#ao3 and one piece is the only thing keeping this household together | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unseededtoast · 8 months

Text

We'll Be Alright | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: In which you discover that the line between love and hate is quite fine. Your actions are done out of love, but they only make you hate yourself more and more. Inspired by "Fine Line" by Harry Styles

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

WC: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, a lot of angst, pining, mention of Ed Gein, mention of blood, use of guns, that sorta thing

a/n: Back at it again with another Spencer Reid oneshot. I hope you all like it, I think this is one of my favorites so far.

"I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you."

With a smile on your face you listen to Spencer ramble on about how he put the pieces together to find the unsub while you two ride to the scene together. He speaks with such passion and you don't think you'll ever get tired of listening to him, his mind is a brilliant thing and you make sure to remind him every chance you get. You can tell that sometimes when he gets fired up about something he starts becoming insecure, fearing that the others will make some snide comment or dismiss his thoughts. But not you, you listen intently every time, hanging onto every word.

Spencer has played a very vital role in developing you into the analyst you are today. Where the others were satisfied with letting you learn on your own, and showing you pointers here and there, Spencer took the time to explain nuanced ideas to you. He showed genuine interest and care, and you gave him your undivided attention. This dynamic created a tight bond with the two of you, allowing you to work together seamlessly and at times, it's like you read each other's thoughts.

"I knew you could do it." You tell him as you pull onto the scene. He utters a thanks as the two of you get out of the car and join the rest of the team.

The unsub is nearby and the team is just waiting for him to show up; Garcia had been able to track his phone and his movement aligned with the area you and Spencer had narrowed down as the next area of interest. Hotch, Morgan, and Emily give you both a nod of acknowledgement and the five of you begin scouting out the area to look for any signs of the unsub, he should be here by now.

This particular unsub sent a chill down your spine, and not much gets to you anymore. His modus operandi was always to kill his victims, skin them, and use their flesh for various purposes. It's like he was trying to be Gein's prodigy, except he never dug up a grave, he preferred to kill them all himself. The team had found his workshop early in the investigation, but the unsub was nowhere to be found, until now. Seeing household objects made of flesh isn't going to soon leave your memory, you're sure of it.

"There he is!" Morgan yells and points to a man crossing the street with a paper bag in his hand. Everyone takes off in a sprint towards him and you pull your firearm from the holster strapped to your thigh. The unsub takes off, trying to evade you all.

Emily and Hotch split up from the rest of the team to try and cut him off up ahead, leaving you, Spencer, and Morgan trailing him. The little man is fast, you'll give him that much. Eventually, he ducks down an alleyway, unaware it's a dead end, and turns back to look at you all with wide, stunned eyes. You see the panic in his eyes and as Morgan shouts instructions at him, you see him reach inside of his jacket.

The unsub pulls a gun of his own and aims it right at Spencer. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears. Spencer puts his hands up in surrender while you and Morgan keep your sights trained on him.

"Put the guns down or I'll shoot him, I swear I'll do it, just like the others!" The unsub declares while switching the safety off of his gun. Your hands begin to shake with adrenaline, but you don't put your gun down. Faintly, you can hear Morgan informing Hotch and Emily of the situation via radio but it's like you have tunnel vision on the man in front of you.

"Do it now!" He screams erratically and you see his finger dance on the trigger, just about to pull it.

An internal battle wages itself inside your mind, trying to quickly assess the pros and cons of listening to the man. Just as you go to lower your gun, you see the man grin sickeningly at Spencer with an evil glint shining in his eye; you've seen that look before. Without thinking, you turn and knock Spencer out of the way just as you hear the shot go off. Spencer slams into the brick wall beside him, chest heaving with panicked breaths. Behind you, you can hear Morgan yelling something but his voice sounds miles away.

All you feel is a blinding, white-hot pain.

Blinking rapidly, you look down and see that your shirt is quickly becoming stained a deep scarlet red. Your heart is pumping at an alarming pace, you can feel your pulse in your neck. The red stain keeps growing but your mind can't comprehend what's going on. Large hands obscure the stain from your view, and you finally look up to see Spencer's hazel eyes, wide and afraid.

He gently brings your body to the ground, leaning you against the brick wall you had shoved him into. His hands apply pressure to the wound, sending a shockwave of pain through your entire body. It feels like you can't catch your breath, you fight for oxygen every few seconds and even that makes your body feel like you've just been set ablaze. The edges of your vision start going black, and you can't really see anything clearly anymore. Your mind is a jumble of incoherent thoughts that just sounds like static.

"Hey, hey look at me. Come on now. Stay with me. Please." You feel a tap on your cheek and your blurry vision can make out Spencer's form, his fingers coated in red. A wave of nausea and pain racks through your system, and you try to reach out for Spencer, but your arms are just too heavy, and words take too much effort. It's easier to just close your eyes.

-----

A constant beeping sound stirs you awake. You don't even remember falling asleep. Trying to open your eyes feels like an impossible task, like they've been bonded shut with super glue. Your throat feels like a desert, and you start to panic, not remembering where you are. Mental images of the unsub's flesh creations flash through your mind and you start panicking, thinking that somehow he got you.

The panic is enough to make your eyes open, and you're greeted with bright lights. Flinching, you squint your eyes and look around. This isn't the unsub's workshop, no, this looks like a hospital. Your eyes travel down your body, seeing lines embedded in your arms, a plastic piece clamped over your finger, and a large white bandage wrapped around your stomach. As if on cue, your stomach starts to burn like hot coals had just been placed there. An image of Spencer's hand covered in bright red flashes behind your eyelids.

A nurse walks through the doors and smiles when she catches your eye. She comes to your bedside and sets down an IV bag full of clear liquid.

"Glad to see you're finally awake. How do you feel?" She asks and you go to answer her, but your throat is too dry, so you just end up coughing. The nurse crosses your room and returns moments later with a plastic cup half full of water. Greedily, you take it from her and drink the water, a lone stream wandering down your chin. Once the cup is empty, you decide to finally answer her.

"Not great." You admit, trying to reposition but unable to do so because of the pain. The nurse nods as she hangs the new IV bag from the metal rack beside your bed.

"I imagine so. I'll give you something to dull the pain." She tells you, resting a gentle hand on your upper arm. Your eyes are glued to her hand and you nod, anticipating the relief of pain medication.

"What exactly happened?" You ask, only able to remember tiny bits and pieces. The image of Spencer's hand refuses to leave your mind but you just can't remember what happened before, or after, that moment. The nurse looks down to the bandage covering your torso.

"An ambulance brought you in last night. You got shot through the abdomen and had to be rushed into surgery. There was sustained damage to your liver and other intestines, but nothing life-threatening. You gave your coworkers quite the scare though, they didn't want to leave but we had to send them home." Her voice is soothing despite the words leaving her mouth, like she was used to delivering this sort of news. Which she probably is. You stare down at the bandage on your stomach, trying to remember anything else, but being unsuccessful.

"So when can I leave?" You ask, knowing that there's an incident report or two waiting for you on your desk. Truthfully, you'd rather do anything but those reports right now, seeing as how you can't even remember a major event, but you know the job doesn't allow for much downtime.

"Probably tomorrow or the next day depending on how well you're doing." She reassures you, and you can live with that. If the team wants the paperwork done that badly, they can bring it to you. Otherwise, you're perfectly content to stay here for a little while. The nurse exits the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

From what you can remember, Spencer was definitely there when you got shot. His hands were covered in your blood, that part you can vividly remember. Your heart sinks as you are able to recall the look in his eyes, how scared he was. You hope he doesn't blame himself for what happened, you know it isn't his fault even if you can't quite remember how it all went down. If the roles were reversed you can't even imagine the wreck you would be; the thought alone makes you sick.

-----

The next day your doctor clears you for discharge, and you call Hotch to come pick you up. You have no family to call to get you or take care of you, Hotch and the team are the closest thing you have. You had almost called Spencer, but decided against it because you're not sure if you're ready to see him just yet. Hotch's car pulls up to the curb and he hops out to help you in the car but you wave him off.

"I got shot I'm not immobile." You try to tease as you grimace, pulling yourself into the passenger seat. Hotch closes the door once you're in and quickly returns to the driver's seat. His hands grip the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. He starts the route back to your home without a word, but you can tell something is bothering him.

"What's up?" You break the silence, the curiosity of what he's thinking becoming too much. Hotch glances at you from the corner of his eye before training his eyes back on the road.

"You're off of field duty for the next few months. Technically, you should be on a leave of absence for a while but I know you won't abide by it. But, you have to promise me you won't overwork yourself. You got shot, you need to take care of yourself." His words come out slow and even, which contradicts his body language. There's something else going on, but you know him well enough to know he's not going to tell you.

"No field work, got it." You agree, knowing it's the best deal you're going to get. When another agent was shot on the job about a year ago, they made her stay out of the office for four months. You'd go crazy under those restrictions.

The two of you ride in silence until he pulls up outside of your quaint home. The lights are all off and the mail has gone unchecked. Dark clouds in the sky start emitting light sprinkles, likely to turn into a storm. With a sigh, you look to Hotch, whose eyes are already on you and you smile weakly at him, trying to mask the pain shooting up your spine.

"Thank you, Hotch." You say and open the door despite your body's protests.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call." He tells you with a father-like authority. You nod your head, knowing he means it.

"I will." You confirm and close the door. Hotch drives off and you check your overflowing mailbox before heading up the short stone walkway to your home. You're thankful for the stair railings as you have to pull yourself up each step to reach your front door. From what should be a simple, few-second task, it feels like you've run a marathon. The keys fumble around in your hands but you're able to unlock the door after a few attempts.

Your home is unusually dark and cold inside. The mail finds itself scattered across the dining room table and you go around turning on a lamp or two to bring some life back into the space. Clutching the back of your couch, you catch your breath and look down at your torso. With careful hands, you lift your shirt and look at the bandage. Thankfully it doesn't look like the stitches have broken, it's just a lot of pain. The doctor had given you two prescriptions to fill, but you probably won't go pick them up, you can't imagine how painful it would be to drive a car right now; moving your arms and legs, straining your abdomen. It's just not worth it in your mind. And you're surely not going to inconvenience anyone to pick it up for you, they probably couldn't anyways seeing as how one of them is a narcotic.

Instead of doing anything else, you go around and lay down on your couch, propping your head on a throw pillow and pulling the blanket draped over the back overtop of you. Thunder sounds off overhead, and you know the rain will put you to sleep if the pain doesn't do it first.

The plush material of the blanket soothes you somewhat, it definitely feels better than the hospital blankets. Thick raindrops start pelting the window situated on the wall perpendicular to the couch, giving you the perfect view through your sheer curtains. Your eyes droop as you watch the droplets race each other to the bottom but you don't want to sleep, it's pretty much all you've done the past two days.

While your eyes concentrate on the raindrops pelting the window your mind races with all the thoughts you've slept away in the hospital. Since first waking up, you've been able to recall most of what happened, the doctors told you it was a normal thing to experience, but it freaked you out as you just kept remembering what happened. You can hear Spencer's voice begging you to stay awake and you remember shoving him out of the way so he wouldn't be shot.

While the pain of being shot is like nothing you've experienced before, you know you'd do it all over again to save Spencer. And that terrifies you. It's for that reason you haven't contacted him yet, but you see the messages he's left on your phone, asking if you're okay and if he can do anything for you. If it had been him that got shot, and he didn't pull through, you know you'd crumble, you'd absolutely lose yourself. And that shakes you to your core. You knew you and Spencer were close, but you never realized just how deep your love for him runs.

Being shot made you understand that in this line of work it's not smart to form these personal ties, for reasons such as this. If the roles were reversed and he did die, you know you wouldn't be able to continue doing your job. It's been made abundantly obvious to you during your time on the BAU that these deep connections could pose a threat to your safety, and that's never been more clear to you than it is right now. It's precisely the reason you don't answer Spencer at all. You feel guilty, but you know it's better like this in the long run. You can't stomach the thought of him taking a bullet for you, so you have to distance yourself, for his safety.

-----

Five days later you decide to return to the office. You're feeling slightly better, the pain is still strikingly difficult to deal with, but you can't stand another day being cooped up in your house. Plus, you know there's at least one incident report waiting for you.

You leave early to give yourself enough time to get there, and you find out that you were right about driving, it definitely does not feel good. You reach the office later than you usually do, but you don't really care. The team isn't even expecting you for another two days, so there's no punctuality expectation. After you get out of your car and make your way across the parking lot you find that a pit of dread has taken residence in your stomach, right next to the aching pain; and you're nervous to walk through the doors that have become so familiar. But the elevator ride is too short for your comfort and you find yourself staring at those very doors before you're truly prepared.

With one hand lightly resting on your abdomen, you force yourself into the office, where everyone is busy with their daily duties. Maybe you can just slip in here without anyone noticing you. Your steps are drastically slower than normal, and you make it halfway to your desk before you hear someone calling out your name.

"What are you doing here? Thought you weren't supposed to be back until Monday." Morgan asks, tossing a file on top of his keyboard. You clear your throat and try your best to smile.

"Just couldn't stay away I guess." You say and finish the journey to your desk, feeling your legs start going weak. Within the days you've spent at home, you couldn't bring yourself to exert much energy getting food, you mainly just spent time wrapped up in a blanket on your couch. Your body is weaker than it ever has been, from both malnutrition and the gunshot, but nobody needs to know that, then they'd start to hover. You'd much rather just suffer in silence and take care of yourself. Morgan follows you over to your desk and you're hypervigilant to keep up a good appearance.

"We've been worried about you. Nobody's heard from you since Hotch picked you up." He says and you glance over to Hotch's office, seeing the door closed.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I've just been trying to rest and heal up." It's not a total lie, just not the entire truth either. You meet Morgan's eyes as if to seal the deal, and thankfully he doesn't push you further on the matter, he just puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Well it's good to have you back." He says before departing back to his own desk.

You open the cover of the file that's sitting on your desk, seeing blank pages waiting for you to fill them out. Grabbing your favorite pen, you start jotting down your notes of the incident report up until you get to the part where you were shot. The pen hovers over the page for minutes, and you can't seem to find the right words. The opening of Hotch's door distracts you and you see him and Spencer walk out. Spencer's eyes lock with yours immediately and he wastes no time abandoning his conversation with Hotch to come over to you. You knew this time would come, you were just hoping to avoid it for a while longer.

"How are you? Are you okay? You weren't supposed to be back until Monday." A flurry of questions gets thrown at you while Spencer looks you over as if he's expecting to see another bleeding wound on you.

"I'm fine, thanks." You keep your answer short, too short for his liking and you know it. Guilt sits heavily in your heart, but you remind yourself that this is for his benefit and wellbeing. You can deal with a broken heart, you can't deal with Spencer dying and that's why this is necessary. His eyebrows scrunch together, confused about why you're acting so strangely.

"I tried to text you." He says, lowering his voice, eyes tender and full of worry. If only you could reach out to him, to feel his soft skin under your fingertips and tell him about the hell you've been going through. Instead, you lick your lips and nod shortly,

"I saw. I just, I wanted some time alone." You lie straight to his face and watch as he buys it so easily. Disappointment paints itself all over his face, but he nods anyways and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Right. Sorry, well, um, you know where I'll be." He says in a hushed voice before turning and walking to his own desk. Your eyes clamp themselves shut and your fists clench, leaving crescent-shaped indents in your palms as you take a deep breath and fight away the tears that threaten to spill.

Once you've regained control of yourself, you pick your pen back up and focus on nothing else but getting this report done. You force yourself to write robotically, stating only the concise facts of what happened and not a detail more. You're sure the other agents' reports will make up for yours, you just need to get this done and filed so you can leave. The air in the office space is suffocating.

After what feels like a short eternity, you've finally completed the report and you shut the front cover of the file and push yourself out of your chair, gritting your teeth the entire time.

"Need help?" You hear Morgan's voice behind you, and you're quick to shake your head.

"No, I'm fine, thank you." You say as you stand as straight as you can, grabbing the file off your desk with one hand, the other rests over your wound, which feel unusually warm. Fearing the worst, you make your way to Hotch's office, biting your cheek the entire way there.

When you enter his office he looks at you with uncharacteristically soft eyes. He waits for you to make the first move and you put the folder on his desk, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. He opens the folder and reads over your work before tossing it on top of a pile of other folders.

"What's going on with you?" He asks and stands to shut his door. Hotch closes the blinds on the office windows as well, so that the other agents can't see into the room and you're thankful. Your bottom lip quivers as a sharp hot pain radiates from your wound and you feel your throat constrict. Grasping the back of a chair situated in front of his desk you lean your weight on it to try and alleviate the pain, but it isn't working.

"Let me see." Hotch stands from his desk and stands beside you. Once you feel you can stand on your own you lift the edge of your shirt up, exposing the bandage wrapped around you. From your vantage point you can see the warm red skin peeking out from the bandage.

"That's not good, that looks like it's becoming infected." Hotch's voice is thick with worry and he delicately peels back the bandage to examine the wound and you bite down on your hand to keep from crying out. The air coming into contact with it feels like he just pushed a fire poker right through the stitches.

"We're leaving right now, that's definitely infected." Hotch secures the bandage back and you shake your head.

"I'll be fine, it's just part of the healing process." You try to downplay the situation. In reality, you know that it's not good for your wound to be that red or warm, but if the two of you leave right now the others are going to know something's up. And that will inevitably lead to them hovering over you.

"No, it's not. You're going to come with me or I'll call the squad." Hotch threatens and you see no trace of a lie in his eyes or in his tone. Relenting, you agree to go with him. He leads you out of the office and you keep your head down, compelling yourself to not look at Spencer, who's undoubtedly tracking your every move.

Once you reach the parking lot Hotch begins questioning you. He helps you into his car and you let him, not having the energy to fight him.

"Have you not been taking the medicine prescribed to you? I know they gave you an antibiotic." He scolds, knowing the answer. If you had been taking them, you wouldn't be showing up to the office with an angry gunshot wound.

"Hurt too much to drive and get them." You keep your answer short and he huffs in annoyance, but starts driving somewhere to get you the medical attention you need. Deep down you're thankful Hotch cares this much, he's the closest thing to real family you have.

Last Thanksgiving the team found out that you have no family to spend the holidays with. You had never meant to tell them, but holiday plans came up in conversation and yours were painfully dull and lonely compared to theirs. But Hotch invited you to his family's Thanksgiving dinner. At first, you had declined, not wanting to intrude on his family time away from work, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. Now you're glad that he persisted and you went. His wife, Haley, took you under her wing and everything just fell into place; you're practically their surrogate daughter at this point.

After Hotch makes sure that you get looked at by a doctor, and that you actually have your intended prescriptions, he drops you off at your home and makes you promise that you'll send him a video of you taking your medicine on schedule. Knowing that if you don't, he will most definitely drive over here and count the pills, you agree. And as a punishment for not taking the medicine in the first place, he makes you agree to stay out of the office for another week.

-----

The week passes too quickly for your liking. Each day Spencer had texted you, asking if you're okay, that he's worried about you, and that he misses you. It broke your heart to not reply to him, every fiber of your being yearned to text him back, to let him know that you're okay. The temptation to abandon your decision of distancing yourself from him grew stronger each day. It became so tempting that you forced yourself to let your phone battery die and then you buried it underneath the clothes in your dresser so that it would stay out of sight.

But now, as you stare up at the office building from the parking lot, you know that you won't be able to avoid him today and you know that you're going to have to not give into temptation. Every time you want to slip, you're going to have to remind yourself that this is for his safety. You remember that you can deal with the heartbreak, the possibility of him hating you, but you'll never be able to go on if he dies. So you have to do everything in your power to make sure he will never have a reason to make a decision to take a bullet for you, like you did him.

Eventually, you walk into the office, admittedly in a lot less pain than last time. Who knew that taking your prescribed antibiotics would make your life easier? As soon as your foot crosses the threshold of the door, you feel like everyone's eyes are upon you. Instead of looking around to confirm your suspicions, you make a straight route right to your desk. But, of course that doesn't stop people from coming over.

"Back again. You look better this time." Morgan smiles and slides to sit on the edge of your desk. You smile back at him, feeling refreshed and healthier than last time.

"Feel better too. Any new cases?" You ask, hoping to establish some normalcy back into your routine. Typically, you and Spencer carpool to work together and his missing presence from your morning routine didn't go unmissed. Morgan licks his lips and nods,

"Yeah we just got back from one out in Colorado. I think there's another briefing at ten." He tells you, taking a sip of his coffee. You know you won't be let into the field yet, but you at least want to sit in on the briefing. More than likely you'll be paired with Garcia, and you're fine with that.

Morgan slides off your desk and as he moves you see Spencer staring straight at you. His eyes look bloodshot, there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he hasn't had a decent night of sleep for a month and his hair is a mess. His lips fall open as you two make eye contact, but you're quick to look away before you go over to comfort him. The inside of your cheeks burn from how hard you're biting them.

Once ten rolls around the team files into the conference room, and you're careful to stand in the back instead of taking your usual seat. Prentiss gives you an odd look but she doesn't say anything. It's glaringly obvious to everyone that something is off, but you assure them you should stand to help your blood circulation. As Hotch starts going over the next case you feel a familiar pair of eyes lingering on your face, but you stare right at Hotch.

Soon enough, the rest of the team is off to work a local case, and you stay in the office to help Garcia. She pulls up a chair for you to sit on, and the two of you get to work without saying a word. It's weird for there to be a silence so thick between the two of you, you two always work so well together and you love Penelope. As she waits for something to load, she taps a pen on her desk and takes a deep breath.

"What's wrong?" You ask, not being able to take it any longer. The tapping pen stills and she looks over to you with an uncertain look on her face.

"What's wrong with me? Nothing, I'm perfect as a peach." She tries to lie, but you can read her too well. Your eyebrows raise, and you push her further.

"Come on, Pen. I know you better than that. Tell me." You implore and she bites her lower lip, conflicted with herself as if she should say anything or not. But eventually your staring gets to her and she breaks.

"Fine. Fine, but you didn't hear this from me. Spencer thinks that you blame him for getting shot and that's why you've been dodging him." You've never heard such ridiculous words come out of Penelope's mouth, and you've heard her say a lot over the years. Taken aback, your mouth falls open and you blink, trying to come up with something to say.

"No. Of course it's not his fault. I pushed him out of the way, he didn't pull me into the bullet's path." You say, wanting to set the record straight. Your heart aches at the thought of Spencer beating himself up, thinking that you blame him for your own actions. You know you won't tell him this directly, but you're certain Garcia will relay the message. And that will have to be good enough.

"What's going on with you two then?" Her voice is uncharacteristically soft. You know you can't tell her what you're really doing because you know she'll fight you on it and try to dissuade you. So you choose to dodge the question altogether.

"There. The victim's information loaded." You point at her screen and she scowls at you, but turns in her chair and resumes her job anyways. While she does her research you busy yourself with putting pins on a map, trying to figure out where the unsub is going to strike next.

