#trigger warning: SA mentioned in tags

[safetypin-louis]

a hill i will DIE on is that all books should have content warnings right before the dedication. this is not to say that books should be gate-kept from younger audiences or anything like that, it’s mostly because i’ve read some really uncomfortable things in books that i would liked to have been aware of before going into the books, so i could make an educated decision about whether reading the book was the right thing for me.

[notdeezy]

Kill my brain, yet you still remain

What if the robot is still stained from their traumatic past from when they were human and has ptsd nightmares? What then?

WARNING: This fic explores topics of past sexual assault. While it's done via allegories it's still very heavy.

Please click away if you're sensitive to topics discussing sexual assault and aren't in the right headspace to read this. Keep yourself safe.

Read it here

[gladosluver]

i think about that scene with mikan and ryota in the despair arc way too much and scream about it.

/ mentions of s/a & attempted rap3

it's so sad to see him be brave and step up to help kyoko because she was in the same position he was when mikan assaulted him. + the fact he doesn't usually try to stand up for himself until later episodes, and sticks to defending others instead

maybe im digging too far into this, but the way this is a reoccuring thing in the series (appearing twice in dr3 future/the comic anthology) is a bit disturbing. it seems that whenever mitarai is brought up, something about s/a is sure to follow, like his trauma is being downplayed for the sake of some joke/bit.

i cant help but think the two references in the future arc were written in just to be funny. like "haha, stupid mitarai, thats not sexual harassment!!" this is further influenced by how the other characters react, brushing it off and moving on (as well as kizakura, quite literally, defending himself in anime terms)

i dont want to get too deep into dark stuff here, so if i continue this it'll be via a reblog from my other account that i've kept secret until right now

[reigen-small-naturals]

okay i am knees deep in the UK law and i just want to vent all my findings please lawyers and data analysts correct me if i am wrong about anything.

huge trigger warnings for transphobia, rape, prisons, UK law fuckery. it's a post from somebody who isn't qualified to talk about law and statistics around rape, correcting somebody who is also super unqualified to do it. reblog with caution, or better just steal my ideas and improve them in your own posts.

so i saw this data viz under JKR's tweet

first thing that caught my attention is WOW that's an awful viz???? sample size of trans women is so much smaller than cis ppl like you can't just make this visual of 1177 per million trans women rapists out of 56 bcs there are just no million trans women in the UK????

but okay let's start with the elephant in the room: this viz is mostly to show that trans women rape much more often than cis women and trans men. so it turns out that UK law only recognizes rape done by somebody with a penis (https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/2003/42/section/1/2009-11-12). therefore obviously the percentage of convicted of rape trans women will be much higher than of cis women.

now to the fact that trans women rape more often than cis men. i am less sure about this part, bcs it all generally deals with sampling issues, so please please please fact check me here. i went to read the article this picture is from (https://scientificparentofatranskid.substack.com/p/fact-check-rates-of-sexual-offending). they get 1177 per million sex offenders if they look at a proportion of sex offenders (56) to all trans women in the UK (47k). however, when they look at a proportion of sex offenders to all AMAB transgender individuals in the UK (120k), they get numbers that are very close to what they have with cis men.

then they later conclude that 1177 per million stat is more accurate, because the gov official replied to them that all of these 5 offenders identify as trans women only, but then also they say that non-binary AMAB individuals don't commit rape, which is... weird? i think it makes more sense that the percentage would be more or less equal between all genders (obviously, we still have to deal with the fact, that in UK only people with penis can rape, but you know what i mean)? like i guess it's harder to identify as non-binary in prison, which gives you only two options of where to be incarcerated.

BUT 'the numbers just line up better that way' is a biased reasoning. there could be many more reasons, why percentage-wise the number is much higher. an example that comes to mind is the fact that more black people are incarcerated in the US. we would make a mistake to assume that it's because they are more dangerous than white people. and, once again, oh boy these sample sizes.

i want to end this post with another mention of the fact that this topic is extremely complicated, rape is extremely under reported, it's even worse when we are talking about rape in queer relationships and when rape is done by a cis woman, which isn't a thing in UK's legal system apparently. it must be repeated, because JKR and her supporters talk about these issues very carelessly. they don't talk about prison rape, they don't talk about prison rape done by officers, both of which are very common. they are not careful with their findings, with statistics, with sample sizes.

[morangoowada]

What is akane's class and race (in your dnd au) and what's she like in general? Like her personality and stuff

Akane yay, I made her out to be some kind of minotaur, that's why she has A LOT of fur on her design (I only posted a small part of her design but still the fur on her body is very visible) and for the class part she is a pugilist just like Mondo

For her character, she is still quite the same because I really do like her, she is still the same hot headed woman that thinks she needs to be strong in other to survive, but I did change some things about her that I didn't really like... For example how sexualized she is... Uhhh I immediately changed that about her and other characters. But that doesn't mean I took away her backstory, not at all, she is still a victim obviously and that's one of the reasons for the changes I made

[sketchyface]

Angels trauma does not excuse his sexual harassment and it should be called out, but it EXPLAINS his behaviour and he’s trying to be better. It doesn’t mean it’s okay for him to sexually harass someone, it means he has to put in the effort to stop (and that effort sometimes requires help, but it’s still his choice)

You can hate his character with every fibre of your being, I don’t care. I just don’t want people using their hatred for his character as an excuse to demonise non-perfect SA victims

Sorry if this isn’t making any sense. Saw a post and it fucked with me, needed to post this before going to sleep. Don’t ask me about my sa

[residences-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Residences: Whimbrelshade & Sunnyshiver

Whimbrelshade

Aliases / Nicknames: Sick Kit, Kin Traitor

Gender: male

Sexuality: homosexual

Family: Birchkite (mother), Meadowpatch (father), Sunnyshiver (sister), Dewpaw, Roseshade, Grebekit, Shiverkit (nieces), Owlkit, Patchkit, Ashenface, Fishkit (nephews), Owlfeather (grandfather), Greentuft (great-grandfather), various other relations

Other Relations: Wettuft (mentor)

Clan: RiverClan

Rank: elder

Characteristics: hates his family, enjoys dirty jokes but won’t admit it, blind and has chronic immune problems

Murder Motive: wants to protect his sister

Number of Victims: 2

Number of Murders: 2

Murder Method: snapping neck

Known Victims: Greentuft, Owlfeather

Victim Profile: his sister’s ‘mates’

Cause of Death: killed by Sunnyshiver

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

His heritage left even the most seasoned medicine cats befuddled.

It was enough to make his head spin even without Sunnyshiver’s involvement.

But involved she made herself, soon birthing a litter of three stillborn kits.

She cried over them constantly, refusing to move their rotting little bodies from the nursery even under the gossip of the other queens.

When he asked her who the father of her kits was, she refused to say, citing that there were many possible fathers in the Clan.

But, a quick check with the long-suffering medicine cat confirmed his suspicions.

The three dead kits were the spitting image of Greentuft. A tom that he and Sunnyshiver could trace their lineage back to with ease.

He confronted Greentuft that day.

The old tom claimed he had mistaken Sunnyshiver for his long-dead mate, but Whimbrelshade knew better.

He knew that the old tom wasn’t dumb, nor blind.

One argument later, and Greentuft was dead.

It wasn’t the first time that he had killed one of his kin.

But it would be the last.

Sunnyshiver

Aliases / Nicknames: Sunny, moron

Gender: female

Sexuality: straight (unfortunately)

Family: Birchkite (mother), Meadowpatch (father), Whimbrelshade (brother), Greentuft (mate/ great grandfather), Dewpaw, Roseshade, Grebekit, Shiverkit (daughters), Owlkit, Patchkit, Ashenface, Fishkit (sons), Tadpolekit (granddaughter), Webkit, Toadkit, Frogtoe (grandsons), Owlfeather (ex-mate/grandfather), various other relations

Other Relations: Hopstone (mentor)

Clan: RiverClan

Rank: queen

Characteristics: forgetful, very defensive of her ‘mates’ and kits, cannot understand why Whimbrelshade keeps getting angry

Murder Motive: defending her 'mate'

Number of Victims: 1

Number of Murders: 1

Murder Method: drowning

Known Victims: Whimbrelshade

Victim Profile: her ‘overprotective’ brother

Cause of Death: drowned

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

See Whimbrelshade

Additional Information:

--Submission by @ambitiousauthor

--Ew. Whimbrel had the right idea.

[justasadboi]

So like my mom told me today that my grandma called her and told her my uncle is currently oding on fent and it’s happened earlier this week too. And like she’s bipolar type 2 I think it is with like psychosis and because of their situation she hasn’t been taking her meds so she’s like super paranoid doesn’t want to call the cops but doesn’t want him to die and like all this shit. And I have to like be there for my mom and kinda help her thru it even tho I’m like the youngest and this totally isn’t my fucking job but whatever. But like I also don’t know how I’m supposed to like help her thru this but also like that my abuser and idk how to feel about this. Like I’ve wished death on him so much but then when I hear it actually is happening idk what to do with myself. Like I’m stress cleaning and shit and I don’t even know. I have convinced myself so much that it is true and on other days it isn’t true and I don’t think I’ll ever actually know cause all memory of when he lived with us is like gone from my brain and no matter how hard I try I can’t remember. Like I feel pulled in so many different directions with this. And my mom like called her later and made sure everything was okay but like wtf dude I didn’t need to know this. I can’t handle knowing this. And knowing that like eventually I’ll have to fly home alone to deal with all this. And I almost know for a fact that my sister won’t and I’ll be like alone with that is crazy. Idk what to do about this and I told my partner and his response was kinda just like idk what you want to hear I don’t know how to help and to tell his mom which I did but then we just kinda breezed past it and idk. Like no one really knows the truth and no one will and I can’t handle this rn with like literally everything else. I just want to go home but home isn’t home and I feel trapped and not okay.

[lilachannie]

'Selfship proshipper' But it's just me having rape fantasies about my fav adult characters

[shyfrog-says]

Hey, idk who needs to hear this, but life is uncomfortable and triggering. Do what you can to make it less so, but do not deem a stranger evil or despicable for not catering specifically to your desires, which are unknown to them.

Learn the difference between discomfort and offense. It is your job to manage whatever comfort you can find for yourself. Do not assume it is everyone else's responsibility to do it for you.

There are cases where it is common decency to accommodate others, such as warning someone before they show certain themes and visuals that people can theoretically go their entire lives without seeing first-hand (gore, body horror, sexual assault, slavery), or visuals and effects that are known to cause harm to a fairly large group of people (flashing lights, loud noises).

But if you have a trigger that is not just uncommon but also very commonly not a trigger for most other people, that is something that you need to accommodate for yourself.

The former is offense, and the latter is discomfort.

If food is a trigger for you, if water is a trigger for you, if sickness is a trigger for you, if social interaction is a trigger for you, if animals are a trigger for you - make the changes you need to make for yourself, which could include going to see a therapist.

((There are even cases where I've seen people try to use "having a trigger" as an excuse to be offensive themselves, or even just flat out cruel, like requesting that certain gender identities or sexual orientations or religions (not "discussion of religious trauma or negative experiences," just the religion) or cultures have trigger warnings before them.))

