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sarahghetti · 9 months ago

Text

moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #mk bingo 2024

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megalony · 2 months ago

Text

Our Army

This is a new Eddie Diaz imagine based on a lovely anon request, and an idea I had. I hope you will all like it, feedback always makes me smile.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Part 2

Part 3

Summary: When (Y/n) brings up the subject of more kids, her and Eddie seemed to have mixed opinions which leads to a small disagreement. And an eventful night with their kids.

Enjoy.

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

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) tilted her head down and braced her hands on the sink. She could feel herself beginning to shake, but the overwhelming urge to be sick slowly started to disipate the longer (Y/n) stayed locked in place.

The cold air of the bathroom started to make her feel better and stopped her body from feeling like it was burning up. Her skin prickled with goosebumps, despite the cold sweat that broke out on her body a few minutes ago.

If this wasn't an incentive to talk to Eddie, then (Y/n) didn't know what was.

The panic she had been feeling for the last few days had been keeping her up at night. She didn't know how to approach the subject or what Eddie's reaction would be and it was increasing her nerves and making her feel worse.

Her stomach slowly started to settle and she shifted her weight from foot to foot but when she opened her eyes, she could still feel the bathroom spinning in circles around her.

She almost jumped out of her skin when there was a curt knock on the door before it was being pushed open.

There were six of them in the house and one bathroom, it was hard to find a moment to go to the bathroom without being disturbed or having to wait or push in front of someone. And none of them ever locked the door anymore if they were going for a bath or a shower because someone always needed the toilet.

(Y/n) quickly turned the tap on and began to wash her hands, trying to hold her breath at the same time to make herself feel a bit better.

She looked towards the door when Amelia leaned against it, one hand gripping the door handle while the other moved to cradle her temple.

"Mum? I have a headache again."

She knew what that meant. (Y/n) looked at her eldest who was practically leaning on the door, barely able to open her eyes. She looked like she was about to fall asleep standing up, but the look in her eyes clearly showed she was uncomfortable and didn't feel well.

(Y/n) made quick work of drying her hands, but she still felt queasy herself. She ran her damp hand through her hair and looked over at her daughter.

"Go see dad, he'll get your meds."

The twelve year old shuffled away almost immediately, aiming for the kitchen where they both knew Eddie was washing up. Amelia had epilepsy and usually, a bad headache could be a sign that she might have a seizure, therefore they had a lot of different medications for her.

Amelia had meds she would take once in a morning and once at night, every day, which were to ward off seizures. She had emergency meds to administer if she was in the middle of a bad seizure that wouldn't stop. And they had some 'as and when' medication that she could take when she felt like she might have a seizure. They often helped her go to sleep or feel settled and sometimes they would prevent seizures, but not always.

All the meds were kept in the kitchen cupboard and right now (Y/n) had a headache too. She wasn't sure she could scramble through all the meds in the cupboard to find the right ones whereas Eddie was there right now.

Trudging down the hall, Amelia leaned close to the wall but she could barely open her eyes when she got to the kitchen. The lights were too bright. She had a dimer light in her bedroom and a lava lamp which was pale green and worked better for her migraines than having a bright lamp on. It was a good job she didn't share a room with Chris because he had LED lights around his tv and fairy lights around his bed.

"Dad, mum said you'd get my meds for me."

Eddie glanced down at his watch before he looked over his shoulder, but when he realised his daughter looked like she was practically sleep walking, he frowned.

He swiped his hands up and down his jeans to dry them before he walked over to her. He went to tilt her head back but his lips rolled together when she pushed forward and buried her face in his chest instead. He breathed through a sigh and cupped the back of her neck, kissing her temple while he stretched his left hand out and opened the top cupboard.

"How bad you feeling, carino?" He murmured against the top of her head while he found the little grey basket where they kept all the meds specifically for Amelia.

"Drowsy… can I go to bed?"

Eddie's eyes widened at her words. She had to be feeling bad if she wanted to go to bed early.

Looking through the basket, Eddie found her usual twice-daily meds and popped one on the counter before he rummaged around for her other medication. He didn't think giving her two would be a good idea if she was tired and when she was going to have her usual meds if she wanted to go to sleep. One would be enough to make her feel a bit better and calm her mind enough to go to sleep.

He detached from her to fill a glass with water and held it out to her as she slouched against the counter.

"There you go, I'll come check on you both in a bit." Eddie had already put Tilly to bed since the toddler had fallen to sleep. But he would check on both girls in a while, it wasn't unusual for Amelia to struggle to sleep or seize before she went to sleep.

Once she'd taken her meds, Amelia waited for Eddie to kiss her temple before she shuffled back down the hall towards her and Tilly's bedroom. She would probably put her headphones on for a while and lay in bed.

Eddie grabbed a drink from the fridge before he wandered into the living room. This was strange. All the kids were in their rooms, Tilly was asleep, Amelia was about to go to bed and both Paul and Chris were in their room watching a movie. Although Eddie was sure Paul would be asleep by now too as he had been nodding off earlier.

He sat on the sofa and flicked through the channels, it felt weird to be able to choose a programme to watch rather than having the tv overrun with cartoons or kids movies.

A soft grin spread across his features when he heard footsteps and he looked to see (Y/n) aiming his way. He lifted his arm, shivering when she sat down next to him and instantly cuddled up into his side. When he felt her lips attaching to the side of his neck, Eddie kissed the top of her head and tightened his arm around her waist.

He could feel her fingertips gliding across his chest, drawing patterns into his shirt like she was trying to send him secret messages.

"Lia okay?" (Y/n) murmured against his neck, feeling the way Eddie's breaths became deeper beneath her lips.

"Yeah, she's gone to bed. Wanna watch a movie?" Again, it felt strange to say that to (Y/n) rather than to the kids. The only times they watched movies together, alone, was when the kids were at school and they had a day off together or when all the kids went to (Y/n)'s parents for the weekend.

(Y/n) leaned her cheek on his shoulder and brought her knees up so they were pressing into Eddie's thigh. She wormed her left arm between his back and the sofa as she tried to calm down her heartbeat that was becoming erratic with nerves.

"Sure."

With all the kids asleep or just generally settled in bed, this would give (Y/n) a good opportunity to talk to Eddie. She wanted to have this conversation when the two of them were home alone, without the kids nearby to risk hearing the conversation. But this was better than nothing and none of the kids could hear them unless they came running into the living room.

(Y/n) couldn't go another night thinking about this and not talking it through with Eddie, the anxiety was eating away at her.

"Babe…" She kept her cheek on his shoulder so she didn't have to look up at him and her eyes focused on the tv where Eddie was scrolling through some of the movies they had recorded. There was a whole list of movies they wanted to watch but hadn't gotten around to yet.

"Hm?" The vibration of his voice sent shivers through (Y/n) and she felt him kiss the top of her head while he selected a random movie from the list.

"You know when you were talking to Buck last week?"

"You'll have to remind me what conversation you're referring to, amor." Eddie could feel a grin spreading across his lips, despite not knowing what (Y/n) was talking about yet.

He had so many strange, random and ludicris conversations with Buck almost every day that it was impossible to remember them all. And he didn't have a clue which conversations (Y/n) or the kids might have heard or which one she was thinking of right now.

"When Buck said we have a full army of kids," (Y/n) smiled at the memory. Buck wanted them to take the kids to a zoo out of town and, being Buck, he had been looking at tickets already. He found it would be cheaper to get two family tickets as if two of Eddie and (Y/n)'s four kids were Buck's, then it would be cheaper.

A lot of the team had often said Eddie had his own little army or football team since they had four kids and none of them ever meant anything bad by it. Eddie was proud to be the one with the most kids out of their work-family.

"Oh, yeah, he wants to go to the zoo next week. Why?"

"Well, I just… you said you love having a big army. Do you think about having anymore?" (Y/n) did her best to hide the unease from her voice and kept her eyes set on the tv that was just starting to show the beginning of the horror movie Eddie had chosen.

She felt Eddie's arm shift around her waist and his hand moved to feather up and down her hip and she wasn't sure whether the chuckle he let out into her hair was a good sign or not.

"What, more kids than we already have?" He mumbled for confirmation while his eyes drifted between (Y/n) and the movie.

"Yeah, well, another baby." (Y/n) leaned back and pushed up off Eddie's chest so she could be level with him and gauge for his reaction. The laugh and shake of his head wasn't what she had been hoping for.

"Fuck, no."

A jolt surged through (Y/n)'s heart like she had been charged with electricity and a quiet 'oh' tumbled past her lips. She quickly dropped back down, landing her cheek on his shoulder again with a thump while she shifted her arms to wrap them around her chest rather than around Eddie.

That wasn't the reaction she had prayed to see; it was what she had been worried about.

She felt Eddie's hand on her waist give her a squeeze, but she ignored the touch and tried to focus on the tv. She wasn't sure what to do now. (Y/n) had come up with all sorts of responses and questions and things to say if Eddie had this kind of reaction, but now, her mind was blank. Everything had flown out of her head and all she could think about was the way her stomach was churning and her throat felt like it was closing up.

"Amor?" Eddie pressed a kiss to her hairline and tucked his chin into his neck so he could try and look down at her.

(Y/n) tried to mutter 'forget it' but her voice caught in her throat and she realised her eyes were watering. Eddie didn't like the lack of response, he could feel his chest tightening up and when he looked down at his wife, he paused the tv. He had a feeling he'd just said something utterly wrong.

The moment the movie was paused, (Y/n) swung her legs over the side of the sofa and got to her feet. She swiped her hand beneath her eyes but it didn't stop the tears that started to cascade down her face.

She wasn't sure where she was going and she knew she couldn't go into their room because then they would be closer to the kids. And if this turned into an argument, (Y/n) didn't want the kids catching wind of the conversation.

She aimed for the kitchen instead and briskly yanked open the fridge so harshly the door clattered against the wall. (Y/n) darted her watering eyes around the fridge, unsure what she was looking for and she settled on taking the juice, she may as well make herself a drink while she was trying to stay distracted.

"Baby, are you gonna talk to me?" Eddie followed her into the kitchen and propped his hip against the sink, but his eyes narrowed when he watched (Y/n).

She was shaking.

His lips formed a frown and he leaned over and gently took the juice bottle from her and poured it instead. But he didn't like the way (Y/n) twisted away from him or how she kept her eyes focused on the counter rather than him when he slid the glass across to her.

"Just forget it. It's okay." (Y/n) took a deep breath and tried to raise the glass to her lips, but her hands were still shaking and one mouthful made her sure she was going to throw up.

"No, let's not forget it, talk to me."

She did her best to continue looking down at the counter, but a shiver crawled over her skin when Eddie leaned closer to her. His hand gently tucked beneath her chin and tilted her head in his direction, but the moment Eddie's eyes set on the tears tracing down her cheeks, his gut pulled in. A groan caught in the back of his throat and he traced his thumb across her lower lip while he leaned closer and pecked her temple.

"Fuck, amor I've clearly said something wrong here." Tilting his head down, he pressed his temple against hers and nudged their noses together.

He hated to see (Y/n) cry, and knowing he had said something to make her upset made Eddie feel sick. He didn't want to upset her and he hadn't meant to upset her. He didn't think she was being serious about having a baby, he presumed she was just striking up conversation since Buck had made that passing comment last week.

Moving his hands up, he gently but firmly cupped (Y/n)'s face in his hands with his thumbs grazing across her cheekbones just beneath her eyes. He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips just as he felt (Y/n)'s hands reach up to grip his wrists. He feared for a moment that she was going to pull away from his touch, but she seemed to hold him tighter as if making sure he wasn't going to take a step away.

"Mi amor, do you really want another baby?"

His voice was so gentle and sweet that it caused more tears to fall down (Y/n)'s face. She did her best to hold herself together but she couldn't look him in the eye. Not when those brown eyes were so caring and full of worry and confusion.

She had never said anything to him about wanting another child and Eddie hadn't given it much thought. They had two girls and two boys, and Tilly hadn't exactly been planned. It just seemed like an unspoken agreement between them that their family was perfect just the way it was and they were happy with the brood they had.

Eddie hadn't thought about having another baby, it never really crossed his mind to be something to contemplate.

"That's not- not the point," She held her voice together just enough to stop from breaking apart or having her tone come out scratchy and off pitch.

"Okay, then what is? Hm, talk to me baby." Again, his tone was gentle and understanding and (Y/n) wished she could just project her thoughts into his mind already so she didn't have to actually tell him. But if she didn't tell him, nothing was going to make sense and they needed to talk about this.

"I'm already pregnant."

She didn't dare lift her eyes any higher than Eddie's chin, too afraid of the reaction she was going to see. She focused on watching his jaw click from side to side, ignoring how his lips were starting to part and move without actually saying anything. And she didn't want to think about the emotions that would be circling around in his pupils right now.

(Y/n) found out a few days ago that she was pregnant, and they hadn't exactly been trying for a baby this time around. They had been happy every other time, even with Tilly when she had been a real surprise, considering they didn't find out until (Y/n) was over fifteen weeks along. And they already had three kids at that point.

She knew that one more wouldn't change things too much, but it was going to be harder with five kids. It wouldn't be impossible, but it wouldn't exactly be easy, and it wasn't as if they could just say no and turn back now.

(Y/n) didn't realise she was shaking Eddie's wrists she was gripping tightly until he carefully broke his wrists out of her grasp. She feared for a few seconds that he was going to walk away from her and the thought made her heart leap up into her throat.

But instead of pulling away, Eddie wormed his arms around her waist instead. He spread his hands out on her back and pulled her into him while he tucked his face into the crook of her neck.

She looped her shaking arms around the back of his neck, but when Eddie felt her sniff and try to gain a proper breath, he pulled back. He looked down at her, resting his temple down on hers while his arms gave her a loving squeeze.

"Hey, no tears mi amor. This is good news."

"What?" She swiped her hand beneath her eyes to dry away the tears she couldn't help but shed. Her eyes filled with curiosity. Eddie had already said he didn't want more kids, she didn't want him to pretend or try and say what she wanted to hear if he didn't mean it.

"You know I love how you look when you're pregnant. And the kids mean the world to me, I love our army." His smile was genuine but it only seemed to multiply the confusion bubbling up inside of (Y/n).

"But you said-"

"I was wrong. Amor I didn't mean it like that, I swear. I just- Dios, I worry, okay? This is the best job I've had but it's demanding, and I wanna be here for you and the kids. I don't wanna leave you struggling with five kids if I'm at work and I wanna be here for them." He felt the way her chest fluttered when he moved his hand to place his palm delicately on her stomach. "All of them."

The kids meant everything to Eddie; he loved their family and he was proud of it. But this was a demanding job, it meant he didn't always get the day off for the kid's birthdays or school events. He couldn't be home to put them to bed every night. He couldn't make all of their hospital appointments and he didn't always find out about Amelia's seizures until he came home if (Y/n) couldn't get hold of him.

