#domestic fic

[anamelessfool]

1975

WIP Chapter from my Secondo fic "Crossroads" that's being developed alongside my current major Primo-centered work. Yes, smut is nice but more and more I'm fascinated by the brothers' relationship. I had these little doodles and I was like let's spend thirty minutes coloring them and then throwing a photo manip of a photo I took of the Ministry as the background.

Jun-19-75 11:35 AM Courtyard Cumulus clouds, med cover curled wisps. Winds southeastern location. Approx. 18C, up since AM. Rain predicted evening.

Secondo began his sketch of the cloud shape and chose to ignore the rustling in the tree behind him. Some small body was struggling to climb up the side of the ornamental pear tree, perhaps to spy on his work.

“What are you doing?” Terzo’s voice came from the tree. A not unusual occurrence. Neither was his persistent desire to get immediately in Secondo's business.

Secondo’s obvious posturing to ignore him was futile. Terzo repeated the question two more times, the leaves trembling as he adjusted his weight on a branch. Secondo frowned deeply and finally relented, looking up at the small curled-up form and twinkling raccoon eyes of his younger brother.

“You’re going to break your arm.”

Terzo squinted at the sky, kicking his legs. “What are you doing?”

“Recording clouds. I need to keep records of clouds six times a day for a year and a day. And then Sister will train me.”

“Do you even know what the clouds mean?”

“No, but I will. In time.”

Terzo swung his body backwards, his legs hooked on the branch so he could hang upside down. He squinted at Secondo. “That’s fucking boring.”

“What are you even doing up there?”

Terzo decided to continue talking to his brother upside down, perhaps to annoy him further. It was working. His voice was wistful. “There's a bird building a nest on the roof. I'm trying to figure out how to get up there.” Terzo grinned. “Maybe it's a falcon. Then I could take a chick and train it and be a falconer. That's how they do it.”

“Terzo. Come down. You'll break your arm.” Primo appeared from under the stone arcade, the ghoul Edelweiss slinking behind him.

Primo had rejoined the Ministry only three years prior, and already he was in Sister’s inner circle. His arrival started a change in his younger half-brothers’ behavior. Primo was tall, athletic and confident. People enjoyed being around him. He had big responsibilities and beautiful companions. He was an adult.

The two younger brothers may not have realized it, but his presence gave them a goal to work towards. Secondo immediately pulled his shoulders back, gave Primo a hopefully impassive look and returned to his journaling.

“Nice weather, yeah?” Primo chanced a grin. Primo was fine…when he wasn't telling Secondo what to do.

There was a creak, a snap, and Terzo stared wide-eyed at them both midair for a moment before he fell to the ground in a sickening thump. He immediately began to whine, then scream. Secondo stared at him, snorting. He closed his journal with a snap. Served him right.

“Criminy, Terzo,” huffed Primo as he walked towards the writhing boy in the grass. He knelt down and gently touched his shoulder, ran his fingers down his arm. Terzo screamed again, his face a blubbering mess. “Perfect timing. What did I tell you, hm?” He glanced over to his ghoul, throwing a few rapid hand signs towards him. Edelweiss Ghoul hurried back to the arcade and through the doors.

“Alright, Terzo, let's get you up hold on—” Primo soothed through the screams and wails. The small boy fit easily in his arms and Primo turned towards Secondo, his face fixed with an amused half-smile. “Help me to the doors?”

“Where you taking him?”

“The Sanctum. Broke his arm, can you believe it?”

All at once Secondo felt the urgent need to assist. A rare, rushing thrill rose across his body as he held the doors for Primo, ignored his younger brother’s shouts of pain. The Sanctum. That meant…

Sister Imperator, the Dark Mother, was waiting there for them at the grand doors, Edelweiss Ghoul behind her. Her head was perched atop her customary tunic of swirling polyester colors, a viper among the flowers.

He wanted to say something, wanted to share with her what he had been working on but he knew his dopey eagerness to please would be ignored. But that was the weird unexplainable thrill of it all, anyway.

Sister knew things were running perfectly, just as she knew water flowed underground below her feet. Her indifference towards him was perfection. Was a sign of a job well done. So Secondo swallowed the lump in his throat and repeated a mantra to calm the hammering of his heart.

Terzo’s cries took on more of a theatrical whine as Primo transferred him into the arms of the Ghoul. “It'll be done in a second!” Primo reassured him over his sobs. Secondo didn't want to be here. Didn't want to be associated with the two of them while Sister was near, looking bored already with the childish blubbering.

Sister gripped Terzo’s chin to silence his sobs. Terzo froze, blinking furiously in the ghoul’s arms. “Hush,” she hissed, then gestured to Primo to draw near. Primo lifted his brother’s head, gently wrapping a black silk blindfold over his eyes. “You take this off, you die. Do you understand, child?”

Terzo’s heavy sobs could not be suppressed for long. Sister’s red nails dug deeper into the boy’s chin. “Words. Now.”

“I…I understand,” Terzo whimpered.

“Good.”

With a friendly nod, Edelweiss Ghoul carried the boy into the Sanctum, Sister locking the doors behind them. The heavy slam echoed in the stone hallway. And so they waited for the ritual to be done.

Secondo steeled himself as Primo started to shift uncomfortably on his feet, tossing his head as if already in a conversation. His brother was a man who could not leave a single moment of air empty. It was as if silence was something he could drown in.

His mercurial expressions and small eager eyes seemed too close to their father Nihil’s mannerisms for Secondo to ever take him seriously.

“Listen will you just be nice to him? For once?” Primo ejected an exasperated huff of air that ruffled Secondo’s hair but not much else. “He's your brother.”

“He never learns.”

“Because nobody ever—” Primo grumbled under his breath, searching for what to say next. “When I was growing up I wanted a brother so badly…” His confession was met with stony silence. “He's got nobody, Secondo. And I can't be there for him like you can.”

“What does that even mean?” To Secondo it meant that Primo was passing a buck. Saddling him with caring for a person who barely cared for himself. Who was too stupid to assess even the most basic of dangers. Secondo was rising, ever rising from the efforts of his own sweat and will. Terzo’s foolishness would just hold him back.

“He's the loneliest person I've ever met,” Primo confessed. “And he's only nine. Don't you find that…sad?”

Secondo refused to budge. All his life he chose his words, his actions carefully. And that urge for correctness was a deafening roar in him at fourteen. Sidestepping the question was the best course of action. Questions were just traps, after all.

“I need to be left alone.”

Primo opened his mouth, but then thought otherwise. He made a show of shaking his head, crossing his arms. Secondo observed Primo’s eyebrows furrow and shift, choosing to continue his brotherly rant inside his own mind.

Victory.

Short lived. “So, uh…what are you going to do for your summer vacation?” Primo attempted a different route at a bond. “My friends and I would pack a canoe with old tarps and our fishing rods and beer and—”

The heavy door unbolted and opened once more. Sister emerged, breath trailing out of her mouth in unusual wisps. Terzo followed wide-eyed and stunned, gripping Edelweiss Ghoul by the hand. He was released with a soft pat on his head.

“Secondo,” said Sister with a small nod.

Secondo straightened up to full height immediately. Terzo ambled over to stand beside him, clutching his newly healed arm.

“Don't let him put weight on it for a few days,” Sister ordered Primo, then cast the full intensity of her stare directly into Terzo’s eyes. Her subject properly cowed, she turned on her heel towards the direction of her office and was gone.

Sister had spent a fraction of a second regarding Secondo but that single glance would be in his thoughts for some time after.

“We can go? No one is going to be climbing trees once we turn our backs?” Primo tousled Terzo’s hair, exchanging smiles. “And Secondo—” Primo shrugged at Secondo directly, gesturing subtly towards the youngest with a rough hand. Remember.

The ghoul Edelweiss threw out some quick hand gestures, winking. “Haha, right, exactly,” chuckled Primo and then they too left the kids alone in front of the Sanctum doors.

Terzo continued to shiver in place in the center of the hallway, his eyes darting to Secondo. Secondo was lost now staring into the elaborate archway carvings of the Sanctum doors. Masks of ghouls nested amongst delicately carved cinquefoil. Thorned branches encircling howling wolves. Hands pierced and bloodied, pointing to the sky, pointing to the earth. The archway always mystified him and he often took time to examine it whenever he walked past.

And beyond those doors? The Altarpiece, the knobs tied shut with red silken cords. In his mind’s eye he imagined Sister’s clawed hands slip the knot loose, tease the door to Hell open. Reaching into the infinite, pulling out strands of arcane energy. She had seemingly unlimited power at her carefully manicured fingertips. Her hands laid upon Terzo’s body and soothed torn muscles, knitted bone. A healing touch that could also kill in an instant.

“What was it like?” Secondo spat out the question in an attempt to disguise his true enthusiasm. Terzo blinked stupidly at him, taken aback by the sudden show of interest.

“Hm?”

“When the Altarpiece opened.”

Terzo shook his head. “Howling…voices but not really voices. A cold wind that wasn't cold. Like…when your foot falls asleep. Yeah. That's what it's dreaming about, yanno.”

“You felt it?”

“Felt what?”

“The Void.” Secondo had forgotten his aloof act as he stared wide-eyed, waiting for a scrap of anything.

Terzo's tear-stained face stretched into a grin. “You want to know so badly, doncha. You're dying to know.”

Secondo felt that rushing sensation of blood in his ears. No one taught him but one day he'd know it was the feeling of shame, of getting caught in a moment of vulnerability.

Terzo’s toothy maw widened and he wiggled his fingers into Secondo’s face. “Break your arm and find out,” he laughed.

My Fic List | My AO3

#papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iii #ghost band fic #domestic fic #my art

[lonleyhumanbeing]

Breaking & Entering

Rated: General

Words: 2.5k, Oneshot

Natsu constantly breaking into Lucy's apartment is irritating, until she stops letting it bother her. Maybe it isn't so bad.

Told scene by scene, Lucy opens her house and heart up little by little.

This is my second-ever fic, and I'm excited about it. Nalu was the first pair I ever shipped, all the way back in the 4th grade, and they still hold strong today. I hope I did them justice.

#fairy tail #nalu #nalu fluff #domestic fic #domestic fluff #natsu dragneel #lucy heartifilla #oneshot fic

[bats-in-the-snow]

Fanfic I did of me and my friends ocs!

Ardo belongs to @quackcicle-real , also known as paxissleepy on ao3!!

Ofc Silas is mine, and you can find me on ao3 as Big_Hosuin_Around !

Link to the work on ao3

Link to the banner used

(PLEASE rb!! Thats the only way to spread this, as liking does almost nothing!)

Silas watched the fish in the river, admiring the way the sunlight reflected off their shiny scales. The sky was clear, the air was cold but comforting, and dead leaves covered the forest floor.

He sat up straight, looking at the large bag next to him and fidgeting nervously. He didn't have his hood up, which already gave him enough anxiety, but he was still waiting for Ardo to show up. He had invited the enderman to come to the river they met at for a huge surprise he had planned.

He was getting nervous that she wouldn't show up, when he finally heard the rustling of leaves behind him. When he looked, Ardo was standing there, seeming to have teleported to him.

”I'm so sorry Si! It took awhile to convince dad to let me go out...“

Silas's tail had immediately started wagging when he saw his lover, a large smile plastered on his face.

”It's okay!! Come sit, come sit!!“

Silas patted the ground next to him, watching Ardo sit down criss-cross and lean down a bit to see him better.

“So, what's the surprise you wanted to tell me about?”

“Wellllll, last time I was in Las Nevadas, I heard someone talk about carving pumpkins for Halloween! I've never celebrated Halloween or carved pumpkins, so I thought it would be fun to try out!”

Ardo was immediately excited, clapping her hands as her tail wagged and she watched Silas pull two pumpkins and two small daggers out of his bag.

“Oh!! That sounds so fun!”

”What're you gonna carve?“

Silas asked as he started to saw at the top of his pumpkin, his being much smaller than Ardos.

”I think I'm gonna try to carve you!“

Sila's face immediately flushed, his pupils turning to exclamation marks for a split second before they went back to normal.

”I'm gonna carve you too then!”

He smiled up at his partner confidently, and she giggled at the shorter man.

It took them hours to finish their pumpkins, so much of the time was taken over by their jokes, laughs, songs and stories.

By the time they were done, all of the pumpkin seeds were in a large pot Silas had brought. They were covered in the pumpkin guts that keep the seeds together, and their smiles had never left their faces.

“And...I think I'm done!”

Ardo said excitedly, turning her pumpkin around for Silas to see. It looked like it was done by an expert, despite Ardo only having carved a pumpkin once before. They had managed to make it look very close to Silas, and Silas looked absolutely amazed.

“That is..so..AMAZING!!”

Ardo flushed, rolling her eyes a bit at her boyfriends excitement.

“Oh shush..it's not that great!”

“It is too! Look at mine!”

He turned his own pumpkin around, and Ardo had to fight with herself to not burst out laughing. It was shaky, and, to be honest, very poorly done. But, what else would she expect? He had never done it before, and he wasn't the..brightest.

“It-..it's good!! I like it!!”

Silas pouted at her, turning his back to the enderman.

“I can tell you don't!”

Silas was obviously playing around, and it made Ardo giggle.

“I do too!!”

Silas giggled and readjusted again, leaning forward, kissing Ardo on the cheek , making her immediately flush.

“I know, I know, just wanted to mess with ya!”

Ardo fanned herself with her tail, huffing nervously before looking up at the sun setting in the sky.

”I think it's time for me to go..“

Silas whined a bit, but nodded, handing over the pot of seeds and his pumpkin to Ardo.

”Since I'm coming over soon, you should put these up somewhere where people can see them! I think XD even said you could cook the seeds!”

Ardo thought about it, before nodding her head.

“I'll ask dad about it, I promise!”

Silas was about to speak, but before he could Ardo leaned down and gave him a quick peck on the lips, before immediately teleporting away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quackity had been waiting for Ardo to come home since she left. She was back on time, but he was still as worried for her as he always was. He stood as soon as she got home.

“Did everything go alright? Did he do anything? Did anything happen?”

“I'm okay dad! We just carved pumpkins, look!”

She held up the two pumpkins, and Quackity seemed to calm down.

”Oh. And...you're okay?“

”Mhm!“

”Good.”

Quackity was silent for a moment.

“How did he do such a bad job?“

Quackity could tell which one was Silases immediately. Ardo giggled and nugged her fathers arm with her tail.

”Stop it!! He did a good job!!“

”Uh..huh.“

”Cmon, you're just saying that 'cause you don't like him.“

”That's part of it, yeah. Why did you bring the seeds?“

”Oh! Silas mentioned that we should cook them! When he comes over for dinner, we should have it!“

Quackity still didn't like the idea of Silas coming over for dinner, but, when he saw how excited Ardo was, he sighed.

”Yeah, alright. We will.”

Argos tail wagged excitedly, and Quackity smiled. Anything for Ardo.

#The Big House #words carved into stone #fluff writing #domestic fluff writing #fall fic #pumpkin carving #comfort fic #domestic fic #quackity #quackity dsmp #dream smp ocs #dream smp

[dreaminghour]

QuiAni Omegaverse - Bath

Event: @domaystic Fandom: Star Wars Rating: Teen and Up Prompt: 10 Bath Ship: Qui-Gon/Anakin Context: Omegaverse. Qui-Gon Lives. Canon setting where alpha (aurek) and omega (orenth) are very rare, Anakin finds out that he and Qui-Gon complement one another perfectly when he goes through a second puberty in his early 20s. They've been together for a few months at this point. This is a sequel to the Stained clothes ficlet. (500 words) Words: 673

When Qui-Gon woke, the apartment felt different. Things had been changing over the last few months, more and more with each small piece which Anakin left behind, but there was something indelible when the young man himself was there.

He'd been alright without Anakin, he'd never needed help during his heat before, but he'd undeniably slept better once Anakin had settled by his side. Even now, in an empty bed, he felt better than he had in days; it could have just been that his cycle was ending — even with the pills it was so irregular he wouldn't know until it happened — but instinctively he thought it was Anakin's presence.

The bed smelled like them again, that mix of sugar and spice, of musk and floral. Qui-Gon rolled over to watch the light under the bathroom door, wondering in that vague way what time it was, it felt too early. Time always felt intangible during his heat.