Think of it like an allergy.

If someone offers you food free of charge, and it has something you're allergic to in it, what do you do? Do you berate them and accuse them of trying to poison you? Or do you politely decline and go on with your day? Hopefully the latter, right?

Or what if it's cedar season and you have a cedar allergy? I mean, yeah, it's annoying, but you can live with it, and if it's extreme enough, you might take some medicine, or stay inside, or go somewhere else.

And just like with the more extreme triggers, there are extreme allergies that are and should be commonly accommodated for, like when schools have nut-free tables in their cafeterias and planes stopped serving peanuts and switched to other snacks.

But if everyone accommodated everyone all the time, life would be unliveable.

So know when it's better to just let yourself be uncomfortable. And if you don't know, then learn.

[pedrospatch]

a safe haven l nine

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

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

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

word count: 11.8k

October, 2024

It’s the middle of October.

By now, the pain had become almost unbearable. Time certainly wasn’t healing the wound. 

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

So, so much fucking worse. 

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

Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Pretend you don’t feel empty.

Pretend you don’t need him.

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

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

“Be honest with me—what does this look like?”

You pause your knitting and glance over at Maria.

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

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

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

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

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

You flash her a small, but reassuring smile.

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

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

Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She slowly exhales the breath she’d been holding.

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shaking your head, you politely decline the offer.

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

“What ‘bout Luke?”

“He doesn’t either.”

“But—”

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

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

You silently mull over the offer for a second.

“If I accept the invitation, then will you two knock it off with all this damn trade nonsense?” When he eagerly nods, you sigh. “Alright then, I accept. We’ll come over for dinner tonight. Granted he doesn’t come home late from the clinic again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tommy pokes his head into the bathroom.

“She okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was recent.”

“How recent?”

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

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

The last time you had your period was in August.

August. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t have children. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your blood runs cold in your veins.

You’re pregnant. 

Luke hasn’t touched you in months.

And you’re pregnant. 

Luke hasn’t touched you in months. 

And you are fucking pregnant. 

Maria knocks lightly on the bathroom door.

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

She waits, only to be met with complete silence.

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s not answering me.”

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

Hesitantly, Maria bites down on her bottom lip.

“What? What is it?”

“I gave her a pregnancy test to take.”

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

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

“The door locked?”

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

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

Silence. 

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

Nothing. 

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

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

Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

You can’t speak. You can’t move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they’re certainly not tears of happiness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or else he was going to fucking kill you.

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

Yet another sob escapes you and his fingers curl tighter around your wrist, firmly, but he’s careful not to be too harsh.

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

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

You have to tell them. 

Swallowing harshly, you admit, “There is.”

The couple waits expectantly.

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

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

“The baby isn’t Luke’s!” You cry out, yanking your wrist out of Tommy’s hand. “This baby isn’t his and that’s why he can’t fucking know!”

And just like that, the truth comes tumbling out.

Luke’s violence towards you.

Your romantic affair with Joel.

Ellie discovering the abuse and telling him about it.

Your stubborn refusal to let either of them do anything to help you.

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

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

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

His voice is soft, and so is his gaze.

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

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

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

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

Anxiously, you start wringing your hands in your lap.

“Tommy, I can’t. Please, don’t—”

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

You wipe at your swollen eyes with your forearm.

“What are you talking about, Tommy?”

He sighs again.

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

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

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

Victim. 

The word makes you cringe.

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

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

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

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

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

“To confront that pathetic son of a bitch—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow harshly and a chill runs up your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I can—”

He cuts you off with a pleading look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He immediately shot you an apologetic look.

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

Heat flooded your face and neck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of that evening passes by in a blur.

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

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

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

You don’t remember cooking dinner.

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

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

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

“You’re still up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted you to figure it out.

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

“Yes. I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, you can’t let him do this to you.

You can’t let him touch you.

He pushes your hand lower, right over his bulge.

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

He draws closer and closer. Much too close.

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

Closer, until his chest brushes against yours.

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

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

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

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

Luke reaches down and unbuckles his belt.

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

“I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right ‘bout what?”

“‘Bout Luke.”

Joel freezes in the seat of his saddle.

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

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

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

Joel’s mind begins to race.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel stares at him, his lips parting slightly.

How did he fucking know about that? 

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

“She did?”

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

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

Tommy shakes his head.

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

“She wants you to let him stay?”

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

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

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

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

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

But Tommy? His priority is Maria and their unborn child.

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

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

He stops abruptly, red splotching his cheeks.

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

“Before you knew she was what, Tommy?”

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

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

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

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

“Then what?”

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

That had been a lot easier said than done.

Joel needed to talk to you.

He needed to fucking see you. 

But his brother had been adamant.

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

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

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

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

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

He just fucking knows it.

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

“Ellie?” He calls out.

Her voice comes from the hallway. “Yeah?”

“C’mere, kiddo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She ain’t fuckin’ sick, Ellie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go away!”

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

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

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

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

He hears the lock click almost instantly.

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

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

“Move, Joel!”

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

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

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

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

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

Maria gasps into her hands. “God.” 

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

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

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

“What the hell is going on in here?”

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

No one has the chance to speak.

No one has the chance to think.

No one even has the chance to breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He isn’t going to let him live.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t fuckin’ care—”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you cold?” Ellie asks, worriedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little?” she scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He still doesn’t answer her question.

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

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

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

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

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

Nervously, you stand up, your knees wobbling.

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

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

No, because of you. And now this?

Somehow, you muster up enough courage to speak.

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

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

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

“How long have you known?”

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

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

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

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

Joel’s harsh expression suddenly softens.

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

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

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

“Then what happened?”

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

Luke had done pretty horrific things to you before, but this? 

This had been the worst of them. He almost killed you.

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

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

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

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

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

You almost smile.

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

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

“Joel—”

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

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

Now it's his turn to be taken aback.

“Y’thought I wouldn’t want it?”

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

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

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

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

Burying your face into his neck, you breathe him in. “I am now that I’m with you,” you confess as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tighter than he ever has before.

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

[ceilidho]

This is in no way of hating but i want to know why do you enjoy writing noncon/rape? When I first downloaded tumblr which was couple of months ago i was surprised by the amount of noncon fics here. I eventually came to enjoy them which makes me question myself. Whenever i read a noncon fic and enjoy it i feel like im betraying women who actually went through those traumatic events. Plus I actually don't really like dark romance books? I love cod dead dove and that is mainly because i really love the characters and the authors are so talented. I rambled so much and i hope you don't get this in the wrong way i don't mean to hate AT ALL i love the stuff you write. Maybe i shouldn't think too much and let myself enjoy what im reading lol

first of all, no worries! i wasn't sure about your tone/intentions at first, but by the end i was totally fine with the question.

i actually don't mind talking about this stuff - i just sometimes avoid it on main because i prefer chatting about it privately.

second, i'm no psychologist or sociologist, so i probably won't be able to give you the most satisfactory answer, but i think there are a lot of different reasons. i can only name a few. one thing i should mention right off the bat is that rape fantasies are very normal (and this is true whether you're a survivor of SA or not) and writing/reading fiction can be a safe way to process those thoughts/feelings.

one of prevailing reasons is, of course, that many survivors of SA use noncon/dubcon literature/art as a way of processing their experiences and taking ownership of their trauma.

and look, people are going to go back and forth on this point (i've seen it all before - many people refuse to believe that engaging with noncon lit/art is helpful, and in fairness, it's NOT helpful for everyone because every person is different), but at the end of the day, if a survivor tells you "writing/reading this was helpful in my recovery" then that's that!

additionally, for many women and non-binary folk (i can only speak as a cis woman, but i'm sure this is a shared lived experience across many different people), we're also taught from a very young age to suppress our sexual desires / that being open about our sexuality is morally reprehensible and shameful. and a lot of people carry that shame for years, impacting them well into adulthood. so dubcon/noncon fantasies can be a way of being able to enjoy sexual scenarios where you don't have to be the initiator, thus taking away some of the emotional weight and shame.

plus, at the end of the day (and im sure many people will disagree with this take, it's something that i'm still figuring out myself), there is a kind of weird underlying consent implicit in dark fics. like, you might be reading a fic or novel that's ostensibly noncon, but you're also actively seeking out that literature (hopefully it's not just sprung on you - i do very much agree with tagging to the fullest extent and my lukewarm take is that I think all books, even traditionally published ones, should come with content/trigger warnings too).

there are a medley of reasons why someone might write or read dark fiction/dark romance. again, i'm just one person and i can only speak from my own experience!

i think at the end of the day, the important thing to realize is that fiction is fake, and as long as the writer appropriately tags their work and ensures that the audience is aware of what they're getting into when they start reading, they're not coercing the reader into something they aren't prepared for.

and it's totally fine if you have limits (like, you can read and enjoy dubcon, but not noncon) or can't engage with the material at all, but it's also unfair to say that it reflects someone's real life values - the same way that we don't say that the people who enjoy crime fiction must love murder.

and the last thing i want to say because this got a bit out of hand lol, is that, yes, for some people dark fiction is genuinely harmful, whether or not they're a survivor. it's not for everyone and that's completely fine and i'm aware of that, which is why i agree that you should tag as much as possible (even if you feel like you're overdoing it sometimes), but someone else's discomfort doesn't give them the right to tell you how to process your own emotions/experiences/desires/etc.

as long as no one's getting hurt, there's no issue as far as i'm concerned. and sorry but, no one's getting hurt by reading a fic or a novel unless the author didn't give proper content warnings - if you "forgot" to read the tags or read anyway DESPITE being warned, im sorry but that's life.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

✽ Part One - A twisted fate

I'm gonna be honest: this came to me in a tired, period induced haze and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing but the bunnies would not let me stop until I finished it. Was supposed to be a oneshot... until it wasn't XD Hoping this is just gonna be a short little pet project on the side. Lemme know if I missed any triggers!

Trigger warnings: SA (not by the 141), biting, claiming, angst, depression, hurt/no comfort, self harm

[Edit 7/16/24: updated relationship tags]

The parking lot was a certified mess to navigate, a veritable winter hellscape with the continual snowfall keeping the pavement slick and churning around spinning wheels to create a thick dirty slush. Packed cars fought for spaces towards the front of the store, wanting to avoid the headache of trudging through sloppy sleet, heavy carts overflowing with expensive gifts and last minute groceries.

Parents loaded up their trunks for their upcoming banquets. Little ones chattered in youthful exuberance about brightly wrapped packages and a jolly fat man. Festively dressed bell ringers exhausted their muscles for the cause of charity, offering joyous smiles to those passing by gracious enough to offer a token. Even six inches of heavy wet snowfall were not enough to deter shoppers from their mood. Coupled with the obnoxiously boisterous music that met you at the door it was almost impossible not to get swept up in the infectious holiday spirit.

Almost.

