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v1olentdelights · 10 months

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You’re Gonna Go Far

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader, BAU x fem!bau!reader

Summary: Time passes, and people change, but one thing will remain steady.

TW: nothing

a/n: I read something on tiktok that was like, "You have to let a girl name a fic after a lana or noah song(it's a canon event)." It's so funny because it's true. Here is My Noah Kahn titled fic!! Let me know what you think!! Also thank you @magic-is-beauty and @teddy-the-teddybear for reading it over! :) love you guys

After consulting with The BAU Section Chief and your Unit Chief, who also happened to be your long-time boyfriend, you decided it was your next step in your career. Even if you didn’t want to leave behind your work family, you knew they would understand.

—

You flopped down onto your bed, letting out an exhausted sigh. The week had been filled with meetings and tying up loose ends. Next week would be your very last week at the Quantico branch of the BAU. If the team got called into a case, you would stay behind with Penelope and work it out from there, hoping that it would end quickly so you wouldn’t miss your plane.

The familiar sound of little running footsteps made a small smile appear on your face. No matter how down or tired you felt, Jack could always make you smile. The door was flying open, and seconds later, he had pounced on you, wrapping his arms and legs around you and shoving his neck between your head and neck.

“Hey Jack. How was your day at school?”

“It was awesome, we got to take the class pet out of her terrarium.” He spewed the words out fast as he pulled his head up to look at you. “ Do you know what frogs feel like?” As you shook your head, no, he had already begun to talk again. “They feel icky, and they look kind of scary because they can’t smile. And we had to wash our hands after, really well. And for snack today, I brought those vegetable chips. Everyone thought they looked weird, but I remembered that it didn’t matter because I liked them. And-“ You put your finger to your lips, telling him to stop for a moment. The giant breath he took was almost comical.

“I’m glad you liked the chips, but please take a breath. Or you're going to get so dizzy you’ll fall over.” You both laughed, but his face turned sad.

“I just want to tell you everything because I know you’re leaving, and then I can’t tell you anything. Because dad says you are taking a plane to your new home. Which means I can’t talk. To you anymore.”

“Oh, honey.” You brought a hand up to his cheek, rubbing your thumb against his cheek in a comforting circle. “You can always talk to me. You can write me letters, and I’ll come back to visit sometimes. You can also call me sometimes. There is no need to be super sad.” Sitting up slightly, you gave him a cheek kiss. “Now, let's go find Daddy and see if he’ll buy us ice cream.”

——

Aaron did take you out for ice cream, but he stood back a bit… taking it in. Jack had been observing all the ice creams, even though he would pick play dough, the most sugary kind, every single time. You were crouched down next to him, looking at all of them, making comments about each of them.

“Aaron, honey, do you know what you want?” Your smile never fails to make his heart light up.

“Strawberry of course.” He chuckles before coming up beside you and paying for the cones.

You three made your way to one of the bench’s near the parlor.

“Can I try some of yours?” You asked Aaron slyly. He was about to offer you his cone, but you kissed him instead, tasting the strawberry on his lips. Jack started to make fake throw up noises.

“Stop it! You guys are icky.” He laughed before pushing on his fathers chest, attempting to put some space between you two. It was like a scene from a movie, a happy family of 3. You made sure to take a mental picture to save for a sad rainy day.

——

Now, your heart was beating out of its chest. You were standing in front of the monitor where the cases were presented, but you were all meeting for another reason. Aaron gave you a quick kiss for some reassurance before taking his seat at the round table.

As everyone began to file in, you could feel your heart was going wild, and your eyes began to feel heavy, as if the unshed tears weighed a ton. But when you saw Penelope walk in with he bright smile and sparkly headband, you knew you wouldn’t survive this.

“What’s going on here?” Dave asked first. Both him and Blake looked like they knew what was happening. Maybe they could tell. Penelope then jumped up from her seat.

“Oh. My. Gosh!! Am I getting another god child? I need to know, I’ll start shopping now, maybe it could be an elephant themed room or-“ But Aaron cut her off.

“No Garcia. Just take a seat, please.” You could hear the pain in his voice. Her face physically dropped before she took a seat, Derek reached out and held her hand on the table.

Why was it this hard? You knew they would support you, that they would be happy for you. You watched it happen when Emily left. It would be hard for a bit, but they would get past it, and they would persevere.

“So. A while back, I was looking at this program. I signed up for the company newspaper just to keep up with it, even sent a few emails asking about the projections for the next year and its supporters. It seems that the company also did some research on me.” You sat down in an open chair near you and ran your hands down your legs. “So they asked me to join them!”

“That’s amazing, Y/N!” Spencer exclaimed with a boyish smile on his face.

“That's not all, though, is it.” Derek stated, he had enough people leave him. He didn’t have to be a profiler to see what was coming.

“Yes, there’s more.” Here was the kicker. Taking a deep breath, you finally let it go. “It’s in Europe.” The atmosphere changed drastically. But it was hard to place what it was. “I don’t expect anyone to know what to say. But I’ve already accepted, and my ticket is bought. I am kind of regretting it now, I feel like I should stay here with you guys. You’re my fami-“

“No, you need to do this Y/L/N,” Blake said with a smile on her face. “We all understand.” It was comforting to hear it from her. She had that mother kind of aura around her.

—

The week progressed slowly. People milling around the bullpen, pens scratching on papers, the humming Spencer didn’t know he did, the coffee machine, all the normal sounds. It felt different. It all felt different now. You tried to commit every little thing to memory because if you were to never return, you’d want to keep this with you forever.

——

Your final family dinner, everyone was there, even Strauss stopped by for a bit. Henry and Michael made you a picture. It was the whole unit in Rossi’s backyard. Of course, there was an abundance of paint handprints and glitter, but that’s what made it even more special.

The sound of a utensil tapping a glass caught everyone’s attention.

“As we all know, this is our going away party for Y/N, the best in our unit. Even though we will hopefully see her all week. Tonight is about reminiscing on our past times. But it is also a time to look forward to our future. We have lost agents in the past, and we have mended our hearts. But we have never forgotten them.”

“You make it seem like I’m dying, David!” You tried to lighten the mood a tad. If he kept going on like this, you would begin to cry.

“Of course not! But we are losing you, are we not?” He chuckled a bit before continuing. “It is a once in a lifetime opportunity you have been given. And though we’ll miss you, I think we would be even more hurt if you didn’t accept” Penny stood up then, tears already filling her eyes.

“It makes me smile to know that when things get hard, you’ll be far from here. Which I know sounds bad since you have been here for all this mess for the past 8 years. But still, you are getting a chance to see some more kittens and less… gore.” She shuddered at the thought. Spencer spoke up next.

“We aren't angry at you. You’re the greatest thing we’ll have lost. But the birds will still sing, and Penelope and Derek will still keep up their banter. The bull pen will still be filled with the noises of shuffling papers and the dying coffee machine.” You let out a watery chuckle. You had tried to fix the poor thing so many times and never seemed to win, but it was still running. “Things will continue to move along. And we’ll be here waiting for you, waiting for you to come home.”

“Don’t worry, I will make sure to mention you all in my speech when I win some great award.” Bringing a hand up to wipe away your tears, you noticed how shakey they were. They always seemed to do that when you were sad. “And trust me, I will be coming back. You won’t be getting rid of me that easily!”

—

When you got home later that evening, you sat in the bathtub for a while with a lavender candle in hopes of riding yourself of a headache. It all felt like too much. You were leaving behind the past 8 years of your life just like that.

You hadn’t heard Aaron enter the bathroom, not even noticing him until he kneeled down next to you.

“You told me in your initial interview that you wanted to make a difference, darling. And that is what you are doing. Please don’t feel bad for leaving because you are chasing your dreams. Something not many people get the chance to do..” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then the other.

“I know. But in leaving behind you guys, my family. I’m leaving behind my Jack, and my goldfish, what am I supposed to do with her?!” You whined. Obviously, you knew it was something stupid, but all the little problems seemed so much bigger.

“You know Jack is going to be okay. He is in his room making a colander of when to call you. I told him the time difference so he could figure it all out.” He kissed you gently on the lips, pulling back a bit, he continued “And you know he will be more than happy to take care of her for you. It will be another reminder of you.”

It provided a little comfort, though you know it would only last so long. Everything was running through your head, so many emotions were trying to be processed.

“Let’s get you out of the bath and into bed.”

“If you wanted me naked in bed so bad, you should have just asked Hotchner.” He simply rolled his eyes at your antics. You got dressed and bundled up underneath the comfort, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

——

Today was the day you were all packed up and ready to go. What you didn’t know was the whole team had come to see you off.

As Aaron, Jack, and you made your way towards your gate, you and Jack holding hands, you recognized the gangle of people waiting near the waiting area. Penelope was the first to spot you. She began to wobble her way over to you. That was something you would miss dearly, her and her high heels.

“Oh Y/N!! I'm going to miss you so! But just know I will be out there next month! I have already got some tickets lined up!” She squished you tightly before letting you go. Derek came up to you. His smile was as bright as can be.

“One day you’ll see how proud of you we are.” Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, he pulled you in for a tight embrace. JJ covered her face with her hands. You assumed it was to try and hold her tears at bay.

“Y/N, my sister.” You could tell it came out quieter than she meant it to. “What am I going to do without you by my side? My partner in crime.” She rubbed her hand over your arm in a motherly way. Even now, she couldn’t turn off that mother instinct.

David held your head in his hands. You knew what this meant.

“Y/N, I don’t think I have ever met someone as compassionate as you, someone as smart as you, sorry Reid,” he turned to face the doctor for a moment before turning back to you. “I trust you with my life, and I would have it no other way. You are going to do great things, kid.” He pulled you in for a hug. Blake came next.

“I haven’t known you for long. But for the time I have had the pleasure of knowing you, I have found you to be extraordinary. Like everyone else has said, you will do great things.” She shook your hand firmly.

You didn’t know how you were holding it together. And then Reid stepped forward with tears in his eyes and a few having already fallen.

“I don’t want you to go,” his lower lip quivered “but I know you need to do this. And I am glad to have known you. I love you, Y/N. Don’t forget to write.” He held you tightly, as if he was afraid you would disappear when he let go. Though you suppose you were.

Little Jack, who had been standing next to you the whole time, let out a little cry.

“Y/N, do you really have to leave?” Crouching down to be at eye level with him, you could feel the tears falling down your face faster.

“Honey, I do. I’m going to help people. Remember what we talked about, though, right? You even made that schedule, and Aunt Penny made me a copy, too. I’ll hang it up on my fridge so I can see it.” He grabbed hold of you, looping his hands around your neck. You could feel his tears stain your shirt.

“Who is going to get ice cream with me? Or tuck me into bed and wish me that the bed bugs won’t bite? And dad can’t fold my shirts the way you do. He can’t play with my legos the right way, either.” He was desperate for you to stay. You knew this would be hard on him. Having lost his mother at such a young age and now losing the other mother figure in his life.

“It’s going to be hard. But you will just have to teach Daddy how to do those things. I’m sure he will learn.”

“But he’s not you.” He let out another cry, and it shattered your heart.

"NOW BOARDING FLIGHT BA 98”

That was you. It was time to leave behind your life, your family. But you were starting something new and exciting. Standing up, you straightened out your shirt a bit. Looking around, you absorbed the moment, trying to memorize all their faces, taking in all the memories.

Finally, you turned to Aaron, your lover. It had been decided by the both of you that it was best to go your separate ways for now. Not necessarily forever, but just for now.

You had only seen Aaron cry a handful of times. The stone cold face, his work facade, was something you had grown used to. And so was the smiling face he reserved for you and Jack, as well as the team after hours. But this Aaron, this was something new. He grabbed your hand and pulled you close into an affectionate hug.

“If you want to go far… then you gotta go far.” He said quietly in your ear. He pressed a kiss to your lips, just a small short peck, but then came back for more. Nothing flashy or anything, just more… meaningful, filled with more emotion.

”BOARDING FLIGHT BA 98”

——

As you sat in your seat, you pulled out a picture you had kept in your wallet for the past few years. It was one of your team members at your first ever Rossi dinner party. The smile upon each of your faces was a reminder that no matter how far apart you were, no matter how many horrors you had seen, you would always have each other.

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crappymixtape · 3 months

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love will keep us alive

BONUS V2 OF A REQUEST → ❝ angst prompt: “do you regret it?” this has been sitting in my drafts for LITERAL MONTHS and i just need to set it freeeee | ( 1.3k – a sprinkle of angst, a sprinkle of fluff, all the feelings, established relationship, eddie x reader )

L O V E W I L L K E E P U S A L I V E 🎶 love you, flowerovlove

You knew money was always a dealbreaker for relationships. You watched it happen with your own parents. Watched them go through it all and in the end get divorced because your dad spent too much money and your mom couldn’t handle it. You promised yourself you wouldn’t get into the same situation, not with Eddie, but here you were.

Paying for rent and utilities had been fine, you put a little gas in the car when you could, and you were even able to buy a six pack of beer every now and then, but somehow this month you were short. Somehow the water bill came and there wasn’t enough.

The statement came in the mail with big red letters stamped across the front, OVERDUE, but Eddie waved you off.

Don’t we have it on autopay, babe? Must be a mistake.

So you left it alone, but when you woke up in the morning to take a shower before work? Nothing came out of the shower head.

Towel tucked under your arms you stormed out into the living room, cold and angry, to find Eddie posted up on the couch. So casual. Reading a Thrasher magazine with the TV on in the background.

“So. The water’s off,” your tone was short, clipped and sharp enough to pull Eddie’s attention away from the magazine. Brows pinching together in confusion as he swung his legs off the couch to look at you properly.

“Huh? Sweetheart, what d’you mean off?“ he asked, looked up at you with those big brown eyes and you bit your lips in to try and stop yourself from raising your voice.

“The water is off, as in the water company turned it off,” you said again, frustration swelling in your chest, “I thought you said it was on autopay?”

“Well, yeah,” he started off confidently, so sure. “We set that up when we moved in and put it in your name and–” but he drifted off at the end of his sentence and his cheeks grew warm. Hot and embarrassed and he buried his face in his hands with a groan.

You’d split the utilities up when you two moved in together, especially since you had separate bank accounts, and as Eddie ticked them off in his head – internet, garbage, phone – he realized the water wasn’t under your name. It was under his. And this month had been tight.

Working at the bar was decent most of the time. Tips were good and Eddie’s regulars took care of him, but lately? It has been really slow. Slower than usual and it was hard for Eddie to remember to save during times like that.

No grabbing coffee on his way out in the morning. No beers with Steve after he got done at family video. No buying the kids new dice or a playbook for Hellfire, but he always got caught up in the moment and shit. This time he’d lost track.

“I’m so sorry babe,“ his voice was muffled as he spoke into his hands, tentatively lifting his head to look at you, “Can we maybe cover it from your account this month?“

You felt your cheeks grow hot, heat spreading from your chest across your neck and up to your ears. Your lips twisted with a frown, a deep scowl, so damn frustrated and tired of looking at your bank account and seeing five dollars left.

“No! We can’t! There’s no money there either,” you sighed, emotions starting to get the better of you as your throat grew tight and it just felt so off.

You were standing in the living room with nothing but a towel on. Any other time Eddie would’ve been on you in a second. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down into his lap. Pressing his lips to your neck, your collarbone and the curves of your hips, but instead you were arguing.

Eddie felt his chest squeeze with guilt, with the weight of all this stupid responsibility and the fact that it was all his fault. He was your boyfriend! He was supposed to take care of you! You were in this together and yet he wasn’t holding up his side of the deal and you were so upset and late for work and fighting and–

He swallowed thick, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, chewed his bottom lip between his teeth and held his breath.

“D’you regret it?” he asked, deep, brown eyes, flicking up to meet your own so hurt and sad, so fucking sorry.

Your stomach twisted. Flipped over with his question and your expression softened, “Regret it?“

“Yeah. Do you regret me?“

And with those four little words you felt your anger start to ebb.

Yeah. You were standing in your living room with just a towel on. No running water. Late for work and five dollars in your bank account, but the way he was looking at you made you hesitate. Had you sounded like you were done? Done enough that he thought you didn’t want to be with him anymore? And that’s when something in you shifted.

Your parents weren’t good for each other and your dad spent too much money and it made your mom so angry, but that wasn’t the only thing.

He didn’t listen to her.

Didn’t stay up late when she was worried and couldn’t sleep.

Didn’t run out to get a box of tampons when she got her period.

Didn’t ask her about her day and didn’t rub her feet and didn’t surprise her with pizza after a shitty day at work.

Didn’t tell her how much he loved her every single day. Didn’t kiss her once as he went out the door and again when he came back in to say how much he already missed her.

Eddie loved you, and yeah you were short on money, but you weren’t short on love. And at the end of the day? Even though love didn’t pay the bills, it sure as hell would help you figure it out. Because while money came and went, this kind of love didn’t.

