15 Works by oncegcd
Listing Works
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She wants to say something, anything, but words are lost on her. She knows what she needs: him, his apartment, his hands on her shoulders holding her down. But she doesn’t say any of those things, because what is the protocol for asking her boss if she can come over to his apartment at two in the morning in her pyjamas and crash on his couch? What is the protocol for telling him that she needs to be able to hear him breathing through the crack of his bedroom door as a reminder of his existence?
Donna holds it together after Rosslyn for Josh's sake. But everybody has a breaking point.
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“Donna,” Josh said, standing there strangely with his arms hanging at his sides like a limp sort of mannequin.
“Josh,” she grumbled. “I think I caught the black plague.”
“Um, Donna,” he said stiltedly, and cleared his throat. “Uh. You’re. You’re in your underwear."
Suddenly, Donna felt very, very awake.
In which a pigeon invades Josh's office, Donna is lovesick, and CJ has the strangest phone call of her life.
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Mulder and Scully are called out to Sugar Hollow, Alabama, in the wake of the disappearances of three girls.
The people are strange and uncanny. The humid heat never seems to let up. The Sheriff thinks that they're married.
He wants a store that stocks sunflower seeds. She wants looser clothes that won't stick to her sweat. They both want a proper motel room with two beds.
It'll be a miracle if their professional relationship makes it out alive.
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you've turned me upside down (that's okay, i'll let it happen) by oncegcd
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
07 Jan 2026
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"You say that no matter what you will always be my friend. And that’s nice of you, Mike, really, and I know that you mean it, I do,” he says, and he’s on the brink of rambling and Mike’s staring at his lips trying to keep up with his frantic words, “But would you still mean it if I said that you were my Tammy?”
Mike goes to open his mouth, not really sure what he’s going to say, but then-
“And I know you don’t know what that means, it’s just something that Robin said, but I- Mike, when I was talking about having this crush on someone-”
“How did you work out that your crush wasn’t like you?” Mike interjects, and Will’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. “How can you be sure?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking, but he is, and suddenly he needs to know like he needs oxygen and coffee and hot water for his showers.
Will rubs awkwardly at his neck, adjusting his head a little. When he does, the golden rays of the setting sun somehow align perfectly with his face, and his eyes are suddenly flecked with speckles of brilliant amber. They’re like pools, pools of light. Mike thinks that-
Oh.
Mike Wheeler realises. But nothing good is ever easy.
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Mike Wheeler has never had an eye for colour. His mismatched socks and striped shirts tell a story of chaos, not order; a fast, frantic, impulse-driven livelihood. A world never stopping to be watched, to be observed, to be noted. He doesn’t think about the things that he sees: the green of the grass or the pale, washed out beige of the carpet in his mother’s living room. He doesn’t care for the shades of the blossoms that bloom every time winter lurches into spring, doesn’t make time to observe the watercolour shades of his sister’s eyes or the chocolate of his mother’s hair. But if anyone were to ask, he’d say that his favourite colours are yellow and blue.
OR
A Byler Hunger Games AU
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Joyce steadies herself, and takes a breath. “Jim,” she trembles, squeezing her eyes shut. “I need your help.”
The scraping of a chair against floorboards. The shuffling of feet. The jostling of keys.
“Joyce?” His voice is low, concerned. She hears his office door swing open. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I did something, Jim,” she whimpers, bringing the receiver closer to her mouth. “Something bad.”
Or, Joyce kills Lonnie and Hopper isn't about to let her go down for it.
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She’s fine, really: she’s always been good at compartmentalising and stuffing it down, always been good at hiding it behind a smooth braid and a uniform smile. She’s fine, really: there’s no reason for her to get upset, because it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything and she’s being silly, because the woman in front of her dead in a hospital bed is not her mother, she knows she’s being silly, and-
OR
Melissa King has a bad day. Frank Langdon is there to make it better.
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the stars, the moon, they have all been blown out (cosmic love) by oncegcd
Fandoms: Yellowjackets (TV)
28 Jul 2025
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When Jackie went, Shauna felt herself go with her.
Part of her detached. Those little weavings of Jackie, stitched into her brain from childhood, started to unthread. They ripped from her, leaving a thoughtless hole where Jackie should be. She was always there. Holding her together. Threading the unsteady parts of her heart into one, steady, pulse, a pulse that beat faster when Jackie looked at her, when Jackie touched her.
Or, Shauna reflects on the love and loss of her best friend.
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i owe you a black eye and two kisses (crush) by oncegcd
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
28 Jul 2025
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Jim Hopper thinks he rather likes Joyce Maldonado.
