deebris

[deebris]

Just wanted to say I love your mysterious visitor series so much and I hope you have an amazing morning/afternoon/night/REST OF YOUR LIFE

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH PLEASE DONT GET HIT BY A BUS🫵❤️

Ohhh!!! Thank you very much for all the affection and consideration! ❤️❤️

The bus part was so important, I will remember this 😩🙌

[deebris]

A Happy Ending?

Fandom: The Last of Us

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Your son and Ellie try to play matchmaker with you and Joel.

A/N: reader is 50+ years old in this fic with a 25-29 year old son! also i just wanted something cute and happy bc i miss joel...

The Last of Us Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

James had been spending a lot of time with Joel. He became interested in carpentry when Ellie showed him the guitar Joel made her.

So now you barely see your son because he’s spending all his time with Joel. Not that you mind. Honestly, James is almost 30 and never had a good father figure growing up. (Blame the outbreak and decreasing faith in humanity for that). So you’re grateful he has Joel and that Joel has taken a liking to him.

But you’re still James’ mother and he’ll always be your baby.

You knock on the door of Joel’s place. You don’t wait long until Ellie opens the door.

“James, your mom’s here!” She hollers and you giggle.

You ruffle the young teen’s hair, “How long have they been working?”

Ellie rolls her eyes, “All day. Joel hasn’t even given me my guitar lesson for the day. Tell your son to fuck off!”

You laugh, “I’ll see what I can do, but he’s a grown man.” You walk further into the home and see Joel and James hunched over the dining table, each with some pieces of wood and shavings surrounding them.

You stand behind your son, hands on his shoulders, “How’s it going, boys?”

James beams up at you and you see remnants of the young boy he used to be, “We’re carving out wooden cars for Ben’s birthday.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Everythin’ okay?” Joel asks, tilting his head down to look over his glasses.

You feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze, “Yeah, just wanted to see if I should wait for James before making dinner.”

“Shit,” your son mumbles and looks at his watch, “I lost track of time. I’m sorry, mom.”

You pay down his hair, “Baby, it’s fine. I’m glad you’re spending time with Joel and not your boring mom.”

James scrunches his face, “You’re not boring.”

You snort, “Tell that to his brother,” you nod at Joel, “Always trying to get me to go to movie nights and get togethers.”

“That’s Tommy for ya. Pain in the ass,” Joel says with a smirk, “Don’t mind him though. He’s only doing what he thinks will be good for you.”

“What about you? You think you know what’s good for me, Joel?” You give him a smirk and it makes him squirm in his chair a bit.

You and Joel have been playing this game for months now. This cat and mouse, back and forth game. Flirting and teasing and then pulling back. Honestly, at your grown age, you should be tired of it, but it brought a little thrill back into your life.

Joel clears his throat, “Suppose I don’t, but whatever you think is good for you, just..do that, I guess.”

You chuckle, “Sure, Joel,” you put your attention back on your son, “So, honey, should I wait for you?”

James shakes his head, “Nah, it’s okay. Go ahead. If anything, just leave me some leftovers or-“

“Don’t worry, we’ll feed him,” Joel says, not looking up from his project.

“You sure?”

He nods, “Yup.”

“Alright. Thanks, Joel,” you kiss James’ head, “Don’t stay here too late. The old man will probably need to sleep soon.”

Joel gives you the finger and you laugh while exiting his home.

Once you’re gone, James leans in, “Soooo…”

“Don’t start,” Joel gives him a warning glare.

The younger man holds his hands up, “I’m just sayin’, I give you my blessing to date my mom. You guys clearly have…something between you two.”

Joel takes off his glasses and sighs, leaning back in his chair, “I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, kid. And your mom? She’s pure and good and I don’t wanna taint her with my shit.”

James can’t help but scoff, “You think my mom’s pure and good? You don’t think she had to do some shitty things in order to raise me during a fucking apocalypse?” He shakes his head, “Man, I get it. You think you’re too old and tainted to have something good in your life, but after everything we’ve all gone through, we deserve good things. You deserve good things, Joel. And my mom? She likes you, really likes you. She hasn’t said it to me but I see it. I just-I want my mom to be happy and I think you can be that for her.”

“I agree,” Ellie says as she appears in the room.

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, “Fucking-Don’t gang up on me like this.”

Ellie shrugs, “He’s right, plus you can cut the sexual tension you two have with a knife!”

James grimaces, “Ugh. Please don’t talk about my mom having sex. I don’t wanna picture that.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, “Grow up, dude!”

“You grow up!”

“You’re almost thirty and sex grosses you out?”

“Sex doesn’t gross me out! The idea of my mom having sex grosses me out! You can’t tell me that the idea of Joel having sex-“

Joel decides to break up the argument, “Okay! Okay! Hey! Hey! Break it up, you two! Jesus,” he shakes his head, “Enough talking about my sex life!”

“Or lack thereof,” Ellie mumbles causing James to snicker.

Joel glares at the two, “Enough. Nothing is going to happen between Y/N and I.”

“Because you don’t want to?”

“Because it just can’t, alright? Let’s leave it at that.” He says his words with finality and goes back to working on Ben’s birthday present.

Ellie and James give each other and knowing look and then Ellie mumbles, “Whatever, dude,” and heads back to her room.

____________________________________

There's a knock at your door mid-day. You'd just gotten back from helping out in the community garden, so you're covered in soil. Nonetheless, you open the door to reveal Ellie on the other side.

"Oh, hey! James isn't here-"

"I know, I'm here to see you, actually," she steps inside and you close the door behind her.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, um, Dina mentioned that you know how to bake. Was wondering if you could teach me?"

You look at her in surprise, "Really? Didn't think you'd be interested in that."

The young teen shrugs, "Think it'd be a nice skill to have. That way I can bake shit whenever I want and don't have to trade an arm and a leg for it."

You snort, "Very true, but sure. Lemme just take a quick shower and we can get started. Feel free to hang out here. Some of James' old comics and books are on the shelf there." You point to the bookshelf in the living room.

"Sweet!" Ellie heads straight to it and you rush upstairs for a quick shower.

Twenty minutes pass and you're in the kitchen with damp hair and smelling like flowers. You have all the ingredients laid out in front of you, "Okay, so first, we pre-heat the oven so by the time we're done mixing everything together, it should be ready to pop it in."

You show her how to pre-heat the oven and then guide her back to the counter, so the best method for this is to mix all the dry ingredients together in one bowl. And the wet ingredients in another bowl, then combine them."

"Cool. Got it." You give her the measurements of each ingredient, instructing her the best way to mix everything and what to look out for. Ellie's smart and a quick learner, so she gets through it very quickly.

"Fuck yeah," she mumbles to herself in excitement when she pours out the batter into the 12-cup muffin tin.

You laugh, "You've done well so far. So now that the oven is at the temperature we want, we just slide the tin in and let them cook for about twenty-five minutes."

She slides the tin in and closes the door, "So what should we do while we wait?"

"We clean all this up," you gesture to the dirty dishes and flour and egg droppings on the counter, "and wait."

"Boring," Ellie groans, but continues to help you anyway. As you two wash the dishes, she makes conversation.

"So...how's your love life?"

You cackle at her abrupt question, "My love life?"

"Yeah. You seeing anyone? Anyone catch your eye?," she leans in and whispers, "You can tell me, I can keep a secret."

You laugh even more, "I find that hard to believe considering you and Dina share everything."

Ellie scoffs, "She's my best friend. Of course, I tell her everything." She places the spatula she washed into the the drying rack, "But we're not talking about me. We're talking about you."

You hum for a moment, "Fine. I'll play along. To answer your question, no, there isn't really anyone that's caught my eye. Not sure dating is my top priority right now."

"Why not? Don't you want someone at your side before you die?"

You look at Ellie in disbelief, "Okay, first off, I don't think I'm croaking any time soon. Second, why are you interested in my love life? Did James say something?"

"No! I just noticed that you seem to be by yourself all the time, especially since James has been spending all his time with Joel."

You sigh, "I appreciate your concern, Ellie, but I'm fine. My priority is James as well as doing my part in helping this community. What I want doesn't matter."

Ellie holds back a groan because you're starting to sound exactly like someone she knows...

_________________________

James, Joel, Tommy, and several others are working on building a new shed for some supplies. James is, basically, Joel's apprentice, and follows him everywhere, learning what he can from the older man.

As they both hammer away at planks of wood set to be the foundation of the shed, James makes conversation, "So, uh, you going to the barbecue on Friday?"

"Maybe, not sure," Joel stands up straight and rolls his shoulders, "Why?"

"I'll be there...with my mom."

Joel rolls his eyes, "James," he shakes his head, walking away, but the young man follows him, "I know you said for me to drop it, but just hear me out!"

Tommy happens to walk by and smirk, "Hear you out on what?"

Joel whips around, "Don't-"

"I think him and my mom would make a great couple."

Tommy processes the words and then smiles, "I agree."

Joel places his hands on his hips and lets his head hang low. He shakes his head, "Fucking kill me."

Tommy laughs and pats Joel on the shoulder, "Come on, brother, Y/N's a great woman. She'd definitely soften up that hard exterior of yours."

"I'm too old for this shit."

"Hell you ain't. Linda and Daniel just got together and they're older than you! Never too late to find love, even when the world's ended. Worked out for me," he gave his brother a wink and Joel wanted to punch him in the face.

James sighs, "You know I do it 'cause I care about you guys, right? There's chemistry between you and my mom and I think you'd both be dumb to not pursue it. Your pride and stubbornness be damned! I just want my mom to be happy," he mumbles the last sentence before heading back to the area that he was working on, leaving Joel to stew on his words.

It's not like Joel hasn't thought about having something with you. He's definitely thought about it. A lot. And more recently now that he and Eliie keep bringing you up. But there's still that small part of him that feels like he doesn't deserve you. It took him a lot to open his heart up to Ellie, but does his heart have room for more?

__________________________

James is out on patrol, so it's just you in the house. You figured now would be a good time to visit Joel, so you do, with a basket of baked goods.

You find him in the garage working on a truck. He's hunched over the hood and you clear your throat, startling him. He jolts, hitting his head on the hood.

You hear a hiss of pain and you rush over to him, "Shit! I'm so sorry, Joel. Didn't mean to scare you!" you look at his head, making sure there isn't any blood or swelling.

"'s alright, sweetheart. No harm, no foul."

You step back, realizing how close you've gotten, "Still, I'm sorry. Anyway, the reason for me being here is to thank you."

"For?"

"Just taking James in, being a mentor and showing him the ropes on how to fix and build things. I've done my best trying to teach him that stuff growing up, but I'm not as skilled as you are. So," you hold out the basket, "made some bread and muffins for you and Ellie and, well, anyone else you'd like to share them with. Also put in some lavender honey in there I made myself." You hand him the basket and he accepts it.

Joel looks at the basket and then you, "Well. shit. You didn't need to do all this."

You shrug, "It's nothing, really. I just-I really appreciate what you've done for James. I can tell he really looks up to you. He's never had a stable male figure in his life, so thanks."

"Yeah. You're welcome. He's a good kid. You did well."

"I did the best that I could given the circumstances. But I can say the same with you and Ellie. She's also a good kid."

Joel scoffs and props a hand on his hip, "She's a pain in my ass," he pauses and a small smile appears on his face, "But yeah, she's a pretty good kid."

You clear your throat, "Well, I'll let you get back to work," you take a few steps back and Joel stops you, "Wait!" You pause and he realizes what he's done. He curses under his breath and scratches the back of his head, "Wanna share some of these over a cup of coffee?"

You softly smile, "You should share them with other people. I make these all the time."

"I wanna share them with you, if that's okay?"

You giggle and shake your head, "Alright, if you insist."

You follow him into the house and to the kitchen. He sets the basket on the kitchen island and heads to the pot of coffee.

You lean against the counter, "Still keeping your coffee plug a secret?"

Joel gives a low chuckle as he pours a cup for you and himself, "Yeah, how else am I supposed to lure you in here?" He slides you the sugar container and you pour spoonful of it in.

"You know I come by a lot because James is always here."

He cocks a brow and smirks into his cup, "That all?"

"Nah, I like chatting with Ellie too. She's funny."

Joel hums, staring at you over his coffee cup. You're avoiding his eyes, but you feel them staring at you. You mess with the handle of the mug before speaking up again, "Do you get lonely, Joel?"

"Sometimes. Why?"

"Some stuff has come up and just made me think about things."

"Like what?"

"Us, this...game we've been playing. I flirt with you. You flirt with me, then one of us pulls back. And then we start all over again. And endless cycle...does it mean anything?" You still don't look up at him, "To me, it was all fun at first. Flirting with you and you flirting back, it made me feel alive again. Then when you pulled away and distanced yourself, I dunno. Didn't feel good."