Crossing the room still in your towel, you sat down next to Eddie on the couch. Took his hand in yours and held it tightly in your lap. “Eddie,” you said softly, taking his chin in your free hand and tilting it up so you could see him. “I would never regret this,” you said, hoping he understood just how serious you were. Hoping you heard every word you said, knowing that you meant it. “I just wish I could take a shower,“ you half-joked and he snorted, but then dropped his gaze back down to your hands.

God, the guilt was heavy.

“I’m really fucking sorry, babe.”

“S’okay,” you smiled, pressed a hand to his cheek and pulled his eyes back up to meet yours. “You just can’t buy the kids any more dice and you definitely don’t need any more manuals for hellfire. And maybe you can start learning how to brew your own beer?“ your tone teased him at the end and it pulled a little laugh out of him. “We’ll figure it out, right?”

“Yeah. I can pick up extra shifts at the bar and I’ll start putting my tips in a jar under the bed. A little savings in case the water gets turned off again,” he gave you a half-grimace, half-smile, “Too soon?”

“Too soon.”

“Sorry–listen–I’m part of this relationship too and I just wanna take care of you, honey,” and the way he was looking at you told you he couldn’t have been more serious.

“You always take care of me,“ you said leaning into him, resting your forehead against his and those unruly curls, “And I don’t regret it, Eds. Not even a little bit. “

And then Eddie closed the gap between you. Pressed his lips soft to yours in a quiet promise. Felt something plant itself in his chest and start to bloom and in that moment he knew he wanted to grow and not stay stagnant.

“I love you, sweetheart. I love you so damn much."

crappymixtape™ • eddie munson masterlist // stranger things masterlist

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hearts4golbach · 3 months

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The Night Shift.

chapter 2.

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

Repetitive.

It was all so fucking Repetitive.

So fucking repetitive. 5 hours of taking orders and making them. Tonight made me want to curl up in someone's arms and cry. But I didn't have anyone waiting for me at my tiny apartment. I had never even had a boyfriend before. My parents were so insistent that I find a beautiful, tall, blonde boy who plays football. I had never found that.

Repetitive. The ringing of the bell on the door snapped me out of my thoughts. i didn't bother brightening my expression, assuming it was just another drunk.

"What can I get for you?" I asked in a monotone voice, not looking up from the register.

"Y/n?" a familiar voice called. "You okay?" I looked up, my eyes meeting Johnnie's.

"Oh, hey. Sorry, it's been a long night. Seeing you is the first good thing that has happened to me tonight."

"Do you wanna sit down and talk about it?" He offered.

A small smile grew on my face. "why not? let me take your order first."

"Can I try a large vanilla coffee? Iced, please." His tone was calm and sweet, and he seemed less tired than he did last night.

He began to take out his wallet. "This one's on me." I commented. "Any updates about your ex?"

"I haven't heard much from her, and that makes me paranoid." he replied. "let me pay, Y/n. it's your paycheck."

I rolled my eyes. "You got me a donut last night, it's the least I can do." I smiled as he threw up his hands in defeat. "maybe she got bored."

"I hope so." he sighed, leaning over the counter has he did last night. "Do you have any crazy exes?"

My face flushed. "I've never dated anyone."

His eyes widened. "That's shocking, you're really pretty. Sorry if that offended you or something."

I shook my head, my face as red as a beet. He was very attractive himself, so the compliment caught me off guard. I had no idea what to say. "Thank you, uh, you're attractive yourself." i stuttered, muttering out the first thing that came to mind.

a small blush spread across his face as he smiled with his teeth. "what's stopped you from having a boyfriend?" he asked as I brought his coffee, as well as one I made for myself, to the nearest table. he sat across from me.

"My parents want me to have the perfect guy. Blonde, football, blue eyes, you know." i stopped and looked at him, seeing a dissapointed look on his face. "But that's not what I want. So I guess I've just been waiting for someone to come to me."

His facial muscles rested. "cool." he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "this is really fucking good."

I laughed. "did it catch you off guard? I can't believe you, johnnie. I don't make shitty coffee." I teased.

he immediately shook his head. "no, I just usually don't like coffee."

I made an 'ah' sound and took a sip of my own.

"There's a new year's party this weekend, me and my best friend are going. You should go." he smiled. "Me and Jake can give you a ride and everything."

"hmm. I can try, but I don't see why I wouldn't be able to go. I've never been to a party."

"Oh Jesus. Have you ever drank?"

"Thats like asking if I breathe air." I rolled my eyes. "why 'oh jesus?'" I questioned in a mocking tone.

"New years parties are always fucking insane, in my opinion. I'm always reeking of some sort of alcohol even if I don't drink." he scrunched his nose slightly, as if he could smell it already.

"sounds like my type of event." I smirked, taking another drink.

He smiled with his teeth. "So you'll go?" he said excitedly.

"of course." I smiled. "it'd be nice to get out of the house."

"Tell me more about your family." He replied, intertwining his fingers.

"Well, my grandparents spent their whole lives saving up to buy this cafe." I began, mimicking my parents voices. "and, in their will, they passed it down to my mom and dad. I've been spending majority of my time in this building for as long as I can remember."

"are you a peoples person?" Johnnie asked me.

"like, am I good with people and like to be around them?" he nodded. "I guess so, but I like being alone, too. like, if I'm alone too long I get tired or if I'm with people for too long I get tired. I don't know, it's weird."

"understandable." Johnnie acknowledged.

"what about you?"

"I'm just like you. But I lean more towards being with, like, two people than being alone or in a big group." he explained, waving his hand around.

I nodded in agreement. Maybe it was a bad idea to go to this party, but I had little to lose.

"Can I get your number?" He asked me. I quickly wrote it down on a napkin.

my heart fluttered. I gave a guy my number. I wasn't expecting anything to come from me and johnnie, though.

#johnnie guilbert x you #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert #jake and johnnie #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #cafe aesthetic #cafe #the night shift

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kleenex-tissues · 3 months

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Can We Try Again? I'll Do It Right This Time

Summary: Jason Todd fights his entire life to find somewhere he feels safe. All he ever wanted was to be saved.

A character study on Jason pre-Robin to his time as Red Hood, and an ode to my love for the complexity of his character.

Read on AO3 here

This fic is rated M for graphic depictions of (TW) violence.

Jason Todd is just nine years old the first time he realizes the transient nature of human life. His father abandons him after a stint in prison, and his mother takes her last breath before his very eyes. It takes him an hour to notice she’s stopped breathing. He thought she was just taking a nap.

When his father first leaves two years ago, Jason doesn’t understand where he is going. He doesn’t know what prison means or why so many men in blue outfits and funny hats came into their house to take his dad away. His mom cries, throwing herself against the floor, so he does too. He isn’t sure why, but it feels like the right thing to do.

His mother’s health starts going slowly, and Jason almost doesn’t notice that it coincides so perfectly with her increasing addictions. It starts small. She coughs a lot after her cigarette. She smells like smoke and it makes his nose burn, but he loves his mother and hugs her anyways. It was just one cigarette a day, but suddenly she’s smoking the last one in the pack before the night ends. The smell never goes away.

Then, the liquor bottle that sits beside their couch is empty, followed by a dozen more. Jason takes them out every week, and eventually, the bags become too heavy for him and they sit outside the door. His mom acts funny after she drinks, and her hands strike his face. His cheeks burn with her handprints, but he loves his mother and hugs her anyways when she apologizes.

Sometimes, she sits and coughs and vomits on the floor. Jason doesn’t know how to clean it up well, so the hardwood always has a little stickiness to it. He laughs when his feet stick and makes a game of it.

A year passes from the day his father left, and his mom said he would be home months ago. He wonders if that’s why she screams more or sleeps too long and makes him late to school. She looks pale – a new word he learns that week in reading class. He doesn’t know why she doesn’t move much, but one day she tells him to go down the street and grab the doctor. So, he bounds down the pavement towards the dirty door belonging to their doctor friend. He’s not sure what their friend will do, but he leads him back to his home anyways.

“She’s sick,” the doctor says, and Jason could have told him that. He doesn’t say why she’s sick or how he’ll help, but he stops by sometimes to check on her.

His mom begins taking pills, and he assumes they’ll help her get better. She starts taking shots too, but he doesn’t think they’re helping very much because afterwards she lays on her bed and ignores him for hours. He eats cereal for dinner those nights.

The bills start to pool below the door where they come through the mail slot. He doesn’t understand money very well, but he knows they don’t have any. His mom isn’t working. Her medicine is harder to buy now, she says, so he starts mimicking the men his mom brings home sometimes and begins stealing.

At first, it's small things, a candy bar at the store because he’s hungry, a t-shirt he really likes that he knows will actually fit him. He’s not worn a shirt the right size since his dad left, but his mom can’t help that he had such a large growth spurt.

Then, his mom begins hitting him more, crying that she can’t pay the bills and it was all his fault, so he asks the tall guy who hangs around the alleyway how he can make more money. The man tells him to start taking car parts, so he does.

Jason is good at it. The guy gives him a tire iron and never comes back. He wonders where he went, but forgets about it quickly, more interested in what pieces he can take without anyone noticing. It’s a game for him, as all things were. He has fun, and his mom smiles and kisses his forehead when he brings back the money he got from the mechanic in the next neighborhood. He loves his mom, so he takes her kisses and hugs her even though she feels too thin and smells rotten.

He makes a large sum of money one week and excitedly brings it back to his home, where his mom lays on the couch and rasps out a breath. The needle is still stuck in her arm, so he pulls it out and throws it away for her.

He sits with her, hopes she’ll wake up soon so he can tell her about his day, but she never wakes up. She went silent hours ago, so he runs back to their doctor friend and brings him to the apartment. Jason doesn’t know where his mom is going when the funny men in blue return and take his mother away under a sheet. All he knows is that she isn’t coming back, so he runs away. If those men catch him, he’s not sure if he’ll ever get to return either.

No one wants to help the dirty street rat, especially when no one in the neighborhood can take care of themselves. He hopes that Batman will come. He’s seen him flying through the night, helping the needy and defeating the bad guys. Jason’s needy right now. He’s alone and scared and misses his mom, so he really hopes Batman will come.

But one man can’t save every life in the city.

Jason finds himself crawling through the gap of a broken door in a sketchy alley. It's just big enough for his small frame to move through, and the abandoned building behind it seems warm, at least for now. At least until Batman comes.

But Batman doesn’t come to save Jason, so he has to save himself. He steals small things here and there to make a bed and keep his belly from hurting. Yet nothing he can steal will ever be enough for his hunger to go away, and the cold air of Gotham City never seems to cease.

Two years have passed, and Jason is eleven years old. He is cold and hungry and angry, and the man who he sat and prayed would save him every night is once more flying above the streets of Gotham, not a care in the world. Jason feels wronged.

So he pulls the tire iron he keeps tucked underneath his makeshift bed and sets off to the alley Batman came from. He puts the iron to the wheel of the Batmobile, desperate to get back at the man who never came to his rescue.

A shadow looms behind him as he struggles with the lug nuts. He knows it’s Batman. He should be washed over with fear. If he were anyone else, he might, but right now, all he feels is rage. He turns, his tire iron in hand, and goes to strike.

But Batman’s hands rest on his shoulders to hold him back. Even through the gloves, Jason feels the warmth — a warmth he hasn’t known since his dad went to prison and his mom stopped playing with him.

She used to kiss his head before putting him to bed and make soup when he was home with a fever. Her hands were always so warm, just like this, and suddenly he’s crying. Wet, hot tears stream down his face as he sobs into Batman’s chest.

There’s surely snot on his suit, but Batman doesn’t leave. He wraps his arms around the boy and holds him tight. It’s warm and for the first time in a long time, Jason is safe. He feels it down to his bones and the steady melody of his heart, beating ‘safe, safe, safe.’

His anger has subsided and he’s filled with grief. He mourns his family and the home he'll never return to, the boy he couldn’t save and the one that finally will be. He’s safe, so he lets all the emotion bottled up in his tiny body out into Batman’s chest, impossibly broad and strong. No fear will make way outside of the comforting arms of his hero, and he’s okay with that. Jason, for what he’s now sure is the first time in his life, is safe.

–

Jason forcefully tears himself from the ground at the age of seventeen, six years after meeting Bruce and two removed from his untimely death. He does not know where he is or how he got here, but he knows he needs to get away. It’s surely another way the Joker has decided to torture him, and he won’t be defeated so easily. He is Robin, the partner of Batman and he should never feel scared. They are meant to make the bad guys feel scared.

His legs are unsteady as he runs haphazardly from the hole he emerged from. His chest is burning, and he barely notices the large T-shaped scar running down his torso. He didn’t remember Joker doing that, but he also doesn’t remember being buried six feet under.

Talia finds him first. Jason tries to lift his arms into a defensive position, but his limbs feel like jelly and instead, he finds himself falling unceremoniously into her. He feels her grab him before the world goes dark once more.

He’s awake again, and he feels like he’s drowning. He flails around, attempting to grab something, anything to pull himself out of the water. It burns against the T-shaped scar, against his lungs, and rough hands reach in to pull him upwards. They grip against his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks in his flesh. The tension of the water pushes against him, trying to keep him from breaching the surface, but suddenly he’s through and air reaches down his throat against his straining lungs.

Voices indistinctly whisper around him, muttering in a language he cannot understand, but he picks up his own name and Bruce’s. He didn’t need to know the words they were saying to know that something was deeply off.

So he bolts, his legs fighting his will to move. He’s barely made it a few feet away before he’s knocked to the rough cave floor. A foot presses in the center of his spine, and he knows no amount of adrenaline pumping through his body can push back against the weight. He’s somehow done it – made it to Hell. Maybe he’ll see his father. But maybe even the Devil couldn’t find a place for that man.

The days after tell him, surely, that’s where he is right now. Talia is there, haunting the corners of his vision. She never speaks to him, and quite frankly, he’s not sure that she’s actually real. Her skin always emanates a hazy green, just like the water they pulled him from. She could have looked that way naturally, but his scrambled memory whispers otherwise.

Sometimes, she has a shadow. Mostly, it’s indistinguishable from the other shadows dancing along the wall, but every once in a while, he feels his stomach roll looking at it. This is when the shadow looks like Bruce.

The eyes are a different color, shining with the same green he sees around Talia, but the shape of them – those are Bruce’s eyes. He had spent so many years idolizing the man, memorizing every frown line and stray gray hair. He would know this face, and especially those eyes, anywhere. But he knows it must be a trick. Bruce was too stuck in the idea of redemption, for himself and others, to end up in Hell with him.

Jason often hears screams during his waking hours. Some are anguished. Some are gargled. But the screaming only ceases for a moment before it returns with a new voice. It echoes along the walls of the cave he is being kept in, shaking the stalactite dripping in the upper right corner of his field of vision.

That’s another thing – his head remains in the same position day and night. His arms are pinned to his sides and his ankles tied. They haven’t tortured him yet, but whatever demons are bringing those screams to his ears will come to him soon. He has no doubt regarding that, but he can’t be sure who’s face he’ll see above him next.

He hopes it isn’t Dick. He doesn’t think he can survive damnation with his brother’s disappointed eyes staring back at him. Jason knew, no matter what good he did as Robin, this is where he was supposed to end, but Dick never accepted that. He had that same fixation on redemption as their adoptive father, but with a warmth Bruce could never have. Dick made Jason feel like even he deserved a second chance.

Talia comes by the next day, and he knows the moment he sees the bowl in her hands, that he isn’t dead like he thought. He wasn’t lucky enough for that. Instead, he is damned to the clutches of Talia Al Ghul and a bowl of broth. It sits like lead on his stomach as she force feeds him, chiding him for fighting her iron grip on his jaw. He’s sure that at times he did hallucinate her presence, but this time, she is real. Terribly real and dripping with ill intent.

Her shadow takes form now, and he wants to cry when Bruce’s face stares back at him once more. His face is much younger and his skin a deep tan, and there is no care behind these cold green eyes. In fact, he cannot see anything but malice. He feels ashamed to be looked at this way with Bruce’s face. Has Bruce decided to abandon him just like his father?

The voice that comes from this mouth is different, however, and confusion begins swirling with the shame. This voice is high-pitched and no doubt that of a child’s. It tells him, in the same smooth way Talia speaks, that he is a fraud and “Baba was right to leave him to die.”

The rest of its speech returns to what he now realizes is Arabic, but the words won’t translate in his head. All he hears is that one sentence, over and over. Why was Bruce speaking this way? He would never want to see him die.

Right?

Jason’s spirit falls further, despite it having already hit rock bottom days ago, but the shame and confusion now build into anger. He fights against his restraints, knocking the remnants of his meal to the floor. Talia tries to calm him, firmly pressing him back against the seat. He tries to move his head to bite her but to no avail; it’s firmly held by a thick leather strip.

He spits at her instead.

Her face contorts in anger, cheeks flushing red, and she begins berating him. She’s screaming, “What a pathetic little ‘boy wonder!’ You don’t seem to understand the circumstances of your situation.” He stops thrashing around, and her face returns to her usual sultry smile. “Bruce left you to die. When the Joker kidnapped and tortured you, Bruce took his sweet time coming to ‘save’ you. The one man in the world you thought loved you left you to die and buried your body in a shallow grave.”

