#but yeah.... i have to come back to writing it some day i really like this idea and these ocs......
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To Lean On You | Spencer Reid
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fam!reader
Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.
Word Count: 8.6K
Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other.
A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3
Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:
Hearts by Jessie Ware
The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift
Lost Without You by Freya Ridings
In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles
79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.
70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.
65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started.
Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.
March 4th, 2017
It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds.
Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost.
Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain.
Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go.
Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.
“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”
You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair.
You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.
“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true.
Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.
“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list.
“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.
“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone.
“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment.
You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”
For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?”
“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.
"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.
All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him.
“Emily-” she cut you off.
“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.
“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest.
As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.
“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home.
You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico.
His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.
Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to.
“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”
You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other.
You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped.
You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking.
You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes.
You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been.
“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside.
You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore.
And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.
“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud.
“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did.
“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you.
“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.
“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him.
“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her.
“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.
You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.
“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough.
She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier.
“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking.
“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt.
“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.”
“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.
“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off
“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more.
“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again.
“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say.
“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight.
Spencer’s POV
The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight.
In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him.
Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.
He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive.
He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends.
In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in.
Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take?
His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared.
Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you.
He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.
He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.
Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote.
As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?
“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num.
In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same.
“Do what?”
She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card.
“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again.
Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused.
Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different.
For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit.
Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy.
He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.
And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years.
He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt.
Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown.
Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place.
How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.
Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly.
Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one.
Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth.
And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness.
Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.
Your POV
You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine.
You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both.
There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature.
Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt.
It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled.
Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him.
As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.
It’d either make or break you both.
You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.
You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed.
The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that.
Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time.
Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.
You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.
Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out.
Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.
You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure.
He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn.
70 days of slowly killing you both.
When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.
His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.
Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly.
Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over.
89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did.
When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see.
His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over.
One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out.
“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them.
His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms.
Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation.
“That’s not fair.”
You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.
“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now.
If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned.
You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth.
His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.
“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet.
He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face.
“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry.
He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined.
He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to.
He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him.
Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground.
“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.
Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment.
Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of.
The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes.
And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own.
If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much.
And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline.
You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head.
You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him.
He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you.
You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other.
After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand.
It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent.
“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in.
You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again.
“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice.
You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it.
“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto.
You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head.
“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering.
“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.
“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to.
And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became.
To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace.
He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.
“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it.
“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real.
“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple.
“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?”
"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you.
Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss.
You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.
“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.
He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time.
“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy.
His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process.
If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices.
A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.
“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.
Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived.
“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours.
He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go.
He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching.
It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together.
Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.
When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.
And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered.
“I love you.”
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off the beaten path
pairing: patrick zweig x reader
summary: what could go wrong with a non-refundable honeymoon and a broken engagement?
warnings: MATURE (mentions of sex but no sex scenes), exes to lovers, idiots to lovers angst, fluff, there was only one bed MULTIPLE times, jealousy!! (like a lot), slow burn, no use of y/n, so much use of the word fuck, a little toxicity, some facts about landmarks are inaccurate for the plot, lots of arguing and making up, miscommunication, seasickness, patrick & reader kinda have no social awareness, a lot of hotels and buses, alcohol, hurt/comfort, happy ending.
word count: 18.4k
author’s note: this was so much longer than i expected it to be, but i loved writing it so so much and i'm gonna be sad to see this pairing go! also, a special thank you to the tour website whose itinerary i used for their trip. i hope you enjoy!
JFK AIRPORT
You scrolled endlessly on your phone as you sat at your gate, trying your hardest to fight off the combination of sleepiness and anxiety that had been slowly creeping up on you for the past hour.
You should be happy—excited to spend the next month of your life traveling throughout Europe on the trip that you had dreamt about since you were a child. Instead, you were filled with dread at the prospect of your quickly approaching trip, leaving your leg bouncing and your eyes flitting between the device in your hands and the entrance of the gate, anxiously anticipating the arrival of a man that you really really did not want to see.
Once it was announced that first class was boarding, you quickly hopped out of your uncomfortable seat, hoping that if you boarded quick enough, you might be able to miss your unwanted companion. As you stood in line, you tried your best to be casual about your endlessly swiveling head and wondered if it was too late to simply call the whole thing off.
Boarding had gone smoothly enough, and as you settled into your seat, you still hadn’t seen any sign of your former fiancé. For a second, a spark of hope lit up in you. Maybe you’d get to experience Europe without that pest in your ear after all. Maybe you could even arrange a friend to come fly out and be with you for a few days, or find someone to have a romantic summer fling with.
But just as soon as your hope arrived, it departed with the sound of a familiar voice walking down the aisle and directly towards you.
“They wouldn’t let me switch my seat.”
You couldn’t believe that those were the choice of words the man you’d intended to spend the rest of your life with had decided to start with. After months of radio silence. No apologies, no awkward small talk, no sugar-coated words about your situation, just a complaint about the conditions the two of you would be in for the next eight hours. Classic Patrick.
“That’s too bad,” you replied, already annoyed by his presence. You had underestimated how much of a challenge this trip was going to be, solely based on the speed at which your negative feelings had come to the surface.
“Yeah, no shit,” he muttered under his own breath, putting some luggage into the overhead bin above your seats.
“You’re the one who insisted we still go,” you argued, not wanting him to get the last word—even if his last words were meant to be a snarky comment to himself more than anything else.
“The hotels, tours, and all the other tickets were non-refundable!” he argued right back to you.
“So?” you shot back like a petulant child.
“So I didn’t want to waste your money.”
“Oh, how considerate,” you scoffed sarcastically before beginning once more. “You’re rich! You don’t even have to be here!”
“Just because my family is comfortable doesn’t mean I want to waste my money.”
You openly rolled your eyes at his words. Comfortable was the understatement of the century. “So you didn’t actually want to waste my money. You didn’t want to waste your own.”
“Why can’t it be both?” he asked, sounding exasperated by your line of thinking. You hated when he did that. You kind of hated most things he did now. Maybe you just hated him.
“I never said it can’t be both, I just think you should stop trying to act like you’re so charitable for doing me a favor. As if our relationship wasn’t filled with me doing you favors.”
“Do you really want to be having this conversation right now?” he asked.
“Sorry, you’re right. We have the next thirty-five days to talk about it.”
The two of you sighed in a synchronized breath at the mention of the amount of time you had to spend together. You hated that the two of you were still in rhythm after everything you’d been through. Or maybe you just hated Patrick.
“Who plans a thirty-five day honeymoon anyway?” he huffed.
“Us, apparently. I mean, you were all for it, what? A few months ago?”
“Only because you wanted it.
“Oh, how could I forget. The ever-charitable Patrick Zweig. Taking a month-long break from hitting balls to be with me. I’m forever in your debt,” you mocked with a dramatic hand to your forehead. “At this rate, you’re gonna send me a list of all of the nice things you’ve ever done for me. What do you want me to say? Thank you for doing the bare minimum as a boyfriend?”
“Fiancé,” he corrected you, earning a very nasty side eye from you in the process of doing so.
You were beginning to get dirty looks from your fellow first class passengers, which temporarily shut the both of you up. It was never a good idea to piss off people on a plane. You didn’t want to end up on the no-fly list just because you couldn’t bite your tongue around your ex.
“Remember when you said we could still be friends after this?” Patrick spoke once more after your moment of silence.
“Of course I remember, but you stopped that from happening when you…” your voice trailed off as you made eye contact with a very displeased looking middle aged woman “Whatever. Let’s just… try to get through this flight. And try not to make any more of a scene.”
“Fine,” he replied, shrugging in your peripheral vision.
“Fine,” you said back, not wanting him to have the last word.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That thing where you think you win every argument just because you said the last thing.”
“I’m not doing that,” you lied. “You think you know me so well.”
A familiar agitated smile broke out on his face, something that you unfortunately missed seeing. “I do know you well, though. I see right through you.”
“You actually don’t, though.”
“I do,” he insisted, the smirk creeping onto his face telling you that he knew you were actively proving his point.
“Not really,” you dismissed and attempted to casually pull the headphones that were currently sitting on your neck up to cover your ears. You were always grateful to have noise-canceling headphones when you were traveling, but they were coming particularly in handy for you to win this argument. You tried to hide your self-satisfied smirk as you pressed play on your phone, but you could instantly tell that you were failing.
When you looked back up, Patrick was clearly saying words to you that you weren’t able to hear. Knowing him, he was probably saying something along the lines of, “Real mature.”
The truth was that he wanted the last word more than you did–which made it particularly rewarding when you gestured to your headphones before throwing your hands out in a shrug to indicate to him that you couldn’t hear him.
Your vacation was already off to a chaotic start. You couldn’t help but fear what the next thirty-five days would be like.
BARCELONA, SPAIN
Despite the flight only being eight hours long, you were absolutely exhausted by the time that you checked into your hotel room. So exhausted that you failed to remember to request to switch rooms to one with two beds rather than one.
This predicament only came to the forefront of your mind once you and Patrick had already swiped into the room, suitcases lying on the floor and one king-sized mattress presented in front of you.
“Should I go back down to the front desk?” he asked as he looked from you to the bed.
“I’m too tired to get a new room,” you replied. You could handle one night next to your ex. You’d slept in a bed together for years. Granted, during those years you were also sleeping together, but this wasn’t all that different.
“Fine. Don’t complain if I hog blankets, then.”
“Fine,” you replied. “Just stay on your side of the bed.”
You shucked your backpack from your shoulders and walked over to what was typically the side of the bed where you slept when the two of you had been a couple. Not wasting any time to get ready for bed, you began to take off your clothes and search for your pajamas. Once you glanced over your shoulder, you were quite displeased to find Patrick rather openly ogling at you.
“Stop looking at me,” you demanded.
“What? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He said with a smirk.
“You’re such a creep,” you muttered, throwing on an old shirt and crawling into bed.
As you laid in bed and texted your friends and family that you’d arrived at your hotel safely, you took a peek of your own at your former partner as he got ready for bed. He seemed to be going with his classic bedtime attire of just boxers. Bold move.
Your eyes were momentarily stuck on his abs and enticing happy trail. You’d planned your trip during Patrick’s off season while he was training for his upcoming season, so you were pleasantly unsurprised that he was in such good shape. Your breath caught for a second as you thought about the rest of him, and you desperately tried to repress the low, fiery feeling rising in your stomach.
“And I’m the creep?” he asked with a laugh, pulling you away from your objectification as he got into bed next to you.
“Yeah,” you replied, as if you hadn’t just given him the same treatment he’d given you.
“Well… like what you see?”
You scoffed at his audacity, though you did like what you saw. “I’m not fucking you. Goodnight.”
You hit the light on your nightstand and you swore you heard a quiet sound of disappointment come from Patrick. Bastard.
You turned your back to him and closed your eyes, finding that sleep took you under surprisingly easily.
When you woke up in the morning, you were greeted by a far too familiar feeling. Despite your request for Patrick to stay on his side of the bed, the slow, steady breaths being breathed into your ear and the solid wall of body behind you indicated that he had not only traveled into your space over the course of the night, but was actively spooning you.
You were shocked to find that you didn’t necessarily mind it. Yes, you were mad at Patrick for everything that had gone down between you, and because he was such a pain in the ass, but you also hadn’t realized just how much you missed being held. Particularly, how much you missed being held by him.
The more alert you became, the more you realized that you couldn’t really move. Despite that, you found that you didn’t really want to move. Sure, you were beginning to get uncomfortably hot, and yes, you could feel Patrick’s morning wood pressing against your ass, but none of it was particularly unpleasant.
Part of you wondered if your trip would go differently than you expected. Regardless of how you acted towards one another, you clearly both missed each other.
Your shrill phone alarm suddenly went off, startling Patrick awake behind you.
“Mmm, fuck, sorry,” he sleepily slurred as he rolled away from you. You turned over to look at his tired face, eyes still lidded and speckled face looking far softer than you remembered.
Out of the blue, he opened his eyes, catching you in the act of looking at him with barely-concealed affection. Before he could make some sort of snarky comment, he shot out of bed, adjusted his boxers, and made an urgent beeline towards the bathroom. All of which would’ve been far funnier if his actions hadn’t been disrupted by the loud message ping of his cellphone.
You weighed out your options. You were curious about what was waiting for him on his phone, but you weren’t sure that you’d have time to properly snoop. As if the universe was listening to your thoughts, the sound of the shower began, telling you that you had all the time that you needed to do some adequate investigation.
You wondered who was texting Patrick so early in the morning. Knowing him, it was probably his mother, checking in to make sure he made it to his destination safely. You were sure that whatever message she left would also be inquiring about you. She’d always had a bit of a soft spot for you, especially compared to some of the other people that Patrick had brought home. That, of course, was an observation shared to you from Patrick, so you couldn’t be sure how much of it was flattery compared to truth.
Regardless, her fondness for you had carried into the end of your relationship, with her occasionally messaging or calling you to make sure that you were still doing well, and more importantly, to check in on the status of your relationship.
Much like you and your friends, she’d been holding out hope that your relationship may repair itself. With you and Patrick being as passionate as the two of you were, you were no strangers to seemingly serious arguments that resolved themselves in a matter of days. While calling off a wedding was far more drastic than any of your other disputes had been, after being together for years, it was hard to imagine a world where the two of you weren’t a couple.
But his call never came. You didn’t hear an apology or explanation or even an excuse from Patrick—just a suggestion of when you should pick up the items you’d left at his place.
You hated to admit it, but there was a naïve part of you that was still holding out hope that this trip would be exactly what you needed to reconcile. And maybe that naïeve part of you was less delusional than you might’ve originally thought. Surely cuddling into the morning and Patrick’s poorly hidden morning wood were signs that this vacation was already going in the right direction. Maybe being in such close proximity was exactly the push you needed to get your relationship back on track.
After a halfhearted internal debate, you grabbed his phone from the night stand on his side of the bed. Attempting the passcode he’d been using while you were together—the digits of your birthday—you were pleased to find that the password hadn’t changed and that you were granted access into his phone. What you weren’t expecting to see was Tinder on the homepage of his cracked device.
You paused for a moment and attempted to reason with yourself. Your former fiancé probably didn’t even use the app. He’d likely been pressured by his rebound-obsessed friends to download it, and hadn’t even opened the app since setting up his profile. Besides, you didn’t get on his phone to see what new apps he’d downloaded, you were snooping to see what his mom had to say about you.
When you opened his messages app, your mouth promptly fell open in shock. Patrick had always been loyal to you—at least to your knowledge—while the two of you were together. Seeing him be so openly flirtatious and suggestive with an attractive woman that you hadn’t ever heard of was more than jarring.
Your stomach churned as you scrolled through the conversation, flirty messages and images from both sides that left little to the imagination disturbing you in a way that you hadn’t ever realized was possible.
In the midst of your distraught state, you nearly missed the background noise of the shower coming to a halt, informing you that your time snooping had come to an end.
You set his phone back down where you’d found it and desperately tried to push down the bile in your throat that was tasting more and more like jealousy and anger by the second.
You knew it was irrational for you to be feeling this way, considering that the two of you had been broken up for a few months. Nothing legally or morally tied the two of you together anymore, but that didn’t make you feel any less unsettled by what you’d just seen.
It was just that… you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to fully move on from Patrick. He’d been part of your life for so long, and the way things ended had been so abrupt that it almost didn’t feel real. Even if you did move on, it was going to take you more than three months to do so. It wasn’t fair that Patrick’s name seemed to pop up every week in your therapy sessions, while he was sending pictures of himself in gray sweatpants to random hot women.
You wanted to shrink into the mattress and never come back up. You wanted to yell at Patrick the moment he stepped out of the bathroom. You wanted to turn on your side and wail dramatically, at least until all of your big feelings felt a little smaller.
But you were in Europe on vacation. You were on vacation, damnit, and you weren’t going to let one mildly disturbing text thread ruin your entire experience. Better yet, if Patrick was already moving on, there was no reason that you shouldn’t do the same.
You told yourself this as you rolled out of bed and dug in your suitcase, pulling out a sundress that had driven Patrick wild in the past. While you may have packed it with less than realistic expectations, your goal was far more grounded now.
Both of you could play this game.
You stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed after a shower of your own and instantly registered the almost cartoonish look he was giving you. You guessed that some things never changed, even when the two of you had decided to actively pursue other people.
“The tour guide said to meet in the lobby soon, so I’m gonna head down,” you explained, not giving him a second look as you began to search for your purse.
“The tour doesn’t start for another half hour?” he replied, sitting up from where he was laying on the bed.
“Well I wanna socialize with the people we’re gonna be traveling through Europe with,” you said a little snappily, still a little perturbed about what you’d found on his phone earlier. You conveniently left out the fact that you wanted to scope out any potential summer flings.
“I’ll come with you,” he insisted.
“You really don’t have to. Remember, this isn’t actually a honeymoon,” you slipped on some comfortable shoes and headed to the door. “I’ll see you around.”
You were probably being far more rude than you really needed to be, but your anger had only intensified as you showered and put on makeup. At this point, you were fully pissed—even if you didn’t have the right to be.
You made small talk with the people you met in the lobby as they began to filter into the room, and tried your absolute best to dispel the anger that was flowing through your veins. That proved harder than you anticipated, as Patrick was one of the last people to join you all in the lobby, and for the life of you, you couldn’t stop imagining him sitting in your shared hotel room and sexting his mystery girl.
Luckily, you couldn’t dwell on that ugly thought for too long, as your tour began soon after. Your friendly guide took your group around the city, explaining rather riveting information about the landmarks you visited and the city itself.
After being dismissed for a quick break, you found yourself sitting on a bench and chatting with a man in your group. He wasn’t really your type, but he was extremely conventionally attractive, and from the peripheral glances you caught of Patrick, you could tell that he wasn’t exactly pleased with what was going on.
While making him jealous, or annoyed, or whatever it was that he was feeling, wasn’t your expressed goal, it did feel nice to give him a taste of his own medicine. What felt less nice was glancing over and catching him typing on his phone furiously. You could only imagine whose boobs were on the other end of the line.
Reacting out of a bit of desperation and frustration, you began to play things up. You leaned over more to show off more cleavage, laughed a little harder at jokes that weren’t all that funny, and set a scandalous hand on his arm. You were determined to have that vacation fling now, and you were going to get it by any means necessary.
You laid it on thick for the rest of the afternoon, sitting next to him during lunch and flirting casually with him as your group walked through Park Güell.
You wondered if he noticed you throwing glances in Patrick’s direction after every interaction. You hoped that he didn’t.
It felt good to be getting even with Patrick—but not as good as you expected it to feel. The realization sunk in as a portion of your group visited a bar that was apparently very popular with the locals. Or at least, that’s what a very handsome man purred into your ear after sitting down next to you at the bar.
You’d been keeping an eye on Patrick as he socialized with a couple that he’d been talking to for the majority of your day, but you almost instantly lost track of him as you became consumed with this handsome stranger.
Everything happened in a bit of a blur—one moment you’d been nursing a Marianito, and the next you were holding the hand of a man whose name you couldn’t remember as he led you to his apartment.
By the time you’d left his apartment, you were nothing short of a mess. You were pretty sure that the only way you could’ve been more obvious about what had just happened to you was if you had the words “JUST HAD SEX” written across your forehead—and with the way the people in your hotel elevator were looking at you, you couldn’t be completely sure that those words weren’t on your face.
You made it back to your room safely, quietly opening the door and doing your best not to make too much noise, since at this hour, Patrick was surely asleep.
It did feel weird to be going back to his bed less than an hour after you’d been with another man, but you couldn’t necessarily say you felt bad. Patrick had started it, and you simply finished it off. If he didn’t have any issues with seeing other people, there was no reason for you to have an issue with it either.
Your efforts to be quiet had proved themselves to be for naught, as Patrick was very clearly wide awake, sitting up in bed and already looking at you disapprovingly.
You weren’t sure what possessed you to speak, rather than ignoring his presence and heading straight to the shower, but your mouth was open before you could stop yourself.
“Were you just gonna wait here until I got back, like I’m a kid who just snuck out or something?” you asked in disbelief, partially annoyed because of his action, but more ashamed to have been caught in such a state. It couldn’t have been more obvious to Patrick what you’d just done, considering that he’d seen you in a similar state hundreds of times.
“Baby, we are on a whole different, unfamiliar continent,” his tone was condescending and cold and it made you want to crawl out of your skin. “Why wouldn’t I wait to make sure you got back safely?”
“Don’t call me pet names. And I would’ve been fine. We were just at the bar,” you lied. Going to the apartment of a random man you just met probably wasn’t your brightest idea, but you made it out alive, and that was what mattered.
“Huh. The bar?” he smirked at you in a way that screamed that he was pissed, without really having to say a word.
“Yes, I- what does it matter to you anyway?” you hoped that the question would be enough to get you out of the situation. If you were going to argue, you at least wanted to argue after you were showered and in pajamas.
“What does it matter to me if you fucked someone else?” he asked, sounding like he was in complete disbelief.
“Yeah, Patrick. Why does it matter if I fucked someone else? We’re not together anymore. Did you forget? I mean, it seemed pretty obvious to you when you stopped speaking to me completely a few months ago.”
“Please, enlighten me. What did I have to speak to you about?”
“I don’t know! Maybe an ‘are you okay?’ would’ve been nice. Or something. Anything, really. We were together for six fucking years and you just dropped me like I was dirt!”
“I…” he trailed off, catching you by surprise. He almost always had a quick clever response that managed to piss you off in a way no one else ever could, so seeing him not knowing what to say next caught you off guard. “If our relationship meant that much to you, why were you all over that guy? I mean, seriously. I’ve never seen anything so desperate. You were practically rubbing yourself on him in the park like a bitch in heat.”
Contempt dripped from his words. You had never been so enraged.
“Are you joking?” you laughed out of sheer anger. “Patrick, you started it! How many Tinder girls have you seen since we broke up? And don’t you dare fucking lie to me. I saw everything you’ve been sending to Amelia. Amelia, I’m so lonely. Amelia, I’m so horny. Amelia, I love you so much,” you mocked.
“You went through my phone?” he asked in disbelief, not even bothering to address the rest of your statement. “Fuck. You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m unbelievable? How long did it even take you before we split for you to start seeing other people? I mean, knowing you, you were probably just waiting for the day we broke up to go get your dick wet.”
“That’s not true, and you know it,” for a second, he looked genuinely wounded—something you were only able to recognize after years of being in a relationship with the man. You didn’t like that you were actively hurting him, but he’d been inflicting pain on you from the moment you broke up.
“Fine,” you conceded on that front, knowing that he was right. It wasn’t completely true. If you hadn’t gone through his phone, you never would’ve guessed that he had already moved on. “But you’ve still been seeing other people.”
“We’ve been broken up for months now,” he replied, as if that was supposed to make things any better or more reasonable.
“Then why do you care so much about me having sex with someone else? It’s fine when you do it, but suddenly it’s an issue for me?”
Patrick’s face immediately paled. “You really fucked him?”
“Well, yeah,” you paused. “Well, not who you’re thinking of.”
“You fucked someone else?!” The hurt and disbelief buried under his words made your stomach churn. “You were flirting with that other douchebag all day, I don’t-“
“You’re acting like I’m some whore for reacting to something that you did first!” you cut him off.
“And you’re acting like I wanted to get rid of you this whole time!” he shot back out at you.
“Clearly you fucking did,” you hissed.
“Fuck you,” he huffed.
“Fuck you,” you shot right back. “I’m leaving.”
“Good,” Patrick replied with a shrug as if he didn’t care, although you were very sure that he cared. “Go run back to your little fuck buddy.”
“Yeah, maybe I will,” you replied as you gathered your items back into your suitcase. “He was better than you, by the way.”
“Yeah, I bet,” he said snarkily as he watched you pack up your items. Luckily, you didn’t have much to pack up and were already heading towards the door.
“He had a bigger dick, too,” you said as you swung open the hotel room door, fully satisfied with a lie that you knew would bother Patrick.
While leaving your hotel room seemed like a wonderful idea in the moment, as you went down the elevator, you started to realize that you really did not have many options for where you’d sleep that night.
You figured your best bet was the hotel lobby. Maybe you could pretend to be someone who’d drank too much and passed out on the first floor before you made it up to your room. You sat down in a comfortable looking chair and grabbed your keycard—in case anyone asked you to verify who you were—then set a floppy hat on your head to cover your face from the bright hotel lobby lights while you attempted to sleep.
