#blocking someone on ao3 isn't enough

[foxhole-pipe-dream]

...

[motthe]

there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds

ཐིཋྀ thunderbolts caught me with a bob-shaped hole in my heart.

warnings: spoilers from thunderbolts, super!reader, fem!reader, not sure if I'll make a bunch of parts or even finish this idea so be warned, gonna go ahead and say canon-divergent to save my ass bc im no marvel expert.

masterlist | ao3

You weren't built for battle—the powers you had were more defense based than anything—but you had been trained by the best of the best. The countless lessons left your survival skills above subpar, and maybe you could make use of your size and strangle a man twice it, but those things didn't make you a hero.

And being around so many of them for so long, it's disturbingly easy to start to feel useless.

“Born or cursed?”

You didn't remember who had asked it. You do remember you had been younger, that you'd been more or less adopted into the world of the Avengers without ever truly being thrown into it. Wanda and Natasha had been your everything, especially when it came to helping with your powers. Between the supernatural and the mental side, they had done wonders.

Sitting around and not making use of yourself would be spitting on their memory, so it wasn't long before you were dragged into government business. Reading minds was handy, but picking apart memories? Entering their psyche?

You were gold to detectives and last resort for men in black suits who would “talk” to criminals if you didn't.

The work had drained enough from you by the time Bucky showed up on your doorstep with a bottle of liquor and a favor.

“This isn't what I do,” you told him, looking over the files. “I'm not a therapist or a teacher. If Void is as powerful as you say it is—”

“It can be beaten,” he explained. “We've done it before. I just need you to help Bob block it out. You know how to do that.”

“With other people's thoughts,” you argued.

He shook his head. “You suppress memories. You put them into neat little boxes for your agent work.”

“You want me to make him forget something that dangerous?”

“I want you to show him he's not alone when it comes to this side of superpowers.” Bucky stood, a warm hand coming down on your shoulder and squeezing. “We've all been scattered. It's a shit team, the New Avengers, but it's something, kid.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, Bucky,” you sighed.

“I know. Wouldn't be asking you for your help if you were.”

The door shut to your apartment in farewell, but one visit from the Winter Soldier had too many opening at once. Flashes of earth's most mightiest heroes, of old friends, dead friends, missing ones.

Getting dragged back into that mess was asking for trouble.

Sipping on free alcohol, you flip through the packet of Robert “Bob” Reynolds. Sweet face, fucked past, and a far more fucked psyche for the powers he'd revealed in the last hit on New York.

Cursed, you decided by the end of your research, frowning as a picture slipped free. The New Avengers were definitely a ragtag group. Bucky was the only one you knew, Yelena you learned more than enough about through Nat digging around her head one time too many. Alexei Shostakov as well, but he was easy to pick apart at one glance. Anything revolving around Ava Starr and John Walker was rumors or passed down the grapevine.

Your phone vibrated. Checking it drew a deep line between your eyebrows. Someone was asking for another questioning, this time through the mind of a rampant serial killer in Chicago. They didn't have enough on him.

You leaned into your hands, sighing.

Across the block at a red-light, Bucky glanced at his phone and smiled as he read over the text.

“I need to meet him before I agree to this.”

The light flicked green.

The Watchtower was a shadow of the place you used to know. Repairs were still being made leaving people crawling on every floor but the top level had been finished for two weeks now, leaving the New Avengers with their shared space.

Bucky had promised the team would be out when you arrived, save for Bob. As it was quiet when the elevator door opened, you were glad to see he'd kept that promise.

“Welcome back,” he called, walking up.

“Which room did you snag?” you scoffed, eyeing the decor. Minimalist, neutral tones. Far greyer than the old room you remembered.

“The biggest.” He said it like it was obvious. Maybe it should've been.

Hearing movement, you both turned as a shadow passed by the windows. The hunched shoulders were a dead giveaway, soft eyes flittering between the floor and you as the young man stepped down.

Bob wore a dark blue sweater that drowned his figure and dark jeans. His hair was still a shaggy length and dark brown from the recent pictures you'd seen. By all accounts, he looked normal, but the anxiety flowed off him in waves that crashed against your head.

His mind extends way beyond others.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, clearing his throat. “You're, uh, Bucky's friend?”

You introduced yourself, stepping forward to offer your hand. He was quick to step back even across the room, body tensing.

“Wait, don't. I'm not sure if I—”

“When's the last time you transported someone into a shame room?”

The shock on his face had you glancing at Bucky for answers.

“Last week,” he said, crossing his arms. “Nothing super dangerous. Uncomfortable, but we get a lot of repeats so we break off easily enough.”

“Wait, so how much do you already know?” Bob asked, arms wrapping around himself.

“Enough,” you and Bucky respond.

Bob sighed, head nodding along as he turned away. “Great, guess that makes it easier.”

“I wouldn't say that; you're guarded now.” You moved closer, keeping your steps slow and your hands behind your back. Bob remained tense but didn't shy away. “Bucky called me here to see if I could help you, but I came here to see if you even want it.”

“Well, uh…” he swallowed, head bowing.

Do you want my help? His eyes flashed wide, breath catching as he looked up. You kept your expression neutral as you raised a brow. Do you? This will only work if you want to put in the effort.

“Can you see everything?”

You fought not to smile at the childish awe in his voice as it echoed back to you. I'm not looking. I'm listening.

A series of curses and panicked background commentary had you laughing.

I've heard and seen a lot. Honestly, don’t worry about it.

“That's easy for you to say,” Robert grumbled. “I cant control my thoughts like you can.”

“Would you like to?”

“It's not that I don't want your help,” he said, hands tangling into his sweater. “I just don't want to hurt anyone again. A lot of people… Some don't snap out of what I make them see. It's bad.”

“I have faith in my mental state,” you assured him. “Mental barriers, especially. I need to see just how powerful you are, though. Because if you get past mine, that means I'll be training you through trial and error. It's risky but it's not impossible.”

Bob looked to Bucky. “Do you think that's a good idea?”

Your old friend shrugged. “I brought her in because she's good at what she does. Whatever she wants to do, I have to trust it's the right decision.”

“I could hurt her!” Bob breathed and looked back to you. “I could hurt you really, really bad. Are you sure you know what you're signing up for?”

“I read through your files. I saw the extent of your powers and the aftermath of the accident,” you explained. “I'm prepared to help you with all things mental and psychic, but trust has to go both ways.”

You raised your hand again. He flinched, shuffling back.

“You want to help me now. What if that changes?” he whispers. “What if you see what it's really like and it scares you?”

“We won't know unless we try.” You took a step. Hand outstretched.

Bob looked at Bucky again, as if waiting to see if anyone would disagree. Whatever he searched for wasn't there.

He sighed and met your gaze. Pale blue eyes, you noted, with colors shifting around the pupil.

“Okay,” he nodded, holding up a shaky hand. The skin was bitten raw around his nails, skin dry but warm. The moment you felt it, there was a pressure against your mental shields. You could see the darkness clouding around you, searching for a way in, but you held firm.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, arm trembling as he stood there. His eyes were closed, head turned away.

You smiled, holding in a laugh as you used your other hand to grab his. “I'm fine, Bob. You're definitely powerful.”

“But you didn't see anything?” he said, eyeing where you were joined.

“I've had years to work on my mental barriers. You can't breach what doesn't have an entrance.” You squeezed his hand. “This is a really good sign. I'm going to have to let you in at some point to see just how potent your power is, but we'll work up to that.”

“You really don't see anything?” he whispered, hope rising in his expression as he searched your gaze.

“Just you,” you promised, unable to keep from smiling. “We'll have to work on your projection. Your thoughts are…loud.”

His face flushed red as he pulled away, sputtering an apology. There was some halfass excuse about the bathroom as he fled. Bucky stepped up to fill the empty space.

“What was he thinking?”

“None of your business,” you chuckled. “You got a guest room for me?”

But you had to admit you were flattered. Mens’ thoughts usually came up with the same descriptions for you at first glance. All your life you'd been met with disgusting thoughts and hateful opinions or plain “hot” and “sexy.”

This might've been the first time a man had ever thought of you as “radiant” before.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Task Force 141 Imagines & What If... Series: Masterlist

Note:This is the primary Task Force 141 Imagines & What If Series masterlist. You can find the secondary masterlist with additional prompts HERE.

Requests: OPEN

To submit a request, please send me an ask. Anon and non-anon are fine. I will not accept requests sent via direct message or in comments on posts.

All requests will be fulfilled for Task Force 141 which include Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap. Specification of who and who isn't included in the prompt will result in me deleting the ask. For example, if you send in a prompt but only want it fulfilled for three out of the four members, it will not be fulfilled.

Requests are allowed to add one additional character but only if they are part of 141 in some capacity. For example, you can send in an imagines request for 141 + Alejandro. You are not allowed to send in a request for 141 + König. Non-141 requests should be sent in as a headcanon or quick write request.

Not specifying that you are sending an imagines/what if request will push your request into the headcanon/quick write queue.

I reserve the right to deny any request. Sending in requests that violate my boundaries will be deleted without notification and will result in a block (if sent non-anon). I reserve the right to change an imagines request into a headcanon or quick write request.

Repeat requests happen. If I have several requests that are extremely similar, I will group them all under one post. Requests sent that repeat already fulfilled requests will be deleted.

Clarification is absolutely allowed and encouraged. Please don't hesitate to reach out if you have questions.

ao3 // main masterlist

Posted Prompts:

Kitchen Quickies

Worm

Don't Move

Hand Necklace

What are We?

By the Belt

Break Up With Your Toxic Boyfriend (Preview)

Break Up With Your Toxic Boyfriend (Main)

Break Up With Your Toxic Boyfriend (Bonus)

Clumsy

Just Like Dad

The Obsessed Ex-Husband

Sensitive // Sensitive (ii)

Can't Risk Losing You

Overheard Confession // Overheard Confession (ii)

Hickey // Hickey (ii)

Transfer

Husband/Boyfriend // Boyfriend/Husband

Morning After

Morning After (Alejandro Bonus)

Flowers

Bullied

Premium Air

Not Easy

Last Name

Need

Who Did This?

Grey Sweatpants

Translation

Dad Line

Sit Down // Sit Down (ii)

Spicy Texts

In the Rain

Officer

Secret Baby

Safe Word

Stag Night

Phone Call

One Bed

First "Love You"

Leave the Room

Bumps

Shut It

Unhinged

Chase

Brazilian Wax

Sparring Session

Magic Mike

Scary

Trying

Piercings

Someone Else

Bigger Portion

Crush

Uniform On

Uniform On (Alejandro Bonus)

On Holiday

Alternative

Period Cramps

Enough

Singing Voice

Bratty Attitude

K.I.A.

Struggle

Virgin

In Denial

Under the Bed

Knock

Papi

I'm Your Husband

Captive

Accidental Text

Towel, Off

Lunchbox

Fake Knife

Phone Prank

Make Out

Counter Prank

Is It In?

Butterflies

Faking It

Match My Freak

Contractions

Touch It

Find More Imagines Prompts Here

[libbybee]

A ROGUE'S TOUCH — SA

◜pairing: astarion ⨯ fem!rogue!reader ◜rating: MDNI 18+ ┊ wc: 2.8K ◜cw: porn without plot, masturbation [F], neck kissing, sweet-dirty talk, semi-public, overstimulation.

▹ summary. trapped in a goblin fortress, you and astarion stumble upon a locked door blocking your path. though you're inexperienced with lockpicking, astarion insists you try, offering a hands-on 'lesson' that quickly turns into a distraction.

A/N. english isn't my native language, sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

AO3 ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ PLAYLIST

‎

The air was dense in the goblin’s fortress with the smell of decay and their gross scent.

Every step you took echoed too loudly in the quiet silence of the hallway as you looked for a way to get out, making you almost tremble due to the fear of being discovered. Astarion was a silent, ghostlike presence beside you, with his hand near the hilt of his dagger to strike at any moment if necessary—always prepared. You envied how easy he made this all seem.

You both halted in front of a heavy wooden door, its iron reinforcements dark and covered in rust. It was imposing, with an ornate lock gleaming against the faint light cast by the candlelight.

“This should be the way forward.” He murmured while his crimson eyes narrowed, studying the lock. “Unfortunately, it's blocked. We’ll have to pick it.”

You looked at him. “We? I don’t know how to pick locks.”

He smiled arrogantly, his lips sharply as a blade. “Oh, but you'll learn. It's a skill every adventurer should master, darling. Besides…” He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a delicate set of lockpicks and placing them into your open palm. “I insist.”

You glanced back the way you both came. The thought of learning now while someone—or something—may find you both made you feel more anxious. “This isn’t the time for—”

“Trust me. I’ll guide you.” His expression turned serious as he cut your words.

With a sigh, you crouched in front of the lock, feeling uncertain as you inserted the pick into its mechanism. The metal was harsh and unfamiliar in your hands, and you felt your mind block as you had no idea what you had to do. Behind you, Astarion kneeled close enough for you to feel his chest against your back, then he placed his hands on your hips to steady you.

“Relax, darling. You’re trembling.” He whispered against your ear; his voice close to you was enough to send a cool shiver down your neck. “Here. Let me show you.” He settled his left hand over yours, his fingers firm but kind as they enveloped yours around the lockpick. Slowly, he guided your hand, moving the pick precisely until a soft click occurred. Your movements felt fluid thanks to him, instinctive, like he could do this while sleeping.

Meanwhile, his other hand slid from your hip to your thigh as if trying to calm your nerves, trailing his fingers with a light touch that sent a tingling along your body. He lingered just for a moment before gliding inward to the delicate spot between your thighs. The pressure was subtle at first—a teasing drag of his fingertips that shifted into measured rubs over your pussy. He made the constant friction soft, and his breath remained steady, as if he weren’t just breaking the deadly tension of the moment only by touching you.

“You’ll feel a slight resistance—there, do you feel it?” His voice was a low murmur, velvety smooth and calm, while his fingers guided yours on the lockpick, moving with ease, coaxing the mechanism to yield. All this should have been instructional—his control, his preciseness—but his intentions betrayed him.

With the other hand, he shifted a bit higher to deftly undo the button of your trousers, slipping beneath the waistband of the slackened fabric with sinful fluidity. Just to find with his fingertips the delicate heat of your core against your panties, brushing with a feathery touch while still guiding your attempts. His stimulation seemed to mock the skill he demonstrated with the lock.

Your hips leaned involuntarily into his hand as your fingers stumbled with the lockpick. “Astarion—” You managed, with a tense tone of warning and plea.

“Shh,” he quieted you. “Pay attention, darling. This is important.”

A shudder ran through you. “How am I supposed to—”

“Focus?” He finished for you, his smirk clearly perceptible as he kept his stroking on you. “I wouldn’t want to make this too easy for you, now, would I?”

Your thighs clenched around his wrist, but he only scoffed at your futile attempt to stop him with a low tongue click. Dipping his fingers effortlessly beneath the final barrier of fabric, he found your clit and began tracing lazy circles around your bud. He made every movement the perfect combination of pressure and pattern, played with terrible skill for that moment, stripping away the fragile threads of focus you tried to cling to.

The tools trembled in your hands as the mechanism refused to cooperate; each time you thought you had the pin in place, his fingers rubbed harder and faster against your delicate clit. A sharp jolt of pleasure radiated through you, making your grip falter and the aching throbs he elicited sending your concentration scattering like leaves in a blustering breeze.

You slipped more of the lockpick in the lock while his other hand rested just over yours to 'guide' you. The brush of his cool fingertips on your knuckles was a stark contrast to the heat he was building in your pussy. He got lower, circling the entrance of your wet folds and tracing your slit to your clit again with infuriating slowness with his slender fingers, never giving you the satisfying sensation of more.

“Mmm, feel that?” He hummed lowly, his voice like a sensual caress against your ear, making you hold your breath when he finally pushed his middle finger inside. The intrusion slow and gradual.

You tried once more to adjust the angle as his finger curled within you to stroke your G-spot while using his thumb to massage your clit, coaxing your pelvis to rub involuntarily against his hand until your lips allowed a weak moan you barely managed to suppress.

A soft click echoed in the quiet hallway at the same time, but it wasn’t the one you were hoping for. The lock didn’t open—yet it gave another subtle shift, a hint of close to open but just out of reach.

“Ah, there it is. Feel how it responds?” He whispered. “It’s all about finding the right angle… and knowing when to push with the right touch.”

“Astarion!” You wailed quietly, tightening your grip on the lockpick in frustration.

“Yes, my sweet?” He purred with wicked satisfaction while he kept sinking his finger inside you. He was meticulous in that tortuous slowness, as if to intensify the sensation—each push deeper than the last, never fully withdrawing, only ever teasing you with a rhythm that made it impossible to think of anything but him.

“Am I distracting you?” His whispers were like a lover's touch against your ear, just low enough to be heard. His left hand moved to orient yours with an almost cruel precision, ensuring the lockpick remained poised at the exact angle needed. The parallel was impossible to ignore—the skilful manipulation of the lock imitated the careful stimulation he exerted on your pussy too well.

The cold, damp air of the fortress did nothing to diminish the heat flooding your body as his uninvited finger penetrated deeper inside you. It wasn’t just the intrusive pressure; it was the rhythm of each gradually increasing thrust that made everything else—everything else—fade into the background. Your walls clenched around him subconsciously, desperate but bound by the task at hand. The lock was still before you, and it felt a thousand times more impossible to manipulate; its intricate mechanism was a cold contrast against the warmth he was unleashing.

“I can’t—” You whispered, trembling with frustration and the torment he inflicted.

He chuckled lowly against the sensitive curve of your ear—that characteristic smell of his so close. Then you felt his lips when he planted a soft kiss on your neck, kissing over your pulse. “Oh, but you can,” he murmured, dulcet with a dangerous edge, more of a command than a guarantee. “All you need to do is focus, sweetheart… We’ll be here all night if you don’t.”

Before you could even think of anything else, a second finger plunged inside you with distressing slowness, stretching you further than before. The suddenness of it made the grip on the lockpick falter, and in a second, the tool slipped, falling with a soft clatter against the cold stone floor—a noise that rang out too loudly in the silence, mocking your failure.

His fingers inside you curled deeply to intentionally touch against that sweet, sensitive spot that made you jerk in response, pressing your hips into his hand. Your mind screamed at you to focus, but the feeling of being filled just by so little of him—how he was ruining you so, so easily—was enough to make you want more despite the circumstances.

The quiet atmosphere of your deadly situation was impossible to ignore; every sound, every movement, was amplified in this repugnant place. Yet the danger lurking in the shadows—of goblins, of discovery—disappeared, insignificant against the relentless storm he was creating within you. The fortress could collapse around you, and yet all you could think of was the feelings of your body and the way he manipulated your senses.

Panic twisted inside you as you pressed your hand against your mouth, trying to muffle the frustrated moans that slipped past your trembling lips. But even with your palm tightly pressed, the sound still quivered through your fingers.

His left hand shot out to seize your wrist and yanked your hand from your mouth. “Not a chance, love.”

You bit down hard on your lip, forcing yourself to steady the tremors in your hands as you reached down to retrieve the lockpick from the cold stone floor.

As your fingers closed around the lockpick again, you heard his voice. “My sweet, good girl…” His praise was syrupy, sweet. “You need to be more careful, darling; you’re rushing. Be patient… and it will open up to you, just like you want.”

All he said was simply meant to provoke you and keep you on edge, and you could feel the unnoticeable giggles radiating off him, knowing exactly how to needle you. Every part of him was a temptation—his touch, his voice, his nearness—all aimed at luring you further. But you weren’t giving in. Not now. You would finish this—despite him.

His fingers dug in even deeper, inching inside you with an excruciating pace. Each thrust seemed to draw a little more from you, his knuckles rubbing against your inner walls as he fucked you, stretching your entrance. His palm ground against your clit with every thrust—a hot, torturous, constant sensation. It was all you could feel, making your resolve shudder and your pelvis act defenceless against his attack.

A quick, focused motion brought your fingers back to the lockpick, pressing down with the right amount of force. Another click—a momentary release of tension, but not enough. The mechanism was still holding firm, teasing you with its near surrender.

“That’s it,” he murmured, so softly, so mocking, almost cruel in its dulcet tone. “You’re doing so well… but you need to be more gentle, darling. Focus.”

A curse hissed through your teeth, frustration pooling as you tried to steady your hands, but they faltered again. Behind you, he was watching with that infuriating smile still playing at the corners of his lips, with no kindness in his gaze and only cold satisfaction and desire.

And then he moved.

Instead of offering aid, he thrust into you with an angrier that made your channel clench roughly around him. Pulling each inch of his fingers from you, only to push back in quickly to the level of making lewd sounds despite your clothing as he kept curling his fingers.

“Trying to hurry through this, love?” He purred against your skin. “If you rush, you’ll only make it worse.” His thumb found your clit then again to start drawing tight, fast circles that had your lips parted in a breathless whimper before you could choke it back. He only smiled as if your weakness was the most delicious thing he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing.

He withdrew with slow elegance, only to slam back into you abruptly, pushing you closer to the edge with those relentless motions. The lock you’d been desperately trying to manipulate felt more distant with each passing second; each twist of the lockpick seemed more futile now, slipping through your fingers as the growing tension between your legs coiled tighter.

But then his other hand established yours again; the contrast was jarring. He guided it with an unexpected tenderness, positioning your fingers with precision, as if you were both playing a riskier game, the stakes higher than ever.

“You’re close.” Astarion murmured, a low growl as his fingers sped up. The strokes against your clit were like fire and ice in one—a storm of sensations that jolted through your cunt. The pressure inside you was building, unbearable, a crescendo that left you teetering.

“You’re so close, my love…” His voice was a throaty hum against your ear, brushing it with his lips. The heat of his breath lingered, teasing, coaxing, before he lowered his mouth to trail tender, messy kisses down your neck. His lips were soft, but the pressure increased as he pressed a sloppy kiss just beneath your jaw, then dragged his tongue across your skin.

A flicker of desire curled in your stomach as he nipped at your pulse, the warmth of his mouth contrasting with the cold air around you. Grazing his fangs lightly over the sensitive spot just beneath your ear before he licked a languid path up from the base of your neck, tasting you with an intensity that made you feel weaker.

“You’ve done so well…” he purred. “Don’t stop now.”

Your jaw clenched, a low tremor racing through your hips as they kept rubbing against his hand. You were desperate to stay focused and finish the task at hand, but the thrusts of his fingers and the stimulation on your clit sent waves of fiery heat through your core, making you ache with need. You could feel the lockpick slipping again, sliding out of your grip, threatened by the chaos swirling in your mind. It was an impossible challenge.

His other hand curled around your trembling fingers, the pressure of his grip forcing your hand to move, to continue. Your fingers shook as you slipped more of the pick into the door lock. His fingers—those long, skilled digits—pushed deeper, faster, finding a tempo that was both hard and euphoric.

Your body reacted without your consent, being consumed by the pleasure he was drawing from you. His thumb stimulated your clit with rapid, exasperating circles over your sensitive bud, just about driving you mad with desire. Your grip trembled as Astarion’s fingers curled with each swift thrust; he didn’t even give you a moment to adjust. He didn’t allow a single breath to escape your lips without pushing you closer to a breaking point, as his pace was unforgiving and fast, never slowing down.

And then, just as the lock felt completely impossible to open, your guided hands finally twisted it into place. You barely registered the decisive click, though; you were too caught up in the chaos of sensations until the pressure inside you exploded.

