#flashback fluff

[xmarziex]

》ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪᴛᴄʜᴇɴ《

Mabel x fem!reader

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Song: In the Kitchen – Reneé Rapp Summary: R reminisces in the apartment, regretting what she had lost. Warnings: I'm a terrible person. Merry Christmas. I'm sorry about the ending, but angst. Flashback fluff. Requested by: Requested Words: 4.7k

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The burgundy scarf around your neck felt suffocating as your hand reached up to loosen it, a relieved sigh escaping your lips as you twisted the key into the lock, clicking the door to your apartment open mindlessly. The only sound coming from inside as you made it past the threshold and the door clicked closed behind you, was an unbearable amount of absolute silence, nothing to distract you from the cold feeling of emptiness that took its usual hold on you as you stood stock still in the entryway.

It was the feeling of loneliness, clawing its way through you, the isolation of the apartment feeling wrong to the touch, your keys absently being discarded onto the hooks beside the door, rendered useless, the door now locked. Your tired eyes surveyed the bare apartment, your fingers trailing along the empty walls, your free hand undoing the scarf around your neck completely, its woollen fabric all too familiar.

A few brown boxes littered the apartment floor, packed was everything you owned, the proof that someone lived here, each box stacked neatly against the wall of the living room, ready for the moment they would move. Your fingers finally stopped their trail as your eyes caught sight of the one place you wanted to avoid, swallowing the lump forming in your throat as you took leisurely steps forward.

When you walked into the kitchen your heart hit the floor, your feet taking you slowly forward as you pulled the burgundy scarf off, resting it on the back of one of the kitchen island chairs, your fingers lingering on it for only a moment, before they trailed across the cheap quartz countertop. Your hands captured the edges of the bench as you paused your movements, eyes drawn to a barely noticeable red stain, that no matter how many times you had tried before, you could never remove.

You couldn’t stop yourself as one of your hands reached out, a soft touch as you gently caressed it. A soft smile playing on your lips, a great contrast to the heartache you felt looking at it, the scenery around you a blur, changing within a blink of an eye, the ghostly warmth of arms wrapping around you from behind, a soft melody of music invading the nearly impenetrable silence.

Mabel placed the glass of red wine down in front of you, her arms circling you from behind, her chin resting on your shoulder as you tried your best to cut the vegetables, your tongue poking out the side of your mouth in concentration. A stutter occurred in your movements as your heart rate picked up, her warm breath against your neck sending a shiver down your spine, the tips of your ears turning red, “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Mabel gave a cheeky grin, placing a kiss behind your ear, moving her lips down to your throat, the action causing the knife in your hand to slam against the cutting board, narrowly missing your fingers in the process. Mabel chuckled, “Please be careful, the knife is so big, and we can’t have another ER trip.” We’re too young, too dumb, too in love to afford it.

“Then stop distracting me,” you felt her smile against your neck, her hands digging into the suede fabric of the short royal blue dress you wore, moving to caress your stomach. You tried your best to ignore her antics, her lips warm and soft against your neck, her hands making you shudder before you placed the knife down carefully. You turned in her hold, bearing witness to the devilish smile on her lips, the sparkle in her pretty brown eyes, as your hands moved to grip her waist, “You’re a real troublemaker. Do you know that, belle?”

She smirked as she looked into your eyes, her hands sliding up your sides, never ceasing in their movements, “You know I can’t help myself when it comes to you, pretty girl,” she bit her lip.

You groaned at the action, “Fuck,” moving a hand up to cup her chin, only to use your thumb to pull her bottom lip out from between her teeth, “Don’t do that.” Your thumb lingered on her lips.

She gave a cheeky smile, the dimples you loved so much on display, “Or what?” she chuckled teasingly, “What are you going to do about it?” she bit her lip again, your eyes drawn to it as you tried your best to hold back a moan.

You couldn’t help but smile at her in return, your hand moving up to brush against her bangs, before moving to grasp the back of her neck, a small gasp leaving her lips, causing her teeth to release their hold on her lips as you moved yours closer to hers. Mabel let out a small groan as your lips ghosted over hers teasingly, but never touched. “What,” you whispered with a chuckle, a smirk adorning your lips.

Her hands squeezed your waist, nails digging through the fabric of your dress, hands bleeding through as if they were touching your skin directly, “Stop being such a tease,” she pouted.

You rolled your eyes with a grin, wrapping your arms around her waist as you teased her with your lips for a second longer, before swallowing any demands that were about to leave her mouth, as you captured them in a passionate kiss. A needy moan left Mabel as she made a show of pushing you roughly against the counter, her hands moving up your body, only causing you to elicit one of your own in return.

It felt like her nails had you enraptured as they scraped against your dress indirectly scraping against your skin, a shiver running through your body as you pulled her against you, slipping your tongue into her waiting mouth, feeling pleasure as she tangled hers with your own.

She moved her hands away, carefully pushing the cutting board back, being mindful of the knife, as she lifted you onto the counter, her mouth remaining attached to yours as she moved in between your thighs, her nails scraping along them from under the hem of your dress. Your eyebrows only furrowed as you felt her touch suddenly disappear from your burning skin.

It didn’t last long, your lips detaching from hers as you felt the woollen material around the back of your neck, her dimples on display as she gave you an affectionate smile, her lips swollen from the kiss. A look of confusion adorned your face as you looked down at the burgundy scarf, your fingers fiddling with the edges, as you looked back up at her, “Call it an early Christmas present,” she grinned.

“But it’s only October,” she rolled her eyes at your whispered reply, situating the scarf evenly on both sides, grabbing hold of your hand in the process.

Her brown eyes met yours, “I know,” she licked her lips nervously, “I just wanted an excuse to give you something.”

You brought her hand up to your lips, kissing her knuckles softly, “You never need an excuse to do anything,” you smiled against her knuckles, “But next time it’s my turn.”

Mabel chuckled with a nod, her cheeks slightly tinted, as she pulled your hands down, nuzzling her nose against yours, “It’s only been two weeks,” she kissed the corner of your mouth, pulling her hand away to fiddle with the burgundy scarf that now rested on your neck, “And yet I feel like I’ve known you my entire life.”

You gulped, watching as she grew slightly nervous, her breath stuttering for a moment, the music in the background a low hum. Mabel looked up into your eyes, from under her lashes, pulling you closer by the scarf, “Feels like I’ve known you for an eternity,” you smiled softly, licking your lips.

She smiled, your hand moving up to cup her cheek, as your thumb caressed it softly. She pulled you in, placing a delicate kiss onto your lips, before trailing them across your cheek. You didn’t know what to expect once she reached your ear, her warm breath fanning against it filling your stomach with butterflies as her lips ghost against your ear, “I love you.” It was only a whisper and yet it still sent your mind into a slight panic.

Your breathing stuttered as you struggled to understand, not knowing if you had heard her right, or if your mind was just playing tricks on you. It was the sound of glass cracking that broke the tense moment, as your elbow knocked the glass of wine down, staining the cheap quartz kitchen bench in red. “What?” it was a mere whispered breath, one that you had hoped Mabel hadn’t heard, but with her not having moved since she said it, you could only assume she had as she pulled away from you.

Neither of you moved, your first instinct being to avoid eye contact, the only sound entering the vicinity being the low hum of the melody that was playing. It wasn’t until you felt her move away, your hand reaching out for her before watching as she grabbed the tea towel that lay by the kitchen sink. You hadn’t noticed the wetness of the wine, red and blue making purple as it stained your once clean dress, you hadn’t noticed anything other than her, wondering if you’d fucked up every chance you had with her by your reaction.

She didn’t look up at you, avoiding eye contact as she placed the tea towel into the ever-growing stain, you moving hesitantly closer despite the inner turmoil you felt. You’d never heard the words ‘I love you’ before, it wasn’t something you’ve ever said to another nor received in return. It was new to you, it wasn’t like you didn’t know how you felt as you placed your hand over hers, stopping the movement of the towel, and moving her hand slightly away from the small pieces of broken glass.

You were urging her to look at you, disliking the unbearable tense silence, your free hand moving to cup her chin, your only instinct causing you to turn her to face you, your thumb stroking her bottom lip absently. She avoided your eyes, her expression downcast, a great contrast to how she looked earlier. “Hey,” you whispered, “Please look at me.” You couldn’t bear it, her silence pulling at your heartstrings in indescribable ways.

Her movements were hesitant, her eyes finally meeting yours as you captured her lips in a tender kiss; you did know how you felt. You weren’t oblivious to the feelings inside you, it scared you more than anything the hold she had on your heart, the power she held. You were terrified that one day she’d find better and the heart that was built just for her, could crumble into a billion pieces with a flick of her fingers. But in the end, you knew that you would fall for her over and over, and you believed with your entire being that nothing would ever get in the way of that.

You took a deep breath as you pulled back to look into her beautiful brown eyes, only to see them close as you cupped her cheek, watching as she nuzzled into the palm of your hand, “You don’t have to say it back,” there was a slight tremble in her voice as if she was just as scared as you, scared of the rejection, a deep fear that replicated yours, that one day you would also find better and have no use for her, but in all honesty, no one would ever come close to the perfection that was Mabel.

“I know,” you whispered, your stained dress the last thing on your mind as you grabbed her hand and placed it against your heart, her pretty brown eyes coming into view as she opened them, “But I'd be lying if I said I didn’t.” you allowed her to feel the beat of your racing heart, gulping down the nerves you felt, “I love you, belle.” You nuzzled your nose against hers, “More than anything in this world.”

You pulled her against your chest, a tear slipping from her eye as you held her close, kissing the crown of her head tenderly as you rocked her back and forth in tune with the song, her in your arms like it was always meant to be, “Are we stupid for moving this fast?”

A soft smile played on your lips as you laughed lightly, “You could never be stupid,” a hand moved up to brush her bangs, your thumb wiping away the few tears that fell down her cheek, “I was the one being stupid,” you rested your lips against her cheek, “I just never thought someone as undeniably perfect as you, could ever love someone like me.”

She moved back, her hands moving to cup your cheeks as she looked you straight in the eyes, “To me,” she pushed the loose pieces of hair behind your ears, “You are perfect.”

You moved your head slightly as you kissed her palm, leaning over her as you turned up the stereo, the song playing becoming louder as you pulled her closer, dancing with her slowly, “If this is a dream,” you whispered with your forehead against hers, “I hope I never wake up.”

She grinned with a small laugh, “If this is a dream,” she whispered in return, “I hope it doesn’t become lost and you remember it forever.”

“I could never forget anything when it comes to you,” She laughed a bit louder, as you picked her up and spun her around, dipping her once her feet hit the ground, your lips capturing hers for a moment, before normalising your stance, “I almost forgot about the mess,” you glance over at the table then down at your dress.

She smiled softly as she reached for her favourite grey zip-up hoodie that hung on the back of one of the kitchen island stools, before placing it around your shoulders, “It can wait,” she chuckled, loving the way you looked in something that was hers, “Live a little,” her arms moved around your neck, resting along the scarf you wore as she swayed back and forth to the song.

You hummed, along to the tune as you slowly danced with her, spilled wine and dinner the last thing on your mind, as you led her to the living room. Your eyes never left her for even a moment, mesmerised by all that was Mabel, the carefree nature she felt as she danced with you, the laugh she let out as you spun her in circles. The sigh of satisfaction she let out when the next song came on and you held her against your chest.

She was warm, her ear against your beating heart as she listened to her favourite sound, the unique pattern of beating only she could cause.

You closed your eyes, as your head rested against hers, the song coming to an end as you stayed locked in an embrace, one you wanted to last forever.

You took a deep breath, music only a distant sound as you opened your eyes to the sight of the empty living room. Your arms captured nothing but an empty space, in the cold air of the dark apartment. It had felt so real, finding the burgundy scarf and her grey hoodie wrapped around you just like it had been in the memory, your hands moving to rub your eyes as you sighed, the two items of clothing finding themselves in your lap as you sat on the floor, against the wall.

