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scorpio-1357 · 26 days

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Paying for the Sins of Our Fathers

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: A new serial killer arrives in Los Angeles with a penchant for girls with bad relationships with their fathers. After you offer yourself up as bait to catch him, Deacon shows you that you're not as hard to love as you think.

Warnings: angst to fluff, serial killer, secondary character deaths, age gap, depiction of terrible father-daughter relationships (going to say allusion to DV just to be safe but if there is it's nuanced not explicitly stated)

Word Count: 3.6k+ words

A/N: Alexa, play Glasshouse Children.

*This is not a rewrite of Sins of the Father, just a titling coinkydink.

Picture from Pinterest (I love this scene so much)

“Caramel pumpkin chai for Lia!”

Lia sighs as she stands and walks to the counter. The coffee shop, one of Santa Monica’s hidden gems that most people walk right by, is nearly empty at this hour. A writer wearing headphones slaves over a laptop in one corner, three young girls read together, pausing every few minutes to discuss the previous chapter, and a man draws in a weathered leather journal. This is how Lia likes the café, but she’s not sure it’s what she needs tonight.

Sitting with her drink, she ignores the envelope in her bag. Her father sent a message from prison, where he’s been since she was a freshman in high school nearly a decade ago, but she’s yet to open it. She’s not sure she can, not sure she wants to, even. Tapping the screen of her phone, she smiles when she sees a reply from her best friend.

Come over, and we’ll talk. Catch this love <3

“Excuse me,” the man with the journal says, standing sheepishly by Lia’s table. “I just wanted to say hello, and, uh, I hope you don’t mind, but I included you in my sketch of the coffee shop.”

“Oh,” Lia replies, smiling at the interruption. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good, good. I won’t keep you, but it’s a hard anniversary for me, but drawing helps and it was nice to have a friendly face in the scene.”

“I understand completely. I hope the rest of your night is good.”

“Thank you,” he replies, nodding once. “You, too.”

“Wait,” Lia calls as he turns. “Could I maybe see the picture?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” he answers with a chuckle. “I’m not very good. My father told me I should find another hobby, but, well… he’s why I’m here tonight drawing instead of remembering the past.”

Lia shakes her head and offers, “Dads are tough, believe me, I know. If you enjoy drawing, though, keep doing it. Good for you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The man pauses and waves generally as he adds, “About your dad, I mean.”

“It is what it is,” Lia says, shrugging. “Are you sure I can’t see the picture?”

“Yes, I am.”

“That’s a shame. I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

“The last scene I drew was a visiting area in a state prison, so it’s a light in this sketchbook.”

“I haven’t been in a prison in years, but I’m sure a setting that grim can’t be easy to draw.”

“I like the challenge, but the distraction was the real reward. After I visit the prison, I go up Getty Center Drive just to get away from it all, you know?”

“It’s gorgeous up there,” Lia sighs.

“You should go sometime, to clear your mind. Even alone with your thoughts, everything just seems more peaceful.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

The man nods and steps toward the door. Lia pushes the envelope from her father deeper into her bag before she stands and picks up her drink. She’s ready to talk, and her friend is waiting, like always. As she walks toward her car, Lia smiles.

“Good night,” the man calls from beside his car. “You should really go to Getty after you return your dad’s letter in person.”

Lia’s smile drops as she presses the button to unlock her car. “How did you know that?”

“On second thought,” the man muses lightly, walking toward Lia’s car. “Why don’t we go together? Right now?”

Lia tries to scream, but his hand presses against her mouth, a damp rag silencing her cries.

You yawn as Street continues his story about the motorcycle race he allegedly won last night. Before he can tell you the epic conclusion, a group of at least thirty cops walks into SWAT HQ and heads directly to the situation room. Street silences, and you watch the officers and detectives walk through the building.

“20 Squad, situation room!” Hicks yells. “Now!”

