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punkshort · 3 months

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somewhere to run | 6. the confession

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel finds out the truth and convinces you to press charges.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, PTSD type symptoms, mutual pining, domestic violence and SA (discussed after the fact), mental and physical abuse, detailed conversations about DV and SA (I didn't get too descriptive about the SA but I do use the R word a couple times) please let me know if I missed anything because there is a lot going on here

WC: 9K

A/N: as the title implies, we are going to get more details about what happened to reader in this one so once again, please heed the warnings and don't read if you think it will be triggering for you. I tried not to be too graphic.

Series Masterlist

Joel could hardly sleep that night. Instead of going to the station, he headed home so he could be with Sarah. She wondered why he got home so early from his date, but he dodged the question and the two of them worked together in silence - Sarah on her homework, Joel on his incident report. When she asked him why he was working from home, he just shook his head and said something came up. She was a smart girl. She knew something was bothering him, but she didn't push it and he was grateful.

He tossed and turned all night, his mind reeling while he looked at his phone every few minutes. He checked the volume, he made sure do not disturb was off, wondering if you would reach out, but you never did. Maybe it wasn't unusual for Patrick to not come home. Or maybe you heard what happened and you were mad at Joel. That worried him the most. The fear that his actions might have destroyed what fragile relationship he had left with you ate him up as he stared blankly at his ceiling.

Morning came too quickly and too slowly all at once. He rubbed his tired eyes as he dragged himself into the bathroom. When he leaned forward to turn the water on, he was met with a sharp pain in his chest. He glanced down, rubbing the area tenderly and realized a large bruise was forming from his fight the night before. He winced when he pressed on a particularly sensitive spot and tried his best to avoid the area during his shower.

After he dropped Sarah off at school, he headed into work, his heart beginning to beat faster the closer he got to the station. He had no doubt in his mind the whole town knew what happened last night, but he was too tired and too overwhelmed to care about their curious questions and senseless gossip.

When he walked in, he breezed right past Helen's desk with a curt nod, doing his best to avoid all eye contact until he was within the safety of his office. He booted up his ancient computer and waited, his thumb rubbing mindlessly against his lower lip as he stared out his window.

He would go to the diner today. He already decided he had to see you. The radio silence was killing him and he needed to make sure you were okay. He was embarrassed about the Facebook messages, even more so that you weren't the one to read them, but Patrick was right. They were not innocent. The words held more weight than they appeared, but he had to come to terms with the fact that you were not his, and then maybe with some closure, he would be able to move on.

The morning dragged on slowly. Bobby caught him at the coffee maker, already working on his third cup, depending solely on the caffeine to help keep him going.

"Hey, boss. You look like shit, but not as bad as him," Bobby said, pouring himself more coffee and jutting his chin to the back of the building where the holding cells were located.

"Feel like shit," Joel mumbled, leaning against the counter and taking a sip from his mug.

"Think you broke his nose," Bobby added, finally looking up at him. "Called the doc but turns out he's real busy this mornin', won't be able to come by til after hours. Such a damn shame," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Joel understood what he was saying without him having to say it. The people in this town looked out for one another and didn't take kindly to a stranger hurting one of their own. They were leaving Patrick to deal with his injuries longer than necessary.

"I don't think I broke anythin', he did that all on his own chargin' into that table," Joel said, but Bobby shook his head.

"Not the way he tells it," he replied with a chuckle. "You'd think you nearly killed him, the way he's been whinin' back there."

"No doubt lookin' for a lawsuit," Joel said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Don't worry, boss. You got a bar full'a witnesses. Hank already offered to give a statement and he was probably the only sober one there."

"Yeah, good. Thanks," Joel replied, pushing off the counter to head back to his office, trying to ignore the sideways glances of the men watching him from the bullpen. He shook his mouse and grimaced when he saw an email from the mayor looking to set up a meeting with him that week to discuss the incident. He knew he did nothing wrong, but the more attention this brought him, the worse he felt. Eventually, all of that talk would make its way back to you and Sarah, the truth most likely getting distorted along the way. He made a mental note to have a talk with his daughter that night as he slowly typed out a response to the mayor.

He swore he would try to get some actual work done, but he ended up spending more time staring out the window or at his phone, watching the minutes tick by til it was lunchtime and he could see you. Maybe he could pull you aside and talk to you in private. Maybe he could fix this.

The moment the clock read a reasonable hour, he jumped up from his seat and snatched his blazer from the coat hook, rolling his shoulders as he walked and put it on, then stifling a grunt when he felt a muscle in his chest pull from the effort.

He kept his head down as he walked down the street towards the diner, only glancing up once when he passed the pizza place. Your curtains were still drawn, no lights on that he could see, no sign of life.

A few people called out to him as he passed, but all he could muster was a tight smile and quick wave, not in the mood to get wrapped up into any conversations.

When he swung the door open, his eyes immediately went to the counter, searching you out but only finding Betty. Before he had a chance to look around the dining room, he heard María greet him.

"Where the hell were you last week?"

"I was here Friday," he muttered, looking around and avoiding her eyes.

"Yeah, with Nikki. Heard some stuff about that-"

"Is she here?" Joel asked, finally dragging his gaze to meet Maria's. She frowned and shook her head.

"No, she called in sick," Maria said, watching him carefully. "Joel, what's going on with you two? People are saying stuff about you and her husband, and-"

"She's sick?" Joel repeated, panic beginning to bubble to the surface. Maria nodded and shrugged.

"Yeah, people get sick, Joel. Hey! Where are you going?"

Joel didn't reply, he just hurried out the doors, nearly knocking down a middle aged couple as they were about to walk inside. He mumbled an apology as he jogged down the street towards your place.

Something was wrong.

Your eye cracked open when you heard the doorbell, the heavy thudding in your head making you immediately nauseous. You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut, rolling back under the covers. Maybe if you were quiet, Patrick would think you were at work and he would leave. But the bell kept ringing, the sound pinging around in your brain making the headache you already had so much worse.

When he began pounding on the door and shouting from the street, you dragged yourself out of bed and wrapped yourself in a thin robe. You knew your body couldn't take much more, but letting him in would be better than allowing him to make a scene in front of the whole town, so you forced your feet forward, still limping from the day before.

You had to pause in the doorway to catch your breath as you clutched your side, wincing in pain as you tried to gingerly walk down the steps, but you were taking too long and he just kept pounding and shouting and the all noise was making you sick.

"Stop," you called out weakly, not convinced he would even hear you, but miraculously he did because the noise finally ceased, and you sighed a small breath of relief.

Shakily, you reached out to grip the doorknob, your fingers fumbling with the locks until you finally managed to twist the brass handle, opening the door just a sliver, worried people walking by would see your face. Then, unexpectedly, you heard Joel's voice instead of Patrick's say your name softly and before you could peer around the door, you went to quickly shut it with no success. His hand gripped the door tightly, but you held firm, hiding behind the wood.

"You shouldn't be here," you told him, your voice weak and broken.

"I know you're mad at me but I gotta talk to you 'bout what happened," he said from the other side. "Please let me in."

Unbeknownst to you both, you were talking about two different things.

"If he finds you here... no, you have to leave," you said, pushing the door again, but he didn't budge.

"Patrick?" he questioned, sounding confused.

"Yes, Patrick," you rasped, getting dizzy from exerting so much energy in your weakened state. "Please just go."

"He's in jail, did - no one told you?" he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice down.

"Jail?" you repeated, and your grip on the door loosened in surprise. Joel felt it and took the opportunity to open it further. You stepped back quickly, wrapping the robe around you tighter and trying to fidget with your hair to hide the marks, but you knew it was pointless the moment you saw his face after closing the door behind him.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, his jaw dropping as his eyes slowly raked over your face, neck and arms. Your lip was swollen and cut, the scab breaking open and beginning to weep the more you spoke. Your cheekbone had a light purple bruise blooming under your skin, as did your jaw. There was a small gash near your hairline and what looked like scratch marks down your neck, leading past your collar bone and below your robe. When you shakily brought your hands up to cover your face in shame, he saw the dark bruises on your wrists.

"Oh my god," he whispered, unable to bring his voice any louder. When he reached out, you flinched away and he felt like he had been stabbed in the chest.

"You should go," you said quietly, your eyes pinned to the ground.

"I can't," he said in utter disbelief. "I can't... why didn't you call me?"

You looked like you were about to reply but decided against it and instead still kept your gaze averted.

"C'mon, lemme take you upstairs and get a look at you," he said, reaching out again, but you stumbled backwards, nearly falling onto the steps.

"Please don't touch me," you told him, holding up a hand, and he nodded.

"Okay, I won't touch you," he said, trying to remain calm while his heart was breaking. "Let's just go upstairs, alright?"

Reluctantly, you agreed and slowly ascended the steps, Joel following dutifully behind. He ushered you over to the couch, making sure you were seated before he went to your bathroom, rummaging around in your medicine cabinet while you sat there, your face buried in your palms and trying not to cry.

He came back into the living room, trying not to make you feel worse by hiding his reaction, but it was hard. He swallowed and dropped his eyes to the assortment of first aid items in his hands.

"Did you take anything for the pain?" he asked, his voice thick, his throat tight.

"Not today, no," you admitted softly. He nodded and shook out two white pills from a bottle and handed them to you before getting you some water. While safely in the kitchen where you couldn't see him, he let out a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down. How could this happen? How didn't he see it? He should have checked on you earlier. He never should have fucking let you leave with Patrick yesterday. Guilt racked his brain as he exhaled slowly and went back to you in the living room.

"Here," he said, handing you the bottle of water. You took it and popped the pills in your mouth, wincing as you swallowed them down.

He sat down on the couch next to you but was sure to give you your space as he picked up the antiseptic and some gauze.

"Will you let me?" he asked, holding up the items in his hand. You paused and looked at them, then him. His eyes were wide and soft and shiny with unshed tears. Slowly, you nodded and watched as he twisted off the cap and put some of the antiseptic on the gauze, first pressing it gently against the gash on your forehead, then making a fresh one for your lip.

At first, he dabbed at the cut gently, ghosting over your skin as if he were afraid. But then he brought his other hand up to caress your chin, his fingers feather-like and so careful that it made your eyes flutter shut, his touch unlike anything you were used to. When you finally opened your eyes again, his hands were gone and he was staring at you, the look in his eyes morphing from sadness to one you were much more familiar with.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him," he said menacingly, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Don't," you said, shaking your head, but his eyes darkened and his jaw was set.

"Why didn't you tell me, sweetheart? I could've done somethin'. I could've-"

"What? What could you have done, Joel? I've heard it all before," you told him, your lip trembling. "I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. And it never works. Nothing ever changes and it just gets worse."

Joel shook his head, still not understanding.

"I'm a cop, I coulda protected you. There's laws in place for this kinda thing."

"I've gone to the cops, Joel! More than once! And they all told me the same shit!" you exclaimed, getting worked up now. "Then I go home, and magically my statement goes missing, or my medical exam report, and I'm in worse shape than before because guess what? It makes him really fucking mad when his buddies on the force find out what he does to his wife at home."

Joel's lips parted as he watched your chest heave for breath, the energy quickly draining from your frail body.

"I... I'm so sorry," was all he could say. He couldn't blame you for not trusting anyone, especially him, now that he finally knew the truth. Everything was starting to make sense. His guilt was pulling him down and he felt like he was drowning in it. So many things he should have done. Should have seen. He should have helped you but instead he trotted Nikki in front of you to make you feel even worse.

"I can really help you, though. I ain't like that," he said, scooting a little closer to you.

"I've heard that before, too," you said sadly, dropping your gaze to the ground. "There's no getting out of this. I thought by running I could try to start over, but it's clear now he will never let me go." You closed your eyes as two tears fell down your cheeks. You wiped them away angrily, hating yourself for being so weak all the time.

Joel felt his chest squeeze, his heart breaking as he watched you fall apart. He needed to do something. He couldn't let you down. You needed to get out of this, or else it could cost you your life.

"Look at me," he said, waiting until your tears slowed and you forced your eyes open. "I promise I'll help you. I fuckin' promise you, alright? You ain't in Pennsylvania, I ain't his buddy, and I will do whatever I gotta do to keep you safe."

You searched his face, eyes all wide and your heart sliced open, lying on the table between you. You've been let down so many times, it was so hard to tell when anyone was being truthful anymore, but you couldn't deny what you felt for him. And what he felt for you. You knew something was there, something real and honest and pure. He wouldn't have any reason to lie to you at this point, so after a moment, you nodded.

"Okay," you whispered, and you could see the relief flood his face.

He sat back on the couch and rubbed his chin in thought, staring at the TV screen across from him that wasn't even on while the gears in his tired head worked overtime.

"Alright," he finally said, slapping his knees and standing up from the couch. "First things first: you gotta get to a doctor."

You immediately recoiled and shook your head.

"Absolutely not."

"I'm sorry, but you have to. I gotta..." he trailed off and chewed the inside of his cheek before pushing onward. "I gotta have a doctor take pictures."

Your face instantly crumpled and you buried your face in your hands once again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered for what felt like the hundredth time, getting down on one knee to be eye level with you. "But in order for this to work, they gotta record evidence, okay?"

"Joel, I can't," you whimpered, your face still covered, but he nodded and caressed the side of your head with his palm.

"Yes, you can. I'll be right there, okay? Unless you don't want me there, but I'll go with you if you want. Or I'll wait outside the door. Whatever you need, I'll do it. I'm gonna get you outta this."

You sniffled and finally dropped your hands to your lap, your gaze finding his.

"This is the last time, I promise you," he said, staring deep into your eyes. "I'll never let him near you again."

You thought his words over for a moment, the two of you sitting in silence, looking at the other. One trying to earn trust, the other trying to give it. Finally, you closed your eyes and nodded, giving your consent for what was to come.

"Okay," Joel said softly, dropping his hand from your face and standing up to pull out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm lookin' up the number of a doctor I trust. She's a woman, too. She's real nice and sensitive. I've used her for a couple cases in the past," he said, finding the number and dialing it, bringing the phone up to his ear. Cases. You couldn't help but feel like just another victim the way he said it, even though he didn't mean it that way. You listened as he spoke to her over the phone in a hushed tone, not giving too much of your information away but insisting it was an urgent matter. When he hung up, he turned to you with a weak smile.

"She can see you this afternoon."

"Oh," you said, glancing down at your appearance. You weren't expecting to leave the house that day and you weren't sure what to do.

"It's okay," he said, sitting down next to you again and resting his hand on your knee. "I'll take you through the backdoor of her office, no one'll see you. She'll be fast."

You nodded and looked up at him.

"Maybe I should shower," you said. He paused and shifted his gaze away.

"You, uh," he cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers. He knew this would come up, one way or another. "I don't mean to get into too much detail, but if he..." Joel trailed off, finding it difficult to finish his sentence. "If he did more than hit you, you shouldn't shower," he finally choked out, unable to look you in the eye.

You froze, finally understanding what he meant. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall, his neck tensing, his nostrils flaring, as he waited for your response.

"I won't shower, then," you finally said, your voice strained.

His eyes slid shut and he dropped his chin to his chest. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He pinched the bridge of his nose while he tried to steady his breathing.

"I'll just go change," you mumbled, standing up while he nodded, still trying to breathe.

He did his best to collect himself while you were out of the room, but he could feel himself spiraling. What was he doing when it happened? Was he watching a movie with Sarah? Was he eating dinner? Was he getting ready for his fucking date with Nikki?

He could feel the tears welling up but he quickly wiped them away. You needed him to be strong. You needed someone to help you, to take care of you. He couldn't afford to be weak right now. He would let himself feel it later, when he was all alone at home and Sarah was asleep. When nobody needed him and he could just let the guilt and shame and sorrow wash over him.

"Jesus, Joel," Carol muttered as she left the exam room. Joel jumped up from his seat, anxiously waiting for it to be over. He rubbed his palms against his pants, trying to wipe the sweat away. She sighed and looked up at him, taking off her glasses.

"So?"

"So?" she repeated, shaking her head. "So, I have your evidence."

Joel nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"She's been through a lot," Carol said softly, walking him down to her office for privacy. She closed the door but he didn't sit down.

"She's gonna be lookin' for me," he explained, jutting his thumb over his shoulder.

"I'll be quick," she said, sitting down at her desk with a sigh. "There was significant scarring and healed bones, detailing years of abuse, and definitely evidence of some most recently."

"Yeah, I imagine anyone can see that by just lookin' at her face," he replied, but she shook her head.

"I didn't mean her face."

Joel felt his breath get caught in his throat.

"Right," he finally said, his voice cracking.

"She said her husband is a cop?" Carol asked, flipping open a yellow file on her desk. Joel nodded.

"Got him in lockup right now for swingin' on me at Hank's," he explained.

Carol's eyes glanced up at his and she quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I heard something about that," she said, lacing her fingers together and looking at him closely. "Can I give you some advice, Joel?"

He shifted his weight, not sure where she was going with it, but nodded anyway.

"Don't take her statement yourself. Have someone else do it, alright?"

"Why?" he asked quickly, and she gave him a knowing look.

"Because it'll be gruesome, and you're too involved."

Joel frowned.

"Too-"

"Don't care what you've got going on with her, I'm just giving you some friendly advice. Let someone else do it," she said, her eyes softening. "Besides, you got into it with her husband last night. You don't want some hot shot lawyer tossing out her testimony in court because he can link together some personal relationship between you two."

Joel considered her words for a moment and reluctantly nodded. She was right. He was having a hard time keeping things separate, and he appreciated the clarity. He couldn't fuck this up for you. Not now.

"Anythin' else?"

She leaned back in her chair and shook her head.

"You'll have my report in the morning," she said. He nodded, thanking her again for seeing you on such short notice before exiting the room. He turned the corner just as you were opening the exam room door clutching a worn hoodie around yourself and looking around frantically before your eyes fell on him and you visibly relaxed.

"Hey, sorry. You alright?" he asked, his hands gently coming up to your shoulders to guide you towards the back exit. You gulped and nodded.

"Wasn't so bad," you said.

"Good. You did the right thing," he said as he held open the door for you and led you back to his truck.

Once you were comfortably seated and Joel merged back into traffic, you shot him a sideways glance and asked him the question that had been weighing on your mind since he came over that morning.

"Joel?"

"Hm?" he said, twisting his head to the side to change lanes.

"Why is Patrick in jail?"

Joel's grip on the steering wheel tightened and there was an uncomfortable pause before he sighed.

"He came at me last night. We happened to both be at a bar at the same time, he was drunk and swung on me."

"What?!" you exclaimed, twisting around in your seat to look at him.

"I thought you knew since he didn't come home last night. Thought you were avoidin' me by callin' off work," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"No, I had no idea. He hasn't been staying at my apartment, he has a motel room somewhere," you said, peering at his face, then dropping your gaze to his hands where you could see now his knuckles were a little red.

"Are you okay?" you asked after a beat, and he scoffed.

"Am I okay?" he repeated with a shake of his head. He looked at you in shock, the corner of his mouth turning up into a half smirk. "I'm fine. Can't believe you'd be worried 'bout me after what you went through."

"Of course I worry about you," you said softly, and he felt his heart melt. Why did you have to be so sweet? After everything you've been through, after everyone in your life has let you down, you were still so fucking sweet.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to say so much more, but he couldn't. He couldn't put that kind of stress on you. It would be selfish to tell you how much he thinks about you, how much he wished you were his, how he hasn't been able to get you out of his head since the moment he laid eyes on you. No, that would be wrong. It wasn't the right time, so he swallowed the words back from the tip of his tongue and focused on the road.

"What's next?" you asked him as he walked you up to your front door. Mercifully, the weather was threatening to downpour so the streets were quiet.

"Well, next you'll have to come down to the station and give your statement so we can formally press additional charges," he said, knowing you wouldn't want to hear it but he was surprised when you simply nodded your head.

"Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow?" he offered, and you nodded again as you unlocked your door.

"I'll have to call off work or come by after," you told him, stepping inside and turning to look at him.

"Listen, 'bout that," Joel began, and you frowned. "I gotta tell Tommy."

"No!" you cried, your eyes going wide with worry, but he shushed you and shook his head.

"I gotta tell him so he can keep an eye on things, alright? I won't be able to keep him in lockup for much longer and I can't be with you all the time to protect you, d'you understand?"

"Joel..." you whimpered, burying your face in your hands. He had to physically restrain himself from pulling you into his arms. He fucking hated seeing you like this.

"We can file a restraining order tomorrow but a piece of paper won't necessarily keep him away, and I can't risk it," Joel explained, his heart breaking for you.

"Okay," you sniffled, finally coming to terms with it. If you were going to do this, you had to trust him.

"Okay," Joel repeated. "Tommy served in the Army, he knows what he's doin', I promise. I'll tell him to keep it quiet, alright?"

"Yeah," you whispered, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand.

"And no more walkin' back from work in the dark. Take your car or get a ride. If I can, I'll drive you - " Joel pulled out his phone to look at his calendar, but you stopped him.

"I can manage, but thank you."

You looked at one another for a moment, both of you unsure what else to say. You were thankful for what he was doing but you weren't sure you had the words to properly express your gratitude. Everything you wanted to say felt so small, so insignificant. So instead of attempting to cobble together some sentence that wouldn't do your feelings justice, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face against his warm chest. He quickly brought his arms up around you in return, gently placing his hands on your head and back as he held you carefully against him, as if he was worried you would break. He was absolutely certain you could feel how hard his heart was thumping in his chest, but he didn't care. He just wanted to feel you, to hold you, to keep you safe.

"It's gonna be okay," he told you, his voice heavy, and he felt you nod against him before pulling back, his chest suddenly feeling so empty.

"Thank you," you whispered, then spared him one more glance before heading inside, the door clicking shut softly behind you.

Later that evening, after you had forced yourself to eat some soup and drink some water, you were settling in on your couch when you heard a soft knock at your door. You muted your TV and strained your ears to listen. It didn't sound like a familiar knock, not one filled with anger or urgency. You glanced down at your phone, wondering if Joel had sent you a text that you missed, but nothing was there.

Hesitantly, you made your way down the steps. Your fingers brushed the doorknob, but before you opened it, you spoke through the door.

"Who's there?"

"It's me," Maria's voice drifted through the wood, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You unlocked the door and met her eyes. She tried to hold back the wince upon seeing your face, but you still caught it.

"Heard you might need some help," she said, holding up a small plastic bag. You frowned, confused, until she tilted it open for you to look inside. There, you found a variety of makeup bottles and powders in shades that looked pretty close to your skin tone.

You opened the door and let her in. You could tell you were able to take the stairs a little quicker than the morning, and you hoped that meant you were healing because you really couldn't afford to miss more time at work.

"Cute place," she said, glancing around before following you into your living room.

"Thanks," you murmured, turning the volume back on the TV as she settled into the couch next to you.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, motioning towards the bag. "Joel called and told Tommy what happened... I'm so sorry, I wish you would've called us, we could've helped you."

"Thanks," you said with a shrug. "I guess I'm just used to dealing with it on my own."

"Well if you're ever scared of staying alone, we have a spare bedroom, so please don't hesitate to ask."

You gave her a small smile, hoping she could tell how grateful you were. With the exception of one cousin back home, nobody had tried to stand up for you before. Not even your own parents. The whole concept was so foreign to you, you weren't sure how to respond.

Maria seemed to sense this and she changed the subject, leaning forward to sift through the contents of the drugstore bag, pulling out item after item and holding it up against your arm to decide which shade would work best. She spent the next hour helping you cover your cuts and bruises, and by the time you were done, you didn't look half bad.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she packed up her things and shoved her sneakers back on.

"A little less sore," you admitted. "I should be able to work tomorrow."

"Why don't you take one more day? Joel said you're going down to the station tomorrow, it might take more out of you than you expect."

You thought it over for a moment before reluctantly agreeing. Money was a concern, but you could wait one more day, and maybe you could pick up an extra shift over the weekend.

You thanked her as she headed down the steps and she reminded you again to call her and Tommy if you ever needed anything, and you promised you would.

When you were finally on your own again, you sat in silence, thinking about these people who barely knew you, who you essentially lied to, banding together to help you out. It was unlike anything you were used to, and you were beginning to think you may have finally found your home.

The next morning, you paced around your living room, anxiously nibbling at your nails as you waited for Joel to ring the bell. He had insisted on picking you up. He said he could swing by after he dropped Sarah off at school, that it wouldn't be a problem and he passed by your apartment anyway. You didn't understand why he was so insistent: the walk was less than ten minutes, but you didn't feel like arguing.

You were checking your makeup job in the mirror for the fifth time when the bell rang. With a deep sigh, you pulled on your sneakers, slung your purse over your shoulder and headed down the steps. When you opened the door, he was standing with his back to you under a brown blazer and his arms crossed, trying to appear casual for anybody who might be walking by, but when he heard you step through the door he swiveled around quickly.

"Good morning," you said to him with a small smile after you were sure the door was locked tight.

"Mornin'. You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," you said as he led you to his truck parked a little ways down the street.

"You really didn't have to do this, you know," you said again, glancing around to see if anyone was watching.

"I know," was all he said before opening the passenger door for you and giving you a hand to step up into the cab.

The quick ride to the station was quiet, only the hum from his radio filling the air as your fingers fidgeted in your lap. When he parked the truck and you made a move to open the door, he held a hand out.

"Wait a minute, I gotta talk to you before we go in there."

You dropped your hand to your lap and looked at him expectantly.

"I can't take your statement today, I'm gonna have another officer do it," he said, his words rushed like he knew you wouldn't take the news well. And you didn't.

"What?!" you cried out softly, anxiety already creeping up and squeezing your chest.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he said, taking a deep breath and glancing out the windshield before looking back at you. "There's a conflict of interest. Patrick assaulted me, and if I go and take your statement, it won't look good to a judge."

"Oh my god," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands.

"It'll be okay. I'll be right there the whole time. Right on the other side of the glass, okay? I promise, I won't leave."

He watched you for a minute, waiting for you to say something, and when you didn't he began to question himself.

"Unless you don't want me to hear, I don't have to-"

"No, I'd prefer you be there," you said quickly.

He nodded and took a deep breath in.

"I asked a female officer to do it. Her name's Beth. She's real nice, she's dealt with... situations like this in the past."

"Okay," you said softly, reaching for the handle, but once again he stopped you.

"One more thing. I gotta cut him loose tomorrow."

You squeezed your eyes shut. You knew this would happen, but it didn't stop you from feeling the overwhelming sense of dread that crept up your spine.

"It'll be fine. I'll file the restraining order today. If he comes within fifty feet of you, he's goin' right back to jail, okay?" he said, his hand coming up to rest assuringly on your knee.

"Okay," you whispered, finally opening your eyes to look at him.

"You can do this. I know you can."

You had to hold back the tears that sprung up when his words hit your ears. Nobody has ever believed in you, listened to you, took care of you the way he did, and he hardly even knew you. People who have been in your life for years, your own family didn't encourage you the way Joel did. On one hand, it was depressing to realize it took this long for someone to give a shit, but on the other hand, you were so, so relieved someone finally did.

As Joel led you into the station, he kept his head held high, ignoring the glances shot your way and you did your best to do the same. You followed him towards the back, and you hesitated a brief moment before entering the interrogation room, pushing all the bad memories to the back of your mind and focusing on the present.

You needed to put an end to this, once and for all.

