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stylesispunk · 1 month

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"Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby"

Detective!Javier peña x f!reader

Prologue | next chapter | series masterlist

summary: You were kidnapped one winter night, but you have no memories of the incident or the person who took you. A year later, a homicide leads Javier Peña to your door, seeking help. He soon learns that he must protect the woman he loves.

chapter warnings: mentions of kidnapping, death, angst. The story doesn't follow the plot from narcos, but the use of Javier as the main lead in this story. No proofread

w.c: 4,5k

a/n: the first chapter of this fic is here! I really want to be careful with this one in the process of writing and stuff because I'm trying not to feel pressured. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, please let me know what you think!! Remember if you want to be taglisted, you can tell me <3.

masterlist

dividers by @/saradika

Thump.

Chest raising slowly, in short breaths that made your heart ram against your ribcage.

Thump.

The blood pounded in your ears. Your hands shook. Your legs tingled. Your vision blurred, casting shadows of gray colors around your head, threatening to hurt.

Thump.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

You closed your eyes tight, taking a long, slow, deep breath, then lifted your gaze, meeting the eyes of the detective sitting in front of you, looking around your house as if you would be able to find some answers tied to that unfortunate event that had happened to you a year ago.

Poor woman, he must have thought as he looked at your poor, weak woman.

You studied him—the way his nose crunched as he lost deep in thought, writing down things in his journal or whatever the hell he brought with him. His moustache over his lip, the creases of his soft-toned skin, and his dark brown eyes that had just met your gaze again.

Javier’s heart stopped beating for a second, feeling a strange feeling against his ribcage, stealing the air from his lungs. It must be sympathy; the turmoil was evident in your eyes. He had seen that same look from horror countless times before, but yours was different.

To him.

"What does it have to do with me?” You asked, avoiding his intense stare. Just the mere name of what he had told you made your hands tremble.

“I just told you. “He answered with a calmness that made your blood boil. As if it were just a routine question of your day.

“No,” you spat. “I’m just trying to heal from that, and you came here asking me things I’m not able to remember and I don’t want to." Your voice got cut by a small sob.

It was a deep scar, something you were too afraid to remember, something that had made you lose an entire year of life, stealing memories from your story you would never meet.

“He left a note for you; that means he knows you’re in this city and that you may be in danger.”

Javier's expression softened as he watched your emotional outburst, his heart aching with empathy for the pain you were experiencing. He knew that he had touched a raw nerve, dredging up memories and emotions that you had fought so hard to bury.

“I can’t go through all that again,” you whispered, closing your palms with so much pressure that you could feel the skin getting ripped by your nails.

The warm touch of Javier’s palms over your hands stopped you in short as you lifted your gaze again to look at him again. His own hands reached out instinctively to grasp yours, preventing you from inflicting further harm on yourself. He could feel the tension in your fingers, the pressure building as you struggled to contain the emotions raging within you.

"I understand," he said gently, his voice a soothing presence in the midst of your turmoil. "I know that this must be incredibly difficult for you, but as a detective, I’m asking you to let me protect you.”

Did he just say, “Let me protect you”?

“What if I don’t want to?” You asked carefully.

Javier's gaze softened as he listened to your question, his heart heavy with the weight of your pain and uncertainty. He had spoken the words without hesitation, driven by a deep-seated instinct to shield you from harm, but he understood that his offer of protection might not be what you wanted or needed.

"If you don't want me to protect you, I won't force you," he replied gently, his voice tinged with understanding.

Your hands were burning under his gentle touch, and his eyes were diesel to your own gaze. You both could feel the intensity of the electricity running through your veins as you connected somehow.

Despite the pain and uncertainty that still lingered within you, there was a flicker of hope igniting in your heart, ignited by his dark pools looking at you.

Both of you were awfully quiet, maybe so lost in the intensity of your touch over each other's skin that you didn't hear the door closing off. Your best friend, Alice, had just arrived from her running session.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she took in the sight of Javier holding your hands, his gaze locked with yours in a moment of quiet connection. There was a furrow of concern between her brows as she glanced between the two of you, silently urging you to explain the unexpected presence of the detective in your living room.

You could feel the weight of her scrutiny as you struggled to find the right words to explain the situation. Javier, too, seemed to sense the tension in the air, his grip on your hands tightening slightly as he prepared himself to face the questions that were sure to come.

Taking a deep breath, you turned to Alice, your voice faltering slightly as you began to speak. "Alice, this is Detective Javier," you said, your words coming out in a rush. "He's here to help me with...”

Your explanation hung in the air, as you didn’t know how to keep explaining the presence of Javier, but Alice's expression softened with understanding as she nodded, her eyes flickering with concern as she glanced back and forth between you and Javier.

“I’m Alice Wilson; I’m her best friend, by the way,” she introduced herself to Javier.

“Javier Peña,” he said, shaking hands with the girl.

There was a brief pause after the greetings, but Javier cut it off in a second. “Could I talk to you for a second?” he asked Alice, not without looking at you as if asking for permission.

You nodded, walking out of the living room towards the kitchen. You placed the palm of your hands over the kitchen counter, and you gripped the borders with strong force, trying to stop the hammer from beating your brain. You had tried; you had tried so hard to make an effort and remember what had happened that night and the whole year that came after, but you simply couldn’t; you were waiting for it to go away to a dark sea of monsters where your nightmares rest.

But what if the death of that woman was your fault?

You didn’t want your life to be tainted by the ghost of your worst fears, from your captor.

Your heart started beating so loudly against your ribcage that you felt Alice and Javier would be able to hear it.

"Hey,” a voice banished the monster lurking in your thoughts away. His voice did.

You turned around, timidly facing him. You couldn’t take your eyes away from his figure once you did. There was something about him that you weren’t able to decipher yet.

“I’m heading out,” he informed.

"Okay," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, pursing his lips as he contemplated what he was about to say: “If... If you change your mind about it, please call me. I let my number with your friend.”

You nodded, and Javier graced a small smile on his lips. "Please, take care," he said, praying that that person wouldn’t find you.

As he made his way towards the door, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of him leaving. Despite your initial reluctance to accept his help, you had come to rely on his brief presence, as if something invisible were pulling you towards him.

“Handsome, isn’t he?” Alice broke your bubble of thoughts.

"Are you thinking about calling him?" You asked, jealously flickering at the thought of him with your friend.

“Me?" She chuckled. "If someone stole his heart, it was you."

"I don't know about that," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant as you turned away from the door. "He's just doing his job, after all."

Alice raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Maybe," she said, her tone teasing. "But I saw the way he looked at you. There was something there, whether you want to admit it or not."

You felt it too, but you didn’t feel ready to admit it.

As Javier was walking towards his car, his phone started ringing.

Murphy.

With a sigh, he looked behind him towards your house, then answered his phone.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern as he braced himself for whatever news Murphy had to deliver.

On the other end of the line, Murphy's voice crackled with urgency. "A girl," he said quickly. "Around twenty-five, she missed her friend’s party; she found herself unlived in the morning.”

Javier's heart skipped a beat at the news, cursing at the sky or whoever was allowing this to happen.