Your pussy convulsed and clenched around his fingers as you lowered your head and shut your eyes, while a sharp cry escaped your lips as your orgasm tore through you, crashing every nerve. Astarion didn’t stop, didn’t relent, keeping his rhythm as he milked every last spurt of your juices with his hand, keeping you pinned against his chest. Both with his hand now on your neck and his fingers working tirelessly between your thighs to prolong your release and make it last far longer.

Once it was settling over, your body and your legs still quivered in the aftermath, and you leaned firmly against him for support. His fingers remained inside you, savouring the way your walls fluttered and vibrated weakly around them, as if you were reluctant to let go. But he finally withdrew slowly, leaving you achingly aware of just how thoroughly he’d unravelled you.

“Bravo, my sweet,” he murmured, his tone a low, smug purr as he brought his lips teasingly to your ear. “You managed to unlock it. I’ll admit… I’m rather impressed.”

“You… you’re impossible.” You whispered harshly, breathless, while you gave him back his tools.

“And you’re adorable.” He replied smoothly, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek as he guarded them in his pocket.

You shot him a look that could kill him, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with the buttons of your trousers to quickly button them. “You could have done that in half the time…”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” he said with a lazy shrug, straightening as he rose and offered you his hand. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You glared at his outstretched hand before begrudgingly taking it.

“Now,” he said as he helped you to your feet, “come along. We’ve wasted enough time.”

The faint sparkle in his eyes and the way his smirk lingered just a touch too long made you wonder if this had been his plan all along.

‎

[ak1chi]

Obsessed with his birdie. Magic recognized you as his mate.

Warnings: MDNI, fem!reader (afab!reader), yandere behavior, blood, OOC, the reader is assumed to be an adult (19-20+ years old), age difference, teacher/student, unrequited feelings, english is not my native language.

Introductory part on ao3.

—Imagine me and you, I do

[Song: Slothrust - Happy Together]

I think about you day and night

It's only right to think about the girl you love

And hold her tight, so happy together...

I cannot see me lovin' nobody but you for all of my life

When I'm with you, baby

The skies will be blue for all of my life...

As he looked through the documents, Crowley could only sigh wearily. He wouldn’t have even touched the stack of papers collecting dust on his desk for days, but in his opinion, the cruel Trein-sensei had shoved yet another pile of documents into his face and kicked him out of his classroom when Crowley, as usual, tried to insert his two cents into the teachers' lessons. Grumbling, he decided to get to work after all.

Crowley hadn’t even known there had been a fight between students, which resulted in a broken window in one of the classrooms.

"If only my birdie were here to help me with this..." Crowley muttered into the empty room, though it sounded more like a complaint than a wish.

But suddenly, he stiffened when he felt someone pass through one of his magical barriers. It took him a few more seconds to realize exactly which barrier had been breached—the one around the entire college, the one around Ramshackle Dorm (which he had set up for your safety), or... the barrier placed around the restricted section of the library.

That one caught his attention. Usually, only teachers and Crowley himself had access to that area, and the barrier was meant to prevent someone without magic from entering—specifically, you. He had done it not only to stop you from searching for a way home but also to ensure that magical books wouldn’t harm you. Isn't he kind?

Crowley shot up from his chair, leaving the half-read document behind, grabbed his cane, and, with a smooth swing, teleported straight to the library.

"Well, well, Prefect, isn't the library supposed to be closed?" Crowley smiled, leaning on his cane and blocking your path further into the restricted section. He was angry, but he hid it well. His frustration was directed more at himself for failing to set up a proper barrier than at you.

You flinched in fear, clutching Grim so tightly that even in his own fright, he grumbled in protest.

“Headmage Crowley?!” you exclaimed, not expecting the man to appear right in front of you.

"Oh, my apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you, but you really shouldn't be here," Crowley said smoothly before effortlessly scooping you up—Grim included—into his arms. One hand, still gripping his cane, held you by the shoulder, while the other supported your legs. He didn’t notice how his claws pressed uncomfortably against your skin, even through your clothes—not enough to leave bruises or scratches, but enough for you to wince. Before you could even react, Crowley teleported you both straight to Ramshackle Dorm.

The lights in the lounge flickered on as soon as the three of you appeared, and the ghosts floated through the walls to greet you. But one glance from Crowley, even through his mask, made it clear: "Leave." The ghosts obeyed immediately, disappearing as if they had never been there.

Setting you gently back on your feet, Crowley took a step back, smiling brightly. Grim jumped down from your arms, looking for a place to collapse. He still wasn’t used to teleportation.

"You do understand that you entered the restricted section of the library, don’t you, Prefect?" Crowley asked, and upon seeing your confused expression, he clarified, "That part is off-limits to students. Only teachers and I are allowed inside."

“Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t know. But why is it restricted?” you asked, confused by his reaction. Normally, if you wandered somewhere you shouldn’t, he would simply stop you and explain what it was. Not teleport you away.

Crowley chuckled. Your naivety was so sweet that he couldn’t resist. His hand gently landed on your head, stroking your hair without even pretending to be angry at you. After all, it wasn’t really your fault.

"Hmm..." Crowley paused for a few seconds, carefully considering how to phrase his answer without raising suspicion. His fingers absentmindedly played with your hair as if it helped him think, but after a moment, he withdrew his hand, resting it on his chin. His tone shifted into something more thoughtful—something rarely seen or heard from him.

"Many of the things in there—artifacts, books, diaries—can be dangerous for you. I don’t want an enchanted book to shock you with lightning or throw you into a wall just because you don’t have magic!"

He threw his hands up dramatically, making sure his cane didn’t hit you, looking overly distressed about your well-being. But you didn’t get a chance to respond. Crowley was already circling you, inspecting you for any sign of injury.

To you, it felt like an overprotective mother raven checking on her fledgling learning to fly.

"Thank the Great Seven that you’re unharmed," Crowley sighed, smoothing out your uniform after his examination. "Now, promise me you won’t go into that part of the library again!"

His intense gaze made you swallow nervously. His strict demeanor was such a contrast to his usual… incompetent behavior. His hands on his hips, his eyes narrowed—glowing gold behind his mask—made it clear he wasn’t joking.

"Yes, I promise, Headmage Crowley."

His face immediately softened, his wide smile replacing the stern expression. He cleared his throat, adjusted his hat, and the eyes on his mask closed as if in contentment.

"Good! It’s wonderful to see that you’re smarter than the other students," Crowley said with a pointed huff, hinting at his ever-growing stack of paperwork. "I still have a lot of work to do, so good night, Prefect, Grim-kun. And because I’m so kind, there’s a little surprise waiting for you in the kitchen."

He gifted you his signature smile—but it wasn’t the same one he gave everyone else. With a tap of his cane against the dorm floor, he disappeared, leaving behind only a few stray feathers from his coat.

The smile on his face faded the moment he reappeared in the library. Taking a few steps toward the barrier’s edge, Crowley frowned. His magic could only be bypassed by extremely powerful magic, and at this school, only Draconia-kun had such abilities. But he was sure this wasn’t the work of a Diasomnia student. If it were, the barrier would have been completely destroyed, not just… letting you through.

Crowley clenched his fist. His claws dug deep into his palm, tearing through his glove first and then his skin, allowing crimson droplets to fall onto the floor, staining both the carpet and his shoes. His jaw tightened, his expression darkened, and the metallic scent of his own blood filled his nostrils.

He was displeased. His magic had deemed you worthy of entering that place. Even his own magic recognized you as his mate.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself—and to resist the urge to knock over a nearby bookshelf—he snapped his fingers with his uninjured hand. The wounds on his palm closed instantly, the glove restored itself, and the blood vanished.

"I need to keep a closer eye on my dove," Crowley murmured emotionlessly, turning his gaze back to the barrier’s edge. Snorting, he waved his cane through the air, reinforcing the magic with a triple-layered barrier—one that would guarantee you’d never step foot in that place again.

In the next moment, he was back in his office.

His eyes landed briefly on the disorganized documents still scattered across his desk. He grimaced. As always, his desire to do actual work lost to his laziness. With a quiet groan, he collapsed onto the couch, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over the backrest. His hat ended up somewhere on the floor—not that he cared.

Sinking into the soft cushions, Crowley closed his eyes. His mask remained in place, as if afraid you might suddenly show up at his office in the middle of the night. Magic had drained his remaining energy—the energy that was supposed to be spent on those damn documents.

He yawned, covering his mouth with one hand before folding his arms across his chest. Sleep slowly crept in.

His last thought before drifting off was whether you liked his little surprise—a luxurious dinner—and if you would thank him tomorrow for being such a generous and benevolent Headmage.

[scribblestatic]

More Spider Yuan for the masses uwu

Spider Yuan on AO3

Prev Masterpost Next

---

Night had fallen in Xiaoshan Village, family that was in the community gathered together in the main room. Han Miyun cooked for their guests with the help of one of their children as the others discussed what to do about Fan Zhenzhen's ailing health.

Of course, Meixiu couldn't come down the mountain, so it was Qinglian, Jiahao, Shurong (淑荣 - Shūróng), Mingwu (明务 - Míngwù), and members of their families.

Although they all heard what Fan Zhenzhen had said not too long ago, the idea seemed too risky.

"If we try to take her up now, she probably... I know Nǎinai is strong, but she didn't get out of bed today, right? Not even into the wheeled chair."

"It'd be cruel to try to carry her all the way there."

"I wouldn't call it cruel... But I do think it probably wouldn't work well."

"She's only grown more frail since this morning. If we try now—"

Ruoxing held up his hand, silencing his children and their spouses.

"...She's said what she wants. Our job is not to judge her wishes for how viable they are. Our job is to find the best way to make it work."

"But, A-diē, we can't go up the mountain tonight. And...I don't know if she will make it til morning." He hurriedly continued when his father closed his eyes. "I really mean no harm in saying this, truly. It's just that...to try speaking with Lulin Zhizhu now..."

"If she'd told us earlier today, perhaps we could've made it happen. But it's night now. Even with Lulin Zhizhu's webs, we can't guarantee we'll be completely safe. What if someone trips or falls? What if someone gets lost in the night?"

Indeed, Fan Zhenzhen expressed her desire to see her god again, but it was already evening when she said so. And, as they'd said, she had been rather down, even absentminded and airy. Like she wasn't completely there anymore, slowly fading and loosening her hold on her mortal body.

They were running out of time, and her final wish...it looked like it would go unfulfilled.

"Nainai never asked for much, and it's disappointing to not be able to help. Surely we can figure something out?"

"She's not well enough to leave her bed anymore, Mingwu."

"But, she's worked hard her whole life. Isn't there something we can do? Can't we think of something?"

Ruoxing didn't want to argue with his children, watching them argue tensely amongst themselves. He sighed deeply, knowing it had been quite a long time since they last saw the giant spider. He, too, found himself missing his presence.

If push came to shove, then he would carry his mother on his back up the mountain in the morning, perhaps before any of the others woke up. He had already thought of how to do it, and since the others did not seem able to help—some even seeming unwilling to—then he'd have to do what he could by himself.

As he thought this, there was a knock on the door.

With most of the children still arguing, Qinglian's wife, Yinuo (依诺 - Yīnuò), bowed her head lightly toward him before heading over to the door. She eased it open slightly, her body blocking whomever she spoke with. Deciding it probably wasn't so important, he went to close his eyes again so he could tune out the noise around him.

But then, Yinuo shrieked.

All the others startled, turning toward the door, where Yinuo sat on the ground, shocked and shaking.

Mishu-zhang stared at the woman, blinking briefly, before her gaze snapped up to him.

"Oh, Fan Ruoxing. It's a pleasure. Where is Fan Zhenzhen?"

"Ah, Mishu-zhang! My apologies, this old servant didn't know you were coming."

He quickly got up and headed over, the others also paying their respects. Qinglian scolded her lightly as he helped her get up, saying something before he looked to where she was pointing.

Ruoxing paid little attention to this, instead looking down at the family's visitor with kind, yet tired eyes.

"Right now... Right now, it's a little rough. A-niang is feeling unwell, so she's in the bedroom. If you still wish to see her..."

"Ah, excuse me. It is Lulin Zhizhu who wishes to see her. May we come in?"

"...'We'?"

He then realized that the darkness behind her was not the black of night.

That the darkness behind her shifted.

It was hair.

He locked onto the strands, and then followed them up...

And up...

And up...

The pale threads of a previously unnoticed weimao made itself known, as though fading into his consciousness. The veil seemed to become more opaque the higher up it went. He couldn't see where it connected from behind the top of their front door.

Even so, a familiar, whispery voice called out.

"Fan Ruoxing, it has been long."

Immediately, a pressure filled the house, one unlike anything before. The sudden, heavy weight of it almost made him kneel. Some of his children behind him already did.

"...Zhizhu?"

Mishu-zhang moved to the side, not yet entering, and bowed to her lord.

His clothes were now more visible, curtained by black hair. Although he couldn't see it all, he assumed the god to be wearing a pale green daopao with simple designs that shimmered from the light of the fire within their home. He tied simply around the waist with a corded, pink-beaded rope, one he recognized to be made of spider silk.

Looking down, he couldn't see the tips of his boots, feet completely concealed under his clothes.

"Has this spider come at a bad time?"

"N-No. Excuse me for my rudeness. Come in."

He quickly stepped out of the way.

"Mm, then..."

His wide sleeves moved, revealing a pale, segmented hand, much like Mishu-zhang's hands. However, the fingers were long, changing from white to yellow, then to black at their very sharp tips. From pinkie to thumb, the nails on his fingertips quietly gripped against the wood of the doorframe before he bent down to enter.

His feet, his clothes, his tan weimao...not even the floorboards made a sound despite his size and overwhelming presence.

Perhaps Fan Ruoxing never felt this pressure because Lulin Zhizhu usually stayed outside, in the forest, in the open. Now, it felt like it was condensed, saturating the very air he breathed with the smell of mist and fog.

Is... Is this the same spider he spent his childhood talking to? The same one who helped him come up with a present for his wife? The one who blessed his mother, him, and each of his children? The reason Xiaoshan Village is as prosperous as it is, merely because his mother told him a story?

...So this is a god.

He let out a shuddering wheeze and felt the tall tall tall being look at him.

"Oh my. This spider has been discourteous. He assumed he'd pulled in his qi quite well, but it is not well enough."

Then, the pressure lightens, and several members of his family gasp for breath.

Mishu-zhang entered after the lord of the forest, closing their door.

"Then, excuse me."

Without being directed, the spider floated forward—he saw what looked to be legs moving, but there were no steps, no shoes, no sound—the weimao's veil fluttering slightly behind him.

Without help, he stopped in front of the bedroom where his mother lay. He paused, back curled because the house could not accommodate his height.

He raised his fist...

And knocked lightly. Two little raps against the door.

Silence...

"...Zhizhu?" his mother strained from inside.

Although Fan Ruoxing couldn't see the spider's face, he felt a warmth ripple through the room, making his heart flutter.

"May this one enter, Zhenzhen?"

"...Please do...my lord..."

That door, so often creaking until they oiled it, made nary a sound as he slid right inside and shut it behind him.

Fan Ruoxing stared down the hall to his mother's bedroom, then slowly turned toward the others. All the humans were frozen in shock, awe, and fear. Mishu-zhang simply stood politely with a small smile on her face.

"Ah, while Lulin Zhizhu is busy, does anyone have a story they would like to tell me?"

--

"Aiyah, look at Zhenzhen. Does this family not have any good sense?"

It was easy for him, he found, to slide right into talking with her like they did before.

She's pale, wrinkled, and weaker, bundled up in bed. When did her hair get so light? When did she develop those crows feet?

But her eyes are bright and shining at him as she smiles, laughing when he starts fluffing her bed and tucking her blankets tighter around her. Thank goodness they gave her pillows filled with duck down and wool and not those senseless, useless porcelain offenses to nature.

"My lord...has come down the mountain..."

"Of course this one has. How could he not to come see you?"

"...For...me?"

"Yes. This spider noticed that Village Elder became quite occupied. This one takes no offense, worry not. The lives of humans simply...pass faster than remembered."

"Hmm... Perhaps my lord...heard my wish..."

"Elder's wish, hmm?

"Yes..." She breathed in deeply, then sighed. "This servant...will leave tonight."

Yeah.

He knew.

He could feel her flickering, strong as she clung on.

"On a long journey, yes. This lord felt it would be wrong to not send you off properly."

The smile she gave him made his pedipalps shudder against his cheeks.

"My lord..."

"Mm?"

"Would you be...willing to show me...your face?"

He considered it for a moment.

He quite liked his face, really. Looked at it in a bronze mirror as he figured out how to put his clothes on. Perhaps it wasn't one a human would appreciate, but he wasn't human, and he had no obligation to appease them.

If she wanted to see his face, so be it. Besides, she was the woman who, for many years, spoke regularly to a large spider that once threatened to eat her.

Without answering verbally, he pulled the veil up, folding it on top of his weimao before removing it altogether. He set it aside and leaned closer in.

He didn't do much with his hair—just pulled a scant bit of it into a loose ball at the back of his head. It had been a bit of a ragtag job, since he could see just fine whether his hair was over his eyes or not. Still, with Zhizu's guidance, he at least framed his face with his hair nicely.

Fan Zhenzhen gazed at him for a long moment without saying anything.

He tilted his head. "What does Miss Elder think? Be honest."

She chuckled.

"It's unnatural... Even...frighteningly beautiful... Most humans will not...understand. But your many eyes...hold kindness and trust... That doesn't change, even...even in this form."

"This spider will say, having eyelids is indeed quite the experience." He blinked his main eyes, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. "With my eyecaps, they really are not needed. However, they formed naturally."

She let out a little laugh again, though it ended with a wheeze that caused him to fuss over her again.

"...Is there anything this spider can give you for your trip?"

"Mmm... Well. If it is...not blasphemous..." She turned his head toward him. "Would my lord...tell me a story?"

"A story, hmm? Let's see... This one tends to be longwinded, though Miss Elder knows this. Fault this one not if it lasts even into the afterlife."

"Hah...this servant...shall not."

He mulled over it a little longer. Then...

--

This one still remembers some things from when he first became aware of himself.

A small spider, barely the size of your finger. Really! The males of the species of spider I was were much smaller than the females. This lord was truly tiny.

When he first became aware that it was mating season, he found he had no interest in it. Even till this day... Ah, the spiders who serve this lord came of their own accord. They are not his children.

But yes, he was not interested in procreating. Perhaps it was because he cultivated from an early age. Though, it had to have happened quite quickly. A normal spider barely lives beyond a year or two.

Regardless, without the interest in passing on any genes, he instead sought comfort.

Did you know that plants are quite different when you're smaller? Even the tiniest bumps and chemicals can be quite the hassle...hm? Chemicals? Oh, they are...hm... It's a little difficult to explain, but a chemical is, like, a building block. If you put enough of the blocks together, you build something out of it.

For example, these bodies are all made of different chemicals.

Really!

--

And then, he had the audacity to demand this spider to give up his property! As though this one hadn't spent many an hour building the perfect web in the perfect spot he found!

It was in a nice little sunny spot. After a good rain, the sun would hit the water droplets just right... True beauty. This spider has always been quite the weaver and architect. And this hooligan decided to try stealing from his hard work!

He was smaller back then, and this spider was of a different species. A bigger species. So, in theory, this one should have fled.

However, as Miss Elder may have picked up, he is quite petty. Yes, he's mature enough to admit that he can be exceptionally petty. Cruel even. He appreciates these things about himself, though, as they were instrumental to his survival. One should always love and care for themselves, then they can care about others even better...

Ah, right, the topic. Ahem. Well, the villain started to raise his arms at this spider, trying to make himself look bigger. Hah! How elementary, honestly.

He let the little idiot dance at him until he broke the strand setting off the Rube Goldberg mechanism, and after just a few seconds, smash! The idiot was flattened by a pre-prepared rock! Which, honestly, the sister spider should consider what this one did to be a favor...

Well, that is, if he hadn't already given her sperm to use later. Otherwise, this one perhaps caused her to worry for the generation that will come from him.

...Hmm? Oh a Rube Goldberg mechanism...huh. Well. It's, like...hm. It's a way someone can visualize karma. One action causes a reaction, then another reaction, and another reaction, until you get to the result.

In this case, I built a process using my webs to cause various reactions in my surroundings, leading to the rock falling on perpetrators that tried to come for me.

Rube Goldberg seems to be a name of some sort. Though, to be quite honest, I don't remember too much else about it. Lost with time, perhaps.

--

There are so many sex plants in this world.

Too many, if someone was to ask this spider.

What's the purpose of so many plants, animals, and parts to induce sexual intercourse? Perhaps there was a point in time where procreation was at a minimum, and some freak gods decided to get mortals horny to keep life going.

Blasphemous? Yes, it is. I'm fully aware. I imagine I'm not liked by many a god.

However, they can sniff one of those sex plants they love so much so they have enough oomf in their system to go fuck themselves.

...Oh, goodness, don't laugh that hard.

--

This one has dreams sometimes.

Although he doesn't sleep exceptionally often, he does indulge in rest when desired. For as long as he can remain awake, the mind requires a reset, like washing a bowl that has grown dirty with constant use.

During such times, he sees a human made of candy floss.

A human male. Pale as silk, eyelids shadowed with exhaustion and sleeplessness. His limbs do not move like he wants them to, and he has to use supports to move around. Like extra appendages. He's where this one got the idea for a wheelchair.

But, this human male I see in that dream... He has a family. Two older brothers and a younger sister. Even though he is slow, cumbersome, and sickly, they still care for him. He's worn down at the peak of his youth, but they visit him, talk to him, and truly worry about him.

Perhaps it was somewhat patronizing at times, but it was well-meant. That's what happens with families a lot, isn't it? Love doesn't mean people don't annoy each other, but it means they can deal with their faults.

He had many faults. But he also had many blessings, and he gave some blessings, too.

He would knit for his sister, that man. He would knit and sew whatever she wanted. Anything for his meimei. Perhaps she became a bit spoiled with it, but in return, she would visit him the most.

She could always tell when he was getting lonely, too. Or isolating himself in his own self-pity. Perhaps spending too much time focused on reading to take care of himself, haha.

...For some reason, despite the differences...

Zhenzhen reminds me of that little meimei.

Isn't that strange?

--

Cultivators can be as cruel as demons. Sometimes, even more so. That's why, what Luo Binghe experienced, I can't really say is something he caused. Well, up until a point. Then, he started to rebuild the cycle of abuse and inflict it on those around him.

But if anything, I don't think his demonic heritage made him more cruel on principle. More impulsive, maybe. More prone to following his desires and being less focused on human commonalities. I'm not sure, but he wasn't a bad person.

I think humans and demons have similar origins. It's just that different beings use different types of energy. Sure, it means humans may have some predators, but it's not as though coexistence is impossible.

Look at us, right? I'm sure I have some demonic energy in me. One day, I may have more, or I may have less. It varies. I'm not picky about the qi I consume. Food is food, and energy is energy.

Even so, you and I, we built this place up quite nicely, haven't we?

Well, you mostly. I just enjoyed my time cultivating in the mountains, building my strength and collecting stories.

I'm thinking about going to collect some more some time. Expand my horizons. That's another reason I made this body. To make traveling from place to place easier on myself.

We all have places to go...

...Places to be.

Yeah...

Just like you.

...

Good night, meimei. Say hi to Gao Cheng for me.

