#'where my father started with mine' he says 'at the seat of all knowledge.' and nessie rubs the spot he poked with a smile of her own

[ma1dita]

solipsism

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.1k

summary: (post-TLT) drink responsibly… trouble doesn’t; you punch luke in this lol (novelization spoilers? kinda canon-compliant)

The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. Luke visits you four times during college, in a timeline opposite to yours (doctor x river song-coded) (lore expansion & explanation here) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: i hurt myself with this one. anyways its canon (to me) that we’re roommates now !!!! more to come like i promised even during my birthday break ! scream at me in the comments and feel free to reblog :)

(post 3/6, edited/betad @hotchfiles )

—

solipsism (the idea that only one’s mind is sure to exist)

You didn’t mean to send a prayer out into the world so strong that it would will an apparition of an Olympian, but burning cookies seems to be your specialty. Arguably, they weren’t the good kind, just the ones you grab in the freezer aisle of Walmart, and still, somehow they set your fire alarm off. Opening a window and waving through the smoke— Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home was standing next to the rickety dining table you bought off Facebook marketplace. 

“Holy shit, you scared me!” 

There’s mirth in her eyes at your reaction, though for all you know it could be annoyance—it’s not often that an immortal could be badgered enough to reveal themselves for an accident like this one.

“Dionysus was right. You’re too much like him for your own good,” she grins, taking a seat at the table like she’s an old friend. There’s a warmth to her unlike anyone you’ve met before—fire crackling in her eyes and an aura of serenity swaddling the air that you’ve never felt before in your student accomodations.

“I’m sorry I just… with all due respect, what’s going on?”

You go to toss the hot tray of cookies in the trash bin, before hesitating and putting them on your nicest plate. A gentle shove slides them over the table to the goddess, and she takes a crunch out of one happily.

“You were praying,” she states, like its common knowledge, “so strongly, in fact, I thought I’d make a visit to one of my most loyal devotees. Though in this case, you’re the object of his devotion, yes?”

Your hands are clasped across your lap and a familiar feeling spreads through you, then she jerks her hand up and points, “There. You’re doing it again. Y’know, it’s about time you start reciprocating the effort. Hermes’ son prays for you with intention.” You were thinking about Luke before she appeared—and hope glimmered like a tiny open flame. It’s still there, in the slow beating of your heart.

“He’s waging war with the gods. I don’t think he prays to them anymore,” you reason. Luke's offerings to the hearth must have been extinguished by the wrath he’s rained on Camp Half-Blood by now. The perfect storm.

“Not when it comes to you. Mortals never fail to surprise me. But it seems you’re a special case, my sweet. He’s made a home of you.”

To love Luke feels like having to keep a secret and never being able to tell anyone, but Hestia reaches for your hands across the table and looks at you knowingly.

“When I gave up my seat on Olympus for your father it wasn’t a sign of weakness, even if I did it so that others could be happy. I think your soul is a lot like mine in that you’ve given up so much of what you want to protect others. In turn, he’s doing the best he can to protect you; I listen to him every day, sweet girl. You are not weak for loving him still. There are generations of strength in your bones.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I search for him in everyone I meet and I’m not sure I’ll ever find that type of love again.”

These are thoughts you’d never told anyone—not Annabeth, not your father, not even yourself and surely never aloud.

“I hope you never do,” the goddess says, and you know it too.

i. no winter lasts forever (a night out after a drive home from virginia)

Flick. Flick.

“Come on, Hestia. Not you too. Don’t fail me now,” you mumble. The frigid metal of your zippo lighter rubs against your thumbs as you cup it in your hands, shielding the tiny flame that fights the harsh winter wind. Trying to focus as you lean against the brick of the Inferno, you take a deep inhale of smoke to warm your bones. Healing was never supposed to be easy.

Breathe in.

It’s somewhat of a routine you’ve made since getting back from visiting Annie. You’re a regular at this pub now—not even acclimated to the ins and outs of your sleepy college town, and though you don’t know the name of the hall your classes are in, you do know there’s a barstool in the corner of the Inferno with your name on it. There’s something funny about using your father’s gift as a form of fake id, and you wonder if he knows how heavily you indulge in your vices. Five vodka redbulls down the hatch have your knees feeling weak under the alley light until a stranger looms over you like a shadow.

“Those things are gonna kill you one day.”

Breathe out.

“Gods willing,” you laugh, stumbling over your boots and Luke catches you like he was never meant to let you go in the first place. The leather of his jacket is musky and his hair is buzzed. 

Either you were wasted or uncaring of who he was (both), you toss him your car keys and climb into the passenger seat. It’s a silent ride to your apartment besides you giving him the directions and Luke wonders how bad he must have hurt you for you to lay out for a stranger and waste away like this. But he’s the farthest thing from a stranger, even in this error in time and you’re still the daughter of the god of wine so after the third time you try to put your key in the lock he helps you because he hopes you’ll let him in.

“Y’know Annie would get a kick out of your haircut. Come inside.”

You’ve always been able to see right through him.

He’s standing in the hallway with his hand around your waist and he’s already broken too many of the titan’s orders by being here, so he scoffs, “You’re not gonna remember this by morning.” But you leave the door open anyway, dragging him by the wrist and your hand still feels the same in his even after all this time. What more is there to resist when there’s not much left of him to lose? 

This is the last time, he reminds Kronos, and there are monstrous hands around his brain, but yours are still gently holding his heart. The little part of his soul that hasn’t been eaten away holds on for a bit longer, tethered to your being by the way your hands are tied.

“I can, if you want me to.” 

He looks ready for war, and he is— yet you have him following you around the tiny living room almost in a trace as your arms loop around his neck. Luke doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if you’d want to see him sober, especially when his absence is still fresh for you.

“Baby you look different from the last time we met,” you slur, stepping onto his feet as he takes you for a spin around the coffee table, dancing in the quiet. He’s older than you’ve ever seen him, voice deeper and colder. This is not the boy that ran from you in the forest many months ago. This is a man who’s seen horrors you haven’t lived through yet. You can deduce that he’s the cause of them too.

“So do you. Though still as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers like he’ll get struck for saying it. Your eyes are unfocused as he inspects your face, still soft and young with hope. The titan grips his features now, almost burning through his sense of self—though it’s not tangible he wonders if you could see it.

“I see you all the time. I just… usually have to drink enough to make it feel real. I just miss you.”

He looks pained at your words, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard you. Luke pushes you towards your room, an aura of darkness spreading through him like fire but he relents, pushing past the flames. He’s on borrowed time now, but Luke would gladly waste those minutes tucking you into bed.

Lifting your arms up, he pulls an old shirt of his over your shoulders, and his eyes catch onto the fact that you’re still wearing the dragon scale necklace he made you. Luke digs through your medicine cabinet while you sloppily wash your face and his calloused hands rub serums and moisturizer into your cheeks like how you taught him once upon a time. These are the things he won’t forget. Kronos can take it all away, as long as he gets to keep you. You lean against his chest and shut your eyes, scared that if you open them again he won’t be there.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Are you mine?”

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says with no hesitation, “Four years later, and there is still not one living thing worth losing you,” he says, lips chasing after your fingertips as you trace his jaw. Your eyes flutter in exhaustion, and Luke’s eyes survey your room and he finds traces of you that he’s missed as he rubs your back lovingly like he has all the time in the world.

Your hands cup his face, making him look at you, and he surrenders himself to you as you pull him into a kiss. He’s a ticking time bomb about to detonate in your arms. The warnings that Kronos is beating into his head is nothing compared to the pain of knowing he won’t be with you for much longer. And he kisses you like he could save you from his blaze by doing so, lips and tongue and shattered breath saying I’m here, and this is real. Maybe your worst vice is not being able to wean yourself off the taste of him.

“Tell me what I need to hear. Even if it’s not true…Even if you’re not real,” you say between gasps, and your position on his lap makes him wonder why he’d ever give the world up and burn it down when it’s sitting right here and staring at him with violet eyes.

“It’s always going to be you and me. I’ll love you until the end of my days and then some.”

You laugh in the way that drives him crazy—though he already is, for loving you still. Luke lost all sense of himself when he left camp four years ago. All that remains is you, pushing him so that his back hits the bedspread. He lets you consume what’s left of him, and he’s on fire.

You wake up the next morning with a jolt. It’s still winter, and you’re still alone but despite the chill, you feel warm.

ii. autumn years (with a familiar visitor who finally shows up on time)

Knock, knock.

There’s someone at the door, but your date isn’t supposed to be here for another 10 minutes.

“Babe, someone’s here for you!” your roommate Jo calls out, and you tell her it’s fine to let them in.

The pantyhose clings to the lotion on your thighs and you fix the bracelet on your wrist, stepping out from the bathroom hollering, “You’re early, Kit! Don’t tell me you’re skipping to the good part; I’m a lady i–”

“Who’s Kit?”

Luke’s standing in the doorway of your bedroom and his eyes flit to the reflection of your naked back peeking through the undone zipper of your dress. You look stunning, lips painted red and eyes smoky, but you’re also furious. Too bad he’s always thought you looked extra hot when you’re mad.

“None of your business. As you can see, I don’t exactly have the time for this, Castellan.”

He shrugs, closing the door behind him gently and with the raise of his brow, Luke is leering at you like a teenage boy. Respectfully, of course. The glint of celestial bronze against his hip reminds you who he’s become though.

“I’ll make the time if you say the words, Trouble.”

Sighing, you step forward, but then he does that thing again from the last time you saw him out on sea, twisting the crick in his neck like he has to resist your touch.

“You’re still funny. Some old habits die hard I guess,” you scoff, turning and lifting your hair out of the way so that he can zip you up. He opts to not touch you, sliding the dress closed until it fits against your body. You think you can feel his fingers ghost above your skin, and goosebumps rise where he leaves and his breath is warm on the back of your neck.

“Leave your weapons at the door. I run a tight ship, unlike you.” 

Gliding away from him while his hands are still in the air, you turn and sit at the edge of your bed, crossing your legs as you nod at him. Luke picks up the pair of heels next to where he sets the sword against the wall, and like it’s nothing out of the sort, he gets on his knees. You offer a foot to him while he speaks, “I could tell by the taser on your bedside table. You’ve killed monsters before, why a taser?”

There’s freckles on his tanned cheeks and he smells like the sun. You wonder what he’s done to come see you tonight.

“I’ve found out that not all monsters are mythical. When…are you?”

His eyes dart away from yours, securing the buckles on your ankles, and his touch sears through the mesh of your pantyhose.

“A few months ahead.”

There’s an eyelash on his nose, and your finger reaches out to touch it, but he flinches away. Face pulling into a frown, you spit, “You never slow down enough to let me catch up with you, huh?”

You can hear the microwave whirring in the kitchen, your roommate none the wiser of the sound of two hearts breaking. The both of you suddenly realize this is the first time you two have been alone (and the same age) since he left camp. There’s a silent question of if it will ever happen again as he gets up from the floor.

“So you’re seeing other people. Must’ve been easy, h—”

You punch him in the face before he finishes speaking, and all he can do is laugh. You would never let him off so easily.

“Fuck you. What, you think you can just hop in here and act like everything’s okay? What do you want, Castellan? For me to grovel at your feet and beg for you to fix what you broke?”

And you’re right, he supposes. This is the closest to peace that you’ll get in this life you’ve created without him. He won’t be able to take you on nice dinner dates like Kit can, or hold your hand without feeling like fate is going to smite him for existing. You scoff at the lack of his response.

“What happens next?”

Luke watches you chew on your lip, and even if he shouldn’t touch you in fear that you’ll will away his reason for defecting, by the gods does he want to.

“What do you mean?” he mutters. The cord of his necklace is tucked into your dress now that he looks closer.

“If I’m right,” you say (and it’s rare that you’re not), “each version of you that comes to see me knows less, and each time I see you I learn more. You were 23 last time. Why didn’t you see me at 22?” You know he won’t have an answer, but this is the only time you’ll be able to ask the real him. The one that’s yours, just a few steps ahead.

“There’s already been a lot that’s happened since I last saw you.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” you offer him, like he hasn’t already. He can feel the bruise blooming on his cheekbone and he grimaces with what he’s about to say.

“Never intentionally. I’ll try not to.”

It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth and you feel stupid with how empty you feel just watching him. He’s made a home of you, choosing moments in time to visit, but when he inevitably leaves, then what? Luke taught you how to be a home, forgetting you exist until it’s convenient and now there are things about yourself that you can’t unlearn yet don’t know what to do with.

Your roommate knocks on your door asking if you want a shot of vodka before your date starts, and Luke is already walking towards it since he’s overstayed his welcome. He raises his sword to open a portal but you shake your head.

“Go out the way you came,” you swallow, fiddling with the copper pendant around your neck, “and take the purple umbrella in the hall. It’s raining outside.”

When you walk into the kitchen moments later, the front door shuts gently and Jo’s sitting at the table with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

“Is he warming up the car? Your date’s hot as fuck, babe,” she grins, steam coating her glasses.

Knock, knock.

Your phone buzzes and there’s another knock at the door. Kit is 15 minutes late.

iii. auld lang syne (ringing in the new year with an old friend, or more)

Your apartment is filled with friends and acquaintances, but who the fuck cares anyway? There’s 10 minutes to midnight and you’re crossed out of your mind. Holding onto a half-empty bottle of prosecco, your heels clomp over to the window in the living room as you crawl onto the fire escape. 

Clack, clack.

The air is chilly as you hug yourself, and you hear someone step out onto the stairs behind you. 

“What are you doing out here alone?”

You sigh, not even turning to look at him, “What are you doing here, period?”

He takes the bottle of prosecco out of your hands, making you swivel your head to look at him as he takes a big gulp. He’s younger again, and it makes you laugh at how fucked up your luck must be to never be able to see him when you want. It’s always been on Luke’s terms.

“You’re too young to be drinking that,” you drawl, knees bumping against his when he takes a seat next to you. Long Island is quiet at night, and the lack of city lights is nice when you can see the stars so clearly. Music blares through your JBL speaker in the living room, and the sound of cheers gets louder when The Neighborhood starts playing.

“We used to do worse,” he laughs, but something in it sounds hollow. The breeze picks up and you shiver, taking the bottle back from him and swigging it.

“All these visits…you sure do know how to make a girl feel special. But you never come in the summer.” 

He clears his throat, before leaning back on his elbows, “ I haven’t gone a summer without you since we were 14.” This Luke doesn’t know what’s ahead of him yet, but you realize that he’s right. Even now, he keeps up the habit of pissing you off and raising hell on Camp Half-Blood every summer. You notice he’s not wearing his camp beads, and he notices you shiver again in the chill. 

Clack, clack.

Your heels rattle the metal of the fire escape as you readjust your position. He takes off his jacket to sling it around your shoulders and neither of you realize you’ve missed the countdown until fireworks burst in the sky above you. The red and blue reflect off the planes of his face, but what stands out to you is the orange of his shirt, and you comprehend now where he just came from.

“I had to see you. I didn’t get to say goodbye when I left,” he says, and you take another sip before handing him the bottle to finish off. The only new years’ kiss you’re getting is through the lips that hold the last remaining drops of prosecco. 

You nod, remembering it all too well as you both watch the fireworks in silence. He wasn’t able to watch them properly the last time he was with you, Annie, and Percy just a few hours prior.

iv. spring cleaning (only big days are ahead for the both of you) 

It’s quiet in your college apartment this morning. 

The moving boxes are half-packed and stacked against the wall of the entryway and the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the French press on your kitchen counter permeates the air. Perhaps the idea of caffeine is the last thing on your mind, hands twitching as they smooth over the black polyester of your graduation regalia. There’s a few hours still before the ceremony, but you’ve never liked being unprepared. Pollux is driving your dad down the Island because despite the war you’ll inevitably be fighting in once you cross the stage and get your degree, D specifically told Zeus that he’d wage another if he was made to miss your big day.

Parting your hair to fit under the ugly graduation cap, the tassel swings in front of your face as you grab a few bobby pins from the side table. A golden medallion of Castor’s smiling face almost whips into your cornea and you stifle a laugh. D said in his Iris message last night that all three of them would cheer so loud you’d be able to hear it from Elysium (and honestly, jokes aside—he probably has a way of making that happen). A staggered breath leaves your lungs, and you’re filled with anticipation, though you’re not sure what for. 

Time is a thief and you know that too well by now. After all, you’ve spent the past four years running from the truth of your heritage—dodging monsters between study sessions and grief welcoming you every time you come home. Four years later, and who are you trying to fool? While walking across that stage later you might as well take a bow. After all, your ex-boyfriend is the reason why there’s going to be a war of both blood and ichor, mortal and undying and still, you find yourself in the middle of it. You’ve found yourself fielding questions this last semester like dodging celestial bronze, the questions always a little too close to home and the answers you give are too entertaining to be considered the truth.

So, what are your future plans? 

Oh no big deal, just going home and dealing with generations-old family drama. If it drives me crazy enough I might enlist! 

Gods. 

How do you even articulate that these past few years were those future plans? That you didn’t expect to be alive this long, much less have the comfort of feeling secure enough to dream… It’s been years since you’ve had a good dream to work towards with a boy you once knew holding your hand through it all. But the expensive piece of paper you’ll be receiving later feels fake somehow. 

Who does that belong to? Surely not you…surely, someone who dreams without bearing the weight that comes with it. Someone who doesn’t have to look over their shoulder everytime they walk to work in the mornings, who can convince children that monsters aren’t real without having to lie. Psychology was a great field to learn from the mortal side of things—to know the reasons why brain chemistry affects us so deeply instead of just willing it away with the touch of your fingers. You like making people feel better. But who can ever do that for you?

A gust of wind sweeps through your room, the multicolored tassels hanging off your neck swaying from the force and you shut your eyes knowing he’s there again. Citrus and musk, and something that’s just him. He knocks over your hamper, cussing under his breath until his eyes follow your motionless figure in front of the mirror.

“Shit. I can explain, um… I thought you’d still be asleep,” Luke sputters, his converse falling into your laundry pile like quicksand. He bends over, stuffing your pajamas and sweatshirts back into the bin with fidgety hands as his eyes take a quick scan of your room. There are no pictures of you and him on the bedside table. For a moment, he wonders what that means but then his cheeks redden when he picks up a pair of your lacy underwear. He shoves that down too.

“Big day today. You know I can’t sleep when I know something is about to happen,” you smile wistfully, and you keep your eyes shut for longer, because like this, it’s almost like he’s actually there in real time. In a world where things went your way, this would be his apartment too, and his clothes would be scattered around your shared bedroom like how they used to back in cabin 12. You always used to put them on The Chair, as he would call it—but Luke’s known to make a mess of your life regardless of your efforts.

“When isn’t there? Something’s always going on when you’re around, Trouble.”

Click. Scattered memories flicker in your head like images through a view-finder, spinning through your vision as you hear the sound of his laughter, gently tapping away at your heart again. Click. In the ones you pre-selected, he’s draped in sunlight, honey eyes sweet and kind, and his kisses are perpetual instead of an indulgence. Click. He’s always wearing faded orange, worn-out, but most of all well-loved. Click.

You open your eyes and they meet his own in the mirror. Time stops for once, letting you catch your breath.

Right now, he looks just as you like to remember him, as you knew him four years ago. Multicolored camp beads are resting easily against his broad neck instead of weighing him down, and he’s wearing the red converse his dad gave him. He’s too young, and so in love with you that it blinds him, but even then…now, he knows the look on your face and it makes him ask, “It’s not my first time visiting you is it?”

“You’re usually more discreet, the door right behind me wouldn’t have been your first option. But you’ve never failed to surprise me before. Tell me about your day, Luke.”

A hesitant smile crosses his face as he sheathes Backbiter against his hip, adjusting under the weight like he’s not used to it yet, and then he speaks, “We ate strawberries in the fields today, straight off the vine, but I argued that the ones you conjure will always taste sweeter to me. You smushed one against my face and I carried you home. You?”

You nod, turning around to face a ghost of your past, and the both of you meet in the middle only a hairs distance away as you admire each other.

“I graduate today. Annabeth’s driving up with her boyfriend and the rest of my family is coming to celebrate.”

He doesn’t know of Percy yet, of Chris’ insanity, of your brother’s death, and the immense hurt he’s caused everyone. The smile that lights up his face makes you realize he thinks he's still a part of this—with you. And you miss him—even when he’s right here, fuck, you miss all the versions of him that have come to visit, even the ones you don’t know of yet. Tears brim your waterline as you take a deep breath; the last thing you want to do is scare him away.

“This was his promise to me. By showing me something I was sure of—and I always knew you’d graduate and make it big. Wanted to see it for myself, baby,” he grins, tangling his fingers with yours like your strings of fate, and though you know the answer to your next question you still take a chance, just in case.

“If I tell you what’s happened since…you. Would it be too late to change your mind?”

“Trouble, do you want me to? Kronos’ plan is already set in motion. I think…” he swallows, and your vision blurs without your permission as tears start to fall. Through the film over your violet eyes, Luke frowns and pulls your fingertips to his lips, kissing each one. He hasn’t done that in years.

“Did I make a mistake? Do I lose you, in the end?”

“Angelface…” you sniff, leaning your cheek against his hand, “You were so scared of losing me that you didn't even stop to think of what losing you would do to me. I lost you so long ago, Luke. And you’re not mine anymore. I don't think you have been in a long time.” In these heels, your forehead is closer to his lips so he kisses that too, hoping that somehow this time he can will away your pain instead of his. He doesn’t know what to do but hold you until you say something again.

“I’ll tell you something you need to hear. And no matter what you say or think, babe—it’s the truth. Even without all the glory in the world I would still be yours. I still am, even if I can’t bear it.”

Though he’s holding you, it somehow feels like the opposite—a purer version of him in your embrace while he holds the broken pieces of you together with his golden touch. Right now, you look into honey instead of gold. The both of you look at each other in the mirror melded together like kintsugi, something good still shining through the cracks of you two together like this.

The sound of keys jangling in the lock of the front door lifts you from his embrace, and with one look you both know its time for him to go; Luke’s brows furrow as he mutters, “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this, and we’ll be together. I promise.” You nod anyway, hoping at least one of you believe it.

“Go home, Luke. She…I still need you. I’m always gonna.”

He’s already got Backbiter in hand and one foot through time when he looks back at you. Your voice sounds a lot like how it does when you tell him you love him. Luke wonders how long it’s been since you did. Your bedroom door opens with a bang and some laughter.

“Hey troublemaker, you left the dryer on! All your clothes are gonna shrink,” Jo grins, peeking her head through the doorway of your room and she’s looking at you in your graduation gown standing there alone.

“Were you on the phone? Who were you talking to?”

It’s quiet in the apartment again. Your fingernails make indents in your palms, bunching up into fists before you let go. A sad smile crosses your face as you let the settling wind kiss your cheeks, before reality kicks in and everything settles back to how it was before. 

“Just someone I used to know.”