You were doing okay. It was half an hour into giving your statement to Beth, and Joel was right. She seemed very kind and patient, and you relaxed after speaking with her for just a few minutes. Or maybe it was because you knew Joel was just a few feet away, watching from the other side of the glass, just like he promised. Whatever it was, you were doing better than you expected.

You had gotten through the bullet points of your history with Patrick. You had detailed how you met after you graduated from high school, how he had just gotten back from basic training with the Marines and was applying to join the Philadelphia police department. You explained how at first, things were great. He was loving and kind, for the most part, but you had been inexperienced and didn't recognize the red flags when you saw them. Like when he got overly possessive at house parties, and especially so when he started drinking. At first, you had thought it was sweet, but then he started getting a little rough. You explained at the time, he would apologize the next day and promise not to do it again, but a few weeks later, he would inevitably go back on his word. The cycle repeated itself over and over for a year, until he proposed one night in front of your entire family, and you had felt pressured to say yes. You had hoped it was just nerves, that eventually you would be excited about marrying him, but it never came. He had rushed you into planning the ceremony and you were only engaged for a few short months. And again, you fooled yourself into thinking everything was just happening so fast, that it was so stressful planning a wedding and that one day, you would be happy.

You couldn't remember the argument that caused him to first hit you. To really hit you, enough to leave a nasty bruise, but you remembered the shock, and you remembered the pain and the fear. And once again, he had apologized the following day, and you forgave him. Because you were weak and scared and confused.

"Did anybody in your life notice?" Beth asked, her eyes filled with what appeared to be genuine concern.

"I hid it at first, but eventually, yes, people noticed," you admitted, fidgeting with the edge of your shirt.

"Did they offer to help you?"

"My cousin," you said, looking down at your hands. "She helped me... she helped me find a clinic so I wouldn't get pregnant."

"Did Patrick know you were on birth control?" Beth asked gently while scratching away with her pen on paper.

"No, I didn't think he would like that."

"Why not?"

"He's made comments to me in the past about wanting a big family, and I was afraid to tell him no. I was afraid he would hurt our children, too," you said, still staring down at your hands.

"Has he raped you?" Beth asked bluntly, and you visibly balked.

"Oh, um," you faltered, the word for whatever reason sending shockwaves through you. You knew the answer, but you just hated admitting it.

"Yes," you finally said, your voice cracking, so you cleared your throat and took a sip of water.

"I'm sorry," Beth said quietly, catching your gaze and giving you a sympathetic look. "I won't ask too much today, but you need to know if this goes to trial, a judge will ask for a lot more detail. You can get a lawyer and they will help walk you through it when the time comes." She reached out across the table to place her hand on top of yours, her thumb rubbing over your knuckles. You nodded, wordlessly telling her to keep going.

"When did it start?"

"Right after we got married, I think."

"How often?" she asked, pulling her hand back so she could focus on writing.

"A few times a week, I guess? I mean, I don't know what counts. A lot of the times I wouldn't be in the mood and he would pressure me, other times were more... deliberate." You swallowed and glanced quickly at the mirror behind Beth, suddenly regretting asking Joel to listen.

"Did you tell your parents?" Beth asked, glancing up at you.

"I told my mom, yes."

"And what did she say?"

"She told me it was a wife's duty to... be available to her husband. She didn't think it was rape." You spit the last word out like it was poison on your tongue. Beth winced but tried to hide it by looking down at her notes.

"And when would he hit you?"

"It varied. Most of the time it was when he was drunk or high. He promised me all the time he would get help, but he never stuck with it."

"Did you ever have to go to the hospital?"

"Yes. A few times. He's broken my arm twice, fractured my hip, and I've had a few concussions. On one occasion, he strangled me until I lost consciousness. I had to be admitted for a bruised trachea." You absentmindedly rubbed your arm and neck as you spoke, your fingers gliding over the old wounds.

"And you've gone to the police before?" she asked.

"Yes, a couple times, but -" you could feel your resolve breaking, and you bit your lower lip to keep it from trembling. "But he always did something to make it go away, and then he would get really mad. One time when I went to file a complaint, he had a cop friend of his lock me in a room just like this one for a whole day. To teach me a lesson." You twirled your finger around the sparse room, tears glistening in your eyes. "They didn't let me out, I couldn't use the bathroom, I didn't have anything to eat or drink. I was all alone."

You stopped talking and tucked your chin against your chest, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay. You wiped a shaky palm against your cheek, drying the tears that fell before you looked back up.

"There were times he would be gone for two or three days at a time and come back, all strung out and crazy... those were the times, the times I went to the police, that I ended up in the hospital. So I stopped asking cops for help."

She nodded as she wrote, giving you a minute to collect yourself before her next question. You glanced up at the mirror again and wondered what Joel was thinking. Did he leave? Or was he still there? You almost hoped he had left. You were feeling too vulnerable as it was, but the thought of him looking at you with pity after this was over made your stomach turn.

"I've done this before," you said suddenly, pulling her attention off the page. "And it always ends up the same. Please tell me this will be different."

"It will be different," she said immediately, her jaw set. She put her pen down on her pad and laced her fingers together. "I'm so sorry the justice system as failed you so tremendously, but we will do everything we can for you now that you're here."

You nodded and wiped more of your tears away before she handed you a box of tissues from a small cabinet in the corner of the room. Taking a deep, shaky breath, you met her gaze once again.

"What else?"

"I think that's enough for today," she said, flipping the pages closed on her legal pad. "We got your doctor's report this morning, and combined with this statement we will start the process of formally pressing charges. After that, if he pleads not guilty, it will go before a judge. But let's take it one step at a time, okay?"

"Okay," you said quietly, gathering your purse and following her out of the room. Your eyes immediately drifted around the hallway and then the bullpen, searching for Joel, but he was nowhere to be found. You frowned as Beth led you towards the front lobby, prepared to walk home, when you heard his voice call your name just as you were opening the door.

"I'll take you home," he said. His face looked hardened and his eyes looked distant.

"You don't have to," you began, but he just shook his head and gingerly cupped your elbow, directing you out the door and into the parking lot.

The ride back was silent. He didn't even have the radio on. You glanced out your window nervously, trying not to read too much into it, but when he dropped you off with barely a comforting word or any acknowledgement of what you confessed, you were convinced your greatest fear had come true. Now that he knew it all, now that he finally heard the truth, he couldn't look at you the same.

You were glad Maria had the foresight to tell you to stay home that day. You were mentally exhausted. Rehashing everything and then Joel's reaction put you in an awful mood. By 4pm, after lounging around watching mindless television and checking your phone constantly for any sign of life from Joel, you decided to just make yourself an early dinner, take a shower and then go to bed early.

As you were stepping out of the shower, the water finally turned off and all of the day's makeup covering your wounds down the drain, you heard your doorbell ringing incessantly. Repeatedly. Urgently.

A jolt of dread shot down your spine, but you remembered Joel said Patrick wouldn't be let out until tomorrow. But what if he got out early? What if he made a phone call and Joel was forced to release him?

Wrapped in a robe, your hair dripping down and soaking the thin material, you jogged to the living room and checked your phone. Surely, if Patrick was released, Joel would have warned you, but you didn't have any missed calls or texts. Then the pounding on the door started, making you jump out of your skin.

Slowly, you crept down the stairs, your hand gripping the doorknob tightly, your fingers hovering over the lock.

"Who is it?"

"It's me," you heard Joel's voice say from the other side, and your eyes widened in shock. You glanced down at your robe, little streaks and drops of wetness trailing down the shiny material.

"Uh, can you -"

"Please open up, people are startin' to look at me like I'm crazy."

With a sigh, you unlocked the door and stepped back, clutching your robe tightly against your chest. Joel squeezed inside and shut the door quickly behind him before turning around, his eyes raking quickly up and down your body before looking you in the eye.

"You were in the shower."

"Yeah," you said, glancing around anxiously before looking up the stairs. "Did you want to come up or something?" He just nodded slowly, his eyes flitting down once again as you led him up the steps.

"I got worried, I was ringin' the bell but I guess you couldn't hear it," he explained, taking off his shoes and shrugging off his blazer.

"What were you worried about? He's still in jail, right?" you asked, handing him some water before sitting down on the couch.

"Yeah, I just... I shouldn'tve left you alone earlier. I shoulda stayed." He stood there, a glass of water in his hand, the other rubbing over his mouth nervously.

You stared at one another for a moment, both trying to figure the other one out. He was breathing faster than normal, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his white button down shirt.

"Why are you here, Joel?" you finally asked, your heart starting to beat faster. "Because if it's out of pity, I don't want it."

"It's not -" he cut himself off and shifted his weight before setting the water down. "It's not pity." He took two steps and sunk down into your couch, his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor, trying to figure out what to say.

"It's not fair," he finally said quietly. So quietly, you almost didn't hear him. "Everything that's happened. It's not fuckin' fair."

You scrunched your nose, confused, as you looked at him still staring down at the floor. You were about to open your mouth and ask him what he meant when he spoke again.

"I never shoulda let you leave with him that day. Somethin' felt off, I felt it in my gut-" he sat back to press his hand against his stomach for emphasis. "But I let you go. And he -"

He couldn't finish his sentence, his throat closing up as he fought to blink the tears away.

"It's not your fault, Joel," you told him, resting a hand on his broad shoulder but he stood up quickly to pace around the room.

"I'll never let it happen again," he muttered. "Never gonna let him near you again. I'll fuckin' kill him if I have to, he's never comin' here again." His voice was rising as he spoke, his breath coming in short stutters as he rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers, eyes wide and crazed as the panic seized him.

So it wasn't pity. It was guilt that brought him to you.

"Joel, calm down," you said, standing up to reach out to him, but he kept pacing.

"Oh fuck, I'm never gonna forgive myself," he whispered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"You didn't do this to me, he did," you assured him, trying to get him to stop moving. "You're helping me, Joel. You're the only one who ever really tried to help me. There's nothing to forgive."

He finally paused and glanced at you, his breath a little shallow as the panic began to subside.

"I'm gonna get you outta this, I promise," he said, his voice sounding more steady.

"I know," you replied, nodding your head.

He took a deep breath in through his nose and tore his eyes away from you to glance at his watch.

"I better go," he said regrettably, looking back up at you again.

"Okay," you said, following him to the door and leaning against the wall as he put his shoes back on.

"D'you need anythin'? Did you eat? I can -"

"I ate, I'm fine," you told him with a small smile. "Thank you, though."

"Alright," he said after a moment, then forced himself to open the door. Before he stepped through, he looked back at you over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm working dinner tomorrow," you told him, suddenly feeling crestfallen you wouldn't see him for lunch.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he repeated, more firm this time. You slowly nodded and wrapped your arms around yourself, hoping he couldn't see through your robe.

You listened sadly as his heavy footsteps descended the stairs and the door shut softly behind him. You knew him well enough at this point that he would have turned the lock on the knob before he left but you still wanted to peek down the steps to check. Your eyes widened when, to your surprise, he was still standing there at the bottom of your stairs, his back leaning up against the door. His eyes flicked up to meet yours when he noticed movement, and you saw Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he spoke.

"I can't leave."

You looked at one another for a long moment, your heart slamming in your chest, knowing what this meant. You were sick and tired of always trying to do the right thing. Where did it get you? How could you even fool yourself into thinking you had any obligation to Patrick anymore? Joel knew everything now. He knew what he was doing, so you said the words that were on the tip of your tongue. The words that you knew would open the door for something both of you wanted so desperately, you could taste it.

"Then stay."

Taglist: @harriedandharassed@merz-8@sarap-77@nandan11@anoverwhelmingdin@fandomscollide@survivingandenduring@honeyedmiller@pedropascalsbbg@southernbe@pedrosfanny@gobaaby-blog-blog @eloquentdreamer @yomiyasxx @mrsparknuts@missladym1981@spacedoutdaydreamer @cosmic006533-blog @prettyinpunk85@maried01 @sunnyskyapplepie @sawymredfox@gobaaby-blog-blog@stevie75@mxtokko@sleepylunarwolf@lizzie-cakes@laurrrra@annieispunk@here4thedilfs @navystandardheatingoilcap @slugz-writes-shit@devilbat@ashleyfilm@scp116@tragerlover@iveseenstrangerthings50 @yvonneeeee @brittmb115@lulawantmula@abbysgirlll@ro-nahime-things

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller angst #joel miller series #joel miller x reader #sheriff!joel #STR fic #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal

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laurfilijames · 4 months

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All I Want...

Pairing: Will Miller x reader

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: Angst. Swearing. PTSD. Panic attack. Mentions of an unhappy childhood, military service, personnel being KIA. Tom's death. Grief. People being unhappy at Christmas. (There's some fluff too, bear with me!)

Summary: Will tries to fight off a panic attack early on Christmas morning, his unenthusiastic feelings toward the holiday making him feel guilty on top of everything else on his mind, only to be reminded that it's okay to not feel festive and that he's not alone.

A/N: I'll be the first one to admit that Christmas isn't all it's cracked up to be sometimes. People often call me Scrooge, but I've learned over the years to prioritize my mental health around the holidays and take it all in stride. To those who struggle in any kind of way this time of year, I see you, and this is for you.

This fic follows some of my headcanons about the Miller brothers in that they didn't have a great upbringing, and that Will often suffers from poor sleep and panic attacks.

---

Scrooge. The Grinch.

These were some of the names bestowed upon Will over the years, his less than enthusiastic feelings toward Christmas noticed and pointed out as often as possible during the holiday season by those closest to him, mainly Benny.

It was innocent enough, his brother, Fish and Pope all aware and understanding to the reasons why Will wasn’t overly excited, but sometimes it got under his skin and the temptation to tell Ben to fuck off sat on the tip of his tongue on more than one occasion when he got going on a roll of teasing him.

He always tried his best to keep his opinions to himself, not caring to bring it up in order to avoid the shock and disbelief that someone could hate Christmas, having to stand and painfully listen to whoever was scolding his humbug ways try to convert him and preach all the reasons why it was so magical.

He had been this way for as long as he could remember, the earliest memories of an unhappy Christmas morning tucked away in the back of his mind until they inevitably were pushed back to the surface each time the radio stations turned their usual music to all the annoying holiday songs and people started asking the mundane “Are you ready for Christmas?” questions to everyone who never wanted to give an honest answer. He could always see the stress most people carried with them this time of year, the worry of spending money they didn’t have and not meeting expectations evident on their faces as they frantically rushed around to get all the things ticked off their lists to make the day ‘perfect’.

Perfect was never a word Will would use to describe any of his past Christmases, the thought making him scoff and shake his head as he looked up at the night sky, counting the stars as a way to try to clear the persistent thoughts that had gotten him out of bed at 3:26 AM.

Vivid images that he had tried to blur and forget always reappeared no matter how hard he tried; his parents yelling from the kitchen loud enough he had to peel Benny and his one toy from under the tree to go outside to get away from the anger, not to mention the countless Christmas mornings he woke up to gunfire or spent the day trudging through the rain and freezing cold, or had sweat clinging to his back in the heat of the desert, more often than not spending December 25th on tour and deployed somewhere that mimicked hell.

Will couldn’t help but feel guilt more than usual on days like today, thinking of all the families whose sons or daughters, husbands or wives and everything between never made it home to celebrate another Christmas with them, that shame becoming part of the reason he tended to make sure he was always off serving somewhere, not feeling like he deserved to be in the warm comforts of home with those he loved.

Add that to the long list of things his ex resented him for, one more thing he could never do right, and something else she refused to make an effort to understand despite him trying to explain it.

Today it seemed to all weigh more than it normally did.

Tom’s death was still fresh in all their minds, this being the first Christmas Molly and the girls would have to spend without him, and the thought of their irreparable grief made Will want to crumble.

He exhaled a long breath, blowing it out shakily from his lungs, his chest feeling tight as his heart pounded inside it like a caged animal.

He inhaled as slowly as he could manage, one, two, three, counting in his head to gain control over the quickly rising panic.

Exhaling out, one, two, three, his heart still hammering, his pulse furiously thrumming in his neck.

His hand shook as he lifted it up to rub the back of his neck roughly, feeling sweat accumulating on it and dampening his palm that was equally wet.

The steadiness of the number of seconds between each laboured breath was doing little to keep him calm, the thoughts of his conversation with you a couple of days prior echoing in his mind to drown them out along with the ringing in his ears.

You swore up and down a hundred times that you were fine with not celebrating, assuring him that you were relieved to not make a fuss over Christmas and reminding him that your own views of it were also plagued by unhappy memories; that being alone with him was more a gift than anything wrapped in paper and bows under a tree. He knew you meant it when you said you wanted to hide away with him until the madness of it all was over, but now his mind was playing tricks on him, making him doubt your words and sending him into a tailspin over projecting his attitude toward it on you.

But he knew you wouldn’t lie to him.

He kept on that train of thought as his fingers wrapped around the railing on the deck, gripping into the wood as hard as he could, feeling the splintered pieces from years of weather digging into his skin. Drawing in another short breath and gasping slightly, he did his best to remember why he came outside in the first place, seeking fresh air that ironically had become suffocating.

One, two, three, he repeated to himself again, closing his eyes to better focus on slowing his breathing down.

A minute and thirty-seven seconds had passed with him concentrating, able to let the consistency of the numbers aid him as he continued to count, the feel of your warm hands slipping up his cold, clammy back allowing him to finally release the tension he had been holding in his shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he muttered, his voice lacking the conviction he hoped it had.

“I never thought you weren’t,” you whispered, your hands still pressing reassuringly on his torso as you moved beside him, your lips meeting his shoulder to kiss it twice.

Will smiled, grateful for your belief in him, never making him feel weak or like he needed saving, simply there with a love and empathy he had sought his whole life.

He released his grip on the rail and glanced over at you, shooting you a weak smile gathering you in his arms for a hug, kissing the top of your head appreciatively while you continued to rub your hands in a calming, languid pattern across his skin.

“I love you,” he murmured, feeling his heart beat in a stronger rhythm different from how it had moments ago.

“I love you too, Will,” your lips moved against his chest, your arms squeezing him a little tighter as you pressed yourself closer to his body.

“You’re sure you’re happy to spend Christmas this way?”

“More than happy,” you reiterated, pulling your face away to look at him, his blue eyes like flames against the deep navy of the night sky.

“Okay,” he sighed, leaning in to kiss you.

“You know there’s that song, ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’,” you smiled, watching his expression change, his grin stretching out to form the creases in his cheeks as he shook his head.

“Please don’t sing it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Will chuckled and kissed you again, slowly, his tongue slipping into your mouth with a gentle demand.

“Let’s get back to bed,” he said quietly, nodding toward the house after he broke the seal of your lips.

As he led you into the house, your fingers laced with his, he thought how maybe he could find ways to celebrate Christmas with you that wouldn’t make it all seem so terrible, the idea of creating your own traditions somewhat exciting to him.

He smiled at you over his shoulder, stopping in the middle of the hallway where he clasped your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, his body pressing into yours with a need to show you just how much you meant to him, knowing that as long as he was with you he could face anything.

---

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated and if you'd like to be added or removed from my taglist please let me know! 💗

Taglist: @sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989

#will miller #triple frontier #will miller x reader #charlie hunnam #will 'ironhead' miller #will miller fic #triple frontier fic #charlie hunnam characters

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meowdy-all · 26 days

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I have an idea for a fic!! I have to say i am a huge sucker for divine intervention where the cast of a show gets shown either memories or moments from a characters life, or shown the show itself.

I ALSO have to say that i am currently obsessed with Lucifer (and by extension radioapple). I really think it would be awesome if the hotel got a package delivered. And in it was a show based around Lucifers fall, and his banning from heaven. The war he fought with heaven and tge only reason he lost was because his father got involved. Showing lucifer is the second most powerful being in all of creation, tied with his brother Michael. Lucifer was GODS favorite child, he literally made the stars. Detailing his injuries Because of the fall, yk some prime lucifer angst. Showing his attempt to redeem sinners, that he was forced to stop because heaven got involved, and him having to make the deal for exterminations to save his people. And it also shows how lilith wanted a kid, and lucifer going through giving birth to Charlie, and then detailing how liliths treatment of him changed because of it (a BIG sucker for lilith treated Luci like trash) and her making it so lucifer CANT spend time with his daughter. And charlie doesn't know her mom was actively preventing lucifer from being active and involved in her life. And then it goes into lilith taking charlie away from him, and lucifers PTSD from heaven and his fall, and his depression. How all he wabted was his family. Angels are social creatures, and im fairly sure isolation for who know how many years isnt healthy for anyone. The whole hotel being horrified bec this silly man who is so awkward is EXTREMELY powerful and they tend to forget that. And charlie seeing heaven isnt all its cracked up to be, and they can be CRUEL, and he mother isnt a good person either. Of course all of this wouldnt be without some background radioapple old married couple bickering. And at least one scene would be something dramtic happening in hell, and it cutting to alastor (still alive) and hes in the middle of killing someone and he feels a deep unrest in his soul and he just goes (what was that)

Just... loving radio apple with a heap of lucifer angst and a side of bamf luci.

Im not going to lie to you this was largely inspired by Jeremy Jordan singing where is the justice on tiktok and i could not get Lucifer pleading his case infront of his brothers and sisters out of my head. And when they refuse to listen the war starts. Just... *chefs kiss*

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undercoverpena · 1 year

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iv. sunshine yellow

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter four of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field.

chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers, no use of y/n, ptsd/anxiety, lots of worrying for no reason, smut, p in v, desk fucking. wordcount: 6.2k an: the last scene in this i am both excited and nervous to share cause the walls are coming down. tehehehehe. as always, the biggest thank you to my bestie and cheerleader @guyfieriii who lets me send her random ideas and also to @yeyinde who puts up with my nonsense and instils so much confidence in me.

“Panama DEA said no warrant, no detention.”

Sweat pooled at the waist of his trousers, his thumb digging into the space on his brow. “Fuck—“

“Plus, Jurado didn’t stay in Panama.”

Staring around, Javi sighs. “They know where he went?”

Silence. Horrid, crackling silence, before: “No.”

Running his tongue against the front of his teeth, Javi shakes his head. “So Jurado could be anywhere. Fuck!”

Stoddard clears his throat. “Also, boss. Fiestl and Van Ness have been trying you. A lot.”

“All right, well, put them through when you get them. I’m on my way back—and, Stoddard.”

“Yeah, boss?”

He drops his hand, straightening his spine. “Jurado has a wife in Bogotá. She’s American.” He drops his head, thinking briefly of you—your words of protecting him. “Put a tap on her phone.”

Three days. It takes three days, and the papers are signed for them to go to Cali.

You stand as you watch them being signed, your throat tightening the same as you did when you overheard the first talks of it. Feeling eyes on you, Stechner’s in particular. Waiting for a reaction, wondering if the volcano will finally implode.

You don’t give him the satisfaction, hiding it, bottling it—capping it somewhere deep under layers and layers, even as it uncoils inside of you. The former wounds and nightmares coming undone. Their soreness open to the world, thin cuts—barely noticeable, but they sting when the air brushes over them; when you’re alone for too long, when your mind begins to run.

You’re sure it took longer—and far more paperwork—to order a bag of decaf for one of the secretaries, than it did to send two more people to Cali.

It’s why you uncork a bottle of wine the day they’re signed. Coating your throat in it as you lean your back against the wall of your living room. Music flooding through your place, drowning out the ringing phone—muffling over hope and better days.

Cali does that, it unearths things.

It shakes the foundation you’ve cautiously built. Threatens to pull you through the soil back into the hole, looming in a corner like a shadow, ready to remind you that you’re not whole anymore—and to stop pretending you are.

Dan is well-versed in your coping mechanisms. Approaching you before lunch, hand on your elbow—not noticing the pair of brown eyes which burned into the two of you through the blinds. You hadn’t meant to meet them, but it’s natural. A pull, a magnetism. A soft smile etched poorly across your lips as you allowed your friend to drag you away.

The warm Colombian air clung to you both as you leaned against the marble embassy wall, the words washing over you as you dug your shoulder blades into the wall—pushing your feet into the ground.

“You gonna be alright? Cause you look like you’re about to murder someone—“ “I’ll murder you if you ask me that again.” Dan rolls his eyes, moving next to you, leaning. “No one would blame you for not being okay. That’s all I’m saying.” Sighing, you stare at the ground.

Time moves too quickly. That’s what you think when you’re pulling into the spot outside the coffee shop. The radio on low, barely smothering the thick and jarring tension caused by you taking them both to the airport.

Dan is the first to escape, opening the passenger side door before you can even murmur a request. Chris remains behind awkwardly, sitting in it—letting it thicken and boil as you continue to grip the wheel. The leather under your fingers warming, the veins and tendons in your hand rippling under your skin as you sigh before stepping out.

You don’t follow when he steps out from behind you—even if you want to.

Instead, you lean against your car, sliding your sunglasses on—not for sight, but for cover. Big, dark lenses that are large enough to cover the bags under them and the tops of your cheeks.

It’s easier, means you don’t need to hide whatever emotion rises, comes, and crashes. You can let it drench you, stop it from festering and instead hide it, discreetly behind the shields covering your eyes.

It was Chris who told you that you showed everything with your eyes.

The anger—the one which has become a part of you. The worries, which have been bubbling to the surface since you’d learnt it was them who were going. It all sits on your chest. Furious, like a dragon which can’t be tamed, all set to burn anyone in its wake in thick, boiling flames.

You let your fingers slide against your thumb, digging your heels into the pavement.

Flickers of Cali come to mind.

The sun, the warmth—the yellow-walled apartment. The laughter, the flowy fabrics around your skin. Then it shifts, night falling in the edges of your memories, burning and twisting—tightening your chest as you remember scarlet stained hands, graffiti letters against yellow—

“Hey,” Dan exclaims, his hand on your forearm. You steady your breath, filling your lungs, placing your palm against the cool marble. Letting it thrum through your skin, and slide into your blood. Pushing into the floor with your heels, rooting yourself, grounding down. “If you don’t stop doing that, I’ll have to hug you,” Dan says, cutting through your panic. “And that’ll be painful for both of us.” “I’m…” you meet his eyes, watching the rest of his face look as it usually did. Stern. Difficult to read. But his eyes were kind, swimming in concern. “Please be safe.” Snorting, he slowly releases your forearm. “If I had my way—“ “You wouldn’t even be going. You’d stick behind your desk, blah blah blah,” you tease, his elbow nudging you. Dipping his head, he sighs. “But, ‘course I will. He will too.”

It grows, the lump—the one which forms whenever you think about that place too much. When you let yourself think of late-night talks and ears pressed against sunshine yellow, allowing them to twist, morph and shift into a nightmare you survived—

Graffiti-covered walls; scarlet clinging to matted curls.

Your hand shakes, flattening it to your thigh, staring into the shop—watching the two of them talk to the owner. The odd word making its way to your ears, not enough to know what they’re ordering.

You are cracking. Thick lines appear through your exterior, leaving holes for more things to seep in, to ruin, steal breath and pull you back under.

There’s still pain under your nails from how hard you had to claw your way back to your desk. To the DEA. To stand straight and not quiver under the stares, hearing their thoughts: failure, failure, failure—

“Got you a coffee.”

He’s holding it out, Chris.

Blinking behind your shades, unsure when he’d returned, or how long he’d been standing there with his arm outstretched, waiting for you to take it. You’re thankful they don’t tremble when you reach out—your fingers brushing his as they do. Glancing past him, needing a focus, you watch the small vendor excitedly speaking to a less-than-impressed Dan, something which provides more entertainment than it should.

