after ali storms the club and kills alamo, you can’t register why bishop would betray alamo or why he saved you. #needmorebishopcontent
it started somewhere in the quiet spaces.
you weren’t sure when you and bishop’s relationship turned romantic. you weren’t sure when you had developed a relationship to begin with.
but what you did know, is that after rue’s death, he sat with you. no speaking, no touching. he just sat there on the edge of the worn couch while you cried until your chest ached and your throat was dry.
rue was the entire reason you’d gone into business with alamo. as much as she tried to keep you away from that part of her life—screaming at you, pushing you away, keeping her secrets locked tight—you just had to get involved with him. you thought this was a way out of your sad miserable life. but rue was gone anyway. and now, you were paying for it. trapped in a debt and a life you never wanted.
bishop would see the dread on your face when alamo would send for you. he’d watch from the shadows of the corridor, noticing how your whole expression would change from a vibrant, living thing into something hollow and petrified the second alamo's name was uttered.
he’d always thought you were too beautiful for this life. too soft, too good for the filth they ran in. of course he didn’t say it.
bishop didn’t really say much of anything.
you’d always wondered about him. his quiet, tall stature. monotone as ever. when you’d met the first time at the neon-drenched club, you had nervously stepped up to him, trying to find an ally in the dark.
“hi, i’m—”
“i know who you are,” he’d cut you off, his voice a low, flat rumble.
from that moment on, he’d piqued your interest. what’s his story? where’s he from? what made him this way, so unbothered and detached from the cruelty around him? yet, he never looked at you the way the others did.
then came that night.
when ali entered the club, the heavy doors swinging open to reveal his imposing frame. when the first shot rang, you were scared shitless. but underneath the terror, you were also so, so relieved. relieved that you didn’t have to go through with it—that you didn’t have to go through with sleeping with alamo tonight like he'd planned.
but the fear was suffocating; you knew that if ali didn’t kill alamo, alamo sure as fuck would kill you just for being a witness to the disrespect.
you and ali knew each other in passing. both friends of rue, you’d both grown closer after her death, bonding over the shared, agonizing grief of losing her. but you had no idea he was going to shoot the club up. you had no idea he had a storm brewing inside him.
the air shattered with gunfire. screaming, chaos, the smell of copper and smoke. alamo, cornered and desperate, raised his weapon and pulled the trigger.
click. click. click.
it wasn't until alamo fired blanks that you realized this was it for him. his eyes went wide with the sudden, icy realization of his own mortality. ali didn't hesitate. he killed him right there with his shotgun, the blast echoing off the concrete walls, ending alamo's reign in a split second.
in the deafening silence that followed, bishop stepped out from the shadows. his face was completely unreadable as he looked down at his own open palm. he held the missing bullets from alamo’s gun.
slowly, intentionally, he let them fall.
clink. clink. clink.
dropping them on the blood-stained floor one by one.
your breath hitched in your throat. you couldn’t understand why he’d protected you like that. why he’d “betrayed” alamo like that. he had sabotaged his own boss's weapon before the confrontation even started.
the truth was simple, though he’d never put it into words: he hated what alamo was doing to you. to all these girls. especially to rue. bishop had never been quite fond of rue—she was chaotic, messy, a liability—but he knew what alamo did to her, how he fed her addiction and used her, was wrong. and he wasn’t going to let alamo do the same to you.
after that brutal mess at the club was cleared, the sirens wailing in the far distance, bishop didn't leave you to fend for yourself. he’d offered to take you home.
the ride was silent, but it wasn't heavy anymore. it was just him, you, and snowflake—his stark white poodle sitting in the back seat. a poodle you’d always thought was so beautifully out of place in his dark world, so incredibly cute. you kept one hand resting on the seat, occasionally feeling the soft fur against your knuckles, letting the normalcy of a pet ground you.
right when he pulled up to the curb of your apartment building, the engine idling in a low hum, the weight of the night finally settled. you turned to him, your chest swelling with a warmth you hadn't felt in a long time.
