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queers-gambit · 1 month ago

Text

History of Clocks

prompt: Carmy asks you out, Carmy thinks it's platonic. Carmy and Claire go on a date, Carmy forgets to cancel. how strong - or brittle - is your friendship?

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!bestie!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

collection masterlist: Nights Like This

word count: 10.8k+

note: strap in, this is a doozy. a masterpiece, but i digress.

warnings: humiliation / being stood up in public, i guess miscommunication trope, Carmy's a dumb fucking boy (and a lil bit of a dick), emotions are hard, angst, this Barbie copes through writing, girls being girls over fashion, love confessions, unrequited love, drawing boundaries, depiction of anxiety, nicknamed!reader has a dog, Cicero's niece reader 'cause why not! alcohol consumption (reader's a wine girlie)! and brief depiction of smoking! use of literary devices*, hurt no comfort!

*literary device warnings: a lot of repetition and too many idioms - some flow, others are kinda forced. please roll with it.

If someone asked Carmen Berzatto who his best friend was, he'd have zero hesitation to list your name. If someone asked who understood him the best, he'd say you did. If someone asked who supports him most outside his family, he'd shout your name first, declare your love as unconditional. If someone asked who or what inspired him, he'd insist it was you. But if you asked Carmy who he took romantic interest in, he'd answer Claire.

If anyone asked you ANY of the aforementioned questions, each response would be the same: Carmen Anthony Berzatto.

The two of you had been friends well over a decade by now, enduring his tenancy in Copenhagen and his residency in New York; plus anywhere in between. Sure, of course, it was frustrating having him gone, you missed him in abundance - but your pride outweighed everything. To see him chase and achieve such dreams brought you unparalleled joy; so much so, it didn't matter your pain of missing him. In turn, Carmy genuinely contributed much of his success to you, claiming your friendship is the central pillar that kept him upright; your blind encouragement what propelled him forward; and how a single phone call, hearing your voice, was like audible Xanax that quelled anxiety and self-doubt.

You had a tailored way of speaking to him; a way that never pressured him, but tried to show a different perspective to soothe his overactive thoughts. He describes you as optimistic, which, in his mind, was refreshing because of his violent pessimism. So, he attributed you as someone who kept him in balance.

A partner in crime. Another pea in his pod. Each other's missing half. A best friend.

For a while, this was enough.

You knew Claire was back around, but didn't put much stock in it because Carmy never did. Foolishly, you thought it was because of you - that maybe he harbored some feelings for you as you did him, and that's why he was uninterested in Claire. Through his transition being back home, Carmy had relied on you heavily, especially in the wake of Mikey; sharing intimate moments of emotional turmoil, doubts, fears, hopes, worries, dreams. Something in you both shifted; thinking perhaps you had aged past petty, fleeting flings and could focus on farming meaningful, real, lasting, supportive relationships. You foolishly thought you and Carmy were seeing one another through rose tinted glasses at the same time; that his were finally on.

You had been in the back office, wrapping up necessary paperwork for The Bear's operation when Carmy suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Honey, you got a sec?" He asked, wiping his hands on a dish towel; broad shoulder supporting his weight on the doorframe.

"Sure, whatcha need, Bear?" You glanced away from your paperwork to smile at him.

"What're you doing Friday night?"

"Uh, probably laundry? Why?"

Carmy chuckled and asked, "Wanna go out with me to this new marketplace? They have this place that does a fusion menu I've been wanting to try."

"Oh, I don't know, babes, I'm kinda out of clean underwear," you joked, both snorting identically.

"C'mon, pretty girl, go out with me. I'll even pay."

Apparently, in Carmy's mind, the phrasing 'go out with me' was purely platonic whereas to your ears, it was being asked out on an actual date. A miscommunication - or misunderstanding - that would position you both towards pain and difficulties.

"Oh, then I guess I can make it work. Where and what time do you wanna meet, Bear?"

"There's my girl," he smiled so prettily.

Carmy set the time. Carmy set the location. Carmy sought you out. Carmy asked you to go out with him. So, you didn't think to specifically clarify this meant Carmy was seriously committing because it sounded like a secure plan.

You should have.

Apparently, after parting ways with you, Claire contacted Carmy later in the night and made arrangements for their own date - on the same night, at the same time as his date with you. Carmy was so over the moon about going out with Claire, though, that he completely "forgot" to cancel on you, let alone tell you. Which felt very deliberate, considering the pair of you were so close, you were in the room post his appendix surgery - and if you've ever been there when someone's coming out of anesthesia, you know it can get kinda... intimate. So the fact that he never "thought" to tell you about Claire was a malicious blow - even if he did it unknowingly by being hyperfocused on where he'd take his lifelong crush, what he'd wear, even practicing certain topics of interest that would help him keep conversations flowing. The determination to make this date with Claire prove himself worthy of being loved, of being a priority in someone's life, mirrored your own desire - but specifically with Carmy.

You're not even sure how long you've harbored these feelings. Was it since high school? Maybe after? Was it before he left Chicago? Or when he was in Copenhagen, calling you when he got off work to chat on his walk 'home'? Maybe it was after he came back stateside and gifted you a leather-bound parchment journal where each page had a different dried, pressed, preserved floral. He labeled each bloom, dated the pages, and detailed where he was when he found each flower in silky ink from a fountain pen. The script truly looked poetic on the 'aged' pages.

"Oh, my God, Carmy - oh, wow! Look at this!" You gasped when presented the gift, gingerly leafing through the journal. "This is so - who thinks of something like this, wow, oh, look! Carm, I-I-I don't have the words, babes, this is just so beautiful, I'm blown away right now."

He shrugged sheepishly, hands in his pockets, "I picked any flower that reminded me of you." You'd come to read later that each page had an inked explanation of why these flowers made him think of you.

You beamed, clutching the journal to your chest, "Thank you so much, Carmy, I-I love it. No, really, I do!" You insisted when you saw his expression morph, "It's honestly the most thoughtful gift I've ever gotten, thank you so much."

"It's nothing," he eased, but the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks were glowing bright. "I just didn't want to bring you home some novelty bullshit, like a 'I heart Copenhagen' mug; you deserved something better, more personal. You're a huge part of why I even went... Even bigger reason why I came back."

It was arduous to keep a level, pessimistic attitude; to gaslight yourself into believing your best friend didn't have feelings for you, that he was just being nice. Soon, it felt like wherever you turned, you had reason to suspect his feelings had changed; so upon being asked out, you abandoned logic and allowed yourself to flood with optimistic euphoria.

On Friday, you showed up at the agreed upon location; excited to take your taste buds on a culinary world tour without ever leaving Chicago with a real worldly chef. You thought you looked nice; carefully selected fashionable clothes (that ensured didn't look like you tried 'too hard') with chunky heels; your hair styled, make-up so perfect it could've been the featured look of a YouTube tutorial. Not wanting to wait on the sidewalk for safety reasons, you stepped into the fusion restaurant. After checking in with the hostess and earning a compliment from her on your fit, you were lead to a two-person table draped in navy linen with a contemporary floating candle centerpiece.

"Are you expecting company this evening?" She asked kindly, handing you a menu.

"Yeah, I'm just a little early. We're - yeah, no, I guess it's a date? He, um, he should be here soon," you rushed, flushing when you mentally scolded yourself that she didn't care and you needed to stop oversharing.

"Oh, no wonder you look so stylish!" She gushed. "He's gonna love it, you look beautiful - but not as much as I love your purse. I've always wanted one like it, but maybe in burgundy." You told her the store you got yours at, explaining it was a discount-department store buy, but the designer was sold at other easily accessible stores. It was nice to have a friendly, normal conversation; just two girlies, exchanging fashion tips which helped you feel all the calmer. The hostess who's badge read Laura nodded with a smile, "Is it okay to leave his menu here, then? I can take it back with me, if you wanna share?"

"No, no, you can leave it - I didn't bring my reading glasses," you tried to joke, wincing at the awkwardness.

"No problem," she set it down. "Can I get you anything in the meantime, honey?"

You almost laughed, instead smiling, "Oh, uh, water would be great, thank you."

The dining hall was relatively moderately full; several tables empty, waitstaff in matching navy uniforms dotted around, the lighting low to create a warm (or romantic) ambiance. You nervously checked the gold bracelet-watch inherited from your grandmother, clocking the time as 6:24.

There was no need to stress yet, so you studied the menu and made mental notes of what sounded good, what dish paired with what. A person could only look over menu options so many times, however, so you answered a few emails and texts before mindlessly scrolling through social medias to kill awkward time.

Around 7:05, your chest felt warm with something that made your intuition catch flame.

You texted Carmy: hey are you running late? you haven't texted me you're on the way yet 🤨

While to some, saying 'you haven't texted me yet' might sound a little overbearing, crazy, or pushy - maybe even spoiled - you did so because you knew how scatter brained Carmy was. He had an incredibly unpredictable, stressful, and chaotic job, which meant he sometimes lost track of time and needed reminders of other responsibilities / obligations outside The Beef, soon-to-be The Bear. You two had a friendship built on trust, fully able (and encouraged) to be yourselves and send borderline crazy messages to each other. You said it in person, why not over text?

The sweating glass of water was refilled, invisible timer ticking inconspicuously in the background, bread basket missing several sticks, the dining room now about 75% full.

Glancing around, you felt nauseated when you noted several couples enjoying romantic dinners; others with easy smiles and jovial laughter, happy to partake in the good tidings of loved ones. All around you, there was a smorgasbord of buzzing conversation you couldn't decipher. You had nothing else to do but focus on random moments of clarity, deducing some patrons were meeting for business; others were on dates, one table was celebrating their friend's new promotion, another, a birthday.

Yet here you sat, alone in the middle of a popular, high-trafficked restaurant; silent, isolated, feeling as if you were some zoo exhibit. Your plaque would read: Behold! The Stood-Up Single Woman!

While irrational, you felt other patron's beady eyes glazing over you - as if everyone could just tell what was happening. Their eyes made you sweat, feeling perceptive and heated, heavy and hateful. They watched you in your exhibit as if to affirm their situations could never be so bad because at least they weren't like you: stood-up, outcast, and humiliated. Their pity reeked. Their muttered words of prediction filled the stuffy space.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

Tapping your phone screen set on the table, the time now glared as 7:33. So, you sent another text: uh, hello? Carmen! i thought we agreed to meet at 6:30? what's wrong?

Your message delivered, but there was no response.

Anxiety filled your heart, mind, and soul; being pumped through your veins to absorb in your bones - which created a sort of ripple effect within your chest and abdomen. Hair stood on the back of your neck. Stomach torqued in fear. Lungs deflated. Esophagus twisted. Chest hollowed and sunk. Right leg bounced at Olympic speed. Fingers twitched nervously, picking at cuticle, teeth chewing the skin off raw lips; eyes drawn to the entrance just in case Carmy showed up... In case anyone showed up. Skin burned and sizzled under the long, pitiful stares of patrons and employees alike. Heat flushed your body with embarrassment as if under Broadway stage lights; making you feel clammy and uncomfortable.

At 7:36, you double texted: Carmy?

Why wouldn't he answer you? Why wasn't his location updating? You worried something happened, he always messaged you when running late - so why not this time? Was something wrong? Did something happen? Wouldn't Sugar or Richie or one of the nine fucking Faks have called you?

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

At 7:45, Laura returned to your table, asking, "Would you like to see our drinks menu again?"

"Oh, uh, no, thank you, it's not necessary. Could I do another glass of Moscato, please?"

"Of course. Could I interest you in the bottle, you think?"

"At this point, yes ma'am," you chuckled at yourself.

"Any appetizers? Or more bread?" Laura asked sweetly.

You ordered multiple somethings to keep appearances, feeling bad you had sat there without ordering for so long; but also figuring if you were here, might as well enjoy trying something new, right? As the pretty young thing with a slicked back bun walked away, you were left to stare at the other undisturbed menu across from you, the candle wax dribbling into the water it floated on. Snatching your phone in hand, you glared at your message thread with Carmy, sending another: what the FUCK, Carm? answer your phone!

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

By 8:24, you had called him a total of 15 times.

The dining room was packed and poppin' by now, making shame cloud your shoulders from taking up precious optimal space on a popular date night. In truth, you didn't notice just how busy the dining room had gotten, but you know what they say? "Time flies when you're having fun," but it fucking trudges by in a mocking, lazy taunt when being actively humiliated.

At 8:32, your bottle of wine was polished off and you finally texted Richie: hey Cousin, is Carmy with you?

He answered within a fucking minute: no he left over a while ago for a date with Claire Bear

A record scratched in your brain, rapidly typing: what??? what does that mean???

Richie replied: damn, Cuzzo, you should know what a date is or has it been that long? 😂

Your throat swelled shut, nodding sadly and locking your phone; rolling your lips between your teeth to prevent yourself from having a very public, very emotional breakdown.

The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.

With a sharp sniffle, you flagged Laura down, pointed at the menu, asking for your meal to-go and the check. She could hear the warble in your voice, so when she returned with your to-go order and check, Laura had snuck a couple extra things in your bag without charging you. And she only charged you for a glass of wine, not the bottle.

Laura earned herself a generous gratuitous tip as well as all the cash in your wallet, being a little over $150.

Returning home around 9:03, you could identify the dreadful feelings of rejection; how forgotten, taken for granted, disappointed, abandoned, replaced you felt. Unloading the food on the counter, you made yourself a plate and looked at your phone one last time. There was still nothing from Carmy, but Richie had texted you again: you good, Cuzzo? what you need Carmy for?

Changed into a set of cozy clothes, you curled up on the couch with your food and another glass of wine; faithful, loyal, loving dog(go) hopping up beside you. Switching something on the TV, you answered Richie with one hand while fending off the pup: nothing important anymore, Cuzzo. we can talk tomorrow!

It was a strange sensation; that blatant sting of betrayal and rejection from someone who was never supposed to hurt you. If Carmy didn't return your affection, that was okay! That was perfectly fine! That was ideal, even, because you never wanted to jeopardize losing him from your life so even if you couldn't be with him, you'd rather be his friend than nothing at all. But what isn't okay, is standing you up. Forgetting you. Neglecting you. Unjustly shaming you. Publicly humiliate you. Disrespecting you. After over a decade of friendship, didn't you deserve better than that? Of course, you did - so why did Carmy subject you to such degradation? Was Claire so hypnotizing, enchanting, bewitching, she successfully managed to block all your Carmy sensors? Or were you just that forgettable?

There were too many overwhelming emotions pinballing around your heart, mind, and soul to even begin processing. So, you cuddle your most loyal companion who would never betray or abandon you, ate what you could, polished off any wine, set several alarms on your phone, and laid down on your couch to be lulled into restlessness by the sounds of whatever comfort show was left on.

After getting up early to shower off the previous night, you got ready for work and made the trek through the city. While your couch was comfortable, you didn't sleep well; eyes heavy from their sting, second cup of coffee already in your travel mug, movements sluggish. You would've called out, but today was one of those days you had to go over some legal and logistical shit with your Uncle Cicero.

So here you were.

"Yo, Cuzzo! Hey-hey, good mornin', sweetheart!"

With a tired sigh, you spied Richie outside The Beef, smoking, watching you with a smirk. "Mornin', Richie-Rich," you tried to sound as if you hadn't been awake all night.

"Well, don't you look fuckin' peachy?"

"Fuck off, I'm not in the mood."

He held a hand out to prevent you from passing him, asking, "Yo... Hold on, what's good with you? And don't feed me no bullshit, I know something's wrong. You look like shit - but I mean that in concern, Cuzzo."

You decided not to comment, answering instead, "I just didn't sleep last night."

"Uh-huh... And?"

"And what?"

"That's it?"

You shrugged, "Nothing else worth dwelling over."

Richie cocked his head, "The fuck does that mean? Here," he offered his cigarette, which you accepted.

"Nothing's wrong, can we just - "

"Fuck all the way off," he scoffed, "you know the sooner you tell me, the sooner I stop askin'."

"It's... It's really stupid, Cousin."

"Don't make no difference to me; if it's bothering you, tell me."

You dropped the butt of the cigarette to the sidewalk, squashing it under your heel before leaning back into the wall with a long sigh. "I should preface this all by admitting, I might have feelings for Carmy - "

"Yeah, no fucking shit," Richie laughed, seeing your deadpanned expression. "Dude, holy shit, everyone can see it except you two idiots, it was high time someone admitted it. Tina and Mikey used to have a bet going about y'all ending up together."

Your frown deepened. "Right, well, glad everyone's so entertained and well-versed on my doomed love life," your eyes rolled.

"'Doomed'?" Richie chuckled, stopping when your expression turned crestfallen, rushing, "Woah, hey, I'm just teasin' you. C'mon, Honey, tell me how you're doomed?"

You were quiet, staring at your sneakers as you tried to build the courage to verbalize the situation. See, once you said it out loud (and to anyone), it becomes tangible, public, and undeniably real. You didn't want this to be real.

Just as Richie was opening his mouth to question (or nag) you, you admitted, "Carmy and I had plans to go to dinner last night..."

Richie paused, then asked, "But he was with Claire?"

"Exactly."

"I... Don't think I follow, Cuzzo?"

You huffed, "Cousin, Carm asked me to dinner, right?" Richie nodded. "He picked the time and place, then apparently, made plans with Claire but didn't tell the other. So, I got there last night, right? I waited for two hours, Cousin, but Carmy never showed, never answered my messages. He stood me up. He chose Claire."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Unfortunately."

"Wait, lemme get this straight. So, he asked you out?"

"Yes."

"And made a legit plan? To link up? Time, place, whole thing?"

"Yeah."

Richie readjusted his stance, his anger flaring - reminding you of the diagram Lilo drew for Stitch to show how full of 'bad' he was. "And you're saying, you got there, waited for him for hours - fuckin' plural - and he didn't show up? No text, no call, no nothing?"

"Correct. I called and texted plenty, though. No answer."

"Right, but he didn't cancel your date when Claire came in the picture? Or vice versa, what-the-fuck-ever?"

"Nah."

"Just left you there? Alone?"

"Yep."

"Hold up, hold up. Homie made a date with Claire Bear before or after he made one with you?"

"Now that, I don't know. But does it matter which date came first, he still stood me up for someone else."

Richie blinked a few times, nodding silently with pursed lips. Then he snarled and tried to surge past you for the door, "Oh, I'll fuckin' kill him - "

"Yo, yo, yo, hang on! Wait, hold up! Leave it be, Cousin, it's not worth the hassle - "

"Nah, nah, nah! He doesn't get off scot-free! Nobody puts Baby in a corner and nobody fucks with Honey!" The two of you tussled on the sidewalk, you refusing to let him pass but him being stronger. It was quite the sight.