[gloomysoup]

thank god for robin buckley

@steddiebingo christmas prompt: cock block

rating: explicit | word count: 2512 | tags: omegaverse, edging, fingering, fluff, platonic stobin | ao3

Steve was going to die. He was absolutely certain of it. He had not gotten laid in weeks, and he was so keyed up. He would even be satisfied with a quick fingering in the bathroom as if they were horny teenagers sneaking around again.

It was nearly impossible for any of that to occur with four small children that rely on them for everything.

Before, they learned how to be quiet. They could get in some quick alone time often enough to keep them both satisfied, most often at night when the pups were tucked into bed. Lately, however, this has not worked.

Let it be said that Steve loves his pups, more than anything in the world. He would never ever trade them for anything. But.

Lucy refuses to sleep in her crib. She absolutely must be attached to someone, usually Steve, in order to sleep. Plus, she's been teething so much that it's been nearly impossible to soothe her. Violet has been going through another sleep regression, which means unfortunately, Addie isn't sleeping either. So far, James is the only one still sleeping through the night, but Steve isn't holding his breath. At this rate, he figures it's only a matter of time before James joins his sisters in not sleeping. During the day, when the older girls are at school, Eddie is working.

Things have not worked out for Steve very well lately.

-

It's the weekend. Eddie is off work, and Steve is determined. He gets James to lay down for a nap, which he may or may not take. Addie and Violet are playing in their room, and Lucy is in her swing in the nursery. Steve knows they don't have much time before Lucy realizes she's alone and starts screaming again. Eddie is in the kitchen, humming to himself as he washes up the lunch dishes.

Steve grabs his hand and tugs him to the bedroom. Eddie watches with an amused smile on his face, willingly at Steve’s mercy. Their kisses get hot and heavy quick, Eddie’s hand already dipping below Steve’s waistband.

And then Violet is screaming bloody murder two rooms away, crying for Eddie like she's dying.

Eddie kisses him quickly, already moving away from Steve. “I'll be right back,” he promises.

Steve groans as Eddie leaves the bed and slips out the door. By the time he comes back from diffusing the situation, caused by a toy, Lucy is crying. The moment is gone. They've lost their chance.

-

All of the pups are finally asleep in their own beds. For the first time in months, Lucy stayed asleep when Steve put her in the crib. They finally get some alone time.

Eddie’s hands are gentle against his skin as they slip under his shirt; their kisses are soft, but filled with intent. They're pressed together until they are nearly one unit. Steve is finally going to get what he needs.

And then some asshole nearby sets off fireworks.

It takes no time for Lucy’s cries to come through the baby monitor, and then their door opens to Addie and Violet asking to sleep with them, tears in their eyes. Steve sighs as he throws the covers back and gets out of bed to get Lucy. He checks on James on his way back, who is still sleeping like a rock. He even has to stop to make sure he's still actually breathing, which he is.

When he gets back to the bedroom, Lucy in his arms, Eddie is already curled up with the girls. He looks at Steve over two heads of curly hair as he climbs back under the covers and gets comfortable. “James?”

Steve huffs a soft laugh. “Sleeping like a rock. I swear, that kid sleeps through anything.”

Eddie smiles and shuffles closer, squishing the girls tightly between them. Addie giggles quietly from where her face is in Eddie’s shirt, wiggling for a moment before getting comfortable and settling again. “I'm sorry we didn't get to finish what we started,” he said softly, eyes still on Steve despite the curls that are practically up his nose from the pup against him. “I know we’ve been trying to get some time to ourselves for a while, and it just doesn't work out.”

Steve sighed, tucking Lucy close to his chest and brushing his hand over the curls on Violet’s head. “It's okay. Our pups need us more.”

“Doesn't mean you can't be upset, baby.”

Steve shook his head quickly. “I'm not upset, though. Frustrated, maybe, but… we're parents.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes our own wants have to take a backseat, and that's okay. I wouldn't trade this life for anything.”

Eddie smiled again, reaching for Steve’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I promise I'll find a way to make it up to you, though. Eventually.”

Steve smiled back, lacing their fingers together. “I know you will.”

-

The next time they finally get an opportunity to be alone, it's a bright Sunday morning. Lucy was down for her morning nap, and the three older kids are occupied by a movie in the living room. Steve and Eddie knew they had at least half an hour before one of them got bored. They knew it would have to be quick and quiet, which they had basically mastered by the time Violet was six months old. They certainly enjoyed taking their time more, but they didn't get many opportunities once their family really started growing.

The baby monitor was on the dresser, the kids were occupied, the door was locked. Everything was perfect. Eddie’s lips were on Steve’s neck, nipping gently as he breathed in his scent right from the source. They'd spent a good five minutes just making out like they were kids again, which is probably five minutes longer than they should've, but they just couldn't help themselves. Steve’s hair was fanned out on the bedspread, slightly messy from Eddie’s hands raking through it and the occasional tug. Eddie’s lips trailed to his chest, so careful where he knew Steve was most sensitive. His hand slipped under Steve’s shorts, teasing exactly where he knew Steve wanted him. He didn't tease for long, though. He knew they were short on time.

He slowly pressed his finger up inside, swallowing Steve’s shuddering gasp with a sharp kiss. He started slow; they hadn't done anything in a while. He didn't want to hurt him. He was just beginning to press a second finger, so slow and careful with his eyes on Steve for any sign of discomfort.

Then the front door opened.

“Poppy!” all three pups exclaimed from the living room. There was the sound of clambering pups and Wayne’s laughter.

Steve whined, high in his throat, as Eddie removed his hand. Eddie pressed kisses to his neck, mating gland, cheeks, and lips in quick succession.

“‘m sorry, baby,” he whispered with a very apologetic look before standing up and trying to straighten himself out. Steve didn't move for several moments. Not until he heard Wayne asking the pups where they were. Then he sighed, pulled himself from the bed, and tried to look presentable before they slipped down the hallway to the living room.

Wayne was bent down on one knee, James in his arms and Violet clambering up onto his back. The pair stepped into the room, really hoping it didn't look like they had been in the middle of something. They both knew Wayne had seen more than his fair share of the two of them in compromising positions.

When Wayne stood up and saw them, he took in their appearances and merely raised an eyebrow. Yeah… Steve should've seen that coming. Wayne always knows.

“You two busy?” he asked, still giving them head to toe looks.

Eddie cleared his throat and smiled. “Can always make time for you, old man.”

“Mhm.” Wayne gave them a very knowing, slightly judgy look.

“So, what're you doing in town for, Wayne?” Steve asked as nonchalantly as he could manage. “You didn't have to make the drive, y’know.”

Wayne shrugged, adjusting his hold on James. “Had a few vacation days needed usin’ up. Figured I'd come up and see the pups for a bit. I can go back, though. Get outta y'all's hair if ya got plans.”

“‘Course not, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie said. “We’d love to have you. Wouldn't we, sweetheart?”

Steve smiled. “Absolutely. You're always welcome here, Wayne.”

Part of Steve thought that maybe, just maybe, having Wayne over meant he and Eddie could get even a smidgen of alone time. That was not the case, however. Despite Wayne doing what he could to help out with the pups, Violet had been acting particularly clingy lately. She had always been a very clingy baby, always wanting to be with Steve or Eddie, and she did good with the separation stuff for a little while when James was born. It helped that she shared a room with Addie, and that had really been their intention with putting the two girls together anyway.

For some reason, though, it was back like a vengeance. She spent almost every night in their bed. And while Steve would never even dream of giving up this time with his pup while she still offered it, it had made spending any time with Eddie pretty much impossible.

-

Of course, it's Robin that finally comes to his rescue.

She's hanging out while Steve folds laundry on a Saturday morning. Addie and Violet were playing in their room, James was sitting on the living room floor playing with some cars, and Eddie had taken Lucy to the store with him to go grocery shopping. Robin watched with a raised brow as Steve folded clothes in what he thought was a perfectly normal way, but apparently not to Robin.

He huffed a little as he stuck the folded clothes into the basket, organized by room, and Robin pursed her lips.

“What?” Steve asked, voice maybe a little more tense than it needed to be.

“Just wondering what the fuck you're problem is,” Robin responded. “You're real tense, babe.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I wouldn't be so tense if I could actually get laid.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “You haven't gotten laid recently? Well, that explains the attitude. How long has it been?”

Steve huffed. “Like, almost three months, Rob.”

“You're joking.”

“Wish I was.” Steve groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “No matter what I do, it just never happens. And trust me, we've tried. One time, we even got so far as his fingers inside of me, and then Wayne showed up. And of course, it's Wayne, so he immediately knew what was going on. I absolutely could not do anything while he was here, though, because, like, that's basically my dad, and he's put up with enough of our shit. Plus, you know how clingy Violet has been lately. Every single time we think we're finally gonna be able to have sex, something happens and the moment is gone. I am suffering, Robs, and Eddie has been so fucking sweet about it, because he knows I'm- I'm all pent up. He has done everything he can, but it never works out how we want it to.”

Robin shook her head. “Absolutely not. That is not gonna fly.” Robin was standing up and leaving the room before Steve even knew what was happening. “Come on, Jamie, let's go get dressed. Auntie Robin’s got some fun plans today,” he heard her say before moving down the hallway to the bedrooms. He heard James get up to follow her.

God bless Robin Buckley.

By the time Eddie got home, the rest of the pups were dressed and ready to go. Eddie frowned as Lucy was immediately scooped from his arms and taken back outside.

“Hurry up and unload the groceries so I can steal your children,” Robin said as she moved past him.

“What-”

“No questions!”

Eddie shook his head and looked at Steve, who merely smiled and went outside to bring in the groceries. Once everything was inside, and all the pups were safely buckled up into the car, Robin was gone with nothing more than a, “Have fun getting railed!” yelled out the window.

Steve and Eddie were finally alone.

Despite how much he immediately wanted to pounce on Eddie, he knew they had to get the groceries put away first. As they moved around the kitchen, Eddie hummed softly.

“What's Robin’s deal?” he asked just as he was sliding the last box of cereal into the cabinet. “She just up and stole our children.”

“They'll be back later,” Steve said softly, reaching for Eddie’s hand and leading him out of the kitchen. “She just thought we could use some… alone time.”

Eddie smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Alone time, huh?” Steve nodded, dragging Eddie closer and closer to their bedroom. “And what're we gonna do with all this alone time?”

Steve smiled as they crossed the threshold into their bedroom, hand already sliding down to unbutton his own jeans. “I can think of a few things to fill the time.”

Steve and Eddie curled up in their bed, naked and sweaty, but happy. Steve’s head rested on Eddie’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall with his breathing. Eddie’s fingers trailed up and down Steve’s back, his nose buried in his hair. They'd have to get up soon to shower and put on some clothes. Their pups would be home soon, and it would be back to business as usual for the Munson household.

But there was still a little bit of time.

“I love you,” Steve whispered, closing his eyes for a moment and letting himself take everything in.

“I love you more,” Eddie replied, just as quiet. “I'm sorry I haven't made more time for you lately.”

Steve shook his head. “It's okay. Our lives are busy. It happens, and it’s not your fault.”

“Still. You deserve better.”

Steve shifted a little in Eddie’s hold, tilting his head so he was buried in Eddie’s neck instead. “I have everything I could ever want and more, thanks to you. We've got four beautiful pups, and our friends, and our life. You work so hard to provide for us, Eddie, so that I can have the absolute privilege of staying home with our babies all day. You didn't have to do all that, but you did. Do I wish I could have sex with my amazing husband more often than we do? Absolutely. But it's not like I'm completely unsatisfied with our life. I love our life, Eddie, even if we do get a little too busy to have time to ourselves sometimes.”

He could feel Eddie’s smile as he kissed his forehead, tightening his arms around him for a moment. “You are truly amazing, my love,” he murmured. “Thank god for Robin Buckley, though.”

Steve chuckled, nuzzling into the side of Eddie’s throat to take in his scent.

“Thank god for Robin Buckley.”

[ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2]

Unraveling you at the Seems

Genre : Haters to Lovers

Summary : Your new Marriage with the Knave isn't going well, untill a certain invite that will put your world upside down reaches you.

Notes : Figthing, injury, I'm so tired, so, so tired, sorry for another cliffhanger istg it won't happen again, I don't wanna spend that much time on this baby bc of my book, also I'm lazy, hope you enjoy

Wordcount : 1,718

Chapter : 1 / 2 / 3

My Masterlist

Link to AO3

Your dagger hit only air and you stepped forward, nearly falling into the fire yourself.

What.

A sudden voice sounded meters from behind you. "I expected better."

You span around, looking at the woman, her glowing scythe and cross shaped burns that littered the ground.

"You knew.", you mumbled, but there was no suprise in it. Yet, you couldn't help yourself from staring in disbelief. Disbelief at how your family had sent you to die, for the most part.

"I raise assasins.", she spat, taking a few steps forward, spinning her scythe. "Do you think I wouldn't recognize my own techniques?"

You straightened up. "I've been taugth dirtier tricks."

Her eyebrows knitted together. "You're lying." she declared, then chuckled.

You had enough of the circling. You were at her side in a few seconds, but Arlecchino blocked your attack with ease.

She huffed while looking at your weapon.

"Is this really your weapon of choice?"

You groaned, letting go of the block and resorting to doging her, your arms were slowly getting tired. "It's not like you are easy to kill!", she swung the scythe towards you, but you dodged just in time, being able to graze her side, having blood trickle down, she ligthly hissed, turning in an instant, slashing, you blocked again and again. You had only been taugth to defend yourself and how to stab someone, damn it! "I have been, trying and trying the last few months-"

"You let the perfect moments slip rigth through your fingers!" Arlecchino criticized, using your weak spots and the openings you created, slashing little cuts in your clothing and skin, but the adrenaline made you void of the feelings towards them. She could kill you, yet she was holding back. She was never holding back...unless when- you were unhanded within a second and your face met the ground. Your own knife was held up against your throath. This was a lesson. Or an offer. "And now you left the perfect opening. Amateur."

You didn't try to thrash around, neither did you make a move to go and grab the knife, unhand her like you've been taugth. "I know.", you sighed, looking at the ground. "I thougth I'd finally manage to kill you if the stakes were raised..." you explained "something like an explosion...but my lack of patience and time came to ligth, I suppose.", you liften your head, sligthly deciding to look at her face, trying to read any change. But her mask didn't move an inch.

"I will give you credit where credit is due.", she said. "I did not suspect you until about three moths ago, though your relation to the Jester did tick me off." "You became so skittish, secretive, the children told me about your odd way to handle a knife...and the whole of last week,", she huffed. ",did you think that I wouldn't notice? You sat at the desk for hours and I knew something was up when the maid told me that you said there were renovations at the palace. I was there last week."

You shivered. "When!?"

"Does that really matter to you rigth now?", she continued holding the knife against your throath.

No, it didn't. You set your head back down into the grass. "Thank you for figthing me. It was an honor.", you closed your eyes, but never felt a slash. You opened your left eye. "What is it?"

She sighed. "When I was younger, I owned a pet spider."

"Bambi...", you mumbled and she nodded, holding the knife closer to your throat. You should let her talk out.

"Now, at first I did not know how to handle such a frail creature, so, as to protect herself, she bit me one day when I accidentally slipped. It hurt and I was in the infirmary for two days, a friend took care of her meanwhile. In time, I took her back and handled her properly, she never bit me again."

"What do you wish to say?"

"I take care of what is mine...even if it tries to kill me.", the knife glinted in the ligth. "It migth also have to do with your heritage," her hand pushed your hair away from your neck. An oddly intimate gesture. ", you can really thank the Archons that he's your uncle.", you imagined blood trickling from your neck.

"So, I'll either be your wife and lose my pride, or" you left it for her to finish.

"Die with it.", she said, hard.

You saw the fire casting its glow over you, imaged its warmth on your back. It would be hard to dispose of your body. Esspecially with your uncle so near. Maybe she would kill you later. She'd definitely kill you later and make it look like an accident. And maybe she'd slowly let you bleed to death, you became acutely aware of the pain in your side. She'd cover it up. You looked up at her. But, if you agreed, you wouldn't have to fear for your life anymore. You'd have a deal. And Arlecchino was an honorable person that was keeping to her vows.

"Ok.", you mumble. "I'll quit my mission and be your wife, if you won't kill me."

"Good girl." Arlecchino mocked to then remove the dagger from your throath. You huffed, getting on your knees as she heaved herself up.

You stayed down there for a while.

"Do you need-"

you held your hand up, your shoulders rising and falling irregularly as you breathed. She continued standing there, her hands in the pockets of her pants

"Well, I already did know that you have no stamina..." she mumbled and you blushed.

You glared up at her, but her expression was the same, before it turned alarming as she looked at your side. "Seems I did more damage than anticipated...", her hand grazed the wound and you hissed, clawing at the next best thing, which was, well, her. "Much more...", she almost seemed...worried.

"Don't lie. You wanted me to bleed out in case I wouldn't agree. It's far less suspicious...you could've blamed it on one of the stones or, what do I know, I'm dying over here!"

She lifted you to your feet and you leaned onto her side. "You talk a lot whenever your nervous..."

"Like hell! My family- oh archons my family.", horror flashed across your face and you stopped in your tracks. Your family. "Can you still kill me?"

"A deal is a deal, I'm afraid.", she said, hocking one arm under your legs and the under around your shoulders, you nearly chocked on your breath, feeling your side sting, clinging onto her jacket. She allowed it.

"Because they will murder me. I will bet my yarn on that! Where- where did you put my knife by the way? Can I get it back?"

Arlecchino huffed. "Not yet. When we are home. And I wish to know the location of you're other ones."

"What other ones?"

"I can also just look for them myself."

It had been worth a shot. "Under my closet, under my cushion and one in the drawers."

"What drawer?"

You shrugged. And she shook her head. "Oh, you are a horrible assasin."

You 'hmph', before being reminded of the open and growing wound on your side. "For fucks sake I really liked this dress."

She looked down, at the spreading blood, even her suit wasn't spared. Her eyebrows knitted together in worry, before a familiar figure stepped out of the building.

Uncle Pierro. Shit. You turned away from him, his most likely scrutinizing gaze, to lean against her chest instead and...your eyes felt so heavy. "Stay awake." Arlecchino shook you.

"Are you ok?", he stepped closer.

"She was hit by one of the stones, her waist is damaged and she is in dire need of care."

Why was it burning so badly? You've had wounds before but hell...this burned.

"Fuck.", you clinged onto her as the last of your adrenaline dissipated.

"There's urgency. She needs to be treated. Now." Well, she did know how to demand a room, or her supervisor for this matter.

She passed him and for the flicker of a second you saw worry in his eyes, with a glint of dissapointment, you squeezed your own shut.

"We can't get you back home in time...you have cryo powers, don't you?"

You nod, grabing for your vision, it appeared back in your hand, though your grip wasn't strong.

"Good."

She seemed to jump over rubble and avoid broken walls, by your judgment of the ligth atleast untill she sat you down. You fell half into the thing, your eyes darted from a stall to the white wall...

"Are we in the bathroom?", you croaked.

She didn't answer, soaking something in water. "Freeze the wound, ligthly."

"Are you ins-"

"Just do it."

You stared at her hazey figure. "I could die."

"Well you will certainly die when you don't freeze it, now, go.", she took your hand by force and guided it to your side.

"I take care of what is mine" you remembered her words and obscenities left your mouth as little shards of ice left your fingertips, entering the wound. She shook your wrist and you stopped. "Good...", she mumbled, her hand pressed the water soaked something around it. You swore more and your eyes screwed shut. And you couldn't force yourself to open them back up again. Like sleep.

You felt as she shook you on the shoulders. "Hey, don't fall asleep now."

"God damn you-" you hissed, clenching your fists. How long was this going to take?

"Can you wrap it up already?"

You heard something rip, before she came back up, a piece of fabric in her hand. Black. From your dress.

"On it...", she mumbled and you felt as she wrapped the piece around your mid, so aggressively that it could count as a corset.

"Do you want to kill me?"

"Not anymore.", she picked you back up again and you yelped. "Now let's get you to a proper doctor-" You heard the door open again. A familiar muffled voice.

Several ones, a shift in ligth, Arlecchino calling your name, before everything eventually turned to black.

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

Take me to Chapter three

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hi so a couple of people have written to me about an author they think is using AI and I just want to say to those people...

I feel like accusing people of using AI or something like that is hard because it's hard to prove. There have been false accusations of similar things in the past in this fandom, and it got SUPER out of hand and people said horrible things and forgot that these are real people who feel real emotions. If there's no concrete proof of someone being dishonest but you think they are, I think the best thing to do is to just block the author on ao3. If there's enough proof of something, the best thing to do is report the author or fic(s) so they can be removed from ao3. People who use AI do it to get the hits, so blocking the author will cut down on the hits and discourage them, you know?

But naming and shaming people isn't the right thing to do in general, and especially if there's even a SLIGHT chance of being wrong, because of the emotional impact it can have on someone.

I hope this answers your question!

[ilium-ilia]

I don’t know man, I figured I would ask you personally about this because I’ve gotten two asks now that were quite rude about it, saying I shouldn’t “copy” fics or steal your prompts. But I made a post saying that I had a horrible dark fic idea inspired by your “hole in the earth” fic. I didn’t go into much detail about it in the post but in the tags all I said was that I was thinking about a sort of aftermath situation of it, if John died and the Reader character went insane, trigger warning for child death in the idea I was having. Basically in no way actually copying your fic, just inspired by your work. The lobotomy, if I were to even actually write it, probably wouldn’t even be mentioned and more focus on Stockholme syndrome and kidnapping. Sorry this is long but I’m just kinda annoyed by the anons I’m getting, does this bother you? Seem too close to your work for comfort? Would you call it “copying”? - @cobwebs-in-autumn

Okay, well I didn't want to make this public, and you blocked me, and I'm tired of people walking all over me when it comes to stealing my work, I'm going to explain the situation here and set boundaries right now. Again. Because I'm so sick and fucking tired of dealing with this.

First off, I would like to say don't harass this person. Don't send anon messages, or hate, or comment on their posts, or anything. I'm only bringing this out because you guys need to learn to respect writers. I've deleted two accounts because of shit like this and I'm NOT letting it get to me a third time.

Anyway, so I get sent this anon message. The fic they're referring to is one that isn't posted on tumblr, but is here on AO3. It's a very dark fic, basically where Price kidnaps a wife, and when she doesn't act the way he wants her to, he has her lobotomized so that she's more "docile." It's a horror fic. This person then decided that they wanted to write a continuation of the fic, therefore stealing my idea without my permission. (no matter how much they want to claim they were only inspired, a continuation without permission is still stealing!!)

Now, many of you had kindly pointed out to this person that the idea was very similar to mine. And they very much admitted in this anon ask that it was an aftermath situation of MY fic. But this seemed to annoy them.

"I’m just kinda annoyed by the anons I’m getting"

(you know what else is annoying? people copying or "finishing" your works without permission!!)

So, I then went to this person in dm's to tell them, yeah no, I'm not cool with this at all.

because frankly, why the fuck would i be cool with that lmao. I was pretty short with my messages, but I was being firm. Like I've done this shit before, I'm not doing it again.

They do not respond to the message, and instead, ignore me and reblog their post with this.

Which is fucking amazing actually. So insanely disrespectful that I couldn't help but laugh because how do you see someone saying "Hey, this makes me uncomfortable and you're stealing my idea" and you go and post that? "I feel this is far enough" But you're not going to talk it out to the writer you claim to respect so much?

Anyway so I point this out in the dms because that's just insanely disrespectful.