When the light switched off, and Anakin returned, Qui-Gon immediately knew the last campaign had been a bad one. Anakin had won, of course. Qui-Gon could count on one hand the times Anakin had lost, but the toll each battle took was noticeable. He looked tired despite the hours of sleep which lay behind him. Even in the dark, Qui-Gon could see the shadows which clung to Anakin like smokey ichor.

"You're awake?" Anakin asked in a sleep rough voice. He didn't wait for the answer, merely fell into Qui-Gon's arms and snuggled under the blankets once more. His voice was muffled, face pressed against Qui-Gon's neck, "I could sleep for for years."

And almost like a promise, he fell asleep a few moments later.

When Qui-Gon awoke again, it felt like morning rather than the middle of the night. Anakin was curled up on his side, holding Qui-Gon's hand loosely to his chest. In the muted morning light, he looked older than his years, there were lines on his face that Qui-Gon hadn't seen even a ten-day ago. Or maybe it was something else that made Qui-Gon miss the way the war aged Anakin one day and recognize it on another. He pushed flat curls away from the younger man's face and saw the minute way it seemed to relax his entire body.

"I need my hand back, please," Qui-Gon whispered.

Nothing happened, but Qui-Gon gently extracted himself from Anakin's grasp and went to the toilet. On the threshold of coming back out, of turning on the lights and starting the day, Qui-Gon paused.

Anakin hadn't taken off all his clothes before climbing into bed, but even through the fabric the curve of his back seemed tense.

Qui-Gon went back into the bathroom and turned on the tab to fill the tub with hot water.

Five minutes later he was gently shaking Anakin awake.

"I'm going to take a bath," he said as Anakin blearily blinked his eyes. "Would you like to join me?"

Anakin soaped off in the shower stall first, scrubbing his hair for dear life while Qui-Gon settled into the large tub. He didn't use it as often as he would like, but most often when he was sore and aching during his cycle. Anakin had remarked that the tub seemed entirely too massive — until he'd climbed in after Qui-Gon the first time. It was big enough for both of them, especially if Anakin sat between Qui-Gon's thighs.

Qui-Gon held up a hand to steady Anakin as he stepped into the hot water, shivering because he was wet from the shower, still seeming barely awake.

They settled in close, Anakin laying back against Qui-Gon, the other's arms wrapped around him to keep him from slipping under. If Anakin continued to doze, neither of them remarked on it.

Qui-Gon just luxuriated in the moment, with Anakin's body pressed against him, the soft sound of his breathing, the scent of fresh soap in his hair… He'd never expected to find someone like Anakin, but now that he did he'd never willingly let him go.

#quiani #quiani omegaverse au #dreamy does fic #domaystic2023 #2023day10 #star wars #star wars fic #omegaverse fic #dreamy does domaystic #domestic fic #domestic fluff #ficlet

[i-dont-hyperfixate-on-fandoms]

Dish Duty

A Music Meister x OC fanfiction

≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈

Word count: 1036

Warnings: none

Tropes: Domestic fluff, flirting, dancing like no one is watching

Synopsis: Doing the dishes is such a bore. Fortunately, listening to music always helps get the job done... until it doesn't

Ships: Music Meister x OC

≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈

It was her day to do the dishes. Melody rested her hands on her hips as she assessed what to do first, examining the dirty pots and plates before her. This most certainly wasn’t a favorite chore of hers, but there was something that she knew would help move her along. Melody reached into her pockets to pull out some earbuds, then looked at the counter beside her where her phone laid. However, as she reached for her phone to surf through music, her eyes drifted past to her boyfriend’s phone. A smirk quickly arose from the corners of her mouth, and Melody picked up his phone instead of her own. Unlocking it, she scrolled past his extensive collection of music apps and settled on his voice recordings.

Just the thing she was looking for.

She loved her Darius and his singing, but he was a complete dork when it came to his performances, and he recorded every single one of them. He thought it charming, she found it adorably amusing. Melody scrolled through some of them until she settled on a file name that looked interesting.

Sept. 22nd – Drives Us Bats, ft. Arkham Ensemble // Recording Length 1:46

This was one she definitely hadn’t heard before, and it was short enough to give a quick listen. As she hit play, she was immediately hit with a fast-paced beat accompanied by an electric guitar and… an orchestra?

Melody turned away, nodding her head to the beat. Her eyes scanned the dishes once more, and she grabbed the pot that her marinara sauce had been inside of. With a dramatic slide to the kitchen sink, she started to rinse off as much sauce as she could. Then, Darius’s voice hit her ears, reigniting her smile. Melody bounced her hips back and forth as she reached for a sponge scrubbed the pot, getting into the song. The chorus was quite catchy, and Melody caught on real quick as she sang along under her breath. As the song changed to a more light tone, she twirled with the pot to reach some dish soap, attempting to elegantly drizzle the soap. Then the beat kicked back in, and Melody scrubbed away to the beat. 

And just as quickly as the song started, it finished. Without hesitation, Melody walked over to her boyfriend’s phone and clicked play on the same song, setting it on repeat. Jamming out harder and harder with each play, eventually she had absentmindedly abandoned the dishes and had started a haphazard karaoke battle with no one in particular, using a wooden spoon as a microphone and everything. She spun around the kitchen island, kicking and punching wildly to the beat. Only after a failed kick and fall to the floor did Melody notice Darius standing a few feet from her. He was recording her on her own phone that she could’ve sworn was on a counter just moments ago.

“What a performance, my dearest!” He grinned, lowering the phone and revealing his crooked smile. He whistled through the gap in his teeth before he added “I truly could not have performed it better myself.”

Melody started to laugh, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. Darius reached a hand down to her to help her up. But, instead of letting her stand, her boyfriend twirled her into his arms to where he held her in an embrace, her arms crossed to hold his hands as her back was flush to his chest.

“I didn’t think you could hear me from upstairs.”

“Oh, trust me dear, I would never miss such a show from my beautiful star.”

Melody rolled her eyes at his overstatement.

“Sure, ‘Maestro’, whatever you say.”

In reply to the nickname, Darius moved his hands to her waist and smiled, leaning his head down to the crook of her neck. 

“Though,” Melody hummed, “I kind of… forgot to finish the dishes. Caught up in the moment, you know?”

“Meh, fair enough,” he sighed. His grin returned, however, when he turned her face towards him. A mischievous glint shone in his eyes. “How about we finish this in a duet?” Darius offered, pulling Melody into a dip.

“What, the dishes? What do you mean by that?” Melody questioned, concerned by the unbridled devilry in his look.

“Just trust your beloved maestro,” he winked. “May I?” He asked, letting her stand up as he bowed to her with an outreached hand. She cautiously took it, and Darius led her towards the unwashed dishes and began to sing. An invisible orchestra accompanied him immediately. It was a song Melody knew quite well, as Darius had tried to serenade or woo her with it many times before they got together. She rolled her eyes at his goofiness, and joined him in singing their song. As they sang, they practically waltzed as they cleaned dishes, finishing up impeccably quickly before the song was even over. Of course, as they approached the final few lines, Darius scooped his beloved up and planted a kiss on her cheek before guiding her into yet another dip. Melody giggled at his cheesiness, and, on the button of the song, pulled her boyfriend’s collar towards her to kiss him on the lips lightly.

Darius’s eyes lit up in delight as a blush and dorky smile washed across his face. “Glad I don’t even need to use my powers to share a pas-de-deux with you, Songbird~” he breathed, gently tracing her jawline with his thumb.

Melody’s eyes fluttered, leaning into his touch. “But you wouldn’t use your powers on me anyway, would you? You never have, even befo—”

“And I never will,” Darius cut her off, grabbing her free hand and kissing her knuckles. “Unless, of course, you wanted me to~” He teased, starting to trail kisses up her arm. At this, Melody’s face grew heated, too flustered to come up with a coherent response or clever remark. He simpered at her reaction, and gently let her from his grasp.

“Well, now that the dishes are done, care to do something else my love?” He leered, walking to the stairs of their apartment’s second level.

“M-Maybe we could sing another duet while we snuggled?” Melody supplied.

“Of course, my ingénue.”

#music meister #music meister x reader #music meister x oc #music meister fanfiction #dc comics #bbatb #batman brave and the bold #music meister imagine #domestic fluff #chores #domestic fic #IDHOF fanfiction #IDHOF #fluff #sfw

[kyouka-supremacy]

Good to know Chuuya is Dazai's personal rubber duck

#I'm sorry I was thinking about this the whole chapter #It's kinda cute to see this side of skk. It's like reading a domestic fic #osamu dazai #chūya nakahara #skk #soukoku #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd ch 114 #mine

[buckyalpine]

Bucky's baby girl who loves his metal arm.

She runs hot just like her daddy, the serum also coursing through her keeping her extra warm. She's all fussy until Bucky cradles her in his left arm and the content sigh she lets out feeling his cool metal against her warm, chubby cheek is unmatched.

It's also perfect when she starts teething. No other toys do it like daddy's thumb. She's happily tucked in the crook of his arm, two tiny hands holding onto his much larger one so she can get a proper grip and chew on his fingers. The coldness soothes her gums.

Bucky's babygirl who only falls asleep when he holds her. It's not that she doesn't fall asleep with her mommy, but she's clearly picked up this habit directly from you. Her daddy's chest is her favourite place to be and you can't complain because you feel the exact same way. There's nothing cuter than her little gummy smile while sleeping contently on daddy's chest, his metal fingers rubbing her back in soothing circles. She practically gets lost in him when he holds her, such a tiny bundle wrapped up around metal and muscle. Of course he gives you the exact same treatment after she's around asleep in her crib and you're also softly snoring moments later.

(Just a rogue thought but imagine Bucky doesn't get the playful pout you make whenever his daughter whines to cuddle up with him, taking away from his snuggle time from you. He so very clearly has time for you both. Then you have a son. The places have been switched as he watches his babyboy coo and giggle in your arms between nursing and Bucky isn't jealous of his own son but he 100% ready for his turn to be in your lap with your boobs in his face. When his son only sleeps on mommy's warm chest with all the skin to skin contact, he's side eyeing you with his shirt off, ready for cuddles immediately after. He's a menace and it's the cutest thing)

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fan fic #bucky fanfic #bucky fan fiction #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky x you #bucky barnes daughter #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #soft bucky barnes #soft bucky #domestic bucky barnes #marvel fluff #marvel fanfics #marvel fanfiction #avengers fluff #avengers fanfiction

[finntheehumaneater]

Eddie shouldn’t be laughing. He shouldn’t be laughing, but he was, still holding the phone even though the dial tone was ringing. And the woman from the school had hung up minutes ago.

He shouldn’t be laughing because marriage was a serious thing that he had given so much thought to, wanted it so badly with Steve, and apparently Steve had decided that they were already married.

He put the phone back on the holder and ran a hand down his face, trying to catch his breath, replaying the conversation over and over and over in his head because—because God, this was the best thing that had happened to him in a while.

“Hello? This is Eddie Munson.”

“Yes, hi, I’m calling about your husband? Steve Harrington.”

He paused, his eyebrows furrowing. “My husband?”

“Yes, Mr. Steve Harrington? He works here as a history teacher?”

Okay. Well. That was weird. “Yeah, what about?”

“I’m just calling for confirmation on whether or not he’ll be at the Parent’s Night tonight? He mentioned some scheduling conflict a few days ago and I wanted to check in and make sure he could come in?”

“Yeah, he should be there. I’d go and get him for you but he’s asleep.”

He quickly made his way over to their shared bedroom, flopping down onto the bed next to Steve, his hands on Steve’s face in an instant and squeezing lightly to wake him up. “Stevie. Baby.”

Steve squinted, pushing himself up onto his elbows and rubbing his eyes. 

“Steve,” Eddie whispered, trying to look serious and bite back his smile. “Did you tell the receptionist at the school that we were married?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, before his eyes widened and he groaned, dropping his face onto the pillow, his voice muffled. “I hate you.”

“What did I do?” Eddie laughed, brushing a hand through Steve’s hair.

“You—she was teasing me for not like…tying things down, and—and I panicked and said I already had,” he whined, shaking his head and pressing it further into the pillow.

“Do you want to get married?” Eddie asked, his voice more gentle.

Steve looked up, his face flushed. “I mean…yeah, I do. Please tell me this isn’t you proposing.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but Steve pressed his hand to it and Eddie had to grab onto to Steve’s arm to stop himself from falling over. “Shut up.”

“Mm—“

“No, no, I am not letting you propose to me while we’re in bed, Eddie.”

Eddie huffed against Steve’s hand, licking it so that Steve let go with a frown. “Ew.”

“You love it.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart.”

“Rejecting me and stealing my pet names, huh?”

Steve rolled his eyes, laying back down in bed, and pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. “I didn’t reject you because you never asked me to marry you.”

“I was going to, but then—“

“Eds?” Steve interrupted, tugging Eddie down into bed. “Be quiet.”

Eddie hated how quickly he shut up, his arms around Steve’s waist, just breathing into Steve’s hair like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do. Gods, he was going to marry the fuck out of this man.

And it was going to be the best proposal the world had ever seen.

(Goes along with this post. Someone send me asks about them I want to talk about the husbands.)

(Domestic Steddie AU MasterList)

#Eddie did in fact propose but it was not very fancy #He just asked Steve out to dinner and too him to the park #But Steve thought it was cute and he did maybe cry a little bit even thought he told himself he wouldn’t :) #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve x eddie #Finn writes #My domestic steddie au

[eloquentmoon]

blossoming romance writing prompts:

accidental hand touching

eye contact across a crowded room

exchanging secret smiles

first conversations alone

admiring them from afar

asking them about their family

visiting them at their place of work

discovering common interests

exchanging gifts for the first time

a surprise encounter

picking a leaf/flower petal out of their hair, or brushing dirt off of their face

nervous embarrassment around them (blushing, fidgeting etc)

complimenting their appearance

looking at their lips as they talk

finding excuses to be alone with each other

naturally gravitating closer together

noticing their individual quirks

hello/goodbye hugs that linger

talking late into the night

clumsy attempts at flirting

sharing long term dreams, goals and aspirations with one another

playful teasing

being unable to keep their eyes off of them

attempting to find out if they are single/available

finding comfort in their scent

creating art inspired by them

sharing an umbrella in the rain, or a coat/blanket in the cold

surprising them with their favourite treat

visiting their home for the first time

confiding in them

#feeling so soft 1 11 and 25 have me WEAK #writing prompts #soft prompts #fluff prompts #relationship prompts #fic prompts #fanfiction prompts #writing #writers #prompts #prompt #fluff #soft #domestic #romance #romance prompts #blossoming romance prompts #eloquentmoon #my prompts

[eideticallys]

You Think I'm Delicious?

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: all your dreams and hopes of getting cuddly with spencer were shattered when he uttered those six words.

“i don’t like your new perfume.”

genre: fluff & crack

word count: 1.9k

author's notes: here's a spencer reid fluff without plot, just crack (i tried so i hope you'll laugh while reading this). anyway, enjoy reading this one! also posted on ao3 (spencereids).

THE THING ABOUT DR. SPENCER REID IS THAT HE’S A VERY SENSITIVE PERSON. He's very particular about stuff like his dislikes for certain textures and not knowing about something—making him a good researcher by the way, because if he doesn't know something, you'll find him poring through books—and even certain smells aren't an exception. One might think that this is normal with his job because, of course, he does. He has probably smelled dead bodies more than he has smelled fresh flowers. Of course, he hates smells like rotten flesh. Disgusting, honestly. But, what can he do? That is part of his job.

So, when he suddenly tugged you to his side one day to hug you, you were excited for him to take note of your new perfume and love it. No, you were certain he’d love it just as much as you did when you first took a whiff at the store. You just had to buy it because you were sure he’d go crazy over your smell. He’d tuck his face into your neck and shower you with pecks. Because despite what everyone else thinks they know about Spencer having an aversion to touch, he was quite the cuddler when he was in love. And yes, you were the lucky recipient of his comforting hugs 24/7. 

However, all your dreams and hopes of getting cuddly with Spencer were shattered when he uttered those six words.

“I don’t like your new perfume.”

