#he finished his time in the military with a love for the drink. he married someone who enabled him. he became a cop. I rarely spoke to him. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

averagewriter-inthedark · 1 year

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Before He Cheats | Dagger Squad Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: female pilot!reader x Dagger squad (platonic), reader x ex!oc (past romance)

Content Warnings: angst, cheating, profanity, ends with sweet revenge | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 3.8k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: One thing about cheaters, they’re always gonna get caught. Whether right when it happens or years down the road the truth always comes out. And one thing they should realize is revenge is a dish best served cold.

Note: I finally finished my first year of grad school!!! Fucking finally people. Now I can relax and get to the drawing board. I already have visions and outlines for all current requests in my inbox and be sure to check out my April/May upcoming works and my pinned works in progress for what’s coming and posted! Thank you for your patience and to the anon who requested this I hope you liked it!

Also y’all….is there like some freaky shit going on with the universe and my works 💀 cause three days after I posted Lover inspired by Taylor swift she and her man of 8 years broke up and now I’m posting a cheater imagine (this request is from end of February) when there’s stuff going about Glen 👀 this is just freaky now

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Friday night at the Hard Deck consisted of a full house ready to kick off the weekend with beer and music. For a few years now Y/n had been working at the bar serving drinks and singing from 8pm to 9 as a way to make extra cash while her college sweetheart Ryan, who was a Lieutenant Junior Grade, was stationed at Miramar. Having not been married despite being a couple for so long, Y/n lived off base with some roommates while her boyfriend stayed in the dorms, however, he’d come to her place after work and stayed on weekends.

It was rare to see a military couple not be the stereotypically, “we got married right after I commissioned so my partner can be my dependent and travel with me when I get orders.” No, that wasn’t Y/n and Ryan. After Ryan’s commission Y/n stayed to finish up her Master’s at the University of Miami where they met while he was sent to Japan for two years. Then he was stationed in Virginia, followed by Lemoore, and now he was at Miramar. The longest base he’d been at. Y/n had been with him in Virginia, but didn’t move to Lemoore as she had a three-year contract with her job at the University of Virginia.

Toward the end of his two years at Lemoore, Y/n called Y/n to inform her he was being stationed at North Island and the contract was to be at least five years. Wanting to be close to him after being apart for so long and filled with hope they’d finally settle after Ryan hits ten years in the Navy, Y/n transferred to the University of California San Diego as the history of music professor. She also took on a part-time job as a bartender Friday and Saturday since she was only teaching two sections that occurred on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Plus Penny allowed her to sing Friday nights as an added bonus knowing she loved music.

Y/n settled rather quickly in North Island. With her two jobs she developed a friendly social circle consisting of the UCSD staff on campus and regulars at the Hard Deck. Several of the aviators took a liking to her. They knew Ryan and would often meet up every Friday after work to catch up on the week and watch her sing. Y/n always had their rounds ready the moment they walked in, “got ya seven cold ones.”

“Already?”

“The newbie over there didn’t read the sign. Round’s on him.”

They’d cheer Y/n on when she sang, literally the loudest bunch in the whole bar. “Sing it girl!”

“Ariana ain’t got nothing on you!

Phoenix sometimes sat at the bar when she needed to get away from the guys. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“Penny gave me the night off since I got papers to grade…but If I get done early I’ll be free.”

“Please, I am in need of a girls night. Hell I’ll even come help you grade if you tell me what to do.”

“Damn, Nat, were the guys too much this week?” She placed another beer in front of the pilot, removing the empty one to discard. “This one’s on me. You look like you need it.”

“You have no idea, Y/n. All week we’ve been training for an upcoming mission and they’ve been driving me nuts.”

Ryan had his own group of friends from the base who’d come toward the later hours of the night. They’d usually take up the space at the bar, Ryan greeting Y/n with a kiss and telling her how the day was. He’d nurse a couple beers before he and Y/n would retreat to her apartment when the place closed at eleven.

They’d been together for several years, coming up on their eighth anniversary when Y/n discovered his infidelity.

And it wasn’t just a one-and-done “I was drunk and stupid, she doesn’t mean anything,” type of deal. No, this was a long going affair lasting almost a year.

What was the kicker? The other woman was a married coworker of his.

Now Y/n may have had the reputation of being the sweet, down to earth, understanding person who would never hurt a fly. But as soon as her eyes landed on Ryan, her partner of eight years, shoving his throat down another woman’s throat while grabbing her ass like it would vanish from thin air…..she saw red. Kill Bill sirens blasting in her mind. Y/n wanted to ruin both of them seeing she wasn’t the only person betrayed. The woman’s husband was also being deceived.

And what was punishment for adultery and extramarital sexual conduct? Well, according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice those in the military who are married or have affairs with married personnel are dishonorably discharged, forfeited of all pay and confined for one whole year.

Was it harsh? Maybe some would see it that way. But cheaters need to be taught a lesson.

And Y/n was gonna make sure they got it.

For a whole week Y/n put on a brave face. Accumulating photographs and screenshots of text messages, emails, and bank statements to show proof of the affair and how long it had been going on. She secretly got in touch with the husband of the Lieutenant Ryan was sleeping with, presenting him with everything. Heartbroken and angry, he agreed to remain quiet until the meeting Y/n had set up on that following Friday with their partner's supervisor.

“I know this is a lot to ask,” she exhaled, tired from everything and having to act like she was fine. “But come Friday they’ll be faced with the consequences of their actions. I’m sorry you’re having to go through this as well.”

“It’s not your fault—you’re not the one who cheated on me. You’re the one who found out and had the decency to tell me. We both got screwed,” he rubbed his face with his hands, wedding ring flashing under the light. When it caught his eyes all he could do was glare at it. “The only thing making this somewhat bearable is the fact they’re gonna be hit with the ultimate blindside.”

Y/n nodded to his ring, “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m contacting a divorce lawyer once I leave here. Hopefully the papers will be drawn up quickly so I can bring them to the meeting. Make it a double whammy. You?”

Y/n threw back the rest of her gin & tonic, letting out another tired sign, “I booked a flight to Cabo. Spring break is next week so I’m gonna take a well needed week long vacation and then figure it out from there.” Sunny skies with margaritas and radio silence seemed to be the best therapy at the moment.

For the next three days Y/n maintained a strong façade. Whenever Ryan went to kiss her she’d kept it short or moved to where his lips hit her cheek. She continued to send screenshots to her phone and delete the conversations so he wouldn’t notice. When she surprised him at work for lunch the day before the meeting it really threw both the cheaters off.

“Y/n,” his eyes went wide, “what are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d surprise you for lunch,” she held up a bag of homemade stir fry, bidding a glance at the woman who also was white a sheet. “Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Y/n.”

“Becca.”

“Becca,” she repeated, a smile tight on her lips. While doing so she gave an obvious glance to Becca’s ring finger, finding the diamond. “Beautiful ring you’ve got there. Are you engaged?” Becca became flustered, but kept calm.

“Married.”

“Ah, your husband has a great eye for jewelry. You’re so lucky.”

Ryan was quick to cut the conversation short after the mention of Becca’s husband. Visibly uncomfortable with how Y/n was throwing their aldurty in their face despite not knowing she was aware of it.

The next day Y/n marched into their superiors office, dressed like a corporate CEO ready to fire the entire team for an unforgivable mistake, with two boxes on each arm. One filled with all the evidence of Ryan and Becca’s affair, the other containing all of Ryan’s belongings he had at Y/n’s apartment. Becca’s husband, Tim arrived a minute later with a folder of divorce papers in his hands.

They met with the supervisor first. Y/n introduced who she was and who Tim was, presenting the box of evidence and explained while the Captain shuffled through the papers. Visibly disgusted, the Captain thanked Y/n for bringing it to his attention and promised the adults he would handle the rest.

“Are you calling them in right now?” She asked.

“I was planning to this afternoon, why?”

“I’d like to be present if you don’t mind,” a hand came up to the other box she had, “These are his things and frankly, I want to see the look on his face.”

“Me too,” Tim piped up and waved the folder in his hands. “These need to be served to Becca.”

The supervisor simply shrugged and said, “if that’s what you want, fine by me.” He hit a button on his phone, “Wilkins, please inform Lieutenants Stevens and Leeds they need to report to my office immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” Though her heart was racing, Y/n remained poised and took a seat against the wall of the room. Tim sat beside her, both setting their gaze on the door to await their soon to be exes.

Roughly ten minutes later, a knock on the door sounded and the Captain gruffly said, “enter.” The door opened to reveal Ryan, whose eyes went straight to his superior before scanning the room ultimately resulting in him to freeze where he stood. Turning white as a sheet, Y/n could only imagine what was running through her ex boyfriend’s mind. There was great satisfaction seeing his eyes flicker from her to Tim to the Captain.

“Have a seat, Lieutenant,” the older gentleman's finger pointed to the seat in front of his desk. It seemed to snap Ryan from his daydream, the man stumbling into the room and unable to form words.

When he sat the first thing he tried to say was her name to which the Captain voiced, “I didn’t say you could speak, Lieutenant. Keep quiet, we’re waiting on one more before we get started.”

Becca’s reaction was pretty much the same when she arrived two minutes later. “T-tim,” she stuttered, red as a tomato and fear etched on her face.

“Rebecca,” his tone was blank, matching his expression. Just the full name combined with the parties in the room indicated to Becca she was about to have the worst day of her life.

But hey, maybe she shouldn’t have cheated then.

And Ryan? Mans was shitting bricks where he sat. Couldn’t even bring himself to look at Becca when she sat in the chair beside him. He kept trying to plead to Y/n with his eyes but she wasn’t having it.

The Captain got right to it. He laid out all the evidence on the desk for the two to see, Becca immediately breaking into tears while Ryan tried to explain. What could he explain though? How could he defend a year long affair with a married coworker in front of her husband, longtime girlfriend and superior.

When it came time for the Captain to discuss where to go from there, Y/n excused herself by dropping the box of Ryan’s things into his lap, “Here’s all your shit,” it nearly spilled onto the floor when the action surprised him. “Don’t call, text, show up at my place or at the bar tonight otherwise I’ll call the cops. I’m done with you, Ryan. Thanks for wasting eight fucking years of my life.”

“Wait, Y/n, please—,” she cut him off when he went to stand.

“You’ve not been dismissed yet,” that got him to freeze, noticing the Captain smirking in the corner of her eye. She turned to Tim, “Thanks for your help. Good luck with everything and I hope it works in your favor.” Becca gasped, realizing what the folder in Tim’s hand represented. It spurred on another wave of tears.

“Thanks,” he gave a tired smile, “And good luck to you.” With that Y/n was out the door and Ryan was out of her life. First thing she did was go home, change, and drive to the Hard Deck. Penny immediately poured a glass for her, “long day?” Y/n accepted the beer with a nod.

“Glad it's almost over.”

“What happened?”

Y/n felt the tears welling in her eyes. The emotions she had been holding the past two weeks had finally broken free. Concern formed on Penny’s face. “Ryan was cheating on me for the past year.”

“No,” the woman gasped. Never had she thought Ryan, who always came to the bar to keep Y/n company and watch her sing and her partner of almost a decade would betray her like that. “Did you just find out today?”

“Last Monday. I went to bring him his dry cleaning he left at my place and found him making out with his married coworker.” Another gasp left Penny. “I’ve been playing actor the past two weeks to make him think everything was okay while I gathered proof. Told the woman’s husband a couple days ago and we both met with their superior today. Gave him his stuff while I was at it.”

“I’m so sorry honey,” Penny reached over to pat her hand, “he’s an asshole and you’re worth so much more than him.” Y/n softly smiled at that, mumbling a thanks. Penny served her another glass, “Take the night off okay, I can call Elise to take your shift.”

If Y/n was being honest the offer sounded like a dream. She wanted to go home and cry herself into a bucket of ice cream while watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine until she passed out. But part of her also wanted to sing her pent up feelings out. “Thanks, Penny. I’d still like to sing though if you don’t mind. I could use the release.”

“Of course,” Penny waved a hand, “Whenever you feel like it I’ll have Jose set up the mic. Your guitar’s in the back where I keep the stock.”

For the next couple hours Y/n caught up on grading some papers at a booth while she waited for 8 to roll around. By 6 most of their regulars from the base arrived, signaling the end of the work day. Nat was the first to spot Y/n, strolling over and immediately noticed by the professor's body language that something was off.

“What happened?” She sat across from her.

“What makes you think something happened?”

Nat gave a look, “first, you’re not working the bar.” Y/n shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

“Penny gave me the night off. I’m still singing though so I thought I’d hang out for the time being—catch up grading before spring break next week.”

“The tone in your voice is off.”

Y/n scoffed even though the pilot was right, “It’s not off.”

“What’s not off?” Rooster comes up, pushing Nat aside so he could slide into the booth.

“Y/n’s acting off and won’t say why.”

“I’ve been grading papers for the last two hours,” Y/n rolled her eyes, “sixty to be exact and all are six pages each. If I sound off it’s probably because I’m tired.” Again, Nat doesn’t appear convinced.

“But you’re still gonna sing even though you probably would rather be home sleeping the day away?”

“Friday nights are what I look forward to during the week,” Y/n scribbled a grade at the top of the paper in front of her, placing it on the stack, “I get to see you guys and sing whatever I want. I wouldn’t miss this.”

“Is Ryan coming?” It was an innocent question and one to expect from her friends given they had no idea of the events that’d taken place. However it didn’t stop the sharp intake of breath Y/n did.

“No, he’s not,” she quickly added before they could ask why, “he got held up at work. His supervisor needed to discuss some things with him.”

“Uh oh,” Rooster made a face, unaware of the boiling anger surfacing in Y/n. “That can’t be good.”

“Yeah,” Y/n clicked her pen, finishing up the last paper. Nat decided not to press further on what was bothering her friend. If Y/n wanted to say then that was up to her.

So to brighten her mood Nat bought her a round and challenged Y/n to a game of pool. Y/n packed up her things, placed them behind the bar and then greeted the other daggers.

“There’s our favorite singer,” Jake announced with a smile. “We were wondering where you were.” Y/n took the cue Rooster handed her.

“Just trying to get through the semester, Hangman.”

The two women played best out of three with Y/n winning the first and final game. By the time they finished it was pushing 7:50 so Y/n informed Penny she was getting her guitar. Once retrieving the instrument she returned to the floor to see Jose had set up the mic and stool for her.

Grabbing a glass of water, Y/n took the stage and set the glass beside the stool before clearing her throat, “Hey everyone.” There were a few hoots and whistles from her friends and regulars at the bar. “How’s your night going? Good?” There were some ‘yeahs’ from the crowd, people moving to get drinks and settle close to the stage. “That’s great to hear. Just sit back, relax, and feel the music.”

Y/n played several songs, all acoustic, starting with Taylor Swift’s ‘Getaway Car’ followed by ‘Back to Black’ by Amy Winehouse. She changed the tune by playing Bill Withers ‘Ain’t No Sunshine,’ but changed ‘she’ to ‘he’ that not many caught. She played ‘Norman Fucking Rockwell,’ by Lana Del Rey and ‘Somebody That I Used To Know,’ from Gotye.

Coming up to the final five minutes of the hour, Y/n gulped the remaining bit of her water and put on a brave face. “This last song,” she paused to close her eyes, “fits the theme you’ve been hearing all night, but is a little more close to the heart. It’s dedicated to someone who’s not present in the crowd which really is a good thing because he knew what was best for him,” very quickly Y/n saw the confusion appear on her friends, some whispering to each other to ask if they knew what she was talking about. “If you can relate to this song because you’ve been on the receiving end of betrayal then my heart goes out to you for I feel your pain. If you can relate because you’ve been that one to betray someone, well, I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

Letting her fingers drum against the strings, the beginning chords of ‘Before He Cheats’ by Carrie Underwood echoed through the bar.

“Right now, he’s probably slow dancin’,” her voice carried into the mic, raw with emotion. “With a bleached-blond tramp and she’s probably gettin’ frisky. Right now, he’s probably buyin’ her some fruity little drink. ‘Cause she can’t shoot whisky.”

Out in the crowd Nat cursed under her breath, anger rising at the realization, “That sly bastard.”

“What?” Mickey whispered, the guys leaning in.

“Right now, he’s probably up behind her with a pool stick. Showin’ her how to shoot a como. And he doesn’t know….”

“Don’t you see?” She gestured with a hand to Y/n, “Ryan cheated on her! That’s why he’s not here. That’s why his supervisor needed to see him. It’s why she’s dedicated this song, a song about a cheater, to him!”

All the sirens ring in their heads as Y/n belts the chorus.

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive. Carved my name into his leather seats. I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, I slashed a hole in all four tires. Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats.”

“Oh,” the word left Jake’s lips, fury in his green eyes. Y/n was his friend, and nobody hurts his friends. “Oh he’s gonna regret that.”

“You guys thinking what I’m thinking?” Rooster crossed his arms over his chest. All of them shared a look. Nat took one look at Y/n and saw how she was holding back tears.

Kill Bill sirens flooded her brain.

“Yeah, I think we are.”

Come Monday Ryan was emptying out his desk while he awaited his discharge hearing, dark circles under his eyes and in dire need of sleep. As he carried the box out to his car, it fell from his hands with horror coating his face.

Parked in the same spot his beloved red Mustang Charger was not the way he left it. The windows were shattered, tires slashed, the leather of his seats torn. His license plates were missing and the word cheater spray painted in white along the sides.

Hiding behind the building, the guys were biting back their laughter at his reaction. Bob holding the spray paint can, Mickey with the Louisville slugger and Bradley and Jake with pocket knives. Reuben had the plates behind his back and Javy kept checking the phone where he had hacked into the building's security cameras to make sure they were disconnected.

Right on time, Nat came running around the corner in her PT gear, slowing her run when she approached a visibly distraught and furious Ryan. Removing her headphones the pilot whistled, “Damn. That’s gonna be a field day to fix.”

Ryan snapped his head to her, “Do you know who did this?” His tone was accusatory and Nat couldn’t blame him. He knew she was friends with Y/n and frequented the bar every week. He wouldn’t put it past Nat being involved. “Was it you and her? Huh? Y/n had to get one last final laugh—as if she hasn’t done enough!” Nat only scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I wouldn’t throw accusations so loosely, Ryan. I’ve had PT all morning and Y/n left for Cabo yesterday.” There was no lie in her statement. Y/n was currently sitting at the poolside of her resort with a margarita in her hand. She’d posted on her instagram stories and let Nat know when she landed. Plus the pilot did have PT and was finishing up her run before heading to the flight line.

But she was the mastermind while the boys did the dirty work.

The truth only angered Ryan more, his face turning even more red. “Then who did this?!”

“How should I know?” Nat smirked, putting her headphones in as she started to move past him. “But maybe next time you’ll think before you cheat.”

………..

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa @artemissunn @pinkpantheris

#Spotify #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick angst #TGM imagine #tgm fanfiction #dagger squad imagine #dagger squad x reader #dagger squad x platonic!reader #TGM x reader #tgm txt #jake seresin x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #natasha trace x reader #mickey Garcia x reader #bob floyd x reader #javy machado x reader #reuben fitch x reader

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navybrat817 · 2 years

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Bride and Groom

Pairing: Mob!Nick Fowler x Female Reader Summary: Nick lives in a dangerous world, but it won't stop him from marrying the love of his life. Word Count: Over 2.3k Warnings: Implied explicit sexual content, swearing, possessive behavior, slight fluff, mentions of violence, Nick Fowler (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: I began this in January and finally finished the start for this new AU. @11thstreetvigilante, @sweeterthanthis , @dreamlessinparis , @christywantspizza , thank you for letting me scream about this. ❤️ Beta read by the beautiful @whisperlullaby (thank YOU as well!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by @firefly-graphics and moodboard and banner by yours truly.

Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications and please reblog or comment as it means the world!

Today marks the most important day of Nick Fowler’s life. It was also the happiest. He was marrying the woman he loved. He never thought the day would come because for a man like him, love is a liability. It also represented something pure in a world of power, blood, and death.

You were an unexpected equation in Nick's life. It was difficult for him to describe, but he never thought he'd find someone like you. He admitted he was somewhat jaded after serving time in the military, his outlook on life darker with some of the things he witnessed, some by his own hands. Finding his place in the mob didn't make his world any brighter.

Though it did give him structure and purpose, he felt something was missing. He didn't dare breathe it to his men that he didn't feel whole, not wanting to appear weak. He wasn't sure at the time why he felt that way. And on an ordinary day, he received his answer in the form of you.

Alone at the bar, a hole in the wall place he had grown fond of, you had the attention of every man there. Nick was always good with women. He could read them and know what they needed or wanted. But it felt like the other way around when you looked his way like you knew that he needed and wanted you. And he always got what he wanted.

"Let me buy you a drink."

You smiled and told him you were waiting for a friend. Had your friend been a man, he would’ve gotten rid of him easily. It took some convincing, which he enjoyed watching you smile as you tried to resist, but you took him up on his offer since your friend was running late. They ended up bailing and he couldn’t have been happier.

One drink turned into two. He was careful not to let either of you have more. He wanted a clear head so he could remember every detail about you. Your humor sucked him in because hardly anyone made him laugh. Your sincerity made him want to shield you from the other men around. And your beauty and what it did to him? He made his intentions very clear.

“You’re a dangerous man, Nick Fowler.”

“You have no idea, sweetheart.”

Your first kiss took his breath away. It anchored him to you. It angered him momentarily that you shifted his entire path in life from a single touch of your lips. No one had that kind of control over him. But he knew you weren’t the type to take advantage of him or his feelings for you. Not like others who ran in his circle.

His men looked into your background, of course. They informed him you didn't have any immediate family, as you lost your parents after you graduated from college. You didn't say much about them, though you had photos of them around your place. He knew you were lonely, even amongst your friends. He understood that feeling all too well.

"We can make a family together."

Nick hadn’t felt so possessive over anyone in his life before. You were his and he wouldn’t let you go. He wanted forever with you. Once he set his mind on something, it was nearly impossible to sway him.

Even when word spread that I had someone, I couldn’t let you go. Even after what I did, I had to hold you closer in my heart.

It was selfish of him in some ways to take a wife. You didn't belong in his world. There was so much good in you, yet you still trusted him when he told you what he did for a living. That he killed when it called for it and ruined others to set an example. He revealed ugly parts about himself while you brought out the best in him.

But you still didn’t know the worst of him, the thing he kept hidden from you.

You should have run away the moment we met, sweetheart, and never looked back. It’s too late now.

Looking in the mirror, Nick took a deep breath. Not a single hair was out of place, the short style accentuating his features. He debated shaving, but you loved the feel of his scruff against your skin. And his suit jacket was one of a kind and matched his cerulean blue eyes. He had to look perfect for you.

It killed him that he hadn’t seen you all morning. He didn’t like letting you out of his sight. Part of him feared that if he went too long without seeing you that someone would steal you away.

Someone like Steve.

He felt rage at the thought, slowly exhaling. No one would get to you and he wouldn't dwell on unpleasant thoughts. He had men on every corner and Jake Jensen updated him periodically, letting him know that you were okay. He was one of his most trusted men and he protected you like a brother. You were comfortable around him, which put him more at ease.

The small voice in the back of his mind began to fill him with doubt as he fixed his bowtie.

What if you change your mind at the last second? What if you decide this life isn’t worth it? Is love enough to endure the unknown of our future?

“Nick?” your voice rang out, surprising him as he looked toward the door. You knocked three times, followed by two slow knocks. It was a signal between the two of you, but why were you in the hall?

Where the fuck is Jensen?!

“Don’t open the door. Everything’s fine. Jake’s a few feet away,” you said as if you read his mind. “He hasn’t let me out of his sight.”

“Except when she changed, boss!” Jake promised.

Good because I’d hate to hurt one of my best men on my wedding day.

"Didn't you say it's bad luck to see you before the ceremony?" he reminded you. He was, personally, against that superstition. It probably had more to do with the fact that he wanted to ruin you before you went down the aisle and you were more than aware of his intentions. He hated hiding things from you, but his need for you was never something he had to mask.

Your soft laugh pulled him out of his thoughts, bringing a brief smile to his face. "Doesn't mean I can't talk to you. Just had this feeling you needed to hear my voice."

He didn't confirm or deny it as he adjusted his cuff. You knew he needed you. You always knew, like it was an instinct to go to him when his thoughts grew too heavy. "What did you want to talk about, lubi?"

"The things I love about you. If you want to hear them."

Nick took a step forward, wanting to be closer to the sound of your voice. Unlike a siren leading him to his doom, you were his salvation. "I'm listening."

"That's one of the things I love about you, Nick. You don't just hear my words. You listen to me," you said. He could see the smile on your face so clearly in his mind. Do you know how beautiful your smile is? "And we both know you don't listen to a lot of people."

He chuckled and nodded, even though you couldn't see him. "I'm stubborn like that.”

"Like how you stubbornly insist on giving me your sweater or jacket because I'm cold, but it's also because you like people to see that I'm yours."

I want everyone to see that you’re mine and only mine.

“It’s not my fault my clothes look so good on you. And I thought you liked the smell of my cologne on them.”

"I do. Makes it feel like you're there with me, even when you're not around."

"I don't like being apart from you," he admitted, finding himself at the door before he could stop himself. "Anything else you love?" he teased, not wanting to dwell on his admission.

"I don't like being apart from you either, Nick," you said. The statement wrapped around his heart and he understood to an extent why love made people do crazy things. He'd burn the world if you asked him to. "Anything else besides the little things? Like how considerate you are by making sure the pantry is always stocked with my favorite things or how you kiss my forehead before you leave for work?"

Nick's palm touched the doorframe. "Yes," he whispered.

"Besides how devilishly handsome you are with your tattoos and how great you are in bed?" you teased.

"Great? The best," he corrected you. He never wanted you to think about past lovers. If he could, he'd rip them apart for ever touching you.

You giggled, not rising to the bait. "I love you for who you are. The real you. I know telling me about what you really do wasn't easy. Trust isn't easy in your line of work, so thank you for having that faith in me."

Nick shut his eyes. He was thankful you couldn't see him through the door. He would've been torn between turning away from you, undeserving of your devotion, or pushing you again the door and fucking you within an inch of your life.