And I also commented because I was getting anxious that people were going to start pushing them to write the idea that was pretty much mine lmao.

Eventually they responded with this:

Which is also just fucking insane. Basically gaslighting me saying "oh I'll just write something similar but not" (Not to mention the fact their new idea sounds like early's fic anyway lol) But no apology, just fucking clout chasing using my name and idea, for whatever reason. So I sent them a rather rambling response about how that this still isn't okay, I still never received an apology from them, or anything of the like.

And I'm sure you guys saw some of my posts because I was upset. (the misgendering and the incorrectly correcting my name, and saying how i'm not at all okay with people using my works as inspiration). This has happened to me so so so often (and many other writers!) and I'm sick of it. It's annoying. This person has written so many other works and ideas that were their own and that's what I love about fandom- but this? Yeah.

So I waited for a response from them. Clicked on our messages and oh?

Everything's gone. weird. maybe send another message.

oh!

maybe it's tumblr. logged out. logged back in. no history with them in my dm's period. (mind, I can still message everyone else just fine!)

So yeah. This is bullshit, and I'm sick of it. Private conversations do not help. I'm tired of trying to protect people who are wronging me for the sake of their feelings when they so obviously trample and disregard mine. Especially with these answers to your asks here:

This is so frustrating.

Writing continuations of someone's work is never okay. Writing ideas based off of their work without asking them is never okay. And to block me when I point out my discomfort just because you're (assumingely) upset i didn't take your side? And STILL keeping the post up? (at least at the time I'm posting this) Yeah, sorry, I'm tired of letting this shit slide and keeping this quiet. I tried to reach out in DM's to resolve it quietly and that didn't work.

Respect your writers. This is a community. Ask people. If you like my idea so much, then maybe comment or tell me in my asks instead of ripping me off. I'm literally always so happy to talk about my ideas and "what if's" and I'm sure many other writers are too! We literally scream it from the rooftops!

But no, you'd rather steal my shit for clout instead.

again: do not fucking dogpile on this person. just block and move on. unfortunately this isn't their main account, so they're gonna be able to see my shit no matter what I do, but oh well. maybe at least we can all learn that this is not cool at all.

anons are off for now, and any stupid asks will just be blocked/deleted.

[trafalgarology]

Please Please Please (Don't Prove 'Em Right) Chapter 6

Trafaglar Law x afab Female!Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter warnings: slight mentions of doing the nasty. MDNI!

Summary:

You are the Heart Pirates' beloved cook and sniper. However, you were also an insufferable troublemaker who always seemed to get on Law's nerves. He swears he's going to get rid of you one day, but as much as he hates it, why does he find you fascinating? Was it because you reminded him of someone he was greatly fond of?

As your relationship with Law grows, he only hopes you don't fucking embarrass him. After all, he has an image to uphold as one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.

This story starts off as short stories between (Y/N), Law and the Heart Pirates, then picks up into the One Piece canon timeline, starting from Punk Hazard. This is a slow-burn Law x Female Reader story!

Updates every Monday!

Cross-posted in Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57651295/chapters/146705491

Chapter 6: Chicken Feet

Chapter summary: You and Law leave the crew behind to journey to Punk Hazard. You meet Monet, but seeing Law and Monet together makes you uneasy. Chaos ensues when your jealousy reaches to new heights each time you catch them together.

A/N: HELLO! Thank you so much for your patience friends! Writer's block is gone and it's time to get rolling! This story is canon-compliant, but it's not going to follow the actual story 100%. This isn't proofread so yeah sorry lol

Also CW/TW: slight mentions of the nasty if you squint, use your imagination folks.

I also created a taglist. Let me know if you want to be a part of it!

wc: 4k

You were instantly hit with regret when you and Law stepped foot at Punk Hazard. It was a month since you and the captain dropped off the crew at Zou to assist him in his mission to stop Doflamingo, but you desperately wanted to turn around and return for them. But it was too late, and Law seemed amused with the sight of you shivering in the vast cold land of the half of Punk Hazard. 

"Wow, it's not that cold here," Law said sarcastically as he walked towards a large door by a mountainside. While keeping his head forward, you saw him look at you with a smirk on his lips. Annoyed by your captain's sarcastic remark, you stooped to the ground to grab a handful of snow and chucked it at the back of Law's black coat. The man chuckled, clearly unbothered by your tantrum.

"Shut up! If you told me that we would travel to the fucking Arctic, I would've dressed better!" you comically spat at him. 

"I told you (Y/n)-ya, you should've worn that boiler suit." the man tutted back at you.

There was no arguing that. You fought tooth and nail against your captain on wearing anything else but those damned boiler suits, and now you're paying the price for it. So you opted for a cute black fur coat that went down to your knees and black leggings, but it was not enough to keep you warm in the insane cold environment of Punk Hazard 

"I'd rather die than wear those ugly boiler suits! We're not with the crew anyway!" you argued back.

You and Law now stood in front of a giant steel door. With his slender finger, Law knocked on the door. A few seconds passed before the door scrapped open, revealing a pale white man with spiked black hair. He stood very tall, but he didn't have any legs as it was replaced with gas. His yellow eyes bore into you and Law before his lips turned into a sinister smile.

"Well well well! What do we have here? Shuorororo!" the man creepily giggled. "A warlord at my doorstep? I'm honoured!" Then he took a look at you who was behind Law, and his eery smile widened even more. "And you brought along a sweet treat!"

"Caesar Clown. I came here for some business with you." Law said with a calm demeanour. Although he spoke professionally, there was a slight tone of aggressiveness. "I've heard about your production in SMILE fruits and SAD and I'm greatly intrigued. So, I'm offering that we can be business partners, to help you with production and distribution."

"And why should I engage in a partnership with you?" Caesar questioned.

The tattooed doctor hummed before he gave his answer. "You can use my Warlord status as protection."

The pale man smirked, "I already work for a Warlord. I won't disclose his name, but the JOKER already compensates me well."

"What about extra protection from another Warlord?" you piped up behind your captain.

The two men looked at you. Law stared at you with amusement while Caesar held a bewildered expression.

"That doesn't seem to be a bad idea. Good thinking (Y/n)-ya." your captain said with praise. He then turned his head back at the gaslike man. "The JOKER may be a good employer, but he will backstab you Caesar-ya. But with me, I can be that backup plan just in case things go wrong with your little business, hm?"

"Little?! For your information, my work is greatly sought after! I am the second-best scientist in the world and my work and weaponry directly supply an Emperor of the Seas!" Caesar scoffed.

You stepped up and took your place beside Law. "More of a reason to partner with my captain! If all goes to shit with the production of SAD, who do you think is first to blame?" you piqued up.

That seemed to get the mad scientist thinking. "Well well. You're not just a pretty face after all. Shurorororo!" 

Even though you cringed at the compliment, you couldn't help but swell with pride, seeing that Law gave you a tiny smile of appreciation your way. 

"The two of you come inside! I'm warming up to this idea of being business partners with another Warlord..."Caesar started to ramble as he ushered the two of you inside the facility.

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

You really wanted to go back to the Polar Tang now.

The facility wasn't bad at all. Everything was provided: space, a place to rest, and food. But you felt that something suspicious was going on and you couldn't figure out what it was. Law refused to tell you why he wanted to stay on Punk Hazard, but you understood it was all to avoid compromising the mission. He even exchanged his heart with Monet, another person staying in Punk Hazard, so that no one could betray one another.

Speaking of Monet, you hated the woman. Something about here didn't sit right with you, but you couldn't figure out why.

As you walked the laboratory corridors, you spotted that a research room had its door slightly cracked open. Curiosity got to you, prompting you to peek inside. Standing at the door, you touched your chest and muttered 'Calm'. With the newfound Devil Fruit powers you gained a month ago, you could take away sound from yourself and your environment. And it proved very useful now that you were peeking in this room.

There, Monet was sitting on a chair, writing notes on a desk. To her left, was Law, sitting on a couch to her right and Caesar was standing in front of him. They were engaged in a conversation, and you couldn't help but listen in.

"So, you're Trafalgar Law. Also known as the Surgeon of Death. You hail from the North Blue. You ate the Op-Op Fruit." she spoke as she was writing away.

Law glanced at her as she continued to speak. "You also brought your subordinate, (Y/n). A formidable sniper and a cook at the Heart Pirates. She hails from the East Blue. You said she ate a Devil Fruit recently but no information about its type."

Monet turned from her chair to face the two men to her right. "There are former prisoners that are on this island who were affected by a poison gas. Can you heal them?" she asked. 

Your captain continued to stare at her. Meanwhile, Caesar continued the conversion. "I'll let you and your subordinate stay here, so long as you assist me and don't tell anyone else about this lab. Are we clear Trafalgar?" 

"So be it. Also, you are not to tell anyone that (Y/n)-ya and I are here. That includes Joker alright?" Law said firmly.

A light giggle passed Monet's lips. "Caesar, I say that it's fine that he stays here. Besides, he's cute," she said as she threw a wink in Law's direction, much to his dismay. 

An unpleasant shiver went down your spine as your chest started to tighten. 

Now you really didn't like her. That was strike one. 

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

 A week slowly went by as you and Law stayed at the Laboratory. You found out that there were children and giant children, who were staying at the lab because Caesar said he was finding a cure for them. Of course, you didn't believe him, and you took it upon yourself to find out that the kids were actually guinea pigs for Caesar and his messed up experiments. But with your given circumstance, you knew that Law had a plan to take down Caesar and the SAD factory, so it was a matter of being patient with him. So the most you could do right now was feed the kids and keep them safe. 

Tonight, you made the kids spaghetti and meatballs, and when you presented it to them in the Biscuit Room, which was where they were staying, they all cheered joyfully.

A small smile graced your lips as you watched the kids eat the dinner they made you.

"This is amazing (Y/n)!" a giant girl named Mocha exclaimed. She wolfed down her portions and reached out her bowl to you. "Seconds please!"

"Good thing I made two buckets full of spaghetti, you kids got big appetites!" you giggled as you gave the girl another portion. 

"I'm so glad you came here! The food you make is awesome!" A blond boy named Sind cheered.

The rest of the kids shouted with joy as they continued to eat. As you were serving the kids their second portions, you didn't realize that Law walked into the room and made his way beside you.

"Oh, hello Mr. Snow Leopard!" A giant kid named Konbu called out.

You turned your head to see your captain with a sour face. He was not fond of the nickname the kids had given him.

"Hey, Captain Snow Leopard. Fancy you seeing here." you teased.

"Don't be copying these brats too (Y/n)-ya, address me properly." he scowled. 

A cackle left your lips while you prepared a plate for him. "Oh, don't be mean. You know these kids are going through a hard time by being here, and we're the only ones decent enough to take care of them."

"You're forgetting that Monet takes care of them as well," he answered back as he reached out to take the plate of spaghetti from your hands.

The smile on your face fell as Monet's name was mentioned. Your grip on the plate tightened as Law tried to take it.

"I see that you're getting comfortable with Monet, are you captain?" you said in a high-pitched voice, laced with discontent. A smile appeared on your face again, but it was clear that you were irritated.

"I would like a plate of spaghetti please." your captain said as he tried to pull the plate away from your iron grip. 

"Hm, I don't feel like giving it to you now." you singsonged. You pulled the plate away from his tattooed hand and gave it to Mocha instead.

"Are you mad at me?" Law gritted, clearly irritated by your actions.

"I don't know Cap, did you do something to piss me off?" you shot back at him.

The doctor grabbed the collar of your black jacket and brought your face close to his. "Don't start this again (Y/n)-ya. If you have an issue then spit it out." he lowly said. 

You raised your right hand which was holding a pair of tongs, and smacked Law's head with it. The tattooed captain let go of his grip on you and proceeded to clutch his head as he stumbled back in surprise.

"You're a smart man, figure it out yourself!" you shouted at him. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Law shouted back.

The two of you grabbed each other's collars and started to hurl more insults at each other.

The children watched the quarrel between you and Law with amusement. They started to whisper amongst themselves.

"They're funny!"

"They remind me of my mom and dad. Now I miss them..."

"Wow, I've never seen (Y/n) this mad before, it's funny!"

You and the tattooed captain were butting heads until Monet made her way into the Biscuit Room.

"Time for your candy!" she called out. The kids dropped their plates and proceeded to run toward the green haired woman. 

Pulling away from your captain's collar, you started to clean up the plates and utensils littered on the floor. "There's your woman," you muttered while cleaning up.

"Hm?" Law said, "What did you say?"

"Hi, Monet! Did you want some spaghetti? I made some for dinner!" you called out while ignoring Law.

Monet made her way to you. "Oh, I would love some!" Then she looked at Law and smiled. "If you haven't eaten yet, would you like to join me for dinner Trafalgar?" 

Law 'tched' in response. In the corner of Monet's eye, she saw your face deepen into a scowl. The sight of you being mad made her smile

That fucking woman was pushing you buttons and she was enjoying it. The handle of the pot started to crack as your hand gripped as tight as ever in anger. However, you managed to shove down your emotions and flashed a fake smile towards her and Law. The doctor raised his eye in skepticism as he saw you set down the pot and prepare two plates of spaghetti.

"Oh, how nice would that be? Here you go! You two enjoy dinner!" you said with fake cheerfulness. Shoving the plates into their hands, you quickly scrambled to set the plates and pots into the rolling cart and sped out of the Biscuit Room. 

"Thank you (Y/n)! Your cooking is always delicious!" Monet thanked you.

The tattooed captain just stared at your back as you were leaving the room. He knew something was up with you. Sighing in exhaustion, he brushed your behaviour aside as he started to think about the mission he was currently in. 

Unbeknownst to Monet and Law, you were unbelievably angry and veins started to pop on your forehead as you made your way back into the kitchen. Heavy stomps echoed throughout the hallway as you angrily pushed the food trolley. With your hands tightly gripping onto the trolley bar, you took a deep breath and sighed. 

That was strike two. One more strike and you were going to beat both of their asses to the snowy grounds of Punk Hazard. 

------------- 

You heard that Law agreed to give Caesar's henchmen limbs. It was one of the conditions that Caesar implemented for you and the captain to stay at Punk Hazard, aside from exchanging the literal hearts of Law and Monet to prevent backstabbing.

So when you were walking across the halls of the laboratory and heard the deathly screams of grown men echo throughout, you weren't surprised. 

"Looks like the captain is performing surgery today." you giggled as you skipped along the hallway. Deciding that you wanted to see the disembodiment in action, you quickly followed the sounds of agony. But as you were nearing the door, the screaming suddenly halted. As you slowed down your pace, you quietly made your way to the door and heard light shuffling and Monet's voice, You leaned up against the door with your right ear to listen.

"Alright, I'm ready Trafalgar," Monet said. "Are you sure this won't hurt?"

More shuffling was heard until Law spoke up. "First time? Don't worry, I'll stick it in slowly."

Your entire body froze as your mouth dropped in horror. "What the hell are they doing in there?!" you hissed to yourself. 

You heard a light grunt and a sharp inhale. More shuffling.

"Oh my, that's kind of big now that I look at it," Monet commented. "It feels weird too."

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it," You heard Law reply. "Now, hold still, I'm going to shove it in."

Oh that was it. That was strike three. And you know what they say. Three strikes and you’re out. And by out you meant that you were going to kill your captain and that green-haired witch.

Your mind short-circuited as you assumed that your captain and that damned woman were up to no good. With your mind and heartbeat going 100 miles per hour, you grabbed the handle and swung the door wide open, screaming; "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THERE?!"

And as soon as you laid your eyes upon Law and Monet, your heart stopped and your feet were stuck in place.

There they were, with Law's back facing you and the green-haired woman lying on her back on the couch. The doctor's left tattooed hand was holding onto her right leg which was up in the air. Your captain's face was turned to you with his face widening in horror, and Monet tilted her head to the left to look at you. 

What set you off was when Monet glanced at you, her long green hair was dishevelled.

Steam started to blow through your ears as you glared hole into Law and Monet. Your entire body started to shake uncontrollably as your chest heaved up and down aggressively.

Realizing that he was caught in a position that already caused a great misunderstanding, Law quickly let go of the leg he was holding onto and scrambled to make your way towards you. What you failed to see was that Monet's left leg was now replaced with a giant talon.

"(Y/n)-ya, you can't just barge into here while-" he started but you cut him off.

"CAPTAIN TRAFALGAR LAW! WHAT IN NEPTUNES GREAT BEARD ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT BITCH?!" you bellowed. 

Unable to think straight, you stomped past your captain headed towards the large bird talon on the desk in front of the couch. As you picked it up with your right hand, you whipped your head to glare at the insufferable woman lying on the couch.

"You've got some nerve seducing my captain like that!" you shrieked as you swung the limb towards Monet. She promptly dodged your attack and screamed, running away from the couch and onto the other side of the room.

"(Y/n)! It's not what you think! He just-" she started to explain before you swung at her again.

"I don't want to fucking hear it!" you screeched as you chased the poor limping woman around the room.

"Shambles!" Law grunted. And as soon as he said it, you swung the talon once more towards Monet, only to knock down a bookshelf onto the floor.

You whipped your head to face the captain once more. Law shuddered as he saw your eyes glimmer with hate. It was screaming bloody murder, and he was on the receiving end of it.

"YOU! Oh, you've got some nerve! You men disgust me!" you screeched as you stomped towards the doctor. With your left foot planted in front, your right arm swung up, reading to assault the man with the bird limb.

"(Y/n)-ya wait! Whatever you're thinking, we didn't do it!" he yelped as he jumped to the side to avoid your attack. However, he didn't know that you were quick enough to see through his actions and the back of the talon hit him on the side of his head, which successfully smacked him to the ground.

Your left hand reached out to the pistol that was hoisted on your hip. You drew it out and pointed it to the man on the floor, "Falling for a woman like that? How despicable! I-!" you started to lecture, but your voice drowned out as you realized that your outburst of anger took all the energy out of you.

"I-" you started to speak but your voice failed you. As your hand fell back to your side, you started to wonder why you acted like that. Even if they had something between them, it wasn't your place to care, unless you were...

"...Jealous? Are you jealous (Y/n)-ya?" Law called out as you returned to your senses. The discomfort that once reflected in his eyes was replaced with amusement as his mouth raised in a smirk.

Your eyes widened at the revelation as your heart started to pound. A bright red flush appeared on your cheeks.

"There's no way," you muttered. The limb that once was on your hand dropped to the ground as you stumbled back in shock. Glancing at Law, who now stood up with his arms crossed, you shot a nasty glare as the smirk on his face widened even more. 

"Why would I be jealous?! I was just protecting your dignity!" you sputtered. The captain made a stride towards you as he chuckled.

"What a stupid reason. You expect me to believe that?" he teased. 

He was now looming in front of you as you backed up to a wall. Your head was bowed down in embarrassment as you refused to look into his steel grey eyes. 

"I wasn't jealous..." you lowly muttered.

"Somehow that's not believable," Law answered back. He dipped his head to your eye level so that he could make eye contact with you, but you whipped your head to the side, still refusing to meet his eyes.

Amused by your sudden 180-degree change in mood, your captain stood straight up, placed his hand on the back of your head, and kissed your forehead.

The once freezing temperature of the laboratory now skyrocketed into a burning hot sensation as Law made an out-of-character advance toward you. Whipping your head up to face Law, your face was now burning hot with more embarrassment.

"Captain! What was that for?" you yelped in surprise.

Law simply chuckled. "Sometimes, I wonder what goes on on that interesting head of yours. One minute you're beating me with a bird limb and then the next I find out it's because you're jealous."

You shoved away the man in front of you and pouted. "I am NOT jealous! I just had to straighten you up and remind you that we're on a mission here!"

"Oh please, if anything, you were the one who forgot that we had a mission (Y/n)-ya." he retorted. 

"Whatever, now help me clean up this mess," you sneered as you proceeded to pick up the fallen books that you knocked down from your rampage. The tattooed captain chuckled and proceeded to assist you in a comfortable silence for a while before he spoke up again.

"(Y/n)-ya?" he said as he hoisted up the fallen bookshelf.

"Yeah what is it cap," you said with disinterest as you continued to collect the fallen items. 

"You know you'll always have me right?" he announced.

Your heart picked up slightly at the confession. Then A smile graced your lips as you turned your head to face Law. "Shut up and put that bookshelf up, Cap," you finally said as you tried to dismiss your feelings. 

The captain sighed as he shook his head. A rumble of laughter started to escape his chest, and you followed suit. Amidst the chaos that happened in one of the laboratory rooms, you and Law couldn't help but share one of the many moments you had with one another, even though the two of you were far away from home.

----------

Bonus Scene:

In the Polar Tang, the Heart Pirates were nowhere to be seen. That was because all of them were inside the captain's quarters, staring at a small book at the captain's desk. The cover of the book read 'Journal'.

"So, should we open it?" Penguin asked, with his hand hovering over the notebook. 

"Yeah man, let's do it!" Shachi affirmed.

"Guys, what if the captain finds out?" Bepo chittered.

"You idiot, there's no way he'd find out if he's not here!" Ikkaku chided the Mink.

"Sorry..." Bepo muttered.

 Penguin picked up the book and slowly opened it. "Alright you guys, here we go..."

Everyone leaned in and peered over Penguin's shoulders as the notebook opened. As soon as the first page was opened, a bunch of folded envelopes fell out and scattered on the ground. The entire crew crouched down and picked them up.

"It's addressed to (Y/n)," Hakugan announced.

"This one too." Jean Bart said.

"This one as well!" Uni called out.

"Wait a minute, are these all love letters for (Y/n)? And he never gave them to her?" Shachi said bewilderedly.

"Guys, captain's journal is just filled with yearning for (Y/n)!" Penguin cackled as he skimmed through Law's journal.

The whole crew burst into laughter as they crowded around Penguin once more to read what the captain had to say about you.

----------

TAGLIST:

@hopelesslover06 @shakysif @eyes-ofhell @letmereadchristonabike @bi-narystars @valval08 @urbisexualfriend @emmaiscool22 @deathsmajestysworld @sp1ng @kitsunechan707 @orange-milky

[awkward-halfhug]

probably not the best sedative | eleventh doctor x reader

summary: the Doctor reflects on a certain problem he has

chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6

contents: self aware doctor, but also doctor sad boi hours

(also on my ao3)

1k

The doctor has a problem.

He has feelings for you, he's aware of that. Of course he is; this isn't his first time around the block. He's familiar with the experience enough by now. This particular him may not have had the privilege, but he's not a complete dummy. And he's done a fairly good job of exacerbating those feelings by his own actions. All the trips, the affection. You were practically attached at the hip these days and he knows he's the reason for that. So yes, he's been aware of his feelings.

But that's not the problem. Although, the feelings have produced some... less than dignified side effects. 

His purring is getting more obvious. Louder. More frequent. No longer just a hum in his chest but an engine. It's giving him away and he has to distract himself to try and tamp it down. An issue with that plan being that most of his distractions involve you, and you just trigger the purring again. It's a vicious cycle.

You seem to find his purring amusing. It makes you smile. That's a plus, if he can get past the embarrassment to see it as such.

The moths in his stomach are getting irritating in their frequency, but he's basically made his peace with them at this point. He hasn't felt this schoolboy giddy just from thinking about a girl– a woman– in a very long while. Years and years and years and— well, you get the point. He'd almost think he was just too old for the feeling, but if he's learned anything in his long life, it's that life never ceases to surprise him in ways big and small.