It’s still there, the torment—the past which likes to torture. It makes your throat dry, making standing seem near impossible, especially as you stare at him. At Chris.

Smirking, you shake your head. “How’re you getting to the airport?” “How’d you know I’m not driving myself there and leaving my car.” Arching your brow, you softly laugh. “Dan. The second time meeting you, you ranted about the ridiculous airport car parking prices. So, let’s say it’s a hunch.” Shrugging, he fights with a smile. You can tell. He has tells—just like everyone. His being that one side of his lip slides up, just a fraction. “I’ll take you.” He arches his brow. “I was gonna taxi with Chris.” Swallowing, you sigh. “Then tell him I’ll pick him up second.”

You say nothing—even if you think you should. So much history pulsing between the two of you as the sun slowly spreads its glow across the street. Chris just watches, staring through your lenses—trying to unmask what it is you’re hiding.

As if he doesn’t know. As if he hasn’t seen it all before—far worse than this. Seen you at the lowest, seen you on your knees, scraped and bruised. So, you watch him, until he tears his eyes away, staring down the quiet street as he sips his drink.

“Thank you. By the way.”

“No problem. I know Dan’s feelings on airport car parks.”

Chris snorts, dragging his eyes towards you, but not quite landing. “No. For... whatever you said to Peña. To consider this—to consider me.”

Rolling your lips, you hold the cup tighter. Looking over his shoulder at Dan, dread filling the space left inside of you. It expands, pressing against the nervousness—making something more disruptive, more uncomfortable.

“I’m also… I’m sorry—for how I’ve been. And before you lie, to protect my feelings, like you always do—don’t. Because it isn’t.”

You lift your chin, letting your glasses slide down your nose. It allows him a glimpse, lets him see your eyes, lets you see that familiar look in his own, an expression filtering across the face your fingers had once known so well. Slowly, just as your shoulders unknot from your ears, you watch him etch himself into someone you used to know. Someone you used to love, care for... want.

He sighs, smiling. “I’m sorry. I know why you ended things… and I get it. It made—makes—sense I just—I missed you. And…”

“I pushed you away.”

“If I hear from Stoddard that the two of you became friends—” “I will not be becoming friends with fucking Stoddard, Dan. I barely wanted you.” He smirks, nudging you. “You’re gonna miss me.” “I think you’ll miss me more.” Scrunching his face, he sighs heavily. “Maybe. You’ve got Peña, though.” Hands dropping from the wall, you frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing,” Dan says, shrugging. “Just seems like a good boss, you get on with him.”

You take a sip from the cup, the caffeine exploding into your mouth—the rich, herbs and fruit smothering your tongue. It silences your mind, and allows it to settle. Returns to a low-simmer than an overboiling mess as you stare at your ex.

The ex who used to be your friend.

Rubbing the back of his head, Chris snorts.“Yeah, you did. But, I know… I know you, Lun. You were dealing with a lot. You were so strong, and yet so broken, and then we ended. And you, just...”

He shakes his head, eyes dropping to the ground, as his tongue sweeps over his lip. And you know.

You know, because you thought the same.

It sat like an uninvited guest the moment you got back. Its presence had been more noticeable the moment you found yourself able to breathe, to stop yourself from shaking.

It grew larger when you flinched under his touch—when you purposefully curled away from him. It whispered in poisonous prose that it had been there before you left, but had worsened so much more because of who you were when you returned. It lay between you both as he snored, dreaming, and you lay, paralysed by nightmares that didn’t just play when you closed your eyes.

Clearing his throat, Chris kicks a pebble, it bouncing down the pavement in the noiseless. “You just looked like you were doing better without me—and it hurt. And, I—I kept lashing out.”

Nodding, you bite your lip. “I wasn’t…” you admit. “It hurt me too, to be without you.”

“Oh.”

It escapes a laugh. Short, but sweet—and very much genuine. It falls from your lips so surprisingly, his head snaps up, the moment growing, maturing as his lips rise at the edges as you add, “Oh? Really?”

Chris sips his drink, shrugging. “What do you want me to say?”

As you shake your head, you’re still sniggering, lighter, less obvious. “I don’t know, but I do know this is the first time we’ve been honest with one another in months.”

“Yeah. I’ve missed you—not like that, but just…”

Nodding, you swallow. “I know.”

His eyes meet yours, and all the unspoken words sound louder.

They flutter like broken butterflies, flapping their damaged wings as you bite the inside of your cheek. Feeling the evidence of day-old teeth marks, the phantom twinges of panic that threaten to wrap their hands around you.

“Please be safe... I’d,” you stare at him, seeing—for the briefest moment—the person you lay in bed with, the person you made breakfast with and stole the sunglasses of. “I’d hate it if something happened to you.”

He nods, short but full of understanding.

And you think about it, curling into him. Letting your arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close. Your feet are almost moving, closing the distance to do so.

But he’s quicker.

The two of you falling into the old ways, your head finding the space along his shoulder, something sliding into place, something healing—one less crack somewhere deep inside of you. You let him hold you, let yourself be held—feeling the sting behind your eyes, the fear rising, before you glance over—finding, if anything, the most uncharacteristic smile on Dan’s face.

You’ve always been good at remembering things.

Dates. Numbers. Faces—

They’re drilled into you—because you’re used to dialling them or because you have them banked somewhere in your mind. You knew Chris’s because the two of you had dated, you knew Van Ness’s because of lunch orders and after-work drinks; you knew Stoddard’s because he was who you reported to, and you knew the Ambassador’s because his clearance meant something.

But, Peña’s…

You didn’t know it because you called him a lot. Didn’t know it because you’d rang him copious times—if anything, the two of you rarely spoke on the phone. But, you’d chosen to memorise it. Just in case.

The same one you’d been dialling furiously for the last hour—eyes glancing to his desk, the one he’s been away from for hours.

Sunshine yellow, splintered sobs, carmine-stained palms…

Digging your elbow into the desk, you grit your teeth. Fixing, staring at a spot on the carpet—old, dried gum that’s worsened over time. Something—anything. Taking a breath, banishing yellow—trying to rid the feeling that the walls are coming in as you place the phone back into the hook.

Peña has been gone for hours.

Something he doesn’t do without telling someone. Not when he had plans, ones you heard from Stoddard.

Since the file room, the two of you had been swirling around one another, but not colliding. He told you things, but things you already knew. The way it had to be, you assumed. A line the two of you had drawn because he was your boss—and both felt you should.

But, you couldn’t turn off your worries. The niggling anxiousness that something was wrong.

It had nestled somewhere deep, spreading and merging with the worries Cali had dragged up. Your nails tap in rhythmic patterns on your desk, trying to concentrate on your screen, the names, the numbers—

Stoddard isn’t concerned.

Doesn’t think anything of it when Peña doesn’t answer. When the phone rings out.

Even if the man worships the ground he walks on. The hero he couldn’t wait to meet, to shake his hand—ask him all things Escobar like the two of them would be best buds.

Now, though, when something does feel off, it’s a shrug, it’s a shake of the head. ‘He’s likely following a different lead.’ The annoying part… Stoddard could be right. Something which annoys you more.

That able to smother your worries, your intrusive thoughts for a moment. A sense of peace begins to mist over you, until it thrums inside of you again. Like it has since the airport drop off this morning. It all untwisting, slowly oozing out until it collects other things, creating more anxiety in a lab of your own making.

The list ever-growing, collating—

Van Ness. Fiestl. Javi.

It worsens when you call the number from earlier. The one for the plane he’d asked for, after you’d handed Peña the blue folder. You’d studied his features and committed each expression as he read the contents of it.

If you blink, you still see the way his face lit up, the realisation that dawned over him—it was like magic. Like perfect sunsets and those mornings there isn’t a cloud in the sky, making your cheeks warm, especially with the way he’d stared at you after.

“You okay, sir?” Your heart quickens in your throat as he stands, tapping the blue folder against his palm. “You got plans tonight?” “What?” “I owe you food.” Shaking your head, you lick your lips. “No, you—“ “You bought me lunch yesterday, I’ll buy you dinner. Tonight. Here.” Stepping around your desk, you feel his eyes on you. “I’ll hold you to that, sir.”

You know you’re rattled. Sensitive.

Split open at the poorly sewn seams, panic seeping out of every orifice imaginable as you bounced your heel into the embassy carpet. But, something told you to be—something outside of anxiousness and concern. Something not easily stifled by reassuring thoughts and hopeful thinking as you stared into the dirty, bathroom mirror.

It’s heavy in your hand—your phone. Slowly placing it back into its position as you process what you’d heard.

“Stoddard…” you mumble, swallowing the forming lump in your throat. “Neil?”

“Yeah.”

You can feel it, the ground shifting. Your vision sliding, blurring just at the edges as your pulse quickens. “He didn’t—um. He didn’t get on the plane. Peña”

He doesn’t say anything—barely even a frown. Just leans back in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk—as though Peña disappearing is something which happens regularly.

As though he’s someone who would vanish on the day he sent two agents to Cali.

The silence should unnerve you—usually, it does.

It normally allows everything to breed, to worsen—double and multiply. It allows that string to stretch again, it always so close to snapping, as its plucked and plucked, shivers through you.

Night has come and snatched the day. The office having slowly emptied over the last two hours, Stoddard having left fifteen minutes ago at best. You should go too, leave—try and sleep and reset.

But, you slide into Peña’s chair, staring over the contents of a file that you’re not taking in. Instead, it’s for show. A pretence as you chew the inside of your cheek, spreading your fingers out over the small patch of his desk not covered in paper. Just feeling the wood, the smoothness of it. How cold it is. The chill stretching and weaving up your wrist—

“Oh, cariño…I didn’t know anyone was still here.“

You’re on your feet instantly, palms pressed against the desk. Eyes having landed on brown eyes and a figure that makes your heart stop. And then, relief. He’s okay. Pe—Javi. Alive. Well. Whatever bit of you you’d been gnawing, releases, freeing you. All the thoughts, ones of him being taken, of him lying in a pool of his—

“Yeah, I’m… I’m here,” you whisper, clearing your throat.

Barely able to say it any louder.

Swallowing, finding yourself quickly smothered and wrapped in something you’d forgotten could exist in the last few hours. The sight of him almost forces you to cross the room, to wrap your arms around him. You stop yourself. Just.

Dropping your chin, you watch through your brows as he throws his jacket and tie over the chair opposite you, blinking back thankful-tears as your fingers halt from drawing against the swirls in the wood of his desk.

He’s watching you, and as soon as you notice it, it’s all you focus on. They’re warming you, tracing you. Like he’s unable to tear himself away, staring stares at you as though you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Sometimes you almost believe you are.

“Surprised to find you still here. It’s late—even for you.”

Snorting, you feel warmth slide up your cheeks. “Well, you did promise me dinner...”

He traces his jaw with his finger, a puzzled look on his face as he straightens, and your eyes take in the way his top two buttons are undone, that his hair is tousled—that he looks good. Alive, safe, breathing, and so good.

Him all golden skin and a pair of eyes that made you want to see every expression flutter across them. Just like normal. A normal you try to camouflage, dress it up in disdain and faux-annoyance.

Clearing your throat, you stand, stepping around his desk, not letting a finger fall from it. Suddenly needing it to ground you, to focus on—stop the shakes from your early worrying when everything felt like it was on fire.

It’s at the last moment you watch it bloom over his face—the realisation.

“Shit… I’m so—cariño…”

Shrugging, you lift your head. “It’s fine, I was just teasing—“

“I had—fuck, I had no signal. I’m—“

“Peña. It’s fine. I was messing with you. Where were you—to not have a signal?”

His jaw tightens, dropping his eyes as he runs a hand over his face. “Stechner took me to a jungle.”

“Course he did,” you snort, taking some of the discomfort. “Lemme guess, because of our visitors? I know I shouldn’t say this, but—“

“He’s an asshole?”

“Such a fucking asshole.”

You laugh, merging with his. Both of them escape, puffing out of you both as you feel a thread loosen around your throat.

He’s looking at you again, differently than before. The silence from the rest of the building, the late hour providing nothing but quiet.

You’re sure your blood has ignited, simmering in your ears, head and chest. Something fluttering, wings brushing your ribs as you swallow it all. Needing a distraction, scrambling for one, remembering—

“Fiestl and Van Ness—“

“I know. Managed... I called them in the car. They’re staying there, they have…” His voice trails off, head tilting.

You knew that.

Had spoken to Dan. Almost wanting to tell him that—a flicker of annoyance stemming through the earlier worry—bite that you’ve been here, taking calls for him.

But, Javi’s eyes are narrowing in the way he does when he’s figured something out. You can’t stop it, a mere passenger to the way your body warms under his sight—ears burning as you watch the corners of his lips twitch.

“Why are you in my office, cariño?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you straighten your spine. “Stoddard isn’t great at answering your phone.”

You find yourself swallowing when Javi takes a step closer, eyes burning into his, the same as his are burning into yours. His screaming Liar. Noticing him swiping his thumb across his bottom lip.

“I spoke to Stoddard—before he left for the night.”

You swallow.

Don’t push, you silently plead.

“Come on. You can tell me the truth.”

It’s fragile, easily able to shatter—the thin wall the two of you have built since the file room. The professionalism, the decency he was intent on giving you. You’ll tear it down yourself single-handedly if he keeps looking at you how he is, observing as he stops in front of you, drinking you in with his deep, velvety eyes.

Licking your lips, you take a deep breath. “Stop hunting for—”

“Were you worried about me, cariño…?”

It pulses—the truth. Even if he says it with that tone, the one which is always accompanied by a smirk. The one which makes your skin flush with warmth.

It mixes with the rattling around inside of you, the one born from actually worrying about him. It's all thrumming, vibrating. Making it hard to swallow as you lift your chin, almost defiantly.

Then he says your name.

Not Luna. Not your surname. Your first given name.

It’s too much. The proximity, the scent of Earth, smoke and something so distinctly him. The silence made it crumble, blending with his smirk. You watch how it unfilters from his cheeks as he swallows. Being replaced by something far more annoying—concern.

Smiling, you hold his gaze. Realising you have little energy to fight.

“And, what if I was, Javi?”

It’s subtle, the shift in his eyes. The change to the way his lips had been turned upwards. All minimal. Barely much at all. His face only half-illuminated by the lamp on his desk, but it’s enough to see the effect his name has on him. It’s enough to make the air difficult, like it’s being squeezed from the room, his lips parting before closing. No words left to say.

He’s surprised. So much so, Javier Peña has been rendered silent.

You consider leaving, taking your embarrassment with you, dipping your eyes as you fumble for an excuse—

And then he whispers your name. All breathy, almost like he did that night after the bar. As though he doesn’t want you to leave—it makes your eyes snap up.

They shrivel, the thoughts of leaving. Vanishing as if they never existed, to begin with.

His fingers, cautious and calloused, brush themselves over your forearm and the last piece of restraint crumbling and settling alight—as if it was made of paper, and he was the match.

It’s instant the way your lungs ache—burning—when you crash your lips to his. Your fist is full of his collar as your heart thumps, over and over—hammering and knocking, banging and smashing.

It’s messy. Far too desperate and uncoordinated. But it’s also bliss.

It’s freeing. It’s worry, and relief, and a sea of other things.

Your palm places flush with his neck, fingers clutching at his jaw as you feel his pulse thump against you. Alive, he’s alive. Repose settles over you, calming you as you taste cigarettes on his tongue and coffee on his lips.

A taste you’ve come to crave more than your own bag of beans in your bottom desk drawer.

His hands grip you, fix you against him—little, to no space being left. Not that you want there to be. If anything, you want to remove the barrier of clothes between you. Have him press you against his desk, create a new reason to blush in his presence—

Wrenching your lips from his, you lean back in his palms, finding bewilderment and confusion flashing across in a storm. Swallowing, you size him up, how his eyes are darker and his lips are parted.

“You fucked anyone in your office, sir?”

It hits him, the question—an array of emotions fluttering across his features. “Fuck me...”

Smirking, you take a step back. Hands sliding down his arms until you release his fingers, and your lower back meets his desk.

It allows him a moment—one to make a choice. A moment which stretches on far too long, your already frayed endings becoming frazzled with anxiousness. Then, you watch your daydreams play out into reality. It’s beautiful, and fascinating—and fucking everything. Studying the way his micro-expressions bleed into major ones, feeling his eyes rise, so inky and full of swirling lust, pulling you in like a siren song. It makes your throat dry—he makes your throat dry.

“You becoming an exhibitionist, baby?”

Baby.

The word curls around you, dripping into your ear as your hands come down to rest on the edge of the desk. Watching him shift his jaw from side to side.

“Surprised you know that word, Peña. It’s quite long.”

He snorts. Nodding, eyes dropping to the floor. His fingers twitch at his side, thumb brushing over his index and middle, before he looks up.

Banished is the doubt, the attempt at decency. His frame closes the gap quickly—quicker than you count on. Doing so in a number of strides, you don’t have a chance to count, before he’s on you. Lips crashing against yours, tongue licking past your teeth as you grasp fingers full of his hair.

It’s intoxicating, being kissed by him.

He’s like fire in your bones and air in your lungs. Losing yourself in him until you run your lips across his jaw, enjoying running your prints up and along his neck, feeling his pulse again—before sliding back up into the soft curls of his hair as you take him in.

The two of you drink one another in, lost in a moment that’s all your own. You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip, unable to tear your eyes from him. Thankful when he reconnects his lips to yours, all desperate to kiss you.

So much so, you’re sure he does it with the sole intention of ruining you—of taking everything from you, leaving you with nothing.

You’d let him. You are letting him. Allowing his touch to consume you, to render you useless and breathless.

If you were younger, less scarred—less fearful of getting hurt—there’s more you’d hand him. More parts of you that you’d let him into. Likely spill your secrets, worries and deepest desires—and not hide behind smirks and flirtations.

Instead, you offer him mild submissiveness.

Hands falling from his neck to your trousers, undoing them—the metal grating against metal sounding, making him groan. It vibrates against you, feeling it in your chest as you let them fall to your ankles with a thud. They’re followed by your underwear, a simple pile, one he helps you step out as he helps slide the bare back of your thighs over his wooden desk.

His hand is quick to sweep files, notes and post-its into a messier pile than before.

You don’t focus on it. Try not to. Choosing instead to busy your hands with undoing his buttons—reuniting your lips with his. Craving him, not needing him. A solid difference—a considerable one. Because you can admit you want the feel of him—whether it’s the way he stretches you or his fingers across the inside of your knees.

To need him means something else. Something under lust and fucking on a desk. It means letting him in, enough that you could tumble, fall—risk scarring your heart, soul and sense more than they already are.

He knows it. Must do. You can tell from the way he kisses you—like he’s trying to knock down your walls and paper over old pain. His fingers hunt for the switch, the one which slides the imaginary door to your secrets. And his tongue, he tries to carve it into a key to unlock everything about you—discover the reason you protect yourself, hide, conceal.

For now, he takes this. Having you in his office, his groan as you palm him over his trousers—as he hisses into your mouth. You equally take each sound you can have, like the sound of his belt undoing, and trousers falling to his ankles. Working him slowly up and down. How he’s trying to push you over the edge by curling two of his fingers inside you, finding the spot that made you coo his name.

He stops, and so do you.

Both of you panting, watching his forehead meet yours as he tugs your hips closer.

He’s beautiful. Something you had known before, something you had witnessed and accepted. But, this is different, the lighting, the intimacy—the earlier worries.

Your hand curls against his cheek as he slides the head of his cock through your slick walls. Body aflame with arousal, with want.

I’m glad you’re okay, Javi. Glad you’re here.

It’s easy, the way he steals your gasp with his lips. Your hand clutches his side as he stretches you, making you feel so full—eyes clenching shut as you forget how to breathe. But your lips—oh, your lips don’t forget how to kiss him. They remember how to take as much of him as they can get.

The same way you begrudgingly take how slow he rocks himself into you, that his forehead finds yours, and cariño rolls in soft murmurs from his perfect, kissable lips.

It’s worse when it’s slower, impossible to deny how perfect he feels—how good he makes you feel.

“Thought of—fuck—nothing else.”

He talks more when he’s sober, you're not the same.

Thankful you hadn’t helped yourself to his liquor, afraid you’ll be telling him how thankful you are he’s okay, that he’s back in his office. Alive. Well. Breathing. That he’s kissing you, that he’s fucking you.

Instead, you find yourself unable to stop yourself from clutching him close. From smiling as he captures your lips, to smothering any moans and whimpers as you whisper his name.

He grasps your hip, ghosting his mouth over yours, “I like the taste of my name on your lips, cariño.”

“Shit, Javi.”

He peers down, a glint, a smirk—eyes speckled with the reflection of the lamp. Your head falls back as he helps you lift your leg. Just enough—until your heel meets the edge of the desk.

The groan he emits fills the air, and stains it. Feeling him so much deeper, creating so much pressure as he slides in and out. Your own moans stifled, buried, drowned in your throat with sheer fucking will— because he’s so impossibly, perfectly fucking deep.

“Anyone fucked you like this?”

Your eyes are already closed, the pleasure quivering, building. If your eyes open, if you meet his, you’ll lose—let him in, let him see you, all of you. He’ll undress your mind, peer in and see the broken mess behind the well-put-together woman he’s been thinking about fucking again.

That you cannot lose. Not him. Never him, but also not this—this perfectly matched game that could go on and on until one of you ruins it.

He breathes your name. Gruff. Peppered with pleasure and bliss as he snaps his hips against yours. It’s easier to shake your head as his pace quickens, as his grunts punch into the air.

“Need to—fuck, cariño—need to hear you—“

“No, Javi. Just you. Only y-you.”

One of your hands grips the desk, digging into the wood—enough to leave a mark. The other grabs him, the back of his neck, fingers digging into skin and hair.

You arch your back, feeling only then his palm on your spine—having balled up enough of your blouse to keep it from being in the way. His hand slides under, fingers spreading, curling you closer, rooting you to him.

As if his cock isn’t doing that. As though it isn’t dragging through your walls, stroking parts of you which makes you almost see stars, light and fucking heaven—

“Give it to me, cariño.”

His hip presses against your lower calf, hitting that spot over and over. The sound of your arousal growing, the slick noises as he pounds into you, drowned only by his grunts and your whimpers.

Tilting your head back, you take him in. The hair which is in strands, jaw tight, sweat building on his neck as he looks down at you like you’re everything.

It almost pushes you to let go—let it wash over you, and then you hear the softest whisper from his lips.

“Please.”

Your eyes open, basking under his gaze—and it rips through you. Tears you into pieces as his name carves into the air, and he fucks you through it. His hand grips you tighter, keeping you as close as he can. For as long as he can.

Your focus is on feeling it—from head to toe. How it ripples, travelling to every nerve as it sets you alight. The rest only comes back to you slowly, the way your lips are already meeting his as he groans your name as he coats you in his release.

It’s only when he slows, does the dull ache in your nails greets you, splinters carved into your skin.

Javi waits a moment, drawing a shape on your lower back with his fingers before he slides himself free from you, leaving you empty. The low light casts shadows that make him appear softer.

You almost are able to convince yourself it’s the lighting, but then he bends down to retrieve your clothes. Sliding your leg through the fabrics, seeing a gentler part of him showing through. You have to close your eyes, hiding from it.

Knowing you’re falling, descending. Still hearing the sound of him coming with your name on your lips—understanding what he meant when he said he liked the taste of his name on your tongue.

You liked the taste of yours too. More so when it graced the air in a chorus.

Please.

Please, he had whispered.

You feel his thumb sliding up your thigh, garnering your attention again, flicking your eyes open as fabric follows his fingers. You smile, mirroring his, slowly realising that you’re losing the battle of keeping him out—greeted by kinder brown and flecks of softness.

“Javi…” He blinks, forehead smoothing out—no lines, no frown. “I was worried. I was worried about you.”

Swallowing, he lifts his hand, thumb brushing the side of your lip as he parts his lips, all set to say something or another. But the phone rings.

Another interruption—a yank back to reality. Standing, flinging yourself from his desk as he moves to take it, trying not to listen, but listening all the same.

His eyes meet yours—and you realise in an instant the call is important. His tells showing, unable to be masked from how you’d cracked him open only moments ago, staring until he mouths Fiestl.

Your heart hammering, pounding, waiting and waiting until he places the phone down.

“They… they’ve found Gilberto Rodríguez.”

chapter five ->

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thedeerman · 17 days

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RadioApple Fic:

Do You Want To Know?

Ch4: Notice

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

TW for descriptions of PTSD symptoms.

Niffty wasn’t someone that paid a whole lot of attention to the dynamics between the individual members of the hotel. She scurried around sweeping floors and stabbing bugs most of the day, but always seemed to notice when something seemed amiss with Alastor. How could she not, with how long they've been bound together? She can’t pretend to know quite how his mind works, but when there’s a shift in his moods, it isn’t missed by the little angel killer.

And between Niffty’s keen eye and Shadow’s worried glances, she knew something was wrong. It wasn’t often that the two interacted directly, but they had their own way of communication, a lot like the way an old couple does. Looks, glares, shrugs. Glances when no one else is looking. Not even Alastor seemed to know of the odd relationship Niffty and Shadow shared.

And so it shouldn’t be surprising that Niffty started spending a little more time bug hunting in the general vicinity of the tall, red demon. And maybe doing a little bit more eavesdropping than usual. After all, she might be the only soul in the hotel that could go unnoticed by the radio demon. And what she started noticing was that Alastor and the bad boy king were fighting less and looking at each other more. It started a week or two after the new hotel was put together, and slowly, ever so slowly, it started looking like something else was starting to form. Not hatred, not quite a rivalry even. Niffty couldn’t place it. The little maid shrugged and went back the task at hand: stabbing little bugs and running about the building.

The morning started out like every other recent one for Lucifer. Open eyes, remember where he is, think of his daughter, think of Alastor. That last part was actually getting ridiculous, thank you very much. Coffee time, he thinks to himself as he rolls out of bed. And then, unexpectedly, I miss sharing my bed with someone. He shakes his head. His loneliness really can’t rear its ugly head this early in the day. As he stretches and yawns, he struggles to remember if he was scheduled to be doing something today. Charlie will let me know, he thinks. Snapping his fingers, he changes from his comfy apple patterned pajamas into his usual outfit and glances at himself in the mirror. He decides that maybe today he’ll shake it up a bit, but can’t quite decide on how. He almost gives up, but then has an idea. With a wave of his hand, his plain black bowtie transforms into one that's a deep blood red with black accents. He looks at himself in the mirror again and acknowledges that in all likeliness, no one will notice the change. But he smiles, thinking that it was nice just to change something for himself for once, not to look a certain way for someone else.

As Lucifer gets ready to leave his room, he remembers the envelope on his desk. He looks at it for a moment and thoughts of its recipient flood his mind. He rolls his eyes at himself and stuffs the letter in his pocket. Lifting his hand to open a portal downstairs, he paused. Maybe… I should walk. He thinks. Maybe I’ll run into… His thoughts immediately screech to a halt as there’s a knock on his door. He panics for a moment, wondering if his rogue thoughts really could summon the bastard. But then he hears “Dad! Are you up?” and relaxes. “One second honey!” he responds, taking one last look in the mirror before heading to the door.