"I should be thanking you, lubi."

"I'll take a kiss as a thank you."

Nick chuckled and shook his head. "If I kiss you, I may not be able to stop."

"I think you can control yourself," you teased. "Keep your eyes closed and open the door, please."

Ex-military and a leader of one of the most powerful crime families, yet keeping his eyes shut as he turned the doorknob was one of the toughest things he had to endure. The moment the door swung open, the scent of you filled his nostrils. Sweet and addictive, distinctively you. A vision of you danced behind his eyelids as he stood still.

Your fingertips moved along his cheek, featherlight and delicate, before you pulled him close. The brush of your lips against his brought him back to your first kiss. Once again, you teetered him to you. Powerless and powerful all at once because of you.

"Thank you," you whispered as you pulled away.

Oh, no, you fucking don't.

He kept his promise and didn't open his eyes. It didn't stop him from pressing you against the doorframe and swallowing down the sound of your whimper. The lustful haze began to take over as he pressed his body closer. His trousers did nothing to hide how his cock was stirring.

True torture is being this close and not being inside you.

"You sure I can't fuck you now, sweetheart?" he asked, kissing the corner of your mouth before he left a searing trail down to your neck. "Have you dripping as you walk down the aisle, my cock still wet from being inside you?"

You shivered at the suggestion as his hands began to explore. He wished he could tear the offending fabric away and indulge. He warned you not to pack much for the honeymoon. No one would see you since he rented out all the surrounding villas in proximity to your new vacation home and he planned to take full advantage of the privacy.

"Nick, it's almost time," you moaned, but made no move to shove him away.

"I can be quick," he smiled, grazing his teeth over your racing pulse. "You telling me how much you love me got me worked up."

"Wait until you hear my vows. You might fuck me at the altar."

"Fuck, don't tease me," he warned. He'd fuck you in front of everyone if you let him. Just another reminder of who you belong to.

The sound of Jake clearing his throat snapped him out of his haze. "Boss, Andy is asking to speak with you after the ceremony."

Nick hated being interrupted, but you were right. It was almost time for the ceremony to begin. And he didn't need you questioning why Andy wanted to talk to him.

I can't lie today.

"Go before I change my mind," he whispered, giving your neck one more kiss. "I love you, lubi."

Thank you for putting me at ease.

"I love you, too," you whispered, slipping out of his grasp before he could open his eyes. "No work on our wedding day! I won't allow it!" you called back down the hall.

"See you in a few minutes," Jake said.

"Wait," Nick ordered before he could rush after you. "Did Barber say why he wants to see me?"

"No, boss," Jake said, swallowing as he checked his phone again and adjusted his glasses. "But he said you better keep your bride safe and that he'd hate to see anything happen to her."

Nick's eyes flashed as Jake took a nervous step back. It was no secret that Andy Barber didn't approve of this wedding. The former lawyer turned mobster still wasn't happy with him after what went down with Steve.

One of my only regrets.

"Tell him to worry about his own wife and I'll worry about mine," he said through his teeth, nodding for Jake to go after you. Careful not to slam the door once he was alone, he let out another deep breath. "Fuck."

He didn't want to worry about Steve on his wedding day. His enemy would never forgive him for what he did and he didn't deserve it. One day, he'd have to tell you what happened and deal with the fallout, whatever that would be.

Today wouldn't be that day.

Steve wouldn't take away his happiness.

I love you, lubi, and that's all that matters in this world.

Love will keep them together, right? Nothing bad could possibly happen. 😏 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Nick Fowler Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler x female reader #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x y/n #mob!nick fowler x reader #mob!nick fowler x female reader #nick fowler #mob!nick fowler #nick fowler imagine #nick fowler fanfiction #nick fowler au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan

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specialagentlokitty · 24 days

Text

Holt x Male!reader - all this time

Heyy, So i know you don’t write for Holt (Brooklyn Nine Nine) But i was wondering if you could make an exception? A Raymond Holt x male reader where instead of Ray being married to Kevin he’s married to reader instead n readers Jake’s big brother but jake doesn’t know readers married to holt and he finds out? if not it’s ok!! I love youre work and make sure to drink lots of water!! - Anon💜

A/N: holt has never been on my request list, but since I know there’s probably no fics for him I decided to write this one :))

Making your way downstairs, you glanced at your watch before walking into the kitchen where your husband was getting a glass of water.

“Raymond, I need to head out to work, there’s been some problems at the office.”

He turned around.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I think it’s more so just some of the interns accidentally filed some paperwork wrong. Are you heading to work today?”

“Yes, I will be there all day.”

You nodded, walking over and kissed his cheek before making your way across the kitchen to grab your coffee.

“I’ll come by after I’m finished.”

With that you jogged away, having to get to the office as quickly as you possibly could.

Making your way in, you found the interns lined up against the wall, and you furrowed your brows a little bit in confusion.

“Why’re you stood there?” You asked.

“Thomas told us to stand here until you get back sir.” One replied.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“This isn’t a military training camp, go on, go sit down in the conference room.”

They nodded, making their way over there and you walked behind Thomas, lightly hitting the back of his head.

“Be nicer to them.”

“They could’ve messed up big time.” He huffed.

“This is their first job, give them all some credit. If you’ve got all the files we’ll go through them with them all and explain the process again.”

“Alright alright.”

You took one half of the interns while he took the other half to a different room.

You spent an hour carefully explaining everything step by step by step with them, and getting them to show you when you had shown them.

“Just remember if you’re not sure always ask, even if you come ask me, there’s no such thing as a stupid question. If you have to ask it a hundred times then you asked a hundred times.”

One of the interns put her hand up, and you smiled at her, dismissing the others and letting her come over.

“I’m not entirely sure what to do afterwards…”

“That’s alright Sophie, let’s go have a look.”

She nodded, following after you with the files in her hands.

“Everything is set up in alphabetical order, so you’ll want to find the first letter of the file, so if you set them all down and pick up the first one.”

You carried on showing her what to do, and you made sure she completely understood everything.

Making your way back to the office you wrote a step by step listen, and you taped it to the wall next to the cabinet, letting them all know it was there.

While you were there you decided to do some work, and went back to your desk.

Not long after you started your work your phone chined and you picked it up.

Jake: come bring me lunch please!

Laughing a little bit, you sent a reply back.

You: sure I’ll be there soon.

Putting your work away, you went to pick up Jakes favourite food, then to the precinct.

Heading up, you made your way to his and dropped the bag down on the desk, placing your hand on his head, ruffling his hair a little bit.

“Yes you’re the best!”

“You’re always broke. Seriously Jake, how to you survive?”

“Hey! I’m not broke!” He huffed.

Laughing a little, you took the fries from the bag and stood there eating while you listened to him talk about what he had been up too.

He stopped eating and looked up at you.

“Where the hell have you been anyway? It’s been ages.”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy with work. Then we’ve been redecorating our home, so that’s taken a lot of free time as well.”

“When am I going to meet this husband? I can’t believe you got married without me…” he pouted.

You laughed softly, patting his head a couple of times.

“I know, I’m sorry, but when we got married I wasn’t actually out as gay to mom or you, so I thought it was easier.”

You stood up, excusing yourself to go and wash your hands and you came back, making your way to the captains office instead and knocked on the door.

When he looked up you smiled at him, leaning against the doorframe.

“How’s work going?”

“It is the same as every other day. Did you fix the mistake?”

You nodded your head, making your way inside.

You sat down in the chair opposite him, explaining to him what had happened, and what you did to help them fix the mistake.

He listened as you spoke while doing his own work.

“Oh, by the way Jake keeps asking who I’m married to.”

“Have you not told him?”

“Well, I decided it was your choice. You’re his boss.”

“You are his brother.”

You laughed a little bit, nodding your head.

“Yeah, but as my husband it’s always up to you if we tell him.”

“YOU MARRIED HOLT?!”

You spun around, giving your younger brother a sheepish look.

A few more people crowded around, and you pointed to the man who was behind you.

“Ask your captain! Bye!”

Getting up you ran off with a laugh as Holt called for you not to let him handle all of that alone

#Brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn nine nine x reader #Brooklyn nine nine x you #Brooklyn nine nine imagine #b99 #b99 x reader #b99 x you #b99 imagine

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angelasscribbles · 10 months

Text

Victim of Love Chapter 7: Come Dancing

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley

Word Count: 1,466

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language, drinking

Song Inspiration for series: Victim of Love by The Eagles

Victim of love

It's such an easy part

And you know how to play it so well

My other stuff: Master List.

“Riley! Wait up!” Drake jogged down the hallway after her.

She barely glanced over her shoulder, “What do you want, Drake?”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he slowed his pace as he caught up with her.

“I’m fine. I’m used to it!” She snapped then softened as she shot him a sidelong glance, it wasn’t his fault. “Thanks for caring though.”

“Of course, I care!” He fell in step beside her, “I know we technically just met but I really like you, Riley and I want to help, if I can.”

“You can’t go back in time and make my boyfriend and best friend not marry each other, so I don’t really know what you think you can do.”

“You make a fair point,” he conceded, “But I’m not a quitter. I can’t fix Liam’s fuck up, but maybe I can help you forget about it for a little bit.”

She stopped at her bedroom door and gave him a considering look, “Are you offering to have sex with me again?”

“What? No! I mean, I would most certainly be open to having sex with you again, but that’s not what I meant!”

“So, what were you offering?” She tipped her head to the side and waited.

“Let me take you out tonight. Somewhere in town, outside the palace. We’ll get a few beers, maybe dance a little. Real dancing, not that ballroom shit. Get you out of your head for a bit.”

“You want to take me out?”

“Yes.”

“Like on a date?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I’m dating your best friend?”

“You’re not dating him. You’re just sleeping with him.”

“And that’s different….how?”

“He has a whole ass wife, Riley, and it’s not you. I’m pretty sure that makes you available regardless of what you do with him behind closed doors. Look, he is my best friend and I’m not trying to cause issues between the two of you, but you don’t seem happy and what I saw back there wasn’t right. You deserve better.”

Riley considered his words. What did she have to lose? She had already arranged to meet with him later to talk about what had happened between them. This would just move the timetable up. And what was wrong with going out for drinks with a friend?

Nothing, right?

“Okay,” she agreed, “When should I be ready?”

***

Drake held open the door of the nondescript luxury sedan for her then walked around to climb into the driver’s seat, “Sorry, I know it’s boring, but I don’t have a car here anymore. Sold it when I moved to Texas, so I had to borrow one from the royal fleet.”

“This is fine,” she assured him, “I won’t hold the stodginess against you.”

Drake laughed at the characterization, “You’ve just described everything about this life!”

“Is that why you left?”

“No. My mom really did need me. I left to go to college, got my bachelor’s degree in animal science then did a four-year stint in the military. After that, I went home to help out for a little bit and the next thing I knew, I was pretty much running the daily operations of the ranch. What about you? How did you end up here?”

“It’s a long story,” she sighed.

“I’ve got time….”

“Okay, well, I had just finished veterinary school and-“

“Wait! You went to veterinary school? And finished?”

“Yes. I had just finished school, but I hadn’t landed a job yet. My dad needed me to fill in for him at the bar, one of his best waiters had quit suddenly and left him in a bind. That’s how I met Liam and Max. I was their waitress. Liam and I hit it off. The next day, Max showed up at the bar and suggested I come back here with him and compete in the social season as House Beaumont’s representative.”

“Wait…you’re telling me that you gave up a career in veterinary medicine to hop on a plane with a guy you just met-“

“It’s not as bad as it sounds!” She laughed, “If you’ll listen! I said no at first. But then he offered to pay all my student loan debt plus cover all costs of the social season. So, after a thorough background check on him and his brother, I decided why the hell not? It let me start my career debt free and I got a free European summer vacation out of the deal. I really thought I’d be back home by fall.”

Drake guided the car into a parking spot then turned to her incredulously, “How the hell did he get you to stay?”

“I fell in love,” she said to her lap, “I really thought….well, after the coronation I packed my shit and went to Ramsford. I was planning to be on the next plane out, but Liam showed up and convinced me to stay. I know that must sound crazy, but I was in love, my heart had just been broken…I wasn’t really thinking clearly. Next thing I knew I was a fucking duchess.”

“But you wanted to be a veterinarian…”

She looked up at the sympathy in his voice, “Oh, I still am! I run a small animal rescue at Valtoria. We take in exotic animals that have been wounded or were confiscated from private owners. We rehabilitate them and if they can’t be released into the wild, they live out their lives there.”

Drake smiled at the excitement on her face as she talked. Her entire being lit up when she talked about animals. “Wow, I can tell you’re passionate about it.”

“Oh, I am!” Her previous bad mood had evaporated, she was all smiles, “I think you promised me beer and dancing. Are we going to do that or are we just going to sit in this bland-ass boring car?”

His grin broadened, “Oh, we are definitely going dancing!”

Ten minutes later they were at the bar finishing their first round of drinks.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Drake laughed, “So your brother rode his bike off the roof of your garage?”

“Yes!” She verified, “We had an old mattress on the ground for him to land on but the bike overshot it and he ended up with a broken arm!”

“Oh no!”

“I mean, it wasn’t funny at the time,” she giggled, “but we still give him hell about it to this day!”

“Hm,” he shook his head with a soft smile, “your family sounds fun.”

“Oh, we’re a laugh riot,” she snorted, “what about you? You said you have a sister?”

“Yeah, just the one sibling. We used to be fairly close, but she moved to Paris a couple of years ago and doesn’t come home to visit much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Riley flagged down the bartender for another round, “My siblings blow up my phone on a daily basis. We have a group chat. They’re a pain in the ass, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

“It’s fine,” he told her as he threw back his second drink, “Now I think you promised me a dance!”

“That I did,” she pushed away from the bar and stood up, “Lead the way, sir!”

He pulled her body close to his as they swayed to the music, “I hope you’re not expecting too much, I’m only halfway good at this.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck as she smiled up at him, “You’re doing just fine.”

“Good to know,” his hands slid down her body to rest on her hips, “it’s been a while.”

“Don’t get out much?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, why not? I’ll bet those Texas women go crazy over you in a cowboy hat!”

“Well as it turns out, the first woman I’ve wanted to drive crazy in a long time wasn’t in Texas.”

“Oh yeah? Where was she?”

His hands moved around to the small of her back as he tugged her closer, “I’ll let you figure that out.”

The only answer she gave him was a smile as he swung her around the dance floor. Four songs later they left the dance floor breathless and collapsed into chairs at a corner table.

Riley kicked her shoes off under the table as Drake flagged down a waiter.

They were still at the table laughing and talking when the last call was sounded. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!” the voice over the intercom announced.

“Guess we should get back,” Drake pushed away from the table and offered her his hand.

She let him pull her up as she responded, “I really don’t want to go back to the palace right now.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Well come on then,” he grinned at her, “I have somewhere else we can go!”

#trr au #the royal romance #trr #drake walker #riley brooks #drake x mc #the royal romance fanfic #angelasscribbles #choices fic writers creations #choices #cfwc fics of the week #liam rys #choices stories you play #victim of love #VoL

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penny-for-her-thoughtsdv · 11 months

Text

Penny Age Milestone

Headcannons

Plus a little Pam & Hubby

Tw: alcoholism, military mention,

periods, blood

Pam was born and grew up in Zuzu City. She worked as a bus driver for one of the local military bases and it was there she met a brown haired lover boy who swept her off her feet.

Pam married Penny's father rather young and had Penny when she was in her early 20s. Thus she feels like her youth was spent being bound by marriage and being tied down motherhood. They met and lived for a short time in Zuzu City.

Pam also was a rather party crazy young woman but stopped her drinking while pregnant. She was dedicated to being a good mother.

Penny's father stuck around because he loved his family and felt like he could be a family man in his young age. Once he was out of the military he proposed to Pam and they had a small wedding.

When Penny was 13 months old the trio moved to Pelican Town. It was cheaper to live and Pam's job as a bus driver brought in a pretty good amount of money.

Once Penny was 24 months old, Pam started drinking again. Slowly the family began to fall apart.

Penny was 6 when the bus broke down, tourism slowed down in Pelican Town and the family began to barely scrape together enough funds to even keep their small trailer; Pam began to drink from noon until midnight.

Penny's father started to grow bored of "Playing House" with a girl he thought he was just going to have a one night stand with. He left the pair on Fall 7 when Penny was 8 years old. Pam had drunk herself silly and he just left as she slept on the couch. Penny tried to keep him at home but he simply walked off. She begged and cried but he still left her.

After her father left Penny really got into reading. Fantasy books, science fiction and fairy tales were her way to escape.

Although Penny never went to a formal school, she started going to the Pelican Town library shortly after her father left to escape her mother's alcoholism. She took online classes starting at 10 years old and continued reading anything that she could get her hands on.

From the ages of 8 to 10 Penny was rather closed off from her mother and didn't speak to her often. She felt abandoned and as if her mother didn't wish to keep the family together. Pam, of course, had tried her best and took the light shunning to heart. Her drinking only got worse. It was around this time that Pam began to become much more confrontational to her daughter when drunk.

At 11, Penny discovered she loved wearing skirts! It made her feel like a princess and she found it just to be so much more comfortable than the pants she had worn up to that point.

When Penny was 13 she wondered what her mother's drink tasted like. The lass took a small sip of a caramel porter. Immediately Pam joked about how her daughter was turning out to be just like her. Penny immediately threw up in the kitchen sink and has sworn off alcohol ever since; she wants to be the complete opposite of her mother.

Penny finished reading her first book series when she was 13 years old; The Solarian Chronicles. She still keeps it in her room and will reread the series when she is really craving a comfort read.

Penny was 14 when she started her menstrual cycle. She had been walking through Cindersap Forest and fallen over a small log as she allowed her mind to wander off into a daydream. She returned home with what she thought was a scraped knee but when the blood didn't stop and was not coming from her knee she started to freak out. Pam was thankfully home and was able to drunkenly tell her daughter all the joys of womanhood. And with a slurred monologue Penny learned all the horrifying truths about her body and it's features for the next fifty or so years. Pam did however hand her a tampon and wished her the best of luck before sitting back down on the couch.

When Penny was nearly 15, Pam began to tell her stories about men and their evil ways. Of course she meant no harm and only wanted her daughter to be prepared but the tales of men and them only wanting women for their bodies terrified the young woman. For a short while Penny had a distrust in men because she viewed them as predators. Penny is Pam's only family after all and is loved greatly.

When Penny was 17 she began to babysit the children in town; Jas and the son of a new family, Vincent.

#sdv #sdv penny #stardew penny #stardew valley #sdv headcanons #stardew headcanon

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weixuldo · 1 year

Text

Enigma// Ch 10

Anakin X Reader

(A/N: hiii guys, back from the depths of nothingness lolll, it’s been so busy here and i’m genuinely sorry for the late updates, but i appreciate all of u sm for sticking with me and my story !! love all of u)

A glimpse into the past

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of alcholism, cursing, ptsd, mental health issues, military typical violence, injury depiction

_________________________________________

“I figured I should let you know what happened, cause If I don’t I know your crafty ass will find out some way or another” he said as he learned back on the couch.

You knitted your brows together and just looked at him, what was he talking about?

He examined your expression and noticed your confusion. For a split second you saw his face falter, before he looked back into your eyes.

“It was around a decade ago, Ben and I were stationed overseas. We were loading up one of our helicopters with our squad”

Oh.

He was telling you what happened to him.

“ I was fuckin’ around and looking for this stupid pocket watch I thought I dropped, when all of a sudden I heard something drop on the ground diagonally to me. Turns out it was a bomb.” he lamented as he sipped on his beer.

You sat quietly, not knowing if you should respond or not.

He let out a half-laugh, half-huff of air, “The bastards who threw the grenade were pretty off with their timing ‘cause most of us were already onboard”.

“Once I noticed what it was I yelled back to the guys and started running… obviously, I’m no track star cause I got blown up.”

You watched as he bit the inside of his cheek before continuing.

“Only me and this other guy ended up getting hit. I gave the guys still on the ground enough notice to get far enough away that the explosion wouldn’t reach them.”

“Anakin… That’s terrible. I’m so sorry” you responded, not knowing what to say.

He shrugged, “It is what it is, just though i’d rather tell you myself than you finding out some other way”

“You really didn’t have to, I would have respected your privacy”

“Ehh, I also felt like telling you so you would have a better scope of what's wrong with me if I need help sometime” he said, not making eye contact with you.

“Why would you want me to help? I know you're a lot closer with Ben and Ahsoka” you asked.

He finished his beer with a big gulp and placed the empty bottle on the end table next to him.

“I’ve had issues with drinking in the past-” he watched as your eyes darted to the bottle beside him.

He huffed out a laugh as he shook his head, “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m all good now”.

“They assumed I was drinking because of the accident and the pain and ever since I came back from rehab a couple of years ago they are still weary of me drinking… I know they really just want the best for me, but it still pisses me off when they look so judgmental”.

He paused to clear his throat and straighten his back.

“So I can’t call them if something happens when I’ve been drinking cause they’ll probably try to have an intervention or some shit. Next thing, they’d admit me to rehab again and I really don’t need to go there”

“Are you sure you don’t need to go back?” You asked before you could filter your thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m pretty damn sure. I don’t need alcohol to function and plus the reason I started drinking in the first place isn’t as relevant nowadays” he retorted.

“If I may ask, if it wasn’t from the accident, why did you start drinking?”.

He shook his head with a small smile before looking at you.

“My Fiance. Well, ex-fiance now, I guess.”

He had been engaged before?

“I had been with her for almost nine years when my accident happened. We were highschool sweethearts and I asked her to marry me before I went overseas. She was all I thought about over there, the other guys would go out and have fun with the locals, but I always stayed true to her. I was head over fuckin’ heels for her.” he exhaled a defeated laugh before taking a deep breath.

“When I was finally brought back home she visited me in the hospital… I can still remember her face as she entered my room.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, you could tell this was hard for him.

“She stuck with me for the first few months, I really thought we were gonna make it… What a fuckin’ dumbass” he scolded himself.

“She seemed more distant when I started physio and got started with my prosthetics, but what I think really did her in was the consultation with my doctor about future endeavors…”

You were invested in his story and patiently listened. He turned to face you and made an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“God, why am I telling you all of this?”

“If you’re not comfortable, you don’t have t-” you began.

“I’m fine, I just don’t know why I feel compelled to tell you”

“Anyways, My injuries were quite extensive… Obviously” he motioned towards himself.

“The doctor informed us of some of the changes that would be present in my life. I would have chronic respiratory issues from some of the shrapnel that lodged into my chest, I’d have to learn how to use the new prosthetics, and I’d need 24/7 care for the first few years. But the cherry on the top was when the doctor let us know I wouldn’t be able to have kids”.

Not what you expected.

“Yeah, I know, out of everything…that. Yeah, she was really big on having a family and I guess she was against adoption. But when she heard I wouldn’t be able to give her a child, it was over. I could tell she had checked out of the relationship.”

“Anakin, that’s- I’m so, so sorry” you offered.

“Yeah, that really messed me up… I mean I loved her and we both knew it wasn’t my fault… But I understand, she never asked for any of that… It was just too much for her. I really was a burden” he sadly explained.

Your heart hurt for him, how could he blame himself… You understood it was probably a really hard adjustment for her, but at the same time you couldn’t understand; if you truly loved someone, you wouldn’t leave that easily.

“I just wish she would have talked to me about her decision instead of just leaving. I mean I get you don’t want to be seen as the girl who left her crippled fiance in the middle of his recovery, but I think I deserved an actual conversation.”

You could see his eyes getting glassy before shook his head and looked at you.

“And you know, I don’t wish ill upon her at all. But it does hurt a little seeing her living her dream.”

“What does she do now?” you asked

“Funny actually, the reason I drank so much after she left was because as much as I wanted to just forget her, I couldn't escape hearing or seeing her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shortly after she left, she campaigned for a seat in the senate and I saw her ads and commercials everywhere. Everyone was rooting for her too, so I couldn’t grieve in peace. I guess it was selfish of me, but I couldn’t handle seeing her that much, so I turned to alcohol to help me forget”.

“Did she get the position?”

“Yeah, Senator Padme Amidala” he said somberly.

Your eyes widened as you made the connections, “Wait, she’s the one who passed the bill to give disabled veterans more funds to help them transition back to civilian life.. But that would have been after the accident?”

“Yeah, I guess she felt kind of guilty for leaving without a word, so at least I got better quality prosthetics, but that didn’t really help my broken heart.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment before you shifted towards him, instinctively you placed a hand on his hand and looked into his blue eyes.

“Thank you for telling me, Anakin”

He looked at you with a surprised expression before his gaze drifted down to your hand on his. A small trace of blush creeped onto his face before he cleared his throat.

“Yeah, now you know,” he shrugged.

You studied his expression, he couldn’t stop staring at you… Did you have something on your face?

Before you could back away to check, he gently placed his lips onto yours. This kiss was like no other he had given you before, it was tender, it was meaningful.

You often found yourself worrying that most of your interactions with Anakin were purely fueled by lust and attraction, but this one…

You melted into it and placed your hands gently on his cheeks before pulling away. His eyes were glassy and he was flushed, he was so vulnerable.

“What’s wrong?” you asked in a quiet voice.

“Nothing”

“Ok”

You laid back into the couch and pulled him so that his head was on your chest. You stroked his hair as he nuzzled into you. Maybe later he would be peeved you did that, but you knew he needed it right now…so did you.

After holding him for a moment he broke the silence,

“Ya, know… I didn’t think anyone had the capacity to care about me anymore after my accident… I refused to believe anyone could show me compassion outside of plain pity…”

You shifted to face him and rested him against the couch before you gazed deeply into his watery eyes.

“You’re the first person in a long time… that treated me like a normal human. You approached me that night without an insensitive comment, without pity….you just talked to me…” he trailed off as the tears began to fall.

“Oh, Anakin” you sighed as you drew him into a comforting embrace and brushed his hair. He shook as he sobbed into your chest.

‘I-i’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, I didnt m-mean to ..’

“Shh, its ok. It’s alright, Ani”

He leaned up and tried to catch his breath but you could tell he was struggling. Remembering his inhaler, you quickly left the couch to grab it from the night stand. Once you returned, you administered the pump to him and he slowly began to come down.