—

“And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.” -Richard Siken

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?)

1/2 luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko@bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r@visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

[attractthecrows]

oh my god. wait. no. first i need to draw him carving her vallaslin

well the nice thing about da4 being 12 years after dai is that now im entirely justified in drawing a grownup nessie fussing over her one-armed former inquisitor father refusing to do things like "be careful" or "rest for once in his goddamn life"

[tuttle-4077]

Find the Word!

Find the words from the list in your WIPs and post the paragraph they belong to.

Thanks for the tag @benevolenterrancy. I've been working hard to clean out my WIPs, but I still have a few kicking around. I don't know how many words I'm going to find, but I'll see what's up.

Accident

“Now, you might remember that, after we rescued Miss Newkirk, we unsealed a new set of codes and couriered them to Papa Bear for immediate use,” Campbell continued. The other men nodded. “Gentlemen, those codes were found in the possession of the men we just arrested.”

There was a stunned silence. “But how?” O’Malley demanded. “It’s only been four days!” His face hardened. “Who had access to those codes?”

“The men in this room,” Sinclair answered. “And, of course, the couriers, I suppose.”

“And where are they?”

“We have them in interrogation now,” Campbell informed him. “But, so far, they seem legitimate.”

“Anyone else?” O’Malley asked.

Sinclair shook his head. “Not to my knowledge, sir. The codes were sealed and under lock and key. And Major Campbell and I drafted them in private.” It had been a brilliant code if he did say so himself. It was a shame that it was now compromised.

“Well Jerry didn’t get them by accident,” O’Malley said.

“We’re questioning the German agents,” Campbell reported. “But they, ah, will require more persuasive techniques.”

--From the as of yet untitled sequel to Papa Bear's List

Okay, that's more than a paragraph, but dialogue is funny that way.

Hope

“Perfectly,” he said stiffly while mentally cursing. He hoped she didn’t notice the tremble in his hand even while he ordered it to stop. “I really ought to be asking you that,” he continued. “How are you holding up, Miss Newkirk?”

--Another snippet from the PBL sequel

Touch

Carter gingerly touched his knee and gagged from the pain. He sucked in several quick breaths and looked down. He couldn’t see much in the darkness, but he could feel blood covering his hand and soaking his pant leg. The fact that he wasn’t dead yet and that the blood wasn’t squirting out of him meant the bullet hadn’t hit an artery, but Carter had to stem the flow of blood anyway. Awkwardly, he shucked off his shirt, wincing a little as he pulled his hand through the sleeve. He had had to break his thumb to free himself from the cuffs. All for nothing, he reminded himself sourly. And now his chances of escape were altogether abysmal even with the fact that Hochstetter hadn't bothered to cuff his hands again. 

--From Hochstetter's Revenge. This bit is technically not a WIP since it's posted, but the story itself is a WIP

Sweet

"How sweet,” Hochstetter said. “You must be a proud father. I’d hate for anything to happen to your children. So young.” He turned a dangerous eye to Carter. “On the couch, Sergeant," he ordered. Carter slowly backed up until he was seated. Hochstetter stayed near the entrance and surveyed the room.

--Another (posted) snippet from Hochstetter's Revenge

Yell Anger (no yell in my WIPs, so I used a word from a previous post)

Once he got over being mad at himself, he turned his anger towards London. They must have known the old mines were there—someone had told Hogan before he arrived—and they didn’t do anything about it. They could have started up the operation long before. Surely there was a British officer who was just as capable as Hogan. Why did they have to wait for him, of all people? There were times that Newkirk fancied that he could have been the leader. He was undoubtedly cunning enough to pull it off. One didn’t grow up on the streets of London without learning a trick or two. 

--From As the Romans Do, a sequel to Distant Sun

Ummmm. Okay. I don't know who's who on tumblr but let's see. @belphegor1982 and @yeaaaaaa-faebee and @frau-wilhelm-klink do you want to play? Do have WIPs?

Okay, here are some words: sigh, hint, heart, toast, operation

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Unlikely Places - Chapter 25 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Chapter: 25 - Suffocating Protectiveness

Pierce looked very serious and a little uncomfortable.

I couldn't fathom for the life of me what he was about to say.

"What I am about to tell you, I need you to keep between you and me. It's not common knowledge and though it technically wouldn't hurt me if it got out, it could bring pain to my father and I don't want that, okay?"

"Of course," I agreed without hesitation.

Pierce nodded back but didn't begin speaking immediately.

His eyes darted around the room then back to me.

He shifted in his seat a few times and he coughed into his hand before he finally leaned forward and perched on the edge of his chair, his legs splayed out and his forearms resting on his thighs.

He was tense and his movements lacked the regular fluidity that I always associated with him.

It was a rare picture of Pierce Luciano.

I felt touched that he was showing me this glimpse of himself.

He laughed a little awkwardly, his eyes moving away from mine.

"It's funny," he remarked in soft voice.

"I didn't expect this to be so tough. I'm not sure where to start."

Hearing his admission of vulnerability and seeing the difficult time he was having moved me.

My heart reached out towards him at the same time as my body moved closer.

In a second, I sat myself down next to Pierce and grabbed one of his hands that dangled between his thighs.

I clasped his hand, my fingers twining with his, and rested both of them on top of his warm thigh.

"Take your time," I encouraged, while I hoped my tangled hand with his offered the comfort I so wanted to give.

I knew how difficult talking could be.

Sharing wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

The end result was of course, but not necessarily the process.

It could be difficult and scary.

Talking about painful things even more so.

I knew I would sit here patiently as long as he needed me to.

Pierce looked at our clasped hands then down into my face.

His beautiful half-smile tugged at my heart even more than it usually did.

He seemed thankful for my support and show of comfort.

As I looked down at our hands, I marveled for a second at how natural my actions had been. I who avoided touch at every cost, had instinctively rushed to hold his hand without a second thought.

It was a very un-Jackson-like thing to do but for Pierce it was the only thing I could do.

"You hate the bodyguards, don't you?"

Astonished at the turn in conversation I looked up at him.

I couldn't say I was that surprised by his observation, though.

I had been pretty transparent tonight in my discomfort.

"I do but..."

Pierce held his hand up.

"Sorry, I'm trying to find a starting point so bear with me."

I nodded at him and clamped my mouth shut, giving him a small smile of understanding.

Pierce squeezed my hand in thanks.

"I could tell they make you uncomfortable and I am really sorry about that. I know it can make me look pretentious but that's not why I have them. If it were my choice, I wouldn't have them at all. I even tried once not to but that..." Pierce sighed and a deep frown marred his brow.

He shook his head and smiled at me, a tense minimal curve of his lips.

He placed his free hand over our clasped ones and lightly patted them.

From the distant look in his eyes I didn't know if he was even aware of his movements.

I waited patiently for him to return to the present again.

He appeared trapped in a past that wasn't pleasant.

Whatever memory locked inside him wasn't pleasant, that much was obvious and I knew it wouldn't be easy for him to convey.

"I guess it would be best if I just started from the beginning," Pierce finally said softly.

"It will make more sense to you I think."

"Okay," I encouraged.

"Okay," Pierce accepted with a shaky breath.

"When I was younger, I was... taken," he confessed, hesitating over his choice of words before sitting up straighter, looking as if he felt stronger for having started talking about what must have been an extremely difficult time in his life.

He started talking again.

"In truth the correct word would be kidnapped."

I felt extremely shocked by what he was saying but I remained as still as I possibly could and controlled all my facial muscles to not reflect my horrified thoughts. I didn't want to shift his thoughts to me and interrupt the flow of words that rushed from his mouth.

"I barely remember the incident. It was done by someone my father knew."

He laughed then but it wasn't a happy sound.

It sounded bitter and unforgiving.

I could only imagine the sense of betrayal his family must have felt at the actions of someone they had trusted.

"From what I remember and what I was told, I was treated well."

He looked down at me then and explained.

"It wasn't a typical kidnapping like you see on television, I wasn't hurt or... abused in any way. There was no trauma during the ordeal. At least not to me but it affected my father strongly. He has never gotten over it and his answer to making sure it never happened again was bodyguards."

He really didn't need to say more after that.

Him having gone through such an experience I could only wonder why he didn't bring more along than he did.

I felt like an idiot by being bothered by them and even more of one for putting him through this tonight.

He didn't owe me this explanation.

"Pierce, I'm sorry..." I urgently tried to say but he cut across me and smiled, his real smile this time.

Seeing it reassured me.

"Not at all, Jackson. There is nothing to be sorry about. You were uncomfortable all night because of them. I could see the wheels in your mind spinning half the night. I wanted you to understand their presence and why I can't change it for you."

"Of course, you can't," I exclaimed.

"You need them and I get that."

"My father needs them more," Pierce responded.

[goldaegontargaryen]

It had not truly occurred to Aegon that his mother was getting older.  In a way, a part of him always remembered her as the girl she’d been when he was a child.  The years had passed and his father had aged in his eyes, but his mother seemed to remain eternally youthful.  But she had aged, of course.  Aegon could see it even now in the tired set of her eyes and the pursed lines of her mouth.  It scared him more than he would like to admit.  His father was days from dying and he felt nothing, but the mere mental acknowledgement that his mother was not as young as she had once been terrified him.  He could stand to lose a father, but not his mother.  Still, being older did not mean she was ancient by any means and his words were mostly true.  She was young enough that his worries were mostly unfounded.  “Yes, especially now that all of mine are getting older.  Things are easier when they’re young. It's easier to keep them close."  There were fears associated with the younger stage as well, particularly in that first year where survival was at its most precarious, but those fears were not as complicated as the ones that came when children were older and starting to step slowly into the adult world.  There were so many cruel things Aegon wanted to protect his children from, but he knew he couldn’t stand right by their side forever.  

His musings were interrupted by his mother’s words and he could only stare.  It was the sort of compliment he never would have expected to hear from his mother.  Helaena had told him on multiple occasions that he was a good father, but he had a hard time believing her.  He didn’t think she was lying, but she saw the best in everyone, including him.  His mother wasn’t in the habit of lying to him about his faults so if the words had escaped her, she must have meant them.  “Thank you mother.  That means more than you could possibly know.” Aegon took another sip of his wine, glancing away from her. "I know you are not proud of me about much."

Aegon felt confused at his mother's question. “I couldn’t live here even if I wanted to.  Dragonstone is my seat now,” He was not known for his responsibility, but leaving Dragonstone would not only be an embarrassment, but would also be perceived as a slight against Rhaenyra.  Things would already be precarious enough after the coronation without Aegon seeming to have thrown his sister’s gift back in her face. “There’s no place for me here now.  Don’t worry.  Once Rhaenyra is crowned, I am sure Helaena and I will visit more.  We’ll need to provide a united front as a family for the time immediately following her ascension to the throne.”  

Reluctantly, Aegon was forced to take his mother’s words at face value.  He didn’t believe her though.  He couldn’t say why he felt that way, but there was something more on her mind than the imminent death of her husband.  Whatever it was though, she clearly didn’t want to share it with him.  “Well if that ever changes, you can always come to me.  We’ve had our differences, but you are still my mother and there is very little I wouldn’t do for my family.”  He knew there was almost no line his mother wouldn’t cross for him and his siblings’ safety and he wanted to extend the same knowledge in return.  Perhaps she simply feared her position once Rhaenyra became Queen.  The two women had been feuding for as long as he could remember and though he thought it had calmed in recent years, he doubted it made her feel secure to have a former enemy become the most important and powerful figure in the country.

The Prince and the Hightower Queen: with @alicenthightowerrp

The only way Aegon could stand to meet his mother was with a drink in his hand.  It was an action that was sure to at least give him a slight glare of disapproval, but the heft of the goblet in his hand and the slight numbness the wine provided would allow him to better endure their upcoming conversation.  It wasn’t that Aegon was dreading seeing his mother, not exactly.  He was worried for her and wanted to ensure she was doing well, but no matter how old he became, he still feared the look of disapproval that she always seemed to hold in her eyes when she looked at him.  But despite that, Aegon had missed her while he was on Dragonstone.  Their relationship wasn’t as close as the one she had with Helaena, but Aegon had no doubt that his mother loved him fiercely.  He often got the impression that he wasn’t the kind of first son she would have wanted, but she still held a sense of love and loyalty to him that Aegon appreciated.  

Aegon had called for his mother to meet him in one of the small rooms off the castle Sept, hoping that the location would show a gesture of good will.  If his mother asked, Aegon was even willing to pray with her.  He didn’t believe in the Seven, but it was easy to kneel beside his mother in silence while she prayed.  She probably knew he was simply going through the motions of faith, but he hoped that it was the thought in the gesture that counted.  Drinking in the Sept was slightly frowned upon, but it wasn’t expressly forbidden.  Even if it had been forbidden, Aegon would have brought the wine anyway.  Talking to his mother about his father was never pleasant, and he had no idea how the King’s death would be affecting her.  He wasn’t sure she would care much about losing a husband, but losing her king was another matter entirely.  Rhaenyra would ascend the throne and his mother would be alone in the castle she had called home for years.  Aegon didn’t want that for her, no matter how complicated their relationship with each other was.  

Aegon heard the door creak open and he turned his head, smiling genuinely as he saw his mother walk in.  He’d seen glimpses of her in passing, but this was the first time they would be able to talk in depth.  He strode forward and gave his mother a short hug before stepping back.  Aegon had always been physically affectionate to those he loved, though as he had gotten older and his relationship with his mother more strained, he found himself at a loss for how to give her more than the barest of touches.  “It’s good to see you mother.  I’ve missed you.  Would you want something to drink?” Aegon inclined his head to the jug of wine sitting on the table in the corner of the room.  “I hope you’re doing well.  I imagine everyone arriving hasn’t made the stress any easier to bear.”

[im-constantly-fangirling-backup]

Here Comes the Cavalry

REPOST BECAUSE TUMBLR HATES ME

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Swear words

Word Count: ~2.3k

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting this, anon! I had a really fun time writing this and I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Charlie's 10th birthday finds itself the center of a showdown between Thomas and his ex-wife over the new woman in his life.

[Masterlist] [Taglist Form] [Join my 200 followers celebration!]

Being a friend of the Shelby's- didn’t matter how close or distant- was like walking around with a target on your back. But you didn’t mind. As much violence and chaos that the family attracts, and as much as they try to have power over each other, there was a mutual love and respect between every Shelby that you hadn’t seen anywhere else. For example, when Polly found out Tommy had hidden crucial information, she was pissed; but also proud. It was a bit concerning, if you were going to be honest. Even Grace was kept in the loop after the divorce. Once a Shelby, always a Shelby, you supposed. Grace wasn’t involved in the family business at all, but she and the family met occasionally. Although, as time passed on, it was mostly so Charlie could spend time with his father. Grace was now remarried and her visits were far and in between. She drifted apart from all the Shelbys- not that they minded, as her betrayal was still in their minds all those years later. Thomas started to move on from her as well, now very much used to Grace not being a part of his day-to-day life. Today was the day that Grace and Charlie were making a rare visit to the Arrow House for his 10th birthday. Thomas postponed all of his meetings for the entire week to make time for his son, an action that made you smile when you heard Tom tell his clients of his absence. And they call him heartless, you had laughed to yourself. “Ada! How are you doing!” you said, hugging your best friend before walking into the Arrow House. You took off your coat and hung it on the hook next to the door. “Oh I’m doing great sweetheart,” she said. “Auntie Y/NNNNNN!” you heard a little boy’s voice yell from the stairs. The pitter-patter of their feet running across the wooden floor echoed through the large room and made you chuckle. “Hello, Karl!” you kneeled on your knees and opened your arms for Karl, who ran into them and almost made you topple over. “Someone’s excited to see me!” You squeezed him lightly, resting your cheek on his head. You pulled away from him and reached into your purse, grabbing a chocolate bar that you had bought for Karl. “I got you something!” Karl smiled, his cute crooked teeth on display. “Thank you!” He grabbed the bar from your hand and started unwrapping it, running away from you and towards the living room. “Uncle Arthur, look what Auntie Y/N gave me!” he yelled. “What did I say about the chocolate?” Ada chided you. You laughed. “I couldn’t help it Ada,” you defended yourself. “He’s too adorable to not spoil.” In the background, you heard Karl laugh loudly. “You can’t have any Uncle Arthur, it’s for me!” You chuckled and shook your head, looking down at the floor in mock exasperation. The Arrow House would be nothing without the echoes of Karl’s screams bouncing around the walls from time to time. Even Thomas seemed to brighten up a bit more whenever Karl and Ada visited. You supposed it was because his nephew reminded him of his own son that he barely got to see. At the thought of Charlie, you looked up to Ada. “When are Charlie and Grace showing up?” Ada shrugged. “They should be here in a couple of minutes. Why don’t we head to the living room? Tommy bought a shit ton of food for Charlie so we might be able to steal a bit.” _______________________________________________________________________________________ You and Ada made your way into the living room and smiled at the exquisite birthday decorations. There were balloons of every color bunched up every couple of feet around the room, a large birthday banner hanging proud and true on the wall across from the fireplace. “Hello, Y/N. Ada,” Tom said from where he sat on the couch, his elbows on his knees. You smiled at him. “Thomas.” Tom smirked slightly- which was a fucking bright-ass grin when it came to Thomas. “We’ve been over the ‘Thomas’ shit, Y/n/n,” he said, quirking his brow. You chuckled. “We have,” you said. “Tom. ‘S just fun to be all fucking formal.” Tom pat the spot on the couch next to him while Ada left your side, sensing that you two wanted some

time alone. You walked over to Tom and sat next to him. “You excited?” Thomas nodded, his blue eyes brightening slightly. “I hardly get to see Charles anymore. You bet your ass I’m spoiling me boy when he’s here,” he joked. You laughed. “I’m sure Charlie’s going to like all of this,” you gestured to the decorations around you. “Oh! Before I forget! Where should I put this?” You reached into your purse and pulled out a folded mancala board that Charlie had begged you for the last time he visited. Thomas smiled and took the board from you, leaning down and sliding it under the couch. “We’re going to open presents after cake, so just remember to pick it back up.” From there, you and Thomas began to talk about the family business. Unlike with Grace, Thomas found himself consulting you on many decisions that he made. You weren’t directly involved but your advice was greatly appreciated by the family. Especially since Thomas wanted to get into politics- a field that you knew well because your father ran for MP multiple times before his death- your advice on what not to do gave him valuable insight on how to maintain a favorable public image. “I know your past is something that can’t be erased,” you said in response to Tom’s concerns about the subject. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t be hidden. Or at least left ambiguous enough that people can’t ask the right questions. You keep the public from asking the right questions, and you make sure they can never find the answers.” “It’s a bit unnerving that you know this,” Tom noted, a smirk on his face. In truth, he was impressed. Your knowledge of politics was quite extensive considering your father tried to keep you away from it for most of your life. But you knew how to eavesdrop and read gossip, and so you gained a wealth of knowledge about politics. You laughed. “You’re acting like you don’t already know this.” Thomas took a drag of his cigarette and chuckled. “You got me there.” Your conversation was interrupted by the distinct shrill of the doorbell. Tom perked up and smiled. “Charles is here!” He practically jumped up from his seat on the couch and made his way to the hall. You followed him to the hall, beckoning Karl, Ada, and Arthur- who had been quietly eating food in the corner, thinking Tom hadn’t noticed- to come with you. You and the group walked into the hall to the sight of Thomas laughing and picking up Charlie in his arms and bouncing him up and down, making his son giggle. “Happy birthday Charlie!” you exclaimed, clapping. Arthur, Karl, Ada- and John and Polly, who had been talking in the hall after you arrived- clapped and joined in wishing Charlie a happy birthday. Charlie and Karl shared a hug that resulted in you awing. You looked at Grace and smiled. “Welcome, Grace,” you greeted her respectfully. Grace simply nodded at you and took off her coat. Turning around to put her coat on the coat hooks next to the door, she gasped lightly in shock when she saw your coat resting next to Tom’s. “Whose coat is this?” she asked casually. You apologized profusely. “It’s mine, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose. I can find a different place for it-” Thomas waved his hand nonchalantly. “Oh, no need. You’re not imposing, Y/n/n.” You blushed slightly. “Frances can take your coat, Grace. I trust you remember who she is?” He jabbed at her lightly. Grace huffed and nodded. “Alright.” The tension between Tom and Grace was palpable and made everyone make excuses to leave the room. You left as well, saying something about wanting to play around with Karl and Charlie. You knew things were bad between Thomas and Grace. So bad, in fact, that Tom had approached her with a divorce. Tom was many things, but he wasn’t the type of person to reach for a divorce. He believed that marriage lasted for life. But after Tom’s and Grace’s arguments over his ambitions and dreams started to grow from skirmishes to screaming matches littered with threats, Thomas had enough. He told you the night that he decided to divorce Grace that he didn’t want to spend his life with a woman

that didn’t support his political and business ambitions. You found yourself sympathizing with both of them. You understood Grace’s concerns about the target that would always be on her and Charlie’s back because of Thomas’s ambition. But you also understood Thomas’s argument that his ambitions were also the thing that would provide his family with more opportunities than he had. Thomas’s goals were a double-edged sword. Although, Grace had become quite cold to Thomas in retaliation for the divorce, often sending him and his family veiled insults. So you didn’t feel much remorse for her when Tom made barbed comments like the one made in the hall. You sighed while watching Karl and Charlie play. It was going to be a long party. _______________________________________________________________________________________ All of you were eating cake, you talking with Polly about some gossip that you heard when going shopping for groceries. “Apparently Brandon was just using her for her status,” you said, licking the frosting off of your fork. “But then Brandon caught Melissa sleeping with her boss-” “No fucking way!” Polly interrupted, putting her plate down and gasping. “How the hell do these things happen to people!” You laughed. “I know right! My life is boring in comparison- and I hang out with you insane idiots!” “Hey!” John said from across the table, his mouth full of cake. “We’re not that bad!” “Speak for yourself,” Ada muttered from next to her brother, cringing when John stuck his cake-covered tongue out at her. “Honestly, Y/N,” Grace’s refined voice reverberated through the dining room, “You shouldn’t be gossiping this much. It’s a boring pastime.” You quirked your brow. “I’m sorry?” “Oh it’s alright, I understand that some people have nothing better to talk about. I’m just saying, gossip signals a bland personality and I’m sure you don’t have that, hm?” Grace’s implied message was clear. You sat in silence for a moment, surprised. “No?” you said, going along with whatever Grace said. In all honesty, you didn’t care what Grace thought of you. She barely visited enough for you to give a shit. But apparently, Tom didn’t want to let it slide. “Look, Grace, it’s not a big deal to gossip, alright? You’d be a big fucking hypocrite telling Y/n/n not to gossip when pretty much everything you talked about was who was fuckin’ who-” “Thomas!” Grace chided. “What? If you’re going to walk in here and criticize how Y/n/n spends their time, you can fuck off, alright? I don’t need some posh stuck-up woman in me house. So either behave yourself and let Charlie have a good birthday,” Thomas threatened, “Or get out of me house and have fun on the streets for a week.” “You’d let your own son live on the streets for a week?” Grace asked, shocked. “My threat regards only you. Charles is me blood- you make me see blood.” Grace looked down at her plate and picked up her fork and ate her cake again. Tom took that as an agreement to get along with everyone and started eating again as well. You were just thankful that you had sent Karl and Charlie to play upstairs. But regardless of the tense situation, a smile graced your face at the immediacy that Tom defended you with. _______________________________________________________________________________________ “Hey,” you tapped Thomas’s shoulder when you both found yourselves alone in the back room. “Thank you for defending me.” Tom nodded and smiled slightly. “Of course.” “I mean it. No one really defends me so I really appreciate it. Especially since it’s Grace.” Tommy’s brows raised slightly at that comment. “What do you mean?” You shrugged, looking anywhere but at Tom. “I mean, she was the woman that made you the person you used to be before France. I understand there’s some bad blood between you two now, but she’s still special to you.” Tom hummed and walked closer to you, stopping at around 2 feet away from you. “So are you, you know. You’re special to me.” You smiled. “You’re special to me, too.” Thomas’s hand cupped your cheek lightly, his thumb stroking

back and forth. A flush made its way to your cheeks and you smiled shyly at Tom. There was always some unspoken bond between the two of you that you danced around. You were always scared that it was too early after his divorce, but with the way that he was looking at you, he probably got over it a while ago. You don’t know who leaned forward first, but one second later your mouths were connected in a feverish kiss. Tom’s hands were traveling places, touching parts of your body that you caught him eyeing from time to time. Your hands rested against his chest and reveled in the feeling of his heart thumping against his chest as erratically as yours. So you had the same effect on him as he did on you. The kiss was a good indicator of that, but it was nice to have reassurance. Tom pulled away and rested his forehead on yours. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that for months now,” Tom confessed. You smiled, pecking him on the lips. “So have I,” you replied, pulling his mouth back to yours.

