kmc1989

[kmc1989]

Say It Plain

Eddie Diaz x fem!firefighter!reader

✰ You make Eddie feel like he belongs in Los Angeles and in the 118, caring for him and his son. The closer you get, the more he realizes that you bring something to his life he didn't know he needed. After you become close friends, he decides to tell you he sees you as more than that.

✰ fluff, banter/humor, friends to lovers, brief angst/fear, confessions, spoilers for 2x02-2x03, 5.7k+ words, requested

✰ pictures from pinterest (Joe's is in NYC, just don't think about it)

✰ A/N: This is my first attempt writing for Eddie, so he's most likely OOC!

“It’s hot,” Chimney complains.

“When did you get a meteorology degree?” you question, lacing your voice with faux shock until your conversation is interrupted by an alert of a car accident.

“If you think it’s hot now,” you murmur, “tell me how the gear feels.”

“It’s gonna be a long day,” Hen sighs as you open the truck door.

You nod, and she taps her hand comfortingly on your back.

When you return to the station, you change and look forward to going home to eat as much ice cream and as many popsicles as you have in your freezer. You drop your phone from your pocket, groaning as you squat to retrieve it. Your fingers brush the concrete, and your eyes widen at the realization that it’s cool – at least twenty degrees cooler than the air. Not caring that you’re in an open area, you shift to sit on the concrete floor, then lay down with your back on its cool surface. Sighing, you close your eyes and hope that you don’t have to get up for a while.

“Are you okay?” someone asks.

“Yep,” you answer, lifting one arm to send them a thumbs up. It’s not a voice you recognize, but you don’t know everyone in the station right now anyway.

“Okay,” the voice drawls. “You’re just lying on the floor because?”

“It’s cool. It feels good.”

The man above you hums, then says, “You know, you can run cold water over your wrists to regulate body temperature.”

He sounds closer, so you pry your eyes open and turn your head, surprised to see him lowered to one knee with his left hand spread on the floor and his right elbow propped on his knee.

“You’re the new recruit,” you realize. “And, yeah, everyone knows the kangaroo method.”

His brows lift as he fails to hide his smile. “Not everyone knows that,” he argues. “Eddie Diaz.”

He offers you his hand, but you lift your index finger to ask for a second. You stand, then offer your hand.

“Wait,” he murmurs as he stands. Only when he’s upright does he shake your hand and murmur your name under his breath.

“Welcome to the 118,” you say. “I assume someone has shown you around already?”

“Yeah, I got the tour. Didn’t include the fun fact about taking naps on the floor to cool off, though,” he jokes.

“Well…” you look around, then lean forward to whisper, “I know all the good tricks around here.”

“Seems like I met the right person, then.”

“I heard you graduated top of your class,” you say as you walk down the hall. “Congratulations, that’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” Eddie replies. “I know it doesn’t really win much in a new station, but I’m committed to this.”

“We’re glad you’re here,” you assure him. “Even if a lot of us are intolerable.”

“You seem alright.”

Your smile grows when you see his, and you pretend to flip your hair over your shoulder despite having it pulled up. “I’m more than alright,” you tease.

He laughs at you, and your belief is confirmed: Eddie is amazing, and he’s going to be a great addition to the station. You can see a great friendship with him.

“Diaz!” Nash calls. “Got some people to introduce you to.”

“The intolerable ones?” he asks through his teeth.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, waving at Nash.

“Eddie, this is Hen,” Nash introduces. “Hen, Eddie. This is Chimney-“

Nash is interrupted by yet another call, and you tap your knuckles against Eddie’s bicep in a silent wish that his first day is memorable for the right reasons.

You’re sandwiched between Buck and Chimney as you drive to the auto shop, where someone is apparently blowing up. Chimney leans over you to talk to Eddie, who presses his lips together when you shove Chimney off of you.

“Nash,” you complain into your headset. “Chimney’s touching me.”

“Whoa, okay, that did not sound good,” he argues. “If HR calls me, I’m going to be very upset.”

Buck interrupts your playful conversation to ask, “Is your full name Eduardo?”

“No,” Eddie answers.

“People ever call you Diaz?”

“Not if they want me to respond.”

You look at Hen and mouth, what is happening? She makes a measuring tape motion, and you shake your head. As Buck continues badgering Eddie about getting an unofficial ‘callsign,’ you let your gaze stray to Eddie. He’s inarguably attractive, but there’s something about his demeanor that makes him immediately likable.

“Look,” Buck begins again.

You smack your hand against his chest, then point at him in warning. When he falls silent, his eyes wide and obviously offended, Nash laughs in the front seat.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Hen yells, slapping her hand down on the table. “Go back?”

“I have a son named Christopher?” Eddie repeats slowly, looking at you for confirmation.

“This isn’t supposed to be an interrogation,” Nash intervenes.

“Yeah, ask a good question,” you encourage. “Like mine was.”

Eddie smiles at you but doesn’t say anything.

“I was asking for clarification on the ex-wife part,” Hen clarifies. “Someone left you? Is she stupid?”

“No,” Eddie answers immediately.

“She fumbled, that’s what she did,” Chimney deadpans.

“Chim,” you gasp, turning toward him.

He lifts his hands over his chest so you can’t hit him the same way you slapped Buck earlier.

“May I ask another question?” you ask.

“Go for it,” Eddie answers.

“Can we go home?”

“I actually do need to get going,” Eddie agrees, standing.

“No,” Hen complains, causing Eddie to stop halfway between sitting and standing.

“You can go,” you tell him. “I’ll walk out with you.”

Away from the rest of the team, you sigh and look up at the sky.

“Thank you,” Eddie says.

“For?”

“You made my first day really great,” he explains, watching you as you draw your eyes back to him. “I was a little nervous about fitting into the team, being the new guy. You made me feel really welcomed, and I appreciate that.”

“Well, you’re great, so it wasn’t hard,” you reply, not realizing that it sounds a little flirty.

“And thanks for Buck, too, of course,” he adds as you begin walking again.

“No one has ever thanked me for him before. I think I’m offended, Eddie.”

He laughs before he clarifies, “I mean, thank you for interceding. He seems…”

“Intolerable?”

“Unlike you,” he agrees with a nod.

“Have a good night, Eddie,” you say. “And enjoy some time with your son.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Eddie ensures you’re safe in your car and it starts properly before he heads home. He met his new team today, but you’re the most memorable member of the 118. You’re sweet, made him feel like he belongs, literally knocked manners into someone for him, and didn’t get in on the jokes about his ex. There’s a mutual respect between you and Eddie, the beginning of a great friendship, he thinks. And while the team is good, you make the transition to Los Angeles and the LAFD seem conquerable.

While you spend the night alone in your apartment, Eddie picks up Christopher from his mom’s house and takes him home.

“How many friends did you make on your first day?” Christopher asks, copying Eddie’s question from after Christopher went to his new school for the first time.

“One,” Eddie answers, chuckling. “I guess I’m not as popular as you.”

Christopher laughs, and Eddie wonders what his son would think of his new friend.

“Mango pineapple or strawberry banana?” you question when Eddie enters the kitchen on his second day.

“Uh, neither?” he replies carefully. “Why?”

You lift two smoothie cups, and he makes an ah sound before pointing to the one in your left hand. As you extend it to him, your fingers brush, bringing a smile to both of your faces. Eddie takes a single sip of the smoothie before his eyes widen appreciatively.

“Did you make this?” he questions.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “My favourite place is three blocks from here and I thought we could use a good start to the day.”

“This is amazing,” he muses. “What do I owe you?”

“An answer to a question.”

“No, I mean-“

“I know what you mean,” you interrupt. “And I can appreciate that you’re a gentleman, there aren’t many of you left. But it’s a gift.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says softly. “What’s the question?”

“Can I see a picture of Christopher?”

Eddie slows, impressed that you cared enough to remember his son’s name. He sets the smoothie cup down and pulls his phone from his pocket. When he finds a picture, he turns his phone toward you, but you move closer, pressing your shoulder to his arm to see.

“He’s adorable,” you gush. “Oh my gosh.”

“He’s a great kid,” Eddie agrees, watching your profile.

“How’s he like LA?” you inquire.

“Pretty well so far,” Eddie replies, pushing his phone into his pocket and briefly wishing you’d stayed against his side. “He loves the museums, all the places to go and see.”

“Have you taken him to the LA Zoo?”

“No, but it’s on the list.”

“There’s a first responder discount when you do go,” you tell him. “Not a huge one, but it helps.”

“What would you recommend we see first?” Eddie asks, leaning on the counter across from you as you share breakfast.

“Ooh… LA County Museum of Art, The Getty, California Science Center, Griffith Observatory, and the zoo and botanical gardens are some of the best,” you list. “And that’s just museum-adjacent locations.”

“Hey,” Buck greets. “Is Nash here?”

“In the office,” you answer. “How are you?”

“My sister made me coffee, things are great.”

Eddie glances at you from the corner of his eyes, and you fight the urge to laugh.

“Wait, why hasn’t Nash cooked yet?” Buck questions.

“It’s not his week to make breakfast,” you say simply. Buck frowns, so you add, “Is it, Buckley?”

“It’s my week?” he asks.

“Ding ding,” you sing-song. “Get crackin’, Buck. Seriously, there are eggs in the fridge.”

Eddie follows you out of the kitchen, looking down at the smoothie cup in his hand. You brought him this knowing that someone else was supposed to cook; you only brought him something. Maybe he was right when he told Christopher you were his friend.

“Hey, I was gonna go to CityWalk for dinner and to hang out for a bit tonight,” you tell Eddie. “Would you want to come? You could bring Christopher if you wanted, of course.”

Eddie had planned to get yet another pizza and try to unpack the last of his boxes tonight. A night out with you, however, sounds a lot more enjoyable. You’ve given him more than one reason to unpack, to make a home here where he can be himself and happy for a long time.

“That would be great, if you’re sure,” Eddie replies. “Christopher would like the break in routine, I’m sure.”

“Great,” you cheer. “If, uh, if you want to ride together, I can pay for parking.”

“Yeah, but I’ll cover it, since we’re crashing your night.”

You prepare to argue again, but Nash steps out of the office and waves to you and Eddie.

“Nonemergency medical call a few blocks from here, can you take it?” he asks.

“Of course,” you answer while Eddie nods.

Eddie leads you to the ambulance, checking that everything is in place before he climbs into the driver’s seat. You radio to dispatch that you’re responding to the call while Eddie pulls out, and only then do you realize this is Eddie’s first ‘real’ call. He was incredibly helpful yesterday, but it wasn’t quite the same.

“Hey, take the lead on this,” you suggest.

“No, no, you’ve been here longer,” Eddie argues.

“LAFD isn’t exactly a hierarchy of seniority,” you point out. “Besides, I’m more inclined to spray water on problems. You’ve got the experience and the knowledge for this. Let me support.”

Eddie nods as he slows to enter the driveway where the 9-1-1 call originated. You follow his lead from the time he greets the caller – the mother of a young girl who’s having difficulty walking – until you leave, after the girl’s pulled tendon is iced, bandaged, and her mom has instructions on what to do.

“Great job,” you applaud as you return to the ambulance.

“Thanks,” he replies. “Couldn’t have done it without you. Never met someone so competent at bandage cutting.”

“I try.”

Your laughter mingles with Eddie’s as you return to the station, and suddenly, neither of you can remember what life was like before you met.

After you knock, you shift the bags in your hands and wait. You’re early, but you know Eddie is home. The door opens, and he smiles at you with a button-down shirt halfway on.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I’m early, but I had something I wanted to bring.”

“You’re fine,” Eddie assures you, welcoming you into his home. “Whatever that is, you shouldn’t have.”

Rolling your eyes, you wait at his side until he closes the door and leads you into his house. When you reach the kitchen, you set the bag on the counter and look around. His home is cute and homey if a little empty and noticeably missing a woman’s touch.

“It’s not much,” you say when you realize Eddie is watching you. “Just some food. You can put them in the freezer, warm them up whenever you want.” You stop, nodding awkwardly as Eddie continues staring. “Or throw them away,” you add, “your choice.”

“Thank you,” he says. “And I won’t be throwing them away, though I appreciate the opportunity to choose.”

“You’re so annoying,” you groan, not meaning it at all.

“Dad?” Christopher calls as he comes down the hall.

Eddie tugs his shirt down, smiling at his son.

“Hey, pal,” Eddie says, kneeling to tidy Christopher’s clothes. “You look nice.”

“Your shirt’s off.”

Eddie smiles as you chuckle, then he looks toward you. “Christopher, this is the friend I was telling you about.”

Your smile falls upon learning that Eddie told his son about you, but when Christopher turns to say hello, you don’t have to think about smiling at him. He’s already the sweetest kid you’ve ever met, and when he makes jokes that remind you of his dad’s somewhat dry sense of humor, he somehow becomes cuter.

“I can put these in the freezer while you finish, if you want,” you offer, pointing over your shoulder toward the food.

Eddie nods as buttons his shirt, directing Christopher to take a seat so he can comb his hair quickly.

“You brought food?” Christopher asks.

“I did,” you reply as you move into their kitchen. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I made a few things mine and your dad’s friends at the fire station enjoy.”

“Are you a good cook? Will it taste good?”

“Christopher,” Eddie chides quietly.

“It’s a fair question,” you point out. “I wouldn’t say I’m great, but no one has complained yet.”

“That’s good,” Christopher muses.

“Guess where we’re going,” Eddie encourages.

“Last time you said we were going somewhere fun, it- it was Target,” Christopher replies, squinting up at Eddie as he stands.

“Target is pretty fun,” you interject.

Eddie points at you in agreement and nods before he says, “No, she’s in charge now, so it will actually be fun.”

Christopher and Eddie both look at you, so you press your hands against the counter and murmur, “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“You know, I’ve never been to Universal with my other friends,” you muse as you wait for a car to pass in the parking garage.

“And I’ve never had a friend bring me food or give me first responder discount advice,” Eddie counters. “Or met someone that could give Christopher such a fun experience that he falls asleep in the middle of a sentence.”

You glance in the rearview mirror, smiling at the sleeping boy in your backseat. Eddie had carried him through CityWalk, drawing lots of looks and coos from passing women. He either didn’t notice them or was too interested in your conversation about where you grew up to care. Either way, you’re honoured to be his friend and to be worthy of such attention.

“I know you’ve got a busy week with unpacking and post-academy stuff,” you say as you merge onto the freeway. “So, if you need anything, let me know.”

You’re back at your apartment when you realize there’s a twenty-dollar bill and a sticky note in one of your cupholders. Eddie just couldn’t let you pay for parking.

A week after your impromptu trip to CityWalk, Eddie approaches you with a proposition. The problem, he realizes quickly, is that he isn’t sure what exactly he’s proposing.

“I want to take you to dinner to thank you for all your help, everything you’ve done,” he explains. “But I don’t really want to leave Christopher with a sitter, and he’s gotten so comfortable at the house, so…”

“You don’t have to get me anything to say thanks,” you reply, smiling. “We’re friends, Eddie.”

“I want to.”

“Then,” you pause to think, then finish, “order me a pizza.”

Eddie considers the idea for a moment, then smiles. “I’ll order a pizza, but you have to come share it with me and Christopher. He’s been asking about you.”

“Eddie-“

“I know I don’t have to,” he says for you. “Please?”

It doesn’t take much to convince you, apparently, because his big brown eyes and soft murmur lead you to agree. As if you could tell him no, you think, startled by your own inner voice.

A few hours later, you’re knocking on Eddie’s door. Christopher opens it, smiling up at you as he says hello. Immediately, he pulls you into a hypothetical conversation about how animals communicate with each other. Over pizza, you talk to Christopher about anything and everything he can come up with, laughing and smiling while Eddie sits beside you. He watches you and Christopher, failing to identify the feeling blooming in his chest. When it’s time for you to go home, he has a sudden desire to take your hand and ask you to stay.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say as he walks you to your car. “Maybe we should try to communicate with our eyes only, like giraffes.”

“Nash would love that,” Eddie agrees, though he knows it isn’t hard to tell what you’re thinking by looking at your eyes – which he does often.

You raise your brows, and Eddie smiles at the look in your eyes.

“Already working,” you muse as you open your door.

“Drive safe,” Eddie says. “Text me when you get home?”

“Of course. Goodnight, Eddie.”

Days after your shared dinner, you get a chance to have another conversation with Eddie. He’s under a truck, trying to figure out why its wheels aren’t turning properly to the left, but at least you can talk for more than two minutes about something that isn’t call-related.

“And?” you ask when Eddie trails off while telling you about a project Christopher did for school. “How’d he do?”

“He made an A, the kids loved it,” he says before grunting. “Wish I could get that kind of popularity with popsicle sticks.”

“Well, you’ve got the Diaz smile to go with it.”

Eddie moves his leg to kick you, his touch gentle as he laughs. He begins to push himself out from under the truck when the ground shakes. You throw your arms out to catch yourself against the side of the ambulance, but the movement doesn’t stop when you attempt to right yourself.

“Earthquake!” someone yells.

Someone says it must be a six or seven magnitude, but you’re focused on getting out from under the rafters and lights above you. Reaching down, you pull Eddie’s ankle, then take his hands and backpedal to the corner. He stands from the lying board and pushes you farther into the corner, sheltering you with his body until the shaking finally subsides. The station is a wreck, but you know that the city is probably in worse shape, and you have mere seconds until the calls begin.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks. When you don’t answer right away, he steps back and places a large hand behind your neck, tipping your face toward his. “Are you okay?” he repeats urgently.

“I’m okay,” you promise, laying your fingers on his forearm below his tattoo. “Are you?”

Eddie nods, keeping his hands on you until Nash begins yelling about a collapsed hotel.

“Is Christopher at school?” you ask quietly.

“He is. I’ll send his teacher a text to check on him.”

Eddie spreads his hand against your back as you rush to the truck and ambulance, preparing yourself for a long day. You try to text your friends and family, but there’s no service.

“Are you okay?” Buck asks.

You lift your head and realize he’s talking to Eddie. Eddie says he doesn’t have service, shaking his head as he looks at you. Your heart feels like it drops at the news that he can’t check on Christopher.

“Who are you trying to get a hold of?” Buck inquires.

“My son,” Eddie answers.

“Whoa, you have a kid?” Buck exclaims.

“Oh, right, we waited until Buckley left to get to know Eddie,” Hen says into her mic, mostly to mess with Buck.

“Is he at school?” Buck asks Eddie. “They’ve got earthquake procedures, I’m sure he’s fine.”

Eddie nods, and for once, he avoids looking at you.

The hotel becomes visible a moment later, leaning out over the street with its structural components made visible past the broken windows and shattered cement. Your team exits the truck with their eyes up, intimidated by the job but mentally finding routes to get inside and get people out. You think about going inside once, but immediately remember Christopher is at school, probably scared of his first earthquake.

“Have you ever dealt with something like this?” Eddie asks.

“No,” you answer with Nash.

You stay by Eddie while Nash talks to the incident commander, but you don’t listen to what she says, only your racing thoughts and the groaning steel before you.

“Okay, listen up,” Nash says, succeeding in drawing your attention for the first time since you got out of the truck. “Here’s how you make it to the end of the day: you don’t worry about the things that you can’t do anything about, focus on one task at a time. I can’t order you guys to go inside that building, and I’m not gonna judge you if you decide not to.”

“Hen,” Chimney begins, “you got a kid, so…”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “And I’d hope if someone whose job it was to save him had the chance, they’d do it. No matter what.”

You know Hen is right. You also know that Eddie is just as scared as you are but won’t leave.

“Where do you want us?” Eddie asks.

A police officer runs up behind you and beckons your team, but you don’t move. Nash steps toward you and lays his hand on your shoulder.

“I meant it,” he says. “I’m not judging you for leaving.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“I’m not. You’re doing what’s most important to you, and to someone you care about. But roads are going to be mayhem and you’re too far from the station to get your car easily regardless.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a plan for that.”

Nash smiles and shakes you gently. “Of course you do, kid. We’ll see you on the other side of this.”

He drops his hand and steps around you before you spin and call his name.

“You better see me on the other side,” you demand. “All of you.”

Nash salutes you, and you return to the truck to leave as much gear as you can. Left in your base layers, you slide your phone, your ID, and your keys into your pocket before you push through the crowd gathered around the hotel to start running.

Behind you, Nash joins your team on the street to survey a man in need of saving. Eddie notices he’s alone and looks over his shoulder.

“We’re down a player,” Nash says. “And she’s expecting us to come home, alright?”

Eddie doesn’t get a chance to ask where you went before he and Buck hatch a plan to reach the man above them.

It takes you three times as long as it should to run the few miles from the hotel to Christopher’s school. All of the students are gathered in the gymnasium and on the baseball field, and your heart beats faster as you move through the crowd of kids and scared parents. The elevated heart rate isn’t from the run but from your concern. Christopher is important to you, and his dad grows more special to you each day. When you know Christopher is safe, you’ll shift your worry to his dad, and this day will seem like an eternity, so you have to stay focused on one task at a time, just like Nash said, and only think about what you can do something about. Like finding Christopher, which proves easy when someone yells your name, and his bright smile brings you to your knees before you hug him tightly against your chest.

The first thing Eddie does when he returns to the truck is check his phone. There are three messages from you: the first is an apology for leaving, the second is an assurance that Christopher is okay, and the third lets him know that you took Christopher home. After the pizza night that has become a defining moment in your relationship, Eddie gave you a key. It’s what friends do, he had told himself. Now he’s not so sure that was the real reason.

He pushes that out of his mind and accepts Buck’s invitation for a ride. When he reaches his front door, he unlocks it and steps inside, expecting to be greeted by Christopher’s easy smile and a relieved look in your eyes. Instead, he sees you lying on his couch, your eyes closed peacefully, and Christopher lying comfortably against you, fast asleep.

Eddie places his hands on the back of the couch and leans back, stretching his arms as he sighs. I’m home, he thinks. Then, he realizes that he’s never thought of this place as home before tonight.

“Eddie?” you ask, opening your eyes slowly. “Eddie.”

Your eyes fly open then, and Eddie drops one hand to lay on your shoulder as he leans over the couch.

“We’re all okay,” he promises.

You check your phone, see one new message, and then move carefully, standing as Christopher burrows deeper against the couch cushions in his sleep. Smiling down at him, you don’t regret leaving your team because you trust them, and they’re safe.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” you say.

Eddie pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly as he murmurs, “Thank you.”

You return the hug, wrapping your arms around his waist and exhaling.

“You’re on his pickup list,” Eddie reminds you, “so no overstepping.”

Nodding against him, you think about how tired you are. You could fall asleep in his arms without much effort, but you force yourself to step back and gather your things.

“I’ll see you later, Eddie,” you say. “Tell Christopher I said goodnight.”

“Wait, how are you getting home?” he asks, stepping toward the door with you.

“Buck’s waiting; he can take me.”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, and thank you again.”

“Of course.”

Eddie watches the door close behind you, and this house doesn’t feel quite so much like home anymore. Oh, he realizes, I wasn’t thinking about the house. He should have seen it sooner: the piece of himself he thought was missing, what he thought he couldn’t get back after the divorce, or when he left Texas, it’s you. You made him feel like part of the team, like a good friend, but there’s more now. You make Eddie Diaz whole. And he didn’t notice until after you walked out.

“I only need one more chance,” he whispers as he locks the front door. He exhales heavily, then asks himself, “How do I make sure I don’t blow it?”

It takes three days of working together before Eddie has an opportunity that he actually takes. During those three days, he is constantly aware of how he feels. When you’re at his side, when you’re working, when he’s not sure if you’re okay, every situation brings a different thought, a different emotion into his heart and mind. You were separated briefly during a house fire call when the car in the garage exploded while you’d been in the backyard getting the family’s dog. For the next five minutes, your team fought the growing fire with no radio transmission from you. You jogged down the street then, panting and carrying the dog inside your turnout gear. Eddie wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms, tell you that he needs you, and never let you go. But the raging fire took precedence.

Today, your 48-hour shift ends at a decent hour, and you go home, shower, and make dinner before the sun sets. While you do that, Eddie paces in his house, wondering how he can tell you that you make him feel whole, that you make life promising and full for him. Eventually, Christopher tells Eddie he’s surpassed his 10,000 steps, and he has an idea.

You’re sitting on your couch watching TV when your phone rings. After you pause the show, you answer Eddie’s call and immediately ask, “Are you okay? Is Christopher?”

On the other end of the line, Eddie laughs. “Can you open your door?” he replies.

“What?” you mumble, still awaiting an answer to your question.

“Open the door, please?”

You walk to your front door and pull it open, your jaw dropping at the sight. Moving without thought, you end the call and step back, letting Eddie step inside. He’s wearing a suit and tie, he has a large bouquet in his hands, and you practically have to force your jaw closed again as you close the door.

When you turn toward him, your back against the front door, he doesn’t give you a chance to speak, though you desperately want to tell him how good he looks. He sets the bouquet on your coffee table before he speaks.

“I need you let me talk and not say anything because if I don’t get all of this out, I’ll never say it,” he explains.

You remain silent, crossing your arms over your waist and chewing your bottom lip.

“Right,” Eddie realizes, shaking his head when he remembers you won’t answer because of what he just asked. “I realized something. When we became friends I thought it was great, because it is, but I also felt like I’d never encountered a friendship like this one. And then we went out to dinner, and you care about Christopher. Moments between us started feeling different…”

Nodding, you try to keep up with him, watching his mouth move as he speaks, rambling between his points about what he realized.

“…it’s because you’re the piece that I didn’t want to admit was missing, you make everything feel right, perfect, whole-“

You’re still nodding along with his speech but grow more concerned about whether he’s actually breathing while talking. Between what he’s saying, the fact that you’ve known you felt the same since he bought you pizza, and your worry about his lung capacity, it’s an easy decision to step forward and kiss him.

Eddie freezes when your lips meet his, your hands clutching the lapel of his blazer. Then, he melts into your touch. His hands rise, one arm circling your waist as he cups the back of your head and steps forward, caging you in against your couch as he moves with you. The kiss meant to slow him down and give him a chance to breathe takes your breath away instead.

When Eddie pulls back, keeping his hands on you like they were shaped to hold you, he looks between your eyes. “Does- does that mean you feel the same?” he wonders softly.

“Did I not say it plain enough?” you tease, bumping your nose against his. “Yes, Eddie, I feel the same.”

Eddie kisses you again, a series of quick pecks interrupted by your question, “Where’s Christopher?”

“On his way over with pizza,” Eddie says. He kisses your jaw, then adds, “Buck’s bringing him.”

“You’re welcome,” you sigh, softening beneath his touch.

Eddie lowers both hands to your waist and steps back to look at you. “We should probably stop referring to each other as friends now.”

“Whatever you say,” you agree, smiling.

Eddie rolls his eyes at your playful tone before he pushes his hands over your hips and then up the length of your back, kissing your neck when you tip your head up. You kiss him again, then step back.

“I got that ice cream Christopher told me about,” you say. “Let me make sure I have enough for all of us.”

Eddie watches you, the lovesickness he felt in his chest before now evident in the smile on his face. Buck pulls up outside and taps the horn, so Eddie leaves your house to go get Christopher.

“About time, man,” Buck sighs when Eddie pulls the back door open.

“You didn’t even like me when we met,” Eddie points out.

“Yeah, but I saw how she looked at you. Do her right, man.”

“I will. Thanks for everything, Buck.”

“Your son tips better than you.”

Buck smiles at Christopher, who laughs. Eddie thinks he probably doesn’t want to know what they talked about on the way over.

“Can I help?” you ask, standing on the sidewalk behind Eddie. You don’t wait for an answer before you lift the pizza boxes from Buck’s passenger seat and thank him softly.

“Be careful, kids!” Buck calls before he drives away.

Eddie shows Christopher around your house, then tells him to sit on the couch while he helps you. Alone in the kitchen, you steal one more kiss. Eddie was a great friend and continues to be a great teammate, but this is even better than the life you thought you wanted.

[kmc1989]

Being Yours

Pairing: Lev 'Oz' Ozdil x fem!detective!reader

Summary: While working a complicated case, you are offered a break and a chance to dance with Oz. That opportunity is ripped away from you when you're abducted by an unknown suspect, leaving Oz and your team to rescue you before it's too late.

Warnings/Word Count: spoilers for s1 (rewrite of 1x13), angst, abduction and imprisonment, injuries, fluff and comfort, 2.7k+ words, requested

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

Daphne hums noncommittedly beside you, so you move your mouse to go back a page. As the screen loads, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. You’re cutting it close; buying a dress less than 48 hours before an event probably isn’t smart, but you hadn’t actually planned on going to the gala. Between Soto’s insistence and Oz’s proposition of dancing together, you’ve since changed your mind and are looking forward to tomorrow night. If you can find a dress, of course.

“That one’s nice,” Daphne says, pointing to a deep blue maxi dress.

You hover the cursor over the listing and frown. “Don’t have my size,” you murmur.

“What about where I got my dress? We could go around lunch?” she suggests.

“You don’t have to use your break helping me, Daph, but yeah, send me the address, I’ll check it out.”

She scoffs as she pushes her chair away from your desk. “Like I’d let you go alone,” she muses.

Karadec and Morgan enter the bullpen, both shaking their heads when you look up.

“Another game?” Oz guesses, returning from the evidence locker.

“Not exactly,” Karadec replies.

“I was trying to figure out a pattern in Spencer’s abduction and the games that we’ve seen so far,” Morgan explains. “They didn’t kill Spencer because they’re playing the game with us, not him.”

“Maybe it’s a five-year-old,” Karadec deadpans.

“We can’t just wait for the next clue,” Oz interjects.

You lift your head and observe him. His mood has changed drastically in the last hour, but you haven’t had a chance to get him alone and find out why. You aren’t together, not really, but your connection is different. If anyone could find out why this case is getting under his skin like this, it’s you.

“We have to do something,” he insists.

“We can’t work with leads we don’t have,” Soto points out.

Oz cards his fingers through his hair before he turns and exits the bullpen. You watch him go, then meet Daphne’s eyes. She tips her head toward him, and you nod. Locking your computer as you stand, you prepare to be a friend for Oz, even though your heart urges you to be more.

“Oz,” you call, following him into an empty office. When you step inside and realize you’re alone, you hold the door open and ask, “Can I come in?”

Oz nods as he leans against the desk. He looks tired, but you doubt that’s the ultimate cause of his frustration. Rather than pressing, you perch on the desk beside him, offering a friend and the silence he seemed intent on finding.

“I��ve been looking at the case files all day,” Oz murmurs, flipping his hands on his legs to look at his palms. “Why can’t I find anything?”

“There might not be anything to find yet,” you point out. “He’s playing games, messing with us.”

“They’re kids’ games!” Oz exclaims, raising his hands to slap them down onto his legs. “It shouldn’t be this hard to figure out what they mean.”

You lift your hand, then hesitate to touch him. “We’ll solve it, Oz,” you assure him. “Just like always.”

Oz nods, even if he doesn’t quite believe you.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “I, uh… I’ll try to be in a better mood at the gala.”

You smile then, remembering how he asked you to save him a dance while you split the last donut. Your smile falls when you remember that you don’t have a dress, and you had to work through lunch.

“You alright?” Oz asks, watching you carefully.

“I might be attending the gala in my pajamas,” you grumble.

“I have a feeling you’ll still manage to be the prettiest one there,” he replies lightly, smiling as he bumps his shoulder against yours.

The morning of the gala, you’re walking through a toy store and looking at games when Karadec calls. He tells you to meet him and the rest of the team at the Marina Hotel, which is where tonight’s gala is supposed to be. The fact that your suspect knows more about your team than you know about him is unsettling, but this is your job, and you’re going to find this guy no matter what it takes.

You rush up the stairs in the hotel, nearly running into Morgan when you reach the landing. You whisper an apology as Karadec, Oz, and Daphne turn to face you.

“What’ve you got?” you inquire.

“Officer Lin called it in,” Oz answers.

The police officer standing beside him sends you a small smile before she gestures to an old baby stroller with baby dolls arranged meticulously inside.

“The fun has just begun,” Morgan reads from the Scrabble letters arranged in the stroller.

“Anyone see who left it here?” you ask, squatting to get a better look at the dolls.

“We’ve been asking around, but nothing so far,” Daphne answers.

“The babies have to mean something,” Morgan muses.

“We should talk to Spencer again,” Karadec decides. “Someone else had to have known about his storage unit.”

You stand, furrowing your brows when Oz stiffens beside you.

“I did,” he admits.

Karadec’s face is unreadable as he looks at Oz, but you understand his silent command to go back to the station. Oz climbs into the passenger seat of your unmarked car wordlessly, and you decide to remain quiet as well.

“I didn’t tell anyone else when my dad died,” Oz mutters as you near the station.

“Anyone else?” you repeat.

“Karadec, Daphne, Soto… I only told you.”

“Oh,” you say, unable to make a more meaningful sentence.

“There was a group I went to, trying to figure out how to deal with everything. I didn’t go every week, so I didn’t recognize Spencer right away,” he continues. “His story, though, I remembered that. And he’d mentioned the storage unit.”

“Which means someone in that grief group could be our gamer- gamemaster, whatever,” you realize.

“Yeah.”

“Any ideas? Possible suspects? I know Karadec will ask you all of this again, so-“

“I don’t know who could do this,” he interrupts. “But there’s a meeting today.”

Karadec knocks on the window, and you climb out of the car and walk to your desk. Oz asks you to stay with him, and you gladly do so.

You spend the rest of the day at your desk writing reports. Soto wants everything tied up as neatly as possible before the gala, and you were glad to take a step back from this particular case. There are two other open cases that you can work on if you happen to finish before your shift ends, but you doubt that will happen.

After a half-hour-long trip to the records department, you return to find that everyone has left to get ready for the gala. You sigh, but then see a sticky note on your keyboard. It’s from Oz, you realize, smiling as you read his note about tonight’s dance, punctuated with a lopsided smiley face.

You pull your bag onto your shoulder and leave, crossing your fingers that LA traffic is in your favor today and you can pick up your dress and get home in time to get ready for the gala. An hour later, you’re in your house and short on time, but you can make it work. Oz’s smiley face supports you from your bag the whole time.

When you step out of your house, you check that the door is locked behind you. Your neighbor waves as he drives past like it’s an ordinary afternoon. That changes when you open your car door. Something collides with the side of your head, and you feel your neck jerk painfully to the right before everything goes dark.

“Huh,” Oz murmurs before he turns toward Karadec. “I thought we’d find Selena and Daphne by now.”

Karadec hums as he nods. He glances at the women in question and asks, “Have you seen them?”

“Funny,” Soto replies, shaking her head.

“Wherever they are, I’m sure they look fabulous,” Daphne replies before lifting her glass.

Oz’s lips quirk at her teasing, but he gets distracted and looks over her shoulder toward the door.

“She fashionably late?” Daphne inquires. “I know she picked up her dress this afternoon.”

“Is she ever late?” Karadec challenges. “I’d bet traffic before anything in her control.”

“Yeah,” Oz mumbles. “I’m gonna call her, I’ll be right back.”

He steps around his teammates and finds a quiet corner before pressing your name in his favorite contacts list. The line rings and rings before finally going to voicemail. He sends you a text, but it goes unnoticed for an uncomfortable amount of time, which is unlike you, especially when you’re in the middle of a case.

“Hey,” Daphne says as she approaches Oz several minutes later. “Is she on the way?”

“She didn’t answer,” he replies, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I texted, too. Nothing.”

Daphne frowns at that, becoming similarly concerned. She passes her glass to Oz, then calls you with her phone, but also gets your voicemail.

“Something’s wrong,” Oz says quietly.

“We- we don’t know that,” she replies. “But, I agree it’s unusual. Morgan isn’t here yet either, so let’s just give them a few minutes before we jump to conclusions.”

Oz nods, trying to accept Daphne’s logical idea despite the worry settling heavily in his stomach. A few more people enter the hotel as he and Daphne return to the table Karadec and Soto have moved to.

“And?” Soto asks.

“No answer,” Daphne answers. “I’m thinking she might come in with Morgan.”

“Well, Morgan won’t be hard to miss when she gets here,” Karadec jokes.

“You’re right about that,” Soto hums.

Karadec and Oz look up, unsurprised to see that Morgan is drawing attention in her hot pink dress and starfish earrings. What Oz notices, however, is that you aren’t with her.

“Who called?” Soto whispers.

“We both did,” Daphne answers, leaning closer to her. “And Oz texted. It’s been at least fifteen minutes since his first call, and nothing.”

“She lives close, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” Oz interrupts. “I need to go check on her.”

Soto and Daphne notice his use of the word need, rather than saying he will go check on you. His feelings toward you are no secret to them, and when they learned he asked you to dance with him tonight, it felt like a step in the right direction.

“Be careful,” Daphne implores.

“I will,” Oz promises.

Oz parks against the curb outside your place, his eyes widening when he sees your car door standing open. He jumps out of his car and runs toward the vehicle, only slowing when he sees blood on the concrete.

“No, no, no,” he mumbles, moving carefully around what may be evidence.

The necklace you always wear is hanging from the rearview mirror, and there’s a game timer sitting on the console. He removes your necklace carefully, then turns the blue sand-filled hourglass over in his hand. Unraveling the paper wrapped around it, his heart rate quickens as he reads the message: MARCO!

He takes both items as he runs back to his car, slamming the door closed and revving the ending too hard as he shifts into drive. The station is close enough, and he needs to look at every piece of evidence if he wants to find you. He calls Selena, and by the time he reaches the station, she, Daphne, Karadec, and Morgan are already in the bullpen spinning theories.

Oz feels frozen in place as they piece together the acrostic from the fonts on the previous clues. His mind races, wondering what Marco Polo – and presumably, a pool – have to do with your abduction. By the time he’s present enough to consider contributing, Daphne and Morgan have an address. Karadec takes his keys, refusing to let him drive in his condition. Oz doesn’t argue; as long as you’re safe, he doesn’t care how it happens.

When they reach the house in Encino, Oz is out of the car before Karadec stops. He doesn’t bother trying the gate, opting to jump over a shorter section of brick fencing to reach the backyard. Distantly, he registers that you are in the pool – chained to the bottom, to be more precise – but he doesn’t think about it before he takes a deep breath and dives in.

Daphne and Morgan come through another entrance, screaming your name as Oz swims to you. Karadec runs into the yard, not hesitating to join Oz in the water.

As Karadec moves the blocks and chains keeping your legs underwater, Oz frees you from the restraints across your chest.

“There’s no bubbles,” Daphne realizes. “There’s no more air.”

The moment the chains are off of you, Karadec pulls his arms through the water to hold one of your arms while Oz grabs the other. They push off the bottom of the pool, breaking the surface with you.

“Get out,” Karadec demands, pulling you into his arms with one arm under your knees and the other around your waist.

Oz moves to the edge and pushes himself up out of the pool, keeping his eyes on you as his thoughts center on keeping you alive. Karadec lays you on the concrete, where Oz presses his ear to your chest, listening for any evidence that you’re still breathing. Daphne knees beside your legs, tugging your dress down and watching Oz with a lump in her throat. You’re surrounded by your friends but have no idea.

While Oz begins chest compressions, Daphne and Karadec each take one of your hands. Daphne is at your side on the patio and Karadec is still standing in the pool. Each second that passes feels like it’s in slow motion. Until finally, you cough.

“Lift her up,” Karadec urges, squeezing your hand tighter unconsciously.

Oz moves under you, holding you up against his chest. You continue coughing, keeping your eyes closed as you lean against him, clutching to Karadec and Daphne’s hands as an ambulance sounds in the distance.

When the paramedics enter the pool area, Oz is reluctant to let you go. He’s never been more terrified, and as his adrenaline level lowers, the realization of what happened begins to sink in. You’re alive because of him, but he could say the same about you.

“Good job,” Karadec murmurs, tapping Oz’s arm as he steps away from the gurney you’ve been loaded onto.

Daphne pulls Oz into a quick hug, then steps back and wipes the water off her dress as much as she can.

“Go,” Karadec says, aware that Oz’s eyes haven’t left the direction you were taken. “She needs to know you’re okay, too.”

Morgan produces hand sanitizer from somewhere, and Oz smiles at the annoyed grumble Karadec uses in place of thank you.

In the driveway outside, Oz climbs into the ambulance with you and feels tears in his eyes at the sight of you sitting up with your eyes open. You smile beneath the oxygen mask, extending your hand toward him until he links his fingers through yours.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Wet,” you reply, leaning toward him as you lower your mask.

“Me too,” he jokes.

Soto approaches with Karadec, Daphne, and Morgan behind her.

“Thank you,” you whisper, looking up at Oz before they’re close enough to hear. “I… Could you maybe stay with me?”

Oz, unlike you, doesn’t care that your team can see you. He doesn’t hesitate to remove his hand from yours just long enough to cup your face in his hands. They’re still cool from the water, but they’re safe, caring, maybe something more.

