#flashback fanfiction

[quailbuster]

Loose Threads

-ONGOING, PART TWO-

READ PART ONE HERE

Check it out on ao3! Kudos go a long way:))

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Summary: A series of Flashbacks from your tumultuous relationship with Javier Peña.

Warnings: Explicit, Sexual content, mixed race reader, Angst, mentions of miscarriage, Grumpy Javier, Original characters, NON-LINEAR storytelling, swearing, slight reader x original character but that's a teeny sideplot, Leon is based on gabriel luna's version of tommy miller sorry he's so fine, poor mother relationship, ONGOING

December 20, 1987

Houston, Texas

You landed in Houston for Christmas with your family. Tanya greeted you at the airport, her face lit with glee upon seeing you. Her newfound sense of happiness put you at ease. After the miscarriage, and the breakup, she was shattered for obvious reasons. She hadn’t even finished college and playing house too early backfired on her. The two of you shared a long hug, and you kissed her head. “Thanks for pickin’ me up, Tanya.”

She whispered in your ear, “Mom’s here too.”

You nearly felt your gut drop.

“Fuck. Could we stall?” You pulled away from your sister and saw the frown on her face.

“She really wanted to see you. I think she’s ready to hear your apology.”

You mumbled as the both of you walked towards the parking lot, “The fuck do I have to apologise for…”

You saw your mother anxiously pacing next to her car, a gift in hand. When she finally saw the two of you, she smiled and held her arms open. You were pulled into her hug, using the excuse of your luggage to stand like a twig and not hug her back. “Hey, ma…”

She hummed into your ear, and placed a wet kiss, pulling away to grab your face and look at you. “How was Bogota?” You shrugged and moved to place your luggage into the trunk. She was much shorter than you, her hair was box-dyed blonde and you could see her attempt at bulking it. It didn’t make her look any younger if that’s what she was hoping for.

She handed you the gift and told you to open it after dinner, excited to see your reaction. You smiled, thanked her, and tossed it into the trunk.

The three of you jumped into the car, your sister kindly replacing your usual passenger spot so that you could avoid your mom’s incessant questioning about Bogota. Of course, you wouldn’t get out of it that easy. You answered every question with a monotone ‘Yeah’ or ‘Okay’, even making an occasional noise to seem interested in her story. Houston was drab compared to Colombia.

The last time you saw your mother was the night before the bar. You’d gotten into a big, big fucking argument over your safety in Colombia. That was fair enough, but she ended up twisting the argument around to blame you for even going there in the first place. Too many hurtful insults were thrown, and she’d ended up pushing you over some furniture. Your dad’s cowardice and inability to step up to your mother disgusted you, and you stormed back to your hotel room.

You’d call him every so often from Colombia, he’d give you tips to hold up better, tell you to stay away from the men, and then he’d send you on your way after a 15-minute call so that he could have another smoke break. The calls became sparse after a while, but you still tried.

You reached home and your dad was waiting outside the door, grinning like he’d just seen the biggest plate of empanadas in his life. You ran towards him, throwing your arms around his neck and yelled “Papi!”. He hugged you back just as tight, you smelled the cigarette smoke on his jacket. “Welcome back, Mi hija.” His accent seeped through heavily.

Dinner came, and Tanya brought you over to the bathroom to ‘show you something’. You leaned against the counter, watching her as she nervously laughed and paced, hesitating to say something. You grew irritated with her and pushed her to speak.

“Just say what you wanna say.”

“I didn’t tell them.”

“Tell them what?”

“They think I’m still…” She pointed to her belly. You furrowed your brows, “What. The fuck. Tanya!” You nearly yelled.

“Shhh, shut up. I’m gonna tell them.” She put a hand over your mouth, only letting go once she was confident you were going to keep your voice down.

You scoffed, blood boiling. “Tell them when? Tanya, you don’t expect them to believe you? It’s been three months and you’re not showing.”

“It’s not really their business.”

“Dad deserves to know, at least.”

Your father had always been supportive of your decisions in life, he was elated when he heard the news of Tanya’s pregnancy. His eyes glimmered whenever it was mentioned, and you knew your heart would just shatter if they glimmered again. All he wanted was to have kids, a grandchild would have been his entire world. It was your mom who would probably break some plates upon hearing the news. Hell, it took her a month of breathing exercises and one Time magazine about ‘Children having Children’ for her to finally come to terms with it.

“I don’t know, they might forget!” You had a look of disbelief on your face as she grasped at straws trying to justify herself, “They haven’t mentioned it at all since Evan left.” You heard the painful way she said her ex-fiancee’s name, she wasn’t okay. She was trying to hold it together for this gathering.

“Fuck, Tanya… They’re probably expecting a Grandkid now. Don’t keep their hopes up.”

You barged out of the bathroom and flinched when you saw your mother heading towards you with a plate of cut-up fruit.

“A little snack!” She gleamed, but you could see through it. She was definitely going to torment you at dinner tonight.

And she did. She pestered you with questions about a boyfriend, and your job which she disapproved of, until she got to the topic of grandkids.

“Tanya…” She started, a concerned look in her eye, “How’s the baby?” Of course, you noticed your dad’s eyes. This was going to hurt like crap.

You snapped your head towards your sister, who was picking at her turkey and potatoes like it was a dead frog.

“Fine.” She replied monotonously.

“What else?” Your mother pushed.

“It’s fine.”

“Do you know the sex yet? You know, if it's a boy labour's gonna be-"

Tanya dropped her fork on the table and stormed off, your mother chasing after her with a frown on her face. Your dad was silent throughout the whole ordeal and the two of you shared a glance, his of confusion and yours of melancholy.

“What happened?” He asked.

You shook your head and gestured for him to keep eating until they came back.

When they did, Tanya left through the front door and your mother was red in the face, fuming.

Tanya didn’t contact your mother for a year after that, and you never found out what she said.

—

June 19, 1989

Bogota, Colombia

The sun was blaring on your face, rays threatening to burn you as your eyes fluttered open. The soft ‘mew’ from Rio, your cat, was the first thing you heard, followed by his forehead bumping into your hip. You reached out a hand to stroke him once, twice, three times before you stretched and got out of bed.

The window was already open, humid air caressing your face before you felt a hand do the same. Your eyes fluttered back shut as you fell into the touch, feeling lips press to your neck and right shoulder. You ran your hands through his hair as he slowly spun you towards him by your waist.

“Mm… Buenas.” You mumbled against his chest, eyes still shut.

Between the two of you, Spanish was the most intimate way you could communicate. Though you spoke it, it seemed to only be a Javi-exclusive feature. You wouldn’t even speak it to your own dad, a man of pure Colombian blood. You hadn’t actually spoken to your dad in a while, but you’d always put it off till the next day. And the next. Until it stopped being an expectation. Until he stopped waiting for your call every morning at 7:30 am because he got too old to. You preferred your solitude, but with Javier holding your body in his arms like this, you wondered how you ever lived without him.

He dropped his head and sniffed your hair deeply, not saying a word as his hand dipped to your ass, his hand squeezing it as though he were trying to mould its shape. You traced a finger along his exposed chest, twisting hairs gently and hoping to god he would take you on your bed one last time. But he couldn’t. He was leaving today, and you slept in. You didn’t even know whether you would see him again. He was leaving, and you slept in for three fucking hours. He was already dressed, and you were naked, save for those black panties that he’d fucked and kissed you through the night before.

But you would see him again, it became routine. You’d come to realise eventually that he did this every time he left you. He’d wake up at 4 am, leave you sleeping, and give you a chaste kiss before he was gone without another word.

-

[sarathrwizard]

I Care. Chapter 6 (part 1/2) (Rottmnt comic)

Donnie and Raph assemble the wheelchair back together for Leo. And honestly, after being stuck in bed for a week, Leo is super excited to get away from the med bay! On the other hand, Donnie doesn't think he deserves any gratitude for finding the wheelchair pieces. It was his fault Leo was hurt in the first place! Donnie wanted to set things right and fix Leo. Truthfully, it looks like everything would be okay! But... Leo's not out of danger yet.

Next Part:

Previous Part:

[everythingacotarbxm1012]

They're Mates - with Y/N Pt 3

Summary - Y/N decides she wants to learn to fly again.

Warnings/Other Notes - This one is in 2nd person pov because the first two chapters were looking at Y/N and Az’s relationship from a source not within their relationship. 2k word chapter- Again, some of these lines/plot points are inspired by, or directly quoted from, ACOMAF. This chapter takes place prior to the first two chapters.

Injury mentioned, though not super graphically. Reader relives/remembers having her wings cut.

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Masterlist

✨💫

You could feel the blade cutting into your wings. Tears spilled down your face as you screamed in pain, begging the Mother to make it stop. You were never going to fly again. The one thing that brought you unending joy, your only source of freedom, was being taken away.

“Y/N?”

The edges of your memories blurred. That voice, you recognized that voice.

“Y/N?!”

That sweet, honey-like voice called you. Something in you warmed and the pain lessened. Like you were basking in the sun.

“Y/N!”

You shot up in bed, your legs tangled in the sheets. A cold sweat dripped down your face and that same smooth voice kept saying something, but your mind was still catching up and couldn’t process them, not right now. Your chest rose and fell rapidly and then there were hands cupping your face. Not those smooth hands in the romance novels, but hands with bravery and adventure etched into them. Hands that felt like home. Your eyes shot up to meet a pair of hazel ones. Azriel.

“You’re safe. I’m here, your safe. Your father can’t touch you anymore,” the shadowsinger whispered to you. 

You nodded and leaned forward to wrap your arms around him. He reciprocated. You chased away the nightmare, remembering where you were. I’m here with Azriel. With Cassian, and Rhysand. With Rhys’s mother. Az saved you. Your arms tightened slightly around the shadowsinger, burrying your face into his muscular shoulder. His shadows curled around the both of you. His scent felt like home. The same scent that you had become familiar with every time you fell asleep, the one still lingering in the bedding when you woke up and he was gone off to train, with a promise to come back in time for dinner.

Sharing a bed with the Illyrian didn’t start right away, not on purpose. It just happened one night. Azriel never made it back to his own bed, instead he fell asleep comforting you from the same nightmare. Then it became purposeful, falling asleep and not returning to his own chambers. And one night the shadowsinger didn’t even bother finding his way into his own bed, Az just went straight to yours. You certainly didn’t mind and Rhys’s mother never said anything.

“Azriel?” You asked against his shoulder.

He placed the gentlest kiss to your temple. One that reminded you of a waltz you heard one day in Velaris. “Yes?”

You lifted your eyes to look at Az’s face. “What if I never fly again?” Your chest started heaving again. You broke away from the shadowsinger and looked away. It felt like someone had lit a fire inside you. Not one that someone makes to keep you warm on an incredibly chilly night, but a fire started out of malice, one to kill and destroy.

Azriel’s features became softer, contemplative if that was at all possible. “Impossible…because I’ll teach you.�� 

Your eyes shot up to his face. “Are you…certain? Do you not need to train? I don’t—”

“I would spend the rest of my life in that damned cell for you again, Y/N.” He paused. “Don’t think I wouldn’t teach you to fly. Unlike Cass and Rhys I remember learning. Both of them would tell you to just flap your wings. I understand the fears and mental blocks of being older.”

You let out the softest laugh, wiping a drop of sweat from your forehead. “Thank you, Azriel.”

He nodded in his silence, considering something a moment. Az stood from the bed, his pants sitting low on his hips as he disappeared into the washroom and reappeared a few moments later with a damp cloth. “May I?”

You nodded and he gently pressed the cool cloth to your forehead, making the sweat disappear as if it had never happened. His shadows flitted through your hair. Whispering to you. Care. Care. Care.

The shadowsinger tried to call them back, but they had a mind of their own, especially around you. You chuckled lightly. Silly little guys, acting like a bunch of toddlers. When Az decided he had done a sufficient job of wiping your face he pressed another kiss to your forehead before hanging the cloth to dry and returned. 

You were lying down in the bed when he returned. He climbed in next to you before pulling you against him. You both fell asleep and slept soundly for the rest of the night.

The following day you went into Velaris with Rhysand’s mother to run a few errands. Her skills as a seamstress were impressive and she used it as an opportunity to occupy a portion of her time. You stopped at your favorite bakery to pick up a few things for dinner that evening. You also found a used book on diplomacy that was on sale. Rhys’s mother kindly bought it for you; well maybe more for Azriel’s shadow who seemed desperately intrigued with it. When you returned home, to your surprise, Trouble, More Trouble, and Too Much Trouble, were already there. (Nicknames you had aptly given to Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian.)

Too Much Trouble grinned when he saw you and clapped his brother on the back. “This one here got us kicked out early today for starting not one, not two, but three fights. I mean he looked like death coming to collect souls for the next life. Don’t insult, Y/N!!”

“Shut up, Cassian,” Rhys said, giving a pointed look.

“You weren’t any use, Cassian,” Azriel growled back while shoving his brother’s hand away from his shoulder. Az had a black eye and dried blood along his cheek bone. He didn’t meet your gaze but his shadows happily slithered over to you. Protect, Protect, Protect, they whispered to you. Then you understood the shadows’ need to be near you, hovering. The reason why you had a shadow over your shoulder since Az saved you from your father. A form of protection, something to keep you safe, something to report back to the shadowsinger if you were in danger. 

And that’s exactly what Azriel had done earlier that day. Defended you without remorse. 

