#tw: domestic violence

[joelsgreys]

a safe haven l nine

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

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.”

#fic: a safe haven #fic: ash #joel miller series #Joel Miller angst #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tw: dv #tw: domestic violence #tw: pregnancy

[livwritesstuff]

inspired by a reply @gregre369 left on yesterday’s post. this is why i love this site so much bc i had this idea floating aimlessly around my brain for such a long time and then someone says something that just connects all the dots for me so - much thanks <3

tw: brief reference to domestic violence

One of parenthood’s biggest surprises (in Eddie’s opinion, anyway) was how easy talking to his and Steve’s daughters about why his parents aren’t in his life was.

He’d figured it’d be hard to figure out exactly how to explain that his mother's death was due to domestic violence caused by his father, who had died in prison twenty years later – but…that about covers it, honestly. Sure, the exact rendition of the story the girls hear varies as they get older, but…it’s pretty straightforward, actually.

Explaining Steve’s situation turned out to be way more complicated for…well, for a lot of reasons, and the fact that his parents are still alive and breathing and choosing to not be around didn't help things at all.

It also didn't help that the girls totally saw Jim and Joyce as Steve’s parents, but it did lead to a conversation that Eddie doesn't think he'll ever forget:

It happened when he was passing through the kitchen to see that Steve was cooking with Moe.

"What're we up to in here?" he asked.

At four years old (she’s actually almost five), Moe has yet to outgrow a phase of picky eating that had started out right around her second birthday. Steve is trying out a new method where he involves Moe in the cooking process in the hopes that she then actually wants to eat the product of her hard work when it’s done. He's seeing varying levels of success.

“We're making burgers,” Moe said, “Poppy’s recipe.”

Eddie looked at Steve skeptically, “Poppy Jim or Poppy Joyce?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “I’m telling Joyce you said that.”

And then he added, “Jim.”

Satisfied, Eddie continued on his way.

“How come you call your dad Jim?” Moe asked.

And that had Eddie pausing in the hallway just out of their line of sight.

“Well, Poppy’s not my dad, sweet pea,” Steve replied.

“Did you not have a dad?”

“I did have a dad – I do. He lives in Indiana with my mom. We don't really talk to each other anymore though."

"Why?"

"When I was younger, I decided that they didn’t take care of me like I needed them too, and Jim and Joyce stepped in to be like my parents instead."

It's not completely accurate, Eddie knows (and he doesn't love the way Steve is shifting culpability away from his parents because that shit was fully on them, but whatever; it's his story and he can tell it however he want), but just like how they don't have a completely accurate picture of what happened to Eddie's mom either, they know what they need to know for now and they'll hear more down the line.

“But what did your mom and dad do?” Moe asked.

"Well, you know how Daddy and I read to you and play with you and put you to bed and make food for you – it was a little different because I was older and I needed different stuff than that, but…”

Eddie watched Steve look back at their oldest daughter, watched him see the look of confusion in her big brown eyes.

“They didn’t do that?” Moe asked, sounding perplexed.

Steve shook his head, and Moe continued to look at him as if he might suddenly tell her he was joking.

“That’s crazy,” Moe finally said, and Steve let out a laugh.

“It is kinda crazy, isn’t it?” he agreed, “That’s why I love being your dad so much, because it’s actually so easy to want to take care of you. Even though you sometimes like to make it hard on purpose, right?”

“Yeah,” she grinned proudly, “Like when I make you snuggle me more at bedtime and you fall asleep by accident and then the kitchen is messy in the morning."

"Uh-huh," Steve said, poking her in the side so she giggled, "Exactly like that."

"You're a good dad," Moe told him.

"You think?" Steve asked as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"The best dad."

“The best?” he repeated, “Can’t let Daddy hear that.”

“He can hear it.”

#cue moe yelling for eddie so she can say it to his face #she later affirms it's actually a tie #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson #tw: domestic violence

[celluloidbroomcloset]

OK, since we're arguing about this: the scene in "The Art of Fuckery" where Izzy challenges Stede to a duel.

The progression of the scene seems pretty clear, but to note—Stede and Ed come onto the main deck. They applaud the crew—Ed says that the fuckery "scared the pants off me" and then compliments the Swede on his voice. Stede tells them all how proud he is. Then:

Izzy: Stede Bonnet, draw your weapon. Ed: No, Izzy, we're not doing this. Izzy: No, you're not doing this, so I must.

Of note here: no one has drawn on anyone yet. Stede has not accepted a challenge nor has Izzy yet directly issued one. Ed interferes immediately and tells Izzy, quite clearly, "We're not doing this."

Now, could Ed directly order Izzy to stand down? Yes, but he seems surprised that Izzy is going against his orders already, and there's every chance that another order won't make a difference. Izzy has decided that Ed's not going to kill Stede. Ed is telling him no, and Izzy is acknowledging the order and then saying he knows best. You can't be more explicit about the fact that he's going against his captain's orders.

From the moment Stede accepts the challenge, Ed steps back, but he makes it very clear that he's on Stede's side: "Stede, be careful, he does know his shit."

The whole scene proceeds with Ed withdrawing further and further, at the end unable to even watch Stede being run through. But his lack of interference does not at all indicate a lack of caring—there are a number of reasons he doesn't interfere, not the least of them being that a challenge has been issued and accepted, and him getting into the center of it would shame Stede and undermine him to his crew (there's a lot to be said about shame and honor on this show, but I'm not doing it here).

The other element is that Ed has just relived the trauma of his father's murder, including the violence that his father (an angry white man) perpetrated against his mother, leading to Ed attacking and killing him. Ed is now watching someone else he cares about, with whom he has shared the absolute darkest part of him, in danger of pain and death from another angry white man. The moment Stede is actually hurt by a cut to the shoulder is the moment that Ed starts to dissociate, and by the time Stede is disarmed, he turns away completely. He clings to the rigging, he hides his face, he starts swaying back and forth.

The positioning of Izzy, Ed, and Stede is almost identical to the positioning of Ed watching his father beat his mother—Izzy on the left of the frame, Stede on the right, Ed between them, unable to move or respond (covering his ears, hiding his face). Stede has already been associated with Ed's mother via the red silk and the tenderness with which he has treated Ed, and he's now apparently defenseless against the man who wants to hurt him, over whom Ed now has no apparent authority. Ed has returned to the helpless child, seeing a scene unfold before him that mirrors the trigger for his most traumatic experience, the thing that drove him to piracy in the first place.

But sure. It's about fucking protocol.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #ofmd season 1 #stede bonnet #izzy hands #ed teach #edward teach #tw: abuse #tw: domestic violence #gif #you wanna fucking fight me about this? #to be clear: I THINK IZZY IS FUCKING FASCINATING #he's a great antagonist in season 1 and he grows so much in season 2 #i LIKE THAT #but don't lets pretend that he's not typed as the abusive man trying to destroy the gentlest things in ed's life for all of the first seaso

[queerbuckleys]

“standing in between you and anyone who thinks they can hurt you is exactly where I want to be standing.” insp by @madneyporchengagement

[image description: 2 gifs from season 6 episode 11 of 911. gif 1: in Buck’s coma dream, Buck pulls back Maddie’s sleeve to reveal harsh bruising on her forearm where it is evident that Doug hurt her. gif 2: At the end of the episode in Buck’s apartment Maddie leans down to hug Buck, he leans into her and his hand instinctively comes to rest on her forearm. /end ID]

#911 #the buckley siblings #maddie buckley #evan buckley #tuserksn #janielook #userceecee #userbon #tuserjw #userweres #911verse #useroliii #alielook #singinprinces #tw: domestic violence #*911 #*ajgifs

[thecowboykatsuki-anon]

𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗

TW: mentions of abuse/domestic violence, fighting

𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗

Cowboy! Bakugou watches your ex corner you on the way to the bathroom, your face pinched in annoyance that quickly morphs into anger as he looms over you.