Jason attempts to shake his head before realizing he’s still trapped.

“Oh, yes. It’s tragic, really. But that’s when I came to save you.”

Talia began to strut across the length of the thin cave.

“See, the world had a little shift that brought a few people back to the living world, you being one of them, but it had some unexpected issues. Your body had already partially decomposed, and you would have never made it off of that mountain without me. I brought you to my home, finished reviving you in the Lazarus Pit, and nursed you back to health. I even brought your baby brother to see you.”

Jason is fumbling out a barely intelligible, “My brother…?”

His eyes trace to the figure now hanging from the ceiling. It’s Bruce, or maybe not. He isn’t sure until the boy speaks. “Damian Al Ghul, the blood son of Batman.”

–

Jason spends the better part of a year recovering and regaining his stamina. It turns out, being revived in the Lazarus Pit is not as easy as Ra’s Al Ghul makes it seem. He learns how to walk for the second in his life before building his motor function back to what it used to be. For the most part, he’s in better shape than he had been before his death, but he’s still only seventeen. He thinks he has been seventeen longer than he should have.

He tries to wear clothing that hides his autopsy scar, and gloves to cover his scarred knuckles. He doesn’t remember where these come from, but he can make some educated guesses. The one thing he can’t seem to hide, though, is the big shock of white that now stained his fringe. The rest of his hair has grown back to his natural ginger, something he used to dye black to match Bruce.

The brother Jason never knew about suddenly tails him everywhere. He’s silent mostly, only speaking to criticize his fighting form. His entire demeanor deceives the fact that he is only seven years old.

And Jason mutters, “I thought my childhood had been screwed up.”

Sometimes, they sit in a room together reading, and Damian asks him about his father. Jason says good things, at first, but as time goes on, he finds he only has angry words to spit about him. The man had abandoned Jason, and now he is abandoning Damian, too. Damian eventually stops asking, sated to sit in silence while they read Shakespeare’s plays.

Jason finds that it only makes him resent Bruce more.

They train together, and eventually Jason is able to brute force his brother into submission during spars. He likes that he now retains muscle mass. His lanky youth had held back any hope of being strong. Damian begins to undergo his own growth spurt, as well.

But their repetitive schedule suddenly comes to an abrupt end when Jason hears of the one thing he dreads most: Batman’s newest Robin. Apparently, the boy appeared on the scene not long after Jason’s death day and was becoming a real concern amongst the League.

Jason leaves without a plan, pushed onward by rage and embarrassment. He doesn’t know what he will do when he arrives in Gotham, but he knows Bruce like the back of his hand and has no doubt he’ll find him. Combined with a healthy stack of guns and ammunition, he could do whatever he wanted. He can get revenge, or he can even take back what is rightfully his.

The fight is a blur. He remembers yelling at Bruce for abandoning him, for never seeking revenge. He doesn’t understand why reformation and revenge can’t co-exist. Bruce is crying underneath the cowl. He hurts the new Robin. He shoots at Dick. Bruce is on the ground.

And he wakes up in his old bed. Not the one in the mansion or the apartment. No, it’s the one he slept in when he was nothing more than a poor orphan on the streets. It’s just as cold as he remembers.

–

Jason spends the next two years making life miserable for Bruce just to spite him. Dick comes to visit him sometimes, usually finding him in the alleyways of Gotham. He tries to talk, brings along meals from Alfred, and Jason walks away from him every time.

He sees the new Robin darting across the night sky. Dick says his name is Tim, and Jason laughs. He’s not sure what is so funny, but he finds he can’t stop. The laughter makes anger bubble in his throat. He cuts Tim’s line that night, and watches him fall before Bruce swings through to save him. That only makes Jason angrier.

He starts wearing a helmet, red like fresh blood, and takes on Joker’s original identity – Red Hood. It’s ironic, becoming the person who ruined his life. But he sees how it makes Bruce’s skin crawl, and decides he likes the name.

Most nights he only commits petty crimes. On nights when the nightmares seem to consume him, he turns to felonies. He particularly likes theft and arson.

Sometimes, when he becomes annoyed with Dick, he dons a makeshift Nightwing costume, and dumps a herd of criminals on the front steps of the police station. He likes to do good things, too, but he truly does it to see how much it frustrates his brother. He knows Dick can’t say anything because Jason is being a hero again, but Nightwing was never meant for anyone else to wear. He knows it was meant to be a slight at Bruce. It was supposed to empower Dick. But now, it’s empowering Jason instead. Dick struggles to stifle his anger.

Jason enjoys his time in the dark belly of Gotham, but he misses his family some nights. Those are the cold and lonely ones, when no amount of fire can make up for the fact that he’s nineteen years old. Nineteen year olds aren’t supposed to be crime lords. Nineteen year olds aren’t supposed to live in alleyways and a rotating chain of safe houses.

He never sleeps in the same place for more than a few days at a time, and he begins to miss the monotony of the mansion. He misses warm meals that weren’t made in a stolen microwave. He misses the things that made him gentle. He misses a time when he didn’t have to feel so angry. He misses Bruce, but he would never say any of this aloud.

His tipping point comes sneaking up on him one night. No formal announcement was made – it never was – that a new Robin was on the scene, but Jason knew the moment this child took his first step out of the cave.

It was Damian, his baby brother, here to finally claim his birthright. The traitor.

And now even he looks at Jason with disappointment. He can’t take it. But he’s suddenly falling into madness the moment the words leave Bruce’s mouth.

“Jason, you were my biggest regret.”

The rest of his speech becomes white noise and red hot anger. There is fighting and blood, and even though Tim stops being the Robin, he is now Red Robin . That’s all the justification Jason needs to beat his face in. He plans to return for Damian another day. Then, Dick. And he wants Bruce to see every single time. He wants to show him what it really means to regret something.

Bruce disappears a few months later. Jason sees it as an opportunity.

His costume is not nearly as high tech as Bruce’s was, but he only really needs the impression of Batman to pull it off. He doesn’t have it. All he gets in return is a set of handcuffs and a trip to Arkham. He had taken so many things from Dick; he supposes it was time he had to give something up.

He tries to count the days he’s been locked up, wonders if this is where they used to keep his father, but he loses track. The time blurs together. At some point, he makes friends with Harley Quinn. They share the burden of having been traumatized by the same men. She sneaks him an extra pillow, claiming that death always gives people a stiff neck. He doesn’t laugh as hard as she does.

When his mood sours, she plays therapist, finally putting her doctorate to good use. She does a decent job, he thinks, and some days, he almost thinks he can forgive Bruce. But then Bruce Wayne returns, and the anger with it.

He says he doesn’t care. Harley knows it is a lie, but she doesn’t dain to say it aloud. She just sneaks him an extra pudding cup that night. Jason cries.

When Bruce appears in his cell the next day, he ignores him, chalking it up to a bit of pit madness. He doesn’t believe that Bruce will ever look at him with those kind eyes again, but he steals glances at the delusion anyways. They sit in silence, and Jason is thankful that his mind isn’t so far gone as to start hearing voices.

Imaginary Bruce returns day after day, sitting in the same rusty chair in the corner of Jason’s cell. Eventually, Jason starts letting himself look at him, and then he’s yelling at him. He curses at him for having given up on him. He pounds his fist on the cell wall, screaming, and Imaginary Bruce stares back at him with a sad smile.

One day, Bruce stops being imaginary. He places a calloused hand on Jason’s shoulder, their eyes meet for just a moment, and everything comes pouring out. Jason cries, tearing at Bruce’s clothes in a desperate attempt to crawl into his arms. He wants to feel safe again. He wants to be eleven years old and do it all over again. He would do it right this time. He would become Batman’s pride instead of a symbol of his greatest regret. This time, Jason could be Bruce’s real son.

#batman #wolfish-writes #jason todd #damian wayne #dick grayson #dcu #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne #hurt/comfort #character study

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minefield-of-a-ninja · 10 months

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Summary: Gabriela Cruz invests in a Victorian mansion in the middle of America where the rule of Buyer Beware is absolute. When her twin sister goes missing, a couple of federal agents show up. Lucky for Gabi, Dean and Sam Winchester are on the case.

Characters: Gabriela Cruz, Camila Cruz, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Ed Zeddmore, Harry Spangler

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, language, mentions death of family members, cursed object, mentions of blood + gore, sarcasm, twin dynamics, explicit sex

Words: 4,600

Author's notes: thank you, @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker as always for the pre-reads and support!

CAVEAT EMPTOR

I consider myself a strong, independent woman. I pay my own bills, put a little money away in savings every month, and I just recently took out a loan all by myself to buy an old Victorian mansion cum bed and breakfast in my hometown.

Which brings me to my first point — that most of the time, I think I’m rad as fuck. Then, once in a blue moon (literally, in this case), some guy finds his way into my life, and I personally end up winding back the advancement of women by a century for good dick.

It’s humiliating.

How, you ask? Well, let me tell you...

“When you said Victorian bed and breakfast, I thought it’d be all lace doilies and ornately carved wood. This place is sick!”

Camila, my little sister by 15 minutes, had driven down from Minneapolis to help me move into my new home. We hadn’t seen much of each other in the past year because she was living with a man who considered our twin bond to be “unhealthy” (read: he’s a pissbaby.)

What he couldn’t wrap his tiny brain around was that Cami and I were not only twins, but we’d spent the entirety of our adult lives with only each other to call home. Our older brother was killed by a drunk driver, our mom by breast cancer, and our dad by colon cancer, all before we were old enough to vote.

Anyway, Camila told him he could stay in his glass box of a top-floor condo in the city while she popped down “just for the weekend” to help me unpack. Little did he know, she’d brought with her an obscenely priced bottle of pink Taittinger Comtes de Champagne 1973 from his wine cellar.

“Camila Beatriz!” I cackled as I popped the cork.

She was living with a guy so worried about our “connection” that he never bothered to ask about her predilection to permanently borrow (her phrase, not mine) things from the men she dated.

“He’ll never miss it. Just pour.”

We sipped, kind of unpacked, nibbled on a fruit and cheese platter, and generally basked in each other’s presence. As we squeezed the last drops of pink bubbly from the bottle and the sun dipped below the horizon, I felt a chill. I assumed it was exhaustion, nerves, stress — whatever.

“I’m tired, sissy,” Cami confessed. “Show me to my room, would ya?”

I did, giving her a long squeeze. “Thanks for coming, sissy,” I whispered in her ear. “Sleep sweet.”

I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she kissed mine before I headed to my room to take a warm shower. Even though the chill never quite left me throughout slathering myself in lotion and wrapping up in my warmest pajamas, it didn’t occur to me that anything was off off.

Then, at midnight, when the third full moon of the season was at its fullest, I was awakened by a blood-curdling sound that seemed to hang in the air for hours after it was released.

“Camila!”

I bolted from the warmth of my bed, flung my heavy door open, and sprinted down the hall to where my sister was supposed to be sleeping. What I found inside that room can never be erased from the darkest corners of my mind.

There was blood everywhere — on the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The room was frigid and vibrating. I felt a presence that turned me inside out, and I started to sweat and heave, regardless of the temperature of the room.

“Cami!” I called out to her, receiving no reply. “Sister!”

I rushed further into the space as whatever it was that I felt began to recede.

“Camila! Where are you?”

I searched and cried, but my sister was nowhere to be found.

The police arrived within minutes, and neighbors hovered on the edge of the property, haphazardly bundled in robes and coats like vultures at the site of carnage. There were hushed whispers of a ghost, a ghoul, or dark spirits.

An ambulance came.

Once the police had questioned me, I was examined by the EMTs and given a sedative. I was told I was in shock. Someone asked if I had any relatives or friends in the area who could stay with me.

I shook my head. “Cami’s my only family.”

The sedative dumbed me down more than anything. I wasn’t able to sleep or relax. Before dawn, two FBI agents appeared on the scene. The local police were reluctant to let them speak with me, but they somehow persevered.

“Ms. Cruz?”

I looked up to find a string bean of a dude with puppy-dog eyes and a tentative, soothing voice. He introduced himself as Agent Gass and his partner as Agent Black. He asked how much time I’d spent in the house.

“Not even a day.”

Both men nodded.

I suppose it should have tipped me off that they were not run-of-the-mill federales since they didn’t seem at all surprised by my answer or the situation the way local law enforcement did.

“You just bought the place, right?” asked the other agent.

Until he spoke, I hadn’t realized how tightly wound I was with fear and grief. The quality of his voice had a visceral effect on my senses, like a deep tissue massage or an epic fucking orgasm.

This man’s voice, you guys...

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision, then found that the face belonging to that voice was so beautiful I could no longer hold the tension in my body, and the tears began to flow.

(I know this sounds very dramatic, but I promise we won’t be spending much more time on the grim details. Also, don’t worry; Cami’s fine. I mean, she’s fucking traumatized, but it wasn’t her blood decorating the walls, is what I’m saying.)

The agents quickly bookended me. Agent Gass tugged a paper towel from the roll I’d left sitting on a side table the night before and handed it to me, muttering something about my nose and tears before Agent Black started talking again.

“There’ve been reports of strange occurrences in this house for decades, but nothing violent.” He was so close that I could feel the rumble of each syllable like the hum of a lullaby or a stealth percussionist in the wild. “Have you witnessed anything out of the ordinary in the last 12 hours?”

I sniffled. “Besides all the fucking terrifying shit I’ve already told the cops?”

Agent Gass cleared his throat beside me. “We’re sorry, but we need to record our own findings. Do you mind telling us what happened?”

I rolled my eyes and blew my nose. “Fine,” I sighed, tossing the wadded-up snot rag into a nearby trash bag.

“It started when the sun set…”

I recapped the evening’s events, groggily noticing once again that neither agent seemed nearly as taken aback as the local police.

“‘Blood-curdling sound’ — like a scream?” Agent Black’s question pinged in my brain while other parts of me continued to react to the sound of it.

“I don’t know why I keep using that phrase... it wasn’t a scream, but... it woke me up, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I was chilled to the bone.”

Agent Black nodded. “You said you were cold before, so you took a shower. Was it the same kinda chill you felt when the sound woke you up?”

I shook my head, squinting to try and remember. “No... I- there’s cold chill and scared chill — I felt both at different times. I... I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Agent Black nodded, peeking over my head to his partner, and they exchanged a silent agreement.

I cannot stress enough how aggravated I am that I felt attraction at that moment. My twin sister was missing, and yet I couldn’t stop staring at his stupid mouth. At the time, I didn’t rationalize it at all, probably because of the drugs the EMTs gave me, but suffice it to say that Dean Winchester is a sorcerer.

He pushed up from beside me, smoothing his tie and buttoning his suit jacket. “Thank you, Ms. Cruz. Try to get some sleep.” He made a subtle gesture to his partner, spurring him into action, then turned to survey the room with a narrowed gaze.

Agent Gass handed me a card. “Please give us a call if you think of anything else. We’ll be in touch.”

Well into the next day, my new home was under constant guard, filled by local law enforcement and various consultants. I didn’t see Agents Gass and Black again until two weird little guys with video equipment showed up.

I walked out onto my side porch from the kitchen, wiping my hands on a dish towel, wondering what kind of new crew was on the case. By the time I made my way outside, Agent Black was there, hovering over the bearded guy with glasses.

“...I will shoot you, and you know I’m not fucking kidding,” he growled.

“Agent?” I asked, amused beyond reason at his violent threat and casually draping my dish towel over my shoulder.

At this point, I’d been able to get some sleep and put a bit of time and space between my cognitive processes and the happenings surrounding Cami’s disappearance. So when that cocky little (there’s nothing little about Dean Winchester, OK, I’m being facetious) shit stretched those long, strong legs and climbed up onto my porch, I was fully aware and accepting of just how incredibly attracted to him I was.

He turned, his posture neutralizing and his eyes softening.

“Ms. Cruz. Yeah, hi...” He strode toward the porch. “Thought I’d stop by, see how you’re doin’.”

“Gabi, Agent.”

He grinned wide as he took the last step to stand in front of me, sliding his hands into his pockets and rocking to his heels and back.

Such a little shit.

“Gabi… right.” He smirked, then glared over his shoulder at the newcomers. “These two botherin’ you?”

I peeked around him and shook my head before pulling back and looking him in the eye. “This’s the first I’ve seen of them. Coffee, Agent?”

He smirked. “Call me Dean.”

In hindsight, inviting him in for coffee was probably my first mistake. I could’ve offered coffee to him and those two boneheads from Wisconsin outside, but, as previously mentioned, I was busy derailing feminism.

“How do you take it, Dean?” I asked, swiping one of the clean coffee mugs from an array of disorganized kitchenware yet to be shelved from the move.

As I took the last two steps to my second-hand Nespresso machine, Dean remained silent, so I glanced over my shoulder before reaching for a coffee pod. He shook his head and blinked up from where he seemed to be mesmerized by something in the neighborhood of my hips.