Your jaw dropped as soon as he said that distressing sentence. Meanwhile, Spencer was quick to move away from you and continue what he was doing previously—playing chess by himself. Sometimes, if only you didn’t love your boyfriend and didn’t have to face charges, you would strangle him for a lot of things. One of which was being nonchalant after just dropping a bomb like that. What does he mean by you smell bad? You bought a citrus-scented perfume that hurt your pockets; you’ll have to give up your afternoon snacks at the cafe near the FBI headquarters. So, like any good partner out there, you just had to instigate a little argument over your new perfume.

“Excuse me?”

Your boyfriend looked up at your incredulous tone, merely raising a brow at you as if to ask, “What’s up?” This almost got your eye twitching, but you refrained. Taking a breath, you plastered a sickly sweet smile on your face and clarified your previous question.

“What do you mean you don’t like my new perfume?”

Spencer started reddening at your accusatory tone and shrugged halfheartedly, which made you raise one perfectly formed brow at your boyfriend. Now, you’re curious why your boyfriend blushed at your question.

He may be quite shy, but Spencer wasn’t the best when it came to social cues. He rarely gets embarrassed about something unless you blatantly point it out. You could probably count on one hand the number of times he flushed pink. A funny memory you have of him reddening like a tomato was when the BAU were out interviewing streetwalkers. Despite his social awkwardness, Spencer was propositioned by all the women he talked to. You could still remember the exact look he had on his face when he had to pull his tie away from the woman, who was busy rolling it on her fingers.

God, he’s so precious, you’d keep him in your pocket if you could. But right now, he isn’t your favorite person, and you’d love nothing more than to figure out why he was blushing. You were sure there was something behind all those burning cheeks.

“Spencer,” you slowly enunciated the syllables of his name, making him look at you once again. He tilted his head in question as you sighed dramatically, “Out with it.”

“What?”

“You’re flushed pink. You’re picking at your nails, and your right knee just started bouncing.” You pointed it out, and Spencer tried to remedy every single thing you mentioned. “Baby, for a profiler, you’re not doing great at hiding stuff. Tell me what’s going on.”

He scowled and crossed his arms like a petulant child, definitely wishing you weren’t a profiler, and a damn good one at that, like him. You merely chuckled at his antics and crossed your arms in retaliation. No, you weren’t backing away from this one. You spent money on perfume, hoping your boyfriend would love it. But no, he hated it, and now, you have to know why.

You could hear the ticking of the wall clock—if you focused hard enough—with the way not a single sound could be heard from the both of you waiting for the other to cave—not even a phone call from Garcia telling you that you have a case and, you have to be in the office in fifteen minutes could disrupt your focus right now. You could say the same about your boyfriend right now, who is intently staring at your phones on the table. He was probably hoping a work call would come through to save his ass from getting interrogated by you. It’s kind of sick that one would want to hear a new body was found, but at least you’d be out there catching another bad guy and locking them up, never to see the light of day until their last breath. He would rather have a face-off with a murderer than his girlfriend, whom he’s pretty sure is close to resorting to violence for borderline calling her stinky—not really, you’re just dramatic like that.

“Well, for starters, I think it’s strong like I’m drowning in it,” Spencer emphasized the word strong, making your brows furrow. He didn’t have that problem with your previous perfume, and it was stronger—he’s hiding something. You stared pointedly at your boyfriend now, who was fidgeting like crazy under your scrutiny.

“Are you sure that’s it? You didn’t have that problem with my previous perfume, which I’m pretty sure is much stronger than this one.” You clarified, tilting your head to the side as you explained further. “Garcia loved the smell of flowers, but she told me she sneezed every time I passed by. She had to ask me to change the scents immediately. And despite the complaints, you loved it so much that you would tuck your face into my neck.”

At this point, Spencer looked like he was about to burst from an aneurysm with how red he had gotten. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry, but you also had to make him suffer. 

“Tell me, Spencer. Or else, I might just have to resort to other tactics.” You almost cackled at the way your boyfriend looked like he’d rather start digging a hole for him to bury himself in. “And you know, I’m a great profiler. I always get what I want.”

However, as soon as you said those words, you noticed Spencer’s eyes drifting towards a half-full bottle sitting on his little desk filled with heaps of paperwork.

Oh. That’s the problem.

“Baby, I think I know what the problem is here.”

Spencer quickly leaped off your couch to avoid getting teased by you—which wasn’t your plan at all, by the way—and was about to run into your bedroom, but you were quick on your feet and were able to catch his arm and pull him towards you. Yep, unfortunately for your boyfriend, you were better when it came to physical activities.

Although you were better at that angle, you still weren’t able to properly estimate the way you pulled him into you because both of you ended up toppling over on your couch. Luckily, it was the couch, because you’re sure Hotch would have your heads served on a platter if both of his agents were injured and there was a sudden case.

You both landed unceremoniously, with Spencer squeaking as he ended up face-first into your chest, and you groaned as you cushioned his fall. Choosing to pause for a moment, you ran your hands through his brown curls as you both tried to catch your breath. Spencer seemed to agree with that idea as he started inhaling your scent, which made you smile a bit.

“You know, it’s not that I hate your perfume because it smells bad.” Spencer started explaining in a hushed tone, “I just liked it better when you smelled like me.”

Your eyes widened at his confession. This was the first time Spencer had ever said something possessive. Despite not being the usual alpha male girls go for, Spencer had enough confidence in himself that you chose him out of all the guys out there you could’ve gone for. At the start of your relationship, you made it clear to him that he was the one you wanted to be with. Not someone as domineering as Hotch or someone as bold as Morgan.

No, you wanted Spencer. 

You wanted to be with Spencer.

So, you were shocked at your boyfriend’s display of possessiveness, but at the same time, you found it cute that he wanted you to smell like him. It wasn’t every day that he wanted to engage in a public display of affection. And just like any other girlfriend out there who enjoyed the attention you got from your boyfriend, you laughed as you tried to pull Spencer’s face towards yours.

“God, you’re so adorable, Dr. Reid,” you exclaimed as you peppered his face with pecks and pinched his cheeks as he tried to dodge, embarrassed after saying he wanted you to use his perfume, “I could eat your face!”

“We don’t want that." Spencer said, "The BAU would lose two of their best agents with me inside your gastrointestinal tract and you in jail for cannibalism.”

You rolled your eyes at him as he blinked at you innocently. Sometimes, you hate his brain. 

“Stop taking things literally!" You exclaimed to your boyfriend, "You know what I’m talking about!”

“I don’t.” Spencer frowned. You could hear the cogs in his brain start working, meaning he was about to spew out some facts. “Actually, our senses of smell and taste are directly related. They both use the same types of receptors, so if you smell something that you think is delicious, this triggers the same area of the brain that activates our salivary glands. Wait, you think I’m delicious?”

You facepalmed yourself. For a guy with an IQ of 187, your boyfriend could be an idiot.

“You’re an idiot.”

“No, I’m not!” Spencer protested and explained some more, “Seeing an object, food, or even a person that is pleasing to the eye can cause people to salivate. Pleasant smells such as your favorite food, your partner’s natural scent, or smelling perfume on your partner can stimulate the production of saliva more than looking at that person. This process can initiate feelings of wanting to eat or bite.”

Despite his protests, you simply clucked and pinched his nose. Wanting to retaliate, Spencer continued spilling his tangents.

“Aha! You like me so much, my smell makes you want to bite me!”

“You know what, Spence?” You asked sweetly at your boyfriend, who was now listening intently to you. He’ll never know what hit him. “I love you so much, but I preferred it when you got embarrassed about wanting me to smell like you.”

By your admission, Spencer started blushing profusely again as he tried to bury his face in your neck.

“Shut up!”

“I love you too, Spence.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid crack #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds fic #established relationship #domestic fluff

[anamelessfool]

𝔓𝔞𝔭𝔞 ℭ𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔬 (1907-1983) and fic!

Reign 1942-1954, Satanic Bishop of New York City (1954-1983)

Everybody needs a mentor, especially delusional people like Young Nihil. So enter Papa Camino, a Papa Emeritus who is heavily influenced by Cab Calloway. (And is wearing an actual Schiaparelli silk tie from the 1950s) Notable Ghouls: Phantom, Dewdrop, Cumulus

The Path (AO3 Link)

GEN Young Nihil & OC Papa, Young Nihil & Family 3K Words

Tags: Mentor Figure, Deal With The Devil, Family Angst, 4 Year Old Primo Is In This One, This is Officially the Most Self Indulgent Fic I've Written and Yes I'm Including the Smut, Alternate History, Ghost Scenes from the Void AU, Ministry Lore and Dramaaaaa

1957, New York City: Bishop Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

More Art and the Fic Below the Cut!

1957 New York City

Camino was a man who demanded what he wanted, and created for himself what he was denied. After his wildly successful tour as Papa Emeritus of the Satanic Church of the Void, he brought his expertise, his talent, and his cunning to his new post as the Satanic Bishop of New York City.

After the fourth rejection of his application to join the most prestigious gentlemen’s social club in the city (and it was definitely not because he was a Satanic Anti-Pope) Camino decided to run his own club out of the New York Ministry location. The music was hotter, the skirts were shorter and the booze flowed higher than the runoff in the gutters after a rainstorm.

The New York City chapter of the Satanic Church of the Void soon became less a place of organized worship and more the most chaotic and happening nightclub no one dared talk about in the sunshine. No act was denied, no artistic experiment too bizarre— almost twenty-four hours of the day there would be something to see for everyone. At two PM there could be a poetry reading for moody folks in black turtlenecks. At four PM was a 1920s Big Band Revival stint, six to ten PM Camino himself took command as bandleader. Midnight to two AM was reserved for drag shows. Often at three AM some interpretive dancer could be writhing on stage wrapped in tinfoil wailing about his daddy issues. It was vibrant, sometimes exhausting but never ever boring. Just like the Bishop.

And any high society man caught sneaking in would be promptly hogtied and left out in the alley with the rest of the trash.

Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

As Zero sat uneasily in a plush armchair he could pick himself out from the posters and photographs covering the wood-paneled walls of the bishop’s office. He was often in the background— a blur holding a guitar, a trombone, hiding behind a mountain of drums. In six years Zero had become an established character in Camino’s church. He had stopped his rail-hopping life and settled in with a pretty blonde poetess, living just outside earshot of the church turned nightclub with a couple of potted plants and a young son. It surprised him how much he enjoyed the ebb and flow of a domestic existence. But then again, living and working in a place of constant change and noise and life and art is like wandering without ever leaving home.

“Brother Zero, I can hear your knees knocking from over here!” Bishop Camino closed the humidor cabinet and returned to his massive desk with a choice cigar. He winked his eye, his human eye. The Infernal Eye, his gift and his curse from his time as Papa, leered into Zero. It was as icy and silvery as the tools Camino used to delicately trim and light his smoke. “You'd know if you were in trouble! Relax, stay a while! How's junior?”

“Oh, swell, just swell,” said Zero, slowly uncurling himself in his seat.

“I got box seats at the Polo Grounds whenever you two want to see a game,” Camino replied. “Owner of the Giants owes me. Funny how many folks owe me, hm?”

“You're more than generous, all the time.” Zero couldn't help but feel a fondness for the man. “You helped me.”

“Alley cats are hungry, feed ‘em. Keeps the rats away. Now…” Camino noticed the smallest mote of dust on his suit, frowned deeply, and brushed it off. Camino never wore formal vestments outside of Mass, preferring instead a red silk suit with razor-sharp shoulders. Firstly because that was his look during his time as Papa Emeritus, and secondly because there was no one in New York City who would dare tell the bishop otherwise.

“Have you ever thought about the path?” He continued. Bishop Camino leaned back in his leather chair, settling in to a languid taste of his Cuban cigar. “I think you have what it takes to be Papa. Believe me, I know.”

Zero’s eyes widened, his mouth stretching open cartoonishly in shock. “You really think that?”

“Claro. Really. You've played in the house band many a time. You know more instruments than most, and catch on so quick. You're more Ghoul than man sometimes,” Camino chuckled. Zero had indeed performed for a few years in Camino's exclusive club for degenerates, and his saxophone playing was described as “a good start” which was a big compliment coming from the Bishop.

“Times are different. Big bands are out. Five pieces are in. More flexible. Digestible. What with television everywhere now.” Camino nodded. “Jazz clubs are gone, thing of the past. I'm not too proud to admit that.”

“Oh, you got more talent in your little finger than most in their whole body!” Zero piped up. “Don't sell yourself short!”

Camino gave him a wry look. “Hermano, I didn't say anything about that. Of course I'm talented. I'm the most talented motherfucker you ever saw. But times are changing. The Church needs fresh blood. And you'd be perfect for it. You got a face for television!”

Zero looked through the wooden blinds of the window, at the lines of taxis dutifully filing past. A limo turned the corner, its black and silver form sleek amongst the herd of yellow and checkerboard. Zero saw the shining sweep of the Rolls-Royce maiden perched on the hood, bowing low with her steel gossamer cloak frozen forever against the wind. A face for television, Zero thought. He never really had a television, or an actual home to plug any sort of luxury into since leaving Milwaukee, but everyone that did had the potential to see him. To hear his music. To see his face.

“That sounds swell, how would I even start?”

Camino grunted a laugh, his teeth gripping his cigar. From his place behind his massive desk he elegantly poured a finger of amber liquid from a crystal decanter into two equally opulent glasses. “Well, you have to let everyone know your intention. Even when you're not saying a word. Especially then. Your whole body must…vibrate…with that desire.”

Zero took a glass from him, nodding eagerly. “I can do that. I can vibrate with desire!”

“Naturally,” said Camino. “I'll put you in touch with Mother Imperator’s assistant, a em…a Sister Rebecca. She'll help me authorize a transfer and you can move to the heart of the Ministry.”

They clinked glasses, and Zero took a sip. It burned across his throat, tore a hole in his belly. He coughed in surprise, making every attempt to choke as politely as possible. “Move? There's somewhere else?”

“Yes, a few hours drive up north,” Camino replied. His perfectly sculpted thin moustache twitched as he frowned. “And how the hell you choking on that, boy? That's a goddamn forty year.”

Zero mumbled an apology, then felt Camino’s strong hand on his chin, jerking his face upwards for inspection. His hand was surprisingly soft, well manicured. The floral scent of hair oil drifted down from his clothing. The older man smirked, his eyes crinkling as thoughts passed through his mind. The Infernal Eye glared down at Zero from its socket in Camino’s skull, its glow removed from this realm, a separate entity also holding judgement towards him. He could have sworn the steely pinprick of a pupil moved independent from the human eye just across the bridge of the jazz singer’s nose. Zero swallowed. “Face for television,” Camino murmured, and with his other hand took a thoughtful sip of his own glass.

Zero stretched his mouth into a submissive smile. “Maybe.”

Camino gave Zero a rough pat, nearly a slap on the side of his face, and stepped away to pick up his cigar again. “Listen here, I sent my successor up to their headquarters, had them start meeting people, gather friends— boom! They're now Papa Emeritus and gaining traction in the charts every day. The trick…is to be underfoot.” Camino let out a satisfied puff of smoke. “Thing about that place is that running the Ministry is the only thing anyone can do up there in that godforsaken wilderness. So if you want something you're front and center!”

“But…moving?” Zero had just finally put roots down after a youth of wandering. He thought of Nance, of little Primo waiting for him back at their apartment. Nance with the baby on her lap as she sat by the plants on the fire escape, her red lips smiling contentedly out at the symphony of asphalt and blaring car horns.

“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Camino. “Kids love it out there. At least I'm pretty certain they do.”

Camino was met with an awkward silence, and he settled into his chair, the leather offering a tired wheeze. “Yes, the city is difficult to leave,” Camino continued, steepling his fingers. He grinned. “Which is why I came back.” And promptly at midnight a town car would pick him up and drive him back to his home in Queens. “But, I've done my time, and did the work. I'm here to guide now. And I think you need to take bigger risks.”

“Nance loves it here. She was born here.” Zero smiled slightly into the middle space. “Primo was born here.”

“It's not easy raising a child in the city, believe me. My sisters complain enough. And me…well, I became a jazz singer.” He chuckled. “That tells you everything you need to know about that.”