“You mean everything to me,” he says. “I’m never going to leave your side. I’m yours, okay?”

Your eyes widen and grow watery at his confession. Nodding, you press your jaw farther into his hold. “I’m yours,” you repeat softly.

Oz carefully removes his hand from yours before he draws your necklace from his pocket. You smile at him, nodding when he offers to put it on you. Before he moves behind you, he double checks that you'll be comfortable with that. Only when he has your smiling assurance does he step away. He stands behind you and carefully, reverently, places it against your collarbone before he secures the clasp behind your neck. From here, he can see the bruises darkening across your chest, and he has to tell himself twice not to lean forward and kiss you before he returns to your side.

“Is that all it took?” Daphne asks, leaning against the open ambulance door.

“Scare us like that again and I’ll give you one of the creepy dolls,” Selena threatens.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a chuckle. “Thank you for saving me.”

“All in a days’ work,” Karadec says, waving you off.

“I think I might know who did it,” Morgan tells you.

“But we’ll be handling that,” Soto interjects. “Get some rest. Both of you.”

You nod, taking Oz’s hand between both of yours. It feels good to be alive, but it feels better to be his.

[kmc1989]

After Hours

Summary: Joel Miller was a very successful businessman, and you just worked for him. Then one night the two of you stay late, and make use of an empty building.

Warnings: mature content, explicit content, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, submissive reader, dominant Joel, minor spanking, dirty talk

A/N: Hi my lovelies it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted anything on here, but I’ve just been really busy and couldn’t find the time to write. Hope I still have your love and support, and that y’all continue to enjoy my work! Hope you guys are still obsessing over Daddy a.k.a Pedro pascal. Reblog and comment if you like it they would be greatly appreciated and encouraged. If you have any notes or tips or something nice to say about my work don’t hesitate to express it! Always show support for your fellow writers. If you wish to be added to a tag list let your girl know! Thanks everyone! Enjoy! XOXO

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittenlittle24 @trisaratops-mcgee @subconsciouscollapse @hooked-on-penapascal27 @red-red-rogue @fellinfromthetop @drewharrisonwriter @vickie5446 @millerfan @lover-of-books-and-tea @bbyanarchist @justajoelsreader

Hall Of Hunks

The office was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the click of your heels echoing against the polished floor. Everyone else had gone home hours ago, but you stayed. You always stayed. And tonight, so did he.

Joel leaned in the doorway, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows. "You're still here," he said, voice low and a little rough.

Looking up from your screen, smirking. "So are you."

“Touché.” He stepped into your office slowly, as if crossing some invisible line. "I could say I forgot something, but that wouldn't be true."

You stood still, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Then what is true?"

"That I wanted to see what would happen if we were the last two in the building."

Silence stretched between the two of you, thick with anticipation. The tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Neither of you blinked as his eyes remained glued to yours.

Crossing the space between the both of you, stopping just shy of touching. "And?"

“I didn’t think anything was going to happen.” His fingers brushed your hip, feather-light. "I guess we could find out."

You didn't stop him when he leaned in. When your mouths met, it wasn't tentative . It was the kind of kiss that made time irrelevant. Hands explored, breath hitched, and the sharp thrill of being somewhere you shouldn't only made it more intoxicating.

It was a moment suspended between rules and desire, and you both knew that you had crossed the line long before the door clicked shut behind you.

Clothes ripped off and thrown across the room with in seconds, as your naked bodies fell down on the leather couch on the other side. You on top hovering over his body slightly hesitating on if you really wanted to do this or not.

Joel could sense your worry and reached a hand up to grab your face, and pull your lips back to his. Groaning in your mouth in the most sensual way possible. That was all it took for you to gain more confidence.

“It’s just you and me.” His hand gripping the base as he rubbed it up and down your folds. A shiver running up your spine as he pushed the tip slowly inside you.

“That’s it baby girl, that’s a good girl.” Soft praises echoing in your ear as you slowly sank down his erect cock. His soft hands caressing your skin so delicately. “You feelin all of me?”

“Mhm.” Struggling to speak just one word concentrating on adjusting around his thickness. Twisting your face in an unusual manner causing him to softly chuckle at how cute and hot you looked at the same time.

“Cat got your tongue baby? Can you not speak?” His tone playful and low.

“Joel please.” Whimpering pathetically as you continued to grind your hips back and forth. Joel loved to see how desperate you were for him.

“You like fucking your bosses? Does the thought make your cunt wet? Huh?” His words repeating over and over in your brain as they got more filthy. “Bet that cunt has been dripping everyday for me.”

Joel loved the feeling of your skin touching his. The way your body molded perfectly against his. Like two magnets connecting together. A powerful and intimidating man holding you like a delicate glass cup. Joel was enjoying this way more than what he thought he would, and he was never going to let you go.

“Fuck you are tight.” Large hands holding the fat flesh of your behind squeezing your cheeks in his palm. Feeling so warm and incredibly deep. “Such a shame you haven’t been fucked properly.”

Nodding your head in complete agreement still unable to form a complete sentence. Wrapping your hands around his neck softly, beginning to tremble as you moved your legs to raise yourself better. Joel helping guide your hips so you never lost your rhythm.

“Take it easy baby girl, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” He teased as you started to struggle bouncing up and down. A hand coming down swiftly on your backside in warning, but you never flinched.

“I can do it Joel.” Reassuring him with your glazed out eyes, as he smirked up at you loving the wicked gleam in your eyes. “You’re just so fucking big.”

“Fuck.” That was music to his ears as he wrapped his arms around your back pulling your chest on top of his. Hearing those words sounded like a challenge to him, and did he love a good challenge.

Gasping as he lifted his knees up, and started to pound up into your cunt with no mercy. His warm lips peppering kisses along your shoulder and neck. His hands keeping a firm grip on your ass using it as leverage.

His pelvic hair brushing against your exposed clit it had your thighs shaking aggressively. Joel feeling this smacked a hand against your lower thigh.

“Oh my god.” Crying out so loud that if anyone was on the floor above or below you would definitely hear.

“Nobody else could ever make you feel like this.” Hissing in your ear, and in just mere seconds tears are glistening in your eyes. “My cock, and my cock only can make you feel this good.”

“Yes sir.” Dropping your voice when saying sir, and something switched in Joel’s eyes when you called him that.

Suddenly your body was being grabbed and flipped onto your back. Your skin smacking against the warm leather sticking to your skin. Pulling your legs over both his shoulders, getting right back into the same rhythm.

Drilling into your sweet spot over and over again. Face leaning forward slightly just enough to where your lips couldn’t reach his. Joel always just oozed with confidence whether it was during a business meeting or in the bedroom. A bit surprised a wealthy, attractive man like him would go after with much lower status.

“I’m so close.” Quickly informing him as your body started to tremble. A fire igniting in the pit of your stomach. Head tossed back in complete ecstasy as you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Let go baby girl I’m right here.” Cooing softly in your ear like he was telling a secret. His deep and seductive voice was sending you right over the edge.

“Oh fuck fuck.” Crying out as your orgasm was rapidly approaching. Joel looking down at the remarkable expression on your face. Loving that he was the one in control for your pleasure. It made him feel like he was invincible.

“Fucking cum around my cock.” Commanding as he gritted his teeth as a hand reached down to your connected bodies rubbing your puffy clit. Rapid circles around your neck causing you to scream as your hands scratched down his back leaving marks.

Your ribcage falling and rising with each unsteady breath you took. Hands falling down to your sides loose and numb. Stomach trembling from your euphoric orgasm you just received. Your battered cunt was feeling sore and thoroughly stretched from his cock. His hands stroking your thighs soothingly waiting for you to come down from your high.

“I’m so glad you decided to stay after hours.” He chuckled to which you laughed shaking your head.

Then a soft knock came from the door both of you looking over your eyes going wide. “Umm when you guys are done in there, I was wondering if I could get my folder I left on your desk.”

[kmc1989]

The Farm Boi Series: Virtue - Dennis Whitaker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @sargeant-sad-eyes @caffeinatedwoman @hooks-martin

Summary: Dennis's mom makes her distaste for you known.

Companion piece to:

Peppermint - The taste of peppermint will always have a special place in Dennis’s heart.

The Morgue Thing - A miscommunication between you and Dennis almost ends things before they begin.

Written In The Stars - Your first date with Dennis takes place underneath the stars.

In The Park - Dennis reveals a secret after the two of you spend the night together in the park.

Virgin - There’s a rumour going around about Dennis.

Debauched (NSFW) - Karaoke night ends a lot differently than it did the first time around.

Symphony (NSFW) - Dennis has never eaten pussy before…

Pretty Boy (NSFW) - You and Dennis take the next step in your relationship.

Firsts (NSFW) - Dennis experiances alot of firsts during your first night together.

Permanent Marker - You find out about the betting pool.

Denny’s To Do List - Dennis realises he’s in the midst of a sexual awakening.

The Porn Boom (NSFW) - Dennis isn’t like the other man you’ve been with.

Bite (NSFW) - Dennis doesn’t mean to edge you.

Wild Flowers - A crown of wildflowers leads you and Dennis to discuss the issues he has with his family.

A Friend of Denny’s - Your relationship with Dennis takes a turn when his parents come to town.

A Cold Day In Hell - Dennis tries to make amends for his actions.

Gardens of Babylon - Dennis has made his choice, now it's time for you to make yours.

My Future Wife - Dennis makes a promise to you at Jana's celebration of life event.

Dennis’s mom hates you.

It’s abundantly clear from the way her face falls when you step into the arrivals lounge alongside Dennis. The ‘Doctor Denny’ sign lowers and her eyes narrow as her gaze falls down to your entwined fingers. The thing is you know that Dennis has told her that you were accompanying him on this trip, the evidence is standing right next to her in the form of Nana Whitty who is holding her own sign with your name written on it, decorated with hearts and sparkles.

You’ve been here a grand total of 30 seconds and already you want her to adopt you.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you Lola.” She says gathering you up into a hug that makes your bones creak. She’s a strong little thing at 5’2, she clasps you to her like you’re a long lost family member. “The screen on my phone doesn’t do you justice.”

There is no such greeting from Mrs Whitaker. She embraces Dennis and ignores you completely before taking off towards the parking lot, expecting the three of you to follow. Nana Whitty rolls her eyes before linking her arm through yours and telling you about the new baby bison that’s just been born named Phyllis.

You’ve been driving through town for ten minutes when Mrs Whitaker pulls the truck over outside the Charles Wesley Motor Lodge. You can see Dennis’s confusion as he looks up at the building from the backseat. The place has an old highway motel feel and outside décor that’s not been updated since the sixties. You shudder to think about what the rooms must be like inside.

“Lola will have to stay here.” Mrs Whitaker informs the both of you. “There isn’t enough room at the house with the wedding and everything.”

“She can stay in my room-” Dennis protests but his mom is already raising her hand cutting him off.

“I know the two of you are living in sin back in Pittsburgh but that’s not the way we conduct ourselves out here Dennis, you know that.” She rebukes him with a harshness that’s unwarranted.

“Alright.” Dennis says unfastening his seat belt. “Then I guess I’m staying here too.”

“Dennis, you’re being a child.” His mom tells him. “We need you at the house for the wedding prep-”

“No mom, I’m being an adult.” He responds his hand coming to rest on the door handle, gripping it so hard his knuckles turn white. “I’m making my own choices and my choice is her, you really need to come to terms with that.”

Mrs Whitaker tuts as she twists around in the front seat to face him.

“You’ve turned into a very rude young man Dennis.” She snaps at him. “You used to be such a good boy. Before you left Nebraska you wouldn’t have dreamed of giving up your virtue to the first pretty young thing that came along.”

It occurs to you then that Mrs Whitaker thinks you stole Dennis’s virginity, that her farm boy came to the big city and was seduced by some harlot with a nipple piercing, that likes to sing Joan Jett on karaoke nights. It must dawn on Nana Whitty too because she throws back her head and cackles like a witch as you try to hide a smile.

“I hate to break it to you Shirley but there is not a single one of your boys that remain pure. I caught Lowell in the basement at church when he was eighteen teaching Sally McNamara how to hit the high notes during choir practice. At least these two are in a committed relationship.” Nana Whitty jerks her thumb at the both of you in the back seat. “I thought you’d be a shrew about this so I’ve set up the guest room at my farmhouse. They are welcome to stay there so long as Dennis promises to fix up the shit that Charlie’s been too henpecked to do since all this wedding nonsense started.”

“I would be happy to do that Nana.” Dennis says, removing his palm from the door handle. “And thank you for being so supportive to both me and the love of my life.”

You see Mrs Whitaker rile at that, her eyebrows shoot up into her bangs before she turns off the engine of the truck, undoes her seatbelt and shoves open the driver’s side door.  

“Don’t bother coming back to the farm.” She snarls as she hops out the front seat, leaving the keys dangling in the ignition. “As long as you’re with her you aren’t welcome there.”

“Don’t worry they won’t.” Nana Whitty calls after her through the open window as she slips into the driver's seat. “I’ll host all the boys at mine instead, they’re dying to meet their brother’s girlfriend.”

She turns the key in the ignition and the engine revs to life as you watch Mrs Whitaker storm off towards the centre of town.

“Oh man, she’s gonna put a pillow over my face while I sleep isn’t she?” You mutter as Nana Whitty skids away from the curb, directing the vehicle towards the outskirts of town.

“Yeah.” Dennis sighs, turning around in his seat to watch his mother’s retreating form. “But at least I’ll be sleeping next to you, ready to fend her off.”

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[kmc1989]

23 - Girls Night

Part 24

The Hybrids Bright Star

- Tags - @melvia-ito @lover-of-books-and-tea @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @elenavampire21 @frost-queen @anonymousmuffinbear

The bass thumped through the mansion, vibrating up my spine and into my teeth. Caroline spun beside me, her blonde hair a blur under the disco ball Klaus had, with infuriating extravagance, installed for me. I laughed, throwing my head back as Dua Lipa’s voice filled the air. It was a perfect girls’ night. Just what I needed.

“Another round?” I yelled over the music, already reaching for the bottle of tequila. Caroline, ever the responsible one, shook her head.

“I’m good, H. I need to keep my wits about me. You know, in case anything… unexpected happens.” She gave me a pointed look, a silent reminder of the supernatural chaos that seemed to follow me like a lovesick puppy.

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. “Relax, Care. It’s just us girls. What could possibly go wrong?”

Famous last words, right?

Raegan, bless her oblivious heart, was attempting to twerk in the middle of the room, a glass of wine precariously balanced on her head. She shrieked with laughter when it inevitably tumbled, soaking her hair and the expensive Persian rug beneath her.

“Oops!” she giggled, grabbing a handful of napkins. “Okay, okay, dance party adjourned. Let’s find something else to do. Truth or dare? Never have I ever?”

“How about we just keep dancing until we drop?” I suggested, trying to steer her away from anything that involved questions or, god forbid, exploring. This mansion, courtesy of Klaus’s generosity (or guilt, I wasn’t sure which), was a labyrinth of secrets I was desperately trying to keep hidden. 

“Nah,” Raegan said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m feeling adventurous. This place is huge! There’s gotta be some interesting stuff to find.”

My stomach dropped. “Raegan, no. Seriously. Let’s just stick to this room.”

“Oh, come on, Hallie! Don’t be such a stick in the mud,” she teased, already heading towards the grand staircase. Caroline shot me a worried glance.

Before I could stop her, Raegan was disappearing down a dimly lit hallway. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. This was going to be a disaster.

Of course, it didn’t take long. I found her in Klaus's study, a room I usually avoided, surrounded by dusty bookshelves and unsettling portraits. And there it was, clutched in her hands: the leather-bound book.

My uncle Joshua had sent it to me a few months ago, claiming it was “family history.” I knew better. It was a chronicle of the Gemini Coven’s darkest secrets, the very secrets I was trying to bury.

My heart hammered against my ribs. “Raegan, put that down. Now.”

She looked up, her brow furrowed in concentration. “This is… intense. ‘The Twin Merge: A detailed account of the ritual and its consequences.’ Twin merge? What’s that?” 

“Raegan!” I lunged for the book, but she stepped back, holding it out of my reach.

“‘Cloaking spells of unimaginable power… Prison worlds, meticulously crafted to contain the uncontainable…’ What is this, Hallie? Some kind of fantasy novel?”

Fantasy novel? I wanted this to be a fantasy novel. But it wasn't.

Panic clawed at my throat. “It’s nothing, Raegan. Just some old book. Give it to me.”

She narrowed her eyes, her sharp wit and intuition kicking in. “It doesn’t feel like nothing, Hallie. It feels like you’re hiding something from me.” 

She began to read again, flipping to another page in the thick book. “'The creation of Kai's prison world'... Hallie, who is Kai?”

I lunged again, desperation fueling my movements. This time, I managed to grab the book, tearing it from her grasp. Raegan stumbled back, her eyes wide with surprise. As my fingers closed around the worn leather, a jolt of energy surged through me. It wasn’t my magic, though. It was something else, something… foreign.

Suddenly, I wasn’t in the study anymore. I was somewhere else, somewhere dark and suffocating. I was seeing through someone else’s eyes.

“You can’t do this, Josh! She’s my daughter, my only daughter!” My mother, Sarah, stood before my uncle, her face contorted with rage and grief. The room around them was a mess, furniture overturned, papers scattered everywhere. The air crackled with unspoken accusations.

“She’s the coven leader now, Sarah,” Joshua said, his voice hard and unyielding. “She fulfilled her destiny.”

“Destiny? She’s four years old! She just… killed her own sister! Liberty is dead because of this…this…abomination!” Sarah’s voice broke, tears streaming down her face. 

Joshua’s jaw tightened. “Liberty was weak. Hallie is strong. This is what the coven needs.”

“I don’t care about the coven!” Sarah screamed, taking a step towards him. “I care about my daughter! You think I wanted this for her? For either of them? Do you think I wanted them to be anything more than just sisters, who loved each other?” 

Joshua stepped in front of my mother. "Sarah, the coven comes before family." 

Sarah slapped him across the face, a sharp, stinging blow. “I’m going to change that, Josh. I’m going to give Hallie a better life, a normal life. Away from this… this madness! And you’re dead to me!” 

She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her, leaving Joshua standing alone in the wreckage.

The vision vanished as quickly as it came, leaving me gasping for breath, the book clattering to the floor. The faces of my mother and uncle flashed before my eyes. I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't stand.

I collapsed to the floor, sobbing, the weight of the coven’s history, my history, crushing me. Raegan knelt beside me, her initial shock replaced by concern.

“Hallie, what the heck is going on with you? What was that? What did you just see?”

Her questions were like a physical blow. How could I explain any of this to her? How could I tell her that I was a siphon witch, that my twin sister was dead because of me, that my own mother had hated me for it? 

“I… I can’t explain,” I choked out, tears streaming down my face. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” Raegan said, her voice soft but firm. “We made a pact, remember? Sisters forever. We tell each other everything.”

I looked at her, at her kind, trusting face, and my heart broke all over again. She deserved the truth. But the truth was too dangerous, too complicated. It would shatter her world, the world I had so carefully protected her from. And it would shatter me too.

I looked up at Caroline, who was watching us with a mixture of concern and understanding. She knew what I was, what I was capable of. She knew the truth about the supernatural world. “Caroline,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please. You have to.”

Caroline’s eyes widened. “Hallie, you can’t be serious. I can’t just…”

“Please!” I begged, grabbing her hand. “She can’t know. It’s too much. I can’t lose her.”

Caroline hesitated, her expression torn. She hated using her compulsion, especially on someone innocent. But she also knew how desperate I was. “Hallie, are you sure about this?”

I nodded, tears blurring my vision. “Please, Caroline. For me. For Raegan.”

Caroline sighed, her shoulders slumping in resignation. She looked at Raegan, her gaze softening as she held her by her shoulders. “Raegan,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re feeling a little overwhelmed. This book, this conversation… it’s all a bit much for one night. You’re going to forget all about it. You’re going to forget about the book, about what Hallie said, about everything that happened in this room.”

Raegan blinked, her expression slowly softening. The confusion in her eyes faded, replaced by a blankness that made my stomach churn.

“Okay,” she said, her voice distant. “Yeah, I guess I am a little tired. Maybe we should just watch a movie or something.”

Caroline released her compulsion, her face etched with regret. Raegan yawned, stretching her arms above her head. “A movie sounds great,” she said, smiling at me. “What do you say, Hallie? Rom-coms?”

I forced a smile, my heart aching with guilt. “Sounds perfect, Raegan.”

As we walked out of the study, leaving the leather-bound book lying forgotten on the floor, I knew I had crossed a line. I had betrayed Raegan’s trust, stolen her memories, and kept her in the dark. But I had done it to protect her, to protect us both.

I just hoped that one day, she would understand. And I can only hope she will forgive me for making this decision.

[kmc1989]

A Second Chance ~ Road Names

An Andy Barber x OFC Madeline Barnes AU

I always though when you found "the one" life would be perfect. My life was perfect.  I had a great job, a beautiful house and a handsome husband. Yes, my life was perfect.

Turns out I was wrong.

After a catastrophic event, Madeline Barnes goes on the run and finds herself at a bar, trying to forget her pain and wallow in sorrow.

But she also found herself back into the sights of a man who knows her but she doesn't know him.

As Maddie recalls her relationship with her husband, she begins an affair with the gorgeous president of the Rebel Sons Motorcycle Club. The same man who saw her seven years before and won't let go of this second chance.

A/N:

This is a rewrite of the one-shot "A Second Chance" but with the names added. Original chapters will follow.

The tag list is open so if you would like to please let me know!

WARNINGS: smut! (oral M & F, PinV, Masturbation, etc.) cheating (by both parties) divorce, pregnancy, verbal abuse, violence.

Banners by me! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Prior Chapter: The First Date

Main Masterlist // Series Masterlist

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Maddie 

The clubhouse in the daylight is a much different place than at night. I’m not even sure what I was thinking when I pulled over to go to this place. I can feel the heat rising on my cheeks as I remember when Andy kissed me the first time.  

“Miss Maddie!” The guy from behind the bar waves to me. “Its Jensen, from last night.” Was it really only just last night? Then realization hits me.   

“The bartender!” I exclaimed. “Yes, hi. Nice to see you. Again.” I flush again.  

Jensen gives a full smile. “Prez,” he shakes hands with Andy.  “What can I get for you?” 

“Whiskey for me,” Andy replies and looks at me. “Angel?”  

“Just a water,” I smile.  

“Coming right up.” Jensen moves to get our drinks as Andy directs me to a table with a few men and women on it.  “Guys, this is Maddie. Maddie, this is Curtis, Ari, Chris and of course you know Steve. The Ladies are Angie, Jenn and Andie.”  

I give a shy wave. One of the girls bounces right up to me.  “Hi! I’m Angie or Havoc as Steve likes to call me.” She winks back to Steve, who smiles and nods.  

“Havoc?” 

“It’s my road name. When I go riding with my man. Jenn is Siren and Andie is Venom.”  

“Venom?” 

“Because Jake makes the drinks which are basically poison,” Andie states with a smile that matches Jake. “I’m Jake’s girl.”  

“And I’m Ari’s,” Jenn replies.  “We have to come up with your name, Maddie.”  

“Obviously, its Queen,” Angie rolls her eyes.  

I shake my head. “Oh no, I’m not a queen,” I reply. I look at Andy. “He calls me Angel. Does that work?” 

Andie tilts her head. “I like it. When we corrupt you, we can call you Fallen Angel.”  

“Alright ladies,” Andy interrupts. “I need to show Maddie where to put her stuff at.  She’ll be staying here until we can find a new place for her. You ladies can talk about lipstick and pantyhose later. Guys, help with the boxes. Whatever doesn’t go into my room can go in the room next door.”  Chairs scrape the floor as everyone moves.  Each guy grabs a younger man to go with them.  

“Prospects,” Andy supplies. “They want to be a full member of the club, but they have to earn it. They do a lot of the mundane stuff for the club. Shopping, pickups, cleaning, stuff like that.”  

“Oh.” I chew on my bottom lip. “You had to do that?” 

“Yep. My dad was VP before he got sent to prison. Our old president took me in. He didn’t have any sons, so he made me his heir, I guess. When Steve’s dad step down, he made me VP and then when he retired, I took the position and made Steve the VP. The natural order restored.”  

We climb the stairs and go back into Andy’s room. I took a better look. The king bed was made again, and room was smelling fresh. The room was large, had the en-suite and a walk-in closet. “It’s big.”  

“Yeah, my dad, not the one in prison, took two rooms and remodeled. The rooms on the second floor are for the officers. Third is for church. Prospects and anyone else who needs a bed are downstairs behind the bar.”  

I continue to walk around the room.  “Do you have a road name?” 

Andy smirk. “Most call me Prez. Steve and the other officers will either call me Prez or Ghost.” He reaches for me and pulls me to him. “You can call me whatever you want, Angel.” He pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “As long as I can call you mine.” I hummed in pleasure and gave permission for Andy to kiss me deeper.  He walked me backwards until the back of my knees hit the bed. Andy lifted me so he could lay me down with him on top. “Fucking beautiful,” he mumbled as he started to kiss my neck.  

“Mmm, Andy.” I tilted my hips up to meet his, getting a grunt out of him. He rolls his hips into me, and I can feel how hard he is. The man is a god. There is no way a normal man could go for as many rounds as we have in the last 24.  

Andy reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my breasts when someone knocked at the door. “Fuck me,” Andy bows his head into my chest as I giggled. “Angel, it is not funny. I am going to die from blue balls.” He growled as he got up and reached for a gun in the dresser.  

“Andy, you fucked me for an hour at the house. Don’t exaggerate.” I reach up and kiss his lips. “See who it is, be nice and I’ll suck you off later,” I whisper.  

“Deal. I won’t murder whoever is behind that door.” He opened the door to reveal Steve. “You are like a bad rash.”  

Steve grinned. “Sorry Ghost. We got the boxes up. We put them in the room.”  

“That was a text, asshole,”   

He shrugs. “Just trying to be a good VP.”  

“I hate you,” Andy growled. I swear that sound travels right to my core.  

“Love you too Prez.” He walks away laughing as Jensen brings up a tray.  

“Miss Maddie, I made you and Prez a Club sandwich and fries. Figured you were hungry after moving.” He winked at me and set the tray in the room. “If you need anything else, food, drink, illegal searches, I am your man.”  

“Tek, you are riding a fine line right now,” Andy huffed.  

“Right. Ok, well, see you later.” Jensen scurries out of the room like his ass is on fire.  

“You didn’t need to be mean to him, Andrew.”  

“He was flirting with you Madeline.” He grabs me and hauls me over his shoulder. I squealed and he smacks my ass. “You’re mine, you hear me?” 

“Put me down. I’m hungry!” 

“So am I.” He smacked my ass again before dropping me on the bed, ripping the leggings off of me. “Now open those legs, gorgeous. I’m about to feast.”  

Andy 

The beast inside me is finally sated as I stare at my girl while she eats her fries. Cold ones but worth it. I watch as she sits on my bed, in my shirt with my mark on her, inside and out. I take a bite of my sandwich and hum in approval. Jensen really does make a mean sandwich.  

“So, I know, you are the president but who is everyone else?” Maddie chomps  

I swallow my bite. “Steve is the VP, like I told you. His road name is Cap. Ari is our sergeant in arms. He goes by Shadow. Runs security for the club. Curtis is our road captain.  He handles the clubhouse, room assignments, meals, stuff like that.  His name is Blade.”  

“Because of his knives?” she asks.  

“Exactly. He had trained to be a chef but left that after... I’ll let him explain if he wants. He’s handy with a knife.” I cleared my throat. “Jake is Tekkie, our technical support. When he’s not working on the bar, he’s working his keyboard, keeping up with police scanners, internet searches, stuff like that. You need to find someone; he’s the guy to do it.”  

“Good to know.” She took a sip of her water. “And Chris?” 

“Chris is Doc, our club doctor. He went to medical school, trained at NASA but left after an accident at the training center. You ever need medical help, call Doc first.” She nodded but then started to chew her bottom lip. It was her tell, a sign that she had a question she wasn’t sure she should ask.  “Ask me Angel.” 

“What was James’s name?” She blurts it out and then covers her mouth.  

Natural curiosity, even if it killed me that she wanted to know. “We called him Bucky or Phantom. He used to be the sergeant in arms. Had a wicked shot too.  But he lost the right to call himself Phantom when he left the club.  Bucky is a nickname that Steve gave him. They were friend since elementary school. Wherever Bucky went, Steve followed. But Steve has always been the loyal one.” 

“I can see that,” she replies. We finish up our meal with some sporadic questions about nothing. She climbs into my lap after we’re done. “Do I get to ride on your motorcycle?” 

“Soon, baby,” I slide my hands up and down her legs. “Need to get you a jacket and helmet.”  Another knock interrupts us but I’m not as lethal as I could have been.  “Yeah?” 

Steve pokes his head in and disappointment flashes that he hadn’t interrupted us. “Prez, he’s on the phone.”  

I nod. “Yeah. Angel,” I pick her up to place her on her feet. “It’s time to talk with your ex-husband.”  

I can feel the tremble of her hand in mine. She doesn’t want to do this. Before I open the door to my office, I stop her. “I’ll be right next to you Angel.”  

“I don’t I can talk to him, Andy. He broke us.” I can see the tears ready to fall from her beautiful eyes.  

“I know. Why don’t I start, and you just listen for now?” She nods. I kiss her forehead. “Everything will be ok.” I open the door to see Steve, Ari, and Jake in the office. “Where is Curtis?” 

“He’s in prep for dinner tonight,” Jake replies as he types on his laptop. “I’ve got a connection to the where Bucky is calling from. If you give the word, Ari and a crew will be ready to ride out.”  

“Let’s not let it get to that.” I sat in my chair behind the desk and had Maddie sit on my lap.  “Who is handling the bar?” 

“Jenny and Andie are on it,” Ari replies. “Havoc is watching the kids.”  

“Ok. Let’s connect the call.” It rings into my office, and I answer. “Ghost speaking.”  

“Keeping a man on hold does not win her any favors,” Bucky growls out. “Where is she?” 

“Safe. Away from you,” I grit out. “What do you want Barnes?” 

“I want my woman and my life back.”  

“Not happening. Next?” 

“This conversation should be between husband and wife. Not a husband and his wife’s affair partner, Barber.”    

“Whoa,” I chuckle out. “An affair would mean I have been seeing this Angel for a time. I may have been in love with her for last seven years, but I promise on her life that I didn’t sleep with her until you fucked up. Now, you, on the other hand, have been having an affair, right?” 

“That’s none of your god-damm business!” 

“But it is mine.” Maddie’s voice was steady, which is amazing considering the amount of trembling she is doing.  

“Maddie, Doll, please come home and we can talk about this. I love you and I’m sorry you had to find about this.” You can hear the panic in his voice now. He should have been on his knees for her since the moment they met.   

“Find out?” She scoffs at his wording.  “Sorry about finding out but not sorry for doing it?  Got it, perfect, whatever.”  

“No! Doll, that’s not...” 

“I. Don’t. Care.” I’ve never seen her angry before but the anger vibrating out of her is making my cock half hard. She will be the perfect queen to keep the old ladies and club girls in line.  

“Ok, you talk to me now,” I interrupt, feeling the rage in her. “Sign the papers Steve left you and this is done. You don’t have a leg to stand on, Barnes.”  

“Bull shit. Maddie, please, let’s meet up and work this out.”  Steve leans over and whispers something to Maddie. She nods and takes a calming breath.  

“Fine. Saturday, at the club house.”  

“Alone?” 

“No. You lost that right when you brought that bitch into our home. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a president’s cock to suck off.” She hit the button and ended the call.  

“Whoop! That’s our First Lady!” Jake offers her a fist bump and Maddie takes it with a flush in her cheek.  

“Well done, Miss Maddie,” Ari said. “Prez, I’m going to do a security check before we open.”   

I nod and Steve, Ari and Jake leave the room. I hold my girl closer to me. “Do you know how hard you made me?” She shakes her head, and I raise my hips into her ass.  She gasps at how hard I am, especially after she told Bucky that she would be sucking my cock. “How are you feeling?” 

She tilts her head and thinks for a moment. She kisses my neck. “Sad, at what was lost.” Another kiss to my cheek, “hopeful, that I can get through this, and horny,” she kisses my lips and then leans into my ear, “because I really do want to suck your cock.” She slides off my lap and onto her knees. She undoes my belt and the button of my jeans.  

“Angel, baby, you don’t...” I lose my train of thought as her lips kiss the tip of my cock then licking the dribble of precome that forms. “Ohhhh, fuck,” I moan as she proceeds to swallow me whole.  

I guess the beast was sated and is roaring back to life.  

Bucky 

I stare at my phone as the call ends. Did she just say what I think she just say? She has never said anything like that before. And it was hot. So fucking hot. But she wouldn’t be going down on me. It would be with him, if she did it at all.  

Mother fucker.  

I throw my phone onto the couch. The couch that I now need to throw out because I can smell what has been done to it. Fucker had fucked my wife on our couch in my house. Madeline would have never.  

But then again, she wouldn’t have fucked another man if she didn’t have cause.  

I lean back on my couch and remember the first time I made love to Madeline.  

Seven Years Prior – Date #5 

I had Maddie at my place, the new place I got when I realized I needed to be away from the club to make this work. I made us dinner, and we ate at the table by candlelight. The mood made her soft and glowy. “Did you like the food, Doll?” 

“It was so good.” She wipes her mouth but misses a spot on her cheek.  

“You missed a spot. Here, let me.” I tilt her head to one side and kiss the sauce off. But then she turns to me and leans into kiss. I don’t resist.  She tastes like sauce and heaven. I reach up to palm her neck and keep her close to me.  This isn’t the first time that I have made out with her. All of the other dates except the first ended up with us making out for a bit. I know how she feels in my hands. But I want to feel her skin.  

Everywhere.  

“Can I take this off, Doll?” I murmur against her mouth and tug at her shirt. I felt her smile and nod. I peeled it off to see an angelic looking white lace bra. The panties matched, as I found out when I took off her jeans.  

I made sweet love to my girl.  

And was bored from the start.  

That’s when I called a club girl to let me have my way with her. I fucked her hard, fast and messy. Something I knew Maddie would never be into. But I was falling for Maddie and her sweetness.  I decided to keep making love to my sweet Doll.  

But keep a piece on the side.  

I stared at the phone a little while longer. My Doll wasn’t some innocent in the bedroom like I had assumed.  

And you know how to spell assume.  

I was going to get her back. And fuck her like I had always wanted.  

NEXT

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[kmc1989]

An Indecent Proposal

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: When your marriage is not what it seems, Viscount Bridgerton is more than willing to provide that which your husband does not.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, extramarital affair, loss of virginity, sex teaching, innocence kink, corruption kink. Nipple play, clitoral stimulation, hand job, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, orgasms, smidge of breeding kink. Background homosexual characters, period-typical attitudes to homosexuality.

Word Count: 6.3k

Author's Note: Long-awaited request fill for @daisfordaysstuff with Anthony corrupting a chaste newlywed who has unwittingly entered a lavender marriage. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading like a trooper. Enjoy! <3

As you wander into the splendour of Bridgerton House, part of you wishes your husband of just a few weeks, Baron Sanderton, were accompanying you. It feels odd to attend a ball alone. 

Now that you are a married lady, it is not really noted, unlike earlier in the season when you were a young debutante, and being unchaperoned would have been considered scandalous. What a difference a few short weeks and a ceremony make.

Earlier today, your new husband, feeling unwell, sent his apologies to the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton but insisted you should attend without him, to enjoy yourself and catch up with your friends. It was a lovely gesture, but also one that makes you sigh, even as you survey the beauty of the ballroom, resplendent with flower garlands wound around every rail and pillar. Your new husband is such a confounding man in many ways. Kind, considerate, thoughtful, never anything but a pure gentleman. Which, while courting, you had expected. It's since marriage that you have become more perplexed. 

Your mama gave you a speech on the morning of your wedding, clumsily explaining how your husband would visit your rooms and to allow him to do things to you. That if you are fortunate, what he does will result in you having beautiful children, and thus worth enduring. You did not dare tell her that you already knew some of what she speaks, having listened to the housemaids with a keen ear over the years. They inadvertently provided much more detail about marital acts that, frankly, you were eager to experience, their recounting so very contrasting to your mother’s version of events. A tingle between your legs when you eavesdropped on some of their more salacious conversations. 

And yet… not once in the intervening weeks since your wedding has your husband visited your bedchamber. Merely bidding you goodnight with an affectionate buss on your temple. Choosing instead to stay up late into the night with his good friend Baron Ledworth, a perennial bachelor, locked away in his wing of the house. Sometimes you wonder why he even married you, when he seems to prefer spending all of his spare time with his best friend; the fondness between them undeniable, especially behind closed doors.

And thus, to your chagrin, you find yourself a married lady but still a maiden, your union unconsummated. You grow, well, increasingly frustrated with every passing day that you do not get to experience that which you have overheard so much about. 

“Baroness Sanderton,” someone greets, breaking your reverie.

“A splendid evening, is it not?” You offer a polite response in return, not wanting to reveal that you don't recall their name, quickly moving on to seek champagne.

You perk up as you spy a whole table with glasses bubbling and grab one, downing it with alacrity. You watch the other guests pile in, craning your neck to see if any of your friends arrive with their mothers, many of whom are still seeking a match. As the minutes tick by and none of them yet appear, you grab a second glass, downing that too.

“Please do leave some champagne for the other guests, Baroness Sanderton,” a refined male voice rings out drolly.

You twist to find a bemused Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, the most eligible of eligible bachelors, by your side. You are instantly tongue-tied and contrite. Not only that your quaffing habits have been noted, but also by none other than the most handsome man in all of England.

For many a year, you had abstractly hoped that he may be the one to propose, fanciful of a notion though that may have been. You doubt anyone will be able to tame the rake that is Viscount Bridgerton. Still, now that you are a married lady, it appears he is much keener to converse with you than when you were an eligible Miss in want of a spouse.

“I am thirsty, Viscount Bridgerton,” you counter, aiming for nonchalance, even as your skin prickles hot as he continues to linger next to you.

“I thought the Baron sent his apologies,” Anthony’s brow knits.

“He did, but he insisted I attend as I wished to catch up with my friends,” you explain, twirling your empty glass between your thumb and finger, desiring another but not any accompanying judgment. 

“How novel,” he chuckles. “I would have thought you both inseparable in the first flush of marriage. Almost certain you would have caught whatever ails him, with so much time spent in close, intimate proximity.” 

The way his voice drops an octave, hinting at things which should not be discussed in public, has a frisson skittering down your spine. And yet the champagne already has a hold of your tongue.

“Chance would be a fine thing,” you riposte quietly, then instantly are flooded with regret as to what you have let slip, your cheeks heating rapidly. 

Anthony’s whole demeanour changes: surprise and intrigue claiming his handsome face as he grabs the empty flute from your hand and replaces it with another, rounding in front of you now, blocking your view of arriving guests.

“Baroness Sanderton, take my arm,” he enunciates crisply, in a volume you suspect is for other ears. “It would be remiss of me as host not to accompany you tonight, seeing as your husband is unwell.”

Looping your hand into his proffered crooked elbow, you allow him to lead you around the ballroom, still unsure why, but unable to resist the opportunity to be in his presence. Once you have completed a full circuit, acknowledging all and sundry in attendance, you are taken aback when he keeps moving towards a side door. Choosing the moment his mother steps onto a raised platform to welcome everyone, drawing the attention of the whole crowd, to guide you through said exit, unmarked by any other guests.

In the blink of an eye, you are out of the hubbub and being nearly dragged down a deserted hallway as his pace increases.

“Where on earth are we going, Viscount Bridgerton?” you frown, having to take quick, practically skipped steps to keep up, struggling not to spill any of your drink.

“Call me Anthony,” he responds, not remotely answering your question.

He glances around, then tugs you into a room, rapidly closing the door behind you, releasing his hold on your arm as he flicks a key in the lock. A vault in your stomach as you realise this appears to be his private office. A sizeable mahogany desk takes pride of place in a room lined with bookshelves, a plush reading chaise and a fire roaring under a portrait of a good-looking man you assume is his father.

“What did you mean, back there?” he fires rapidly, looking at you expectantly, an energy seeming to be rolling off him in waves as he ushers you further into the room.

“What do you mean?” 

You suspect, but do not wish to jump to any incorrect conclusions, mostly captivated by his animated demeanour.

“Has the Baron not fulfilled his duties as your husband?” he queries, his voice again in that lower register that has goosebumps breaking out across your arms.

“I am uncertain that I understand,” you feign ignorance.

Anthony fixes you with a stare so intense you feel frozen in an invisible spotlight. 

“Has your husband not attended to your needs, in the bedroom?" he rumbles, closing in on you, his hand cupping the bottom of your champagne flute, encouraging you to bring it to your lips.