You sigh and finally look at him, "Sorry. I'm rambling. I just want to know if this is a waste of time. It probably is," you push your mug away and stand straighter, "Thanks for the coffee," you murmur before walking away.

And for the second time today, Joel stops you, "Wait. Wait, please," he holds his arm out and you pause.

He gulps and lets out a shaky breath, "To be frank, I'm not very good at this. I'm rusty as hell, but..it wasn't just flirtin' to me, sweetheart. I like you. A lot, but you're too fucking good for me and I don't deserve someone like you."

You look at him with soft eyes, slowly approaching him. You place your hands on his chest, "Joel Miller...you are such a self-sacrificing son of a bitch," you whisper before pressing your lips to his.

The kiss is slow and hesitant. You feel Joel holding back and it isn't until you wrap your arms around him that he lets go. He allows himself to have you like this.

He presses you up against the counter, rough hands digging into your hips. He presses himself into you and you moan into his lips.

He feels himself hardening at the sound and he immediately pulls away., "Sorry, sorry. Um," he steps further away from you, running a hand down his face, "Didn't mean to get carried away."

You laugh, "It's fine, Joel. You're fine."

He takes up his usual pose, hands on his hips and contemplation on his face, "So...what now?"

"Now, we see how it goes. Not only will you have James bothering you all the time, but I'll be there with him."

Joel softly smiles at you, "I think I'll be okay with that."

______________________________

When James comes back from patrol, Ellie immediately runs up to him, "Dude!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong! Everything's right!" Ellie stares up at him with excitement.

James looks at her suspiciously, "What happened?"

"I saw your mom bring Joel the muffins we baked the other day and they went inside the house. They were making out! Our plan worked!"

He held up his hand, "Hold on, you were watching out parents makeout?"

"Ew, no! Dina and I peeped through the kitchen window and saw them sucking each other's faces-"

"Please spare me the details."

Ellie rolls her eyes, "So fucking childish," she murmurs, "but anyway we did it. Joel and your mom are together!"

"Great! Now I need to tell Joel that if he hurts her, I'll kill him."

Ellie snorts and crosses her arms over her chest, "Pretty sure he'd kill himself if he ever does. But whatever. They get their happily ever after and shit!" she lightly punches his arm and goes walking off to wherever.

___________________________

"You fucking cheated!"

"I didn't! Uno is literally a game of chance! It's not my fault you kept pulling yellow cards when blue is called!"

You and Joel watch as Ellie and James argue with each other on the floor, while you and he are cuddled up on the couch.

You lean in, whispering, "Aren't you glad our kids get along?" you ask with sarcasm dripping in your tone.

He chuckles, "Oh yeah, they get along great," he whispers back and then kisses your head.

For the first time in a very long time, Joel feels whole and happy again.

[deebris]

hii,hope you’re well,are you planning to continue ur Shelby sister series?

Hello!👋

In fact, the acts are finished. I don't think I made that clear, or maybe the ending wasn't satisfactory. My mistake.

But I can post something more. I will write.

[deebris]

Act 3: Retraction

Shelby family x sister reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: You’re wounded, Edmund Beaumont is dead, and Liam is missing. The news hits the Shelbys like an avalanche, fueling their rage as they see the condition of their younger sister. Now, the hunt for the boy, who has earned the family’s respect, becomes a top priority.

Warnings: Graphic violence, blood, explicit language.

Word count: ≈ 1.8k

ACT 1: Permission — ACT 2: Sacrifice

The early morning in Birmingham was even greyer than usual, as if the clouds had sensed Tommy’s conflicting thoughts. He climbed the steps of that old house, one just like hundreds of others, and stopped on the porch as if lost in contemplation.

Finn waited patiently below, hands clasped in front of him, a clear sign of unspoken shame. The boy was afraid of his older brothers and bore a black eye, a gift from John for his recklessness last night, when he left you alone while he enjoyed stolen whiskey with Isaiah.

They found you in tears near the Garrison. The gentlemen on the pavement made a fuss, and luckily, John and Arthur were inside. They tried to touch your bruised face, but you screamed in pain. Your body trembled as if you'd just emerged from an icy lake, your voice frantic as you sobbed incoherent words to them. Arthur said you didn’t let go of his arm for hours.

John went looking for Liam with a few men, at the very place you said he’d be. But when they arrived, they found nothing but a disturbing scene — the ground was red, Mark Winslow’s lifeless body lay bleeding near some barrels, and there was no sign of the other two. News spread across the docks and Small Heath like the plague.

Tommy arrived a while later, he and John standing over the scene, tense as stone. They both stiffened when a policeman approached, lowering his voice to deliver a whispered message from Sabini:

“The lad” Beaumont “acted for personal reasons, but they won’t hand him over.” The officer spoke hastily, his moustache twitching as he swallowed hard.

“Won’t hand him over, for fuck’s sake?!” John roared, kicking a wooden barrel with force.

“We don’t need them to. We’ll find him ourselves.” Tom stated, voice as calm as ever. “This stopped being just Winslow’s problem the moment that lad and the Sabinis decided to shelter him.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell you they hadn’t found Liam. Instead, he told you a lie. And it was only with that false hope that you managed to sleep.

“He’s fine, just a few scratches.” That was the lie he crafted, avoiding the bright, hopeful eyes of his younger sister as he reassured her in a half-hearted embrace.

A butcher claimed he had seen the end of the fight when he stepped out to take the rubbish. Edmund Beaumont had run after his friend hit the ground, while Liam, too injured to even walk properly, clutched his stomach the entire time.

“The mate was stubborn, wouldn’t let me touch him.” The man’s voice was weighted with pity. “Said he needed to know if someone… a girl, I think, was alright.”

Back in the present, Tommy sighed, weary from staring at the worn wooden door. But just as he raised his hand to knock, something stopped him.

“Can I help you, sir?” A timid voice made him turn his head. A woman stood there, firewood in her arms, her expression laced with concern.

“We’re looking for Liam Byrne. Are you his neighbour?” He asked, slipping his hands into the pockets.

“Is he in trouble?”

The suspicion in her tone made Tom go silent. He assessed the woman once more, glancing at her house next door. Two small silhouettes were visible in the window, probably her children.

“He isn’t.” The answer was curt, only deepening her doubt.

“Miss Mason, do you remember me?” Finn interjected, stepping forward. “I’m… I’m a friend of his.”

The last words left his mouth with difficulty, as though he no longer deserved to call himself that after everything.

She wet her lips, studying Finn with more attention, recognising the boy as, in fact, one of Liam’s friends. She hesitated, but then gave in:

“He didn’t come home last night.” She glanced around as if speaking about it were dangerous. “Liam never got himself into trouble. He’s good. So if something’s happened, please, tell me.”

Tommy stepped down from the porch, frowning at the information.

“He didn’t come home?” The question was rhetorical, but even so, the woman nodded again.

“His mother stayed at mine last night. She’s terribly worried.”

“We’ll find him, miss. Don’t worry.” Finn spoke with newfound determination, stepping closer to his brother to whisper:

“I think I know where he might be.”

Tommy had no choice but to let himself be led once again. They walked briskly, heading towards the outskirts of Birmingham, where abandoned train tracks lay forgotten. Rusted wagons, overgrown with vines, stood scattered around, the metal nearly swallowed by the wild.

He didn’t want to imagine what Finn and his pals used this place for. Tom knew his younger brother’s antics well enough to be sure that knowing the details would only give him a headache.

“Liam came here with us sometimes. When he had time, at least.” Finn murmured as they searched. “There was one time… well, he wasn’t feeling right and ended up here.”

Tom remained silent, exhaling sharply. That boy, Byrne, had surprised him — and, in a way, he felt indebted. But here and now, searching for him, Thomas realised it wasn’t duty driving him. He genuinely wanted to find the dockworker, as if looking for one of his own.

A twig snapped underfoot, and as he reflexively glanced down, he spotted a red trail.

“Check the wagons.” He ordered, moving swiftly.

He searched frantically, weaving between the rusted compartments, his tension mounting as he found more blood. The thought of Liam lying dead made his throat tighten with guilt. What would he tell you? What would have become of you without him yesterday?

“Tommy! I found him!” Finn’s voice rang out like salvation.

Tommy sprinted towards his brother, climbing into the wagon. Liam was slumped against the wall, pale as a sheet, his face battered and bruised. His hand still clutched his stomach, just as the butcher had said.

“He’s been stabbed.” Finn stated flatly, reaching out to check if Liam was conscious.

“Liam.” Tom patted his cheek. “Liam, come on, son. Wake up.”

“Is he dead?”

“No.” Tom snapped, hating the thought. “Go get John. And a doctor.”

Finn nodded like a soldier receiving orders, but before he could leave, a weak grip caught his coat.

“And a doctor, you hear me?” Tommy repeated. “Don’t forget the doctor.”

“Right.” Finn locked eyes with him, every nerve in his body primed for action. And when Thomas let go, he bolted.

“Mr Shelby?” Liam’s voice was barely above a whisper. He was weak, exhausted, and parched.

“My boy, let me see.” Tom reached for his bloodied hand, but the lad wouldn’t let go.

His body was so spent that he barely felt the pain.

“Is she alright?” His words were faint. “I need to know if she’s safe, Mr Shelby.”

“She’s safe, lad. She made it home.” Tom reassured him. “Why did you come here?”

“My mum… I didn’t want her to see me like this.” He spoke as though he weren’t barely clinging on.

“Thank you.” The words were heavy, worth more than gold.

“I didn’t do it for you, sir.” He answered simply. There was no contempt, just the truth.

“I know.” Tom exhaled, hand resting against the back of Liam’s head with rare tenderness. “I know.” He repeated it more intensely, as if that was exactly what he was thankful for.

He no longer resembled the same man who had welcomed him to his office the previous week.

“Which one of them stabbed you?”

“Edmund.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched.

“He’ll pay.”

“You shouldn’t get involved, sir. The Sabinis will think I acted on the Shelbys’ behalf. You’ve got enough trouble with them as it is.”

“But you did act, lad.” Tommy’s voice carried conviction. “You risked your own life for a Shelby.”

“I’m not a gangster, sir. Nor a killer. It was an accident...” Liam finally broke. The tears fell down his cheeks, as if they had been waiting for permission. “My mother can’t know. It’d destroy her.”

“She won’t hear a word about what happened. I'll handle it, don't think about Sabini.”

“You can’t fix death.” Liam murmured, and the only thing Thomas could think of was that the boy was right. And that's why he wouldn't let him die. “Please, don’t tell her either. Don’t tell her I killed him.”

Her. You.

He hesitated for a moment. But when he exhaled, he gave a single nod.

“She won’t know.”

That promise was the last thing spoken, as Tommy made sure Liam stayed conscious until help arrived. He pulled off his coat, using it to wipe the dirt from the lad’s mouth and his exposed neck. By sheer luck — or perhaps some desperate instinct — Liam had found a position that slowed the bleeding. It was the only reason he was still alive.

“Where are they?” John’s voice rang out, slightly muffled by the distance. Tommy stood, stepping out of the wagon to face him.

“It’s not so serious. It's only bad because it took a long time to be treated.” The doctor declared, his voice steady, a man well-seasoned in his profession, and well-paid for his discretion.

With swift efficiency, he assessed the wound. A second later, he was pressing gauze to it, soaking it in alcohol. Liam groaned, the pain sending a violent shudder through him. His trembling hands, slick with blood, tried in vain to push away the three men working on his wound.

Both Shelbys, faces grim and damp with sweat, lifted him carefully, ensuring they didn’t make the injury worse. Liam let out a muffled cry as his feet left the ground, the throbbing agony making his vision blur.

The car that had brought them there, a black Ford, was parked just a few metres away. Moving quickly, Tommy pulled open the back door as John eased him onto the seat, placing a folded coat under his head for support.

“Hang in there, mate.” John muttered before sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Liam.” Tommy’s voice was firm as he spoke the name, stopping the door before it closed.

“Yes, sir?” He responded with a grunt.

“You have my blessing. You hear me?” The sentence came out in a rush, urgently. “I give you my permission.”

Even through the fever, even in his dazed state, Liam understood exactly what the older man meant. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, and for the first time, his furrowed brows weren’t from pain, but from relief.

And then he smiled. A small, knowing smile.

“Thank you, sir.”

Tag list:

@jsprien213 @salvatt1 @themorriganisamonster @thatsroug @sxurcherries @mclarens-type-is-my-type @boomdolle @macimads @sangdium45

[deebris]

Act 2: Sacrifice

Shelby family x sister reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: Liam Byrne was enduring yet another grueling day of work when he heard a voice that once brought him comfort, but now sounded like a forbidden melody. Yet, upon seeing you in danger, ignoring it was impossible. Without a second thought, he risked his own safety to protect you.