Sleep was already going to be difficult to accomplish, thanks to the argument that you were certainly going to be ruminating on for days to come. That was only made more difficult by the uncomfortable seating and position you’d found yourself in. Somehow, you managed to fall asleep, being woken up by a hotel employee and a friend you’d made from your tour group.
“Long night, huh?” she asked you with a playful smirk.
“Mm, something like that,” you mumbled sleepily.
“Well, you can sleep on the coach. It just got here, so we’ll have the best pick of seats. C’mon,” she extended her hand out to you and you gladly took it, in desperate need of something grounding.
You dozed off on the coach once you’d gotten settled, headphones securely on your ears and sunglasses covering your closed eyes. You were vaguely aware of people boarding the vehicle around you, but didn’t pay much mind to anything. Eventually, you heard the faint sound of someone taking attendance of the people on the bus, followed by the commotion of someone getting on the bus late.
Something compelled you to open up your eyes, and when you did, you were displeased to find that Patrick was the source of all of the drama. Likely thing for him to be. He scrambled down the aisle, looking desperately for empty seats. To your own horror, you realized that the seat next to you was vacant, and perhaps the only vacant seat on the entire coach.
As if your minds were connected, you watched Patrick face that very same dilemma as he eventually decided to sit down in the only empty seat, right next to you.
Neither of you said anything at first, not addressing your blowout argument the previous night, or your awkward current situation.
“You look like shit,” Patrick finally said as the bus took off.
“Thanks,” you replied, mentally preparing yourself for a continuation of the argument you’d had just a few hours ago. It was only a matter of time before he brought up your promiscuity or started blatantly texting his Tinderella.
But none of that ever came. In fact, he just looked a little sad. It was weird to see Patrick so openly defeated. He was always one to put on a smirk or a challenging smile when you argued, letting the façade fall once he was alone, or once the two of you finally discussed what the issue was like adults.
You weren’t sure that you liked it. You preferred annoying asshole Patrick to sad, moping Patrick.
“You look like shit, too,” you added. “Which is crazy, since you had access to a shower and I didn’t.”
“And whose fault is that?” he asked, looking at you with the slightest hint of that devious smile. You had to fight the slightest inkling of a smile on your own face.
You felt ridiculous knowing that your mood was still being influenced by your former partner. Even when he was insulting you. Even after he’d spent the night arguing with you. Even after you’d slept with someone else. Even after the two of you had a messy split.
You still loved him.
“Yours, mostly,” you shrugged and put your headphones back on.
PARIS, FRANCE
Despite your brief conversation on the bus, you and Patrick didn’t speak to each other for the entirety of your commute. Although you clearly cared about him, it didn’t change the fact that he had upset and hurt you deeply. And even as upset as you were, you knew that you’d hurt him just as badly.
You had a particular dread for what awaited you in France, knowing that this part of the tour was very couples-activity heavy. When you’d scheduled your trip, this aspect of the tour felt like a major selling point. The two of you always seemed to be falling more in love with each other, and having a candlelit dinner by the Eiffel Tower felt like an exciting way to kick off your marriage.
Now, you just felt like an idiot.
The two of you did your absolute best to avoid getting paired up with each other for all of the activities that you could. You found yourself spending most of your time with a solo traveler who was close in age to you. She made a surprisingly fun companion to your cheese and wine taste test, popping cubes of fragrant cheese into your mouth and making a competition out of who could detect the most accurate notes in your wine.
While you found luck in your first few activities, you weren’t so lucky when it came to an evening ride of the Roue de Paris. Whether it was fate or just bad luck, after the pair in front of you had dipped out of line for reasons unknown to you, you had the shocking realization that Patrick had been in between them the whole time. So much for meeting new people on the massive ferris wheel.
You tried to look busy so he wouldn’t notice that you noticed, and did your best to think of some sort of game plan. Although you’d essentially been giving each other the silent treatment in the hours leading up to this moment, you’d caught Patrick looking at you multiple times throughout the day—something you only noticed because you’d been looking at him as well.
After a moment, the two of you were let into an empty passenger car. Sitting across from one another, it was hard to ignore the very obvious elephants in the room, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try.
At first, you simply looked out the window, not saying a single word as the ferris wheel began to move.
“You should put that safety belt on, just in case,” Patrick commented from his side of the car, pulling his eyes away from the window to look at you.
“I doubt anything will happen,” you shrugged. “It’s fine.”
He eyed you suspiciously for a moment, before leaning over and strapping you in anyway. Your breath caught in your throat, his simple action putting you into serious psychological pain. It wasn’t lost on you how much Patrick liked to take care of you. It was far more obvious when the two of you were dating, with him covering the bills for dates and doing your laundry for you. It had been so ironic to you at the time, how a man who could barely take care of himself always went out of his way to make sure that you were going to be okay.
Now, his small act of kindness just made your stomach turn. But it wasn’t like you could express any of those feelings.
“Thanks,” was all that you managed before looking out of the window once more.
An awkward, heavy silence filled the passenger car once more as the ride began to take the two of you higher.
“The view is so beautiful,” you commented, unable to remain silent anymore and hoping that your words were neutral enough not to stir any pots.
“Yeah, it’s really nice,” his gaze remained fixed out the window, before he looked at you once more as if there were words on the tip of his tongue.
“I honestly don’t know how we managed to get in line in time to see the sunset,” you continued with your boring, neutral small talk.
“I’m glad we did. This is the perfect spot to watch it.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, continuing to look out the window instead of at the man across from you. “It’s so pretty tonight, too.”
“It is,” he agreed.
The two of you sat in silence again, only the sound of a soft whirring filling your ears. Then suddenly, all at once, the whirring stopped—and so did your passenger car.
“Are we stuck?” you asked, looking out nervously at the very tall height that the two of you were currently definitely stuck at.
“We can’t be. It’ll probably start back up in a second.”
It didn’t start back up in a second. In fact, after a series of announcements in French, an announcement in English suddenly declared that it would be at least an hour before the ride could be fixed.
At the sound of the announcement, both you and Patrick sighed aloud, still synchronized even after everything you’d been through.
“Maybe this is a sign,” Patrick piped up.
“What are you talking about?” you laughed at him, hoping desperately that this didn’t mean that he wanted to continue arguing with you. You genuinely did not have it in you to do so again. You also didn’t have it in you to sleep in another hotel lobby.
“Well, I’ve been wanting to talk to you all day,” he confessed.
“Is that why you were staring at me all day?” you teased, a weak, slightly hopeful smile creeping onto your face.
“I was looking at you because I could feel you staring at me,” he clarified, as if he was setting the record straight. “I don’t want things to be like this between us anymore.”
“Yeah?” you asked, the pit of nerves in your stomach tightening at wherever he was going with his spiel. The anticipation of his words alone made you nauseous.
“So I think that we should talk about last night,” he suggested.
That was exactly what you didn’t want to hear him say. You had barely processed the argument yourself, let alone think about anything else that you had to say to Patrick that didn’t involve trying to hurt him as much as he hurt you.
“We don’t have to. It’s fine. The past is in the past,” you dismissed.
“It’s not fine, though. Not really,” he countered, all earnestness. You didn’t detect any harshness to his words or any blood in the water that indicated to you that he wanted to do anything more than have an honest conversation with you. “I was so out of line. I can’t- I don’t want you to think that I really believe the things I said about you.”
“Patrick, please…” you trailed off, hoping that he would understand that you didn’t really want to talk about this. Though, you were relieved to learn that he’d only said those things out of the heat of the moment.
“No,” he stood his ground. “We need to talk about this if we ever want our relationship to improve.”
“Fine,” you gave in. “But you start, so I can collect my thoughts.”
“Of course,” he leaned forward so he could get a better look at you, and you were immediately drawn into some intense eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for acting like a dick yesterday. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did, and I really shouldn’t have let you leave our hotel room. That was really stupid of me. I worried about you for the rest of the night and spent the morning looking for you.”
This was surprising information to you. While you did find it to be a bit of a dick move that Patrick would just let you leave like that after lecturing you about being unsafe in a new country, you hadn’t realized that he’d been late to boarding the coach because he’d been searching for you. You could only imagine the sick feeling he had as he realized he couldn’t find you anywhere.
“I’m sorry for what I said, too. Insulting you for trying to move on was really unfair of me. I was just… hurt, I guess. When I don’t even have the right to be.”
“You do, a little. We were together for a really long time, so it’s gonna feel weird that we’re starting to see other people,” you shrugged. “That was an excellent apology, that I accept, by the way.”
“Thank you. I really got a chance to practice my apology skills with the last woman I was with,” he explained. You tried to repress the feeling of jealousy that was already bubbling up in your stomach at the mention of another woman.
“Yeah?” you asked, hoping that he didn’t notice the brief twitch of your eye.
“Yeah. She’s super opinionated and outspoken, so we would butt heads a lot. But that was always something I really liked about her. That, and her magnificent ass.”
Finally, it occurred to you that he was talking about you. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, despite the fact that you were secretly very flattered by the way he was speaking about you. “Ew. Shut up,” you laughed.
“Well, if you’re done objectifying me, I would love to apologize to you too.”
“All done objectifying you. For now, at least. Go ahead.”
You were a little nervous about the words that were about to come out of your mouth. You just had so much to say, and you weren’t sure that it was all going to come out correctly.
“I’m sorry for the things I said last night. I genuinely did not mean what I said, I just got caught up in the moment. And I’m really sorry for going through your phone, because that’s seriously none of my business. It was such an unnecessary violation of trust, and I understand if you’re still pissed at me for that. And it was really ridiculous for me to overreact the way that I did over you seeing someone else, because again, it’s really not my business. I feel like I’m kinda the worst,” you confessed.
“You’re not the worst,” he countered.
“Fine, I guess. Maybe you just bring the worst out in me,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood slightly.
“That sounds more accurate. We bring out the worst in each other.”
“Right. That’s why we’re such a good pair,” you paused, then corrected yourself. “Of friends.”
“Is that what we are now?”
“I never said we were good friends.”
“Frenemies?”
“Something like that,” you said, before the familiar whirring sound of the ferris wheel began once more.
“Huh. Who would’ve thought that the only thing the wheel needed to function was an apology to each other?”
“You’re so annoying,” you laughed and shook your head. “How are we gonna make it through the rest of this trip?”
LONDON, ENGLAND
Your final few days in France had been made far less awkward by your conversation on the ferris wheel. Deciding to fully embrace the couples activities the tour had reserved for you, the two of you were having a good time re-establishing your friendship.
Your trip to London had gone mostly without a hitch, with your group arriving in the city in the evening and immediately checking in to your hotel. At this point, you had given up on even attempting to get separate beds. It seemed like every morning now you woke up cuddling with Patrick, but you weren’t necessarily mad at the unintentional intimacy.
In some ways, your relationship was beginning to feel similar to how it felt before the two of you broke up. While you were sure that things wouldn’t be exactly the same—especially since you still hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room that was your breakup—it was nice to return to the comfort you’d found in your relationship with Patrick.
Like clockwork, the morning after your arrival in London, you woke up with Patrick pressed up against your back, nose buried in your hair. As he woke up, he pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline out of what you were sure was just habit rather than genuine affection.
“Morning,” he greeted you groggily, rolling away from your side.
“Morning,” you replied, turning to face him. You ran a hand through his messy morning hair and looked at him fondly. It was taking far more self control than you had to not lean over and kiss him. “What time is it?” you asked, in part to distract yourself, but also because the digital clock was on his side of the bed.
“It’s…” he trailed off as he went to read the time. “Oh shit, we’re gonna be late.”
“What?” you asked, shooting up from your relaxed position.
“It’s 8:25,” he explained, already rolling out of bed.
In a rush, the two of you got dressed in record time, making it down to the lobby in the five minutes that you had to make it on time. You shared a high-five in the lobby, and tried your best not to dwell on how the simple action felt far more domestic than it needed to.
Your tour began not too long after that, getting your day off to a strong start. Your day of exploring London was by far your busiest. You were sure that you’d accumulated thousands of steps as you went between large museums, beautiful parks, and massive landmarks. By the time that you returned to your hotel room, you were pretty sure that your legs were mush.
You returned earlier than Patrick, who had gone out to a gastropub with a group of tourists in your group that he got along well with. You took this as an opportunity to have some alone time, taking a long and steaming hot shower, frolicking around the room in a soft hotel robe, and watching a movie while you waited for your room service to arrive.
After you’d thoroughly enjoyed your alone time, finishing off your room service and opting to scroll on your phone, the door cracked open and Patrick strolled in.
“Looks like you made yourself right at home,” he observed.
“I had to after today’s tour. So much walking,” you groaned.
“It wasn’t all that bad,” he shrugged, sitting down next to you in bed.
“Well, not all of us are professional athletes,” you laughed. “How was the pub?”
“Fun. It’d be better if you came.”
“I’m sorry, I was exhausted,” you sighed. “You could’ve stayed in with me and had a spa day.”
“We can have a spa day anywhere. We can have a spa day right now.”
“Mm, I’m all spa’d out. But the water pressure in the shower is excellent, so you should definitely check that out.”
“I will in a little bit,” he said. “Did you try out the actual spa here?”
“They were closed when I checked, which really sucks, since I was in desperate need of a massage.”
“Do you still want one?” Patrick asked.
“Yeah. I’ll probably try to stop by when they’re open tomorrow and get one.”
“No, I mean, do you want a massage now?” he added.
It had been a long time since Patrick had offered you a massage—or to put his hands on you in any capacity—but you remembered him being criminally talented at giving them. You also remembered his massages usually making for great foreplay that left your knees weak and your brain a pile of jelly, but that clearly wouldn’t be the case now, and you needed to get your head out of the gutter.
“I mean, sure. That would be nice,” you tried not to sound too excited, though the prospect of a massage from him sounded very, very nice.
While the prospect of a massage sounded nice, the actual massage was heavenly. You were sure that years of having personal trainers and physical therapists work knots out of his body had made him an expert at finding knots and kinks in your own, which was now leaving you sighing happily as he ran his hands over your back.
You tried your best to ignore the dull, fiery feeling growing in your lower stomach that was surely a result of experiencing a type of intimacy that you hadn’t in quite some time. As you let out an involuntary soft sound at a particular knot being rubbed out of your shoulder, you wondered if this massage was affecting him nearly as much as it was affecting you.
You promptly received an answer to this question when something hard and phallic brushed up against your leg. You turned your head to glance back at Patrick, and his face immediately grew red.
“Sorry. I can stop, if you want. It just happened because of the noises you’re making and- whatever. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Part of you felt a little satisfied knowing that you still had that type of impact on him. It gave you a tiny glimmer of hope to know that you were still, at the least, physically attracted to one another.
“It’s fine. I’ll shut up.”
“You don’t have to. I want this to be as relaxing as possible for you.”
“Well you’re doing a great job, if you couldn’t tell from all of the moaning and groaning on my end.”
You both somehow made it through the rest of the massage without spilling all over the bed, but as you melted into the bed, feeling every muscle in your body relaxed from your excellent massage, you couldn’t help but note the suspiciously long time Patrick was spending in the shower. And maybe it was just your imagination, but if you listened hard enough, you swore you could hear the sound of a soft chanting of your name coming from the other side of the bathroom door.
While part of you regretted not suggesting that the two of you help each other out with your mutual problems, you were pretty sure that it was for the best. You genuinely didn’t know where the two of you stood, as far as your relationship went. Hooking up would surely further complicate an already complicated situation, since you were pretty sure that ex-fiancés didn’t typically sleep together. But then again, ex-fiancés also didn’t usually go on a honeymoon despite not being together. Your complicated feelings on the matter only further proved to you that you made the right choice by not giving in to your baser desires.
By the time Patrick joined you in bed, you were already half asleep. Yet, even in your delirious state, you didn’t miss the way he came up behind you, pulling you into a loving embrace. It brought warmth to your chest to know that he couldn’t even wait for your automatic sleep routine to hold you, and that he felt the need to take matters into his own hands.
You were pretty sure that exes didn’t do that either.
AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS
You didn’t know what you expected from your first ferry ride, but being face deep in a barf bag while soothing circles were rubbed into your back was certainly not it.
Given that you weren’t a frequent rider of large vessels on bodies of water, you had no clue going into the ride that things would go so sideways so quickly for you. If anything, you thought you might have the opportunity to stare peacefully out into the water, or to force Patrick to take a few cute pictures of you. Unfortunately, you were currently doing neither of those things—and it didn’t seem like you’d be doing them any time soon.
You heaved once more, now almost totally sure that you had nothing left to give. Patrick continued to hold your hair out of your face with one hand and use his other to comfortingly rub your back, not at all fazed by your sickness. If you weren’t currently fighting off another wave of nausea and didn’t have the taste of bile lingering in your mouth, you probably could’ve kissed the man.
Once your brain finally told you the coast was clear, you leaned your head back and took several deep, gasping breaths of air.
“You alright, honey?” he asked you, and you didn’t even have the strength—physical or mental—to correct his use of a pet name.
“I could be better,” you replied, pinching the bridge of your nose as you tilted your head back. “There’s medicine for this, right?”
“Yeah. Let me go see if I can find some.”
As you fought off a war of nausea and headache that was currently beating you on all fronts, you could faintly hear the sound of Patrick asking the people around you if they had any medicine for motion sickness. He eventually returned after what felt like a lifetime, but was probably more like a few minutes, carrying a bottle of Dramamine.
He helped you take the pill, putting it in your mouth then holding a bottle of water up to your lips to help you swallow it. The action felt oddly romantic, though it was more of a matter of practicality compared to anything else. You were clearly not in a stable enough space to get the pill down on your own, so his assistance wasn’t really anything for you to be over analyzing.
“Look at you, keeping that down,” he teased, running his hand up and down your arm. The motion was soothing, a bit of bodily comfort amongst a plethora of other awful physical pains you were experiencing. “You’re doing great.”
His soft caresses turned into a full-blown hug, with Patrick pulling you into a tight embrace. While the action itself was rather cute—especially since it seemed to be completely impulsive on his part—it instantly brought on a new wave of nausea.
“Pat?” you squeaked.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“You’re sweet. But if we stay like this, I am going to be sick all over you.”
He pulled away from you with concern, careful not to move too quickly to set off another bout of sickness. While he let go of your body, he continued to hold your hand, as if he were attempting to ground you. With how anxious he was looking, he might’ve been trying to ground himself as well.
It was cute seeing him so worried about you. You tried your best not to read too much into it, and luckily, your slowly fading nausea was the perfect distraction from doing so.
“Thank you for the drugs. It was fun watching you scramble all around asking people for help. You’re such a good…” you paused, not really knowing what you were or what to say. “Ex.”
Now wasn’t exactly the ideal time to have the, ‘what are we?’ conversation, but Patrick didn’t seem to mind. And if he did mind, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it.
“Only the best for my ex.” Maybe you’d just been imaging it, but you swore you sensed a bit of hesitation on his end as he called you his ex. Admittedly, it would be significantly easier for both of you to be calling each other spouses, or even partners. But alas, you weren’t either of those things to each other anymore.
As if you’d read each other's minds, the two of you quickly moved on from that conversation.
After you’d arrived and gotten settled into Amsterdam, you set off to explore the city. When presented with a few options of things to do, Patrick insisted that the two of you go on a bike tour, much to your own chagrin. As much as you weren’t sure your legs could handle any more strenuous physical activity, you’d known that Patrick had wanted to take this bike tour since your trip was an actual honeymoon. Who were you to deny him of that?
As the two of you toured the very beautiful city, Patrick made sure to make a show out of his biking skills. While he was no professional cyclist, he certainly had the ego of one—which translated to him going a little too hard at times and nearly falling off of his bike more than once.
Each time he almost fell, you found yourself also almost falling, the onset of laughter at the ridiculous man riding next to you nearly being too much to handle. Without fail, every time the two of you did your almost falling, then break into a howling laughter routine, you were given dirty looks by your fellow tour mates. Unfortunately, that only made the situation funnier to you and Patrick.
By the time the tour had wrapped, it was clear that everyone was sick and tired of you. But at least this time, the people around you were sick of the girlish giggles Patrick pulled from you, rather than the rude words he provoked you into saying, like he’d done on the plane.
It was refreshing to be spending time with him like this. In the time that you’d been so upset about your break up, you forgot about just how good it felt to be around Patrick when your relationship was going well.
It was also nice to be spending some alone time with him, away from the rest of your tour group. As the two of you looked at strange knick-knacks in an antique store, you realized just how much you missed being alone with him. While it was nice that the two of you had made friends within your group, your dynamic as a duo was obviously something really special. Maybe that’s why the two of you had been together for so long.
You spent the majority of the afternoon doubled over in laughter, playfully teasing Patrick, or being on the receiving end of subtle, gentle touches. As you really began to think about it, this day of travel had been your favorite—by a long shot. It also happened to be the day that felt most like one from a honeymoon.
Although it had already been clear to you for some time that you still had feelings for Patrick, the day you had spent together had completely sealed the deal. Once Patrick had surprised you with a beautiful bouquet of flowers over dinner, you’d only been more sure that you were sick with love for your ex.
It was a small miracle that you’d rounded out the day without confessing your feelings, particularly since you ended the evening with a movie playing on the television of your hotel room that the two of you barely paid attention to, as Patrick held you and talked about some of the things you’d missed while the two of you were separated.
In the morning, you woke up to the soft sound of chatter, rather than your loud alarm clock or the sound of deep breaths in the shell of your ear.
From what you could faintly make out from the words and the lack of a warm body beside you, Patrick was on the phone with his mother. You wanted to feel bad for eavesdropping, especially since you’d just had an argument with Patrick over your snooping habit just over a week ago, but it was far too difficult not to listen in.
“I’m glad you liked the picture,” you made out from the muffled words behind the doorway. You were sure he was referencing the selfie the two of you took in front of Big Ben a few days ago. You also liked the photo a lot, with the two of you looking particularly good and particularly happy. You’d also taken a more baity photo of him kissing your cheek, specifically to send to his mother who he knew would be overjoyed to see you. While Patrick had explained the idea behind the picture as his mom simply wanting to see you, you knew the more accurate statement is that his mom wanted to see the two of you together.
After a beat, there was a soft chuckle. “No, we’re not back together. No mom, there’s no ‘yet.’ I know. I’m an idiot, I know- aren’t you supposed to take your child’s side? Well, I don’t know if you know this, but we never ended up getting married, so no, she’s not your daughter. How could she possibly be your favorite child! We just talked about this. I’m gonna hang up. I’m serious. Alright. Love you, bye.”
When Patrick returned, you were already sitting up in bed.
“Can you tell your mom I say hi next time?” you asked with a cheeky grin on your face, still coming off of the high that was the romantic outing you’d had the day prior.
“I’m sure she’d love to hear that,” he replied, getting back into bed beside you. “She probably wants to hear from you more than she wants to hear from me.”
You laughed and shook your head, not bothering to argue with his words since you both knew they were pretty accurate.
“I mean, I’m sure she’ll be inviting you to Thanksgiving and Christmas long after we’ve moved on with other people and have our own families.”
Your heart dropped to your stomach. You were sure of it. You thought you could genuinely feel the movement of your most vital organ slowly sinking into a pit of stomach acid.
You tried not to let your smile falter, considering that Patrick was looking right at you with a sweet look of his own plastered on his face. You wondered if this was some sort of test, to gauge how you felt after a day of rekindling the love the two of you thought had burnt out.
Or maybe, more realistically, he’d already come to accept the reality that you’d been stalling on accepting: your relationship was truly over. One fun day wouldn’t change the fact that your wedding had been called off, and that the two of you said things to each other that would alter the foundations of any solid relationship for years to come.
Your heart was such a traitor. She refused to accept the simple fact that Patrick wanted to move on, and that your relationship was a thing of the past. Maybe, if you couldn’t convince your heart to accept that truth, you might be able to force your brain to.
“And I’ll still be accepting that invitation, thank you very much,” you stated, trying to sound confident in your words. “In the meantime, let’s get ready before we miss this bus. You can tell me what your mom’s menu is gonna look like this year on our ride over.”
SOMEWHERE IN CENTRAL GERMANY
It was stupid for you to be torn up the way that you were over just a few simple words, but the more you thought about it, the worse you felt.