“thank you, bishop,” you whispered.
leaning across the console, you gently planted a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek.
you pulled back, expecting him to just nod or look away with his usual stony indifference. but as you watched his face in the dim amber glow of the streetlights, his lips parted slightly, and the corners tugged upward. it was small, hesitant, and completely genuine.
and that was the first ever time you’d seen him smile.
He decided to go to your house. He hadn’t been able to see you earlier because he’d been busy, and he mentally berated himself for it, but he had a free moment, and without hesitation, he took his car to come see you.
He had his own key to your front door. Opening it, he found your home: dark, unlit, with no sign that you'd been there. He opened the curtains, dimly illuminating the room, and hung his coat on the rack by the door.
Walking in, he reached your bedroom and found you under the covers, completely covered. There wasn’t a sign of movement from you, so he assumed you were asleep.
He raised the blinds on your window, letting in the midday sun, and looked at you again, seeing you turn over in bed, your back to him. Around the bed, he saw clothes strewn about, dirty mixed with clean ones, all scattered on the floor, frowning slightly at the state you were in.
Without a word, he moved around the room, picking up the clothes and placing them at the edge of your bed. It didn’t matter if you didn’t want him to do this; he would do it anyway, and in fact, it surprised him, because you were very tidy, especially with your own room.
After gathering all the clothes, he set them aside to take them to the wash, approaching and sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you, reaching out to stroke your hair, moving it away from your shoulder, leaving your neck bare for him.
“Did you eat today?”
Bishop waited patiently for your reply, and you didn’t answer. He leaned over you, noticing your half-open, swollen eyes and the soft trail of tears on your cheeks. He gently pressed his lips together, caressing your shoulder softly, closing the distance to place a kiss on the top of your head.
“I’m going to put the laundry in, then I’ll help you shower, and we’ll get something to eat, okay? There’s still time for breakfast. Do you want waffles?”
Even so, you didn’t answer. You just closed your eyes and turned your head toward the pillows, hiding from him.
Bishop gave your shoulder one last squeeze, then stood up to gather all the laundry, taking it to the room with your washer and dryer. He separated the colored clothes from the whites, leaving the rest in the laundry basket.
All that time, before you distanced yourself, Bishop had noticed strange behavior in you; You seemed distracted, tired, and you’d become colder in every way. He wasn’t the type to show physical affection; you were that kind of person in the relationship. But even when he noticed your distance, he tried to be more affectionate: holding your hand, stroking your hair, kissing you. And yet, he still felt that distance between you.
He would never doubt you, never think you were cheating. If that were the case, he wouldn’t be with you in the first place. He wouldn’t waste his time with someone who wasn’t as interested in him as he was in them. Even so, he felt anguish seeing you increasingly tired and with less appetite.
And he also felt guilty. Guilty that your time together had become scarcer because of both of your jobs, mostly his. You didn’t work together; he didn’t want to see you fall into his chaotic world, something he knew you wouldn’t be able to handle. You had completely different jobs, but even so, he felt you complemented each other perfectly, to the point that he’d already planned to propose.
While the laundry was doing, he went to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and filled the tub with hot water. Sitting on the edge, he saw you appear in front of the door. It didn’t matter if you looked tired, hadn’t showered, or were depressed; he always looked at you with eyes full of longing and affection, so much so that he was surprised by how deeply you had captivated him.
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
He instantly stood up from the edge of the tub and walked toward you. His hands immediately fell on your shoulders, giving you a comforting squeeze, then moved up to your cheek, gently caressing it. His eyes were fixed on you, but yours weren't on him. You looked down, ashamed and sad, still with that distance between you that he couldn’t quite bridge.
“Let me help you, darling.”
His hands grasped yours, guiding you toward the bathtub. He made you raise your arms to remove your shirt, letting it fall to the floor, then lowered his hands to your hips, removing your pants and underwear.
His eyes traveled from your face to your naked body. He had seen you naked countless times before, but your body looked different in that moment.