Later, the team returns to the office before going home for the day. You're at your desk, shutting down your computer and making sure your file drawer is locked, and when you grab the jacket off the back of your chair, you see Spencer talking to Morgan at his desk. He catches you out of the corner of his eye, and you brush past the two of them before either one of them can say something to you. Your heart shatters a little with each step, but you remind yourself why you're doing this. If you didn't, you're convinced you would have turned back and never let Spencer go.

-----

Three days later, the case is solved. The unsub basically handed the team a map right to himself and chose not to lawyer up when Hotch questioned him. It's almost like he wanted to be caught. You don't dwell on the thought too much, you're just glad another murderer is off the street. While everyone else cheers about the victory as they fill out their reports, you keep to yourself at your desk. Unlike the last report you filled out, you make sure this one is extensively detailed.

"What does everyone say? Celebration drinks tonight?" You hear Morgan's voice, eager and happy. The man loves to celebrate sometimes. The rest of the team agrees, and you finish your sentence, hoping they keep you out of it. If you stay quiet enough, you're sure they'll forget you're even here.

"Oh did someone say drinks?" Penelope walks into the bullpen to give Hotch something. Morgan fills her in on the details and of course she agrees.

"I'm assuming you're coming too, right?" You hear her voice but choose not to look up, hoping that she's talking to someone else. Unfortunately, she was not talking to someone else, and taps on your shoulder to make you look up. You see Spencer standing in the background with everyone else, but you keep your eyes trained on Penelope like he doesn't even exist.

"Oh, I don't know. I was thinking of calling it an early night." You admit, knowing full well that you had planned to sit on your couch all weekend binging some trashy reality show to distract yourself from your reality. Penelope frowns,

"Come on, you've never turned us down before. It'll be good for you." She says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that she's not going to take no for an answer.

"Fine, I'll be there." You relent, with a tight smile on your face. She cheers and goes back to talking with Morgan, and you swivel around in your chair to finish the report. While you scribble words, you're already forming your escape plan for the night.

You'll stay for about an hour, after everyone has already had a few and then you'll excuse yourself. If you have to, you'll use your gunshot wound as an excuse; and yeah it's a cheap cop out, but if that's what it takes you'll do it. And then once you're out the doors you're free. It's a simple, yet effective, plan.

Hours later the team huddles around a table in a crowded bar. Usually you're all over celebratory drinks, you use it as an excuse to remind your coworkers of just how brilliant they are. But tonight, while the rest of them are chatting away happily, you sit on the edge, nursing your drink and looking out of the bar's front window. Spencer is seated across the table from you and you keep accidentally meeting his eyes, which makes the alcohol in your system warm your skin even more.

Spencer sure does make it hard for you to ignore him. After all, his puppy-dog eyes practically plead with you, silently begging for you to say something to him. You can see how hard he's being on himself, still probably convinced that you blame him for your wound. Even if Garcia told him otherwise, you know he will have a hard time buying it considering your actions completely contradict what you had said. While the others might not notice how miserable he is, you can tell. He hasn't gone on a random knowledge tangent since you've been back and he's been reusing the same coffee cup without washing it for the past few days.

You hate how hard Spencer makes it to actually dislike him, you hate how he's such a kindhearted person because it makes all of this ten times more difficult. If he had at least one dislikable trait then this would be easier, then you might have a chance of convincing yourself that you can't stand him, that you never liked him to begin with. Though you're not sure you could ever convince yourself of that, truly. As you take your last drink, you come to one reasonable conclusion: You hate that you love him.

Suddenly feeling like the room is closing in on you, you stand from your seat and make your way to the bartender to close your tab out for the night. Maybe you can just sneak out of here and nobody will notice. The bartender hands your card back to you, and you start heading towards the door. But of course a team of FBI agents noticed that you had left, and are now heading towards the door. Morgan is the first one to confront you.

"Going home already? It's not even nine yet!" He teases and you give him your best smile.

"Just starting to hurt a little." You ghost your fingers over your healing wound for extra measure, knowing they won't chastise you about that. It seems you've taken the low road after all.

"Want someone to take you home?" Penelope asks, and you're quick to decline, knowing exactly what kind of plan she has in store.

"No, thanks. That's alright, I don't live far. Have a good night everyone." You smile at Morgan, Penelope, and Prentiss before you leave. As you walk to your car you notice that everytime you turn away and leave Spencer, your heart fragments more and more. But you remember what's at stake, and you pick yourself up, the best you can, and keep moving forward. You know that the pain and turmoil you're feeling now will amount to nothing if something ever happens to Spencer.

-----

Months later your gunshot wound is practically completely healed. There's a scar that's going to be left behind, but you don't mind it. You're one week out from being cleared to go back into the field, and you're undergoing your evaluation now. You thought that you'd be happy and eager to get back out there, but instead you find yourself hesitant and nervous about it. Working with Garcia had made you feel safe and secure. So now, as you sit in Hotch's office, you try to find the words you're looking for. He's staring at you expectantly.

"I just. Hotch I don't know if I can go back out there." Your voice is shaky, and you're afraid this admission will get you dismissed from the team. He leans forward, elbows resting on his desk.

"You're saying you don't want to return to the field?" He tries to clarify. You take in a deep breath,

"I want to return to the field, I just don't know if I want to do it right now. I mean, I still get nightmares about being shot and it feels so real. What I'm trying to say is that I don't know how well I'd react in stressful situations right now." You tell him, hoping that this makes more sense. In a way, you're figuring out what exactly it is you want. His eyes narrow, trying to get a read on you. Hotch writes some words on the paper in front of him and sighs.

"I can give you another month. And I want you to start seeing a therapist." He says and you scoff immediately. Hotch holds his hand up to stop your protests before they even start.

"Listen. I don't know what's going on inside your mind since this all happened. But you haven't been yourself. And you haven't spoken to Spencer once. You two used to be the best of friends. It's none of my business to know, but you need to tell someone about it. Being shot like that is not something that someone gets over easily and without ramifications." He explains, and deep down you know he's right. You just don't want to confide to anyone about your issues.

"Sure." You agree, knowing that he's going to force you to see a therapist one way or another. If you tell him no now, you're sure someone will show up in the office next week to conduct some sort of "random psych evaluation". Hotch dismisses you from his office, and you make your way to the break room for some much needed caffeine.

The coffee in the pot is hot, like it's been freshly brewed. You pick a mug at random and fill it, then you sprinkle in a modest amount of sugar before tasting it. It's warm and comforting, like a hug from the inside. You close your eyes to help yourself destress from what happened in Hotch's office, but when you open them you see Spencer standing in the doorway. His hair is still wildly curly, there are still circles under his eyes from sleep deprivation. Even his clothes are wrinkled now, it looks like he doesn't take the time to iron them out anymore.

You two stare at each other with so much left unsaid, and you make a move to leave the room before you fold under the pressure. Your shoulder brushes his on the way out, and you hear him speak.

"Please. I'm sorry." You hear him plead with you and your steps falter, wanting so badly to just stop and turn around. To hold him close to you and apologize, to tell him you miss him so bad it makes your chest hurt and how life is dull without him. But instead, you take a scalding sip of coffee and keep moving forward like you never heard him. Each day that passes you find yourself hating how deeply you love him more and more, it's almost a constant burn in your veins.

You spend the rest of the day tucked away in Penelope's office, nose buried in a screen, doing the most menial research as if the fate of the world depends on it. Penelope doesn't say anything. She just sighs and helps you with the research.

-----

A few more weeks pass, and fall is now in full swing. There's a crisp chill to the air, the leaves are all turning colors and falling to the ground. And with fall comes your birthday. You have no real plans to celebrate, Hotch had given you your gift in the parking lot before work this morning, knowing that you don't like a lot attention being drawn to you, but it is nice to get a simple "happy birthday" from your friends.

The team packs up for the day, and your heart sinks with disappointment. It seems that nobody but Hotch had remembered your birthday. You convince yourself that this is a stupid reason to get sad, that they all have busy lives to keep up with. Plus, it's not like it's a milestone birthday anyways. Grabbing your jacket, you leave the office for the day with a heavy sadness taking residence in your chest.

When you arrive home, you turn some lamps on and toss your jacket over the back of the couch. You put Hotch's gift on the table, and go to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. You don't bother pouring it into a glass, straight from the bottle will suffice just fine. Taking the bottle with you, you go to your room and change out of your work clothes. As you rummage through the drawers, you find your phone still sitting in the bottom of one of them.

You had never found the courage to charge it back up, afraid to see what words had been left for you. But tonight, you figure it's about time you confront your own feelings. You plug the phone in and set it on your nightstand, taking another swig of the wine and waiting for it to charge.

After what feels like hours, the phone finally turns back on. And within minutes, the notifications start pouring in. Text after text after text rolls in and the missed calls start to pile up. With another drink, you take your phone in your hand and read over the messages. There are exactly fifty seven messages from Spencer and thirty missed calls.

Your eyes scan the texts he sent you, his words sinking into the fibers of your very being, and you're saddled with an intense sorrow. Tears fall from your cheeks onto the phone's screen and you stop reading, not being able to take it anymore. All of his texts were him apologizing to you, begging you to please talk to him. You listen to the voicemails he left, hearing his voice crack and listening to him sniffle as he pleads for you to please just say something, anything. You can almost visualize him in your mind, wiping his tears as he tells you how sorry he is and how he misses you more than anything. He's begging and apologizing as if he's the one who has done anything wrong here. You hate yourself more than anything for letting him suffer like this.

You leave your phone on your nightstand and grab the wine, returning to your kitchen table, where Hotch's gift sits perfectly wrapped. Taking it in your hands, you unwrap it and look inside the box, heart stilling as you see what's inside. With trembling fingers, you grab the frame and hold it in front of your face. Hotch had given you a framed photo of the team, a picture in which Spencer is holding you tightly against his side, and you're looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The frame slips through your fingers and clatters onto the table.

You support yourself on the back of a chair, and you finally let yourself feel everything you had suppressed over the last few months. Sobs shake your body and the tears fall onto the photo. Your hands clutch the back of the chair until your knuckles turn white, afraid that if you let go you'll collapse to the ground.

A knock at the door catches you off guard and you try to level out your breathing, using the back of your hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You aren't expecting anyone, and you almost consider just leaving it be, but your curiosity gets the best of you. Knowing that you probably look deranged and pathetic, you open the door anyways.

Spencer stands in the doorway, a small box in his hands along with a bouquet of your favorite fresh-cut flowers.

Your mouth falls open, and you think your heart might actually jump out of your chest. He looks you over, an obvious concern coming over his face. You should shut the door on him, tell him to go away, but your resolve has crumbled, like dust in the wind.

"Can I come in?" He whispers, and you nod, letting him inside your home, where he's been so many times but now it feels like the first time all over again. Your house is in a state of disarray, and if you hadn't just been sobbing over a photo of him, you might care more. You wipe more tears from your eyes and you clear your throat, not exactly sure what to say or do. But thankfully, he speaks up again.

"Happy birthday." His voice is soft, and he gives you a small smile, but the sadness is evident in his eyes.

"You didn't have to get me anything." You say, looking at the beautiful flowers and carefully wrapped box, topped with a ribbon of your favorite color. He takes a step towards you, and hands you the flowers first. As you take them, your fingers brush his and it feels like the air has been kicked out of your lungs.

"I know, but I wanted to." He says, meeting your eyes. You catch the scent of the flowers, appreciating their freshness and the life they bring to your otherwise sad home. Making your way into your kitchen, you find a vase to put the flowers in and then you set them on the table. Spencer's eye catches the photo, and you know he can see the wetness that still adorns the frame. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together.

"Thank you, Spencer." You say after you position the flowers just right. Willingly, you catch his eye and you know you can never go back to ignoring him after this. He glances from you, to the photo, then back to you before he hands you the box. Lifting the top off, you see a beautiful gold chain inside that has a beautiful gemstone pendant hanging from it.

"I picked the stone because it reminded me of your eyes." He sheepishly admits, and you look up at him through your lashes with the purest and deepest love flowing through you. But through that love, the guilt eats you alive.

"Spencer, this is too much. I've been horrible to you lately, I don't deserve this. And I definitely don't deserve your kindness." You say, looking into his gorgeous, kind eyes. The tension is noticeable between you, and you wish it would melt away and that you two could go back to how things used to be.

"I've missed you so much." Is all he says, voice cracking and you see tears gather in his eyes. Unable to help yourself, you set the necklace on the table and close the gap between the two of you, resting your hand on his cheek. Your bottom lip trembles,

"I'm so sorry Spencer. I'm so sorry." You say, tears once again flowing down your face. He sniffles as a tear runs down his cheek onto your thumb.

"Why?" Is all he asks but you know exactly what he means. You decide to come clean to him, there's no use of lying now.

"When I got shot, I realized that if you had been the one who got hit, and you didn't make it, that I wouldn't be able to live. The thought of living in a world without you is too much. So I had to make sure that I didn't give you a reason to make the same choice I did. I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you. I wanted you to hate me so that you wouldn't risk your life for me." Your thumb gently brushes his cheekbone, trembling with your words. He closes his eyes as tears keep falling down his cheeks. One of his hands comes up and grabs yours that's on his face, and he grips it tight.

"When I realized you had taken the bullet for me, I knew that nothing would be the same between us. I thought I was going to lose you. Your blood was on my hands, and it's the only thing I have nightmares about anymore. And this made me realize that I can never stop loving you, no matter what happens." He admits, causing you to cry harder. The remorse you feel for putting him through so much torment feels like it's eating you from the inside. You should have been there for him.

"I'm so sorry." Is all you can say, it's all you can express to him right now. He needs to know that you didn't mean any of it. Spencer pulls you in for a hug and holds you tight against him. One of his hands cradles the back of your head, the other is secure around your waist. Your tears stain his sweater, and the two of you let out everything.

When you finally pull back from the hug you grab his face with gentle hands, making him look at you.

"Spencer, I love you so much. I need you to know that I did what I did because I love you too much to lose you." You admit to him and he smiles. A genuine smile that you haven't seen in months. Through the tears and emotions, you two smile widely at one another.

Spencer closes the gap between the two of you, and tilts your chin up. Your lips connect with his ever so softly, and you pull him closer to you, your hands trailing down his torso, collecting fistfuls of his sweater. One of his hands rests on your cheek, brushing your cheekbone and the other keeps you close to him.

Everything that has gone unsaid is spoken loud and clear as you kiss one another. When your lungs start burning, begging for air, you break away and lean your forehead on his chest. He brushes your hair with his fingers and you feel him press a tender kiss to the top of your head. You stay entangled with each other in a comfortable silence before you look up at him,

"We'll be alright." You tell him, knowing that the two of you will be able to mend each other in time. And things may never be like they were, and that's okay.

"We'll be alright." He confirms, kissing your forehead.

Eventually, you two move to the couch and you ask him to clasp the necklace around your neck. In the soft, warm glow of the lamps you look into his eyes and can see all of the love he holds for you. You take one of his hands in yours and he positions himself so that you can lay back against him. He's warm, and being held by him feels like home.

Laying in his arms, you decide you don't want to return to the field. After all, if you're not in the field he won't ever be faced with the decision to take a bullet for you or not. As long as he's in your life, and you're in his, things will be okay. Before you drift off to sleep, you lean up and press a kiss to his temple.

You have everything you need right here in your arms.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid comfort #hurt/comfort #hotch #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #derek morgan #penelope garcia #spencer reid fluff #harry styles #Spotify

429 notes · View notes

levithestripper · 1 year

Text

romantic headcanons with peeta mellark

masterlist

warnings: fluff, gender-neutral reader.

length: 1k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

notes: rewatched the movies again and you can guess what happened from there.

peeta with a crush is singlehandedly the cutest thing you’ve had the privilege of witnessing. he’s super awkward around you, practically tripping over his own feet before he discovers his confidence.

his favorite date activity is picnics! he enjoys sitting under a shady tree and watching the clouds roll by, soaking up the sun’s rays with you by his side. more often than not, he’ll fall asleep there too. hands behind his head, one knee in the air, chest slowly rising up and down.

peeta is the biggest cuddler you’ll ever meet, hands down. sitting together? he has an arm around your waist and his head on your shoulder. sitting across from each other at a table? you can feel his knee pressed against yours. walking together? he laces his fingers with yours every chance he gets.

you’ll find yourself with more forehead kisses than you know what to do with. not that you’re complaining.

he teaches you how to dance! when peeta was little, his mother would put on a record and dance with him in the living room. there weren’t many records—or record players—left in district twelve, so his mother took great care of her small collection. his favorite was a love song by elvis presley. he nor his mother knew anything about the artist, but it didn’t stop them from getting lost in the singer’s words. years later, peeta plays that same song when teaching you how to dance. listening to the lyrics now, with you in front of him, peeta finally understands what elvis had been telling him all this time. he really can’t help but fall in love with you.

this boy is the biggest sap in the entirety of panem. he handmakes you cards, drawing cute doodles around the words he writes. sometimes you swear he’s making up new ‘holidays’ just as an excuse to make you a card. he looks so cute when he says, ‘did you know today is hug your partner day? the capitol declared it a national holiday!’ so you can’t help but go along with it.

not only does he create new holidays, but he also says random days are ‘national [blank] day.’ in the mellark household, mondays are ‘national breakfast in bed day,’ wednesdays are ‘national sleep past noon day,’ thursdays are ‘national kisses day,’ and sundays are ‘national candlelight dinner day.’ you’ll never admit it, but secretly, you love it when he uses excuses like ‘national kisses day’ to kiss you more than he already does. you tease him about it all the time, but it only backfires, as peeta gives it right back.

it doesn’t matter how long the two of you have been dating, peeta will still flirt with you like it’s the first time he’s laid eyes on you. he’ll lean against the closest piece of furniture, chin resting in the palm of his hand, proceeding to use only the cheesiest pick-up lines he could think of. you play along, of course, something you’re more than happy to do. the game ends when peeta asks you out on a ‘first date,’ and he cheers when you say yes.

you can always tell when peeta wakes up from a nightmare. he presses himself into your side, his head on your chest or pressed into the crook of your neck.

peeta will hurl compliments at you all day, but the minute you give it back to him, his face lights up like a strawberry. at the start of the relationship, he had a tough time accepting praise, regardless of what he did to receive it. he’d always subtly deflect it somehow, saying it was ‘no big deal, really!’ or ‘don’t mention it, anyone would’ve done the same.’ with your help—and a never-ending wave of admiration—peeta slowly grew more comfortable accepting the accolades he deserves.

if it wasn’t obvious, he loves all things domestic. something he loves about it is when he has together-alone time with you. each doing your own thing in the same room, silently keeping the other company while they work.

i’ve said this before, but peeta has multiple sketchbooks filled with drawings and half-finished sketches of you. peeta never tells you when he’s sketching you, claiming he prefers a ‘candid, more natural’ look to his portraits. once he fills a sketchbook, you’ll cuddle up next to him as he eagerly shows you everything he’s completed.

peeta’s love language is physical touch, acts of service, and gift-giving! (if that wasn’t obvious enough already). you almost regret telling him your favorite dessert/meal because peeta ensures you’ll never go without it, cooking/baking whatever it is whenever you mention you have a taste for it. you can’t help but love it and him.

as for physical touch, if it wasn’t clear before, peeta’s a top-rate cuddle partner. but his love for closeness manifests itself in different ways, too. back rubs, for one, are a prime example. he starts at the base of your neck, having just finished running his hands through your hair. from there, he rubs down the ridge of your spine, his thick, calloused fingers hitting the best spots every time. it never fails to turn you into a pile of mush, something peeta is (not so secretly) proud of.

with gift-giving, don’t always expect these extravagant, over-the-top presents that cost more than either of you make in a year. if he knows there is something expensive you’ve been yearning for, he’ll save up some cash to surprise you with it. typically, you’re gifted things like a bouquet of flowers, a new book, or something interesting/unique he found at the hob. you’ve slowly begun to fill a shoebox worth of stuff he’s given you over the years.

after you get out of the shower, under the guise of ‘helping you dry your hair,’ he’ll brush through it, detangling any knots still present. to be completely honest, peeta was playing with your hair more than actually drying it. you’re not in any place to complain; you do the same thing to peeta after his showers.

487 notes · View notes

tabithatwo · 1 year

Text

fics and posts of note!

if yellowjackets enthusiast is my second job (it is) then, within that, fic writing is my day job and tumblr rambling is my moonlighting, so here's easy access to my fics and to my more involved posts!

current status: I’ve had a long, rough hiatus from writing but I think I’m back! With bee charmer complete (yay!) I plan on finishing abmb then focusing on other things! I have to read abmb so it might be a bit of a wait still, but it’s in progress now and I’m excited to be back in it <3 —2/5

likely order of updates: abmb, resurrection —2/5

multichapter fics

(ongoing)

always be my baby (32/?)

explicit / post-s1 canon-divergence / jackie lives (but shauna doesn't find out until 2021)

jackieshauna centric, taivan background, lottienat background, mistynat implied / ensemble piece; the primary focus is jackieshauna, but the other characters play in heavily and their relationships (both romantic and platonic) are very much explored

novel length (and then some) / wip / primarily 2021 timeline with flashbacks / primarily shauna and jackie pov / includes povs from: taissa, van, natalie, lottie, misty, callie, jeff

All the living yellowjackets are forced together when someone decides to unearth their past. Tensions rise, past relationships are revealed, and new ones are forged in a reunion that no one asked for (except maybe Misty).

Shauna’s world is rocked when Jackie Taylor walks back into it.

read on ao3

we practice resurrection every night (4/?)

explicit / jackie lives au / slice of life

jackieshauna centric, lottienat, ensemble piece

novel length / wip / set in and around 1996 canon / shauna and jackie primary povs, lottie and nat secondary povs, with assorted ensemble povs

A series of moments based pre, during, and post 1996 canon, centered around Jackie and Shauna, accounting for the huge, rippling impact of one small change: the Holmdel bust goes differently. Shauna ends up walking home with Jackie instead of Jeff.

read on ao3

(complete)

you're just a bee charmer (~53k)

explicit / no crash au / shifted ten years (they graduate high school in 2006, rather than 1996)

jackieshauna centric, taivan background, lottienat background

novella length / wip / set in 2006-2007, they are 19 / shauna and jackie pov

They've been at college for an entire semester, and Shauna is really fucking sick of the Jackie-Jeff rollercoaster. So, when Jeff dumps Jackie right before winter break, Shauna decides she's willing to do pretty much anything to keep them broken up. Jackie just wants to feel wanted, so what harm can a few messages from a new account really do?

read on ao3

just unzip me (4/4)

explicit / no crash au

jackieshauna centric, taivan background, lottienat background

novella length / complete / set between 2004-2006 / shauna and jackie pov

Shauna is the maid of honor in the Taylor-Sadecki wedding, but on the big day both the bride and the groom have a confession to make.

