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nikkisheep · 3 months

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Will there be a new Part of To Be Alone With You ?

To Be Alone With You (Part Seven)

Anthony Bridgerton x female!sharma!sister!reader

Mentions of Benedict and reader

Warnings: ANGST, so much ANGST, swearing, Violet Bridgerton giving advise, Edwina feeling betrayed, Kate giving advise, we learn that Edwina is not in love with Anthony and never was, a few uses of Y/N just as a placeholder, ITALICS ARE A FLASHBACK, this got a lot longer than expected.

a/n: The official ending is going to be Anthony. He was the original ending and I think that there is so much potential with him and the reader. However, I will be making an ending for Benedict fans (me too) and it will be written as an alternate ending.

Summary: As the wedding between Anthony and Edwina nears, you must decide if your love for the viscount is worth sacrificing your relationships with your sisters, Benedict, and potentially yourself.

Playlist:

"The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived" Taylor Swift

"Because I liked a boy" Sabrina Carpenter

"You're Losing Me (From The Vault)" Taylor Swift

"The Last Time (Taylor's Version)" Taylor Swift

Taglist: @shealuna , @m-rae23 , @littlepeanut03 , @aellabridgerton @sydney-m, @faatxma , @wildthoughtnananna @uraesthete, @themadhattersqueen, @theroyalmanatee, @urfavnoirette, @budugu, @helen06dreamer, @galactict3a, @imagineme2you. @sabii5, @anehkael, @aesthetic0cherryblossom, @lxovesgy, @lemonwithstupidity, @luvwithau, @stvrdustalexx, @jess4rush, @tallrock35, @msrawog , @diduzzula , @myheartfollower , @yunho-leeknow , @jeysbae, @delusional-4-fake-people, @kiddeecat , @lucistarrrrs, @marvelouslyme96 , @weshhhhhhhhhhhhh, @lafrone

Dearest, Gentle Reader,

It appears that while the Viscount Bridgerton is engaged with one Edwina Sharma, the same can not be said about his eyes. Last night during the Featherington's Ball, it appeared that Lord Bridgerton's eyes were on one particular Sharma sister, who was not his betrothed. With the wedding so near, this author fears that this engagement will end in scandal and not a wedding. Let us not forget that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton also seems to be smitten by a Sharma sister. Will the Bridgetons have two weddings on their hands this year?

Lady Whistle down, Society Papers 1814

---

"Brother, I had not known you were taking it kindly with a Sharma," Anthony said, a glint in his eyes. "Is it Miss Kate Sharma? I've seen you look at her a few times."

Eloise had been reading Whistledown to the family hours prior to the brothers gathering into Anthony's office for a few drinks, to celebrate the engagement and the wedding so near.

"Kate? Absolutely not. She is a wonderful woman, strong headed, beautiful, but is more so a sister to me than a potential bride," Benedict stated, rather off put by the idea of marrying Kate. She was a lovely lady, one like a sister to him. She was just not who he had his eyes on.

"Well that only leaves one other Sharma brother," Colin said, nervous at his brothers realization.

"NO!" Anthony declares. "Not her!"

Benedict looks up with a sly smile, not realizing that Anthony knew of them.

"Yes, Miss Y/n Sharma is a lovely woman who has quipped my interest," Benedict says, smiling as he takes a sip of his drink.

"Have you compromised this woman?"

"I am a gentleman, brother," Benedict says, but his smile gives it away.

"You have!" Anthony states, he already knew from the note he left you when he snuck out of your bedroom all those weeks ago.

"Yes and I am not proud of it, I am simply waiting for your wedding to be over so I may propose. No need to steal your spotlight."

Anthony debated on telling Benedict that she was already compromised before he got to her. Now with the talk of marriage, his brother deserved to know.

"Brother, I must confess something that I am not proud to say."

"And that is my cue to leave," Colin said, bidding goodnight as he knew what was to come.

"Miss Sharma was already compromised when you laid with her during your art session," Anthony said quickly before downing the burning liquid from his glass, grabbing the bottle to pour more.

"But how would you know that?" Benedict said, confusion growing onto his face. "And why would you know that?''

Anthony takes in a deep breath before turning back to his brother.

"Because the man who compromised Miss Sharma was me."

Benedict, now standing, paces across the floor as he takes big breaths to keep his cool. He then turns to Anthony, storming up to him and grabbing his collar.

"You fucked her and then left her?" He yelled, anger flashing across his face. He was fuming. Anthony had never seen this kind of emotion in his brother before. Benedict was always the calm one. Always the one who kept his cool when it came to getting angry. This was new.

"I did not intend-"

"You compromise that woman and then propose to her sister!"

"Ben-"

"And then what? Don't tell me you knew of the two of us!"

Anthony looked down at the floor, Benedict stepped away from him for a moment.

"Do.not.tell.me.that.you.knew.of.my.feelings.for.her!"

"I knew not of your feelings, just your actions," Anthony said. "I told her that she should choose you because I was engaged to her sister. It was before my engagement, before all of the wedding talk, and before you set your eyes on her."

"How many times did you sleep with her?" Benedict asked, tears in his eyes.

"It only happened, maybe a few times."

"Did any of it happen after you found out about her and I?"

Anthony doesn't answer immediately but based on his silence, Benedict already knew.

"Brother, I love her!" Benedict yelled, hurt and betrayal creeping in his voice. "And you aimed to take her away from me!"

"I love her, Benedict. I tried to stop it. I tried to stop my feelings but I couldn't. I wanted to leave her alone after I found out about the two of you," Anthony says.

"But you did not!" Benedict yelled back at him, his blood boiling.

"It was Miss Sharma who ended things between the two of us, Ben. I told her that I loved her and then realized that it made me weak. I could not let her feel the same pain as Mother did after Father's death."

"You don't get to keep using that excuse, Anthony!" Benedict cried. "We have given you so many passes because of that one excuse and I understand how much Father meant to you but you do forget that I was close in your age when Father died as well. It is as though everyone forgets that he was my father too."

"Brother-"

"You have always been seen as strong and brave and mature for taking over the head of the house, but forget that you are not the only one who has the burden of remembering Father's passing." Benedict says, "I used to stand there, outside your study, listening to your pen scribbling across papers. I would listen to the sounds of you stumbling through the office and papers falling along with books from the shelves as you make your way back to your seat because you were so overcome with sleep. I would want to reach out to help you but it was not my place. I had to lose my father and watch my brother lose himself. So for you to deprive yourself of happiness, it is the worst mistake you could make."

"I have to protect her from it, brother. I will not let Y/n face the same pain and fate Mother did."

"Brother, you can not hide from love. It will find you. It always does. You can choose to turn away from it or you can embrace it with everything you have," Benedict walks over to his brother, a man who is clearly struggling to contain his emotions as he stands before his younger brother.

Benedict grabs the back of Anthony's neck, comforting him.

"Make it right with her brother, if you love her within half of what you claim, make it right."

Benedict turned and walked out of the office, leaving Anthony in the candle lit room alone.

---

"Whistledown writes lies," Edwina states, holding the piece of paper. "Anthony does not have eyes for one of you, does he?"

"Never," Kate says. "He is completely entranced by you."

You sit with a book as you listen to them. Edwina had been growing weary of the wedding. Almost having second thoughts before deciding that she would continue. You remember the conversation with her and Kate.

---

You three girls were all gathered in the library, looking through the old books as you gossiped about the ladies of the Ton.

"Did you see how Lady Datherington was dangling onto Lord Kemp?" Kate asked?

"I don't know if I want to continue with the wedding," Edwina says softly. "I am just not sure if he is the one for me."

"What makes you say that?" Kate asked.

"Yes, you seemed happy with the courtship," You said.

"It just seems as though we are not meant to be, rather that he may be interested in someone else."

"Someone else?" Kate questioned, looking at you for support.

"Darling, he is not interested in anyone else. You are the diamond of the season, why would he be interested in someone else instead."

"But that is the issue, Y/n, why isn't he interested in a different woman?" Edwina says, confusing the both you and Kate.

"Do you want him to be interested in someone else?" You ask.

"It would make more sense than him being interested in me just because the queen said he should be," Edwina says. "He doesn't even want a love match. He just wants a wife to take care of his home."

"His huge home," Kate gives a nod.

"Kate, I think what she means to say-"

"Not what I mean to say, what I am saying is that he doesn't love me so why is he so committed to this marriage? Why does he not try to get to know me if he wants to be my husband?"

You move to hug her and Kate does the same. At this very moment, you ponder if you should tell her that you were in love with her future husband, and a small part of you hoped that she would forgive. You thought that it would be a good time to tell her, give it to her while we are on the topic of the viscount, but just as you open your mouth, Edwina states that she is to still marry him.

"I suppose that I must marry him with the wedding so close. I can not pull out now," Edwina says with a small smile.

"You are to still marry him?" You asked.

"Well, I have to now since the wedding is in two weeks."

"What would make you not marry him?" You asked, Kate looked at you confused.

"Why do you ask?" Kate says slowly.

"Because I would want to know what it would take for a man not to marry me."

"I suppose him telling me he was in love with another woman because I would not want him to be in a loveless marriage and yearn for another," Edwina says.

"Anything else?"

"Maybe if the woman told me she loved him as well." ---

You close the book you are reading when a piece of paper falls out of it, Anthony's note. You had not seen it since the morning you found it laying on your bedside table. You quickly move to grab it, but Edwina swoops it in her hands from the floor.

"Look Kate, Y/n has a secret love letter!" Edwina squeals.

"I had no idea you were getting letters from gentlemen," Kate teases, walking up beside Edwina as you stare at the piece of paper in horror.

Edwina starts to read aloud, "My Dearest, Miss Sharma."

"Oh my, it has a comma after Dearest," Kate gushes as she beams brightly.

"I love you as deeply as the deepest parts of the oceans and even further than that," Edwina reads on, smiling as she does so. "I wish there was a way to sleep in the same bed as you. To stay in the same home with you, to hold you love as close as I can until it was the only thing I knew."

"Oh Y/n, this man is deeply taken with you!" Kate beams as she runs to hug you tightly. "You must tell us what his name is! Oh and we must tell Mama!"

Edwina's eyes grow large, her smile dimming and horror falls onto your face. Kate turns back to Edwina and tilts her head in confusion.

"Bon, is everything alright?"

"Why would you do this to me?" Edwina says, staring at the paper.

"Edwina, I can explain."

"How could you do this to me?" Edwina says again, anger growing into her voice. " 'How I wish I were able to say "I love you, Mrs. Bridgerton. My viscountess."' "Do these words ring any bells? And the "A.B."?"

"Edwina, please!" You start to shake your head at her. "I am truly sorry. I never meant-"

"He wrote to you that he wanted to marry you in a different reality, one where he was not marrying me and that he may actually be able to marry for love!" Edwina cries at not the thought of him not being faithful to their courtship and engagement but because it was you he was being unfaithful with.

"Edwina, all of that was before he announced your engagement," You plead. "I did not expect for Lord Bridgerton to be interested in me nor I in him. I did not want this to happen. I cut it off because I saw how happy you are with him."

"So at every ball, when the two of you danced, you loved him? Or was every insult you said to him was truly a love confession?"

Kate stood there in shock as she read the first line, "I awoke with a perplexed train of thought as I watched you blissfully sleep."

"Did the two of you do what married people do?" Kate asked, interrupting the two of you.

"I...Yes, we did but it was not something that I knew to be the marital act at all."

"Y/N, he has compromised you and he has left you aside!" Kate said, anger slipping in as she thought of seeing Anthony.

"Edwina, I never meant to cause harm to you." You say, slowly walking to her, she steps back a few steps.

"It is not that I am happy with him because I am not," Edwina said, for the first time since the engagement she could speak how she truly feels. "I am not happy with Lord Bridgerton. And I can not make him happy. I am going into a loveless marriage and he is in love with my sister. I knew that he could never love me, I just never expected you to be the one he loved."

"Edwina-"

"I am not done!" She shouts, stomping her foot. "I foolishly expected that one day we could love each other but we cannot. I shared my doubts, my concerns, and my feelings with you, and this entire time, you were secretly the reason behind all of them. I am not upset that you love him or that he had secretly been meeting with you, I am angry because you felt as though you could not tell me your feelings for him."

"I am so sorry," You cry, shaking as you stood there in one spot, frozen due to your mistake.

"I thought we were closer than anyone," Edwina said. "And yet you could not tell me small things like how you took interest in Lord Bridgerton and you kept it from me."

Edwina walked out of the room, tears in her eyes, and you stood there in your spot until she had left completely before breaking down. Kate rushed to catch you as you slid to your knees as you cried.

"He said he loved me, Kate. He said he loved me. Why did he have to tell me that he loved me?"

"Shhh, I know. I know." Kate had only one thought as she held your shaking form in her arms, she was going to have a nice long conversation with Anthony.

"I never meant for this to happen," You cried. "I just wanted someone to love me and he said he did. I didn't mean for it to hurt her. I never wanted to hurt her. I just wanted someone to love me."

Kate gently takes your face in her hands and kisses your forehead.

"You are loved. You need not a man to love you. To love someone else is to first love yourself. You can not love someone else unless you are willing to accept love for yourself," Kate smiles. "Anthony is an idiot for making you feel this way. For that I am terribly sorry and you will survive because you have survived many things in this world for you are a woman.''

"But Edwina is upset with me."

"She is upset, but she is not angry. She understands that you love him, she is rather upset because you had not been truthful with your feelings."

"Do you think she will forgive me?" You ask, looking up at her with hope in your eyes along with unshedded tears.

"Oh darling, she has most likely forgiven you as soon as she walked out of the room. You know Edwina may be upset with you, but do not think that she doesn't love you or will not forgive you. She is just hurt."

"Kate, you have no idea how much I am going to miss you when you leave for India again."

"And I will miss you as well. But for now, lets not talk on that topic. I have a very important thing to do right now," She smiles.

"Oh of course," You move to get out of her arms.

"No silly, my important task is to hold you until you feel better," She smiles as she squeezes you tightly.

"But I already feel better," You giggle.

"Well at least until I feel better."

---

Anthony walks into his mother's drawing room as she sits there stitching up a pillow which she puts down when seeing the state of her son.

"What is it, my son?" Violet smiles softly.

"Mama, I made a huge mistake and I do not know how to fix it."

"Oh my son, come sit."

Violet moves a pillow and she pats the couch beside her. Anthony sits down and tears well up in his eyes.

"Oh, darling what troubles you?"

"I love someone and I can not possibly let her suffer a painful life as you have since Father," Anthony says as he struggles not to cry in front of his mother.

"Anthony, I have not lived a painful life." Violet places her hand on Anthony's cheek. Normally he would scold her or move away but he realized that he deeply craved his mother's touch.

"I shared a wonderful life with your father and when he died, it felt as though a part of me died, but without the love and heartache that I gained throughout our marriage, I would not have you or the rest of my children. I would be lost in this sea of life without having Edmund, but I have my children, the greatest honor of my life, to hold me anchored."

"But Mama, I can not have her suffer."

"And what do you think you are doing to her now?" Violet knew who her son was talking about and she knew how you were feeling.

"Mother, I can not let her love me. I can not rest peacefully if she were to be in pain and agony because of me!" Anthony's tears fell from his eyes, and Violet's thumb wipes them away.

"Oh my sweet, sweet Anthony, you put so much on yourself." She smiles sadly. "Are you saying that you do not deserve to have happiness with the one woman who not only loves you but understands you more than everyone else?"

"Well, not more than you," Anthony laughs softly. "I just do not know if I can let her love me openly and deeply."

"Son, you are so much like your father. He too struggled with accepting love, but when he did, he did it with so much embrace. He is extremely proud of you and he would want you to be loved as deeply as he loved me or I loved him."

"Mama, what have I done to deserve her love? I have brought her only suffering and I am not dead yet."

"My darling child, love is not something that one is deserving of because it should be unconditional," Violet smiles. "You know what you must do now?"

"Yes, I believe I do." Anthony smiles as he hugs his mother, Violet gasped in surprise at the action. He had not done so since he left for Oxford all those years ago.

"I love you, Mama."

Violet smiled and tears came to her eyes as she squeezed him tighter.

"I love you too, my son."

---

There was a thunderstorm and lightening was cracking against the sky and thunder boomed across the earth. You had crept into Edwina's room to talk.

"Edwina, I wanted to say I am sorry."

Edwina had not answered. She laid still on her bed.

"I have decided that I am going to tell Anthony that I am leaving for India with Kate and I thought I should also tell you."

As you were speaking, thunder clapped in the sky and a small whimper left Edwina's lips.

"Bon?"

Nothing but another whimper. You move to Edwina's bed and you sat down. Edwina looked over at you and you open your arms. She quickly rushed into your arms as you moved to her pillow. She wrapped herself in your arms and clung to you with wide eyes and a racing heartbeat.

"Edwina, you are safe. I have you, you are safe." You stroked her hair and you both slowly drifted off to sleep as the rain poured down from the sky, as if it was cleansing the earth of mistakes and washing your mistake with Edwina down with it.

"I love you Edwina," You said.

"I forgive you," She whispers before you hear snores drifting through the air.

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x sharma!reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton angst #Benedict Bridgerton angst #to be alone with you #Benedict Bridgerton x reader angst

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purposechef · 5 months

Text

My Sydcarmy Fics

Oyster Knife (17k words) - Part I of the Oyster Knife series

Sydney Adamu seeks answers.

A Pear Tree (or Any Other Tree in Bloom) (8k words) - Part II of the Oyster Knife series

Syd and Carmy play house for the weekend.

Paris (10k words) - Part III of the Oyster Knife series

Syd and Carmy attempt a healthy work-life balance.

The Chaos Cookbook (13k words) - Part IV of the Oyster Knife series

Syd and Carmy share their five favorite dishes.

Three Goals. Go. (3k words) - Part V of the Oyster Knife series

Multiple New Year's Eves, multiple midnight conversations with Syd and Carmy.