[albertasunrise]

Consequences

Masterlist

Summary: When Javier left for Colombia the second time, he told no one but his father. When he returns, he realises how selfish that decision was.

Pairings: Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings: Angst.

Words: 4kish

~

Arriving back in Laredo had been as uneventful as Javier had expected it to be. He hadn’t been gone as long as last time. A little over a year had passed since he’d made the decision to go back. After spending a few months mulling over whether he wanted to return there he had packed a bag and gotten on the first flight he could catch. His father had tried to speak sense into him, tried to convince him that it was a good idea. He could see how Colombia had sucked the soul out of his only son but Javier didn't listen and he didn’t do the one thing his father asked him to do.

Tell you.

He’d made you aware from the start that it was just casual. That he wasn’t ready for commitment. The family and the white picket fence and you'd agreed to that. Your relationship was his only constant for two months. His source of release when ghosts came back to haunt him. He’d met you at his favourite watering hole, you were new to him but not new to the bar and the two of you had talked for hours that first night you’d met. He’d kept coming back then, one thing led to another and he became a regular feature in your bed. The sex was great. Incredible and despite him telling himself that it wasn't serious there was a part of him that had fallen for you but he knew you didn't feel the same. So he'd left it.

Laredo is a small town. Everyone knows everyone and Chucho knew you. When he’d learned of his son's relationship with you he’d made Javier promise he wouldn’t hurt you. It was common knowledge that your relationship history was poor. You’d been treated poorly, cheated on and left to pick up the pieces all on your own until you’d met Chucho. He had taken you under his wing, gotten you the job at the bar and helped pick up the pieces of your broken heart when your fiancé had left you. He had also been there to support you when Javier had left and he’d warned you when he had learned his son was returning.

News you’d not taken well.

…

‘Where are you going?’ Chucho asked as he watched his son make his way to the front door.

‘Going for a drink.’

‘She’s not going to be there.’ He stated and Javier glanced back at his father.

‘What?’

‘She doesn’t work at the bar anymore.’ His father elaborated as he continued to stare at the mug clasped between his two large hands.

‘What makes you think I was going to see her?’ Javier queried, cocking his hip to one side as he studied his father closely.

‘Because I know you.’ He asserted ‘You seriously think that she’ll want to see you? I asked you to tell her and you didn’t.’

‘I-.’

‘Don’t even try and lie to me pendejo.’ He snapped, finally looking up at Javier ‘She turned up at my door looking for you and I had to tell her that you were gone.’ He growled, eyes glowing in the dim evening light ‘You have no idea of the mess you left behind.’

‘What mess?’

‘It’s not my place to say. It's her business what you know.’ He answered, pushing himself up from his chair ‘You lost the right to that knowledge when you walked out on her.’

‘It was casual pops.’ He argued ‘She knew that. If she got hurt by me leaving then that's not my fault.’

‘Your actions have consequences, Javier.’ He finished ‘Remember that.’

~

The sun was blaring down as you managed to rip the last of the weeds that had invaded your flower bed. Wiping your brow with the back of your hand you dusted off your soiled hands on your worn jeans and made your way to your front door. As soon as your hand twisted the vintage doorknob you heard a voice you hoped you’d never hear again call your name and you sighed. Turning your head to see him standing there on the path, as beautiful as he was the last time he saw you.

‘How are you?’ He asked awkwardly and you rolled your eyes.

‘Peachy.’ you growled as you pushed open your front door.

‘Hermosa wait.’ He pleaded as he sprinted after you, catching the door before it slammed shut.

‘Javier I don’t want to talk to you.’ You growled, crossing your arms as you blocked his way into your home.

‘I just wanted to explain myself.’ He asserted ‘I was a jerk. I shouldn't have just left without saying goodbye.’

‘No, you shouldn't have.’ You growled as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other ‘Is that all? Only I have things to do?’

‘Can I come in?’ He asked, his brown eyes pleading and for a moment you felt yourself weaken under his sad gaze.

‘No.’ You snapped ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Well, could we perhaps meet for coffee?’ He countered ‘I just want a chance to talk.’ He continued, scrubbing a hand over his face as he adopted his signature stance ‘Dad said that I left a mess behind with you and I want to make amends.’ He confessed ‘If I can.’

‘I’ll think about it.’ You replied as you started to push the door ‘I’ll call you.’

Then you were gone. A dark green door separating the two of you. He stood there a moment, his stomach twisting in knots as he relived the interaction he’d just shared with you before he made his way back to his truck and left.

Hoping that you’d call.

You did…

~

His heart was in his throat as he sat at a table outside the cafe he knew you loved, your favourite coffee ready and waiting for you. His nerves increased when he saw you turn the corner but his emotions soon became confusing as you got closer, pram in front of you.

Why did you have a baby with you?

He didn’t have long to ponder that as you came to a stop beside the table, leaning down to check inside the pram before you took your seat opposite him.

‘Thanks for the coffee.’ You said, taking a sip and humming as the flavours assaulted your senses.

‘Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.’ He replied, giving you a genuine smile ‘Who’s baby is that?’

‘What did you want to speak to me about Javier?’ You asked, skimming over his question.

‘Oh… Well. I um… I wanted to apologise for leaving without telling you. I know I said that we were casual but you deserved better than that.’ He started, taking a sip of his coffee before he continued ‘I um… I guess I just thought it would be easier if I just left but I guess that wasn’t the case if I hurt you.’

‘Javier.’ You began, letting out a sigh as you sat back in your chair ‘I knew what we were. I’m not angry because you left. I’m angry because you ignored my calls.’

He cocked his head to the side as he waited for you to elaborate.

‘You don’t remember do you?’ You asked and snorted when he shook his head.

‘Was a few days after you arrived.’ You declared ‘I rang you telling you there was something I needed to speak to you about.’ You paused as you sipped your coffee again ‘You told me that you were busy but that you would call me back as soon as you could.’

Javier winced as the memory of that call came flooding back to him.

‘You never called me Javier.’ You snapped ‘I rang, left messages on your machine and with your secretary but you never called me back.’

‘Hermosa I-‘

He was cut off by crying and you turned your attention to the pram beside you, pulling out an infant that could not have been much older than four months old. You hushed her, rocking her in your arms as she screamed and protested at your attempts to soothe her.

‘Does she need a bottle or?’ He asked, a little unsure what to do.

‘She’s hungry.’ You stated as you fished out a small blanket from the bag that hung just below the handlebar of the pram and threw it over your shoulder.

After a little arranging, you draped the blanket over her head and shifted your shirt, rocking her lightly as she latched to your breast and started to suckle. Javier watched in shock as the puzzle pieces started to slot into place.

‘She’s uh… You have a baby?’ He asked, voice shaking a little as his eyes drifted from the infant in your arms to your face.

‘Yes.’ You replied plainly, looking him squarely in the eye.

‘Wow… Uh. Congrats I guess.’ He said as he supped at his coffee ‘Who’s the lucky guy?’

‘Seriously?’ You snort, rolling your eyes at him.

‘What?’

‘I thought you were supposed to be some sort of detective.’ You sniggered as you took another sip of your coffee.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He growled, feeling his anger start to simmer beneath the surface.

‘Well, let's see.’ You start, glancing down at your daughter before returning to Javier ‘You left. I needed to talk to you. A year or so later you come back and the girl you were fucking has a four-month-old baby. That a big enough clue for you Agent Peña?’

Javier sits there for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he processes everything that you had told him. The longer he took to say anything, the more amused you got by his obvious struggle to comprehend that the infant in your arms was half him. In the time it took for him to process, you tucked yourself back in, readjusted your shirt and started to pat your daughter's back as you placed gentle kisses in her hair.

‘She’s uh… She’s m-mine?’ He stuttered, eyes settling on his daughter.

‘Yes, Javier. She is yours.’ You replied, pulling off the blanket from your shoulder and tossing it on the table.

‘Does pops know?’

‘He does.’ You replied ‘He was there through it all. Came to my scans, held me after she was born. I even stayed with him for the first two months so that he could help me. He uh… her birth was hard.’

‘Hard?’ He asked, his expression changing to one of concern.

‘Yeah, she partly breached.’ You stated, as you looked down lovingly at your world ‘Forceps and six stitches later she was in my arms.’ You said with a smile ‘Was hell but she was worth it all.’

‘Why didn’t pops tell me?’

‘Because I told him not to.’ You snapped, looking up at Javier with fire in your eyes ‘You lost your right to know about her when you chose not to call me.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Fair?’ You growled ‘What’s not fair is that I turned up at your house to tell you that I was pregnant, only to learn that you’d left the previous night for Colombia without telling me.’

Javier winced at your timbre.

‘What’s not fair was having to go through the emotional turmoil of learning that I was pregnant with the baby of a guy that I had been fucking casually and knowing I was going to have to do it alone. What's not fair is that I called, gave him a chance after chance to be a part of that baby’s life and he chose to ignore me.’ You paused, downing the last of your coffee ‘You had an opportunity to know about her. To chose whether or not you wanted to be a part of her life and you blew it. I clearly meant nothing to you as otherwise, you would have called.’ You growled.

'I did care Hermosa.' He said softly and you laughed.

'Funny way of showing it.' You replied, staring at the pram for a short while as an awkward silence settled over you both.

‘Can I um… Can I hold her?’ He asked, his request taking you by surprise and you glanced down at your baby for a moment before looking back at him.

‘No.’ You replied bluntly before you stood and placed her back in her pram ‘Thanks for the coffee, Javier.’ You spat as you shoved the blanket into the bag and turned off the breaks on the pram ‘See you around.’

…

‘HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME?’ He yelled as he came charging through his father's front door.

‘Tell you what?’

‘That I’m a father!’ He gasped ‘That I have a four-month-old daughter. Who you have spent time with, have photos of on the walls of the house. I just assumed that they were some friend's kid but no, she's mine.’

‘She told me not to and I agreed with her decision.’ He stated and Javier saw red 'I thought that it should be down to you to mend this.'

‘If I had known I could have… things could have been different!.’

‘You would have known about her if you'd called her like you said you would.’ His father snapped back ‘You had plenty of opportunities.’

‘I was sorta busy taking down a cartel pops.’

‘And you didn’t have a single moment to yourself?’ Chucho questioned, watching the guilt seep into his son's features ‘You didn’t have a single moment in the past year to call her back? To find out what was wrong with the girl that you had been sleeping with for months.’

‘You should have told me pops.’ Javier scoffed.

‘You should have called.’ His father replied before standing up and leaving a conflicted son in his wake.

~

2 weeks later - 2 am…

Javier was woken by the sound of frantic banging, followed by raised voices and after rubbing his tired eyes he traipsed his way down the stairs to find you sobbing, your daughter in his father’s arms.

‘Her fever’s really high… I don’t know what to do.’ You sobbed, hands shaking as fat tears rolled down your cheeks.

‘What's going on?’ Asked Javier, making you and his father startle a moment before returning their attention to the baby ‘Is she okay?’

‘She has a fever.’ His father stated.

‘Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?’ He asked, gingerly approaching you before looking at the wailing infant in his father's arms.

‘It's probably just a cold.’ Said Chucho, shaking his head as he glanced up at you ‘You can take her if you want Mija.’

‘I uh… Can you drive?’ She asked the older man, her question stinging Javier.

‘I’m not allowed to drive at night now Mija.’ He stated and she nodded lightly ‘Javi will take you.’

‘It’s fine I’ll-’

‘Just let me help.’ Interrupted Javier, his eyes almost pleading ‘I am her father after all.’

…

The wait in the ER was the longest of your life. You sat rocking your screaming child as others tutted from their thrones of judgement. You could feel their eyes on you as you desperately tried to soothe her but you knew that nothing would work until her fever was tended to.

Javier sat silently beside you, picking at his cuticles and glancing every so often at his daughter. A part of him yearned to hold her, rock her in his arms and take her suffering away but he didn’t push you. He’d had two weeks to ponder everything that had transpired and he’d tried to reach out but you’d been hesitant. His heart was hurting bLet'se had no right to demand anything from you and so he decided that he would have to earn your trust in the hopes that one day, he’d finally hold his daughter.

‘Sophia?’ Came a voice, grabbing your attention and you abruptly stood.

‘You can uh, wait here if you want.’ You said, glancing at Javier as he stood.

‘I’d like to come.’ He said nervously ‘If that's okay.’

You simply nodded before making your way over to the doctor that had called out for your daughter. He motioned for you to lay her on the bed that was placed in the centre of the room, holding your baby's tiny hand as the doctor made his way over with a tray of different instruments.

‘Someone isn’t a happy girl are they?’ He said softly, stroking her plump cheek and pushing his bottom lip out at her ‘Is this dad?’ He asked as he motioned at Javier.

‘Yeah.’ You replied, taking the younger Peña by surprise.

‘Well let's take a look shall we.’ He said as he started to take her temperature ‘103. No wonder you're grumpy.’ He said as he placed the thermometer back down ‘Lets listen to that little ticker shall we?’ He said as he opened the front of her Winnie the Pooh onesie.

You and Javier watched as he moved the stethoscope around her little chest, letting out a sympathetic sigh as he placed the instrument back around his neck.

‘It's just a cold.’ He said, placing a comforting hand on your arm.

‘What can we do to help her?’ Asked Javier and you turned your head to look at him briefly before looking back at the doctor.

‘Lots of mums breast milk or formula.’ He started ‘The fever is clearly making her uncomfortable so I’ll prescribe some Calpol for that. Will hopefully bring that fever down quickly.’

‘Thank you.’ You said kindly, giving him a genuine smile.

Scooping your still fussy baby into your arms you followed the doctor out and to the pharmacy where he hands the lady at the desk a slip.

‘Get well soon Sophia.’ Said the doctor sweetly as he gently pinched the infant's cheek before bidding you both goodbye.

Javier watched as you picked up the prescription and that's when it hit him. Sophia. He hadn’t known her name until tonight and the more he thought about it, the more he thought it suited her. Smiling to himself, he doesn’t notice you had turned to face him.

‘Javier?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Can we go now?’ You huffed and he sprung into action, leading the way back to his Jeep.

…

‘See I told you Mija.’ Said Chucho as he rocked a sleeping Sophia in his arms ‘Just a cold.’

It hadn’t been difficult to get the little one to take her medicine and within ten minutes she was out like a light.

‘How she caught a cold in the middle of summer I’ll never know.’ You chuckled, smiling at the older man as he fawned over his granddaughter.

You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Javier was watching him, conflicting emotions battling for dominance on his face and for a moment you felt sorry for him.

‘Thank you for taking me to the hospital.’ You pipped up and he glanced up at you.

‘It's fine.’ He replied coldly and you felt the sympathy dissolve.

‘Well, I better get her home.’ You said as you took her from Chucho.

‘I will see you on Sunday.’ She said to the older man, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Glancing at Javier you noticed him staring off at nothing in particular and scoffed, kissing your daughter's warm brow as you made your way out of the door and to your car.

‘What's Sunday?’ He asked his father after he knew you had left.

‘She and I have Sunday lunch together once a month.’ He stated plainly ‘I’ll leave something out for you.’ He finished before retiring upstairs again, tired from the evening drama.

~

2 months later…

You smiled at Chucho bounced Sophia on his knee as she tugged at his moustache. She was fascinated with her abuelo’s facial hair, always trying to grab it with her tiny hands. You thought, for a moment, about whether she’d do the same with Javier, the facial hair style being a trend amongst Peña men.

‘There was something I wanted to ask you Mija.’ He said suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts.

‘What's that?’

‘Do you think that perhaps Javi could come to dinner this Sunday?’

‘Chucho-.’

‘He’s been trying Mija.’ The older man interrupted ‘He’s been hurting. Seeing his daughter from afar but not being able to hold her.’

‘Well, who’s fault is that?’ You snapped as you took a sip from your lemonade.

‘I found him crying the other night over a photo of her.’ He said and you looked at him in shock ‘He’d never admit it but this whole situation is killing him.’

‘I'm sorry he's hurting. Truly I am but I just don’t want Sophia to grow attached to him and then him leave again.’ You stated and Chucho nodded in response.

‘I understand Mija but he’s put that life behind him.’ He paused, taking in your expression ‘He has nightmares you know. That country destroyed him and now he’s returned home to learn he's a father but he can't be one no matter how much he wants to be. I’m worried about him Mija.’

‘Worried how?’

‘He doesn't really eat.’ He stated as he pulled a tired Sophia to his chest ‘He’s cut down on the drink and the cigarettes but he’s not taking care of himself. He barely leaves the house. I’ve managed to get him to help me with a few jobs on the ranch but most of the time he’s either laying in bed, not sleeping, or sat out on the deck staring off at nothing.

‘What do you want me to say Chucho?’

‘Just let him hold her.’ He pleaded ‘Even if it’s just the once. Let him just hold her a moment. Let him come on Sunday and just have a little time with her.’

You sat there in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say.

‘Please Mija.’ He begged one last time and you nodded.

Perhaps it was time to mend fences.

~

Dinner was almost done by the time the Peña men arrived. Chucho entered first, Javier trailing behind him and he watched as you hugged and kissed his father in greeting before grabbing Sophia so she could kiss her Abuelo, or lick, on the cheek.

‘Hi.’ You said to Javier and the man was startled.

‘Hi.’ He replied, nodding slightly ‘Thanks for letting me come along.’ He said, fiddling with the hat in his hands,

‘She’s getting so big.’ Said Chucho as he bounced his granddaughter in his arms ‘Isn’t she getting bigger Javier?’

‘Yeah… yeah she is.’ He replied as he smiled at his daughter.

‘Would you uh… Would you like to hold her?’ You asked, your nerves seeping into your voice as he looked at you in shock.

‘You sure?’ He asked but his eyes were full of hope.

‘Yeah.’ You replied, watching as Chucho carefully handed Sophia to her father.

She squeaked loudly at him as she tried to reach for his moustache and you chuckled at her, smiling as he placed a kiss on her tiny palm.

‘Hey, Hermosa.’ He said softly as he gazed at her, their brown orbs locking.

At that moment he realised there was nothing he wouldn't do for her and his heart swelled. Taking a seat he lifted her so that she was at eye level with him and he rested his forehead against hers, breathing in her smell and smiling as her hands slapped tapped his cheeks.

‘I love you, baby girl.’ He said quietly as he brought his lips to her brow ‘And if momia will let me. I will spend the rest of my days proving it to you.’

[ragingbookdragon]

The Best Of Us

Batfamily x M!Reader

Word Count: 3,035 Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: And here we are with a Batbrother fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

It wasn’t an inferiority complex. Not really. He wasn’t prone to anger or any of the other symptoms listed under it—and he checked. Multiple times. But there was something about being the only non-vigilante in his family of vigilantes that made him feel inadequate compared to the rest. Bruce had the Justice League, Dick and Jason had their own fantastic groups that saved the day, and Tim and Damian were still in school, but even they had their groups too. Hell, even Alfred still had contacts from his days in MI-5. And yet, he had none of the skills his brothers or father had, no extensive martial arts training, master detective skills, or weapon mastery. He was completely normal—or maybe abnormal in this case. And on some level, he resented that he couldn’t be like his family—maybe he did have an inferiority complex.

***

The greatest thing in (Y/N)’s mind about still being allowed to live at home was that no matter what, there was always food around to eat—Alfred saw to it that every growing man in the house had enough to eat—that being said, their grocery bills were outrageouslyexpensive.

He balanced his tablet in one hand, the other hand adjusting the tie around his neck as he stepped into the kitchen, quick to raise the tablet in time to avoid whacking his youngest brother in the head.

“Morning,” he greeted, taking his seat at the table, just after Jason’s. A chorus of tired, ‘mornings’ came back at him and he quirked an eyebrow. “Wow, loving the enthusiasm this morning, guys.”

Jason snorted and propped his chin on his palm, watching (Y/N) for a moment. “I seriously don’t understand how you’re always so chipper in the morning.”

He huffed a laugh and took a sip of the coffee that Alfred set down. “Someone has to be the ray of sunshine in this group of gray clouds.” (Y/N) cast a glance at Dick who was shoveling eggs into his mouth. “And it seems like our eldest is busy feeding his bottomless pit.” Dick was fast to shoot him a glare, that he returned with a smile.

Just then, Tim trudged into the kitchen in an oversized hoodie and plopped down in his seat, immediately shoving the plate in front of him to drop his head onto the table.

“Jesus Christ, you guys,” (Y/N) sighed, flicking at his tablet for a moment. “You’ve seriously gotta take a day off to recuperate.”

“What do you think we do during the day?” Dick retorted, taking a swig of milk.

“Okay I think you’re confusing the entire day with the first half,” he reasoned. “When I say take a day off, I mean the whole twenty-four hours.” He glanced at everyone, and the only person who seemed to not be tired was Alfred, and that’s partly because (Y/N) believed he was immortal. “You guys are gonna run yourselves into the ground,” he said. “I just don’t think—”

“We know what we are doing, (Y/N),” Damian interrupted with a glare. “We know our limits better than you do.”