(and big moments in Jackie and Shauna’s lives after the not-a-wedding)

read on ao3

and it's spinoff oneshot, the perfect fucking wife (teen and up, three short snippets from three jewish holidays in the shipman household. total fucking fluff.)

read on ao3

oneshots

trying to keep you alive

explicit / canon-compliant / ghost!jackie or hallucination!jackie depending on how you read it

jackieshauna / shauna's relationships with taissa, jeff, and callie

~5k words / set eleven years post return / shauna pov

A night of Shauna feeling especially self-destructive (cruising for women, talking to Jackie's ghost, and burning bridges with the only two people in her corner).

read on ao3

no take backs

mature / canon-compliant / ghost!jackie

jackieshauna centric, lottielee background / jackie and laura lee

~3k words / set during 2x02 / jackie pov

Jackie didn't leave the woods when she died. Laura Lee is a few steps ahead of her in this whole navigating being a ghost thing, but Shauna is falling apart quicker than Jackie can pick up the pieces.

read on ao3

series (jackie lives post-return fluff)

definitely think twice

teen and up / jackieshauna, taivan / ~2.5k words / van pov

Van and Tai head to Jackie and Shauna's to babysit during their much needed vacation, but getting Jackie out the door is proving harder for Shauna than expected.

read on ao3

this she was sure about

teen and up / jackieshauna / ~2k words / jackie pov

Jackie and Shauna bring the kids to Shauna's first book signing after some encouragement from her agent.

read on ao3

no being sad about ice cream

teen and up / jackieshauna / ~3k words / shauna pov

Three slice-of-life moments from Jackie's pregnancy.

read on ao3

and if i can't fix it, i'm gonna make you fix it

teen and up / jackieshauna / ~2k words / jackie pov

Bee has a shitty day and Jackie gives Shauna a pep talk.

read on ao3

posts of note

x jackie taylor is a lesbian frame by frame pt. 1

x jackie taylor is a lesbian frame by frame pt. 2

x tai and shauna / call your mom

x shauna and psychosis

x the "dreams" (travis' dialogue on near death experiences in 2x02)

x the "dreams" (eating and drinking in other realms motif)

x jackieshauna / lottielee

x mirrors and reflections in yj (the pilot)

x pit girl scenes and their cuts away from natalie

x lesbian breakup so bad (yj edition)

x sight and power and leadership (lottie, tai, nat, jackie ruminations)

x jackieshauna / our wives under the sea

x yj and jennifer's body

x nat/jackie ruminations

x why it matters if they keep jackieshauna vague

#here's all my shit all in one place so very organized of me!#yellowjackets fic #yellowjackets theories #yellowjackets meta #jackie taylor #shauna shipman #jackie x shauna #yellowjackets

116 notes · View notes

vigilant-insomniac · 1 month

Text

Ashes rain upon your scalded palms pt 2

Prev | Chapter 2/3 | next | or read on AO3

Word Count 3571

Complete Wordcount: 9655

Maddie builds a Thing and finally seeks out the Ghost to get some answers. She had to find Danny. She had to save her son. The Ghost was her best lead, and if she had to face it, armed with nothing more than her determination, she would.

Contains: Maddie & Danny, Post apocalyptic vibes, and the usual bucket full of angst! @phicphight submission

------

Chapter Two

Before she could save anyone, Maddie needed to be more prepared than she was. Fenton Works was very much out of the question, since the only part of it still standing was the leftovers of the Portal. Scavenging from it felt like a bad idea.

But, there should be some workshops around that would carry the necessary equipment to build a very rudimentary shield or device. Jack's ancestors had a lot of know-how on how to contain evil spirits without high tech. Maddie had used their papers in a lot of her research and was pretty confident that she would be able to build something from what she would find lying around.

Danny had been an apprentice at a copper smithy, and she was fairly certain she still knew the layout of the workshop from when he had shown her around.

Mind made up, Maddie grabbed whatever she found promising in her current location. Which included the vacuum. That was some of the most advanced technology she would find in an average household, and if Jack’s ancestors got this far by just relying on analogue mechanics and plants, she could definitely do even better with some cutting edge tech. She also found a jar of salt that would help as a rudimentary protection against ghosts.

The radio she found was a bit too bulky to carry around, so she hoped that the workshop had one.

Her walk through the outskirts of the ruined townscapes felt eerie, she didn’t quite feel the same gooseflesh inducing sensation as she had closer to the portal, but she felt on edge in a way that felt purely instinctual.

The copper workshop was easy to break into since it decidedly lacked one of its walls. Maddie had hoped to escape the heat some more, but to get to the coppery, she had to get back into the zone of destruction, which meant that the buildings wouldn’t be intact anymore.

Still she was lucky. The workshop was mostly in one piece. Ash still coated everything, but she could still see that only some parts of the main room had really caved in.

So she started to rummage and explore.

Fairly quickly she had gathered a generator and fuel, enough copper and tin to build almost anything, tools to cut and bend, and wires and components from the vacuum. She even did find a radio that was in just as bad a state as the rest of the technology she had found so far, but still, it was a welcome addition to her arsenal.

The best thing was the soldering station though. In less time than she could have hoped for otherwise, she managed to build a construct that, in theory, should act like some kind of vacuum.

She didn’t have a container for the spirit she was hoping to catch, so she would need to watch out to keep the generator up and running.

As long as it did, the suction of the device would keep the ghost from going anywhere. It was a risk though. Even the generator itself was about to just fall apart, and her fuel supply was a joke at best.

She still needed a weapon. That was the conclusion she arrived at when she looked at the somewhat misshapen pile of wires and plates that were soldered together sloppily. To think she was going to bet her life on a device that was maybe as big as a dinner plate, that was untested and unheard of…..

A glance at the sky made her stomach sink. It was hard to tell with the diffused lighting, but slowly and steadily the sun had made its way across the sky. It was August, so days were fairly long, but she maybe had two more hours before dusk. Once it got dark, she’d be even more defenseless. Running would already be difficult enough with all the rubble, but in the dark? When ghosts were the most active too?

Maddie turned around and tried to find something that would work as a weapon.

There were the workbenches and the cupboards and the drawers with tools. She opened them haphazardly but nothing really stood out. She did manage to find a knife, and there was the salt she had pilfered from the house earlier, so she might be able to at least coat the blade and hope the theories were sound.

While she looked for another, better, alternative, her eyes fell on something she had dismissed as another pile of broken equipment.

She drew closer though, on her search, and noticed that the misshapen lump was a tarp over something.

Her hands moved carefully and she held her breath when removing the tarp shook up a cloud of ash and dust.

It took a moment to clear, but when it did, Maddie let out a shuddering exhale. Before her was a half finished telescope. It showed off craftsmanship and passion even in its half finished state. And it would never be finished. It would never be used to look at a night sky.

This was Danny’s.

There was paper under the parts. Plans and schematics, and more than a few drawings of constellations, that Danny would surely have gotten into trouble for, to be writing them on the margins of his work as just an apprentice.

Maddie couldn’t help the anger that flashed unbidden. She would fix this. Danny would get to see the stars through his telescope. She was going to find him and then bring him back somehow. They would find a way, and then Danny would finish his telescope and she would finish the portal and make sure nothing like this future would ever happen. She would eradicate every ghost beyond existence before letting them use her portal as a bomb.

“Focus on the tasks at hand, Maddie,” she told herself. She had her ghost trapping device, and she had a knife that she could coat in salt.

Next would be finding said ghost, and getting answers.

She nodded to herself and began pulling the tarp back over Danny’s unfinished telescope. It felt strangely mournful, but fitting in a way. She just didn’t like this association with her son. He had to be alright.

Maddie couldn’t stay here any longer. Time was of essence.

Quickly she found another tarp, folded up half heartedly on another shelf, and began gathering her makeshift machinery in it. She’d have to sling it over her shoulder so she would have her hands free to carry around the generator. She cursed internally that there was nothing like a battery that would both fuel an invention like that, and survive 100 years in an apocalyptic oven.

It mattered none. She wanted to get out in the open. Ghosts would be at an advantage anyways, whether she was within four walls or an open field, but with their supposed ability to walk through walls, which she herself decidedly lacked, she didn’t want to encounter the energy where she could be cornered.

The ghost had been around the portal and some part of her, the one that would shudder when she thought about going back to the epicenter of it all, knew that they were connected. She would bet that the ghost was the one to blow up her portal in her future.

It still mainly counted as a guess, but it was the only lead she got, so there was that.

She looped the tarp around her torso and made sure it would hold the delicate machine. Her handkerchief was back over her mouth and tied behind her head. The knife was in her belt and just one motion away.

So with a grunt she hefted the generator on her shoulder and began to move back out into the open.

Even just after a few meters, every step was already a struggle, and in no time she felt sweat run down her back.

One foot in front of the other.

Breathe in hot air, exhale hot air.

Find Danny. Save him.

Find Danny. Save Him.

The mission became Maddie’s mantra throughout the trip and no matter how much her legs shook, she didn’t stop until she could make out her portal's shadowy silhouette again.

Heat flared up and gooseflesh rose on her arm. Not yet to the same extent as it had back then, when she saw the ghost. But she knew it must be close. She could even feel its eyes on her. That, or her mind had decided to give in to the heat.

But it proved her right. She hadn’t been certain before, but now she would dare say, the ghost wouldn’t come find her without an added incentive. She had made quite some noise back in the coppery, and had almost expected to be discovered. So if it didn’t seek her out itself, she had to come to him.

The problem just now presented: setting up would take some time.

The closer to the portal she got, the longer she’d had to endure the heat, which already felt more than she could handle for long, and the more likely it would be that the Ghost would actually engage her before she was done.

She put down the generator with a resounding thud. Her legs almost gave out. Maybe she didn’t have that much room for choice anyways, it felt impossible to lift the generator back up again.

At least she was at a relatively flat part of the whole mayhem.

It would have to do.

Maddie began setting up her invention in silence. It was unnerving. The heat and exhaustion were making her hands shake and more than once she almost broke something off.

The sun was now definitely reaching towards the horizon too, so she felt compelled to hurry. To rush.

The threat of being stranded here at night sat in the back of her mind- she felt uncomfortable to even take a moment to double check if everything was connected properly before turning on the generator.

The disc shaped machine sat in place though. No wire disconnected and all parts undamaged from her trip ups during the walk.

There wasn’t a lot of fuel, so she had to make it count. Meaning, she had to get the ghost to come to her, before turning it on. Otherwise it might run for minutes or hours that she couldn’t spare.

She could still feel the ghost. The hair on the back of her neck, that refused to lie flat. It was somewhere around here. And just because she couldn’t see it, didn’t mean that it couldn’t be watching her this very moment.

Her running hypothesis was that the ghost had, for some reason, destroyed her portal to use it as a bomb. So, assuming it didn’t know all that much about tech, she could bluff her way through this.

Her mouth felt dry. Find Danny. Save him. She had to do this. For her son.

She kept her hand over the switch of the generator. For her son.

Deep inhale and hope her voice would hold after a day of impure air. For her son.

Showtime.

“VILE SPECTER! YOU MAY HAVE CLAIMED THE FENTON PORTAL, BUT YOU SHALL NEVER HAVE MINE. I WILL TEAR THROUGH THE VEI-”

Green.

Her vision was filled with the sight of a pair of glowing green eyes inches away from her own. She flipped the switch and for a terrifying moment she couldn’t breathe. She was in a furnace and any inhale would surely burn her lungs. Instincts screamed at her to runrunrun get away!

But her SON. Her SON needed her. She stood her ground even as teeth were bared and a growl made the very air oscillate.

A maw filled with razors opened so close she could feel its hot breath on her throat. Black smoke coiled around her like bindings.

Then the generator hummed and she could only sink to the floor with her entire being shaken, while the ghost thrashed and spat in fury at the sudden interruption of its meal..

The Disk was doing its job. It sucked the ghost towards it, like on a retractable leash. It had a bit of a radius it could struggle against, one that Maddie had to stay conscious of, but it couldn’t get away. It was confined, even if it hadn’t sunk in for the creature yet.

It screeched furiously and Maddie wondered suddenly if it was even capable of human speech. It had to. If it didn’t, her whole plan was about to fall apart.

For now, she could get back into her composed self. She was deeply shaken, the ghost had appeared out of nowhere. From one moment to the other it just had been there. Right in her face. It could have snapped her neck before she would have known what had happened.

Now she would be relatively safe. As long as the generator held.

The Scientist in her made her stop and observe for at least a moment. This still was quite groundbreaking, even under the circumstances, and who knew when the next time would be, that she could look at a ghost from such a short distance.

Now that she looked, she was fairly certain the ghost would be able to understand human speech after all. It only hissed and snarled right now, but it was fairly humanoid. It was built like a lanky teenager. Long limbs ended in clawed and blackened hands. Its body looked like it was covered in a black fabric that stretched over bony ribs and shoulders. The face was distorted in its fury, but while the features were humanoid enough, they were also somewhat otherworldly. Its white hair that was as long as it was tall, hid some of it, but she could still make out the most important bits. The eyes were a shade of green shed never seen before. Glowing and bright. The sclera was black though, which added to the strangeness of the green. Its bone structure looked rather delicate for a being this terrifying. Now that she looked closer, not much muscle could be seen either. Yet she had no doubt it would be able to overpower her with one hand.

Well, she would like some answers before that became the case.

“Stop that.” she ordered with a hoarse voice. The ghost growled in response.

“Let me guess, it’s your first time being caught? Then let me tell you the rules. I ask you questions, you answer them. If you do, you will be let go, and will not learn what sort of inventions I'm keeping in my lab coat.”

It still snarled at her, but it had its eyes locked onto her now. It definitely understood, it just didn’t seem to agree. Maddie fought to suppress a shiver at the intensity of its glare.

“Why did you destroy the Portal.”

More posturing was what she expected, but it actually froze for but a moment. Not for long though. It found renewed energy to throw itself against its incorporeal restraints.

“Hah!” she scoffed, “So I was right! You are the one responsible!” Maddie hissed herself. It didn’t take a verbal reply to get answers. Its behavior was clear enough.

“So you just decided to do all this?” she gestured around the wasteland, acutely noting the rise in temperature. “You somehow blew up the portal, about a century ago, to do what? Was this your goal? To turn a whole city into a hellscape?” Her voice rose and for the first time the creature seemed to not just want to get out of its cage, but away from her specifically.

"Answer me!” She yelled and the ghost all but flinched.

"Why did you do all this?!” Maddie’s fists shook as she held them pressed to her side. She wanted to kick and bite and tear apart. But this thing. She wouldn’t stand a chance. It made her sick.

The ghost didn’t reply.

“No matter." Maddie took a steadying breath. It was getting hard to really think. The air was thick and heavy. The temperatures have been steadily rising and her makeshift mask was soaked and starting to make it even harder to catch her breath.

“What I’m really here for is to find Danny. You have something to do with this, don’t you?!” She snarled not less viciously as the ghost had. “You’re the key to finding him, so I will not let you go, until you tell me where he is!”

“No.” That was the first thing she’d heard from the ghost that wasn’t just a sound. Its tone was disbelieving.

But then it said it again. And again. Anger rising and heat flaring. It’s body turned to smoke at the edges like it was getting singed.

“you know something!” She yelled in the face of that admittance. The ghost lashed its tail like an angered cat.

“Go away!” it screeched.

“Not until i have found Danny.” She screamed back. It was flying in circles, looking for a way out of its enclosure. It was furious, Maddie could tell, but so was she.

“What did you do to him? Whatever it is, he didn’t deserve it. He is kind. He is bright. And he deserved nothing you could do to him.”

It turned to her and bared its fangs once more. “Oh, you didn’t like that, huh? Cant handle the truth that you are none of those things?” Maddie grit out.

“How would you even know?!” The ghost roared in fury and Maddie couldn’t take the heat anymore. She needed more air. She tore off her makeshift mask and gasped.

“How couldn't I know,” she breathed into the unexpected silence " when I’m his mother.”

The air that had been charged with tension until then, suddenly imploded.

“No,” it began to mumble again, “No, this cannot be.”

“I killed you.” it confessed, and Maddie had expected as much. What she wasn’t expecting was the shift in mood. Where before there had been anger, now there was despair. The sky darkened and flakes of ash started to fall like a sick mimicry of snow.

“So you did. And if you have any morsel of humanity left, you will give me back Danny.” Her voice was firm in the face of its dismay.

“I killed you.” It repeated again.

She was about to snap.

“I killed everyone.” it whispered and the expression on its face distorted to one of pure anguish as it clutched its chest.

Wind, something that had been absent since her arrival, picked up and whipped her hair around. Ash stung her eyes and exposed skin and she had to brace against the gusts of hot air.

The ghost started to rock back and forth with wide unseeing eyes.

“I killed them. I killed everyone. I-” Maddie reached for her knife nervously.

Its head snapped up and-

crack.

A noise that was akin to a clap of thunder suddenly originated from the ghost and everything stopped.

The temperature too, cut like hot metal being plunged into water.

But Maddie barely even recognized it, when following the cracking sound, the ghost dropped the rest of the way to the ground like gravity had suddenly been turned back on and a ring of blinding light sprung forth from the center of its- his chest.

It took barely a moment, but something had fractured and the ghost, like a broken illusion, got replaced with a human.

He looked up and Maddie dropped her knife. Framed by black hair that pooled on the ground, her son's face, his eyes stared at her with an expression of utter grief and despair.

“I know that Danny isn’t any of those things, because I am Danny.” There was none of the echo anymore.

But this- surely this was a lie-

“But I killed them. I killed everyone I ever cared about. Everyone is dead. They are all dead. It’s all my fault, If i hadn’t- I had to bury you. I killed you. I killed my own mother, my own family. I’m a monster. I-” in agony he doubled over and Maddie scrambled up to rush to her son. This was wrong. This had to be a mistake. She had to find Danny. (He’s here.) She had to save him! (he was already gone.)

Her hands hovered over his thin shoulders.

“Danny-” The boy in front of her, didn’t even hear her. He curled up, and a scream built. The sheer desolation was palpable. Then the scream grew in intensity, it got hard to breathe again, she clasped her hands over her ears but it pierced right through, until it became a wail and Maddie knew nothing but her son's agony as if it was her own.

The image of him kneeling on the ground next to her, his forehead pressed into the ash would probably be the last thing she would see. It made her heart break almost as audibly as whatever had broken in her son.

She knew whatever was happening would mean an End, and after a century, maybe that was what he needed. She embraced him then, even as her eardrums ruptured and her lungs burst. Maddie had found him. If only she could have saved him too.

At least she would hold him, until this ashen world of gray, finally turned to black.

“Time out.”

#phic phight 2024 #phan phic #phic phight #phic phight 24 #fanfic #ao3 #dp #danny phantom #phandom #mywriting #originalwork #mydannyphantom

13 notes · View notes

bardic-inspo · 4 months

Text

All of my Fallout 4 writing in one place.

MacCready x F!SoSu Slow Burn Friends to Lovers | Chapters 29/43

Canon divergence/reinterpretation | Eventual explicit smut (achieved!) | More hurt & even more comfort

[READ ON AO3]

Fic Summary:

“Six months, huh? How much fast talking did you do to get here?” “Enough to keep me alive.” “Really? Cause you don’t act like that’s your goal half the time. Hell, you throw yourself at everything like you’re jumping off a cliff.”

Sole survivor Natasha Sokolova is burning through friends faster than she can make them. Robert Joseph MacCready needs all the caps he can get. Problem is, the smooth-talking woman with a pistol and a job offer turns out to be more trouble than he’s counting on. They’re a match made in hell, but their little partnership might be the only thing that can see them through it.

Deacon x MacCready x F!SoSu OT3 Series

Short fics & One-Shots set post-Institute | Domesticity | Smut | Hurt/Comfort

[READ ON AO3]

Series Summary:

After the Institute, MacCready and Natasha find a place to land. They find Deacon. And Deacon finds his way home. In which a couple becomes a throuple and learns to brave the trials and triumphs of life in a post-Institute wasteland together. Occurs within the same ficverse as Bring the Gasoline. Can be read as standalone oneshots, or as a sequel to that fic.

Series Fics Listed Individually Below the Cut

No Rest for the Wicked - Rated T, Pre-OT3

“So, let me get this straight,” Deacon asks him. “You’re begging me to sleep with your girlfriend?”

Missing Pieces - Rated T, Pre-OT3

Six months after defeating the Institute, Deacon finally took Natasha and MacCready up on their offer to stay at their new homestead. MacCready wants to catch up. Deacon would rather skip the middle. Natasha orchestrates a plan for a more harmonious household.

We Never Go Anywhere Nice - Rated T, Pre-OT3

Deacon, Natasha, and MacCready investigate a lead in a case of several missing ghouls and find themselves spending the night in a house hiding secrets in plain sight.

In the Name of Love - Rated M, Established OT3

Deacon, MacCready, and Natasha have been together for a few months. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this. An unexpected bedroom mishap leads to some teasing and reflection.

Follow Suit - Rated E, Established OT3

What starts as a game of cards turns into Deacon, MacCready, and Natasha showing more than just their hands.

Warm Bodies - Rated E, Established OT3

One close encounter leads to another.

Rest Easy - Rated G, Established OT3

Deacon dozes off. MacCready and Natasha have some fun.

Feline Feelings - Rated G, Established OT3

Natasha makes a new friend who isn’t so friendly to the rest of her household. A series of short vignettes featuring a new, furry addition to the MacCready-Sokolova residence.

Hungry Hearts - Rated T, Vignettes Over Time

A primer in finding your way to your lovers’ hearts through their stomachs. Or, kitchen table polyamory. Or, a collection of short vignettes featuring Deacon, MacCready, and Natasha making love, happiness, and food.

Safe Haven - Rated T, Established OT3, Post Duncan Arrival

Deacon, MacCready, and Natasha prepare their homestead for an incoming blizzard. The storm stirs up bad memories gifted to Nat courtesy of Vault-Tec. Her family helps her cope with and conquer some of the side effects of cryostasis.

Worried Sick - Rated T, Established OT3, Post Duncan Arrival

One minute, Duncan was playing out in the fields behind their house. And the next... MacCready struggles to cope as an old fear resurfaces.

Recollections - Rated M, Vignettes Over Time

Deacon remembers moments along the road that led him home to Natasha and MacCready. Or, Deacon’s retrospection on a handful of moments from Bring the Gasoline after falling for the best shot in the Commonwealth and the woman out of time. Or, a sample/appetizer-sized taste of my favorite OT3.

Misc:

Center of the Universe - Rated T, Toothrotting New Year's Fluff feat. someone else's SoSu

MacCready might have his holidays mixed up; gift-giving is a Christmas thing. But he’s got one last present for his partner in crime before the year is out.

Character/Ship Tags:

Natasha Sokolova

Mactasha

Spicy OT3

Reclamations

Bring the Gasoline

Credits:

Font

Molotov Emoji

#compiling this in prep for a new pinned/intro post.#I had a little too much fun with graphics hehe #my writing #fallout masterlist #megh fights the page #bring the gasoline #reclamations #fallout #fallout 4 #maccready #sole survivor #fo4 #rj MacCready #robert joseph maccready #deacon

17 notes · View notes

criticallyacclaimedstranger · 11 months

Text

The Car [a Jay & Frankie fic]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay ‘Lady’ Ray (OFC) **Series masterlist**

Warnings: Fighting, real talk, period mention, make up sex, nipple play, nipple orgasm, piv sex, cum on tits, cum eating, typical jay and frankie banter, pet names daddy and mommy.