Let the Ghosts Sleep Tonight (8k words)

A year after Syd's death, Carmy prepares one of her recipes. He takes out bowls and pans and his knife. Takes out the meat and pre-heats the oven. He knows the recipe by heart but keeps her notebook open on the prep table anyway. He’s salting the meat when he sees her, out of the corner of his eye. Leaning against the fryer like she had been watching him the whole time.

Unassuming But Lethal (9k words) - Part VI of the Oyster Knife series

Syd is nominated for an award, or: a comedy of errors.

Warmest Part of the Winter (11k words) - Part VII of the Oyster Knife series

Syd and Carmy celebrate her mom's birthday, and later, Mikey's birthday.

A Moving Thing (13k words) - Part VIII of the Oyster Knife series

Syd and Carmy fall in love over the course of answering 36 questions.

Take Care (30k words)

Ingredients: - 1 culinary school dropout - 1 recently fired CDC - 48 hours in New York City

Steps: 1. Have a panic attack; drop out of culinary school. 2. Accidentally become the head food critic of the New York Times. 3. Write a review that gets the CDC of Eleven Madison Park fired. 4. Let sit until you have an emotionally unwieldy mess.

Having a Coke With You (19k words) - Part IX of the Oyster Knife series

“I guess you’re just not the jealous type,” Carmy concluded as they finished locking up.

“Or I’m just not jealous in the same way you’re jealous,” Syd retorted.

“I’m jealous?”

“Carm.” She gave him a look that implied that she didn’t have time to explain the levels of ridiculousness behind that question.

Avenues All Lined With Trees (27k words)

“You're a lifesaver,” the mother-of-the-bride gushes. “I didn't want to go with just anyone. The groom is a bit of a foodie, so I wanted a caterer who could impress.”

Syd is about to call it quits for good on Sheridan Road. But then she gets a last-minute request to cater a wedding.

#sydcarmy #ao3 fanfic

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preciouslandmermaid · 6 months

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nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) - bonus post-epilogue chapter

Note: I randomly wanted to write a wedding, but I don't actually include the ceremony, so this is more like a "pre-wedding/post-wedding" story if we're being honest ! Also it takes place about 2 years after the epilogue :)

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Content! (Explicit Language/Sexual Content).

(Read on Ao3) /// (Masterpost)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sydney held the wooden spoon toward you and the scent of the honey and ginger glaze tickled your nostrils. Earlier in the afternoon, she rolled the sleeves of her dark green sweater to her elbows and the beaded bracelet (a gift from Richie’s daughter, Eva) slid partway down her wrist.

“Alright, it’s your entree. You get to try it first.”

“I thought that was the chef’s honor?”

“Yeah, well, you’re the bride so…” she trailed off, shrugging. “I think that superimposes chef’s honor.”

You smiled and raised both eyebrows at Syd. She didn’t have to help, especially considering how busy The Bear is nowadays, but she offered and you gratefully accepted. Wedding planning – as it turned out – was a stressful affair. You and Carmy had your location set, but the guest list, wedding registry, and menu were woefully incomplete. You tangled yourselves into knots over the planning, but the goal remained firm in your mind; a celebration with Carmy and your friends mixed with the legality of marriage. You would overcome any hurdles you needed to cross because all of it would be worth it in the end.

Wordlessly, you closed your mouth over the spoon. Your lips puckered and your tongue recoiled to the safety of your back molars.

“Oh, oh shit,” Sydney said emphatically, “you hate it.”

“N-no!” You coughed, swallowing, and grabbing your glass of water. “The acidity is just a little...strong. It needs to be adjusted, that’s all.”

“Fuck,” she said, slapping her palm on the wooden countertop. “Okay – uh – that’s okay. We can – I can totally fix this. No biggie.” When she tasted the glaze, her expression pinched before she stuck out her tongue and gagged. “Yeah, nope.” She released a forced, short laugh. “There’s no saving that one.”

You loved Syd’s earnest, anxious awkwardness. Her blunt nature had been the first foundational stone of your friendship. You liked that she didn’t let Carmy off the hook, regardless of his experience and talent, and their partnership was an integral component to the Bear’s continued success.

“Back to the drawing board,” you said, drumming your fingers on the countertop. “Maybe ginger is too sharp? Do we lean more savory?”

“Interesting idea coming from the baker,” she teased.

“Hey!” You pretended to be offended and infused your tone with as much indignation as you could. “Just because I run a bakery doesn’t mean I have a sweet tooth.”

Syd laughed. “There is literally a bowl of candy by the entryway.”

“It’s for Halloween.” You crossed your arms and said, “There are a ton of families in this building.” In truth, your lack of nicotine intake after quitting smoking had manifested into a ravenous sweet tooth and, the lollipops – although bad for your teeth – were monumentally healthier than cigarettes.

“Dude, Halloween is seven months away.”

“We’re prepared.”

“What for like kids who don’t know how to like tell time and show up a few months early?”

“Obviously.”

She finished scraping the glaze into the trash. “You’re fucking ridiculous.” Her bright smile faded and the light entered her dark eyes. You recognized it as her ‘I have an idea face’ and your mood lifted—the overly sour glaze quickly forgotten. When Carmy said he wanted The Bear to cater your wedding, you had been shocked, and concerned about the additional stress it would add to your lives. However, with Syd in your kitchen, the pan gripped in her hand and her expression rapt with wonder, you realized that you had nothing to worry about. The wedding’s menu and food preparation were in the best hands.

“Do you have any soy sauce?” she asked, “Worcestershire sauce will work too, or liquid aminos if we’re desperate.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy watched as your fingers held aloft over the keyboard and the spreadsheet glared menacingly in a harsh blue-white glow. The guest list had been easy to start. The obvious ones were Syd, Natalie, Peter, Richie and Eva, and your best friend, Taylor. The harder choices were family and how to arrange the tables. Your eyebrows angled in confusion and you drew your hands away.

“I’m not inviting my dad,” you said after a moment’s pause.

Carmy nodded. “Okay.”

His neck prickled uncomfortably. It wasn’t the flushed heat that arrived when he felt embarrassed. No. This discomfort traveled from his neck to his fingers. It raked across his skin like a thousand needles, pricking every nerve, and drawing blood. He thought about going to his coat pocket and withdrawing a crumpled pack of cigarettes. The quick, cold rush of nicotine would ease his headache and calm his nerves. But, if he smoked, then he’d need to walk downstairs and into the blustery sharp gray wind of March. And he didn’t want to bail on you. The puzzle of who to invite and who to sit with whom was a project for the both of you to untangle.

“I dunno if I should…” He cleared his throat and looked away when your eyes met his over the laptop screen. “I dunno.”

“Your mom?” you correctly guessed.

Carmy sniffed, scratched the side of his nose, and nodded. His heart thumped into his ribs. Maybe he should take a walk. Maybe the March air would clear this dreadful feeling from his skull. His stomach hardened into a pit at the idea of his mom coming to his wedding. But, at the same time, his dread and fear congealed into a sharp guilt that curdled his stomach acid. His mom was a force to be reckoned with. A hurricane of a woman. He loved her. He didn’t know if he wanted her at the wedding. He knew she’d be upset if she weren’t invited. But, both of you decided to keep the guest list small. The careful cuts were necessary, and not just due to the frugality aspect, but in terms of everyone’s enjoyment.

“She’d make it about her,” he said, “remember Sophia’s second birthday?”

You placed your hand on the middle of Carmy’s back, right between his tense shoulder blades, and he forced a harsh exhale through his teeth. They almost called the police, Carmy thought with a frown. His mom showed up and seemed fine, and then shortly before cake and presents, she buckled little Sophia into her car and claimed that Natalie hated her and didn’t want Sophia to have a relationship with her grandmother. His niece, at the age when separation anxiety often occurred, cried so much that she threw up on her special birthday dress.

“I do,” you said and your eyes softened.

“I’m a terrible son,” Carmy said, “I’m a fucking asshole. We have to invite her, don’t we? She deserves to be there.”

“Carmy, you’re not.” You rubbed his back. “Do you think I’m an asshole for not inviting my dad?”

He quickly said, “No.” The pit in his stomach gnawed at his smoke-deprived lungs. “It’s different.”

“How so?”

“He has another family.” Carmy stood, raking his hand through his hair. “My mom only has Nat and me.”

“So you have to sacrifice your happiness and comfort for hers?”

“Yes!” he said immediately followed by a quick, “No. I don’t know.” He reached into his coat pocket hanging by the door and fished out the squashed packet of cigarettes.

You trailed after him and wound your arms around him, pressing your face into his back, your hands coming to rest over his heart. Carmy froze. The pressure of your hands on his chest made him realize how fast his heart was beating. He squeezed the cigarette packet and it crinkled beneath his clammy fingers.

“Remind me,” you said, voice faintly muffled by his t-shirt, “what was the possible diagnosis your therapist gave her?”

“Borderline personality disorder.” His therapist also said his mom could have narcissistic personality disorder, but BPD was more likely, based on his descriptions of childhood. It helped to have a name for it. It gave him a better understanding of everything he went through.

“Which defines her behavior but doesn’t excuse it,” you said as you circled around him to face him. “Carmy, I love you.” You cupped his face in your hands. “I will support you if you want to invite Donna and I’ll weather any storms she brings with her. Who knows...maybe it’ll be a good day for her.” Your tone toward the end of your sentence became dubious.

Carmy sighed. “I don’t think I want to invite her, but I feel like I should.” He frowned. “That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“No, it does. You feel an obligation as her son to share this big moment with her. I get it.”

“Do you feel guilty about not inviting your dad?”

“A little.” Your lips pursed. “But, if I visualize our wedding, the thought of my dad standing beside me doesn’t make me happy. I don’t feel excited about it. I just feel…”

“Dread?” he guessed.

You smiled faintly. “It’s more annoyance and anger for me.”

“Mm, yeah. Makes sense.” He leaned his forehead and touched it to yours. How did he get so lucky? He imagined the wedding. He imagined seeing you across from him, sliding the ring on your finger, and stuttering through his vows. The usual nervousness bubbled up inside his chest, but it was smothered by the overwhelming warmth and affection he felt for you that bled across his skin like thick honey.

“I don’t think I can invite her,” he whispered.

“That’s okay, Carm.” You kissed him softly. “That’s okay.” You repeated against his mouth. A sensation of cool and blissful relief extinguished the last lingering remnants of his dread.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Something is weird,” you said, leaning forward in the passenger seat. “Why are there two florist vans? Did we accidentally get two?” You didn’t recognize the name on the second van either. Must be a local shop, you thought, although that doesn’t explain why they’re here.

“I don’t think so,” Carmy said.

As everyone poured out of their cars, their garment bags slung over their arms or over their shoulders, a sharply dressed black woman emerged from the entrance and strode purposefully toward you and Carmy.

“You must be the Berzattos,” she said breathlessly as she shook your hands. “It’s good to meet you. My name is Vivienne and I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“What sort of bad news?” Richie said, “The kind that gets us a discount?” He grinned at Carmy and your husband-to-be rolled his eyes.

“Perhaps.”

Richie whispered, “Oh shit.”

“We’ve had some technical issues with our new scheduling program.” She wrung her hands together. “The venue has been double-booked.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, noticing all the additional staff buzzing to and fro across the manicured lawn.

Vivienne said, “I’m so sorry for the mistake. If you’d like, we can reschedule you.”

Your stomach dropped into your shoes.

“Absolutely not,” you said, “people flew out to be here. We can’t reimburse flights and accommodations, and nor should we have to considering this is your error.” You sighed, feeling a headache press into your temples. “Why didn’t you notify us?”

“How about a discount and you can split the venue?” she offered, “we only realized the mistake when the two catering companies showed up.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” said Richie.

“Fuck,” Syd said.

Natalie crossed her arms. “I’m sorry did they say double-booked?”

“Mommy!” Sophia pulled at Natalie’s pant leg. “Mommy, look! Sunflowers!” She pointed at the floral van carrying out their arrangements.

You shared a glance with Carmy. “Can we have a minute?”

“Of course. Again, we’re so sorry.”

You and Carmy broke away from the group of your closest friends and family. You rubbed your hands down the length of your face.

“We can’t reschedule,” you said, “but how the hell are we going to share the venue? They have one kitchen and we paid for our guests to stay the night.”

“Maybe the timing works out,” Carmy said, taking your hand in his. “You want to stay here?”

“Yes.”

“Then fuck it. We stay.”

“Okay, fuck it.” You smiled. “Let’s negotiate a good discount.”

“Say the word and I’ll send Pete in,” Carmy joked.

You laughed. “God, we might need him.”

The organization was a cluster-fuck. The venue manager, Vivienne, assured and promised that the space was large enough and that the other party – the Carmichael's – were having a noon wedding with a 2 PM reception and everything would be cleaned up for your 4 PM wedding and 5 PM reception. But, you noticed the proverbial cracks in the foundation. The necessary kitchen prep work, the clashing decorations, the intermingling guests, and the underlying stress and confusion permeated every interaction. You practiced intentional breathing and hoped you’d make it through the day without bursting into stress-induced tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The zipper was halfway up when it broke. You felt the snag, then the tug and pull, and the abrupt separation. You pressed your hand to your mouth and muffled the noise of discontent and frustration that threatened to break free.

Taylor pushed her long, thick dark braid over her shoulder and pursed her red lips at you. “We can work with this,” she said after a long moment of contemplation. “We can fix it.”

You released a strangled, “can we?” You blinked back your burning tears—you didn’t want to ruin your makeup.

“Yeah, most of these places have emergency sewing kits,” your best friend said while digging through the drawers, “also, this might be a bad time, but is the chef single?”

Despite everything, you laughed. “Which chef?”

“The tall blonde one with the accent.”

“Luca?”

Taylor’s eyes brightened. “Yes!”

“I’ll find out for you,” you said while reaching for your phone. You smiled at the sight of your phone background, a black and white photo of you and Carmy, and Taylor snickered.

“I remember when you told me about him,” she said.

“You do?”

“Yeah, you were all tied into knots about it...and now look at you! Tying the knot.” She winked. “I’m glad you guys figured it out.”

Your chest warmed with pleasure. “Me too.”

“Aha!” She held the little sewing kit aloft. It had the venue's name printed on the front of the bag. “Do you think they write this so nobody steals it?” She asked while tapping the swooping decal.

Before you could answer, your mom bustled into the room, her billowing lilac sleeves trailing after her arms.

“Oh! Look at you!” She grabbed your chin and kissed your cheek. “I’ve got something for you. A little tradition.”

“Mom, I don’t know if I can stomach any more surprises.” Taylor began to fix your zipper and the cold metal teeth periodically kissed your skin.

“You’ll like this surprise.”

Your mom removed a potted plant from her purse. The dark soil clung to her fingertips, the plant likely got knocked around more than once, as she set it down on the vanity. You recognized the wide, verdant leaves.

“A basil plant?”

“Normally, we give a flower of some type, but I chose a basil plant instead.” She smiled, pleased. “Nurture the plant as you nurture your future and it’ll thrive.”

Your throat tightened. “Thanks, Mom.” Your shoulders jerked as Taylor finished zipping and she whooped in triumphant delight.

“There we go, crisis averted,” said Taylor, “now we don’t have to worry about walking down the aisle naked.”

You rubbed your fingertips along the basil leaf and smiled at them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“God,” Richie said, fixing his tie, “I can’t believe you’re getting fucking married, cousin.”

“Yeah, me either.” Carmy scratched the side of his nose.

“I always thought Mikey’d get married before you,” he said, “he was just more charmin’, you know? He had a way with people, women especially, God…” Richie shook his head. “He couldn’t walk down the street without getting some chick’s phone number.”

Carmy stared sullenly at his reflection. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t? ‘Cause then he’d have an ex-wife, or a widow, or a kid or somethin, I dunno.”

Carmy wondered if he’d forever be in rooms with Mikey’s shadow stuck to the corners. It didn’t suffocate him as much anymore. Mikey’s memory lurked within every conversation – like slivers of light through the paneled window shades. Today of all days though, Carmy suspected those slivers would blind him. Mikey should’ve been here, could’ve been, and he wasn’t.

“Yeah, good point.” Richie turned the side and smoothed his lapels. “Still, it should be him.”

Carmy’s neck flushed with indignation. Did Richie seriously have to be such an asshole? His brow furrowed. It was his fucking wedding day for fuck’s sake!

“Cousin—” Carmy began.

“Standing here, I mean, as your best man,” said Richie. “Look, there’s no takebacks and this would be a hell of a time to change your mind but it should’ve been Mikey. Not me. I get that, okay? That’s all I’m trying to say…” He fixed his tie again. “And I’m gonna do everything to make sure that this day doesn’t go to shit. I can promise you that, alright?”

Carmy blinked, at a loss for words at Richie’s admission. It had been six years and counting since Mikey’s death and Richie had been with him for every one. If he was being honest with himself and not caught up on nostalgia, if Mikey was here, then Carmy wasn’t sure he would have trusted him with all the responsibility. Hell, Richie organized a pizza-making bachelor party for him. He offered to trash the other couple’s wedding.

“Who else would it be?” he asked softly, “you’re family, Richie.”

Richie sniffed, nodded, and clapped his hand on Carmy’s shoulder, jostling him. When Carmy met his eyes, they were glassy and bright.

“I know.” His lips twitched up into a grin. “Let’s get you fucking married!” He pulled Carmy in a one-armed, half-hug and shook him. “Put a fucking smile on that face, Carm. Come on! Come on!”

He affectionately pinched Carmy’s face in one hand, squishing his mouth, and Carmy shoved Richie away, annoyed, but laughing—in the same way he’d get annoyed and laugh whenever Mikey goofed around with him.

“Fuck off,” said Carmy, without any heat.

“Hey,” Syd poked her head into the doorway, “you ready? The photographer wants to see all of the groomsmen.”

“Shouldn’t you say grooms-people? To be like politically correct or whatever,” Richie asked, “or groomsmen and women considering you’re among us.”