He let out a sigh and shook his head. This conversation had happened many times before and it wasn’t anything new.

“I’m not saying I know them better than you Damian, I’m simply saying that you guys should take a day to relax so that something doesn’t happen on the job that you can’t control.”

(Y/N) glanced at his father. “Dad, c’mon, you know I’ve got a point.”

Bruce hummed and flipped the page of the newspaper. “So does Damian.” He met (Y/N)’s eyes and nodded. “You don’t have to worry so much, (Y/N). We know what we can handle.”

He stared at Bruce for a moment then scowled. “I don’t even know why I bother,” he muttered, and Damian was fast to chase his comment.

“I don’t know why you bother either. You’ve never once experienced what we do every night.”

(Y/N) met his youngest sibling’s glare. “Just because I don’t stick my neck out for each person in this city night after night doesn’t mean that I don’t know what it’s like to be exhausted.”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you know what it’s like to be exhausted from blood loss because you’ve been stabbed or shot? Or to be exhausted from saving the lives of innocent people? You do?”

“I—” (Y/N)’s mouth opened, then he snapped it shut and looked away with a darkened expression, tasting something sour in his mouth. “No, I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought,” Damian finalized, and in the wake of the uncomfortable tension, a cellphone went off.

Everyone started looking for theirs, but (Y/N) muttered, “It’s mine.”

He picked it up and put on a cheerful voice. “Good morning Angela…yes, I just got the floor plan…” he tapped at the screen on his tablet. “Do me a favor and move the people from table eight to table three. Mr. Robinson is better friends with Mrs. Grace and will certainly give us a warmer atmosphere in that area.”

(Y/N) paused and listened, then he stood from the table and pushed his chair in. “Let me get to the office and we can situate the rest of the guests for tonight…alright, see you soon. Bye.”

He pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call, then took the black backpack that Alfred was holding to him. “Thanks Alfred.”

“Of course, Master (Y/N). Have a pleasant day at work.”

He huffed a laugh, but it was anything but amused. “I have to give a speech tonight in front of the entire company and three different magazines.” He glanced at Bruce. “Think you’ll be able to attend tonight? It’d mean a lot to me.” Bruce grunted, his way of telling (Y/N) that he’d try, but to not hope for a miracle.

It was fine, he was used to parentless ceremonies and events. He cleared his throat and shrugged on the backpack, making his way to the garage door.

“See you guys later.”

***

He’d given a few speeches in his short twenty-four years, and while he’d never say he was an expert on public speaking, he did know his way around a podium. That being said, every time he had to do a speech, he felt like vomiting—nerves he chocked it up to.

(Y/N) cast a glance around the packed ballroom, quietly groaning at the massive amount of people. His own table was empty, save for Angela and thank god for him, Lucius. He couldn’t help but frown at the name tags sitting in front of the empty seats.

“Wondering where the rest of the gang is?”

He met Lucius’ eyes and gave a halfhearted smile. “I’d like to think they took my advice and took the night off but…something tells me that the night called to them.” His lips pulled downwards. “I’m not going to act like this is a surprise, Lucius. I couldn’t even get them to show up for my university graduation.”

(Y/N) smiled and stood up, grabbing the notecards beside him. “What makes you think I could get them to show up to this?” He left the table and moved to the side of the stage, waiting for his name to be called. His fingers briefly shifted to his chest, feeling his heart fluttering beneath chest, nerves causing his breathing to come in short bursts. (Y/N) shut his eyes and took a deep breath, letting a pleasant smile cross his face as the presenter called his name, and walked up the steps.

The bright flash of photography momentarily blinded him, but he smiled through it. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight at the Centennial Inside Alliance Award Ceremony.” He flashed everyone a million-watt smile. “My name is (Y/N) Wayne, and as many of you know, I am a senior editor for Inside Alliance. It is my pleasure tonight to recognize Inside Alliance’s top writer for the year.”

(Y/N) glanced around the room, making sure to catch the eyes of the hundreds of guests.

“Inside Alliance was created on August fourteenth, nineteen-twenty by a group of immigrant mothers and fathers who wanted to bring knowledge of their homes and cultures to the rest of world. Some of those countries being Germany, Romania, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Israel, and many, many others.”

“The production of their valuable time and extensive care created one of the greatest magazines that is still in business today, that brings attention to the worldwide issues that many groups face, while still connecting to their roots of educating the public on cultures and groups.”

He smiled. “It is with my upmost honor that I congratulate and introduce Miss Flora Janaliyeva, one of our newest and greatest writers that has joined Inside Alliance, and the winner of tonight’s Inside Alliance Award.”

(Y/N) turned to the side and grinned at Flora as she ascended the stairs. Her long black hair was braided down the length of her back and she wore a bright and floral-patterned gown. She reached (Y/N) and he reached with his right, shaking her hand, and handed her the glass award with the other.

“Miss Janaliyeva, it is with honor and congratulations that I give you this award for your excellent talent and recognition of ability from Inside Alliance.”

She smiled brightly and accepted the award. “Thank you, Mister Wayne, the honor is mine.” He nodded politely once more and descended the stairs as she began her speech, quietly taking his place back at the table.

“Well done, Mister Wayne,” Lucius smiled and (Y/N) let out a deep breath.

“I’m just surprised I was able to do that without stuttering or panicking.” He glanced over, smile lowering slightly. “Lucius, are you alright?”

The older man dabbed at his forehead and nodded, though when he breathed, it sounded labored. “I’m fine,” he assured, then reached up to rub at his chest.

(Y/N) shifted. “I don’t think you’re alright Lucius.” He leaned over. “Are you having chest pain?”

“I—yes,” he grit out then met (Y/N)’s gaze. “My chest is getting—tight and I…and I—”

He started to slump over and (Y/N) shot to his feet, eyes widening with fear. “Lucius!” The yell startled the crowd and Flora, who all looked over at the two.

(Y/N) pulled the older man back and pressed his ear to his chest, listening. He pulled away and yelled, “Someone call an ambulance! I think he’s having a heart attack!”

He helped Lucius to the floor and immediately pressed his palms to the man’s chest, starting compressions. His breath came in panicked spurts and he kept looking at Lucius’ face.

“Just hand on Lucius. You’re going to be okay.” (Y/N) kept at it until the EMT’s arrived and they knelt beside them.

“Let us take over.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, too afraid that if he did, Lucius would die, but one of the EMT’s placed a hand on his shoulder while the other slide their hands underneath (Y/N)’s.

“Son, we’ll take it from here.”

(Y/N)’s arms went slack, and he let the medic pull him away, watching as they took over and started moving him onto the stretcher.

“Please, save him. He’s—he’s friends with my family I—”

The medic nodded firmly. “We’ll do all we can.”

And all (Y/N) remembered was someone ushering him into a taxi heading for the hospital.

***

The first people that arrived were Lucius’ family who were grateful for (Y/N)’s actions, but the young man could barely grimace as they disappeared into the hospital room, leaving him sitting outside, his head in his hands. Tears gathered in his eyes as he thought back to what the ER doctor told him.

***

“Mister Fox is in a stable condition, but you have to understand, Mister Wayne, his heart is very weak.”

“But—but he’ll be okay right?”

“Based on Mister Fox’s past conditions, he’s verging into heart failure. His heart is too weak to keep up with what the body needs.”

“And…and what does his body need at this point?”

“At this point? A new heart.”

***

He sucked in a breath and fought to keep the sob from escaping his throat, just as heard, “(Y/N)!”

His head shot up and he saw his father and older brothers coming down the hallway. (Y/N) clambered to his feet.

“Dad I—” he started, but cut off as he choked on a sob, and Bruce pulled him into a hug, holding (Y/N) as he sobbed. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I tried my best but—”

“Shh,” Bruce hushed, a firm, but gentle hand coming to rest at the back of his son’s neck. “You did all that you could.”

He pulled back and wiped his face. “But Lucius needs a new heart, and I don’t know what to do. I should’ve seen this coming. He hasn’t been feeling well the past few weeks and I—”

“(Y/N),” his father said firmly, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. He met Bruce’s eyes. “This wasn’t your fault.”

His libs wobbled and he whispered, “But if I were like you guys, I would’ve seen something earlier. I didn’t and now…” sighing, he added, “and now Lucius needs a new heart, or he’ll die.”

Bruce’s sigh was heavier than (Y/N)’s and it made his chest heavy. “We’ll get Lucius a new heart, (Y/N).”

He lowered his head and lamented, “I’m sorry, dad.”

His father squeezed his shoulder then lead him towards Dick and Jason. “Take (Y/N) back home for the night. I’ll stay here with Lucius’ family.”

They nodded and led their brother down the hall, arms firm across his shoulders in a comforting way. They didn’t say anything, knowing that there wasn’t much to offer, but their support was enough for (Y/N), even if he felt horrible.

***

For being the World’s Greatest Detective, his son was evidently the World Best Hider, because it took Bruce a long time to finally find (Y/N). He stepped quietly over to the form sitting on the ledge and took a seat beside him, silently gazing out at the backyard. A bottle appeared in his vision and he focused on it as the smell of whiskey reached his nose.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked but took the bottle anyway.

“Jason gave it to me earlier.” He watched Bruce take a sip. “Figured it fit the occasion.”

Bruce chuckled. “That sounds like Jason’s way of dealing with a problem.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, simply enjoying the calm around the manor and night.

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” Bruce suddenly said.

(Y/N) sighed and set the bottle down, kicking his legs out off the roof. “Lucius said he hadn’t been feeling well recently. And I just passed it up to getting older.” He looked at his father. “If I’d actually paid attention, then I would’ve seen the symptoms.”

“Do you actually know what the symptoms of heart failure and heart attack are?”

“I…no, not really.”

“Then you couldn’t’ve known.” He looked at (Y/N). “Lucius works in my office every day. If anyone should’ve known and seen it, it should’ve been me.” Bruce shook his head. “But you did everything you could at the awards ceremony, and that saved Lucius’ life tonight. You did good.”

“I could’ve done better.” (Y/N) muttered. “I should’ve. I’m your son and I’m practically useless to the family but—”

“Woah, woah,” Bruce interrupted, brows furrowing as he asked, “What are you talking about?”

(Y/N) turned to him. “I am the least useful person in this family. I mean you and the guys are these crazy intelligent, vigilante master detectives and I’m just me.” He wiped away a tear that fell from his eye. “I can’t speak seven different languages or solve murder cases with a single strand of DNA left at the scene of a crime. Hell, I can’t even throw a punch.” He sighed heavily. “The last time I tried, I broke my hand.”

Meeting his father’s gaze, he said, “I just want to be like you guys.” He lowered his head. “I just want to be normal and not an outlier in the family.”

Bruce simply stared at him for a long moment, and while he’d never been privy to let his emotions show on his face, he let them this time—shock and shame. Shame that he didn’t see his greatest achievement suffering.

“(Y/N).”

He didn’t look up at first, but then he did. “Yes sir?”

“How long have you felt like this?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Forever?”

His father sighed. “Son, I…I never wanted you to be like us.”

He gaped at Bruce. “What?”

“(Y/N), every person in this family is driven to do what we do because of our childhoods. You’re the only one who doesn’thave any skeletons in his closet.” He stared at him. “We wish every day that we could be like you and not a day goes by that we don’t think that.”

“I…what?” he floundered, absolutely bewildered at the idea that his father and brothers wanted to be the most boring person ever. “There’s no way that’s true.”

“It is.”

“No.” (Y/N) huffed. “I’m me. I’m plain and boring, work a nine to five job me. I mean I write for a magazine for god sakes! And you guys save the world!”

Bruce chuckled. “And what we wouldn’t give to be just a bit more normal like you, son.” He shrugged. “You think you’re inferior because you’re not a vigilante, but you’re the one thing that keeps us all sane. You give us the perspective of someone who isn’t what we are. Of someone who’s completely normal.”

He reached over and placed a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder. “And being normal? Being you?” Bruce squeezed firmly. “I don’t want you to be anyone else.”

(Y/N) gazed at him, and though he felt tears in his eyes, he didn’t blink, didn’t let them fall. “I’ve only ever wanted to make you proud.”

Bruce smiled heartfully. “You do, (Y/N). Everyday. Because you’ve always been the best of us.”

[boxesandrings]

I it’s me again I love your stuff. A idea I had inspired a fanart Shane reacting to F!farmer telling him she’s pregnant

( I’m just curious where that would go )

(Hi I promise this is much happier than what the description sounds like!! I think considering Shane’s mental health history life changing news like this isn’t something he’d brush past with no second thought, having a kid is kinda scary to everyone! Promise it’s mostly fluff but wanted to tag anything that could be triggering for others xoxo)

Title: A Father!

Rating: T (mostly for language, but Shane's earlier heart events are mentioned briefly)

Summary: The Farmer shares some exciting news with Shane! He's immediately over the moon, but quickly becomes overwhelmed.

CW: Mentions of pregnancy, Shane's early heart-events, a panic attack(?)

Characters: Shane, F!Farmer, Marnie, Evelyn, Pierre (pretty much all are mentioned)

Words: 3816

Shane took off his boots before entering the cabin, grimacing as he bent to do so. Marnie had needed help repairing some things at the ranch today, and he had spent most of it in a crouch. His thighs were punishing him for it now, sore with every step. Maybe he’d take a bath tonight, let his muscles soak in the warm water and try to relax a bit. Maybe his wife would take one with him.

He waddled into the house, his legs tight and called out. “I’m home! You in?”

The Farmer was often out late, working in the fields or with the animals, or sometimes off mining or fishing at the lake by Robin’s. It had been lonely at first, an empty house was something he’d never experienced, but he had found ways to preoccupy himself. After a month, he and his then girlfriend had a chat, the Farmer promising to be home by 7 every night, or calling and letting him know if something had unexpectedly come up otherwise holding her late.

“In the kitchen!” Shane smiled, making his way toward the room. It was barely 5, a sign for a good night. The sound of music grew louder and the smell of bacon wafted toward him. In the kitchen, he found his wife flipping pancakes but minding another pan on the back burner. She turned when she heard him get closer, waving her spatula before focusing back on the food. Shane walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her, kissed her cheek and rested his head on her shoulder.

“I thought it was my night to cook?” The pair switched who cooked every night, and Shane was certain it was his night. Or had he missed yesterday?

“Hello to you too.” The Farmer twisted her head around the best she could and puckered her lips, which Shane quickly kissed. “It was, but I just wanted to cook tonight. Go sit! I just finished up.” Shane squeezed his wife once more, but made his way over to the table. He groaned as he lowered himself into the chair.

The Farmer tilted her head as she carried a stack of pancakes for the table, watching as Shane rubbed his legs.

“Long day?” Shane nodded.

“Marnie called this morning and said that some pipes in the barn needed repairing, but neglected to mention that it was literally almost every single pipe in the barns, all the ones that carry water to the dispensers.” The Farmer set down the plate of bacon on the table, then slid into Shane’s lap, her arms around his neck.

“Oh, that’s rough.” Shane nodded, tilting his head forward into hers.

“They’re all so low to the ground, I essentially was in a squat all day. My thighs are killing me.” The Farmer nodded, her head moving his. She kissed his temple and stood up.

“I think I have some of that muscle cream lotion stuff that helps with the soreness. I’ll find it after dinner.” She made her way to her own chair, sitting down. “Not all bad though, squats are pretty good for the booty.” She smiled as she picked up a piece of bacon and winked.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Shane shook his head, but smiled as he used his fork to slide a pancake onto his own plate. Yoba, was he hungry. “How was your day?”

The Farmer bit her lip, smiling. “Oh, you know. Same old.” Shane looked up, cautiously eyeing his wife. She was biting her lip, trying to hide an obvious smile and kept looking up at Shane as she made her plate. Shane squinted.

“I feel like you really want me to ask what else happened.” His wife nodded, slightly shimmying in her chair.

“I heard some real good gossip.” Shane couldn’t help but laugh after she said it. His wife looked so pleased with herself, like she could barely handle keeping her excitement inside. She grinned incredibly wide, biting her tongue. Shane picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.

“Oh, what is it?” He raised his eyebrows a few times, making his wife laugh. After she had calmed herself for a second, she leaned forward, as if the knowledge itself were moving her.

“Someone we know is pregnant.” Shane dropped his fork and coughed. Now that was some good gossip. In a town as small as Pelican Town, secrets among residents were incredibly hard to keep, and something as big as that would have spread easily within a day to the entire population. How had he not heard yet?

“Who?” The Farmer leaned back in her chair, biting her thumbnail.

“Guess.” Shane ran his teeth over his tongue as he mentally went through each of the town’s residents.

“Jodie and Kent? I feel like they could have another, the gap would be the same from Sam to Vincent to this one.” The Farmer watched Shane, her face giving away nothing. Finally, she shook her head, the same shit-eating grin on her face. Shane thought hard.

“It can’t be Demetrius and Robin, he practically yelled from the mountain top when he had his vasectomy. I don’t think Pierre and Caroline even like each other anymore…” He watched his wife’s face.

“Keep guessing.” Shane threw his hands up, but continued to smile.

“You’re gonna make me keep guessing?”

“Come on! You’re getting closer.” Shane sighed.

“Let's see… Maru and Penny are together, so I don’t think they could… Sam is, and no offence to the guy, but the biggest virgin I’ve ever met…Harvey… no.” He looked down at the table, scratching his chin. “Sebastian and Abby could be… Alex and Haley, but I’m not sure if they’re broken up right now.”

He looked up toward his wife, but her face gave away no hints. “I mean, Elliot sleeps with practically every tourist, so statistically speaking…” Shane shook his head, his eyes wide, and his wife snorted. “I don’t know? Emily isn’t with anyone, Leah isn’t, but I might not know.”

Eyes wide, he looked back up at his wife. “It couldn’t physically… Marnie couldn’t…” The Farmer’s face finally broke, a similar look of horror on her own face.

“Oh Yoba no, don’t even—” She made a face, shaking her head. “She’s too old, and not to be mean but I think if your aunt was having a baby with Mayor Lewis?” She shook her head again, faster. “You’d find me in here retching.”

Shane leaned back in his chair and dragged his hand over the bottom half of his face, thinking. The devilish smile slowly creeped it’s way back onto his wife’s face as she watched him. Finally, he sighed.

“Who is it?” The Farmer suddenly stood up and ran to one of the cabinets, pulling out a sandwich bag. She sat back in her seat, and slid the bag across the table to Shane. He picked up the bag and realized there were three white, long sticks in the bag, each one with two pink lines on one end. He dropped the bag.

“Oh, gross, where were these?” He looked up at his wife, expecting the same grin, but was confused to see that it had fallen, a look almost like annoyance on her face.

“Good god, Shane, did you— do you think I’m going around picking up random pregnancy tests?” He paused, his mouth dropping.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. She didn’t find them, she took them. That’s why he hadn’t heard the gossip already, she was the only one that knew.

He jumped to his feet, forgetting the soreness in his legs. His hands covered his mouth, open in shock as he looked at his wife. She nodded at him, the smile returned to her face, hints of tears glistening in her eyes. He turned from the pregnancy tests on the table, pointing at them, to covering his mouth again and looking back at his wife.

She continued to nod, crying definitively now but still smiling. The pair had been married for almost two years, and while they hadn’t made a point of deciding to actively try for a baby, they certainly had been playing it fast and loose. Four months into the marriage they decided that what would happen would happen and stopped using any birth control, the Farmer throwing out any pills she had left. Lately, the couple had stopped even pretending they worried about the possibility of getting pregnant, and Shane had felt that a ‘we should start actively trying’ conversation was weeks away, rather than months or years.

Finally, Shane spoke. “Are… you’re…” The Farmer nodded, sniffling and smiling.

“Yeah, yeah!” Her voice was breathy, joyfully crying through the words.” Shane covered his mouth again and felt his own tears beginning to pop up in the corner of his eyes.

“I— I need you to say it.” The Farmer laughed.

“I’m pregnant.” Shane ran at his wife, scooping her up in his arms, pressing his lips firmly onto hers. She laughed as she kissed him back, her arms wrapped tightly around them as they stood in the kitchen, her tears against his face, or maybe they were his own?

They stood, holding each other, smiling and laughing and kissing, until Shane quite literally swept his wife off her feet, fireman carrying her into the bedroom while she laughed in his arms. He set her down on the bed and wrapped his arms around her, practically attaching himself to her as he kissed her face as she pretended to struggle beneath him, giggling the whole time.

He laid on his stomach next to her, his face turned towards her on the pillow. She watched him back, still laying flat on the bed.

“You’re pregnant.” The Farmer smiled and nodded.

“I’m pregnant.” Shane smiled, scanning his wife’s face.

“We’re having a baby.” She scooched her face closer, kissing the tip of his nose.

“We’re having a baby.” The two gazed at each other, minds racing with nothing and everything at once. Shane lifted himself up and moved closer to his wife, his face only inches away from hers, sliding one arm under her head and placing the other hand on her stomach. Shane bit his lip.

“When do we want to tell my family?” The Farmer sighed and looked up toward the ceiling.

“I don’t know. I want to tell them, but so much can happen in the first few months…” She trailed off, running her tongue over her top teeth. “Maybe in a month or two? Once the pregnancy is past that first little hurdle.” Shane kissed her cheek.

“I get it. Marnie tells Lewis, Lewis tells everyone.” He sighed now. “I mean, you’re only 30, I don’t think you’re high risk or anything.” His wife shook her head and smiled at him.

“No, it’ll be perfect.” She slid a hand over the one he had on top of her stomach. “I know it. Just in the small chance, I don’t want everyone knowing.” She looked back toward the ceiling. “Also, I don’t want all the attention right away. It’s such a small, small town. Something like this will rock the pelican town people to their cores.” She laughed, Shane joining in beside her. “But I promise, when we do tell people, Marnie will be the first to know.” Shane nodded.

“We’ll let her tell everyone else. Makes it easy.” The Farmer snorted.

“Yeah.” She drew circles on his hand with her thumb. “I mean, I guess we have to tell Harvey, for obvious reasons, but I don’t think he can legally tell others.” Shane laughed again, and pulled his hand out from under his wife’s, moving it up from her stomach to her chin. He pulled her face toward his, kissing her softly.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispered, his nose touching hers. The Farmer smiled, and kissed him again.

“We’re having a baby.”

*****************************************************************

Shane couldn’t sleep, far too excited by the day’s news. No matter how long he kept his eyes closed, or tried to count deep breaths, Shane was restless. His wife had fallen asleep over an hour ago and was curled into a little ball by his side, her head on top of one of his arms.

They were having a baby. Yes, it had been something he and his wife had talked about for a while, one day wanting children, but now it was actually happening. He turned his head to look at the Farmer, drooling on his arm, and smiled. They weren’t kids anymore, Shane well into his thirties, and his wife just into them, but it still felt so strange and new and exciting for them to be parents now.