You follow Street inside and find a place at the back to stand. Deacon, Hondo, and Luca enter from the other side and look at you questioningly as they join you. You shrug, and Street stands by Luca as they theorize what the large meeting could mean.

“I’m Detective Ryan Caradine of the Mid-Wilshire division,” Caradine introduces, gesturing for everyone to quiet. “We have patrol officers, Metro SWAT, UCs, and the homicide division from several different stations here today because we have a county-wide case.”

A map with nine red dots appears on the screen behind him. Each dot has a date and time beside it, each one five days apart.

“By which I mean there is a new serial killer in Los Angeles. In the last 45 days, we have located nine bodies, each a female in her early-20s to late-30s. Early this morning, we found Lia Carter, a 24-year-old woman from Rustic Canyon. Carter was attacked sometime between midnight and 2 a.m., and she was left for dead in brush off Getty Center Drive. She’s in critical condition, but if she pulls through, she will be the only survivor.”

“What’s the connection between victims?” a homicide detective inquires.

Carradine tsks, then answers, “Our teams are working on that now. What we’ve got tentatively is the age range, females, and…” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as he adds, “They all seem to have strained or nonexistent relationships with their fathers.”

You look at Street, who purses his lips and shrugs.

“Carter was found with an unopened letter from her father stapled to her shirt, he’s serving life in Lancaster State Prison for killing her high school boyfriend,” Carradine explains.

“What does this have to do with us?” Street whispers.

“So, because of the extent of this case, we need everyone in this room on their A-game. If that’s not you, I want you out and I will find someone to take your spot.”

No one moves, so Carradine nods and steps to the side as Commander Hicks joins him.

“I’m Commander Bob Hicks,” he begins, “I’ll be assisting Detective Carradine in an operational capacity. I’m also placing my 20-David SWAT team on standby for anything related to this case. The moment we get a warrant, they’ll be ready to roll.”

“That being said,” Carradine interjects, “Mid-Wilshire’s Metro is prepared to pick up slack for other tactical calls. If you need immediate tactical support for this case, alert Hicks, otherwise, dispatch will get you a team from another station.”

“What other information do you have?” an officer asks. “Suspects, forensics?”

“Short answer: nothing.”

The undercover chief suggests, “We can get UC officers out, advertise poor paternal relationships, try to bring this guy into the light.”

“It won’t work,” an officer states as he enters the situation room. “Lia Carter regained consciousness. She said he knew; that the man had details about her relationship with her father, things she’d never told anyone other than police and therapists.”

“Then UC is out,” Carradine murmurs, rubbing his forehead. “Any other ideas?”

You inhale before you say, “Send me in.”

The officers standing between you and Carradine look back and step to the side so he can see you clearly. Hicks looks from you to Hondo, then back to you, and shakes his head gently.

“If he can get his hands on that kind of information, then he could find out that I fit. I’m the right age, no relationship with dad,” you explain. “It’s as good as a UC as you’re going to get in this.”

Standing beside you, Deacon tenses his jaw. He doesn’t want you to do this; he wants you to be as far from this serial killer as you possibly can, but it’s not his place to ask you to stay. No matter how much he wishes it was.

“Absolutely not,” Hondo says instead.

“There’s way too much at stake,” Luca adds.

“He could know even more,” Street exclaims. “We don’t know his MO, what he does before or after the killings.”

You look to Deacon rather than answering your other teammates, and he licks his lips before he says, “It’s your decision. We’ll be here for you, whether you stay or go.”

Nodding, you keep your eyes on Deacon as you say, “Then let’s catch a serial killer.”

“Oh, he’s got a name now,” a cyber-tech says from one of the desks. “Papers are calling him The Fatherless.”

“Classy,” you murmur.

“Get prepped,” Hicks tells you. “20 Squad, you’re on standby, so stay close.”

“The rest of you stay here to receive your posts,” Carradine announces. “We’ve got five days until he strikes again. So, let’s do this in four.”

In the locker room, you sit in your civvies and prepare for the worst. The door opens as Street walks inside, his steps purposeful and hurried.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says, stopping beside you. “No one will blame you for changing your mind.”