In reality, it wasn’t just what Patrick had said to you in the hotel room. It was the fact that he’d been actively trying to move on with other people since who knew when, and the way he seemed to frequently verbally reiterate the fact that your relationship was over. By holding out hope that you might somehow be able to repair your relationship, you were being much more naïve than you even realized.
You felt stupid. But you also felt confused, because as much as Patrick swore he was over you, and pursued other people, he was also far too comfortable acting like nothing had changed between you two. After all, he was the one flirting with you, and trying to attach himself at the hip to you as you traveled. He was the one who always managed to end up spooning you over the course of the night and woke up kissing whatever part of your body he was closest to. For god's sake, he’d just told you yesterday about how he’d searched high and low to find a bouquet of flowers that he thought you would genuinely like. And most damningly, you hadn’t forgotten the look of hurt on his face when he found out that you had slept with someone else. That wasn’t the behavior of someone who was over their partner.
To say you were receiving mixed messages was a complete understatement. You couldn’t understand how it was possible that the man who was currently leaning against you very affectionately, despite being on a cramped bus, was also totally over you and wanted to move on.
You didn’t know what you wanted to do about the situation, but you were sure that you couldn’t keep going like this.
Your bus stopped somewhere in Germany for the evening, letting you all out to have dinner and do some light sightseeing before regrouping in the morning and heading to Prague. Somehow, that translated to going to a bar to try out German beer for you, Patrick, and a few of the friends you’d made while traveling.
After a brief intermission of checking into your hotel room, your small group met up in the lobby, then set off to find a bar.
Drinking while you were feeling a little upset probably wasn’t your brightest idea. The speed and volume at which you were consuming alcohol was a little concerning, but not nearly as concerning as how much Patrick was drinking. Eventually, even in your drunken state, you realized that you should probably slow down—if nothing else, to take care of him.
But the two of you continued on, going from bar to bar, getting drunk at a level that probably would’ve been acceptable when you were younger, but was certainly going to take a major toll on you now.
Forgetting about the repercussions of the future, you two were having a great time. Despite you being out with a group, it felt a little bit like the two of you were in your own little bubble. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter as the two of you took shots and danced together. Not the people around you, not the fact that you had to be up early the next morning to make it onto your coach, not even the fact that Patrick had implied that the two of you would move on and have families with other people only a few days ago.
By the time that the rest of your group had called it quits, explaining that they wanted to be up and functional in time for your ride the next morning, you and Patrick were still in your own little world. It was only after you’d shared a few drunk cigarettes that the two of you decided that the fun should end, and that it was time to head back to your hotel.
Unfortunately for you, midway through your trek back home, your drinking buddy had given up on walking, leaving you tasked with literally dragging him all the way back to your hotel. While a sober version of yourself would’ve been annoyed by the inconvenience, all you could really think about was how nice it was to have his body so close to yours.
After a tumultuous journey back, the two of you finally made it back to your hotel room. You had only been in the room for a matter of seconds before Patrick collapsed onto the bed and let out a loud sigh of relief, followed by an even louder yawn, as if he was the one who had just carried you down the road.
It was annoyingly endearing.
You had half the mind to at least get somewhat ready before getting into bed, shedding your outermost layer of clothing before joining Patrick in bed.
“Thank you,” he said to you once you laid down next to him.
“Mhm,” you hummed, your head still pleasantly buzzing from the alcohol. “But I’m never doing that again.”
“Aww, why? We had so much fun,” he practically whined. “I always have so much fun when we’re together.”
“I had fun, but you’re so heavy. You’d never guess it. All those muscles,” in the midst of your complaining, you reached over to grab his bicep to demonstrate his point.
He laughed, which made you laugh, though you didn’t exactly know what you were laughing at. Then, out of the blue, he randomly said your name in a very serious tone.
“Can you help me with something?” he asked, sounding very genuine and giving you a look that you couldn’t quite place in your drunken state.
“Anything,” you replied earnestly and meant it. You would probably do literally anything that he asked you to do at that moment. Move a mountain? You’d start pushing. Marry him? You’d wake up an officiant and come up with vows on the spot. Help him hide a body? You were sure you could find a shovel somewhere.
“Can you help me get my shoes off?” he lifted a foot as he spoke to demonstrate his point, a little pout on his lips. You were a little disappointed that he hadn’t asked you for anything else, but you also weren’t quite sure what it was that you wanted him to ask you for.
You groaned playfully, a long and drawn out sound that you hoped would communicate that you were exhausted after dragging him through the city and comfortable where you were laying. Still, you leaned over and untied his shoes before gently slipping them off. When you looked back up at Patrick, his pants were newly half undone and halfway off, but it looked as if he had given up fully taking his pants off.
“Need help with that too?” you asked, though you were already working on slipping the article of clothing off of his legs.
Though you tried to push the thought out of your mind, you couldn’t help but recall a similar night the two of you shared several years ago. Your relationship was still relatively new, but you were already very obviously in love. So in love that you’d gone out of your way to set up a surprise party to celebrate a particularly successful tennis match, decorating your apartment with photos of him with trophies and other tennis paraphernalia and inviting as many of his close friends that you could track down. Still riding the high of winning and his all-consuming adoration of you, Patrick had partied a little too hard, leaving you in charge of tucking him in at the end of the night.
After bringing him a glass of water, the man snuggled into your sheets and slurred out a comment about how they smelled like you. You felt your cheeks warm as he continued on in a disjointed ramble, talking about how much he appreciated you and how no one had ever gone out of their way to make him feel like that before. He ended his monologue with a request for you to help him take his clothes off, and you happily obliged. It was tender and far more intimate than you’d expected, and ended in a drawn out kiss that left you giggling as you told Patrick that he tasted like Smirnoff Ice.
Even as inebriated as you currently were, the nostalgia made you feel a little dizzy.
By the time you’d finished helping him get his pants off, Patrick had clearly given up on getting his shirt off, too. Once again, you moved your hands up his body and helped him out with the piece of fabric.
“Look at that. All ready for bed,” you commented, setting a hand on his bare chest. The small action made your heart soar, and you promptly decided that it was probably better for you to avoid touching him altogether.
“My watch?” Patrick asked, lifting his wrist up to show you the accessory.
“You can take your watch off yourself,” you replied, leaning back into bed and finally laying down.
“Fine.”
“Night, Patty,” you said, reaching over to turn out the bedside lamp.
“Wait,” he paused pensively, as if he was digging deep in the recesses of his mind to conjure up what he was about to say. “A kiss?”
“Patrick!” you gasped, sounding far more scandalized by the proposition than you actually were. Of course you would give him a kiss, you just weren’t sure you were ready to open up that can of worms, especially after you’d had a minor crisis at the realization that he genuinely wanted to move on.
“No goodnight kiss? C’mon. Fully commit to tucking me in,” Patrick insisted, as if it was the most logical thing ever. As if either of you had the self control to not let something as simple as a kiss spiral out of control.
“Fine,” you sighed before pressing a gentle peck to his forehead, figuring that was the safest place to do so. A forehead kiss was about as platonic as it got with you. “Sweet dreams.”
“Thank you,” he said, rather sweetly as his eyes shut. “Love you.”
Those words instantly gave you pause, causing you to suddenly feel very alert and very sober.
“Sorry, what did you just say?”
“I said I love you?” Patrick repeated, looking at you with confusion. “What?”
“Nothing,” though it was very much not nothing. In fact, if his confession was true, it would change everything. “Go to bed.”
“Wait, what?” Patrick grabbed your arm, looking very worried in the low light of the room. “You’re mad. You’re mad that I love you?”
You didn’t even know how you were supposed to react to that admission. While it had been exactly what you’d been dying to hear from him for months, it only further complicated your already very complicated situation.
“I’m not mad, I’m… I’m just tired. Let’s go to sleep, okay?”
Your explanation seemed to placate Patrick enough to let it go and go to sleep. He shuffled around to get comfortable behind you, before pulling you in to hold you as he’d done for the entirety of the trip. Except, tonight, it didn’t feel quite right. The mixture of his frequent rejections of you, paired with his casual confession that he still loved you made your head spin.
The following morning, you woke up with a pounding in your head and a gross taste in your mouth—only one of which, you could fully attribute to the drinking you’d done last night. You clumsily reached for your phone, and found yourself pleasantly surprised to find an announcement about the delay of the next bus you would be getting on.
You got out of bed with a grunt, your entire body aching with the reminder of having to drag Patrick through the city last night. Somehow, the sore muscles didn’t hurt nearly as much compared to the memory of being told that Patrick still loved you.
You slowly paced back and forth around your hotel room, desperately trying to organize your racing thoughts. Did Patrick actually mean what he said last night? Or had been caught up in the heat of the moment? If anything, the latter seemed more likely, since he’d been very obviously trying to distance himself from you. But had he really been distancing himself from you, or just talking about distancing himself from you? If his care for you on the ferry had been any indication of how he really felt about you, it was possible that his drunken words were more honest than you were trying to convince yourself that they were.
Finally, you decided to stop annoying the person staying in the room under you with your increasingly frantic pacing, and to go outside to walk. Some fresh air would be good for you anyway.
“Where’re you going?” a muffled voice, heavy with sleep asked. You paused the tying of your shoes to look over at the bed, where Patrick was currently squinting at you.
“I’m just going for a walk,” you told him. “Go back to sleep. The coach is coming late.”
“Wait for me. I’ll come with you.”
That was probably the last thing you needed or wanted. After all, the whole purpose of your walk was to help you sort out your thoughts about Patrick. To say he wasn’t a welcome addition to your trip was an understatement.
“Okay,” you said anyway, against your better judgment. It seemed like you hadn’t been using much of your judgment at all on this trip. What was one more poor decision on top of a series of poor decisions?
You watched him get ready from where you were sitting, quietly impressed with his ability to get up and be functional despite surely being just as hungover—if not more—than you. He also seemed wholly unaffected by the conversation you’d had last night, which was something that you certainly couldn’t say for yourself.
With sunglasses perched on your nose and the weight of your entire relationship placed on your shoulders, the two of you headed out into the city, walking on the same sidewalks that you’d practically carried Patrick down the previous night.
“Last night was fun,” Patrick commented, making small talk with you as you began to head down the street.
“Some parts,” you agreed, hoping that he’d recall you grunting as you lugged him down the street, rather than your shock when he told you that he still loved you.
“I honestly don’t remember most of the night,” Patrick said with a chuckle that almost sounded a little forced. You couldn’t be sure if he was being honest or searching for a cop out for the things he’d told you before you went to sleep, but you weren’t sure that it really mattered.
“Unfortunately, I do,” you replied.
“Oh no. I hope I wasn’t too much of a pain.”
“You were like, slightly above average in terms of being a pain. Nothing I’m not used to.” You figured that maybe you could banter your way out of this situation. Perhaps if you just pretended that everything was okay, things would magically become okay.
But that didn’t feel alright. In fact, it wasn’t alright. If you ever wanted to improve your relationship with Patrick, you had to stop beating around the bush with him. You were both adults. You’d been together for years, yet you felt like you wasted far too much time not being straightforward with your thoughts and feelings. If there was going to be a next time for the two of you, you wanted things to be different.
“You did say something kinda interesting last night, though.” While it had been easy to talk up a big game in your head, you immediately regretted the words that came out of your mouth. Regardless, it was too late for you to back out.
Patrick laughed nervously before asking, “what?”
“You just… you kinda told me you still have feelings for me, or whatever. I just think, maybe we should talk about it. Or at least talk about us.”
The man next to you paled at your words. Your regret for bringing the topic up immediately grew exponentially.
“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” Patrick said, though he was lying through his teeth and both of you knew it. You wanted to approach this topic with civility and an open mind, but his blatant lie was making that a rather difficult task.
“Are you kidding? We’ve been tip-toeing around it this entire trip.”
“We’re broken up. You called off our wedding. I don’t think it gets any more straightforward than that,” he dismissed with a gross simplification of the state of your relationship.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. And even if it was, all I said was that I didn't think I was ready to get married. You put the final nail in the coffin when you told me you fell out of love with me. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to interpret you not being in love with me anymore when you still act the way that you act with me.”
You could tell the direction this conversation was going, your discussion quickly veering into argument territory as Patrick began to invade your space as he always did when you argued.
“And how exactly do I act with you?” he challenged, though you were sure he knew exactly what you were talking about.
“Do you want me to give you a list or something?” you asked, his anger becoming contagious.
“Sure, why not,” he said drily.
“Fine. Let’s start with the cuddling, then. Please enlighten me, do you know any exes who spoon regularly? I mean, I certainly don’t. I don’t even touch my friends like that. So I don’t know what that really makes us. Or maybe how jealous you got when you saw me with someone else. I really can’t think of any sort of platonic explanation for that, and trust me, I’ve tried. And while we’re at it, I guess I should mention those showers. I respect the hell out of your faith in the thickness of these hotel walls, but I actually can hear you moaning my name while you’re in there. I’m honestly a little flattered, but I’m mostly confused.”
“Like you’re not doing the same,” Patrick scoffed. You knew him well enough to recognize that he was masking his true feelings with hostility, and though you wanted to engage in an actual conversation with him, you weren’t sure you would be able to take the high road in this conversation.
“Sure, but I’m not the one in denial of what’s going on here!”
“I’m not in denial. Have you ever considered that maybe I want to move on?”
“Do you, though?” you asked, pausing on the sidewalk.
“Clearly, I do,” he stopped right along with you, now really getting in your face.
“Clearly,” you repeated with a laugh. “Maybe you should start acting like it.”
“Maybe you should stop clinging to the past.”
His piercing gaze was unwavering as he waited to read your reaction. You knew how he liked to play this game, looking for an indication of any sort of weakness from you. You refused to give him that, though his words cut deep.
“Okay,” you said calmly, though you were very much not feeling calm on the inside. “Well, thanks for letting me know how you really feel. Or how you think you feel. I don’t really know anymore. And I don’t think you know either.”
PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC
If you had known that telling Patrick that he drunkenly confessed to loving you would’ve broken the already very delicate relationship the two of you had built back up, you never would’ve said anything at all. As it turned out, having some of Patrick was better than not having him at all.
The contempt he now felt for you had become so strong that he didn’t even seem to be able to look at you. He sat next to a different person on the bus to Prague, not even sparing you a glance. When you arrived at the hotel, he made it a point to ask for separate rooms—something the two of you hadn’t done the entirety of your trip. As your tour began, he seemed to make a strong effort to separate himself from you, standing in the back of your group when you were in the front and vice versa.
Usually, even after your worst arguments, you’d been able to find the time to talk out your feelings, but now it seemed like Patrick couldn’t even find it in himself to give you that.
You wanted to be mad at Patrick too. You were mad at him. But you missed him more than you were angry with him, and you yearned to be with him, no matter how crazy his constant antics drove you.
Part of you felt frustrated that your relationship had become so cyclical since your breakup. You weren’t sure you could handle another cycle of fighting to the point of real anger, then making up with your relationship still a little more strained than it was in the past. You just wanted Patrick. Why did things have to be any more complicated than that?
You desperately clung on to any bits of hope that your relationship might persist, coming out of this argument altered, but still existing. You snuck peeks at Patrick while you toured a beautiful castle and tried to bite your tongue until you stopped thinking of how badly you wanted to grab him and joke about his home looking like that castle. You wondered if he wanted to put your initials on a lock and put it on a bridge as much as you did. You wished you could ask him if he missed the warm body in bed beside him the way you did.
But every time you looked at him, he was pointedly not looking at you. As your group paused on the bridge to allow couples the time to make their own locks, Patrick didn’t even spare a glance in your direction. You were sure that even if he did miss you in bed, or wherever else, he would never tell you about it.
You didn’t want it to be over—but you couldn’t keep clinging to hope that it wasn’t.
GENEVA, SWITZERLAND
Getting to view the breathtaking scenery of the Swiss Alps as you sat on a cable car had been a dream of yours for years. What wasn’t included in that dream was dodging the glare of your ex-fiancé as the two of you sat in silence on that very gondola.
Unluckily for the two of you, you were stuck together for the afternoon. Private skiing lessons in the Swiss Alps sounded like a great, even romantic, idea while you were planning the trip, but it was far from romantic now.
The two of you stood on opposite sides of your instructor, the tension between you so thick that in the midst of his safety spiel, he paused to ask if everything was okay between you. After a stilted reply of yes, your instructor looked at you both skeptically before carrying on.
Seeing as Patrick was an athlete who spent his childhood school breaks in Aspen, he was pretty decent at skiing already. Far better than you, a novice who was moving a little bit like a giraffe standing on its feet for the first time.
While it wasn’t your first time skiing—that had been on a family vacation you’d tagged along on with the Zweigs—you certainly were not experienced enough to be keeping up with Patrick, who had the experience and the ego to give even your instructor a run for his money.
It was entertaining to watch him in his element, his competitive side coming out despite the fact there was no competition anywhere to be found. He was significantly faster than you wherever you went, and skied with a confidence that you doubted you would ever be able to exhibit. In the past, this behavior may have been slightly endearing to you, but right now, it was mostly a little annoying.
You and your instructor stood above Patrick, watching him effortlessly glide down the mountain in front of you. If you weren’t so agitated, you might actually have been impressed. As if your instructor was actively reading your mind, he leaned over to say something to you.
“I think he’s trying to impress you,” he said quietly, though the subject of your conversation was an entire slope away.
You nearly choked on your own saliva at the observation. “No way.”
“What do you mean no way?” he laughed. “Trust me, I’ve been doing this for years, and I’ve seen it all. Couples, crushes, friends, coworkers. I know posturing when I see it.”
“Trust me, he could care less.”
He looked at you with a doubting squint. “Why don’t we go down there and ask him?”
“Absolutely not,” you laughed. The thought of asking Patrick anything after the interactions you’d had seemed absolutely ridiculous. At this point, you wouldn’t even ask him what time it was.
“Sorry. Let me rephrase that. That was me telling you that it’s time for you to go down the slope.”
You looked downhill at where you needed to go, noting that it was far steeper than what you’d been practicing on leading up to this point. You had been looking for an excuse to stall going down it, but now that your instructor had said something about that, you couldn’t not go.
After taking a deep breath, you began to go down. Gaining a bit of speed, you also found yourself growing slightly more confident, closing your eyes and feeling the cold air press against your body. While you were enjoying your speed at first, it was quickly growing out of hand, and you began to panic as you realized just how fast you were going. Desperately trying to pull your skis into a V shape to slow down, you were horrified at the realization that you were far too late, and actively heading towards a cluster of trees. You didn’t know what to do other than to accept your fate, and everything had happened so fast anyway that you found yourself tumbling into a tree, a searing pain on your ankle and tailbone as you laid out on the rocky ground.
Everything felt like it was moving slowly and quickly at the same time. One second, you were alone in the snow, and the next, Patrick and your ski instructor were hovering over you, goggles on their foreheads as they looked at you with concern.
“Are you okay?” you were finally able to make out once the slight ringing in your ears had ceased.
“Did you see how hard she crashed? Of course she isn’t fucking okay,” Patrick’s voice huffed, though slightly muffled from your helmet covering your ears.
“My ankle,” you said, as if that gave them enough context. You wondered if they could see the tears beginning to pool under your goggles. The pair looked at your limb, though with your snowsuit covering it, they really couldn’t see much.
“Can you walk?” your instructor asked you.
“I haven’t tried, but I’m gonna go with no.”
“We’re gonna have someone check you out. Don’t worry, they’ll be here soon,” your ski instructor told you. You blinked a few times and mustered all the strength you could to nod.
The longer you sat, the more you began to realize how badly everything hurt. From your head down to your surely swollen ankle, you weren’t feeling too hot. You closed your eyes, suddenly feeling very exhausted. Maybe a quick little nap was exactly what you needed to feel a little better.
“Hey, don’t do that. You hit your head pretty hard when you fell, so you might have a concussion.”
“I don’t, I’m just tired,” you explained, though you didn’t know for a fact that it was true. In fact, with the pounding in your head, you more likely than not had a mild concussion.
“Well, you kinda have to stay awake,” Patrick told you, though he surely knew it was easier said than done. You were surprised when you felt his gloved hand take yours and squeezed your hand softly. “Hey, why don’t you tell us a story?” he suggested, clearly just trying to keep you awake.
“Do you wanna hear the story about how he proposed to me?” you asked the instructor. You weren’t sure why that was the first thing to pop into your head, but it was a long enough story to keep you awake until help arrived. You wished your goggles were slightly less tinted, so you could at least see the scandalized expression Patrick was probably making. You loved when you made him react like that, since the roles were usually reversed.
“Well, yeah. Of course,” your instructor responded with a hint of a laugh. “You guys are engaged?” he directed towards Patrick.
“This is our honeymoon,” you replied before Patrick had an opportunity to respond. You wished you could see the confused look that your instructor was surely making.
“So what happened?”
“When he proposed?” you asked to clarify.
“...Sure.”
“Well, for a little context, Patrick here is a professional tennis player. He’s really good too. So given my athletic ability, as you got to see today, I never really played with him. Like, he would always ask me to just play a fun, quick little round and I would always tell him no. Mostly because I knew he would crush me. I did play a little bit back in the day, but I was nowhere near his level. I mostly preferred to be on the sideline while we dated. I mean, I came to every single one of his games. I’m pretty sure my office introduced remote work to us because of me, since I was traveling all the time to see him.
“Anyway, one day, after a day of buttering me up, and I mean, he was really laying it on thick. I don’t know how I didn’t think something was up,” you laughed as you recalled the day, how Patrick had scheduled a nail appointment for you, then wined and dined you during a very romantic midday picnic. “But he asked me to play a little bit of tennis with him. I think I just thought he spent the day buttering me up so that I would play tennis with him, not that I would agree to marry him, but I digress.
“We get to the tennis court and Patrick’s nervous like I’ve never seen him. He was a little jittery all day, but this was a different beast. Looking back, I really don’t understand why. He should’ve known I was going to say yes. Anyway, we’re playing, and somehow I win, even though I’m extremely rusty and have absolutely awful form. Obviously I knew Patrick threw the match for me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t gonna gloat at him.
“So I’m doing my victory spiel and I walk over to his side of the court, where he’s digging in his bag. He’s so quiet, which should’ve been a sign that something was up, and I’m thinking he’s about to pull out more tennis balls and tell me we’re doing a rematch, so he can really crush me. Instead, he pulls out a box and gets down on one knee. He gives me a speech about how he didn’t care if he never won another game of tennis in his life, because as long as we were together, he was a winner. It was really sweet. Obviously I said yes.”
You finally looked over at Patrick, though you couldn’t perfectly read his expression through the darkened lens of your goggles. You wondered if he felt any of the same feelings that were currently simmering in your own chest. Though, you didn’t get to stew too long, as help arrived just as your story came to a close.
You were taken to an infirmary and given a series of tests, some to see the state of your head and other to see how the rest of your body was doing. Surprisingly, you made it out without too much serious damage. Your ankle was sprained, but nothing that would make it take too long to heal. You had a concussion, which surprised you, given your ability to recall so many details earlier in the day, but it was a very mild one. At least you’d made it back into your hotel in one piece.
You really just wanted to relax for the rest of the evening, and you had plans to do exactly that, when there was suddenly a soft rapping at your door.
You got up, and with help from the crutches you were provided, you hobbled to the door and opened it. On the other side was Patrick, who you were both surprised and unsurprised to see.
“Hey. I got your room number from the front desk,” Patrick told you. “Do you mind if I come in?”
“Sure, but I’m probably going to sleep soon,” with some effort, you sidestepped the doorway to let him in.
“Do you need anything? Want anything?” he asked as he made himself at home in your room, evaluating what you already had.
“I’m good, I think.”
“How’re you feeling? They wouldn’t let me see you at the infirmary.”
“I’ve been better,” you shrugged, sitting down on the foot of your bed to take some pressure off of your aching ankle.
“I bet. Are you icing that?” he asked, gesturing to your most obvious injury.
“I haven’t been able to make it out to the ice machine,” you confessed, though the doctor had suggested ice for the inflammation.