“Don’t ever be sorry for your feelings.. I’m here for you” you whispered into his ear as he leaned against you.

He exhaled a small “thank you” before you helped lay him down; he was exhausted.

You grabbed a blanket from the other room and lifted his legs onto the couch for him. Once you covered him you took a scrap of paper and left him a note.

As you left his apartment, you felt an odd sensation weighing on your heart.

Were you falling for him?

***

a/n: so yeaaaa he’s opening up!! not saying he still won’t b a dick haha, buuut there will def b some more tender moments:) also srry again for the late updates im in my college bio class and it’s actually so challenging

taglist: @dnamht @sxoulohvn @angeelcoree @wtf-andys @httpeachesblog @katsukiswrld @jetiikote @poisonedsultana

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bluebird722 · 2 months

Text

A Second Surprise

Summary: Jean and Mikasa eagerly anticipate the newest addition to their family with fears and hopes on each side.

Pairings: Jeankasa, AruAni

Rating: T (brief smut, childbirth, indirect PTSD)

Author's Note: Happy Valentine's Day, @marshmallow-rainbow139! Thank you for writing some of the best Jeankasa fics I have seen so far! This is for you (and to all my other lovely Jeankasa fic writers)! I know it may not match exactly what you wrote on your blog, but I hope it's close enough.

*** Attack on Titan: A Second Surprise ***

Almost every day in the year since he returned home, Jean reflected on his idea of a perfect future, the life he wanted when everything that he went through was finally over. He still remembered his dream to indulge in the best liquor, regardless of the cost, and to wake up and go to bed in “prime real estate”. All the luxuries that he wanted, even though the comfortable life in the Military Police was not what he wanted anymore, was all because he and his family–the woman he would marry and the children they would produce and raise–deserved the best.

Of course, reality tended to be different. Jean had never imagined living anywhere aside from an apartment, but a log cabin was what his wife secretly wanted, so he made sure to find and upgrade a lonely cabin into a gorgeous house with a decent number of neighbors and plenty of access to fresh air. He decided not to move into his dream apartment until his mother was much older so the offspring could spend more time with her. Every now and then, he relaxed on the porch with great liquor, but sometimes drinking by himself could be boring and lonely.

At one point, it occurred to Jean that the liquor and the housing were just secondary; the greater priority, always, was to have Mikasa in his life, have children with her, and make love to her whenever, just as they were at the moment.

He pinned her wrist over her head, beamed at her relaxed smile, and kissed down her neck, the familiar ways to make her feel loved and know that she was loved and deserved love. She hooked her ankles above his lower back and with her free hand clutched his bare back. They kissed hard, molding their kiss until they parted as Jean increased the movement of his hips.

He knew every way to bring her endless pleasure, but to him, it wasn’t so much seeing her reactions to him anymore; it was showing that he knew what made her happy and wanted to surround her in it. His kisses down her collarbone made her pant every time, as did the kisses under her jaw. He savored the moment as much as he could to remind himself of the good life that he had and was building for himself. She pushed him up so that they made love sitting upright, but as their breathing hitched, he laid her back down.

Mikasa pulled him into another kiss just as they finished together. Jean groaned into the fabric of their blanket, she clamped her mouth over his shoulder, and they squeezed each other as tightly as they could while riding the waves of pleasure. Then Jean collapsed backwards, his head at the foot of the bed. Mikasa joined him later, cuddled to his side.

Jean savored their five minutes together until Mikasa, sighing, pushed herself up. “We should get up. Marco will wake up from his nap soon.” She grabbed and put on her white bathrobe.

Much to her amusement, Jean groaned. “Just five more minutes?” he whined.

“No,” said Mikasa firmly, though she grinned. “I don’t want to know what he would do if he thought we were asleep.” She watched her husband crawl back under the covers, dragging the blanket with him, and walked out of the bedroom to wake their son from his post-lunch nap.

Jean curled his wife’s pillow to his face and breathed in her familiar scent. Every day that he spent with her was a blessing, and he could not have imagined a better life partner than her to wake up to in the morning and go to bed with in the evening. He listened to Mikasa walk down the stairs, likely carrying Marco with her, and listened to her talk to and kiss their son. Jean knew that, for the heartache that Mikasa still felt for her murdered parents, giving love to Marco that she would inevitably give to any more children that would follow certainly eased the sadness she felt that her parents had to die for her to experience so much joy.

Reluctantly, Jean left the bed, dressed, and walked downstairs to join his family for the remainder of the day. The urge he had to stay in bed faded the moment he saw Marco’s happy face and the way his son held out his hands for him.

***

Today had been a great day–finishing a stressless work day early, then a successful lunch with ambassadors, and finding a perfect hunk of boar at the market–but seeing his son run in his direction with his arms reaching for his father made any day, even horrible days, better. With one arm, Jean scooped up and hugged his son. “I’m glad to be home, little man,” he said. He kissed the middle of Marco’s forehead on his way into the house. “Did you have a nice day, even without me?”

Marco wrapped his arms around Jean’s neck and nuzzled his face in his arms. “I love you, Papa.”

Those words never failed to lift Jean’s spirits.

Once inside the house he took off his and Marco’s shoes, and carried him upstairs to play in his room. Jean was opening the door to Marco’s room when he noticed that the door to his and Mikasa’s room was ajar, and Mikasa was lying in bed with the covers over her head. That was odd, given how Mikasa rarely napped during the daytime and most certainly not covered up like that. He excused himself from his son, entered his room, and sat behind his wife. “Mikasa? My love?” He gently shook her shoulder. “Mikasa? Are you all right?”

Slowly, Mikasa shifted her body and looked over her shoulder at Jean. “I’m glad you’re home,” she said so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her.

Jean stroked her forehead. She was quite warm. “How long have you felt like this?”

“Like what?” she asked. Upon Jean looking exasperated, she shrugged. “I’m just tired–lots of chores today, lots of cleaning.”

Jean hated when she said things like that. He shook his head so that she knew that he didn’t believe her. Sighing, she glanced away. “I don’t know. I was…just tired, you know…” Then her expression changed. “It’s been…happening, for about three days, in the morning.”

Jean hesitated. “Maybe you should go to a doctor?” he suggested in a questioning tone. “It’s rare that you feel unwell, you know, as they say, ‘under the weather’.”

Mikasa looked surprised but shook her head. “No, I will be good,” she insisted. She kissed his chin and walked downstairs to start cooking, only for her husband to eventually catch her back upstairs in the bathroom, on her knees and heaving over the toilet. She had her eyes closed when she heard Jean walk into the bathroom, and said, “False alarm.”

“No,” said Jean. “Mikasa, if you’re not feeling well–you know, you’re rarely ill–something is going on. I want to take you tomorrow, even if you’re feeling better.” He ignored her groans and helped her to her feet and back into their shared bed.

Mikasa reluctantly complied with his request and the next morning, especially because she was feeling warm and looked nauseated over breakfast, went to the doctor’s office. Luckily, Marco thought that they were running errands and fell asleep in the waiting room, his head on Jean’s shoulder. Then the doctor’s assistant called Mikasa’s name, but Marco still slept even through his mother’s thyroid exam, heartbeat test, and ear and eye exams. They waited ten minutes for the doctor to come in, and Jean spoke for his embarrassed wife.

Any alcohol use, no.

Any tobacco or smoking products, no.

Any change in diet, no.

Any recent illness, no.

Any international travel to a country with high rates of disease, no.

Mikasa slept throughout the night, she stopped breastfeeding the year before, she made sure that she consumed only thoroughly cooked meats and animal products, she bathed regularly, and she did not fall ill with the flu when Jean did, even though she cared for him while Marco stayed with his grandmother.

Then the doctor looked up from her notes and asked, “What date did you start your last menstrual cycle?”

Mikasa's mind went blank.

She stuttered and looked at Jean. At that moment, he realized what the doctor was implying.

The doctor, however, was pleased with healthcare services and methods from the mainland and subjected Mikasa to a blood test that would have results ready later that day. Mikasa complied with the test and was silent as they left the doctor’s office, planning to come back before it closed. She refused to look at Jean and see how he was feeling, but when Marco woke up, she beamed at her sweet little boy and pretended that his entire life may or may not be changing very soon.

At Mikasa’s request, she went to follow up with the doctor on her own, so Jean took Marco to the market to pick out ingredients for dinner that night. She fiddled with the hem of her blouse until the doctor came in and confirmed what she had suspected: According to the blood tests, Mikasa was pregnant again.

Mikasa waited until after Marco went to bed to tell Jean. Jean instinctively rushed to his wife, fell to his knees at her feet, and put his forehead against her abdomen. He didn’t cry until she stroked his hair.

The day when she told him that she was pregnant with Marco made him the happiest man on Earth…and his feelings at the time, the best that he had ever felt in his life, came rushing back.

The day after, Jean immediately cleaned up a spare room to start building a nursery despite Mikasa’s reminding him that the baby was only the size of a lemon at that point, but he didn’t care. He thought about paint color, which corner to put the toys and changing station, how many of Marco’s baby items did they still have, and where to position the crib so they could hear the baby’s cries at night. Furthermore, and he was the same with their son, he took to carrying all the bags from the market, kept a close watch on her every time she cooked and even cleaned on her knees, and didn’t let her carry the laundry basket.

Mikasa and Jean, however, agreed to wait until she was ready to show to tell Marco the news. Jean cooked Mr. Omelet Jr. for Marco, and Mikasa drizzled the amount of ketchup that Marco liked. She even let him unpeel and eat two oranges, even though up to three gave him a stomachache.

“Marco,” said Jean once they were all seated, “your mother and I have some news that we think it is time for you to know.”

Marco took a big bite and his time chewing. “Are we moving?”

No.

“Are we getting a puppy dog?”

No.

“Is Grandmama good?”

Yes.

Mikasa took a deep breath and put her hand on her abdomen. “I…I am pregnant, Marco.” Marco looked confused. “I have a baby in me. You–You’re going to have a little brother or sister this year.”

Jean would have immediately agreed to combat a Colossal Titan again to preserve the look on Marco’s face forever. He had no idea that a three-year-old could be that excited to become a big brother.

***

Mikasa’s eyes flung open in the dark. Her heart ached in her chest. Her gaze darted around the dark room, and she listened carefully for any suspicious, unwelcome sounds–but all she heard was Jean’s breathing in his sleep and the rustling of the tree leaves outside as the rain pelted against the house.

Still, Mikasa closed her eyes again and kept listening hard. It felt real, and yet it was real. Her nightgown was wet against her skin, but she could still hear the horrible sounds, feel emotions that she had buried away for years, and see…them again, like they never went away.

Then she heard a loud crack, and Mikasa sat up immediately. Unfortunately, it also woke Jean. “Mikasa?” he asked upon seeing his wife sitting up. “Are–”

“I am good,” she said. “It’s just…I don’t know why that lightning woke me up.”

“Yes,” Jean agreed. “That is strange. You normally sleep through rainstorms, you know, and thunder and lightning.” When Mikasa didn’t say anything, he put his arm around her. “Come on. Let’s go back to sleep.”

Mikasa worried that she wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep again that night but didn’t want to concern Jean, so she let him lower her back down onto the mattress. His pressing his body against hers gave her some relief, especially the steady feeling of his chest against her back. It was calming, unlike the harsh rain outside–normally, the rainfall was gentler, less violent. She hesitated to close her eyes and fall back asleep.

When the rain finally stopped after several days, the family decided to picnic their lunch right under a tree. Even though it was still warm, Jean went outside to chop wood for the fire while Marco helped his mother peel oranges, dice sausages, and bake bread with fresh herbs. The boy happily hummed and swung his feet at the table, with the sound of his father chopping wood in the background.

“Mama,” Marco began, “how did the baby get in you?”

Mikasa immediately stopped and looked at him. “What?”

Marco looked down at his mother’s dress. “If the baby is growing in you, how did it get in you? And how will it get out?”

Mikasa would have laughed, but Marco was at that age where he would have thought that her laughing meant that she was making fun of him. She licked her upper lip. “Um, that is something that you will know…maybe when you are a little older.”

Marco’s mouth opened, and then he frowned. “How much older do I have to be? I want to know how babies get in and grow in mamas.”

His mother shrugged. “I would tell you, but it’s hard to explain–like things you will understand when you grow and your…body changes.” She worried that the comment scared Marco, the indication of puberty before he knew what puberty was, but Mikasa pouted and went back to peeling oranges and occasionally munching on fistfuls of blueberries. Mikasa picked up her knife and continued to cut the meat until she realized that she could no longer hear wood chopping. Was Jean already done? If so, why was he still outside?

Mikasa stood up and walked to the window. She didn’t see Jean walk across the lawn for more wood, so she stepped to the left for a better angle of the tree stump and a trail of blood leading to a human arm.

Panic seized her, and without warning, the door opened to the sight of three grown, dark-dressed men with satisfied grins that made the world freeze.

“You were right,” one of them said. “An oriental lives here.”

Oriental… Mikasa had not heard that description for years, and a familiar fear that she had suppressed in that time came rushing back.

“Marco!” she screeched as she pushed against the door–a door that the men refused to let close. “Run!”

“Mama?” asked Marco.

They’re coming for me, they’re coming for him, they’re coming for us, it’s happening all over again–

Mikasa struggled against the men who fought back. “Do as I say! Get out of the house!”

“What are you waiting for–take her down, like that man outside–”

Mikasa nearly shut down at that point. Jean… They killed Jean. They killed the man she loved, the man who loved her despite her nearly lifelong devotion to someone else who saved her but also hurt her in unforgivable ways.

Then they pushed back the door and grabbed her arms. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Marco had left the table and was running from the backdoor.

“Get that boy!” one of the men yelled. “Put this one–”

“No, look! She’s carrying another oriental! Know how much we could go for once that baby comes out?”

Mikasa struggled through tears. This couldn’t be happening, not for real! Not her precious babies condemned to a life of slavery, a fate worse than death. She fought against the hands that made her arms numb and sobbed. “Run, Marco! Don’t stop running…”

A cold, piercing stab in her stomach… Red flashing in darkness… Men yelling at each other… A familiar little boy’s voice screaming and crying… Numbness in her ears…

“Mikasa, Mikasa…”

Mikasa’s eyes opened. It was cold enough for her to shiver. The room was dark. Her mouth dried. Did the men capture her, and transport her and Marco to wherever they sold human beings? Was the stabbing real or her imagination, and the baby was still growing in her?

“Mikasa…”

Something shook her by the arm. She looked behind her and realized that she had never seen Jean look terrified, even when faced with death. “Mikasa? Can you hear me?”

Mikasa was relieved but didn’t intend to shed tears. Jean was still alive. Maybe he faked his death and was saving her and Marco. She tried to turn to his side but then realized that nothing bound her arms or ankles–just the blanket. “Jean? Thank goodness…”

Jean didn’t look satisfied. He kicked away the blanket and pulled his wife to sit up on their bed–their bed. She looked down and saw that her belly was slightly swollen, with no indication of outside injuries. “Come on,” said Jean. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Mikasa’s mind was partially numb on the way down the stairs into the familiar kitchen with the bare table–no sausages or blueberries or oranges, no…other indication of the picnic for which she and Marco were preparing.

Jean quickly brewed tea and handed her a cup. Once she saw her own reflection, she realized what had happened. What a fool, she thought to herself for no reason. When Jean sat across from her, silently waiting for her to speak, she warmed her hands and listened to the pounding rain outside. Only when the tea had cooled did she start drinking. “Are you not tired?” she asked.

“Not until you are ready to go back to bed,” he said gently but in a tone that indicated a desire for answers. He watched her stroke where the new baby was sleeping and sip her tea in awkward silence. She finished before he did and carried her cup to the sink.

“Mikasa,” he said, “you’re not ready to go to sleep. You know that as much as I do. As much as I’d love to go to bed…you’re not in a state to fall asleep, let alone stay asleep.”

Mikasa gripped the edge of the sink and hung her head. “Did–Did I ever tell you…” She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. Jean didn’t say anything. Mikasa took a shaky breath. “I…I suspect…that my mother was pregnant…a second time, when she was murdered.” The tears came without her consent. “I think that’s why Eren’s father was coming to our cabin that day, to confirm if I was going to be a big sister–”

Jean knew Mikasa enough to realize when she wanted to vent but did not want to be touched. Instead, he stared at his tea and tried not to cry. “I’m so sorry, Mikasa.”

Mikasa wiped her eyes. “Now, I’m giving Marco an opportunity–something–that I never had but probably was…and I’m–I’m scared.” She looked through the window at the pounding rain. “I remember every detail of my parents’ murders, how they could have taken my mother but killed her instead, and were going to sell me into slavery.”

Mikasa remembered that day when she told Jean the story of her parents’ deaths and Eren saving her life, how Jean was horrified and squeezed her in his arms as though it could erase her memory. She was a little satisfied when she heard him breathing heavier.

“And now you’re worried…that it could happen again,” said Jean. “You’re worried that, even if you’re still considered to have ‘value’ because of your heritage…that you and I–that someone would kill us…and do to Marco what could have happened to you.”

Mikasa went back to crying at the thought of her sweet little boy being taken away, with no savior around nor a chance for the Ackerman gift/curse to mature and possibly save his life…or end it. She knew that her life would not have ended up like this, and certainly that Marco would not exist nor the baby growing in her if that tragedy never happened to her, but how she wondered too much of her parents if they were allowed to live. The world was too cruel to appreciate how beautiful it also was, and it was unfair.

When the nightmare came back the next evening, this time with louder rain, Mikasa nearly screamed as she woke up. She could feel it on her skin just like heavy raindrops–the terror, the instinct to flee, the shock that her husband had been brutally murdered, the horror in her son’s face, the horrible…horrible…

Arms wrapped around her from behind! It was one of them! They were going to kill her!

No! She wanted to scream. Please let me have my baby! The world is cruel but also beautiful…

“Mikasa? Mikasa?” There was light, familiar shushing.

The tension slowly faded from Mikasa’s body. She hung her head and let Jean pull her to his chest and onto his lap. He kissed her cheek and the side of her head. “Another nightmare?” he asked.

“Y–Yes,” she wept, too tired to deny it. She didn’t want to share any of the details, particularly that this time, she made the horrible, sickening decision to kill herself and the unborn baby and Marco to save them all from an agonizing future that no human being should ever endure. She hated the thought of ever being in a position where she had to do the unthinkable out of love, and it was even worse than the decision to kill Eren–her babies did not choose to be descended from a certain tribe, and they were humans, not possessions or anything to be abused.

Jean rocked her back and forth and whispered his love in her ear. “Take deep breaths, take deep breaths… Remember, you don’t want to stress the baby. Let it sleep.”

“But–But I…” Mikasa wept. She gripped his arm like something was trying to pull him away.

“Mikasa, Mikasa,” Jean whispered through gentle shushes. “It’s all right to calm down, I’m here…”

“Mama?”

The couple turned to their door and saw Marco standing with half his body in the room, rubbing his eyes and clutching a bedsheet. “Marco,” said Mikasa, “what are you doing up?”

Marco lowered his hand. “I heard noises, not outside,” he said. “Scared, wanted you and Papa.”

Mikasa realized and felt ashamed that her son likely heard her crying. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Marco,” she said. “Come in here. Papa and I will make you feel better.”

Marco didn’t hesitate to walk over and climb onto his parents’ bed. En route to the space between Jean and Mikasa, he put his hand on where the next Kirstein baby was growing. “Good night, little brother or sister,” he whispered, which made his parents beam. Once he lied down, he fell asleep as soon as his parents kissed his forehead once more and cuddled him close.

That night, for some reason, Mikasa did not have another nightmare but slept rather comfortably. When she woke up and saw Marco’s slumbering face in front of hers and the twitch of his nose, she wondered if Marco sleeping next to her had something to do with it.

***

Because the rain was still heavy when the family woke up, and Jean had already picked up eggs from the chicken coop, he decided that, after breakfast, he and Mikasa would teach Marco self-defense. Yes, a three-year-old would not win against a grown man, but the sooner he learned how to protect himself, the better he could fight off against anyone who threatened his life or well-being. Yes, they had to remind Marco not to start fights with anyone, but Jean remembered the neighborhood children who made fun of him for being heavy when he was growing up, who liked to prove that they were stronger by beating him to the ground until he cried and ran home.

To Jean and Mikasa’s relief, Marco was very excited to learn how to fight off bullies and bad men. He observed his parents as they showed him everything they learned from their days in the cadets and moves that Levi taught them after they joined his squad. Marco’s face was bright the entire time that he didn’t want to stop for lunch or dinner; he rushed through his chores to keep learning. Even while Mikasa caught up on her embroidery and sewing, she proudly watched Marco mirror his father on how to move his hands and legs, and knew that she and Jean would teach the new baby everything that Marco was learning, regardless if she had a boy or a girl.

Marco was disappointed when Jean said that it was bathtime, but he babbled about his favorite moves and how excited he was to learn more. One day, if people were big bullies to his little brother or sister, he would be the good big brother and stop the bullies from hurting his little brother or sister ever again! Jean smiled and agreed, though he hoped that the day would never come–and if it did, the little brother or sister would not need Marco to stand up to bullies but be able to handle his or her own problems alone.

After Marco was dressed in his pajamas, Jean carried him into his room, where Mikasa was already sitting on the bed with an opened picture book. Marco was picking up on reading rather quickly for three, but he had wanted to read to the unborn baby as often as he could. Ever since his parents told him that they liked to talk to the bump so that the baby could recognize its parents’ voices when it was born, he wanted his little brother or sister to recognize his voice as well. He repeated after his mother and averted his eyes from the printed words to the roundness under Mikasa’s nightgown, hoping that the baby was listening.

Mikasa fell asleep on Marco’s bed, with Marco’s arm and leg around her, but Jean stayed awake and kept an eye on his wife. She didn’t wake up at all; instead, her eyes moved behind her closed lids, and every now and then, she smiled. Jean wondered if sleeping next to Marco prevented the nightmares that their son would be taken away. The one thing worse than the nightmares were that they would come back and intensify after the baby was born.

***

The long period of rain ended with a warm, sunny day–which happened to be the late Sasha’s birthday. The Kirstein family woke up early and made the trip to the graveyard where their fallen comrades rested in peace. Mikasa, already showing but still active and mobile, overcame muddy hills and pathways to the familiar headstone. She and Jean held Marco’s hands, and Jean carried the bouquet of yellow roses.

On the way, they saw a familiar couple already at the grave, bearing flowers. Jean smiled but did not say anything on their way up. Then Artur and Lisa turned their heads, recognized the couple, and smiled. “Jean, Mikasa,” said Artur. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hello, Artur, Lisa,” Jean greeted them. “It’s great to see you.”

Lisa, who was smiling, walked past her husband to shake Jean’s hand. “Thank you for coming,” she said. She looked down at Marco. “And is this little guy your son?”

“Yes,” said Mikasa. “Marco, this is Mrs. Braus. She is our friend’s mother.”

Marco let her shake his hand. Then Lisa looked at Mikasa’s noticeable bump. “And congratulations to you, dear.”

She extended her hand, but suddenly, Marco pushed himself back between the women and held out his arms, giving Lisa a hostile look. “No!” he yelled. “My baby!”

“Marco!” Jean scolded. “Don’t be rude! She just wants to shake hands; she’s not going to hurt your mother…” He apologetically smiled at the older couple. “Sorry, he’s like this with everyone, even me. Very overprotective.”

Lisa gently laughed, not at all offended. “I think it’s sweet, how excited he is about this big change.” She waited for Jean to tug Marco away by his hand to greet Mikasa, and then Jean let go. Marco immediately wrapped his arms protectively around his mother’s middle, still giving Lisa a hostile scowl.

Jean sighed. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing we know this couple,” he muttered. “It’s worse with strangers, especially in the market where everyone else can see.”

Jean didn’t know that Artur could hear him until Artur chuckled. “He’s just a little boy, Jean,” the older man reassured him. “Let him be this way.” Artur studied the little boy who was giving him a threatening look as well. “Something tells me that the baby will be similar to him, especially if you go for a third, or just protective overall–it’s natural for children.”

“You don’t say,” said Jean with an uneasy grin. “Are girls like that as well, very protective when they’re that young?”

The older man raised his eyebrow. “It depends,” he said, “but from my experience–absolutely.” Then Artur put his arm around Jean’s shoulders. “May I give you some advice, in case you have a little girl?” he asked. Jean didn’t say anything but was clearly listening. “Daughters are more like their fathers than anyone would know. The more you understand yourself, the better you will understand the girl you are raising and therefore the young woman she will become.”

Jean did not know why the hairs on the back of his neck rose, but something about that advice told him that he would not forget it, even if he had only sons. He wasn’t ready to tell a private secret yet, not even to his own wife. “I…I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with an awkward smile.

Artur’s smile dimmed. “Good. I wish I had known that earlier. Had someone told me, or I found out earlier…” His voice trailed off. “My darling Sasha, my greatest joy, my dearest pride, would probably still be here…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry, Jean,” he whispered. He turned his face away from his daughter’s friend. “I know I shouldn’t, especially if you’re going to be a father again…”

Jean shook his head and comfortingly put his hand on Artur’s shoulder. “No, no, it’s all right,” he said.

Artur closed his eyes, already wet with tears. “Days like this… I am proud that she wanted to die fighting for a cause she believed in, but I…I selfishly wish that she didn’t, that she could have lived to do what she wanted in life or something unexpected, and…and to be by my side as I am ready to pass.”

Jean took a deep breath. “Well, rest assured”--he smirked when Artur grinned– “if it is a girl, I won’t raise her any differently than Marco, but hopefully a little better, given the experience.” He shrugged. “The only difference is when her body changes and all that, but otherwise, it would not be any more lax or stringent.”

Artur smiled even with tears in his eyes. “I can tell that you’re a good father, even after all my daughter told me about you when you were just teenagers.” Jean’s embarrassed expression made him chuckle. “You’re going to be a good one again. Your second baby is already blessed.”

Jean tried very hard to not cry at that compliment.