"No more Dirty Dancing references!"

"Hater! Lemme go, Honey!"

"Listen to me! Please, for fuck's sake! I don't want this to be anything bigger than it already is! Listen to me, I just want to get some work done with Cicero and go home. Okay? Okay? Goddamnit, Richie! It's not the time for this! Leave it alone for today! I just want peace!"

Richie eventually calmed down enough to let you push him back a couple feet. It took two more cigarettes, but you managed to pacify Richie enough for you to enter The-under-construction-Beef together, discovering most employees already present. Yet, in a rare and odd occurrence, Carmy wasn't; which would've normally confused or worried you, but now, only relieved you. As project manager, you worked intimately with Carmy on a daily basis - which poses as an obstacle if you were trying to avoid him - but without him, you could focus on getting work done and not dodging him.

"Behave," you reminded Richie in a lower register. He swatted at you, picking at a donut Marcus created.

"Mornin', Miss Mamas," Tina greeted, glancing over her shoulder to flash you a warm smile - requiring a double take. "Oh, baby, you look exhausted."

"I feel exhausted," you cleared your throat, greeting her with a quick peck to her cheek.

"Oh! So she can say it and it's fine? But when I do it, it's an issue? This is hypocrisy! Double standard bullshit!" Richie barked with laughter, shuffling past with a swift peck to your temple. Tina pushed at his belly as he passed, making him grunt and flinch dramatically.

You asked Tina, "Is Cicero here yet?"

"In the back with Sugar, baby."

"Thank you, Chef."

Richie watched you walk away from Tina only for Marcus to stop you, then Ibrahim needed something and it looked like everyone was gearing up to bring some kind of problem to your plate. Like a good cousin, Richie swooped in to place a donut in your hand, "All right, all right, back off, you jagoffs, let the lady breathe." He shooed you onward, feeling protective enough to intercept anyone to give you the space you needed after last night. You told him you wanted to work and go home, so he was going to do what he could to give that to you. The moment you disappeared into the office, Richie hissed to any surrounding employees, "Get the fuck over here!"

"The fuck, Richie?" Tina snipped, "We got work t'do, baby."

"I know," he rushed, glancing over his shoulder, then back at the others, "but I want everyone to go. Fuckin'. Easy. On Y/N today. Okay? Got it? She's got some shit to do with Cicero and then she's gonna go home - so, let's make sure that happens, no exceptions."

"What happened? What's wrong? Is she okay?" Marcus asked in concern, his frown deep enough to lower his brows.

"Yeah, Richie, you can't say that and then not explain," Syd tacked on. "I'll talk to her. -"

With grit teeth, Richie scooted in front of Syd and warned, "Hey. She's my fuckin' family, right? I'll protect her from anything - including you jagoffs, so leave her alone today. Okay? That's all I'm asking - Leave. Her. Alone." He glanced around and lowered his voice as the others all dipped inward to hear him, "Fuckin' Carmy asked her onna date last night then stood her up and went out with Claire instead."

This caused an angry ripple to emit from the huddle. You were none the wiser; in the office, sat at the desk to go over what Sugar had prepared for your review. Cicero leaned on the desk beside your chair, arms crossed, just watching you as if a bug under a magnifying glass. He pushed his glasses up by one finger to the noseband, glancing at Sugar and asking, "You all right, doll?" There was a pause, then a hand nudged your shoulder, "Honey? You hear me?"

"Hmm?" You looked up, "Oh, wait, sorry, were you talkin' to me, Unc?"

"Yeah, darling. I mean, you look pretty tired, just asking if you're all right?"

"Wow, I come into work as my most beautiful, natural self and all anyone can say is I look tired?" You laughed, trying to lighten the mood, "Maybe I do need make-up."

"You're also in joggers."

"I didn't feel like putting jeans on this morning, sue me."

"And you're quiet as hell."

"So? Usually you're telling me to shut up."

"You have a college degree in yapping," Cicero chuckled, "so when you go silent, I know something's wrong."

"I'd have multiple PhD's if yapping was a real major," you joked. "But I promise, Unc, I'm all right. I didn't sleep last night, so, after we get this shit done, I'm gonna head out."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, Unc. Tell you what, you can even drive me home when we're done."

Cicero nodded, "Good deal. Then, let's get crackin'."

It was the worst timing in the History of Clocks.

Pete called Sugar several times, so she finally answered when Cicero needed to run to the restroom; leaving you alone and defenseless in the office as Richie was out back for a smoke break. Carmen apparently arrived just in time, all but bolting into the office when he didn't immediately clock you in the kitchen.

The invisible timer began to tick.

"There you are!" Carmy gasped, startling you enough for your knees to bang up into the desk. "Ohhh, shit," he blinked when you grunted and rubbed your legs, "I'm so sorry, Honey, that was my fault, I should've called or something as I came in."

"It's fine, Carmen. Look, uh," you gestured to the paperwork before you, "we're almost done here, do you need something or can it wait? Kinda your restaurant on the clock..."

"I mean, it can wait, but are you busy, like, right now-right now? 'Cause, lookit, I gotta tell you, I had the best fucking night. I'm so serious, Honey. I went out with Claire - you remember Claire, right? - and it was, wow, just wow - I mean, this girl is the whole package, you know?" You bristled when he took a seat on the edge of your workspace and realized he was carefully avoiding usual pet names. He continued to ramble on about his incredible date with the incredible Claire, missing your lips pursed in patient annoyance as you listened to him without reaction; staring emotionlessly at the laptop screen. "Hey," Carmy waved a hand in front of you, causing you to flinch and automatically look towards him - albeit in annoyance. "Where are you right now? You're not here, in the present with me. You all right?"

You couldn't help but bite, "Mhm. Where's your phone?"

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

"What?"

"Your phone, Carmy, the thing you pay a monthly bill for so people can get in touch with you, or you with them. Ring any bells? Where's your phone, it'll play bells for you."

"Woah, hey," his hands went up in defense, "what's with the hostility? I left my phone somewhere here last night, Honey."

"Oh, sure. How convenient - "

"No, look, I'm serious - look, look around the fuckin' desk!"

You glared at him before shuffling the few papers and files, ready to snarl at him when you found his phone. "Why's it here?" You asked stiffly, handing over the shut-off device.

"I forgot it, I was in a bit of a rush."

"There a reason for your rushing?"

"Yeah, to get to my date with Claire - see, you weren't even listening to me, were you?" He let a twinge of frustration taint his tone, "You wanna bite my fuckin' head off about my fuckin' phone that I forgot at work, fine; but you're so mad about it that you didn't even listen to me? Jesus, fuck, who are you, my mother?"

You swear you heard 'oooohs' coming from outside the office.

"Oh, fuck you, Carmen! How about you check your messages before trying to come at me, you fuckin' bitch," you snapped, slapping your laptop closed and starting to pack up the desk.

"What the fuck are you so pissed off for? 'Cause I didn't text you 'goodnight' or 'good morning'? Grow the fuck up - "

"Hey!" Cicero charged into the office, interrupting the argument. "I don't know what the fuck is happening, but we're busy in here, Carmy - "

"No, actually... Actually, we're done for the day, Unc, I can do everything else at home."

"No, Honey, hang on - "

You stood abruptly to gather the last files from the desk, "No, it's fine, I'm exhausted anyway. I got stood up last night waiting for this jackass, so as you can imagine, I just want to go home, away from any and all others right now."

"Woah, hang on," Carmy pleaded, checking his repeatedly dinging phone he managed to turn on, "wait, what the fuck is this? Why did you call me - holy shit, seventeen times?!"

"Could you drop me at home, Uncle?" You pleaded softly.

"Of course, princess, but what the fuck is going on?"

You could only manage a fake, sad smile, "Carmy's the jackass who stood me up last night."

"No fuckin' shit!" Cicero gasped, looking between you. "Uh, yeah, yeah, Honey, sure, I can take you home, c'mon, let's go."

"I left these for Sugar, they're all filled out if she can just file them - the rest I can do from home," you tapped the files left behind, leading the way out of the office; Carmy stood to the side in shock as he caught up on his messages. "Think we could grab something to eat on the way?" You asked, desperate for distraction.

"Whatever you want, doll, of course," Cicero agreed easily, following you at a close range. The others scattered like roaches, pretending they weren't listening, but... C'mon... You know?

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

"Wait! Wait, Honey! Please, hang on," Carmy called after you, repeatedly shouting your name. "Wait, please, wait, wait, wait, hang on!" He pleaded in a race against time to clear the kitchen and reach you before you could walk away from him for good. His hand wrapped around your upper arm in a desperate attempt to stop you, but it only made you flinch.

"Carmen," Cicero spat in warning.

"It's okay, Unc. It's okay, we should probably hash this out, you know? I can - I'll meet you out front," you promised softly, patting his arm raised to protect you from Carmy's grab.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

Cicero gave a 'harrumph' and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, glaring at Carm before taking his leave. You huffed and crossed your arms, turning to face your best friend, sneering, "What could you possibly have to say to me? You said enough last night."

"The fuck does that mean, we didn't even talk!"

You snapped, "Your silence was really fucking informative, Carmen!"

"That's what you're not fucking explaining to me! I don't even know what you're mad about!"

There was satirical amusement donning your expression as you gave a gruff chortle of disbelief. So, you broke it down, "By you not canceling the second you and Claire made plans or remembered you made plans with her first, by not answering me all night and humiliating me, leaving me there, alone, so you could go out with Claire said all I needed to hear. It was all you had to say. You were so fucking loud, it's a miracle I haven't burst an eardrum!"

"Honey," he sighed like you were a child throwing a tantrum, "it was an honest mistake. I don't get why you're blowing this up? We've literally forgotten about plans before, just help me understand why this one is so different? I want to fix this, tell me what the fuck is going on!"

Speaking of bursting an eardrum, the invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

Tears broke your waterline, "You've always been my best friend, Carm."

"You're mine, too - "

"But at some point, things changed for me. I get it's a personal problem, so I kept quiet because I loved being your friend, being in your life - I tried not to be greedy, but now I see we were just racing this inevitable clock. When you and I went through everything with Mikey, I thought it made us closer, stronger - "

"It did!"

" - but I also thought that maybe you weren't seeing me as before, as some kid, but as I am now - a woman."

"Honey..."

"Let me finish," you bit off, tears dripping down both your cheeks. "I still never said anything, I never wanted to pressure you, and truthfully, I always knew you had a thing for Claire, I knew one day someone would come around and replace me, but I still loved you. Despite everything with my family, with yours, I loved you. Despite any of my own reservations, my own fear about ruining what we have because it's better than losing you completely, I loved you. Despite the physical distance and all of your emotional distance, I loved you. And then, you come up to me, out of nowhere, and you asked me to go out with you. Twice, you phrased it that way, Carm."

"Honey, baby, please - "

"You asked me to go out with you, you set the time and place, I agreed. I showed up... I sat there as people came and went through the night, Carmen. It was humiliating an-and degrading and mortifying. Only to find out within seconds from Richie that you had left for a date with Claire - when there I was, alone, waiting for you, too. Like I said, I always knew you had a thing for her, and I knew one day someone would replace me, but holy fucking shit, Carm, I thought you had a little more decency, more respect than that after years of friendship - "

"How could you say that to me?" Carmy snapped with tears racing down both your cheeks, mindful of the distance as to not crowd you. "Knowing you're my best friend, the only person - "

"How could you leave me there, Carmen!?" You cried, making him freeze. "That was downright cruel and so fucking hurtful. So much so, in fact... I-It makes me feel we shouldn't talk for a while."

"What?"

"I'm so sorry, Carm, but I just - I don't think it's fair to anyone involved, nor those around us, to remain friends right now. So, we just... Need a break, or something. Being your friend is too fucking hard and so exhausting, it's been at my expense... We just need a break."

"No, hey, h-h-hang on a second, baby, wait, please," he halted you from turning away. "Listen to me, please, I'm so sorry. I really am, sweetheart, I'm so fucking sorry. Okay? I-I'm so sorry I forgot my phone and didn't see your calls or texts - "

You let your hand wave as if to physically pause the conversation, breathing, "That's what you think I'm upset about?"

"Well, yeah, and I'm sorry I couldn't call you, but you saw, you found it - I forgot my phone!"

"No... No, you didn't forget your phone, Carmen. Jesus Christ, you forgot me," you whispered, taking two steps back so he couldn't touch you even if he tried. "I really don't think we should talk anymore, okay? What you did was really fucked up, what you made me feel was even worse. I'll still help with the restaurant, I promised I would, and unlike you, I can be taken for my word because it means something. But I don't think you and I should work together, you make me so fucking uncomfortable - "

"No, hey, wait, baby, please, listen, listen, listen - I made one mistake," he pleaded, trying to step towards you but you reared back another three. "W-Why're you punishing me - punishing us - for one mistake? Please, Honey, I know I fucked up, but let me fix this!"

"Well, a stitch in time saves nine."

"The fuck?" Carmy chided, eyes narrowed.

"It means by doing proper the first time, you avoid problem later - but you don't have a lick of accountability, do you? No forethought, no comprehension to how your actions will affect others! It's not just 'one mistake', it's not just you standing me up, Carmy! Jesus, fuck, it's everything! I just poured my fucking heart out and you can't even say you love me back, can you?" You gave no time to answer, "No, of course not, because it's Claire - it's always gonna be Claire! It's always gonna be someone! So, I-I can't play second fiddle anymore, I won't - I can't be in love with you while you're in love with someone else, Carm. You've kept me on your back burner for too long, you forgot me, so you're not allowed to be surprised the kettle still whistles. I just can't do this, Carm, it's complicated and it hurts, it's not fair to either of us. So, I'll remove myself, no problem and work from home, but if I have to be here, please, limit our interactions best you can. For my sake, I'm begging you, give me fucking space."

"You're just gonna throw us away? I fuck up once, and that's it? Just like that?" Carmy begged, sounding earnestly confused. He looked like a kicked puppy. It broke your heart in a way last night couldn't. "I made one mistake, Honey, okay, yes, I take full responsibility! Please, let me try to fix this, okay? Please? I'm so sorry, I know that doesn't cover it, but lemme try to make all of this up to you. C'mon, baby, please, don't let me be the reason we both lose - just - okay, just let me fix this, please!"

"No, you know what? I'm not throwing anything away, I never did, Carm, you did when you chose Claire over me," you shrugged, tears strangling you once more. "Now, I need space... Can you give that to me or is that too much to ask for?"

"Why're you talkin' t'me like that? I-I'll give you whatever you ask for, Honey, you know that," Carmen sniffled, eyes reddening by the minute; hands going from hips to hair to forehead and back, unsure what to do.

You managed to get out, "I don't even know you anymore, it seems," before fleeing the kitchen, lungs choking on nothing. You couldn't get air in. You couldn't push any out, it was all so choppy and violent. With a hollow chest, you escaped out the front door; hating that you had to ignore Sugar and Richie calling after you, stumbling on the sidewalk and into Cicero's idling car.

"All right, let it out, you're all right, Honey. You're safe with Uncle Cicero," he soothed, rubbing your back as he pulled into traffic. "I know, I know... We all know, I'm so sorry this happened. What a fuckin' jagoff - you want me to pull my money from this restaurant? I'll do it - I'll do whatever - "

"No, no, no," you whimpered, sniffling and wiping your cheeks. "While I appreciate your ready and willingness to defend me, I don't want it at Carm's expense. I'll just work from home, it's not a big deal, and then... Maybe if I have to come in, I know Richie will be there to be a buffer, but maybe you could - "

"I'll be there whenever you ask, princess, you know that."

"Thank you," you squeaked as he drove past your usual street. "Oh, uh, I'm down South - "

"I thought we could make a run to the store, make sure you have all your comfort snacks so you don't have to go back out. Or do you wanna go straight home? You tell me, princess."

You gave a watery smile, a new wave of emotion choking your words, "Snacks would be really nice, thank you."

"You have dinner?"

"I don't know - "

"We'll get you some," he comforted, patting your knee as you just needed a safe space to cry. And for now, that was the front seat of your Uncle Cicero's 6-figure car.

You knew it was a formal invitation the moment you caught sight of it at your doorstep, indicating it was hand-delivered and not sent through the mail. It sent a flurry of unknown emotion through your veins; angry by its arrival, yet excited by what it meant. With a glance up and down the hall of your apartment landing, you found yourself alone; bending to pluck up the envelope and enter your home. Keys to the bowl, shoes left at the door in the foyer, coat hung up, purse deposited to the available end table; phone being pocketed as you turned for the kitchen to drop all mail on the counter.

You didn't open anything.

Instead, you got on with your evening after working your usual 9-5. After a steaming-hot shower, you smeared on a facemask to hydrate your tired skin; then shimmied into soft loungewear and fixed your hair for the night. In the living room, you turned on Netflix for background noise before scouring your kitchen for an appropriate dinner that would hopefully nourish you after such a busy day. You debated a glass of wine, thinking you didn't need it, but then pouring one as the glittering envelope taunted you from where you left it. You drank, glaring at the little piece of stationary as you cooked a simple stir fry concoction. Carmy taught you to clean while you cook, so, once your meal was dished up and whatever could've been stored in the dishwasher was, you poured yet another glass of wine, snatched the invitation, then nestled in the living room with your meal.

You still didn't open it.

The coffee table was larger than others; big enough to double as a work desk; the perfect height for you to still access while lounged back on the sofa. You had all kinds of documents spread, most pertaining to The Bear - which was finally set to open in about a week. It would've been an exhilarating time of celebration... Should you have been able to feel anything other than outright heartache.

For weeks now, you hadn't spoken to Carmy, the longest you've gone in your lives. You simply weren't ready to face the other side of rejection; spending this time building yourself up as an independent woman who didn't need no man, even if that man was your best friend. The idea that there was no place for you in Carmy's life or room for him in yours felt farfetched and illegal in some manner, as if it were taboo. You had a lot of navigating to do, and much farther to go, but for now, you were still in the adjustment phase. Never had you been without each other, it was weird to think this was it, there wasn't any going back; at least, not from you, yet, after such a putrid display of disrespect.

While you were stood up in just one restaurant, you avoided the entire marketplace as a whole out of sheer embarrassment. Granted, it wasn't a place you frequented, but it was still a hotspot some other friends had discovered and wanted to meet at for your weekly hang-outs. You couldn't tell them how triggered you felt because you didn't want to limit places to go, so, you figured bailing on them was the better option. It's not like you lied when you said you couldn't see them because of work - which was typically really crazy - but you could still make time if you wanted to; you had before. That's how much Carmy's hurt debilitated you, though.