Syd made a face. “Richie shut up and come pose with us.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be inclusive,” he said loudly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If someone asked you to recount all the details of your wedding—you didn’t think you could. It was the busiest and most stressful day of your life. You’d always remember the finer details like Carmy’s thoughtful, flustered vows, Richie starting a limbo competition, or Syd’s dad dancing with Taylor—at least for a while until she disappeared with Luca in tow. Good for you, you remembered thinking as you watched her form retreat down the hall.

But the rest of the day was an exuberant blur. It had been long and you were grateful to relax into the lush pillowcases with your short silk gown kissing your skin.

Carmy climbed into bed after showering and peppered kisses along your nose and jaw, his hands finding your hips beneath the covers and holding them.

“I can’t believe you’re my husband,” you said with soft laughter before chasing his lips with yours.

“And you’re my wife,” he said, lifting your wrists and placing them over your head, “keep those there.”

You said, “We’ve been married less than twelve hours and you’re already bossing me around?”

Carmy chuckled and his breath puffed over your peaked nipples. His tongue laved over the silk, and moistened it before he drew your nipple between his lips. The soft silk and warmth of Carmy’s tongue was a heady, back-arching mixture.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered, plunging your hands into his damp curls and scraping your nails over his scalp.

“Yeah?” His calloused palm felt its way down your thigh, “Are you wet for me already?”

“A little,” you admitted as you parted your legs for him.

“God,” he muttered before mouthing along your breasts and wetting the silk with his tongue and lips. He held one of your breasts in his hand and squeezed, pushing the mound into his mouth again and sucking your hard nipple. The sensation turned to liquid, sticky heat between your legs. You moaned, pushing upward into his grasp and gyrating your hips in askance. His hand was frustratingly close to your cunt, but not close enough. He rubbed up and down your inner thigh from knee to apex, letting his knuckles occasionally brush your pussy, before drawing away without adding any pressure. The fucking nerve of him!

“My wife is so fucking hot,” Carmy said, and hearing the words sent a hot, fresh thrill trembling through you.

“And my husband is a fucking tease,” you said, digging your fingertips into his hard, sculpted shoulders.

Carmy pulled his mouth away from your wet breasts. The silk had darkened where his mouth had been and you could faintly see your nipples through the semi-translucent fabric.

“Am I?” He drew his hands away from you and grabbed your wrists again, pinning them above your head, “I thought I said to keep these here.”

You snorted. “When have I ever listened?”

“You’re a great listener,” he said honestly.

“I want to touch you, Carmy,” you said, matching his honesty with your own, even as his praise sang through your ears and warmed your skin.

He softened. “Okay.” He pulled your wedding ring-adorned hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. The moment he released your hand, you slid your fingers down his chest, smiling at the way his eyelashes fluttered and his cheeks darkened. You wiggled your fingers beneath the tight waistband of his boxer shorts and found him hard and pulsing within your grasp.

“Fuck.” He shuddered. “I feel like I could come just by looking at you.”

He jerked his hips into your touch as your fingers encircled him. You craned your neck upward and kissed him, finding the familiar rhythm of tongue and teeth, and moaning wantonly into his mouth when his hand cupped your wet folds. He hissed when his index finger pledged into you and your mind went white-hot and blank.

“Do you think the stress of the day has manifested into being super horny for each other?” You asked, your other hand cupping the back of Carmy’s neck, pinning his face close to yours so you could kiss him. His pretty blue eyes blinked at you.

“Maybe. But, I think I just want to fuck my wife.” His cock twitched in your hand and you grinned.

“It turns you on to call me your wife, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

His admission made your walls clench around his index finger. Maybe you liked it too. Maybe. You felt Carmy smile against your lips. “Can’t wait to be inside you,” he muttered, “filling you, listening to you moan.”

You gasped and your eyes rolled back into your skull. It wasn’t often that Carmy engaged in dirty talk, so when he did, it was a rare and special treat that never failed to drench your core. Carmy ran his tongue along your neck, tasting your sweat before a second finger speared between your folds and coaxed that inner fire.

“Keep this on,” he said, dragging his teeth across the strap of your gown, “when I fuck you.”

“Mm – fuck. Okay,” you groaned.

“Actually, I—” his words were suddenly lost to a moan as you adjusted your grip on his cock, your fingers slicked with pre-cum. “Fuck, baby. I need you on top of me.”

“Gladly.”

Carmy rolled onto his back, yanking his shorts down, and you smiled at the sight of him – as desperate as you were with his chest heaving and his wet curls falling onto his forehead. Your walls clenched in anticipation as you hiked the hem of the dress over your hips. Carmy’s hands settled on your thighs and he watched hungrily as you held the base of his cock and slowly lowered yourself onto him. Your spine convulsed and the sensation of him stretching you and filling you wiped out every lingering thought in your mind.

“God,” his voice was strangled, “you feel so fucking amazing.”

You cupped his face, resting your forehead on his as you rode him, and said, “so do you.”

“I love you so much,” Carmy said reverently, “so goddamn much.”

Your heart threatened to break and regrow the from sheer tenderness of his words. Carmy, you learned over the years, expressed his love with acts of service and he said ‘I love you’ most often while having sex. However, something about this ‘I love you’ was different. It was more intense on your post-wedding night. You buried your face into his sweaty neck, your bodies and hearts joined, your futures intrinsically linked.

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You tilted the watering can over the thriving basil plant and smiled.

“Auntie.” Sophia, freshly eight years old, held something in her hands. “I found a worm.”

You blinked at her. “Put it back?”

“Okay!” She replied cheerily and dropped the worm back into the potted rosemary. She spun when the balcony door slid open. “Hi Uncle Carmy! Do you want to see the worm?” She pointed.

Carmy smiled, first at his niece, and then at you. “Let me see,” he said, crouching. He balanced his wrists on his knees and the sunlight gleamed off his wedding band. Your heart skipped. My husband. You wondered what your grandfather would say if you could tell him that his death led you to your soulmate, a second family, and a range of new friends. Knowing him he’d tell me that he would’ve died sooner if he knew how happy it’d make me. Your grandfather had had a wry sense of humor.

Carmy stood and put his arm around you. “We’re going to need to re-pot the basil if it keeps growing like this,” he said absentmindedly.

You leaned into him and kissed his cheek.

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfic #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmen 'carmy' berzatto x you

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stayconnecteed · 13 days

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🪐˓⠀˚⠀the arrival⠀@⠀seven.

synopsys: nobody knew you were going to the wedding, and it really was a last minute decision, but you simply couldn't miss such an event in your little sister's life. your arrival, though, changed the dinner plans of your mother, and with a free night, some of the groom's men decided to celebrate late the new year ahead of them.

SEE MORE.⠀⠀⠀⠀10 . 6 k words⠀⠀skz mlist.⠀⠀monday .ᐟ

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀pairing ★ han jisung x afab!reader x lee felix.

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀genres ★ non!idol au, wedding au ; friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, roommates to lovers, one bed trope, oblivious to love (idiots to lovers), it kind of starts as a love triangle but, polyamory.

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀sunday's warnings ★ first chapter! this is more like an introduction, but still : mentions of insecurities, social anxiety, theraphy - selfharm is mentioned too but no one actually does it - and bad relationship w parents (reader's mother is the villain, yes). also, alcohol consumption, slightly drunk decisions - they still can consent tho. as for the smut part today is male on male action, kissing, hickeys, the usual + oral, protected sex.

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀author's note ★ hehe. you'll see. this is for the jilix girlies out there (neutral intended tho). i'M SO EXCITED! also, this is my first time writing m x m sex so i'm absolutely sorry if it makes no sense :((

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀credits ★ mdni banner by @cafekitsune + warnings : if any under 18 / ageless acc interacts with this series i'll block them.

There was no cereal left when Jisung emerged from his assigned room, his mind occupied with the craving for a snack, wrapped in one of his most recurrent hoodies and with his pyjama bottoms hanging off his hips. For a moment he stood in the middle of the kitchen, frowning at the opened cupboard where he was sure he had left the box ーno cereals on the insideー as if the cause of all the world's misfortunes lurked behind the wooden door. He had just woken up, he couldn't process such an important loss when he barely had two functioning brain cells.

He had stayed up so late that he had been able to go out and watch the sunrise on the beautiful terrace in the living room. The jet lag was draining all the energy he'd been able to store up from the few hours he'd slept on the plane, and although he didn't know what time it was, the fact that there was no sign of Felix ーthe door to his room open, the bed unmade, but no sleeping blondeー meant it was past noon. And all he wanted was a bowl of cereal and milk, but apparently the flat where the Bhangs had placed them was haunted and would deny him the option of a quiet breakfast.

It was unfair. Especially since he had made the trip for him, his best friend, Chan, who was finally getting married. And of course he had enough money to pay for all the expenses for a week of celebrations but not for a single box of cereal for one of his best men. It was unfair. Maybe he did have some in his flat, that selfish Aussie. Jisung knew he was staying with his fiancée on the first floor, so he would just have to take the elevator and sneak into his apartment, carefully checking the kitchen until he found the cereal. It seemed like a perfect plan, so he walked back to his room, slipped on a pair of sneakers without even tying the laces, put on his headphones with the latest playlist he'd been listening to, and left the flat, leaving the door open.

Another reason why the situation was unfair: Chan's parents were filthy rich. They owned a luxury resort and several flat blocks in Sydney, where the event was to be held, and had decided to close the buildings for the week and accommodate the guests there. He knew that the property they were in was the closest to his friend's parents' home, something about Chan being able to visit Berry anytime he felt like doing so, and was also where the bride and groom and their closest guests ーbridesmaids and best men, plus other friendsー were staying. That included Jisung, who was sharing an apartment with Felix, the other Aussie in their group, and the terrible absence of chocolate cereal.

That meant that there was no need to lock the doors. Besides the fact that he was perfectly capable of forgetting the key inside, the only people who could get in were people he knew, people he trusted, so they treated the whole building like a big house. Which was a crucial part of his plan to steal Chan's cereal. He walked slowly to the lift, trying to wake up, rubbing his eyes to make the sleep fade away, and pressed the button for the first floor. The ride was fairly short, and once he arrived in front of the apartment door he completely ignored the “do not disturb” sign and went straight to the kitchen.

He had already achieved almost half of the plan. With Post Malone's ‘Sunflower’ blaring through his headphones, every step he took felt like Miles Morales at the beginning of his movie: nothing could go wrong. He had to open the cupboards one by one, because the distribution of food was different depending on who was living on which floor, but he couldn't hide the victorious smile that escaped his lips when he finally found them. Yeah, the brand was not the same he usually had, but brands were different in Australia, after all. And Chan had a very similar box of his cereals hidden in the kitchen between empty cabinets. He scoffed, what were those two eating? Each other?

Oh, God. Maybe they were. He had ignored the sign at the door because he had thought they were sleeping... But his little incursion could actually end up really messed up if his friends turned out to be tangled in the sheets. He was grateful to have the music blasting in his ears, just in case Chan and his fiancée were really, reaally busy, as he searched for a bowl in utter silence. After burying his head in the fridge in search of milk, and getting hold of a spoon, he sat at the newly refurbished kitchen island, watching TikToks with an absent minded air, enjoying the taste of chocolate on his tongue, humming contentedly.

It was the first time he was going to spend New Year's separated from his family. When Jisung had received the beautiful white letter with gold details in which Chan and your sister invited him to their expected wedding, he had accepted without hesitation. They were perfect together, and he wouldn’t miss such an important moment in their lives. Then, talking it over with Felix, he had realised that the ceremony would be in Australia, and that the festivities would last almost a week, starting on the third of January. It seemed like he would have a great time, but he had spent New Year's Eve on the plane, sleeping, instead of celebrating with his brother and parents, and he had certainly missed them a bit.

It was not the first time he had travelled to the hometown of his Aussie friends, but he never ceased to be amazed by the radical change of season it was to board the plane in Incheon, with the city covered in a thin layer of white snow, only to arrive in Sydney, and watch the seaside city stretch its lazy fingers towards the sun in a warm climate. Weather worked backwards there, blizzards decorating the summer and welcoming Santa Claus with a tropical setting straight out of the Caribbean. Jisung had missed the Australian Christmas that Felix talked so much about, but he didn't feel like going for a walk on the beach either. Not yet, anyway.

He had actually been hiding in his room for almost two days, and he didn't think anyone could blame him. It was a change, and like all changes, he needed time to get used to it. Listening to his roommate share how much fun he'd had in the waves, hanging out with his family on the day they'd been in town, was enough for him. The big smile on Felix's face made him feel much better. And the chocolate cereal was a big help, as was spending the night watching old K-dramas. Startles, for example, were not.

And so when he noticed movement in his field of vision and looked up to see Chan, shorts dangling from his hips, hand on his bare chest and staring at him as if he'd just broken into his house ーwhich was so not trueー, he was so frightened that he nearly spat the cereal onto the counter. He started coughing like crazy after swallowing hard, and Chan ran over to pat him on the back, helping the air flow normally through his lungs again. He took off his headphones, and while the music was still audible coming out of the speakers, because he always listened to his songs louder than recommended, they heard your sister's sore voice from the bedroom asking Chan if everything was all right.

“I am, baby!” he answered, looking at Jisung with a raised eyebrow. “Jisung seems to have choked on our cereal, though”.

“Jisung?”

“Hi!” he managed to mutter, still trying to regulate his breathing completely.

“He is raiding our kitchen!”

“I am not!”

“Let him get some cereal, Channie!” protested his fiancée, and Jisung stuck his tongue out childishly at his friend, knowing he had your sister's protection. “I'm sure he didn't have the opportunity to buy anything to eat yesterday.”.

“If he eats something now he won't be hungry at dinner, and you know how your mother gets if there's food left over!”

That was Jisung's life since Chan had started dating her. Before he was the child, cared for by the elders of the group, certainly suffering some friendly bullying that he didn't complain about, and trying to raise a laugh whenever he could. Now he was the son of the old married couple in love. They were not yet married per se, but they had been acting that way for some time. And he had been the lucky one who had not only gotten the privilege of Minho hyung having a soft spot in him, but your sister had one too, and that made him untouchable if they were around.

“But there is still plenty of time for dinner,” Jisung said, pitifully.

“No, there’s not,” replied the Aussie, frowning. “Dinner’s in an hour and a half.”

“Really?” he exclaimed, rushing to his phone to check that Chan wasn't trying to trick him. “I was looking forward to breakfast!”

“You can finish your cereal if you want, but it's already eight something.”

“Well, dude, you were still in bed, so what are you talking about? ‘Eight something' is too late for a nap, I don't know what...” Jisung opened his eyes wide when he saw the way his hyung was blushing and couldn't help but cover them as he got confirmation of what he had assumed they were doing. “Oh, no, I didn't want to know, God, you didn't have to tell me! What is wrong with you!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Your ears are red!”

Chan seemed ready to defend himself, opening his mouth to explain that he couldn't control his reactions, but then your sister let out a scream. He saw his friend's body tense up, brow furrowing again ーthis time tilted with worryー and he burst out running back to his room, so Jisung had no choice but to follow. It was his adoptive mom who had just screamed, and also his adoptive mom who was wrapped in sheets, beaming a glowing smile that had nothing to do with the shriek she had just let out, her phone lit up in her hands.

“Baby, we have to cancel today’s dinner.”

“Do not do that again, please” Chan pleaded, holding his hand to his chest again, feeling his racing heart under his fingertips. “Enough scares for today.”

“Sorry” she mumbled, sheepishly. “But! Look, my sister just texted me!”

“Your sister?”

“Yes!” she confirmed, setting the phone down on the mattress and bending slightly to pick up a shirt from the floor.

Jisung felt really uncomfortable as he realised that he had caught them unknowingly, and that he had been eating cereal while they were there… naked, doing stuff.

“She never replied if she was going to be able to come to the wedding,” Chan said, approaching his fiancée to gossip about the message she had received.

“Because she wanted it to be a surprise” she explained, shaking her fists in the same adorable way Chan did when he tasted a really good dish. “But she couldn't let Mom know she was coming, because you know how she'd get, so she just got to the airport and doesn't know where she has to go.”

“And we just call off dinner?” asked the groom, his eyes widening in horror. “Your mother is going to have a heart attack. Besides, what do we do about the announcement?”

It did feel like he was witnessing a random conversation between his own parents. For a moment, they hadn't even realised they were talking in front of him, too busy reading each other with their gazes, and Jisung just hoped that this announcement they were talking about wasn't a pregnancy. They would make great parents, but he wasn't ready to have a little brother.

“After a flight of so many hours, she's going to want to rest. Dinner and the announcement can wait, as can my mother. It's our wedding, and you know what my sister means to me,” she stated, clearly determined. “Don't mention what the plans were, anyway, please. I know she'd feel terrible if she thought she screwed anything up, especially if my mother had organised it.”

“Don't worry. We can make the announcement tomorrow at lunch, when she's rested. Now let's go pick her up.” he replied, caressing her shoulder gently. Then he glanced quickly towards Jisung, catching his attention. “Hey, Ji, this is your chance. You come with us and we stop at a supermarket on the way back? Cereal's on me.”

Who was Jisung to reject free food?

Jisung had only met you once, but he remembered every single detail with precision.

It had been at a birthday party a little over two years ago. Chan was turning 29, and everyone was nervous because they didn't know how he would take the surprise party his girlfriend had thrown for him - he had never liked being the centre of attention. However, all Chan could think about was how nervous he was because his girl had told him she wanted to introduce him to her sister. Jisung had thought that the sister thing was a trick to make Chan go to the place where all his friends were gathered, but it turned out that you had shown up too.

From what Chan had told him, meeting your partner's parents was an important but stressful time. After all, most people place a high value on their parents' opinion when it comes to introducing them to the person they have fallen in love with, and all you want, as the person introduced, is to be liked. The dinner that the Aussie had attended could not have had a better outcome, with her mother smiling excitedly at him and his father hugging them goodbye. Although the mother was rather peculiar and Chan had heard too many stories about her, he had finally managed to win them over.