You glanced at Cassian who had a bruise on his jaw and then to Rhys who also had a black eye. Rhys’s mother looked far from pleased. “Cassian. Rhysand. Upstairs! Clean yourselves up.” Her gaze turned to the shadowsinger. “Azriel. Sit .” She announced as she put the bags down from your earlier trip to Velaris. 

For all her softness, Rhys’s mother certainly had a sharpness to her not often seen. Rhys and Cass’s wings hung ever so slightly and only for a moment before they shifted again and they disappeared up the stairs. You followed them.

When you got to your room, you opened the book bought earlier that day and began reading on the bed. The sheets still smelled of him, of both of you. The shadow rested on your shoulder, appearing deeply engrossed in the words too. About fifteen minutes later you could hear the shadowsinger coming up the stairs. You knew it was him for the sole reason of his footsteps. You had learned how Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian walked. The heaviness of their feet, the pace.

You could hear Az and Rhys out in the hall. “Your mom wants you,” is all you heard before Rhys is walking downstairs and the shadowsinger is walking into your room. You closed your book to look up at him.

“C’mon.” The shadowsinger stepped towards the small balcony and opened the doors. “You can’t learn to fly in here.”

“What,” you asked him, confused.

“You think I started the third fight for the fun of it?” Azriel asked, offering his hand out to you.

You only gave him a confused look, remaining on the bed.

He walked back towards the bed where you sat reaching for your boots. He knelt down on his knees. “Sure, the moron had it coming. That doesn’t change the fact that fighting with him for a third time got me the afternoon off to teach someone how to fly.”

Your mouth fell agape. “Azriel,” you admonished and a smile came over the shadowsinger’s lips before pulling on your boots. “I am perfectly capable of putting on my shoes, Az.”

He only offered you a hand after he tied them up. You took it before he swept you into his arms. You craved his embrace, more than so many other things. Azriel walked back towards the balcony and shot into the sky.

You never imagined how some people hate this, because Gods this felt good, felt like freedom. It reminded you of your childhood when you flew whenever you could, as if flying up into the sky might take you away from all of your problems. You just hoped the next time you flew it would be on your own wings.

Azriel landed in a clearing, gently placing you down on the ground carefully, to make sure you didn’t fall. “I want you to be careful. If anything hurts too—”

“I promise I’ll tell you,” you said to him with a nod. 

“Is it…is it okay…okay if I touch your wings? For correction I mean? Should it be… necessary?” The shadowsinger asked from behind you, almost nervously. For good reason. The concept of touching someone’s wings without permission, in particular females, was beyond inappropriate. 

You nodded, you could sense the shadowsinger behind you, observing your wings carefully. You could feel his eyes scanning up and down. “Azriel?” You asked quietly.

“I can’t say I am a healer and know the anatomy well, but perhaps we start at the beginning. Test the muscles, the ligaments.”

You nod, something feeling oddly intimate about the moment. You turn to face the shadowsinger whose face had contemplating written all over it.

“Try spreading them and tucking them in,” he said as you faced each other. 

You nodded, spreading your wings as best you could. Mother above you hadn’t actually tried to do this in a while. You grimaced but managed to spread them, pushing them to your full extent, spreading your feet to offer you more balance.

A small smile of pride was clear on Azriel’s face. “Now fold inward.”

You did, slowly, afraid to tear or rip something in your wings. You couldn’t stop the smile when you folded inward with success. 

“Good,” he said with a mild amusement in his eyes. “Try again.”

You spread your wings again, your muscles ached, but that was good. That meant they were there, that meant you had a chance. 

Azriel’s eyes followed the movements, and cauldron boil him if your form wasn’t the most stunning thing he had ever seen. The shadowsinger had to put more concentration into not letting his knees buckle under him than he would like to admit. Beautiful. Stunning. Lovely. Beautiful, stunning. Lovely, his shadows whispered in his ear.

You pulled your wings shut rather than slowly closing them which caused you to lose your balance slightly, falling forward. Azriel reached out to catch you before you could land on the ground with a light amusement in his eyes before he suddenly realized how close in proximity you were to him. 

You’d been this close before. By the Gods, you shared a bed every night, but something felt different. You gently rest your hands against the shadowsinger’s chest in silence. 

“Y/N?” He asked quietly, hands shifting to cup either side of your face.

You looked up to see his face leaning down slightly. “Azriel.”

You don’t know who leaned in first, maybe Azriel, maybe you. It didn’t matter, because moments later the shadowsinger’s lips were on yours. They were sweet, and salty, and soft and warm. Like a warm biscuit on a cold night. Your fingers wound up in his hair before he pulled away. “Was that okay?”

His response was pulling your lips to his again, harder, more desperately like he had lived in a dry desert for centuries and you were a tiny pool of water in the middle of it all.

You returned to opening and closing your wings, building the muscle until it was as easy as walking, though it certainly felt like the cauldron was burning you alive when you woke up the following morning. But you couldn’t be bothered, you were going to fly again.

Taglist: @5onedirection5

[hoomandoescosplay]

My Darling | Alastor x Reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

[msbigredmachine]

You Again - Flashback

A/N: A snippet of Evelyn and Joe in high school. I'm still completing Part 2 which hopefully should be up soon.

Warning: Themes of bullying

Word Count: 1.1k

READ PART 1 HERE

Escambia High School, October 2000

“Hey Evie!”

She is so startled she collides with her locker door, her books nearly flying out of her hands. It takes a couple of seconds to regain her bearings and realize who is standing in front of her, and it’s not anyone she’s expecting, certainly not the captain of the cheer team.

“Ayesha,” Evie straightens, awkwardly shoving her books back inside her locker and adjusting her skewed glasses. “Umm, did you…did you want something?” she asks, her arms crossed protectively over herself. They’re not friends - Ayesha has never hesitated to remind her of this - so she wonders why she is here, flashing a megawatt smile that one could mistake to be amiable. 

“So…don’t trip,” Ayesha begins, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “but I found your note in History class.”

For a second she’s confused, and then it hits her. Oh no. Oh god. She tries to play dumb, fighting the urge to look into her History textbook where she’d thought she’d tucked her little, ill-advised daydream away in one of its pages, safe from the prying eyes of the queen of the mean girls. “W-What? What note?” 

“The note you wrote, silly. I think you dropped it on the floor, you really need to be more careful, girl,” Ayesha giggles.

It’s a lie and they both know it. Evie wouldn’t be so stupid as to expose such damning evidence, let alone discard it haphazardly in class of all places. Her brain is working frantically, trying to figure out how on earth Ayesha got hold of it to begin with. Each student had to present their History paper in front of the entire class, and she suspects Ayesha swiped the note from her desk when it was her turn. It’s not hard to imagine the malicious glee in her eyes as she read the contents, not too different from the one she is trying and failing to hide right this moment:

Dear Joe, Would you like to go to the Fall Ball with me? YES   NO

“Okay,” Evie starts tentatively, treading lightly. “So can I have the note back? Please?”

Ayesha’s eyes widen dramatically. “Oh! I gave it to Joe. I saw his name on it. The note was for him, right?”

Evie feels her heart sink to Titanic depths, her insides heavy from the weight of this shattering news. The magnitude of the trouble she's put herself in brings tears to her eyes but she quickly blinks them away before Ayesha adds it to her ammunition. “Oh…I, uh…it wasn’t for…You’re mistaken, the note was for another Joe-” she starts to backtrack.

“Oh girl, there’s only one Joe in this school who matters and we all know who he is,” Ayesha dismisses flippantly. “Why you so worried anyway? I come bearing good news. He asked me to give you this.” She extends her hand, a piece of paper that looked torn out of a legal pad tucked between her fingers. Eyeing her skeptically, Evie takes it, her anxiety rising as she unfolds it and reads the familiar scribble:

Dear Evie,

Meet me under the bleachers at lunch.

Joe.

Against her better judgment, her heart flutters at his invitation, excitement bubbling inside her just knowing he responded to her. But common sense swoops in, and she stammers, shaking her head, “Look, I don’t…this isn’t necessary at all…Please, let’s just forget that any of this happened-”

“Girl, are you seriously chickening out on Joe Anoa’i?” Ayesha counters. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for you and you’re turning it down?”

Evie makes one last throw of the dice, desperate to get out of this predicament. "But why are you doing this? Isn't he your boyfriend?"

"It's...complicated," Ayesha answers easily, placing a hand on Evie's shoulder. “Sweetie, any girl would kill to be in your shoes right now. Who knows, he might say yes. Are you really gonna throw that away because you’re scared?”

Terrified, actually. Not much good comes out of interacting with Joe Anoa’i when you’re not a member of his precious clique. But Ayesha is right. A private meeting with the most popular boy in school is too enticing to pass up, if only this once. So Evie forces herself to wait through the agonizing hour and a half before lunchtime, embroiled in thoughts of how their conversation will go. 

It turns out she should have trusted her gut, because the minute she steps onto the field, something feels off. 

Joe is not here. Outside is eerily quiet save for the muted bustling inside the cafeteria a few feet away. Chalking it up to him standing her up, Evie permits herself to exhale a huge sigh of relief and spins back towards the building, eager to forget all about the mess she almost made.

Then, it happens. Out of the shadows, they step out, seemingly from every corner of the stands. Jon. Josh. Ayesha and her lackeys, Kelli and Chichi. All of them emerging one by one until she is surrounded by his entire posse.

And last but not least, Joe appears like some kind of video game final boss. He steps between the twins, both of whom stare her down with the same demeanor as vultures circling over a carcass. He twirls her letter between his long fingers, his handsome face wearing a sugary sweet smile and a spiteful glint in his eye that strikes terror in Evie.

“So, Evie…I read your little message to me. It was…sweet. Real cute,” he says, coming closer to her, humored by the way she tenses as he towers over her. “I just have one question…” 

He gently trails the corner of the note along her cheek. The gesture would be considered as intimate if his eyes didn't harbor so much malevolence. “Did you really think my answer would be yes?”

The group bursts into laughter, the sounds cruel and taunting. Joe circles around her, regarding her with the same countenance as a piece of gum stuck underneath his Air Max sneakers. “What makes you think I’d ever wanna go to the dance with a nobody like you? Huh?” He throws an arm around Ayesha and kisses her cheek. "Babe, didn't you tell her you were going with me?"

Ayesha crosses her arms and shrugs with fake nonchalance, an even faker smile on her pretty face. "I wanted to...but it was much more fun fuckin' with her head."

She should have known better. Better than to write that shit in the first place. Known that Ayesha was setting her up from the start; known that standing her up or simply ignoring her was too merciful, too tame for Joe and his coven.

It’s beyond humiliating, and all Evie wants is for the ground to swallow her whole.

Ayesha steps up to her, angling her head low enough to catch Evie’s teary-eyed expression. “Awww, are you gonna cry? You gon’ cry bitch? You thirsty-ass pathetic loser?”

Ayesha's arms shoot out, shoving Evie so hard that she falls over, crying out as her knees collide painfully with the ground. Her glasses slip off her face and onto the cold dewy grass and dirt. Her tears splash onto the cracked lenses as they all step past her fallen frame, their cackles echoing in her ears long after they are gone.

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

Fun fact: A version of this incident happened to me in high school in real life. Only difference is I wasn't pushed. 😭😭😭

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[xyywrites]

How to Introduce and End Flashbacks

Introducing a Flashback

Through Sensory Triggers A sound, smell, or physical sensation can catapult a character into a memory. Example: The faint scent of jasmine wafted through the open window, pulling her back to her grandmother’s garden. She could almost feel the warm sun on her back as they planted flowers together, her grandmother’s laugh ringing in her ears. Sensory cues are especially effective because they feel immediate and relatable.

Using an Object or Photo Physical items are natural prompts for reminiscing. Example: He picked up the crumpled letter, its edges worn with age. As his eyes scanned the familiar handwriting, the years fell away. He was 16 again, reading those very words for the first time.

Dialogue That Sparks a Memory A conversation can easily lead to a flashback when a particular word or phrase resonates. Example: “You always overthink everything,” she said, laughing. He froze. Those were the exact words his father had thrown at him that night, before slamming the door and leaving for good.

A Character’s Internal Reflection This works well in introspective or emotional scenes. Example: As she stared at the divorce papers, her mind drifted to the first time they’d met.

A Sudden Triggering Event High-emotion events often cause memories to resurface. Example: The screech of tires on asphalt sent a cold shiver down her spine. In a heartbeat, she was back on that icy road, watching headlights careen toward her father’s car.

Dream or Hallucination For a more surreal tone, a dream or hallucination can segue into a flashback. Example: The dream unfolded like a reel of film, showing her the beachside house they’d once called home. She saw herself, small and wide-eyed, chasing the waves as her father’s voice called out in laughter.

Abrupt, Emotional Break For intense moments, an abrupt flashback can mimic a real-life flood of memory. Example: The argument escalated, he slammed his fist on the table. The sound echoed in her ears, morphing into the memory of her father’s hand hitting the dining room table, his voice booming in anger.

Ways to End a Flashback

Tie Back to the Trigger Return to the sensory cue or object that initiated the flashback. Example: The scent of jasmine faded, and she blinked, back in her office. The garden was gone, replaced by the gray walls and the cold glow of her computer screen.

Return to Present Action Use a sharp, present-day event to jolt the character back. Example: “Hey, are you even listening?” Her coworker’s voice snapped her out of the memory. She turned, realizing she’d been staring at the clock for minutes. OR “Are you okay?” His voice cut through the silence, pulling her out of the memory. She nodded quickly, hiding her unease.