"Where?" he asked, his voice firm with determination. "Give me the details, and I'll be there as soon as possible."

Javier ended the call and hurried towards his car, gazing at your house for the last time, and as soon as he drove towards the scene of the crime, his thoughts kept drifting back to you, hoping against hope that he could bring an end to the nightmare that had plagued your life for far too long.

He couldn’t bear the thought of you being in danger.

"Denisse Around twenty-five, she missed her friend’s party; she found her friend like this in the morning,” Steve explained.

Javier couldn’t take his eyes off the victim, who was lying still on her bed, dressed in a white gown with flowers on her lap. She seemed to be at peace, resting, as if her life would have been taken by a crazy bastard who wanted to reach you.

You were the only thought in his mind.

This girl, again, looked like you—the features on her face, the hair.

“Javier”

He came back from his own thoughts, lifting his gaze at Lauren, who was wearing a worried expression on her face.

“What?” he asked simply.

“I asked, What had happened to you? You seemed lost.”

“I met the girl. The one from Boston.” His voice felt heavy. "It's just... too much of a coincidence."

Lauren's expression softened with understanding as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know," she said softly. "But we'll figure this out, Javier. We'll find the truth, no matter what."

“No, you don’t understand; he is trying to capture her image on these girls.”

“And what did she say?” Steve asked, confused at his partner's demeanor.

“She doesn’t remember.”

“It's a shame; I'm sure that if she could remember. It would help us close his case and stop the crimes.” Steve said

“No shit" Javier said, angry. He was furious at everyone and at himself, so he walked away from the scene of the crime.

As Javier stormed away from the scene of the crime, Lauren hurried after him, her concern evident in every step she took. She caught up to him just as he reached his car, her brow furrowed with worry.

"Javier, wait," she called out, her voice soft but urgent. "What's wrong? Why did you speak to Steve like that?"

Javier paused, his hands gripping the material of his shirt. He struggled to contain his emotions. He knew that he had lashed out unfairly at his partner, but the frustration and anger boiling within him were too overwhelming to ignore.

"I'm sorry, Lauren," he said, his voice strained with emotion. "I just... I can't shake the feeling that we're missing something crucial here. These girls—they're not just random victims. He's targeting them for a reason, and I can't help but feel like it's all connected to her."

Lauren nodded understandingly, her eyes filled with empathy as she placed a gentle hand on Javier's arm. “I know”

Matthew gazed at his partner, trying to find reassurance in her words and in her presence, as he had always felt since he had met her, but his thoughts and worst nightmares were drifting to you.

He didn’t confess, but his biggest fear was that you would be the next victim on the list.

“You aren’t hungry." Alice, who was sitting next to her, had not eaten anything either; being too scared that something bad could possibly happen to her friend was too much to bear.

You shook your head slightly. “I can’t stop thinking.”

"No,” Alice said, touching your arm.

“There is another girl who has died.” You tried to explain, “It’s my

“Don’t even say that,” Alice interrupted. “I know it’s not easy for you to try to erase what has happened.” She held her gaze on yours for a moment.

“Alice”

“Why don’t you lie down and try to rest?” She suggested that worry was creeping up on her.

“I can’t sleep,” you replied, sad at the thought that you would never be happy again.

“I’ll give you a pill, but please rest,” she said, delicately brushing her fingertips on your naked arms.

She helped her up: “Come on, you’re going to take a warm shower, and then you’re going to go to bed, and I’ll bring you the pill, and you’ll try to sleep.”

You nodded without protesting, allowing your friend to look after you, at least for today.

But then the doorbell stopped the both of you from taking another step. Your body tensed up, and Alice, noticing the movements, walked towards the door, peeking through the peephole before opening it.

Who could it be at this time?

“It's Javier,” she announced before opening the door.

There he was, Javier Peña, standing next to the door with a wide smile on his face. “Excuse me for showing up at this hour, but I need to talk to you,” he said, looking at you, who had not taken your eyes off him since Alice had opened the door. The light illuminating the porch and the shine emanating from his brown eyes made you feel like you were naked under his stare.

His hair was messy, and some curls fell over his forehead. Your eyes traveled down over his jawline towards his neck. A little further down, a bit of dark, curly hair peeked through the white shirt he was wearing.

The trance that Isabella seemed to have fallen into faded when she heard her friend's voice. “Come in, detective.”

“Thank you.”

Isabella continued without saying a word, just a couple of steps away from him.

“Well, I’ll be in the kitchen,” she said, turning around and disappearing from the room while her lips curled into a mischievous smile.

“Do you want to have a coffee?” You asked, getting nervous; your hands were starting to sweat.

“No, thank you,” he said, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach at seeing you again.

“Take a seat,” you indicated.

Javier looked at you as you sat on the edge of the couch. He didn’t know what to do or say, so finally he ended up sitting next to you. He followed his instincts.

No one spoke, and the silence became increasingly heated and tense. Javier stretched his arm over the back of the couch, and his finger almost touched your hair. He wondered what it would feel like to feel the softness of the hair under his fingertips.

On the other hand, your bare knee brushed against the rough fabric of his jeans. Your soft friction caused a wave of intense sensations in you that rose to your throat. Then you looked at him, and Javier could barely contain the urgency to cup your face and kiss all the fears away.

He must concentrate on his work while thinking about protecting you.

“I wanted to see how you were doing; I guess you already know.”

You nodded; however, you tried to process what his words meant. She knew that, perhaps, it was just part of her job as a detective. After all, it was one of her duties to look after the well-being of the people, but the way he looked at her while she was complaining about her made her think otherwise. He was worried about her and her safety, worried about what might happen to her, and he had come to her house in the middle of the night to check on her.

“I can’t stop thinking everything is my fault. I’m destroyed; the crimes, my kidnapping, that person, you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you want things from me, and I don't know if I can give them to you. You came into my life, telling me you need my help to stop a murder and asking me to remember things I can’t and would rather not.”

“I'm sorry; I've never wanted to pressure you.”

“I know you're sorry, and you're just trying to do your job.”

“Believe me, I would never have wanted you to be involved in all this, but unfortunately, there is someone else out there who wants just the opposite.” He was dying to hug you and taste those lips that moved restlessly from side to side while you listened to him. Try the taste of your mouth and get drunk with it until he loses his mind.

You could feel it too—the magnetic pull between the two of you. You needed to move away from him and put a little distance between you. You could feel the stare of his intense brown eyes on your back. You ran your hand over your neck, and your pulse accelerated. What Javier caused was something new, a feeling you had never experienced before, clouding all your senses. You could feel it in your trembling legs.

“It’s late.” You spoke.

“I know; I don’t know why I came here,” he responded, smiling.

“I'll walk you to the door.” He walked past you, and, for a second, you thought he would stop you and kiss you passionately. But it wasn't like that. You went out with him to the porch and tried to appear as calm as possible. "See you."

As Javier walked towards his car, you felt a sudden surge of desperation wash over you. The magnetic pull between the two of you was undeniable, and you found yourself longing for his presence, craving the comfort that he seemed to offer despite the chaos surrounding your life.