Your plate was left to the side, dog sniffing around in the hopes of licking up whatever scraps you might've dropped; one hand holding the glass of wine, the other pinching the envelope by the corner. Deciding it was now or never, you ripped open the seal and retrieved the contents with delicate fingers, as if it would burn you.

The invisible timer started to tick.

You ignored the use of parchment paper. You ignored the perfume slightly wafting from it. You ignored the familiar script in silky ink. You ignored the certain choices you remember picking out, now used officially on the friends and family opening night invite.

You smiled sadly, letting the parchment card fall to the envelope left on the coffee table's corner. You took a long breath in, jaw wriggling; tears slowly forming, but not falling. For weeks, you had avoided any direct reminder of what happened; knowing you still worked as project manager, but able to sort of schedule your emotions around deadlines and necessary interactions. This particular piece of mail was impending, but unexpected today; where being invited to see the completed restaurant you helped design and erect was all but expected - just not today, per se. While every fiber of your being wanted to attend, nothing felt right about accepting when you knew you'd more than likely run into Claire and would have to interact with the others.

It felt too soon.

You had no right to go around any of them anymore.

What would you say?

Sniffling your emotion with a deep sigh, you leaned back to your back couch cushion with the last of your wine tipping to your mouth. While petting your pooch fondly, you wrestled mentally pros and cons, different logistics, like: who did you message your rejection or acceptance to? Did you bring a date? Did you go with Cicero? Were you supposed to wait after the crowd cleared to mingle with your friends? Were they still your friends? What did you wear? Should you make legit plans with other people so you had plenty of distraction that evening? So you had a solid alibi? Would anyone even question your absence?

Your dog whined when your phone vibrated violently in a phone call from another cushion. With a sigh, you leaned forward to set your wine glass down and snatch the offending object, answering, "Hey, Unc."

"Hey, princess. You busy? This a bad time?"

"No, no, I just finished dinner and am trying to will myself to finish the dishes. What're you up to?"

"Gettin' ready for bed - just wanted to check in on you..."

"Ohhh, I get it - so, you got a pretty little invite in the mail, too, huh?"

"I got something, yeah. I think it looks pretty nice, don't you think? Definitely Sugar's design."

You held back your sarcastic quip about how you had all but designed the invites, so, you answered instead, "Yeah, real nice, Unc, yeah, she's got real talent. You goin'?"

"Uh-huh, no beating 'round the bush with you, is there?" He sighed, making you smirk broadly, "I am, I'm goin', gotta visit my money, you know? Well, I was wonderin' if you wanted to go with me?"

"Oh, Unc - "

"I know, I know, but it could be nice. Just us! Or we could double date? My treat - I'm paying - "

"I don't know if I can go yet, I haven't checked my schedule. I got home, made dinner, ate, answered your call."

"Oh, shit," he laughed. "Well, you think about it and let me know, Honey, okay? Okay, seriously, it'll be nice, we can go together, or separate - you know, don't let me cramp your style."

You laughed, "Nah, you kinda up my game."

"As I should. All right, pumpkin, well, I should run - but you think about it, let me know what you think, okay?"

"Okay, Unc, sounds good. We'll talk soon, I love you. Goodnight."

"Love you, too, doll, goodnight."

The invisible timer ticked louder.

The invitation was the only thing clipped to the front of your fridge. It taunted you at every passing moment. For days, it demanded your attention - succeeding only because you knew you had to RSVP to someone. Friday loomed closer and closer, Cicero had sent you two reminder texts, and try as you might, the fracture to your heart wasn't easily plastered.

There was nothing but heavy pain each time you thought about attending, so, on Wednesday night, you texted Sugar: hey babe! love that F&F is happening! sadly i have some work shit to do so i can't be there ☹️💔 but the invites are gorgeous! congrats on everything, i can't wait to see it! thanks for thinking of me for the guest list! good luck on Friday! 😘

Then you texted Cicero you couldn't make it, and while he understood, Sugar replied: Thank you, my love. Fak was so proud to show us how to work Canva for those invites 😂 Sure there isn't anything I can do to change your mind? We'd all love to see you there!

You answered: no way, this looks like real handwriting! technology's going too far. and yeah babes, i'm sure, i got work shit so unless you yell at my boss, i'm kinda stuck 😂

Curiously, Sugar requested a photo of your invite; but without curiosity, she also requested your boss' phone number. After you sent the image, she replied: Oh wow! I guess Carmy went rogue and gave you a fancy handwritten invite. What a jerk. Is he still a jerk? I can't remember, we haven't talked about what happened! 🥲

You promised: nothing to talk about now, Sugar Mama. all good! i gotta run but i love you congrats again, gooooooooodnight! ❤️

You hated avoidance; the dejection, festering unworthiness, self-imposed punishment and isolation. Yet it was all you had now, rationalizing you were protecting yourself and this was a necessary defense for your newly instated peace. Sometimes, you had to do things like miss events because you're healing - and that should always take precedence because you were nobody's priority but your own.

You put a red line on your calendar through the words 'THE BEAR', nodding as if in assurance of your decision, then yanked the invitation from your fridge. Yet you hovered over the trash can, fingering the lettering and remembering Sugar's text: Carmy went rogue and gave you a fancy handwritten invite.

The trash can lid slammed shut.

The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.

In your bedroom, you pulled a handheld trunk from your closet and knelt to the floor. Inside the trunk, you had placed all triggering Carmy centric mementos and memorabilia; dropping the invite to the towering piles. You carefully pushed some letters out of the way to pick up the journal he gifted from Denmark; flipping it open to any random page for study. Then you compared it to your invite and let a small, fond smile tug on yours lips; confirming it was Carmy's script, that he had, indeed, gone rogue.

When the trunk shut, so did the lid of your feelings.

Opening night had been something of a disaster, but the staff was ready to handle whatever obstacle. Granted, the head chef getting locked in the walk-in freezer wasn't on anyone's bingo card, Sydney was still a fucking superstar and commanded the kitchen in a gorgeously fluid and respectful manner. Richie stepped up and proved he was a newly-appointed expert in hospitality. Fak could take... some... direction. All in all, while not ideal or what was expected, it was an incredibly successful opening night! The staff was all rightfully proud of themselves, riding euphoric adrenaline highs.

The invisible timer began ticking.

Despite knowing Carmy had been freed from the freezer, nobody could locate him. Some theorized he went home to blow off steam, others teased maybe he went home with Claire - missing the way she left in tears earlier. However, when Tina, Fak, Syd, and Richie left the kitchen, they paused and let their proud smiles drop upon discovery of Carmy sitting, alone, in a back booth of his restaurant.

A dim, yet unmistakable comparison to what he did to you months ago.

There was temptation to leave him there; the entirety of the staff pissed off to the point they were giving Carm the cold shoulder for what he did to you. They credited you with damn near everything "The Bear" was, because while not your idea, not your dream, you gave it life and brought this place into fruition. Not to mention, you had taken on work as project manager for free - paid in the value of knowing you were helping such a good cause. A good family. It was a repeating fact; your everlasting endearment and compulsive support for anything and everything 'Berzatto'.

Yet despite their own simpering feelings, it was all dwarfed on examination of Carmy's decidedly pathetic statue. Syd felt a level of guilt the entire night, feeling it increase on sight of her technical boss; but to Fak, Richie, and Tina, who took Carm's slight against you personally, this was a heart-melting sight. There was a strange, mutual desire where the group went from wanting to kick Carmy's ass to just wanting to give him a hug and help the poor emotionally-inept dumbass.

"Go," Tina snarled quietly, pinching Richie's under arm.

"Me!?" He spat in shock, "Man, hell nah, fuck that guy!"

"Fuck you, too, Richie, c'mon," Sydney chided, pushing past them to lead the way up to Carmy. "Uh... Heeey, Chef?" She greeted in an unsure, sing-song voice.

"Chefs," he nodded meekly, immediately looking back to his anxiously twiddling fingers.

"Hey, Carm," Fak smiled warmly. "Whatcha doin' here, bud? Why're you all alone? In the dark? That's kinda creepy, dude."

"Nah, nothin'. Just, uh... Just waitin'."

"For what?" Fak asked, Richie smacking his arm. The tattooed man with a mustache flinched and cried, "What!? Now I can't ask my friends questions!? He's the one sitting in the dark like the Undertaker! Jesus!"

"Dude, just pause, be quiet," Richie scolded, shaking his head to silence the confused Fak. At Carmy, Richie directed, "Yo, Cousin, c'mon, let's just - let's all go home. C'mon, man, let's go. It's closing time."

"Yeah, yeah, uh," Carmy sniffled, "you guys go 'head, I'm gonna wait up for a bit."

"Carmy, it's late," Syd tried, "we aren't just gonna leave you here. So, come with us."

"Yeah, baby, c'mon," Tina tacked on in sympathy, "it's been a helluva night, we should all get some rest."

Fak and Syd and Tina all tried to encourage him with them, but Richie remained silent; just surveying the Chef. When a natural lull came after Carmy insisted again they go on without him, Richie scoffed, "Dude, c'mon... You know she's not comin'."

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

"Richie," Tina hissed.

"What?" He barked with his hand raised, glaring at Carm. "C'mon, man, it's late, she knew what time this was - and she told Sugar she couldn't make it 'cause of work. That's pretty definite. So... So, c'mon, let's go, dude, she's not comin'."

Before anyone could intervene again, Carmy snapped, "You don't know her like I do, Cousin."

"Know what? Fine," Richie laughed sardonically, "fucking fine, rot here for all I care, man - "

"No, c'mon, Richie! Hey! Don't be like that!" Tina called after him, sighing in defeat. "Sorry, Chef, I gotta run - " She leaned into the booth to peck Carmy's cheek before rushing her farewells to the others, then running out the door, calling, "Richie! Wait, baby, hold on!"

Sydney and Fak awkwardly stood around, not knowing what to do or say, so Carmy insisted they go home, too; he was gonna wait just a little longer for you then head out. They believed him, or at least, enough to listen to their bodies and go home for some form of rest. Carmy twisted the locks on all doors after them, leaving only the front undone with his seat facing directly forward.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

He waited with his elbows on bouncing knees. He waited and devised his nonnegotiable list. He waited with his feet in the booth. He waited while rearranging his ideal table setting. He waited and redid the tape in the walk-in. He waited on the sidewalk, chain smoking. He waited while scrubbing the kitchen, top-to-bottom. He waited and took liquor inventory.

He waited, replaying the events of your fight in his mind. He hated what he said, how he behaved, the expression on your face; praying you'd accept his olive branch - thinking a handwritten invitation was enough. Carmy just assumed you'd remember he was better at talking rather than writing or texting - hoping his script was enough for you to know he wanted to see you in person, not just send messages of apology. He wanted you to have space, he thought a couple of months was enough; so, hopefully you were still fluent in the words he never spoke or wrote.

This inspired Carmy to call Richie's phone to leave a voicemail of apology and love after reminiscing their own fight. It also made him want to call you, too - but this urge was resisted when the image of your heartbroken expression shot to mind.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

Eventually, Carmy settled in the corner booth; arms crossed, feet up, still watching the door. He noted the sun was rising and the city waking up; cars buzzing by, commuters starting to crowd the sidewalk. His eyes burned with the yearn for sleep, yet his mind would not quell; unable to forget your tears, the devastation you showed, how he was the sole cause of it all.

Carmy repeated he was a failure, he let you down and betrayed any and all trust the pair of you had in one another. He should've told you the truth; that he could see himself loving you romantically, he just never thought it was an option, so it purely wasn't on his radar. In Carmy's mind, even trying to cross such an important friendzone could make you feel unsafe if you didn't feel the same way; so it was something he wrote off long ago. It was part of why Claire was so tempting to him, but he needed you - like a fish needed water.

He was able to comprehend (now) that his actions weighed on more than himself, but you, too; that given proximity, you were forever doomed - or destined - to be his collateral damage. Carmy also understood this wasn't a lease you could continue to cosign for any longer when he desecrated the house and home your friendship lived in. So, it was his job to prove he could be the man you fell in love with, that he could deserve you; all he needed was a chance, and it was better late than never.

Understandably, Carmy felt pitiful, purely ridiculous that this is what it took for him to realize nobody mattered to him more than you; nobody could ever compare, there would never be a competition. That he didn't care for Claire's thoughts, opinions, nor ideas like yours; how he found himself wanting to impress you, not her; hating when his phone rang with her ID and not yours. You had given Carmen exactly what he wanted, and yet, it was everything he hated and nothing he needed. Carmy prayed to an unspecified deity that your decade+ friendship was strong enough to withstand - or recover from - his insolence.

Yet when the front door opened, it revealed only Richie; a delight unto itself, but not the ray of sunshine the mournful Chef desired.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

Carmy deflated with definitive defeat into the booth, tears falling in rapid finality. His lips parted just a fraction to let his breath escape in easier huffs, a buzzing whine filling his ears as icy realization washed over him: your friendship was truly well and over.

"Cooked," as the kids say. Your friendship was cooked.

Richie paused in the walkway, sighing deeply before slowly moseying over. He silently placed a twin cup of coffee to the table and dropped to the booth across from Carmy, both silent and stewing. Richie peaked up first, finding Carmen's attention locked on the door like a golden retriever; but the flooding tears halted any derisive comment he instinctively wanted to hurl. Richie asked before taking a sip of coffee, "She didn't show, did she?"

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

"Nah, she didn't," Carmy whispered, the tears flowing faster, "'cause I really fucked up this time, Cousin. She's really fuckin' done with me. Not that I blame her, but... But holy shit..." Carmy dissolved into lung-stuttering tears, bowing his head in shame as he obviously attempted to get a handle on his emotions; only ever used to having them freely around you.

Richie sighed and leaned over the table to clap his hand to Carm's shoulder, muttering, "Hey, hey... For what it's worth, I'm really fuckin' sorry, Carmen... I am, I know you love her." His lips rolled between his teeth, letting Carm have his (several, long) moments before trying to sound lighter, "Look, of course, Honey didn't show up to open, but she doesn't have a malicious bone in her body. You haven't shown her you're sorry! She's still pissed off and worse, she's hurt, Cousin! Know what I mean?

"I know," Carmy whispered in despair.

The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.

"So, cut the fuckin' shit, man, time is of the essence! Maybe if you, like, stopped fuckin' cryin' and actually try fuckin' apologizin', Honey'll soften up - you know, like, feel safe enough to come around sometimes. Maybe be a li'l more receptive to you not being so much of a dickhead?"

This made Carmen perk up slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose, questioning, "The fuck are you talkin' 'bout?"

"The fuck did I just say? Get off your ass and apologize to that girl who's so sweet, she's literally called Honey. She's human, she just wants your remorse, dude, you owe it to her; so apologize and leave her be, and when she's ready, she'll let us know, maybe even come back 'round."

The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.

After a pause, Carmy asked, "Think she'll come back?"

"Only time will tell. Apologize first, you inconsiderate jagoff."

"Way to kick a man."

"We're in this 'cause of you, you fuckin' pussy!"

"Oh, real nice, fuckin' jackass," Carm scoffed, wiping his cheeks and finally accepting the coffee.

"Now you sound like her," Richie smirked, sharing a secret snicker. The pair fell into contented silence, just mulling over each other's nights; either displaying signs of anxiety; where Richie bounced his leg, Carm picked at his fingers wrapped around the cup of coffee.

The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.

After several too-long minutes, Richie started snickering.

"What're you laughing at?" Carm mumbled.

Richie had to control his giggles, wiping a finger in the corner of his eye, "Something that can only be explained later."

"What's that?"

"...Mikey would've owed Tina about $6k right now."

"The fuck - ?"

"I said later!"

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

-> no part two planned!

301 notes · View notes

bloomzone · 2 months ago

Text

Feeling Overwhelmed? You're Not Alone. Let's Talk About It..

I know we all go through it. You’re balancing school, friends, family, and everything else, and suddenly, it feels like you're carrying the weight of the world. Lately, I've been feeling burned out, overwhelmed, and like everything is piling up at once. With school stress, exams, and the constant pressure to keep up, I sometimes feel like I can’t breathe. It's exhausting, and I'm sure some of you feel the same.

It’s so easy to get stuck in the cycle of trying to do everything perfectly. Every time you think you’ve got it under control, something else comes at you, and you’re back to square one and YES THIS IS ANNOYING!!!. It's like there’s a never-ending list of things to do, and no matter how hard you work, you never seem to catch a break.

And the worst part? The pressure from others. Whether it's friends, classmates, or even family, there's always someone asking you for help. Sometimes I feel like I’m the go-to person for everything—assignments, questions, last-minute requests. And don’t get me wrong, I want to be helpful, but it can get draining. Especially when you're trying to hold it together and just need a little space for yourself

For example:Today I couldn’t catch a break already stressed about exams, and in desperate need of rest. Just as I sat down to breathe, the calls and messages started.

One of my classmates began spamming me with messages, asking about a history and geography exam date that we ALL already knew. Then, another classmate began asking for English assignment answers. She wouldn’t stop. She kept sending, “Hi, hi, hi, hi…” over and over until I caved and responded.When I finally sent her the answers, her response? “Ahh, what would I do without you? You’re a lifesaver!” And while I know she meant it kindly, it felt so heavy I feel guilty. What about MY life? What about my peace?

In that moment, I realized how much I was giving to others and how little I was leaving for myself. I was pouring all my energy into helping everyone else while I was running on empty

And plus I’ve been in those moments when you’ve studied hard for an exam, thought you’re finally catching up, and then suddenly—a change happens. A test gets rescheduled, an assignment gets pushed to the last minute, and it feels like everything you worked for was just... wasted. I get it. And it’s okay to feel frustrated and angry about it. You’re allowed to feel this way. It doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human.

But here’s something I’ve been reminding myself lately: I am not responsible for everyone else's stress. It’s okay to say no, it’s okay to take a break, and it’s okay to not always have everything figured out. Taking care of yourself isn’t selfish; it’s necessary.

Here 5 Tips That Are Helping Me Cope with Stress and Burnout

1. Set Boundaries and Protect Your Energy: I’ve learned that it’s okay to say no. If someone’s asking for help, and you’re already feeling stretched thin, it’s okay to tell them, “I can’t right now.” You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you deserve your time and energy as much as anyone else does.

2. Don’t Overload Yourself—Take It One Step at a Time: Break your tasks into smaller, more manageable chunks. Don’t try to do everything at once—focus on one thing at a time. It makes the workload feel less daunting and more achievable. One task, one hour at a time.