“Street,” you begin.

He squats before you and shakes his head. “No, listen, I understand. Probably better than anyone else here. I know that you still feel that pain, even if it’s the last thing on your mind. Those wounds, the ones that your parents carve into you as a child, they never fully heal, and they reopen easily.”

You nod along with Street. He’s right, you know that. Yet, you know what you have to do.

“We’re glasshouse children, Street, you know that. But I’m done paying for the sins of my father. And I’m not going to let another innocent woman be murdered because of hers.”

Street sighs and leans back against the lockers. “We’re here for you. You better be careful, or I’ll tell Deacon that you have a crush on him.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms to match Street’s stance. “I’m always careful. Don’t confuse your recklessness for my perfection.”

Hondo knocks on the open door, serious and sympathetic, as he says, “Hospital just called. Lia Carter didn’t make it.”

Over the next two days, every moment outside HQ is spent setting up your role as the perfect target. On a walk, you slow by a park and watch a father and daughter play together, letting yourself long for something you don’t remember having. In crowded areas, you identify men who remind you of your dad or are alone and steer around them, giving yourself a wide berth. You avoid talking about your family, even inviting a friend to dinner just so someone asks how everyone is. No matter where you go, you keep your guard up with your gun within reach. You’re living like someone is watching your every move because you want them to be.

The most important thing you do requires help. With a picture stowed in your backpack, courtesy of the forensic team, you return home at the end of the second day. Carefully, you hide the picture in a book, then make dinner and try to forget it. When you settle in with the book for the night, you “accidentally” find the picture. The ink shows you and your father, cheek-to-cheek and smiling, and you stare at it until it blurs. Then, you shove it back in the book and throw it against the wall. Dropping your head into your hands, you feel like you’re being watched, and if the picture hadn’t affected you more than you anticipated, you might be scared by that.

Sitting alone in a rundown diner, you tap a sugar packet against your cup. It’s been five days since Lia Carter was attacked, and if you aren’t approached by The Fatherless tonight, he’ll kill another woman. You shift as if you can feel the picture of your dad in your pocket. It’s halfway out, so anyone who approaches your table can see it, yet another piece of bait to get yourself a serial killer’s radar. You wish he could see it so no one else has to see him.

“Evening,” a man greets as he slides onto a barstool directly to your right.

You look over your shoulder, and when the man’s eyes drop to the picture, you fight down a smile. A killer sits beside you, his complete attention on you, and you’re exactly where you wanted to be.

“Good evening,” you reply lightly.

“Young love, huh?” he asks, gesturing with his chin to the young pregnant couple sharing a milkshake at the other side of the diner. “I bet they’ll be fun parents.”

You laugh humorlessly and look down at your sugar packet as you murmur, “I wouldn’t know what that looks like.”

He frowns sympathetically and offers, “Let me get you another drink?”

Though you want to agree and speed through this part, you remain hesitant, a faux vigilance. The Fatherless leaves plenty of room between you, making it feel like you’re in charge.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” he says to the waitress. When you look at him again, he smiles and shrugs. “It looks good.”

“It is good,” you reply, letting your eyes drift back to the happy couple.

“I used to imagine that my parents looked like that,” he muses. “But then I remember my dad was a deadbeat who left before I started preschool.”

“Now that I can understand.” You nod as you look at your empty cup.

“Ready for that drink?” he guesses.

You smile sheepishly, and he turns to order another drink before he slides off the barstool and sits on the other side of your booth.

“Your dad leave too?” he inquires, treating it like another mundane subject.

He asks open-ended questions but feeds you information he shouldn’t even know. You know what he’s doing, and you will play his game for as long as it takes.

“Yeah. I mean, in hindsight, I guess I should’ve seen it coming,” you answer.

“You were older?”

As you continue answering his questions, talking more and touching your drink less, you notice his eyes keep flitting to your cup. There was no evidence of him drugging the previous victims, so he must be pulling out all of the stops for you, his first target who defends herself and others for a living.