Eddie worried that another baby would mean he might not be able to split himself between (Y/n) and all the kids. He didn't want to make her do all the work like his father had done with his mother. His father barely raised him or his sisters at all and Eddie strived to be different.

He wanted to be there for everything with the kids, another baby just meant he would have to try a bit harder and would have another person to cherish and be there for.

(Y/n) could feel a tepid smile working its way onto her lips, despite the unease she was still feeling. She didn't want to think that Eddie was saying what she wanted to hear and she didn't want to imagine him not wanting this baby.

But his smile said different; his smile said he was instantly warming up to the idea. The way he leaned down and stole a kiss from her lips made (Y/n) feel the warmth radiating off of him and she could feel the love he was pouring into his touch. He was practically bruising her lips to transfer every emotion he had onto her.

"You- you mean it? You really want another baby?" She breathed against his lips, inhaling each gasp of air he took as she moved her hand to cradle the side of his neck.

"I wanna have another baby in my arms again. You know I always miss that feeling." When they had Tilly, Eddie thought she would be their last. He thought he wouldn't have that feeling again of having a newborn snuggled up on his chest or a toddler running around crying for his attention.

He thought the late night feeds and cuddles were over. He thought he wouldn't witness anymore first words or first steps or see himself pushing another pram. Or jogging round the neighbourhood with a newborn in a pram to settle them and do his exercises.

But he could already feel the adrenaline sparking in his stomach at the thought of doing all of those things again. All the things he loved but thought they were finished with.

"Come on."

(Y/n)'s breath hitched in her throat when Eddie's hands wandered down to cup her thighs and he hoisted her up until she was perched on his waist. Her arms stayed looped around his neck and she tucked her face into the crook of his shoulder while he walked them out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

She could feel herself calming down immensely by the time they were sat in the living room again. All the nerves that had bubbled up in her stomach started to fizzle out and disipate and the panic she felt earlier had been forgotten.

Eddie laid out on the sofa with his feet pressed up against the opposite arm rest and (Y/n) laid between his legs. He had one arm bent behind his head, propping his head up so he didn't fall asleep during the movie, and his other arm was bound around (Y/n)'s waist.

She was laid on her side, her face burrowed down into Eddie's chest with one hand scrunched up in his shirt. It was hard to keep her eyes open when she was tired enough to fall asleep right here like this, especially when a jump scare happened in the movie and she hid her face in Eddie's chest.

She knew there had been a reason he chose this movie. Eddie liked horror movies, he loved the gore, the dark scenes didn't bother him and the storylines never seemed to scare him. But he loved how each little jump got to (Y/n), even if she wasn't necessarily frightened, just not expecting it. He loved when she would hide away behind him or burrow into him like this.

"You still awake?" Eddie murmured softly, running his hand up and down her back and over the curve of her hip. The movie had almost ended by now, they had about twenty minutes left, if that and Eddie knew they would probably go and watch a movie in bed after this. One they had seen before and could easily fall asleep to.

(Y/n) hummed quietly and kissed his chest through his shirt before she nuzzled her cheek into his chest and wriggled to get comfy again.

She liked the feeling of Eddie's fingers ghosting up and down her waist and along her back, even though the touch was distracting her from the movie somewhat.

Eddie kissed the top of her head before he pushed his chest up into her so he could lean and take a look over the back of the sofa. He heard one of the bedroom doors open. He couldn't see which kid it was who had gotten up, but when he heard the bathroom light click on, he turned back to focus on the tv. If one of them was going to the toilet they wouldn't need him or (Y/n). It would only be if they couldn't get back to sleep or had a nightmare that they would need some help.

He went back to kissing the top of (Y/n)'s head, burying his lips into her hair for a few minutes. He could just have fallen asleep and he tilted his head back into the crook of his elbow propped up behind his head.

He was sure he was about to nod off then and there, but his attention peaked when one of the bedroom doors creaked open again. His ears tuned in to the quiet noises coming from the hallway and he tried to decipher which of their kids it was and what they were doing. But when the sound of bare feet shuffling against the laminate floor caught his attention, Eddie peaked behind the sofa again.

"Why aren't you in bed?" His voice was quiet and a bit croaky but he smiled when he watched Paul shuffle towards the end of the sofa where Eddie and (Y/n)'s feet were tangled together.

Eddie's leg jerked when Paul gently grabbed his bare foot and started moving it from side to side. Clearly the five year old was trying to distract himself and make sure he wasn't in trouble for being out of bed.

"What's up baby?" (Y/n) rubbed her eyes and twisted to look over at Paul, he looked like he had been asleep for a while. He could barely keep his eyes open and he was swaying back and forth from his heels to his toes.

"Need toilet, but Lia's asleep on the toilet." Paul timidly let go of Eddie's foot and pointed back towards the hallway.

It wasn't often that Paul or Chris woke during the night for the toilet, they could usually go all night without needing to go. But it was just his luck that when Paul got up to go, he opened the bathroom door to find his big sister already in there. He had been rather unsure why she seemed to be fast asleep sat on the toilet and although he didn't want to stray since he was tired, he needed to go.

(Y/n) tilted her head back to look up at Eddie, but he wore the same confused look as she did.

Amelia wasn't one for falling asleep just anywhere, and she had certainly never fallen asleep on the toilet before. This wasn't like her, clearly she wasn't feeling well tonight.

"I'll go see what she's doing." She felt Eddie's hands on her hips as she wriggled around and slowly heaved onto her feet.

As quick as lightning, Paul scuttled onto the sofa and took (Y/n)'s place barely a second after she vacated Eddie's lap. As if he was keeping her seat warm for her. He clambered between Eddie's legs and slumped into his abdomen with a thud, curling up like a little fox while Eddie wrapped his arms around his youngest boy.

Another headache began to stir behind (Y/n)'s eyes but she tried her best to push the feeling aside. It would probably be because she was tired and needed to get some sleep, combined with all the mixed emotions she had been feeling tonight.

Her hand moved to cradle her temple as she walked down the dark hallway. They never left the lights on in the hall because it annoyed all the kids to see the light streaming through the gap beneath the doors. Especially when they usually had to leave the boy's bedroom door open ajar. Both boys liked it open because they liked their parents to check in on them during the night.

When she reached the bathroom, (Y/n) gently tapped her knuckles on the door before she peeked her head round.

"Lia, baby you okay?"

As Paul said, there was Amelia sat on the toilet which was in the left-corner of the room. She was slumped to the left, her head slumped into the wall and her arms limp on her lap. The eldest looked like she had fallen asleep, but (Y/n) could hear her murmuring something.

Confusion pooled on (Y/n)'s face as she headed over towards her daughter and crouched down to the side of her. She tried to be cautious when she rested her hands on Amelia's thighs, but she frowned. Her legs were stiff and tense. They felt like they were made out of wood.

"Lia?" She brushed her thumbs along Amelia's thighs and gently shook her to try and get her attention. But when her legs suddenly kicked out and held straight like planks, (Y/n) froze.

A horrid trembling set in Amelia's body and her feet curled and bent inwards towards one another like she was a ballerina. Her legs began to rattle up and down which caused the toilet seat to tremor and jerk like it was about to snap off. And both hands, still on her thighs, started to curl and her fingers twitched inwards towards her palms.

She was having a seizure.

Her chin was dithering up and down against her chest and she was no longer mumbling or muttering anything. Her back began to slam back against the toilet which made (Y/n) wince; that was going to give her bruises.

Her body went from side to side and the way she had her legs held straight made her lift up off the toilet slightly. She wasn't going to balance like this for long.

Reaching up, (Y/n) moved her hands to try and wrap them carefully around her daughter's waist to keep her steady. It didn't work very well when Amelia thrashed back into the toilet, knocking the lid before she started to tumble to the right.

"Fuck- ow, Eddie! Babe!" (Y/n)'s head snapped back when Amelia's temple crashed into hers and almost knocked her out.

Her legs bent awkwardly beneath her and her heels touched the back of her thighs as she toppled backwards onto the floor. (Y/n) managed to keep her arms around her daughter's waist and she landed on top of her mum with a thump.

Twisting to the left, she tried to be careful and eased Amelia onto her side so she wasn't laying on top of her. An elbow to the stomach wasn't going to be a good idea right now.

"Alright baby, i-it's alright." (Y/n) huffed and rolled onto her knees, feeling the sudden urge to be sick but she tried her best to ignore it.

Her hands trembled as she leaned up on her knees and reached down for Amelia's legs. Her underwear and pyjama bottoms were hanging around her lower legs, that wouldn't be a good feeling if she woke up like that and (Y/n) doubted she would want Eddie seeing her like that either. She managed to drag Amelia's bottoms back up her tense thighs, snapping the elastic around her hips just as Eddie blundered into the room.

"Oh fuck!"

Eddie scrambled into the room and went down on his knees beside (Y/n), his hands hurriedly reaching out for Amelia. He cradled the back of her neck and held her thigh so he could ease her onto her left side so her back was facing them. His thumb brushed across her skin when she began to drool and he leaned over her to check she wasn't choking when her breathing sounded like she was wheezing. But her airways were clear.

"She started seizing on the toilet?" It was more of a question than a statement because Eddie hadn't known their daughter to do this before. But then again, she had told them tonight that she didn't feel well.

Migraines and a general unease usually meant Amelia could feel a seizure building up, she just didn't know when they would happen. Clearly, this one had been building up for a while.

"I think she's had an absent one and then gone into this one." (Y/n) ran her hand up and down Amelia's waist while Eddie held the back of her neck and her upper arm to keep her in place.

But he noticed (Y/n) move to rub her temple and subsequently wince. "You okay?" He huffed, tensing his arms to try and hold their daughter steady so she didn't writhe or hurt herself.

"She clocked me when she fell into me, I'm alright." She felt Eddie's eyes raking over her to double check for himself before he looked back down at Amelia.

"Alright carino, you're doing great. Almost over now." He hushed as he leaned over her and pecked the side of her head. She wasn't writhing as much now, but her legs were still as straight as planks and her hands were digging into her lower chest. Both hands curled and fingers bent at odd angles which could make her muscles cramp when this seizure was finally over.

"Daddy…"

Eddie's head snapped to look over his shoulder and his lips pursed when he saw Paul leaning around the doorframe.

"Go wait in your room please buddy, Lia's not well tonight." All the kids had seen Amelia have seizures. She'd been having them since she was two so Chris, Paul and Tilly were growing up around them. It was a normality for them and they all knew what to do. They hadn't seen her have a bad seizure in over a year.

The last time that happened was when they were all at a party at Bobby and Athena's place. Amelia started biting her tongue and began choking and the seizure had been bad enough for them to have to take her to hospital.

"But I need the toilet," Paul fidgeted from foot to foot and scrunched his nose up. He didn't want to get in the way but he needed to go.

"Paul." The warning tone in Eddie's voice made the five year old shiver, but he stomped his foot in defiance.

"Daddy!" His sister wasn't using the toilet. She was on the floor now and Paul wouldn't get in their way, but he had to go or he would pee himself.

He watched the way Eddie growled and shook his head before he looked over at (Y/n). Both parents shared a look before Eddie hooked his right arm over Amelia's waist while (Y/n) held her legs. On the count of three, they carefully pulled her back, sliding her across the floor three feet towards the door so they were all away from the toilet.

Eddie clicked his fingers and pointed to the toilet, watching Paul scuttle over with a look of relief, despite the unease and panic floating around in his eyes. He tried to be quick, and he nodded when he heard (Y/n) murmur "Back to bed please," when he was done. He wouldn't hang around, he didn't like seeing his sister have a fit, it wasn't pretty.

"There we go. You back with us, carino?" Eddie kissed her temple slowly while he ran his hand up and down her arm when the trembling and jerking finally stopped.

It was as if she had been cast under a spell. Amelia's arms went slack against the floor instead of being held rigid near her chest and her fingers stayed curled into her palms, but all her muscles began to relax. Her legs finally ceased holding straight and her knees bent as her thighs slumped against the floor like she had passed out. But they could hear her trying to mutter something, but it only came out as little croaks and hums.

Amelia rubbed her cheek against the floor, trying to turn and look behind her where she could feel both parents knelt down with her. But she could barely open her eyes. The bathroom light was far too bright and she settled on keeping her eyes closed while she coiled her trembling arms closer to her chest.

"Do you feel alright?" (Y/n) glided her hand up and down Amelia's thigh, suddenly feeling exhausted herself.

"Better… want- want to go to bed." She could scarcely get the words out and it was clear in her expression that she was halfway between conscious and sleep already. She didn't feel sick, for once, she didn't feel tense or like she was going to be stuck with tensed muscles for hours and she didn't feel like she was about to go back into another seizure.

She was tired. She was drained and limp and overwrought, she just wanted to go to sleep.

A breathless chuckle left Eddie's lips and he hung his head for a moment before he leaned over her. "Alright carino, let's get you back to bed." He ran his hand up and down her arm before he carefully turned her so she was laid on her back rather than her side. He was pleased to see her arms were no longer taut and pulled tight and she wasn't trembling anymore, she had gone limp which meant the effects were wearing off.

"Eddie, if she has another in her sleep, we took the guard off…" (Y/n) looked up at him and moved her hand to his arm.

This was the first time Amelia had had a seizure on the toilet and that could imply she might have another at some point during the night, especially since she hadn't been feeling well this afternoon. (Y/n) didn't like the thought of putting Amelia to bed and wondering if it might happen again. If they did that they would have to be in and out of the girl's room every hour to check on her.

She watched Eddie lean back on his heels while his hand swiped across his jaw and chin in thought.

Growing up, all the kids used to have night guards on the side of their beds, it was a mesh frame attached to the side of the bed so if they turned over, they weren't at risk of falling out. When Amelia got diagnosed, they kept the guard on her bed as she got older so if she seized during the night, she wouldn't hurt herself or tumble out of bed.

Even though she was twelve now, they had only recently taken the guard off her bed because of how often she had seizures. And they only took it off because Amelia asked them to; she felt safe with it, but she didn't want friends coming over and seeing that she still had one. Not when her little sister also had one and it made her look childish if people didn't know why it was there.

"We might have to put it back for a while." If she had any more late night fits, Eddie would consider putting the guard back on her bed for a while, to be safe. "She can stay with us tonight."

Having her sleep in their room would save them going in and out of the girl's room to check on her and it meant Tilly wouldn't be disturbed tonight.

Eddie tried to be careful as he wound Amelia's arms loosely around the back of his neck and he shifted from his knees onto his feet. He eased her up into his arms, grinning to himself when she nuzzled her face into his shoulder. It was as if she was five years old again, begging to be carried around everywhere they went.

He felt (Y/n)'s hand on his lower back as she followed him down the hall towards their room. Once he walked inside, (Y/n) weaved round him and sat down on the bed to help him lay Amelia down in the middle.