Warnings: Physical aggression, verbal abuse, violence, intimidation, control, harmful power dynamics.

Word count: ≈ 1.7k

ACT 1: Permission — ACT 3: Retraction

It was almost nightfall, but the work pace at the docks was intense. On any other day, things would have slowed down by now, but today Liam had carried more weight than he had the entire past week.

He felt exhausted, and his hands were bruised all over. The tips of his nails were black due to the dried blood beneath them, and the stress was palpable, yet he couldn't stop. Not even for you.

The boy heard your worried voice, calling his name with a serenity that could even make the rain fall slower. He shivered, the fingers freezing on the crate, and his heart pounded frantically. The cargo nearly fell due to the weakness caused by nervousness.

“You should be heading home,” he said, knowing your routine after school and not daring to look at your face — the same face that haunted him in his dreams.

He placed the heavy crate on the ground, trying to ignore you. Since what happened between him and your brothers, Byrne had decided to keep his distance from you, telling himself he wasn't allowed to stay close.

And he hadn't forgotten Finn's threat. But it wasn't that he was afraid, Liam simply didn't want to cause his ex-friend any more anger. Their friendship was now nothing but a distant memory, and soon after, Isaiah also began avoiding him.

“I thought of you and decided to check if everything was okay. Is your mother better?” you said, moving slightly to the left to make way for a worker. "You look like you haven't rested in days."

“I'm fine.” No, he wasn't. “My mother too, the neighbor is taking care of her.” Liam replied simply, but with his natural gentleness. “Hasn't Finn come to pick you up?” He asked, concerned. The Shelby surname could mean a lot, but it wouldn't always protect you.

“He didn't show up. I looked for him, but…” You looked at him uncertainly, trying to dismiss the chills you'd been feeling since class ended, as if footsteps had been following yours the whole time. “I noticed you two are distant. Did you have a fight?”

Your question finally made him stop what he was doing. Liam suddenly remembered the state of his nose, which was covered in bruises. He ran a hand through his hair, then rested both hands on his waist.

“You don't have to worry about me and your brother,” he said, as if trying to reassure you from something, while subtly hiding your suspicions about the injury.

You rubbed the shoulders, feeling a cold breeze, and adjusted your coat, but a confused expression remained. He saw you nod and prepare to leave, but then you stopped.

“I know we're not close…” You began, feeling a tightness in the throat. “But if something's wrong between you and Finn, you should sort it out soon. I like your friendship.” Your voice was melodic, almost a prayer, and he wondered if you'd spoken to Finn about this too.

Liam furrowed his brows, displaying an expression worthy of a painting. For a moment, your mind drifted from reality to admire his features — not just that, but his posture and everything that reflected in him. He was handsome; soft and strong at the same time, an enigmatic contradiction, yet it worked.

Besides, you'd never seen him drink, smoke, or go out with girls, like your brother. Some nights, before going to sleep, you'd think about it and wonder if he did it when no one was watching. When you weren't watching.

“Finn and I will sort things out on our own.” He snapped you out of your thoughts. “Like I said, you don't need to worry.”

Liam seemed much calmer after your question and raised his hand slightly, as if wanting to touch your arm, but held back.

“I like that you're his friend.” Your confession made him narrow the eyes, caught off guard. “You're good for him. You knock some sense into that blockhead.”

His mouth turned into an amused smile and he laughed; or rather, chuckled. A genuine reaction that you mirrored.

“Blockhead...” He repeated the word you used, finding it new that it came out of a such polite girl. “Be careful.” Liam warned warmly, as a farewell, returning to his task of stacking crates.

“You too.”

He heard and kept your words, watching from the corner of his eye as you walked away a few meters, as if that would protect you from some imminent danger. He would take care of himself, or at least try to, because you asked.

Liam analyzed the remaining cargo and the darkness starting to taint the sky. The docks were becoming emptier and quieter, with only a few men lingering, some chatting while others exchanged coins.

Before you arrived, he was already prepared to go home, but not to rest — rather, to finally check on his mother.

He reeked like a pig, and only then did he wonder if you'd noticed the stench. The sweat that had dried with the breeze left his skin sticky and stained with dirt. His only comfort would be taking a bath, eating some bread or porridge, and then sleeping. There was no time to care for his wounded hands; they would have to heal on their own.

The next day, everything would repeat itself, from the labor to the injuries.

But his plans were interrupted by a commotion. Liam turned, seeing you being cornered by two other boys in the distance. They looked much older, and without any good intentions.

He looked around, as if the simple gesture would make Finn appear to save you, but that wouldn’t happen. He immediately ran, narrowing his eyes as he saw the boldest one place a hand on you — far too close to somewhere inappropriate. Everything in your body screamed discomfort, or worse, fear.

“Oi! Get your hands off her!” Liam shouted with ferocity, his muscles tense, even those in his face.

“Who the fuck are you?!” The one standing further away stepped in front of him, grabbing Liam by the collar.

Liam recognized him. It was Edmund, delinquent son of Nigel Beaumont, the clerk. This boy was known as a walking problem, the type who did quick illegal jobs for big names in Birmingham.

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Liam asked the question with authority, threatening him with a look that made eyelash tremble. “You’ve worked for the Shelbys, you know exactly who she is. Have you got any idea what the hell they’ll do to you for touching their sister?”

Meanwhile, you struggled to free yourself, shooting a furious glare at the second boy, who was gripping your arm far too tightly.

“Let me go!” You shouted in disgust at his foul breath, which only angered him more. He tangled his fingers in your hair, yanking it until you whimpered.

Liam saw how you were forced to tilt your chin up, seeking relief from the pain, while the boy's breath brushed against your cheeks. Edmund wrinkled his nose, his gaze faltering, but soon enough, rage returned to his features.

“Playing the good Samaritan, are we? Are you trying to help me or her? Mind your own business, Byrne.” He pronounced the surname with contempt upon recognizing him as well, while loosening his grip on Liam's collar, afraid of having the wrist broken. “I don’t give a toss if she’s a Shelby. I work for the Sabinis now.”

“This slag called me a dog the other day. I’m just settling the score,” the one behind you said with sarcasm.

Liam’s aura turned darker upon hearing the pathetic excuse. His once light iris turned black.

“Over that?!” you exclaimed in horror, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry!”

“Are you the shit of a weakling?” Liam stepped forward but halted as he heard another whimper of pain from you.

The two boys seemed wounded by the insult, both snorting through their nostrils.

“Mark, did you hear what he just called you?” Edmund spoke in an oddly calm tone. “A weakling,” he repeated the word as if savoring it.

He shoved you away, causing you to hit the ground, scraping your knees and the palms of your hands. Tears welled up in your eyes from the burning pain of the scratches.

“Since you're feeling so brave, why don't you pay for the lady's debts then?” Mark's cynical smirk revealed his yellowed teeth, his first words so far.

“No! Leave him alone!” Rushing to your feet, you tried to stop Mark from advancing, but he backhanded you, sending you crashing to the ground again.

Your face burned, the pain searing through the cheek as blood trickled from mouth. Your teeth had accidentally bitten your lip, and when you raised the hand to your cheek, they laughed.

Liam felt a fury ignite in his chest, swiftly landing a punch on Mark. He would have hit him a thousand more times if Edmund hadn’t pulled a switchblade from his pocket. The sharp blade clicked as it sprang out, filling you with panic and forcing Liam to step back.

“Get out of here. Find one of your brother Thomas’s men and stay with him,” he ordered, not taking his eyes off the two.

Liam knew exactly what you were thinking now; he could feel your hesitation from miles away.

“Get up!” he shouted in a way you didn’t think was possible, making you jump back but obey.

“I'd listen to your little friend,” Mark mocked while readjusting the posture.

They were closing in on him, and you didn’t want to leave. This wasn’t Liam’s fight; he put himself in danger for your sake. A wave of helplessness made your lips tremble, and your tear-filled eyes met his, of which were soft as fresh mint. You silently apologized, fearing for his life.

But then, a determined expression crossed your face, something that alarmed Liam. You delivered a sharp kick to Mark’s leg, just as Ada had taught you. He yelped in surprise, The injured leg gave out, causing him to fall to the ground.

Edmund looked ready to come after you, but Liam blocked him.

You hoped you’d at least given Liam an advantage as you ran as fast as you could — not out of cowardice, but out of desperation to find someone who would save him in time.

A sob escaped your lips as you heard the sound of another punch being thrown, but you didn’t dare look back to see who was taking the hit. Running was your only mission now.

Tag list:

@jsprien213 @salvatt1 @themorriganisamonster @thatsroug @sxurcherries @mclarens-type-is-my-type @boomdolle @macimads @sangdium45

[deebris]

I just read your first Peaky fanfic and it’s so so so so good. Please write a full length fanfic with dark abusive Tommy and female original character! Period typical attitudes

Thank you so much! I'm really happy to receive such kind feedback.

I've never written anything other than "x reader" here on Tumblr, so this would be something new for me. I also tend to keep the characters as true to their original personalities as possible. However, considering the time period and context of Peaky Blinders, I believe something like that could work.

Lately, I've been trying to improve my writing, so maybe I could use your request as a study. But right now, I'm focused on finishing the three acts of my current fic. I can't promise anything yet, but keep an eye out — maybe I'll post something right after act 3 is released.

[deebris]

Act 1: Permission

Shelby family x sister reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: Liam Byrne (OC), a humble dockworker and your brother Finn's closest friend, has secretly fallen for you. Driven by pure intentions, he dares to face the most feared man in Birmingham — Thomas Shelby — to ask for permission to court you. However, in a world where power speaks louder than love, Liam's courage might not be enough.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, cigarettes, angst.

Word count: ≈ 1.6k

Observation: The reader does not actively participate in this story. Additionally, this is my first time writing for the Peaky Blinders universe.

ACT 2: Sacrifice — ACT 3: Retraction

“Let me see if I understand this correctly.” Tommy removed his reading glasses to look at the young man closely. “You came here to ask for permission to court my little sister, is that it?”

“Yes, Mr. Shelby,” his inexperienced voice confirmed. Though he stammered at first, there was no hesitation in the words.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, sighing as he studied the boy for any obvious flaws. He didn’t yet have the face of a man, but his hands were so rough and calloused that them revealed the responsibility he carried.

Liam Byrne worked from dawn until dusk, seven days a week. His sun-tanned skin and tired eyes also told the tale of his hard routine. His hair, once a lighter brown in his infancy, now used to be dark, covered in grease and mud.

But Tommy noticed the effort he made to look presentable. His white shirt was clean, and the shoes were polished despite being worn out. His hair had been washed, each strand perfectly in place. And the scent he wore, though faint, was pleasant. Liam wanted to make a good impression, the one of a decent and civilized man.

Looking at him a bit longer, his face seemed familiar. It wasn’t uncommon to see him near the canals or walking with Finn every once in a while.

“Byrne, right?” The Shelby asked just to confirm, trying to remember any other member of the family. “And what do you do for a living?”

“I work at the docks, sir. I unload and load most of the boats that come in.”

Tommy was silent for a moment, observing Liam with an impassive face, which made the boy swallow hard. It was clear how he interlaced his fingers, waiting for the man in front of him to say something. Byrne didn’t seem afraid, but he was nervous.

“You’re a dockworker?” Tom finally spoke, bewildered.

“Exactly, sir,” he said without shame, but also without pride. It’s honest work, true, but it wasn’t up to a Shelby’s standard.

Liam's hands clenched his knees so tightly that the knuckles turned white.

“And what exactly does a dockworker think he can offer my sister?’

Tommy’s voice was so calm it made him tense up even more. Intimidating, yes, and Liam knows he is facing a powerful man; someone who deserves more respect than all the gentlemen in Birmingham put together.

He was in love with you in a way that went beyond mere infatuation; it was almost suffocating, as if his heart would leap from his chest every time he saw you. That’s why Thomas Shelby’s approval was so important to him.

And the poor Liam was too decent to get involved with a young lady without her family’s knowledge.

“For now, I can’t offer much more than security and a comfortable life, but…”

“Security? A comfortable life?” Tommy interrupted him harshly, as if he had said something ridiculous.

The boy’s green eyes blinked a few times but never wavered, never looking down. Thomas liked that, he had to admit, but it wasn’t enough.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

It wasn’t much different from your age, just two years older, and it explained a lot of his stupid determination.

“Does my sister know about your feelings?”

“I haven’t confessed yet, sir. But it’s what I want, that’s why I’m here.”

“And Finn knows? You’re friends with him and Isaiah.” Tommy asked suspiciously.

“I haven’t told Finn either. But it’s not that I was trying to hide anything, quite the opposite…” Liam interrupted himself upon seeing Tommy’s displeased face, his voice growing quieter, and then he knew something had gone wrong — terribly wrong.

