what you were terrified they would. But they did, without a second thought, without hesitation. “You can stay here!” they offered brightly, smiling at Spencer. “We have a guest room—it’s no trouble at all.”

Spencer froze, glancing over at you, his eyes wide with surprise. And you were sure yours mirrored the same panic. This was not part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to have him here, under the same roof. And yet, it was all happening too fast to stop it.

“Uh… that’s really generous, but I don’t want to intrude—” Spencer started, but Noa waved a hand dismissively.

“Please, it’s no trouble,” they insisted, their smile still warm and inviting. “You’re more than welcome to stay. Right, Y/N?” They looked to you for confirmation, and you could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, begging for an out.

“Yeah… of course,” you managed to choke out, your voice weak, betraying every emotion you were desperately trying to hide. “It’s, um, fine.”

And with that, Spencer was staying for the night, and you had no idea how you were going to get through it.

The three of you sat in the living room, forcing your way through some show on TV. But the tension in the air made it impossible to focus on anything other than the uneasy silence and the occasional awkward attempts at small talk. You laughed at all the wrong times, and every time your eyes met Spencer’s, you felt your stomach twist into knots. Noa, oblivious as ever, eventually declared they were ready to call it a night and headed to take their nightly shower.

You took the opportunity to help Spencer get settled in the guest room, your movements jerky and stiff, the weight of the day pressing down on you. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck as you pulled spare linens out of the closet. The silence hung heavy between you, every unspoken word echoing through the small room.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer whispered finally, his voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t plan any of this… obviously.”

“No shit,” you replied, your tone sharper than you intended, but it was impossible to hide the anger and frustration building up inside you. It felt like everything was spiraling out of control, and you didn’t know how to fix it.

Spencer hung his head, staring down at his hands. “I’ll leave tomorrow,” he said quietly, like he was admitting defeat.

“I know you will,” you murmured, the words hollow as you hugged yourself, arms crossed tightly around your torso as if that could hold everything together.

With nothing left to say, you left the room, and went to bed. But sleep eluded you, the feeling of Noa’s arms wrapped around you offering none of the comfort you desperately needed. Their touch felt so different from Spencer’s—where he’d been gentle, familiar, their embrace felt confining, and the sound of their breath on your neck was a steady reminder of all the ways it wasn’t him. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, and you felt the guilt flood through you for even comparing them.

Eventually, Noa must’ve felt you finally drift off, because when they woke in the early morning, they carefully slipped out of bed, planting a kiss on your forehead before heading down the hall to start their day. They hadn’t forgotten about Spencer staying over, but they didn’t expect to hear his voice so early in the morning.

“Penelope, what do I do?” Spencer’s voice was muffled through the guest room door, and Noa’s hand froze on the doorknob to the bathroom as they listened. “I told her I love her, and then before she could even tell me how she felt, her fiancé came home. It’s… it’s a mess.”

Noa’s blood ran cold, their stomach dropping as they tried to process the words. Their breath hitched, and they pressed their back against the wall, suddenly afraid to be seen. They knew they shouldn’t be listening, but they couldn’t stop now.

Penelope’s voice came through faintly from Spencer’s phone, but they couldn’t make out her response.

“No, they don’t know Y/N and I were married. She clearly hasn’t had the guts to tell them.” Spencer’s words came out raw, full of frustration and sadness.

The confession hit Noa like a freight train. Married? They felt the walls of the hallway close in on them, the realization that they had never known the full truth of your relationship with Spencer, the truth that you’d never shared. It made their mind spin, and they backed away from the door, desperate to escape the overwhelming emotions crashing over them.

Noa didn’t confront you then, didn’t barge into the guest room or demand an explanation. Instead, they made their way out of the house quietly, slipping out like a ghost. They moved through the motions of their morning like a zombie, their mind racing, heart aching with every step. They needed to be alone, to think, to understand what they had overheard. And they would talk to you, eventually—but only once Spencer was gone.

When you woke up to the sharp sound of your phone ringing, you felt like you were swimming up through murky water, the events of the day before crashing back to you all at once. You squinted at the screen—it was Alexi, their name flashing insistently. You didn’t need to answer to know they’d be demanding an explanation for yesterday’s abrupt hang-up.