It made them both smile to see her wriggle beneath the covers almost immediately. Her knees stayed curled up near her stomach and something told Eddie that it must feel better to have her legs curled, she had probably strained her muscles straightening them out the way she did during her seizure. She laid on her side, humming when (Y/n) kissed her temple and wrapped an arm around her waist to hug her.

(Y/n) kissed her temple again, then her cheek, but she looked up when she felt Eddie sit down on the edge of the bed. He ran his hand up and down Amelia's arm, but he looked like he was lost in thought.

Reaching across, (Y/n) gently nudged his arm, her smile silently asking what was on his mind.

"Just thinking… I might put a handrail up in the bathroom, and one in the shower. In case this happens again."

(Y/n) nodded, that seemed like a safe idea. If there was a small hand rail on the wall next to the toilet, Amelia could grab it if she felt a seizure coming. She could use it to safely get onto the floor, the same if she felt a seizure coming when she was in the shower. She only ever had a bath if either parent stayed in the bathroom with her, it was too dangerous to take a bath alone in case she seized and went under the water.

At least with a few rails dotted around it might be a bit safer and easier for her, and it would also be a safety measure for Chris. He had quite good balance but it was better to be safe than sorry.

With a smile, Eddie swung his legs round and stretched out on the bed, looping his arm around (Y/n)'s shoulders with Amelia wedged happily between them. He looked between both girls as he turned the tv on and leaned to pepper a few kisses against (Y/n)'s temple.

"We might need a bigger bed too… don't think we can get five kids in here with us."

#eddie diaz x reader #911 imagine #imagine #pregnant! reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #eddie diaz family #eddie diaz

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dreamwritersworld · 4 months ago

Text

The gun (sully family x reader)

two siblings interviewed and born as twins was the beginning of Neteyam and Y/n’s biggest downfall…never given a chance to both be successful.

Jake Sully was always a soldier first and it would inevitably be the first wound he served to his kids. Neteyam and Y/n never had moment where they both could succeed at the same time. They fought amongst each other each second they spent in training.

Oh yes, oh yes,

Neteyam had the strength and ability to lose himself in everything he was asked..

Y/n had the poise and put a impactful meaning into every task she was given..

Oh, yes, they both,

They were both given harsh training that progressively got worse as they aged.

In the eyes of Neteyam, Y/n was Jake’s perfect little angel. “The black swan” as he called her, none of them understood it but Jake definitely did. Y/n was able to be fierce on field and smile kindly even if you had just lost against her, graceful.

Neteyam refused to acknowledge the level of difficulty Y/n went against. Y/n viewed Neteyam as “the perfect soldier”, he was an exact replica of Jake’s techniques and professionalism. Jake saw Neteyam as though he was the most powerful, beautiful gold amongst a treasured island.

Oh yes, they both..

They both couldn’t see it. They couldn’t see that they were striving for perfection in their father’s eyes. They had yet to pull the trigger on each other.

Oh, yes, they both reached for..

The approval of their father weighed heavily on their heart. Such a horrible baggage they never knew how to deal with…

Jake refused to acknowledge the pain and ache they’d endure after training. The pair walking home in tiredness that is waiting to be fulfilled as soon as they pass out in their beds.

It was a cruel joke considering what they had to endure.

The gun, the gun..

They walked in a quick panicked silence to go to their grandmother to be healed from all the marks and tension in their body.

The gun, the gun

Neteyam usually had grand scraps and cut on his finger from archery while Y/n had cuts all over her feet from the tricks and stunts she’d pull to navigate quietly through the woods like Jake wanted her to.

Oh yes,

The next morning would be the grand competition between all young soldiers who have become elites in their division that only happened every two years. In all reality the top soldier would always come down to Neteyam or Y/n. It’s exactly what had the people come down to the most challenging parts of the forest. Everyone knew they’d win it just always down to who. The competition had everyone at the end of the branches they watched from, nerves of adrenaline can be felt seeping through the athletes and spreading amongst the crowd.

They both reached for the gun. For the gun.

The pair always had new tricks to show off and skills that have been newly mastered. It was truly beautiful. Unfortunately for Y/n, Neteyam had won the last two event, everyone had their eyes on her as the date of today came closer. However the words of Jake’s praise couldn’t have been an even bigger flame to the fire as he spoke to fellow navi’s about the two…

Oh yes, oh yes..

“Neteyam is fantastic and always finishes strong! This will all come down to who will be the best and I can assure you Neteyam has been training immensely.”

Oh yes, they both..

“And Y/n?”

Oh yes, they both..

“She’s fabulous but dangerous. She has a power to become an animal. I always call her my black swan, perfect and elegant.”

Oh yes they both reached for ..

Jake thrived off the fear from his eldest children, they were so nervous he could see their confidence fighting to stay grand.

The gun, the gun..

Just a few moments before the race started he had his own moments with his children…

Neytiri had placed a flower crown made by Tuk on Y/n’s hair in which she promised to wear. She seemed to be holding in just fine until Jake approached her…

The gun, the gun..

“Im not too sure you’ll beat Neteyam this year Y/n. You’re nervous I can see it all over your face.”

The gun, the gun..

“I can beat him..” she spoke like a timid little girl, afraid of her father’s truth.

The gun, the gun..

“Really? In the past four years, I see you obsessed getting each and every move perfectly right but I never see you lose yourself. All that discipline for what?”

The gun, the gun..

“..I just want to be perfect…”

“You what?”

“I want to be perfect.”

The gun, the gun..

“The only person standing in your way is you. It’s time to let her go, be the black swan I know you can be..lose yourself.”

The gun, the gun

He had whispered his statement in hushed words, only for Y/n’s ears to hear. Her heart stopped and began beating at 100 once again, she nervously smiled.

The gun, the gun..

Then it was time for Neteyam..

Both reached for the gun..

“Y/n is a perfectionist you know that Neteyam. You must move quicker and faster than she does. She floats like a feather through the branches and animals but you stay a few steps ahead because you’ll get her nervous more than you can imagine. She’ll falter and that’s how you’ll stay the best in the clan! Cmon be the best soldier”

The gun, the gun..

It was sickening. Jake knew how to make a grand show between the two. It even caused a scene before the race even started. Neteyam wanted to take it a step further..he knew exactly how his sister worked. She was too sweet and never allowed herself to get aggressive with anyone…or so he thought

“You’ll fumble halfway in and get nervous Y/n you know you will.”

“Stop. Please stop.”

“How about I actually live up to your name and act like the ‘black swan’ for you.”

The gun, the gun..

The nerves had become too much to handle. Y/n got upset at the idea of him winning again and gaining the appraisal of their father before her. She hated how he jokes about her nickname that only he calls her.

“It’s my turn! I’ll win and you’ll be the one who’ll never leave the corps!”

The gun, the gun..

Neteyam’s eyes grew wide as Y/n pushed him away from her.

“All Navi’s competing must get in place now!”

Some Navi’s had so much confidence from the two years they prepped for the race rather it be third or beating the two siblings who held the reign of being the best. Unbeknownst to the crowd the two best had false confidence when it came to going against each other.

The gun, the gun..

Right before the scratch of an ikran was heard Neteyam and Y/n looked to each other with fear and determination. There they ran and leaped through the sky as though the branches they jumped off were clouds. The crowds eyes were on the pair of siblings who were constantly challenging each other with tricks amongst the track. It all would come down to who moved the quickest with the most difficulty. The yelling was tuned out for the siblings. The twins were speaking to each other in a language none of the people could understand, it was…psychologically beautiful.

The gun, the gun..

Fire burnt in their lungs with each breath they took for another reach of oxygen..

Their calves felt like rocks fallen from a mountain as they grew tired and stretched..

Towards the very end…Y/n won.

The gun, the gun..

She hadn’t even realized she was bleeding heavily from her hip…it was pure adrenaline that was keeping her running and graceful.

The gun, the gun..

The crowd picked her up and cheered her on until Jake had urged them to put her down…he had noticed the gash from the beginning. He wasn’t running on adrenaline like everyone else was. This type of competition was something he was used to seeing..since he always put the two against each other.

“Put her down! What did you do Y/n? You’re hurt!”

“Huh..”

There she touched her blood, gasping in an almost comical way..

“I felt it dad..”

“What?”

The gun, the gun..

“I was perfect…”

She had fainted from the exhaustion from all the training the night before. Truth was the only reason why Y/n wasn’t able to stay calm against Neteyam’s remarks was because she was absolutely irritable from the few hours of sleep and aching body she was pushing through.

“Y/n…wake up child.”

The flutter of her eyelashes reviled Moat, thanking eywa for the couple hours of sleep she gave Y/n’s body to return to normal.

“Grandmother thank you-“

“You need to take care of yourself more-“

“Y/n! Oh thank Eywa!”

Jake rushed through the tent hugging his daughter tighter than ever..finally it was her turn. He’d praise her and love on her once again.

“I won dad..”

“I know..you were great! My beautiful black swan!”

Both reached for the gun

Y/n won while for the first time in two years Neteyam watched.

!💕!

Definitely not sure if there ar even still avatar fans alive anymore but this story will be ready waiting for you when you’ve come back!! I loved the way this edit sound went viral and the way the beat has you on the edge of the seat!!!

#angst #jake sully x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #avatar loak #avatar the way of water #sully family x daughter reader #loak x reader #spotify #soundcloud

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flamingpudding · 1 year ago

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Sooo I had this idea most likely inspired by a bunch of other fanfics I read...

Follow up part: 2

Ghost kid in Gotham

The Beginning

So far Danny counted two times in his live that he had died or at least sort of remembered dying.

The first time he died, he had been eight and in an horrible turn of events was forced into a fight to death with his twin. All because Danny couldn't be like his brother. He couldn't kill, he continuously nearly fails his missions if it weren't for his twin finishing of targets that were supposed to be his. The league had seen him as the black sheep of the family. He was no assassin material yet his twin brother still protected and adored him. But then their grandfather saw how he became a weakness for the true heir. All because Danny couldn't get his shit together during one mission they were sent on together. Resulting in his twin sustaining an injury.

So Danny was sentenced to death in an obvious fight the entire league knew he could nore would ever want to win. The fight had drawn out his twin at least attempting to get him to fight back to show their family that he was worth keeping by showing his skills, even if Danny couldn't kill, he could still fight excellently. But Danny didn't play along, instead he let his brother kill him with the final blow. He didn't even bother attempting to dodge.

His first death had probably been very cruel towards his brother, but at least it meant that his twin, Damien would live on.

Though he didn't expect that right before his body could grow cold forever, that their mothers still had somewhat of a heart and dunked him into the pits and revive Danny the first time. (Only later through Clockwork did Danny learn that he had been dropped in a pit of contaminated ectoplasm which probably was also the reason he even survived - well sort of survived - his second death)

He did come out as a feral kid though he barely remembered his time at the Chicago Orphanage. His former parents the Fantons had told him that he had been a feral kid the first year they had him. Apparently for the longest time Jazz had been the only one that could touch let alone get in hugging distance of Danny without getting bitten. Jack liked to show off the bite marks as lovely memories his sweet little Danno gave him the first time he hugged eight years old Danny.

The second time he died, he had been 14 and to this day he still thinks that a dare was one of the dumbest things one could die from. Of course his adopted parents weren't normal. They were ecto-scientists, studying ghosts or rather ecto-entities. And of course they were treading the line of mad-scientists with an entire lap in the basement and ecto-weaponry laying out and about throughout the entire house.

So when his parents build a portal to punch their way into another dimension that didn't work his friends just had to dare him to get in there to take a photo - or had it been a video - of it.

Who would have guests that the on batten was inside the damn thing instead of outside and that his stumbling and catching himself on the damned button would just so happen to punch open that portal with him in the middle of it all.

Let him tell you, getting electrocuted was not a fun way to day, nor is getting revived yet again by ectoplasm that was spewing out of the portal and mixing with his DNA. At least he got some cool powers from that accident and did not go feral like he did the first time round.

Danny shuddered, imaging if he had gone feral back then with Phantoms powers. Good he truly would have been the menace Amity still couldn't decide if he was or not.

Either way that were the two time he counted in his death tolls so far. Of course there were a couple of other times. Like that one time Sam made a wish. But he didn't really count them since well they didn't have any sort of big change that followed them.

But right now. He was probably close to his third accounted death. Strapped to the table. His chest pretty much sliced open and he was pretty sure that one of the tubes on the table across the room still contained his liver his Mo- Maddie had taken out and the other his arm that had been cut off by Agent K to test his healing.

Well he should have known better than to let his sister convince him that his adoptive parents would turn on him. Looks like that with their working with the GIW and him on the table they had finally broken the last bits of trust both Jazz and him had in them.

Danny had long lost the energy to plead with them, that it was still him. At least he would be a full ghost once the bloodless and missing limbs did him in. Really his human body wasn't as resistent as his ghost body. But at least staying in human form would protect his core. Really the worst that could happen was his human side dying right now.

Letting out a mute sigh Danny closed his eyes letting exhaustion take his mind into oblivion. The only sad thing was, that he never got to find out how his twin Damien was doing and if he was still with the league…

TIME OUT

When Clockwork first had set the path for this timeline he did not realize how damaging his king's parents' reaction was. As he looked at his king strapped to the table, cut open and even missing limbs, he for a brief moment regretted that he only ever watched the timelines and sent others to intervene. Rarely did he himself interfere but this time he had to. Otherwise his king would lose the part that made him the kindest among all the ghosts in the Infinit Realms.

Carefully he removed his king from the chains holding him down and took him with him. Away from the horrors he was facing and away from the Family that was supposed to preserve his king's kindness and humanity.

It looked like he had made a grave mistake but it was something that was still possible to fix. The timeline had yet to turn into a doomed one. And so Clockwork decided to take his king away and bring him to a place that would have a close amount of ectoplasm as Amity had as well as one of the strongest Spirits in existence to protect him until he was ready.

Looking down at the teen in his arms, Clockwork also decided that his king did not need the painful memories his supposed family gave him. A blue light engulfed his kind as Clockwork let his powers work. Turning the clock back only for his king. The missing limbs returned and his open wounds closed as the body in his arms shrunk.

In mere seconds the Master of time was holding his king at the age of his first death in his arms, yet the state was not the same. The scars of his second death were still present, telling that his powers as halfa were still present in his king's small bodies. With this his king would be ready to be dropped off to his next family. Hopefully Clockwork wasn't making a mistake again but keeping his king truly safe this time.

TIME IN

Lady Gothem was not impressed with the Master of Time as that old man dropped off the body of their king with little to no explanation. Last she knew her king was supposed to be a teenager, a halfa so powerful that the Infinite Realms were supposed to become a much safer place than they ever had been under any of the previous kings.

All the Master of Time had offered her was a cryptic - and honestly when was that old cogwheel not - message of protecting his king and returning him to his family. Really the next time she they meet she would not miss the chance to lecture Cronus. But for now she studied the young sleeping king in her arms, noting the similarities he held to the youngest of her knights.