"Javier," you called out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned back towards you, his gaze searching yours for a moment before he spoke. "Yes?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should voice the sudden impulse that had taken hold of you. But then, with a deep breath, you found the courage to speak.

"Could you... take me to a bar?" You asked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "Just to relax, you know?"

Javier's expression softened at your request, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. But deep down, he knew this wasn’t correct. “Of course," he replied, his voice gentle. "I'd be happy to, but you must tell Alice first; I don’t want her to worry about you.”

You put a smile on your lips and nodded.

The bar was dimly lit, with a low hum of conversation filling the air. Javier found a quiet corner booth for the two of you, away from the hustle and bustle of the crowded bar, in disguise as if he were your protector, and he was doing his job somehow. As you settled into your seats, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relaxation wash over you. You were grateful for the chance to escape the chaos in your mind for a second.

"What can I get you?" Javier asked, gesturing towards the menu on the table.

You glanced over the options, and the weight of your recent experiences was still heavy on your mind. "Just a glass of wine, please," you replied softly.

Javier nodded, signaling to the bartender as he ordered your drinks. As you waited for them to arrive, you couldn't help but steal glances at Javier, his presence comforting and reassuring in the dimly lit bar.

"Thank you for bringing me here," you said, breaking the comfortable silence between you. "I needed this."

Javier smiled, his gaze warm as he met yours. He could feel his heart beating faster at the sight of you under the lights, looking so ethereal. He didn’t know if love felt like this, but the feeling was like this; it terrified him. It terrified him to think about what he would do for you.

The bartender returned with your drinks, setting them down on the table with a soft clink of glass. You took a sip of your wine, the rich taste soothing against your parched throat. As you savored the moment, you couldn't shake the feeling of Javier's eyes on you.

"I'm sorry if I've been too forward," Javier said suddenly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I just... I want to help in any way I can."

I care about you.

You shook your head, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his arm. "I want to help you with the case.”

Javier's eyes widened in surprise at your words, a flicker of hope dancing in their depths. "You do?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of astonishment and gratitude. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, a determined expression settling on your features. "Yes," you replied firmly. "I want to remember. I want to help put an end to all of this."

A sense of relief washed over Javier at your words, a weight lifting from his shoulders at the thought of your cooperation in the investigation. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice filled with gratitude. "I'll do everything I can to help you remember."

As you continued to talk, Javier mentioned the idea of finding a hypnotist who could help you unlock your memories. "There's a hypnotist, I know," he said, his voice hopeful. "He's helped other people in similar situations before. Maybe he can help you too."

You considered his suggestion for a moment; the prospect of uncovering the truth was both daunting and enticing. But deep down, you knew it was the right decision. "Let's do it," you said finally, a sense of determination coursing through your veins. "I'm ready to face whatever memories may come, but please be patient with me.”

"Of course," he replied gently, his voice filled with reassurance. "I'll be right there beside you every step of the way, supporting you through it all."

Back at your house, on the porch, with his jacket around your shoulders, your body felt heavier, as if it were tightening your throat, hurting from the words dancing around waiting to come out.

One day, his presence became a drug you wanted to try.

One day, your presence was bathing in sunlight on his skin.

But you were a victim, and he was a detective playing with becoming a hero; he clearly wasn't. It was all for you, all for the desire to be your

Was he becoming obsessed with the idea of you just as the person following your track, threatening to snatch the wings of an angel from your back?

Javier couldn't stop thinking if you could perceive him as a pervert, as the thoughts of your ethereal company made him think about, or the words he would whisper in your ear for only you to hear.

Would you see him as your protector?

"Javier," you broke the silence with your voice and soothing melody, which he could listen to for the rest of his life. You tried to take his jacket off your shoulder, but he stopped you.

“Keep it. This isn't the last time you'll see me.”

You graced a smile at him, and Javier felt he could be used to face the death, and he had come to peace with it, but you? He wasn't ready for what he was becoming because of you; he wasn't ready for the possibility of you slipping away from his fingers and losing you to a monster. He didn't know how to love someone or how to take care of someone who wasn't him, yet you seemed to have turned his world upside down.

He was scared of changing, scared of your hold over him, and scared of your captor because you feared him.

“See you,” you said.

“See you,” he also said, leaning to press a kiss on your cheek. “Take care.”

The small kiss lingered like a gentle caress, leaving a warm path and spreading through your entire being.

You kept quiet, completely still, while looking at how Javier walked toward his car. You leaned against the door, looking up at the sky, before going back inside the house again.

A silhouette mingled among the shadows that the same moon capriciously drew that night. No one perceived it, and no one heard the name that silhouette whispered.

daisy, daisy, daisy.

The next day at the office, everything felt smooth; there wasn’t another victim to cry for, but still, there was no information or indication they could use to find the murderer, and that was an issue. He was becoming obsessed with a case he needed to solve for his own sake.

“Did you sleep badly?" Lauren asked while looking through some details of the case.

Javier massaged his neck with smooth movements, but nothing was able to calm the pain that pricked insistently in his muscles. After seeing you last night, he couldn’t find a way to go back to sleep.

“This pain is killing me a bit.”

"You should relax a bit," Lauren said, sitting down. She tucked her hair behind her ears.

As if it were easy, he thought.

“News?” he asked, but his expectations were killed once he looked at his partner, wearing a resigned expression on her face. “Nothing important; there are no footprints found; we have no evidence, nor am I a suspect.”

“What about cameras?” Javier asked, exasperated.

"No,” but her partner didn’t seem happy with the answer. “Come on, Javi. Don’t let this case take the best of you.”

“I know, when we solve this case, I’ll go to Italy or something, but now just let’s focus on it, please.”

Lauren nodded, walking back to her office and continuing to work. Once in a while, she lifted her gaze, and he looked focused on the screen on his laptop with sad eyes adorning his features.

She was about to get up from her seat, go over to him, and caress his shoulders to show him her support and to show him she was there, but at that moment the door opened violently, and you entered his office as if you were running from some danger.

Javier jumped out of his chair. He was perplexed to see you in such a state.

"Javi,” you said, throwing yourself desperately into his arms.

Javier's heart skipped a beat at the way you whispered "javi", at the urgency in your voice and the way you had thrown yourself into his arms. Concern flooded his expression as he held you close, instinctively wanting to protect you from whatever danger had caused you to seek refuge in his office.

“Javier, he was at my house." You took a moment to catch your breath, the fear still evident in your gaze as you recounted the events that had led you here. "He was at my house," you repeated, your voice trembling with emotion.

It was all happening again.

tags: @christinamadsen @romanarose (if you want to be removed, you can tell me 🥺)

#fic: nothing's gonna hurt you baby #javier pena fic #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javi peña #javier pena imagine #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #javi peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier pena fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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preciouslandmermaid · 2 years

Text

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader)

Note: I’m only on episode 5 of “The Bear” but uh they genetically engineered Carmy in a Lab and I couldn’t get this pathetic, high functioning but also traumatized baby girl out of my head.

Let me know if ya’ll want me to continue this because I probably could.

Pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

Content: 18+. MDNI. Smut.