He can’t tell exactly what you’re saying, but he knows it can’t be productive. You refused to talk about what exactly went down between the two of you, but he knows it’s nothing good.

He watches carefully, a beer halfway to his lips when your ex’s hand closes over the top of your arm. Even from here, he can see it’s rough, jolts your entire body as his fingers curl into the soft fat of your arm, and Bakugou’s already prepared to stand when your fist rocks out and slams into your ex’s jaw.

Everything after that happens too quick, you’re shoved back hard enough that he watches your head slam back on the wood floor of the bar as his stool clatters behind him.

Over the blood rushing in his ears, clouding his vision red, he can faintly hear someone call out to him. “Bakugou, wait!”

He’s between the two of you in a second flat, teeth bared as he fists your ex’s shirt in one hand, the other already slamming into his cheek. There are shouts all around him, people calling for security, scrambling out of the way of the hurricane he’s become. All he can focus on is the man beneath him as they tumble backwards, his knees hitting the floor painfully as a fist buries itself in his ribs, his chest.

Everything moves slow as his fists rain down again and again, only pausing when a hit lands on his cheek so hard he thinks he might pass out, black warring with the red on the edge of his vision.

But then theres a flash of you hitting the wood through his mind, the way your mouth had parted in a silent cry, and he’s grounded again, fury keeping him conscious enough to finish the job.

The man beneath him is a bloody, wheezing mess when they finally yank him off after what feels like hours, security shoving him up against the wall.

People rush into the space he once was, some calling for an ambulance, and it’s only then that he realizes he doesn’t know where you are, head whipping to the other side. The feeling of brick against his bruised cheek has him sucking in a sharp breath, but his panicked searching only stops when his gaze lands on you.

Kiri’s got you pulled into his lap, shielding you from the fight and checking your head, but your gaze never once wavers from Bakugou’s when he meets it, eyes shining with tears.

There’s a silent exchange between the two of you then, a realization that just beneath the surface of your friendship, something else has been looming, waiting for a chance to show itself. He thinks you should be angry, should be getting ready to slap him for losing his temper like that. But you don’t.

You look at him like you’ve never seen him before, never really seen him. You look relieved, even, and then your gaze flicks to the broken man on the floor for half a second and everything clicks for him. All the times you dodged his questions about your relationship, all the times you snapped at him to let it go when he asked why you broke up, all the canceled plans and the sudden rift in your friendship that had left him hurt and aching.

And in that moment, something new roars to life in his chest. Something heavy and hot that makes him want to rip Kiri’s hands off you and make sure you’re okay himself. Makes him want to cradle your face in his hands and wipe away your tears.

Because whether either of you knew it or not yet, he was yours, and nothing would happen to you while he was around.

#I’m going through some stuff sorryyyy #kinda ooc I know #mha #t writes #cowboy anon writes #thecowboyanon writes #bakugou #cowboy! katsuki #cowboy! Bakugou #tw: abuse #TW: domestic violence #Bakugou x reader #Bakugou angst

[farfromstrange]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do a Matt Murdock x reader one-shot?

If you aren't comfortable writing this, that's okay! Basically the reader in an abusive relationship with an older man and she meets Matt in a bar. They flirt over drinks and the reader goes back to his apartment with him in a lapse of judgment. The reader is enjoying herself, cracking jokes and pretending nothing is wrong. Because of Matt's extra sensory abilities he can tell there is something wrong with her though. She’s recently been injured and he can hear and smell some of her injuries.

She thinks he won't know she's injured because he is blind and they start making out at his place, but when he takes off her shirt he starts subtly checking her injuries. When he gets to her ribs he stops and questions the reader because he can feel that a few are broken. She insists it's nothing and tries to laugh it off and encourages him to keep making out with her. He tells her no because she’s hurt and she gets embarrassed and tries to leave. Matt can sense her panic and soothes her. He convinces her to stay and lie down so he can take care of her injuries and he comforts her as she cries and promises her boyfriend won't ever hurt her again.

Hello, lovely! I'm sorry it took so long for me to respond to this. Thank you so much for your request. Since this is a very sensitive subject, I tried my best to convey it in the right way, and thank God, I managed to finish it! I hope you're doing okay and that you like how I interpreted your request. Thank you again and take care of yourself <3

Narcissist | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Trying to catch a break from your abusive boyfriend, you find yourself seeking refuge and a drink at Josie's in the middle of the night. It's where you bump into Matt Murdock, a charming stranger with the promise of a night of fun. Little do you know that the seemingly normal stranger has a much better perception. After taking you home with him, it doesn't take him long to discover the dark nature of your need to escape.

Warnings: ANGST, description of domestic violence, abuse, description of injuries, kissing

Word Count: 7.5k

A/n: This request probably hits very close to home for some of you, so I want you to take care of yourselves and proceed with caution. There are resources for victims of abuse that you can turn to. I've found this page for victims of abuse that's available in 115 languages: Home « HotPeachPages International Don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it! Remember, this is a work of fiction and does not represent real life. Take care of yourselves <3

18+ MINORS DNI

The crowded bar around him is bustling with noise. The distinctive smell of cheap beer and vodka clouds his senses. The balls on the pool table keep clanging against the corners and sliding into the holes. Conversations start to overlap. 

Josie’s has always held a special meaning to Matt. As uncomfortable as it could sometimes get, especially on Friday nights like this one, the chaos makes him feel at peace. The noise inside cancels out the sound of injustice that reaches his ears from the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, and sometimes a break is all he needs. 

He finds himself nursing a drink at the bar, listening to the condensation of his beer bottle hit the wooden counter. Lost in thought, he only lifts his head when the door opens. The bell attached to the frame rings out softly, barely tuning out the sound of fun that has started to dominate the room. 

Matt hears the steady sound of your heartbeat first. The muscles in your body are tense, and while your breath sounds calm, there’s a certain edge to the way you move and order your drink only a few inches apart from him. He can hear the sound of your voice, the smile that is undoubtedly fake but makes Josie smile too - and she doesn’t smile often because the clientele simply doesn’t deserve her kindness. You, however, seem to strike a nerve with your attitude. 

He can’t deny that there is a light surrounding you, but that light is about to be consumed by darkness. He can’t explain why he gets the feeling that something might be wrong; he doesn’t know you. He doesn’t recognize the distinctive smell of your perfume or the unique rhythm of your heartbeat. You’re a stranger and yet his mind instantly starts to circle what lies underneath the person you pretend to be. You’re not fake, he would never suspect that. You try to be yourself, or the version of yourself you want to be, but there seems to be something that is holding you back, something that is dragging you down and keeping your soul in a knot. 

The many eyes he feels turning toward you and the uptick of a few male heartbeats in the bar tell him what he already suspected; you’re attractive, and your smile captivates people. From what he can hear in your voice, you must be a comfortable character to be with, and as you say something to Josie that makes her laugh and he hears your laugh, Matt’s attention is on your entirely now. He’s intrigued. 

His head is screaming for him to leave it be, to leave you be, but he can’t stop himself. When Matt Murdock has his mind set on something, he needs to have it, and at that moment, it is you he wants to get to know. He can’t deny it; as curious as he is about who’s hiding behind the almost painfully obvious mask you put on - to a man with his heightened senses, at least - he is also attracted to you. Judging alone by the way you carry yourself, the sweet sound of your voice, and the way your laugh resonates, he can’t help but feel drawn to you. It’s a mix between curiosity, attraction, and concern that motivates him to grab his beer bottle and approach the chair you’ve seated yourself on, sipping on your vodka martini alone. No olives, he heard you tell Josie. You told her that you hate olives. 