3. Rest is Not a Luxury, It’s a Necessity: Sometimes we push ourselves too hard because we think we’ll get behind if we take a break. But if you don’t rest, you’ll burn out. Give yourself permission to step away, even for just 10 minutes. Watch a comforting youTube video, take a walk, or close your eyes. A little time for yourself can give you the energy to come back even stronger.

4. Talk About Your Feelings—Don't Bottle It Up: If you’re feeling overwhelmed, don’t keep it inside. Talk to someone, whether it’s a friendu trust family member, or even just writing in a journal like I do ..Putting your feelings into words can make a huge difference. It clears your mind and helps you see things from a new perspective.

5. Make Time for Self-Care: It’s easy to forget to take care of yourself when everything is going wrong. But self-care isn’t just about face masks and bubble baths (although that helps!). It’s about doing things that recharge you—reading, listening to music, or even just doing nothing. Find what makes you feel lighter and make time for it.

Let’s Take the Pressure Off Ourselves.

I know the world often tells us we have to be constantly productive, constantly moving forward. But the truth is, you don’t have to hustle all the time. It’s okay to slow down, take a breather, and focus on your well-being. The world will still be there when you're ready to take the next step. You are not a machine pookie. You are human, and you deserve peace.We’re not alone in this, even though it sometimes feels like we are. Everyone’s going through something, and sometimes just knowing that you’re not alone in your struggles can make a huge difference.Remember, it’s okay to not have it all together. It’s okay to be tired, to feel burnt out, to not always know what’s next. Life is hard, but you’re still here, still fighting, and that’s something to be proud of. I'm so proud of you

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bbystark · 4 months ago

Text

chimichanga tuesday

deadpool x stark!reader

summary: reader finds herself slightly jealous over Vanessa and Wade's previous relationship. based on this request

a/n: mdni. requests are open! i did not proofread whoops but enjoy! requests are open btw ;)

When Wade first brought up the idea of bringing you to his Chimichanga Tuesdays at Blind Al’s, you were over the moon. This was a big step for you guys and the relationship you had yet to put a title on. He had excitedly started listing the names of everyone that would be there, Colossus, Negasonic “whateverthefuck”, Blind Al, Vanessa- a wave of nausea went through you when he said her name. You weren’t the jealous type, you really weren’t, but the dude put himself through death-defying torture to live for this woman. It was hard not to feel threatened. Besides, who the fuck stays friends with an ex? It blew your mind.

You knew about their entire history, Wade had told you a few months into hooking up. He didn’t seem to have any secrecy surrounding it, even going as far as to delve into their very active sex life (you had to tell him to shut up when he got to “a pegging christmas”). However, your own fear of his answers kept you from asking the most important one: did he still love her? Would he leave you if she decided she wanted him back? You felt so stupid. You were a Stark for God's sake, your ego should be untouchable. But alas, you actually strongly liked Wade. You were starting to head into that place where just thinking about him brought a stupid love-sick smile to your face.

So yeah. You were a little jealous of Vannessa, and tonight was Chimichanga Tuesday. You were fucked. Both metaphorically and literally, being on your third Dirty Shirley within the hour. You were waiting for Wade to pick you up from your apartment, growing more and more nervous as time went on. You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear the front door rattle, Wade bursting in with a stapler in hand. “Hey hot stuff! Sorry about the blood. Was running late to see your tight little ass and had to staple the toupee on the bus. Bumpy ride.” He makes his way over to you, tossing the stapler to the side and pulling you into a hug. “Hi Wade.” You melt into him. “When are you going to let me buy you lace glue for that thing?” You poke at a staple and he winces, grabbing your wrist gently.

“Hey, the staples are very economically friendly. Not everyone has a disgustingly handsome father to inherit billions from.” He smiles at you, glancing around your apartment and seeing the large bottle of vodka sitting in the middle of your kitchen island. “Woah thirsty girl! You getting the party started already?”

You suddenly feel ashamed, like a teen who got caught with a beer. “I’ve only had one.” He gives you a look. “Okay three!” He turns to the side and rolls his eyes to his imaginary audience. “We’re lucky she didn’t bring out the tequila. She gets real mean.” You shove him a little bit. “That was one time! It’s not that hard to say excuse me.” “Oh, I’m not mad sugarcakes. Watching you threaten to disembowel someone twice your size really got little Deadpool going. I am slightly concerned though. Broody and depressed alcoholics run in your family. What’s going on in that brain?”

You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find a response. You consider lying, but suddenly you feel a little light and stupid thanks to your last drink and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“Do you still love Vannessa?”

Wade freezes, a little shocked by the question. He’s silent for longer than he’s ever been and you’re scared you’ve gone too far. You’re about to apologize and take your words back when he puts his finger over your lips and says “Give me two seconds for a dramatic flashback and careful introspection that will eventually lead to important character development.” You give him a strange look and he sighs. “Trust me, it’s very important to our plot.”

Wade thinks really hard. He still loves Vannessa in his own fucked up way but he wasn’t in love with her anymore. He knew she still loved him too, but in the same way an owner can’t hate a pet that constantly bites them. Except Wade was a pet who got cancer and abandoned her, not to mention put her life on the line on multiple occasions (although to his credit, he did save her and the entire timeline). But to put it simply, somehow the two most fucked up people had the healthiest breakup ever.

Even given the chance, Wade knows he wouldn’t go back to Vannessa because it could never be the same. Wade used to painfully long for his past before seeing a motivational poster that said “keep chugging along” with a creepy looking animated train. Then it really clicked for him. Vannessa wasn’t his happy ending, even though she had given him many in the past. If he had chosen to stay with her instead of being a lab rat for Francis St. Fuck, she would have been. But is dying of cancer and leaving the woman you love alone for the rest of her life a happy ending? He realized that if he kept looking to the past, he would forget that he had created his own weird little family, even if it wasn’t what he originally planned. He would also forget that he has a smoking hot girl in front of him that he’s quickly growing more attached to.

Wade has been quiet and staring directly at a wall for a long time, and it’s starting to really freak you out. “Wade..?” You try gently. He snaps out of it, shaking his head and laughing a little. “Jeez these flashbacks just keep getting longer and longer, like hello that’s what sequels are for.” You stay silent, looking at him expectantly. “Oh right!” He moves closer to you, taking your hands in his.

“Yes. Yes I do still love Vannessa.” your heart drops, and you quickly pull your hands from his.

“What the fuck Wade?”

“No! Wait let me finish, I do still love her, but not like I did. She used to be my everything, the only reason I lived and then later, the reason I tried killing myself but that’s beside the point- what I’m trying to say is that she’s my past. And I get us still being friends is like, totally not the norm but I promise there’s nothing there anymore. I just, care about her I guess. But I don’t want to keep letting my past get in the way of things that are happening now.” He looks you in the eye for the last part, and you almost tear up at the sight of The Wade Wilson being serious for once, and to you of all people. You take a few seconds before replying.

“I know she’s a huge part of your very unconventional life, and I don’t want to get all psycho and say that I don’t want you to see her because really, I truly don’t mind. Just kind of had a jealous monster take over for a second. I’m sorry.” You give him a shy smile.

“Hey, I’m just surprised you still haven’t realized you’re fucking an avacado’s abortion. That’s a win in my book.” You both laugh and you take his face in your hands gently, smiling. You don’t really have much to say, you still feel silly, even more so that he’s essentially calmed all your insecurities. So you just stare at him, the drinks in your system letting your fingers dance across his face, just taking all of him in. Wade can’t handle it.

“I think I like you.” He blurts out. He cringes, he can’t believe he just confessed like a middle schooler. “Bad Deadpool.” he whispers to himself.

You laugh and then bring his face to yours for a clumsy kiss. “I think I like you too. Avocado abortion face and all.” You kiss him again, slower this time, trying to avoid the staples poking out of his scalp when you place your hand on his neck. He pulls away slowly, eyes still closed. “Good Deadpool.”

#deadpool x reader #deadpool and wolverine #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson #x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #stark!reader #fluff #fanfiction #imagines #request

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kamii-2 · 7 months ago

Note

hey pookie! so since it’s ice’s birthday maybe you should write a smut for her when your request are open!

-👾

(ik your request aren’t open but when they are you should totally make this)

hi 👾 anon!! i love this request so much and im so sorry this is late but i hope you enjoy it!!

warning(s): cussing, smut

genre: smut & fluff

pairing(s): ice brady x reader

==================================

for ice’s birthday she wanted to hang out with her friends and family and obviously you, so you guys went out to dinner with her friends and we’re going to visit her family later that week.

after dinner on the way back to your apartment ice seemed a little upset. “what’s wrong baby?” you questioned glancing over at her while you drove, “you didn’t get me anything for my birthday. you’re the only person who didn’t, even my family members sent me something.” ice answered while clearly getting more mad. “ice you’re about to get your present when we go back to my apartment, it’s more than one thing too.” you told her trying to not spoil what it was. ice smiled at your answer and didn’t ask any more questions.

the moment you guys parked she immediately got out and went to the driver side to open the door and drag you out. she figured out what the surprise was the moment you replied to her in the car earlier. she grabbed your hand and took you all the way to your apartment, not letting go of your hand once. “i can tell you’re excited.” you smiled at her while giving her a kiss that she immediately turned into making out. she pulled away just for a second, “jump.” she said while moving her hands from your waist so you could jump up. she grabbed your waist and you wrapped your arms around her neck and continued to kiss her.

she pulled away to walk to your room as you kissed her neck and left hickies, “fuck.” she breathily whined out. when you guys got to the bedroom she say you down on the bed, “i wanna top tonight. it’s your birthday and i barely ever get to fuck you.” you pulled her in with your legs and looked up at her with doe eyes, “that’s fine with me but i have to get you at least once tonight.” she agreed while grabbing your hands. you smiled hard at this and immediately started to take off your girlfriends jean shorts. “do you plan of fucking me while i stand?” she jokingly questioned, “shit you’re right, lay down.” you told her as she went and sat down on the bed. you pushed her back a little for better access and took off her jeans and underwear.

she spread her legs for you and leaned back on her elbows to watch you. you sucked on her clit softly and put two fingers in her, thrusting in and out slowly. there wasn’t enough pleasure for ice’s liking, she grinding on your face and fingers to get more but it didn’t work, you were doing it on purpose. “cmon bro stop playing please.” she whined out, instead of listening you pulled away completely. before she could complain you plunged two fingers in her and went as fast as you could, “oh!” she moaned at the sudden pleasure.

you thrusted your fingers in and out of her at a fast pace not stopping once. after a few more thrusts you added your mouth and sucked on her clit, this made her body jolt with pleasure. “oh my God, please don’t stop.” she begged while putting her hand on the back of your head, pushing you face more. you pulled out your fingers and put your tongue inside of her, eating her like she was your last meal and rubbing her clit with your thumb.

while you were eating her out she felt you spelling something with your tongue but she couldn’t tell what you spelt. “what- fuck! what did you s-spell?” she stuttered out, “happy birthday isuneh.” you replied still tongue-fucking her. this send chills down her spine for 2 reasons, one, she was surprised that you would do that, two, the vibrations from you talking inside of her filled her with a huge amount of pleasure. you kept fucking her while she moaned out your name and grounded into your face for more pleasure. “oh, i’m so close.” she moaned out as her legs began to shake a little. after a few more licks she came all over your tongue and mouth.

you stood you from in between her legs and before you could do anything else ice pulled you into her and kissed you, ignoring the fact that you had her cum all over your mouth. “your turn.” she said as she stood up, you sitting on the bed where she was laying. she pushed you back the same way you did to her while taking off your shirt and bra. she kissed from your lips to your stomach, leaving a few hickies here and there, stopping when she reached your shorts. “can i?” she asked while looking up at you, you nodded while lifting yourself up so she can take them off. the moment she removed your shorts and underwear she dived in tongue first, her nose hitting your clit every few seconds. “oh! ice please.” you moaned out while putting your legs on her shoulders, she gripped your legs and went in deeper.

the way her tongue fucked you and her nose hit your clit made you go way over the edge, it felt so good and hoped she wouldn’t take it away from you.

just as you thought it, she pulled away. “why?” you immediately whined out before she could even explain. “chill.” she giggled while putting her fingers in you and playing with your clit with her tongue. she thrusted in and out of you at an insanely fast speed and sucked on your clit harshly. you couldn’t hold it in, cumming all over her mouth and fingers. she pulled out and stood up and sat next to you, holding your hand and rubbing it with the back of her thumb. “i have one more present for you after we get cleaned up.” you told her and you sat up.

after you two showered and got dressed she set on the bed on her phone while you got her gift. when you came back she shut her phone off and put all of her attention on you. “okay, here’s your gift.” you smiled at her while handing her the small gift bag. as she took out the items she smiled hard. it was. a matching necklace set with your initial on it and you had one with her initial on it, there was also matching bracelets. when she looked up and you she gave you a big hug and a kiss, “thank you so much.” she said while giving you one last kiss. “you’re welcome, happy birthday.”

==================================

so sorry this took so long to get out but i hope liked it, i hope you have a good day/night, love you 💋💋

#uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #ice brady x reader #ice brady #wlw #wlw post #smut #fluff #birthday sex

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azzibuckets · 8 months ago

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For the Love of the Game [Pazzi | Part 7/10]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: paige starts to realize what being in love with azzi is like

a/n: some fluff to prepare for the angst that is the next chapter

word count: 1.6k

masterlist w/ all parts

Paige hadn’t known why she’d called Azzi’s name. Why her first instinct when the fiery hot pain had ricocheted up her left leg and spread to every cell in her body, when she’d crumpled to the floor, was Azzi. But when the dark haired girl had come running, had held her head in her hands, had tried to look brave despite the fear swimming in her eyes, Paige had realized why.

—————-

Trying to balance the two cups of coffee and the bag of donuts, Azzi kicked the door to Paige’s hospital room open. To her surprise, when she looked up, there was a throng of people surrounding the bed. Some she recognized as Paige’s family; her little brother, Drew, was playing on a Nintendo in the corner of the room. There were some girls her age, too, holding flowers and cards, repeating their sympathies to a tired Paige in bed.

Azzi suddenly felt out of place. What was she doing here? She chastised herself for not texting or calling Paige before she’d come. Of course Paige’s closest family and friends would be here to support her, and she’d stupidly shown up. They weren’t even actually dating, or friends at that. It probably didn’t mean anything that she’d comforted Paige last night, whispering reassurances into her ear until she’d gone to the hospital. Azzi had been the only one there, so of course Paige had accepted her presence. And now she probably wanted to be alone with the people she actually cared about.

So Azzi quietly set the donuts and the coffee on one of the side tables, hoping no one would see her as she slowly retreated out.

But just her luck, she heard a deep voice call out her name. “Azzi!” Biting her lip, she turned around slowly. She steeled herself for Paige to question her for coming, to laugh at her for even thinking that her presence was wanted. But Paige smiled, that bright smile with the crinkle in her eyes, and Azzi felt warm all over.

“Everyone, this is Azzi, my girlfriend. She plays for UConn, too.”

This was not how she’d imagined meeting Paige’s parents, but a tall man stepped forth and grabbed her hand, shaking it profusely. “Azzi! I’ve heard so much about you.” Azzi glanced at Paige, wondering what possibly the blonde could’ve said about her. But Paige blushed, avoiding her gaze.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bueckers,” Azzi said politely. Soon Paige’s entire family swarmed to meet her, greeting her with warm hugs and smiles.

“Drew,” Paige called. “Don’t be rude. Come over here.” Drew sighed, but obediently put his Nintendo down and ambled over.

“Hey, buddy.” Azzi bent down and ruffled his hair. “I’m Azzi.”

Drew regarded her suspiciously. “Are you good at basketball?”

“She’s great,” Paige immediately answered for her. Azzi looked up at Paige in surprise, but once again, the blonde looked away before their eyes could meet.

The younger girl focused her attention back on Drew. “Hey, you hungry?” she asked. “I brought some donuts and they’re all yours if you want ‘em.”

Drew’s eyes brightened, and he squealed. Azzi chuckled, grabbing his hand and leading him to the corner of the room. “Don’t be greedy, Drew!” Paige yelled. “Leave some for me!”

For the next hour, Azzi kept Drew entertained while Paige talked in hushed tones to her parents. All the other people slowly filtered out, leaving their gifts scattered throughout the room. Finally, Paige’s parents left the room in order to go grab lunch.

Drew begged to stay, so soon it was only Paige, Azzi, and Drew left in the room. The little boy, hyper from the sugary donuts, went back to play Nintendo, totally absorbed in the little screen.

Azzi suddenly felt awkward, and she swung her hands, not knowing what to say.

“C’mere.” Paige patted the spot on the bed next to her, looking at her with soft eyes.

At first, Azzi carefully sat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to jostle Paige. “I brought coffee, too.” She raised the cups. “But I think they might be cold now.” Paige grinned affectionately, taking the cup from Azzi’s hands and setting it to the side before pulling her in. Azzi rested her head on the older girl’s chest, feeling her heart beat steadily.

“You came,” the older girl said softly so that Drew couldn’t hear.

“Well, it’s basic decency. I’d be a shit teammate if I didn’t visit my captain after an injury like that.”

Paige rested her chin on Azzi’s head. “It’s 7 AM. All the girls are visiting me together at 2 later. They said in the group chat.”

Azzi felt her cheeks flush with pink. “Well, I had to get some food and coffee in you beforehand. Didn’t want you all grumpy and hangry for when the girls came.”

“Okayyy.” Paige teased amusedlt, clearly not believing her. She gently pressed a kiss on Azzi’s hairline, and the younger girl’s heart almost burst with how domestic the whole thing was.

Azzi shifted so that she was now facing the blonde. “What’s the news?” she asked softly.

Paige closed her eyes, leaning her head forward so that their foreheads now touched. “Do we have to talk about that?”

Azzi cupped her cheek with her hand. “Paige.”

The blonde blinked rapidly, trying to fight off her tears. “The results from the MRI haven’t come back yet, but based on the x-ray alone, they’re pretty sure I tore my ACL.”

Azzi opened her mouth, but Paige pressed her thumb against her lips. “I’ve already heard enough sorries today,” she breathed. “Can we just stay like this?”

Azzi reluctantly nodded, leaning back. Paige buried her nose in her hair, breathing in her scent. If she weren’t in the hospital right now, she’d be in bliss. But there was a weight between them, a heavy cloud of things unsaid - both about Paige’s injury, and about their relationship. They knew that this didn’t count as fake dating when the cameras weren’t rolling and no one but Drew was with them in the hospital room. Yet for now they allowed themselves this little moment.

———————

“I brought orange juice, cereal, mac and cheese, and some bread, as requested.” Azzi plopped down the groceries on the counter, before making her way to where Paige was lying on the couch.