It hadn't been difficult because Chan's real problem had always been you, the older sister. The heiress of the family business who had taken the position of CEO upon your father's retirement. The devoted daughter who had sacrificed her adolescence to raise the youngest in the family, trying to follow your mother's strict guidelines without complaint. Your sister adored you, and appreciated everything you had done for her, and Chan knew that if there was anyone he should win over, it was you. So even though his girlfriend had assured him that you were a very shy and sweet girl, the aura of perfection that you radiated when your sister spoke your name had made him feel insecure.

And Jisung hadn't been able to help but feel the same. His heart had been racing with the erratic rhythm he felt before an exam he hadn't studied hard enough for, anxiety bubbling in his chest. It wasn't helping Chan calm down, and he didn't know why it was affecting him so much, but he couldn't stop the choking feeling. He'd known all his friends since they were little, and slowly their lives were settling in, becoming adults, while he felt like he was still the same loser teenager he'd always been. Besides, he didn't see a future where Chan wouldn't end up with his current girlfriend, and while he hadn't found it hard to feel comfortable in her presence, meeting her sister was different.

It was more serious. It involved opening up the group to outsiders, and Jisung hated change. But he had stood frozen as your sister flashed her trademark big smile, raising her arm to wave at you, beckoning you to come closer. He had watched you move through the crowd in your light dress pants, framing your waist with a thin belt, your loose hair floating with every step. Elegant, regal, classic. Straight out of a fashion magazine, perhaps from the section on looks to wear as a businesswoman. Jisung didn't even know what exactly had crossed his mind at the moment.

He had felt Chan deflate beside him, as blowfish out of danger, but he was still tense, his body a bowstring. He had tried to do the same, to relax, of course, while your gaze was fixed on his friend, but the only result had been to run out of air. Then he had focused on your sister, who gave off an infectious cheerful energy, and repeated to himself that if she was capable of looking at you that way, like you hung the stars on the sky, you couldn't be all that dangerous. He knew Chan's girlfriend, and while it was true that she trusted very easily, you were sisters. It was impossible for you not to have some of her kindness.

At least until Chan had uttered his name, introducing him as his best friend and co-worker, and then you looked at him. And the rest of the party had ceased to exist around you. His feet seemed unable to move, nailed to the spot where he had stopped to drink before he knew you were coming into his life. Your gaze was sharp over him, analysing him. He bowed slightly as he felt Chan's hand on his back, to acknowledge your presence and show some respect, but he could only take a relieved breath of air when your eyes stopped wandering over him, your attention back on whatever it was your sister was telling you about.

You hadn't spoken to each other. You had murmured a faint ‘hello’, but Jisung had never gotten around to responding ーat least not using his voiceー, so he had no conversation to evoke except the liquid embarrassment that still created shivers in its wake as he remembered the fool he had made of himself. He had merely looked at you like a child did with a toy, but through a glass, him on the street and you looking unreachable in your display window. At least, he hoped so. That you hadn't noticed, of course, but in case you had, that your image of him was that of a bashful boy who was nervous around you.

He wanted to think that if he had looked creepy, Chan would have told him, even your sister would have told him. God, and he didn't think of you as an object either, the toy thing was a silly metaphor. Besides, more than nervousness, it really looked like raw anxiety. He didn’t really know if the way his heart had been racing was out of fear or shyness, but Minho had told him that it was obvious you had had a clear effect on him, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He just knew he still kept making a fool of himself in his own mind every time he thought of you.

That was why he couldn't possibly allow himself to be with you in the same car, with no chance to run away as soon as he started to feel awkward. The most sensible thing to do, anyway, would be not to get into the car at all ーhe was already feeling awkward just thinking about itー, but he would have to give explanations that he wasn't prepared to utter out loud. And Jisung would rather swallow his anxiety and pretend to be civilised in Chan's car than admit that he had been thinking about you too often for two years.

The surprise reflected in your beautiful narrowed eyes indicated that you did not expect that the first person you would see when you looked up would be none other than Han Jisung. He knew it, and he wasn't taking it to heart because after all, the one you had sent the message to was your sister. You were the spitting image of bewilderment, your expression of confusion turning into a frown until you spotted your sister behind his back and he saw you flash a smile he had never seen curving your lips before. The sting of feeling ignored cried in his chest, but he understood. You spent your life travelling, he didn't even know when was the last time you had seen each other.

Chan and he faded into the background as you hugged your little sister, murmuring greetings and 'I love you's in the arms of what you considered home, and Jisung stared at the disarranged way your dress had wrinkled at its bottom. You had been waiting sitting on the floor, legs crossed, your suitcase standing next to you, an image that contrasted with the neat way you had styled your hair, the expensive-looking dress you wore bringing luminosity to your face. You were slightly taller than Jisung thanks to the esparto sandals you had slipped on before taking a cab to the airport, but all he could think about was your smile.

The same one you addressed to him with an embarrassed curve once you separated from your sister, out of her embrace but still with your arms entwined, when the excitement of being with her again dissipated.

“Sorry for not saying hi” you said, your tone clear but warm. You nodded in his direction, pronouncing his name slowly, as if savouring it, and then went over to give Chan a quick hug ーno doubt having more familiarity with him than with Jisung.

“Do you remember Ji?” your sister asked, just as surprised as he was, as she led you to where her fiancé had parked.

“Of course! Chan's shy friend” you answered, smacking Chan playfully in the arm when he tried to take your suitcase. “No offence.”

“None taken.”

So you actually remembered him, and he wasn't creepy in your memories. Jisung had to suppress the smile that crawled into his lips just thinking about it.

“Do you remember me?” you said, raising an eyebrow with a teasing hint in your voice.

He wanted to scream that he did, his enthusiasm threatening with revealing the gradual way he was realising you weren’t as dangerous as he had thought, but he breathed before talking, “Yeah, definitely. Chan’s famous sister in law.”

“Famous?”

“Well, your sister doesn’t shut up about you, so it seems a reasonable adjective,” intervened Chan, saving Jisung some time to compose himself.

After two years he was talking with you, you two were having a proper conversation. It was amazing.

“Aww, my little sister can’t stop mentioning me?” you joked, an airy giggle escaping your lips. But the subtext was clear to Jisung, that comment had meant a lot more to you that you wanted to let on.

“Well, it’s not my fault you appear to be related to half the topics I talk about.”

Both sisters bursted out laughing, leaning into each other like two old trees in the park, and Chan opened his car, helping you lift your suitcase and bags into the trunk while your sister called dibs as passenger princess. Jisung had assumed the position he had before, in the seat behind the driver, and waited until you had sat next to him and Chan had started the engine to remind his friend of his promise.

“No worries, mate, I’ll get you your cereals,” he reassured him, chuckling under his breath.

“You didn’t have a proper breakfast for your guests this morning, sir?” you joked, earning an embarrassed laugh from your soon to be brother-in-law. Then Jisung saw you scoot over in your seat with your arms resting on your sister’s backseat, and ask, “Does Mom know I’m here?”

“I didn’t tell her anything, why?”

You cleared your throat, your brows furrowing with worry, “Last time I saw her, we argued. Like, a lot.”

Jisung tried to make himself busy looking through the window, averting his eyes from you two as he heard your sister whisper a fearful ‘Again?’, feeling like he was intruding on a conversation too private for his ears. Luckily, Chan surely had been thinking the same thing, because he pulled into the first free space he could find, quickly parking in the echoing silence that had fallen over the four of them, and with a strained smile signalled Jisung to get out of the car. He didn't even utter a word, just grabbed the keys, placed a sweet kiss on his fiancée's cheek, and joined his friend outside.

“They need time to talk about it” he said, like it would explain everything. Jisung nodded. “I think there’s a Wollies five minutes away, let’s go.”

If Jisung had to be honest, he hadn't actually noticed your mother. He knew who she was, but the first time he had seen her was at the engagement party she had organised for her daughter and Chan a few months ago. She had struck him as a serious but kind woman, who had not once dropped her smile during the entire event. Jisung supposed, in retrospect, that that detail was slightly incriminating, but only if she could be accused of being somewhat forced.

But in the short time that had passed since he had left the comfort of his bed until that very moment, every comment he had heard about her had helped him confirm an opinion that backed up the occasional ‘She’s crazy, mate’ that Chan had repeated in front of him so many times in his fast-paced English conversations with Felix, the thick Australian accent spilling out of every word.

Then he heard Chan sigh.

“This week is going to be hell for them.”

Jisung had never paid attention so fast before, “What do you mean?”

“We knew the wedding was going to be difficult with their mother around, but she didn’t want to leave her out of it” he muttered, as if guilt was eating him alive for sharing intimate matters of his fiancée's family life.

“You've got yourself a very sweet girl, hyung,” his comment brought a soft curve to Chan’s lips, just thinking of your sister's gentle soul, and all the times he'd had the opportunity to witness it. And then he sighed again.

“When her sister didn’t RSVP’d, I totally understood it, and even if it had hurt her, she did too because it was the best for everyone” he continued, guiding Jisung through the streets of his hometown effortlessly. “And even though his mother is probably the reason she is still going to therapy, she showed up so she could attend our wedding. I will be eternally grateful to her just for the look of happiness on my fiancée's face now that they are together.”

Therapy. You could go to therapy for many reasons. Jisung went once a month to help his anxiety, to vent about topics he didn't feel able to share with anyone. And although the day before, the morning of the session and even five minutes before he felt that he was drowning in the uneasiness of someone who has the feeling of facing a periodic exam, although the hour and a half with his psychologist turned him into a sensitive mess of tears and lonely puzzle pieces, that night he always slept better. Therapy helped. Jisung was glad you had that escape route.

“She has had no physical incidents,” Chan said. She has not attempted suicide, Jisung translated. “But I shouldn't have said anything anyway. It's one thing to trust you to talk freely about whatever, and another to share such sensitive personal information about someone without asking their permission.”

Jisung had always admired Chan, but now he felt proud of him, of his ability to keep his moral compass intact. He had to admit, with shameful embarrassment, that he wouldn't have been able to ask him to shut up if he had continued talking. Every piece of information about you seemed addictive to him, like adding emotional depth to a character who had been mentioned for several seasons but had never learned anything about. Chan had just shown him cracks in the smooth porcelain you decided to show as perfection, and now he wasn't going to be able to look at you without seeing you.

Chan put an arm around Jisung’s shoulders, a gesture of affection that he never tired of showing, and he realised that they had already arrived at the supermarket.

“Anyways, let’s go get you some cereal, hm?”

Felix had two empty shot glasses in front of him when Jisung arrived at the Perfect Blues resort bar. He hadn't even looked at his phone since he had walked with Chan into the Woolworths closest to where you and your sister were waiting for them, but when he returned to the apartment with his box of cereal and some more snacks, he saw the notification he had missed it.

‘Hyung just cancelled dinner, wanna hang out?’

Jisung had smiled, thinking he would find the blond Aussie waiting for him in his room, but his absence was obvious, and the catastrophic state of the bathroom told him that he had taken a quick shower after spending the day at the beach and had decided to start without him.

It didn't bother him. Jisung always declined invitations to meet after dinnertime, generally because he felt he was much better off at home, with his belly full and falling asleep in front of his favorite TV show. Often his friend Minho would join him, but generally Jisung liked the quiet of the night. If there was anyone he was capable of breaking his comfortable routine, however, it was Felix. He had been called a simp too many times to avoid acknowledging that he would do anything for his best friend. Even stay best friends, even if his heart asked for more.

Walking to the resort pub where the dinner would have been held had been tricky because he couldn't quite figure out how to use the Maps app on his phone, but once he spotted Felix in the crowd, sitting at the bar but bouncing to the beat of the music the DJ was playing behind him, his shoulders relaxed. Jisung approached his friend with a big smile which the blond lazily returned, and he repressed the urge to wrap him in a hug by way of greeting. Normally they were very affectionate with each other, but the alcohol would bubble up way too easily for them, and that meant Felix would be clingier than usual. Jisung could accept a certain amount of physical contact with his crush before the certainty that it wasn't reciprocated overwhelmed him.

One thing at a time.

“What can I get you?” the bartender intervened between them before they could exchange a word, his accent thick and his gaze soft, and Jisung wondered if he was Chan's cousin.

“Whatever he was having,” he replied hurriedly, trying not to blush. Jisung didn't understand why talking to strangers made him so embarrassed. The man seemed nice. “Oh, and a glass of water, please,” he added. Given the hours it was, Felix would have time to sober up before leaving the place.

“How was your day?” he asked the blond, sitting down on the free stool next to him and leaning slightly towards Felix to hear him better.

But Felix seemed in a world of his own, watching him carefully and squinting.

“You have a mole on your cheek,” he whispered, and Jisung had to steady his grip on the bar to keep from falling over, his palm stretched out on the surface condensed by drinks that had already been removed, when his heart skipped a beat in his chest at his words, “That's why I like to give you kisses there.”

I wish I had a mole on my lips, Jisung thought, but he widened his smile. That wasn't Felix talking. He was just drunk. All there was to do was be patient and nice, because it was obvious to him that Felix didn't have a clue about half the words that came out of his mouth. Jisung had been in his shoes, he knew the lack of control that came with alcohol.

“That's cute,” he told him, resting a hand on his thigh to draw Felix into his voice so he'd understand what he was saying. “How was your day? I didn't see you today.”

“It's just that Hyune wanted to learn how to surf,” he explained, his knee moving under Jisung's hand to the rhythm of the beat. “We woke up early and ate out.”

Jisung was startled when the bartender set down a clean shot glass in front of him and picked up the bottle of whatever Felix had been drinking ーvodka, though he didn't like itー, refilling it at an overwhelming speed.

“Sorry it took so long, but I had to go get it inside,” he exclaimed, to make himself heard over the music, picking up a regular glass and setting it down in front of Felix. “His is on the owners, because of the wedding," he added, emptying in the glass a small bottle of water, which he opened in front of them, "yours is on me."

Jisung blushed again as the bartender gave him a playful wink, muttering a quiet ‘thank you’ in response, and he couldn't help but check what he'd put on to get his attention like that. He'd barely had time to change out of his pajamas when he'd arrived at the apartment, so he'd grabbed the first thing he'd seen in the suitcase lying open on the floor of his room. It was nothing special. Oversize dark jeans and a yellow and black plaid shirt three times his size. Maybe it had too many buttons undone. Changbin always complained because he had another friend who did the same thing. But Wooyoung did it on purpose, Jisung just forgot.

Felix whined, breaking his train of thought, and tugged on Jisung's long shirt sleeve with an adorable pout pursing his lips, “You're not listening to mee.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” he told him, focusing on his friend, “I was thinking about...” he couldn't tell him what the bartender had just done, because he'd try to match them, and Jisung didn't want to spend the night explaining to the poor guy why he wasn't going to do anything with him, “what I'm wearing. Maybe it's not appropriate.”

“You look gorgeous, Ji, don't worry about it.” he tried to reassure him, the R's tangling in his mouth like a tongue twister. “I was asking you about Chan. No one's seen him all day.”

Jisung felt the temperature in the room rise too many degrees, his skin hot and feverish, but he didn't know if it was because of Felix's breathy compliment or because of his question, to which the only possible answer was hopelessly connected to sex. How was it his fault that his hyung was so horny?

“Chan hyung was busy,” he said, keeping his answer as concise as possible.

He felt like a twelve-year-old boy. He was old enough to talk about such things without being shy about it. Even if he wasn't too experienced, the Internet existed, and with it porn. Everyone knew what he was talking about even if he didn't say the word itself, because there were so many ways to call it. And yet it wasn't because of the subject matter that he was acting that way, but because it was Felix he was talking to. And talking about sex with Felix meant thinking about both at the same time. And that was dangerous.

Luckily, Felix was a hyperactive drunk, so if Jisung talked to him about something else he would forget what he had just asked.

“Did you only drink those two shots?” he gestured towards the bar, shamelessly changing the subject, and Felix followed his hand with his gaze.

“Seungmin had beer,” he whispered, as if it were a secret, “he gave me some.”

Seungmin would have loved to see Felix make a fool of Jisung without really being aware, the two of them alone in their shared apartment, totally uninhibited by his damn beer. He told himself he had to warn the poor Aussie that he had been poisoned by a dog. But at that moment what had gotten him high were the two shots he'd downed upon arriving at Perfect Blues, so he had to match Felix to keep the anxiety from eating him up inside at every sentence either of them blurted out, enough to remember his actions but still be able to blame any nonsense he did on the alcohol. So he sighed, turned, shoulder to shoulder with Felix, and emptied the vodka in one swallow.

The alcohol went down Jisung's throat leaving its harsh flavour in its wake, and he closed his eyes to keep them from tearing. He wasn't going to risk taking a second one, but in at least half an hour dancing it would kick in. It always did. Especially if the last thing he'd had was two spoonfuls of cereal. He just had to convince Felix to drink the glass of water. It shouldn't be that difficult.

Jisung had taken a second glass of vodka. After almost an hour among the sweaty bodies of the people dancing around him, the room spun slightly when he moved his head. His mouth felt dry, but he couldn't stop. He had shouted every song, even if he didn't know it, surrounded by his best friends. Felix was glued to him, his hand on his shoulder, their legs intertwined, clumsy steps of an improvised dance. He was having a good time. He thought he was having a good time. He had to be having a good time, because he saw Felix's luminous eyes, the bright smiles of Minho and Changbin, who had dropped by shortly after, and he needed to match them.

He was tired. His muscles were throbbing, he felt sticky, transpiring through his shirt, and the heat was beginning to overwhelm him. It had stopped being fun at least twenty minutes ago, when the DJ had repeated the song that was playing when he had arrived at the bar, and the coincidence screeched through his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on Felix's body next to his own, and repressed the urge to melt against him. He rested his forehead on his shoulder, and the soft texture of his denim jacket pressed against his skin as Felix laughed.

“Look, Ji can't do it anymore!”