He immediately regretted never having had the courage to talk to Finn about it. Maybe his friend would have reacted well, and it would have helped him gain the older brother’s trust.

“Who’s your father, lad?” The question came like a punch in the stomach to Liam, whose shoulders slumped under an invisible weight.

“I never knew him. He left when I was little, sir. It’s just me and my sick mother.”

Tommy took a deep breath, a trace of empathy showing on his expression, but pity wasn’t going to help you at all.

The Shelby stood up from his chair, taking a few steps to stand in front of the younger. Tom leaned against the desk, reflecting on Liam’s audacity. Despite not having a surname or possessions, he seemed to care about you enough to at least try. But he couldn’t be so reckless as to give credibility to this boy.

“Byrne”, Tommy said his name like a sentence. “I must admit, you’re more honorable than most of the men I’ve seen interested in her. None of them came to me first.” He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, inhaling the smoke before exhaling it. “But you’d be very foolish if you thought I would allow such a thing.”

Hearing that made Liam feel something breaking inside, as if his heart was a coffee bean, destined to be ground into tiny pieces. He processed Thomas’s last words with unusual speed, and the desperation hit him violently.

In all rationality, he wouldn’t have stood up the way he did, and he wouldn’t have used the tone of voice he used.

“Mr. Shelby, I can be good for her,” the boy said almost pleadingly. “I’m not asking to marry her, that’s up to her to decide. I just want your permission to act on how I feel.”

“Act on how you feel? You’ve chosen dangerous words.” Tommy approached him with a calculated fury, placing his index finger, where now he also supported the cigarette, on Liam’s face. “I’ll tell you one thing, Byrne, I know exactly how most lads your age feel, I was one of them.”

Liam became serious, realizing the malicious tone and gravity of the accusation. His eyes flashed with indignation, and he shook his head several times, as if denying a crime before a judge.

“It’s not like that, sir. My reasons are pure. I’m a religious man, my mother raised me with virtues.”

“You’d be surprised what I’ve seen religious men do to women, Byrne. In the end, they’re no different from dogs in heat, hungry, devouring with their eyes pure girls, just like they do with the whores in brothels.” Tommy’s tone remained sharp, like a blade ready to cut. “Now, get out of my sight.”

Liam’s stomach churned in nausea. He wasn’t innocent; he had overheard many dirty conversations between the dock workers, full of insults and statements that challenged even the limits of morality, but he never thought he’d hear something so rude when he walked through the door. A death threat would’ve been less impactful.

His bright irises swept over Thomas’s, looking for a weak spot, a sign that he might change his mind. But it didn’t happen. A strong realization hit him like a bucket of cold water, and all the hope he had seemed childish. Liam kept his lips firmly closed, his expression still impassive, and nodded in defeat.

Coward — he thought of himself for giving in so easily. But he should’ve known that a mere conversation or request wouldn’t be enough. He wouldn’t be enough; because you deserved someone far better, someone your brother could trust and rest assured, because he could give you the comfort and life you should have.

“Excuse me.” He asked, going to retrieve the coat he had left resting on the chair.

Tommy watched him like an eagle as he opened the office door, only to find Finn on the other side. Liam froze, staring at his friend, who wore a beastly expression, as if he were going to kill him right then and there.

“My sister?” Finn sounded aggressive, just as he looked, but there was a second feeling behind it, a hint of disappointment. He had heard everything from behind the door as soon as Polly told him his friend was here.

“Finn…” Liam said the name carefully, but it seemed to be the trigger Finn needed to attack him.

Finn threw a punch, not caring that he was taller or stronger, and Liam didn’t dare to fight back — out of respect.

He was aware of the risk of coming here and fully understood the reaction, but still wasn’t prepared to take a beating from someone so close. Byrne wanted to shout that he wasn’t trying to stab him in the back, that he didn’t want to be discourteous to him and his family, but it was difficult to speak.

“Finn!” Tommy yelled, needing to grab both of his younger brother’s arms, who still wanted to attack.

Liam got up without much difficulty, but his nose was bleeding. He composed himself slowly, ready to offer an apology, when Finn started yelling:

“Get the hell out of here, you bastard!” He said, his face red with rage as he spat at his friend or ex-friend’s feet. “If I catch you looking at her, I’ll kill you, you fucker!”

“Leave.” Tommy said, almost like advice, which Liam didn’t dare disobey.

He immediately walked into the hallway, trying to stop his nose from bleeding as he passed two people. Liam felt bad for not being able to say goodbye to the lady who welcomed him, or at least give a brief introduction to the man next to her, he just hurried to avoid them trying to help.

Polly and Arthur stared wide-eyed at the boy, who was leaving a trail of blood behind him, and exchanged looks when he went out the front door.

“Jesus Christ.” Polly murmured, following Arthur urgently towards the shouting in the office.

[deebris]

You can make a ghost x child daughter

Hello! I just posted. I don't know if this is exactly what you were looking for, but here's the link:

Heartbeat

[deebris]

Heartbeat

Simon "Ghost" Riley x daughter reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: At just eight years old, you struggle with a heart condition that makes you too fragile for shocks or exertion. To protect you, Simon keeps his military life as far away as possible, and his home, a safe refuge. But everything changes when an intruder, unaware of Simon's true identity, decides to rob them. What should have been a simple burglary turns into a desperate race against time when fear triggers a heart attack. Now, Simon is not only fighting the thief — he's fighting to save your life.

Warnings: Profanity, firearms, panic, mentions of death, the reader is 8 years old, has Long QT Syndrome and is a girl.

Word count: 4.5k

Observation: English is not my first language, and I have very little exposure to British English specifically. I had a really hard time writing Simon and Price's dialogue, but I hope I at least got close to something more realistic.

Simon put you to sleep, just like he had for the past two nights, and now he lay with his head resting against the pillow, the insomnia visiting him once again. He was exhausted from the day, chasing after you and handling your tantrums – but still, sleep wouldn’t come. No one would believe it if they were told that he, a shadowy wall of muscle and silence, spent his afternoons playing dolls and tea parties with an eight-year-old girl.

Your father always watched you sleep for a while, his calloused fingers gently brushing your chubby cheek and smoothing your hair. He admired your serenity, as if the world were perfect and no problems existed. Simon wished you could stay that way forever, carefree and small. The thought of you growing up and facing the world unsettled him, but it was inevitable.

You were a wellspring of joy, something that warmed his heart. Always looking for him, and always worried about how he felt, if he was okay, when he should be the one asking you that. Something inside Simon shifted every time you asked if he was hurting when went too quiet.

He used to think that a child’s mind was too oblivious to understand how adults worked, but you always noticed every time his eyes tightened just a fraction differently, wondering: Why is Daddy sad? And not every time was he exactly sad, but sometimes, his gaze grew distant, thoughts reaching faraway places. Now, he was much more careful not to let it happen around you, not wanting his daughter to think something was wrong with her father.

Everything about you made him immensely happy, a feeling buried deep in his chest that he had to protect you at all costs. But Simon couldn’t protect you from his greatest fear. Your heart worked differently, he had told you that himself, and it had brought him to the edge of panic more times than he could count. When it wasn’t clear what was wrong, he felt useless, powerless, as if he would never be enough.

Once, you couldn’t breathe at daycare, and he was thousands of miles away. Your babysitter called him in tears, it was one of the worst moments of his life. He thought you were going to die, and the very idea haunted him like some loathsome creature. He had faced death many times, in many forms, but with you, it was utterly devastating. You couldn’t disappear. It would destroy him.

When he was near, he handled you like porcelain, always cautious, as if something invisible could suddenly trigger another episode, making you cry from a pain he couldn't take away.

That’s why he refused to take anything that might help him sleep, twisting at the thought of you needing him and him being too dazed to respond. He forced himself to stay awake, alert, every little noise in the house making him tense. A creaking window, the sound of distant footsteps, a whisper in the hallway – he always checked – even knowing it was probably just his mind creating monsters. But he couldn’t help it. The fear of something happening while he was lost in the darkness of his own mind was unbearable.

In the middle of the night, he would get up several times just to check if you were still breathing. The room was silent, except for the rhythmic, comforting sound of your breath. Occasionally, there was a small hesitation, a brief pause that sent his heart into his throat, before the steady rise and fall of your chest resumed. He knew it was paranoia, but he couldn’t stop. To him, you were more important than the very oxygen in his lungs. Every beat of your heart mattered more than his own life.

But he wasn’t unshakable, no matter how much he wished to be for you. Eventually, exhaustion would take hold, his bloodshot eyes pulling him into the dark. When it did, he would wake at the first sign of morning – his sleep never lasting long. But tonight, something was different. He woke up much earlier.

A crash from the hallway, the sound of a lamp shattering against the floor, yanked him into full awareness. Like an instinct buried deep within him had been triggered, Simon’s hearing sharpened instantly. His body tensed, slipping into a readiness only someone like him could know. With a single swift motion, he was out of bed, his bare feet touching the floor with such precision that they barely made a sound.

Then, a sharp, terrified scream shattered the silence, echoing through the house.

It was your voice.

“Daddy!”

Cold fear rushed through his veins. His heart pounded violently, but he didn’t hesitate. Instinct seized him like a crushing weight, and he moved with the speed of a predator. The sound of his own ragged breath and the pounding of his heartbeat were all he heard as he bolted toward your room, his only thought to reach you before anything else could.

He burst through your door, flipping the switch to flood the room with light.

Someone was there.

A boy, probably a teenager. He wore a balaclava and clutched a pistol, the serial number scratched off. Simon noticed it instantly. He always noticed details – nothing escaped him – and guilt tore through his chest.

He should have prevented this. He should have seen the signs before the intruder ever set foot in his house.

“Stay there!” The boy shouted, his voice trembling. His hands shook so much they could barely hold the gun. He seemed on the verge of collapsing, as if he might wet himself at any moment. Maybe he was just a young man making a stupid mistake, a rash decision. That's what Simon's rational side told himself. But his emotional side could only feel anger – a muffled, uncontrollable fury burning inside – because of how that gun had been pointed at you just seconds ago.

Simon's figure must have terrified the invader even more. The boy hadn't expected to find someone like him. Tall. Intimidating. His face covered in scars, his eyes cold and empty. Instinct screamed inside the younger: this is no ordinary man. Even when Simon raised his hands, in a gesture of surrender, he didn't seem to feel safe.

“Calm down.” Simon's deep, imposing voice filled the room. The boy trembled even more. The lieutenant opened his hands, trying to show he wouldn't do anything.

He heard your crying. He could feel your heart racing, almost as fast as his own. And that was not a good sign. Your chest was rising and falling irregularly. He knew you needed help. Now.

“Put the gun down, kid.”

“I'm not putting anything down, Motherfucker!” He shouted, his voice shrill, desperate. You jumped in bed. Simon diverted his eyes for a second, just to see how you clung to the blanket, your fingers gripping so tightly they were turning white. Your father knew the swearing, the yelling, and that gun were terrifying you.

“Look at me! Don't look at her!” The boy yelled again, hysterical. Fear was written all over his face. He thought Simon might attack him at any moment.

“You can take whatever you want, just put the gun down.” Simon's voice came out brutal again, cutting. He needed to appear in control, even though he wasn't. He moved his hands slowly, cautiously, trying to convince the stranger he wasn’t a threat.

Meanwhile, your mind was on high alert, painted red as you saw the barrel of the gun pointed at your father. For a dark moment, you thought that guy was going to hurt him.

“I didn't know she was here, I swear.” The kid whispered. His breathing was erratic. “I don't want to take anything, I just want to leave. I'm very sorry...”

Simon saw the tremor in the boy's shoulders, saw the tears forming behind the fabric of the balaclava. He was crying, probably from the shock of finding a child while doing something so horrific.

“Fine. Then go.” Simon agreed, his mind spinning, his heart hammering in his chest. He just wanted to get to you. Your breathing was becoming difficult. You were so scared you could barely speak.

The thief swallowed hard. His gaze wavered for a second.

“As soon as I get closer, you'll grab me.” He said as if it were a fact, sizing up Simon’s physique – a man who knows how to fight. A cop, maybe? Military? The boy knew he wouldn't stand a chance against him.

“I won’t.” Simon kept his voice firm, but he felt the fear seeping in. His eyes quickly shifted to you, seeing your feet moving under the blanket, you were in agony.

Then he saw it.

Your small chest rising and falling erratically. You brought your hand to your heart, your face contorting. Pain.

Panic exploded inside Simon.

If it weren’t for you, Simon would have already lunged at the invader and ended it. But he couldn’t risk it. A stray bullet. One wrong move.

“What’s your name?” His voice came out softer, controlled.

“J-James...” He stammered.

The oldest in the room nodded, memorizing the name. “James. I’m Simon.”