Charlie’s surprise visit only took a moment, as she quickly explained that something important had come up and the morning meeting was canceled. Before Lucifer could respond to this, Charlie held out an envelope and piece of paper. “It’s your letter for the day, and the prompt for the next one. I already talked to the person who had your name, so I figured I could deliver it before I’m off! Oh! And do you have yours? I can make sure it gets to you know who on my way out!” Charlie’s smile always put Lucifer at ease, even with the mention of the demon that was always clouding his thoughts. He strode over to his desk to grab the letter he wrote and happily handed her his envelope for the day. “Oh! One last thing before I go- Please don’t forget to check the chore board for the day!” Ah yes, the chore board. Whenever Charlie was going to be out of the hotel for the day, she made sure to fill out a whiteboard with everyone’s tasks. He nodded, still smiling. “Of course. Anything for you, duckling.” With that, Charlie smiled and turned to go off and do whatever else it was she needed to get done before leaving.

Lucifer’s curiosity got the best of him and before he could even get back to his desk, he was tearing open the letter. Dropping the envelope on the floor next to the first one, he sat and read the letter.

“Name one thing that you’re curious about in regards to your person.”

One thing I am curious about is your absence throughout the day. Aside from scheduled meetings and chores, you almost always seem to be missing.

Lucifer’s face drops a bit. Could it be Husk? No, he didn’t seem like the type to make it so obvious, but then again… The fallen angel sat at his desk pondering for several minutes and thought about his recent interactions with the bartender. Remembering his drink. Listening to his woes. Those golden eyes drilling into his soul… Lucifer shook his head. I suppose it doesn’t really matter much either way. Then he looked at the paper for his next letter. His next letter to… Alastor… He’d spent the past couple of weeks doing everything in his power to avoid the radio demon, both physically and mentally. Thinking about him always led to unpleasant thoughts and feelings, so he would just shove it down and out of his mind whenever possible. But when he was forced to acknowledge the guy, there was just no denying his magnetic energy.

He looked at the paper in front of him. The new prompt reads “Name three interesting things you’ve noticed about your person.” The devil groans. There are tons of things about Alastor that interest him. Everything from how he talks to how he slinks through the shadows to his talent on the piano that he’s only very briefly experienced but would honestly like to again and- UGH. Come on, Lucifer. This isn’t that hard. After a few more moments of being lost in his endless thoughts, he decides that this can wait until later. He remembered Charlie’s instruction to check the white board downstairs and opened up his portal, this time deciding for sure against walking, and stepped into the lobby.

Alastor’s night was long and restless. Images of his battle with Adam flashed in his mind one after another, and sitting in the dark and quiet of his room made it so much worse. There were no external stimuli to focus on to keep himself grounded. Instead, despite his best attempts, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Adam’s masked face again. The carelessness of his fighting style. That guitar/ax monstrosity. The blinding light that broke his staff, rendering him defenseless. The swing of the holy weapon that tore through his very being, sending him flying against a wall. Those terrible bright golden wings looming over his damaged body as he melted away into the shadows in his last effort to survive. That laugh. The buffoon’s last words before nearly taking Alastor out of existence may have just been a shitty remark, but for a terrifying moment, radio really was almost dead.

In the early morning hours, the restless demon decided sleep wasn’t worth the effort anymore and got out of bed. His never-failing smile was feeling a bit more strained than it should. He picked up his microphone staff, clutching it in his hands, again remembering the sensation of light tearing through the middle of it. The radio demon closed his eyes for a moment before putting a happy demon face on and snapping his fingers to change into his usual outfit. With that he melted into shadow and made his way down to the kitchen, where a certain mug desperately needed to be filled with hot, bitter, beautiful caffeine.

Before he can get there, however, he hears movement coming from the meeting room. He peers past the doorway to see that Charlie is scribbling names and chores on a board in a hurry. Alastor raised an eyebrow as he considered whether or not he should disturb the girl in the middle of her task, but then remembered his reason for heading to the kitchen to begin with. He continued down the hallway, this time walking instead of traveling through the shadows. After last night, he needed something to wake him up.

And something certainly did. It wasn’t the coffee, or the flurry of demons coming and going as they got breakfast or prepared for their day. It wasn’t the princess, first asking for his envelope from the day prior- to which he reached into a small portal to grab it from his desk- or even the second time she spoke to him a while later when she was on her way out and handed him the newly acquired envelope from his anonymous writer. At the time, he placed the envelope, and new prompt paper, into his coat pocket to bother with later on. But no, it was none of these small events that woke him up. It was an even smaller one. It was when he decided to check his assigned duty for the day. His eyes grew wide and his smile grew tense as he read the board two, three, four, five times just to make sure that he understood what he was seeing.

Unfortunately, his sleepless eyes were not deceiving him. The task itself wasn’t awful- Clearing out a room that had been being used as storage for various things and then redesigning the room in a new layout. The details were left in a folder pinned to the board with a magnet. Simple. Easy. A ONE person job. But no, of course dear Charlotte wouldn’t want any of them taking on too big of a project on their own… Alastor sighed. He may as well accept that the outlook of his day was not great. He took the folder containing the plans for the new room and his third mug of coffee to the lobby, where he waited for his majesty to arrive.

It wasn’t terribly long before the king made his appearance, opening a hole in the fabric of Hell and stepping through it into the hotel lobby. The radio demon watched, silently, as the king started towards the meeting room and the chore board. When he came back moments later, the king’s eyes scanned the lounge area until they landed on the radio demon. Waiting for him. Alastor noticed that the king’s demeanor seemed flustered all of a sudden, and tilted his head to a degree that wouldn’t have been possible were he alive. Lucifer sighed and slumped his shoulders (in acceptance?), as he started walking towards Alastor perched on his favorite chair.

Time to put on a show, the demon thinks to himself. His smile grew and his eyes widened as he made eye contact with the short king himself. Before he could stand, Lucifer held his hand out. Alastor glanced at his open palm and then back up at the angel standing before him. His glowing yellow eyes seem to pierce through his soul for just a moment before Lucifer finally says, “The folder?” Alastor blinks. Lucifer sighs and continues. “The folder with the plans that Charlie left? Mind if I take a moment to look it over?” Alastor blinked once more, feeling completely frozen. He expected the fallen angel to demand that he hand over the instructions and storm off to do the task himself, or at least give the sinner some sort of jab about his involvement being too much, or something, anything- “Uh, hello..?” Alastor is ripped from his thoughts as Lucifer speaks up again. “Why of course, your majesty!” The demon stands up, enjoying how much the king of hell himself had to tilt his head back just to look up at him. Alastor loved looking down at the king. Figuratively and literally.

After supplying Lucifer with the folder of notes, the radio demon started walking towards the room in question. The devil didn’t follow immediately, first looking over the papers left to them by his daughter. Eventually, Lucifer catches up and starts talking. Alastor struggled to keep his face from showing his disinterest in the words coming from the fallen angel’s mouth, and yet his mind fails to wander the way it usually does when he’s ignoring someone. His attention stays firmly in the present, on the voice of the angel walking beside him. The words meant nothing, but his voice was-

“Hey, are you even listening?” Alastor feels his ears perk up a bit at the angel’s tone. “Yes, of course, sire. How could I ever fail to acknowledge the royalty walking beside me? You have my full attention!” His response was heavily coated in sarcasm, but it wasn’t a lie. He was paying attention to Lucifer. Just not to the words coming from his mouth. Either way, he was listening more closely now after being called out. “So, as I was saying,” the king continued, “Charlie wants the hotel staff’s stuff on the third floor, in that room next to the elevator, so we should probably do that part first. The new guests are going to have to keep their things to what they can fit in their room so we can have this space open before we remodel.” He continued listing off the steps to finishing the task as smoothly as possible while Alastor continued walking in silence beside him.

Lucifer wasn’t exactly thrilled at being partnered up with the radio demon for this little task, but the faster they got it done, the faster Lucifer could stop forcing himself to keep his eyes off of one of the most interesting beings in the building. Why was that so hard? They worked without speaking at first, but Lucifer couldn’t get his mind off of today’s writing prompt. 'Name three interesting things you’ve noticed about your person.' First of all, it hasn’t gone unnoticed that these prompts are phrased really weird. 'Your Person?' Who says that? Alastor was far from what the angel would call “his person.” Lucifer’s cheeks warm just a tad as he shakes the thoughts from his head. Secondly, he didn’t want to be interested in this guy, not one bit. And yet…

In the middle of his wandering thoughts, he noticed a slight movement from the corner of his eye. When he looked, what looked back was Alastor’s shadow. Lucifer scanned the room. Alastor himself had left a few moments ago, but his odd shadow thing remained. It smiled, and although it was creepy just like Alastor’s, it was also… Warm? Friendly? Lucifer had to admit, the ability to pick up on the intentions and emotions of beings around him was always useful when it came up. He couldn’t read most souls very easily, but for some reason this shadow was expressive enough to make itself clear, even without speaking or moving. Lucifer cocked his head just a bit and opened his mouth to say something, but before any words could come, the shadow frowned and fled out of the open door. In an instant, Lucifer was left alone in the room again. But now, his curiosity about the odd thing that followed Alastor around was at the forefront of his mind as he worked to sort through boxes of stored items. I’ve already mentioned his shadow, so maybe it wouldn’t be super weird to put that in today’s letter too…

Lucifer’s mind continued to wander further and further as he stood in the mostly empty room, briefly contemplating how to proceed with the task he was given. There were only a few things left that had to be removed from the room, so he used his magic to start gathering them up to move them. It was only after a floating box broke under the weight of whatever was in it that he realized, too late, that not all of the boxes were exactly… sturdy. He rolled his eyes and started gathering up the miscellaneous things that ended up on the floor. He was nearly done cleaning up his mess when something from the broken box caught his eye. A…radio? I wonder if it belongs to Alastor… It was an older style, round on top and made of shiny reddish wood that felt beautifully smooth when Lucifer picked the object up. He flipped it around a few times to make sure nothing on it seemed damaged and went to place it back with the other objects from the box.

Of course, before he could get there, Alastor comes back into the room. Lucifer freezes momentarily, looking rapidly between the demon in the doorway and the radio in his hands. Shit shit shit “Uhh… It fell from a box, but it seems okay, uh, is- um, is it yours?” The demon didn't move at first, only his eyes fell down to the radio in the fallen angel’s hands. After a brutal second of nothing, Alastor speaks. “Well, it was mine, but it seems to have found a new owner.” Lucifer’s mouth falls open but fails to produce any words. The radio demon continues, “I have plenty of them, of course. I’d noticed that you’ve never mentioned my radio show, so I suppose you’ve been unable to listen, hmm?” Lucifer is still in shock. He’s definitely blushing. Why? Don’t ask him, he sure as fuck doesn’t know. But what he does know is that Alastor, Radio Demon Alastor, the batshit crazy asshole that seems to hate Lucifer with a passion, just offered him a gift. And not just any gift, a beautiful old fashioned radio, so he could listen to…

“Shall we move on to the next phase of this little project?” Alastor asks, as if he didn’t just shatter Lucifer’s understanding of him as a person. Why would he give him something, without asking anything in return… “No.” Lucifer frowns a bit at the radio in his hands. “You wouldn’t give me this without expecting something back.” The demon’s eyes opened a bit wider at the accusation. “What is it that you want from me?” Lucifer demands.

Alastor slowly steps into the room, towards Lucifer, never breaking eye contact. The angel does everything in his power not to step backwards, to hold his ground. This is going to end in another argument… At least another week in group therapy if I can’t keep my cool. He stands there, unmoving, until Alastor is only inches away. Please don’t turn this into a thing… Face to face, the two stared at each other for a very long moment. Too long of a moment. Just as Lucifer began to consider fleeing through a quick portal back to his room just to escape the sudden tension, Alastor put a small piece of paper in Lucifer’s hand, careful not to touch him directly. The demon never broke eye contact, not until he quickly turned and left the room.

Lucifer was left awestruck at what just happened. The whole exchange couldn’t have lasted longer than a minute, and yet it felt like it had been a full hour since picking up the old wooden radio. Breaking from his trance, he remembered to look at the paper in his hand. It was a… business card? In a delicate cursive font, it read “Tune in every evening at 4:30 for a broadcast with style” Under that was a number. A radio channel. It took a moment to sink in that this was one of the cards Alastor handed out to some of the guests as an invitation to tune in to his evening broadcast. He’s… Inviting me to listen to his show…? Lucifer wasn’t sure he would be interested in whatever it was Alastor considered to be a “broadcast with style,” but if he took the radio, it was an unspoken deal. He would be expected to listen at least once. He looked down at the device’s shiny surface, thinking of where in his room he could set it. Sighing, he accepted that this might not be a terrible thing. Hopefully it’ll at least help with these damn letters.

It’s some hours later when Alastor retires to his tower to prepare for the evening’s broadcast. He didn’t host a live talk show every night, more often than not his broadcasts were of his preferred music. Tonight, he was planning on throwing on some jazz tunes. Who didn’t like jazz? More importantly, he was also planning on leaving the tower during his show. He couldn’t help it, his curiosity had gotten the best of him. He had to know.

Earlier, when Alastor walked into the room he and Lucifer were tasked with organizing, he caught the fallen angel holding an old radio, looking over it with care, and the radio demon had an idea. His smile became manic, his eyes sharp. He slowly, menacingly, tried to back the startled king into a corner. But the angel would not budge. He trembled the tiniest bit, holding the radio close to his chest, his eyes widening as he waited for Alastor’s next move. The demon absolutely relished the look on Lucifer’s face. It wasn’t fear, no. That tremble was in… anticipation? Anticipation of what, he wondered? Another spat? Alastor didn’t have the energy today. Besides, he had much bigger ideas…

And now, at 4:45 in the evening, the first step of that plan was put into motion. He slipped through the halls in the shadows, thankfully not seen by anyone on the way. As he reached the other end of the hotel, he pondered what the best option was to go about this. He wanted to be discreet, he only needed to know if Lucifer had taken the bait. The demon sent his shadow ahead, into the king’s room.

Alastor made his way back to his own side of the building after getting the piece of information he needed. He didn’t bother snooping around this time, he’d wait for Lucifer to be out for that. His smile widened as he walked down the long hall back to his tower. He wondered how many terrible things he could put on the air right now, things that would rattle the king, make him wish he had never set foot here. No… Alastor thought. Wouldn’t be worth the effort… Just need to have patience. But right alongside the thoughts of how to get under Lucifer’s skin, how to make the king squirm under his gaze, there was another thought lingering. A thought that just kept repeating itself, over and over and over again. But unlike the more recent times these intruding thoughts had happened, this wasn’t one of fear or panic or death. It was two simple words. Words that meant nothing. Words he shouldn’t even bother acknowledging. But his mind was far from under his control, and the radio demon’s smile slightly fell into a look of annoyance as he allowed the thought to be heard. He’s listening.

Back in his tower, he decided to turn his attention to the letter in his pocket. He had completely forgotten about it in his exhausted early morning state. Alastor removed the letter in the same fashion that he did the day before, once again burning the envelope into a pile of ash as he watched. Opening the folded letter, he read the words on the paper before him.

“Name one thing that you’re curious about in regards to your person”

Alastor,

One thing I’m curious about is your shadow. Is it a part of you? Its own being? Does it make its own choices? Does it have a name?

The demon’s face doesn’t give away his irritation, but the shadow notices nonetheless. It looks over his shoulder, reading the letter. Alastor brushes the entity aside, giving it a clear warning glare. The shadow frowned and settled on the floor, unwilling to further upset its master. Why would anyone be curious about this…thing? It was a tool. No more, no less. Of course it doesn't have a name. Alastor paused, imagining all of his possessions being named. His microphone? Coat? Coffee mug? Ah yes, perhaps they ALL deserve a title! The demon chuckled to himself at the thought. The questions in the letter do make Alastor think for a moment, however. The shadow wasn’t him, but it wasn’t not him. And it did make some choices without direct orders. Maybe it was a tad more than a tool. Perhaps it was more like an extra limb that sometimes had a mind of its own. Yes, that was more accurate.

After deciding on that, Alastor turns to the day’s letter prompt. It reads, “Name three interesting things you’ve noticed about your person.” His eyes close for a moment. This shouldn’t be entirely difficult. It would be easy to throw a couple of insults in there as well for good measure. The demon calmly listened to the jazz song playing on his show, glad for some quality music as background noise. He spent several minutes there, leaning back in his desk chair with his eyes closed. He was tired, but not tired enough to fall asleep. He sat there, without a single violent thought, thinking of the angel living on the other side of the hotel. Alastor let his mind wander farther than usual. He let his mind wander towards Lucifer.

His power. His potential. His sudden, (previously absent) dedication to the hotel and his daughter. Ah, yes. That’s a good one for the letter, the demon thought. What else? His likely struggle with being tall enough to ride any of the rollercoasters at his flashy little theme park? Ha, he’s just so small! The demon laughed to himself quietly, thinking of his many ‘short king’ jokes. Such a tiny thing. And without that ridiculous hat it’s even more noticeable. He thought for a moment about being so close to the king earlier today, when he tried to intimidate him into backing away and failed. The way the angel had to arch his neck just to look up at him, their absolutely ridiculous height difference making it impossible for the demon not to look down at him. It was amusing, that’s for sure. But as Alastor’s mind continues to wander, he wonders how else he could manage to get close enough to the tiny king to get to look down on him like that again…

Alastor’s eyes shot wide open. He wanted to hit himself. What the fuck? He could attempt to lie to himself, say that his desire was a simple manifestation of his need to be the most dominant energy in the room. And in some ways, it was. But there was more. More that Alastor just could not figure out. Why was he planning to be around him again? He needed to get this letter done and over with and move on with his evening.

“Name three interesting things you’ve noticed about your person.”

Alastor sighs as he gives in to his frustration and starts writing whatever he can come up with.

On the other side of the hotel, Lucifer fought with the very same piece of paper, barely managing to put the thing together before bed. He attempted to do it earlier while listening to some music, but… Let’s be fair, Alastor’s radio show was distracting! It was… surprisingly nice. Lucifer kept waiting for the calming music to stop and the strange, demonic talk show to start, but it never did. Instead, he slowly drifted to sleep only 30 minutes in.

Lucifer awoke later that night, having missed dinner by at least an hour. He rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes, reaching for the radio now playing nothing but static. After turning it off, he once again remembered that he hadn’t yet completed his daughter’s assignment. Turning to the empty page again, he begins to write.

Chapter five below!

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel alastor #fanfic #mine #do you want to know

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testingthewatersss · 4 months

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I never lost him Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, etc. Just unapologetic cuddling and comfort ft. Steve Rodgers. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 4 2960 words fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Post TWS Steve realises that he's not the only one looking for Sargent Barnes. Reader is Tony’s sister, a non-enhanced shield agent who recently resurfaced.

It turns out, Bucky has cooked.

When Y/N turns up outside the safe house, hiding from the rain under the door frame, it’s already getting dark.

She knocks three times, and hears the chain being slid across a second before the door opens just wide enough, for her to see his face, smiling shyly in the crack.

“Hey, doll” he murmurs, ushering her inside;

She wastes no time in throwing her soaked leather jacket to the floor, pulling her hair down from the pony tail it’s been in for most of the afternoon.

When she looks up again, she sees him stood, watching her nervously from his position.

“Sweetheart” she coos, reaching over to hold his hands, “What’s that face for?”

The pout he’s wearing is blatant. He tries to mask it by faking a tight lipped smile.

Metal fingers curl around her own, he shifts a little, trying to coax her into a hug.

“Missed you today” is what he manages to whisper into her hair, when she finally takes the hint, and shuffles into his chest, “I…I made dinner, I-I’m not sure if it’s edible yet, but uh- I tried.”

Y/N can feel his heart hammering, his pulse is racing. She presses her lips against his throat, kissing it gently.

He gulps, eyes fluttering shut at the contact.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine” she tells him quietly, “and if it isn’t- we’ll order in”

He chuckles silently, nuzzling into her the best he can.

She can smell adrenaline on his skin, she can sense the anxiousness in his posture.

It’s heart wrenching.

“What’s the matter?” she murmurs, pulling back to consider him properly, “Huh, Buck? What’s gotten you so upset today?”

Her palms are hot on his cheeks now, even though he doesn’t remember letting them go.

“…I…” he begins, “I… just, I’ve missed you…”

That’s the same answer as the one he’d given her before, but it sounds different some how. It sounds sadder, and all she can think to do is lean up to kiss him.

He whimpers against her lips, holding her against him for as long as he can, earnestly relishing in the affection.

“‘m here now” she says, “‘m not goin’ anywhere, okay?”

Bucky feels himself nodding, brain still half in a daze from the contact.

The meal he’s made is edible.

It’s pasta, with a sauce he’d found the recipe for in the back of one of Y/N’s magazines.

They hadn’t had any double cream, so he’d used half and half, and he’d never heard of the cheese they’d suggested, so he’d left that out all together.

“It’s good” Y/N beams, “It’s really good, Buck”

He blushes down at her- she’s half in his lap, his arm is draped around her waist as he picks at his own plate with absolute disinterest.

It’s her he’s focused on, the weight of her is grounding, she’s warm and real and lovely.

He’d never eat again, if it meant she’d stay by his side.

She doesn’t want that, though, he knows she worries about him, so he feeds himself mechanically, whilst letting his gaze linger on her face.

The radio is playing a soft song he doesn’t recognise, and the hazy light that had been coming through the cracks in the blinds is gone completely, meaning its only the one, orange desk lamp illuminating the space.

Once the plates are washed and dried, and she’s back, curled up against his chest, she decides to broach the subject she’s been waiting to bring up;

“I spoke to Steve today”

He tenses a little, but his fingers continue trailing up, and down her arm.

“I should hope so, doll” he jokes, “since you’re livin’ with the guy”

“You know what I mean” she jests, shifting a little so they’re face to face, “I told you earlier, he read the file, and the letter.”

He sighs, letting his eyes close for a second as his brow falls against hers.

“He’s not upset with you” she tells him, “He knows it wasn’t your fault”

Bucky feels himself grimace. He wants to argue but knows rehashing everything would be pointless.

“and” Y/N continues, “I spoke to Tony- about you coming back with me.”

She watches him freeze. The shift in him is instant, even in the poor lighting.

He stammers out an “I can’t” before stealing his jaw, nostrils flaring as he sucks in deep breathes through his nose, to try and stop himself from hyperventilating.

“Bucky-”

“I-I-I, oh, oh god-”

“Stop” she insists, reaching up to stroke his cheeks, “please don’t panic”

He’s way past panicking.

He can barely think, anymore.

His lip quivers, he grits his teeth, and screws his eyes shut for a second, before he blinks them open, wide and petrified as he looks at her.

Her chest aches.

“….I can’t keep leavin’ you here, sweetheart…”

Her voice is almost a purr, her fingers are still tracing his face

“….and it’s safer, it’s so much safer at the tower…”

Bucky is still watching her like a wounded stray. He’s totally torn between wanting to cower in a corner, and wanting to hold her tighter, and beg her never to leave him alone again.

“…I promise, baby, it’ll be okay, everything’s alright-”

“-Y-you’re brother—and- and, Steve and, the- the others I- I don't think-”

“My brother” she soothes, her thumb brushing over his chin, “has a hot temper, but he gets it now, Buck and Steve, loves you, he just wants you safe-”

His head shakes a fraction, as if too fight off the temptation her words are breading in his core.

There isn’t anything he wants more than to believe that he could stand a chance at being safe, and happy with her, without having to dread the moment she has to go, and leave him alone in world he barely understands.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me this is working for you.”

Her voice snaps him back to reality, the room that’s so familiar seems to melt away, and suddenly, all Bucky can see is Y/N, the woman he loves so desperately.

He wants to assure her that he’s okay. That he’s coping on his own, with her visiting whenever they have time.

He thinks, she’d be proud of him, if that was true, and that’s all he wants, but it’s not, it’s not true at all, so the words won’t come. He just blinks at her, and feels tears filling his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart-” Y/N soothes, seeing his devastation increasing so rapidly, “-You’re alright-”

“I’m sorry” he whispers, voice cracking, “I-I’m s-sorry”

Her head shakes, she guides him in for a hug, letting her hands slip around to his back a split second before it starts to heave.

It’s almost instant, Bucky suddenly feels like a such disappointment- Being unable to convince her of his well-being has made him so hyper aware of his real, glaring fear that she’s going to see him the way he sees himself, as something that’s broken, that’s been used and discarded.

He really is sorry. He feels like such a burden that he can take it, he tries to apologise again, but he knows he’s not actually speaking out-loud.

That only intensifies his need to plead for forgiveness, his mouth is bone dry- the plates in his arms fold down with metallic grating, moan.

“You haven’t done anythin’ wrong” Y/N tells him, knowing he needs to hear it, “You don’t have to be sorry, baby, I promise, it’s okay-”

He starts to sob, burying his nose in her neck, clinging to her shirt like a child.

She’s telling him it’s okay. The idea of her abandoning him is intolerable. She’s the only thing making it anywhere close to okay.

“I know your scared-”

“I-I don’t-I-I can’t be on m-my own a-anymore-I- I- I can’t- it-it’s-too, too much-don’t- god, please-doll, p-please don’t leave me-”

The confession and request come quickly, before he can swallow them down-

It sickens him to hear it, to hear himself gushing like that, along side fractured whimpers.

“I know it’s too much” Y/N agrees, still stroking across the back of his ribs, “I know it is, I’m not goin’ anywhere, I promise, take some deep breathes for me, okay? I’m not leaving you here, again.”

He clutches her tighter. Nodding to try and convince himself that she means what she’s saying.

She won’t leave me, She won’t leave me, She won’t leave me, She won’t leave me.

Those words loop around his head like a prayer, they fight against the bitter sting of fear that’s made it’s home in his chest.

His lungs hurt, he’s gasping and choking on air, but she’s asked him to try and breathe deeply, and so he does, he does his best not to splutter too much on the exhale.

“I love you” he cries, needing her to know, “I -l-love you, I- I’m sorry-I- I’m sorry I’m like this- I-I’m tryin’- I’m tryin’ to b-breathe-”

Her head shakes, she hushes him and tells him that she loves him too, that she knows how hard it is for him, right now.

“I-I’ll try- w- with you” he stammers, “I-I’ll do-what-whatever you want”

Her lips meet his tearstained cheek. She shakes her head again.

“We’ll talk about it when you’re feelin’ better” she murmurs, “We have options, it’s not just my choice”

Bucky sniffs bravely, pulling back from the safe space he’s found in the crook of Y/N’s neck.

His eyes are blood-shot, lashes wet, a tear rolls off his nose, even more stream down his cheeks in uneven rivets.

“Hey, handsome” she coos, running her hands across from the nape of his neck, so that she can start to clean his face with her palms, “shall we get you some water?”

The shake of his head is slow, he sniffles again, gulping.

“I…I- love you”

Even with the waiver in his voice, Y/N can’t help but smile as leans in, kissing his brow.

It’s warm, he leans into the contact.

“I love you too” she promises, using her sleeve to swipe under his eyes, “That’s why, I think we should talk about this another time.”

He shakes his head, and she can’t help but sigh.

Despite his emotional condition she knows he’s too stubborn to leave this undecided, she knows he won’t settle until they’ve gotten a plan in place.

She can’t blame him really, anxiety is something he has enough of already, without any unanswered questions nagging at his mind.

“‘m not gonna’- gonna- feel any better-‘bout it tomorrow- it-it’s always- it’s always gonna make-make me-“

“Alright” Y/N concedes, “Alright, let’s talk options.”