“Black,” he answered with a lush, lopsided smile.

I nodded, then turned to focus on my task. “What brings you back this way? Is there something new with my case?”

“Uhh, yeah, actually — Agent Gass found some interesting things about the layout of this property on the county assessor’s website. D’you know this was a safe house in the Underground Railroad?”

“Yeah.” I turned and handed the agent his coffee. “That’s one of the reasons I bought it and one of the attractions of the bed and breakfast.”

He thanked me for the cup, eyeing me closely. “So you’re aware of the secret passages in the home? In the room where your sister was sleeping the night she disappeared?”

I shook my head. “What? No. There’s no passageway in my sister’s room, only in the basement and the outbuildings.”

Dean shook his head, holding my gaze. “There’s a full network of passageways in the exterior walls of this house, Gabi,” he continued slowly and pointedly. “Your sister could be trapped. We’d like to take a look at the room again.”

(The next night, over a post-orgasmic cigarette, Dean told me all about another structure he and his brother had cleaned out and sealed off. Someone had erected an apartment building on the execution site of America’s first serial killer. Because Dean Winchester, in addition to being exasperatingly sexy and good with his hands, is a ghost and monster hunter with his brother not-Agent Gass, they come across this kind of thing all the time, I now understand.)

Five minutes after agreeing to let them explore the alleged secret passageways, Agents Black and Gass were sans jackets, rolling up their sleeves, and peering into the mouth of the Rosebud Suite’s small closet.

“So...” I paused, absorbing the confirmation that all the things I feared went bump in the night and more are real. “What do you think you’re gonna find in there? A ghost? Vampires? My twin sister’s disembodied head?”

For the first time since meeting them, the agents looked at me in alarm.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Dean said, crossing the room to clasp a big, warm hand around my wrist and squeeze. “You’re twins?”

I nodded.

“Then if that twin stuff everybody talks about is real, you know she’s gonna be fine.” He smiled down at me with kindness. “All we know is that she’s missing, and we know the blood in the room is animal blood.”

Dean was right; I knew in my heart that Gabi would be fine, but as relieved as I should have been, I was suddenly much more disturbed on an entirely different level.

“Animal blood? No one told me this was animal blood. What the fuck is going on?!”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Agent Gass appeared at Agent Black’s side, and they exchanged looks before Agent Black continued.

“I dunno why the police didn’t tell you about the animal blood. Maybe they didn’t want to alarm you-”

“Alarm me? I’ve been walking around here worried Camila’s guts were all over one of my guest room walls. I’ve taken sooo much Xanax since Friday night. Is there anything else alarming I should know about?”

They looked at each other again for a beat before Dean shrugged.

“Those two little weirdos outside?”

“Yeah?”

“They picked up readings that indicate the presence of a cursed object as well as confirmation of human life other than those of us in plain sight.”

I sighed, dropping my eyes to where Dean helpfully caressed my wrist.

“I feel like I’m in catechism... what’s a cursed object?”

I didn’t pull away because, like I said, his caress was very helpful.

“Just like it sounds. Somethin’, usually old, that’s been loaded up with black magic. If we can find it, we can cancel out the magic-”

“Black magic?! Who the fuck- wait, old?”

Dean nodded, and sadly, he released my wrist.

“Oh, my god, the wine!”

The agents perked up at that and exchanged more silent looks.

“Gabi... where’s the bottle?”

When I say that I am unreasonably attracted to Dean Winchester, this is what I mean: watching him and the clean-shaven Ghostfacer pepper and ash an empty champagne bottle in a graveyard after telling me said bottle was “cursed” should have made me worry about their and my eternal soul like any other good Catholic girl, but no — I still took him to bed.

Once we found Cami, of course.

“Cayenne pepper. Interesting.”

Dean unwedged the shotgun from propping his trunk of many wonders open before dropping it shut. “Not just for cookin’.”

He shifted and swayed and sighed as he slid his hands into his pockets and fixed his crinkly, sparkling gaze on me with a lick of his smug smirk.

“Sam?” I asked about his gigantic younger brother, who was back at the house with the other Ghostfacer, rescuing my sister. “Does he have Camila?”

Dean’s face lit up, and his eyebrows popped. “Oh, yeah. She’s good. She’s talkin’ to the police.”

I sighed. “I’d like to go home now.”

I must’ve looked like a frightened and exhausted child at that moment because Dean’s entire demeanor softened as he reached out to pull me in for a hug. His clothes and skin felt and smelled warm, and I started to cry into his white button-up.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I gotcha, sweetheart,” he murmured, holding me close. “You’re fine, and so’s Camila.”

This. Man.

This gorgeous, brave, smells-like-you-expect/hope/pray- for-Axe-body-wash-to-smell (but it doesn’t) man, holding me like a fragile doll and calling me sweetheart is the only man I have allowed to witness a sliver of vulnerability since my dad died. So you can imagine the abject horror I felt at the increasing flip-flop from my guts and the heat pulsing even lower.

I’ve experienced attraction, okay? I’ve had romantic and sexual partners, I self-lubricate at appropriate times. I orgasm.

But the way Dean Winchester made me feel was so alarming that I have since added that feeling to the stack of alarming things happening after Camila and I opened that bottle of wine.

He loosened his embrace but didn’t pull away completely, looking down at me with curiosity in his tender gaze. “Let’s go.”

Dean ushered me to the front passenger door, opened it, and helped me inside. We were quiet as Dean drove back to my bed and breakfast. The silence allowed my thoughts to dance until he pulled into the alley behind my house.

“They’re just wrapping up with the cops,” Harry said, sliding forward with his phone in hand.

The lights were on inside. Sam was standing in the middle of the kitchen, behind Cami, with one hand on the back of her chair. She was wrapped in a blanket, nodding her head at the men on the other side of the table, and Ed was in the corner, pocketing his phone.

It was all so clear, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the car and inside to hug my sister.

“Whoa, gotta put the car in park, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled, doing just that.

I guess I really couldn’t wait.

And then I was sprinting to the back door.

Like I said before, Cami is fine. She’s shook, but alive and breathing and not bleeding. I’ve never felt so sick and relieved at the same time or cried so hard. That experience didn’t only bag me the sexiest, warmest, most loving man alive, but it also further strengthened Cami and my priorities for each other.

Dean kicked the cops out, and Sam made coffee for everyone (which Dean spiked). At some point, the little Ghostfacer dudes squirreled away into guest rooms for the night, Sam and Dean lost their ties, and Cami fell asleep draped across my lap where we were huddled in the front parlor.

“Sammy’ll put her to bed,” Dean whispered, gently tugging me to my feet as Sam indeed lifted Camila in a bridal carry. “Which room you want her in?”

“The one adjoining mine, east wing at the end of the hall.”

Sam nodded, and Cami mumbled, burrowing into his massive chest. He turned and swept toward and up the stairs into the quiet darkness.

“Is it really over?” I asked the house itself as much as Dean. Thankfully, only Dean answered.

“Yeah, it’s over.”

I turned to face him, heaving a sigh. He watched me with that same inquisitive expression as the one from the graveyard, this time with his hands in pockets, sock-footed, sleeves neatly cuffed to his elbows, crisp white collar open at his throat — and he looked like he belonged there in the center of my parlor.

“Agent Black-”

“Yeah... about that...” He dropped his eyes for a beat before looking me in the eye with a renewed spark. “We’re not really federal agents.”

You might think that another surprise would send a person careening into catatonia, but not me. No. No, no, I laughed. I started laughing because it was fucking absurd — the whole thing was berserk, right?

Cursed objects? Cayenne pepper as some kind of supernatural DEET? This remarkably handsome man existing? I was being Punk’d, right? Is that show still running? What is Ashton Kutcher doing these days anyway?

The answer to me being Punk’d is no. You might want to Google Ashton Kutcher because I still don’t know what he’s doing these days.

Do I sometimes still stop feeding my chickens to look up at the clear blue sky and pinch myself in case this is all a dream?

The answer to that is yes.

“My name’s Dean Winchester. Sam’s my brother. We've been hunting ghosts and demons and-”

“Demons?!”

The good Catholic girl inside me stammered over that, and Dean nodded slowly, blinking even more slowly as he took a step and reached for me.

“I’ll tell ya everything,” he said with a tired smile and an easy clasp of my hand. “D’you mind if we get a few hours’ sleep first?”

I didn’t mind.

I led him upstairs. We peeked in on Cami, where Sam was watching over her, stretched out on the chaise in that room. They were both fast asleep.

Dean followed me to my room, and I didn’t think twice about stripping myself bare as I made my way to my ensuite. Before I could conjure any pesky stranger-danger excuses, his hands were on me under the hot spray of water.

The next day, Cami dumped her boyfriend. I have a feeling she’d have done it even if the deadbeat had been assed to make the trip south during her 36-hour absence, but his ineptitude made it easy.

Turns out, the brothers Winchester are more than okay with Cami and my connection. Turns out, they’re more than familiar with that kind of connection too.

Dean molds himself to my back, pressing kisses to the side of my neck and the parts of my shoulder that are bared by my tank top.

“Almost done? Sammy’s makin’ breakfast.”

I hum, letting him swallow me up. “Shower first?”

Ever since that very first night, Dean and I have showered together just in case the water’s cursed, and if it isn’t? Conservation. Right?

Plus, we really like giving each other orgasms.

Five minutes later...

“God damn, I love your mouth,” I sigh as water sluices over my shoulders and spirals my arms before filtering into his hair, where he’s burying his face between my thighs.

Dean’s let his hair grow lately, giving me a lot more to grab onto, not that he needs direction. (He has a beard, too, which wouldn’t normally be my thing at all, but because I know what’s under there, I’m good with it.)

He hums and licks and moans and sucks. The pressure’s always just right — never too much or not enough. I’ve never had anyone down there who knew as much about eating pussy as Dean Winchester. He’s good with his hands, his dick, and toys, too, but man, he loves giving head and is a mother fucking pro at it.

“Dean,” I gasp and flail, nearly busting through the shower curtain and toppling over the end of the claw-foot tub to my death.

Dean lunges up and hooks an arm around my hips, gathering me closer, and I explode.

“Mmm, such a good girl, Gabriela.” He licks his lips as he drags me into the tub with him. Water beats down on his back as he notches his hips in the place his face just vacated.

I toss one calf over the back of the tub and watch Dean grip his hard dick to slip and slide along my slit.

“Don’t tease me, Dean. Get inside.” I thrust my hips and reach for him.

He cocks a brow, lifting my other knee to drape over the other side of the tub, punching the curtain, and slopping water onto the floor. “Honey, I ain’t teasin’; I’m goin’ easy on ya.”

“Pfft!” Now I’m panting like a dog with my ass suspended three inches above the base of the tub. “Who asked you to take it easy on me? I sure didn’t.”

Dean smirks, wrapping one big hand around one hip and steadily guiding himself inside.

“Fuck.” I drop my head to the porcelain under me and clamp my hands around the edges of the vintage bath to take what he gives.

Every time.

Every time, he feels so perfectly hardhotsmooth, so thick, so heavy.

And I can’t not stare because he is perfectly beautiful.

“You’re so beautiful, Gabi,” he whispers as he slides his other hand around my other hip and grinds into me.

“Uhhh!”

We both groan, and my back arches all by itself.

He tells me I’m beautiful, and sometimes it feels like a lie — not because I think he’s dishonest but because Dean Winchester is the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.

He drags out slow, and thrusts back in hard and hot, swearing before biting his lip.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, tossing his head back into the fall of water before looking back down at me as he blinks water out of his eyes. Then he smiles wide and bright, almost like he’s laughing. “Hold on tight.”

I never take Dean’s warnings lightly.

He sets a hard rhythm, grunting with each thrust, and I echo.

“You look so good, baby — fuck me so good.”

Dean’s a tough guy and everything, but he loves praise. I give him pet names and tell him how smart and strong he is. I am always sure to thank him for every little thing he does to help me. And he goes fucking crazy when I praise him for fucking me right.

“Give it to me,” I breathe, clenching around him. “I love your dick... so hard and thick — please, Dean.”

I can’t pretend with him, either. No praise I ever give him is lip service. I really do love his dick.

He pitches forward, bracing his hands on the edge above my head, stretched over me like a telephone wire, and that fucking shift-

“Hooofuck, I- ahh!”

Dean arches and grinds up against my g-spot, pinning me in place until I burst.

“Yesyesyes!” Dean beats a hand against the side of the tub in time with my pulses and throbs around him. “Fuck, honey, yes.”

And then five minutes after that...

“All I’m saying is, if you want some alone time,” Sam actually uses air quotes. “Just say so, and we won’t wait. At the kitchen table. Directly beneath your bathroom.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and Cami and I stifle corresponding giggles.

“It’s not like I personally came down here and burned the toast,” Dean pretends to make sense as he folds a piece of bacon into his mouth. “Bacon’s good.”

He looks to me for agreement, and I nod.

“It is good bacon!” Then I look at Sam. “We’ll be quieter next time.”

Cami guffaws. “No, you won’t!”

I playfully backhand her and shrug. “Probably not, but the bacon’s still good, and I love you guys.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “Yeah, OK, I love you, too, Gab.”

“Hey, don’t be gettin’ my girl mixed up with yours.” Dean mumbles around a mouth full of food as he stabs into his pile of fried potatoes.

I peek over at Camila and catch her looking at me. A memory flashes in my mind of pink bubbly and shivering myself to sleep and that awful fear that my sister was gone forever. Then, Camila blinks, and I’m filled with the warmth of knowing she would return to me and that we would both live happily ever after with the perfectly imperfect Winchester brothers from Lawrence, Kansas.

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#dean winchester smut

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matenrou-fan · 1 year

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Umm. Hi. I'm a little worried about this one but I'll give it a shot.

Could I request Hifumi with a female s/o who leads sort of a double-life?

During the day, she's a beautiful writer that everybody knows. Hifumi is a big fan of her work.

At night, she cross-dresses as a man at the host club Hifumi works at as a popular male host known for charming people with her poems.

Hifumi is unaware she's a woman (and the same person) until one night in an alley.

While walking home, he sees her get into a fight with a bigger man she bumped into. The man ends up pulling off her wig and ripping the front of her shirt, exposing her. Hifumi is surprised but jumps in to save her from the guy before he punches her.

She's ashamed but Hifumi gently comforts her. He asks why she's living a double-life and learns that she has a really greedy dad that's been mooching off of her for gambling money.

Hifumi is, of course, pissed. Who does that to their own kid? He offers to pay her dad despite her telling him not to, that her father will hurt him. He says that if it's too protect her, an innocent woman, hell do anything.

S/O gets so happy she embraces him and kisses him on the cheek.

Hifumi with a fem! s/o who's leads a double life

Hii sweetheart!! It's actually really specific but I like the idea so here it is..! Hope you enjoy it, contact me if something is wrong..! xx

Femreader, hurt/comfort, cross-dressing, mention of abuse and fight;; 2132 words;;

Also male pronounces to the part where reader is in her fake personality;; Y/n - your name, N/n - nickname (for host club)

"Aa~ah, such a wonderful story..!" - Hifumi sighs, closing the new book that he was reading. It was almost the time to get ready for his shift in the host club, and he should probably stop, but the story was so interesting, he couldn't get enough..! How can he stop in the middle?! Maybe he has enough time to read another chapter, just one more, and he will go dress up..? Or he already told himself that before, probably two or three chapters ago?

After all, it was a book by his favorite writer, Y/n. Hifumi really can say that he was her biggest fan, as he was always buying all her new stories, following her social media and he also was a member of her fanclub in the local library. He also loved to brag that he became her fan when she just started her career in writing, as he was sure it shows his loyalty.

Sometimes in the evenings he was chatting with Doppo, saying how he wished to meet the mysterious writer in person. But all his friend's replies were mumblings about how he wishes to never meet his stupid boss again..

"She's still a girl, how are you planning to talk with her? Through the wall?" - Doppo asked sometimes, looking at the screen of his laptop with a tired face.

"No~oo..! You know, it will be far in the future when I meet her, I'm sure I will overcome my fear by that date..!" - Hifumi always replied to him, giggling.

Even thinking about this future meeting was enough to make him smile, as Hifumi sighs and gets up, finally leaving a book on the table and taking his suit from the closet. Cheerful and sweet, as always, he was humming to himself, as he started thinking about his shift today. Oh, he hopes to see more of his adorable kittens today. This story in the new book gave him some inspiration for new compliments and now he was ready to pleasure his guests with his service…!

***

It was five minutes before the host club opened, and Hifumi was standing in front of the big mirror in the locker room, fixing his blonde hair. He then heard footsteps and noticed that his co-workers, N/n, were also here now.

"Good evening, Hifumi-san" - another host bowed a little and smiled.

"Ah, my dear friend, stop it! I'm just a servant, not a master, stop adding "san" in the end" - Hifumi chuckled, his face glowing and charming smile playing on his lips as he was already in his "gigolo" mode - "After all, all my closest friends just call me Hifumi.."