The boy just nodded.

“You look young. I reckon you made a mistake comin’ ‘ere, and now you’re regrettin’ it.” Simon measured each word with precision. “I don’t care if you walk out that door and vanish, just as long as you’re outta my daughter’s sight.”

He was lying. He was lying with every word. But he needed James to believe it. He needed him to leave. He was definitely going after him later.

James averted his gaze and, for the first time, really looked at you.

Your body was trembling. Tears streamed down your face. Your lips were trembling so much you couldn’t speak.

“W-What’s wrong with her?” The young man asked hesitantly. His voice was different now, but Simon didn’t want to talk. He needed to get to you.

“You're frightenin' her.” He said through clenched teeth, and something seemed to change in the boy. His gaze softened.

But the gun was still raised.

And Simon was running out of time.

He saw you try to call his name once more, but the sound died in your throat.

He knew what it was.

The cold soldier’s face crumbled, giving way to that of a desperate father, and he looked into James's eyes before finally exploding:

“If you don’t let me help her, she’s gonna die!”

The boy blinked at hearing the threat, confused, and Simon took a step forward.

“She’s ill.” He gushed the words harshly, laden with an emotion he couldn’t control. “If you don’t let me go to her, she’ll die. Do you understand, bloody hell?!”

For a second, after the beastly shout he gave, only silence filled the room.

James froze.

And Simon waited.

The boy gave up and nodded, his fingers still trembling as he lowered the gun. Simon didn’t waste any time. In an instant, he crossed the room to you, his steps heavy and determined. You were pale. Small. Your hands still clutching your chest. The fear in your huge eyes was enough to break something inside him.

Simon crouched beside you and held your face between his hands, forcing a softer tone than he had used with the intruder. James, panicked, couldn’t do anything but put his hands over his head, sliding down the wall while apologizing repeatedly. He pulled the balaclava off his face, revealing his features. He was just a teenager, between 16 and 18 years old.

The boy had no idea what he was doing there, nor how he had reached the point of thinking that breaking into a family’s home for some cash was a good idea. The moment he realized what he had done, a chill ran down his spine as he understood that, for an instant, he had pointed a gun at a child.

A child.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart. Look at me.”

You blinked a few times, as if trying to focus, searching for safety in your father’s face. But your body trembled. Then came the first unsteady breath. Then another. Small, desperate gasps. Your chest rose and fell too fast, and Simon felt his blood turn cold.

No. Not now.

A sob escaped you, and you clung to his shirt as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did.

He held you tightly, as if he could shield you from everything, as if just pulling you closer could stop life from slipping through his fingers. Heart pounding, he descended the stairs in long strides, muscles tense with the urgency only a father understands. Nothing else mattered now – not the stranger still in the house, not the shards of glass on the floor, not even his own fear. Only you. Only getting to the hospital in time.

“D-Daddy…” Your voice came out as a weak whisper, so soft he only heard it because your face was pressed against his shoulder.

Simon’s stomach twisted. You were scared. More than that, you were terrified. Your small fingers clung to his shirt so tightly they could have torn it, as if you were drowning.

“You’re gonna be okay, my love.” The words came out fast, hoarse, more for himself than for you. He yanked the car door open and carefully placed you in the back seat, making sure you were positioned safely. His eyes quickly scanned your pale face before he rushed to drive.

Simon didn’t look back. He didn’t think about the stranger, the house, anything else. He just turned the engine on and slammed his foot on the gas, the headlights cutting through the darkness as he sped down the nearly empty streets. His mind was torn between the road and the sound of your unsteady breathing in the back seat.

“Stay with me, sweetheart.” he murmured, glancing at the rearview mirror. You were curled up, your wide eyes locked on him, trying to stay focused as your small hands gripped the seatbelt.

Simon’s chest tightened. He wanted to say something to soothe you, but all that came to mind was the corrosive fear that maybe – just maybe – he was already too late.

✧✧✧

A few hours later, the sun was shining brightly as morning advanced. Simon shifted in the uncomfortable hospital chair, elbows resting on his knees, his hand holding yours. The warmth of your skin against his was the only thing that a little peace, his thumb tracing slow circles in an unconscious gesture of comfort. He had been silent since arriving, but not in his usual way. This silence was heavy, suffocating, filling the room like an unspoken weight.

He didn’t dare take his eyes off you, afraid that even the slightest lapse in attention could make things go wrong again. The constant beeping of the heart monitor was offering him fragile relief, a reminder that you were here, alive. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was just a temporary illusion – that at any moment, the rhythm would spike again, and you’d be in danger.

Two hours ago, you had woken up, still drowsy, sedated by the doctors to prevent stress. Your eyes opened sluggishly, scanning the room until found him. You were scared – for him. The image of the boy pointing a gun was still vivid in your mind, and the fear overflowed. When the panic set in, your heart rate spiked again, and the medical team had to intervene, sedating you once more.

Simon could do nothing. He just sat there, motionless, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose in frustration.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts. Simon turned his head and saw Price standing there. His captain, one of the few people he trusted, and someone who knew you well enough to understand what had happened.

Simon had never minded being alone. Solitude was an old companion, a shadow he had learned to carry without complaint. But this time, for some reason, he had picked up the phone and called John. Something inside him had pushed him to press that button, an insistent, uneasy force hammering inside him.

He wanted to believe it was just for your sake, because you and Price were close, because he had a duty to inform him - because his captain would be furious if Simon didn't tell him about it. But deep down, he knew the truth.

He needed someone else to be there.

Your “Uncle John” never failed to send you gifts when he could, and sometimes even made the hour-long drive from his city just to say “hi” to you. Price cherished you as if you were his own daughter.

“Oi, Lieutenant.” The older man’s voice was steady, comforting.

Simon took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, falling back into the tactical demeanor he always used in the base. But even when he wore his mask, John could read him like an open book.

“Captain.” That was all he managed to say.

Price knew him well enough to understand that Simon needed support. He was used to dealing with Ghost. But this – this was just Simon.

“How’s our Thumbelina?” Price asked softly, as if afraid to wake you. He walked over to Simon, placing a hand on his shoulder in a brief, almost hesitant gesture.

“She'll wake up soon enough.” Simon replied, his eyes fixed on you but not really seeing you. His gaze was distant, unfocused.

“You said she went into shock, didn't you?” Price murmured, trying to follow a line of conversation.

“The doc thinks so.” Simon sighed and leaned back in the chair, exhaling slowly. “They’re going to refer her to a shrink. Don’t want those memories messin’ with her head.”

Price nodded, remaining standing.

“I made a few calls,” he announced, watching his friend's reaction. “I got some info on the brat.”

Simon looked up, attentive.

“He didn’t even try to leg it. Found him in her room, and I called in a contact from the coppers.” He scratched his mustache at the memory of the encounter.

At first, Price got confused. But within seconds, he was already gripping the teenager by the collar, fury burning in his eyes. He only started to rein himself in when James, terrified, began apologizing, without even knowing who the man pinning him against the wall was. His empathy took over. The boy had hurt you, yes, but he didn’t know the severity of your condition. He was wrong, but he wasn’t a demon.

“His mum showed up at the station right after. It was a proper scene. The two of them were at each other’s throats, shouting. The woman was in tears, all disappointed, and the boy looked right sorry for himself.”

Simon clenched his jaw. “I couldn't give a toss about that nonsense.” The irritation was evident, even though he hadn’t intended to be rude.

“He thought the house was empty, Simon. Got it mixed up with the neighbour’s.” Price added carefully. “It was a daft dare from friends who knew he needed the money, so he nicked his father’s gun. He’s off to court. With what he’s done, he might end up in a juvenile centre.”

Simon remained quiet for a moment, running his tongue over his teeth. Then, he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Yeah. Great.” he muttered, irritation dripping from every syllable.

Price watched his reaction, hesitating before continuing.

“I know you're pissed off, mate, but...” He paused, studying Simon's tense face. “Maybe it’s worth figuring out what the hell was goin’ through that boy’s head.”

Simon heard every word but didn’t reply. He absorbed his captain’s advice and kept his gaze on him. The memory of how you screamed, the tears, all the agony... It made Simon clench his free hand into fist.

You thought he was going to get shot. You were desperate.

Price noticed the movement. He saw how Simon’s fingers were practically digging into his own skin with the force of his grip. He decided not to press the issue. Instead, he walked to your bed, observing your face for a moment. A faint smile flickered on his lips before he reached out and ruffled your hair in a gentle pat.

Then, John pulled something from his pocket and held up a stuffed hippopotamus, showing it to Simon.

Simon frowned, clearly displeased with the choice.

“Come on, you know she fancies it.” Price said, trying to lighten the heavy mood. “Hippos are tough, you know?”

But Price’s joke was cut short when he noticed you were waking up. Your eyes opened slowly, blinking several times as you oriented yourself. Simon shifted in his chair, and a quick glance was enough for John to understand that maybe it was best for you not to see your father right away – not while his image was still tied to the terror of the night.

“Hi, Uncle John…” Your small voice came out in a hoarse whisper, heavy with sleep.

“Oi, little doll.” he murmured back, his expression filled with a warmth he only used with you.

He didn’t need to say anything else to make you smile. As soon as he lifted the stuffed hippo, shaking it like it was going to devour you, you let out a giggle.

The sound relieved Price, and especially Simon. He watched as your tiny fingers grabbed the toy, hugging the plush creature to your chest.

“Thank you…” you murmured, pouting a little as you placed your index finger between your upper lip and nose, mimicking his mustache.

Price copied the gesture, but the face he made was much funnier than yours.

“Where’s Daddy?” you asked just like the first time you woke up, your brows furrowing in worry.

The beeping on the monitor sped up slightly. Simon noticed immediately and ran his thumb over your hand again – a reminder that you weren’t alone. You turned your head and found him there, still sitting in the same chair, his dark eyes betraying the sleepless night he had spent.

“I'm here, love.” His voice was firm, both a reassurance and a promise.

You gripped his forearm tighter than you had held your new stuffed hippo. Simon felt the tension in your small fingers and let you cling to him without saying a word. You seemed calmer now, less frightened.

Price grabbed a cup of water and handed it to Simon, who helped you drink. You took a few small sips, the way children do, but it was enough.

Then, your eyes locked onto your father’s, serious, as if you had something important to resolve. He braced himself for anything. Maybe a question about what had happened, maybe a request to go home. But not this:

"You said a bad word."

Simon blinked slowly. “What?”

“He said ‘bloody hell’.” you whispered to Price, as if revealing a forbidden secret.

Price raised his eyebrows, holding back a smile. “Oh, really, eh?”

Simon sighed, running a hand over his face. “Prob'ly did.”

Price let out a low chuckle, satisfied to get some reaction out of him.

Suddenly, you started paying attention to your surroundings. A hospital room wasn’t strange to you, since you had been here a few times before, but that didn’t mean you liked it. The doctors always said they needed to keep you under observation until the crisis passed, and the worst situations happened quickly, in the middle of chaos, before anyone could stabilize you.

There was a time they had to use a defibrillator, and just the thought of it sent a shiver down Simon’s spine. To his relief, this time all you needed was to simply shut down, a milder way to calm your emotions.

“I want to go home…” you pleaded, your voice thick with emotion.

“We will, in a few hours.” Simon replied firmly. If he gave you an inch, he knew you’d push until the end.

“Is Uncle John staying with us?” you asked, grabbing the hippo by the ear and waving the plush toy in front of Price, who pretended to try catching it but failed miserably.

“No, Princess. I'm sorry.” he answered regretfully. “I wish I could stay longer, but I only came to see you. I’ve gotta head back home soon.” He pinched your nose between his fingers, making you giggle.

“Okay…” you murmured, disappointed, but already starting to feel a little stronger.

You shifted on the bed, getting on your knees to hug Price, who held you firmly, running his hand over your back before pressing a kiss to the side of your head. As soon as you let go, you turned to your father and practically buried yourself in his lap, seeking shelter. You settled on his legs, leaning your torso against his broad chest.

Simon was used to this, but this time, you seemed even more in need of security. Your small fingers poked at the dog tag hanging around his neck, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Simon knew you were still scared. He knew that, in the coming days, you wouldn’t leave his side. And he didn’t mind.

Because deep down, he wanted to stay close to you too.

He held on to this moment, feeling you fidget with the metal piece on his neck. Simon knew things wouldn’t be easy for now, but he chose not to get lost in thoughts of the future. He held you even tighter, his arms wrapping around you like a blanket while you found comfort in the calm. Simon felt deeply grateful that you hadn’t asked questions about the boy, and in silence, he turned to Price, who responded with a simple nod, as if he had understood the unspoken message.

Price took a few steps closer and crouched down, looking at you with affection. “Goodbye, Thumbelina,” he said, extending his fist for a farewell bump.