He nods, taking deliberately controlled breathes.

“I’m not leaving here on your own anymore-” she tells him, “- so, that’s off the table”

A tear falls from his lashes as he blinks. The urge to apologise again is almost intolerable, he feels totally responsible for their having to be options at all.

“I can move back in here” Y/N adds next, “or, we could find our own place, somewhere new-”

Instantly, he shakes his head again;

“I- I can’t take- take you away from your brother like-like that- I- can’t be the reason he loses y-you too-”

“I’m a grown woman” she replies calmly, “and he’s not losing me, just because I stop living in the same house, just like you don’t lose me, when I’m not spending the night.”

She leans in, her palms drift down to his jaw and she rubs her nose against his, knowing he needs the affection to stay grounded.

He does need it. He feels his fingers furling against her hips, even though he doesn’t remember placing them there.

“I-I don’t-I don’t want you to m-move for me” he whispers, “I k-know you work from the labs there- I-I know- how important it- it is for you to be there”

“You-” she says,”-are important to me.”

He feels his cheeks prickling, he’s sure that if he wasn’t already flushed, he’d be blushing.

“I’m just scared- Y/N/N-“ he hears himself say, “-I know it-it makes sense, me- me comin’ back with you, but- there- there are so many people, there-and I- I- did- I did so many things the-they all-”

“Every single person in that building knows you didn’t mean to do anything.”

Bucky's gaze drops again, he looks small, she thinks, he looks lost and vulnerable.

She swipes her thumbs up over his cheek bones, trying to coax it back to her;

“I didn’t mean too” he agrees quietly, before blinking back at her, “but I did, I did do it, Y/N- I- I killed all those people, y-youre parents and-I-I- shot Natasha, and I- I made Steve-“

“Stop”

He does stop. His words die in his throat.

“It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart” she soothes, feeling his neck start to droop, “I know it hurts, I know it feels like it was, but I promise you- it wasn’t.”

She takes his silence as a victory.

“Is Tony, who you’re most worried about?”

Surprisingly, she believes him, when he whispers out a “No”

“‘m not worried ‘bout him” he continues, “he, he can hate me all h-he want’s I-I don’t- don’t blame him, a-and I- I-I think if he w-wanted me dead- he’d have killed me already-”

“he doesn’t want you dead”

“He should.”

“Well” she sighs, “he doesn’t, and it wouldn’t matter, even if he did, because contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t get everything he wants.”

Bucky forces a tight lipped smile, and feels his head throbbing.

“Baby, what is it that’s gotten you so worked up about this? Yesterday, you said you just wanted Steve to be sure about you comin’ in”

“I know” he agrees, guilty again, “I just-I- I didn’t know h-how-I-I’d feel w-when I- when I knew he’d read th-that file”

“I did tell ya’ that awful was probably the most likely”

That makes him scoff, sad but agreeing.

She had warned him, she’d sat with him and explained how terrible it was going to be for him to know that his oldest friend knew the details in those papers, even if they were far from comprehensive.

“and the letter could’ve been less emotive”

He actually manages to roll his eyes at that, which makes a small smile creep across her lips.

“Y-you said he was okay?”

“He’s fine” she affirms, “He’s worried about you, Buck- that’s all- he just wants to know you’re alright”

“He wants to see me” he counters, “that’s why he’s been’ makin’ Romanoff help him track me for the past 4 months”

“Well, I think he’d like to see you, yes” she agrees, “but he’s promised to be patient, I could smuggle you into the room and I’d trust him to stay away-”

“That’d be cruel- kids got no self control, he’d go mad tryin’ to keep that promise”

There’s a jovial lilt to his voice that she loves, she pecks a kiss to his cheek, and is pleased to feel that they’re not nearly as hot as they were a few moments before.

“Then you let him see you” she suggests, “he knows you need space, I really think once he sees you, Buck- When he realises you’re alright, he’ll be better about not bein’ so mother-hen-”

“You don’t know him like I do” he says, “He’s real loyal-he’s- he feels so responsible-“

“You’re both as bad as each other”

He looks at her, considerate, but quiet.

“I don’t know where you both got this obsession with holdin’ yourselves’ accountable for things’ you had no control over- Nothing that happened after you fell was your fault, and I don’t even know where to start on his feelin’ guilty’ bout it all”

Y/N runs a hand through her hair, when she’s finished speaking. She returns it to it’s previous spot agains’t cheek. He turns to kiss at her fingers.

She curls her thumb over his lips, letting him nuzzle into her wrist.

“I’ll- I’ll try- I’ll try it out”

Her head tilts when she catches his words.

“I- I’ll try, at the tower, doll but- but if it’s too much-”

“then we’ll figure somethin’ else out.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

The promise she makes comes easy. It’s clear he’s been drained by the entire interaction. The hollows under his eyes are dark, and deeper than they’ve been in a while.

“Baby, did you sleep at all last night?”

He squints at her, before shaking his head, nose tickling her palm.

Her brow furrows, concern shining behind the brown eyes she shares with her brother.

She knows he didn’t get more than a few hours the day before; when she thinks back, that must mean it’s been at least a week since he’s gotten a decent nights rest.

“Well that makes our next decision a hell of a lot easier than the last one”

He looks at her, expression muddled.

“We’re gettin’ an early night”

Y/N isn’t sure wether it’s relief or reluctance that creeps onto his face, but with his hair hanging half in front of his eyes, it’s hard for her to tell.

So, she cards it back, rubbing his temple with her thumb.

“You’re exhausted” she notes quietly, “we’ve eaten, we’ve cleaned up, there isn’t anythin’ else we need to talk about, other than how much better you’re gettin’ a cookin’”

He scoffs again, and reaches up to tangle their fingers together.

The pair manage to sleep relatively well. Bucky drifts off quickly, and even though his unconsciousness is very, very fragile, when he does startle himself awake during the night, he finds Y/N’s arms still looped around him, and he’s able to bury his face against her chest, and lull himself back to sleep.

1 | 2 | 3 | x | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #the winter soldier x you #fluff #x reader #drabble #series #BBneverlosthim #angst

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aperrywilliams · 2 years

Text

Home (Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credit to the creator)

Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader.

Summary: Reader gets a call from JJ saying that the last case hit Spencer hard. So Reader is determined to make Spencer feel at home when he returns.

Word Count: 2.1 k

Warnings: Mention of Mexico, Cat Adams, and Spencer’s PTSD.

A/N: This one is based on this request. A little comfort and fluff to start Monday. Have a great week, everyone! Do you want to be added to the taglist? Go HERE

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Thursday afternoon found you in the grocery store. You decided it was time to make a proper meal at home. After a week full of take-out, you craved some different.

This pattern usually happens when your boyfriend Spencer is away for a case. You don’t feel like cooking for yourself, so you prefer to order some Chinese and eat on the couch while watching a soap opera on TV.

The informal and relaxed routine at home doesn’t prevent you from worrying about Spencer, though. You usually talk to or text him at night when he is on cases, but sometimes you get only radio static. You know he can be busy, so you try not to freak out, but after what happened in Mexico, it’s difficult not picturing the worst. You still remember like it was yesterday when Emily called you to tell you what happened. At some point, you really thought you would lose Spencer locked in Milburn.

Walking down the aisles, you were about to stop to grab some vegetables when your phone went off. You took it out of your jeans pocket and saw JJ’s name on the screen. Your stomach immediately clenched. Last night you hadn’t been able to talk to Spencer, and during the day, he didn’t answer the text you wrote him in the morning. Nervously, you pressed the green button.

“Hello? JJ?”

“Hi (Y/N). I’m sorry if you are busy right now. Can you talk?” JJ questioned. The knot in your stomach tightened.

“Uh- It’s okay. I - I can talk. Is something wrong? Is Spencer okay?” You hastened to ask.

“Yes! He’s fine. We just landed, and we‘re going to the case debriefing. I’m calling you because this one was pretty intense for Spence. And I know he won’t admit it, but I’m worried; I have seen some of his PTSD since yesterday. I just wanted you to know,” JJ explained.

“Oh. Okay. I get it. Thanks, JJ. For letting me know. The case? Was related to Mexico?”

“Not quite, but the unsub acted pretty much like Cat Adams. I think that triggered his initial discomfort,” JJ told you.

Your poor Spencer. It took him months to appease the nightmares. He usually woke up screaming and crying. When it started, you didn’t know how to help him, but with time, you learned how to soothe him so he could relax in your arms and fall asleep again.

After hanging up, you started to move faster. Spencer would be at home in an hour and a half top, and you knew how exhausted your boyfriend would look. Plus, the information JJ gave you was enough reason for you to do something about it.

The keys jingle in the lock alerted you that Spencer was at home. You were chopping some vegetables and putting them in the pan. You wanted to stop your doing and rush to hug him, but you knew better.

Spencer needed at least some minutes to realize he wasn’t at the BAU or catching monsters anymore, so you kept cooking, trying to act normal.

You heard the thud of his go-bag on the floor. The slow and heavy steps cracking on the wooden floor were another clue of the weightiness he must have held on his shoulders. You smiled at him when he was at your sight in the kitchen.

“Hey, handsome,” you greeted. Spencer looked at you with a weary expression on his face.

“Hey,” he responded, leaning on the door frame whit arms crossed over his chest as he tried to conceal the exhaustion. Averting your gaze, he attempted to evade any question you would have. There wasn’t a hug; there wasn’t a loving kiss.

Surely you would notice something wasn’t okay, but his voice was gone, and his body didn’t let him move.

You just turned off the oven and walked to him without saying anything. He still didn’t want to see you. Tugging one of his arms to unfold, you opened your arms and hugged him. Spencer hugged you back, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“You are home, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” you mumbled, tenderly caressing his scalp. A muffled sob escaped his lips.

“I’ve missed you. I didn’t even reply to your text. I’m sorry,” Spencer sobbed.

“I’ve missed you too, Spencer. But you are here now; it’s all that matters. Do you want to talk about it?” He knew what you were asking. Spencer shook his head, not leaving his right spot on your neck. Being in your arms and smelling your scent was the only thing grounding him right now.

“It’s okay; you don’t have to talk now, but you need to eat, though,” you asserted.

“I’m not hungry,” he refuted, parting from your embrace. His glassy eyes only added more exhaustion to his face.

“Baby, please. I’m sure you didn’t eat the past few days properly,” you guessed.

“I just want to go to bed,” Spencer mumbled, briefly rubbing his palms over his eyes. Your hand came to rest on his cheek, and he leaned into your touch.

“Tunnel vision?” You asked. He nodded, blinking several times. You grabbed his hand and pulled him to the hallway, where the light was dimmer than in the kitchen.

“Tell you what. Why don’t you get a bath, change your pajama, and then decide if you want to eat something before bed.”

Spencer considered your words and shrugged.

“Okay.”

You led him to the bathroom. Spencer’s brows furrowed when he saw the room littered with aromatic candles. He could smell the faint scent of lavender from the candles mixed with vanilla from the bubbling water in the tub.

“How did you-” Spencer wanted to ask. You smiled at him, pecking his lips as your hands working on his clothes.

“Let me take care of you, okay?” You asked, removing his tie.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to. I’ll be okay,” he told you, holding your hand and kissing your knuckles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to. Please?” A kiss on his cheek accompanied your request.

Spencer sighed. It was always difficult to accept that he needed to be cared for too.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

As you helped him to get rid of his clothes, you could feel how his body gave up. He barely raised his arms so you could take his undershirt off. When he was fully naked, you helped him to step into the bathtub. Once the warm water enveloped his body, he let out a contented sigh. With eyes closed, his head rested on the edge of the tub.

Spencer seemed lost in thought when he suddenly opened his eyes and saw you with the shampoo bottle in your hands.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” he asked. You chuckled.

“Not this time. I already told you, love. I’m going to take care of you. Now close your eyes, baby; I’m going to wash your hair.”

Gently, you massaged his scalp, spreading the lather over his curls, then rinsed them. Spencer looked so relaxed that you were sure he had fallen asleep at some point.

When you were done, you soaped his body and gave it the same attention you paid to his hair.

Spencer opened his eyes and looked at you adoringly. Your gaze met his, and you chuckled.

“What?” you asked playfully.

“I love you,” he said.

“Wait till you see what I made for dinner,” you joked.

Once ready, you left him alone to take his time getting out of the tub and drying off. You left one of his pajamas on the bed and went to the kitchen to finish dinner.

When Spencer was ready and shown in the living, a plate of his favorite meal was waiting on the table. Only the lights of the lamps were on so as not to have the place too bright. You knew about his photo-sensitivity and didn’t want to give him a headache.

A smile spread across his face when he saw the table.

“I told you,” you reminded him. “Come, love. It will do you good to eat something.”

You guys sat across from each other, and Spencer’s appetite seemed to have whetted because not ten minutes had passed, and his plate was nearly empty. Neither of you spoke during that time. But it wasn’t an awkward silence. Instead, it was nice to be able to enjoy each other’s company.

After sipping some of his water, Spencer cleared his throat.

“The unsub was doing the same thing Cat did to me,” he murmured. Your gaze moved from your plate to his eyes.

Spencer was looking at you with those kicked puppy eyes.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. Did you catch him?”

“Catch her. Yes, we did. But it wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t much help either. I felt so useless (Y/N). I can’t believe it still affects me this much,” Spencer confessed, averting your gaze.

You took his hand across the table so he would look at you again.

“Spencer, love. You have every right to be affected by this. What happened to you is not something that will go away overnight. And maybe not in a year, or maybe never. But you’ve been strong enough to face it and continue your life. That’s what matters. And if there are days that are better than others, no one can blame you for that. And I’m sure the team understands that. Don’t torture yourself with those thoughts.”

Spencer squeezed your hand appreciatively.

“You’re right. Sometimes it’s hard to see and accept, though,” Spencer recognized.

You huffed playfully.

“I know it’s hard for you to accept that I’m usually right, but you should get used to it.”

Spencer’s face turned red and shocked.

“No, no, no. That’s not what I meant when I said that - I mean, what I wanted to say was that the hard part was-” Spencer stuttered. You started to laugh.

“I know what you meant, Spencer. I’m messing with you.”

Spencer eased then and laughed. It was a genuine laugh. Mission accomplished.

After dinner, you guys moved over to the couch.

You were sitting, and Spencer was lying with his head on your lap while you played with his hair, something you knew he loved very much. A playlist that both of you liked was playing over the speakers.

From the moment you saw him walk in tonight, only now could you tell that Spencer was utterly relaxed. After telling you what happened in the last case and how much it had affected him, it seemed like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

And so it was. Spencer could only repeat to himself how lucky he was to have you by his side. No one had ever put so much effort into these kinds of details towards him before.

Spencer had never felt so blessed to be able to come to his home and truly feel like it was home to him. That happened when you came into his life.

“How are you feeling?” You asked in a whisper so as not to scare him. He turned to see you.

“Like at home,” he answered.

“Well, indeed, you are home, baby.” you joked. Spencer chuckled, and his eyes began to sparkle.

“It wasn’t like that before, though,” he stated. Spencer sat on the couch to get a better look at you. You frowned.

“I mean that this space wouldn’t feel like home if you weren’t here. It would be just four walls with some rooms and furniture.”

Your cheeks flushed at his admission.

“Oh, please, are you suggesting that I’m so loud that I fill up spaces?” You tried to joke to hide how flustered you felt, averting his gaze. Spencer tilted up your chin with his fingers.

“Hey, I’m serious. What you did for me today, and what you have done for me since we met, only makes me fall more in love with you every day. And asking you to move in with me was the best thing I’ve ever done. For now,” he winked at you, and you grinned.

“Are you saying there are better things to come?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“If it’s by your side, I’m sure it will. I love you, (Y/N),” he whispered, leaning in so he could kiss you.

“I love you too, Spencer Reid,” you said, closing the gap between you and letting his lips capture yours.

It was a sweet kiss where Spencer showed you how important you were to him. You reciprocated in the same way, conveying your feelings as well.

This was the life you wanted. Next to whom you were sure was the love of your life.

The man who had hidden a velvet box with an engagement ring in his sock drawer.

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Spencer Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer

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#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfictions #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfics #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #home

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thisisarcanereverie · 1 year

Text

When the World Went to Shit (Chapter 5)

Joel Miller x FEM! Reader

A/N: this is a SPOILER WARNING, this contains spoliers from the third episode (and more to come). This is a day late, watched episode 5 last night for the first time and I needed a moment oh my god. I was barely ready to write about episode 3, now I have to look forward to episode 5. I am already in tears over it.

WARNINGS: Canon level of violence, swears, reader is ready to fight a goddamn child, Joel is sad, talks of grief, PTSD, brief mentions of gore, Eventual Smut, pining (on both ends), grumpy idiots in love, reader is in her late 30's to early to mid 40's. Major character deaths. DISCLAIMER NO CHARACTERS/GIFS/PICS USED ARE MINE.

Summary: 20 years later after the world went to shit you, Joel, and Tess have to take 14 year old Ellie to the Firefly base outside of Boston QZ. What was supposed to be a simple plan turned into something much more complicated.

Prev. Chapter

After leaving the station you continued on your walk, you were thankful for the decent weather at least. No rain or snow or anything really that could slow you down. Once again you were looking around your surroundings, careful to make sure there were no signs of any other person using this trail but you and Joel.

“So…” Ellie started, “how did you guys meet?” she kicked a rock further down the road, one that she had been kicking since a few yards back.

“That’s a random question.” You said, looking at her.

“Well it’s going to be a while until we reach Bill and Franks,” Ellie pointed out, kicking the rock again, “and it’s been killing me, I wanna know!”

“Well,” you started since you knew Joel wouldn’t answer, “we met before the outbreak.”

“But how long before the outbreak?”

“It was 1984.” you said doing the math in your head, “so that would’ve been 18 years or so before the outbreak.” You see her jaw drop and stop kicking the rock.

“Wow,” Ellie gawked, “you both are old, like dinosaur old.” you rolled your eyes and slightly pushed her shoulder.

“Not that old,” You said before pretending to think, “well maybe except Joel.”

“Ha ha ha,” Joel laughed dryly, “good one.” You smiled behind him as you turned to Ellie who was smiling too.

“So that means Joel is older than you?”

“By six or seven odd years,” You said, “his brother Tommy was a friend of mine.”

“How old is Tommy?”

“Let’s get off the subject,” Joel said. You could see his shoulders stiffen at the mention of Tommy. When everything went down and Tommy joined the Firefly’s Joel was livid with him. They were barely on speaking terms before he left and it broke your heart to see the two brothers dissolved into that.

“Holy shit,” you heard Ellie say as she rushed to the side of the road where a small clearing of trees were. An airplane wreckage, when you were younger you were terrified of them but what you wouldn’t give to see a functional one up in the air. You looked over your right to see Joel standing beside you, you wonder if Joel ever reminisced about random, mundane things and missed it like you did. Like running late to work because of traffic so you were forced to listen to the radio as it cleared out, or seeing that one old couple on your way to work that always asked you how your day was. Just the little things like that, that used to be annoying or sweet but were taken advantage of.

“Have you ever flown in one of those?” Ellie asked her eyes never leaving the ruins.

“Sure,” Joel answered, “a few times.”

“So lucky.”

“It didn’t feel like it at the time,” Joel said, his eyes never leaving the plane either, “get shoved into a middle seat and pay 12 bucks for a sandwich.”

“What airline did you use? because that’s fucking criminal.” you asked, sure they put you in crappy middle seats but at least they didn’t overcharge you for a crappy sandwich.

“Dudes,” Ellie said, you looked at her to see her no longer looking at the wreckage but at you and Joel, “you guys got to go up in the sky,”

You looked at the wreckage again, and much like your world it was broken and had casualties. You remember watching the planes dropping from the sky like fiery falling stars. But only they screamed, and burned as they crashed, killing in its wake.

“So did they.” Joel said before continuing the walk, Ellie followed him soon after. You stayed there a moment, had you not canceled your flight that day you could’ve been among those people, amongst all those fiery inferno’s. It was a grim thought, it was even more grim to wonder if you would have been better off if you had.

You took one last look of it as you caught up with the other two, something bothering you in the back of your mind.

You walked further along, sometimes you would take the front and Joel would walk behind you with Ellie or he would walk ahead. Something bothered you about that crash, a mental note you made that seemed to elude you.

“So everything came crashing down in one day?”

“Pretty much.”

“How?” Ellie asked, “I mean, no one was infected with the Cordyceps, everyone is fine, eating in restaurants and flying in planes, and then what? It just happened all at once? How did it even start?” There were a lot of rumors, but no one really knew for sure. “If you have to get bitten to be infected, then who bit the first person? A monkey, I’m willing to bet it was a monkey.”

“It wasn’t a monkey,” Joel groaned, “I thought you went to school?”

“FEDRA school,” Ellie explained, “They didn’t teach us how their shitty government failed to prevent a pandemic.” You wouldn’t expect them to either, their educational system left things to be desired. There was a silence that fell, the start of the end wasn’t something you liked to talk about more than anyone else. It brought back memories that made your heart ache, it brought back your mother and how you never got the chance to tell her goodbye.

“No one knows for sure,” Joel explained, “but the best guess was that the cordyceps mutated and some of it got into the food supply. Probably a basic ingredient like flour or sugar, there were certain types of food that were sold everywhere, all across the country and world. Bread, cereal…pancake mix.” Joel hesitated before listing the last item, something that you didn’t have the heart to ask about, knowing it was something he probably didn’t want to share. However, he had that look in his eye, the one full of grief and rage. The look he only got when he remembered Sarah, and what happened to her. “If you eat enough of it’ll get you infected. So all the tainted foods hit the store shelves around the same time thursday, people bought it, that very night people ate with that food or early Friday morning. Day goes on, people get sick, day goes on even further they get even more sick…and then they start biting…Friday night September 26, 2003 is the night the world went to shit and by Monday everything was gone.”

You remembered why that crash bugged you so much and the note you mentally made as a landmark between here and where you were heading. Your eyes widened as you remembered what you were going to pass in just a few short miles. You turned to look at Joel, who seemingly remembered too as he put a hand in front of the small girl.

There was a long, drawn out silence, one not even Ellie would dare break as she comprehended what she was told. You assumed in FEDRA School they mainly taught locations of things and how to kill. Not how all of this happened in the first place.

There was something bugging you, like a nat you couldn’t swat away. That mental note you made alluding to you until you see a tree with one lone arrow sticking from it. It had been yours when you still had a crossbow.

“We’ll cut across the woods here,” Joel said, pointing to the other trail. He didn’t want Ellie to see it either, which didn’t surprise you. When both he and Tess took you the first time he tried to hide the horrors ahead from you as well.

“Isn’t the road easier?” Ellie asked. She wasn’t wrong, the road was the easiest way, without all the branches and twists and turns. But what laid up the road was something you didn’t want her to see, it was something a girl her age shouldn’t ever have to see.

“Yeah it’s just…” Even Joel was at a loss for words as to describe the scene ahead. “There’s stuff up there that you shouldn’t have to see.”

“Well now I have to see.”

“No,” You said firmly, looking at her, “no you don’t.”

“We don’t want you too,’ Joel added. But in your limited amount of time with Ellie you knew that once she made up her mind there was no talking her out of it. So it didn’t surprise you when Ellie ignored you and continued along, this time she was in front of you.

“Serious, Ellie” Joel said, his voice slightly raised, “there are some things you shouldn’t have to see.”

“Can it hurt me?” Ellie asked.

“No,”

“You’re too honest man!” Ellie said as she turned briefly to face your worried faces before returning to the road ahead of her, “should’ve said ax murderer.” you both looked at each other in defeat, knowing that it wasn’t going to be long until she came across what you were trying to protect her from.

Sure enough, you arrived at the makeshift burial ground. Only nothing was buried and the corpses of defenseless families laid where they fell at the hands of FEDRA soldiers years ago. When you first saw it you could feel your anger towards FEDRA rise. They were all people once, people who trusted FEDRA to keep them safe only for that trust to be repaid by a bullet in their heads. You tried to not look at the rainbow wrapped baby in the decomposed arms of who you assumed was its mother. You look at the short brunette who went silent, her eyes taking in the sight in front of her. Bill told you about these people, how they had been his neighbors. You realized that FEDRA only drove them until the edge of town before executing them.

You stood next to Ellie, who you were sure had a million questions after seeing this.

Or maybe only one.

“About a week after Outbreak day,” you started, “soldiers went through the countryside and evacuated small towns and told them they were going to a QZ…they were if there was room. If there wasn’t any then this happened.”

“These people weren’t sick?” Ellie asked.

“No,” you breathed, “most likely not.”

“Why kill them?” Ellie's eyes narrowed the more she looked at the bodies, “why not just let them be?”

“The dead can’t be infected.” You didn’t sugarcoat it, it wasn’t something you could even if you tried. You patted her arm to keep going, the longer you stayed here the longer you wished you could’ve beaten that FEDRA soldier instead of Joel.

The rest of the way was silent for the most part, Ellie not really being in the mood to ask more questions or to make conversation and you couldn’t blame her. Instead of being worried you were thankful for the silence. Instead you tried to focus on something else other than what you saw back there. Your eyes instinctively went back to Joel, who was quiet, almost pensive. The Joel you grew up with could never have stayed silent for too long, but of course what did you know? You were more Tommy’s friend back then, or at least Tommy was closer in age than Joel was. It was mostly you and him sneaking into movie theaters to watch movies you weren’t allowed to see, or TP someone’s house during Halloween. When you both graduated school you went on to college while he went into the army, Tommy did always want to change the world. Naturally you grew apart, with your focus on your studies and the limited letters that came in, you both lost touch, only regaining it when you’re nearly 30, widowed, and the world was on fire.

Life was funny like that sometimes.

It wasn’t long until you got to Bill and Franks, you were half expecting Bill to be on the other side of the gate already asking in his paranoid way who the girl with you was. However, Bill couldn’t move around like he used to and neither could Frank. So when you saw that they weren’t there it didn’t surprise you, when you arrived Joel pushed in the number code and the gate buzzed unlocked. You held open the door for Ellie and walked inside yourself. At first everything seemed alright, but as you approached the house your stomach dropped to your feet and you went cold. The flowers on the porch were dying, even after Frank could no longer move Bill always made sure that the flowers were watered so that Frank would have something beautiful to look at. A million thoughts ran through your mind, what if Bill had fallen? What if something worse happened?

You got your gun out, holding it in your hand steadily as you turned to Joel.

“Something isn’t right.” You said, “the flowers were dying and Bill wasn’t there to meet us at the gate.”

“I agree,” Joel said, “but it isn’t too out of place for Bill not to meet us there.”

“Have you ever known Bill to take kindly to strangers he doesn’t know?”

“Good point.” Joel got his gun out as well as he went through the door first, leaving you second to enter. At first nothing seemed wrong, it was just silent. You figured if you were going to get attacked, it would’ve happened by now.

“Try the bedroom,” You told Joel as you put your gun in your pocket, “I’ll see about the greenhouse.” Joel nodded as he made his way down the hallway, but before you made it to the back door you saw the accent table in the hallway. You thought for sure that you were seeing things until you wiped your finger across only to leave a mark. Dust. You’ve never known this house to get dusty, or cold, but damn was it cold in here. It was too cold for Frank, his condition tended to flare up in the cold it was almost downright torture for him. Panic started to fill you as you went into the dining room, once again there was dust, but also rotten food.