“Mind if I join you?” he asks. 

The moment your eyes fall on him, your heart skips a beat. Your jaw loosens as you eye him more carefully, your cheeks flushing, and the oxygen gets stuck in your lungs for a little too long. At least the attraction is mutual, he thinks, and your exhale carries a sense of determination. 

He holds his breath. Your eyes roam over him again, a different aura surrounding you now. “Sure,” you say, your voice almost hoarse, but he ignores it. 

Matt smiles, almost relieved, and sits down next to you. “Can I buy you another drink?” he asks. He knows yours is still full, but he can’t tell you that he can smell the liquor clinging to the glass, and how it always smells heavier when it’s full than when it isn’t. 

You frown, a cute little crinkle forming between your brows, and then you giggle. Your giggle is even sweeter than your laugh, and the blood rushes to your cheeks again. Your heart races. Though this time, your laugh is genuine. It sounds genuine, at least. He revels in it for a little too long.

“Um,” you begin, and your voice cracks as you try not to laugh. “I just got a drink. I’m usually not the glass-half-full type, but in this case, the glass is half-full. ‘Cause that’s the appropriate amount for a vodka martini.”

He chuckles. “I’m sorry,” he says and tips his glasses. “I should have thought about that question before I asked. I didn’t see… well, I can’t see.”

He listens to your heartbeat. There’s a moment of hesitation before you laugh, noticing he’s waiting for a reaction. You laugh and it’s genuine again. The concern he had before flies out of the window and what’s left at that moment is this feeling of pure awe when he imagines the kind of person that is sitting next to him, and that he managed to lighten some of your darkness with a joke he often uses. 

“So, you still have a drink and I know Josie well enough that I shouldn’t recommend her cheese fries. That means I don’t have much else to offer you except-” Matt extends his hand, “I’m Matthew. Matthew Murdock.”

He raises his hand and you lean back a little, swallowing and considering twice what to do with his introduction. He frowns. Your reaction seems odd, and he sees the darkness sparkling again. Slowly, he lowers his hand again and offers a comforting smile. 

“You don’t have to talk to me,” he says. “I didn’t mean to come off too strong. I just heard that you were alone, as weird as that sounds, and I thought you’d want some company because, uh, I’m also here alone.” He tips his beer bottle in her direction. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, just say the word and I’ll leave.”

You swallow again, eye him, then exhale. Your shoulders slack and you turn toward him, your attention not wavering. When he finally hears your name come out of your mouth with gentle shyness, he smiles brightly again. You even offer him your nickname and it relaxes him to know you’re not as uncomfortable as you had first seemed. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

You return the favor, “Pleasure’s all mine.”

“Just to check in,” he smirks, “Is your drink still full?”

He hears you giggle again and he joins in. “It’s half-empty,” you say. 

“Oh. Well, mine’s too.”

“Then maybe we should just keep drinking and you can buy me another one after that?” 

Matt smirks. You’re bolder than he thought. He sets the brim of his bottle to his lips and says, “Deal,” before taking a long swig. 

You do the same. 

At the beginning of the day, you would have never suspected you would end up in this position. If you’re being honest with yourself, it seemed like an impossibility before. You woke up to the same nagging feeling in your stomach. You woke up just to be torn down. But every person reaches their breaking point eventually. 

Over the past two years, your days have looked the same. Every morning, you’ve dreaded waking up the same way you’ve dreaded going to bed at night, knowing that hell would start again in the morning. It has become a downward spiral that has gotten out of control. 

Every morning, you have to wake up before sunrise to make breakfast or you know your first conversation of the day would be a fight. You have to pack lunch and you have to give a proper goodbye. You go to work, and you get a few hours of break, but every hour, after every meeting, you have to send a message to the one person you even dread getting back home to now. You have to account for your whereabouts, you can’t go out after work and you can’t have friends. You need to cook dinner or your night will end in more fighting and pain, and you would wake up in the morning twice as uncomfortable. Most of the time, you have to serve your body on a silver platter to finally make the night end, and if you as much as slip up once, you’re going to have to suffer the consequences because as a woman and girlfriend, it’s your job.

At first, you were blind. You met a nice guy, you went on a few dates and it seemed like a dream come true. You were happy. The quirks he started to show a few months into the relationship were red flags, but you were young and so in love with a man older and more experienced than you, you ignored the signs. You believed him because he’s always made sure to tell you he knows better. The things he asked of you, you did out of love, but the more time passed, the more you started realizing that you’d gotten yourself into quite a predicament. 

The red flags you hadn’t seen before are clear now, and you know that the life you’re living is no real way to live, but whenever you get a moment of clarity and want to leave, it’s the smallest display of affection that makes you fall right back into the trap. Your daily routine has become a standard. Your relationship feels like a job and it hurts, more often physically than mentally, but his words are scarring all the same. You’ve tried fighting back, but it has always ended badly for you. 

Tonight though, something snapped in you. You were frustrated and in a moment of strength (or weakness) you decided to leave. That’s how you ended up at Josie’s, a bar far away from the apartment you share with the man you fell in love with but hasn’t been the same ever since your relationship became official. You stormed out and you walked the dark streets until your feet hurt and you couldn’t wait for an unhealthy amount of liquor anymore. Your goal had been to get drunk.

Never in a million years would you have thought that someone like Matt would walk up to you, let alone offer you his company. If you came home that night and he found out, you know for a fact you would have died. Though as the clock keeps ticking and you keep talking with this stranger that is starting to feel less and less like a stranger, you don’t want to go home. The feeling of being listened to is alien yet comfortable, and you can’t help but feel drawn to him. He’s compassionate, he’s kind and he’s funny. He is the kind of man you thought your boyfriend was before he turned around and stabbed you in the back, and he’s kept you there ever since. 

Though when Matt turns his head to you, making sure you know you have his attention, there is a faint flicker of hope you had once thought dead hidden away deep inside, and it’s starting to show. Just for tonight, you decide, you shut the part of yourself off that you can’t even seem to understand. For tonight, you decide, you’re going to pretend everything’s fine and that you’re not stuck in a cycle made by the devil himself. You decide to have fun. And you haven’t had that kind of fun in a very long time. 

He’s a lawyer, he tells you. He’s his own boss, he works with his best friend and he only helps those who can’t help themselves. He prefers justice over money. He’s catholic. He’s everything your mother once told you to bring home, and while they like the man you’re with, they would hate him if they knew the truth. Most people would. It’s only human to hate a man like that, especially for the things he did and continues to do. You know you’re supposed to hate him, and deep down you do, but love is a fickle thing and you can’t help but need him, even after all he’s done to hurt you. And that, in your head, is fucked up enough to get another drink. 

You get so enthralled in another conversation that you almost fail to notice Josie’s glance from behind the bar. Her eyes carry a look of concern that have you wondering what you did wrong. That’s when it dawns on you.

You touch your cheek, noticing how some of the sweat from your forehead has started to dissolve your concealer. You’re not allowed to buy expensive makeup, so you settle for what seems the most natural, and it does little to cover bruises because you’re not allowed to go out most of the time anyway, and you’ve never had the most obvious bruises on your face before. Today, that is different. 

For a second, you’re relieved Matt can’t see the obvious blue discoloration of the skin around your eye, then you meet Josie’s eye and the panic settles in. You touch your cheek and flinch when you apply too much pressure to the fresh bruise, trying to hide the shivers that adorn your skin. 

Matt looks confused and at the same time concerned, reaching out to touch your back and ask, “Are you okay?” He calls your name and it’s the softest sound you’ve ever heard. 