“Let me go grab some for you,” he said before disappearing out into the hallway. Once he left, you laid back in bed, letting out a sigh of relief at how much better being flat felt.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like being taken care of this way. It seemed like no matter how bad things got between the two of you, you would always care for one another in some capacity. You wondered what had gone through Patrick’s mind when he saw you hurt yourself. You wondered if that changed anything in the way he felt about you.
He knocked on the door once more to tell you he was back, though the door was already unlocked.
“If there’s anything else you need, I mean anything at all, just call me. I’m just down the hall from you,” he told you as he bagged up the ice he retrieved.
He sat down on the foot of the bed, where you’d previously been sitting, and tenderly set the bag of ice on your ankle, clearly not wanting to hurt you any more than you were already hurt. He looked at you a little sadly before standing back up, not wanting to linger in your presence too long.
“I’ll let you get some sleep,” he explained, already turning to head towards the door.
“Thanks, Patrick,” you paused, looking for any other words you had for him. “Good night.”
“Night.”
SOMEWHERE IN ITALY
The next few days in Switzerland had been extremely boring. Due to doctor’s orders, you mainly stayed in bed, avoiding screens by reading books, and looking out the window to view the mountains that you were currently missing.
Although you had to miss a lot of the fun your tour was going on, like a cheese and chocolate tour, you somehow still received an anonymous delivery of cheeses and chocolates—though, you were pretty sure you knew who was responsible for that.
Patrick didn’t seem like he wanted to overstep any boundaries, which you respected, though you really could’ve used some company whose ear you could talk off. Hell, you’d even take another nasty argument over the resounding silence of your room.
Luckily for you, by the time your group was traveling once again, you were starting to feel slightly better, concussion and ankle-wise. Though, your head was starting to hurt from listening to a person at the front of the bus go on about how much they needed the bus to pull over somewhere.
After a period of incessant complaining from someone on your bus, the vehicle finally came to a stop at a small rest stop in the middle of the Italian countryside.
Not willing to pass up an opportunity to stretch your legs, you got off at the stop, briefly stopping inside the building to look at what they had to offer before stepping behind the building, watching the wind blow through the overgrown weeds.
Your attempt at enjoying the quiet, idyllic countryside was disturbed when you were joined by a smoking companion.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said.
Before you could stop it, a sad smile appeared on your face. The two of you hadn’t spoken since your brief conversation in your hotel room, despite the mystery snack deliveries and the promise of coming if you called.
“I’ve been worried about you,” he said plainly.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” you dismissed.
“You’ve spent the last few days all alone in a room with a concussion.”
“It’s mild.”
“You fucked up your ankle.”
“It’s healing. It’s not all that bad.”
“Well, I’ve been worried anyway,” he passed you his partially smoked cigarette and you took a drag from it, though you were sure that was one of the things you shouldn’t be doing with a concussion.
“Thanks, I guess.” you said. “So is this just a wellness check, or…?”
“No, well, yes. Obviously I was worried about you physically, but I also was wondering about how you were in general.”
It was strange to see him clumsily mince his words, given how bold he usually was.
“Oh? What changed between here and Germany?”
“What changed? What changed was that I watched you almost die.”
You laughed aloud at his over dramatization of the event. “Patrick, I did not almost die.”
“How would I have known that? I just saw you flying downhill out of control and crashing and it terrified me. I couldn’t imagine a world without you in it.”
You weren’t sure how you were supposed to interpret his words, especially after the wild ride you’d been on throughout the trip. You weren’t sure you could handle another emotional bait and switch.
“Pat, maybe we should talk about this later. The bus is probably taking off soon.”
“No,” he stopped you with a hand on your arm, calling you back with a desperation you hadn’t seen in him in a long time. “I don’t want to waste another second without you.”
“Okay,” you said, though you weren’t sure that you should buy into it yet. “Go ahead, then.”
“I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want you or don’t want to be with you,” he confessed, which genuinely took you by surprise. With the way he’d been dodging your attempts at building a connection, you certainly didn’t think he’d tell you something like that.
“Then why have you been pretending?” you asked, hoping that your somewhat harsh words didn’t betray your genuine curiosity behind his behavior.
“I don’t know,” he said. It was a terrible, unsatisfying answer. One that didn’t explain a single reason behind his behavior. “I guess I just can’t wrap my head around the idea that anyone would want to keep me around long-term.”
You looked at him with shock in your eyes, your mouth slightly agape at the confession. You couldn’t imagine Patrick, overconfident, bold, and self-assured, who you’d been dating for years, not feeling secure in your relationship–to the point where he’d been actively trying to push you away out of anticipating how you’d feel about him.
“When you told me you weren’t ready to be with me, it just confirmed everything I’d been worried about—that one day you would wake up next to me and realize that I wasn’t the guy you wanted. I guess it just happened sooner than I anticipated.”
You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “If you felt like that, then why’d you tell me you weren’t in love with me anymore?”
“I thought if you were gonna leave me anyway, I might as well beat you to the punch.”
You were giving it your all to keep it together at this point, feeling slightly vindicated to know that Patrick was lying about no longer loving you, but mostly devastated that your whole relationship had been uprooted over an assumption that Patrick had made about you.
“I… I don’t even know what to say,” you looked out into the grass, then back at Patrick. “I wish you’d stop assuming that you know what I want all the time.”
“Hey you two, last call for the coach,” your tour guide suddenly interrupted, looking very obviously annoyed that the two of you were holding the bus up.
“Sorry. We’ll head back now,” you apologized to the guide. “We’ll continue this conversation later?” you directed towards Patrick.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
VENICE, ITALY
Putting a hold on your conversation probably wasn’t the wisest idea you’d ever had, considering that your next few days in Italy were set to be your busiest this far.
Between gondola rides on different boats and exploring historic palaces, the two of you didn’t have much time to stop and have as serious of a talk as you wanted to have. Even if you did somehow manage to pick up where you’d left off, there were so many people around you that it didn’t even feel worth it.
Luckily for you, your hotel had a private beach attached to it, and as you spent your evening by the beach, watching the sun go down, you were pleased to find that you were joined by familiar company.
At first, Patrick didn’t say anything as he sat down on the same chair next to you. The two of you enjoyed the serene sunset and privacy that the beach afforded you in silence, though you were sure that things wouldn’t stay that way for long.
“I love you, you know?” he finally piped up, breaking the silence with a very bold declaration.
You looked at him calmly, though you weren’t feeling very calm on the inside. You’d been waiting to hear those words from him from the moment that the two of you broke up. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to react to it now, though the confession was better late than never.
“I love you too. I never stopped,” you told him simply, as if the realization that you were stuck on him hadn’t been haunting you for months now.
“I never did, either. It was cruel of me to ever tell you that I did.”
You nodded in agreement, wondering if Patrick would ever understand the full extent of the damage his words had done to you. “It was, but I understand where you were coming from. If I had known that you didn’t think I was going to stick around, I would’ve gone about what I did differently,” you began to explain. “I think it came across as me not wanting to marry you at all. Of course I wanted to marry you. There was just so much else going on in my life then that the timing didn’t feel right.”
“But the timing might be right someday?” Patrick asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice.
“The timing will be right someday. Maybe sooner than either of us know,” you shot him a wink, then broke into a grin as he pulled you into a firm, loving embrace.
ATHENS, GREECE
The rest of your time in Italy mainly consisted of making up for lost time, with the two of you partaking in far more PDA than what was ever necessary and thoroughly documenting your time abroad together as a couple.
Thanks to your injury, you were slightly slower than the rest of your group. But that certainly didn’t stop Patrick from lagging along with you, letting you lean on him for support when you needed it and pausing to sit and take breaks with you whenever you noticed that walking was taking too much of a toll on you.
It was nice to be back with him, to not have to feel stupid for feeling what you felt or feel the pressure of knowing that you should probably be trying to move on. The only unfortunate part was how little time the two of you had left on vacation, with you heading home after spending a few days in Athens. If only the two of you had been upfront about your feelings earlier, then you could’ve been having as great of a time as you were having now during your entire trip.
The two of you briefly floated the idea of having somewhat of a shotgun wedding, but scrapped it after realizing that you would prefer to have your family and friends there to celebrate with you. After all, many of them had been on the emotional rollercoaster that was your relationship right along with you.
For the time being, the two of you were perfectly content with being together, and knowing that neither of you had any intentions of leaving.
Somehow, that made your last few days of vacation feel infinitely better.
ATHENS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
You scrolled endlessly on your phone, sending out a few messages to friends and family to let them know that you were heading back home. While you typically felt a few nerves before boarding a plane anywhere, you couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of excitement, both at the thought of being able to go back home and sleep in your own bed, and at the potential your newly reformed relationship had.
Your scrolling was interrupted by Patrick’s presence, carrying a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in his hands with a slightly goofy look on his face.
“Sorry for taking so long. I think everyone and their mother wanted coffee today,” he explained as he sat down, passing you your items as he got comfortable next to you.
“No worries. I’m just glad you were running late to grab us breakfast, instead of trying to switch our seats like last time.”
The two of you shared a laugh before Patrick said, “That feels like a lifetime ago.”
“It basically was,” you dismissed.
Once it was announced that your group was boarding, the two of you stood up quickly, attempting to gather your bearings before getting on the plane.
“‘Till next time, Europe,” you bid the country goodbye as the two of you made your way to the line.
“Should we come back to Europe? I was thinking our next honeymoon should be somewhere else. Maybe Bali.”
“Oooh, Bali sounds nice. I think anywhere warm and with a beach is good,” you explained, though you really didn’t care where you went, as long as Patrick was there by your side.
#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x you#patrick zweig fic#art donaldson x reader#challengers#challengers fanfic#josh o'connor x reader
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Headcanons for being an Avenger with a low social battery
Avengers x reader
warnings:
a/n:
prompt: anonymous: “Can I have the avengers with a reader who has a really bad social battery. Like they can be out in public and then they just disappear and are like “nah I’m done with these mofo’s””
the avengers are quite the rowdy bunch
but you always as excitable as them
these guys were often in the public eye, always being asked all sorts of questions
but you just couldnt handle it a lot of the time
"y/n, can i get a picture with you? you're my hero!" -fan
"uh...yeah, sure. big smile!" -you, completely exhausted
you tried to be nice and not obvious that you were drained but boy was it hard
especially when tony threw his parties
you'd typically sit in the corner with a drink and try to make it through the night
but there were always some guests who were just dying to come talk to you
"hey! why are you hiding over here, there's a party going on! come, have some fun!" -clueless party guest
"oh, i'm okay over here, thank you" -you
"i'll keep you some company, then. why don't you tell me a story of one of your avenger missions"
some people just could not take the hint
but the avengers usually knew when you'd had enough
"wanna get out of here?" -nat
"please." -you
you'd recharge alone whenever you escaped the madness
dont even get me started on the news
they would do anything to get an interview with you
"y/n! could you comment on the recent events in [country] that you accompanied the avengers in?" -reporter
"we were there, we saved the day" -you, obviously exhausted
"is that all you have to say?" -reporter
"hey! don't you want to hear what i have to say? huh?" -tony
"thanks, tony" -you
"no problem, kiddo" -tony
wanda got it
you liked spending time with her because she liked to be calm and alone sometimes too
you'd read or watch tv or listen to music together in silence for hours
it was nice
it was funny because sometimes the team would all be socializing and then bam
"hey, where's y/n?" -steve
"i think they tapped out" -clint
"oh. i'll go check on them" -steve
"no, just leave them alone, they'll be back" -tony
after a lot of missions you'd just wait for the avengers on the quinjet while they spoke to authorities or SHIELD or whoever
"just forward me the mission report, i'll fill it out" -you
everyone just kinda let you do your thing
which worked out just fine for you
it drove fury crazy back in the day
"just why are we giving y/n special treatment? what? they're tired?" -fury
"i didn't say that, i said they were over your shit" -tony
"you better not have said that, i'll give you one last chance" -fury
and that is just another reason you were depleted
some days were better than others, and sometimes you could keep up! but once your battery died, that was it
"'social battery,' you say? any way i could be of assistance? maybe a small jolt from mjolnir to charge it back up?" -thor
"oh, no, just a figure of speech, no need for...that" -you
taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 // @deanzboyfriend //
#avengers#avengers x reader#avengers imagine#tony stark x reader#tony stark imagine#tony stark#steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers imagine#thor odinson imagine#clint barton imagine#natasha romanoff imagine#wanda maximoff imagine#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel x reader
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Hi, i failed my finals :) I would like a mind distraction. I would like to request a Bucky Barnes X top male reader. But! Bucky likes to dress up :p so maybe reader comes home early and catches Bucky dressed in something girly and that leads to 🔥💥🔥💥🔥💥 bed breaking voice cracking steamy spice. And then cuddles afterwards. Pretty please 🛐🛐🛐
BUCKY BARNES X TOP MALE READER
Awww you failed your finals? Now I have to write this for I can cheer you up, Bucky is gonna wear that dress we were talking ang other day.
⚠️Warnings- Bucky in a dress, smutt with plot, making out, handjobs, rough, fast, top reader, bed shaking, loud, moan, and etc⚠️
Y/n was sitting down in the break room of his job on his phone listening to one of his coworkers talk about their family life. Scrolling through his phone and listening to his friend go on and on about his family Y/n didn’t seem annoyed or bothered.
“So me and Cherry has this huge fight she was telling me how we’re getting distant and how I’m always busy with work.” The coworker says catching Y/n’s attention. Y/n thought to himself.
“I’ve been busy with work to…way too tired to do anything with Buck.” Y/n thought to himself immediately comparing his coworker’s problem to his own relationship.
“How I haven’t been showing her any affection and all that stupid crap.” The coworker said as he shrugged and ate his lunch. “Why every partner gotta be clingy you know.” Which each word his coworker spoke Y/n realized that he was doing the exact same thing as his coworker.
“Ah shit, uhm something just came up at home I gotta go. Clock out for me will ya, I’ll return the favor next time.” Y/n said gesturing to his phone as if he just got a emergency text, before his coworker could respond Y/n pat his back and got his things and left.
Y/n left the building and went to his car to drive home. Y/n unlocked the door to his car and got inside and turned the car on. “Fuck…how could I be so stupid.” Y/n mumbles softly to himself lightly hitting the steering wheel in realization before driving out the parking lot and to his home. He many ideas swarmed around in his head thinking about all sorts of ways he could make things up.
Deciding Y/n stopped by a flower shop to buy a beautiful bouquet then after he bought some chocolates from a nearby by store.
As soon as Y/n got to the apartment and tried to be as quiet as he could being entering the house. He would usually announce himself that he’s home. But he really wanted to surprise him. So he quietly walked to the bedroom and as quiet he could opened the door and peaked his head inside.
“Hey Bucky, I’m home I got you something.—“ Y/n cuts himself off as he looked at his boyfriend.
Bucky stood in the middle of the room in front of the mirror wearing a beautiful light blue sundress. Bucky’s face was flushed full with embarrassment and shock as he turned his head to face Y/n’s own shock face.
“It— uhm.— let me explain.” Bucky stuttered over his words.
Y/n didn’t respond back just silently looking over the dress. With more awkward silence Y/n finally decided to speak. “When did you get this?” Y/n mumbled out as he put the flowers and chocolate to the side. He walked over to Bucky and began touching the ends of the sun dress. Bucky was to embarrassed to say anything.
Y/n himself was speechless as well. He didn’t feel mad or upset, just confused. And honestly he felt attracted. Y/n never imagined Bucky in a dress, but right now it’s like he fell in love with him all over again.
“I’m gonna take this off—“ Bucky was cut off by Y/n own words. “No. Keep it on…you look good.
“You think so? I- I thought you didn’t like girly things.” Bucky’s face was getting more red as Y/n pulled the hem of the dress up touching Bucky’s thighs and just having a good feel of bucky’s upper legs before trailing up.
“Yeah- just not on myself. So when did all of this start? You look so good in this dress doll.” Y/n whispered as he began to move closer and pressing his body against Bucky’s own and kissing his cheek and jaw.
“Just a few months ago…I like myself in clothes like this. I’ve been hiding the dresses and stuff I’m the closet.” Bucky confessed as he slowly and softly gasped as he felt Y/n’s hands run over his body.
Y/n pulled Bucky closer and lay him down on the bed. Y/n got on top him and pulled the hem fully up and exposing Bucky’s bare cock. Y/n spat into his hand and wrapped his hand around Bucky’s soft cock stroking it slowly to get Bucky hard. Y/n leaned up and began to kiss Bucky slowly but passionately. Bucky whispered into the slow but deep kisses.
Bucky’s cock grew harder from the kisses and Y/n’s hand stroking him. Bucky used his free hand to tug on Y/n’s belt, showing Y/n that he wants him to take it off.
Y/n let go of Bucky’s dick and used his hands to take his belt off and threw it to the side before pulling his pants and boxers low but not taking them fully off just enough for his cock to spring out.
Bucky wrapped his hand around Y/n’s cock jerking it off the same pace Y/n was jerking him off in. Y/n leaned in and kissed Bucky back. Y/n went back to jerking off his boyfriend now fully hard cock.
Both men were making out and jerking off each other off. It was a really hot and passionate scene. Y/n’s tongue entered Bucky’s mouth.
After a while Y/n broke the kiss and pulled away reaching to the night stand and getting a bottle of lube out and squeezing some into his fingers and rubbed them in.
“Open your legs for me, doll.” Y/n said and immediately Bucky opened his legs. Y/n leaned back to Bucky and moved one finger into his hole. Y/n was looking down watching his own movements.
He moved and curled his finger inside of Bucky stretching him out. Bucky moaned and whimpered from Y/n’s finger thrusting in and out of him. Bucky’s cock began to leak precum and Y/n laughed softly. “Your already close from handjob and fingering.” Y/n sucked onto his teeth making a “Tch Tch” noise in a teasing tone.
Y/n moved another finger inside and really began fucking him with his fingers.
He curled his fingers into Bucky’s prostate as he used his free hand to grab and stroke his boyfriend’s already wet and trembling cock.
Bucky was letting out deep moans and softly whining as he moved his hips around. Y/n curled his fingers deeper into Bucky’s prostate. Y/n began to make a scissoring motion. Bucky moaned and breathed heavy as he wrapped his arms around Y/n’s shoulders holding him tightly.
Y/n let go of Bucky’s cock and pulled his fingers out and grabbed the bottle of lube and squeezed some onto his cock and rubbed it so it’s wet. Y/n squeezed a bit more onto Bucky’s hole before moving his cock against the entrance of Bucky’s hole.
Y/n slowly moved his cock inside holding Bucky by his thighs keeping his legs apart and in the air.
Slowly Y/n rocked his hips back and forth moving the tip in and out. Y/n moved his cock deeper and pulled out before moving back halfway. Y/n thrusted in and out in a rhythm before thrusting his cock fully inside Bucky.
“Gahh!~ ngh… fu-fuck Y/n!~” Bucky immediately moaned out with his legs tensing.
Y/n rocked himself back and forth thrusting in and out of him. Bucky moaned and whined as Y/n held his legs higher thrusting as deep as he could.
Bucky’s cock was hidden on the dress so the hard cock had a tent in the dress. Y/n’s chest was pressed into Bucky’s own.
Soon enough Bucky’s moans went from quiet to loud and pleasure real quick. Bucky moaned loudly as Y/n slowly fucked him. Suddenly Y/n’s slow pace quickly turned fast and rough. Y/n drilled his cock deep inside Bucky’s hole abusing it.
Bucky’s hands flared around searching for anything that he could hold onto. His hands found the sheets below them a gripped onto them for support. Y/n’s cock rammed in and out of Bucky’s hole using him as if he was a toy.
After a while Y/n hoist Bucky from his back and pulled him into his lap fucking him messily. Thrust after thrust Y/n felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Y/n gripped onto Bucky’s hips as Bucky wrapped his arms around Y/n's shoulders holding onto him tightening and moaning nonsense into his ear.
"Y-Y/n! Y/n!~ I'm i'm..." Bucky couldn't even finish his sentence as he came hard all over himself and his own dress. It wasn't the first time the man had an orgasm, but every time he does it feels new to him. The bed was squeaking and head board hitting against the wall as Y/n thrust in and out faster and deeper.
Bucky rocks his hips back and forth trying to be as gentle as he can. Y/n moves his face to the crook of Bucky’s neck kissing it softly. "Fuck. F-fuck." Bucky groans out as Bucky feels his cock twitch inside him.
Y/n begins to pick up his pace, but not too fast or rough. Y/n's thrust was at a perfect speed for him to reach his peak.
"Bucky~ ohh~ fuck Bucky. I'm close." Y/n says with a moan moving his hands onto either sides of the bed holding onto the sheets tightly as he fucks deep, but gentle inside Bucky.
"Buck!~ fuck baby! I'm about to cum!" Y/n warns feeling Bucky scratching and holding onto his back. Bucky could feel his own cock about to cum as well. With a few more thrust Y/n cums deep inside Bucky burying his seed deep inside him. Bucky moaned loud as he scratched Y/n’s back.
The two began to breathe heavy Y/n kissed Bucky’s cheek whispering praises in his ear.
Y/n pulled himself out and watched the cum leak out of Bucky’s hole and down his thighs. Y/n cradled Bucky in his lap kissing him softly, peppering kisses all over his face while picking him up in his arms before laying him down on the bed. Bucky was tired and laid down onto the bed. Y/n went to the bathroom and picked a towel before coming back and wiping Bucky clean.
As he cleaned him Y/n was gentle and telling praises and good sweet things. Bucky was laughing softly as his face was flushed.
“You did so good…I love you so much Buck.” Y/n praised kissing him causing Bucky to giggle.
“I love you too.” Bucky and Y/n kissed back and forth swapping and whispering praises to one another while cuddling.
THE END
#x male reader#x reader#male reader#male reader insert#x male y/n#x top male reader#x gn reader#amab reader#top male reader#bucky barns x male reader#bucky barnes#bucky barns x reader#winter soldier#winter solider x reader#Winter soldier x male reader#marvel x male reader#marvel x reader#the bear club
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I haveth a request ☝️
could you write Cairo x g!p fem reader smut.
Maybe a childhood best friends type situation like Genius, but they stayed friends all throughout middle school and high school and they catch feelings for each other somewhere in between middle school and beginning of high school. They constantly sneak longing stares at each other and unknowingly make each other jealous until the tension is unbearable and one day when Cairo, Winnie, and reader are hanging out they started telling hookup stories but Cairo is still a virgin so she just sits there quietly listening and after Winnie goes home things happen.
No Chance
Cairo Sweet x Female (GP!) Reader (Request) (Smut, minors do not interact)
Masterlist
A/N: Feast! On the worst thing I have written thus far! I'm sorry Anon, this just didn't work for me. I wrote it, I kinda made what you asked for, but it didn't quite inspire me and I don't feel like leaving it for later would have made it flow any better.
Word count: 3.1k
You can’t love her like that. She’s your best friend.
Those were the words you kept saying to yourself for over four years now. Yet that love kept getting stronger as time passed. And every single time you thought that maybe, just maybe you could get over her you would just see her with someone, and it wouldn’t even have to be more than just sharing a laugh with some random guy, and you’d get reminded of how strong your feelings for her were.
Those feelings didn’t matter though. She was your best friend, and she didn’t love you back.
~X~
For how long was she going to torture herself like this? She loved you, she longed for you, yet her feelings always felt unrequited. True, Cairo has never been the most direct with her feelings toward you, fearing she would ruin the friendship that lasted since she was four years old. But there was no way you missed all of her longing glances. All the times she watched you so love-struck Winnie would tease her about it when it was just the two of them.
You were her protective best friend and you acted as one, though Winnie often referred to it as jealousy. Winnie didn’t know anything. You were like that even when the two of you were kids, protective and kind. It didn’t mean anything more, as she used to hope.
Not since you…
She couldn’t get angry, you just chose some other girl and that was it, and ever since then she lost hope of ever being with you. If it really didn’t mean anything to you to lose your virginity like that, why didn’t you just come to Cairo?
If it meant nothing to you, maybe in the end it would mean nothing to Cairo as well. As it was, she wasn’t even an option for you.
~X~
You and Winnie came over to hang out at Cairo’s place, since it was the most convenient location. Perks of her parents never being around, you guessed. Though you knew Cairo would gladly trade that perk for loving parents.