"But you're the most popular host in Shinjuku. Or maybe in the whole of Japan.." - N/n softly sigh, it was hard not to laugh when Hifumi was so glamorous even with his co-workers - "I think I should call you like that in respect of your hard work and acceptance of how far I am from you.."

"Ho~ho, you are talking in such a literary language, N/n..! Then I also should call you like that in respect of your amazing poems! I wonder what kind of story you will bring to our delight today.." - Hifumi whispers, getting closer to N/n.

"It's a secret. But I hope you will hear them too and enjoy my little writings.." - was the simple answer, as a young man opened the door to the club, looking at Hifumi - "I think it's our time to shine.."

'What a poetic and talented person he is, huh..' - Hifumi thought, when he got inside the bright hall, the first visitors were already stepping inside. Gigolo immediately gets closer to them, welcoming them into the club and charming these new kittens with his pompous behavior.

N/n was an interesting person for him, as the poems that this host used to amuse people were so good and fascinating. They kinda reminded Hifumi of the writing style of Y/n, and he was curious, maybe his co-worker is also her big fan? It would be just great, as you two always get along well, maybe you can become friends? It's probably better to discuss new books with N/n, who has a taste in literature, than with Doppo who always falls asleep during Hifumi's chit chats about Y/n.

For some reason Hifumi always doesn't have enough time to talk with him before or after work, as N/n always hurry up to his home after shift ends, and he has never been seen in the streets or in stores.. Nothing, except for his name, was known.

But enough of this secrecy!! Today Hifumi finally determined that it's time to speak properly with N/n. It's time to tell him how much Hifumi appreciates his wonderful imagination and perfect writing skills.

As he keeps serving clients he also starts to wonder, maybe there is even more than just poems, maybe his co-worker is also trying to write stories or books?! And maybe if Hifumi becomes friends with this mysterious guy and supports him in his writings.. Maybe he will get a chance to meet Y/n, as N/n will be in this "literature society" then and will introduce Hifumi as his closest friend to her..!

So.. yeah, big plans were built up in Hifumi's mind, and he didn't notice how fast the shift ended. As he escorted the last guests out of the club, he hurried up to the locker room just to find that he was alone, N/n was already on his way home.

"No..! Wait..!" - he exclaimed, running out from the building, in such a hurry that he didn't even change from his gray suit. He looked around just to notice that his target was already walking into the alley that was on another end of street. - "N/n..!"

It takes some time to run to that alley, and when Hifumi finally got here, breathing heavily, he was horrified to see a picture that unfolded before him:

N/n was standing here, in front of a much bigger man who looked kind of angry. Even if Hifumi didn't hear the beginning of their dialogue, he was sure that there's a mistake, as N/n was always so gentle and tactful, he can't annoy anyone..! But it was clearly visible that the stranger had another opinion as he ran tilting at him with fists.

"Hey, stop..!" - Hifumi screams when a big mad man suddenly grabs N/n by collar with a large hand, pulling his hair with another one. Stranger was much more powerful and Hifumi got scared that he would hurt his co-worker really badly and he quickly got closer to help.

But the sudden sound of ripping clothing stopped him as he was shocked once again. All this time N/n was.. a girl?! Hifumi can clearly see a bra through the tear in her shirt now and he immediately looks away with a little blush just to notice her natural hair, as her wig was now in hands of an angry man.

"If you want some little fight, you should choose an equal opponent..!" - he smirk, taking his hypmic from pocket - "Bring it..!"

All three figures were stunned in place for a moment, as everyone was a little bit shocked. Girl quickly covered herself with hands, ashamed, but it didn't stop now confused but still angry stranger. He throw wig away, clenching his fist, still wanting to attack.. Despite Hifumi get surprised he still was in his gray jacket so he didn't get scared by the female and stood up between them, ready to defend her.

***

"Thanks…" - you mumble, pulling your jacket as much as you can to cover your chest. It was not that windy or cold but it was kinda embarrassing to walk like that, especially in front of your co-worker Hifumi.

"That's nothing, darling.. Anyone would do that in my place, so don't be ashamed, kitten. I'm sure this little freak will end up in jail pretty soon.." - he nodded and bit his tongue, as his host mode was still playing in him and he started to give pet names for you too. He hides his hypmic again and looks at you with a concentrated face - "You are not hurted? What is your real name..?"

"Y/n.." - you whisper, and his eyes widened for a moment. He steps closer, thinking if it's a coincidence, but no.. That was actually Y/n, his favorite writer..!

"Oh my.. it's like all my dreams come true… Are you actually Y/n, that Y/n who writes books and stuff?!" - it was hard to control his voice, as he could feel his heart beating faster and faster.

"Sh… Yes, that's me.." - you looked around with a little panic in your eyes. - "Please, don't tell anyone about it, okay? It would probably be almost a scandal if the media would know about this.."

"I will keep my mouth shut for the rest of my life, if it's needed. Actually, I also have a similar secret.." - he touches his suit, his face gets paler and his gaze saddened - "Without this jacket I'm not that pompous and charming.. I can't even say "hi" to a girl as I'm too afraid.."

You look at him really surprised. Hifumi himself was quite a popular celebrity and you heard about that before, but thought that it's just rumors. Now you feel a little bit more ashamed. You remember that sometimes before shifts he was talking with you normally without his suit cause he didn't know that you're a girl, and for some reason it felt like betrayal.

"I.. I'm sorry, I didn't know that.." - you mumble, looking away.

"It's okay.. But may I ask you why you decided to live.. that double life?" - he was really curious. There's so many questions that he has for you! But before he wanted to hear the main truth.

"I.. please promise that you will not tell this to anybody too.." - your voice started trembling a little and Hifumi furrowed his brows, noticing your worried expression - "I need to work several jobs because of my father.."

"Oh.. I'm so sorry.." - Hifumi's first thought was about some serious illness and that you need so much money to pay for the hospital, but you shake your head and sigh.

"My dad is a gambler. He can't find himself a job as he can't stop playing even for a day, so I'm the one who's supported my family.." - you whimper and get silent, feeling as your throat tightens and tears start to tickle your eyes. It was so hard to do all that alone, as you never complained to anyone before, too embarrassed of that life..

But Hifumi gets closer, his warm hand touching your shoulder as he looks at you with compassion in his soft gaze.

"Y/n.. Don't be sad, it's not your fault. You're really a wonderful person, holding that much in yourself and still being able to smile so bright every day.." - he embraces you, letting you lean to his chest and cry out all that stress. His arms caressing you back softly as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, soothing you with his calm voice.

Despite his heart beating so fast after he hears such a terrifying story, he tries to control himself. Hifumi was so pissed off by your father, but he needs to calm down himself so he can calm down you too.. so he breathe deeply and whisper:

"Hey.. I can pay your dad instead of you.." - that was his sudden offer - "You should save your money and use them to raise your writing skills, you will have a great future with such passion in books..!"

You look up at him with widened wet eyes and with puffy red cheeks, with a little hope in your tired gaze, but then look away again:

"No, I can't.. I really appreciate your words, but I don't want my father to hurt you.."

"I don't care if he tries to do something. If it means I can protect such innocent, sincere and talented woman, I will do anything. I'm your big fan and I can't stand aside when you are being abused like this.." - he patted your head and gave you a little smile.

His words touch your soul and you feel like you can start to cry again, this time from joy. You nod a little and embrace him, hugging tightly. Hifumi giggles a little but when you kiss his cheek he gets silent, a little blush appears on his surprised face.

"Well, well, wait~ I still didn't do anything in particular.." - he laughed a little, holding you tightly to himself - "You'll have time to thank me later, okay?"

#hypmic x reader #hypmic imagines #hypmic #hypnosis mic hifumi #hypmic hifumi #hifumi x reader #hifumi izanami #Hifumi Izanami x reader

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catladyoftheyr · 3 months

Text

Summer Vacation chapter 1/??

You kissed me in a way that’s gonna screw me up forever

Characters: Bella x Edward

Summary: Bella’s grounded after the events of the first book so Edward’s been sneaking into her room at night to spend time together. They end up kissing and things get a little steamy.

Word count: 839

A/N: my favorite parts of twilight are just Bella and Edward being cute together. I love them doing regular teenage things and I wish Stephanie Myer had given us content of them just being teenagers over the summer. This series is just me writing my ideal summer romance bc I have twilight brainrot. Edward might be slightly out of character idk and idc. This is my MY version of him 🫡

Edward and I had only been dating for a couple months officially. So much has happened since I moved to Forks in January that it’s felt like ages. It hasn’t even been a month since what Charlie had started calling The Incident when I stormed out of the house and told Charlie I couldn’t be trapped here like my mom. I still felt guilty for intentionally hurting his feelings, especially since I couldn’t tell him the truth. “Hey dad, my boyfriend and his entire family are vampires and another vampire tried to kill me in the ballet studio I went to as a kid.” Would probably make Charlie institutionalize me.

I heard my window softly slide open and Edward materialized in my bedroom. This had become a habit since I was still technically grounded. Charlie had tried to convince me to stop seeing Edward, and when that failed he’d declared that I was grounded until further notice. “Hi,” I whispered, unsure if Charlie was asleep yet. “You can pick the movie tonight.” I’d been saving my wages from my part-time job and managed to buy a small TV and DVD player from a local thrift shop. Edward rummaged carefully through the small stack of DVDs and held up a copy of Pride and Prejudice before sliding the disc in. We sat next to each other in my bed and Edward planted a light kiss on the top of my head.

“You smell like coconut,” he murmured.

“New shampoo”

“How long does Charlie plan on keeping you locked up in the house for?”

“Probably forever at this rate. I keep trying to convince him that I've learned my lesson but I feel like he’s not budging. He thinks you’re a bad influence.” I can't say I entirely blamed Charlie. He was doing his best to parent me on his own and I wasn’t making it very easy lately. Still, I wish he’d ease up a little. I leaned my head against Edward’s shoulder, wanting to feel the coolness of his skin. His eyes were focused on the screen but my gut told me he wasn’t paying attention. I wished I could know what he was thinking about, and I know he wished the same of me.

I traced the veins in his hands with my fingers. Edward stiffed and I looked up at him for the signal to continue. He nodded and my fingers continued to tread lightly up his arms. Physical intimacy was still largely uncharted territory in our relationship. I wanted so desperately to allow us to be less restrained with how we touched each other but we both knew the risks. I knelt and turned to face him on the bed and cupped his jaw gently in my hands. Edward was if a marble statue of a Greek God had come to life. He was classically beautiful and his features were stern but gentle underneath. I closed the gap between us and let our lips connect.

His lips were cold at first but quickly warmed with mine on them. Edward didn’t technically need to breathe but I felt cool air hit my face as we kissed. I felt Edward’s hands grip my hair and pull me closer. We broke apart so I could breathe and I locked my eyes in his. His eyes darkened with passion and he let his hands fall from my hair. “Do you want to keep going?” He asked. I nodded fervently and slid his hands down to my hips. Edward lifted me onto his lap and I locked my legs behind him. I was tired of being careful and controlled. I needed to touch him. Our lips met again and I moaned softly. I gripped my hands into his hair and tried to leverage myself even closer. His hands dug into my hips firmly. Even in passion he was in control of himself; he could snap me in half if he wasn’t cautious but I didn’t care anymore.

Edward pulled back to look at me. “You’re so beautiful, Bella” he whispered in the dark before his lips moved to my neck. I gasped and wrapped my arms around him tighter, digging my nails into his shoulders. He sucked lightly, surely intending to leave a mark. He’d told me that vampires marked their mates but this was new behavior for Edward. I whispered as he made his way to my collarbones, planting light kisses all the way down. “I love you” he said softly.

“I love you too. Keep going please” I said breathlessly. Just as Edward was about to oblige my request there were footsteps in the hallway. We both froze and I silently prayed for Charlie to go back to bed. The only sound in the dark room was my breathing and the television. Charlie knocked lightly on my door and I swore under my breath. “Yeah?” I called out.

“Can you turn the volume down please? I have to be up early tomorrow. Goodnight, Bells.”

“Okay I will. Goodnight, Dad.”

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chattahoochiecoochie · 2 years

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Listen y’all. I haven’t watched Volume 2 but I’ve seen bits here and there. It doesn’t end well, that much I know for sure. Soooo, this is how it should have fucking gone for them. No debates.

- Prom came and went. They weren’t official then, and she went alone, but by graduation they had a label, and he swung her around his room to some stupid pop song she liked.

- School ended and he crossed the stage with a smile on his face, rewarded only by the sight of her cheering for him in the crowd.

- She took up her job as a lifeguard again to make money before college started, and he picked up a few hours at Thatcher tire–not because he wanted to work, but because spoiling Chrissy was running up a tab.

- They spent every night together, in his van, whispering in her bedroom, partying in his.

- June rolled by and July followed, before long, August was upon them, its hand outstretched to take her away.

- Eddie didn’t get a class ring, a diploma was more than enough. So instead, he drops her at the airport with a suitcase full of band tees, and his favorite ring on a chain.

- “You don’t have to wear it.” He says. “I’ll wear it every day.” She says back.

- He spends the next week on the phone with her, laying on the floor of his room in quiet misery.

- She’s excited, cheerful every time they talk, and it takes everything inside him to sound happy for her.

- Her classes start August 31st. September 1st, he takes a job at the plant with Uncle Wayne. Thatchers is fun, but it doesn’t pay like he needs it too.

- She’s gone now, making something of herself. He’s going to do the same. He’ll be ready when she comes back to him.

- Six months later, every penny saved, he buys a ring. When she comes for Christmas that year, he hides it in Wayne’s room. It’s been in his top drawer, but she’s planning to go through that for more of his tshirts.

- “Maybe I could send them back to you, when they stop smelling like you. And you can send me some more?”

- They spend the holiday apart. It will be the last time he lets that happen, he swears.

- When she comes for Spring Break, he introduces himself to her parents, and makes it over for Easter.

- His hair is too long, her dad says, he has no manners, her mom says.

- Sending her away the second summer is harder than the first. They have something now. He cries in his van outside the airport, and watches through red eyes as her plane takes off.

- It’s the spring of her junior year when he finally has the money to fly out.

- She shows him off like a trophy, parading him through the sorority house like a show pony. Everyone has heard of him.

- “This is my boyfriend, Eddie.” She blushes down to her toes every time she introduces him and it makes his heart ache. The ring is back in Hawkins, and with every word, it burns a deeper hole in his dresser.

- He flies out with her parents for graduation. They buy his ticket, a graduation gift to her. The three of them have conspired to surprise her, she thinks he can’t get the time off work, and bursts into tears at the sight of him at the airport.

- That June, summer of ‘91, he finally digs the ring out of his room, and on a late night walk to their old table in the forest, he pops the question.

- “Oh Eddie, of course.”

- They are married in July.

- It’s a quiet affair, close friends and family only. The kids, recently graduated themselves show up, teeth finally straight, nerves settled. A few old cheer friends come over for the reception, but a sorority sister fills in as maid of honor. Gareth, now used to this new version of Eddie, grins when asked to be best man.

- August, they take back the month, wrenching it free from the clock to make it their own.

- There’s an apartment in Chicago waiting for them. She’s got a graduate degree to get, and he’s transferred to a plant inside the city limits.

- “Nintety one baby. It’s our year. It’s our life.”

- He’s got a new car now, a Honda Accord that just barely fit the budget, and on the drive out of town, he lets her pick the radio station. They’ve hit the city range when a new band comes on. Nirvana. His world is rocked, and they stop at a record store just outside of town.

- The bleach album plays over their move, the soundtrack to the beginning of their new life.

- “I can get a job down the street, before school starts, at that bakery we saw? They had a sign in the window, for a counter girl!”

- “I’ve got a friend at a bar across town, said he’ll let me play a few nights as backup to start out.”

- The year is 1991, they are alive and married and fresh eyed. It will be their year. It will be their life.

I’ll be back to write this fic, in due time. It’s the story they fucking deserved.

#fuck I'm crying rn #brainrot for them #it doesn't end well i can just feel it #just give my boy his happy ending goddammit #eddissy #headcanons #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson

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bots-and-cons · 1 year

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This is just me ranting about my money situation and such, so no need to read if you don’t feel like it.

I have 77 euros on my bank account and that’s supposed to last me for the rest of the month. I probably should cancel all my subscriptions like disney+ and youtube premium, but that would probably take the last of my will to live so I refuse to do so. I paid for those this month already though so not really use anyway for this month.

I kinda need a new hoodie which would be 30e +delivery so I’m considering that, because I can pay it next month when I hopefully get money, or pay it in parts. The ones I ordered earlier this year weren’t correctly sized on the website, so I gave them to my brother. Too small for me you see. I owe him 300 euros too, so I hoped I could buy some patience with the hoodies, and I guess I did, because he hasn’t asked for his money. In this case I’m talking about my brother E who is away studying in another town.