You don’t deserve it, you think. You lied to him, you told him you were single and that you were simply at Josie’s for an after-work drink. You laughed with him and you allowed him to flirt with you. You don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you’ve lied to him or that you’re still lying to yourself by thinking any of this is okay. 

His hand brushes over a particularly sensitive spot just above your spine and you flinch. The sharp pain shoots straight down through the bone. It’s not his hand that lays on you now, it’s someone else’s. It’s the hand that bruised the skin. You know it’s not Matt’s fault, he doesn’t know what you’re hiding, but the anger inside your chest begins to bubble up. You’re agitated, and you know this is all on you. It can’t be on anyone else because you’ve put yourself in this position. 

You hastily scramble for your bag. 

“Where are you going?” Matt asks. “Did I say something wrong?”

You are quick to assure him, “No, not at all, I just… I gotta use the bathroom real quick. Excuse me.”

He follows you with his hearing alone, confused and concerned at the same time. Your steps retreat toward the women’s bathroom. The wood falls back into its hinges behind you. He can hear you placing your bag down on the sink and searching for something. The squishy sound of a tube of concealer fills his ears as you take out the sponge and apply some of it to your cheeks, rubbing the color into your skin. 

What you don’t know, he’s heard the hitch of your breath and the uptick of your heartbeat whenever a bittersweet lie has slipped past your lips. He could smell the fear radiating off your body. Whenever his hands brushed your skin, you grew uneasy but at the same time aroused by the simple action. You’re stuck in a weird middle space between attraction and anxiety and he’s starting to piece the puzzle together. 

When you flinched when he touched your back, he knew. He could feel the bone under your skin shift and the blood pooling in one particular spot. The nerves stretching over the muscle are inflamed, he noticed, and the fear that has suddenly spiked your heartbeat and prompted you to storm off into the bathroom set off the alarms in his head. 

Inside, you’re trying your hardest not to cry as you pat the concealer onto your skin. The bags under your eyes look so much heavier in the artificial lighting. The bruise is starting to sparkle a bright purple at the edges and the veins in the corner of your eyes are redder than usual. The vessels that burst only a couple of days ago still haven’t recovered. 

And your mind begins to reel; you wonder where you went wrong. Deep down, you know none of this was your fault, but as you look at yourself in the mirror and the ghastly picture on your right eye imprints in your brain, you begin to wonder if there was something you could have done better.

Usually, your days turn into a blur, but today remains a vivid picture in your mind. You once told yourself that if you stick to the rules set for you, you could be somewhat happy. Last night, you forgot to think. Your work day had been rough and when one of your colleagues asked if you wanted to grab a coffee with them, you were too exhausted to say no. A crowded café sounded better than the hell awaiting you at home. You lied and texted your boyfriend that your boss dropped another load of paperwork on your desk, and at first, it seemed like your lie worked. 

The people you work with are all around your age - some of them are even fresh out of college, and there is this guy, Louis, who’s simply a joy to be around. It was just a cup of coffee and a small stroll around New York, but when you came home and noticed you were still wearing your colleague’s jacket, there was not much that could hold the man you share a bed with back from unleashing his anger on you. 

You lost count of how many times you apologized. You didn’t cry, you simply let him have his way with you. As twisted as it may sound, you thought you deserved it. His hands and his words made you feel so incredibly small, you searched for the fault within you. You thought you did something wrong by accepting a friendly gesture, by doing something for yourself, and by being human. He’s always had a way of making you believe what he believes, but last night, he went too far. 

You’ve often been incapacitated by his punishment, but he left you completely humiliated, bloody, and bruised to sleep on the couch with bruises that still bothered your back from his outburst a week ago, and you found yourself crying yourself to sleep. It didn’t stop there. This morning, he barely paid attention to you, and for every word you said, he made sure to tear your pride down even further. By the time he left for work, you were late and crying and the kitchen was such a mess, he threatened to make you regret it if you didn’t clean up right this instant. So you stayed behind, you cleaned up, you put on the concealer that has become a shield from the prying eyes of the world, and you went to work. 

The last straw came when you arrived home long after him and he didn’t get the dinner he required. This time though, when he raised his hand and continuously beat down on the bruise around your eye, you didn’t lay down and cry. You waited until he was done and tucked into bed, grabbed your bag, and stormed out. What compelled you to make the decision, you aren’t sure, but it seemed to have been the right thing at the time. 

Though you know that if you decide to come back home in the morning, a black eye and a few broken ribs will be the least of your problems. 

You’re angry. You’re angry at him for making you doubt yourself and the life he’s forced you to abandon so many times before. You’re angry at him for taking your pride and turning you into someone too afraid to stand up for themselves. 

You make a decision, and it’s a decision you should have made a long time ago. 

Matt lifts his head when he hears you approach. There seems to be something different about the way you carry yourself. It’s an angry determination, a thirst for revenge, but at the same time, he can tell from the way you move and look at him that the attraction he has caught before has not once wavered. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” you ask him. 

He’s taken aback. The rational part of him screams that you’re in no state to make such a decision, but the rational part is also the concerned part and he knows that if he says no, you will find someone else to take you home and you probably won’t be as safe as he wants you to be. With him, at least, he knows you’re safe. 

So Matt makes a decision too. Unbeknownst to you though, he has a different motivation in mind when he says, “Let’s go back to my place.”

Your eyes light up and your lips curl into a smirk. “I’d love that.”

Your bold question inevitably leads you into a mouse trap. One second, you’re admiring Matt’s apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen and the way the Billboard’s green color illuminates the brown furniture, the next you have discarded the coffee he made you and find yourself seated on his lap. 

He’s a good kisser. Not that you have much experience in that arena, but as soon as you decide to kiss him - because in your life, hardly any decisions are ever yours - you get lost in the soft feeling of his plump lips moving effortlessly against yours. It’s as if he studied how to kiss. 

His hands on his hips are gentle and steady, yet he keeps you pressed to him as if he’s scared of losing you. You tangle your hands in his hair. The brown locks feel like heaven under your fingertips and you sigh into his mouth. His tongue slips between your lips and he makes sure to taste every last inch he can reach. 

You can feel his cold fingertips on your bruised skin underneath your shirt, but you don’t mind. Maybe it’s because he can’t see that you’re not scared of his touch. 

When he calls your name softly and asks, “May I?” as he attempts to take your shirt off, you’re taken aback for a second. The way he asks leaves room for you to make a choice. With a soft smile, you nod and he slides your shirt off. 

Leaning back down, you capture his lips once more. He smells like rain and sandalwood. He reminds you of a beautiful day in fall, the sun shining down on the still-wet ground as the leaves sway in the wind. His calloused fingers send shivers down your spine, but his touch has never been gentler. 

You know what you’re doing is wrong, but the sin of his lips tastes sweeter than heaven, and if wanting him was such a bad thing, you would gladly go to hell. Matt is a stranger, yet he makes you feel more alive than anyone else ever has. He sets your body on fire with a single touch, his lips dancing to a choreography that is now etched into your brain. He holds you close, he keeps you safe, and the pleasure that ripples through you is a new sensation that makes you feel so alive - for a moment, you finally forget about everything else. You forget about your boyfriend, you forget about the bruises and you forget about the fear and the pain that seems to follow you everywhere you go. You don’t feel the need to hesitate; you just want him. 

You get so lost in the taste of him, you misjudge the placement of his hands as sexual intimacy. It’s only when he pushes you away ever so softly that you open your eyes, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, and lips swollen from his vicious attack on them with his teeth. You look at him, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to regain your breath. 

The green light reflects off his brown irises, his unfocused eyes carrying a sense of concern as they roam your face. He reaches out to touch your cheek, his other hand staying on your ribs. His thumb traces circles over the obvious bruise that adorns your right side, and he manages to find the bruise you’ve covered on your face with ease. Your mind is hazy and you can’t find it in yourself to question his actions. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach and you watch him closely, the concern multiplying with each stroke of his fingers. 