Warnings/Tags: cursing/foul-language, smoking, protected sex, enemies to friends with benefits (sort of), banter, rivalry, second person POV, Porn WITH plot, slow-burn, grinding, light edging, semi-public/car sex lmao

Synopsis: Your grandfather bought the building across from “The Original Beef of Chicagoland.” After his unexpected death, you found yourself shouldered with the immense responsibility of turning these four walls into something worthwhile.

It doesn’t help that the new owner of Original Beef, Carmen Berzatto, is up your ass constantly and trying to get you to shut down before you can become a threat to their business.

(Read on Ao3) |||| (Masterlist)

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

“Did you see that someone bought the spot across from ours?” Fak asked. “I wonder what they’re gonna turn it into.”

“I don’t know. Probably a fucking GAP or something.” Riche said while lighting his cigarette.

“Cousin, can you give me a hand with this shit?” Carmy asked while holding a milk crate – one of many deliveries – with an exasperated look to Richie.

Richie gestured with his hand, cigarette pinched between his index and middle finger, “I’m having a smoke break, cousin, give me a minute. Jesus Christ.”

“Fuck you.” Carmy muttered, rolling his eyes, and carrying the heavy crate alone.

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

You settled your hands on your hips, surveying the space of drywall and hanging working lamps, and a fine white dust clouded the air. You barely had a minute to catch your breath between the funeral and meeting with your grandfather’s lawyers and dealing with your over-zealous family. To call this place a “work in progress” would be an understatement. According to all your grandfathers’ files and notes, it had been a bitch to get around all the red tape and legal bullshit to avoid the building being demolished.

It was an older building which meant someone had to check for lead, asbestos, faulty wiring, and every single other goddamn possibility under the sun. Then, he went and did what all old fuckers do – he died. He died and left the shitshow to his favorite grandchild. What an honor.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. A tension headache pressed against your nasal cavity since brunch and now it demanded to be noticed.

“So, you see,” The foreman continued, “we will need to gut out the left side if that’s still where the kitchen is going to be. I’ve got plenty of guys working on it, though, don’t worry.”

“How long?” You hissed with your eyes closed. The bright workman’s lamps were aggravating your head.

“Huh, how long?” The foreman stroked his sweaty mustache with two fingers. He was a soft, pudgy guy with a weak chin and perpetually watery eyes. Upon first meeting him, you thought he’d be a better fit as a Mall Santa instead of the head of your grandfather’s multi-million-dollar project.

“I’d say we’re looking at two more weeks to finish up these repairs. The drywall won’t take long – I know a guy and he can have that done in a day. You still wanna open in June?”

It was less than three months away. It sounded impossible. But your grandfathers’ notes expressed the importance of a summer opening to gain the most income and foot traffic. Your grandfather had been a shrewd and hard-working businessman. After all, this wasn’t the first restaurant he opened, and it was kind of fucked that he left you this one and not the other ones (which were doing well).

You nodded. “Yeah, June.”

The foreman made a note on his clipboard. “Now, if you’ll follow me—”

“Actually,” You held up a hand, “I gotta – I need a smoke break.”

You hadn’t had a cigarette since…Jesus. This morning? No wonder you had a migraine from hell and your heart kept pounding erratically. The foreman (whose name you were pretty confident was Tom) nodded enthusiastically and gave you a sympathetic look. You stepped outside to the cold, early-March air and inhaled deeply while fishing your cigarettes out of the pocket of your black, leather duster coat.

You tapped the bottom of the cigarette package against your palm before pulling one out and perching it against your lower lip. Your reached into your other pocket for your lighter. Your fingertips met empty, silk lining and few mysterious crumbs.

“Shit.” You checked your other pocket, only finding your cellphone and wallet, and your heart plummeted. “Shit.”

You whipped open the glass door and popped your head back into your restaurant, “Yo! You smoke?” You asked the foreman.

He looked up from his phone with a jolly little smile. “No! Quit years ago, thankfully, you know it’s really been such a blessing that my wife and I--”

“Cool.” You released the door handle and let it swing closed. You paced in front of the building (your building) and sulkily kicked a crushed Sprite can off to the side. You glanced across the street.

As a teenager, you followed your grandfather in his walkthroughs of his restaurants. A golden rule of all food place establishments? Everyone smokes. Although, that rule might be less common in the world of vaping and electronic cigarettes. You checked the street both ways before crossing with your hands tucked in your pockets and the unlit cigarette dangling from your lips.

You ignored the front entrance and walked to the side, where the customer cars would be parked, and some Divine Benevolence must’ve been watching over you because a man with a blue apron was smoking while crouched near a door.

“Hey, man!”

He turned to look at you and you were momentarily surprised by his appearance. He wasn’t classically handsome, but his eyes were as blue as Lake Michigan during the summer, and his dark golden hair artfully curled around his face. He looked like he just rolled out bed while simultaneously looking like he hadn’t slept in 36 hours. A few tattoos scattered across his arms, but you didn’t bother to look closer at any of them.

“Hey.” A charged moment passed while he sized you up and probably made sure you weren’t here to try and shake him down for change.

You gestured to the cigarette in your mouth, “I lost my lighter. Do you mind?”

He reached into his pocket and held his lighter to you. Wordlessly, you took it, lit your cigarette, and tilted your head back with a euphoric exhale of smoke. The rush of nicotine to your head and bloodstream immediately eased your headache and anxiety. Small miracles and small mercies. At least now you could continue your meeting with Tom (God, you hoped that was his name) and figure out the rest of the restaurant bullshit.

All the family lawyers told you to sell it and give the headache to someone else and let them turn into a Starbucks or whatever. But you couldn’t sell it. For all the headache and stress, it was grandpa’s last project. His final legacy. You couldn’t just let that shit go.

“Thank fuck.” You muttered with intense feeling. You held out his lighter to him, “Thank you.”

“Keep it.” He said before standing and leaning his back against the wall. You shrugged and slipped the plain, gray lighter into your pocket.

He watched you curiously, then said; “We don’t open till three. What are you doing here?”

There was something defensive to his tone. Hell, maybe he suspected you were a co-worker’s crazy ex-girlfriend trying to stalk them. The thought of it made you smile - you never had time to be anyone’s girlfriend.

You chuckled, “I was across the street. I figured if anyone had a lighter, it would be a stressed-out restaurant employee.”

His eyebrows raised. “You bought that place?”

“Nah.” You flicked ashes onto the pavement. “My grandad did. I guess he saw some hidden potential or whatever.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it gonna be?”

You smirked. “Cat café.”

His brow furrowed and his jaw went a little slack, “You’re kidding.” You enjoyed watching the expression morph across his face. It gave him a boyish edge to his exhausted features. And – it was just fun to fuck with strangers.

“Yeah, I am. I’m fucking with you.” You said while laughing. You took a final drag of your cigarette and snubbed it out on the bottom of your boot. You’d throw away the stub into a drainage grate or a trash can on your walk back. “Thanks for the light, chef. See you around.”

He pushed away from the wall and followed after you for two steps, “Hey, wait.”

You looked at him expectedly. A light, cold breeze stirred your hair and a piece of trash skated across the pavement with a harsh, grating sound. You should’ve kept walking. It wasn’t like you to wait around, for anyone, especially not random kitchen dudes who you only needed to borrow a lighter from. While he looked at you, something unfamiliar fluttered in your stomach and it wasn’t nerves or anxiety.