You couldn't help but hold them to your chest, wishing she’d come back for her favourite hoodie, hoping that maybe she would change her mind and come with you to LA. You were selfish, selfish in thinking that she would do everything you asked, selfish in thinking that she would drop what life she had to follow you. You knew that you were selfish.

If only she’d realised that you hadn’t just wanted her to come with you, you had just wanted her to stop you from taking the job that awaited you there, the job you had run away from taking many years ago. Except a part of you just wanted her to stop you from going 3,000 miles away from her. You just wanted her to tell you to stay. You were selfish, an idiot and you knew that as you let the tears fall, your back against the wall. You knew you were the biggest idiot of them all.

They wouldn’t stop, as your heart felt the pain of her absence, the snow falling without a care by the window on this lonely Christmas Eve. The few boxes left in the apartment waiting for tomorrow, until when the apartment would be empty.

You waited until morning, as you packed the rest of the boxes that lay in the apartment into the car. You took one last look inside the apartment, the final box under your arm, as you closed the door on the life you were leaving behind, a sigh leaving your lips.

Strangers, to lovers, to enemies.

You took one last look at the road after loading the final box into your car, some part of you wanted her to be here. Some part of you secretly wanted to stay, to give up this big opportunity you‘d declined from your father once, and just be with her. Cars came and went, none being her as you resigned yourself to hopping in the car and driving away.

The car started and disappeared as fast as it came.

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Her car swerved to a stop in front of your apartment, she had no idea whether or not it was too late, her heart dropping when she didn’t see your car anywhere. Her car door slammed closed behind her, the coat she wore too big on her small frame as she looked around the snow-covered streets on Christmas, a single lily in her hand, the call going to your voice mail as she tried for what felt like the millionth time.

The dark-haired woman was in a hurry as she ran into the apartment complex, not paying attention to the receptionist, taking the stairs two at a time despite the warnings to be careful. There was a slight tremor to her hands as she made it to your floor, her hands finding warmth in her pocket as the nerves she felt built up, making her way closer and closer.

Deep down maybe she knew she wouldn’t make it in time, that fate was working against you both, the speed in which she drove not fast enough to beat the traffic of Christmas. The moment she had made it to your door any hope that she had, of getting you to stay was meaningless, her hands shaking as they reached for the door handle, only to find it unlocked.

She opened the apartment, it all too bare to the eye, a sting at the heart to its emptiness as she made her way inside. Her steps were slow as she closed the door behind her, her fingers running across the bare walls, before making it to the kitchen.

Her heart hit the floor, as she went in, her hands trembling as she caressed the barely noticeable stain on the kitchen counter. She closed her eyes after a shaky breath, her eyes catching the letter, seeing a royal blue scarf and her grey zip-up hoodie folded under it.

 She took a deep breath placing the single lily she held beside the items on the bench as she took hold of the letter before opening it,

Dear belle,

I’d hate to think that this will probably be the last time I call you that, but even now I can’t seem to find it in myself to stop, because its meaning has always been true when it comes to you. You are and forever will be beautiful.

It feels weird writing a letter, I’ve never done it before, but when everything I own is in boxes and all I have is a pen and paper, it felt much more personal to do. I don’t even know if you’re ever going to see this, some part of me hopes you don’t but a big part of me hopes you find yourself at the apartment on Christmas, some part of me will regret not at least saying goodbye to you.

Do you ever think about the moment in the kitchen, the night you told me ‘I love you’ for the first time. What had been running through my mind when the words had left your lips, I’d never heard the words in my life, the only time through a screen when an overly cliche romance film was playing. But you said them so easily, only a whisper that set me into a panic, it was a moment where I thought I had deluded myself with the fact you said it, that maybe the words that had left your lips were all in my head.

It was beyond me, that someone like you could ever love someone like me, especially with my every flaw.

Sometimes I go back to that night in my mind, the night that felt like a dream, the night under the starry sky that made me feel like we were impossible, and a part of me hopes somewhere, in another reality we are. (Maybe I’m not so much of a coward in that reality.)

But sometimes during these moments, when I find myself alone in my empty apartment, I miss your scent, I miss the warmth you made me feel, the love only you could ever show me, and it almost tempts me into staying. But then reality sets in, and I get this feeling that the timing just wasn’t right, that the only one keeping me in this place, was you.

Don’t ever forget that I will always love you, no matter where I find myself, a piece of you will always be with me, and I hope that fate will let us meet again, under a starry sky.

Forever yours,

Your pretty girl

P.S. I said next time it was my turn, Merry Christmas.

Mabel wiped her cheeks, the ink on the paper smudged by her tears as they fell. Her fingers stroked the fabric of the royal blue scarf, holding it to her chest with her letter as she closed her eyes.

She opened them back up, full of determination as she collected the grey hoodie next, running out the door and out of the apartment complex to her car. She tried to phone again as she drove, the call ringing on before getting disconnected. She turned on the GPS quickly, going the way she knew you went as she tried again to call you.

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Your phone rang beside you, the car stopped at a red traffic light, your teeth releasing your fingernail from their grip as you reached over to answer it, brushing against the burgundy scarf in the passenger seat, accidentally knocking the phone off the chair in the process. You sighed, as you reached down, undoing your seatbelt so you could reach it, pulling it up as you grabbed hold of it, settling back in your seat, the call ending as you went to check your phone for who it was.

The car behind you honked its horn, distracting you from your current task as your eyes removed themselves from the phone in your hand, causing you to glance their way before looking back at the now green light. Your foot switched quickly, settling off the brake as you moved to the accelerator, your phone clutched in your hand as you held the steering wheel, beginning your long journey once again.

It happened within a blink of an eye, something flashing in the corner of your vision, the sound of tires skidding invading your very senses, just as the side of your car was suddenly struck. Your phone fell from your grip as it began ringing again, your mind not being able to process it as your ears began to ring, glass flying all around you, your head slamming hard against the door, your vision fading almost instantly, airbags failing to deploy. “Mabel,” it was the last thing to leave your lips a shallow breath as you tried your hardest to breathe, the blaring sound of the car alarm all around you, and the ringing of the phone that would forever be left unanswered.

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Mabel felt something inside her snap, like a piece of her was missing, like she had lost something as she began to drive slower. The flashing of red and blue lights distracted her for a moment, the traffic feeling more like a bad omen than anything. She had this bad feeling, a chill running down her back and yet she couldn’t understand it, her heart beating slightly faster than usual as she looked at the lights.

Fragments of metal and glass shards scattered across the partially snowy road in the middle of the intersection at the traffic lights, skid marks joining the already undesirable mess. She nearly didn’t have time to park her car, breath catching in her throat as her car door was slammed open, her eyes catching sight of a now barely recognisable but familiar car in the fresh rubble.

She was stumbling forward, converse sneakers crunching in the snow, almost tripping in her steps as she looked at the smashed pieces, the remnants of blood splattering crimson on the road making her sick to her stomach. Mabel couldn’t pay attention to anything else, her eyes catching the familiar burgundy scarf on the ground as the wind blew it against her feet. Its all too memorable material was frayed, seeming to have rips and tears in it, very unlike how it was when she last saw it. Her fingers ran against the fabric as her throat closed up, paramedics and police surrounded the scene, the bystanders only bearing witness to the tragedy that had become of the drivers.

 She felt an unnatural warmth on her back, tears falling from her eyes as she watched them place the white sheet over you, unmoving and unnaturally pale, blood seeming to cover your very being. And for the first time after reading the letter, she thought of it, of that night in the kitchen, wishing she could go back to that night. Wishing she had made it in time to stop you from leaving. She didn’t pay any mind to the shards of glass that dug into her knees as she fell to the ground, the snow like blades, a soundless scream leaving her lips as she cried in unbearable pain.

She never wanted to believe that this was the reality. That she would never hear your laugh again, the memory of your smile now deluded with the image of your pale bloody figure.

To her and to you, life had been cruel, fate had been even crueller and reality in every sense of the word was the cruellest of them all. Because all three had worked against her to create a world she never wanted to live in, one where you didn’t exist.

So she wept, glass and asphalt digging into her skin, the pain in her knees numb and frozen from the snow being nothing in comparison to the knife that had been thrust into her heart, as it clawed itself out and fell right into your lifeless hands.

If only she’d made it in time.

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Jamie Speaks:

R wasn't meant to die... I don't know how that happened.

When the lyric "But now you're dead to me" becomes a reality...

[technically-human]

St. Hilarion's ghost story

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Slow Dancing and Slow Mornings

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Logan and you have been kidnapped and you come to find out Logan has been in love with you for twelve years.

Disclaimer: Mentions of kidnapping, explosions, hints of torture, love confessions, Logan gives you a massage. Mostly fluff, little bit of angst, and slow dancing to familiar records. Not proof read.

“What?” 

You turned in your chair to try and look at Logan, who wasn’t looking in your direction at all. 

The prick stood opposite both of you and just smiled. “What? He didn’t tell you?”

“You…you love me?”

The prick nodded as he placed his hands behind his back. “Has done. For Twelve years.”

“Shut up.” Logan said to him. 

“Logan?”

Finally, he looked at you. His expression was twisted with pain. 

“You love me?”

Logan nodded. “Have done for twelve years. Thanks for noticing.”

There was no point trying to deny it now. He had loved you for twelve years, and now you were both about to die. 

“What didn’t you tell me?”

Logan shrugged. “There was never a good time.”

“A good time?”

“Seems our courageous hero-”

Despite your hands being tied behind your back, you waved the yapper off. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll get back to you. “You never told me because there was never a good time?!”

Logan was a little shocked. “We’re five minutes from dying and you’re mad at me right now?”

“Yeah, sorta! You’ve been in love with me for twelve years and you never told me!”

“It’s not like we had years of spare-”

You shook your head. “Don’t bullshit me, Logan. You had plenty of time to tell me.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Hell, you had twelve damn years.”

Your captor sighed as he crossed his arms. “Perhaps you two can argue-”

“It’s not like I can do anything about it now!”

You looked at Logan, unsure of what to say. Fuck you? You could have done something twelve years ago? Hell, you could have done something last week? Go fuck yourself?

Logan watched as you decided what you were going to say to him. And then the cogs stopped turning in your head and your gaze focused on his soul for a moment, before it became lighter. 

“Yeah there is.”

Logan was confused, but just as he was about to ask what, you continued. 

“You can tell me if we survive this.”

“Sur-survive what?”

Then a loud crash came and everything turned white. 

Slowly, you came to. 

The blinding flash and loud crash had sent a shock wave throughout the entire room and somewhere in the rubble, you were lying down, your ears ringing and your head feeling heavier than ever. 

You tried your best to make out what everything was. The stone bricks beside you, the dirt beneath your body, the rebar poles sticking out here and there in front of you. 

Groaning, you stood before pressing a hand to your head. Bringing it back down, you found an imprint of blood in the centre of your palm. 

In the distance, you could see Storm and the others making their way over to Logan. You could have run to him. You were about to. 

Then the rubble moved. 

Your kidnapper flew through the air and towards the woods. 

So you followed. 

Logan groaned as he got up, Storm’s hand on his back. Immediately, he started looking for you. And he found you. Flying towards the forest. 

He called out your name but you were too far away to hear him. 

“Logan-Logan, we’ll go. You need medical attention.” Jean told him. But he shrugged her off. 

“I don’t need medical attention.”

With your head pounding, you landed in the general area you’d seen him land. It was a lot quieter now. The lights from the jet were barely visible through the thickness of the shade. 

And just as you turned your back, you were sent flying to the ground. 

“You still think you can beat me?!”

You groaned as you found the power to stand. “I’m still trying, aren’t I?”

“Just give up. You won’t be able to stop me.”

“Urgh!” You turned around on your heels and looked at him. “Can I at least stop you from talking?”

The prick just laughed. “Let's see if you can try and fight long enough to make this interesting.”

And you tried. You got a few of your own hits in, sending him flying through the branches and down ditches. But with your pounding head and the pain racking through your body with each hit you took, post being buried by rubble. 

Once more, you were thrown against a tree and fell into the dirt beneath it. By the time you opened your eyes again, you were met with his figure walking towards you. 