Ah, so that was the family the old cogwheel meant. Well it looked that her knights were not only hers alone now but would also protect her king now. But who to bring him too, she mused. Surely her dearest among them would have no qualms taking the child in but he was currently not in their home. The little knights of other haunts have requested his help and called him away to that watchtower.

Mentally the city's spirit went through all her knights until her thoughts stopped by one in particular. The knight she was going to request help with from her king anyway. What better way was there than taking care of two problems with one action. He would surely take that child to the others as well as receive her king's help with his little contamination problem.

With her decision made, Lady Gothom made her move.

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lilghostiequinni · 4 months ago

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Crazy Coincidences

Main Masterlist Norlestappen Masterlist

Pairing: Mother! Fashion designer!female reader x Lando Norris x Charles Leclerc x Max Verstappen

Warnings: Fluffy,

Summary: You are a designer who hasn't been seen publicly for 5 years, but you still have designs coming out and fashion shows going. No one expects you to return with a baby, let alone 3 other children and a wedding band on your finger. But what no one really expected was for you to return at a Formula Grand Prix.

Requested: NO / yes

There was a rumor that you were seen in the Mclaren garage at Spa.

Before that, it was rumored you were at Mclaren garage in Silverstone.

Rumors of you being at Red Bull for Canada.

Ferrari at Monaco.

Mclaren at Miami.

But it was never confirmed by any garage or person whether it was true.

After the Formula One summer break, you are seen with 4 kids walking into the McLaren garage.

That is the only time you are seen, but someone got a picture as you looked in their direction and were able to get a photo, confirming it was you.

The next day, people are celebrating Lando's second F1 win, but also people are deep-diving into the photo of you.

Many point out that you had a wedding ring on your finger and that even though you didn't know of the photo, you still had the baby in your arms shielded from the public.

Many wonder why you are at a Formula One event as you have never expressed interest in the sport before.

When you are seen walking into the Red Bull garage at the Italian GP with Lando and Charles following behind you, speculations arise as to why.

After the Italian GP, during post-race interviews, Lando and Charles are asked why they are with you, and Max and Checo are asked who you went to see in Red Bull.

Lando and Charles just said that they were helping you and Max and Checo told that you went to see Max.

It wasn't until Singapore that you were seen again, this time with all three drivers, Lando, Max, and Charles, with all four kids.

The oldest is around 5, the next is around 4, and the last is around 2, with the baby looking to be only a few months old.

You were nodding at something Lando said, and his eyes were lit up with adoration.

Lando, Max, and Charles are on the podium together again, and the three are all together when an interviewer catches up with them, asking about you.

The three look at each other, and then Lando goes to the interviewer to answer, "She's our wife, and those are our kids."

Max says, "We didn't feel the need to let everyone know about our personal lives and didn't want to subject our kids to the media so young."

Charles answers with, "We love our fans, but we also love her and out children, and we didn't want the world criticizing our decisions in our life about her."

A/N: Tied for first in this poll

Tags: @poppyflower-22 @samantha-chicago @barcelonaloverf1life @tallrock35 @ellen3101 @llando4norris @mcmuppet @issi-loves-dannyric @hellothere9597

If you want to be removed from a tag list, let me know so I don't keep tagging you. If you are striked through, I don't know if you want to be tagged, but just let me know if you want me to continue or stop

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kitkatscabinet · 4 months ago

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Fake boyfriend?

Pairing: Connor Rhodes x f!reader

Summary: Sick of your family butting into your personal life, you enlist a friend to help.

Genre: Fluff/fake dating

Word count: 1.8k

warnings: vomit, unedited, rushed ending.

"Hey Maggie" you greeted with a smile, rolling past your latest pickup.

"Hey, what do you have?"

"Geoffrey here has had a little too much to drink I'm afraid." Your words are accompanied by the sickening noises of the man upheaving whatever remained in his stomach into the quickly placed vomit bag. Luckily that was no longer your problem, as some of the nurses arrived just in time to cart Geoffrey away.

In a rare stroke of luck, the ER seemed to be relatively quiet that morning, allowing you and Maggie to chat in peace at the nurse's station.

"Got any weekend plans? I know you've got the shift off" Maggie asked whilst you filled out requisition forms, causing a groan of despair to leave you.

"Oh, don't remind me" you dropped your clipboard, rubbing the heels of your palms against your eyes in frustration, "family barbeque. Since I never make it to any events, they've all decided to come to Chicago. No excuses this time." You elaborated.

"I thought you got along with your family though?" April, having arrived at the start of your explanation, frowned.

"I do, but I'm the only cousin without a long-term partner and nobody will ever let me forget. If I have to hear grandma remind me all my younger cousins have big happy families while I waste my life on my job I might actually go insane." That seemed to garner the sympathy of your friends as you slumped against the front desk with a defeated whine.

Most of your cousins had been married with kids for years now, and while you were happily single, you weren't immune to the family gossip mill. Your mother just wanted you to be happy, but even her jokes were starting to get a little irritating. You were her only child but she'd always wanted more, and a large part of you suspected that was where her longing to be a grandmother came from.

Your pity party is interrupted by a concerningly familiar call of your name. Jolting in surprise and horror you turned, only for your worst fears to be confirmed as your eyes met those of your eldest cousin.

"Oh it is you" she crowed, strutting towards your person with a grin and outstretched arms. You barely had time to react before you were engulfed in a crushing embrace, one that you were happy enough to return, even as your heart pounded in panic at the implications of her arrival.

"Yep Josefine, it's me" you trailed off with a nervous laugh, pushing her back by her shoulders with a strained grin. "What are you doing here?" it took everything in you then to not turn and run.

"Well, I got into the city early and then I remembered you telling me that your boyfriend worked here and I just had to stop by! Figured I'd try and track him down, invite him to the family gathering, just in case you didn't." If you didn't know your cousin, then you would have easily thought her intentions malicious, but you knew she genuinely did want the best for you.

Even if that best was nosy and unnecessary.

From your position you could see the widening of Maggie's eyes as she shot you a look that very clearly read, you didn't! Unfortunately, in your panic you had, and you were now dealing with the consequences.

"So, which one is he?" her voice cuts through your silent conversation with Maggie and forces your attention back to the issue at hand.

"Uh... Well you see, he's..." You trailed off, attempting to stall until your panicked mind thought of a solution. From the corner of your eye you spotted it, your salvation, in the form of one Connor Rhodes. "Ah, there he is. I'll just check if he's busy." You didn't give her a chance to respond before you were dashing over to intercept your potential salvation. "Hey Connor, are you busy?"

Having seen you approach, the surgeon had already set aside his iPad, mouth twisted in a grin as he turned to give you his full attention. "I've always got time to spare for you."

Had you not been so flustered by Josefine's sudden arrival you would have noticed the lingering warmth in Connor's gaze as he stared at you.

"Great! From now on you’re my boyfriend. We've been dating for, let's say, five months. There's a family barbeque you're expected to be at on Saturday, I'll pick you up." With that rushed explanation you leant up to kiss his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth for show, and skipped back towards your cousin.

You had turned too quickly to witness Connor's wide eyes and dopey grin as he continued to stare at your retreating form. April hadn't, however, and returned to her work with her own smile as she silently thought that maybe things weren't so hopeless after all.

There’s a stunned silence amongst your watching friends, a warning glare from you keeping their mouths shut.

"Sorry" you apologised, not so sincerely, to Josefine. "Connor's really busy right now but he'll be there" you promised her, before quickly ushering her back out of the hospital, citing work to get her to leave.

"Not a word." You barked to your curious partner, shutting the ambulance door with far more force than necessary.

Saturday had arrived far sooner than you would have liked. You'd been too scared to speak to Connor outside of his confirmation that yes, you would be picking him up, and your slew of texts that had established the perfect backstory.

Met at the hospital, friends for years, dating and very much in love.

All true, bar the fact that you weren't actually dating, no matter how much you wished you were. You could only hope that Connor could act well enough to fool your ridiculously nosy family.

You and Connor had shared a ride more times than you could count. That still didn't stop the restless motions of your fingers drumming against the steering wheel as you anxiously waited for his arrival. You had texted him not even two minutes ago that you had arrived, but with every passing second you began to feel more and more uneasy.

A sudden knock against your window had you letting out a startled gasp. Your fingers fumble with your phone, almost dropping it in shock before you manage to glare over at the laughing man entering your car.

"Connor, what the fuck" you swore, reaching over to punch him on the shoulder as he sat in the passenger seat with a laugh.

"Sorry, sorry" he apologised, "but you should have seen your face" he mimed an open-mouthed look of terror that had you moving to punch him lightly once more.

It’s as your heart rate is settling down once more that you take in Connor’s appearance. You’ve seen him out of scrubs before, for drinks at Molly’s and other casual endeavours but there’s something different about seeing him all dressed up for you.

Connor’s an attractive man, and ok maybe you possibly had a little bit of a crush on him, so you think you could be forgiven for looking at him a little less than platonically.

“Wow, you look — ”

“Beautiful.” Connor interrupts you somewhat breathlessly, the two of you stare at each other a little awkwardly before simultaneously turning away in embarrassment.

“Thanks,” you squeak, before quickly putting the car into drive, trying to ignore the heat spreading over the back of your neck and ears.

The rest of the drive is silent, save for the soft music filtering from the radio. Though the start of the journey had been tainted with awkwardness, the silence quickly turned comforting, the two of you happy to just sit in each other's presence.

This was a mistake. You never should have brought Connor around your family. Not because things were going bad, no, they were going well. Too well.

Poor Connor practically needed a stick to fight off your cousins, aunts and the kids as they each vied for his attention. Not to mention the offhanded comments flying around.

“Oh, he’s so handsome.” Grandma.

“How could you keep him hidden from us for so long?” A myriad of your smitten aunts.

“He’s so much cooler than you!” One of your little dickhead nephews. (Whom you almost smacked, the runt only saved by Connor turning up the charm and claiming you were definitely the cooler of the two. Which of course only further endeared him to the women of your family.)

And worst of all, “When’s the wedding.” Your mother.

“Mum!” You exclaim in horror, refusing to look at Connor’s expression, even if his arm suddenly feels heavier than ever from its place wrapped around your waist.

“We’ve only been together —”

“Whenever she’ll let me put a ring on it.” Connor interrupted you, his hand squeezing you a little closer into his side. By the time you turn to look at him in shock, he’s already staring at you as if you’re the most important thing in the world and —

You’re not sure who leaned in first but suddenly you’re kissing Connor, his free hand cups your cheek gently and you can focus on nothing else but him.

Your family and their incessant background chatter fade away, Connor has all your attention, he’s the only thing that matters in that moment. With a half-lidded gaze you pull away, glancing dazedly at your faux boyfriend as if under a spell.

It’s only the sudden jeering and whooping that pulls you from your trance, and you spring apart from Connor as if burned. Or, you would have, if it weren’t for his strong arms holding you in place. Heat builds in your face and spreads down your body, unable to hold his gaze any longer, you bury your face in Connor’s neck, inhaling his scent.

Despite feeling like a zoo animal on display for your family, you’ve never been more comfortable than you are now, wrapped in Connor’s arms. Given the way he seemed to curl around you even closer, you think he feels the same.

The rest of the gathering passes by in a haze, you and Connor completely caught up in your own little world. His hands are never far from you, always grasping at your hips, waist or shoulders, the pair of you giggling together like lovesick teenagers.

By the time you’re dropping Connor off, walking him to his doorstep in order to squeeze in every last second of time together.

“Thanks for today.” You smile.

“Anytime. I’m thinking we should do it again sometime. Next week?” Too stunned to reply, you’re left gaping like a fish as Connor plants a soft kiss on your forehead before throwing you one last cheeky grin and closing the door behind him.

Next week couldn’t come soon enough.

Goddammit. Will would never let you hear the end of it.

#connor rhodes #connor rhodes x reader #one chicago #chicago med #chicago med x reader #one chicago x reader

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 9 months ago

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Burning Wood

Marc Spector x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Marc gets a boner.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: One day I'll have to answer for my sins.

Warnings: blow job in a forest, Marc calling reader 'baby', getting a boner in public and being a little into it, swearing, typos - my head is really not in the game atm, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1831

Marc pressed his cold nose into your neck as he hugged you from behind. You shiver, instinctively flinching away from his touch and he giggles.

He presses his nose against you again.

“Marc,” you chastise, but there’s humour in your voice.

“What?” He grins, obviously knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“How is your nose so freezing?”

“How is your neck so warm?”

You chuckle and sigh, putting your hands over his arms. You both stare at the bonfire for a moment longer.

“I don’t get how you can be cold standing next to this thing,” you motion your hands to the flames.

Marc jogs on the spot a little, just to amuse you. “It’s cold, let’s stand closer.”

You laugh. “We’ll be in the fire.”

“Hmmm,” he nuzzles into your neck again and kisses your skin lightly. “Nice and toasty.”

So far, Marc had enjoyed visiting your family, even if they did live in the middle of nowhere. He thought he was going to go a little stir crazy at first, playfully making shinning jibes, but then he’d kind of… got used to it. The stillness. The forest walks. The tiny village with the population of 62.

A few kids ran around with sparklers under the watchful gaze of their parents, several people held out marshmallows need the flames. There was warm mead and hot chocolate if anyone wanted it.

Marc sighed, resting his chin on your shoulder for a second before he muttered, “my hands are cold too.”

“Marc,” you laugh, “you’re wearing gloves.”

“I know.”

“Well, you’re not putting them on me.”

“But you’re so warm.” He teases, tensing his arms as if he’s going to move and try to sneak under your shirt.

“Fuck off.” You grin and grab hold of his hands to stop them going anywhere.

“That’s not nice,” he pouts playfully. “I’m going to freeze to death and you're not going to help me?”

“You are not, besides, I thought Chicago got pretty cold? Shouldn’t you be used to this?” You tease.

He grumbles something into your shoulder.

“What?”

“I said, Chicago isn’t damp cold. Here’s damp cold. Gets into everything.”

You snort. “Aww, poor baby.”

“Yeah,” he nods and kisses your cheek. “Poor me, where’s the sympathy for me?”

You can hear the grin in his voice, he always loved playing up because it made you laugh. Though he seemed a little extra needy right now. Not normally the one for physical affection in public. Maybe the darkness of the night helped.

The bonfire snaps a little, still going strong and you pat Marc’s hair with your gloved hand as you lean back against him.

He sighs, pressing his face into your shoulder as you brush against the semi-hard outline of cock.

You pause. Ah. So that was why he was being so handsy.

“Ohhhhh,” you whisper, dragging out the word to be a menace and lean back again a little to press against his bulge. “I see, hugging me so that you can use me as a shield for prying eyes are you?”