“You know, most business fail in their first year.” He said, “I’ve seen all the workers going in and out of that place. You might wanna tell your grandad to cut his losses while he’s ahead.”

You scoffed and your mouth dropped open in surprise. “Wooow.” You said sarcastically.

Your hackles raised at the patronizing vibe of the statement. Most businesses fail in their first year? Yeah, no shit. As if you didn’t already know that. As if your grandad didn’t already know that after opening dozens of places and plan out a twenty-something step guide for success. You already had your family biting at your heels to sell and cut your losses. You didn’t need this random line chef who probably couldn’t tell parsley from cilantro to tell you how to run a business.

In some twisted, backhanded way, you could how he was trying to be nice and offer unwanted well-meaning advice. Yet, as soon as the thought entered your mind, a more ruthless follow-up thought was born: Is he being nice? Or is he just trying to get rid of the competition?

“You know what?” You flicked your cigarette stub onto the ground near the front of their restaurant. Fuck them, they could sweep it up if they were such experts.

“If I ever figure out a way to speak to the dead - I’ll let him know.” You said with heated venom in your tone. You spun on your heel and briskly walked toward your restaurant without looking back. You threw yourself into listening to Tim (apparently his name was not Tom) and making suggestions while carrying your grandfathers’ impressive ringed binder of notes. The later half of your evening was spent sitting outside on the curb making phone calls while balancing the notebook on your lap.

Every time you felt like going home and calling it quits—you thought of him. That blue-eyed, self-righteous, cocky bastard. You worked until your mom called with a threat that she’d send you an Uber if you didn’t get on the L right now. You closed the notebook and stared across the street at the now-dark, empty Original Beef of Chicagoland. What a stupid name. It’s way too long. You scowled and grabbed your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. You pulled out the lighter he gave you and stared at it with enough heat to start a housefire. Whatever. Fuck him.

You’d find a quickie-mart to buy a new lighter from on your way home.

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

“Did you see the absolute smokeshow that’s working across the street?” Richie asked, leaning against the counter, “I swear to God, I thought they were shooting a commercial over there or somethin’.”

Syd frowned at his statement.

“She works there?” Fak asked. “What does she do? I’ve only seen construction guys.”

“Behind!” Carmy announced while maneuvering past Richie and setting down a container of relish. He glanced at Richie and Fak talking even though they both were supposed to be doing other things. Like prepping for their fucking lunch opening in the next three hours.

“Dude, I dunno, but she’s there like all fucking night.” Richie said, “I’m gonna talk to her tonight and see what’s up.”

“No way! She’s way out of your league.”

“Fuck you!” Richie aggressively pointed at Fak, “I’ve got more game than you, alright? You wanna go fucking talk to her and see if she’ll go out with your fatass?”

“Hey! I’m a nice guy and I have a lot to offer! Aren’t you technically married?”

“Don’t bring my fucking marriage into this! You fucking asshole!”

“I’m stating facts!”

“Yeah, here’s another fact for you—"

“Would you both shut up and get back to work!” Carmy snapped, “we’ve got three hours till lunch service.”

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

“I can’t believe you’re dragging me to this.” You said while holding onto a brightly wrapped birthday present on your lap. “I have work to do.”

“You always have work to do.” Your mom replied sternly while flexing her hands on the steering wheel. “Jimmy was a good friend to your grandfather.”

“So that means I have to give a shit about his kid?”

Your mom snapped your first and middle name at you.

You put the present on the floor near your feet while your mom talked about your grandfather and his connection to Jimmy – you heard the story a dozen times. Jimmy gave your grandfather his first loan to open his first business, a restaurant that focused on quality waffles and signature pancakes, and ever since then Jimmy has been at every opening (blah blah blah). She claimed that before her divorce to your dad and your subsequent move to Cincinnati that Jimmy made an appearance at your tenth birthday party. Despite all her reasonings and explanations, you couldn’t see how this was an optimal way to spend your day. You needed to sign work orders, and paint the walls, and re-tile the flooring, and a thousand other things. June would be here before you could say “Chicago Bears.”

You pulled out your phone to answer some emails before your arrived at Jimmy’s house.

You stepped out of the car and heard a chorus of screaming and laughing children echoing from the backyard.

“I already hate this.” You muttered while slamming the car door shut.

Your mom sidled next to you and held out a tube of lipstick from the depths of her big, pink Valentino bag and you stared at it, dumfounded.

“You’re serious?” You made a sweeping gesture to your bare legs, “I’m already dressed up.” You said to the floral, knee-length dress that ran like liquid across your skin. Hell, you even spritzed some light perfume behind your ears to mask any lingering scent of plaster and drywall. This wasn’t one of your business school schmoozing events created to network and leverage clients. It was a fucking children’s birthday party. (Unless your mom suspected you were going to find a DILF to snatch up or something).

“You look exhausted, darling. A little color to your cheeks and lips won’t hurt.” She nudged the lipstick closer, expecting you to take it, her thin eyebrows raised into her pulled-back hairline and her mouth set in a severe line.

“Fine.” You spat.

You snatched the lipstick up and passed over her birthday present, “I’ll find a bathroom, shall I?” Without waiting for an answer, you shouldered your way into a house full of noisy, obnoxious guests and blindly found your way upstairs. You knew you were being a bitch and you’d need to apologize later. But why couldn’t your mom understand that this wasn’t a priority? It was her dads’ restaurant that you were trying to build! Why didn’t she care more?! Why couldn’t she acknowledge that you were busting your ass for a June opening? It wasn’t like this was easy.

You locked the bathroom door and leaned your forehead against it. “Fucking…shit…fuck.” You faced your reflection like a woman walking to the executioner’s block. You ran your fingers through your hair, mussing it lightly, and then applied the lipstick with care. There. It was decent enough.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah! One sec!” You tucked your mother’s lipstick into your small clutch and opened the door wide. Your heart dropped and your eyes reflexively narrowed. The fucking line cook! This party just went from bad to ‘I am in Hell, actually’. Unfortunately, he must have recognized you because his jaw went slack and his stupid, blue eyes widened in shock. You could already see the apology forming in the lines of his mouth.

“You’re--“

“Nope.” You went to brush past him, and his arm abruptly shot forward and grasped the doorframe to block you. Your nose nearly bumped into his bicep, but you caught yourself and glared at him. Why was he in his dumb fucking blue apron? Was he Jimmy’s personal chef too?

“Do they not teach manners in culinary school?” Just in seeing him, everything came back in a whirlwind rush. His aggravating tone, the pressure of your grandfathers’ legacy, and his nefarious so-called advice for you to close your goddamn business. Anger, white-hot and claustrophobic, burned inside your chest.

“I owe you an apology.” He said. “It was none of my business.”

You scanned his face and felt a hot flush at the nape of your neck. It bothered you that he actually didn’t say ‘I’m sorry’. In terms of apologizes, this one felt like a lukewarm frozen dinner in the microwave.

“Be honest. Are you sorry that my grandfather is dead, and you sounded like an asshole? Or are you sorry for telling me to close?”