“It’s a pity really.” The pain you’d suffered from being tied in the chair a mere fifteen minutes ago twisted inside your body again, only getting stronger by the second. “You didn’t get to tell him you feel the same.”

You managed to catch your breath for a moment. “He knows…”

Your body was gasping for another breath, begging to push the pain away. “He knows.”

The man above you gave you a twisted smile before he twisted your inside a little more. “But he’ll never know how much, will he? How long you went, wishing he’d feel the same. Who knows, maybe I’ll do you a favour and tell him for you once I’m finished with you here.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “It’s okay.”

You watched as the man stood above you went from holding all the power, to holding nothing but confusion. 

“I’ll tell him myself.”

As Logan kept running, he was shouting out your name, Storm hot on his tail calling out his. But just as he caught your scent, your colour of power exploded and spread through the whole of the forest. It was strong enough to knock both himself and Storm back. 

And as he stabled Storm, he looked in what he guessed was your direction. 

“Logan, no-”

“Y/N!”

Logan kept running, his breath sharp against his lungs. You had to be okay. You had to be fighting back. You had to have won. 

But as he reached the centre point, he looked around. The smell of dirt and imminent rain clouds messed with his senses as he constantly whipped around in a circle. And then he saw it on the ground. 

The necklace you always wore. A locket lay open on the floor, face down. You never let him know what was on the inside.

Picking it up, he brushed the dirt from it and found what was inside. 

A picture of everyone lay on one side. 

And a picture of him on the other. 

He remembered that picture. He remembered you and him being told to stand together in front of the record player stand. At the time, you’d both shared the same neighbour and attended the same dinner party. And after a few glasses of alcohol and some good food, you’d all been dancing to a couple records. 

He didn’t even know you’d owned a copy of that photo. 

Folding the small picture back, he replaced the photo and snapped it shut. 

“I can’t find her.”

Storm’s expression saddened as she slowly approached him. “She’s gone, Logan.”

He looked around again. 

“Logan. She’s gone.”

Only when he turned back to face Storm did he feel the tears on his cheek. But he couldn’t face her. His eyes kept looking for you. “She’s-”

Logan’s voice broke with pain. “She’s not.”

Storm placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Logan, she’s gone. You and I both felt it-”

Storm watched as Logan’s head snapped in the opposite direction. 

“Logan, she’s gone.”

Then he pulled himself from her and started walking away. 

“Logan, where are you going?”

“I heard something.”

And he did hear something. 

A few moments later, Storm watched from behind Logan as you climbed up a ditch. 

Your face, hair and clothes were stained with blood, ash, dirt and moss. Grasping onto a nearby tree, you took in heavy breaths until you finally looked up.

“Medic!” Storm shouted. 

Logan took off running towards you. 

“Logan,” you breathed. 

“What the hell were you thinking?”

You pushed off from the tree and hobbled towards him. “Just shut up and hug me.”

A few more strides and Logan had you wrapped up in his arms, tightly. All he could do was breath you in, feeling your skin bruise under his fingertips as he clutched onto you like a lifeline. 

“You’re okay? Are you okay?” Pulling back from you, but keeping your body flushed against his as best as he could, Logan looked you over. 

You had a cut on your head and other small scratches. He couldn’t check your body over due to your clothes, but he did try and feel for any more wet patches of blood. 

Then you chuckled. 

“What?”

“Isn’t there something you need to tell me, Soldier?”

Logan’s gaze ran over your face for a second too long as his brain fought against itself, trying to convince him you were okay, real and most importantly, alive. 

Then he remembered. 

“I love you,” he breathed. “I have loved you for twelve years. I love you.”

Taking his face in your hands, you looked him over as you smiled. “I love you, too.”

It took Logan a minute before he finally gathered the courage to kiss you. He didn’t want to hurt you. His kiss peppered away across your cheek, down your neck and onto your shoulder as his arms wrapped around you more, holding you in a hug close to him. 

A medic was closing in and Logan turned around, you still in his arms. “Come on, we need to get you checked. What happened to-”

“He’s taken care of.”

You looked at Storm. “At the bottom of the ditch. I don’t think he’s gonna remember what happened for a while.”

Storm and Cyclops headed off in that direction whilst your own hands brought Logan’s attention back to you. 

“Stay with me?”

“I’m never leaving you again.”

Then he kissed you. 

“Come on.”

Two days later, you were fully showered and practically boiled clean of any evidence from what had happened when you had been kidnapped. Your clothes now consisted of long pyjama bottoms, an old t-shirt and a hoodie that you had stolen from Logan’s closet. 

The amount of energy your, quite literally, explosive fight had taken from you had been a lot. And it was clear the next couple of weeks would be filled with a lot of sleep and a lot of rest. 

Whenever you woke up, it was ninety percent guaranteed Logan would be asleep beside you. And when he wasn’t and you went in search of him, you found him in the kitchen, cooking. 

“Here, eat.”

He’d place a bowl or plate of whatever he had made in front of you at the counter before sitting beside you, pulling your chair until it was practically between his legs as he sat turned to you. 

A week later, you had woken up snuggling into the crook of Logan’s neck and you stayed there for a while. Until you remembered you needed to shower. 

“Do you think you can stand for that long?”

“Probably.”

Logan kissed the top of your cheekbone as he lay beside you. “I’ll draw you a bath.”

And he did. 

And the minute you stepped into it, you relaxed against the hot water. Between your fingertips, you let your power flow around your fingers. But you jumped when you felt a familiar presence sit behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. 

“You need to save your energy.”

“All I’ve done for a week is sleep, Logan.”

“You nearly levelled a forest. It’s going to take a while.”

With his thumbs firm against your shoulders, Logan slowly massaged the tension away. A small moan left your lips as you moved your neck, giving him more access to your muscles. 

Logan chuckled. “Like that?”

“Love it.”

Logan smiled as he leaned down and kissed the top of your shoulder and behind your ear before continuing to massage away the ache.

Finally finishing in the tub, Logan held up a towel and tried his best to look away as you stood up and wrapped yourself in it. 

“You okay?”

“Yep,” Logan strained. “Just…concentrating.”

You laughed a little and blushed. “Thank you for running me a bath.”

Logan looked at you and smiled before you pulled him in and kissed him. “But next time, feel free to join me in it.”

With another quick kiss, you smirked as you walked away leaving Logan both a little in shock and a little embarrassed. He might have loved you for twelve years but sometimes he had to remind himself that you loved him back and you both now had the freedom to…do…that. 

A few hours later, after having dinner together, Logan went in search of you. You weren’t in his room, the library, outside or even the living area. 

But as he walked back past his room, he heard a familiar sound. 

Floating out from your room were the faint sounds of a record playing on the record player. Carefully pushing the door open wider, Logan smiled when he saw you. Fast asleep, curled up on your side, the record had lulled you to sleep. 

With a soft smile, Logan closed the door and reached to turn the volume down a little before approaching you. 

You felt your bed dip for a minute, but you had already recognised his footsteps and scent from the hallway. And you felt yourself smile and reach out for him. He chuckled. 

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” you curled into his arms as he lay down with you. “But then I remembered my human heater.”

“Oh, is that my new name?”

“Yep,” you replied, already hearing the smile in his voice and in his heart. 

“At least I come in useful for something.”

You smiled. “I can think of a couple other things, too.”

Logan smiled and pulled you up to him a little more. “I’m sure you can.”

Not long after that, you fell asleep. 

And when you woke up, your back was flushed against Logan’s chest, your legs tangled in his and his arms wrapped safely around you. It was still dark outside, but there was a little winter sun peaking out, way beyond the trees. 

“Where are you going?” Logan’s tired voice asked you as you sat up, his hand by your waist. 

Looking back at his bed head and tired eyes, you smiled. Reaching over to your desk drawer, you pulled out your film camera and snapped a picture. Logan groaned, putting his head between your pillows as you chuckled and stood up, placing your camera on the desk once more. 

As you stood and rounded the bed towards the record player by your door, Logan reached over and picked up your camera taking a couple of candid shots of his own, of you, as you looked for a new record and placed it on. 

“What?” Logan asked with a tired smirk as he lowered the camera. 

You smiled tiredly. “Dance with me.”

Logan smiled and gave a fake groan as he pushed himself up from his back and onto his feet, leaving the camera beside your bed. 

Walking to you, Logan pulled you to him, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck whilst his hand folded around your other and, holding you by your waist, he leaned into you. Swaying with each other, you let the sounds of the record float over you, giving you both a sense of deja vu. 

Twelve years ago you’d made friends with each other and danced at a small dinner party to the very same song. Then you’d been dragged into taking a photo together to have a memory made in time. A few hours later, you had asked for a copy of the photograph of you and Logan. 

You hadn’t really known why. You’d only known Logan a couple of weeks. But something told you, you needed a copy of that photograph. And around two years later, you realised why as you folded it in half and placed it inside your locket. 

One Logan had fixed for you one Christmas when the clasp had broken. 

And, when you had wandered into Logan’s room, in search of his hoodie, you had found a small tin box. A tin box you had opened to find it containing a couple of different sentimental things, including a couple of different photos from over the years. 

But one you knew instantly. 

Because it was the same one you carried with you every single day. 

Looking up at Logan, you found him already looking at you and your heart soared.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Leaning down, Logan pressed a kiss to your lips as his fingertips pressed into your skin through your t-shirt and hoodie. And as he lifted you a little, and spun around, you let out a small giggle. 

“Ready for breakfast?”

You smiled and nodded. “Soon. I just want to stay like this for a while.”

Logan smiled and kissed you once more, continuing to dance with you in your room barefoot, letting the sun peek out from beyond the trees before you both finally made your way downstairs for the day. 

“Okay.”

[gothamite-rambler]

Indecent Exposure

Barbara Gordon rolled into the Wayne Mansion, waving to Stephanie, Cass, Tim, but then she bumps into Dick Grayson.

Dick: Oh hey! I'm not- I just dropped by and-

Barbara: Mm-hm, cool, I didn't come to see you, gotta talk to Bruce. Good to see you put some clothes on and not walking around with your-

Dick: Yep, yep, yep. Don't want to talk about it! He's in his office, but remember to knock. Knock. Just knock and wait for him to respond.

Barbara: I will and I do hope he makes it very clear that it is safe to enter and not just silence.

Dick: Maybe the silence is a hint that you shouldn't enter. Some people don't say anything to mean to not enter.

Barbara: Maybe- Maybe leaving a door unlocked in a guest room, is a hint to not be silent! Especially when the homeowner has to ask a question about using all of her Irish Spring lavender body wash!

Dick: I cashapped you the money for that!

Barbara: That doesn't take away the fact you used all of it or that when someone knocks on the door at their house for one of their rooms you say something or be wearing something!

Dick: Oh yeah, well, maybe next time I'll just go back to my place instead of staying at yours.

Tim sipped his coffee silently watching.

Barbara: Maybe I won't invite you to my apartment next time when you're too tired to drive home and "so desperately need a shower that's close by"!

Dick (embarrassed): Whatever!

Dick stormed off grumbling. Barbara rolled her eyes.

Barbara: Great defense!

Tim went to Barbara, tapping his cup.

Tim: Did you guys have sex?

Barbara: Not in a million years. Get your mind out the gutter.

Tim: Then what's the story?

Bruce left his office having heard the entire conversation.

Bruce: He left the door unlocked while staying at your apartment, you knocked on the door to ask for something he didn't say anything and you took that as a hint to enter the room and he was fully unclothed.

Barbara: Yeah, he took a shower after a fight with the condiment king, he was buck ass naked, and this is the fifth time I've seen that man's birthmark and not by choice. At least it wasn't him and April on my couch again.

Bruce: Did he pay you back for that?

Barbara nodded, groaning.

Tim: In his defense, if he doesn't say anything that means you don't enter.

Barbara: It's -

Bruce: It's her apartment, she can enter whoever's room when she wants.

Barbara: Bruce gets it. You hear that Dick, Bruce gets it!

Dick, across the hall: Of course he would, he's a megalomaniac too!

Tim, chuckles: I love this family.