His hearts beat faster, almost to an alarming rate, whenever you lean into him. Whether you're leaning your head on his shoulder or leaning in to whisper information in his ear, like you've both made a bit of a habit doing. 

His double heartbeat, at least, does a pretty good job of covering for its erratic pace these days. You couldn't differentiate between what was a normal pace and what wasn't, could you? To you, it was all galloping. Always doing double the work your one heart does. So he doesn't stress so much about you learning of his racing hearts.

And then there's the constricting he feels keenly in his chest when he watches you sometimes. You'll just be chatting with townsfolk, smiling at something at a market, or playing with children... The Doctor feels like his hearts simultaneously stop and swell immeasurably in those moments.

He's certain yoy can't know of his heart stopping like that. Although not embarrassing, that is more of a concerning side effect he would rather you not know about.

There is one side effect of these feelings he has no doubt is unavoidably noticeable to you, however. His palms have taken to sweating. 

It's ridiculous! He's over two thousand years old, his palms should not be sweating because the woman he...likes... reaches for his hand now, unprompted. He doesn't know if that's the difference or not; that before it was always him reaching for your hand, so he was prepared, perhaps? But nowadays, and because of his own fault getting you used to the idea, you've taken to grabbing his hand out of the blue. He'll be mid conversation with someone and while he's talking, you'll reach for his hand, and his brain now activates some sort of panic protocol, wondering if his hands are dry. His body, of course, betrays him, then, and ensures his hands are always just a little bit clammy by the time your palm rests against his. You haven't mentioned anything about it, yet. And you haven't pulled away in disgust. But there is a distinct mortification that he can't shake every time it happens. He's taken to quickly, and hopefully discreetly, wiping his hands on his trousers whenever you make a move to grab one of his. 

Oh, and his breathing! One would think he had the lungs of a human the way his breath felt so short so often. So frequently! Practically every time you enter the room, when he catches sight of you, his lungs constrict. Breathing halts for a moment, like he has to remind himself of the need for air. And when you come from the wardrobe, dressed in whatever fancy dress was appropriate for a specific era? The Doctor almost feels light headed. He finds you more and more beautiful the longer he knows you. He wonders if he'll ever get used to your particular beauty. He doesn't foresee it happening, and if things keep going at this rate, he was going to need an oxygen mask on standby for all the times you take his breath away.

It has been such a long time since the Doctor has felt this way about someone, if he ever has to this extent before, that he seems to have forgotten how great a danger to his health that...liking...someone this much, truly was.

Some days he counts all the ways his body straight-up fails to perform life-sustaining basic functions around his companion and he genuinely feels concerned that he might regenerate one of these days. 

But that's not the problem. Not the real problem, anyway. Even if his body literally died from too much...fondness of a person...if that were even possible, then he would just come back a new man. And he has no doubt in his mind that this new man would like you– oh who was he kidding? He was in love with you, there was no other way to put it that would hold the same truth. He loves you, and any man he becomes after this one will love you just the same.

This is the real problem. The one that makes his hearts ache in a way that feels more crushing than any constriction of breath or tachycardia or longing could. Because he will love you with every man that he is. And he wants to spend every lifetime he has with you.

The problem is, the problem always is, that you will die, someday. That's not a problem he knows how to fix. And when that day comes, he's not sure how he'll survive it.

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and letting me know your thoughts in the tags, comments or my ask box! also feel free to send requests or just talk to me, I love to hear from you! ♡

[alaritheaurora]

I may or may not be very insane about your trsmp superhero au on Ao3

I need to hear more about everyone from the Kingdom of Fools. Stuff like their powers and the intricacies of them. Their fighting styles, how each person treats combat, as well as if/how it differs when they're fighting alone or with a team.

I know we got to see a bit of them all fighting/working together in the prequel fic but I desperately want to see a full fledged fight scene with all of them. I wanna know how they work together as a team and if they have any sick ass combo moves they do.

God I love superhero aus so much I'm normal i promise

Okay, this got me so excited, so this is really long. I love talking about my sillies. I am also including Zam in this list because she joins the team later on. Owen has been omitted because he isn't as fleshed out.

Some of this is just straight up copy pasted from my master doc, so you get the official power descriptions and the little names I have for them.

Foolish: King | Fountain of Youth - Can control the water around him. This can lift him into the air, attack people (most commonly shaped into a whip), or soften his landing. As well as this he can breathe underwater and heal (mostly himself, although it can help others even if it is much weaker) people

In fights he tends to do his best to stay away from his teammates, his power while not necessarily destructive is definitely hindering to them. Most often he’s up against Bad, and it’s mostly a goal of keeping him contained. However he’s always close enough in case his friends need help, because he can pretty efficiently heal them or just wash them away down a separate alley. He’s very, very controlled with his powers. Foolish has the issue of being a bit too op, and so he has to dial back all the time, or else he risks destroying the entire city's plumbing system. However this does not stop him from being a feral destructive bastard, as seen with Owen and his fights with Bad.

If we’re talking fighting style he’s very reckless and brash. He’s aware he can just heal himself so he tends not to care about how much he gets hit. He’s also very good at running. One of his favourite tactics is to goad someone into fighting him and then just being a total nuisance by swimming away. Or alternatively, if someone is running away from him he’ll just create a wave of water to send them back towards him.

If he’s fighting in a team then he’s almost entirely relying on them to protect him. Most of his friends are geared towards being very good protection, so often enough if he’s fighting with someone then he’ll be on the offense while they’re on the defense. He most often fights with Ros (she can keep up with him the best, and just straight up block hits without putting herself in danger) and Zam (him and Zam are a killer team because Foolish can do so much bullshit with water, and then Zam just makes it worse by freezing it. You thought getting smacked by a whip was bad? Well now there’s shard of ice in it too).

Ros Cumber: Architect | Guardian’s Fist - Can use her hands to mime and summon two massive (roughly the size of a single bed) invisible hands, which she can use to pick things up (disregarding gravity) and shield things.

Ros always acts as support. She can basically fly, so she tends to flit around and help whoever needs helping. One thing to note, whatever she wants her hand to do, she has to9 make the same motion with her real hand. Her power at first glance doesn’t seem that intimidating, because all she can really do is pick stuff up and block blows, but then you think about the fact that it’s a hand and that it can crush things. So, yes, Ros has absolutely just grabbed someone and killed them by crushing all the bones in their body. She’s the third best fighter in the group (Clown is first and Sneeg is second) but she’s not necessarily on the attack. Most of their enemies are pretty friendly with her anyways. So usually she’s there to drag someone who’s hurt out of the way, or to defend her friends. It works out great because she doesn’t have to be close to people either to help.

Usually her fighting style is to keep people away from her. She can't really take too many hits, but she has the pros of an invisible shield to protect her as well as the ability to pick up whoever is coming at her and just throw them away. If she’s forced into close combat she has a spear that Sneeg made her, and she’s very fast and nimble with it. It can also create a shockwave that temporarily paralyzes everyone within a ten foot radius of her, so if she’s in a real pickle that can help her.

Clownpierce: Archmage | Ability: Half a Cat - Can borrow people's physical (as in cannot be a mental effect) powers, this splits the ability between the both of them, essentially making it a weaker diluted version. Clown must touch the person for the effect to start, and can focus more of their power towards himself the more contact he has.

Clown gets very laser focused, so he doesn’t really notice his teammates.He doesn’t tend to mess around or play, when he fights his goal is to win and that’s it. Typically his strategy is to pick someone and stay on them. His power is very dependent on whoever is around him, and if they even have a power he can steal, so he arguably relies on his ability the least out of the group. Usually though, he’ll try to stay close to his friends, so that in case he needs it he can borrow one of their powers. Alternatively, stealing whoever he’s fighting’s power even’s the playing field a lot. 

Clown is a bit of a noodle. He put all his fighting points into speed and stamina. His strategy is to just not get hit. And he succeeds very well with that. He can run and run and nothing will stop him. He also has his scythe (which Sneeg also built :) ), which helps a lot, its main use is to hook onto people and keep them where he wants them. This guy is like a border collie, he’s just out here guiding sheep.

In a team he focuses on covering his teammates weaknesses. He most often fights with Sneeg and Ros, and those are two people he inherently trusts to protect him. So he stops moving around so much and instead will go on the defensive. If he’s fighting with someone it’s because A) he needs the support. B) They need the support, or C) They’ve been backed into a corner, and so his main goal is to win the fight with help, and if that doesn;’t work, be in a position where he can easily escape with his friend.

Sneegsnag: Warden | Ability: Ant Sized Whale - Can shrink and grow to any size, keeping the same proportions relative to his size. His strength and speed also depends on his size. 

This man is SO annoying to fight. Oh, you want to hit him? Too bad, he’s actually microscopic right now. Oh, you want to run away? Sorry, giant man is giant and will step on you. You have to understand that Sneeg can grow and shrink to ANY size. So yes, he will cling onto his enemies, and yes, he will be the size of a skyscraper. And also guess what? Everything is proportional. That includes injuries. So if Sneeg is giant and you stab him? Wow, that splinter sucks, and when he shrinks back down it remains a splinter. He’s very disorienting to fight because he’s just everywhere, one minute he’s giant, the next he’s tiny.

Alone he’s goddamn terrifying, because guess what? He only has one concern, and that’s the person he’s fighting. So you have a man who can easily crush you coming after you, and to add onto that he has so many horrible little gadgets. His trident not only stands but also electrocutes, it’s like a pointy stun batton. He has rocket boots and his cape can be a parachute, this man can essentially fly. He doesn’t really care about getting hit, he’s goddamn tanky, and also stupid fast and sneaky. It doesn’t matter if he misses half his hits when he’s still going with no sign of stopping.

Team-wise, he’s a meat shield. He knows and loves this position, and will gladly shield his friends with his body. He’s always keeping an eye out and is ready to go help his friends. And if things are truly dire he’ll turn giant and just pick them up. There’s no one he specifically fights with the most, he’s kind of in charge of making sure everyone’s okay.

Zam: Prince/ Princess | Ice’s Touch - Can create and control ice. Can just put a small layer of snow over things, or create massive spikes to skate on (this ice does not melt). Is immune to the cold and can often make the temperature drop around her.

Zam is fairly new to the group and so doesn’t have an exact placement, but he’s one of the heavy hitters and tends to rely on teamwork. Usually her power is used to move quick, get to a higher altitude, and stab people with ice. She’s slippery, and can also very easily just create a wall of ice to protect himself.

Usually he gets paired up with Foolish and Sneeg, this is mostly because he's Sneeg’s apprentice, and she and Foolish just really fit well together. Zam’s main purpose with people who aren’t Foolish is his speed, because he can pretty much just skate everywhere. So she tends to give her teammates boosts that way, and will help Ros carry people to safety. 

Tango Frags: Squire | Telephone Game - Can inherently know what people are feeling, as well as manipulate their emotions to some extent. This allows him to anger or calm people, as well as tells him their general intention and whether they are lying. 

Tango doesn’t usually fight. The most use his power is is to make someone sad. Admittedly, he is not home often and isn’t trained in fighting and if he is there then he’s falling behind his teammates and letting them protect him. Instead he’s on the computer and works as their eyes in the sky. He tells them of any upcoming danger and news. Or, if the Fools need to interrogate someone, then he’s their guy. 

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

On the corner / the red string theory

What if Wymack met Andrew when he was a kid?

Intro

A while ago, seized by inspiration, I wrote a 16,500 word au fic after this beautiful prompt took my brain hostage. (It also provides the dialogue for the first conversation in this fic.) I don't do Ao3 so in a fit of courage I decided to post it here, in the hope it resonates with some of you.

I wrote it as Andrew's alternative origin story: different to the one we know, but still bringing us towards the Andrew we end up seeing. Wymack is living peacefully as a high school coach in a small town. Most of the others are technically ocs but heavily inspired by canon characters. The sport could be exy or some more mundane form of stickball.

Oh yeah and no Moriyama / mafia angle. They have more than enough problems without it.

Please know the fic makes no attempt to be a textbook for how things should be done. I'm aware some of it is definitely not how things should be done, but this is how the story rolls.

TW - same as for canon Andrew Minyard ie. references to sexual abuse, and even though it's more implied than explicit he's also much younger. Also violence and tragedy in various other forms as this is, after all, aftg. Please take care.

More official TWs (plus related fic recs!) are here.

(all chapters)

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

Chapter 1

The sky is luminous yellow as only winter skies can be, the smoky yellow of baked custard. If you half-close your eyes, the glowing sky merges with the glare from the sodium lights and feels like a scene from an alien world.

In the yellow twilight kids from the neighbouring school laugh and tease each other outside the corner store. Making the most of their transitory world, halfway between day and night, halfway between school and home.

Coach smiles faintly as he walks past them with a new packet of cigarettes. He remembers this - the precious fleeting feeling of independence. He leans against the low brick wall of the For Sale house next to the store and turns his attention to his purchase.

He is currently in the third stage of quitting: buying cigarettes a few blocks away and smoking them on the spot. Smoke hanging around the house doesn't send a good message for a sports professional.

It's not the best neighbourhood. Times have been tough and houses are getting boarded up, even ransacked. Yet Coach doesn't mind. There are nicer places to sit and smoke, but most of them he’d gone to with her, and can never go to again.

He listens as the kids laugh and posture and provoke each other, reading the power dynamics with a coach’s trained ear.

Darkness falls, and now the little circle of yellow from the sodium lights belongs to older, tougher teenagers, a world you need street cred to step into. The tall one resting his back against the wall has already sent two kids hurrying into the darkness using nothing but a scowl. Finally, even the older boys shuffle off home.

One kid still lingers by the wall, nursing the very last breaths of a dead cigarette.

He’s dressed like the hoodlums, but he’s far too small to be out this late. Too small even to be in high school yet. Dirty blonde hair, sullen expression, pierced eyebrow. That kid at the back of the room who always seems about to set fire to something, the kid even the teachers are secretly afraid of.

Coach has a couple like that on his team. They're some of his best players.

The kid looks ill at ease as the last of the older teens leave. He clearly isn't with them. He isn't with anyone. He glances around, as though wanting to draw the last remnants of company from the evening the way he’d drawn the last gasp from his cigarette.

His eye falls on Coach, who raises his own stub casually by way of greeting.

"You ok there?"

The kid just stares, wary, suspicious.

Coach waves his cigarette to indicate the deepening night.

"Bit late," he observes conversationally. "You need to call someone maybe, get picked up?" He holds up his phone in invitation.

The kid stares at him as though memorising every detail. The buzzcut hair, the tribal tattoos, the lounging posture. Those thunderous brows and impatient jaw.

Eyes that had seen many boys going through many different hells, and had never looked away.

Eventually the kid says: "I don’t want to go home."

Coach doesn't want to believe the worst but the flat, dead tone in the kid's voice tells him he probably should.

"That’s ok. I don’t mind company."

He adds, by way of explaining his presence here so late: "My wife doesn’t like me smoking."

It’ll do as an explanation, and it’s technically true. She’d never liked it.

The kid's as skittish as a wild animal, no way he’s coming close, but he clearly doesn’t want to be alone. It’s not too surprising, this isn’t the safest neighbourhood.

The boy’s gaze rests on the nearly-full cigarette packet.

Coach doesn't try to move closer. He tosses the kid the packet, then the lighter.

The boy takes a cigarette and lights up. His fingers hover longingly over a second one for the road, but he leaves it and tosses them back.

Coach explains he's a coach for a local high school team, as if this isn't written all over him, and rambles on comfortably about his sport and his kids.

The boy doesn’t lose his guarded, watchful expression, and he doesn’t speak. But he doesn’t leave, either.

Eventually - reluctantly - he turns to go. Maybe he knows it will be worse if he goes awol. Maybe he feels he’s stayed out past the danger period.

Coach watches him walk away.

—

The kid only makes it few blocks before some wannabe gangsters start to hassle him, poking him, laughing.

His limbs tense, and not only from fear. Despite being half the size of the older boys he welcomes the idea of violence.

"Enough."

Not a loud voice, but it has command in it. The kid doesn’t recognise the easy-going coach at first. There is nothing easy-going about his stance or his expression.

The toughs forget about the kid and square up to the newcomer.

"You want some, asshole?"

One of them holds up a lead pipe and swings it meaningfully.

Coach, unmoved, pulls out a gun. He angles it above their heads as a warning, but this scans as knowledge rather than reluctance. It’s the action of a man who knows not to aim a gun at a person’s face unless he’s prepared for the worst to happen.

The attacker drops the piece of pipe and puts his hands up in a vaguely placating gesture.

"Whatever, pops."

They step back, smiling sarcastically like they’re doing him a favour. Coach doesn’t move until they’re well and truly down the street.

He holsters the gun. It’s then he realises the kid is nowhere in sight.

Neither is the lead pipe.

The blow comes from behind - blackness falling before the pain can be properly felt.

When Coach finally wakes in an agonised fog the kid has gone, and he’s stolen the gun.

—

(next chapter >)

(all chapters)

[everythingisromant1c]

The First Step

carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary - The first thing you do when you get back to your hometown of Chicago is pay Carmen, your oldest friend and maybe more than that, a visit at The Beef. When you land yourself a job there, the more he sees of you, the more he seems to push you away for reasons he isn't yet brave enough to tell you, even if all he wants is to be with you. But if he'd ever known you, he'd know that you weren't going to back down without a fight.

type - one shot (its a long one)

word count [16.6k]

tags: Carmy Berzatto x f!reader, friends to lovers, pining, slight miscommunication, a little angst, "stop pushing me away", hurt/comfort, and new promises.

warnings: swearing, mentions of grief/death, panic attack

a/n: check this out also on my ao3! <33

Carmen was tired, to say the least. He'd been working himself to the bone every damn day for the past few months, trying to get The Beef to a good, stable place. Somehow, as time went by, he'd only managed to dig himself a deeper grave. With the money they owed to Cicero, he knew, deep down, that the restaurant was, for lack of a better word, fucked.

But he kept holding on. He couldn't let go of it. He'd wonder, in the depths of night, why he was fighting so hard for this place when he could easily sell it to Cicero. If, maybe, he was holding onto someone. He didn't amuse the thought. He physically couldn't.

So he threw himself deeper into his work. Deeper into making The Beef a reputable place, with a professional working staff and high-quality food. It didn't matter that the others looked at him like he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. He didn't have the time to worry about that. He didn't have time for much of anything, which is why Sydney had been pushing for new hires. She'd said that they needed more hands in the kitchen, more workers up front, more of everything. They should be desperate.

That's why she'd spent hours putting up posters for new hires on what felt like practically every block of Chicago within a mile radius from the restaurant. And that's why you'd happened to stumble upon one of them while walking to a favorite pizza place of yours that you'd loved as a kid. It was one of the first things you'd planned on doing ever since you'd gotten back into the city. That and meeting up with some old friends who you'd missed with an ache in your chest. So, seeing the poster clinging to the utility pole saying that The Beef was hiring had your heart skip a little beat at the prospect of not only getting a job but seeing the people who had basically been your family growing up again.

It was a Friday morning when you'd stopped by The Beef, the rusted white sign sticking out like a sore thumb. A rush of aromas wafted against your nose when you walked in, and the front door made a jingling sound that was almost nostalgic.

No one was at the front register. In fact, you couldn't see anyone at all, only hear some muffled voices coming from the kitchen in the back. The voices grew louder as seconds went by, and you could tell they were shouts. The kitchen door then flew open, finally revealing the argument going on between two people, one being an unfamiliar woman in an apron, and the other being none other than Richie Jerimovich.

"Richie, I swear to God-"

"I already told you," came the booming voice of Richie, neither of them noticing your presence at the door. "Your foo foo plans for this place are not gonna fly, Sweetheart!"

With the way Richie was talking to her, you could see the woman's patience wearing thin as she rested a hand on her temple with shut eyes as he carried on. It was only when she reopened her eyes a few moments later that she noticed your presence.

"Hi," you said, making your way over to her. "I saw your poster, the one about looking for new hires-"

"Right, right." She offered a strained smile, stress seeming to stay with her. "I'm Sydney, you must be one of the job applicants?"

"Yeah, I'm-"

"A job applicant?" Richie's voice boomed through the room, his voice always projecting ten times louder than need be. You had to admit, you missed it. "F that bullshit, that's fucking Mars Bar!"

Sydney's eyebrows lowered at the shouted nickname, the one that the Berzattos had gifted you years ago after your favorite candy as a kid. You granted Richie a smile, him finally noticing you. "Nice to see you too, Richie."

He marched around the counter to engulf you in a bear-like hug that had you letting out a chuckled gasp from the impact, arms wrapping tightly around your back. He let go in a beat and slammed his hands down on the counter in excitement, always loud.

"Just wait till Carmy hears about his favorite girl being back, I swear to God."

Something fluttered through you at the mention of that name. Carmen's name. With a whirlwind of thoughts sifting through your mind, you almost missed the other name that Richie had called you, aside from Mars Bar. Carmy's favorite girl.

-----

Richie had barged into the kitchen with full vigor, slamming open the swinging door dangerously close to a nearby Tina.

"Cousin!" He moved through the different chefs' stations until he got to Carmen's, who was wrapped up in prepping and quite frankly had learned to tune out the sound of Richie's yelling for his own health. "Yo, Cousin!"

Richie boisterously grabbed a hold of Carmen's shoulders, rocking him a little and moving his hand that wielded a knife, cutting diagonally into beef he'd been pre-slicing.

"Shit," Carmen cursed, irritation forming. "What the hell is it, Cousin?"

Richie just laughed, a mind never paid to Carmen's annoyance. "Yea, you're pissed at me now, Carmy, but you're gonna think I'm pulling your dick when I tell you who's at the fucking register right now."

With a forever-present dull headache, Carmen sighed and shifted his focus to him, putting down his knife on the counter. He gestured a hand out to him. "Who's at the register, Rich-"

"The fucking love of your life, that's who!"

Richie gave Carmen a playful punch in the arm, but he remained unphased, a frown etched on his features. "See, what the fuck are you talking about? I don't have a love of my-"

"Two words, Cousin. Mars Bar."

Richie was right. Those two words really did do something to him.

"She- ... she's here?"

He rubbed his jaw, brain short-circuiting for a second as he tried to make sense of Richie's words. His eyes bore into Richie's never-serious ones, trying to grasp onto whether or not he was, just this one time. If he was messing with him, he didn't think he'd be able to take it.

"Yes, bro!" Yelled Richie, patting him on the back. "I swear to you. She's here, and hot as balls, too."

He squinted his eyes at him with a twinge of disgust, slightly shoving him to the side to get towards the door. He still didn't know if he believed it. You'd been traveling abroad on some grant that he, to be honest, didn't know much about. But you were doing great things. He couldn't guess why you'd come back to The Beef, of all places.

When he saw you through the window, he was lucky he was hidden behind the safety of the kitchen door because he couldn't control the way his body and mind froze at the sight of you. He took in the way your smile beamed out into the room as you spoke with Sydney, warm and unignorable, and he could've sworn something changed in the chemical makeup of his brain. Something that had his eyes widening and his feet planted in their place.

"What'd I tell you?" Richie's voice from behind him knocked him out of his trance. There was a smug, amused edge to his voice. "Now go and talk to her."

Carmen put a hand out, shooing him away. "I will. I just," he stopped, trailing off as he took in the way you truly seemed to glow after all the time spent away. He liked how it looked on you.

"Aww, don't tell me you're nervous now, Carm." Richie put his arms on Carmen's shoulders.