I have one good hoodie that I wear basically all the time. I just wash it on the weekend or when I don’t need to go anywhere. I would like something to keep me warm in the winter because it’s starting to be pretty old and worn. I don’t really have many thick shirts and it was like -5 degrees celsius today and it’s just going to keep getting colder. I’m obviously not walking around without a winter jacket but still.

I’m trying to manage my money, but you know a 45 euro insurance bill kinda fucked my shit up, because I wasn’t expecting it until the end of the year. It’s paid though. I don’t really need money for other than food for the rest of the month, but fucking hell next month? Oh boy.

I can’t take money from anyone either, unless it’s cash, because otherwise it will show on my bank account. I’m basically living on benefits from the government, housing money and enough so I barely get by. I’m hoping to get on a sick pay of sorts, like the thing they pay you if you’re not able to study or go to work, but that’s not guaranteed since I need a doctor’s note and shit. Then they have to evaluate my ability to work and then they decide if I get money or not. The reason I’m hoping to get on the sick pay thing, is because the government is gonna stop paying me that other benefit I was on, that I was getting by on. The sick pay thing would only be for December hopefully, because I’m hoping to get to school in January. The schools are taking applications next week, and I’m applying to four places, because that’s basically as many as there are for what I want to study at this time of year.

Then there’s of course the issue with the school payment but I’m not gonna worry about that before I even know if I got in. Or I tell myself I’m not gonna worry and then have major stress about it anyway.

My brother T, who lives with me, has been a bit stingy with his money that goes towards our shared expenses. He’s got like 2500 euros saved and he’s supposed to pay me 200 euros a month as rent and for food. BUT my rent is 467e and on top of that there’s a 40e water bill and a 75e electricity bill, so I feel like he should pay me even more, but he doesn’t want to and I’m tired of arguing about it with him so I just settled for the 200e a month. Granted he doesn’t currently have an income, but he’s supposed to start a sort of rehabilitation program soon, during which he will receive financial aid from the government or whatever. He’s 17 and our parents are supposed to pay me because he lives with me and I pay for pretty much all the everyday things, which is like 400e a month. And that’s not even counting electricity. Our mom does pay, dad though? Not so much.

I just filled out an xmas aid application for our local congregation’s xmas aid program thingy, so I’m hoping I can get some help from there next month. I just need to go give it to the deacon of our church or drop it in the church’s mail box. I’m not a religious person or anything, but since I’m in the workshop that's for young unemployed people, they just gave all of us who were there an application, because basically all of us are struggling.

#ony speaks

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dis--mayed · 2 months

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Here are some notes I made about my parents...

While my parents made me feel like we didn’t have enough money, for things like my braces, they were buying cigarettes and dad's drugs. We, also, got an addition on our home, new kitchen flooring, a patio, and a renovated bathroom. They even paid insurance on a van that just sat in our driveway. When I got $4200 from suing, they took half of it to pay bills. (The rest, apparently, went towards my braces, but this was after we sold our home, when I was 23 and I sued when I was 18…)

Dad - has been abusing drugs and complaining to me about my mom and her family for my entire life. I grew up watching him scream at mom about my brother, and in my late teens, about money. He started passing out, high with cigarettes, in my early teens. He told me that any one of his siblings would take him in and he's only staying with my mom "for me."

Willingly stayed in a nursing home 2+ months longer than he had to avoid my brother and mom, guilt tripped me about not visiting or calling every day and would make threats to beat mom up if she doesn’t kick my brother out, said mom would choose my brother over me

Told me not to take my frustration with my brother out on mom because it will make her sick, has said that, if something happens to my brother, mom will lose her mind

Doesn’t want to do things with my mom and scolds me when I don’t go out shopping with her.

Mom - Took care of her from when I was 14-21 when she had gallbladder attacks, she started turning to me to have emotional breakdowns when I was 16, has continued treating me like an extra limb, emotional support animal, empty void for her emotions; constantly guilt trips me into taking care of “the family.” Comes into my room when I’m sleeping almost every night and multiple times, sometimes.

expects to help her clean up uncle's mess and go food shopping for him, (expected me to) fix up sheds to save my brother money, so he can spend more money on weed and vapes and sit in our house smoking and eating our food.

When I complain about having to help her fix up the house, she says it’s going to be mine, one day, as if it’s not going to my brothers and cousins, as well.

Helped me drop out of high school, drove me to get my GED and to take the written exam for driving, and tried getting me on SSI, but she was, also, trauma dumping on me as she drove me to and from school and guilt tripping me into doing things with her because she felt suicidal and said she had thoughts of crashing her car into a tree. She told me she didn’t kill herself because I needed her. She, also, had me read the horrendous text messages Bob sent her.

Sometimes, excuses dad’s drug abuse; was in physical pain, lost his parents, thinks he’s dying, his dad beat him as a child, was molested by his babysitter, etc.

Says that I’m “spoiled” for having the only room in the house

Shames me both into eating and for eating what she cooks, acts like I’m starving myself, or gets mad at me because she cooked, if I don’t want what she made. Kept doing my laundry, and ignoring me repeatedly asking her not to, until I was 29.

Said I always focus on the negatives, should remember the "good times," excuses traumatizing me by saying she “was” sick, denies turning to me to have emotional breakdowns

My brother isn't on meds or going to therapy because she doesn’t want him screaming at her and abusing drugs

She’ll “ask” me for permission to do things, like go to the bathroom, or she’ll blame me for why she doesn’t do certain things, like dye her hair purple, because I don’t like that color.

She talks about how much of a “good person” she is, for sharing her things, and complains about how no one respects her when she “does everything” for everyone, complaining to me, especially, about how tired and shitty she feels when she doesn't even take care of herself in any way.

#dysfunctional family #toxic environment #toxic parents #childhood abuse #toxic family #parental abuse #emotional abuse #psychological abuse #when I say some it's because there's more....#a lot more #just look at my other posts....#enmeshment #triangulation

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crimsonmoonlite · 5 months

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Beaufort Swan - Twilight - 18+ Omegaverse - 2. I Am Fine

October 3rd, 2022 9:29 AM "Dad..." Beau covered his face with his free hand, embarrassed. His father had been laying into Tyler hard. The boy looked like he was tearing up. He felt so bad. "I'm fine, okay. It doesn't even hurt anymore,"

"You are not fine. Your wrist is sprained," Charlie huffed, a little thrown by Beau finally saying, Father. Charlie joined Tyler's parents in glaring down at him. He extended his hand out. "Wallet," Charlie said, and Tyler struggled with pulling it out of his pocket.

The Sheriff had snatched the wallet away from the boy, grabbed the Driver's License, and tossed it back into Tyler's lap. Charlie took the knife out of his pocket, and Beau gasped as Tyler sighed, thinking he deserved his Driver's License destroyed.

"Daddy, stop," Beau hopped off the bed quickly and stopped his father from cutting the ID in half. He went to hand it to Tyler, but the father of the reckless driver intercepted it.

"I am so sorry about this, Sheriff Charlie, Beau... This is Tyler's final straw. He will not get his license back until he completes a safe driver's course... and will not get behind the wheel until he pays off both Beau and his hospital bills and saves up for a new truck," Mr. Crowley explained. "Isn't that right, Tyler?"

"Yes sir," Tyler nodded, "Beau, I am-"

"I know, you don't have to say it anymore, Ty... just be safer next time," Beau was tired of Tyler apologizing, so Beau hugged him to get him shut up. He had said it about fifty times since they had been at the hospital. Charlie placed a hand on Beau's shoulder, proud at how sweet and forgiving his son was.

Before he continued to lay into him, Beau grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out of the room. "Charlie... I mean, I know I was almost seriously hurt, but you almost made him cry,"

"Beau, I wouldn't know what to do with myself if anything ever happened to you," Charlie showed his son how worried he was. Beau and Charlie were never close, partly to do with Renee and then Beau. When Beau asked to come to live with his father, it was out of guilt. When he grew up enough to say he didn't want to go to Forks during the summers when he was 8.

Beau felt he was stopping his mom from traveling the world with her new husband. Things had been awkward, but Charlie had shown that he loved Beau by buying the truck and keeping his room in its original state.

He had never seen his father so upset. He had tears in his eyes. Beau gaped his mouth open, surprised... He had been hurt before but never reacted to this, not even by his mom. When he was hospitalized with pneumonia two years ago, Charlie and Renee would be in the room with Beau, but not together because they were so volatile.

Charlie would sit awkwardly, distract himself while watching Beau, and show his emotions later. Renee held in her emotions because she had to be a single mom. If she cried, then Beau would worry.

Charlie went to hug his son, but it was more of an air hug because he didn't want to hurt him. Beau rolled his eyes and hugged his father, "My wrist is sprained, Dad. I am not in a full body cast," he said, allowing his father to squeeze him. "Okay... I can still have the wind knocked out of me, though," Beau patted Charlie on the back because he was being squeezed so tight.

"Sorry, Buddy," He said, trying to hide his tears and sniffling so as not to scare off Beau. Like father, like son, Charlie would always get freaked out by emotions. "Who drove you here? Do you want me to drop you off at the house?" he asked.

He pointed over to Edward, peeking around the corner down the hallway. When he was spotted, he quickly stepped away, almost like it would stop Beau and Charlie from thinking he wasn't eavesdropping.

Charlie knew Edward was here but thought he had been with his father. Sometimes, Edward would shadow his father on less serious cases. "What is it?" He asked. Charlie looked confused.

"I'm sorry... I don't want to say anything offensive," Charlie said, and Beau raised his eyebrows. "I am just confused... I thought you weren't talking to him anymore; I know you have a crush on him, and times like these will stir up feelings-" Charlie rambled, further confusing his son. "What I am trying to say is if Edward doesn't give attention to you all the time, then you shouldn't pay him any attention,"

"Thank you... but it wasn't like that," Beau scratched his hand through his hair, "He kind of saved me," He said, and Charlie looked shocked. Edward said nothing about saving Beau. He said he was trying to get his father or staff to see Beau faster.

"Saved you?"

"I don't know... it happened so fast, he pulled me out of the way," Beau told him. He winced when he heard his father's radio go off. "Do you need to go?"

"No, I'm good," Charlie lied, and Beau caught it. When Charlie lied, he showed his dimples and raised an eyebrow.

"I am okay, Dad, I promise," Beau chuckled. His father smiled when he called him Dad again. "Edward will drive us back to school after I am okayed to go. "I am okay. Please go," Beau hugged him when his radio went off again. Charlie and Beau entered into a staring contest, but Charlie always lost meaning he would give in.

"Edward," Charlie said, and Beau's smirk morphed into a frown. He glared at his father and shook his head. Edward popped out of the corner again like he was in trouble, "Come here, Son,"

"Hello, Sir..."

"Thank you for saving my son," Charlie held out his hand, and Edward shook it, "Beau and I would like it if you would come over to Dinner someday this week so we can show our appreciation," He said, and Beau blushed. Edward didn't know what to say. Charlie was correct about Edward being hot and cold with Beau.

"I will have to run it by my father, but I would love that, Sheriff Swan," Edward beamed a smile at the man, "It looks like you are needed. I will keep Beau safe... as difficult as that is," he said making Charlie laugh, Beau was quite clumsy.

"Tell me when you are headed back to school, then when you are headed home," Charlie said, ruffling Beau's hair before picking up his radio and rushing out to the car.

"Are you okay?" Edward asked.

"Yeah, my wrist Is just sprained, see," Beau said, showing his left hand in a splint. It was so minor that they could have gotten the splint from Walmart. Beau cringed a little when cold, slender fingers held up his forearm. Edward looked upset. The splint on his wrist might as well have been a cast in his eyes. "Tyler is way worse... he has whiplash and a concussion."

"I'm sorry...."

"What?" Beau asked, confused, "Dude, you saved my life, and you are worried about my hand being sprained?"

"I should have been there sooner," Edward whispered to himself. They were brought back to reality when they moved out of the way of a couple of nurses. Beau brought his hand close to his chest, cradling it with his non-injured hand.

"How did you get to me so fast?" Beau asked.

"Hmm?" He asked, still guilty about letting Beau get hurt.

"You were near the school's entrance... I was in a different part of the parking lot," Beau explained, "How did you get to me so fast... how did you stop Tyler's truck with your hand."

"Adrenaline..." Edward said. The family had devised an excuse while he was back in X-rays. Edward tried to use his charm by tugging some of Beau's shoulder-length, wavy black hair behind his ear. Before meeting Beau, he had never met a meeker yet confident person. He was only human, so Edward's charm worked, but he shook his head to stay focused.

"Have you ever heard of what people have done when there is an adrenaline rush? A mother in Chicago pushed a car off her kid after a pileup-" Edward went on. Times like these are why he didn't talk much to Beau... his face was blank, and he couldn't tap into his mind.

"Okay..." Beau said, not believing Edward; he had a feeling that he wouldn't tell him the truth anyway.

"Let's get you back in the room. It would help if you rested," Edward decided, but Beau stopped him and he raised his eyebrow inquisitively.

"I don't want to go back in there... Tyler will continue to apologize. I am fine." Please Vote, Comment, Add to your lists, and share this story with a friend:).

AO3

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tobiokuns · 3 years

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— surprise pregnancy with haikyuu boys

summary: you hadn’t planned for this to happen. neither of you had. but it had, and now you had to tell him.

characters: kageyama tobio, miya atsumu, akaashi keiji

tags: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, some humor, brief mention of abortion, implied body image insecurities, happy ending

— kageyama tobio

you wring your hands as you lean against the doorjamb, anxiously waiting for kageyama to come home. he’d had a long week, you know, but your first appointment with your doctor is on monday, and you think he’d like to be there if possible. at least, you’d put it off long enough.

the click of the lock unlatching and the familiar turn of the knob raises your attention. you feel like you’re going to choke under the pressure, and even seeing his face doesn’t calm you down.

if anything, you’re even more nervous, seeing the sweat on his brow.

“tobio—” you call over to him when he walks through the door, before you lose your nerve, “i’m pregnant.”

there’s a terse silence, even though kageyama just looks confused. your boyfriend blinks once, twice, and scrunches his eyebrows like he always does when he’s thinking hard, and just stares. your heart pounds in your chest.

“...but i just signed onto a new team,” he says, finally.

you make a sound of affirmation. “yeah, i know,” you sigh, smiling tightly, “but we can make it work, right?”

he kinda looks like he does when he’s setting, in deep concentration, kind of unhappy. you wait for him to say something, anything, but the silence stretches on, for so long that you think you’ll have a heart attack.

“my first doctor’s appointment is on monday,” you tell him, trying to nudge him into saying something, “do you want to come with me?”

“i can’t, i have practice,” he blurts out almost automatically, and you nod. of course he does. it’s silent for a while, and then he’s speaking again. “can’t you...” he swallows, looking away, “...not have the baby?”

don’t lose your shit, you tell yourself, don’t lose your shit. you tamp down the growing anger and nod again, making another vague humming noise.

“yeah, i could,” you agree, voice eerily quiet, “but i want the baby, tobio.”

“okay,” he nods, “...do what you want, then.”

your heart drops. you can’t see his face, not with his bangs covering his eyes, but you stare at him for a while anyway, your own eyes stinging. you silently shuffle back into the house, leaving him standing in the doorway.

it’s awkward when he slips into bed that night. you keep your back to him, but you can almost feel his gaze on the ceiling. you don’t know when he sleeps, or if he ever does. by the time you wake up, he’s wrapped around you, leg thrown over yours, his big hand rubbing over your still flat stomach under your shirt.

he jolts awake as soon as you stir, dropping his lips against your neck and nuzzling you.

“i’m sorry about last night,” he murmurs immediately, and you’re sure he’s pouting. “y-you caught me off guard. i want it. the... the baby. with you.”

you sigh, staring at the wall opposite from you. you think of having to move again, back to japan this time. you thought that would be good for you and kageyama, but his reaction last night...

“are you sure?” you ask, covering his hand with yours, missing some of the bravado you had, “we can...”

“no,” he sounds almost childish, and you smile, wondering how he’ll be as a father, “no, i’m—i’m sure.”

his arms tighten around you. it’s not often that you get to cuddle in the morning with kageyama, not when he’s always going for jogs and volleyball practice. so you lean back, telling yourself that everything will be just fine.

— miya atsumu

“y’know, y/n...” your boyfriend says to you one day, “yer gettin’ kinda... like, fat...”

you whip your head around to stare at him, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. he cowers instinctively, waiting for you to hit him like you usually do, but your arm stops midair before you let it drop.

you wanted to hide this a little longer, because to be honest, you were scared. scared of his reaction, scared he wouldn’t want you, scared you’d be left alone. but you sigh, knowing you couldn’t anymore, and slump against the couch.

“atsumu...” you lower your voice, and instantly he cowers more.

“i‘m sorry! i didn’t mean it like that!” he yells, hands covering his face, “don’t hit me, i’m beggin—”

“no, atsumu,” you sigh, taking his hands into yours, “listen to me.”

he sees how serious your expression is and quiets down, bowing his head and leaning closer to you. the idiot still probably thinks you’re mad because he called you fat, you think. you would’ve laughed if you didn’t feel like puking at this moment.