[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

[onsomenewsht]

now playing: Colorado

< track 2 || track 4 >

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: +1k

》 I'd choose the devil I know over the heaven I don't

The end starts with you finding the ring.

“Alexia, I swear to your good knee, if you’re not ready I’m gonna sell your Ballon d’Or”, your announcement resonating through the rooms. 

You’ve been ready for an entire hour now, beaming and excited for the opportunity to present with your teammates a special award named after your captain. The only thing missing is your perfectionist girlfriend still hidden in the bathroom.

When you open the door, you cannot believe your eyes.

Alexia’s tattooed back is exposed in the criminally low backless dress she’s in, sure, but her hair is still dripping wet and she’s fighting with a makeup brush. Clearly losing, her frown is a well known hint for you. 

She’s not ready and now you have to find your way on the black market.

“Need help?”

“No”

“Yes, vamos a llegar tarde” (we’re late)

“No voy a llegar tarde si ni quiero ir” (I can’t be late if I don’t wanna go in the first place)

Your chuckle filling the room is enough to make the blonde smirk, but you know her well enough to read the subtle lines on her face. Her worries are clear, the reasons to be discovered and a solution to be found.

Taking place behind her figure, you set your hands on her sides and plant a couple of strategically placed kisses on her back and shoulders. Her fitted form relaxes right away under your lips.

When your eyes meet in the mirror it's like a story is being narrated, an understanding of each other that goes beyond big words and great gestures but holds the deep love shared.

Your fingers move to untangle the blonde’s wet hair, taking the time to dry and straighten each lock just as she likes.

“Lo siento” (I’m sorry)

Shy Alexia is a version of her few people meet, her stance a lot less intimidating than the one she portrays on the field or in front of hundreds of cameras. 

“No tienes nada de que arrepentirte, mi corazón” (Nothing to be sorry for)

“I lost time in the gym and I lost time in the shower and I guess I just don’t wanna go”, the English sentence giving away how much thought she put into it. 

The catalan turns to look directly into your eyes for the first time all day, you realise. She really doesn’t want to go to this event, but your excitement and anticipation must have helped hide it throughout the week.

“Eres preciosa, mi amor” (You’re beautiful), she simply states, taking in the perfectly ironed black dress you’re wearing and the meticulously braided hair framing your face.

You smile at her, you love her.

“I know you don’t like the idea of this award, I know you don’t want us handing it to you with a carefully drafted speech”

“¡Lo escribiste!” (You wrote it, didn’t you?)

“Jana helped, all the team did”

Alexia’s eyebrow rises and you don't miss the fact she has a little bit more makeup on than usual, a sight she’s putting an effort.

“I supervised, don’t worry”

“No es reconfortante” (It’s no reassuring)

But her shoulders are relaxed, her frown no longer creasing her beautiful face. The blonde is calmer now and you take it as a victory she never actually asked you to ditch the all thing and hide together under a blanket with a mindless dating show in the background.

“Lo leerás?” (Will you read it?)

“Banned me to even come close to a microphone”, to be fair, it was a single accident and they should’ve not let the anchor’s line open when you just won a championship and your girlfriend’s literally glowing.

She bursts out laughing and you know she’s ready.

Almost ready.

“Take me the white heels while I finish esto”, her fingers moving somehow awkwardly around her mouth, “Y estamos listos!” (And we’re ready to go).

You place a soft but firm kiss on her lips, leaving for her shoes rack.

You’re looking for a pair of heels, one she hates to wear but well designed and a perfect fit with her dress. One she doesn’t wear much so it’s probably hidden in a box in the back of the closet.

That’s why you’re looking for a hidden box of shoes.

That’s where you notice a velvet little box.

That’s how you find the ring.

It’s a beautiful ring. Stunning cut, your precise size. A modest but expertly crafted gem complementing the simple band. It’s the perfect ring.

You don’t like shiny thing, Alexia could ask you to marry her with paper or grass from Camp Nou and you’re gonna say yes regardless.

But that’s exactly the problem.

You love her, you really do. You love her so much you gladly do whatever she asks, if she wants it enough to ask. You keep her love above your own and that’s fine, you’re happy with it. What she loves comes before what you love, naturally following immediately after anyway. 

And what she loves the most is usually you, so you never questioned it. 

However, when her love starts coming despite yours, you realise you can’t keep doing it.

The shift is difficult to perceive, coming at such a silent but excruciating pace that’s impossible to predict and devastating to take in.

The bomb dropped on you in the form of a tiny jewellery box that detonated when opened, shining ring inside.

“Està Narnia?” (You found Narnia?)

Closing the box and effectively concealing the ring from your gaze it’s a switch off. The silence that usually preempts a devastating explosion is coming after it, this one time.

“I’m ready!”

When she walks out of the bathroom, stunning as ever, you just stare. You never loved someone as much as you love her, that is obvious for a while now. 

You never loved and you will never love someone as much as you love her. 

Not even yourself.

“Estás bien?” (Are you okay?)

“T’estimo” (I love you)

Shining eyes almost give away all the meaning behind your words, but the captain fondly kisses you and it’s all good again.

Alexia takes the heels from your hands, when you manage to find them is not clear in your head, and sits on the bed. Your fingers intertwine as you bend on your knees and carefully tie the long white laces around her ankles.

“You good?”, she holds one of your hands and her stare is searching straight through your soul.

She has a ring hidden in a box, how long ago did she buy it?

“Let’s get you this award, mi corazón”

She wants to marry you, when will she ask?

Both your holds are firm and kind, she is calmed and ready. Now, somehow, she’s even happy to go to this event if you keep holding her hand like that.

If she asks, you will say yes.

[cherry-leclerc]

may 18 at 11:59 PST

[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

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part III

Previous / Masterlist

CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda/kinda not), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, threat of violence/death, weapons, adult language (pls let me know if I've forgotten any!)

AND FINALLY! THE LAST PART FOR AUGUST AND LUCAS' BACKSTORY! 🎉 Thank you so much for your guys' patience, with this one - it means everything <3 We resume with our usually scheduled Declan next chapter! 😍 And a mahoosive thank you to @darkthingshappen for her beta and help!

---

August feels like a stranger in his own home. A prisoner in his own home; his sanctuary now nothing more than a gilded cage. He is forever and always a captive of his own compassion and a victim of his cowardice. 

But August curses himself for daring to think like that. It’s unjust to think like that, especially on a night like tonight. The frantic hammering of a human heartbeat upstairs is his bleak reminder that he’s not alone anymore, and yet somehow… he’s never felt more alone in his life. The quiet has never screamed so loud, and the walls stretch to endless empty space around him.

For decades, August has been a ghost haunting this house. Lost in the in-between, a nobody with nobody. For decades, August has been at peace with that. Or at least, he had convinced himself that he was - if he dared to admit that the solitude was crippling, then the silence would drag him under and swallow him whole. Contentment was a convenient lie for the last century, but August’s loneliness is a glaring truth rearing its ugly head. He isn’t ready to face it.

Despair gnaws at his insides, sharper than the bite of the cold nipping his skin. Daylight has been and gone, and now moonlight bleeds through the dusty drapes. The ornate windows have blurred over with swirling white as the blizzard wails like a banshee and rages outside. August waits and waits, the grandfather clock in the corner ticks with a maddening slowness. He waits for something, anything and nothing all at once. He doesn’t know what. His comeuppance, perhaps? A wooden stake plunged straight through his spine? 

The human is still hidden away upstairs. Hours have bled by without a sound, not a whisper of movement and not a creak of the floorboard. No doubt he is plotting and scheming, waiting for his perfect chance to strike. Who could blame him? If August were in the human's position, trapped and desperate, the only natural urge for survival would twist his mind too.

August repeats his earlier vow in his mind like a broken record, over and over. When the snowstorm clears, the human will be released, and not a second later. He is a healer, not a gaoler. Every fibre of August's being aches with the need to atone. He will right this wrong no matter the cost. 

A sudden chill snakes down August's spine. A different kind of chill than the frosty air that fogs his breath. He snaps around, his eyes zeroing in on the dark figure lurking in the doorway. The human. They hadn’t made a sound, they’d just…appeared. Materialised out of thin air. Their sunken-in and bloodshot eyes lock with August’s in the dim light. His stance is imposing, his demeanour threatening. August feels strangely diminished by the very sight of him, as though he’s two inches tall.

"Hungry."

A single grumbled word is all that leaves the human's lips. Barely audible but the demand is crystal clear. Not a beg for scraps or a plea, it’s a demand. An attempt to claw back a sliver of control in a situation spiralling wildly out of reach for both of them. The terse delivery, the lack of a complete sentence - it speaks volumes. August isn't worthy of conversation, of any respect or dignity. He isn’t human, afterall - why should he be treated with any humanity?

The realisation eats away at him more than the rumbling of the human’s stomach.

That’s another thing. August forgets how quickly the human’s digestive system and their metabolism works. It’s a miracle how they live as long as they do. It’s as though the second they swallow, their belly immediately roars for even more. It must be impossible to keep up. August can’t keep up.

"I-I'll see what's in the pantry," August stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of the human's burning stare. "It- It won't be much, but..."

He shuffles towards the kitchen and its meagre cabinets. A can of chicken chunks, a tin of kidney beans, cobwebs and layers of dust line the shelves. The human catches a glimpse of the miserable sight, his expression drops to a mix of disapproval, offence and somehow, something akin to pity.

“If you plan on keeping me prisoner, you need to feed me, vamp,” the human snarls with contempt, “That’s human biology 101. Didn’t you claim to be a doc?”

August's jaw clenches. That hit a raw nerve. He wants to retort, to defend his capabilities, but the accusation lodges itself deep in August’s gut. He feels a flush of shame and embarrassment fill his cheeks, because the man’s words were a bitter truth. How can he call himself a doctor? When all he’s responsible for is pain and misery? He can’t even provide basic sustenance.

August finds himself at a loss for words. He can’t even look at the human. Instead he hangs his head and anxiously picks at the skin on his fingers.  “I-I …I didn’t p-plan this. Any of this-”

“-Food,” the human makes his demand again. His fuse running short.

“H-Help yourself. You don’t have to ask. Please, just make yourself at home.”

“This will never be my home,” the human spits venomously, his hands balled tight into fists.

“No - I - I didn’t mean tha-”

The human tears past August in a huff, his body vibrating with barely contained rage. His shoulder slams into August with deliberate malice. August, however, stands firm and absorbs the shove without a flinch. He watches as the human throws himself at the kitchen with the ferocious hunger of a starved lion. He wrenches the cupboards open with bone-jarring bangs and slams them shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

“So what’s your plan?” the human side-eyes August, squatting down to the lower cabinets and flinging them open. They’re empty too. They all are, really. He groans in frustration and slams them shut. “Earn my trust to break it? I’ll be a mindless zombie in days?”

"My plan is to return you to where I found you. As soon as I possibly can. Without hesitation." 

“‘Without hesitation?’” the human scoffs, a bitter and humourless laugh, “what a fucking joke.”

He snatches at cans and packets, what few there are that he can get his hands on. He crams a half-empty bag of dry pasta and a tin of peaches into his arms - god knows how long they’ve been there. Nothing that constitutes a full meal but his stockpile will stretch to a couple days, at least. August feels a weight settle heavy on his chest at that. He knows with a devastating certainty that the bridge of understanding between them is crumbling away. The human will surely disappear upstairs again, never to be seen. There will be no getting through to him. Strangers, they will remain.

The human fills his arms and races back towards the stairs. August scrambles after him, his voice tight, "Please, can we just talk? Before you-”

“NO! Don't follow me! Don't talk to me. Don't you dare come anywhere near me. Don't even knock on my door. You want to make good on your promise? I don't want to hear from you or see your face until we’re heading back to human territory. Comprende?!”

If August had a tail, it would be between his legs. His shoulders slump as he nods solemnly, shamefaced.

“I understand,” August croaks,  “I’m so sorry. I won’t come near you until it’s time to go.”

“Not a moment before, and not a damn second later,” the human growls with a point of his finger, veins bulging in his neck that August can’t help but notice.