You take a large sip, unable to look anywhere but into his eyes, pupils glittering, the reflection of the fireplace dancing there as you swallow the fizz. He awaits your answer, seeming very keen.

“He has not,” you confess quietly, your voice near cracking, your throat suddenly dry despite the drink you just took.

Anthony’s face looks like thunder. “How dare he!” he snarls indignant. “I knew he had a reputation, but I was hoping it erroneous.”

“A reputation for what?”

Anthony’s lips twist as if reticent to reveal what he knows. “To put it plainly, the Baron has never shown interest in female company. Until, that is, two months ago when his father threatened disinheritance unless he got married.”

You are suddenly reeling and slump back against Anthony’s desk. So much of what Anthony says makes the puzzle pieces fall into place. How out of the blue your husband’s interest and proposal were. How everyone seemed to whisper their surprise that he would so quickly take a wife so early in the season. But he was so very charming when courting you, part of you dismissed it as jealousy of those not chosen.

“He spends most nights with his friend,” you mumble absentmindedly. 

“Baron Ledworth?” Anthony guesses, and you nod. “Yes, he has never shown an interest in taking a wife either,” he adds pointedly.

“Are they…” Your voice falters, reluctant to say the next word, gulping champagne instead.

“I suspect so,” he affirms sagely. “Scandalous indeed, but it does happen, in secret.”

So I will be forever chaste, you lament silently. 

There is a sharp breath from Anthony, and suddenly you realise you must have muttered your thoughts aloud under your breath.

“Your husband may have neglected his duties. But that does not preclude you from finding what you need elsewhere, discreetly. It is surprisingly commonplace for women who find themselves in marriages such as yours,” Anthony advises, a kindling in your belly as he speaks of such.

“Have you ever been party to such an arrangement?” You murmur, curiosity getting the better of you.

He smirks and takes a half step closer, plucking the now-empty flute from your hand and placing it aside on his desk, which you are still perched on.

“I have had no need to,” he shrugs, “but my brother has in the past and found it most… fulfilling. And I am not adverse to such a proposal, should there be one….”

It’s a knife-edge moment of potential and tension. The hissing of logs on the fire is the only noise in the room, save your slightly laboured breath as he draws closer, leaning into you. Your fingers curling into the desk on either side of your hips, certain you would not still be upright if it were not there, your legs suddenly turning to jelly, a roiling in your belly.

“Do you have anything you wish to say to me, Baroness Sanderton?” he inquiries, his breath hot on your face, his damp lips mere inches from yours.

Heart in your throat, you take a deep breath, then begin the boldest request you have ever made. 

“Viscount Bridgerton, would you be willing to…” 

But you do not even get to finish the sentence. For the rest is swallowed by Anthony’s lips, landing squarely on yours, a low, throaty noise as he opens your mouth and kisses you like a wild storm.

Nothing could prepare you for this. Your husband’s kisses have been chaste, pecks on your lips or your face, designed as much for those who observed them as for you. This is wholly different: an invasion. Hands grasp around your waist, hoisting you off the desk and hauling you against his body as his tongue rolls over yours, your heartbeat erratic, a strong, slick pulse between your legs as he crowds into you, enveloping you in his embrace.

“Anthony,” you exhale his given name shakily as your lips part, taking a heaving breath.

It has a primal effect on him, his grip tightening, hands sliding low on your back, cupping your bottom and surging himself into you, a hard mass pressed into your belly. He breathes your name in return, before diving in for more, robbing you of every shred of sense. You are drowning in him, in his spicy amber scent, as you learn to mirror his actions, his approving noise is the very best sound you could swallow.

“How much do you know?” he asks as you resurface for air, his lips skating over your cheek. 

“Of?” 

“Relations between a man and a woman,” he clarifies as he sucks your earlobe lightly, gusting loudly into your ear.

“I have heard ladies' maids talking,” you admit, hands running up his biceps on instinct, a latent power lurking under the structured wool of his jacket.

“So then you know it to be the very best pleasure there is to be found on this earth,” he provokes, mouthing the sensitive skin of your neck, causing shivers to race down your limbs.

“I have not heard them say quite that,” you gasp, eyes fluttering closed.

“Then they have not been with the right man,” Anthony asserts in that low register, an arrogance laced in his tone, yet enchanting when it is focused on you. “That door is locked, and no one will notice our absence for hours,” he declares categorically, nodding towards the entry. “Just how much you would like to learn today is entirely up to you, y/n…” 

The power of choice he bestows upon you in this moment is near dizzying, a tremble in your being at the thought of the pleasures that may await. You are once more tongue-tied, unsure even what you are asking of him.

“Take your time,” he murmurs, relinquishing his hold and swaggering over to the windows, making a show of pulling the internal shutters over the lower half of the pane, so that no one who may be wandering the gardens later during the ball would be able to see in. This space is entirely private, just for the two of you.

Knowing he has your full attention, he then performatively plucks at the buttons on his jacket, dropping it from his shoulders onto the back of the plush-looking reading chaise, his dark grey brocade waistcoat following suit, causing you to stutter a breath as each button pops open. Then he is prowling back towards you, rolling the loose sleeves of his white shirt up around his elbows, his toned forearms flexing delightfully as he does so.

“What did you decide y/n?” He teases as he draws close, his scent stronger now. That same cologne, but also something else that is all Anthony: his skin, his essence. It makes your mouth water.

“I do not know,” you offer honestly, as he tilts his head to one side as if assessing you.

“Hmmm, I suppose ‘tis too much to ask someone unfamiliar with what awaits them to know what they need,” he concedes, pulling you back into his arms, the press of his musculature so much more pronounced with fewer layers between you now. “I propose I try some things and you shall tell me if you dislike them?”

You nod enthused, and his responding smile has your insides melting.

“Good. Now turn your back to me,” Anthony orders, swirling a finger in the air, a subtle clip to his tone that has you obeying before you even realise it.

You jolt as warm fingertips trail down the notches of your bare spine above your dress, goosebumps erupting in their wake. Then his breath is warm in the tendrils of your hair, held in an elegant updo, as he slowly unbuttons the little pearls holding your dress together. You have only ever had a lady's maid undress you before. A quivering in your belly as his fingers instead pluck at the fabric, a singular knuckle tracing each notch between the lacing of your stays underneath. 

You have to lock your knees when two warm hands sweep up to your shoulders and push the fabric from them, your gauzy dress fluttering away and pooling in a circle around your ankles. Grateful for the fire, you now stand before him in just your stays and thin chemise; still, your shiver has nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

You ache for him to touch your skin, pull you into another confounding kiss. But instead, you stay still, squirming slightly in your silken ballet shoes as Anthony’s deft fingers start to pluck at the criss-crossed lacing of your stays. You breath in short pants as your breasts bounce with each tug, the structure soon falling from your torso and discarded upon the floor.

“Turn around, my sweet,” he murmurs duskily in your ear, bestowing a term of affection upon you that liquefies a hot mass behind your ribs.

You do as asked, a tremble in your skin as he rests a knuckle upon your clavicle. 

“Do you know your own body?” he asks, your faint frown causing him to expound: “Have you touched yourself?” 

That knuckle slips lower, skating the top of your breast now.

“T-t-touch myself where?” You garble out, your mind scarcely able to keep pace with his questions.

“For starters… here.”

You inhale raggedly a featherlight brush over your nipple, like a live wire, even through your cotton chemise.

“I have not,” you stumble, tongue heavy, a tingle where he lingers. 

His fingers unfurl, and he lightly pinches your nub between them. You gasp and sway towards him, a sudden lightning bolt zipping between your legs.

“Oh my sweet, the things I could teach you….” he sighs sinfully, and it sounds like the very best threat in the world.

His touch gets heavier, the pinch more pronounced, your mouth slackening. But just as you think it may slip into an unpleasant ache, he smirks predatoryly and releases his grip. Your whole being throbs with need, a sudden pulse of blood to your nipple, amplifying the molten heat deep inside. It makes you want to hurl yourself upon him. Experience everything he has to offer.

And so, throwing caution to the wind, you tug the neckline of your chemise open, widening it until it slips over your shoulders and falls to the floor under his hooded gaze. 

“Teach me, Anthony,” you implore, standing naked before him, save your knee-high silk stockings and slippers.

There is a growl, and suddenly you are picked up in his arms, bridal style, him carrying you across the room, your shoes slipping from your toes with his movement.

He lays you down upon the chaise, its soft tufted velvet tickling your naked shoulder blades as he stares down at you, as if laid out as a delicious buffet. Your eyes are drawn to a bulge in his trousers that makes you swallow hard, clamping your legs together. That is likely his ‘cock’ you have heard talk of.

“Do you wish to know how a man can pleasure a woman? Or do you wish to learn a man’s body more intimately, how to please him?” he pitches, noting where your gaze has wandered, a shrewd quirk to his lips.

“Both,” you splutter, and he chuckles richly.

“Oh, you are the very best kind of innocent,” he asserts, looming over you. “So very keen. Your husband is an utter fool.”

His fingers are back on your breast, this time on your bare skin, sliding to capture your nipple again, pebbling hard under his touch, all-consuming, making your spine arch off the sofa.

“But all the better for me,” he opines, a smugness to his tone as he swaps to your other nipple, seeming so pleased at your responsiveness. Your lips tingle, wanting more of his heartstopping kisses, knowing it will sweep you into a riptide you do not want to be rescued from.

And he seems to intuit such, bending down to capture your lips, a moan bubbling up from within you and vibrating over your tongue as it parries with his. Lowering his whole body, his shirt chafing your darkened nipples, the rough wool of his trousers as he insinuates his legs between yours. You cling to him, the muscle under the thin material, unable to form words as you catalogue all the splendours of a man lying atop you.

He breaks the kiss, his lips sliding hot down your throat then lower still, sucking upon your clavicle, shuffling lower, his cock a hot press into your mid thigh as he traps your right teet in his mouth, and again you cant upwards, so much heat and suction, a beeline for that engorged slick ache between your legs.

You softly call his name, your hand flying reflexively into his thick, lush head of hair, scraping your fingernails over his scalp as he feasts upon you, moving to your left breast, his saliva cooling on your right puckered areola.

“You will tell me if there is something you dislike, will you not?” he quips, his brown eyes shining as he tilts to observe your slack-jawed expression.

“Do not stop!” You beseech, tilting your breast back towards his lips as he laughs carefree and goes back to teasing you so resoundingly.

His hands trail down your flank, to the flare of your hips, squeezing your flesh, the noises he makes as he feasts upon you just ratcheting you higher, a need burning brightly between your legs.

“I am burning between my legs, Anthony…” 

You don't mean to voice it, but you cannot censure your mouth from your tumbling thoughts.

“Good,” he growls, surging his hips so the contour of his cock is unmistakable, the wool abrading the softness of your inner thigh.

“Will you be removing your clothes too?” Your query is tinged with hopeful curiosity, a yearning to see a man, this man in particular, without clothing.

“I could bring you untold realms without removing a stitch,” Anthony asserts, tone dripping with that conceit which is so attractive. “Just my fingers and tongue … “ he adds, licking a wide stripe up your sternum, before moving back up to your lips, one of his hands sliding between your bodies.

You cry out into his mouth as his fingers slip between your thighs, the slightest touch on the swollen nub nestling there making you buck up.

“See?” he smirks, staring down at you possessively, as he unhurriedly flicks a mere fingernail over that bundle of nerves.

“What is that?” Your wide-eyed question makes his laugh echo into your ribs.

“That, my sweet girl, is what you should have been playing with. Every time you felt that odd fizzling low in your belly when you looked upon a man? This is what you should have done,” he intones, his touch getting firmer as you moan and writhe under him. “Gone home and touched yourself here. But then, if they taught you ladies as such, I doubt we would ever see you out in polite society again…”

He looks inordinately pleased with what he is doing to you and his own witty assessment, as all you can do is bite your lip and ride his fingers, a slick, wet sound growing louder as he plays with your body. 

“So delectable,” he murmurs, kissing you more, all open mouths and teeth, you moaning into him wantonly now, something building inside you that feels almost perilous, a feverishness that makes you rash, impetuous, your hands plucking at his shirt, needing his skin upon yours.

He withdraws his hand, and you whine at its loss, but stare transfixed as he brings those now glistening fingers up to his lips. So close you can almost smell your scent upon them, honeyed yet tart. You gasp as he plunges them into his mouth, his eyes closing as he sucks his own fingers. You are quite sure this is not what ordinary men do; so debauched, untamed in his enjoyment of your flavour.

Releasing his digits with a wet pop, he suddenly rears up and, crossing his arms, tugs his shirt up and off, it sailing away in an arc as your eyes feast upon his physique. You have seen artwork of shirtless men, mostly in religious contexts, but none seem quite to compare to Anthony Bridgerton. A fuzz of hair over his torso thickest in the indent between his pectorals, but fanning out across his broad slab of chest. A line also runs down the centre of his tapered waist, disappearing temptingly into his trousers. You ache to know how far it goes, wanting to trace it with your fingers.

“Go ahead,” he goads, as if intuiting where your thoughts have gone, courage seizes your hands. 

Your fingers plough into the thatch, surprised by how soft it is, tracing all the lines under his rapt attention.

“Soft…” you mutter, petting him, letting your touch slide brazenly down over his belly button, sweeping the top of his trousers. 

“Keen, I see…” he smirks, but you can't help but match his smile as he starts to undo the buttons at his hip, more than willing to show you that which you are curious to see.

He athletically jumps up to standing, towering over you as the buttons relent and his trousers hit the floor. You suck in a breath. There, nestling at the end of that trail of hair, is his cock. Much larger than you had expected, the solid cylindrical mass curved up towards his washboard stomach, tapering at the tip where it is flushed with a darker hue. Beneath it, a twin sac that droops. An instinct to touch has you making to sit upright, but a quelling hand on your shoulder halts you.

“Lie back, my sweet, just watch,” he murmurs, his other hand circling a fist around his cock and moving the skin there up and back down with one swipe as he groans. You observe, fascinated as he repeats the motion a few times. “This is how you handle it, do you follow?” he checks, and you affirm, keen to be allowed to copy his actions.

He crawls over you again, seizing your wrist and guiding it towards his cock. His lips ghost yours as you grab hold of him unseen, his face filling your entire field of vision. Velvety smooth skin over a stiff mass, your fingertips just touching your thumb as you encircle him.

“That it…” he encourages, his eyes intent on yours as he huffs delightful little noises over your lips, you slowly pumping his cock in your hand, getting used to its dimensions, its shape. The warmth and weight are wonderful; you cannot help but speed up a touch, his approving groan your guide. You pause as a substance drips onto the side of your fingers as your hand travels up to his tip. 

“‘Tis normal,” he rapidly assures, but he whimpers when you pull your hand away.

Bringing your fingers up to your mouth, much as he had previously, he makes a noise of garbled surprise as you follow his lead. Your tongue darts out to lick the substance from your fingers, intrigued as to what it might be like. The singular flavour makes you pause, uncertain if you particularly like it. Not bad, but not as sweet as that which you could taste in his mouth from your own body.

He mutters a curse at your actions, you unaware of the effect they have upon him. Suddenly, with a snarl, he tugs your fingers from your lips, diving down for a kiss that is more desperate than any previous, lowering his entire being flush to yours once more, so much naked skin-on-skin contact as he plunders your mouth.

“Are you entirely certain you want this?” He checks, his voice changed to a touching sincerity—such a tender contrast to his ferocious kiss.

“Yes I am more than certain,” you confirm, running your nails down the play of back his muscles to emphasise your point, his cock searing against your throbbing clit.

“Are you aware of what happens next?”

“Your cock goes inside my quim,” you sate, parroting words you have overheard.

“Well, yes, but not quite yet, my sweet,” he advises over a warm chuckle. “For I have not yet prepared you for me. I should, as this is to be your very first time.”

Anthony’s touch glides between your legs, but this time, he barely brushes your clit. Instead, he sweeps lower, and you startle at the novel sensation of a finger pressing into you, a trickle of wetness leaking onto your bottom as he does so.

You are certain your face is a picture as he slowly rocks into you, going a fraction deeper each time, your slick juices easing his way, your vice-like grip on the rounds of his shoulders, the anchor you need. Your gaze pings between his face, watching you closely, and down your body to where his toned, hair-dusted forearm curls between your thighs, tendons flexing with each gentle push.

“You have just enough of an opening for me to do this, my sweet,” he tutors softly. Then a different finger presses lightly on a spot that causes a little twinge to tug inside. “But this barrier shall soon be broken… by me,” his voice turning a touch gravelly. “Only me,” it's throaty and possessive, leaning down to capture your lips bitingly.

He adds another finger alongside the one buried within you, making you moan over his teeth with how full you feel. The motion of his hand speeds up, cleaving your walls open over and over, your pussy clinging tightly to his knuckles.

“That’s it, you take me so well,” he lauds breathily, a faint quake in his being, holding back from being too rough. 

“I… I am ready for you, Anthony,” you appeal, bowing yourself upwards into him to underline your message.

You mewl as his fingers retreat from your pussy. An odd bereftness, as if something is missing without him inside you.

“Am I so very glad your husband is otherwise persuaded,” he declares, but gives you no time to respond, for he kisses you so many times that you lose count, almost light-headed as he barely allows you time to draw breath. 

Then his hips move, pulling your legs wider apart and, as your tongues meet, you stutter loudly at a sudden blunt, hot pressure between your legs that can only be his cockhead.

“This may hurt a little,” he counsels, pulling up to stare into your eyes, his pupils utterly blown.

You bite your bottom lip, but give him a look that permits him to continue, gasping as the pressure builds. There is a stab of pain that is momentarily searing before he groans and slides deeper. Your eyes go wide at the persistent stretch, magnitudes more than his fingers, your channel forced open by his cock. Every inch you are certain is more overwhelming than the last, seeming to take forever until he halts, a warm sac resting upon your bottom.

“How is that, my sweet?” His ask is soft and he drops a delicate kiss on your cheek.

So many sensations in your being at once: the throb in your distended clit mashed hard against his pubic bone, a light burn in your tendons from your thighs being pinned so very wide open, the heat radiating from his body cloaking yours, that insistent pressure inside; entirely alien but so very enthralling.

“I-I-I feel very full,” you profess, haltingly.

Your choice of words seems to make him puff with pride. “I am going to move now,” he explains, cupping your jaw gently.

Without breaking the intense eye contact, he draws back until just his tip remains inside you, then ploughs back in, you moaning loudly as your breath stolen from the potency of it all, your pussy pushed wide by his invasion. No longer any trace of discomfort, just a zing of pleasure that races from your core all the way to the top of your scalp. A cloying need for him to crash into you repeatedly, curling your fingertips into his bottom to telegraph your desires.

He more than takes your hint, initiating a rhythm that has you moaning loudly. He wraps around you, his lips on your neck as he fucks into you in a wave, a squeak of protest from the chaise as he does so.

“Be as loud as you wish,” he murmurs hotly into your skin, “no one shall hear us above the sounds of the ball.”

Indeed, only as he utters such, do you become cognisant of a muffled cacophony leaking through the thick door for the first time since you entered the room—music in the ballroom, and chattering voices in the grand hallway competing with each other. 

And so you do, unfettered, vociferous, letting him know how much pleasure you feel coursing through your entire being as he surges into you, each noise you make seeming to catalyse him further. A growing looped call and response between you. You never expected the marital act to be this all-encompassing. How people talk of anything else seems impossible to you. You want to shout from the rooftops, want always to be entwined naked with this man, your body alive, a symphony racing under your skin, as he takes you somewhere truly magical.

“Do not stop…” You repeat, this time through clenched teeth, greedily grabbing at his shapely rear as it flexes. 

“I will not, not until you come apart,” he attests, his chest hair mashed into your pebbled nipples, as he moves over you. A pressure building far inside, your pussy leaking copiously around him, onto the velvet beneath you. But both of you pay no heed, only chasing pleasure.

Your hand flies up to the chaise back behind your head, needing an anchor, to match him halfway, force him deeper than he has ever been, a primal desire for him to leave an impression within you. He groans as you meet his thrusts, looking upon you with seeming disbelief, such wild abandon in your choices. 

A trickle of sweat tracks down from his hairline over the curve of his cheekbone, and you push up to seal your lips first to that salty track, then clumsily to his lips, needing more of his intoxicating kisses, skating an edge that makes your lungs restrict, all your muscles taut.

“What is happening to me, Anthony?” you gulp, a tide rising throughout your being.

“You are so, so close, my sweet,” he rasps, his voice low, scratchy. “I can feel you fluttering around me, just a little while longer, and you will know true bliss…” 

His silky promise makes you more determined, your pussy rippling around his cock, his tip seemingly steely as he ploughs deep, speeding up even more, an erratic desperation behind his moves that suggest he is similarly afflicted.

A hand worms between your bodies and you scream as his fingers strum your clit, so very swollen and coated in slippery juices. Your fingernails dig into his back as your entire being snaps into a technicoloured synesthesia, nudged into an oblivion, breath stolen, pulse racing, eyes clamped shut. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock as he howls into your ear from the pressure you exert. You whine at the sudden loss of him withdrawing rapidly, a slick tide following him as he splashes warm ropes of fluid onto your folds, barely pulling out in time.

“Fuckkkkkkkkk” he pants, collapsing over you in a manner that is almost suffocating, your bodies both tacky with sweat and cum, your lungs fighting for air under his mass.

“Anthony…” you croak.

He comes to his senses, rearranging your pliant, exhausted body on the oversized chaise so that he is curled around you, your spine pressed into his chest. 

“That was magnificent,” he opines, his lips crushing into your messy hair, your updo now entirely worked loose by the repeated jolts into the velvet.

You hum in agreement, hazily attempting to file away so many wondrous things about this seismic experience. Your combined fluids are tacky between your inner thighs as you snuggle back into Anthony, finally returning to yourself enough to make a query.

“What was that? That came out of your cock?” 

“That is my seed, my sweet. That which makes you with child.”

“Ohhh!” you exclaim, suddenly piecing together what your mother had said.

“You are a married lady and still they do not tell you such?!” He scoffs.  

“Not in any detail. I was told to endure what my husband may do to me, for that will give me a child,” you shrug.

He laughs incredulously, then twists you under him, hovering over you, a teasing quirk tugging at his lips. “Was that such a terrible experience to endure?” Anthony jests.

You can't help but grin impishly. “Utterly dreadful, my lord,” you volley back, a newfound confidence bubbling within, something profound about your womanhood. “And you did not even have the courtesy to leave me with child…”

Something dangerously feral ripples over his handsome features.

“Do not tempt me, Baroness….” he cautions, his baritone vibrating into your ribcage.

“If my husband will not, perhaps you can…” You goad, knowing you are playing with fire for all concerned; such a scandalous, almost indecent, proposal.

“If he continues to abandon his duties, I shall have words with him.” Anthony proclaims fiercely.

You suck in a surprised breath. “You shall speak with the Baron yourself?”

“Why should I not? This provides the cover he needs to continue his dalliances as he sees fit, while to the outside world, the Barony line will continue. And it also allows for us to be intimate, for as much as you wish…” He reasons, nuzzling your jaw.

“But what of your duties?” You counter. “A Viscount cannot evade his need to marry any more than a Baron can.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes, then fixes you with a blistering look. “But until that day….” 

His lips seize yours, and any other thoughts scatter to the wind. And before you know it, he is teaching you something else new, this time parting your thighs with his broad shoulders and burying his face into your folds, you screaming to the chandelier above as all around Bridgerton House the festivities continue.

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Anthony taglist pt 1 : @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @divaani @musicismyoxygen84 @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @fern-reads @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog @y0ur-favgerman @sya-skies @urfavnoirette @cinnamoodles @blackdxggr @alexandrainlove @witty-wallflower

[kmc1989]

MISSY I'm working on your drabble right now!!!

but I need to ask for some hcs of Tim x younger!reader with a forbidden secret relationship 🫦🫦

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ to!tim bradford x younger!rookie!reader (18+) missy's note: OH MY GOD YES! another pookie put this in my inbox too so i had to write something about a forbidden relationship. I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE WHAT YOU WRITE FOR MY IDEA AHH. i can so imagine this being buzzcut!tim we were blessed with in season 1 + 2 hehe. INCLUDES CHEATING AND NSFW! MDNI PLEASE JOIN THE TAGLIST!

we all know tim bradford is a smart lad. please, he served twelve years in the marines and he's a hard ass training officer- he knows the rules and abides them with caution better than no other.

which is why he knows he's soooo fucked when he realises you're his rookie.

i feel like a forbidden relationship would be so fucking thrilling but also scary because god damn is your career on the line. tim's even more so than yours because he's the older one and he knows better than to do that. not say you don't, bit tim's got massive responsibilities laying on his shoulders.

it wouldn't happen straight away, that's for sure. but god damn, would tim torture himself before his last straw. things like imagining you, instead, taking his length whenever rachel would provide pleasure onto his aching cock. and even so into the late night after coming home from intimidating you like crazy, he'd fuck his own palm beneath the shower's hot water- alert to not groan load that his girlfriend to hear, but enough to get a kick out of knowing that's he's moaning your name as he cums into his hand.

the dreams didn't help either- dirty, raw fantasies engraving each fragment of his brain as he imagined the filthiest things he could do to you.

you were struggling with it to because whew you were so whipped for this man. and no matter how much he yelled at you and demanded things like tomorrow was to never come, you still couldn't help but lower your gaze as you trained on every flex of his muscles and those veins that pumped on his forearm as he drove the shop.

the thing was, no matter how 'professional' you two tried to keep it, it so could never stay that way.

tim most certainly would try to keep his emotions to the back of his head, especially if he's got rachel waiting for him at his home. but when that first initial contact does happen, omg it would have to be because you were getting on tim's nerves and he just couldn't hold back.

being forbidden, especially when you're pretty much fucking your boss, means that you two are so secretive it's almost scary.

and yet, you two still love to balance on that line between adrenaline and getting caught.

tim possesses more of the paranoia. maybe that's because he's ten years older and has a higher status so he knows what's on the other end of - quite literally - 'fucking around and finding out'. so, he'll double check cameras and body cams, he'll even delete messages that evidences each other's dire needs for a quickie. hell, he's even checking through closed blinds behind neglected office doors while he grips your hair tighter, inviting your mouth to accept more of his cock.

you, however, are definitely more reckless.

you just can't help it! you know he's dating someone and, for heaven's sake, he's your boss. but...still, you can't seem to pull yourself away from the beauty of tim bradford.

you'll give him heavy-lidded eyes as he's trying to explain police terminology, you'll purposely brush past him in the hallways. you're not stupid, but you fucking love the thrill.

tim's a lot rougher than he means to be, and while your presence is a constant reminder that he's fucked his life up, he'd never blame his frustrations on you. because whatever this is between you and him was just as much of his contributions as it was yours. but still, he's frustrated.

so, yes, he will be rough, and you will take it.

you allow tim to take the lead in most cases- with the help of your teasing and how far you can push him. it can be so simple as tim murming a small- "get in the back." when you're both in the shop and that's your cue!

he gets so fired up if you've teased him all day with your small bratty comments or the lingering touch of your fingers to his leg. you love calling him 'sir' in a way that means nothing of respect, but hey! anything to get tim's jaw clenching and cock twitching in his pants.

sometimes if you two are walking side-by-side in the hallway to pick up a case file, tim will just grip your elbow and yank you into a random abandoned room with a small "c'mere, boot". he'll lock the door behind him and immediately get to work with dark eyes and a heaving breath- bending you over a desk with it's surface scattered with dust. not like he'll care or anything, he'll just whisper behind your ear: "you've been teasin' me all day, you fuckin' brat." as he's pulling your panties to the side before gliding his cock between your wet folds.

there's nothing 'loving' about your relationship- not for the first half of it anyway while the scare is still prevalent within you two.

tim has big arms and he most certainly puts them to use: in the back of the shop while you're both on border control, he'll help guide you up and down on his cock with a hold so harsh it marks your ass- same goes for when he smacks it every now and then. and when there's the off chance you can be delighted to the comfort of your bed while he comes over for an hour or two (you never do sleepovers- too risky), he'll definitely be using those arms to his ability as he keeps your thighs widened while he eats you out.

he's also so mean too UGHHH but please, you love it wayy too much. he's pounding into you from behind, groaning out how "once 'm done filling this hole, you're walking outta here with my cum dripping down your thighs, yeah?" and you're just nodding eagerly, drunk on the feeling of how perfectly he fits inside you.

he also fucking loves knowing that sweet, innocent-looking you is walking (limping) beside him on patrol with ruined, sticky underwear and cheeks still flushed from before. it's gotta be a power kink and god, does it only make tim more restless.

tim will definitely threaten you with a good time if you're pushing it.

late into the night means you're the only one left in the locker room as you begin getting undressed, and tim will just storm in after being absolutely teased by you all day. he'll push you against the lockers, zipping down your pants with a "g'nna stuff that pretty mouth so y'can shut the fuck up for once."

and even if you're blabbering about how "it's too much!" or "we're being too loud, someone's gonna hear us", tim will be sooo condescending. literally, he'll just reply in such a patronising way like "aw, poor baby- i thought this is what you wanted??" as he keeps rolling his hips to meet yours, the grind of his cock filling you even more as he holds you against a wall.

he is not kind. seriously. ain't no way he's calling you his sweetheart or angel or sweet girl in this dirty, secret relationship because you're everything but- and you know it too. especially when you both know if anyone deserves those names, it's rachel, not you.

so get ready for names like 'brat', 'doll' and OF COURSEEEEE 'boot'!

TAGS: @youaggravatemysoul @cevansfangirl16 @vivian-4 @britt217 @marvellover-12 @pillkits @pauieforlife @lololooolleonnaaa @hdcomputer @obi-wansgirl @simplyhale @rottenroyalebooks @redbeanmochin @kamisobsessed @andrealux21 @lololooolleonnaaa @adriellej @winchestersbgirl @elenasworlds @mimisamisasa @slovesyouuu @mrsmaugic @yourgirlcarol @imsleepygang @im-feeling-blue-today @deeninadream @kmc1989 @quinnsdesk @yeontanssecretblog

[kmc1989]

You're new in town and the sheriff stops by to tell your how things work around his county

Too Easy

Summary: Sheriff Bodecker gets up close and personal with a single woman moving into his county.

Warnings: Assault, Corrupt cops, Implied violence, Sexism. Please let me know if I missed any.

A/N: Reader is plus sized, female. No other physical descriptors used.

Lee licks his lips as he watches you get the last box from your truck. The neighborly thing to do would be helping you, but he likes watching your curves as you move and bend over. Wouldn't be too neighborly showing up to help with an obvious hard-on.

He'd heard the little house on Knox Rd had sold and was surprised to learn it was bought by a lady. The realtor said it seemed like you were fresh from a divorce. Lee huffed. With a body like yours, you must've been cut loose for your personality. No moving company, no help? You're probably one of them "independent women" types.

He'll teach you better.

For now, he'll let you get settled. Once he gets over the shock of how pretty you are and how much he wants his hands on those hips of yours.

About a week later, Lee knows he's got you figured out. He's been watching you like a hawk and learning all about you.

You're as sweet as you look, getting along well with just about everyone. He almost pulled his gun on the young Arvin fella when he shook your hand. Lee's got it bad for you and he knows it. If he wasn't already married he'd pick you up in a heartbeat. As it is, he's looking forward to getting the benefits without the hassle of a wedding.

The fact you live alone almost makes it too easy for him. Good thing he's never had a problem with taking the easy way. Besides, he can be nice, if you'll let him.

There's a knock at your door and you rush from the kitchen with a cheerful, "who is it?"

"Sheriff Bodecker, ma'am."

You open the door with a small frown that brings out the cutest lines in your face. "Can I help you, Sheriff?"

"We got some reports about Ol' Bob doin' a bit o' thievin'." He lays the accent on thick to get you to lower your guard thinking he's just a good ol' boy.

"Oh no!" your hand flies to your face in concern.

"Bein' new in town you're more'n likely to be a victim," he explains, leaving out the fact that there is no Ol' Bob. "Do ya mind if'n I check to make sure your place is secure? I'd hate to have him take somethin' precious o' yours."

"Of course, Sheriff! What do you need from me?"

"With yer permission I'll check the locks on these here doors and windows. Did ya have 'em changed before movin' in?"

A look of concern crosses your features. "No, I...I didn't think to!"

"Well fer now I'll go ahead and check 'em. But tomorrow you best be headin' to Billy and Ralph's hardware to get some replacements. I'll even come by and make sure to help you install 'em properly."

"Thank you, Sheriff, but you won't need to do that. I'm pretty handy."

Lee fights the irritation he feels at your comments. Just as figured, you're an "independent" type. He's gonna have to fix that.

"May I still come in an' check on your windows?"

"Oh, yes! Of course!" You smile widely as you gesture for him to enter.

"Thank you," he nods, smiling at how easy you're making all of this.

He makes a good show of checking some of the windows, giving himself a better idea as to the layout of the little house. He can't have you hiding from him when he's hungry for a rendezvous.

Your kitchen is smelling heavenly, he thinks. It's a damn shame you're not looking for a man, you'd be getting all the good, and bad, men courting you. But since you'd rather be all alone, he gets to treat you like a whore.

"You mind me askin' what your cooking? Smells divine," he praises, getting you to walk closer to the counter.

"Oh, it's just a strawberry pie," you coo. "Though it is about time to get it out of the oven."

Lee steps away as you put on some oven mitts and bend over to get the pie. He licks his lips and readies himself.

As soon as you close the oven door and set down the pie, Lee pulls back his arm and smacks your ass. You let out a yelp and turn to him, eyes full of confusion and fear.

"You've got quite the peach," he purrs. "Been wanting to get my hands on it since you moved in."

"Sh-sh-sheriff, that's not--"

He crowds closer to, pushing your back into the counter.

"Not what, darlin'?"

"Not...not right! You're the sheriff!"

"Which means I'm the man in charge," he replies. "I get to choose which rules get enforced and which ones can be ignored, and by which people."

"But...but..."

He chuckles coldly. "And ain't nobody gonna believe you, either. An outsider to the community? A woman living on her own? They'll be marching you through town with a scarlet A on your chest."

"I...I can go above your head!" you argue, tears forming in your eyes. "State police, FBI, even!"

"Even if they would listen, you'd never get to 'em before my boys get to you, hurt you badly, and leave your body where no one will find it."

"Your deputies are in on it?" you gasp.

He laughs, "not them. People much worse than them. Ruthless people who, if you're nice for them, will give you a quick death instead of a slow one at their hotel with them other girls."

A sob escapes your lips and Lee starts fondling your breasts.

"And damn you'd make those O'Donovan boys a lot of money."

"O'Donovan? The...they run the Heavenly Rest?"

"They're the ones. And they get one notice from me that you're trouble, they will make you wish for death."

"Roger that!" you shout, making him pause long enough for you to headbutt him.

Lee staggers back a few steps before charging towards you, ready to hit back. You easily dodge the blow and head towards the front door, Lee giving chase.

The second he steps outside, though, he's greeted by a couple of State Police vehicles. Some of them with open doors and officers pointing guns at him.

He angrily raises his hands in surrender.

The tallest officer steps forward and Lee recognizes him.

"Captain Rogers," he spits. "Fucking golden boy. Since when do you send innocent women to do your dirty work?"

"The Detective here was only too happy to sign up," he shrugs. "And I can't argue with the results. She even got you to give up your partners."

Lee's eyes furrow in confusion for a moment before turning into rage. "Recording device?"

"Yup," Rogers confirms. "We were expecting this to take a lot longer but, lucky for us, you're too easy."

Tagging: @alicedopey; @blacksilks; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @iwudbutnah; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly

[kmc1989]

how easy you are to need - part 2

MICHAEL ‘ROBBY’ ROBINAVITCH x F!READER

<< part 1 ||

Summary: You accidentally send some very compromising pictures (and a particularly filthy video) to your boss/attending/crush. Chaos follows and, along with it, a very pleasant surprise.

wc: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, explicit sexual content, robby is a tiny bit unhinged, possessive tendencies, oral (f!receiving), implications of a scent kink, reader is honestly so lovesick and hot for him (it’s mutual), fingering, vibrators

A/N: i’ve gotta get this out of my drafts and out of my sight. breaking it up cause I think posting like 10k of pure smut might be over the top and boring tbh so here is the first 5k of filth. enjoy <3

The way to your apartment is spent with both of your hands on the wheel and one of Robby’s on your thigh. He could have driven, is used to driving, but he’ll let you think you have some semblance of control. For now. 

He makes small talk about work the entire time, pretends like nothing is out of the ordinary, but he knows you’re barely listening, too focused on the road and doing your best to ignore the thumb stroking at the inner seam of your pants—up high, but not high enough. You squirm and bite your lip, and in the short span it takes to pull into your lot, Robby’s managed to make you swear a total of three times. 

It’s fucking intoxicating. 

The way you respond to him, angry and eager, then, once safely inside your home, completely pliant when he pins you to your front door. 

“You’re terrible, god—are you trying to kill me?” you huff when Robby bullies his leg between yours like he did earlier that day, only this time, he holds you by the hips and does the work for you, shifts you back and forth with a tight grip, 

And, he wishes he could see your expression, knows it must be fucking gorgeous just like the sounds you’re making, but he keeps his face buried in your neck, breathing heavy and grunting anything and everything he thinks might drive you a little more crazy. 

“So fucking needy, and I haven’t even touched you yet—gonna let me do whatever I want, aren’t you?”

You keen, hips rolling back and forth, side to side, desperately seeking the friction you just can’t get through all these goddamn layers. 

Even if you’re coming apart, you’ve still got that mouth on you, manage out a, “don’t get—nn—don’t go getting a b-big head,” that’s probably meant to sound indignant but is really just kind of adorable. 

Robby chuckles, still buried in your neck but tilting his head to run his chin over your cheek bone, grazing the shell of your ear as he goes, and you reluctantly reward him with a full body shiver. 

“Okay, fine, I’ll stop teasing,” he sighs with no intention of doing so. 

You must have some inkling of this because when he pulls away, he finds you watching him through narrowed eyes. 

“I don’t believe you,” said with a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. 

Robby grins in a way he hasn’t in years—all sideways and cocky. Fuck, when has he had someone so hungry for him? Him? Never, he thinks, no one has ever looked at him the way you do, shuddered at his touch, whimpered at the loss. 

He shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t sending him on a bit of a power trip, but it’s more than that. 

You may be falling apart in his hands, but he’s holding you so tight so you won’t see how badly he’s shaking, wants his face hidden so you don’t see how bright it is, how cloudy his eyes are at the idea of getting to fuck you. 

Too long, Robby has wanted this for too long. An inappropriately long time, and now he has it. He gets to mold his lips against yours and feel the way your thighs quiver around his. He gets to follow you deeper into your apartment, to keep his hands on you even when you get to the bathroom. 

Robby’s got his tongue in your mouth by the time you make it to the sink, grinds his hard cock against your ass when you bend to turn on your shower, is on his knees when you start stripping your clothes off. 

Who is he? What has fucking possessed him? He’s more desperate than he’s ever been in his life. Not even the horniest of his teenage years can compare to this. 

Teeth on your hipbone, Robby hooks his fingers into the waistband of your scrubs and slowly pulls them down, nibbles over your skin until he reaches your naval then drags his mouth back to the side. 

Your hands are in his hair, fingers curled tight then loosening over and over again. It’s when he rubs his chin against the sensitive curve of your hip that he realizes it’s his beard that’s making you squirm, and if you’re this twitchy now, you’re gonna be a fucking mess when you feel his face between your legs. 

Once you’ve stepped out of your pants, Robby grumbles a warning, “gonna touch this pussy now,” but doesn’t wait for a response before running his middle finger along your slit, pushing a little, “ah—ha, fuck,” from you. 

He’s delighted to see your stomach muscles contract in response, but that’s nowhere near as satisfying as the way your knees literally buckle when Robby slides his finger into your cunt. 

His shoulders catch you, weight making him grunt first then groan when you start to shake. 

“Let me—god, let me shower first,” you try, planting your palm against his forehead when he surges forward in his first attempt to taste you. 

Robby’s gaze wanders up your body, naked and perfect, and he focuses his eyes, big and brown, the ones that used to get him everything he wanted, on yours when he urges, “one lick?”

You squeak like you’re offended by the request, laugh a little incredulously while posing the question, “how the fuck can a man your age make such good puppy-dog eyes?”

Robby laughs through his nose, “years of practice,” and this time when he leans in, you don’t stop him. 

It isn’t just one lick, but Robby knew it wouldn’t be, never planned for it to be, and tonight he is all about plans. 

His knees are gonna hate him in the morning (and his back. And his shoulders. And his neck. And everything else), but as soon as the tip of his tongue slides between the very apex of your folds—already wet, already dripping for him—making direct contact with your swollen clit, you buck against his face, and Robby…

Robby loses it. 