“So, you go hang out by yourself when you’re feeling like this?” The Fatherless asks.

“Depends on the day,” you say. “And the feeling.”

“I used to go sit on one of the bridges over the Los Angeles River and just stare into it.”

“That helped?”

“Almost every time. Something about the concrete lining on what should have been natural just… put everything into perspective, I suppose.”

“Typically, I try to escape thoughts of my dad,” you point out with a smile.

“And staring into murky water doesn’t help with that?” he challenges.

“That’s fair. I think I’d like to see it, give it a try.”

“We aren’t far from a viaduct.”

“I didn’t drive,” you complain. “The one time I decide to walk to clear my head.”

“I’ve got a car. If you’re comfortable with that.”

You pretend to deliberate his offer, then smile and stand. He leaves some cash on the table – cheap tipper, you think – and then leads you to a nondescript black Mustang. As he walks to the driver’s side, you slow and memorize the license plate.

“You know, one thing I never considered before is how lucky I am that I don’t have to worry about who will walk me down the aisle,” he says as he opens the door. “I guess your daddy issues are why you go for Sergeant Salt ‘n’ Pepper, though, huh?”

You don’t expect the comment, and it makes you stop. How The Fatherless managed to find the one thing you haven’t thought about for years, your wedding day, and how strange it might be without a father figure confuses you. More, the fact that he brought Deacon into this causes you to freeze.

“C’mon,” he urges, likely sensing your sudden discomfort.

“Sorry,” you say, shaking your head. “Got lost there for a second, didn’t I?”

As you get into the car, you know you’re doing the right thing but are admittedly scared now. If he knows that much about your life presently, who knows how much information he has on your childhood or family. He talks during the short drive to the viaduct, and you force yourself to keep the conversation going.

It’s weird. Your dad is who he is; you’ve moved on from the pain and heartbreak he put you through, and that’s what this guy is supposed to care about. But, because of The Fatherless, you’re thinking about something else. Is it possible that everything that exists or could exist between you and Deacon is just because of that?

Standing on a viaduct over the Los Angeles River, The Fatherless stands too close to you. He reaches for a weapon, but you’re too slow, not even raising your hand before there’s a gun in your face. Defenseless, you stand still as an engine rumbles before footsteps pound against the pavement.

“LAPD SWAT, drop the weapon!” Hondo yells.

“You’re surrounded, man,” Luca adds. “It’s over.”

“Put the gun down and step back!” Hondo repeats.

You stare into his eyes, looking past the gun. The moment he begins to lower his arm, Luca and Street rush forward and detain him before passing him off to another officer. With the police lights reflecting off the water below you, you look to your team as you fight to keep your emotions inside.

“That was the stupidest, most reckless act of incompetence I have ever seen!” Hondo yells, taking a heated step toward you.

Street raises his arm quickly, slapping his hand against Hondo’s chest. When Hondo stops, Street shakes his head but keeps his eyes on you. He can tell there’s something else wrong, more than you not defending yourself. You’re surprised, however, when someone else seems to notice it.

Deacon walks toward you, where you stand at the edge of the reservoir. Stopping several steps back, Deacon doesn’t touch you but waits for you to do something. Down the bridge from you, the surveillance team that was watching and listening from the moment you stepped into the diner tells Hicks, Hondo, Luca, and Street what The Fatherless said to you.

When they hear that he brought someone you care about now into the conversation, they look back to you and Deacon. Hondo sighs while Luca runs his fingers through his hair, and Street murmurs, “No,” under his breath.

“I told Street I didn’t want the daughters of Los Angeles to pay for the sins of our fathers,” you begin. “But we can’t escape it. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to forgive him and move on, I’m still broken inside because of what he did.”

“You’re not broken,” Deacon insists.

Then why do I look for love everywhere but only find it where I can’t have it?!” you ask, your voice rising as you step back.