“What?” Paige tried to lift herself up from the cushions, but the throbbing pain in her leg forced her back down. “Azzi, are you joking?”

“Hmm?” Azzi played dumb, even though she knew exactly what Paige was talking about. But a little bit of fun messing with the blonde couldn’t hurt, right?

“Az, please don’t tell me you forgot the Tru Fu.” Paige’s voice came out desperate and whiny, but she didn’t have the energy to care. Her whole body ached as if all had ligaments, not just her ACL, had torn, and all she wanted was her favorite snack.

“Oh my god, you wanted Tru Fu?” Azzi gasped with faux horror.

“Azzi!” Paige whined again, and this time the dark haired girl couldn’t keep it in. She burst out laughing, unzipping her jacket to reveal the multiple bags of Tru Fu hidden in the interior of her pockets.

Paige crossed her arms, glaring at her. “That wasn’t fucking funny. You know I don’t play about my Tru Fu.”

“I’m sorry, baby, but I knew you’d get all mad and you’re just so cute when you’re mad.” Paige froze, Azzi’s term of affection spreading heat throughout her body. She suddenly felt a yearning in her heart, a deep desire for Azzi to hold her and call her baby over and over again. But the younger girl seemed oblivious to the effect she was having on Paige, tossing bags upon bags of Tru Fu to the blonde in the couch.

When Paige remained silent, Azzi interpreted it as her still being mad, and she bent down, hovering over her, the ends of her hair brushing Paige’s cheeks.

“Please forgive me, Paige Madison Bueckers.” Azzi’s voice came out all raspy and throaty, and in that moment Paige would’ve forgiven her for anything in the world, even if she’d just committed vehicular manslaughter.

But Paige tamped down the fluttery feeling in her chest. She rolled her eyes and ripped open a bag of the white and milk chocolate strawberries. “You’re not getting any of this,” she grumbled, stuffing her mouth.

“You’re a dork.” Azzi lightly flicked the side of Paige’s head and scampered off to the kitchen to put away the groceries before she could retaliate.

Paige watched Azzi hum as she opened the cabinets and fridge with a familiar ease from having regularly brought Paige her groceries over the last several weeks. At first, Paige had objected, saying that she had Instacart and Ubereats. But Azzi in turn had firmly protested, saying that that was much too expensive. Paige quickly started agreeing when she realized how lonely she got, pent up in her apartment. Azzi dropping off groceries soon became the highlight of her week, especially when she’d started lingering and Paige had worked up the courage to ask her to watch a movie together, and now whenever Azzi came by it became an affair lasting several hours.

Paige knew that she didn’t need this many groceries. By this point, her kitchen was overflowing with goods that the younger girl brought. But she didn’t know how to tell Azzi that she loved hanging out with her, loved the hours they spent, alone in Paige’s apartment, binge watching romcoms and talking about anything and everything. So she continued to send her grocery lists, and Azzi had continued to drop everything she was doing whenever she got a new list from Paige in order to hurry to Target then hurry to her apartment.

When Azzi finished up and plopped down on the couch besides Paige, asking her where they’d last left off in Modern Family, Paige wondered how she’d ever felt anything but love towards a girl like Azzi, who had the brightest smile she’d ever seen.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconnwbb #wcbb #wbb #enemies to lovers

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topazy · 2 months ago

Text

Tomorrow’s promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Warnings: Swearing

Chapter: 4.07

The more you got to know the people who saved you, the more you understood why they saved you. Abraham explained that he and Rosita are on a mission to get their companion doctor Eugene Porter to Washington, DC, safely because Eugene knew how to stop the virus and Abraham wanted you to join them. What they were doing was courageous, but you needed to find your family.

You look over at Glenn who was carrying Jace and nod appreciatively. You, him, and Tara were taking turns holding him to try and keep the strain off your shoulder.

The atmosphere is awkward as you walk in almost complete silence. Abraham and Glenn got into a physical fight because Abraham made a comment saying Maggie was most likely already dead, and the noise from the fight attracted a horde of walkers. While five of you fought, the walkers off Eugene tried to help, but the accident ended up shooting the army rank several times, causing it to stop working, which meant the only option now was to travel by foot.

Abraham slows his pace to walk beside you; he nods his head in the direction of Glenn. “He’s a persistent son of a bitch, I get while you’re following him.”

“I’m not following him just to help find Maggie. Our people were more than just someone to survive with; we are a family. My brother, nephew, and Daryl are still out there, along with the rest of our friends. Me and Glenn can’t stop looking for them.”

“Do you really think you’ll find them?”

You don’t answer his question. The last few days have been hectic, and you couldn’t allow yourself to think that you won’t ever find them.

Abraham changes the subject. “I didn’t have you down as a hunter, but damn those squirrels you caught last night went down a treat. Your father taught you to hunt?”

A small smile pulls on your lips. You found hunting extremely difficult morally, but when Daryl had his arms wrapped around you to show you what to do... It was the safest you’ve felt in a king town. “No, Daryl taught me to hunt skin and gut animals, so you can thank him when we find him. I used to be vegan before the world went to shit.”

He laughs, “Well, those days are long now.”

Abraham was right; you ate whatever was possible now.

You make polite small talk and learn more about the mission until Tara starts laughing. “I can’t believe I still have this,” she pulls a wallet out of her jacket pocket. She chuckles to herself while opening it up, “Three dollars and an expired voucher for grocery shopping.”

“Never know, it could go up on a museum wall one day.”

Her smile fades when she pulls a Polaroid photo out of one of the slips. Tara goes to say something, but her breathing becomes shaky. “I never saw her after... I kept thinking she might have ended up like my sister, or she’s alone and hurt, or…”

Glenn gives her a sympathetic look. “Who is she?”

“My girlfriend Alisha... I think I saw her body at the prison, but the more I think about it, the more I’m unsure if it was her.”

You understood how awful not knowing where everyone was felt. With the attention of somehow trying to comfort her, you walk closer but come to an abrupt halt when you see the picture she’s holding. You feel warm, a painful knot forming in your stomach. Tara’s girlfriend was the woman who put Hershel on his knees; she was the woman you shot and killed at the prison.

—

When night falls, you take turns keeping watch, and right now it was currently your turn. Abraham picked a spot that was surrounded by thick trees and bushes, keeping you out of view of anyone who may walk by the train tracks. You had bundled Jace up in a T-shirt and your jacket to keep him warm. Your back was pressed against a tree so you could securely place him between your legs.

You let out a deep sigh. Rosita, Eugene, and Abraham had all fallen asleep while Tara and Glenn spoke quietly. Finding the picture earlier had really upset the brunette, and you felt so guilty that she was continuing to torture herself by imagining all the different things that could have happened to Alisha. If it was someone you cared about, you’d want to know the truth.

“Tara, I need to tell you something. I... I, Alisha, she's gone. She’s dead.”

The look in her eyes, she knew. She knew it was you before you'd even told her. “How would you know that?”

“I killed her.”

Tara blinks away her tears, then shoots you a death glare. “You killed my girlfriend?”

“I didn’t know who she was, not until I saw the photo earlier.”

“So you just killed someone and didn’t think about them again?” Tara scoffs; she shakes her head and looks away from you. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Hershel was a good man. He was a stranger who saved my nephew's life. He let us into his home. Your girlfriend dragged Hershel, an old man with one fucking leg, from the back of a car and forced him to kneel on the ground to be slaughtered by that sociopath in front of his own daughters!” Your vision becomes blurry with tears. “When I came face to face with her, I didn’t think twice about killing her, and no, I didn’t think about her again, not until I knew who she was. I’ve only told you so that you wouldn’t spend the rest of your life wondering what happened to her.”

She takes a moment to process everything you’ve just said. “If you could, would you have done things differently?”

“I found my baby alive next to the body of a boy who had been shot in the chest. Some asshole who attacked us in our own home put a goddamn bullet in a child and then continued to attack my people.” Using the sleeve of your jacket, you wipe at your eyes and nose. “I don’t know who killed him, but I don’t regret doing everything I could to stop my son from being one of those kids.”

Silence falls over the camp; nobody dares say anything. Tara walks off, and Glenn follows her. Feeling eyes on you, you turn your head to see Rosita, Abraham, and Eugene staring at you.

—

The next morning, everyone remains quiet as a mouse as you continue to follow the trail tracks. The only real noise was Jace babbling while you tried to get him to say mom or mommy. You decided it was best if you hanged back from the others, just close enough that you wouldn’t fall behind.

Glenn looks and observes you for a moment before slowing his pace to match yours. “Can I ask you something? It’s about Jace.”

“Sure.”

“Did Hershel ever check his ears out?”

“He did," you didn’t like thinking about it. “Hershel thought Jace’s eardrums got damaged from being exposed to so many gunshots and explosions when he was first born, but it’s hard to know for sure. He thinks his right side is more damaged than the left.”

Glenn’s brows pull together with confusion. “How’s that possible?”

“Maybe a gun went off on his right side... I should have done more to—“

“Don’t,” Glenn cuts you off. “Everything you do is for him.”

—

You can’t help but smile proudly at Jace; hearing him say mom filled your heart with so much warmth. You kiss his cheeks multiple times and say, “I’m so proud of you, little man.”

Daryl and Rick would be so proud.

You look from Jace to see what was in front of you, and you gasp in surprise. There was a wooden post with a map pinned to it, leading the way to a location called Terminus.

“Holy shit,” the map had a message written on mud left on it. “Glenn, Glenn. It’s a message from Maggie. Her, Bob and Sasha are alive.”

“Oh my god!” He comes up to look for himself and notices you are crying; he kisses you on the cheek. “If they are alive, then so will the rest of our people.”

Tears of happiness brim in your eyes; all you needed to do now was make it to Terminus.

#tomorrow’s promise #the walking dead #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon #daryl dixon/you #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #Daryl Dixon/reader #daryl dixon fanfic #tomorrow’s promise 4.07

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simping-on-the-daily · 5 months ago

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Some Kind of Angry Beaver

Summary: The Wolverine’s massacre has made you lose everything. Your friends are dead, you’ve left home, and the world’s hatred for mutants grows worse. You promise to yourself you’d have a few words to him if you meet again, and you do, at one of the shady bars where you both grieve your losses.

Notes: Reader is a mutant and was with Wolverine for a brief time, very very brief implications of sub!Logan. Not romantic anymore, and yes the title is from ERB deal with it. Worstie is a lot more sad and pathetic since this is early post!slaughter, gender neutral reader, not beta read we die like this universe’s X-Men, I wrote this in a day and it’s absolutely gonna show

Warnings: Logan killed some of Reader’s friends in his rampage, story is based on grief and death, mutant racism, Logan tries to kill himself but he comes back dw, and a whole lotta swearing

Before you met him, you had no clue what a wolverine was.

You’d barely heard of it, having skipped over it in some animal documentary to focus on more interesting animals, like sharks and alpacas. When you passed by a bar with a few cage fights, you heard the name Wolverine for the first time. When looking at the man’s body, admittedly luscious hair with canines and claws, you had assumed a wolverine was some type of dog or cat, before nailing it down to a wolf. Wolverine, wolf, they just added some more syllables to make a difference.

“It’s a weasel.” The man who you now knew was called Logan answered curtly upon your question, looking away from the bed which smelled of steamy intimacy from last night, and thus, turning away from you, who was on the other side, putting your clothes back on.

“That doesn’t seem very threatening,” You quipped back, putting your shirt on. “The fuck’s a weasel gonna do to the lucky guy?”

Logan gave a quick grunt. “They should be more worried about what I’d do to them.”

“If you can avoid their little collars, that is. Fucking bastards and their dampeners.” You said with a sarcastic sigh. The Senate was trying to make them more commonplace, and though the clapback was fierce, you were still a bit wary.

He gave a quick hmph, and that was that.

You stayed together for a few months. It was unforgettable, to say the least. Watching that man squirm under your touch was an accomplishment for the ages, and the moment you made tears come out of his eyes you did a little victory dance in your brain. You bought him dogtags and things you thought he might’ve liked, while he defended your honor in your ring, beating the shit out of anyone who dared to shittalk you.

“You shouldn’t have, sweetie,” You jokingly answered, upon noticing that his knuckles were still dripping red after passing by a beaten guy carried by his friends, making small comments about how dumb he was. You noticed some scars subtly close in, and turned away, pretending you saw nothing. “His ego can’t take another hit.”

“Can yours?” He answered, and your only response was a pinch of his cheek.

Of course, it didn’t last. Nothing bad happened, you simply just went in other directions. Logan kept hopping between different clubs with cage fights, and you settled in a small town and made a life there. You never forgot how it felt to touch him, but you’d seen him in action. Dude could do just fine.

You got a job, and got your own group of people. Majority of them were human, but like hell if that mattered. You shared good drinks of booze together and you cared for them. Brittney gave birth to a child, and god that kid was the cutest, fattest little fucker you’d ever seen. A few years had passed since you’d met Logan, and by then you were content. Your abilities were accepted, you’d gotten your own little found family, and you comfortably nested yourself in the community.

Brittney and her new fiancé, Ken were going to NYC for a vacation, and trusted the rest of you with their child. For the best, you know now.

“The X-Men are dead. You should be staying here.” Charlie said, crossing his arms to the couple. He wasn’t exaggerating, the X-Men were dead. Their mansion was ransacked and their bodies were fucked. You remember holding in the urge to puke, as the censoring on the news was done horrible, all the guts and gore visible. Jayden didn’t, you remember, running to the toilet and letting out a combination of a vomit and sob.

“We can’t just cancel. I promise, we’ll be safe.” Ken said, though it was obvious he was nervous. “That money can’t just go down the drain, and we’ve shortened it to just two days.”

“The fuck’s the point on going a vacation, then?” You spoke up, eyebrows raised. Brittney looked at me, before back to her now crying baby, probably from all the arguments.

“I have a gun for a reason.” Ken shrugged, and you and Charlie died down. You knew you weren’t gonna win.

“Just….keep Hope safe, alright?” Brittney’s query ended the conversation, as you nodded before giving her a hug. Charlie left the premises, and later you’d see him in the casino, trying to drown out the worry you felt.

You should’ve pushed more. You should’ve tied them to a fucking chair, drugged them with some sleeping pills or whatever. Anything to prevent what happened. But you can’t turn back time, that wasn’t your mutant ability, and now your friends are dead.

So many people were dead.

You spent three days in lockdown. All from some….monster, indiscriminately slaughtering everyone in a path that couldn’t be determined. New York was fucked, Brittney and Ken were fucked. You saw their names on a list of casualties. Jayden wailed for the loss, and you let out a few tears yourself. This shouldn’t have happened, this shouldn’t ever have happened.

The three days ended, but it felt a lot more like an eternity of Hell. Your town wasn’t touched, but you still saw so much blood as you left your home. Nothing changed and yet it all changed. This didn’t feel like home, not anymore.

When the news told you the culprit of this massacre, you couldn’t resist the urge this time. You puked in your toilet, tears running down your face. Your friends were dead to someone who you knew, who’s cheeks you gently pecked. The hands that you once held were used to slaughter Brittney and Ken and so many innocent people. Logan had killed your friends, had killed you in a way.

The bodies were returned, and you cremated the couple at their funeral. You still had some tears to cry, face blank as you stared at their urns. That was your second last day in that town. Everyone hated you now, your mutant powers were despised once more after Logan fucked everything up. No-one looked at you normally anymore. Their gazes were full of hatred and prejudice and pity and god you fucking despised it. With the knowledge that Charlie adopted Hope and Jayden had absolutely run out of tears, you left, wiping your face as the downpour consumed you.

You passed by, traveling across without a goal. You became closely acquainted with the train and bus, and you once more learned to hide your powers, something that you never thought you’d have to do again. Any progress people might’ve been working on towards total acceptance went down the drain, organizations quickly scrambling to make speeches about how ‘one mutant shouldn’t define an entire race’. You would’ve agreed, but the carnage was massive and you still saw dried blood on some walls from the Wolverine’s rampage is you looked closely enough.

After it rained again, you sought refuge in one of the nearby bars. It smelled of shit of booze, and you took a seat near the front.

“Whatcha want?” The bartender asked, gruff in his voice noticeable, and you thought for a second, looking at all the glasses behind him.

“Second heaviest thing you got.” He nodded, and quickly poured some beer in a glass. You had him a note before drinking.

You comfortably fell in the routine, sitting in silence, all the other conversations providing ambiance to your casual misery. Then, like a lightning strike to a tree, it just had to end.

The door opened again. You didn’t care, but when all the conversation stopped, you looked up. You retched upon seeing the fucker’s face, and moved farther away from the door until you were on the opposite end of the counter.

Logan either didn’t notice or didn’t care, sitting at the counter. “Fuck off,” The bartender almost snarled. “We don’t want ya kind here.”

Logan pulled out a few coins. “Not a paying customer?” He spoke, as if he was ignorant to all the shit he pulled just a few weeks ago.

The bartender grunted, pouring him a glass of wine that was obviously cheap and old. The mutant accepted it anyway, taking a long sip. He shouldn’t be enjoying himself, you thought with disdain, he should’ve been rotting in Hell without a drop of drink and no flames to light up a cigar.

The ambiance stopped, no-one wanting to talk while the beast was around. For some fucking reason, you didn’t move from your seat, and so you were just a few meters away from the ex who took so much from you.

After five drinks, you had enough. You got up from your seat and left some change behind as a tip. A more conscious you wouldn’t have tipped someone who was likely a mutant racist, but you weren’t really thinking. You wanted out, you wanted away from the monster, you wanted away from that bloody wolf.

You walked a few steps away from the building when Logan came approaching you. You paused in place, perhaps by the audacity of his actions.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened, but you gave a small growl, turning them narrowed again. “For what?”

“I wronged you.” You always did need observational skills to become a good tracker.

“Their names,” You shot back with a snarl, “Were Brittney and Ken, and they were heading to New York. They did nothing to you. And you still killed them.”

“I did. I’m sorry.” He repeated, as if that would make it any better.

“I don’t care if you’re sorry!” You yelled out, pointing a finger towards the other mutant as you took a step forward. “You slaughtered my friends you fucking bastard! You lost your family, big whoop, what right does that give you to make mine too, you bloody prick?!”

You had thought about this type of scenario before. You wouldn’t give him a verbal beatdown, no, you were too classy for that. You’d say one sentence that would crush his resolve and leave him astounded as you walked away, knowing that your friends were at peace. But you were drunk and angry and your family was fucked over because of this one man, and so you went on, like a lion going overkill when it finally encountered their prey.