Words: 3,282

Summary: Jay and Frankie have an argument about the car, and discover something new and exciting during the make up sex.

Alma is happily drooling in the baby carrier while Jay looks for the car keys. It’s not a common occurrence in the Ray-Morales household to have lost one’s keys – both she and Frankie are tidy people – but it’s not her own keys she’s looking for.

"You're coming by Tom's later?" Frankie appears in the entry, leaning over Alma's carrier to cuddle the baby. Jay hums non-committally as she stands with her hands on her hips, trying to figure out where Frankie would keep the keys to his truck, if not in the bowl on the side table by the door.

"Come by anytime," Frankie tells her, smiling at his daughter. "No reason to give granny any more time than absolutely necessary, right, Almalita? A quick lunch with granny, then return to base before the old bat does any damage."

"That's not fair," Jay remarks acidly. Her mother has really turned a new leaf, is treating Jay with respect, and is a wonderful grandmother to Alma. Frankie, however, doesn't forget a wrong done to his loved ones.

"Just saying," he shrugs, holding Alma's little feet and kicking them back and forth, much to the baby's delight.

"Yeah, well, it's getting really old, this ragging on my mom. She's helping out, respecting our boundaries, and hasn't said a single word of disencouragement since we reconnected," Jay reprimands him. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't teach our kid to hate her grandmother."

"Okay, sorry," Frankie apologizes sincerely. He may not like Dorothy, but he doesn't want to stand in his child's way of having a relationship with her grandmother. "I was out of line."

"Thank you." Jay opens the drawer of the side table again, more thoughtfully now than in an actual search for the keys.

"You lost something?"

"Alma's chew toy."

"She's holding it?"

Jay looks over at the baby. "Oh, right." She looks at Frankie, sees his questioning frown, then realizes that there's a small bulge in one of his back pockets that makes one flat ass cheek stand out. He's got the keys. New tactic. She walks up to Frankie, smiling.

"What would I do without you?" Hands on his waist, Jay leans in for a sweet kiss, one that Frankie happily accepts.

"You'd be fine, and you know it," he grins, before stealing another kiss. Jay lets her hands slide down to his ass, copping a playful feel with one hand as the other sneaks into the back pocket. Just as she's about to grab the keys, Frankie takes a step back.

"Gotcha!"

"What?" Jay's not good at playing innocent, but she does try.

"You were trying to get my keys! You want to borrow my car!" Frankie accuses her, amused. "You know, you can just ask me."

"Fine," Jay rolls her eyes. "Can I borrow your truck?"

"What's wrong with the Rogue?"

"You know what's wrong with it!"

"The only thing that's wrong with that car is your attitude towards it," Frankie sighs, seeing very clearly where this is going. "I need my truck today, I'm picking up boards for Tom's patio."

"I don't understand why he doesn't do that himself," Jay mutters as she starts to gather up her things to leave. Her tits feel tight; she’s due for her period, and it’s making her feel shitty.

"Because his truck is a piece of shit, and it's in the shop."

"The Rogue is a piece of shit and I won't drive it."

"Jay, for fuck's sake." Frankie crosses one arm over his chest and rubs his forehead with the other hand. "We agreed that we needed a new car because the Bronco had no backseat, and it wasn't safe for a baby. We made the decision together - "

" - you made it, I had no choice - " Jay interjects sourly, glaring at him.

"We made the decision together, and you had every opportunity to suggest a car that wasn't a Nissan Rogue, but every car you named cost at least thirty grand, and you know we can't afford that!"

"We could've just kept my car!"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jayne, I'm not having this fight with you again," Frankie sighs, throwing up his hands. It's not the first time Jay's being bitchy about having to give up her beloved Bronco, and the car was sold months ago. The Nissan Rogue may not be sexy or particularly adjusted to off-road driving, but there is absolutely no need for a car like that. What they needed was a good family car, and the Rogue, albeit unsexy, was exactly that. To say that Jay's having a hard time adjusting to the change is an understatement: she borrows Frankie's pickup as much as she can, and he doesn't mind, but today he needs the truck himself.

"That's easy for you to say, you get to drive a real car, not some plastic pussy abomination!" Jay raises her voice and Alma, who up until now has been happy in her carrier, wrinkles her little face into a worried grimace. Frankie's with her in a heartbeat, smiling down at her and stroking one finger over her cheek.

"It's okay, Almalita, you're okay."

"I have to get going," Jay tells him curtly, taking her jacket and putting on her shoes. Wordlessly, Frankie hands the carrier over to her, and Jay leaves, slamming the door poignantly.

It's past Alma's bedtime when Frankie comes back from Tom's, tired but satisfied after a day of working with his hands. He finds Jay on the couch watching TV, but she does turn it off when he comes in and sits down next to her.

"Hi," he says quietly. Jay meets his gaze head first. God, he loves her fearlessness.

"Hi yourself."

"Did you have a good day?"

"Yeah. You?"

"It was okay. We got a lot done."

"Good."

"You didn't come by, and you didn't reply to my text."

Now Jay's gaze falters, and she raises her chin a little. "I read it."

"So my phone told me."

"I didn't want to come and sit there with Molly and the kids like some sort of wife," she finally snaps, but without any real vehemance. In fact, she sounds more despairing than anything else. Frankie sighs deeply.

"Jay..."

"I know, I know," Jay interrupts him. "I'm being stupid and hormonal and need to calm my tits, right?"

"That's not what I was going to say, and you know that."

Now she's glancing at him again. "I know."

"What's up, amor? Talk to me."

Those three magic words that they once agreed should be the foundation of their relationship. Jay can't ignore them, but she's struggling to put her annoyance into words.

"I do think it's hormones," she finally presses, loath to admit it. "I'm due for my period, and I'm... hormonal."

It's almost funny how she says the word like she's admitting to something a lot more embarrassing, but Frankie finds it hard to laugh. He knows how much Jay hates being stereotyped because of her sex, how hard she fights it.

"Okay," he acknowledges, "are you in any pain? Is there something we can do to fix it?"

"Tits are still sore," she throws him a small grin, and he grins back. While enjoying a quickie in the morning, Frankie had been strictly forbidden to touch them.

"It's going to be over soon."

"But it's not just that. I can deal with this."

Frankie waits for her to continue. Jay sighs deeply and leans back on the couch, pulling her legs up and sliding a hand over Frankie's back. Her need to be physical is endearing. Even when she's mad or sad or whatever, she wants to stay connected to him.

"I was afraid that having a baby would change things," she finally says, slowly as if she's looking for every word. "Change how people see me. How they treat me."

Frankie knows this. He had a front row seat during the entire pregnancy, saw how people reacted differently to her in public when she started to show. Before, he could walk around town with her like the couple of nobodies that they are. As soon as Jay was visibly pregnant, people started to notice her, smile at her, make way for her, ask her in the supermarket checkout line when she was due. She fucking hated it, and Frankie was witness to her snapping at people more than once. He himself felt neglected in the baby supply stores, where the salesperson always seemed to think that the mother was the only one who read up on car seats and birthing processes. It became very clear which parent society seemed to think was the more important one.

"I know, but we've talked about this," he tells her gently. "People are assholes, and we'll just do our thing."

"It's not just strangers anymore, Frankie," Jay points out quietly. "It's our friends, too."

"Who? And when?" Now he's staring at her, perplexed at her revelation. He hasn't noticed anything unusual but then again, he's aware of being blind to some things.

"It's not anyone in particular or anything specific," she shrugs. "But something's definitely happened. Mom talks to me differently now that I'm in the club of child-bearing women."

"Yeah, but your mom's - "

"Yes, thank you," she interrupts him sharply, and Frankie’s wise enough to shut up.

"The guys are different, too. I can't put my finger on it, but they are. It's like they expect me to whip out my tits at any given moment, and start spraying milk around."

"That image is disturbing," Frankie chuckles, shaking his head. "Jay... I can't say I've noticed anything. But if you say that things have changed, I believe you. Am I doing something wrong?"

She looks at him, puzzled, like she never even thought about it.

"I don't think so?"

"I need you to tell me if I am."

"I would." Now she smiles wryly. "You know I would."

"You wouldn't tell me, you'd yell it into my face," Frankie agrees with a snigger. Jay slaps his hand lightly before caressing it.

"I don't know what's up with me," she sighs. "I just... miss that fucking Bronco."

"Maybe the Bronco represents childfree life, the kind of life we had before Alma," Frankie suggests, not really knowing what he's after. "Maybe you're coming to realize that life has changed completely now that we have a kid."

"It sounds like you think I regret having kids," Jay accuses him, but he can hear that she's contemplating his words. He shakes his head immediately.

"I don't think for one second that you regret us having a child! But life is different now."

"Yeah," she nods, "I'm driving a goddamn Nissan Rogue instead of a proper car."

"If that's what your head is telling you to focus on, maybe it's an outlet," Frankie shrugs, "But I'm getting a little tired of hearing about that Bronco."

"How dare you..." Jay starts, but with a smile tugging at her lips. The rest of her warning disappears into the kiss Frankie gives her. He grins smugly at her before cupping her cheek and dragging his large thumb over her lips.

"You know that you can use my truck whenever you want to, Jay, but I really needed it today."

"I know," she mutters. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too. And I get it. So much has happened in the last two years. Now we're about to move and all, you still have school... It's a lot. But can we please stop talking about that fucking car?"

"No promises," she quips, and Frankie gives her a soft shove.

"Come on."

"No. I'm gonna sulk about that car for the rest of my life."

"Mula."

"Pendejo."

Frankie leans in to nuzzle her neck. "You know what it does to me when you speak Spanish..."

"It's not supposed to."

Frankie only hums as he continues to scatter little kisses along Jay's skin. She relaxes a little, sighing softly and giving in to his gentle ministrations.

"Can we have angry makeup sex?" Frankie murmurs, his hand finding her thigh and following its curve to her ass cheek. "You're so hot when you're angry."

"You take that back," Jay growls, finding the back of his head and pulling at his hair.

"See, that's exactly what I mean..." Her tight hold of his hair makes him even more turned on, and now he covers her mouth with his, plunges his tongue into her, kisses her breathless. Jay allows it, enjoys it, but when he moves some of his weight on top of her, she pushes back.

"My tits are too sore.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“I’m not sure you can handle it,” Jay scoffs.

“Oh no…?”

He’s always up for the challenge. Carefully, he takes Jay’s t-shirt off, then pops her bra open and releases her tits.

“Hello, girls,” he tells them fondly, catching Jay’s eyeroll. “Careful, or your eyes’ll stay like that.”

“Aren’t they already from living with you?”

“You have such a mouth on you today,” he tuts as he settles comfortably on breast height. A feathery touch of his fingers on the outside of one breast makes Jay sigh.

“That’s nice…”

“Is it now?” Frankie looks up at her with a smile that somehow manages to be both tender and teasing at the same time. Jay smiles back, subdued by Frankie’s light touch and the natural way he adjusts to her needs to make her feel good. He starts to circle her nipple with one finger before very lightly pinching it. Pleasure zaps through Jay, drawing a first moan from her lips.

“Not too rough?” Frankie checks in, and Jay shakes her head.

“Just perfect.”

He does it again, and lowers his mouth to her other breast. His tongue starts to circle the nipple, occasionally passing over it, all the while his fingers keep softly teasing the other. Jay’s eyes fall shut as the pleasure rises unexpectedly. Her tits always were erogenous but with the added sensitivity of her forthcoming period, the sensations are on a completely new level.

“God, Frankie,” she moans when he scrapes his mustache over her rock hard nipple before taking it into his mouth to tenderly suckle it. The tight soreness of her tits right before her period started after Alma was weaned – thank you merciful God it didn’t while Jay was still breast-feeding – and now Frankie skillfully keeps her teetering on the line between pleasure and pain. It’s not the first time sex with Frankie does that, almost makes her hurt, but it’s definitely the first time her breasts are in focus of the titillation.

He takes his time, Jay has no idea how much of it, and doesn’t care to know. There is nothing to know except the way he’s making her tits feel, the way he’s teasing her, torturing her, making her wet, yearning, writhing.

The thought passes through her head but gains no hold as everything is liquid, flowing sensation. Frankie goes on with the same kind of purpose he shows when eating pussy, and Jay’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. God knows not all women have partners who like the saggy, post-nursing tits. Frankie not only likes hers: he’s even crazier about them than ever before.

The sensation rises slowly but steadily until it explodes without warning, so suddenly that it takes even Jay by surprise. Shouting out, her body trembling, she anchors herself to Frankie by digging her fingers into his shoulders. He goes on lapping, caressing, gently squeezing, until she comes down, gasping for breath, huge blue eyes trying to focus on his face. Only then does he stop, and come up for a soft kiss.

“Fuck, baby, that was so fucking hot,” he tells her, shifting on top of her to avoid her now throbbing boobs. Jay doesn’t let go of him, her eyes still glassy as she searches his face.

“You knew I could do that?” she whispers hoarsely, amazed and puzzled at the same time, her brain still slow after the unexpected orgasm. Frankie smiles bashfully.

“I figured when you started to move like you do when I eat your pussy.”

She has nothing to say to that, only draws a deep, trembling breath. Frankie kisses her forehead.

“What was it like?”

“Um…” Fumbling for words, Jay wets her lips. “Like… an orgasm? But like, for the entire body, or… maybe more centered along the spine?”

“Was it stronger?”

“In a way, but… Frankie, I don’t know.” She looks almost shy, something of a giggle escaping her. Jay is neither shy nor giggly. It’s fucking adorable. Frankie dips to kiss her again, his chest pressing up against hers. Jay whimpers immediately, and he backs off, sitting up astride her.

“Sore?”

“So fucking sensitive,” she acknowledges, hands following the curves of her tits carefully. “Jesus, Frankie…”

“You think you can do it again?”

“Christ, no! I’d fucking die!”

“Not tonight, amor, I don’t have another 45 minutes in me.”

“45 minutes?” She gapes at him. Frankie gestures with his left hand, bringing attention to his wrist watch.

“I happened to check the time right before I started, and I just checked again. 45 minutes.” He looks proud of himself, and Jay has to grin.

“Daddy does have the stamina…”

“Daddy has a raging boner that he needs to stick into mommy right now, or his balls will explode,” Frankie tells her unceremoniously, the image of Jay cupping her tits underneath him making him very aware of his own needs.

“If mommy doesn’t mind?” he adds chivalrously, making Jay laugh as she reaches for the waistband of his pants.

“Mommy has a nice warm place for daddy to put it in…”

He doesn’t need long, and most of his energy is directed at Jay’s tits, making sure they don’t jiggle so much that they cause her discomfort. She keeps them in check with her hands, head thrown back as he fucks her steadily, sitting up with her thighs draped over his, holding her by the hips as he chases his imminent release. As his balls start to tighten, he has to resist the urge to go faster, instead finding his tongue to speak.

“Jay, can I cum on your tits?”

Her head snaps up for a breathless Yes! and moments later, Frankie pulls out, grabs his dick and pumps it a few times, groaning as he paints her boobs with thick ropes of cum. He stares at the mess, at her soft flesh, the stiff nipples, the rosy hue of the skin, the white jelly of his seed. Embarrassment pokes its unwanted head up to remind him how cheap and pornographic this is, but he sits back on his heels and shakes away the feeling, basking instead in the glorious view before him. Goddammit, he loves her so much. She’s perfect in every way.

He leans down over her and very gently licks her tits clean, enjoying her small whimpers and the way her skin tastes when salted with his spend. He then comes up to kiss her, ravish her mouth with his one more time before he, too, needs to catch his breath. Jay’s eyes flutter open and she smiles at him; a warm, loving smile that makes him just melt inside.

“I’m still real mad about the car,” she whispers, and Frankie starts to laugh, just as the baby monitor crackles and Alma’s blubbering comes through.

“I’ll go,” Frankie offers, getting up from the couch and reaching for his pants on the floor. As he leaves the living-room, he glances back and sees Jay stretch delightfully, a satisfied smile on her face.

God, he’d do anything for her.

#frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #francisco frankie morales #frankie morales x ofc #frankie x lady #lady jayne ray #triple frontier fanfic #my fic

27 notes · View notes

louwhose · 2 years

Text

Blind Spots | Domestic

AO3 | Next My submission for TwiYor Week 2022! So, WAAAYY way back when I was really into Miraculous Ladybug, I fell in love with the idea of a "Double Blind Reveal." Where two people with a secret identity discover the other's secret identity without either of them being aware they know. I thought that would work pretty well with Loid and Yor. That being said, this chapter probably has the largest canon-divergence as they both have to be un-oblivious enough to pick up on the clues. But whatever, this story is about how they deal with things and what happens afterwards, so just ignore it.

domestic | adjective

do·mes·tic | \ də-ˈme-stik \

3 : of or relating to the household or the family

You'd think being a hitman would put you above clumsiness.

Not for Yor.

Of course, in a fight or any other equally intense and life-threatening situation, she had full and precise control over her body. She did not err by even a hair's width, and always hit exactly where she aimed.

But, in spite of all that, evidently it was beyond her to dust in her home without knocking over a ceramic vase that they had on their coffee table.

She just stared at it for a moment once it had shattered all over the floor, water spreading outward and flowers trashed. Finally, with a resigned sigh, she bent over to start picking up the pieces to throw away.

Partway through, Yor spotted among the broken ceramic something slender, silver, and shiny. One of Loid's tie clips. Probably Anya knocked it off in one of her too-rough hugs to greet him when he came home the night before. She quickly placed it on the coffee table and finished up the rest of the cleanup for the vase before taking it back to Loid's room.

She paused before going into his room. Loid had given permission for her to go in his room to put things away, like she was now, but Yor was still nervous. It was the only room of their apartment that she didn't go in regularly, and it almost felt like going in there was intruding a little too much in Loid's space.

So she tried to be in and out of there as quickly as possible. Maybe that was her mistake. Because if she had, well, not necessarily taken her time, but certainly not rushed the task, then Yor wouldn’t have knocked over Loid’s box of cufflinks. And subsequently noticed something that shouldn’t have been there in the process of picking those up.

A bug.

Not the insect kind. Yor wasn’t bothered by those— or at least she was confident in her ability to annihilate them once they did become a bother.

No, it was a listening device. Something small to be stowed away in a room, or even on a person, if someone knew how to without being caught.

Something spies used.

Yor’s first thought was that someone was spying on Loid. But who? What would Westalis want with a psychiatrist? Yuri? He couldn’t have planted it in Loid’s room, though, if even he tried, which Yor found unlikely.

And besides, this was Loid. She could hardly imagine something like this going past his notice, even if he was just a psychiatrist.

Wait. Yor frowned. If he couldn’t possibly have not noticed it, then what was it doing in his room? Unless…

Unless he’s a spy himself.

Overwhelmed, unsure of what to think, Yor quickly finished putting things away before slinking back to her room. Sure, she hadn’t finished dusting, but she had left everything tidy enough, and she really needed a minute to recover from that possibility. She went in, locked the door, and then slid down the wall until she was seated on the floor. Only there, finally, was she able to take a breath and think.

It fit together too perfectly. Like it couldn’t possibly not be true. How, well… perfect he was. The long hours he worked… a psychiatrist probably wouldn’t need to work that late, right? And Anya, well… it wasn’t like a spy couldn’t have a family.

But… well, shouldn’t a spy try to keep a low profile in his normal life, since he wouldn't want to draw attention to himself? So why was Anya attending Eden Academy, a hotbed of the rich and powerful? Unless… that was the purpose. To put her in contact with those who would have access to crucial information for Westalis. The thought that Anya was a spy was even more sickening than that of Loid.

But… was she? Now that she thought about it, it seemed unlikely. She had punched Damian Desmond, perhaps the most valuable person in her class to spy on, at orientation. No, Anya probably knew that her father was a spy, and that was why she loved her show "Spy Wars." But otherwise, she was much too honest, much too much a child. No, Anya was no spy.

At least, not now. Yor frowned at the thought, hating the clear possibility that it could in fact be a long-term operation with the eventual goal of getting to Damian’s father, Donovan Desmond. For what purpose? She was hardly smart enough to tell. But she was sure there could be something.

Yor groaned and leaned her head back against the wall, wishing that she had never found out. This was all too complicated for her. If only she could go back to earlier that day when she suspected nothing was wrong in her life.

That was a thought. Yor perked up. While she couldn’t actually travel back in time, and her acting skills were shoddy at best, it certainly was easier to, well… pretend that it had never happened. At least, she could forget about it while she focused on other tasks until she figured out how to react to the information. Perhaps she could ask the Shopkeeper. He would know better than her.

Having collected her wits, Yor stood up, and went back out.

After all, she had to finish dusting.

Loid chose fish for dinner.

Not something cheap and obviously a product of mass market production, such as fish sticks, though Anya loved those things regardless. No, he had gone to a fresh fish mart, gotten real fish.

Now, that being said, one thing fish sticks did have going for it was the lesser amount of preparation that went into it. But three fresh fish meant three fish that he had to decapitate, gut, descale, and debone himself.

Loid glanced up at Anya and Yor before he did all the work himself. Of course, he could very easily do it, and perhaps more efficiently by himself than with their help and the stress accompanying it, but one of his goals in Operation Strix was to maintain the appearance of an average family. And strengthening familial bonds was an easy way to make that happen naturally.

“Do either of you want to help?”

Anya got one look at the fish and turned queasy, which Loid took as a distinct “no.” He supposed it might be a bit much for a child to be willing to so easily join the process of turning what had so recently been an animal into food. She mumbled an excuse of “needing to study” and staggering back to her room with Bond in tow.

Well, that was one taken care of. Though he didn’t know whether that was a relief or not, because when it came to matters of the kitchen, Yor might be even worse than Anya.

“So, what about—” Loid halted as he turned and saw Yor staring at him holding the knife with baited breath and flushed cheeks. That’s right. For some reason, his wife really, really loved blades. “…you?”

Yor flinched, looking up at him, cheeks even redder. “Oh, could I? I don’t want to get in your way!”

Loid could understand her inhibitions, as Anya had complained more than once about her cooking, and he had felt its ill effects himself. But that seemed to be more about the actual cooking component, and she certainly had no difficulties wielding a knife, at least. Of course, none of that had anything to do with why he asked, as it was for strengthening their bonds as a fake family in order to better pass as a real one. All for the mission.

Yet, he almost didn’t think about the mission at all when he said, “You wouldn’t be getting in my way. I really wouldn’t mind help cutting the fish.”

He had to admit, with Yor’s constant earnestness and honesty, it was all too easy to sometimes forget that he was Twilight, not actually Loid Forger, her husband, and that he couldn’t care for her like he actually was. And it was hard, being so close to some of the people he was trying to protect peace for, while trying not to be legitimately close to them. Sometimes Twilight was jealous of Loid Forger, a person that didn’t quite truly exist, for getting to be so attached to his family without anything holding him back from it.