Reinforce the Emotional Impact Show how the flashback has affected the character’s current emotions or decisions. Example: The memory left her hands trembling. She wiped her eyes quickly, unwilling to let the tears win this time. She had a meeting to face.

Transition with a Parallel Action Use a seamless flow between the past and present through similar actions or emotions. Example: In the memory, she had dropped the vase, its shattering echoing in the quiet house. Back in the present, her hand hovered over a similar vase on the shelf. She hesitated, her breath shallow, before carefully setting it down as if the past might repeat itself.\

Narrative Reflection Let the character or narrator explicitly acknowledge the memory and its significance. Example: She exhaled, shaking off the memory like dust from an old book. It didn’t matter anymore, she told herself, but her heart still felt heavy.

Anchor to the Setting Bring the reader’s focus back to the surroundings. Example: The memory faded, and she was left staring at the cracked pavement under her feet, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the street.

[light-yaers]

tangerine. | part two [carmen berzatto x reader]

Fic Masterpost | AO3

Carmen shows up at your diner after five years, and everything comes flooding back like it was only yesterday.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mature themes [discussions about drugs, workplace abuse, family problems]

Word count: 6k+

PART TWO

You lit your cigarette before the back door even fully shut. You leaned against the wall as you inhaled, and exhaled slowly when you could feel the smoke in your lungs expand. It was a nasty habit, you knew, but it was the only time where you got an ounce of peace at the diner. Two minutes to yourself, not in the cold walk-in, but outside where no one could yell for you, or grab at you, or need you. When you were out here, the chefs and staff alike knew not to bother you. It was just for you. 

Carmen knew that rule well, but that didn’t stop him from following you out the door. He burst through the back door like he was an employee under the diner roof, and found you immediately. You rolled your eyes and turned away from him, not wanting anything to start today. 

You inhaled again, and let out the smoke quickly. “You know you’re not allowed back here–”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he boomed. Sydney’s words from before had completely dissipated in his mind.

You turned back to him, eyes wide, utterly gobsmacked. “With me? Are you fucking joking?”

“What, it’s been five years and not even a fucking hello or a how you doing?–”

“Oh, sorry, Carm,” you said sarcastically. You stepped towards him in anger. “I was under the impression you never wanted to fucking see me again, huh? Isn’t that what you said last time at USC, or did I just make that shit up or something?”

Carmen shut his mouth. You both breathed heavily as the silence descended over you, only broken up by him pulling a pack of cigs from his pocket and plucking a stick from the foil. He slotted the cigarette between his lips, and lit it without a word. As he inhaled, he leaned against the wall next to you. You smoked together, not making a sound, as smoke coiled around your heads and disappeared into the air without a trace. 

You flicked ash on the floor. “What are you doing here, Carm?” you asked. 

He sighed, trying to calm himself down. “Getting ideas.”

“Ideas for what?” you asked, and glanced at the side of his face for just a second. He still looked the same, just a bit older. He had more tattoos on his arms, and a stronger jaw, but he was definitely the same Carmen you’d known once. 

“A restaurant. In Chicago.” 

You finally met his eyes, awestruck. He looked down at you to his left, and all the years came flooding back. Behind your eyes, behind the pain and the shit he’d said last time, was someone who still cared about his endeavours. It was almost too much to bear. 

“You found a place?” you asked. 

Carmen nodded. “The Beef. My brother’s old place,” he said, and scratched his head almost painfully. “He, uh… died, and left it to me. We’re doing it up.”

“We?”

“Me and Syd,” he said, and pointed back at the door. Sydney was still inside, at the table alone. “And, uh, Nat and Richie.”

You exhaled a shaking breath, smoke free. Your fingers started to buzz. You were torn between wanting to congratulate him, and wanting to walk away. This was immense for him, and something you knew he’d been wanting from the very beginning. He’d done it, was doing it, but despite all the time you couldn’t help but think– 

Weren’t we supposed to do this together? 

It didn’t matter now. It had been too long and you’d missed each other, passed by, lost the opportunity. Even so, after all this time, would you even want to go back?

You swallowed away all the words that wanted to pour from your mouth. “Wow,” you said, and it sounded stale. “That’s… that’s big.”

“Yeah,” Carm said.

“When do you open?” you asked. You tried to keep things light. 

“Couple of months. We need to open fast. Faster than we wanted to, so, yeah. It’s a lot.” 

As his words fizzled away, you looked at the ground. The air between you felt thick, heavy, with all of the words that you both wanted to say to the other, but couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Now wasn’t the time to think about what could have been. Maybe, if what happened at USC hadn’t happened, things would have been different. You’d still be friends, have any semblance of a relationship, compared to being almost strangers. 

In fact, you’d pick being strangers with Carm over this. Inside, you still harboured the hurt from those years previous. He’d been so horrible. He’d been so cruel. You wondered if he still remembered all he’d said, or if he had no memory of the way he’d cut you to your core. 

It’d been too long. It didn’t matter. Nothing would change from this. 

“Well.” You sucked in a final pull from your cig, before you flicked it on the ground. You looked him in the eyes as you stood up straight. “Good luck with it all,” you said, before you started towards the door. 

Carm shot up from the wall. “You should come to the opening, in July.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You grabbed the door handle, and Carmen tensed immediately. 

“We’re looking for a front of house manager,” he blurted out. You froze. All the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you clamped your eyes shut. “I don’t know– if you wanted a change, or something new.”

Your fingers hurt from how hard you held onto the door handle. Your knuckles had turned white. Quickly, you inhaled a sharp breath, turning back to him. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

Carm realised his mistake as soon as you spoke. “Fuck– I just–”

“No, Carm. Think about it. You think that you can come back here after five fucking years, and offer me this like it’s nothing?” You were seething, you were upset. It only cemented that he didn’t realise how bad he’d hurt you, and if he did, then that was even worse. 

He looked around the back of the building, anywhere but at you, trying to find the right words. “I was shitty, I get that.”

“Do you?” You stepped forward once. “Tell me how shitty you were, Carmen.”

“I was– fuck– I shouldn’t have–” he stumbled over his words. 

“You shouldn’t have treated someone– who only fucking cared about you– like that, is that what you were gonna say?” you said over him, and the look on his face told you everything. You knew Carmen well, and you thought that was why he struggled. You could see right through him, especially back then. “You have a habit of pushing away people that give a shit about you.”

He frowned at you in understanding. “Yeah,” he whispered. 

“I hope you grow out of it one day, and realise your worth,” you said, and felt the familiar sting of tears welling in your eyes. 

“That’s what I’m trying to fucking do,” he said, finding his voice. He took a strong step forward, taking you by surprise. “Come and work at the restaurant. You need to give yourself a fucking chance too, not just other people.”

You scoffed at his change of character. “You’re really flipping it this way?”

“Yeah, I am,” he said plainly. “You’ve been here, what, seven years? You know you’re qualified to work in places ten times the level of the diner–”

“God– fuck you!” you burst, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed and your chest stuttered. “You can’t just come back here after all this time and tell me that you give a shit, that you’re living your dream and you finally want me to be a fucking part of it–”

Carmen cut over you. “So only you’re allowed to say I need to know my fucking worth, huh? I can’t say it back to you?”

“I know my worth!” you exclaimed. Carmen sucked in a breath and shut his mouth after, holding his breath. “I’ve known my worth all along, and sure, maybe I’m too good for this fucking place, but it’s my home.” Carmen’s face softened as the words tipped from your mouth. “What worth would I have if I went back to someone who treated me like shit?”

Carmen placed his hands on his hips and looked at the floor. His shoulders were tense as he hung his head in subtle shame. You knew Carmen. You knew he wasn’t like this, not always, which is what made it even harder to say no. 

“This was our dream,” he said gently. 

“It was your dream, Carm,” you said. He caught your eye strongly.

“You were always part of it.” The breath hitched in your throat. “It was always gonna be you and me–”

“Until it wasn’t,” you said over him. There was a finality to your words that Carmen understood wholeheartedly. He’d been too late, left it too long, for you to drop everything and come back now. 

He inhaled deeply, and let his breath out slowly, surely. “I’m sorry,” he said, hitting your eye. “For all of it. The way I acted. Cutting you all out of my life. I’m trying… not to do that anymore.”

You nodded gently, softening your expression. “I’m happy for you,” you said, and you meant it. “I just can’t do it.”

“Okay,” Carmen said. “Okay,” he repeated, trying to get it all to stick.  

You placed your hand on the door handle, and tugged it open. “It was good to see you,” you said. Maybe it was a lie, or maybe it had been nice to see his face after all these years. You just didn’t know yet. 

Carmen nodded. “You too,” he said. You shut the door behind you as you went inside, leaving him out the back with his half smoked cigarette. 

Sydney was amongst the last customers in the restaurant after lunch, and you sighed as you saw her alone. You strolled towards her table, and started picking up empty plates when you approached. “Nice meal?” you asked. 

“Amazing,” Sydney perked up awkwardly. “You were right. Those tangerines are good.”

You smiled. “They’re my favourite, too,” you revealed. 

Sydney rang her hands on the table. “Um, where’s Carmen?”

You kept your face flat, not wanting to show just how erratically your heart was beating after the entire ordeal. “Having a smoke, out the back. You can head out that way, I’ll clear this all up,” you suggested. 

Sydney got up and nodded. “Thank you. It was really nice to meet you,” she said. When you looked at her face, you could tell she was being genuine. “Carmen knows a lot of people in this industry, and most of the places and people aren’t like this, or, uh– like you. It’s a refreshing change.” She smiled. 

You felt bashful at her words, but ignored the warmth that spread to your cheeks. In that moment, you knew that Carmen had found himself a great partner. You just hoped he wouldn’t fuck it all up for her sake. 

Sydney quickly shuffled in her bag, and brought out her wallet. “How much do we owe you?”

“Oh,” you stuttered, before you shook your head. “On the house. How do they say it? No checks.” 

“Oh, no, I insist–”

“So do I. Didn’t you hear Paulie?” you said, stacking a final plate on your arm, as you balanced the rest with ease. “I’m the big boss around here.” 

Sydney smiled marvellously. Her eyes shone when she did. “Okay, okay,” she said, backing off. “Whatever the big boss says, goes, right?”

“Too right,” you said, as you stood up straight and looked at her face-on. “I… I hope everything with the restaurant goes great.”

Sydney nodded, understanding that Carmen must have told you about it outside. “Yeah, me too. You should come by.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her no, so you simply nodded. You stepped back and headed towards the kitchen, but stopped halfway there. “Good luck, Sydney. You’re gonna need it with him,” you said, gesturing towards the back door. Carmen. 

Sydney scoffed, amused. The way her face dropped softly, and her eyes widened gently, made you feel properly seen. Like you were sharing words through looks alone, and absolutely knew what position the other was in, or had been in. “Uh, if you’re ever in Chicago– don’t be a stranger,” she added awkwardly, but you found it incredibly endearing.

You smiled, before you continued to the kitchen. As you did, you hoped it wouldn’t be like what happened to you, for her. 

It was always like this with Carmen. He somehow always found himself next to people like you and Sydney, strong-willed, capable, caring, but almost always fucked it up in some capacity. He’d done it before with you, and others, and neither you–nor Sydney– wanted it to happen again. Not when their restaurant would be on the line.

You dropped off the plates at the sink, and found yourself looking around the empty kitchen. The chefs were out the back, taking their after-lunch break. Sydney had already left through the door at the back of the restaurant, so they’d no doubt all bump into each other before Carmen fully left. 

Gently, you opened the walk-in and pulled the door closed behind you. You ducked down to the lower shelves, at the back, until you found what you were looking for– tangerines. There was a crate of them, some of them fresher than others, but you liked the ones that were almost over-ripe. You grabbed a couple and held them in your hands, before you headed back to the kitchen. 

Grabbing Paulie’s knife, you sliced them into quarters. The insides were the most neon of oranges. Unlike the peels on big oranges, tangerine peels were thinner. You liked it when the colour of the juice was so vibrant that it got stuck behind your eyelids for a moment. You liked it when you picked up a quarter and it almost fell apart. 

You were reminded of a memory then, of the last time you’d seen Carmen before today. Five years ago, when your reservation at Union Square Cafe had finally arrived, Carmen was in the kitchen just like you’d known he would be. 

You arrived on time, dressed in something fancy and upper-class, just to fit in. It’d been ten months since you’d seen him, since he’d left Lucky Strike Diner, and he’d been far too busy to come by. You didn’t blame him. He was finally doing what he’d meant to, and, just as before, you’d been absolutely right– within five months at USC, Carmen Berzatto won the James Beard award. 

You weren’t at the restaurant to tell him I told you so, but you couldn’t deny that you felt powerful about it. You knew Carmen better than he knew himself. But maybe that was more of a curse, than a blessing. 

The hostess sat you down at your table for one, as the restaurant emitted a gentle lull of mutters and chatter. You’d booked a later reservation, nearer to the end of dinner service, and everything was serene as you perused the menu and chose a wine. A few moments later, a waitress brought over your glass, and you sipped at it gently.

This was nice. You could get used to this. Fine dining, putting on a show of excellence. This was so far removed from the world of the diner that you almost felt like a different person. Someone elegant, someone important. Not that you didn’t feel loved or supported at Lucky Strike, but you knew that standards in a place like Union Square Cafe were above and beyond. That’s how they got their stars, and kept them. 

In the kitchen, Carmen worked on an order. He positioned micro basil and other delicate ingredients on the plates, working with immense precision alongside the rest of the kitchen. When he was done, he let out a strong “Hands!” and within moments all the plates had been picked up and whisked from the kitchen. 