Shane bolted upright, his stomach immediately twisting. The Farmer groaned on the bed next to him, violently awoken by the sudden removal of his arm. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and propped herself up, squinting in the dark.

“Did I sleep through the alarm again?” She yawned. Shane hopped out of the bed, bee-lining to the bathroom. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna be sick.” Shane slammed the door behind him, ignoring his wife’s further questions. He barely had made it to the toilet when he felt it deep within him, the nausea making its way out into the bowl. He didn’t hear his wife come into the room, only felt her hand on his back as he continued to retch. Finally, he laid his head against the bowl, breathing heavily.

“Shane?” He could hear his wife behind him start to speak but pause, unsure of what to say or ask, her mouth just kind of opening and shutting. She laid her head against his back and sighed. “Do you want some water?”

“I’m going to be a dad.” The Farmer chuckled behind him.

“Yeah. I think we covered that a bit earlier.” She lifted her head and resumed rubbing his back. “I’m excited too.” Shane sighed.

“I’m gonna fuck this kid up.” His voice cracked, and he watched as a tear fell from his face. The Farmer paused.

“What?” Shane pulled his arms up onto the bowl, wrapping them around his head.

“I’m a massive fuck-up, and I’m going to fuck up this baby too.” His shoulders shook, an attempt to hold back his tears. “I could barely take care of myself, how am I—” Shane’s voice broke. The Farmer let out a tense breath behind him, and began to rub his back again.

“Shane, no! Don’t say that.” He lifted his head up, and turned to look at his wife.

“I am. I mean, I was worthless. All I did was drink, I hated myself, and for fucks sake, I tried—” Shane paused as he noticed his wife’s lower lip start to tremble and sighed. “I could barely hold myself together until you got here, what, five years ago?” He bit his lip, the tears coming out faster now. “I’m doing good now, but what happens if it all falls apart again?” His voice cracked again, and Shane didn’t bother to hold back a sob.

The Farmer tried her best to pull Shane into her, them both sitting on the floor, but Shane just sat there numb. He wanted to have this life with his wife, a family together, but how could he be a dad? Why did she even want him?

“Shane, please.” He looked over to the Farmer, who was crying, her arms around him. He’d made her cry, husband of the year material! “I think you’re just… you did this when the dog died, too. It’s a lot of information coming in at once, big information. But it’s okay!” Her hands slid down his shoulder, taking his hands in her own. “We’re doing this together.”

Shane let out an indignant snort. “I can’t even handle the announcement, what happens when the baby comes?” His head was spinning. She deserved better. He loved her.

“Shane! You’re okay, it’s okay. We’re in it together, we have each other.” She squeezed his hands, scooting closer to him. “You’re going to be great, okay? You’re not a fuck-up. We all have rough patches, you just didn’t have the support system you needed. Please.” She kissed his temple, but Shane stared straight ahead, toward the wall. He wished he could shrink into a tiny ball.

“I can’t… I can’t mess this up too.” The Farmer pulled his head down to her shoulder, her hands carefully working their way through his hair.

“You’re not going to mess this up, babe. I think you’re just panicking.” She held him close, continuing to quietly stroke his head. “I’m nervous too, but I know I have you.” He loved her, but when she shifted away beneath him, the panic filled his chest again. “I’m going to go grab your anxiety meds. I don’t think you took them at dinner, they might help.” She fully slid out away from him, Shane’s heart beginning to race. The Farmer stood up and stretched out her back. “Now that I think of it, I don’t think either of us even ate.”

Shane felt sick to his stomach, and barely made his way back to the toilet bowl before throwing up again. The Farmer crouched next to him, her hand on his back. Shane could practically feel the concerned look burning into the back of his head.

“Even if I don’t mess up, I’m just passing a damn cocktail of mental illness along.” He sat back on the floor, and used his hand to try and rub away the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. The Farmer above him sighed and sat back down, and wrapped an arm back around his shoulder.

“Babe, don’t—” Shane choked and leaned forward, wrapping his arms over his head.

“It doesn’t even stand a chance, I’ve just fucked it up from the beginning!” He could feel himself hyperventilating, what did his therapist tell him to do? “It’s gonna hate me, I’ve already ruined everything—”

“Shane!” The Farmer’s face in front of his snapped him out of the almost trance he was in, the distraction what his body needed to get in at least one deep breath. She had tears on her cheeks, but her voice gave away no sadness. “Stop it! Calm down!”

Shane leaned forward into her, practically up on his knees now to wrap his arms around her, holding her tight as he cried. She rocked her body, quietly shooshing as she held him, pressing kisses into the top of his head as she did.

“You’re not going to fuck this up,” she said after Shane’s breathing became more regular. “I mean, we’re going to make mistakes. Both of us! A lot. But we’re going to be new parents, it happens.” He nodded, squeezing his eyes tight. “You’re not going to spiral— I mean, now, yes— but it’s not going to get bad like it was ever again, okay? You have me, your therapist, Marnie, we’re all here for you.”

“I love you.” His words were muffled, his face still pressed into her chest. He felt a rumble, a small chuckle above him.

“I love you too. Also, you’re not the only one afraid of passing on bad shit. I mean, my mom is medicated for depression, and I have ADHD.” Shane raised his head, his face even with hers.

“Yeah, I guess.” The Farmer smiled, and reached on her hands up to cup Shane’s face, wiping away a tear with her thumb.

“Yeah, dummy.” Shane smiled and kissed his wife, before pulling back and biting his lip.

“I’m— I’m so excited, I really am.” His eyes met hers briefly, before he looked away again. “I want this with you, truly, I—” The Farmer leaned forward and kissed her husband again.

“I know, Shane. I get it.” They held each other on the floor, their foreheads pressed together. Shane tried to calm himself, breathing in time with his wife. “We’re in it together, alright? We’ve got it.” Shane nodded.

“I know, I’m sorry.” The Farmer smiled.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be a big change.” She chuckled to herself. “We’ve got nine months, I’m sure this won’t be the last freak out. That either of us have.” The Farmer stood up, and offered a hand to Shane, smiling. “Good luck to you when I have to start buying maternity clothes.” Shane grinned and took her hand.

“What? You’re cooking up a baby in there, you’re gonna grow.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and wrapped his arm around her.

“Oh, I know that now,” the Farmer said, leading the two of them back into their bedroom. “But I’m sure hormone-y me will have to reckon with that later.”

Shane snorted as the Farmer sat down on the bed, and pulled Shane down into her. He kissed her forehead and climbed over, pulling the covers up on his side of the bed. She snuggled back into him, her head resting on his shoulder, but Shane could feel her squirming.

“You feeling better?” Her voice was quiet. Shane nodded, and wrapped his arm around her head.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Her arm snaked its way over his chest, reaching up to hold the side of his head. “You’re gonna be great.”

Shane smiled, and moved his head to kiss the palm against his cheek. “You too.”

****************************************************************

It took Marnie two weeks to figure it out. Something about the way the Farmer was moving, she had told Shane, was different, and trapped him in her kitchen until he confessed. Marnie was over the moon, and promised not to tell anyone, but Shane ran home and told the Farmer straight away. His wife had bit her lip but shook her head, smiling. “If anyone was going to piece it together, it’d be her.”

In Marnie’s defense, it was almost a week before Evelyn congratulated the pair at the general store. Shane watched as Pierre blushed and ducked behind a shelf, but the Farmer thanked her and moved past, reaching for a bag of flour on the top shelf.

“You know, that was a pretty good run, all things considered.” Shane nodded, agreeing with his wife.

“I mean, that has to be a record! What, five? Six days?” The Farmer laughed, and hoisted the last grocery bag up into the truck. She caught Shane’s gaze, and tilted her head.

“What?” Shane realized he had been staring at her, a dopey look on his face. He smiled, face turning pink.

“Oh, nothing!” He hopped up into the truck, his wife following suit beside him. He looked at her again. “I’m gonna be a dad.” She smiled now, rolling her eyes.

“You’re gonna be a dad!” Shane laughed, and started the truck. The two chatted excitedly the whole way back, discussing the future addition to both their home and family.

[moeruhoshi]

I've been watching anime all day so here's a late nalu day gift

Lucy slammed her bedroom door and flopped down on her bed with a weary sigh, weeping into her pillow as her day finally came to an end.

The open door of her patio allowed her to hear the neighing of carriage horses taking away her most recent suitor, a man who barely knew what the meaning of personal space was.

Just how many princes and dukes had to waltz through their gates before the princess’ father realized that they had no interest in adequately courting her? It was painfully obvious how the lot of them were only interested in her well-displayed décolletage over her personality and spent more time schmoozing up to the king instead of trying to win her favor.

What hurt, even more, was knowing that she could never be with the one who was truly meant for her.

She stared at the red string tied to her pinky, the fiber ending far off in the distance where it connected to her destined partner. It calmed her in some ways, allowed her to feel a sense of clarity, knowing there was at least one more person out there who could give her the true love she craved.

She hoped every day, when Spetto called her down to meet another suitor, that it would be him, the one on the other end of her string, waiting to hold her as she wanted to hold him.

They could instead be a peasant, she thought as her hopes for him to visit one day were beginning to fade. Not that she cared about that kind of thing, but it meant that they didn't have the means to enter the castle easily. Or maybe they were somewhere in a neighboring country, too far away to find her. Maybe he hadn't been gifted the power to see the string and didn't know she was waiting for him but felt just as empty without her by his side.

She was sure if she voiced her knowledge of the red string to anyone else, they would call doctors from all over Earthland to analyze her cognitive function. 

But she desperately wanted to tell everyone that she had no intention of selecting a suitor through their gaudy traditions. She would instead venture out into the world to find her soulmate, the person at the end of her red string of fate. But knowing her father, he would only let her marry with the promise of the expanded wealth she would gain him from a political marriage.

"Miss? Are you still awake?" Spetto knocked lightly, the princess holding in her sniffles to hear what the maid had to say. "I'm sure you are…but I won't bother you. Your father wants you to know that he'll be inviting the Duke Cream from Veronica for another visit tomorrow. He's eager to correct his…insolent behavior from the last time he saw you."

The princess didn't bother answering and instead let out a frustrated sigh as the sound of her maid's footsteps echoed down the hall. The setting sun illuminated the crimson strand and her fingers loosely wrapped around it, her weak pout quivering as she tugged on the phantom satin.

"I'd rather have you, whoever you are..."

~000~

"The princess!" Spetto screamed as she ran into the King's throne room. Jude was sat upon his seat with the Duke at his side, their conversation halting at her interruption. "She's gone!"

"What in the world do you mean, woman? I'm sure that no good daughter of mine has just buried her nose in one of those god awful fairy tales again. Have the guards search the library for her," He gruffed, rolling his eyes as her demeanor became more hysterical and shaken.

"I have, your highness! The princess has run away, she's truly nowhere to be found!"

"And just when I was about to be introduced to my bride," The Duke frowned and tossed his bleached hair aside. "Send hounds after her, why don't you? I will not let this girl make a fool of me on this glorious day."

"Go on, then," The King glared at his guards standing nearby who quickly rushed out the door. "I should have known that girl would be trouble. Her mother had always filled her head with nothing but pure nonsense."

Lucy lifted her billowy skirt as she ran through the woods, deep within its darkness, trying her best to ignore the now wailing trumpets of distress audible in the distance. She knew it wouldn't have been long until someone noticed her absence, especially after having heard the reality behind Duke Cream’s visit.

It was by chance, an incident that occurred while she was passing her father's office the night before. Lucy heard the plans he made to arrange her marriage to the Duke, ensuring that their kingdom would absorb the principality. This meant her father would have an entire stronghold on the country of Fiore.

A life with that obnoxious and narcissistic Duke was not one she wanted, nor could even stand the thought of.

So, in a panic, she made plans to run away, leaving when the guards wouldn’t be around, going as far as she could go without any clear signs of which direction she'd taken off in. She persevered through her tiredness with the lone thought of her meeting her soulmate who was sure to greet her with a wide smile and open arms.

"This way! C'mon now, you'll never make it running without anywhere in mind!" A voice tinkled through the line of trees, halting the princess in her place as she breathed harshly and darted around scared eyes.

"Who's there! I-I'm not going back to the castle!" Lucy shouted as she turned about in circles, shrieking as a short blonde girl suddenly appearing from thin air

"Did I say I was trying to take you home? No! Now hurry it up! You'll never make it there if you make stops like this, follow me!" She instructed, turning toward the trees and beginning to run.

"Who are you?" Lucy asked between pants as she followed the shorter blonde, mesmerized by the trail of sparkles she left behind her, and the cute wings peeking out from beside her ears.

"A friend," She smiled as she continued maneuvering them through the woods. "And a guide! You’ll never get where you need to go without my help,"

"So you know where I'm going? You can see my string too?"

"Well, sure! I let you see it after all. Boy, was he worried when I told him you were stuck out here without your magic. Idiot almost killed himself trying to find his way through, but it can't be done by anyone but a spirit." She sighed and shook her head, rambling as they avoided a patch of bramble bushes 

"My soulmate...? He was looking for me too? Really?" Lucy felt her heart swell, beating stronger even as she ran, a dazzling smile taking its claim of her lips.

"Yup! You have a very loyal man waiting for you," She giggled. "He can't wait to meet you, said he'd get his house ready and everything while I was out looking for you. I apologize for taking so long, moving around in this realm isn't easy, there’s barely any magic in this land!”

"Magic? Like in books? Isn't that practice all made up?" The princess quirked a brow as the strange girl only giggled again and slowed her movements as they found purchase under the wide berth of a willow tree.

"It's quite amazing someone like you was born here when your home is with us, in the right Fiore. Now, come on! Everyone's waiting!" She grinned, ignoring Lucy's confusion as she pulled them through the hanging branches, the two suddenly falling into the void of the trunk.

"E-Eh?! W-Wha…!" Lucy fell to her knees as she suddenly felt queasy, holding a hand to her head and waited for her headache to subside. She looked up to see where the other blonde had gone, not finding her anywhere and instead met a new and sunny skyline. "Wasn't it…night just a moment ago?"

She stood to her shaky feet, finding her body no longer weighed down by exhaustion, tears, or dirt on her dress. Whatever was in the air made her feel light as, well, air. She'd never felt so amazing before! Just where had she gone when they fell through that tree?

Taking some small steps through the field in front of her, she looked down to her finger, the red string extending into the distance behind her.

"Oh wow…" When Lucy turned around, she was met with the image of a town she had never seen before, curiosity pulling her towards the bustling streets.

It was as she always imagined the streets of the village she ruled above looked; stalls serving food and selling fresh produce, children running and laughing, patrons bartering and making light conversation, happiness in everyone's eyes. Their smiles created her own, and she followed the string eagerly, feeling just right in the Fiore she’d been led to.

She worried this would all turn into a dream soon enough, there couldn't possibly be another Fiore…or the existence of magic at that. Her steps quickened as she feared Spetto would be in at any moment to wake her, feet carrying her towards a patch of woods that broke off from the town.

It would’ve made nice for a peaceful walk if she didn’t think the calm scenery before her would disappear.

“Oi, Gray, watch it!” A sharp voice boomed from the nearby distance. 

“Shut it! I know what I’m doing, it ain’t hard to paint a wall, flame brain!” 

“Don’t start a fight! We had to rebuild that side of the house five times because you two keep knocking it down!”

Lucy slowed down her pace as the volume of their argument increased but kept her eyes on the string that told her he was just ahead. 

Her eyes landed on a red-haired girl pointing a large sword at two boys who kneeled respectively in front of her, bowing their heads as she scolded them. 

Breaking through the line of trees, Lucy smoothed down her stray hairs and dusted off her dress, holding herself nervously as she continued forward.

Each step closer made her legs feel like jelly, flushed her cheeks, and made her heart beat a million times faster, her fingers twitching as she held her hands together. 

“U-Um...excuse me…?” Lucy’s voice was shaky as she approached the three, her eyes watery as she stared at the pink-haired boy who raised his head at the sound of her voice. The string fell into his lap; he was her soulmate.

The red-haired girl turned to face her first, eyes concerned as they fell on her disheveled appearance. “My goodness, are you okay? You’re not lost, are you?”

“N-No...I—“ 

"Oh, crap! It's you!" 

"Don't say that to a girl, idiot! You have no idea who that is!" The raven-haired boy threw a glare at the pink-haired one who quickly stood up.

“Mavis didn’t tell me when you’d get here, I would’ve come to pick you up if I knew you were...oh, hey, don’t cry, okay? Um, here,” He quickly took the end of his scarf to wipe her tears, feeling a knot in his throat as she gently fell against his chest. "It's gonna be okay."

"I just...I just can't believe…" She shook her head, not minding the stain she created on his shirt. "That you're real...that you were waiting for me."

"'Course I was! Having a new family member is always exciting, and my hearts been leapin' like crazy waitin' for you! You were stuck out there all alone and I couldn't come find you. I'm sorry it took so long." 

Erza forced herself and Gray to look away as the blonde hastily kissed their wild companion, his shock present in the stiffness of his back.

He was startled by the sudden action but felt himself melting into the touch, desperate as well to be close to his soulmate.

"I'm home," Lucy laughed with a bit of surprise, Natsu's eyes widening along with his grin. 

"Yeah! Welcome back!"

[krabmeat]

I have not written anything in some time - since I took a break from my writing account, actually (now deleted) - so cut me some slack here. I’m gonna format this in the same way that I did my old fics for that jolt of serotonin. So, if you would be so kind to indulge me, this is how I (niceimafan) would have submitted this work on fandoesfictionwriting:

What War Does || (platonic) Father Figure c!Phil x Teen gn!Reader

A/N: This is my submission for the 100 follower milestone of the lovely @/krabmeat! Krabs (Damien today) is an amazing friend of mine and is quite possibly the best human being in the world. (Go follow him if you haven’t already!)

War struggles paired with the classic familial miscommunication, what could be better as a way for me to get back into writing? This takes place around the time of Doomsday, or the final battle/destruction. Also I can’t remember if Wilbur’s room was still there at the time of Doomsday because I have goldfish memory so pretend it was if it wasn’t.

Requested: No

{Word Count: 1,946}

CW: intense arguing, mentions of war, mentions of death, cursing (up to the f-word), caps, use of godforsaken (I don’t know if people get triggered by that? I’m not religious so I wouldn’t know), very brief mention of spit, less than great relationship with father

This is an xreader fic!

This has been proofread. (skimmed rip I don’t like reading my writing)

- In which Y/N and Phil argue about Y/N and their right to participate in Doomsday. -

Phil works away high in the sky, loading cannons with enough TNT to detonate a nation. He, Techno, and Dream have everything planned out; you know because they did all of the planning right in front of you. Meaning you know everything they are going to do, and you aren’t even allowed to be involved.

You avert your eyes from your father and pick mindlessly at some grass instead, feeling the cold breeze of afternoon cool your flaming temper. For a moment, it appears as though everything might be fine, like you could get over this and let the Big War Men do their thing. But then Phil’s boots appear in front of you, and it’s all ruined again.

“You look miserable,” he says. Phil finishes his sentence with an airy laugh, trying to convey that he’s trying to joke with you. And so you make sure that the gaze you shoot him ensures he understands you do not find him humorous. Phil sighs, taking a seat beside you.

“Look, I understand that you want to help. I do! But I also understand that people with a spirit as strong as yours have risen to unimaginable heights, only to crash back down onto the blade of loss. And I fear that you will be no different.” Phil places his hand on your shoulder. “I just want you to be safe.”

You shrug him off, turning your neck so fast to glare at him it leaves a sharp stinging sensation in your movement’s wake. “Safe? You want me to be safe? No one is safe here, and you know that.”

“Y/N, you know-”

“What, Phil? What do I know? Because according to you, it doesn’t seem like a lot.” You stand after that, stomping off in an attempt to clear your mind, hoping Phil won’t follow you. But, of course, he does.

“Y/N, wait.” He shouts, but he makes no move to speed up or stop you. He simply follows along at a distance, saying nothing else. Probably waiting for you to make the first move. But you refuse, you refuse to let him win this and watch you break again.

And so the two of you walk in silence, you with no destination in mind and Phil’s footsteps echoing yours calmly in the distance. All you can do is follow your feet to wherever they find fit for this argument to play out.

To your amusement, you find yourself in Wilbur’s old room. Where he blew up his dreams for the first time and where Phil took the life of his son. How fitting.

You finally come to a stop, taking a brief moment to collect yourself, before spinning around on your heel to address your father. “Ph- Phil?” It does shock you to find that Phil isn’t there. He’s not standing behind you with a small, comforting smile, or with his eyebrows pinched together in a way that lets you know you’re going to be scolded. Nothing.

“You dress like him, you know.” Phil says from behind you. You whirl around again, reaching for your sword on instinct. Phil stands with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the soon-to-be battlegrounds.

“What?” It feels like you’ve lost all air in your lungs. Phil doesn’t just say things like that, especially not to you. And of course you know who he’s talking about; Techno doesn’t wear tattered trench coats and Tommy hasn't adorned ripped up fingerless gloves to protect from burns, to your knowledge. But speaking of Wilbur when referring to another child of his in this room in particular hit you in a place you have not yet built walls in.

“Wilbur. You dress like him.” Phil turns around, and you finally see that his eyes are watering. But he still has that sympathetic smile plastered on his face. “Every day, you remind me of him. And in doing so, you remind me that I can not let you turn out the way that Will did.

“Wilbur was changed by war. He destroyed everything he worked for because of it. And for that to happen to you, with such grand dreams and ideas, it would be heartbreaking.” Phil can’t maintain eye contact with you anymore, “I just want you to be everything that Wilbur couldn’t have been.”

You let his words sink in, and as they do, you begin to fight with yourself.

He just wants to help you!

How, by comparing me to his dead son? Yeah, something about that doesn’t feel right.

Just hear him out.

You grit your teeth, balling up and releasing your fingers into and out of fists. “I am not Wilbur.”

Phil shakes his head, rubbing the place where his eyebrows crease together. “I know that, and that’s not what I’m trying to sa-”

“Yes, that is exactly what you just said!” You begin to raise your voice, getting tired of this stupid game you two are playing with each other. Lying about what you’re really talking about to try and avoid the inevitable. “You just compared me to your dead son that went crazy and blew up everyone’s homes! The one that sold drugs out of a damn hot dog van!”

The air around you seemed to heat up as tensions between you two started to rise, Phil clearly getting more angry as well. “You are not Wilbur, but you are my child!”

“Oh, am I? Am I, Philza? And how long have I been your child for, huh? My whole life, a year, a few months, just this past hour? You have been trying and failing to be my father figure because you just see me as some rogue that could get too far out of control unless you’re there. Isn’t that right?”

“No, of course not. I just-”

“No! How could I have not realized? You just want a replacement! Someone to fill the hole that was left in your poor old heart when you stabbed your son through the chest.”