“No.” He says into your shoulder, his voice obscured by your coat.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well I’ll just-” You go to move but his arms tighten around you.

“Stay here.”

You giggle.

He lifts his head up and kisses your cheek again. “I did not hug you to use you as a shield,” he tries to sound stern but the smile in his voice wins out. “I came to hug you and…”

“And?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“And then this happened.”

“From a hug?” You say disbelievingly.

“Hmm,” he grumbles.”You smell nice.”

You laugh, “I smell like burning wood.”

“Yeah, well, that and your natural smell,” he nuzzles into your neck again and breathes deeply. “Smells really good. Smells like… comfort, or something.”

Despite the sweet tone to his words, you can’t resist a tease. “And that made you horny?”

He tuts and rolls his eyes, giving you a little squeeze. “Yes, okay, it made me really horny. Happy?”

You pause and then nod, “yes.” You say with a touch too much enthusiasm and Marc laughs.

“Okay, well good to have your approval.”

You smile and lean back against him, pressing your back to his chest. There’s a pause before you push back a little more, rubbing against his erection again.

He stifles a moan into your coat. “Stop it.” He hisses, but you can tell he doesn’t mean it.

“Stop what?” You say innocently.

“You know what.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Marc.” You punctuate the end of the sentence by gently leaning back and rolling your hips against him.

He groans softly and presses into you. You hear the click in his throat as he swallows. “Do you want me to come in my jeans? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you keep doing that.” He hisses.

“What?” You say, all mock surprise. “So quickly.”

He lets out a little grunt of annoyance and presses his face back into your coat.

The realisation that maybe Marc Spector was a little into the risk of being caught started to piece together in your mind.

You pause for a second before deciding. “Okay.” You pull out of his embrace and turn to face him.

“Okay?” He startles, his eyebrows pinched together in disappointment, thinking the game is over.

“Hmm,” you smile sweetly and take his hand before you start walking and urging him to follow. It takes him a second to get the hint.

No one else seems to notice, or mind, as you both head away from the celebrations. Following the little well trodden path that leads back to the village.

Marc follows close, a step behind until you are far enough away from the bonfire to be seen by anyone there, but close enough that the light from it just about illuminates your path.

You guide him off the trail into the thick outcrop of trees.

“Baby, what are we-”

You silence him with a harsh kiss, licking into his mouth when he parts his lips in surprise. He moans instantly, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you close even as you push him up against a thick oak tree.

He kisses back needily, his breathing already ragged and cheeks warm. His nose, however, is still cold.

You kiss his cheek lightly before you trail your lips down his jaw and nip lightly at his pulse point.

He groans, bucking against you and squirming a little, biting his lip to keep himself vaguely quiet.

“Didn’t realise you had a thing for the outside.” You tease and Marc huffs.

“I don’t.”

“Sure, sure,” you suck on his neck and he gasps, his body bending toward you, trying to wrap itself around you. You slowly run your hands down to his cock, the poor thing trapped in the tight confines of his jeans.

He groans again, the sound grumbling through his chest and into you. “Baby,” he bites his lip, and even though you can’t make out his exact expression in the poor light, you can picture it perfectly in your mind. How his brow furrowed needily, how wide his pupils were.

You unbuckle his belt, the sound of the leather opening makes his eyes roll back and he has to bite his tongue to stop the loud moan that threatens to escape.

He stays still as he can as you undo his jeans, his hands on your arms, needing to touch you and keep you close despite wanting to give you room to manoeuvre.

And when you sink to your knees he shudders, throwing his head back against the tree bark and sighing softly.

You take your gloves off and shove them into your coat pocket.

“Baby, I-” He swallows down his words, screwing his eyes tight as your warm hands pull him free and you suck on his head.

Precum spreads across your tongue, salty and rich as you moan softly, the reverberations running down the length of him and making his muscles twitch.

You pull back, just enough to pump the length of his a few times while your other hand massages his balls, one finger lightly pressing on his perineum.

He shudders, sighing out into the darkness as you lap at his weeping slit with the flat of your tongue, running it along and swirling around his tip before swallowing him down.

He cries out, grabbing hold of your shoulders as you take him as deeply as you can. He fights the urge to buck up and thrust himself completely in your throat, his bottom lip between his teeth as you move up and down, drawing his pleasure out like poison from a bite. He tries to fight against it, tries to prolong the sensation as long as he can, to relax into it. But he’s too worked up, too desperate. And his orgasm rapidly approaches.

The earth and dead leaves are soft under your knees, the dampness of the dirt soaking a little into your trousers, but you don’t mind. Focusing solely on Marc’s little whimpers and pleads, sounds you’re sure he doesn’t even realise he’s making.

How his legs shake, how his cock twitches in your throat, how his fingers dig into you.

He rolls his hips slightly, panting and you know he’s close, practically there. Warmth builds in your chest, pride at how trusting he is with you, how he knows you’ll take care of him.

You sink lower, relaxing your throat as much as you can and slipping him a centimetre further inside.

Marc gasps, the sound loud but not enough to raise suspicion, he bucks once, swearing and trying to mutter a warning but you press closer to him and swallow as he spirts into your throat.

He shakes as stars explode behind his eyes, as pleasure washes over him and momentarily rids him of his strength. He moans your name softly, gasping and keeping a firm hold on your shoulder to keep himself upright.

You keep moving, letting him ride his orgasm out before you lick him clean and tuck him back into his jeans.

You laugh a little as you try to get the zip up.

“What?” He smiles, his voice floaty and wonderfully blissed out.

“I can’t get your jeans closed with your dick still hard.” You giggle.

“Oh,” he chuckles and helps you to your feet. “Don’t worry about it.” He kisses your cheek, your neck, nipping lightly at your skin before he kisses your lips and holding you close.

“Don’t worry about it?”

“Yeah, well, we’re going back to the house anyway.”

“Oh, are we?” You smile.

He nods.

“I thought we were going back to the bonfire?” You tease.

He growls playfully, kissing the spot just under your ear. “Oh no, we’re going back and I’m going to fuck you into the mattress and make you scream while the village is empty and everyone else is here.”

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @pimosworld @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @queerponcho @lunar-ghoulie @dumdaradumdaradum @plastichearts @silver-night-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

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ilovemilestellersmoustache · 1 month ago

Text

Tolerate It

WC: 1.4K

Summary: You gave up your dreams for Connor, which was fine. But why can’t he at least give back what you’ve lost with at least being present.

A/N: It’s not the exact same as the song bc thats toooooooo angsty

Y/N had known Connor Bedard for as long as she could remember. They had grown up together, inseparable since they were in diapers. Their parents were close friends, and it was natural that they would be, too. Childhood friends, partners in crime, and each other's confidants, they had shared everything—their dreams, their fears, their hopes for the future. As they grew older, the bond between them only deepened. It was always easy with Connor; their friendship was effortless, built on a foundation of mutual trust and support.

It was no surprise when that friendship began to shift into something more as they hit their teenage years. The late-night conversations grew longer, the touches more lingering, and the looks more meaningful. It was unspoken at first, but eventually, Connor confessed his feelings one summer night when they were sixteen, sitting by the lake they had always gone to as kids.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Y/N,” he had said, his voice quiet but filled with certainty. “I mean, you’re everything to me.”

That was all it took. From that moment on, they were more than just friends—they were everything to each other.

When Connor got drafted into the NHL, it was the culmination of everything he had worked for. Y/N was there at the draft, her heart swelling with pride as his name was called. It was a dream come true for him, but there was a bittersweet undertone. Y/N had gotten into her dream university, too—across the country. They had always known this moment was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier.

The days leading up to their inevitable separation were filled with unspoken tension. They tried to act like everything was normal, like they could handle the distance, but the reality of being apart hung over them like a storm cloud. Connor was set to move to Chicago, and Y/N was supposed to head to California.

It was the night before Y/N was supposed to leave when Connor finally broke. They were sitting in his car, parked in front of her house, the silence between them heavy.

“I can’t do it,” he said suddenly, his voice strained.

Y/N turned to him, her heart clenching at the look on his face. He looked lost, desperate, like he was barely holding it together.

“Connor—”

“Don’t go,” he whispered, reaching out to take her hand. “I know it’s selfish, but I need you here with me. I don’t want to be without you.”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at him, torn between her dreams and the boy she had loved for so long. She knew how much playing in the NHL meant to Connor, but she hadn’t realized how much her presence meant to him. She was his rock, his constant. And as much as it hurt to give up her dream, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him like this, knowing how much he needed her.

So she stayed.

Y/N transferred to a university in Chicago, and for a while, everything seemed perfect. Connor was thriving in the league, making waves as a rookie, and Y/N was doing well in her new school. They were together, and that was all that mattered. They had made it through the toughest decision of their lives, and things were going well.

Until they weren’t.

It started slowly, in ways that Y/N could almost convince herself weren’t a big deal. Connor was always busy—more and more "team activities" kept him out late, and she was no longer invited. She would see the other girlfriends and wives at events and wonder why she was being left out. At first, she brushed it off, thinking it was just the demands of his career. She told herself that the NHL was a whole different world, and maybe she just wasn’t meant to be a part of that aspect of his life.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Y/N began to feel the cracks in their relationship widening. She would wait by the door for him to come home, feeling like a little kid waiting for a parent who never showed up. Sometimes she would set the table with their nicest dishes, hoping for a quiet dinner together, only for Connor to come home hours late, too tired to even notice her efforts.

Each missed dinner, each late-night out without her, each forgotten promise—it all added up, piece by piece, until Y/N felt like she was drowning in her own loneliness. She didn’t know how to talk to him about it. How could she? He was now Connor Bedard, the NHL star, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. How could she add her own pain to that pressure?

Besides, she had given up everything for him—her dream university, her own future. She had sacrificed it all because she loved him, and she wanted to believe that it had been the right choice. But now, as she sat alone in their apartment, night after night, she began to wonder if Connor even noticed how much she had given up for him.

One night, after yet another evening spent waiting for Connor to come home, Y/N reached her breaking point. She had spent hours preparing a special dinner again, hoping this time her makes it home in time for some time to reconnect with him. But when he finally walked through the door, hours later than expected, he barely acknowledged her. His face was tired, his eyes distant, and when she asked about his day, he gave her nothing but short, distracted answers.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

“Connor,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “Do you even care anymore?”

He looked up, startled by the intensity in her voice. “What? Y/N. I’ve just been—”

“Busy?” she finished for him, her frustration spilling over. “You’re always busy, Connor. But you’re never busy with me. I don’t even know what’s going on in your life anymore.”

Connor frowned, looking uncomfortable. “It’s just… the team, the pressure, it’s a lot.”

“And I’m supposed to just sit here and wait for you? To figure it out by yourself? We’ve always gotten through things together Connor. I just get why you won’t let me in anymore. Why I feel like I’m not even a relevant presence in your life. It just feels like I’m begging for footnotes about anything you do anymore.” Y/N’s voice broke. “I gave up everything for you, Connor. And I was fine with that. That was my inevitable decision. I just thought we were in this together, but it feels like I’m just… here. Like I’m only around for when you need someone. What happened to us?”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly at a loss for words. “Y/N, I asked you to give up your dreams for me but only because—”

“Because what Connor. What. If you’re implying for support that cannot be further from the truth. You’ve been so distant like I’m not even here.” she interrupted, her voice raw with emotion, eyes widening as she never meant to actually say it out loud “Maybe you didn’t think that decision through, but you had asked me to stay. I think you were just scared to not have anyone for the first time in your life. And I was too, that’s why I stayed, but also because I love you. But now, I don’t even know if that means anything to you.”

There was a long, heavy silence between them. Connor looked at her, his face torn between guilt and frustration, but he said nothing. And that silence—his inability to reassure her, to tell her that he still loved her, still needed her—spoke louder than any words could.

Y/N felt something inside her shatter.

In the weeks that followed, things between them grew even more strained. Y/N tried to talk to him, tried to salvage what was left of their relationship, but Connor seemed more distant than ever. It was as if he had retreated into himself, caught up in the demands of his career, while Y/N was left alone to pick up the pieces of what they once had.

The worst part was that she couldn’t bring herself to leave him. She had come so far, sacrificed so much, and the thought of walking away felt like admitting defeat. She loved him—she had always loved him—but she was beginning to realize that love wasn’t enough. Not when it was one-sided. Not when she felt more like an afterthought than a partner. Her loved should of been celebrated, but it seemed like he just tolerated it

One night, after yet another fight that ended in silence, Y/N sat on their bed, staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t keep living like this, couldn’t keep pretending that everything was okay when it clearly wasn’t. But leaving him—it would destroy him. She knew that much. He assumed she was fine, that she was content to be there for him, to support him no matter what. But what would he do if she broke free, if she finally walked away and left them both in ruins?

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She didn’t know what to do. All she knew was that something had to change—before it was too late. But deep down she knew what she needed to do.

#connor bedard #connor bedard imagine #connor bedard x reader #jack hughes x reader #quinn hughes x reader #trevor zegras x reader #chicago blackhawks #jack hughes #luke hughes x reader #nhl x reader #matt rempe x reader #quinn hughes #umich hockey #Spotify

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queenie-ofthe-void · 4 months ago

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A Desperate Fool - Part 4

Part 3

Eddie gets settled on his usual kitchen barstool and watches Nancy make a pot of coffee, which is great considering he showed up at the ass crack of dawn, too anxious to wait. Well, and a day early, but sue him, he missed her.

Nancy and Jonathan’s house is just as cozy as he remembers, while also serving as a solid reminder he’s not the only successful Wheeler. Original hardwood floors complimented with arched entryways and wainscoting. Cream and sage fill the living space, dotted with drops of gold accents. Low, soft lighting illuminates every room with warmth. It’s clean and modern, yet comforting in a way The Harrington’s eggshell minimalism estate and his own dark industrial penthouse have always lacked.

It’s quiet and domestic and everything he’s missed about having a home. The glow in his chest doesn’t outweigh the thread of tension thrumming through him, but it does ease slightly when she hands him coffee in his favorite Garfield mug.

They catch up for hours as she fills him in on everything he’s missed. Mom and Ted finally retired down to Clearwater after Holly moved out for college. Mike and Will’s adoption went through, after working on it for years– and jesus christ, he’s an uncle now. Will’s still publishing his YA fantasy graphic novels. Mike’s a happy house-husband now stay at home dad.

El finally quit her shitty government research job and decided she’d rather work full-time at Argyle’s pizza shop learning the ins and outs of the business. She’s better suited for it, he thinks, she’s always loved being around people and working with her hands.

She tells him about her and Jon settling into their new posts at The Chicago Times. Nancy’s managed to make friends with people outside of the Politics department. Jon’s moved from photographing for tabloids to local events like concerts and festivals, currently out of town for the weekend at a festival in Rockford. She says he’s happier now, with a job more his speed, and Eddie has to agree. Although they apparently just missed each other last fall when he’d started the job only a month after Corroded Coffin’s concert at Wrigley.