“Hey,” you croaked out, voice heavy with sleep and emotion.

“What the hell happened?” Alexi’s voice was stern, a mix of worry and frustration. “You hang up on me, and then I don’t hear from you all night. Spill.”

You sighed, running a hand over your face as you leaned back into the pillows. “Spencer showed up at my door yesterday… unannounced. He’s… he stayed the night,” you admitted, your voice cracking.

Alexi’s reaction was immediate. “He what? Y/N, what is going on?”

You spilled everything—how Spencer had flown out to see you, how Noa had unknowingly invited him to stay, how you’d spent the whole night on edge, and how every touch, every word, every look seemed to tear at your carefully built life. Your voice wavered as you confessed how hard it had been, the emotions you’d buried for years bubbling back to the surface in a way you couldn’t control.

“Okay,” Alexi’s voice softened. “So… do you still love him?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and you felt your breath hitch as a tear slipped down your cheek. You’d spent so long avoiding the answer to that question, convincing yourself that everything had changed, that you’d moved on. But when you finally spoke, it felt like the words had been buried for years, clawing their way out.

“I think I do,” you whispered through the tears, your voice trembling. “It’s like… being with Noa was always so easy, you know? I never had to compare the two. But seeing them together… talking to Spencer again… I see how much love he still holds for me, and I know I’ll never be able to give Noa that. I can’t… I can’t love them the way I loved Spencer.”

Alexi was silent on the other end, and you could hear them carefully thinking over their response, searching for the right thing to say. But before they could get a word out, you gasped, cutting them off mid-thought.

“I gotta go,” you said in a rush, sitting up so quickly that the room spun around you.

“What? No—Y/N, you can’t just hang up again! What is going on—?”

“Spencer,” you breathed, staring wide-eyed at the doorway. He was standing there, framed in the early morning light, his expression one of utter disbelief, and you knew instantly that he’d heard every word you’d just said.

“Do you mean that?” he asked, stepping into the room with slow, careful movements like he was approaching a fragile creature. His voice was so quiet, so vulnerable, you felt like it was wrapping around your heart and squeezing. “You still love me?”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. All you could do was sit there, your phone slipping from your fingers as you met his gaze, your heart pounding like it would break free from your chest. And you knew, in that moment, there was no more hiding, no more pretending that everything was fine. It was just you and Spencer, standing on the precipice of everything you’d left unsaid.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice cracking as tears welled in your eyes.

Spencer felt his own tears begin to blur his vision, his breath catching in his throat. “I love you too,” he said, the words spilling out like they’d been buried for years, his voice thick with emotion.

You let out a wet giggle through your own tears, and before you knew it, Spencer was sitting on the bed next to you, his hands reaching out to clasp yours. The warmth of his touch was comforting, familiar, and for a moment it felt like all those years apart had never happened. The weight of everything you’d both been holding in pressed down, making this moment both heartbreaking and hopeful.

“Can we… can we try again?” he asked, his voice hopeful, eyes searching yours as if waiting for a lifeline.

You shook your head, sniffling softly. “I’m still engaged, Spencer.”

His face fell slightly, but he stayed close, not letting go of your hands. “You just said you’ll never love them like you loved me.”

“I know,” you admitted, your voice a fragile whisper. “And it’s true… but I still have to talk to them, figure out what to do.”

Spencer nodded slowly, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles, grounding himself in the contact. “Do you… do you want to be with me?” he asked, voice trembling with the fear and hope of what your answer might be.

You stared into those beautiful, familiar eyes, the ones that once held your world, the ones you thought you’d never see again. “I think so,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips. “But, Spencer, I have my whole life here now. More so than ever… and you, you have a life in Virginia.”

“I don’t care,” he said with finality, his voice strong and certain, all doubt gone. “I don’t care, I will go anywhere to be with you. No job is more important than you.”

“Spence…” you murmured, your heart torn between what was and what could be, feeling the pull to him so strong it almost hurt.

“Sweetums,” he teased, the familiar grin spreading across his face, a flicker of the boyish charm you remembered.