“Twenty percent of businesses close in the first year. That’s just fact.” He said.

“Actually, it’s higher than that for restaurants. Thirty percent close in the first year.” You said with all the arrogance and haughtiness you could embolden into your voice after four years of business school and interning with your grandfather. You weren’t a child. You were a capable, intelligent adult who could do fucking anything.

“Look...” He finally brought his hand away from the doorframe, releasing your cage, and carded his fingers through his hair. That explains why his hair always looked like he just rolled out of bed. You thought with a wry smile to yourself. You folded your arms over your chest and waited for him to continue with his ever-so-wise, thought-provoking statement.

“I don’t have time to argue about this.” He said.

You clicked your tongue. “What a coincidence. Me either!”

“But!” He cut in and stepped into your path before you could walk away. “Whether you’re making it into a fucking cat café, or a Mexican spot doesn’t matter, because you’re betting on losing dogs. That street doesn’t get foot traffic. This isn’t New York.”

This close, he smelled a little like charcoal and sweat. Didn’t your mom mention something about hot dogs? Wait. Was he catering the birthday party? Incredible. He had this birthday party locked down and had the audacity to argue with you about your business’ future. It was more obvious than ever that he wanted your restaurant gone just to save his own profit margin. Typical.

“I seem to recall a restaurant that’s right across from mine that’s open.”

“Because we’ve got regulars.” He sounded almost desperate when he said it. Regulars could still go somewhere new. A new plan unfolded in front of you. You wouldn’t just make your restaurant the best to honor your grandfather. You’d make it better than any other restaurant on the street. You’d have lines to rival an Apple Store on release day.

“You know what, thank you so, so much.” You clapped your hands together in a prayer in front of your chest, making your sarcastic tone thick and obvious. “God, thank you! Wow. I cannot believe I didn’t know you needed regular customers and a steady income to make your business succeed! I’m soooo relieved you were here to guide me.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Alright. You always have this fucking attitude when someone’s trying to help you?”

You side-stepped him. “Go fuck yourself. Enjoy the party.”

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

You dodged a kid running past with a NERF gun and found Jimmy in the loud kitchen. “Hey, Jimmy, who is catering your party?”

“Who is? Oh, it’s Carmy and Richie.” He pointed outside the sliding glass door to the grill. “You know them?”

“Nah.” You glared at the backs of their heads. “Which one is which?”

“Carmy is the short one. Richie is the asshole.”

“They’re both assholes.” You mumbled, though Jimmy caught you and laughed. Richie stopped by your restaurant-in-progress a few days ago. He asked a couple benign questions about the place, and then started criticizing the work that your employees were doing. He kept saying shit like ‘If it were me, I wouldn’t have used that type of plaster’ and ‘well, if it were me, I would’ve gone with the other bolts here because these strip like a motherfucker’. You ended up telling him you needed to lock up just to get him to leave. You suspected, especially after that conversation with Carmy upstairs, that he came over to spy on you.

“You’re right. Oh! Oh shit!” Jimmy noticed someone across the room and suddenly ducked away to go outside. You grabbed a fistful of chips from the kitchen island and ate them out of your palm while walking around. You were not going to eat whatever Carmy, and Richie cooked up. Hell No. You’d rather starve on potato chips and cans of fruity seltzer.

You found your mom in one of the sitting rooms and hand signaled to her that you were blowing your brains out with a gun. She waved you off. Great. Time for Plan B – call an Uber and deal with mom’s wrath later.

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

Your clothes were paint splattered, but at least the restaurant looked nice. You decided for an earthy tone and painted the walls a greenish gray. According to the paint swatch – it was called “Bitter Sage”. You thought the name was fitting considering your mixed emotions about the restaurant. Most days, you were filled with the fortitude and passion to complete the project no matter how many roadblocks got in your way. There were many, many roadblocks.

Other days, however, you angrily wept into your cereal bowl at three in the morning because it was Hard, and No One was Helping, and Why The Fuck Did Grandad Leave You This Place!

Mostly though, you were fine even if you were behind schedule. You weren’t planning to paint this on your own, but Tim’s employees got stuck at another job, and he couldn’t send anyone out until tomorrow afternoon. Rather than wait, you came here and painted it yourself. Easy-peasy.

You pulled your hair out of your sweaty face and pulled your pack of cigarettes out of your back pocket. You frowned at the weight of it. It felt off. You’re fucking kidding. You stared at the empty pack like it personally offended you. Your arms and shoulders trembled from exhaustion. You were sore right down to the bone. The idea of walking to buy cigarettes felt impossible.

“Hey, God, yeah – it’s me.” You said to the ceiling, “Did I kill a bunch of nuns in a past life or something?”

You checked the time on your phone and 11:13PM stared back at you. You looked out the large bay window across the street. No, no way. You’re not gonna go bum a cigarette from him. Your fingertips twitched. He’s probably not even there. Just walk to gas station. Come on. Power through the pain.

“Wait…” You said out loud, “who says I have to talk to him? I can ask literally any other chef there.”

Richie smoked. You smelled it on him beneath his overly powerful Pine cologne. You locked up the restaurant behind you and jogged across the street with your heart in your throat. This was so stupid. You were going to give yourself an aneurysm from stress. You should turn around. Your legs and thighs ached with discomfort from all the crouching and stretching you performed while painting. You should definitely turn around and walk to a gas station. The closest one was only twenty-five minutes on foot.

You turned the corner. Carmy was sitting on the trunk of someone’s dark green car. Fucking shit. You froze like a rabid racoon. You were in the middle of the parking lot behind the restaurant. It wasn’t like you could hide and it wasn’t like you could turn around like “Oh whoops! I took a wrong turn!” He saw you instantly and you caught his jaw clenching in the low, fluorescent light of the streetlights. You hated the prickle of awareness that flushed across your skin beneath his glacial gaze.

It wasn’t too late. You could turn around and run with your tail between your legs.

It’s too bad you never ran from anything a day in your life. You lifted both your hands in a placating manner. “Truce.”

“You’re the one fighting with me.” He said plainly. You disagreed with that. Just because he wasn’t telling you to ‘fuck off’ didn’t mean he wasn’t planning and hoping for your downfall.

You shrugged. “You struck a nerve.”

The smoke from his cigarette circled around his head like a misty halo. You stood there, a few feet away from him perched on the trunk like a throne, the pavement slightly damp beneath your paint-dotted sneakers from rain earlier today. You were painfully aware of the sweat glistening off your skin and the frizzled mess of your hair. Not that you cared what you looked like in front of him. It’s not very intimidating if your business rival sees you looking like a wet rat.

“So, what do you want?” He asked, resting his elbows on his knees while his feet balanced on the back bumper. “You already have my lighter.”

Shit. You couldn’t even claim to have forgotten about it. You carried it with you every day and ultimately, stupidly, thought of him whenever you used it.

“How much will you despise me if I ask to bum a cigarette?” You fished his lighter out of your front pocket, “I will give you your lighter back as a trade.” You stepped forward and extended your arm to him. He looked at the lighter, then at you, with a whisp of smoke curling in front of his blue eyes. He plucked the lighter from your fingers without touching you.