It started out as a regular night, you and Cairo leaning against the headboard of her bed, while Winnie sat at the foot of it. Being this close to Cairo wasn’t anything new, but you couldn’t help but feel the tension, something unspoken between the two of you ever since you told her about the girl you slept with. Either way, the three of you were playing cards until Winnie decided to speak up.
“Oh, yeah, did you ever go out with that girl you fucked?” she asked while you were in the middle of drinking the juice.
And, naturally, you nearly choked on it, because who the fuck opens the conversation with that?!
“Easy, lover girl,” Cairo was patting your back a bit too harshly, but it was getting the job done, and nearly choking made you miss the passive aggression dripping from her tone.
“Thanks,” you wheezed, finally sure that you would survive. “I’m okay now,” you glared at Winnie who just shrugged, though she did have an apologetic smile on her face.
“So, the what’s-her-name girl,” she reminded you as Cairo leaned back on her bed, though she made some extra distance between the two of you.
You rolled your eyes. “It was a one-night stand, we had a fun time and I left her house after we were done, I didn’t even sleep over,” you shrugged, giving up the minimal information because you knew Winnie wouldn’t let it go now that she remembered it.
Winnie stared at you blankly. “That’s a boring story for your first time,” she complained.
“Better boring than bad,” you figured reminding Winnie of her own first experience, which, well, didn’t end that spectacularly.
“Still,” Winnie let the gravity do its’ job as she leaned to the side and fell onto the bed. “I thought you’d wait for someone you love,” she pointed out.
You looked away, not wanting to look at Cairo at the moment.
“Y/N?” Cairo noticed your silence, forcing you to turn back and grin.
“There’s no point. I don’t have a chance with her, so, you know, no point in waiting,” you’ve given up on Cairo ever returning your feelings, so it really didn’t matter who you lost your virginity to. Not the most mature approach, but you were only eighteen, it was difficult to expect a mature approach from someone your age.
You could see Winnie about to tease you, but you glanced at her, shaking your head lightly and it luckily sent the message across, stopping her from saying anything else.
Eventually, it was just you and Cairo, as Winnie had to go finish some art project and for once Cairo figured she wanted to watch a movie.
“So, it’s nothing to you, having sex?” she asked you out of blue as the slow opening scene began playing on the TV, and you looked at her, frankly, confused by the tone of her voice. She sounded jealous and if she truly was jealous, you wished she showed you that earlier.
“I guess,” you fell back so you were lying next to her instead of sitting, though you could still see her face, and just looked at the ceiling. It’s not that it was nothing to you, you just, as you said to her and Winnie before, didn’t think you had a chance with ‘the one you loved’ that one being Cairo. So, you went and lost your virginity, it was mutual understanding that it was a one-night stand, and that was it.
“So, you wouldn’t mind taking someone’s virginity?” she asked, leaning back but not quite lying down and trailed her fingers across your arm.
Blood rushed to your face at the look in her eyes. You had to be misunderstanding this somehow, right? Surely, she didn’t mean her virginity?! “Yours?” you squeaked, which only made you feel even more embarrassed.
Cairo nodded, blushing furiously. “I don’t really want to lose it to just anyone, and you’re,” she paused, looking down as her hand slipped from your arm and onto the bed. “My best friend,” she refused to look at you.
You swallowed hard, fuck, she was serious. You touched her chin and gently tilted it up. “Are you sure?” you asked her and she just nodded, her eyes finally meeting your own.
“Let me take you out on a date first, give you the whole experience,” you suggested. “Tomorrow after school, we grab a nice dinner, and then if you’re still sure this is what you want, we’ll do it,” you still expected her to tell you it was a prank, but she just nodded, and though it was awkward and both of you stole occasional glances at each other you managed to get through the movie.
~X~
You took Cairo out, as you promised. After school you showed up at her house with a bouquet of red roses, properly dressed up for the date and forcing yourself not to look at her too much, as she was dressed in a beautiful, kinda short, black dress with open back.
“You look amazing,” you said smiling slightly as you handed her the flowers.
“Thanks,” she brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and the two of you went out. You took her to the local restaurant, then to a bookstore, then for a brief walk before you finally went back to her place, and you could feel both of you being on the edge at the moment.
“If you change your mind we can stop at any time, it doesn’t matter if it’s now or if I’m hard, or if I’m even inside you. You say stop, we stop,” you assured her as she led you by your hand to her bedroom.
Cairo nodded and kissed your cheek. “You as well, I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” she told you as she sat down on her bed.
“Thanks,” you sat down to her right and leaned over, kissing her neck and her breath hitched. “Is this okay?”
“Mhm,” she closed her eyes and leaned back, exposing her neck to you. She moved her hands up and the tips of her fingers lightly massaged your cheek and jaw while her left hand slipped to the back of your head, her fingers running through your hair and massaging your scalp. “Oh,” she hummed when you found a more sensitive spot and sucked on it, surely leaving a hickey right there.
“Damn, you’re beautiful,” you whispered, your lips gliding over her skin until you reached her ear and gently nibbled on her earlobe. From the corner of your eyes, you saw Cairo squeezing her thighs, you saw her breasts rising and falling as her breathing became deeper.
You were going slow, making sure she felt every sensation as you slid your hand down her side, to her thigh, and you squeezed lightly before pushing her thighs apart and slipping a hand under her dress. You felt her tensing and relaxing as you caressed her bare stomach and sides, just playfully teasing her by occasionally pulling at the strap of her bra.
“Y/N,” she sighed, and you drank it all in, every small sigh, every tiny whimper or moan, every sound you made her make. You took it all in, not for a moment pausing when it came to kissing her neck.
“How are you feeling?” you asked her.
Did you really have to ask her? The only thing that would have made this even better would be if you kissed her on the lips, but it felt like you weren’t going to do that. Even without that she felt so damn good, your warm soft lips on her neck, your wet tongue, dragging over her sensitive neck, your hand under her dress, teasing her everywhere you could reach. She felt aroused, she felt the wetness soaking her panties and that was the only uncomfortable feeling she had. She needed to get them off, to feel your fingers down there instead. “It feels good, I need more though,” she gasped as you bit her neck. How long have you been paying attention to her neck? It was sensitive to begin with, but now it felt like every little touch was going straight to her puss. “Please, Y/N,” she moaned and leaned back, falling onto the bed and pulling you along with her.
“Are you getting wet, hm, Baby?” you rasped, and she gasped, her fingers digging into the back of your head as her left hand slipped down your throat, her nails undoubtedly leaving red stripes down your skin
“Yes! Please touch me,” she whimpered arching her back when you cupped her breast through her bra. You were building up her anticipation and she wondered why she ever waited to do this. Why did she never asked you to take her virginity before. “Can I kiss you?” she pleaded as she made you look her in the eyes.
“Cairo, that’s…” you paused, losing your momentum. As crazy as it might sound, you felt like kissing her would make this too real, that it would be one detail that makes all your feelings come out. That feeling her lips against yours would, more than anything, make you give into your feelings and ruin the friendship that was already hanging by the thread.
“Please,” she was breathing heavily, turned on, yet you saw something else in her eyes, something that couldn’t be true.
“I,” you tried to resist her, to not cross that line, but how many times did you imagine kissing her? You feared you’d regret either choice. In the end you nodded, and her lips pressed softly against yours, her hand gripping the fabric of your shirt as she pressed against you. And instead of fondling her breast you lowered your hand to her waist and hugged her.
Cairo moaned into the kiss, feeling like someone was setting off fireworks in her head. You let her kiss you, and she would be damned if she didn’t kiss you as many times as she would be allowed to tonight. If this was the one and only time the two of you would be intimate like this, she wanted all of it.
You separated from air, and you leaned your forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” your apology made her heart sink. “I love you. You’re the one I have no chance wi-“ she cut you off with another kiss, her tongue danced with your own and she made you switch positions to get on top of you. “Fuck, Cairo,” you hissed as she threw her dress off and lifted your shirt up.
“You,” she was feral, kissing your neck, grinding against you, her hands roaming your body as if she had to map out every bit of your skin in her mind. “Dumbass!”
You just blinked, eyes wide and mouth open as you watched her, unable to come up with a response.
“Don’t have a chance with me?! I’ve loved you for years you idiot!” she yelled, her voice cracking as she pulled back and just looked at you. “I love you,” she whispered, kissing you deeply and it all made sense now, her reactions, her glances, and you cursed yourself for being too blind to see that all along your feelings were reciprocated. “I love you,” she said again when she paused kissing you. “Now, let’s finish what we started,” she whispered, her lips ghosting over yours and you lost it a bit when she took her underwear off and helped you strip as well. You were already hard, but you wanted to prepare her more, to make her cum, or at least bring her close first.
“Yes, Ma’am,” you teased and slipped a finger between her folds, she was wet enough for your finger to just slip in.
“Fuck,” she whispered at the feeling of your finger pushing into her and she wondered how your cock would feel as she experimentally rocked her hips back and forth, causing her clit to rub against your palm.
“That’s it, Baby, ride it,” you gently pushed another finger inside her after you were sure she was wet and stretched enough, and it took a bit to adjust, but the pleasure more than made up for it. Cairo leaned down, pulling your head to her breasts and moaning. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, she gripped your shoulder, and the back of your head as you kissed her breasts and occasionally sucked her nipples. She felt good before, but now that she knew you loved her, now that you were no longer having sex as best friends, but as two people that loved one another, every touch felt more intense.
You held her hip with your free hand, your fingers occasionally slipping down to her ass as you guided her movement. “Wait,” she cried out. She was close, she was so close, but she wanted to have an orgasm with your cock inside her, and just like you promised you would you stopped completely, pulling your fingers out of her and completely halting everything you were doing. “I want your cock inside me,” she assured you before you could start worrying.
You nodded, flipping the two of you around once more. “It’ll be easier like this,” you told her as you brushed some of her bangs from her eyes and kissed her softly. You pulled a condom out of the pocket of your pants and opened it. “Just give me a moment,” you whispered in her ear, putting the condom on and just to make it as easy as it possibly could be, lubed it up.
Cairo moaned as you slowly pushed the head of your cock inside her while rubbing her clit. “I’ve got you, just relax,” you hugged her with your other arm and peppered her neck and shoulders with butterfly kisses as you pushed further inside.
“I know,” she hugged you back, pulled you closer to her and took several deep breaths as you pushed the last inch into her. “You got me,” she whispered, throwing her head back and taking a moment to adjust.
“Does it hurt?” you asked as you left kisses from her shoulder all the way to her lips.
“No, I just feel so full, just give me a moment,” she pulled you in for a kiss, her tongue slipping inside your mouth as she slowly pulled her hips back a bit and then pushed back against you. “Feels so good,” she moaned, encouraging you to slowly start moving as well.
She was tight, and her pussy was clenching around you so hard you knew you wouldn’t be able to last long, and you didn’t want to resort to thinking about anything else to stop yourself from cumming. Not when you were finally with Cairo. “I don’t think I’ll last long,” you told her as much.
“Me neither!” she cried out, her face twisting into an expression of pleasure as you gradually picked up the pace. “Just a bit more, Baby,” she encouraged you and you rubbed her clit harder, intent on making her cum first. Your efforts paid off as her back arched and she gasped, cumming with a near silent cry and pushing you over the edge as well.
You pulled out, shaky and out of breath, but satisfied as you kissed Cairo once more. “You have no idea how much I am going to kiss you from now on,” you chuckled, unable to get enough of her lips.
“Mhm, you better do some other things as well,” she pecked you on the lips, a bit too tired to do anything else.
You nodded, taking a deep breath and feeling your body relaxing as you helped Cairo calm down as well. “I’m going to go and get a bath ready for you,” you whispered, but just as you were about to pull away she reached up and grabbed your hand.
“For us,” she said with a smile on her face and you nodded.
“Right, for us,” you leaned down, kissing her softly once more before you headed to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and get a bath ready for you and Cairo.
#cairo sweet x female reader#cairo sweet x reader#cairo sweet#miller's girl#jenna ortega x reader#bottom cairo sweet#top reader#gp! reader#x reader#x female reader
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Can you write about Yandere Jungwon being rejected?
[21:29]
"I'm sorry but I like someone else."
"What?"
Jungwon felt his heart crushed so bad after heard what you said to his confession. Had he read everything wrong? Didn't you like him and was too shy to admit it?
"What do you mean, Y/n? You like me right? You are just too shy to admit it. I've seen you stared at me in the class."
You were flabbergasted at what he said. It's not really wrong but it's not 100 percent right either. True, you were staring in the class but not to him. You were looking at the person beside him, Sangwon. Jungwon read the situation wrong and now you felt guilty because of it.
"Jungwon, I'm really sorry but it's completely wrong. I was staring at Sangwon not you. I'm really sorry if you think it was for you."
Not only Jungwon felt embarrassed but he also felt angry and mad towards his cousin, Sangwon. Why does he got your attention? Why would you want to be with his cousin when you could be with him. Thankfully, the class was empty so they can't see what is happening between both of you.
You wanted to say more but Jungwon already went to his seat without even looking at you. You too went back to your seat when some of the classmates started to arrive. You saw Sangwon came and asked Jungwon why his face was gloomy but Jungwon just shook his head and do revision instead.
-----
-----
You were having a date together with Sangwon. Few days after Jungwon confessed to you, Sangwon came and asked you out in front of the class. Based on his expression, seems like he didn't know that Jungwon likes you. Probably, Jungwon never tells his cousin about it.
"Are you okay, Y/n?"
"Hmm?"
Sangwon stared at you curiously. He was excited to know that you like him and asked you for a date but now you seems like not excited about it anymore.
"Ah yeah yeah I'm okay. I'm just a bit nervous."
The date went smooth but you still feel nervous whenever you looked to Sangwon's eyes. His face is similar to Jungwon so it kept reminding you to what happened few days ago.
Sangwon dropped you off after the date's over. You thanked him before went inside your house. However, when you came into the house, the strong smell of blood went through your nose.
You felt hopeless when you found out your dad was lying down dead with his stomach got stabbed. The strong smell from blood made you wanted to puke. You were taken back when you saw Jungwon was sitting beside him.
"Jung..won..."
Jungwon turned to you while his finger still fiddling with the knife that you believed he used to stab your father. The sight of him smiling with blood stain on his face made him looked so creepy.
"Oh y/n, you are home. How was the date with Sangwon? Was it exciting?"
Jungwon asked but you couldn't say anything when he was looking so creepy. He stood up and started to walk closer to you.
"I can't stand you with someone else, Y/n."
"You are crazy."
You stepped back to get away from him but Jungwon was quick to hold your shoulder. At this point, you can only cried and begged for him to let you go.
"Jungwon, this is wrong."
"If you didn't reject me maybe this will not happen, Y/n."
"Are you hearing yourself?! You killed my father just because I rejected you?!!"
"And I will do it again to others. Until you don't have anyone anymore."
Jungwon said as he caressed your hair like he was assuring you but instead he was threatening.
"I will make you depend to me only, Y/n."
You don't know where you got the courage but your hand moved by yourself and instantly punching him on the face. The impact is strong and made Jungwon lose his focus. You quickly ran away from him and throw things to slow his down.
"You think you can escape me?"
"Shut the fuck up, Jungwon."
"It sounds sweet when my name coming out from your mouth."
You ran to the kitchen and picked up a knife and shoved it to Jungwon. He smirked at the sight of you.
"You come close, I will kill you."
"Really, Y/n? Can you do that actually?"
Jungwon took one step closer and you were freaking out. The knife you shoved towards him didn't scare him at all.
"STAY THE FUCK AWAY OR I WILL- AHH"
Jungwon watched you fell down to the floor and passed out. He catched the knife so it won't fall and hurt your face. There was a little blood on your temple as a sign from being hit just now. He stared up at the person.
"That was good, Sangwon."
"You should not question the home run hitter, Jungwon."
Oh, how sick both of they are.
You thought you get with a good guy but no guys actually are good to be with.
_____________
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Taglist: @stacey-stonem @huggyuvita @duolingofanaccount @obsessed1with1straykids @eeunoia @rowretro @soireegurl
I did this while I was in hiatus so it's a bit boring but I hope you guys still enjoy it 😚😚😚
#yandere kpop#yandere enhypen#kpop yandere#enha x reader#lee heeseung#park jongseong#park sunghoon#jake sim#kim sunoo#nishimura riki#yang jungwon#yandere drabble#yandere jungwon#enha yandere#enhypen au#enhypen jungwon#jungwon enhypen#enhypen scenarios#enha scenarios#enha imagines
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i made a short post here referring to my own experiences and wanted to expand on it, you can reblog both of these posts btw. I am only writing this all down because the way some of you have spoken about chris and his decision very much bothers me. trust when i tell you i do not want to completely lay out my trauma on the internet for all of you to read, but if it makes one of you understand why this works, why it is important, then it will have been worth it to me.
When I was 12 my father was diagnosed with frontal temporal dementia. the adults in my family and his doctors decided that it was best for him to be moved to a a full time care facility. The next year, and after hearing, seeing, and understanding my father's condition and where it would go, I, at thirteen years old, made the decision to say goodbye to him, that I did not want to hear about what levels of deterioration he had reached. I wanted to remember him as he was when he remembered me, and all the adventures and fun things we did together.
I made that decision. I made it because it was easier than watching him deteriorate, forget who his sister, his brother, my brother, my mother, and me. And I knew that at twelve and thirteen. It was never a decision I ever thought I would have to make, it wasn't a decision I should've had to make.
Now, the important part, over the next few years my decision was questioned and ignored by the adults in my life and even my brother, some of the questioning I can understand now that I am older, but it should have never reached the level it did. My aunt and uncle would openly discuss his condition over dinner when he came to visit, and I would run away to the restaurant bathroom and cry my eyes out until my mom came to get me. I was forced into visiting him in his care home, which ended with it causing far more harm than good. Only then was my decision somewhat respected, it took me being retraumatized for it to be taken seriously.
Despite all of that, I do not regret that decision.
I can't know how I would be different if none of that happened. But at this point in my live, eleven years and some therapy later, I am fairly certain I would be less traumatized, carry less resentment and anger, if maybe my mom had spoken up at those dinners and made arrangements to get updates without me next to her trying to enjoy my pizza. Had I not had to see my own father forget my name and then have some sort of mini medical emergency. Had my brother heard me in a way only a sibling could.
So, yes, Christopher at thirteen made a indefinite and truly most likely temporary decision to remove himself from an environment where he doesn't fully trust his sole and primary caregiver. He knows his dad loves him, Eddie made that so clear. And it could really be 5 minutes, 5 days, 5 weeks, and so on and so forth until Christopher is ready to come home. And him knowing that Eddie respected his decision and loves him no matter what is what is going to make that time shorter. If he had walked out with his father begging him to stay, to forgive him before he was ready, the chances of him coming back would in my opinion would be far slimmer than the circumstances under which he did leave.
with that i leave you this,
"yeah people go away. and it's sad. and it hurts. but you know, not everyone goes away forever. sometimes they come back. and as much as we miss them, that's how happy we are to see them again."
#like i feel like i had to take my lived experience and put it out there cause i think it is rare that it is relevant like this#and many of you are posting from a place of idk what but its not that#sorry if this feels tmi or something idk#also this way of dealing with things is encoded in his dna from both sides#and this is truly the safest way he can do that#and some of you are acting like phones do not exists ffs#911 abc#911 spoilers#i might regret this or whatever#ok to rb#i said this to amelia in a text but tbh this kind of respect toward chris from eddie is just as important to me as bi buck#and i guess if i am the only one that feels that way or you can understand why after this...then well i cannot help you#anyway back to my hiatus ig
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Carved In. | Secondary Invoice
logline; Carmen begins to realize, that before you were Tony to him, you were a lot of other things, to a lot of people.
[!!!] series history, this is the eighth; First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh
Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. Link was broken last week, spoofy fixed it, we ball.
portion; 4.6k
possible allergies; uhhhh, carmy pov this time, so a bit of a warped and screwed perception of self and the people around him, yknow. Some Italian shit is said, I do not fucking speak Italian, I cross-referenced to the best of my abilities if I fucked up, my BAD.
pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader
i really like this one, feel like i'm reentering the groove now. hopefully you do too, and if you do, you better pop an essay in my inbox mf
It has been three weeks since Carmen met you in a freezer.
Six days since you were at his apartment. Ish.
Roughly forty-three weeks since the worst day of his life. Doesn’t feel like it.
There are five days, until the third or fourth worst day of Carmen Anthony Berzatto’s life.
But today is Monday, and he doesn’t know what’s coming yet. Though, he feels it, in the air, like static thrumming before lightning inevitably strikes him. But he doesn’t know what it is, where it’s coming from, or how to stop it.
He doesn’t need to, right now, because he’s very comfortable with you in his arms. So why are you ruining it right now—
“I gotta take this, Carm—” He’s holding you down. “If it’s an emergency they’ll call back.” And will continue to do so.
“Baby, they’ve called like four times.”
“These aren’t your business hours.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t have business hours. That’s kind of my whole thing.” He knows that. He knows that better than anyone that you���re on call. But, on-call for him. Selfish, he knows. And also, not correct, you’re a business. He doesn’t super care, right now, though.
You manage to wiggle your arm just that extra inch to grab your ringing phone off the bedside table. He’s grumbling as you pick up the call, face in the crook of your neck.
“Chicago’s Kindest, fixers and co— How can I help ya?”
It’s nice, to see another new side of you, the business side, despite the fact that he didn’t really want to see it, right now. It’s so early. It’s six thirty, you’re supposed to be doing puzzles with him and then forcing him to go back to bed. This is wildly unfair. The man speaking to you with the thick and panicked Italian accent over the phone is doing this on purpose, to spite him specifically, Carmen knows this for a fact.
“Oh fuck, yeah that’s not good. You’re okay though, right? Like no one hurt?”
He hopes they’re okay. If only so it’s one less thing for you to take care of, for whoever this is. He wonders if this guy called saying his sister was giving birth, if you’d rush over, first thing. You probably would, you’re you. That’s what you do. He shouldn’t think like this, but for some reason, this phone call is making him feel wildly un-special.
“Mhm. Well, that’s good, at least.” You nod, a pensive look on your face. Carmen stares at you, not that far from your face, you break character to stick your tongue out at him. Adorable. In the literal sense. Nothing short of adored.
“Yeah, I can come take a look at it, I have a feeling what it might be. Not a hazard, don’t worry.” No… This is a nightmare, this is his personal hell… Tell your dad to come out of retirement this one time, please. Arthritis is probably fake anyways, his hands seize during prep all the time and it’s fine—
You hang up, putting your phone down somewhere on the pillow, it will inevitably get lost into the ether despite being right next to you. You look down to Carmen, who’s laying half on top of you. He is… Displeased, certainly. His hold does not ease up.
“Diner’s flat-top broke.”
“And?”
“They specialize in breakfast.”
“And?”
You laugh, throwing your head back. “You would be so mad if your fixer delayed your whole breakfast rush just so she could spend a few more moments with the hot guy in her bed.”
He’s honoured, that you’d be willing to give him the adjective hot. “I would be so mad if my fixer had a hot guy in her bed.”
This flusters you, immediately, so you just push his face away with the palm of your hand, forcing him away. He kisses the palm of your hand upon contact. Too sweet.
“Shut up, you’ll come with me, I’ll get you breakfast there.” This is more a punishment than the gift you think it is. If someone other than him needs to be the one to make you breakfast, then at least let it be one of his cooks doing so.
“Them and what stove?”
How many versions of your work uniform do you have? Navy cargo pants, again, and a navy sweater this time. Perfectly fitted, Chicago’s Kindest logo embroidered into the top left, bright white, nearly glittering. A large flannel tied around your waist with all the same patches from your jumpsuit on it. Also all the same oil stains, virtually. It was your dad’s version of the patch shtick, you explain. Most of your jackets seem to be from your dad. Plus Carmen’s. Of which you don over your sweater in the Chicago winter weather. He’s trying to not look as happy as he is about this.
According to the overview you gave him in the car, this is your second favourite place in the area. Second favourite diner, to The Beef. Now that it’s The Bear, this place might take first place in your list of favourite trashy food spots. La Mattina Dopo. The Morning After. Carm wants to make a joke about this, but debates whether or not that’d be creepy for so long that the moment passes.
Carmen’s shocked he hasn’t been here before, it’s extremely up his alley. Literally. It’s like, two blocks down his alley.