“What the fuck.” Ellie says, astonished, though you could barely hear her over the light pounding in your ears. You looked at the food, dust, and dying flowers, all of it couldn’t have compiled more than maybe a couple of weeks at most.

“I can’t get the door open,” Joel said coming into the dining room, “any luck in the greenhouse?” You didn’t say anything as your mind tried to comprehend what deep in your heart, you knew.

They’re gone.

“Uhh,” You turned to Ellie who held an opened letter and a single key, “it’s addressed to you guys.” You looked at the envelope,

To whomever, but probably Joel

Bill’s handwriting.

“It’s from Bill,” she said as you saw her eyes dart as she read the lines before looking up at you. “It came with this,” she handed him the key she was holding.

“So they’re dead?” Joel asked, Ellie looked apologetic as she nodded.

“You wanna read?” she asked, Joel looked at you but you shook your head, Joel then nodded for Ellie to read.

“August 29th, 2023” Ellie began.

“If you find this…please do not come into the bedroom. We left a window open so the house wouldn’t smell, but it will probably be a sight. I’m guessing you found this Joel, because anyone else would’ve been electrocuted or blown up by one of my traps, hehehehehehe. Take anything you need, the bunker code is the same code for the gate but in reverse…Anyway, I never liked you, but still it’s like we’re friends…almost. And I respect you, So I’m gonna tell you something because you’re probably the only person who will understand. I used to hate the world and I was happy when everyone died…but I was wrong, because there was one person worth saving. That’s what I did, I saved him, and then I protected him. That’s why men like you and me are here, we have a job to do.

And god help any motherfuckers who stand in our way.

I leave you all of my weapons and equipment, use them to keep-”

Ellie stopped suddenly, her eyes darting between you and Joel. You were about to ask what it said when Joel took it, reading it silently.

“What does it say?” You ask, you could see a tense expression on his face as he ignored you. “Joel, what does it say?” he ignored you again, you were about to grab it when he moved it out of your reach. You could feel a tightening feeling in your chest as your eyes narrowed on him, “Joel, what does it say.” he refused to look at you. You were about to ask and reach for it again when Ellie spoke up.

“It said to keep Tess safe.” Ellie said, you turned to face her as Joel put the letter in his pocket. You felt your mouth go dry at her name and your heart break a little more as you understand what Bill said. He knew, and you were willing to bet Frank did as well.

You were silent for a moment, turning away from Joel and Ellie as you gathered what strength you could.

“Stay here.”

You calmly walked out the door and to the side of the house, where they couldn’t see you and you let loose the tears that had been building up ever since you left Boston. You cried as you remembered how you failed to protect Tess and how it should’ve been you, you cried for Frank and Bill and you wished you could’ve done more for them. You let it all out, leaning against the house for support. You didn't cry like this, not since the outbreak. But every feeling you bottled until now seemed to overflow as you cried until your eyes were sore.

When you came back Ellie was in the shower and you assumed Joel was checking out the supplies, so you decided to look around to see if there was anything else that you might need laying around. Hopefully they would both be busy enough that by the time they see you your eyes would be less tender and inflamed. You saw a box of clothes labeled ‘women’. They probably gathered this at the boutique so that you or Tess could go through it and get what you wanted. You were in need of some new clothes, the ones you were wearing were covered in grime and dirt. You searched and found a faded green henley, a new jacket, along with jeans, all new. You also found a few other changes of clothing that you would take with you along with some much needed underwear and bra. You were thankful that they thought of this, considering that this was only supposed to be an overnight job you didn’t pack accordingly in terms of clothes. You packed the other pair of jeans and shirt into your bag along with the two pairs of underwear and socks. They didn’t take up much room in your bag, which you were grateful for, and by the time you had gotten to the closet where he kept the toilet paper you heard Ellie come out of the shower.

“Already snagged three rolls,” She said as she strolled past you, still drying her hair. “The shower is open if you want to get in. There should still be hot water left.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly hoping your voice wouldn’t betray you, “I think I will, thanks.” You would try not to take too much time, out of all three of you Joel probably needed the shower the most. You would die for Joel, but dude needs all the hot water he could get.

You grabbed your new pair of clothes and headed for the still steamy bathroom, you sighed as you already felt the tension that stored in your back release a little as you peeled your previous clothes off your body and hopped into the shower.

As promised the shower didn’t last long, ten minutes at most. Enough to clean yourself and let the hot water relax your nerves. Even when you were going through school and the stress of multiple papers loomed over your head, you seemed to calm down when the water hit you.

You brushed your teeth after and dried yourself, and after making sure that the floor was dry and that there was still hot water left for Joel you exited the bathroom, dressed in your henley and jeans. Part of you wanted to stay here. To bury Bill and Frank and live here away from the QZ, away from the enormous amounts of clickers and infected. But you couldn’t, there were too many memories here. And you wouldn’t disrespect Frank and Bill and move them, you just wouldn’t. Besides, the wiring on the fence was getting old, it probably had another few years before it would need to be replaced.

When you came back down you could see Ellie walking away from the desk. You didn’t think much of it until you walked by her and saw her jaw drop.

“Wow!” Ellie exclaimed, “you don’t smell like a dead horse!” You roll your eyes.

“Haha,” you laughed dryly, “thanks, and here” you said as you tossed her deodorant, she thanked you as she applied it. You were so busy chatting with Ellie that you didn’t notice Joel coming back in, or him looking at you for a moment longer than he knew he should’ve before going upstairs for his turn of the shower.

By the time he was done you had made dinner from what was still good in Bill’s fridge, which wasn’t much. All you could really make were a couple of sandwiches, you didn’t even notice him until Ellie did.

“Well,” Ellie says, “don’t you look pretty! Don’t you think he’s pretty Doc?”

You turned around to see him, his salted hair slicked back from the water, his skin clear of any grime or sweat, and a new set of clothes adorned him as well. The flannel suited him well, at least it didn’t have any holes in it. You think you saw Frank wear it once or twice, but he didn’t fill it out the way Joel did. But you figured that was for the better. You were so busy checking him out that you didn’t notice him doing the same thing, or the flush that was fighting its way to his face.

“I’d say that,” you agreed, tearing your eyes away from him, “yeah.”

“Shut up.” Joel gruffed, trying to hide his embarrassment by tossing another stick of deodorant towards Ellie who tossed it back to him.

“I must stink if both of you handed me deodorant.”

“No”

“Yes.”

You raise an eyebrow at him as he shrugged.

“Let’s get going.” He said, “I already packed the truck up with supplies that we’ll need in order to make it to Tommy.” you nodded as you said one final goodbye to Frank and Bill, hoping that wherever they are, that they were as peaceful there as they were here.

You took the backseat as Ellie and Joel sat up front, choosing to let Ellie’s first car ride be in shotgun. You smiled as she pressed random things.

“First time in a car?”

“It’s like a spaceship!” Joel looked tired as she continued to explore various things.

“No it’s like a piece of shit Chevy S10,” Joel corrected, “but it’ll get us there…I think.” Joel looks over to her a second to see her not paying attention before sighing. “Seat Belts.” You see her look curiously at him as he reaches across her to grab said object and buckled her in. It may be invisible to everyone else, especially himself, but you could see his eyes soften just a tiny bit as he did. You wouldn’t say anything about it, but you knew Joel liked Ellie at least. He sees her as something to protect and that puts a smile on your face, knowing that Joel now has something else to protect.

And in a way so do you.

You left the garage and listened to the track that Ellie picked, watching the house fade in the distance knowing that while you’ll never be back there, at least the people there made the impossible possible. And made a home that was lived in and loved in this crazy, fucked up world.

And life is full of loss

Who knows the cost?

Livin’ in a memory

Of a love that never was

Cause I’ve done everything I know.

To try and change your mind

And I think I’m gonna love you

For a long, long time.

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@burninggracesandbridges

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ruinedbylanadelrey · 8 months

Text

Trying

bbf!Frankie Morales x F!Reader ficlet

playlist

masterlist

based off 'this is me trying' by taylor swift. summary: Family friend Frankie Morales coming home for good gets the news of the death of his childhood and military best friend. He sees how broken the girl who he always thought as a little sister and tries to bring her back to herself.

wc: 4.5K

warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, brother's best friend, OC BROTHER, talk about addiction and suicide, mention of killing in the military, alcohol, drugs, survivor guilt!, sibling loss, grief, reader calls Frankie 'Frank' a lot, mutual pining, mention of disordered eating due to alcohol, vomit, a lot of crying, PTSD, angst if you squint, hurt/comfort, kissing, smut, mental health decline due to grief, frankie becoming a real man, parents, quiet love

The Morales family was your family's first friend when your parents moved out to the suburbs of Florida. You were just born and your big brother, Ethan was merely 3 years old. Frankie met his best friend at a young age. You were always around them, playing soldiers or playing on the gaming console. Frankie was always the one to make sure you were involved since it was just you and your brother. His kindness made you develop a crush on him.

Your parents thought it was cute that you had a crush on Frankie, it just showed how well his parents raised him. As you got older, the crush became something more but you would deny ever having a crush on him because he was another brother to you. Always so bad at lying.

You fell hard for Frankie when he showed up to your graduation with your brother since they had joined the military together.

"It wouldn't be fair if I didn't show up to yours since you showed up to mine, bebita" Frankie jokes while you sit in the backyard together looking at the stars hiding away from your family at your graduation party.

"I think I wouldn't be able to survive today if you weren't here, Frank," You laughed and rested your head on his shoulder.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" You ask, Frankie looks at you and nods.

"Keep Ethan alive and yourself too," Your words rattled in his brain every single day of deployment.

Frankie felt his heart try to crawl out of his chest when you looked at him that night. He had to keep his promise. He didn't want to let you down, he kept wondering why was he doing this. He kept such a big promise that could blow up in his face. He wanted nothing more than to keep you smiling and not worrying about what goes on when they leave the country again. When Frankie left your life once again.

You wrote letters to Ethan and Frankie, but letters stopped returning when your brother was medically discharged and Frankie was in the Delta force. You felt relieved that your brother was home but still filled with anxiety not ever hearing from Frankie. His parents seemed fine and content with hearing so little from Frankie. They knew that on a random Wednesday night, Frankie would call and ask to hear about home. Hearing about Ethan is once again in rehab in the psych ward. You graduated college and now working for a large marketing company and you still haven't found a husband. Always the dramatics with them.

A couple more years of radio silence gets interrupted when Ethan takes his life. You moved back home with your parents. Frankie comes home for the final time and he's there to stay. Your family and you shut out the world for months, trying to process the death of a son, of a brother. You were completely torn apart and had nothing left in you. Nearing 30 and having to be the adult while your parents grieve over the loss of their firstborn. Your emotions are being pushed aside.

The silence was officially over when you walked out of the liquor store with a bottle of whiskey and almost dropped it when you bumped into a man entering the store.

"I'm so sorry-Frank?" Your blood ran cold and your body froze when Frankie's gaze met yours. His hair is grown out, facial hair all over but patchy in some spots, the beard graying at his sideburns but his hair still a dark brown curling over his beloved cap.

"Bebita!" Frankie shakes his head and does a double-take.

"How are-"

"Ethan is dead,"

"you?" Your and Frankie's words overlap and both of you stop talking for a second.

Frankie felt the wind knocked out of him as he stared at you. Your eyes are just dead and not sparkling like they usually are. Your face breaking out from not caring about self-care, your hair thrown up in a ponytail, your cheeks a bit hallow, heavy under eye bags from crying and not sleeping. Grief has become you. You feel like you walk around with half of your identity gone. A part of you is dead.

"I-I'm sorry for your loss," Frankie comes to and could feel the tears threatening to escape his eyes. You saw how the news broke him, the change in his face, his eyes fell dull. You thought you drained the life out of him. Guilty. Plaguing everyone you talk to.

"Frank...don't shut down like that," You touch his arm, both of you still standing in the doorway.

"You lost him too," you sniffled not realizing you had been crying since the moment you looked into Frankie's eyes. He drops his head down and quickly wipes his tears with the sleeve of that tan jacket he's had forever.

"How did he?"

"Overdosed...purposely," You said it like it was so normal, always trying to stay strong even around those whom you can be vulnerable with.

A deep 'excuse me' comes up behind you, Frankie takes your hand and pulls out of the liquor store and to his truck. A swing of the passenger door and Frankie helps you into the cab of the truck. He quickly runs to the driver's side and gets in.

You could hear Frankie breathing heavily and deeply. You watched him fist the steering wheel and a sob breaks from his lips. You slide along the bench and softly rub his back.

"I should be the one comforting you, bebita," Frankie leans back and takes your hand off of him, intertwining your fingers with his. Your heart rate kicked up, something you haven't felt in years since the last time you saw Frankie.

"Frank, he's childhood best friend, a family friend, you grew up with him, don't minimize your relationship with him-"

"I failed you..."

Frankie cuts you off, your forehead scrunched in confusion and you look at him.

"I tried so hard to keep him from ever doing drugs...I tried so hard but what's fucked up is that he only started because he found my stash of coke...I tried!" Frankie wanted the earth to swallow him whole. You knew what was happening overseas Ethan didn't sugarcoat anything when he would tell you things.

You know of the people he's killed, that Frankie has killed, how drugs were quite accessible in other countries.

"Frank...his addiction was not your fault. Not his fault either." You never saw Ethan as his addiction, you always looked at him like the little boy you grew up with.

You were the only person who didn't blame his addiction for the way he led his life. You were always there to get him to help, going through the many detoxes, the many nights of him doped out and pissing himself, but it drained you, you can only help so much. That is the harsh truth, you can only help those who want the help to get clean and stay clean.

"I was stupid and in my 20s thinking, I could stop anytime...I did but he kept going..." Frankie continued to spit out whatever came to his mind. Not thinking about what came out of his mouth.

"You asked me to do one thing...to keep Ethan and myself alive..." Frankie could still your words from that night. You remembered what he was talking about, your heart fluttered at the fact that he did keep his word. Frankie did it just for you.

"That was selfish for me to ask...life doesn't like to play in anyone's favor," You laughed at how naive you used to be. How you painted Frankie as this strong and self-assured military man, your soldier, the knight in shining armor.

"It wasn't selfish," Frankie tucks the piece of hair that refused to join the ponytail. You wanted to melt into his touch, how his touch feels different. It was charged. Magnetic to your skin.

"You should hate me..." Frankie's voice cracks, You never thought you see the day that Frankie cries. He was always so stoic.

"I don't. No one does. Because it's not your fault." Your tone made Frankie tense up, your honeyed voice was turned to ice. You didn't want someone else to feel any guilt. You already take on so much of it, you might as well take it all on. Frankie cleared his throat and saw how your eyes were still soft.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Frank...come by the house tomorrow...I miss you," You softly whisper, you wrapped your arms around his right arm and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt his head nod in response. You sat up and kissed the tears staining Frankie's cheek. His body shudders when your lips graze his skin.

"Noon, I'll make us lunch and we can talk with my parents." You forced a smile while you gathered your purse and the whiskey bottle for the night.

You drove home and thought you were selfish for grieving in front of Frankie who just got the news about the person who truly knew who he was. You parked the car in the driveway that getting overcrowded by the weeds that Ethan has taken care of since your father has gotten older with you.

Another thing to add to the list of many things you have to do before moving back to the city, get a landscaper. You reached for the bottle and opened it. You bring the whiskey to your lips and let the burning amber liquid sit on your tongue before you open the door and spit it out on the asphalt then bile comes up and burns your throat. Your nose running from crying and vomiting all over the ground like you were 8 years old again and getting extreme motion sickness.

You walk into the tomb of your childhood and the living room TV playing some infomercial, your parents still having cable whilst having almost every streaming service. Your mom is asleep on the recliner seat of the couch, your father in his big recliner that was the perfect size for him,

You would always sit in it with Ethan on Saturday mornings watching cartoons and eating the bowl of Lucky Charms that opened poorly and you both know your mom is going scold for opening the box of cereal wrong. Working as a team to get the bowls down from the cabinets and helping to pour the milk so it doesn't spill all over the countertops.

You search for the remote and click off the TV then walk to your old bedroom that only had a full-size bed, walls decorated with movie posters, pictures of friends, and your old vanity mirror that had a Polaroid of you standing between Frankie and Ethan at your graduation. You picked the picture to study it again for the thousandth time.

Frankie and Ethan dressed in their ceremony uniforms, you remembered your breathing taken away seeing Frankie in uniform for the first time, thinking 'It's true, everyone loves a man in uniform'. You felt your face twitch noticing how you were smiling at how Frankie's clean-shaven look was the awkward stage he never went through as a teenager.

The smile on his face was everything, just a smirk curling up the left side of his face. You thought it was so boyish and charming. You sat the picture down and went to the bathroom to wash out your mouth before falling asleep. A dreamless sleep beside flashes of memories of you and Ethan as little kids. The flashbacks are always when you are both kids never as teenagers or young adults.

You wake up with your heart racing, shot up in bed with your hand on your chest panicking more over the fast heartbeat. You glanced at your phone and it was 6 am. You're wide awake and you can hear your father's snore downstairs. The door to your room is pushed wide open and your eyes land on the furball of a culprit.

Ethan's cat 'Prince', because Ethan said he is royalty and should be treated as such. The cat sits at the foot of your bed with a mouse made from an old army shirt that Ethan wore all the time you special ordered for the cat because of how sick he got when Ethan passed away. You thought if you could help a cat process grief you could forget about yours. Always running from it, but grief and love to loom around corners you don't turn down often.

The cat drops the mouse for you on the bed and walks out of the bedroom. He thinks you can't feed yourself. You laughed in your head but started to think about the last meal you ate that wasn't on a drunken binged that would puke out your guts an hour later. You stuff towels at the bottom of the door to muffle your cries and gags. Stuffing the towels at the bottom of the door that isn't to keep the smoke from weed you had in high school.

You get out of bed and go down to the kitchen to feed Prince. As you prepared his lavish breakfast your body and mind were instantly drained. You needed to shower and start to clean this house before Frankie arrived, that meant getting my parents up and about. You had no energy to do anything for yourself, if it's not for Ethan why even do it?

You sat in bed and stared at the ceiling for an hour before you started cleaning up the whole house as if Frankie was going to be in every single room. Your parents left for the store to buy lunch and dinner for the weekend at 10 AM meaning they won't be back until 11. Your sweat drips down your forehead and goes into your eyes making them sting. Your ears roar with blood rushing to your head, clenching your jaw and not breathing.

Your fingernails were bleeding while you scrubbed the bathroom sink. You yelp as the cleaning product gets between your nails, and you scold yourself for not putting on the rubber gloves. You started to cough when you took too deep of breath. Quickly turning on the water to wash away the cleaner from the sink and your skin. The tips of your fingers slightly burned, you could feel the tenderness.

A small fit of laughter came from the hallway, you wiped your hands on the sweats you had put on to clean in. You entered the living room and saw Frankie sitting with your parents in the dining room adjacent. You gazed at the clock on the cable box, at 12:15 p.m. Did you blackout while cleaning?

"Mama, Frankie is here..." Your mother sees you with bloodshot eyes and sweating all over your face and body. Frankie turns around in his chair and looks at the mess you become. You could feel your face get even hotter as he gave you his stupid smile but it was strained a bit maybe forced.

Frankie looked at you and saw how wrecked you were. His heart could feel tendrils of the beating muscle tear apart when he finally saw you completely exposed by emotion.

"I'll be back, I need to clean up," You mumbled wiping away the sweat mix with tears off your face and heading to the shower. Turning it all the way to icy cold water comes out, and chilling your entire body. You looked up at the running water practically washing your eyes out.

You pull yourself away from the shower and put yourself back together. You walked back downstairs in shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, your hair wet and pulled back into a ponytail. Frankie saw how fresh-faced you looked. He could still your baby face in your drained adult face. Your eyes are still always so wide and big making him swim in the chocolate waves. You took a seat across from Frankie while your parents rambled on about what they were making for lunch. You adverted your gaze from Frankie. You were embarrassed about how he's seen your grief.

"I showed up and no one answered the door, I went around back and saw that the backdoor was wide open and the cat was meowing. I was worried that something happened to you. I followed the damn cat and saw you heaving over the bathroom sink. I called your name several times. Your parents came home and they were happy to see me and I lied to them and said you let me in while you finished cleaning,"

Frankie whispers after he turns to look to see if your parents were out of earshot. Frankie reached across the table to hold your hand. But you flinched as your tender fingers touched his calloused hands. You winced while he examined your hand.

"I blackout too when I start a task. End up always overdoing it." Frankie says, softly holding your hand, trying to somehow heal you, skin to skin. You nodded not knowing what to say because you don't trust your voice to sound like you've been crying. "I'm trying to pick up everything and put it back together," You cleared your voice still laced with uneven breaths.

Lunch was served with a Long Island iced tea and talking about Ethan. Laughing with tears in your eyes. Your parents retire to their bedroom not hungry enough for dinner, just proud that they ate at least lunch. You and Frankie went to your bedroom, he loved how it was still set in the past with a mix of your office set up to work from home. "I never thought I would ever be allowed in here," Frankie said picking up a stack of CDs from the 90s and a mix of early 2000s.

You giggled thinking back on how the 'no boys allowed' sign made a big impression on Frankie.

"You are an exception," You continued to watch Frankie look at your room, he made note of the different movie posters and even an HBO show poster, 'Band of Brothers' Ethan's favorite show.

"Has that always been the case, Bebita?" Frankie smirks at you, moving the bed and sliding next to you. The tension in the air hit the air when you could feel Frankie's body heat radiating off his body. The sun was just setting and the natural light hit the light pink walls giving the room a romantic hue.

You rolled your eyes and looked away from him.

"I know you used to have a crush on me,"

"Jesus Frank-"

"I thought it was adorable." Frankie chuckles, sitting up against the headboard to wrap his arms around you. The feeling of his sturdy body against yours made your skin hot and break out in goosebumps.

"I thought you were cute but you know best friend's sister is off limits," Frankie sighed, thinking about when you entered high school and he was just barely a junior. You grew up overnight to him. You started to really put time into your appearance. To Frankie, you just highlighted your beauty. But Ethan told Frankie when they started middle school that his sister was off limits.

But now here you are both adults, both have jobs, and both secretly in love with each other. Was the rule only when you were all horny teenagers?

"Are you saying you had a crush on me too, Frankie?" When his name fell off your lips it made him forget the looming grief over the both of you.

"Never stopped," Frankie was being bold, life is too short to not say anything after years of wasting time. You looked up at Frankie and couldn't believe anything he was saying. Was it just to make you feel better since you know your brother is dead?

"Nooo...that's not true Frank," Deny, deny, deny. How could he ever love you? There's nothing left in you anymore.

"Bebita, why do you think I stuck up for you when we were kids? Because I needed to protect you and care for you because I've loved you for a long time," Frankie cups your face, and his thumb runs across your bottom lip. You swear you were on cloud 9, the warmth of your love for him and his love for you radiating through the lightest touch.

"Frank I think that you have been feeling a lot of emotions the past day. I'll let you say whatever you want and not hold it against you." You wanted to believe him. You know he's being truthful.

"I meant what I said, I want us to try, try to be there for each other," Frankie rests his forehead against yours, his finger brushing through your hair. It was nice to be held. Especially with Frankie.

"I'm trying," You sobbed out, fisting Frankies t-shirt and pulling him closer to your body. His words opened the floodgates and you couldn't stop the tears overflowing from the waterline. Frankie lays down holds your head to his chest and lets you cry.

Frankie came to your house every single after that. He started to do yard work with your father, you would bring something to drink and eat. The funeral happened after months of arguing with the VA about where Ethan could lay to rest. Your parents wanted him at the family plot but the VA said he had to be buried at the fort, that it was clearly stated in his will when he joined the army, so everything would be simple and easy, and not anyone would spend a dime but the government it's money.

Your parents started to go back to their normal lives enjoying retirement. You and Frankie started to see each other every Friday night, going out for dinner and getting tipsy. You would go home with him and spend the weekend at his apartment, enjoying living without your parents walking around.

The first hookup was when he came over to work on the mow the lawn for your parents since they were going to be out of town. You had completely forgotten about Frankie coming over when you walked out the backdoor in just a thong and t-shirt letting the cat out for the day. He was opening the shed in the backyard when he heard you murmur 'Oh my god' and quickly turned on your heels and ran upstairs. Frankie blushed deeply not remembering what he was doing for a second.

You tried to pretend that Frankie didn't see you half-naked until he was at your bedroom door, rushing you and pinning you against the mattress. His lips hungrily locking with your soft lips. His mustache and beard rub against your soft skin. Tasting the lemonade you had made for him to go with his lunch.

"You're just too pretty, bebita," Frankie grunts as you bucked your hips to grind against his growing bulge. You loved how your clothed cunt rub against the denim jeans.

"Frankieeee, t-touch me, please," the sweetest whine left your lips, Frankie looks down your chest, he pushed the shirt up toward your collarbone to admire your plump perky breasts and how they swayed with each grind of your hips.

Frankie propped himself next to you and traced the outline of your body, not missing caressing your breast, and lightly tracing your nipples making them harden. You were whimpering at the teasing touch. Frankie pushes aside the thong and dips his finger down your folds to your entrance.

"So wet, is that all for me, sweetheart?" Frankie deepens his voice an octave. You nodded and bit your lips to stop yourself from moaning.

"Words, bebita" Frankie purs, you gasped as his fingers slide inside your cunt and curling them, hitting the sensitive spot that makes you see stars.

"F-fuck, yes Frankie! All for youu" You cry out as his thumb rolls your clit while fucking his finger into you, curling them every few thrusts. Your pussy clenches tightly around his digits.

"I-i'm closeee" you whimpered, Frankie lowers his head and takes in a nipple into his mouth, first licking it then sucking as hard as he could. His mouth on your body and his hands doing magic on your wet cunt.

You felt your release gush out of you and coat his hand. Your moans were coming out without any hesitation.

"Fuck me, Frankie," your hands undo his belt and going straight towards the zipper and doing the button very last. You dip under the waistband of his briefs. Your hand cups his hard cock and strokes him until he is fully hard.

Frankie rolls on top of you pushing down his jeans and underwear just enough to free himself then kicks off the rest of the jeans while you pull off his shirt. He pins your hands above your head as he thrusts into you in one go. You screamed out the pleasure that you got from the stinging stretch of his thick hard cock sliding along your velvet walls. Frankie moans in your ears as he drops his head in the crook of your neck, enjoying how wet and warm you feel around him. Taking him so perfectly.

"You feel so good, babyy," Frankie bottoms out and grinds into you, his cock hitting your cervix.

"So big, Frankie, fuck you feel so fucking good," You gritted through your teeth when Frankie bends you in half and drilling into your aching pussy.

"I-I need you! I need you!" Frankie chants, and you could see the tears falling down his face, and you couldn't help but cry yourself. You wanted Frankie to feel whole. He's always been the one. Took care of you when you hit rock bottom with grief. He helped bathe you and helped you brush your teeth and brushed your hair when you dried your hair. Getting you dressed every day.

You didn't put up a fight. You needed him. He needs you. You're falling in love.

"I'm yours! Ah-all yours, Frank," You grunted as his harsh thrust became harder when you proclaimed that you are his. You fell into the pillowy high of orgasm number 2.

"All mine, and I am yours, amor" Frankie moans as he flips you on your stomach, hiking your hips just enough for his cock to fuck your aching hole.