For a moment he wanted to laugh, as did the rest, at a joke that at any other time he would have found hilarious. But Felix was right. He couldn't do it any more. For two days he had been fighting the feeling of vertigo that shook his heart whenever he was left alone, and he allowed himself to think about his future. He had been left alone on purpose, knowing that an honest look from the groom or Felix would make him break down, because they always managed to make him burst open like a torrent. And it couldn't happen. Because he'd been holding back too long, and to snap at his best friend's wedding would be to ruin it.

So he sighed, disentangling himself from his friend, and slipped through the crowd back to the bar. He tried to crack a smile for the nice bartender, collapsing on the stool, and was able to make it genuine when he placed a glass of cold water in front of him without having to ask for it. He crossed his arms over the bar after taking a sip, ignoring all the background noise, and rested his head on them, hiding from the outside. As always, he told himself. Hiding from everything.

For a few moments he took deep breaths, trying to convince himself that he was being dramatic, that he had to pull himself together so he could get back. But then he felt a hand caress his back, and the comforting weight felt so gentle and familiar that he didn't have to lift his head to know it was Felix. He turned his face slightly, putting on a mask of happiness, the one he deserved, and forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat in an attempt to tell him it was okay.

“Come on,” he whispered, loud enough to be heard.

Jisung raised his head slightly, not really understanding what he meant.

“Come with me,” he insisted, holding out his hand.

He said it as if it was necessary, as if he had to have Jisung by his side, him and him alone, and Jisugn didn't hesitate to take his hand. He took a breath, preparing to go back to Minho and Changbin and the tide of people he knew would swallow him whole, but his breath caught in his throat as Felix laced his fingers with his, holding his hand as gently as he always did, and led him towards the exit. He helped him meander between pairs of friends chatting at the entrance to the venue, and couples flirting and whispering promises to each other in the darkest rooms, and Jisung felt like he could breathe again as he felt the soft Sydney night breeze on his face.

Felix didn't utter another word. Probably with anyone else, that would have made Jisung squirm uncomfortably, even feel trapped, but it was Felix. Sweet, smiling Felix, who had always been there for him. Of course his presence was going to be like a warm blanket on the harshest day of winter. Of course he was going to be head over heels for him.

And as they walked hand in hand, back to the floor, their shoulders brushing against each other with every step, Jisung knew he had to do something different. The alcohol coursing through his system gave him a dose of courage that his body lacked in his day-to-day life, and the reassurance he felt at his side, along with the constant touch of his smooth skin in his, made him form dangerous ideas. Like kissing him, for example. Normally, no matter how much he wanted to, he always held back, fearing the consequences. But he was tired of holding back. If Felix rejected him, he would learn to live with it. But enduring the constant uncertainty weighed heavy on his heart.

He squeezed Felix's hand, smiling, three times, and knew without looking that he was mirroring him. Then he repeated the squeezes.

Jisung waited, holding his breath, as Felix pulled out of his pocket the keys of the doorway. He had to let go of his hand so he could open the door, and he passed quickly as Felix held it for him. He walked to the lift, pressing the button three times, as he always did, and heard the sound of the door closing. He turned in time to see Felix twist the keyring's kangaroo-shaped bead his finger, and swallowed as he positioned himself next to him. It was the right moment. He just had to turn and do it.

But then the ‘ping!’ of the lift echoed down the hall, and Jisung grimaced. This time Felix moved the first, and waited until Jisung was inside to press the button for his floor, with a flashing four that lit up under his finger. Jisung knew Felix wouldn't say a word until he spoke, respecting that the energy had left his body, and waiting for him to recover before interacting with him. But Jisung hated it when that happened. When he ran out of energy, the thing he most wanted to do was listen to him talk.

But it was true that they were both engaged in waiting. Constantly. For everything. And it was exhausting.

“Hey, look, it’s about to strike midnight,” Felix was looking at the screen over the lift’s buttons, where a white ‘23:58’ stood out over a pitch black background. Jisung made an affirmative noise, his gaze wandering over the weather information that appeared under the numbers. “Do you want to pretend it's going to be New Year's? It'll be as if we hadn't missed it.”

Jisung nodded, smiling, and Felix took out his phone, turning it on. The screen lit up, this time a minute closer to midnight, and Jisung saw that the photo Felix had was one that Hyunjin had taken of them when they weren't looking at one of their get-togethers in the garden of Minho's house. He smiled at the memory while Felix enabled the option for the seconds to appear as well, so that they could count down together. They both waited, again, in silence, as the seconds passed. Their gazes remained locked on the numbers, shoulder to shoulder. And when the moment came, Jisung heard the Aussie whisper a faint ‘ten’.

One second, one beat of his heart, and they both uttered a quiet “nine”.

Felix turned towards him at the sound of his voice, his lips tightening into a luminous smile, when he realised that Jisung was following suit. He playfully nudged his shoulder, but returned his eyes to the phone almost instantly to watch the numbers change, “eight”.

Then Jisung remembered the tradition he had with his brother. For as long as he could remember, his family made wishes on New Year's Day, usually requests for good health and happiness between them. When he was little, under the rule of never asking for anything for oneself, he and his brother made sure the other wished for the gift they were looking forward to receiving most for their birthday. It pained him to realise that he had not been able to share it with his family again that year. And he hadn't wished for anything at the time January 1st began, either, because he had been sleeping on the plane to Australia.

“Seven.”

His most logical thought, he figured, would be to wish Chan and his fiancée an amazing married life. Lots of joy and shared memories. After all she had been through, and how hard he had worked for the stability they finally enjoyed, they deserved it. But it was also true that since they had met they had developed a complicity that allowed them to find the positive side of any situation, always. Maybe they didn't need it so much.

“Six.”

For a moment, he thought of you too. About the impeccable version of yourself you offered so that no one could ever make you feel the way your mother had again, and how lost your gaze looked when you didn't have your sister's attention on you. You did seem to need it. It was a difficult decision, because his heart certainly felt like it was willing to lean towards you.

“Five.”

But if anyone was present in his heart, it was Felix. And as he had decided earlier, he was tired of waiting for some magical moment when they would both decide to confess the secret love they had been professing to each other for years. That only happened in the dramas he watched with Hyunjin, and in romance books. But life was all about risks, and he had to be willing to take some if he wanted to move forward, just like his friends did. Just like Chan had done the day he met his fiancée.

“Four.”

Jisung held his breath. He didn't know if the vodka was still running through his system, but he felt more awake than ever. His heart was pounding too hard in four different spots in his body, thumping heavily against his chest, and even trying to escape through his temples. It was the nerves, he told himself. He was facing an irrevocably significant moment.

“Three.”

He reminded himself that this was no fleeting whim. His feelings for his best friend had grown with every interaction, every smile and every selfless cuddle. Felix always made him feel safe, helping him stop doubting himself even when everyone seemed to turn their backs on him, repeating over and over again all the antonyms of the negative adjectives Jisung used to conjure up when everything went wrong. Felix was his person.

“Two.”

Sometimes he drowned in those feelings, as intense as the usual flood of emotions that bubbled up inside him. But then he would look at him, Felix's gaze glued to his own phone, waiting impatiently for twelve o'clock to strike, and he told himself it would be worth it. It would take a weight off his shoulders, whether the kiss was reciprocated or not. He would take whatever Felix wanted to give him, and that would be enough. With him it always was.

“One.”

Besides, in Western culture, one of the many traditions was the classical midnight kiss, wasn't it?

Felix turned to him, phone still in his hand, lips parted, “Happy New…!”

And then he kissed him.

It wasn't the first time it had happened, but it was the first time it had happened that way: fast, unexpected, hungry. From that first kiss they'd shared at fifteen, practising for the latest years of high school, to the desperate way Jisung had attacked Felix in the middle of the elevator it had been more than ten years, but it felt just as familiar as it had in the past. Jisung closed his eyes, like he had once done, unable to think of anything but Felix's lips against his own. His brows furrowed, trying not to read too much into the kiss, to avoid getting excited by the way his best friend had reciprocated it.

A kiss could communicate a lot of feelings, but words were needed to make them clear.

“You’re drunk, Ji,” he said, his chest rising with each quickened breath, pulling his hands away from Jisung's shoulders, as if he had just realised he had put them there, of what had just happened between them.

“No, I’m not,” he whined, falling into the autumn brownish of his eyes, “I promise.”

It would not be the first time he had lied to himself. He just wanted to kiss him again, to feel his hands roaming his body without shame, and if he had to pretend that his tipsyness was not the reason he'd managed to act, he would. Again and again. To him, it was completely worth it.

“Please.”

Jisung saw the moment Felix’s selfcontrol crumbled under his touch, all the alarms that ringed in his head long forgotten. One single word, and he was all his. One single second, and Felix's hands were back on his shoulders, as if they'd belonged on the thin fabric of his shirt forever, moving up to his neck and ruffling his hair as he pushed him towards the metal wall of the lift. Jisung exhaled a sigh against his mouth, no longer resisting the consequences, surrendering to Felix, closing his eyes and memorising every caress.

The crushing weight that had settled in his chest throughout the night had melted into a steady drip of desire sliding down into the pit of his stomach, a fire that crackled louder each time Felix intertwined his tongue with Jisung's. He couldn't believe it was finally happening. He couldn't believe that the way Felix's body was pressed against his, Jisung's hands on the soft arch of his back, was no longer purely platonic, and that every time Jisung grinded against him he let out that low groan, and that it was for him.

So when the ‘ping!’ echoed again in the tight space of the elevator and they parted for a shared breath of air, Jisung let out a giggle. Felix looked up at him with fully dilated pupils, flushed to his ears, and returned the shy smile, resting his hand on the one Jisung had on his waist to pull him towards the corridor. In a short, clumsy walk they both made it to the front door, and Felix opened it on the second try.

Jisung didn't even bother to check that the door was locked before leaning Felix against the wall and burying his face in the blond's smooth neck, kissing and nibbling every inch of skin he laid his mouth on. It was addictive how responsive he became under his hands, sliding pretty whimpers from the abc of his throat, shivering under his touch, his Adam's apple twitching under his tongue, his hips twitching uncontrollably against him every time Jisung's thigh moved against his crotch.

“Lix-ah,” he whispers, raspy voice, swallowing another embarrassing noise, his lips hovering over Felix’s.

“Hey,” he answers, his loop-sided smile cracking against Jisung’s mouth, unfocused, narrowed eyes observing him. “Can I suck you off? Please, Sung, can I?”

Jisung nods, his heart beating so fast he feels it will stop at any moment, and he manages to swallow with difficulty. He sees Felix licking his lips hungrily, and then how he hooks his index fingers into the buckles of Jisung's oversized jeans. He doesn't need to hold back the whimper that catches in his throat when the waistband of his trousers digs into the back of his hips. Felix has turned him around effortlessly, and now he's once again the one trapped between his lips and the wall.

He didn't mind. It was a position where he could lean on if his knees gave out. Especially when, still maintaining eye contact with Felix, he watched as he dropped to his knees in front of him. They had stopped looking at the time the moment Jisung kissed him, but just the same time seemed to have slowed down since then, his erratic breathing ticking off the seconds. He could only focus on Felix.

On Felix and the darkness of his pupils, watching him from below as if he were praying. On Felix and the softness of his fingertips as he carefully undid the buttons of his shirt, exposing his bare chest. On Felix and the warmth of his breath, which he feels exhaling slowly and heavily against his abdomen. On Felix and his hands, small and quick, resting on Jisung's hips, trembling in the air, grabbing him by the waistband of his trousers, undoing the button, pulling down the zip. Sliding the trousers down to the floor. Sliding his shorts to the floor. Kissing the tip of his cock with care and reverence. On Felix, Felix, Felix, Felix...

Jisung closed his eyes the instant Felix put it in his mouth. He felt a breeze of heat rise up his chest, settling on his cheeks, as he realised how much he had leaked into his underwear, and how little he wanted Felix to notice it. For the short amount of time that had passed, the precum stain had been embarrassingly obvious, but Felix seemed to have ignored it, too hungry to even pay attention. A shiver ran down his spine and Jisung wondered if it was cold or disappointment that Felix hadn't teased him for how excited he was. He seemed oblivious to his urges in the presence of the blond.

His mouth fell open with a moan, eyelids fluttering, as Felix began to bob his head against him, a tear of drool spilling over his pretty rosy lips, and he clenched his fists at the sides of his hips. It was amazing ㅡJisung hadn't had much experience in anyone's bed, but Felix clearly had, just by the skilled way he used his tongue, running it along the underside of his cock, smiling as Jisung choked on nothingness at the feel of Felix's throat so tight and warm around him.

It made him want to be jealous of whoever enjoyed it before him, but he chose to focus on the fact that he was the one who had him on his knees at that moment.

“Lix, hahㅡ Lix, please,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with all he hadn't been aware of letting out until then, “I'm going… Lix, I'm cumㅡfuckㅡ I'm cumming…”

But he didn't listen. He didn't seem to want to. He was determined to savour the whole thing, and by the sharp look in his big dark eyes, Jisung knew he had it all to lose. Whenever he competed against Felix, he was always the loser. In this situation it will hurt less, he knows. So he lets go, whimpering his best friend's name between his teeth, his hand tangled in Felix's velvety, blond hair.

And when he managed to open his eyes, his labored breathing making him feel slightly dizzy, Felix was grinning like a sinner, waiting to make eye contact with Jisung so he could open his mouth and show him his tongue. He had swallowed it all. Dirty little thing. He had no idea Felix was that kind of lover.

But far from succumbing to his devilish face, Jisung grabbed him by the front of his white shirt, sticky and clammy under his fingers, and pulled him up, bringing their lips together in a spittle-filled, toothy kiss. He was desperate. To keep devouring him, to take him to his room, to prove to him why he should stay with him.

He sliped off his shoes with his feet, first one and then the other, letting Felix mimic him, and the clothes around his ankles are left lying on the floor as Jisung slidded his hand down to grab the back of his neck, his tongue clumsily in his mouth, and directs him, backwards, to the room he was assigned to when he arrived in the city. It was dark, but he didn't mind in the slightest. His eyes had grown accustomed, and the sight of Felix's shining pupils in front of his, the clear silhouette of his body as he pulled his jacket off, is enough for him.

He just wanted to feel it all, and hold every second of it in his memory.

Felix chased his mouth as Jisung broke away to remove his shirt, and it didn't take long for him to lift his hands, a shiver running through his body as the fabric caressed his nipples in his way up, kissing Jisung again as soon as he pulled it to the floor, amidst the mess of his room. He was able to fumble with the button of his dress trousers, ignoring the zip, when his legs hit the edge of the bed. He tugged them down with a jolt, and kneeled on the mattress, face to face with Jisung, his hands again wrapped around Jisung's shoulders.

They separated for a moment, the time it took Felix to childishly pull Jisung's open shirt to the floor, and he kissed him again, pulling him until he managed to have him on top of himself. Jisung rested his hands on the sides of the blond's head, pinning him to the mattress, sliding his tongue down Felix's neck, and felt his cock twitching, hardening against his best friend's bare thighs, when he heard Felix moan.

“Sung,” he said, eyes closed, wrapping his legs around his hips, pulling him close until there wasn't room for a breath between their bodies. “Please, I need… I need you, please.”

Jisung hid his face in the hollow between Felix's shoulder and neck, and poured a whimper over his sweaty skin, letting the friction of his hips push him a little over the edge. But Felix took one of his hands, his agile fingers curling around his wrist, and drew them to his ass, guiding Jisung's fingertips between his cheeks.

“I'm all ready for you, see?” he insisted, babbling lips moving against his ear. “You see, Sungie? ‘Touched myself… Just a bit, earlier in the shower.”

Jisung's head spinned as Felix whispered the slurred words into the room, quiet but too loud at the same time, and he released his grip so he could slide his hand across the mattress to his nightstand. The bottle of lube was nearby, always handy, and he picked it up with trembling hands, getting on his knees. Felix let his legs fall onto the bed, expectant, exposed, as Jisung poured it generously into his hand, bending down to leave a kiss on his lips while he slipped his fingers inside him.

The reaction was astonishing. Felix's cock throbbed over his tummy, his abs clenching and unclenching, mouth wide open. Jisung smiled, lowering his kisses to Felix's abused neck, working him open.

“My good, naughty boy,” he murmured, and Felix exhaled an breathy laugh, his hands tightly gripping Jisung's dishevelled sheets.

“Like… likewise,” managed to reply, but the words choked in his throat in a low whine when Jisung withdrew his fingers, leaving him empty.

He moved back to the drawer as fast as he could, grabbing a condom with sticky fingers, tearing the plastic with his teeth and pulling it down his length. Felix doesn't have time to process it, his hands clutching at Jisung's shoulders for dear life as Jisung slidded himself inside of Felix. They both held their breath, Felix throwing his head back, furrowing his brow, his throat buzzing with pleasure. Jisung waited, concentrating on not releasing right away, while Felix adjusted to him.

“So, oh, fuckㅡ so big,” he moaned, digging his short nails into Jisung's skin, “so good, so big, oh God…”

“Yeah?”

He wasn't even able to respond, his gaze lost in the ceiling as Jisung slammed his hips against Felix's, the fucked out expression making Jisung groan. He loved that face. He was going to treasure forever those freckles that painted his friend's pretty face. His arms trembled as he kept pushing into Felix, gasps coming from his rosy lips, and Jisung tried to find him in the dark. Felix welcomed the open-mouthed kiss with feverish urgency, mind too focused on his pleasure to notice that Jisung had caressed his way down to Felix's cock, jerking him off with renewed energy.

He wasn't going to last long, so he had to focus on Felix. Focus on squeezing his cock the right way, earning every sweet noise with pride, savouring the harsh flavour of vodka on his tongue.

“Sungie… Hah, Sungie I'm… I'm going to,” but Jisung didn't let him finish the sentence, drowning his gasps in another dirty kiss.

Felix tangled his fingers in Jisung's hair, making his hips stutter, the musky scent of their sweat tingling in his nose with each thrust. Jisung's muscles twitch as he notices the way Felix tenses beneath him, his cum spilling between his fingers as he cums, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. That was when he let himself go, jaw going slack as he emptied himself into Felix's warm hole, releasing all the built up stamina into one final thrust.