As Nancy goes on, talking about the rest of the kids while they lounge around the house, moving from the kitchen, to the living room, to the snow covered balcony so he can smoke, he tries to listen– he does. But he’s close to snapping, forced to wait so long for answers. He needs to know everything that’s happened, and why she’s the one who has to tell him. Her and Steve dated in high-school almost ten years ago, and granted they stayed close, but she’s not Robin or Max. She’s one of the few people Eddie’s closest to, except for Dustin, who could easily give him more answers than Nancy probably could.

He’s spiralling. He’s biting his nails, picking his lips raw. His leg is bouncing erratically and the only thing that helps is pacing whatever room they’re in. Nancy’s still talking about Argyle’s newest pizza recipe when he finally breaks.

“Nancy, for fuck’s sake please just tell me what’s going on with Steve.” He reaches down for his smokes but his hand’s shaking, the pack gets caught on his pocket and falls to the ground. When he bends to pick them up, the lighter follows suit and bounces under the couch Nancy’s perched on.

A manic laugh bubbles from the pit of his stomach as he drops to his knees. Eddie briefly wonders if he even wants answers or if he’s just punishing himself. He bends forward, letting his forehead rest against the hardwood floor, cool and grounding.

Grabbing the smokes and lighter, he looks up to find Nancy’s eyebrows and nose all scrunched up, lips pursed. She’s looking at him exactly how he knew she would, full of pity and disappointment.

There’s something underneath the expression though that Eddie can’t quite pick out– anxiety, maybe. He wouldn’t have such a hard time reading her if he hadn’t been gone for almost a year. Another reminder added to the long list of his life-altering mistakes.

Eddie stands on unsteady legs, moving to the balcony for another smoke, with Nancy hot on his heels when there’s a knock on the front door. She shoots him an apologetic look, but he waves her off. He’s waited this long for answers, what’s another minute in misery.

When Eddie’s finished his smoke, he does his best to sneak back inside without being noticed. An unfamiliar voice calls him out.

“Oh, Nancy I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company!”

Eddie pokes his head around the corner to find Nancy standing next to a petite woman with dirty brown hair and thick platinum highlights, who’s dressed in an uncoordinated riot of colors and textures. Knee-high navy blue socks, tucked into tan polka dot flats, end just below the hem of her corduroy skirt. It’s a deep brown, matching the polka dots on her shoes, and the material’s so stiff it moves around her like a hoop skirt. She’s layered a puffy-sleeved periwinkle button up underneath a teal sweater vest.

It’s an odd assortment of colors, patterns, and textures that’s not quite artistic enough to be considered eclectic or interesting. Just bizarre and– if he’s being bitchy about it– a little boring. Eddie’s worn enough dramatic getups in his life, but beige isn’t doing this girl any favors.

The petite woman is blushing, eyebrow cocked in question, and Eddie realizes she’s been holding out her hand to him in greeting while he’s standing her silently judging her, like an asshole.

“Hi, you must be Nancy’s brother Eddie,” she says. Her voice is a light soprano, tonally off in an overly polite, customer service way. “I’m Becky.”

“Nice to meet you.” He finally manages to shake her hand, noticing they’re both wearing rings on each finger topped with chipped nail polish: his black and hers a sparkly baby blue. But while his rings are chunky and silver, hers are delicate gold bands stacked to varying thicknesses. “Umm how do you know Nance?”

“Oh, we met at work,” Becky says, smile widening. “Nancy’s told me all about you.”

“Hopefully just the good stuff.” Eddie tries for a joke, but her eyes tighten for the briefest moment.

“Yeah, she told me you were going to be back in town for a little while, I just thought you were coming tomorrow, otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered you.” She glances toward Nancy, her smile straining further.

“No it’s alright, Nance and I were just catching up.” Nancy’s shuffling her feet, eyes darting between Becky, the floor, then Eddie, and back again. Becky is staring at her too, and Eddie’s not sure he’s ever seen Nancy this anxious. She looks completely checked out of the conversation.

He’s always suspected she’s been a bit embarrassed by him. Throughout school, he was the loud obnoxious troublemaker, and Nancy the wholesome straight A student. Every new school year, Nancy spent the first few weeks convincing her teachers that no, she’s not like her brother at all, thank you. Eddie played it off when he could, and has most of his life. But to see it now, so plainly written on her face, hurts more than he expected.

“She said you’re in a rock band?” Becky asks, attempting to fill the silence left in the wake of Nancy’s awkwardness. “Very glamorous.”

It sounds slightly sarcastic, but Eddie’s not sure if he’s just feeling overly defensive. “Playing and songwriting are by far the best part. The rest is just missing out on what’s waiting at home.”

“Mmm, so that’s why you’re in town then? Missing Chicago?” She seems genuinely sympathetic, but he can’t help puffing up like an angry cat at the drip of pity hanging from her lips.

“More like the people,” Eddie snaps. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. God forbid he has a panic attack in front of the first person Nancy introduces him to when he comes home. He’d really be living up to the nightmare older brother stereotype Nancy’s dealt with her entire life.

“Well then,” Nancy interrupts, clapping her hands together loudly causing both Becky and Eddie to flinch. “Thanks for dropping off my laptop, Becky, I really appreciate it.”

“Umm, no problem, Nance.” Becky eyes her warily, but takes the cue. She turns to Eddie to say their goodbyes as Nancy sees her out.

He heads towards the kitchen to get dinner started for the two of them. It’s almost ten minutes by the time Nancy makes her way back and her entire demeanor’s changed. Her spine’s straight with shoulders back, head held high, eyes steeled with resolve. A classic Nancy Wheeler I’m going to tackle this problem head on attitude, except it’s directed at him. Which is seriously not great.

But instead of saying anything, she pulls out the same kitchen stool Eddie had been perched on earlier and plops herself down, all without breaking eye contact. He assumes she’s got something to say, he can spot a Nancy lecture coming a mile away.

Once again, anxiety’s filling out space in his chest as he finishes cooking. They sit in relative silence on the living room couch while they eat, and all he can do is wait. Eddie wants to hear what she has to say, he wants answers, but he’s dreading it all the same. She’s upset with him, which he can’t hold against her. He deserves all of his family’s rage. That doesn’t mean he’s necessarily looking forward to it.

“Ok, ask me,” she states, setting the empty bowl down on the coffee table, turning fully face him. Leaning against the the armrest, she pulls one knee up to her chest while sticking her other foot right in Eddie’s lap. He matches her position, grabbing her ankle and plopping his own foot down beside her, hoping the small amount of contact will keep him grounded.

“Ask you, what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Eddie,” she says, “the entire reason you’re in Chicago isn’t to catch up with Jonathan or Mike or me.” Nancy’s chest deflates with a sigh, and Eddie’s heart breaks at the fact that she’s right. He hates himself for it, one more way he’s disappointed her. “He’s completely offline, the kids don’t post about him even though half of them have you blocked anyways. I know you probably did as much digging as you could and even though you hired a fucking private investigator– jesus christ Eddie–”

“That was only to find out where he lived, I swear.”

She scoffs, “Like that makes it any better.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, lifting one hand from her ankle to rub his eyes. “I’m sorry, keep going. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s ok,” she says, squeezing his leg. The small gesture loosens some of the building tension, and he relaxes his shoulders.

“The point is, you probably don’t know anything about what’s happened with over the thirteen months you’ve been gone. But, I just thought, if you’re going around looking for answers, it’s probably best for everyone if they come from me.”

She looks away from him then to stare out the window next to them, and Eddie can’t help but follow her gaze. The sun has long since set, the only light coming from the end table lamps on either side of them, and the street light across the way. Dark winter nights always left Eddie feeling a little hollow, a chill even the warmest blankets couldn’t chase away. A feeling only Steve could ease out of him.

When he looks back at Nancy, she’s already looking back like she can read his mind. Except she’s chewing on her bottom lip, and when he meets her eyes, she can’t hold his gaze.

“Nance,” he says, confused at the sinking of his stomach, “why is it best if it comes from you? No offense, but you’re not necessarily as close to him as Max or Lucas, and they seemed pretty clammed up when they came around. Especially when they mentioned the fiance.” Eddie chokes around the word. Swallows around the dry bitterness coating his throat.

She squeezes his ankle again, except this time it’s too tight, her nails digging little moons into his skin. Like whatever she has to say will send him running, because everyone knows he’s a coward, will disappear exactly the same as before. It’s how he knows he’s still the same person as before– undeserving of the people he loves most– when her next words send a small shock through his system.