"I love you, Frankie!" You cry out as another wave of bliss warms your body down to your toes.

"I love you, bebita!" Frankie gives the same passion back, while he paints your walls with his load. Your eyes rolled back from being so full with his cock and his cum dripping out of you and making your thighs sticky.

You both lay there, touching each other, exploring each other bodies. Years of messing around to make up for. Allowing grief to bring you to your person. You can't be mad anymore because now to you life is worth living again. Frankie had the world around you make sense again.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fluff #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #pedro pascal #frankie morales hurt

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thebestbooksaround · 11 months

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okay, first of all, thank you for your service! your recs are amazing

i just wanted to ask if you could rec as many rewrite fics as possible? episode rewrites, season rewrites that kind of thing? and if people could keep adding on itd be great?

theyre my fav genre tbh but they can be so hard to find :(

thank you so much!!

Oh boy, I sure can Anon!

I'm going to assume you mean 9-1-1, if you meant another fandom, let me know and I'll search for those. Some of these are rewrites by proxy? As in all the events happen but some are text fics so you only hear about them. If anyone has some to add, please do!

Without further ado...

We All Fall Down by kristen999 (@thekristen999)

He’d done this before. Inside the well. Trapped forty feet underground instead of in a tin can, rising water the constant threat.

Eddie stared at the radio, knowing this time there’d be someone on the other end to hear him if he needed to say something. If his time his second chances had finally run out.

He wouldn’t die alone. Not really. His team would be there. Just inches away. He could tell them, tell Buck….

glue by ProsperDemeter

“It’s just…” Connor shrugged. “No offense, man, but… you’re twenty-five. Do you really want to be spending so much time falling for a guy with a kid?”

“I’m not falling for him.”

A month away from graduating the LAFD Academy, Evan Buckley gets introduced to new recruit Eddie Diaz and things certainly change for both of them after that.

This author is also writing a s2 rewrite!

Firefighter Buckley's Unauthorized Ride-Along by slipperywordcrimes

Buck spends most of his probationary year with a bun in the oven, and doesn't realize it.

One Wrong Number by calinaannehart (@calinaannehart)

When Evan Buckley meets a man in a bar and gets his number, he couldn't possibly imagine how one wrong digit could lead him to his fate. Because sometimes wrong numbers are the right numbers.

bro·ken by kristen999 (@thekristen999)

Forced to take shady side jobs to pay his bills, Evan Buckley doesn’t think he’s ever seen such rock bottom. Until he meets Eddie Diaz, a man even more desperate and alone. Season 3 AU.

if it weren’t for second chances by alasse (@alasse9)

When Buck doesn’t save Daniel, the Buckleys put him in foster care. Seventeen years later, Bobby meets a tall, lanky kid who can’t stop eating his pancakes at a church breakfast, and he gives him a phone number and an unconditional offer of help.

A story about how Buck finds a chosen family, and with a few twists and turns, eventually gets to the 118, meets Eddie Diaz, and maybe finds himself a second and a third (or, an Evan Nash story).

Our story's been heartache and wonder by Tails89 (@tails89)

Fuck.

Buck scrubs a hand down his face. He’s got no idea what he’s supposed to do here.

He knows what his parents are like. He has his own childhood to draw from, and Isaac doesn't deserve that. He deserves to grow up surrounded by love, and if nothing else, Buck can give him that.

But Buck is also a twenty-six year old probationary firefighter, living in his girlfriend’s apartment while she travels the world. He’s not exactly in a position to look after a kid.

“Okay.” It comes out in a rush of air. “I’m gonna come get you."

no one quite like you by hammersmiths (@henswilsons)

Hen has added +1 213 555 to Firehouse 118

Hen: This is Eddie!

Eddie: Hey everyone :)

Buck: Why would she add him to our private groupchat

Chimney: I’m literally sitting right next to you

or, Buck and Eddie’s progression through texts.

Tighten Up by ok_thanks

It’s probably considered getting off on the wrong foot when you have sex with your coworker before they start their new job, right?

Buck would think it’s probably not a good thing, and definitely something that shouldn’t be repeated. Especially when he becomes best friends with them. That’d be particularly stupid.

Close My Eyes and Stumble (Right Into Your Love) by HMSLusitania (@hmslusitania)

Eddie's PTSD is just that little bit worse and when he moves to Los Angeles, instead of joining the LAFD, he joins dispatch.

Which is all good and fine, except for this one firefighter he keeps ending up talking to.

we were born with nothing by chromatophorica (@chromatophorica)

Until the 118, Evan had never had a family.

---

Evan saves Daniel when he's a baby; he still manages to find his way to the 118, forging a family there despite being given up by his biological parents.

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Til I Saw Your Face by HMSLusitania (@hmslusitania)

After the ladder truck and the blood clot and the tsunami, Bobby makes Buck go to therapy before he does something stupid(like sue the city). Buck's not totally comfortable being alone with a therapist, but fortunately he makes a friend and ally who's willing to help him out - Eddie Diaz from the 136 who's just been caught in an illegal fight club.

Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.

i want your midnights by allyasavedtheday (@littlespoonevan)

Eddie grins. “Yeah I get that. So can I ask why you applied for the room? No offence but you’re not exactly the kind of candidate I expected.”

Buck laughs, ducking his head. That’s probably true.

“I, uh, I’ve been staying at my girlfriend’s place while she’s travelling but um, my sister moved to LA recently and sort of made the point that I could be overstaying my welcome? Or, well- actually she tried to tell me my girlfriend’s cheating on me and I need to get over it and move out of her place.” Buck shakes his head, eyes widening at what he just implied. “She’s not! Cheating, I mean. She’s just- trying to find herself after losing her mom. She just needs a little space, y’know?”

At least, that’s the excuse Buck’s giving Abby for why she hasn’t called him in over two weeks.

Eddie nods with a vague sort of expression on his face like he hadn’t expected him to overshare that much. Which, oops.

In which Eddie decides to rent out his spare room to help with mortgage repayments right around the time Buck decides to move out of Abby's place after some not so gentle prodding from Maddie. It's a coincidence. Or serendipity. Or maybe just really good timing.

*and of course we can't forget:

Those Two Firefighters by DarkFairytale

#thosetwofirefighters starts to gather a following on social media, as everyone tries to figure out if those two cute firefighters from the 118 in LA are a thing or not.

#tb2a answers #fics i love #buddiefanfiction #buddie fic

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simplegenius042 · 5 months

Text

What do your OCs carry on their person? + "What Kind Of Suffering Is Your OC?" Quiz

Tagged by @inafieldofdaisies @socially-awkward-skeleton and @deputy-morgan-malone for the former and tagged by @adelaidedrubman and @g0dspeeed for the latter.

Tagging @shallow-gravy @strangefable @jillvalentinesday @josephslittledeputy @derelictheretic @voidika @onehornedbeast @vampireninjabunnies-blog @minilev @neverthesameneveranother @nightbloodbix @wrathfulrook @direwombat @chazz-anova @cassietrn and @strafethesesinners

(I can't seem to tag @josephseedismyfather's blog, are they alright?)

The quiz can be found here.

Will do the main protagonists of my series (The UnTitledverse, Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, Life, Despair & Monsters and Wings And Horns).

Joaquin Cobalt (during Phase One, at least) -> Joaquin has got a short sword, a pocketknife, a revolver, ammo for the revolver, paperclips and bobby pins (for lockpicking), a notepad he uses to take notes of the universe he's stuck in, any deodorant, shampoo and conditioner he can find, testosterone prescriptions, rations, canteen of water, any spare clothes he can buy (or steal/scavenge... he is likely being hunted by the Chairman at this point in his life after all, and currency doesn't always stay the same in each universe), three polaroid pictures that all include himself with Lisa, Maisie and Mario & Calvin, respectively. He has a scarf, boots, an umbrella and goggles for extra protection from the environment. Also a mechanical contraption that allows him to travel to a different universe (he's trying to get back to his old original one). He also has specialized binoculars that can switch to nightvision when needed.

Sylvester Silva Omar -> On person Silva usually has a handgun, an ornate knife called the "Silver Dragon" (something she took from Paul), regular binoculars, two radios (one to coordinate with the Resistance and listen in on Eden's Gate, the other to call Kamski because her flip phone doesn't have any service, LOL), her now useless Nokia flip phone, her house key to Omar's Residence (where she spends her time alone and unbothered, having meals, showers and rest, as well as hiding from the Christmas snow), Elsa's lodge key, her deputy badge, cuffs (which she forgets she has on until much, much later), her golden locket (inside it is the only remaining picture that Elsa took of Silva with Irene and an infant Persephone), a small backpack (which usually holds extra clothes, a water bottle, medical supplies from Kamski as well as additional weapons and ammo), gas mask for when she eventually decides she's sick of the Bliss' bullshit (after being attacked by an angel or bear that she thought was a civilian for the umpteenth time). She did have prescribed medicine for her PTSD, but that has since run out, and the Hope County Clinic had either been pillaged by Eden's Gate or can't replenish their supplies since the county is on lockdown. She does have Joseph's Word for a while before giving it back to Faith. Eventually Silva also gets glasses between her time in the bunker after the Collapse and during Old Dusk (the New Dawn arc), as well as a crossbow (because I think she deserves one), not to mention the ring.

Haoyu Anabuki - Haoyu is the one with the least amount of shit. A wallet, phone (which has a screenshot of the Literature Club as the opening image which includes Haoyu themself, their sibling Monika, and both their friends Sayori, Yuri and Natsuki), antibiotics and reading glasses is the most you get from them. Anything else is stashed in their little pocket dimension. I'm sure the others here would be looking to kick Haoyu's ass for being the second person with the least amount of stuff to carry.

Archangel Metatron - Because first goes to Metatron, a literal archangel who's clothes are part of his disguise, and only really has a flaming sword to worry about.

BONUS Azriel - Poor girl doesn't have enough pockets to carry every shiny thing she sees. But to recap; in Azriel's years as an Angel of Death, she only carried around a hood, cloak and two sickles. Justified, she's technically dead and an immortal soul doing Death's deeds, so she's kind of omnipresent and omnipotent. But in her mortal years as a child, she tries to pocket and carry way too many things, sometimes her own creations, and has a bayonet pistol as well as several explosives she built or stole herself. As an adult, Azriel has heavier weapons (like a bayonet minigun) and better explosives, plus cogs and other doohickeys that she uses as accessories or utilizes for uses not for their initial purpose (like a hair tie). She also has hair dye just in case her dark hair starts showing again. And plenty of fake badges and ID card.

Now onwards to the suffering of the Antagonists! Since I just did the protagonists I thought it was only fair the antagonists got to shine.

First up!

Edward Carmine (The UnTitledverse, The Perfect Storm saga)

While I do agree that Edward is experiencing a kind of despair, he is too focused on his own superiority-complex to even consider that this isn't healthy. He is too ambitious to worry about trivial things like hope. He is too unsympathetic and without empathy towards his own downfalls to even reflect on his actions. Edward believes the world works a certain way, and he will have it focused on him whether it likes it or not.

Father Adam Omar (Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, Silva's Hope fic)

Adam Omar is the result of living up to the horrible expectations of a shitty society based on class (that he proceeds to make worse), groomed by the previous Prophet Omar and the Voice with words of importance and righteousness, as well as several unspecified disorders (plus biological factors) that the Congregation could care less about doing anything about. Though these do not at all justify any of the heinous shit he does to everyone, including his own children. Proceeding, "The Taker" most definitely describes Adam. Though I highly doubt Adam would ever change his mindset, especially when it has proven successful for him thus far.

Sir Enigma Malvolio (Life Despair & Monsters)

I'm unsure about this one. Malvolio really is the person who spreads despair on anyone he meets through his unethical "social experiments". He's a creature from an alternate dimension disguised as a human, I highly doubt he believes in concepts like "hope" and "religion". He is hooked entirely on the unethical side of science. He wants to help humans "evolve" but really he wants to satisfy his own "itch" and twisted curiosity (plus his Darwinist/dog-eat-dog ideology).

Xiang Ba'al (Wings And Horns, Original Work)

Xiang, a demon from the Sloth Ring of Hell, the last creature anyone, not even Metatron, would expect to go on a mission to dismantle the Soulmate System after he sees the consequences of it after finding the damned soul of a ten-year-old girl named Jezebel (that he adopts) wandering in Hell after a horrible confrontation in the mortal realm. Xiang believes he is giving humans an opportunity to remove their soulmarks (or soulbrands, which are arguably worse), which in his POV, is a curse that has plagued the mortal realms for far too long. Problem is (besides the extremism and forcing people to do so against their will) Xiang doesn't have a lot of runes nor the energy to power those runes (due to being a Sloth Demon) in order to successfully eradicate the soulmate system (leaving him to comprise a plan to make as much noise as possible to show the Gods that "hey, your system is broken beyond repair!"). While Jezebel dislikes the extremism, she finds Xiang caring enough for her to dismantle a system that completely fucked her over despite the consequences he could face is very touching. It's the thought that counts, in Jezebel's opinion.

And BONUS...

Urijah Callaghan (The UnTitledverse, The Omniscience Rule and The UnTitled Ventures sagas)

Urijah has an extremely nihilistic outlook in life, not helping that Madame Callaghan (his parental figure/kidnapper) pushes him further into this extreme form of nihilism. He did care at one point. He really did. But now to him, nothing matters. Except for his mission to wipe the multiverse and everyone in it from existence with a bomb he designed. Even his companions from Cognito, Inc. Including his closest companion, Reagan Ridley. He views it as a kind of mercy than living under Zachariah's cruel and callous hand.

#oc quiz #the untitledverse #oc: joaquin cobalt #oc: edward carmine #oc: urijah callaghan #far cry the silver chronicles #oc: silva omar #oc: father adam omar #life despair & monsters #oc: haoyu anabuki #oc: sir enigma malvolio #wings and horns #oc: archangel metatron #oc: xiang ba’al #original work #and lastly an oc who is in like three of these series #oc: azriel

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sammy-is-not-smiley · 2 years

Note

ok since you were looking for fic requests i have one for a robin x reader!!

reader is hoppers daughter. she dated jonathan for the entirety of freshman year. they broke up but it wasn’t bad. hopper keeps saying how good of a kid he was and how the reader should just get back with him. little does he know, she just wants to be with robin. so one day, she slips a confession note into robins trumpet case to meet her in the janitors closet after school. it goes well and they kiss a little ehe. maybe a part two or in the end she introduces robin as her girlfriend and hopper being confused but supportive 👀

Salty, Then Sweet

Robin Buckley x fem!reader

S4 SPOILER FREE

Summary: After going through the summer of 85' with Steve and Robin, you've had feelings develop for Robin. Now, after a sleepover with her, you suddenly felt the strong urge to confess your feelings. Could she love you too?

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings/tags: Underage drinking, language, PTSD, nightmares, nightmare scene, hurt/comfort, love confessions, Hopper is still in Hawkins after season 3, reader is hoppers daughter, gay kissy, timeline might feel off idk

A/N: I FINALLY FINISHED IT! The longest fic I've finished yet. This one was a lot of fun to write, I hope it's what you were imagining. I went a little off the request and then back to it lol

Butter sizzled in the frying pan, making you jump slightly out of your sleepy stupor. Your father had the heat up way too high on the stove again. He would tell you he liked how the burnt butter tasted, but you knew his pride was just a pill too big to swallow. You sighed heavily and rubbed your eyes, trying to listen to what your father was griping at you about this time.

“I'm just saying, he was a good kid to ya.”

Oh. Right. This again.

He sloppily cracked an egg on the stove and thumbed at the shell. “When you two dated he helped you keep a schedule. You were never too out too late, always got enough sleep,” He finally dumped the egg onto the hot skillet, “And your grades definitely saw better days with him.”

“Dad,” You groaned, resisting the urge to let your head drop to the table. “I’m pretty sure you liked Jonathan more than I did, but can we not talk about him now?... Not this early,” You finished under your breath. You hadn’t dated Jonathan Byers since freshman year. The end of junior year was just around the corner and somehow your father still pressured you any chance he got to get back with Jonathan. Your family had a past with his, sure, from small interactions to dealing with the supernatural. But your father's obsession with you getting back with Jonathan was starting to get annoying. You wouldn’t tell anyone this, but deep down you had never felt any attraction to Jonathan.

Your father sighed irritably, “Fine, fine. My point is you’re staying up way too late. You never used to come in here half asleep like this.” He gestured with his spatula and flipped the already overcooked egg. "I get you're young but sleep is important"

"I know."

"I don't even know what you would be staying up doing."

"Mm-hm."

"If this keeps up, though, I might have to take your radio or something-"

“You ever think maybe it’s because I have nightmares?” You suddenly snapped, startling you both.

His spatula froze a moment as if he was taking a second to buffer. His shoulders then sagged and he continued his cooking. You watched as he put fresh bacon, eggs, and toast on your plate then walked over and slid it in front of you. You stared intently at him, trying to gauge his feelings through his expression. It was no use, he rarely wore his emotions on his face. He put his own plate down across from you and allowed himself to fall into the chair. Neither of you touched your food.

After a bit, your father finally broke the silence. “I didn’t mean for you to get involved in my work,” He muttered, guilt present in his tone. “.... What kind of nightmares?"

You shrugged, gazing down at your eggs. The edges looked burnt, dripping with brown butter. “Those stupid monsters… and the Russians… Having to run for my life, watching Jonathan or Robin die in front of me even though they're still here… Stupid stuff.”

“Don’t call them stupid, they’re normal. You went through a lot… we all did.”

You nodded, thinking back to the events of the past summer.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You gave a weak shrug, flicking your bacon with your finger.

“How long?”

“Since I first saw one of those things in Jonathan’s house.”

You had been with Nancy and Jonathan when they discovered what they would later call the Demogorgon. You were right there when it somehow entered their house and attempted an attack. Lights flashing and heart beating out of your chest. Ever since then, your nights had never been the same.

“Shit… (y/n) Hopper, you need to tell me these damn things,” Your father chastised sternly, however, you knew this was just how he got when he cared. “I need to know when things aren’t good.”

You smiled bitterly, grabbing your fork. “If I did, I’d start sounding like the boy who cried wolf.” With that, you shoved your breakfast into your mouth. Things hadn’t felt good for a long while.

Your father leaned back in his chair with a heavy, unsatisfied dad sigh, then began going at his breakfast as well.

As you both ate in silence, your mind still lingered on just a few months earlier. You wished things could have stayed the way they were. Working with Steve and Robin at the mall was one of the best things to happen to you… until it quickly descended into madness once again. Yes, you all managed to stay together despite being kidnapped by the Russian government, but that didn’t make the situation okay. Far from it actually. To add to your trauma from interdimensional monsters, you ended up facing federal agent-level torture. It was the first time you ever felt true terror from the presence of other human beings. It was the first time you ever got beat up and bloodied. But towards the end of it all… It was also the first time you realized exactly what it was you felt for Robin.

While you wanted anything but for Rob to get involved and be put at risk, you felt better knowing she knew the chaos you knew was lurking in Hawkins. You felt better knowing you could go to her about your nightmares, which you did. Quite often in fact. Before your father, she was the only one you ever told. She was the only one you ever called at 3 am. She was the only one you felt like would ever answer.

As soon as you were finished eating, you got up and got ready for school. It didn’t take you long, the sleepless nights slowly forced you to make your self-maintenance routine shorter and shorter.

School hadn’t felt the same since all of this had started either. Ever since Will had first gone missing, tasks that should have felt normal… didn’t anymore. The feeling always hit you at unexpected times too. While walking down the hallway at school, during dodgeball, while shopping for groceries. You hated how that was no longer your normal and how fighting monsters was. You knew nothing would be the same and a sense of mourning for the past would come over you every time you remembered that.

---------

Lazily you stared at the blank chalkboard, mind empty, waiting for class to start. Somehow you managed to get to first period on time today, probably because your father had drug you out of bed for the ‘proper breakfast’. You could still taste the burnt butter on your lips.

“Hey, hey,” An chipper voice pulled you from your gaze. Robin sat next to you, a pile of textbooks thumping on her desk. “You got here before me! You slept better I’m guessing? I mean you didn’t call like usual last night. I hoped that meant you were doing better.”

The night before had been rough. It was one of those nights where you couldn’t close your eyes without seeing one of those monsters blooming their face of teeth at you. You could have sworn you heard one gurgling outside your window at one point. Guilt had kept you from grabbing the phone and calling Robin though.

“Yep, slept through the night," You swiftly lied.

She beamed, but it faltered as she leaned in and inspected your face more closely. “You got something on your face,” Her hand came up and wiped at the corner of your mouth, then she wiped it on her pants. “All good. Guess it was some breakfast I hope?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, fighting a smile, “Dad made us both breakfast this morning.”

She beamed once again, this time remaining that way. “Nice! Slept through the night and got breakfast. Look at you, a babe, and with your life together.” She nudged you on the arm, both the compliment and her touch making butterflies rage in your stomach. All you could do is smile in return, even if it was founded on a lie. “Hey, tell you what,” She continued, “Why don’t you come to my house tonight for a sleepover? My parents will be out late on a date so we can have a movie night! We have popcorn and fuzzy blankets-- Oh there's this one blanket I’ve had since I was little that's SO SOFT. No matter how much we've washed it, it somehow stays that way. I'm pretty sure if I ever go to college I would take it with me-” And from there she rambled on, happy as ever. You loved the way her eyes lit up and how her hands went crazy when talking about the things she loved. You were pretty sure you didn’t even get to tell her 'yes' to the invitation to her house.

By the end of class, she gave you a time to be at her house, offering to have Steve pick you up for her. You agreed considering he was the only person out of the three of you with their own car. With plans solidified for that night, you parted ways down the hall, to your dismay. You wished you had more classes with her.

The rest of the day was a blur and suddenly you were zapped full of energy as if her touch gave you just enough power up to make it until the end of the school day. Another failed quiz didn’t even bring you down like it normally would. Before you knew it, you were getting off the school bus and running down your driveway to hurry up and pack your things.

----------

Steve was in a rush to get you to Robins as he was already late for his shift at yet another job. You knew his boss would give him shit about it, but bless him for still pulling through for you and Rob.

You had scrambled out of his car at your arrival, just as eager to get to Robin as he was to get to work.

Your heart jumped in your throat at the sight of her when she opened the front door. Rob was wearing the shortest pair of bottoms you had ever seen on her. You'd go as far as to say they were boy shorts a size too small. It was compensated with a large baggy t-shirt from band, hand cut into a short crop top and exposing her belly.

"Hey!" She paused a second and leaned out the door. "The whore didn't bother to walk you to the porch?"

You scoffed, using it as an excuse to pull your gaze and instead look to Steve's car turning out of the driveway. "Nah, he's too anxious to get to his new flirting grounds." You felt a tingle in your stomach when Robin smirked at your remark.

Although snickering with her, you were deflecting the situation with humor. You liked Steve, he was sweet and a big dummy, but deep down… you were jealous of him. Jealous of how close he and Robin seemed to be. They always emphasized their 'relationship' wasn't a relationship at all, they were just friends. Strictly and forever platonic. It didn't change the fact you wanted that same kind of closeness with Robin though…. And maybe even closer.

"Figures," Robin rolled her eyes. "Get in here, make yourself at home."

You did so, kicking your shoes off and dropping your overnight bag at the door. As soon as you were unencumbered, she jolted and tossed her hands up in excitement. "Oh!! Did I tell you what Steve was able to get for us?"

"No," You shook your head plainly, smiling at her animation. You loved when she did that, even if it was mentioning Steve.

She grabbed hold of your wrist and drug you to the kitchen. Getting into the fridge, she reached to the back and proudly held up a bottle of tequila.

"Robin…" You whined, "We still have school in the morning, you know."

"I know, I know," She put her hands up in defense, "We won't get drunk or anything, okay? Just a few shots to relax."

You shook your head in disbelief, taking the chilled bottle from her. "Never thought you, the band kid, would peer pressure me into drinking. I think you're spending too much time with Steve," You jested, inspecting the bottle. Although once again, there was truth in your statement, you would admit spending the night watching a movie and drinking felt like a good plan.

"What can I say, he's clingy," She shrugged and took the bottle from you to set on the counter.. "Also I didn't know what movie to get so I think we'll just have Breakfast Club on in the background again while we drink and snack and whatever the fuck else we want to."

You nodded fervently, convinced she had somehow read your mind. "Let me change first though, I need to be comfy."

"Sure, you know where the bathroom is."

Walking past the front door, you grabbed your bag and locked yourself in the bathroom out of habit.

Once you were changed, you couldn't help but stare at your choice of pajamas in the mirror, comparing them to hers. Should you have tried wearing something more revealing? Could you have worn a shirt that figured you better? You about slapped yourself for getting insecure over something as dumb as your pajamas. Quickly, you gathered your things and yanked open the door, the only thing on your mind being shots.

When you got back to the kitchen, Robin already had the limes cut and ready in a bowl.

"Let's get wasted… but not," She elbowed you teasingly and began to pop open the bottle. You stared at her hands as she worked the cork off, slender and calculated with a dash of clumsiness thrown in. Her nails were painted but scuffed and her rings gleamed slightly in the fluorescent light. It felt like forever before she got the bottle open.

Right as she was about to pour the liquid into shot glasses, you stopped her. "Can you… just give me the bottle?"

She froze, wide-eyed at you. "... You sure?"

You nodded. Although surprised at yourself, you were ready for the anxiety in the pit of your stomach to drown in alcohol.

Hesitantly, she handed you the bottle. As soon as your hand connected with the cold glass, you tossed it back in two swift swigs, treating it as if it were water. Your regret was prompt as soon as you swallowed, your eyes going wide and coughs bursting out uncontrollably.

"Take a lime, take a lime!" Robin laughed, shoving the bowl of limes at you.

You quickly brought one to your mouth, although you were pretty sure it was too late, the desperation on your face evident.

"Damn, (y/l/n), never took you for the type…" She gawked at you, mouth slightly agape. It wasn't often you left her genuinely in awe of your actions.

You wearily tried to smile, but it caused your face to twist into a lopsided grimace, making both of you split your sides in laughter.

"Alright, fair is fair," She mumbled, swiping the bottle from you and copying your actions. The result was entirely the same, just reversed. You were now the one laughing at her as you pushed the limes to her.

The night went on like this. Against your better judgment, you kept gulping straight from the bottle. In between swigs, you tucked the bowl of limes and the bottle in some pillows between you both on the living room floor along with the snacks. The mixture of alcohol, popcorn, and candy sat uncomfortably in your stomach, but it didn't matter. The way Robin laughed when she drank was priceless. It made the butterflies numb the slurry in your stomach. You wanted to hold on to these moments forever. By the time Robin finally took the bottle away from you and back to the kitchen, you both weren't quite drunk, but you definitely weren't sober.

Before you knew it the movie credits were rolling and Robin was checking her watch. "Damn, mom and dad are probably on their way home." She stood from the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor and lifted her arms to stretch. The movement revealed more of her torso, her sports bra peeking out ever so teasingly. You quickly looked away before she caught you staring up at her like a freak. Little did you know, she already had and smirked to herself, cheeks heating slightly.

"We gotta be in bed by the time they get here or they'll be pissed. Ya know, school night and all," She mocked goofily.

You cleaned the living room and kitchen together and managed to finish up just as a pair of headlights appeared in the driveway. You both dashed up the stairs, racing to the bedroom together prudently. The front door opened just as you closed her bedroom door, making you both giggle like a couple of middle schoolers. In all honesty, her parents wouldn't have been all that upset if you two were still up. But it was still fun to make a harmless game out of it.