He took both your hands, leading you into the tub, rolling up his shirt sleeves as he watched you sit, drawing your knees up and resting your head on them. Bishop crouched beside the tub, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your back, guiding you to bend down so he could wet and wash your hair.
As Bishop bathed you, he heard your nose sniffing. He guessed you had a runny nose from crying so much, perhaps even from crying before he arrived.
★
After you finished showering, he took your hands to help you up and out of the bath, your feet touching the cold tile. He wrapped a clean towel around your shoulders, cupped your face in his hands, and lifted your head so you would look at him.
“Shall we have breakfast? Or would you like lunch?”
Bishop stroked your cheeks with his thumbs, patiently waiting for your answer. Soon, he heard you let out a soft sob, closing your eyes and lowering your head slightly.
“I want to stay.”
Bishop narrowed his eyes. He understood that you weren’t in the mood to go to public places, that you preferred to stay home where you felt safe, and if that’s what you wanted, so be it. He nodded immediately, bending down slightly so you would look at him, giving you a small smile, and running his hands over your forehead to wipe away the water droplets that trickled from your hair.
“I’ll get you some clothes and dry your hair.”
★
Bishop’s fingers ran through your hair as he dried it. You were sitting in front of your bedroom mirror, while he stood behind you. The sheets were removed from your bed; you were dressed in clean, comfortable clothes. He had ordered food for both of you, and even though you hadn’t asked if you wanted waffles for breakfast or pasta for lunch, he had ordered both.
The hairdryer was turned off once your hair was completely dry. He combed it and applied the conditioner you used to care for your hair. You had been neglecting your hair lately; you didn’t even have the energy or desire to do something as simple as that, but Bishop was more than happy to do it, always leaving a kiss on your shoulder.
“We’re finished.”
He stroked your hair and reached out to hold your hand, looking at it for a moment, noticing how the cuticles on your fingers were torn off, so much so that red marks and dried blood were visible at the corners of your nails.
“Look, I know I’m not a perfect boyfriend, I know I’m distant with you, I don’t show love the way you want…”
His eyes returned to yours.
“But I’ll never put work or my responsibilities before you. You’re my top priority.”
His grip on your hand tightened as he knelt beside you, placing his hands on your thighs, caressing your skin in soft, comforting circles. His gaze was tired and relaxed, yet still attentive to what was happening, especially when it came to you, his precious partner.
“Now let’s go to the living. Lunch will be here soon, okay?”
He looked into your eyes, with that longing and pleading feeling that you believe his words, that you trust his promises and comfort. Bishop had an unyielding temper, but when it came to you, he was so gentle he swore he’d melt when your warm hands touched his icy ones, releasing lovestruck sighs that no one else could elicit.
“Okay.”
You smiled at him, leaning in to kiss him on the lips, your lips melting into his. Bishop had forgotten the last time he’d kissed you so intimately and tenderly, his hand moving up so his fingers caressed your jaw, parting with just the touch of your noses, your breaths mingling. And it was there, where the pain and depression still lingered, but you forgot them with a single act of love from your boyfriend, so sweet it could banish the sadness, and you’d never cry from pain or loneliness again in your life, because he would always be there.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀｡ ˚ ︶︶ꔫ︶︶ ₊ ˚ ︶︶ꔫ︶︶ ｡˚
a/n: este fin de semana estuve muy deprimido. no me acuerdo la última vez que lloré tanto, escribir esto me ayudó un poco a calmar mí tristeza ;(
I need a Maddy x bishop fanfic where Maddy is a vampire and bishop is a vampire hunter. Or where they are both vampires. PLEASE GIVE ME THE FICSSSS 😭🙏🙏
Bishop has always lived by a strict code. But that code will get called into question when his sister, Shard, is sent to the present right before she died! Will Bishop adhere to his principles and protect the timestream? Or will he risk it all to save the most important person in his life? Superstar writer Saladin Ahmed will put the tough-as-nails mutant through the ringer!
Written by: Saladin Ahmed
Art by: Mario Santoro, Federico Blee
Cover by: Davide Paratore
Page Count: 32 Pages
Release Date: Jun 10, 2026