“Because I’m the one who set them up, Eddie. And I’m not sorry.”

~~~

Part 5

Tag List: @5ammi90

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radiant-reid · 2 years ago

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pov: your instagram but you're married to Spencer Reid

Liked by babygirlpg, d.morgan and 363 others

y/n.reid: this man 🥵

view all 31 comments

aarhotch: active case? -> d.morgan: agreed, y'all need to chill -> y/n.reid: damn, i can't thirst over my husband on government time? -> aarhotch: no, you literally cannot

Liked by badass_em, mommyjareau and 398 others

y/n.reid: you're so goddamn cute @/doctorreid

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doctorreid: stopppp -> y/n.reid: nooooo -> babygirlpg: don't stop because you're both so cute and you can never, ever get a divorce

Liked by aarhotch, d.morgan and 425 others

y/n.reid: chipmunk 🥰🥰🥰

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doctorreid: more close-ups? really? -> y/n.reid: yes really, sorry not sorry, you knew this when we got married. it's actually your fault for having a perfect nose, eyes, and bone structure

d.morgan: imagine how creepy y/n must have looked taking this photo -> doctorreid: very creepy

mommyjareau: this is what Henry looks like when I ask him if he's seen the chocolate i told him not to touch

Liked by greenaway.elle, aarhotch and 411 others

y/n.reid: 'hello, police, yeah, can you cook dinner? i can't because i might burn the house down'

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doctorreid: i burn pasta one time trying to make you a surprise dinner and this is what i get -> y/n.reid: YOU DIDNT PUT WATER IN THE POT!!! -> badass_em: i think this calls for cooking lessons @/davidrossiofficial -> davidrossiofficial: sure, to ensure spencer doesn't end up with as many divorces as i have

Liked by a.blake, mommyjareau, and 357 others

y/n.reid: easily the hottest man alive

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doctorreid: you're easily the most gorgeous woman alive

babygirlpg: get this man on SuitTok

Liked by ablake, d.morgan and 434 others

y/n.reid: just spencer looking adorable in his little green puffer jacket

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d.morgan: cold when it's 60, weak -> mommyjareau: they breed them too soft in Vegas -> d.morgan: our Chicago and Pennsylvania blood >> -> doctorreid: now i'm getting bullied @ y/n.reid -> y/n.reid: they just don't recognize your adorableness

Liked by ablake, aarhotch and 346 others

y/n.reid: *insert fun facts about halloween*

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doctorreid: sorry for annoying you :( -> y/n.reid: never once have you done that, precious boy <3 our Salem trip was the best one yet

davidrossiofficial: a great way to get to sleep @/d.morgan

Liked by babygirlpg, aarhotch and 349 others

y/n.reid: my sun-safe husband

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mommyjareau: Mary Poppins? -> doctorreid: i'll babysit henry any time

d.morgan: cold in 60 but wearing a suit in 100 -> y/n.reid: and cute to every degree

Liked by thecallahanclan, davidrossiofficial, and 451 others

y/n.reid: dinner and drinks are on spencer next time

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mommyjareau: how did you not get thrown out? -> doctorreid: we did when our disguises came off, i still managed to wipe the floor with the house

davidrossiofficial: hoping I'm still invited if I won't be there to pay -> y/n.reid: it's milestone event when your kids treat you for the first time

Liked by teelewis, lukeyluke, and 507 others

y/n.reid: pretty boy at the theatre

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doctorreid: date night is always my favorite night with you -> y/n.reid: cheesy words to match your cheesy smile

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raisingkidsinchicago · 15 days ago

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Kickoff the Holiday Season in Chicago: Weekend Events November 15-17

Juliana Yeager Photo by Brandon Tucker/Lincoln Park Zoo Zoo Lights at Lincoln Park Zoo Celebrate a landmark year for Chicagoland’s beloved holiday tradition, where dazzling new artistic displays and interactive experiences are set to captivate visitors. ZooLights returns with over 3 million sparkling lights, including hundreds of vibrant LED installations and a range of festive seasonal…

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#baggy daley park #Chicago Holidays #chicago kids activities this weekend #chicago kids events #chicago real estate #chicago this weekend #Christmas around the world #christmas lights in chicago #holiday market festival #Holidays in Chicago #ice skating chicago #ice skating maggy Daley park #Lincoln Park Zoo #museum of science and industry #Randolph street market #Things to do this weekend in Chicago #Things to do with kids #zoo lights

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buzzcutlip · 3 months ago

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Cracks and Gaps - The Waterfall (part II) Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader Mature (Explicit in the following parts) 6573 words

You meet Carmen in Copenhagen through a mutual friend and bond over shared experiences. After following his rising career from afar, you reconnect in Chicago when he renovates his late brother’s restaurant. As an editor, you can’t miss an opportunity to find out more about the comeback of this chef prodigy. part I The Worst Day

A/N: The angst continues and morphs. This part is full of fashion, understanding and soft words. Thank you Amy @foreveraimingtowardsthesky and E @butchcarmy for giving me the confidence to write and to publish this :) (Also reader is reffered to as someone who blushes, in case you would like to know this ahead of deciding to read the story)

THE WATERFALL

You want so badly to forget the fight, but instead, you keep replaying it in your head over and over, until it feels like a movie you saw on TV or in a cinema. Like it wasn't really you Carmen was shouting at. You try to comfort yourself by imagining what you should have done in that moment—anything but nothing, like you actually did. But at least you stood up for yourself. That’s somehow comforting.

The way forward is to go—to leave. To remove yourself from the situation and find a new environment that has nothing to do with what happened. For the weekend, you take a long-postponed trip to Seattle. People envy you for traveling to fancy places for work, but to you, it’s just that—work. This time, though, you’re unusually eager to get on the plane to another state. Nothing in Washington is going to remind you of Carmen Berzatto, you hope. The plan is to try a luxury wellness retreat for women in tech and business at Salish Lodge by Snoqualmie Falls. You’re not in tech or business, but the place paid the magazine to review the program, so you couldn’t really say no. There’s a "pillow menu for the best night’s rest" and a "Canna-bliss CBD natural ritual" option, so you’re not complaining. To escape the busy networking event on Saturday, you sneak out and walk to the top of the falls, take a deep inhale—just as you practiced during that morning's yoga class—and shout into the void, letting the roar of the water swallow it all.

There’s so much pent-up energy in you that you start to worry you’re scaring all the Zen businesswomen around you. During a workshop, you realize that most of them are your age, or even younger. They have careers, partners, and some even have kids. It sucks, being reminded of what society expects from you when you’re thirty.

When you get back on Tuesday, the office clerk tells you that someone was looking for you on Monday. Not thinking much of it, you sit down at your desk to start working on your piece about the trip. It’s scorching outside—concrete city in July is unforgiving—and you’re grateful for the office's functioning AC.

The next time you check the clock, it’s already noon. You stand up to stretch and grab the empty mug on your desk. It was a silly gift from your parents when you first got this job—white with a black handle and a funny picture of a green pickle with a face that says "It’s kinda a big dill." As foolish as it sounds, drinking coffee from this mug always makes you smile.

As soon as you step out of your office, Dasha, the desk clerk, waves you over. Even sitting, she’s tall, her head and upper body towering proudly over the counter. She always wears amazing glasses.

“I love your glasses,” you say, complimenting her tortoiseshell frames.

“Thanks,” Dasha smiles. “You have a visitor. I was just about to call your desk.”

The blood in your veins seems to stop. You turn your head toward the guest sofa by the elevators. There’s no doubt who the visitor is.

“He said his name was Caramel—Carmel? Sorry!” Dasha fumbles with the name, blushing and nervously fiddling with her pen. “I should’ve written it down!”

Of course, it’s Carmen.

“You’re fine,” you assure her with a quick smile. Taking a very, very deep breath, you ask sweetly, “Could you send Caramel to meeting room three?”

‘I’m so Zen,’ you tell yourself as you walk to the kitchen, giving Dasha and Carmen a few minutes. If you’re going to meet him, it’s going to be on your terms, you decide standing by the fridge. Or, hiding by the fridge?

Wearing a summery yet elegant dress, heeled clogs, and your hair up, you look nothing like you ever did at The Bear. You’re pleased to discover, just before opening the door to meeting room three, that the tight feeling in your stomach isn’t just nerves—it’s also a bit of excitement and confidence.

The frosted glass door closes behind you, and you watch as Carmen’s eyes land on you. He’s already seated in one of the uncomfortable white plastic chairs, and now he’s looking at you. His gaze drops to your legs, where the frilled hem of your dress stops just above your knees, then to the mug you’re still holding, though it’s empty.

“Hey,” he greets you, shifting as if he might stand up. You sit across from him, setting the mug on the table.

“Hi,” you reply, curious about what he’s going to say. You’re fairly sure he’s here to apologize, probably sent by Natalie and Sydney—maybe even Richie—to make things right. You had texted Natalie to say you needed to focus on your "real" job as an excuse to avoid going back to the restaurant. Now, you wish you had told her the truth.

“I brought you something,” Carmen says, awkwardly pulling out a paper bag. “Thought you might be hungry.” He hesitates, then adds, “It’s smoked mozzarella mezzelune.” When you don’t make a move to take it, he places the bag back in his lap.

Leaning back in your chair, you fight the urge to cross your arms. You probably feel as out of place as he does right now—but you’re not about to let him see that.

“We didn’t have to meet here,” he says, glancing nervously around the room. “I just wanted to bring the food.”

You blink a few times, wanting to make him even more uncomfortable. “You could’ve left it at reception,” you say calmly.

Carmen rubs a hand over his face and purses his lips. “About before—the recipe. It was all bullshit.”

You grimace. That doesn’t sound like an apology. You're starting to lose faith that Carmen is even capable of one. Disappointed and at a loss for words, you scoff, and Carmen’s eyes dart back to yours. He looks almost offended, which really pisses you off.

“Bullshit,” you repeat, your voice steady. “I’m not interested in this, Carmen,” you say, meeting his gaze without wavering. “Go to hell with your food.”

He looks down, fidgeting with the paper bag. “I’m terrible at this.”

“Terrible at what? Apologizing? Well, it’s past time you learned.”

The urge to shout at him is strong. You want him to feel as humiliated as you did. But you won’t. He spent his whole life in an environment where people yelled for different reasons—or no reason at all. That’s not your style.

Not expecting anything else from him, you push your chair back, the screeching noise cutting through the tense moment, sending a shiver down your spine.

When Carmen suddenly stands as well, his chair scraping even louder, your heart jumps. You gasp, nearly sick from the fright.

“I—I also came to tell you that I’ll do it,” he stammers. “I’ll do the interview.”

You study him for a moment. Is he serious?

“This isn’t what I want, Carmen,” you say, shaking your head and rubbing your wrist. “Why now?”

“I talked to Syd and the crew. It’s the right thing to do. Right for the restaurant.”

He’s sincere, as far as you can tell. His eyes look huge, and that tortured artist look is back. A martyr. How much does he enjoy playing that role?

“Please, don’t ruin my Zen,” you say quietly, not wanting to return to how you felt a few days ago.

“I’m not interested anymore,” you add, praying Rob won’t find out and fire you. “Dasha will see you out. Or you can take the elevator.” The condescension in your voice is clear, but you’re not sure if Carmen even notices.

—

For the next two days, you decide to work from home and mope. Calling Becky isn’t an option because she would probably go talk to Natalie and tell her everything. The feelings of anger and humiliation are mixing within you, and you don’t know which one makes you more miserable.

When you get back to work, Rob calls you over to his office. Shit, you think.

You walk in with a smile and confidence—fake it till you make it. The usual clutter of papers and magazines is still there, but Rob himself seems unusually animated, almost buzzing with excitement. He waves you in, barely able to contain a grin. “Take a seat,” he says, his tone a little too eager.

You sit down cautiously, trying to gauge what's coming. Rob leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk, and you can see he’s practically bursting to share something. “So, I got a call this morning,” he starts, and you immediately feel a sense of dread creeping in. “It was from Natalie, the manager over at The Bear.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you force yourself to stay composed. You nod, prompting him to continue. “She told me that Carmen Berzatto—yes, that Carmen—wants to do the interview and a photoshoot,” Rob says.

“A—a photoshoot?” you stammer. “Is this the same Carmen Berzatto?” God, you couldn’t imagine Carmen wanting to be a center of attention like that. He would probably die right on the spot.

Rob ignores your snarky remark—as he often does—leaning even closer, his excitement palpable. “And get this—he specifically requested that you be the one to do it.”

He pauses, waiting for your reaction, clearly expecting you to share in his enthusiasm. But all you feel is a mix of shock and apprehension. “Rob, I—” you start, but he cuts you off, too caught up in the moment.

“I mean, this is huge!” he exclaims, practically bouncing in his chair. “The Bear is blowing up, and an exclusive like this could improve all the important numbers for us. And he wants you—he’s insisting on it! Do you have any idea how big this could be for your career?”

You do, of course. An exclusive interview with Carmen could put you on the map in a major way. But all you can think about is that last encounter in the meeting room, the awkwardness, the unresolved tension, and the anger laced in bitterness you thought you had finally let go of. Rob notices your hesitation and softens his tone, though his excitement is still simmering beneath the surface. “Look, I know there’s some history here,” he says, a bit more gently. “But this is a massive opportunity. And honestly, if Carmen wants you specifically, there’s something there. He’s not the type to just pick someone randomly, right?”

You shake your head and swallow hard, your mind racing. The offer is tempting, the kind of opportunity that doesn’t come around often. But it also means facing Carmen again, reopening wounds you thought were starting to heal but ignoring the issue—the healthy way, you think bitterly. But also, you would need to contact Nat and Sydney again about your place in The Bear, which you’ve been putting on hold for a long time now, in internet terms.

Rob senses your inner turmoil and leans back, giving you some space. “I’m not going to pressure you, but I really think you should consider it. We could make this the cover story. It’s that big.”

The room is silent for a moment as Rob waits for your response, his eagerness practically vibrating off him. You’re absolutely sure that if you don’t agree to this project, Rob will ask another editor, or even hire a freelancer. As much as you want to be offended a bit longer, letting it simmer inside you, you also want to do this with The Bear staff. As Natalie must know—this is all her doing, after all, you suppose—the visibility for the restaurant is going to be huge.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Then, you make your decision. “I’ll do it,” you say, your voice firmer than you expected.

Rob’s face lights up instantly. “That’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaims, practically beaming. “I knew you’d come through. This is going to be incredible, I can feel it.”

His enthusiasm reassures you, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel excited, too.

Rob starts rattling off details, already planning how to make this the magazine’s biggest feature yet. “We’ll do a full spread—interview, photoshoot, the works. We can even tie it into some of the broader trends in the culinary world. This could be huge!”

You nod, letting his words wash over you, but part of your mind is still focused on the impending meeting with Carmen. You pretty much sent him to hell. How will you handle this?

“Let’s get the ball rolling,” Rob says, snapping you back to the present. “I’ll coordinate with Natalie to set up the interview. We’ll get the photographer involved, and I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

“Thanks, Rob,” you say, managing a small smile, not mentioning that you will get in touch with Natalie too. “I’ll make sure it’s worth the hype.”

“I have no doubt,” Rob replies confidently. “This is going to be something special.”

As you walk out of his office, the reality of what you just agreed to starts to settle in. You’re going to see Carmen again, face to face, in a setting that’s as personal as it is professional. It’s also a chance to prove to yourself that you can handle it—and maybe even come out stronger on the other side.

The nerves are still there, but so is a newfound resolve. This is your story to tell, and you’re ready to own it.

---

Naturally, you had to tone down your emotions in Rob’s office, as he didn’t know anything about your work you had done for The Bear or the situation with the chef himself. The need to show off your professional skills, both to Rob and Carmen, won. Natalie nearly pisses herself—her words, not yours!—when you confirm the news over the phone. She shares with you that it actually was Carmen’s idea to do the interview, supported by Sydney and Richie and Tina and everyone. The shoot not so much, but he’s gonna do it too, she says, and you can hear the mischievous smile in her voice.

The photoshoot is set to happen in a studio your magazine usually uses for smaller productions, as it’s only Carmen you need to get. Rob informed you that he had sent a photographer to The Bear earlier, so the photos from the place, as well as photos of the team, are already done. You know this from Natalie and Sydney already, who thanked you probably more than a million times for “arranging this,” but in front of Rob, you play guileless.

It’s awfully quiet in the room when you enter, the swinging door swooshing quietly behind you. No wonder. The shoot had to be planned on Sunday—the only day Carmen’s not at work, which has been met with not very enthusiastic responses. There’s no music playing, which is very unusual.

The studio has high ceilings and large windows that let in natural light. It obviously used to be a factory, now rebuilt into a fancy, modern building with that historic edge. You’ve been here a couple of times before.

You spot the photographer, Elena, adjusting her equipment with the precision of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. She smiles at you and you give each other a quick hug. With a shoot this small, there’s no one doing production, as you’re using the magazine’s regular talents. As much as you want to stall, you know that Carmen must be sitting on the make-up chair, very probably freaking out. It’s a bit unpleasant, but the fact that he’s more uncomfortable than you here makes you feel better, helps you calm your nerves down. The situation is similar to the one in the office a few weeks back, and you realize it’s more your confidence than maliciousness.

Your steps echo as you walk around the corner to the make-up and hair spot by one of the big windows. Carmen’s just getting up from the high chair, his posture screaming uneasiness.

“Hi Margot,” you say to the make-up artist with a piercing in her eyebrow. She’s younger than you, so you get why she thinks that the 00’s are so cool, since that’s probably when she was born.

Then the spotlight is on Carmen and you, and it takes you both to the moment when you approached him outside of The Bear months ago.

Carmen stares at you without blinking, probably relieved to see a familiar face, and also terrified, because it’s you. It’s crystal clear he doesn’t know what is appropriate for him to do in this setting.

Deciding quickly, you move towards him, giving him a similar hug as to Elena—quick, light, and impersonal. When you feel his palm press against your lower back fleetingly, the touch immediately makes you shiver, unfortunately not completely in a bad way, but you don’t have the time to ponder.