“I love you, Y/N, you don’t understand! You are like a child to me, you always have been! From the moment that I met you, I saw greatness in you. I swear, you mean more to me than just some replacement for Wilbur.”

Tears burn your eyes, the singular one that fell leaving a streak through the gunpowder and dirt smudged on your cheeks. You shake your head and scoff, unable to believe that this is the conversation you are currently stuck in. “Phil, that’s the kind of bullshit that you have to tell yourself in order to sleep at night. But guess what? It doesn’t work on me.”

“It doesn’t have to ‘work on you’, it’s just the truth, Y/N. I don’t know how I can get you to believe me.”

“You can’t, Phil.” You say, trying to ignore the way your voice cracks. “Because I have believed people, and then those people have either died, or tried to kill me, or both. So you know what I did? I grew up, Phil. Because THAT is what war does. 

“It doesn’t make you write sad song lyrics on the walls, it doesn’t make you love your father figure oh so dearly, all it does is make you realize that there is more in this world to deal with than whatever any one person can do. And once you wrap your head around that, you realize that the best you can do is make the smallest of dents, and hope some other people do the same. That is how this world works, Phil.

“And do you know what my dent is going to be?” Phil has blurred by now. Once you blink the tears away, you can see that he’s crying too. Good. Now you’re really on the same page. “Blowing up this godforsaken nation once and for all.”

You turn to walk away again, hopefully for the last time, but Phil actually makes a move to stop you before you can get anywhere. “Y/N, I refuse to allow you to go out there and risk your life for a war already fought.”

“No war is already fought until people are dead.” You snap at him, resisting the urge to spit on his boots. “Besides, I can handle myself, I don’t need you to tell me who I can and can’t fight.”

“Y/N, I am your father!” Phil’s voice practically echoes through the entire SMP as he shouts at you, finally just as mad as you wanted him to be. You’re convinced people on the other side of L’Manberg can hear you two arguing. “Listen to me, you can not risk this.”

“YOU ARE NO FATHER TO ME!” You scream, getting your face as close to Phil’s as possible while still being able to look into both of his eyes. Phil’s eyes widen, whether in pain, shock, or both, you don’t know, but he quickly recovers with a stare solid enough to cut through stone. 

“Do NOT turn this argument to family matters when we are discussing life and death!”

“This is no longer a discussion, dad,” you make sure to add as much venom to the name as possible, “We are not talking this out like a father scolds his young kid about what they can and can not touch in the house. We are screaming, and shouting, and ruining relationships like adults.” You try one more time to walk out. This time you make it down to the ground floor, but Phil follows you yet again, stopping you before you can reach the Prime Path. 

“You aren’t an adult, though.” Phil’s voice is softer now, he sounds like he’s on the verge of defeat. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.” 

“I was made an adult because of this damn war over some stupid place, I should be able to fight for it’s destruction like one.” You also stop shouting, but you don’t soften your voice. You keep it as firm as it can be despite your wobbly crying, letting Phil know that you are no longer playing games with him like you used to.

“I know that you could. I do. But that does not mean that you should.”

“Awwe, you really think so?” You feign a high-pitched voice, even clasping your hands together under your chin. “You honestly think that I can handle something more than a boo-boo, huh?”

“You know that I am making no attempt to infantilize you, Y/N. If you’re such an adult, you need to grow up. I do believe that you could fight for us, but I do not see it as wise.”

“Bullshit,” you say again, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. Phil tries to speak again, but you cut him off. “No. No! No, I don’t want you to tell me over and over about what I can and can’t do. About how you think I could be a good ally to you. I already know that, because I can make my own decisions. 

“Do you know what I do want, Philza? I bet that’s something that your infinitely wise mind can’t think of. All that I want, all that I have wanted for the past SIX. FUCKING. YEARS. Is for you to just take me seriously for once in your damn life!”

Philza stands there in silence, seemingly dumbfounded, and you take this as your chance to stomp off for good. But you know full well that you’ll see Phil tomorrow. On the battlefield.

But you won’t be fighting for him, or Tommy, or Wilbur, or any of them. Tomorrow, you fight for yourself, and you win for yourself.

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

DUDE WHAT?!?!?! INK THIS IS IMMACULATE HOW IN THE- WHAT THE F-CK THE WAY YOU CAPTURE THE ANGER AND FEELINGS AND HESITATION OF THE ARGUMENT IS SO WELL DONE!! AND THE FLOW OF TRANSITIONING FROM ONE SETTING TO ANOTHER ISNT CLUMPY OR FORCED AT ALL, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL INK! AND THE BUILDUP TO THE QUOTE, THE WAY YOU REALLY EMBODY ALL OF THE CHARACTERS IS SO MASTERFULLY DONE DEAR, AMAZING JOB!!!

[kenzumekodma]

18+ only, minors do not interact

pairing: shouto todoroki x fem!reader, politician au

warnings: power imbalance, degradation, oral (m receiving), fingering, cum swallowing, finger sucking, teensiest bit of praise, one instance of canadian spelling

summary: if this was going to happen, you might as well commit to it. there were worse people to fuck on a monday morning than shouto todoroki.

wc: 2.5k

His father’s the highest ranking politician in the prefecture, you remind yourself. Just grit your teeth and bear it.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Shouto. No, he didn’t like you, was more like it. Ever since you took on the job as his assistant you’ve shouldered this feeling that absolutely seeped from him, this feeling that he was inherently superior to you and you were nothing. A means to an end.

At first his quiet indifference bothered you, but as the weeks wore into months, into nearly a year… really you just stopped giving a shit. Sure, you’d gone into this job bright eyed and bushy tailed, answering with a quick yes sir, no sir to any questions he asked you. Slowly, though, your energy dropped, your output matching Shouto’s.

Coming into your work anniversary, a time when you’d imagined you’d be kicking your feet up for a night and enjoying a lighter workload, if not a night off, you walked into the office to a more chaotic scene. You groaned into the plastic lid of your to-go coffee. The hot liquid was your only saving grace. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath through your nose, steeled yourself as you held it for a few seconds, and then exhaled through your mouth, lips closed into a small ‘o’. With renewed nerves, you open your eyes and walk into the elevator, making your way towards Mr. Todoroki’s office.

Large solid walnut doors met you a few short strides away from the elevator. Balancing your coffee, Mr. Todoroki’s tea, and your work bag precariously but with the confidence that comes with practice as you turned the brushed bronze handle. As expected, Mister Perfect was sat behind his desk. Larger than it really needs to be, you thought, like so many things tend to be when you’re living off the bank of Daddy’s Popularity.

“What’s all the fuss about downstairs?” you asked, setting Shouto’s tea down on the coaster he had waiting for it, just like he had every day for a year. He shrugged.

“Elections are coming up. My old man wants me to run for a seat on council.”

You nodded. “And that’s why I woke up to an email this morning from Endeavor offices saying Mr. Todoroki Sr. is scheduled to come by at 10:30 today with exactly zero context.” Shoto nodded once.

“There’s no point in stopping him. He has the knowledge and I need it, I guess.”

You sighed, resigned to planning a last minute visit for the man who’s effectively your boss’s boss.

“It’s too bad,” he started, pausing to take a sip of tea. Deadpan expression still resting on your face, you quirk a brow at him, a silent what? hanging in the air. “Too bad that my old man will have to see you like this. You’ve changed since he hired you for me,” Shoto said as he stood, tea placed flawlessly in the centre of its coaster. He stalked around the desk, getting ever closer to you. Instinctively, you went to place your coffee on the desk, but you caught yourself, putting your work bag on the floor, bending to pick up your planner from it. You missed Shouto’s eyes grazing down the back of your form, hesitating at your thighs, where their plushness was accentuated by the hem of your tight, light grey skirt digging in slightly. You slid your planner onto the luxury desk, using it as a makeshift coaster for your cup.

The corner of Shouto’s lip turned up almost imperceptibly. “You used to be so polite, y/n.” He took another step towards you and you froze in confusion.

“I…” you trailed off.

“You what?” he goaded, getting closer to you again. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the aforementioned not giving a shit, maybe it was the surprise stress of Enji Todoroki’s insistence on the election, but you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and speak your mind to your boss for the first time.

“I just, I know that you think of me as lesser, and it’s true. I am. I know that, you know that. You’re political royalty and I’m just trying to make rent. So what’s the point in trying to get you to respect me with pretty words?”

“Lesser, is that so?” he murmured. He was upon you now, slender hand reaching out to take your chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger. A mixture of confidence and careful carelessness swirled behind Shouto’s heterochromatic eyes. Bicoloured hair slipped from its place to frame his sculpted cheekbones as he looked down at you.

“I’m a means to your end, and likewise for you. If we’re going to use each other we should feel good too, right? Now, wouldn’t you say the best place for inferior little girls like you is on their knees?” His eyes flickered to your lips, to your eyes, to your lips again. The last three honeyed words dripped from his lips and straight to your panties making you clench around nothing. The span of four minutes and he’d already flipped everything you thought about him on its head.

In your doe-eyed stupor you hadn’t even noticed how fucking wet you’d gotten although it was undeniable when your thighs rubbed together as you shifted your weight back and forth.

“Well?” Shouto asked, voice quiet. You nodded, bringing his hand up and down with your face. He patted your cheek. “That’s what I thought. Down,” he commanded. Shame rose in you as you dropped to the floor, flush crawling up your neck making you feel as red as half of your boss’s hair.

You looked up at him for further instruction to see him unbuttoning the top two buttons of his expensive linen shirt. Instinctively you lifted your hands to unbuckle his designer belt, but he swatted them away.

“What makes you think you’re worthy of touching anything of mine? This costs more than your salary,” he sneered.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Sorry what?”

“Sorry, Mr. Todoroki,” you corrected yourself.

“Not quite. Try again,” he tutted. You felt the heat rise from your neck to your cheeks, causing you to turn your gaze downward.

“Sorry, Sir,” you mumbled.

“I can’t hear you all the way down there. Speak up,” Shouto demanded.

“I, I’m sorry Sir,” you said, louder this time and with more confidence. If this was going to happen, you figured you might as well commit to it. There were worse people to fuck on a Monday morning than Shouto Todoroki.

“Better,” he said approvingly. He slipped his buckle and belt off with ease, unbuttoning his charcoal grey slacks. Your eyes followed his hands downwards and it finally hit you just how big of a dick print was practically staring you in the face. He pulled up the once tucked in shirt tails and bunched them up around his toned stomach. Agony, his pace freeing his cock was absolute agony. His length was impressive, on the longer side of anyone you’d been with before. And his girth. It was a lot like the man himself, surprisingly thick but beautiful. The vein running along the underside of his cock made your mouth water with anticipation.

He let it out of his hand and it rested heavily on your lips.

“Please, Sir…” you said, licking your lips just enough to tease him with the sensation of your tongue. Shouto bit back a groan but nodded his head. You gave his cock an exploratory lick up the underside. A low noise rumbled in his chest, which you took as encouragement to continue. Hesitantly, you lifted a hand up to his waist and dragged your nails down his abdomen lightly, causing him to weave his fingers through your hair and grip tightly. God forbid the political Prince Charming be anything but in charge.

He guided your head up an inch or so. Holding his length in his other hand, he tapped the flushed tip against your cherry lips and you comply, parting them without a thought in your head besides Shouto’s cock. You close your mouth around his head and suck lightly, savouring the ever so slightly salty taste of his precum against your tongue. Shouto guided your head back for a better view.

He’s been watching and waiting for months, wondering what your lips would look like wrapped around him with every sharp barb that rolled off your tongue. The reality of it was better than he’d imagined. The silky wetness of your mouth just fueled his lust further. What would your sweet pussy feel like around him? Would you let him in?

His facade faltered, and he bucked his hips into you. Your throat tightened around him and your eyes watered. Something in the way he treated you ignited a fierce competition within you. If his actions were a challenge, you took it and one upped him, taking as much of him as possible. Your nose nuzzled into the base of his cock, taking in the musky scent of his sex with every breath you tried to take. Bracing yourself with your hands on his chest, you swallowed around him. Shouto shudders and his fingers leave your scalp. He pets your hair gently, and for a split second as you looked up at him with curiosity, you saw genuine fondness written across his face. Whatever prompted it, he shoved it aside and gripped your wrists together in his larger hand, pinning them against him above your head.

His movement took you by surprise. Surprises normally caused dread to pool in your tummy. This particular surprise caused arousal to bubble inside instead, it caused you to rub your thighs together as best you could for just a tiny bit, any bit of delicious friction you could get. It wasn’t enough, and you let out a half moan, half whine sound that vibrated up Shouto’s cock.

“Pretty girl’s a little slut, huh? Likes being helpless? Keep going.” he sneered at you.

You nodded as best as you could without letting off of his dick, drool pooling at the sides of your mouth. God, the absolute debauchery of what this man would have you do for him, it made your thighs clench. Desperation evident in your actions, you moan around him, moving yourself as much as your tight little skirt would allow. Shouto shuddered and took your jaw in his fine, slender hand.

“Enough,” he hissed, pulling your mouth off of his cock. His breath came in shallow pants, the only tell that he was as affected as you were. The way you licked your lips as soon as they were unoccupied made him bite back a moan. You looked fucking delicious in that moment, a summer fruit ripe for the picking.

“Up,” he commanded. You tried your best to stand up with your balance off kilter. Really, Shouto ended up pulling you to your feet more than anything else. He turned you around, advanced on you until your ass was bumping against his desk, and then he took one step further, leaving you no choice but to shimmy up onto the surface.

“Is… is this okay?” you asked, and Shouto let out a chuckle.

“You’re just asking that now? I should be asking you instead,” he said. He leaned down and latched his lips onto your neck. “Well?” he murmured into your skin, fingers dancing at the hem of your skirt. “You wanna be my own little whore?”

“Yes… please, Sir,” you whimpered. That’s all he needed to hear to lift you up just enough to slide your skirt past the swell of your ass, letting it bunch up around your waist. He probed a finger along your covered slit. He stops at the wet patch over your aching core.

“Excited, are we?” he teases, moving your panties to the side and circling his finger around your hole, stopping just shy of dipping inside. “Tell me who this belongs to.”

“‘s yours, Sir. ‘s all yours, I’m all yours, belong to you, please, wanna be full,” you whined.

“That’s right, this belongs to me. I’m gonna take what’s mine,” he said. You didn’t know whether he meant your sopping wet pussy or your whole self but at that point you were ready to give him anything he asked for just for him to touch you, to make you cum. You let out a choked moan when he slid his middle finger unceremoniously into your fluttering walls, no longer clenching around nothing. Even one finger was a stretch for you. Not like he cared to let you get too used to it, he was more occupied with the idea of getting you to come undone on his hand.

He added a second finger and began rubbing your clit with his thumb. The urgent moans of his name and Sir, please careening from your lips sounded like the sweetest sonata he would ever hear.

“Please what?” he asked.

“Please, wanna… need to… please lemme cum,” you begged, head pressed forward into his chest.

“Let me cum, what?” Shouto goaded. “Just because you’re being fucked dumb doesn’t mean you get to forgo your manners. Remember your lesson?” he tutted, curling his finger into your bundle of nerves.

“Please, let me cum, Sir,” you gasped out.

“Go on, then. Cum.”

Your already tight muscles contracted around his fingers desperately as he stroked your spongy walls to your release. You came with a broken yelp, earning a look of smug satisfaction from the man looming over you.

He scissored his fingers once more, just to hear you mewl from the overstimulation of your fucked out cunt, your eyes scrunched shut to keep yourself grounded. The feeling of his messy fingers tapping at your bottom lip had you opening your mouth obediently.

“Keep it open,” he ordered. You opened your eyes to see Shouto had led you back onto your knees in front of him. His free hand fisted his cock inches from your face. You opened your mouth wider and looked up at him through your lashes.

“Fuck…” he groaned. Just a few more thrusts and he was painting the inside of your mouth and his fingers white with his cum.

“Close,” he said, and you close your mouth. “Clean it up.”

You sucked gently on his fingers, making sure to swirl your tongue around his knuckles and his nails, wanting nothing more than to please him, to be privy to that little bit of softness and praise you were sure he hid away for special occasions.

When his fingers were free of the mixture of your releases, he slid his fingers from your mouth and took your chin in his hand. He tilted your head to look him in the eye.

“Good girl,” he cooed. Heat rose to your cheeks at his praise, and he helped you to your feet again.

No sooner than you’d rearranged your clothing came a knock to the huge walnut doors, a deep voice booming from the other side.

“Shouto?”

[johnsamericano]

𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓎 𝓁.𝓉

This is a continuation to ten’s fic I wrote for 23 days of NCT, which you can read here. There will be more chapters to this, so I hope you enjoy!

warnings: mentions of sex.

summary: Your mother hires the most wanted tailor in town to design a new dress for the ball, who turns out to be completely different from what you’d expected. But you couldn’t allow yourself to catch feelings for him, not when you were finally so close to marrying your childhood crush.

Threads of destiny m.list.

“Is everything alright, miss y/n?”

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been locked in your room for about ten minutes now. Do you require my assistance?”

“Please, I'm having trouble with my corset.” You tried fastening it by yourself, but it turns out your arms weren't that long.

The maiden twisted the doorknob, walking in with her head down to avoid any sort of eye contact. Her cold hands slid along your back as she tied up the piece of clothing, triggering memories of what had just happened a few moments ago. Once again, you could feel that warm sensation installing at the bottom of your tummy.

“Mr. Seo looks very handsome, he's dressed in a white suit.” She said with a hint of mischief.

Ah yes, the white suit. A popular tradition amongst the town inhabitants. Whenever a gentleman intended to ask for a lady’s hand, he'd dress in all white to meet with the male in charge of her family.

You knew it was bound to happen, but not so soon, especially after your short encounter with the tailor.

“That’s...great.”

The special corset Ten had confectioned had to be discarded as neither of you knew how to adjust it. You never had the chance to look at the dress with it on, but it didn't look so bad with a traditional one.

“Let’s head out, Miss y/n.” The maid bowed, leading the way to the spiral staircase.

Johnny looked extremely handsome, his black hair perfectly slicked back as he spoke with your oldest brother, his best friend. But for some reason, the butterflies in your stomach didn't awaken at the sight of him like they usually did.

“There she comes.” Your mother stood up from the sofa she was sharing with your father, a bright smile plastered on her face. “You should leave for the ball already, it's getting late.” She encouraged.

Johnny and your father exchanged a firm handshake as if they were sealing a deal. Had he already asked for your hand?

“May I?” He extended his muscular arm your way, your fingers wrapping around it delicately, almost afraid you'd ruin the white fabric if you squeezed too hard. “Let’s get going.”

While riding on the carriage, Johnny was wearing his brightest smile, playing with something inside his pocket.

“You look adorable.”

Adorable. You didn't want to be adorable, you wanted to feel sensual, just like Ten had made you feel almost an hour ago.

‘Stop thinking about him.’

“Thank you, you don't look so bad yourself.” Johnny loved how cheeky you were, it was hard to find a woman like that in a small town like yours.

“I talked to your father.” He declared, unable to contain his excitement. But why couldn't you share his emotions?

“Really?” His hand rested on top of yours, warm as it squeezed your fingers, an improper action for an unmarried couple. Not as improper as letting another man touch your naked body, of course.

‘Stop thinking about him, y/n!’

Throughout the rest of your short trip, none of you brought up the topic again, but his hand remained on top of yours. The ride was calm, no sound but the birds chirping outside. A beautiful spring day.

“We’re here.”

If you’d known what awaited you inside the ballroom, you would've run in the opposite direction as fast as possible.

Not even half an hour into the event, Johnny dragged you along to the dance floor, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly while he gave small steps around the center of the room. Dancing was the only acceptable time where a man could touch a woman, and Johnny never missed the chance to use said privilege.

Normally, you enjoyed being pressed against his muscular chest, but not today. All your mind could think about was the tailor’s body, how well-formed it looked even though it wasn't nearly as big as Johnny's.

“Is everything alright?” Johnny inquired worriedly, his eyes looking for your lost ones. “Are you feeling sick?”

To be honest, you were. All those pairs of eyes staring at you with big smiles made the knot in your stomach tighten. The motive of the party was getting clearer with every person you saw leaning to whisper something to another with their eyes still glued on you.

“Everything’s alright.” You closed your eyes.

Just like your grandma used to say: out of sight, out of mind.

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

Nonetheless, Johnny decided it was best to take a seat, just to avoid any incidents. He sat down with a very pale version of you right at the center of the large table. Something was definitely going to happen.

“You made it!” With a dashing smile, Johnny stood up, walking towards a figure you knew all too well. “Look who’s here, y/n.”

Was this a divine punishment? Cause it sure felt like it.

“The dress turned out better than I expected. Nice to see you again, lady y/n.”

“H-how...?”

“We’ve been friends since we were kids, I recommended him to your mother.”

Ten remained as calm as ever, offering a comforting smile as his friend explained the nature of their relationship. But your mind was drifting to earlier that day when you let a simple tailor like him touch you. Stupid, stupid y/n.

“My lady?” He called for you with his high-pitched voice.

“Huh?”

“If you're not feeling well, I'll call the driver so we can get you home. Parties always come and go.” Your soon-to-be fiancee was about to stand up when you finally snapped out of it.

“I’m fine. You were saying your families had been friends for generations?”

“Oh, yes!” Your sickness was soon forgotten as he resumed the story. “He’s the first son of a foreign aristocrat family, though he gave up the family business to be a tailor. Quite a strange man as you can see.”

“A wealthy tailor, how odd.” It's all you had to say about the newly acquired knowledge.

An hour later, a group of maids came into the ballroom with treats of every flavor and cups of tea with the smallest flowers painted on them. Considering how nervous you were, having Ten just a seat away from you, you stuffed your mouth with every edible item on the long table. Johnny had taken notice of your strange behavior already, but he remained silent, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere the guests had created.

Right after the tea, the long table was quickly taken out of the room by trained butlers, leaving the dancing floor clear for any couple to dance on its elegant and shiny, cedar wood planks.

“May I have this dance?” The band had just installed themselves at a corner of the room, ready to start playing as soon as someone gave them a cue. Everyone seemed to be looking at you, expecting you to be the one to open the dance floor.

“You may.” Your elegant fingers wrapped around his hand, only squeezing lightly, a gesture proper of a lady like you.

As Johnny made his way to the center of the ballroom with your hand still in the warmth of his own, all eyes were fixed on you, the most popular couple in town. You were expected to be married by spring next year, though the idea didn't seem nearly as exciting anymore.

With a hand in the curve of your waist and the other one holding your fingers, he started spinning around, pacing his steps with the melody playing in the background. His chocolate orbs were staring into your soul with a tender smile, anxious for what would be coming after the ballad ended.

“Do you like me, y/n?” He didn't give you time to articulate an answer, the words coming rapidly out of his mouth as the beat started dying. “Because I sure do like you, and even if your feelings aren't as strong as mine, I'll make sure to even them throughout the coming years.” The room was silent, only the crack of his knee echoing through the fancy walls as he kneeled, pulling out of his jacket a small, wooden box with your initials and his written with gold. “Will, you, Lee y/n, do me the honor of being my wife?”