You hadn’t bothered joining the chaotic dominance for prime parking, opting to choose the very last row towards the street instead of wasting precious minutes yelling profanities out the window to an uppity pack trying to steal your spot. The harsh wind burned your face and nipped at your skin, pulling the woolen scarf tighter around your neck and up over your bitten nose. You avoided eye contact with the chipper lady at the front, not wanting to feel guilty for not donating when you barely had enough to scrape by as it is.

Normally you avoided venturing out this close to Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Holidays haven't meant much to you in recent years since your parent’s untimely passing and you hated the constant reminder of ‘the most wonderful time of the year’. Sure, there were still your other two alpha fathers, but they’d opted for someplace warmer in their age and visitation was difficult with your busy work schedule. Your younger brother wasn’t almost worth mentioning with his new prissy family somewhere up north. That bridge was burned the day he called you a harlot.

Needless to say, you’d become something of a grinch.

You’d been miserably sick the week prior and ate through most of your stockpile of hoarded food, not enough remaining to keep blowing off shopping with the bustling crowds. If you wanted to last past New Years then a trip into town was unavoidable.

The intense blast of hot air from the overhead heaters thawed your aching bones upon entering the store, shaking the accumulated dampness from your head and shoulders but leaving the thick cloth covering the lower half of your face. It would help you in your endeavors to get through the aisles expediently without irritating your delicate omega olfactory senses. 

It got harder to distinguish the source of fragrances this time of year, when folk spent their days burrowed away from the bitter cold surrounded by the comforts of the season. A chilled glass of rich subtly spiced eggnog, smokey cedar logs crackling in the hearth, sweet woodsy pine wreaths and garlands wrapped around thick oak banisters, trees decorated with peppermint candy canes and dried strings of popcorn. 

Gingerbread, mulled wine, cinnamon, orange, clove; a bountiful buffet of complementary aromas. Your own father had smelled of cranberry sauce once upon a time (it made the holidays that much harder when he was gone). And with so many people filling the space - even with the heating fans working overtime trying to filter out most of it - it could get difficult trying to figure out whether a boozy scent originated from a lovely beta or the soaked rum cake she was placing in her cart.

Honestly if it weren't for the outrageous delivery fees you would've had the groceries dropped off instead of enduring the aggressive pheromones floating through the air. Alas this was one of your few exceptions to your hermit lifestyle.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just December that had you hesitant to leave the sanctuary of your meager apartment. 

For the past few years, you’d been battling a severe case of agoraphobia, something you’d been working on wholeheartedly with a therapist since the accident that made you so. It had crippled you to the point that even daring to have the blinds open on your windows sent you spiraling into that dark abyss of cackling distress, panic consuming every last ounce of breath until you found yourself minutes later curled up on the bathroom floor, lightheaded and queasy.

Nausea was a constant in your life, along with the cold sweat that had you sleeping on a towel just to keep from ruining your bedsheets. Lethargy was embedded in your muscle fibers. A searing ache in your throat. The painful deep tugging in your chest an ever present reminder of the uphill battle you fought each time you opened your crusty sleep filled eyes. Depression was your best friend, curled around you in a false sense of comfort where it was easier to slip into a maladaptive headspace than face the truth of your harsh reality.

But despite the physical manifestations of your trauma, you’d made good strides so far with your weekly sessions. It had been a difficult road getting to this point and your therapist praised you for your dedication to not letting it hinder the life you had ahead. You weren’t sure what it looked like, but you tried all the same.

Like a hound that heard you calling, that ominous presence that filled you with dread came crawling into the back of your skull, mittened hand discreetly itching at the wool around your neck and scratching the irritated skin beneath. Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths until it settled, you grabbed one of the many baskets available and began the trek weaving down the rows of food.

Christmas was about a week away and the mobs were out in full force. Thankfully the items you were on the hunt for were not the same ingredients needed by everyone else. There was the occasional overlap of things like milk, eggs, bread, etc. But there was no call for a full sized turkey or spiraled ham; no sweet potato casserole or chocolate yule log to bake. Just some bologna, shredded cheese, a couple packs of ramen, and a few other household things here you were running low on. 

Maybe for the hell of it you’d stop in the frozen section and find yourself a mini cheesecake to splurge on for when you inevitably opened that bottle of fireball sitting on the shelf come next Tuesday, forced to listen to your upstairs neighbors' horrendous attempts at Christmas caroling.

Halfway through the store, your browsing was interrupted by an alluring scent swirling somewhere nearby.

Citrusy. Acidic. Sweet. Airy. 

Your scarf had slipped off your face when you bent down to grab something off the lower racks, exposing you to the freshly baked goods across the way. Someone nearby was carrying a batch of lemon cupcakes, your mouth watering as the scent invaded your tastebuds and forced a pleasant hum from the back of your throat. 

Something curled in your chest like a finger beckoning forward, begging for an acknowledgement that had you standing at rapt attention. Your body seemed to move on its own, head swiveling like a rickety chair, scanning the nearby vicinity - for what, you couldn’t say. The inner omega that prowled just underneath the surface vibrated restlessly, choking back a needy whine while your eyes swept over the closest individuals. Something primal had called out to you, throwing your hormones out of whack, piecing together invisible clues so obviously standing right in front of you. 

The summery concoction felt so out of place in the harsh winter months, swirling and nagging at the base of your spine, urgent and loud and taking up too much space until you felt like you could drown in its tang–

Your muscles locked in place, gaze affixed to something - someone - at the end of the aisle. 

A big someone. An alpha.

And he was massive.

There was a natural musculature that came with the inherited alpha genetics. Beta’s could grow to a similar size if they worked at it, but there was a casual arrogance that was impossible to mistake with the former designation. Even still, this man towered over most others in the vicinity, lesser alphas giving a wide berth to the intimidating figure currently staring down at his phone screen. Thick grey hoodie pulled up over his head, a black military jacket layered over top. Dark wash jeans led down to warm boots hefty enough to stomp a man’s skull in. Messy dark blonde hair peeked out from up top, a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face from view.

He couldn’t have given off any more ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes if he had it tattooed across his forehead. There was nothing sinister about his bearing per se - one hand casually shoved into a coat pocket as he leaned back against one of the dessert displays - but there was a coiled alertness that gave you the distinct impression he was more aware of his surroundings than he led you to believe.

One thing was for certain: you were never more sure of anything in your less than perfect life that that man was your scent match.

Your lungs expanded in your chest to drink in more of his scent. Palms turned sweaty, hair on the back of your neck prickled, the weight of the basket on your arm all but forgotten. Your throat parched at the prospect of getting to shove your face against his scent gland and taste the delectable lemony goodness right off his skin. 

People went lifetimes never meeting their perfect scent matches. The odds of you ever encountering one wasn’t even worth holding out hope for. Over seven billion people on the planet and you had to win an epic fucking lottery to get as lucky as you just did. Bonding ceremonies like that made the news for how rare it was. You’d never even dreamed of this happening, making peace with the idea that mates only existed in fairytale romance.

You just about dropped your groceries when he was joined shortly thereafter by another gorgeous male, slightly shorter by a few inches and not as broadly built. Rich dark skin, effortlessly cool street style, short black curls, and a dazzling pearly white smile.

This new alpha didn’t seem to flinch in the presence of the other, lemon cupcake glancing up only briefly to acknowledge the newcomer whose toasted coconut aroma barrelled right into you, colliding like a runaway freight at an unguarded intersection. Gulping down mouthfuls of air like a fish heaving on dry land, your head spun wildly at the nutty intrusion; smokey yet sweet, conjuring images of a warm evening bonfire on a lush sandy beach. 

Hope bloomed in your chest something fierce and bright. Your omega preened in unbridled delight, pawing at the surface, eager to get her hands on the two beautiful specimens whose every atom screamed ‘mine’. Tears stung behind your eyes, a mixture of relief and elation, vibrant like bursting fireworks and twinkling Christmas lights. 

What would you say to them? Do you approach them first? Should you wait for them to scent you back or try to pretend you didn’t smell them yet? What did their voices sound like? You could see their lips moving, even if the ones’ were hidden behind a surgical mask. Tenor, baritone, rumbly bass? What were their names? Where did they live? Was this really happening right now?! 

Something twisted and gnarled sunk its claws into your subconscious, rearing its ugly head in protest at the newfound revelation, but for the first time in years you didn’t fucking care. 

They were here. Your alphas. Your pack. Your salvation.

“Babes!” 

Decadent chocolate floated past you, a small apology from her lips as the omega brushed by, bumping her arm against yours on the way to her intended destination. You’d hardly noticed, too caught up in your own inner monologue and girlish fantasies to barely manage a quiet ‘no worries’.

For a split second, your eyes met coconut’s beautiful luscious brown, breath catching in your throat as the object of your desire finally seemed to take note of your existence. It was like gazing into the threads of the universe, pulling taut between you in a cosmic symphony that brought your stardust back together from whence it scattered at the dawn of time. 

A perfect part of an incomplete whole.

…until those shimmering umber pools shifted left, aimed at the bubbly figure headed right towards them. 

Huh?

Confusion as both alphas turned their full undivided attention to the dark haired omega, holding out a box of something for them to inspect and smiling when it met their approval, an affectionate pat on the head from lemon for her success that left her beaming with pride. 

That’s when you noticed it - peeking out underneath the collar of her elegant peacoat. A faint white crescent moon shaped scar, standing out against her lightly tanned skin, a matching one a little farther down. 

Mating bites. A bonded omega. 

And your scent matched alphas were gazing lovingly at her as if she’d hung the stars. 

She was theirs. They’d already found their mate. 

And it wasn’t you.

Something died in your chest, a broken scream torn silent from your soul as it condensed into a burning black hole. Agony unlike anything you’ve ever known, piercing your fragile heart and burrowing like a plague into your veins until the sickness had spread to every corner of your being. Your omega clawed at her eyes, willing the visions in front of you to vanish like a twisted mirage, begging for a bullet to erase the image of coconut planting a soft forehead kiss before wrapping an arm around her waist and turning to leave. 

A dejected whine ripped from your throat as you took an unconscious step forward, hand vaguely outreached, instincts screaming to chase after them and make them choose you instead of her. But you did no such thing. You watched helplessly as the alphas who were supposedly destined for you by the stars turned their backs on your pathetic existence.

This couldn't be happening. Why was this happening?! Please turn around!!!

With the same circulating air that had guided their scents to you, the wind in the store shifted.

Lemon cupcake went ramrod straight, whipping his head around so fast you were worried it’d go flying off his shoulders. It was uncanny the way he immediately zeroed in on your poor trembling figure, standing in the middle of a crowded aisle, uncaring to the concerned glances of the other shoppers as he unknowingly ruined your life. 

Recognition sparked deep behind voided irises before going completely neutral, steeling his expression but remaining unmoving as stone. It’s like the two of you were locked into place, orbiting each other by an invisible tether, watery eyes begging the ones staring back to please… please not leave you behind.

Coconut halted in his own step at the end of the aisle, sniffing the air for a moment with a furrowed brow, glancing over his shoulder at lemon, asking him something too far away to overhear. You can only assume the contents of his reply, the slightest shift of his mask the only tell he’d responded before coconut turned to face you as well.