When the lights went out, you fell into a night of sleep faster than you had in months. Although you were sure the alcohol helped, you felt the safest sleeping next to Robin in the bed. Knowing she was right there made all your worries fade into the background, barely seen or noticed.

----------

It's so cold.

"Keep running!" A voice screamed at you from behind.

Something galloped behind you in hard impending steps. It was getting closer… And it felt like it had been for a while.

You sprinted through the woods, terror powering every stride you took. You couldn't bring yourself to glance back, for fear you'd catch sight of the creature pursuing you and the other person with you.

Your head throbbed, blood pulling through your veins at an alarming rate. You didn't know where you were, which filled you with even more dread.

Branches and bushes clawed at your skin like fingernails, leaving burning scratches in their wake.

The creature behind you roared, the sound rumbling deep into your gut. An approaching doom that was so close, yet somehow it hadn't arrived yet.

Suddenly a scream ripped through the air and reverberated down your spine.

Skidding to a stop, you looked behind you for the first time. A stiff body lay on the ground as a demodog feasted on the ripped-open belly. Blood. Blood was everywhere. On the leaves, the body, the demodog's face, your shoes, the trees… everything suddenly now sheened with fresh blood.

You watched helplessly as the limp body began to slowly turn its head to you and you fell to your knees in anguish.

Robin.

Robin was being eaten alive.

"Please…" She pleaded in a broken sob, however, her face showed no emotion as if she had already passed on.

You felt yourself breaking down on the inside, tears freely streaming down your face. Why didn't you reach for her behind you? Why did you leave her instead of running side by side? This was your fault. You were the reason for her suffering. You lost her because of your own selfishness.

"I'm sorry," You tried to cry out to her, but the words wouldn't form. Your throat felt like it was closing up. It stung and the breath was stolen from your lungs.

"Please…" She croaked again, blood beginning to leak from her eyes resembling the cruel form of tears. "(Y/n)..." Your name echoed from her in barely a whisper.

Your weeping was uncontrolled now and you attempted lamely to crawl to Robin’s aide.

The demodog suddenly stopped and trained its attention onto you. Although it had no eyes, you could have sworn it was looking into your very soul. Like it knew your guilt.

It gurgled and chittered menacingly, blood oozing from its odd lips in thick, viscous drips. It stepped over Robins's body, stopping and standing over her as if she were its property.

Its mouth blossomed wide in rows of teeth, Robins's flesh and blood splattering forward to the ground. A roar bellowed deep from within it, making the trees around you tremble in some sort of earthquake.

"(Y/n), please!!" Robin's voice screamed out at you. "Please, wake up!!"

The demodog lunged forward at you at terrifying speed.

"Wake up!!"

You awoke with a violent jolt, nearly tumbling off the side of the mattress you were on. Your eyes were suddenly no longer closed but wide open, darting around you for any sign of danger. Before you could get up from the bed and try to run, as was usually your first inclination after a nightmare, you felt the pressure of someone sitting on top of you at the waist. A pair of warm hands caressed your face at the sides, forcing you to look straight up at who had pinned you down.

Robins horrified but compassionate face looked down at you, her shoulders heaving in breaths as quick as yours.

"Oh thank God you're awake," She muttered, swiping your cheek with her thumb. It was cold and wet. Tears. "You started sobbing in your sleep."

The fear subsided slightly and the emotions came flooding in full force. It was all a nightmare… None of it had been real. "Oh god," You choked out, bringing your trembling hands up to her wrists. "Rob, th- that was… The worst one. That was the worst yet," You couldn't hold anything back, you couldn't stop the tears from flowing. She was okay. She wasn't dead because of you.

"Shit," She let out in a breath, then leaned down, pressing her body weight completely onto you in a type of hug.

You wrapped her in your arms and squeezed, both relieved she was okay and terrified of thinking of ever losing her. You tucked your nose into her shoulder, sobs racking your body in brutal tremors. She was so warm.

"I’m right here… I’m here…I thought they were getting better," She said nearly in a whisper. You felt her slide her hand to the back of your head and begin stroking it soothingly with her fingertips.

"They never were," You confessed in messy uneven breaths.

And that's where she left it. She didn't say another word to you that night, but you didn't need her to. The fact that she stayed there, pressing herself to you like a weighted blanket was enough. The pattern of her breathing was enough, the clean smell of her shirt was enough, the way her hair tickled your face was enough. Under her, you slowly could distance yourself from the images of the nightmare and you felt safer and safer. Only that way were you able to finally calm down and gradually let yourself fall into another slumber, tears still wet on your face.

----------

Beep beep beep beep

Robin's morning alarm… Right. You both still had school.

Your heavy eyes broke open to meet Robin's sleeping face mere inches from yours. Although no longer on top of you, she still had you pulled to her body by the waist, legs in a tangled mess.

You leaned over and hit snooze on her alarm clock, thankful Rob was one of the heaviest sleepers you had ever met.

The pillow cradled your head again and you lay there, staring at her lovingly. You watched her eyes lightly flutter in her sleep, her eyelashes thick and perfect. Her hair was an absolute bird's nest and it made you snicker to yourself. Then the events of the night before surfaced in your mind.

You had woken her up with your nightmare. God, it must have been really bad to have woken her up. Shame hollowed into a pit in your stomach and you pulled away from her touch.

You weren't sure how much longer you could take this. The nightmares weren't the only thing that had been eating you up inside for months. Every day your chest ached over Robin. Every day you wondered if today would be the day you would say something. It never was, but it was getting harder to keep it that way.

You loved her… and you wondered if maybe she could love you too.

After the night before, feeling her intimate touch when you were at your worst… hearing her lovely voice in your ear to ground you again… you knew you couldn't keep how you felt a secret anymore. Something had to be done. That felt like the breaking point.

You untangled your legs from hers and got up to begin getting ready for the school day. You were going to let Robin sleep a little longer, considering you kept her up the night before. The only thing keeping you going that morning was the fact that you could walk to first period together.

----------

Your bedroom door creaked open behind you and was paired with a quiet knock. "Hey, kid, how was Robins the other night?" Your father asked.

You paused your writing at your desk and didn't turn to look at him. "Good."

"Good, good… Sorry I had to work so late last night." It was quiet for a moment. "You… have any nightmares at her place?"

"No," You lied.

"Oh… really?"

“Really,” You nodded. Only then you turned to look at him. "She makes me feel safe, dad." You weren't going to try and hide everything from him…. Considering you were going to hide the note you were writing from him, you had to let some truth slip. Half-truths were going to have to be the compromise to keep your conscience quiet.

Your father simply nodded back at you, then told you he was heading out for work early that morning. You weren’t convinced he was fully appeased with your conversation with him, but you had other things on your mind to think about.

After his leave, you continued your writing.

Your hand ached as you wrote everything in a note. When the feelings started, the jealousy of Steve, the fear you had deep down that the feelings could ruin your friendship with her, her presence in the nightmares, your nightmare at her house, all of it. Nothing was held back. Once it was all written out and physically there in front of you… It scared you. But you weren't going to let that dampen the determination you felt to get this over with.

You asked her at the end to meet you in the alleyway next to the running track as soon as she was done with band practice. Once she knew everything, you needed to talk to her face to face. It felt like the final battle. The most telling moment.

After that, you let your pencil hover over the bottom line, hesitating to sign the note. In the end, you decided the leave it unsigned. All you could imagine was the worst-case scenario. The look of disgust Robin could have when she read it. You trusted she would know it was you based on the context and that she wouldn’t spread rumors. But if someone else were to find the note, you didn't want it to be traced back to you. This information had the potential to ruin the rest of high school for you both.

Tentatively, you folded the note and slid it into an envelope, sealing it with an ice cream cone sticker. It felt fitting.

Checking the time once you were done, you grabbed your things and went out to wait for the bus.

----------

At the end of the school day, you snuck into Robins's band practice in the gym, scouring for her trumpet case. You recognized it immediately and quickly slipped the note into it, heart beating loudly in your ears.

As quietly as you snuck in, you snuck out and made your way outside to the alleyway. You pressed your back to the cold brick and slid down, picking at your nails anxiously for her arrival.

You hoped the band director wouldn’t keep them long that day. The last thing you needed was to be sitting out there until dark or something. You missed the bus for this, so walking home in the cold at night was definitely a possibility. Sure, you could call your father, whether at the police station or at home depending on the time, but you knew he would drill you with questions as to why you were at school so late. You didn’t have the mental energy for an interrogation like that.

Before long, you heard the gravel crunching under the steps of someone approaching to your left. Too nervous to look, you kept your eyes trained on your hands in front of you. Behind them, a pair of beat-up red converse came to a stop. The person wearing them didn’t say anything, but you knew exactly who it was. Sheepishly, you raised your eyes up to meet Robin’s staring down at you. She offered a sympathetic smile and lifted the piece of paper with your handwriting on it. However, she didn’t say a word.

You raised your brow at her. “What do you want me to say?”

“Can you stand up?”

A sigh pushed out of you and begrudgingly you stood from the ground to face her. You hugged yourself, telling yourself it was because of the cold.

Robin shifted the paper in her hands and looked down at it, her expression unreadable. She was quiet, and that was out of the norm.

“I meant all of it,” You vacillated quietly, the silence between you both feeling too tense.

She nodded. “I know…” She looked up at you, eyes softening. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course-” You were cut off by her body crashing into yours, pushing you against the brick, and her lips meeting yours. For a moment you went wide-eyed, but it didn’t take long for you to close your eyes and melt into the kiss. You felt like you were spinning as her lips fitted perfectly to yours, dancing together in a choreography that only you two knew. Her hands snaked around your waist, the letter falling to your feet and your hands found themselves weaving into her hair, pulling her face to yours as if you two could get any closer.

She was the first to pull away, warm breaths tickling your cold face. If your cheeks hadn’t been rosy before, they definitely were now.

“Did that make sense?” She whispered after a moment, a worried smile growing on her face.

You smiled back and put your forehead to hers as you cradled her cheeks. “Absolutely,” You giggled. “And I loved every word.”

#robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x fem!reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley x female reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things robin buckley #robin stranger things #robin buckley fanfiction #robin buckley hurt/comfort #robin buckley fic #request #hoppers daughter #reader is hoppers daughter #stranger things x reader

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wordsandupstead · 2 years

Text

Safe

Jay HalsteadxReader

summary: Y/n witnesses Jay in a life threatening situation for the first time and it affects her more than either of them expected. words: 4k warnings: canon typical mentions of violence, descriptions of anxiety and symptoms of ptsd.

“Get down, get down!” You recognize the voice before you see the person yelling. Instinctively, you listen, dropping straight to the ground and ducking behind a parked car. Your coffee that you had bought moments ago sloshes over the side of the cup at your sudden movements. Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. Three men are running in different directions, each holding what appears to be a gun. You can hear the gunshots ring out, and people are screaming as they all frantically try to find cover. You remain crouched on the ground, but you peek cautiously around the car. You know who you’re looking for, even if it means you’re more in danger because you’re not completely tucked away.

When your eyes find your boyfriend, you don’t feel relieved like you had hoped you would. Instead you feel more frantic and afraid because you can tell he’s mostly out in the open, pursuing the suspects. He doesn’t see you, and you intentionally don’t call out to him. He’s yelling at the guys to stop, shouting, “Chicago PD, stop!” while yelling at others to get out of the way, the same way his warning had told you to take cover without even knowing that it was you.

Everything happens in just a few seconds. More gunshots ring out and you watch Jay as he ducks behind a parked car before calling for backup. You hope that this means he’ll be safe, but before you know it, he’s running back out into the open, continuing to pursue them on foot as they turn down an alley. You feel stunned as Jay disappears from sight. The adrenaline is still coursing through your body, but suddenly you feel sick with worry.

Blue lights and loud sirens flood the area as cops and ambulances arrive on the scene. You can’t help but continue to stare at the corner of the building where you last saw Jay. You don’t know where he went or if he’s even safe. The fear and worry settles in your stomach, and as much as you want to make sure others are okay, you can’t move from your spot tucked between the rear tire of a parked car and the sidewalk. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you immediately text Jay, “Are you okay??” Is all your fingers can type. You click send and then stare at the message, just waiting for the three dots to indicate he’s typing a response. The dots don’t come.

A police officer approaches you, snapping you out of your trance. “Miss, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Shaking your head frantically, you check your phone again, still no response from Jay. “I-I’m okay, I think, but my boyfriend. I–I don’t know if he’s okay.”

“He was here with you? Was he hurt?”

“No – I mean – he was here, but not with me. He’s a cop. He was chasing the guy.”

“He’s intelligence?” The patrol cop asks, and you simply nod.

“Please, can you see if he’s okay?” You plead motioning toward the radio.

He hesitates before speaking into his radio, asking for an update on the foot chase. There is no update immediately. “Sorry miss. They don’t usually update us unless they’re calling for backup.”

You nod and thank him anyway before glancing down at your phone again. Still no response to the text. You know he’s working and he’s busy. Just because he hasn’t responded doesn’t mean he’s hurt. Even though you logically know all of this, you still click on Jay’s contact, calling him. You just need to hear his voice. You need to know he’s okay. The phone rings five times and then goes to voicemail. Although a part of you knows Jay is busy working and just because he’s not answering doesn’t mean he’s hurt, another part of you is becoming more and more frantic with every second that passes without hearing from him. The cop eventually wanders away after realizing that you’re fine and not hurt. Finally, after waiting a few more minutes, you can’t take it anymore and you call Voight, he answers on the fourth ring.

“Y/n?”

“Voight, is Jay with you? Is he okay?”

“Jay’s not with me, he’s at a scene.” Voight’s voice gives no indication that anything is going on, but you know he has to know what just happened.

“I know. I’m on fourth and central and I was here when they were shooting. I saw Jay running and they were shooting at him and he’s just gone now and he hasn’t answered his phone.” All the words tumble out of your mouth so quickly you’re not even sure Voight can understand what you were saying.

“Y/n, slow down. I’ll have Jay call you. Just hold tight.” He responds, his voice still completely calm and you wonder how he can sound like that after everything that just happened and everything you just told him.

“Okay, thank you.” You force out, barely managing to take a breath.

About a minute later, your phone is ringing. This time, it is Jay. “Are you okay?” You ask instead of saying hello.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You can hear him breathing loudly, but that’s the only indication that anything just happened. “Are you okay? Voight said to call you, what’s wrong?”

“I’m on fourth and central.” You whisper. Hearing Jay’s voice reassures you a little, but the image of him running and the guns pointed at him and then him running after them while they could turn and shoot him at any time continues to run through your mind.

There’s a beat of silence as he processes your statement and takes in what that means. “I’ll be there in three minutes.” He responds.

“Jay, are you okay?” You repeat your question, “I saw you running and they were shooting and –”

“Y/n,” he cuts you off calmly. “I’m fine. We got one and the other two got away, but I’m not hurt. I’m fine, y/n. Are you okay?”

“I just want to see you.”

You can hear the sound of his truck door slamming, then he says, “I’m almost there. I’m just a block away.”

“Okay.” You whisper, looking up, hoping to spot Jay’s truck. A moment later you see his truck come around the corner, so you stand from your spot, finally feeling safe enough. He sees you and pulls up to the curb, parking the truck and jumping out immediately. He rushes over to you, checking you over for injuries as if you were the one in danger earlier, not him.

You barely give him time to make sure you’re okay before you wrap your arms around him, clinging to him, “I was so scared.”

“I know, I know,” He whispers, holding you close.

“You just ran away.”

“I didn’t know you were here.” He feels you trembling and holds you even tighter. “We’re okay.” He reassures you again.

After an entire minute, he releases his arms from around you, softly saying, “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” He surveys the scene briefly before taking your hand and leading you toward his truck. Your car is parked around the corner, but you don’t care right now. You just want to feel safe in his truck.

He gets into the driver’s seat and turns to look at you face to face. “What happened?”

You want to crawl over the center console, but you remain seated in the passenger seat and explain, “I just stopped for coffee and when I came out of the coffee shop, that guy was running past me, and then I heard you yelling to get down, so I did, but then I saw him shooting and you ran after him, and it was so loud and I was just scared that you were going to get hurt.” You ramble, still feeling completely shocked and unable to really process what happened.

“I’m fine. See?” He takes your hand in his, squeezing lightly. “I didn’t even get shot.” He smiles, trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t work.

“But you could’ve.” Your mind is going to the worst case scenarios. Even though you’ve always known what Jay does for a living, and you know he’s been shot before, it never really felt real. It never felt real because when he comes home to you, he makes everything seem like it’s not a big deal. He makes it seem like what he does isn’t scary and his life isn’t always in danger.

Seeing him in danger today, seeing him running and putting his life at risk to save others is something that terrifies you. It makes you feel selfish when you realize you just want him safe no matter the cost, but it’s true.

“But I didn’t.” He reassures you again, pulling you from your thoughts knowing it is what you need to hear.

Jay’s phone is ringing at that moment and he glances at the screen. He sighs, sounding torn, “I have to go back to the district.” Of course he wants to make sure you’re okay, but he’s also in the middle of a big case and they have one suspect in custody.

“Yeah,” You state, realizing that he’s in the middle of the work day and everything can’t stop just because you’re feeling completely off and terrified. “I should go back to work too.”

He hesitates now, “Maybe you should go home. Take the afternoon off, I’m sure your supervisor will understand.”

Jay is about to walk into a room with one of the guys who was literally hurling bullets toward him not thirty minutes ago, and he suggests you should take time off. “No, I’m fine. I’ll just go back.” You brush off his concern, reaching for the door handle to get out of his truck.

He places his hand over yours, squeezing gently. “Hold on, I’ll drive you to your car. Where is it?”

You accept his offer, giving him directions to drive you down the street and around the corner to where your car is parked. It only takes a minute to get there, and when he stops the truck beside your car, he asks, “Y/n, are you really okay to go back to work?”

You nod, even though you’re not so sure. “I’ll see you tonight?” You phrase it as a question, knowing they’re clearly in the middle of something, even if you don’t know all the details.

“I’ll text you later, but I think I’ll be late, don’t stay up, okay?”

You nod numbly. You had half expected that answer, but the selfish part of you just wants him home tonight. You want him home safe in bed next to you because that means he’s not running around potentially getting shot at.

He leans over, kissing you softly. “I love you, I’m okay. You’re okay.” He tells you again.

You nod, mumbling, “Love you too,” Before sliding out of the truck and getting in your car. Jay waits until you’re safely in your car, and then he motions for you to pull out in front of him. He follows you halfway back to your office before he has to turn off onto a different road to head to the district.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, but you find yourself worrying about Jay way more than usual. You feel unsafe, even though you know your office is safe. Although you and Jay text back and forth a few times throughout the rest of the afternoon, you still wonder if he’s out chasing down more suspects, if he’s out in the open with people shooting at him again. You try to remind yourself this is his job. This is what he’s done for as long as you’ve known him, but yet you had never witnessed it first hand until today.

As you had both expected, Jay lets you know he won’t be home in time for dinner, so you pick up takeout on your way back to the apartment. You go through your normal evening routine for when Jay is wrapped up in a case, but you’re feeling so on edge that you can’t relax, and you certainly can’t sleep. Jay finally walks in around eleven at night, and you’re still wide awake, the light from the tv casting a dim glow on the bedroom.

You hear his keys jingle and then you hear the door open and shut quietly. You can tell by his quiet footsteps that he’s trying not to wake you. Before you know it, you’re out of bed and padding through the bedroom door to see him pulling his gun from its holster and dropping his badge on the counter. You hesitate in the doorway and watch as he locks his gun in the safe. As soon as he does that, you close the distance and wrap your arms around him. “Hi,” he greets you, “I thought you’d be sleeping by now.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” You mumble before burying your face against his chest.

He nods, and holds you for a few more seconds before letting go and leading you to the kitchen. He opens the cabinet, grabbing two mugs and putting them down on the counter before putting water in the kettle and turning it on. He pulls out the chamomile tea and holds it up with a questioning look, offering you tea without any words. You nod your response to his unasked question.

He pulls you back into his arms as you both wait for the water to be ready. “How was the rest of your day?” He asks, almost as if this was a normal day, which you realize it might have been for him.

“I honestly don’t really even know. I don’t think I actually got anything done, but I didn’t have much to do anyway, so it was fine.” Before he can respond, you change the subject, not wanting to talk about yourself. “How was your day? Did you figure out who the other two guys were or what they were trying to do?”

He shakes his head, “We know more than we did earlier, but we haven’t figured it all out yet.”

There are so many questions and worries at the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to say any of them out loud. The kettle singing stops you from having to say anything, and Jay quickly finishes making the tea. You spend the next thirty minutes drinking tea and sitting together on the couch. Neither of you say much, but you’re just grateful Jay is home and safe for now.

By the time sleep finally comes, it’s past one am and Jay had already been peacefully sleeping beside you for over an hour.

When your eyes pop open, worry and fear flood your body. Your first instinct is to check on Jay, and you’re grateful to see that he doesn’t seem to have moved at all since before you fell asleep. You check your phone to find out it’s only four in the morning, but your body won’t let you sleep anymore.

Jay finally starts to wake up around six thirty, and by then you’re feeling so tired but you know now there’s no time for more sleep. The morning is uneventful, and you go through the motions basically on autopilot, getting ready, making coffee, eating breakfast, packing lunch, saying bye to Jay. When you’re at work, it seems like only half your brain capacity is actually on work stuff, the other half is unintentionally replaying the moments outside of the coffee shop from the day before. You can almost hear the gunshots and people screaming. And the one image that keeps playing in your mind on repeat is the image of Jay ducking behind a car, narrowly being missed by the flying bullets and then leaving the illusion of safety in pursuit of the same people who were shooting at him.

When you go home that night, it’s to an empty apartment as Jay is still knee deep in the case. You want to talk to him about it, but he’s acting like everything is fine, which makes you think that you should be feeling fine too, despite the fact that you feel so far from fine.

It’s three days before Jay finally makes it home in time for dinner. He mentions that they solved the case. He talks about it so casually that it seems like he wasn’t affected by that day at all. Your mind starts to wonder how many other times Jay has been shot at or put into unsafe and life threatening situations that you didn’t even know about . As much as you want to talk about it, you also don’t want to say any of it out loud because it makes it real. If you don’t talk about it, you can still pretend it didn’t really happen.

“Is everything okay at work?” Jay asks you that night while you’re eating dinner.

“Yeah, why?” The question caught you off guard.

He shrugs, “Just wondering. You seem a little off. You’re not sleeping. You seem stressed and on edge all the time, I was just wondering if you had something going on at work.” He noticed. Of course he noticed. He just doesn’t know the real reason why.

You shake your head and poke around your plate at the roasted vegetables.

“No, work’s been the same.”

“Is it something else?” He questions, his voice only holding curiosity and concern. When you shake your head again, he just nods, stabbing a piece of broccoli and putting it in his mouth. “Okay, maybe we can go out this weekend, if you’re not too busy at work?” He suggests. He’s been feeling as disconnected as you have. This is his attempt at getting back to normal.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” You force a smile, but even you can tell it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Another two days pass much the same as the few days before that. The fears and worries aren’t getting better like you had thought and hoped. The flashbacks and nightmares are not any less intense. Not talking about it clearly isn’t working.

It’s the weekend and Jay has made reservations at one of your favorite restaurants. Since they solved the last case, things have been relatively calm for Jay at work and he’s been home more often, but you haven’t mentioned how you’ve been feeling.

Jay comes home about an hour before the dinner reservation. He had to go into work for a few hours, but you welcomed the time alone. At least then you had no one to pretend to be okay in front of. You find yourself worrying whenever Jay is at work lately, not even just when he’s in the middle of a case or on a scene. Most times you don’t know whether he’s just sitting in the bullpen doing paperwork or research or if he’s actually out in the city, so you find yourself worrying always.

It’s become too much, and you know you can’t handle it on your own anymore. You can’t keep feeling this terrible feeling in your stomach and the tightness in your chest every time you’re not with Jay.

As soon as he got home from work, he went to take a shower. By the time he comes back out, you know what you have to do.

“Are you almost ready?” Jay questions, emerging from the bedroom fully dressed for dinner to find you’re still lying on the couch in one of his t-shirts.

“Hey, uh can we just talk for a bit?” You question, and Jay’s brows knit together in confusion, but he quickly strides over to the couch. You sit up and he takes a seat beside you. He sits silently, waiting for you to start talking.

“I’m still kind of freaked out about what happened.” You admit, not looking up at him.

“What happened?” His voice is full of confusion. He doesn’t know what you’re referencing.

“Yeah, the other day. The shooting.” You try explaining.

Jay reaches out and takes your hand in his. His expression softens, and he whispers, “It was scary.”

“Yeah, no.” You shake your head trying to gather your thoughts. “I saw you running after those guys and they had guns. They could have shot you.” Jay looks like he wants to say something, but he remains silent so you continue. “I just saw it all happen, and I can’t not see it. Everytime you go to work, I worry. I’m terrified I’m going to get a call from Voight saying something bad happened.”

Jay closes the small distance between you both, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m so sorry. I should have realized it was bothering you.”

Shaking your head, you respond, “No, I didn’t tell you. I thought I would just feel better on my own, but I haven’t.”

Jay pauses, considering his next words carefully. “I want to say you don’t have to worry, but I know that won’t really help.”

You shake your head because you’ve tried to tell yourself not to worry so many times over and yet you’re still worrying yourself sick.

Jay unwraps his arms from around you, and quickly stands up from the couch. You whine in protest, but he disappears into the bedroom, promising to be back in a minute. You wait there until Jay emerges from the bedroom a short while later. He’s holding several things in his hands and he stops in front of you.

Confused, you watch as he holds up his bulletproof vest, “This isn’t the one I have at work, but it’s pretty similar.” He hands it to you and you take it, feeling the weight of it in your hands. “It’s bulletproof. I wear my vest anytime I step foot out of my car and most times whenever I’m even leaving the district.”

He pauses, watching you glance from him to the vest in your hands. “That day that we were on the street, I was wearing my vest under my clothes, to protect me.”

He holds up his work phone next. “I always have this on me. I can call for an ambo in seconds. I just press the side here and I talk into it and someone on the other end is ready to send an ambulance. It’s way faster than calling 911.”

You understand what he’s trying to do. He can’t tell you not to worry, but he can give you reasons why you don’t have to worry as much.

“I didn’t pull my gun out because I know you don’t like it, but that keeps me safe too. If I’m in danger, I can shoot them before they shoot me.”

You nod at him, his words actually managing to soothe you in ways you didn’t expect.

“The whole unit has my back, always.” Jay continues explaining. He takes the vest from you and places it down on the coffee table with his phone. “That day, when I ran down the alley Hailey was on the other end. That’s how we caught the guy. She had my back. I wasn’t alone out there, even though it might have looked like it.”

He sits down on the couch again, pulling you into his arms. “I know you’re going to worry, and I get it, but I’m not doing reckless or dangerous things. And you know what’s in the back of my mind all the time?”

“What?” You whisper.

“Coming home to you.” He squeezes your hand, his eyes finding yours and holding eye contact. “I do my job, and I do it well so I can come home to you at night, every night.”

I'm really enjoying writing these oneshots, so I'm hoping to start posting more. Feedback is always appreciated!

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