Marco put his fingertips to his lips and touched Sasha’s name etched in stone. His mother gently squatted down and did the same. She sat in silence for about two minutes and with Jean’s help stood back up. Jean knelt down and didn’t care about the mud on his pants. He touched the headstone. Hey Potato Girl, he prayed to her, so much has changed since I last came over. He sighed. Not a day goes by where Mikasa and I don’t miss you. We talk so much about what you would be doing if you had more time–not just eating and hunting, but, you know, if you would have become an ambassador like me, or would you have moved back to Dauper.

The sadness was making his chest hurt, so Jean moved on: You know, Mikasa is having another baby. I can’t believe it! I was waiting for the day when we’d have another child. I…I guess I can give you this secret to take to the grave: I will love it no matter what, but…I’ve been praying for a little girl. I would love to have a daughter. I don’t know how different she would be from Marco, but I wouldn’t raise or love her any differently.

Jean looked up at the engraving. I just hope that I will raise a daughter in a way that will make me proud to be her father, the way that your father is still proud of you and what you accomplished in life.

Unfortunately, the ache was only growing, so Jean bitterly swallowed. I will see you soon, Sasha. We love and miss you so much.

Mikasa stayed behind and leaned against the back of Sasha’s headstone while her husband and son walked Artur and Lisa down the hill to the wagon they rode from Dauper. It reminded her of the day they buried Sasha and watched her parents and Kaya weep over where Sasha was forever buried. No parent should ever have to bury a child, especially an only child, even if that child was willing to die for a cause and strangers. Mikasa tried not to think about letting Marco or the baby join the army and fight like the fallen comrades who were not as fortunate to have a future or life like she and Jean had.

Sasha…if only we had an idea of where you would be right now in your life, Mikasa sadly thought. She lowered her face in her arms and silently wept. Memories of Sasha wouldn’t leave, she hoped, but she feared that one day she would forget the sound of Sasha’s voice and natural accent. Sometimes she had to concentrate to remember how loudly Sasha snored or even mumbled in her sleep. Little things that proved Sasha’s existence were in danger of fading from memory.

Just then, she felt something in her abdomen. Mikasa lifted her head and went still. The sensation came again–a sensation that felt very familiar, one that she had not experienced yet with this pregnancy and not since Marco was born. She put her hand over where she felt it and smiled to herself.

That night, as Jean lay down in bed, she sat beside him and put his hand over the movements in her bump. “It started at the graveyard, when I was alone with Sasha,” she said. Tears poured from Jean’s eyes, and he kissed over every inch that the baby had kicked. It must be a sign of something, Mikasa wistfully thought to herself.

***

According to the doctor, the baby was due to arrive in the winter, just like Marco, though hopefully not in the middle of a snowstorm like Marco. Jean, however, did not want to be optimistic. He still felt guilty that he left Mikasa to give birth alone, when so many horrible things could have happened to mother and child without professional care, and he most certainly did not want Mikasa to be by herself, especially when he had to take her to seek medical care when he arrived home the day that Marco was born.

Therefore, after convincing Mikasa, he talked his mother into briefly moving into his house. That way, she could distract Marco from the birth and help with the new baby–especially because they still had an older child to take care of and needed as much help as they could get. Mrs. Kirstein happily agreed and came to the house with suitcases of clothes and possessions on Marco’s birthday. Jean already had the nursery ready at that point and made sure that the new guestroom was spotless. Mrs. Kirstein set down her suitcases to unpack later and helped her son and daughter-in-law set up a private birthday celebration for little Marco before Armin, Annie, and Connie came to celebrate.

Marco was less excited about his birthday–his last as an only child–and more excited about the baby. For several days, he had been asking, “Can baby come out now? Can baby come out now?” Armin joked that soon he would be saying, “Can baby go back in?” The adults laughed, even though Marco didn’t get it. Still, he protectively hovered over his mother and didn’t let anyone, even his own father, come too close to Mikasa or the baby bump. His scowling, unfortunately, made everyone laugh.

Even though Mikasa was due in a little over a month, she wasn’t as uncomfortable as most expectant mothers at that stage. Her feet were not as swollen, and she did not have too much pain standing up or sitting down, but she still wolfed down unusual cravings, such as celery and pickles, grilled salami with onions, and–to Jean’s absolute disgust–buttered salmon with blackberries. Fortunately, Mikasa restrained herself from “experimenting” in front of company and overindulging in the fruit tart that Mrs. Kirstein made, though she looked like she regretted letting Annie finish the last slice.

Marco fell asleep muttering for baby to come out and cuddled between his parents in bed. Jean and Mikasa kissed his forehead and silently agreed with him, but at the same time, they wanted Marco to feel as much parental love as he could, just so he knew that they would continue to love him just as much as they did at that moment, even after the baby was born.

***

On the morning of December 9, Mikasa had been sleeping soundly until she felt a sharp pain down her side. She sat up in bed in a panic and took deep breaths while the pain lingered. At that moment, Jean leaned up on his elbows. “Mikasa, what is it?”

Mikasa looked down at her bump for movements but saw no little bump that indicated a kick. She kicked aside the sheets and felt a puddle growing under her. “Jean… I–I think I’m going to go into labor soon.”

Jean jumped out of bed. “When did this start?” he hissed. “Just now?”

Mikasa nodded, and Jean hurried out of their room and into the guestroom. Without knocking, he opened the door and knelt by the bed. “Mama, Mama,” Jean whispered as he shook his mother’s arm.

His mother, groaning, reluctantly tilted her body and opened her eyes. “Jean Boy? What is it?”

Jean swallowed. “The baby’s about to come,” he whispered. As soon as his mother sat up, he continued: “Listen, I need you to do me a favor: Marco will still be sleeping–he is a very sound sleeper–but when he wakes up, I need you to cook him breakfast, and then take him back to his room and let him play or read or whatever, just so he doesn’t know what’s happening in the bathroom.”

“The bath–Jean Boy–” When she saw how Jean’s expression changed into concern, she sighed. “All right.”

Jean, beaming, kissed his mother’s forehead and rushed down the stairs, where he called the midwife. The telephone was still something that he wasn’t entirely used to, but he was so relieved that, especially in the winter dark, he did not have to rush over in case she was not there, and thus leave his wife to labor alone. No way was he going to allow her to go through that pain alone ever again!

An assistant answered on the fourth ring, and Jean quickly shared where he lived and that Mikasa had not yet been in labor for an hour, but his son was still sleeping, and he did not want to startle the little boy. The assistant reassured him that a midwife would be over in thirty minutes. Grateful, Jean hung up and, per Mikasa’s instructions, sterilized scissors in a pot of boiling water. He carried the scissors upstairs and stacked towels pulled from the rack beside the tub. Then he clogged the bathtub and poured in mildly warm water. Once the tub was half full, he rushed to his room and helped his wife change into a sleeveless cotton nightgown. Then he walked her into the bathroom to ease her contractions and checked through the window for the midwife. When Mikasa lowered herself into the bath, she let out a sigh, like it was medicine to a long-standing pain she had been holding onto.

“Jean Boy?” The couple jumped at the knocking. “Jean Boy? Are you in here?”

Reluctantly, Jean opened the door until it was ajar. His mother was carrying three water glasses and a full jug. “Remember to keep yourselves hydrated,” she said. “She will need it more than you will.”

Mikasa took a deep breath and breathed with her mouth in a small O. “You can come in, drop them off,” she panted. She watched her mother-in-law set the glasses and pitcher onto the sink counter and swallowed down another contraction.

Then Mrs. Kirstein knelt down, cupped Mikasa’s face, and kissed her cheek. “Good luck, darling,” she said firmly. “You’re an excellent mother already to my grandson, and I know you will be the very same to your new baby. Your children are blessed for you to be their mother.”

Mikasa knew that most loving mother-in-laws would say that, but it made her feel so much better and relaxed even some of the tension she was carrying. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Jean let his mother kiss him as well and then hurry out of the bathroom, promising to bring the midwife upstairs so Jean didn’t have to leave. Mikasa hung her head and panted through tears and sweat. “Did… Do you remember…when that–that Titan…grabbed me? The one you stabbed in the eyes?”

That memory still made Jean outraged. He could still hear her screech of pain when the Titan nearly shattered her ribcage. “I’ll never forget that,” he muttered.

“That–When I was having Marco, I realized…honestly, this…this probably hurts more…” She closed her eyes and opened her mouth for another guttural cry. Jean grabbed her hands and gently pulled her up as he remembered in birthing classes that instructed how fathers could ease laboring mothers.

At last, the midwife’s carriage parked in front of the house. Even though more people were adapting to and buying automobiles from Marley nowadays, some folks decided to stick with “old ways” regardless. Jean could see the sun starting to rise and hoped that Marco wouldn’t awake too soon. Then he heard knocking, and his mother led the midwife–one of the newer ones–into the bathroom, where she and the Kirsteins shook hands.

Jean said that he had two goals: keep mother and child healthy and safe, and make sure that Marco did not suspect anything happening. The midwife immediately took to examining Mikasa and asked about her previous birthing experience, particularly that she had to go to a doctor after the home birth. Through groans and yelps, Mikasa answered as best as she could while clutching Jean’s hand tight enough to splinter the bones.

“Good morning, my sweet Marco,” they heard Mrs. Kirstein gush to her grandson. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” said Marco through a yawn. “Are Mama and Papa downstairs?”

“No, they’re still sleeping.” Mrs. Kirstein lowered her voice into a hushed tone. “So why don’t we go downstairs for Mr. Omelet–just for you–and then we can play in your room while we wait for them to wake up?”

“Can I help make Mr. Omelet?” asked Marco.

Had Mikasa not been in so much pain, she would have beamed at her son’s politeness.

***

Between bites and recollections he had of last night’s dreams to his grandmother, Marco finished Mr. Omelet in half an hour. He helped her wash the dishes and wipe the table. After they were done, he asked his grandmother if they could check on Mama and Papa, maybe even cook Mr. Omelet for them, but the older woman said no–it was rude to wake people from their sleep, just as Marco didn’t like it when his parents woke him up rather than letting him wake himself.

Marco looked disappointed, but he went back to his room and pulled out his box of toys to pass the time. He liked the building blocks painted many colors because it was fun to see how many he could stack on top of each other until they fell. “Remember to keep your voice down,” said his grandmother in a hushing voice. She pulled out a sewing kit and stitched clothes for the family that Mikasa intended to fix but couldn’t with swollen fingers, as well as patches over holes in socks and cardigans.

Marco nodded and first moved a toy airship around his head, making noises and pretending that he could hear one very much like the airship that his parents used to ride. Of course, they never told him stories of their experiences, and Marco didn’t understand why. Being up in the air, so close to the clouds and seeing the world below, seemed like so much fun.

***

Based on what the midwife was saying, Mikasa was laboring for much less than the ten hours that she had with Marco. Jean appeared both dumbfounded that women could endure contractions for that long and guilty that he still, though against his will and knowledge, left her alone to experience that fear and pain. Mikasa muffled her cries by biting into a folded washcloth, though the midwife didn’t seem fond of that option.

At last, the midwife said that Mikasa was dilated and ready to give birth. Jean squeezed Mikasa’s hand back, ready to support her and watch as he became a father a second time. Mikasa closed her eyes, took a deep breath, screamed into her gag, and pushed. When she stopped screaming, Jean removed the cloth and coached her into breathing by counting to ten. “Remember to breathe, or you will deprive even the baby of oxygen,” he reminded her. Mikasa, nodding, bit into the cloth again, inhaled, screamed into her gag, and pushed.

Naturally, the sight of a woman in childbirth would have made Jean feel uncomfortable, but seeing his own wife through the process, and the fact that the result would be a human being whom they created and would raise together, made Jean fully appreciate how strong and powerful women truly were, to risk their lives and not complain about the physical agony. “I love you,” he whispered to her through a third scream. “You are strong, and you are fearless–that’s what I have loved about you since the day I first laid eyes on you.”

Mikasa was heaving, but the corners of her mouth lifted. She certainly loved hearing that. Then Jean pushed back his wife’s hair. “You’re almost done,” he said. “Let’s try to do this in four or less, all right? One, two…”

“One, t-two…” his wife cried into the washcloth again and pushed.

“Good! One more, two more…”

Mikasa pushed again–

“I can feel the head,” whispered the midwife. “It’s partially out–”

With one more scream, Mikasa pushed again. With a deep breath, the midwife pulled the baby’s body from its mother and out of the water.

Mikasa nearly slipped back into the tub, briefly blinded, but her vision cleared in time to watch Jean, open-mouthed, take the baby and smack the newborn’s back to induce a first wail.

***

The wall of building blocks crumbled around Marco’s lap, sending the cheering little boy onto his back in a fit of giggles. Building blocks were his favorite toys to play with and pass the time. The best thing about things falling apart was finding ways to rebuild them without making the same mistakes and finding ways to keep them stronger and upright for longer.

***

The couple in the bathroom laughed and cried at the same time. The newborn twitched and wailed against Jean’s shoulder. Jean kept the baby close to him but scooted forward and reluctantly handed the baby to Mikasa, who embraced the new addition to their family with open arms. As she pushed herself up and leaned against the end of the tub, Jean gently pulled aside the umbilical cord to check between the baby’s legs. It was a girl.

My prayers have been answered, he thought in relief. He wanted to cry from joy again. “Mikasa…it’s a daughter.”

As if she didn’t believe him, Mikasa lifted the baby’s leg. “She’s here–little Sasha.”

Never once did Jean and Mikasa discuss baby names for a little girl–had it been another son, Mikasa contemplated naming him after her father. As for a daughter, they never discussed names–it was a silent but an inevitable agreement that they would name their first little girl after a certain important person in their lives, also gone too soon. Jean didn’t look away from his daughter at all, not even when the midwife handed him the scissors and he cut the umbilical cord, officially making his daughter’s body her own.

***

Mrs. Kirstein watched her grandson happily rebuild a wall and see how many triangles he could balance on a cylinder. He giggled every time he made a mistake and was surprisingly quiet when blocks fell apart. When he tired of playing with blocks, he put them all away first before moving on to playing with toy airships and steamboats. Maybe Mama and Papa did not talk about being in an airship, but when he and Mama got to go with Papa to different countries, he enjoyed riding on steamboats and running around to see how they worked and looked inside. It would be fun to do the same when the new baby was no longer a baby but able to walk and run.

Marco imagined himself chasing a little brother or sister around a steamboat deck, hunching over him or her as they poked their heads into the boiler room, munching on seafood in the fresh sea air, and looking for fish ahead of the bow. He smiled and suddenly became anxious for the baby to be a big boy or girl.

***

Jean carefully peeked from the bathroom and saw that the door to Marco’s room was open, but nobody was in. Marco must have gone downstairs for lunch; he could hear a little voice downstairs. With assistance from the midwife, Jean immediately helped Mikasa and the newborn out of the bathtub, patted them dry, and put his arm around Mikasa’s back to walk her and baby Sasha into his and Mikasa’s bedroom.

After he helped Mikasa into a warm nightgown, the padded undergarment for postpartum bleeding, and her bathrobe, he and the midwife cleaned the bathroom and concealed any evidence that a birth had just occurred. When he was done, he closed his eyes and happily cried again. He still couldn’t believe it–a baby girl! Like he wanted.

He walked the midwife back into the room to check on mother and child once more, and then downstairs. Luckily, a wall blocked the steps from the kitchen, so Marco would not be able to see anything. Jean quickly paid the midwife and promised to call if something happened in the meantime to either Mikasa or the baby. Then he hurried upstairs to lay beside Mikasa, who was nursing baby Sasha. Jean snuck a finger into Sasha’s hand and beamed when she tightly gripped him. When Mikasa patted her back, she let out both a belch and a sneeze, which made her parents chuckle.

As soon as Jean heard his mother and Marco climb up the steps, he reluctantly left the room and stepped out into full view. “Good afternoon, Papa,” said Marco, who ran over. An elated Jean picked him up and tightly hugged him.

“Good afternoon, my sweet boy,” he whispered. He pulled away his son so Marco was looking at him. “Come meet your new baby sister.”

Marco’s mouth opened. “Wha–Mama had–?”

“A little girl?” whispered Mrs. Kirstein. Her hands pressed against her chest. “Oh! I’m so happy!”

Jean let his mother and son into the main bedroom. Mikasa finally looked away from the sleeping newborn, saw her son, and beamed. “Marco, baby,” she whispered.

As soon as Jean set Marco to his feet, he slowly walked to the bed, like he didn’t know if he was dreaming. When he reached the bed, he cocked his head for a better view of his little sister’s face. She had Mama’s black hair, in little wisps above her forehead, but he could see Papa in her nose, cheeks, chin, and eye shape, like the framed drawing in their grandmother’s apartment of Papa when he was a little boy.

Marco didn’t care to ask how the baby got out or when she got out. He outstretched his hand and softly touched her chest. She was real–a real baby, a real baby sister. He touched her cheek–warm and plump, like an unpeeled orange. Her lips were pouted, and her snores were soft.

“You’re a big brother, Marco,” said their grandmother. “Isn’t she adorable?”

Marco barely heard her; he was more focused on touching as much of the baby’s body as he could, still unconvinced that his mother was holding a baby and not a doll like in the toy store. “Would you like to kiss her?” asked Papa.

With Mama’s smile and nod of approval, Marco leaned forward and put his lips to the center of baby sister’s forehead. “You’re going to be the best big brother that any little brother or sister can have,” said their grandmother.

I will be, Marco thought to himself. I promise I will.

Mikasa handed baby Sasha to her grandmother, and her mother-in-law never once took her eyes off her granddaughter, who slept through her grandmother’s whispers and tears even as she beamed. Jean knew what his mother was thinking–another healthy baby. Another grandchild. Another child to teach how to cook Mr. Omelet, at last a little girl for whom to buy pretty dresses. Another child to one day grow up proud of who her parents were and what they did before she was born. Another grandchild to spoil with kisses and the occasional apple doughnut from the market.

“You have the best mama, and the best papa, and the best big brother, little one,” she said. “Your mama and papa worked very hard for you and your brother to live the best lives ever. You and Marco deserve nothing but good health and all the happiness in the world.”

Jean took a deep breath and hoped that it was true. Just as he knew that Marco would have endured his horrible death even had he known about the future Kirstein boy named after him, he knew, in his heart, that Sasha–Potato Girl, the friend whom he and Mikasa missed every day–would have allowed herself to pass just so a little girl named after her would not have to experience the fear and insecurity that plagued Sasha’s village and the children who did not deserve to grow up in fear.

Jean watched his mother continue to gush over his daughter and was even more determined to raise a strong woman like his late friend, one who would live to be at his side in his final moments as a reminder of the good that he had done so he could pass with pride in himself.

***

One week after Sasha was born, when Mikasa was finally strong enough to walk downstairs without too much discomfort, Jean and his mother hosted a private feast for the family and their loved ones. Mother and son polished every room and cooked with the finest meats, freshest eggs, and firmest potatoes in the market; Jean even ordered the finest wine from the local liquor store and pulled out the pickled vegetables and fruits preserved for the winter.

Armin and Annie were the first to arrive and happily pointed out Sasha to their own little girl, who at two was both intrigued and bored. She preferred munching on the pickled watermelon and observing the sleeping baby, oblivious to her big brother sitting beside her on the table and running his hand up and down her abdomen. Armin, who balanced little Abigail on his lap, asked Marco questions on how he was a good big brother; Annie promised to give Sasha all of the clothes and shoes that her daughter outgrew.

Marco studied every feature of Sasha’s face, even when someone knocked on the door and his father left to answer it, until Papa said, “Connie! Thank you so much for coming!”

Marco immediately jumped off the table and ran to where Papa and Connie grasped hands. “Con Con!” he yelled. Before Connie could even say hello, Marco grabbed Connie’s hand and dragged him into the kitchen, ignoring the shushing from his mother and the Arlets. “Con Con! Come see Sasha!”

Connie chuckled and took his time greeting Mikasa and the Arlets without looking at the baby on the table. As soon as Connie saw the baby, however, his smile instantly dropped. The emotional state he was in when he read Jean’s letter and that the baby was named after someone he considered a twin immediately returned. Of course, he held his tears and was excited that the baby was born healthy, but seeing the bundle wrapped around little Sasha made him miss his friend so much.

Jean, beaming, held out the newborn. “Would you like to hold her, Uncle Con Con?”

Connie nodded but sat down in case he felt overwhelmed. Then he took baby Sasha in his arms, and the tears that he restrained came out.

“Con Con?’ asked Marco, but his mother put her hand on his shoulder. He knew that it meant that he shouldn’t ask why Con Con was crying. The other adults, on the other hand, knew at once the reason behind Connie’s weeping. He studied baby Sasha’s nose, the point of her chin, the shapes of her lips, and her eyebrows–details inherited from her father but that brought to life his late friend’s features and how she looked when she was happy, sad, confused, angry, frightened, embarrassed…

Connie set Sasha against his shoulder and rubbed her back, smiling when her breath warmed the side of his neck. His crying slowed down, though he still wept fresh tears. Had Jean not been so preoccupied with acting as host, he would have run upstairs, grabbed his sketchbook and charcoal, and sketched his friend embracing the baby. Little Sasha’s fingers flexed and gripped the collar of his shirt, and the corners of her mouth lifted.

“She loves you,” Armin said quietly as little Abigail continued to shove pickled strawberries into her mouth. Connie nodded along but barely heard him. He just sensed a connection to the little girl that was much different than his bond to Marco.

Not surprisingly, Sasha stayed in Connie’s arms until she whined, for which Mikasa correctly sensed that she needed changing. Mrs. Kirstein hovered over her daughter-in-law and kept refilling her glass of water and cup of tea, made sure she served herself first, and held Sasha when Jean helped Mikasa out of her chair to use the bathroom or ease the tension in her ankles and feet. Marco and Abigail ate and touched the baby until Armin and Annie left to get their daughter ready for bedtime; Connie stayed until Mrs. Kirstein carried a yawning Marco upstairs, and Jean and Mikasa walked him outside for final, tearful hugs.

“Sorry about the crying,” Connie whispered. “It’s… I just miss her so much, and…what I wouldn’t do to have her back.”

Mikasa and Jean painfully agreed–what they wouldn’t do to have at least one of their fallen comrades back. Mrs. Kirstein came downstairs in time to say goodbye, and then hurried back into the kitchen. Mikasa walked over, but her mother-in-law waved her away. “No, no, I have this. You go upstairs and spend time with your baby.”

As if on cue, Mikasa stiffened and smiled. “Speaking of which,” she said, “she’s hungry.” She eased herself upstairs into her room. Jean collected the plates, dishes, cups, and utensils, which his mother took and waved him away with a soapy hand.

“Go upstairs, bond with baby Sasha,” she said. “I have this–you go enjoy our little girl.”

“Thank you, Mama. Good night.” Jean kissed his mother’s forehead and walked upstairs to get ready for bed. Mikasa was feeding Sasha when he walked into the bedroom, and Jean snuck glances at Sasha between changing into comfortable clothes. Then he sat beside Mikasa and belched the infant.

Sasha fell asleep automatically, but her parents were not ready to put her in the crib just yet. “Good night, Sasha,” said Jean. “We hope you had a wonderful first week. It was chaotic, but at least not like your brother’s. Just know that you were born into a loving family–your mama loves you, I–your papa–love you, your big brother loves you, your grandmother loves you… All of your parents’ friends adore you so much.”

Mikasa kissed Sasha’s forehead and lovingly stared at her. “We love you so much. I wouldn’t wish my past on anyone, but I wouldn’t wish it away, because all of it led to you. You and Marco taught me everything I needed to know about pure love…and I cannot thank you enough.” She let two tears fall onto the fabric of Sasha’s blanket and watched Jean bring Sasha to the crib, which they planned to move back into the nursery within a month.

Jean laid down Sasha but gripped the sides of the crib and watched her sleep. You were named after someone so important to your mother and me, he planned to tell her someday. She taught us so much about ourselves and the world around us, about fear and endurance and patience and pain. I promise that I will raise you to be as great a woman–if not better–than my late friend. Jean leaned down and kissed her cheek. Thank you for letting me be your father, Sasha.

Sasha’s breathing was the sweetest sound. Her father unwillingly turned away and made his way to his wife, who was already under the blankets but watched him. Once he went to bed beside her, she turned away and took his hand to hold against her chest.

Jean cuddled his wife and breathed into her hair. She was the perfect wife for him, just as he tried to be the perfect husband for her. They had the most wonderful son and now the most amazing daughter, and he knew that they were going to grow up to become even more fantastic adults. It was the perfect life that Jean wanted, and he looked forward to an even greater future for his children.

#jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #attack on titan #jeankasa #fanfiction #armin arlert #annie leonhart #connie springer #aruani #jean kirschstein #conny springer #shingeki no kyojin #eren yeager #sasha braus #sasha blouse

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callsignrascal · 2 years

Text

Take Me Home

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw/Civillian!Wife!Reader

Summary: Being married to a Navy pilot had its fun, but sometimes her husband is gone for weeks or months at a time. She isn’t sure she can keep holding on to a love that comes and goes. Maybe he can remind her why it’s worth holding on to.

A/N: Just some hurt/comfort for fun. Or not fun. To each their own.

Warnings: Angst, with a (I guess) happy ending. no use of y/n ... i actually dont think i used Rooster's name once either so maybe u could imagine any of the he/him pilots here

The life of a military spouse is undeniably challenging. Being away from your partner for months or years at a time, assuming the role of a single parent, trying to balance a career while moving so often – all of these realities of military life can take its toll.

She found herself waiting for him again. It was clockwork really. He’d come home for a few days at a time, and she knew that before they could get too comfortable, he would be gone again. But, she was always waiting.

After a couple of years of the same old routine, it had begun to nag at her. She thought about it constantly; his absence, the unfounded bitterness that she felt toward him for not being around. Tonight, it was the only thing weighing on her mind as he returned home, even as they tried to ease back into a sense of normal that they had all but forgotten.

Despite her silence that he knew could only mean one thing, he still tried to make it a nice night. He had been gone for days this time, and all he wanted was to be with her. He was only worried that her coldness toward him would eventually lead to something else.

“There’s only a bottle of red left, I hope that’s okay,” he explained as he retrieved the last bottle of wine, grabbing two glasses before making his way back to the table.

“It’s been a rough week,” she explained. She watched him as he opened the bottle, placing the cork on the table, not even once glancing in her direction.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” she said as he poured her a glass of wine. The words came almost too easily. They had been on her mind for some time; building up until it was almost too much to handle anymore. It didn’t faze him though. He only finished pouring her glass before turning to focus on his own.