There’s a big light up sign for Italian ice, and a burly older Italian man, up front, waiting for you. Carmen stands behind you, holding your tools, because he refused to let you. He’s a gentleman, alright? His mom didn’t teach him much, but he got that part down pat.
This fellow restaurant owner practically shrieks in relief, upon just seeing you. Groaning, “Oh, grazie a Dio, cazzo...” It’s clear this isn’t your first job here. And now that Carm’s seen the logo of the diner, on their obnoxious neon sign, he can match it to one of the patches on your flannel.
The man’s hands dwarves your hand, when he shakes it, hugging your hand with both of his. He’s deeply thankful that you’re just here, before you’ve even fixed anything.
You were right, Carmen thinks, you always are, but you’re especially right right now. Getting fucked by broken equipment is a nightmare, getting fucked during a rush? And it’s fucking rush hour breakfast? Fuck breakfast.
Carm can imagine, and also see in real time, how much ease you bring to every space you ever enter, with your stupid little logo on your stupid twenty-million pairs of clothes with it. God, you’re perfect.
“Sit, sit, sit, sit!” You’re grabbing your bags from Carmen as soon as you step inside the greasy spoon. You trade your tools from his arms with his jacket from yours. Shooing him off as you rush to the back of house. “I’ll be so quick. You won’t even miss me.” Not possible.
Carmen picks the farthest back booth in the corner, by the window. These leather seats are the least worn in, the sun comes in but not so much that it’s blinding, it’s objectively the best booth. He fiddles with his fingers, tracing his own tattoos. The place is relatively empty, since they’ve got a sign on their window saying ‘Griddle’s Fucked, BRB’. Classy.
He watches you through the serving hatch, working in the back. Good grief, you are so pretty when you work. It’s disrespectful, he needs to see you as the working woman you are, but it’s kind of impossible. You make it impossible. The golden hour of sunrise is hitting you just right. God, why do you have to be here and not at home right now?
“Can I get you a cup, Jack?” Jack? You’re Tony. Well, not really. But you’re Tony. Who’s this guy think he is, calling you nicknames Carm’s never had the honour of hearing, that you’ve probably had years before knowing him?
God, Tony is a new name for you. That’s weird. That’s so weird. It's one of many.
“At least some ice, c’mon, it’s boilin’ here.” It’s true. Sweater was a bad call. But it’s so cute.
“Ah, I’m good f’now, but ‘tuh—” You nod to Carmen through the window, grinning when you catch him staring. He’s finally honoured rather than nervous about this. “—Can you get Boss a coffee? He takes it…” You lean through the hatch, calling to him. “Uh, Carmy, how do you take it? Black?”
He takes it how you make it, lavender and maple syrup. Black coffee, no milk, but foam on top. Dried lavender, lined down the middle of the foam as garnish. It’s the best coffee he’s ever had in his life. Better than any bodega he ever stopped at in New York, better than anything anyone handed off to him at the French Laundry, better than Luca. That’s how he takes it.
“Black, yeah.”
He can’t tell if he likes when you call him boss. He thinks he does. That might be problematic. He's too distracted by the thought to notice you flinching when you realize where he's sitting.
You nod, smiling big, then turn back to the owner. What’s this guy’s name, even? “Black, for ‘em. Big fuckin’ thing of black cherry for him too, we’ll split it.”
How’d you know he likes black cherry? Lucky guess? Is it just your favourite, coincidentally? Probably.
The man claps your back, “Anythin’ for you, cara.” He calls out your order— Or is it Carmen’s order? —To a nearby bus boy.
If this man wasn’t old enough to be your father, and is clearly just acting like a father figure, Carmen would probably maybe a little a lot be freaking out. But you’re fine, so he’s fine. You duck down where Carmen can’t see you, presumably to the ‘Fucked Griddle’.
“So, what I was thinking it might be is—” Carmen has to strain his ears to hear you from this distance as you stop projecting your voice for him, but he manages just fine. “So— Basically, the fire wasn’t the problem, it was the sprinklers. They flooded the inside wiring here, which, they’re insulated so that’s fine but—”
Is this what he sounds like when he explains a dish to you? The mechanics of things was never really his forte. If it works, it works, and you make something with it. And hey, even if he was stuck, he has you to know for him, now. You know the wiring, the plumbing, the everything. Carmen has no fucking idea what you’re talking about, but he likes that you’re talking.
“Yeah, so see here?” And you’re willing to teach? Aye, Marone... “That’s what’s fucked, your thermocouple. It’s like, essentially a temp sensor. Makes sure shit’s cold when it needs to be cold and hot when it needs to be hot. If it’s broken, whole thing won’t turn on.”
“And is broken?” Says the man squatting down next to you. Carmen can’t see you nodding, rubbing your hand over your face, tiredly. “It’s broken.”
“You fix?”
“I would. Or I will, but—” You stand up, ah, like the sun, you have once more risen for Carmen to see through the hatch. “It’s like, the one fuckin’ part I don’t keep stocked up on. I’ll have to call in an order, I know a guy, I uh…” You kiss your teeth. “I can probably get this done by like, Wednesday, at earliest?”
The man next to you groans painfully, Carmen can feel it, in his bones. Flat top broken for two fucking days? And it was because of a fire? Or no— Not a fire— The fucking sprinklers? He’s getting punished for safety? Surely there is no Just God. But the man nor Carmen can be mad, looking at your guilt-ridden face. Most repairmen would be lying through their teeth, right now, but both men can tell, this really is the one part you don’t keep stock of, and you really do have connections— You’ve got your phone out, and you’re texting a million different people asking for help. They’re all just not nearly as giving as you are. It is impossible to be mad at someone trying to help this hard.
The bus boy finally comes up to Carmen’s booth, “Black coffee and black cherry for the man.” The way he says the man, is like, the verbal form of wiggling eyebrows. Your man, is what he means by that. Carmen likes that idea. Your man. The one you brought to tag along with you on a job. He’s your man, to these people, at least.
“Thanks.” He nods, the bus boy smiles and walks off. The black cherry Italian ice is big, as you requested. Definitely dished out in a bowl meant for a two-person sundae, two spoons already in it, for his convenience. He doesn’t dare touch it without you. He takes a sip of his coffee.
It’s fine. It’s just fine. Well, maybe it’s great. It could quite frankly be the best cup of joe in the entirety of Chicago and Carmen wouldn’t give a fuck. You didn’t make it. Therefore, it’s just fine. He’d take your hot chocolate with the shitty pre-packaged mix over the best cup of coffee, any day.
More notably, to Carm, is when he puts the cup back down on the saucer, he notices it for the first time. Your name. Shoddily carved into the table. He seems to have inadvertently stumbled upon a relic of you. Was your name carved in at The Beef’s old tables? Has he gotten rid of you, before, without realizing?
You rush back to Carmen, after sorting some things out with the Head. You speak hastily as you speed towards him, tucking your phone in your pocket. “I’m gonna be right back, doll, I just gotta give ‘em my hot plate, thank God I was lazy and left it in my trunk all week.”
Getting called doll is a decent salve to the fact that—“Oh, you just give that out to everyone?” He’s joking, but he’s not. Un-special.
It’s selfish, but he wishes that extra 10% you give out unabashedly was reserved for him. You roll your eyes, messing with his hair, and give him a kiss on the top of his head. This is an acceptable answer, but once again, you go above and beyond.
“They need something to tithe them over ‘til one of their line cooks gets back with a rented out flat-top. And I said I’d get you fuckin’ breakfast, didn’t I? They need to cook it somehow.” You grin, he has no come back for this, you’re perfect. “They make good fuckin’ smash burgers, here. With the perfect over medium egg. You’re gonna love it.”
“…M'sure I will.” He’d do it better. He could do it so much better.
…
Why did every thought in his head just get so tantrically sexual, Jesus Christ. La Mattina Di, more like. Relax!
“This you?” Carmen coughs, quickly. He doesn’t need to have cover, you’re not a psychic— Probably— and yet he still feels flush about it. He points to your name, carved into the table. You blink, looking at it. You swallow and nod. He cannot tell which emotion comes first, joyful nostalgia or trepidation. But he knows they both come.
“My name,” You nod. “But not my handiwork… Mikey did it.” Oh.
“Oh.” He doesn’t know how to react, and to you, that comes off as just simply unreadable.
“Yeah,” You nod, smile returning, though it’s sheepish. Hesitant. You pat his shoulder, already half-stepping away from him. “It’s a funny story, I’ll tell you about it in a sec, just gonna get that hot plate, Bear.”
You walk off, quickly, heading out to your car parked on the side of the street. He could watch you through the window, instead, he opts to stare at the carving his brother did.
Forgive the man, he’s a bit dense when it comes to these things, or maybe he just has selective hearing— But. Whenever you had talked about Mikey, he took it in the way everyone talked about Mikey. Everyone was friends with Mikey. That’s just how he made people feel. Everyone loved him, he made any person in the room feel like the light of his fucking life; it’s a talent you have in common, with the dead man.
So, it really hadn’t occurred to him, until this very moment, staring at the shaky lettering, that not only was Michael Berzatto your best friend, you were his, too. He let you in. Mikey’s name isn’t carved in here, he didn’t do a fuckin’ ‘Besties’ or both your names in a heart— And for some reason, that makes this feel worse. Mikey didn’t do this as a show of affection or to make you feel like the center of his universe, he carved your name in this table because he wanted to. And that is more tender than any fucking ‘BFF’ tag could be. For his brother, at least.
Carmen can’t tell who he’s jealous of, right now. It’s definitely both, but he’s not sure which one is the more predominant. On one hand, he didn’t get to be friends with his brother the way you did, apparently. You got to know a side of his brother that he simply will never get to know, at least not first hand. And that’s fucking gutting. But it’s also in no way your fault.
On the other hand, Mikey got to know you. Got to watch you quit being a paramedic, maybe console you about it, even. Got to drink your cups, before Carmen did— Hell, you probably tested recipes on him. Carmen knows their coffee machine is fucked, you absolutely had a shit ton of practice with it in order to make anything brilliant let alone edible.
Mikey got to have you, got to go to diners with you, carve names in booths with you, neg you for not smoking with him, probably give you his jacket on cold nights, come in for late night fixes— For years before Carmen got to even meet you. And you knew Mikey, when’d you say? Two? Three years ago? Give or take? After that Christmas, probably. After he went to New York. After he and Mikey just… Fully stopped talking. You said it yourself, you knew Mikey when he wasn’t letting people know him.
Carmen is so new to your life, but his life isn’t new to you at all. You’ve been in his universe, forever. You’ve been friends with Syd since you were kids, on the same block. You’ve been friends with The Beef before he was. You know Uncle Jimmy. Fuck, you were even friends with fucking Richie, during his worst era. And actually, matter of fact, who cares about Jack— What the fuck does Chippy mean?
The first time Carm heard it was while Sugar was in fucking labour, he didn’t have time to ask. Why’s Richie got a personalized nickname for you? Of all people? Why do these aspects make him feel nauseous? They shouldn’t. They really shouldn’t. It’s a blessing, it’s like, probably what it feels like for people with normal families, when your girlfriend gets along with your parents.
But it doesn’t feel good, right now. It feels hollow. Like he missed out, on getting to experience so much with you. With his brother. With The Beef. He should’ve been here. He wants the old nicknames, he wants the claimed booth, he wants the permanence. He wants to be your man. He wants to have been your man. If he had been, for the past three years, you would probably be talking about moving in together, by now.
Okay, now he needs to pivot back to carnal thoughts because this is so much crazier. Objectively, you would make a good roommate, though, and that should probably be said—
You’re back. You’ve handed off the dual burner to the kitchen, put your orders in, and you’re back, sliding into the booth with him. You’ve already grabbed your spoon from the bowl.
“I ordered for you; that okay?” You ask before unceremoniously shoving the spoon full of black cherry Italian ice in your mouth. Carmen nods, picking up his own spoon. He misses the fact that you usually share utensils, since you’re always trying something. But he’ll survive.
“Black cherry’s my go-to.” He mumbles, sorbet in his mouth. When’s the last time he’s had a food he considers a favourite? It’s always new, not nostalgia.
“I know.”
“You know?” Carmen squints. Your nonchalant expression changes, realizing that he’s not in this memory.
“Ah. Mikey.” You lean back in your booth, realizing. You nod to the bowl. “Uh, black cherry is also my favourite. And uhm, he’d— I’d order it, and he’d go ‘Aye, that’s Carmy’s’,” You do your best impression, you and Carmen cannot help but chuckle. “And I’d go sure man, and he’d do that a solid— Every fucking time I ordered black cherry.”
You laugh, it’s practically an inside joke for you, only you, at this point. Carmen’s stuck wondering how many things you just inherently know about him. Is that why you’re so good with him? Or are you just like that? It’s probably both. It’s definitely both.
“So, just hard to forget, out of repetition at this point.”
But also, Mikey paid attention to that stuff? Retained it? Told people, about him? About his favourites?
Carmy smiles, “Y’know any other favourites, of mine?”
You think on it for a second, taking another spoonful of ice, eyes looking up to nowhere. “You’d never be so pretentious to ask someone their brand, but you smoke Red 100s.”
So good. You’re so good. “Yeah, yeah I do.”
You grin, overjoyed to be right, so good— You knock on the top of your head. “Like a steel trap, this memory.”
The silence collects between you two, comfortably. And then, Carmen taps his knuckles on your name on the table. You jump, not flinching, just remembering, ironic. “Oh! Right!”
You trace the letters with your free hand, eating sorbet with the other. “So, Mikey and I typically eat—Ate, here a lot, practically own this booth, and I’d made some joke about claiming it as ours, making like, a plaque to put above it. And he said we don’t need no fancy-shmancy plaque; we can just mark it.”
You grab one of the butter knives from the caddy on the table. “He picked up one of these, as a joke, initially, but then I said that there’s no way you can carve into wood with a fuckin’ butter knife— And this, of course, incensed him— Practically a double dog dare, to him.”
You’re good at daring people without daring people. Or at least, Berzatto men.
“And so, he was like, oh yeah? And proceeded to carve my name in—Painstakingly slowly, obviously, in—” You do air quotes, “‘My honour and shame’, for being so wrong.”
Carmen smiles, slightly, because that seems like probably the appropriate reaction to have. He takes a long time swallowing the black cherry ice, so he doesn’t have to speak. Is he bothered, by this story? He thinks he’s bothered, by this story. He’s jealous of both of you. He’s infinitely jealous of both of you, and insult to injury, you and Mikey are so… Similar.
Sugar said it best. The air. The temperature. You control it, you make it so easy for him to be bold, be wanting, and express that. Like Mikey did, though, not in the same way, obviously. Mikey did it through pissing him off. But— You both make it possible for him to feel like he’s above water.
The similarity between you—Carmen imagines in these few brief seconds before it’s his turn to talk again— must’ve brought you closer together. Closer than Carmen could be, to you, ever. He’s too sharp, jagged, compared to Mikey. He will never be able to fill the gap where his brother was.
Hold on.
Is he just filling a gap, for you?
It’s his turn to talk. “Fuckin’ sounds like ‘em. Didn’t do his own name, though?”
You shake your head, thank God, you didn’t see this play out on his face, “It was objectively hard to carve with a butter knife, he was determined to get me down and after that it really didn’t matter. We would’ve been there all fuckin’ day.”
The bus boy soon arrives with your orders. Smash burger with cheese and a fried egg for Carmy, B-E-C on sourdough for you— “Your usual, Jack.”
“What’s with Jack?” Carm asks, once the waiter walks off.
“Oh, it’s like, classic nickname for me— M’Dad calls me Jack, work calls me Jack, it’s cause of, uh, Jack of All Trades, master of none— All that. It’s corny, but it stuck.”
“But I like Tony,” You add, shrugging, “It’s a cute change.”
Carm nods to the owner in the back, that he still doesn’t know the name of. “What's boss' name, by the way?” You laugh suddenly, shaking your head.
“You're gonna laugh.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Know why?”
Carmen tilts his head, a genuine smile crawling up his face. You speak at once.
“His name’s Tony.” “His name’s Tony?”
You nod emphatically, giggling. God, you make things fun. You make 8 am breakfast fun. He could seriously make a better smash burger, though, you need to be taught better standards. You also need to be taught NYT Connections as you do it for the first time over breakfast together. You’re kind of getting better. Carmy does have to give you hints, but he prefers it that way, prefers to be needed by you for a change. The idea of being a seat warmer completely leaves his mind, for now.
The meal is comped, despite both of your reservations about it. You assure Tony that you’ll be back on Wednesday to fix his flat-top first thing that morning. Everyone knows you mean that.
Carmen could more than easily walk to The Bear, but you drive him so you can squeeze in that little extra time together before you’ve gotta do… Tasks or whatever it is you do. Very important things, he imagines. Please don’t have a shift at Eden’s tonight, he’ll explode.
When you park in the back, his head is between wanting to kiss you and wanting to leave as soon as possible in fear of saying the wrong thing or learning the wrong thing. You come to his rescue without realizing; you kiss his cheek.
“Have a good day at work, call me if you need anythin’, and if you don’t, still call me. Please.”
“You can come in, for a bit— f’you want.” Carve your name into your favourite booth, maybe. Well, you shouldn't, The Bear is supposed to be classy, but maybe on the underside? Only you and him would know it's there.
You turn from Carm to look at the back of The Bear. You seem… Uneasy? Trepidatious? You’re not scared, he doesn’t think, but he’s also never seen you scared, he thinks, so he’s not sure he’d know what that looks like.
“I’m uh, I’m okay, I got some stuff I need to get done but ‘tuh—” You thrum your fingers against the steering wheel, hesitating, biting your lip. Clearly there’s something you want, Carmy just has no earthly idea what it could be. Name it. Name anything. He’ll give you anything.
“Can you— Can you, uh— tell Richie I said hi?”
Richie? Fucking Richie? Not Syd? Fuck, he’d even take Tina, here. Richie? You want him to say hi for you to Richie?
“Yeah, yeah I can do that—Uhm—” Carmen puts his pointer finger over his mouth, he’ll let this go, for now, but there’s another sticking point that he can’t. He opens the door with one hand, but turns his body to face you. He points at you. “Can you uhm— Like, uh— Next time—”
No, it’s not on you actually, he decides. You look confused, when Carm waves it off, “Uh, Nevermind.”
“What’s up, Carm?” You're cute when you're worried.
“Nothin’, nothin’s up. I— Hm.”
He curls his hand in the air into a fist, he leans forward in his seat, and takes a soft hold of your chin, quick kiss before immediately rushing out of the car, words just as hurried. He does not want to give you a minute to question it.
“I’ll call you after work, cara mia.”
It's hard to imagine a Chicago accent saying Cara Mia but I did feel like it was appropriate to say so--
If it wasn't clear, because most things I say aren't, he didn't love another Italian Restaurant Owner calling you Cara. But also, it's not like he can tell you to tell people to stop saying Cara. That's weird. And also not on you. But he can claim it for himself.
Uhhhh anything of note to say on this one, hmm. OH RIGHT. Yeah that was fuckin' crazy with the whole Mikey spiral eh? It's fun writing Carm's perspective, because he's always just going insane. Me core.
Sewing the seeds of a terrible Friday hahahahahahhahahahahaha
And he finally questioned Chippy! Not out loud but at least internally-- And what's up with you feeling weird and wanting to say hi to Richie??? What are YOU up to??!?!?!?!
Breakfast was cute though. Always is. Is it too late to rename this series the breakfast club? I am joking. Please do not start calling this series the breakfast club.
Anyways, as always, please leave me a gigantic essay of thoughts somewhere I can read them and have a wondaful rest of ya day baby. Have no clue when the next chapter will come out your guess is as good as mine motherfucker.
#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto imagine#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x you#carmen x reader#carmy berzatto#carmy x reader#carmen x oc#the bear fanfiction#the bear x reader#the bear fx
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I don’t want you like a best friend
Spencer Agnew x Reader
A/N not me doing another imagine based on a Taylor song whhhaaaatttt I love Taylor so so so much. I was listening to music in the shower and dress started playing I was like holy shit, I have to write a tension filled imagine with Spencer and this song??? Also, forewarning, I will be using gender neutral terms as usual but I will be using more feminine things and mentioning things like wearing dresses. one last thing, i just started my summer classes. so, i wont get to edit these as much as before. i apologize for any mistakes!
TRIGGER WARNING// some angst and tension:)
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Our secret moments in a crowded room, they got no idea about me and you.
Parties and little get togethers are a common thing with the Smosh cast.
They always find some reason to rent out an air bnb to throw parties.
Chanse suggested throwing a little party before you all got to leave the office for a two week break.
“Y/N! I’m so glad you could make it!” You hear Chanse screech whenever you walked into the front door with your suitcase. He come running up to you, to give you a quick hug.
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss something like this. The parties you throw are always absolutely iconic.” You respond giving him a tight squeeze back.
“So, who all has made it?” You asked and looked around. A lot of the cast and crew had arrived, including Spencer. The house was absolutely packed but there was something about him having his eyes on you, that made you feel like you were on fire. The last time a party was thrown for the crew, the two of you had ended up in a bathroom, doing things you shouldn’t be doing to then turn around and call yourself only friends. The two of you played it off really well after though because no one knew who you had snuck off with.
There is an indentation in the shape of you. Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo.
“I still want to know who you snuck off with last time we had a party.” You hear Erin say whenever she approaches you and Chanse. “Yeah!” Chanse agrees.
Whenever she mentions that night, you see it catches Spencer’s ears. He perks up in his seat and gets that infamous smirk on his face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you show me to my room?” You mumbled and shook your head.
“I’ll show you but dude, that is such a lie.” Erin says and starts walking towards a hallway, where a bunch of bedrooms were located. “You had hickeys all over you. It was so obvious you tried hiding them too but you are not good at covering marks.” She said laughing loudly.
You just shook your head again and denied it.
“We’ll eventually pull it from you. Everyone’s going to be getting ready in a few minutes, if you want to go ahead and get dressed.” Erin suggests while opening your bedroom door. “You’re sharing with me and Angela, by the way.”
You nodded your head and let her know, you would go ahead and start getting ready.
Erin quickly nodded her head and pulled the door behind her, so you could get ready in private till her and Angela joined you.
You quickly pulled this dress on that Courtney had pointed out to you one day while at the mall with a bunch of the crew. They were recording a spend the day with us at the mall where they done random little challenges. You, Spencer, and Courtney had went into a store, trying to find goofy looking outfits for everyone to wear. The three of you walked around for a while before you just started looking at the clothes for things for you. You hear Courtney shout, “I genuinely just found something for you, Y/N! You would look so hot in this.” You turn around and see Courtney holding up a mid length black dress. There was a high slit in the thigh. It was a spaghetti strapped dress. It was simple but looked comfortable. You actually thought it was really cute. Courtney asked Spencer what he thought and his face flushed red very quickly and all he could do was nod his head yes.
You tried the dress on for fun and Spencer looked like his eyes were about to bulge out of his eyes. You didn’t end up buying the dress that day but you went back and bought it the next day. He wasn’t aware that you had gotten it, no one was.
You stood there for a minute, looking at yourself in the mirror, when you heard a knock come from the door beside you.
“You can come in!” You shout softly, flattening the dress against your body.
The door pushes open gently and you see Courtney and Angela standing there. Spencer was back behind them.
“Holy shit, is that the dress we seen in the mall?” Courtney asks, getting excited.
You just smiled and shook your head yes.
All of the silence and patience, pining and anticipation. My hands are shaking from holding back from you.
All of the silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting.
My hands are shaking from all this…
Say my name and everything just stops, I don’t want you like a best friend.
Spencer looked like he was about to pass out behind the two.
“Wow, you look… wow.” You hear Spencer whisper from the doorway while Courtney and Angela walk to sit on the bed behind you.
You acted like you didn’t hear Spencer, so you turned towards him. His eyes were just filled with desperation. It was like a mutual feeling between the two, you knew he wanted to reach out and to touch you. You knew that he wanted to kiss you, to hold you. You were dying for him to reach forward and to just put his hands on you, to kiss you as well.
“What’d you say, Spence?” You ask, trying to play off the little moment the two of you had.
Courtney and Angela were behind the two of you, looking at each other with complete confusion over what is going on.
“You look really beautiful, Y/N.” He says and clears his throat then gives you a tight lipped smile.