He made his way to the expo, banked a few more tickets, before his eye caught something. He stopped– froze, almost– as his gaze fell over your name on the reservations list. 

“Chef,” he said, turning to his front of house manager, who was responsible for calling out orders, and ensuring everything ran smoothly. “This booking, table thirty two– has she ordered yet?” 

“No, Chef. She was still looking the last time a server went to her table.”

Carmen had a thought, and he was going to put it into motion. “Take her menu away. I’ll be cooking for her tonight. Chef’s pick.”

“Yes, Chef,” the manager said, before she quickly fled the kitchen. 

Carmen took in a breath. “I need two veal, four salmon and one beef!”

“Yes, Chef!” the crew boomed in unison. 

You thought you’d decided. The salmon looked appealing, and as soon as you’d picked it was as if a server came over from being summoned. You turned to her, and smiled. “I’m ready to order,” you said. 

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” she said softly, as she gently plucked the menu from your hands. “Chef Berzatto is taking care of it for you.”

Chef Berzatto. 

Hearing Carmy’s name in such a way had you downright giddy. You wondered how he’d known, or if he’d been told, or whatever. You knew that top restaurants had a habit of being attentive to the max, so maybe they’d background checked you. Either way, you were excited. 

“Looking forward to it,” you said, accepting the fate of your meal as being in Carmen’s hands. You simply sat back, swilled your wine, and felt at peace. 

As you waited, you peered around the restaurant. Everything was laid out perfectly, had a system that worked, and every couple and group and business party looked catered for. It was an utterly different vibe than the diner. This was a place for another species, not like the locals you knew by name. You’d always assumed that intense and fanciful restaurants like this lacked character, in a way. They chose excellence over warmth, or stars over honest food, but you’d been wrong. 

Already, despite being on your own, you felt like you belonged. Carmen knew you were here, his servers knew you were here, and you knew why you were here. For him. 

A few parties finished up as you waited for your meal. All the while, you were generously topped up on wine from the servers, and positioned right by the kitchen. You could hear the methodical way they spoke to each other, sometimes, and the whoosh of the door every time someone stepped from within back into the restaurant, and vice versa. 

In the kitchen, Carmen finished up preparing your dish. He’d been transported away as he worked, reminded of you with every garnish that he placed and ru that he drizzled. Whenever he saw the colour orange, he thought of you. It was impossible not to, when he’d cut up an uncountable number of tangerines for you during his time at the diner. As he placed the final piece of your dish, he readied himself to yell for hands, but stopped himself.

Instead, he grabbed your plate and approached his front of house manager. “How are we for time?”

“Fine, Chef. We’re in the after dinner lull, only desserts are left. Table thirty-two is the final main of the evening.”

Carmen nodded. “Right.”

“Do you want to take it to her?” she asked knowingly, and Carmen swallowed. “You know her, don’t you? An old friend?”

“Something like that,” he said, not knowing how to even begin to explain you. An ex-work colleague just sounded wrong, but an old friend sounded wrong, too. You’d been so much more than either of those, and still were. You supported his endeavours, and cared beyond belief. 

The kitchen at USC was vastly different from the atmosphere at Lucky Strike. It was robotic, and static, and everyone had their purpose and place. Carmen’s purpose was that of importance, being chef de cuisine, but his superior– the head chef– was not like Paulie used to be. 

Not in the slightest. 

“I’ll take it,” Carmen finally replied. He placed your plate down and straightened out his chef whites. “How do I look?” he asked her. 

She smiled. “Smart,” she said. That was enough. 

As you sipped the last of your glass of red, you tensed when the door to the kitchen burst open. You turned your gaze towards it, and your heart stuttered in your chest. Walking towards you with the speed of a freight train, chef whites donned and clean, hair slicked back, was Carmy. He powered through the restaurant and gained glances of respect from other guests, triggering a small hubbub of chatter from other tables. 

You relaxed even further into your chair, knowing that you didn’t need to perform. You didn’t need to sit up straight, or lean in, or do anything other than smile at him with as much warmth as you could possibly muster. He’d made it, and this was exactly what you’d wanted to witness– you just hadn’t expected him to leave the seclusion of the kitchen just for you. 

Carmen reached your table, and set down your surprise meal. He gently drifted the plate towards you, and leaned down intimately. 

“Your meal this evening is our classic fillet of salmon, with a twist,” he said. You had to stop yourself from laughing. You felt overwhelmed in the best way. 

“A twist, Chef?” you asked. 

“I took the liberty of adding fresh tangerine juice to the jus.” 

Your eyes sparkled as he revealed all. It was very easy to feel special when you were alone with Carm at the diner before, to understand the gravity of his actions when he got past his shyness and opened up more, but this hit it out of the park. Your chest compressed as your heart lurched. Your lungs spluttered as you sucked in a shaking breath. 

The sides of Carmen���s mouth curled almost imperceptibly, but you knew that look from a mile away. That small smile, that warmth, that affection, that he reserved solely for those people that he knew deserved it. That fact you were here, and everything else from before, was reason enough for you to deserve it. Innately, he felt good when he looked at you this way. It made everything clear, wiped the slate clean, made his crumbling chest settle just that tiny bit more. 

Carmen stood up straight, hands behind his back. “I wanted to mention that there’ll be no checks tonight.”

You finally sat up straight, and immediately went to protest. “I–”

“We insist. I insist,” Carm cut you off softly. 

You looked at the perfectly cooked salmon on the table, the bright orange jus, the drops of red wine on the sides of your glass. “Okay,” you said, peering back up at him. 

“Okay,” he repeated, and his smile grew. 

The cogs whirred in his brain, as he became hyper-aware of the other guests around him. He still had dessert orders to fill, and an entire kitchen to break down and clean. As much as he wanted to stay, to sit opposite you, to throw a kitchen towel at your face when you looked at him so deeply and warmly and lovingly, he simply couldn’t. 

He leaned in once more, so much that your hairs stood on edge as he whispered. “I finish just before midnight,” he whispered gently, before pulling away. “Stay.” He swallowed. “Please.” 

“Okay,” you whispered.

You stayed until the restaurant was empty. The hostess at the front folded napkins in the dim light of the deserted bar, but stopped ever so often to fill up your wine glass. She smiled at you every time she did. 

It was a comfortable silence in the empty restaurant, a silence that you knew very well from being at the diner after hours. Inside the kitchen, you knew Carm would be breaking down after service. Cleaning every single surface in sight, scrubbing the floors until they shined, labelling produce with tape that was cut; not ripped. 

Close to midnight, the kitchen door slammed open once more. Carm had stripped off his chef whites, opting for jeans and an old tee. He spotted you from across the restaurant and smiled smally. “Wanna see?” he asked. 

He held the door open for you as you stepped into the kitchen. The sleekness of it all practically took your breath away. Every surface shone, every plate and bowl and mug glimmered. This was such a step up from the diner, one that you’d been expecting, but seeing it in person was far more incredible.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered under your breath. 

Carmen huffed in amusement. “I know.”

“This is… this is insane.” 

He nodded slowly, coming up to stand beside you as the door swayed on its hinges, before settling shut. “It feels like a dream, somedays,” he said, admiring the workspace with you. “And some days, it doesn’t.” 

“I’m so proud of you, Carm.” You smiled. He smiled back, and for just a moment it was as if no time had passed. It was like you were back in the diner, talking about your dreams together. A place to call your own, and all that jazz. Perhaps, those dreams were still there somewhere.

“I’m not sure I deserve that,” he replied, but not quite jokingly enough for your liking.

You sent him a side-eyed stare and caught the look on his face– fear, or perhaps, damage. When he hit your eyes a second later, that look melted away. All you saw then was warmth. Carmen didn’t often show much on his face, but you could see it all. The years you’d spent alongside him had taught you more than how to run a restaurant; you were one of a handful of people that could seamlessly read Carmen like a book. 

That’s why your gut coiled innately. That look wasn’t one that you’d take lightly. 

“How’s it all going?” you asked. 

He let out another huff and shrugged his shoulders, before opting to move away and roam the clean kitchen. “I can’t complain.” He swiped his hand across the stainless steel workbench. 

“And that chef, David or whatever his name is, how is he?”

Carmen froze for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to make your hairs stand on end. His arms tensed, until you saw the strength within his veins rise to the surface. He looked up at you sternly, clenching his jaw. “He’s an excellent chef.” 

“Okay,” you said. “That’s great. What about how he manages this place, manages you?”

“What is this, twenty fucking questions?” Carmen let out defensively.

It only cemented that you knew something was wrong. 

“Okay– I’ll pretend you didn’t just snap at me for being interested,” you let out belligerently. “What the hell is it, Carm?”

“Drop it,” he said sternly, moving away from you and over to the enormous shelves of shimmering white plates. “I got a James Beard award, didn’t I? I got everything I fucking wanted here, so just drop it.”

“Listen,” you started, fast walking your way around the central island and closer to him. “I get it, I’m not part of this world– your world– anymore. But I still know a thing or two about chefs and their giant fucking egos. What’s going on?”

Carmen closed his eyes and let out a subtly shaking breath. You were taken aback by this whole conversation, the drastic shift in his mood as soon you’d started asking questions. 

“Carm,” you said softly, dialling things down a little. “Just look at me for a second.” 

His shoulders relaxed, dipping into more of a tired hunch than his previous disposition of a deer in headlights. When his eyes hit yours, your heart lurched in your chest. Those eyes, god– the blue was etched in the corners of your brain. Like a clear sky in summer, or a glittering pool, or a calm ocean. Carmen was many things, but clear, glittering and calm were not traits that most people would pin onto him. 

Not you, though. This was the Carm that dreamt with you. This was the Carm that cut up tangerines into quarters for you whenever you asked, or even when you didn’t. Blue and orange, swirling together like the patterns on peppermint hard-candy or gingham squares on the Lucky Strike tablecloths. Ingrained. Permanent. 

“He’s taught me a lot,” Carmen whispered. 

You knew it wasn’t your place, but red flags popped up in your mind and billowed in the breeze immediately. He looked stripped back, a shell of himself, just for those fleeting seconds, and you fucking hated it. 

“You’ve been here for almost a year,” you said, swallowing away the butterflies that had started crawling up your throat. “Maybe now is a good shot to find something else.” 

Carm’s eyes widened brightly, and you saw all his plans from before; his restaurant, his staff, his food and the like. And then, as if a gust of wind uprooted the largest tree within his mind, that was gone. Replaced by something seething, something angry and not at all kind, Carmen rose. 

“You’re telling me to quit?” 

You took a small step back. “Of course, I’m not–”

“No, no, you fucking are.” He bit down on his tongue, you heard it. “You think being here for a few hours and one meal is enough for you to tell me what the fuck to do?”

“Carmen, what are you talking ab–”

“Fuck!” His shoulders squared off, and suddenly he was a corrugated iron board before you. Immovable, stuck in place. “You came here to tell me I’m strong enough, right? What, you want me to go back to the diner with Paulie and everyone else who’s never had a real fucking goal in their lives?”

“Wow,” you breathed out, laughing a little as a lack of what else to respond. 

You stood your ground, as much as you wanted to scream and yell like a petulant child. The look on his face, the brick wall he’d built so high around himself, was something you’d seen before– self-sabotage, tugging away from everything and everyone that was there to help. A level of acceptance and denial alike was testament alongside situations such as this; abusive situations. 

This Chef David was abusing the shit out of him. And Carmen was deep, way down to the core of it, just trying to get through his days, shift by shift, in any way possible. Even if that meant cutting off those dreams, cutting off people from his past– you. 

“You really think I’d do that?” you said bluntly. “You really think I booked this solo reservation a fucking year ago because I wanted to come and drag you back to the diner?”

Carm’s eyes brightened momentarily. “A year ago?”

You took another step back, careful not to immediately fall into him from the childish bewilderment on his face. It was like he’d never had someone care, but you knew that wasn’t true. He just didn’t know how to spot when someone did, misconstrued it as someone trying to harm him, hurt him, ruin him. 

“I booked to come here a year ago, Carmen,” you started. “I fucking knew you’d make it here. I knew that when I came today, you’d be the one cooking my damn meal. I was fucking right.”

It was his turn to take a step back now, just a little. Perhaps he was overwhelmed because he wasn’t expecting this. Wasn’t expecting you to still stay supporting him after he left, or didn’t even want to think about what the guys at the diner might be saying about him after he’d gone. Little did he know, everyone still talked about him with smiles and bright eyes. 

Carmen Berzatto was the only motherfucker out there that didn’t know people supported him wholeheartedly. 

“I’m not telling you to leave, or quit, or whatever else you fucking think I was about to say,” you began again. Carm swallowed nervously. “You can think what the hell you want to think about us at Lucky Strike, but we’re still the same people we’ve always been. I guess that can’t be said about you now, huh?”

Carmen’s anxiety turned to anger in a heartbeat. “What, ‘cause I actually made a name for myself instead of you all staying in the fucking box you planted yourselves in years ago? If that’s why I’ve changed, then I’m fucking glad about it.”

“Fuck– there you go again!” you exclaimed. “You’re talking down to us like we’re pieces of fucking shit on your brand-spanking new shoes!” 

“And you’re looking at me with those fucking baby-eyes like I’m gonna crumble any fucking second!” Carmen screamed. “I can’t fucking stand it.”

You placed your hands on your hips and held your ground again. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” 

Carmen saw red immediately. “If you bring up Chef David one more fucking time, then I’m done.”