“Do what?” He asked finally as he set the bottle down, taking his seat across from her.

“This whole; finally having you home for a few days after being away for weeks or months, only to have to sit back and watch you pack again.”

“What has changed?”

“Nothing. That’s the problem. It’s always the same. You go away to God knows where, surrounded by God knows who… I never know what you’re doing, who you’re with, where you are half the time.”

“That’s my job. That’s been my job for as long as you’ve known me.”

“I know,” she said softly, “I think it’s just become too much.”

She picked up the wine glass, staring off at if for some time before taking a sip. He followed her movement, each of them sitting in silence for a while, taking in the heaviness of the discussion that was going to take place.

“Why is this an issue now?”

“I’ve been… so patient. Through this entire relationship I’ve sat around, waiting for you. When you’re gone, I’m just so alone, trying to keep myself busy so I don’t think about you. And then I get you back for just a little while, and each time you have to leave again is harder than the last time.”

He let out a deep sigh, leaning back into his chair as he took a much longer drink from his glass. He averted his gaze from her, unable to look at her now that there were tears welling up in her eyes. He knew this had been difficult on her, it had been the downfall to every relationship he had ever had.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” He asked suddenly. She looked up at him, eyes wet with tears as he continued to stare at his glass, thumbing along the rim. He was wearing a crooked smile now, his laugh lines prominent at the corner of his eyes as he smiled at the memory.

“I do,” she replied. A small smile formed on her own face now. She definitely did remember that fateful night at the Hard Deck.

“You were wearing that stunning, black dress, the one I like. You were carrying drinks to your table that night, the one you sat at with all of your friends. Do you remember that? I think I was making my way to the bar and neither of us were watching where we were going…”

“And you ran right into me,’ she giggled. He glanced up at her, smiling wider when he saw her eyes watching him softly.

“I still uphold that you ran into me.”

“Either way, you ended up with beer poured all down the front of your shirt.”

“Yeah, and you were so cute the way you panicked.”

“Well, I had just poured beer on your service khakis. That's gotta be punishable in some way.” He took in her laugh, like a song that he had almost forgotten the words to. He hadn’t heard her laugh in a long time, and right now, he savored it.

“But, you got a towel from the bar and cleaned me up. And I ended up sitting there at your table with you, soaking wet and smelling like beer.”

“We talked for a really long time.”

“I still believe that I fell in love with you the second you ran into me. How long before you knew you were in love with me?”

“I’ve already told you,” she muttered, slightly embarrassed at the idea of bringing up the past.

“I want to hear it again. I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

“I knew you were trouble as soon as I set eyes on you while you were on stage. Before the beer incident.”

He seemed pleased by her answer, taking another long sip of his wine.

“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” He asked.

She felt her breath catch. If there was any memory that could bring on the butterflies, it was that particular one. She could feel the tears well up again; aching over the memory and how it seemed so distant now, especially as they sat here discussing the possibility of everything ending. He gauged her feelings easily, reaching his hand across the table to take hers. His hand was rough but gentle against her skin. She stared down at her hand in his.

“I do,” she whispered.

“Tell me,” he urged, whiskey-brown eyes staring into her almost desperate, “I want to hear it.”

“It was our second date,” she began, “you took me out to dinner and we talked all night. I remember laughing and just feeling so comfortable with you. And you walked me home. You asked if you could kiss me, and I said yes. So you did.”

“And?”

“And what? It was a kiss.”

“Well, I have very vivid memories of what it was like for me. Tell me how you felt.”

“I think we’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, we have. But, I think I need to hear it again,” he leaned his elbows on the table, resting his face in his hand as he watched her intently.

“All that I had thought about that night was your lips, how they might feel against mine. I had hoped that you’d make the move, and you did. It was soft at first. The second your lips met mine, my stomach flipped. It was as if I was kissing someone for the very first time. Or, maybe it was just the only kiss that ever mattered. And you deepened the kiss, and I remember the way my knees buckled and you had to hold me up. The only other time I ever felt like my head was swimming like that is when…”

“You’d break out a bottle of your favorite wine?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “it was like being drunk, in the best way possible. I wanted to kiss you forever.”

With that, he stood up, moving toward her and taking her hands in his. He pulled her gently from her chair, wrapping his arms around her waist as he brought his lips to hers finally. He couldn’t be sure that this was exactly the same, but the whole point was to reenact that first kiss. The whole point was to remind her why she had loved him in the first place, remind her of what it has been like in the beginning.

He took her in; the feel of her wine stained lips against his, the remnants of the bitter alcohol lingering on her tongue with a hint of sweetness.

Judging from the way she melted into him, pressing back eagerly against his mouth, he had assumed that he had succeeded.

“Then kiss me forever,” he whispered against her lips. He pulled back, allowing his face to rest into the crook of her neck where he placed soft kisses against her skin. He breathed in her scent, trying his hardest to memorize it now that was afraid that he might be losing her.

“Let’s go to bed,” he muttered against her. More than anything, he wanted to keep her in this moment; with the memories still fresh in her mind, the kiss still lingering on her lips. He wanted her to stay wrapped up in what they used to be, at least for tonight.

She nodded against him; her hand running gently along his jawline. He led her to the bedroom with only the thought of making her remember why she had waited for him this entire time to begin with.

They left the half-empty bottle, their empty glasses, and the mention of this relationship being too much; behind them. Some things were more important right now.

Two days later, she sat on the edge of the bed while she watched him pack again. Her mind ran wild as she watched him focus. He was going to Top Gun this time, not too far, but to be honest, she had stopped paying attention. Where he was didn’t matter to her, all that did matter was that he’d be gone again.

“It’s only three days this time,” he explained, “I’ll be home before you know it.”

“What makes you think I’ll be waiting for you this time?” She asked, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

He noticed the look of hurt in her eyes, more prominent now than it had ever been in the past.

“It will be your birthday,” he reminded her. He dropped what he was doing, moving to her where he kneeled in front of her as she sat at the edge of the bed. He took her face in his hands, pulling her in for a kiss. “I’ve made plans. It will be perfect, trust me.”

She did want to trust him; but as she watched him walk away yet again, she couldn’t help but wonder what he would be doing while he was gone.

She tried to keep her mind off of him for the first day. It was never easy. He invaded her thoughts constantly. Sometimes, it was her own thoughts about how much she missed him, other times, it was her own insecurities that made her doubt him. She had trusted him for this long, but surely him being away so much wasn’t easy on him either.

By day three, she was a lot more lonely. She opened a bottle of wine that she had bought earlier, set on drinking the thoughts of him away. It was getting old, trying to force herself into feeling less sad, less lonely. Honestly, it wasn’t working anyway. She drank until there was nothing left, and in the early morning hours, she sent him a text. Her face tingled due to the bottle of wine, eyes red and bloodshot from the tears she had cried yet again. “I miss you.”

She didn’t even intend to wait for his reply, she usually never got one. She was sad and angry again. Angry at the fact that he was willing to leave every time, sad that she kept herself always waiting for him. This time, he did reply. Her blurry eyes tried to focus on the text; “I miss you too.”

It should have been a relief really. But, she cried herself to sleep that night, angry now at how unfair it all was.

The next time he returned home, he brought gifts. It was her birthday after all. He watched her, grinning as she opened the small box. She looked up at him, mouth turned up at the corners upon seeing the bracelet that sat within, accompanied by a note:

“Put on that black dress; the one that I like, and your favorite heels. Tonight is all about you.”

She did just that as he showered. She slipped that dress on, the one that she hadn’t worn in a very long time. She slipped on her heels, suddenly feeling excited; the way she had in the beginning when he would take her out. She placed her new bracelet onto her wrist before finishing her look off with her wine-red lipstick.

She waited for him in the living room, anxious for the first time in years. He was trying so hard and she was still filled with doubts. When he entered the room, he too was dressed up. It was a far-cry from his usual jeans, white tank, and Hawaiian shirt. Tonight he had put on a pair of slacks and dress shoes, pulling on a waistcoat as he entered the room. She breathed in sharply upon seeing him like this. While she admired him, standing to approach him to help him adjust his waistcoat; he in turn, couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Look at you,” he muttered, brown eyes looking her up and down as she fixed the collar of his white button up.

“I’m surprised this still fits,” she replied, referring to the dress that she had worn the first time they had met.

“Don’t be surprised.”

“I’m getting old,” she chuckled, letting her hands linger against his chest.

“You’re still so beautiful, so perfect,” he replied. He wrapped his arms around her, leaning in to kiss her softly. He only wanted to remind her that he still loved her. Even after all this time, she was the only thing that he saw, and it was always perfect.

Dinner wasn’t the usual enjoyable time that they had together. The fact that she had said she couldn’t do this anymore just days earlier still remained on their minds. She sat there, drinking her wine, as she thought of what to say. He waited for it; the inevitable blow that was sure to come up again. They were twenty-five minutes into her birthday dinner and already through a bottle of wine when it finally came.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she reiterated. “I can’t keep waiting for you like this.”

He sat there, silent as he took in her words again. He knew this was hard on her, it was hard on him too. Nothing about this was fair. But, he had to try to remind her why they had stuck it out this entire time in the first place.

“Do you know how I get through work every time that I’m away?” He asked after a while. She looked up at him, slightly frustrated that he was ignoring her pleas, her pain.

“No,” she responded flatly.

“I pretend that I never met you.”

She didn’t look pleased by this. He watched as tears welled up in her eyes again, seemingly hurt by his words.

“It’s easier… less painful that way,” he continued. “It doesn’t work, but I try whatever I can to make it hurt less. Because it does hurt when I leave you, and I know it hurts you too.”

“Maybe it’s easier if we just walk away from it.”

“Give up?” He asked, pained over the fact that this was still on her mind.

“There doesn’t seem to be much left to hold on to.”

“Do you remember what you always told me in the beginning? When we started this and I had to go away?” He asked.

“Yes,” she muttered.

“You told me that I had to be stronger. You told me that I had to do what I had to do, and I had to be the strong one.”

“I did,” she replied. She glanced down at her wine glass, rolling the words over in her mind.

“You told me I had to keep trying.”

“Yes, but maybe after a while there’s nothing left worth trying for.”

“I’m still trying,” he breathed out. “I’m still here, and I’m still trying.”

She watched him now; aching over the pain present on his face. She knew she had been selfish. Surely it hadn’t been any easier for him, but it was her own loneliness and bitterness that she had focused on this whole time. She began to cry now; realizing a lot of things. This was hard on both of them, but she also knew that he would be gone in a few days. It would be a vicious cycle that never ended with them. He could sit here and try all he wanted, it didn’t change the fact that he would leave her alone again and again.

“Please don’t cry,” he said, reaching across the table for her hand again. She grasped onto it, desperate to hold on even if she believed there was nothing left to hold onto. “I know it’s been lonely for you, it’s been the same for me. But, the only thing that gets me through being away from you is knowing that in a few days, I’ll get to come home and see that pretty face. I know I’ll return to you, and it makes it all a little easier. It’s still the same. I miss you so much, but I’m always so happy to come back to you. Have you just stopped feeling that for me?”

“No,” she muttered, “of course not. I still love you. Now, it’s just that you come home and all I can think about the whole time you’re here is how you’ll be gone again.”

“What is it like for you when I leave and then come back?”

She was quiet for some time, thinking hard about how to answer him properly. There were a hundred different ways to describe the feeling of him leaving. What he wanted now was for her to explain what it was like when he came home to her.

“It’s like everything I’ve ever lost, coming back to me all at once.”

“You know,” he began, offering her a small smile, “when I’m gone and I come back to you; it’s like coming back to my home. Not my literal home, but the place where my heart belongs. I think that’s why I haven’t given up on this. I’d be lost without you.”

“I don’t think it will ever get easier though.”

“You’re right,” he replied, “but, for me, it’s worth a little bit of loneliness if it means I still get to come home to you.”

“You’re trying to make me stay,” she pointed out.

He stood from his chair suddenly, moving towards her as he pulled her from her chair again. This time he wrapped an arm around her waist, still holding one hand in his as he began to move her in a slow dance. She looked at him, confused now, but still following his lead as they danced.

“There’s no music,” she told him.

“There doesn’t have to be,” he said softly, “all that needs to be here, right now; is you and I.”

She said nothing. She simply rested her head against his shoulder as he continued to move her in their silent dance. She took a moment to memorize the way he felt against her, the way he was trying so hard to hold on to her. She thought about how selfish she had been. It was never that she wanted to leave him, all she really wanted was to be reminded of why she had held onto him for so long.

“Do you remember the first time we danced like this?” He whispered against her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

She nodded, closing her eyes as she thought back. She absentmindedly ran her thumb against her wedding band, recalling their wedding day.

“I remember how beautiful you looked on that day; how you walked down that aisle toward me.”

“I remember how nervous you looked when I finally got to you,” she grinned against his chest, “how you fumbled through your vows.”

“Do you remember the song?” He asked, pressing her to relive the moment.

“I do,” she replied. She began to hum the song quietly as he continued to dance with her. She was sure the guests at the restaurant were staring at this point, but she no longer cared as she found herself lost in the moment with him.

“And I held you… just like this,” he said as he pulled her closer to him, hand gripping tighter on her back almost as if he were afraid to let her go.

“Yes,” she hummed, feeling a sudden sense of comfort being in his arms like this, “and you told me you wanted to hold me like this forever.”

“Look at us,” he chuckled, “all these years later, and I’m still holding you like this.”

The tears had been building up again as he walked her through the memory of their wedding. Now, she let them fall when she realized that he had been trying so hard this whole time. All that she had given him lately was a guilt trip; a sense of disappointment over the fact that she was the one talking about letting it all go. She held him tighter, still thinking back to how perfect it had all been. Maybe it wasn’t so perfect now, but it was what they had.

“Do you remember what I told you?” He asked.

“I-I don’t think so..” she trailed off, thinking hard about what he might be referring to. She honestly couldn’t recall.

“I told you that I would love you forever,” he pulled back from her, eyes studying her intently, “and I meant it. I love you now, and I will love you even if you really think that you can’t stay.”

Her breath caught at his words, choking up when she saw the tears in his own eyes. She had almost forgotten their vows and what all of it had meant then and what it meant now. She felt completely caught off guard now that he was here to remind her. But, maybe that was what she had needed all along. She bit her lip, considering her options now. It didn’t seem like much, but a lot had changed tonight. Any sense of loneliness and bitterness that she held against him had all but melted away. Instead, she found herself lost in a sea of happier times; of memories of how and why they had ended up here to begin with. She realized that it would never be easy, but there had always been a reason why they held on to each other and looked forward to each reunion. Maybe love wasn’t supposed to be easy. Maybe it was meant for them to fight for each other. Maybe it was important to miss each other.

“Take me home,” she muttered, running her hand down his chest as he held her, “let me have you tonight, because I’m going to miss you when you leave again.”

“You know I’ll always come back, right?”

“I know you will,” she replied.

They ignored their half-eaten meal; paying the bill and leaving behind an empty bottle and two half-drunk glasses of wine as they walked out of there hand-in-hand. It certainly wasn’t like her to leave behind a good glass of wine; but some things were too important to ignore right now.

#top gun x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfics #top gun fanfiction #rooster top gun #rooster #rooster x you #rooster imagine #reader

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mettleborn · 1 month

Text

Closed starter for @therogueprincedaemon (for Daena)

Los Zetas has grown in size, power and influence since Igor’s last visit to Mexico. The Pakhan still remembers the days when the Zetas were less than 30 in number, men employed to protect high-ranking members of the Gulf cartel. Many were ex-military; intelligence specialists with wide ranging weapons expertise, well versed in paramilitary tactics, which is likely why, in 2003, the Mexican Defence Department separated out Los Zetas as the most formidable death squad to have worked for organized crime in Mexican history. Those days however, are long gone; the organisation is now well established in its own right, with hundreds of members. The Zetas no longer take orders from the Gulf Cartel or any other cartel for that matter. They operate a range of illicit businesses, though their international dealings focus mainly on money laundering, gun and drug smuggling. Their leader, a man named Diago Garcia Cortez, has been an associate of Igor’s for over a decade now, since a disagreement between the Gulf Cartel and Bratva led to Bortsov seeking out a new supplier. It is a business relationship that has been strained at several points over the years, but one that has ultimately stood the test of time…so far.

The weather in North Mexico is too arid for Igor’s tastes, and while the coastal breeze in Tamaulipas provides some relief, it is often extremely short lived. Diago’s hacienda is fitted with good quality air-conditioning, but that is of little use when your host insists on leaving all the windows wide open to let in the night air and the steady sound of the rolling tide. Sitting back down at the card table, Igor pours himself a neat glass of Vodka and lights another cigarette. As the cards are shuffled, the Pakhan reminds himself of the rules of Monte; the Mexican version of poker.

The room tonight is more sombre than usual, normally it would be filled with Los Zetas soldiers, drinking their fill, surrounded by a plethora of liquor, drugs and prostitutes. Tonight however, is a very different affair, mainly because many of Diago’s men are tending to some disturbance down in Mexico City. Only Igor, Diago and his brother Basilio are sat at the table. Nicholai is also here, but the old Russian has chosen to sit out on the balcony, keeping watch while he chain-smokes; knowing he too easily looses his temper when gambling.

“They call it a Columbian neck tie…” Diego explains, laughing, “…the tongue…it pokes through here…” Miming the movement over-enthusiastically, Diago wiggles his finger around the imaginary slit in his throat; he’s clearly had more than his fair share of Mezcal tonight.

Nodding quietly as Diago sits back down in his seat, Igor softly leans his cigarette on the side of the ashtray. “Yes, we have similar in Russian, though it is not tongue, but rather, how-you-say, the cojones (testicles)…” Igor mimics two large balls and bursts out laughing in tandem with the other men.

“You missed my wedding.” Diago unexpectedly announces, cutting through the laughter as he begins dealing the cards.

“He talks of cojones and all you can think about is your wife?” Basilio laughs, elbowing his brother in the ribs. “You got married, it was a lovely day, now you have blue cojones...bla, bla bla, who cares, lets play cards!”

Examining the hand he has been just been dealt, Igor soon realises that their card game won’t begin until Diago has finished talking about his new wife. The Pakhan listens carefully as Diago describes her, taking in each and every detail. What is clear from the way his associate is talking about his new, much younger, much blonder wife, Daena, is that he considers her some kind of trophy, an accolade he has been awarded for his success. Neither of the Garcia brothers are from well-established families, they were poor – brawling boys brought up in the dirt to become two of the most powerful men in Mexico. Now, it seems Diago, through his recent nuptials, has secured some kind of legitimacy beyond that power; the kind that can only be obtained by marriage into a reputable european bloodline.

Igor of course remembers Diago’s last wife, the one who met her untimely end when the Zetas received intelligence that she had been informing on the organisation to the CIA. Intelligence that in the end proved to be false, not that Diago would ever accept that truth. Bortsov can only hope his new wife fairs better.

Glancing up from his cards, Igor notices Basilio take what looks to be an urgent call, presumably relating to the current unrest in Mexico City. Standing up to leave the room, Basilio gestures for Diago to join him. Igor, in turn, quite used to the kind of interruptions that must be immediately dealt with, nods, making clear he is content to wait. As the pair leave, the Pakhan hears Diago briefly bark an order at someone in the corridor, one of the staff waiting staff he imagines - the drinks are getting low. Relaxing back into his chair, Bortsov pulls out his cell to check his calls while he waits in hope for more Vodka to arrive.

#[Igor Bortsov: let all I have lived be as if it were a dream]#Bratva verse #Daena Costello #therogueprincedaemon #Closed Starter #((Okay this got long - whoops - I spent too much time looking at Mexican cartel history ha ha!))#((Hope you like it! Let me know if you need me to change anything at all!))

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bhisaacs · 2 years

Photo

alex fitzalan & he/him / cis man ‷ watch out , basil isaacs has crash-landed into roswell !! they look twenty four years old and celebrate their birthday on january seventh. they are from roswell, nm, reside in aurora apartments and are currently working as an assistant librarian. one thing you should know about them is he has a finished book manuscript but refuses to submit it for fear of rejection‷

OVERVIEW

label: the writer

character inspo: grayson hawthorne (the inheritance games), mr darcy (pride and prejudice), flint montgomery (crave), oliver blackwood (boyfriend material)

nicknames: bas

orientation: asexual + homoromantic

birthplace: roswell, new mexico

parentage: daniel & rosine isaacs

greek zodiac: capricorn

element: earth

myers briggs: INFP-T / 59% introverted , 72% intuitive, 74% feeling, 51% prospecting, 61% assertive

temperament: melancholic

seven roles: the scholar

moral alignment: chaotic good

BIOGRAPHY

Before the twins were born, Daniel and Rosine Isaacs had a nice normal life. They met in high school and dated all throughout high school. Daniel had always been big into military life, and after graduating high school, he joined the air force. He and Rosine got married after his basic training. For a while they traveled, but eventually Daniel got stationed in Roswell. A year later the twins were born. Basil is the younger of the two.

Growing up, Daniel always wanted his two children to grow into his military legacy. He put a considerable amount of pressure on his son to be a sporty and outgoing kid, but it was clear that Basil was not going to grow into that boy. Although his father still continued to push that notion on him, even when Basil got old enough to be able to verbally dispute the ideas his father had for him.

For Basil, exploration came from reading. He wanted to see what was out there, sure, but the his love of adventure was mostly found in the books he read. Rosine read to him every night until he was old enough to read on his own. His library grew as he got older and there was hardly a book that Basil didn’t at least consider reading. The art of story-telling came pretty naturally too, as even at a young age he’d tell stories.

Although his father was never a fan of Basil writing, he tolerated it because at least it usually kept his son out of trouble. There was a certain way that their family had to behave. Most of the time Basil did his best to stay on his best behavior, but there were times when he had to do something to see if it was possible for whatever story he was writing and his father always ended up getting angry and upset that Basil was causing trouble to write a story. Still, Basil never changed, assertive about who he was and what he wanted.

He branched out a bit in high school, making some new friends and watching his sister thrive in her own interests. For Basil though, he still tended to stick with the same group of people all throughout his four years.

He went off to college as close to home as he could manage and graduated in three years rather than four. Basil got a job as an assistant librarian and is working on his master’s degree on the side. His father was not entirely happy that Basil did choose to pick a career in library science even if Basil had been saying from a young age that’s where his interests were.

TLDR: His father is a big military guy who is disappointed that his son is not the same, but Basil is bookish and prefers reading and writing.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Drinking buddies

People he sees at the library

A friend that drinks as much coffee as he does

Someone to push him into submitting his book

Anybody in the queer community

An ex

Twin sister (I’ll be submitting a WC to the main for her!)

#roswellintro #about.#intro.#basil: intro.#abuse tw #emotional abuse tw

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anyoneseenadam · 3 years

Text

Healing

pairing: Azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: TW - sexual assault, rape, objectification and implications of abuse, smut, consensual sex, azriel is a sweetie and rhys is a good bestie

a/n: first of all PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!! i’m really proud of this fic but I don’t want to trigger or upset anyone, that being said it isn’t too graphic but still. Anyway I hope u enjoy, this took me three days lmao <333

based on: this and this

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You had your first less than savoury encounter with men when you had barely turned nine. Your body still hadn’t finished forming, but you were growing, and your body was gaining some semblance of shape as you did. It wasn’t much – just a whistle from across the street – but for a second your heart seized up with fear, and in the next you almost felt giddy. A man thought you were beautiful.

You felt like a princess that day – felt the way you had when the boy from your class had kissed your cheek, still too young to process the intentions behind that single whistle. But you didn’t care – someone wanted you.

When you got your first period at twelve – even more changed. Your body felt new, and you didn’t feel comfortable in the changes. Your old clothes didn’t fit and now your mother forced you into tighter corsets for those long, long dinners you had to attend. Your parents were respected Fae in the Hewn City – nobles who liked to drink and smoke and throw extravagant balls. And with your new body you could no longer simply hide in the corner or climb through secret passages with your friends – muddying your dresses.

Now you had to smile when men hugged you slightly too long, laugh when they commented on how much you had grown up, sit pretty and pristine with an old mans hand loitering to close to your rear for hours as you watched your parents drink away their troubles.

By the time you were fifteen you were used to the constant attention, your beauty not uncommon where you lived but still doted on often. Unaware of their desire for your youth, your naivety. The women never offering a helping hand but instead glaring down high skewed noses as their husbands slurred into your ears – still in shock that a pretty, young thing like you was all alone at this party.

When you were sixteen you decided to change that – kissing an alright looking boy at a party and telling him exactly what he wanted to hear so he would kiss you back. He stayed when you didn’t protest as he pulled you to the bathroom and pushed you to your knees. And for this small request, the greasy hands on your body at balls and dinners or any other social gathering halved – now only the truly self-righteous felt they could touch you still.

The only problem was you truly did love the boy you had chosen. He had faults yes, but he was kind – he brought you flowers and kissed your cheek. But he also spoke over you, forced you into silence and took what he wanted. And he always wanted the same thing.

If anything it was his father’s fault. The military commander never leaving room for debate when he argues with his wife – and sons only become what they see in their fathers.

Your father had left with a younger woman a few months after your fourteenth birthday, and you hadn’t seen him since – only heard stories of him galivanting around the autumn court from your classmates. You could see the distaste your mum held you in as she realised she would have to stick around to look after you, not yet old enough to be married. Then Amarantha had taken hold of the country and that possibility had been thrown out the window anyway.

Weirdly enough not that much changed in your life when she took power, the only major difference was that now you had to block out screams before going to sleep and even they had become like white noise. You still drank with your friends on Friday nights, went out with your boyfriend on Saturdays and slept the pain away on Sundays. Your weekdays consisted of school, dinners, balls and whatever more your mother could throw together to appease the high queen.

That and the high lord of the night court had started making appearances at the events your mother threw. He was a cruel man standing so proudly at the queen’s side – but you saw something flickering in his eyes whenever people spoke, complimenting his power and rule. You saw what you felt as you laughed at compliments and lingering touches – you saw pain, but more importantly you saw anger. And right now you could use anger.