He likes the way her dark hair falls around her shoulders in frizzy ringlets and the colour of the lipstick she wears. He likes how her big brown bambi eyes shine like gold under sunbeams and the artistic gullies of her cheekbones. He likes her cheap cherry perfume that fills the whole classroom in sixth period chemistry classes on Fridays and the way she scuffs her big boots against the floor when she walks.
But most of all, he likes the way she laughs.
She laughs heartily with a crooked smile and scrunched eyes. It’s messy and it’s not pretty and poised like the other girls with coiffed hair and shiny pink skirts, but it's wholly hypnotising and wholly hers. He likes it so much that he sometimes thinks he loves it.
Or, five times Jim Hopper wants to kiss Joyce Byers, and one time he actually does.
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if you never shoot, you'll never know (robbers) by oncegcd
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
28 Jul 2025
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Joyce Maldonado has a face straight out of a magazine.
That’s what he thinks, when he first sees her.
Something pretty. Something striking. Something bewitching.
Or, Joyce and Hopper's first meeting.
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Blue. Blue. Blue. Twist. Blue. Blue. Orange. Black.
His eyes. Blue on brown. A promise. A loss.
A foggy three months of vomiting until her throat is raw and her face is permanently blanched. Boxes and removal trucks. A goodbye with no one to leave behind. Not anymore.
And it’s her fault.
Her fault.
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In the hours after Bob’s death, he doesn’t know what to say.
The quiet moment in her bedroom has passed. The house is still in ruins and it feels smaller than ever, glass scattered across the floor and the fridge fit to burst open. He hasn’t moved since he brought the kid back from the lab, hasn’t moved since he tucked her into bed with Will, hasn’t moved since she started moving.
He’s been sitting in the stiff armchair for so long that it aches, his hands absentmindedly fiddling with his hat in his lap as he watches her pace. She’s been at it for nearly two hours now, her feet pattering against the floorboards eliciting the occasional sharp creak. To the unknowing eye, she’d be making herself busy with house chores, making herself busy with something: but he’s not the unknowing eye. He knows her too well like he knows the lines of his palm.
Or, Joyce and Hopper dealing with the aftermath of Bob's death in their own complicated way.
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if it feels good, then it can't be bad (gibson girl) by oncegcd
Fandoms: Yellowjackets (TV)
03 Apr 2025
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January is frigid. January is cruel.
January takes Javi from them.
In January, she forgets she exists.
In January, they fuck.
Desperately. Frequently. Like rabid animals. So rough that it makes her cry.
In the day they dance around each other in a convoluted orbit. Brushing past each other in the hallway, nudging elbows over the fire, catching blazing glances across the room. Not talking, not verbally acknowledging the others presence, just quietly seeking contact. As if they aren’t desperate for the other’s touch.
In the night, they fall, colliding together, slipping into bed. They hover, his brown eyes on her hazels, flitting inches apart, grinding jaws and tracing fingers across trembling skin. His hands draw over her waist, and she lets them, inching lower and lower until her body is arching and needy gasps are tumbling from her mouth. It’s gentle and tender, until it isn’t; until the fizzing tension pops and his mouth is suddenly against hers, biting at her lips until they’re kiss dark and swollen.
Or, Natalie and Travis find a way to make it through the bitter winter.
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a little girl who needs her daddy real bad (hard times) by oncegcd
Fandoms: Yellowjackets (TV)
30 Mar 2025
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Travis nods encouragingly. Nat continues. “I…I hated him, Travis. I really, really, fucking did.” She breaks away from his eyes and starts to pick at her nails instead. They’re already pulled raw and red from her attacks. “I used to go to bed at night, and I…I used to fucking hope, I’d fucking wish, that something would- I don’t know- happen to him, I guess. Sometimes…” Tears squeeze from her waterline. She digs into her skin until blood bubbles up like a spring. “Sometimes I wished that he’d die. And then...then he did.”
She holds her breath, expecting him to shout or reprimand her or spit at her. Expects him to be repulsed, to tell her that she’s horrible, psychotic. She waits and waits and waits. But nothing ever comes. When she dares to look back up, he’s still staring at her, motionless. Just watching.
Or, Nat and Travis discuss their fathers in the aftermath of Coach Ben's trial.
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Before, he thought nothing of the way the car window fogged up as she slept against it. But it’s not the same now. He has to check- checks constantly, relentlessly, glancing across to see if the dampness still blossoms across the glass. He lives in a state of ceaseless terror that it’s not going to be there, because then she’ll be gone forever and ever and ever.
So now, as he looks across and sees it, he revels in it. It’s almost proof of her existence- her silent way of telling the world that I’m here, I’m still here, I’m making a mark on this window pane and this will not beat me.
Or, Mulder reflects on Scully's mortality as her health declines from her cancer.