But he dismissed that thought. He wasn’t Twilight now, while in his own home. He had to be Loid Forger as completely as he could, and only long for it to be a truth and not a lie.

Yor had retrieved a knife and cutting board to use, placing them on the counter next to Loid as she grabbed one of the fish.

“Do you need me to show you how?”

He barely finished before she started moving at lightning speed, wielding the knife like a weapon against the fish. Yor cleaved off its head in a clean motion before pushing it off to the side and slitting its stomach from the base to its gills. Then she immediately grabbed those and ripped them out, its organs coming out along with it, and she briefly turned just long enough to throw them into the trash.

Loid looked up at Yor as she moved onto the next fish, just staring at her for a moment. The speed with which she had executed that was impressive. And that grin on her face and cheeks flushed even more than earlier made it clear that she was enjoying it.

He could barely admit it to himself that he thought this, but… it was a nice look on her, how enthralled she was by this.

By the time he had looked back down to the counter, though he hadn’t looked away long at all, she had managed to finish gutting the second fish. She was extremely fast, and clearly knew what she was doing.

Loid tilted his, a slight smile forming on her lips as she reached for the third and final fish. “I hadn’t realized that you knew how to prepare fish so well.”

Yor glanced up at him, knife hovering over the fish. “I don’t, actually. I’ve never made fish before.”

He didn’t want to realize what that meant. Of course, he couldn’t help but analyze it, years of being a spy made him largely unable to interact with others in a normal manner, especially with anything that seemed the slightest bit off. But he was able to push it off long enough to reply in a normal manner while crafting an escape for himself. “Ah, so you’re a natural, then. I’ll leave it to you, while I start to season them.”

Only then did Loid turn around, letting the sounds of Yor’s positive butchering haunt him from behind. Only then did Twilight think about what said butchering meant when she hadn’t done it on a fish before. It was obvious that she was not, as Loid said, just a natural, but legitimately had experience. If not specifically fish, that was concerning. She certainly didn’t have enough grace or experience with cooking in general for the knowledge to be that easily applied to an animal she wasn’t familiar with working with. So the knowledge had to come in from some other field.

Assassin, Twilight thought. She had to be an assassin. Or, at least, it was a strong possibility. As much as Loid hated suspecting Yor again, if she had such a huge secret… it would justify looking through her room while she was away at work the next day, to see if it could confirm his suspicions.

Suspicions. He hated that he had them. He hated that he had to analyze everything he came across, look out for potential threats.

Loid wished… no, Twilight wished… or actually, if he was being honest, it was [REDACTED] who wished that he could just play out this domestic bliss like it was true. But unfortunately, he was a spy first.

Thanks for reading my crazy little story! I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment! I love hearing what people think about my work (even if I'm not the best about replying)! Next

41 notes · View notes

invisibleraven · 1 year

Text

Phantom Carols

For the @jatp-adventevent prompt: Any lost Christmas present?

Day Fourteen: A Star To Follow <-AO3!

When Carrie was a child, her favourite gift she got for Christmas was a doll named Starla. She had a microphone that you could use to make her sing. Only a couple of standard songs for children, but Carrie adored her. She and Starla would have numerous concerts together, belting out Twinkle Twinkle for her father and every guest that crossed their threshold for weeks on end.

Carrie sang with Starla so much that she wore out the batteries three times before March. “This is the last time Care Bear, I mean it,” her father said as he took out the screws, dutifully changed the batteries and reassembled the microphone. “You have to make the batteries last this time, the poor thing is gonna break if you keep using her like this.”

“Okay daddy,” Carrie said, happily skipping off to play. But of course, by the time Easter rolled around Starla’s batteries were dead. She left the doll on her father’s desk for him to fix when he got home from his tour, and went off on her way. But when Carrie asked about Starla later, Trevor claimed he never saw the doll there. And the maids all promised they hadn’t seen her either. Yet Starla was gone, and no matter how many times she turned the house upside looking, the doll was nowhere to be found.

She tried demanding that her dad buy her a new doll, but Trevor looked at her firmly. “Carrie, I told you that she would break if you kept using her so much, and she did. Maybe she left because she was tired of being broken so much. I’m not buying you another doll just for the same thing to happen again.”

Carrie wept and tantrumed, but her father remained unmovable. And no matter how she bribed the household staff, none of them would buy her a new Starla doll either. Eventually she moved on, though the loss sat heavy on heart, but as she grew, she forgot about the doll, and then dolls altogether. But the love of singing stayed, though her taste in music evolved, she had a taste for performing now, and she did it as often as she could.

It was through this love of performing that she met Reggie and Julie, who were at the same open mic night as her. They did a country duet that had everyone up on their feet, even Carrie herself who wasn’t a country fan at all.

She sang that night, giving it her all, and when she caught sight of the coup,e staring up at her in awe, she preened a little, winking and singing her sparkly little heart out. She got their number that night, and by the next open mic, she had them both as her partners.

That first Christmas together, they gathered together in Carrie’s stylish apartment, enjoying s'mores and hot chocolate by the fire as ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ played in the background. The three of them were too engrossed in the baby albums Reggie had found hidden amongst Carrie’s coffee table books. Carrie blushed as her partners cooed over the photos of her as a kid, with promises from the both of them to let her access to their own baby books the next time.

“Awww, look at you with your doll!” Reggie said. “Giving a concert, like a oracle for the future.”

Carrie looked at the photo, and exclaimed “That’s Starla!”

“Starla?” Julie asked, snuggling in to see the photo more clearly. “Oh I saw ads for that when I was a kid. You could sing along with her right?”

“Yeah, and I did, literally all the time,” Carrie admitted with a chuckle. “Wore the batteries out so many times that my dad hid her or threw her away because he was so sick of replacing them. I begged him for another one, but I get why he said no.”

Reggie and Julie shared a glance, pressing kisses to Carrie’s cheeks and turned the page of the album, the conversation moving along with it.

The next year, the three of them were sharing a home, and Carrie was confused when the two of them passed her one last gift. “I thought we agreed one gift a piece,” she questioned.

“Just open it doll,” Reggie urged.

Carrie carefully pulled back the tape, slowly easing back the paper, just to annoy them before opening it up. And stared at the box before her. Because there she was; Starla the doll in all her glory.

“We couldn’t find the matching microphone, so you can’t sing along with her, but we figured it was the thought that counts,” Julie said quietly.

Carrie scooped up the doll, hugging her tight, and let out a sniffle. “I love her, thank you so much.”

“Give us a concert doll,” Reggie urged. “Like the ones you did as a kid.”

“You know Starla only knew like five songs right?” Carrie asked. “And they were simple ones for kids.”

“So give us some Twinkle Twinkle babe,” Julie replied.

Carrie grinned, standing up, grabbing Starla, and began to sing. And damn if it wasn’t the best version of Twinkle Twinkle that Julie and Reggie had ever heard.

#my stuff #writing #fanfic #regal jewelry #jatpadvent2022 #julie and the phantoms

9 notes · View notes

miscelunaaa · 2 years

Text

masterlist | miscelunaaa

Please read my disclaimer post before reading and/or interacting. Minors, do not interact. Please respect both my boundaries and the boundaries of others so that we can keep this a safe space.

∞ As always, be sure to read the notes that come with each work or chapter before reading it, and always read the warnings!!

∞ I no longer have a permanent tag list. The best way to get notified when I post something is to subscribe to my work on AO3.

k e y

[s] smut

[f] fluff

[a] angst

[c] crack/chaos

[wip] work in progress

n a m j o o n

∞ booty jorts [ s, oneshot ] 2.3k

Namjoon looses a bet and his punishment turns out to be more stimulating than you expect. established relationship pwp.

∞ cuffing szn [ c, s, mini series ] 21.3k

complete! All Namjoon wants is some peace and quiet after a long, shitty day at work. Thanks to a party upstairs and Jungkook’s sticky fingers, he’s stuck with you instead. this namjoon is tooooo hot. strangers to lovers. ft. a soft-bodied/plus-sized reader. personal favorite.

∞ driving me @&#%! [ c, a, f, wip, drabble series ] 3k+

member x member, posting only on ao3. Namjoon has to learn how to drive. Yoongi’s teaching the driver’s ed class he enrolls in. Namjoon may or may not have asked him out when they were in high school. Yoongi may or may not have rejected him. What the hell are they supposed to do now? Pretend they don’t know each other? modern au. aged-up hyungline, high school-aged maknae line. chaos.

∞ flat sprite and saltine crackers [ f, oneshot ] 2.1k

Being a parent on a normal day is a challenge. When you add a sudden stomach bug to the mix, you and your husband have to play in master mode. parenthood au. personal favorite.

∞ in the midst of the earth [ a, oneshot ] 5.7k

After your grandfather is hospitalized following a massive stroke, Namjoon watches you pick up the pieces and try to hold them together all by yourself. a meditation on grief and suffering.

∞ sacrificial [ a, s, series ] 74k

complete! posted only on ao3. There's a beast out in the woods and your village decides to offer you up as a virgin sacrifice to make him go away. Good thing the beast is actually kind of a nice guy, if not a little awkward because he's spent so much time alone. Maybe this is for the better; you never really liked the other villagers anyway. strangers to lovers. historical fantasy au. slow burn. often referred to as lorge namjoon fic or white whale no.2 in passing.

∞ shell-ter [ c, s, oneshot ] 7k

part of the series animals in predicaments. While walking on the beach and avoiding your responsibilities, you stumble upon a line of hermit crabs waiting to exchange shells. It should be an exciting moment for you, but instead there’s this random naked guy yelling at you to leave his friends alone. Why can’t a stroll on the beach ever just be a stroll on the beach? strangers to lovers ft. hermit crab hybrid!namjoon and a soft-bodied reader. personal favorite.

∞ the sins of other hearts [ a, s, short series ] 12.8k

complete! posted only on ao3. Months have passed since your father died, leaving you to care for your little household and its dwindling resources. In a final bid for security for your family, you decide to make your way to the palace for the bride parade that the king has called for his son. What awaits you when you get there will be a test of your fortitude in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. a fairy tale retelling ft. a cursed namjoon, ambiguously placed historical setting, and an accidentally soft-bodied reader.

∞ things left unsaid [ a, s, oneshot ] 1.4k

After hearing of a near miss you had while riding on the trails, Namjoon returns home to see you’ve escaped mostly unscathed. Your hearts are another matter. strained established relationship. historical au.

∞ also featured in: spin cycle

s e o k j i n

∞ feathers [ f, drabble ] 1k

It’s time to say goodbye to one of your favorite parts of your partner. established relationship au ft. a soft bodied-reader.

∞ flurious [ drabble ] 3k

it's fine, you're not mad at your best friend at all! in fact!! you're so fine that you're going to work off some steam just to prove how fine you are!! meet cute. college au. based on real events.

∞ love, lust, and life mushrooms [ s, c, oneshot ] 7k

Jin has had a very specific fantasy for a long time, and he’s decided that he wants to make it a reality. Will your relationship be strong enough for the strain this puts on it? Or will the two of you come out of it stronger than ever? established relationship au.

∞ strawberry whine [ f, drabble ] 1.1k

You can’t stand strawberries, but your fiancé has taken you to his uncle’s strawberry farm to see if he can change your mind. ft. the life mushroom couple.

∞ also featured in: give yourself a try and shell-ter

y o o n g i

∞ desperate [ c, s, f, drabble ] .9k

member x member, posted only on ao3. Jungkook is very done with Yoongi’s shit and takes matters into his own hands. Brought to you by Calvin Klein. Written for a dear, enabling friend.

∞ driving me @&#%! [ c, a, f, wip, drabble series ] 3k+

∞ give yourself a try [ a, s, twoshot ] 24.6k

complete! You’ve got an enormous crush on Yoongi, the machine tech, and, if Jimin is to be believed, the feeling is mutual. A broken espresso machine and a snow storm are all it takes to bring everything crashing down around you. released as a two shot ft. a plus-sized reader. personal favorite.

∞ sodium vapor [ a, oneshot ] 2.1k

Yoongi doesn’t have much going for him, but you don’t need much to grow attached. It’s a pity, then, that you loose each other as quickly as you were found. missed connection. personal favorite.

∞ troparion for a summer’s evening [ a, drabble ] .5k

You wake to find yourself alone in bed when there should be someone next to you. features no use of gendered pronouns. personal favorite.

h o s e o k

∞ domesticated fluff [ f, a, oneshot ] 1.7k

He’s the person you’ve always wanted. He’s your sunshine. You just want him to be happy. After an admittedly rough start, will you be able to bring Hoseok all of the joy he brings you? non-romantic adopted dog au.

∞ quiet time [ f, drabble ] 0.45k

You haven’t had a quiet morning alone to read in a long while, and that’s why it seems suspicious. a dad!tan drabble using no gendered pronouns.

∞ whispers in the dark [ a, f, oneshot ] 1.4k

Hoseok just doesn’t have it in him to make you even more miserable right now, so he tries something a little different. sleep paralysis demon hobi ft. a gender neutral reader. personal favorite.

j i m i n

∞ untitled wind sprite jimin fic [ a, s, wip ] likely 10k+

outlined. currently avoiding alskjfdhgfjhgf. this one’s going to fucking hurt; as such I've been avoiding it even though this might be one of my favorite story ideas ever. I'm very serious about writing this at some point but i just have to get in a particular headspace for it. it deserves the utmost care. probable warnings include fae trickery, second chances, and a near death experience. little mermaid au if you squint. may end up being a minion fic instead of reader insert. *shrug*

∞ also featured in: give yourself a try

t a e h y u n g

∞ engorged [ f, c, drabble ] 0.83k

You and Taehyung get along better than you could have ever imagined, but all bets are off when you have a disagreement about a “friend” who makes a surprise visit. On his face. established relationship au.

∞ no shade in the shadow of the cross [ a, oneshot ] 5.8k

After his life in the city falls apart, Taehyung moves into his late grandmother’s home so he can heal and forget. When a little boy appears on his back doorstep, everything changes. supernatural/fantasy horror. heavy angst. read the warnings. personal favorite.

∞ also featured in: cuffing szn

j u n g k o o k

∞ desperate [ c, s, f, drabble ] .9k

member x member, posted only on ao3. Jungkook is very done with Yoongi’s shit and takes matters into his own hands. Brought to you by Calvin Klein. Written for a dear, enabling friend.

∞ spin cycle [ f, s, drabble series ] 12.5k

complete! This random guy has started doing laundry at your favorite laundromat each week (at the same time as you, no less!) and to be honest, it’s going to be a problem. You’re just not sure how yet. strangers to lovers. idiots to lovers. really slow burn.

∞ three minutes [ f, drabble ] 0.9k

You can’t stand the thought of Jungkook feeling alone while he’s sick, so you take matters into your own hands. non-romantic/platonic drabble ft. a gender neutral reader. personal favorite.

∞ also featured in: give yourself a try and cuffing szn

m i s c ;

∞ the deluge, a fic depicting an unnamed bts member x reader. personal fave.

∞ my favorite reads for the year, 2022

∞ kinktober 2022 over on AO3, October 2022

∞ Ask My Muse Masterlist, March 2022

∞ Fic Title Prompt Game, April 2022

∞ “soft-bodied” reader-insert characters and inclusivity, an essay

∞ misc asks mlist

back to navigation

©miscelunaaa 2021-2023. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work. Thank you.

last updated: 11.10.2023

#miscelunaaa #masterlist #bts fanfic

426 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

I'm pretty sure this is prompt four. Jiang Cheng/Qin Su - Jin Rusong as heir to Lotus Pier

ao3

Jiang Cheng heard the news in pieces, scraps of wild rumor and gossip repeated a hundred times over, but he still refused to believe it until he actually saw the official announcement.

Jin Guangyao had divorced his wife and sent her back to her father’s house, along with their son.

“Is he insane?” Jiang Cheng asked his second in command, who only shrugged helplessly. “Putting aside the fact that I’m certain that he loves her madly, putting everything else aside, Sect Leader Qin is influential and powerful, and a strong supporter of his father – no matter what happened between them, surely someone as pleasant and compromising as Jin Guangyao could find a way to work it out?”

Jiang Cheng had only met Qin Su a few times, always at Jin Guangyao’s side. He’d heard about how she’d fallen for the dashing young man that turned out to be Jin Guangyao and sworn to marry him, no matter the obstacles; he’d heard how they’d managed to overcome every storm, fight the wind and rain, and eventually made it to their marriage bed.

They’d even had a son together, little Jin Rusong; he was Jin Ling’s best playmate.

And Jin Guangyao was kicking him out? Kicking her out?

Absurd!

Who did he think he was?

And yet, contrary to Jiang Cheng’s expectations, Sect Leader Qin did not immediately explode, or, rather, within a few days, he did, but not in the way anyone had expected. Everyone had joked that he would find Jin Guangyao and strangle him, and he really did physically attack someone – but not Jin Guangyao.

He attacked Jin Guangshan instead.

It was as if he’d gone mad, red-eyed like Nie Mingjue in the throes of his qi deviation; he’d charged at Jin Guangshan, his old friend of thirty years or more, right in the middle of Jinlin Tower, and swiped at him viciously with his sword, cutting a gash in his chest as the surprised Jin sect leader darted back too slowly to wholly dodge.

What could be done? The Lanling Jin sect guards could not stand silently by with such provocation – they counter-attacked at once, and Sect Leader Qin did not survive. A little later, and it was discovered that he had never intended on it: his sword was laced with poison.

Sect Leader Qin died, but he took Jin Guangshan down with him the underworld.

The rumor mill exploded.

Everyone was talking about Sect Leader Qin’s motivations – the suspicious timing of the divorce – Jin Guangyao’s now inevitable ascension to the seat of Sect Leader Jin –

Only Jiang Cheng thought about Qin Su, who should have been ascending right beside him. It had been her father that had died, after all.

Laoling Qin was far enough away from Lanling Jin that they were still mostly independent, and they were close enough to the Qinghe Nie that Jiang Cheng could pretend that he’d only made a short detour on a visit directed towards Nie Huaisang, that notorious purveyor of gossip; luckily enough, Nie Huaisang remembered their old friendship and was more than happy to help cover his tracks.

When Jiang Cheng arrived, the house was already decked out in mourning. Qin Su greeted him, eyes red and swollen from tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng said awkwardly, then flinched when he realized he probably should have said something in greeting first – they really didn’t know each other well enough to skip over all that.

Nevertheless, Qin Su nodded, forgiving him the slip-up before he could even retract it. She was gracious and gentle, kind and quiet, economical and thoughtful – a consummate hostess. The wife of Jin Guangyao could not afford to be anything less.

Former wife.

Jiang Cheng’s gaze danced around the room, searching for something to say, and then abruptly he noticed – “There are two deaths in your household?”

“My mother took her own life,” Qin Su said, her voice dull. She tried to suppress it, but tears gathered in her eyes again. “Shortly before…”

Whatever it was that Jin Guangshan had done that had driven Sect Leader Qin mad, it had involved his wife, Jiang Cheng thought, and then abruptly he turned pale as he put two and two together. He’d never doubted that Jin Guangyao had adored Qin Su, so why would he divorce her?

Unless…

Jin Guangshan had a reputation.

Qin Su laughed a little, a bitter sound. “Everyone will know, soon enough,” she said wisely, seeing that Jiang Cheng had figured it out. “I don’t blame my former husband at all; he acted as he ought to in every respect. It’s only my poor A-Song…I can’t imagine what his life will be like from now on.”

Jiang Cheng looked helplessly at her. To lose not only your parents, one right after the other, but your husband, your reputation, and next even your son…

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, and Qin Su stared at him. “If Sect Leader Jin’s assault were recent rather than ancient, it would have provoked the same result. The only reason anyone might suspect the truth is because of the timing of your divorce – if there’s a reason given for that, people won’t think twice about it.”

His words had come out all in a rush, smashing together like stones tossed around by a waterfall; he hadn’t thought of the idea until right this moment.

“Are you suggesting I admit to adultery?” she asked. Her eyes were as round as the full moon.

Jiang Cheng shrugged, a little helpless. “Your reputation is gone,” he pointed out, wishing he knew how to be kind or tactful. “Adultery or incest – it’s the same either way for you. But for A-Song…”

To be the son of an adulterous woman was disgraceful, but such things happened and people generally looked the other way, as long as the real father was powerful enough.

It was better than being a child of incest.

“But what of your reputation?” she asked. “Sect Leader Jiang, you can’t. I won’t let you injure yourself for my sake.”

“Not for you,” he said, though maybe it was, just a little bit. The loss of your parents, the loss of your whole life, everything you’d ever believed – who could understand that better than him? “For A-Song. He’s Jin Ling’s best friend.”

Qin Su had always been kind to Jin Ling, he thought. She didn’t need to be, could just tolerate him the way most people in Jinlin Tower did, but she really seemed to like him…

It occurred to him suddenly that Qin Su met all of his requirements for a bride: a beauty from a good family, obedient, economical, with a mild personality who wasn’t too loud and wasn’t too talkative, who was good to Jin Ling…

“How’s your cultivation?” he asked abruptly. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Mediocre,” she said, blinking at him. “And I’m better at baking, I think. I like making sweets.”

“Good,” Jiang Cheng said, relieved. “That’s – good. I’m glad. Will you marry me?”

Qin Su bit her lip. “Let me think about it?”

Thoughtful, he added to the list. Cautious, not reckless.

“Take all the time you need,” he said.

She came back to him two shichen later. “What happens to A-Song?” she asked.

“I’ll adopt him as my own,” Jiang Cheng said. “Or he can keep the surname Jin, if you prefer. And if Lianfeng-zun agrees, which I think he will – it’s his birthright, after all.” Too many times over. “Jin Ling lives with me sometimes; they can grow up as cousins, the way they should.”

Qin Su nodded, lips trembling a little. “You won’t regret this?”

“I might,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “But I’m probably not going to marry anyone else, and I’m willing. Are you?”

“I am,” she said, and smiled at him. Her eyes were still red, and the smile shaky, but it was something. “Thank you. I…no, never mind.”

“If we’re going to be married, you’re going to need to learn to ask things of me,” he reminded her.

Qin Su wiped her eyes. “Yes, but there’s asking reasonable things, and then there’s asking to alert my former husband before we announce our engagement.”

“Oh, no, that’s a great idea,” Jiang Cheng said, immediately relieved. “If there’s one thing Lianfeng-zun knows, it’s how to manage an announcement of that sort of magnitude. We should definitely tell him.”

Qin Su’s smile this time was stronger.

Nie Huaisang pulled a few strings and got Jin Guangyao to come over to the Unclean Realm, and when he walked in and saw Qin Su, he flinched. Jiang Cheng could see on his face that he still loved her, and he felt bad for him – not enough to stop, but still.

“I see,” Jin Guangyao said, hearing the plan. His expression was surprisingly neutral – thoughtful, but not as upset as Jiang Cheng would have expected. “It’s not a bad idea. And you don’t even need to admit to adultery, either.”