“Goodbye, Mr. Mustache.” you replied softly, but with a smile that made Price chuckle as he ruffled your hair. He stood up, turning to Simon with a look that carried the same unwavering trust as always.

“Take care, lad. I’ll see you soon.” he said, not waiting for a response, already knowing the lieutenant’s temperament well.

Simon watched Price leave, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hardened expression softened the moment there was no longer a need to hide behind it. He still made an effort to appear confident for you, but as he closed his eyes and held you tighter, he finally allowed himself to relax. The silent gesture of protection he offered was an unspoken promise.

He knew that as long as he was with you, nothing else mattered. He would always be by your side. And even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, Simon allowed himself to believe, just for a moment, that maybe the future would be a little lighter. No matter what came next. Together, he and you would face it all.

[deebris]

| I am my father's daughter |

💖 Dad!price x daughter!reader

| Part One |

Summary: John Price gets an angry voicemail from his ex-wife saying how his twenty year old daughter took off. He doesn’t know what he’s more angry at, the fact his ex-wife’s complaining about rent money or that you took off with her leather jacket.

But he’s going to get another call…

TW: Hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/comfort | a little bit of 141 in here too at the end. [Series Masterlist] This was longer than I planned too 2980 words.

John and his ex-wife were both sixteen when they had you. Price later joined the military and your mother cheated on him many times as you grew up.

You were the one to break it to your dad, but in your spite for your mother you ended up hurting him.

There were a few years you didn’t see your dad, your mother upheaving your life whenever she fell in love with a new guy. It never lasted long though, forced to stay in a hotel when things went south until she found a new place. The cycle would repeat.

The father daughter relationship was strained till he got married again and your now step mum stepped in to get you back in his life. The younger brother you never heard of and the wedding your mum had never told you about, let alone the divorce. She’d also been spending the money your dad gave her that was meant for you.

You visited your dad every now and then, but it was difficult with his job and you having school.

Fast forward to you being twenty and you leave with the first guy that can get you out of your mums house. She’s never forgiven you for telling your dad about her affairs. Easy money, she said being with a military man who rarely came home.

Things don’t seem to work out for you though, they never do. You’re sobbing whilst you clutched onto your phone, hoping your dad will answer your call.

You know when you can reach out to him, he still messaged you when he’s going dark on his missions and won’t be with his phone. Followed by a short text when he’s finished, a standard one that you don’t reply to anymore.

He does answer, the one person who always seems to pick up your call. Even though you haven’t spoken to him in months. Even though you’ve ignored his name lighting up your phone screen.

“Hey, kiddo.” His voice soft and low, you didn’t deserve his kindness. Part of you expected him to shout down the phone, but he just carried on talking to you. “You looking after yourself kid?”

“Yeah dad,” you said, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your hoody. Half a lie, tonight was the first time in ages you’d looked after yourself in the right way. No making excuses for his actions and convincing yourself it was your fault.

He hummed, music cutting off in the background as he shushed whoever was with him.

“Good to hear your voice,” you said, wanting to fill the silence. It’s like being a kid again and finally getting through to him whilst he’s at the military base, to hear him and know he’s there.

“What you doing?”

A smile tugged your lips, anything to keep you on the phone. “I’m waiting for the bus,” you said, forgetting how late it was and the fact you’d missed the last one of the night.

“On your own?”

The wind whipped through the flimsy bus shelter, your bag held on your lap for extra warmth. “Yeah, I’m a big girl now dad.”

Your mind wandered back to the basic self defence moves he’d taught you at sixteen and how when it mattered most you froze instead of fighting. What would the captain think of you?

The captain, a role he slipped back into when he didn’t know how to be there for you. Spoke to you as if he were training a fragile new recruit, measured words and slight pauses keeping him safe.

The man who told you to do anything, but be backed into a corner or made to feel small.

Small, exactly how you felt clinging onto your dad’s call. “I know you are, don’t need your old man no more eh, now that you’re grown.”

At times like this, you wished your dad would drop the tough act and baby you. He always treated you like an adult, even when you were a kid. Gave you a routine, a choice when it came to discipline, knowing that you’d rather do chores than get grounded. The captain never punishing you physically or raising his voice like your mum did. She was a whole different person when your dad went back to work for months on end.

“You still there kid?”

Tears streamed down your face, your cheeks burning in the bitter cold. “I don’t know what to do,” you sobbed, twisting the cuff of your sleeve in your hold.

You’d made such a mess. There was no way you’d go back to your mum’s and you knew that asking your dad for help wouldn’t be fair on your younger brother.

“Hey, hey kiddo. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Classic captain saying whatever you want to hear, like your someone as brave as him.

You wanted him, but couldn’t bring yourself to admit it. “Are you home?” Part of you hoping he’d say no, so that you don’t have to burden him with your problems.

“Nah, down south at the base,” he said, pausing and there’s a scuffle behind the speaker before he’s talking again. “Just me though, didn’t want to pull boyo out of school. Exams and that.” Your brother, ten years younger than you.

“Makes sense,” you sniffled, nodding as if he can see you. “I’m sorry I called so late.” Your throat burnt, nose sore from wiping it on your dad’s old hanky. Something you kept for comfort, a reminder of him. A little cigar stitched into the off white fabric.

“Don’t be sorry,” he snapped, the no nonsense captain sounding more like a man of military than your dad. “You’re okay though, that’s why you called. To check in with your old man? Well we’re all good kid, you and me don’t you worry.”

The first time talking to him since you sent him that written letter. The one where you apologised for tearing the family apart, for hurting him.

“Why can’t you just be my dad?”

There’s a clink of his phone on the other side, as if he’s dropped it. A deep breath filtering through the speaker as he exhales.

“What do you need?”

“I need you, I need my dad. Everything is so screwed up, I’m looking at this bus chart randomly picking a place or getting on the first one that shows up.” You rambled on, the weight on your chest less now that you’ve released the suppressed anger and frustration.

“Send me your location. You know how to do that, right?”

You can’t help, but chuckle at his response. Of course you know, your dad taught you how and frequently scolded you to turn it back on so he would know you’re safe. You hadn’t shared anything with him in months, your finger hovering over the button.

“Please, don’t send mum…”

“I’m on my way kiddo, an hour and a half tops. There any places you can sit inside whilst you wait?”

You don’t bother glancing around, the small street turning is far enough away from the main road. From experience you walked as long as you could, taking whatever path and ending up at a lone bus shelter. If your boyfriend drove around he wouldn’t be able to find you tucked away in a quiet road with newly built houses.

He stayed with you on the phone, giving you the colour and number plate of the car he’d be in when he arrived. You don’t have an interest in cars so the make and model goes over your head, your focus on the number plate instead.

True to his word the car rolled up by the bus stop and he’s out before it stopped.

Your hesitant steps halted as he too stopped in his tracks. His gaze falling on your split lip and blood clumped in your brow and hairline. His head turned to the side, hands shoved his pockets.

“I’m sorry, I know…” you don’t get to finish your sentence, his arms wrapping around you and your face smushing into his chest.

Pulling away from his embrace, the rain pelted down on you. He swept your wet hair out your eyes, hands framing your face as he tilted it up to look at you properly. The pad of his thumb brushed against your jawline, so close to the cut on your lip, but he didn’t touch it.

“Why don’t we get out this rain,” he said, his touch slipping from your face to scoop up your hand in his much larger one.

You don’t move with him though, stumbling towards him as you tried to tug him back. “Where are we going?” You asked, eyeing the man behind the steering wheel. There’s no way you’d go back to your mums, you’d rather wait for the bus or go back to your ex.

John smoothed his moustache, his gaze following yours to the car. “Back to the base, got a place there with my team. That okay, kid? Or there some where else you want me to take you?”

Nodding, you let him guide you to the car and open the back door. You slid in, followed by your dad who shrugged off his jacket and draped it over you. Shifting in your seat, you leant your head against the cold window and clutched the warm jacket around you closer.

“You hungry, can stop off before we go back to base,” John said, his elbow leaning on your bag on the seat between you and him.

“No, just tired,” you mumbled into his jacket. The burnt cigar and gunpowder still lingering on the fabric, like he’d smoked on the journey here.

His voice turned to a distance mumble, your eyes heavy as you let sleep take you. Your dad’s hand resting on top of yours, as if he’s trying to tell himself you’re really here.

The sun peeking through the half shut blinds woke you a few hours later. You turned over in the bed, watching your dad’s chest rise and fall beside you. His hulking form taking up most of the bed, you could feel the heat radiating off him. Even in his sleep, the line between his brows remained.

You can’t believe you called your dad, don’t even remember getting out of the car. He must have carried you in and put you to bed.

He still slept with one hand on his chest, dog tags hidden underneath his T-shirt, but you could still see the outline of them near his shoulder. Nicks and scrapes curved his bicep, you’d never seen them before. Red angry marks and faded ones of pink he normally hid under long sleeves.

The bedroom like every other base you’d stayed in whenever you visited him growing up on weekends here and there. White walls, cold wood beneath your fuzzy socks as your feet padded across the floor. Nothing but a box with a bed in the middle and small drawers either side.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, tracing the medical tape above your brow. The red stains that once clung to your hairline and forehead were clean, a purple bruise forming in its place.

Picking your hold-all from the floor, you slipped it over your shoulder and pressed your ear against the door. You couldn’t pick up any noise outside, just your dad’s low snores filling the bedroom. Probably from all those cigars he’d been smoking.

The alarm clock on the beside drawer flashed eight, thirty seven. You wanted to crawl back under the covers and sleep for another five hours, but you didn’t fancy having the conversation with your dad. How everything would unravel and lead him to finding out why you chose to leave with your boyfriend, like there was no other option. Because there wasn’t.

You pushed the door open, regretting the action as your eyes fell on the man at the kitchen table. His broad shoulders shifting at the sound of your footsteps.

There’s no use sneaking out the house, not when a team of highly trained men are living under one roof. That and the security surrounding the place.

Simon Riley, the masked driver who hadn’t said a word to you. Now you know why he covered up, the scar on his jawline lead to the neck line of his t-shirt. You tried not to stare too long, your gaze flitting to the sweater hugging his muscular arms. He could crush you in a second.

“You’ll have to wait for your old man to sign you out of the base,” Simon said through a mouth full of cereal. “Cuppa on the side for you, heard you moving about.” He pointed to the counter behind you, steam still rising from the kettle next to it.

Of course he did, probably been waiting to catch you sneaking out. Loyal to their captain the lot of them. You walked over to the small kitchenette and grabbed the strong brewed tea.

The front door opened, another guy walking through the porch and kicking his trainers off. Sweat clung to his body, T-shirt like a second skin on his visible six pack beneath. You couldn’t stop staring till he opened his mouth. Thick Scottish accent as he spoke to himself, plucking his headphones out of his ears.

He looked around your age or slightly older, not as rough and rugged as Simon or your dad. You cringed at the comparison, not wanting to think of dad as being desirable to other women.

“Ah you must be the captains daughter,” he said, reaching around you to grab a protein bar on the side. “I’m Soap,” he chuckled as your brows furrowed. “Johnny, Soaps my call sign.”

“Well that’s unfortunate,” you mumbled, sitting down at the at the table opposite Simon. Hot cup nestled between your hands. “That to remind you to have a wash?”

You edged back in your seat, the stench of sweat hitting you as Soap walked closer.

Simon’s narrowed gaze flitted from Soap to you, but he didn’t say anything. His spoon clinking the bottom of his bowl as he tried to scoop up the last remnants of cereal. If you didn’t know any better he was rushing.

“What’s yours? Hawk, no… Hulk?” Your focus darted back to Simon, anything to distract you from the hot, but sweaty guy out of the corner of your eye.

He didn’t entertain your curiosity, his chair scraping back as he collected his bowl and dumped it into the dishwasher. Soap’s deep laugh rumbled beside you, shaking his Mohawk head and disappearing down the hallway.

You found yourself leaning to one side, trying to catch a glimmer of Soaps back as he peeled his T-shirt off. John Price, however blocked the way, your back shooting back against the chair.

Simon shared a brief look with your dad, clapping him on the shoulder as he too retreated from the room.

“Damned thing keeps beeping,” John said, dropping your phone on the table. “Can’t answer it, the screen’s cracked to shit,” he grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes as he dragged his feet to the kitchen and made himself a black coffee.

Classic captain.

You stared at the cracked screen, a chain of texts and missed calls from your ex. It beeped again, your mother’s name lighting the screen.

“You gonna tell me what that’s all about?” John said leaning back in his seat, his cup of coffee balancing on his knee instead of the table. His seat at the top of the table right next to you, his knee nudging yours.

The cup in your hand no long gave you that biting sting, the tea turning cold under your stare. “Things just got bad and I can’t go back to mums.” You shrugged it off like it was no big deal, not daring to meet your dad’s eyes.