Bottles and products and whatever fucking else go flying when he lifts you onto the counter—

“Fuck—Robby, Robby! Jesus Christ,” you’re squealing but he barely hears you. 

You taste so fucking good, grateful he was able to do this before you got in the shower, and Robby knows there’s a level of self-consciousness right now—he’ll let you rinse off, he will, but fuck, you have nothing to be worried about. He hasn’t even seen it aside from in that video, hasn’t appreciated it past tasting it, but Robby is obsessed with your pussy. Wants to live here, wants to drown. 

“Robby, please,” you moan, “don’t wanna—don’t want this t-to be how—fuck, don’t make me cum like this!”

Raising his gaze first to your heaving chest then to your beautiful face, Robby sits back on his heels but keeps both hands on your spread thighs, uses a thumb to rub circles over your slick clit in place of his tongue. 

“What is it?” he asks (croaks). 

“There’s just,” you make an incredibly pitiful noise and roll in time with his tiny strokes, breathless as you explain, “there’s shit, like, digging into my back and—and the mirror’s cold,” you blink down at him with wet eyelashes, and Robby actually feels kinda bad. “Just wanna really enjoy what I’ve wanted for so long, please.”

Yeah, that gets him back to his feet real fucking fast, and Robby pulls you from the countertop with a gentleness he hasn’t shown until now. 

Holding you close, he runs his palms from your shoulder blades to your waist, feels the different imprints from whatever had been behind you and massages the blood back into every crease while apologizing. 

“Got kind of… ” he laughs to himself, “carried away,” and, using one hand to rub the back of his neck, he’s trying so fucking hard to stay casual in the midst of his brain screaming at him. 

He can feel the rise and fall of your chest, your much smaller hands making their way under the hem of both of his shirts. 

Your cold skin makes him hiss quietly, and you grin up at him, “it’s what you get for making me stand here completely naked. Think it’s time for you to lose the clothes, Dr. Robinavitch.”

Robby shakes his head, which probably comes off as a gesture of amusement, but it’s not. 

Contrary to what you may be thinking, he has no desire to strip. Not yet, anyway. 

Standing on your tiptoes, you tug him down for another electrifying kiss, scratch lightly down his ribs, and Robby grunts at the sensation, then bites down on your lip. He keeps one hand on the back of your head while wiggling his other between the two of you, paying your tits some much deserved attention. 

Stepping back, Robby massages both of the soft mounds, has to do more than just stoop to get his mouth low enough to place a wet kiss on each of them, left then right. 

Without looking up from your chest Robby orders, “get in the shower,” voice like rolling thunder.

“Wha—mm,” you falter when he flicks his tongue over your hardening nipple, fingers closing over the other and pulling just enough to elicit another pretty moan. “But, you’re still… oh, s-still have clothes on.”

“Mhmm,” Robby nods, smiles when you try to push your tits closer to his face, “‘cause I’m not getting in with you.” 

He stops his little attack and straightens up. The way you're pouting at him shouldn’t make his cock hard, but goddammit, it does. 

“Why not?”

Your bottom lip pushes out, makes it easy for Robby to trap between two fingers. A hum of confusion lilts upward as you try to pull out of his grip, but Robby only pinches harder. 

“You wanted someone to watch you, right?” he drawls, and his tone is similar to the one he uses on the interns when they ask genuinely stupid questions. “It’s the only reason I can think of for sending your cute little pictures and videos to someone—” and he might squeeze the nipple he’s still rolling between his fingers just a little too hard. 

Thinking about it again, Robby feels a new sort of irritation flare to life inside of him. It’s not the heat that accompanies anger nor the sickness of jealousy. This is… Possessive. And, he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced it before. Not like this. 

You sent someone else those pictures and that video. On purpose. You’d taken all of it for another man, and all because—

Robby catches the way his masseter works to slide his jaw forward, close to bearing his fucking teeth. He relieves some tension by rolling his shoulders, and when he stretches his neck from side to side, he hears the tell-tale crack of joints. 

He feels a little crazy. You’re driving him fucking wild just by standing here with your hands on his torso, mouth open, eyes wide, fuck—fuck. 

Coarse and corrupt, Robby tells you, “the only reason you’d send someone a video of you playing with your pussy is so they can watch you do it, so that’s what I’m doing,” lips brushing your forehead, “I’m watching.” One more slow, deep breath, then Robby exhales all once— “get in the fucking shower.”

To tell the truth, it might be a good idea for him to step away for a second, rein in his thoughts, stop acting like a fucking psycho, but how is he supposed to leave when you move away on wobbly legs, when you look so pretty standing under the spray? The dark outer curtain is still bunched up in the corner, leaving a clear plastic sheet as the only barrier between you and Robby. 

You’re slightly distorted, but if anything that makes it better. He can see the curves of your body, the motion of your arms when you lather your hair with shampoo. The scent fills your bathroom, and, suddenly lightheaded, Robby is glad he’s posted up against the wall across from you, legs crossed at the ankles, hands locked together over the top of his head. 

He barely even notices how hard he is, and when he does, he really doesn’t care. You are his top priority tonight. Taking you apart, making you cum over and over again. He wants to see shiny tears stream down your face so that he can kiss them away, wants to make your body quake just so he can hold you through it. He wants to leave a print of himself inside of you. He wants, wants, wants. 

It was always there, laying dormant at the back of his mind—this urge to touch you, feel you. Robby bookmarked every time he made you shiver, took too much satisfaction when you’d stare and smile like he’d hung the moon. He bathed himself in every interaction, got off to a few of them, but even then, even when he recognized his attraction to you, he didn’t think that he’d be like this when he finally got his hands on you. He didn’t think he’d lose the ability to think rationally. 

After checking a couple of cabinets Robby finds a stack of towels and pulls one out, has it ready when you step out of the shower. You gaze up at him with foggy eyes the entire time he dries your hair, and he holds that gaze, feeling his expression—his mind—soften. 

Once your hair is no longer dripping, Robby moves downward, towels off your shoulders, your neck, earns a flutter of eyelashes when he gets to your chest and purposely runs the terry-cloth over your perky nipples. Ribs, stomach, back, thighs, his lips brush over your pelvis, and your nails scratch at his scalp when he sucks a harsh bruise into the divot of your hip. 

The sounds you make are so… Fuck, he could get drunk off of them. Already is, actually, and Robby wants you to make more of them. 

“Time for clothes?” he prompts, smiling up at your slow, dazed nod from where he’s still squatted. 

Your hand slides from his head down to his cheek, and Robby turns into it, kisses your palm before getting back to his feet. 

“Followin’ you.”

He holds you by the shoulders lightly, letting you guide him down the hall and into your bedroom. 

It fits you, Robby thinks, with one corkboard full of smiling friends and family, another with notes and diagrams pinned all over. Your bed is halfway made, topped with too many pillows and a well-loved quilt. Robby sits down on the mattress and watches as you open a couple different dresser drawers. 

He’s barely made contact with the sheets when he sees a flash of lace, and then he’s standing all over again and striding up behind you. 

The panties are cute—of course they are. A light purple that probably looks beautiful stretched over your waist, but Robby isn’t interested in anything forced or uncomfortable. 

Able to see into the open drawer from over your shoulders, he reaches in and rifles through your underwear until he procures a classic bikini cut, printed with light pink flowers. His eyes land on the tiny bow at the front, and Robby almost comes on the spot. 

“These,” he huffs, nuzzles into your temple and surrounds himself with the scent of your shampoo. “No one to impress. I just want you to be yourself tonight.”

Robby should start taking notes of the things he says that prompt strong reactions, especially the ones that get you to pivot on your toes and pull his face down to yours. You kiss him hard, tongue lashing against his in his mouth, and Robby has to brace himself on the dresser behind you to keep himself upright. 

“You’re fucking killin’ me,” he pants, the hand on your back pulling you closer and closer until your hips are rolling against his cargo pants. 

You could make a mess all over him, Robby knows, and he entertains a brief fantasy of holding you on his lap at work, making you leak all over his thigh then wearing you for the rest of the day. 

He needs his dick inside of you, fucking Christ, he needs to feel your pussy clench and flutter—shit, fuck. 

Not yet. He remembers the way you had begged him to let you relax and get comfortable before making you come, and that still applies now. Robby wants to have you spread out on his bed, wants a clear view of your face and body when he wrings out everything you’re able to give him. 

His hand dances between your legs, fingertips teasing over you, and when he feels heat radiating from your core, Robby can’t help but groan and push a digit between your slick folds. He’s met with warm arousal and a tight hole, rewarded with a soft, wanton moan and your nails in his traps. 

Is he really patient enough to make it all the way to his house? Is he strong enough? 

He has to be. Plans—he has so fucking many, some just for tonight and some extending quite a bit farther. 

“Finish getting ready,” Robby mumbles against your lips, giving one small thrust of his finger before pulling back and away. “Pack a few things,” he sounds absentminded, examining the juice you left on his hand, crystalline and glistening, “then you can show me your collection.” 

Robby sucks your arousal from his finger, eyes on you the whole time, and you look like you want to kiss him again, your grip on his shoulders tensing and relaxing a few times before you exhale a shaky breath and move away from him to do exactly as instructed. 

Even if a little sassy, you’ve always listened to Robby—happy to learn, happy to help, happy to make him happy. 

Apparently, that applies outside of the hospital as well, taking his earlier words to heart and slipping into an old college T-shirt and a pair of stupid tiny drawstring shorts. Robby tracks your every movement as you pad over to your nightstand and bend at the waist, showing off the curve of your ass while retrieving the toys he wants to see so fucking badly. 

“Mkay, so this is old faithful,” you begin, tossing what Robby’s pretty sure is a clit sucker onto the bed, “I also have this wand, but it’s, like, too much most of the time.”

He grabs the vibrator as soon as you put it down. Too much? Robby powers it on to assess, hums at the tremor that shoots up his arm, masks his inward smirk with surprise that’s not entirely faked. This thing definitely hits heavy, could probably overstimulate to the point of desensitization. 

He’ll figure all that out later, though, when he gets you into his bed.

Moving on, you wave a familiar teal dildo and look at Robby with a lifted eyebrow, “I assume you want to see this?”

“Might be good to start with,” he shrugs because while the toy is an okay size, Robby himself has a good couple inches on it, not to mention a significantly larger girth. 

You stare at him for a moment, but he doesn’t elaborate, just tosses the vibrator back on the bed before nodding toward your drawer. Keep going. 

“Everything else in here’s really just failed experiments, I guess,” you tell him, scanning over various shapes and colors before you stand up straight. 

Robby cocks his head to the side in question, and somehow you’re able to read it. 

“Ya’ know,” you wave a dismissive hand and attempt to explain, “things that didn’t feel as good as I wanted them to or, like, just didn’t work for me.”

“Define ‘work’.”

Robby’s eyes are drawn to your collarbone when you shrug but quickly trail down to the perky little buds he can see through your thin t-shirt. 

You catch it, fight a shiver at the intensity, but can’t appreciate it too much when your mind is suddenly buzzing with apprehension. 

What doesn’t work for you? Why is it so hard for partners to get you off? You know the reason, but it’s hard to say out loud. 

Which is pretty stupid, actually, considering it’s a common problem among the female population. Fuck, it’s not even a problem; it’s just anatomy and sensitivity, and Robby will understand. He’s a doctor in his 50s, not some frat boy bitch. 

Still, you nibble on your lip, look away for a few seconds, and though he doesn’t speak, you can tell Robby is expectant, fists in his jacket pockets with his shoulders forward as he dips down to get a better look at your face. 

“It’s dumb—I’m being dumb,” you shake your head. Just say it. It’s not gonna send him running. “I can’t come from penetration alone.”

Robby’s eyebrows pull down and together, one slightly higher than the other. Not quite frowning, he pushes his lips out in a confused sort of pout, almost like he doesn’t know why you’re telling him. “Is this your way of giving me a heads up?”

“I guess? I usually don’t, but…” you do frown, deep set and wrinkling your forehead, and you try to explain yourself, “it’s like—I don’t really bring it up with partners, especially if it’s not a long-term thing, and that way I can, ya’ know, go into it with lowered expectations, or really no expectations, so when it’s all said and done, I’m only a little disappointed when—”

“Stop,” Robby shakes his head, “stop talking, just—you’re telling me whenever you have sex, you go into it with no fucking intention of getting off?”

You sigh, “it’s not always about the orgasm, Robby.”

“Okay, so one, fuck that.” He sounds like he’s about to lecture you, which is, in fact, exactly what he does. “I know it’s not always about finishing, and I know the statistics. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to fucking come, Jesus Christ.”

“I know that,” you grumble, “it’s just more trouble than it’s worth most of the time. And, if I tell them, ‘hey, I’m not gonna get off from your dick alone’, it’s like… like they wanna challenge it somehow? Like, their dick is gonna break some kind of curse. I don’t know—guys are fucking weird, and your egos are easy to bruise, so why?”

Head hanging back and looking at the ceiling, Robby lets out a frustrated breath. Closes his eyes. Shakes his head for the upteenth time. 

He’s trying to come up with the right response, you think, and you see him suck his teeth before he steps closer to your bed and sits down heavily. You let him pull you to him, guiding you to his lap. Straddling him like this, you’re reminded of how fucking big he is. You’re used to having to look up at him, and you recognize that he has a broad frame, but it’s usually a passive observation—something fleeting, not fully appreciated. 

Now, though, his shoulders seem endless where your forearms lay, and your legs are spread wide to accommodate his, and his hand spans the entire length of your face, heel of his palm against the side of your chin while his fingertips rest in your hair at the curve of your fucking skull good God almighty. 

“I need you to listen very fucking closely,” he starts, and oh, he’s doing that thing where he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head—the same way he does when he’s about to teach a valuable lesson or reassure a nervous resident, and it’s always made you melt. Always. 

But, now he’s right here, and he’s so warm, and you’re in his lap, and your thoughts are racing so fast that it takes extreme effort to focus on what he says. 

“Whatever you did or didn’t do or faked with previous partners,” his jaw ticks when he says this, “you will not fucking do tonight, got it?” You can only stare at him, which is apparently unacceptable because Robby presses his fingertips into the small of your back just a little harder, enough to make you arch away from them and further against him. 

God, he’s so hot like this. 

“O-okay, yeah, got it,” you agree with a whimper. 

When you rock your hips a tiny bit, Robby spreads his legs which, in turn, spreads yours, until there’s a wide enough gap between your thighs that leaves absolutely nothing to rub your pussy against. Diabolical. 

Robby chuckles when you whine pathetically, nuzzles into your neck and admonishes, “told you to listen to me, but you just wanna act like a bitch in heat.”

It shouldn’t turn you on, but the way his voice rumbles against you and vibrates in your ear has wetness pooling in your panties, and the way he’s got you splayed open, you’re probably dripping onto your bedspread. 

“m’listening, I’m listening, I promi—” you break off in a gasp when he pushes you backward in his lap just enough to work an arm between you, cupping your aching cunt with his hand. 

He sounds disbelieving as he mumbles, “how have you already managed to get these little shorts all wet?”

Your jaw falls open when he rubs you through them, and you can’t help the way you move, how you beg for more with your actions alone. 

“Still listening?” he teases, and you nod. After all, you are… on some background level. 

Humming, Robby adds pressure to one of his fingers, the length of it slipping between your folds, pushing your panties along with it so that you immediately soak the cotton. 

It feels a bit like he’s mocking you about how insanely worked up he’s gotten you, but even if he’s making fun, it’s still burning you up, stoking the fire in your gut. 

“I am gonna take such good fucking care of you tonight,” he picks back up, “hear me? You’re gonna forget about every,” his finger presses harder, “single,” a little more, “one of those motherfuckers,” and when he slides the tip of that first digit inside of you, cotton and all, you suck in a deep breath. 

“Mmm, please,” you whine, starting to twitch all over. 

Robby lets out a condescending little, “aw,” and pushes your loose shorts and underwear to the side, showing you mercy as he shoves two impossibly thick fingers into your sopping pussy. 

You ride them. You ride them like you would his cock, bucking and grinding and moaning his name into his mouth when he kisses you with a grin, “you should see yourself right now, how pretty you are fucking yourself like this—poor baby,” he croons, “told me you didn’t wanna come in the bathroom, but you seem more than ready now.”

“Goddammit, Robby,” you shudder, trying and trying and trying so hard, but you still need— “fuck, use—can you—your th-thumb or palm or something—”

You won’t get there unless he touches your clit, and the way his hand is curled does not allow that. His fingers feel amazing inside of you, up against your g-spot, making you drip, but no matter how hard and fast you rut, it’s useless. 

Robby looks positively devilish, brown eyes heavy-lidded with lust as his mouth pulls up on one side, a lazy sort of smirk you’ve never seen on him before. 

“Now why would I use my thumb when I can use this instead?”

You fall forward when he removes the hand from your back to grab the vibrator you’d cast aside. Your breath stutters, so many protests on the tip of your tongue, but Robby’s already got it turned on and is guiding it to your spread legs to cradle it in the palm of the hand halfway inside of you. 

You’re lucky for the thin layers of material between your clit and the toy—the whole reason you weren’t able to grind into his palm, but even with that barrier you quake. It’s still too much, too much sensation, too much desire, too much Robby. He spreads his fingers across your back again, holds you against his chest and keeps you there like he keeps the wand against where you’re most sensitive.  

You’re crying into his shoulder, his shirt growing damp with the spit you can’t suck back into your mouth, and you barely even realize your jaw is locked, teeth buried in the column of his throat, until Robby groans and swears and tilts his head to give you more skin to work with. 

And, you do, leaving bite marks and bruises and a trail of saliva as you tremble, bend, break. Then, with a broken cry that could get you evicted, you come so hard you might black out for a second. 

When you fall back into your body, it’s to feel Robby stroking your lower back, tender where he brushes over your spine. His cheek is pressed to your temple, and the way he’s shushing you, telling you to, “breathe,” is like the purr of a big cat, deep and a little dangerous even through the calm. 

[kmc1989]

Across The Hall (9) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F ! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You and Michael now live parallel lives—close in distance but distant as strangers. After a school field trip to the zoo, you get injured and are rushed to the Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center, straight to Michaels ER.

Word: 4971

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20s/Early 50s), Head Injury (Factured Skull), Bleeding from the ear, and Vomiting

Authors Note: Hello! Thank you for all the love on the last part. Lol I love seeing your guys comments and reactions. They crack me upppp. Couple more parts and this fic with come to a end🥲. Depending on season 2 maybe I'll write a spin off/Continuation of some sort 🤨??? or maybe I'll leave a good thing be. Idk this is all up in the air and just ideas. If I did continue it won't be until next year YIKES. Long way from now. But if you guys want it i'll prob do it lol very much a people pleaser 😭 also determined to finsihed eyes on me lol okay anyway. enjoy!!! - ryn

3 Months Later

Since that day—that morning where it ended—you and Michael had kept your distance. It wasn’t easy. Living across the hall meant you still saw each other constantly. You crossed paths in the elevator, passed in the lobby, caught glimpses through cracked doors. But it was different now. Cautious. Careful. The warmth was gone.

It was like reverting back to how things were in the beginning—only worse. Not acquaintances. Less than that. Strangers.

There were no more lingering glances, no more easy conversations or shared errands. No more moments where he helped you without being asked, like he just knew. Now it was all stiff nods and the occasional muttered “hey” or “hi,” as if everything between never happened or existed.

Your lives—once a single, tangled line—had split. Still running close, still crossing the same thresholds, but no longer connected. Now they moved in parallel. Close enough to feel, never close enough to touch.

You missed him. Not just being around him—but him. The version only you knew. The one who stayed late, who looked out for you, who let his guard down when it was just the two of you.

Now, it was like he barely looked your way. Just quick hellos, if that. And even those felt heavy.

Still, every time you saw him, you wondered if he missed you too.

And maybe—just maybe—you knew he missed you too.

But neither of you said a word.

Michael had been the first person to remind you what it felt like to be truly cared for. Losing that connection hurt deeply. But even without him, you were learning how to stand on your own. You are in a better place

After years stuck in a toxic, neglectful relationship with Aiden, you finally chose yourself. No more waiting to be seen or heard. You were rebuilding, piece by piece—stronger, quieter, more certain.

It was something Michael said the last time you saw him that stayed with you. His voice was calm but firm: “You need to figure yourself out. Really figure it out. What you want, what you feel… why you push people away when they treat you the way you deserve. Because if you don’t, you’re just going to keep hurting the people who care about you.”

Those words gave you the push you needed to walk away.

After breaking up with Aiden, the silence was deafening at first. No shouting, no blame, no empty promises—just quiet. And for once, that quiet felt like space you could breathe in, not suffocate.

You weren’t completely free yet. There were days when memories clawed at you, when loneliness crept in like a shadow. But with each morning you woke up without him, you felt a little stronger. A little more whole.

And Michael? Seeing him after everything—it wasn’t easy. There was a tension, a distance between you that hadn’t been there before. You still felt guilty for how things ended with him. But beneath it all, you knew one thing: his words had helped you find yourself again. Even if your connection had changed, that truth remained.

—

This morning, you had left your apartments at the same time, walking side by side in silence. No words. No eye contact. Just the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway—too close, too quiet.

He let you step into the elevator first, then slipped into his usual corner—like always. The space between you felt heavier than it should’ve in such a small box.

And every time you rode the elevator with him now, your mind drifted back to that morning. The one where everything shifted. The one where he had looked at you like he couldn’t wait another second. Where his hands trembled on your skin and nothing else existed. That morning where—for a moment—you both stopped pretending.

Now, you only pretended. Pretended not to miss it. Pretended not to look at him out of the corner of your eye. Pretended he wasn’t right there, close enough to touch, but choosing not to.

Then, suddenly—you don’t know why—you turned your head and glanced at him over your shoulder.

“Good morning,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, a small, uncertain smile on your lips.

Michael stood there, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, AirPods in. He didn’t respond. Didn’t nod. Normally, he’d say hello—or at least acknowledge you—but today wasn’t one of those days.

Maybe he hadn’t heard you.

But he had.

Because the truth was, he missed you. Every time he saw you, felt your presence so close yet unreachable, it tore at something inside him.

But talking—to break the silence—meant opening a door he wasn’t sure he could close. It meant risking everything he’d been trying to hold together.

The silence in that elevator was suffocating.

The doors slid open.

You stepped out first, heart pounding, words caught in your throat. By the time the two of you made it through the lobby and out to the street, you found yourself saying, “Have a good day.”

Still, he ignored you.

Without a word, he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

—--

It had been a good day.

There was a field trip to the Philadelphia Zoo, and the fifth graders had been buzzing with excitement since they got off the bus. They darted from exhibit to exhibit in loose clusters, calling out animal facts they half-remembered from class, pointing at the gorillas, giggling at the flamingos, and dramatically gagging when they passed smelly enclosures. 

You smiled through the chaos, constantly scanning the crowd, reminding them to walk—not run—while answering a steady stream of “Can we go there next?” and “Do we have to stay with our buddy?”

By the time the group began gathering near the exit to prepare for departure, the kids were hot, tired, and still somehow full of energy—trading animal facts, snacks, and complaints about the long walk back to the bus.

You turned to check on one of your students—and your foot caught on a backpack left sprawled across the pavement.

You didn’t even have time to brace yourself.

You went down hard.

Your head hit the ground with a sickening crack.

Everything went black for a moment.

You passed out for a few minutes before slowly waking up. When your eyes opened, your other 5th grade teachers and your students gathered around you, worried. 

A sharp pain pulsed through your head. When you touched the side of your face, your fingers came away wet—your ear was bleeding.

You tried to sit up, but your body felt heavy and unsteady. Panic flickered in your chest.

“Are you okay, Miss?” a student asked, voice trembling.

You forced a small, shaky smile. “I’ll be okay,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure.

One of the teachers noticed the blood coming from your ear when you touched it. They knew something was wrong—you needed to get to the hospital.

You tried to protest, insisting you were fine, but the other teachers wouldn’t hear it. Their concern was firm—they knew you needed medical attention. They called an ambulance, and took care of your kids as you headed to the hospital.

“Okay, we’re headed to PTMC,” the driver said to his partner in the back with you.

Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. No. You didn’t want to go there. Michael worked there.

“What? N-no, can’t you take me to Allegheny?” you asked, your voice shaking as you glanced up at the paramedic trying to stem the bleeding from your ear.

“Miss, PTMC is closer. Allegheny is too far,” the paramedic replied, his tone calm but unyielding.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit you hard. Before you could stop it, you threw up—your body reacting to the pain and shock.

The paramedics quickly handed you a bag, their expressions gentle but focused. Your head throbbed fiercely, and the thought of seeing Michael at PTMC made the room feel even more overwhelming.

You swallowed hard, gripping the stretcher tightly as the ambulance doors shut and the vehicle started moving. Outside, the world blurred past the windows, but inside, your mind spun with pain, fear, and an ache far deeper than the injury itself.

—-

It was busy in the ER today—loud, chaotic, the usual blur of motion and noise. Monitors beeped steadily in the background, gurneys rolled down hallways, voices called out orders and vitals in clipped tones. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the sharper tang of adrenaline and urgency.

Michael worked hard and efficiently, his hands steady and his voice calm as he checked charts, issued instructions, and answered questions. Every task was precise and practiced. But despite his focused exterior, his heart wasn’t fully in it today. Beneath the surface, his mind drifted elsewhere.

For some reason, you were heavy on his mind—ever since he saw you that morning in the elevator. Though he went about his work with his usual efficiency, every time he glanced up or caught a quiet moment, his thoughts slipped back to you. That brief encounter stirred something beneath his calm exterior, making it harder than usual to focus.

Even as he moved through the chaos of the ER, you lingered in the corners of his mind—a quiet weight he couldn’t shake. Each task felt automatic, mechanical, like he was running on autopilot 

At the nurses’ station, Dana glanced toward Michael as he passed by, pausing briefly. His eyes scanned the triage monitor for a moment before he continued on his rounds.

“What’s his vibe today?” Dana asked, peering over the top of her glasses as she flipped through a stack of charts.

Jack didn’t look up from the computer. “Full-on rain cloud.”

Dana let out a quiet laugh. “That bad?”

Jack finally glanced up. “Yeah. Barely talking. Just doing his rounds like a ghost.”

Dana frowned slightly. She hadn’t had a real catch-up with Robby in a while.

“I don’t think I’ve heard him say anything beyond patient loads and charts in weeks,” she murmured.

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. He’s been keeping things tight. You can tell he’s holding something in… and it’s not just stress.”

Dana sighed, looking up from the computer. “It’s been—what? Three months since they stopped talking?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, watching Michael enter an exam room. “He’s doing okay. Better than a few months ago, for sure. But I think today’s one of those days where he’s really missing her.”

Jack added quietly, “It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. He’s always been good at hiding what’s really going on.”

Dana didn’t respond right away, distracted by the faint sound of sirens growing louder in the distance.

“Looks like a bus just pulled up,” she said, glancing toward the ambulance bay.

Jack turned, following her line of sight. Through the glass doors, he spotted the rig backing in, its lights still flashing. The paramedics moved quickly, unloading a gurney from the back, getting ready to wheel someone inside.

“I got it,” he said, already moving toward the doors.

“Alright, what do we got?” 

Jack reached the stretcher as the paramedic began briefing him. 

“Mid-20s female, teacher on a zoo field trip. She tripped over a backpack and hit her head on the pavement. She lost consciousness briefly after the fall. There’s blood coming from her ear. She vomited on the way here and reported dizziness and nausea and is currently somewhat disoriented.”

“Exam Room 13’s open!” Dana called out as she overheard part of the paramedics’ briefing.

The gurney rolled past the nurses’ station in a blur of motion—wheels rattling, footsteps fast. Dana glanced up from her charts and files to get a quick look at the incoming patient… and froze.

Her eyes widened, recognition flickering across her face as she stood up straighter, instinctively stepping out onto the floor. Her heart skipped. Her eyes narrowed, trying to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

It was you.

You looked pale, out of it—a plastic bag clutched in your hand, vomit on your shirt, and a smear of dried blood trailing from your ear. But it was unmistakably you.

The same woman she’d seen, playing around with Michael in aisle 9 of the grocery store fighting over cookies. 

Jack was already directing the paramedics to Exam Room 13, calling for trauma supplies as he moved alongside the gurney.

Dana stood abruptly, eyes darting around the ER. Looking for Michael.

Shit. Where’s Robby? Which wing did he go? She thought.

“Jack!” she called, rushing after him. She fell into step beside him as they wheeled you. 

“What?” he asked, not slowing.

“It’s her!” she hissed, voice low but urgent.

“Who?”

“The friend-neighbor-almost-something-—her,” Dana said, eyes wide. “Robby’s girl.”

Dana watched as Jack’s head whipped to face her. His expression shifts—from confusion to clarity, then to something dangerously close to dread.

Jack stopped short, turning just in time to see the gurney disappear into Exam Room 13. His expression changed instantly.

He looks at Dana again “That was her? Are you sure?” 

“Yes!”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“What do we do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jack didn’t hesitate. “We need to tell him.”

Dana’s brows knit. “Are you sure? After everything… you know how torn up he was…well still is” she trailed off, uncertain. “I mean, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Yes,” Jack said firmly. “He still cares about her, still feels things for you. You know he does.”

Dana hesitated, lips pressed into a line.

“He’s not over her, Dana. Not even close. No matter how messy the fallout was, he’d want to know. And if he finds out she was here and we kept it from him…”

“He’d never forgive us,” Dana finished, already nodding.

Jack’s jaw was tight. “Exactly.”

“Look I’ll take care of her, find him as soon as you can and tell him. Okay?” 

“Alright” they quickly went off in different directions. 

—

The harsh fluorescent lights overhead felt like too much—too bright, too sharp—cutting through the fog in your skull. Your stomach churned again, sour and unsettled. You’d already thrown up in the ambulance, the evidence smeared across your shirt, and the nausea still clung to you, heavy and unrelenting. It was like your body couldn’t decide if it was in pain or panic.

The nurse—Princess, according to her badge—helped you onto the exam table from the gurney, guiding you gently as you sat down.

“Let’s get you settled,” she said calmly.

You nodded, though the movement made your head throb and your stomach turn.

Princess moved with calm precision, wrapping a cuff around your arm to check your blood pressure and attaching monitors to track your vitals. She was already prepping the IV, her hands steady, practiced.

“Pressure’s a little low,” she murmured, mostly to herself, then offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You closed your eyes as the needle slid into your arm, trying to focus on her calm voice instead of the pounding in your head.

She grabbed a damp cloth and gently began wiping the vomit from your shirt, doing the best she could to clean you up while keeping you comfortable.

“You’re doing okay,” she said softly. “Just stay with me.”

Princess noticed the shift in your expression—the way your face paled. Without a word, she grabbed a plastic basin and placed it gently in your lap.

“Just in case,” she said softly.

A moment later, the door opened and a man stepped in, wearing navy scrubs and a calm, focused expression.

“I’m Dr. Jack Abbot,” he said as he approached. “I’ll be taking care of you today.”

Jack

The name stood out. Michael’s friend—he’d mentioned him a couple of times. Quick stories, casual references. You never met him, but the name stuck.

Now here he was, standing in front of you. And suddenly, it all felt just a little more real.

To Jack, you were more than just another patient. You were her—the neighbor, the teacher, the one Michael couldn’t stop thinking about. The one who shattered him.

He was torn. Part of him wanted to resent you. Another part couldn’t help but feel sorry—for both you and Michael. It hurt watching Michael suffer in silence, burying his feelings under layers of composure. But there was sadness for you too—because Jack knew you were still clinging to something broken. A relationship that should’ve ended long ago.

But none of that mattered now. He needed to take care of you—not only because it was his job, but for Michael. 

You and Jack locked eyes. Neither of you spoke, but something passed between you—an unspoken recognition. You both knew each other through Michael, even if you’d never met before. And in that silence, there was a quiet acknowledgment of everything that wasn’t being said.

“Let’s get you checked out,” he said gently.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He pulled on a pair of gloves and waited patiently as you gathered your thoughts.

“I tripped over a student’s backpack. I fell… hit my head on the side,” you said, your voice a little shaky.

Princess, at the computer nearby, typed quickly, capturing every detail.

“You passed out? For how long?”

“I don’t know. No more than 5 minutes?”

“And you feel nauseous?” Jack takes notice of the dried blood from your ear. 

“Yes” He brought his hands up, feeling your head, and then he felt it. A squishy part on the side of your head. 

Shit. 

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he gently pressed around the swollen area, careful not to cause more pain. His mind raced—without a CT scan, he knew the injury was serious. How severe, though, remained uncertain.

“Okay, stay still for me,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We need to get a CT scan to find out exactly what we’re dealing with.” He says to the Princess, but also to you.

You nodded, swallowing hard, the dizziness and nausea pressing harder with every breath.

Princess looked up from her computer. “I’m alerting neurology and radiology now.”

Jack forced a steady breath, trying to stay composed though inside, worry tightened its grip.

Your stomach lurched, and you vomited into the plastic basin Princess had handed you earlier. Jack stepped back slightly, giving you room but keeping his eyes locked on you, watching for any sign of worsening condition.

Princess moved quickly to help, she handed you a clean towel and quietly assured you as you wiped your face.

Princess stepped over, grabbing a pair of gloves and a warm saline wipe.

You flinched as she dabbed gently at the dried blood near your ear, trying not to let it sting. 

“Sorry,” Princess murmured, careful and quiet.

Jack watched closely but because the signs were impossible to ignore. The dried blood near your ear, the squishy spot on the scalp, the nausea and dizziness—they all pointed to something serious. Possibly a skull fracture.

Until the scan came back, there wasn’t much he could confirm. But in his gut, he already knew this wasn’t minor.

He reached for a chart from the counter, flipping it open and beginning to write. His pen scratched quickly across the paper, but he kept looking up every few seconds—checking your breathing, your pallor, the way you struggled to keep your eyes open.

Princess adjusted the bed slightly, propping it up so you could sit comfortably. She hands you a new plastic basin. She takes the used wipes and throws it in the trash along with her gloves and goes to wash her hands. 

You glanced at him, searching. “Did… did Michael send you?”

Princess moved to gather the extra materials they hadn’t used, placing them neatly on the supply rack. Her movements were quiet, efficient, but her attention never strayed far. She listens closely. 

Jack shook his head. “No. Robby doesn’t know you’re here… at least not yet.”

At that, Princess froze for just a moment. She didn’t know the full story, but it was clear you and Michael were connected. Her eyes flicked to Jack, widening slightly. A silent exchange passed between them—brief, but unmistakable.

Jack sighed inwardly. He knew exactly what she was thinking—the bet she and several other staff had made a few weeks ago at the bar about Michael having a girlfriend. Now was not the time.

His eyes locked onto hers, sharp, silently warning: Don’t even think about it. He shook his head slightly.

You hadn’t noticed the exchange. Your eyes closed, feeling dizzy, your head throbbing. The words slipped out before you could stop them. “That’s the last thing I want.”

Princess gave an innocent, almost playful raise of her eyebrows, but beneath it was something calculating. She grabbed a chart out of Jack's hands and scurried out of the room, leaving a faint echo of footsteps behind her.

Jack remained still, watching her retreat. His jaw tightened, mouth pressed into a hard line. In the ER, whispers traveled faster than code blue alarms—money and rumors would be swirling in less than a few minutes. 

Jack exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief second. He’ll deal with it later he tells himslef.

Jack leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just studied you—pale, clearly worn down.

You swallowed hard, the dizziness still buzzing faintly at the edges of your mind.

“I don’t want to make things harder for him.”

“He’ll know,” Jack said quietly, his voice flat with certainty. “He’ll come rushing in here once he finds out—I guarantee it.”

“He likes you—a lot, cares for you deeply” he said, matter-of-fact, like it was the plainest truth in the world. “I’ve seen him talk about people before—patients, colleagues, even exes. But never like this.”

Your eyes flicked open. Jack wasn’t looking at you anymore.

You didn’t interrupt. His words caught you off guard—soft but heavy.

“With you… it’s different,” Jack said. “He’s not the guy who makes big declarations. But his actions? Loud as hell.”

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours—not confrontational, just honest.

“That day—after everything fell apart—he barely said a word.”

Jack’s voice dropped. “He didn’t say much. But I’ve known him long enough to read between the lines. Michael’s the silent type. Shove it down, suffer alone. That’s always been his way. He doesn’t fall easily. And he sure as hell doesn’t bounce back quickly.”

And didn’t you know it—you ruined what you two had. You looked down at your hands.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” you said.

Jack finally met your eyes. There wasn’t anger—just a tired kind of clarity. “Maybe not. But it still happened.”

There was no heat in his voice. No judgment. Just the truth.

“He’ll handle it. He always does.”

He backed toward the door.

“My instinct is to tell you to continue stay away from him... keep the distance. To protect him.”

A beat.

“But even with all that… there’s a part of me that still hopes it works out between you two.”

He held your gaze.

“If there’s even a small chance you feel the same—don’t waste it.”

Then, firm again, “But don’t show up in his orbit unless you’re sure.”

“I’ll be back to get you for the CT scan. If you need anything, press the call button.”

And with that, he was gone.

—

Dana had spent the last several minutes searching—looking for Michael. The constant rush of the ER had kept her moving nonstop, priorities shifting by the second as new cases rolled in. Between the noise, the pages, and the demands of back-to-back emergencies, she hadn’t had a spare moment—until now. Finally able to look, she peeked into each exam room as she passed, also scanning for Michael.

Finally, she spotted him. 

Standing in the doorway, she called out, “Dr. Robby?”

Michael was looking up from the chart he was filling out while Victoria Javadi, the med student currently shadowing him, checked the patient under his supervision.

“Can… I talk to you outside?”

Michael glanced at her, then back at Javadi.

“Hold it down here. I’ll be right back,” he said, giving her a nod before stepping out into the ER floor with Dana.

“What’s up?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest.

Dana swallowed. “Robby, she’s here. Exam Room 13.”

“Who’s here?” His brow furrowed, clearly not understanding.

“She’s here,” Dana said again, slower this time, her eyes locking onto him.

Then it hit him.

His stomach dropped.

You’re here.

“W–what?” he said, hard and sharp, disbelief cutting through his voice.

“The bus pulled in a while ago-"

“How long ago?!” His voice rose, sharp.

“Half an hour—she hit her head. Took a fall during the field trip—”

Michael’s heart skipped, then kicked into overdrive. He didn’t wait for the rest.

He turned on his heel and bolted, weaving through the ER, past gurneys, staff, and startled patients.

He barely registered people calling his name.

Didn’t care about the chart he’d left behind, the patient waiting for him at 7 with Victoria, or the conversation he’d been having seconds ago.

All he could hear was Dana’s voice echoing in his head.

She hit her head.

His hands were already trembling. Thoughts circled like vultures—loud, fast, frantic. He didn’t know how bad it was. Was it minor? Maybe. But probably not—Not if the ambulance brought her in.

And then another thought struck—hard and bitter.

He’d ignored you this morning.

You’d smiled at him. Said, “Good morning.” Told him to have a good day.

And he hadn’t said anything back.

He’d brushed past you like you didn’t matter. And now—now this.

His chest felt tight. His feet moved faster.

Room 13. Room 13. Room 13.

Nothing else mattered. Not now.

Because you were here.

And you were hurt.

 He rounded the corner too fast, nearly slipped—caught himself—nearly crashing into Jack as he stepped out of Exam Room 13.

“WOAH!” Jack exclaimed, throwing an arm out to steady them both.

“Robby—”

“I gotta get to her—I” Michael said breathlessly, trying to push past him.

Jack grabbed his shoulders, holding him in place. “Stop, she’s gone.”

Robby froze. His heart plummeted, eyes going wide as the blood drained from his face. He couldn’t breathe—he just stood there, stunned, like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

Jack’s eyes widened as he realized. “Oh—shit—no! Gone as in, not in the room! I took her to her CT scan!”

Michael’s breath shuddered out of him. He stumbled back a step, dragging a hand down his face.

“FUCK, Abbot!” he snapped, voice hoarse. “Next time, maybe lead with that!!!”

Jack winced, “Yeah. Okay. Fair. Sorry!” He says quickly.

Michael looked like he was about to break. Without hesitation, Jack grabbed his elbow and pulled him inside your exam room, closing the door behind them.

Jack softened. “You want to sit for a second?”

Michael shook his head, jaw tight. “No. Just… give me a minute.”

His chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. He turned away from Jack and leaned heavily against the wall, one hand braced flat against it while the other gripped his thigh. For a long moment, he stayed like that—bent slightly at the waist, eyes squeezed shut—trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

Then, with a trembling hand, he reached under his scrub top and T-shirt and pulled out the gold Star of David necklace he always wore—small, worn, and mostly hidden. He rubbed it between his fingers, clutching it tight in his calloused palm like a lifeline.