“We don’t?” Jiang Cheng asked, surprised.

“We can say that my marriage with A-Su broke down after my father’s actions - painting them as recent, rather than ancient,” Jin Guangyao explained. “I didn’t feel I could oppose him, she had no choice but to do so – it was an irrevocable breach. You came to comfort her, having met her during your visits with Jin Ling, and her sect is in need of support…you can say it developed naturally from there. It might not work to quell the rumors, of course, but it would at least provide a way to save face in public…Leave it to me.”

“Thank you, A-Yao,” Qin Su said quietly, and he smiled at her, pained.

“Just be happy,” he said to her, then looked at Jiang Cheng. “Treat her well.”

“I will,” Jiang Cheng promised, and took her by the hand. “I swear.”

It was a few years later. Nie Huaisang sat beside Jiang Cheng.

“I think he killed my brother,” he said, playing with his fan. “I’m going to destroy him.”

Jiang Cheng stared at the newest memorial tablet in the Lotus Pier, his hands clenched into fists with knuckles turned white.

“Good,” he said, voice savage. “I’ll help.”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #qin su #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #I'm sorry

330 notes · View notes

madamedevien · 3 years

Text

Infernal Heat

Hey! It’s been a while - I really miss you guys. Anyway, I know that a lot of you were keeping up to date with my Mammon x GN! Reader fic...while I’m updating it regularly on my AO3, I thought that I’d post the chapters that I’ve got here as well. I’m planning for it to be a 4 chapter fic, but let’s see how that goes! Warnings in tags (both here and AO3) - monster fucking comes into play much more come Chapter 3 and 4. The biggest thanks to @mawwart for their inspiration and @popcherrypop for reading over what I had all those months ago and actually helping me find direction. I’ve got a bigger/cheesier spiel on AO3, but anyway. Fingers crossed that the ‘Keep Reading’ line shows up here...

Chapter 1: Embers

The Great Mammon had woken up in a mood. He'd felt this creeping up for days now and he wished that it would just come and go already. It was hella distracting to have a constant tug of warmth and want in your gut, y'know? And it was annoying to feel the incessant need to primp and to add to the nest of pillows, blankets, sentimental and decorative items that now overtook most of his bed. But he was due a heat cycle. Annoyingly, he felt that it was probably going to settle in properly on that particular day and he'd been wrangled into going shopping by you. And for whatever reason he'd agreed. Not because he had a crush on you or anything. Damn, he couldn't even remember what you two were meant to be shopping for, that's how addled his mind was. Mammon really just wanted to stay put and perfect his nest. Maybe show it off to you. Although he wasn't sure if you'd appreciate the fact that he'd stolen a few items of yours while on laundry duty to tuck into said nest. Or that he wanted to maybe do something kind of nasty to a piece of your clothing. If not you.

But would you want to? To see his nest? To lay in it, lay with him, to mate with him? He wanted you to. So very, very badly. He didn’t feel like he deserved you but, oh, to say that he wanted you was a vast understatement. Fuck.

He groaned and threw one of his tanned arms over his eyes. The silveret realised that he was going to have to partially dislodge his beautiful nest to pull out Goldie (he couldn't go shopping without her - the very thought was offensive!) and that he was going to have to get rid of his raging boner before he faced you.

So into a cold shower he trudged, loudly cursing the whole time.

---

Longest shopping trip in fucking history.

It seemed like you were in need of freakin' everything imaginable. He wasn't to know that you were actually just taking your time because it'd been a while since the two of you had some time to yourselves. The demon had been acting strangely around you the past few days, although he was completely oblivious to just how weird it’d been for you.

And today, the Avatar of Greed just wasn't engaging. Questions went unanswered, as if he hadn't heard even when clearly looking at you, no boasting or sulking occurred, no bets or harebrained schemes hatched...he didn't even take you up on your offer of Hell Sauce Noodles! The demon was completely disinterested in all of this - the only thing he was interested in was you. He was also trying very very hard not to let his thoughts slip into anything inappropriate. Which was probably the single most difficult thing he’d had to do in all of his many years. Mammon wanted to take your hand and lace your fingers together; to shamelessly nuzzle your cheek in front of everyone on Silent Avenue. The thought made his heart swell. Better yet, if you were mated, he could kiss you in front of the whole crowd before publicly mounting you and-

Damn, it was hard to keep lewd thoughts at bay. He could feel his cheeks burning and looked away when your concerned expression turned to him.

On the trek home (finally!), he fell into a lazy pace behind you and Mammon couldn’t help it as you walked together. His cerulean gaze raked over the beautiful curve in your neck - the space was perfect. In his mind, he could see how perfectly his head would fit and how the mark he could leave there would only accentuate the beauty of your skin. It’d be a gorgeous brand that would loudly proclaim to all, ‘I am mated to THE Great Mammon, the Avatar of Greed and Second of the Seven; don’t you dare even think to touch me’. The very notion only caused the flush of heat over his skin to worsen and his breath to hitch; he wanted to tear into his flesh to relieve himself of the insufferable and fiery itch.

The same thoughts washed over his brain again and again like some cruel tide, even once you'd passed through the doors of the House of Lamentation.

It took only a scant moment. He didn’t even think. The silver haired demon was aware that he was losing his mind due to his damned biology, but he didn’t realise that he was so far gone that he would do something so stupid. It was only your screech that alerted him to the fact that he had pulled you tight to his chest, that he was actually in the process of sinking sharp fangs into your supple skin. The sudden realisation made him tear off of you in surprise.

Beel had been the first to burst through a doorway and into the corridor. The redhead stopped dead in his tracks and stared wide-eyed at the two of you; you with your hand clamped over the section of your neck that had been bitten, and Mammon an arm’s length away from with a look of abject horror painted over his handsome features. Stupid Mammon, indeed. The next to burst in was Lucifer, who looked ready for a proper melee. The sound that had come from you had genuinely startled the older brother, not that he’d admit that if asked. As his garnet gaze took in the scene before him, his mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Mammon…” Lucifer’s voice was dangerously low. Mammon shook his head urgently in response, “Nonono, Luci, it didn’t - I mean, yeah, it is what it looks like an’ I didn’t mean ta, but it...it’s not deep enough. Y’know?” The second brother sounded desperate. Mammon anxiously twisted his rings around his tanned fingers and had to fight back the tears that threatened the edges of his vision. He could have hurt you. “Oh, I think you’ll find that it’s more than deep enough.” Lucifer stalked toward you and put his hand on top of the one you were using to cover your wound. “Let me see how much damage the fool inflicted on you”. Mammon could see the frown that pulled at your mouth as you revealed the bite mark to his brother. No proper damage - the indents might linger, but no blood had been drawn; no skin had been broken.

“It was more from the surprise than pain, Lucifer. I just wasn’t expecting someone to bite me, you know? That’s the kind of thing that I’d expect more from a very hungry Beel.” Your attempt to lighten the mood only made the Avatar of Pride’s expression sour further - but Beel muttered a small, “Fair”. Lucifer sounded positively glacial when he spoke again. “Beelzebub, please take our brother to his room." The Avatar of Gluttony nodded solemnly, gently taking the second eldest’s shoulder. Mammon stared miserably at the floor, guilt clearly written on his flushed face although he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He didn’t trust himself to. Not after such a stupid stunt. As the other two made their way up the stairs, Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose.

This wouldn’t be pleasant.

It was no surprise to Mammon that Lucifer texted him shortly after the whole ordeal. He was just thankful that Lucifer hadn’t decided to come up to his room and literally tear into him after biting you. Of all the people to bite in the entire Devildom, it just had to be you didn’t it? Lucifer: Mammon. I have strictly instructed the household that you are not to be disturbed until I have given the all clear. You will stay in your room and I will bring you provisions at regular intervals. If you need anything, you will let me know. Are we clear? Mammon: Yes. Lucifer: Good. He waited, hopeful that Lucifer would provide an update on you. After an eon of waiting (which was actually all of seven minutes) he decided to ask. Mammon: Are they okay?

Lucifer: They are. And they will continue to be so long as you stay in your room and do not venture out. Ensure that you lock your door and remember to take your pheromone blockers as well or the whole house will reek of your mating scent. What were brothers for, if not a good motivational speech? --- Chapter 2: Flames Even with Lucifer’s reminder, Mammon had forgotten to take the pheromone blockers and to lock the door. He’d been far too distracted; worrying about your state of health, whether he’d damaged your relationship beyond repair, still trying to keep the lewd thoughts at bay, his instincts fretting over the piece of nest that had been dismantled earlier… It was a lot to be preoccupied with, okay? Without the pheromone blockers, the corridor outside of Mammon’s room was thick with the sweet perfume of a demonic male in heat. It was rich and cloying, the kind of scent that would cling to one’s clothes much to the annoyance of the other residents (Asmodeus excluded). Mammon, however, didn’t care. He was too busy now attempting to cool the heat in the pit of his stomach and to regain some clarity of mind. An attempt at sleep had been made once his nest had been repaired and Goldie tucked into her rightful place, the lights turned down low and his clothes discarded to some far corner so that he could crawl into the nest in a comfortable state...but how could he sleep when obscene images of you kept popping into his head? At first, he had tried to keep some semblance of his mind. The demon didn’t like to lose control during his heats. If he could keep his mind, he would keep to his more humanoid forms - and that was what he wanted. Because if you did, by chance, happen upon him...well. He didn’t want to scare you. Before he allowed himself to spiral into the anxiety of your imagined reaction, he reached for his ridiculously large bottle of lube. If he was going to dwell on the thought of anything, it was going to be how good he knew you’d feel… --- Mammon wouldn’t have been able to say how much time had passed. He had brought himself to orgasm more times than he could count - but it only seemed to just take off the edge. A demon’s heat was never an easy thing, but why was this time around so damn difficult? Satan would have been able to answer that with ease, the smug bastard; if a demon chooses a mate they will, naturally, be most inclined to couple with said mate for optimal breeding. To not couple with a chosen mate could make a heat worse - but to withhold coupling at all? Well, it would be a foolish endeavour. The Avatar of Greed hadn’t realised just how he was slipping ; wings and horns had appeared without him even registering and his fangs had dropped to a predatory length (which he only noticed when he had apparently attempted to put a mating mark on a pillow covered in one of your stolen shirts that he’d been desperately rutting against, much to his embarrassment). His breathing was rough. Mammon was equal parts exhausted and invigorated. He wanted nothing more than to let his knees fall out from under him so that sleep would hopefully take him - he wanted to stalk down the hall and into your room and fuck you senseless. And if Lucifer found out? Well, Mammon would love to see him try to pry you from his arms. The very thought made him snarl, his grip on his cock tightening. It was enraging to even think that his brother would dare, a thought that had him so preoccupied that he didn’t hear the door click open. His blue eyes slipped over to you and the wet sound of him furiously fucking his fist stopped abruptly. It was impossible to tell which one of you was redder. This was not what he had been expecting. “Uh-” A rasp of your name interrupted you. “Didn’t Lucifer tell you not to come?” He watched as you nodded dumbly, “Yes”. Heavy breath was the only noise to pass between you several beats. The demon in front of you was wondering whether this was fate; you weren’t running, you looked interested and, fuck, you smelled so good. You smelled aroused and it made him growl; “C’mere then”. The way that you slammed the door and scampered toward him practically had him preening in pleasure. Just as eager, Mammon scrambled over to meet you, flustered yet excited, and hauled you up close to him. He bumped your foreheads together. From here it was easy to see how incredibly blown his pupils were, to feel how desperately ragged his breathing was. You were dangerously close. “Now, see here, I'm gonna give ya one chance to go. ‘Cause if I kiss ya, I’m not gonna be able to stop. I won’t be able to let ya go. You’ll be stuck with me for the whole fuckin’ ride, ya hear?” Holy shit, his voice was so strained. “Then kiss me, you dummy.” No repeat was necessary. Mammon threaded his fingers into your hair, hesitating for only the briefest moment before pressing his lips to yours. When you responded in kind his fervour, his deep rooted greed, quickly followed. He’d wanted to kiss you from day one and not a moment had gone by since without him imagining it. This felt so incredibly right. But he couldn’t ignore the heat curling in his gut. He needed you, wanted you. And as far as he could tell, despite the dark whispers in the back of his mind saying otherwise, you seemed to feel the same.The way that you returned his greedy kisses, how your fingers had twisted sharply in his hair, how you didn’t seem to mind the messy clicking of his elongated fangs against your blunt teeth as he tried to figure out how best to navigate your mouth in this form - how could he deny that he was wanted? Mammon's only regret when looking back on this evening with you would be not savouring your body laid bare for him for the first time. His mind was too heat-addled to appreciate it; he was unable to slowly peel off your layers and to have the sentiment returned in kind as he had previously fantasised about. In his mind’s eye, he had a whole big romantic gesture planned if you had decided to sleep with him. Previously, he had imagined how he would make love to you and treasure every moment of it...but alas… Your clothes were quickly stripped from you, sharp fangs nipping at new skin as it was exposed. There was no delicate treatment here and he paid no heed to the sound of torn material. When he next plundered your mouth, it was far smoother than the first time - he was a fast learner, after all. The only complaint that he had about kissing you was that it muffled those beautiful noises of yours. When he broke the seal of your mouths it was to gently toss you back toward the top of the bed, deeper into his nest and into the comfort of a ridiculous amount of pillows - to properly secure you into his nest. To see you like that felt...good. It felt right. It was clear that was exactly where you belonged. The very image had him growling in satisfaction as he took the opportunity to crawl over your body, his fingers gripping at the meat of your thighs and hips as if ensuring that you were truly there with him. Thankfully, his nails had not yet turned into talons or they would have pierced through you with ease at the way that he handled your flesh. Mammon had to take a deep breath when he looked at you this time. He needed to make sure that he didn’t hurt you while doing this - it was the last thing in the world that he wanted. It was unusual for the Avatar of Greed to put the needs of others before his own...but you weren’t just some ‘other’. You were you. His very own treasure, his very own mate. Reluctantly, a hand left your body to fish for something buried within the nest. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” He coated his fingers generously in lube, desperate to ensure that he would cause as little pain as possible, “Just fuckin’ perfect”. Two fingers slipped into you as Mammon spoke, his tone low and hoarse. Never had he imagined just how difficult it would be to hold himself back like this, nor could he have been prepared for just how much desire he felt in that moment. The sensation of your hot core wrapped around his fingers had him shamelessly rutting against your thigh, a poor attempt at taking the edge off of his lust. A human really had no business wrecking him like this. His heat cycles were normally pretty boring - desperate rutting for a day or two and then back to normal life. You had no right to set his skin aflame like this, no right to have him feel like he could cum just from the noise you made once he had three fingers fucking into your heat. The way his blood was rushing in his ears was deafening...and he wanted more. It didn’t take too long for it all to get too much. Even all of the dark hickies that he had furiously littered your neck, chest and shoulders with weren’t enough to distract him from the wet sound of his fingers preparing you or the stunning sounds he managed to pull from you when he got the angle of his hand just right. Mammon would never admit it, but he kind of missed his target. The point of removing his hand from you had been to slip himself right in. Instead, as he kissed you he rolled his slick cock against your sex...which, to be fair, had felt better than your thigh. And if the sound that you’d made in response was anything to go by, you thought so too. He liked that noise. A lot. So he rolled his hips against you again, groaning in response to you. Ever eager to please, the greedy demon found a rhythm that you both seemed to enjoy in the interim. “Ya like that, huh?” Mammon wasn’t sure where the cockiness in his tone was coming from when internally he felt so nervous. It was those very nerves that quickly had his hand moving to guide his cock to your entrance and thrusting into you before you could retort. Mammon didn’t realise it would silence both of you. By no means was he a virgin. The Great Mammon would have it known that he was a proper Casanova type, thank you very much. He just didn’t realise how different it would feel coupling with someone that he truly and deeply loved. The heat causing that deep need to breed the closest thing with a pulse didn’t help things, of course. It was...incredible, for lack of a better word. Divine. Mammon choked on an Infernal curse once seated completely in you and had to literally bite his tongue to keep an anchor on his self-control. All of that hard earned control was thrown out the window when his name passed your lips. There was no hesitation in how his hips pistoned, fucking into you relentlessly. His hands manoeuvred to cradle the back of your knees and he pushed your legs back to allow him more access to your body, his fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. The noises that left him were snaps and snarls of Infernal praise, not that he realised. The only thought on Mammon’s mind was his primal objective of breeding you until neither of you could move ; it didn’t matter whether you could actually fall pregnant or not. No logic or worry clouded his mind with these thoughts. All he could focus on was filling you with his seed until he couldn’t any more, the thought of your stomach tender and round because of his affections toward his mate... Mammon’s first orgasm came with an embarrassing quickness. When he spilled inside of you, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your chest, he was quickly filled with a relief and warmth that he hadn’t felt in ages. For the first time since his heat had set in, there was true clarity in his mind. While his natural instincts weren’t completely quelled, it was enough for him to actually think with something other than his adamantly pulsing dick. His relief quickly fell to mortification, the shadows of which were clear on his features when he pulled back to look at you. His cheeks were tinted red both from exertion and embarrassment ; he hadn’t paid enough attention to get you to climax. He was quick to stutter out your name, mouth tripping on the words that were trying to get out of his mouth as his sluggishly content brain tried to supply words just beyond reach. “What, isn’t The Great Mammon going to make me cum?” Your sass fanned the flames in his loins. A playful snarl was made in response, “Oh sweetheart. I’m going to make you cum so fuckin’ hard you black out. You won’t be able to feel your legs by the time I’m done with you”. And so The Great Mammon set to work. --- Mammon hummed contentedly as you lazily played with the hair at the nape of his neck hours later. This was perfection. Strong fingers stroked your thighs as he enjoyed the sensation of you wrapped around his hips, the pleasure of you sat on his lap while cuddled up together in your nest. The demon toyed with the thought of pushing his hips up just to make you gasp from the overstimulation, but decided against it. Although he was loath to admit it, you needed rest - because Mammon had been good to his word, ensuring that you both had more than your fair share of orgasms. But this was good. The fire in his gut had died down to crackling embers, although he knew it would flare up again soon - but you would be there to help ease him through it. And you even seemed to like helping him out. What was the phrase… ‘mutually beneficial’? Somethin’ like that. His eyes fluttered open when he heard your chuckle. He couldn’t help but wonder if you knew how freakin’ stunning you were when you smiled like that. “What?” When your eyes met his, he was pouting frowning. The laugh that you let out only made his brow furrow more, “I said what. What’s got ya laughin’ like that, huh? You should be out like a freakin’ light by now”. It wasn’t until you replied that he realised how obvious it was, “I didn’t know that demons could purr”. Mammon squawked loudly and attempted to divert your attention - he sounded like a damn motor! It wasn’t fair! He wasn’t even able to control the way he was going off… It was embarrassing. “Well, yeah, y’know, sometimes. We’re incredible ‘n mysterious creatures us demons, y’know! Demons are capable of things that your human mind couldn’t even comprehend! Anyway, ’s not like ’s all the time or anythin’ like that…” He tried to occupy himself and forget about the heat radiating from his face by playing with your hair - but he could feel you smiling against the crook of his neck. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” The incredible and mysterious demon sounded more like a petulant child (well, a purring and petulant child). “So, when do you normally purr?” “I dunno. When we’re happy, I guess?” “Does that mean I haven’t made you happy before?” The way that he spluttered was definitely worth teasing him. “Who said that ya haven’t made me happy?! ‘N besides, this is different!” Even Mammon couldn’t deny that he was now pouting, but he tried to focus on the feeling of your fingers running along his shoulders. It was nice; soothing, even. Until he felt a sharp tug on the back of his neck. “Ouch! You gotta be more gentle than that!” The look of surprise on your face made him want to curl in on himself. “Mammon - are those feathers?” “Phffft,” The greedy demon rolled his eyes and tried to deflect your query, “Shaddap. You dunno what you’re talking ‘bout”. When your mouth opened again, he did take the opportunity to thrust sharply into you. At the gasp, he lurched forward with a passionate kiss. Simply to shut you up, of course. No hidden agenda. His pleased purring melted into a deep rumbling, the fire in his belly stoking itself back to life. It was impossible for him not to roll you over to allow him to bask in more of your shared passion. The laughter that ensued, laughter that he was sure was aimed at him, only made his heart swell as much as his cock.

#obey me #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon #obey me shall we date #deVien writes #deVien writes for asmo #Infernal Heat #Smut #mammon x gn! reader #mammon x gender neutral reader #Gender neutral reader #Mating cycles #Heat cycles #mating cycles/in heat #Feral Mammon #Monster fucking #Well gradual monster fucking #Insecure Mammon #Kind of a breeding kink but that's more instincts

465 notes · View notes

okaybutlikeimagine · 3 years

Text

A Father’s Day Triptych

TW: past/referenced child abuse, emotional hurt/comfort, child neglect

(you can find it on AO3 here ♥)

Father’s day in the Hargrove household was always pulled taut with expectations of kindness and submission hanging over Billy’s head.

They didn’t always used to be that way. When he was a kid, Father’s days felt like a reprieve rather than a burden. Billy and his mom would prepare special things- a nice card that would make him laugh, those new fishing poles he’d been eyeing in the big sporting store a town over, a pretty cake with fresh fruit on top from the grocer down the way. His mother went all out. She’d get Billy all excited for it too. The strenuous relationships were softened for a day where they did everything they could to make him happy.

They really did… everything they could just to make him happy. Sometimes Billy still wonders why it had to take so much.

Around Father’s day, his mother would use all her spending money to make his father smile. It usually worked. And for that day, it was so good. It could hardly get better. Grilling and watching stupid baseball games Billy never cared about but would pretend to be interested in, just for him. Fake smiles almost became real. Hot dogs and hamburgers and watermelon always tasted better on those days when his father would put his arm around Billy amicably- when he would laugh at the card and compliment how Billy’s penmanship was getting better every year.

The year that she left was the worst.

The year that she left Billy stopped getting an allowance. He had no money to soften the edges of his father with fresh cakes and fancy presents. He panicked. He stole a stupid fishing keychain from a store and made a card from his school notebook paper. He presented them with shaking hands to his father who seemed glued to the couch, eyes bloodshot, surrounded by beer cans, baseball game so loud Billy’s ears felt sore.

He got a grunt and a lazy eye roll in response. A slurred groan of “your writing is sloppy”. A quieter admission of regret.

He got resentment. Billy was 9 and he knew it was resentment towards his very existence. He slid away to his room. There was no dinner to eat that night as his father passed out on the couch with the TV still on far too loud.

When Susan and Max came into the picture, Billy miraculously found a reason to be happy for it. Suddenly there was pressure taken off of him. He let Max know it too, as Susan encouraged them to go out and “at least get him a card”. They’d lazily look through all the forcibly funny and generic pieces of paper. Max was nervous that first year.

“It’s whatever.” Billy had grunted, looking through ugly green cards with stupid phrases on them. “She’s gonna bang him tonight, he won’t care about a dumb card.”