His voice is soft yet hoarse when he speaks up. “What happened?” he asks. 

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“You’re hurt.”

Your heart starts beating faster. “It’s nothing. I’m okay. Let’s just keep going…” You lean back down to kiss him once more, but he stops you. 

“Sweetheart, your ribs are broken.”

At first, you wonder how he knows, but your curiosity is quickly replaced by the need to shield yourself. 

“I’m not going to take advantage of you while you’re injured. I need to know,” he says softly, “who hurt you?”

You pull away suddenly, climbing off his lap. You find your shirt on the floor and put it back on. Your heart races. His question runs circles around your head. Your hands shake as you get dressed again, and Matt whimpers softly at the loss of your warmth. 

He calls your name. Your silhouette is burning with fear and he is half-convinced that you might get a heart attack if your pulse doesn’t slow down. He knows he’s hit a nerve. The suspicion he’s had before becomes clearer, but he doesn’t want to assume something without hearing it from you first. Judging from your determination though, he needs to act fast or you will get yourself in danger as soon as he lets you out of the door. 

“This was a mistake,” you mutter under your breath, your voice quivering. 

You would be lying if you said this was the first time someone asked you this, but it wouldn’t be a lie to say that this is the first time someone has been genuine while asking, and it’s that part of his voice that breaks your heart and urges you to run. You made a mistake, you’ve meant what you said, but you’re not sure if Matt is the problem. If anything, spending time with him has proven to you that the mistake is sitting at home, waiting for you to come back and beat you into submission over and over again.

Matt cares and the fact that he does hurts so badly because now you realize how stupid you’ve been ogling for a love that has been built on violence and manipulation from the beginning. Your boyfriend has never loved you and he probably never will, and realizing that hurts even more than the fact that you’re about to push someone away who seems as if he just wants to help - and help is what you need, but God, do you hate admitting it. 

You should have known Matt wouldn’t let you go without a fight. 

He reaches out to catch your arm. “Wait,” he calls out for you softly. “Don’t go, please. I’m sorry, I just… I’m worried about you. I feel like you’re hiding something and I’m afraid that if I let you go now, you’re going to get seriously hurt. So please… please, talk to me.”

“You don’t even know me,” you snap, a pathetic attempt at keeping your heart safe from the vulnerability. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Someone’s hurting you.”

You swallow. The tears are threatening to fall. You’ve had a rough couple of days - no, you’ve had a rough two years and you’ve been waiting for a lifeline for so long, you eventually decided to give up. But there he is, Matt Murdock, holding out his hand for you to take. The lifeline is so close yet so far away, only because the fear that has seeped into your soul keeps you tied to the ground, unable to fight back. Oh, you want to fight back, but you’ve never learned how. You want to reach for the lifeline he’s throwing you, but you’re afraid of what it might mean. 

Matt tugs at your arm again. He says your name and you listen. The soft sound is about to snap the invisible string that keeps you detached from reality in two, and the tears are about ready to fall. 

“I know I don’t know you and I have no right to ask about your personal life, but I can tell that you’re scared. I can tell that you’re hurt. I won’t force you to stay, I’m not that kind of man, but I also don’t want you to leave. Just tell me, are you safe?”

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. 

“Are you okay?” he asks again. “If I let you go now, are you going to return to a home that is safe for you to stay in?”

So many questions and only one right answer. He doesn’t need to hear you say it to know what your answer is going to be. 

He lets go of your hand, albeit hesitantly. You don’t move. He expected you to run out, but instead, you stay. You stand there and don’t move. It’s as if your heart has made a decision that your mind is still arguing with, but he can tell that you’re not going to move. 

Once again, he calls your name. “Are you going to be okay?”

The invisible string snaps. “No,” you whisper.

Matt tilts his head. He doesn’t push you, he simply holds out his hand again. 

This is the first time in two years you say it out loud, but it sends the stone rolling down the hill and the tears start falling. “I think I need help…” You suck in a sharp breath, but it’s too late. The dam has already broken. 

He nods softly, opening his arms to you and you take the hug without hesitation. When was the last time someone has hugged you? You’re not sure. It’s been a while. You’ve been detached from the real world for so long, you almost forgot what it’s like to be human, to receive affection, to live your life the way you want it, and make your own decisions. You forgot what it’s like to breathe. 

Violent sobs wrack your body. You feel yourself shaking in his arms. His touch offers a sanctuary for you to release your anguish, and you do so plenty. The tears cascade down your cheeks, wetting your shirt and his. He only holds you tighter, making sure you don’t collapse. 

Every inch of your body is trembling. Fire spreads through your muscles, and the tension within them starts to dissipate. It slips off your shoulders and shatters to the floor like fragile glass. You realize that you’re just as fragile. Your foundation has taken so many hits, so many cracks, and you’ve tried everything to keep yourself upright. You developed methods of survival, but you’ve never truly lived. You’ve spent the past two years caged in, not even allowing yourself to cry because he considers it a sign of weakness. 

As Matt holds you close to him, the sickening feeling of loneliness is still there, but you no longer feel alone. You feel listened to. You feel comforted. It’s almost overwhelming. You find yourself unable to breathe while at the same time breathing better than ever before. Your body quivers again, and his grip tightens. You can feel his lips on your scalp, his fingers painting a pattern on your skin through your clothes. 

You’ve been scared and you’re still scared, but with Matt, it seems a little more bearable. There is something about him that just won’t let you go, but you mean that in all the best ways possible. 

As the waves of despair crash over you, you find solace in the warmth of his embrace. His steady presence and compassion create a haven amidst the chaos.

Gradually, the storm subsides, leaving behind a sense of catharsis. With tear-stained cheeks and a trembling voice, you gather the shattered fragments of your story, ready to share them with someone who truly listens, understands, and cares. You need help, you know that. You can run, but you can't escape on your own. And in Matt's unwavering gaze, you find the courage to speak your truth.

Silently, he guides you to his bed. He lays you down gently, encouraging you to take off your shirt. You’re not sure what the ointment he brings into the bedroom is made out of, but your tears make it impossible to speak. 

“This might sting,” he mutters. 

It wasn’t a lie. The scent alone stings in your nose, but as soon as the salve hits your skin, the cooling effect tunes out the pain of it all. You let out a trembling breath. 

“I’m sorry. You’re doing great. I’m almost done.”

He covers every last bruise you point out with the ointment. He cleans the concealer off your face and presses an ice pack against the bruised skin. He doesn’t speak. His ears are focused on the sound of your calming heartbeat and the comfort displayed in your body language. He listens to your breathing. He focuses on the signs that tell him that you’re alive and that you’re safe with him. He focuses on the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers, the jump of your pulse, and the way you reach out to hold his forearm as he pays close attention to the scrapes he finds on your arm. 

On his way up your body, he catches a single tear that has slipped your eye and started running down your neck. He strokes along the wet trail until he reaches your face. His thumb brushes over your cheek and he smiles, his brown eyes warm and focused. 

You look down at where he’s kneeling next to the bed, his hands still gentle, his touch never pressuring you into something you don’t want. You shiver. The ice around your heart has melted, leaving you behind naked and vulnerable, and your defenses are finally gone. 

He catches another tear. “Who did this to you?” he asks. 

You gather all of your strength to answer. “We’ve been together for two years,” you tell him. 

“So he’s your boyfriend?” There is a different sound to his voice now. 

You nod. 

“He did this to you?”

You nod again. 

“Regularly?”

“Yes,” you say. 

“Jesus Christ,” he curses under his breath, and you swear you saw him grab the cross necklace that is dangling off his neck. If he’s praying for self-control or your safety, you’re not sure. Maybe both. 