With his eyes still closed, he drew in a shaky breath, as if trying to summon strength from somewhere deep inside—something steady, unyielding.

Jack said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched, quiet and still, letting Michael have the space to come back to himself.

Michael straightened slowly, collecting himself.

“She’s okay?” Michael finally forced out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s conscious. Talking. But I’m pretty sure she has a skull fracture—I just don’t know how severe yet. We’re gonna have ro wait on the CT to tell us more.”

Michael’s face went pale. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Jack softened his tone. “Listen, Robby… I know this sucks. It’s scary, but you’re not alone here. We’re doing everything we can, as fast as we can. She’s tough, and she’s got the best care possible.”

He paused, then added, “It’s us. This team, this hospital—we make it work. You know that. You’ve been part of holding it together more times than I can count.”

Michael’s jaw twitched, but his eyes flicked up—just for a second—as Jack continued.

“She’s in good hands. Our hands.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.” But there was no real conviction in his voice. 

Jack glanced at Michael, his expression firm but not unkind.

“There’s nothing you can do right now, Robby,” he said quietly. “I know that’s the last thing you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”

Michael’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, jaw still tight, hands flexing at his sides.

Jack’s voice softened. “And as much as I hate to say it… you’ve got to pull it together and do your job. For now. Until she comes back from CT. We’ll know more soon.”

Michael closed his eyes for a beat, breathing through the heaviness in his chest. Then he nodded—barely.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

Jack glanced around. “It’s busy today. You know how it is—we’ve got to stay on top of everything, keep things moving.”

Michael knew Jack was right. As much as it tore at him, there was nothing more he could do right now.

So he did the only thing he could—he took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and began to shift the panic into focus. Into control.

He would see you when you came back from CT. Until then, he’d do his job. Just like he always had.

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967@lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg @valutfromlune @baileythepenguin @galmorizethechaos @capj-1437 @airgoddess @nah2991 @interestellarprincess @laurensfilm @peachjellyy @aj3684 @sorryimstupidrn @escapingjune

Across The Hall | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

[kmc1989]

Not At All | Tommy Shelby x Reader

PART 3 of A Series of Interactions at The Garrison - but can also be read as its own story

Request: yes by @brummiereader - sent in as a blurb request

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

Summary: Things between Tommy and (Y/N) come to a head after a different kind of interaction happens at The Garrison.

Warnings: language, smoking, mention of drinking (it takes place at a bar, y’all)

Word Count: 2308

A/N: I’m so happy that everyone’s enjoying this unexpected journey so far — I hope this next part doesn’t disappoint! I’m sorry it’s taken a little longer than would’ve been expected for me to put it out….I hope y’all are still interested in it. I’m really proud of how it came out. The prompt I used is bolded in the story. Enjoy! :)

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED — I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THE STORY!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged!

Things were different at The Garrison today. Not many people had been through the Small Heath watering hole, and it finally gave (Y/N) a chance to breathe behind the bar. No one was yelling rudely for another drink, no one was arguing on who arrived at the bar first, and there were no terrible messes that needed to be cleaned up.

There was this one man though.

His name was Daniel. He was unlike the majority of patrons that frequented the pub. Instead of being demanding, he sat and waited for his order to be filled, tipped (Y/N) way over the normal amount, and struck up a normal conversation with her….one that didn’t make her feel inferior or like she was in harm’s way.

It was a welcome scenario that she was thankful for on a day that was going slower than usual.

They kept their conversation going, only stopping when (Y/N) needed to tend to a customer or restock the bar. It switched topics frequently, their discussions ranging from the goings on around the city to what Daniel did for work: he was a writer for the newspaper, and the boy did the stories he share make (Y/N) laugh.

“So this one time I was assigned to what my boss called a festival that was way too far outside of the city limits for my liking, but the pay was good so I agreed to it,” he started up on another story, resting both of his elbows on the bar so that he could lean in on them for effect, his grin growing as he continued, “turns out he wanted me to report on this sheep herding event that some local farmers were doing…you wouldn’t believe the size of the bloody crowd that this thing attracted!”

“Miss can I get another round of shots?” a patron interjected a request into the story, effectively pausing it and making (Y/N) go about filling the correct amount of glasses he was wanting.

“You’re going to need to make two trips for them,” she told the man as she placed the bottle of liquor back in its position on the shelf.

“Nah, I’ll be able to take ‘em,” the man disregarded her statement, then going about grabbing as many of the glasses that he was able to hold. He managed to get a grip on all but one of the glasses. “Put that one on top of this one here, will ya?” he then asked (Y/N) to assist him.

“I can bring it over to your table if you’d like,” she suggested another plan.

“I said put it on top of this glass,” the man insisted, his patience now clearly wearing thin.

(Y/N) pursed her lips into a fine line, obviously not wanting to follow through with what the man was suggesting. But she obliged, managing to get the last glass to balance on of the glasses he was already gripping in between his fingers so that she could avoid his temper rising any higher.

All was well until the man began to lift the cluster of drinks off of the bar top. Sure enough, the glass that she had balanced wobbled and fell back to its previous place, making the liquid it held splatter everywhere as it did.

“Fuck,” (Y/N) sighed under her breath, quickly grabbing a towel so that she could stop the spread of the spilled drink’s contents. She then shot a look to the man who was standing with the rest of the drinks in his hands. “Take those to your table and I will bring the last one over,” she said to him, the tone she spoke with telling him that her plan was not up for debate.

The man nodded and followed through with it, leaving the bar for his table.

“I’m sorry, give me a moment,” (Y/N) sent an apologetic smile in Daniel’s direction.

“No worries at all. Do your job,” he smiled back at her.

She then went about the motions of completely cleaning up the remnants of the spill on the counter before she refilled the glass and brought it to the table of awaiting men. They thanked her and she smiled at them before returning back to her spot behind the bar.

“Never a dull moment here,” she commented to Daniel, laughing softly as he smiled at her. “I’m sorry again for interrupting your story.”

“Love like I said, it’s no worries. You were doing your job,” he grinned at her. He then gently reached out and used his thumb to wipe what (Y/N) quickly realized was a wet spot on her right cheek. “Though it seems you missed a spot in your hasty clean up,” he grinned at her, his thumb lingering against her skin for a moment longer.

“Thank you,” she whispered her thanks, feeling her skin heating up where his finger brushed. She subconsciously leaned his touch, quite liking the feeling of his smooth skin touching hers.

“Oi, out!”

Another voice entered the conversation. (Y/N) knew exactly who it was without even looking. The commanding nature of it was a dead giveaway.

Daniel jumped back from the bar top and turned to face the gangster that called the city ‘his’, the smile he was previously wearing now nowhere to be found. “Mr. Shelby, I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong, I…”

“Out. Now,” Tommy didn’t want to hear any of what he had to say. His steely gaze was honed in on the man he was going to get out of his pub by any means necessary, if it came down to it.

Daniel didn’t try to continue with his rebuttal. He knew that continuing talking would get him nowhere in this situation. Everyone in Small Heath knew who Tommy Shelby was…they knew that what he says is what happens, regardless of what anyone else thought. He lowered his eyes from the intimidating man and turned to look at (Y/N) again, sending her a look that said “I’m sorry”.

(Y/N) didn’t quite know what he was sorry for. She was flabbergasted by what was occurring and couldn’t even think of anything to say in response to it.

Tommy’s eyes stayed trained on the man he was kicking out, watching intently as he stood from the stool and began walking to the door. Pleased with the outcome of the establishment’s door shutting, he made his way to the snug, leaving the situation without further comment.

(Y/N) had to blink a few times to make sure that what had just happened in front of her was actually real. There’s no way he came in here and kicked that man out for no reason, she thought to herself. The more she thought about what had occurred, the more she began to feel angry at Tommy for how he handled it.

A scowl formed on her face as she made a beeline to the snug’s closed door. Upon opening the door she found Tommy sitting in his usual spot, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette as if what had just gone down hadn’t happened at all.

“What was that out there?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level as the anger continued to bubble up inside of her. She motioned her hand in the direction of the bar to accentuate her point as she spoke.

“What?” he asked for clarification even though he knew full well what she was referring to.

“Why did you treat that man like that?” she happily gave him the clarification he was looking for.

“I didn’t like how he was acting,” he responded with a shrug, taking a long drag of his cigarette after he finished speaking.

(Y/N)’s brows furrowed together in an incredulous expression. “What do you mean you didn’t like how he was acting? What could he have possibly been doing wrong?” she fired off more questions.

“Who’s at the bar now?” he tried to veer their conversation off of its course.

“Harry’s got it covered, now answer me,” she wasn’t falling for it. She put him right back in the hot seat before adding: “if anything he was doing everything right. He has been the highlight of my day.”

Tommy’s expression changed the second he heard what she had to say about the man he’d just kicked out. His lips pursed into a fine line, his eyes narrowing as he stared straight ahead.

It was slight and quick, but (Y/N) noticed it. Her lips twinged upwards as she realized why he was acting the way he was. “I think I know why you’re acting this way,” she began, her statement making his eyes snap to her. “I think you didn’t like the attention that man was giving me…I think you didn’t like the fact that it was good attention.”

In the weeks that had passed since she patched him up after his late night…altercation, both Tommy and (Y/N) had been dancing around the fact that there could very well be some deeper feelings at play between them. Feelings that go beyond the ones that a boss would show to his employee, and an employee to her boss. They kept toeing that line, neither wanting to cross it.

But now it was apparent…Tommy had entered The Garrison and found (Y/N) in a position with another man that she should have been in with him, and he hated it.

He wasn’t going to admit that outright though. Silence hung in the room as he leaned forward in his seat. The smoke from his ciagarette wafted around him as he looked up at her. “You think I’m jealous, eh?” he asked her, his eyebrows raising as he spoke.

“I think there’s got to be some reason behind you throwing that guy out just for being nice to me,” she countered, her expression staying stoic although she was secretly loving the fact that he’d admitted to exactly what she was thinking.

A soft scoff left his lips when he heard her response. He shook his head as he spoke: “you’ve got it wrong, love.”

“No, you’ve got it wrong, Tommy,” she wasted no time in turning his statement right back on him, “you can’t even see what’s right in front of you.”

(Y/N)’s blunt statement was met with silence. She huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, waiting intently to see what he would say in response. His eyes didn’t leave hers, and it was now almost like they were having a silent challenge; seeing who would crack first.

Tommy’s voice broke the silence: “I have the right to kick whoever I want out of me pub whenever I see it fit.” His comment came from way out in left field, and it was one that pushed (Y/N) to her limit. The manner that he said it in irked her even more. He was so apathetic with it, breaking their staring contest to snuff out his cigarette as he spoke.

“Yeah, well your pub now has one less employee…” she snarked back at him, “I’m not going to continue to work here if this is how things are going to be.” She waited for a moment before making a move to the door, watching to see if anything changed in his demeanor. He stayed stoic. She turned to the door of the snug. “I’m done. Flowers aren’t going to get you out of this one, Tommy,” she made sure to get the last dig in, her hand reaching for the door.

“Stop.”

Even though she had every intention of leaving, his voice still stopped her in her tracks. Tommy Shelby just had that power over her…he had that power over every situation; over everything.

(Y/N) just about jumped when she turned around to see what more he had to say. Tommy was no longer sitting in his usual seat. Now he was standing right in front of her. “What?” she questioned him, her brows raised.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead his hands found her cheeks and he pressed his lips firmly to hers. His kiss told her everything she needed to know; told her the real reason behind him kicking Daniel out of the pub; told her that those feelings they’d been dancing around for weeks were real. And she made sure that she kissed him back in a way that told him those very same things.

The kiss left them both breathless, and when they pulled away (Y/N) took immediate note of how Tommy’s thumb felt as it gently brushed her cheek. It was much more rough and calloused compared to Daniel’s smooth skin, and she was instantly convinced that she preferred the former feeling to that latter.

“It’s taken you long enough to do that,” she was the one who broke the silence this time.

Tommy tried to stop the grin from forming on his face as he heard her statement, but he failed miserably. “Would you mind if I did it again?” he asked her, his voice just above a whisper.

“Not at all,” she grinned, closing the space between them to match her lips with his once more. They shared another kiss before she spoke again: “oh, Tommy…” she paused, moving back far enough so that she could look at him, much to his dismay.

“Yeah?” he hummed, his gaze flitting down to her lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss them again.

“Maybe flowers can get you out of this one,” she said with a grin, harking back to her previous statement.

“Oh I can give you a whole lot more than flowers, love,” he grinned, hearing her giggle as he closed the space between them to kiss her again.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @succubaby @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @littlepeakydevil @stevie75

@lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick

@dandelionprints @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee

@dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @everythingelseisextra

@little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo

@novashelby @wonderlanddreamer

[kmc1989]

A Series of Interactions at The Garrison | Tommy Shelby x Reader (mini-series) — MASTERLIST

Overall Summary: (Y/N) works as a barmaid at the Garrison Tavern. She manages to grow closer to a certain employer of hers through dealing with rowdy patrons the pub attracts. It’s a good thing both know their way around an injury, and that they know the other can hold their own when it gets down to the wire.

Stories below feature the same ‘x fem!reader’ pairing. They can be read chronologically or as separate oneshots.

**parts are actively being added to this masterlist.

PART 1 -> A Little Thank You: In which (Y/N) (Y/L/N) repays her employer in a way he wasn’t expecting.

PART 2 -> Repay the Favor: Another altercation happens at the Garrison. Both Tommy and (Y/N) have a chance to repay the favor.

PART 3 -> Not At All: Things between Tommy and (Y/N) come to a head after a different kind of interaction happens at The Garrison.

PART 4 -> Untitled — coming soon!

PART 5 -> Untitled — coming soon!

[kmc1989]

22 - Hiding the Truth

Part 23

The Hybrids Bright Star

Question - Should Raegan stick around in Mystic Falls, yes or no? Let me know your thoughts in the comments

- Tags - @melvia-ito @lover-of-books-and-tea @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @elenavampire21 @frost-queen @anonymousmuffinbear

The bell above the door of the Mystic Grill chimed as Raegan shoved it open, a gust of wind following her in. She snagged the booth seat opposite me, dropping her bag onto the worn vinyl. “Seriously, Hallie, you couldn’t have just told me you’ve been dating this guy named Klaus Mikaelson?” Her voice was a low rumble, laced with that familiar, teasing edge. “I mean, the guy’s practically a Renaissance painting come to life. And you’ve been hoarding him like a dragon guards its gold.”

I grinned, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “And you’ve been hoarding your gossip like a squirrel hoards acorns, so I figured we were even.”

It was true, though. Meeting Klaus had been… a revelation. And I hadn't quite figured out how to bridge the gap between my Siphon witch life and the very, very real supernatural world he inhabited. Especially when Raegan, my best friend, the fierce, intuitive force of nature who’d pulled me through the foster system, knew absolutely nothing about any of it.

“Fair enough,” she conceded, her eyes twinkling. She leaned forward, her gaze sharp and assessing. “So, tell me everything. Is he as charmingly intense as he seems? Does he have a secret family hidden away in a castle somewhere?”

I laughed, a genuine, unrestrained sound. “He’s… complicated, Rae. But yes, he’s incredibly charming, and… no, no secret castles, I don’t think.” I steered the conversation towards safer waters, ordering us both burgers and fries. The familiar scent of the Grill, a mix of greasy goodness and nervous energy, always brought a sense of normalcy, even if my life was anything but.

Our lunch was a blur of shared stories, laughter, and Raegan’s typically insightful commentary on everything from my questionable fashion choices to the ridiculousness of small-town gossip. It was easy, comfortable, the way our friendship had always been. I felt a familiar pang of guilt, the ever-present worry that I was keeping too much from her, that my secrets were building a wall between us.

Suddenly, a bright, almost too-cheery voice cut through the din. “Hallie! Oh, my gosh, Raegan, right?”

I turned to see Caroline Forbes, her blonde hair practically glowing, a wide, enthusiastic smile plastered across her face. She’d been a surprise in my life, a fellow supernatural creature who, thankfully, understood some of the complexities I was dealing with. She’d met Klaus briefly, of course, as he was hard to avoid when you were dating someone who lived in the same town as him.

“Caroline! Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked, gesturing for her to join us.

“Just grabbing a bite after a… very productive morning,” she said, her smile widening as she slid into the booth next to Raegan. “Hallie, you really need to introduce me to your friends more often. Raegan, it’s so great to finally meet you! Hallie’s told me so much about you.”

Raegan shot me a wry look, her eyebrow arched. “Really? I’m surprised she’s found time to talk about me with her own social life to manage.”

Caroline giggled. “Oh, you have no idea. Hallie’s been keeping me on my toes.” She turned to me, her expression softening. “So, how are things? With… you know.” She gave me a pointed look, her vampiric senses probably picking up on the subtle anxieties I was trying to suppress.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, a familiar, melodic ringtone that always made my heart do a little flip. It was Klaus. He was out of state, on one of his many quests to expand his hybrid empire, leaving me to navigate the delicate dance of secrecy on my own.

“Excuse me for a sec,” I murmured, pulling out my phone and stepping away from the table, moving towards the relative privacy of the counter.

“Songbird,” Klaus’s voice, deep and resonant, filled my ear. “Not even twenty-four hours, and my little bird already desperately misses me.”

I rolled my eyes, a smile playing on my lips despite my apprehension. “Just checking in. And to see if you’ve officially declared war on every unsuspecting werewolf population in a fifty-mile radius yet.”

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. “A man has to have ambitious goals, my dear. But I was also wondering how things were going with… our little secret accommodation.”

My stomach clenched. “It’s… fine. Raegan’s here. We’re at the Mystic Grill.”

“Ah, yes, the Hunter girl,” Klaus said, his tone conversational, but I could sense the underlying assessment. “She seems… spirited. I trust she hasn’t been too much of a bother?”

“No, she’s good,” I reassured him, though the gnawing worry persisted. “It’s just… it’s getting trickier. We have to be so careful. Every time you mention Elena’s blood, or the hybrids, or anything remotely supernatural, I have to practically shove a gag in your mouth and drag you to the basement.”

I could almost feel his amusement. “And you’re getting quite adept at it, I must say. Your Siphon abilities are progressing nicely. Practicing in the basement, away from prying eyes – a wise precaution.”

It was true. My magic, my Siphon abilities, had been growing stronger, more controlled, under Klaus’s tutelage. When he was around, it was easier. He understood the power, the dangerous allure, the inherent need to use it. But with Raegan here, privy to my every move, I was forced to practice beneath the floorboards, in the deepest, most soundproofed corners of the mansion, lest she catch a glimpse of me draining a stray enchantment and wonder why I was a human with a penchant for basement spellcraft.

“It’s just… what if she does stay permanently?” I confessed, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I love her, Klaus. She’s my family. But I can’t… I can’t keep this up forever. What happens if she starts asking too many questions about why our house is so ridiculously secure, or why you’re never home during the day, or why I suddenly have a sudden urge to drain every decorative candle in sight?”

There was a pause, and I could feel the weight of his consideration. “Hallie, love,” he said, his voice gentler now, devoid of its usual playful arrogance. “We should be able to manage this charade. Unless, of course, your dear friend Raegan has plans to permanently reside with us in the grand Mikaelson estate, effectively making her a permanent fixture. Then, perhaps, we might have to re-evaluate our strategy.”

His words, meant to be reassuring, only tightened the knot in my stomach. The thought of Raegan in the mansion, surrounded by the lingering echoes of ancient power, the scent of vervain and fresh blood, the ever-present danger, was almost too much to bear.

“I just worry,” I admitted, my gaze drifting back to the booth where Raegan and Caroline were now engaged in what looked like a very animated discussion.

Raegan’s sharp intuition was legendary, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was already piecing together more than I was letting on. She had a way of seeing through facades, of sensing unspoken truths. And Klaus, for all his charm and power, was an enigma wrapped in a mystery.

“And you shouldn’t,” Klaus’s voice was a low thrum against my ear. “You worry too much. You are doing a magnificent job, Hallie. You are strong, and you are capable. We will navigate this. Just as we always do.”

He was right, of course. He always was, in his own infuriating, all-powerful way. I took a deep breath, trying to channel some of his unwavering confidence.

“Okay,” I said, my voice a little steadier this time. “Okay. I’ll try to worry less. And you, try not to turn too many innocent werewolves into your personal army before you get back.”

He chuckled, a sound that was both predatory and strangely comforting. “Deal, my songbird. Now go, rejoin your human company. I’ll be back before you know it.”

I ended the call, tucking my phone back into my pocket. As I walked back to the booth, I saw Raegan watching me, a curious glint in her eyes. She was smiling, but there was a question lurking beneath the surface, a subtle shift in her posture that screamed, What’s going on?

“Everything okay?” Caroline asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

I forced a bright smile. “Yeah, just Klaus. He’s a total drama queen, you know? Always needs to know I miss him.” I met Raegan’s gaze, trying to convey reassurance, trying to bridge the growing chasm of my secrets.

Raegan’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She took a sip of her water, her gaze still fixed on me. “He sounds… very attentive.”

And in that moment, I knew she was already digging. She was already trying to figure out what it was about Klaus Mikaelson that made me, Hallie, the girl who’d always kept her head down, the girl who’d always been too afraid to want too much, fall so completely. And she had no idea how much more she’d have to figure out, not just about Klaus, but about me, before she was done asking questions. And that, more than anything, terrified me.

[kmc1989]

Pleeease can you write something where reader takes care of Alfie's psoriasis?? Like he's trying to act super macho about it, like it doesn't bother him but then gets super soft when she starts treating it 🥺

“Loving you”

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Alfie’s Masterlist

Summary: Alfie can’t help but let his guard down — and his softer side show — when you tend to the skin condition he usually keeps hidden.

WC: 5.1k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, dirty talk.

The cold air filtered through the open windows of the Solomons’ home. The moonlight painted the room in hues of pale blue, casting long shadows over the heavy wooden furniture and the worn rug underfoot.

Alfie trudged into the sitting room, his broad shoulders seemed to sag slightly, the day’s weight visible in the furrow of his brow. But you noticed something else too, the way his hands flexed at his sides, the subtle shift in his stance. He was uncomfortable, you could see it clear as the day, and you could also see the irritated skin on his neck, raw and red, flaking with scales that trailed down along his flesh.

“Let me guess,” you began, tilting your head to appraise him. “It’s acting up again.”

He stopped short, his face an unreadable mask. “Dunno what you’re on about, woman.” His voice was gruff and dismissive. “I’m bloody fine, ain’t I?”

“Alfred Solomons,” you said, standing to meet him, hands on your hips. “You’ve been scratching yourself like a dog with fleas for days. Let me see.”

“Look,” he began, throwing up his hands defensively, “this ain’t a bloody—what’s the word—interrogation, yeah? Just got home, haven’t I? Thought we’d sit down, have a nice supper, maybe a drop o’ rum after, yeah? Not get a bloody inquisition.”

“Come on, Alfie,” you said gently, breaking the silence. “Sit down.”

He turned to look at you, his brows furrowing. “I told ya, love, it’s nothin’. Just a bit o’ skin, right? Nothin’ to fuss over. I’ve lived with it this long, ain’t I?”

You sighed, folding your arms across your chest. “Yes, you have, and you’ve done a fine job of ignoring it, but it’s bothering you, I can see that. Now, sit down and let me help.”

Alfie’s lips pressed into a firm line, his pride warring with the truth of your words. You’d seen him win fights with men twice his size, talk his way out of impossible situations, but here he was, hesitating like a child caught misbehaving. It was almost endearing if you ignored the fact that he was internally suffering.

Alfie stared at you, his jaw twitching as he weighed his options, he could refuse—he was, after all, Alfie Solomons, a man who answered to no one— but there was only one person who always made Alfie give in, and that was you, his wife. With a grumble under his breath, he lowered himself onto the armchair, sprawling out like a man whose kingdom had just fallen.

“Woman, you’re bloody relentless,” he muttered under his breath, the way he said it lacked any real heat; it was more a gruff acknowledgment of defeat.

“Take off your shirt,” you said softly.

Alfie cocked his head, as a smirk began to slowly form on his lips.

“Right, well, love, if you fancied seein’ me bollock naked, yeah? You could’ve just said so, straight up. Saved us all the fuckin’ theatrics. I’d have you up against that fuckin’ wall by now, makin’ a goddamn mess of things.”

You didn’t even blink, you knew how Alfie’s defense mechanism had always been humor, he’d crack a joke to avoid taking things too seriously. But you knew that behind every laugh, every sarcastic remark, there was a man scared to take a hit to his pride by asking for help. After all, he was forced to carry every burden on his own all his life, that until he met you.

“I’m serious, Alfie.” Voice flat, no smile this time. “Take the shirt off.”

Alfie huffed, his fingers working at the buttons of his shirt with deliberate slowness. “You’d think I was some feeble old man the way you’re carryin’ on,” he grumbled. “I don’t need lookin’ after, love. I’m a bloody force of nature, yeah?”

“Yes, you’re a force of nature,” you agreed with a smile, “but even storms need a bit of care sometimes.”

His shoulders stiffened, but he said nothing, his shirt finally coming off and landing in a crumpled heap beside him. You bit your lip as your eyes roamed over his body, the patches of red, inflamed skin were stark against his otherwise light complexion. Some areas were cracked and dry, while others looked painfully raw.

“Alfie,” you murmured, your voice tinged with concern. “It’s worse than last time.”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply, his tone rough. “Don’t you bloody start, right? I know what it looks like. Just a bit of dry skin, that’s all.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m not starting anything. I just want to help. Dry skin doesn’t look like this.”

He relaxed under your touch, though he still looked straight ahead, his jaw set stubbornly. “Fine, then. Do your worst.”

You knelt in front of him, settling between his legs as he sat back in the worn armchair, the lamplight cast a soft glow over his battered chest, the heat radiating from his skin palpable before you even touched him. He’d ignored it, neglected it for so long that it was the worst you’d ever seen it, and it must be hurting him so much, those angry red patches that bloomed across his torso and shoulders, the edges raw with peeling skin, irritated and roughened by days of stubbornness.

Your fingers moved carefully, barely grazing his side at first, his muscles tensed beneath the contact, a knee-jerk flinch more from instinct than actual pain, as if he was used to bracing for something harsher.

“Not so bad, you said?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He grunted. “I’ve had worse.”

“That why you haven’t even taken your shirt off when we fuck?” you asked, eyes locked on him. “’Cause you didn’t want me to see how bad it got?”

There was a pause, a flicker behind his eyes, something he tried to smother with a scoff. You knew you’d hit a sensitive topic by saying that.

“Well, aren’t you a fuckin’ detective now, eh? Bloody Sherlock Holmes,” he let out a dry, sharp laugh. “Didn’t think you needed to see it. S’not pretty. Nothin’ romantic about it.”

"You shouldn’t feel insecure about it," you said.

"Pfff, insecure? Bollocks, that is," he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Men like me—we don't do insecure, right? That's for… for poets and posh lads with too much time on their hands."

But you saw the truth behind his eyes, that split-second crack in the armor, Alfie would never admit to feeling insecure about the way he looked, not even to you, his biggest confidant. And so you decided not to push the subject, you knew better than to fight a war you couldn’t win with words, besides, you had better ways of proving how handsome he was to you, like worshipping him with your mouth, or cunt.

“It must be driving you mad.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a semblance of a smirk. “Got more important things to worry about than a bit o’ itching.”

But you weren’t fooled, beneath his bravado, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched as though resisting the urge to scratch.

“Stay still,” you instructed, scooping a dollop of ointment onto your fingers.

He flinched as you began to apply the salve, his usual boldness faltering. “Bloody cold, that is,” he muttered.

“It’s supposed to be soothing,” you said, your voice low, patient. You leaned in, working the ointment into his skin with slow, deliberate movements.

His skin was hot to the touch, the irritation beneath your fingertips angry and inflamed. You moved with care, smoothing the salve in small circles, avoiding the worst of the raw spots. Alfie exhaled through his nose, his body twitching beneath your hands before slowly relaxing, like he couldn’t help but lean into your touch once the sting eased, giving way to relief.

“That stuff smells awful,” he said, wrinkling his nose. There it was that stubbornness again, like accepting help, or letting you soothe the ache, meant weakness. You found it amusing, how in so many ways, this big and dangerous man reminded you of a little boy.

“Doesn’t matter how it smells. It’ll help,” you replied, working your way across his chest, thumbs grazing the curve of his collarbones, tracing along the tender edges with a gentleness that made his throat bob in a tight swallow.

“Still feels like I’m being fuckin’ punished,” he muttered, eyes flicking down to where your hands moved over his ribs.

“You’re not,” you murmured, catching his gaze briefly. “You’re being looked after. Big difference.”

For a moment, the room was silent save for the crackling of the fire. Alfie’s eyes were fixed on a point just above your head, his jaw tight as though willing himself not to react. As you spread the ointment slowly over the worst of the irritation, you felt it happen, the first shift in his breathing, from shallow and tense to something deeper. The slow drop of his shoulders, no longer braced against the tenderness. The subtle release of his clenched fists, his fingers unfurling where they’d been pressed into his thighs.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Of course I do,” you replied without hesitation. “You’re my husband.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. “Yeah, well. Don’t reckon you signed up for all this, did you? A husband with bad skin and worse manners.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, smiling up at him. “But I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

“You’re good at this,” he mumbled after a moment, his voice softer than usual.

“Good at what?”

“Lookin’ after me. Puttin’ up with me. All of it, really.”

He was so stubborn sometimes, too caught up in his own worries to realize that you didn’t do this out of obligation, you did it because you loved him, because giving him this kind of comfort was something you’d gladly offer every single time he needed it.

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you resumed. “It’s not putting up with you, Alfie. It’s loving you.”

He turned his head fully this time, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the vulnerability in his gaze took your breath away. “You’ve got a heart too big for your own good, woman,” he said quietly.

“And you’ve got a heart you try too hard to hide,” you replied, leaning forward to kiss his temple.

He closed his eyes at the touch, letting out a deep breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this, yeah? Got a reputation to maintain.”

“All your secrets are safe with me,” you promised with a smile.

For the next hour, you worked diligently, your fingers gentle as they massaged the ointment into his skin. Alfie, for his part, remained unusually quiet, his usual stream of sharp wit replaced by a rare, unguarded vulnerability.

When you were finished, you sat back on your heels, surveying your work, the redness had diminished slightly, the skin looking less angry.

“There,” you said, capping the tin. “That should help.”

He looked down at his chest, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek.

“You’re a good woman,” he said gruffly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Don’t reckon I tell you that enough.”

“You don’t,” you agreed, leaning into his touch.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head, eh?”

The tin of ointment clattered softly against the wood floor as Alfie pulled you up into his lap, the gruff tenderness in his hands making your breath hitch. He didn’t bother with words, not at first, he simply held you there, his rough palms trailing up and down your back, grounding you both in a moment of rare softness.

“Come here, pet,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, a low rumble in the space between you.

You settled on top of him, your knees bracketing his thighs. His beard scratched softly against your cheek as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the faint lavender oil you always dabbed behind your ears before bed.

He buried his head against your chest, breathing deep like he needed to memorize the scent of you to survive. He made a sound low in his throat, something between a sigh and a purr, like a satisfied cat curling up in a patch of sunlight. There were only a handful of moments in his life where Alfie Solomons had let the world slip far enough to be this soft, and all of them had been with you, the only person he trusted enough to see this side of him.

“You smell good,” he said, the words muffled against your skin. Relaxing moments like this always softened the sharp lines of his face, making him look younger, almost boyish. You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his beard, and he sighed, the sound deep and contented.

He shifted beneath you, his hands tightening on your hips as though anchoring himself. “Dunno what I’ve done to deserve you,” he said, the words heavy with sincerity.

“I don’t like when you say that. You’re not bad, Alf” you replied with a small smile. “Under all that grumbling and growling, you’re a good man.”

It was the truth. Yes, maybe he’d done bad things, things he couldn’t forget, things that haunted him every time he looked at his reflection in the mirror. But you saw more, so much more. You saw a man who had raised himself from nothing, who’d survived when the world tried to break him, who’d watched his friends die in trenches and still found the strength to carry on. You saw a man who’d opened his heart to you, who’d bought you your dream house and treated you like a queen in her own palace. Who had only ever been gentle with you, patient, kind, giving, even when he didn’t know how to be those things with himself.

His laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating. “Not sure half the blokes around here would agree with that one, love.”

“Don't care what they think, they're not my husband,” you said simply. “You are.”

That seemed to strike something deep in him. His eyes softened, and his hands moved to cradle your face, his touch reverent. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “I am, ain’t I?”

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding at the same time. He kissed you like a man who knew how fleeting happiness and peace could be, who understood the weight of a moment like this.

The kiss deepened, his hands moving with more urgency now as they traced over your body, making you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“Christ, woman,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with need. “You make me feel the same way you did all those years ago.”

You laughed softly, a low, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate right through your chest when he leaned to capture his lips into another kiss. It was still slow, languid, the kind of kiss that made time crawl, your tongues sliding together with unhurried precision. His hands kept wandering, greedy and possessive roaming all over your body, gripping the small of your waist to ground you, kneading the soft flesh of your ass, tracing the dip of your spine, splaying wide across your lower back as if trying to brand you to him.

The hard length of him beneath you was impossible to ignore, thick and insistent against the thin barrier of your underwear, and when you shifted again, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, dragging your cunt over him with maddening friction, he let out a raw, broken sound that made your core clench.

“Gonna ride you,” you murmured, voice thick with hunger. Alfie was a man who thrived on control, sure, but when it came to you, he had no problem handing over the reins now and then. In fact, he loved it. Watching his missus bounce on top of him, taking every bit of pleasure she deserved? That was a big, fat yes for Alfie.

You grinned at his reaction, emboldened by the crack in his usually composed demeanor, the way his eyes had gone half-lidded, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint. You reached between your bodies to undo the fastening of his trousers, unable to wait one second more than necessary.

He chuckled low and hungry. “Yeah? Right, well—fuckin’ hell, woman—’course you wanna ride it.” He spread his hands, leaned back like he was bartering with God. “I’m all yours, ain’t I? Go on then, fuckin’ take what’s yours. Ruin me proper.”

He watched you, eyes locked on your hands, on how they were working his pants open, making his chest rise and fall with deep, shaky breaths. His hands didn’t stay behind, his rough fingers were roaming over your ribs, up your sides, then down again to knead your thighs, your ass, as if he truly didn’t know where to land next.

“You’re too bloody good at this,” he muttered, voice all hoarse and reverent, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck, how he’d landed such a beautiful woman, convinced her to marry him, and now had her on top of him eager to please him.

"It's the experience, been riding you dumb for ten years," you said with a smirk.

"Mhm," he huffed. "And you get better every fuckin' time, pet."

He loved this, especially on those days when he was bone-tired, when his skin was on fire, his back ached, his knees throbbed, his hips screamed, or the days when he had to deal with “fucking cunts,” as he’d put it. Nothing would make him happier than leaning back, letting go, and having a damn good orgasm by doing absolutely nothing, just watching you take control and do all the work for him.

You’d barely gotten his trousers down before his cock sprang free, slapping against his belly, so thick, so heavy, flushed and glistening at the tip like he’d been waiting all fucking day for this moment. The second your fingers wrapped around him, firm and instinctive, he gasped and his hips jerked like he didn’t give a toss about dignity anymore.

“You’re too bloody impatient,” you shot back with a teasing smirk, stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist just enough to make him curse under his breath.

You shifted your weight, lining yourself up, your thighs bracketing his hips as you positioned yourself over him. His hands flew to your hips, holding you steady, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, as the head of his cock brushed against your slick heat. Your breath hitched at the contact, at how easily your soaked folds parted to welcome him, at how swollen and desperate you already were.

“Impatient?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Love, you’ve been teasin’ me for the past ten minutes. If anyone’s impatient, it’s you.”

You rocked your hips just enough to let his head catch at your entrance, not yet taking him, not fully, just dragging your wetness over him, back and forth, until he growled.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman,” he snapped, his hips jerking up, desperate for more friction, to be buried inside you. “You tryin’ to kill me? Playin' this bloody games with your poor 'ol husband? My fuckin' heart can't take this teasin', It's delicate, It is.”

“But it's too fun to tease you,” you whispered, lowering yourself an inch more. The stretch made you gasp, thick and delicious as always, and you swore you could feel every ridge and every vein of him.

He was watching your face now, intently, like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen, but you could see how hard he was fighting the urge to slam up into you. “Don’t fuckin’ tease,” he growled. “Be a good girl and sit on it proper.”

You obliged, how could you not when he talked like that? You sank down in one slow, torturous motion, your walls clenching around him inch by inch. The sound he made was filthy, a half groan half praise, guttural and deep. His head fell back, teeth gritted, chest rising with labored breaths as you took every last inch of him, seated fully, snug and wet around him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he rasped. “That’s it. That’s my pet. Perfect fuckin' cunt, still as tight as the day I first filled her up, yeah?"

You moaned, rolling your hips in a slow circle, grinding down with a filthy little twist at the end that made his cock drive right up into that sweet, aching spot inside you. Your breath caught sharp in your throat, eyes going hazy, Alfie groaned low like the wind had been knocked clean out of him, his hands clutched at your hips, guiding you with a kind of reverence, like you were something holy and he was the lucky bastard who got to worship at the altar.

He was trying hard to let you do your thing, let you take your time and move at your own pace, riding him how you wanted, but God, you were squeezing him so tight and dripping all over his cock, that it was almost imppossible to stop himself from thrusting up into you like a beast.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice frayed and reverent. “Ridin’ me like you were fuckin’ made for it.”

“Maybe I was,” you shot back, voice breathless, your lips brushing his ear as you leaned in.

Alfie met your movements with thrusts of his own, rolling his hips up hard, deep, making you bounce in his lap with every needy grind. His hands gripped your hips, firm but never too harsh, thumbs pressing into your flesh like he needed to memorize every curve, every quake of your body under his. The coarse trail of hair beneath his navel rubbed right up against your clit with every thrust, each drag of his body with that maddening friction made you jolt and shudder.

"Ohh, Alfie... feels so good," you moaned gasping into his mouth, clawing at his shoulders like you couldn’t get close enough. "Please don't stop, don't stop fucking me like that."

“Not stoppin'. Can’t stop when you’re so bloody perfect,” he rasped, his eyes dropping to where your soaked cunt was swallowing him again and again, wet sounds filling the air with each slap of skin against skin. “Perfect cunt. Perfect tits. Perfect wife.”

His head snapped forward so he could bite at your throat, not hard, just enough to make you whimper. His hands slid up your sides, pushing your slip up with urgency, bunching it around your waist until the fabric was out of his way and he could have a better view of everything, from your body glistening with sweat, your thighs shaking, to the way your soaked pussy kept taking his cock like you needed it.

That was the thing with Alfie, he never knew where the fuck to look, it was all too good. Your supple breasts, so soft and perfect, jiggling with every thrust, just begging to be grabbed. Your face, fuck, your face was so hot, those little pouts you made, the way your eyes fluttered shut when he hit a good spot deep inside you. And the way his thick cock slid in your cunt, coming out so wet and slick, your juices coating his navel and trickling down to coat his balls.

“Jesus Christ, love,” he rasped, voice thick. “You’re grippin’ me so tight—fuckin’ hell…”

You leaned forward, your hands braced against his chest, hair falling around your face as you found the perfect rhythm, grinding down in slow, greedy strokes that made both of you moan. His cock filled you perfectly, thick and hot and stretching you with every thrust of his hips.

Alfie’s attention was drifting, his eyes moved from the place where you two were connected, to the soft bounce of your breasts with every motion, your nipples peeking through the thin, rumpled slip. He licked his lips, rough hands sliding up your waist, over your ribs, until they cupped your breasts and gave them a slow squeeze.

“Look at these fuckin’ things,” he muttered. “Drivin’ me mad, the way they bounce when you ride me like that…”

Then he surged forward, mouth latching onto one of your nipples through the damp fabric, the hot drag of his tongue and the sudden suck of his mouth made you cry out, your hips stuttering as the pleasure hit you like a jolt.

“Alfie—” you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he pulled the slip down, baring your chest fully. He didn’t hesitate, he wrapped his mouth around your nipple and sucked hard, filthy sounds filling the air as he groaned against your skin. His tongue flicked over the stiff peak, then he moved to the other breast, biting down just enough to make your back arch.

"I'd kill a man for your left tit," he mumbled, voice muffled, barely undertandable with his mouth still sucking around your nipple. "And then I'd kill another for the right one. Fuckin' perfect things."

“Shit—Alfie—Feels... so good… so full.” you moaned, grinding harder now, the added stimulation on your nipples sending you spiraling, and if that wasn’t good enough, you felt your clit catching on his pelvis with every thrust down, making your walls clench even tighter around him.