You were supposed to be looking at him, smiling at the good news. But your eyes were busy scanning the room, looking for him. Once your eyes met, he simply smiled, raising the glass of champagne he was holding as if making a toast.

He knew. He knew from the very beginning, and still, he decided to play innocent and steal your precious flower.

“Yes, my dearest Johnny. I'd be honored to spend the rest of my days with you.”

His lips gently pressed against the back of your hand, the sudden warmth of his plush, rosy pillows sending chills through your spine. You turned back to your now-fiancee right when Ten’s hand tightened around the glass, the tips of his fingers turning white from the pressure.

He envied his friend, for he’d never be able to have a lady such as you by his side. After all, despite his family’s wealth, he was nothing more than a simple tailor.

[moral-turpitudes]

Little White Lies:

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Unsupportive/Jealous Family Members, Fighting, Swearing, Fluff, etc.

Word Count: 4,266

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader 

Requested: Yes

Requested by: Anon, you can find it here. (this was such a fun request, I hope I did it justice lol)

Summary: From dealing with unsupportive and envious family members, to being caught in a lie, Y/N is forced to face her family and confront her feelings about her boss, all thanks to a wedding invitation.

“What do you mean you’re working as a secretary? I put in a perfectly good recommendation for you last month at the hospital!” Y/N’s father yelled as she made her way into the living room of her parents house. The old walls poorly concealing their loud arguing.

“Did you stop and think about how maybe I don’t want to follow in you and Margaret’s footsteps? I thought you’d at least be happy I’ve found something I like! But no, it’s not good enough for you aye? Nothing I do ever is...” Y/N yelled back, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, his eyes boring into hers.

“Let’s face it, you and mum both like Margaret better because she has a “respectable job” as a doctor just like you. You pushed her off to the best schools, and only approve of her boyfriend because he’s a classy businessman.” She said lighting a cigarette.

“See? You’re already picking up bad habits Y/N. We just want the best for you.” Her mother said, plucking the cigarette out of her fingers and throwing it into the fireplace as her father looked to the ground with his arms folded.

“A secretary job is respectable. I keep the company from crashing down half the time.” She said.

“And what company is that? One where they shove you in a dark room to type papers all day?” Her mother scoffed back.

“Shelby Company Limited. It’s quite nice actually.” She said with a smirk.

“Isn’t that where the Peaky Blinders run the streets? I bet you’re dating one of them for christ’s sake!” Her father yelled, turning away from his daughter in disgust.

“What if I am?” She asked, balling her hands into fists at her sides.

“Who is it? I’ll get you transferred out in no time. No daughter of mine is working as a damn secretary in fucking Small Heath.” He said.

“Thomas Shelby.” She said, his name escaping her lips before she could think about what she’d done.

Her father tensed up at his name. His face paling in complexion as he sat down, his wife eyeing him with concern.

“The Thomas Shelby?” He asked, more quietly than before as if he was being watched.

“Mhmm. What is there a problem?” She asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“No...are you sure it’s him? He practically owns half of Birmingham. Although his reputation is not something I’m fond of...I guess if you legally work for him that’s...respectable.” He said, his tone softer and more accepting than earlier. 

“Right, so now that I’m dating an infamous businessman, I’m more respectable as a secretary? Why the sudden change? I’m doing quite well on my own with this job.” She said as she observed his rigid body language. He hesitated to speak, remembering when the two older Shelby’s came in half-alive after being shot up by a rival gang.

“Well, given his reputation and my practice, I may have had a few run-ins with him at the hospital. It’s common knowledge not to get in their way but I did. I made him and his bastard of an older brother stay a week to heal after saving their asses.” He said, an annoyed look on his face.

“He threatened your father Y/N. We couldn’t even tell the coppers. But...please don’t get too proud over your position there darling. Your words could come back to you and he could find someone else by sundown.” Her mother said with a nice tone, trying but failing to take the sting out of her words.

She’d always been jealous it seemed. Seeing her daughters getting to achieve things that she couldn’t. Being led to a life of homemaking and hosting parties for her wealthy doctor of a husband. They never amassed the wealth like the Shelby family had, but they were able to afford a decent sized house in London, if that was any indication of her family’s status.

After a long, tense silence, she decided to leave. Saying a quick and frustrated goodbye to her parents before heading back to Small Heath. Her heart racing at the realization that she just openly told her parents she was dating her boss. It wouldn’t be as much of a problem if it were true, but alas it was nothing but a white lie. She had always been quiet on the subject despite them getting along well. Polly could see a connection, which she’d mentioned to her over tea various times, but she always shrugged it off. And now she knew it was only a matter of time before she had to tell him the truth.

As a few weeks passed, she continued with her clerical duties. Filing papers and reporting things to Thomas as usual. Until she got a call from home once again, requesting her presence immediately.

“Why do you all need me here anyway? I could be working right now.” Y/N said, impatiently tapping her foot on the lavish rug lining the hardwood floors of the living room.

“We wanted to give you this.” Her father said, flicking an envelope at her that she barely had time to catch.

The envelope was a light green color - her older sister Margaret’s favorite - with an intricately written invitation inside.

“Thomas Shelby and Y/N Y/L/N,

We cordially invite you to attend the union of Matthew Reynolds and Margaret Y/L/N. Formal attire will be expected at both the ceremony and reception.”

Her eyes grew wide at the invitation as she realized her parents must’ve told her sister about Thomas. Knowing nothing she did was ever kept private, unfortunately. But in that moment she knew she messed up, thinking about how she’d have to tell them it was all a lie. That she wasn’t dating the infamous gang leader. A feeling of panic and embarrassment washed over her as she realized the gravity of the situation.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her mother said.

“Y-yeah. Wasn’t expecting Margaret to invite me, let alone um...Thomas to her wedding. Are you all attending?” She asked nervously.

“Well of course! We can’t miss our best daughters wedding day.” Her mother said, not knowing how her words cut into Y/N.

“You’re loved as well. Your mother didn’t mean that. No one would dare disrespect a woman associated with Thomas Shelby. Right dear?” He said, hastily reassuring his daughter and looking at his wife with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh darling I didn’t mean it like that. We love both of you. I’m sorry...I’ll do better I promise.” She said giving her daughter a light hug.

“Please do. I’ll see you at the wedding.” Y/N said harshly, leaving the house in a hurry as she clutched the green envelope in her hand.

A week had passed since she’d set the invitation on her desk at work. The paper easily seen from anyone near her desk as not many envelopes were that color. It cost too much to make them given the financial troubles of the past few years, but of course her sister could afford it.

It was midnight though when Thomas walked by her desk out of habit, the lamp still on while Y/N had left for the night. The faint yellow glow illuminating the envelope as he raised an eyebrow at it. He quickly picked it up, reading the intricate handwriting on the letter inside as he noticed his name next to hers.

The next morning, Y/N walked to her desk to see that the invitation was missing. Her stomach doing flips as she wondered where it had gone.

“Y/N, can I see you in my office?” Thomas said as he leaned against the doorframe, his tailored suit catching her off-guard for a moment as she glanced at the man her heart ached after. Polly giving her a questionable glance and a small, knowing smirk as she walked reluctantly into his office.

He knew. He knew about the letter and she was dumb enough to leave it there last night. Dumb enough to lie to her parents. Dumb enough to harbor any feelings for the man who certainly wouldn’t admit any himself.

“Y/N...” He said, his low voice ripping her from her racing thoughts as she stood by the door.

“Y-yeah sorry. Busy morning. What do you need Tommy?” She asked, nervously fiddling with her hands.

“I need to discuss something with you. Please sit.” He said, walking over to his plethora of whiskey glasses and filling two of them with the brown liquid he loved so much. If anything, he’d probably marry a bottle of whiskey if he could.

“What is it you want to discuss?” Y/N asked, sipping from her glass as it burned its way down her throat.

“I found this on your desk. I know it wasn’t my business to go taking things, but I couldn’t help but notice my name was mentioned with yours...so now...it is my business.” He said, observing how she grew uncomfortable under his gaze, drinking more as she shifted in her seat.

“It’s a long story.” She said blankly while setting the glass down, wanting to flee out the door never to come back.

“And for once I have the time.” He said leaning backing in his chair and lighting one of his many cigarettes.

Y/N sighed and relaxed back into her seat, her heart skipping a beat as she thought of the best way to explain it to him.

“Alright...so my family is a bit backwards as you know. And happen to just adore my older sister Margaret. They funded her schooling, attended her graduations and awards ceremonies, and they uh...like that she’s dating - I mean - engaged to a businessman now. He’s what they consider successful.”

“Successful aye? What...they don’t think some razor-gang from Birmingham is successful?” He asked.

“No.” She answered, looking out the window as she continued.

“Anyway, when I visited them, they started saying things about the company and how my job wasn’t respectable. I tried to shut them down but um, my father accused me of dating one of ya, like it was a disgrace to the family. So I panicked and said that I wasn’t dating just any of them, I was dating you.” She said, looking down at the nearly empty glass in her trembling hands.

“What’d he say to that aye?” He asked, a small smirk playing on his usually stoic face.

“Oh his whole demeanor changed. Looked like he’d seen a ghost. He um...said he knew of you. Said he treated you and Arthur for a week after a bad night on the job.” She said, nervous he’d go after her father.

“Aye I remember him. A bit mouthy that one.” He said.

“You threatened him though. Why?” She asked, her nervousness turning to a bit of anger at the thought of him harming her parents, even if they weren’t the best.

“They wanted to report it to the coppers. And as you know now, we don’t deal too kindly with snitches. So I had to threaten him. To keep the peace.” He said, blowing a cloud of smoke towards her.

“I wouldn’t say peace. Fear would be a better word.” She said, sipping the last of her whiskey.

“It’s worked out for me so far.” He said.

“Yes it has Tommy...but I have one question.” She said.

“Mhmm?”

“Are you wanting to go to this bullshit wedding or not?” She asked bluntly, hoping her interrogation would be over soon.

“That depends. Are you going? You don’t seem too fond of your family.” He said.

“I’m only going out of love.” She said.

“Well in that case, I am too.” He said, jotting down the address to the ceremony on his calendar with a star on the day, his heart racing despite his cold exterior. He’d harbored feelings for her too, and Polly could see it, often questioning him when Y/N would leave for the night, but he always blew her off due to peaky business.

“Wait...you actually want to go to such a horrid thing...with me?” She asked.

“And pass up a date with my favorite secretary? Wouldn’t dream of it.” He said, a small smirk hinting at his lips which seemed almost out-of-place.

“Date? Are you sure this isn’t some small business deal? You aren’t just agreeing for money or to pity me?” She asked.

“No Y/N...I’m agreeing because I like you. Always have...just never had the time to tell you till now. Now go back to your work before Polly gets even more suspicious.” He said, admitting his feelings like it was nothing as she stood there dumbfounded.

“R-right.” She said sheepishly as she made her way back to her desk, a small smile on her face as Polly watched her. Knowing something had finally gone down between them.

A week into their newfound relationship, the day had finally come and Thomas escorted her inside the wedding chapel, her black dress complimenting his suit nicely. Her mother scoffing as she sat near her, wondering why the hell she’d wear a black dress to a wedding.

“You know black is for funerals...didn’t I teach you anything?” She asked quietly to where only Y/N could hear.

“I’m just marking the death of any peace that was left between this family. I know you both will start hounding me with questions in no time now that Margaret’s spoken for.” She said quietly, staring into her mother’s cold eyes. There’s always been a tension between them, but it seemed even a joyous occasion such as this couldn’t cut it.

“You alright love?” He asked, holding her hand in his as she stared blankly at the alter, waiting for the ceremony to start.

“It’s just my mother. She can’t put aside our differences for one fucking day.” She said quietly. Her mother leaning over to insert herself into the conversation.

“It’s nice meeting you Mr. Shelby. You’re more than welcome to sit with us at the reception.” Her mother said as she watched her daughter talk to the infamous blinder.

“Thank you Mrs. Y/L/N, we’d love to. Right Y/N?” He asked, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

“Love is one word for it I suppose.” She said, her jaw tensing as she saw her father approaching their seats.

“Glad to see you again Mr. Shelby, given this time it’s under better circumstances.” He said, shaking his hand firmly.

“Indeed it is Mr. Y/L/N.” He said, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and sticking it between his lips.

Her father soon resigned himself from the tense situation by sitting near his wife, who was eyeing the dashing blinder who smoked where he pleased.

“Can you believe she’s dating him? They look like they’ve only just started.” She whispered to her husband.

“If I have to accept him for professional reasons, you can accept him for our daughter. Enough with the snide remarks. Our lives might as well be at stake if he were to hear us...his threat still stands.” He said, knowing that his youngest daughter and her mother always had a tense relationship since her birth. It wasn’t particularly successful, only saving them in the knick of time from complications. Little did he know he was more so the heart of the family, albeit a dysfunctional one.

“They’re talking about me I know it.” Y/N said, fidgeting with her hands as they waited for the ceremony to begin. Margaret taking more than her sweet time getting ready.

“Let them talk then. It can only hurt you if you let it.” He said.

“Now, she better be dressed to the nines because this is the longest I’ve ever waited for a wedding ceremony.” He added, seeing a smirk forming on her face.

“Oh just you wait.” She said jokingly. The music catching everyone’s attention as they all looked on, and surely enough she was dressed to the nines, the whole tailoring industry probably coming together to complete the lavish gown.

“What is this the royal fucking wedding?” She asked, hearing him chuckle quietly under his breath.

As Margaret neared the altar with her father handing her off with a kiss on the cheek, she took a look at her fiancé and then turned toward Y/N, giving her a small smirk that made her stomach churn.

“What was that for?” Thomas whispered quietly, noticing the interaction.

“She’s rubbing salt in an old wound. She’s as bad as my mother.” She said, flicking her off silently. Thomas quickly placed his hand over hers to stop her from escalating the already tense situation. Her mother giving her a scolding look that she ignored, her blood boiling with the fact she was flaunting her status in front of her.

It seemed like forever before the vows ended, the tired crowd clapping and dispersing after the couple ran happily out the door of the church and to the nearby reception. With Y/N and Thomas lagging behind, not wanting to enter the horrendous venue.

“We can leave the reception early if you’d like. Maybe go somewhere more entertaining.” He suggested as they watched the couple parade around the room. Her sister quickly bringing her husband over to where they were standing.

“Y/N, love I’m happy you made it! We were scared you weren’t going to show.” She said giving her younger sister a careful hug as not to disturb her dress.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my sister...I can’t exactly avoid you forever.” She said a small smile on her lips.

“You never told me you snagged such a......man. Where did you two meet?” She asked, shaking Thomas’ hand as her husband did the same. Margaret wary of the cold stare he gave her and Matthew.

“At work.” Y/N said shortly, not appreciating her attitude.

“Look at that, my baby sister finally has a job. What is it? A teacher? a factory worker? a nurse perhaps?” Margaret asked.

“A secretary.” Y/N said, staring the bride down the best she could hoping her gaze could silence her before she made a show of it all.

“A secretary? Hmm. Well that’s good I guess. Just be careful though, those secretaries have to sleep their way to the top you know.” She said. Y/N’s face burning as she turned away from Thomas, wanting to run out and never look back.

Thomas cleared his throat and put his hand on the small of her back as she tensed her jaw, reluctantly turning back to her snake of a sister.

“How would you know? Is that how you got to your position?” She snapped back, the anger rising in her chest. She wished she could have captured her sisters expression in a photograph, her words finally cutting into her like she wanted.

“I assure you she isn’t doing anything of the sort. In fact, she’s an integral part of the company already. But if I were you I wouldn’t say too much else.” Thomas said, a dark tone to his voice as he kept a level head between the sibling rivalry that was happening by the second.

“Oh and who are you to threaten me? What’s this company you speak of? My parents never mentioned it.” She said, her husband whispering in her ear that they had to go. The poor man hated the situation just as much as Y/N.

“That was probably to protect you Margaret. You see...you’ve always been a bit reckless with new information. So I doubt you knew what father got himself into.” Y/N said.

“What are you talking about?” She asked, grabbing a glass of expensive champagne as the server walked by.

“He got in my way...and no one gets in Thomas Shelby’s way. It cost me some of my men. So, like I said, if I were you...I wouldn’t say much else.” He threatened again, her fiancé swallowing hard as he led his flustered wife away to mingle with the other guests.

“Why can’t you both get along?” Her father asked, walking over to the pair.

“I’ve done my part with both her and mum. But...I’m not staying where I’m not valued. I love you all but, we have to go. Send Margaret and Matthew our....warmest regards, yeah?” She asked taking Thomas’ hand and leading him out the door. Her father stood there with a tense look on his face, knowing his family had gotten themselves on bad terms with the Shelby’s once again.

With frantic footsteps she walked to the car, tears flooding down her face as she got in herself, not bothering to wait for him to open the door.

“You didn’t have to stick up for me, but thank you.” She said wiping her tears away as he started the car.

“Yeah.” He said, lighting a cigarette before taking off. He wasn’t much for accepting thanks, at least since the war.

“Are they like that all time?” He asked after a long pause.

“Mhmm. Now you see why I don’t see them unless I have to. They just remind me of everything I’m not.” She said, looking out the window at the evening sky.

“That I do. I’ll be sending them something later, don’t worry.” He said.

“What do you mean?” She asked, her stomach dropping as she pictured him killing her family.

“You’re not going to kill them are you?” She asked.

“No...they’re not worth my time. At least not now anyway. And besides...I wouldn’t want to hurt you more than they already have.” He said, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips.

“Tommy look, I know my father got in your way on a mission and I know he made you stay longer than you wanted to...but you can’t blame him for doing his job. He was trying to help. He may not be the best, although he’s far nicer than my mother and sister, so if anything, please spare him at least. That’s all I ask.” She said.

“Like I said, they’re not worth my time now, love. If they continue bashing you and my family for how we do business I’ll let you know first alright? But I can’t let them off without a warning, so I’ll send them a letter alright?” He said.

“Well it better be good then. That’s the last I want to hear of this feud. I can deliver it to them if it will help...to make a point at least.” She said.

“Take this then, it won’t be good.” He said giving her a handgun from his jacket.

“I’m not shooting my family Tommy!” She said loudly as they approached the Garrison.

“It’s not for them. It’s for you. They’re not the nicest people and I want you safe. Especially since you work for us now. If they hurt one of us they hurt all of us alright? I know that’s not what you want to hear but it’s how this business works. Now...let’s go have some fun aye.” He said, helping her out of the car and into the bar that was teeming with people from the shop.

“Oi! How’d the wedding go? You’re both home early.” Arthur asked, handing them both a glass of whiskey.

“Terrible. Tommy’s writing a letter tomorrow to put them on their toes.” She said.

“Did they say summin’ about ya?” He asked.

“Yes...and about the company.” Thomas added.

“I thought we told him last time that we’d blind him.” Arthur said, an angry look in his eyes.

“Aye we did. But that didn’t account for her mother and sister. They have a way with words don’t they love?” Thomas asked.

“Mhmm. I’m delivering it, maybe then they’ll take what they say more seriously next time.” She said.

“We can only hope.” Thomas said, snaking an arm around her waist as they spent the rest of the night at the Garrison before going to their respected homes, too worried about the mission to do anything else.

The next week, Thomas signed the end of the letter, his hand cramping from the amount of things he’d written. Wanting to make sure his threat came off clear as day.

“Here Tommy, put this in with it.” Y/N said, handing him a lone razor blade, making him raise an eyebrow.

“Just in case they want to make anymore remarks, they can do us a favor and blind themselves. Like you said, they’re not worth your time now.” She said with a small smirk.

He took a sip of his whiskey and pointed to her with a grin, ushering her to come over to him.

“I like how you think.” He said, pulling her close and kissing her lips ever so lightly. The feeling between them almost electric as they departed.

“I’ll go take care of this, you go on with your business.” She said, as he handed her the letter.

“You know how to shoot?” He asked.

“Mhmm. Been practicing with John.” She said with a smirk.

“Alright, love you.” He said, as he caught himself muttering those words out sooner than he wanted to. But the truth was he couldn’t stand to see her go, not without knowing she was safe.

She stood there for a moment, looking at him as a smile spread across her face.

“I love you too.” She said before walking out the door to drive to the dreaded house she grew up in. Hoping this letter would keep them at bay for once in her life. Knowing her only chance at freedom from her family’s binds were through the doors of the shop and in the arms of the man she loved.

Thomas Shelby Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy,@dreamwastakenx, @lovemissyhoneybee @thomashelbyswhore, @xxbeckybeexx-blog

If you’d like to be added/removed, just send me an ask/message! :)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

writing request for whenever: Laken and Chris go to a dinosaur museum/exhibit

CW: Referenced past pet whump, mentioned negative stimming resulting in self-injury, pet whump (different character) with intimate whumper, grief, referenced parental death, trauma response, brief reference to true crime

Timeline: Chris is 25 years old in this piece

Rafael (Raf) first appears, unnamed, in this drabble from Chris’s early college days

Laken’s hand is warm in his, their fingers intertwined, as they stand underneath the hanging bones of an enormous ancient thing like a whale but entirely unlike it, too. Chris closes his eyes, swaying lightly side to side, humming softly as he imagines it, rows of teeth with some as big as his hand, moving through oceans older than anything he can imagine, chasing down prey.

The sun shines in through the all-glass windows that make up the other side of the atrium, warming against his shirt without prickling his skin. The lights are far up and away, and the sunlight is stronger. 

“Wow,” Laken murmurs, and he glances over at them to see their chin tipped back, liquid dark eyes focused on the recreated bones not so far above their head. “I’ve never been here before. Have you?”

Chris feels the hint of pain at the question, and for once it’s not in his head from memories but simply the aftermath of what he knows. “Yeah,” He answers, voice low and soft. “With my, my dad and mom. Long, um, a, a long time ago.”

Laken’s expression shifts, too, and they wince. “Sorry. I didn’t think about-”

“No,” Chris says, insists really, giving their hand a squeeze. They squeeze back, looking him over with the face they make when they’re reading his expression. He knows it’s going to happen for a while - the cut across his forehead is still bright and obvious against pale skin, although the one on his cheek is nearly healed up and gone. They’re searching, now, for signs it’ll happen again - that he’ll pull back into his head again, maybe take longer to come back out this time.

It���s-... it’s funny, now that he has the memories, he can remember his mother worrying over it, too. And his father’s soft reminders that the worry wouldn’t fix him, because fixing wasn’t what needed done.

It’s funny. To have been told no one loved him, and that was why he had to be remade into a pet, a sort of breathing toy, only to have it all break through with the constant reminders of what a fucking lie that had been.