“i’m pregnant,” you say, taking a deep breath, “we’re gonna have a baby.”

“hah?” he retorts quickly, “we’re what? no, we’re not.”

you watch as his face changes, and then he’s off again. “no, y/n, ya can’t be pregnant. i can’t be a dad. have ya met me? samu doesn’t even have a kid yet, ‘nd that’s like, the one thing i don’t wanna beat him at and— goddammit, i shoulda used condoms—”

“atsumu,” you almost scream, the panic bubbling up in your chest, “do you not want to do this with me?”

“but, weren’t ya on the pill or somethin’? how could this happen?” he acts as if he hadn’t heard your question,” y/n, are ya sure it’s min—”

you can’t take it anymore and burst out crying. you don’t even pay attention to the fact that he just accused you of cheating. the stress from the weeks of keeping this to yourself explodes and you sob loudly, louder than atsumu’s panicked rambling.

“shit—” he curses, seeing your tears, and quickly taking your hands into his, “y/n, ’m sorry, i—it’s just—i’m gonna be a horrible dad, ya know? i don’t know if i can do this, it’s like... i’m not very reliable ‘nd ma always said—”

“but,” you sniffle through your tears, “aren’t we doing this together?”

he nods slowly, and then moves to rest his head on your chest. he tentatively puts a hand on your stomach, rubbing his index finger over it as if it were foreign to him.

“yeah,” he agrees quietly, “we’re doing this together.”

— akaashi keiji

you knew akaashi hadn’t wanted a child, not yet at least. you knew that, and yet when he said okay the night you told him you were pregnant, you were naive enough to think that it was actually okay.

he works, all the time, very hard. it only made sense, he had told you he needed to, in order to get to where he wanted to be. but it left you many nights, belly and feet swollen, joints aching, alone on the couch, wondering what you were doing.

did you eat your vitamins? he asks softly every morning without fail. but that was it.

you went to doctor’s appointments alone, you shopped for baby clothes alone, and you stared at the empty four walls of the baby’s room alone. you were too afraid to buy furniture for it: it seemed too permanent, especially when being pregnant seemed like a repressed dream every day.

"keiji, ” you call out to him early one morning, before he can leave for work again, “...let’s not have the baby.”

he doesn’t respond and for a moment you can’t even tell if he heard you. but then he’s whipping his head around, as if he had just realized what you said, and scrambles to kneel at your side.

“what’s wrong?” he places a hand on your belly, right beside yours, like he never had, “are you feeling—”

“you’re never here!” you cry, wincing at your own screech, “i don’t want to do this alone, keiji. i can’t do this alone. the baby started kicking yesterday, you know? and you weren’t there. i didn’t even know what to do. i’m not gonna know what to do. god, we need a crib and a c-changing table, and—”

you stop when he lays his head down on your lap.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles faintly, his hot breath seeping through your shirt. the kitchen is silent with your sniffles. you’re so tired, from the pregnancy or everything else, but you tangle your fingers in akaashi’s hair, and it brings you just an ounce of comfort. it’s soft as always, just like it was when you had started dating.

“i’m sorry,” he says again, turning his head to the side to face you, letting your fingers drift over his cheek, “i was taking on more work, to save money for... for the baby. i hadn’t— ...i didn’t realize i was neglecting you, y/n.”

you look down, “y-you were what?”

“i took on a new author,” he tells you, “and i asked around for some freelance work. i think we’re okay financially, but you never know, so i thought it’d be good to have extra—”

“keiji,” you interrupt, voice scratchy, “were you nervous?”

“well, yes,” he admits, leaning into your palm, “but that’s no excuse for leaving you all alone. i can drop the freelance, maybe move most of my work back home—”

you smile, the familiar sound of akaashi overthinking things a buzz in your ears. you brush your thumb over the wrinkles between his eyebrows, tracing the lines on his face, recognizing the way his eyes tighten when he’s serious. he looks up at you.

“do you want to come to the doctor’s with me on thursday?” you sniffle softly, smiling at him.

“...yes,” he nods, almost like a reflex, but you can see him thinking again, his stare blanking. you reach down to intertwine your fingers with his, placing them over your belly. the focus returns to his eyes and he looks reassured, finally smiling back at you.

“yes,” he repeats, “i’ll come with you.”

#hana.fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #kageyama x reader #atsumu x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#ch.multiple

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ltleflrt · 3 years

Note

Hey Carrie! You talked a little the other day about writers' tendency to start a fic too early in the story, and how you see a lot of first scenes that could have been scrapped to improve the story. My question is if you have some tips to recognize while writing that first scene that you are starting too early in the story?

Hello friend!

That's a really good question, and I'll see if I can give an answer that makes sense. I am not a professional, and I'm not educated or trained in this stuff, it's just something that I recognize from years and years and years of voracious reading. And as with all writing advice, I encourage you to take what I'm going to say with a grain of salt and remember that no writing rule is a hard rule, only a guideline.

Also, my advice is going to be pertaining fanfiction, and specifically to AUs. Obviously a published book has an editor with a razor blade going through a manuscript for you, and the problems that bother me in fanfiction crop up in AUs more than Canonverse.

Oh, and every instance of "you" is general, not specific 😜

So I think the main problem that I see is that people are starting with an Info Dump. An Info Dump is not always a bad thing, sometimes it's completely necessary, but it is NOT where you want to start your story. If it absolutely has to be done, it's better to be somewhere in the middle or near the end. When it's something that your characters need to know.

That's an important bit: Do your characters need to know this?

And related to that: Does your audience need to know this for the story to make sense?

And very important follow up: If the answers to the above questions are yes, does the character/audience need to know this RIGHT NOW?

There's a lot of information about your story that YOU need to know. Heck, my notes files are full of sooooooo much stuff that I know about the characters and plot that never reaches the final product.

So when you're reading your first chapter (I say reading, not writing, because sometimes info dumping for your own benefit is good, and then you fix it before you share the story lol), ask yourself those two questions.

So for example:

In an AU where Dean is a tattoo artist, and it's his POV. The story starts with Dean driving to work, and when he gets there he's going to find out that the empty shop next door has been purchased and is going to be a yoga studio. He meets Castiel out front, up on a ladder trying to hang a hand painted sign, and some teens go running buy and knock into the ladder and Dean has to catch Castiel from falling. (Anyone who wants to adopt this idea is welcome to it btw, I would love to read this lol)

The mistake I often see in a first chapter like this is that as Dean is walking to work, there's a whole Info Dump about why he's a tattoo artist instead of a hunter. He'll be ambling along, thinking about his nice little business, and there's info about how his mom died in a fire, and his dad was a jerk, and Dean didn't go to college because he saved his money for Sammy's college fund, and Dean's only passion was art, and Bobby Singer introduced him to a tattoo shop owner who took Dean under his wing, etc.

Question 1, does your character need to know this?: Why is Dean reflecting on his past? Does Castiel need to know this information in order to build a romance with Dean?

Question 2, does your audience need to know this?: Why does this information matter? If Dean's only reflecting on this because you want to make sure your audience knows where the timeline changed and this became an AU, then you're starting too early in your story. Dean doesn't need to know this, and honestly in a lot of cases the reader doesn't need to know this. This is information that should have been left in your notes file.

Question 3, does the character/audience need to know this NOW?: If this information is pertinent to the plot, like maybe there's some trauma there that Castiel might need to know about to develop their relationship, then you don't want to put it HERE, you want to put it in a conversation with Castiel LATER.

If I was writing this AU, I would just start with Dean sipping his coffee, he's kinda tired because reasons, he looks up to see an unusual commotion, and has to drop his coffee and sprint forward to catch Cas. If he's reflecting on anything in this scene, it's going to be whatever made him tired, or how good/bad the coffee is this morning. Since Cas is a new business owner, they can talk about the origins of Dean's business on their first date, because it'll be a relevant response to Castiel talking about the origins of his yoga studio.

And just in general, if Dean's origin story includes a lot of canon elements, like mom dying in a fire, dad being a deadbeat, Sammy being the adorable overachieving Stanford student.... try to hide that info for as long as you can so that the audience is actually curious about it by the time the info might pop up. It's the wild divergences that are more interesting earlier on.

Okay, and then I want to talk about my giant pet peeve for a starting chapter. It's a specific kind of info dump, that often includes the stuff from above, but then goes a step further.

My nemesis, The Daily Grind.

I haven't asked the authors, so I could be wrong about this, but I feel like most of the time when this type of chapter is included in a story it is because the author wants to show the reader that the character's life is boring and meaningless before the plot's inciting incident. I can absolutely see why that might be considered an important detail about the character, but keep in mind if it's boring and meaningless to the character, it's boring and meaningless to your audience.

You know how I said earlier that writing tips should never be hard and fast rules? Well this is in regards to that Show Don't Tell rule, and it's an example of TOO MUCH showing lol

It is possible to do a daily grind in an interesting way, but only if you include a Shake Up right away. And you have to look at the 3 questions a little bit differently.

So for example:

Castiel POV, and he works in an office. His daily routine is to always get up at the same time every day, he goes for his run, he grooms himself, he has his breakfast, he goes to work and talks to Kelly about how Jack's doing in kindergarten for a few minutes before going into his office. Adler comes in to be a prick, Castiel hates him for it, and then he does his reports, has lunch hiding in a corner of the lunch room so that his co-workers will leave him alone, he does more reporting, leaves an hour after his shift technically ends, goes home to a lonely apartment that maybe includes a pet who is the only being that shows him affection, has an unsatisfying dinner of leftover takeout while watching a mindless reality tv show, then he goes to bed.

Ugh.

BORING.

Which, yeah I get it, the point is that his life is boring. But now the story is too, and I've clicked the back button before I can see how exciting it's capable of getting.

Question 1, does your character need to know this?: No. He knows. Poor thing definitely already knows.

Question 2, does your audience need to know this?: Yes, but...

Question 3, does the character/audience need to know this NOW?: Yes, but new question for ya:

Optional Question 4, why does this need to be separate from your plot's inciting incident? The answer to this 4th question is usually that it doesn't.

Chapter 2 of this type of beginning usually shows the shake up of Castiel's day. My advice is to start with the shakeup, and sprinkle in the details of what you would have put into chapter 1 to show the contrast. It's far more interesting to learn how boring Castiel's day is by starting with the shake up.

So, same scenario:

Castiel's alarm doesn't go off for some reason, OH NO HIS ROUTINE IS SHAKEN UP! You're explaining his routine while also stressing him the fuck out because he has to rush, or skip something that he normally needs to do. Action! Interesting! He gets to work late, and has to miss his conversation with Kelly about Jack because she's telling him that Adler's already in his office being a prick because Castiel isn't there waiting for him like he always is. Oh shit, he's pissing off his asshole boss! Conflict! He's so flustered by the shakeups that he misses something on his report, and he gets a call from that new marketing guy Dean Winchester who asks if they can have a meeting about it when Castiel normally takes his lunch. BAM! MEET CUTE OPPORTUNITY! While Castiel is getting all flustered by how pretty Dean is while they talk about TPS reports, he can reflect on how this is both better and worse than hiding from his co-workers in the corner of the lunch room. The rest of the day after that meeting he's thinking about how weird this day is, he still goes home an hour late, he talks to his pet about his weird day when he gets home, and maybe he still eats leftover takeout, but he's not paying attention to the reality tv show because holy shit he wants to count Dean's freckles.

In this example, you're Telling the audience about Castiel's normal routine instead of Showing them. But since it's during a plot heavy chapter, it works!

Lemme see if I can TL:DR this...

As you're reading, ask yourself who needs to know this information, why do they need to know this information, and why is it important for this information to be included early instead of later?

If the answer to any of those questions boils down to "this is backstory" instead of "this kicks off the plot", then you've started too early.

I hope this helps? I'm always nervous about giving writing advice because so much of the time I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm just feeling around in the dark. And I definitely do not ever want to hurt an author's feelings, because this hobby is so fucking hard, and we're all fragile. Even authors who welcome con-crit with open arms will have a weak point that they're unaware of that might get poked wrong and cause a crack, ya know?

I hope anyone who gets this far who might see their own works reflected in my examples understands that I have a lot of respect for their ability to put their work out into the world, and I want them to keep doing it. We're here to have fun, okay? Okay. I love y'all 💜

#ltleramblings #writer's angst #also i think some of these problems can be solved with a prologue #but that's something i'm literally exploring in my current WIP #so I have no idea if I'm doing it right #and i might be breaking all of my own rules with it lol

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cas-kingdom · 4 years

Text

Dad

A/N: Thank you to my anons for helping me come up with some perfectly Geralt-like explanations of parenthood. <3

Despite the summary, Geralt doesn't outright call Akela his daughter in a couple of these, but the point of the story is to show how he can call her that without actually saying it, if that makes sense. Still fluffy and (dangerously) sweet! Also a nice little Yennefer-Geralt scene here.

While writing number 4, I listened to 'Scared' by Jeremy Zucker.

Title: Dad

Summary: Three times Geralt called you his daughter, and the one time you called him ‘Dad’.

Words: 4607

“I knocked it off the cart.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why would I try to steal something I have money to pay for?”

The old man’s face turned sourer, if that was at all possible. “Oh, you have money?” He expectantly stretched his hand out, palm up as his fingers twitched. “Pay me, then!”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m not buying them!”

“You tried to steal them!”

“I did not!”

“I saw you!”

“What you saw,” you spat out, leaning forward, face the picture of anger, “was me bumping against your cart and knocking a couple apples off—which I apologised for.”

A noise somewhere between frustration and rage spewed from the man’s mouth and he shot his arm forward like a snake striking to attack, grasping the front of your tunic and tugging you forward. “Listen here, girl—”

You clenched your fists and readied to bite back, but before you even had a chance, the man’s hands were ripped from you, and he was shoved away.

“Get your hands off her,” a stony voice ground out, voice brooking no argument. Geralt stood tall and menacing in front of the hunched old man, head tilted slightly to the side as he glared at him. He knew you were often capable of looking after yourself, proven clearly when you stepped beside him and a look of smugness appeared on your face, but he also knew that that would likely never change how much the anger flourished inside him when he saw someone lay their hands on his child in a way such as this.

The old man pointed a shaky finger at Geralt. “You stay out of this, Sir!”

You scoffed, and Geralt spared a glance down at you, briefly raising a brow. “What, exactly, am I supposed to be staying out of?”

“The little bitch tried to steal my produce!”

“I didn’t!”

“The little bitch,” Geralt said, holding out an arm to stop you from lunging, “is my daughter. And if you ever speak in that manner to her again, you won’t be able to speak another word.”

The man looked ready to respond with vigour, but at the last moment his eyes averted to the sword and the daggers at Geralt’s waist, and the cogs in his brain began to turn as his vision wandered up to the white hair and the amber eyes. He shut his mouth and stepped back, resigned.

“Forgive me,” he said. He appeared as though he was ready to run before he grabbed one of the apples you had knocked off his cart and pressed it into your hands, a forced and nervy smile showing on his lips. “Here, take this!”

Your eyes lit up and you smiled victoriously, taking a bite from it and turning to walk off as you called back a quick, “Thank you!”

Geralt sighed deeply and hummed, giving the man a final glare before following after you. “He was right. You are a little bitch,” he remarked.

You grinned and tossed the apple in the air, the sunlight glinting on the green fruit as though in triumph. You handed it to him and watched as he relented with a roll of his eyes and took a bite. “Waste not, want not!”

“What’s it like?”

Geralt lifted his head to look at Yennefer. She was lying on her side opposite the fire, her head resting in her hand, and she seemed contemplative. Curious, in a way, which was odd for her, though what could he really say about that? It wasn’t as though he’d known her long.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

Yennefer jerked her head in the direction he’d been staring in for the majority of the past ten minutes, where you were fast asleep, curled under blankets, head beside Jaskier’s, who was wandering in the land of dreams himself.

He looked at you a moment longer before turning back to the mage. A hint of his own confusion danced in his eyes, but she spoke before he could open his mouth to question what it was that she meant.

“Parenthood,” she clarified, her voice softening. “What’s it like?”

Geralt rose an eyebrow, briefly floundering for words at the, quite frankly, surprising question. For a woman who was all invulnerability and strength, it was something he hadn’t expected to come from her. Not to mention he didn’t often think about what she’d asked.

He glanced away and shook his head. “More trouble than it’s worth,” he told her with a short breath of a laugh.

The corners of Yennefer’s lips drew upwards. She fidgeted with a stone on the forest floor. “I’m serious.”

His other eyebrow shot up. “So am I,” he assured her. “She may seem sweet, but underneath it all is the monster I’m most afraid to go up against.” He offered her a rare smile, which she returned, and for the first time in a while both mage and witcher felt peaceful. It was blissfully quiet—the only sound being Jaskier’s snores and incoherent mumbles—and it was dark, giving the two the serenity they needed after the trials of the previous days.