“Fuckin’ ride it—show me how needy you are. You like me suckin’ on your tits while you fuck yourself on my cock, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, you were so drunk in the pleasure he was giving you that it was impossible to articulate words, you just let that intense pleasure ripple through you.

“You are mine. Mine, yeah? All fuckin’ mine.”

“Yours,” you choked out, your voice breaking on a moan as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you so perfectly that your body jolted, eyes fluttering shut, vision blurring with pleasure.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s my good wife. So sweet and tight for me, drippin’ on me lap.”

The praise hit you like a shockwave, heat coiling in your gut, your body was desperately trying to chase your high. Just like as if he’d read your mind, sensing what you needed, his hands gripped your hips with force, lifting you up and slamming you down on his cock over and over again at the same time he thrusted up to meet you with rough, almost desperate violence. You weren't riding him anymore, he was fucking you through it.

“That’s it, love,” he muttered, his voice rough and unraveling. “Take it, my filthy little missus. Show me how good I make you feel. Ride it like you mean it.”

You cried out, the pleasure now becoming unbearable, forcing your body to clench hard around him, making your thighs tremble, the slick sound of your cunt milking him was louder now, filthier, wetter with every thrust. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and hot and perfectly angled to build your orgasm.

“Cum for your husband. Let me know I’m the only bastard who can make you feel like this. Just me. Just your fuckin' man.”

You snapped. Your head fell back, your mouth dropped open in a cry of pure ecstasy as you came hard. Your cunt spasmed around him, soaking him in a rush that made him curse and grip you tighter.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s it, pet,” he groaned, voice strangled. “Milk it. Milk my cock just like that. Gonna leave that pretty cunt drippin’ my cum for for weeks. Fuckin’ ruined.”

Alfie followed you just a couple of thrusts later, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips jerked up one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. He came with a low, shuddering groan, his cock pulsing inside you, flooding you with his cum as he clutched you tight, holding you in place like he couldn’t bear the thought of you ever pulling away.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat and sex, his release leaking out of you slowly as his softening cock stayed inside. His hand stroked lazily up and down your back, while his lips pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Ahhh—fuckin’ hell, yeah—that’s what a man needs, innit?” he groaned, voice thick and slurred like he was drunk on you. “To come home after a long day of dealin’ with cunts and madness, yeah, and have his sweet little wife sittin' pretty on his cock—riding him like it’s her god-given job.”

"Glad to hear I'm good at my job," you teased, voice raspy, still trying to catch your breath.

"Ohhh, you're the fuckin' best, pet. Not one fuckin' soul like you," he muttered, still breathless. "God broke the mould when he made you, thank fuckin' Christ he did."

His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, slowing little by little as his breathing evened out. For a long moment, there was just the sound of your shared breaths, the creak of the armchair as he adjusted to hold you closer, with his nose buried in your hair.

Then, softly, quieter than you were used to hearing him, he spoke.

“Thanks for takin' care of me,” he said, a little raw. “Proper, like no one ever has. Not just the shaggin’, love, though—don’t get me wrong, yeah, that’s… exceptional.” He smirked faintly, and you laughed. “But it’s the other things. All the little things you do for me.”

Your throat tightened as he continued, getting to hear this sweet side of him was something you’d never get used to, not because it was rare, he gave it to you more often than he probably even realized, but because it always felt like a little secret, meant only for you.

“I’m not easy, right? I know that. I’m rough and moody and loud as hell. And yet you—you’re always there. Calm. Warm. Always fuckin’ takin’ care of me.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “So I just wanted to say thank you. For stayin’ even after all these years. For seein’ the worst of me and lovin’ me anyway.”

You kissed him then, slow and tender, the kind of kiss that spoke louder than words could ever manage, and when you pulled back, your voice was thick with emotion.

“You’re not the worst, Alf. You never were.”

He huffed a soft laugh, pulling you tighter against him. Looking at you with eyes that said “I love you. I’d be lost without you by my side.” You felt it in your chest, in your bones. He made you feel like the most loved woman in the world.

“Well, I’ll tell you what you are,” he murmured. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

AN: Thank you so much for your request!! You gave me the perfect opportunity to write this cause I’ve actually been thinking for a while about a fic where the reader takes care of Alfie’s sciatica, but I absolutely loved your idea🩷🫶🏻

I hope that you and everyone else enjoyed this. Your support means the world to me!!

One more Alfie fic to go and then I’m officially done with requests heheh😮‍💨

@ficthots

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[kmc1989]

21 - Entertaining Dinner

Part 22

The Hybrids Bright Star

- Tags - @melvia-ito @lover-of-books-and-tea @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @elenavampire21 @frost-queen @anonymousmuffinbear

The familiar worn floral of the couch cushions cradled me as Raegan launched into another one of her dramatic monologues about the baffling intricacies of a dating app profile. Her animated gestures, the way her brow furrowed in concentration, it was all so undeniably Raegan. Even after years of only seeing each other a handful of times a year, the rhythm of our friendship picked up seamlessly, like we’d never been apart.

“Honestly, Hallie, I don’t know what’s worse – the guy who listed ‘adventurous’ as his only personality trait, or the one with a picture of him holding a suspiciously large fish?” she scoffed, tossing a stray curl behind her shoulder.

I chuckled, picturing it. “Maybe he’s a professional angler who’s really passionate about his catch.”

“Or maybe he just likes telling tall tales about his fishing trips,” Raegan retorted, her eyes twinkling. “Seriously, though, you’re the only one I can vent about this to. Everyone else just tells me to ‘lower my standards.’”

“And you never will,” I agreed, knowing it was the truth. Raegan was fiercely loyal, not just to me, but to her own ideals. That was one of the things I loved most about her, even if it sometimes meant she was a little too honest for her own good.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed, a deep resonant gong that echoed through the house. My stomach gave a familiar flutter. Klaus. He’d mentioned he might be home soon, and I couldn’t wait to see him. He was so… different. Not just physically, though he’d definitely landed on the ‘hot guy’ end of the spectrum, but there was an intensity to him, a quiet power that drew me in.

Just as I was about to suggest we snag some snacks before he arrived, the heavy oak door creaked open. My heart did a little skip-beat. Klaus. He stood there for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the living room, his eyes – those startlingly intense, almost golden eyes – landing on Raegan. And then, he froze.

His jaw tightened, a subtle shift in his posture that only I would notice. A muscle twitched in his cheek. He looked… unsettled. It was a rare sight.

“Hallie,” he said, his voice a low rumble, but there was an edge to it, a distinct lack of his usual warmth. He took a step forward, his impossibly blue eyes locking with mine. A silent question hung in the air. Who is she?

“Klaus, this is Raegan,” I managed, my voice thinner than I intended. “Raegan, this is… Klaus.” I hesitated, searching for a suitably mundane descriptor. Boyfriend? Too simple. Roommate? Utterly ridiculous.

Raegan, ever the pragmatist, solved my dilemma. “Hallie’s boyfriend,” she announced with a smirk, her gaze flicking from Klaus’s impeccably tailored suit to his chiseled jawline. “And a rather handsome one at that, Hallie. Judging by the… mansion, I’d say you’ve been holding out on me.”

My cheeks flushed. That was so Raegan. Blunt. Teasing. Completely oblivious to the seismic shift that had occurred in my life since we last saw each other.

Klaus, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. He offered Raegan a charming, if slightly predatory, smile. “And you must be Raegan. Hallie has spoken of you.” His voice was a low, smooth rumble, like velvet with a hidden edge.

“Oh, has she?” Raegan’s eyebrow arched, her smile widening. “I’m sure it’s all good things. Hallie’s got a good heart, even if she is a terrible secret-keeper.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. Terrible secret-keeper. If only she knew.

Klaus’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He took another step towards us, and I felt a surge of frantic energy. I grabbed his arm, pulling him slightly to the side, away from Raegan’s direct line of sight. “Klaus, wait,” I whispered, my voice urgent. “We need to talk. Now.” We stood in the center of the main hallway by the grand staircase while my best friend on the living room couch.

He turned to me, his expression shifting to one of mild impatience. “What is it, darling? I was rather enjoying the introduction.”

“No, you weren’t,” I said, my eyes darting back to Raegan, who was now idly examining a ghastly-looking portrait on the wall. “You were… confused. And we need to be careful. Raegan doesn’t know.”

“Know what?” Klaus asked, his voice dangerously soft. “That you’ve managed to snag yourself a man of… discerning taste?”

I shot him a glare. “No, you idiot. That any of this is real. She thinks I’m just a normal, broke musician who happens to be dating a very rich, very attractive man. She doesn’t know about… any of it. The magic. The… hybrids. Anything.”

Klaus’s gaze narrowed, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite decipher in its depths. “You intend to keep this… charade going?”

“Yes!” I hissed, pulling him further into a nearby, richly decorated study. Shutting the door until I heard a gentle click of the lock. “I have to. She’s my sister, Klaus. Not my real sister obviously, but my chosen sister. She grew up in the system with me. She’s seen enough weird and awful things in her life. The supernatural world being real? It would just… break her. Or worse, make her scared of me.”

The scent of old leather and polished wood filled the air. He turned to face me, his expression unreadable. “So, you would have me pretend to be… what? A normal human?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone. “A man who plays the part of a wealthy benefactor, perhaps?”

“Exactly!” I said, relief flooding me that he wasn’t immediately dismissing my concerns. “You have to be normal. Just… a supportive, slightly mysterious boyfriend. No flashing eyes, no super strength, no talking about your millennia-old family drama.”

He leaned against a large oak desk, crossing his arms. “And what happens when she inevitably asks about the antique dagger collection? Or the very large wolf head mounted above the fireplace?”

I groaned, running a hand through my hair. “I’ll… I’ll figure it out. I’ll say it’s a very elaborate hobby. Or that you’re a collector of peculiar things.”

Klaus let out a low chuckle. “You are remarkably adept at weaving a tapestry of half-truths, Hallie.”

“It’s what I do,” I said, a small smile playing on my lips despite the stress. “It’s how I survived.” He looked at me, and for a moment, the ancient, powerful hybrid melted away, revealing the man who had somehow captured my heart. “Just… promise me you’ll try. For me.”

He pushed off the desk, walking towards me. He reached out, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw. “For you, Hallie, I will play the part of the perfectly ordinary, incredibly wealthy, and devastatingly handsome human. Just… try not to let her interrogate me too thoroughly.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Deal.”

We stepped back out into the foyer, and Raegan was still there, now examining a tapestry depicting some rather violent-looking medieval battle. She looked up as we approached, a perfectly innocent expression plastered on her face. “So,” she said, turning to me, her eyes twinkling, “when do I get the grand tour? And more importantly, when do I get to meet the man behind the… mansion?”

Klaus smoothly slid an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “Perhaps after dinner, Raegan?” he suggested, his voice dripping with cultivated charm. “Hallie has been rather… eager to share her life with you.”

Raegan’s gaze flickered to Klaus’s arm around me, then back to my face. She didn’t say anything, but I caught a subtle shift in her expression, a fleeting look of something unreadable. Was it suspicion? Or just the usual sibling-like assessment? With Raegan, it was always hard to tell.

Dinner was an exercise in controlled chaos. We sat in the opulent dining room, the walls adorned with portraits of stern-faced ancestors. Klaus, as promised, was the picture of normalcy. He spoke of his (fictional) business ventures, his (invented) passion for antique art, and his (fabricated) fondness for quiet evenings at home. Raegan, meanwhile, was a force of nature. She peppered Klaus with questions, her sharp wit and intuition working overtime.

“So, Klaus,” she began, her fork hovering over a perfectly roasted quail, “Hallie tells me you’re quite the patron of the arts. What’s your particular area of interest?”

Klaus’s smile was effortless. “I have a… broad appreciation for historical artifacts, Raegan. Particularly those with a certain gravitas.”

“And you, Hallie, what have you been working on? Still serenading dingy dive bars?”

I managed a weak smile. “Still singing, yes. Just… a bit more inspiration these days.”

Raegan snorted. “Inspiration that comes with a mansion and a wardrobe that probably costs more than my entire life savings. You’re not holding out on me, Hallie.”

My stomach churned. “There’s nothing to hold out on.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Raegan said, taking a sip of her wine. Her gaze was fixed on Klaus, a playful challenge in her eyes. “He seems a bit too perfect, doesn’t he? Almost… too good to be true.”

Klaus met her gaze, his own eyes holding a hint of amusement. “One tries one’s best, Raegan.”

The conversation danced around the edges of the truth, a delicate ballet of evasion and deflection. I felt like I was walking a tightrope, my every word carefully considered. Klaus was surprisingly good at this, his centuries of experience in manipulation and deception proving invaluable. He seemed to genuinely enjoy Raegan’s sharp tongue, his smile widening with each pointed question.

Then, as the dessert plates were cleared, Raegan leaned forward, her gaze sweeping between Klaus and me. The playful glint in her eyes intensified. “So,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “have you slept with him yet?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. My face flushed crimson. Klaus, to his credit, didn’t flinch. His expression remained unreadable, but I saw a flicker of something – surprise? Annoyance? – in his eyes.

I stammered as the fork I was holding clattered onto my plate. “Raegan! That’s… that’s incredibly rude!”

Raegan just shrugged, a picture of innocent curiosity. “What? It’s a perfectly valid question. You’re living in a mansion with a ridiculously hot guy. I’m just asking the important stuff.”

Klaus, ever the smooth operator, interjected, his voice calm and even. “Raegan, Hallie and I have a… mutually respectful relationship.”

“Mutually respectful,” Raegan repeated, nodding slowly. “So, that’s a no, then?”

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. This was exactly what I’d feared. My two worlds colliding in the most mortifying way possible. “It’s… private, Raegan,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Raegan let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine. Keep your secrets. But if he’s not treating you right, Hallie, you know I’ll be the first one to shove him off a cliff. Metaphorically speaking, of course.” She flashed a grin at Klaus, who responded with a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The rest of the evening was filled with Raegan’s usual brand of sisterly affection, interspersed with her subtly probing questions. She talked about our childhood, the shared laughter and tears, the quiet desperation of those early years. And through it all, Klaus remained the enigmatic, charming man he portrayed himself to be, a quiet observer who seemed to genuinely enjoy our company.

As the evening wore on, Raegan, with her uncanny ability to sniff out an unanswered question, began to subtly probe for information about staying the night. The mansion, with its opulent and slightly eerie grandeur, clearly held a certain fascination for her.

“This place is incredible, Hallie,” she commented, gesturing around the vast living room, her eyes taking in the antique furniture and the shadowed corners. “It’s like something out of a gothic novel.”

“It’s… old,” I offered, knowing how inadequate that sounded.

“Old and very, very big,” she added, her gaze drifting up towards the sweeping staircase. “Do you have like, a whole army of staff running this place? Because I’ve barely seen anyone.”

“Just a few,” Klaus said smoothly, stepping into the conversation, leaning casually against the doorway. “Discreet individuals.”

Raegan tilted her head, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You know, I’ve got that early shift tomorrow, and my apartment is like a five-alarm fire hazard at the moment. It might be easier if I just crashed here. Unless that’s… inconvenient?” She directed the last part at me, but her gaze flickered to Klaus, a silent challenge in her eyes.

My heart leaped into my throat. Staying the night? Here? With Klaus? The risks were astronomical. But Raegan, my sister, was asking. And I hated saying no to her.

Klaus, however, seemed unfazed. He met Raegan’s gaze directly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “The more, the merrier, I assure you. We have ample accommodations.”

I shot him a look of pure disbelief, but he merely offered a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. He was playing his part, and, infuriatingly, it seemed to be working. “Really?” Raegan’s face lit up with a genuine, unadulterated joy that I hadn’t seen in a while.

Nodding my head, yes I smiled at her. “Yes.”

“Awesome! You’re the best, Hallie. Seriously. Sister pact, remember? Always looking out for each other.” She threw her arms around me in a warm hug, her touch firm and reassuring.

And in that moment, despite the whirlwind of secrets and the constant fear of exposure, I knew I wouldn’t trade Raegan, or even this strange, dangerous new life, for anything. We were sisters, bound by a past and now, it seemed, connected by a future I was still trying to comprehend. And as long as I could, I would protect Raegan from the shadows that now defined my own.

[kmc1989]

SHOULD'VE BEEN (2/?)

Andrew Pope Cody x F!Reader Deran Cody & Platonic!Reader Barry 'Baz' Blackwell & Sister!Reader // Word Count: 23.6k (I KNOW OKAY I KNOW) Summary: As you navigate Baz's death, your mind finds itself searching the past for ways to cope. Previous Part Reader is Baz's biological sister. With that being said, I left out physical descriptions outside of a scar on reader's face from backstory. If you catch any, always feel free to let me know and I'll edit! Reader also is (was) a doctor. Due to this, reader has a nickname which is used throughout the fic. Also, I made all the Cody boys + Baz + Reader closer in age than in canon. Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Canon-level violence. Canonic character death. Mentions of being drugged/slipped something. Hazing. Bullying. Grief. Mourning. Loss of a sibling. Blood. Telling a child about parental death. Mentions of domestic abuse, Semi-graphic descriptions of wounds + violence. Psychologically difficult themes, yearning, angst, hurt/comfort. No use of y/n. SMUT with main character, insinuated smut with a non-canon character. Not really a happy ending? A/N: Okay so I will be writing another part that i already have a bunch of ideas on LOLOL. I just... live for these characters in this world. The dynamics are so ajkfhglkjdfhbljkhgka!!!!!

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 8:07AM

This is Tri-City Medical, we’re calling because you’re the emergency contact listed in Mr. Barry Blackwell’s phone. He was brought into the emergency department about 10 minutes ago. If you could just give us a call back as soon as possible, thank you. 

You didn’t call back, just rushed to the hospital. Traffic laws be damned, ran through traffic lights, through stop signs, you left your bike parked in between two cars, not even in a spot, before you were rushing into the ER. 

They brought you to where Baz was, he was on the operating table, you stood in the observation deck. Your arms across your chest, your left hand resting against your mouth, gnawing at your finger as you watched them insert tubes, IVs, blood bags. 

“Did you check if the bullets went through and through? If they did they should insert two chest tubes,” you turned to the doctor who was standing in the second aisle of the room. 

There was no answer, they just looked up from their notes at you and then back on the screen that was showing the internal cameras searching for the bullets. 

“They could have moved, if they hit his lungs they could have gone anywhere in his abdomen, they should be checking his abdomen!” You turned again, looking at the doctor who this time didn’t even look up from their notebook. “Are you listening to me?!” You screamed at them this time, tears pouring from your eyes before they jumped back to the window. Your brother, completely unconscious, tube in his mouth, cut open like a chicken on the operating table. 

“C’mon Baz,” you mumbled through a panicked breath. “C’mon.” 

“Ms. Blackwell, we’re gonna need to ask you to step into the waiting room.” Someone opened the door to the observation room and spoke low to you. 

“No, no, I’m watching.” You pointed at the surgery.

“You really shouldn’t have been here in the first place,” her voice was still low and polite, but you saw her eyes jump to the other doctor in the room. 

“No, it’s okay. See, I used to be a doctor, I–I don’t practice anymore, I can’t–but they brought me here because I knew–I know what’s happening.” You were fumbling, stuttering over your thoughts. 

“Ms. Blackwell,” the nurse opened the door wider. 

It was then that you heard the monitors beeping. Baz’s heart rate dropping, it wasn’t crashing just yet, but you felt your gut twist. “No, no, Baz c’mon. Pull it together. Pull it fucking together.” You spoke through gritted teeth. 

Before anything else could happen, there was a hand on your arm, pulling you back. You fought it, thrashed against it a little. “Stop, no, stop, that’s my brother, he’s my brother. I’m a doctor!”

As you sat in the waiting room, tears stained down your face along with mascara, your leg shaking in nerves, you kept gnawing at your finger. You weren’t sure if you thought about it, or if your mind was just on auto-pilot but you had your phone in your hand, the voicemail transcript was the first thing you saw as you unlocked it. The lump in your throat grovelled as the words sat in your head. The worry next to it knowing Baz was in this same building on the last thread of life. 

Without a second thought, your phone was ringing and you held it to your ear. You heard the phone pick up and before the other person could answer you spoke through cries. 

“Pope?” 

“What’s wrong?” His voice was littered with concern. 

“I need you.” 

That’s how you wished it went. That whole scenario was how you imagined it went as the police officers informed you and Pope of Baz’s death as you stood in the driveway at Smurf’s house. 

Pope’s eyes were glued to yours as the officer spoke, yours were—well you weren’t sure, you were going into an alternate world as they spoke. 

You wished you were there. You wished you picked up the damn fucking phone when the hospital called. You weren’t sure why you wanted that to be how it happened. It wouldn’t have changed anything, Baz would still be dead. 

Your brother would still be dead. 

Turning to Pope, your eyes glossed over, you extended your hand out to grab his arm, steadying yourself from the news. Through a wobbly sound that came out of your throat before words, you swallowed and gave it another shot but failed again. This time your head sent you back to a different time. Maybe not a better one, but a different one. 

2001 - College Parties Suck

Your head was spinning, and not like when you’d smoke a little too much and mix it with a little too much alcohol. This was different. This was scary. You pulled your phone out, hitting the first speed dial you had programmed in your phone. Baz. It rang 4 times before it went to voicemail. You called 5 more times, each time there was no answer. 

You moved onto the next speed dial in your phone. Pope. You tried him once, you felt your eyes getting heavier when you heard the beep to leave a voicemail. “Pope, it’s me, I uh, I don’t feel so good. I came to this party on campus, I just– I need a ride, I think. Yea, I need a ride.” 

The phone dropped into your lap and as you looked down you realized you didn’t have your shirt on, just your black bra and belt that was still wrapped around your jeans. 

You picked up the phone, moving to the next speed dial, you skipped Craig, he never answered and even in your altered state, you knew better than to even try. That's when you called Deran. 

“Hey Doc,” he answered the phone after 2 rings. 

“I uh, need a ride,” that’s when you saw the writing on your stomach. “I was at a party on campus,” you couldn’t quite make out the writing just yet, just black ink all over your abdomen. “I think someone put something in my drink.” 

“Where the fuck are you?” You heard him scrambling on the other line, the jingle of his keys, the muffling in the speaker as he moved around swiftly wherever he was. 

“I– I don’t know. There’s a statue. I’m covered in ink, I don’t have my shirt.” The panic started growing in your gut. “Deran, I’m scared.” 

“Go somewhere public, right now, with people. I’m driving to campus now.” His voice wasn’t panicked, just direct. 

“They wrote on me, I don’t think I should be in public.” You realized now what your stomach said. Cody train station. With an arrow pointing down. “Deran, I feel sick, I feel tired.” 

“I’m like 5 minutes away, try and stay awake.” Deran pressed on the gas with force, the engine loud enough to wake you up just slightly. But not enough for the full 5 minutes. He stayed on the phone with you even when you went silent. When you mentioned a statue, he knew pretty much exactly where you were and it didn’t take him long to find you.  

“Get the fuck away from her.” Deran’s voice made your eyelids open, you saw a few people around you, none of them familiar. 

“Deran?” You squinted hard and mumbled the youngest Cody’s name. 

There was some commotion, you weren’t sure if it was just shoves or punches but the next time you opened your eyes the crowd was gone and you saw the familiar long haired blonde. 

“Deran?” You asked his name again and felt the comfort the minute you heard his voice close. 

“It’s Deran. I’m taking you home.” He pulled you up off the ground. That’s when he saw the writing on you. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you rolled over and began to upchuck. 

“Let it out, that’s good, maybe you’ll throw it up.” Deran was rubbing your back referring to whatever was slipped in your drink. 

It took 20 minutes, but Deran eventually got you in his car and drove you back to the house. It was there that you passed out next to him on the couch in the living room. You were lucky it was a quiet night at the Cody house. He put a pillow down for you to rest your head on, occasionally scratching the top of your head with his fingers to make sure you didn’t fall asleep completely, he wasn’t sure if that was just something you did with concussions or being drugged too so he figured there couldn’t be any harm in it to play it safe.

He didn’t bother trying to remove the marker from you, just gave you one of his cut offs to keep you semi-warm in the car. You made it very clear that you wanted to lie down when you got back to Smurf’s house so he wasn’t going to bother with clothes or cleaning you up until you were more alert. 

The two of you were watching pre-recorded surf competitions, every so often you’d fade into some version of sleep and wake up when you felt Deran scratch at your head. 

“College parties suck,” you mumbled the words while a commercial played on the TV. Then you tried to tap Deran’s side. “Thank you.” 

Before Deran could answer, the sliding door slammed, alerting both of you. Pope was running down the hallway from where your bedroom was, his eyes scanning around the house until they landed on you. 

His eyes then moved to Deran. “What happened, why is she asleep on the couch?” Pope pointed and was waiting frantically for an answer. 

“She was at a party, got drugged, they did some twisted ass shit to her.” Deran’s voice was low, not trying to startle you. 

“What did they do to her?” Pope’s jaw was clenched as he asked, his mind going to a million different places, each one making him angrier than the last. 

“They wrote on her stomach, she has marks on her arms so I think they tied her up for a bit, so people could see her, when I got there she wasn’t at the party, she was on the road, had a group around her but I don’t think anyone you know—touched her.” Deran swallowed hard, he felt a little below water with all of this. 

“Is she going to be okay?” Pope was wracking his brain around seeing you like this, so out of it. Not in a sleepy way but in a fucked up way. He’d seen you drunk, he’d seen you high, this was nothing like that. 

“Pope?” You groggily lifted your head, as you moved, the cutoff tank rode up and he saw the writing. 

Pope saw red. His eyes felt hot, his fists balled up, his jaw wasn’t just clenched anymore but wound so tight he could taste the iron from how hard he was biting down. He knew exactly who did this. It was the same thing that frat asshole Shotgun Shep had said to you that night he got rocked by Craig and caused a scene with you last summer. 

“If you ever need me, you keep calling me, you hear me!?” Pope was yelling at you now. 

“I called Baz.” Your voice was a little whiny. 

“I’m talking about me! ME.” Pope raised his voice, his finger slamming into his chest. 

That’s when Deran sat up a little bit. “Dude, she’s out of it, chill.” 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled the words, the guilt starting to rack in your mind. “Where’s Baz?” 

“I don’t know.” Pope answered, his voice still loud but less accusatory now, his own guilt in yelling at you after he saw Deran’s response.

“Where’s my brother?” You now had the same tone as he did earlier. Demanding and raised. “Where’s BAZ?!” This time your voice gripped to the back of your throat as you yelled.

“What’s up?” Baz walked in from the kitchen, beer in hand, casual as ever. 

“I needed you.” You weren't looking at him, your words were slurred still. You felt your heart ache. It was one thing to experience him blowing you off, barely talking to you—you know, losing your friendship with your older brother. But this felt worse than all of that. You needed him. You needed your older brother. All the times he needed you, you’d be there, and he couldn’t reciprocate that anymore? 

“What’s her deal?” Baz was chuckling as he raised his beer bottle to his lips. 

“She was roofied.” Deran’s voice was firm, 

“No shit,” he let out a scoff, one that would have earned him a fist to the face from you if you were of sound mind. 

“It was Rick Shepherd.” Pope spoke up now, the anger in his voice was what you were feeling in your mind. 

“Shotgun Shep?” Deran was looking at Pope with a frown, trying to understand how he knew that information. 

“He called her that the last time he was here, at the summer party, Cody train station,” Pope pointed to your stomach, at the writing. 

“So we gonna beat the guy up?” Baz extended his hands out and shook his head, a small shrug left his shoulders too, like he was asking if they should order chinese or pizza. Not something this serious. 

Pope’s eyes practically burned into Baz’s skull, the anger pouring out of them. 

“Taking that as a yes we’re beating the guy up.” Baz dipped his head from side to side before finishing the beer off and tossing the empty bottle on the couch. He began walking down the stairs into the living room, nonchalantly headed towards you. As he leaned over your body, Deran moved his arm so that Baz could replace it with his, pressing the pillow down into the cushions, his head dipped down and he placed a peck on your head. “Don’t worry, Dockie. We’re gonna beat the guy up.” 

“Go fuck yourself.” You turned over, despite the amount of dizziness and nausea you felt, you didn’t want to even look at Baz. 

“Love you too,” his laugh echoed against the kitchen cabinets, he had already turned to leave with Pope. 

“Did I ruin your night?” You mumbled knowing it was just you and Deran in the living room now. Your face squished against the couch cushion. 

“No, you saved me from getting head from Jonesy Bradford,” Deran chuckled, putting his arm back against the pillow that separated you too. He slouched down a little more, that way he was closer to your face and could whisper a bit.  

“Heads head,” you shrugged and then lifted up a little in question, “Jonesy Bradford is gay?” 

“Very.” Deran laughed, eyebrows raised as he smirked. 

Shaking your head, you dropped it down back into the cushion, letting the sound of the surf competitions fill the room until you fully comprehended what Deran said. 

“You shouldn’t get head from Jonesy Bradford.” Your voice was muffled by the couch cushion, but Deran heard you perfectly fine.

“My point,” Deran let out a breathy laugh and scratched your head again, this time not to wake you up but to be playful. 

“Everyone thinks I’m a whore,” you enunciated the last word with a sigh, it sounded a little jokey but you did mean it.

“We don’t think you’re a whore,” Deran was trying to find some way to cheer you up from whatever funk was happening in your head. 

“Well no, I am a whore. Just not the Cody whore.” Your voice was muffled against the cushion. Deran knew what you meant, Deran might’ve been the only one who knew what you meant. He was the only one who knew how you felt about Pope, and you were the only one who knew how he felt about guys. Not that you two ever labeled your friendship, but for all intents and purposes, Deran was your closest friend. Sure, him and Craig were like brothers to you, but you had a friend in Deran that you didn’t have in anyone else. 

“You can’t tell Smurf,” you said seriously to Deran. 

“I won’t tell Smurf,” he replied with ease. 

“Baz will tell Smurf,” you scoffed. 

“I’ll tell him not to,” Deran always tried to find an answer for you.

“He isn’t going to listen. He never listens.” And you always found something to rebuttal his responses. “It’s fine, I stole Shep’s wallet before things went to shit,” you readjusted to pull the wallet out of the back pocket of your jeans. “Only ninety bucks in his wallet but I found a lock code. He’s in pharmacy school, I think the code is to his locker in the lab, could nab a good amount of shit we could fence.”

Deran laughed, his head shaking as he did. “That’ll save your ass if Baz blabs.” 

“When,” you corrected him. 

Suddenly, you heard footsteps coming back into the living room and Pope’s voice was loud again, like he was just as frustrated if not more than just a few moments ago. 

“If you need me, you call me 15 times until I answer, okay?!” There was a slight grovel in his voice. He had his keys gripped tight in his hand, he was getting ready to go to UCSD with Baz but for some reason came back to yell some more.  “I mean it, all you need to say is I need you and I’ll be there, you hear me?!” 

“I hear you,” your face got solemn as you looked at him, he regretted yelling again, it was clear on his face as he nodded, his eyes barely able to meet yours. “I’ll tell you I need you.” 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 8:10AM

One last shot. You were going to give speaking one last shot as you gripped Pope’s arm. The police officers were still going through their spiel of what went down. One more wobbly sound escaped from your throat followed by a whispered plea. 

“Pope, I need you.” 

“Yea, I’m here.” 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 8:39AM

You were horizontal on the back seats of the Dodge Ram. The numbness fully took over your body as you stared at the dash. Eyes focused on the radio, the controls for the vents, but you weren’t really retaining any of that information. Nor the conversation that Nicky and Pope were having, which was less of a conversation and more just Pope muttering under his breath as they looked for J on The Strand. 

Usually the motion of the car would turn your stomach laid up in the back seat like this, but you were so out of it, you couldn’t tell. As the car came to an abrupt stop, you moved slightly, Nicky grabbing your feet to hold you steady on the backseat. Pope’s eyes moved to make sure you were okay before they leaned over the console to call out to J. 

“Put her seat belt on,” he demanded back to Nicky who was quick to do it, she said something to you but you weren’t really paying attention, just focused on the middle console. “Get in!” Pope was now yelling to J who opened the door with haste and confusion. “Baz is dead.” 

Three words. That pulled your eyes off the middle console and back to two people in the front of the truck. 

“What?” J wasn’t yelling, but the shock was there in his tone, plastered on his face. As he hopped into the truck his head turned to see you horizontal in the back. “What happened?” 

No one answered him. 

He was still looking at you with sympathy, racking his mind around the information but also genuinely concerned about you. “Do you need anything?” 

2016 - Homecoming (Pilot) 

“How many times have I told you guys, bullets are the hardest to fucking treat,” your head was down as you were texting on your phone, messenger bag draped over your shoulder. “Don’t get–”

“Don’t get shot.” The trio of men repeated as they cut you off and held Craig on the pool table. 

Almost immediately you heard the familiar sound of a voice you hadn’t heard in years. As you laid eyes on the men gathered around the pool table, you saw Craig who was dripping sweat, bleeding from his shoulder, quick breaths. Then there was your brother, who was holding Craig down as he attempted to do something with the bullet wound in Craig’s shoulder, he had a shit-eating grin on his face like he was living for this moment. But then your eyes connected with the man you hadn’t seen in years, his hands holding Craig on the opposite side, no smile, just a piercing glare. The voice you’d recognize anywhere. Pope. 

 “Well at least you know,” you stayed frozen staring at him, not realizing he had gotten out of prison. I mean how could you? He stopped letting you visit, he stopped writing. He looked good, he looked healthy, his hair was cut like shit, those prison haircuts never suited him. 

“Ahhh!” Craig screamed and it brought your eyes back to the situation unfolding. 

“Is it through and through?” You shook your head and moved to replace Baz and help Craig. “Jesus Christ, you started to cauterize it, already!?”

“We pulled the bullet out, it needed to be sealed!” Baz raised his hands. 

“If you aren’t going to listen to me when I tell you to not get shot, then at least listen to when I tell you to leave it be until I get here.” You slammed your bag on the table looking for the kit of surgical tools you had stolen from the hospital inventory all those years ago. 

“Sorry, Doc.” Craig looked up through his sweat beaded brows at you. 

“Don’t say sorry to me, Baz should say it to you, this is going to hurt 10x more now.” You dropped the tools down and grabbed a saline bottle and poured it onto a fresh package of gauze. “I have to debride it, I’m going to give you something for the pain and I’m gonna ask Pope to hold this against the wound for like 15 minutes, soften the tissue. Then I’m gonna have to pick at it,” you handed the gauze to Pope who hadn’t taken his eyes off you since you stepped in the room, but instead of looking at him you just went into your bag and grabbed a small bottle of morphine and a syringe to give it to him. “This isn’t a lot but it’s enough,” your eyes jumped to Craig’s who smirked, a slight chuckle escaping his mouth. 

“C’mon Doc, I got shot.” 

“And I guarantee you’re already a few lines and shots in,” your eyes were trained on the syringe pushing a little liquid out the needle. “10 milligrams.” 

He sighed with an eye roll as you placed it into his arm. “I’ll be back in 15, where’s Deran?” Your eyes moved anywhere but Pope’s. 

“He’s in the living room with Smurf, nursing his own wounds,” Baz gave you a look, one that you knew meant he fucked up the job tonight and was living with that regret. You knew better than to interrupt Smurf’s coddling so you just raised your eyebrows at your brother. Before either of you could say anything, there was a creak on the stairs that led to the hall right behind the kitchen and you both turned your heads. 

You recognized him, Julia’s kid, Josh. Your eyes went wide and then they fell to Baz who also looked a little thrown off, but less thrown than you. Everyone just stayed frozen, J’s eyes jumping from all of yours to Craig who was just slightly less loud than before, the morphine clearly doing its work. 

“Josh, right?” You broke the silence. 

“Yea, J.” You could tell he was trying to read you. 

“J,” you corrected yourself before turning to look at Pope to make sure he was putting the gauze on the wound for Craig. “Apparently it’s the night for old faces to turn up.” Looking back at J you sighed. “I’m–”

“Aunt Doc.” He finished your sentence for you. 

“Yea, Aunt Doc. You can just call me Doc, though.” You weren’t going to make a kid who didn’t know you get caught up in mannerisms. He didn’t owe you that.

It was then that you realized he probably knew you visited Julia, never for long, just enough to drop food off, say hi, you never saw him though, just Julia. You knew he was Baz’s kid, or that the chance he was was pretty high. 

“Is your mom here?” You were crossing your arms, a little shocked to see the kid all grown up and here at Smurf’s place. 

“My mom’s dead–she OD’d.” J said it with no emotion. 

Your head snapped to Baz who had his hand behind his neck, knowing you were going to ring him out for not telling you and then to Julia’s twin—Pope, for his response, but all he did was stare.

“Uh, I’m so sorry I had no idea, uhm–” you weren’t sure what to say right now, your head was going a mile a minute, trying to wrap itself around the fact that Pope was back, Julia was gone, and J seemed to be staying here now. 

“I’m gonna go to bed, kind of tired.” J pointed over his shoulder before retreating down the hall. 

“I’m away for 3 days and everything fucking happens,” You mumbled, turning around, you practically ripped the gauze out of Pope’s hand to see how the tissue on Craig’s wound was softening. “Needs more time.” You didn’t even bother to look at Pope to grab the gauze back, just turned back around towards the kitchen, your shoulder bumping into Baz’s as you did. 

“Dockie,” Baz’s head fell back in slight annoyance. 

You ignored him going into the fridge to act like you were busy doing something but it was just a mindless activity. 

“Dockie,” Baz called you again. 

“What?!” You hissed the word and slammed the fridge, hard enough that it bounced wide open again. “What excuse are you going to force me to fucking believe this time?” 

“It’s no excuse,” Baz was pleading. 

“I’m away dealing with your shit,” you pushed your finger into his abdomen, “and you can’t even fucking call me to tell me Pope got out? That Julia fucking died and her kid is fucking living here?” 

“You went to Mexico for your own shit,” Baz tried to correct you. 

Your eyes went wide. “My own shit,” you let your head fall back with a laugh. “Here’s the fucking note from your fucking mistress, and the gift you wanted me to give her fucking kid went over well,” you pulled the note from Lucy out and slammed it against Baz’s chest. 

“You went down there for your own stockpile of supplies, I just asked you for a favor,” Baz was being a shit right now. 

“Well now I’m asking you for one, keep me in the loop.” Your eyes glared into him. 

“I was going to tell you, but then Craig got shot.” There it was, Baz’s excuse. Although, it wasn’t necessarily an excuse, it wasn’t a lie. Just a sorry form of the truth. 

“I used to wish you’d just tell me the truth, but now I think it was better when you’d respect me enough to come up with some story why you’d treat me like this.” Your head was shaking in anger. 

“You ever think the reason you’re out of the loop sometimes is because you just bitch and whine, bitch and whine.” Baz’s voice barked back at you, still at a hushed tone. 

“Go play in traffic,” you spat back at him. 

“Fine—you first, I’ll bring the snacks.” He smiled sarcastically. 

“I’ll bring Lucy, that way you aren’t lonely in hell.” It was a typical fight between you two. You’d both say something fucked up, but nothing that was too harsh or heartbreaking. The real heartbreaking matter was that your relationship had gotten to this point to begin with. 

“Don’t do that,” Baz shook his head and slammed the fridge closed behind you. 

“Do what?” You made a face, scrunching your nose up and frowning. 

“Act like you don’t want me here, like you wouldn’t be completely devastated if I was dead.” That line made you freeze. You’d normally go toe to toe with Baz in a verbal fight anyday. Quick responses, even faster reaction times when he’d hit you with unexpected words. But not this time. 

You stared at him, your eyes burning into his and you realized he wasn’t just fighting with you, he was being serious. 

There was a rebuttal on your tongue. I lived without the other Blackwell man in my life, I’d do it again no issue. Dead or deadbeat. I’ll bring you beer and cat food too—make it real full circle. But you knew that was crossing a line, and whether he crossed them with you wasn’t on you. This was. 

“Just…tell me shit.” You dropped your eyes to the floor. “I don’t like being surprised.” 

“Pope’s home, Julia OD’d, J’s living at Smurfs.” Baz gripped your shoulder and shook it, his way of making it up to you. It held no weight, it was the easy way out. “I was going to call you, I promise. And thank you for stopping by Lucy’s, I know you hate it, I know you hate me for it, but I appreciate it, and you.” 

It was just words. You knew they were just words. 

“When did Pope get home?” You whispered it, knowing he probably heard the entire conversation up to this point. 

“Yesterday,” Baz dropped his head to look at you. “You’re not still…?” He didn’t need to finish the sentence for you to understand what he was saying. 

“I never was,” your eyes flew up. “What about you, Julia’s dead? How are you with all that? J?” 

“It’s Smurf’s problem, not mine.” Baz’s eyes did what yours just did.

“Alright then.” You nodded, arms crossed now. 

“Alright then.” He matched your stance. 