“You’re done? Huh, what the hell does that mean?”

“Done with you.” 

Your eyes widened. Bile started to crawl up your oesophagus. In that moment, you’d never felt more like your mother. You knew if you were to talk, you’d adopt her stern accent instantly. You popped your hip out and bent your knee, tired of fucking standing. 

“So, you made it to the big leagues, and now you’re throwing out all your trash. Is that what it is, huh?” You stepped forward once. Carmen stayed where he was. “Look at me right here, Carm.” You pointed to your eyes, not wavering once. “Look at me right here and tell me that you hate me. Do it right now. If you do it right now then I’ll know you fucking mean it. If you do it right now then me, and Paulie, and everyone from the fucking diner will call it quits with you like that.” You snapped your fingers on that. It cemented that you meant it. 

Carmen raised his chin, so close that your noses almost touched. In any other circumstance, maybe you’d have kissed him by now. Maybe you’d have realised that you both liked each other as more, loved each other once, still fucking did. 

But, that wasn’t this reality. 

When he didn’t say anything, you knew you’d won. He stayed as still as he could as adrenaline rushed through his blood. His fingers shook at the end of his arms. His chest thumped incessantly as oxygen tried to tear through his lungs. 

“No?” you asked, almost as a final warning. 

Carm breathed in. “I hate what you represent.”

“And what exactly is it that I represent?” you whispered. 

Suddenly, Carmen dropped his forehead on yours. His hands deposited themselves on either side of your neck warmly, gently. His fingertips set your skin alight. “The one thing I can never fucking have.” 

As much as you wanted tell him to get the fuck off, to stop touching you, your heart melted as soon as your skin felt his. You clamped your eyes shut, leaning into him. Carm let out a pent up breath. His breath was warm as it skimmed your skin. 

“Carmen.” You swallowed. “Please.” You paused. “I– love you,” you stuttered. 

“I know,” he replied. “I know you do.” 

For just a second, you thought he was going to kiss you. It’d be easy to drop his lips onto yours, you were right in front of him. Heads touching, breath mingling, sharing each other’s air like it was the most normal fucking thing to do. 

You wanted him back, it was true. But not like this. Not broken, or bruised, or damaged beyond repair. It wasn’t his fault, you knew that. He’d been moulded this way. But, it was his responsibility to do good for himself. One deep dive into this entire conversation and you knew that it was impossible for him to do that, at least right now. Carmen Berzatto was stuck, and you didn’t want to get yourself stuck in the process of trying to free him. 

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Leave,” was all he said. 

You shook your head slowly, tears welling behind your eyes. “Don’t push me away.”

“Leave,” he repeated, as his hands dropped from your neck to your shoulders. Gently, he started physically pushing you off him. 

“Carmen,” you spluttered. Your eyes opened to see him in pain. God, you fucking hated it. “I won’t come back if you do this. I really fucking won’t.”

He stepped back once, twice, three times. Eyes glued on yours, blue and glassy like a glacier, his heart as cold as one, too. “Good,” he said softly, headed for the door to the kitchen.

“You don’t mean that.” You urged him to stay. 

He only nodded. “I never want to fucking see you again.” 

Carmen left unceremoniously, without another word or glance or care. The kitchen door swung shut, bobbing on its hinges. The only sound you could hear was the buzzing of the refrigerators, and the breaking of your heart strings. 

PART THREE

[cheynovak]

Echoes and Shadows

Soldier Boy x F/Reader Y/N           

Warnings:  Fights, gunshots, mentioning of child abuse, ... 

Side note: English isn’t my first language    

Words:  3800 

Cursive are memories

*Does not follow the boys storyline * 

--    

Autumn of 1950, Soldier Boy, the embodiment of rugged heroism and Vought-American's premier supe, was summoned to a high-rise office overlooking New York City. The meeting was brief, direct, and left a bitter taste in his mouth.  

His new assignment: train a young girl named Y/N, a fresh supe with a "girl next door" persona. To Soldier Boy, it felt like a waste of time. Why did he had to train her, there had to be other tasks for the world’s greatest hero!  

When they first met, Y/N stood in stark contrast to the grizzled Soldier Boy. She had an optimistic gleam in her eyes and a smile that seemed permanently etched on her face. She was eager to learn, but Soldier Boy couldn’t stand her naivety.  

“Listen up, kid,” he grumbled during their first training session. “Being a supe isn’t about smiles and handshakes. It’s about getting the job done. And sometimes, it gets messy. I don’t think you can handle that."  

Y/N shook her head, determination shining in her eyes. “I can handle it. I want to help people, no matter what it takes.” Soldier Boy sneered. “We’ll see about that.” He was relentless in his training.  

Every day, he pushed her to her limits, both physically and mentally. Gruelling obstacle courses, intense combat drills, and brutal sparring sessions became her new routine. Whenever she stumbled, he was there with a cutting remark.  

“Come on, sweetheart, is that the best you’ve got?” he’d taunt. “Real heroes don’t get tired. Real heroes don’t complain.” Despite his harshness, Y/N refused to give up. She endured his gruelling regimen with a quiet resilience that began to chip away at Soldier Boy’s disdain. 

She didn’t just want to be a hero; she wanted to prove herself, and her perseverance was impossible to ignore. One day, during a particularly brutal training exercise, Soldier Boy pushed her to the edge.  

She was exhausted, her body bruised and battered, but she stood her ground. “Why do you keep doing this?” he demanded, his voice a mix of frustration and curiosity. “Why don’t you just quit? You’re too soft for this job.”  

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. “Because I believe in doing the right thing. Because I believe in helping people, no matter how hard it gets. And because I know I can be a hero, even if you don’t believe it.” He rolled his eyes "Sure sweetheart."  

Months passed, and Y/N grew stronger, more skilled, and more confident, and as her confidence grew so did her abilities. Y/N seemed to be able to put up a defence barrier, holding back bullets, if she concentrated good enough, she could even use it as an extra force to her punches. Besides that, she healed quick and what time would tell, didn’t age. 

She always kept that kindness in her eyes, but it was now tempered with a steely resolve. She had become everything Soldier Boy had initially doubted she could be. One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Soldier Boy handed Y/N a cold beer.  

It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. She stared at it for a moment, hesitating. "I'm only 18," she said softly, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. Soldier Boy scoffed, rolling his eyes.  

"Stop being such an uptight bitch all the time. It's just a beer." Y/N took the bottle reluctantly, the cool glass against her palm feeling unfamiliar and slightly intimidating. She hesitated, then took a small sip.  

The bitterness of the beer mirrored the bitter moments she had faced during training, the relentless drills, and Soldier Boy’s cutting remarks. They sat in silence for a while, the city’s night sounds filtering in through the open window.  

Y/N glanced at Soldier Boy, trying to decipher the man behind the harsh exterior. “Why did you agree to train me?” she asked quietly. Soldier Boy took a long swig from his own bottle before answering.  

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Vought’s orders.” He paused, his gaze distant. “But you’re not as hopeless as I thought." Y/N felt a small swell of pride at his words. Coming from Soldier Boy, it was high praise indeed.  

She took another sip, the beer tasting a little less bitter now. “Thanks,” she said with a little smile, proud of the first compliment her childhood hero gave her. Soldier Boy grunted in response. 

Present day 

Y/N had left the noise and chaos of the city far behind, finding solace in the peaceful rhythm of farm life. The fields stretched out in a patchwork of greens and browns, and the farmhouse, with its weathered wood and creaking floors, stood as a testament to a simpler, quieter existence.  

She was tending to her garden when she saw them approaching: a group of men, rough around the edges and clearly out of place in the tranquil countryside. Her guard went up immediately.  

Butcher, with his perpetual scowl, led the way, his intense gaze locking onto her. Hughie followed, looking slightly out of his element but determined. Frenchie and Kimiko were close behind, each with their own brand of intensity.  

But it was M.M., standing a bit apart from the rest, who caught her attention. There was a steadiness in his eyes, a calm that seemed at odds with the chaos that surrounded the group.  

Y/N straightened up, wiping her hands on her apron as they came to a stop in front of her. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice cold and wary. Butcher stepped forward, but M.M. gently placed a hand on his shoulder, signalling him to let M.M. handle it.  

Butcher hesitated, then nodded, stepping back with a reluctant grunt. “Miss Y/N, my name is MM, I, no we, need your help. Taking down Homelander.” Y/N crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "And why would I help you? I retired to the countryside for peace. "  

M.M. nodded, as if he understood. "I get it. Believe me, I do. But this isn’t just about revenge or taking down supes for the sake of it. We found out about a weapon, something that could kill Soldier Boy. If it can kill him, it can kill Homelander. And... it could probably kill you too. I presume you want to keep living?" 

She flinched at that, the reality of her vulnerability striking a chord she didn’t want to acknowledge. "Why should I trust you?" she asked, her voice softer but still laced with suspicion. "Because we’re trying to do the right thing," M.M. said simply.  

"We’re trying to protect people. And I think, deep down, that’s what you’ve always wanted to do too. You’ve got no reason to trust us, but we don’t have any reason to lie to you either. We need your help to find this weapon. If it exists, it’s our best shot at stopping Homelander. And if we don’t, a lot of innocent people are going to die."  

There was a long silence as Y/N weighed his words. She glanced at the other members of The Boys, reading the desperation and determination etched into their faces. Finally, she looked back at M.M., seeing in him a glimmer of the same hope and resolve that had once driven her.  

"Alright," she said at last, her voice steady. "I’ll help you. But only because I believe someone needs to stop Homelander. And if you’re lying to me, I’ll make sure you regret it." M.M. smiled, a genuine warmth in his expression.  

"Fair enough. We’re grateful for your help, Y/N." As they began to discuss their plan, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. She had tried to leave her past behind, but it seemed the fight for justice had found her once again. And this time, she was determined to see it through to the end. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the farm, Y/N found herself alone for a moment, she agreed they could stay at her place for the night. She leaned against the porch railing, enjoying the cool breeze.  

Her mind wandered back to her time as a supe, a life that seemed so distant now. Hughie approached hesitantly, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He had a look of curiosity mixed with apprehension.  

"Hey," he started, a bit awkwardly. "Mind if I ask you something?" Y/N glanced at him, her guard momentarily lowered. "Sure, go ahead." Hughie shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking around the porch.  

"I noticed there aren’t many pictures of you. Almost none, actually. W-why is that?" She laughed, a sound tinged with both amusement and bitterness. "Vought made sure the world would forget about me," she explained.  

"When I left, they erased almost every trace of my existence. Photos, records, everything. They didn’t want anyone to remember a supe who walked away from it all." Hughie nodded, taking in her words. "That's... harsh. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised, considering Vought."  

Y/N sighed, her eyes distant. "Yeah, that's Vought. Controlling the narrative, always." There was a pause, then Hughie asked another question that had been on his mind. "What was Soldier Boy like?" Y/N's expression softened, a mix of nostalgia and sadness crossing her face.  

"He was... complicated. A real hard-ass, tough as nails, and absolutely relentless. He could be a real jerk, too, always pushing people to their limits, addict... you name it.” A little pause, she added more a reminder to herself than to him, “But underneath all that, he was just... human."  

Hughie listened intently, sensing there was more to the story. "Did you ever get along with him?" She smiled faintly. "Eventually, yes. It took a while." Hughie looked thoughtful. "Do you think he would have been able to help us with Homelander, if he was still around?"  

Y/N shrugged, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "It's hard to say. Soldier Boy was powerful, but he had his own flaws and demons. He might have helped, or he might have made things worse. We'll never know." 

The next day they left for Russia 

The private plane hummed steadily as it cut through the night sky, its cabin dimly lit. The Boys were scattered around, each lost in their thoughts or quietly discussing their plan. Y/N sat by a window, staring out into the inky blackness. 

Butcher had a lead on the weapon that supposedly killed Soldier Boy, and they were heading to Russia to find it. As the drone of the engines filled her ears, Y/N felt herself slipping into a memory, a flashback to a mission that had happened decades ago in Russia, during her time with Soldier Boy.  

-- 

The mission was critical, a high-stakes operation deep in enemy territory. Y/N and Soldier Boy were tasked with infiltrating a heavily fortified facility to retrieve vital intelligence. The plan was simple: she would create a distraction as he got the job done.  

They had worked out the details meticulously, but plans rarely survived first contact with the enemy. Y/N had managed to draw the guards’ attention, using her powers to create enough chaos to give Soldier Boy the opening he needed. It worked, until she got shot multiple times.  

She found herself cornered in a narrow hallway, the walls lined with steel and concrete. There was no way out. Gunfire echoed around her, the sharp sound of bullets ricocheting off the walls. She took cover behind a weak force shield, her heart pounding.  

She could hear the guards closing in, their footsteps growing louder. As one hand shield her the other pushed down on her leg to stop the bleeding. "I’m trapped!" she shouted into her comm.  

"There’s no way out!" For a few agonizing moments, there was only static in response. Then, his voice crackled through. "Hold on, kid." The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as she waited, the sound of gunfire and shouting closing in.  

She fought off the guards as best she could, using her powers as offence instead to keep them at bay, but she knew she couldn't hold out much longer. Just when she thought it was over, an explosion rocked the hallway. The steel door at the end of the corridor burst open, and there he was. 

Soldier Boy, a look of fierce determination on his face. He tore through the guards with brutal efficiency, clearing a path to her. "Let’s go!" he shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet. Together, they fought their way out of the facility, Soldier Boy covering her as they made their escape.  