You just smiled back at him and shook your head. “Thank you, I really don’t though.” You say giggling. “I haven’t even done anything yet, besides put a dress on.”
Spencer walked around you to go sit in a chair beside the two beds but then realized that the tag of your dress was sticking out. He quickly walks up behind you and pushes your hair over your shoulder. You tensed up and froze because you didn’t know what was going on.
“Oh, uh, sorry. Your-“ Spencer got quiet then pushed the tag softly under the neckline of the dress. “The tag was sticking out of the dress.” Spencer whispered and gave your shoulder a soft squeeze.
The two of you move apart quickly whenever you hear coughs. Courtney and Angela quickly stood up. “We’re gonna go grab a drink.” Angela says very quickly, pointing at the door with her thumb. “Uh, will be back in a few minutes!” Courtney practically shouts as Angela pulls her out of the room.
The two might as well have ran out of the room and slammed the door shut behind them.
You and Spencer look at each other with confusion, acting like you didn’t understand what was going on.
“When did you end up getting this dress?” Spencer asked sitting down on the chair near you.
Only bought this dress, so you could take it off.
Carve your name into my bedpost cause I don’t want you like a best friend.
Only bought this dress, so you could take it off.
You had pulled another chair up in front of the full body mirror, to start curling your hair and to do your makeup.
“I just decided to go back the next day and buy it.” You respond, slightly shrugging your shoulders.
“Is there a reason you went back and bought it?” Spencer asked, trying to seem chill about the piece of fabric on your body, but he wasn’t playing it so calmly.
“I dunno.” You whispered while placing soft curls throughout your hair with a curling iron. “A certain someone’s reaction to me in it, just made me curious to how they would react to it if I wore it to something where we’ve made certain decisions in the past.”
Spencer didn’t say anything, he just stared at you with a shocked expression.
You started to do the pigtail trick with your hair, that makes it quicker to curl your hair. You parted your hair and put it into two pigtails then quickly curled the two pigtails. It only took two minutes to do then you pulled the two hair ties out of your hair. The soft curls had flooded down your back while you looked for your makeup bag. It hit you that it was still in your bag, on your bed, beside Spencer. You quickly sprayed hairspray throughout your hair and nodded back towards Spencer.
“Spencer?” He just nodded while staring at you. “Could you get in that bag and hand me my makeup bag?”
Spencer quickly stood up and grabbed your bag from the front of the bed. He unzipped it then retrieved your makeup bag, to hand it to you. He walked over and handed the makeup bag to you but the two of you practically grasped hands while he just stared holes into you. You felt like electricity was just shooting throughout your body while he quickly stepped back.
The two of you didn’t realize it but Courtney, Angela, and Erin were just staring at you two in shock from the doorway.
Spencer looked over at the door quickly then stepped back towards his seat to grab his drink that he carried in.
“I should probably go finish getting ready and help getting everything, uh, set up.” He whispers before quickly heading out of the room.
“Do you want to explain what that was?” Erin harshly whispered, looking at you with nothing but excitement in her eyes.
“What was what?” You asked nonchalantly, acting like you didn’t know what was going on.
“Oh my god!” Angela practically screams. “You hooked up with Spencer last time, didn’t you?” She whispered excitedly, jumping up and down in her spot.
You, once again, tried playing the question off but the redness all over your face completely called you out.
“Oh my god! Spencer is the secret guy you hook up with every time! Are you two like a couple or something?” Courtney asks while quickly pulling one of the chairs over beside you while you finished up your makeup.
You shook your head no, “I’m not going to lie to you about that. I honestly wish we were.” You whispered while finishing your eyeliner with a soft laugh.
The three women were practically exploding with the information they had just found out tonight.
“What happened the last time?” Angela asked, pulling a chair alongside Erin.
Inescapable, I’m not even gonna try and if I get burned, at least we were electrified.
I’m spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we’re both drunk.
Everyone thinks that they know us but they know nothing about all of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation.
You kept working at your makeup and decided to just explain to the three women what had caused you two to end up in the guest bathroom, away from the New Year’s party.
“I have had the biggest crush on Spencer ever since I’ve joined the crew. I had convinced myself I would never tell him how I feel. The night of that party though, oh my god. It was like there was something in the air.” You paused for a minute to just laugh, remembering how you felt that night. “Every single time we would brush hands or something, it felt like electricity would fly throughout my body. I thought at first, I can’t do this. I ended up getting a little too drunk and so did Spencer. We were sat together in this hallway, just drinking and talking. I finally just told him how I felt. I panicked and jumped up, to run off but he grabbed my hand. He started to tell me how he felt then I, of course, happened to spill a little bit of my drink. He pulled me into the bathroom, to help me clean up. While we were in there, he was just wiping away at the alcohol with a wet rag. It literally felt like my body was on fire. I don’t know what made me do it but I just leaned forward and kissed him.”
The three women around you looked like they were about to explode with the biggest smiles on their face.
“Wait, so you two had sex in the bathroom?” Erin bluntly asked then got whacked on the arm by Courtney.
You just laughed and shook your head no. “Again, I won’t lie to you, we almost did. My dumbass stumbled and knocked over the rest of my drink into the shower. The glass shattered, so Spencer panicked and made me sit on the sink while he cleaned it up. We decided maybe the bathroom, during a party, wouldn’t be the best first time for something like that.”
“How did we not see something happening between you two?” Angela asked with genuine confusion on her face.
“Oh, there isn’t anything going on between the two of us. We’re only really friends, to be honest. I hate that we’re only friends but we never really approach the topic unless it’s in situations like us being plastered.” You admit, shaking your head in shame. “I think it’s because we’re both too scared to admit that we’re something more than friends.”
Erin laughed loudly, “Yeah, I’m sorry but the two of you are not just friends. You were, like, sucking each other’s faces off in the bathroom and being like little leeches.”
You just laughed and stood to face the three around you. “I’m done getting ready, so I’m gonna just head on out there.”
“You just wanna go see your little boyfrienddddddd.” Angela says in a singing tone.
You just laughed once again and shook your head at the woman before exiting the room.
You look around the entire room to see who all is here tonight. Not everyone is staying in the Air BNB, only a few of the crew are.
You spot Kiana, Spencer, and Shayne standing at a table in the kitchen, getting drinks.
You approached them and give Shayne a soft smile. “Hey guys!” You say with a smile on your face.
“Hi, you sweet angel! You look beautiful!” Kiana says with a big smile on her face.
“Oh, why thank you.” You take her compliment while grabbing a red solo cup from the counter and poured some kind of whiskey from the counter.
“There’s glass cups you can use, you know?” You hear Shayne say from beside you.
You look over and see Spence looking you up and down while Shayne is nodding towards the glass cups.
“Oh, that’s okay. I would probably end up accidentally breaking it again.” You say chuckling and sent Spencer a quick glance. He catches onto what you were talking about and heat flooded his face once again.
Spencer goes to take a sip of his drink, trying to act chill, whenever Kiana calls him out. “Spence, if you stare any harder, your eyes might get stuck.”
Spencer choked on his drink and shook his head. You were shockingly the only one to pick up on it but his hands started to tremor.
My hands are shaking from holding back from you.
All of the silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting, my hands are shaking from all of this.
Say my name and everything just stops, I don’t want you like a best friend.
Spencer quickly tries to shake the feeling he has and change the conversation but he can’t stop the feeling of heat flowing through his body due to you. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He was literally shaking from how nervous just your presence alone was making him. He couldn’t get over how beautiful you looked.
“Hey guys, I’m gonna step outside and get some fresh air. It’s getting kind of stuffy in here.” You say quickly to the group, feeling like you were starting to suffocate in the room. You didn’t want to admit it but the look Spencer was giving you was extremely intense. You couldn’t deal with it anymore because you were dying for him to just do something.
You walked away from the group and start to head out the door to walk outside. You didn’t know it but Spencer trailed behind you, wanting to get a moment alone with you.
You stepped outside, slightly agitated. You were getting so tired of having to hide everything. You were so tired of acting like you were just friends with the man whenever you both knew friends don’t sneak off to make out at parties with their other best friends present. You wanted him to hold you. You wanted him to kiss you, to touch you, to just show you that he wants you.
Only bought this dress, so you could take it off, take it off.
Carve your name into my bedpost, I don’t want you like a best friend.
Only bought this dress, so you could take it off.
“You okay?” You hear Spencer ask from behind you as you sat down on the porch steps.
You just laughed. “You know, I bought this dress with the idea that the next time you saw me in it… You might actually make a move further and act like we aren’t just friends. I mean this in the nicest way possible. I don’t want you like a best friend, Spencer. I want to be able to kiss you everyday and call you mine.” You answered him in an aggravated tone.
“I don’t want you like a best friend either, Y/N. Are you that oblivious? The day I fell in love with you, I thought that you knew.” Spencer laughed and said while sitting down beside you.
You just stared at him with confusion on your face, “What do you mean the day you fell in love with me?”
Spencer sat in silence for a minute, just taking the cold air in. “I have been in love with you for so long. The first time I remember realizing that I had fallen so hard for you was whenever I had first bleached and buzzed my hair.”
Flashback when you met me, your buzz cut and my hair bleached.
Even in my worst times, you could see the best in me.
Flashbacks to my mistakes, my rebounds, my earthquakes.
Even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me.
You chuckled remembering the first time you had seen him with his new haircut. “I remember you came around the corner and I became like a stuttering mess.”
You started to shiver and Spencer noticed it. “Would you want to head inside? We could chill upstairs in the movie room? We can finish talking about this whenever we get in there.”
You shook your head yes, freezing in the dress.
The two of you headed inside and walked up the steps to the movie room. Everyone was in the big living room, drinking and dancing.
You two headed into the movie room and sat down in the plush love seat.
“Wait, so are you saying my reaction is what made you fall in love with me?” You asked once you got inside and processed what Spencer had said. You folded your knees under you and pulled a blanket over your lap.
Spencer smiled and nodded his head at you.
“That was during the worst time of my life, though. I was severely depressed and going on dates left and right because I just wanted someone to love me.” You said silently laughing over how desperate you sounded.
“You’ve always had someone who has loved you in front of you. You’ve just never realized it.” Spencer says and reaches his hand out to rest it on your knee.
The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before Spencer broke the silence. “I want to make a move or whatever it was you said outside. I want to call you mine. I just don’t want to do that while we’re tipsy. I want to talk about it while we’re sober.” Spencer says giving you a soft smile on his face.
You nodded your head at Spencer, “I agree. It is probably best that we do talk about it while we’re sober.”
The two of you sat and talked for almost three hours straight, while people would pass by and make comments here and there. No one ever stuck there though, they were just letting the two of you soak up each other’s presence.
Before you knew it, you had passed out and Spencer had fallen asleep as well.
I woke up just in time
Now, I wake up by your side, my one and only my lifeline.
I woke up just in time, now I wake up by your side.
My hands shake, I can’t explain this.
You woke up and felt a pressure around your waist. You hear whispering and open your eyes to see Chanse and Erin peeking their heads around a corner.
“Holy shit, look at them.” You hear Chanse say while giggling.
“I’m awake asshole.” You whispered towards the two freaking out and they took off running.
You turn your head to the side and realized, you and Spencer had fallen asleep rambling over random stuff to each other. You know you had admitted your feelings to each other last night but you couldn’t help trembling due to excitement. You finally had the guy by your side that you had fallen so hard for.
The two of you were laid out across the couch. Spencer was laid on his side and had you in a tight hold around your waist. You were laid on your back. You reached your hand up and ran it softly through his hair.
Spencer scrunched his nose and pressed his face softly into your neck. His facial hair, tickling the side of your neck. You giggle trying to move your head away whenever you hear him slightly whisper, “Still don’t want me like a best friend?”
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It's June! It's Pride! It's (my) Birthday!
The Introduction Spiel:
Hi, I'm Reyah! (any pronouns! no really, go for it!) On June 21st, I'm turning 32, an exciting and mysterious age to be!! (So I've heard)
Warning: This is a post asking for financial help, and if there's one thing I would ask is that if you read the whole thing: please reblog.
I'm a multiply-disabled queer person of color, a writer, artist, and photographer. I live with three of my best-good-pal-friends, (@renthony, @kryptidkhaos, and @natalieironside) and our collective army of pets.
We all know it's damned hard to be all these things at the same time under the capitalistic hellscape we're living under, and we/I am always in need of a lot of help with the existing.
I ended the month of May with some smaller bills left still to pay, but am thankful to say that June already had fewer bills than usual due, and the amount I need to start the summer off right is actually less than I was afraid it would be! Woohoo!
What I Make
I mentioned my artistic endeavors, let me show you them!!
Writing
I write less often than I'd like, but I share poetry and shorts, when I have them, on my Patreon!
You must be over 18 to pledge, as I have, can, and will again share Adult Content occasionally. Patrons pledging at least $1/month get access to all content. But most posts becomes free to access eventually. :)
When I do longer form content, I primarily write fantasy with a focus on queer brown characters with disabilities, mental illnesses, and disordered attachments. Because therapy is expensive, and writing is free.
Photography
I do wildlife and landscape photography, primarily, but you can also check out my portrait and event work on my website! You can purchase PRINTS HERE.
And because it's my birthday, I'm offering a 32% discount code for all my prints! The code is good from June 1st to July 1st!
A Note, if you purchase a print:
first off: thank you. (please feel free to send a photo of wherever you display it!!!)
secondly: this will not go towards the received totals on my financial need because Pixels doesn't pay out until nearly 2 months after the purchase. Funds made from sales will go towards future needs.
CODE: PDHHTR
Artwork
I've been exploring art, both analog and digital, a lot more lately, and have shared both process photos and final drafts on Patreon! Here are just a few examples:
I admittedly don't post on patreon as much as I wish I had the energy to, but I try to make at least one thing a month, provided I have the spoons and time.
Creativity is, like, a level 5 spell slot when you're disabled and impoverished, and I appear to have exactly One (1) of those available at any given time.
The Needs:
The Bills: $1,100
Yeah, we had to get here eventually. Since this post is already pretty long, I'm putting the rest under a cut.
More than half of this, as always, is just for the car payment and insurance that keeps the regular day-job-haver getting to said job, and all our medical appointments, errands, etc.
I still owe around $13,000 total on Johnny Car, but I think we all know that's just not a real number.
The rest of the funds would go toward paying the small subscriptions, for my various medications, and the regular attempts to whittle away slowly at the $4,300 worth of other debt.
($2,200 of back taxes, and $2,100 of credit card debt, and gods, do I mean slowly. Interest piles up so much faster than I can seem to whittle.)
If you're able and willing to help with paying the bills, direct donations can be made here:
PayPal | (link)
Venmo | (dovesndecay)
Cashapp | ($dovesndecay)
If you can, and only if you can.
The It Would Be Cools:
Since every dime that comes in goes primarily towards food and bills, there's little left afterward to be put towards other life necessities like clothes, toiletries, let alone things I just think would be nice/neat/nifty to have.
I have a High Priority wishlist. It's mostly art supplies, bulk toiletries, etc.
I'm woefully low on clothes, being short, fat, and trans, so very little of what I own actually feels good to wear so much as it simply covers my body. I have a wishlist of clothes that would be nice to have.
For everything that firmly lands under the "I just want it" category, I have an Enrichment list. It's mostly stuffies, but also games, room decor, hobby supplies, books, and stim toys.
Our household keeps a big wishlist for things we need, want, groceries, accessibility products, and everything in-between.
Okay, now what?
Well, now, I'm gonna ask that if you got to this point, and if you can't/don't want to do any of the things listed above, then please reblog this post.
The more people that reblog it, the more likely I'm able to pay my bills for one more month this year.
But if you don't, it's not like anyone's gonna know. I'm not omniscient, I swear.
Anyway, I don't expect anyone to do anything if you can't or even if you just don't wanna, but if you can and you're willing to, it means the world.
I didn't think this is where I'd be at 32. But I never really expected to get here at all in the end, and it's a lot nicer than I thought it would be. Mostly because I am surrounded by amazing people who have the capacity to be so much kinder than I will ever have the words to describe.
Thank you, and to all, a happy pride!
🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤
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College!Venture Anon here again... you said Sloan reads the classics? BET THEY WOULD! Like the "Odyssey"? The "Illiad"? The "Oresteia"? If you sit somewhere in the library, deeply immersed in your reading, Venture will s t a r e you down. Like "omg she's reading that. I love that book." When you catch them they blush and start rambling, trying to engage u in convo whilst at the same time being too nervous to shut up lol. And whenever you read a different book, god forbid they just ask, no, Venture cranes their neck until they see what you're busy with. "Why are you on the floor, Sloan??" "NO REASON!"
Anyways, fun times at the library with Venture. What if you really need to work on a paper/a presentation but neither of you can stop yapping about books, history or teachers that you don't like... perhaps this gives you some inspiration!
RAHH RAH RAHHH RAHHHH I CANT EXPRESS HOW ADORABLE I THINK THIS IS!!!!
OKAY THIS ISNT GONNA BE A FULL SIT DOWN STORY BUT I MIGHT MAKE IT INTO ONE LATER...
- Sloan sees you immersed in a book. They're looking to see what you're looking at so they get up (multiple times) to go to the shelf behind you (filled with cooking recipes) to look for books (they're really trying to see what page you're on)
- they see you're on the page where Odysseus murdered his wife's suitors
-"damn. i wish someone would do that for me"
-"what??"
- they said it too loud, holy shit
- "Um! nothing just looking at the... crawfish boil." the recipe book clearly says vegan recipes.
-quizzical expression from you
- nervous laughter from them
- "I saw. that you were reading. Greek literature." theyre literally staring at your book
-"Yeah it's for my class?? what are you a TA or something"
-"no i major in archeology and history..." now they're focused on you, pretty deep brown eyes stare right through you but you have to get focused
- the project isnt gonna do itself
-"uhuh... so you can help me with this project here- i need to analyse Homer's writing style or something? I don't know, Professor de Kuiper makes no sense sometimes."
- "oh my gosh you have him too. he went off on this tangent about gravity?? he's a history teacher not a fucking physicist, just go back to lecturing about... whatever he was lecturing about before, i can never pay attention in his classes."
- you talk shit about how Professor de Kuiper and Professor Amari don't even teach the things they should be teaching- and Sloan helps you write your thesis and essay frame but then-
- Sloan points at the book, but they are standing and you are sitting and the book is on the library table so they are standing above you, their chest radiating warmth even though you are barely touching them and their head is almost laying on yours.
- Sloan doesnt realise how close they are to you
- they keep talking but since this is a library they have to keep it low
- they basically are pillow talking to you about how Homer's prose was a game changer for Greek literature
- okay. let's lock in, focus.
- their hand brushed your arm
- you look to the arm that was touched, off instinct
- their face is looking back at you
- you study their piercings, chipped tooth and browned skin
-"um."
- ok. awkward. you've been staring too long. let's make a joke
"you gonna kiss me or what?"
- their eyes open wide, like comically wide
- they lean in swiftly and give you a peck on the cheek
-"um. traditional greek greeting?"
bonus, establishedrelationship!
-+-
"whatcha reading?" Sloan appears on your shoulder, looking down at the book you picked up.
"Sappho."
"Oh nice."
later that day Sloan comes home with a boquette of violets
"...sloan."
"yes?"
"why did you get me gay flowers"
#overwatch#venture#venture overwatch#venture ow2#venture x reader#sloan cameron#thanks for the ask!#HAHAHA#LOVE THIS IDEA
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have been thinking a lot about loser rafe lately.. i think its so interesting that in fics he’s consistently written as mister popular everyone knows him all the girls want him but like. if you look at canon theres not actually a lot of evidence until season 3 but i have thoughts on that this is a long one lets get #meta
season one the only people he hangs out with/talks to are topper kelce and barry and barry didnt even fuck w him like that he was still just the plug 😭 hes selling coke at that party but who do we see him talking to besides the drunk/high girls that are all over him because he has well. coke! i feel like season one is the best representation of his social status on the island because its really the only window we have into what their normal lives looked like before everything snowballed with the gold and tbh nothing about him was giving king of kildare
season two bro is going through a lot the only person who fucks with him is barry and he like kind of talks to topper even though they clearly dont like each other because who else does he have to talk to? hes clearly been ostracized to some degree by his peers because yeah he was cleared and released but he was ARRESTED. IN RELATION TO A MURDER. and all the mess with his dad like its a small island everybody knows everybodys business and tbh i dont even think just that would be enough to justify him being so entirely alone. rich white kids do not have morals. we’ve seen rich white men that have done worse and actually been convicted/held accountable assimilate back into their respective communities with ease and i think the same would have happened to rafe if he already had the clout for it but he clearly doesn’t but you know who does? SARAH. she comes back from everything in s3 and all her old kook peers are quick to welcome her back in hungry for details about everything she’s experienced. now rafe.. we see him getting drunk alone at the country club in the middle of the day like oh thats not
now season three yeah he comes back to kildare he wants to be a real man like his daddy blah blah blah he takes over tannyhill and throws that big party but he has. no friends. i dont even mean close friends bc duh but he comes back and theres not even a oh shit rafe’s back like his revival actually made no noise thats soooooakslskjskdld you cannot tell me that all the people at that party were not 90% tourons 10% nosy locals 100% people just looking for free liq and a sick party these are not rafes peers from season one
tldr i think on the surface its really easy to see the boxes rafe checks off (rich young hot popular sister etc) and assume that everybody wanted him or to be him and everybody writes him like that but im gonna touch your hand when i say this . he is a loser. if rose thought he was weird as fuck from when he was 10 years old i’m sure everyone else on the island could smell it too. i need more people to write rafe as sarah’s weird mean friendless bitchless Not Quite Right older brother LOOK AT THE MATERIAL
THANK YOU THANK YOU I CONSISTENTLY SAY BARRY IS RAFES ONLY REAL FRIEND
like i say this all the time but rafe is really fuckin weird and off-putting. there's this sense that he's kinda...wearing human skin. like he's moving around barely able to contain his worst impulses and everyone can like sense that? rafe has always been not quite right and he's not very good at hiding that either.
like everything rafe does seems off, and you make such a good point about him not being able go back into the fold properly makes sense if you peel back the layers and see he wasn't really well liked to begin with? topper was way more popular than rafe and in many was rafe and topper are only friends because of sarah and even then rafe is weird about using topper as a means of control over her.
but yeah you summed it up perfectly rafe doesnt give kook king forreal hes a weird, friendless loser who can barely hide his true self in public.
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can we get another yandere chat / yandere streamer please I really wanna know where the three people went
note; omg i'm fucking alive holy shit. i'm in exam period right now and i swear the universe is trying to take me out. shit's rough out here lol. I've been rattling the bars of my enclosure waiting to get out and write some more. missed you guys, cute lil friends xxx
warnings; yan chat is back, yan streamer, reader 'sugar', yandere tendencies, gang violence, they mean frfr,
word count; 1123
After logging off for the day and raiding one of his friends Streamer found himself checking on his discord, in particular the chat he had going on with three of his long-time fans, affectionately titled his three musketeers to respect their anonymity. The ones that had been with him since the beginning when he had no viewers and a silly dream of becoming a popular creator.
To think that he had that in his foreseeable future, it was intoxicating. Fans, money and most of all influence. Of course, he couldn't forget about his lovely mod as well.
His eyes scanned over the private chat with a satisfied grin on his face, they had found him. For a while now there was one particular chatter that was getting on his nerves. No matter how much Sugar banned them they always seemed to find a way back. He had been trying to appeal to Sugar for weeks now, always mentioning them and gifting various rewards that were specifically aimed towards the beloved mod.
Streamer knew things sometimes got a little parasocial when it came to internet personalities. Still, something about this creep trying desperately to get close to Sugar had his blood boiling as if he was using the chat as an e-dating server. He wasn't the only one either, it seemed.
A call button appeared on his screen for a moment before he adjusted his settings and answered it, the people chatting on the other side becoming more and more apparent.
"The man of the hour." One of them jovially said, a playful lilt to her voice. Porthos always seemed to be the one ready to talk, with perhaps a little too much energy to seem natural. It seemed her words had set in motion the other two greeting him, one with their ever-present modulated voice covering their identity and the other sounding like he'd just finished smoking a pack of cigarettes.