That was the end of that conversation, you moved back to the dining room to pick tissue from Craig. Pope stayed there the whole time, eyes on you saying no words. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Not once. Your eyes stayed trained on Craig’s wound for the full 43 minutes you picked dead and soon to be infected tissue off him. 

As you inserted an IV into his arm, you dropped the bag into Pope’s hand, still keeping your eyes anywhere but his. “He needs to be on an IV for 6 hours, when it runs out, have Baz find me and I’ll set up a new one.” You didn’t wait for him to respond, just grabbed your bag and moved down the hallway behind the kitchen, the longer way to your room but the quickest way away from Pope. 

It was there that you saw J sitting up on the bed in what used to be Pope’s old room. You stopped and looked at him, he looked like Baz, and everyone just ignored it. Without a second thought, you walked into the small patio and then into his room. 

“Do you need anything?” You said it following a soft knock on the glass door. “I’ve been away otherwise I would have been here sooner.” It was a wimpy excuse, but it was the truth, and despite your argument being completely the opposite to Baz just moments earlier, if he had started with wimpy truths from the jump, maybe you’d be somewhere different now.

“I heard,” J pointed to the kitchen nonchalantly. 

Your eyes looked back and realized both doors had been wide open and he heard your fight with Baz. 

With a nod, you exhaled and looked back at the young kid. “I’m not sure how much you’ve heard since you’ve been here—”

“I’m not gonna say anything.” He cut you off. 

“No, no, I–” You shook your head and moved to sit next to him on the mattress. “That’s not what I was saying. I just mean…” you searched your mind for the right words. “Being here is a game. One that you have to play to learn.” 

“You used to come by, give my mom meds, bring us food,” J didn’t seem to care about your words right now. 

“Yea, I did. I should’ve done more. But that’s my guilt to live with, not yours,” instinctually you wanted to tap his leg but you knew you were nowhere near that point with the kid yet so you just shook your head and moved on. “Here, take these,” you leaned down to pull a few boxes out of your messenger bag and handed them to him. “It’s narcan, I give a few boxes every so often to the guys too. Keep them on you, in case.” 

“You used to give them to my mom,” J was staring at the 5 boxes of narcan, they weren’t cheap off-brand meds, they were the name brand hospital grade. 

“Yea,” you looked down at the ground again thinking back to the boxes you’d hide below a foil container of food, just so she’d have them and not argue with you on it. Lot of good that did. “Look, I play the game, but not with everyone. This is my way of saying, I’m here for whatever you need. If you’re hurt, if you need to talk, I’m here. You’re my…nephew.” It was genuine, just like when you’d sneak away to visit Julia.

“My mom said you were like a sister to her,” you could hear the hesitation in his voice. 

“Yea,” although that’s not what you meant in calling him your nephew, but you weren’t an idiot, there was too much going on to open that box of worms right now. “I wish I did more for her.” 

“You did more than anyone else.” He finally looked at you, like he was letting you off the hook in a way. It wasn’t going to be that easy, but you did appreciate it. 

Standing up off the bed, you smiled at him. “I’ll be in the back room of the house, my old bedroom. But I have a place on The Strand,I’ll get your number from one of the guys and text you so you have my number too.” You rested your hand on the door frame. “I’m serious, let me know if you need anything.” 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 11:43AM “Homicide cops want us all to come down to the station for questions,” Pope was entering the living room where Deran, J, and Nicky, and you were. You had your head on a pillow, horizontal just like you were in the truck, this time just on the red couches that took up the space along the living room walls. If it was up to you that’s where you would have stayed the entire time. There would have been no dragging you into the truck to look for J, no picking up Deran at the bar, you would have been right here. Numb and parallel to the couch. 

But when you told Pope you needed him, he took that seriously. He brought you with him everywhere he went, there wasn’t a moment you were out of his radius. 

You knew he was looking out for you while also trying to have a handle on the situation, keep everyone safe. It’s why he placed you down on the couch against the pillow and made Deran sit next to you. 

“Do that shit you do,” he pointed to the top of your head after he told Deran to sit next to you. 

“What?” Deran was out of it too, not like you, but he was clearly sad. Going through the motions. His eyes were heavy, glossy, and his face was red. 

“You scratch her head or something, it calms her down.” Pope would have been the one to notice that over the years. 

Deran just looked at Pope confused before it clicked, he looked down at you completely frozen, no reaction to words, to movement to anything. As he looked back up at Pope, who moved his hand again as if to say C’mon let’s go, just do it. 

Deran obliged, his left hand went to scratch the top of your head, just his fingertips like he’d done always. It was a comfort, one that neither one of you ever noticed. As he scratched the top of your head, you normally would have closed your eyes, felt the weight of your tears and let them out but none of that happened. You didn’t even flinch from the touch, just stared blankly at the fireplace. 

Pope dropped his shoulders and handed Deran a shotgun after the failed attempt at comfort. 

The conversation continued between them, they were talking about what they’d tell the cops, who could have done this, if anyone was after them. You stayed focused on the fireplace, mind somewhere else completely. 

That was until you heard Nicky mention Lena. 

Whose going to take care of Lena? Both of her parents are gone. Does she end up in foster care?

“No.” You and Pope both spoke up at the same time, his eyes darted to yours from Nicky’s. You were pushing up off the couch, sitting up right now. “I’ll take care of her.” You said it like you were going to be babysitting for the night, not taking her on as your own for the rest of your life. But that didn’t matter, that girl needed some stability and you’d gladly be the one to give it to her. You were the only one here with a real job, the only one with a semi-clean record, a normal life. It had to be you. 

“I need the Jag,” you turned to Pope. 

“I’ll drive you where you need to go,” his voice softened in a way that it never did with anyone else. 

“No, you need to go to the station for questions,” you were keeping your sentences short at the moment, not in the right headspace to explain everything going on in your head. 

“So do you,” he frowned a little trying his best to understand. 

“I also need to identify the body, that’s what the police said this morning, and then I need to pick Lena up from school, and figure out funeral arrangements, and legal shit and make sure that I can adopt Lena or at least keep her in my custody. I need to call my job and take bereavement and I have to go to his place and figure out if I’m moving in there or taking Lena with me to my place—which one I’m going to sell.” You went from having no thoughts to a million. 

“You can’t go alone,” Pope wasn’t going to argue with you, but he wasn’t going to leave you vulnerable either. 

“I have a gun, I have a brain, if someone runs up on me I can handle them, I’ll keep my head on a swivel.” 

Pope wasn’t going to argue anymore, he just pulled another gun from his waistband as you stood up and walked to stand next to him. “Take this, too.” The gun was being handed to you, Pope had his hand wrapped around the barrel with the handle free for you to grab. A few seconds passed while you stared at Pope, the handle just inches away from brushing against your abdomen. 

“Thanks,” you grabbed it and tucked it into your waistband, then saw the Jag keys in his palm. 

As your fingers grabbed the keys, his hand gripped around yours and brought it closer to him. “You call me if you need me, I don’t care if it’s for a light on the dash or someone looks at you funny, you call me.” 

“I’ll call you, I promise,” you said it with honesty, you knew brushing him off would have done nothing but make him repeat himself again. Turning you looked back at J, and tilted your head towards the kitchen. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” 

J’s eyes jumped from yours to Pope’s, then Deran who all gave no indication they had any idea what you were planning on saying. 

“Uh, yea,” J stood up, following you into the kitchen. It was there that you closed your eyes and tried to really pull yourself out of your head, all the thoughts that were crashing down on you that your numbing state earlier blocked out. 

“Okay, so I should’ve done this earlier. Just like with your mom, but again that’s my shit to fucking deal with, not yours. But at this point Baz is fucking dead, so any shit I was trying to tip-toe around is dead with him.” Your voice was cutting, likely the first stage of grief manifesting itself in your words. 

J’s eyes were locked on you, confused by your lack of context with what you were saying. 

“Look, I know you’re grown up, you’re 18, you don’t need someone to play mom and dad, but since Lena does, I’m going to figure out whatever I need to so she’s legally in my care. I’ll probably move her into my place or maybe I’ll move into Baz’s but either way, what I’m trying to get at is you have a place with me, alright? If you need to get away from this shit here, for good, for a night, for a week, whatever, you always have a place with me.” You were a little frantic in your delivery but it didn’t change the sentiment. 

“Thanks…” J was searching for the right words.

“You’re my nephew just as much as Lena is my niece,” that sentence was said with no shakiness, just truth. “What I’m doing for her now, I should’ve done for you then. But since I can’t change what I did then, I’m gonna do things differently now.” You nodded your head and looked up at him with soft eyes. 

“Alright,” J nodded and gave you a soft smile.

“Alright,” you nodded back, taking one quick step toward him and tapped his arm. “I’ll call you later, check on you. Let me go do all this shit.” 

Turning for the sliding doors, you paused when J called your name. 

“Let me know if you need anything, seriously. I meant it before,” J said. 

“I appreciate it, kid. But right now I need to go identify my piece of shit dead brother’s body and the conflict of that is even above my fucked up concept of life so I’ll spare you, but I’ll reach out if anything pops up.”

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 1:04PM

You wished you were numb like you were hours ago. As you bounced your leg up and down in the waiting room, your mind went through the list of everything you needed to get done. Funeral, assets, Lena, custody, place to live, the list went on. You kept your eye on your watch, checking it every so often to make sure you weren’t cutting it too close to Lena’s school pickup. The questioning was already done, they asked you where you were, names of alibis, if you knew anyone that would want to kill your brother. Normal questions. That made you chuckle to yourself, probably earning you eyes from a few people around you. Nothing about this was normal.

They called you back, like you were waiting at the fucking DMV or something, not identify your brother’s body. The frustration was seeping off your body as you walked through hallways and through door after door. After a few sighs and eye rolls, you entered the room where you saw the white sheet over Baz’s lifeless body. Almost immediately your entire mood changed, you noticed how cold it was in the room, how your hands were shaking now. As they pulled the sheet back, you felt your breath hitch, the anger suddenly gone, it was replaced with an emotion you weren’t really familiar with. It was a mix of nostalgia, a longing for the past, sonder, as you thought about the complexities of Baz’s existence as he lifelessly laid on the metal table, and a physical feeling of being so beyond out of place. You wish you could go back to being numb again, everything then was easier to deal with, probably because you weren’t dealing with it at all. As you stared at Baz’s blue and frigid face, your mind brought you back to another complicated moment in yours and Baz’s history. A recent one. 

2017 - Planning The Church Heist  

Your feet were kicked up on the coffee table as you sipped a bottle of beer. Your eyes trained on the TV but you were intently listening to the boys talk about what the next job was going to be. Yacht or church. Your vote didn’t matter and wasn’t ever taken into consideration, you never got an equal share and you weren’t expecting one now, especially since all of them were pulling away from Smurf and deciding new rules. You had started to get up off the couch, stand up to toss your empty bottle in the recycle and say your goodbyes, but the movement turned the attention on you. 

“Dockie, can you reach out to your cop boyfriend? See if security at the church has friends in blue, if there’s been any chatter of similar hits in the area, let us know what we’re walking into with either jobs.” Baz was interrupting everyone’s arguments to talk to you. 

After placing the bottle in the recycle you turned to Baz with your face twisted up ready to respond in argument when you were interrupted. 

“You have a cop boyfriend?” Pope’s question was littered in shock and a little humor, you heard the curiosity for what it was though, jealousy. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you looked at Pope to answer his question and moved your eyes onto Baz. “He’s a contact, I went to school with him, he’s a dick.”  Your arms were crossed. 

“Well, yea, most cops are,” Pope said matter of factly. 

“What am I supposed to do? Take him out and wine and dine him? C’mon. We can do our own recon, I’ll sit outside the fucking church or on the docks all night if I have to, just don’t make me go to dinner with this guy.” 

“It’s one dinner, make him pay,” Baz shrugged like it was no big deal. 

“He’s a creep, Baz.” You thought that repeating it would make him get it, and maybe, sure you were being a little over exaggerated,  but he did have a lingering eye. 

“We’ll cut you in, no more percentages.” That was his bargaining chip and he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist it, you could use the money. 

“I’ll go when you go, sit in the restaurant and make sure your boyfriend doesn’t get handsy,” Deran was teasing you from his spot at the breakfast bar. 

“Can we please stop calling him my boyfriend?” You were shaking your head, you already knew you’d cave in and do it. “For what it’s worth I think both jobs are stupid and asking for trouble.” You were grabbing another beer and plopping back down on the sofa, that was your way of agreeing to do the work. 

All of them went back to arguing, you were practically done with the second beer now. This time you were going to get up and head out for real, call this asshole cop and set a time for dinner, but then you heard a little voice.

“Daddy?” 

“What?! Lena, how many times do I have to tell you? No beach. Not happening.” Baz’s voice echoed through the whole house. 

Before you even had a chance to turn around, see Lena’s face or even the rest of the guys, you heard Pope.

“I’ll—I’ll —I’ll t-take you,” his hand extended over the bar towards his niece. “If it’s okay with your dad.” 

That made you let out a silent laugh. “I’ll go with you guys,” you placed your beer bottle on the coffee table and stood up, not waiting for Baz to answer. You grabbed Lena’s hand and looked up at Pope who was making his way over to you both, picking up Lena’s drawing and complimenting her on it. 

The two of you went to the beach, stopping first on the playground that was near The Strand but still on the sand. 

You pumped your legs on the swing next to Lena, cheering her on as you both soared back and forth. Pope was leaning against the park sign post, watching both of you intently. 

“I think I’m going too fast and high,” Lena’s little voice got wobbly and you were quick to slow your own swing down and grab the chains of hers. 

“I got you,” you gripped the seat now and controlled her swings. Pope was moving towards you now, worry on his face when you looked over your shoulder. “S’ok, she just got a little nervous.” 

It was then that the swing you were on got taken by some kid who was pretty chatty, you took that as your sign to step back and let her play with kids her own age. 

You stood on the opposite side of Pope, leaning on the metal pole just like he was. 

“So you gonna call the cop?” His voice was raspy. 

“Whatever Baz wants, Baz gets.” Your voice was littered with annoyance. 

“It doesn't have to be that way,” his arms were crossed, sunglasses perched on his face. 

“Says the guy who asked his permission to take his niece to the beach, everything needs his approval, I mean even the job,” you raised your hand and it fell back down against your thigh. “You know it, too. It’s already decided, we’re doing the church.” You shrugged. “And he can’t even be bothered to be a decent dad, again.” 

“Are you really with the cop?” Pope let his internal thoughts become outloud. 

You smirked, looking out at Lena and the horizon while you pulled a pack of cigarettes from your jacket pocket. “No.” 

“Are you with anyone?” He reiterated. 

This time you looked over at him, hiding your smile between the cigarette in your mouth. “No.” 

Silence grew between you two. The sounds of the kids playing and yelling filled the space, Lena’s laughs and giggles as she went just as high as before, this time with no problem as she tried to beat the kid next to her. 

“You want ice cream?” Pope was pushing off the sign. 

“Only if you’re buying.” You took one last inhale of the cigarette and put it out on the bottom of your shoe before placing it in the ashtray above the trash can. 

The walk home on The Strand was nice, Lena was in between you both, huge cup of cookies and cream ice cream in her hands as she skipped happily.  You had your own cup, so did Pope. 

“You want one of my gummy bears, kid?” You scooped one up and dropped it into Lena’s cup before she could even answer. 

“Thanks Auntie Doc,” she grinned and immediately ate it. 

“Thank Uncle Pope, he splurged for us,” you bumped his shoulder. 

After she thanked Pope, her eyes fell on hopscotch squares that were drawn in chalk on the concrete, only a few feet away from Baz’s, she asked eagerly if she could go ahead and both of you agreed. 

“You used to take me for ice cream after we’d hang out at the skatepark,” you mindlessly picked the spoon of ice cream up and toyed with it before taking a bite. 

“Half chocolate, half vanilla, gummy bears and hot fudge to keep them soft.” Pope read out your order. 

“You used to scare the cashier to make sure he gave me extra gummy bears,” for you it was a funny memory, but it clearly did something to Pope. 

“Everyone’s scared of me,” he tossed his ice cream into the trash. 

Your eyes looked up and saw how genuine he was and you took a beat, taking one more bite of your ice cream before tossing it too. “They don’t understand you, Pope.” 

You let that hang in the air a bit, really wanting that sentiment to sit with him. 

“If they did,” you turned to him, now at the steps of Baz’s. “They’d love you.” 

Before he could respond, Baz was opening the screen door. “Where’s the kid?” 

“She’s playing hopscotch,” you pointed to Lena who was having the time of her life.

“You call the cop?” Baz was leaning against the column. 

“I will.” You stepped up a few steps and leaned against the railing. 

“Just ask him about the church, nothing else,” Baz was looking out at Lena and that’s when you made eye contact with Pope and raised your brows in a knowing way. 

“Auntie Doc, can you read me a bedtime story?!” Lena was yelling out from the road to you. 

“Yea, Lena-love! C’mon let’s pick one.” You waved her over but not before checking to make sure there were no cars coming. She was in your arms in seconds. “Say goodnight to Uncle Pope.” You leaned so she could reach him, her arms wrapping around his neck. “G’night Uncle Pope.” 

“Goodnight,” he nodded and you saw his smile. 

“Go, I’ll be inside to say goodnight soon,” Baz waved both of you inside, his hand squeezing both yours and Lena’s shoulders as you passed.

“I’m going to Mexico tomorrow, I might need you and Doc to pick Lena up from school and shit,” Baz thought telling Pope would be the easy one. 

“You should spend more time with her,” Pope didn’t mind picking Lena up, but he saw how little Baz had been involved lately. 

“Any more parenting tips for me, man?” There was a chuckle that left Baz’s mouth, but it was less of a laugh and more of a warning. 

“I mean, she definitely didn’t love that you yelled at her earlier,” Pope had his hands at his sides as he shrugged.

“You know, why don’t you figure out your own shit before you start telling me how to raise my kid?” Baz was yelling now, his voice could be heard from inside which is when you grabbed Lena’s headphones. 

“Why don’t we play a song to help us get in the mood for the story, yea?” You placed the headphones on her head and connected it to her tablet, quickly pressing the first mermaid video you saw since she had picked up a marine book. 

“No one's ever gonna have a kid with you, ever!” Baz’s voice was echoing so loudly, it was a miracle Lena didn’t flinch. You held up your hand to show her you’d be back in a minute. Stepping out of her room, you waited in the living room for your brother, arms crossed. 

As he slammed the door and walked into his house, he didn’t even look at you. 

“What the hell was that?” You turned your body to face him, looking out the front door to see Pope still standing there, processing Baz’s words.

“What?” He snapped. 

“You need to chill, I know you’re dealing with a lot but you have a little girl who depends on you,” you weren’t trying to be mean, you weren’t even trying to hound him, you were being honest with him. 

“You know what I need? I need you to shut the fuck up and mind your business.” He was slamming his hand on the tiled table. 

“Mind it until you need me in it, right?” You weren’t backing down. “Mind it until you call me because you’re somewhere doing something and need me to pick your kid up,” you pressed a finger to the other like you were beginning to count. “Mind it until you need me to reach out to someone I know and run recon that you can easily do yourself but don’t want to, mind it until you’re beat to shit and need meds from my fucking stockpile, mind it until you need someone to parent your fucking kid or do your laundry or dishes or straighten up your place,” your voice was just as loud now and you were glad Lena had her headphones on. 

“You know, we used to be close. Hell, you’d take fucking beatings for me. We’d sneak out and get snacks from some corner store and put Ray’s hand in hot water and watch him piss himself when he was passed out drunk in the recliner. You gave a shit about me, you gave a shit about everything. The minute we walked into Smurf’s house, I lost you to her, we all did,” you stepped closer to Baz now. “You made me lose my job, Baz. My job. What I worked hard for. What was supposed to be my life.” Your voice cracked. “And now I’m here watching your kid, taking her to the beach for ice cream with her fucking Uncle, because you can’t be bothered with anything that doesn’t serve you.” Your voice echoed against the walls. 

Baz went to respond but then stopped. His eyes changed their position, almost looking evil in what he was thinking. His tongue swiped along the bottom of his lip before he shook his head with a smirk. “If you want to play fucking house with Pope be my guest, but don’t do it with my kid.” 

“Which one? The one you abandoned Julia with? Or the one you abandoned Lucy with? Or the one you’re about to abandon?” Your words had a bite to them. “You’re not a good person Baz, you’re not. I love you, you’re my brother, and I will always love you but you suck. And for the record it’s not playing house when we’re the only two people who give a single fuck about what happens to her, you don’t care Baz, and it used to be okay when it was me, when it was Pope, but this is your child, she has no one else, she needs you. You think you’re nothing like dad but you’re the spitting image of him, but Lena doesn’t have an older brother in her life to look out for her, and you know what? She’s probably better off for it. Because he’d learn from you and abandon her when she needed him the most. At least this way she has me, she has Pope, someone who knows when school fucking ends, what grade she’s in, what TV shows she likes. You treat her like a burden and she realizes that, she’s fucking 6 years old Baz, she’s a kid, a fucking kid.” 

After your long winded statement, you didn’t give him time to answer. Turning around, you went to go back to Lena’s room, say goodbye to her and tell her you were sorry you couldn’t stay for the story. She didn’t mind, you told her you’d see her tomorrow, which was the truth, you heard Baz’s plan to go to Mexico tomorrow. 

As you closed Lena’s door, you turned to your brother who was clenching his jaw. “When you leave tomorrow, call Pope, not me. I don’t want to hear from you about anything besides the job.” 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 4:15PM 

That wasn’t the last time you talked to Baz, far from it. In fact, you had in some way made up from that fight at a point. You always did, but it was never a real fix. You never talked about the real problem, any real solutions, he was always running from it, and maybe in a way you were too. 

It’s what you were currently doing, running from it. As you unloaded Lena from the car in Baz’s driveway, your eyes clocked the blood stained sidewalk and the blood that was on the siding of the front porch as well. You were quick to hide it from the girl and told her to go play on the playground that was just a few feet down from his house. 

As she happily obliged, you stood on the sidewalk, your eyes staring at the blood that seeped into the concrete, it felt harrowing. It felt like a metaphor for something. The stain Baz was going to leave on your life, on everything. You felt your heart pick up, your mind was still trying to grieve the idea of Baz you had created in your head and begged for him to be, and now it was forced to deal with grieving him completely. It was a lot to take in, and seeing his blood here on the sidewalk, felt like it was forcing you to take it all in right now, rubbing it in your face. Every memory, every fight, every disappointment, every loss of what was to come, what could’ve been, what should’ve been. He was haunting you, it hadn’t even been 24 hours yet and Baz was haunting you. 

Someone calling your name brought you out of your spiral, it couldn’t have been one of the boys, they never used your full name unless it was serious and that was rare, although one could argue rare circumstances were upon you all. But you could tell by the voice it wasn’t someone that familiar, and you were right. There was Travis Callahan, the dirty cop you had wrapped around your finger. One dinner and he had made it a point to run into you at least once a week. Nothing inappropriate, but still an annoyance. 

“Hey, I just heard about your brother, I came down as soon as I could, are you okay?” He had his uniform on, his car was parked across the street, you must’ve missed it in the middle of your spiral. 

“Hey,” you closed your eyes and shook your head, “Yea, thanks Travis, you didn’t need to come down here, it’s all well you know, it’s family stuff.” You tried to put on your best brave face. 

“No, I know, I just— the guys at the station said you had stopped by right before I came in for my shift, I just figured I’d come check on you, I know this isn’t anything serious— between us meaning, but I don’t know, it’s your brother and he’s dead.” 

You tried to hold onto the sweet parts of his sentence, he was an airhead most days and today was no different. 

“Thanks for the reminder,” you smiled, sarcastically. 

“Shit, sorry. I just—just wanted to check on you.” He ran his hand through his gelled hair. 

“Thanks, Travis, really I appreciate it,” your face softened, maybe you had misjudged him all this time. When you would run into him, you didn’t talk about anything that wasn’t in small talk or co-worker talk territory, and he did just come to check on you, so maybe you should just smile and take it for what it was, someone being kind. 

“If you need a distraction, or if it helps not to be alone, I’m around, if you need…” he trailed off and that’s when you almost let out an audible laugh. Here you were feeling guilty for misjudging the guy when he was only here to jump at the chance to manipulate your grief. 

“What?” You thought you’d give him the chance to pull back a bit, earn a bit of something back, but he just doubled down. 

“You’re allowed to want comfort, you know. Even if it doesn’t make sense right now.” 

“I think I’m good, Travis. Alone is kind of my thing,” and still despite him reinforcing the fact he was a dick, you still let him down softly. 

“But you shouldn’t have to go through this alone. If you need someone, even just to stay the night, I can be here.”

“She said she was good,” Pope’s voice made both of you turn your heads, he was walking up from his truck that was parked a few feet behind both of you. 

You closed your eyes and mumbled a few words, something along the lines of here we go or great, this day sucks. 

“Pope.” Travis greeted the eldest Cody, his hands instinctively going to rest on the vest he was wearing over his uniform. “Sorry to hear about Baz.” 

“I’m sure,” Pope was behind you now. “This is kind of a family issue we have to deal with,” that was his way of politely telling Travis to leave and you knew Pope wasn’t going to ask again. 

“I’m serious,” Travis put his attention back on you. “Call me if you need anything.” 

Before you could answer, this time you planned to be a little more forceful, tell Travis you didn’t need anything and that unless he had any investigation news he should let you grieve with the family, Pope stepped in front of you. 

“She’s taken care of, Officer Callahan, you can go.” His hand pointed to the cop car. 

“Pope.” You hissed. 

“Nah, it’s alright. I’ll see you around,” he waved and moved back to his car, Pope kept his eyes on him until the car was well down the street. 

When he turned back around to you, he saw how angry you were. 

“I thought you said you weren’t dating that asshole?” 

“I’m not.” You went to rub the top of your head.

“You trust him,” that realization broke Pope a little bit. He was the person you called, and despite never talking about whatever shit was going on between you, being the person you relied on was what kept Pope together. 

“He’s a contact, Pope. I trust his intel, I trust his ability to find dirt on what’s dirty, that’s it.” You were reaching a limit. “I had it handled.” 

“I handled it for you.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “I thought I told you to call me if anything happened.” 

“Nothing happened!” Your voice cracked as you yelled, one arm across your chest and the other lifting off your forehead frantically. “I told you I had it handled.” 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Pope was a little taken back, he hadn’t heard you get like this towards him in a long time, you normally saved that for Baz. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. I just— I need to tell my niece that her dad is dead and I don’t have the space to deal with this,” you moved your arms around referencing everything around you. The blood on the sidewalk, Travis and Pope’s ego contest, your crippling emotions. 

“I can tell her if you want?” Pope was just trying to be helpful now, he was dropping the Travis thing. 

With a deep breath you extended your hands out and grabbed his forearms. “No, thank you,” you let out a sigh and squeezed his arms. “Looking at the body fucked me up, I’m sorry I’m in a mood,” you shook your head and dropped his arms, letting your hand run down your face. “I can tell her, she’s on the playset right now and I’m gonna just feel it out. Can you take care of this blood, I don’t want her to see this.” You nodded to the stain. 

Pope didn’t even look at it, not even a glance or a minute to suss out the situation to see if he could even do it. He would make it happen, no questions. “Consider it taken care of.” 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 5:04PM

Sitting on the swings that weren’t too far off from Baz’s place, Lena to your right, sun setting in front of you, you debated in your head the best way to tell her for a while. You could wait, but it wouldn’t change anything. You could just say it, but what would that do to her in the long run? You had to do this the right way, if that even existed. 

“Hey Lena?” You leaned against the swing chain, your legs slightly moving against the ground swaying you back and forth. Her head turned to you and the way her eyes met yours despite the sun making her squint made your heart ache, but you still couldn’t find it in you to cry. “I have to tell you something that might be hard to hear, so when I tell you, feel free to ask me any questions or tell me whatever you’re thinking or feeling. None of that will be bad or wrong, okay?” 

She nodded and with one last exhale, you told her.

“Your daddy got hurt really badly today and they had to take him to the hospital. The doctors did a bunch of stuff trying to help him but they weren’t able to fix what happened to him.” You hoped that was the right way to phrase it. 

“Daddy is dead?” Her voice sounded even more innocent than before and it broke you.

“Yea, Daddy is dead.” She had to hear those words, no matter how hard they were to say.

“Were you one of the doctors that tried to help him?” Her voice was so curious, like she didn’t really process much yet. 

Her question gutted you, bringing you back to being told by the police, everything you wished happened, how you wanted to be there at the hospital but weren’t. 

But you were here now and this is what would matter moving forward. 

“I wasn’t, Auntie Doc doesn’t work at the hospital anymore,” you answered her. 

“Oh,” it was a simple response from her. 

“You know how your daddy is my brother?” You looked out to the ocean. 

“Yea,” Lena did the same. 

“When I was about your age, he was just a liiiiittle older than me. He’d take me with him to the skate park with him and Uncle Pope, and never because he had to. No one told him to take me, but he always wanted to bring me. It was before we were living with Grandma Smurf, when we lived with our dad,” you looked back at Lena. 

“Daddy sometimes talked about his dad, he said his name was Rain,” Lena shrugged. 

“Yea,” you smirked, “Ray.” Continuing the story, you lifted your legs off the ground and started to swing slightly. 

“So at this skate park, I really couldn’t skate, Grandma Smurf got me a scooter I’d leave at her house because it was the easiest thing to do,” that made Lena giggle. “But this one time, I took this kid’s skateboard because I really wanted to skate like Daddy and Uncle Pope.” 

“Were you able to?” Lena asked curiously. 

“No,” you laughed. “I fell on one of the ramps and the skateboard came right back into me, I had scrapes and cuts all over me.” 

Lena made a yikes face. 

“I know,” you raised your eyebrows. “But your daddy, he got so mad,” you took a deep inhale. 

“At you?” Lena raised her voice. 

“Yea, at me and the boy whose skateboard I took,” you put your feet back down on the ground and looked at Lena. “He yelled at me and then he yelled at the boy.” 

“What did Uncle Pope do?” Lena’s eyebrows frowned. 

“He took care of me, cleaned up my scratches and he bought a bike from the skate shop so he could give me a ride and I didn’t have to limp my scooter home,” you remembered Pope putting his skateboard in his backpack and you standing on the pegs of the bike as he rode the brand new thing home. 

“That’s nice,” Lena nodded. 

“Yea, I just want you to know that sometimes Daddy got mad because he cared, it wasn’t the best way for him to act, but adults make mistakes sometimes too.” You weren’t trying to excuse Baz’s behavior, but you also didn’t want this girl going her whole life remembering the shitty things about her father and that’s it. When she was older she’d get a better explanation of the whys and hows of her father but this was the best you could give her now. 

“Okay,” She looked up at you. “What about Uncle Pope?” 

“What about him?” You slowed your swings. 

“What do you want me to know about Uncle Pope?” She asked and you couldn’t help but flare your nostrils and smile. 

“I want you to know that Uncle Pope will always take care of us.” You didn’t hesitate to answer. 

“Like he took care of you at the skatepark.” Lena didn’t phrase it as a question, just a statement. 

“Yes,” you nodded. 

“So both of my parents are dead?” The question came quickly and it hit you hard. You didn’t think how to respond first, your first thought was actually that Smurf had both of them killed and you felt that Blackwell anger bubble in you. You didn’t know if Smurf had Baz killed, but your intuition was telling you she did. You knew she had Cath killed, paid someone in her large pool of shitty contacts to do it. The more you thought about it, the more you actually didn’t care. Revenge wasn’t your thing, maybe if Lena wasn’t in the picture it would be, but getting even and proving a point couldn’t outweigh the responsibility of raising this little girl. She didn’t ask to be here, to be in this family. You owed it to her to show her a decent life. And a decent life didn’t include revenge. 

“Yea, they are. I’m sorry, kid.” You looked at her, searching her face for anything. 

“Where am I going to live?” Another question, this one you didn’t have an answer for. 

“I’m not sure about where yet, but I’m going to talk with some grown up people so you can live with me at my place or maybe I’ll move into your dad’s place,” you said. 

“I want to stay with you and Uncle Pope,” Lena’s voice got excited. 

Those words brought you back to a time when Deran had voiced those same words to you. Baz was running a job, Smurf had asked Deran to go with him and he fought against it. Begged and begged to stay with you and Pope at the house. It made sense, you were in the process of making rice krispy treats, showing them a semblance of attention they craved from their own mother. You asked him about it later, when he got back from helping out Baz, and he said that you and Pope didn’t make things feel worse. You had to wonder if that’s how Lena felt. 

 “Alright, well, I’ll let Uncle Pope know that. I think we can arrange for him to stay over tonight,” you weren’t going to promise forever because well, that was something you were battling with for years. A forever with Pope. 

Present Day - Baz’s Death - 8:34PM

Dinner was scattered all over the table, dishes, food scraps, empty glasses of soda. You were in the kitchen, Lena standing on the island, dancing to the music that was blasting through the TV. Your hands were on her waist, a safety precaution in case she stumbled, you’d be able to catch her. Her laughs filled you with a joy that was unexplainable. Lena had picked a fun playlist and currently Spice Up Your Life by the Spice Girls. The concert music video was on the TV and you were quick to grab Lena and bring her to stand on the couch, you standing in the spot next to her. “Alright Lena-love, I’m gonna introduce you to The Spice Girls, this is like the ultimate girl-power group and we’re gonna dance just like them in this video,okay?” You started moving on the couch and she copied you, swaying around, you stepped down and turned to her, grabbing her hands and showing her the dance moves, you’d seen the movie a million times, they were somehow embedded into your brain. Lena’s smile was as wide as it could go, her laughs were loud and as the beat dropped you picked her up. Slam it to the left, If you're havin' a good time, Shake it to the right. You moved her and dipped her in both directions and then twirled her around. Now it was your turn to laugh, you were almost out of breath when you placed her back on the couch and pointed her attention to the TV and moved to the kitchen to grab some water. 

Pope’s eyes were on both of you until you moved, then they stayed on you. As you closed the fridge, and chugged half of a cold bottle of water, you looked at him and chuckled with a shake to your head. 

“What?” 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you have this much fun since we were kids,” he shrugged. 

“I loved the Spice Girls,” you took another sip. 

“Oh I know, you used to watch the movie when we were teenagers all the time,” his eyebrows raised. 

“Movie?!” Lena turned around, moving her hands like the Spice Girls were. 

You almost spit up your water but managed to keep it down. “We’ll watch it sometime soon, kid. Keep having fun.” 

Plopping down on the chair next to Pope at the breakfast bar, you still felt his eyes on you, but you kept yours on Lena. 

“Uncle Pope, come dance with me!” Lena called out as the song changed to ABBA. 

“You can’t say no to her, you know you can’t,” you smirked. 

While Pope got up, he didn’t do much but stand there and hold his hands out for Lena to use as a steadyment to jump up and down to, but you’d be lying if hearing Dancing Queen while Pope twirled Lena around wasn’t making your heart sing. 

After a few more songs, Lena had eventually passed out in Pope’s arms, his swaying back and forth was enough to lull her into a sleep even with the music still being so loud. 

You moved to the remote and lowered the volume, then rested your hand on the back of Lena, moving her long brown hair out of her face just to see how peaceful she was snoozing. 

“I think we did a good job keeping her mind off things tonight,” you whispered. 

Pope whispered back to you,“I’m gonna put her in her bed.” 

You followed him, standing in the doorway you saw how gently he placed her in her bed, the way he moved her hair and tucked the blanket over her. As he turned around, he froze for a minute when he saw you watching. All you did was bring one finger up to your lips and let out a silent shush. He tip-toed towards you, closing the door behind him while you just scaled the frame so you were on the opposite side of it. He was next to you, maybe 6 inches from you, the music was still at a low hum in the background, the lights were dim, the ocean waves could be heard from the open windows now, the breeze coming in from the same place. 

Pope gave you a nod. “How are you feeling?” 

“I don’t know, I’ve kind of been avoiding thinking about anything.” You shrugged, your hands resting on the frame behind you. 

“Do you want to think about it now?” Pope asked the question, his voice searching for an answer. 

“I don’t think I ever want to think about it,” you let out a scoff that was mixed with a laugh. But even as you said that, you didn’t really mean it. You wanted answers, you just weren’t sure how. “I don’t want Lucy anywhere near this fucking house, that I could tell you.” Your voice changed, anger laced in every word. 

“Lucy isn’t coming here,” Pope spoke so effortlessly. 

“She isn’t getting custody of Lena,” you spat that out just as fast. 

“She isn’t getting custody of Lena.” Pope repeated what you said to confirm it as well. 

“She wants to live with you and me,” you let your voice soften, a smile growing at your lips. 

“You and me?” Pope frowned. 

“You and me.” You confirmed, looking up from the ground your eyes met his and you saw how confused he was. “She asked me where she was going to live and I told her I wasn’t sure, maybe my place, maybe I’d move here. But I was going to talk to the grown ups to make sure she’d stay with me, and I think her exact response to that was I want to stay with you and Uncle Pope.” 

“I can stay here,” he shrugged like it was no big deal, “or your place if that’s where you want her,” he paused and caught your eyes, “if you’re okay with that.” 

“I’m okay with that,” you nodded. It was not the time to read into emotions, it really wasn’t. But you were looking to cling to anything that wasn’t sad right now, anything that wasn’t a reminder of your dead brother. And this? Pope living with you? You raising Lena together? Your mind clung to that, so did your heart. You felt butterflies, butterflies. On the day of your brother's death, and here you were feeling happy. 

If you want to play fucking house with Pope be my guest, but don’t do it with my kid.

Baz’s words echoed in your brain and you’d do anything to get them out. 

That’s why you reached your hand out and let your finger run down Pope’s arm. Instinctively, you looked down at him, his body was closer to you than his face, even if he was standing there almost motionless. His chest was moving up and down, and despite your eyes trailing down him, he stayed on your face, your eyes. 

You moved just an inch closer to him, your finger lightly brushing against the hem of his button up. His breath felt like a glass of water to your face, waking you up from everything. It gave you the edge you needed, instead of pulling away, you brought your hand up his forearm, brushing your fingers slightly up his exposed skin. His goosebumps gave you your own but you just used them as fuel to move closer to him, your chest against his now. He moved his head against yours and that’s when you felt his hands move up to grip your face. That was all the action you needed to move your lips to his. 

This was different from the first time you kissed Pope. This was slow, intimate, sensual. The first time was instinctual, physical, no romantic tension to be found. 

It’s why you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle right now, or maybe they did and he just held you up so strongly with his grip on you. 

You had waited years for this. After that one night years ago, where he took you on the floor of your house’s bedroom, it was all you could think about. How amazing it was but how amazing it could have been if you both really let your guards down. 

This would be the first time you’d both do it knowing what it meant for both of you.

You felt your entire body sing, the serotonin mixed with the adrenaline coursing through your veins made you get a little sloppy in how you guided his lips on yours, the dancing of your mouths became a bit more like a drunken makeout but you didn’t care. This was the closest to drunk you ever wanted to be ever again. Pope’s lips on yours and his hands gripping you like you belonged to him. Your hands went to his buttons, undoing a few of the bottom ones before trailing your hands up to the top ones and undoing a few of those. Your knuckles brushed against his adam's apple while you unbuttoned the top button. It sent a rush down your body and his. As you pulled away to gasp for air from the rush of it all, that’s when Pope shook his head and took a step back. 

“No, we can’t do this.” 

Then it all shattered. 

“What’s wrong?” You whispered it so low you weren’t even sure if he heard you. 

“Us, we— you’re Baz’s sister, you’re not—we’re not supposed to do this.” He was getting caught on his words, stuck in his thoughts that weren’t able to come out as a string of conscious words at the moment. 

“We could have a normal life,” you whispered it again, you felt everything in you change. You weren’t able to pull any of this back in. The tension that had built up between you two for decades had been sliced wide open, everything was gushing, pooling at the ground, there was no more hiding anything. And because of that, you were going to say or do anything to get this, you’d beg, you’d let every fucking thought, every feeling, everything out in this moment. 

“What’s normal?” Pope’s voice cracked. 

“This!” You raised your voice now, not in a yell but in a plea of desperation. “Coming home, eating dinner, dancing in the fucking kitchen,putting Lena to bed, trying to stay quiet in the bedroom as you love me, sitting on the porch afterwards and watching the waves, driving for ice cream at 2AM, heating up milk on the stove if Lena wakes up, a normal fucking life, Pope.” You didn’t realize you had started to cry. 

“Nothing is normal, my family is the farthest thing from normal, we are the farthest thing from normal.” Pope’s voice was cracking, his own cries clawing at his throat. 

He had to be repeating some sentiment from Smurf, you saw how he looked at you, how he watched you, how he cared for you. 