“Too soon,” you laughed, shaking your head, but the sound of his voice, the way he said it, made it impossible to hold back the smile tugging at your lips. Even as your heart wrestled with the enormity of the moment, the warmth of Spencer’s presence wrapped around you like a comfort you never wanted to let go.

True to his word, Spencer left that morning, but he didn’t go back to Virginia. Instead, he checked into a hotel nearby, giving you the space he knew you needed while not quite ready to leave you behind.

When you finally heard the jingle of Noa’s keys in the door that evening, your stomach twisted with nerves. You had spent the entire day pacing, replaying the conversation with Spencer in your head, wondering what you would say to Noa, trying to untangle what you really wanted.

“Hey, baby,” You called, your tone neutral as they entered, hanging up their bag.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” Noa asked casually, turning to face you, their eyes sharp with an edge you hadn’t heard before.

“What?” you stammered, feeling like the wind had just been knocked out of you. “I didn’t—”

“To Spencer,” Noa clarified, cutting you off, their voice still eerily calm. “You know, the man that I invited to dinner, who I let stay the night. The man who I made an absolute fool out of myself in front of. The man who told you he’s still in love with you.”

You felt your throat tighten, words failing as the weight of Noa’s calm anger pressed down on you like a heavy stone. Noa had never yelled—they didn’t need to. The steady, even tone made every word land like a blow.

“I didn’t—I don’t…” You struggled to form a coherent thought, desperate to defend yourself, but the truth was right there, undeniable.

“Do you love him?” Noa asked, and for a moment, their voice cracked, the tears finally shining in their eyes.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Do you love me?” they pressed, and the desperation in their eyes broke your heart all over again.

“Yes,” you said again, your own tears falling freely.

Noa took a shuddering breath, looking at you like they were seeing you for the first time. “Do you want to get married?” they asked, and the question hung between you like a fragile thread.

You shook your head, your voice breaking as you whispered, “No.”

Noa nodded, silent tears streaming down their face, and the acceptance in their expression was devastating. “Well,” they said softly, swallowing hard as they looked away, their world—your world—crumbling with that single word.

“Noa, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice trembling as you took a tentative step closer, hoping to reach them somehow through the hurt.

Noa nodded, but the gesture was more resigned than understanding. “It’s… what are we going to do?” they asked, their voice thick with uncertainty.

“What?” you asked, your confusion breaking through the tension.

“The wedding,” they clarified, their words heavy with practical sadness. “We have people coming, we paid for everything, we have a house together.”

“Yeah…” you sighed, feeling the weight of all the things that needed to be undone. “You, um, you can keep the house. And I’ll pay you back for the wedding… somehow. I’ll figure it out. And, uh, I’ll send out the cancellations… this is all my fault.”

“It is,” Noa agreed bluntly, and the truth of it stung. “Was the whole relationship a lie?”

“No! God, no,” you panicked, reaching out as if the truth could stop the pain. “Everything was real, I… I didn’t realize I still loved Spencer until I saw him again.”

“That’s it?” Noa’s voice wavered between disbelief and bitterness. “One night, and you’re calling off a whole wedding?”

You sighed, the exhaustion of the situation weighing you down. “I know it’s crazy, but… I’ve already been divorced once. I don’t want to do that again.”

Noa let out a hollow laugh, and for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the person you’d spent years with, a flash of understanding in their eyes. “You’re already planning our divorce?”

The ridiculousness of the whole situation caught up to you both, and despite the pain, you found yourself laughing too—softly, helplessly—as the tension cracked just enough to let some humor seep in. “Maybe?” you offered with a weak smile.

You both laughed then, a bittersweet sound that hung in the air, and for a moment, it felt almost okay—like the world wasn’t falling apart around you. When the laughter faded, you looked at them, your voice soft and hesitant. “Are you… are you going to be okay?”

Noa paused, looking down at the floor before meeting your eyes again. “I mean, this sucks,” they said honestly, their voice raw. “But yeah, I’ll be okay.”

Noa was still possibly the best person you knew, even in the midst of everything falling apart. The two of you sat down together, canceling everything for the wedding, each phone call and email pulling at your heartstrings. But Noa was calm and patient, working through the logistics with you, getting deposits back where you could, dividing your shared assets. Luckily, the separate bank accounts made that part easier.