One moment he’s there and the next, he disappears up the stairs in a flash. He slams the door like a hormonal teenager and August hears the unmistakable screeching and scraping of furniture being dragged across the room all over again.

*!*!*!*!*

Lucas doesn’t count the days it’s been. He doesn’t need nor want to. Even if he tried, the numbers would slip through his fingers like grains of sand. He refuses to be one of those prisoners who scratches tallies into the walls until there’s no space left to etch, until their sanity crumbles to nothing.

Either yesterday, or three days, or a week ago - Lucas can only guess, everyday has turned to mush - the storm knocked out the power lines. The house plunged into pitch-black darkness and stayed that way ever since.

It’s now or never. The vampire or him. Lucas knows no-one is coming to save him. No-one is looking for him. He can’t afford to be the damsel in distress and wait for a saviour or a miracle. The gnawing ache in his stomach and the dwindling rations remind him that his clock is ticking. 

Only one of them walks out of this alive.

Lucas grits his teeth, his resolve hardening like steel. He will be the last one standing. He dismantles his barricade, and the stake finds its way back to his palm again. His fingers curl around the splintered, shaved wood. On tip-toes, he sneaks through the shadowed hallway. A too-loud creak of the floor and Lucas freezes on the spot, his ears pricking. When nothing comes of it, he creeps on towards the stairs.

How will it feel? Brief hesitation coils around his gut. His hands turn clammy. How will it feel to take another’s life? There’ll be blood on his hands for the rest of his life - maybe guilt will eat him alive. But needs must. If he doesn’t slay the monster, there’ll be no life left to be wracked with guilt. How many countless other lives will this save aside his own?

Lucas holds his breath, cautiously poking his head through the bars of the stairwell railing. In flickering candlelight, the vampire hunches over a worn chessboard. Its face etched with an ageless ennui, it tediously moves the black knight across the squares. Somehow, its pale skin seems even more ghostly in the dim light, but Lucas notices how its dark eyes seem to hold a profound loneliness and deep despair.

The vampire was playing all by itself; the opposing white pieces stood sentinel in their starting positions. A ragged sigh escapes its lips as it captures a white pawn with a languid grace. The victory, if it could be called that, brought no spark of joy or satisfaction to its eyes. The vampire simply reset the captured pawn. And played on.

Lucas watches the vampire, his mind in turmoil. This isn’t what he envisioned; being kidnapped by a vampire. He’d imagined a life of forced subservience, drained for every drop of his blood. He saw himself fighting tooth and nail for a life no longer worth living. A life as livestock, waiting for slaughter. His grip on the stake loosens, and he stares down at it with deep contemplation.

This doesn’t feel like the nightmare Lucas had always feared it would be. This vampire, this monster that stole him… has kept to every promise it’s made. Lucas can’t believe that he’s admitting that. It hasn’t used persuasion. Why? It would be so easy, like taking candy from a baby. Lucas would have no choice but to grovel at its feet and offer it a drink from his neck. But the vampire hasn’t even tried to feed, claims it doesn’t want to feed. The vampire hasn’t laid a hand on Lucas. It’s given him peace and solitude, food and drink, endless promises to return him to human territory, safe and sound. 

A wave of doubt crashes over Lucas. Could he dare to trust the vampire’s word?

“Care to join…?”

Lucas jumps out of his skin. The vampire is looking right at him, its gaze fixed and intense. For a moment, Lucas fears the worst. Has he angered the creature? But as he looks closer, he realises that the vampire's expression was not one of anger. Instead, there’s a raw desperation and longing in its eyes, a look that Lucas had never seen or maybe cared to notice before. He quickly and discreetly shoves the stake into the waistband of his jeans, and grabs the bars of the stairs like the prisoner he’s been so convinced he is.

“What do I win?” Lucas calls down. There’s still hesitation to his voice, an air of stubbornness. He’s not fully prepared to let his guard down just yet.  

For the first time, the vampire actually smiles. “Bragging rights. I never lose.”

Lucas hesitates, a mixture of curiosity and trepidation coursing through him. Perhaps this game of chess would help pass the time before he goes back, and maybe, just maybe, it would give him a chance to glimpse into the mind of this vampire. He nods and heads down the stairs as the vampire frantically and meticulously restarts the board.

“I’ll let you go first, of course. Give you a headstart. It would be unfair otherwise,” the vampire lightly teases.

Lucas moves first, his fingers hesitating slightly as he places a white pawn forward. The vampire responds with equal care, its movements precise and deliberate. They play in pregnant silence, the only sound the soft click of the pieces against the board. An eternity and a half passes before the silence is dared to be broken.

“I’ve been thinking,” The vampire ponders, “when the power is restored, is there anyone you could call? Just to let somebody know you’re safe? That you will be back as soon as you can?”

Lucas leans back, his eyes glued to the board, and without looking up, simply replies, "Nope."

“No-one at all? Not a single soul?” the vampire presses.

“That’s what nope means, don’t it?” Lucas takes a pawn, and the vampire uncomfortably shuffles in its chair. “You know that no-one’s looking, that’s why you chose me, remember…?” a condescending smirk curls on Lucas’s lips. Like he can afford to prod and jibe. He’s feeling more at ease, his confidence growing with each passing moment.

"Anyway. You must be the softest leech going. Either that or you're playing the long game. The self-restraint is mind-boggling... don't you want a bite? Bet the smell is driving you almost cuckoo," Lucas outstretches his arm and waves it underneath the vampire's nose.

Lucas doesn't know how much he even believes what he’s saying anymore. His thoughts are a whirlwind. He has been so hellbent on survival, on staying one step ahead of the vampire, that he hadn't had a second to breathe and take a step back to really think about what was happening. He watches the vampire's face closely, searching for any sign of weakness or desire. Is the restraint genuine, or is it just a facade?

Instead the vampire’s face falls and it gasps, reaching out for Lucas’s wrist, “Your wound-”

The gash on Lucas’ palm is deep, the edges jagged and uneven and the skin around it is inflamed and swollen. Lucas had bigger fish to fry than worrying over a silly little cut, but now he notices it, he feels it throb with dull pain.

“That’s not looking good. Would you let me take a look at it?”

Lucas quickly retracts his arm and cradles his hand defensively. His eyes narrow. “If you win. If you win, maybe I’ll let you. But what do I get if I win?”

The vamp seems satisfied by that. So certain of its inevitable triumph. “I told you. Bragging rights.”

Lucas isn’t so certain that the vampire will best him. He remembers the long days spent practising his moves against the undefeated champion. His grandpa was tough, but Lucas had always held his own. There were times when he thought he might just be able to beat him, but the old man always managed to pull through.

A flicker of nostalgia and a flicker of grief passes over Lucas's face.  “My grandpa. He was the undefeated champ. But I got pretty damn close on occasion. This will be childsplay.”

The vampire’s face softens, its voice gentle, “Is he…still with us?”

“If he was, do you think I’d be sleeping rough on some sopping wet cardboard?” Lucas makes another sharp move, capturing one of the vampire’s pieces. Silence fills the air, and Lucas sighs.

“Why aren’t you using persuasion? You could easily win this. Make me move my knight and the game’s all yours,” Lucas suggests, shrugging. The vampire lets out a low chuckle, his eyes scanning the board as he calculates his next move. But Lucas's words lingered, a nagging thought in the back of his mind.

“No…but, in all seriousness…why - why aren’t you using persuasion? Like, at all? I’d be powerless to stop you. I’d… be y-yours,” he stutters. “Entirely at your mercy. You wouldn’t have to follow through on your promise to free me.”

The vampire's ruby-red eyes widen in shock. Its mouth drops open as though he’d been struck. It averts its gaze down to the flickering candlelight.

“Why would I?” the vamp laments, “I don’t want to use persuasion. To what aim? I’ve made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it. I value your trust, and I would never do anything to jeopardise it. You deserve your free will. Your choices and your thoughts are, and will always be, your own.”

“I didn’t choose to be here-” Lucas' lips respond quicker than his brain can comprehend. He can tell those words cut like a knife to the vampire. 

“No… you didn’t.” The vampire whispers, its tone heavy with guilt. “And that will haunt me for as long as I shall live.”

Lucas is taken aback. He’d always assumed that vampires were cold, unfeeling monsters - devoid of all emotion. But here, he saw something different. He feels something different. The vampire’s words were filled with a mournful regret. He fears he’d been too quick to judge, too eager to paint the vampire as a villain. Maybe there is more to this creature than meets the eye.

The wind suddenly picks up outside, it howls and screeches, whipping against the glass. Lucas stares out the window, a chill running down his spine as he watches the snow swirl and fall.

“I hate to say it… I am glad you are here. Not out there tonight,” the vampire says, watching the blizzard too with a heavy heart.

"Yeah. Me too,” Lucas mumbles. 

"What would you do?” the vampire frets, dragging itself back to the game’s attention and playing its turn, “If you were? Where would you go?"  

"I...I don't know,” Lucas shrugs, “Loiter somewhere warm inside until they chuck me out?" 

"Is there truly no-one you could go to?" 

"No-one. I – I don't have any family left. And try making friends in a nomadic lifestyle. I'm never in one place long enough to keep friends. And if I'm honest? I'm shocked one of you lot hadn't snapped me up sooner. I was...kinda expecting it." 

Every night was a gamble, every morning was a blessing. Lucas always had to be careful, to seek refuge in shadows and find safety in numbers wherever possible. He knew it was coming sooner or later. He was always a sitting duck for a vampire to come along and nab.

“Forgive me if I do say, I am glad I was the one to snatch you up. And not another.”

The walls Lucas put up seem to be slowly knocked down brick by brick. He doesn’t feel like a hunted animal or a captive anymore. He doesn’t feel like he has to look over his shoulder at every turn. It feels almost…safe. 

“Yeah… guess I probably lucked out, huh?” 

Silence falls once again, Lucas looks down to the board. But now he sees an opportunity. With a swift and decisive move, Lucas advances his rook, placing the king in check. The vamp’s king is trapped, cornered by Lucas's pieces.

There’s no escape. The vampire’s face falls as it realises. Lucas has won the game.

“There’s no way-” the vamp mutters, shaking its head in disbelief. “Well played,” he concedes, offering a hand out to shake. Lucas takes it readily. 

“I - I know we made a deal, but please may I look at your wound?” the vampire tries its luck.

“Finee,” Lucas rolls his eyes jovially, “Guess I’m feeling benevolent. Coming off a high from my win.”

*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*

The human sits on top of the examination table, swinging his legs nervously like a child. His eyes flitter around the room, eyebrows furrowed. There’s no sign of the destruction and chaos he unleashed last week. 

August approaches him and gently lifts the human’s hand, examining the slash across the palm. “This looks deep,” he murmurs to himself, turning the human’s hand to different angles and reaching for a bottle of antiseptic.

“Luckily, I don’t think it’s infected. Just a bit swollen. I have some antibiotic ointment - neomycin - and we’ll dress the wound. Shouldn’t give you too much trouble.”

As August pours the antiseptic onto the wound, the human flinches and hisses through his teeth. His eyes squeeze shut, snatching his hand away. The sudden movement startles August, who flinches back too, his heart hammering at his ribs.

"Are you alright?" August asks once he’s caught his own breath, his voice filled with concern. He tries to appear confident and in control, but the truth is, he’s just as nervous as the human.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the human replies, his voice a bit shaky. "It just stung a bit, is all."

August nods, his eyes filled with a strange intensity. "Want to know something?" he asks. The human nods, his own eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"I used to be terrified of humans," August confesses.

The human’s eyebrows shot up. "You? Scared of humans? A vampire?"

“My mother spun tales of hunters, mobs, and lynchers. I was taught hell hath no fury like a human. I grew up believing our own blood bags would tear me limb from limb should they grab hold of me. I thought humans were my natural predator."

The human is silent for a moment, his mind racing. "…when it was the other way around," he finally finishes. “I’ve lived my entire life in fear of you - of your kind.”