“Could be good for junior,” Zero mused.

“Would be good for his old man too,” Camino replied with a wink. “You just say the word. I'm serious about you.”

Horns blared from outside on the street, followed by shouts and curses. The chauffeur of the Rolls-Royce rolled up up his sleeves and unbuttoned his vest as his cap fell on the sidewalk. Across from him, an equally irate taxi driver wrenched himself from the crumpled yellow door of his taxi. A woman was trapped in the back of the Rolls, hanging out the window and screeching while the rat-like dog in her arms barked. The taxi driver jumped across the hood of the limo and delivered a heavy-fisted crack to the chauffeur’s mug that Zero could hear all the way from his spot by the window. He winced as he unconsciously massaged the same place on his jaw. Camino clapped his hand across Zero’s shoulder, laughing, his lips peeled back over sharp white teeth in a roar of amusement. The Infernal Eye shone. “Fresh air and sunshine, hermano!”

-------

“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Zero as he and Sister Nance held hands on a park bench and watched their young son totter around the steel playground. “Would be good for junior, yanno?”

“This sounds rehearsed,” Nance snorted, flashing him one of her elfin grins. “What's the deal? Why all of a sudden you want to move?”

Zero shrugged. “No deal. Just…need a change, maybe.”

“Zero, dear. Don't even try to lie to me.”

“Bishop Camino… thinks I should be Papa Emeritus.”

“You?” Nance made a face. “You haven't held a single job for more than a year. And you…want to run this whole thing? You want to be Papa?”

Zero frowned back, a little wounded but willing to fight. “None of those gigs were ever that interesting.”

“And you can't just up and walk away from this one,” Nance said. “No session musician or delivery boy or taxi driver ever had to commit his soul.” She tapped the place under her left eye. “Camino and the others…got a piece of their immortal soul committed to the Void. A chunk of it is just…it's just gone.”

That whitened eye of Camino burned in Zero’s brain once more. The sharp-toothed wicked grin, the bone-chilling tension of that pinprick pupil sliding across him and passing judgement. Zero had a face for television, sure— but Camino…Camino’s visage came from someplace else.

Like any blow he's ever taken, Zero shrugged it all off. “Wasn't using my immortal soul much anyway,” he chuckled.

“Goddamit Zero.” Nance crumpled into a fussy search of her coat for her silver cigarette case. He felt the cold air return to the palm of his now abandoned hand as it rested on the park bench.

Primo zoomed over from across the playground, falling into his mother’s arms. Irving Robert, really, but Primo was a better nickname for him than Uno.

“Push me on the swings?” asked their son, grinning under the hat Nance had knitted for him last week.

Nance cupped his face in her hands, smiling sweetly. “In a few minutes, Primo, your father and I are talking. But I bet you know how to do it yourself. We want to watch.”

“Oh, I can!”

“Good, now run! We're watching!” And Primo spun around and raced over to the swings across the park, leaving them for a few precious moments. Nance lit the cigarette in her mouth and took a drag, sighing on the exhale.

“Feels like the only thing that sticks in your brain are bad ideas, Zero,” Nance muttered. “I'm saying that affectionately.”

“You're one of ‘em,” he teased back, and she shoved him with a little laugh.

“Fine. You want to move to the Ministry Headquarters. Work right under Mother Imperator and Papa Emeritus and their whole shitty retinue.”

“And bring you along, of course,” Zero added in an attempt to reassure her. He was glad that she was even considering his idea now.

“I've been up there,” Nance continued. “Not much to do, so siblings get obsessive. I didn't want to stay long.”

“Obsessive?”

“Mother Imperator…” Nance stifled a laugh. “Absolute bag. A good hundred years old, easy. Refuses to speak anything but Italian. There's two siblings waiting for her to drop dead. Any day now, it feels.”

“Oh really now?” Zero mused, half listening.

“Sister Rebecca, for one. She went right to the top as the Dark Mother's Personal Assistant. Fluent in six languages, Italian especially. Comes from a bloodline of senators and government officials. Family's got mob money. She's next in line, for sure. And then there's…” Nance winced, as if an icy wind passed through her. “Maestra Eunice.”

“Oh, she's important?” Zero had seen her from time to time, conversing with Camino. Her hooded eyes, her deep scowl. He remembered her because he thought it a shame when blondes scowled like that. And Camino always looked queasy after their meetings.

“Leader of the Conclave,” Nance explained. “Old, old Ministry family. She's been shuffled around. She doesn't make too many friends.” Nance smiled crookedly. “And Rebecca would easily cut her throat in her sleep if Eunice doesn't get to Rebecca first. It's no good out there. Too heavy while those two wait for old Imperator to croak. You really want to live in the middle of that?”

“Two broads in a spat,” stated Zero. He figured early on that if there were two women left on the entirety of this Earth they still would think the other was talking behind their back.

“One has the keys to the entire global network of our Church, the other the deepest understanding of the magic that comes from the Void,” said Nance. “These are the two broads no one wants to stand in between.”

“Who says I have to stand between ‘em? I can make my music. And that's all I got to do.”

“There's no budging you, is there.”

“Camino…believes in me.” It was the first sincere thing Zero had said in a long while, and it left his heart with a wrenching whine that was carried through into his voice. It held such a sad little timbre that Nance shifted in her seat to look at him. “He believes in what I do.”

Zero knew few people in his life ever put their faith in him. Teachers thought him stupid. Fellow tramps on the road thought he was easy pickings. Not even his own father had much to do with him; his father, who's only belief was in his own ability to pick winning dogs at the track.

“You got to take risks on what you believe,” Zero added as she continued to contemplate his expression.

“But…moving…”

“Six years is the longest I've been in a single place,” announced Zero. He wanted to add “and loved someone”, but the thought felt intrusive and not at all something Nance wanted to hear. She knew his feet got restless if he sat for too long. She had been good to him, good for him, and he owed her his affection.

Nance grabbed his hand, turning his attention to look into her soft brown eyes. “Robert,” she began quietly, and she only used his real name when she wanted him to really listen. “What about your son? Robert…what about me?”

“I want to live my dream,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. “And my dream includes you. And Primo. I…I promise I'll do right. You know I always try to do right.”

Nance smiled faintly back. “You always try,” she said quietly. “I can't argue with that. I'm happy…you found someone else who believes in you.”

“Mo-om!” Primo called to them both from his place on the swings, his arms and legs dangling as his body lay across the steel seat.

Nance got up and dropped her smoke to the ground, crushing it underfoot. “Just…give me a few days to think about it."

Zero gave her a thin smile as he watched her cross the playground. He felt he had moved the pieces in the way he wanted them, needed them to move. And he was pretty sure of the rules of the game, so how hard would all of this be? Except he felt a queasiness now instead of relief. The feeling of his words being more of a wager than a sign of honesty hung about his shoulders. He had the faint memory of being on the other side of that conversation. And in those moments what he thought was a promise, was really only a way to buy time.

It would be well worth it in the end, he assured himself. Good ideas always are, and Camino had said himself how much of a good idea Zero was. Zero got to his feet, brushing off his knees as his good-natured smile returned to his face. There was nothing to worry about. He always came out on top. He always pulled through, and folks always leant him a helping hand. And of course he'd always support Nance, and Primo. He promised her and so he owed her. What more is a promise than an IOU to someone else?

Funny how many folks owe me, said Camino as his dead eye flashed. Great men are owed. And Zero was ready to be a lender.

My Fic List | My AO3 | More Domestic Fics

Papa Camino & Dewdrop, Phantom Fic

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[celestialwrites]

jealousy dialogue + prompts ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

@celestialwrites for more!

♡ “why don’t you just go back to her?!” “who?”

♡ “if you want (character) gone just say so!”

♡ character A talking with an old friend while character B just sits and watches. [little did they know, the old friend was talking about how lucky A is to have B.]

♡ “i never took you for the jealous type.” “i. am. not. jealous.”

♡ “maybe i didn’t like the way (character) looked at you!”

♡ “aw, darling, are you jealous?”

♡ character A being oblivious to a random person flirting but character B swoops in to ‘save’ character A from a bad flirt when in reality they were just jealous.

♡ “you’re jealous of (character)? hun, you could do so much better.”

♡ “i saw the way he looked at you!”

♡ character A gets jealous over their old fling who they swore they hated. [chaos ensues]

♡ “why do you look like you’re about to stab me? you’re not jealous, are you?”

♡ “why are you so insecure about this?” “i don’t want to be used again!”

♡ “what’s the matter with you?” “i don’t like the way (character A) looks at (character B)”

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[joelsgreys]

a safe haven l nine

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: When you find out that you’re pregnant, everything comes crumbling down around you.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE THAT HEAVILY IMPLIES DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. this chapter it also contains a very uncomfortable scene with reader and Luke, but despite the sexual nature of the scene, READER DOES NOT GET SA, BUT SHE DOES GET INJURED. INJURY there is a description of an injury as the result of DV HEAVILY IMPLYING STRANGULATION. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. pregnancy, mentions of high risk pregnancy (not reader), mentions of child loss (not reader), mentions of pregnancy related symptoms (missed menstrual cycle, morning sickness), protective Tommy Miller, protective Joel, and last but certainly not least, feral Joel. this chapter is a lot, just proceed with caution if anything in bold can be a potential trigger for you.

word count: 11.8k

October, 2024

It’s the middle of October.

By now, the pain had become almost unbearable.

Time certainly wasn’t healing the wound. 

If anything, time only seemed to be making it worse.

So, so much fucking worse. 

Time drags, and you almost feel as if you’re paralyzed by it. But the only thing that you can do about it, about any of this, is just pretend. 

Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Pretend you don’t feel empty.

Pretend you don’t need him.

But you do need him. Oh, how you fucking need him.

The hole in your heart is growing bigger by the day, and only Joel Miller is capable of filling the void. Only Joel has the ability to make you feel whole again.

“Be completely honest—what does this look like?”

You pause your knitting and glance over at Maria.

With her due date approaching, you had offered to help her prepare for the baby’s arrival. At about six months, Maria was expected to give birth towards the middle of winter season, and instead of trading or having to use rations for certain baby items, like blankets, little socks and mittens, you’d decided to show her how to make them instead. Not only was it saving her from having to trade or use her rations on things that could easily be knitted, but it served as a decent, albeit temporary, distraction, giving your mind the chance to focus on something else other than how deeply you were hurting without Joel.

Tilting your head slightly, you eye the soft, butter yellow wool she’s holding in her hands. “Um, is that the start of another baby blanket?”

“No.” Maria’s face falls. “It’s supposed to be a hat.”

“Oh. Um.” You lean forward in the brown leather armchair you’re perched on, squinting hard at it as she holds it up. “Okay, yeah, I can kind of see the shape of it now. I can totally see it being a little hat for the baby.” She tosses you a knowing smile and you squirm slightly, heat prickling at your ears.

“I appreciate you lying to me.” She giggles and sets down her knitting needles beside her on the couch along with the ball of wool yarn. Leaning back, she places both hands on her belly and sighs. “At the very least this child will never go without a blanket seeing as blankets are all I’m capable of making.”

You flash her a small, but reassuring smile.

“You’ll get the hang of it, Maria, I promise. It just takes some practice, that’s all.”

“Well, now that Luke has put me on strict bed rest until I have the baby, I’m going to have all the time in the world to practice,” Maria remarks, exhaling another sigh. Craning her neck, she peers at your own knitting project, which you’ve been working on in something of a secretive manner in your lap and out of the expectant mother’s view. “What are you making over there, anyway?”

Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

“I’m so glad you asked since I’m just about done.”

Crossing the last stitch, you set aside your knitting needles and then hold up the finished product. “What do you think of these?”

Maria’s hand flies to her mouth, tears welling up in her dark eyes the moment she sees the pair of little brown baby booties in your hands. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, a tear rolling down the side of her face as you stand up and walk across her living room to present her with the shoes. Sitting down beside her, you hold them out in the palms of your hands. With trembling fingers, she accepts them. “Kevin had a pair just like these when he was a newborn. I kept them even after he’d outgrown them.” She lets out a small laugh in spite of herself. “You know, I’d always complain that he was growing up too fast. I used to wish that I could slow time down a little so I could enjoy my son being that young longer,” she admits, sniffing. She reaches up, dabbing at her damp eyes with one of her hands. “And now Kevin is frozen in time, forever a three year old little boy.”

She sets the booties down on her belly and inhales deeply, willing herself to keep her composure.

Swallowing back your own emotions, you brush a single, stray tear from her cheek with your thumb. It wasn’t the first time that she’d opened up about losing her child—but Maria often kept her emotions hidden, tucked away along with her son’s memory. For the last several years, she’d dedicated most of her time and energy to Jackson and to its people, pouring herself completely into her role as the community’s leader. But now that Luke had placed her on strict bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy, Maria had no choice but to step down, temporarily handing the role over to Tommy, along with a small council she’d handpicked herself.

It hadn’t been easy for her, after all, there was only so much she could do to keep herself preoccupied while being confined to the four walls of her home. She found her mind wandering to Kevin a lot more often than not lately, and the pregnancy hormones did absolutely nothing to help in the matter.

“Maria?” you say her name softly. “You okay?”

She slowly exhales the breath she’d been holding.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she finally replies, sniffing again.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She pauses momentarily. “I just—there’s a part of me that still has trouble believing I’m going to be a mother again. It’s been so long, you know? What if I’ve forgotten how to be a good mom?”

Dropping your hand from Maria’s face, you offer it out for her to hold. She accepts it and you give her hand a gentle squeeze as you vouch, “This baby, they couldn’t be any luckier than to have a mother like you, Maria.”

“And a fuckin’ hell of a dad like me,” a voice teases from the doorway.

Tommy, who had been down at the commune’s market picking up some potatoes for dinner, saunters into the living room with a brown paper bag in his arm. Setting the bag down onto a nearby table, he then makes his way over to his wife. Noticing that she’d been crying, he leans over and presses his lips against her forehead, softly murmuring, “You doin’ alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m alright,” she assures him with a nod. “I’m just extra sensitive and hormonal right now.”

He hums. “Uh, yeah, I kinda figured that out when you bawled your way through Old Yeller at the movies the other night.”

She pouts. “Pregnant or not, that movie’s a tear jerker, okay? Only people made of stone don’t cry when the dog dies.”

“She’s got a point, Tommy,” you agree with a shrug. “I cried too and I’m not pregnant.”

Drawing himself back up to his full height, Tommy glances at the booties resting on Maria’s belly. He picks them up and holds them both in the palm of his hand. 

“Well, ain’t these just the teeniest things I ever did see,” he remarks with a soft chuckle. “Who made these?”

Maria jerks her chin towards you. “She did.”

Tommy’s eyes meet yours and it feels like a punch to the fucking gut—they remind you of his brother. “Almost feels like a crime, havin’ you make clothes for our kid for free,” he states, shaking his head as he hands them back to Maria. “You’re makin’ the baby’s entire wardrobe at this point, little lady.”

Sheepishly, you wave a dismissive hand at him. “I made one sweater and a couple pairs of mittens for them. I wouldn’t exactly call that a wardrobe, Tommy.”

“It’s a hell of a lot more stuff than we had before. I gotta be honest, it just don’t feel right acceptin’ all these things from you without payin’ somehow. I’d really like to at least trade you somethin’ for them.”

Shaking your head, you politely decline the offer.

“I appreciate it, but I really don’t need anything.”

“What ‘bout Luke?”

“He doesn’t either.”

“But—”

“Honey, don’t waste your breath,” Maria chimes in with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to get her to accept a trade all week long and she simply won’t budge.”

Tommy purses his lips together, slowly rubbing his chin in thought. “Okay, I’ve got an idea,” he proposes after a minute. “How ‘bout you and Luke both come on over and join us for dinner later tonight? That ain’t too bad of a deal, right?”

You silently mull over the offer for a second.

“If I accept the invitation, then will you two knock it off with all this damn trade nonsense?” When he eagerly nods, you sigh. “Alright then, I accept. We’ll come over for dinner tonight.”

“Perfect,” he grins. “See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Knowing he only means well, you decide to be a good sport about it and smile at him. “No, Tommy. I suppose it wasn’t.”