"Shut the fuck up." He shoved Richie off of him with a grimace, but his eyes never left you, jaw clenching as he followed your movements. "I'm not."

The pit in his stomach told him otherwise. He ignored the feeling, determined, and took in a breath before opening the kitchen door to the front of the restaurant, to where you stood.

At the sound of the door swinging open you finally turned your attention to him, lips coming to part with a subtle inhale that somehow left you feeling breathless.

"Carmen." You said his name with a grin, eyes lighting up, heart picking up its pace in your chest. You ran over for a quick, thoughtless hug that left his body partly on fire when you pulled away just as fast.

"Mars Bar." He uttered the old nickname endearingly, his voice cracking at the end of his words for some reason. He cleared his throat. "You're uh- you're here. In Chicago."

"Woah," Richie interrupted, coming in from behind, boisterous. "We've got a genius in The Beef, everybody!"

Sydney snorted from somewhere in the distance, but you couldn't even laugh because you'd been too busy staring at the way Carmen ran his hand through his golden hair that had been unruly since you were practically kids and still was.

"Yeah," you breathed, cringing at how awkward your voice sounded to your own ears. "I'm here."

The two of you held onto each other's gazes for a beat too long, scanning over the other wordlessly, taking in the changes that the years apart had brought.

"Well, uh," Carmen started, licking his lip to find strings of coherent words. "Do you wanna come into the office? Catch up?"

You nodded with a pleased tug of your lips. "Yeah, sure Carmen."

He nodded too and led the way, arm delicately resting on your upper back for a second in a way that left his fingertips buzzing, alive.

You entered the room after he did, the desk and walls littered with papers and sticky notes of different colors, an overload to the senses. It was stuffy, even with the door left open.

Before he turned to face you, he clumsily sorted some papers that'd been sitting on a wooden chair into stacks and pushed them onto the highest shelf above his desk so you could sit down, his white t-shirt slightly tugging upwards as he reached. Your eyes subtly followed the movement, eyes glancing steadily over a part of his lower abdomen that you felt alarmed at even sneaking a peak. That and the muscles that showed clearly from the short sleeves of his shirt.

God, you'd only been back in Chicago for a few days and your mind was already doing that thing it always did when you were around Carmen, like it didn't have the ability to think straight or act rationally when he was around.

"So, uh," Carmen started, turning his focus back to being one hundred percent on you. It became hard to concentrate when he did that, because he had the most piercing blue eyes you'd ever seen and you found over the years that they'd always had more than just one emotion swimming around in them. As you looked into them now, you still came up short in identifying them.

"What are you doing back in Chicago?" He looked at you like you were a puzzle, one he couldn't give up on solving. "Did the studies abroad finally start to bore you?"

"Yeah, they did," you joked, looking down at your lap. "Not really much to do in Europe compared to this place, you know?"

Carmen let out a wisp of a laugh, nodding, while also noting somewhere in the back of his mind that this was the first time he'd laughed in at least a few days. Your presence could always do that to him; Put him at ease when nothing else truly could.

"And, of course, I could only go so long being separated from the Berzattos."

He laughed again. That made twice. "Oh yeah?"

You nodded, playful in your words.

"I mean it." You did.

You let a comfortable silence nestle between the two of you, feeling the upward tug of your lips that you could only blame on Carmen. The thought left something alighted in your chest

"Seriously though." You say up a little straighter in your seat. "I guess the real reason I stopped by was because I was wondering if I could help out around here for a little while, now that I'm back home."

At this, the smile that had been resting on Carmen's face began to weaken.

"What?" His forehead creased, eyes dancing across your face with curiosity and disguised panic of his own.

Sensing his change in mood, you hurriedly continued. "I'll be home for a while and, you know, I just figured me getting a job here would be convenient and-"

"No."

You stopped mid-sentence, zeroing in on the man before you. "No?"

He had one hand leaning against the desk, the other's fingertips pressed to his forehead, head cast down, eyes evading yours.

"No, I- I'm sorry, Mars. We're ... we're not hiring right now. We don't need any new workers." At that, you frowned, taking in the tension in Carmen's stance and the tightness in his voice.

"I know The Beef is hiring right now, Carm." You gave him a disbelieving look. "In fact, I got the idea to work here from the flyers Sydney put up everywhere, so don't try and tell me you're not looking for new job applicants." You took a step closer to him, sensing something wrong and confused as to why he would lie, but he only seemed to be growing more agitated, shifting his posture upwards and no longer leaning on the table.

"That was a mistake, alright? I didn't ask her to do that. The Beef is doing perfectly fine, we don't need any extra help." Something sour was rotting in the undertones of his voice, the way he said the word help as if the thought of it was repellent.

"I didn't mean anything by asking. I ... I know you guys are doing fine, probably great even, I was just thinking that maybe I could-"

"We don't need any new fucking hires, Mars." He slammed his hand down on the desk, his tone raising so abruptly that it had you taking a step back in surprise.

When you looked up at him with alarm in your eyes, immediately his eyes began to soften, regret flooding through them. You held his gaze until those same eyes became taken over with this sudden guilt, almost sadness, flickering downwards towards his hands that moved to rest on his office desk, away from you.

You took a second to scan over the desk that was littered with papers and unsigned documents. It wasn't like Carmen to be unorganized, you knew that much. He had to be in a bad place to have his office look like this. Or, rather, Mikey's old office.

The room was a sensory overload, every inch of it a reminder of Mikey. Anyone would go crazy spending their days in here. Especially if that someone had been his little brother.

Carmen rubbed his hands over his face. You took a step next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder that lit aflame from the heat he gave off.

"For what it's worth," you started softly, and Carmen had to fight a shiver at how close your voice was to him. "I miss Mikey too."

He didn't make any movement to turn towards you, his jaw clenched and eyes still staring downwards. He didn't know what made you feel like you had to say that to him. He didn't need to look at you, though, to know you truly meant it.

"You can't work here," he said, his voice sounding defeated and a little far away. "I'm sorry."

Something restless in your heart was determined to make you fight back, figure out why Carmen was refusing you without a good reason. But something else inside of you softened at the way Carmen wouldn't meet your eyes, seeming guilt-stricken, and decided to back down. The hand that had been resting on his shoulder gave him a final squeeze.

You took your leave for the office door without Carmen moving an inch.

"Bye, Carm." Your voice was unfairly soft towards him, even if he felt like he didn't deserve the kindness that thrummed from your heart. "It was nice seeing you." You paused. "I've missed you."

Before he could turn to say goodbye, somehow communicate the 'I've missed you too' that he'd been meaning to express since he'd seen you, you had already turned down the hallway, out of sight. He knew for sure, then, that you didn't deserve that response from him. But he just didn't know how to tell you. How to explain without sounding ridiculous why alarms sounded in his brain at the thought of you working at The Beef.

He'd always known that you were destined for more than just the life you'd shared with him as kids, where you scored straight A's and were one of the top in your class. When you'd left for college while he stayed put, he didn't even let himself miss you, because he'd just wanted what was best for you. And when you furthered your studies even after college, traveling abroad, he knew that was the life you were meant for. To see you stopping all of that to work at The Beef, the place where his brother's dreams had become nothing but dead ends as time went on, wouldn't settle right inside of him.

Worst of all, he had visions of you working in the kitchen, behind the scenes where tensions were constantly overwhelming, of him losing his cool in front of you and you seeing a side of him he tried to keep you far away from. You'd always known the youngest brother Carmy, the world-class chef Carmy, the one who was at his best around you. He couldn't imagine what he would do if suddenly he revealed the Carmy he tried to hide; the Carmy who worked at The Beef, a bundle of unstable frustration who was barely hanging on, the Carmy who still didn't know how to live life without Mikey but who melted from your touch, who wanted more from the girl who'd been at his side for so many years as nothing but a friend, and a great one. He couldn't risk losing that.

Especially not with the condition of The Beef at the moment, which needed his full focus. Having you around would definitely not allow for that. So he convinced himself that this was for your own good. For his own good.

When you rounded the corner back out into the front of the restaurant, Richie was still there behind the counter, holding a phone to his ear.

You smiled at him a little tiredly and silently waved goodbye, walking towards the door.

Richie frowned, removing his focus from the phone call. "Where the hell are you leaving to so fast?" You spun around. "Don't tell me Carmy scared you off already."

You laughed awkwardly and thought of what to say, but must have taken too long to answer because Richie's face was already contorting with an over-the-top grimace.

"What'd that moron say to you, huh?"

You put a hand out, trying to calm him. "Richie, it's nothing, really-"

He was already stalking off towards the office, muttering something about 'killing Carmen'. You shook your head to yourself, because you knew how headstrong both of them were, and turned towards the exit. And, as you finally opened the glass door to leave, you could hear yelling and shouted vulgar words coming from the office. You didn't stay long enough to listen.

You didn't know what to think when it happened. You'd been sitting at home all weekend, alone, and honestly truly bored and wondering if coming back home was the right choice when your phone started ringing. You checked the screen and it was an unknown caller, but boredom had you picking it up anyway.

Mars Bar!

"Hello? Who is this?"

It's me.

"..."

Richie.

"Ohh ... right. How did you get my number again?"

I asked around. Anyways, it doesn't matter. I'm supposed to be telling you that you're gonna start work tomorrow.

"What? Start work? Where?"

At The Beef. C'mon Mars catch up with me here.

"Sorry, I'm just ... confused. Carmen told me you guys weren't hiring and that he couldn't give me a job?"

Oh, that. Don't worry about Carmy. I set that moron straight.

"What are you saying?"

I'm saying, you got the job kid!

"Richie, are you fucking with me right now?"

No! Why does everyone always think I'm fucking with them? I'm fucking serious hon.

"Okay, okay! I ... I believe you. I think."

You better! Carmy is really fucking stoked to have you work here, I mean it.

"He ... he is?"

Sure! So I better see your ass Monday morning, capeesh?

"Y-yea I guess so."

Your heart really should not have fluttered the way it did when Richie told you that Carmen was supposedly excited to see you. He hadn't sounded like it when you'd brought it up to him. In fact, he seemed strangely opposed to the idea, like you'd hit a sensitive area.

You weren't sure if you could really believe Richie. Like you'd always known, Carmen was stubborn as hell. The change of heart was unexpected, to say the least. You didn't know what to think. You still didn't know, as you walked through the front entrance of The Beef the next day, ready to start work. The only person to greet you at the front was Richie, standing behind the counter, per usual.

"Cousin!" He gestured you over. You greeted him back and rounded the corner to stand behind the counter next to him, unused to the feeling after spending years on the other side of it.

Richie spent at most two minutes giving you a rundown of what you'd be doing at The Beef, merely distracted by some yelling in the kitchen. The brief directions consisted mostly of taking orders and ringing a bell. A real challenge.

"Yeah, so that's basically it." He gave you a pat on the back and your front almost hit the counter at the impact.

"No paperwork or formalities or anything?" You were almost suspicious of the fast speed at which this had all happened. Richie whipped his head around like you'd stated something crazy.

"Formalities? C'mon, what are we, the fucking White House? This is a family business, Cousin."

He patted you on the shoulder roughly. "Thanks, Richie," you said, both slightly amused and slightly unnerved. You tapped your fingers on the marble countertop, trying to seem casual. "Where's um ... where's Carmy?"

Richie scratched his head. "He's, uh, he's busy. He'll be out soon. Don't you worry, shortcake." He gave you a wink that you didn't know what to do with and turned back towards the kitchen. You were gonna have to talk to him about those nicknames in the workplace sooner or later.

You called out to him before he left into the kitchen, hesitant. "You're sure Carmen said he wants me to work here, right?"

Your eyes bore into Richie's for a moment, and it was almost like you could see the thoughts in his head visibly swarming about. His shoulder raised. "Well, he didn't exactly say he wanted you to, but anyone with fucking eyes can see that he wants you-"

"Richie!" Your jaw hung open in utter annoyance and bafflement. He frowned at you.

"What?"

You almost scoffed. "Did Carmen really not say it was okay for me to work here?" You looked around, bewildered. "Does he even know I'm here?"

Richie gestured his hands out to you. "Sure he does!"

You could tell just from his tone what your answer was. You put a hand on your hip, shaking your head to yourself. "I'm going in there to talk to him."

"No!" Richie's eyes widened. "No. Just calm down, and I'll talk to him."

You stared at him disbelievingly. He stared back at you challengingly with the confidence only Richie could have. "I'll be back in no time. I know what I'm doing, trust me."

Richie didn't know what he was planning on doing when he opened the door to the kitchen in search of Carmen. He just hoped he wasn't using a knife when he found him.

He turned a few corners before Carmen was in his line of view, hunched over the counter as he worked busily on something Richie couldn't see. He leaned against the counter next to him, watching Carmen as his focus didn't even falter.

"Carm."

He didn't get a reply, just the back of Carmen's head as he focused on reading the piece of paper in front of him, hand braced against the shining surface it lay on.

"Carmy."

The man in question slowly shifted his focus to the man next to him, whose distracting presence had become impossible to ignore. "What? What is it?"

Richie peered down at him. "Promise that you won't get mad."

Carmen's eyes narrowed. "What the hell did you do?"

"Just promise me you won't fucking blow up at me like you always do."

"Why would I promise that if I don't even know what the hell you did?"

Richie tipped his head back exasperatedly. "Just say you promise!"

"I fucking promise! Okay?" Carmen ran a hand through his hair, moving it again to cross his arms. "Now, what is it?"

Richie paused, kicking out his foot and casually peering down at it with feigned interest. "Mars Bar is outside right now. Again."

Carmen's forehead creased and he looked over at Richie with sudden alarm. "What? Why? Is she okay?"

Richie gave him a knowing look, smug for a moment. "Yeah, she's fine." He shrugged. "I just, um, might have given her a job here up at the register."

Carmen's face was unmoving, his tone raising with poorly hidden anger. "You what?"

"And I might've also told her you really wanted her to work here."

Carmen's eyes scanned Richie's sporadically like he couldn't process his words fast enough. "Wh- Why the fuck would you do that? I already told her no-"

"Yeah, and I told her yes. Because you're an idiot and I'm saving your ass. You're welcome!"

Carmen ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly. "For what? Fucking me over?"

"I did not fuck you over, Carm, I'm doing this for you!"

Carmen shook his head, anger bleeding its way through his mind. "What the hell are you talking about? I told you, Richie, I don't want her anywhere near this place. I- I thought that was understood."

"No, it was not fucking understood because it was a stupid idea." Carmen let out a scoff as Richie put his hands out to Carmen in a calming gesture. "This is a good thing, trust me."

Carmen sputtered. "How the fuck is it-"

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me, Carm!" Richie shouted, bravely putting a hand up in front of Carmen's face. He pointed his finger at him which Carmen regarded with annoyance. "You need to stop being a moron and pushing away every single fucking female that tries to come within ten feet of you, alright?"

Carmen's brows furrowed even further, confusion building alongside anger. "I really have no goddamn idea what your point is here, Richie, but this has nothing to do with-"

"Oh spare me, Cousin!" He shouted. "We all know you've had the hots for Mars Bar over there since you were kids, alright?"

Carmen's mouth clamped shut immediately at this, his breathing coming out in fumes. He shook his head back and forth.

"Is this what this whole fucking thing is about, you jagoff?"

"Woah woah woah!" Richie cut in. "I am not the jagoff here, Cousin. I'm helping you out!"

"Richie's right, Carm," cut in Fak from behind, appearing suddenly out of nowhere like he always seemed to.

"Shut the fuck up, Fak!" Carmen held his head in his hand, trying to grab hold of his temper that he could feel slipping out of control. He needed to breathe.

"She can't work here."

Richie raised his arms in a shrug. "Well, you're gonna have to go tell her that yourself."

"I fucking will."

Carmen stormed off towards the kitchen door, ready to tell you yet again that you had to leave, a daunting thought overlooked thanks to adrenaline. Richie chuckled from behind him. "Yeah right, like you're gonna fire her."

Carmen didn't let himself listen to Richie any longer. Fists clenched at his sides, he opened the door and there you were, standing there, looking confused and a little surprised with parted lips.

Richie came up from behind and patted him on the back. "Go on, Carm. Tell her."  You watched as Carmen's jaw clenched.

Carmen really wanted to tell you that you couldn't work here. That you had to go home. That you had to run far away from this place and go back to studying abroad and being more successful than any of them and all of that bullshit. Maybe it was because your eyes were shining a little too bright in the restaurant lighting, or that they looked a little too hopeful as they stared back at him with raised brows, waiting. But he didn't say anything of those things.

"You..." he started. Your eyebrows raised further. His palms suddenly became sweatier. He took a breath in.

"You, um," a beat passed. He licked his lip. "You're gonna need an apron."

Your eyes lit up even more if possible, and he thought his heart would give out. Then, you ran up and threw your arms around his neck in a tight hug, and he genuinely questioned if his brain had short-circuited because, by the time he came back to reality, you'd already pulled away and were practically jittering with excitement from in front of him.

"Thank you so much, Carm." Every time you smiled at him in that way he felt himself lose a bit of control. He didn't like the feeling. "You won't regret it."

He smiled back at you because he couldn't not. He wasn't so sure.

Carmen had given you your apron. When he'd handed it to you, you'd brushed fingers and your heart skipped a little beat at the contact. That had been the most eventful thing to occur within the next four days.

You'd done practically nothing at The Beef all week. There'd been a noticeable lack of customers coming into the restaurant to take orders, and those who did oftentimes came in just to see Richie, which had you leaning against the counter waiting and listening to their loud conversations with the man.

It felt like there was some sort of prank being played on you. Surely they wouldn't pay you money for doing absolutely nothing. All the waiting around doing close to nothing made you antsy, frustrated, and confused.

You'd been meaning to address this to Carmen, to ask what you were doing wrong, but getting a hold of him was near impossible. You'd seen so little of Carmen that you couldn't even be sure he came into work most days, the only confirmation being his shouts coming from the kitchen at the others. As embarrassing as it was to admit, you became jealous of them. You'd take Carmen shouting orders at you in the kitchen any day over him saying nothing to you at all. It almost felt like he was avoiding you.

It was a Thursday night, and the antsy feeling inside of you had you staying late at work that night, wiping down tables with an intense amount of fervor.

You'd thought you were the last one in The Beef. It'd been dark for hours, but you had nobody and nothing exciting waiting for you at home, so working a little extra couldn't hurt. And, if it made Carmen notice your position at The Beef at least a little bit, it would be worth it.

As your thoughts drifted to the man, something made a noise from the kitchen, and it became apparent to you that maybe you weren't the only one working late that night.

"Hello?" You'd said aloud, your voice slightly echoing in the vacant restaurant. No response was returned. You slowly went back to scrubbing down a table against the far wall from the kitchen door when it swung open, and there stood Carmen Berzatto in his patchwork wool jacket, looking like seeing you was the last thing he'd expected.

The sight was jarring to you for a number of reasons. You jumped up speedily and tucked the rag you'd been using to clean tables slightly behind you as if he hadn't already seen you using it.

"Mars Bar?" He said, the nickname falling easily from his lips like it was the only one he'd ever known you by. He eyed your tense stance.

"Hey, Carmen." Your smile was just as unnatural. His eyebrows pulled downward at you, eyes squinting and blinking confusedly in the dim lighting like he was fighting sleep.

"What are you doing here so late?" You nibbled at your own lip. Carmen, even from across the room, made sure to follow the movement. You noticed him eye the rag in your hands.

"I was just cleaning off some of the umm ... some of the tables." You didn't know why you sounded so embarrassed. You also didn't know what was going through Carmen's mind as he looked over you, and then over the spotless tables behind you.

"Wow," he began, running a hand through his hair. "You really didn't have to do all this. It's not ... it's not part of your job, you know?" A feeling bitter and stale simmered inside of you.

"I know." You stood up straighter. "Maybe I just wanted to.

You wanted to say more in the moment, tell him all of your frustrations, but you didn't. You just stared back at him and watched as he walked towards where you stood by the tables. You didn't move an inch.

His eyes surveyed the tops of the tables and he marveled at how clean they were. Not just clean, but almost sparkling, even in the low lighting that came from a single overhead lamp and the streetlights from outside.

"You did a great job, Chef."

Your eyebrows raised unintentionally. He'd never called you that before, though you'd heard the name from his lips aimed at others countless times. He noticed your reaction.

"What?" He asked, eyeing you curiously. He leaned back against the table next to you, his beautiful stare almost becoming a little too much for you after a long day. You shrugged.

"Nothing. It's just," you paused, "you've never called me that before."

His expression was slightly confused, slightly amused. "Well," he began, gaze shifting from the ground to you. "Now I do. You work here, don't you?"

The question settled uncomfortably in your chest, and you let out a laugh that sounded just as strained. "Hardly."

Carmen's eyebrows flashed downwards in a quick frown. "What do you mean 'hardly'?" You felt his eyes scanning your face, scanning you. "What's up?"

You went back to rubbing at the corner of a nearby table with your rag if only to distract yourself from Carmen's gaze and the petty way your words sounded coming from your lips.

"I mean," you began. "It feels like I haven't really done much of anything around here, you know?" When he didn't say anything back, you continued. "I've only taken a handful of customer's orders in the past couple of days. And, I know I'm not the best cook in the world but I could definitely help out in the kitchen with something. Maybe I could cut up some stuff, or prep it, or whatever you guys call it. Anything, really."

He didn't say anything right away, and you became horrified that you'd pushed his buttons too many times in the last week with your rants and that he'd finally send you on your way once and for all. Then, you heard something like a laugh come from him. You reeled back.

"Is something funny?" You asked, your tone uncharacteristically sour. He silenced his amusement and looked at you intently.

"You've always been such an overachiever, Mars."

You paused, then shook your head. "Oh please, we all know you're the ambitious one."

"No, not when we were kids," Carmen argued. "I was never great in school. You, on the other hand," he chuckled under his breath. "My mom would have me go check in on you whenever we hadn't heard from you on a night before a test. Make sure you weren't overdosing on coffee and pop."

You swore you could feel your heart beating in your chest at Carmen's revelation and the fondness in his voice.

"You know," Carmen began again, getting lost in memories. "I think my mom used to have this theory I'd marry you one day or something. Said you were the only girl who'd put up with my stubbornness."

Oh my God. Your head was spinning. Why was he saying this? He didn't know what the hell he was doing to you. Or your heartbeat, which was concerningly gaining speed. He never did.

All you could say was, "Oh?"

He laughed some more like this was something casual, something funny. You couldn't help but notice that forever present weight present in his eyes, though. Something he could never seem to shed.

"Yeah, well," Carmen began again, "my mother has also been mentally unstable for years, so." He jokingly trailed off, his voice dying in the silence, along with any butterflies you'd felt. You laughed quietly, even if laughing was the last thing you wanted to do when hearing that.

You felt like you were being suffocated. By him and his blue eyes and his dry, self-deprecating jokes and the small quirk of his lips. You were also getting restless because you'd started off trying to talk with Carmen about your job, and now were getting lost in the haze of your feelings for him which you decided were useless and would get you nowhere. You cast them aside the best you could and looked him directly in the eyes.

"Carmen," you said. His attention focused directly on you. "Did you listen to any of the things I said about working here?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he assured you. "Of course."

"So, will you take them into consideration? Let me do more, Carmen. I can do more."

There was a beat of silence. He fidgeted, like he did when he was a boy and couldn't focus in class, or when he was nervous around a girl he'd liked. Nervous around you.