“I wish I never fucking met you! It’d be sooooo easier if you were just some psycho rando, but I fucked you! We slept in the same bed and I kissed you and god I fucking knew you. You were one of the X-Men, you were supposed to save the world, but all you do is make things worse!” You sobbed, dropping your hand to your side as they shook.

“And it’s god’s greatest wish that you die alone and scared, just like your fucking victims, but it’s also god’s little gift that you can’t die! And you just had to in-fucking-flict it upon all of us! All you do is make things worse for everyone, you ruined everyone’s life, you ruined my life, god fucking damnit!” You put your face into your hands and sobbed. You must’ve looked so pathetic, having this breakdown on the road in front of your murderous ex.

“I should’ve tried harder.” You murmured weakly to no-one in particular. “I should’ve stopped them. Shouldn't have relented when Charlie did. Should've done more……” Tears and hands muffled your voice. “But I didn't and now they're fucking dead.”

You finally looked up, and just like you, Logan's face was covered in tears. Good, you thought. Let him suffer.

“Should've been there for them.” You didn't expect him to talk. “Should've gotten off my ass and done something. And now they're ten feet under cuz’ I didn't.”

A stray sob escaped your throat again, looking at him, covered by rain and tears and now the moon was out. “Guess we both fucked up, huh?” You tried to smile, head tilted, with it only just looking broken and fake.

“They'd all be disappointed.” Logan confirmed somberly, as he thought back to Colossus and Professor X and Scott, all too aware of their hypothetical reactions if they knew of his actions.

“The X-Men were supposed to be heroes, weren't they?” You looked up at the stars, and held a hand up like you were trying to catch them. “But you were always the best at what you did, and what you did was never heroic. You told me yourself.” Answering your own question, your hand flopped to the side again. The stars didn't feel so luminescent, not right now.

Logan gave a small grunt, trying to wipe away his tears. “I know. I'll carry it for the rest of my life. It's what I deserve.”

“It's what you deserve.”

You spoke at the same time, before you gave a fake small chuckle. “God, you're fucking horrible.” You paused for a second, letting out another pretend giggle. “Thanks for telling me what a wolverine was, Logan. Cuz’ I know that you’re the fucking worst one.”

You lunged forwards and punched him in the cheek. It hurt like hell, and Logan didn't flinch, but fuck did it feel good.

“Fuck you, Logan. I hope you rot in Hell, you bitchin’ bastard.”

He only nodded, tears still cascading down his face as you stormed away and walked away, just like you did to your home.

You found yourself sitting on a bench, still raining and still wet from your encounter. Your ass was fucking freezing. Maybe you deserved it for being such a bad friend. You wouldn't be here if you had been there for Brittney and Ken. You had a lot of tears in your body, you realized, as you sobbed once more, grieving the loss of everything you once had. God, you hated beavers.

Logan hated himself too. That should’ve made you feel better, but it didn’t. You were still just as empty and sad as you were this morning, just this time you were drenched and drunk. You looked up at the stars again, and though they were still just as dull as they were when you encountered Logan, you still gazed anyway. They were all you had left.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Logan rushed into the dump he called a home, a retch stuck in his throat as he frantically searched. Your words were repeating once more, becoming one with the fucked up chorus that was his mind, mocking him for even considering that you’d want him back. It was a passing thought that he immediately disregarded, but the voices milked it, acting as though he’d been pining over you for years.

He’d never forgotten you, you were important to him. But you moved on, and so did he, and he tried to shoot his shot with Jean. But Jean’s dead, and you weren’t, and you hated him. As you should, he didn’t blame you, he hated himself. And yet it somehow stung.

The cacophony roared with laughter at his turmoil, and he clutched his head, praying they’d get out. He couldn’t handle your voice, he couldn’t handle Jean’s voice he couldn’t handle Colossus’ voice he couldn’t handle Scott’s voice he couldn’t-

Finally, he found it. He snatched the gun that was hidden in the sofa, a desperate last resort who times like these, when they wouldn’t stop. His finger stroked the trigger almost tenderly before putting it to his head.

“You know this isn’t gonna work, right?”

“Bro forgot he has a healing factor. Did all that killing make him braindead or what?”

“You don’t deserve to die. You deserve to live with this for the rest of your life.”

He knew that. He deserved all this pain, but Logan was never the paragon of morality. He was a selfish prick, who ruined everything he touched and yet he was the last one standing. But he wanted the voices to go, he wanted them to stop, and he wanted to stop crying because God it’s just been a dam breaking on his face since you yelled at him.

He was alone, and he was scared. Just like you wanted him to be. He embraced the trigger, and felt tranquil as the surge of bullets went through his brain.

It was only serene for a few minutes, but for Logan, the worst Wolverine who killed so many innocents, who ruined any chances of the world accepting mutants, who drunk so much it got his family killed and still drunk? Even a second of that serenity was a touch of heaven that Logan didn’t deserve.

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #james howlett x reader #x men x reader #simper scribbles #worst wolverine x reader

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redrose10 · 1 year ago

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I hope everyone is enjoying the story. I do appreciate all the feedback! Here is Chapter 8. I feel like this one is going to create more questions than answers. Next chapter in a few days.

This chapter and the next one will touch on some darker subjects so I highlighted the specific trigger warning in red. In the story it’s not really detailed or any thing but I still wanted to make it known just in case.

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word count: 3,608

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

You thought about going back in to speak with Yoongi but after what he did and what you said you decided it would be best to have some space for a while. After calming yourself down enough that you could finally breathe you headed over to Jimins. You sat on his couch clutching the photo album to your chest still sniffling every so often.

“Ahh I see he still gave you the gift.”, he said placing a bottle of water down in front of you.

“You knew about this?”, you asked wide eyed.

He took a seat next to you and began rubbing your back. “Yeah he came to me one day and asked if I had a way to contact anyone in your family. He’s been working on it for a couple months. When he finally got the book he was so excited. Seriously it was weird to see him like that. He was also so nervous to give it to you. He kept asking if I thought you’d like it or if you’d be mad or think it was weird that he did this. I don’t think he’s ever done something like this for anyone before.”

“Jimin he lied to me. He promised me he was changing and that he didn’t sleep with anyone and he slept with some woman named Suri last week.”, you said feeling the tears start up again.

“Did you hear his side of the story?”

“Seriously Jimin? He doesn’t exactly have the best history. I don’t have to hear his side of the story to know it happened.”

“Listen I’m not defending him and I can’t guarantee he didn’t do anything with her but I spend a lot of time with him and I’ve seen a big change in his ways. The way he thinks, the way he talks, the way he acts. I mean I caught the man watching a YouTube video on how to make homemade chocolate chip muffins. I just don’t think that he would do that to you any mo-.”

Before he could finish you stormed off to the spare room. The last thing you needed or wanted right now was for your best friend to try defending the man that intentionally hurt you.

The next morning you did apologize to Jimin for storming away like that. He was letting you live with him after all and you know he’s stuck in the middle between his two best friends so it puts him in a bad spot. Thankfully he was really understanding and didn’t take it to heart.

The weekend passed and Yoongi hadn’t tried to contact you once. Jimin took a couple days off from work the following week claiming to be sick but you figured Yoongi knew exactly why he did that. When Jimin did finally go to work and came home you asked if Yoongi had said anything.

“No he didn’t say anything at all. He’s acting completely normal.”, he said shaking his head.

“So he really didn’t mention anything about me or us or what happened?”

“He just asked if you were staying with me and I said yes. That was it.”

You could feel the tears start to well up again.

“Jimin, if he really did change and didn’t sleep with that woman and he loved me like he said he did, don’t you think he’d be fighting for me right now or doing anything to show me he didn’t do it?”

“Y/N, I think hes already accepted that he lost you and at this point he is just trying to get by. He’s never been the kind of person to chase after someone.” Jimin walked over and wrapped his arms around you.

You sniffled, “Jimin, the worst part of all is that I really started to believed him. I really thought he loved me and I loved him too.”

“I’m sorry Y/N. I know you don’t want to hear this but maybe you could try reaching out to him because I doubt he’ll ever come crawling back to you. But you guys do have to discuss this some time. You can’t just pretend nothing happened between the two of you.”

“I know. I’ll think about it. Thank you Jimin.”

Later that evening he knocked on your door carrying in a bowl of ramen. After you took a few bites he started to speak.

“So I hate to do this to you Y/N but I’ve just been informed that I have to go out of the country for a while. Maybe a couple weeks. Maybe a little longer. Depends on how it goes. I’m really sorry that I have to leave you like this.”

You shook your head, “No it’s okay. I understand. You have a job to do. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.”

“You are welcome to stay here as long as you need and I always have my phone on me.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He gave you another hug before leaving you to finish off the rest of your dinner alone.

Jimin left the following morning and with him being gone now you were left to continue trying to heal alone. You saw the photo album sitting on the dresser and realized you never properly thanked Yoongi for the book. Even though things ended badly he could’ve kept the book and never told you he had it and threw it into a fire or something instead but he had the decency to give it to you. Maybe a tiny part of you also hoped it would force him to say something to you and the two of you could talk.

Throwing on some clothes you called for a car and traveled over to his office building. The receptionist greeted you with a smile, “Hello Mrs. Min. It’s been a while.”

“Yes it truly has. I hope you’re doing well.”She nodded and reached for the intercom, “Mr. Min you have a visitor.”A few moments later there was a beep, “Who is it Areum?”

You gave her a look that you hoped translated to please lie and don’t tell him it’s me or he’ll never let me in. Thankfully it seems she got the message as she reached for the intercom again, “One of your partners.” Not completely a lie on her part.

“Send them in.”

You nodded a thanks and walked down the hall to the large oak double doors. The room was surprisingly warm and inviting. Yoongi was sitting behind his desk reading over some paper work when you cleared your throat. He looked up at you before returning back to the papers.

“What do you want Y/N?”

Suddenly you felt nervous and you were starting to regret even going there.

“Umm I just wanted to come and thank you in person for the photo album. I do really appreciate it. No one has ever done anything like that for me before.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else?” He didn’t even look at you.

You got a sudden rush of confidence and decided to just go for it since it was clear he wasn’t going to bring it up.

“I just thought maybe we could talk about everything that happened?”

Yoongi scoffed, “So now you want to talk about things? Now you want to hear what I have to say?”

“Yoongi you have to understand and see it from my perspective. I was furious and hurt. At the time I didn’t think there would be any possible explanation that you could give me but I’ve had some time to think and I would like to hear your side of the story and then decide. Maybe we could figure out how to move forward together.”

He stood up and walked over to stand in front of you, so close you could smell his cologne. The familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla making your stomach churn.

“I did understand Y/N. I knew it looked bad and how much that message hurt you. My heart broke just at the thought of you having to see that. That’s why I begged and pleaded with you to stay and give me a chance to explain.”

“I’m sorry Yoongi. I was hurt and scared and angry, but I want us to discuss this now.”

“Why does is matter any more Y/N? You said your peace the other day. If you’re always going to just assume the worst of me no matter what I do then what’s the point? Why should I even try to be better? You said it yourself, I’m unlovable. I’m not going to force you to into the miserable life that I’ve created for myself. We’ll go to public events together and pretend to be a happy loving husband and wife and then we’ll go our separate ways until we’re forced to meet again. Maybe you’ll meet someone who will love you like you deserve behind closed doors instead of just for show.”

Before you could speak he reached for the intercom, “Areum please come see Y/N out.”

A few seconds later she opened up the door smiling and gesturing for you to exit. Yoongi leaned up against the front of his desk with his arms crossed. The unreadable expression on his face made you want to cry.

“Oh Y/N before I forget.”

You spun around so fast you were dizzy.

“There’s a charity event happening next Saturday. We’re expected to attend together. A car will pick you up.”

He turned and walked back to his chair taking a seat without sparing you another look.

You quietly followed his secretary feeling the familiar burning sensation in your eyes as tears began to form.

Areum gave you a small smile before again gesturing towards the elevator doors.

“Can I get you a coffee or a bottle of water for the road Mrs. Min?”

Shaking your head you gave a small smile and headed towards the elevator. Once inside with the metal doors blocking you from view you finally let go of the tears you’d been holding in. You’ve never had someone in your life that could make you feel the way he did. One day you hate his existence and the next you’re pinning for him in ways you never thought you would.

You and Yoongi didn’t speak the rest of the week other than the one text you got telling you the details of the event.

When Saturday came around you couldn’t have been less excited if you tried. The thought of being around Yoongi while he ignored you made you want to cry so you weren’t sure how you were going to get through the night with him.

You walked down through the lobby to the waiting car. The driver greeted you before opening the door and helping you in. You stumbled a little when you saw Yoongi sitting in the seat next to you. You fully expected him to arrive separately but there he was.

The ride to the event was silent. Several times you attempted to bring yourself to speak but the words would never come out. The car finally pulled up to the Seoul Museum of Art where the event was being held and you were relieved to be able to get out of the suffocating car.

Once outside the vehicle the familiar feeling of dread hit when you saw all the cameras and droves of people. You jumped a little when Yoongi placed a hand on your lower back. He didn’t say anything but started guiding you up the stairs to enter the building. It was hard to decipher if he was doing this out of genuine concern for you knowing how uneasy the attention made you feel or just as a show for the photographers which made you want to cry even more. Once inside you expected him to run off but he stayed by your side although not speaking to you except to ask if you’d like a drink.

His father came up to you giving you a kiss on the cheek, “I just have to borrow your husband for a little bit. Don’t worry. I’ll return him in one piece.” You smiled and watched as the two walked off and you were left standing alone. You really wished Jimin was there with you but unfortunately he was still away on business so you stood off to the side trying to go unnoticed.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw a man eyeing you. You didn’t recognize him at all and the way he looked at you made you uncomfortable. You were scanning the room hoping to get a sighting of Yoongi or anyone that you knew when you heard a familiar voice.

“Hi Y/N, how have you been?”

“Oh my god, hi Namjoon! Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

“Well this is one of my favorite events of the year.”

You laughed, “Fair enough. How’s the new job going?”

“It’s not bad. I like the work. Just wish I didn’t have to move so far out of the city. You still taking lessons?”

“Yeah here and there. My new teacher isn’t as good though.”

He chuckled, “Well I was one of the best if I do say so myself.”

Playfully you rolled your eyes, “Always so humble Namjoon.”

“Come on Y/N. Let’s go get a drink.”

Noticing the strange man still staring at you from across the room you quickly agreed to follow Namjoon.

A bell rang through the venue signaling the auction was about to begin. Various pieces of art were set to be auctioned off with the proceeds being split between the museum and the local children’s hospital. Even though you wished to stay with Namjoon you knew it would be best for show to sit with your husband. Luckily you were able to easily find him sitting next to his parents. When you walked over you gave a small smile and he removed his suit coat from the seat he was saving for you. A small gesture that made your heart swell.

You happened to look a few rows behind you and you gasped. The same man from earlier was sitting right there staring at you once again. You told yourself it was all a coincidence but something still felt off. Yoongi gave you a questioning look but you ignored it and sat down instead, secretly happy to have him by your side.

The auction was interesting to say the least. You’d never been to one before and you’d be okay if you never went again. You watched as rich people spent a disgusting amount of money on various works of art just because they could. At least it was going to a good cause you thought.

“If there’s anything you want just go ahead and bid. I’m sure Yoongi here won’t mind.”, your mother in law said leaning over her son to get your attention.

“I’ll keep an eye out.”, you said politely knowing that Yoongi would definitely mind.

Through the night nothing really caught your eye anyways. There were a few beautiful pieces here and there but nothing you’d be willing spend that kind of money on. Then the auctioneer announced a one of a kind piece by a young up and coming artist named Hyunjin. You’d seen his work before as most of it included various flowers and this was no exception. A gorgeous water color painting of a large bouquet of blue hydrangeas with just a touch of sparkle when it caught the light just right. Instantly you knew you were going to try and get this one. Before you could even bid though the price shot up to 12 billion KRW. Your mouth dropped open. Even though it was technically Yoongi’s money you couldn’t bring yourself to spend that much on a painting. It did look beautiful though. You hoped that whomever purchased it would treasure it as much as you would.

“Going once, going twice, sold to the gentleman in the fifth row.”, you heard the auctioneer announce.

Feeling movement next to you is when you noticed Yoongi stand and walk down to the front to grab the ticket that he would use to claim the beautiful painting. When he walked back over he handed you the ticket and took his seat next to you without saying a word. You looked down at the ticket and smiled. He had bought the painting for you.

It was amazing how long these events lasted. You felt liked you’d been there for hours and you still had to get through dinner. Yoongi had excused himself and went to sit over at another table where he began talking about numbers and things. You noticed the same man from earlier sitting a few tables over with his eyes still on you as he sipped from a glass of whiskey. Feeling uncomfortable and suffocated you grabbed your clutch deciding you needed some fresh air so you exited through the front door. The cool air felt great. It felt refreshing. You were standing off to the side watching the various people move about when you felt a presence next to you. Peeking over to your right your heart skipped a beat. That same man from earlier was now standing right next to you. “How are you Y/N? I know that you’ve been noticing me all night. Why didn’t you come say hello?”, he asked. His voice nasally making your skin crawl like you just heard nails on a chalk board.

“You’re very beautiful Y/N. Yoongi is a very lucky man.”, he continued. Looking around for an escape you realized that you’d have to walk right past him to get back to the front entrance that you came out of which seemed like a bad choice being that he could easily grab you that way. Instead you decided to try walking around the building because surely there had to be another entrance a long the way. As you made your way around and you got further away from the hustle and bustle of the front entrance, things got quieter. You heard your heels on the cement but you could also hear footsteps behind you. Looking back you confirmed your fears. The walk to the back of the building was significantly longer than you had anticipated and you were really regretting your choice of shoes. You did your best to power walk without breaking an ankle.

Feeling more and more nervous you began reaching into your clutch to find your phone. You were going to call Yoongi or Namjoon or even your in-laws. Anyone to help. The man saw that as a distraction on your part and an excuse to quicken his step running up next to you just before you could turn the corner. He grabbed your arm quickly pinning you up against the cold brick of the building.

He was much larger than you. His cologne was strong and not pleasant, kind of like a wet dog ran threw a perfume factory. He saw you still scrolling through your phone so he grabbed it tossing the device on the ground. “Come on Y/N, we’re not going to do that now.”

“Seriously who are you and how do you know so much about me?”, you asked.

“That’s not important right this moment. What is important is that you let me get what I want without a fight?”

You scoffed, “Someone will come looking for me. They probably already are.”

The man laughed, “You mean Yoongi? Do you really think he cares about you? If he did then he wouldn’t have been cheating on you most of your marriage. He wouldn’t have been hooking up with Suri a week before your anniversary and lying to you about it. He’s probably got one of the waitresses bent over in a bathroom stall right now as we speak. He doesn’t care about you Y/N. Never has and never will.”