When they finally reached the extraction point, she collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily grabbing her leg. "You okay?" he asked, kneeling beside her, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as he tied on of his belts around her leg. She nodded, looking up at him with a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. "Thanks for coming back for me."  

He shrugged, but there was a softness in his eyes.  

--  

The memory faded, and Y/N found herself back on the plane, the steady hum of the engines replacing the echoes of the past. She glanced around at the faces of The Boys, each one focused on the mission ahead. She felt a renewed sense of purpose, a reminder of why she had joined them.  

M.M. caught her eye from across the cabin, giving her a reassuring nod. She returned it with a small smile. The private plane landed in a secluded airstrip in Russia under the cover of night.  

The Boys, along with Y/N, moved swiftly through the dense forest surrounding the remote facility where they believed the weapon that killed Soldier Boy was hidden. The facility loomed ahead, a monolithic structure guarded by heavily armed soldiers and state-of-the-art security systems.  

Butcher led the way, his eyes sharp and focused. "Alright, stay close and keep it quiet. We don’t want to alert the whole damn place." They approached the facility’s perimeter, M.M. disabling the security cameras and motion sensors with expert precision.  

They slipped inside, navigating the labyrinthine corridors with a mix of stealth and speed. But their luck didn’t hold for long. As they rounded a corner, they came face-to-face with a squad of Russian soldiers. For a moment, time seemed to freeze.  

Then, chaos erupted. Butcher was the first to react, launching himself at the nearest soldier with a fierce battle cry. His fists connected with brutal efficiency, taking the soldier down before he could raise his weapon.  

The sound of gunfire exploded around them as the rest of the squad sprang into action. Y/N used her powers to create a force field, deflecting bullets and giving The Boys a chance to take cover. She felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, her senses sharpening as the fight intensified.  

Frenchie and Kimiko moved as a deadly pair, Frenchie’s precise gunfire complemented by Kimiko’s lethal hand-to-hand combat skills. Hughie, still relatively new to the chaos of battle, ducked behind a crate, his heart pounding.  

He peeked out, firing his weapon at the soldiers, hitting one in the leg and causing him to drop his gun. M.M. took advantage of the opening, charging forward and disarming the soldier with a swift, practiced move. He turned, his eyes scanning the room for the next threat.  

"Y/N, cover us!" Butcher shouted, taking down another soldier with a vicious uppercut. Y/N nodded, focusing her energy to create a larger shield, pushing back the advancing soldiers. She could feel the strain, but she held her ground, giving The Boys the chance to regroup and counterattack.  

As the fight raged on, they moved deeper into the facility. The corridors echoed with the sounds of battle, gunfire, shouts, and the clash of metal. They fought their way through waves of soldiers, each skirmish bringing them closer to their goal.  

Finally, they reached a heavily reinforced door at the heart of the facility. Butcher and M.M. worked quickly to breach the door, using a combination of explosives and brute force. The door blew open with a deafening blast, revealing a dark, cold chamber beyond.  

They stepped inside, weapons raised, ready for anything. The room was dimly lit, the walls lined with strange, high-tech equipment. In the centre a large, metal cryogenic chamber, Butcher ripped the door off.  

"Bloody hell," Butcher muttered, lowering his weapon slightly.  

Y/N stepped forward, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and recognition. She froze for a second, unable to believe her eyes. There he was...Soldier Boy encased in the cryogenic chamber.  

The gas began to dissipate, and the machinery hissed as he torn the bands that had its grip on him. Ben’s eyes fluttered open, and he tumbled out of the container, gasping for air. "Ben!" Y/N shouted, rushing forward to catch him before he hit the ground.  

She knelt beside him, her arms around his shoulders, steadying him as he struggled to regain his balance. For a brief moment, their eyes met. She saw confusion and recognition flicker in his eyes, but it quickly turned to something darker rage.  

His expression twisted with fury, and his body began to glow. "Ben, it’s me, Y/N," she pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. But her words didn’t seem to reach him. The radiation started to build, the air around him crackling with energy.  

Before Y/N could react, Kimiko lunged forward, pushing her aside just as a blast of radiation erupted from Ben’s body. The force of the blast sent through the wall. The smoke and debris settled slightly, revealing Ben staggering through the chaos, his steps heavy and disoriented.  

His chest still glowed with residual energy, and he seemed to be in a daze, not fully aware of his surroundings. Ben, stop!" Y/N cried, her voice breaking with emotion. She took a step forward, her heart aching at the sight of him in such a state. but he walked away.  

As they returned to America, Y/N's mind was filled with a tumult of emotions. They had narrowly escaped Russia, but Kimiko's injuries weighed heavily on her. She watched as Butcher spoke to the team, his tone gruff and dismissive.  

"Soldier Boy isn't our problem," he said, his words cutting through the air. Y/N felt a surge of anger and frustration rise, she wanted to stay and find him. But she understood Kimiko needed help. “Why would he do that?” Hughie asked.  

Y/N’s mind drifted away.  

-- 

It was a late night, the night before the announcement of Payback as Soldier Boy's new team. Y/N had returned home after a long day of training, only to find Ben sitting on her couch, a bottle of whiskey in hand and a weary expression on his face.  

She couldn’t help but be annoyed at the sight of him. "What on earth are you doing here?" she asked, her voice mingled with concern. Ben shrugged, taking a swig from the bottle. "Figured you owed me one since I saved that pretty little ass of yours."  

Y/N rolled her eyes, "Fine. What's wrong?" As she settled onto the couch beside him, she couldn’t help but notice the sadness in his eyes, the weight of the world on his shoulders. "What’s eating you, Ben?" she asked, her tone gentle.  

Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm a fucking disappointment" he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “What?” Y/N asked before she listened as he opened up about his father’s abuse, the years of torment and neglect.  

Ben's father was a formidable presence in his life, but not in the way a father should be. He was a hard man, cold and unyielding, his words like knives cutting into Ben's fragile sense of self-worth.  

From a young age, Ben was subjected to his father's wrath, enduring physical and emotional abuse that left scars both seen and unseen. His father's beatings were brutal and frequent, leaving Ben battered and bruised, his spirit broken.  

But it was the words that cut the deepest, the constant reminders of his perceived failures, the insults hurled at him like daggers. He was called weak, a disappointment, a disgrace to the family name.  

For years, Ben internalized his father's harsh judgments, believing himself to be unworthy of love or respect. He built walls around his heart, his rough exterior a shield against the pain and rejection he had endured for so long.  

He learned to bury his emotions deep, to keep people at arm's length, lest they see the vulnerability he tried so desperately to hide.  

Y/N had seen glimpses of Ben's pain before, but it wasn't until that night, when he had opened up to her about his father, that she truly understood the depth of his suffering. She saw the scars, both physical and emotional, that his father had left behind. 

She saw the pain etched into his features, the vulnerability he rarely showed to anyone else. And in that moment, she understood him in a way she hadn’t before. "Why did you put up with it?" she asked, her voice soft. 

Ben shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. "It’s not that simple, Y/N. You don’t just walk away from family, no matter how screwed up they are." Y/N reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder.  

"You’ve got people who care about you, you know that right?" As their eyes met, and Y/N saw something flicker in Ben's gaze, a mix of emotions surged within her.  

But before she could fully process them, Ben leaned in, his intention clear. His lips moved towards hers, seeking solace in the warmth of the moment. Y/N's heart raced, her instincts conflicting with her emotions. As his lips hovered inches from hers, her fingers landed gently on his lips, halting his advance.  

"Ben," she murmured softly, her voice tinged with regret. "This isn't a good idea." She had thought about this moment before, wondered what it would be like to be with him. But now, with him drunk and high on who knows what, she couldn't bring herself to take advantage of him in this vulnerable state.  

It wouldn't be fair to either of them. Ben's expression shifted from longing to confusion, then to frustration. He pulled away abruptly, his eyes clouded with anger and hurt. "Fine," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "Your loss."  

Y/N watched him go, her heart heavy with regret. She knew she had made the right choice, but that didn't make it any easier to see him walk away. She never wanted to hurt him. 

-- 

As she heard MM talking to Frenchie and Kimiko she looked over. Seeing how badly Kimiko was hurt.  

Knowing she needed to find Ben ASAP before he hurts anymore people. 

To be continued...

------

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[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Jason Todd Week Special! Day 1: The Batmobile Tires

A/N: this unofficial mini-chapter is part of the event being run by @jasontoddweek2025 and can be enjoyed without reading the rest of the story.

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, let me know if I missed anything worth tagging!

warnings/labels: flashback scenes, reader's mom is there, Jason's death is mentioned

wc: 716

CIGYN? Chapter Selection

The Batmobile came to a sudden stop in a dark alley. In an instant, Batman was out of the car and halfway up the wall, leaving the Batmobile unguarded in one of the worst neighborhoods in Gotham. It didn't take long for a small boy to approach, eyes scanning the darkness for the Bat. Nothing moved in the shadows, and a cautious grin spread across his face.

He ran over, eyes lighting up with the possibilities. He tried the door, delighted to find it unlocked. No keys, and the Batman kept a tidy car, but there were a few granola bars and beef jerky sticks that quickly made their way into his pockets. Once he was sure there was nothing else inside, he began pulling the tires off.

This was the best score ever! Food for tonight, and grocery money for later! He would probably be able to eat for two weeks from this one night's work! He got the first tire off and was working on the second when a deep voice rang out from behind him.

“What do you think you're doing?”

He jumped, swinging the tire iron in his hands without a second thought. The Batman loomed over him, falling back a step to dodge his improvised attack. The boy ran without a second thought, clutching his pilfered snacks to his chest. He ran halfway to his shelter on the other side of Crime Alley before he realized he wasn't being followed. He hunkered down once he got home, and for the rest of the night every shadow seemed to be alive, every noise set his teeth on edge.

“What do you see?” Batman spoke low, observing the city below them.

Robin adjusted his mask, frowning a bit. Dick's old uniform still felt a bit too big on him, like something he'd snatched out of a lost and found. After a moment, he whispered; “five cars. Route eight bus … looks pretty full. Couple kids leaving the park. … Raccoon climbing out of the dumpster behind the pizza place … can we get pizza after?”

“Focus, Robin. What else do you see?”

“... That girl … she's upset.” He gestured to a girl walking up to the bus stop.

“... Too young to be out on her own at this time of night. … We'll keep an eye on her.”

Robin nodded, adjusting his footing. She wasn't really paying attention to the world around her. A quick way to get killed in Gotham. Robin watched her, barely paying attention to the lessons Batman was trying to teach him. He watched as the bus arrived and a woman got off, approaching the girl. He leaned forward to watch. They were too high to hear the conversation, but the girl seemed glad to see her. The pair walked off, and he leaned back.

“... Are you ready to continue your training, Robin?”

“Hm? … Oh, yeah! Yeah, I'm ready!” He grinned.

“Mom?” I frowned. Mom never watched TV before work, and there were tears in her eyes. She gestured for me to join her on the couch, pulling me into a tight hug.

The police chief was standing behind a podium, flanked by armed officers. Off to the side was a large man in a well tailored suit. “-is being regarded as an act of terrorism, and as such all Gotham schools are being shut down for the time being. Parents, please keep your children home until further notice.”

“What’s going on?” I frowned, turning toward my mom.

“... The Joker kidnapped one of Bruce Wayne's kids. … The younger one, … god he's … he was just about your age …” she sniffled, hugging me tighter.

“... Was? Mom, what happened?”

“... Apparently Robin tried to save him … they both died. … The Joker killed them.”

I blinked repeatedly, looking at the tv again. The police chief was yammering on about safety measures Gothamites should take in the coming days, but I barely heard it. For as long as I could remember Gotham had been protected by Batman and Robin. Some people said they were cryptids, like some kind of vengeful Mothman. Others thought they were the living embodiments of the spirit of justice, or the city. It had never, not once, occured to me that they were human…

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Fanart in the header by: @crowkip

☕💖CIGYN?☕💖 Taglist (y'all are being tagged in this first day of Jason Todd Week, but if you'd like to be tagged in the rest of my posts for the event please let me know, otherwise I'll see you all again when we resume our regularly scheduled programming!): 

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men @cottage-worm @v1ckycheesue @roastyyytoastyyy @sarakmec @thestarcatcher7297 @stupidlyunhinged @mishkapi @mermaidgirl-11 @bunniboo0015 @bibibusinessman @iimichie

[wantonlywindswept]

time capsule alpha 17

okay so like we don't actually know what happened to Alpha-17 in the end, right?

it just says that 17 was critically injured by grievous and put on a medical transport to get treatment, and then not-dead ventress commandeered the ship and took off

so with critical injuries it's entirely possible that 17 was stuck into stasis or cryo until he could get help

and entirely probable that ventress got where she wanted and then fucked off, and the ship ended up stranded somewhere and forgotten

which means it is definitely possible that at some point after the fall of the empire, someone finds and patches up and revives 17, who has against all odds survived and is PISSED when he hears what the galaxy's been up to

and maybe kix has also been found much sooner and woken up and is living with a much more chill/brotherly boba on tatooine (go read Keeps Getting Harder to Find, it is glorious, don't be put off by the unfinished tag it ends at a good point)

and one day the doors of the throne room (are there doors? whatever) slam open and everyone on tatooine knows that daimyo fett fears neither sarlaac nor death but the sound he makes when a massive furious clone stomps into the room is maybe slightly possibly fear-adjacent

and kix doesn't even try to put up a front he just squeaks and ducks behind the throne

and alpha 17 surveys everyone in the room with a patented look of disgust and Judgement and bares his teeth in what might be considered a smile if you were concussed and goes

'my dear least favorite little older brother, what the FUCK is going on'

[dw-flagler]

on the twelfth day of worm-mas, spacebattles gave to me:

12 gaping plot-holes,

11 brockton stomp-fics,

10 Trump Self-Inserts,

9 "Vicky, Aura!"s,

8 [DESTINATION]s,

7 In-Name-Only-s,

6 Bully smut-fics,

5 Mary Sues!

4 danny harems,

3 toxic lockers,

2 TV Tropes,

and a quote from rick and morty!