This time garnered more of a physical reaction than the last, jaw dropping while staring just as unabashedly as his alpha companion. Eyes swept from head to toe, cataloging every minute detail the same as you’d done to them. Pupils dilated exponentially, nostrils flaring taking in the crisp pear scent you exuded, memorizing every facet and swallowing it down like a ravenous predator.

What a sight you must’ve made; eyes red and puffy from the tears that now flowed freely from suffering instead of the earlier jubilation, meek and sheepish and falling apart at the seams. What a piss poor impression to give the men fated to be your mates.

There was a brief moment where coconut seemed to match your initial energy, a flash of something saccharine and longing, only for it to collapse under the grueling weight of our fatalistic reality. There was an internal struggle in the crease of his brow, the downturned expression souring behind clenched teeth and tight fists. But more than that there was pity - pity at how you couldn’t have met sooner. Pity that you’d had to discover them like this, a woman on their arm and bite marks on her neck. Pity that they hadn’t had faith that they would be the lucky ones in a packed society.

You can make out a question on the chocolate omega’s perfectly pouty lips, trying to put the jigsaw together as to why her alphas were suddenly acting this way while glancing between the three of you.

Ignoring her, coconut takes a half step forward; you take two steps back. There’s an apology in your watery eyes, a hushed ‘merry christmas’ too strained for their ears. Your heart’s beating too loudly, your breath comes too shallow. You don’t even realize you’re sucking in heaving sobs until a gentle hand of a passerby lands on your shoulder, snapping you out of the chaos of your psyche. 

You can’t take it any more; the shame, the embarrassment, the gut wrenching defeat. 

The basket falls to the floor with a loud clatter, startling the people nearby who let out shrieks and gasps of surprise as the spilled contents inside break open and shatter. Eggs crack, milk pours onto the mud trekked tile, a fragile jar of strawberry jam splatters across someones pristine boots with an indignant shout.

A smooth tenor voice calls out ‘WAIT’, but you’ve already rounded the corner, barreling through the crowds of happy smiles and ecstatic giggles, too torn up inside to feel anything but desolation at the future so cruelly ripped from your fingers.

The crisp frigid air smacks the breath from your lungs, winter boots slapping on the slushy frozen ground. The squeal of brakes accompanies you as you sprint uncaringly through the bustling traffic, horns honking and voices shouting, muffled and far away as you drown in the whirlwind of your mind. It’s a miracle you’re not hit by a car, an even bigger one that you make it back to your own unscathed.

Slamming the car door shut, you smack your padded palms repeatedly against the steering wheel, banshee wailing your vocal cords raw in despair. The dark presence creeps in once more, a mocking chill down your spine as it caresses your fractured soul. The nausea comes back full force, the tugging on your chest, the burning in your throat. There’s a desperation as you tear your fitted mittens off, reaching under the woolen scarf and incessantly scratching at the irritated skin until it shreds under your nails. The pain doesn't register through your emotional torment, blocking out the inner voice until it inevitably slinks back into the shadows after its bitter lick of victory.

Panting hard, your head slumps back against the cloth headrest, stewing in the silence of misery and defeat, the distant joyful bells of Christmas the only company you have on this cold winter’s night.

It takes a few tries to fit the key in your deadbolt, blinking through tears now frozen to your eyelashes. There’s no recollection of how you even made it home in your brittle mental state. For all you knew were twelve civilians flattened like pancakes on the side of the road and a warrant out for your arrest. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? A break from having to pay bills and function like an adult.

Stumbling through the door, the sparse furnishings of your minimal studio glare at you, flipping them off as you shuck the damp outer layers from your frail form. A mess to be cleaned up another day.  

It wasn't just the rejection of your fated mates you were facing. It was the knowledge that your entire future had been ripped away and no amount of hot glue could piece it back together. Today’s revelation was the final nail in the coffin for the rest of your life.

The bathroom lights flickered with dying bulbs, something that had been on your shopping list tonight and was now being swept off the floor along with everything else you’d left behind. It didn’t stop you from locating the first aid kit under your sink, setting it on the ceramic counter and pulling out the well loved supplies inside.

You avoided staring at your gaunt reflection, not wanting to see the person looking back as you tugged at the thick scarf looped around your neck. The constricting material tore away with ease, falling into a discarded heap on the floor, revealing the torn mottled flesh hidden underneath. 

Your own set of crescent shaped scars - where the line of your neck connected to the meat of your shoulder, long since healed over and faded with time. The area surrounding it was now swollen and inflamed, raised angry red lines dotted with scrapes like a bad case of road rash, bloody from where you'd furiously clawed at your neck on the car ride home. The only time the fucker in your head shuts up - the connection tethering you emotionally gone silent once he got tired of feeling physical pain across the bond.

Memories came unbidden. Flashes of that fateful encounter coming home late from work, dragged into a sequestered shadowy overhang a few meters down the darkened alleyway. A feral alpha hopped up on something illegal, tearing into your clothes and violating the virginal space between your thighs. The muffled cries as he overpowered you, panting through a rut with his greasy fingers shoved down your throat to silence you, gagging on the musky taste. The scream as his teeth pierced your flesh, the bond snapping taut and stealing your future from you without a thought to your own wishes.

He’d fucked you ragged that night, waking up with your cheek pressed into the damp pavement and his arm slung around your waist from hours earlier. There’d been no one to turn to, no one who would care. By law now you were his - no matter the means it had been done. 

A mating bite was binding. 

You’d crawled away from him, your outfit in tatters hanging loosely over your bruised form, dried blood stuck to your neck and a stabbing pain at your apex. You felt dirty and used and wanted nothing more than to strip the skin from your bones. The unconscious form of the– your alpha flopped prone on his back, crimson stains around his mouth and his flaccid cock still half out of his trousers. The pinpricks on his arm told the tale of a junkie. It’s possible he hadn’t even been fully aware of the crime he’d committed. 

You didn’t stick around to find out.

But you paid for that decision harshly, opting for a life not attached to your abuser, at a steep tormented cost. Bonds weren’t meant to be strained for so long. It starts to cause negative impacts on the pair, the omega bearing the worst of the brunt. Nausea, sweating, pain, dizziness, fatigue. The chronic illnesses you endured day in and day out would stay with you for the rest of your life. So long as he was up and walking free - alive somewhere on the other side of the country - his greasy claws strumming your senses through the connection tethering you eternally.

Only a perfect scent match could override the original bite and free you from the oppressive bonds that shackled you to an invisible alpha - the last remaining hope you had at any semblance of happiness.

And you just lost it.

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

>> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[loliwrites]

III. Bravery | Edelweiss

pairing: joel miller x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni  warnings/tags: jackson era!joel, sharpshooter!reader, enemies to lovers [ish], age difference [joel is mid 50s, reader is early to mid 30s], joel lives forever fight me, switching povs, canon compliant violence, no infected but terrible humans present, one use of bitch [readers inner monologue], mention of death, stabbing, and blood, attempted SA [reader gets revenge], female rage, SMUT, protected p in v sex, clear and abundant consent, fingering, oral [f receiving], praise kink [attagirl, good girl], aftercare, stress baking, female reader, no physical description, protective!joel, joel’s really just a big softie, no use of y/n. word count: 7.4k series masterlist  a/n: gosh there is not much i love more than uninhibited female rage. and the praise kink will always make an appearance because i’m just an ex-honors student at heart

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“I know you’re Mr. Shoot First Talk Second, but try to control that trigger finger if we run into any of them. That boy whose brain you painted along the stairwell the day you found me? He wasn’t a bad guy,”

Joel flicked his eyes at you, and from your periphery, you could tell he was starting to fume. You knew how to push his buttons and knew that it’d rile him up even more that instead of looking at him when accusing him of such a thing, you were petting your horse’s mane.

“Nah, he wasn’t a bad guy, he was just fucking you for sport,” a sense of accomplishment rose in him when his comment resulted in you flashing a look of disbelief his way. “F’we run into any of ‘em, they’ll be lucky if I paint a wall with their brain.” His eyebrows furrowed and he adjusted himself in his saddle, “give ‘em a belly shot and let ‘em go all slow and painful,”

“There he is,” you smiled. “Mr. Sunshine,”

“Eyes open. We’re here,”

You pulled your rifle out of the scabbard attached to your saddle, a little more clumsy than usual with the thick gloves Maria had given you for the weekend. Winter had fully come down upon Jackson and you were thankful to be there rather than with your old group. How you ever survived the last handful of winters without a real, sturdy winter coat, you didn’t know. Regardless, with the butt of your rifle propped against your thigh, you inspected the right ninety degrees knowing that Joel was scouring the left ninety degrees. Together, both of you had a pretty wide range of sight to catch the upper hand of anything or anyone that might be lurking around.

Thankfully – gratefully – this had become routine. Joel hadn’t exactly sung your praises to Tommy after your first patrol together. According to Tommy, Joel had talked you up as much as someone like him could. She’s good, Tommy. Better than everyone. Not me ‘n you, but everyone else. Now nearly a month into your patrols with Joel, a lot had been talked about in the effort of opening up to each other. 

He tried to stay away from your more recent past with the other group and instead asked about your family. About how it went when the outbreak began and your family of four defended a large ranch property. The grin he hid when you told him you were the son your father never had. That you’d helped him patch holes in the barbed wire fence, or replace rotted wood beams. And when the bad weather came in, you spent most nights in the barn cupola – on high ground with a 360 degree view – with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and your eye spotting through your rifle’s scope. In turn you asked about his life and kept it vague. You figured he’d tell you the parts he wanted to tell you. You also figured there was a lot of pain in his past. He’d opened up as much as he was willing to for someone still so new. He talked a lot about what it was like when he and Ellie first arrived in Jackson; and a little bit about the time he spent in the Boston QZ. But everything before Boston, and the in-between Boston and Jackson went undisclosed. You didn’t need him to verbalize it to know it wasn’t good. The scars on his hands and face told you that. And the way he handled his gun told you that it wasn’t everyday someone gave him a new scar.

And you’d started to see deeper shades of the care and concern Joel held for the ones he was fond of. Even if Ellie wouldn’t acknowledge him, he always made sure there was a meal ready in the house for her. Sometimes going as far as to leave the food outside the shed door for her. You only saw these things because ever since the incident at your house about a month ago when he’d realized you’d gone without a full meal for almost a week, he took to calling you around for dinner at least once a week. Of course it was never phrased as “will you have dinner with me,” as much as it was, “come by for dinner tonight. Don’t need you passin’ out on me on patrol.” He even encouraged you to see the doctor in Jackson. Jus’ to take a look. And beamed when the doctor gave you a clean bill of health. More than once since that night in the dining hall, he brushed away any guy that made himself a little too comfortable in your atmosphere. If they were flirting, getting too close, or just flat out laying any type of hand on you, Joel seemed to materialize out of nowhere to warn them to back off. Another woman might’ve found the whole thing off-putting. That Joel was out to lay claim to something that wasn’t his. But all you knew was that he was keeping men away that just seemed to like that there was new blood in town. A new face to ogle at. And with the pressure of what that could mean, if Joel Miller wanted to be your own personal guard dog, well… that was alright with you.