He’s been reading about people who were kidnapped, lately. Staying up with Wikipedia open on his phone finding names and faces. The girl in Utah, the ones in Ohio, the boy in Nevada, that guy from the famous billionaire logging family who disappeared in California... all of them say, they told us we weren’t wanted by anyone else, for anything else. After a while, we believed them. What else could we do?

It’s... soothing, almost. They weren’t drugged to make it happen, but it did, anyway. It wasn’t Chris’s fault - there was no way he could have kept himself. 

But getting all of it back came at the cost of scaring everyone who loves him now, leaving them all worried he’ll hurt himself again.

He doesn’t think there’s anything else in there that can hurt any more than what’s already come out from behind the flat, cold white light in his mind. But they’re not certain.

“Don’t worry,” Chris says, tilting his head and giving them a smile. “I’m, I’m, I’m okay, Laken. I promise. I, I, I, I-I-I like thinking ab, about them now.”

“Well... good. Okay. Just, let me know if I cross a line, okay?” 

“I, I will.” 

Laken gives his hand another squeeze and steps away to read a freestanding plaque below the bones of the belly of the creature over their heads. Chris picks up the feather necklace he’s always wearing, moving himself over to look outside, at the brilliant green lawn, the landscaping studded with blooming tulips along the walkway. There are plastic sculptures of dinosaurs out there, and Chris watches a little girl in a dinosaur-themed dress and leggings clamber up on one, giggling as she sits on the triceratops like she’s riding it and her father looks on, amused, nearby. 

The world feels strange and thin, for just a moment. He feels like he’s on the other side of a wall, and if he took a hammer to it he could step through and see himself, small and gangly and young, his mother nearby with a giant purse full of all the things he might need, her jaw set and ready to fight a battle on his behalf. One she didn’t always have to fight - but she was ready for it, anyway.

His eyes roam the green area outside, scanning, looking over every child, every parent, every friend. He’s looking for her, he realizes, his hand squeezing tight around the plastic feather, rubbing his thumb hard over the vanes. He’s looking to see if she’ll be there, ten years after she was gone. 

If all he’ll have to do is look hard enough, and she won’t be dead, she’ll be here, ready to load Tristan into the car to get his chicken nugget kids’ meal and go home.

If he only looks hard enough-

“What’s this one, sir?” The voice is soft, sweetly charming, and sends a chill up Chris’s spine with its perfect familiarity. Not that he’s ever heard this voice before - but he knows the tone, the way of rounding your mouth around each syllable, the subtle flirtation built into each word.

His heart stops beating - and then starts again, as he slowly turns to look over his shoulder.

Laken is across the room, now, off to one side. He can see their black hair, the way they stand with one hip slightly out is as familiar to him as his own skin. The soft blue sweater they’re wearing over black jeans and boots is his, they pulled it on this morning with a laugh when he said it looked better on them. He’s wearing one of their shirts over his compression shirt, fair’s fair, sweetheart, you get mine if I get yours. They’d laughed and said he looked so good in t-shirts for bands he never listened to. They’d both laughed.

Between him and his partner, though, is a couple - an older man with a much younger one. It’s the younger man who spoke.

The older man has a hand at the small of the younger man’s back, casually possessive, but it’s the black leather collar worn openly around the young man’s neck that catches Chris’s breath. He can almost feel the constriction around his own throat. Can almost feel the breath against the back of his neck as it’s buckled there, safe and sound, the collar means-

The collar-

The older man frowns, looking up at a large predator skeleton, then down at the plaque in front of it. “ Ac-... Arcanthosaurus,” He says, confidently mispronouncing the name. Chris knows how to say it. He knows exactly what it is. He could say everything on that plaque without looking. Therpopod, Early Cretaceous, fossils found primarily in Oklahoma, Texas, and... somewhere else, Colorado or Wyoming. He could describe its habitat, its likely diet, what its life looked like from birth to death.

The man says the name wrong, and his pretty pet, illiterate and dependent on him for every scrap of knowledge, doesn’t know any better. He only smiles and says, “That’s a pretty name.” He sounds satisfied.

But Chris sees his dark eyes flicker to the plaque and away, the curiosity quickly stifled and shoved down. He’s seen Kauri do the same thing, force himself into safe ignorance to avoid asking too many questions. He’s seen himself do it. He’s seen them all do it, if they weren’t allowed to read, to know, to ask, to think.

The younger man, Chris’s own age, has close-cropped black hair and wears a black shirt and pants clearly tailored to skim, to fit tightly without being indecent. To be a show of wealth without being ostentatious. That’s when it clicks - he’s seen the pet before, in a cafe with his friends. 

The younger man must feel someone looking at him, because for just a moment, his head turns and he looks right at Chris. Their eyes meet, and Chris knows the man recognizes - if not him, then what he was, what he used to be - in a second.

The pet mouths, hi, and tries for a slight smile. He lifts one hand, just a little, and his fingers move in a slight wave.

And Chris had pretended not to see, hunched down in his seat with his heart racing until the two were gone. What were the odds he’d see the same one again? What were the fucking odds, he’d get to be a coward again, to hide from his own life. What were he odds he’d see one here?

Chris had forgotten the museums are all pet-friendly if you call ahead. So many of the places he goes now aren’t. 

Suddenly, he wants to leave, to never come back, not to let the reality of his life intrude on the moment where he’d been so, so close to the memory of his mother, had nearly seen her on the grass. 

“Stay here, Raf, I’m going to step over to the water fountain.” The older man kisses the younger man’s cheek, and they smile at each other, but Chris knows a pet’s smile when he sees one. He’s made the same expression, again and again, felt the snap of white-hot pain on his back or his hands whenever it wasn’t believable enough for the handler staring down at him.

The older man walks away.

For the second time, Chris is faced with the same pet standing alone in a room of people, the two of them know each other in a way no one else here ever could, not really, not without losing it all, too.

He takes a breath.

Raf - the pet - turns to look out the window at the sunlight, and for the second time in his life, Chris meets eyes with a stranger who is, in many ways, exactly like him. 

The pet maybe doesn’t recognize him - without his long hair, and they only saw each other once - but he recognizes something, because his expression changes. Chris isn’t the only one staring - there are children asking soft questions in stage-whispers who are admonished by their parents, older kids staring openly in silence, two adults who see Raf and just as quickly leave the room. 

In a wide, round room full of people, Raf is utterly isolated from all of them, from anyone but the man who keeps him. Chris knows the feeling.

He tells himself to move. All that happens is that he pulls on the feather necklace so hard the cord snaps, comes free, and he stares down at it, before slowly raising his eyes again.

The pet gives him a faint, sad smile.

He mouths, hi.

It’s a circle. 

Somewhere just behind him, he feels the warmth of her, a hand around his shoulder. His eyes blur with tears. She’s so close, here. With the world she brought him out into comes all his memories of her, crowding in on him. Kisses to his forehead, a hand to check for a fever, arms around him to block out the heavy weight and shrieking noise of a hungry world with its jaws open to hurt him.

He can feel her hands on either side of his face, leaning her forehead to his, whispering, you’re okay, Tris, we’re going to get out of here and somewhere quiet, you’re okay. Just hold onto me. 

Just hold on.

She’s so close.

He can hear her, feel her. If he could just move the right way, she wouldn’t be dead at all. If he could just undo everything, if he could fix his mistakes, if he could stay still in the closet and hide just right, if he does it just right nobody has to die and he doesn’t have to lose them and no one has to die-

One step, and then another. His mother’s voice, not forgotten, although blurred by time and loss. That’s how we start, Tris. One step, and then another. You can do this. I’m right here if you need me, but listen - you won’t. You’ve got this, baby. They’re going to love you, all those kids in there.

How, how, how, how, how can you, what if they, they don’t-

They will. 

But-

One step, Tris, and then another. We’ve done it all that way, and we’ll do this that way, too.

He looks back at the green grass outside, the courtyard with the playing children and watching parents, the faint sounds of their happiness through the glass. Her hand is at his back, and Chris takes one step, and then another. His heart is in his throat, his hands shaking, his stomach is twisted in knots and a cold brick of ice inside him. 

One step, and then another. 

She’s so close, and if he does this just right, she’ll find him and take him home. 

No.

She’s already here, no matter where he goes. Home is Jake, and Laken, and Antoni, and Kauri, and Nat. Home isn’t a place, it’s people, and he’s his mother’s home, now, the place where she lives after she’s gone.

He closes the distance between them, and stops next to the pet, holding the broken feather necklace in his hand still. The weight of the sun on his back is warm, and not too heavy. 

They stand next to each other, and he looks just to the side of the pet’s eyes, focused on something else, to avoid the way looking right at him would overwhelm, be too much to take. 

“You were one,” Raf says, in a low voice, sounding stunned. “But you’re not... not now.” 

Chris inhales, slowly. His body screams at him to run, to move, and his mind demands he be silent, be still. Instead, he rocks, forward and back, feels the air move around him. Reminds himself he could do - could be - anything with his body that he wants to, now.

And maybe this pet can, too.

“I, I, I named myself, um, Chris,” He whispers, hoarsely. 

“He calls me Rafael,” The pet replies, and his eyes move over Chris’s face. There’s an expression Chris can’t read well there, a subtle desperate want, but expressions are hard for Chris and right now the static crackling in his mind, the trains of his thought careening wildly around each other, make it even harder. “I would have liked to name myself.”

One step, his mother says, urging him into the gym, where some other kids are already doing backflips and tumbling on mats. One step and then another.

“You can... can do that. If you, um, if, if, if you-you... run.”

“I-... I couldn’t do that.” The pet looks off to the side, but his owner is still in the bathroom. There’s fear in his voice - that Chris can read without trying. Fear, he knows so well. “Where would I go?”

Chris manages a faint, thin smile. He wants to shake apart. He settles for holding out the feather. “Home,” He whispers.

Come on, Tris. You can do this. I believe in you.

“Home is-”

“Home is, is, isn’t this. It isn’t-... it, it, it isn’t him. It’s not an, any of, of, of of of them.” 

“But-”

“5-5-5,” Chris says softly. Sweat sticks his compression shirt to his back, cold trickles down the back of his neck. His heart pounds so hard his lungs have no room for air, his voice is breathless, barely even a whisper, now. “7-2-3-3. They’ll, they’ll help you. Call them.”

Rafael looks down at the feather, and slowly takes the soft purple silicone into his hand, rubbing his fingers over the carved plastic, then looks back up. “I love him,” He says, softly. “I was-”

“Made for, for him,” Chris finishes, not wanting to hear it in the other pet’s voice. Hating the idea that they both know every single phrase by heart, forever, and they can’t undo that. “But... I was, was, was, too. And I’m not, now.”

Rafael slides the feather into his back pocket, looking to the side, at the pristine, cloudless blue sky visible above the courtyard through the thick glass. “5-5-5,” He says, softly, “7-2-3-3.”

“Call,” Chris says, his voice failing him as his fear keeps rising. He has to swallow and steady himself to speak again. “Someone... somebody, somebody l-loved you.”

“But-”

“They, they, they lied to us.” It feels so weird to say it out loud, but he does. He can’t stop himself. “They lie to, to, to to-... to-to... to us all. Someone, somebody loved you.”

He has to go, he can’t be still a second longer, and he walks away without waiting for a response. His timing is perfect - he steps up to Laken just as the pet’s owner comes back from the restroom, sweeping past Chris - pretty but scarred, nothing special, please god don’t look at me - and moving back to Rafael, who smiles up at him with the same perfect, pristine affection Chris has seen in himself and in Kauri and in every single one of the ones like them.

Practiced at the edge of a knife, the lash of a whip, the crack of a cane, until they can turn it on and off on command, at will, whenever they need the smile to keep themselves safe.

Laken turns to him as he stops next to them, looking him over, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “You okay? Oh, hey, your feather’s gone. What happened?”

He allows himself a glance over his shoulder, sees the pet and his owner moving to another room, walking together. The hand at the small of Rafael’s back.

The broken cords from the necklace just barely visible sticking out of his pocket before Chris watches him push them further in to hide them.

“I, I, I gave it to, um, to someone,” He says, turning back to them, leaning over to kiss their cheek, barely a brush. “I, I, I need to go outside. The, um, the everything... can, can we, um, can we go-”

“Yeah, sure. No problem. Do we need to, like, go go, or...”

“No.” Chris looks up at the dinosaur Rafael had been looking at. “Oh, I, I, forgot to tell him it’s acrocanthosaurus.”

“What?”

“Um, noth-... nothing. Let’s, um, let’s go outside for for for a while.” 

Laken hand slides back into his and they walk out the opposite door that Rafael went through, Chris’s hand moving to tap on his own hip as he walks, calming himself with each quick rush of sensation. 

“Hey, hey Laken?”

“Yeah?”

“Remind me, um, remind me to, to, to-to-to call Nat later. Okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

They walk down a set of stairs, people moving quickly past or around them. He misses the weight of the feather over his chest, but he has more at home. And now there’s a pet with proof, tangible and real, that there’s a life to be made by leaving. 

A life worth living.

A life worth running without looking back.

“I, I, I want to tell her to, um, to tell the groups to... to see if someone calls them. I want to, to, to... to know if he does.”

“Who?”

“Um, I’ll, I’ll tell you, you... out, out, outside, okay?”

Somewhere inside him, as his pounding heart calms, his mother says, I’m so proud of you when he tells her that he spoke up. 

He knows Nat will say it, too. 

They surprise a bird in a burst of red wings out of a bush as they move outside, and Chris watches it fly across the courtyard and disappear into the canopy of a tree. 

One step, and then another, to build the man he is out of the boy he was before.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @wildfaewhump

[sincerelystranger]

not enough 5

Wei Wuxian proves himself to be good.

Good and kind and diligent.

And like his father, his goodness breaks Jiang Fengmian’s heart.

“They saved me, uncle,” he says, his eyes dark and wide and desperate. “The only mark against them is that they are Wens. They’ve never killed or hurt anyone. I can’t – What the Jin’s are doing is not justice.”

Jiang Fengmian can’t do anything but look back at him.

They’re in the cursed Burial Mounds, a group of Wen’s shiver behind Wei Wuxian. All of them, hiding behind this young boy as if he can save them.

Jiang Fengmian wants to hate them, but he sees too much of himself in them. He’s no better than them, after all. He’s been looking for salvation in Wei Wuxian for years.

“This will make you an enemy out of the entire cultivation world,” Jiang Cheng snarls angrily, stepping forward to grab Wei Wuxian’s arm and shake it. “They already talk ill of your cultivation. You protecting the Wen’s… Wei Wuxian… Our sect cannot afford to protect them.”

“That’s why I will protect them,” Wei Wuxian replies seriously, “Tell everyone that my actions are mine alone – that the Yunmeng Jiang do not approve.”

Jiang Cheng turns to him. “Father – tell him!” he says desperately, “Tell him he cannot do this!”

Wei Wuxian turns his head to look at him as well.

“Wen Ning is the only reason I was able to get you and Yu-Furan out that night, uncle,” he says softly, “If for that reason alone, I cannot abandon them.”

This is the first time Wei Wuxian has really stood up against Jiang Fengmian, and it breaks Jiang Fengmian’s heart that it is to defend his honor.

If only they weren’t Wens.

If they were from any other family, Jiang Fengmian would happily protect them for the rest of their lives.

But his son is right.

And his wife is right.

And Wei Wuxian is right.

“We can’t protect you, A-Xian,” Jiang Fengmian says softly, and his voice comes out surprisingly even, even as his heart crumbles in his chest. “Is this really what you choose?”

Wei Wuxian stares at him for a long while before he nods solemnly. A stray tear falls down his face and Jiang Fengmian turns before he sees any more fall.

“Father,” Jiang Cheng calls out desperately, “You can’t let him – father!”

“With this decision, you are no longer part of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect,” Jiang Fengmian says calmly. “You are no longer under our protection and we will no longer claim you.”

He doesn’t know if Wei Wuxian replies or not, because walks away.

Jiang Cheng catches up to him when he’s already more than halfway down the mountain. “Father,” he says desperately, and Jiang Fengmian can already tell by the sound of his voice that his son is crying. “A-Xian – Wei Wuxian, he’s just – he’s just—“

“Hush,” Jiang Fengmian says not slowing down at all. If he stops now. If he stumbles even just one step. He knows that he will run back there and drag Wei Wuxian back to Lotus Pier. He knows this. So he can’t stop.

“Please father,” Jiang Cheng sobs, “You can’t throw A-Xian away like this. Look around you – a person cannot survive here. You’re sentencing him to death. Please—“

“This is Wei Wuxian’s decision!” Jiang Fengmian shouts, his eyes looking forward, his back straight and his steps steady.

“But he’ll die,” Jiang Cheng sobs, “Why won’t you save him? Don’t you care?”

I do love him, Jiang Fengmian thinks numbly. It’s because I love him that I cannot save him.

That boy. That poor boy. He never had a choice anyway.

From the moment Jiang Fengmian found him on the street, Wei Wuxian was destined to ruin himself for him.

He was just like his father after all.

---

His wife is surprisingly furious with him.

“You should have dragged him back here by his hair if you had to,” she seethes, Zidian crackling on her fist.

“He would not leave without the remaining Wens,” Jiang Fengmian explains calmly, “I did as much as I could.”

“Then you should have brought the Wens along as well,” she snaps back.

Her reply shocks him.

“You know as well as I do that bringing them back is not an option,” he says.

She scoffs at his answer. “Why? Are you so afraid of those arrogant old men and their gossip?”

“It’s more than gossip,” he says, “Protecting the Wens would mark us as traitors.”

“Protecting old women and children would mark us traitors?” his wife asks sarcastically. “How cowardly you are.”

“Do you not care of how our sect is spoken about?” he asks, his voice rising with his temper. He had expected this from Jiang Cheng but from his wife? He had secretly thought she would be delighted to finally be rid of Wei Wuxian.

“If I cared how we were spoken about, I would not have let that orphan live with us for so many years,” she yells back.

Her answer silences him. It makes him sit back on his seat and just look at her.

She’s strange, his wife. And just when he thinks he knows her… she…

But then again, Jiang Fengmian has always been a fool.

His problem is that he always thinks he knows.

He sighs deeply and lowers his head in defeat. “I cannot bring him back now,” he says tiredly, “His separation from our sect is already common knowledge.”

“You’re an old fool,” she says, her mouth turning down in disgust. “Without a sect, everyone in the world will be after that talisman of his. With your cowardice, you’ve sentenced all of them to a miserable end.”

“If you’re right, then I’ve just saved our sect from certain annihilation,” he says, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

He’s not sure anymore what the right thing to do was.

He had been sure when he was on Burial Mounds, but now…

“I do not understand you,” she says coldly. “Once you were prepared to jeopardize all of us to save him. Now, you send him off like a sheep for slaughter. Has your sentimental love for his mother finally come to an end?”

Jiang Fengmian stands and walks out of the room, unable to stand his wife’s words any longer.

I just wanted to free him, Jiang Fengmian thinks desperately.

But maybe he’s lying to himself.

Maybe.

Maybe Jiang Fengmian had just wanted to free himself.

---

They call him the Yiling Patriarch.

Wei Wuxian becomes the topic of many fearsome tales. They claim that he is half man and half demon. They say that he can kill a thousand men with one note from his flute. They say he performs dark magic with the Wens on the cursed Burial Mounds.

People speak endlessly about him and Jiang Fengmian finds that he just… misses him.

Not even just his face or the way he reminds him of the man he lost.

Jiang Fengmian finds that he just misses Wei Wuxian.

Time passes and things seemingly start to settle down and Jiang Fengmian begins to think that perhaps his decision to let Wei Wuxian part from his sect wasn’t the death sentence his wife and Jiang Cheng made it up to be.

Maybe… Maybe for once, Jiang Fengmian has made the right choice.

He finds solace in the thought.

He knows Jiang Cheng goes up to the Burial Mounds every so often. He thinks he’s being sneaky about it, but Jiang Cheng is just as subtle as his mother – which is to say not at all.

Jiang Fengmian turns a blind eye to it and comforts himself with the knowledge that if Wei Wuxian were really in trouble, Jiang Cheng would say something to him.

It’s an odd feeling, but he feels that Jiang Cheng has outgrown him somehow.

At one point, he had believed Jiang Cheng to be too much like him. Unable to love correctly and always hurting the person who least deserved it.

Now…

Now Jiang Cheng doesn’t seem to be like him at all.

“He’ll be a much better sect leader than me,” Jiang Fengmian says to his wife.

His wife turns her head to watch Jiang Cheng. He’s training disciples in the main courtyard. “At the very least, he will be more decisive than you,” she says.

Jiang Fengmian watches her watch her son. It’s hard to remember why he always thought her so indifferent. So cold.

He knows now that there is an inferno that she keeps tightly trapped inside.

She loves so fiercely that it scares her to let it out.

He’s sorry that it took him twenty years to realize it.

“I’m glad he is so much like you,” he says softly, and the truth of it weighs heavily on his chest.

She doesn’t react to his words, but she lowers her eyes and he can tell she’s touched.

“Old age has made you soft,” she says after some time.

Maybe before, Jiang Fengmian would hear the coldness in her words, but now all he can hear is the affection.

It’s strange how things change.

---

His daughter gets married.

She’s stunning in her wedding attire and her smile is bright enough to light up all of Lanling.

Jiang Fengmian had been uncertain about her marriage at first – the last thing he wanted to do was curse her to an unhappy marriage – but looking at how Jin Zixuan dotes on her, he feels safe enough to send her to Lanling…

…And after Jiang Cheng’s long ‘talk’ with Jin Zixuan, Jiang Fengmian feels rather confident that Jin Zixuan will not be like his father.

His wife has a rare smile on her lips during the wedding celebrations.

“If you hadn’t stupidly broken up their betrothal, they would have gotten married much sooner and we might be grandparents by now,” she says, but her tone is too happy for her words to have any real sting.

“I think this may have worked out better,” Jiang Fengmian replies easily with a smile of his own. “A little hardship is good fuel for a man’s love.”

His wife rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh. “Perhaps that is where I went wrong,” she says, “I was too easy.”

Her words are a sharp jab at Jiang Fengmian’s heart.

He knows that their marriage has been a cold one. A meeting of two people unwilling to understand one another.

He often thinks that if they had met under different circumstances, they may… well it might have never been love, but they would not have hurt each other as they did.

Because… he understands now that he hurt her too.

He reaches over and puts his hand over hers.

She doesn’t look at him, but he can tell that she’s surprised by the way she freezes.

“The best a parent can hope for is a better life for their children,” he says softly. “You’ve raised her well, and for that she will have a better marriage than ours.”

His wife blinks rapidly and turns her head slowly to look at him. Her eyes are wide and deep and they look surprisingly vulnerable on her stoic face.

He gives her a soft smile. “But I don’t think our marriage is too bad, either,” he says, and he squeezes her hand in his.

She turns her face away quickly and does not reply.

She’s quiet for the rest of the banquet.

But she doesn’t remove her hand from his.