“It’s… hard,” he said seriously, despite the fact he was admitting that he, the infamous Geralt of Rivia, found something difficult. “You learn new things every day.”

“What kind of things?”

“Everything. About yourself, about her, about the world in general… you make decisions you probably would never have thought about before. You have responsibilities you wouldn’t have believed would ever be associated with you.” He let his eyes wander over to your sleeping form. “You don’t know what the hell you’re doing most of the time. You can feel so… so lost at it, right until you start to realise the only thing that’s keeping you grounded is the same thing that gave you the title of father. It…” He paused, leaning forward to poke a stick into the dying fire. “It gives you something to live for, and at the time I found Y/N, that was what I needed most.”

Yennefer’s lips curled into a smile as she slowly sat up, tucking her legs underneath her. “It sounds tiring,” she said, glancing down for a moment, and Geralt nodded.

“It is. But the rewards outweigh the difficulties. It’s something you’d give up everything to keep.” He looked across at her, noticing her loosened shoulders, and realised for the first time that he took his title of father for granted. Yennefer’s mutations had made her sterile, and though he was the same, he’d still somehow found a way to get past that, even though he’d never once pondered on the possibilities of it before he’d found you. Yennefer hadn’t been so lucky, and as he looked at her, he found that that reflected perfectly in the eyes he now viewed as… sad.

“You’ll feel that someday,” he said without thinking, and when she glanced up, he nodded in your direction. “When you have your own.”

Yennefer gazed at him, violet eyes piercing the amber of his. They stared at each other for a moment, no words passing their lips but every meaningful word being said nonetheless, until Jaskier snorted in his sleep and the both of them ripped their eyes away, returning to their stone and their stick.

“Thank you, Witcher,” Yennefer spoke up a moment later, and Geralt nodded once.

“You’re welcome, Mage.”

Geralt turned his head down to look at you. You were standing beside him, absently tugging on the neckline of the dress you’d bought from a market that very morning. You were clearly irritated, sighing in annoyance and muttering under your breath every so often.

When you noticed him looking, you shook your head, face every bit unhappy. “I don’t want to be here,” you ground out.

He rose an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Why are we here again?”

“Lord Lyon invited us.”

“And how do you—” You scratched at the back of your neck, the foreign material rubbing it raw—“know Lord Lyon?”

Geralt glanced down again and frowned, slapping your hands away from your red neck. “I saved his sister from a werewolf,” he said, instinctively tucking a few strands of hair that hadn’t made it into your plait behind your ear, “and he insisted my attendance at his feast tonight.”

You rose an eyebrow at that, finally relenting in your fiddling and letting your arms hang loosely. “Your attendance,” you picked out. “I could have stayed at the inn.” He ignored that, as you expected, and you sighed, shoulders slacking. “You never usually care for extra repayment,” you said. And it was true. He didn’t. He preferred to do his duty as a witcher and not stick around to see the aftermath of his hunt, except to accept his money. He didn’t care for physical shows of thanks. It was better that way, for you and for him. But he’d, for once, genuinely been concerned for the lord’s sister, so he’d accepted the invitation with the intention of only staying long enough to gain information on her wellbeing before leaving.

Geralt lifted his chin as he noticed a familiar man enrobed in silk and jewels walking towards you. He took in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the conversation ahead of undoubtedly mindless babble about his life and anything else the lord wished to ask him.

“And you never usually say no to free food,” he remarked quietly to you before forcing a tight smile at the open-armed, freely grinning man when he stopped in front of him.

“Geralt of Rivia!” he greeted, and you turned your head to meet him, only just refraining from raising your brows at the sight that met your eyes. You weren’t used to seeing royalty or regality of any sort, so you were never one to shy from your overly dramatic opinions of how these people dressed and carried themselves. You were quite certain all the clothes on your body wouldn’t amount to the price of a single ring on his finger, even though you’d had to beg Geralt for weeks to buy you the new leather boots on your feet now, just about hidden by your long dress.

Geralt had made an attempt to dress nicely, too. He’d washed and brushed his hair—and made several mock lunges (and one actual one) for you when you’d continued to tease him about it—and was wearing clothes that, though giving him an extremely regal look of his own, seemed unfamiliar to you. You much preferred him in his loose tunics and trousers, hair muddy and tangled in knots that he wouldn’t give a shit about until he needed to (which was barely ever, unless you were counting surprise and sudden invites to feasts such as this).

“Lord Lyon,” Geralt said with a small nod. “How is your sister?”

The lord reached forward to clap him on the shoulder, and this time, you did raise a brow, knowing your witcher’s dislike for such actions. Sure enough, Geralt’s smile grew tighter, and you could see the lines on his forehead become more pronounced. Perhaps in different circumstances—definitely in different circumstances—you would have laughed at his predicament, despite his clear discomfort, nevertheless this time you had to do with quickly turning your head to the side and stifling a grin.

“My sister fares well!” Lyon told him, not removing his hand. “She’s been asleep since you returned her safely to me, but the healers assure me she will make a full recovery. Thank you again for your unforgettable help, my friend!”

“Thank you for inviting me here tonight.”

Lyon stepped back, finally letting his hand drop to his side, and the corners of your lips twitched when Geralt subconsciously rolled his shoulder. “Well, this is the only other way I could think of repaying you when coin did not seem enough. A good meal!” It was at this moment, when you were shuffling from foot to foot in boredom, almost reverting back to your scratching and tugging, that Lyon noticed you, and he rose both eyebrows, glancing between you and Geralt. “And who might this be?”

“Y/N,” Geralt introduced, stopping you with a firm hand to your shoulder. You looked up at the lord, offering a smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought her.”

Lyon tilted his head slightly to the side in obvious interest, disregarding Geralt’s last sentence with a wave of his hand. “You mean she’s yours? Your daughter?”

You continued to stare at the man in front of you, unbothered. You were well used to being called his daughter—it was easier for him to agree when people asked if you were, and you sometimes wondered when exactly he’d given up on correcting people. If he’d ever corrected people in the first place.

“Your daughter?” Lyon repeated at Geralt’s lack of response.

“Yes.”

“I thought… well.” He looked a little sheepish, but Geralt was all too aware of what was coming. “I was always told that the trials witchers underwent made them—”

Geralt interrupted him before he could continue. “They did. I am.” He squeezed your shoulder. “She’s not mine by blood. But she is mine.”

Lyon stared a while, thinking to himself, before he abruptly smiled in acceptance. “Very good. Though I would never have taken you for the parent type.”

“My apologies,” Geralt said, inclining his head, “but you don’t know me well enough to make that assumption.”

A soft smile graced your lips and you glanced down to the ground, your heart swelling with love you could only ever feel for him.

“Quite right.” Lyon was clearly apologetic. He opened an arm out and motioned for the two of you to follow him. “Come, let us eat. You can tell us all exactly how you killed that werewolf!”

The hilariously dismayed look Geralt sent you after that made you snort.

How had it come to this?

“Geralt?” you whispered, daring to edge closer. He looked so pale, even in the short rays of moonlight radiating down. His skin was pallid, white hair muddied and hanging in knots around his face. His eyes were shut, his lips were set in a straight line, and even as you shook his shoulder, he did not move.

He did not move.

Geralt always moved. He had long since trained himself to wake at the first sound or touch that did or didn’t come from you. And yet now, even as you doubled your attempts and shook him so hard you were sure he’d be disorientated were he awake… he remained still. Still and silent. Completely dead to the world.

Dead.

Your heart soared, not for the first time, and you sat back on your haunches for a moment, staring with eyes as wide as the yellow moon looming over head. It was almost as though your unconscious mind was waiting for him to wake up. Willing him to wake up. Because you knew good and fucking well that without him, the point of remaining in the living was completely lost on you.

Reluctantly, your mind swiftly hurled you back. Back into damn memories of the swings of his sword and his shouts of exertion and pain as he fought with the monster that had suddenly stormed where you’d been resting. You should have stayed behind the rocks as he’d ordered… you shouldn’t have listened to the clash of metal hitting sturdy skin and bone… and you certainly shouldn’t have jumped up from behind the rock and screamed his name, leading him to whirl around in panic and giving the beast time to throw him against a large boulder. You could still remember the sickening crack of his head hitting the solid stone. That would have been the perfect time to scream his name, but you’d found that no words had been able to escape your clenched throat. You’d felt like you were being strangled, and your heart had stopped beating for the longest second as you’d watched with absolute terror…

He’d been telling you a story. You’d been lying beside him, exhausted eyes staring up at the starry sky as his voice lulled you to sleep. You couldn’t even remember what the story had been about, all you’d been focused on was the comfort his voice offered, and for that reason you had not registered at all when he’d abruptly stopped speaking. He’d waited a moment, eyes narrowed, before quietly standing to his feet, picking up his sword as he went. All his senses had been alert, and were he an animal, his ears would have been pricked up and forwards, listening for any noise that sounded at all abnormal.

He’d taken calculated steps forward, hands tight around his sword’s hilt, boots making no sound as he stepped over fallen leaves and twigs. And then he’d stopped, standing completely still, save for his eyes, which roved the area in front of him. He’d turned his head the slightest bit and harshly whispered your name, but it had not been enough to rouse you, and you’d stayed sleeping until less than three seconds later when what you now believed to have been a kikimora burst from the cover of the trees, screaming raucously and lunging towards Geralt. You’d bolted upright and he’d yelled at you to hide yourself as his sword came clashing down on the thing, not waiting to see if you’d done as was asked before moving to attempt to lead the monster away.

That had been only three minutes ago. One and a half minutes ago, he’d been thrown against the boulder. One minute ago, he’d managed to use the last of his strength to pierce the beast’s hide with a cloying crunch, mixing with both his and the kikimora’s shrieks of agony. You had looked on with trembling hands as it fell to the side, completely unmoving, and watched, waited, for Geralt to stand to his feet.

When he hadn’t, you’d taken one trembling step forward, hands cold and in fists at your sides, before running the rest of the way, not caring in the least that there was a possibility the monster might still be alive. All you’d cared about was the possibility that Geralt might not be.

You stared at him now, hopefully waiting for his eyelids to flicker, or a finger to twitch… but there was no movement.

You shook him again, harder now, but it didn’t work, and with a desperation you had never felt before, and your breathing quicker than ever, you hurried closer towards him, grabbing the sides of his face and shaking him, slapping him, hitting him… anything that had a chance of waking him.

“Geralt!” you shouted, voice cracking. You slapped him again, pausing only when you felt something wet and sticky coat your right hand. When you pulled it back, the sight of red met your eyes.

You stared at it for a moment, hands shuddering, before the red and the blackness of everything else melded into one as tears filled your eyes. A tightening of your throat and a short intake of breath was all that was heard before gut-wrenching sobs tore through your chest and you fell forward, clutching your bloody hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut as your grief poured from you in an onslaught of irrepressible tears.

“Please, please, wake—wake up!” you choked out, your forehead resting against his chest, hands gripping his ragged tunic. “Please! I can’t—I can’t—Please! Geralt! You can’t die! You’re a witcher! Witchers don’t die! Wake up!”

But he didn’t.

You harshly breathed in with as much effort as you could muster, and the smell of blood overpowered your senses… yet, at the same time, there was still that hint of forest and greenery which made him Geralt. The scent that was often the only thing that could make you fall asleep. The scent that you only had to catch for a moment before you immediately calmed. The scent that, even now, amidst your hiccups and sobs, caused the briefest feeling of serenity to swirl through you before it vanished as the new, metallic aroma abruptly tickled at your nose.

Another sob racked your body when the scent disappeared and you shook your head. “Daddy…” It came out as a mewling whine, so broken and utterly devastating that it would have made even the heartless cry along with you, but there was no other sound… no other noise in the darkness of the forest around you except the guttural cries wrenching from your throat.

It was the feeling of being alone which scared you the most. The feeling of… being without the one person who’d ever made an ounce of sense to you. The one person you loved more than life itself and who probably loved you even more than that.

You would rather die alongside him than live in a world you knew he no longer walked in.

A moment passed, and you sat there, hunched over with your head on his chest and your tired hands slowly slacking in their hold on his tunic. Your eyes were red and swollen, cheeks wet and tracking the mud and blood which had inadvertently transferred from his clothing to your face, and you were shaking so much that when a slight tremor rippled beneath you, you took no notice of it whatsoever.

At an exhausted yet almost incoherent groan, you blinked, opening your eyes despite it doing nothing against the blackness of you face pressed to him. You tried to silence your cries as much as you could, holding your breath, not quite willing to believe it but hoping more than you’d ever hoped before all the same.

“Fuck…”

And you bolted upright, your eyes blinking against the blurriness. You wiped at them, your heart thumping, blood pulsing through your distraught and exhausted body, and looked on with shock as Geralt—yes, Geralt!—slowly raised his arm and brought his hand to the back of his head. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as his brows furrowed in obvious pain.

“My fucking head,” he rasped out, and you let loose a noise of relief, suddenly and without warning bursting into tears once again. You launched forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. He groaned and finally opened his eyes to peer down at the mop of hair in his line of vision.

He gulped down the sickly feeling in his gut as best he could, trying to make sense of his surroundings, and after a moment the memories returned to him, causing him to shut his eyes once more at the force of it. He returned his attention to you, lowering his hand to place it on the back of your head.

When your sobs grew, his frown deepened and he tried to lift his own head, swallowing back bile when the throbbing ache increased. He felt nauseatingly terrible and instead dropped his head back to the hard rock below him. “Hey…” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and he didn’t really trust the words coming from his mouth. “It’s alright.”

You shook your head. “N-no! It is-isn’t! I thought you were dead!”

He sighed unsteadily and moved his trembling fingers through your hair, trying his best to block out the discomfort (which was a nice word for agony). “I’m not dead,” he told you, and you finally lifted your head, showing him the extent of your hysteria. You looked as though you’d been bawling for years, and he shook his head softly, raising his other arm to wrap around you and pull you back towards him. His head was pounding, he knew he was bleeding in more places than one, but to be perfectly honest, he was simply happy to be alive, and to be holding his child in his arms, however much he would be covered in tears and snot by the time he finally gathered the strength to push himself up.

“I thought you were,” you croaked out, and he rubbed his thumb across your temple. You reached up, grasping his hand, and he narrowed his eyes, blinking at the sight of blood coating your own.

“Is th-that yours?” he asked, the words feeling funny on his tongue as he stumbled over them. You sniffed and glanced to where he had turned your hand over in his.

“No,” you said, “it’s yours.” At that open revelation and reminder, you lifted your eyes, haphazardly wiping your hair from your face and blinking against the tears that still didn’t seem to be stopping. “It’s from your head. Does it hurt?”

Geralt’s face contorted into one of pain yet again as he reached his hand to his head, bringing it back and intaking a sharp breath once he saw the blood. “Damn,” he grumbled. “Yes, it hurts. Like hell.”

You unconsciously bit at the inside of your cheeks and watched him as he lowered his arm and shut his eyes. Your heart continued to pound and every so often your ragged breaths were interrupted by a hiccup. “I’m sorry,” you muttered after a short while.

He blearily opened his eyes to look at you. “Why?”

“I called your name,” you told him, “and you turned around.”

He nodded faintly in remembrance. “Why?” he repeated.

“I don’t know.” You swallowed thickly, tears fogging your vision again. “I was stupid. I just… got so scared, and I didn’t—I didn’t want you to… to…”

At your rising distress, he pulled you down to his chest again, ensuring your ear was conveniently placed over the left side of his chest. His heart was slow—perhaps a little faster than normal yet still slow all the same—but in the silence of the forest he knew you would be able to hear it and let it soothe you.

It worked, and the two of you stayed there for a while. Geralt fixed his attention on his own breathing, trying to match yours as he felt your pulse through his hands. He wondered briefly how far the nearest village was and if he could risk asking for medical help. Perhaps he could reach Triss in Novigrad, and both he and you would have a safe place to recuperate.

His muddled mind was interrupted when he turned his head and noticed the kikimora for the first time, lying in a rotten clump on the ground a couple feet from him. He swallowed the knot in his throat and shut his eyes, remembering all too clearly what had happened and, more importantly, how close it had been to getting you. Unconsciously, his hands tightened around you, and he slowly breathed out, calming himself before he let his emotions reign over him. You didn’t need to see that.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, more to himself, but it assured your all the same.

“Next time, I want to fight with you. I don’t want to watch. I’ve been trained for these moments.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I thought you were going to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He shook his head. “No, no, never…”

He shut his eyes. He knew that the day he left you would be the day the stars burned out and the world became shrouded in darkness. To leave you would be to leave his heart, and that was the one thing that, no matter how battered and bruised, he would hold onto and keep safe with every fibre of his being.

It was his duty, after all.

As your father.

Witcher Masterpost

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calif0rnia-lovers · 3 years

Text

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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#lost one of tommy's scenes and retyped it off memory #so hopefully it's good lol #but let me know what you think?#angel reyes imagine #angel reyes x black!reader #angel reyes x reader #lover of mine

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