You could feel tears begin to form. The man placed his hands on your hips leaning in like he was going for a kiss. Quickly you turned your face away from him. He pulled you a little closer.

“Maybe that Namjoon might care about you from what I’ve heard but I’m sure he knows better than to cross that boundary.”

You continue to try and wiggle free but he had a hard grip on you.

“Please just stop. Let me go.”

“I don’t think so sweetheart. I’ve wanted this for a long time and the fact that you are Yoongi’s is going to make this that much sweeter.”

The man kissed your cheek then your neck. You tried to push him away but he had moved his hands to grip your wrists.

You had your eyes screwed shut so you didn’t even see or feel anyone else come up to the two of you but you heard a loud deep voice speak which startled you,

“Get the fuck away from her.”

“Yeah or what?”

No words were spoken after that but you flinched when the man suddenly fell to the ground after taking a hard punch to the side of his face. You looked down at the unconscious man before turning your attention over to the person that threw the punch.

You stared at him your mouth open in shock, “What are you doing here?”

#bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #min yoongi #yoongi x y/n #bts fanfic #cinnamon&vanilla #arranged marriage au #yoongi fic #bts fic #bts x reader #yoongi au #bts yoongi #yoongi

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poursomesunaonme · 1 year ago

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taste you still !

pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

summary: you've been the o'hara's babysitter for quite some time; miguel thinks it's time for a raise!

wc: 4k

a/n: i have nothing to say for myself - i wrote this in two hours off two glasses of wine LMAO

cw: minors dni (pls have ur age in ur bio)!, age gap (reader is in college), drinking (clear for consent tho), pet names (sweetheart, bunny, conejita, little girl), doggy, oral (fem and male receiving), handjob, 69, biting, edging, scratching, size kink, overstim, nipple play, squirting, modified missionary, finger sucking, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare!

the tv flickers idly across the room as you fiddle with the hem of your skirt. gabriella had been asleep for a few hours. glancing at your phone, you find it’s just past midnight. it’s a warm, friday summer night. a soft drizzle begins to come down outside.

classes just finished for the summer. if it had been any other friday, you’d be out at bars tearing it up with your friends. however, the single dad you nanny for called you in last minute. you didn’t mind.

the moist rainy air from the outside defeats the advances of the air conditioner, and it’s beginning to get hot in the living room where you sit. you’re thankful for wearing light clothes, as it helps with the heat beginning to settle. the warmth and the sound of the rain to help your body settle, and you begin to doze off.

you jump as the lock clicks, signaling the return of your employer. you clear your throat and check your phone before putting it down, acting like you were watching whatever animal documentary was on the tv.

2:26am had blinked across your screen. the father enters the house with a quiet sigh, locking the door behind him.

“hi, mr. o’hara,” you say lightly as he hangs his coat and shakes his umbrella before putting it in a plastic bag to dry off.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says, trying to keep the noise down to keep from waking his daughter as he kicks off his shoes, too tired to care if they land strewn across the floor.

“how was your night?”

“i need a drink.” he chuckles, his footsteps receding into the kitchen to assuage his desire. “do you want one?”

he had never offered you a drink before. of course, you’re of age - it was just uncommon, given your position in his family.

“i, uh…” you stumble over your words. “sure. please. it’s been a long day.”

“i hope gabriella didn’t give you much trouble.” the crackling sound of ice breaking under an expensive scotch drifts from the kitchen.

“no, she was great. she just… she missed you.”

the words unspoken scream that you did as well, but you ignore them. it was delusional to think of him that way, but you couldn’t help yourself for that split second. it was rare to spend more than ten minutes with him when you helped him out with nannying - there was no reason for you to feel such an emotion.

“yeah… i missed her too.”

some underlying meaning laces his choice of words. the sound of his footsteps alert you to his presence before he reaches over the couch from behind you to offer you the glass. you jump slightly, but accept it. he sits heavily next to you, the couch creaking under his sudden weight. you both take a heavy sip of the drink. it slightly burns your throat, but you manage to choke it down anyway.

you’re aware of his identity, as it was necessary to be privy to such matters when taking care of his daughter. you had detailed protocols to follow in case of such emergencies and the like, but that didn’t mean that you would ask about his mission. you assumed the subject was off limits, and that strategy kept you in good graces with the man. instead, he asks you about how the end of your school was, if there was any issue in securing an apartment for the next semester, mundane things and the like.

you answer all of his questions politely. as much as you want to inquire about his missions, you refrain from doing so. he finishes his drink in no time, asking if you’d like another. you eye your drink then finish the whole thing, handing the empty glass back to him.

you swear he mutters “good girl” under his breath. it makes your stomach churn in a way you could have never imagined.

when he sits next to you with the drinks refreshed, it’s much closer. you feel the heat radiating off his body. the alcohol begins to course through your veins, and you can’t control the way your body easily gravitates toward him. you struggle against the muffling feeling, struggle to keep control of your body that so badly wants to be pressed against his.

“oh, did i make a mistake?” he murmurs when he notices your proximity. “want me to order you an uber?”

“no, no, mr. o’hara.” you shake off his offer. “i’m okay. thank you though.”

he pauses, swishing the alcohol in the glass before downing it swiftly. “in that case, i’m gonna go shower. you can leave if you’d like, or you can strip down naked and wait for me in bed.”

so i can finally fucking ravage you is the ending that he wishes to add, but he doesn’t want to scare you.

you’re taking a sip as he speaks, nearly spitting your drink out at his proposition. however, you keep your composure and say nothing as he finishes his drink in one swift gulp and gets up from the couch, leaving a shivering feeling through your skin.

the second he leaves earshot, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

you’re fucked.

it’s like he knows the way you look at him in those minute moments when he leaves and returns from work. it’s like he knows that you continuously brag to your friends about how handsome he was. it’s like he knows that you’ve said countless times that you’d jump him if you were ever given the chance.

but that was all just a silly little crush. you never imagined that he would actually give you the opportunity.

he’d made you an offer you’d be downright stupid to refuse.

which is how you end up splayed in his bed, the cool air of the bedroom chilling your skin. it was the obvious choice. your chest rises and falls with anticipation. the hopes of the man following through with his lewd offer brings on an ever-quickening heart rate. you adjust your position again and again, hoping that each following pose will please him more than the last and help assuage the nervous feeling gnawing in your gut.

just as you chose the simple option to lay back against the pillows with your legs folded delicately together to one side, the shower turns off. miguel doesn’t even bother drying off before he emerges from the bathroom in a dramatic billow of steam, wet gray-streaked hair tumbling into his face. small droplets of water roll off his naked body and splatter against the floor. the musky scent of his body wash hits your nose. it makes you dizzy. combined with the sight of him and the heavy alcohol rushing through your bloodstream, you’re completely susceptible to whatever plans he has in store. you lose your breath at the sight of his tan, toned body approaching you.

“get on your hands and knees.” the way he commands you is almost a detached sigh. you don’t hesitate to obey, however. without thinking, you get up from the position to poise yourself at the end of the bed in the way he ordered. your heart speeds up, pounding against your ribcage. this position already? skipping to the main event? you aren’t complaining, just surprised.

that feeling of surprise continues when you hear his knees heavily drop to the floor and his hands cup the globes of your ass and spread them apart. the cold air hits that warm center and you gasp. you gasp because the feeling is surprising and his lips press between your folds and you gasp because he groans so deeply at the first taste of you.

you’re fucked.

he takes no time to begin diving into every inch of your cunt. you clutch at the bedsheets, wincing at the cold droplets from his hair running down the back of your thighs.

“mr… mr. miguel.” you squeak, unable to muster up the brainpower to say anything else. he works like it’s necessary for him to keep breathing, like he can’t wait to do anything else, like he’s starving, and you’re the first meal he’s come across in days.

“is this okay?” he finally pulls back, drawing a gasp from your lips at the cold air hitting that warm place again. “just can’t… fuck… hold myself back.”

you make the mistake of craning your neck to meet his eyes at his panting candor. his face just barely hovers above your ass, hands still spreading you apart. you gulp at the sight of the shimmer of your essence on his lips. he pants heavily, broad shoulders heaving with the force of his breath. his eyes are gleaming, his pupils blown out with lust. he looks fucking crazy, hair tumbling into his face.

you can feel your face heat up at the sight of him, feel your expression fall as you acknowledge again and again and again: you’re fucked.

a nod is all you can manage to urge him to continue. you turn around and focus on the shiny silk pillows to ground yourself, bracing for the impact.

he merely grunts and dives back between your legs, splattering the last few drops remaining from his dewy skin onto you. it takes everything in you not to collapse when he begins working with an increased fervor. apparently, your words gave him great encouragement, as he intensified the movements, even daring to remove his lips from your folds to plant heavy, open-mouthed kisses on the backs of your thighs - and even daring to nip at the sensitive skin.

before you know it, you sink down into the comforter, fingers whitening in a death grip on the sheets for support. miguel doesn’t seem to notice - he’s too lost in the feeling of the increasing warmth on his tongue, of the blood rushing to where your body deems it to be.

just as you’re about to finish, he pulls back. it draws a whimper from you, but before you can utter a word of complaint, he straightens up and begins to rub his length between the sticky wetness that welcomes him. you whimper at the feeling, pushing your hips back against him as an invitation inside. he wastes no time in accepting, pushing into you once he’s amply coated.

your eyes bulge out of your head and you cry out a stilted moan as he doesn’t stop - not until he’s fully sheathed in you. you sink down fully into the mattress, only supported by his hands when they grasp your waist to hold your lower body upright. the beginnings of claws begin to poke into the meat of your hips. overwhelming feelings circulate through every part of your body. your mind begins to fog over. you can’t differentiate the feeling from the alcohol or the pleasure; they work in tandem.

he doesn’t waist time to begin thrusting into you, more surely than he’s done anything in his life. the rhythm is slow, but deep, and it drives you over the edge in no time. since he left you hanging from the ministrations of his mouth, the movements of his length deep within you shove you over the precipice of pleasure.

“miguel… please, don’t stop.” you whimper. your eyes roll into the back of your head and you feel a great weight press into your back. his lips appear on the shell of your ear.

“don’t hold back for me, bunny,” is the whisper. “let go.”

you do as you're told, whimpers muffled against the mattress as you give into the pleasure, squeezing and convulsing around his length. he licks behind your ear before nibbling on the lobe, drawing an extended moan that takes your breath away. you can’t muster up any words - no praise, no thanks. just incoherent sounds that express the feelings that you can’t articulate with the onslaught of pressure.

"mi conejita..."

miguel continues to rut into you like a wild animal. his body presses flush against your back as his hips move, only going deeper and deeper as he jerks them back and forth. there’s no relief, no breaks you get from his demanding size, from his desire to puncture you deeper and deeper until he finds his own sense of relief.

just as you finish, you think there will be a moment in the trembling of your legs that miguel will spare you. however, you’re wrong. the feeling of you constricting around him ignites a new passion in him, one that results in his lips meeting your neck, your shoulders, your back - one that draws his teeth into your skin.

a gasp escapes at the feeling of him nibbling on that sensitive skin, of the feeling of his hips continuing to mercilessly ram into yours. you don’t want him to stop. your hands clutch as the sheets, begging for some stability from the bed, but it doesn’t come.

instead, miguel’s hands wrap around your chest to pull you up as he straightens up. his grip tigthens as you settle pressed against his sweating, heavily chest. when you’re secured, his hands begin to move. first and foremost, they grab your chin to face him and without hesitation, his lips crash against yours. his fingers squeeze your jaw to pry it open and his tongue shoves down your throat. you whimper against him. he eats the sound whole.

his hands don’t stop once they leave your chin, trusting that your lips won’t leave his. they reach down to pinch and pull your nipples, wander down to rub slow circles into your poor overstimulated clit. the sound of his hips slapping against your raw skin is overwhelming, you can’t help but lean back into his chest for support, his tongue still craving the inside of your mouth. he grunts in surprise when you start to suck his tongue desperately. the sound simmers in his chest as he chuckles.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, little girl.”

you find yourself smiling, find yourself squeezing him as he moves inside, threatening to tear your insides apart.

“fuck,” he moans into your mouth. “christ, you’re tight.”

you moan and whine into his mouth, and he devours those sounds as well. the vibrations only spur him forward, only egg him on to continue ramming his hips into your body. his fingers rub unceasingly against your increasingly sensitive clit.

“i’m gonna-” you manage to slur around his overpowering tongue and teeth. “i’m gonna cum again.”

he groans, lowly and long. it’s a lewd sound, one that sends all the heat from your body straight down between your legs. it’s an encouragement, one that sends you over the edge within a split second. you moan, legs shaking as you begin to collapse onto the bed again. you can’t help the weakness, can’t help the fact that your legs turn to jelly as he rams into you with want and need that you can’t even begin to fathom.

you squeal as a fresh spurt of juices flow from your cunt, flow around his length, and down your inner thighs.

he swears again at the sensation of liquid beginning to run down his length, trickling down his own legs. “shit… shit… i-i need that. i need you to do that again.”

he pants and pulls out. you gasp at the empty feeling, but he doesn’t give you much time to process it fully before he lays down on the bed and snatches your waist, pulling you over to align your hips with his face. before you can utter a word of objection or acceptance, he yanks you into his face, burying himself in the warm grave of your cunt.

you throw your head back and moan weakly, tired and overstimulated from the last orgasms, but he doesn’t stop. his ministrations are unyielding, even when you plant your hands against his hips to steady yourself. his hard length stands in front of you, just barely out of reach of your mouth. you can’t help yourself from drooling at the sight, of precum spilling from the tip and mixing with your juices that still dribble down the veins.

you try to move forward, but he pulls your hips back stubbornly, shoving his tongue into you. you whimper, opting you reach your hand out to wrap around and pump his length until you can get your mouth on the impressive sight. he slows as he realizes what you want to do. he knows how much bigger he is than you. he slides up the pillows to sit up, closing the distance between you and your prize until your lips suckle on the tip, drawing a hiss from him. as if an attempt to silence the sound, his teeth sink into your asscheck.

“fuck,” you groan as the teethmarks in your skin join the bitemarks he left on your neck, back, and shoulders, still fresh and throbbing. you attempt to shake off the feeling and start to bob your mouth up and down on his length, drooling over the musky taste of his precum when your tongue trails down the base, every vein drawn like a map under your tongue.

he doesn’t let you indulge yourself for long before he jerks your hips back against his face once more, drawing your mouth from his length with a soft pop. you moan in indignation, attempting to lunge back to continue your work. however, miguel’s grip on your hips, the nails beginning to dig in the muscles, successfully stops you.

instead, you pump down his shaft, hoping that you’re pleasing him as much as he’s pleasing you. another wave of pleasure rolls over you, and you can’t help but whine at the vibration of miguel’s moans as he gulps down the juices that flow heartily from your center. his dick twitches in your palm.

“please…” you whimper. “please fuck me… please…”

“no” is the simple answer. “you’re cumming on my face, mi conejita.”

your cheeks heat at his unashamed lewdness, at how he so easily expresses his desire for you. how long had he been feeling his way? how long had he wanted to ravish you like this? he seems so resigned to his desires that he just can’t help himself anymore.

he gets his wish soon enough, pulling you so far onto him that his nose dips into your entrance, triggering an explosion of pleasure within you. he groans as your legs begin to shake around his face, as you give up on pumping his shaft because you can’t focus on anything else but not losing your mind at how good he makes you feel.

miguel doesn’t give you a reprieve in his agenda, slapping your ass twice to signal a position change before you can even catch your breath.

“get up,” he growls, and you obey. he pushes you down on the bed in his place - the pillows are still warm from where he sat, still damp from the juices running freely down his face and jawline to soak the sheets. without hesitation, he grips your calves and throws them over his shoulders. you’re completely powerless underneath him when he pushes into you fully, not waiting a split second to begin ramming into you, even deeper than before.

it’s nearly unbearable, especially when he grabs your wrists, crosses them with a single hand, and holds them over your head before his lips crash onto yours. your moans pour into his mouth, and he takes them without a second thought, returning them with equal fervor. each pound of his hips forces water droplets from his damp hair onto your shaking body. the way he presses down into you, the way the weight of him presses your thighs against your chest, the stretch aching, the opening angle of your hips for him to ram deeper into your warmth… it’s too much.

tears bead at the corners of your eyes when you open them to find him watching your face, even as he’s shoving his tongue down your throat. you feel the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile at the sight of you so weak with want, with desire. he looks fucking feral.

he pulls back, watching your reaction as he turns his head to press sloppy kisses to your calves, nipping at the skin. welting bumps appear under his mouth, like he’s decorating you in just the fashion he likes. when he’s finished, his lips crash onto yours again. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t show mercy, not even when you’re babbling for him to continue, to push you over the edge once more.

“i gotta…” he pants, finally drawing back from your lips to examine your whole body shaking against the rough motion of his hips bulldozing into you. a single line of spit still joins your lips. “i gotta taste you still… fuck.”

he thinks for a moment before his fingers dive between your folds, gathering an ample amount of essence before he raises them to your mouth, spreading the liquid across your lips. you can barely function at the lewd sight, even when he presses his fingers into your mouth, leading your tongue to swish around them and lap up every last drop. his face contorts when your lips close around his digits, sucking his digits dry.

his mouth crashes against yours, exploring every bud in your mouth with renewed fervor at the flavor of your cunt all throughout your mouth. you realize he had let go of your hands and you use the freedom to latch your nails into his back, clawing it to ribbons. he thrusts into you with refreshing vigor, spurred by the satisfaction of your taste, at your nails sinking into his skin, and the warm, pulsing feeling of your cunt around his length at the same time. he doesn’t last long, doesn’t make it much more time before he moans and whimpers into your mouth, warm cum spilling into you. he removes his mouth from your kiss bitten lips and opts to bite into your neck, so hard you’re afraid you’ll bleed - but it’s enough to send you tumbling over the edge with him. but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s groaning against you, fucking the last bit of himself into you, slowing his hips more and more.

when he’s finally finished, you squeeze your arms around him, removing your nails from his skin, welcoming him an embrace for him to collapse into. he accepts the invitation graciously, his full weight pressing upon you as your legs fall from their position on either side of his hips.

he sighs into your neck, into the satisfying feeling of his cum beginning to ooze from your warmth, down your ass, spilling onto the bed. there’s a few moments of wordlessness, the only sound echoing the room is breathless panting.

“well, consider this payment for watching gabi tonight?”

you laugh at his offhanded comment that breaks the silence and press a kiss onto his heaving shoulders.

