#abandoned the prompt entirely i'm too exhausted

[spacenintendogs]

siiiiiiiiiighs

30 days of wolfox: day 6

[justnatoka]

Haunted

Poly! The Lost Boys x GN! Reader

A/n: This started as a drabble. Oh well. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Word count: 1.7k

Warning: mention of injury

Prompt: "I'm pretty sure it was a ghost." / "I'm pretty sure it's not." / "Oh really?" / "Ghosts don't bleed."

Summary: After days of running you finally find shelter, both literally and figuratively.

Your panting filled the silence of the empty room, echoing back from the walls of the run down house you were hiding in. It was clear it has been standing abandoned for many years, decay and nature slowly sneaking in through the cracks and taking over. Lucky for you, one of the windows in the back was shattered, probably adventurous teens exploring the place since the door has been boarded up. It was a good enough hiding place for now.

A wave of pain shot through your shoulder as you tried to find a more comfortable seating position against the wall of the kitchen, a nice reminder that you weren’t out of the woods yet. You had been running for days, your body growing more and more exhausted. It looked like you finally managed to lose the hunter chasing you, at least for now. Hopefully, you can spend the day here sleeping.

The next big problem was your shoulder. You had no idea what he shot you with, but it wasn’t healing, not like you usually do. You were more resilient than humans of course, but if you didn’t find some help and soon, you would bleed out.

As you were thinking through your options, trying not to lose yourself to the fear gripping your lungs like a vice at your hopeless predicament, you heard gravel crunch outside. You were instantly on alert, quieting down your breathing, fight or flight taking over once again. You got ready to run if need be. It was possible that it was just some critter scurrying away in the dark, you thought, but then the sound came again and it was clearly something bigger, walking on two feet. As they got closer, you could make out three, four different pair of footsteps. It was not your pursuer, but that didn’t mean they were friendly. In your current state, you didn’t want to risk getting into an altercation with four people, even if they were just ordinary humans. Finally, you could hear them talking too.

“You think it’s haunted?”

“What’s the matter, Paul? Are you chicken?”

“Shut up, Marko. I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Oh, really? Then why don’t you go in first?”

“I will! I’ll show you!”

You heard wood splintering, and it became clear that they were ripping off the wooden planks from the door.

“It looks like no one has been here for a while. I wonder why the humans avoid it so much.” It was a calmer voice that spoke up next, and your brain subconsciously picked up on his word choice.

‘Humans’? Is it possible…?

“I heard that there has been a murder. A man slaughtered his entire family. They probably think it’s cursed.” This one sounded amused, like he was laughing at the fear of others.

“You hear that, Paulie? It’s definitely haunted.”

“Man, shut up!”

They finished dismantling the barricade and the front door swung open with a loud creek. You didn’t take your eyes off the opening connecting the kitchen to the hallway, just a few doors down from the main entrance. As you were slowly and silently backing up to another door behind you, leading to the living room with the broken window, your only escape route, you bumped into a small dresser. To your horror, a glass tipped over and shattered on the floor. Your senses were probably dulled from exhaustion, otherwise you wouldn’t have made such a stupid mistake.

“What was that?”

“Maybe it was a ghost. Let’s go and say hi.”

The footsteps approached and you quickly turned the corner into the living room, just in time to hear them step into the kitchen. They were too close. Then you heard a high-pitched screech, and someone fell over laughing.

“What the hell, Marko? Not cool, man, not cool! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“You should have seen your face! Ow! Stop punching me!”

“What’s going on, boys?” The other two arrived to the kitchen as well.

“That glass broke, and I think I saw something move through that door over there. I’m pretty sure it was a ghost.” The voice belonging to ‘Paul’ said.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not.” It was the calm one this time.

“Oh really? How do you know, Dwayne?”

“Ghosts don’t bleed.”

Silence. Shit. Some of your blood was probably smeared on the wall you were leaning against earlier. You eyed the window. If you could make it there and get outside, the way is clear to the tree line. You can hide in the woods. But if you make a run for it, they would definitely hear it. Oh well, it’s not like you had anything to lose. You glanced back one more time towards the door to the kitchen before quickly turning around to bolt. You didn’t even make it two steps before bumping into something solid and someone grabbed hold of your arms. You panicked, clawing and scratching and hitting any surface you could reach, struggling and hissing, but you couldn’t overpower them. Myriad thoughts were running through your terrified brain. How is this possible? Why can’t I get free? I’m injured and exhausted, but I should still be stronger than an ordinary human. What are they going to do to me? Is this where I die?

“Look what we have here, boys,” came an amused voice from above you, and as you looked up, you stared into the striking blue eyes of the stranger. You quickly took in the scruffy face and the bleached blond mullet before trying to get away once again. You could sense the others stepping into the room behind you. You were surrounded. In your last desperate attempt you vamped out, baring your sharp teeth and hissing in the stranger’s face. His expression changed instantly, the smirk melting off his face. But instead of jerking away from you in fear, his brows furrowed, a frown turning down the corners of his mouth.

“They are one of us,” you heard from behind. The man holding your arms was looking you over more carefully now, his scowl deepening at the sight of your frantic eyes and torn clothes, gaze immediately drawn to your wounded shoulder, still oozing blood through your shirt. His eyes finally met yours once again, now full of concern and, to your amazement, glowing yellow in the dark.

“What happened to you, sweetheart?” His voice was so gentle. You felt tears gathering in your eyes and slowly running down your cheeks as you collapsed in his arms, relief flooding your body. They were like you. They can help you. You’re finally safe. The word safe ran through your head over and over again. He wrapped you up in his arms, his hand running up and down your back in a soothing manner, letting you cry into his shoulder.

After your sobs quietened down, he led you over to the beaten up old couch, letting go of you in the process, but staying close. As you wiped the tears from your eyes, your vision becoming clearer, you saw three guys standing over you, all of them full of genuine concern. The one next to you spoke up again.

“I’m David, and this is my pack,” he motioned to the others. One of them, a blond with a friendly smile sat down on your other side.

“I’m Paul, this is Marko,” the one with the colorful jacket and curly hair waved, ”and the big, brooding fella is Dwayne.” He nodded at you in greeting. “What’s your name, dollface?” You muttered out your name, voice still thick from crying. Paul’s smile brightened, immediately making you at ease, your body finally starting to relax.

“What happened to you?” It was David who spoke up again, his voice somber and his face serious.

“Hunter,” you whispered out and they went rigid. You continued. “He’s been chasing me for days. I finally managed to lose him a few towns over, then I found this place. I thought I can hide here for a bit, get some sleep.” Your hand went to your shoulder, their eyes following the movement. “He shot me with something two days ago. I don’t know what it was, but I’m not healing.”

Paul drew in a sharp breath beside you, and you could see from the corner of your eyes as Marko started pacing around, his hands clenching and unclenching in anger. His steps echoed loudly in the silence following your admission.

“What do we do now?” Dwayne asked, his gaze full of determination.

David looked straight at you, his voice calm as he started speaking, but his eyes echoed the same sentiment you saw in all of them. They were not going to let anything happen to you.

“We’re taking you to Max, our sire. He will figure it out what you were shot with and how to deal with it.” He softened a bit as he added. “You’re safe. You’re one of us now.”

This brought fresh tears to your eyes and for the first time in many days, a smile tugged up the corner of your lips.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice full of emotion.

As you moved to stand up, your legs gave out. Your body has been running on pure adrenaline for a while, not being able to feed while being chased, and it looked like it finally has caught up to you. Before you could collapse to the floor, steady hands took hold of you and you were hoisted from the ground. Looking up, you were met with Dwayne’s warm brown eyes.

“You can rest now,” he said, sending you a small smile as he carried you out the front door, away from the house, away from the fear and desperation. Listening to the murmuring of the others talking, exhaustion finally took you over, resting your head against Dwayne’s solid chest, his steps lulling you to sleep. The future looked just a little bit brighter.

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[kayharrisons]

I was a child before the day that I met Eleanor [Tyler x fem!Reader] [part 1 of 2]

Upon the birth of Kay's baby, your boyfriend comes to the realisation that he wants one of his own with you.

A/N: I'M A TYLER GIRLLLY it's ab time I did a fic for him 🫶 fluff ahead!!!! Title is from A Father's First Spring by the Avett Brothers! V sweet song ab fatherhood:) this chapter is mostly just build up, next chapter will be actual pregnancy stuff!!

Series warnings: childbirth, pregnancy, cousin incest (Kay x Bjorn), fertility issues

Kay's son is born on one of the coldest nights on Yvaga.

You, Rain, Andy and Navarro sit outside in the waiting room, wincing at every scream, every curse from your dear friend as she brings her baby into the world.

Tyler couldn't be pulled from his sister's side, and... interestingly enough, neither could Bjorn. He'd damn near throttled the doctor who'd tried to remove him.

You don't know how long you all sit there before Tyler comes back out. His eyes are tired, his hair sticking to his forehead, but his smile is beaming, proud.

"It's a boy," he grins, glancing back behind him to the door. "Kay and the baby are doing great. You guys can come through in a little bit but... she wanted a minute alone, first."

None of you bring up the fact that Bjorn is still in the room with her, so technically it's not alone... but you move past that, moving over to your boyfriend with a gentle smile, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

"How's unclehood feel, Ty?" you grin, leaning your chin against his arm as you peer up at him. He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your head.

"Insane. Surreal, actually, he's here, now. Kay's a mum. My little sister..." he blows out a sigh, shaking his head. "Bizarre, but like, in a good way, I guess."

You grin wider, leaning up and pecking his cheek, giving his arm a squeeze as you bask in his warmth, his joy.

It isn't long before you're all let into the room. Kay is still abed, naturally, her skin slick with sweat, her bangs plastered to her forehead. She's dressed in the standard issue hospital gown, her hair tied back into a lazy plait, her face exhausted.

But she's glowing with happiness, rivalling the warm glow of Yvaga's sun.

Bjorn is half perched beside her on the bed, eyes red rimmed and glued to the bundle in Kay's arms, as if he's afraid it will disappear.

"Guys," she begins, finally breaking her gaze away from the baby in her arms. "This is Felix," she whispers, beaming back down at her son, who coos and wiggles against her chest, letting out a squeaky yawn.

Needless to say, the entire crew's hearts grow three times bigger.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Felix is a cute kid; chubby cheeks, Kay's dark curls, a beaming smile, and alert blue eyes that look ever so familiar to-

"I'm telling you," Tyler insists, hands on his hips as he beams down at his nephew. Felix beams back at him. "Saw him crawl earlier! Go on, Fel!"

"Fucksake, he'll do it in his own time." Bjorn rolls his eyes, though there is a fond grin on his face. He's sat not too far from Felix, leaning back on his elbows as he keeps an eye on the infant. "Won'tcha, bud? Don't need no one dictactin' whatcha do, hm?"

Felix squeals, reaching over and yanking on Bjorn's nose.

You giggle, setting your datapad aside as you turn to the infant, quite contentedly pulling on Bjorn's nose, the man dramatically crying out and making faces at the baby as he does. "Fel," you coo, crouching down and holding out your hands. "Come to auntie, c'mon, sweetie!"

With another squeal, Felix abandons Bjorn, who collapses onto his back with an overdramatic cry as Felix promptly leaves his side in favour of crawling over to you on wobbly hands and knees.

"Yes!" Tyler cheers, fists in the air. "I knew it! Fuckin' knew it!"

"Don't swear 'round him," Bjorn tuts, shooting his cousin some side eye.

"You've got a bloody cheek."

You ignore them, just grinning wide as Felix stops by your feet, prompting you to scoop him up with a cheer of your own, pressing a smattering of kisses to his cheeks. "Such a clever boy!" you coo, laughing along with his sweet baby giggles.

Bjorn hops to his feet, standing and scooping Felix from your hands, keeping a careful grip of him as he lowers him to the ground, then holds him up high again. Felix shrieks with delight, and Bjorn repeats the motion a few times with a matching beam on his own face. "That's m'boy!" he cheers, holding Felix close and pressing a kiss to his forehead, his little nose. "Such'a clever lad, aren'tcha?"

"Gets it from Kay, clearly." You remark, smirking at him as he pouts at you from over Felix's head, his son's head.

He and Kay haven't officially said anything yet still, but it's obvious. Felix's eyes, his cheeky smile, they're both so completely Bjorn that even Tyler can't look past it.

Add in the fact that Bjorn practically lived with Kay, damn near spent every day with her and Felix... yeah, didn't take a genius to work it out.

You shake your head with a fond grin, turning to look at your boyfriend and gage his thoughts.

Tyler is already staring at you, cheeks a shade darker and eyes so unbelievably soft as they gaze upon you. You cock your head in confusion, smile softening the longer he looks at you. He moves past Bjorn and Felix, coming over to your side as if a magnet is guiding him. He reaches up, gently cupping your cheek in his hand, thumb oh so gently brushing back and forth over your cheek.

"What?" You ask, question in your tone, as your boyfriend's eyes search your face, trailing over your features one by one.

Felix squawks, and Bjorn hums back at him, glancing between you both with raised brows. He looks down at his son, blowing out a little huff of air. "Well, c'mon, then, let's go find'ya mummy, yeah?" and with that he swiftly exits, Felix quite contentedly chewing on the collar of his t-shirt.

Tyler opens his mouth to speak, before closing it with a shaky exhale, sheepish as he ducks his head down. "I really love you, y'know that right?" he asks, voice hoarse.

"Yeah, course I do," you say softly, carding your fingers through his hair. "I love you too. What's on your mind, Ty-"

"Iwannahaveababywithya." he blurts out, before wincing, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fuck- fuck, I'm sorry- that just- it just hit me, when you were holding Felix and-"

You blink at him, stomach swooshing and heart pounding in your chest.

"I mean, I love you to death, y'know? I'm gonna marry you," he says, oh so matter of factly. "I just... I look at you with Felix, and you're just... fuck, love, you suit it, being a mum. And I think about us, and us havin' a..."

"Tyler," you breathe, lips quirking up again.

"Yeah?"

"Okay." you whisper, and it's his turn to freeze. "I feel the same way, babe-"

You break off into a shriek of laughter as he scoops you into his arms, twirling you into a tight hug as he laughs nervously against your ear. You cling onto each other tight, your face buried in his neck and his in your hair.

"Shit, shit-" he laughs, setting you down and clutching your face in his hands, leaning his forehead against yours. "Fuck we... we're really-?"

"We're trying." You breathe, smile hurting your face with how wide it gets. Tyler's smile matches your own, and he laughs again before leaning down, pressing his lips against yours.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Months pass. Felix hits his first birthday, Rain and Navarro show up to family dinner holding hands one evening-

("Are you okay with us?" Rain asks Tyler, awkwardly, hesitantly, her eyes wide with fear.

"Hey, why wouldn't I be?" he asks, smiling fondly and giving her shoulder a squeeze. "You make each other happy, that's all that matters, alright?")

-and Bjorn is promptly chased around the block when Tyler finally pieces together just who had fathered his nephew-

(You'd never seen him so mad, as you held onto a sobbing Kay, as you watched Tyler and Bjorn scream at each other. Thank god Felix was out for a day trip with auntie Rain and uncle Andy, honestly.

"You fuckin' prick-" Tyler shouts, shaking his cousin by jacket collar. "Should fuckin' kill you for- fuck, did you even fuckin' THINK about what you'd done to her, huh? You, what, fucked your cousin and LEFT HER-"

"It's not FUCKIN' LIKE THAT-" Bjorn roars back, shoving Tyler away from him. "We've loved each other for years, not my fault your head was shoved way too far up your own arse to fuckin' NOTICE-"

Tyler shouts some more choice words, rearing a fist back to punch his cousin again. Until, that is, Kay breaks away from you and rushes between the cousins, eyes full of tears and chest heaving.

"Stop it, Ty!" Kay shrieks, arms protectively keeping Bjorn behind her and away from her brother's fists. "Stop! Fucking- I love him-"

Your boyfriend laughed, hiding his face in his hands. "It's- It's fuckin' weird-"

"I know, I know," Kay soothes, hiccuping softly. "And I'm sorry we never said anything sooner but- but this? It's exactly why I was so scared to tell you.")

Things had been tense, for a little while. Tyler and Bjorn didn't speak for a while, not until Kay had sheepishly announced her second pregnancy when Felix was nearing three. It was only then that the cousins reconciled, returning to how they used to be (even if Tyler narrowed his eyes every time he caught Bjorn and Kay kissing, or even merely holding hands).

You marry Tyler, shortly after Felix's third birthday. It's a small ceremony, moreso a signing of a document at a small colony office. But you return home, have dinner and drinks with your family, and he even carries you over the threshold, the pair of you giggling like two dumbass teenagers.

One thing, however, is missing.

Your birth control implant had been removed a week after you and Tyler had talked about having a baby. You'd both gotten tests, fearful of Jackson having done something to your fertilities.

According to those tests, you were both damn fertile myrtles.

It was baffling, the fact that three years later you still had no baby, your cycle was as regular as ever.

Until, that is, it wasn't.

[vampirehizzies]

ALSO: considering Clato with the absentminded playing with the hair prompt from the quiet acts of love list! Thoughts? 🫣

hi new friend! have some tooth rotting clato fluff involving hair (aka the two things i'm most passionate about)

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They are settled in for the evening and about to rest, going to bed early to boost their energy for another day of hunting. In her exhaustion, having long ago abandoned any care for professionalism and the pretense of apathy expected of her, nor how it might look to the prying eyes glued to the screen, she had allowed herself to crawl into his sleeping bag and settle into the space beside him without invitation, if only for the sake of fighting off the Gamemakers' manufactured cold.

As if this single moment of weakness had opened the floodgates, Cato takes it as an invitation to gently pull her body by the waist closer to his, the heat of his arm still radiating through her and feeling almost like direct skin to skin contact despite the layers of cloth serving as a barrier between them. Then his hand finds its way to the back of her head, practically cradling it to his chest.

She tilts her chin up to make her disapproval known, but even her cool, icy glare, which had sent many a Tribute and even Academy students back home scampering off with fear, doesn't seem to discourage him. Clove isn't entirely sure if his not meeting her eyes is a purposeful, stubborn act of willful ignorance or if Cato really was just that damn oblivious.

Nonetheless, her raised eyebrows and jade-green eyes blazing with irritation do little to dissuade him from lightly running his thumb along her bubble braid, tracing the strands with exploratory curiosity until he finds his way to the end secured by a single black hair tie.

"I think I could do this," he murmurs. Quiet, contemplative, not the overly excitable and arrogant boy she's used to. "Doesn't look too hard. I used to do my sister's hair all the time."

Clove freezes next to him, not prepared for the bubble of delight she feels expanding behind her rib cage when she's assaulted by the visual of Cato with some small blonde girl who looked exactly like him, or the scenario she imagines of the monstrous boy nodding along to the girl's stories out of brotherly kindness and dutifully arranging her hair for her. She allows the wall that his chest provides to hide how she bites back a smile at the imagery, at odds with how Cato usually seemed to be around her - an obnoxious, irritating menace.

(These words aren't wholly accurate in their description, Clove can admit, if only to herself. He'd spent the entire day loyally guarding her back, offering stories of his life back home and listening attentively when she shares her own, deferring to her suggestions, even granting her the kill that he most wanted - that of Fire Girl - with only the slightest initial protest. Of course, Cato pushed her buttons, as he does now with his ridiculous habit of needlessly touching her, but she could hardly say that his presence wasn't a relief most of the time.)

With how closely they are tucked into one another, he must feel her stiffness, a result of her discomfort and her racing heart, but Cato politely doesn't comment. "Maybe I can fix your braid, if you'd like," he offers, finding a strand of hair that had escaped her braided ponytail and been relentlessly disturbing her, his callused fingers brushing against her cheek as he tucks it behind her ear.

Embarrassment and an unidentifiable emotion which had very little to do with rage heats Clove's pale skin, now visibly reddened. "I don't want you to. My hair is fine," she growls, overcome with sudden annoyance for both of them. Cato for his eagerness to be kind to her in an Arena that brutally punished such vulnerabilities. Herself for enjoying how his hands feel on her a little too much, for being tempted to give in to the overpowering impulse of snatching his withdrawn hand and returning it to its rightful place on her hair, where it had been tenderly massaging her scalp with delicate fingers before she had snapped at him.

Although Two Careers had never cared as deeply for aesthetics as the Capitol or District One, she is profoundly certain that her hair must be in hopeless disarray. Strands fall out of her formerly neatly woven braided ponytail and obscure her peripheral vision, which would be to her detriment in combat until it was fixed. The more pressing problem of a terrible lack in bathrooms where she might freshen up simply couldn't be helped, which is why Clove has no choice but to live with the rank odor surrounding both her and her District partner that was a natural consequence of no available showers, as well as the dirt and gore of other Tributes gathering under her nails, marring her clothes and skin and hair.

"Well, fine, Clovey," he concedes with a scoff. She barely restrains a hiss at that stupid nickname. "I'm just trying to be a good ally," comes his defense, even as he is unperturbed by her hostility towards him. In fact, he seems more amused by it than anything else, and his soft laughter is a deep sound that sends small, skittering, remarkably pleasant vibrations through her body.

"For fuck's sake." Clove shuffles out of the sleeping bag, taking the opportunity to flail her limbs as she does so and elbow him childishly, annoyed when he blinks owlishly at her instead of retaliating against her aggression.

"Yes, if you can, fix it," she commands in response to his questioning gaze. "There's still some light out for you to see, and I don't want my hair in the way when I'm fighting another Tribute." A part of her which she will vehemently deny voices the idea that she could take the excuse to have his hands in her hair, indulge in the soothing effect of his touch.

He looks as if he wants to say something but fortunately for his safety, thinks better of it, following her to a nearby tree and sitting at its base. Lowering herself so that she is positioned in front of and facing away from him, Clove leans back and twirls a random stray knife she retrieved from inside her jacket, for something to do with her hands and hide her fragile nerves. Meanwhile, Cato sets to work with capable, expert movements, loosening her hair and detangling it with his fingers for far longer than is strictly necessary.

Once smooth and shiny and lustrous, black like midnight sky and falling pin-straight down her back, it must now be horribly greasy, slathered with grime and sweat and probably the blood of one of her kills. She represses a shudder at that thought, closing her eyes and only focusing on how her District partner coils the ends of her hair around his fingers.

Well, that was completely unnecessary for hair styling, but Clove doesn't remind him of the task she originally assigned. Like it's her fault Cato is so easily distracted. Eventually, Clove does crane her neck so she is facing Cato and snarl at him to "cut that shit out," ignoring the smug grin that she has half a mind to slice off his face with one of her knives.

Evidently, he is by no means an expert on girls' hairstyles, but Cato manages to recreate the braided ponytail passably. Once he is done, he pivots her so she faces him and he can examine his work, his jaw tensed, eyes narrowing with the same serious intensity and focus she had observed of him in Training.

"Good enough?" He requests Clove's feedback, his gaze meeting hers, lake blue eyes contrasting against mossy green. "I think you certainly look presentable now, and not like you've been living in the woods for the past few weeks," he adds cheekily.

Her mouth twitches, resisting her efforts to prevent a smile.

Never one to quit while he's ahead, he continues to absentmindedly play with the tail of her newly formed bubble braid, before releasing it and allowing his hand to drop lower until his palm is cupping the side of her neck, his thumb brushing over her pulse point. Clove swallows nervously, her mouth suddenly unbearably dry. She doesn't even remember to snap at him to stop, or remind him that they have a reputation to uphold.

That ship sailed a long while back, after one rule change which would forever alter what they were to each other. An announcement that was followed by their hysteric, disbelieving laughter, then him picking up her smaller body like she weighed nothing and holding her tightly in his arms for a celebratory hug that she hadn't had the presence of mind to object to, delirious with her joy.

She knows she isn't helping matters either, staying near him during the day so that their arms brushed as they walked even when the midday temperature was hardly cold enough to justify their closeness, allowing him to place his hand on her shoulder or grab the crook of her elbow when he wanted her attention, responding with only a small frown instead of threats to relieve him of his arms.

Ignoring his half compliment, Clove instead points at the now deep blue color of the sky. "We should get some sleep," she mutters quietly, breaking the heavy, calming silence that had settled between them. He nods his agreement and they return to the sleeping bag, where she faces away from him to avoid the burden of eye contact. Falling asleep when her mind can't help but wander to the actions of his hands on her hair, fighting off the way she craves for more of it, is not an easy task.

[wehaveimagineshere]

Request for Admin Ren! Could I request a NSFW/explicit scenario for Gale to react to his gender neutral crush accidentally saw him shirtless? - eclipse anon

I've been sitting here thinking of situations where someone can walk in on someone else shirtless and it always goes back to either walking into their room or similar to the "gotta gather clothes" or something like I wrote for you in another prompt. Gale specifically just doesn't strike me as someone who just randomly takes off his shirt like other people in the group would (looking at you Halsin).

Basically what I'm saying is that I'm recycling something I've used for you before and hopefully that's alright!

~*~*~

You'd grown up in the bustling city of Baldur's Gate but after having tasted the wilds of the Sword Coast and the Shadowlands, the amount of people seemed so...much.

Probably didn't help there was a giant brain somewhere in the city, the entire government was overrun with tadpoles, and your little group of misfits were the only ones able to stop it.

Exhausting. All of it.

So it really shouldn't have been much of a surprise when your brain thought it'd heard Gale's response to enter when you knock on his door one night. Shouldn't have been a surprise to find your eyes locked on his chest, shirt who knows where as he turns with eyebrows raised, unintentionally showing you more of his very nice physique that your gaze refuses to waver from.

"Did you need something?" you hear him ask.

"Yeah, I uh..." Shit, what did you come here for again?

Following your line of sight and glancing down, his chuckle reaches your ears. "My eyes are up here, you know." A hand breaks your uninterrupted ab sight and moves up toward his face.

With much self control, you follow that hand to meet a gaze dancing with entertainment.

You shift, embarrassed. "You really shouldn't surprise someone like that. Naked, in your own room?" A playful scoff. "Scandalous. Not befitting of a great and powerful wizard."

He laughs, the sound dragging a smile from you. "You do not want to know the stories Elminster has about his time in his rooms."

"Ew."

"If you're going to accuse me of scandalous behavior..." His voice drops and a gleam enters his eyes, his feet taking him closer to you. "I might as well make things scandalous."

Fire simmers in your veins at the look he gives you, heat wrapped in a playful glimmer. Your eyes battle between drinking in that gaze or dropping down to drink in his body. "I did come here for a reason."

"Enlighten me."

Gods, he knows what he's doing to you and you love and hate him for it. Grasping for that long lost thread of why you came here, you cast your mind for a believable story and come up empty.

Especially when his hands find your hips and you're thighs bump against the desk behind you. That confident smile on his tempting lips makes your breath a little harder to get, abandoning you entirely as those lips find your throat.

As his tongue teases your skin.

Embers boil your veins as he explores your throat, teeth nipping and tongue lazily trailing the sting. Your fingers trail up his thigh on their own volition, a smirk of your own pulling your lips as you feel his need. His shaky exhale as you palm him ignites a fire that has you driving him back until his knees hit the bed, until he's seated on the edge and you're on your knees.

He helps you draw his pants down, his fingers gripping the bedsheets in anticipation as your eyes drop to him. Letting just your fingertips trail up his hard velvet, you gently circle his head before trailing back down.