“Me too. Our practices are cruel-”

“What makes you so different?” The human cuts in, desperate for answers, “Why - Why are you being kind to me?”

August gently applies the ointment to the human’s wounded palm, then a clean bandage securing it with a strip of medical tape. He places a cold compress on the area to help reduce swelling and pain.

“Kindness costs nothing, but means everything,” August explains, “You were not put on this earth to suffer, or to be my food. Nor would I ever want that. You deserve your freedom -  your humanity. I will live my life, and you will live yours.”

“Why-Why did you take me? If you never wanted me, if you never wanted this … why am I here?” the human croaks, tears brimming in his eyes. 

“I was left with no choice, I promise you. I - I took you to save you. My family - they forced my hand. They said they would take you if I didn’t. They would hurt you. They would make your life a living hell. It was the only way I could stop them - It was the only way I could make sure you made it home again-”

A tear freely rolls down the man’s cheek, he quickly swipes it away. “You…You saved me?”

“I’m so sorry it had to happen this way. But I would do it ten times over if it meant I knew you were safe in my hands.”

The human closes his eyes, and exhales a deep breath of relief. August can see the weight of the world lift from his shoulders. “T-Thank you,” the human whispers.

“Please,” August shakes his head in abnegation, “Don’t thank me. I don’t deserve gratitude. You deserve every apology I could ever utter, and still it would never be enough.”

August scuttles across the room to his cabinets, rummaging around for the painkillers he knows are hiding in there somewhere.

“August?”

August’s heart leaps. He stops still, the world stops still. It’s the first time the human has spoken his name. Not vamp, not leech, or monster. August. It’s like music to his ears.

“My…My name is Lucas. Lucas Slater. I - I thought if I gave you my name… I was giving myself away. But I trust you with my name.”

It’s not much, but it’s more than August could have ever hoped for. It feels like the sun rising after a long, dark winter. His legs feel as if they might give out beneath him, he has to lean against the countertop to steady himself.

“Lucas.” August whispers to himself. He can finally put a name to the stranger.  “It’s - It’s nice to finally meet you, Lucas.”

*!*!*!*!*!*

The day finally arrived. The day Lucas had been waiting for was finally here. Hometime. To where or whatever his home is supposed to be. But home has never been just a place to Lucas. It’s always been a feeling, a sense of belonging. This house, that was supposed to be his prison, has become more of a home in this short time than he has ever known in his entire life. The days spent with August felt like a new lease of life, their connection grew day by day. At night, Lucas slept like a baby, without a care in the world. In a toasty bed, and not on cardboard and newspaper. With a warm belly, and no starved rumbling. For the first time, he feels that sense of belonging he’s craved.

He’s never belonged anywhere, and neither has August, it seems.

The snow has melted, revealing a landscape that was both familiar and foreign. It looked so much like human territory but felt worlds apart. As they drove through the countryside, Lucas couldn't help but think about all he would leave behind. The vampire's old, dusty house had become his asylum, a place where he felt safe and protected. He had grown to trust August, to rely on him.

Lucas couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had been gnawing at him all morning. He knew his time with August was coming to an end, and the thought of leaving filled him with a sense of loss. He had grown to respect the vampire, more than he ever thought possible. He glances at August in the rearview mirror. His expression is unreadable, dormant. He’d been quiet all morning. He stares absentmindedly out the window, lost in thought. Lucas wonders if August feels the same way. They both live such lonely lives. A nobody with nobody. What if he stayed? Would that be so awful? 

They continue driving in silence, the only sound the gentle hum of the car’s engine. Lucas watches the road pass them by from the window, edging closer and closer to human territory. Lucas feels his stomach sink. Going ‘home’ shouldn’t feel like that. This isn’t right.

"Stop the car," Lucas blurts out.

"You want to get out here? We're still miles away yet!" August queries.

"No, I... I've been thinking," Lucas stammers. "How do you... feel about a new roommate? I guess I'd feel bad leaving you to your lonely, boring self with your dusty, old books."

Lucas silently scolds himself, using his humour as a shield. He lets the mask slip, and his lip wobbles with impending tears.

"I - I have nothing back in human territory. You plucked me from the streets, my cardboard bed, my only possession was a paper cup with a few coins... I'll do anything. Odds are another vampire will find me again in no time and I - I doubt I'll be as lucky to get another one as kind as you - it'd be like lightning striking the same spot twice."

"If you truly wish to stay, you're more than welcome..." August began, his voice soft. "The guest bedroom is yours for the taking, stay as long as you need or want. Please do not stay on my account, or out of fear of me. You truly are free to go."

Lucas hesitates, a thousand what if’s fill his mind. This is quite possibly the most idiotic choice he’s ever made, but it just feels right in his gut. It’s the path he’s meant to take.  "I - god this is so stupid, I barely fucking know you but... I think I trust you. If this kindness is all an act or a game then hey, props to you for keeping it up this long, you deserve to feed off me."

August can't help but smile, a gentle expression that warmed Lucas's heart. "Only if you're absolutely, positively sure. You can change your mind at any time. But...I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

Lucas takes a deep breath. He rests his head against the window.  "Turn the car around. Let's go home."

---

Shattered taglist: @octopus-reactivated @whatwasmyprevioususername @ramadiiiisme @darkthingshappen @whumpsday  

@thecyrulik @t0rture-me @redwhump  @the-cryptid-finch  @snowstuffscuff

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump   @wolfeyedwitch   @interdimensional-chaos  @termsnconditions-apply   @whump-blog  

@leyswhumpdump @not-a-space-alien   @onlybadendings   @darlingwhump @sparrowsage   

@flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal  @wolves-and-winters @ashh-ed  @idkmansomeusername 

@whuarri  @33-sdtr-45 @pigeonwhumps  @canislycaon24  @the-whumpers-grimm

@damienxozmoze @predacon-skydrift @morning-star-whump @neverthelass @espresso-depresso-system

@only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @androgynousqueenie @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @fiifii000 @that-one-small-world

@doodlepoodle154 @sodacreampuff @cupcakes-and-pain @topsheepstudent @mylovelyme

@anonfromcanada @astrokea @turn-the-tables-on-them @bloodredfountainpen @fleur-a-whump

@tobiaslut

[desihopelessromantic]

JJK FRIENDLY REMINDER:

gojo probably has PTSD (Post Toji Stress Disorder)

[vind3miat0r]

Elliott, Sunshine, Smartass and Aaron playing cards together was never something i knew i needed

[drghostwrite]

911, What’s your Emergency?

Y’all had to know it was coming, just recently discovered the show and I’m loving it (obsessed) so far… and tbh who doesn’t look at Buck and just like, well yk.

Pairing: Evan Buckley x reader

Summary: Evan and Reader meet at an unlikely time. There are some flashbacks in this story.

P.S. multi part story!!

******************************************************** Home.

Wrapped under cozy blankets on cool sheets, feeling your soft mattress and pillows enveloping your sore body after your last long night in the ER. Freshly showered and ready to sleep for the next couple days before your next shift. Instead that’s the opposite of where you found yourself.

“Miss… Miss… can you hear me?” You heard a voice pulling you from your daydream. Red and Blue lights were bouncing off the rain on your windshield, you could see a fire truck in your review mirror. Spiderwebs of cracks splintered glass into your car, the large metal beam crushing your windshield and roof.

“Uh yea… yea.”

“Okay good my name is Evan Buckley I’m a firefighter, what’s your name?”

“Y/N, Y/N Avery.”

“Okay Y/N, you were in an accident, do you remember what happened?”

“Uh there were these cars that were swerving and next thing I know a third hit me from behind and the the pole and that’s it.”

“Okay, well we’re here now and we’re gonna get you out, does anything hurt? Do you think you can move?”

“I think I’m okay, just a couple scratches.” You said grabbing the door handle as he pulled it open helping you out of the car. You started walking towards the engine of 118 but not before you collapsed and Evan caught you.

“Okay Y/N I think we should take you to the hospital.” He said picking you up.

“Probably best…” you said with a weak smirk before passing out, the last thing you remembered seeing was him climb into the ambulance behind you, and the next thing you saw was him sitting next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up.

“Hey?” You watched him confused.

“Hey, you’re awake, how do you feel?”

“honestly like I got hit by a car, oh wait…”

“This is true.” He laughed and my God did he have the most gorgeous smile.

“So it’s Evan right.”

“Yes ma’am but my friends call me Buck…”

“Oof, ma’am?” You laughed, “trust me I am not a ma’am, just call me Y/N”

“whatever you say.” He laughed.

“so you stayed?”

“well no one else showed up and I can’t leave a beautiful woman by herself after something like that.”

“beautiful?…” you chuckled, “once I’m out of here let me take you out and then I’ll show you beautiful.”

“Oh so now we’re flirting with guy who saved your life.”

“Hah yea, I’m also flirting with the hot firefighter that always carries people into my ER.”

“Oh okay, I see… well then, this hot firefighter would love to take the beautiful nurse on a date once she’s feeling better.”

“whatever you say lover boy.” You laughed as he just smiled at you.

———time jump———

Never did you see yourself here, you thought as you were so rudely pulled from your memories by the bustling room around you. Dresses and makeup bags flung, curling wands covering the counters, you stood and padded into the next room, quiet enveloping you from the girls getting ready in the other room. You walked up to the gorgeous white dress hanging in front of the window, running your fingers over the delicate stitching, a breathtaking wedding dress, your wedding dress. Closing your eyes as you calmed your nerves for what came next, hearing a gentle knock on the door and the shuffle of footsteps, gentle hands came to wrap around your shoulders as a chin rested on one of them, “you ready?”

you turned to be greeted by the sparkling eyes of none other than Maddie, Bucks sister, your soon to be sister in law.

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.” You smile back.

“Good because I absolutely can’t wait for you to be my sister.” She hugged you before delicately helping you into the dress, pulling the zipper up and fixing the buttons, she rested her chin on your shoulder again as you watched on in the mirror another soft knock resounding as Athena Grant stepped into the room, “Absolutely gorgeous.” She said pulling you into a hug.

It wasn’t long before you were walking down the aisle, Bobby beside you as you flashed back to your first date.

———flashback———

“So how’s it feel to finally be free, back to the land of the living?” Buck asked.

“You know it’s always weird when the nurse becomes the patient and for once I think I actually don’t miss those white walls.” You both chuckled.

“Well I’m just glad I finally get to take you for a real dinner.” He said tucking your arm in his as you walked.

“Oh come on the green jello was date material?” You joked.

“wellll… maybe but the sneaking down the hallways definitely was…” he poked you in the side mischievously.

“Evan Buckley we don’t speak of that.” You both laughed.

“I’m just sayin…” before he could finish you heard someone call your names.

“Y/N! Buck!” You heard and turned to see Bobby and Athena walking behind you.

“Athena!” You said pulling her into a hug.

“Hi baby… how’re you doing?” She smiled pulling back.

“Good, I’m a lot better now that I’m not spending my nights in the hospital.”

“Well I’m glad, I hear Buck here has been taking god care of you though.”

“Only the best.” He smiled, “So how do you guys know Y/N?”

“Well I knew Athena from way before, my mom passed when I was younger and it just so happened that Athena had come in and out of the ER enough for us to get to know each other and she took me under her wing.”

“Oh okay…” he said listening to you explain, eyes beaming.

“Bobby on the other hand, he got initiated once he decided he wanted to propose, but honestly they’re like the parents I don’t have.”

“Wow, that so cool. I had no idea yall knew each other.”

“Oh “know each other” is the nice way of putting it, I could tell you some stories about this girl.”

“Nothing I probably haven’t already seen, she has a rebel streak.” He smiled and you slapped his arm.

“I said no stories…” you all laughed.

———time jump———

“I do.” Words that you weren’t sure you would ever hear cross your lips and yet here you were, staring into the eyes of your lover, your best friend, your husband.

you didn’t register what happened next other than him dipping you, kissing your lips like no one was in the room and then cheering as you stood back up straight.

“I’m your wife.” You said looking into his eyes.

“I’m your husband.” He said kissing you again as silent happy tears fell.

“I love you always and forever.” You both said in sync before laughing.