“What are you going to do now?” Noa asked one day, after you’d gone through another round of cancellations. “Are you moving?”

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, trying to mask the uncertainty. “I hear Virginia is lovely…” You know it is, you’ve visited many times.

Noa nodded slowly, a teasing scoff escaping through the lingering hurt. “Like, where the FBI is?”

“Is it?” you said with a laugh, playing innocent.

“And what about your stores?” they pressed, leaning back as if to put some distance between the weight of the question and the reality of your situation.

You groaned, the stress of it all hitting you at once. “I don’t know… I could sell them? Then give you the money for the wedding.”

Noa laughed softly, elbowing you gently in the ribs. “Y/N, you don’t have to pay for the whole wedding—just, like, ¾ of it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh along with them, grateful for how easy they were making this break. “Okay, deal,” you agreed, grinning through the heaviness. “Maybe Alexi would want to take over.”

That night, you called Alexi, filling them in on everything—Spencer, Noa, the wedding, the whole mess you were working through. They listened patiently, and when you finally finished, they couldn’t hold back their excitement.

“I knew it!” Alexi practically shouted, causing you to laugh, the tension melting away as you shared the absurdity of your current situation with them. After laughing and joking together for a while, you brought up the idea of selling your business. To your relief and surprise, Alexi was more than willing to buy it from you, excited at the opportunity. And just like that, another piece of your life clicked into place as you prepared to move forward.

While all of this was going on, Spencer paced his hotel room like a caged animal. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t concentrate on anything except the racing thoughts of what could happen—what your decision would be. His phone sat untouched, and though his fingers itched to call someone for support, he was too scared to share any good news before knowing the final verdict. He couldn’t let hope take root, not yet.

The hours dragged on until, late at night, his phone buzzed loudly in the quiet room, lighting up with your contact photo—the one he had never changed, with that adorable smile he couldn’t forget. His heart leapt into his throat as he scrambled to answer, pressing the phone to his ear urgently.

“Hello?” he asked, trying to steady his voice, but the anxious excitement was impossible to hide.

“Hey,” you breathed out, the sound of your voice washing over him like a wave of relief.

“How’d it go?” Spencer’s voice trembled with hope, his nerves hanging on every word.

“Good… good,” you said, and he could hear the faint smile in your voice, something lighter than he’d heard in days. “Um, remember when I visited a while back? And we saw that beautiful red house with the flowers out front?”

“Yeah?” he replied, holding his breath, his mind racing to piece together what you were saying.

“Should we see if it’s on the market?”

Spencer’s chest tightened with joy, and for a moment, the world stood still—just the possibility of a future, of a home, of everything he’d ever wanted with you.

—

“Spencer!” Derek yelled from down the hall, wiping his hands on a rag after finishing up some work.

“Yeah?” Spencer poked his head in the door, dust smudged on his face from their hours of labor on the house.

“I finished this room,” Derek said, gesturing to the newly painted walls and freshly installed trim. “Which one’s next?”

“Let me check,” Spencer said, ducking out for a second before coming back with a checklist. “Bathroom.”

Derek grinned, wiping his forehead. “Y/N’s really calling all the shots, huh?” he teased.

Spencer’s smile softened, his eyes reflecting nothing but warmth. “This is her dream home.”

“What about your dream home?” Derek asked, eyebrow raised.

“She’s my dream home,” Spencer said simply, the words carrying a sincerity that Derek couldn’t help but appreciate.

“That’s sweet, man,” Derek said, clapping Spencer on the shoulder with a smile. “But I’m never letting you live that down.”

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head as he picked up a paint roller, knowing full well Derek meant every word. And that was fine with him—because this was where he wanted to be, building a life with you, step by step.

“Spencer!” you called out urgently from the other side of the house, your voice ringing through the hallways.

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat as he rushed over, worried you might have hurt yourself. “Yeah, baby? Everything okay?” he asked breathlessly as he rounded the corner to find you standing by the bedroom window.

You turned to him with a playful smile, holding up two curtain swatches. “Which curtain do you like?”