His hips shift, and you decide to not tease him too much.

Running the tip of your tongue along his head, you hear the hitched exhale and you smile, looping your fingers along his base as you dip down, shaft running down your tongue as you take him, feeling it hit the back of your throat before backing out.

You do it again, a little more slowly, never able to resist the urge to tease. Squeezing with your fingers, you set a slow, steady pace, determined to make him a writhing mess by the time you're done.

Gasps and hisses and delicious sharp inhales fuel your rhythm, fuel your own need as you work him. At some point your other hand comes up to cup his balls, massaging gently as you slowly up the pace on his cock.

"Please," you hear him whisper.

Raising an eyebrow, you let his cock go with an audible pop. His hips shift in protest. "Please what?"

"Enough with the teasing," he breathes, blankets in a death grip to stop the urge to touch himself, anything to bring back the friction.

You hum, taking in his flushed cheeks and heaving chest. Pride turns your lips up as you take him in once more, sliding so agonizingly slowly down and up before giving him what he wants.

Adding your hand to the motion, you're surprised he lasts longer than you expect as he finally spills down your throat, his groan vibrating into your very bones as you swallow, fingers gently pumping his twitching need until his arms give out and he collapses onto the bed.

Crawling onto the mattress next to him, you prop a head on your hand as you look over your results, burning the look of a tired and satisfied Gale into your memory.

"Well?" you ask, smiling as his eyes slide to yours. "Was that scandalous enough for you?"

His lips slide into a smile as he turns to you, fingers dancing on your hip. "Well, I wouldn't say we're quite done, would you? You have yet to be satisfied." Those fingers slip between your legs and he grins at what he finds. "We have quite a night ahead of us, I think."

[karnaca78]

For the WIP asks - I could still write a book about Free Jazz it was auGh, but I'm curious about Deep Down? 👀

Thank you for asking!! (and for being so enthusiastic about Free Jazz too!)

So, Deep Down is a sort of AU where Vander and Silco's reunion (as seen in ep. 3) goes much differently. It happens before the kids' heist in Piltover and really focuses on their relationship without the whole drama from the show's story around it (I mean they got plenty of drama of their own so...)

It doesn't take place in the infamous cannery, but rather in a location that rekindles all sorts of memories for the both of them: the coal mines where they used to work in their youth. Mostly because I have a weird fascination for abandoned industrial aesthetics and these kinds of places in particular; and for the opportunity it gives me to use dark and ominous imagery in the writing itself.

There isn't much more I can say without diving too deeply into spoiler territory, so I will leave it at that, but there will be a fair share of angst in there. That's not all there is to it, though.

Good thing is, it's almost entirely written (3 complete chapters out of 4: hopefully I'll get back to it sooner rather than later) 👀

So here's a lil' snippet without too much spoiling material:

"The mines, they smell like a peculiar sort of death. A slow one, tinted with gaseous hues and a metallic aftertaste. No more sweat, though, now that they’re nothing but deserted, desecrated cathedrals made of raw stone. No more foul-scented breaths coming out of half-drunk foremans’ mouths.

No more life.

Still, behind the veil, a sound.

Not a voice, but close enough. The bartender keeps on walking, keeps on scraping his boots against dirt and mud and tiny rocks, keeps on going forward without really seeing what awaits. And something murmurs in his ears. It flows like a current and recedes, a chanting tide waving back and forth as if addressing him and him only.

Is it a song, or a prayer?

Then he remembers. Everything slides into place, and his tense shoulders allow themselves to relax ever so slightly. Of course. It’s only the natural music of the underground, for years obscured by exhausted groans and occasional shanties. The caves have regained their otherworldly tones. All is as it should be.

Silco has not even flinched once. It prompts Vander to ask himself— has he been here already before tonight, walking the familiar tracks of his youth? He has never been the kind to wander too far off along memory lane. But, as one can bitterly suppose, a near-death experience might change anyone’s perspective.

This is all nonsense, screams another throat at the back of his mind. He claims that you don’t owe him anything, and yet— you owe him the world.

You’d bring it to its knees if only he dared to ask."

[queers-gambit]

Midnight Calls

prompt: your Dragon Prince summons you to the throne room late one evening.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 7.1k+

note: oh, this fucking guy is doing something to me.

warnings: not edited because wonky brain gave up, poorly written Iron Throne smut (too lazy for specifics), Daemon's a simp in this, too, cursing, descriptive language and situations, allusion to domestic abuse, murder plot? ... murder plot.

next: part two: High Noon

"My Lady?" You heard from the front of your room, turning mutely away from the newly-stoked fire to spy a handmaiden sheepishly standing in the cracked doorway. "I'm sorry to intrude, but your presence has been requested - "

"By whom? It's well after midnight, Mary," you snipped, exhausted from the day's events. Your husband laid in a separate bed with his company of whores, and you? You were chosen as witness for the Princess' marriage to the Heir of Driftmark, and after the excitement of the feast, you were ready to take yourself to bed. "I am retired for the evening, for I am beyond my wits in exhaustion, so, please, go inform whomever that I am not available at this - "

"Prince Daemon has sent for you, Lady."

These words made you come to something of a screeching halt; where your heels actually skidded over the stone floor of your bed chamber. Your hands instantly fiddled with each other, slowly turning to stare at the maid as if to sus out her lie.

Truth was, years ago, when you were young and stupid, you and the Prince Daemon had something akin to a love affair; though you had never coupled before, it was something grand. Mary knew of this due to the fact that she has been your handmaiden for as long as you had been apart of court - going on some decade now.

Your father had pushed for you to marry the Prince of the City, and in fact, Daemon often liked to entertain the idea of a wedding, and putting babes in your belly, and living a 'simple' life with you. He courted you royally, loved you wholly, and never once made you feel as if you were anything less than your status - yet still lit a flame of desire in your stomach that made you feel like a dirty whore. Everything was good, the court - and most of all, the King, Daemon's grandfather - seemed to approve of the love-match and would often show their support by addressing the pair of you together as one.

And then... The Queen, his grandmother, had struck a bargain with the Royce's of the Vale, and the second son, Daemon, was wed within a fortnight after his knighthood - where you had celebrated with him lovingly. Supportively. Protectively.

You had held his hand possessively through the entire reception (not that he let go, either), kissed his cheek with desire pitting your stomach, and played your part of dutiful Lady well. You celebrated the Prince with love in your eyes, before those same eyes filled with tears when you stood in the same throne room, watching him repeat vows to a woman he'd never love.

He was different after that, distant and stoic; cold and calculating. He became brutal and unpredictable, and after his wedding, he wasn't to be seen with you - as you were still unwed.

But you held no quarrels with that because seeing Daemon in court, even, weighed your heart to your feet. His absence was always noted, and you were never sure if you were more on edge when he was present or not; yet, when he was banished, nothing ever truly stuck, as he would always return, making your stomach and heart flip.

This time around, Daemon Targaryen had strut into the throne room of the Red Keep and was offered a chair at the King's table - his brother's table - during the wedding feast of his Lady niece, the Realm's Delight and Heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra.

You were in the crowd, a grimace on your face from your husband's heavy, greasy hands, and your heart turned to stone after Daemon's 'abandonment'. Sure, you understood he had no choice, but you still hated that he actually married her, and now, years later, he just pranced back into everyone's life following the news of his wife's untimely demise. And how tragic, for the young couple did not have any children, and therefore, no heirs to Rhea's home, Runestone.

To say you were suspicious was an understatement, but curiosity burned a fucking hole in your mind over what the Rogue Prince wanted with you now - after all this time - at this very late hour.

Huffing, your hands smoothed over the skirt of your evening gown, and your throat constricted with emotion to see no lie in the maid's eyes; only nervousness, and fear, as if she knew what would become of her if she did not produce you to the Prince.

Nodding, you assured, "Thank you... I will find the Prince soon."

"He's waiting for you," she glanced to the hallway; confusion knotting your stomach.

"He's out there right now?"

"No, no, Lady, but he lingers in the foyer for you," she nodded, watching you nervously pace in a small circle.

"Very well," you relented, sighing once more as you came to a halt. "Take the night off, Mary, you've worked all day. I will see you in the morning."

The maid nodded and sighed with relief, "Thank you, Lady. Yes, yes, I will see you soon for the tournament begins in the morn. Sleep well, my Lady, do not let the Prince plague you greatly."

"He's just a headache to the court, I can handle the Prince," you waved, slightly rolling your eyes; feigning passiveness while the idea of seeing the Prince again made hair on your neck and arms stand rigid with excitement.

It didn't take long for Mary to leave and for you to slip from your room, most of the castle already fast asleep from the exhaustion the day warranted. You moved along the darkened halls, still in your evening gown with heels clacking over the stone floors; thoughts and wonder over what Daemon wanted now - as you were married, and it was uncouth for him to call upon you like he was.

Yet, curiosity shot through your blood like an arrow through a pheasant.

You rounded the last corner to the foyer, slowing your gait as you glanced around; wondering where the hell your caller could've been, and why the hell you had so easily agreed to meet with him. Your hands joined in front of you again, twisting in anxiety as your head turned on a swivel to try and spy the white-haired-devil you had loved since you were a young girl, new and fresh to the courts.

You saw nothing to give any indication anyone was there, until your gaze caught the double doors to the throne room - where only one was cracked a sliver to allow a dusting of lighting to flood into the room. With as much bravery as you felt you could muster, you neared the doors, checked once more for anyone watching you, and pushed the door open only a hair more to allow you to slip inside.

The door clanged shut as you pressed your back against it.

The stone of the throne room floor was still wet with blood from the murdered Velaryon Knight, a few candles still alight to provide an outline of the room's furniture. Your eyes scanned the room before finding your caller, sat lazily on the Iron Throne - staring you down with a knowing smirk, fingers curled to toy with his bottom lip.

"My Prince," You greeted smoothly, dress fluttering as you descended the stone stairs into the lower landing of the throne room.

"What do you think?" He asked in his native tongue, having taught you what felt like a lifetime ago. And like muscle memory, your ears understood his words, and your tongue formed a response without needing to be reminded,

"Of what?"

He smirked when he heard you slip into Valyrian. "Of me, my sweet Lady, here, on the Throne," his other hand opened in a lazy gesture.

Your head cocked, shrugging, "Doesn't suit you. You look unnatural up there, my Prince."

"Is that so?"

Your smirk grew only a fraction, "It's a chair to grow old and fat in... Hardly becoming to a knight of your stature."

"My Lady knows how to flatter me," Daemon smirked.

Your feet stepped over the pooled blood, skirts of your dress dragging through the tacky substance to streak across the floor. "Why did you call me here tonight, Daemon?"

"Is that malice in your voice that I detect, my Lady?"

"You expected me to be happy?" You wondered, eyes casting to the half-burning candles around him. "Tonight has not been what I ever could've imagined - and then you send for me after midnight? I am not happy, Prince, but should you call, I'd be a fool to refuse, yes? Or so you've had it known."

"I am not the same as before," Daemon sighed patiently. "I am newly single, my Lady."

"Right. My condolences for your late, Lady wife, my Prince."

He waved your words off as you finally came to a halt at the base of the Iron Throne's pedestal. "Her passing matters not - "

"Especially since my husband still draws breath," you quipped, cocking your head; reminding him that you were not his.

Daemon sighed tiredly, "Oh, you bore me with talk of marriage to the wrong people. Come, my Lady, you know I would have you - "

"From what I've seen tonight, you'd have me, your niece, and her cousin, too! Lady Laena is truly a rare breed, a beauty beyond this age."

"Is that jealousy?" He mused, still speaking to you as if in Valyria itself. "First malice, now you are jealous? I must admit, it is not becoming on you, Lady."

"Matters not what I feel, for I am owned by a man. Who is not you, I'll remind."

This time, Daemon's head cocked, "Is that right? Never thought I'd see the day someone 'owned' you - you had the most spirit of any Lady in court - "

"Funny how things change, my Prince. Now, is there a reason for you calling on me tonight?"

Daemon leaned forward to press his elbows to his knees, gesturing you forward, "Come."

"Daemon - "

"My Lady, do you not trust me? Is that where our friendship has gotten us?" His head cocked naughtily, smirking deeper than before.

"Our friendship has brought us nothing but heartbreak, Daemon," you refused, standing your ground.

"And my wife is no longer around - "

"Leaving only one obstacle?"

"An obstacle I would gladly cut down - if it meant I could have what is owed to me!" Daemon snapped, standing to his feet in anger. "You would blame me for what was never within my control!?"

"You did not fight for me! You did not fight for us, Daemon, and now you want me to believe - that what? After all this time, you love me still?"

"I never stopped - "

"Yet you couple with your niece!?"

"ENOUGH!" Daemon roared, panting heavily.

"No!" You raged in return, stalking up the stairs. "No! You don't get to shut this down because you are uncomfortable or ashamed! For years - years, Daemon - you let me feel this! We've never spoke of it - let alone been alone to have such a conversation since the Queen Mother broke our engagement!"

His eyes turned hard, "I did not do that, dove, you do not - "

"Yet, you did nothing!"

"And what did you do?" He demanded. "Hmm? Why must this only be on me? We were both powerless against her, so, tell me - what did you do?"

"I plead," your voice wobbled, tears brimming from your confession. "I begged my father to do something - anything. I even took an audience with the Queen..."

This caught Daemon's attention, making him step closer, "What?"

"I took an audience," you repeated, emotion clawing at your throat, "to beg her to let us marry, that you were... You were all I ever desired. She spat on me in return, and married me off to Lord Tytos out of what I assumed to be vengence."

Daemon's jaw steeled at the mention of your husband, "You did not mention this before."

"When would I have? She married you within 12 days of announcing the end of our and the start of your new engagement! I had no time with you, we could not do anything - there would never have been a difference!"

His head shook as he slipped back into the Common Tongue, "You do not know that."

"I do know that you did not fight for us," you repeated, following suit and changing the way your tongue formed words. "You left me... Like it was easy to forget me..."

He stepped closer, a hand raising to your cheek and jaw, "I did not want to leave you, ever, my dove, and trust me when I say that walking away from you was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"Makes no difference now," you sniffled, allowing yourself a weak moment to enjoy the feel of his warmth. He always ran hot, like the fire in his blood warmed his whole body. You never could sleep properly, feeling far too cold at times - and with Daemon, you were always at ease.

"Tell me to do it," he growled, tightening his grip on you; tugging you into his chest to press closer. "Tell me to cut him down, my Lady, and I will. In the tournament, I will ensure your Lord husband meets his end," he spat the word 'husband', like it was acid on his tongue.

"Daemon," you breathed, his lips ghosting over your own, "I cannot ask that of you, I know you'd do it."

"And? You'd be mine again - "

"You are after too many, after too much! What? Did the other ladies already reject you? I know your niece married tonight, did the Lady Laena reject you, too?"

Daemon's body was pressed to yours, hovering over you in the dim candlelight of the throne room; the Iron Throne looming beside you both as Daemon kept your head tilted back.

"Watch yourself, Lady, I am still your Prince," his breath fanned over your lips and chin. "I could take you and make you mine, for you will never belong to another man. Tell me, my love," he purred sinfully, "has he consummated your marriage?"

Tears sprung to your eyes as you were forced back to your wedding night; gaze dropping to his chest as your lips pursed to keep emotion behind a mask of neutrality that had long since been perfected. But the change in body language, where you tensed under his hands, did not go unnoticed by Daemon.

"What is it?" he asked when you remained quiet, stroking your cheek. "What did he do?"

"Daemon," you breathed, begging him to stop without needing to say the words.

"Did he bring you harm?"

"Don't."

"Has he put his hands on you, Lady?" Daemon demanded, almost jostling your chin as he pulled you to look at him directly. "Tell me," he asked again, petting the apple of your cheek as you choked on your words. "Your Prince asked you a question."

"Daemon, w-what happens between a man and wife behind closed doors... That's sacred - that's not something we should discuss."

His lilac iris' bore into yours, staring straight into your soul, and as if watching it happen in his mind, seemed to understand, "He has brought you harm."

"It matters not," you swore, nudging closer to his chest. "You cannot help me now, Daemon, it's done."

"Tell me something?"

"Like it's a choice," you whispered, his lips pulling into a smirk. Gently, his forehead met yours, and time suddenly stopped as if you were young again.

"Why has his seed not taken?" His voice dropped to a whisper, as if afraid to shatter the glass illusion you had fallen into.

Your shoulders shrugged meekly, "He has other heirs, from earlier marriages. He... He does not share my bed often."

"No? He neglects the one duty a husband has?" He toyed, but your eyes fell from his again. "It is not welcomed, is it, my dove? You do not welcome his touch, do you?"

Sniffling, you answered, "In truth, my Prince, you have the only welcomed touch."

"Then ask me, and I will cut him down, and nothing will stand between us, my sweet," he pet the skin of your cheek, down to your pulse point - like he was drawn to the rapid beating of your heart. "There is no Queen left to tell us what to do, and we can be together."

"We speak of conspiracy, deceit, and me, of mutiny against the man I am sworn to..."

Daemon sighed, "What has he done to you?"

You huffed through your nose, "Only what you have allowed to come to pass. Tell me in truth, is my House so lowly that the Queen sought to undermine the King?"

"In truth, pet, I believe she saw the power we stoke in one another and feared for it," he licked over his lips, gently wetting yours in the process. Relishing in the smallest of gasps that fell past your lips, Daemon continued, "Knowing you and I had each other, she feared the hold we might have on the kingdom. She sought to undermine us, dove, because we showed promise to be stronger than she ever was with the King." Both of his hands seized over your hips to grind into his, hissing, "How powerful our children would be."

"Daemon - you speak dangerously," you whispered, gasping when his teeth gnashed over the sensitive skin of your neck. Your hands jolted to grab onto his biceps, squeezing in temptation as the Prince's mouth salivated from the feel of your breasts pressed against him.

"I speak only the truth," he breathed, forehead to yours; one hand now wrapped around your hips to keep them anchored to his, as the other slithered up to cup your jaw and cheek. "Give us the chance we had stolen from us," his mouth taunted your own, dancing over one another as you breathed one breath. "Let me love you, as a husband properly should."

Your resolve was crumbling, "'S improper."

"The only improper idea is that we are not together now," he all but hissed, frustration evident. "Why do you push me away, Lady? Do you not want me anymore? Say it - tell me you don't want me, and I will walk away. I will leave you alone, the only formalities being that of court."

The idea of Daemon being so far from you, and being someone else's husband again, drove your stomach into your throat. Your heart was his, and had been since you were all but 14; leaving you hardly any room to resist him, and yet duty and honor screamed in your head.

Your hand rose to pet fingertips down his face, catching his bottom lips as your mind waged war with your heart. "What if it's not the same?" You wondered, unable to draw yourself from him even if he asked you to.

Perhaps he needed to push you away - literally and physically - for you to truly let him go. But now that you were in his arms again, you did not want to stray far from them.

"You are still you," he murmured, "and I've always loved you as you are."

And like that, you were done for; rocking to your toes to press your mouth hotly against his, both releasing instant moans from the long-overdue kiss that's haunted both your dreams. His hands were everywhere at once, petting through your hair; over skin; over clothes; and gripping you in ways your husband could only imagine. Yet, your heart tugged, and your mouth muttered against his, "Tell me again."

He chuckled, pulling back to pet over your loosening braids, curling a portion behind your ear; staring beyond your soul, and into your very heart before speaking with the most conviction you've ever heard, "I love you, my dove, and I always have after all this time."

You groaned onto his lips, arms moving to coil around his neck and breathe him in as his hands squeezed your hips tightly. Daemon let his teeth rake over your bottom lip, trapping it, before suckling it wetly into his mouth; making your knees buckle some.

He breathed heavily against you, reaching back, and hissing when his palm was sliced by one of the sword points making up the Iron Throne. "See?" You mused, glancing back to the (stupid idea of a) chair and nudging Daemon. "Not suited for you, my Prince."

He chuckled, "Still... I bet you'd love to fuck me on it."

You nearly hiccuped at his words, "Daemon, if we're caught - this is already risky enough. I'm married..."

"Not for much longer," he rolled his eyes, stepping back to lower himself into the seat of the Throne; eyes never straying from yours as his legs spread almost casually, "and everyone is in bed after tonight's excitement. Wouldn't it be grand for us all to wake in the morning, to another wedding?"

You scoffed lightly, his hands holding yours tightly and easing you forward to his lap; never forcing nor rushing, but encouraging you. "Wouldn't it be a funeral first?"

Daemon cocked his head, smirking as he took hold of your hips to guide you into his lap, musing, "Technically, two of them, my dove."

With knees planted on either side of his slender hips, your cunt was pressed directly over his bulge; foreheads pressed together again, simply existing in your new position. You blinked once, then thrice, asking, "Daemon? Would you lie to me, my dragon?"

"To you?" He repeated, tutting after with a shift of his hips. "Dangerous woman, you know I cannot."

"Then tell me..." You paused, whispering over his lips, "Did you kill your Lady-wife?"

His hands tightened over yours, "Careful, dove. Those are heavy words."

"Do not lie to me, my Prince, I only wish to know the waters we are wading into," you purred, gently rolling your hips forward to test the waters of uncharted territory. Judging by how he stiffened some and held you in a bruising grip, you wagered you were doing something right as you were never charged with another man's pleasure.

You were barely charged with your own.

However, without Daemon, you felt no life in you - no reason to touch yourself, save for the few times in court he had made meaningful eye contact with you before and in-between his banishments.

Now, you had time to show him your adoration, and how perfectly ready for this you felt after the realm's biggest event of the year - a Royal Wedding. Your previous words added with your ministrations caused Daemon's brain to fog a bit before clearing when your teeth nipped his bottom lip. He confessed, "I did not kill my Lady-wife, but by the Gods, do I wish it were me. To get rid of that which stands in our way."

"She is not all," you reminded, his forehead slick against your own.

"I will handle your husband," Daemon promised, helping your hips roll into his at a more practiced pace. "Leave it to me, dove, just give me permission, and he's done for. You and I can finally be together, like we were meant to be, hmm?" he nodded against you, panting lightly as his experienced body felt like a virgin's again by the very idea of having the woman he loved - finally.

You whined against his lips, clinging to his body as your hips moved with his as if with a mind of their own; a wet patch forming under you from how aroused you were, and evidently, how much he was, too. Feeling bold, your hands clamped over his shoulders, and you pushed and pulled your hips with more of a swirl; gaining friction and speed.

"Shit," you cursed, the feeling indescribable. "'S always like this?" You slurred a bit, mouth at his ear as you were focused on the feeling of his hips under yours.

"Can be," he promised, pulling your face to his, licking against your lips; pressing a few searing kisses against your mouth.

"Fuck," you moaned, dry-humping Daemon like you were being paid for it; but not a single fiber of your being cared for how fucked-out you already were. He was the man of your dreams, someone you'd never move on from - and here he was, all yours.

How powerful you felt in that moment.

Daemon even hissed lightly in appreciation when your hand grabbed around his throat to hold him still as your lips and teeth nipped his. "Dove," he panted your old nickname like a prayer held at an alter, bliss coating every syllable; lips licking over the shell of your ear, "I'm not gonna last, and I'll be damned if I don't finish in you tonight."

The notion knotted your stomach, "And if your seed sticks?"

"Then we know who the Gods favor," he purred, biting his bottom lip as he fought off a knowing grin; hips hoisting yours up to hold, allowing him to reach for his trousers to find them already unlaced. "How'd you do that?" he asked with a small laugh, freeing himself from the fabric.

You only winked, leaning in to capture his smiling lips in another kiss as both his hands returned to your hips to squeeze. He let you grind over his lap once, twice, and a third time before lifting you gently again so he could gather the skirts of your soiled dress. "Oh," you gasped when your bare cunt came to settle over his glistening cock.

"Mh," he sighed out, holding you against him. "Just the smell of you is enough for me, dove."

A shiver raked over your body, wondering what the hell was wrong with the Lady Rhea Royce to not bed her husband... Or was that more his doing? "Daemon," you moaned wantonly against his ear, letting yourself squirm on his lap.

"Gods, dove," he hissed, grabbing at your throat to lift your head, "fucking soaking me." He groaned and tossed his head back when your hips swirled to coat his cock with your gathering slick. Another moan fell from your mouth as he reached between you to swipe his fingers down your slit; causing you to jump in slight panic as a fingertip dared to round the rim of your puckered hole - forcing a strangled moan from your throat. "Shhh," he crooned, "'s me, dove. Just me," he soothed, easing a finger down again, into your wanting, pulsing, hot and slick hole; licking his lips, "and you know I've got you. Hmm? Say it, my love."

The sentimental term of endearment was not lost on your ears, yet you only replied, "I know you've got me, my Prince. Only you - only ever you, fuck."

"That's right," he praised, adding another finger as your back arched and thighs quaked a little from straining in order to give him room to work. "There's my good girl, fuck..." His teeth nipped at your ear lobe, humming in appreciation, "Always were such a good girl for your Prince, weren't you, my dove?"

One of your hands was laid along his shoulder to hold the back of his neck as the other cradled his cheek; hips held at an angle as you pressed to him in an arch. "Only ever wanted you," you affirmed in his ear, rocking your hips as his fingers increased speed, "and I always want to please you."

He groaned lightly, your slick arousal causing his fingers to squelch in an echo across the throne room - both moaning at the explicit obscenity. "Fuck - you do, sweet girl," he whispered, voice hoarse from want. "Always fucking please me - just looking at you - fuck," he licked a bold strip up your neck, ending at your ear, "always were the prefect minx for me - no matter how broken you think you are, my dove, you're still so fucking perfect to me. Hmm?" His voice grew steadier as he held you up; legs giving out as his fingers found that spot within your walls, and focused all his energy on that single spot. "Know what you are to me? Know how I will spend my life worshipping you? Never want you to change, dove," his fingers curled inside you, "always want you wild, and free - " He trailed off with a taunt breath, gathering your wetness in his palm as if milking you for your nectar. "Such a good girl, making a fucking mess, mhmph, yes."

"Daemon," you whimpered in a broken whisper that told him more than your words could right now.

"Cum on my fingers, dove. Fuck - I wanna feel you. Fuckin' everywhere, just wanna be with you," he almost deliriously admitted as your cunt contracted around his fingers and he had to hold you close as your hips stuttered to trap his hand between you two. "Fuck, that's it," he praised you, "that's my good girl, such a pretty little thing. Gods, look at you," he teased lightly, looking down at you splayed against his chest as he retracted his fingers and hand from the warmth of your caverns. "My pretty princess, huh?" He slipped back into his native tongue.

You chuckled breathlessly, almost rolling your eyes. Instead, you hummed, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his pale neck and encouraging his head backwards for you to explore his flesh. "Only for you, my Prince," you promised, reaching between you to grab him in full. And oh, how delicious he felt in your hand - hot and heavy, like all those rumors whispered.

Daemon stiffened slightly as you acquainted yourself with the feel of his cock; the velvet softness a sharp contrast to that of the wrinkled displeasure your husband bestowed you with. "Yes, that's it," he whispered as your hand worked over him; letting your sopping-wet cunt roll in tandem, "oh, that's my good fuckin' girl."

"Daemon," you whined lightly, boldly smearing your thumb through the gathering pre-cum leaking from his engorged tip.