You take a deep breath, the weight of the past continuing to drag you down, and your boyfriend's voice loud and clear in your ear, threatening to hurt you. But not this time, you decide. You're stronger than that. In a short amount of time, you've seen how much better you deserve, and how much better you could have, and you want to learn how to breathe again. You want to make your own decisions. You don't want to be fueled by revenge or afraid to be hurt; you just want to live. That's all you've ever wanted. To live and to be in love, there has to be another way because what you've been shown up until now has been anything but genuine love. 

"It started small,” you begin, your voice still shaky, and the tears continuing to run, “insignificant things at first. He would get angry over the smallest mistakes or things that didn't go his way. But then it escalated... his anger, his violence. It became a pattern, a cycle that I couldn't break free from. He had these rules… I broke ‘em. I broke ‘em a lot, and whenever I screwed up, he would…” You swallow, the words too painful to utter. 

Matt understands. He knows what you want to say and he squeezes your hand, offering his support in the only way he knows how to. His touch is gentle, a kind of touch you’re not used to but want to get used to more than anything because it’s a touch like this that you’re craving. 

“None of this is your fault,” he says. His voice is gentle and affectionate toward you, but you don’t miss the unbridled rage hidden away inside. 

You don’t blame him. 

"I mean, I know. It's not like I don't know what abuse looks like, and I know it's wrong whenever I'm lucid, but then he looks at me and I just... I used to blame myself, and think I was the one who caused it. But deep down, I knew it was wrong. I just... didn't know how to escape,” you say. “So I played along because sometimes, he'd be the man I fell in love with and I wouldn't hate him as much, and he'd make me believe I needed him. He made me believe that serving him is all I'm good for, and I truly believed it. Sometimes, I still do. I feel so stupid now. God!" You sniffle, and the next sob breaks free from your throat.

He shushes you. “It’s still not your fault and it never was. Men like that… they thrive off of power and there is something seriously wrong with them, not with you. Please, believe me.”

“Then why didn’t I run?” 

The helpless sound of your voice breaks his heart. “He made you dependent on him. He forced you into submission. It’s co-dependency. It’s not your fault.”

The more he repeats the same four words, the further they settle in. They break through your mindset with a hammer, find a free spot in your mind, and manifest. 

"I understand, I really do," Matt says. "You deserve to be loved and understood, not used and abused. Leaving an abusive situation is never easy. But you took the first step today, acknowledging that you need help. That’s something you should be so incredibly proud of…”

You wipe your cheeks. “I just feel so empty,” you admit and he nods.

“Yeah, I get that.”

“And I’m scared I’ll go back to him. I don’t want to. Please, don’t let me go back to him.” 

Your arms reach out and he doesn’t hesitate to hold you close again. Rubbing your back as you sob, he whispers soothing sweet nothings into your ear. You cling to him, you cling to the lifeline he offers and he makes sure to keep your head above water this time. He won’t let you drown. 

“You’re not alone anymore,” and he says your name with the utmost conviction. “I’ve got you. We’ll find a way to keep you safe, okay? I promise.”

“I was so scared,” you sob. 

“I know.”

“I was so scared no one would believe me. I feel so foolish now.”

“I know, it’s okay. You did the right thing. Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says.

It’s not your fault.

You repeat the same four words over and over again, and they manifest even deeper. You need to believe them, you want to believe them. 

He continues to hold you until your sobs have subsided and you can breathe again, looking at him, and he smiles back at you. 

Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you ask, “Matt?”

“Yes?”

“What do I do now?”

“I’ll keep you safe,” he says. 

“But how…”

“Trust me, I’ll find a way.”

You look into his eyes, and almost as if he can feel it, he comes closer. “You know, I’m not that good with trusting people,” you say, your voice soft and almost bordering on a whisper. 

Matt smiles and brings your hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle individually. It’s a simple display of affection that has your heart doing cartwheels. You feel warm inside. You haven’t felt so warm in a while. He’s found the key to a hidden part of you, a part you’ve been forced to bury, and he’s made it his mission to unlock it - and it worked. 

“I’m not that good with trusting people either,” he says, almost as vulnerable as you, “But I care about you and I want to help. I’m going to help. There’s always a way, and I’m a lawyer, I know people we can talk to to make this guy suffer for what he did to you. I promise to keep you safe, you can trust me on that, whatever it takes. I'm here for you. You've been through so much, and I want you to know that you're safe now."

You sniffle. "It's just... it's been a long time since someone cared enough to ask if I was okay. I didn't think anyone would believe me if I told them. This is so overwhelming, and it feels too good to be true." A sad smile spreads across your face. He reaches out to trace your features, gently trying to memorize every last crevice, painting a picture of you in his mind, and it's not just your soul that is so tragically beautiful. 

He smiles softly, keeping his hands on your face, a silent way of grounding you, of being close to you without pushing boundaries. He wants to be close to you, craves it, he wants to protect you and keep you safe - and he wants to make the man who hurt you so deeply to suffer. "I believe you," he says. "I want to help you heal. I want you to get the justice you deserve. You don't have to face this alone anymore. I know we don't know each other, but I would never leave you hanging, especially not in a situation like yours."

Fresh tears spring into your eyes as your sad smile turns almost grateful. You close your eyes and lean into his touch. "Thank you," you murmur. 

“Anytime,” he whispers back. “You deserve to be loved and cherished. You’re a good person.”

“I forgot what it feels like to be loved…”

Grabbing your hand, he squeezes it gently. “I know,” he says, “But you’re going to remember. I’ll help you remember if that’s what you want. ‘Cause you’re too good to be used like that.”

You chuckle, a tear sliding down your cheek. “That sounds nice, actually,” you admit. 

“Do you have anywhere to go to?”

You think for a moment; your family lives out of town and you don’t have any friends. You’re completely and utterly alone and the realization strikes you hard.

Matt hears the change in your heartbeat and his face softens further. “I take that as a no,” he says. 

You look away. You know you don’t want to go back, you can’t go back, he promised you wouldn’t have to go back, but you also have nowhere else to go. 

But then he is there and he grabs your face with both of his hands, underlining what he had actually meant to say. “You can stay here,” he says.

Do you want to stay with a stranger? You contemplate. You’ve asked him for help and you appreciate the way he makes you feel so secure, but there is this dark part of you that is afraid of what might happen if you do and suggest to not put up a fight and go back home. You need to choke out that dark part of you.

“You deserve better.”

And you hope you can remember that. 

“He can’t hurt you here, so I want you to stay with me. Just for tonight. Just until we’ve figured out a way to keep you safe permanently, okay?” 

The look in his eyes in genuine. “You mean that?” you ask. You’re not sure why you trust him so much, or why you don’t even consider questioning how he plans on protecting you because something tells you he knows what he’s talking about, and maybe that’s because he’s one of the most expressive men you’ve ever met. There is not a lie that could have slipped you. 

“I swear on my life,” Matt says. 

In desperate need for a break, for safety, for solace, you nod. “Okay,” you say.

He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.” Though it is you who has to thank him.

Matt Murdock just saved your life and you don’t quite know how you could ever fully repay him for not giving up on you like most people in your life have ever since you were born, and for the first time, you truly believe that you don’t have to return to the same hell you just escaped from. He’s got you, you trust him on that, and as you lie in his bed that night, trying to fall asleep, a sense of safety settles in that finally reignites that glimmer of hope that had gotten lost on the long, rocky road to where you are now. 

#tw: domestic violence #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock angst #hurt/comfort #matt murdock x you #no y/n #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x gn!reader #request #matt murdock imagines #matt murdock fic #daredevil fic #matt murdock fluff #one shot #lizzi answers

[aurumacadicus]

Crime writer Tony actual assassin bucky,

I am so bad at crime rest in pieces Tony lmao.