Deacon raises his hands as you near the edge of the overpass. Your team moves forward, too, but everything else slows down.

“He was right, Deacon,” you murmur.

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Yes, he was! I love things that I can’t have because one of the few times I loved something with my entire heart, my dad shattered it.”

“Look where you are now,” Deacon demands, his arms still out toward you. “Despite that pain, in spite of everything he did to you, you are here. You have a career you love, a team that loves you like family, a-“

“Please stop saying love,” you interrupt.

“We love you,” Deacon finishes. “And we don’t care about what your dad did or didn’t do because we love you, scars and all."

You wipe a stray tear from your jaw, and Deacon takes another step toward you.

“I love you,” he whispers. “Differently than I’ve ever loved anything before.”

Your breath catches, but Deacon would never lie to you. You sniff and ask, “So, you don’t think I’m attracted to you just because of my daddy issues?”

Deacon smiles at your question, shakes his head, and offers his hand. You place your hand in his, grateful for the warmth of his glove, and then he pulls you against his chest and hugs you tightly. Safe in his arms, you let yourself cry, barely registering his movements as he carefully directs you away from the viaduct.

A moment later, more arms wrap around you as your team joins in your group hug. You laugh through the tears, loving each one for different reasons. And, just as you love them, they love you. This is your family, and this kind of love transcends generational curses and past traumas. You’re all different people, shaped by your pains and experiences, but you fit together. The people in this hug are your family: perfect pieces held together by love.

As Deacon follows you into your home, you know he will offer to stay, but you have something you’ve needed to say for a long time.

“I love you, too,” you admit. “I’m in love with you, and I have been for years.”

Deacon smiles as he offers his hand again; you take it, willing to go anywhere with him. He kisses your forehead and then leads you to the kitchen. The possibilities are endless now that your feelings are out in the open. You can do anything, be anything with Deacon.

For tonight, though, you want to sit with him and remember that you’re loved, and you can love as hard as you want because the sins of your father are not your responsibility nor a weight you must bear. Who you are now is who Deacon loves, and that’s exactly what you want to be.

#Deacon

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scorpio-1357 · 1 month

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Lady Ayrnn

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Daemon Targaryen Couple - Daemon X Reader Reader - Lady Y/n Ayrnn (Blind) Rating - Sweet Word Count - 1167

I stood in the chamber they had supplied us with, and I felt the warmth of the fire against the left of my face. Feeling the stroke of cold leather gloves of my handmaidens against my skin as they dressed me slipping up the soft cotton stockings from my toes to my thighs and folding them over at the top, they guided my hands above my head as they pulled down the silk shift the hem settling just below my knees and my wrists, softly sliding my feet into the slightly pinching shoes. I gasped as my corset was slipped onto me and tightly laced around me having to roll my shoulders to prevent my annoyed face, and the cotton petticoats quickly wrapped around my now thinner waist.

“My lady,” Melina my handmaiden spoke running her gloved hands on my own,

I nodded and ran my hands over the underdress selected for me feeling the dark blue velvet, and slowly I felt it being slipped down over me and down to my ankles, next were silver organza sleeves from my wrists to my shoulders slightly scratchy to the touch.

I ran my hand so slowly over my favourite part, my outer dress a deep blue button with metallic white and silver embroidered birds and moons. I slipped both arms through it and attached the metal clasp at the front of my waist, letting the skirt flow to my feet open to expose the velvet below.

Once this was on a maiden brushed my hair and pulled it into an intricate braid setting a blue and silver headband on top, while the others gave my dress small adjustments before finally attaching my dress front to a large velvet blue panel with my house sigil embroidered on it, slipping it into metal clips on my outer dress,

I sighed when their hands finally moved away,

“You look beautiful my lady,” Melina told me,

“Thank you,” I nodded as I took my stick in hand feeling the craved bird handle in the wood, “shall we begin?”