"What's my princess want? Hmm?" He taunted lightly through a thick tone, still very much in control of the situation despite letting you feel somewhat like the boss. A red flush was creeping up his chest and neck, making your mouth salivate as he demanded, "Tell me, sweet girl, and I can give you - "

"You," you whined, still rocking against him with your wrist rolling to accommodate the sheer size of him, "jus' want you, my Prince, please."

He growled, both hands now tightly fisting the ends of the arm rests of the Throne you were sat upon, "Beg for me again."

"Please," you whispered, "been so patient, please - want you inside me, my Prince - my love - please. Show me that what I dream of every night is truth, that those rumors I was forced to listen to after your marriage are right."

He stiffened lightly, knowing the rumors you spoke of - the rumors of him in bed, how whores would literally line up when he showed up at any pleasure house, how he fucked through most of the city by now all in an effort to avoid his Lady-wife.

Truth was, he couldn't get you out of his mind, and if he couldn't have you, he'd have anyone who reminded him remotely of you. Anyone with the color hair, eyes, skin tone - same smell - same height - or body shape. Anyone he could imagine being you, and occasionally, would pay a little extra if his bed companions would let him call them your name. He figured it was the only way he'd have you, but now, he knew what he had to do to ensure you never slipped through his fingers again.

"C'mere," Daemon growled, lifting your hips to position you; and with his eyes locked with yours, lowered you. Your mouth opened in a gasp when his cock rimmed the seam of you, holding on tighter as he pressed you further, pushing inside, and kept lowering you until seated fully in his lap. "No," he nodded when your hips went to move, "just take a moment, dove. Feel it - feel everything. Become friendly with this feeling," he instructed dutifully, uncharacteristically patient as his hands squeezed the fat at your hips. "'S pleasure, fullness, my dove. 'S me you feel," his breath was hot on your ear, "and it's me you'll feel for days more."

"Oh, fuck," you breathed, unable to think rationally as he guided you in gently rolling your hips to grind your clit against his pubic hair. "Daemon - oh, shit."

"Yeah?" he grinned wickedly, letting your movements naturally increase as your pleasure spread. "This is what it is, my dove. This is," he paused to groan when your hips lifted to glide you up and down his shaft. "Shit - this is what fucking is. A duty to a marriage, yes," he agreed against your lips, pressing a searing kiss there after, "but a primal pleasure few come to understand and enjoy."

"Th-This is how it should be?" You wondered, instantly hating the Queen Mother for breaking your engagement and robbing you of experiencing this feeling for years.

"Yes, dove," he groaned, both arms wrapped around you as a sheen of sweat broke out across your skin. "This is what it will be like everyday for us," he grinned, eyes locked with yours as he kept you bouncing in his lap; well-aware of the strain to your thighs, "because a husband's first duty is to his wife, ensuring her pleasure outshines his."

You whimpered.

"You close, love?" he muttered, feeling your tempo turn desperate, and groaned. "Fucking use me, that's right, my love, go ahead - ah! Shit!" He hissed, planting his feet to meet your thrusts now; fucking up into you, and making your mind stutter to a halt. The feeling and sound of his balls slapping against the wetness of your cunt was enough to fill a brothel; making you feel like Daemon's prized whore.

"D-Daemon," you begged, unsure of what you wanted; but he understood none the less.

"C'mere, I'm here," he promised; resting your forehead to his. "That's it, my sweet, yes, yes," his thumb dropped to your clit, "just fuck yourself on me, I've got you. Shit," he huffed, "all of this beauty, this wet, tight little cunt wasted on that fucker - waste of a man - fuck!"

"Tell me what you're going to do, Daemon," you moaned in his ear, feeling your climax approach rapidly. "Tell me how you're going to make me yours."

Daemon all but bared his teeth, "First, I'll kill that fat-fuck of a husband you have. He's all that's in our way, dove."

"Shit," you nodded, bracing your hands against anything you could reach; trying to ignore how the thrill of his warmed blood from his cut hand sent ripples of pleasure straight to your core. It felt wrong, but so fucking right since it was Daemon's blood on you - the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. "Keep going," you moaned, "tell me, my Prince, what you'll do."

He held your face to his, grinning, "You were never not mine, dove. But I will kill him first, then take you to Dragonstone, and make you my wife. Long overdue, my love, for you should've been mine this whole time."

"And now?"

"I'll never let you go," he grit his teeth, thrusting faster when your whimpering echoed around the chamber. When you came, your eyes screwed tight and your mouth latched to his shoulder to muffle the way you cried almost anomalistically. "Yes, yes, yes," he praised, milking you for all you had, before allowing his own pleasure to take hold; hips stuttering to eventually pause against yours as he bottomed out, spilling his seed deep in your womb.

And now, the only thing heard was the two of you panting; room much darker as a few candles had finally burned out. Daemon held you close, not wanting to let go now that he had achieved what he had considered 'impossible'. Your throat contracted as your swallowed, his eyes soft as they gazed over you, prompting your whisper, "Everyday of that, you said?"

He chuckled through his nose, nodding a bit, "Multiple times a day if you wanted."

"Oh," you bit your bottom lip, eyes scanning over him in haste. "That sounds most enjoyable. But where would we live?"

He smirked, "Wherever we desired. I'd take you anywhere, my Princess."

"Even Essos?" You smirked in a small tease.

"Anywhere, my dove," he reiterated, "so long as I am at your side."

"I don't want you anywhere else," you admitted in a whisper, still sat on his lap as his cum was plugged only by his softening cock that still kept you feeling full and stretched. Your eyes blinked back tears, turning so he would not notice, and laying against him, "Would you stay with me tonight, my Prince?"

He smirked, "What would your husband think? To find me in his marriage bed?"

"That it's just practice," you whispered in a gentle tease, slowly lifting to find his gaze.

His brows furrowed when you did not speak, asking, "Love? What is it?"

"Daemon... I fear I must ask you of the impossible..."

"Name it, sweet Lady," he purred, leaning forward to pepper a few kisses to your neck.

It was quiet, your lips moving only above a whisper at his ear, "Kill my husband for me, make me your bride after."

Daemon's hips shifted, groaning a low, "Fuck."

"Hmm?" You hummed, face hovering over his; his eyes scanning you up and down.

His bottom lip was trapped and released by his teeth, answering, "Think I just got hard again. That was music to my ears, dove."

"Promise me you will not make it conspicuous. I could not bare it if anyone suspected you, or foul play. Though I have never been openly fond of my husband, I do not want to see you suffer for his passing as I will have to play the part of mournful widow."

He huffed, "How long after can I wed you?"

Your shoulder shrugged, "When my Prince wants to."

"I'd take you now," he swore, shaking his head lightly. "Though, I respect you too much to let such gossip at court take place." He sighed, "Fine... Yes, all right," he sniffled, "I'll do away with him, my dove, and in six months, ask for your hand. Hmm?"

"Think you can wait six whole months?" You teased lightly, palm pressed to his cheek; thumb petting over his smiling lips.

"So long as you play widow well, and keep other suitors at bay," he joked, cocking his head, "then I do not have to wait six months to have you - just to marry you."

Your head shook lightly, snickering under your breath. "You'd do well not to sire your heir yet, as it would bring trouble before we need it."

"I'll have the Maester bring you tea," he sighed lightly. "But when we are married, you're not to take the tea again, my love."

"The moment we marry, it will be done away with," you promised in a whisper, leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss. When you pulled back, Daemon was content to just stare down at you; making you humm lightly, "Well, tomorrow fast approaches and I need sleep, my Prince."

Daemon nodded and just stared at you for a moment longer before sighing heavily, "Off to bed, then. Where does your husband sleep?"

"In a different wing so I do not hear him fucking his whores," you answered, wincing when Daemon helped you stand on shaking legs.

When on your feet before him, you gasped as his hand shot out to slither under your fallen skirts, scrape up your thigh to gather his cum that had dripped out before shoving up into your cunt. "Keep that there," he whispered, kissing your navel before standing and withdrawing his fingers. "And perhaps we should be grateful for his sleeping arrangements tonight."

"Oh?"

"He won't have to listen to me fuck his wife... Yet," Daemon smirked, hands all along your body as you moved from the Throne Room - knowing the next round of servants was sure to be up in a couple hours and not wanting to leave any traces, nor be caught. "We'll let him enjoy his last night on this earth, for tomorrow, my dove, you will be a single Lady."

With a small shudder, your head nodded before his hand caught your own and laced together as a gentle and simple sign of affection. "You would make it quick, right?" You wondered, keeping up with his longer strides; chin pressed to his bicep as you leisurely walked the castle's halls, starting towards your bed chambers.

But Daemon scoffed, "Oh, my dove, no, not after what I've learned tonight. No, he will suffer, and he will know why he suffered. The atrocities committed against you will not go unpunished."

Shock colored your system, nearly gaping at him like a gawking child. "You cannot - "

"I can," he assured with a firm nod, giving your hand a squeeze, "and I will, for he has acted with dishonor and that is intolerable. Now," he pulled you to your chamber door, looking up and down the hall, "which maids do you think will find us first? Or hear us?"

Your eyes rolled as you gently smacked the back of your hand to his chest, "You act as if we will fuck all night."

"Why would we not?"

"You need rest to keep your wits about you - especially for tomorrow," you alluded, his eyes softening. "There is too much at stake, we cannot afford any mishaps."

"Hmm, all right," he relented, watching you open your door. He sighed lightly, "This will have to change - your quarters should be with mine."

"Not separate?" You asked gently, watching him crowd into the room. The door shut firmly under his hand, eyes staring straight into you.

"As my wife, you would not be far from me, as I would not want you to be," he purred, slowly stalking forward. When he reached you, his hands physically held you in place while his gaze held you hostage, assuring, "You would not go a single night without the warmth of my body. I would do it all differently with you, my dove... Let me show you that I should've been your husband the first time."

Your head nodded, guiding his lips to yours in a frantic kiss; never truly registering what you had asked of him, nor what this might entail for the future. But you were damn sure - with Daemon, anything could've been handled. Though all that stood in the way now was faking the accidental death of your husband, publicly mourn him, wait a period of time, and then announce your engagement to the Prince - which sounds easy enough, right?

... Right?

part two: High Noon

Midnight Calls masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[yournameoneverypage]

If It Isn't You

Shawn Mendes x female reader.

Secondary (anon) prompt: "There are two steady heartbeats."

Word Count: ~6.2k ( HOLY CRAP! )

Warnings: Angst to fluff.

A/N: You should all know by now that I can't seem to write a short story, but even I'm shocked! 😜 This is the first time where I’m fusing two requests because they work well together. I always proofread, always more than once, but if I’ve missed anything, please forgive me. I hope you all like it!!

/// ❤️ \\\

You weren’t sure how to feel as you looked at the little window of the third pregnancy test you had taken, only to see a third plus sign. Granted, the first test you took you may have taken too soon after missing your period so you couldn’t be certain it was a true positive. Or maybe you were just too terrified at the time to entertain the thought of what it would mean.

When you started puking up your guts one morning a week later, and then again every morning thereafter, you took two more. And now you had no choice but to accept your fate.

You had always been safe. Or thought you had. You tried to recollect if there had been a time when you had been careless or impulsive, or if there had been any concern about a broken condom.

There was no question you would be keeping your baby. That was the easiest of the decisions you would have to make going forward. The most difficult? Do you tell Shawn?

Your globetrotting, world famous, now ex- boyfriend. The man you had believed, with every ounce of your existence, was meant to be your happily ever after. You had even made it to the stage in your relationship where you thought he was close to proposing.

You had weathered so much together, navigating his fame and everything it had entailed, including periodic bouts of social media brutality. You stood by each other through it all because it was worth it. Or so you promised, whispering affirmations of love and devotion into the skin and mouths of one another in those quiet moments when you shut the world out.

You still couldn’t comprehend how it all went so wrong, so quickly. You had had your share of healthy arguments and fights, but you had always worked through them after a brief cooling off period, neither of you wanting to ever go to bed angry, and it had only made you stronger. But this fight, the fight that had ended you, was something else entirely.

Abrupt, dizzying. Sharp, and unceasing. Surging, spiraling, and climactically, an explosion. He had stormed out of his condo, fiercer than a hurricane, your condo, after he had asked you to move in five months earlier, and you had been left alone with your anger and anguish, and exhausted to your very bones. He hadn’t returned that night, and had stayed gone for another 24 hours without so much as a text to tell you where he was or when he would be home. It was Brian who’d had the decency to let you know that Shawn was at least alive.

By the morning after that your things had been packed and you had left to stay with your ex-boyfriend, the ex before Shawn, and still good friend, Luke, in his guest room.

There were other friends you could have asked to temporarily house you, but you knew choosing Luke would aggravate Shawn the greatest, and at the time you had been enraged (and worried sick) by his… abandonment.

Shawn had never forbidden you from having certain friends or for spending time with who you wished to, he wasn’t that kind of man, but Luke had frequently been a point of contention between you, even though you had always taken Shawn’s feelings into consideration and limited your interaction with the other man who loved you.

The longer you stayed in Luke’s house, the guiltier you felt. And once enough time had passed where you realized Shawn wasn’t coming to apologize and bring you home, that’s when you knew it was over. You blamed yourself then, wondering if you had found anyone else but Luke to take you in, would Shawn have come for you then? Had you made the biggest mistake of your life by throwing that in his face?

Luke would have let you stay indefinitely, but you couldn’t offer him even a sliver of hope that your feelings for him might regress to what they were before Shawn, now that you were no longer with Shawn. You had loved Luke, but never like you loved Shawn. You would never be able to love anyone the way you loved your tall, curly-headed, big-hearted, Canadian boy.

So, you had quickly, fortunately, found a sublet, a small studio apartment, which would do until you figured out what your future would look like without Shawn in it.

You sighed heavily, wearily.

Shawn deserved to know he was going to be a father and to choose how much he wanted to be involved in your child’s life, but you were still hurting, aching, and keeping it from him, as spiteful as it might be, would serve him right.

He had moved on so fast. Faster than anyone should have after ending a significant, more than two-year relationship. Your heart had not only been broken but had been ripped from your chest.

Shawn was only two weeks into the first leg of Tour, and he already had some girl trailing after him all over Europe. That should have been you, was supposed to be you.

Tears fell from your eyes, streaking your cheeks; you didn’t even bother wiping them away. You had already cried so much, you were surprised you had any tears left.

You told yourself you had time to decide when and how to tell him, for you would wait until he returned from Tour. This was something he didn’t need distracting him until he had time to truly digest it.

Six weeks. Six weeks to summon the courage to face him without falling to pieces.

In the meantime, you would need to make an appointment with an obstetrician, and then start looking for something bigger than a studio.

///

Your best girlfriend in Toronto, Mia, who you had confided in and sworn to secrecy, sat beside you, rubbing your back in soothing circles, while you held your face in your hands. Your obstetrician’s words continued to play on a loop in your head.

There are two steady heartbeats… There are two steady heartbeats… There are TWO steady heartbeats…

Twins. Of course. Damn Shawn’s little swimmers for being so strong.

You were going to be sick. Again. Morning sickness, in part, but also from the realization which had finally struck its mark. You rushed for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time.

“I can’t do this,” you sobbed to Mia, while she held your hair back. To yourself, heartsick and trembling with despair. To Shawn, who should be there but wasn’t.

You collapsed onto your bottom, your back thudding against the wall, your nausea having passed for the moment.

Mia retrieved a washcloth and ran it under the warm tap. Pressing it to your face, gently wiping away tears and snot and vomit, she whispered, “You know he would never let you do this alone.”

“I want him to want to be with me because he loves me, not feel obligated to be here because I’m pregnant.”

“He loves you.”

“Does he?”

“How can you even question that?” she huffed. “What you have-”

“Had.”

“Have. It’s still there.”

“Is it?”

“I’ve seen your love story unfold, bubs. There is no way in hell he doesn’t still love you and want you with every breath he breathes. Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

When you couldn’t, she continued, “Exactly. Call him. Tell him. Don’t wait.”

“He’s touring.”

“The hell with Tour,” she grumbled.

“I won’t do that to him. I can’t. It means too much to him.”

“You and your babies mean more.”

“And his fans. I don’t want to take him from them. They’ve waited so long to see him again.”

Mia handed you a glass of cold water and glowered until you took a long drink. When satisfied, she sat down on the floor beside you, hip to hip.

“And now there’s that… girl...” you quavered.

“I’m gonna rip his sac off when I see him again,” Mia seethed.

You puffed out a small laugh. “No you’re not.”

She rested her head atop yours, which had found her shoulder, and took your hand in hers, intertwining your fingers.

You sighed then, covering your budding baby bump with your other hand. “He isn’t missing much right now anyway. This isn’t the fun part.”

“Damn Shawn and his super sperm.”

You snorted, and you and Mia dissolved in a fit of giggles.

You were lucky to have her.

///

Tour had ended and you had swelled around your middle like a balloon.

You had made it through the first trimester and were into your second. Your morning sickness and fatigue had abated and you were feeling well and energetic. There had been no other complications.

Your little blueberries were now avocados, and healthy and strong, especially for twins. Your obstetrician was pleased. You were carrying high and had only gained eleven pounds thus far thanks to a healthy diet and moderate exercise.

It was a blessing, your pregnancy, in the sense that it simply was, but also because it had forced you not to languish in the aftermath of your breakup. You wanted to give your babies the best start in life as possible, which meant it was essential that you take good care of yourself.

You had been given the option of learning their gender at your last appointment but had declined. It didn’t feel right without Shawn, none of it did, but especially that. Even if you and he reconciled enough to only co-parent, you felt he should be at the appointment to discover if you were having boys or girls or one of each, for you had at least been told they were fraternal.

Shawn would be back in Toronto soon, if he wasn’t already, and you could no longer keep your pregnancy from him. You just weren’t sure the best way to go about telling him.

A text first, asking him if he’d be willing to see you. And you’d go from there, depending on his reply, because you knew he would. You knew even if you had texted him while on tour, which you nearly did, a million times, that he would have responded.

Afraid of what his response would have been is what had kept you from hitting send, every time.

You were still staring at your phone, rereading the text you had composed for the third time, when there was a knock on your door. You were too preoccupied to wonder who it could be.

You hadn’t expected Brian to be on the other side.

Brian, who had been a wonderful friend to you while you and Shawn had been together, who had stayed in contact after the breakup to see how you were doing and to let you know how Shawn was, and how Tour was going, even when you didn’t ask.

“He always delivers, you know that, and onstage is the only place he’s been happy since…” He cleared his throat. “But his spark is missing.”

You had been Shawn’s spark. That’s what Brian had been importing, how your significance in Shawn’s life had been felt by everyone around him; the unadulterated joy and solace you had brought him was now absent.

You had been trying to avoid seeing anyone from Shawn’s life, especially now that you were unmistakably showing. You didn’t want him to learn about your babies from anyone but you. You were careful when you went out, even though photographers usually left you alone when you weren’t with Shawn.

One glance at your extended stomach and Brian was cursing his best friend. And then he was cursing you, but in a much gentler way.

“Aw, damn it, bub,” he breathed, entering your apartment. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“He left. And he didn’t come back.” Tears fell, unbidden, from your eyes.

“He’s a fucking idiot,” he soothed, brushing knuckles across your cheeks to wipe away your tears. “You still should have told him.”

“I didn’t want to ruin Tour.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined Tour,” he attested. “Maybe you two would have gotten over yourselves a lot sooner and made up already.”

“My pregnancy would’ve been nothing but a distraction and you know it,” you said, leading Brian further into your living space. “Shawn would’ve mother-henned me to death instead of focusing on the shows.”

“He definitely would have,” Brian smirked, eliciting a small chuckle from you.

You swiped the remaining tears from your face. “I don’t think all the international travel, insane levels of activity and excitement, punctuated by long tour bus drives, and the fan frenzy would have been good for the baby, do you?”

“Probably not,” he agreed. He couldn’t help but wonder, “How did you manage to keep it a secret?”

“Extreme caution and luck?”

Brian’s eyes grew serious again, reiterating, “You have to tell him.”

“I was about to. I mean, I was getting ready to,” you said, showing him your phone, still open on your as of yet unsent message.

“Sweetie, you don’t need so many words so carefully arranged. Just tell him you miss him. I miss you. Three little words. And he’ll come running. He’s destitute. Put him out of his misery, would you? Put all of us out of our misery. He’s pissing everyone off. Insufferable bastard,” he mumbled, before wrapping you in a hug and kissing your cheek.

“Brian?” you spoke, as he was walking back toward the door. He turned to you. “Why did you come, and not Shawn?”

He returned to stand before you. “It’s not because he doesn’t want to. He’s beside himself, believe me, but he needed to know if you still loved him, if you might take him back, before he came groveling.” He offered you a tender smile with that.

Your heart ratcheted and your face grew warm. “I still love him.”

Brian’s smile grew. “Of course you do.”

“Do you have to go so soon?”

“The sooner I get back to Shawn, the sooner he’ll be on his way over. I’ll hold him off best I can while you freshen up. Not that you need to, bub, you’re as lovely as always, but I just thought maybe you’d want to.”

You found yourself nodding at that.

“Be easy on him, eh?” he appealed, looking again at your belly, which he absolutely wanted to touch. After all, he was basically going to be your child’s uncle. But if he got to feel Shawn’s kid move before Shawn did, his brother from another mother would have his nuts. “He’s going to be a little overwhelmed.”

///

Brian had been able to buy you an hour and half, barely. Apparently it had been quite a struggle. Now, sweets. Now would be a really good time, he had texted. He might very well kill me.

You had showered, shaved, and exfoliated. You had left your hair down and had applied only a light moisturizer to your face. Your skin had been so nice lately, you didn’t really need makeup, - one of the advantages of pregnancy, - and Shawn had always told you how beautiful you were without it anyway. You chose to dress in a dark green, wide leg, no sleeve, maternity jumpsuit because it was cute on you and incredibly comfortable.

Finally, you had sent your text to Shawn. It wasn’t ‘I miss you’, as Brian had suggested, even if you did, desperately, and it wasn’t nearly as brief, but it was certainly shorter and less complicated than the first one you had considered.

What would you say if you could say everything you needed to, to the one you needed to?

I’m on my way, had been his immediate response. If his emotions were even as half as chaotic as yours were…

Get here safe.

Now you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You rearranged the pillows on your bed as well as the smaller ones in the corners of the couch, you straightened things that didn’t need straightening. You cracked open your balcony door to allow fresh air into the suddenly stifling room.

Shawn only needed to take one look at you to know. But you couldn’t do this just anywhere, especially not in public. People couldn’t see you together until Shawn and his team figured out how to spin it. You had always hated that part. How Shawn lived his life outside of his career shouldn’t be anyone’s business or concern but his own, and yours when you had been together.

When you weren’t in Europe with Shawn as you had planned to be, he and his team let the speculation stretch that you had only been delayed. You wondered if Andrew had been waiting to see if you and Shawn reconciled and for you to join Tour before deeming it necessary to release any sort of statement, for you had been soundly together for two years and had been unafraid to show your love.

When the rumors of Shawn’s… indiscretion surfaced, social media erupted, and suddenly you were being pursued by entertainment reporters and shutterbugs for a statement, for photos, for any sort of reaction. When you wouldn’t give it to them, they disappointedly withdrew.

It became more important than ever for you to stay out of the public eye once you could no longer hide your baby bump.

So this was how it had to be.

The knock you had been anxiously anticipating finally came, and you almost couldn’t answer. You paused too long with your hand on the knob, until you were startled by another set of knocks, more urgent. You heard your name fall from his lips, followed by a desperate plea to open the door.

Shawn had imagined he would draw you into his arms and beg and plead, his lips against yours, the moment he laid his starving eyes on you. Instead, his face paled, his eyes clouding with utter devastation, when he looked upon your slightly rounder figure.

He pressed a hand against the door jamb. “Were you even going to tell me?” he exhaled, voice cracking.

“Of course,” you breathed. “You’re here. This is me telling you.” You wanted to touch him, more than anything, wrap your arms around him and have him hold you to his chest. It’d been too long since your senses were filled with him. “I know you're… surprised, to say the least, and- and upset, and I’m sure you… have questions, and I- I would understand if you just want to start yelling-”

He was quick to shake his head. “No,” he whispered, his chest tightening, as memories of the last time he had seen you resurfaced. “That won’t get us anywhere good. But… yes.”

“Then maybe you could stop white-knuckling the door and come inside?” you asked softly.

He relaxed his grip, stood tall, and trailed after you into the kitchen. You were aware of his nearness at your back and were reluctant to turn around. Maybe if you didn’t, you’d feel his hand on your hip or his breath on your neck.

You sensed when he had retreated, even before he quietly cleared his throat and murmured, “You should have called me the second you knew, the moment you even thought you might be…

“Please don’t tell me you knew before Tour,” he wheezed.

You turned to him then, and met his eyes so he could see the truth in yours. “No. You had already left. You were a few days gone when I realized I had missed my period.”

“You should have called then.”

“I wasn’t even sure then. Maybe it was the stress of all that had just happened between us, and nothing more.”

“When you were sure…”

“You were four thousand miles away, and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone; it didn’t seem right, something this important.”

“Instead, you chose to keep it from me. Something this important.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt Tour.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“You’re saying I should’ve called my global pop star ex-boyfriend and said, ‘hey, you knocked me up, what are you going to do about it?’, right before he’s supposed to meet and greet one hundred fans who are only asking for two minutes of his undivided attention, and then get onstage to play a show in front of thousands of people?”

“Yes.”

You could feel the tension rippling around him.

You were getting too close to how your last fight had started, that prickling of negative emotions. There was still too much to work through to allow it to happen again.

You dared to reach for him, to place your hand gently against his chest. His breath caught and he instinctively, yet cautiously, covered your hand with his.

It had been too long since his last touch and your emotions were raw. You withdrew your hand before it became too much.

“Do you want to sit?” you stammered.

He shook his head, but at least your touch had focused him, settled him, like it always had in the past.

The pregnancy fatigue may have ebbed, but you still had days where you tired easily. “I’d like to sit,” you said softly, absentmindedly rubbing your hand over your stomach, making for the couch.

“I’ll get you something to drink- or, are you hungry?”

Mother hen indeed. “Shawn. Sit down.”

He obeyed, sinking into the other end of the couch. You angled your body toward his and he mirrored the action. It wasn’t a very big couch, not much more than a loveseat, and Shawn was a very long guy, so it wasn’t surprising that your knees touched. Neither of you shifted away. That small point of contact was familiar and grounding and would help you through the rest of your conversation.

“I should have told you the moment the tests came back positive. I’m sorry. I am, truly... And you’re right, not wanting to tell you over the phone, even though it felt honest at the time, was a really bad excuse.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I meant it when I said I didn’t want to disrupt Tour. I didn’t want to distract you from what you’d worked so hard to put together. And you were so excited; to travel again, to see the ‘boys in the band’ and your fans. And for the shows. Especially for the shows. I didn’t want you preoccupied with thinking about me, and being torn between Tour and wanting to be here for this pregnancy, because even though we had broken up, you still would’ve wanted to be here.”

Shawn’s hands twitched. He wanted to get on his knees before you and touch his child, cry into and kiss your stomach, but he held himself back.

“How did we get here, Shawn?” you murmured. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a thought spoken aloud. “It’s been you and me against the world for two years. We’ll go down in history together, remember? This never should’ve happened.”