“Smurf never wanted us together because she knew I’d take you away. She knew she’d lose you to me. She made sure you saw Catherine and then that Catherine saw Baz. Every good thing that came into our lives that you gravitated towards..you craved it—craved it Pope. You longed for it. And Smurf took that and ruined it for you. Ruining every chance to leave this fucked up life behind you.” You stepped closer to him, grabbing his hand in yours. “But I’m here, with that little girl and we’re begging you, come start a good life with us.” 

That must’ve done something because he just stood silent, his tears lightly falling, not sobbing just racking his brain around your words. His hands gripped around yours and you did the one thing you’d regret. You said it. It was the last card to play, although you weren’t playing a game at all, you were just hopeful that this would go how you’d always imagined it. He’d kiss you, he’d take you, he’d be yours. He’d say it back. 

Wrong. 

“I love you.” 

“I can’t love you how you want me to.” 

Everything stopped. Your ears did that thing, not a ringing, but just made everything silent around you. Desperation filled you. The despairing cry in your throat came out first, the sound of a broken heart, the sound of everything crumbling. Instead of taking it with stride, you did everything but drop to your knees in prayer.

“You already do!” You yelled, despite Lena sleeping in the room right next to you. “Do you not see it, Pope? You see me, you look for me in a room full of people, you know my favorite things, you stand up for me, you protect me, I don’t even say anything and you know what I’m thinking—what I’m feeling. For God sakes Pope, we’ve loved each other since we were kids!” 

“How can you love me?” He was genuinely asking. Just when you thought your heart couldn’t break more, he hit you with that line and it shattered into a million pieces. 

“I just do, it’s the easiest thing to me, it’s like breathing, I just do.” Your answer came just as easy as loving him was. 

“Love isn’t easy.” He argued that point with you. 

“Not in the way you think, the love you know is conditional. Based on performance, and loyalty, the love I have for you is unconditional, Pope. Always. No matter what. It always has been.” There it was, the plea, but you already knew how this ended. It’s how everything you loved ended. Your career, your brother, now Pope. You should’ve known better. 

 “Of all the things we have to be scared of and we choose love.” You laughed, almost in disbelief, taking a step back now, your hand dropping out of his. 

“I can’t do this Pope,” you shook your head and wiped your tears. “Baz picked and chose when he wanted to be there and I can’t have someone else pick and choose. Not anymore. If you can’t realize what’s in front of you then I can’t do this, I can’t be in this fucking limbo anymore just waiting and hoping for you to touch me, to kiss me, to love me. If you won’t choose me then I choose me.” 

“Don’t—don’t do that.” Pope’s mouth scrunched up, the frustration turning into anger. 

“Do you remember the night before you got arrested for the bank robbery? I had walked to the skatepark and you were the only one there, we sat on the top of the ramp and talked for a bit,” You wiped the tears again, you weren’t sure why, they just kept coming. “I asked you why can’t we do what makes us happy.” You let out a laugh. “However many years later and I’m asking myself the same question.” You ran your hand over the crown of your head. “You should go,” you shook your head. 

Pope said your name, his own pleading cry. 

You didn’t say anything else, just turned to retreat to the back of the house. There was a part of you, the last part of you that was holding onto the hope that Pope would follow you, he’d stop talking and let his actions show you his words meant nothing. But there was nothing. Just silence. You let your back slide down the back door as you brought your legs up to your chest and sat on the floor, hand over your mouth to muffle your cries, your eyes squeezed shut like you could will yourself into a sleep and wake up from this entire nightmare of a day. 

When you heard the front door open and close, you let the cry come out as audible. The crack in your throat as the final piece of you broke, you fell over on the ground, gripping your hand to your chest as the sobs released. It was a mix of everything. 

The loss of Pope. Everything you kept to yourself in fear of rejection, in fear of losing him now all out in the open with the one result you dreaded. While you spent years keeping everything at bay, the possibility was always there. It’s what made everything bearable. It was a possibility. But now you grieved that possibility. The idea of you sharing a home, having a life. You got a taste of it tonight, maybe that’s why it hurt this bad, like someone stuck their hand in your chest and twisted your heart before pulling it out and stepping on it. 

You sobbed on the floor, the cries aching in your body didn’t make you feel numb like you wished they did, they just made you feel everything. You wailed, it wasn’t loud, it was almost silent if anything. There couldn’t be a place lower than this. 

Dockie. 

You felt like you heard your brother. Your cries paused, your eyes opening and before you could think, you were standing up, moving through the house, using the walls and door frames as balance, your head spun from sobbing on the floor and getting up so fast. 

“Baz?!” Your swollen eyes searched for him, your tone hopeful like you knew he’d be there.  

As you stood in the empty living room, the grief punched you in the gut. There was no response, no answer to your cry. Just you. 

 The loss of your brother. There was no fixing your relationship, no closure, no last words. You’d never hear him call you Dockie again. The thing you hated since you were a kid, suddenly you held an ache in your soul for it. He’d never place a peck on the side of your face again, or remind you of something you tried so desperately to forget. He’d never yell at you, never argue with you, never make you feel small. Everything you couldn’t stand, and yet here you were missing it. Wishing for one last moment to experience it. Then there were the good things, when you’d laugh. He’d just catch your gaze from across the room and you’d burst into laughter over some inside joke–sibling same brain thought. When you’d finish a job and he’d jump on your back like he was a kid and scream like a maniac. The times he’d whisper to Lena to go tell you that you were her favorite Aunt. 

It was sudden, like a flip of a switch, you stopped crying. Your face went neutral, this time when you wiped your face it was the last of the tears you’d wipe away. Quickly, you moved to the bathroom, tossed water on your face and pulled your phone out of your back pocket. Suddenly, with a dial, you called the last person you thought you’d call tonight. 

“Hey, do you wanna come over?” 

2009 - Moving In  

When you bought your house, you didn’t hire movers, you bamboozled your brother and the Cody boys to do all the heavy lifting. You didn’t even pack much from Smurf’s. You bought all new stuff, a new bed, a new dresser, a couch, but they were the ones building and moving things where you wanted. It had been a long day. At this point, Craig had broken a lamp, thrown a wrench out of frustration as he built your coffee table, and was now sitting on stool, eating the pizza you bought. Deran had unpacked about 15 boxes for you, asked you why you had certain things almost double that amount of times, and was currently walking in from grabbing a 24 pack of beer for your fridge. Baz had been the least helpful, he had brought in a few boxes, made some judgement slights as he walked through the place and then just leaned against one of your walls as kept a watchful eye. Currently, he was probably back at his place, far away from the unpacked mess of this house. Pope, well Pope was redoing the furniture Craig built and getting a jump start on other ones. He kept to himself, organizing things and just being a huge help. While you were in the kitchen with Craig and now Deran, Pope was still working, putting things together. 

“Doc, beer is the first thing you buy when you buy a house, it’s a luck thing, c’mon.” Deran lifted the case and pushed it into the bottom rack of the fridge. 

“24-pack?” You raised your eyebrows. 

“That’s enough for me and Deran, what will you drink?” Craig laughed, his hand wrapped around the slice of pizza. 

“I got her that boxed wine shit,” Deran laughed, his other hand showing the small box of red wine. 

“The place looks good,” Craig was looking around the house. “I just don’t get why you don’t wanna paint the outside, the turquoise is a choice.” 

“I didn’t realize you were an interior decorator,” you moved to grab a beer from the case Deran just bought, one for you and one for Craig since Deran had already grabbed for himself.

“I’m not,” he let out a laugh, “exterior,” he thought the joke was hilarious since he had been referring to the outside of your house. 

“I think the teal’s got charm, it’s very Doc.” Deran jumped up on the counter while you moved to continue to unpack the kitchen boxes. 

“Pope!” You yelled out to him, “Come eat!” Turning back to the other Cody’s you shook your head. “The exterior paint stays, you two go.” 

“Hey!” Craig lifted his hands up while Deran just laughed. 

“I love you both, thank you for helping me, finish eating, take beers with you to go and I’ll see you here tomorrow, I’m tired, after Pope eats I’m going to bed.” You explained why you were kicking them out. 

Pope didn’t come out by the time Deran and Craig left, it's why you found yourself arm crossed and leaning against the doorway. “I see that your hands work but your ears don’t.” 

“I wanted to finish putting your bed together so you had a place to sleep tonight,” he didn’t bother looking up from what he was doing. Tossing the mattress onto the bed frame he built, putting the sheets on for you. 

“I can make a bed, Pope.” You smiled and he paused to look at you. 

“You’re tired,” he saw the droop in your eyes immediately.

“I am, but that’s not why I’m telling you to stop, I want you to eat something, you’ve been non stop all day,” you were already out of the doorway and moving to the kitchen. You came back with the box of pizza, two beers and a roll of paper towels. “Eat.” 

You both sat crisscrossed on the floor, the pizza box open and now practically empty, the box wine had made its way in the room too, you were about 5 glasses in at this point, Pope had his empty beer glasses lined up next to him in an orderly line. 

“It’s a nice house,” Pope wasn’t looking around when he said it, just directly at you. 

“I hope to make it a home,” you pulled your legs up. 

“You will.” Pope nodded. 

“You just saying that?” You were looking around the room. 

“I don’t just say anything,” Pope said. “You always made your space feel…welcome,” he nodded as he searched for the word. 

“You saying that means more to me than you realize,” you finished the cup of wine. 

He nodded again, this time slow. “I realize.” 

There was a comfort in the air, the kind that only came from being in a space with someone that didn’t call for anything. There was no need to entertain, fill the silences, or be anything other than yourselves. You placed your cup down and then laid your back against the floor, your eyes staring up at the ceiling. 

“Do you remember that place Baz moved into when Smurf kicked him out of the place on The Strand?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. 

“The one that had the pipe that would leak on the couch.” Pope remembered it well. “I used to crash there when I’d fight with Smurf.” 

“I remember, because we’d share that nasty ass couch. You’d take the side that would drip.” You turned your head and realized he was now laying down next to you, your feet were in the opposite direction, but your heads were next to each other. 

“You said it had character,” Pope turned his head to look back at you. 

“I lied.” Your nostrils flared and you laughed. “Baz was one negative thought from jumping off a ledge, I had to keep him grounded.” 

“You keep all of us grounded.” Pope still kept his eyes on you. 

“Everyone but me,” you let out a soft exhale, your eyes training up to the ceiling. 

Pope didn’t say anything, but you felt the shift in the air, or maybe it was just in your head. You felt the heat in your face from the wine, the long day, the high of the fact you were finally out of Smurf’s. 

Turning your head back down from the ceiling and to Pope, you realized he hadn’t stopped looking at you. 

“You’re staring.” 

“Can’t help it,” he replied. “I should go,” he didn’t move when he said those words. “Call me if you need me to come over.” 

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, you had a bunch of notifications from the hospital you worked at, but it was your week off so you ignored them. All you did was go to your contacts and hit Pope’s name and brought the phone to your ear. 

Pope frowned as his phone vibrated in his pocket, he answered it and brought it up to his ear, both of you still looking at each other. 

“Hey, do you wanna come over?” 

The joke landed, his smirk twitched up before he hung up. 

“It’s good to see you like this,” Pope nodded.

“Like what?”

“Happy,” he responded. 

“You want to see me happier?” You let the wine talk with that line. 

Pope didn’t say anything, just nodded. It was then that you leaned closer, you brought your lips on his. It was a quick peck at first, but when he leaned more into it you felt yourself let down every physical guard you had built up. You grabbed his shirt, bringing him closer to you, tossing your leg over his before you were on top of him, grinding your body onto his. He gripped your legs, moving you against him, his mouth opening as he gasped slightly. 

He sat up, bringing you up with him, his arms moving around your torso, pulling your shirt off as he did. You eagerly undid his pants just enough so that you could hold him in your hand, he pulled your shorts to the side and within seconds he was inside you. Both of you inhaling at the sensation. Your head fell back and you moaned in pleasure. He pumped in and out of you, his eyes never leaving you as he did. 

“Look at me,” he demanded in such a soft voice. 

Your eyes connected with his and it was like the feeling of him in you got ten times more sensitive. You felt a lump in the back of your throat, the emotion of years of pining coming to you right now. This wasn’t romantic, you couldn’t afford it to be. It was instinctual, it was safe. 

He pressed his mouth against your chest, his eyes still connected with yours. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled again and let your head fall back despite wanting to get lost in his eyes. 

As your head fell back, he moved to be on top of you, resting you gently against the floor of your room so he could pump into you. His arms were toned and your eyes caught the flex and release of his muscles as he gripped you and steadied himself on the floor. Your legs wrapped around him and your breath hitched with every movement in you. 

“Do I feel good?” you asked him because you knew his response would send you over the edge.

“You know how good you fucking feel,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “You feel amazing.” 

“Oh my god,” you closed your eyes and felt yourself hit your climax, each movement sending you a little further over the edge than before. “Keep going,” you felt yourself coming undone, your voice thready and messy. 

Your screams echoed against the empty walls of your apartment, along with you begging for Pope not to stop. 

“Flip over,” he mumbled into your ear and you obliged without any hesitation or fight, he brought your hips in his hands and continued to bring you back against him, one hand moving down your front to catch your clit in his hand. 

“If you do that, I’m gonna cum again,” your voice was still breathy. 

“Good,” he said it without any emotion, not like he was proud, not like he was needy, just content with the idea of it. 

As he thrusted in you you felt the release again, Pope pumping you through it. As your body went a little loose, he carefully exited you and let you lay on your back. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, sitting up on your elbows. 

“You’re tired,” he looked like he was going to get dressed. 

“You didn’t finish,” your brows furrowed. This had never happened to you before. 

“But you did, twice.” Even though he didn’t say it like he was proud, you could tell he was. 

“Cum in me,” you didn’t want this to get emotional, but you didn’t want this to end yet. “I get the shot, I can’t get pregnant.” 

“Are you–” Pope went to ask, not about you getting pregnant but about keeping this up.

“Yes, you feel good too, you know.” 

And with that, he reentered you and his hand gripped your neck to bring you down completely on him. He moved so deliberate and calculated, like he knew each spot he hit inside you in the order he did would unlock another climax out of you. You felt dizzy, your head was spinning in the best way possible, you never wanted this to end, but you couldn’t say that, wouldn’t say that. So you just enjoyed every second of him in you.

“Three times,” you whispered it since you felt the moan in the back of your throat. 

“Look at me,” his voice was low too, and you realized you were both about to release. 

He held you after, your head was against his chest and in all honestly you ached for this. Which is why you pulled your head up after a few minutes, any longer and you wouldn’t have been able to separate this from romance anymore. 

“We didn’t even test the bed you built,” you joked as you sat on your knees to collect your clothes. 

Pope didn’t say anything, just watched you. 

“Well I guess that was bound to happen, right?” You let the joke fall off your tongue as you grabbed your shirt. 

“Guess so,” Pope’s jaw tensed. 

“Not gonna be weird right?” You were trying to keep this together, make sure there were no fraying edges or fallout from this. 

“I’m not weird,” Pope looked at you now. 

That got you to chuckle. “You are, but I know you won’t be about this.” 

He twitched his mouth too. 

“I was serious before, call me if you need someone to come over. I know how lonely living alone can be.” Pope was fully dressed now. He didn’t mean for sex, he meant genuinely for company. You knew that without needing him to clarify.  

“Same goes for you. You can call me if you need to get out of the house, I know how lonely living in a house full of people can be.” You stood up and walked Pope to your front door. 

There were no more words exchanged between you, he just occasionally looked over his shoulder at you as he walked down your driveway, jacket in hand, swagger in his step. 

As you closed the door, you leaned against it and let yourself slide down so you were sitting on the ground, knees to your chest and hands in your scalp. 

You couldn’t let that happen again. Not unless it was for real. For good. 

Present Day - The Day After Baz’s Death - 1:34AM

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Travis’ voice was smug, almost grossly. 

He was pulling his shirt back on his body as he stepped out of the shower while you continued to wash yourself off from the ick, washing your hair and your body. 

When he came over, you didn’t let him talk, you grabbed him into the shower that sat outdoors, it was still private, fully walled and closed in from wandering eyes outside, but it was a surfer’s shower, the place you went to clean off from the beach. It didn’t feel right to bring him in the house. It didn’t feel right to have him here at all, but you needed to do something to feel anything but the grief in you. 

You didn’t let him look at you, he stood behind you the whole time, you told him to shut the fuck up a few times too. It wasn’t worth it. That thought went through your brain as it was happening but you did make the most of it. 

“Told you it’s better not to be alone,” He was drying his hair off while you rinsed the shampoo and soap off your body. 

“You should go,” they were the same words you spoke to Pope, that wasn’t lost on you, but as you grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your body, you had no other desire right now than to be alone. 

Nothing made sense anymore. And you weren’t in the mood to deal with it. 

You walked into the house, Travis behind you still. As you walked into Baz’s room, you realized you had no clothes here. With a sigh, you opened his dresser, grabbed a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, it was a UCSD one that you bought him when you went to school. Tossing both on, you looked at Travis who was watching you from the bed. 

“Travis I’m serious, you should go, I have Lena tonight and I have to take her to school in the morning and I don’t really have it in me to explain anything else to her right now,” you moved to the kitchen and poured yourself a cup of water from the faucet. 

“I can sleep on the couch, you shouldn’t be alone, I mean your brother was shot here probably like this time last night,” he followed you and those words haunted you as he stood behind you. 

The slam of the faucet wasn't enough of a context clue for him. So when you turned around, eyes closed, you took a large gulp from the cup and nodded. “Leave through the back door, the front door will wake Lena.” You moved to her bedroom, the one place you knew he wouldn’t follow you. As you shut the door, you stood at the opposite side of the sticker covered door and looked down at your niece who was sound asleep. At first you just squatted down and watched her, occasionally sipping from your water glass. After about an hour, where you successfully thought of nothing but her peaceful snores, you decided to crawl in the bed with her, you didn’t dare try to cuddle with her, afraid it’d wake her up, but being there with her, felt like the only thing you ever needed again. And from how tonight went, it was safe to say it was probably the only good thing you’d ever have again. 

2010 - The Day Lena Was Born 

Pacing in the hospital was not how you expected this night to go. You were in a dress, the only one you really owned at this point of your life. It was the one you wore to graduation, the one you wore for your residency interview at the hospital, and now it was the one you wore at your brother’s wedding. And apparently his daughter’s birth, too. 

The courthouse was packed with people, apparently it was the day for weddings, there had to be about 20 other couples in the municipal building along with Catherine and Baz. And that wasn’t including their witnesses which was almost double that number. Pope was next to you, his leg bouncing up and down a bit as he sat straight up on the wooden bench. Both of you were the witnesses for Baz and Cath, he had on a button up shirt, black jeans, his hands resting on his knees. You placed your hand on his. 

“What’s going on in your head?” 

“I’ve never been to a wedding before.” Pope stopped moving his leg. 

“Me either,” you thought about it. 

“What do we do?” Pope asked. 

“This is a pretty straightforward wedding, I think we just sit and watch them, maybe sign something.” You looked around, seeing multiple couples get ushered in at once. 

“I think we get brought in with a group, we’ll probably be able to see what we need to do,” you pointed to the next group being brought in. 

“Alright,” he nodded. 

“It’s kind of nice, celebrating love.” You looked at the other couples around, all happy, close together, laughing and cuddling. 

“It doesn’t feel like us,” Pope was taking in the couples now. The wide smiles, the connecting arms, the heads resting on shoulders. 

“What doesn’t?”

“All of it, the flowers, the pressed clothes, the happiness…” Pope trailed off, almost disgusted as he looked around. 

“You iron your clothes,” you pushed your lips in a straight line, you knew what Pope meant, but you couldn’t help but tease him. Sometimes you felt like you were the only one he let get away with it.

“You know what I mean,” Pope didn’t look at you but nodded his head as he slightly turned it at you. 

Leaning back against the wooden bench along the back wall of the courthouse, your eyes fell on the back of Pope. 

“You don’t believe in it? Marriage?” You asked. 

“It’s nice,” the way he said it was like he was convincing himself of the words he was saying. “For other people.” 

“But not for you?” You didn’t mean to hammer him with questions, you were just curious what was going on in his brain. 

Pope didn’t answer, his eyes just fell down to your hands that were fidgeting in your lap. He rarely saw you dressed like this, he rarely saw you fidget either. 

“I believe in it for other people, too.” You spoke as you looked down at your hands. “But for people like us, it’s just out of place. But the notion is nice right? A partner who chooses you day in and day out, sees your flaws and still loves you, someone to go through life with.” 

“Sure, it’s a nice notion.” Pope agreed. 

“All we have are moments. Happiness… people say it’s a state of mind but in reality it’s just little moments in time that we pocket for later. For when we’re sad.” You knew it sounded crazy. 

Pope looked over at Baz and Cath, they were standing at the registrar’s desk, Baz had just leaned over and whispered in her ear, saying something that made her laugh. 

It was then that they called your group number, a few other people stood up too. Baz and Cath had already moved to the door, Pope stood up and straightened his collar and pressed down his shirt. You followed his movements and pressed the skirt of your dress down as you stood. 

“You ready?” You moved your arm to him so he could link his with yours. 

“For the wedding?” He placed his arm in a way so you had to link yours to his. 

“For the moment,” you whispered and playful brought him over to the line. 

The wedding was quick, but as you pulled up to the restaurant that they were holding their reception dinner at, Cath’s water broke before she even made it 5 steps in the parking lot. 

That’s how you ended up pacing in the hospital now. 

“You should sit down,” Pope was clearly anxious. 

You plopped down next to him, your breath exhaling dramatically. 

“I don’t like hospitals,” you said it through frustrated breath. 

That got Pope to look at you with a twisted face. 

“I don’t like waiting in hospitals, working them is different, I’m in control,” you explained, your leg shaking. 

“You want a coffee or something?” He thought of different ways to give you something to do. 

That earned him the same face he had recently made to you. 

“Decaf,” he corrected himself. 

“No, I’m fine. I just need to wait.” You sighed again. 

In a little over 15 minutes, you rested your head on Pope’s shoulder, your arms linked in his and your snores quietly brushed against his collar bones over his shirt. He didn’t move, he stayed frozen so as to not wake you up, but he’d occasionally try and sneak a glance at you. If not directly down at you then at the reflection in the glass window in front of him. 

It reminded him of all the couples he’d seen at the courthouse not that long ago. The ones that were happy. That didn’t feel like you guys. But suddenly held a pretty close resemblance to you. 

He stayed that way for 2 hours until Baz came out in the blue gown and gloves. “It’s a girl,” he whispered so he didn’t wake you up. “Do you want to meet her?” Baz asked Pope. His eyes immediately fluttered to you. 

“Yea, let me wake her up and we’ll meet you down in the nursery,” Pope nodded and tapped Baz’s side. 

“Hey,” Pope whispered to you. “Hey, hey,” a couple more times along with a shake and you were waking up. “It’s a girl, Baz said we can go meet her.” 

“A girl? Oh good, we need a girl.” You spoke through a raspy voice. 

“We need a girl?” Pope questioned your words. 

“We always need a girl, we’re outnumbered by you Cody boys.” You smiled, and brought Pope up with your arm still interlocked with his. 

You walked that way with him until you got to the nursery. Baz had a baby girl in his arms and you could have cried at the sight of it. “And this Lena, is your Auntie Dockie and your Uncle Pope,” Baz lifted his arm up so that the baby was easier for you to see. 

“Oh my gosh, she’s so beautiful,” you couldn’t take your eyes off her. “How’s Cath?” 

“She’s good, she’s tired,” Baz kept his eyes on Lena. “You wanna hold her?” Baz looked at you. 

All you did was nod, as he placed her in your arms, you felt your entire body shift. Those moments you mentioned earlier? The ones of happiness that you hold onto forever, this would be one of those moments for you. 

“Lena-love,” you cooed, today was a day that started out celebrating love and it only felt right to commemorate it with the love of someone that would bring you joy forever. “She’s perfect,” your voice cracked. 

Pope couldn’t take his eyes off you, if he thought seeing those couples earlier panged in his heart, this was even stronger. Seeing you hold a baby, a baby that you so clearly loved, that he so clearly loved and he only knew her for a few seconds. 

“You’re going to be so loved,” you cooed again. 

Baz had moved to sit down in the chair in the nursery, his eyes heavy as he watched his baby sister hold his baby. Pope stood close to you, looking over your shoulder at Lena. 

The baby bubbled her mouth, her saliva dripping from her mouth made you smile. “This is the moment, Pope.” You spoke slowly to him while keeping your eyes on Lena. “This is the moment we pocket.” 

Pope nodded, even though you didn’t see it. In his head, though, he already pocketed a lot of moments from today. This was just the cherry on top. 

Lena felt like the only thing you ever needed. The only thing either of you ever needed. 

Present Day - The Day After Baz’s Death - 6:03AM

Pope didn’t bother knocking, he used his key to let himself in through Baz’s front door. It was still early, he wasn’t expecting anyone to be awake, that’s why he brought breakfast and coffee, knowing there probably wasn’t anything of note in Baz’s fridge. 

To his surprise, that fridge was currently being raided by who he immediately could tell was a cop. It didn’t take long for it to click in his head that it was Travis Callahan. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Oh shit, hey Pope.” The man turned around startled. “Didn’t they tell you to never scare a cop,” he laughed as he placed the orange juice down on the table, opening the carton and not bothering to get a glass just sipping direct from the open spout. 

Pope didn’t laugh, just glared in disgust. “No.” 

“Oh nice, you brought breakfast,” Travis pointed to the brown bag in Pope’s hand. 

“For Doc and Lena.” Pope clarified.

“Oh yea, I think they’re still asleep,” Travis pointed to Lena’s room. 

“You slept here?” The question fired off rapidly from Pope.

“On the couch, I don’t think she wanted to be alone,” the man had turned to grab one of the boxes of cereal on the counter. 

“The couch?” Pope didn’t understand. 

“Yea, I think Doc’s in Lena’s room. Haven’t checked. But I didn’t check the bedroom either.” Travis wasn’t looking at Pope anymore.

Pope didn’t give this conversation any more attention, he just walked down the hall to the back bedroom where he saw the bed was untouched, still made and unslept in. As he turned around he saw the discarded clothes that trailed from the bathroom to the outdoor shower and that told him all he needed to know. With a few more steps, he was in Lena’s room. Immediately seeing her body cuddled into yours as both of you let out heavy breaths that were bordering snores. 

He stared at you for a few minutes, wishing that he could have just lived in that moment forever, nothing else. No memories of before and no idea of memories to come, just both you and Lena at peace. 

But he knew it couldn’t last, he leaned over and placed his hand on your shoulder to shake you awake. You startled, grabbing his forearm harshly, ready to fight, but when you weren’t met with force, you loosened your grip. 

“Scared the hell out of me.” You groggily cleaned your eyes and carefully climbed over Lena. Pope recognized your clothes, he hated to admit a slight feeling of relief that they didn’t belong to the asshole in the kitchen. It made whatever happened between you and the cop feel calculated and not special.  “What are you doing here?” 

“I brought breakfast,” Pope responded.

“I’m gonna let her sleep in a little bit, I don’t think she should go to school today, maybe in a couple days.” You were pointing towards her other door, the one littered in stickers that would open into the living room and kitchen versus the hallway. Pope walked out first, his eyes connecting with Officer Dickhead again as he waited for you to realize. 

“Um, look about last night,” you started to say when you heard Travis’s voice clear. 

“Yea about it,” he had the orange juice carton gripped in his hand again. 

Your head shot over to him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I didn’t think you should be alone, who knows who killed your brother, and if they’d come back here and try and take you or Lena out next.” It was so disturbing how he’d just blurt things out without thought.

“Travis, I told you to leave last night.” You didn’t care about his reasoning for being here.

“Relax, I slept on the couch, I recorded Dexter’s Lab this morning too while I was watching it, for Lena.” He pointed to the TV. 

“You hear that? He recorded a cartoon for her.” Pope was getting some twisted form of enjoyment out of this.  

“Travis, get out.” You moved toward him now, grabbing the orange juice for him forcefully. 

“Hey come on, I had fun last night, don’t be like this.” He lifted his arms up. 

“Travis, leave.” You threw the carton into the sink, your way of trying to prove you weren’t in the mood for his grovelling.

“Come on, Dockie.” He pleased.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” It took everything in you not to punch his smug face. “Look, let’s not make this more than what it is, please just leave.” You took a breath trying to remain as calm as you could. 

Pope just stood there watching, waiting for it to escalate so he could intervene but knowing based on the three of yours conversation yesterday he would let you give him the okay to step in. 

“Alright, I’ll call you later.” Travis was leaving and while you wanted to tell him not to bother, you were ultimately winning since he was leaving. 

As you locked the door behind him, you turned back to the kitchen and started straightening up. Tossing the dry cereal Officer Asshole poured into the garbage, along with the orange juice. Wiping down the counters, organizing the area. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked Pope as you moved around the kitchen. 

“You told me that Lena wanted to stay with both of us,” Pope answered. The sentence didn’t have a lot of context. But it clicked in your head he was trying to keep the appearance that he stayed over for Lena.

“We should talk about how we’re going to do this, after last night I don’t know if you sleeping here or my place makes sense. I don’t want to confuse her,” that wasn’t what you meant, you didn’t want to confuse you. 

“Yea, we can figure it out.” Pope nodded, being entirely too gracious about everything right now. 

“I’ve run out of ways to fix this, Pope.” You slammed your hands on the tiled breakfast bar. 

“Fix what? What is there to fix?” Pope questioned. 

“Us!” Your voice hitched. 

“What about us?” Pope stepped closer, the counter between both of you. His question was probably misunderstood by you but the fact he couldn’t pick up on the fact that yours and his relationship just completely altered last night did something to your feelings. 

“You know what, just forget it.” You changed your tone and shook your head. 

“Forget what?” Another question you probably misunderstood but this one you couldn’t hide your reaction. 

“Jesus Christ, the questions, the questions!” You raised your hands. “Forget everything! Forget everything that happened we’ll just go back to whatever the fuck it was before this. You stare, I say nothing. Forget I said anything.” You gave him the answer you thought he wanted. 

“You said you loved me.” Pope didn’t change his tone. 

“What do you want?” Your voice practically shrieked. “You say you can’t love me the way I want, and now you can’t forget what I said, fine then here hold this line, I thought I loved you but I don’t. I don’t love you. I hate you. I hate what you fucking do to me. I hate what you make me feel because it's pointless. It's useless. It’s for nothing. And it’s not even your fault, this was my fate from the beginning. Baz wasn’t supposed to make it through Ray’s beatings. He was supposed to die a lot earlier, I was always meant to be alone. This—this is just fate catching up to me. Loneliness is seeped into my fucking DNA, it’s imprinted into my genetic fucking code. I’ll raise Lena and she’ll come drop off boxed fucking wine for me and cat food while I sit on a fucking couch too drunk off my ass to care. Baz gets death while I get to have everything in me die inside while I’m still alive.” 

The words echoed in you, Pope’s eyes gave nothing away as to what he was thinking. You stood there, staring at him. Both of you staying silent, and yet it got too loud for you. You didn’t bother staying in the kitchen, you barreled past him and plopped down on the steps on the front porch. As you did, you were reminded of the last time you talked to your brother. 

2017 - 2 Days Before Baz’s Death

Sometimes, sitting alone at your place got loud in a really quiet way. It’d make you open the windows, fill the nothingness with something. White noise, the sounds of people laughing outside as they walked by, the waves, maybe a dog barking or a kid laughing. Anything but silence. Sometimes that wasn’t enough, you’d sit on your back porch, which arguably made it worse. It was fully fenced, you couldn’t see anyone, couldn’t hear much either. Something so many people would kill for and the irony was that it was killing you. That’d leave you to talk a walk along The Strand. You’d bring a pack of cigarettes, maybe a glass of wine if you knew you’d be out for a while. Tonight, the walk was long, you ended up walking down to Baz’s. You weren’t sure if the looks you got as you strolled were because your face was beaten to shit, bruised and battered but healing from getting attacked by Javi and his crew a little over a week ago, or because you had a full glass of wine in your hand. The thing with recovering from the injuries you had, it started to look a lot worse before it looked better. Hence the alcohol. 

Baz’s front porch was arguably one of your favorite places. It had everything. The noise, the people, the waves. You plopped down on the steps, glass now pretty empty as you did. You mindlessly played with the strings of your hoodie as you watched it all, picking up pieces of conversations of the people that passed. 

Someone talking about their weekend dinner plans, a group of girls talking about one of their exes, another group singing a song together, a group of guys betting on some sports thing on their phone. 

You heard the door open behind you but didn’t bother looking, you knew it’d be someone familiar. 

As you felt someone sit down next to you, you then heard the sound of your wine glass being filled. Looking up, Baz had plopped down next to you, the UCSD hoodie you gave him on and a glass of red wine tipped as he poured the remainder of it into your glass. Following that, he brought his beer towards the rim of your glass and clinked them together. 

At the sound you both pulled away and brought the glasses up to sip from. 

The two of you sat there, people watching. 

Some conversations were tough, a woman on the phone with her sister talking about hospice care for their mother, a couple who had been arguing about something a lot bigger than both of them, two young siblings calling each other stupid. But then there were the others, the parents who pulled those same siblings apart and made them apologize immediately. The siblings were skipping down the sidewalk in seconds like nothing happened. Then there was the couple who had just gotten engaged, an older gentleman who was linked arm and arm with someone close to his age and said he had a really good first date with her. 

“You ever think about what life should’ve been?” Baz’s voice cut through all of it. 

You didn’t answer right away, you thought about his question for a bit. 

“I do,” you nodded, taking a sip of the wine. “Do you?” 

“Never used to, I think I was so used to just trying to survive the day.” He let out a sigh. 

“But now?” Your eyes jumped over to him. 

“I think life should’ve been a lot different.” He smirked. 

“I think if life had it’s way we’d be rotting in a double wide right now,” you scoffed. 

“I should’ve gotten us out earlier.” Baz had never been this sentimental before and it made you weary. 

“Why are you saying this?” The frown on your face mixed with you straightening your back was enough to show Baz you were concerned. 

“Relax, I’m not jumping off any buildings,” he let out a chuckle. “I just mean, I should have found a different way for us, bringing us to Smurf’s, it was the worst thing I could have done.” 

“We were kids Baz, anything was better than getting beaten to pulp,” you tried to brush him off. 

“She’s been keeping money from us,” Baz admitted. 

“From you,” you corrected him. “I get my percentage and keep it pushing.” It was true, maybe that was the only benefit of your deal with Smurf, you didn’t feel like there was anything being hidden, you had a deal that worked and stuck with it. 

“I’m leaving for Mexico, with Lena and Lucy.” There was the real thing he had been trying to get at this whole time. 

“To see what some of that should’ve been life has for you?” You let your eyes train back on the horizon. 

“Something like that,” he shrugged, finishing his beer now. “I’m sorry about the hospital job.” 

Those were words that you never expected to hear from your brother, so when your head snapped to see if he was just being a dick, your eyes went wide to be met with a beyond serious Baz. 

His eyes were already on you when he spoke the apology, they were low, almost disappointed in himself. 

“Smurf wanted to bring you in, but I told her no, that I didn’t want to fuck up what you had. I wasn’t supposed to use your badge. I was in the breakroom, I was talking to that nurse that always talks about her parakeets and thought I was grabbing her badge but I guess you left your jacket in there.” 

“I gave her my sweatshirt that morning and didn’t realize I didn’t take off my ID, I was charting for the rest of the day so I never noticed,” you gave him context.

“By the time I realized it was yours, it was too late,” Baz was still looking at you. “I didn’t mean to fuck up your should’ve been.” 

You felt your throat get tense, your eyes got heavy as well. “My should’ve been was always fucked.” 

“Come to Mexico with us,” Baz asked like he had been waiting for the right time for the opportunity to ask you to come up. 

With a deep sigh, a little laugh as well, you looked back at the horizon. “I—I don’t know.” 

“You could get your license down there, I looked it up. Lena would be happy to have you close. You could meet someone, get married, have a kid,” he shrugged. 

“You got it all figured out, huh?” You held back a smile as you looked back at him. It was incredibly nice that he looked into it, that he thought about you. But there was a lot holding you back from that too. Well, maybe not a lot. But one thing that you held onto, that always felt like a possibility. 

“Maybe Pope would move down after he’s off probation,” Baz could read your mind sometimes. 

“I don’t know if Pope is apart of my should’ve been,” you answered. 

Baz let out a light laugh. “Pope is the biggest should’ve been in your life next to being a doctor.” 

You just gave him a look. 

“You and him are written in the stars. He doesn’t just watch you, Dockie. He looks for you. When you walk into a room I feel like I can hear his heart practically jump through his skin.” Baz was now looking out at the horizon. “And you well, you’ve pined after him for years.”

You stayed silent, not really sure what to say to that. 

“You two are so different and yet so fucking similar.” He laughed. “If you don’t want to come to Mexico, I get it. But either way, you should leave. Go do something for you for once.” 

You handed him your now empty wine glass and stood up, pulling the hood of your sweatshirt up over your head. “Thanks for the wine.” 

“Anytime.” He stayed sitting on the stairs. 

You leaned down, placing a quick peck on his temple, it was usually what he did to you, and the action made him audibly laugh. 

Turning, you skipped down the steps, opened the gate and took a few steps down the sidewalk before turning around and looking at him. 

“I’ll think about Mexico,” you nodded. “I just need some time to think about my should’ve been.” 

Baz nodded. 

“And thanks, for the apology,” you waved your hand awkwardly. 

“Love you, Dockie.” Baz was standing up to go back inside his house. 

Nodding, you continued to take a few steps, this time backwards. “Love you too, big brother.” 

That was the last conversation you had with Baz. He was shot two days later.

 Present Day - The Day After Baz’s Death - 6:45AM

It got too loud inside and all you and Pope were doing was staring at each other for minutes. But the windows had been closed, the sliding door was latched and locked, most of the curtains were pulled down too, and those caught a lot of the noise pollution too. It was so silent that your head felt like it was in the middle of a 500 person crowd. Without a second thought, you made a run for the front door. Plopping down on the steps of the porch, you ran your hands over your face. Every thought, every mocking voice you had on repeat in your head suddenly disappeared. The waves filled the background, it was morning so The Strand was busy. There were surfers talking about their morning waves. Kids with backpacks making their way to school, you were able to pick up a few pieces of gossip. Hailey was sleeping with Mike, Ben had gotten a decent weed plug. There was the neighbor who talked to her daffodils. All of it brought you a comfort that you had been craving. 

You heard the footsteps before hearing the door. You knew his steps better than anyones. He was next to you in a matter of seconds, a lukewarm cup of coffee in his hand that he was handing over as he sat down next to you. 

“You ever think about what life should’ve been?” The question rolled off your tongue before you even took a sip. 

Pope didn’t answer. 

“I do. Well, I have been. Lately.” You answered it in hopes Pope would eventually give you his answer. 

“I used to imagine what life could’ve been like for us. To help me sleep.” Pope was looking down at his hands. 

“For you and Julia?” You lifted your head to look over at him. 

“For me and Julia, for you and Baz, for Deran and Craig, for you and me,” Pope answered. 

“Could’ve and should’ve are different.” You were trying to make a point. 

“Yeah,” he let that one word hang in the air a bit before continuing, “they’re different.” He rubbed the back of his knuckles like he was trying to erase something only he could see. 

You waited for more, knowing it was highly unlikely he’d give that to you. But to your shock, he looked up from his hands, not exactly at you, but past you. Like he was watching the past crawl back onto this porch with you. 

“But it should’ve been different.” 

“It can be different.” There you were again. Pleading with him. While he was dredging up the past you were pulling for your future.

“If there’s a version of our lives where we got away from this, from Smurf… I don’t think I ever made it there. Not even in my head.” Pope’s eyes were filled with tears and suddenly you got it. 

He was punishing himself. 

You were collateral damage in that. Or maybe, you made yourself collateral damage. 

“In my head, our should’ve been exists. It’s here, in front of us–a reality now. A real possibility. And when you’re ready I’ll be here,” your waterline pooled with water, tears didn’t fall but they were close to it. 

Pope kept quiet, the silence stretching between you two. It was weighted, similar to the tension that built between you both for years, except that was weighted in what could’ve been. This? This was weighted in what should’ve been. 

Your words hurt more than they healed. He nodded almost subtly, like he wasn’t agreeing or disagreeing with you, just acknowledging that he heard you. Then, he stood up, his body casting a shadow over you, he moved quickly, like he knew it was wrong in his head but this was something he needed to do. He placed a kiss on the left side of your face, a quick peck but you felt the linger of it even as he pulled away. 

And despite the quick movement of that, as he walked away he did that slowly, gradually, as if not to crack the fragile thing you had hanging between you still. 

He got to the opposite side of the gate before pausing and looking just slightly over his shoulder. 

“I don’t know how to live in that version.” He awkwardly moved his neck, like the next words were hard for him to admit to. “But I wish I did.”

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