“no, i’m still expecting the same rate.”

“in this economy? times are changing, sweetheart.” he raises his head to meet your eyes as you laugh. “i hear this is the new salary. don’t tell me you’re that opposed.”

“i’m not… of course not.” you laugh nervously. he chuckles at the sight of you getting so flustered. he swiftly rises, pulling out of you so fast that you barely have time to process it before he gets warm rags and towels from the bathroom.

he comes back and kisses your forehead gently, wiping the residue of the wild night from your body. it’s a tender gesture, one that you didn’t expect from the rugged creature. however, it’s not unwelcome.

“well, if you’d like to stick with me, i’m sure there will be some benefits in the future, if you’re willing to stay on.” he pauses and grins. “and it’ll be nice to have you here in bed in case i get called out in the middle of the night. you always sound so pissed at me when i call to wake you up.”

he dries off your wet skin with a towel before letting all of the material fall to the ground, forgotten. his body curls around you, the overwhelming size and warmth of him surrounding you.

you smirk, letting out a giggle at the continuation of the joke, heat pooling in your cheeks from the easy closeness he pursues with you. “of course, mr. o’hara. i don’t think anyone else could match such a wonderful deal.”

divider by: @/ffffffaatality

@dilftaroooo come n get it !

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x you #tw age gap #🪐beanie writes!

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cobaltperun · 1 year ago

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Lost (19) - Where I belong

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 4.1k

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-So take my slow beating heart, you are where I belong-

You stood in front of two gravestones, feeling ashamed that it took you this long to come here. “Sorry I’m late, I didn’t bring anything, didn’t feel like I deserved to,” you still knelt down to pull some grass that began growing around the two graves. No one really attended to them, they had no one, after all. In this huge city Susan’s life stopped when she lost Zack, and she no longer had anyone that might take care of the graves, no close friend, no family. She only had her memories and, ever since you brought Tara and Sam to Sacramento, she had you and Tara. “Tara would have come as well, but, I have to deal with someone, I didn’t want to put her in danger or leave her alone here,” you explained, remembering the resigned acceptance on Tara’s face when you told her what your plan was.

“Thomas… he brought up something, he said you were the only one who would choose me over anyone else,” you said, digging your hands into the pockets of your coat, it was getting a bit cold, and a strong wind blew in your face, forcing you to squint a bit. “I’ve been thinking about that. Somewhat. Would I have acted any differently last year if I knew you’d be in danger?” you didn’t have the answer. On one side you knew you cared about Susan even back then, simply because of the time you spent with her and Zack and, more importantly, because she was Zack’s mother. On the other side Tara was in danger.

“What-ifs are pointless anyway,” you spoke. It was a stupid question, a one or the other question where you’d be forced to choose. How ridiculous. Life wasn’t as simple as that. Take last year for example. At first glance it was a choice between Tara and Susan, but you did have the third option, San Francisco, where your gym at the time was. Or simply a hotel, if that didn’t work, if you knew you’d be putting Susan in danger you simply would have taken Tara somewhere else. Hell, just taking her to your apartment would have been a good way to keep her safe.

You still felt like you caused her death, even if you kept telling Tara and Sam they weren’t to blame for what happened you somehow failed to take your own advice. No wonder those two had such deep issues. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this, for not being there when you needed me,” you said as several tears slid down your cheeks. “I should have told you so many things,” you told her you loved her in a voice mail sent long after she was dead. Life had a funny way of being cruel sometimes and you would forever regret not telling Susan you loved her, she deserved to hear it every time you talked to her, every time you saw her, every time you had the chance, you should have told her those three words.

~X~

The house hasn't changed much since you turned eighteen, you saw they changed the doors, but other than that, it was exactly how you remembered it, at least from the outside. A three-story house that screamed 'we're rich!' to anyone passing by, with its over-the-top fence and decorations, and the damn marble lions looking down on whoever went through their gate.

You typed in the code, your father's birthday, disabling the locks on the first try. Of course, those two wouldn't bother to change it. You were just happy you managed to remember it. And so, you came inside the house and sat down in the living room, waiting for the parents to come back home. You looked around, the house was the same on the outside but on the inside? Brand new furniture. More expensive than comfortable, really, but you just closed your eyes and waited. If you looked at it for too long you were worried you'd start breaking things.

An hour later the doors opened, and you heard your parents laughing, joking about whatever they found funny that day. This was one of the reasons you felt so suffocated in this house, because, almost as if to convince you that you were the problem and not them, they were loving to one another. Laughing, singing praises of one another, exchanging words of affirmation, but never quite choosing to express their feelings through touches. Now that you thought about it maybe that was why you were so adamant about having Tara in your arms as often as you could, why touch was your preferred love language for her specifically. The instinctual need to be the opposite of your parents in as many ways as you could be.

"Long time no see," you enjoyed seeing them jump when they saw you, they looked like they saw a ghost, they looked afraid. Good, you wanted them to be afraid, you wanted them to have nightmares of you coming after them. "I'd say it's a pleasure to be here again, but we both know it's not."

"Y/N," your father spoke, and you saw him taking a step back. Funny how you never noticed just how little it took to startle him. He would have been less than average if he wasn't born into money, in fact, from what you read in Gale's brief research on the company it was in decline for years now, only surviving on old reputation and questionable deals. The fact that you and Zack were his children pissed you off.

"Let's be quick about this. Thomas is dead, I'm very much alive despite your efforts and I want to be left alone, so don't try to hire another hitman to kill me or my loved ones," you spoke evenly.

"Or else what?" he acted like he actually could negotiate anything here.

You stood up, and while you lost some muscle due to coma and slow recovery you could still look intimidating enough. "I die and your entire reputation is done for. I revealed everything, one wrong move and it all goes public," you saw fear in their eyes as you walked past them. For good measure, you stopped at the front door and turned to glare at them. "Six people came after me, one way or another, all six are dead and I don't mind adding a few more to that list. I'd just prefer not to dirty my hands with your blood unless I have to," you left no doubt that you would if needed. “I don’t care what your reasons are, just try to touch Tara, or anyone else I care about, just try to interfere in any way, and I will not stop until everything you ever created was gone. Your company, this house, any property you have, your reputation, and then your lives, there won’t be anything left.”

You wanted revenge for what happened to Susan, but you couldn't prove they hired Thomas.

So, this would have to do, unless they tried again. So, you left the house, slamming the doors behind you and hoping you would never have to hear or see them again.

~X~

You wouldn’t stick around Woodsboro for long, but you did drop by your former bosses to grab a bite and see how they were doing. The old couple did so much for you, renting that small apartment, giving you a job, they deserved your gratitude, but given what happened to Susan, you were cautious, afraid that being associated with you could cause them harm. Still, they were happy to see you, and you were just as happy to hear they were doing well. It was a busy day at the restaurant, and you were glad their business was doing so well, but it also meant they didn’t have time to chat, which was more than okay with you.

While you waited for your meal you went and called Tara, and she answered withing three seconds, which frankly didn’t surprise you.

“Y/N?” you could hear the worry in her voice.

“Hey, I’m fine, they won’t bother us again, they know what’s at stake for them,” you told her, easing her worries as quickly as you could.

You heard Tara sighing in relief and smiled a bit. “Thank goodness! I was losing my mind over here!”

“I’m okay, Love,” you assured her softly, your tone the complete opposite of her panicking, worry filled voice, even now that she heard you were okay.

“When are you coming back?” she asked, and you could imagine her fidgeting in your shirt with Sam trying to calm her down.

You looked around, no one was paying attention to you from what you could see. “I have the flight back in the morning, I’ll head back to Sacramento in an hour and spend the night in the hotel,” you told her, though you kept your voice low just in case. Were there reasons to be worried? Probably not, but you weren’t in top shape, you couldn’t fight that well right now.

“Okay, stay safe, please. I love you, Y/N,” Tara sent you a kiss through the phone and you smiled like a fool.

“I will, I love you too, Tara,” you replied.

“I see you and Tara are still going strong, not that I ever doubted you two,” you heard your former boss say as she brought you the food you ordered.

“Yeah!” you grinned at her.

~X~

Tara was waiting for you at the airport, she even let Sam drive your car because she knew you'd lose your mind over her driving it while you weren’t with her. She couldn't wipe the smile off her face, you called her after you left your parents' house, reassuring her you were perfectly fine and that you'd be on the first flight home. She was still worried, but she trusted you completely. You’d be fine, you knew how to take care of yourself.

Tara still couldn't quite wrap her head around the fact that your parents were involved. Her mother was definitely not a good parent, but as bad as she was, Tara doubted she would hire someone to kill her or Sam. Thomas' words came to her mind and her smile fell. Suddenly she felt vulnerable, surrounded by people she didn’t know. Everything around her felt too loud, too intense, there were too many people, and any one of them could put her and the people she loved in danger. She couldn’t live like that, she couldn’t constantly worry that she would somehow end up in the situation Thomas described. She had to move on, to the best of her abilities, and without parties and alcohol this time. The therapy was helping her, but more than that it was her desire to be as happy as she could be with you that pushed her to get even better. You’d be back home soon, and that thought helped her handle the bustling crowd a bit easier.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked her and placed an arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

Tara wanted to talk to Sam about it, but how could she? How could she say to her sister that she'd feel immeasurable guilt if she had to choose her instead of you? Prior to what happened at the bodega and especially before what happened at the theatre, she would say she'd never have to make that choice. You were strong. So, so incredibly strong, the idea of anyone actually being able to beat you felt unfathomable.

Yes, you technically were beaten when you first fought Amber and Richie, but that was because she was taken hostage and you still managed to get back on your feet and take her to safety. Stabs and bullet wounds, they couldn't stop you. A heart attack couldn't stop you. Even when you were hurt you could keep going, as you have proven time and time again.

When Tara thought of strength, she thought of you. To imagine a situation in which your life relied on her choice was almost impossible. To then add Sam being in a similar situation, and to further all that by saying Tara could only save one of you. It was beyond the realms of possibility to her.

But then you nearly died. Then it took you sixteen days to wake up and several days to even get up. You managed to lift her up off the ground right before you left New York, two days ago, and you struggled. You struggled to lift Tara up. You never struggled to do that, and Tara actually lost some weight since you nearly died. She just found it difficult to eat while you were in a coma, and she was yet to regain the weight she lost.

The image of an invisible MMA fighter was shattered and now Tara woke up, screaming and covered in cold sweat, from yet another nightmare that had you in that ambulance with doctors saying they couldn't stop your bleeding. That they were losing you. More often than not, when she would wake up like that you'd sit up and hug her right away and she could see in your eyes that you were awake long before she'd wake up. She still didn't know if you were having nightmares or if you couldn't sleep to begin with.

So, no. She couldn't say any of this to Sam. "Sorry, I was just thinking," she apologized to Sam, clamming up and refusing to talk. She still leaned to the side and returned the one-armed hug.

Tara noticed you immediately, even among the huge crowd she somehow always easily found you. And from the way you were already heading toward her, she knew it was the same way for you. She ran into your arms and despite some hesitation on her part, she didn't resist when you lifted her up, just a bit easier than when you left. "I don't think we need to worry about those two again," you muttered into her neck, once again reassuring her that everything would be fine in the future as you slowly set her back down.

"Mhm," Tara just relaxed, carefully remembering every detail of your hugs. She basked in the warmth of your touch through one of your shirts she had on. Your scent, your breath against her exposed neck, the firm grip on her waist it was all you and she loved it.

When she separated from you Sam took her opportunity and hugged you as well. "Welcome back," she said, prompting you to smile.

"It's good to be back," you said, and Tara understood you weren't talking just about coming back from Woodsboro. You were still rather thankful for waking up from a coma without any lasting effects on your health. "How's the apartment hunting going, by the way?" you asked.

"We found one, we like it, we think you'll like it as well," Sam said.

Tara, not wanting to leave your side for even a moment now that you were away from her for two days, took your hand and pulled you along.

~X~

By the end of the week, you moved into your new apartment. It had three bedrooms, once again you chose to have one bedroom for the nights someone from your group chose to stay over. It was a bit bare, without much of a personal touch, and you were sure Tara would take it upon herself to change that about it as soon as she got time for that.

You thought the new apartment would chase away the nightmares, at least until you got used to it, but it didn't. Not eve Tara right next to you managed to chase the nightmares away.

You saw them, sitting in Susan’s living room, looking healthy, alive, happy. That’s how it always started, you’d enter the house and see Susan and Zack just like that. And then, as if you were an intruder that interrupted their lives, they’d turn to you and they’d change. They’d morph from how you remembered them into twisted abominations, rotting and carved up and enraged.

And every time Zack would attack you, pushing you back and doing his signature spinning back kick, the move he taught you, the move you adopted as your own signature during your career. It would always send you hitting the wall, and making his gloves fall from it to the floor, and they’d always roll over into your view. He’d then put you in a chokehold, and even if you wanted to you just wouldn’t move.

“Why?! Why did you let my mom die Y/N?!” he would demand again and again, and you’d look up to see the disappointment in Susan’s eyes.

“You killed me, if it wasn’t for you I’d still be alive,” she’d tell you.

You didn’t beg for forgiveness, or to be let go, not anymore. You’d just wake up when his chokehold would make you pass out, covered in cold sweat and breathing heavily.

You couldn't sit up though, instinctively choosing not to wake Tara up, so at least there was that. She had her own nightmares to deal with and soon enough, perhaps twenty minutes after you woke up Tara woke up as well, screaming. So, you immediately pulled her into a hug, her inhaler at ready in case she needed it.

Tara crawled onto your lap and pressed her face against the crook of your neck. "What are you dreaming about?" she asked, almost sounding afraid. In fact, she probably was afraid to ask that questions.

"Susan and Zack, blaming me for Susan's death," you admitted and Tara just hugged you tighter.

"It wasn't your fault. It's none of our fault lunatics want to hurt us," she said, repeating your words right back at you, and you nodded. Reasonably, you knew that, but it would still take a while to have a peaceful sleep.

"What about you?" you asked as you slowly played with a few strands of Tara's hair.

"I have nightmares of you in the ambulance, only you don't wake up this time, you die, I lose you," you felt a tear landing on the skin of your neck and gently kissed the top of Tara's head.

"I'm awake, Love, I heard your voice," even when you were in a coma you were vaguely aware of Tara always being by your side, and when you were ready to wake up it was her voice and touch that sped it up.

Tara pulled away slightly. "About what Thomas said," she began, but you pressed a finger against her mouth.

"It doesn't matter. It'll never happen. The situation will never be so dire," you said firmly, you couldn’t let her get stuck in those thoughts, Tara already had enough to deal with without Thomas’ words fucking with her head. “I will never let anyone force that choice on you!" you promised, and you'd keep that promise as long as you were alive.

Tara took a deep breath to calm down. “I know it’s an unlikely scenario, but still,” she muttered. “I can’t stand the idea of choosing between you and Sam. It feels like I’d give anything up for Sam, other than you, and the same goes the other way around,” she told you, shivering due to the cold. It was December after all.

“I’d scold you if it was any different,” you told her, you didn’t want Tara to ever again go through losing Sam. That was one thing you were absolutely certain of. No matter the cost, you would keep your family whole and that included Sam. You lost Susan, you never wanted to lose anyone else you loved in such a violent way.

Tara nodded. “I know, I’m counting on you to do that,” she managed to smile a bit before kissing you softly and you gently returned the kiss. It took some time, but you were both slowly getting better and talking about your trauma instead of bottling it up.

~X~

A week later you finally settled into your new apartment, and Sam was finally fine with leaving you two alone to go on a, preferably long, date with Danny. He really came through for all of you, bringing the police and paramedics to the theatre, not to mention finding you, which probably saved your life. He mentioned he heard a loud thud and went to check, hoping it was nothing, but there you were, bleeding out next to dead Thomas. So, as far as you and Tara were concerned, he was clear to move in whenever Sam decided she wanted to take that step.

You just stepped out of the shower after a workout, which actually went really well. You finally felt confident enough to get up with Tara in your arms, to carry her whenever she wanted you to, plain and simple you were doing much better now that you were building your strength back up. Your eyes still glanced down at the scar from the rebar when you stepped in front of the mirror. It came in through your lower back and went diagonally, exiting your body just beneath your chest and it was nothing short of a miracle that nothing important was damaged and that only the scar remained. Sighing, you grabbed your clothes and put them on, a comfortable shirt that was a bit loose on you now, since you still haven’t regained all your muscles, and tracksuit pants since you wanted to just relax with Tara.

The moment you entered your and Tara's bedroom she threw her arms around you and pulled you into a kiss. She clutched the back of your shirt and ran her fingers through your hair, tugging gently as she deepened the kiss. You wrapped your arms around her and pulled her as close to you as physically possible.

"So needy," you chuckled when she pulled back for a moment.

"Like you aren't?" she challenged, looking fiercely into your eyes.

"Mhm, I definitely am," it's been too long, way too long since you could just relax and make love to one another. You leaned down, kissing her neck.

"Baby," she moaned when you nipped at the side of her neck and you immediately pulled back, looking at her wide-eyed. Tara blushed but kept looking at you. "Baby, please," she said again, acting as if she never stopped saying that word all the while gently caressing the back of your neck.

There was a reason Amber chose to persistently call Tara 'baby', specifically, you were the reason because Tara would call you like that jokingly whenever you weren't immediately giving in to her demands. She stopped when she got together with Amber and just never went back to calling you like that.

"Say it again," you demanded, lifting her up, taking a few steps to the side and pushing her against the wall.

"Baby," she moaned into your ear as you unbuttoned the top buttons of her, previously your, button-up shirt and yanked it down, and since it was way too big for her it just fell from her shoulders.

"Again, Love," every time she said it you were more and more certain she would be able to completely get over what Amber did to her, that she'd eventually fully heal.

"Baby!" she cried out, maybe even a bit too loudly as you began kissing her bare shoulders and tugging the straps of her bra down.

"You are where I belong Tara," you pulled back, pressing your forehead against hers. She quickly captured your lips, making you both get lost in the passion. When you separated to catch your breath you looked her in the eyes.

It was a demand fueled by lust and desire and need for Tara, all fueled by the love you had for her. Nonetheless, you doubted you ever demanded anything with as much conviction and seriousness. "Spend the rest of your life with me. Marry me," you'd go through all the proper proposal stuff at a more appropriate time, but you couldn't stop yourself from blurting it out.

Tara looked at you just for a moment. Taking the demand in. "Thought you'd never ask," she smiled and kissed you one more time. The pent-up needs, desires and all the emotions, you’d satisfy them all, getting lost in one another until there was nothing else left in to world but you two and your love for one another.

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#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter #scream #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

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