He collapsed, smiling lazily against Felix's skin, and hoped it was not a dream. Then he felt his friend humming, his chest too comfortable, caressing his scratched back. He had to get up, throw away the condom and clean themselves before he could even begin to think about sleeping. Once he woke up, he would deal with the consequences. Their whole friendship had been amazing, but that night belonged to him. Especially if Felix regretted it the next day.

Because Jisung knew only one thing. His last wish before midnight had been for Felix to kiss him back. It had been selfish and impulsive, but worst of all, it had been a wish for himself. That broke his mother's main rule, and probably meant that even if it had come true, it would have terrible repercussions.

#﹙ ★ ﹚⠀mars⠀—⠀writes.#neverendingdreams #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids han #stray kids felix #han jisung #lee felix #jisung x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #jilix #jilix x reader #jisung x reader x felix #poly!skz #poly!jilix

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ornabinderweddingcelebrant · 27 days

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Wedding Packages for Marriage

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In conclusion, choosing the right wedding package can transform your planning experience from overwhelming to enjoyable. With options ranging from elopement packages to affordable wedding packages near me, there’s something for every couple. Trust in a skilled marriage celebrant to bring your vision to life and create a day you’ll cherish forever.

#sydney celebrant #celebrant for weddings #marriage celebrant #sydney wedding celebrants #marriage celebrant in sydney #marriage celebrant sydney #wedding celebrant #wedding celebrant sydney #wedding celebrants sydney #wedding celebrant in sydney

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armageddon-generation · 3 months

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The Bear Season 3 is a bridge season that feels weird on purpose, but also has some big problems: A review/ramble

Season 3 is clearly a bridge season, and suffers from having been written & shot alongside season 4. As a result, unlike the seasons 1 & 2, it doesn’t feel like a distinctive or complete chapter of the restaurant’s life. Just half of one.

This is partly because there’s no ‘end-goal’ like in S2, or clear progression/visible improvement to the restaraunt like in S1. Season 3 is about stagnation. Most of its storylines are left unresolved- the review, Sydney’s job offer, Tiff & Frank’s wedding, Marcus being inspired by his mother’s death, Tina and the dying farmer’s market, Carmy’s conflicts with both Claire and Ritchie. All these threads will roll into Season 4, and Season 3 suffers from that.

PACING, FLASHBACKS AND TONE: FORM REFLECTING FUNCTION

HOWEVER. This being a ‘bridge’, character-focused season isn’t inherently bad. Individual episodes of The Bear still tear when they want to. Episodes 1, 2, & 3 are a very strong setup for the season and establish good momentum. Episodes 6 & 8 are fantastic character pieces, and 8 in particular made me bawl. Even the finale, though bogged down by masturbatory celebrity chef cameos, was a strong episode.

The problem is all the stuff in-between. The actual day-to-day running of the restaurant feels hollow and empty now. There’s a distance between the characters and it feels like they don’t interact as a group anywhere near as much.

Part of this is absolutely deliberate. People joke about S3 'method acting' its way into bad reviews to reflect the restaraunt, but losing steam and the connections between characters is genuinely a formal reflection of the kitchen crew's moods, as the day-to-day grind of running the restaurant wears them down.

The use of flashbacks in 3x1 is excellent, but Season 3 quickly becomes way over-reliant on them (episode 9 especially, oh my god). Again, this feels like a conscious choice to reflect Carmy’s state of inertia/the fact he’s perpetually trapped in the past. It makes sense, but that doesn’t give the show a pass for being boring, and 3x9 was the first time I’ve ever felt genuinely bored by this show.

FUCK THE FAKS & NEGLECTING POC CHARACTERS

My other problems are much more clearly the fault of the show; I do not give a flying fuck about the Faks. Neil is cute in small doses. The brothers are great as soundboards for other characters; Theo getting Sweeps to talk about his backstory in baseball, the brothers comforting Donna at the end of 3x8 Ice Chips, or the haunting argument finally forcing Carmy to talk about Claire.

But on their own? When they’re just bouncing off each-other? These guys aren't half as funny as the show seems to think they are. And their scenes drag on so long. For example, the B-plot of 3x5 Computer wastes half of an otherwise strong episode with pointless fucking around, propped up by a pointless celebrity cameo. I do not Give. A. Fuck about haunting, Mr. Cena, why the fuck are you here.

The aggravating time-wasting is made worse by The Bear continuing to neglect and underuse its POC characters. This is the second season in a row where I’ve felt Syd only got the bullet-points of an arc. She is the LEADING LADY. Ayo is now the show’s biggest breakout star. USE HER.

I really enjoyed Tina's focus episode, but unlike Forks and Honeydew last season it doesn't move the plot forward, and unlike Fishes the flashbacks don't contextualize Tina''s actions in the present because she's barely doing anything in the present, despite the show setting up her struggles in the kitchen early in the season.

Meanwhile, Ebra got crumbs again and Sweeps got a single scene, which is tragically at least better than he had last year.

Marcus’ arc this year is a fascinating microcosm for the show’s themes, but it barely gets a second to breathe because we have to cram in another five minutes of the Fak brothers arguing about that time Neil got taped into a cardboard box. It’s ridiculous. And then they showcase Nat being all protective of Marcus in an episode he’s barely in, when she barely interacts with him. It feels unearned & disingenuous, using Marcus as a prop for a Hell Yeah gotcha moment.

I liked Josh Harnett though, that casting had purpose, and both Chef Terry and Luca were used excellently.

CAMEOS

The surprise celebrity cameos this year felt distracting and indulgent in a way last year’s didn’t. In Fishes the slew of cameos were a dramatic tool meant to disorient the viewer. This year, John Cena is here to distract you from how pointless this B-plot is, and we've brought in a bunch of famous chefs to tell you direct-to-camera why cooking and the service industry are so important.

The chefs in particular are bizzare after season 1 spent most of its time telling us how evil and toxic the fine dining industry is. But now it's actually just the fault of a few bad apples, and these guys are really rad actually?

CLAIRE

Much has been said about how Claire was an underwritten archetype for Carmy to project onto. Now, I don’t much give a fuck about shipping in this show, but it’s clear Claire & Carmy’s romance didn’t connect with most people. It felt hollow. At the time, I thought this was deliberate, like the tone and flashbacks this season; Claire’s writing reflected Carmy’s perception of her as a saintlike childhood daydream who could deliver him from all the stresses of his life.

But this season, not only does the show refuse to let Claire go, it doubles down on objectifying her as a prop for Carmy’s self-loathing, trapped in his memory.

Again, this might work thematically if I knew Claire as a person, or was at all invested in their romance, but I don't and I’m not. As it stands, the multiple extended flashbacks with Claire feel like futile attempts to plug the holes in Season 2's weakest storyline, and drag their episodes down. If we’re supposed to root for Carmy to find happiness outside the kitchen, this is having the opposite effect, and it’s made worse by it all being left unresolved by the finale.

Either do something with this character or move on, because right now every time Claire appears I clock out emotionally, and that’s not her fault, it’s the way the show treats her.

CARMY THE ASSHOLE

All this contributes to an overriding problem that I again think is deliberate, but risky; Carmy isn’t likeable this season. He causes his conflicts with Ritchie and Syd, to whom he has passed down his generational trauma. Carmy's menu is the biggest thing dragging the Bear into bankruptcy. Carmy has stopped working to resolve his familial trauma like in seasons 1 & 2, just as Nat starts making headway. He functionally doesn’t exist outside the kitchen, entirely preoccupied with the past & a girl the audience doesn’t care about.

Unlike previous seasons, the few times Carmy is called out for his bad behaviour he doesn’t make much effort to listen or improve. Again, I get that this is the point. Carmy is on a low, self-destructive ebb, and hopefully when things start resolving in season 4 he’ll snap out of it. But him dragging the show down with him has consequences.

EPISODE COUNT & FINAL THOUGHTS

A lot of people are saying that S3 only had enough plot for 2-3 episodes, and while I think that’s disingenuous- The Bear has always been a character-focused, vibes-first show- I do think it should've returned to the 8-episode count of season 1. You can consolidate the same amount of ‘plot development’ into fewer episodes while maintaining the deliberate sense of inertia. Cut back on the Faks and flashbacks to give more time to the kitchen crew, and many of the complaints would disappear.

Anyway, all this to say that The Bear season 3 is not Bad like some are saying, but it is a step down from its first two seasons. It feels like it’s got lost in its own head and lost a part of itself along the way, and while a lot of that is deliberate- formally reflecting Carmy’s internal conflict- it exacerbates existing problems (underwritten POC, Claire) and creates several new ones (celeb cameos, overusing flashbacks, unresolved plotlines) previous seasons were able to sidestep.

#fx the bear #the bear #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #jeremy allen white #ayo edebiri #ebon moss bachrach #marcus brooks #tina marrero #the bear spoilers #the bear season 3 #the bear s3 #review #meta

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wardenparker · 4 months

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 15

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* Tooth-decaying sweetness, talk of pregnancy/impregnation, unexpected visitor, references to rough sex, possessiveness. Oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Summary: After almost a year together, you and Marcus celebrate your first Valentine's Day together with a weekend trip away. Notes: We are inching closer to the wedding with every chapter! This week enjoy some sex and romance, Pike style.

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14

The flight from Dulles to JFK would be shorter, but there’s a certain charm to taking the train. The rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the track is almost romantic and Marcus had secured an entire compartment for you, him and Agent Sellers. Agent Bailey will meet you in New York with a car and to trade off with your other security detail, but for now, it seems like it’s just the two of you in the car. “Hotel first?” Marcus asks, kissing your fingertips and you look out the window at the passing scenery.

“Because you want to drop off our bags or because you want to test out the mattress?” Either way the answer is yes, and you relax in your seat all over again. This idea to go away for a few days for Valentine’s Day had made you feel guilty at first, but you were easy to convince once you remembered that it was around Valentine’s last year that everything has started to happen between you. Now that chaos of finishing the house and moving in together is over with, a couple of days in New York sounded perfect.

"I do need to see if your legs look different on my shoulders in New York than in D.C." he teases, wagging his eyebrows playfully. "Three days of no house details, no work, and all we have to worry about is walking out of our hotel room dressed."

“And making our reservations on time.” With your fingers tangled through his, this time you pull his hand over to kiss his fingers instead. “I may have called in a favor for our dinner tonight.”

"Where are we having dinner?" He had left the dinner reservations up to you, knowing you would have a list of favorite places you would want to go.

"Tonight we're going to see a friend," you hum, leaning into him as much as you can in your seat as the train speeds toward New York. "One of Syd's friends from culinary school opened a restaurant right in the city a couple of years ago and I've just never gotten the chance to go up and try it out. So I called in a favor and got us a reservation for after the theater tonight. Neo is an Italian steakhouse, which sounded right up your alley."

"Nice." He's impressed by the idea of a nice steakhouse that is close to you and Sydney. His hand slides down to your thigh and he squeezes it gently.

"And then tomorrow night..." Your hand over his on your thigh is basically just grounding. Holding you to him and making sure you don't float away on the bliss of having some time off with your fiancé. "Every time we watch FoodTV you get obsessed with watching Alex Guarnaschelli, so I got us a reservation at Butter."

"Really?" His eyes widen in delight and he can't believe that you would go through the trouble for something like that. It's the small things that you notice that makes him feel special. You do so many little things that show him you pay attention to his interests, passing or intense. "That's— wow." He shakes his head. "Thank you."

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. The train ride was a special treat but now that you’re almost in the city you’re eager for your trip to really begin. “I love you more than anything.”

"I love you too." He leans his own head against yours. "I booked our tickets to the Met." He tells you quickly, knowing you will like that.

“I’m sooooo excited for museum time with my own personal art expert.” He claims he isn’t, but you’ve learned in the last year not to listen to his protests. He practically gives guided tours whenever you go to the Smithsonian together.

He rolls his eyes playfully but he doesn’t naysay. He knows that you look at it as a point of pride almost. “Anything else you want to do? I think it’s a little too cold to take a boat out in Central Park.”

"There are a million museums and historical sites." And you can't wait to explore each and every one of them with him. "It's just too bad it's too early in the year for a ball game."

“We can always make a summer day trip.” Marcus immediately offers. “Maybe the subway series?”

"That would be fun." You perk up instantly at the idea of it. "The MET is tomorrow, so how about we ask the concierge at the hotel what their favorite underrated attraction is for today before the theater?"

“That sounds good.” He agrees. “Something that is kind of off the beaten path sounds fun.”

The last hour of the trip is smooth sailing, and early check-in at your hotel means that you and Marcus are unpacking your suitcases in almost no time. It’s snowy in New York but not in a way that will add up, and it makes the whole thing look quite picturesque from your seventh-floor window.

“Too bad the fireplaces have been closed for years.” Marcus comments. “Couldn’t you imagine curling up next to a fire and watching the snow fall?”

“Next year let’s rent a cabin,” you hum, leaning back in his arms as you look out the window together. “Get snowed in.”

“That sounds like something we can definitely do.” For the suggestion, you deserve a kiss. “Unless you are pregnant. Then I don’t know if I would want to risk it.”

“If I’m pregnant we’ll choose a very easily accessible hotel where we can watch the snow fall instead.” His concern is sweet enough to earn him a kiss in return, and they’re getting longer every time. “Someplace where we can get snacks delivered.”

“Pregnancy cravings.” Marcus practically moons at the idea and he cups your cheeks to kiss you again.

“So…I’ve been thinking about something.” This calls for a face to face conversation, and you turn around in his arms.

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t think that it’s anything bad, you come to him when something heavy is on your mind. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking, sweetheart.”

The two of you have always agreed that the timing of your lives needed to be a joint conversation, but somehow you don’t think this particular idea is going to need much debating. Not much if any, knowing Marcus. “I think I’d like to stop taking my birth control the day before the wedding,” you tell him, slipping both arms around his waist. “I know it might not happen for us immediately, but I think everything else has fallen into place for us so maybe this might, too.”

Marcus tilts his head, a slow smile spreading over his face and lighting it up. “Yeah? You want to do that?” He asks quietly. “I— I think that’s perfect.” He admits. “As long as you are ready.”

You're glowing as you lean into him, already feeling like you could burst with happiness and pride. "I'd say we should start now but there's no way my wedding dress will fit me if I'm pregnant."

“I want you to be able to drink a toast at our wedding if we can help it.” Marcus admits.

"Especially since you went through all the trouble to pick out good toasting champagne with the wedding planner." It had been an entire conversation of wine pairings and champagne choices that you hadn't understood a word of but watching Marcus get excited about tasting notes had been well worth it.

“I think you will enjoy it. It will go well with our wedding cake.” He reminds you, knowing you are excited for the replica cake the bakery in Boston had fallen over over themselves to agree to bake.

"I'm excited for everything to come together." After so easily picking out bridesmaids' dresses last weekend and even finding a mother of the bride dress at the same shop, the wedding is feeling like everything is really falling into place. "Last things are to pick a place for the rehearsal dinner and to book our honeymoon."

“We’ve had so many ideas for our honeymoon…” he laughs quietly, remembering all the various places you’ve both come up with. “Have we actually decided on where we are going to go?”

"I think we've talked about almost every place on earth," you laugh right along with him. "But no. We haven't decided. I think the last time we talked we said it should be someplace that neither of us have been."

“Maybe we need to make a honeymoon wheel.” Marcus snorts. “Have you seen the trend where a guy will make a restaurant wheel to spin when their girlfriend or wife can’t decide?” He shrugs. “We could do the same thing with our honeymoon ideas.”

“Hotel room crafts.” It’s silly and sweet enough of an idea to make you giggle, and you press more kisses to Marcus’s lips and cheeks. “I don’t know about making a wheel, but we could do slips of paper with destinations on them in the ice bucket instead of a hat.”

“Like a lottery drawing.” He snorts. “That could be fun.”

“I have a notebook in my purse.” Which doesn’t surprise him one bit, but you tug Marcus back into the room from the window. “Grab the ice bucket?”

“In a minute.” He smirks and his hands slide from your waist to your ass. “You remember what I told you I wanted to do on the train?” He coos, leaning in and kissing your neck.

“Mmmmhmm.” A soft moan of approval and agreement sounds from deep in your throat, but you feel like teasing him just a tiny bit. “Something about…shoulders?”

“Your legs, my shoulders.” He grinds his hips against yours, his hardening cock proof of his desire and he smirks. “I need to see if you taste different in New York.”

It is pretty much never difficult to convince either of you when a good time to be intimate has appeared, and you nudge him backward again toward the bed. “Then why are we still wearing clothes?”

“That’s a good question.” He goes willingly and he reaches for the edge of your sweater to pull it up. “You’re wearing far too many of them right now.”

Sweaters, t-shirts, pants, and everything else end up scattered around the room, littering the carpet with evidence of the romance in the air. Marcus has you laid out on your back on the bed in no time and you happily tug him down to you for a kiss when he climbs in with you.

“My gorgeous hummingbird.” His hands slide over your clavicle and he kisses your collar bone gently. Worshipfully. “My love, my soulmate.”

“I love you.” Simple words, but meant with all the feeling in the world as your limbs curl around him and you melt under his kisses.

“I. Love. You. Too.” Every word is punctuated by a kiss. Making sure that he teases and caresses your skin with his lips.

“Baby.” After almost a year together, you and Marcus have no trouble finding the right buttons to push. You know each other’s favorite things, each other’s ticks and hidden kinks. You know Marcus adores being showered in praise just you like him to have a firm hand. The flow of your relationship has been built on respect and trust and mutual admiration. Which has made experimenting and finding the things you enjoy together all the more rewarding.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Marcus pops his head up, eyes dark and fixed on you. “What do you want me to give you, sweet thing? I’ll give you anything you want, you just have to tell me.”