“It’s my fault,” he croaked.

“You have a tendency to take more responsibility than your fair share. We’re both to blame. I’m not innocent in this. It was something I had done that began that horrific fight in the first place, and I’ve never been sorrier.”

This is where it had gone so wrong.

You had had a lot of time to reflect on that night. You had found your way to the realization that you should have been the one to apologize to him instead of stubbornly waiting for him to come crawling after you.

That’s not to say he didn’t have anything to apologize for, you both had huge amends to make, for all the hurtful things you had thrown at each other out of anger and frustration, fear and exhaustion, but you should’ve been the one to reach out first.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled, trying so very hard not to cry before you made it through everything that needed to be said. And you were. So sorry. The sorriest you’ve ever been.

Shawn’s voice wavered. “You confided in Luke when you should’ve come to me.”

“I know.” You felt wretched. “I was wrong.” Your heart was twisting in your chest, but it was necessary to sit with that guilt, to accept it, if you and Shawn had any chance of coming out on the other side.

“You’ve never given me any reason not to trust you… Why couldn’t you trust me?”

“I do,” you wheezed, reaching over and putting your hand on his knee that was touching yours.

He covered your hand with his and slid his fingers between yours. “For Luke to come to me to tell me what you were going through,” he whispered. “For Luke to tell me what was happening in our relationship…

“It tore me up.”

Your eyes fell, repentant. Shawn tipped your face up with a finger under your chin. His eyes met yours. His softness with you affected you more than his temper had.

“Recording, touring, none of it mattered- matters more than you. You know that. I would have made time to put everything else aside if you would’ve just said something. My love, you need to tell me when you need me.

“As angry as I was with you- no,” he quickly corrected, “I wasn’t angry, not with you, not really. I was disappointed, crushed… My anger- I was more angry with myself for not paying better attention. I felt like I had failed you.”

“You have never failed me. Don’t you ever think that. It was a difficult time. You were overwhelmed and stressed out.”

“Don’t make excuses for me, please. This is the part I need to take responsibility for.”

You nodded then.

“I know I wasn’t easy to live with those few months before Tour, with long hours in the studio working on the new album, the bad days when I came home upset, having made no progress. And then with Tour itself getting all twisted up... I know I took my frustrations out on you- that never should’ve happened- and I will forever be sorry for that.

“And that damned night- Everything I said came out… wrong.”

“I said some ugly things, too,” you whispered.

“I never should have left.”

“I understand why you did. We've had fights before where we’ve needed to walk away and calm down, but that night… you didn’t come back, Shawn. I waited, but you didn’t come back. Not even a text to tell me when you were coming home.”

“I know,” he trembled.

“So I did the absolute worst thing I could have done and went running to Luke.”

“He was there when you needed someone…”

“Now it’s your turn to stop making excuses for me.

“I shouldn’t have confided in anyone who wasn’t you, let alone Luke. If I could go back and change things, I would, without question. And I should have waited longer. I should have waited for as long as it took for you to come home, because I knew you would. I was just hurt. It’s a reason, but it’s not an excuse. You have never failed me, Shawn. I failed you by doubting you.”

“I fucked up.”

“We both fucked up,” you exhaled.

“When I got home and most of your things were gone…

“And when you wouldn’t answer my texts, I called Luke and begged him to ask you to give me a chance to apologize.”

“What texts?” you gasped.

“Wanting you to come home- pleading-”

“I never got any texts.”

“What?” he wheezed. “But- you blocked me.”

“I would never block you- I was desperate for you to come and get me… Every day I woke up I prayed for it to be the day that you would stop punishing me and just call.”

Suddenly it occurred to you what must have happened, Shawn too, if the way his eyes darkened was any indication, and you bristled.

“I don’t understand why he would do that.”

“You’re not that naive, darling,” he voiced gently.

No, you weren’t. You huffed. You just didn’t want to believe Luke would ever have purposely sabotaged your relationship with Shawn. Especially not after two years. You would never be able to forgive him for what he’d done.

As if reading your mind, Shawn said, “He told me I didn’t deserve you.”

“What?” you choked.

“And, I thought, maybe he was right, maybe I didn’t deserve you… after the way I had treated you.”

“You know that’s not true,” you breathed, instinctively reaching out to cup his face. If anything, you didn’t deserve him. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed.

Your voice wavered when you implored, “Can we fix it, Shawn? Can we fix us? Do you want to?”

It pained him that you would even ask that. He eased away, you withdrew your hand, and his eyes looked deeply into yours. “Of course,” he vowed.

“Who was the girl? In Europe?”

His eyes fell and he stood from the couch. He took a few strides away, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck.

You found yourself standing from your own sudden restlessness, and stepping closer to him. “So, the rumors were true?”

He turned to you with beseeching eyes. “She meant nothing to me,” he promised. “I didn’t even entertain the thought of her-” he tangled his fingers in his hair and tugged, “at first.”

You shook your head and held your hand up to stop him. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I want to. I need to…

“I never encouraged her. But she kept showing up in every city, at every show, outside every hotel. And I was lonely, and missing you, so damn much; it was unbearable. I regret it. I hated myself, berated myself for it when it was over.

“It only happened once.”

“You were gone for two months.”

“It only happened once.”

“Once, with her?”

“With anyone. I never took anyone else to bed; please believe me.”

He had never lied to you before. The tightness in your chest eased. You could forgive him for one indiscretion. Even if there had been others you would have forgiven him. You weren’t together when it happened. It wasn’t as if he had cheated. He had never been unfaithful to you.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology,” you whispered.

“Yes, I do. We may have not been… together, but I was still yours. I will always be yours.”

You wiped the tears from the corners of your eyes. Mine. He’s still mine. Your breath trembled.

“You’re the only one who means anything to me, everything to me. You, and… our child.” He almost reached for your stomach but tightened his fists instead.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Shawn,” you muttered quietly, affectionately. “Just touch the belly already. You’re making me crazy with your indecision.”

Shawn laughed then, a full, happy, relieved laugh, a song you had fiercely yearned to hear those past two months, and finally he reached out and placed his large hand over the swell of your abdomen.

“Oh my God,” he exhaled, reverently.

“For the record, you can take responsibility for this.” You pointed to your stomach. “This is all your fault,” you smirked.

He laughed again. “I’m proud to take all the blame for this…”

You dipped the pad of your thumb in the cleft of his chin and smiled tenderly.

“When is he due?” he wondered.

You quirked an eyebrow. “He?”

“She?”

“They.”

“They?”

“Twins.”

“Twins??” He stumbled a step back and reached out to place his hand on the countertop to steady himself.

“You’ll be a daddy in twenty, twenty-two weeks.”

“The second I put them in there, I was a daddy.” Before you could even groan, Shawn laughed. “Okay, I heard it… But now you can call me ‘daddy’ and it doesn’t have to mean some weird kink.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you chortled.

“But you love me?” he asked, as if he was afraid you’d say no, reaching out to capture your hand and drawing you closer, closer, and into his arms.

“I never stopped loving you,” you breathed, sliding your hands to the nape of his neck.

His arms around you tightened, his hands splaying across and moving tenderly up and down your back, as your lips fell together. Too long. Too long without his kiss, without his touch, without his scent, which engulfed you as your embrace and kiss deepened.

When he began to lift you, you shrieked his name and laughed and tightened your arms and legs around him. You knew he had you securely; he was strong and you trusted him. And it wasn’t the first time he’d picked you up to carry you somewhere. You blushed.

He chuckled into your neck and placed you atop the kitchen counter. Standing between your legs he simply allowed his eyes to roam over your features, his hands along outer thighs and hips.

You drank in the sight of him as well, heart swelling. Your hands trailed down the front of his shirt and you whispered, “That had to have been the worst of us, right? If we can get through that, we can get through anything...”

His grip on your hips tightened. “I don’t want to be your ex.”

“I don’t want you to be my ex.”

He smiled adoringly. “I want to marry you.”

“I want to be married to you,” you smiled back, cupping his face, guiding his lips to yours for another soft kiss.

“Do you want our wedding to be before or after you pop?” he smirked.

You began to cry.

“No, no, my love,” he wheezed, trying to catch your tears. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. Was it what I said about popping? I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean it that way. You’re more beautiful than ever.”

“That’s not why I’m crying,” you wailed.

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m pregnant, Shawn, I’m always crying!”

He tried not to laugh and you feebly shoved at his chest.

“Does two mean you’re going to be twice as hormonal?”

“I hate you, and your little swimmers!” you grumbled.

His eyes and his smile softened. “We’re having a baby,” he exhaled. “Two babies.” He crouched down enough to again caress and press kisses to your bump. He wouldn’t be truly satisfied until your very skin was under his lips. “What are they? Boys or girls?”

“I don’t know,” you said, running your fingers through his curls. “I didn’t want to find out without you.”

He surged to his full height, and cupped your face, and kissed you again, fiercely at first, but then softening, becoming unhurried, as your arms slid along his ribs and your hands fisted in the cotton stretched across his upper back.

When you parted, your cheeks were wet, as were his, from a mingling of tears that had fallen from both your eyes. You wiped the wetness from his face, as he did the same.

Shawn finally, truly glanced around at where you had been living for the past month. It was a beautiful space, if too small.

“Let’s go home,” he breathed, easing you from the countertop and setting you again on your feet.

Home.

“What about my stuff?”

“This isn’t your stuff, Love. Your things are in our home, with me.”

“I’ll need my clothes, at least.”

“I’ll buy you new clothes. All the jumpers, and stretchy leggings, and oversized shirts you want, and cute little dresses that will show off your belly this summer,” he beamed. “I want everyone to see what we’ve done.”

“Shawn,” you breathed, tears beginning to gather again.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

You nodded.

“I’ll run you a bath, with bubbles. Maybe make you something to eat while you soak in the tub. You should tell me all the things you’ve been craving and I’ll run to the store.”

You silenced him by running the pad of your thumb along his bottom lip. “That’s not what I need.”

He pecked your thumb. “What is it you need?”

“You. Just you.” You kissed him again. You would spend all night kissing him to make up for lost time. “Although,” you murmured when you eased away, “a bubble bath in our tub does sound incredible.”

“I’ll get in the bath with you then; you can have us both,” he grinned. “And after… we’ll curl up in our bed that’s much too big without you and I’ll spend some time getting to know our babies. I’ll introduce myself and then sing to them and tell them how the past ten weeks without their mommy were the absolute worst of my life.

“And finally, maybe,” his voice soft, eyes imploring, “you might allow me to relearn you, and… your body… to discover all the little changes I didn’t get to see happen as they happened.”

“I missed you,” you professed, breathless with your happiness.

“Oh, darling,” he sighed, his eyes reflecting his devotion, “you have no idea…”

///

@mendesblurb @benito-mi-vida @weedangel-x @monikamendes @mendesficsxbombay @hiding-behind-a-flower @silverswallow @chocochipcookie305 @misti-ka

[arcane-writing]

“Got in trouble again?“

A/N: Heya! This is my first time writing for this fandom, so I'm just a tad bit nervous about this ^^' I don't know if I'll write for the whole cast or not, but I knew I just had to start with everyone's fave girl 💞 I hope you'll like it! I honestly don’t really know where I was going with that, but I have a headcanom that after her time in jail, she despises people touching her without seeing it coming and wanted to write a sad Vi (of sort). So yeah, here you go!

Probably gonna have some typos too, sorry!

Vi x GN!Reader

Requested: No

Pairing: Vi x reader, platonic with implied romantic feelings

Word count: 1200 +

Triggers: None

Summary: After she saves you from Silco's men, you notice she's feeling down (more than she should, you think). You take matter in your own hands to help her feel better.

16. massaging them

37. putting their head on the other’s chest

50. putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up

Here is the prompt list!

Chest burning, sweat running down your back uncomfortably, you struggle to catch your breath as you hear the withdrawing footsteps behind the walls of your shelter.

When Vi saw you get cornered by Silco’s henchmen, she knew she had to do something. You might not be a fighter, but her years in jail taught her how to take a punch that should have knocked her out, so she knew she could take care of them, even if they outnumbered you two againt eight. She loved a good fight, but not only the mood just wasn’t there today, you could also have gotten hurt in the crossfire. So instead, she grabed your hand, whispered a quick and almost inaudible ‘Run’, and took off.

You both sprinted away for a good 20 minutes, jumping above trash cans, around carts, toppling over people, but during the entire chase, she kept an iron grip on your arm. It had started to hurt only a few seconds in, but the adrenaline numbed you. She hurriedly dragged the both of you inside an abandoned building, and you both did your best to catch your breath without letting your followers hear you.

You knew you needed to get your breathing under control quickly, but blood was pumping loudly in your hears, your entire body was sore and sweating, your lungs screaming for air as Vi shut you up by pressing a hand to your mouth. Her intense gaze was grounding you as you focused on your breath, instead of your impending dirt biting session.

It took a few more minutes before enough oxygen was back into your brain for you to notice how closed you were. She was completely flushed against you, never breaking eye contact even though you knew she was listening to what was going on outside. She just didn’t want to loose sight of you.

You know you're safe when she slowly let you go as you manage a hoarse ‘thank you’. A nod and side grin that you translate as 'you're welcome' and you sit down, hoping that the room will stop spinning soon.

She slumps down on the remains of the stone wall behind her and rubs her hands on her face, letting out the most tired and frustrated groan she can muster. The ache in your legs after you little run was a clear indicator that you’re more out of shape than you thought.

"How's your wrist, cupcake?" She asks and sends a nod your way.

You didn't even notice you were holding it. It hurts. She's a lot stronger than she looks, and she already looks like she could break mountains with her bare hands.

"I've had worse," you whisper back. You force a smile out, still trying to swallow the lump of exhaustion and what remains of your earlier panic, but you know it comes out as a weird grimace.

While Vi doesn’t seem shaken up at all – frustratingly so –, you can see how her shoulders slump forward, how she keeps her head low when she looks around, how uncharacteristically quiet she is, and it suddenly dawns on you.

She’s anxious. Vi' never anxious.

You let out a resigned sigh. You’re exhausted. Your entire body is screaming in pain, you still haven’t recovered all of your breath. But… she dropped  whatever important thing she was doing just to help you out, and you know she could have severely hurt herself during the chase. You remember seeing her throw herself between you and walls during a few hard turns that you couldn't make.

Gathering the little courage you can still fuel with adrenaline and guilt, you get up – not as gracefully as you'd hoped –, and walk up behind your friend. You hesitate just a second before you put your hands on her tense shoulders, and give it a light squeeze. She tenses up even more, grabs your wrist, and spits, “No.”

“No?” You repeat, hesitation in your voice. She immediately let go of your wrist when she hears you wince, still sore from the hold she had on you a few minutes ago.

She's never been that harsh before. Not with you.

You lighten your touch but don’t remove your hands yet. You want to let her make the call. You feel her take a shaking breath under you, hear her swallow, and exhale slowly. "You looked tense, but if it makes you uncomfortable –" she cuts you off with a hurried, "No! Sorry, I just – I wasn’t expecting that. You can, uh, you can keep doing that. It feels nice.”

She throws you a reassuring smile before she turns back and press herself completely against you. Not without a flushed smile, you start kneeding her broad shoulders in tight circles, careful not to hurt her. The regular movements start lulling you in, and you let your head empty itself as you start lowering your massage into her back. You work on the knots carefully and while her strong musculature isn’t suprising, it doesn’t leave you unnaffected.

You focus entirely on the task at hand and almost miss her relieved sigh as you drag your hands lower.

You slowly go back up, kneeding between her shoulder blades before pressing into her shoulders again, and make your way up her neck. You’re a lot more gentle than you were on her back, and start pressing small circles on the sides of her neck. Her head rolls back and she press it against your chest. You can see her eyes close, her feature softer than you’ve ever seen them, and her full lips slightly part open, curved upward on one side in a contented half smile.

Seeing her like this is enough to bring you back in the moment. You’re suddenly painfully aware of how her warmth reachs you despite your clothes, how close she is, and how she seems to melt under your touch.

You only notice you stoped working on her when she cracks an eye open to look up at you and ask, "Why d’you stop, hon," her voice sweet and smooth, like the rest of her.

Heat flowing up your neck and face, you tried to focus on what you were doing, knowing full well she would never let you hear the end of this if she knew how flustered she made you. You’d be lying if you said you never thought about being close to her like this. You just weren’t sure if you could get used to the hold she has on you, and pray for her to put your rapidely beating heart on the account of the chase.

You ignore the fact that you’ve been here for at least twenty minutes now. You know she knows. You don’t want to think about it, so you get back to work.

It took you another fifteen minutes before you really got tired and sat down next to her. A shame, really. She threw her arm around you before you even fully sat down, resting her head on yours.

“Thanks, boo. I really needed that,” she says, her voice ever so soft as she nuzzles your hair.

“That’s the least I could do after you saved my ass,” you chuckle together, but her laughter dies down quicker than usual. “Hey, um,” you start. “I know you don’t usually talk about feelings and stuff, but...” you turn to look at her and wrap an arm around her waist, holding her close.

“Look, I noticed you’ve been... kind of down, lately. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't feel like it, but if you need to talk, I’m here for you,” you squeeze her waist and her features soften.

She brings you back against her. “I know. I don't really feel like talking right now, but... I trust you”

"Okay. I've got you."

"I know you do."

[princessfbi]

If it inspires, “just be honest with me. do you want this?” from the sacred romantic prompts.

“Just be honest with me. Do you want this?”

Buck froze as Eddie held up the very bane of Buck's existence.

Listen, Buck loved his boyfriend with all his heart. He loved every part of him that came into existence the moment Eddie decided Buck was trustworthy enough to peek behind the curtain. He loved the way Eddie smiled like it surprised him. He loved the way he laughed and tried to hide it. He loved the way when Eddie got nervous he cleaned and rearranged furniture like he was trying to nest for the spring. He loved the way he was quiet and kind and gentle and firm and strong and charismatic and charming and shy.

He loved everything about his boyfriend.

But Eddie couldn't pick out a Christmas present if he tried.

And he tried. Buck knew exactly how Eddie's thought process had gone. He would've started his Christmas shopping with the hardest people on the list first and left Buck for last because Eddie would've been totally sure that he knew exactly what to get him. Then he would've started to panic and doubted himself for even considering his first idea. Then he would've pivoted to something over the top and romantic only to realize he didn't have time and that said gift would be over the top and romantic and entirely impractical. But then he would've turned right on his heel and settle on something practical.

No romance. Just practical.

Buck loved that about him too.

But that also didn't mean he wanted a cup holder phone clip... thing for Christmas. Not when his Jeep automatically connected to his phone via bluetooth.

Buck had thought he'd done a great job acting surprised when he'd opened it but apparently Eddie had seen right through him.

He held up the phone thingy with such annoyance that it was almost adorable if Buck also didn't know Eddie well enough to know that the creeping frustration at himself was crawling up Eddie's neck too.

"No," Buck said and admitting it felt like a punch to the chest but Eddie had asked for honesty and Buck was trying to get better at that. "No but it was... It was super thoughtfu—"

"Boring. It was super boring." Eddie sighed as he dropped the... whatever the hell it was onto the table where the remnants of their dinner was still sitting, waiting to be scraped into Tupperware.

"I'm sorry." Eddie groaned as he shoved a hand across his face to rub into his eyes. Christmas was the most wonderful time of the year but for a parent it was also the most tiring and Buck had seen how the exhaustion had started to creep into Eddie's expression. That's why his gift had consisted of some expensive oils that Buck had gotten Eddie with a promise of a deep back rub later that night. "I panicked and I just—"

"Hey," Buck said, crossing the space between them and abandoning the dishes easily. "Hey, no babe. C'mon!"

He scooped up Eddie's cheeks into his hands and let Eddie lean his weight into him.

"Hey, I love the thought." Buck promised as he pressed a kiss against the corner of Eddie's mouth where he was still frowning. "I mean it."

"You like to drive around when you can't sleep." Eddie all but pouted and Buck kind of regretted his honesty.

"I do. The fact that you know that means more to me than a present," Buck said before he leaned down and kissed Eddie over and over again until he felt him sigh. "I promise. It's okay. You could've gotten me nothing and it would've been okay because you came here to hang out and eat dinner."

Eddie dipped his head to duck into the hollow of Buck's throat and Buck curled his arms around him to hold him tight.

"I panicked." Eddie bemoaned, still kicking himself and Buck couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"I know. But I mean it, babe. I'm fine."

"Should've just stuck to what I had planned first."

And it was only because he was curious that Buck even asked.

"What did you have planned?"

Eddie squeezed Buck tight against him and kissed the spot on Buck's throat that always made him shiver beneath the touch of Eddie's lips.

"Was going to give you a key."

Buck's heart thumped once against his chest before he snorted. Okay he could see where Eddie's problem had started.

"I already have a key."

"I know!" Eddie groaned. "But I—"

Buck got it. Eddie had wanted to do something special. Wanted to give Buck the next step in their relationship because Eddie knew that would've meant the world to him. But they'd already skipped so many steps before they even started dating that the sentiments had already been bulldozed over by them.

"How about a drawer?" Buck countered. He already had half of one technically but there was something about Buck's things meshing with Eddie's that made his heart flutter in his chest. The way Eddie could just sneak one of his shirts on like it was nothing. The way Buck didn't have to plan when he stayed over or leave early to get some clothes for his shift.

Eddie hummed as he considered it before he nodded.

"Drawer is a much better present than a phone cupholder."

Then he inhaled where his nose was pressed against Buck's throat and slipped his hand up the small of Buck's back, dipping beneath his t-shirt to sear his touch into Buck's skin.

"Merry Christmas. I got you a drawer." Eddie said, his voice still thick with a hint of a pout that made Buck bark out a laugh in surprise.

"Best present ever. I love it," Buck said before his breath hitched in the back of his throat as Eddie slipped his other hand down the seat of Buck's pants.

Eddie pulled himself away from Buck if only to lean up for a kiss that had Buck swooning into the sway Eddie was setting.

"I love you," Eddie said before he captured Buck's mouth again for another kiss that took Buck out at the knees.

And maybe Buck lied. Maybe that was the best Christmas present ever.

Send Me A Sacred Romantic Prompt

[cellophaine]

Home With You

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 3003

Warnings: None.

Author's Note: I figured I should give you guys a break from my smutty contents lol. And I just wanted to write an indulgent fluff piece.

As always, every likes, comments, reblogs, feedbacks and ask submissions are greatly appreciated! My heart goes into cha-cha-cha mode whenever I receive notifications from you guys (it's a happy mode)

Prompt requested by: Anonyomous (love you anon <3)

------

"Matt?!"

You called out as you walked into his apartment; the exhaustion crept into your voice. His name echoed back to you in the empty place, a tell-tale sign of Matt's absence. You huffed out a frustrated sigh as you stepped out of your heels, padding into the living room on bare feet, much to your relief. You dropped your briefcase to the floor with abandon, planting face-first onto the couch, releasing another weary sigh. This was the third night in a row you missed him on his way out, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. At this point, it had become a regular occurrence. You felt like you barely saw him as of late. All you had was the little time in the mornings with Matt's body wrapped around yours in the bed. And it wasn't enough. How could it be?

Your workload as a paralegal at Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz had picked up in the past few months. The pay was more than decent, but it resulted in more time assisting Jeri Hogarth in cases and less time spending with your boyfriend. The immense amount of guilt you felt kept building up, as you knew Matt was not happy about your situation, but he always knew what to say to make you feel better. You had spent time running around New York for researches, staying late at the office at Hogarth's requests.

The days would always end with you worn out to the bones. Matt hated how the job was clawing at you, chipping away a piece of you every day, leaving you stressed out and exhausted. But he was supportive anyway, understanding that it was your choice in the matter. And so, Matt was the only constant, comforting source in your life. He would be there every time you woke up, cuddling and kissing you, making sure that you had all your meals throughout the day, taking care of you when you couldn't do it yourself.

You dragged your enervated self into the shower, lathering yourself up with Matt's shampoo and body, indulging in his scent under the hot water. The clean smell of his soap in the shower steam helped relieve the ache of missing him in your chest. You had slept over his apartment every night. Still, ironic enough, you felt like you drifted away further from him, not of your own volition. Matt was the anchor that kept you close, but how long would it last? How long would he be willing to stay?

You patted yourself dry, walking into his bedroom, the air cool on your exposed skin. You opened the closet, pulling out a sweatshirt of his. You hugged it close to your chest, dropping your head low to inhale the smell of him. You pulled the shirt on along with his too-big sweatpants, tightening the strings at the waistband. You put on his socks, too, tucking them over the hems of the sweats, just like how he always did it. A habit of his that you had absorbed. A bittersweet thought struck you. Despite being in his apartment, often living in his space more than your own, you wore his clothes just to feel closer to him. He was close but never close enough.

You found your way to the couch again, plopping your head on the pillow. You curled into yourself, settling in a comfortable position. You didn't bother with dinner, for you craved something else. You just wanted him here. You wanted to spend every second you could get with him to make up for the time you had missed. You tried to stay up, waiting for him to come back. But the toll of the day pulled on your eyelids, luring you into sleep with much resistance from you.

A weightless feeling woke you from your sleep. You blinked sleepily; your hazy vision revealed Matt, still in his Daredevil suit, the helmet was nowhere in sight. His unseeing eyes radiated the comfort and affection you loved, and you hummed happily at the blessed sight of him. A smile pulled on the corner of Matt's lips as he laid you down on the bed, pulling the soft blanket over you. He brushed your hair off your eyes before leaning in, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead. You smiled sleepily at his gesture, tilting your face up as his warmth left your skin. Your lips met his halfway, and you sighed into the kiss that you craved with the entirety of your being. You needed this, needed him; you yearned for him. Your hand found its way to him; his light stubble tickled your fingertips. You caressed his face, needing to touch, to feel him, as the kiss grew heavy. Finally, he pulled back from you with much reluctance, within your reach, just enough so you could hear his whisper.

"Have you had dinner? I left you your favourite in the fridge."

You pressed your head into the pillow before shaking your head, along with a muffled confirmation of his suspicion. His brows furrowed, and you quickly pulled on his jaw, drawing him closer. You resumed the kiss, and once again, Matt was the one who broke away. Lowering your voice in a soothing tone, you asked in the hope of distracting him.

"Do you have any injuries that needed to be looked at?"

"It was a pretty uneventful night. I know what you're doing, and it's not working."

He responded at once; his head shook slightly in disapproval. He knew you too well. You knew that. But you didn't want to get up while all you wanted was to bask in his familiarity, his warmth again.

"I had a very long day. I just want to go back to sleep, with you. Please?"

Your desperate plea tugged at his heart. His eyes softened as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

"Alright. But you will have a big breakfast, first thing when you get up."

You bit your lip, brows waggling at him, even though you knew he couldn't see that. A playful, suggestive tone glided into your voice.

"Oh, I definitely would like something 'big' for breakfast."

He let out a small laugh at your terrible tease.

"I'm serious. I was gone for a few hours, and you already neglected yourself."

"I promise. I'll be yours for the entire weekend. Now, can you get your ass in this bed, preferably naked? Pretty please."