Tony sort of... falls into writing accidentally. Rhodey joins a book club in college and Tony joins with him because he's codependent and after the first three books, they read a frankly abysmal adaption of the Black Dahlia murder. Unfortunately, Tony is the best at working out of spite, so as soon as 'man, even I could write a better and more respectful novel than this,' it just sort of... happens. Rhodey is the first person he shows, nervous and antsy. Rhodey has the best poker face Tony's ever seen, even better than Howard and Obie's. He had no idea what Rhodey thinks of it. Finally, Rhodey looks up at him, and he says, "This was really good, but it could be better. I'm giving it to the book club." Tony wails in dismay because he's a perfectionist when it comes to showing things off, but Rhodey drags him to book club kicking and screaming, because they're mostly English majors and they'll have more insight than he does. The book club rips it to shreds, but they tell him exactly why, and his second draft barely has any red marks on it at all when they read it. While Tony's in college, he publishes his novels under a pen name, and his book club are his editors. Once he graduates, he starts publishing under his own name, with part of the proceeds going into two non-profits--a book club and a writers workshop for underprivileged youth.

Bucky's descent into serial killing is not an accident at all. One of his sisters is beaten almost to death by her boyfriend, and when the guy only gets a slap on the wrist by the courts because it's his first offense, Bucky makes him disappear. The only other person who knows is Steve, mostly because they're so close he would have found out anyway. Luckily, the most Steve ever says about it is, "Don't tell me anything. I'm a bad liar." He figures part of it is because Steve had been with him when they'd found his sister bleeding and unconscious on her apartment floor. He'd seen Steve's jaw clench at the hearing when the guy was let off on probation. His rage that the system was failing someone who had almost been murdered by an intimate partner. Steve had decided to throw himself into getting laws changed, harsher sentences. It was slow going. It was probably the only reason he turned a blind eye when Bucky decided to take a more... hands on approach.

Tony and Bucky, miraculously, meet when Bucky sneaks into his apartment. Or, well, "meet." Tiberius had just been let off assault charges simply because he was rich, and Tony hadn't gotten a chance to change the locks because he was in the hospital recovering from being strangled. Bucky had meant to sneak in and kill Tiberius while Tony was still at the hospital, so he'd have an alibi. But apparently Tony had signed out of the hospital against medical advice to avoid the press, and Bucky had snuck into his apartment to find Tiberius backhanding him to the ground. So he simply stepped further into the apartment and snapped Tiberius's neck. Clean. Efficient. Fast enough that Tony, dazed and bleeding from a head wound again, wouldn't realize it. "Let's get you cleaned up," Bucky says gently, helping Tony to his feet. "But Tiberius--" Tony starts, lip bleeding as well. "He's sleeping," Bucky assures him, and helps Tony to the bathroom to clean him up. Calls a friend to come sit with him because he's adamant he's not going to the hospital. Gets him tucked onto the couch with a milkshake and an old sci-fi movie in the background. Grabs Tiberius by the scruff to drag him out. "So dinner? Tomorrow? With me?" Tony slurs, blinking doe eyes at him. "Sure," Bucky agrees, good-natured, and expects to never see him again.

"So," Tony says, tablet and stylus in hand. "What's the easiest way to kill somebody." "We are at my job," Bucky complains immediately, grabbing him by the arm to drag him over to the antique book section. "How did you find me?" "I'm Tony Stark," Tony says, and then, "Also I follow Steve on Instagram and there are pictures of you with him. I asked where you worked and he's a bad liar." "He really isn't, he just panics," Bucky says. He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, and does not mention that the way Tony is checking out his biceps are not subtle. "Why do you follow Steve?" "I like the work he's doing to get more stringent laws for domestic violence," Tony tells him seriously, and Bucky throws his hands up in frustration. "Anyway. Do you wanna go get lunch?" "You watched me k--" Bucky begins, outraged, then swallows it back and takes a deep breath. He glances around to make sure they're still alone, then whispers, "You watched me kill your ex-boyfriend." "He was going to kill me," Tony says, shrugging. "The bar is on the floor." "Jesus Christ," Bucky moans, dragging his hands down his face.

Tony has the self-preservation of a gnat and keeps inviting Bucky out. Bucky is absolutely appalled. He's dangerous. Tony has seen him kill somebody. And he still wants to have dinner? "And raunchy sex that makes me blush when I remember it maybe," Tony offers, shrugging. "Tiberius didn't usually even get me to come." Somehow Bucky is not surprised and yet still incredibly offended on Tony's behalf. "Well, I'm pretty good in bed," he says mulishly, because it's not fair that Tony hasn't had a partner that cared about his pleasure in bed recently. And then somehow he gets locked down into a long-term relationship. He is absolutely stunned. "Tony's like that," Steve tells him, and then, "Actually I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner. Please tell Tony to stop telling me how good you are in bed." "You tell Tony to stop asking me to show him how to kill people for his books," Bucky retorts, and then they both stare at each other, stone faced, as they realize oh. So this is just what Tony's like then.

Bonus: Tony goes back to his old pen name so he can write self-published raunchy romance novels of a writer and his serial killer boyfriend. Bucky is mortified but also aroused. Tony coyly asks him what he'd do in the killer character's position in the bedroom and Bucky is FURIOUS that it gets him horny. It doesn't stop him from showing Tony, though.

#aurumacadicus answers #ask meme #5 headcanons meme #winteriron #tw: domestic violence #tw: domestic abuse #not between tony and bucky tho

[bedbugbiting]

The New Worst Neighbor in the World and his girlfriend were being assholes outside and I looked out the window to see what the commotion was. The girlfriend saw me even though I'm four floors up and one of well over 100 windows facing that way. She then started making a scene about it. I can't wait for them to leave because I swear I'm going to get my windows shot out or something.

He is the absolute worst and a terrible person, but she sucks, too.

Anyway, I'm actually scared. He's getting evicted, but that doesn't help right now. I'm moving in a year, but that doesn't help right now! Anyway, I don't know how this guy hasn't killed anyone.

#He has been arrested for strangling women and stuff like that so none of this is great #Tw: domestic violence #Alley chronicles

[maple-seed]

Thrown - Chapter 37: The Rainbow Bridge

Summary: Watching you suffer a loss leads Loki to a revelation.

WARNINGS: Please be aware this chapter is heavier than usual. Warnings for pet death (off screen), significant alcohol consumption, non-graphic descriptions of domestic violence.

Word Count: 4,654

Author's Notes: I just hope everyone can forgive me.

Masterlist

The brothers' work for the day came to an end by mid-afternoon. This was a blessing, as the day had started quite early and it had been hectic. The construction of the hall was well underway, and Thor was determined to meet the deadline of Midsummer. This of course meant that arrangements were also being made for a feast and a ball. The morning was a frenzy of inspections and meetings and orders of supplies. They were both grateful to reach a point when nothing else needed to be done immediately. After a quick respite, Thor and Loki set out on their daily walk.

The weather was fair. The air was still brisk, but the remainder of the snow had finally gone and the first hues of green were beginning to make their appearance. The walk was pleasant, a welcome change from the turbulent day, and it was no surprise that their feet led them out from New Asgard onto the tranquil open road.

Your cottage came into view, and as they drew closer they could see you were outside as well. You were in front of your wall, in the shade of the yew tree. You were swinging some type of pick over your head, breaking up the ground. Thor and Loki traded uncertain looks and their conversation dwindled. You didn't seem to notice as they approached, until Thor spoke your name.