He wanted to say yes. Hell, he would've given you anything you'd asked for just to see you happy. But he didn't know what the consequences of giving you a more important role at The Beef would achieve. What it might stop you from achieving. What it might do to him. So, he didn't say anything. Not anything direct.

"I know you can, Mars." He exhaled and then put his hands in his pockets, eyes cast down. He glanced at his watch. "It's almost midnight. We can talk about this more in the morning. Okay?"

His response was like a smack in the face. A sharp pain that left a dull ache. You let a breath out and tried to keep your face from revealing your stubborn frustration. You slowly nodded. "Okay."

Even if you tried to contain your emotions, Carmen could see it. He noticed it in the quick flare of your nostrils as you breathed, in the slight clench of your jaw. Stupidly, he asked, "Is that okay?"

You weren't looking at him. You were looking at your feet. You tapped your foot once. "Yes."

Even more stupidly, he asked, "Are you sure?"

You finally shifted your focus to him and he felt his own jaw clench at the way it sent a rush down his spine.

"Yeah, Carmen." That was the first time he didn't like the way you said his name.

"Alright," he said, nodding slowly, lifting his bag higher on his shoulder.

"Alright."

You lifted the rag from the table, stood there for a second, and walked towards the counter, where you wrung it out and slapped it down into a bucket full of other dirty rags, and left it there. You didn't feel much like putting it away.

Carmen hadn't moved and just stood there by the tables, watching as you collected your coat from behind the counter and turned off the lights as you walked past.

When he saw you walking towards the door, he rushed to get there first, to open it for you. You beat him to it, opening it yourself. He closed it and locked the door behind him. You both were engulfed by the dull chill of the air right away, and you couldn't help but shiver.

Carmen turned to you. "Let me drive you home." He didn't dare offer you a lighthearted smile or anything of that sort. He didn't think he had it in himself to be lighthearted, anyways.

You gifted him a polite one with a short tug of your lips. "I have a car. Thanks."

Carmen could've smacked himself right there. "Right." He didn't know what was wrong with him. "Sorry." The apology was for more than just his assumption, but he couldn't bring himself to clarify.

"I'll walk you to your car then?" He asked, though you knew no matter what you said he'd make sure you'd get to your car safely either way.

"Okay, yeah."

You both turned to walk to your car, Carmen letting you take the lead for a moment before catching up to walk side by side with you. You were hit with the reality that Carmen Berzatto was walking you to your car, alone with you, at midnight. A small gesture that had your mind buzzing from the contrast between your love for him and your frustration with him. Nobody had come close to making you feel the emotions Carmen made you feel, even if no words were shared between both of you on that short walk. It felt completely silent. Somehow, even if the streets of Chicago were anything but, it felt silent.

Carmen thought about how his life was full of silent moments, never saying what he truly wanted to, to the people he wanted to speak to the most. When he noticed you were cold, even through your jacket, he walked a little closer to you. Whether you noticed it or not, he didn't know, but at least it soothed a small part of his mind that was blaring that night, telling him that he'd fucked up with you. That you deserved better. He couldn't help but think that same thing when he was around you, all the time.

You'd both crossed the street to reach your car in not even a full minute, but the walk had felt eternal to you. When you turned to Carmen to tell him goodnight, he was already looking at you intently. You wanted to ask what he was thinking, but you didn't, and unlocked your car.

"See you in the morning, Carmen," you said, tone unrevealing. He gave you his best neutral smile.

"Yeah. See you, Mars."

You went to open your car door, but this time he beat you to it. Even if he made you angry, he was still Carmen.

You watched as he rounded the front of your car back to the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, soft breathing visible in the cold from the white puffs it made in the air as he breathed.

You gave him one last wave as a goodbye, but by that time he was pretty much out of vision, and then drove away.

He watched your car drive down the street, stop at the light, turn the corner, and then glide out of view.

Immediately, he knew he should've said more on the walk to your car. He should've at least apologized. He didn't tell you that he was sorry for being so shitty. He didn't tell you he appreciated everything you did. He also didn't tell you his car was parked on the opposite end of the street.

And as he walked back to it, crossing The Beef again with its spotless tables, he thought about nothing except you.

The next morning had you waking up with a headache that only worsened when you stepped foot into The Beef. Your coworkers were shouting and blurting out orders in typical kitchen lingo that you honestly didn't fully understand.

There seemed to be an underlying tension simmering in the air that morning that had everyone's voices raised just a little bit more than usual, echoing through to you from your designated spot behind the front counter.

You figured out soon that that tension came from the review of The Beef that had been put in the paper the night before. It was the same topic that had Sydney and Richie arguing back and forth for minutes on end next to you.

"So this is a war on poor people?" You heard Richie ask as you finally tuned back into their yelling. "I see you."

"No," Sydney yelled back. "This is a war on you shutting the fuck up and learning how to use the tablet! The end dude."

"What is the end?"

You turned to your left to see Carmen stride out of the kitchen, looking every bit intense, shoulders hunched and rigid. He glanced at you in some form of a greeting for only a second before putting himself between Richie and Sydney and somewhat settling their argument.

"Are we ready?" He asked them with a rushed tone.

"No!" Sydney snapped, but headed back into the kitchen with Richie, even if you could see she wanted to punch the man in the face.

You turned back around to watch Carmen as he hurriedly ran a hand through his hair and started to rush back into the kitchen. You tried to catch his eyes, but he didn't meet your gaze.

"Um, Chef?" You tried to call, reaching out an arm to get his attention just a hair too late, him brushing past you without taking notice of you.

"Carmen?" This time he turned around, head flipping around to focus on you with eyes shot wide in the rush.

"What's up?" He asked, eyes quickly assessing your face. For a second you forgot what you were supposed to be asking.

"Did you, um, think about what I said last night?" He blinked back at you. "You said we'd talk about it in the morning, so, could we maybe talk about it?"

With the way he stared back at you, for a second you could've sworn he'd forgotten what you were talking about. Then, it had clearly dawned on him and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, holding out a hand to his head.

"No, yeah, right." He thought for a second, and then looked around, peeking into the kitchen, attention clearly spread elsewhere.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "Can we just ... talk about this another time?"

You tried not to show your frustration. "Like when?"

"Uh," Carmen started, but he was already backing into the kitchen. A loud clanging noise of pots and pans rang through to the front, and his focus was completely lost. "Who the fuck keeps denting my pans, Chefs?!" He shouted. He threw the kitchen door open and moved to go inside, but not before calling out "We'll talk later, Chef!" and disappearing into the kitchen.

You groaned. "Later," could mean any time between that day and Easter. You didn't want to blame Carmen. You knew he was extremely busy and tended to overwork himself. But something in the back of your mind told you he was avoiding you. You didn't like the feeling.

It'd only been maybe an hour into the day when all hell started to break loose in the kitchen. At least from what you could hear. There was three times as much yelling as usual and people were weaving through the station by the front counter and the kitchen, shouting sandwich orders. Meanwhile, you felt lost and unhelpful, with no direct answer as to what was going on.

You'd spent your time filling up the napkin dispenser and cutting green tape, feeling your uselessness in your bones. Maybe Carmen was right. Maybe you were overly ambitious. That didn't change the fact that now it seemed like not just Carmen, but everyone else had gone out of their way to keep you away from the kitchen.

You'd thought about going in there anyway, but thought better of it when listening to the commotion. That was, until you saw Marcus with his bags taking his leave towards the exit, a look of both anger and defeat on his face.

"Woah, Marcus," you called out with furrowed brows. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"

He let out a quick breath from his nose that sounded like it was supposed to be a wry laugh. He pointed towards the back. "Anywhere but in that kitchen." You frowned and he shook his head. "He's losing his shit, man."

You were confused and looked to him for more of an explanation, but he was already walking out the door and it didn't seem like he had any plans of coming back. You wanted to ask him "who?", but you had a sinking feeling in your gut telling you that you already knew just who he meant.

That and the loud "Fuck!" that came from the other side of the wall was the last push you needed to finally storm into the litchen. As soon as you walked in, it was a complete overload to your senses. The sounds and smells of sizzling food, the clunky buzzing of timers, and an argument at practically every corner. What had you reeling to a stop, though, was the sight of Carmen shouting truly throat-tearing orders, face turning red with exertion, hair damp from sweat, skin gleaming in the sight.

"Can somebody get me a Sharpie that fucking works?!" he screamed while whipping a Sharpie out of his hand and onto the ground. Your eyes widened at the sight.

"Woah," you said aloud, not even meaning to say the word but being unable to stop yourself. When you did, Carmen's focus switched onto you in a second and you could see the pure chaos held behind his eyes.

"Wh- what the fuck are you doing in here?"

You frowned at his abruptness. "I just wanted to know what the hell is going on in here-"

"Nothing is going on in here."

Someone laughed from around the corner and about three more timers began to buzz and beep.

"Oh please, I've been hearing screaming for hours and then I see Marcus storming out of here with his things saying you've lost it."

At that, Carmen paused, eyes searching yours intently. "Marcus left?"

"Yeah," you answered steadily, unsure of how exactly he'd react. "It looked like he was quitting."

For a second, it looked like Carmen felt guilty, sad, but then he was fuming and slamming his hands down on the counter.

"Fuck!" He shook his head back and forth like he was rummaging through a thousand thoughts swirling around his head. He shouted again. "Fuck!"

You didn't like the sight before you, or the way Carmen seemed to be losing control of himself, and quickly. "Now can you tell me what the problem is?" You almost pleaded. "I could help."

Carmen hardly bothered to look you in the eyes and strode past you to reach the oven you'd been standing by, lifting the lid of a pot and adjusting the heat at lightning speed.

"You're not seriously ignoring me right now when I'm offering to help-"

He put up a hand. "I told you I'd talk with you later, Mars. Go back to the register."

You scoffed. "What the hell are you talking about? That's-" you shook your head. "I'm not leaving until I at least know what the fuck is going on."

"You wanna know what the fuck is going on?" Richie shouted out, laughing to himself loudly as he appeared from behind the corner. "Some moron left the pre-order option open on her beloved tablet overnight and now we're 250-something beefs behind schedule!"

Your head was spinning from the news and from the lack of air in the kitchen, but the yelling kept coming.

"Okay, well, the 'moron' is right here and she has a name, thank you," cut in Sydney, livid. "And there is no fucking way you are putting all the blame on me right now, Richie-"

"Who else's fucking fault is it sweetheart?"

"Richie, I swear to God if you call me that one more time-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Carmen's booming voice split the two of them apart. "Shut the fuck up and get back to work!"

They listened and went back to their stations angrily mumbling to themselves. That didn't change the fact that you knew the kitchen was in deep shit and Carmen was one wrong move away from losing his mind. You watched as he stormed around the kitchen to different stations. You'd be an idiot if you just stood at the register waiting for more nonexistent orders.

"Sydney," you called out as she passed by. "What can I do to help?"

She raised the corners of her lips in a slightly surprised smile and thought for a second.

"You can probably start by helping me with peeling these potatoes for now." She handed you a basket filled with potatoes and pointed towards a metal peeler on the counter. You quickly nodded.

"Okay, on it, Chef."

"Great. Oh, and-"

"Sydney, what the fuck are you doing?" yelled Carmen as he rounded the corner behind Sydney. He glanced angrily back and forth between you and the potatoes in your hands.

Sydney rolled her eyes. "What does it look like I'm doing, Chef? I'm getting us some very much necessary extra help."

"We don't need any fucking extra help right now!"

Sydney turned fully to face him. "Carmy what the fuck is your problem right now? Just let her fucking peel some potatoes!"

Carmen was breathing heavily, a vein in his neck visibly contracting."I told you guys she stays out front. I told everyone she's not supposed to-"

"Excuse me?" You asked, cutting in. He was talking about you like you weren't standing right behind Sydney, hearing his every shouted word. "Sydney's right. You need to stop getting so worked up about this!"

Carmen looked like he wanted to scream. To break out into shouts even louder than even those from this morning. You'd only seen Carmen worked up like this a few times before and even then he knew when he was taking things too far.

He didn't say anything back to you and just turned away.

"Someone just get her out of here!" He hollered, to anyone who'd listen. Anyone but you. Somehow, that was even more angering than his yelling.

"Hey!" You yelled, shoving his shoulder back to turn him to face you. He glanced down towards the same shoulder before looking back towards you. You saw something haughty flash behind his eyes as they stared back at you. "Whatever you need to say about me, you can say it to me, Carmen."

He was definitely speaking to you now.

"I need you to stay the fuck out!" He pointed a finger down at you. "You never fucking listen to me! I gave you this job because you fucking asked me to, because Richie fucking asked me to. So how about you finally listen to me and stay the fuck out?!"

You knew everyone had stopped to watch. It was quieter in the kitchen than it had been all morning.

You both stood standing there with heavy breathing. Your mind couldn't think of what to say back in that moment, but a thousand different responses played through your mind. Things you wanted to ask, to shout, to make sure he understood.

Your stare bore into Carmen's own for a few seconds, noticing the anger in them, but also something fragile threatening to shatter and reveal itself. He looked away from you quickly, bracing a hand on the counter.

"Leave, Chef." He said. You didn't need to be asked twice. Not that he was asking.

"Yeah," you laughed under your breath. You untied your apron and left it on the counter. "I definitely will."

He could call you Chef, but he wouldn't even let you enter the kitchen. He could yell at you, but he couldn't even look you in the eyes as you finally left the kitchen.

Another timer went off in the background as Carmen stood there, mulling over what he'd just done in his head; the one thing, most of all, he didn't want to happen.

Sydney shook her head, brushing past him. "Carmen Berzatto, you are a fucking idiot."

He didn't have anything to say, nothing to argue back with. He knew she was right. And as he heard the front door jingle as a sign of you leaving, he also knew just how badly he'd fucked up.

You didn't come to work the next day, or the day after that. Carmen never got to listen for the jingle of the doorbell as you came into work. He didn't get a single glimpse of you, those glimpses that were like caffeine shots, keeping him going every day. He didn't see your warm, familiar eyes that reminded him why he kept going in the first place. This was what he got for trying to keep you at arm's length. For being an asshole. The regret knawed at him painstakingly.

When the first hour went by and you didn't show up, he didn't need anyone to tell him that you wouldn't come into work that day. He had Richie cover the register in your place, an order shouted quickly as he was forced to think about things other than you. And as the day went on, the fact that he didn't know when he'd see you again was a heavy weight that lay in his chest, waiting to be addressed.

You awoke that morning in your apartment, phone lighting up beside you on your bedside table to four missed calls all from the same person. A person you didn't really feel like talking to much.

You checked the time and saw it was almost noon. It wasn't like you to sleep in. And, you hadn't called in sick to work. Not that it mattered.

The next day went the same. You hadn't called in sick that morning either, but you didn't have it in you to care. You didn't even know if you wanted to come back, but there was a twisting feeling inside of you that you knew wouldn't feel release until you settled things with Carmen. The hard part would lay in being upfront with him, not letting him make any excuses, and not letting yourself soften all because he was Carmen Berzatto. A battle between your pride and whatever you felt for him.

Carmen had called you two more times, but soon, the calls stopped coming. Carmen may have been an asshole at times, but he wasn't an idiot. In fact, he was extremely smart. And definitely smart enough to know that calling you repeatedly would get him nowhere, not when he'd been as awful as he had.

You'd spent the day driving around running errands that left you tired with boredom. The sun was setting as you walked back to your own front door, the air crisp and clear from the cold while your mind felt anything but. You reached your front doorstep and unlocked the entrance to your apartment, only to step forward and feel something crunch and mash underneath the heel of your shoe. You lifted your foot and glanced downward.

A candy bar. You peered down further. A Mars Bar.

Something inside of you paused. Maybe your heartbeat, maybe your thoughts. You weren't sure but you could feel it. The now half-smushed candy bar lay on the floor like a bittersweet memory.

You blinked. There was a note. It looked like it had been torn from the corner of something messily. More importantly, there was writing on it, in pencil, words pressed hard into paper.

I'm an asshole. You don't deserve that.

No name, but you knew who it was from. Not a "sorry" in sight, but you knew he was trying. You could almost feel the intent behind the words etched into the paper as you held it. You wanted to be furious still. And you definitely were mad. But maybe not as much. Because you knew Carmen.

You knew he had the temper of someone who'd just lost a brother, of someone who'd grown up in a screaming Berzatto household in the heart of Chicago. You'd never taken his outbursts to heart and you didn't want to now. Besides. You knew, eventually, you'd miss him too much to ignore him.

So much for not giving in to Carmen Berzatto.

You didn't really know what plan you had when you walked back towards your car, sat down, placed the chocolate bar and note in your bag, and drove. You didn't think you had one. You just were aware that your days away from The Beef had been extremely boring and that you wanted to see Carmen. To hear what he had to say to you. Even if it didn't end the way you wanted.

The familiar path to The Beef stretched before you now as an uncertain one. When you got there, you tossed your bag over your shoulder and got out of your car to the sight of the lights off in the front of the restaurant. But, if you knew anything about Carmen, you knew he'd stay late. Your assumption was proven right when you entered through the unlocked door—a slightly concerning fact—and saw the harsh white light of the kitchen flooding through to the rest of the place.

You hesitated to enter, not sure if you really knew what you were doing, but ignored the thoughts plaguing you and walked carefully into the kitchen, waiting at the door when you saw him.

He faced mostly away from the door, from you, hunched over the counter doing something that had his full focus, enough of it that he didn't notice you at first. You saw he had a toothbrush in hand and that he was determinedly scrubbing at the silver countertop surface that already sparkled spotlessly. Clearly, he didn't notice or care.

It felt like you were holding your breath as you watched him, saw how focused he was, how the muscles in his back flexed and churned with each precise movement he made as he scrubbed at a nonexistent stain. Like he held a desire to erase more than just grime.

He did that for what felt like another minute without pause, and you watched the whole time wordlessly, not wanting to break the focus he had and not knowing what to say regardless. Part of you just wanted to watch him, to see how long he could keep at it without noticing you. It wasn't for too long.

He lifted his posture upright and ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply with little exhale as if something weighty was plaguing him. Then, he finally sensed your presence at the doorway, eyes flicking towards you as his moments came to a halt. You watched him part his lips as he thought about what to say.

He shakenly said your name, a fragile plea. The word was soft coming from his lips like he knew it well, but nestled in your brain with surprise as he called you by your real name, not just a nickname. You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything at all.

As he looked at you standing in the doorway, he felt exposed, like you could see through any walls he'd tried to build around himself. Words faltered from his brain. His lips parted again as if he was going to say something more, but they shut just as quickly and he ran a hand over his chin. He gestured that hand out to you.

"You uhm- did you get my note?"

You stared back at him for a beat before nodding and reaching into your bag. You held the note out in front of you, the side of your mouth quirking upwards. "Was this Carmen language for 'I'm sorry' ?"

You were half kidding and half serious, a test hidden in your words. The fact weighed on Carmen's brain, his demeanor more nervous than usual, more anxious.

"Yeah, uhm," he scrunched his eyes closed for a half second before walking towards you, taking the note from your hand and reading it to himself again, feeling the warm haze of shame creeping up on him. "Let me translate."

He read it once more. "Well, the 'I'm an asshole,' is pretty verbatim. I'm an asshole, and an idiot, and a bunch of other bad things." He glanced up at you from the paper and was relieved to see that you seemed at least a little amused. He continued. "And the 'You don't deserve that', you see, that's the good part, it translates directly to 'I'm sorry for yelling at you ' and 'it doesn't matter how stressed I was, I shouldn't have taken it out on you. That was wrong of me. And ... you're great.' "

Your eyebrows raised. "That's quite the translation."

Carmen laughed to himself breathily, but it held little amusement. "Yeah, I've been told communicating with me is like trying to tame a wild animal."

You smiled. "Who told you that?"

"Sugar."

Your laugh was warm and sounded like home. It was a feeling that left as fast as it came because soon the air between the two of you seemed to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. The heavy silence lay bare and neither of you decided to fill it right away.

"Carmen."

The way you said his name sent shivers down his spine, a sensation that never ceased to affect him. He nodded at you, eyes studying your face showing that you had his sole attention.

"I know you don't like the idea of me being here. You don't have to try and hide it." His eyes widened as you spoke."But, could you at least tell me why?"

He stared back at you, brows furrowed like he was confused. It was like you could see the gears turning in his brain as he fought to find the right wording, revealed by the stiffening mass of his shoulders that never seemed to relax.

"I don't not like you being here, Mars Bar." He spoke slowly. "I think it's great that you're back in Chicago. I ... We've missed you."

A subtle warmth lay in his gaze, but you couldn't help but feel it was dimmed by whatever emotion he'd been suppressing, the battle evident in flickers in the blue of his eyes.

"I want to believe that, but with the way you've been avoiding me, how can I?"

"Avoiding you- that's," he shook his head, almost seeming incredulous, and you watched as he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did. "I haven't been trying to avoid you."

You didn't know how he could sound surprised, how you could've interpreted the way he's acted all week as anything else. "Well that's definitely what it's felt like when I tried talking to you all week, and you're just ... I don't know, dismissive."

He rubbed a hand at the nape of his neck, focus pitched somewhere that wasn't at you, jaw tightening slightly. "I just ... it's busy around here trying to bring in enough money, and there have been a lot of different things that have my focus right now," he started, as if he hadn't, time and time again, had to remind himself to stop thinking about you.

"Carmen, I know you're busy but that-," you tried to keep your emotions from showing through your voice, but you were aware of the tinge of frustration that was slipping through. "I know that's only part of it. I just need you to be more transparent with me. I can't read your mind."

He nodded, silently thanking God that you couldn't. He swallowed again and you noticed a tremor in the way he held the note he'd written, a sign of unease that he quickly hid in the pocket of his jeans.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know." His blue eyes stared into yours, though you could sense the reluctance in his voice. "But I'm not gonna lie and say that I think it's a good idea for you to stay here."

You felt yourself frown, brows tugging downwards in frustration and confusion. "Why?"

His gaze faltered for just a moment, seeming torn, but he was quick to regain his momentum. "This place is ... it's not meant for someone like you."

You squinted at him, feeling a mix of disbelief and irritation. "Someone like me?"

"Yeah, I just mean," he hesitated, hearing the way you repeated his words, like they were meant to insult. "You were supposed to leave here and finish your studies abroad and achieve great things. Things bigger and better than this shit hole. You were gonna-"

"Carmen, stop." You almost scoffed to yourself. "My plans were always to stay close to home. A few months abroad weren't gonna change that." The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of the words you both shared, the thoughts never said allowed before. You noticed your breathing was becoming labored as you failed to understand the way Carmen's mind worked, the way he tried to communicate so much by doing so little.

"This whole time you were worried about me supposedly being meant to achieve great things, but what about you?" You let out a stunned laugh. "You're the one who studied with the best of the best, traveled all over, became a world-class chef and everything else, and now you're overworking yourself at this place and refusing help."

"Yeah, well, that part of my life stopped when Mikey gave this place to me as a final fuck you, so."

Your heart twinged not only at the name, but at the way Carmen's eyes flashed with hurt while his words could've cut stone.

"Mikey gave this place to you because he trusted you," you reasoned. You tried to make him come down from wherever he was, to detach himself from the hurt and open up. The hard plane of his shoulders lifted once in a shrug, with a small shake of his head as he stared at the ground.

"Yeah well, he just ended up fucking screwing me over."

Carmen's frustration seeped into his voice, the way he emphasized each word like he wanted to release whatever was simmering under the surface. You wanted to reach out, tell him that he could, but you held yourself back and stood up taller.