He chuckled, standing up to pull his protective gear off. A few rustles later, the mattress dipped as Matt climbed into the bed behind you. He pulled you into his chest, pressing butterfly kisses on your hair. You turned onto your back, giving him easier access to your lips. He eagerly took you on your offer, pulling you in for a soft kiss, so soft that it made you melt into his embrace. He moved to kiss your cheeks, making his way to your eyelids, ending the kiss on your forehead.

"Sleep now, sweetheart. I'll be here when you wake up."

You turned to your side to cuddle into him, curling your hand behind his muscular back. You nuzzled your face into his firm chest, kissing and nibbling sleepily on the naked skin. You fell asleep promptly, grateful for the weekend ahead of you.

Your phone buzzed again and again on Matt's bedside table. You groaned, burrowing your face further into Matt's chest. The faint scent of blood and sweat, of Matt, infiltrated your senses through a daze. However, whoever on the other side stayed persistent; calls came in after calls. Finally, you untangled your limbs from Matt's with frustration, answering the call to hear Hogarth's voice on the other side.

"Where the fuck are you? Why didn't you pick up your damn phone?"

"It's… it's the weekend."

"And? This case won't go away itself. Come in now, or you're fired."

Your ears met with the dead tone from the other line. You fell back onto the warm bed, feeling like you could burst into tears. Pressing your face into the pillow, you muffled a silent scream. Matt propped on his elbow, caressing your back with the other hand.

"Stay here. Quit the job. You deserve so much better than how Hogarth's treating you."

You murmured.

"I can't. Her words have weight. She can really help me with my career. The pay isn't bad either."

"I know, but it's not worth it. I don't like seeing you bend over backward to every of her demand. I can feel your exhaustion every night. I hate seeing you so harrowed and stressed out."

You sighed heavily.

"It's not like I can quit right away. Not until I can secure a better job somewhere else. Rent in Hell's Kitchen is crazy. Until then, I'm stuck with her."

You moved around in the place, talking to Matt as you got ready. When you stepped out of the bathroom into the living room, dressed in your work attire, Matt walked over to where you stood, offering you a cup of tea. You smiled sadly at him, stroking his cheeks. Then, you raised on your tiptoe, kissing him swiftly before picking up your briefcase, making your way to the door.

"I'm sorry, I can't drink the tea. I'm already late. I'll see you later tonight?"

Matt fell into silence; his head turned away from your direction. The mugs of tea in his hands stayed still and abandoned. You felt an awful jerk on your heartstring for leaving him like this. You spoke softly.

"I love you."

One moment of silence, then two. Matt reluctantly spoke, his voice small, barely audible.

"Love you, too."

You gnawed on your bottom lip in defeat, walking out the door. Your heart grew heavier with every step you took, carrying you further away from him.

When the elevator opened, you were working at your desk, just outside of Hogarth's office. You looked up just in time as the infamous P.I of Hell's Kitchen walked past your desk, sparing a glance towards you. You sprang up from your seat, running after her.

"Ms. Jones, I'm sorry, but you can't go in there. Unfortunately, Ms. Hogarth is not available at the moment."

Jones reeked of alcohol, but there was no sign of intoxication. She scoffed.

"I don't care if she's fucking another secretary in there. Step aside. I don't want to hurt you."

You stood in her path, taking your stance. Although preventing Jessica Jones from entering your boss' office wasn't your job, Hogarth made you do it anyway. She made you do many things that went beyond your responsibilities as a paralegal, as she always held her power over your head like an invisible sword, readied to strike at any given time.

Jessica rolled her eyes, sidestepping you. You stuck your foot out in her path, making her boot catch on your heel. She stumbled lightly, whirling around to face you.

"Seriously?"

You swallowed, shrugging.

"A girl's gotta do what she's gotta do."

"Maybe that girl should get another job and stop working for that monster."

Jessica quickened her pace, pushing the door open as you chased after her.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hogarth, but she …."

"… tired of your shit, Hogarth. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Jessica gritted out the words. Your boss sent a deathly glare at you.

"Leave us."

She flicked a wrist at you, and you closed the door behind you as fast as you could. You went back to your desk, speeding through your mountain of paperwork. About half an hour later, Jessica walked out with a menacing expression on her face, heading straight for the elevator. Jeri walked out about two minutes later, looming over your desk.

"If that happens again, I will personally destroy your little, pathetic career. You hear me?"

You nodded solemnly.

"Have them on my desk before 5."

Hogarth left you alone for the rest of your time there. You were done with the work at a little over 3 PM. You dropped it off, and it was refreshing to see a surprise expression on her face for once instead of the usual scowl you received. Then, you headed straight for Matt's place, couldn't wait to get back to your boyfriend, despite the little not-an-argument you had earlier that day.

He wasn't home when you got there. You sighed, afraid you had messed things up with him. After changing into something more comfortable, you sat down on Matt's kitchen table with your laptop open and a steamy plate of food Matt left you last night. You sat there, your fingers tapping away on your device for what felt like hours until you heard the sound of the door being opened. Matt walked in, dressed in his usual gym clothes with a duffle bag hanging off his shoulder. His face was flushed, his hair stuck out adorably. You stood up, lingering at the chair. You cleared your throat.

"I'm… sorry for this morning. Are we … okay?"

You ached to hug him, to be gathered into his arms, to kiss him. Your bottom lip trembled slightly. You wouldn't know what to do if he said no.

He could sense your uncertainty with every word. His face softened at your vulnerable disposition, his arms opened wide, dropping his cane and bag to the floor with little care.

"Of course we are."

You lunged into his embrace, holding him tight as he picked you up easily, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You found his lips, pouring your heart and soul into the kiss. Eventually, you pulled away from each other as you gasped for air, your foreheads touching.

Matt lowered you down to the ground, still holding you in his arms, his hand caressing your spine in a soothing motion.

"I'm looking up other jobs. Hogarth is … horrible, and I'm always stressed out. You're right. It's not worth it."

"You know … Nelson & Murdock can use a helping hand."

Matt raised his brow at you; an endearing grin pulled at the corner of his lips. You smacked his chest playfully.

"As if I'm not helping you guys in my free time already."

You trailed a finger from the waistband of his sweats, ghosting over his abdomen and chest, ended your way at the pulse on his neck, stroking the delicate arc of his throat. Matt let out a small groan of pleasure.

"That means you already have an in with the firm."

You squinted your eyes at Matt while he feigned innocence.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. I would love to have you there. We still have to discuss this with Foggy, but I think he'd be thrilled."

The earnestness in his voice was unconcealed. Working for Matt and Foggy was a tempting proposal, but you wanted to give it some thought first.

"Let me think about it."

The week started anew, with another visit from Jessica Jones. Only this time, you didn't cease your work pace, even as she walked past your desk. Jessica halted, looking at you skeptically.

"Why are you not stopping me right now? Did Hogarth call of her little guard dog?"

You looked up from your computer screen, giving her a nonchalant shrug.

"Nah, the order is still in effect. But I don't care."

The P.I gave you a nod and headed for Hogarth's office.

Before the workday ended, you were summoned by your fuming boss. Hogarth stood at her desk, a glass of whiskey clutched tight in her hand. She looked upon your entry, sneering at you.

"What part of preventing Jessica Jones from entering my office that you didn't understand? Do you —"

"I understand. I just don't care."

You dropped off the folder on Hogarth's desk. She narrowed her eyes at the manila envelope.

"This is my letter of resignation. I quit. I would say it was an honour to work with you, but that would be a lie."

You left the office that day feeling so much better than you had felt in months. There was a spring in your steps as you climbed the stairs to Matt's place. You walked in as an aroma of mouthwatering food being cooked engulfed you, welcoming you home. Matt was in the kitchen, facing the stove. You walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso. Matt lifted an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in to kiss your forehead. Then, he turned off the stove, fully angled his body to you and gave you a warm embrace.

"So you did it? How did she take it?"

"She was furious, Matt. She threatened to make sure I could never practice law ever again. Over and over. But I'm not worried. She can threaten me however she wants. I know the law."

"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. You're better off without her. And if she dared to do that, you wouldn't be alone. Foggy and I will have your back."

You hugged him even tighter, pressing your ear to the steady rhythm of his heart. You stayed like that for a moment as the sound of Hell's Kitchen played in the background. Matt buried his nose into your hair, peppering your face with kisses. Then, at last, he spoke up.

"So, have you given more thoughts on working for Nelson & Murdock?"

You made a tsk sound, tapping a finger against your lips, pretending to be in deep thoughts.

"I don't know. Wouldn't it make quite a scandal since I'm dating one of the bosses?"

"Considering the other boss already knows about the arrangement, no one else has to. We can keep a secret -"

Matt dipped his head; his lips brushed over the curve of your ear purposefully. The mere contact sent a shiver down your spine in anticipation. Finally, he released the last part of his sentence; his voice dropped dangerously low, dripped in an alluring invitation.

"- and have fun with it."

[doyelikehaggis]

yay! could i request a dialogue prompt 26 with creddie, please? :) thank you!! <3

Of course you can! I'm so happy you chose Creddie as I haven't been able to get them out of my mind since the new season came back. Hope this is okay!! <3 (Talk of endometriosis and period symptoms, just in case that kind of thing puts you off!)

A quiet groan from behind Freddie has him rushing to finish filling the glass in his hand with cool water, throwing a glance over his shoulder. For a second, he has a terrible image of destruction, a broken leg, head colliding with the coffee table. He abandons the glass entirely.

Carly's barely managing to push herself up into a sitting position, so there's really no reason to worry, but he still kneels himself at her side by the couch. For one, it at least puts an obstacle between her and the coffee table.

"Oh god," Carly groans and lets her entire body flop back down into a crumpled heap. She closes her eyes and shakes her head into the couch cushions. "I'm gonna throw up."

"Do you want help to the bathroom, or do you want me to get a bucket?" Freddie asks gently, resting a hand lightly on her blanketed leg. He tries to keep his face a mask of reasonable concern on the off chance that she opens her eyes.

She shakes her head again, pressing her face further into the cushions. Some hair covers her face and she makes no effort to fix it, so he does it for her as it gets in her mouth while she mumbles.

"What was that?" he asks. "Sorry, didn't quite catch it."

"False alarm, I think," she mumbles again, though somewhat clearer.

She takes a deep breath in through her nose and some of the lines of pain ease from her forehead. Finally, her eyes open, slow and blinking like a sloth, and only a slit enough for her to look at him.

He swallows hard and tries to smile. Moving his hand to take one of hers, he squeezes it gently and presses a kiss to her knuckles as he, too, takes a deep breath. It's definitely not relief he feels -- that'll only come when he knows for certain that she's okay -- but he's at least glad that she's able to talk now, which definitely wasn't the case an hour ago.

When he looks back up at her face, he finds her gaze fixed on him, simply watching. Her lips twitch as though to smile but she doesn't quite manage.

"Can I get anything for you?" he asks softly, trying to ignore the helpless feeling that's been tying him up in knots all day. "Is the heat pad helping at all?"

Carly hums, which Freddie takes as a yes. Then she shakes her head.

"I'm just exhausted from it," she tells him. "The painkillers are doing nothing either. Not surprised. They never really do. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, going through it every month and all."

"It's okay that you're not," Freddie says, gazing up at her. "Endometriosis is a bitch. I'd fight it for you, you know, if that didn't mean I'd have to fight you. We both know I'd lose, then."

Carly laughs, which is exactly what he was hoping for. She immediately groans and curls into a tighter ball, and he feels bad, but a smile lingers on her face.

"Yeah, you would," she says fondly. "I should probably just sleep it off but I... I don't know, I feel weird. It's kinda freaking me out."

Freddie presses another light kiss to her hand. "It's okay, Carls. You can sleep, you'll be fine. And," he settles himself properly against the couch, lacing their fingers, "I'm right here. I won't leave your side. Okay?"

He carefully drags the back of his fingers across her cheek as she hums again and lets her eyes flutter a little. It's obvious she wants to give in; the more she sleeps, the less pain she'll be in.

"Go back to sleep, darling," he says softly. "I'll keep an eye on you, make sure you're okay. Promise."

She jokingly runs her pinky finger up the side of his with a small smile, and while she's too tired to say the words, he knows what she's asking.

"Pinky swear," he says as her eyes finally close again.

Taking a deep breath, he rests his head in his other palm and watches her quietly drift back into what he's hoping is a peaceful sleep. He means to keep his promise and not move until she wakes again, gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb so that she knows he's still there even in her subconscious.

[calif0rnia-lovers]

Lover of Mine #5.5 | Angel Reyes.

Series Masterlist | join my gc for updates since tags are acting weird

title: For Better, or For Worse.

rating: 💙 💔

As long as you're feeling the same, I'll follow you into the flames

sum: angel fears once it's out, his secret will be the final push you need to leave. instead of confessing, he sticks out the couple's retreat to give himself a few more days with you. he makes himself a promise: he'll tell you once you two return to santo padre. but a ghost from his past pushes angel's agenda forward a few days.

words: the standard for this series....long af (that's why I break it into sections so you know where to come back to when you take a break...but seriously, please take breaks on these long ass chapters)

Ez Reyes is a smart man. There is no denying it. However, Ez never thought he would struggle to tie a tie.

He is currently outside of his father’s truck. Kneeling before his nephew, Ez concentrates as he works through the instructions he Youtube’d earlier. A usually chatty Jeyson has been silent. He slept the entire hour's drive to school. When his Uncle woke him, Jeyson shot Ez a glare that reminded him of you.

Jeyson was fine the entire weekend that you were gone, but the moment he woke up this Monday to find you had not returned his entire mood changed. He has fought Ez tooth and nail the entire morning.

Ez glances up from the tie to Jeyson. “Hey, you sure you wanna go to school today?”

“I have to go to school” Jeyson mumbles.

“Yeah, but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to take a break.” Ez offers Jeyson a smile. “If you’re not having a good day, it’s okay to stay home.”

“I don’t want to stay home with you.”

“That’s okay,” Ez chuckles. “What about Izzy?”

“I don’t want to stay home with her either.” Jeyson releases a huff before glancing down at his now fixed tie. He bends down to pick up his backpack. Slipping it onto his shoulder, Jeyson steps around his Uncle. “I want my mom to come home.”

Tommy’s gaze remains on the sleeve of his blue Stockton uniform. His fingers tug at the loose string resting against his wrist. He ignores the smirk on his older brother’s face. The passing of time has muddled the bruises on Tommy’s skin. The mixture of black and yellow stood out on the parts of him he's allowed to remain visible. No matter how he sits, the pain in his ribs is inescapable. Sleep has fallen to the way-side, the inability to get comfortable meaning he only gets it once he’s passed out from exhaustion.

“You didn’t tell me she was hot. Now I know why you were sticking up for her the other day--”

“I didn’t notice. I’m more worried about her getting me out of here.”

“Uh-huh.” Leo’s eyes roll as he watches his brother’s eyes pass over the crowded visiting center. “I’m just saying—”

“What’d you find?” Tommy’s fingers massage his temple, the irritation in his voice amplified by his brother’s antics. Lack of sleep and around-the-clock oversight and antics from Rogers has cut his fuse short. “If you didn’t find anything, you could've saved yourself a trip up here—and I could be asleep.”

“She’s not married—unless she has a habit of leaving her rings at home.”

“What? On the table?”

Leo shakes his head. “No. A jewelry box in the bedroom.”

“What about the kid?” “He has to be about eight, or nine? Name’s Jeyson. You were right, he’s definitely Angel’s. Wish I could show you the picture. He couldn’t deny that kid if he tried.”

“Yeah.” Tommy nods impatiently, motioning for him to continue. “What else?”

“Kid goes to some boujee ass prep school up north. Gilman something? Embroidered blazers, ties, the whole nine. His mom’s paying a pretty penny too, apparently, it's the best in the state. He’s into the typical shit kids are into. Star Wars, Spider-Man. Plays the piano, apparently, he’s actually really fucking good. Awards and all. His mom’s got him pretty busy. A lot of after-school activities. Looks like she and Angel rotate transportation...She must not be around right now tho.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Apart from the fact you’re still not transported to a new unit?” Leo scoffs. “The kid was with someone else when I was scouting. A girl and a kid with a prospect patch.”

“Mayans?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe his little brother...last I heard he was hemmed up here. Haven’t seen him around tho.”

“Maybe he got out?”

Tommy dismisses Leo’s suggestion. “Most cop killers don’t walk free. What else?”

“He’s not doing a good job of keeping his nephew safe. I talked to the kid.”

Tommy’s eyes open. “You did what?”

“He walked right off with me.” Leo quietly explains. He mistakes his brother’s silence as a cue to move forward with his story. “His uncle was so into his date he didn’t even notice the kid walk off with me--”

The sight of Tommy’s hand running down his face tapers the rest of Leo’s statement.

His voice comes out low, through his clenched teeth. “I didn’t tell you to touch the kid.”

“I didn’t touch the kid,” Leo’s eyes rolled. “I got him a funnel cake—” “I don’t give a fuck—” the slamming of Tommy’s fist against the table brings the room to a brief silence. The eyes that he has attracted linger on Tommy as his glare nearly burns a hole through his brother. Rogers shrugs off the wall nearby. He takes a step of warning in Tommy’s direction. “—what you did, Leo—it was stupid.”

“How else was I supposed to get him to talk to me?”

Tommy’s response comes out slowly. Each passing word increases his irritation.

“You didn’t need him to talk to you because I didn’t ask you to talk to him. Buying him a funnel cake, or whatever the fuck your grand plan was allowed the kid to see your face. He can open up his mouth and ID you—”

“ID me,” Leo snorts, dismissing Tommy’s claim. “Relax, Tommy. He’s not a state witness, he’s a kid—“

“Yeah, and according to you and his 'boujee ass prep school,' he’s a smart ass fucking kid, Leo.” Tommy lets out a long sigh. “The last thing I need is the kid opening his mouth to his mom about some random guy approaching him.”

“Don’t worry, I played it cool. Told him I was a friend of his dad. Maybe, if you had told me exactly why I went there I wouldn’t—”

It was something Tommy had explained to his brother during their last visit. The less you know, the better.

“I already told you,” Tommy rubs at his temple, the sudden throbbing causing his jaw to clench. “I needed to double-check something.”

“And that’s what I did.” Leo sighs. “What I want to know is, why the fuck you called me all the way down here to check pictures in some house.”

Tommy studies his brother for a moment. He shifts forward, his elbows settling against the table.

“You wanna know why I didn’t tell you? You don’t think, Leo. I ask you to do one thing—one fucking thing—and you almost fuck it up. If I wanted you to think I wouldn’t have told you exactly what to do.” Leo’s jaw tightens as his brother continues. “You trying to think leads to you doing dumb shit like kidnapping her fucking son—”

“I didn’t kidnap him,” Leo mumbles.

Tommy’s fingers massage his clenched fist. “You’re lucky I can’t reach across this fucking table right now.”

Leo’s gaze drops from his brothers. The look that lies in Tommy’s eyes is one he’s seen before—at least not directed at him. It’s the look that accompanied the acts that earned Tommy his nickname. Leo’s gaze nervously shifts towards Rogers who is still watching Tommy from his post.

“What do you want with her? Thinking she’s gonna give you a shot? Criminal is her type, and she’s definitely yours.”

“It’s not her I need. It’s Angel.” Tommy starts, his jaw tightening as his gaze remains on Leo. “And if you want Angel, you need her.”

“If she’s as good as you say, what do you need Angel for? You’ve been talking about her like she might actually get you off.”

Leo steals a brave glance at his brother. He watches as Tommy looks up from his tattooed knuckles.

“No matter how hard you pray, people like me and you don't come out on the right side of the law. No matter how fucking good she is, she can't get me out of this. This shit is stacked too high against me." Tommy’s gaze shifts to the clock overhead. “Did you find the necklace?”

Leo nods as Tommy stands.

“Good, go ahead and do what I asked.” Tommy pauses, his voice lowering as his gaze meets his brothers. “Nothing else, Leonardo. The time I'm looking at right now, I’ll fucking kill you right here if you pull some shit like that again.”

At some point Monday night, Angel abandoned his spot on the sofa to crawl into bed with you. His intention may have been to take one side of the bed, but to no surprise, he has failed.

You came to this revelation at two o’clock in the morning when you tried to roll over but found it to be impossible. You have been stuck on your back ever since. You attempted to fall back asleep but have not been able to.

Cheek pressed against your chest, arm wrapped around your waist, Angel hasn’t moved. He doesn’t move when your alarm goes off at 7:30 or when the knock comes on the door at 8:00.

The sleep Angel lost, the past two days over Tommy seems to have piled onto him. He only wakes when your fingers brush through his hair, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cheek.

“You have to get up and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” Angel mumbles. The sunlight peeking through the curtains prompts him to burrow his face against your neck. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you smile softly. “But, I’m hungry, and I can’t get our food with you laying on top of me.”

Your words are met with a huff before Angel rolls over. Resting on his back, he watches the fan spin as you get out of bed.

His first instinct is to check his phone. He pushes himself up, his body protesting with the sudden movement, once he realizes his cellphone is not where he left it.

“Where’s my phone?”

His palms pressed against his eyes as he pushes away the enticing thought of laying back down for a few more hours of sleep.

“It kept going off,” you look up from the plate in your hand. “Ezekiel kept texting you.��

“What did he want?”

Angel watches you shrug. “I don’t know. I put it in the drawer. I tried to wake you up, but you were literally dead.”

Angel releases a sigh of relief before reaching over to open the bedside drawer. Facedown, his phone has several notifications. He ignores the rest, focusing on those from his younger brother.

2:30 a.m. 📲 : You still up?

2:35 a.m. 📲 : Talked to Bishop. Found out what the shipment was

3:00 a.m. 📲 : Pretty sure I found something else

3:02 a.m. 📲 : Don’t know if this is the guy. If it is we might have a problem

3:03 a.m. 📲: Found this in the paper

3:04 a.m. 📲 : Check it out and call me back.

The last incoming message was a photo, the front page of the Daily Imperial Gazette. Angel scans the article as you climb back into bed. A few phrases stick as he reads, “Man charged in Santo Padre murder…” “Thomas Flores, 30, has been charged…” “...obtained representation from Lorente & Rothman…” “...Friday, Flores was denied bond…”

“I have to tell you something.”

Angel instinctively hits the power button on his phone. Glancing up, he realizes you haven’t even bothered to look up at him. Your focus is on the half-eaten croissant in your hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you explain as you take another bite of your croissant. “The case Samuel gave me—the one Aiden is helping me with—it’s for this guy. His name’s Tommy Flores. He has some pretty...intense charges, so you’re probably going to hear people talking about it soon. We had court Friday, and the judge...he’s pretty tough. He denied any form of a bond, he didn’t even bother trying to set a ridiculously high one.”

You glance up to find Angel’s eyes on you. His unreadable expression causes your brow to furrow. You mistake the look in his eyes as uncertainty.

“I honestly don’t think it’s anything you have to worry about.” Offering him a smile, you lightly roll your eyes. “But I’m going to have to start working late when we get back, so I need to know that what happened Friday won’t happen again.”

You wait for Angel’s response, but it doesn’t come.

“If I take over morning drop-offs, can I count on you to pick Jeyson up after school?” You continue. “Or, do I have to ask Isabela to do it...Angel?”

Angel blinks as your fingers snap.

“Are you listening to me?” The irritation he finds as his focus shifts to you causes him to nod.

Angel nods a second time as he takes in the look of skepticism on your face.

“Yeah, I’m listening.”

“So, you’re good with picking Jeyson up from school?” You clarify. “Every day of the week?”

Angel unlocks his phone, nodding for the third time. “Yeah. I’ll pick him up.”

“And if you can’t,” you reach forward. You catch Angel's chin forcing him to look at you. “You call and let me know the moment you find out?”

Nodding, Angel drops his eyes the second your gaze meets his. “I gotta call Ez.”

Despite his admission, your hand doesn’t drop preventing him from getting up. For a moment, Angel thinks you’ll let it go. For once, you will ignore the feeling you get each time you notice a change in him. It is something no one else in his life can seem to do. It is something you’ve been able to do your entire life. It is something Angel wishes you couldn’t do.

“What’s wrong?”

Angel shakes his head as you release him. He keeps his eyes trained on the plate in your lap avoiding your gaze as your touch brushes through his hair. It's a habit. Angel knows the moment he meets your gaze he’ll tell you whatever is on his mind. It’s impossible not to do when he knows you can read him best that way. He picks up what’s left of your croissant and takes a bite.

You sit your plate aside before closing the distance between the two of you. Angel’s eyes lift to meet yours as you settle on his lap. The warmth of your palms finds his cheeks as you take his face in your hands.

“I’ve known you nearly my entire life, Angel. I know you don’t believe it, but I can tell when you’re lying to me. Just like I can tell when you’re upset and anxious. And when you’re going to annoy me.” The soft smile on your lips brings a weak one to his. “There’s no point in trying to act like I don’t. What’s wrong?”

“You were right about Friday night. I wasn’t with Samuel. I wasn’t even in Santo Padre.” Angel lets out a deep breath. His voice low as your fingers toys with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Ez and I were in Mexico. I left when you were in court. I knew we weren’t going to make it back in time, but I didn’t want to have to tell you because I knew you’d be pissed.”

“What happened to your hand?”

He watches you lift it. Your finger traces the bandage.

“Cut it on a shovel.”

Your gaze lifts to find his focus on the path your finger traces.

“...okay.”

Angel shook his head. “It’s not okay—I fucked up. Forreal this time—“

"What? On Friday?” You let out a deep breath. “Angel, I know I freaked out. Missing the recital—yeah, it was fucked up—but it is not the worse thing you’ve done.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that.” Your eyes watch him release a tired laugh, his gaze down. "You defend me, even when you shouldn’t.”

It is true. Defending Angel has been second nature your entire life. Often you do it in response to others. But also in response to him. When you were teenagers, you learned a valuable lesson about him. Angel is his worst critic. He’ll talk himself down harsher than anyone, even those who hate him.

“It’s because I love you.” Your arms wrap around his neck pulling him into a hug. “Just because we fight and say stupid things to each other doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, Angel. If I haven’t been able to stop doing that our entire time together, I don’t know why you think a fight in a therapy session is going to be the final straw. Me not talking to you is just the easiest way for me not to say something I’ll regret later.”

Angel’s grip tightens around you as your lips press against his skin.

“At this point, there isn’t anything you can do or say that’s going to make me stop loving you.” The reassurance in your voice lifts his gaze to yours. “Okay?”

Your lips press against his in a soft kiss. You leave a second against his forehead before getting up.

“I have to take a shower,” you announce as Angel’s arm wraps around your waist guiding your body back towards his. Your fingers drift into his hair as his head rests against you. “There’s more food you should eat before we go out.”

The two of you stay that way for nearly a minute. Angel releases you as the sound of your ringing phone fills the air.

Silence from Angel Reyes is a bad sign. Such a rarity, it wrings your stomach into knots. It has been hours since you woke to find him sleeping against you. Angel has said just as little as he did in the morning. When you stepped out of the shower, you found him fully dressed and brushing his teeth.

You glance over your shoulder to find he’s standing where you last left him. Arms crossed over his chest Angel rests against the wall as far from the line as possible. With his sunglasses on, you can’t tell where he’s looking. The corner of his lips turns up into a small smile as you come to a stop before him.

“Who knew smoothies took forever to make,” he sighs as your arms wrap around his waist.