“Great!” Maria beams. “We haven’t had a chance to get together for dinner in months. Lately when I see Luke, it’s as his patient,” she muses. “I have to admit, it’ll be so nice to have a conversation with him that doesn’t revolve around my uterus for once.”

Tommy jokingly makes a face. “Yeah. Tell the doc to leave all that medical stuff at the door before he comes over. Last thing I wanna hear ‘bout while I’m chowin’ down on some big, juicy bison steaks is what fuckin’ size my wife’s uterus is—”

“Tommy! That’s not funny!” Rolling her eyes at her husband, Maria turns to you to apologize but she stops short when she notices a sudden, not to mention drastic, change in your complexion. Frowning, she reaches up and touches your cheek. “Hey, you don’t look so good. Are you feeling alright?”

You can taste the bile at the back of your throat.

“I—I’m sorry, what did you just say was for dinner?”

Tommy shoots you a strange look. “Uh, steaks?”

The mere mention of the word sends a violent wave of sickness crashing over you—slapping your hand tightly over your mouth, you scramble to jump off the couch and make a beeline for their downstairs bathroom right across the hallway. You’d made it just in time to fall to your knees in front of the toilet. Clutching the sides of the porcelain bowl, you gag loudly, and the sickening sound of your retching bounces off the walls.

As your stomach heaves, you feel one hand gather your hair to hold it back and out of your face, while the other rubs soothing circles into your back.

“Let it all out,” Maria encourages you. “It’s alright, just let it all out. There you go, get everything out.”

Tommy pokes his head into the bathroom.

“She okay?”

“Tommy! Get out of here!” Maria scolds him over her shoulder. “She doesn’t need an audience!”

He holds up his hands. “Alright, alright! Sheesh, I was just makin’ sure she’s okay, you ain’t gotta bite my head off!” He huffs at her. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you two need me.” Without another word, he spins around on the heel of his boot and disappears.

Once you’re certain there’s nothing left, your trembling hand reaches for the handle on the tank and pulls it down, flushing the toilet. You then sit back, slumping against the wall. “Jesus. I am so fucking sorry. I have no idea what the hell came over me,” you groan, the embarrassment evident in your tone as you wipe at your mouth with the sleeve of your flannel shirt.

Maria peers at you with a suspicious glint in her eyes.

“You know,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, “About five months ago, I went through a phase where I couldn’t stand the thought of meat—any kind, but red meat had to be the worst. I just could not stomach it.” Her hand falls away from your face and she rises to her feet with a labored grunt. Leaning back against the sink, she continues to say, “Poor Tommy, he couldn’t even mention it to me or I’d throw up on his boots. Not long after that, I found out I was pregnant.”

You stare at her, your lips parting slightly.  “Maria, you can’t seriously be insinuating—I am not pregnant. No, it’s not possible, you know that I can’t have kids,” you sputter out, furiously shaking your head. “There’s just no fucking way that I’m—”

Maria holds up her hands to stop you. “When was the date of your last menstrual cycle?”

“It was recent.”

“How recent?”

Silently, you start counting the weeks and you freeze the moment you realize you’d missed September completely, and October’s cycle had been due two weeks ago. You’ve been so lost in your own grief, so busy trying to keep yourself from falling apart, that you hadn’t even realized you haven’t bled since—

“August,” you breathe out in a terrified whisper.

The last time you had your period was in August.

August. 

Before you had slept with Joel Miller for the first time. 

Maria whirls around and starts digging in the medicine cabinet above the sink, and then in the one below it. After a minute of rummaging, she turns back around and extends a hand out to you, offering to help you to your feet. She lets out another grunt as she helps you stand. “I had one left,” she states, holding out her other hand to you, an individually wrapped pregnancy test in her palm. “At this point, I don’t think you even need to take a test, but it doesn’t hurt to have solid proof.”

You can hardly choke out her name. “Maria—”

She hastily shoves the test into your hands. “Just take it. I’ll be back in to check on you, okay?”

Not giving you the chance to protest, she steps out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

You look down at the test in your palm and then up into the mirror, meeting your own wide eyes in the reflection.

It can’t be possible. It just can’t be possible.

You can’t have children. 

With shaking hands, you unzip your blue jeans and then tear open the package. Your mind is in such a haze, you have to read the instructions three or four times before the information finally sticks. After taking the test, you lay it down top of the counter with the results window facing down. You pull your panties and jeans back into place and wash your hands using the bar of soap next to the sink—all the while, the sheer panic has started to settle in, the fear that accompanies it seeping deep into your bones.

Swallowing harshly, you realize it’d been well over the three minutes the package had instructed you to wait for the results.

“It’s negative. It’s negative,” you affirm quietly over and over underneath your breath as you pick it up and flip it in your hand. “It’s negative. It’s negative—”

You stop, and for a second, your heart feels like it stops too.

Horrified, you blink furiously, as if somehow you’ve misread the results—but there is no fucking mistaking those two solid little pink lines.

Your blood runs cold in your veins.

You’re pregnant. 

Luke hasn’t touched you in months.

And you’re pregnant. 

Luke hasn’t touched you in months. 

And you are fucking pregnant. 

Maria knocks lightly on the bathroom door.

“It’s been a few minutes now—can I come in?”

She waits, only to be met with complete silence.

“Hey, hon.” She knocks again. “Is everything okay?”

Again, there’s no response from the other side of the door.

“Christ, Maria.” Tommy suddenly appears beside her with a glass of water in his hand. Flashing his wife a teasing look, he quips, “Can’t you let the poor girl do her goddamn business in peace? What’s wrong with you, woman?”

Maria frowns. “I think something’s wrong.”

His playful grin falters. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not answering me.”

Tommy chortles, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Maybe ‘cause she’s actually in there doin’ her business?”

Hesitantly, Maria bites down on her bottom lip.

“What? What is it?”

“I gave her a pregnancy test to take.”

Tommy’s eyes widen. “You fuckin’ with me?”

Maria glares at him. “No! I’m not fucking with you, I’m being serious! I gave her the test and then told her I would check back in with her after she took it, but now she’s not answering me and I’m kind of worried.”

“The door locked?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think it is. Should we just open the door and see if she’s okay? I don’t want to barge in there but—”

Tommy hands Maria the glass of water. “Hey,” he calls lightly as he raps on the door with his fist. “Everythin’ alright in there?” He waits for a minute, but when you don’t reply, he grasps the brass doorknob in his hand and says sternly, “Now you listen here, little lady. You had best answer me right now, or we’re gonna have to come in, you understand me?”

Silence. 

“Last chance. Talk or I’m gonna open this door.”

Nothing. 

“Alright then, suit yourself. Hope you’re decent.”

Tommy turns the knob, cracking the door open—when he doesn’t see you, he tries pushing it open further. The door stops halfway, and he peers around it only to find you sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, preventing the door from going any further. “Shit, she’s sittin’ right behind the goddamn—fuckin’ hold on, Maria! If I try shovin’ it open, I could hurt her!” Being careful so as not to hit you or step on you by accident, he squeezes his way into the bathroom. He crouches down beside you, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand. “Hey, what is it? What’s the matter?”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

You can’t speak. You can’t move.

All that you can do is stare at him. Petrified. 

“C’mon, little lady,” he coaxes, softly. “Talk to me.”

“Tommy! Let me in!” Maria demands, impatiently. “Can you move her? I can’t squeeze through, my belly is way too big!”

Tommy slides one arm around your shoulders and the other arm under your knees. “I’m just gonna move you out the way so Maria can come in, alright? C’mere.” He gingerly slides you across the tile and cradles the side of your body against his chest. He then calls out to his wife, “There, that should be enough room!”

Maria pushes the door open and rushes inside. “Is she okay?” Gripping Tommy’s shoulder, she slowly lowers herself to kneel beside you. Her eyes go straight to the test clutched in your hand. She just about has to pry your ice cold fingers off the white stick one by one. “It’s positive,” she gasps. “Your results are positive—you’re going to have a baby!”

Tommy lets out a loud, gleeful laugh. “Did’ya hear that, little lady? You’re gonna have a baby! You’re gonna be a mama! Ain’t that great news?”

Finally, you snap out of your trance. Your eyes anxiously bounce between Tommy and Maria, heart pounding as they eagerly wait for your reaction with smiles of pure excitement on their faces.

“I—” Unable to utter another word, you burst into tears.

And they’re certainly not tears of happiness.

No, the sobs coming from deep within you aren’t full of joy at the news that you’re going to be a mother.

They’re pained. Cries full of sorrow, anguish, and fear. As the confusion flashes across their faces, all you can do is weep harder. Louder.

“Wait a minute, I thought you would be happy.” Maria’s hands reach for yours and she holds them tightly as she tries to understand what it is that is causing such a negative reaction. “You and Luke tried for a really long time to have another baby. Why are you so upset?” She keeps her voice calm, kind. Warm. It wasn’t that she was judging you—Maria wants to help you, however there’s no way for her to help you if she doesn’t know what’s causing your grief in the first place. “What’s the matter, honey? Are you afraid after what happened last time?”

“I can’t be pregnant,” you rasp out. “I can’t—”

“Hey now, it’s alright. C’mere.” Tommy shifts and he moves to sit down beside you against the wall. His arm drapes around your trembling shoulders in an effort to comfort you. As your entire body shudders with sobs, he pulls you close against his side, rubbing your arm with his hand. Once they’ve subsided and little hiccups are all that are left, he finally speaks again. “You can talk to us, little lady. ‘Bout anythin’ that’s on your mind. We care ‘bout you a whole lot. Y’know that, don’t you?”

“Tommy’s right,” Maria nods. “You’re like family to us. You can come to us about anything. We’ll do whatever we can to help you, okay?”

You shake your head tightly. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

She lets out a small sigh and glances at her husband with a look of defeat. “I think you should run down to the clinic and get Luke. He’ll know what to do.”

“No!” you shout loudly, startling them both. “I—Luke can’t find out that I’m pregnant. He just can’t know, or else—” A fresh batch of tears spring forward as you clamp a hand over your mouth, muffling another wail.

“Or else what?” Maria asks, raising an eyebrow.

Or else he was going to fucking kill you.

Tommy grabs your wrist, gently tugging it away from your face. “Or else what?” He echoes his wife. “What is goin’ on? Is there somethin’ we should know ‘bout?”

Yet another sob escapes you and his fingers curl tighter around your wrist, firm but still gentle.

“We’re gonna need you to tell us what’s goin’ on.”

There’s no way around it. Around any of it.

You have to tell them. 

Swallowing harshly, you admit, “There is.”

The couple waits expectantly.

“The baby isn’t Luke’s.” You mumble it so quietly and incoherently that neither of them hear it despite being in such close proximity.

Maria furrows an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

“The baby isn’t Luke’s!” You yank your wrist out of Tommy’s hand and cry out the confession. “It isn’t his and that’s why he can’t fucking know!”

And just like that, the truth comes tumbling out.

Luke’s violence towards you.

Your romantic affair with Joel.

Ellie finding out about the abuse.

Your refusal to let either of them do anything about it.

You spare no details of everything that had taken place over the last several months, and by the time you had finally finished, both Tommy and Maria were rendered completely speechless.

“Can one of you say something? Please? Anything at all?” Your voice is small, feeble, and full of shame.

After a minute, Tommy pulls his arm from around your shoulders and stands up. He helps Maria up to her feet before he extends his hand to you. “Alright, first thing’s first. Let me get you up off this floor, little lady.”

His voice is soft, and so is his gaze.

“Tommy how can you—after everything that I’ve done? Your brother—”

“Please. Just let me help you off the floor and then we can talk ‘bout it. Okay?”

You accept his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t let it go as he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the living room where he sits you down on the couch. Maria, who hasn’t said a single word, takes a seat beside you.

Tommy kneels down in front of you, placing a warm and gentle hand on your leg. He almost looks a little bit guilty, as if he should have known what was being done to you behind closed doors. “Look, m’gonna ask you a question and I need an honest answer. How long has he been doin’ this to you?”

Anxiously, you start wringing your hands in your lap.

“Tommy, I can’t. Please, don’t—”

“Tell me,” he encourages you, softly. “When did it first start?”

Your throat bobs. “Two months after my dad died,” you confess, another tear rolling down the side of your face.

Maria stiffens. “Luke has been putting his hands on you for two years?”

“Yes.”

You can hear the shame in your own voice—shame for letting the abuse go on as long as it has, for everything to come to light like this.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Tommy sighs heavily and hangs his head. “Joel told me. He fuckin’ told me.”

You wipe at your swollen eyes with your forearm.

“What are you talking about, Tommy?”

He sighs again.

“Months ago, the day after the big summer party,” he begins to explain. “We were at the bar. Joel was askin’ me ‘bout you and Luke. Said somethin’ just wasn’t right when he saw you two together for the first time. He tried to tell me somethin’ was wrong and I—I didn’t fuckin’ believe him. Told him he was seein’ what he wanted to see ‘cause I knew he liked you. I fuckin’ told him that you and Luke were happy. He tried to tell me and I didn’t fuckin’ listen to him.”

“Tommy, please don’t blame yourself for this,” you beg him. “I’m the one who chose to hide it. This is my own fault, okay? This is all on me, not on you.”

Maria furiously shakes her head. “It’s not your fault and it sure as hell isn’t on you. You’re the victim here.”

Victim. 

The word makes you cringe.

“But it is my fault, Maria. I hid it from you guys for two fucking years.”

“But why? Why did you hide it? Why didn’t you come to us?” Tommy’s voice is strained. “You should’ve told us what he was doin’ to you. We—I could’a done somethin’ to stop it. I could’a helped you.”

“Because. I didn’t want to risk getting him thrown out of the community. Jackson needs him, Tommy.”

“Like hell we do,” Tommy rises to his feet. “Ain’t no way that we’re gonna tolerate that fuckin’ shit here.” With his hands curled tightly into fists, he spins around and starts heading towards the front door.

You stand and chase after him, catching him just as he opens it. “Where the hell are you going?”

“To confront that pathetic son of a bitch—”

“Tommy, please! Don’t do that.” Grabbing his arm, you shoot him a pleading look. “Please, think about this for a minute.”

“Ain’t nothin’ for me to fuckin’ think ‘bout, alright?”

“Yes, there fucking is! This town needs a doctor. They need Luke—Maria needs Luke.” You glance over at her just as she appears in the hallway with both hands on her belly. “God forbid that something goes wrong—she goes into preterm labor or she has a complication when she gives birth. Did you think about that?”

“We’ve got two nurses,” he reminds you.

“Two nurses who only know basic neonatal care. That’s it. If something serious happens, Maria’s going to need Luke. And the baby’s going to need him too.”

You knew you’d gotten your point across when Tommy turns to his wife, helplessly.

“Fuck,” he curses, slamming the door shut. “She’s right. I fuckin’ hate to say it, but she’s right ‘bout that.”

“I am right,” you state and his attention flits back to you. “Luke has to stay and you both know that as well as I do. For the good of Jackson, he has to stay.”

Conflicted, Tommy growls out in frustration. “So what, I’m just s’pposed to give him a fuckin’ pass? How the hell can you expect us—how can you expect me to let that motherfucker walk around this place knowin’ what he’s been doin’ to you over these last two years?”

Your fingers dig into his arm, a fresh batch of hot tears stinging your eyes. “Tommy, if this community suffers without Luke because of me, it will destroy me. The guilt will fucking destroy me.”

Finally, Maria decides to step in. “Listen, I know that you’re trying to look out for the people of this town and I get that. But you’re risking your own life by asking us to let him stay here.” She walks over to you, taking your hands in hers. “Honey, I know men like Luke because I used to prosecute men like Luke. I would take them to court on murder charges.” Her eyes find yours. “I don’t want to scare you, but if that is the only way for me to get through to you, then I will sit you down and I will tell you all about what happened to the women who swore to me their abusive husbands would never, ever take it that far.”

You swallow harshly and a chill runs up your spine.

“I’ll leave,” you squeak. “I’ll leave him.”

“And what if he doesn’t let you walk away?”

Tommy crosses his arms over his chest. “He will if I’m the one who fuckin’ talks to him. I ain’t gonna give him the choice. He has to let her go.”

Panicked, you furiously shake your head. “No! I can do this on my own, Tommy. I can handle him alone. I don’t need you to do it for me. I can fix this without your help, okay?”