"That doesn't mean you should push people away from this place. Push me away. I could help out here. I saw how hectic it was the last time I was here and-"

"That day was a fluke," Carmen cut you off. "It's not usually like that..." his jaw worked. "I'm not usually like that." His words were laced with exasperation and a little bit of shame. You could tell he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

"Carmen, I understand. But-"

"I already blew up at you." His voice cut into the air harshly. He looked away, his chest rising as he tried to control rising frustration. "I didn't mean to do that, I don't... I'm not gonna let that happen again." His words were starting to come out in a rush, escaping his control, something you knew never sat well with him.

"Well, that's my choice to make, Carmen, not one that you can make for me."

"Mars, The Beef isn't- you don't want to settle for this place, just trust me."

"How can I trust you when you've done nothing but push me away since I got here?" You heard the tremble that was growing in your own voice, a mix of hurt and anger. "You've told me a million times what I want and don't want. Have you ever stopped to ask me what I wanted? Seen my point of view?"

Carmen's breathing was picking up too, the crystals that were his eyes looking at you with a mixture of defiance and desperation. He ran a hand over his face.

"I've tried to see your point of view."

"Have you?" you snapped back.

"I gave you the job even though I knew it was a bad idea, I went against what I knew just because it was you and I let Richie convince me it was a good idea, and I am fucking done listening to Richie's ideas-" his breathing was becoming uneven as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

"Hey, Richie's done a lot more to help me since I've gotten back than you have, and a lot more listening!" Now you were yelling, and he was yelling and you didn't like the direction this was going.

"Yeah, well did Richie tell you this place was hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt when Mikey gave it to me? Did he tell you we probably couldn't even afford to pay you a decent fucking salary?"

You opened your mouth, expecting to be equipped with a response as fast as the ones that came before, but that didn't happen and you didn't say anything. You let your eyes scan Carmen, searching for a hint that he wasn't serious, but he looked wholeheartedly sincere and angered. In fact, he looked like he was fighting to even breathe steadily.

You looked at him concernedly, taking a step closer, but he just continued, laughing to himself without joy. "He didn't fucking tell you. Of course not."

His breaths were harsh, coming from his nose and lifting his chest repeatedly. His arms slapped down at his sides, hands trembling. "See, that's why I fucking told him I didn't want you anywhere near this crap hole, I fucking told him-"

His yelling stopped. He recoiled, backing up into the counter recklessly, a pot falling behind him with a clang that had you flinching. His vision was pointed downwards towards the ground, but he was frowning so hard you were sure he couldn't see anything at all, hand to his chest, gripping.

"Carmen?" You asked, alarm suddenly overtaking you and washing away whatever anger had been bubbling inside of you. "Wh- are you okay?"

It took him a second to even process what you'd said, another to respond. "I'm fine, I-" you put a hand on his shoulder to brace him, feeling how tense it was, feeling it trying to move with the effort of his shallow breaths. Panic, shame, embarrassment, everything, seemed to claw at his chest, constricting his breathing even more. "I just- fuck, I can't- I can't-"

"You can't breathe," you said, understanding what was going on now with another flash of alarm that you hid, trying to stay calm. He nodded shakily.

"Carmen," you said steadily. To him, the sound of your voice was distant, overshadowed by the sound of his heart pounding loudly in his ears, muffled the way voices sounded when from underwater. Carmen knew he wasn't underwater. You called his name again, and he did his best to hear it. "You're having a panic attack."

He managed to shake his head again. "I'm fine. I just- shit." His legs practically gave out from underneath him and he braced one hand on the table behind him, one on your shoulder.

The sight of Carmen collapsing to the ground had you wanting to release a sob, but instead, you threw Carmen's arm around you and somehow managed to take two steps towards a bucket that was on the floor against a near wall and got him to sit down on it unsteadily.

You took both of his hands in yours, noticing how his shoulders shook, how the bottom of his neck tinted red from the straining effort to breathe.

"Carmen," you called, kneeling down to his level and giving his hands a squeeze. His vision was blurred, staring downwards, but the hazy sight of his hands wrapped up in yours gave his mind a moment's peace before he was struggling to focus again.

You took a deep breath in, feeling selfish that you even could. "Carm, do your best to look at me." You purposefully slowed your words, spoke softly and clearly, and Carmen heard. You took one hand and rested it by his cheek, hair pooling into your fingers. You brushed it back, and ran your thumb across the rise of his cheekbone, lifting his face to look upwards at you. Even when his mind could hardly form coherent thoughts, your touch still affected him like no one else's.

Once his eyes were on you, you took the hand that was still holding his and placed both on your own chest, covering the area of warm skin close enough to feel your heartbeat. A tremor rolled through him, at your hand, at the way you felt, at your touch.

You. You were here, he thought, and that was a comfort to him in itself.

"Here," you said, pressing down gently but firmly on his hand. "Can you feel my heartbeat?"

Carmen tried, really tried, but his head wasn't focusing no matter what he did. You noticed his struggle right away, like he didn't even have to form words for you to know.

Hurriedly, you took off your jacket and threw it to the ground beside you. Carmen heard the sound of a zipper before his hand was taken in yours again and placed on your chest. This time, the underside of his hand felt warmer, closer to you, to skin.

"How about now?" you asked. His eyes were shut, and he really did his best to focus this time, tune into you, into the way your chest moved up and down beneath his hand, and with it, he heard the soft and steadying rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Yeah, I- I feel it."

You let yourself smile slightly, trying to take slow and deliberate breaths. "Carmen, I need you to do your best to match your breathing with mine." You looked at him and the way his features were scrunching with the effort of trying to listen to you. "Can you do that for me?"

He nodded. He'd do anything for you.

He focused on only his hand, yours, and you. Your chest underneath his palm, warm, and steadying, and alive. He felt it rise once, and fall, all in the time that he let out multiple staggering breaths.

The next time yours rose, he didn't let himself exhale until you did, taking in air from his parted lips and releasing it through his nose, feeling how the air spread thin throughout his body, a good feeling. He did that again, focused on the way his fingertips grazed bare skin, on the sound of your heart beating, in time with his now.

Behind the blank nothingness of his eyelids, scenes played out before him. Visions of his past, echos of familiar voices, spurts of color and light overtaking him.

Then, he thought of you, of the warmth of your gaze, even if he didn't deserve it. The shine of your skin, the way it looked soft even in the harsh light of the kitchen. Thoughts of you, you with him, years ago, months ago, and days, how he'd seen you for the first time in months, standing behind the counter with a smile sweet like the chocolate bars you'd always liked, the one he'd left at your doorstep, a weak attempt at salvaging one of the best relationships he'd ever known. He'd buy a million more if it meant you'd stay with him, by his side, like you'd been for years. Like you were now.

He didn't know how much time had gone by, but he opened his eyes and you were still there, still holding onto him, face looking calm but eyes swirling with emotion. With concern.

He felt fine now, his body having enough strength to support him, but he leaned into you regardless, head sunk down, resting in the place beneath your chin, on your chest. He wanted to get as close to your heartbeat as possible, not just feel it with his hand but surround himself with it.

You brought your hands up to envelop him, one resting on the white cotton covering the hard muscles of his back, rubbing it soothingly, the other coming up to rest in his hair again, gently brushing through the strands closest to the root as if to say I'm here, I have you.

You leaned your own head down to slightly rest on the back of his, mouth brushing against the crown of his head in a way so delicate he wasn't even sure he felt it. But you saw the way he melted into your touch, felt the way the muscles in his back slowly seemed to release tension at each caress. He needed to be held. But he was him, he'd never ask for it. But, you were you, and you'd always know.

You stayed like that for minutes more, though you would've held him all night if he needed it. When he sat back up, the whites of his eyes were tinted pink, and one of his cheeks was gleaming in the light, damp. You didn't comment on it. You didn't say anything at all but stood up from where you knelt and walked towards the counters, peeking underneath them until you found what you needed. You stopped at the sink and returned to your spot in front of Carmen with a plastic deli container filled with water in hand. You offered it to him wordlessly.

"Thank you," he said, taking it from you gingerly, but his voice was hoarse and he felt the red heat of embarrassment as he took large sips of the water, draining it halfway at once. A water droplet escaped from the side of the cup, dripping down his chin, and your eyes followed the movement until you felt guilty about it and stared down at your own hands. The two of you let the silence rest as it was, peaceful and healing, until you felt ready to break it.

"I'm sorry," you said, slightly a surprise for yourself to hear the words from your mouth, but you meant them. Carmen sat back up. "For pushing you to this point. I didn't mean to-"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Carmen spoke quietly, voice somehow steady. "It- ... that wasn't your fault. It's happened before, when you weren't here."

You let your eyes scan over his face concernedly because he wasn't looking straight at you and you always felt the need to look after him, even if he wouldn't let you.

"This has happened before?" Carmen gave a weak shrug, like this wasn't something he thought about on his own, something he ever let occupy his focus.

"Something like it."

You made a breathy sound of disbelief. "Shit, Carmen."

So many thoughts were demanding your attention, too many. You wanted to tell him how this wasn't supposed to be a normal occurrence, how not okay it was to ignore his mental well-being. Shake him silly for never caring about the right things, for never caring about himself enough. To give him yet another lecture on letting you help him, on letting anyone help him.

"It wasn't as bad this time." His voice paused all your thoughts. "I think it was because you were here."

You didn't know how to respond, but he finally looked into your eyes and saw how much they spoke for you, how they widened, and then blinked once or twice, shying away. Almost like you were guilty, like you were sad. Something inside of him reminded him that he was probably part of the reason for that, and that ate away at him more deeply than any of his, like you said, panic attacks, ever had.

"I'm sorry, Mars."

Your eyes flicked up to his immediately, intention behind them. "You never need to apologize for having a panic attack, Carmen."

"No, for- for not just that." He paused. "For being an ass. For yelling at you. For not listening to you."

You looked at him wordlessly. You didn't want to say it was okay, because you'd be lying if you said that, if you didn't acknowledge how his words still rang sharply in your head. But you'd be lying to yourself if you didn't admit that Carmen certainly made things feel okay when he was calm like this, understanding. Peaceful.

"And I'm sorry for all the shit I gave you about not listening to me."

You let out a quick breath, almost a laugh. "To be fair, I ... didn't."

His heart seemed to swell at even just the hint of laughter that coated your voice.

"Yeah. You don't listen to me." He let the side of his mouth quirk up to match yours. "That's the thing I love about you." Internally he thought, just one of many.

You stared up at him. At the way his eyes seemed to look over your face in adoration. It did something to your heart, pulled on the strings of it, and left it panging in your chest. He noticed right away.

"You alright?" His concern and furrowed brows almost made you want to laugh.

"Yes I'm-," you exhaled. "I'm fine. The real question is, are you alright?" He watched as your eyes flitted all around his face. "To be honest, you don't seem it."

He self-deprecatingly chuckled. "Wow, thanks, Mars."

You shook his arm a little bit, expression disbelieving. "I'm serious."

You thought about how tense he'd been underneath your touch, how tense he'd seemed for the many days that you'd been back home. How that couldn't be healthy for anyone.

"You need to start taking better care of yourself, Carmen." You made sure he was hearing your every word. "Your mental health is important. More important than any job. You have to stop worrying so much about The Beef and start worrying more about you."

He ran a tired hand over his eyes, immediately feeling the urge to look away. "If I didn't put as much as I did into this place, I don't even think it'd still be up and running."

You let the words hang between the both of you for a moment, knowing how important this was to him. It was important to you too.

"I know how much you've done for this place, Carm." You took his hand in yours again. "You care about it a lot, always have. I have too. But you know the toll it's taking on you. That's not good for anyone, and it'll only last so long. And ... that's why I think you should take any help you can get, for now."

As soon as the topic left your lips again, you felt his hand stiffen in your hand, mouth opening to argue, but you held up a hand.

"And before you say anything, I don't care about the full salary, I don't I care about traveling, or 'wasting my potential' or any of that. I care about helping this place, making sure it lasts, for Mikey." You breathed. "And for you. I care about you."

He could feel his own heart start to race in his chest, flustered like he hadn't known you for years, like you weren't one of his oldest friends.

"I care about you too," he said, and the words felt shamefully foreign on his tongue, thinking about how little he'd ever actually said the words. "That's part of why it's hard for me to think about you working here. You mean a shit ton to me. More than anyone else in this damn place."

"You don't mean that." You couldn't stop the way your brows pushed together, looking down at your hand that was holding Carmen's rough and callused ones. "What about Richie, or Fak, or Sydney-"

"They mean a shit ton to me too, but it's ... not the same. You're you."

He looked into your eyes, trying to see if you'd recognized his hints, but he picked up emotions other than the realization. On a frown, on reluctance, on a guarded, shy look.

"I'll always be me, Carmen." You bit at the inside of your cheek, putting off the topic like you weren't important. That was a foreign idea to him. "That doesn't matter. What matters is you not accepting help."

You saw the way his demeanor shifted at your words, a sense of uncomfortableness settling in his bones, revealing itself in the way he sat up straighter. Your grip on his hands was still firm, unwavering, like all you wanted was to make him understand.

"Carmen," you called, but he was already staring at you. "Promise me that you'll let other people take care of you, help you get by. Let me help you."

He was grateful for the way he was positioned, elbows leaning on knees, hands held by yours, because it was stabilizing him, grounding him when he felt like running. He knew that if he wanted to keep you around, keep you by him, he couldn't do that. That didn't change the fact that this was new to him.

"I, um,"

"It doesn't have to all at once." You gave him a smile, a real one, because you knew he was trying. Breaking out of old habits, for you. "One step at a time."

You were back home. Him pushing you away in his head, running, but only in his mind, didn't change that. He didn't want it to. Despite the pull of his mind telling him to hold you at a distance, the push of his heart wanted you. It was drawn to the cradle of your hands, the warmth of your smile.

"I promise."

Your smile grew to a grin that tugged at the sides of your glowing eyes, eyes that sparkled with affection like they held a hidden invitation, a plea for him to let you in. He finally did, and he knew so fully that he would've made that promise to you time and time again if it meant he could have you and see that smile as much as he wanted.

Your fingers brushed the back of his hands as you stood up from where you were kneeling, letting out an exhale that he noticed sounded almost weightless, a change from the burdened way it sounded to him before. The thought put him at ease.

He stood up too, watching you as you retrieved your jacket and put it on, him feeling the urge to help you with even just that. When you focused back on him, the etches of a smile still lingering on your face, it was magnetic. He couldn't look away. You couldn't either.

You stared at the way a hundred different colors danced in the blue of his eyes, a miraculous feat that you'd loved from the start. As you looked at each other, eyes saying more than your mouths had the courage to, your smile grew slowly, heartbeat picking up in your chest.

"Let me walk you to your car," you coaxed, gesturing towards the door. He laughed at the random idea, breaths escaping through his nose.

"What? Why?"

You shrugged, smile and features and everything, warm. "Call it the first step to you fulfilling your promise to me."

Knowing how he'd iced you out, he embraced that warmth. Made it his new home. "Yeah," he nodded. "Okay."

You gestured for him to follow you, he did, and that was all he had to do. You turned off the lights behind the both of you, locked the door, and didn't ask him to do a thing, just to see the amused look on his face when you smiled at him, his eyes staring back at yours like you were a wonder, something rare to be loved and kept safe.

As you walked back to his car, that was all he could think about. How he'd come across this ray of light in his life that was you, and how you'd stayed by his side, a miraculous idea but he didn't even want to dwell on that too much because it took him away from this moment being shared between the two of you, alone, the cold nipping at your skin but it not mattering because too much had happened that night to care.

The moment seemed to come to an end all too quickly. Carmen had stopped once you'd both reached his car, and you did too. He became aware of the feeling of you next to him, savoring it because he knew it'd end the moment he got into his car.

"Carmy," you said, extending the moment just a little longer. He hummed in response, watching as you stuffed your hands in your coat pockets.

"Can you promise me one more thing?"

He nodded, not missing a beat. " Yeah, anything." Something inside of you fluttered. You cast it aside to hold his gaze.

"Promise me you'll always try and tell me what's going on in your head. No more hiding."

His eyes bore into yours like he was contemplating something, a flicker of conflict in them, a vulnerability that you didn't know what to think of. Then, it was gone and you weren't even sure you'd seen it.

"Yeah, I- um," his jaw tightened for a second. "I promise, Mars."

You patted him on the shoulder, a friendly gesture that felt phony even to you. "Great ... that's great."

He flashed a closed-mouthed smile and you both stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, not saying a word.

"Goodnight," you told him, because it was what you would've said to anyone else at that moment, ignoring the whispers in your mind telling you something was missing, that Carmen wasn't just anyone else.

Something tugged at him too, nagging him, insisting that he had more to tell you, more to say before the night was really over, before he had to go to work the next day and somehow navigate his day with the new promises he'd made you. But all he said was "Goodnight, Mars," before getting in his car with just a wave goodbye that felt bare and wrong.

You left him one more of your smiles through the passenger window of his car before walking off to wherever you'd parked your own. He was sure he'd felt butterflies. Butterflies.

Only you could do this to him. He'd felt numb, overwhelmed and unsatisfied all the same time for however long, and then you come back to Chicago and suddenly he felt everything, all the time. It was getting to him, clearly, because he found himself opening his car door and stepping out of it, losing control of his body, loosening his grip of rationality all because of you. Because he wanted to see you, needed to. He needed you.

You were a good distance away from his car by the time he'd gotten out of his, but you turned around at the sound of the car door practically slamming. You frowned, noticing Carmen walking towards you.

"Carmen?" you called into the night, confused. He caught up with you, something behind his gaze that had his eyes shimmering. You swore you could feel the delicate movement of his eyes across your face as soon as he was near enough to truly take it in.

He took hold of your hand, fingers interlocking with yours delicately, an electrifying feeling buzzing through you. You let out a small gasp at the contact, vision shooting down at the point at which you both touched, just a hand hold but the contact took your full focus.

"Hey," he said, something like a smile creeping onto his features and you'd never seen him like this, so exhilarated and full of delicate determination. You looked back up into his eyes, and he took a step closer, finally letting himself be pulled by that magnetic force calling him to you that he couldn't resist. He wouldn't, anyway.

"Wh-," you started, meaning to question him but the thought was brushed aside when he leaned inwards, his forehead falling against yours. His curls brushed against the top of your head, and you secretly loved the feeling, becoming breathless.

"You can tell me to stop, Mars." He murmured it so close to you, breath fanning onto your cheek in a distracting but addictive way, and suddenly you were forgetting how to talk. It didn't matter, because you didn't want him to stop. You looked back up at him, and he saw that in your eyes, so he didn't.

His lips brushed against yours, a taste of what he'd been wanting for longer than he could even remember. The feeling it sent throughout him was immobilizing, and he stayed like that, eyes shut, reveling in it.

It was you who closed the distance, pressing your lips to his and letting the dizzying wave from it spread all over you, to the tips of your fingers that immediately reached up to hold his firm shoulders, and to your brain that buzzed in joy and excitement and a bit of something else.

He froze up for a second when he felt your lips crashing into his. Your lips on his felt like the answers to all his problems, and he needed them in a burning, unignorable way. His brows furrowed and his hands reached up to cradle your neck delicately, holding you like you were more valuable than anything he could've bought, anything he could've wished for, could've imagined he could possibly have.

His lips tugged on yours and yours tugged back, a rhythm that felt easy to follow, like the deep thrum of a heartbeat. And when you both finally pulled apart for air, it was like you could still feel that rhythm, because your heartbeats were beating so loudly and in time with each other's that it felt like the moment was never meant to come to an end.

Your foreheads were still connected, and you knew neither of you had it in you to pull away. You felt somehow even more breathless.

"What was that for?" Your voice was soft, hoarse. You swore you saw Carmen's lip quirk upwards.

"I promised to not hide what was going on in my head." Your hands came up to delicately wrap around his biceps, impossibly solid underneath your fingertips. He didn't suppress the shudder that traveled through him. "Call that the first step."

You smiled, this time against his lips, and somehow that beat every single smile you'd ever given him before. It felt like a promise of your own, to share your warmth with him from now on. He liked the idea, a lot. He'd let you do it whenever you wanted, he liked it that much.

He'd let you take care of him whenever you wanted, too. Again and again, until you got sick of him. But he was Carmen Berzatto. You knew you never would.

[faiell]

yapping about fics and commenting

sorry to yap but work is boring today and tumblr isn't blocked on my work computer LOL

ok it's abt that post where the writer friend stopped writing because they weren't getting the comments/kudos they wanted.

i'm like. an overeager fandom person. like i cannot get into a fandom without wanting to meet new people and make friends. i love yapping about whatever silly gay idiots i'm hyperfixating over. i'm all about community, and sharing the joy of fandom, and all that fun positive stuff.

i don't post my art for stats but like. that means nothing coming from me tbh. i get stats. i can't accurately predict what would happen if i stopped getting notes on my art, but i would probably keep drawing and keep posting, just maybe less confidently, and less often. i recognize that stats make it much easier and while it’s not my primary motivation, it definitely motivates me to keep posting.

and yet. for years, i never commented on fic. i think i left kudos? and i saw posts like this all the time about how writers were so sad they didn't get comments. and i would feel super guilty about it all the time. but i still wouldn't do it! it sounds stupid, but i would feel pressured. if i liked a fic a lot, it felt even more difficult to comment, because i thought i would have to somehow give back to the author everything that fic gave to me. i wanted to craft the perfect comment that could perfectly encapsulate everything a fic made me feel. and that was way too much pressure so i would just not say anything.

when i got into drarry, i started reading a shit ton of fic. and i still wouldn't comment. i left maybe... 2 or 3 comments, maybe, i think. i can't remember. but i had a lot to say and i WANTED the writers to hear that i had read it and liked it. i just... didn't comment! u know what i did instead? i just fucking straight up DM'd writers on discord and started gushing to them that i liked their fic. somehow i was confident enough to do that, but writing a comment still felt like too much pressure. ?? i don't understand it either, but in my head it felt like a writing assignment, but when I was in DMs it felt more like a conversation and so there wasn't any pressure to make it "good"? idk!! it's very weird.

then i wrote and posted my first complete fic. just a oneshot, nothing special, and i was like. UNREASONABLY nervous about posting it. like. i am a confident person, okay? i was going to make a burner AO3 account and post it under a different name so nobody would know it was me, and then never mention it to anyone except MAYBE super close friends. i got talked out of doing that (thanks i feel a bit silly about considering that now). and then i received my first comment on it, which was basically a two-liner where someone said they liked it and thanked me for writing it.

and i was like. ??...?????? ???????? ...??!!! because i felt like... uncontainable glee? i was freakishly happy. the amount of serotonin those two sentences gave me was definitely unnatural.

is that healthy? idk. will it continue? idk. LOL. i hope so? but idk, some people said it wears off if you write/post for a while. but whatever, the fact that one little comment like that could make my entire day blew my mind. tbh i thought writers were just exaggerating when they said stuff like that.

ever since then i started leaving comments! that shit's easy! like what was i overthinking for? i'm such a fucking tryhard! all i gotta say is that i liked it, and even the bare minimum can bring lots of joy to someone.

so basically what im trying to say is that negative reinforcement doesn't do shit!! it just makes people feel bad about themselves. that post is nasty for guilt-tripping readers like that, and i bet you it's going to have the opposite effect (or no effect tbh).

YAPPING FINISHED. for now.