"Hey you, I see some interesting things in the chat." He hummed as he took a sip of the coke he had next to him, waiting for the three to fill him in.
"Yeah, we tracked down the guy in the chat that was bothering Sugar, it was laughably easy." Porthos mused, the low hum of who knows what buzzing in the background.
"He had his details all out in the open, turns out using multiple emails all leading to the same IP is a dead giveaway." She said before a sniffle interrupted her.
"Don't take all the credit, it was only because I have access to the city records that we even found him," Athos noted.
"Technically I did most of the work." The final of the three, the one who hid behind the voice changer, Aramis chimed in. The other two seemed to stop talking as soon as they spoke up, for good reason as well. There was something different about Aramis, but their knowledge was gladly welcomed.
"I assume you're all waiting for the finale?" They monotonously droned as the sounds of clicking came from their mic. Not long after a window popped up, fileshare. Without needing to do anything the file opened to a video and began to play.
The camera work was jittery but it was obvious what was in the middle of the screen. On the ground, legs and arms bound, was a middle-aged man wriggling. There was a group of men surrounding him, masked and dressed entirely in black with a badly stitched logo on their jackets.
No sounds came from the men as they drew ominously closer, that's when things really picked up. Their feet began to slam into the sides of the bound man, muffled screams coming from his gagged mouth as he tried desperately to wriggle away. Hands ripped at his clothing, showcasing the darkened bruises on his skin as the men continued their assault. The video tracked for about twenty minutes, all of it consisted of the men beating the shit out of the man on the ground. Screams turned to groans turned to whimpers as a mixture of piss, tears and blood mixed on the ground he was on.
His body seemed to turn entirely blotched with bruises as the video went on and on before no more sounds appeared to leave the man. Then the footage cut.
The silence seemed to wane on for a moment before Athos spoke up.
"That's some dark web shit or something." The only response he seemed to get was a clipped laugh from Aramis.
"I like supporting local businesses." It was no secret that Aramis was the only one of them who dared to play around on the darker side of the internet but damn were they good at it. Who knew what they got up to after hours, but it wasn't hard to tell that he had hired someone to beat the shit out of the creep.
"He's gone, probably being sold right now, well that parts of him that made it out unscathed. Don't worry, these guys are newbies but the group they're part of don't play around." A low whistle left his mouth as he listened to Aramis ramble about the exploit.
"You're a freak for real." Porthos laughed, seemingly having gathered herself, "Now that's dealt with I think we should get something in exchange, don't you?"
He rolled his eyes as he scanned the now blank screen.
"I'll organise something." He began before he was cut off rudely.
"Not something, we know you know where they are so why don't you get us all a little gift." Athos drawled. A harried sigh left his mouth as he tugged at the strands of his hair. The three of them were his fans, their support over the years had helped grow his platform greatly and they did fund most of his activities but... that also meant he had to keep them pleased.
Athos eluded that he was a well-known figure in the city, Aramis had ties to the black market and Porthos seemed to have no boundaries... they could very well take him down if they wanted to.
"Sure, I'll pick something up." He finally managed to get out, his voice obviously strained. All that greeted him was a chorus of laughter as the call ended. He stared at the screen for a moment more, thinking about the logistics of breaking into Sugar's apartment before a notification came through.
'Good boy' With a scoff he closed the application and got off his chair, annoyance swelling inside him. He was still closer to Sugar than them, he didn't have to panic yet.
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omfg i’m squealing at your response to shy goth larusso in a bikini!! your writing is so delicious, i totally haven’t stalked your page the last few days <3
when the boys come back, they all look visibly flustered, their hair being disheveled and faces flushed. they see reader in the pool, as she finally gained the confidence to get in with sam and the girls. she’s splashing around and dancing with the loud music some kid put on the speaker. her laugh was music to the boys ears, not used to hearing it from the quiet girl. they swore she was an angel, all of them wishing she was laughing at their joke, dancing with them instead of whatever meathead was next to sam.
but her happiness soon depleted as soon as she saw kyler show up with his goons. she started to feel worried, knowing kyler would laugh at her bikini or make some tasteless jokes. she tells sam she has a headache and is gonna go lay down. reader grabs her things in a hurry, trying to avoid stares of her stomach and ass.
she runs into the cool, large house and darts to her room. she figures a shower will help her calm down, but the image of her rubenesque body in the mirror makes her tear up. she could never get the attention of the trio of boys currently drinking by the edge of the pool. of course she had a crush on them too; demetri’s nerdiness and sarcasm made her smile, hawk’s flashy style and bad boy attitude made her swoon, and robby’s handsome face and wittiness made her weak in the knees.
she finishes her shower and puts on a baggy shirt and shorts and sits on her bed. just then she hears a knock on the door. to her surprise, it was just the boys she was thinking about.
After she leaves the party, the trio knows that it's not because of a headache. It's because of Kyler and his gang of losers who were not invited to the pool party. They aren't shy to confront him about it either, knowing Sam wouldn't like him to be there either. Kyler wants to fight over it but Hawk reminds him that they're outnumbered anyway, so they should just tuck tail and leave while they can with their dignity intact. After a while, they're walking out saying that the party is lame anyway and no one else has to worry about them.
However, for Robby, Hawk, and Demetri, the party isn't as fun without Reader there. So they opt to go check on her. With all the loud music and everyone enjoying themselves, no one really notices them disappearing into the house again. This time, they make their way upstairs to Reader's room to check on her. Robby is the one to knock on her door.
When she opened it, she's shocked to find the trio there, as if she'd somehow managed to summon them with her thoughts. She's a little startled by their presence at her door and looked down, trying to make her the heat in her cheeks go away. "What are you guys doing here...?"
"We wanted to check on you," Robby tells her. His voice is soft and assuring.
Hawk adds, "We made Kyler and his dumb friends leave. No one wanted them here anyway, so if you want, you can come back downstairs."
"I don't really want to..." she tells them, still unable to look at them. She can't believe her crushes are standing at the door of her bedroom.
Demetri nods. "That's okay. You don't have to if you don't want to."
"Yeah," Robby agrees. "Like I said, we just wanted to make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine..." she tells them, but really her mind is making her worry over what they thought of her in that bikini. She can't imagine it was anything nice, but she feels a little more comfortable in her baggy shirt, though not really her shorts. They show off her thick thighs and how they press together when she stands or sits. She tries to pull her shirt down to cover them, hoping the guys won't notice.
But they do notice. In fact, they've been stealing looks at her legs the whole time they've been standing there. They can't help it. She smells fresh like flowery body wash and shampoo, her pretty thighs on display. Demetri's heart is pounding as he thinks about squeezing them and watching the fat spill from between his fingers. All Hawk can think about are her tits under her shirt, which he can tell she's wearing without a bra because her nipples are hard under it. And Robby is wishing he could uncover her belly from hiding under that baggy shirt because she's beautiful.
"Well, uh, we weren't really planning on going back to the party," Hawk admits, earning him a hard nudged from Demetri behind him.
"Oh really?" she asks softly, finally looking up at him. She wears a cute pout that all of them have to hold back from reacting to because she's so fucking cute. She's so naturally gorgeous, they almost can't stand it. "Why?"
Robby shrugs. "We're all kind of tired of it."
"Low social batteries, if you will," Demetri adds.
She nods. "I understand."
Admittedly, it's a little awkward, but Hawk doesn't like any silence sit in the air for long.
"We could watch a movie or something," he suggests.
"I think Anthony's using the TV downstairs as a coverup to spy on girls outside... but we could use mine..." Reader shyly says and opens her door a little more, inviting them inside.
None of them had really gotten in the pool despite it being a pool party. Only Hawk had jumped in once to splash a bunch of people, but that was a while ago, so he was mostly dry. So, to say less, they weren't tracking water into her room when they walked inside. Nevertheless, Hawk does have a towel and uses it to protect her floor when he sits down.
They don't want to invite themselves to sit on her bed, even though it's a nice big bed that they could all sit on. They set up a movie and only after getting cozy on her bed does she shyly ask if they're comfortable on the floor, then offers the spots around her for them to come sit. They don't hesitate.
She's between Hawk and Robby while Demetri is on his stomach at the end of the bed. It's a dream come true for her, and she thinks that if she's dreaming then she never wants to wake up again. It's heaven just to be so close to them.
Nothing happens until a little ways into the movie. Hawk, bold as he is, of course, put his hand on Reader's thigh. It isn't long after that Robby puts his arm around her shoulders. The dream continues and she's sure she's going to wake up at any moment to Sam wanting her to put on a bikini and go to her pool party. But she doesn't wake up and realizes she's really in the middle of all this. She can't imagine what they do next.
As Hawk slides his hand along her thigh, he whispers in her ear, "Is this okay?"
She nods, too excited for words. She doesn't even know what to say, too scared that if she speaks, she'll somehow ruin it.
His hand pushes between her thighs and she slightly moves them apart, allowing him room to slot his hand there and squeeze her thigh. She lets out a squeak of surprise, unprepared for that. He chuckles in her ear as Robby holds in his laugh. The noise alerts Demetri to the goings on behind him and he shifts so he can watch them, forgetting about the movie.
Next, Robby slips his hand up her shirt and puts it on her waist. He asks, "Is this okay?"
She nods again and he smirks at her, letting his hand slide up her body until he's cupping her naked tit in his hand and gently fondling it. She bites her lip and holds back a soft moan, to which Demetri finally speaks up.
"We wanna hear you, beautiful," he tells her.
She's so flustered by the nickname and their attention. She lets go of her lip and lets out a noise that embarrasses her. She can only turn her head and hide her face in Hawk's neck, unsure if she even sounds nice to them. She doesn't think so, but Hawk pulls away from her and makes her look up at him as he toys with her thighs and the waistband of her shorts.
"Don't be embarrassed, gorgeous," he tells her. "Like he said, we want to hear you. All your sexy little noises."
Robby only nods in agreement as he continues to play with her tit.
She's practically falling apart in their hands under Demetri's eye. She doesn't know what to do or say but she likes their attention. These simple little touches are more than she could have ever wished for, so she's more than satisfied with them. She has no idea what she's in for...
#goth!reader#shy!reader#larusso!reader#cobra kai#cobra kai headcanons#cobra kai x reader#cobra kai x chubby reader#cobra kai x plus size reader#chubby reader#plus size reader#eli hawk moskowitz#eli moskowitz x reader#eli moskowitz x chubby reader#eli moskowitz smut#eli moskowitz#hawk moskowitz x chubby reader#hawk moskowitz x reader#hawk moskowitz smut#robby keene x chubby reader#robby keene x reader#robby keene smut#demetri alexopoulos x chubby reader#demetri alexopoulos x reader#demetri alexopoulos smut#robby keene#demetri alexopoulos#gemini sensei
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I am really curious to see your take on Aric and Japeth's relationship. I mean, the beloved author and creator of the series have addressed this issue with 'in their own sick wicked way they had loved' so yeah it's cannon cool. But I feel like the further implications of this? We saw evil 'unable to love'/ 'only ever have true love'. From what I remember Japeth mentioned Aric more than once, how they would write letters to each other how Aric 'begged' for Japeth to come to him but Japeth never did so and then bro spent the last of his life trying to bring Aric back to life. There are so many implications, the dynamics, the context, everything, but I love how you theorise and explore all sorts of ideas so I can't help but wonder how you view all of this :D.
Thanks for taking the time to read this and have a great day/afternoon/evening/night!
Sorry to disappoint, but I should probably start off with the fact that I don't ship Japeth and Aric. While I like Japeth, partly in thanks to @discjude winning me over, and further recognizing the tragedy surrounding him, his relationship to Aric never canonically does him any favors. And, with Aric, I think I'm apathetic enough towards him that I don't actively hate him; I just don't care about him. In truth, if not for Aladdin's pitiful existence actively hammering on my nerves, Aric would probably be my least favorite character.
The first thing I want to address is that Evil being "unable to love" or "only Evers have True Love" is actually false, despite the many times the series puts forth this claim. Yes, we are explicitly told this "fact" in book 1, but the book's point was to subvert/deconstruct the myth.
First, by the end, with her self-sacrifice, Sophie proved Evil's capacity to love, meaning: Evil being unable to love is just a commonly-held belief in the Woods, not the absolute, be-all, end-all truth.
(And the belief could've been perpetuated by "Rafal's"/Rafal's way of running his institution that literally shapes the Wood's perceptions and the future. Alongside this claim about love, consider the existence of the Doom Room, created to punish a singular mutinous class of first-years, based on a now-revised philosophy about Nevers' learning from harsh treatment and (probably) disproportionate retribution that an excessively stubborn dead man already too entrenched in his old ways never had the chance to change because he died—and this is all aside from the fact proven by the display at the very first Circus of Talents, that Rafal's students did indeed learn better when he finally listened to them and mentored them as an equal in their position (as Fala). In addition, the statement: "Nevers learn from deprivation" similarly reveals how the Woods really do generalize about Nevers—until Sophie, the "exception" and iconoclast, comes along.)
Second, Sophie's non-romantic True Love at some point was said to be Agatha, and I think this established fact is consistently maintained throughout the series, even if other elements overshadow it, so not only Evers can have True Love.
My take on Japeth and Aric is that Japeth's love for Aric, however twisted or sincere it was, drove him to become the Snake, follow along with Rhian's Camelot ambitions and initial staging-terrorism-and-hostage-scenarios plot, and commit all his other, duplicitous, villainous acts throughout TCY, later by his own will, which is a motive I find fascinating (and contradictory about the nature of the Woods' Good and Evil souls, whenever Japeth is set next to the rather grey Rhian).
So, while Japeth's devotion to Aric could be viewed as romantic, it's just not appealing to me, personally, due to the relationship's ambiguous one-sidedness in particular. And, I think I once may've read something about Japeth as a Never fighting for True Love (or his perception of "True Love") and Rhian as an Ever fighting for power (the Nevers' ideal fairy-tale ending) being ironic or inverted in some way. That's also some world-building fodder to consider, or even just another point that could overturn the Rules as we know them, yet again. I'm not surprised by that subversion honestly. Japeth is very much like his parents. Nearly every SGE villain Soman has ever written has been motivated by the pursuit of love, or by the overwhelming force of their own (often obsessive) infatuations (with the exception of somewhat flatter, less-developed, secondary villains, like Aric, Vulcan, Marialena, and Peter Pan).
Also, thanks for the compliment!
#school for good and evil#japeth#japeth sader-mistral#japeth of foxwood#aric#aric of bloodbrook#sge#sfgae#the school for good and evil#tsfgae#jaric#rafal#rafal mistral#rhian#rhian mistral#rise of the school for good and evil#rotsge#rotsfgae#sophie of woods beyond#rhian sader-mistral#rhian of foxwood#my post#ask
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At your service l. Heeseung
Pairing: live in maid heeseung x rich fem reader
Warnings: age gap, crying, angst, heartbreak, I think I’ll post like three more chaps before the end I hope you all enjoy
• Masterlist
• WC: 2,127k
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
Finally, it was your birthday today, and heeseung had almost everything prepared.
The gifts he had gotten you still needed to be wrapped. He bought a book with writing prompts in it since you were still struggling with the continuation of your book.
He also got you something really really special and really really expensive so expensive that he’d be even more late paying off his student loans but for you it was worth it without a doubt.
He made a strawberry cake from scratch, remembering that you loved anything that included strawberries.
He smiled to himself while he worked on the final touches of your surprise in the kitchen.
It’s crazy cause just a couple months ago he didn’t know how to cook and he barely had a penny to his name and now he’s baking you cakes from start to finish and buying you luxurious jewelry.
He decided to forego the candles on the cake since you were always so conscious about your age for reasons he did not understand.
He didn’t mind the age gap, truthfully; he kind of actually liked it at first. Yeah, he was just interested in having sex with an older woman, and that’s very douchey, he’ll admit that, but now there's so much more to you than sex.
Don’t get him wrong, sex with you is amazing, perfect, absolutely marvelous, but now that he’s grown to learn more about you, everything with you is amazing, perfect, and marvelous, even the little things.
Chatting with you is fun, cuddling with you is fun, going out with you is fun, and watching you concentrate and write your book is fun. Things he never even liked doing before are now some of his favorite things to do. He loves reading books to you, and he used to hate reading. He’s usually an outdoor person, but he loves staying indoors with you. Cooking was the last thing on his list of things to do, and now he wakes up early in the morning to happily prepare breakfast for you just so he can see your eyes light up with joy.
He’s so in love that he’s doing things he would have never even dreamed of just to make you happy and give you what you deserve.
He put his whole heart into decorating the cake and the kitchen where he’d be throwing your little party later on. “You think mommy’s gonna love the surprise?” He bent down, patting Bruno on his little head.
Heeseung had dressed him up for the occasion, a blue bow tie around his neck identical to the one he was wearing.
Meanwhile, Bruno was busy trying to lick the frosting off the tip of the frosting bag. “Bad puppy,” Heeseung sighed and stood up so he could put the finishing touches on everything and make it perfect for you.
About 30 minutes later he was done everything was set up nicely and he snapped a few pictures before he gave you your gifts.
“Hee can I come down now?” You asked anxiously half nervous half excited you’d be stuck in your bed all day since morning.
Your mind drifts back to earlier when you both woke up in the morning and the soft loving touches he left on your body.
You cupped your flushed cheeks you could still feel his hands on your skin you could still remember the way felt inside you and you could still hear the sweet nothings he whispered in your ear.
That was the perfect way to start your birthday morning, and it was even more perfect when he brought you breakfast in bed.
Hints why you’ve been in bed all day he treated you like a princess and wouldn’t let you lift a single finger today.
He smiles looking in the direction of your voice. “Wait one more minute darling!” he picked up Bruno and set him on the kitchen counter making sure their bow ties were neat. “Okay you can come down!” He called to you his phone in hand so he could record your reaction and it didn’t disappoint.
You took one last step down the stairs and walked to the kitchen, turning the corner to see your whole entire dining space completely decorated with all your favorite colors there were balloons a banner that said happy birthday and then there were your two boys looking at you. “Surprise!” Heeseung said with a bright smile on his face.
“Oh my gosh,” you cupped your hands over your mouth in awe of what he had prepared just for you.
“Happy birthday, baby. I hope you love it,” he said shyly, and you ran over to him with your arms spread.
“Thank you I do love it hee so much” you kissed his cheek and looked at Bruno. “My boys are so handsome” you patted his head. “But I love you more” you said wrapping your hands around his neck kissing him properly this time.
“Hmm” he grins gripping your waist. “I’m glad baby now are you ready for the presents?” He asked rubbing your lower back softly as he ended the recording and set his phone on the counter top.
You nodded, smiling excitedly with anticipation.
“Wait here love I’m gonna go grab them from upstairs” he jogged upstairs he was so excited for you to see what he got you.
“Daddy the best, isn’t h-?” Your words were cut through when a ding on heeseung’s phone went off.
The phone lit up for a few seconds with a message and dimmed a few moments later.
Heeseung was rummaging through his drawer in search of your presents he opened the box with the piece of jewelry and when the light hit it just right it was mesmerizing.
He wanted to buy a promise ring for you, but he also didn’t want to rush into things so quickly and risk making you uncomfortable or feel pressured into anything, so he opted for something that you could still wear every day, just without the heavy commitment.
It was a custom piece a half heart made out of white gold and tiny little diamond’s with his initial on it the other half identical except it was made out of onyx and it completed the heart when put together.
He though it was a perfect idea cause now that way you both could always have a piece of each other close to your hearts.
The notifications on heeseung’s phone were nonstop, so you decided to look at them. He kept his phone unlocked, so you doubted he’d care. Plus, with as many texts coming in, it sounded urgent. You called for him upstairs, but he just responded with. “I’ll be down soon, baby,” as he was wrapping the last of your presents.
You shrugged and took a peak just to make sure everything was fine, and you wished you hadn’t.
“Bro, you’re never going to believe this.”
“Hello?”
“Answer me!”
“Or can you not because you’re fucking your boss again?”
“When are you going to stop stringing that poor girl along just make the money and leave like you said she probably thinks you love her.”
Your hand instantly cupped your mouth and your heart was racing as you read the texts over and over again.
Your body moved in its own and you charged upstairs to confront him. “Y/n? What are you doing up here you’re gonna ruin the surprise” he chuckles turning his back so you can’t see anything just yet.
“You mean this surprise?” You hold up his phone, walking over to him, and shoving it in his face so he can read the messages and his face drops. “What the fuck is this heeseung?!” You shout on the verge of tears.
“Baby…” he looked over at you, his eyes filled with fear.
“Don’t fucking baby me. Just what is this heeseung?” He flinched from your yelling, his expression softening as he tried to think of what he should say.
“T-that’s not true, y/n. I do love you; I jus-”
“Then why is your friend talking to you about this?” Your voice gave out while you searched his eyes, hoping to find some type of answers.
“I-I,” he sighs, stumbling over his words before he decides to just tell you the truth. “In the beginning, it was true, and I know I’m wrong for that baby. I’m so-“
“Don’t” you stopped him right there that’s all you needed to hear. “And don’t call me that anymore.”
“Y/n, please just let me expl-“
“There’s no explanation, heeseung, just go,” you told him weekly and tossed the phone on his bed in disappointment. You really thought he was different turns out he’s just like the rest, but with him, it hurt just a little more than all the others.
“Y/n…” he tried to reach for you before you left.
“I said go!” His mouth was parted open for a moment and it closed as you were walking away he reached for you again but you shook his hand off and this time you turned around smacking him right across his face the loud slap echoing in the silent room.
He gasped at the sting of the slap, his eyes getting teary.
Bruno was upstairs now, barking loudly at heeseung as you both stared at each other with hurt in both of your teary eyes.
He cupped his cheek, his heart breaking in his chest as he tried to register what was even happening. This couldn’t be true. This all had to be some type of cruel, sick joke.
In the morning, you both made love and now you’re fighting.
For the first time in a long time, he was finally happy, and now this happens.
“Just get your shit and go” You left the room, Bruno walking on your trail as you went into your bedroom to try and make sense of what just happened.
Heeseung stood there speechless, swallowing the lump in his throat as hot tears trickled down his cheek.
He sat on the bed holding your necklace in his hand, clutching it tightly.
“They’re all the same, aren’t they, buddy? But you would never do that to me, huh?” You grabbed his small body, sitting him on your chest, and you didn’t even cry. You’ve been hurt too many times for that. You just stared lifelessly at the ceiling, and you knew only time would make this pain and disappointment go away.
Heeseung had slowly packed all of his things his limbs feeling heavy with every move and within an hour the room looked like how it did when he first got there.
He couldn’t believe he was actually leaving. It just didn’t feel real.
But the heavy suitcase in his left hand was enough of a sign that this was indeed real.
He knew you probably didn’t want to talk or even see his face right now, but he can’t give up on you like this.
He had to at least try.
“Y/n?” He knocks on your door softly, and you don’t respond. Resting his forehead against the wooden door, he tries to twist the knob, and he’s not surprised that it’s locked. “Please, baby, open up. I love you I love you so much. Everything you saw is true, but then I got to know you, and I just couldn’t help but fall for you. In the beginning, I was just young and dumb. I wasn’t taking life seriously, but when I met you, you were just so open and mature. You told me about your past, and I felt for you. I could see how hurt you were, and I knew you couldn’t trust people, so I wanted to take that all away. I wanted to show you what trust and love could really be like. I grew into a man you could love and be loved by, and you’re just so perfect I can’t lose you now, darling.” he waits a solid five minutes, and it’s nothing but silence other than his cries by the tenth minute with no answer he gets up off the floor grabbing his luggage and wiping his tears. “I love you, y/n,” he says one last time before walking down the staircase.
He looks back at your mansion a sad smile on his face when he saw your birthday decorations still up how could such a special day end up like this.
He leaves his spare key on the lampstand and walks out, locking the door behind him.
He walked the path downstairs a frown on his face when he saw the sunflowers that you both planted together starting to bud.
He wouldn’t be around to see them bloom or your guy's relationship.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night♥️
#enhypen#enhypen heeseung#heeseung#lee heeseung#enha heeseung#engene#heeseung smut#enhypen smut#enhypen hard hours#enhypen heeseung smut#lee heeseung smut#heeseung angst#heeseung x reader#enhypen fanfic#heeseung fic#heeseung fluff#enhypen lee heeseung smut#lee heeseung angst
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