Resting your cheek against Angel's chest, you tighten your grip. You listen to the steady rhythm of his heart as his lips press against your hair.

“I want you to come somewhere with me tonight.”

“No,” Angel chuckles. You tip your head back, pouting as his gaze drops to yours.

He shakes his head as your weight shifts to your toes.

“Please,” you ask, your lips pressing a kiss against his.

“Last time I did that, you ripped me to shreds,” he laughs. “I haven’t even had time to recover from that.”

“It’ll be fun,” you promise. The second kiss you leave morphs Angel's smile into a grin. You leave a third, this one against his cheek. “I promise.”

Angel releases a long breath as you take a step back, a grin on your face.

“It better be,” he shakes his head as you quickly press a final kiss against his lips before turning to retrieve your order.

As you reach the corner, your cell phone vibrates in your back pocket. You don’t bother checking who it is. Aiden has called you three times. You had sent him a text message in response to his first three calls. Telling him to ask Isabela for help on whatever he needed.

The moment the call goes to voicemail, the vibration picks back up.

You force yourself to take a breath as Angel leads you outside.

“Hi, Aiden--”

“I know this week is supposed to be for you and Angel,” Aiden's voice comes out in a rushed whisper. “But, I need your help.”

“Where are you?” You ask as you take a sip of your smoothie. “And, why are you whispering?”

“I’m at the courthouse,” Aiden sighs. “I’ve been here all morning, and they’re giving me the run-around.”

“About what?”

“The Warden called the office this morning. You weren’t there, so I answered your desk phone. He didn’t give me many details, just that Flores was detained last night. They couldn't get him to say anything—to no surprise—but one of the guards said he was involved in an altercation with another inmate. Apparently, Tommy messed him up pretty bad—like...transported to the local hospital bad.”

Angel glances over at you as you slip out of his grip. You take a seat at the table he stops alongside.

In the short time, you’ve worked with Aiden, you’ve learned one thing. The moment he thinks there is something to panic about, Aiden will panic. So, if you sound stressed it kicks off his panicking.

Resting your face in your hand, you speak quietly. “So, he wasn't transferred on Friday as I'd requested? If he was he couldn't have gotten in a fight.”

“I know. Apparently this isn't the first one he's been in. The Warden said he looks like he’s been roughed up in the past few days. I’ve been here since first thing this morning—”

“Let me guess.” You rest back against your seat. “They told you there’s nothing they can do, with the prison being at full capacity they don’t have a cell for him?”

A brief silence falls over the receiver. Aiden’s brow furrows.

“Yeah—how'd you know?”

“That’s because it’s bullshit,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Judge Miller was hoping you’d leave and not press the issue.”

“Shit,” Aiden mumbles. “Shit, should I call Samuel—”

“God no. Aiden, I’ll tell you what to do, and say, just relax.”

“I lied to you.”

Angel glances down at you as your lips press against his knuckles. “About what?”

“About wanting to wait to get married.”

Your admission leaves Angel quiet. He opens his mouth to speak, but it closes as you place a second kiss against his skin.

You tilt your head back to find his eyes focused on the water.

“I was talking to Izzy the other day—not about getting married—but about you and...I mean...we’re trying to have another kid.” You backtrack as his gaze drifts to you. “That’s not the only reason, but I don’t want to spend another seven years playing house with you, Angel. I have tried so hard to find reasons why we should just leave each other in the past, but it’s impossible. I can’t help thinking that we’ve wasted so much time trying to fight it we should just get married.”

If he is excited by your words, Angel doesn’t show it. If he’s anxious by your words Angel doesn’t show it. The only response he gives is the furrowing of his brow as his pace slows before coming to a complete stop.

“I thought you’d be...a little happier,” you admit. The butterflies in your stomach seem to double in size as Angel's gaze focuses on your interlaced fingers.

“Right now?” Angel gently squeezes your hand, the smile slowly spreading across his lips causing you to shake your head. “A fancy place like this I’m pretty sure we could find someone to do it tonight.”

“Preferably with your son there,” you giggle as his lips press against your forehead.

“Just so you know,” Angel mumbles as he leaves a kiss against your lips. “You can’t take it back.”

“It’d be pointless,” you admit, your eyes focused on the incoming tide. “Regardless of what I say, you’re impossible to escape.”

“Like you said, it must be fate,” he teases as you step back towards the security of the shore.

“I didn’t say fate. I said I was tired of trying to outrun you.”

Angel’s eyes roll. “Okay.”

Pushing against his chest, you cause him to stumble backward making it impossible for him to avoid the incoming tide.

“Fuck—”

Angel’s scream is drowned out by the sound of your laughter. He tries to escape the chilled water but realizes it’s pointless as a second wave rolls through.

“Is it cold?” You ask the grin on your face prompting him to take a step in your direction. “Because it looked like it was cold.” The look on his face causes your laughter to return.

“You’re about to find out how cold it is.” The promise in his voice causes you to take a step back.

You catch sight of Angel’s smile before you take off running.

Between the giggles that leave you breathless and the sand between your feet, you don’t get very far before Angel’s arms wrap around you.

“I’m sorry, okay. Let me go, please?” Angel’s grip loosens as you turn to face him. “I really am sorry.”

A gasp escapes your lips as your feet leave the ground. Blood rushes to your head as Angel tosses you over your shoulder. It only takes a second for you to realize he’s turned and is carrying you back towards the water.

“Angel Ignacio Reyes put me down now!”

“Be careful what you wish for, baby girl,” Angel chuckles as he carries you into the water.

It doesn’t matter that you’re both fully clothed Angel carries you out until the water is waist-deep. He comes to a stop. Shifting you in his arms, he grins as your arms instantly wrap around his neck.

“You think this is far enough?” He asks as you take in your surroundings.

“I hate you,” you giggle as you meet his playful gaze.

“I could go further out,” he takes a step forward.

“Just do it.”

Judging by the mischievous grin on his lips, you expect him to drop you in. For whatever reason, Angel spares you a dunking. Instead, he carefully lowers you to your feet.

The chill of the water causes your grip to tighten around him. He waits until you’re standing to let go of you.

You can’t suppress the smile that finds your lips as he kisses you.

“You’re lucky you buttered me up beforehand,” he chuckles as you step around him.

He follows you back to shore watching as you glance down the beach, back towards the lights of the hotel. Your pace slows as you start in the direction of the hotel.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Despite the nod of reassurance, you force yourself to take another breath. You shake your head slightly, a tiny smile finding your lips. It takes a third breath for the feeling to pass. “I just—got lightheaded for a second.”

“Uh-huh. Funny how you get ��lightheaded’ the second I take my shirt off. I don’t know why you still try and play this game at this point.”

Your eyes open in time to allow you the moment you need to react. Catching the shirt tossed your way, you watch Angel unzip his jeans.

"Angel put your shirt back on–I’m serious.” The warning in your voice stretches the smile on Angel’s lips. Your eyes leave him, long enough to drift back to the glow of the hotel’s lanterns still visible. The laughter and music cause you to step in his direction. “You are not getting naked on the beach! Are you trying to get us kicked out of here—”

“I wasn’t planning on going in naked,” Angel laughs. It is an admission of truth, but the sight of your panicked gaze causes a mischievous grin to take over his features. “But, I’m down to if you are—“

“No—"

“You know what?” Angel nods as he tugs his foot out of his jeans. “Your plan is better.”

“Angel—“

There’s no point throwing in a protest. Angel has fully stripped down to his briefs.

You step forward as he moves to push them down.

“I am serious, Angel. Do not do it.”

He rolls his neck before letting out a loud, and exaggerated, “fine.”

“But the only way that’s coming back on,” he nods towards the shirt in your hands before taking a step back. “You gotta join me.”

“I’m not doing this.”

Angel shoots you a look of skepticism as he takes another step towards the water.

“You’re already wet,” he chuckles. “Might as well get in.”

You remain where you are as Angel turns and makes his way into the water.

He waits until he’s waist-deep to start swimming out. He disappears out of sight as you drop his shirt to the ground. Stepping out of your flip-flops, you roll your eyes as you watch him resurface under the moonlight.

“Hurry up!” Even with the distance between the two of you, you can see Angel’s grin in your mind perfectly.

Despite your initial protest, you stay in the water for nearly an hour. Angel stands alongside you. His right-hand rests against your spine, his left interlaced with yours as your float. He watches you, his eyes admiring the moonlight against your skin as you focus on the stars above.

“I can’t remember the last time I looked at these,” you admit.

He smiles as your eyes drift shut. “Mom used to freak every time she caught us sneaking onto the roof to look at them.”

“That’s because you fell off one time. Nearly gave her a heart attack.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time.”

You bite back a smile as Angel’s lips lightly brush against yours. They drift to the bridge of your nose as you release a soft giggle.

“Speaking of mom’s, yours came by last week.” Angel watches as the smile on your face slowly fades. “You were at work. I was taking Jeyson to school. She said she’s been calling you.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you admit. “She’s blocked.”

“I was thinking...since we’re heading back a day early, we should stop by your mom’s on the way back–”

“No.”

Angel releases a deep breath. He wasn’t naive to think you would jump at the idea. But, since seeing her, Angel couldn’t get the thought out of his mind.

“I know ya’ll don’t get along, but my mom’s not here to see Jeyson grow up. I think he should be able to know the grandparents he has left.”

“I get that, but I’m not doing it.”

Your eyes remain closed as you concentrate on the waves gently pushing against your skin.

Angel doesn’t say anything else on the subject. He knows your response will stay the same. It has for the past nine years. He also doesn’t say anything else because he knows he’s the reason you won’t budge.

The hatred your mother has for Angel may be misplaced, but she is too stubborn to admit it. She has always blamed Angel for many of your actions, starting when you were kids. Anytime you didn’t go through with what she had planned for you, Angel was to blame. You missed curfew in high school Angel was to blame. You skipped school on your birthday Angel was to blame. You didn’t attend the college she spent her entire life preparing you for Angel was to blame. You got pregnant out of wedlock Angel was to blame.

It had all came to a head at your baby shower. Angel wasn’t there, but it was the first time he’d ever seen his mother truly angry. Sure, Marisol had gotten mad at Angel countless times. But seeing how mad Marisol was as she recounted the fight she had witnessed between you and your mother, Angel was shocked.

He never asked what words were exchanged, and he didn’t have to. All he knew was that from that moment forward, everyone avoided the subject of your mother.

“I get what you’re saying, Angel,” you sigh. “But, if my mom truly wanted to get to know Jeyson she would apologize. I can’t bring our son around someone that has said the things she’s said about you. If she can say them about you, she can say them about him because Jeyson is your son.”

“Shit, I really look as bad as I feel?”

The smile on Tommy’s face grows as you look up. The heat covering your skin seems to rise as you start to speak.

“No—” You wince. “I’m sorry for staring—it’s rude.”

“It’s all good,” Tommy chuckles as he watches your eyes leave his.

He watches as you bite your lip. Whatever is on your mind, you don’t share it. Instead, your eyes linger on the bruise beneath his right eye. You’ve seen enough damage on Angel to know how bad it must have looked a few days prior.

“Hey, relax.” Tommy shifts forward in his seat, the sound of his shackles dragging across the table causing your attention to refocus. He meets your gaze. “The Doc cleared me—gave me my two Advil and sent me back to my cell. I think it’s safe to say I’m not gonna die.”

Despite the smile on his face, your head still shakes.

“Yeah, but I still feel bad that it happened. I was supposed to double-check the clearance of your paperwork.”

“Trust me, it’s not your fault,” Tommy chuckles. He watches your eyes drop to his freshly bruised knuckles. “It’s mine. The funny thing about this place is, you always run into people from your past. My mom used to said I never knew when to stop talking. I might have said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

You watch as Tommy’s eyes briefly drift over your shoulder to where Rogers sits in the corner. His smile returns as his gaze drifts back to you.

“So, I take it you had fun.” He notes your raised brow before backtracking. “The Warden said he called your office and your boyfriend answered, said you were out of town.”

Your eyes roll. “Hey, go easy on my boyfriend. He’s the one who went to the courthouse. From what I hear, he slammed Judge Miller hard because your paperwork has been approved.”

You take in Tommy’s skepticism. You slide the signed form across the table, allowing him a better view.

“Signed by the Warden as well,” you point out. “Thanks to Aiden as soon as we’re done here, you’re being moved out of the unit.”

“No shit?” Tommy chuckles. He nods in approval as he scans the form. “I’ll be sure to thank Aiden when I see him. Guess you were right. He’s got some balls after all...Look, I know I’m not the easiest client….so um….Thanks for pushing for this. Making sure everything was straight. Most people would’ve just left me where I was.”

“Yeah, well I can’t have you die before I get fully paid.”

The laugh Tommy releases brings a smile to your lips. He settles back against his chair as you pick up your pen.

"I need you to understand that this new assignment may not be your favorite," you explain. "You're being moved to a new unit, but I can't get you moved again. That means, you can't do anything else, Tommy. Do you understand me?"

Tommy nods. He looks up as your hand finds his.

"This," your lift his hand forcing him to take in his swollen knuckles. "The shit you pulled. You're lucky they didn't throw you in AdSeg. That's 23 hours in your cell. No phone calls, no visits. Nothing. The only reason they didn't throw you in there is because they messed up, and didn't want Aiden to draw a motion against the judge. I don't care what you have to do, but you better learn to walk away from a fight. Now."

"I know." Tommy sighs as you let him go.

“Then do it. My job is already hard enough as it is. I can't have you trying to kill someone while you're already here for murder. Plus, the judge is pissed because of the paperwork Aiden had to file. That's not good for either of us. So, that means I need your help.”

His brow raises, the corners of his lips turning up into a smirk. “I thought I was supposed to be the one asking for help.”

“True, but help is a two-way street.”

Tommy hesitates for a moment. His eyes drop to his knuckles as he lets off a light shrug.

“What do you need?”

“For you to tell me why you were meeting with Alexander Maddox the night you were arrested.”

Tommy’s smile fades quicker than it came. His jaw tightens as he shakes his head.

You sit forward resting your elbows on the table.

“Tommy, if it’s about the MC.” Tommy’s eyes lift for a brief second. Long enough for you to catch a glimpse of the shock in his eyes. You lower your voice. “I know you’re with the Horsemen—”

Tommy shakes his head. “Look—I get you got a job to do, but—there’s just shit with the MC I can’t talk about—”

“I know how this stuff works—”

“Got a lot of personal experience with an MC?” Tommy asks.

His question causes you to release a deep breath.

“If you don’t want to tell me anything, fine. But when it comes down to it, Tommy. People will cut you off to save themselves.” The irritation in your voice lifts his gaze. “That shipment you were carrying, was not a dime bag. Your brothers will let you go down for this. Hard. They will let you rot in here for the rest of your fucking life if it means avoiding a R.I.C.O. case.”

Tommy’s brow furrows. “What’s a R.I.C.O.?”

His question throws you off. The pure confusion on his face causes you to backtrack.

“You seriously don’t know what that is?”

“I mean—I’ve heard of it...how do you know what it is?”

“It’s what you pay me for,” you remind him.

“Then I guess I’m paying you to explain it to me.”

The moment you step outside of the elevator, you come face to face with a wide-eyed Isabela.

“Is your phone dead?” She asks the irritation in her voice causing your brow to arch.

“Off—I had a client meeting with Tommy. I thought I told you—”

Isabela ignores your response, her eyes focused in the direction of your office. “Yeah, whatever. I’ve been calling you for the last freaking hour—”

“Sorry—ow.” You wince as Isabela catches your arm. She pulls you to a stop. “What?”

She releases her grip, but she sidesteps. Blocking your path, Isabela places both hands on your shoulders. She ignores the look of confusion on your face, her gaze studying yours.

“How are you?”

Her question causes you to hesitate. “...Fine...why?”

Isabela takes another moment to study your eyes as if she doesn’t fully believe you before nodding.

“Just so you know,” she sighs as she takes a step back. “I did not let her in. Aiden did. He didn’t know any better—bless his heart—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your mother.” Isabela winces at the look on your face. “She’s in your office. Promise me you won’t make a scene.”

“It’s never me you have to worry about,” you mumble.

When you enter your office, you find your mother is not where Aiden asked her to sit and wait for you.

She is standing behind your desk studying a photo that she holds in her hands.

“Put it back.”

She jumps at the sound of your voice, her body turning so that she faces you.

“Put it back, please.”

Her eyes return to the photo of Angel seated on his bike. A grinning Jeyson is seated in front of him, clinging to the handlebars.

“He looks so much like his father.”

You cross the room. Taking the photo, you place it back in its original resting place before dropping your purse onto your desk.

“What do you want?” You ask as you watch step around your desk.

“Is that a way to greet your mother?”

“According to the last time we spoke, I don’t have one.” You recollect as you take a seat. “It’s been...nearly nine years, so my memory might be a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure that’s what you told me.” Your brow furrows as she moves to take the seat across from you. “There’s no need for you to sit. This conversation won’t last long. I have a meeting in a few minutes. What do you want?”

Your mother’s jaw tightens as she remains standing. Her eyes roll as she speaks. “I take it he didn’t pass along my message.”

“He did pass along your message, actually,” you admit. “Believe it or not, Angel said I should call you and listen to what you had to say. I just chose to do what I’ve done for the past nine years—ignore it. If you’re not going to answer my question, mom, then you can leave.”

“Your father and I want to see our grandson—”

“No.”

She expects more, but your attention has already moved on to the papers you’ve dropped onto your desk.

“See, I told you the conversation wouldn’t last long.”

“Y/N,” your mother objects. “It’s been nearly nine years.”

Your fingers interlaced as you force yourself to take a deep breath. You surprise even yourself as your voice comes out quiet and calm.

“I told you before. I do not want you near my son, and I meant it. I don’t care what excuse you’ve come here to give today. I’m not changing my mind. Your only hope is to speak with his father, and hope he’s more forgiving than I am.”

Aiden stops in the doorway, his eyes widening as he reads the room. He takes a step back but pauses as you give him a warm smile.

“Hi, Aiden! Please tell me you haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

“No,” Aiden clears his throat. His eyes briefly pass to your mother whose gaze remains on you. “I haven’t.”

“Good. Can you order two of whatever you’re having? I’ll pay. We have to go ahead and look over this case.”

Aiden nods as you add, “great. Can you also escort my mother downstairs? She’s ready to leave.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your retreat.”

Aiden’s apology breaks your concentration.

Seated on the floor of your office, Aiden has his back pressed against your desk. His usually polished appearance is disheveled. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His tie and jacket are discarded on the back of your chair.

His apology is one he has been working himself up to share for the last three hours. Each time he thought of sharing it, he’s backed out. At this point, he’s run out of pointless conversation and has reached the bottom of your takeout container that he took over.

“What are you talking about?”

Aiden’s eyes remain on the chopsticks in his hand.

“Isabela told me not to call you about Tommy,” he clears his throat. He steals a glance in your direction. “She said it should wait until you got back—but as usual—I panicked and called you. Now you’re back early--”

“Aiden, you didn’t ruin my retreat,” you sigh. Your palms rub against your tired eyes. “It was rocky was to begin with.”

The admission silences the office. Aiden nods before opening his mouth.

“So,” you smile as you lightly bump his shoulder with yours. “Please, don’t worry about it. Angel was probably happy you called so he could leave.”

Your gaze returns to the slow-paced printer. Upon learning you were coming home early, Aiden had sent you a text message.

📲: I have some stuff to show you about Tommy.

And by “some stuff” Aiden meant a board. He had stolen one of Samuel’s whiteboards from the conference room. The entire surface is covered in your notes and information from Tommy’s files.

“I can’t believe you did all this while I was gone,” you stare at the board. “Your girlfriend might think you’re spending too much time on me.”

Aiden’s smile is sheepish. “If I had one, I wouldn’t have had time to do this.”

“Well, remind me to find you one because this is amazing.” The tease causes Aiden’s smile to grow. “I’m serious, Aiden. I can’t believe you thought you couldn’t be any help.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” he shrugs, his gaze focused on the paper in his hand. “They’re all your notes, I just organized them.”

His eyes widen, a grin finding his lips as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Call it whatever you want,” you smile. “But I still get to say thank you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he rubs the back of his neck before glancing over at you. “We’re a team….speaking of...I found this.”

The picture he lifts is not new. It is one you’ve seen before. Your brow furrows as you take in the pregnant woman on display.

“I already know who that is,” you admit. “It’s the girlfriend of—”

“Alexander Maddox.” Aiden nods. “Right. I kept going back to your notes. You had one question. Why was Tommy meeting with Maddox in the first place?”

Your head shakes the confusion on your face prompting the rolling of Aiden’s eyes.

“How is this the answer?”

“You were asking the wrong question.” A mischievous grin slides onto his face as Aiden realizes you’re still not following his train of thought. “I can’t believe I figured something out before you—”

“Oh my goodness, Aiden—”

“When he was arrested, Tommy was carrying a shipment--”

“Yeah, something he shouldn’t have been doing by himself.”

Aiden’s brow arches. “You got a history of drug trafficking I don’t know about?”

“You’d be surprised what you pick up on this job.”

Aiden shakes his head as you motion for him to continue.

“While I was working, I kept thinking back to our conversation at the courthouse,” Aiden continues. “You said Tommy’s smart—"

“He uses people to get what he wants.”

“Exactly,” Aiden grins. He lifts the picture in his hand. “Why would Maddox meet up with someone from a rival club, in the middle of the night, with his pregnant girlfriend in tow if he was threatened by them?”

Aiden doesn’t bother answering the question. Instead, he waits for you to make the connection. The smile on his face remains as your eyes widen.

“Because he was there to make a deal.”

“Exactly!” Despite the smile on your face, Aiden’s face dampens. “...but that’s as far as I got. I don’t really know what made Tommy kill him—”

“Of course you do, Aiden.” Despite your reassurance and the confidence in your voice, Aiden’s expression hasn’t changed. “Your brain just needs a second to catch up. Maddox didn’t keep up his end of the deal. He probably tried to screw Tommy over. Not realizing that Tommy would kill him, girlfriend in tow.”

"Well, now we know why Tommy's been tight-lipped about that night. Probably doesn't want it to get out that he was skimming from the club's business."

The hug you give him brings the same response as before.

“I should help you out more often.” Aiden chuckles as you give him a squeeze.

“Careful,” you tease. “Angel’s not too fond of sharing.”

“Speaking of Angel…” Aiden’s gaze meets yours. “I know you asked me not to say anything to him about Samuel—”

“It’s okay.”

Aiden nods, but he continues. His rambling brings a soft smile to your lips.

“Yeah, but I just...I didn’t want you to think I was okay with what Samuel did.” His words come out quietly as he shakes his head. “The way he talked to you...it wasn’t right. You work harder than anyone here—including him—and for Samuel to do that was fucked up. I didn’t say anything in the meeting, and I should have. So, I just...I told Angel when he asked about it.”

“He would have found out eventually,” you laugh softly. “Besides, now Angel likes you.���

“For real?” The smile on Aiden’s face stretches into a grin as you nod.

A silence falls over the office as Aiden’s head rests against the desk. His brow furrows as your eyes fall to your hands. There is a final question on his mind. One he’s tried to find a way to raise since he started flipping through your notes on Saturday morning.

“Are you pregnant?”

The question lifts your gaze.

Aiden reaches into the pocket of his shirt. Your eyes widen as you take in the white card he produces. It is a card you spent the entire morning trying to find. The scheduled appointment one you have yet to share with Angel.

“It was in the notebook you turned over for me and Samuel to review,” Aiden explains as he passes the card over. “Don’t worry. I saw it before he did...I figured he was the last person you wanted to know.”

Your eyes focus on the date. A week and a half away. The initial scheduling may have been premature, but you couldn’t shake the feeling Angel was right.

“Uh...no—I mean, it’s too early to tell.” You turn the card over before looking up. “I should know by this date, so can you not tell anyone about this? I haven’t even told Izzy...or Angel for that matter. I don’t want to say anything until I’m a hundred percent sure.”

Aiden nods, a soft smile on his lips. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” You allow your head to rest back against the desk. “I don’t want to get Angel’s hopes up too early.”

It was the only thought you’ve had from the moment you woke up alongside Angel that moment. But as you glance back at the card in your hand, you know the truth has nothing to do with Angel. It���s not his hopes that you’re afraid of letting down.

You place the card aside, pulling your knees to your chest. Your gaze drifts to the board before you. The two of you sit in silence, eyes focused on your work. Silently willing your brains to come up with one more revelation before packing it up for the night.

"Alright," Aiden huffs. "I think we've gotten as far as we can get tonight."

HIs brow furrows, a chuckle filling the air as he fingers brush against your arm.

"Didn't take you for a tattoo person."

You glance over at him, following his gaze to the ink on your arm.

"Yeah, well, you've never been dragged to a tattoo parlor with Angel," you laugh. "Now, I try to avoid them at all cost."

"It's pretty cool," he grins, his eyes lingering on the design. "He has one too? Matching?"

"Yep," your eyes roll lightly. "Please don't tease me about teenage decisions."

"I won't," he chuckles. Aiden sits forward, lightly patting your leg before moving to collect the trash.

“Aiden?”

“Huh?” He glances up from the takeout containers in his hands.

“How long was he in Chino?”

“Tommy...uh, hold on.” Balancing the containers in his left, Aiden quickly rifles through the stacks of papers spread across the floor before him. “Says here...he was in Chino for....30 months.”

“Any way we can figure out where he was housed?”

“I don’t know,” Aiden admits as his eyes scan the wrap sheet. “His charges were nothing compared to now. Petty crime, so he wasn’t housed at maximum. Why?”

Once his question is met with silence, Aiden glances over his shoulder at you.

“What’s wrong?” The concern in his eyes slowly morphs to fear as he takes in your expression. “Did I miss something?”

“No, I did.”

“What do you mean?”

Before he can pose the question, you’re already pushing yourself to your feet.

“Go home, okay? It’s getting late—don’t worry about the mess. I’ll clean it up in the morning.”

Although you’ve managed to mask your expression, the trembling of your hands causes Aiden’s brow to furrow.

“You sure?” He objects. He quickly stands, stopping you from grabbing your keys from your desk. “I can send an email about his placement in Chino—”

“No.” Your response comes out more panicked than you want. You quickly backtrack. The reassuring smile you give Aiden not holding the weight it’s meant to. “I’ll do it in the morning. I have to go see Angel.”

“Okay.” Aiden nods. He passes over the sheet watching as you excuse yourself.

Jeyson Reyes sits at the table in the center of the clubhouse, his math homework abandoned. His attention is devoted to the bowl of skittles in front of him. He has spent that past minute carefully picking out his least favorite skittles—the yellow.

“Word on the street is you got a birthday coming up,” Angel accepts another yellow skittle before popping it in his mouth. Jeyson’s eyes widen as he briefly pauses the task at hand. Angel’s brow furrows as his eyes study his son’s face. “How old are you turning again? Five—”

“Nine!”

“Nine? Nah--that can’t be right.” Angel shakes his head as he takes in Jeyson’s broad grin. “I don’t believe you—”

“Uh-huh,” Jeyson nods, dropping another skittle into his father’s palm. “I turn nine in seventeen days.”

“Shit—”

“That’s another dollar in the swear jar,” Jeyson reminds him as he passes Angel another skittle.