Normally you and Joel patrolled the areas that were high risk for a presence of infected. Mostly runners. A couple stalkers. Even less clickers. Though Joel warned that he and Tommy had come up against a couple bloaters before. You hadn’t ever come across one in all the years since the outbreak, but you’d heard more than enough horror stories to know you never wanted to come across one. And if you had to, hopefully Joel or Tommy would be by your side. 

Today you and Joel were going south. In a debrief of all the patrol teams, while you and Joel were northeast hunting runners, the southern teams were finding traces of human activity. Everyone knew what that meant, and once they figured it out, all eyes turned to you. Had you led them closer? Apparently two months wasn’t long enough to earn the trust of everyone in Jackson. They had long memories. 

Tommy all but interrogated you in his living room with Maria and Joel the night before. Asked for any intel and insight that might help. But what could you know? You’d spent the last month only outside the gates with Joel, and the month prior to that holed up in the greenhouse. You told them as much. And even so, you knew you were close when you and Joel rode through the old abandoned town, long forgotten. The remains of what used to be strip malls all bumped up to each other. The wind blew through the tall grass that had erupted from the pavement, sending a whistling through the air. Not ideal if you were hoping to hear someone sneaking up on you. But you could feel it. Electricity in the air. You should’ve paid a little more attention to it.

You and Joel dismounted your horses at the same time, fully cautious and aware of everything around you. No words were going to be spoken for a little while. It was a dance that was well on its way to being perfected. But a new location – one not generally covered on the usual patrol routes, meant there were more variables to deal with. And one neither of you was prepared for the way an old flag of some raider group hung from one of the stores’ doorframes. It whipped in the wind, sending a sharp crack reverberating through your ears each time it snapped against the pavement. Worse than that, it made it impossible to see through the doorway, and mixed with the sun shining a glare through the old dusty windows, there was no clear line of sight in. 

Like moths to a flame, you and Joel were drawn to it first. Guns poised, ready to act without hesitation. You weren’t sure if Joel felt it, but it was like every cell in your body knew this wasn’t going to go well. There wasn’t even time to see it coming. They had seen you but you weren’t given an even playing field. And your only regret was that Joel went in first.

You heard it before you saw it. A whoosh flying through the air followed by Joel letting out the most pained grunt you could imagine his body could summon. Then a thud on the floor. You figured the thud was Joel, but you, caught up in that old flag, trying to fling it around the barrel of your gun, left defenseless without your eyes. Just as soon as you untangled yourself and gathered enough visual information to understand what had happened, your gun was being ripped out of your hands and thrown to the other side of the shop.

And the first thing you thought was, you better fight, bitch.

Hands flailing, cursing yourself for that terrible nail biting habit. Some long fingernails would’ve done some good right now. Edward. Just as bad as James but with the benefit of youth on his side to be a real pain in the ass. He got you by your hair and gave it a yank that had you seeing streaks of white in pain. You stumbled backwards over a heap on the ground (Joel), who you just barely had the chance to get a look at – all in shock and sucking wind. You weren’t sure where he’d been hit but he was gasping for air.

You swung and kicked and did your best to fight despite Edward being significantly bigger than you. He was taunting you. Saying things like he knew he’d run into you again. Get his chance with you. And you wanted to scream for help, for anything, but the only person who would do anything for you was currently face down on the floor. You wondered where someone else was. Surely Edward wouldn’t have been out here alone. As soon as that other person showed up, you and Joel would be sufficiently fucked.

But the thing that pissed you off the most was the way he spoke about Joel. The way he mocked him – attacking his masculinity because surely Joel couldn’t give it to you the way he could. So you swung harder, each time hoping it would prove that Joel was more of a man because he didn’t give it to you the way Edward, and James, and George, had. Luckily one of those swings landed on his jaw and it was your chance to get away. To bolt for your gun. If you thought he’d been ferocious before, it was nothing compared to how he was after you’d punched him.

He ran after you and you were nothing for his big strides. Caught up to you in no time and tackled you to the ground. That was when you really started screaming. The absolute loudest and most feral you could muster. No. Stop. Joel. It all came from your lungs and none of it mattered. Edward straddled you and bore his weight down, pinning you in place, leaving you in the fruitless effort to beat against his chest. And though it didn’t account for much, you didn’t stop. You pressed your hands to the bottom of his chin and pushed his head backward but it was like a game of cat and mouse and the cat was getting even more riled up by the mouse putting up a fight. Edward reached for your pants and it was the straw that broke you. You knew these men. You knew their patterns. And you could use that against them.

Case and point – Edward may have had you at a complete disadvantage but you knew they generally always had a knife in their pocket. It was the reason you’d kept one in yours. And, not feeling the outline of it pressed to your thigh despite his body being flush to yours, you knew it had to be in one of his back pockets. The fact that you’d found it on the first side you checked was complete luck, but you’d take it.

Pulled that switchblade from his back pocket, flicked it open, and plunged it deep into his side. Over. And over. And over again. In a sound mind, it would’ve been enough the moment he slid off of you and to the ground. But you were not of sound mind right now. The furthest thing from it. So when his body was no longer on yours, you climbed up over his body and with both hands clutching the handle of the knife, continued to wreak havoc on him. Pure and unadulterated rage.

Had it not been for what came next, you were sure you would’ve spent all afternoon there, carving away at his body. Likely until his partner came around to see what he was up to. But you stopped yourself. Tossed the blade to the side. Because Joel had gotten himself up on his hands and knees and was crawling toward you, and that was all it took to get your brain to snap back to reality. 

You scrambled to him, hands cupped around his cheeks but didn’t touch just yet; trying to find where he was hurt. Eyes scanned, and couldn’t pinpoint any particular injuries except for some blood at his nostril. “Y’alright,”

Joel nodded, still taking deep breaths to try and fill his lungs fully. “Clocked me in the stomach,” he set a hand over his heart. “Knocked the wind outta me, then got me in the chest,” he was speaking, but his eyes were searching you. “Did he hurt you?”

“We gotta get outta here, he wasn’t out alone,” you got up and ran to pick up your rifle, making a quick line back to Joel. With your hand hooked around his elbow, you helped him back to his feet and led him hobbling out of the shop.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

Joel croaked and held the left side of his ribs the entire way back to Jackson, though when you both got through the gates and Tommy ran to intercept you, he somehow straightened himself up and acted as though nothing was wrong. Maybe that was something he’d picked up in childhood. Putting on a brave face in front of baby brother.

Tommy herded you into the barn, urging – no, forcing – Joel to lift his shirt. To check if anything was looking out of sorts. And in typical Joel fashion, he swatted his brother’s hands away, insisting he was fine. Tommy eventually won out. There was a part of you that figured Joel resisted because of you. How silly, right? For you to insert yourself in such a way as if that man even gave a real rat’s ass about you. But you really did figure he didn’t want you to see him ailing. At least not more than you already had. So you ducked away with your horses in tow, ready to be untacked. Passing by on the way to their stalls, you caught sight of Ellie. She, no doubt, had come along to visit Dina, but at the ruckus of Tommy yelling at Joel to lift his damn shirt, Ellie peeked out from the stall she was in to get a glimpse. Concern filled her eyes, and the urge to ask her why she was upset with him was near all-encompassing. But you also knew it wasn’t your place.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

You’re not sure how it happened. The ‘almost killing you to being inside you’ pipeline was way too quick. German Autobahn quick. No speed limit. Pedal to the metal. Whiplash. 

At least Joel put a condom on first. Actually, most of what Joel did was a first for you. Somewhere between walking him home and ordering him to ice his ribs, and him asking you to come inside for a beer, you had ended up here – in Joel’s bedroom with him hovering over you. His hands pressed to the mattress at either side of your head. He hadn’t asked if he could kiss you, though in the hesitation that had oozed from him, you’d been the one to kiss him first. Quick and haphazard; everywhere and simultaneously nowhere for too long. He had cupped your face in his hands and held you still, letting a more gentle kiss to take place. Not that much kissing of any sort had happened in your life previously. George, James, and the rest of those guys hadn’t ever bothered with such a formality. Bit of a blessing, you supposed.

But he did ask if you wanted to go up to his bedroom. That was a first.

And he asked if it was okay if he helped you out of your shirt. And then your bra. That was a first.

Then bare to him and the world, he asked if he could touch your chest. And kiss it. That was a first.

When his hands began to wander down your side, leaving goosebumps on your skin, he asked if he could take off your pants. And that was a first.

Despite all these firsts, and your consent for him to do these things, you figured that by the time your pants were off, he’d do much of the same as all the other men had done. Get in, get out. Chase their pleasure. And leave you in the aftermath to do… whatever. 

He tugged your denim jeans off your legs and tossed them to the floor, but instead of ripping off your underwear and pushing himself into you, he leaned back down over your body and kissed your lips. A bit rougher than he had previously, but you knew he was still fully conscious… calculating. It was as if you could hear the gears turning in his head. And a noise… it came from him no doubt but it was unlike any noise you’d ever heard a man make before. It was soft. And yearning.

When he gathered himself, the questions continued. Can I take off your underwear? Can I touch you? Make you feel good? A pounding in your head began. Nerves? Fear? You could only nod an affirmative, but Joel asked again, as if insisting to hear your voice and it wasn’t lost on either of you that it shook.

“M’not gonna hurt you,” Joel whispered and dropped his head lower until he was able to press his lips to the side of your neck. You’d never been kissed on the neck before. And perhaps even more frightening than what was to come, it scared you how much you liked the feeling of his lips pressed to you. “I wanna make you feel good,”

“Why?” You choked out. Now the pounding in your head was paired with a dryness in your throat. You could feel his lips stretch into a smile against your skin.

But then he lifted his head – removed the feeling you loved so much – and gave you one more quick kiss before his fingertips dipped lower. “Because it’s fun for me if you’re having fun,”

You swallowed and bit into your bottom lip when Joel’s fingers brushed over your slit. Eyes widened but you tried to mitigate it by quickly closing them. It seemed so strange to have so much experience with something so much more than this, and yet feel so inept with this. His fingers circled around your entrance, rimmed the hole for just a moment before he slid them up and found your clit. Your legs flinched together and you peeked past your eyelids to see if Joel had noticed.

The shit-eating grin on his face told you he had. “Bullseye,” he drew his eyes away from yours and rested more of his body weight on you. His muscular thighs kept your legs spread apart, but the only thing keeping him from laying himself on you fully was his arm snaked between your bodies. He raised his free hand and brought it up to the top of your head. His fingers at your clit only circled it a few more slow times before he slid them back down to your entrance. A wider smile appeared on his face and you only caught a moment of it because he pressed his lips back to your neck, just below your ear. “You this wet just for me?”

You didn’t know it yet but you were about to become well acquainted with Joel’s dirty talk.

“Make a man feel like a fuckin’ casanova gettin’ this wet over nothing,” he added pressure to your hole, not yet pressing his fingertip inside you. But you still turned your head to the side, knocking your cheek into his. And it drew him back, until he lifted himself and looked down into your eyes again.