“I’ve just fixed his hair a bit and covered some bits here and there,” Margot explains, already cleaning her brushes. You notice immediately that Carmen’s curls are more defined and softer looking. He also appears less tired, but that’s surely due to Margo’s concealer magic.

“Thank you, Margo, that’s perfect,” you say as Carmen stands unmoving.

“Carmen just needs to moisturize more,” she adds cheekily, giving Carmen a wink over her shoulder.

You suppress a laugh. You’re absolutely sure Carmen has no idea what moisturizing or face cream means. He’s as lost here as you had been in the Bear's kitchen.

“Uhm—” Carmen makes an unsure noise, his hand reaching up to his hair, but Margo interrupts him:

“No touching!” she says hurriedly. “Not until the end of the shoot.”

You laugh for real now.

“How is it looking, guys?” Elena calls from the other side of the studio, checking on you.

“We’re fine. Carmen’s about to get changed, so you can get ready, El.”

You turn back to Carmen, who’s checking the studio with a mix of hesitance and curiosity. He’s dressed in light blue denim—unusual—and a gray jumper you’ve seen on him before.

“I’ll help,” you assure him. As the stylist is absent, you promised Rob that you would give a hand on the shoot. Besides, some selected garments are meant to be ready, plus you know they had asked Carmen to bring some of his stuff. “Follow me.”

Disappearing behind a screen that creates a changing space with clothes and steamers, you come properly face to face.

“Hey,” you say, unable to think of anything better. Your voice remains steady despite the slight flutter in your chest.

“Hey,” he replies, offering a small, almost uncertain smile. He glances around, taking in the unfamiliar setting. “This is… different.”

“Yeah,” you agree, gesturing to the setup around you. “But it’s all about making you look good.”

Carmen chuckles softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “No pressure, right?”

You smile, unable to play the Ice Queen anymore, and for a moment, the awkwardness between you dissipates. “Let’s get started.”

Carmen glances at you, seemingly reassured by your calm demeanor, even if he’s out of his element. You walk over to the clothes neatly hung on a rack. Immediately, you spot the cool embroidered Bode jackets, simple Carhartt pieces, more tailored Ami Paris clothes. There’s Maharishi and PAM too, probably included by the stylist based on your comment that Carmen likes the workwear style, though they are a bit too colorful.

You tell Carmen a little about every brand, trying to get him out of his head and focus on something else. To give him a taste of the world of magazines, media, and fashion. Similar to what he had done for you in the restaurant—when he was in a mood to talk about his dishes, ideas about combining ingredients, and crafting new flavors.

“What about this?” you suggest, handing him a soft, tan brown Carhartt WIP suede jacket. You know that Carmy knows Carhartt because you’ve seen him in their clothes, and you also know that he’s a big denim head. This garment will also help him not to feel as exposed in front of the camera at the start.

Carmen takes the jacket, his brow furrowing slightly as if he’s analyzing every stitch. He slips it on, and you can’t help but note how well it fits him. Natalie nailed the sizes of his clothes perfectly.

You go wait for him at the spot that Elena has set up, Margo already waiting there too, in case any adjustments to the hair are needed during the shoot. When Carmen finally walks over, Elena gives him a reassuring nod as he takes his place in front of the camera, hands in the jacket’s pockets. You watch from the sidelines, a little amused but mostly impressed at how the whole scene has come together. The large windows bathe the room in soft, natural light, casting shadows that play off the industrial vibe of the studio.

Carmen is nervous—anyone can see that—but he stands tall, doing his best to follow Elena’s quiet directions. You watch the laptop screen from the corner of your eye, where all photos appear after Elena presses the shutter, frame after frame. Carmen’s unease is apparent, and for a second you wonder if this really was such a good idea after all.

After another five painful minutes, it’s clear that it’s not getting better. You share a quick look with Elena and say, “Could you put some music on, girls?” Then, turning to Carmen, you add, “I think we can change the outfit now,” you say easily.

You go back to the styling corner, Carmen following you. When you’re both hidden again, you glance at Carmen whose whole body is stiff, discomfort oozing off him.

“This is really not so bad,” you start, but Carmen shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that would drive Margo mad if she saw it.

“I’m a chef, not… this,” he says, gesturing to the setting. “I’m not supposed to be in front of cameras, doing interviews, pretending like—like I fucking know what I’m doing. This is all bullshit.”

You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to reach him. You’ve seen him under pressure before, but this is different. This isn’t about the restaurant; this is about him feeling out of place, exposed.

“Carmen, you’re right. You’re a chef, and a damn good one,” you say, keeping your tone calm and reassuring. It’s strange to be this way for a person who you’ve only ever seen confident and sure, except for what happened in the office two weeks ago.

“But this is part of it, too,” you carry on, trying to catch Carmen’s eye. “People want to know the person behind the food. They want to see the passion, the creativity. Even the struggle. That’s what makes the Bear special—it’s you.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with doubt. “But what if… what if they see through it? What if they realize I’m just faking it?”

You step closer, close enough to reach out, but you don’t. Instead, you offer him a small, genuine smile. “Then they’ll see that you’re human, just like the rest of us. And that’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect, Carmen.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to steady himself. “I don’t know if I can be that guy.”

“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself,” you reply gently. “And if you’re not feeling it, we can stop. We don’t have to do this. We could just use the pictures from the Bear.”

Carmen opens his eyes and looks at you, something shifting in his expression. It’s still a mix of fear and doubt, but there’s also a flicker of determination. “You really think I can do this?”

“Absolutely,” you confirm with deadly certainty.

The next moment, “1972” by The Smashing Pumpkins starts playing from the speakers in the studio.

Carmen surprises you by taking the initiative and choosing the clothes by himself. You turn when he starts shedding the jacket. Instead, you hang it back on the rack, needing something to do. When the rustling stops, you face the chef again. He’s wearing a pair of vintage Levi’s and a striped sailor crew neck. He looks good in the dark colors.

“Yeah?” he checks, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Yeah,” you nod, hoping it’s not obvious how much you like what you’re seeing. “Yeah.”

Gathering your courage, you reach to roll the sleeves up, exposing Carmen’s forearms, then move up to straighten the seams on his shoulders. You catch his gaze and this time, there’s a flicker of something—perhaps gratitude, or just recognition that you’re both navigating unfamiliar territory. Not just here, on the set, but also between you. You’re discovering another layer of your relationship, perhaps sensing that at this moment, you have the upper hand.

Carmen's expression softens from that tight apprehension to something more open, more trusting. “Thanks,” he says quietly, then looks down at himself, as if trying to imagine how he’ll appear in front of the camera now.

You step back slightly, giving him space, but also giving yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The tension between you feels different than before, less about awkwardness and more like a mutual acknowledgment that neither of you has the playbook for this. And yet, you’re figuring it out together.

“Here,” you point Carmen to a big mirror in the corner, and he checks the reflection.

“I think I like it,” he says after a moment, and you give him a thumbs up, the silly gesture completely honest.

Back on set, with the music playing, the atmosphere lightens. Carmen doesn’t smile, but there’s a shift in the way he carries himself. He seems more settled in his skin, the dark colors enhancing his quiet confidence. Elena notices the difference immediately; she barely needs to give direction this time. He’s still far from relaxed, but there’s an authenticity in the way he stands, his gaze steady.

The photos start to reflect that subtle transformation, and you feel a tremendous sense of relief as you watch them pop up on the screen. Watching him, you feel an odd sense of pride. This isn’t just about Carmen being in front of the camera; it’s about him facing something that makes him uncomfortable and pushing through it, allowing himself to be vulnerable in this position. If you’re completely honest, you’re surprised that he’s willing to go through with this.

Elena seems pleased, giving Carmen a reassuring nod after every few clicks of the camera. When she finally steps back and lowers her lens, you see Carmen visibly exhale, tension easing from his frame.

“That was good,” Elena praises, glancing at the screen. “We’ve got some solid shots here.”

Carmen looks over, seemingly a little surprised, like he wasn’t quite sure it had gone as well as she said. “See?” you say, nudging him gently. “You nailed it.”

Carmen gives you a small, genuine smile this time. “Maybe,” he says, scratching the back of his head, messing up his styled hair.

After the third outfit change, Rob shows up, as planned, alongside the magazine’s publisher. As this had been arranged before the shoot, you hope it doesn’t throw Carmen off balance too much.

Luckily, Carmen slips into his professional chef mode as Rob greets him, calling him “Chef,” and thanking him sincerely for the opportunity. Rob shoots you a happy grin over Carmen’s shoulder.

The final outfit is dark gray tailored wool pants and a simple white tee, similar to what you know as Carmen’s daily uniform—probably why he chose it. You suggest adding a nice leather belt with a silver clasp to complete the look. Elena positions Carmen on a high stool this time, changing angles and perspectives.

For the first time today, Carmen looks truly at ease, despite the additional onlookers. You know Rob is looking for the perfect shot for next month’s cover.

Elena captures a few more shots before lowering her camera. “That’s it! We’re done,” she announces, a smile of satisfaction on her face. “Carmen, you did amazing.”

Carmen slides off the stool, his shoulders visibly relaxing as the weight of the shoot lifts. He looks over at you, a small, almost sheepish grin playing at his lips. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

You laugh softly, walking over to him. “Told you. You nailed it.”

Rob joins you and Carmen. “Chef, you were great today,” he says, clapping Carmen on the shoulder. “Can’t wait to see the final shots.”

Carmen nods, clearly more comfortable now that the shoot is over. “Thanks, Rob. I appreciate it.”

Rob turns to you with a grin. “You too. Thanks for making this happen.”

You nod, feeling a bit of pride at how smoothly things turned out. You’re careful not to jinx it—after all, the interview is still looming in the second half of the day, after you’ve had something to eat.

For the interview, you and Carmen sit down in a corner of the studio that’s been set up to look more intimate—two chairs facing each other with a small table in between. Your notebook rests on your lap. Elena is supposed to take a few shots of the formal interview, and now it’s your turn to be nervous. Very nervous.

You did an extensive amount of research and preparation for the article, keeping in mind your personal history with Carmen. He’s not just another personality you’re interviewing. He’s a guy you once knew. A chef at whose restaurant you had worked, or volunteered. These facts leave you feeling like you’re balancing on a thin rope, and you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how to approach the interview. In the end, you decide to let Carmen set the tone. He could keep it personal or strictly professional.

“How did you enjoy the shoot?” you ask with a mischievous smile, starting off lightly. You don’t need to check your notes for that.

Carmen smiles, rubbing his lips with his fingers. “It was a new, interesting experience. I’m afraid I wasn’t very good, but I hope you’ll be able to find a couple of decent images.”

“And one excellent for the cover,” you add, careful not to interrupt him.

Out of habit and nervousness, you adjust the recorder on the table between you, making sure it’s on. Then you glance at your notes.

“When we met in Copenhagen ten years ago, you were staging at Noma. How do you look back on those times—when you were at the beginning of your journey but already experiencing the kitchens of the world’s best restaurants?”

It takes a moment before Carmen responds. “I was very young and very lucky. I took every opportunity that came my way, worked hard—harder than most—to learn and grow, and hopefully to stand out.” Carmen’s words are measured, careful. “Noma was my first experience outside the US, and it was intimidating. But also—it’s an incredibly peaceful and inspiring place. I loved every moment there. It also helped that I knew someone familiar in Copenhagen. That definitely made me feel less alone.”

You catch yourself staring, a warm feeling spreading through your chest—liquid heat filling every corner. You imagine this is what drinking Felix Felicis must feel like. You smile, and Carmen returns it with a quick smile of his own.

Clearing your throat, you prepare for the real questions, the ones that have to live up to everyone’s expectations—Rob’s, Carmen’s, and mostly your own. As the interview progresses, you feel a shift in the atmosphere. The initial tension has faded, replaced by a sense of collaboration. You’re both here for the same reason: to tell a story that matters.

You ask Carmen about his journey in the culinary world, the chefs he’s worked with, and the chefs he looks up to. You discuss diligence, innovation, and respect. You briefly touch on the topic of Michael and Carmen’s family, letting him decide how much he wants to share.

“You can be more or less fortunate with the starting position you get in life. That’s out of your hands. But the rest is in your hands. There’s no point in thinking about how others might have it easier—it will only paralyze you, trust me. You have to focus on what you can do, what you can change. Take the little you have and turn it into everything you have. Be proud of it. Stand up for yourself. Value yourself, but also others.”

His words are thoughtful, and you can tell he’s reflecting deeply.

There’s a pause, and you realize he’s waiting for your next question. You nod, acknowledging the weight of his words. Carmen answered everything with a mix of humility and passion, offering you—and the audience—glimpses of the person behind the chef: the struggles, the doubts, the relentless drive to succeed.

You glance at your notes, then back at him.

“That’s it. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to share a glimpse of your life and The Bear’s story with Taste readers,” you say, finishing with a cheeky smirk, hoping Carmen knows you’re sincere.

Carmen chuckles at your tone. “Thank you for having me,” he replies, smiling with that familiar mix of modesty and quiet strength. “It was a pleasure to talk. Hopefully, your readers won’t be too bored.”

You laugh lightly, shaking your head. “I doubt that. If anything, they’ll be more intrigued than ever. You’ve got a story people want to hear—and not just about the food.”

He raises an eyebrow, studying you. "Well, that’s good to hear."

You stand up and reach out to shake his hand, a gesture of thanks and closure. He takes it, his grip firm but gentle. Then Rob approaches with more handshakes and thanks, joined by Mrs. Sullivan—the publisher. You quietly slip away, not wanting to disturb their networking, and head over to thank Elena and Margot, who have already packed up their gear while you were interviewing Carmen.

“You guys are cute together,” Margot teases, winking at you. “I didn’t know you actually knew him knew him.”

You absolutely do blush, and Elena adds, “Totally,” giving you a sly grin. “He IS cute.”

“You should see him in the kitchen,” you grumble, shoving your notebook into your tote bag to hide your flushed face.

Suddenly, Carmen appears next to you, having parted ways with Rob and Mrs. Sullivan, who likely have better things to do on a Sunday. “You did good,” he says quietly, almost as an afterthought, as if offering reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

Your chest warms again with that liquid heat, a mix of pride and gratitude blooming. You offer him one last, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Carmen,” you reply softly.

“Actually,” he begins, looking nervous again, hands on his hips, “I—I wanted to talk to you. If you have time now?”

He glances back at Rob, but the man is nowhere to be seen, already gone. Carmen nods, seeming relieved.

“Lead the way.”

—

The weather’s been sweltering lately, the sun heating up the city’s concrete walls, asphalt roads, and stone pavements until it feels like being in a big kiln. Luckily, the coffee shop has air conditioning, which both Carmen and you welcome. They are offering unusual caffeine drinks—most of them including something fruity and milky. Carmen orders a Coke with ice without checking the menu, and you go for an iced blueberry matcha latte.

“Thank you for—” Carmen says when he’s seated properly, across from you once again.

“Really, that’s enough of the thanks,” you wave him off, but Carmen talks over you, “For respecting that I wanna keep some things private. During the interview.”

“Ah,” you nod slowly. “You know, normally I would send all the questions for authorization first,” you tell him truthfully, stirring your drink with the thin paper straw, mixing the green matcha with the milk froth and the purple syrup. “I wanted to be a bit nasty.”

It’s Carmen’s turn to slowly nod, once. “I see,” he says. “I’m not surprised, honestly.”

You fiddle with the collar of your cotton blouse nervously.

“I appreciate that you had my back today,” Carmen continues. “It means a lot to me, you know?”

Not used to hearing kind words from Carmen, you find it hard to look at him directly, so you keep staring into your drink instead. “I think I do.”

As if sensing your hesitation, Carmen gives you a second before he asks:

“So, you have a thing for clothes, huh? Fashion, I mean.”

“As you do,” you shoot back playfully but honestly.

“I guess I enjoy the aesthetic aspect of it… I really liked some of the clothes today. It was nice to try something new. I’m not very good at new things,” he muses. “I liked the dress you wore in your office the other day. You looked—different,” Carmen adds uncertainly, playing with the napkin under the sweaty glass.

“I don’t wear dresses very often,” you stammer out, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “And in the restaurant, I wanted to be in something that can get dirty. So… not too fancy clothes.”

Carmen notices how caught off guard you are right now.

“I wanted to bring up the topic of what happened at your work,” he explains slowly, hesitantly. “And what happened at The Bear before that… A lot of the aggression comes from my own frustration. And I shouldn’t take it out on other people. Like I said, there’s no excuse for it.”

You squirm in your seat, nervous to talk about the topic out loud for the first time. “It’s hard, Carm. First, you pretend you don’t know me. Then you barely talk to me. Then I feel like we’re actually starting to get along well, but you accuse me of this huge nonsense. All the while, I’m only trying to help you.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because I don’t know how to respond to kindness.”

Your eyes fill up with tears, and you have to blink a couple of times to chase them away. You take a deep breath, your chest expanding with it. Carmen’s sitting still on the stool, looking like a schoolboy who had misbehaved during recess.

“Be kind to kind,” you say simply, spreading your hands, your eyebrows raising.

Carmen chuckles, sounding very self-deprecating, scratching his nose. “I’m working on it.”

He might think you’ll let it slide. You won’t. “Promise,” you press, urgent. “Promise me.”

His eyes meet yours, and he says it. “I promise.” Then once more, in a stronger voice: “I promise. And I’m sorry.” And your heart breaks for him because you know he’s never known much kindness.

“Deal.” To keep your hands occupied, you take out your chewing gum, wrapping it in an empty sugar packet. Then you raise your iced latte in a mock toast, taking a first sip of the drink.

“Just... be careful with the 'nasty' part,” Carmen says with a slight grin, breaking the tension. “I don’t think either of us needs more of that.”

You chuckle. “Fair enough. I’ll try to keep the nastiness in check.”

Carmen smirks, shaking his head as he relaxes back into his chair. “I appreciate that.”

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