“I know,” Angel chuckles. He rests back against his seat, his eyes lingering on your son as he quietly admits. “I can’t believe you’re that old.”

Jeyson’s nose scrunches. “I’m not old.”

“Yeah, you are,” Angel laughs, his hand brushing against Jeyson’s hair. “You’re almost an adult.”

“I’m still a kid,” Jeyson giggles as his eyes lift to meet his father’s. “You’re old—”

“Hey—I am not old,” Angel retorts, the feigned look of offense causing your son’s giggles to increase.

Jeyson reaches over pointing towards the beard Angel’s hand passes over. “You have gray hair—lots of it.”

His father’s gaze narrows as Jeyson’s grin stretches as far as his cheeks will allow. As if to soften the blow, Jeyson drops two more skittles into Angel’s palm before eating one of his own.

Angel’s smile remains as he watches Jeyson redirect his attention back to the bowl of skittles on the table.

“Have you thought about what you want for your birthday?"

Jeyson shrugs. “Not really.”

“Not really?” Angel’s brow raises. “You’re counting down to your birthday, but you don’t know what you want?”

Jeyson lets off a second shrug, his concentration on the skittles causing Angel’s brow to furrow.

“You know we’re gonna end up getting whatever it is you want,” Angel smiles as he ruffles Jeyson’s hair. “You’ve been doing everything you’re supposed to in school.”

Despite Angel’s words, Jeyson’s gaze remains down. He chews on the inside of his cheek. The action causes his father to slide the bowl of skittles aside.

“What’s up? You don't think you can get what you want?”

Nearly a minute passes before Jeyson answers Angel’s question. His voice comes out quietly.

“I want you to stay at home.”

Angel’s brow furrows. The response is not what he’s anticipating. “I am staying at home.”

“My home, not yours.” Jeyson clarifies. “Where mom and I live.”

“That is where I’m staying.”

“You didn’t Friday. Is it because you don’t like living with us?” He asks quietly

Angel’s eyes drift shut, the tightening of his throat causing him to shake his head.

“Your mom and I—” Angel’s voice trails off as Jeyson looks up from the table to meet his gaze.

It is a conversation neither of them has breached before. One Jeyson has found himself thinking about more and more. One Angel knew he would eventually have with his son, but he hadn’t anticipated it to be now. He had also hoped you would be around to help him.

“You having two homes has nothing to do with me not wanting to live with you—or your mom. You don’t remember it, you were too little, but your mom and I...we used to fight a lot.” Angel continues. “I wasn’t nice to her, and I made her cry a lot. So I had to leave. I didn’t want to leave you or her, but I also didn’t want to hurt you or your mom. It took me a while to learn how not to do that. Friday...I couldn’t come home because I didn’t want to fight with your mom.”

“You still made her cry.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Leaning over, Angel brushes his hand against Jeyson’s hair. His touch forces Jeyson’s eyes to meet his. “You know how you and your friends get mad at each other? Sometimes we get mad at the people we love because we don’t see things the same way. But your mom being mad at me has nothing to do with you. Okay? Just because your mom and I might fight, it doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”

The soft smile Angel offers him prompts Jeyson to give him one in return.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m staying with you and your mom or at my house. I love you. That’s not ever gonna change. Never has, never will. Got it?”

Jeyson nods, his smile growing as Angel places a kiss against his skin.

As Jeyson's attention returns to the bowl of skittles, Angel reaches into his kutte. He pulls out the white envelope that he found in the mailbox upon your return home.

He studies the unfamiliar handwriting. Printed in block letters are his name and your address. His gaze passes over the generic American Flag stamp and date pressed into the right corner. The lack of a return address causes him to flip the envelope over.

Angel waits until he comes to a stop outside of the clubhouse to give the envelope a second glance. Tearing the side, he reaches inside pulling out a single index card. The handwriting matches that printed on the envelope.

An anniversary gift for the Old Lady.

Angel tips the envelope. His stomach tightens as the chill of a silver chain hits his palm. The buzzing of his phone in his kutte pocket goes ignored. He doesn’t need to unravel the chain to know who the necklace belongs to. He has looked at the necklace nearly every day since he was eighteen.

The continued vibration of his phone forces an irritated “fuck” from Angel’s lip before he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“What?”

“This is a prepaid call from Thomas Flores, an inmate at the state correctional facility. All phone calls are subject to recording and monitoring. To decline the call, please press nine. To accept the call and all charges that will be incurred, please press one.”

Angel doesn’t remember committing the act of acceptance. A moment later, Tommy’s voice echoes through his receiver. For a man locked inside the walls of Stockton, his voice is calm and lighthearted.

“Damn, it’s been a minute since I’ve heard your voice, Reyes. Can you believe I missed it?”

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” Angel growls, his grip tightening around his phone. “How’d you get this number?”

“Come on, Reyes--give me some credit. I got it the same way I got your address,” Tommy chuckles. “I had to make sure to wish you a happy anniversary. It just passed, right? What is it six—no—seven years? Hopefully, the two of you are doing better these days—”

“Why are you calling?”

“That’s the funny thing,” Tommy sighs, the smile on his face stretches into a grin. “See, I was in my cell a few weeks back, thinking to myself—got a lot of time for that nowadays—and naturally, that led to me thinking of you. And how I missed my old cellmate. Then I remembered...you owe me a favor.”

“A favor? I don’t owe you shit--”

“That’s not how this shit works. I think the person who’s owed a debt gets to decide when it’s paid in full.” Tommy pauses, the silence from Angel’s end allowing him to continue. “Funny thing, I wouldn’t have even thought to call on you for this, but you made a simple mistake all those years ago, Angel. You talked too much...If you don’t want someone to use your Achilles, you don’t share it.” Angel’s brow furrows as Tommy’s words slowly begin to sink in. “Now, you know I’m not a religious man, but I bet you can imagine how good I felt when I realized that God, himself, dropped Y/N into my lap. What are the odds that she and I got brought together? Huh? It’d be a shame to let this God-given opportunity go to waste, don’t you think?”

“What the fuck do you want, Tommy?”

“A lot of things,” Tommy admits. “A turn with your pretty wife for starters. The way you put it, she’d do just about anything for you--”

“She’s not doing anything for you--”

“That’s okay,” Tommy chuckles. “You’ve always had my back when it came down to the wire.”

Angel’s head shakes. “No—Fuck this—I’m hanging up. I told you that night. One and done—”

“I take it you got my gift,” Tommy ignores Angel’s declaration. “And...judging by the unnecessary hostility I’m sensing in your voice, you took a trip down South recently.”

“I want what you took—”

“And you can get it back—scout’s honor.” The sincerity in Tommy’s voice would fool a stranger, but not Angel. “After you help me out one last time. For old times sake.”

“I’m not helping you do shit.”

“Damn,” Tommy sighs. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

“And you’re gonna leave her alone. Come up with an excuse, I don’t care. You’re finding a new attorney—”

“No can do, Reyes. See, I don’t benefit by losing her.” Tommy explains. “Unless you wanna consider my proposal. Last time I’m offering. I think you’ll find my way is the easiest—for everybody involved.”

A silence falls over the line. The trembling of his hands tightening Angel’s grip on his cellphone.

“Alright, well, my time is almost up,” Tommy yawns. His eyes pass to the clock overhead. “Plus, I know it was a lot to dump on you, so I'll give you the night to mull it over. Tell your lady I said thanks for visiting me today.”

Angel’s continued silence brings a grin to Tommy’s face. His chuckle fills this receiver.

“You haven’t told her yet….Tell me, what do you think she’s gonna say when your secret gets out? Do you think she’s gonna stick around this time? If that shit gets out, you’ll be facing more than some 18-month stint in Chino, Reyes. You’ll be facing some real-time. Ask your baby brother how that shit sits with you. All it’ll take is some rumors about the location of a missing state’s witness to start swirling...evidence anonymously getting dropped into the hands of the right people...then you and I just might be sharing a cell again.”

“Trust me, you don’t want that shit to happen.”

“Maybe...maybe not...only time will tell.” Tommy sighs. The calmness of his voice is the opposite of the feeling causing Angel to force out an unsteady breath. “Do me a favor, check with your old lady on how to get on my visitation list. I think you owe me a visit, make the shit quick, Reyes. Maybe she can get them to expedite the paperwork. You got a job to do, and your clock is ticking, homie.”

There is no need for additional words to be exchanged. Tommy hangs up, leaving Angel standing at the end of the driveway. No matter how hard Angel tried to resist—or tried to appear that he was—Tommy knew the hook was set the moment the call began.

When you pull into the clubhouse lot, you find Angel standing at the base of the clubhouse steps.

His eyes meet yours as you park, but he makes no move to meet you. The question is out before you can step around the front of your car.

“Do you know Tommy Flores?”

Angel’s eyes may be on you, but his mind is somewhere else.

“What?”

“Thomas Flores. He was serving time in Chino. Longer than you—thirty months—but you were there the exact same time. Did you hear about him while you were there?” Your question is met with silence. Angel blinks. His brow furrows as he watches you cross the lot. “I know it’s a random question, but Angel it’s really important. Okay?”

It’s common for people to cross paths. Chino is not a prison. It’s smaller than Stockton. Inmates flood in and out like clockwork. That's what your mind can produce in the time it takes you to come to a stop before him.

But it’s the look in Angel’s eyes that tightens your stomach.

It’s a look you’ve only seen once in your life.

Nearly two years ago. A night you hadn't revisited in quite some time.

When Angel had shown up unannounced at your house. This was nothing new.

Only this time, the pounding on your front door had woken you, Jeyson, and nearly half the neighborhood.

Your initial assumption was that he was drunk—it wouldn’t have been the first time Angel had shown up after a few beers and a shitty hookup only to find his way back to you. Begging you to let him stay the night, swearing to plead his drunken case, only to pass out against you the moment you were seated on the sofa.

Only this time—the moment you’d gotten the door open you were crushed by his weight. Angel's grip had been tight. The pressure caused you to wince as his face burrowed against your skin.

For once, you couldn't detect alcohol--just sweat and dirt. His grip had tightened as you tried to move back and take a better look at him.

You didn't get much out of him that night. The most you could get him to do was shower. Which was for the best because, by the time you'd helped him dry off, Angel's adrenaline crashed. He’d passed out in your bed a minute later.

In the morning, he didn’t produce much of an explanation.

"Sorry if I scared you last night," he'd mumbled as he headed to the door. "I know you asked me not to show up—unannounced like that but—I just wanted to see you."

“Yeah,” Angel nods. “I knew him.”

You wait for elaboration, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Angel takes a step back. He finds a seat on the steps, his left hand reaching up to rub his eyes.

“Yeah, I knew him? What the hell does that mean? You knew of him, or you kn—”

“No, I knew—I know him.” Angel releases a sigh, his fist crumpling the envelope he holds. “He was my cellmate.”

“No, he wasn't.” The response is automatic. The laugh you release echoes across the parking lot. The meaning behind Angel’s silence doesn’t fully register. Your brain is still reeling, trying to find a rational explanation to deny his statement and what it means. You shake your head. “No, he wasn’t. That is not fucking possible—“

“Cellblock D. That’s where they house all gang-affiliated inmates. They don’t give a shit if you’re an MC or not. It’s all the same.” Angel quietly explains, his eyes watching the realization begin to sink into your features. “They put you together with guys from other places, knowing you might not have a brother to watch your back if you need protection. Tommy’s cellmate had recently been discharged. So, after intake, I took the open space—“

“Angel, stop. I can’t have you telling me this,” you cut him off. The sight of your widened eyes not deferring Angel’s train of thought. “Do you know what this means for my case? Why couldn’t you just lie to me—”

“Because what I need to tell you is worse.”

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[reinvent-and-believe]

saying your names

Prompt: hallucination Relationships:  Geralt & Visenna  Rating: T Content Warnings: unintentional but constant misgendering by a parent; depiction of gender dysphoria in a small child; reference to child self-injury (scratching); abandonment issues; minor book spoilers Summary: Visenna's child is claimed by a witcher through the Law of Surprise. When she bears a daughter instead of the promised son, she thinks she's cheated Destiny. But Destiny rarely accepts such defeat. (Or - the trans Geralt mommy issues fic)

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

-

i. The Brave Knight

There’s an old fairy tale from far-away Toussaint, one Visenna remembers her grandmother telling her when she was little more than a babe, of a cohort of the bravest knights who gathered at the behest of the first duke to slay monsters and defeat villains and protect the land from all manner of evil. They were five in total, but none rivalled the gallant Sir Geralt, who defended the innocent and the weak, who perfectly embodied the Virtues, who fearlessly and faithfully loved the beautiful maiden Liliana. It’s a story like no other, full of heroics and chivalry, grand quests and epic romance. Visenna remembers sighing as a little girl, of braiding flowers into her shining copper hair and pretending to be Lady Liliana, rescued by that most puissant and most chivalrous of knights.

She hopes that her own daughter will love the tales as much as she did, so she recounts them while Greta lies in bed, wide dark eyes barely blinking as she soaks in every detail. She’s two now and obsessed with stories, any silly rambling thing Visenna remembers from childhood or improvises about the forest creatures near the village, but none have captivated her quite like this tale.

The next day, Visenna hears her daughter whacking at the swaying cattails at the bank of the river with a stick. “I defeat you!” comes the tremulous cry. “I Sir Geralt! I brave knight!”

It’s a small thing, and silly, yet Visenna goes cold.

ii. The Babe

When she realizes she’s with child, Visenna knows it will be a boy, feels it as sure as she feels the wind on her face, the blood pounding in her veins. She’s happy for a time. She knows the horrors women face, has seen, has felt firsthand the cruelties the world inflicts on beautiful little girls. Better a boy, then. Better a boy with a chance at a good life, a boy she can teach and train, a boy who won’t beat or violate or torment.

A mere month before the babe is due, the man returns, and finds her with child, and tells her what he’s done. He blames Destiny and the Law of Surprise and Tradition as Visenna learns a new type of cruelty men can inflict.

And so she hardens herself, tells herself that she will not become attached to what’s growing within her, this life promised to pay a life debt. “Don’t be absurd,” her friends tell her, through nervous glances. “You always assume the worst. It may well be a girl. The witcher won’t have need of a girl.”

But Visenna knows it, feels it with every spark of chaos within her and every pulse she sends out. The babe will be a boy, and she will have to give him up to the witchers, to be trained and transmuted into something other, something more and something less than the child she’ll birth.

And so Visenna grows cold.

When the midwife puts the squalling red girl with dark hair and wide dark eyes in Visenna’s arms, she sobs for days, sobs until she has no tears left and her eyes are raw and swollen. She won’t let the tiny thing out of her sight, barely lets others hold the babe, even in her utter exhaustion. Destiny may have promised her child to the witchers, but Destiny made the folly of giving her a daughter instead of the promised son.

iii. Greta

Greta will not wear her clothes.

At first, it’s almost a game. Visenna dresses her in a frock while the three-year-old protests then glares in turn when she’s overridden. She moves stiffly in the garment, pulling at the sleeves and tugging at the skirt, but she complies. But the minute she’s out of her mother’s sight, the dress comes off, and Visenna finds her naked, regardless of the weather. And the process repeats.

The struggle over clothing is only the beginning. Generally obedient, respectful, intelligent, Greta is nonetheless not an easy child, prone to inconsolable fits of panic and distress, prone to disappearing if not constantly monitored. It’s as though Visenna has birthed two different children. There’s the sullen, timid girl who hates wearing clothing, who barely speaks, who flinches at the sound of her own name, who stiffens in panic sometimes when she’s called, who cries at the slightest provocation, who goes missing only to be found after a frantic hour of searching lying on the floor in the narrow space between her bed and the wall, staring blankly, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. Then there’s the other child, the one who cuts dark curls short with the pruning shears from the shed, who runs fearlessly through the woods, slaying invisible monsters all around, yelling and laughing and breathless.

When a young couple with a son not much older than Greta moves into a nearby cottage, Visenna hopes that companionship will stabilize her daughter’s volatile, inexplicable moods. Instead, it leads to an immediate altercation: on the first day Greta and the boy Marek play together, the boy’s father shows up on Visenna’s doorstep, furious, with a wide, bleeding gash in his hand. He’d found them wearing each other’s clothes, he tells her. Greta had refused to surrender Marek’s clothes, and when he moved to force her out of them, she’d bitten his hand. “Like a rabid beast,” he spits out as Visenna runs past him to the small shack where Greta makes herself as small as possible, shaking all over.

Visenna shoves a few coins at the man with a glare. “Buy your son another outfit,” she snaps, and when she kneels down to Greta’s level the terrified child’s arms wrap immediately around her neck. She takes her child home in the roughspun tunic and trousers.

(Maybe she should punish the child for biting, but Visenna knows the ways men can be cruel, had seen the terror in her child’s huge brown eyes. Even if he meant no harm in trying to retrieve his son’s clothes, she can’t help being glad the child bit him rather than permit his touch.)

Visenna has never listened to Greta’s thoughts before, rarely listens to anyone’s on purpose, hates the uneasy sense of violation the act stirs up in her. But as she carries the silent, shaking child home, the thoughts ring so loudly she can’t keep them out.

Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl.

Then:

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

iv. The Child

The morning after the incident with the neighbor, Visenna lays two outfits side by side on the bed: the tunic and trousers nicked from the neighbor boy, or the dress most frequently tolerated, a plain shift of soft linen, comfortable and loose.

"Which would you rather wear today?" Visenna asks, making the beds as usual. She hears the sharp intake of breath, sees out of the corner of her eye the hesitation, and then the child grabs the boy's clothes and cradles them in trembling arms.

Visenna visits a tailor and trades in little frocks for breeches and shirts. She watches her child’s face light up when she presents them, watches the child run reverent fingers over each garment, little hands doing their best to neatly fold each piece.

She stops calling the child Greta; stops calling the child anything but child. The child doesn’t seem to mind this namelessness; on the contrary, the child thrives. The too-thin frame rounds out with healthy, nearly chubby development as the child begins to eat more than a few bites at each meal; weak, skinny arms and legs grow strong with constant running and playing in the woods near the house. Banished is the pale, terrified little girl; only the rambunctious, talkative, joyful child remains.

"When I'm a knight," the child tells her one day, coming in from the yard wearing a bucket as a helmet, "I'm going to ride a big horse."

"Oh, a big horse," Visenna echoes, ladling the soup into a wooden bowl and blowing gently to cool it. "What will you name the horse?"

The child considers this. "Does it have to have a name?"

"All creatures need a name."

The child doesn't speak for a long while. Then that piping, gentle voice rings out. "What if the horse hates its name? It won’t be able to tell me."

Visenna sets the bowl down on the table. She doesn't ask any of the questions pounding through her head as she looks at her nameless child, lost in thought. She doesn’t think about Destiny, how a witcher may well show up at her door at any moment looking for their payment, doesn’t think about taking the child there herself. "Helmet off," she says instead, running a hand through dark curls when the child obeys. "Come, eat your soup."

v. The Butcher

She first hears whispers of the Butcher of Blaviken when she’s traveling through Poviss, brought north by an outbreak of smallpox needing healers. She hears of the vile, deranged, white-haired witcher who slaughtered nearly an entire village unprovoked, even women and children. She thinks little of it. The child she left with the witchers over half a century ago had brown hair, and the years would not have turned it so quickly, not on a witcher.

If he’s even still alive.

She puts the thought away, carefully, as she has for decades.

She thinks of it a little more in Kovir. “You’re one of them!” shrieks a woman in the tavern, pointing at a bulky man sitting in the corner. “One of them witchers like that Butcher! I seen your wolf necklace!”

All eyes train onto this disfigured witcher who is not Visenna’s child. (Does her child bear scars like this? Do his shoulders stoop in such defeat?) He scrubs a square hand over his face, looking almost pained, before he shoves away from the table in silence and leaves.

School of the Wolf, then, just like the witcher she’d surrendered her child to with naught but a letter left at the inn where he was staying. Your Child Surprise will be at the crossroads by the river at midday. A few brief, stilted sentences explaining that the child was different from other boys but Destiny had chosen him nonetheless. A terse plea that the witcher treat the child with kindness, to protect him if he could. A postscript, written in a shakier hand than the rest of the letter. My son’s name is Geralt.

Vesemir. The child’s father had called him old, grey-haired even then. Is Vesemir this Butcher, the ruthless, barbarous old witcher who leaves a trail of fresh corpses in his wake? Had she entrusted the helpless child to a merciless brute all these years ago?

It’s not until the notice board outside of Tridam that she understands. It’s a fairly standard notice concerning some vague, nondescript monster that’s caused disappearances, pleading for help from any witcher, excepting the butcher Geralt. Show your face in Tridam and we’ll finish you off like they should have done in Blaviken.

Her child, the Butcher of Blaviken.

She doesn’t know what happened in Blaviken, can’t find a clear telling. Killed a woman, some say, killed an army, killed all but three people, killed everyone down to the dogs and cows and sheep in his rage. Tales grow in the telling, she knows, but she can’t dispute it. Perhaps he is evil incarnate, perhaps by sending him to the witchers she doomed the continent to bloodshed, perhaps he is the monster in these furious whispers.

But she can’t help remembering the tiny, terrified body, rocking in the corner of a shack, those wide eyes staring up at her in panic. “Like a rabid beast,” the man had said, but Visenna found only a petrified child shaking in the corner.

vi. The White Wolf

The young man swaggers towards Visenna. Between the bright turquoise doublet, the enormous feather swooping dramatically through the air on his jauntily tilted hat, and the self-assurance of his stride, he looks like a veritable peacock.

It’s her own fault. She knows she’d been staring, but the sound of that name on his lips…

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” His smile is bright and surprisingly genuine, reaching all the way up to his eager blue eyes. He’s younger up close than she’d imagined from across the tavern, barely more than a boy. “Though not half so lovely as you, I daresay. Might I interest you in a drink?”

She nods, silent. Watches him charm a passing barmaid who blushes and quickly returns with the desired ale. He slips into the chair across from Visenna, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his long fingers together beneath his chin, fixing her with a wide-eyed, adoring smile.

Before he can speak, she asks, “Your song. About the witcher.” She pauses, unsure what she means to ask. “Did you write it?”

Somehow the boy looks even more delighted. “Indeed I did! By the gods, it’s wonderful to chat with a fan. It’s one of my most recent compositions. How did you like it?”

“Hmm.” The boy’s song had been so jarringly different from any reference to the child she bore than she’s ever heard. In the bard’s honeyed voice, he sounded almost heroic. She hesitates. “Do you know him?”

“Only a little,” he admits, but there’s a slight flush on his childish face that he attempts to cover with bravado. “The song is the true telling of our grand adventure. I accompanied the White Wolf on his quest to defeat the Devil of Posada, the most terrifying monster to ever...well, terrorize the good people of the Valley of the Flowers.”

“And he’s...he’s not what people say?” Those huge brown eyes staring up at her, tiny body trembling. “Not a butcher?”

“Oh my good lady, not at all!” The bard’s expression of dismay is guileless, earnest. “He saved me, put himself between me and harm’s way when we were captured by the elves, offered his own life for mine.”

A life debt. Just as the child’s father had promised the Law of Surprise to the old witcher, the vow that had set the course of Geralt’s life before he was even born. And now this strange boy owes Geralt a life debt of his own.

“So that’s why,” she confirms cautiously. “Why you write songs for him. Make him the hero when men would be more than happy to remember him as a monster.”

The boy hesitates, his charismatic blustering slipping as he bites at his bottom lip. He reaches distractedly into his pocket, finding some trinket he rolls about in his palm to occupy his busy, nervous hand before he slowly answers. “Even if he hadn’t saved my life I would have written about him. Well, not if I hadn’t survived that particular encounter, of course. But if I’d gotten away myself, or if I hadn’t followed him into the wild in the first place, I would still have written about him.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I…I don’t think he’s known very much kindness.” The bard doesn’t look at her, quite, as he speaks, slower and softer than before. “You ought to see the way he responds to a simple compliment, you’d think his head might explode, he twitches and looks bewildered and grunts angrily. It’d be amusing if it weren’t so very sad.” He’s quiet for a moment, tracing the wood grain in the table with his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. “But he’s kind, even if the world isn’t. He gave his reward for the contract to the…well, to someone who needed it more. And before that, he…” He glances down at the dull gold coin between his fingers, rubbing absently at worn, beveled edges, his face flushing prettily. “He liked my singing.”

She watches the bard, lost in thought and fiddling with a lone coin, for a long while.

vii. Geralt

A slip of a thing running through the woods. Frightened. Alone.

A fight. Gruesome, brutal, fast.

The stench of decay.

“And me? What did I do? I bandaged a wounded man who’d fainted away and put him on my cart and didn’t leave him to expire. It’s an ordinary matter.”

“It’s not so ordinary. I’ve been left...in similar situations...like a dog.”

Blood. Not running, red and healthy and clean; slow. Thick. Dark. Foul.

Infection.

Youths dancing in lusty delight on a warm spring night. A woman with raven curls, naked and wistful in his arms, the warmth of a bonfire lighting her face a beautiful gold. Children screaming, playing in a dried moat. A queen, formidable and sneering, full of contempt.

Hideous wounds, threatening the leg. Amputation may be necessary, without immediate intervention.

Resin in the air.

Ashen hair matted over the clumped, drying cake of blood deforming half of a pale face.

Black potion with a green seal. And then darkness.

Visenna awakes with a start.

The druids’ campsite is still, the last embers of the fire the only light in the darkness of the forest. She pulls the woolen cloak around her thin shoulders, grabs her medical bag, and goes to find the witcher that was once her child.

She finds him a pale and bloody mess on the back of a cart, eyes open and unseeing. He’s racked with feverish chills as his body desperately attempts to fight the infection poisoning him.

She helps the merchant move Geralt carefully onto blankets on the ground. She tends to him, as she’s tended to thousands of others. She cleans his wounds, scraping destroyed, decaying flesh away from healthy tissue, pulling the gentle pulses of chaos from the earth to purify his blood, draining infection and necrosis and narcotic alike from him.

She’d cleaned blood and dirt and debris from scraped knees, once, the too-fast beating of a little, huge heart pounding so loudly she could feel it. The wounds of childhood.

His pulse is slow, the drumbeat of a dirge.

She’s warm all over, suddenly, then cold. Her vision swims before her eyes.

A little more. The pulsing wanes, wavers as she begins to join him in the dark void beyond consciousness.

No.

She breathes, her eyes closed, then returns to her work.

She feels him stirring before he makes a movement, senses him swimming to the surface, coming to. He’s quiet, still, blank. When his eyes open, he’s staring at the treetops above them. His face is impassive. Lifeless.

The way she would find him, sometimes, after he went missing as a child. Staring at nothing. Trying not to be.

She can hear it in his voice. He knows.

His leg will heal, now. She’s done all she can.

She moves on to the bedsores, massaging ointment carefully into the open wounds. His body is stiff and unyielding beneath her touch.

She gives him what she can. “It’s my profession,” she says. Her voice is steady, cool. It’s no excuse, no answer, but it’s what she has. “The only thing I’ve ever been good at.” This much at least is true. This much she can give him.

She’s always known she would meet him again. She never sought him out, never avoided him. “People linked by destiny will always find each other.” She hears it, as though it’s someone else’s voice.