[kjack89]

Timeless

Because it may have been almost a month, but what is time, anyway.

The air in the antique shop was thick with dust, and Combeferre coughed into the crook of his arm before giving Enjolras a look. “Remind me again what we’re looking for,” he said, picking a particularly tacky snowglobe off of the shelf without bothering to hide his look of revulsion.

“A gift for Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated for easily the twelfth time as he examined the spines of a stack of ancient books with yellowed pages.

“Right,” Combeferre said, replacing the snowglobe and sharing a knowing glance with Courfeyrac. “Why?”

Enjolras glanced up at them and away again. “Does it matter?”

Courfeyrac leaned against a shelf that creaked ominously, and he hastily straightened. “Well, it’s not Christmas,” he reasoned.

“Not Grantaire’s birthday, either,” Combeferre added.

“And no judgment, Enj, but it’s a little late for Valentine’s Day.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together, glaring a garish painting of a sad clown as if it had personally offended him. “It’s an apology gift,” he said sourly, staring determinedly away from Courfeyrac and Combeferre so that he didn’t have to see the look they inevitably gave each other.

He was already familiar with it.

“Uh-oh,” Courfeyrac said, with barely suppressed glee masquerading as concern. “What are you apologizing for?”

Enjolras sighed. “I said something stupid.”

“No shit,” Combeferre said, uncharacteristically blunt, not that Enjolras didn’t likely deserve it. “But what specifically?”

Enjolras sighed again, raking a hand through his blond curls before telling them reluctantly, “We were watching some movie, or at least, it was on in the background while I was doing work. Some kind of rom-com thing and it ended with the couple old and happy together, and Grantaire made some comment about how maybe that’d be us someday and—”

Courfeyrac stared at him, all traces of amusement vanished. “Don’t tell me.”

“I just pointed out that statistically—”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre and Courfeyrac groaned simultaneously. 

Enjolras winced. “I mean, the world’s probably going to be uninhabitable long before we’re elderly—”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes so hard it looked physically painful. “Mm, yeah, whisper that in his ear, see how it goes.”

“I didn’t realize he was trying to be romantic,” Enjolras muttered, the tips of his ears flaring as red as his favorite hoodie as he continued to avoid meeting Combeferre or Courfeyrac’s eyes. 

“Of course you didn’t,” Combeferre sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Enjolras huffed another sigh. “And now I need to make it up to him,” he said, determined to force the conversation back to something productive.

Combeferre just gave him a look. “And you decided an antique shop was the best place to find a gift because…?”

Shrugging, Enjolras picked a small ceramic ornament off the shelf, turning it over in his hands as he tried to figure out what the hell it was supposed to be. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He loves this place, so I figured there must be something here worth getting.”

Courfeyrac made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a hastily-stifled cackle. “Pretty sure he likes the bar next door better,” he said.

“Probably,” Enjolras said, “but I can’t exactly get that for him, can I?”

Though at the rate he was going, that might actually be the only gift big enough to make it up to Grantaire.

“Fair enough,” Combeferre said, ever the voice of reason. “Why don’t we split up, cover more ground?”

Enjolras made a face. “Why does this feel like the start of a slasher movie?”

Courfeyrac smirked. “Probably because if you don’t succeed, your relationship’s going to be the first thing to die?”

Enjolras glared at him. “Thanks for your support,” he said dryly.

“Anytime,” Courfeyrac said, saccharine sweet.

Enjolras rolled his eyes as he turned to survey the assorted crap that evidently passed for antiques. He knew he should be more grateful that his friends were willing to put up with him and his now decades of emotional incompetence, but in his defense, they didn’t have to be such assholes about the whole thing.

Though, in this case, Enjolras definitely deserved it.

He scowled as he drifted somewhat aimlessly down the aisle, not even sure what he was looking for. His eyes fell on a tattered cardboard box perched precariously on the end of one shelf, or more accurately, on the neon green postcard taped to the front.

PHOTOS AND LITHOGRAPHS, it proclaimed. TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH.

Enjolras had no idea who in their right mind would buy random old photos of people they’d never met or places they’d never been, but he intrigued enough that he pulled the box off the shelf, shuffling through the untidy stacks until he pulled one out at random.

It was a black and white photo of two young men in dinner standing next to each in front of an old-fashioned car. He flipped it over and he could just make out, written very faintly on the back, ‘Before the big dance, 1944.’

He frowned as he turned the photo back over, but before he could toss it back in the box, he caught sight of the familiar half-smile the shorter of the two men wore. A smile that Enjolras had kissed more times than he could count, and without warning, he could see it in his head like a memory he didn’t even know he’d had.

“Hey, kid,” Grantaire said, giving Enjolras that little smile as he leaned against the fence.

“Don’t call me kid,” Enjolras said, breathless. “I’m eighteen, and besides, I graduate soon.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, raking his eyes slowly down Enjolras’s body, his smile sharpening. “Besides, you don’t look much like a kid tonight.”

Still, Enjolras hesitated. “You don’t have to come with me, you know. I know you’re shipping out soon, and I doubt you want to spend your time with a bunch of kids…”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “Didn’t we just establish you’re not a kid?” he said easily. “Besides, someone’s got to keep an eye on. Especially if Courfeyrac spikes the punch again.”

Enjolras half-smiled at the memory, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wish I was going with you.”

“I don’t,” Grantaire said flatly. “Hard enough fighting the Nazis without having to worry about you getting shot or blown up.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “You’ll write?”

“As often as I can,” Grantaire promised, reaching for his hand. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

It was a hollow promise – they both knew too many young men who would never return from the war in Europe. But before Enjolras could point that out, Grantaire dropped his hand, straightening. “Mr. and Mrs. Enjolras,” he said with what he clearly thought was a winning smile.

“Oh, Grantaire,” Enjolras’s mother said. “I didn’t realize you were going tonight.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Thought I’d give the kids a little treat,” he said easily.

Enjolras’s father laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “And hopefully keep them out of trouble,” he said.

“Of course,” Grantaire said, winking at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes.

“Wait, before you go, I want to get a picture!” Enjolras’s mother said, and Enjolras groaned.

“Ma, not tonight—”

“Just one,” she said, and Enjolras’s father frogmarched them both over to pose awkwardly in front of the car. “See, all done.”

Enjolras just sighed and looked at Grantaire. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered.

Grantaire grinned. “I’ll make sure I bring him back in one piece,” he promised Enjolras’s parents, who both just smiled and waved.

Enjolras and Grantaire made it all the way down the sidewalk and around the corner before Grantaire pressed Enjolras up against the side of a garage to kiss him. “Sorry,” he said. “You really do look good, kid.”

“So do you,” Enjolras murmured, and Grantaire kissed him once more before releasing him.

“What do you think?” he said, casually. “Make an appearance at the dance and then you can come back to mine to say goodbye properly?”

If Enjolras had his way, he wouldn’t say goodbye at all. But since that wasn’t an option, he settled for nodding. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds like a plan.”

Back in the antique shop, Enjolras shook his head, feeling almost dizzy as the memory – or whatever it had been – faded, leaving a strange sort of buzzing sound in his ears. He set the photo down with trembling fingers, and then, like an idiot, reached back into the box again for another.

This time he emerged with a color photograph that looked like someone had torn it out of a book based on the caption in tiny print underneath the picture. ‘Portrait of a young man writing a letter,’ the caption read, dry and boring like any art book Enjolras had the misfortune of flipping through, ‘ca. 1650. Artist unknown.’

Enjolras frowned down at the picture, letting out a sigh of relief that it didn’t look anything like Grantaire.

At least, until he realized that it did look, at least a little bit, like himself.

Enjolras’s chest felt tight as he scanned Grantaire’s latest missive. Where most of his friends sent updates on how their efforts were going to liberate Enjolras from the cursed marriage his parents had foisted upon him, Grantaire’s alone were like a balm in these dark times. They weren’t full of hope, as Enjolras would never expect from the cynic, but they were full of certitude, of no promises but instead guarantees that no man could stand between Grantaire’s blade and Enjolras.

“Patience is a virtue neither of us possess, but I must beg you for what little you can spare me,” the latest letter read. “Dark is the night but soon we shall be reunited in the dawn. And should we fail, know that my heart will belong to you for the rest of time, and none may cleave my soul from yours when we depart this earth.”

Enjolras traced his finger over the scrawled ‘R’ at the bottom of the page, lifting his finger to brush against his lips. Only then did he sit up in his chair, straighten his shoulders, and grab his own quill to begin to write his response.

Again, Enjolras resurfaced in the antique store, and he reached out automatically to grab the shelf, steadying himself against it. His head swam, and he had no explanation for what was going on, save for the obvious that he’d finally cracked under pressure and lost his entire mind.

It didn’t feel like he was going crazy, though. He was still him, still in this cursed store, still trying to find some kind of apology gift and instead unearthing bizarre memories of, what, alternate lives?

A hysterical giggle rose in his throat and he did his best to tamp it down, instead reaching for the box to return it to its spot on the shelf. 

Instead, he caught sight of a lithograph on the top of the pile of pictures, a charming little scene of what could only be a Parisian café a century or so ago, and despite now having two very distinct reasons to know this was a bad idea, he lifted it out of the box.

He couldn’t even pretend to be surprised at what happened next.

Enjolras squinted up at the sun, too high in the sky already for how much he had to accomplish that day.

But as he strode past a café, someone hailed him, delaying him all the further. “Enjolras! Join me, won’t you.”

Enjolras scowled at the dark-haired man seated at a table outside of the café, his chin propped in his hand as he grinned at him.. “I see you are putting your morning to good use,” Enjolras said sourly. “Alas that some of us have more important matters to which we must attend.”

Grantaire’s grin widened. “And yet what may be more important than sating your hunger and thirst?” he asked with feigned innocence. “Even gods take the time to feast with mortals.”

“I suppose it is well that I am not a god, then.”

He turned to leave but paused when Grantaire called after him, “All the more reason to join me, then. As I doubt I merit the company of gods regardless.”

Enjolras sighed, turning back to again refute him, but before he could say anything, Grantaire straightened, his grin sobering into something more genuine, something that made Enjolras’s chest feel inexplicably warm. “Please,” he said, something soft and almost sweet in the word. “Would the world cease to spin should you spend a half hour letting someone take care of you?”

“Is that what this is?” Enjolras asked, forgetting to be harsh.

Grantaire shrugged. “A first attempt, at least.” His grin returned. “How am I doing thus far?”

“That remains to be seen,” Enjolras said, hesitating for only a moment before, reluctantly, sitting down across from him. “Very well. You have a half hour. Do your best.”

“For you, I always do,” Grantaire said, his voice low, and Enjolras was suddenly aware that the warmth on his cheeks had nothing to do with the sun.

At least this time, he didn’t feel like he was going to collapse upon returning to himself, which was a small sort of comfort. He did feel a little shaky, which probably explained how his renewed attempt at putting the box on the shelf instead sent it falling to the floor.

Enjolras groaned as he bent to pick up all the pictures and shove them back in the box, hoping this didn’t mean he’d suddenly experience a hundred memories at once. Luckily, he remained entirely in the present, and he hastily gathered all the photos, placing them back in the box, which he successfully returned to the shelf.

Only then did he notice a photo he’d missed, and he sighed again as he bent to pick it up, glancing automatically at it. This was a color photo, much more recent if a little out of focus, of two older men kissing, and he flipped it over to see if anything was on the back. 

In bold Sharpie strokes, someone had written ‘FINALLY! Fifty years in the making. June 29, 2015.’

Enjolras felt the breath catch in his throat. Three days after Obergefell.

He waited for the memory to overwhelm him yet again, but this time, it didn’t come, and he frowned down at it, a little surprised. Maybe it was because neither man particularly resembled him or Grantaire.

Or maybe it was because he and Grantaire had to live this memory themselves.

It was a stupid thought that somehow still had tears pricking in Enjolras’s eyes, and he shook his head, starting to return the photo to the box before hesitating.

He knew what he needed to give Grantaire.

— — — — —

“I bought these.”