“It’s not nothing. No one’s touched me nicely before,” heat rose in your cheeks and neck.

He nodded, “and you’re gonna let me touch you nicely right now?” He smirked when you nodded, but his eyebrows raised and he asked, “yes?”

“Yes,”

His fingers sunk into you at an agonizingly slow pace. And his eyes never left yours. They were ever searching for validation but there was no way he could know that your brain was already a million miles away from your body. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t even feel uncomfortable. If you had actually let yourself feel it, you imagined it’d feel pretty good. But brain and body were diverging for self-preservation. Of the only thing you’ve ever known. You looked down and saw the tendons and muscles in Joel’s forearm flexing, and when you glanced back up into his eyes, you wondered how this would end. Whether or not you bruised the ego of the assholes you’d previously found yourself with was of little concern to you. They hadn’t cared to make sure you were having a good time, so you never tried to fake it with them that you had. But Joel wasn’t like that. He was trying. And if the growing warmth in your belly was any indication, you thought he could get you to finish if you let him. If you let him.

“You’re so tight,” he mumbled, bowing his head. Long, graying curls bounced against his forehead and the nape of his neck. “Bet you’ll feel amazing wrapped ‘round my cock,”

A whimper floated past your lips and it was the first of that sound you’d ever made.

Joel seemed to catch it too. “Yeah? Y’like the idea of takin’ my cock here,” he curled his finger inside you, pressing up against your front wall. “Tell me you want it,”

“Joel,”

“Tell me,” he goaded, “I’ll give it to you. Fuck this tight, little body ‘til you’re screamin’ for me, but I wanna hear you say it,”

You furrowed your eyebrows, almost frustrated, “want you to fuck me, Joel. Please,”

He obliged rather quickly. Withdrew his finger from you and sucked it clean before he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head. It was the first time you ever cared to ogle a man. To really take in the sight of him. To commit him to memory as this was going to happen instead of doing all you could to wipe it from your mind. His broad shoulders, and defined pecs, and soft tummy, all tapering down to a thinner waist with creases at the sides, hinting at what was below. His shirt hit the floor with your clothes, and then he swiftly moved on to his pants. Taking them off completely proved to be too much of a hassle. He pushed them down with his underwear, just low enough to pull his member out. His size – length and girth – was daunting despite the amount you’d seen, and your eyes flicked back up to his, swallowing a sizable lump in your throat.

“Nervous?” He asked, reaching past you for the nightstand.

“No,” you protested, watching him yank the drawer open. When he pulled out a small packet and tore it open, you cocked your head to the side. “Condoms survived the apocalypse?”

Joel smiled and rolled it down his length, “lamb skin.” He placed his hands on the bed at either side of you, “ready?”

“What if you hurt your ribs more?

“My ribs are fine,”

You nodded, trying to be as reassuring as possible, but when he reached for his shaft, you sucked in a breath loud enough to grab his attention. “I might not… you know…”

“Okay,”

“I usually don’t. Just so you don’t take it personally,”

“Okay,” he pressed a grin and lifted his hand to your cheek, where with the gentlest of swipes, he wiped his index finger across your skin, “eyelash.” Joel blew it off his finger and then looked back down at you, “how about you tell me if something doesn’t feel good.”

Eyebrows furrowed again. Confusion. “You won’t get mad?”

“No, I–I want you to come, so if I’m not doin’ it for you, you gotta let me know. Alright?” He nodded after you and lined himself back up with your entrance again. “Alright,” he pressed forward gently. Slowly. Eyes glued to your face; absolutely nothing could’ve gotten him to look away from you. 

And what you found was new. Call it whatever you wanted but you spotted care in his eyes. Maybe not care in the way fairytales of your youth wanted you to believe, but care in the way that he was doing his best to be soft and gentle. George and James hadn’t had the intention of hurting you, but they didn’t care if they did. Joel didn’t have that intention either. But he was going to great lengths to ensure that he didn’t.

He had eased himself into you steadily until your waists met. The coarse hairs at the base of his member brushed against you. When he exhaled, it was the first you’d noticed that he’d been holding his breath just like you had been. “Attagirl,”

It felt like he was splitting you in half, and he very nearly was. Your legs were stretched wide to accommodate him but it still didn’t feel like enough. His thrusts didn’t start immediately. You hadn’t been expecting that. He was waiting; studying your face, and you figured you looked pretty shell-shocked because he remained paused for a good amount of time. Long enough for you to look up at him and with vision blurring, just the silhouette of him reminded you of any number of the guys you’d run into over the last six years.

Maybe if you shut your eyes, it’d make it a little better. You could focus on the inside of your eyelids and the colorful squiggles that appeared. So you did just that, but still noticed that Joel didn’t make any inclination of beginning relentless thrusts. There was only a slight movement. But not of his waist. Before you knew it, you felt his lips at your neck again. Open mouthed kisses to your delicate skin, his tongue lapping up to your earlobe. He hummed softly and you knew it was a less-than-verbal way of checking in with you. You couldn’t respond yet though, not with the image of George and his saggy ballsack in your mind. 

Joel hummed in your ear again and then took your wrist in his hand. Before you could even get the idea to fight back, he placed it over his shoulder, releasing his grip when your fingers hit his back. “Y’alright? Talk to me,”

You summoned your strongest voice, “I’m fine. Go on,”

He still stared at you and hesitated. His hips only shifted timidly, “what’re you thinking about?”

In a moment of pure honesty, you looked up into his eyes. And with an air of sadness, “them.”

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. Definitely not what he was expecting you to say, but couldn’t also say he was at all surprised. God knows the last time you’d done this for anything other than obligation or self-preservation… if you’d ever done it for any reason other than obligation or self-preservation. He wanted to be considerate to that. Maybe it was a little late now that he was already inside you. He settled more of his weight on top of you to free up both his hands, and with most of your bodies touching, he raised both hands above your head and cupped them over it. His thumb stroked back and forth over your hair with the utmost softness.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you said firmly. “I want you to make me forget about them,”

He nodded and after looking at you for just a second more, he leaned in closer for a kiss. Maybe he couldn’t do much, but he could certainly do that. And with the utmost care, he pulled his hips back halfway before slowly thrusting back in. You winced, eyes closing, and pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. It was then you felt Joel’s lips back on your neck. A bite for emphasis. A lick and kiss for intimacy.

Then with a sigh, “was right. You feel fuckin’ incredible. Squeezin’ me so good and tight,”

“Joel,” you whimpered, stretching your legs further apart to accommodate the size of his body. Every sensation was a new one – even the feeling of a foreign material inside you instead of skin. 

You felt like you were on fire; heat spreading throughout you, starting from where you two were connected and radiating outward from there. Through your stomach, up to your chest, creeping up to your neck and all the way up to your cheeks. There was heat coming from Joel too. Just about everywhere you touched radiated heat; beads of sweat gathered at his hairline and followed down to his sideburns.

“How’s it feel takin’ me here,” a harder thrust than before speared you deeper, pressing up against you cervix. Though you tried to wriggle away, Joel leaned back on his knees and hooked his arms around your thighs, tugging you down on him further. He kept you close there with a hold on your hips and remained upright when he started thrusting into you with greater fervor. “Tell me,”

“Good,” you choked on your breath.

He laughed lowly and removed one of his hands from your hip so he could wipe the sweat away from his forehead. “I know you can do better than that,” he fucked into you and laid back down on top of you, caging you in his arms, lips back at your ear. His hips in an endless cycle of pressing into you. And when a moan floated past your lips, he couldn’t hold back a smile, “there she is. There’s a good girl,”

“So big, Joel…”

He nipped at your neck and trailed his tongue over the affected skin, “and you’re takin’ me so well. Doin’ so good,” his lips stretched into a grimace against your neck, “M’not gonna last long,”

“S’okay,”

You couldn’t have predicted his next move. It hadn’t happened before in any capacity, let alone in this way. With Joel pulling out in a fury and tracing down your body until he reached the apex of your thighs. His hands held your legs forcefully apart and his hips rut into the mattress beneath him. And in the long line of things that were new tonight, this was exceptionally so. His tongue expertly ran from where he had just previously been splitting you in two, and migrated up to your clit, where again your legs flinched. This time it didn’t get any more of a verbal response than a hum against you and the vibrations it sent up your spine made your throat go dry. 

He lapped at your clit. Tongue undulating against it in smooth procession and just when you thought you wouldn’t be able to make a noise due to your scratchy throat, you felt two of his fingers push inside you, curling up and scissoring open inside. It pulled the headiest moan from your lips. You didn’t dare look down to take a peek at him, but if you had, you would’ve seen the way he was thrusting into the mattress seemingly not of his own volition.

Your legs twitched together again, this time around his head and your hand flew down to cradle him, fingers tangling into his graying curls. It was fairly long now, giving you enough purchase as your body writhed beneath Joel’s ministrations. You could feel it building; slow at first and then all at once, just on the edge there. It hadn’t ever felt this way before. When you were younger, so were the boys, and not at all well-adapted to the skill. Even when you got yourself in the headspace to do it for yourself, it never felt like this. This was different. This was new. And so much so that you hadn’t known when the literal climax would be. When you’d hit that peak.

Whatever the case, it didn’t take long, that was for sure. One moment you were gasping for air to fill your lungs, and the next you were expelling the air you’d just sucked in with a shriek and labored groan. You all but pushed on Joel’s head to get him to stop and he did so immediately. You weren’t sure if that was because of what you were doing or if it was because his body was telling him to get the fuck up unless he wanted to soil the sheets.

So Joel scurried up to his knees and sat back on his heels. He peeled the condom off and wrapped one big strong hand around his shaft. The other went down to cup his balls. And his eyes stayed glued to you. More specifically your face… your eyes. Not aspects of your body like the others had. No. He stayed locked in to your face. And when you chewed on your bottom lip, his eyebrows furrowed and a growl rumbled through his chest. Just a few tugs more and he was shooting his load up over his stomach. Long, firm strokes finished him off, and when he was done, he released his member and looked down at himself while his chest heaved.

Yours was heaving, too. If your ribs hadn’t been a cage, your heart and lungs wouldn’t have remained in your body. You’d seen plenty of men come in your lifetime. Maybe more than you’d have cared to see. But watching Joel was an entirely different experience. Not only had you wanted that for him, but when he did come, there was a sense of pride…or satisfaction in knowing that you’d been the one to get him there.

In the moment you wanted him again. Wanted his lips back on yours. Wanted to feel him. And you were just about to reach out for him when he carefully eased himself off the bed. He must’ve caught some sort of expression on your face because he flashed you a reassuring albeit sheepish smile. “Lemme get cleaned up. Made a bit of a mess of myself,” he plucked his underwear up off the floor. “Y’want water?”

You nodded eagerly, and had partially wished you hadn’t seemed so impatient because Joel turned rather quickly and left the room. If your guard and walls had been lowered by having him there with you, the moment he was out of sight, you felt the walls starting to build again. You scrambled beneath the sheets to hide yourself as if Joel hadn’t just seen you completely naked, and had only just gotten settled again when he strode back into the room; underwear on, stomach cleaned, with a glass of water in one hand and a washcloth in the other.