"Just you, baby." Anything and everything he is will to give you is always what you want. Just him. As much of Marcus as he is willing and able to pour into you any time you have moments to yourself.

“You have me, baby. You’ve got all of me.” He groans, adding to teeth to his kisses as he starts to move down your body.

"All of me." It's so true. And true for both of you. The complete devotion you have to each other is obvious. Lying naked wrapped in each other's arms might be the most honest and most vulnerable you ever are, and there is no one in the world you are more grateful to share that feeling with.

Marcus groans, your words of affirmation and affection always affect him, but none like they do when you are both stripped bare. When there is nothing between you but the air and your beating hearts. He drops a featherlight kiss on your stomach, which will one day hopefully protect his children, and then down to your hip.

"We really need to start asking hotels if they have sound proof rooms," you giggle, already sighing as Marcus moves lower and lower on your body.

"Let them hear." He chuckles, never having a problem with others knowing how satisfied you are. He brings your leg up onto his shoulder as he settles between your thighs and he licks his lips as he parts your folds to expose the sensitive little clit that he will lavish with attention.

The touch of his fingers makes you gasp, but you still chuckle despite yourself and know that you'll hold back more here than you do at home. Having the house finally be finished has been a blessing. "Last thing we need is a sound bite of the First Daughter getting eaten out."

"Then it's a good thing they don't have access to those little videos we've made, isn't it?" He smirks, having enjoyed the clips of sexy scenes both of you had made together and while you were apart to send to each other. They were in a locked file and heavily guarded so no one could get to them.

"Well I don't want you to miss me while you're on a long case," you rationalize, letting out another deep sigh as his finger paints a long stripe along your slit.

"Oh I always miss you." He promises, leaning in and nudging his nose against your clit before he samples a small taste of your essence.

He knows how to make you moan. He knows as well as he knows his own name. And yet the first moment your back lifts off the mattress always takes you by surprise and you have to remind yourself not to squeeze his head too tight between your thighs when they clench with that first feeling of pleasure. "Fuck, baby."

The noises you make are always so fucking sweet. He’s addicted to them, to you. His own groan is sounded into your pussy as his tongue flutters around, sweeping the edges of your folds in a pattern that always makes you whine.

The fingers of one hand twist into his curls and you’re prepared to thank every possible god all over again that Marcus has been growing out his hair. It’s all his own style of course, but you don’t mind having a handle to keep him close as he devours your pussy every chance he gets.

The small whine of pleasure that he gives at the pressure of your hand in his hair is one you thoroughly enjoy and he gives you that sound every time his cock twitches against the bed. Making him even more eager in his task as he flicks his tongue over your soaked hole.

Curses and praise and moans of pleasure fill the room, babble verging on incoherent as Marcus plays you with as much skill as his bass or guitar. It’s the w of pleasure that makes you feel like you’re floating all the way above the mattress. It’s ecstasy, all on the curls and flicks of your soulmate’s tongue.

Marcus has always enjoyed sex, enjoyed giving and receiving pleasure, but there is something incredibly unique about his intimacy with you. There is a fusion of your bodies that match your souls, where your pleasure magnifies his own and he gets lost in it.

You shatter for him as easily as breathing, although in the moment you come apart you’ve replaced panted breaths with an orgasm so intense that your mind goes blank as you sob his name into the bright white afternoon. It’s almost like being at peace, the way he breaks you apart and puts you back together with tender caresses and loving kisses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your come down is his favorite part of foreplay. The pliant limbs and pleasure warmed skin. He loves the dazed look in your eyes, as if you are surprised by how good you feel. “Maybe I need another taste.” He murmurs against your lips.

“Babyyy.” You whine and grab his shoulder when he ducks his head like he’s going to travel down your body again. “Don’t you need to see if I ride you just as well in New York?”

He stops, tilts his head as if he is considering that point before he sighs. Making it seem like it’s a big concession on his part. “I think that needs to be explored too.” You love to ride him and he always lets you be in control when you want it, since so often you want him in control.

“It seems very important.” You nod in agreement, grinning lazily to see his eyes light up at the prospect of having your tits in his face while you bounce on him.

He comes back up to kiss you thoroughly before rolling onto his back. His hard cock laying against his stomach as he reaches out and caresses your side. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

It’s just teasing, but you straddle his waist and lean over to press a kiss over his heart before shifting back into position. “That’s a very dangerous thing to promise your fiancée.”

“Not at all.” His hands find your waist and he squeezes gently. “I mean every word.”

“Dangerous.” You admonish him again with a tsk, but sink down on his length all the same — making both of you gasp and moan in unison.

Marcus’s eyes flutter closed with a silent prayer of thanks. His fingers digging into your flesh and for a second, he wishes you were already off your birth control. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” He groans when you roll your hips in a little circle and clench down around him.

“Fuck, you always feel so fucking good.” Letting your head fall back makes it feel like he’s gotten all the way up into your throat and your whole body tightens like a bowstring in response.

“That’s because you’re so perfect.” He groans in appreciation, rocking his hips up. “Tightest little cunt I’ve ever fucked.” He flashes a grin and twitches inside you. “Last little cunt I’ll ever fuck too.”

"All yours." As many times as you promise him that, it never diminishes how much you mean it. He has your whole heart for your whole life. "All yours and you're all mine and fuck you have the best cock in the world."

He chuckles, proud of your happiness with his abilities. His hand slides up your neck to cup the back of your head as he drags you down for a kiss.

The rhythm you set is quick but thorough, making sure to rise and fall on every inch of him to swallow his moans in equally thorough kisses.

He loves when you ride him. Your tits bounce and your kisses are greedy, leaving him to touch you how he wants to while you use his cock for your pleasure. “Fuck, baby.” He grunts, twitching when you swivel your hips.

The figure eights you draw in his lap are his favorite. They always have been. They're brilliantly drawn out and exaggerated to leave him groaning and greedy, pawing at you as you bounce on him. It's greedy for both of you in different ways, which is probably why this is one of your favorite positions.

“You’re teasing me.” Marcus huffs, lunging up to capture one tit in his mouth and scrape his teeth over your sensitive nipple.

"You — ah! — love when I tease you." And since he's so good at teasing you back, you don't ever hesitate.

Marcus just groans against your breast and slaps your ass playfully. Rocking you harder on his cock as his mouth works your breast.

It’s the hungry kind of sex where you know you’ll be sticky and sweaty and need a shower after. Where you know Marcus is going to leave teeth marks pebbling your skin. Where you know without a shadow of a doubt that you’ll be achy and feeling him in your theater seat tonight. And it’s exactly the right kind of fierceness for both of you, so you amp up your pace and throw your head back, letting the bliss of it all wash over you. Lovemaking is what you’ll do tonight, with moonlight streaming through the windows and soft touches and whispered promises. This is a deeply cathartic and energizing fuck — the perfect way to start your weekend.

“Fuck.” Marcus hisses and his fingers slide down to find your clit. Sensing the urgency to your pace and knowing how badly he wants to see you fall apart for him before he finds his own release.

Your whine of agreement is high from the added touch. His fingertips are calloused, giving you added friction as well as added tension, and every time you roll your hips you get more pressure and friction. It's stunning, the way he drives you toward the edge of that cliff of pleasure, and your head spins from how close you are.

“That’s it baby, you’re so good to me.” Marcus groans, loving how you just give him everything you’ve got. “So pretty on my cock. You gonna cum for me? You know I want to see it. Cum for me, sweetheart.”

"I'm so close baby." So close that you feel like you're about to fall over onto his chest from the way you're tensing up. Every part of you is tense, right down to the way your greedy cunt is clamping down on his cock.

“That’s it, fuck- you’re so tight.” Marcus hisses, watching you as your hips stutter and your shoulders start to shake. “So good baby, want to feel you.”

"Fuck, fuck, oh my god, Marcus!" The freedom to cry out, even though you joked about volume earlier, isn't lost on you. The way you tense and shatter and cry his name is his favourite music in the world.

He can’t help himself. Lunging up, he presses his lips to yours desperately and rolls you over to keep pistoning his hips and drilling into your spasming walls. Working you higher through your orgasm and chasing his own.

It would be a whole different ballgame if you were already off your birth control, but you still want Marcus to cum inside you. There's no better or more indulgent feeling in the world, so you wrap your legs around his waist and shake with the last waves of your own orgasm knowing that it will bring him toward his own.

“I love you, I love you. I love you.” Marcus begins to chant as his hips rock forward desperately, barely pulling back as he feels his body pull tight.

"I love you." Those words never diminish, especially not when he's driving his hips forward to bury his cock deep inside you, coating your walls with his searing hot release.

He whines your name as he rides out the release of every tense bone in his body. Pouring himself into you as he collapses against you. “Fuck.” He huffs, face buried against your neck and panting softly. “Always.” He murmurs, kissing a damp patch of skin over your pulse.

“Always.” A fact which leaves you breathless and tangled up in each other more often than not. Right now you hold him tight, hanging on to a confessional sigh. “I almost wish I was off my birth control already,” you admit quietly.

“Me too.” He chuckles because the two of you seem to always be so in sync about your goals and desires. “But we know that it would be better to keep to our original timeline.”

"It's a nice dream, though." Your fingers run up his shoulder and through his hair, and the softness in your eyes is pure adoration when your eyes meet again. "And I can't wait for it to come true."

“I know.” He smiles softly as he presses his lips to yours. “You know I’m going to be feral over you.” He warns. “Not going to be able to stop touching you.”

"Oh nooo." The laugh in your voice is as joyous as your smile but you toss a tone of sarcasm into your teasing. "That will be terrible. I just hate when my fiancé, the sexiest man in the whole world, wants to fuck me."

“You might hate sex while you are pregnant.” He huffs, knowing he would hate it, but he would never pressure you to sleep with him if you don’t feel like it. From what he can tell, it’s hard work to grow a human.

"I don't think I will." Of course, you can't be sure. But as you stretch your neck to kiss him again you enjoy the image tucked away in your mind. "I think I'm going to melt in your arms every single time like I already do."

“I love you.” The simple words are more vow than statement, completely true and undeniable. Luckily, the nasty rumors have tapered off and you have been able to enjoy the wedding planning so far.

"I love you, too." It doesn't take much surging to kiss him one more time, and then you're grinning all over again. "Now...how do you feel about naked honeymoon planning?"

“Naked anything with you is good for me.” He jokes. “Unless it’s frying bacon.”

"Aprons when we cook." You quote Sydney with a grin. "I think I can walk. I'll grab the notebook from my purse and we can write down the ideas we're serious about?"

“If you can’t, I’ll grab it for you.” He smirks, a little pleased when you are unsteady on your feet climbing out of the bed after he rolls off of you.

"Why don't you grab the ice bucket, baby?" Your purse is much closer to the bed than anything else, so it barely takes you two shaky steps before you're slumping back onto the mattress with a grin.

“Can’t make it, can you?” He chuckles as he stands up and crosses over to the desk where the ice bucket is located.

"Shut up." A playful little huff and a pout comes from the bed as you stick your tongue out at him. So what if you barely made it? You managed to grab your notebook and a pen and that's what matters. "You fucked me so good I can't walk, be nice."

He winks at you. “I fucked you so good you can’t walk because I’m nice.”

"I love you very much, now come and get back in bed," you stick your tongue out again and pick up your pen. "So what are your top choices. Are we doing top three each or top five?"

“I say we do five.” Marcus suggests, grinning as he saunters back over and plops down beside you with the bucket. “And then we use the bucket idea for the next nine anniversaries.”

"That's actually super cute." So much that it earns him a kiss when he comes and sits back down with you. A sheet of paper from your notebook is torn up into ten strips, and you hand him five. "I'm thinking my top five are Paris, Scotland, Napa Valley, New Zealand..." You grin unapologetically. "And Disney."

He shakes his head, faking a disappointed pout. “No naked honeymoon in Disney.” He grumbles. “We would be banned and then our kids would never forgive us.”

“We can still be naked in the hotel,” you remind him, grinning unapologetically as you drop the last destination into the ice bucket.

“Yeah, yeah.” He swats your thigh gently and sighs. “So I need to pick other destinations, right?”

“That’s the idea.” Being done before him lets you lay back in the pillows and idly stir the slips in the ice bucket while he thinks.

“Okay, okay…” he takes the notepad you’ve left on the bed and writes on the first one. “Ireland.” He shoots you a grin. “It’s different from Scotland.”

“Yes, it is.” You smirk at him, wondering if he’s going to pick places near all of yours.

“Let’s see…” He taps his chin. “Ohhhh Bora Bora would be good.” He scribbles it down. “Fruity alcoholic drinks, and tiny bikinis for you the entire time.”

That earns a grin from you, and you lean over to press a kiss to his shoulder. “Tiny bikinis are a favorite vacation theme for you.”

“It’s as close to naked as I can get you.” He huffs. “Unlessssss…” Marcus flashes you a teasing grin. “We go to one of those nudist resorts. Should I write Hedonism II down?”

“You try explaining that to my mother when she asks for vacation photos,” you snort, knowing that that choice would go over like screen doors on a submarine.

“Yeah…no to Hedonism.” He doesn’t write that, but he pretends to and mimes ripping the sheet out and balling it up. “How about Chile?” He asks, tilting his head curiously. “I’ve always wanted to go to the Atacama Desert or Easter Island.”

“Chile would be gorgeous. It’s too bad we couldn’t bring your bike down with us.” The image makes you hum, and your shoot him a grin. Marcus sitting astride his motorcycle in any setting just does things to you. “We’ll have to rent one when we go.”

“Absolutely.” He has rediscovered his love of having a woman on the back of his bike and often will bring you along if you can get away for a quick drive in the evenings.

“So…Ireland, Bora Bora, Chile,” you prompt him, tucking off your fingers. “Two more.”

“Greece.” Marcus decides and sends you a small smirk. “Rome.” He writes them down as well so they can be added to the trip bucket.

“Alright.” Dropping each slip into the ice bucket and stirring it around, you give it a few shakes for good measure before holding it high above either of your sight lines and angling it toward Marcus. “Go ahead. What’s our honeymoons going to be?”

Marcus grins and takes the bucket from your hands. “Let’s not pick now.” He teases. “Why don’t we pick at the end of our vacation?”

“You live to torture me!” You groan dramatically, dropping the ice bucket between you. “Do you really want to wait?”

“You don’t want to?” He teases, leaning in and kissing you playfully. “I guess we can decide now.” He rolls his eyes and picks the bucket up. “You choose. That way you can’t blame me.”

"Blame he says, as though they aren't all great choices." It calls for blowing a raspberry in his general direction, but you dip your hand into the ice bucket high above your head and swirl your fingers around to snag a single slip of paper. "Here we go," you intone dramatically, pulling the slip open and wiggling it around. "Looks like it's going to beeee..." Flipping the paper up, you grin at him. "Scotland!"

Marcus laughs at the glee on your face, knowing he would be happy going anywhere with you. “A stone cottage in the Scottish highlands where we walk the moors and burrow into each other in front of a roaring fire sounds perfect.” He puts on a thick Scottish accent for the dramatic flair.

"We can see the Highlands and the cities and go all over." Actually having a location picked out makes you giggle with excitement, and you lean over to kiss him before practically jumping out of bed. "Just like we can go explore this city right now. With clothes, of course."

“Now she can walk.” Marcus groans, climbing out of the bed after you. “What do you want to do before Ellis Island?”

"We should check what time the ferry runs." The concierge downstairs had given you a few ideas but ultimately you had decided to take the trip out to Ellis and Liberty Islands. It’s an important piece of American history and Agent Bailey won’t admit to it but she’s excited to look up her family from their crossing. "Why don't we grab a quick lunch? Give ourselves back some of the energy that we just burned off?"

“That sounds perfect.” He agrees, unable to resist grabbing a handful of your ass when you bend down to pick up your clothes. “Build up reserves for tonight.”

It's hardly a surprise when you and Marcus end up in a little café halfway between your hotel and the ferry to Ellis Island, ready to feast on French bistro classics for lunch. It's warm in the picturesque little restaurant and the snow is still falling without collecting on the sidewalk, so it's a picture-perfect winter day in the city.

“I think it’s safe to say that I will have to have the French onion soup.” Marcus tells you as he looks over the menu. “At least to start. What about you?”

"I think it's going to be a boeuf bourguignon day," you hum, spotting the item on the lunch menu and salivating over it immediately.

“Would you hate me for hurting Thumper if I had the rabbit cassoulet for the main?” He’s grinning and shrugging slightly.

"Not if you won't hate me for having cute little escargot for my first course." The one time he had expressed finding snails cute had obviously stuck with you, and since they're one of your favorite gourmet treats, it's a fair trade.

He huffs in feigned offense and sighs dramatically. “I suppose.” He jokes. “It’s only fair and I know it makes you happy.”

"What do you want to see first at the MET tomorrow?" The café is buzzing around you but you're happy in your little bubble. Just you and Marcus, cuddled together and happily plotting out the rest of your day.

“I’m not picky?” Marcus asks, playing with your fingers. “But Lady with a Parot and Perseus.” He rattles off with a guilty grin.

"Not picky, but two very specific choices." You grin at him, charmed all over again by the beauty and relaxation of the day. Agent Bailey is enjoying herself at a table across the café, also doing her best to relax despite being in the busy city. "Okay, you're on. And I want to track down Madame X."

“The American Wing.” Marcus instantly replies.

"That's my man." Of course he knows, that doesn't surprise you at all.

What does surprise you is the woman walking behind the hostess, currently approaching your table to be seated right next to you. "Vanessa?" Of all the gin joints in all the world, you think ruefully, but it's been so long since you heard from either her or Sam that you're just sort of shell shocked to see her instead of upset or angry about it.

Marcus turns to see the ex that he had hoped to never run into again - even more than Teresa - and wonders what the hell is about to happen. He warily glances behind her and around the smaller café. “This is a surprise.” He intones dryly.

“Just a coincidence.” Vanessa promises. She thanks the hostess and takes a seat, though she wishes there was literally any other table left. “I’m just having a bite after class. Forget I’m here.”