“You can’t,” he says, firmly. “You just can’t.”

“Yes, I can—”

He cuts you off with a pleading look.

“You need to let us help you. Please. Let us help you.”

You had agreed to it, but only on one condition.

“I need a couple of days,” you’d told them.

Tommy frowned. “No. It’s happenin’ tonight. We’re gonna talk to Luke, you’re gonna pack up a couple bags, and we’re gettin’ you away from him. You can stay here with us for a while. You’ll be safe.” Taking notice of the shocked look on your face, he said, “I know you ain’t crazy enough to think I’m gonna let you go home to him tonight. Ain’t no way in hell.”

“I—this is all happening so fast. It’s too overwhelming, Tommy. I just need a day or two to process everything before I take that leap.”

“And give Luke the fuckin’ chance to hurt you again?”

“He hasn’t laid a finger on me in weeks now.”

Tommy scoffed, “Well, someone give him a fuckin’ medal!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “He hasn’t hit his wife in weeks! What a fuckin’ guy!”

You recoiled, his sarcasm stinging like he’d poured salt straight into the open wound.

“Tommy,” Maria glared at him. “Not helping.”

He immediately shot you an apologetic look.

“Shit. Sorry, little lady. I’m just real worried ‘bout you. I don’t like the idea of you goin’ home to him tonight, and much less knowin’ that you’re pregnant, y’know?” His eyes had fallen to your stomach with sudden curiosity. “When, uh—when do you plan on tellin’ Joel ‘bout the baby, anyway?”

Heat flooded your face and neck.

“I—I’m not really sure about that yet.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy! She just told you that she’s feeling overwhelmed,” Maria chastised him. “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay? Our first priority is going to be to get her out of that house. She has already agreed to letting us help her, so I think there’s a bit of room for compromise. Here’s the deal.” She put a hand on your shoulder. “As much as I don’t want to let you go home to him tonight either, I’m going to allow it so you can take a breather. Tomorrow in the afternoon when you get home from work duty, I’ll come over and help you pack some clothes and necessities, and we can bring them over here to our place.”

Nervously chewing your lower lip, you asked, “And then what?”

“I’ll go confront Luke,” Tommy stated. “Best if you ain’t there when I talk to him, little lady.” He turned to Maria, placing a hand on her belly. “I don’t want you to be there either, sweetheart. I ain’t takin’ any chances and puttin’ you and the baby under stress so I’m gonna have to handle him alone, alright?”

Maria nodded, shifting her attention back to you. “So? Do we have a deal?”

Meekly, you had nodded in agreement. “Yes. We have a deal.”

The rest of that evening passes by in a blur.

Autopilot had taken over the moment that Tommy took you across the road and dropped you off at your door.

“Any problems, you come get me,” he’d said. “You come and get me. No matter what time it is, alright? You fuckin’ come and get me if he tries anythin’.”

All that you could do was give him a weak nod and then you’d turned around, slipping into the house.

You don’t remember cooking dinner.

You don’t remember looking at the clock, noticing it was well past dinnertime and realizing that Luke would be home late as usual. You don’t remember fixing him a plate and leaving it on top of the stove for him to find when he came home, storing all of the leftovers, and washing the small pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

You don’t remember heading upstairs afterwards, you don't remember taking a long shower, brushing your teeth or changing into your pajamas.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the bedroom door opened and Luke walked in, that autopilot finally disengaged.

“You’re still up?”

You’d been sitting on the foot of the bed anxiously picking at your fingernails without even realizing it until he glared at you—he’d always hated the habit and spent months smacking it out of you.

Ceasing from messing with your hands, you drop them into your lap.

“You’re home really late again,” you say, quietly.

“I made a last minute house call. John’s little boy came down with a hell of a fever tonight.” Luke sets down his satchel bag and shrugs out of his jacket—as he does so, you catch sight of the tiny, reddish purple bruise on his neck, right below his ear. Draping his jacket over a nearby chair, he arches his brow as if he were silently challenging you to confront him, as if he’s daring you to ask him who had given him a love bite.

You don’t care. You don’t care about what or who Luke has been doing over the last several nights when he’s been coming home so much later than usual.

Kicking off his black boots, he saunters over to you, his mouth stretching into a cruel, satisfied little smirk.

Oh, he knows damn well you’ve already figured it out.

He wanted you to figure it out.

“Spend the afternoon at Tommy and Maria’s again?”

“Yes. I did.”

“I see.” He hums. “She was telling me during her exam this morning at the clinic that you’ve been helping her knit some clothes for the baby. Is that so?”

“I have,” you murmur, looking down to avert his curious gaze as he stops in front of you. “We’ve been making blankets for the baby, too.”

Luke cups your chin, forcing your eyes back up to meet his. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you.” He roughly curls his fingers around your jaw, his thumb brushing along your quivering lower lip. He hums again. “Something about you seems different, darling. Been looking a lot prettier to me these days.” He lets go of your jaw and brushes your hair behind your shoulder, his finger skimming the strap of your cotton pajama top. “How long has it been now, sweetheart?”

Your throat goes dry, your lips parting in shock as Luke pulls it down your arm, his palm grazing over your skin.

No. This can’t be happening. He wants to—?

Without waiting for a response, Luke grabs one of your hands and places it over his belt buckle.

Noticing your expression, he laughs again. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“You—you haven’t wanted to touch me in months.”

Luke shrugs. “Well, what can I say? I’m suddenly in the mood for my pretty little wife’s cunt.” His grin stretches from ear to ear. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky this time. Maybe we’ll have a little one of our own running around this place. I’m feeling rather optimistic tonight.”

You’re going to be fucking sick all over him.

No, you can’t let him do this to you.

You can’t let him touch you.

He pushes your hand lower, right over his bulge.

“No!” Tearing your hand away, you jump up and roughly shove him away from you. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

He stumbles backwards, but he catches himself before he can fall.

Your chest heaves a d he stares at you, bewildered at what you had just done. “I’m so sorry that whoever you fucked before you came home wasn’t enough for you, but you are not fucking touching me,” you spit at him. “In fact, you’re never touching me ever again because I’m leaving. I’m done, Luke.”

“Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me.” Your voice trembles—you can’t be sure if it trembles out of anger or out of the sheer terror you feel. Maybe it’s a bit of both. “It’s over, Luke. This marriage is fucking over. I’m not putting up with what you’ve been doing to me for the past two years. I’m not going to tolerate it. Not anymore. I’m not going to allow you to keep on hurting me.” Lifting your hand, you slide your wedding band off of your finger and toss it at him. It clinks as it lands on the hardwood floor near his feet. “I’ll be out of the house by tomorrow evening.”

“Let me take a guess.” He speaks calmly, much too calmly, as he starts towards you. The time bomb has started ticking. “You’re going to move in with Joel Miller and his feral little rat of a kid?”

Hands curling into fists at your sides, you seethe, “Where I move is none of your fucking business, Luke.” He steps closer and your courage starts to falter. You can feel yourself wanting to back down—the thought of your unborn child is the only thing that keeps you from completely losing your nerve. “Here is the deal. You’re going to let me leave and you’re going to stay the fuck away from me. If you do that, then I won’t tell anyone anything about the things you’ve done to me. It’ll be like none of it ever happened. We both move on with our lives. Separately. Got it?”

He draws closer and closer. Much too close.

“Oh, you silly, silly girl,” he tsks. “Do you really think you can call the shots? Do you really fucking think you have the upper hand here? That you can make the decision to end this marriage, just like that?”

Closer, until his chest brushes against yours.

“Luke, I’m giving you a fucking chance here,” you say, backing away until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. With nowhere else to go, to run, you fall backwards onto the bed, scrambling up towards the headboard. Your heart is pounding, too hard and too fast—would it give out before he even has the chance to get his hands on you? “Luke, please, just let me go.” Clasping your hands together in a plea, you beg him, your back pressed against the headboard, “If at any point in our relationship you loved me—if at any point in our marriage you actually cared about me, you will fucking let me go in peace. Please. Just let me go. Let me fucking go.”

Luke stands at the foot of the bed, his face blank.

Emotionless. There isn’t a single ounce of compassion in his eyes. No mercy. 

“Please,” you whisper once more. Curling both of your arms around yourself, you subconsciously protect your belly.

Luke reaches down and unbuckles his belt.

You watch, your stomach churning, as he slowly slides the black leather from the loops of his jeans.

“I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke.” 

Joel clutches his stallion’s reins tightly in his hands as the pair fall into a slow, easy trot behind Tommy and his horse, Ranger.

He follows his brother as he leads the way through the quiet, tranquil plains of Wyoming. Instead of scanning their surroundings for signs of potential danger, all Joel can do is think about you—that was all he could ever do these days, was fucking think about you and about that fucking night.

The memory plays over and over in his mind on a loop, torturing him day in and day out. It never fucking stops. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

“I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke. And maybe it’s for the best if you just fucking stay away from me too.”

That’s precisely what he had done. He had stayed away from Luke. And against his better judgement, he had stayed away from you, too.

“How’s it feel to be back out here?” Tommy asks over his shoulder. He tugs at the reins and gives Ranger the cue to slow his trot, giving Joel and his horse, Bandit, the chance to catch up and ride at their side. “Bet you couldn’t be fuckin’ happier to be off house arrest, huh?” he adds, a light joking edge to his tone.

After about four and a half weeks, Joel had made a full recovery, and he was cleared to return to patrol duties. Wanting to ease him back into the swing of things after so much time off, Tommy decided to pair up with Joel as his partner for that morning’s watch. The two took a route just a few miles west of the community, one that was scoured every couple of days since it was so close to Jackson’s main gate.

“S’alright,” he mutters with a shrug that causes him to wince. His shoulder’s still a little sore. Ellie had assisted with his physical therapy, badgering him every single night to do the exercises in some book she’d found in the town’s library with Dina’s help. He had full range of motion again, and that’s all Tommy had needed in order to allow him to return to patrol.

“You feelin’ alright?” His brother notices the slight look of discomfort on his face. “Shoulder’s good?”

“Any particular reason you’re bein’ so annoyin’ today?”

Tommy feigns offense. “You got fuckin’ shot, Joel. Just makin’ sure you’re okay. Jesus.”

Joel lets out a small huff through his nose. “M’fine,” he assures him. “Shoulder’s good. Still hurts a little and the cold weather ain’t doin’ a whole lot to help, but ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.” Sitting back in his saddle, he lets his thighs close around Bandit. “Whoa,” he utters to the animal, his fingers squeezing the reins as he signals for Bandit to come to a halt.

“What’s the matter? Why are we stoppin’?”

“This route’s clear, Tommy. We should turn around and go find the rest of the group. Check and see if the other routes are clear too.” Joel clicks his tongue, prompting Bandit to move again. He steers the stallion and starts turning around to lead them back east, but then stops once more. He glimpses over at Tommy, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Noticing the odd, pensive expression on his face, Joel frowns, asking, “What’s wrong?”

Tommy chews the inside of his cheek, his apprehension written all over his face. “Uh Joel, there’s something we need to talk ‘bout and maybe it’s best if we do it while we’re out here, just the two of us.”

Confused, Joel’s eyebrows pull together. “What is it?”

His brother hesitates. His lips purse together, a sudden look of regret flashing across his features.

“Tommy?” Joel prompts. “The hell’s goin’ on?”

Exhaling a heavy sigh, he states, “You were right.”

“Right ‘bout what?”

“‘Bout Luke.”

Joel freezes in the seat of his saddle.

“You were fuckin’ right ‘bout him mistreatin’ her.”

His grip around the reins tightens, skin stretching thin over his knuckles so tight they’d gone white.

“She was over at mine yesterday afternoon. Ended up tellin’ me and Maria everthin’ ‘bout Luke and what he’s done.” Rolling his lower lip between his teeth, Tommy pauses for a second before repeating, “You were right. You were fuckin’ right ‘bout that bastard from the start and I’m real sorry that I didn’t fuckin’ believe you, Joel.”

Joel’s mind begins to race.

What had prompted you to finally tell Tommy and Maria about the abuse? Did something happen to you that he didn’t know about?

Ellie had been pretty good about keeping him posted. He would ask her about you the very minute she’d walk through the front door after her shift at the stables and she would provide him a full report.

“She’s fine. She ain’t hurt,” Tommy reassures him, as if he’d read his mind. “We’re plannin’ on movin’ her outta the house later on tonight.”

“What?” Finally, Joel speaks, his voice rigid.

Tommy holds his hands up in defense. “Now, hold on. I need you to give me a minute and let me explain—”

“She told you Luke’s been abusin’ her and you just let her go back to him? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Why didn’t you and Maria fuckin’ stop her?”

“Why didn’t you fuckin’ stop her the night you saw the bruise on her?” He shoots back at him. 

Joel stares at him, his lips parting slightly.

How did he fucking know about that? 

“She told us the truth ‘bout the affair too, Joel.”

“She did?”

“She did,” Tommy confirms with a nod. “I had a hunch, y’know. The day of the ambush, I thought I saw panic in her eyes when I told Ellie you’d been shot. Then I saw it again when she saw you there sittin’ on that table with a bullet in your shoulder, but I brushed it off. Thought she was just real worried ‘bout the kid seein’ as those two are thick as fuckin’ thieves, y’know?” Despite the serious nature of the conversation, he can’t help but let out a chuckle when he thinks of you and Ellie. “But now I know she was scared of losin’ you. That girl loves you, Joel. I know you love her too. I’m willin’ to bet it’s the reason you let her walk away that night. Why you kept her secret.”

“Jesus.” Joel exhales a shaky breath. “Y’must think I’m a real fuckin’ coward for knowin’ what he’s been doin’ to her and not doin’ a goddamn thing ‘bout it, huh?”

Tommy shakes his head.

“It’s a complicated situation, brother. She only did what she did for the good of the community. She’s still trying to do what’s best for Jackson, believe it or not. She, uh, she wants us to let Luke stay.”

“She wants you to let him stay?”

“Girl’s got too big of a heart. Doesn’t want the town to be without a doctor.”

“Ain’t no goddamn way you’d let him stay! After all the fuckin’ shit he’s done to her?” When his brother doesn’t respond, Joel narrows his eyes at him. “Jesus Christ. You can’t fuckin’ tell me you’re actually considerin’ it? Are you fuckin’ serious, Tommy? You and Maria would let that son of a bitch stay in Jackson? Knowin’ he’s spent two fuckin’ years puttin’ his hands on his wife?”

“Look here, alright? I don’t like the idea as much as you don’t, and neither does Maria,” he says. “But this ain’t exactly black and white, Joel. I really fuckin’ wish it was. But the hard truth is that Jackson does need a doctor, and unless one magically falls out of the fuckin’ sky, we ain’t got much of a choice here. My wife and child, they might need him, y’know? Maria’s considered a high risk ‘cause of her age. If somethin’ happens and there’s complications when she’s in labor, she and the baby are gonna need him. Our nurses, they ain’t really trained to handle things like that, y’know?”

Joel’s lips press together into a tight, thin line.

Of course it’s black and white to him—because he loves you. You’re his fucking priority. There’s no gray area for him. None.

But Tommy?

His priority is Maria and their unborn child.

Joel can’t fault him for that, and he certainly isn’t going to try. But what about you?

“Listen, Joel. I know this is real fuckin’ hard, believe me I do. I care about that girl a lot, a whole fuckin’ lot. I saw her as family long before I knew ‘bout your relationship with her and before I knew she was—”

He stops abruptly, red splotching his cheeks.

Joel still doesn’t know he is going to be a father. Again.

“Before you knew she was what, Tommy?”

“Tommy!” A woman’s voice shouts. “Joel! Over here!”

The two brothers glance over their shoulders and see the rest of their morning patrol group heading towards them.

Tommy bites back a sigh of utter relief. That had been too fucking close.

He turns to Joel, lowering his voice. “Joel, I need you to listen, and listen to me real good. We’ve gotta take this one step at a time. First thing’s first, me and Maria are gonna get her outta that house. She can stay with us at our place for a while. She’ll be safe with us. That much I can promise you.”

“Then what?”