Grantaire glanced up from where he was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “Hell of an opening,” he said mildly, sitting up as Enjolras sat down next to him. He accepted the paper bag that Enjolras held out, his brow furrowing, and he carefully shook out the four pictures Enjolras had purchased from the antique store, fanning them out across the table.

He blinked down at them and back up at Enjolras, his brow furrowing, just slightly. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. “You bought four random pictures?”

Enjolras jerked a nod and then took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize.”

Grantaire looked up at him, his expression neutral. “I’m listening.”

Enjolras wet his lips before telling Grantaire, “I meant what I said.”

Grantaire sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok,” he said, with something like patience, “maybe we need to first circle back to what the concept of an apology means—”

But Enjolras refused to be deterred from his point. “You and I both know that we aren’t guaranteed to get old together, let alone separately,” he said, and Grantaire fell silent, something tightening in his expression, something that Enjolras wanted desperately to smooth away with his fingertips. “Hell, we’re not even guaranteed to make it to next week, let alone past November, or five years from now or what have you.”

“Stirring oration as always, Enj—”

“But what I should have said,” Enjolras continued, “and didn’t, is that it doesn’t matter how much time we have together. What matters is that we have any time at all.” He reached for Grantaire’s hand, a little surprised when Grantaire let him take it. “Whether it’s five years or fifty years, any time that I have with you will be worth it. I don’t know if we’re going to get a happy ending, but I’ll be damned if we don’t get a happy right now with each other. And that– that’s what I should have said.”

He had faltered a little at the end, but it was worth it regardless for the look in Grantaire’s eyes, for the small half-smile that lifted just one corner of his mouth, for the way his fingers tightened around Enjolras’s.

Enjolras took another deep breath before telling him, “I went to the antique store to get you a present to say that I’m sorry, but instead I got these.” He gestured at the pictures still spread across the coffee table. “Something about them– I can’t explain it, but I look at them, and I see us.” He shrugged, a little helplessly. “I know that between the two of us, I’m the believer, but I have to admit, until I saw these, I don’t know if I truly believed that it really is me and you, forever. Whatever that forever ends up looking like.”

He squeezed Grantaire’s hand before telling him, “So I didn’t get these for you. I got them for me, to remind myself of that. Because the only gift that I can give you that matters worth a damn is time.”

Grantaire’s smile was soft and his eyes were just a little bit wet, and he shook his head. “Enjolras—”

He broke off as if he couldn’t quite decide what to say, and Enjolras added, “And I really am sorry that I didn’t say this the first time around.”

Grantaire shook his head again. “Well,” he managed, his voice thick, “you said it now. C’mere.” He tugged Enjolras to him, reaching up with his free hand to cup Enjolras’s cheek, to brush his thumb along his jawline as he leaned in to kiss him. “I love you.”

Enjolras kissed back before telling him, “I love you, too.”

Grantaire kissed him once more, his lips curving into a smile against Enjolras’s before he leaned back to ask, innocently, “So does that mean you didn’t actually get me a present, or…?”

Enjolras sighed, the exasperated, endlessly fond sigh of a man in love with the biggest pain in the ass he’d ever met. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

And for once, Grantaire did. After all, they had time to worry about presents later.

They had all the time in the world.

[backstabber128]

Here's some dad + daughter parallels that shatter my poor tortured heart even more👌

It's crazy to think they have so much in common despite completely different circumstances ❤️‍🩹

[sebastianstanisahotmf]

Overworked

Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

A/N This is part two of the fic too many missions. However, there is a lot of angst in this fic. Idk what happened but I got a bit carried away and it gets really sad but it has a happy ending. Also, likes comments and reblogs are appreciated. All mistakes are my own so if you notice any feel free to comment below.

18+ MINORS DNI, THERE'S NOTHING EXPLICIT IN THIS FIC BUT THE FIRST PART HAS SMUT

Summary Bucky starts to take care of you when its actually him who needs taking care of

DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER APPS/SITES. THE ONLY PLACE THIS FIC IS ON IS TUMBLR.

Warnings Fluff, angst (a lot) and Bucky has a flashback.

After Bucky helped you put the hoodie on, he put his other clothes back on. He proceeded to lift you up bridal style and take you to your shared floor of the tower.

“I’m capable of walking, you know,” you said while yawning.

“I know babydoll, but you deserve to be carried.”

He walked into the bathroom and set you on the counter while he turned the shower on and got it to your preferred temperature. He started to take his clothes off so you decided to take your his hoodie off (since it was the only thing you were wearing.)

Bucky turned around and picked you up again which made you giggle. He pressed a kiss to your lips and another to your forehead.

He walked under the spray of the shower and leaned in to kiss you again.

“Can you put me down please,” you asked, breathless from the kiss.

Bucky put you down and reached for his shower gel; he knew that you loved it when you smelled like him. Then, he picked up a loofah and put his shower gel on it before cleaning you thoroughly.

Once you were clean, Bucky picked up your shampoo and put some on his hand before massaging your scalp. You let out a sigh and then moved your head under the water so you could rinse the suds out of your hair. Bucky picked up the conditioner and applied it to the ends like you taught him to. You turned to face him and rested your forehead on his chest while the conditioner was being washed out of your hair.

“Thank you, baby,” you said, looking up at him with a smile on your face.

“You're welcome doll,” Bucky replied and kissed you once again.

“Let me return the favour,” you said. It was more of a demand though because Bucky loved taking care of you but still believed that he didn’t deserve to be taken care of due to his past actions- which were completely out of his control.

“You don’t have to doll,” Bucky replied, looking down at the floor.

You softly put your hand under his chin so he would look at you and you told him, “Darling, you deserve to be taken care of more than anyone else I know, especially since you’ve been working so hard lately. I know what you’re thinking and you need to stop. You’re the most amazing man I know, you’re so kind and caring and didn’t choose to do what you did in the past. Everyone knows that. Even Tony knows and we both know how much of a stubborn asshole he is.”

Bucky chuckled and his cheeks were tinted red. “Thanks, doll,”

You grabbed the shower gel and loofah and started to clean him. After that, you used your shampoo to wash his hair. Bucky loved when you washed his hair because he loved you playing with it especially when he was struggling with the memories and flashbacks of his past.

It was while you were rinsing the shampoo out of his hair when you noticed that he had gone completely still and his muscles were tensed up. His hands were shaking and tears were streaming down his face. You quickly finished rinsing his hair so you could help him out.

“Come back to me Bucky,” You whispered in his ear and grabbed his hands, “Honey listen to my voice, I need you to come back to me now.”

Bucky shuddered when he snapped out of the flashback and looked at you with the most fear-stricken eyes you had ever seen.

“I-I can still see it so vividly,” Bucky whispered.

You wrapped your arms around him and stood there for a minute or two.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here and in bed,” You grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the shower.

You turned the shower off, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your body. Then, you gave Bucky one to wrap around himself.

“Go into the bedroom Buck, I won’t be long. I just need to put a towel on my hair.”

Bucky just shook his head and stood in the doorway waiting for you to finish what you were doing. When you had finished, you grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bedroom.

You grabbed some boxers for Bucky to put on and give them to him; you grab yourself some panties and nothing else since Bucky needs physical contact when he’s like this. You finished off drying your hair and brushed it through.

The bed hadn't been made yet which made it easier to get under the covers, “Come on baby,” you held your arms out to Bucky.

He walked over and crawled onto the bed. He rested his head on your chest and wrapped his arms around you as you played with his hair.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” He whispered.

“Shhhh. It’s ok. You’re so tired and overworked.”

“But I shouldn’t be so fucking broken,” Bucky’s voice cracked on the last word and the tears started to fall again, wetting your skin.

“Hey, you’re not broken. You’re a good guy who has been put through hell and back. You didn’t deserve any of it and you had no choice.” You replied, running your fingers through his still-damp hair.

You stayed like that for a while before Bucky sat up and moved to lay next to you. You looked at him confused. He rolled onto his side and used his hand to support his head.

“Thank you doll. I love you so so much.” Bucky leaned over to kiss you.

When you pulled back from the kiss, you responded with, “I love you too, so much.”

There was a comfortable silence that was disturbed by bucky when he said, “I need to finish the mission report.”

“It’s ok. I’ll explain why it’s late tomorrow. I'm sure Fury will understand.”

Bucky moved to lay on his back and moved his arm so you could cuddle up to his side.

“I definitely need the break, the lack of sleep makes everything worse.”

“Luckily, I spoke to Fury then,” you giggled.

Bucky was smiling, “I still can’t believe that you intimidate Fury. No one intimidates Fury.”

You leaned up to kiss Bucky, “Goodnight Buck,”

“Goodnight doll,”

That night, you both fell asleep quickly. Happy that you're able to sleep together after spending so long being unable to do so.

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[gothamite-rambler]

Indecent Exposure

Barbara Gordon rolled into the Wayne Mansion, waving to Stephanie, Cass, and Tim, but then she bumps into Dick Grayson.

Dick: Oh hey! I'm not- I just dropped by and-

Barbara: Mm-hm, cool, I didn't come to see you. Gotta talk to Bruce. Good to see you put some clothes on and not walking around with your—

Dick: Yep, yep, yep. Don't want to talk about it! He's in his office, but remember to knock. Knock. Just knock and wait for him to respond.

Barbara: I will, and I do hope he makes it very clear that it is safe to enter and not just silence.

Dick (tight smile): Maybe the silence is a hint that you shouldn't enter. Some people don’t say anything to mean to not enter.

Barbara: Maybe—Maybe leaving a door unlocked in a guest room is a hint to not be silent! Especially when the homeowner has to ask a question about using all of her Irish Spring lavender body wash!

Dick: I cashapped you the money for that!

Barbara (loud): That doesn't take away the fact you used all of it or that when someone knocks on the door at their house for one of their rooms, you say something or be wearing something!

Dick: Oh yeah, well... maybe next time I'll just go back to my place instead of staying at yours!

Tim sipped his coffee silently watching.

Barbara: Maybe I won't invite you to my apartment next time when you're too tired to drive home and "desperately need a shower that's close by"!

Dick (embarrassed): Whatever!

Dick stormed off grumbling. Barbara rolled her eyes.

Barbara: Great defense!

Tim went to Barbara, tapping his cup.

Tim: Did you guys have sex?

Barbara: Why do you use that same joke? Is it to piss me off?

Tim: It is... It works everytime.

Tim calmly takes another sip from his coffee cop. Barbara rolled her eyes.

Tim: What's the story then? Did he ruin another piece of furniture?

Barbara (covering her eyes): No, just makes me want to be blind. What happened was... I need a second.

Bruce left his office having heard the entire conversation and gave the correct incident without hesitation.

Bruce: He left the door unlocked in the guest room at your house while there for the night, you knocked on the door to ask for something, he didn't say anything, and you took that as a hint to enter the room, and he was fully unclothed. I'm guessing from a shower?

Barbara (agreeing): Yeah, he took a shower after a fight with the Condiment King. He was buck-naked, and this is the fifth time I've seen that man's birthmark and not by choice. At least it wasn't him and April on my couch again.

Bruce: Did he pay you back for that?

Barbara nodded, groaning.

Barbara: I had to replace the couch though, but April and I are on good terms.

Tim: In his defense, if he doesn't say anything, that means you don't enter.

Barbara (offended): It's—

Bruce: It's her house. She can enter whoever's room whenever she wants.

Barbara: Bruce gets it. I own the house, it's owned BY me! You hear that, Dick? Bruce gets it!

Dick (across the hall): Of course he would; he's a megalomaniac too!

Tim (chuckling): I'll go talk to him and calm him down.

Tim walked off still laughing while Barbara rolled past Bruce to his office.

Barbara (aggravated): You need to deal with that son of yours or I'm going to hurt his feelings.

Bruce shook his head.

Bruce: You know when you had a crush on him you guys didn't bicker like siblings.

Barbara: Not my fault we're not each other's types. Would you have wanted us to act like the cutesy couple that humps each other?

Bruce (deadpan): I would prefer you both act like adults, but that shipped sailed a long time ago.