He handed the glass to you before he knelt back on the bed and flipped the sheets away from you without a second thought. It wasn’t until the cold air hit your skin and your entire body shivered that he paused and remembered this wasn’t something casual for you. He lifted his hand away from the sheet.

“What’s that for?” You pointed at the washcloth he still held. After taking a sip of water, you reached over and set the glass on the side table. 

Joel glanced down at the wet cloth and then back up to you, “I was gonna…” he swallowed and cleared his throat, “was gonna help you get cleaned up.”

“Oh,”

“Can I?”

You thought for just a second before nodding, “sure.” But as soon as Joel made a move, you spoke up again, “Joel?” Heat rose in your cheeks when he looked up into your eyes again, “can I have another kiss?”

A red hue colored his cheeks, “‘course you can.” His lips were stretched into a smile when they made contact with yours. 

This time you were the first to part your lips, allowing your tongue to gain entry into his mouth. He accepted it immediately and shared his tongue with you, too. The kiss hadn’t even finished before you felt the washcloth between your legs. It still held some warmth to it and you pulled your head back to look up at him; your legs spread wider to give him full access. He kissed your temple when you leaned in and set your head on his shoulder. His hand paid rapt attention to your most sensitive areas as he wiped you clean, folded the cloth over on itself, and then wiped the wet fabric down your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure how many more new things you’d be exposed to tonight. Everything seemed to be different from what you’d known. Joel didn’t ask you to leave. Didn’t give any indication that he was hoping you’d split. In fact, he seemed to evoke the exact opposite. Was getting ready to lay down beside you in bed when you asked if he could get you your underwear and shirt. He did so without question. Without asking if you were going to leave him. Was going to let you make any decision you needed to make. And yet – you swore you saw him exhale a sigh of relief when after putting your shirt and underwear back on, you tucked your feet back in beneath the sheets and settled in beside him.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

Joel jolted awake as he normally did at night. Per his habit, he glanced over at the clock on the nightstand and was not at all surprised when it read half past two in the morning. That was about right. Sometime between two and four was usually the time when the nightmares reached their peak and he’d rise in a panic, gasping for air, trying to get his bearings, and hoping he’d be able to fall back asleep. But instead of his panic diminishing once he realized he was safe in his home, it increased when he looked to his other side and found himself alone in bed.

You’d been there when he fell asleep. Of that he was positive. He’d taken an extra peek at you to make sure you were comfortable. Finding your breathing slowing and evening out, he rolled over onto his side and went to sleep, too. But now you were gone and he jumped out of bed, straining his ears for any hint that you might still be around.

Out in the hallway, he heard something downstairs and it gave him a half-moment of hope before he tamped it down within himself. It could be Ellie, he told himself, don’t get your hopes up. The noise got a little louder when he came down the stairs, and a sweet scent in the air led him in the direction of the kitchen. At this point he knew it wasn’t Ellie, but he still didn’t want to jump the gun and believe it was you. Not until a whispered shout greeted him as he was about to turn the corner.

“Shit!”

And then he was there, in the threshold and staring at you, fully dressed again – your index finger pulled into your mouth, sucking at a burn. On the counter in front of you, a pie. His focus returned to you instead of the pastry, and he started in your direction, a smile spreading over his lips.

“Did I wake you up?”

Joel shook his head once he sidled up next to you. And easily, his hand dropped to your lower back, fingers curling around your hip. He noted how you glanced down at his fingers before looking back up into his eyes. “What’re you doin?”

You looked down at the pie, guilt rising within you, “couldn’t sleep.” You took a breath, “I thought about leaving, but then I thought you might get upset.” Averting your gaze back to the pie when Joel’s eyebrows furrowed, “my mom was a stress baker. Seemed like after the outbreak, she was always whippin’ something up. I just– you had most of the ingredients.”

“What didn’t I have?” his hand squeezed at your hip and tugged you in closer to him.

“Cinnamon. And sugar,” you looked back up at him as he all but shook you by the hip, trying to get your attention. “Hopefully the apples were sweet,”

Joel pulled open a drawer and took a fork and knife out of it, “well,” he started when he then reached up into the cabinet for a plate, “I don’t remember the last time I saw cinnamon.” With everything he needed in front of him, he sliced into the pie and about as indelicately as you could imagine, scooped the slice out of the baking dish and onto the plate. “Sugar’s hard to come by so whatever we have is usually kept at the dining hall for the whole town,”

You watched him carefully as he lifted a forkful up to his mouth. A good mixture of the flaky crust and the soft apples. No way this pie was better than your shooting, but you hoped he liked it all the same. He didn’t have to say anything for you to see that he did. His features softened, almost drooped in the relaxed way of having eaten something that was evoking a memory.

He swallowed, “the apples are sweet. I like it,” he went and stabbed for another bite, but instead of lifting it back up to his mouth, he offered it your way.

It took you a moment, but while looking up into his eyes, you opened your mouth and ate the bite he presented you. It would’ve been better with sugar, you thought. But the look Joel was giving you was almost better than the sugar.

Joel slowly pulled the fork out of your mouth and set it back down on the plate. He reached for your hand and hooked his fingers around yours, using that leverage to pull you into his body. You stumbled forward and caught yourself against his chest.. He suppressed a smile and bowed forward until his lips were pressed to the top of your head. 

“Y’alright? Comfortable?”

You nodded gently and ran your hands down over his sides, fingers ghosting over his ribs, “s’it hurt?”

He shook his head but that wasn’t exactly the truth. “You don’t have to stay. And I don’t want you to think you do, but… I’d like to take you back upstairs, curl up with ya’, and go to sleep.” Joel pressed another kiss to the top of your head but then migrated down to your forehead and gave it a kiss. “Been awhile since I had a woman to cuddle up to,”

“Joel Miller cuddles?”

A smirk crossed over his face, “oh yeah. And I’m great at it,” he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. 

You both inhaled into the kiss and Joel wrapped a hand around you again. This time, over your ass for a hearty handful. After a moment of just relishing in this moment, Joel patted your ass and with one more glance for reassurance, you passed by him and made for the stairs. If you could have only seen his face once you’d passed by. A deep sigh, a grin, and a thankful look skyward before he took off to follow you up the stairs and back into his bedroom.

[chleem]

Flashing lights #1

Series; actor Drew x actress reader

Summary: Drew gets involved in the worst scandal of his career. One way to solve it? Proving to the whole world that he’s the sweetest lover to exist. Who better to help than the one person he can’t stand? You, an A class actress with an alcohol addiction. So, will Drew clear up his reputation, or leave with a bigger mess to clean up?

Genre: fake dating, enemies to lovers(?, slow burn, angst, smut,

Warning: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mentions of k!lling oneself, mentions of rape & sa, mentions of drug usage, smoking & vaping,

⋆.˚ please dont copy my work, if inspired please tag me

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ chapter two out soon! index

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Late February 2024

Is that five, or six bottles in front of you? 

Your vision is burry, head feeling twisted, and your limbs feel as if they weight a hundred kilograms each. “Shit,” you curse, your hands reaching over to your bag. 

In attempt to reach it without standing up, you fall, and you laugh. Alcohol was able to make that fall feel painless. Getting up however, felt like the hardest task ever, but you manage, and you rummage through your bag for your pack of cigarettes. 

You find it; but no cigarettes to be found in it. 

“Fuck!” You yell, throwing your empty pack across the trailer. Good thing your makeup staffs gone, and no one to see your about-to-erupt tantrum. Reaching for your phone, you call your manager, Laura, only for it to go straight to voicemail. Wow. What are managers even for? 

Gotta do everything by yourself. You throw your phone onto the couch, and walk out of your trailer. You didn’t care whether anyone saw you; you just cared about getting a smoke. 

The afternoon sun is blinding to you, the effects of alcohol making it even more unbearable. Is there a convenience store around? Fuck, maybe you should just ask the staff for a smoke. 

You keep walking along the other trailers, feeling some eyes on you. Well, usually at a filming set everyone is busy with their own business, but you’re Y/n. You grab attention by simply breathing. Others might love it, but growing up in showbiz, you just wish to get away from it. Even if just for a second, you would love to be an invisible person. 

You keep walking, hoping to spot anyone with a cigarette in their hands. But your legs beg to stop, and you feel extra dizzy when you bump into a hard…wall? Well, it was hard, but soft at the same time. 

Warm hands wrap around your waist just as you’re ready to fall onto the ground. Even your drunken state knows that you should be clinging onto something if you’re about to fall, and in this case, you were holding onto the person’s biceps. 

You look up, feeling as if this person was 200 centimeters. Shit. He’s tall. 

His hat is low, but you could see blue circles staring down at you, and although his face was attractive, his expression was mean. As if wanting to murder you. Well, he probably does, since a stranger fell into him. 

“You-“

His cologne hits you, and the urge to throw up hits. 

Vomit splatters on his entire shirt, and just like that, you pass out, still in his arms. 

——

Woah. Even getting up slowly triggers the muscles in your brain. 

You blink a few times, adjusting to the lights in your trailer. What time was it? Did you already finish filming? A million questions enter your head as you look around you, and you notice the five large empty liquor bottles on the table. 

Right. No memory whatsoever. 

A wet towel is on your forehead. Weird, you think, as you throw it to the side. 

But then you hear the trailer’s bathroom door open, and you immediately feel uneasy. Who the fuck could be in here other than you? 

The stranger walks out, and he’s half naked. 

And attractive. 

But he’s half naked! 

You quickly check yourself, and yes, you’re still in your clothes. 

“Who… who the fuck are you?” You say, feeling really unsafe right now. You had no gun, no weapon of any kind, and you were terrified. This stranger was extremely fit and tall, and he was standing just a few feet away from you. 

He’s staring at you with his blue eyes, and honestly, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. Is he gonna kill you? Rape you? 

“You have no idea who I am?”

“Yes, you fucking creep. Get out of my trailer before I yell,” you threaten. 

His eyebrows furrow as if you were in the wrong, and he crosses his arms, leaning against your vanity across from you. Woah. His arms. It looks very delicious-

What. “Seriously. Get the fuck out,” you point over to your trailer door. 

He throws his head back, an annoyed groan escaping him. 

What’s his problem? You think, eyebrows furrowed. Okay. That uneasiness, has transformed into anger. “Fuck- get the fuck out, your weirdo. I’m…you know what, I’m calling the fucking cops.”

You look around for your phone, but see it charging on the vanity beside him. 

“Drew Starkey,” he finally says, and you look at him, confusingly. Never in your life have you ever heard that name. Were you even suppose to remember or know this person? He groans again, not even hiding his annoyance at you. “Wow. You’re such a bitch, you know that?”

The audacity- “you’re in my fucking trailer right now. You’re in the faults here. You can’t come in half naked, and act annoyed at me. You fucking cunt-“

The door to your trailer opens, and you squint at the light coming in. 

It was your manager Laura, and she’s holding a bottle of water, a pack of cigarettes, and a folded t-shirt. 