You accepted his proffered cigarette, but before you could ask for the lighter back, he held it alight in his hands—with one hand cupping the tiny flame. You leaned forward, finding yourself closer than expected between his knees, with your heart thundering through your eardrums. You peered up at him, his face awash in orange flickering light, his long eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, before the cigarette caught flame and smoke unfurled around your mouth like a dragon’s exhale.

Your exhale shuddered, both in relief and in something else, and you yanked your gaze away from his though your body remained frozen in place. You could practically feel the heat of him radiating off his body. You weren’t sure why your first impression of him was to call him unattractive. He was handsome if you liked your men sweaty and muscular with exhausted, doleful eyes. Which maybe you did. Maybe.

You swallowed and listened to the distant sound of police sirens. It shouldn’t matter what he looked like. He was your direct competition. He told you to shut down every time you spoke to him. You saw him, sitting on the bench outside his restaurant, looking at your place with disdain. You weren’t friends. You weren’t even close to friends. All your friends lived in Cincinnati.

“Why’re you here so late?” You asked. Because you said truce and also, because you wanted to know. You had your reasons to stay up late – you had a restaurant to build. His place already existed. It didn’t make sense to burn the wick at both ends if you didn’t have to.

“Do you actually care why?” He retorted drily.

“Well now I fucking don’t.” You said while laughing, “Forget it.”

Something rippled across his face too quick to catch. You assumed it was anger based on the tenseness of his shoulders and the muscle flaring in the line of his throat. He hopped off the trunk, forcing you to take a small step back, but you were still chest-to-chest. Your heart flipped. So, it was going to be like this, was it? You refused to step back further. He could awkwardly shuffle by you if he needed to leave and see how he liked it. Dick.

“Do you even give a shit about anyone except yourself?” He hissed, “Every time I see you, you’re always a fucking asshole to everyone.”

“You really waste time thinking about me? I’m honored.” You narrowed your eyes up at him, “because I don’t think about you at all.”

Your chest heaved, your lungs switched gears from calm and regular to very much not calm and irregular. You weren’t sure what it was about him that got under your skin so easily. Fuck, maybe it wasn’t him. Lets not give him all the credit. You might feel this way about any hot-blooded guy who looked at you like…like this. His dark pupils nearly engulfed the whole sky of his eyes.

“Yeah?” His nostrils flared.

You licked your lips. “Yeah.”

The tension rippled between you like a rubber band stretched too thin. It would snap. It was destined to snap. You’re not sure who surged forward first. Probably him. One moment you were staring each other down with heat-filled gazes and in the next moment, his mouth was on yours, lips parting and tongue delving behind your teeth. You groaned and fisted your hands into his thin white t-shirt. His arms encircled you in an unyielding grip and one hand lifted to clutch the nape of your neck and stop you from squirming away. Your world spun for a second and then you felt your back bump into the trunk of his car. Someone moaned. (Again, it was probably him). You suckled softly on his tongue, this kiss wet and obscene, smearing salvia on your chin. It felt too good. You pushed your hands up his shirt and were rewarded with the hard, muscled planes of abdomen beneath your fingers.

Carmy hissed and brought your lower lip into his mouth, biting, and you whined into his mouth with wanton abandon.

“You like that?” Carmy grumbled. His thigh shoved between your legs, and you lifted your hips, grinding yourself onto the wedge of his thigh. A shockwave of pleasure rolled through your lower abdomen. His mouth skirted along your jaw before his teeth met your neck. Your fingernails dug into his stomach in response. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, seeing stars, while Carmy’s mouth latched over your skin and sucked hard enough to bruise. Your hips canted, rocking back and forth, riding his thigh like a horny teenager who was afraid to take it past second base.

You were too tightly wound. It had been too long since you took someone to bed. It was embarrassing. The way he had you panting in his ear and scratching your nails into his back. The friction of your jeans and panties rubbing against his jeans was rough but electric. As long as he kept his fucking mouth shut, you could ride his leg, come, and then go home and pretend this never happened.

“You’ll think of me now.” Carmy whispered harshly into the shell of your ear and his breath ghosted over the wet spot he left on your neck. “Whenever you see that.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You whimpered, one of his large hands covered your breasts and squeezed, the sensation only slightly deadened by the fabric of your t-shirt and bra. You weren’t going to let him win. You slipped your hands out from underneath his shirt and grabbed his face between your hands, crushing your mouth to his, and plunging your fingers through his soft, curly hair. You were already so close. Your skin flushed with heat, body burning with unresolved desire, as your cunt squeezed and pulsed.

“S’close.” You whined into his mouth, feeling your orgasm about to crest and take you into oblivion. He slid his thigh away from you, taking away your source of pleasure and enjoyment, and you wanted to scream. You groaned in frustration, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten and wet.

“Fuck. You.” You spat.

“Yeah?” He braced his arms on either side of you and tilted his hips away so you couldn’t grab him and pull him closer. A quick glance to his jeans at least revealed that he was hard, and your ego purred in satisfaction. If he gave you blue balls, then you could just do the same to him and walk away right now. “We could fuck in my car right now if that’s what you want.”

Absolutely, yes. However, You were not going to reveal that little secret right away. You made a show of thinking about it, crossing your arms in a way that made your breasts lift, and looking to the heavens with a perplexed expression.

“You fuck a lot of girls in your car, Carmy?” You teased.

“You’d be the first.” He breathed.

Your heart fluttered and you ignored it. Obviously, it meant nothing. He just wanted to get off. Same as you. Tomorrow, you’d go back to hating his guts for all his arrogance and cocky advice and you’d create Chicago’s best restaurant across from his little one. Everything would be right with the world.

You tilted your head to the side, “Unlock it then.”

Carmy did not – to your surprise – unlock it right away. Instead, he kissed you again and held your face between his hands while pressing the full length of his body against yours and pinning you to the car. You could feel every muscled inch of him and the hardness in his jeans. You awkwardly snaked your hands between your bodies and palmed his cock, earning a surprised grunt from Carmy. He rocked his hips into your hand for a second, maybe two, before pulling your hand away and dragging you by the wrist to the backseat of his car. Your head felt dizzy with anticipation and excitement. It wasn’t a very big car. Carmy spread his legs out while sitting in the backseat and began unzipping his pants. You looked around briefly to ensure you were alone before taking your jeans off outside the car and climbing within.

The second you were kneeling on the beige upholstery, Carmy’s hand came between your legs and cupped between your legs. You gasped and bit your lip at the firm, almost possessive grip. You braced one hand on the upper backseat headrest and the other clung the driver’s side seat and met his eyes blown-wide with desire.

“You’re soaked.” He mumbled, before pushing aside your wet panties and sliding his index finger into you. Your entire body quaked and the sound that escaped your lips was nearly a sob.

“Shut up.” You swallowed roughly while he pumped his finger in and out of you. Again, Carmy took the upper hand. You couldn’t have that. You looked down at his waist. He had unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing them down to his knees, though his boxers were on, and you could see the bulge of his cock straining against the cotton. In the confined space, you lowered your torso to the seat with your legs still kneeling and pulled his cock free. Carmy’s breath hitched. You refused to give him time to recover, before your tongue licked along the thick length of him. His hand remained between your legs, playing with you, while your mouth enveloped the head of his cock.

