#i dunno how to tag this for muting without putting it in general tags... sorry

[flightofthefaeriedragon]

[Edit: Just remembered I can use a read more thingie. Content warning for toxic family relationships]

Wondering at what point I should just block my mother's number.

She's always been judgmental and manipulative, and she's gotten so toxic over the years that I avoid contact with her b/c it never goes well... And now she's accusing me of being "emotionally abusive" by not talking to her, because I didn't respond in a timely manner to her latest text. I don't even respond to my friends that fast.

I dunno, mom, if you genuinely think I'm abusive, you should probably stop trying to force me into your life. Self care and all that.

[skimmonsie-blog]

three little words | skimmons

READ ON AO3

Chapter 1: if you show up at my door

Words: 1047

Rating: Teen

Type: Oneshot

Fic Tags: Crushes, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, College AU

Pairing: Skimmons/BioQuake/Daisy x Jemma

Fandom: Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

The last thing Daisy expected on a Wednesday night was for Jemma Simmons to show up at her door, wasted and missing her tie.

Daisy notices that first. Jemma always wears a tie, had one on this afternoon when they were in class together. A cute plaid design that went with her raspberry-colored sweater. And now it’s inexplicably gone.

Daisy is so surprised to see her, looking nauseous and dazed, that she simply stands in the doorway of her dorm room, eyebrows raised, mouth open, for a good long minute. “Uhhh,” the taller brunette eventually says, observing the rest of Jemma’s attire. She’s still wearing pants, Daisy notes. “What happened to you, Hermione?”

Despite her clearly intoxicated state, Jemma groans at the nickname. “Shut up. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Daisy doesn’t hesitate. She steps aside, allowing the scientist to enter. Jemma stumbles to Daisy’s desk chair as Daisy closes the door, giving them privacy. She folds her arms and stands in front of Jemma, eyeing her critically. “Are you drunk?”

“Drunk I’m not,” Jemma slurs, elbows on her knees, face in her hands. “Bit queasy, that’s all.”

“Right,” Daisy responds bluntly, moving to grab the wastebin by her desk. She places it near Jemma, just in case.

“I feel terrible,” Jemma whines a moment later, grabbing the can and hoisting it onto her lap. Daisy has to suppress a laugh since it looks rather funny, this tiny, generally orthodox girl clutching a garbage can for dear life.

“How much did you have to drink?” Daisy sighs, reaching out to brush Jemma’s hair off her clammy face.

“Dunno,” Jemma mutters, shrugging. “Two, three…maybe five.” She hiccups. “No, four an’ a half.”

“Christ, Simmons.” Daisy pinches the bridge of her nose. “Honey, why on earth were you drinking? It’s not even Friday.”

Jemma’s face crumples and Daisy regrets how harsh that sounded. Apparently Jemma is a sensitive drunk. “Daisy, I have so much fucking work to do,” she tells her hoarsely, and Daisy actually jumps, taken aback. “I needed a break, okay? I have too much on my plate an’ it was making me anxious so I went an’ had a few beers.”

“Why didn’t you text me?” Daisy murmurs, a tad miffed. “We could’ve been drinking buddies. Keep each other in check.”

Jemma gives her the nastiest look. She puts both her palms up apologetically.

Jemma falls silent after that, focused on not throwing up even though Daisy wouldn’t really mind. Daisy sighs and runs her fingers through her hair, suddenly realizing how tired she is. It’s quarter to eleven and she usually tries to be in bed by now, but her own homework kept her up late. Today, she’s sort of glad it did.

Once another wave of nausea passes, Jemma sets the wastebin back down and fixes Daisy with a morose look. “I’m sorry,” says the smaller woman, fiddling with her hands in her lap. “I hope I didn’t ruin your evening.”

Daisy smiles softly and shakes her head, gesturing to the amount of work she has left. “Nothing much to ruin.”

Jemma gazes at her desktop like she’s seeing it for the first time. “Ugh,” is all she has to say.

She’s definitely drunk, Daisy thinks affectionately. Sober Jemma would be all over this. “Um, hey,” she says out loud, grabbing Jemma’s attention again. “Why don’t you, uh…stay here for a bit,” she suggests, hoping Jemma can’t detect her reddening cheeks. “You rest while I finish my essay. I can take you back to your dorm later when I’m done.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,” Jemma quickly objects, waving a hand dismissively and trying to stand to prove her point. But she wobbles and Daisy hurries to catch her before the poor girl faceplants onto the carpet.

“I gotcha,” Daisy assures her, and Jemma unintentionally leans her head on Daisy’s chest. There’s a brief moment where they freeze like that, Daisy’s arms curled borderline protectively around Jemma’s torso, Jemma holding on weakly to Daisy’s shoulders. Daisy’s heart does a funny little skippy thing and Jemma is overwhelmed by the familiar scent clinging to Daisy’s fluffy sweater.

So, maybe there’s something they need to discuss. Not right now, though. Now definitely isn’t the right time.

I really wish I was drunk, too, Daisy thinks vaguely as she snaps back to herself then returns Jemma to the chair, face even pinker.

Jemma’s eyes are glassy and she looks sad. Daisy tries not to think too hard about that.

“Yeah, uh—you’re staying here,” Daisy affirms, squeezing Jemma’s shoulders.

Jemma nods mutely, not up for arguing. She just wants Daisy to hold her again. How does she ask without it sounding desperate?

There’s an awkward silence that doubles into a tense pause that makes Daisy herself feel sick. “Um,” she says, just to fill the silence with something. “You, uh…you need anything? Water? Tylenol?”

Jemma scoffs. “I can’t mix alcohol and Tylenol, silly,” she criticizes. “Water would be nice, though. Please.”

Daisy hurries to the bathroom to pour Jemma a cup, and Jemma thanks her softly when she takes it from her hands. Their fingers touch and Daisy gets that fluttery sensation in her chest again. Knock it off, she scolds herself.

Jemma downs the water in one big gulp. A rookie mistake. She retches into the basket not ten seconds later.

Daisy holds her hair back and pats her shoulder, knowing exactly how she’s feeling.

Once Jemma gets it all out of her system, she apologizes tearfully to Daisy—again—but Daisy shushes her gently, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Don’t be sorry,” she whispers. “It’s alright. Been there, done that.”

Jemma laughs croakily. The sound is adorable. Daisy’s heart melts.

Daisy helps Jemma wash up and lets her borrow a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Daisy changes the garbage bag and places the can next to her bed, where Jemma is now curled up, already half-asleep.

Jemma drifts off while Daisy resumes her studies, but Daisy keeps looking over at Jemma, to either check on or admire her, Daisy can’t decide; all she knows is that tonight of all nights awoke something inside her she had no idea was there.

Hopefully, maybe, Jemma got that feeling, too.