(and I politely, but firmly, declined)

[quailbuster]

Loose Threads

-ONGOING, PART ONE-

CHECK OUT PART TWO HERE

Check it out on ao3! Kudos go a long way:))

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Summary: A series of Flashbacks from your tumultuous relationship with Javier Peña.

Warnings: Explicit, Sexual content, Angst, mixed race reader, mentions of miscarriage, Grumpy Javier, Original characters, NON-LINEAR storytelling, swearing, slight reader x original character but that's a teeny sideplot, Leon is based on gabriel luna's version of tommy miller sorry he's so fine, poor mother relationship, ONGOING

Author's note: This is the first fic I've posted since 2021, first javi fic AND first x reader fic God! so many firsts! this is part ONE, includes two flashbacks :)

January 3, 1994

Houston, Texas

He was standing beside a flickering street lamp when you saw him, a moth floating not too far from his scruffy brunette hair, and the cigarette smoke from between his roughed-up fingers deterred it from landing on his shoulder. He took a long drag, eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled the taste of tobacco, tar, and some other bullshit you used to try and lecture him for. His other hand was stuffed into his jean pocket, and the exhalation of smoke was shooing away the moth that threatened to poke his eye this time. He looked like something straight out of a 1950s film.

He must have heard the light tapping of your shoes as you stalked over to his spot because his eyes shot open and his head turned towards you, hand now hovering over the gun in his other pocket. Once he realised who it was, his stance loosened, hand stuffed back into his jean pocket. He cleared his throat and took another inhale. You continued walking, stopping just a foot away to place a cigarette of your own into your mouth, holding your hand out to signal for a lighter.

You never used to smoke, a disgusting habit that your father exposed you to one too many times as a kid. One that he eventually passed away from. One that might have caused you to be attracted to men with the disgusting habit if you wanted to look at it from a Freudian perspective. You used to hate that the man next to you smoked.

“No soy tu novio.” He would say when you asked him to quit one night. You’d been sleeping together for nearly half a year by that point. He’d never tried to put a label on it, and you never dared to ask for fear of losing the best sex you’d ever had. You slept, cigarette smoke irritating your sinuses every night you stayed over.

As irony would have it, after he left you so abruptly that final night, the only thing that you could do was light a cigarette every once in a while. It distracted you enough to function, but it still hurt, all the same, seeing him like this again, hair falling across his forehead, moustache twitching slightly every time he took a drag, those beautiful brown eyes that you used to spend so long looking into in hopes of finding any silver of emotion towards you.

A cold metal Zippo lighter touched your hand. You quickly lit a flame while inhaling, passing the cube back to him. He usually used BIC lighters, so you wondered if someone had caused him to change.

“You cut your hair.” He pointed out, a seemingly drab remark which nevertheless made the dormant butterflies in your belly flutter awake. He never noticed before, why now? Why when it was the late hours of ass-o’clock did he notice something so miniscule? You trimmed your hair at home earlier in the morning, fingers twitching from the lack of nicotine in your system. Maybe that’s why he’d noticed. You’d done a horrible job on your ends.

“That bad?” You strained before a long exhale, turning your head towards him. You could’ve sworn you saw the hint of a smile before he took another long drag of his nearly-finished cigarette.

“Looks… nice.”

He paused.

“Could’ve done a better job on your ends.”

A soft chuckle was shared and he stepped on his cigarette, now burned to the filter. The pestering moth from before started to fly across his face. He moved away from it, closer to you. Your shoulders brushed against each other as you tried to avoid his soft stare.

“Lo siento.”

- September 13, 1987

Houston, Texas

“I think she likes you, Javi.”

Javier took a swig from his drink, hoping to avoid this conversation. Lorraine was still in the back of his mind.

“You tellin’ me you wouldn’t go for a woman like that? You need to get your brain checked, man. I’m goin’ over there.”

“Do whatever you want.”

You were in Houston for just a week, for your little sister’s shotgun wedding to a narcissistic older man. Probably 15 years her senior. She was utterly enamoured, and wouldn’t stop gushing about her perfect fiance with the loads of cash. Everyone knew why they got engaged. They had only met three months before. Tonight was her bachelorette party, and of course, she chose to spend it in a Todd's. Freshly 21, pregnant, yet still choosing to drink the biggest fucking glass of a mojito you’d ever seen in your life. She didn’t finish it, though. She switched over to an OJ after throwing up in the bathroom after a couple of gulps. Drinking away secret sorrows never ended well for her.

You weren't entirely engrossed in the ramblings of your sister's friend group. They were sweet girls, just not your crowd by a long shot. So, when you entered the bar, you started scanning the place to find some interesting people to stare at. Of course, your eyes landed on a man too attractive for his own good. His masculine aura enticed you. The second he reciprocated your stare though, your head snapped back, pretending to nod at something one of the girls said about her college coursework. If only you'd shaved today.

Suddenly, you felt a tap on your shoulder, the women in front of you stopping the conversation to gesture at the source. You turned your head to see an attractive man your age, maybe a year or two older. He smiled and asked you to dance. You turned your head towards the dance floor. There were probably about 5 people showing off their measly dance moves to their partners. You nodded and let him lead you towards the floor, listening as your girlfriends giggled and whispered amongst themselves.

The mysterious man had suave. His long hair was perfectly pushed back and he smelled of sweet cologne.

“Leon, darlin’.” He replied when you asked for his name. The two of you shared a slow dance to the music, his hand a soft grip on your waist. He seemed respectful, attractive, and God, you couldn't stop smelling him. You wondered if you were ovulating. Visually, he was exactly your type on paper. Leon looked like a man your dad would shake the hand of and say “Muy Bien, muy bien.” with a smile on his face. He swept you off your feet. You just couldn’t help but feel like there was a hole being burned into the back of your skull. A nagging feeling, telling you to look behind you.

So you did, and as Leon spun you around, you saw it.

That man. The man he was with. The one you were eyeing earlier, hoping he would pull you into the back alley and fuck the life out of you.

He was staring at the both of you, drink in hand. You couldn’t quite decipher the look on his face, though you didn’t even have much time to before Leon took you back in his arms and the music changed to something more upbeat. You talked for a bit, while he took you back to the bar and you tried to swallow the massive lump that was now growing in your throat.

The man was turned back around, swirling what was left of his beer. He spoke up once you reached the bar, and you somehow knew exactly what his voice would sound like. With slight amusement to his tone, not looking up from his glass, he said “Gettin’ lucky tonight, Leon?” and Leon chuckled awkwardly, looking at you with an apologetic expression. The man finally looked up, and Leon patted your back, introducing you to him. His eyebrow twitched up ever so slightly, and when you took out your hand to shake his, you felt a jolt of electricity between your legs just from staring at his frame. He cleared his throat and reached for your hand, staring deeply into your eyes. You shook it as he quickly darted his eyes over your body, barely noticeable. But of course, you noticed.

“Nice to meet you.”

Leon told you his name was Javier, and Javier shot him a glare when he told you they were brothers. Almost as if he was forced to be here too.

“What would you like, Darlin’?” Leon asked, already accustomed to the pet name he’d given you on the dance floor.

“Surprise me.” You smiled and waited silently as you listened to Leon talk animatedly about Houston. He and his brother were complete opposites. Javier only added his 50 cents when Leon would get something wrong about their hometown, Kingsville.

“It’s been a while…” He chuckled, “So what about you, where you from?” He finally asked you.

You saw Javier look up at you, still with that unreadable expression on his face, but obviously waiting to hear your answer. You wondered if he’d been hurt in the past for him to be so cold, or if that was just his regular state. It was getting to be a bit of a turn-on.

“Well, I’m mixed with Texan. Wanna guess?”

While Leon threw around a bunch of completely wrong answers, your eyes trailed over Javier, scanning every inch of his body. He was dressed in jeans, and a black shirt with the buttons open just enough that you could see his chest hair poking through. Something about him made your lower half burn in a crude anticipation. He was painfully attractive in this lighting.

When your eyes trailed back up, you suddenly realised he was staring at you the entire time. His eyebrow raised and you turned red, heart quickening to unimaginable speeds from embarrassment as he took another sip of his beer, focusing his attention towards Leon, who you tuned out a while ago. You felt guilty for eyeing his brother like this, but you’d just met the guy. It didn’t really matter.

“C’mon, there’s no way you ain’t from Hawaii! I give up. Javi, wanna take a shot at this?”

You turned your head back towards him, he pondered for a moment.

“¿Hablas español?”

Fuck.

Your eyebrows shot up, locking eyes with him. Leon rolled his eyes, “Hey, I already tried that one.” You ignored him as you replied with, “Sí, hablo español.”

“Colombia.”

You smiled, “Sorry Leon, he got it right.”

“Fuck, what the fuck? How’d you guess that shit so fast, man?” He asked in disbelief, you sensed that he might’ve noticed your little… ‘distraction’ earlier. But if he did, he didn’t point it out. You silently thanked the universe for avoiding the awkwardness.

Javier shrugged, made a noise, and finished off his beer.

“I didn’t think it would be that hard.” You laughed before a hurried clack of heels started increasing in volume.

One of the girls at your table greeted the two men next to you, “Hey, Hi!”

She turned her attention back to you, “Emergency. Tanya’s goin’ through it right now.” You snapped your head back to see your sister, Tanya, sobbing by a parking meter outside. You panicked and shot an apologetic look and a wave to the two men before being dragged outside. Javier stole your drink.

“Tanya, what the fuck happened?” You knelt next to her small frame, lightly shaking her shoulders. She only sobbed as she showed you her bloodied dress and fingers and all you could do was hold her until she calmed down enough to leave.

To much confusion from both families, her fiance called off the wedding the day after, and everyone flew home.

-

[guardian-of-da-gay]

Breathless

Read on Ao3

For Whumptober 2024 Prompt 1: Panic Attack

tw for implied bullying, panic attacks, undiagnosed PTSD

“As far as I’m concerned, this is a good thing!”  Knuckles said petulantly from his place at the very back of the car.  “Now I won’t have to go back to that school!”

“You’re suspended, not expelled,” Tom said, his hands clenching and unclenching around the wheel.  “Means once your suspension is up, you’re going right back to school.”

Looking in the rearview mirror, Maddie could see Tails staring deeply at his shoes.  Sonic was wincing, eyes flicking between Knuckles and his parents in the front seat.  He was obviously debating joining in the fight, but keeping out was the better option here.  Maddie was in no mood for him to make light of the situation or try to cover for his brother.

Maddie felt overwhelmed.  Too much had happened that day and it all centered on her eldest.  She’d never regret adopting her kids, but out of all of them Knuckles made her feel like she was in over head.  She didn’t know what she was going to do with him!  She couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself suspended.

She was apocalyptically angry.  Even Tom was mad.  He was trying to stay calm though.  Trying to keep being the fun parent.  Maddie was usually all for that, but not today.

“When we get home, you are grounded!”  She said.  “That means no–” here’s where she would rattle off the fun things he was suspended from: TV?  He didn’t care about TV.  Video games?  He didn’t play any.  Going out with friends?  He didn’t have any except his brothers (and Wade).  Knuckles didn’t do fun things in his free time unless they made him.  They’d grounded him from grapes in the past, but he could totally get by without them.  Grounding him from training he’d just ignored .  But they couldn’t just not punish him.  He’d broken a kid's arm and blown up a bathroom for Christ’s sake.

“No going outside!”  She said.

“What?!”

“Yeah!”  She’d found a good one, she thought.  Judging by his angry gasp, she’d actually found a consequence he would actually feel.  “No training.  No runs.  No hiking.  Unless you’re with me or Tom–”

“Or the house is burning down!”  Tom cut in.

“--or there’s an emergency like the house is burning down!  You are housebound, young man!”

Several things happened very quickly after that.

Knuckles yanked on his seatbelt.  It locked.  He yanked again and broke it completely from its socket.

There was a chorus of ‘Hey!’ ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Dude, chill!’ ‘Knuckles, calm down–!’

Then the back of the car exploded.

The front end was blasted forward into the other lane.  Tom jerked the wheel, tires and passengers screaming.  The wild swerve had the car tipping violently to the side.  Just when Maddie was sure they would flip, it swung back the other way and the car landed, with a jerky bounce, right-side-up, stationary, and seemingly fine.  Except the back of the car was gone.  

And so was Knuckles.

There was a click as Sonic unbuckled and then he vanished as well.  Maddie could see a blue blur vanish off the side of the road, following a burst of red electricity.

She turned to the youngest first.  “Are you okay?”  She asked Tails in the back.

“I’m fine,” Tails was flinging off his own seatbelt and jumping out of the wreckage of the car, tails spinning.

Maddie turned to Tom just as Tom turned to her.  “Are you okay?”  They asked each other at once.

“I think so,” Maddie answered, rubbing her neck.  She definitely had some whiplash.  It hurt now, it would kill  tomorrow.

Sonic reappeared at her window. “Something’s wrong with Knuckles!”  He cried.