You moaned around him. His hips jolted. You kept one hand on the base of his cock, the other you used to stead yourself and rested on his knee, as your mouth worked over him. Your tongue swirled around the tip before you swallowed him as deeply as you could go and gagged.

“Fuck!” Carmy shouted.

A trail of saliva drooled from your mouth and down your chin. Your hand twisted, squeezing, and pumping as your lips followed it. Your lips were tingling and starting to go numb, but you couldn’t stop. Stopping would be mean he wins. But you could feel yourself edging closer again, and wouldn’t it be nice to come while sucking his dick? The inside of your thighs felt slick, and your walls pulsed as your orgasm rapidly approached.

You moaned around him again, thighs squeezing together and clamping his wrist, as fireworks lit off at the base of your spine. You felt Carmy’s hand suddenly come to the back of your head and his hips jolt upward, hitting his cock against the back of your throat, and you gushed over his fingers as you came. Your body, previously tensed in rolling desire, relaxed and you slowly lifted your mouth from him. You wiped the back of your mouth with your hand.

“I need to fuck you. Please. God.” You didn’t even have time to respond, because Carmy was grabbing you, and pulling you over his lap. You were spread open above him, cunt weeping, and muscles quivering. You braced your hands on his shoulders and looked at him. His face was flushed, a curl fell over his forehead in an almost picturesque nature. You waited with bated breath, unable to form a sentence if you tried, as he rolled a condom over his cock.

If you spoke, you’d probably say something stupid like: I need you too.

Carmy leaned forward, pushing your t-shirt up, toward your collarbones so your breasts were exposed. He nibbled across your skin, hands on your hip, guiding you forward as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. Carmy released an extended, pleased moan. He felt better than you expected. Better than imagined. (Not that you had imagined it. Definitely not).

“Fuck, fuck.” He panted, before he flicked his tongue against your nipple. “God, you’re so good. You feel so good.”

Your arms encircled his shoulders, hands tangling in his hair, as you shifted your body above his. You shivered as the length of him slid in and out of your wet, aching cunt. There was no decorum or grace to this. The interior of the car grew muggy and humid, the windows fogged with perspiration, as sweat shone across your skin. Carmy kissed your chest, your neck, your chin. You avoided kissing him, hiding your face in his shoulder, biting him softly, or tilting your face away. Kissing before sex was foreplay. Kissing during sex was intimate.

He licked the sweat from your collarbones and pulled your hair while dripping scattered praise across your skin. You lost all thought, all feeling, and found yourself reduced to a puddle of need. You gripped his shoulders, your breasts bouncing, as you rode him, and he squeezed your ass in tandem. The entire world blurred into a watercolor painting. There were no stresses, no worries, no needy banks, or over-bearing lawyers. It was just you and Carmy, skin to skin, sweat-soaked and delirious.

“Don’t stop.” You panted even though you were in control. “Please.”

“Fuck – I’m about to—” He cried out your name. His entire face and neck were flushed bright red. His eyes screwed tight, and his worried brow furrowed. Your walls squeezed him. He pulled you in, pulled you closer, as his head tilted back onto the seat. The moment he was about to come, you dropped your mouth down onto his and kissed him. Carmy moaned into your mouth, his breath puffing out through the corners of your lips, with the faint taste of cigarettes on his tongue.

Joined like this, you could feel your rapid heartbeat against his and you pressed your flushed, hot face against his warm shoulder. His large hand trailed along the bumpy knobs of your spine in a tender caress. You trembled against him, panting, and feeling him twitch inside you.

Reality came crashing down a second later. You drew away from him and blinked to clear the fog from your mind.

You and Carmy spoke at the same time.

“I left my pants outside.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

He blinked several times, eyebrows raising, and his lips quirked upward into a smile. “You left your pants outside?”

“Yeah, I took them off outside and didn’t bring them in here with me.” You braced your hands on his shoulders, awkwardly swung your leg over his hips to climb off him and readjusted your underwear. Carmy looked at you. And OK – maybe it was the sex. It was probably the sex. But you suddenly felt way more naked than you actually were. He looked at you like he wanted to say something.

Even worse than that, he looked at you like he wanted to touch you in a non-sexual way. You could see it in his eyes. He was going to do something cheesy like brush your hair out of your face. You cleared your throat and opened the driver-side back door to collect your pants off the ground with an exclamation of relief.

“Good! No one stole them.” You said while shimmying them over your legs with difficulty (in part due to soreness, but it was mostly because of the confined space of the backseat). You smoothed your shirt and ran both fingers through your hair before climbing out of the car.

Carmy leaned forward and stopped you from shutting the door behind you. “Are you even gonna answer my question?”

You squinted at him. In the near dark, you could see a hickey blossoming on his left shoulder. A flare of pride ignited in your chest.

“I’m gonna just catch the L.” You gave him a two-fingered salute. “Thanks.”

You walked away, toward to your restaurant, so you could get your purse and coat. You heard his car start and smiled. Good, he gets it. You needed your phone to check which station you needed to get to. You still weren’t adept at knowing which was closest. Worst case scenario, you try to find an Uber at…whatever time it was.

You rubbed the back of your neck, thinking of a hot shower, and what Take-Out you’d order for dinner when Carmy’s car suddenly pulled up next to you with the windows down. He leaned across the center console to look over at you.

“Get in.”

“My mommy told me not to get into cars with strangers.”

He said your name, followed by a very impassioned - “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s past midnight.” He said, as if that meant anything to you, “let me drive you to the closest station if you’re gonna be this fucking stubborn.”

You stopped walking and stood on the sidewalk with a perturbed expression. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t how the world worked. You and Carmy were rivals. He shouldn’t care if you got murdered while walking to the train station. It would be good for his business if you were gone—what the hell was he doing? What game was he playing? It made no goddamn sense.

“Just because I let you see my tits doesn’t mean you need to look out for me.” You countered, “Go home, Carmy. I can take care of myself.”

His jaw clenched and he looked away from you to the front windshield. “Alright, fuck it. Fine. I tried.” His tires squealed as he pulled away and you smiled at the retreating sight of his car. Your heart, however, pressurized like a boat capsizing underwater. You rubbed your hand over your chest. Weird.

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

After your shower, you wiped away the condensation from the mirror and caught sight of the angry, red-purple bruise on your neck. Your fingertips lightly touched it and a surge of emotions swelled up inside your chest. His hands, his mouth, the needy sounds he made and the ones you made in response. Then, came the realization that you never actually saw him smile until after you slept together. And his smile was, in retrospect, very nice. He had a dimple in one cheek and not the other and his eyes – which you generally considered cold – crinkled with warmth.

Your hand dropped from your neck.

“Fuck.”

> Part Two ||||| [Fic Master List]

#i have brain rot #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #its funny because the reader is just WRONG throughout this holwe thing ldsfjkljfld #shes like >:( hes a pain in my ass #meanwhile my man just out here working #my fics #the bear fic #fic: nothings gonna hurt you baby

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