“Boyfriend?” He said pointing to your face. You nodded, wishing you hadn’t as the pounding in your head grew stronger.

He peeled your left hand away from your mug. “Where did you hit him?” He asked tracing the broken skin of your knuckles. Nothing got by the captain.

“I think I broke his nose,” you mumbled, head dipping to stare at your lap and the pattern pj trousers.

The captains head bopped up and down. “That’s good, I take it he’s alright if he’s contacting you.” He might as well have asked if he was breathing.

“How is that good?” You snapped, ripping your hand from him and pushing your chair back with you.

“You were defending yourself kid, look at ya!” His booming voice startled you, his hand flinging to your face as if you needed a reminder.

On instinct you flinched at his abrupt movement. Your body freezing and eyes clamping shut.

You opened your eyes, Simon talking in hushed tones to your dad. The captain staring at you, glassy eyed and frown tugging his lips down. And once again you’ve hurt your dad, made him feel bad.

“Why don’t we get Toff, to check her over. Another women might make her more comfortable?"

They weren't even talking to you, but about you. Too consumed with a plan than you moving. "Check yourselves over," you said, snatching your bag from the floor and rushing to the porch.

The door close, but you were yanked back by the strap of your bag. You wanted to lean towards the door, anything to escape the horror of your fuck up. One flinch and you knew, the captain was questioning everything in your life that would cause you to react like that.

"One check up, if you want to leave after I'll sign you out. No questions asked," John pleaded, knuckles turning white as they tightened around the strap of your bag.

"Okay."

Not me thinking about Price’s daughter and Soap 😅 I think he’s the youngest out of all of them? Mid twenties. This was also a lot longer than I planned, I just kept writing more. Huge possibility there are errors as I'm dyslexic and I'm writing for fun.

👀 Do you want another part??? - Leya

[deebris]

Hiii I'm just asking if there will be redemption part 2 of the todoroki clan and all , I only see few fics like this and I love it😭

Hi! I actually started a part 2 of Redemption a long time ago, right after posting. I remember getting really big and not finishing it because I didn't like how it was going. At the time I didn't know how to continue, but now I think I might be more inspired, I don't know. I will try to make a sequel, but I'm not good at keeping promises. I'm sorry.

[deebris]

Hi, how are you? I hope you're well 💓

Well, I apologize for this question but I saw that you are from South America and I was wondering what country you are from but, only if you feel comfortable with it.

• Note: "The Mysterious Visitor" is sooooo good, I'm addicted 😭😭

(( By the way, I'm from Brazil 🇧🇷))

Hello!! Thank you for all the affection, I hope you are also well! 🫶

Answering your question, I'm from Brazil too. It's really nice to meet a compatriot here every now and then, it makes me feel more welcome on Tumblr. I hope you stick around ❤️❤️

Muito obrigada por gostar tanto da série aliás, é sempre bom receber esse tipo de mensagem! Pode ficar a vontade para interagir comigo, se quiser.

[deebris]

When will you update Batfam x Reader?

😕😞😰🥹when😭🥲😣will😔😖😢🥺you🙁😓😥😨update🤪😜😙🤣😄batfam😳🤗🤭🫣🫠x reader😤😠🤯😡

I'll post something, I promise 🫣😅😅

[deebris]

Hey so i just wanna ask if mysterious visitor will ever get another part i know previously you said you got other ideas but i just wanna know if mysterious visitor now is abandoned

It is not abandoned. I'm having trouble writing the last part of the series and I realized that it was stopping me from writing what I really wanted to. I'm going to post a one shot that takes place in the same universe, a few months after the events of The Mysterious Visitor..

[deebris]

hello, are you okay?

i wanted to know if youre gonna write more about the misteryous visitor??

Hello! I'm fine, thanks for asking. And I understand your curiosity. I think some readers are waiting for the last part of the series, but in the last few days I felt inspired to write a one shot that takes place a few months later. I just need to translate from my language to English.

[deebris]

Choices

Alexander Mahone x Wife reader

Synopsis: In the Sona prison, Mahone receives an unexpected visit from his wife, who secretly traveled from the United States to Panama, under the guise of her work at the embassy. Seeing his terrible condition, you tries to convince him to testify in court in exchange for a better place to stay, closer to you and the baby you're expecting—news he only learns at that moment.

Warnings: Drugs, pregnancy, angst, It takes place during the 3rd season of Prison Break.

Word count: 3k

“Mahone, you have a visitor!” The loudspeaker's voice echoed across the yard, cutting through the hot, heavy air of Sona.

The announcement put Alex on high alert. A visitor? Confusion and distrust swirled in his mind. As far as he knew, no one besides his lawyer had been looking for him, and he had seen him just the day before. Still, he followed the guard to the transfer area, where prisoners were taken to the makeshift “cage” meant for visits.

The guard, with a careless posture, remained at a safe distance, as everyone there preferred to keep their distance from the inmates. Narrowing his eyes against the blazing sun, Alex asked the guards as they prepared him for escort, “Who came to see me?”

No answer.

“Hey! I asked something!” Irritation and anxiety leaked into his voice, but he was only met with a rough shove on the shoulder, signaling that he should start walking.

The damp hallways of Sona were nothing new, but the route they were taking now puzzled him. Instead of turning right as usual, the guard led him left. “Where are you taking me?” He asked, louder now, almost frantic.

“You’ll find out.” The guard's tone was indifferent, as though Mahone's growing anxiety was irrelevant.

Alex’s mind raced. This had all the signs of a trap. If the Company was involved, he knew his already dire situation could only get worse.

Soon they arrived at a metal door. It opened with brutality, and Alex was shoved inside before he could protest.

The room was dark, barely lit by a hanging lamp, but the smell and temperature were different from the usual areas in Sona. He blinked a few times to adjust his vision, and then he heard it.

“Alex?”

The voice was sweet, like an unexpected balm. That voice. Her voice. The same one he used to hear first thing every morning, before everything fell apart, before Scofield, before Sona.

“Y/n…” He whispered, incredulous, thinking he was having another hallucination.

You quickly stood up from the chair when you saw him. He looked so tired, so beaten down. He was a shadow of the man you once knew. “What did they do to you?” You lamented, your fingers hesitantly tracing his hair, smoothing over his sweaty skin in search of injuries.

For a moment, Alex froze. It couldn’t be that you were here, in front of him. Was it a dream? An overwhelming relief flooded his body, weakening his legs, as though he might collapse any second. He started to pull away from you, as if refusing to let himself see you there, and that’s when you knew he wasn’t mentally stable.

“Alex.” You repeated his name, this time with affirmation, as you tried to calm him like a frightened animal. “Sweetheart, it’s me.”

“My love…” His voice came out shaky, broken, before you pulled him into a tight embrace. He buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling your scent like a man who had found air after nearly drowning. Despite his condition, he realized you were different, though he couldn’t tell how.

“I thought I wouldn’t see you again,” you murmured in his ear. When you pulled away, you noticed his red eyes, his worn-out skin. “A federal agent came to our house.”

The words made Alex sit up alert, his gaze quickly darting to the guard standing outside. This wasn’t normal.

“How did you get in here?” He asked, a mix of concern and admiration in his voice.

“American embassy.” You gave a melancholic smile. “They think it’s a consular visit, so they didn’t question much.”

Alex nodded, almost smiling at the irony. “Of course.” He remembered your position, your ability to find loopholes in rigid systems.

You guided him to a chair, and he collapsed into it without resistance. “I brought water,” you said, opening the bottle and bringing it to his lips. He drank desperately, as if he’d never tasted anything so pure.

“I heard things about this place, so I came prepared,” you continued, showing him a package of food. “Eat.”

Alex took the bread with trembling hands, devouring it without thinking, without caring about being polite, but he suddenly stopped. He placed his hand over yours, a gesture filled with repressed emotion.

“Thank you…” He murmured, his voice heavy with guilt and gratitude.

You tried to smile, but you couldn’t hide the tears. It was devastating to see him in this condition, and lately, you had been feeling more emotionally sensitive than usual. Carefully, you pulled a small vial from your pocket, placing it in his palm.

Alex froze, staring at the pills. He knew what they were. He knew the relief they would bring. But he also knew the shame they would bring to both of you.

“I know you're not well.” Your voice was soft but firm. “Just... do what you need to.”

He closed his eyes, swallowing one of the pills with water, and didn’t thank you. Alex couldn’t bring himself to, knowing how much you hated this, and seeing the situation he’d put you in made him feel disgusting.

When he opened his eyes, you were already preparing the rest of the food, trying to push aside the weight hanging in the air. You couldn’t take him out of Sona, but you would do anything to ease his pain, even if just for a few moments.

Alex accepted every gesture of care you offered, allowing himself to relax under the comforting touch of your hands. Feeling your fingers brushing the hair from his face while he ate brought an unexpected warmth, a long-lost familiarity. It was as though, for a brief moment, the brutality of this place didn’t exist.

“How much time do we have?” He asked, hesitantly, as if fearing the answer would be a final blow to his hope.

“An hour.” Your answer was gentle, but practical. You took a change of clothes from your bag, something you had hidden along with the water and food. “I brought this. You might not be able to take a shower, but changing into something clean might help a little.”

Alex looked at the clothes with a mixture of gratitude and sadness before beginning to change. You tried to look away to spare him the discomfort of your pity, but your eyes inevitably fell on his physical condition. He had always been strong, but what used to be defined muscles were now starting to give way to protruding ribs. It was incredible what just a few days could do to a human being.

"It's funny," you commented, trying to break the heavy silence. "Technically, I should be here to check if the prison offers adequate conditions."

Alex let out a bitter laugh as he pulled the clean shirt over his shoulders. "Are you going to send a report?" The question came laced with sarcasm.

"I will," your reply was dry, almost ironic. However, your gaze remained fixed on him, watching every small sign of wear and tear. Seeing your husband like this, so vulnerable and distant from the man you knew, was almost unbearable. But you couldn’t allow him to notice.

The silence that followed was full of unsaid meanings, a mutual understanding of what this place was doing to him—and, by extension, to you.

It wasn’t long before Alex pulled you closer, his body pressed against his as you sought comfort in each other. He kept a firm arm around your waist as if afraid you might disappear at any moment. His chin rested softly on your head, and the sound of his breathing was the only consolation in the silence of that place. Alex wanted to freeze time, memorize your scent, the feeling of having you there, before returning to the hell that was Sona.

"I managed to get lawyers this week. They are working on your case." Your voice broke the silence that had settled between you two, bringing up a topic he didn’t want to discuss. "I’m going to try to ask for a transfer, to move you to another prison."

The words hit like a blow. He was many things, but innocent wasn’t one of them. Yes, he was here for a crime he didn’t commit, but what about the ghosts of the past? The atrocities he had committed when he was still with the FBI? He wondered why you kept fighting for him, even knowing what he was capable of.

"If I go back to the States, I’ll get a life sentence..." he murmured, his voice laden with discouragement as he turned his gaze away.

"No, you won’t." Your firmness contrasted with his resignation. You touched his face, forcing him to look at you. "I met with a former colleague of yours. The government is willing to make a deal if you cooperate."

"Eight years, Alex."

The mention of the deal didn’t bring relief. On the contrary, he shook his head in denial, cutting you off before you could continue. "I heard that this morning. I’m not going to stay in prison for eight years." His voice was sharp, filled with contained anger. "Scofield set me up on that boat. He put me here; he’s going to get me out."

Michael Scofield’s name came out with so much venom that it made you blink, surprised. But you quickly regained your composure.

"His brother found me," you said, trying to soften the tone, which didn’t go unnoticed.

"Lincoln Burrows?" Alex furrowed his brows, suspicious. "What did he want with you?"

"I’m not sure," you hesitated, crossing your fingers, fearing his reaction. "He asked me to visit Michael, but he didn’t explain why. He just... asked."

He turned away, his mind racing. Michael had never been straightforward with him. Always calculating, manipulative. Lincoln showing up right now, hours before something big was going to happen, wasn’t a coincidence. This was a move.

Michael knew you were an ambassador. Your position could be the key to helping them disappear, to return to the U.S. as free men. This couldn’t be a slip-up. Either it was an attempt to distract Alex and keep him out of the way, or it was a clue—an invitation for him to join the plan.

"He put me here!" Alex exploded, his fist slamming onto the table with force before he managed to control himself. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to tame the anger. "Sorry." His voice came out softer, almost a whisper. "But if that’s the case, you’re going to have to visit all the idiots who came here. The embassy is going to ask questions when they see your reports."

"It’s fine." Your reply came calmly, as always. This irritated him, but it also comforted him. You never lost your composure, and most of your arguments were because of him.