During one ball you watched him leave, taking an odd route – not the one that would help him escape the loud music but instead a long winding corridor leading to a series of smaller rooms. Without thought you peeled away from your company, muttering excuses and went after him – grabbing a bottle of wine as you did.

You found him reclining in an empty room and knocked on the door gently. He cracked open an eye – slow like a cat – and beckoned you in. You moved to perch next to him, leaning back with a straight back and letting your head loll slightly as you took a swig of the dark red wine, before passing him the bottle.

“You looked like you could use a drink,” you smiled, eyes focused on his sharp jaw as he held the bottle to his mouth with a laugh.

“One way of putting it,” he smiled. The two of you sat in silence for several minutes as you took in his beauty, his looks plus mannerisms all made him seem like a wild cat - a panther trapped underground.

“Why are you here?” he finally asked, and you raised a hand to trace that sharp jaw. But instead of devouring you as any lesser man would’ve, he brushed your hand away and held it tightly in his larger one. “That’s not gonna happen, you’re what sixteen?”

“Almost seventeen,” you said, cheekily. He laughed but shook his head, squeezing your hand before releasing it.

“You’re still a child,” he said matter-of-factly, and you scoffed, stealing your wine back to drink again.

“Yeah well that’s usually a selling point,” your voice was sad, but you didn’t dare let your eyes stray from his – refusing to show fear, “And you’re so nice to me, I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

He laughed as you pouted, “You practice this in the mirror or something?”

“Usually works in three seconds,” you confess, and he whistles under his breath, “Men are rather easy to manipulate when they’ve been trying to get into your skirts since your first bleed.”

“And you wonder why I’m not about to take advantage of you,” he laughed, and you smiled – a real smile, or real enough. “Plus I don’t think your little boyfriend would be pleased.”

“Eh, he’s never pleased - I don’t think this could make him worse.” Rhysand took the wine back and frowned.

“Does he hurt you?” his voice was sincere but the laugh you let out was not.

“Don’t all men,” he swore, and you laughed again, “Yet you foil my plan to make you fall in love with me and whisk me away to the moon.”

He laughed, but his eyes darkened with deep sadness you were sure you would never understand, “I think we both no that even I could not do that, but I might be able to crush your fly.”

“Little boyfriend? Fly? You really don’t like him do you?” you laughed, head lighter already.

“I don’t like any man who thinks they can hurt women,” he said, frowning when he realised through your passing back and forth there was no wine left.

“Shit that took us like five minutes,” you complained, and he laughed, waving his hand lightly as several more bottles appeared before you – you grinned as you grabbed another.

“So any friends with weaker moral backbones that I could marry?” you asked with a laugh, and he smiled at you.

“I’m sure I could find someone,” he leaned back again. You smiled – finally happy that one night might pass in the company of a decent man.

Soon, you’d find it would be more than one night, a close friendship quickly blossoming between you and the high lord. All your friends were convinced you were sleeping together but true to his word he didn’t touch you, and by the time you surpassed the age of eighteen you didn’t want him to. But that didn’t stop other men.

After a particularly bad argument with your boyfriend that had left you with a handprint on your left cheek you had broken up with him – sending away his apologies and flowers, smart enough to see he didn’t hold the mental capacity to change.

Plus you were beautiful and young, you could certainly do better. And you soon did – rich men who liked to buy you jewellery, and fine clothes, men who enjoyed literature and art and spending time with you.

And at the start of each relationship, for a few blissful seconds you would believe in their pure intentions. But then a hand would drift from your lower back to your ass, or the gentle kiss that followed a necklace would shift from your mouth to your breasts. Not one of them wanted to wait until you were comfortable, so you made yourself comfortable.

You pictured pretty, strong men were holding you down and making you feel something, slipping your own hand between your legs and they penetrated you to try and replicate what you were sure a lover’s touch must feel like. And as always – after the first time- they stopped asking for permission, you were their toy, so you no longer had choice over that part of yourself.

But through nice guys and bad boys, for fifty years you had Rhysand who was a friend – who treated you with respect and finally let you talk, let you breathe.

In the end he was the one who found you, in the backroom of a party – drunk and undressed. You were weeping, curled in a ball with your attackers’ seed dripping out of you, bruises decorating your bare skin. When he turned you over with his comforting hands he found your nose dripping red and the vibrant lipstick you wore smudged.

He helped you sit up and redress, took you home and stood outside the bathroom while you scrubbed yourself clean in scalding water – still unsteady on your feet. You changed into a nightgown silently and neither of you said a word when you crawled into bed next to each other, crying in your best friends’ arms as he tried to console you.

When you woke up, he was gone with just a scribbled message about Amarantha and the name of a healer he trusted. But you just placed it back down, turning onto your back and staring at the ceiling as hot tears ran into your hairline.

You barely ate anything for the days following your assault – fighting with your mother more when you rarely saw her and subsequently breaking it off with your current boyfriend. You had thrown his hands off you when he tried to touch you and the screaming match that followed ended your relationship.

Your bond with Rhysand grew only closer however as you spent nights drinking in candlelight, talking about anything and everything until you were sure he knew every inch of your soul and you his.

“You know what I’m going to do as soon as she’s gone,” you whispered one night as you stared at the twinkling lights you had hung on your bedroom roof to imitate stars.

“What?” Rhys had asked, never letting his eyes leave the ‘stars’ which he had laughed at and then proceeded to rearrange to make them more accurate. To which you threw a pillow at his head.

“Find a hill, or a pier, or a large pit or anything and scream into it until my throat bleeds.” You said and he laughed, the bed beneath you rumbling.

“Consider me on board.” He joked as you sat up to perch at your vanity – smudging the sharp eyeliner you wore with a small brush and applying some red lipstick.

“Wanna go out?” you asked him, and he sat up to with a small, sad smile.

“Can’t.” you understood his implication and frowned.

“I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t gutted me yet,” you tried to lighten the mood, but his face darkened slightly when he joked back.

“Oh she wants to, I’m telling her any information you give me about citizens, so she doesn’t.” He said, ruffling your hair as he stood to leave.

“That’s fair, I’ll keep an ear out,” you smiled, squeezing his hand gently before he left.

Things changed when Feyre Archeron appeared, you saw the way your friend watched her and realised you might be competing for his attention soon, but you were happy for him. Until he brought her to that first party – drugged and barely dressed. You felt the bile rise in your throat as you pushed down memories of yourself in such a similar position, and while you knew he would never hurt her – he was still a man. And you were foolish to believe for all those years that he was a man who would realise this was wrong.

Making polite excuses you left the party, picking up the tails of your dress as you all but raced home – ditching the dress and closing the blinds tightly as you made yourself food in your underwear. The sick feeling in your throat spreading through your chest and stomach as you ate, abandoning your meal halfway for a book and large sweater. And when he knocked on your door that night, desperate to tell you all about her – all about the human girl who he was sure could be his mate, you pretended to be asleep.

You barely spoke to him the whole time she was there, unable to look him in the eyes when she was so clearly out of it – and the feeling only grew when the next morning she would have all eyes on her. You understood that feeling. You instead spent parties flirting with Tarquin, the young high lord who was only a few years your senior or warding off marriage invitations with laughs and carefully placed words.

Rhys would sometimes catch your eyes – furrowing his eyebrows at you when you avoided his gaze, the sick feeling never really leaving. But it wasn’t until you watched Tamlin slay Amarantha with a smile that he tried to speak to you again. Feyre was Fae and leaving with her betrothed and Rhysand had just confirmed they were mates – and never had he needed his best friend quiet like he did now.

You were sitting when he found you, head in your palms and blood dusting the skirts of your dress. You had been sitting near Amarantha when it happened. You looked up when he neared, smiling sadly as he sat next to you.

“Want to go home?” he asked you quietly and you scoffed, standing, and moving to leave quickly. He followed after you, grabbing your arm as you wrenched it out of his grip with more ferocity than he had ever seen from you.

“Don’t touch me,” he held his hands up, backing away to give you space as you got your breathing under control.

“What did I do?” he asked – smart enough to not presume anything.

“How could you think it was okay, after what happened?” your voice was quiet again, and so sad.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he implored, stepping slightly closer again. You raised your eyes to meet his and he understood, the darkness you carried in your eyes shining through – the memories that resurfaced in those dark moments. “I’m sorry, let me explain please.”

You let him hold your arm softly as he winnowed the two of you to your house where you sat down heavy and tired.

“I did it because she needed out of that cell, but I saw what they did to you and you’re a fae woman, she’s… she was human. So it meant that no one else would touch her.” He tried to explain, “And she wouldn’t want to remember.”

“That’s a horrible thing to do Rhys.” You stated and he hung his head low, “How in anyway was that helping her, to get her out you could’ve snuck her here or just take her to a ball and let her dress normally.”

“I’m sorry, I just knew this would’ve been the safest option,” he grabbed your hand again and squeezed it like he did all those years ago, “It’s over, we can go home.”

“I am home,” you laughed bitterly, gesturing to your house.

“No, you’re coming out of this city – we’re putting it behind us.” He stood and held out a hand.

“I know you’re trying to be dramatic and all, but I have to pack – and think.” You said and he laughed.

“Take your time,” he said, sitting back to wait for you, “And I know it might take you a while to forgive me, but I’ll wait.”

You had left soon after, as he revealed his city to you. Winnowing to a house where two beautiful women stood at the door, strong winged men appearing next to them almost instantly – all sharing the same tear-eyed look. Well, all asides from a short, dark-haired woman who simply smiled.

The men you presumed were Azriel and Cassian barrelled towards Rhysand, attacking him in the most violent hug you had ever witnessed. Mor followed soon after and Amren simply offered him a curt nod, to which he bowed slightly with a cheeky smile.

Cassian turned to look at you and everyone followed suit, you straightened up – not wanting to cower under their gazes.

“And this, this is (y/n).” Rhysand said, placing a hand on your elbow, “She’s the only reason I survived under the mountain.”

You smiled at him, annoyed still – but you still held so much love for him in your heart. You looked away when Cassian approached and wrapped you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground slightly.

When he released you he looked you dead in the eye, “I am forever in your service.”

“Cassian let go of the poor girl,” Mor exclaimed behind him, and you giggled, looking to Rhys for support.

“Forgot to tell you he’s a hugger,” he shrugged, and you shoved his shoulder.

“Oh did you!” you laughed.

“Gotta get used to it, you’re part of the team now,” Cassian slung an arm around your shoulder as he guided you inside, “which means lots of hugs and long talks about emotions.”

“Don’t steal my best friend Cassian,” Rhys jabbed at his brother as you all moved to sit inside around a long table.

“He already had I’m afraid, can’t reverse love like ours,” you joined in, patting Cassian’s hand as he punched the air in victory, Rhysand feigning pain as he dramatically collapsed into his chair – a hand over his heart.

When you were finally seated you caught Azriel’s gaze, his eyes locked on you – having watched you interact with his family for less than five minutes and already completely enamoured. You smiled softly when you caught his gaze and he grinned at you, no words passing.

Later that evening – after too many drinks, you found yourself alone on a balcony you found, drinking in the fresh air greedily after all those years underground. You didn’t realise he was there until he was next to you – silent on his feet, his shadows a cool chill passing over your shoulders.

You tilted your head to look at him, in awe of his beauty. Not even Rhysand had awed you as much as this man was, his beauty unparalleled by anyone you had met before. He turned his gaze down to you as well, fighting the urge to reach out and touch you as he watched you move with such elegant curiosity.

“We haven’t had the pleasure of being formally introduced,” you smiled, lifting your hand delicately, “I’m (y/n).”

He met your hand halfway, lifting it to his mouth with perfectly poised and trained grace. “Azriel,” his voice was deep, gruff – and sent chills through you quickly. But when he moved your hand from his mouth you held on, the sparks flowing through you telling you all you needed to know. He similarly made no move to let go.

“Are we? I don’t really know how any of this works,” you laughed nervously but he smiled so warmly and tugged you slightly closer to him with the hand you were still clutching.

“You’re my mate princess,” he said, voice rough from disuse. You smiled widely, eyes forming tears as your gaze never strayed from him – finally getting one person who would truly love you, not your body – but you. He tugged your hand gently and you followed him inside, smiling and love drunk.

“We should probably go to the house of wind,” his voice was quiet as you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“Me and Cassian have to share a room here, the bed are singles.” You smiled and laughed – irrevocably happy.

“Yeah maybe not,” you said, and he held your hand softly as he walked you to the front door, passed his past out friends, Rhys cracking an eye open when you walked past him, and you turned when he tugged your skirt gently.

You okay? He asked in your mind, and you smiled at him.

I’m perfect, why? You replied as he closed his eyes again, clearly too tired to hold them open - Azriel moving to retrieve your coats.

Just don’t feel pressured into doing anything you’re not ready for, Azriel is understanding he won’t get angry. A sort of cold feeling settled on your shoulders when you realised why Azriel wanted that extra privacy.

Shit forgot I had to do that you joked but Rhysand felt the stress growing, however before he could reply Azriel was by your side again and you were waving him goodbye, your smile tight lipped.

Honestly, you trusted Rhysand when he said that Azriel would understand – but so far you had yet to meet a man who truly respected the boundaries you set, a man who would truly wait. Azriel met your eyes in silent questions before scooping you into his arms, flying high above the house as you squealed in his arms, clinging tightly to his neck, and shutting your eyes tightly as you soared above the vibrant city.

He felt you tense as you neared the house, swooping lower in order to land on the large balcony attached to his room. He placed you on shaky legs gently and looked down to smile at you again – heart so full of love and peace.

Not only was his brother returned to him in one piece, but along beside him came you. His mate. His mate.

You caught his gaze and gave him a tight-lipped smile, terrified for history to repeat itself. You wanted to talk to him and know him – you didn’t want him to learn to love your body instead of you. And you were truly afraid to be touched again, you hadn’t been with a man since you were raped – fear stopping you before they could get close and walls slamming up if they tried.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice was dripping with concern – genuine concern, and the way he said it made tears well up in your eyes. His own instantly widened as he sensed the sadness and fear rolling of you in waves, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you sobbed into his chest. “Oh sweetheart we don’t have to do anything, c’mon lets go sit down.”

He guided you through the glass doors and sat you down gently on the bed, holding you gently and coaxing you through your breakdown. Once your breathing had calmed slightly and you had pulled out of his embrace, wiping your tears harshly with the butt of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered quietly, terrified to anger your mate when you’ve only just found him.

“It’s okay darling, what’s wrong – did I do something? You’re not terrified of heights are you?” he asked, and you laughed softly, a smile growing on his face as his worries eased slightly.

“No, that was fun,” he grabbed your hand in his scarred ones and you gripped it tightly.

“Then what was it?” you looked into those beautiful, worried eyes and let out an exhale – bottom lip quivering.

“I just don’t think I can – I can’t do that tonight.” You whispered the words lowly, afraid of his reaction as you clung like a child to his hand.

“Hey, that’s okay – we don’t have to do anything until you’re ready,” he smiled, worries easing. You still wanted to be with him, just not in that way yet – and he could wait. He would wait a million years if you asked.

“Even if I’m not ready for a while?” You asked, and he held your face in his hands gently – looking into your tear-filled, defeated eyes.

“I would wait forever and then some – I have already waited so long to meet you, I’m sure I can last longer, especially if you’re next to me.” Your smile was so sad when you met his eyes.

“I’ve been told that before,” Azriel just pulled you closer to him with a cheeky grin.

“And were any of them your mate?”

“No,” you smiled at him again and he thought his heart was going to combust.

“Well then, I love to prove people wrong.” You buried your head into his chest as his arms came around you once more, “Would you like to sleep here, or would you like your own room?”

“Here is fine, I like the way you make me feel,” you said quietly, tugging on the bond experimentally. Azriel just smiled and tugged back.

“That works for me, I’ll get you a change of clothes.” He moved to stand but you stopped him – tugging on the dress shirt he wore.

“I want this,” you grinned cheekily up at him, and he laughed, but undid the buttons and pulled it off anyway – turning around to let you change in peace. When he turned back around you were looking up at him with wide eyes – looking impossibly cute in his shirt.

“It has holes in the back,” you complained, and he laughed, sitting down to tug off his trousers before sliding under the covers as you scrambled to lay in his arms.

“Well I do have wings,” he cemented his point by letting one drape over your shoulders as you sighed in content.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” you deadpanned quietly, burrowed deep under his arms and the covers. His chest rumbled with the silent laugh as he pressed a kiss into your hairline.

The next morning he awoke to you laying on his chest, tracing the scars on the backs of his hands with a delicately pointed finger. He stared in wonder, and you must have felt his gaze because you turned your head to meet his eyes, face still puffy from sleep. As you whispered to him that morning, your chin resting on his chest as you gazed up at him until he rose to get your morning drinks. Barely daring to leave for more than a few seconds. And when he returned he was so glad he did – welcoming the sight of you curled up under his sheets with a shy smile and tired eyes.

“Do we have to do anything today?” you asked as you sipped your drink slowly, Azriel’s’ arm tight and secure around your waist.

“Nope,” he said, delighted at the prospect, “I just want to be with you and my family.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

True to his word, for the next few weeks that past, you and Azriel didn’t progress past slow, occasional kisses and lingering touches. But before either of those he was always searching your eyes – asking permission. And you truly fell in love with him during those weeks.

He was caring and consistent – never promising anything he couldn’t bring. And he cared for you, he cared for you past your body and looks. He wanted to be with you for an eternity.

One night, while you lay together, speaking lowly and listening to the rain fall outside your room – a glass door cracked open, you decided you were ready. You pressed closer to him, your lips meeting his own in a kiss more passionate than you had previously shared.

He followed your lead with just as much passion, but when you crawled into his lap he pulled away slightly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you,” he asked quietly, hands coming to rest on your hips.

“I’m sure, I love you and I want to be with you.” You told him sincerely, “But I haven’t been with anyone in a few years so I’m a little out of practice.”

You giggled nervously but he furrowed his eyebrows, “But you told me about your boyfriends?”

“Yeah but I – stopped dating about five years ago.” You tried to explain quickly, old nerves being brought up, but Azriel pulled you closer and as always his touch calmed you.

“Can I ask why?” he watched you drop your head a little as you breathed slowly – determined to not let your fear rise, you would probably end up telling him anyway so you might as well get it over with.

“I was raped.” You stated and his grip on your hips tightened slightly as he swore.

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” he started but you stopped him with a sharp glaze.

“You don’t need to apologise, it happened and it’s over now.” He could practically feel you pull away, so he loosened his grip on your hips and instead brought his arms up to hold you against his chest.

“Who did it?” he asked, voice dark and dangerous. You muttered a name lowly – under your breath – and he pocketed in the darkest corners of his mind for later. His shadows itching to tear the man apart.

“Look (y/n), if you’re ready I am more than happy to oblige but I need to know you’re really ready, I will wait as long as you need.” You pulled away from his chest and kissed him gently.

“I’m ready, I trust you,” he smiled up at you from where you perched on his lap and you giggled and he flipped you over, laying between your legs with a feral grin.

He made you cum three times with his mouth and those beautiful, beautiful hands alone – more than you had ever experienced with a man and he hadn’t even received any pleasure yet. Except from the pleasure of watching his perfect mate fall apart on his sheets, over and over.

And when he lay over you, your legs pushed up and wrapped around his waist, and his forearms on either side of your head – he would later swear he had never felt more complete.

“I’m here with you remember, will be the whole time.” He assured you, voice soft as he lined himself up and you smiled.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, and he pushed in slowly, filling every part of you and pushing against every spot you didn’t know you had. You swore under your breath when he bottomed out, the slight pain quickly being reduced to please as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” you felt shivers run through your body at his gruff voice and smiled, moaning when he began to move.

He pulled his head from where it hid in your neck and watched as you closed your eyes – head thrown back with a smile – and his hips bucked, desperately trying to control himself as he watched you arch your back.

“Shit Az, you’re so big,” you moaned loudly, unaware of the trance you had pulled your mate into.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered with a harsh thrust, a hand coming to stroke down your face as you opened your eyes to meet his, “So perfect.”

You felt as if your heart was going to burst from the love that filled it as you reached up to kiss him softly – conveying every word, every thought, through that kiss. When you pulled away you were nearing your end, the sensations building in you without the need of a fantasy or your own hand.

You moaned his name, gripping his shoulders tightly as one hand instinctively moved to stroke down his wing. He shuddered above you with a loud groan – his thrusts speeding up as he to neared release, yours hips surely bruising from the force of his own.

“C’mon baby, need to feel you, need to know you’re mine.” His words ignited something in your stomach, and you clung tighter to him, kissing his sharp jaw as you smiled.

“I’m yours Azriel, now and forever.” Your gentle words pushed him over the edge and his skilful fingers dipping between your thighs brought you down with him. The two of you crying out at the sensations you shared as a growing need to never let him go consumed you.

He collapsed on top of you soon after and he intertwined your fingers with his own as your breathing evened out. He slipped out of you, and you smiled up at him as he sat up, rolling off your body and laying to the side while you came to rest your head on his firm chest. He brought his spare hand upwards – twirling strands of your hair slightly as you rested in silence. After a few minutes, you clambered into his lap and kissed him firmly as he pulled you impossibly close.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, and he felt his heart swell with gratitude to the world for giving him an angel that would willingly hold his hand and guide him out of the darkness.

“I am so in love with you,” he whispered back, and you giggled, a hand moving slowly to stroke him as you felt him harden beneath you again.

“Hmm, is that so?” you whispered.

Azriel, who had started pressing light kisses into your neck, nipped you gently, making you squeal, “What were you saying darling?”

“That I am also deeply, and unequivocally in love with you.” You replied and he rolled his eyes.

“Just putting me to shame with your big words.” He muttered and you giggled – crawling down his body.

“I’m sure I could make it up to you.”

#acofas #acotar #azriel #acomaf #azriel x reader #acowar #acofs #acosf

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

The Family Tree is... a Disaster

Takes place in the TCW Leverage AU. It does contain a few deviations, namely that the narrative ended up shifting Plo's role in Ahsoka's life, and Ventress's role overall.

This is mostly just dialogue where I outline the fuckery that is the disaster lineage family tree, not actual fic. It stemmed from my incessant need to justify "25yo Obi-Wan somehow got custody of 9yo Anakin without Shmi dying."

Warnings for: canon character death (modernized), canon violence (modernized), and references to Nazis and white supremacists (Palpatine collects WWII weaponry as a parallel to his canon display of Sith artifacts in his office as chancellor, and Ahsoka thinks it's sketchy)

----

"Okay," Cody says, setting down a glass of whiskey as he drops into the seat across the table. "What the hell is your family tree like?"

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, and continues cleaning off the definitely-not-stolen crystal komodo dragon he'd won in today's job. "I beg your pardon?"

"You and Skywalker," Cody says, gesturing between Obi-Wan, who is just sitting there minding his own business, and Anakin, who is across the closed-for-tonight bar and doing something inadvisable on the pool table. "You've said he was your brother, and mentioned raising him, which, sure, I'm over twenty years older than my youngest brother, people take over parenting roles all the time. But you have different last names, have mentioned stepfamilies that the other doesn't have, reference things as 'your aunt, not mine,' and I am just getting... very confused. I figured it was personal and I could leave well enough alone, but considering your older brother almost shot us today--"

"Okay, Xanatos is not my brother," Obi-Wan immediately says. "Just. I just have to stop you right there. Xanatos was a student of my father's for a time, but I promise he's not family. Nobody except maybe Komari would consider him even close, and she doesn't count since she's in prison for life and the farthest thing from stable."

Cody gestures. "That, Obi-Wan. That's what I'm talking about. I don't even know who Komari is."

Obi-Wan purses his lips in a failed attempt to not smile. "Do you actually want the explanation? It's long and unnecessarily complicated."

"So's mine," Cody snorts. Obi-Wan waits, patient and pleasant, and is rewarded when Cody sighs. "Please."

"Of course, my dear. To answer your first question, though, Anakin is my half-brother." With a smile, Obi-Wan digs a piece of paper and a pen from his briefcase. "So, center of the chain: me, my father Qui-Gon, my grandfather Yan, and my great-grandfather Yoda. With me so far?"

"Easy enough. Do you have to go back that far?"

"Great-grandfather Yoda is still alive and regularly escaping the old folks' home to terrorize younger relatives, so yes," Obi-Wan says. "Given that you may just meet a tiny, meddling relative of mine when he's bored, we do in fact have to go back that far."

"...how old is he?"

"We don't know for sure. A hundred and eight-ish is the best guess." Obi-Wan shrugs. "It's not a huge deal, mostly he likes bothering Anakin these days. Anyway, grandfather. Yan Dooku. Inherited a minory duchy from his maternal grandfather decades back. Mostly hangs around there because he's on terrorist watchlists in the States."

"Oh, lovely."

Obi-Wan grins. "Trust me, it gets worse. Anyway, grandfather never actually married, but spent most of his time with his 'best friend' Sifo Dyas, who died about a decade back."

"Gay?"

"Well, we know that now, but they got together in the seventies, and this was back when they were both working government jobs, so, you know. It happens."

"Good to know," Cody says. "So, Yoda's kid is Yan, who inherited a title and land from a maternal relative, and had a life partner but never married. With you so far."

"All of Yan's kids were adopted," Obi-Wan continues, sketching out the first branch away from the Yan/Sifo partnership. "Rael was actually grandfather's cousin, maternally, and ended up in his custody after getting orphaned at five. These days, he does most of the stewardship duties at the Serenno Duchy. His daughter Nim is teaching military history at a university in Germany."

Cody nods. "Uncle number one is named Rael, technically your dad's cousin, has a daughter. Got it."

"About a decade after Rael, they adopted my father, Qui-Gon. He and grandfather fought, frequently, but they did care for each other. My father was a botanist, did bio-engineering. We'll get back to him later, because he's where things get complicated." Obi-Wan made sure to leave room around the name. "Just a few years older than me was--is--Komari Vosa. She is... serving a life sentence. I think she fought Jango once."

"She fought my father?"

"To the best of my knowledge, they both almost died, yes," Obi-Wan says. "She's in maximum security these days. She was an assassin. I'll get a call if she breaks out, and I'll let you know along with everyone else."

"Bad news auntie, got it."