“Class?” That catches Marcus’s attention and he glances over at you to make sure that you are comfortable continuing the conversation. He feels like if there’s a change in the dynamic of your foes, you should learn all you can.

You nod subtly, but Vanessa doesn’t catch it. She’s thanking the waitress for her water. “Class,” she confirms when the waitress is gone. “I’m getting my master’s. I—” she looks between you, her former foes, and shrugs slightly. “A lot has changed.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” There’s no pressure to be applied, but it’s an offer. An olive branch, just like the one extended at the engagement party.

That’s a bit of a sticky question, but Vanessa nods. Her own is far less subtle than yours, as it’s meant to be seen. “I left Sam,” she begins, feeling that that is the most important news. “He was…he was getting out of control. There was never going to be an end to it as long as he had people on his side.”

Marcus squeezes your hand gently, the confirmation of it being on purpose was right there between the lines. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs quietly. “When you said you had discovered your soulmate, it was Sam, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Vanessa confirms. There’s no reason to beat around the bush after everything that’s happened. “He’s just…he’s not the man he was when I first fell in love with him. Not anymore.”

“Vanessa….” Marcus sighs softly. “What was the root of the issue? We didn’t cheat. Why was Sam so obsessed with hurting us?” He phrases it that way so she doesn’t feel like he’s attacking her, and because he honestly never really imagined Vanessa being the ringleader. Now it seems as if she was a hopeless idealist, blindly following her soulmate down the wrong path.

She sighs, biting her lip slightly, and looking between you both with regret shining in her eyes. "Birdie was supposed to be his ticket to the White House," she admits, although the confession isn't hers to make. "When Marcus appeared on the scene he started getting paranoid, and then...then when you broke up with him? He seemed like he was just taking it a little too hard in the beginning but he started to go down a dark path pretty quickly."

“Did he hurt you?” Marcus’s voice gets soft, his jaw tense at the idea of violence perpetrated against any woman, even one who has wronged him. “Or made threats against Birdie we should know about?”

"No. No, he never would have had the resolve to hurt me physically. And the only threats he made never worked out." Vanessa assures him. "The worst founded one was the engagement party. Whatever you two and your social media team did to get ahead of that, well done."

“You went along with it because he’s your soulmate?” Marcus guesses. “The rumors and the whispers that were being fed from somewhere?”

"I can't exactly defend myself." Vanessa twists in her chair to face you fully, so this conversation can be quiet. "I was jealous."

"Of me...for being with the man you were in love with." You finish her thought without effort, understanding the instinct fully but from the opposite direction. "I was jealous of you. When you were with Marcus. We just...we had things switched around, I guess."

Marcus frowns, never realizing that she had been so involved with her feelings in the brief relationship. “I thought…you were waiting for your soulmate and just having fun with me?”

"I was trying to get over Sam." This is bound to be an uncomfortable conversation of confessions for Vanessa, but she is going to tell the truth. "In a sense you were a rebound for a relationship I never had. And when I realized who my soulmate was I thought everything was finally going to work out the way I wanted. But...that was even more wrong than I ever could have guessed."

“I’m sorry.” Marcus murmurs softly. “I hope that one day, you find the love and happiness you have been searching for.”

"I think I have to love myself first." Vanessa shrugs her shoulders and laughs. "I know that sounds cheesy, but...I started seeing a therapist and I got myself into grad school, and taking control of my own life has been really good for me."

“That’s great.” Marcus assures her, squeezing your hand again and glancing at you. “I can tell you that therapy will be good for you. Doesn’t matter what you’re going through. Sometimes it’s good to just learn how to cope with life.”

"I'm doing my best." Marcus has always been a kind man. It's good to know that that is just who he is, and that Vanessa hadn't been so blinded to people's good natures as to have misjudged him at any point. "I really want to apologize to both of you. Some of the things we did...that I did for him...were truly despicable. If I could take it all back, I would."

It’s not his place to accept an apology, especially when most of the attacks were focused on you. He squeezes your hand again, and defers to you.

"I wish we could have made amends sooner." You tell her, gently squeezing Marcus's hand in return. "But I'm glad that things are looking up for you, Vanessa. And I hope they continue to go in a positive direction. Nobody deserves to be defined by their mistakes when they're trying to better themselves."

It’s a gracious acceptance of the offered apology and so on point for who you are that Marcus wants to kiss you. “I completely agree.” He adds. “You focus on yourself and things will work out for the best.”

"That's very kind of both of you." And probably more than she deserves, but Vanessa isn't going to split hairs when she's stumbled into the chance to move forward. "And very diplomatic. It's...it's very easy to see, from the outside, why you're such a beloved couple." A fact which had made you both difficult to tear down, and is probably why Sam failed so entirely.

“We had some not so diplomatic moments.” Marcus admits, feeling that she is owed some truth as well. “But we aren’t going to punish you for mistakes that you are owning up to and trying to rectify.”

"Thank you." Vanessa half-smiles, looking around the small café, and makes the decision for herself with a small feeling of relief letting her shoulders relax for the first time in longer than she cares to admit. "I should let you enjoy your lunch," she says after a pause, and she stands. "It...was good to run into you. To clear the air."

“Good luck.” He won’t ask her to stay and continue the conversation and neither will you, but he wishes her well as she gathers her things.

"That was...unexpected." You murmur, watching Vanessa cross the street outside quickly, and duck into a pub instead of the little café you're still sitting in.

“Yeah.” Marcus blows out a breath and picks up your other hand. “How do you feel about it?”

"Weirdly...good?" It feels awful to admit, but getting an apology from someone who was actively trying to ruin your life not so long ago feels incredibly settling. "Or at least it feels validating. To know that we weren't crazy in thinking that Sam really was trying to hurt us so actively." It also feels awful to know that you were right about your ex not caring about you during your entire relationship, but that is a separate issue.

He sees the frown and he brings your hands up to kiss them gently. “At least we know now. You know.”

“Knowing is good.” You can agree to that, even as downtrodden as you feel right now. You got out of the relationship, found your soulmate, and are getting married. Everything is falling into place in the best way possible. But the sticky, icky, despicable sensation in your chest at being used isn’t exactly nice. “It still doesn’t feel good, though.”

“No it doesn’t.” He knows that feeling in a sense. Looking back at things objectively, it seemed like Teresa used him to prod Jane along, to pull his buried feelings out of him. “Do you want to go back to the hotel?” He asks softly, hating how your shoulders are rounded and your voice has dipped down.

“No.” This awful feeling will pass, you’ll regain your good humor, and this weekend won’t be ruined by a chance encounter in a restaurant. You won’t let it happen. “Let’s enjoy our lunch.”

He wants to ask if you’re sure, but he doesn’t. Giving you a reassuring smile, he glances towards the waiter. “How about a glass of wine?”

Determined to smile and to not be upset over a relationship that you ended willingly to begin with, you sit up your seat, roll your shoulders back, and turn your eyes back to Marcus. “Something bubbly, I think? We’re on vacation, after all.”

He smiles and nods. “I think that is completely appropriate. And it looks like they have a nice champagne on the menu.”

“Perfect.” You squeeze Marcus’s hand gently, thanking him for sticking with you through the tidal waves of clashing emotions you’re dealing with.

“Not nearly as perfect as you are.” There’s an odd sense of relief to have that chapter firmly closed, at least on Vanessa’s end. “Hopefully nothing else will happen.”

“Fingers crossed.” Huffing a soft laugh, you just shrug your shoulders and get in with ordering your lunch. It does no good to dwell and ruin the time away you have with Marcus. No good at all.

Panting, Marcus stares at the ceiling, nearly giggling at the bubbly, blissed out exhaustion that settles in the very marrow of his body. “Good girl.” He praises. “Good fucking girl.” Your own body is collapsed in a spent heap and he trails his fingers over your spine as you come down from the last, most intense orgasm of the night.

A matching giggle bubbles out of you as you curl into his side, utterly spent and gazing up at him with moony eyes. “Baby…” you laugh again, and half-turn toward him lamely. Your wrists are still bound with the tie he wore out to dinner. “Can I have my hands back?”

“Maybe I like you all bound up for me.” He teases, turning and working on the knots that are now harder than what he had originally tied because of you pulling and tugging on the restraint. Eager to touch him and frustrated by your inability to do so. “Next time I’ll tie you to the bed.”

“We’ll be back in our big four poster at home tomorrow night.” With your hands free, you loop your arms around his neck to kiss him soundly. “I’m already looking forward to it.”

“There’s something about being at home, isn’t there?” He asks, his hand coming up and tenderly caressing your throat where he had held it as he pounded into you. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Perfect level of rough,” you promise. Experimenting with his more dominant side had turned into a much-loved habit over your year together, and though you don’t get rough every single time you have sex it is definitely something you both enjoy.

“Do you need anything, sweetheart?” He asks. “Water, a rag?” Sometimes you like to keep his cum inside you, sometimes you like to clean up right after. And after every rough session, he likes to dote on you.

“I should say water.” Your eyes gleam with mischief. “But do we have any more wine? That bottle we bought in the Village was amazing.”

He smirks at your cheeky response and leans in to bite your bottom lip. “Sure.” He hums before he is climbing off the bed to get the lovely wine the two of you indulged in before your romp.

Tonight is one of those nights that you both indulged in the fantasy of getting pregnant, and lying in bed with a glass of wine with the sticky slick combination of your cum slowly dripping from your pussy sounds like pure indulgence. Plus you stashed Marcus’s Valentine’s gift in the bedside table, so there’s that too. You grab it now and slip it under your pillow, waiting for him to come back.

Pouring two glasses he turns back to admire your sprawled form as he bites his lip. It’s Valentine’s Day and the two of you have completely indulged today. Now, he needs to give you the gift he had picked out months ago.

“What’s that look for?” You hum, grinning back at him when he returns to your side in bed. “Did you suddenly remember how amazingly lucky I am to have you as my soulmate?”

“More like I remember how lucky I am.” He retorts. “I have a wonderful, sexy woman who indulges my desires and matches them.”

“So I guess we’re both lucky, then.” He hands you your glass and you take a sip, glad that you opted for a white wine tonight so you won’t accidentally ruin the sheets if you get playful. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He smiles as he leans in to take a kiss from your wine soaked lips. “Have you enjoyed our weekend away?”

“To me it’s been perfect.” There are more kisses for both of you, never able to have enough of tasting or even just being near each other. “Have you enjoyed it too?”

“Hell yes I have.” He promises. “It’s been an incredible weekend, one we needed. No work, just us.”

“I’m just glad we both got through the weekend without any work emergencies.” The inn is in good hands, as Selena has finished her training to become your new manager and she and Malachi are running the place as smoothly as ever between them in your absence.

“Yeah, me too.” He takes a sip of the wine and sighs softly. “Part of me doesn’t want to go back. Just live in the hotel and run away from responsibility.”

“You would miss work pretty soon.” He loves his job, and you know that. It’s a very serious point of pride even though it’s very taxing on him sometimes. “My offer still stands, my love. Whenever you decide to retire from the FBI, you have my full support.”

“I know, and I’m very grateful for your support.” He promises. “It will come eventually, but I’m happy in my career right now and my team is excellent.”

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy,” you promise him. With Marcus it’s always about support and communication, so having the small check-ins often is key.

“How about you?” He asks. “The inn is becoming even more popular and nearly full every night.”

“It’s nice that we’re not seeing the after affects of the smear campaign anymore.” It seems like the good will from your social media posts surrounding wedding planning has really worked to verse the damage Sam did months ago, and ever since the holidays the inn has been booked solid. “I’ve been thinking about adding an afternoon tea,” you admit, giving him a sheepish look. “Syd’s sous chef is English and French trained and the three of us were thinking about trying out an Italian-inspired tea service for Mother’s Day.”

“Like the tea cakes and sandwiches?” Marcus smirks slightly. “I can see that being a real draw.” He admits. “Older ladies coming in to socialize and then young girls coming in to learn how to take tea. Paninis and cannolis. Cups of tiramisu.”

“Teacups full of individual tiramisu was Syd’s first idea.” It’s sweet to see him get excited and you glow with pride. “I thought it would be nice to give Syd this Mother’s Day off but she came back with a whole new business idea.”

“I think she’s imagining Constance having tea there, with our girls when they are old enough.” Marcus smiles at the thought.

“It’s a beautiful thought.” The dreaminess on his face is obvious, making your heart swell at the promise of growing the family you’re building with this man. Your other half. Your better half. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” He promises softly, his own dreams for the future in his eyes. “I have your present, to show you how much.”

“I thought my roses were my present?” In fact, you and Marcus must have given the hotel staff a good chuckle this weekend, because you both ordered a dozen long stem red roses to the hotel room — addressed to each other — that arrived with your breakfast tray with room service this morning.

He gives you a look, one that tells you that you are being ridiculous and moves to his bag to pull out the lovely wrapped gift he had brought for you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you laugh, sliding his gift out from under your pillow to hand over to him.

He huffs at you, even as a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You should know that roses were going to be your only Valentine’s Day gift.” He hadn’t been expecting anything, and his eyes soften at the sight of a gift for him.

“They weren’t going to be your only gift either,” you tut. But sitting up together in your hotel bed, naked with glasses of wine and hearts utterly full, seems like the perfect time to exchange gifts. “This looks suspiciously like a jewelry box, Agent Pike.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean.” Marcus pleads his innocence, even as he smirks.

“Mmhmm.” Giggling to yourself all over again, you nudge Marcus’s package toward him so you can both open them at the same time.

“I need you to open yours first.” He wants to watch your expression and put it on you if you want.

“Very mysterious.” You eye him but obey, pulling open the ribbon on the little wrapped box and tear away the dark red paper to reveal a silver jewelry box — exactly as you suspected. When you remove the lid, a small gasp of surprise and wide eyes come with an open mouth reaction. “Is this…?” The delicate silver necklace inside has a heart pendant hanging from it in the center, but the back clasp is on display in the box: a lock, not a claw.

“A collar.” Marcus nods, watching you seriously as he picks up the small, ornate key and showing it to you. “We’ve talked about it, teasing about it, but I found this and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

"Honey, it's beautiful." To the outside observer, the inconspicuous little heart is a sweet token of love from your soulmate. For you and Marcus, it's a next step into the world that you've been exploring together. "I wouldn't have been able to stop thinking about it, either."

“You know you have me, every single part of me, and I have you.” He reaches out and caresses your neck. “This would be between us. Our little secret from the world. My claim on you.”

The little lock on the necklace is meant to be done for you, and you raise your eyes back to Marcus. "Will you do the honors?"

“Do you want to wear my collar, sweetheart?” He asks seriously. “Keeping me close to your heart every day?”

"I really do," you lean across the small expanse to kiss him, just as soft and steadily as the rhythm of your heartbeat. "Even though you're already in my heart every single day. This is just another way to show the whole world."

Marcus hums as you hold out the necklace to him and he carefully unlocks it. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t take it off.” He tells you as he wraps it around your neck and closes the lock to secure it around your neck.

"I know I can always ask you." There are some occasions when it won't be appropriate -- State dinners, your wedding, the fanciest things that you'll do in your lives -- but each and every day of your life the necklace will either go on or off and that means that Marcus will always be with you even when he's away.

Once the necklace is locked around your neck, Marcus leans in and presses his lips to it and your skin gently.

"I feel a bit like I underdid it now," you admit, touching the necklace gently with your fingertips. "But I still hope you like it."

He snorts, not even able to imagine you not putting incredible thought and time into his gift. He picks up the box and shakes it like a kid at Christmas, grinning at you. “Nahhhh, sounds fun.”

"Oh yeah." You snort and wave one hand casually. "I figured Lincoln Logs were the most romantic gift possible."

He laughs and shakes his head as he starts to unwrap the beautiful paper. “Whatever it is, I appreciate you getting me something.” He murmurs. “A lot of women seem to think valentines is only for them.”

"You are the most romantic man on the planet." While he works open the paper you lean back in the pillows and toy with your new necklace. "I couldn't possibly leave you out of the celebration this weekend. That would be awful."

“You would be surprised how often it happens.” He knows you wouldn’t and it makes him appreciate you even more. “Babe….” he freezes when he opens the box and sees the lighter that is nestled into the protective fabric. “Is this— it’s a 1939-45 World War II Trench lighter.” He murmurs, admiring how the patina on the metal is meticulously cared for. “How did you know to get this?”

The awe on his face is enough to tell you that you made the right decision, and you leave a kiss on his cheek with pleasure. "I may have dug in your eBay search history a little," you admit without shame. "Your lighter collection is a point of pride and I know you want to keep growing it."

“I- I love it.” He promises you, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. “So many of these have been lost or discarded but they all have so many stories ingrained in every flick of the flint.”

"The shop I got it from had a little history of previous owners." The handwritten card is tucked inside the lid of the cigar box, and you nudge Marcus to keep going. "You have to keep unwrapping, though."

“There’s more?” He huffs, rolling his eyes playfully and carefully setting the lighter aside to pull out a box of cigars. “Very nice.”

His smile makes you glow, so happy to see him accepting these shows of love and tokens of affection. "Now that you have a porch to sit out on at night, I thought you should be able to enjoy an indulgence you couldn't have while living in an apartment or the inn."

“That is as long as you don’t hate the smell.” He eyes you, even as he opens the box and pulls out a cigar to smell, groaning at the aroma.

"I called your dad to make sure I got the ones you and he smoke when we're in Texas," you admit. "So I already know I like the smell of these."

“Good.” He chuckles quietly and kisses you again. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He asks. “The universe couldn’t have chosen better.”

"I was just thinking the same about you." Nudging his nose with yours brings a smile to both of your faces. The perfectly contented kind of smile that is somehow both enraptured and at peace all at once. "So I'm very glad we agree."

“That’s why we are soulmates.” He reasons, giddy to be celebrating the holiday with his soulmate, his fiancée and the woman he will spend the rest of his life with.

______

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #PrincessPike2018 #PikeWedding2018 #WhiteHouseWedding2018

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