“Laura! A fucking pervert in my trailer-“

“Here you go, Drew. Again, so sorry,” Laura ignores you, handing the man, who apparently, is called Drew, the clean t-shirt. The name he just told you, it was his name? Why did he act so offended earlier, when he said it? Is he like some kind of, celebrity? Impossible; you've met almost all the top actors in showbiz, you would've known him.

“What the fuck,” you voice out, chuckling to get the anger and confusion out of you. You watch as the stranger puts the shirt on, enjoying the way his muscles flex and relaxes is… kind of arousing. But you pull away, feeling embarrassed and egoistic to admit you’re attracted to this rude stranger. 

Laura comes near you, placing the cigarettes and water on the table and sniffs you. “Yeah, you’re still a bit tipsy,” she comments, before grabbing perfume and mints from your bag and sitting down. “Can you still film?”

“What time is it?” You ask, while grabbing the pack and lighting a cigarette up. You breathe it in, and smoke out, immediately feeling more relaxed and in your element. 

“4:20.”

“What time was I suppose to be there?” You giggle, breathing in your cigarette. Oh, it felt so good to smoke. All the energy booster you needed. 

“2:30,” Laura says, sighing. 

“Oh shit,” you laugh, putting the cigarette between your lips. You forcefully spray the perfume on you, knowing the cigarette is probably going to cover the smell anyways. You take another blow of the cigarette, before putting it into Laura’s mouth. She groans angrily at you, and you just chuckle, looking over to the stranger now. He’s not shirtless anymore, and has a hat on. He’s staring at you, with a mean expression now. “What are you still doing here?” You rudely state. 

“Y/n, he’s gonna be here for a long time,” Laura replies instead, and you turn around to her. You look at her with furrowed eyebrows, confused by what she meant. Laura also stares at you with an amused expression. “What, you guys didn't talk?”

You frustratedly throw your arms around and stomp your foot. “What am I supposed to talk about to a half naked guy in my trailer? Laura, use your fucking brain.” 

You turn around and the stranger is now sitting on the couch. You ignore him, turning back to Laura. “Is he my new manager or something? Laura, who the fuck is this?”

“Drew Starkey. You honestly don’t remember him?”

“Am I suppose to?” You reply, reaching for the pack of cigarettes, hoping to bring it with you to set. But ‘Drew’ stops you, his hand, which is surprisingly very warm, wraps around your wrist to stop you. You glare at him, telling him with your eyes to get his hands off you. But he doesn’t. So you verbally express it to him. “Get your fucking hand off me or I’ll chop it off for you.”

“You can’t even walk in a straight line, Y/n.”

Annoyed, you yell, “Get your fucking hand off me."

He does, but he quickly grabs the pack out of your reach, stuffing it into his pocket. Wow. What a jackass. And who is he to care? To take away your stuff? You pray that he gets explosive diarrhea the whole day tomorrow. This asshole deserves it. 

“Whatever,” you say, walking over to the door of your trailer. And he’s right, because you trip over yourself on the way there. You laugh under your breath out of frustration and embarrassment, and turn back around, pointing at ‘Drew’ and looking at Laura. “Get this jackass out my trailer. I don’t care what he is, he better be out of my sight.”

You don’t even bother hearing what her response is, and you leave towards your set. Now, you’re in a worse mood than before. All thanks to the stranger named Drew.

——

Everyone knew you were a good actor. You’re one of the best. And to make it even more astonishing, you’re only 25 years old. Meaning, your acting could get better. But it’s already the best of the best. Maybe its your pure gift, or maybe because you’ve been doing this since you were 13. Either way, you were a fucking good actor. 

The director specifically appointed you to star in his film, which is about the world coming to an end. Director Ravens was quite famous in showbiz, so who were you to decline? Besides, your co-star was Hugh Jackman, a brilliant actor, who you've also grown to admire while filming. 

Your character was a girl in her twenties, who had fallen in love with a stranger despite knowing that the world was getting destroyed within a week. A tragic love story, yet it was beautiful. 

This scene, is your solo one. Your character finds out her brother is dead, and cries with feelings of sadness, regret, and happiness. It’s a scene that would be hard to portray, but you do it well. 

Although you were almost three hours late to set, you make up for it with your acting. One take and the director informs you that it's perfect. And no one disagrees, and the complaints about your tardiness disappears, once they rewatch the scene. You must still be tipsy, because you swear you saw some of the staff shed a tear. 

You don’t offer to watch or reshot the scene, since you wanted to be out of here as soon as possible. But director Ravens insists on another one, hoping to get it from another angle. And you do as he pleases, since, well, he’s the director. 

Wow. One of the most important scenes in the movie only took you twenty minutes to film. 

Director Ravens gives you a break before the next scene, and you walk off before he wants to give you compliments. You didn’t need to hear what you already knew. 

But as you walk over to your seat, someone already occupies it. Drew. 

“You’re still here?” You scoff, crossing your arms. 

You want to rip his blue eyes out to get him to stop staring at you. Why does he like to stare at you so much? 

He pulls a random chair close to him, perhaps wanting you to sit. “Wow. So you can remember faces.”

“Yeah, if they’re as ugly as you,” you lie, because, his face is so damn attractive, that you can’t forget it even if you wanted to. You sit down on the chair, looking ahead of you. “I thought I said I want you out of my sight?”

“You can’t decide that,” he replies. “Who are you to order me around?”

“And who are you to sit in my chair? If anything, you should be kissing my ass right now.”

“Why should I?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?” You scoff. “Look around; that’s what everyone else is doing.”

On cue, a staff member hands you a bottle of water, and you take it without saying thanks. 

“And they’re fucking idiots,” Drew says, and you turn to look at him. He’s still staring at you! Crazy. 

“Shut up. As if you didn’t enjoy the show,” you say, referring to your acting just then.

“I did.”

You scrunch your nose in disgust, “good thing you’re not an actor. You’re horrible at lying.”

“I am.”

‘’What? A liar?”

“No; I’m an actor.”

The fuck? Suddenly, a different staff member interrupts the conversation, a girl holding her phone out to the both of you.

“Can I take a selfie with you?” She shyly asks. 

Of course it’s directed to you, so you simply reject her. “Sorry, but-“

“Yeah, sure.”

Your jaw is probably on the floor right now. The girl wasn’t asking you; she was asking Drew. He stands up and takes a selfie with her, and then hugs her goodbye. 

So… he’s famous? No way, because you’ve never heard of him you entire life. Probably a newbie that got famous by luck. 

You look away from him once he sits down, embarrassed to even face him. You just thought he was some staff member that the company had assigned to serve you. But he’s actually an actor? 

“You were saying?” His deep voice interrupts your thoughts, and you feel your ears go red. Holy shit. You need a smoke real bad right now. Fuck that, you need some liquor in you right this instant. 

Director Ravens saves you, yelling that its time for the next scene. So, you hurry and throw the water bottle at Drew, who catches it as though he’s not surprised at all. 

And he smirks, lifting his hat a bit as if to get a better look up at you. “What’s this for?”

Flustered, you walk off without another look back, partly embarrassed and angry. And you busy yourself with getting into the emotions of the character, and soon, Drew is forgotten as if he never existed. 

-------------------------------

word count: 2.3k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: so...what's your impression of y/n so far?

hope you enjoyed chapter one, i had a blast writing this...although, chapter four was the funniest one yet. btw, i am not joking when i wrote slow burn in the warnings, so pls be patient! and i setted this story to start in february, to match the time of real life events. other than that, rest are fictional!

[bits-and-babs]

✧ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ✧

with one week until october, i've decided it's time i return to writing. i've planned out a release schedule for a kinktober celebration, and hope that i'll be able to complete it this year ! please enjoy, i can't wait to release work for you all again ! ღ

from the 1st - 31st i will be posting one smut fic a day with different prompts featuring different characters. all fics relating to this event will be tagged kinktober 2023. this masterlist will be continually updated as i go.

minors dni: please note all writing in this event is not suitable for minors. if i find minors interacting with my work, you will be blocked.

content tags: please be mindful of the content tags on my fics. each fic will have it's own separate cw section, detailing any sensitive or triggering content. i give ample warning, so if you don't like do not read. all fics will be written as f!reader.

tagging: i will be tagging my usual taglist for the characters I write each day. if you wish to be tagged on each day of kinktober, please sign up via the taglist below.

navigation blog rules taglist

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ─

OCTOBER 001.

camgirl | simon 'ghost' riley x camgirl!reader summary: a new client sends a request for a solo-cam performance. his lack of detail and scarce details leave you unprepared. cw: f!reader, sexwork, dirty talk, breast-play, m & f masturbation, use of sex toy, use of honorific 'sir' but no real power dynamic.

OCTOBER 002.

touch starved | din djarin x reader summary: the child has been getting in the way of you and mando spending time together. after weeks without your touch, he's finally reaching his limit. cw: f!reader, needy din, slightly ooc din to fit the theme, begging, oral (m receiving), cumming early, reference to f oral.

OCTOBER 003.

phone sex | johnny mactavish x reader summary: on leave, johnny can't resist pestering you while you're at work. or perhaps he just can't resist you... cw: f!reader, sexting, dirty talk, voyeurism(?), begging, masturbation (m & f), orgasm denial, inferred voyeurism. this one made me blush.

OCTOBER 004.

aphrodisiac | grand admiral thrawn x reader summary: grand admiral thrawn has a unconventional way of convincing neighbouring planets to pledge allegiance to the empire. cw: aphrodisiacs/sex pollen vibes so dub-con, fingering, cum eating, political mind games.

OCTOBER 005.

clothes on | joel miller x reader summary: trapped inside a wardrobe whilst hiding from infected, joel ups the ante of survival. cw: f!reader, threat to life, mentions of gore, quiet or die kind of vibe, unprotected sex, p in v sex, cream pie, autassassinophilia – arousal in the fear of being killed.

OCTOBER 006.

nipple piercings | captain john price x reader summary: three months into your sas training course, chief directional instructor captain john price drills you on cold-water-shock survival. cw: f!reader, cold water shock, power imbalance (recruit x directing staff), secret relationship, breast/nipple stimulation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, cream pie.

OCTOBER 007.

incubus | maul x reader summary: a bizarre creature comes to visit your dreams, promising to satiate the desperate yearning of your body that it sensed across the plains of the force. cw: incubus! – somnophilia and dub-con by default, size kink, rough sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cream-pie, choking, breath play, use of pet name ‘dove’

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐎 —

OCTOBER 008.

roleplay | könig x reader summary: as with all of your bedroom antics with könig, you plant the seed. but when he finally succumbs to your devious plan, you struggle to withstand the heat. cw: roleplay hostage situation, faux attack, faux disregard for partners comfort (konig cares a lot though, i promise) oral sex (m receiving), rough oral sex, face slapping, rough deep throating, swallowing.

OCTOBER 009.

witch!reader | din djarin x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 010.

cheating | captain john price x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 011.

breeding kink | grand admiral thrawn x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 012.

caught sex | joel miller x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 013.

morning sex | john mactavish x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 014.

hate sex | oberyn martel x reader summary: cw:

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 —

tbc...