"You shouldn’t worry about me." He shook his head, turning away once more. "You have your life out there. Your job, our house... I’ve lost everything. You need to move on."

"Alexander!" Your voice cut through the air, strong and determined, freezing him. It was rare to hear you in that tone, full of emotion and authority. "You need to get out of here, do you hear me?!"

You gripped his shirt tightly, your gaze locked on his with intensity. Something in your determination broke his defenses, making it impossible for him to hide in self-pity.

"I’m pregnant..." You finally whispered, your voice trembling. "And..." The sentence died before you could finish it, the weight of the revelation visible on your face.

Alex froze, shock written all over his face.

"Eight years, Alex!" You continued, your voice echoing through the room, but this time you weren’t calm at all. "I’m willing to wait for you for eight years, even after everything you’ve done! Even after the crimes you committed! Do you think it’s easy to come here and say what I’m telling you? I should feel like the worst person in the world for giving you another chance."

The words hung in the air, heavy. He tried to process what he had just heard, but the impact was overwhelming. The world around him disappeared, leaving only you, who now looked at him with repulsion, and the revelation of a new life growing between you, and your unwavering determination.

Alex felt a lump in his throat, his thoughts a whirlwind. You were willing to wait? Despite everything he had done, the man he was... you still believed in him. And that hit him deeper than any word or gesture before.

"You..." He started, but his voice faltered. He closed his eyes, searching for the strength to speak. "I... I don’t even know what to say."

"Then, don’t say anything." Your voice came out muffled as you buried your face in his chest, tears silently streaming down. "Just promise me you’ll think about it before you give a definitive no. A relatively light sentence, in a prison close to home... You���ll be able to see our baby grow."

Alex remained silent, the words reverberating in his mind like echoes of a truth he couldn’t face. Instead of responding, he simply held you against him, as if that gesture could protect you from an invisible danger — or perhaps something he couldn’t comprehend. And in that moment, something inside him changed; the gravity of reality enveloped him, bringing with it a weight he had never felt before.

"It’s... watching as a spectator in the VIP section, unable to participate in anything." He murmured, his voice heavy with sarcasm and bitterness. He leaned back, resting one hand on the back of the chair as he looked at the beams of light slipping through the window.

"It’s still something." His voice trembled, tears once again streaming down. You felt the weight of his words as rejection. He was denying the chance you had, the only real chance to rebuild your life together. Unable to maintain his gaze, you turned your eyes away.

"This is all because of the baby, isn’t it?" Although the question might sound passive-aggressive, as if he were accusing you of something, Alex remained calm, his voice laden with caution. You were the only person who, at that moment, seemed to genuinely care about him, the only one he wanted a chance to ask for forgiveness. "You wouldn’t accept me if you weren’t pregnant. Please, be honest." His voice trembled in the last sentence, a desperate plea for honesty.

The silence that followed terrified him. He saw your expression change, as if his words had broken something inside of you. But before fear could take over, the flame of anger reignited in his chest. How could he think that? How could he believe your intentions were so cold, so calculated? That you only wanted him back because of the baby, and not because of him?

Suddenly, you stood up. The urgency in your movements revealed the mix of frustration and pain. The things you had brought for him were left on the table carelessly, and you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

Alex made no move to stop you. He knew he had two hours to leave there, and that he needed to return to his plan before it was too late. But there was something he couldn’t ignore: the sound of your ragged breathing as you tried to hold back your tears.

Before you could fully cross the door, he grabbed your arm. For a brief moment, his eyes fell on the ring on your finger, before shifting away again.

"Goodbye, Alex." His voice sounded cold, but he felt the hurt hidden beneath the words. You weren’t giving up on him — he knew that. But he also knew something inside you had broken. "They’re going to search you when you leave, so hide the pills well." His warning was heard, making him look at the bottle.

"I love you. Stay safe." These were the only words you could find to reassure him, to dispel his doubts and reaffirm that you were there for him — for him and for the family you were building together. And, in that moment, he understood.

You whispered the words like a breath, and before he could respond, you disappeared through the door, leaving him alone with his own demons.

Alex remained still, staring at the empty space in front of him. The sound of the door closing echoed in his mind, as loud as the weight of the decisions he needed to make.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. The flame inside him burned stronger now, but he wasn’t sure if it was courage or desperation. One thing he was certain of: whatever he did next, it wouldn’t be just for him.

The silence in the room seemed to weigh even heavier after you left. Alex stood there, still feeling the remnants of your presence, the echo of the words you exchanged, the gentle touch of your hand, a constant reminder that the things he feared could truly happen. What was he to do with the love you offered him? And with the anger of being seen as a weak man, dependent on a situation he couldn’t control?

He knew he had to make decisions, and quickly. The battle he was fighting was not just against the system, nor against the past. It was against the image he had of himself. He knew something inside him had turned over when he heard the words you didn’t dare finish. You were willing to wait, to keep loving him despite everything, and he wondered if he deserved that sacrifice.

He glanced once more at the table, where the small bottle of pills rested as a reminder of the situation he was trying to hide. Maybe that was the most precious thing he had now — a way to escape, to regain control. But the words you said kept coming back to his mind: “I’m pregnant...”

Alex felt the pressure in his chest grow. It wasn’t just his freedom’s future that was at stake now. It was the future of the family that, somehow, he still held a hope of building.

With a heavy sigh, he grabbed the bottle of pills and hid it in his sleeve, thinking about what to do next. The fight wasn’t over, but maybe there was a way out. Maybe it wasn’t too late to save what was left of his dignity — and maybe, just maybe, to do something right for once.

[deebris]

Ekko being protective while you are expecting

– short drabble

featuring. ekko x pregnant! reader

this was a late night thing so if there’s any mistakes let me know

Bright, golden sunlight filtered through the cracked glass of Zaun’s upper levels, casting a warm glow over the patchwork city. Rustic smell lingered throughout the entire city even in the places were you would think it would be. It was a sharp contrast to the pristine towers and polished streets of Piltover, but you’d come to love the chaotic beauty of Zaun. Its grit and resilience mirrored the spirit of its people, and despite everything, it had become home.

You adjusted the basket on your hip as you weaved through the narrow alleys, a small smile on your lips despite the slight strain in your back. The sounds of the city surrounded you: children laughing as they ran between stalls, the hiss of steam escaping from overhead pipes, and the occasional distant hum of machinery. Though Zaun was far from perfect, it had a heart. A fierce and determined spirit that had drawn you to it.

A boy darted out from a corner, his face smudged with dirt and his eyes wide with curiosity. “Miss!” he called out, holding up a small metal trinket he’d likely scavenged. “For good luck!”

Your heart melted at his gesture, and you crouched carefully to meet him at eye level. “Thank you, sweetheart,” you said warmly, taking the trinket and ruffling his hair. “Here, this is for you.” You handed him a piece of fruit from your basket, earning a toothy grin before he bolted off, his laughter echoing through the alley.

“Shouldn’t be out here on your own,” came a low, familiar voice from above.

You straightened, glancing up to find one of Ekko’s scouts perched on a rusted ledge, his sharp eyes scanning the area. He nodded at you before disappearing into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint sound of his boots against metal. You sighed, shaking your head with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Ekko.

Ever since you’d told him you were expecting, his protectiveness had gone into overdrive. If he wasn’t by your side, he made sure someone else was. and it wasn’t just for appearances. You knew how much he cared, how deeply he felt the responsibility to keep you safe. But it didn’t stop you from feeling a bit smothered at times.

You resumed your walk, stopping occasionally to hand out bread or share a kind word with someone in need. It was who you were, helping others brought you joy, even if it meant ignoring the occasional twinge of discomfort in your back. But as you reached out to give an elderly woman a loaf of bread, you felt a familiar presence behind you, the air around you shifting.

“Thought I told you to rest,” Ekko’s voice came, soft but firm.

You turned, your heart skipping at the sight of him. He leaned casually against the corner of a building, his staff slung over his shoulder, his sharp gaze fixed on you. His white hair gleamed in the sunlight, and there was a mixture of exasperation and fondness in his expression as he approached.

“I’m fine, Ekko,” you said, offering him a small smile. “I was just—”

“Helping people,” he interrupted, his lips quirking slightly. He stepped closer, his presence grounding, and his eyes softened as they drifted to the curve of your stomach. “I know, you’re always helping people.”

“It’s important to me,” you replied, your hands resting over his as he reached out to touch your bump. His palm was warm and steady, and for a moment, the world around you faded away.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s why I love you. But you’ve got to let me take care of you now. Both of you.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten with emotion. You leaned into him, letting his strength envelop you. “You already do,” you whispered, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “I’ve never felt safer.”

Ekko chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around you. “Good. Because I’ve got eyes everywhere, just so you know. You can’t take two steps without someone reporting back to me.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I figured as much. You’re like a hawk.”

“Damn right,” he said, his lips brushing against your forehead. “You’re my whole world now. You think I’m just gonna let you wander off into danger?”

“Danger?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “I was handing out bread, not fighting Chem-Barons.”

He laughed, the sound low and rich, as he pulled you closer. “Doesn’t matter. This place has its risks, and I’m not taking any chances. You’re extremely important to me.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up to cup his face, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “I’ll be careful,” you promised, your voice soft. “For you, the boy who worries.”

“For me,” he echoed, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “And for them.” His hand rested protectively over your stomach, his touch radiating warmth and love.

Ekko’s arms lingered around you for a moment longer before he sighed, resigned. “Fine,” he muttered, his tone light but firm. “But I’m coming with you. Not taking my eyes off you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his protectiveness, even if it sometimes felt overbearing. “I don’t need a bodyguard, you know.”

He raised a skeptical brow. “You’re carrying our kid in Zaun. You need a whole army.”

Despite the exasperation in his words, there was no mistaking the affection in his voice. He took your basket from you, his staff resting casually on his shoulder as he fell into step beside you. “Lead the way, sweetheart,” he said, a playful edge to his tone, though you could see how his eyes darted to every shadow and figure as you moved through the streets.

You stopped occasionally to talk to people—an older man with a limp, a mother trying to soothe her crying baby, a group of kids selling hand-crafted trinkets. Each time, Ekko hung back slightly, letting you do what you did best but staying close enough that he could intervene if needed.

At one point, you crouched to hand a young girl a piece of fruit, smiling as she thanked you with wide, grateful eyes. Ekko’s gaze softened as he watched, a quiet admiration blooming on his face. This was why he fell for you. Not just your kindness but the way you carried it so effortlessly, even in a place as harsh as Zaun.

But as the day wore on, the basket grew lighter, and your steps began to slow. You passed by a rickety stall that had toppled over, its contents—a pile of salvaged wood and fabric—spilling onto the ground. Without thinking, you bent down to help the vendor gather the scattered pieces.

“Careful,” Ekko warned, his voice sharp with concern as he moved closer.

“I’m fine,” you said lightly, reaching for a particularly large plank. But as you tried to lift it, a sharp twinge shot through your back, and you let out a soft gasp, immediately straightening up.

Ekko was at your side in an instant, his hands on your shoulders. “What happened?” he asked, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed his worry.

“Just… a twinge,” you admitted, wincing slightly. “Nothing serious.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Let me see.” Without waiting for a protest, he gently guided you to lean against a nearby wall, his hands running lightly over your back. “Does it hurt here?” he asked, pressing gently along your spine.

You winced again, and his jaw tightened. “That’s it. You’re done for the day.”

“Ekko—”

“No,” he said firmly, his hands resting on your hips as he looked you in the eye. “You’re done. You’re already doing too much. What if something worse happens? What if—”

He stopped himself, taking a deep breath to steady his voice. The panic was there, just beneath the surface, but he refused to let it show. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “I don’t like seeing you get hurt,” he said softly.

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words. Reaching up, you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin. “I’m okay,” you whispered, meeting his gaze. “I promise.”

But Ekko wasn’t having it. He pulled back, taking the basket and slinging it over his shoulder. “We’re going home,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re not carrying anything heavier than a pillow until this baby’s here.”

Despite the sternness of his words, his hand was impossibly gentle as it found yours, intertwining your fingers as he led you back through the streets. Along the way, he shot sharp glares at anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive.

When you finally reached the hideout you shared, he helped you settle onto the bed, fussing over every detail. He would bring you water, adjusting the pillows, even insisting on propping up your feet.

“You’re ridiculous,” you teased, though your smile betrayed how much you appreciated his care.

“Yeah, well, you love it,” he shot back, his grin softening as he sat beside you. His hand found your stomach, his thumb brushing in gentle circles. “I just want to keep you comfortable.”

“You already do,” you said, leaning into him. “More than you know.”

Ekko leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering there. “Still,” he murmured. “I’ll always do more.”

As the two of you sat there, the weight of the day finally beginning to fade, you realized just how lucky you were. To have someone like ekko be the father of your child.