You don’t say?  Maddie thought, pressing at the tense muscles of her neck.

“I think he’s having a heart attack or something!”

“What?!”  Tom demanded.

Maddie forgot about her neck.  She unbuckled and jumped out of the car.  Sonic led the way and she ran after, her mind racing along with her feet.  Knuckles couldn’t really be having a heart attack, could he?  He was far too young and fit.  But he had also lived a rough life.  Could he have a hidden cardiovascular problem from some old illness or injury?  Her vet brain was taking over, mentally flipping through the possibilities.

Tails stood at the top of a short ridge, marking their way.  He turned, hands wringing as they approached.  “Something’s really wrong with him!”  He said.  “I don’t think he can hear me.”

Maddie crested the rise and saw Knuckles at the bottom, back pressed against a tree, crouched down with his fists up, blocking his head.  Even from where she stood she could tell he was shaking.  His quills were glowing slightly.  He didn’t look at them.

Maddie stumble-ran down the rise.  “Knuckles!”  She slowed as she approached.  He didn’t acknowledge her, but she could see his side heaving as he gasped for air.  “Knuckles?”  He still didn’t respond.  She wasted a second debating what to do.  But she couldn’t give him space.  Not when he was breathing like that.  “Knuckles, honey, it’s going to be okay–”  She touched his shoulder and his whole body jerked away, slamming into the tree.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”  He roared.

For the second time that day, Maddie got whiplash.  Sonic yanked her away at speed just as an explosion of red lightning erupted from the echidna’s body.  She was lifted off her feet and crashed into Tom, who managed to keep his footing at the top of the rise.  At this rate, she was gonna be in traction tomorrow.  

“Sorry,” Sonic said hastily.  “Saw where that was going.”

“Knuckles!”  Tom yelled, tone caught between concerned and sharpness.  “What are you doing?!”

“What did you do–What–”  Knuckles wheezed and gasped for breath.  Maddie righted herself.  He was hyperventilating.  “ What did you do to me?! ”  He demanded.

“Woah, we didn’t do anything, Knuckles!”  Sonic said, zipping down closer to the echidna.  “You’ve got to calm down and let us help you.”

“Get away from m–me!”  Knuckles face scrunched, teeth grit as he continued to gasp for air like a drowning man.  Red electricity fizzled off of him warningly and Sonic took several steps back.  He looked up at Tom and Maddie, his helpless gaze matched by the one Tails was giving them.

“This doesn’t look like a heart attack,” Tom said so just Maddie could hear.

“I didn’t think so either,” she said.  “You guys just keep back a second, okay?”  She stepped out of Tom’s grip.  She didn’t see the look Tom shot to Sonic, but she saw Sonic nod, resolve in his eyes.  She had a feeling if Knuckles exploded again, she’d find herself yanked back at warp speed once more.

She approached the trembling echidna, cautious but not afraid.  She faced down bulls, pregnant beef cows, and feral cats on a near daily basis.  And this was her kid.

“Stay back!” Knuckles roared at her approach.  “I’ll hurt you!”   He said it like it was both threat and fear.  Electricity arced off his trembling body.

“Honey–”

“Don’t call me that!”  Knuckles yelled, his voice strangled and breathless.  “ You gave yourself away!  I know your game–” he wheezed “--you use sweet words so I don’t no-notice you locking the cage door–”

“We’re not locking you up,” Maddie said.  “We’d never do that, no matter how much trouble you’re in.”  She kept advancing forward, stooping at the waist so she wouldn’t loom over him.  “But that doesn’t matter now.  I need you to calm down–”

“No!  No! ”  He growled, sucking air rapidly through his grit teeth.  “I need–I need to get away…”  He fumbled with his hands, movements made clumsy by his shaking fingers.

“Do you want to go home?”  Maddie asked.  Maybe he would feel better if they were in a familiar environme–

“I need off this planet!”  He ripped at the cuff of one glove and a golden ring flew out and disappeared into the grass.  Knuckles let out a sound that was half growl, half sob.  He pushed himself into the tree, looking anywhere but at her.  “ What did you do to me ?”

Maddie shook her head.  “Nothing, honey, you’re just… I think you’re just having a panic attack.”

“I’m being attacked?!”

“No.  You’re safe,” she said firmly.  “But your mind is tricking you into thinking you’re in danger.  But you’re not.  You’re safe .”

“Yo- you’re tricking me!  I can trust my–my mind!”  His words fumbled around his rapid breathing.  “I can trust myself!  I–”  His eyes flitted around, seeking escape.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight again.  He was beginning to list to one side.  Maddie feared he might actually faint if he couldn’t get his breathing under control.

There was nothing she wanted nothing more than to reach out and right him.  Then maybe grab him up into a hug.  But she couldn’t.  Helpless and overwhelmed, she didn’t know what to do.  Hugs and kind words were her go-to methods for Sonic and Tails.  Knuckles had spat at her kind words.  He’d screamed at her hug.�� Her big tough boy was falling apart and there was nothing she could do.

“I can’t–I can’t–” Knuckles gasped for breath, clutching at his chest and swaying slightly.  “I can’t breathe .”

“I know,” she said miserably.  “I know, honey, but you have to.  You’re so strong, Knuckles, I know you can.  You have to take a deep breath like–” For her it would be yoga, but for Knuckles? “--when you meditate?  Try to meditate.  Focus on your breathing and nothing else.”

“I want it to stop,” Knuckles said.

“It will,” Maddie promised.  “It’ll be over soon.”

Maddie had had panic attacks before, in vet school.  She didn’t think they’d been this bad though.  Or maybe this was just what it felt like to be on the other side.  She’d need to ask Tom.

She resisted the urge to try and get him counting his breaths.  When Tom had done that she couldn’t do it and then she’d just felt more stressed for failing to be helped.  She doubted Knuckles would feel the same way, but he was so independent–like ‘decides to break the arm of a kid that’s bullying him instead of telling literally anyone’ levels of independence–that he would probably be stressed most that he couldn’t control himself.

No, they just had to ride this out.  Maddie remembered it always felt like her panic attacks took forever to go away.  It was the same when watching one.  

Knuckles’ face scrunched as he breathed forcefully through the nose and out the mouth.  It was still too fast.  She worried, was he getting enough oxygen?  One of his hands fell away from his head and to the ground, propping him up.  Maddie squashed the urge to rub his back.  She wanted so badly to be able to soothe him, but all she could do was crouch beside him and whisper that it would be okay.  It would be over soon and then they could go home.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I’m sorry I started this.”  She was sure she was the cause.  It made her feel even more awful.  “It’ll be over soon.  I promise.  We’ll go home and you’ll feel better.”

“Will I…”  Knuckles’ breathing was a tiny bit slower.  “Will I still be g-grounded to the house?”

“No,” Maddie said quickly.  Her bright idea didn’t seem so bright now.  “I’ll– We, you, Tom, and I, will talk about what would be a fair consequence later.”

His voice pitched up and shook.  “Will you break my arm?”

“What?  No!”

“I broke that boy’s arm.”

“We will never punish you by hurting you,” Maddie said firmly.  “Don’t worry about that now, okay?  Just focus on breathing and feeling better.  That’s all you need to think about right now, okay?  Nothing else matters.”

Maddie didn’t know how much longer it was before Knuckles was breathing normally again.  Long enough that she saw a flash of red and blue on the other side of the rise.  Someone must have found their empty, destroyed car.  At the top of the rise, Tom had the other two boys in some kind of huddle.  He left to deal with whoever had just arrived.

Beside her, Knuckles straightened.  She glanced over at him.  He was sitting more normally, breathing more normally, and looking absolutely awful.  Maddie remembered that post-attack feeling.  Like a soggy, wrung out dishrag.  Even someone as strong as Knuckles wasn’t immune to tha.  But it was over.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Maddie said in her softest, ‘approaching a scared dog’ voice.  “We can go back up with the others.”

Knuckles didn’t look at her or answer.  He just stood up and started trudging up the little hill.  Maddie followed after, watching him.  His movements were a little unsteady, like his limbs had forgotten how they worked.  Knuckles always carried himself like he was eight feet tall.  Seeing him off balance and shaken felt wrong.

Knuckles didn’t acknowledge Sonic or Tails.  Sonic opened his mouth to say something as he stalked passed, but cut himself off.  Instead he and Tails fell in line, flanking their brother as they all headed back to what remained of their car.

Tom was talking to an officer.  Maddie couldn’t remember his name at the moment.  The man  was looking at their destroyed car and scratching the back of his head as Tom spoke to him.  He lifted his head so Maddie could see his confusion clearly.  His gaze swept over to them and when his eyes landed on Knuckles his expression cleared.  He nodded like Knuckles’ presence had just answered a question for him.  Maddie was almost offended before she remembered that this was Knuckles’ second act of destruction that day.  This was his m.o. Their insurance premiums showed the scars.

Tom turned away from the accident and came jogging over.  He watched Knuckles just a little too long as he approached.  Maddie could see the moment he realized he was staring.  Tom looked away and avoided looking at him again.

There was an awkward pause as the whole family seemed to be waiting to see if anyone would acknowledge what just happened.  Maddie was of the mind that they weren’t going to do anything that made Knuckles uncomfortable until he looked less visibly shaken.  And Knuckles looked like he wanted everyone to forget the whole thing.  So, for now, that’s what she was going to do.

“Uh…”  Tom broke the silence.  “Wade’s going to come pick us up.”

Oh, Maddie felt a genuine flash of relief.  “Oh, Wade?”  She looked at Knuckles.  “That’ll be nice, right?”

Knuckles wasn’t even looking at her.  He was staring at the car with a look of deep confusion.

“Knux?”  Sonic asked, his voice softer than usual.

When Knuckles finally spoke, his voice rasped:  “What happened to the car?”

All the Wachowskis looked at him with varying levels of confusion, concern, and dismay.  Maddie’s heart plummeted and for the first time in this whole incident she felt a flash of true fear.  She looked into Knuckles’ genuinely baffled face and knew she was truly, deeply , in over her head.

[leenathegreengirl]

Some bridges just can’t be crossed….(A flashback)

(To find out what led to this moment in Crosshair and Kahrin’s past, please read my amazing friend @legacygirlingreen ‘s beautiful story about it below):

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[mari-thesapphic-lady]

Not me seeing agathario fandom start making fanfics in ao3 where Rio gets trapped in the Hex with Agatha and thinking innocently: "Wow, it would be very, very extremely psychologically painful and so fucking full of cuteness if Wanda's spellwork gave them, idk, like, maybe, DAUGHTERS, wouldn't be?!"

[depraveddame]

New Fic: when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure

1941, London, the Blitz: take 3

I am a firm believer of an almost kiss or kiss in 1941 after the events we have seen…or maybe quite possibly more.

This one shot explores what might have happened between an angel and a demon in a bookshop in Soho that night during the Blitz. It’s a study in reverence and worship, in lust, in divine ecstasy and how pain manifests itself as pleasure in a certain demon as his ravaged feet are healed by a certain angel.

The title is from Persuasion, and the referenced passage is quoted at the start of the fic ✨

Tags: Canon Compliant, 1941, Post Church Scene, Post Magic Show, Aziraphale POV, pining, minor hurt/comfort, healing, homoerotic wound care, body worship, foot worship, foot fetish adjacent, masochism, kinky allusions and themes, religious imagery and symbolism, divine ecstasy, sexual tension, coming untouched, kissing, smut, sweet/hot, mild drunkenness/tipsiness, and more!

Excerpt:

“A-angel,” the rasp that leaves Crowley’s throat after perhaps two minutes inspires Aziraphale to go faster; this must be so horribly uncomfortable for the demon, the healing process, he imagines.

“Nearly done this first one, darling,” Aziraphale mutters under his breath, the endearment slipping out nearly unnoticed, warm and lush on his tongue; his own defenses have tumbled to the ground, too, as ruined as the house of God that inflicted the damage he’s undoing, “you’re doing so very well.”

He looks up in alarm at the answering whine that darts through the quiet, loud and fractured and fraught, and Crowley’s angular cheekbones are as crimson as the tie resting on his heaving chest, the fever gleam of his gaze climbing in intensity and temperature as the goldenrod of his irises begins to bloom outward.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Aziraphale whispers, staring again, drinking in the sight of the demon like he’d downed the wine— gratefully and with gnawing, writhing hunger, “is it— is it very painful, my touch? I suppose it is technically divine—”

“No,” Crowley hisses emphatically through gritted teeth, eyes screwing shut as he shakes his head; his foot twitches in Aziraphale’s hand, “‘s not— it’s not that, it’s just— ‘s a lot. Been a long night.”

You can certainly say that, Aziraphale muses inwardly as the last remnants of hurt ebb away from under his palm, as he draws out the last of the throbbing, flayed nerve inflammation and neutralizes its sting.

“Yes, it has been,” Aziraphale nods as he glances back down, his face burning, like some of the heat he just soothed away from Crowley’s foot instead manifested itself in his own cheeks, “I know, Crowley. Thank you for letting me tend to you, for— for everything you’ve done, tonight,” he runs the tip of his index finger along the top of the really very lovely foot in his grasp, unable to stop himself from answering the siren call of its sculpted ivory curve, “for trusting me.”

He doesn’t mean to go on and on about that, but Aziraphale knows he won’t be able to stop thinking about it whenever he looks back on this evening (and he will look back on it a lot, he can tell).

The velvet of Crowley’s skin being so feather soft is something else he knows he’ll recall often.

*

@goodomensafterdark