“Ew.” Max had whined, covering her ears and pouting. Billy couldn’t find it in himself to care.

It was never fun. Billy felt like he was on a leash all day long, obligated to do everything he could for his father just to keep him civil. Susan made a steak, the kids handed over the card, his father remarked how his penmanship was the mark of someone lazy and sloppy (no matter how hard Billy would try to make it as neat as he possibly could), and the day would end. And he could stop thinking about how this man still had a hand in his life.

…

Father’s day in the Hopper household was always bumbling and awkward.

By the time that first one came around, Billy was just beginning to feel less like a burden to the house and more like an addition. He’d found comfort in the space they all shared. They had a sort of routine set between all of them. There was still no second bed for Billy, so he still felt like he was imposing when Hop slept on the couch, but it was a sort of pull out couch by that point and Hop insisted and Billy decided not to pay it too much mind.

And that first Father’s day was just… awkward. Billy had completely forgotten the date- summer had just started for him and days were rolling by in hot and languid and lazy moments of feeling out every new situation. He had just started getting really serious with Steve. Not just touching for the sake of getting off but really starting to need and want each other in ways that scared him. In ways that made him want to keep things how they were- ways that made him scared to change a thing. It was a new and alien feeling for him.

El had inadvertently learned about Father’s day from Mike when he briefly groaned about dinner plans his family had. Billy found that out from El on their drive to the store to pick something up for Hop. She had to convince Billy it was a thing they should do, because Hopper was their father. He did fatherly things for them. He took them in and gave them a roof and food and asked how their days were and wished them goodnight and good morning, however groggily. He made stupid jokes that made them moan and he danced horribly to the old records he kept on their dusty shelf and he was horrible with laundry and he whistled as he did dishes.

He introduced Billy proudly in the grocery store once. It was the weekend after Billy had a really good basketball game that Hop had decided to attend. Hop bragged about it to some friend of his. Billy flushed red and elbowed him and tried his best to escape.

He thought about it every single day.

Billy and El bought a large cheesy balloon, ingredients to make a nice lasagna dinner, and a green and white cake from the bakery. The balloon was more for El. The lasagna was a little burnt. Hop was too nice to say he’d have preferred pie to cake, but he ate it anyway as they sat around the TV and watched whatever program was on. Billy only remembered as he fell slowly into sleep that night. He jolted awake quickly, remembering a sort of far off conversation months ago where Hop had proclaimed confidently that pie was the superior dessert of anything else- yes, even Eggo's with whipped cream and sprinkles. How he admitted cake was never his favorite.

Billy felt shame overcome him as he remembered, pushing himself out of bed and turning to the sofa with the immediate want to apologize for it. He wasn’t sure what came over him.

But instead of sending pleading apologies into the darkness, he just looked towards the sofa with a heavily beating heart and let his eyes adjust. And he thought about all that man had done for the two of them. Thought about how he took in these two stray kids. Thought about how he knew Hop was getting flack for it, because Billy heard the whispers and the snickers and the sneers about Hop running a dog pound. Thought about how he gave up his probably comfier trailer for the rundown cabin, gave up the main bedroom for the dusty spare bed, gave up the dusty spare bed for the couch, gave up parts of his sanity probably…

Billy didn’t wanna apologize anymore. He just whispered a thanks, even though it was hard to push up through his throat and would fall onto sleeping ears.

The Father’s days after that first one got better. They got Joyce, and along with her 2 boys that had their own rocky past with fathers and celebrations of them. Just four kids who feared and resented father figures. It ended up being better than Billy could imagine. It was never quite as awkward as that first Father’s day, but never quite comfortable either. That being said, it was never a bad day. The bar was low, but that didn’t matter. Billy found appreciation for the general ease all the same.

…

Father’s day in the Hargrove-Harrington-”whatever we’re together now and that’s what’s most important” household is filled with guilt and feelings of imposter syndrome.

They don’t celebrate it the first two or so years after they’ve adopted their first child. He’s just a toddler, he doesn’t quite understand yet what it is. And they… they’re still struggling with what it means to be fathers. They’re confident in their rights but they’re not immune to the judgmental voices, always eyeing them oddly when they’re out together with their boy or asking after the mother when they’re out separately. Always looking a little judgmental or harsh when they have to explain why the kid doesn’t look like them- whoever is with him at the time. Or getting looks of pity when the people clearly begin to assume it’s because they couldn’t get pregnant with whatever wife must be at home.

It’s hard to hear. It makes them question everything. If their boy doesn’t know what he’s missing, then there’s no need to explain.

Billy calls Hopper and feels his heart lurch when Hop and Joyce wish him and Steve a happy father’s day. They do it with joy and certainty. As if it belongs to them, too. Billy hangs up the phone and lays in bed for at least half an hour. Steve can’t get through to him.

It’s an odd feeling. A rough feeling. When they adopt their second child, a girl of 9 years old, they know they’re going to have to confront it. Their son begins school that year too. They find out about the day from their friends and television ads and store windows. The children are timid with them- they were adopted as supposed “problem children” from rough homes and tumultuous pasts. Billy and Steve don’t expect anything of them but they’re still not sure how to explain that. They figure ignoring is easier than explaining. Maybe it’ll make it go away.

It doesn’t work well.

And Billy… Billy’s just struggling being a dad. He couldn’t explain the job if he tried. He helps make lunches, he gives timeouts, he buys and subsequently sneaks himself some silly little snack foods when he’s hungry and busy and doesn’t have time to do more than rip open a pouch. He deals with tantrums over vegetables and he wipes mouths with napkins and he sings lullabies in the wrong key and he reads bedtime stories until he himself dozes off in the tiny bed with a small head on his chest and drool pooling onto his shirt.

He’s trying. He gets frustrated at stores. He gets a little hot headed, a little loud. His heart breaks when they cry. He’s straddling the line between being a pushover and a hard-ass. He lays awake at night, staring at the ceiling, dreading ever becoming like Neil. He asks Steve, in the stillness of the night when the darkness acts as the weight of every horrible outcome imaginable, if he’ll follow Neil’s wretched footsteps.

“You’ll never be like him, Billy.”

“How do you know? What if it’s inside me already.”

“It’s not.”

“Maybe it is… maybe I won’t be able to help it.”

He stresses and he struggles and he wants to rip his hair out.

But that first father’s day comes around with their new daughter and newly knowledgeable son. And the two children blunder around the kitchen while their two dads are asleep. And then they wake the two parents up, both teary eyed and breathing heavy, faces full of apology and sorrow, asking for help to clean up the mess.

And Billy and Steve find the kitchen a single step back from full on disaster. There’s juice all over the counter and dripping onto the floor, the cereal box is all soggy from it, the toaster is smoking, a plate is broken on the ground, the fridge is still open. Their daughter pulls on Billy’s pajama pants and holds out her finger that’s bleeding. He gets out of her that she somehow managed to cut it on the butter knife she was using to cut up some fruit.

Steve gets busy cleaning things up. He asks their son to help do smaller things like close the fridge and grab some towels.

Billy takes his daughter’s small soft hand into his large, rough one and plants a kiss on it. It sends something like pure love surging through his heart. He guides her to the bathroom to put a bandaid on it and asks if she’s okay.

“Mmhm.” She nods and his heart softens. She sniffles. “M’sorry. We wanted… wanted to make breakfast and w-wanted to do something nice.”

She sounds like the weight of the world is on her small shoulders. Billy sees himself at 9 years old, doing his damnedest to get anything close to a damn smile out of his father while he sat unresponsive and unamused on the couch.

His heart yearns. It breaks and it pulls and it screams and it shouts. He pulls her in close and hugs her tight and tries to find the right words. Tries to tell her it’s made his entire year. It’s made him feel validated and happy and worth it, like all of that stress is worth it just to know that these two children got up early as hell on a Sunday morning just to surprise their fathers. Just to surprise the two of them. Just to say they thought of them, wanted to give them something, wanted to make them feel special.

“It was nice.” Is all he can croak out through his froggy throat.

“It’s a mess.” She sobs, but he just grips her arms tighter.

“It was wonderful.” He says and he’s crying too. He can’t get the tears to stop. He’s kneeling on the bathroom ground, the two of them crying to each other.

And Billy swears he’ll never get good at the father thing. He has talks with Hop about it, when he’s feeling vulnerable and Hopper’s able to get it out of him. By this point they’ve adopted another child- an older boy, a teenager. He’s rough and he’s jaded. He listens to loud, angry music. He kind of picks on the other two kids, even though he’d jump in front of a bus for either one of them. Hop asks how he likes it.

“He’s a lot like you were, y’know.” Hop tells Billy, who still doesn’t really see it.

Steve doesn’t have as much of a problem with the boy as Billy does. Billy and him just never seem to see eye to eye.

“It’s because you’re the same people.” Hop insists. Steve agrees. Joyce affirms with pity. “You clash.”

They clash hard. They get into yelling matches. Billy never puts a hand on him, but the arguments aren’t exactly great. Billy cries to Steve at night, fear shaking him down to his core, still able to see and hear himself yelling at that boy who fights tooth and nail back with him.

“You’re not a bad person, Billy.”

“Why do I do that shit?” He asks, knowing full well no one but him could ever really know.

It’s not like it’s anything too vitriolic. It’s not like it’s anything really poisonous.

It’s over the fact that he stays out too late at night, and Billy gets worried. It’s the fact that Billy found cigarettes in his room and he knows the bad effects of cigarettes. It’s the fact that he pushed his little brother one day and made him scrape his knee and he needed to learn some boundaries. It’s the fact that he lied about his grades when Billy felt they gave him no reason to do such a thing.

It’s fatherly things. That’s what Hop assures him as Billy cries on the phone with him.

“It’s things I would have done with you.”

Billy never ever knows what to make of that. What to make of what he’d be like now if Hop was his father from the start. If Hop was there from the beginning. If Neil hadn’t made him a monster in his own image.

Billy does his best to get through to him. Get through to his son now because he’s his son now.

Billy feels like the worst, most undeserving father.

As the kids have gotten older, they learned better ways to celebrate father’s day. They learn breakfast in bed isn’t really what the two of them would prefer- a nice lunch and getting to spend some time with them sounds better. A homemade card always goes on the mantle or the fridge with the rest of the collection. A few hugs because those are like treasured gifts in this house with kids who have a history of boundary and trust issues with parental figures.

The older son catches Billy alone in the kitchen.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Billy replies awkwardly back. The silence is jarring.

“I uh… uhm.” He’s struggling. Billy wants to do something more than just stand here, but he’s not sure what. He doesn’t want to push anything too far. He wants to be good at this.

The boy puts a small, wrapped box on the counter with an envelope underneath and slides it over.

“Happy Father's day.” He mumbles, suddenly fidgeting.

Billy stares at them.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

There’s another pause, heavy with all the weight and worry in Billy’s heart. He reaches for the box, rips the paper open easily, lifts up the lid.

“It’s uh… it’s just a couple tapes of some of those… bands you like. And talk about. All the time.” The boy snickers, but it catches in his throat. He’s so nervous. “My friend’s family was getting rid of a bunch of their tapes and I know you’ve got your old tape player still so… uh… yeah.”

It’s a mixed bag of absolute classics. Some tapes he used to have, others he’s always wanted. Zeppelin, Ted Nugent, Def Leppard, Billy Idol, AC/DC, Alice Cooper… his heart skips. He lost a lot of his tapes after all the sudden moves he’s had to make. His eyes start to well.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” Billy pushes out on a whisper.

“Are they any good?”

“They’re… they’re awesome, kid.”

“There’s a card too y’know.” The boy adds, still shuffling nervously.

Billy slips it out from under the box, pulling his finger underneath the flap to open it.

It’s… it’s ridiculous. It’s one of the cheesiest cards Billy’s ever seen. He thinks back to all the stupid, jokey cards he used to pick out with his mother. The joke inside actually makes him laugh, loud and bright.

There’s words written underneath, quite a few scribbled out and then-

Sorry for all the trouble. I think I just don’t like knowing you’re right sometimes… but thank you for everything.

The words are nearly chicken scratch- wobbly letters clearly written with a nervous and shaky hand. The boy is damn near bouncing now, damn near trying to crawl out of his skin with nerves.

It’s the best, prettiest, most wonderful chicken scratch handwriting Billy has ever seen. He can barely see it now through his misty eyes.

“Your… handwriting is really nice.”

The boy scoffs loudly.

“Uh, thanks?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe it. Still, Billy could swear he sees the boy preen, just a little.

“Thank you.” Billy says, fighting back tears, trying like hell to hold himself together. “I’m sorry, too. I don’t… I don’t have to yell at you so much. At all. I’m sorry about it.”

The boy is just staring at him, eyes a little wide and a little shocked. Billy feels his heart lurch. He just wants to be fucking good at this.

“I’m gonna do better.” Billy asserts through a not-so-wobbly-anymore voice

The boy gives a small smile that grows a bit wider. If Billy isn’t absolutely crazy yet, he’d say that the boy’s eyes are getting a bit misty too.

“So are those tapes actually good?” The boy asks, clearing his throat and trying to seem casual. Billy sees more and more of himself in him.

“Hell yeah… do you think I’d have bad taste?”

His son cackles just a bit, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, alright then. Whatever you say.”

There’s a pause. Billy takes the card and tucks it back into the envelope to save for himself- to put in a special place in his and Steve’s room. He then busies himself with shuffling through his tapes before his son says-

“We can… listen to some of them. If you want.”

Billy’s eyes shine with excitement and appreciation.

Listening to the tapes together is wonderful. They rib each other about what songs are better, what voices do and don’t sound the same, what the lyrics are like. They learn more about each other and maybe Billy is finally forced to admit that they’re a lot more alike than he realized.

And Billy starts to feel that maybe… maybe he can finally define what a father really means to him. And father’s days start to feel a bit more like they belong to him, too.

162 notes · View notes

morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

when the dust settles

Tommy grins, arching an eyebrow as she looks back at TK. "Shall we go rescue your man from my girls then?"

TK has to prepare himself before entering the house, but his resolve to stay calm and composed immediately crumbles as he sees what's waiting for him—Carlos, meticulously stacking Jenga pieces back in the box while the girls colour quietly at the kitchen table.

ao3 | 1.5k | 2.14

It’s late by the time they finish their impromptu shift, all piling into Nancy’s car after returning the rig to the garage. A tense silence falls over them as they head back to Tommy’s place, both TK and Nancy still reeling from the bombshell she dropped on them this morning. The sense of finality that comes with leaving the ambulance behind is almost too much to bear.

It’s Nancy who breaks it eventually as they pull to a stop outside the Vega household. “Well,” she says, turning to look at Tommy, “if this was our last ride all together, then… Thank you, for being such an amazing captain. There’s no-one I’d rather go through volcanoes, kidnappings, and dust storms with.”

“Agreed,” TK chimes in from the back seat. He doesn’t have as close a connection with Tommy as Nancy does, but the thought of her leaving still sends a sharp pain through his chest. She’d been the first captain he’s truly felt free and comfortable under, and he can’t picture the job without her steady leadership guiding them through. “And, thank you for giving me a chance, Cap. You, uh, these months with EMS have been the best of my career, and I know most of that is down to you. So, um… Yeah.”

He trails off awkwardly, flushing slightly as he stares down at his hands. There’s an awful pressure behind his eyes, a sure sign he’s about to cry again, but he tries — unsuccessfully — to force the tears back.

“I think we’ve all cried enough for one day, huh, Strand?” Tommy asks, but there’s a smile in her suspiciously thick voice. TK looks up at her, met with a warm gaze and, yep, the undeniable shine in both her and Nancy’s eyes.

She breathes out shakily, then reaches a hand back to TK, the other going across Nancy. “I’m not sure I deserve such high praise, but thank you both. I meant what I said earlier; it has truly been a gift to work alongside two incredibly talented paramedics, and I could not have asked for a better reintroduction to the job.”

Nancy arches a brow, looking at her in disbelief.

Tommy laughs. “Maybe I could have gone without being kidnapped and having my firehouse blow up.”

“For starters,” Nancy mutters.

“Point is, I’m grateful. And… I think that maybe I was a little too hasty in my decision earlier.”

TK straightens in his seat, sharing a hopeful glance with Nancy. “You mean you’re coming back?”

“I’m not sure my girls would have it any other way,” Tommy admits wryly. Her smile turns a little sad, and she casts her eyes skyward, squeezing their hands tightly. “Then I think about what Charles would say,” she continues softly. “He would tell me to do what I want to do, not what I think I should do, and that’s my job. Don’t get me wrong, the girls will always come first, and I still need to do a lot of thinking to make sure it’s actually doable. But, hopefully, when the 126 reopens, I will be back in that ambulance with you two.”

Nancy doesn’t waste a second in launching herself forward to hug Tommy. TK grins at them, his eyes more than a little wet, and he feels a weight lifting from his chest.

“That’s awesome, Cap,” he says, squeezing her hand once more before letting go to surreptitiously wipe at his face.

“I can’t believe you almost left me alone with him,” Nancy adds, pulling back from Tommy and jerking her thumb towards TK. He makes a token protest, as is his role in this relationship, but the ribbing is worth it to see Tommy smile and roll her eyes at them, like she’s done so many times before.

“Alright, kids.” She opens the car door and climbs out, leaning back in to raise an eyebrow at TK. “Shall we go rescue your man from my girls?”

TK laughs and gets out too, hearing Nancy do the same. He has to take a moment to prepare himself before Tommy lets them in; seeing Carlos with the girls earlier had put all sorts of thoughts in his head—thoughts he should not be having after only a year of dating. Not that he wants to have those thoughts about anyone else, but still.

Slow and steady; that’s what they agreed. So TK takes a deep breath, tells himself to keep his head, no matter what’s waiting inside, and follows Nancy into the house.

His resolve crumbles immediately, his heart doing a funny little flip at the sight of Carlos meticulously stacking Jenga pieces back in the box while the girls colour quietly at the kitchen table. TK doesn’t know why it’s this, of all things, that’s making him so giddy, but there’s something about Carlos taking such care over something so small, whereas TK himself would have just thrown the pieces in the box until the lid had to be forced on.

It takes a second for his brain to reboot, and by that time, Carlos has abandoned his task. He smiles at them as Tommy hugs her girls, and TK goes over to greet him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

He leans his head down on Carlos’s shoulder, letting some of the exhaustion finally catch up with him. “Have fun?” he mumbles.

Carlos covers the hand TK has on his waist with his own. “Not as much as you, I’m sure.”

“Nine-year olds versus a dust storm?” TK hums as if in thought and wiggles his hand in the air. “Tough choice.”

Carlos laughs, gently knocking their heads together before pulling away from TK as Tommy returns from putting the girls to bed. He doesn’t let Tommy get a word out before he approaches her, an adorably worried look on his face. “I know you said they usually go to sleep much earlier than this,” he says, apologetic, “but they wanted to stay up and wait for you, and I figured they’d do that anyway so I said it was alright. I’m sorry if it wasn’t, I shouldn’t have assumed —”

“Carlos!” Tommy holds up a hand, very obviously fighting back laughter. “It’s okay, really. That was absolutely the right call; I’d probably have woken them up anyway. I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to look after them so last minute.”

He shakes his head, waving her off. “It was nothing.”

“It was everything,” she corrects. “I hope they didn’t torture you too much?”

“They were no trouble at all, I assure you.”

“Well.” Tommy sends him another grateful look, then glances round at all three of them. “Thank you, again. All of you. Now, go home and get some rest — you guys deserve it.”

TK steps forward to hug Tommy, then moves back to Carlos’s side. “Night, Cap,” he says, lifting a hand in one last wave goodbye, before he and Carlos step outside together.

They linger on the curb, waiting for Nancy, who stayed back to talk to Tommy some more. TK hooks his pinky around Carlos’s, leaning on him again. “You were really good with them,” he says quietly, keeping his voice carefully devoid of implication.

Carlos shrugs. “I’ve got five nieces and nephews, and my sisters have taken full advantage of my childless status to turn me into the family babysitter. Trust me, once you’ve had a toddler screaming in your ear for four hours straight, you can handle anything. Besides, apart from repeatedly kicking my ass at Jenga, Izzy and Evie really were totally fine.”

TK snorts. “Yeah, you’d think a cop would have steadier hands than that.”

He grins up at Carlos, receiving a pinch in the side for the comment, which only makes him laugh more.

“They cheated!”

“You can’t cheat at Jenga, Carlos.”

“For once, he has a point,” Nancy says, making them both jump as she appears from, seemingly, nowhere. She levels a finger at the two of them, eyes narrowed. “Technically, I am obligated to drive you home, but if either of you start with the lovey-dovey shit, I will not hesitate to abandon you on the side of the road.”

“Then I will not hesitate to turn you in to Cap,” TK counters, but Nancy just rolls her eyes and gets in the car.

“Please. She’d be on my side and you know it,” she says, which—point. “You coming or not?”

TK grumbles but gets in, immediately retaking Carlos’s hand when they’re both settled. They share a soft smile, making Nancy groan, but she doesn’t make good on her threat, which is a win. This entire day has felt like a win, minus the rocky start, and TK can’t help but feel like things are finally falling into place.

There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and it’s getting closer with every second.

142 notes · View notes

fallen-gravity · 3 years

Text

Soft Hearts and After-Midnight Talks

Ford can’t let go of the past. Mabel can’t stop worrying about the future.

Put together, they’re a melting pot of insomnia and overwhelming emotions.

AO3 Link

Love had never come easy to Ford.

As a kid, his father always said it wasn’t manly to show affection. It made a man weak to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he was merely doing him a favor by showing him tough love, because out in the real world the men who put their emotions first would get torn to shreds.

His mother tried her hardest, but she too had times where she was too busy running her psychic hotline or helping Pa run the pawn shop to pay him much attention.

Ford supposes the closest he ever had to unconditional love as a kid came from Stan. Whenever Ma or Pa were too busy, or the kids at school were screaming and running from his deformity, he knew he could always rely on Stan to be there for him. He’d always been the one to throw a punch for him, to talk him through a panic attack, patch up the scrapes and black eyes he’d received from Crampelter, or even assure him that getting a B minus on an exam wasn’t the end of the world, even if his eyes were rolling into the back of his skull the entire time he said it.

But even that sort of love felt fickle. The night of the science fair, it felt as though something inside of Ford shriveled up and died, and he knew that the rejection from West Coast Tech was only the half the cause of it.

When Stan drove off into the night, it’s as if he took that shriveled up little piece of Ford with him as his grand final fuck you.

After that, Ford tried everything he could. In college he buried himself into the research he was most passionate for, but that could only get him so far when Fiddleford would drag him to bed and force him to be alone with his thoughts. He’d tried going out drinking to forget said thoughts, but he learned the hard way that he was an emotional drunk and alcohol only made those thoughts worse.

If there’s anything he did know, it’s that this lack of love in his life could probably explain how he was able to fall for Bill’s cunning tricks so easy.