"Last adoption, sort of, is Ventress," Obi-Wan finishes off. "A few years younger than me, is technically grandfather's personal assistant and does secretarial work and the like, but we all know he's planning to leave as much of the inheritance to her as he is to the rest of us. She's aggressive and unpleasant, but she takes care of him and hasn't actually threatened to kill any of us yet, so that's fine."

"How'd she join?" Cody asks.

"Ky Narec was a friend of Qui-Gon's; Ventress was his daughter. Ky died a few years after Qui-Gon did, and Ventress was a mess, after." Obi-Wan shrugs and scratches that connection into the little sketch of a family tree as well. "Grandfather offered her a job until she got herself back together, and then she just kind of... stuck around."

"Youngest aunt, more of a cousin." Cody summarizes. "Now we go back to your father?"

"Qui-Gon Jinn was a man of many skills," Obi-Wan says drily. "Adequate birth control was not one of them."

It's almost a pity that Cody wasn't drinking anything, because going by the way he chokes, Obi-Wan's pretty sure the spit take would have been spectacular.

"I'm sorry," Cody says. "Can you repeat that?"

"I was an accident," Obi-Wan says, not even bothering to hide his smile. "So was Anakin."

"So that sounds like... a story."

"It is," Obi-Wan confirms. "My biological mother has never been in the picture. They had a fling, she wasn't sure if she'd want to abort or give me up, just that she wasn't ready to be a parent, and Qui-Gon volunteered to take full custody so she could go back to her life after the birth. I've never met her, but I kept her family name. You can consider her irrelevant beyond that."

Cody nods.

"So, when I was about a year old, Qui-Gon reconnects with an old flame, they get married two years later. Step-mother number one is Tahl. Lovely woman, I absolutely adored her, and she had a daughter, my stepsister, Bant Eerin."

"I met her, right?" Cody asks.

"Yes, she was the doctor who patched up my bullet wound a few months ago," Obi-Wan says. "With the giant glasses that make her look a little fish-eyed."

"She was nice."

"She is," Obi-Wan agrees. "At any rate, that was our family for a while, and then Tahl died when I was fourteen. Bant wanted to go to a magnet school for medical studies, and Qui-Gon's grief was... not optimal for taking care of multiple teenagers, shall we say, so Bant moved in with her paternal uncle, Kit Fisto, and Kit's son Nahdar. He's a marine biologist, incredibly friendly, and has no idea of any of the rest of my side of the family's questionable activities. If you ever meet him, you will pretend that we are a legal firm with a team of security consultants."

Cody raises a brow. Obi-Wan despairs. "Best you could do?"

"We're not that likely to run into him." Obi-Wan draws out a new line. "So, Qui-Gon deals poorly with grief. This is also around the time that Xanatos came around to ruin our lives a little. He was a very rich and unpleasant man, but he's dead as of four hours ago, so you don't have to worry about him. Or his son."

"His son?"

"Anakin handled that," Obi-Wan says. "Thoroughly. Granta Omega is no longer an issue. He's not dead, but... well. Anakin has his ways. Er--I should probably mention Feemor; he was my father's assistant at the university for a long time. Anakin and I still call him our uncle."

"Also a person to avoid mentioning criminal activity to?" Cody prompts.

"Well... no, but only because I don't think he'd care. The man is, forgive me, more of a 'walking sweatervest' than I am. He's a very bland and unassuming man. He once described himself as the background character of the soap opera that is my family's existence."

"Sounds like a charmer."

"Oh, he's very kind and clever, and witty as well. I adore him, and he really is family. He's just also very, very normal. Not boring, but..." Obi-Wan trails off and shrugs helplessly. "He's an editor for an agricultural research journal. Also not someone I anticipate us running into."

"Noted."

"Right, so, Qui-Gon dealing poorly with his grief didn't involve much drinking, but there were a few months of him trying to... lose himself in the pleasures of the flesh?" Obi-Wan tries, and then deflates at the look on Cody's face. "He was slagging around. Shmi got pregnant with Anakin, who was born when I was sixteen. Shared custody at first, Qui-Gon got him weekends and every other holiday, that sort of thing, and then they got married because they actually did like each other well enough, and it was easier on the taxes."

"So Shmi is stepmother number two."

"Shmi is stepmother number two, yes." Obi-Wan sketches in Anakin and Shmi. "About nine and a half years after Anakin was born, Shmi and Qui-Gon were in a car accident with... well, it later turned out it wasn't an accident, there was a hitman called Maul involved, he's actually Ventress's second cousin or something, I don't know. Grandfather handled most of that problem. Qui-Gon died, Shmi was in intensive care, and I got custody of Anakin as his nearest adult relative. We weren't very close before that, because I was off at university by the time he was old enough to form memories, but that changed once he started living with me. I more or less raised him as a single parent from that point."

"This is why he jokes that you're like a father to him."

"Precisely," Obi-Wan says. "Shmi took about a year to recover enough to move again, and grandfather covered the costs. She still had to live with a dedicated carer and attend daily physical therapy. At that physical therapy, she met Cliegg Lars, whose son Owen was also a patient there. They hit it off, and three years later, they married. When Anakin refers to his stepfamily he's talking about the Lars out in Nevada."

"Nevada?"

"They have a farm. A very, very normal one. We don't drag them into our activities, unless we have an at-risk person who needs a safe house." Obi-Wan pauses, and then decides this really needs to be stressed. "This is important to me and Anakin, that we don't get them involved unless there's absolutely no other choice. Shmi's been through a lot, and the Lars are busy enough running the farm."

"Works for me," Cody says. "We've got enough safe houses that it shouldn't be an issue. I'm guessing this story doesn't end there, though."

Obi-Wan grimaces. "My own love life has been... a bit of a mess."

"I already know about Kryze, at least."

There's that. "I was temporarily engaged to a friend, Siri Tachi, shortly after high school. We were in a relationship, but this was mostly something done to appease a relative of hers that was getting overbearing to the point of absurdity, and she couldn't just cut them off. We broke off the engagement after the relative passed, and we're still friends."

He notes that down, then adds the other embarrassment of his early years. "First marriage was actually a drunken joke between myself and my best friend when we were in college. We got it annulled a few months later because we just didn't have time to drop by the courthouse before then, and he's actually engaged to Asajj now."

"Asajj?" Cody asks, watching in fascination as Obi-Wan tries to mark in both his own short marriage and the newer, long-term engagement without crossing any lines. He settles for just writing the name twice and including an asterisk with 'this is the same person.'

"Ventress," Obi-Wan clarifies. "Yeah, Quinlan's a fun guy. His little sister, Aayla, treats Anakin like a beloved younger cousin."

"Are they also off-limits for criminal activity?"

"No, Aayla's the one that taught Ahsoka how to vent-crawl," Obi-Wan says. "And I'm pretty sure Quinlan has contacts in every major government branch, criminal organization, and Fortune 500 company on the planet. I reach out to them regularly."

"Resources, then."

Obi-Wan nods. "Some time later, I married Satine. We had a son; you've met Korkie. We split due to incompatibility a year and change before Qui-Gon's death. Satine doesn't engage in criminal activity, but Bo-Katan is..."

"I've met Bo-Katan. I know what she's like, Obi. You don't have to explain."

"She works with Maul sometimes."

"...the man who killed your father?"

"Yes. It's all very stupid and convoluted." Obi-Wan still writes her in. "So, that's them. Korkie goes to boarding school, and I try not to involve him in anything. Anakin and Ahsoka like to teach him self-defense and the like, but Satine is adamant that he stay unaware of my less legal dealings until he's an adult."

Cody shrugs. "Makes sense. Is that every--wait, no, Skywalker's married."

Obi-Wan grins. "Yes, and Padme's got twins on the way."

"I was there when he told us," Cody says drily. "He was very loud about it. Okay, how does Ahsoka fit in?"

"Hold on, I forgot Beru," Obi-Wan mutters. "Owen's fiancee. Same rules as the Lars. Okay, you asked about Ahsoka. Right. So. Um."

He dithers. Cody waits for him, and then Obi-Wan just gives up. "Ahsoka, dear, would you like to explain how you joined the family, so to speak?"

Ahsoka looks up from whatever she and the boys are doing--there are multiple beer glasses and straws and duct tape involved, and Obi-Wan doesn't really want to know--and then flips off the table and over to Obi-Wan and Cody. She looks over the family tree chart, and then says, "Oooh, did you tell him about the cult?"

"You were in a cult?" Cody demands.

"No, Komari was. She was head priestess or something. I dunno, it's why she's in prison and stuff."

"I did not tell him about the cult," Obi-Wan mutters, already regretting this. "The Bando Gora aren't a problem anymore. I've already gotten to explaining how you and Anakin know each other."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes, steals his pen, and starts sketching in around Quinlan's name, over by Asajj since Obi-Wan's section is too crowded. "Okay, so, Quinlan's adopted. His dad is Tholme, and Tholme's dad is Plo Koon. Plo Koon is good friends with my Auntie, Shaak Ti, who raised me. They live next door to each other, out in the country, and I'd play in his yard a lot, because he had puppies, and he took me to visit his bees. Whenever Auntie needed a babysitter, she asked Quinlan or Aayla to do it since she knew and trusted them, and Aayla needed pocket money."

"This is so unnecessarily complicated," Cody mutters.

"It is!" Ahsoka chirps. Her grin is far too sharp. "So, this one time, Aayla was watching me when I was fourteen, and she was just helping me with my physics homework. BAM, the door slams open, and in stumbled Skyguy with his arm missing. I've never met him before, and my first introduction is him shortly after he's gotten an unplanned amputation."

Anakin, on the other side of the room, giggles. Obi-Wan just sighs. The Fett brothers appear to be in the land of 'horrified fascination.'

Ahsoka revels in it. "There's blood everywhere, I'm screaming, Aayla's panicking, Anakin's halfway to unconscious and insisting we can't call the hospital, and nobody can get Obi-Wan on the phone. Quinlan's in another country, and Auntie Shaak and Uncle Plo are at a movie, so they've both got their cellphones off. Tholme was faking his death at that point to get away from an incident with the Irish Mob, so we didn't even try him."

"What the actual fuck," Rex breathes.

Ahsoka continues with relish. "We get Bant to pick up, and she's there an hour later with Padme, because Padme knows how to drive the way Skyguy does, and the entire drive there is just Auntie Bant on speakerphone telling Aayla how to stop the bleeding and get him stabilized while Padme's screaming at traffic at the top of her lungs."

"I owe Aayla a fruit basket," Anakin muses aloud. "The anniversary of her saving my life is coming up, it's warranted."

"Five years, baby!" Ahsoka crows. She fist-pumps.

Obi-Wan just drops his head into his hands. "You're killing me, children."

Anakin shrugs, grinning. "You know, I think Fett Senior might have been involved in that fight."

"My shitty dad cut off your arm?" Rex demands.

"No, I think he was busy fighting the Interpol guy," Anakin says. "But he was definitely there. I think. Blood loss kinda got to me after a bit, but I'm pretty sure Jango Fett was there, and also Boba might've been hiding in the getaway car?"

"I need another glass," Cody mutters. He doesn't stand up, though.

"Wait," Rex says. "So who cut off your arm?"

Anakin shrugs with an unsure noise. "Someone tried to convince me it was Grandpa Yan, but he was in the middle of a court case in Italy for some kind of parole violation when it happened, so he had an alibi."

"...did he actually violate parole?" Cody asks, and Obi-Wan thinks he looks like he doesn't know if he actually wants an answer.

Ahsoka shrugs. So does Anakin. Obi-Wan carefully looks at a spot behind Cody, and doesn't explain anything about wine tastings used as covers for illicit arms deals.

"The arm?" Rex prompts, sounding a little desperate to get back to the question he likely thinks is the most important.

"I still say it was Skeevy Sheev," Ahsoka chimes in.

"It wasn't Palpatine," Anakin snaps.

"Your creepy older friend who took you to operas and gives you fancy gifts and knows way too much about swords who was conveniently there to talk to the police and cover for you so you didn't get arrested for getting in the middle of a gang war in the first place, yes," Ahsoka says, dropping into a chair and sighing dramatically. "The guy who definitely hasn't been trying to convince you for a year and change that your wife is cheating on you with your older brother."

"Ahsoka!"

"What? He is."

"Anakin," Rex says, "your life sounds like a trainwreck."

"I'm not going to assume a frail, elderly man cut my arm off!" Anakin protests. "Even if he wanted to, he doesn't exactly have the muscle for it!"

"Grandfather's older," Obi-Wan points out, even though he knows it won't help. "And he definitely still could."

"Ha!" Ahsoka shouts.

"He could have hired someone?" Cody suggests. "Doesn't need to do it himself, if he has enough money."

Obi-Wan has a sneaking suspicion that Cody is deliberately stirring the pot as revenge for Anakin sending him eighty-seven cat memes inside an hour during last night's dinner.

"You all suck," Anakin declares. "Also, what the hell do you mean 'knows way too much about swords,' Ahsoka? You know way too much about swords!"

"Yeah, but I'm like ninety-percent sure that his antiques are Prussian and mid-century German military officer dress uniform relics, and pairing that with the Nazi pistols he's got on display--"

"He's just a history buff! And his family's German, of course he prioritizes that region, it's not like he doesn't have Russian or French or English antiques in there too, it's all sides of the war and--"

"I'm just saying he's almost definitely sending me sketchy glances like he thinks I'm planning to steal the silver on the three occasions you've had me with you when you stop by, and I'm pretty sure it's got less to do with my criminal record and more to do with me being, you know, not white."

Anakin looks ready to blow, so Obi-Wan interrupts. "Ahsoka, you were explaining how Anakin passing out on Aayla and scaring us all half to death led to your friendship?"

Ahsoka blinks at him, and then sticks her tongue out at Anakin and turns back to the chart. "So basically, Skyguy had to recuperate in Uncle Plo's living room for a week or two, and I kept showing up to bother him because he was bored and nobody would give him a laptop for 'security reasons,' because he had to lay low and stuff. He made me help him sketch out designs for a prosthesis and do all the writing for the math he had to do for the 3D printer, and we got to chatting."

Ahsoka hops up and back onto a table, legs swinging below her. "I decided he was cool and started following him around while he was getting used to only having one hand, mostly because I was bored. He showed me how to hotwire a car, and explained the best places to put a bug if you were looking to make it sneaky, and he picked my pocket to show off so many times when he was walking around Uncle Plo's house that I made him teach me that, too. And, uh, then Aayla found out and they got into a shouting match about it and decided they both needed to teach me parkour so I could get out of any mess I got myself into, since I was obviously going to follow them into a life of crime."

"And you did," Anakin says, far too proudly. "You're the best thief in this half of the country."

"Only because Aayla moved out east."

Anakin rolls his eyes and pulls Ahsoka into his side, digging his knuckles into her skull. "Best thief! You are the best thief! Be proud of yourself!"

"Let go!"

"Never!"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead. "Children, please."

"You're not my dad," Ahsoka growls out at him. "Skyguy, I'm going to bite you!"

"Good luck, the only arm you can access is the one that's going to break your teeth."

Ahsoka shrieks in outrage and stomps on Anakin's instep.

It's almost funny, for all that Obi-Wan's seen it play out a million times before, but the really interesting part is seeing Rex's look of fond dismay.

Obi-Wan thinks he might be adding a branch out to the Fetts soon. He's not actually sure if Rex is interested in Anakin or Ahsoka, and he's smack dab between them in age, so that's not a help either, but... well. The expression is familiar enough.

"Please tell me you don't match-make," Cody mutters to him.

"No, I plan to let the pieces fall where they will," Obi-Wan responds, just as low, and far more amused. "I'm simply trying to predict where those landings are to be."

Cody looks at him, and then back at the roughhousing trio, and sighs heavily. "You know, I really didn't think that you technically being minor royalty was going to be the least convoluted thing in your story, Obi-Wan."

He laughs, because it's true. "I'm first in line to inherit the title, since Rael denounced his claim. Nim isn't interested, and Qui-Gon's dead, so... I'm next."

Cody makes a face. "Delightful. I'm guessing that's not a connection we can safely make use of."

"No more than the Kryze or Naberries, I'm afraid." Obi-Wan claps him on the shoulder. "Chin up, I've plenty others in the metaphorical rolodex, all far less legitimate and far more amenable to work with our little outfit."

"Rolodex, really?" Cody snorts. "You're not that old."

Obi-Wan smiles winningly. "You don't know how old I am, Cody. All my IDs are fake."

"Anakin's twenty-four, and you're sixteen years older than him, going by the story you just told me," Cody points out. "I do know how to do basic math, Obi-Wan."

"I had to try," Obi-Wan admits. "I threw a lot of information at you all at once; I'd hoped you missed some of the ages in there."

"I have eight brothers," Cody scoffs. "And literally dozens of cousins, plus niblings, uncles, aunts, and so on. I have experience on this."

"If I asked you to list of the age of every single relative you have, you'd be able to do it?"

"Do you want me to draw a chart? I can draw a chart."

Obi-Wan can't help but laugh. "I'd be delighted, my dear."

Cody rolls his eyes, but Obi-Wan thinks--it's hard to tell in the dimmed lights of the closed bar--that there's a hint of a blush on the man's face. Obi-Wan lets himself slouch to the side, drops his head to rest on one fist, indolent debauchery in every line of his body. Cody does his best to ignore him, but Obi-Wan knows how to smile lazily and blink slowly and draw a man in.

(The whole 'indolent debauchery in every line of his body' phrasing is Anakin's, from back when he was a teenager trying to read highbrow literature to impress a cute girl... and to come up with new insults for his older brother.)

"So," Cody says, with a cough meant to somehow distract Obi-Wan from whatever's showing on the man's face. "Why, uh, why is your grandfather on terrorist watchlists?"

"Well, he didn't initially do anything," Obi-Wan says. "He was just a gay man who didn't hide it quite well enough, and had too much money and too white a face for someone to just call the cops on a faulty report. The Red Scare was technically over by that point, I think, but if a few people made suggestions that he was more loyal to the country that gave him a noble title than to the United States... he received a few warnings, of course, and it could have all blown over..."

"But?"

"But my grandfather is not a man to do things by halves, and instead decided that if the government was to list him as a threat, then he would oblige and make himself a threat," Obi-Wan finishes. "Living up to their labels, rolling with the assumptions, whatever you'd like to call it. It all irked him, and so he made some incredibly questionable decisions to make the government's lives harder. Some weren't bad, like donating to anti-war foundations that were protesting the Gulf War and the interventions in Yugoslavia, that sort of thing, and some were... nobody really looks well on gunrunning, you know."

"For fuck's sake..."

"Indeed," Obi-Wan chuckles. "Ironically, he has minimal opinion on the optimal form of economics, for all that virulent xenophobia and the remnants of anti-communism were involved in the whole mess. He just wanted to create problems for the people that were causing him problems."

Cody shakes his head. "I want to judge that, but you've met my father."

"Jango Fett is, indeed, also not a man to do things by halves," Obi-Wan agrees, attempting to nod gravely but breaking into a smile at the end. "That man is absurd."

"At least he's not dragging Boba into it anymore," Cody mutters. He drags over the fresh sheet of paper and pen that Obi-Wan offers him. "Okay, right, let's start with Jaster..."

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killerskillercaptain · 3 years

Text

Return back home

pairing : Levi Ackerman x reader

synopsis : Your soldier husband Levi goes away for missions way too often, and each time you two reunite, it's a blessing.

warnings : nsfw.

wc : 1458

When you and humanity's strongest soldier vowed to give each other your lives, and agreed that death would be the only thing to do you apart, your lives took a turn for the better.

But there was one thing you didn't think about when you married humanity's hope, that it included him being away from your home, your embrace, from you for long periods of time. Because that's what Levi does, that's what he is : humanity's hope. Erwin needed him more than any other soldier, more than any sophisticated weapon, because Levi was his most cherished arsenal. Levi would go weeks, sometimes months on missions only him-and Erwin-would know about.

And all you could do during this periods was long for him.

He's humanity's hope, don't be so sinfully selfish You repeatedly lulled yourself to bed with this mantra, clutching the cold bed sheets, Levi has been called again to go on a mission, a month ago.

A month ago.

Just a month ago, this bed was warm, hot with embraces and soaked with loved. The hardest part of Levi leaving off to save the world, was that he never said when he would return. It was pure ache, you understood he was important to humanity, but he was also important to you, what kind of cruel world would deny a wife the right to see her husband.

A world with titans you sighed.

Tossing in your bed, you decided to shorten your pain by sleeping it away. Embarrassed tears traveling down your cheeks, eyes closed to reality, the reality of Levi's absence, engulfed way too deep in your self inflicted misery, you didn't notice the bed sink a little under the weight of a heavily-equipped soldier.

Levi was sitting right there, on the edge of the bed, but only when the sound of something bulky hit the floor you turned around in a jolt and saw Levi.

He was on the bed, he was taking off his gear and his uniform, it took you quite some time to register what was happening : he was back, he was here. Levi was back.

Screwing out the teary and blurry vision out of your eyes, you blinked a thousand times before your mind finally decide that this isn't a dream.

-Levi, when-

He shut you up with a chaste but tender kiss, the room was plunged in the dark, only a thin veil of moonlight drenched Levi in a luminescence that would make the stars jealous.

-I didn't even hear you coming-

He shut you up again with his lips, silent as a rock, as always.

His lips were a bit chapped and slightly dry, being a soldier yourself, you were instinctively reminded of what it's like to spend months away in a mission, his dehydrated lips tasted like cold nights spent outside, meager military rations and water you wouldn't drink unless humanity's destiny was at play.

Damn it, you wanted to make it better for him right now, without any foreplay, you wanted to give him his celebration right now before he finished saving the world, because every time he kisses you, he saves your world and that was enough, always have been, always be. Levi seemed to be in the same place mentally, because he was already reaching for your waist to pull you closer and smear you on him like his favorite cologne.

You let yourself melt into his touch, he got on top of you, caging you in his embrace while showering you in shy yet calculated kisses, his chest pressing against yours and squeezing your breasts always made you feel something special, somehow, you always found this more intimate than having sex.

"Levi?"

"Hm?"

"Can you kiss me more ?

"Where?"

Finally a word from him since one whole damn month, and the only word you could say was a confidant "Everywhere".

How Levi Ackerman obliged so obediently to that request, you would never know, but he did, the impassible soldier had his mouth on every inch of your body, giving so much attention to each patch of flesh, until he reached that part between your legs, and by the look he gave you, he was ready to repent for his sins.

He got on his knees and tightened his grip on your ankles, spreading your legs even wider, causing you to blush and squirm, you would never get used to this you realized shyly, your eyes watering at the imposed vulnerability, Levi seemed completely unbothered, as if the thought of this being embarrassing to you didn't even cross his mind. He ducked his face again near your entrance, his mouth only millimeters away from your entrance.

"I missed you" said Levi. His tired but determined eyes not leaving yours while he poisoned your mind a little more with those words.

"I missed you too"

"I think i missed you more" he concluded, not an ounce of playfulness in his voice.

He instinctively looked at your clitoris when he said that, the sudden focus on the neglected place made you embarrassed, feeling that little bundle of nerves tingle, you tried to close your legs as quickly as you felt the reaction but Levi's grip was quicker and stronger, keeping your legs spread for him, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

You propped yourself on your elbows, your eyes searching questionably for his.

"Whats so funny?" you blurted out, your voice weak.

"Your clitoris twitches each time i say i missed you, i think it's sweet""

You whimpered, his face was too close. You felt yourself clench some more, being this much focused on after so much neglect felt atrociously unbearable.

"Have some self control woman" he threw at you, his now hot breath teasing your opening, your hand flew to your face covering your mouth and your only response was a thread of mashed up syllables he couldn't decipher.

"What ? I didn't hear you !"

"I cant help that i have so much love for you" your words were way too innocent for the lewd moment.

"Love you" Levi would never grow bored of these words coming from you, and right now, his chest ached knowing that you had this much love for him, and cursed himself for the day he decided to be a soldier, cursed Erwin for taking him away from you, and cursed humanity for existing and always be in danger, why can't the world save itself and save him some breath for his darling ?

He lowered himself and planted a gentle kiss on your opening, then moved to the small bud that was seemingly begging for attention, the lustful stare he gave you was the last thing you remember, his lips, his hot mouth, the burning warmth and the loss of reality, consciousness and everything in between took over.

After pleasuring you with his mouth, he soon enough wanted to pleasure you with something else, in a matter of seconds, he was in you, he wouldn't have been able to wait. You were always amazed by Levi's ability to give, him who received so little in his life, never failed to make you feel satiated, him who grew up on hunger, and just for that, he was something precious to hold on to. Forever.

Levi soon felt you getting out of his grip, slipping through his fingers into your own bliss, like a river pouring out into the ocean, he watched you getting washed away by his love.

He almost felt guilty, ashamed even, watching you having your orgasm, he was hypnotized by the liberating sight, he couldn't get his eyes off of you unfolding beneath him like a wild flower.

Being rammed like no tomorrow, your head was filled with racing thoughts about Levi, a pleasure you never felt before soon clouded your mind and vision, leaving you breathless, you missed him so much you thought to yourself while you clutched your breasts unconsciously, ecstasy laying your consciousness to sleep. Breaths soon became moans, and moans became laughter. He never saw you laugh like that, a laugh so sweet, so candid, voice so innocent in opposition to the nature of the ongoing act, he thought he heard the child inside of you for a second. You were so happy, Levi was honoring you with his presence. Smearing your heavy locks all over your face, he could swear you were bathing in the grace of god. Right now, he couldn't join you, he could only watch, and so he did, right now you were forbidden to him, it was all yours to feel.

He felt mesmerized he felt weak, you were in your own world right now, all he could do was watch, you were so much powerful than him right now.

Coming back down from your instant of euphoria, you got up gasping for air, trying to prop yourself on your elbows you felt as if you were emerging from holy water, your dizzy head met the space between Levi's neck and shoulder and you rested your mind there while he lost his.

Finished, spent, you took in as much oxygen as you could to stay alive, to be finally able to utter the words you always prepared for Levi's return.

"Welcome back home".

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plentyoffandoms · 3 years

Text

Ghost From My Past

Arthur Shelby x f/Reader

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me.

AU, so no Linda and no Billy. John is alive because I wanted him to be.