“Yes my lady,” My handmaiden agreed and I heard the doors to the chamber open,

“Take my arm, my lady,” Melina offered,

“No thank you, Today… I must walk alone,” I answered tapping her hand before I began my slow and tender steps tapping my stick as I walked making sure to learn each stone I walked on as I made my way through the unfamiliar red keep.

I walked as best I could being tender and tentative with every single step, I held my breath as I heard the doors be opened,

“Lady Y/n Arynn, Heir to the Vale, the Eyriee and gates of the moon.” The guard introduced “Betrothal to Prince Daemon Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne,”

I began my steps making sure to keep my stick as hidden by my dress as I could even if I still needed it, my handmaidens followed behind me,

As I walked across the aged hall I heard gasps, whispers, and mutterings but I kept my chin high and walked.

I felt my stick touch the stone steps of the throne so I stopped and curtsied low almost to my knees but as I tried to push myself back up my stick slipped dropping onto the floor sending me tumbling down, I heard choked laughter from the others of the hall. But I forced it away and tapped my hand around the cold stone trying to find it, luckily I did. So I quickly got to my feet and brushed off my dress without assistance.

“Lady Arynn, your beauty proceeds you,” King Viserys spoke,

“Thank you, your grace. I am honoured to be in your presence and that of the Red Keep and kings landing,” I spoke up,

“Such a shame you cannot fully enjoy it,” He said,

I grit my teeth, “It is a shame your grace, but perhaps I shall enjoy elements others would not,”

“I imagine so my lady,” He said,

I heard heavy steps move closer and a callus hand stroke mine his skin was warm and even if his skin was hard and rough he moved it so sweetly, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you lady Arynn,” his voice thick with charm,

“Prince Daemon I presume?” I asked,

“You presume correctly,” He chuckled, “What gave me away?” “Lucky guess I suppose,” I blushed, “It is lovely to finally meet you,”

“Shall we go, speak privately?”

I nodded and held his arm feeling the leather of his doublet sleeve, as we walked I could imagine him dressed up in Targaryen red and black, his silver blonde hair long and well braided, he led me out to the courtyard and I felt the grass tickle my ankles, he took me to a small seat under a canopy from the sun we spoke of simple pleasantries until the conversation turned where I of course knew it would,

“... Forgive me,” he said, “I was unaware of your…”

“Most are not privy to it,” I admit,

“How much can you see?”

“I see some colours, some light, sometimes shapes depending on the light behind them,” I admit,

“But everything else?”

“Darkness.”

“I see,” He said, “How do you see me?” He asked,

“I don’t much, I can guess given what I have heard.” I blushed, “But… if I may?” I offered my hand,

“You may,” He said,

So I moved my hand to his doublet feeling the warm leather, stroking my fingers over the metal dragon clasps, running up his neck feeling the heat of his skin far softer than his hands, I ran across his jaw and up his cheeks being gently and trying to also be respectful of the man I just met as I trailed my fingertips and knuckles to learn the curves of his face,

“You see with your hands?”

“I more just… learn the shapes to visualize it in my mind,” I smiled as I stroked his hair noticing it was far shorter than I had imagined,

“And?”

“What do you think of my face?” he asked and I could feel his smile against my hands,

I chuckled, “It… its very handsome,”

“I must say, you are very beautiful,”

I blushed, “Thank you,”

“All except your eyes,” He said,

My heart sank but I nodded my chin falling as I tried not to feel upset by his words, but his hand took my chin and pushed it up once more so he could better see my eyes,

“I think they’re gorgeous,”

“You do?”

“I do,” he nodded taking my hands in his and giving them a soft kiss, “The most unique eyes I have ever seen,”

“Thank you,” I smiled, “You uhh you do not have to worry..”

“About?”

“Our… our children it is not genetic,”

“I wouldn’t mind even if it was,” he said, “Then our children would be as beautiful as their mother,”

I did my best to hide my blush,

“You shall make a wonderful bride Y/n,” He cooed,

“I… I am sure you shall make a lovely husband Daemon,” I nodded,

#got

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