“Don’t know yet. We get her out first and then we figure things out from there. In the meantime, I’m gonna need you to stay calm, Joel. Please. Don’t go off and do somethin’ stupid, alright?”

That had been a lot easier said than done.

Joel needed to talk to you.

He needed to fucking see you. 

But his brother had been adamant.

“Don’t fuckin’ get involved, Joel. Not ‘til we get her out. I don’t want things to fuckin’ explode in our faces, alright? Let me handle this.” 

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel leans back into the couch and looks down at the guitar in his lap—he’d just spent the last hour carefully polishing it in an effort to keep himself occupied. He thought back to that night you’d come over to gift it to him, how he had kissed you for the first time mere hours before you showed up on his doorstep with your father’s Gibson.

As he gives the guitar a gentle test strum, he recalls the request you made for him to sing you a song and a dull ache settles in his chest, right over his heart. He’ll sing you every song you want to hear, if given the chance.

Part of him is optimistic that he would get the chance.

You were meant to be his. He was meant to be yours.

He just fucking knows it.

Joel’s train of thought is shattered by the sound of the front door opening, and then loudly slamming shut.

“Ellie?” He calls out.

Her voice comes from the hallway. “Yeah?”

“C’mere, kiddo.”

Ellie grumbles incoherently as she walks into the living room, hair disheveled, clothes filthy, and her sneakers caked with muck from the stables.

Joel frowns at her. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Today was just really fucking shitty and while that was a great pun, for once, it was not fucking intended,” she sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you called me in here to ask me about her, I’d save my breath. She stayed home today. She’s sick.”

Joel’s stomach instantly drops. “She’s sick?”

“Yeah. With like a really bad cold or something.”

Putting down the guitar, he questions, “And who told you that?”

“Dina,” Ellie replies, looking puzzled. “She said Luke told her—” She stops abruptly as he jumps to his feet and immediately shoves past her, heading towards the front door. She spins around on her heel, following him. As he flies down the porch and starts down the road towards your house, she is forced to jog along beside him just to keep up with his stride. “What, what? What is it? Fucking answer me, Joel, what is it?”

“She ain’t fuckin’ sick, Ellie.”

“What do you mean she’s not—oh fuck. You don’t think she’s hiding out at home because—?” Ellie’s heartbeat stutters when the realization sinks in. “Luke.”

When the pair arrive at your place, they find a very, very distraught Maria Miller standing on the front porch, her hands wrapped around the doorknob. “Hon, I need you to let me in!” She turns and pulls the knob, desperately. “Please! Open the door for me!”

Your tearful voice comes from the other side. “Go away, Maria!”

The sound of Joel’s boots prompt Maria to turn around. “Joel,” she breathes out his name in relief. “I can’t get her to open the door. Tommy went to see if we have a spare key for the unit. He hasn’t come back and I don’t know what to do.”

“Break a fucking window, maybe?” Ellie snaps at her.

Joel silences her with a glare and then takes Maria by her arms, moving her to stand behind him. “Open the goddamn door!” he commands firmly, pounding his fist harshly against the wood. He can almost feel the way you freeze on the other side the moment you hear the sound of his voice. “Open this fuckin’ door right now!”

Ellie chimes in, “Come on, please open the door!”

“Go away!”

Joel continues to beat his fists against the door. “Show me what he fuckin’ did to you!” He shouts as he drops his hands to the doorknob, clawing at it as if somehow that’s going to do the trick and open the door. “C’mon! Show me what that fuckin’ bastard did to you!”

“Please, go away, all of you! Just leave me alone!”

“You know we can’t do that,” Maria calls. “You’re going to have to open this door and let us—”

Losing what very little patience he has to begin with in the first place, Joel cuts her off. “I will fuckin’ break this door down if I have to,” he threatens. “I’ll cause a scene and let everyone in this whole fuckin’ town know what Luke does to you. Is that what you want?”

He hears the lock click almost instantly.

Finally, you crack the door open and peek out to show them your face. “There, you fucking see?” Your face is blotchy, your eyes red and swollen from crying. “I’m fucking fine! Now fucking go away!”

You try shutting the door, but Joel is too quick and slips the toe of his boot in, wedging it between the door and the doorframe.

“Move, Joel!”

“Nope,” he says, keeping it planted firmly in place.

Not wanting to break his foot, you let up and he shoves his way inside with Ellie and Maria trailing behind him.

Taking a clumsy step backwards, you gather up the front of your knitted cardigan in your trembling hands, bunching it around your neck to conceal it. “Get out! Please, just get out!” you beg them through your sobs. “Please leave! I’m fine! Look at me, I’m perfectly fine—”

Heart hammering painfully against his sternum, Joel walks over and he takes your wrists. “Let me see. Baby, please. Just let me see.” His voice is raw, thick, as if he were on the verge of tears himself. He just knows he’s failed you, failed to keep all those promises he had made about never letting anything bad happen to you. He’s fucking failed. Again. He tries to find your gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. “Let me see,” he chokes out again, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast against the iciness of your own. “I’ll force you if I have to, so please just show me. Please, just fuckin’ show me what he did to you.”

Letting out another agonized sob, you drop your hands and let go of the material, letting it fall back into place at your sides and exposing your injury.

Maria gasps into her hands. “God.” 

“Fuck.” Ellie’s eyes widen in complete horror.

Joel drops your wrists, taking a step backwards as his eyes glaze over the severe discoloration on your neck—around your neck.

He feels fucking sick to his stomach, but it isn’t until he notices the clear imprint of a square belt buckle on the column of your throat that Joel thinks he might actually be sick all over the floor.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Luke’s voice suddenly echoes through the foyer.

He stands near the door, looking thoroughly confused—that is, until he sees you standing there, exposing what he had done to you the night before with his belt. The very same belt he’s wearing now.

No one has the chance to speak.

No one has the chance to think.

No one even has the chance to breathe.

Joel charges at Luke. He roughly snatches the collar of his jacket and pulls him further into the foyer of the house, away from the open front door so that he has nowhere to run.

You rush towards them. “Joel, stop! No!”

Maria quickly hurries to stop you, grabbing you by the back of your sweater. She yanks you back and out of harm’s way. “Don’t!”

Horrified, you watch as Joel slams Luke straight into the mirror hanging on the wall—head first. He pulls him forward, then slams him back even harder, the impact completely shattering the glass. Hundreds of shards go flying across the hardwood floor.

“Oh shit! Watch out!” Ellie jumps back as a sharp piece of broken glass lands between her sneakers.

“Joel, stop it! Please, stop!” you cry out as Maria grasps your arm to keep you from jumping in the middle of the altercation. “Stop it!”

But Joel is too far gone. Ignoring your desperate cries, he wraps one hand around Luke’s neck, holding him in place. His other hand curls into a tight fist and he starts delivering bone shattering blow after bone shattering blow to his face. “You wanna fuckin’ hit someone?” He snarls as the man’s nose cracks beneath his knuckles. “You wanna fuckin’ put your hands on someone? Huh? Then you fuckin’ put ‘em on me! C’mon, I fuckin’ dare you to put ‘em on me!”

Throwing Luke onto the floor, Joel climbs on top of him and he secures both of his hands around his throat. He feels the uncontrollable urge to do to him what he had done to you—only, unlike Luke, he doesn’t need a belt, and unlike Luke, he isn’t going to stop.

He isn’t going to let him live.

Joel squeezes Luke’s neck, cutting off his oxygen.

“How do you fuckin’ like it,” he hisses, irises going from brown to black as he presses harder on his windpipe. “C’mon, tough guy, tell me how you fuckin’ like it.”

Luke feebly claws and scratches at his hands, gurgling as blood starts coming out of his nose and mouth.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy rushes into the house, his boots scraping against the floor as he skids to halt. Without hesitating, he jumps into action. “Joel, stop! Fuckin’ let him go! Let him go!” He reaches down to pull him off.

“Look at what he did to her! Fuckin’ look at her!”

Tommy turns his attention to you, and the color drains from his face. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes out, shocked by the mark around your neck. He has half a mind to step back and allow Joel to finish the job, but with you, Ellie, and Maria watching on in terror, Tommy doesn’t have a choice. He grabs fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt and tries to tug him off the man he’s about to kill. “Fuckin’ let him go, Joel! Right now! That’s an order!”

Luke’s attempts to fight him off grow weaker. His face is beaten beyond recognition, and there’s a pool of dark red growing under him, dripping from a deep laceration he’d sustained from the being slammed head first into the mirror. His hands fall from around Joel’s wrists. He’s close to losing complete consciousness.

“Joel, let him go!” Tommy bellows. “Now!”

“Tommy, be careful!” Maria warns him, worriedly.

Somehow, he finally manages to peel Joel off Luke. He shoves him up against the nearest wall, pinning him in place. Behind him, Luke coughs and sputters violently, gasping as he frantically tries to breathe some air back into his lungs.

“Fuckin’ let go of me!” Joel growls, his eyes wild as he drives his fists into Tommy’s chest. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him! Let me fuckin’ go!”

Tommy cups Joel’s face in his hands and tries to meet his gaze. “Hey, look at me, I need you to calm the fuck down—I said fuckin’ look at me, Joel!” He demands. “I need you to calm the fuck down. I know that he fuckin’ deserves it, alright? Trust me, it’s takin’ all the strength I’ve got in me not to fuckin’ let go, let you kill the son of a bitch. Hell, there’s a part of me that wants to help you fuckin’ do it! But it ain’t the way we handle things here. M’gonna need you to take a breath and calm down, big brother. If anythin’, just do it for her sake, alright?”

Joel’s chest heaves, his breaths rough and ragged as his eyes flicker over to you. His heart sinks at the sight of you sobbing uncontrollably in Ellie and Maria’s arms.

Groaning, Luke rolls over onto his stomach and spits a mouthful of blood into the floor. “You can fucking have her,” he rasps, looking up at Joel through swollen eyes. “Keep her. Keep the useless little whore.”

Blinded by white hot rage, Joel starts thrashing around in Tommy’s grasp and tries to break loose. “Fuckin’ call her that again you fuckin’ son of a bitch—”

“Shit.” Dropping her arms from around you, Ellie steps forward, standing protectively in front of both you and Maria.

“Get the fuck off me, Tommy! M’gonna fuckin’ kill him!”

Maria tucks your face into her shoulder. “Don’t watch.”

“Joel, fuckin’ stop it already!” Tommy struggles to keep him in place. “You’re scarin’ her half to death!”

“I don’t fuckin’ care—”

Tommy’s fingers curl around the collar of his shirt. He slams Joel back against the wall so hard, the mirror, or at least what’s left of it, falls. The square frame breaks in half when it hits the floor.

“Well, you should fuckin’ care! She’s pregnant, Joel.”

You lift your head from Maria’s shoulder. “Tommy.”

Ellie spins around on her heel to face you. She stares at you with wide, round eyes. “You’re fucking pregnant?”

Joel looks over at you. Just as shocked, if not more.

“What?” 

Tommy grabs his chin, forcing his older brother to look at him once more. “It’s true,” he murmurs quietly. “So please, just take a goddamn breath and calm the fuck down. For her sake—and for the sake of your child.” He releases Joel’s shirt and takes a careful step backwards towards Luke, who is still groaning in pain on the floor. Once he realizes Joel isn’t going to charge him again, Tommy turns around and grabs the injured man by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him up to his feet in a rough, careless manner. “Get the fuck up,” he says. He drags him towards the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Tommy? Where are you taking him?” Maria questions him.

“Town jail. M’gonna throw his sorry ass in a fuckin’ cell and leave him in there ‘til we figure out what to do with him.” He glances over his shoulder. “I’ll get the council together for an emergency meetin’ tonight.”

“Jesus,” Ellie mutters under her breath as soon as they disappear. “Did this really just fucking happen?”

Chest still heaving, Joel glances down at his bloodied, torn knuckles and then turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. The tension between the two of you is almost palpable.

Maria lightly clears her throat. “We should probably get out of here,” she suggests. “Let’s head on over to mine and Tommy’s while we wait for him to get back.”

“Are you cold?” Ellie asks, worriedly.

She holds up a blue fleece throw blanket she’d dug out from the hallway closet despite you warning her not to snoop around the house while Maria’s in the bathroom tending to Joel’s hand.

Shaking your head, you sigh, “I’m fine.”

“But it’s cold in here.” She drapes the blanket over your hunched shoulders. “Can I get you something? Water? Are you hungry? You should probably eat something—”

“Ellie, please stop with all the fussing.” You pat the spot on the couch beside you. “Just sit here with me. That’s all I need right now.”

Nodding, she sits down and angles herself toward you, getting a closer look at the wound you’d been left with.

“Shit,” Ellie mutters under her breath. Grimacing, she lifts a hand and gingerly presses her fingertips to your neck in disbelief. “Fuck, dude. How bad does it hurt?” She touches a particularly sore spot on the column of your throat and you hiss in pain. She retracts her hand and sputters an apology, “Fuck, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Wincing, you assure her, “It’s fine. It’s just a little tender right now, that’s all.”

“A little?” she scoffs.

“Okay, maybe more than a little,” you admit.

Ellie observes you for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“It’ll heal, Ellie. It looks worse than it really is.”

“No, I mean—” Pausing, Ellie moves her hand, placing it on your stomach. “Is the baby okay?”

You glance down at yourself, almost as if you expected to see something different about yourself, but then you remember you’re only about six weeks along and there is nothing to see, no significant changes to your body. Perhaps it’s the reason why there’s a part of you having a hard time grasping that Ellie’s asking if the baby was okay. If your baby is okay.

After a minute, you nod. “Yeah, I think so,” you reply softly, putting a hand over hers.

Relieved, Ellie flashes you a small smile. “Good.”

“How are you two doing in here?” Maria appears in the living room with Joel trailing behind her. His right hand is wrapped up in a white bandage.

“We’re okay.” Ellie glances at Joel. “You okay?”

He gives a quick, subtle nod of his head. “M’fine.”

“We can take her home now, right?” When Ellie doesn’t ge the immediate response she’s seeking, she shoots him a tiny little glare. “She’s coming home with us, isn’t she? I mean, she fucking has to come home with us.”

He still doesn’t answer her question.

All Joel can do is stare at you, jaw clenched and his lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

“Hey Ellie, how about we go into the kitchen and make some tea?” Maria beckons to her with her hand.

She snorts. “Seriously? Who the hell wants fucking tea after that fucking shitshow—”

Maria pins her with an exasperated glare. “Ellie.”

“Oh shit, okay. I get it now,” Ellie quickly realizes it’s simply an excuse for the two of them to leave the room. Dropping her hand away from your stomach, she jumps up to her feet and wraps her arms around you. Her hug is brief, but full of warmth and reassurance, as if she’s silently telling you everything’s going to be alright. She releases you and follows Maria to the kitchen, leaving you and Joel alone.

Nervously, you stand up, your knees wobbling.

You feel torn—torn between wanting to run over to him and jump into his arms and wanting to run away in the opposite direction to find somewhere to bury your head in shame. You’d promised him he had nothing to worry about, swore to him you couldn’t bear a child, and now here you were, carrying his and putting a responsibility on his shoulders he didn’t ask for. A responsibility that, surely, he doesn’t want.

On top of everything else he’d been through with you.

No, because of you. And now this?

Somehow, you muster up enough courage to speak.

“Joel,” you squeak his name. “Say something.”

“You sure you’re pregnant?” He asks, quietly. He stands across the room, making no move to come closer.

Swallowing harshly, you nod. “I’m sure.”

“How long have you known?”

“I only just found out yesterday,” you swear.

“And Tommy and Maria fuckin’ knew before me?”

It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or if he’s disappointed—not that either was a better option than the other.

“I was here with them yesterday in the afternoon. I got sick out of nowhere. Maria’s the one who suspected it and suggested I take a pregnancy test when I realized I haven’t had my period since August. After the first time that you and I—well, you know.” Shifting from one foot to the other, you continue to explain, “It never even fucking crossed my mind, Joel. I didn’t notice anything. I didn’t notice the symptoms. Missing my period, the dizziness, and the nausea. I was so busy trying to keep myself from fucking falling apart without you that it all went right over my head.”

Joel’s harsh expression suddenly softens.