“Unlovable?” Bill’s words still rang in the back of his head. “By the time this portal’s finished, you’ll have the whole world at your feet! You’ll be a household name! There’ll be thousands cheering the name Stanford Pines, the man who changed the world!”

What a fool he’d been, blissfully ignoring all of the warning signs for even the slightest chance that a gateway between worlds could earn him love.

What an even bigger fool he’d been to turn away his brother’s love even after ten years of nothing but fear and resentment standing between them.

Ford sighs. He knows, logically, that dwelling on the past will only make things worse. He knows things are okay between him and Stan now. They’re setting off on their first journey on the Stan-O War II next week; things couldn’t get any better between them.

But he also knows that insomnia and intrusive thoughts are a package deal. He’d tried sitting out on the front porch to gaze at the stars and feel the late-summer air on his face to relax, but his inner demons always find their way.

There’s a tiny knock on the doorframe behind him. He jumps at the noise, and turns to see who else could possibly be awake at nearly three in the morning. He’s half expecting Stan, but to his surprise it’s Mabel, sleepily rubbing at her eyes with one hand and holding a half-empty cup of ice water in the other.

“Grunkle Ford?” her voice is groggy and strained. “Is that you?”

“Mabel?” is the only comprehensive response that comes out. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Dipper cursed me with his insomnia and now I can’t sleep” she pouts, and takes a sip from her cup like it’s a shot glass as he joins him on the couch. “Why are you still up, Grunkle Ford?” she squints. “I feel like I should ask you the same question”

He chuckles. “Nothing you need to worry about, dear. I’m just doing some thinking”

“Hmmm…” she squints long and hard at him, like she’s trying to read his mind. “Okay, but I’m watching you. I’m the expert at annoying people until they tell me what’s bothering them”

Ford can’t help but smile. “Noted,” he replies, and shifts his position so he’s facing more towards her. “What about you? I’m the expert in insomnia, so I can’t imagine it’s the only thing keeping you awake"

For the briefest of moments, Mabel’s playful smile drops. She hides the sudden shift by taking another sip of water.

“What? Psshhh…” she dismisses the thought with a wave of her hand. “That’s silly! Everyone knows insomnia means you can’t sleep for no reason. Some expert you are, Grunkle Ford”

She smiles, but it’s strained, and fake, and nothing like the usual smile she flashes when she’s joking around.

“Mabel.” Ford says once, in a firm yet soft tone, and she winces.

“Okay, fine” she mumbles, and drinks the rest of the water from her cup before she continues. “I’ve been having some dumb thoughts too”.

Ford shakes his head. “There’s no such thing as a dumb thought, Mabel. Even if it’s bothering you, it’s indicative of how you’re really feeling” he pats gently at his lap, inviting her to scoot closer. “Maybe I can help” he smiles, ever so slightly, ever so softly. “Even us experts mess up in our own fields sometimes”

She moves too quickly into his arms for a hug for him to read her expression properly.

“Then I feel like a big dumb hypocrite” Mabel murmurs into Ford’s sweater, her voice on the edge of breaking.

Ford frowns, and places an arm around her to reciprocate the hug. “What for?”

Mabel scrunches up his sweater in her fists. “I...I made this whole big ordeal about Dipper wanting to stay here with you after the summer’s over for the apprenticeship, and I still don’t want us to be apart, but…” she buries her face into his sweater, like she’s ashamed of herself for even daring to speak them. “...now that summer’s actually over, and Dipper and I are supposed to be leaving in the morning, I’m not sure I even want to leave”

Her voice finally breaks, and she sniffles into his sweater. “Everyone’s always saying that the real world is so scary, and high school is the worst, and all these things about not knowing what you had until it’s gone, and...I don’t want it to be gone, Grunkle Ford, I love Gravity Falls. But I can’t just tell Dipper that, because then he’ll get all worried, and think that he did something wrong, because he’s already apologized for what he said when we were fighting a thousand times, and-”

Ford gently grips Mabel’s shoulders to cut her off, and pulls her away to make her look him in the eyes. “Mabel, are you going through all of this trouble because you’re worried you’re going to...miss Gravity Falls when you get home?”

“Not just the town!” Mabel exclaims, and rubs at her eyes with her wrist. “I’m gonna miss everything! I’m gonna miss the Shack, I’m gonna miss my friends, I’m gonna miss you and Stan,” she counts off on her fingers and sighs. “I miss everyone at home. I do. But now that I have so many friends here, I don’t want to feel like I’m leaving them behind”

There’s a brief pause, but before Ford can open his mouth to respond, Mabel goes on, murmuring so quietly it’s as if she doesn’t mean to speak out loud at all.

“Or...I don’t want to feel like they’re leaving me behind.”

...Oh.

The fear of being left behind.

Forgotten.

The fear of becoming….unlovable.

That….Ford knows better than anybody.

“Mabel, listen to me,” Ford gently tugs on her chin to force her to make eye contact with him. “Nobody in this town is ever going to forget you. It doesn’t matter if you’re gone for a year, or three, or ten, I can guarantee that the next time you step foot in this town everyone’s going to remember the name Mabel Pines”

“You...really think so?” she blushes.

“I know so,” he nods. “And it’s got nothing to do with Weirdmageddon, or saving the world, or any of that. It’s because you’re magnetic, Mabel. You’ve got a personality that everyone loves. I bet that pizza delivery man you became pen pals with is just sitting at home eagerly awaiting his first letter from you”

She giggles. “I don’t know about that…”

“Still,” Ford continues, “You’ve shown kindness to everyone, Mabel. People don’t forget kindness easily.” he gestures out towards the forest. “Gravity Falls may not be your home, but the people who lived here sure don’t seem to see it that way. You’re not just a tourist, or just some kid visiting her great uncle, you’re one of them.” he beams. “They’re lucky to have had you, Mabel, even just for the one summer”

Her eyes have pools of tears in them, but the beaming smile on her face outshines them. She hurls herself at him in a tight hug, burying her face deep into his sweater.

“I’m lucky to have you too, Grunkle Ford” she murmurs. “I love you”

I love you.

Ford hasn’t had those words spoken to him since he was a kid.

I love you.

It feels like he’s floating on air, and the most grounded he’s felt in decades. It’s freeing, and exhilarating, yet it’s comfortable, and warm. It’s unfamiliar, yet everything he ever lost.

The words ring in his ears and bounce around in his chest before they settle comfortably into the piece of his heart that had been broken for decades.

I love you.

Mabel Pines, after everything he’s put her through, loves him.

A sound escapes him that’s halfway between choking and sobbing. He pulls her even closer into his arms, and silently vows to never let the cruel world dig its pessimistic claws into her for as long as she lives.

“I love you too,” he manages to whisper, and gives her a smooch on the top of her head.

#my writing #gravity falls #ford and mabel bonding #sweater twins #ford pines #mabel pines

95 notes · View notes

hibiscusangel15 · 3 years

Text

Rumors

Day 22 Prompt: there’s been talk about us

Summary: Rumors chased after Ichigo and Rukia their entire lives. People liked to gossip about their appearances. About their statuses. It was always the trivial matters that rubbed others the wrong way.

And then came the rumors about the nature of their relationship. For Day 22 of @ichirukimonth 2021.

Rating: Gen/K

*Also crossposted to AO3 and FFN!

If you like my fic, please consider buying me a coffee!

We fear that which we cannot see.

“Hey, have you heard?”

“That Kurosaki kid—”

“Yes, that Kuchiki girl—”

“No way! A delinquent joining our class?”

“Of course that untalented recruit is a noble. It’s the Kuchiki influence. I thought so, too!”

Rumors chased after Ichigo and Rukia their entire lives. People liked to gossip about their appearances. About their statuses. It was always the trivial matters that rubbed others the wrong way.

And then came the rumors about the nature of their relationship. A bit surprising, to be sure, but not altogether unexpected, given how petty gossip hounds could be. Just another bored rumor passed along the mill that would eventually be forgotten and replaced with something new.

They both denied it as firmly as they could. It never satiated others’ nosy appetites for long.

All those rumors fell away when she was whisked back to Soul Society. They were the last thing on his mind when he and the others fought to rescue her. He’d forgotten about them completely until she and the other Shinigami showed up during the next semester, unannounced, and the rumors started up again.

It didn’t help that she was living with him now, either.

“What’s the deal with you and Rukia-chan anyway?” Isshin asked while helping his son with the dishes. The girls were having fun getting to know each other upstairs, so he figured he’d step in.

Ichigo threw him a peeved side-glance. “What do you mean? She already told you she has no money or relatives here to help her.”

“So you volunteered to take her in without a second thought, huh?”

“You expect me to let her fend for herself?” The defensive edge in his voice made Isshin pause.

He smiled as he took a dish from the rack to dry. “No, of course not. You’ve always been the type to stick your neck out for someone in need. Why do you think your mom and I named you Ichigo?”

Ichigo said nothing, just continued washing dishes. If one good thing could be said about his punk of a son, it was the fact that he never flaunted his inner strength.

“You’ve never really had many friends growing up. For the longest time, the only friend you had was Tatsuki-chan and then Chad. Everyone else was too scared to try and talk to you. So I’m glad you’re putting yourself out there this year and making a bunch of new friends, Ichigo.”

His son’s face softened.

“That being said, you never answered my question, my son.” Isshin’s eyes sparkled with a single-minded pursuit. “Could it be you don’t trust me enough to tell me the truth? Or is it that you're too shy?”

That all-too-familiar scowl returned to Ichigo’s face. “What the hell’re you talking about, Dad?”

“There you go, dodging the question again! I’m talking about Rukia-chan! Is she, y’know, your girlfriend?”

“My...girlfriend?” A dish slipped from Ichigo's grasp and shattered into pieces.

“Aw crap!” he swore, stooping to the floor. “Sorry, Dad!”

Before he could reach for the largest piece, Isshin gently pushed his son's hands away. “Let me handle this, Ichigo. I don’t want you hurting yourself. Go get the trash can.”

“Dad, it’s no trouble. I can get it.”

Isshin paused. “To be honest with you, son, my joints ain’t as spry as they used to be. I probably can’t get up right now even if I wanted to.”

“Oh, what? You’re such an old man,” Ichigo said as he pushed himself up.

At that moment, Isshin slipped a small pill into his mouth. Urahara’s gigai tech might have been impressive when he was first gifted the thing, but damn was it getting more and more unresponsive as he got older.

After Ichigo cleared the shards away, Isshin let his son finish washing the dishes. It was the easiest way to trap him there, at any rate.

“Anyway,” he began again, “what is Rukia-chan to you?”

His son hesitated, brown eyes darting around as if he could pull some bullshit excuse from the murky dishwater.

He covered it up with yet another scowl. “We’re just friends. Sorry to disappoint you and Yuzu.”

“Aw, c’mon, Ichigo! Your sister and I are just curious!”

“You guys are way too keen about my nonexistent love life. Why don’t you two get lives of your own?”

“You kids might not understand this since you’re so young, but when you become a parent, your life revolves around your kids! That means your life is my life, too!” Isshin clenched his fist. “So c’mon, Ichigo! Tell me everything! Don’t be shy!”

“I’m not being shy. Quit bugging me.”

“Oh?” Isshin’s eyes gleamed. “Only a truly shy man would be so cold! Come now, my son! Confess your deepest, darkest secrets to your father!”

As soon as he tried to embrace his son, all turned black as his face rammed right into Ichigo’s elbow.

* * *

The girls upstairs heard a loud crash and Ichigo’s infuriated cursing.

Karin frowned at the floor. “There they go again. God, it’s so exhausting living with them. Sorry, you’re just going to have to deal with them for the time being.”

Rukia slapped on an innocent smile. “Oh, I don’t mind! I think a lively household is kind of fun!”

Another crash thundered through the house as the two men continued brawling away. Karin sighed. “Fun, huh?”

“I just hope they remember to clean up after themselves! I’d hate to clean the kitchen again when I already did it last weekend!” Yuzu said.

Rukia had heard their muffled fighting before when she hid in Ichigo’s closet. To actually bear witness to the Kurosaki family’s antics was another matter entirely. Compared to the piercing silence of the Kuchiki household, this was a much more comforting change of pace.

“Now don’t take this the wrong way, Rukia-chan.” Yuzu fidgeted on her bed . “But…um….”

Karin tilted her head back with a loud sigh. “She wants to know if you and our stupid brother are dating.”

“Karin!” Yuzu shouted, scandalized.

“It’s what you wanted to ask her since she arrived, right?”

“Dating?” Rukia repeated. “No, we’re just friends!”

“Just friends, huh?” Karin muttered.

“Yes, of course.”

“So you say.”

“Karin!”

“I’m just saying it’d be way more interesting if all this was some elaborate ruse for Ichigo to introduce his girlfriend to the family is all.” She flopped back onto her bed, letting her legs swing freely over the edge.

“That certainly would be more interesting, I suppose,” Rukia conceded. “Unfortunately, that’s not true. No offense to your brother, but he’s too honest to think of doing something like that.”

The three paused when Ichigo’s booming sneeze echoed up to them from downstairs.

Karin smirked. “Friend, girlfriend. It’s all the same to me, I guess.” She pointed a finger at Rukia. “You and I might get along swimmingly once you drop that nice-girl act and be yourself, though.”

Rukia blinked. And here she thought her human girl schtick would work here, too.

The smile that crossed her lips was softer, more natural this time. “You and your brother have the same instincts, I see.”

“I’d say I’m better at reading people than he is. He’s a big dope.” Karin waved dismissively.

Yuzu’s warm smile grew. “Whether you’re just friends with Ichi-nii or something more, I’m still glad to have you in our home, Rukia-chan! It’s nice to have more girls in the house for once!”

Rukia dipped her head. “I’m grateful that you’re letting me stay here without questioning my motives. I hope I won’t be a burden to any of you.”

“If you can keep my brother and my dad in line, you’d be more of a help than a hindrance,” Karin said. “Anyway, Yuzu tends to snore and fuss in her sleep, so I hope you can deal with that, too.”

Yuzu flushed and threw a pillow at her sister’s bed. “Karin! I don’t snore!”

Siblings showed the oddest resemblances to one another from time to time. Karin's teasing grin was so much like her brother's that it made Rukia smile in return. Ichigo then barged into the room and plunked himself on the edge of her bed to hang out with them. They all talked about their day and mocked each other in that special way only siblings could. It was warm and exasperatedly caring.

All those silly rumors that once passed around Karakura High about her and Ichigo dating would definitely escalate if anyone saw her living with him. It didn’t matter to her either way.

For once, she'd found a place where she didn’t have to worry about being judged. Rukia could dare to be happy. She dared to relax and laugh along with them. The Kurosaki family treated her like she belonged, and that was enough.

* * *

“Wait, they live together? Are you sure?”

“Of course! Kojima-san went to their house the other day to bring Kurosaki all the homework he missed, and he told me that Kuchiki-san was the one who answered the door! And she took it from him on his behalf! Like she was his girlfriend or something!”

“No way someone as pretty as her would be shacking up with a guy like that, right?”

“I don’t know. You remember how she climbed in through the third-story window and kicked him in the face and smacked him around? If anything, I feel sorry for Kurosaki.”

Now those rumors couldn’t be helped either. Rukia needed somewhere to stay, and like a little pest, she wormed her way into Ichigo's home and his everyday life. And with his month-long Vizard training going on, he wasn’t exactly around to put a stop to them.

The rumors really started to get out of hand once Ichigo, his friends, and all those weird kids who joined in the middle of the semester disappeared at the same time. No one knew where they went, or if they were even alive.

Some theorized that they had all dropped out to form a street gang. Others proposed the idea that Kurosaki and Kuchiki-san had eloped and invited all their friends to the wedding. All of which were extremely ridiculous, but who was to prove them wrong? Certainly not the subjects of the rumors themselves.

Oddly enough, both Asano and Kojima were the first to dismiss any rumors they heard. They seemed less enthusiastic about it, like their friend’s love life was no longer a fun puzzle to work out. They hung a lot more around Arisawa, who was equally morose and exhausted with it all.

Of course, this only fueled the wild rumors further. Perhaps they were bummed out that they weren’t included in whatever escapades Kurosaki and his other friends got involved with.

Then Kurosaki returned. Without any of those weird friends of his. Without that odd Kuchiki girl by his side.

Kurosaki Ichigo became a recluse, even among those he once called friends.

Perhaps they’d broken up. Maybe she had to move away.

The mystique of their relationship died down pretty quickly after that.

It was not until May of their final year of high school did rumors about Kuchiki Rukia returning circulate around the school. Someone claimed to have seen her hanging around Karakura again. With how eagerly Kurosaki cancelled the rest of his sports team contracts to leave school earlier, it seemed more and more plausible.

Inoue Orihime’s own confirmation that the Kuchiki girl was indeed back only fueled the flames. Apparently, Kuchiki Rukia and all the new kids had to move far away all of a sudden. No, they weren’t all a weird family. No, she would not return to Karakura High.

As for the rumor covering Kuchiki Rukia and Kurosaki Ichigo’s relationship status, Inoue, Arisawa, and Kojima were all tight-lipped on the matter. Despite their best efforts, Asano Keigo was not all that great at keeping secrets, and it only took a bit of pressure for him to crack.

“No, they’re not dating! Can you believe that?” he’d screech at anyone who would listen. “I swear, I’ve tried so hard to hook them up, but nothing I do works! Tell me, what’s a guy gotta do to help his dumbass friend score, huh?”

* * *

Rukia was in the middle of writing up a report when Ichigo decided to show up for an impromptu visit. Admittedly, it was nice catching up with him, but it did wreck her entire work schedule for the day.

Well, perhaps wreck wasn’t the right word for it. She didn’t mind his company. She just normally finished up faster than this.

The odd look her brother threw her when she requested that they be left alone put her off. It did not help that she had flushed when Renji raised a tattooed eyebrow at her before he left, nor the fact that the servants hushed their giggles when Ichigo looked over his shoulder at them.

“Hey, is something going on around here?” he asked after catching the latest servant stifling a smile as she passed. “The servants have been whispering to each other all day.”

That’s because you decided to barge in so blatantly like you live here, you fool, she wanted to say.

Rukia shrugged affectedly. “People like to talk.”

About us, to be precise.

Ichigo scoffed. “People are always talking about me like I’m some kind of freak because of my hair. I’ve never cared all that much about gossip. It’s all bullshit anyway.”

She set her brush down on the inkstone. “I see. You too, huh?”

“Too?” he repeated, finally looking over at her.

“You heard Nii-sama explain why I was adopted into the Kuchiki clan, correct?” She took his silence as a yes. “The Kuchiki name is a prestigious one, but that notoriety does not come without its costs. The moment I was adopted, I was immediately placed in Squad Thirteen despite never having graduated from the Shinigami Academy. I was deemed a product of nepotism, and the other squad members hated me for it.”

Rukia shut her eyes. The memory of Kaien’s warmth flickered in the back of her mind. That would be a story for another day.

“It may seem ridiculous to you, how such a thing could hurt me.” Her smile did not reach her eyes.

He shook his head. “It’s not ridiculous, Rukia. What’s ridiculous is all the stuff people assumed about you. They don’t even know you.”

“No,” she said. “But even worthless rumors can start to take their toll once enough of them build up.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m gonna change that.”

Her smile fell. “How so?”

“We’re friends,” Ichigo said without any hesitation whatsoever. “So anyone who talks shit about you gets the business end of my sword.”

“A little extreme, don’t you think?”

Ichigo snorted but said nothing else.

To alleviate the tension brewing around him, she teased, “And what rumors about yourself have you heard lately? I’ve heard quite a lot. I’ve even been asked to confirm a few, on occasion.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Rukia turned the various rumors over in her mind, struggling to find the best way to spin it. A joke perhaps? Could he laugh off something like this?

No, Ichigo would probably get embarrassed and storm off to find the cretin who started these unsavory rumors in the first place. She would assume such talk was unbefitting of those who served in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, but apparently she was mistaken.

“Nothing much. Petty gossip.” She continued writing her report as if such matters didn’t concern her at all. “About you and I, mostly. What we are to each other.”

Ichigo scowled. “Not this again.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“It’s like people don’t have anything else to do with their lives. Stop trying to live vicariously through us already.”

Rukia paused. “Live vicariously?”

“Yeah, it’s like when people try to experience stuff through—”

“No, I know what it means. But what did you mean by that?”

The moment he met her eyes, she understood. There was a frantic, helpless gleam to them, but even so, he did not dare look away.

It was not a challenge, but more a question. It was a plea. His confession.

“Oh. I see.”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to…. I mean, it’s not…. This wasn’t the way that I wanted to….”

Ichigo put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. When he finally sat up straight again, he looked her right in the eye. “Rukia, do you want to go out with me?”

“Oh?” She leaned her head in a hand, the corner of her mouth tugging up. “Are you sure you want to prove those rumormongers right?”

He scowled. “This isn't about them! I told you, I don’t give a shit about what other people think. It wasn’t the rumors that made me like you.”

“What a bold thing to admit.” She covered her mouth in mock surprise.

“Ugh, shut up! It’s hard enough to say as it is.”

Rukia began to laugh. “You’re so strange, Ichigo. I like that about you, though.”

He tried and failed to hide how red his face had become. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not.” Her smile became more genuine then as she reached her hand out to his. “I am happy you asked. Although, I hope you know that it is uncouth of you to drop in on a woman unannounced. According to what I read about courting in the World of the Living, it is also customary to have a chaperone along with us on our dates.”

“Yeah, that’s been outdated for centuries now. What the hell kind of books are you even reading?” he scoffed.

“How rude! And here I was, excited to ask Nii-sama to accompany us for our first date!”

“What? Don’t bring Byakuya into this!”

Their silly bickering echoed all throughout the courtyard. Even still, they did not let go of the other's hand.

* * *

"Hey, have you heard?"

"That Substitute Shinigami and Lieutenant Kuchiki are dating?"

"Why is this news? Weren't they already a couple?"

"Ah, I see! So I was right all along."

Years and years of speculation, only to have the confession be far more mundane than they hoped.

The funny thing about rumors was, once they were confirmed, they lost their appeal extremely quickly.

Another rumor soon came to take its place.

"Kurosaki Ichigo is a noble? No way!"

"Sure, he looks a lot like Lieutenant Shiba, but isn't he just a human?"

"You sure he didn't just marry into the Kuchiki family?"

And so it goes. And so the rumors circled back once again.

If you can say that your heart doesn't change

Then that is strength.

No, nothing can change my world.

The only time a petty rumor is actually one hundred percent true lol. But I mean, it's not hard to disprove with the way they're always looking at each other.

I suppose this fic can kind of fit in the same AU as Home and Clearing Away the Rain. Maybe consider it a prequel of sorts, if you like!

Thanks for reading! Until next time!

#IRMonth2021 #Day 22: there's been talk about us #Ichiruki #OTP: Black Sun and White Moon #Kurosaki Ichigo #Kuchiki Rukia #Kurosaki Isshin #Kurosaki Karin #Kurosaki Yuzu #Bleach #my fanfiction

51 notes · View notes