“I want you to look at me.” It’s a snarl. Not a sound she’s heard from those lips before. “How do you like my eyes? Do you know, Visenna, what they do to a witcher to improve his eyes?”

She knows enough. She meets his gaze.

Those eyes, the greatest marker of his difference, his inhumanity. They’re golden, now, instead of brown. His pupils are wide, round, black, pained. They aren’t so different. So monstrous.

Just the eyes of a terrified child lashing out in desperation.

“Do you know it doesn’t always work?” he demands.

“Stop it, Geralt.”

And something breaks.

“You don’t get to use that name!” There’s a frantic rage dripping off every syllable, hatred and agony, like a festering wound ripped open and left to bleed. He glares at her with a wild fury. “Vesemir gave me that name.”

And he’s a child, he’s three years old and screaming like he’s being tortured when she calls his given name. He’s five and distraught over the thought of a horse who hates its name and can’t tell anyone. He’s four and he’s a trembling mess with blood beneath his fingernails, shaking and unable to stop ripping at his own flesh.

“You trusted Destiny rather than trying to find me yourself,” he begs.

A child with nothing in the world running through the forest and into the arms of a witcher.

There’s a tear running down her face. It’s the only thing she can feel. “Don’t ask me any more questions,” Visenna says softly.

“Why?”

She’d known since before he was born that she wasn’t to keep him. That Destiny had other plans.

When she thought she had a daughter, there was hope.

“The answers will only hurt us both.” Carefully, Visenna presses him back into the makeshift sickbed.

“Yen was right.” His voice is low, barely audible, a broken murmur. “It’s not enough to be destined for each other.”

A child runs through the woods and finds a witcher waiting.

Brown curls become ashen locks. Eyes swirling brown and gold and green.

“Something more is needed.” He’s not speaking to her anymore. He’s staring up, at the treetops and through them to the stars above, his eyes losing and regaining focus. “I...I want…”

“No.” Her voice is soft, and she sees him relax into the smooth cadence in spite of himself. “Go to sleep, Geralt.” She hesitates as his eyes grow heavy, begin to drift shut, and she can’t help leaning toward him to gently whisper, “And just between us, Vesemir didn’t give you that name.” She lets herself reach out, carefully brushing white hair off his sweating brow. “It doesn’t change anything, but I’d like you to know that.”

“Visenna…”

“Sleep. I was just a dream.” She hesitates, watching silently as he fights the exhaustion, like a child fighting to stay awake past his bedtime, begging for one more story. “Sleep, Sir Geralt.”

He does.

viii. Sir Geralt

She does not see him again.

She travels to Sodden and heals the injured, soldier and mage alike.

She hears tales, as she has for years.

Geralt’s kidnapped a young Cintran princess for unspeakable, nefarious purposes.

Geralt died on Thanedd, caught up by chance in the mages’ bloody revolt.

Geralt led the forces of Lyria and Rivia against Nilfgaard, earning himself a knighthood and a position in Queen Meve’s army.

(She doesn’t believe any of them, doesn’t let herself care either way, but she hopes the latter is true. Hopes he lives out the rest of his days a brave knight, as he always dreamed of becoming.)

Visenna works. Cleans and stitches and bandages wounds, wanders from battleground to battleground. There’s no shortage of work for a healer.

So many tales of Geralt the witcher, Geralt the traitor, Geralt the butcher, the knight, the outlaw, the hero, the father. Of his victories and defeats, his loves and enemies, his transcendence, his demise.

Visenna listens to them all. Collects the stories, the lies, the praises, the calumnies. She draws them carefully within her. Carries them with her as she continues on the path.

For all the rumors and speculation and ballads, of all things, for all the different Geralts, there’s one that’s hers and hers alone. A skinny, adventurous child with brown curls and a bucket-helmet falling into his eyes who swings a gnarled oak stick as a sword. He’s ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the weak against the unrelenting onslaught of monsters only he can see.

[saltisnacks]

Prompt #2 is below - Chris's only clear memories of Shannon before she died are Christmas and their time at the beach. Another idea of what caused his outburst.

Rated T+ for language. Major character injury. Disassociation. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Get Chris and Eddie (and Buck!) into therapy in 5b, istg!

Buddie prompt #1

During a call Buck is accidentally sprayed by blood. He starts yelling for Eddie. The patient starts coding and Buck goes catatonic before collapsing.

Unbeknownst to the crew someone in the crowd recorded the entire incident and is making fun of Buck for "losing it."

May finds the video while on shift at dispatch. She sits Eddie down, and shows him after warning him it's bad.

Bobby unexpectedly breaks and unleashes on Eddie as soon as he walks through the bay doors.

He knows Eddie hasn't responded to any of Buck's texts or calls. That Eddie knows about Buck's abandonment issues and still did the same thing. He brings up how Eddie has refused to deal with his (and Buck's) traumas.

He mentions how Harry is in therapy. How Chris was in therapy after the tsunami. He mentions Maddie's PPD. Hen's therapy after the ambulance accident.

The shooting and well collapse were freak accidents that were beyond anyone's control.

"We know you faked your way through therapy with Frank after the shooting. He almost didn't let you come back! I had to talk Chief Alonzo into letting you. Maybe I shouldn't have!"

"We all saw you struggling. We thought you'd eventually talk to Buck about everything. You know, supposedly your best friend? Who had a front row seat to you being shot?! But you kept it in. And he didn't want to force you because he didn't want to, and I quote, "Make it about him and be exhausting!" Remember that?!"

"I told you to didn't have to lose everything before you allow yourself to feel something! Fat good that advice did. You still blame yourself for everything with Shannon. Don't say you don't. You think you failed your kid again. But who have you really failed the most? Yourself!"

"You don't blame Buck for the tsunami, so why are you blaming yourself for all of this?" You were a firefighter! You know people can be injured or die at any time. Shannon was hit by a car! Mudslides. Earthquakes. Stupid stunts. Car crashes."

"You were the final straw! You pulled Christopher and yourself away from Buck and he's been trying trying to understand why you left. At least Hen, Ravi, and I were trying to help him. Taylor tried before she washed her hands of it all and walked away, too! Hear that? She left him, too!"

"I didn't-I didn't know."

"And why is that, Eddie?! The person he needed most was you! He needed you! You! Buck would bend over backward and stand on his head for you or Chris. He'd give you his last heartbeat just to keep yours going! You let him flounder while you drowned instead of supporting each other. You think he wouldn't have been there for Chris after his outburst about you dying?"

"Did you know Chris called Buck? I'm surprised Carla hasn't snapped at you about it. He didn't want you to quit! He was in tears crying to Buck saying it was all his fault. That he misses Buck, and he caused all this. He blames himself because of what he said."

"That kid is old enough to understand death, and you should have talked to him about it. Instead, let me guess. You used Chris to escape. You both need help. All three of you do!"

"Sue called me. We talked. You're on paid leave starting today until you see a therapist and actually talk about everything. HIPPA safe limited information documented, signed off, proof. No exceptions. We can't have a compromised first responder. You have two weeks to find a solution before you're terminated. And while you're at it, maybe ask why you can't admit to yourself you're in love with Buck."

Hen barely catches Eddie after Bobby storms away.

---

"Where's Buck, Hen?"

"In the hospital."

"What?!"

"Everything... The memories after the blood hit him and you not being there. You weren't there to reassure him, Eddie. He couldn't see you. He couldn't find you. Everything... We thought maybe he was having a heart attack from another blood clot. He had all the symptoms, but he was just... Not there to talk to us. He went blank, Eddie. It was scary to see. So we thought maybe it was a panic attack with disassociation. But..."

"Hen."

"It was so bad, he slipped into arrhythmia. We thought we were going to have to shock him on the way to the hospital. They ran tests as soon as they could. His heart... Takotsubo syndrome."

"Bro-broken hearted syndrome?"

---

Eddie breaks down as soon as he sees Buck. "I'm a fool. I didn't listen to Bobby or Frank. I kept it all in again and ended up hurting everyone. Chris. You. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

---

Eddie doesn't expect Chris to starts struggling and flailing at him as soon as he gets home.

"Buck's heart broke! Because of us!"

"You know."

"They couldn't talk to you or Maddie so they called Carla! She gave them permission to make him sleep."

"I'm on Buck's emergency contact list ahead of Bobby in case he's on shift. You, Maddie, me, Bobby, Athena, then Hen are all on his paperwork in that order."

"I'm sorry, Chris. I need to fix this. I never meant for any of this to happen."

---

"I just missed mom. She died before another Christmas together."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know how. Like after the tsunami. I'm scared you will, too. Not just from being a firefighter. Mom wasn't. My friend at school's dad died from cancer. Mrs. Phillips was out for a month because her husband died in a car wreck. You almost died after you were shot, but you didn't talk about it. You fell over at the store."

(conversation can blend from parts of prompt two about Chris's only real memories with Shannon are Christmas and the beach.)

Eddie talks to Chris about family and individual counseling. He finally talks to Chris about his will.

---

"I'm sorry, Eddie, I shouldn't have snapped like I did. On the other hand, I'm not."

"I know, Bobby. I needed the ass kick, and you delivered it. If you hadn't, Carla was about to if she saw Chris break down again. She chewed me out too last night. Chris is demanding to see Buck. If I... I miss it. Despite everything, I miss being out there."

"When the time comes, if you decide and get an official release, you're welcome to come back. For now, Sue says as long as you're getting therapy you can stay at dispatch."

"How? I quit."

"I've talked to Chief Alonzo. He understands. You will have to meet with him directly before returning to duty. Official orders straight from his mouth. Just to talk and make sure your head is on straight this time."

----------

Prompt #2

Chris tricks a classmate's mom into dropping him off at Buck's after a sleepover because he hasn't seen him since Eddie quit.

Buck tries to call Eddie, despite Chris begging him not to, but Eddie is asleep due to emotional and physical exhaustion from overthinking and stress.

His actions are starting to catch up with him in various ways. Chris's continued outbursts, now focused on his new job as a mechanic at a dealership.

"Career day is next week. You're dad's a firefighter. Do you think he can bring the big truck?"

"My dad quit. He's a mechanic now."

"Oh. My dad's cousin is a mechanic. He dropped out of doctor school. Dad calls him a loser." Chris remains silent and Eddie is crushed.

Missing Buck. Realizing why he misses Buck so much. Internalized phobia about being bi/demi/gay. Religious guilt. The thought of upsetting his family.

Compounding nightmares combining being shot, Shannon, Afghanistan, and/or being buried. Losing Chris or Buck. Overdue bills because the only job he could find for his experience came with a drastic cut in pay. His new insurance is limiting Chris's therapies. (True story - our insurance limited my child to 25 total therapy sessions a year, including both OT and speech under the cap. Any beyond that is out of pocket. Yea, I'm still mad about this.)

More panic attacks that are getting worse. Losing coverage to help pay Carla so her job reassigned her. His landlord trying to raise rent to help pay for future improvements to the properties. Helping a man having a heart attack while at the zoo with Chris using the yearly passes Buck bought.

"Heard you quit, Diaz. Move and let us still in the LAFD deal with it." Chris stormed off and refused to talk to Eddie for the rest of the day.

---

Buck and Chris talk about Chris being scared. The association with Christmas and his mom. How he really didn't want Eddie to quit. The risks of being a firefighter where Buck states the truth. The biggest risk is cancer from hazardous materials and smoke, but if they use their equipment correctly, the risk drops. He tells Chris he would try really hard to always make sure Eddie came home, but nothing is guaranteed.

"Without good doctors, Harry's dad could have died from something bad in his head. A tumor. Even eating food can be dangerous, Chris. See this scar? I choked on bread. A bite of baked dough. I almost died. Abby saved me and it gave me this tiny scar. Just like the doctors saving your dad's life led to his scars. Scars show that we survived. You've seen the scars on my leg. I almost died then to."

"I know you saw me throw up blood at Bobby and Athena's that night. I'm sorry you had to see that. It probably really scared you, and I should have talked to you about it. That's my mistake. Hen, Chim, Maddie, and your dad saved me."

"As long as there are good people, Good Samaritans from the Bible. I know you went to church, so you should know the story."

"He stopped and helped the man when no one else would."

"Yes, he did. As long as there are good Samaritans, many lives can be saved. Quick thinking and dialing 911 as soon as possible to get them in good hands and to the hospital to the doctors."

"Don't mistake me, if there aren't good people who can act and focus beyond their panic, sometimes it is too late. Like the bystanders who waited too long to call 911 last week when a man accidentally fell down a set of stairs."

"I know you don't want to hear it, but death, when it comes for us, is unavoidable. Old age. Massive heart attacks. My older brother, Daniel, died of leukemia. My parents had me for a stem cell transfusion(?), but it ultimately didn't work."

"You had a brother? "

"Yea, I did. Daniel Buckley. He died before I could remember him. The procedure didn't last, and he relapsed, or it was too late. I'm not sure really. Maddie has a picture. I kind of looked like him when I was younger."

"Dad told me you saved him. He doesn't remember a lot, but he knows you did. You were his good Samaritan."

"I drug your dad to safety and the others and Captain Mahta helped me get him to the hospital despite the sniper still firing at us. Good people under pressure."

"Your dad was one of those amazing good people who helped so many others. He helped me save a kid and his sister by figuring out the boy had the numbers backwards. Like a mirror. He said 318 instead of 81E. Your dad did that. He figured it out and we acted to save them."

"I didn't want him to quit! I was thinking about how mom was only here for one Christmas. That's all I remember. And the beach trip we took. That's it. And dad won't talk about her."

"Chris, holy... crud."

"What did she like? Did she like broccoli? Did she wear makeup like May? Do I have any uncles or aunts I don't know? What was her job? I don't know!"

"I don't know. Eddie, you idiot. You need... You need to talk to your dad about this."

The shooting. Ana. His dad yelling at someone over the phone about his insurance. How they may have to move because dad can't afford the rent anymore.

After listening to Buck's voicemail, Eddie goes to them and lets himself into the apartment. Chris is asleep upstairs after wearing himself out from crying. Buck drags Eddie out to the balcony and rips Eddie a new one.

"You thought you were doing right by Chris. What a good job you've done, Eddie! Is this even really about him, or is it something else? Talk to me! You're losing everything, Eddie! Carla! Chris's coverage! And now possibly your home! Why aren't you fighting harder, dammit?! What the fuck are you thinking?!"

"Did you even ask Chris what he wants or did you just fucking assume? Because he was only missing his mom. Like I told you. I told you it was Shannon! You didn't talk to him."

"He associates Christmas with her. That's the only Christmas he remembers with her. And it's not the tsunami keeping him from going to the beach. It's the memory of her! He doesn't remember much before with her than that because he was too young when she left! His only real memories of her! He associates Christmas and the beach with her death because that's all he has!" Eddie can only stare at Buck in shock.

"For fuck's sake, do you even keep her memory alive? My parents didn't for Daniel and it destroyed them and in turn Maddie and me. They wiped him away entirely. Do you talk about her to him at all? Because from what I can guess from what he asked me, the answer is no! So you tell me, what the fuck is going on?"

"I didn't know... How? Oh my God. It's my fault. It's all my fault. I didn't... Buck. I refuse to be like your parents. Oh my god, Buck!"

---

Eddie finally breaks and it all comes flooding out.

"He said I didn't have to lose everything before I let myself feel. Is that what I'm trying to do? Am I that fatalistic? All I hear in my head is "Suck it up, Edmundo. Men are supposed to be strong." Blah blah ad nauseam."

"In all honesty, your dad can go suck a bag of lemons so his face matches his heart. Shriveled and sour. That is so toxic. Dr. Copeland told me the same damn thing."

"She did?"

"We all have emotions for a reason. We aren't unfeeling robots. Early man went "Ugh!" but there's evidence of emotion. They're mentioned in the Bible, I think. If they were unnecessary, don't you think evolution would have wiped their purpose like the appendix by now? How many serial killers have been emotionless psychopaths?"

"What about the opposite? Why is that allowed? Why is a man allowed to be happy and celebrate if emotions are bad?"

"My dad didn't even smile at Sophia's birth. Or Christopher's. Or at Sophia graduating summa cum laude. I think his face is frozen in stone unless he's angry."

"Oh, so anger is allowed, but nothing else is? If I had my way, he'd never speak another word to Chris until he's reached maturity. Chris doesn't need to be poisoned, Eddie. Thinking like your dad is so fucking toxic, men with this belief should come with a warning sign."

"Where's mine?"

"Tossed in the shredder waiting for you to hit the power button. You just need to find your version of a cure. Or anti-venom, I guess. Cut off the head of the snake sunk into you and yank out the fangs. Just no street fighting again, please."

"Ha ha. I learned my lesson there."

---

"With your permission, I'd like to restart Chris's therapy. I'd need a signed document from you and your lawyer. He needs to break the happy memories he has with her away from her death. To learn how to separate it from Christmas and the beach."

"I... Okay. Yes. I'll get it tomorrow. Wait. My insurance probably won't-"

"Eddie, I've got it. I'll pay out of pocket if I have to. I have enough. I'm a single man with a fully paid vehicle and surprisingly cheap rent and utilities for LA. Trust me."

"Single? But you have Taylor?"

"Um... Not as of two weeks ago when she accepted an anchor position in Chicago."

"What?"

"She wanted me to move with her. I told her no. My family is here. I'm not leaving. Period. She threw a fit. It didn't... end well."

---

"Dr. Copeland says her business partner at their office has an opening and is willing to take you as a client. She can give her a brief rundown, with your permission, so she can prepare. I've...uh...talked about you... quite a bit. No judgement. Just listening and advice. Guidance to learning how to heal and be better. Please. And before you say anything, I'm helping pay if you need it. Don't argue."

"Okay."

---

"Missed you, Buck. I'm an idiot. I should have talked to you sooner. I'm sorry."

[bumblebear30]

Oops

Rita Calhoun x Casey Novak, Established Calvak

A wee comfort fic for these two as I totally love them.

Warnings: mentions of Casey's office attack, migraine / mild medical concern. Side effects of getting older. No smut but alluded to. Happy ending.

Please let me know if you have any other prompts or requests for these two. Happy to try write more for them.

Oops

"You did it again."

The accusing tone made Casey's head snap up from where she was nestled on the couch. She could feel the light crust of dried drool on her cheek where she'd pretty much passed out into the pillow and rubbed at it with the cuff the sweater she was wearing in the hopes that her always immaculately dressed girlfriend wouldn't notice,

"Did what again?" she finally mumbled in response, a heavy pout in place as she scrunched her eyes against the bright light streaming in the apartment windows.

Rita sighed huffily as she perched on the back of the couch and busied herself with finishing taking off her earrings for the day. From there she finally caught sight of the sleep befuddled Casey - the creases of the pillow evidently pressed into her cheek, hair all mussed and cocooned in softest of old sweaters that Rita owned as the redhead obviously tried to drag her lagging brain through what it was she had done wrong this time.

Her expression immediately switched from frustration to concern as she reached out to card her fingers through Casey's hair, the younger woman automatically leaning into it and shifting closer to where Rita was sat,

"You left files that I shouldn't see on the breakfast bar again. We got a place with room for two separate offices for a reason darling."

Casey winced and opened one eye to finally look up at Rita as she apologised,

"Oops, m'sorry babe, I genuinely didn't mean to. I just needed different light. "

Rita tilted her head and gave a small sympathic noise as Casey burrowed her head against the back of the couch,

"Migraine again sweetheart?" Casey nodded groggily where she lay, loathe to commit to any movements that required further effort. Seeing her so forlorn pulled at Rita's heartstrings and she quickly got up and shed her shoes and jacket onto a nearby chair as she came round to the front of the couch to join Casey, "That's the third bad one this month..."

Hearing the familiar sound of Rita settling next to her Casey shifted to lay her head in her girlfriend's lap, wordlessly requesting for the attorney's always slightly cool hand to run across her forehead and circle at her temple as she'd done before by simply tipping her chin just so.

Of course Rita automatically took up the action, also using her free hand to run her nails in soothing circles across Casey's lower back.

The redhead let herself just bask in the attention and comfort. She'd felt instantly a bit better as soon as the scent of Rita's expensive perfume had reached her - always accompanied by the faint smell of coffee, ink and paper, a lawyerly smell if ever there was such a thing. That and the almost pavlovian way her body responded to Rita's touch, practically commanding her to relax with the lightest of pressures, also helped ease the residual pulsating ache at the front of her brain.

Afterwards she'd been sulky for days, which had drawn further unimpressed looks and rolled eyes from Rita. Eventually she'd pulled her head out of her ass and apologised with a gorgeous bouquet and an evening of pampering - cooking Rita's favourites for dinner, making the effort to use the good china and having candles on the table followed by a super indulgent bubble bath for the brunette (the rose petals may have been overboard but she knew Rita secretly adored them.)

She knew where Rita's comment was leading though. They'd had this argument discussion the last time too and she was not wanting a repeat of that general fiasco and to ultimately wallow in her own grumpiness yet again. It was worse because she knew Rita was right, and was only concerned and fussing simply because she loved her. But she had still been in residual pain and exhaustion from the migraine in question as well as licking her wounds from losing the most recent case to her lover too.

All that had only been a week ago, meaning it was less than fourteen days since she'd last had to abandon her work to lie in a darkened room with a cold compress across her eyes and an ice pack wrapped up at the base of her neck. It wasn't sustainable, and she hated being sick all the more because she knew Rita was always more worried than she let on.

She sighed lightly and wriggled her head back so she was pressed more closely into Rita's ridiculously soft silk blouse. The brunette had lifted her hands away as Casey moved but seeing her settle let them resume the gentle caresses. Noting that Casey hadn't immediately started arguing with her Rita decided to press her case once more,

"I just think given that you have such a bad head injury in your past, " Casey couldn't suppress the fearful shiver that ran down her spine at the memories - and lack of them - of her office attack, "that it would be sensible to get a doctor to run some tests and check what is going on."

At still receiving no response from Casey Rita tried to push just that little bit more. She gently ran a finger down the elegant slope of Casey's nose, booping the tip of it which made Casey start and turn onto her back to smile softly up at Rita. Holding her gaze Rita matched her with an indulgent look as she tucked some hair back behind Casey's ear,

"It's just that I'm rather fond of that brain of yours sweetheart, I'd hate to think anything might be wrong." She finished her plea by cupping Casey's chin and running the pad of her thumb over her lips as their positioning meant she couldn't reach to kiss them.

Once again Casey closed her eyes and leaned into the touch,

"And here I thought you were with me for my 'cracking bod', " she grinned as she felt Rita's entire body move as she laughed, "But I know. You're right. As usual." Her admission made Rita smile in victory, Casey's quip pulling another knowing chuckle that rumbled through her,

"Good, I have the number of an excellent neurologist, I'm sure he'll be able to see you by the end of the week."

Casey shot her a look that screamed incredulity,

"He wasn't a client was he? I'm not sure how comfortable I would be with that."

The experienced attorney did laugh at that,

"No, no," she continued to play with Casey's hair, "although he has maybe been an expert witness on several occasions but he's only ever been the utmost professional." she paused for a moment as Casey considered her options. "So what do you say darling, let me call and set up an appointment for you?"

With one last resigned sigh Casey nodded,

"Okay," honestly she was prepared to go through nearly anything if she could stop feeling so accutely crappy whenever these migraines came along, or stop them from happening in the first place.

"But," the smallness of her voice and demeanour, so unlike the usual strong confident persona of the prosecutor, brought out Rita's overprotective side even more, "But what if there is something wrong? Like-"

Deciding to quickly end any spiralling Rita pressed her finger over Casey's lip to hush her,

"Shh, then its better to know and we'll deal with whatever it may be together as best we can."

Suitably mollified, Casey rolled once more so her nose was buried against Rita's stomach, so much so her voice was muffled when she finally spoke,

"I'm sorry, I'm just worried."

"I know darling, but it may just be that you need glasses or something like that now, you know?"

The scandalised and affronted noise that escaped Casey made Rita laugh once again,

"I've always thought you'd look very sexy in glasses you know..."

The low purr of her voice drew an instant reaction from Casey, it always did. Like a siren's call she opened her eyes, feeling better enough to shoot a flirtatious look up at her love as she arched her eyebrow as seductively as she could manage in her prone position,

"Is that so?"

"Hmm hmm," Rita's affirmative humm came as she matched Casey's expression with one of her own, "You could totally pull off the sexy librarian look darling."

"Librarian!?!"

In her offense Casey finally sat up to lightly glare at Rita on a more equal footing. She lightly trailed her hand up Rita's thigh, so overly unsubtle Rita knew she was just winding her up. Still she enjoyed the attention nonetheless. "What if I wanted to go for the sexy lawyer in glasses look? Could I pull that one off too?"

Rita tipped her head to the side as she squinted at Casey, umming and awwing for extra effect,

"I'm sorry love but I think Cabot has got that niche locked down tight."

Casey couldn't help but gasp at the teasing and swat at Rita's thigh in retribution,

"Rude!"

Rita kept cackling with laughter, simply relieved to see Casey's usual firey playfulness was returning,

"Well if you get glasses you can work extra hard to prove me wrong, no?"

With a knowing smile Casey leant forward to press an adoring but chaste kiss to Rita's lips,

"Sounds good to me, thank you for helping me feel better."

Reaching up Rita cupped Casey's chin and drew her face back to her for another kiss. Or two. Maybe three. She just loved how they felt against her own.

"I'm glad I could help. Now do you want to go lock those files away whilst I give the doctor a call? We can then get an order from Chengs if you'd like?"

Casey was already making the effort to stand, holding herself still for several moments to ensure her balance was set after feeling so woozy earlier. Finding herself steady she smiled at Rita once more as she started heading for the kitchen,

"As long as there is lo mein I don't mind!"

A couple of days later Rita answered her ringing cell automatically, not even looking away from her inbox as she barked her usual response,

"Calhoun, who's speaking."

"Hey sweet thing," instantly Rita's entire posture melted, Casey's voice and determination to use ridiculous pet names totally always got her,

"Darling, how'd the appointment go." she'd swung her chair away from the computer screen, her entire focus now on Casey,

"Well you were right."

"I usually am, remind me what I was right about this time?"

"Scans and everything came back clear but I've got glasses to wear now... " Casey paused long enough for Rita to both sigh in relief and laugh,

"Oh is that all?"

"Well, he advised I change to a different type fo light bulb where possible, and definitely to wear glasses when looking at screens as they'll filter that blue light thing? But that and some proper rest and it should all help."

"That's great news sweetheart, I'm so relieved." Truly Rita felt like a knot she hadn't known was there had been released in her chest,

"Yeah, so in the spirit of medical necessity, I think we should schedule a trip up to the house in the Hampton's." Sometimes Casey still would catch herself after saying such a thing. A house in the Hampton's. Their house in the Hamptons. Quite ridiculous.

Rita chuckled but instantly swept round to open their shared calendar to look for potential timings,

"An excellent idea darling, I could even ask Danielle to get the boat ready for us? I know you love to play at being Captain."

"Please, you just want to lounge about in your bikini in front of me don't you."

"Well with your new glasses we'll have to test how much better you can see me. I do love putting on a show for you."

The flirtation made Casey gulp, images of Rita enjoying herself nearly overwhelming her,

"You always do have the best ideas, I propose we do lots of testing."

"For medical necessity?" Rita's smirk was clear even though Casey couldn't see her face,

"Exactly, you always know how to take the best care of me baby..."