“I took the test. When the results turned out positive, I just lost it. I fucking lost it, and I told Tommy and Maria everything because I was scared.” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips out from the corner of your eye, rolling down the side of your face. Several more threaten to follow, but you blink them back. “They offered to help me, Joel. They wanted to get me out of the house last night, but I was too fucking stubborn. I didn’t listen to them. I thought I’d be fine for one more night, but when Luke came home, he wanted to be intimate with me.”

Joel sucks in a sharp breath. His anger boils in his veins all over again. “And did he—he touch you like that?”

“No. I didn’t let him—I couldn’t let him. I told him not to touch me and I pushed him away.”

“Then what happened?”

“I told him that it was over. That our marriage was over and I was leaving. That’s when he took off his belt and he—” Gesturing to your throat, you start sobbing again as images of the night before flood your mind.

Luke had done pretty horrific things to you before, but this? This had been the worst of them. He almost killed you. You’re lucky you’re alive to tell the terrifying tale.

“Baby.” Joel rushes over to you and pulls you right into his arms. “Shh, darlin’. S’alright,” he soothes. “S’alright, you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Whimpering, you met into his touch, the very touch you have been missing with every fiber of your being. “I’m so sorry, Joel,” you croak into his chest. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He pulls away slightly, peering down at you. “Sorry? For what?” Without even giving you the chance to answer, he assures you, “There ain’t nothin’ for you to apologize for, sweet girl. Alright?”

You let out a tearful scoff. “Joel, I’m pregnant. And it’s fucking yours,” you remind him, the guilt in your tone loud and clear. “Don’t you remember how worried you were about it? And how I told you that you had nothing to be concerned about?”

“Don’t put it all on yourself, peach.”

You almost smile.

Oh, how you’ve missed hearing him call you that.

“Look, this is on me too, baby. Part of me knew there was still a possibility, but I didn’t care. All I cared ‘bout was makin’ you mine every fuckin’ chance I got.” Joel’s hand cups the side of your face. He chuckles nervously and says, “Y’know, at one point, I kinda thought I was at the age where I’m shootin’ blanks more than anythin’ else. Guess we were both wrong, huh?”

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “And if you’re worried I’m upset ‘bout you bein’ pregnant, you’re wrong ‘bout that too, darlin’.”

Surprised, you blurt, “You mean, you want the baby?”

Now it's his turn to be taken aback.

“Y’thought I wouldn’t want it?”

“Yeah,” you confess, sheepishly. “I thought you would be mad about this, if I’m being honest, Joel. I wasn’t sure if you’d even want anything to do with it.” Noticing he’d taken some offense to the notion that he wouldn’t want his own child, you exhale a small sigh and place a hand on his chest. “Come on, Joel, can you honestly blame me? When you were the one who was so damn worried about me getting knocked up in the first place? Wouldn’t you have thought the same if you were me?”

He grazes your cheek with his thumb. “Can’t lie to you, sweetheart. I probably would have.” Letting his hand fall away from your face, Joel takes a seat on the couch and pulls you down onto his lap. He hesitates, at first, but then places his bandaged hand on your tummy. “Sure as hell wasn’t in my plans to have another kid in my fuckin’ fifties. But y’know, the idea of having a little one runnin’ around, it ain’t so bad.” He pauses, adding with a faint grin, “‘Specially if he or she looks like you.”

Relieved, you lean into his chest, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. 

“You alright?” Joel murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair.

Burying your face into his neck, you breathe him in.

“I am now that I’m with you,” you confess as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tighter than he ever has before.

“M’gonna take real good care of you, darlin’. Both of you,” Joel reassures you softly. “Nothin’s gonna hurt you, baby. S’long as you’re with me, nothin’ or no one is ever gonna hurt you ever again. Swear it on my life.”

#fic: a safe haven #fic: ash #joel miller series #Joel Miller angst #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tw: dv #tw: domestic violence #tw: pregnancy

[dreaminghour]

Catcher/Hannibal - Under the same umbrella

Event: @domaystic Fandom: Down With Love/The A-Team Crossover Rating: Teen and Up Prompt: 06 Under the same umbrella Ship: Catcher Block/Hannibal Smith Context: Crossover. Random seeming pairing I've adopted after reading @firondoiel's smutty one-shot for QuiObi kink week 2022. This is now my third work for these two. Read my other two here: The Darnedest Thing and Only Till the Washing's Done. Only warning I have is that this one is angsty and not at all smutty. Words: 584

Currently, rain was pouring down, a curtain of water ran off the edge of the building separating Catcher from the man wearing a beaten up leather jacket, wet hair a dull steel color, a man who was glaring at him. Catcher was of the firm opinion that Hannibal had no right to look so angry with him.

"What?" Hannibal asked, voice harsh. "What is it?"

Later, Catcher would have been able to say he felt flummoxed by the entire thing: the sudden appearance of Hannibal, being caught in the downpour, the seemingly insurmountable distance between them.

"Why aren't you using your damn umbrella?" Hannibal snarled, finally stepping out into the rain beside Catcher, opening the umbrella and putting it over their heads.

"You could have pulled me under the awning with you," Catcher said, his voice feeling as though it were not belonging to him, made hollow by the rain beating down on them. "I asked, what you were doing here?"

"Can't a man just take a walk in the rain?" Hannibal asked, still unreasonably annoyed. He was so close that Catcher could feel the warmth of his body through his wet coat and suit.

"Where have you been?" Catcher asked. "It's been months!"

"Months?" Hannibal's expression was so unlike any of the easy smiles and knowing smirks he'd shared with Catcher before. It was like they didn't know each other at all.

And maybe, Catcher was realizing, that was the truth of it.

"Eleven months since I tried to reach you. Not a phone call went through. I stopped trying."

Hannibal handed Catcher the umbrella's handle and then, incongruously, embraced him.

Catcher was cold, his body churning with confusion, he never felt this wrong-footed. Never.

This close, Hannibal bent his lips to Catcher's ear, whispering words only for him to hear.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you, but I had to go away."

Catcher's voice cracked: "I thought you died."

"Not yet," Hannibal said, one hand stroking the wet hair at Catcher's nape. "Not this time."

That admission, that promise that someday, maybe, he might not come back… Catcher was snapped back to the present. He met Hannibal's gaze, could see something pinched in his expression. He relaxed his grip on Hannibal, but still that strong arm was wrapped around him, and they were now tightly side by side beneath the umbrella's shelter.

Hannibal didn't speak, and perhaps he was glad that Catcher didn't press him. He needed to sort out the mess of his own emotions, the way he'd not really resolved any questions while Hannibal had been gone, the question of 'what now' which lingered.

"This is my stop," Hannibal said at a corner entrance to one of those multi-use office buildings that only let you in if you used the buzzer and knew who to ask for.

Catcher probably could have gotten in if he'd had five minutes to spare.

He let Hannibal go, but wasn't given his space back.

"I'll see you again," Hannibal said.

"You can't promise that," Catcher replied quickly, somewhat snide.

They were closer than they'd ever been in public, and Catcher was so ludicrously grateful for the rain, even if it ruined his shoes and gave him a cold.

"Soon," Hannibal said, rather than argue, and then he slipped away, sliding a key in the building's door, disappearing into it's warm light, leaving Catcher in the cold and gray.

Guess we'll find out eventually who's right, Catcher thought, and waved his hand for a taxi.

#domaystic2023 #2023day6 #crack treated seriously #crossover fandom #dreamy does fic #catcher block #hannibal smith #ficlet #domestic fic #the ship no one asked for #may be enjoyable for shippers of: #quiobi

[i-dont-hyperfixate-on-fandoms]

Interrupting this Broadcast

A Music Meister x OC fanfiction

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Word count: 987

Warnings: Angst, arguing, reference to being mugged

Tropes: Fighting with partner

Synopsis: Most significant others wouldn't be super keen on their partner being a criminal, much less a supervillain. Melody is no different.

Ships: Music Meister x OC

≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈=≈

When Melody returned home that evening, she hadn’t been expecting Darius to already be home. Nor did she expect him to be by the TV, scowling at whatever he was intently watching. Curious, she silently walked to the couch and joined in his watching.

‘—and yet their security cameras nearby show nothing. All that is known is that the 129 civilians have no recollection of arriving or being on the premises as if their memory was wiped. We now go to a statement from Jim Gordon, Chief of the Gotham Police Department.’

Concern overtaking her, Melody finally spoke to break the silence and let her presence be known. “Hey, babe, what is this?”

Darius jolted up at the sound of his girlfriend’s voice. “Oh! Uh, just the news. I’ll change the channel for you.”

“No, keep this on. I’m invested.”

‘At this time, we don’t have much information. Very few minor injuries were found on these victims. The perpetrator has seemingly gotten away, taking around four hundred thousand dollars worth of goods and leaving about one hundred fifty thousand dollars in damages behind them. Most notably, the silver jewel-encrusted grand piano donated by the Chalumeau family is reported missing amongst others.’

Melody whipped her head at this last comment, her jaw gaping. “Darius!? What the hell did you do?!”

“What do you mean?” He asked, eyes rolling.

“What do you mean, ‘what do I mean’? You stole $400,000?”

“No, I simply stole an antique piano and some fancy dinnerware. And some money, I guess.”

“Darius Edward Chapel!” Melody chided.

“Melody, dearest, we’ve been over this,” The man sighed, rubbing his brow in exasperation as the chief of police continued droning, “It’s my whole thing!”

“But why?” She snatched the remote, turning off the TV, “Why do you do it? We’re well enough off, we don’t need that shit! If we were hurting for money, we can get a loan–”

“It’s not just about the money!” Darius shouted. She shifted away at this, her face a mix of frightened, disappointed, and fuming. He sighed once more, reeling back his own frustration. “I… you wouldn’t… I don’t know how to explain it…” he leaned his elbows on his knees.

“Try me,” Melody replied. She cocked her head at him, waiting for him to continue. He looked at her, trying to read her, and huffed as he glared at the floor.

“I just… it… started as a means of… some sort of escapism. Long before I met you. Everything was shitty back then. I had known about my powers for years and was no stranger to manipulating others. But…” Darius trailed off, shaking his head. He gazed to his girlfriend once more, hoping to find a semblance of reassurance to help him continue. A small nod from her was all he needed to continue as he stared once more at the ground.

“But, even then, I hadn’t done much other than get others off my back and maybe persuade some to do me favors. Until one day I was being harassed on the street by some random guy. He eventually pulled a gun on me, and tried to mug me. But as I used my hypnotic voice to get him away from me, he handed me a bag full of stolen goods. The tables had completely turned, and I didn’t even need to use violence. And as I continued to sing to get the guy to fully leave, some others got caught in my trance. I tried to get them to do what the mugger had done with his belongings, and they happily gave me their wallets, phones, and more. It was exciting, being able to steal so easily.”

Melody drummed her fingers on her leg. “And how is theft a form of escapism?”

“I-It wasn’t the crime, it was the extent of power I had over them. I soon began to chase that control I didn’t have in my life. It became a role to play. Charming others with song and dance until they showered me with praises and gifts, helpless to resist my powers. And, of course, as my performances grew in popularity and infamy, I had to protect my identity. So… I fully embraced my part to escape the boring and worthless life I lived.”

Darius lifted his eyes to Melody’s before she exhaled heavily. She opened her mouth to say something, before biting her lip in deep thought.

“I know that it’s wrong. I do. But, at this point, it’s a part of me.” he added, setting a hand beside him in hopes that she would take it.

“Do you still feel like your life is as bad as it was before?” Melody asked, shifting her eyes to her lap.

“Oh… Oh no, not at all! Ever since I first met you, my life has been truly wonderful. You have made this existence so much more amazing than I could ever have dreamed,” he assured, moving his hand to her leg. 

“I just feel like I’m not doing something right if you’re still seeking your idea of ‘escapism’.” she breathed.

Darius squeezed her leg. “Melody, love, it’s not that. I’m in too deep– I’m caught in this facade of mine. You have done nothing wrong; this is my own doing. I’ve tried to change this part of me, I really have. I’ve yet to succeed…” He lifted her chin to have her look at him. “That doesn’t mean you’ll have to accept my villainy as morally just. It’s not. I may not be able to escape this path of mine, but I can try to do better for you.”

“How would you do that?”

“How would you have me do that, Songbird?.”

At this, Melody smiled ever so softly. “Maybe try victimless crimes?”

Darius chuckled. “So, you’re not against crimes in general?”

Melody rolled her eyes. “You asked for help.”

“That I did, my dear.”

#music meister #music meister x reader #music meister x oc #music meister fanfiction #dc comics #bbatb #batman brave and the bold #music meister imagine #domestic fic #IDHOF fanfiction #IDHOF #sfw #angst #banter #i don't know if i like this or not #i'll just post it anyway #i feel like it's reasonable to be upset at your boyfriend for being a criminal #flashback #original backstory #crime time boyyy

[pengujoon]

FLUSHED WITH FEVER

cont. geto suguru x reader, fluff. suguru is really clingy when he’s sick, he’s so hot he’s burning up, living together!au, intentional lowercase, really wholesome

a/n. suguru brainrot is really hitting strong huh

you woke up to a warm, sunny morning, and for a moment, everything felt perfect. but as you stirred in bed, you felt a familiar presence around you, but something was off.

suguru was nestled close to you, and his skin felt like it was on fire, radiating an intense heat. his cheeks were flushed with fever, and he clung to you as if your touch could cool the burning sensation that consumed him.

“suguru,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his forehead. it was burning up, and he groaned softly in response. his arms were wrapped around you, holding you close, but he seemed almost desperate for relief.

you gently shifted so that you were facing him, cradling his flushed face in your hands. “suguru, you’re burning up,” you murmured, worry filling your voice.

he nuzzled against your hand, seeking comfort. “i know,” he replied, his voice shaky. “i couldn’t sleep, and i needed to be close to you.”

you couldn’t help but feel your heartache for him. “i’m here, suguru. let’s get you cooled down.”

carefully, you disentangled yourself from his grip, leaving the bed to retrieve a damp, cool washcloth. you placed it on his forehead, and he sighed in relief. you could see the agony in his eyes, but he held onto you as if your presence alone could chase away the fever.

you climbed back into bed beside him, and he immediately snuggled against your side, his body seeking the comfort of your touch. you ran your fingers through his hair, trying to bring him some relief from the heat.

“let’s get you some porridge. it’ll help you feel better.”

with a gentle smile, you disentangled yourself from his grip, promising to return. you went to the kitchen to prepare a bowl of his favourite porridge, hoping it would help ease his fever. the scent of the simmering porridge filled the kitchen, comforting and inviting.

after a short while, you returned to his room with the warm bowl of porridge in hand. you found him still curled up under the blankets, looking miserable, but the moment he saw you, his eyes lit up at the sight.

“i’ve made some of your favorite porridge,” you said, holding it out to him. “it’s ready whenever you want.”

suguru’s gratitude shone in his feverish eyes as he accepted the bowl. “you’re the best,” he whispered, his voice full of appreciation.

you sat down on the edge of the bed and helped him sit up. but as you did, he couldn’t resist nuzzling into you, his head resting on your shoulder. he ate a few spoonfuls but seemed more interested in being close to you. his arms wrapped around your waist, and he snuggled against your side.

“thank you,” he mumbled between nuzzles. “you’re always so good to me.”

you smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “of course, suguru. i’ll take care of you until you’re better.”

once he finished, you set the empty bowl aside and turned to face him. his feverish gaze met yours, and in that moment, you knew you needed to offer more than just comfort food.

you moved closer, your hand gently finding its way to the back of suguru’s head, fingers threading through his hair. you felt the heat radiating from him, but you didn’t mind. in this quiet, intimate moment, you leaned in, and your foreheads met. your touch was soft, and your eyes locked with his, offering a silent reassurance that you’d be there for him.

suguru closed his eyes, his hand resting on your cheek, and he whispered, “thank you for taking care of me.”

your heart swelled with affection, and you continued to run your fingers through his hair, giving him the comfort he craved. in this close, loving moment, you knew that your presence was the best medicine for him.

nanami in today's episode... mappa is never beating the gay for nanami allegations

#suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #suguru fluff #suguru geto fluff #jjk #jjk fics #penguwrites #jjk imagines #living together!au #domestic suguru x reader #sick suguru x reader