Warnings: Some swearing.

WC: 3,871

Main Masterlist ♡ Peaky Blinders Masterlist ♡ Arthur Shelby Masterlist

Summary: - F/Reader was a nurse during the war. Her & Arthur fell in love but were kept apart thinking the other one was dead. Until now.

Arthur Shelby's POV:

"You'll remember to write won't you love?" I said as I giving her neck some kisses.

"Shhh Arthur, you know I can't be doing this stuff with you, but yes I promise to write you. Are you going to write me?"

"I will write you every moment I can."

My memory was cut short by Tommy yelling my name.

"Are you okay Arthur?" Tommy asked me.

"Yeah I'm okay. Just get on with it yeah."

Tommy continued the family meeting but I am having a hard time focusing. Today is the anniversary of the day I learned Y/N was killed by enemy fire. The day will be forever seared in my memory, April 26th, 1915.

I must of been really out of because it was now just Tommy, John and I.

Tommy placed a glass infront of me and started to pour some whiskey.

"What is this all about?"

"John and I realised what day it is Arthur. Sit, have a drink and take the rest of the day off."

I took a sip of my drink. "I don't need the day off Tommy." I said to him as he took his seat.

"You do and you will. We know how much you you loved her." John said to me.

I didn't say anything. I finished my drink and went home after much convincing from my brothers.

Once I got home I went to my room, and reached under my bed for the box I keep under there.

I pulled out all the letters Y/N wrote me and the memories came flooding back.

I couldn't stop the tears from streaming down my face as I read them. It was like she was here, reading them to me.

Y/N was a nurse who I met while I was in France. It seemed to be fate that every time I got hurt, she was the one who took care of me.

We slowly fell in love and wrote to each other until one day her letters just stopped.

I asked one of my superiors about the nurses station, lying about having a sister who was a nurse there, and he told me that the nurses tent where she was stationed, got hit by enemy fire and there were no survivors.

We were going to get married and she talked about that in her letters. How she was excited to become Mrs. Arthur Shelby.

My brothers had no idea I proposed to her the last time I saw her. I had no ring but I asked her and she said yes.

The memories of her were becoming too much so I started and finished a brand new bottle of bourbon.

I woke up the next morning, sleeping on the couch with Tommy and John sitting across from me.

I groaned as I sat up. This hangover will be a bitch.

"Cheers." I said to John as he handed me some coffee.

"Go get ready for the day. Polly would like us for a family breakfast."

I groaned once more as I got up to get ready for the day.

Tommy Shelby's POV:

"Poor guy. It gets worse and worse every year doesn't it?"

"It does John. You know I have thought about this but what if the nurses station wasn't hit?"

"What do you mean Tommy?" John said as he leaned towards me in his seat.

"Remember when Danny got hurt and he had to be taken to the field hospital?"

"Yeah."

"It was to the same one where Y/N was at. He told me that he saw a few of the nurses being dragged out of the tent, forced into a wagon to be taken some where."

I took a drag of my cigarette that I just lit and continued.

"Danny remembers asking one of the other injured soldiers there what was going on. He got told that those nurses were found to be pregnant."

"So you are saying that is what could of happened to Y/N?"

"I believe so. I am waiting on an old friend from the war to get back to me. He has been searching through all the records to find out what happened to her. He continued his military career and has access to certain buildings."

"We have to tell Arthur."

"Not so fast John. I don't want to get his hopes up."

I heard Arthur come down the stairs.

"Ready as I will ever be."

"Come Arthur, let's help your hangover with some of Pollys food." I said to my brother as John and I stood.

One thing I did not tell John was that my friend Andrew, has been searching for over a year now.

What ever happened to those women must of been very, very classified.

It has been a few months since the anniversary of Y/N's death and I am hoping Andrew will find something out soon, because I have no idea what Arthur will do next year on the 13th anniversary.

I was sitting in my office going over the figures John gave me before he left for lunch when my telephone rang.

"Hello."

"Tom, it's me. I found the file."

"Come to my office Andrew and bring me that file." I hung up the phone. I cancelled the rest of my meetings for the day.

Andrew must of been coming from wherever he found the file because it took him awhile to get here.

I held my hand out to Andrew so he can hand me the file, which he did as he started to talk.

"What Danny told you was right Tom. See look, Y/N was taken away a long with a few other nurses because they were pregnant."

I looked through the file reading only the parts about Y/N.

"Says she was taken to the Isle of Man. Why send them all the way there?"

"I have no clue. If you notice Tom, the people in charge wrote her family but her family didn't want her to come home with a bastard."

I found the child's birth certificate. I guess they wanted a copy for the file. A boy she had and his name is William Arthur Shelby. Born December 28th, 1915. Mother Y/N Y/L. Father Arthur William Shelby Jr.

I noticed all the letters in the file and saw that she continued to write to Arthur even after she was taken away. The place where she was staying intercepted the letters and sent them to Y/N's superiors instead.

"Does it say where she is now?"

"Last page Tom. She has been asking for some help financially since they told her they would help, but the military never did."

I quickly went to last page.

"She is in fucking Longbridge? She has been about 30 minutes away from us for who knows how long."

"Yes, she is. She works at the Longbridge factory it seems."

"Thank you Andrew. Here take this note to Michael. His office his two doors down on the left. He will pay you." I said to him as I handed him the note with the amount on it.

His eyes widened when he saw the figure. I knew that was more than he made in a year, but he has been working for me for over a year now, so he deserves that amount.

"Thank you Tom. If you need anything else, please do not hesitate to reach out to me."

I am now alone once more and I looked at the time. It was just after 1:00 PM and I knew John would be back from having lunch with Esme.

Arthur is at the Garrison talking to Harry about what stock will need to be ordered.

I saw that John was in his office and it looked like he just returned.

"John, we have a meeting at the Longbridge factory. So don't take off your coat."

"We do? With who?"

"Y/N. Andrew found her. I'll tell you everything on the way there."

Y/N'S POV:

It was another early morning but I had to get Will up to get to school. I refuse to have my child work when he can get an education.

I had a simple breakfast on the table for him and had his lunch made. There have been days where I could not eat, but I always made sure he had something eat.

"Do you have everything Will?"

"Yes Mum."

"Have a good day at school my dear." I gave him a kiss on the cheek. I giggled as he wiped his cheek with his hand.

"Bye Mum." And he was out the door, meeting up with his best friend Matthew.

Matthew's Mum Annie, was also a nurse who ended up pregnant and we were sent to Isle of Man of man together.

Annie and I got separated but found each other about two years ago when I moved to Longbridge for work.

I made sure to watch the two of them as they walked down the street to the school. My heart started to ache when I thought about Will and how much he looks like his Father.

I was told that Arthur was killed when one of the tunnels they were digging caved in on them.

My heart I feel like has never healed from losing the love of my life but Will has helped with the healing.

I know I will never find a husband now and I truly do not care if I do. Money would be helpful, but I could never marry a man I do not love.

My train of thought was interrupted by Annie knocking on my front door. Another day of work. The only day I get off is Sunday.

I grabbed my small lunch and headed out the door. I made sure it was locked as Annie and I headed to the factory.

Our boss was a vile man who made inappropriate advances and comments to myself and many of the other women here.

It was the afternoon and I couldn't wait to go home.

"Y/N L/N. Mr Bowen would like to see you in his office."

Annie looked at me and all I could do was shrug my shoulders at her.

I felt myself cringing as I saw his office door. Who knows what he will say or do to me now.

I knocked on the door and heard a "come in."

"You wanted to see me Mr Bowen?" I said as I walked in.

I noticed two men were sitting there and one was sitting in Mr Bowens chair.

"Have a seat Y/N. My brother and I would like to have a word with you." The one sitting behind the desk said to me.

I sat down but I am very confused. I am wondering who these men are and how do they know me?

"Leave Mr Bowen. This is a private conversation." The other man said.

Mr Bowen practically ran out of his office, closing the door behind him.

"You may be wondering who we are. My name is Tom and that is my brother John." Tom said as he pointed to his brother.

I have heard those names before, but from where?

"We have been looking for you for a very long time Y/N."

"I am sorry Sir, but I do not know you." I said as politely as possible.

"That may be true but you know our brother, Arthur Shelby, correct?"

I felt like all the air left my body as I slowly nodded my head yes.

"He has never forgotten you, even when he was told that you died by enemy fire." Tom said to me.

"Wait...Arthur isn't dead?"

"No he is very much alive." John said.

"I was told a tunnel that he was digging collapsed on him and there were no survivors."

"And you said he has never forgot about me?" I wanted to cry but I held back the tears.

"Never married. No other children. Just your son."

"How do you know about Will?"

"I had an Army pal get me your file. There was a copy of his birth certificate in there."

My eyes bugged out of my head. How did the military get a hold of it as I did not send them a copy.

"Now, where do you live? You can stay here or come with John and I back to Small Heath." Tom said as he and John stood up.

"I live about a mile from here and Will is at school."

"Well if you would like to come with us, we can take you and your son to Arthur."

I almost said yes right away, but what about Annie? I can't leave her behind.

"I have a friend of mine who works here as well. She was nurse with me and the army did the same thing to her once she got pregnant. I can not leave her here on her own." I said to Tom.

It looked like he was thinking on it.

"Were we not talking about how the Company needs a new secretary Tommy?" John said to Tom.

"Yes we were John. Y/N, bring Annie along. I will have an apartment set up for her. We will be waiting outside while you go and grab your friend."

I got up and grabbed the two men and pulled them in a hug, saying thank you over and over again.

We left the office and we went our separate ways. I quickly found Annie at her spot and told her what happened.

"Y/N, are you saying we can leave this job?"

"Yes, they said they will hire you as a secretary and have an apartment set up for you. Come, we have to go." I said as I grabbed her hand to leave.

"Not so fast Y/N. Where do you think you and Annie are going?" I turned to look at the smug look on Mr Bowen face.

"Annie and I quit you disgusting man." I didn't wait for him to reply as I practically dragged Annie behind me.

John and Tom were waiting outside just like they said they would. Annie introduced herself as the four of us got into the car.

I gave John the directions to my place. It didn't take long to get there.

"We will first go to Y/N's place and pack what you would like and then hit yours Annie." Tom said.

"I live across the road from Y/N." She said as she pointed out where she lived.

"I don't have much if one of you wants to come help me and the other helps Annie."

Tom and I went to my small home, while John and Annie went to hers. I became almost embarrassed because it didn't have much.

"I don't know what I should bring Tom." I said as I looked around.

It was one room, where the only source of heat was from the fire in the kitchen, a table and two chairs. Will and I have to share a bed.

"Whatever you would like. You will not have to bring any furniture though. If you don't want to bring all your clothes, you do not have too."

I quickly grabbed what we would need until we could go shopping. I grabbed Wills baby blanket I made him. We didn't have much and it all fit in one piece of luggage.

Tom watched as I grabbed a chair and got on it to grab a box I had on the top shelf of the room.

"May I ask what is in the box?" He asked as he helped me down.

"Oh, just letters Arthur wrote me and his photo. See." I said as I opened the box and he saw the photo of his brother that I had.

"He looks the same, older obviously but with a mustache." I smiled as I imagined Arthur with a mustache.

I looked around the room, making sure I have everything.

"Will we have to let your landlord know that you two are leaving?"

"No. Mr Bowen is the landlord. He owns the plant and these homes and because we quit, we would be kicked out anyways."

We walked out to the car and Annie and John were there as well.

"Time to get the kids from school." John said as we got into the car.

Annie told John where the school was and once we were there, the two of us went in to tell the Headmaster that we were taking our sons out of the school.

He didn't ask questions because he probably thought we were just going to make them work.

He went to grab Will and Matthew for us. Our sons walked into the office very confused.

"Will, I will explain it in the car." I said as I grabbed his hand.

"Car?" Now he was really confused.

I heard Annie say the same thing to Matthew.

John was standing outside the car and had a smile on his face as he opened the door for us.

The boys were almost hesitant on getting in but we were able to convince them.

I pulled Will so he was close to me as I softly explained to him what is going on.

"My Dad is alive?"

"Yes sweetheart and these two men are your Uncles John and Tom." I said as I pointed to each one.

"You also have an Aunt named Ada and another Uncle named Finn. You also have nine cousins there mate oh and a great-aunt named Polly." John said to his nephew.

"Annie, you can stay with our Aunt Pol until we get that apartment ready for you."

"Are you sure Tom?"

"Yes I am sure. She can help you find the best school for the boys as well."

This really felt like a dream. I had to pinch myself a few times to make sure it was all real.

We pulled infront of building and Tom had Annie and Matthew come with him.

"If I bring you in there Y/N, she may never let you two go and I have to bring you to Arthur first."

I watched as the three of them went in the front door. About five minutes later, two young men came out to grab Annies luggage, which I got out to help so they did not grab my stuff by mistake.

We waited another four minutes and then Tom came out with a woman who I think was Aunt Polly.

"Looks like he couldn't keep her away. Might as well get out and introduce yourselves." John said to Will and I, which we quickly did.

"Hello, my name is.." I was interrupted by Polly pulling me into a hug. "Welcome to the family Y/N and this must be William." She said as she pulled him into a hug.

"My goodness, you look just like your father did at this age."

"Speaking of his father, we must be going now Pol."

"Please come by to visit any time. We will be having a family dinner won't we Tommy?"

"Of course Pol. They have many more family members to meet."

We got back into the car and John drove to this pub called the Garrison.

"Wait here. One of us will come and get you." Tom said to us as he and John got out of the car.

A few moments later, it looked like every person that was in there was rushing out of the pub.

Arthur Shelby's POV:

I was sitting at my usual table, talking with Finn and Michael when I saw Tommy and John walk in. Now where have they been all day?

"EVERYONE OUT!"

I watched as anyone who wasn't related to us leave.

"What is this about Tom?" I asked as him and John sat down at the table.

"Y/N."

"What do you mean Y/N?"

"She is alive Arthur."

"This is some sick joke." I was starting to get angry.

"Why would I lie to you about this. Here look at this." Tommy said as he handed me a file.

I looked through it and I felt sick to my stomach. She is alive? She had my son?

"We have to go get her." I said to him. I noticed John has left the table. I wonder where he went too.

"Already did. JOHN."

John opened the doors to the pub and in walked a little boy who looked almost like me.

"Y/N." I almost breathed out her name.

I stood up and walked towards them. John stepped to the side and brought my son with him.

"Are you for real?" I asked as we stood a few inches away from each other.

I watched as the tears streamed down her face. "Yes Arthur." I pulled her into my arms and I couldn't believe this is real.

I brought my lips close to hers and she closed the distance between our lips and kissed me.

God, it has been so long. We finally pulled apart when my brothers and cousin were hooting and hollering at us.

"Arthur, I would like you to meet your son William Arthur Shelby." She said as she pulled away from my arms.

I kneeled down so I was eye level with my son.

"Come here lad. Give your Dad a hug." I watched as a smile stretched across his face as he ran into my arms.

I never wanted this moment to end.

I brought Y/N and Will home to my place that night and he was so excited to have his own room and his own bed. Y/N explained their living conditions to me.

We told each other what the military said about the other person. I was angry at how Y/N and the other women were treated. I wanted to go hit something but Y/N was able to calm me down.

I made love to her that night and the next morning. I took the day off from work and took them shopping for new clothes for the both of them and toys for Will.

I met Annie and Matthew as well and learned Annie will be the company's new secretary. I convinced Annie to go shopping with Y/N the next day and told her was all on me.

After much arguing, Annie finally gave in after Y/N said that I was trying to help.

A week later I proposed to Y/N once more but this time with a ring. I didn't want to spend another moment with out her.

A month later we got married at Tommy's big estate. Only close friends and family were there. Will was my best man.

And I loved every second of it. Seeing Y/N in her dress almost turned me into a blubbering mess infront of the wedding guests.

I couldn't help but think this is how my life should of been all these years as I had my first dance with Y/N as husband and wife, but better late then never.

I got the love of my life and a great son. I couldn't be any happier than I am now.

#reader imagine #reader insert #female reader #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders x y/n #arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby x you #arthur shelby fanfiction #arthur shelby fluff #tommy shelby x you #Tommy shelby x reader

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euphoriyoongi · 3 years

Text

Yoongi Historical au/ Royalty au

prompt requested: number 7:

I’m secretly in love with you but you never seemed to give me the time of day but you all of a sudden tell me you love me and my only thought was to make out with you.

Summary:

As the daughter of the military director, you’ve always had a liking towards the crown prince, Yoongi. Now, many years later, as your secretly in love with him, he’s secretly in love with you.

Pairing: prince!yoongi x reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre: royalty! au, historical au, friends to lovers

Warnings: none.

_________________________________________________

Joseon Era.

As a child, you dreamed to marry Yoongi. Too bad he was way out of your league.

Not look wise, but rank wise.

He was the only son of the king, heir to the throne. Now you were decently high up as well, being the daughter of the military head, but not even close to being able to even dream about him.

You didn't have a chance. Not even a thought. It's not like he would even like you back anyway, given how he was never one to look into your eyes when you'd speak to him, as if talking to you wasn't important anyway.

As you both aged together, you've noticed him always walk around the palace without any guards, always sneaking around to be alone. He'd never want any attention drawn to him, and if you would wave your hand to say hi, well, chances are that he would walk right past you.

It was hard, as the years flew by and you were still left with the heart wrenching feeling of a one-sided love. It was long enough to call it that, since you have been into him since you laid eyes on him.

Your father and the king were very good friends, and would often bring you to visit him whenever they'd have something to chat about. So you would sit off the the side with Yoongi, who never seemed to be able to replace the frown on his face with a smile.

The only time you had ever seen a smile on his face was when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, only for him to drop it as soon as you turned towards him.

Now in your mid twenties, your father is begging you to marry. You are at the age where you should have at least two kids now. For you to be single and constantly training to become a good fighter just like your father was, you didn't believe you had time for children. And anyway, ever since you turned fifteen to now, you used the excuse that you wished to marry when you met the one.

Your father now tried to bring up the conversation of marriage at this moment, and you stood pin straight, facing the target ahead of you with a bow and arrow in hand, ready to shoot. "But y/n, you really have to think about how important it is. You'll be thirty years old in no time!" He exclaimed, and as he slammed his foot down in irritation, you let the bow slide through your fingers, releasing it only for it to hit the corner of the target.

Groaning, you drop the bow to your side. "Father, I have more important things to be doing." You hummed, giving him the side eye as he stared at you with worry. You reached up to dry a patch of sweat on your forehead.

You used to tell him how much you wanted to marry the prince as a kid, but now it seemed too childish to use as an excuse. She knew she would never be able to marry him anyway, since he probably would have to be married to someone specific.

Yoongi was quite the character. He rarely spoke, but always wanted to leave the palace and go into the town, where his friends would live. He had a select few, and would also run into you as you went on errands.

Whenever he'd spot you, either in the palace or town, he'd stare at you for a moment and look away, almost telling himself not to even pay attention to you. It always made you upset, making you wonder why he would never pay attention to you. It's not like he didn't know you.

You lived your whole life pining over him. From the way he slightly dragged his feet across the dirt, to the way he would always wear a large hat to hide his face whenever he'd leave the palace, you loved him. He was the person you wished to marry even after all these years.

It seemed childish, yes. But if you were to marry and bear children, it would have to be to him. And if it wasn't him, well, it was no one. But your dad didn't need to know that information. "Listen, father, I will marry when I find the one." You said to him, lifting up your bow to shoot another arrow. "Just give me time."

He seemed to understand that you were trying to focus, and stepped back a few feet. Hearing him sigh, you gave him a side eye. "Okay okay. I'm sorry. I just want the best for you." He smiled, giving you a little bow in respect. "I'm off to meet the king for lunch. If you would like to pay your regards to him, let me know."

The arrow slipped through your hand again, now completely missing the target board all together. "Will the prince be there?" You didn't mean to ask this, but you couldn't help it. You haven't seen Yoongi for weeks, and you wished to see his beautiful face again. Would it be so vain to just..use the king as an excuse to see him?

Now, the king loved you. He wished Yoongi was as dedicated as you were, and always asked to see you when your father would visit. You had wished that he would ask you to marry his son, but knowing that it would make no impact with the kingdom, it was out of the question. He was probably just happy with his son having a friend of sorts.

Your father let a smirk reach his lips. "Hm. I'm sure he would be, if he's not galavanting in the village or anything."

Maybe she should stop by to greet the king. "I'll come with you." You said, smiling without paying attention. "I'm sure he'd be happy to see me."

Your father laughed. "I'm sure someone else would be happier."

"Greetings, your majesty." You bowed along side of your father as you stood in front of the king, who was sitting under the pavilion.

Smiling, the king beckoned you both to come under the shade of the pavilion.

Sitting next to him was Yoongi, who looked bored out of his mind. His gaze didn't even reach you, and you looked away from him and back to the king as you walked up the stairs. So much for coming here to see him.

The meal went on, your dad chatting with the king and talking about marriage. You pretty much tuned the whole thing out, given that you say next to Yoongi, who scooted over in the opposite direction of you.

Ouch. Now you knew you really didn't have a chance with him.

"I'm surprised you're sitting down with us, my son." The king bellowed, smiling at Yoongi who sat to his right, you sitting next to Yoongi. He huffed and picked up his utensils to start eating. "Usually you're out in the village—undercover I hope."

Yoongi hummed, not even answering with a word, and continued to eat, and the king brought his attention elsewhere. He faced your dad, smiling. "So, I'm surprised your daughter isn't married yet! My my, what a beauty."

You glanced over to Yoongi, who still stared down at his food. "Yeah, she has a few men lined up to marry her." Your father laughed, making the king chuckle as well. Yoongi finally looked up when he heard those words, now paying full attention to the conversation as he gripped his silk gown tightly in his fist.

"Oh I always wondered why a beautiful girl like her was still unwed." The king smiled over at you, and glanced at his son, who seemed to turn a bit red. "Im sure the wedding will be soon then, eh?"

Your dad hummed as he drank some rice wine. "Ah, yes. Whoever is her husband is sure one lucky guy."

"Why would be be lucky?" Yoongi scoffed, sipping his drink. "She's not even that pretty."

Silence. You nearly dropped your cup as he said this, staring at him with wide eyes.

Your dad cleared his throat and set down his cup. "Well at least you spoke today. I haven't heard your voice in ages..." he carried off, seeming offended by Yoongi's choice of words that were against his beloved daughter.

The king glared at his son. "Yoongi, that is no way to talk to our guests." He then looked over at you, noticing your dumbstruck look. "Please forgive him, he doesn't really socialize well."

Yoongi scoffed again, now slamming his cup against the table. "Why are you guys even pestering her about marriage, anyway? She has no chance with anyone other than—" he cut himself off, looking at you with a solemn expression out of all of his anger. When he noticed your eyes droop away from him and down the the table, he sighed and didn't finish what he was going to say.

Everyone was quiet. The sudden outburst from Yoongi put everyone off, even his father. As Yoongi glanced from your dad to you, you had enough of this degrading. Even though he was the one you dreamed to be with, it wasn't right for him to say those things about you.

You stood up and bowed. "I will take my leave." You said, looking to the king and to your father. "Thank you, your majesty."

He signaled oh that it was okay to leave, and you nearly ran down the steps as if to get away from the embarrassment. How did you not know that Yoongi felt so strongly for you in the most opposite way you wanted? What was the reason for him to hate you—

"Y/n!" You heard a voice yell behind you, the smack of footsteps getting louder and louder. You had stopped in your tracks, standing next to your favorite tree in the palace, the beautiful cherry blossom.

It was Yoongi behind you. He had reached you, now bent over and out of breath as if he just ran a mile. "Ah, you're fast."

You turned around with your arms across your chest. "What do you want?" You looked at him in the eye, and he stared back, nearly begging for forgiveness.

He sighed, kicking a rock that was near his feet. "I uh..." he carried off, now not being able to look at you.

No matter how mean he was to you, he always looked stunningly beautiful. His long dark hair was pulled up, his silky gown matching his hair. He had quite the scar across his cheek, but it made him more attractive in her eyes. As he stumbled on his words, you took the chance to speak. “Listen, your highness, I don’t what to hear your explanation.” You seethe, upset about how he feels towards you. “I don’t know what you were trying to say back there, but I got the message. Clearly.” You growled, turning away from him as you kept your tears in check.

Yoongi reached his arm out to touch your shoulder, making you jump. “What? What are you doing?” You asked, looking down at the ground once again, seeing the rock that he kicked was now near your feet.

“I just…” he carried off again, unable to speak the words on his mind.

You needed to get out of here before the tears began to fall. You were the daughter of the military head, how dare you cry over a boy. At least that’s what you tell yourself. You turned around quickly. “No, your highness, I’m not going to stand here and listen to how ugly I am. How I’m never going to be married because of my looks, how I—“

“I love you.” He sputtered out, looking anywhere but your eyes. “I’ve loved you since you taught me how to sword fight…and when you told me my scar was beautiful..” he carried on, now looking into your eyes with a small smile on his lips. “I didn’t mean any of that stuff back there, I was just upset to picture you..getting married to someone else.”

You were shocked. You stood there, your eyes wide open, standing in front of the man you always wished had feelings for you. And now he’s spilling his guts about how he loved you and—well, what the hell?

He stared into your eyes with worry. You weren’t saying anything back, and just when he was going to say something else, you leaned forward and let your lips touch his, out in the open courtyard for anyone to see.

You kissed him with all of the emotions you held back for as long as you could remember, and it startled him. He didn’t kiss back immediately, but as you pushed your body into his and gripped the back of his head to deepen it, he pushed his face towards you and grabbed onto your hips, pulling them flush against his.

His lips tasted like the cherry blossom tea that he drank, and his hands felt like ecstasy as they nearly tore through your clothing. His touch was like a drug you so desperately needed, and the taste of him made you feel even higher.

All that time you dreamed of kissing him could never live up to this moment, and when you pulled away, your hands still cradling his face, his still resting on your hips, he stared into your eyes and began to chuckle. You laughed back, resting your forehead on his.

“So,” he trailed on, his smile visible. “I’ll take that as an I love you too..?”

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bts fanfic #min yoongi #friends to lovers #daechwita #royalty au #historical au #bts royal au #bts historical au

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