Spencer let out a relieved chuckle, shaking his head at his own worry. He walked over to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Whatever color you pick will be perfect, my love,” he murmured against your skin.

“Well, obviously I have the final say,” you teased with a grin, “but I still wanted to know what you like.”

“Thank you for considering my opinion,” he laughed, looking thoughtfully at the swatches. “Uh… that one,” he said, pointing to the one in your left hand.

“Thank you! Correct choice,” you teased, dropping the swatches on the floor as you grabbed Spencer’s shirt, pulling him close for a deep, lingering kiss.

He hummed softly against your lips, smiling into the kiss. “Mmm… what was that for?”

You broke the kiss just enough to whisper, “I just love you.”

“Yeah?” Spencer asked with a soft smile, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Enough to marry me again?”

You laughed, caught off guard by the sudden question. “Was that your proposal?” you teased, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Spencer leaned back, pretending to consider his words thoughtfully before nodding with a chuckle. “I think it was,” he admitted, laughing at himself. “So… how’d I do?”

Giggling, you pulled him in for another kiss, your lips meeting his with warmth and certainty. “Amazing. But we’re eloping this time,” you said, resting your forehead against his as the words slipped out between kisses.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Reid,” he murmured back, his voice full of affection and promise.

—

After months of hard work, the renovations on your new house were finally finished. It had taken time, effort, and a lot of patience, but with Derek’s hands-on help and guidance, you and Spencer transformed it into a home that truly reflected both of you.

The front of the house, a charming red structure framed by an explosion of colorful flowers, felt like something straight out of a storybook. A mix of vibrant yellows, pinks, purples, and reds surrounded the quaint porch, and the white picket fence added a classic touch, making the entire exterior feel warm and inviting.

Inside, the home had become a true sanctuary. Your bedroom was bright and serene, with airy, light-filtering curtains draped over wide windows that bathed the room in soft, natural light. The bed was draped in a red and white blanket that matched the cheerful energy of the house, and shelves lined with books and little mementos from your life with Spencer filled the walls.

The kitchen was a dream—a beautiful, open area filled with pale blue cabinets and golden fixtures that glinted under the soft morning light that poured through the wide, farmhouse-style windows. Wooden open shelves displayed dishes and decor, and the island in the center was the perfect place for shared meals, morning coffee, and cooking side-by-side, something that you and Spencer cherished.

Spencer’s office was a space of calm concentration, tucked into a corner of the house that offered peace and quiet. The walls were painted a deep forest green, and vintage touches—like the rustic wooden desk and traditional-style chair—gave it a classic, studious feel. The large windows allowed in just enough natural light to make it a comfortable, thoughtful workspace, while the thick greenery just outside provided a sense of privacy and focus.

After the renovations were done, you and Spencer knew there was no better way to celebrate than to invite all your closest friends and family for a “housewarming” party. The BAU team, your parents, Alexi, and a few other close friends gathered at the house to tour the renovations, see all the changes, and share in the excitement of your new beginning. Laughter filled the rooms as everyone admired the work you’d both put into the home and marveled at the way it reflected both of you so perfectly.

But the tour was just the beginning. As everyone made their way to the backyard, the sun started to dip below the horizon, the sky turning into the golden hour glow of soft oranges and pinks. The moment felt magical, and you knew it was time to share your real surprise.

You stood beside Spencer, a wide smile on your face as you addressed your loved ones, your voice carrying across the yard. “We’re so happy that you all could come to celebrate our home with us,” you started, your eyes twinkling as you looked to Spencer. “But, actually, that’s not the only reason we asked you all to be here today.”

There were murmurs of curiosity and excitement, eyes darting between you and Spencer as he took your hand. “This is our version of eloping,” he announced, his voice warm and steady, and there was a collective gasp from the crowd as they began to realize what was happening.

“We’re getting married,” you added, barely able to keep from bursting into laughter and tears all at once. And as you turned to Noa—your now close friend and recently ordained officiant—you saw the beaming smile on their face as they stepped forward to take their place at the center of the garden, ready to join you and Spencer in marriage once again, this time surrounded by the people who meant the most to you both.

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