You jumped slightly and turned, quickly rubbing your cheek with the back of your hand. "Oh, hey boys." Your voice was quiet, weak. Both of the brothers tensed at the sound and worry laced Thor's voice as he spoke. "Are you alright?" "Yeah, I-" You looked at them for only a moment, but long enough for Loki to see your eyes. You had been crying. You looked away again, into the distance, then down at the ground. "Ash. Um. He didn't wake up this morning." Loki's heart sank as he now noticed a shape resting at the base of the wall, wrapped in a blue plaid blanket. Thor was already stepping toward you. "He went in his sleep. Not a bad way to go, I guess." Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat, you averted your gaze. "Oh, my friend, I am sorry." Thor pulled you into a hug, the pick still hanging limp in your hand, your eyes clenched shut. Every part of Loki wanted to reach for you, but you were already in good hands. When Thor stepped back you released a shaky breath. "Thanks."

There were other digging tools leaning against the wall. Loki lifted a spade and passed it to Thor, who took it without a word. You opened your mouth to speak but Loki stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. "Let us." He said softly. You looked up at him for a moment, then conceded with a nod. Loki picked up a shovel.

The three of you worked with few words spoken. You kept your eyes focused on the task at hand. The sound of earth being broken and moved filled the air. This work was nothing for the brothers, but it wore on you. Loki and Thor occasionally convinced you to take a break, rest. You did so reluctantly and for only a short time before returning to the chore. It was clear you didn't want to sit idle.

The hole was deemed adequate, Thor and Loki stood beside it and waited. You approached Ash and knelt down beside him. "This was his favorite blanket." You explained as you drew the fabric back from his face. You stroked his fur and spoke to him quietly. Loki didn't try to decipher what was said, it wasn't meant for his ears.

He looked down at the dog, his grey face appeared to be in a peaceful sleep. It was a stark contrast to the anguish you were wearing. Your shoulders slumped forward but somehow still your muscles seemed taunt. Loki strained under the effort of giving you this space. He took the moment to consider your morning. You had been alone with this the entire day. The idea crushed him. Why didn't you contact them? Perhaps he should get a phone. No, if you hadn't called for Thor you wouldn't have reached out for him, either. He wished you had.

After a few moments you reached under the blanket and unclipped Ash's collar, placing it in your pocket before you covered him again and stood.

The brothers took it upon themselves to gently lift the wrapped form and place it in the grave. You looked down at your dog lying in the ground and this particular moment seemed to be what finally broke your stoic demeanor. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth as you choked on a sob. Your eyes were tightly closed and tears ran freely down your face. Loki put one arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to his side. Thor stood solemnly beside you and gently pat your back. You shuddered under the weight of your grief for a minute or two. Gradually you managed to stem the flow and regain most of your composure. You rubbed your face and sighed, looking straight ahead rather than down.

"Should I say a few words?" Thor asked quietly. You nodded. "Please. I can't." It was little more than a whisper. He pat your back once more then clasped his hands in front of him. "We lay to rest our dear friend Ash. A stalwart companion. We are grateful that his journey from us was peaceful, and more grateful still for the time we had with him. We are better for having known him." Loki felt you tremble and gave your arm a reassuring squeeze. You sighed, standing with your eyes closed for a moment. You said a quiet thank you before picking up a shovel. The brothers followed suit.

The grave was filled and you leaned on the handle of your shovel, staring down at the freshly turned soil. You looked defeated. There was no energy left in your movements. Loki ached, watching the distant look on your face. "Come on, boys." You spoke as you turned away, toward your front porch. "I owe you dinner. Or at least a drink."

The gods followed as you led them inside. It was almost disorienting, moving from the desolate scene outside to your warm, welcoming home. The rooms were bright, a pot was simmering on the stove, and the smell of food embraced the guests. It was at odds with the occasion, Loki thought, as he watched you place the collar on your mantel. You moved to the kitchen, glancing at the empty cushion on the floor against the wall, and washed your hands. Loki and Thor did the same, then began setting the table.

"Tomorrow morning will be the worst part." You spoke somberly as you stirred the pot on the stove and cut the flame off. "You have a particular routine and then suddenly...." You trailed off Thor and Loki exchanged looks, both at a loss for words. You stretched, reaching up into a cabinet. "It's never seemed fair, how short their lives are compared to ours. Well, compared to humans' lives, I mean." You corrected as you pulled out a bottle of clear liquid he hadn't seen before. You laughed a little, then. "I guess humans are kinda like dogs to Asgardians." You mouth tilted in a wry smile as you looked over your shoulder at the brothers. "Will you wrap me in a blanket and bury me in your yard?" Loki couldn't breathe. His throat closed. He understood that you needed to joke about it, but he couldn't participate. The thought of your grave stopped his heart. He froze, stricken by they idea. He managed to keep the terror from his eyes but could do little else. Luckily Thor was there to do what needed to be done. "Certainly. You must let us know which blanket is your favorite." You barked a laugh as you poured the clear drink into a cup, mixing it with fruit juice before taking a sip.

You placed the bottle on the table and began filling bowls with stew. Loki pushed the thoughts of your mortality away and eventually recovered his ability to speak. He sat down and poured himself some of the drink you'd had. It was much stronger than the previous Midgardian spirits he'd sampled, but still wouldn't do much for him or Thor.

"We have this story," you spoke casually as you placed bowls back on the table but Loki heard a thread of nervousness in your voice, "about pets who pass on. They say they cross a rainbow bridge and wait for their owners. It-it's based in Norse mythology." You were worrying the edge of a dish towel. "There was a rainbow bridge on Asgard, wasn't there?" "There was." Thor answered as he took a seat. "I guess it was destroyed?" "In Ragnarok, yes." He said soberly You clenched your jaw and nodded. "It's-it's just a story." You waved dismissively and tried to laugh. "I mean, you guys probably would have mentioned a bunch of pet souls running around, right?" You attempted another laugh as you sat down, avoiding Thor's sympathetic look. There was a brief pause of unsettled quiet. "I can't speak to where Ash is now." Loki met your eyes. "But I know with absolute certainty is that he would never go anywhere that you couldn't follow." Your jaw clenched again, you looked away and then back to him with a watery smile. "Thank you."

Thor and Loki both understood their purpose here without the need to discuss it. With everyone in their seats and food before them, they fell immediately into storytelling. As the meal carried on and the drink flowed a few songs were sung as well. The mood brightened, the air filled with laughs and gasps and cries of disbelief. Given the circumstance, Loki allowed for certain stories that he would normally prohibit. Thor picked up on this, and took full advantage.

"So finally the elk has gone, the court is in absolute chaos," Thor's voice was brimming with glee, "Father is standing on the dais, looking down on us, absolutely furious." He grinned ear-to-ear. "And Loki--just a boy, mind you--Loki looks up at Odin, the Allfather, he looks up at him and says 'Father, I know you have questions. We have the antlers.'" He broke into hysterical laughter and you were right behind him, clutching your sides. Loki chuckled and shook his head. "I can't believe." You gasped, reaching for your glass. "I swear it, every word." Thor said, still chuckling. "I would say there were a few exaggerations." Loki amended. "Every. Word." Thor affirmed.

You sighed, recovering from your mirth, and refilled your cup. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of your stories." "You are in luck. We have over a thousand years' worth." Thor smiled. You returned the smile. "I am blessed." "What of one of your stories?" Loki smirked, leaning back in his chair. "For instance, can you tell us how it was you got your scar?" "This one?" You placed your arm on the table with a slight smile. You started to speak but halted as your eyes fixed on the mark. You glanced at the empty cushion against the wall, then gazed at your arm again. Your smile faded as you ran a finger down the rough line on your skin. "I... used to live with a man. He was... not kind." The table fell silent. Loki and Thor exchanged a serious look, suddenly alert in their seats.

They were both aware they were hearing the truth.

"The thing about abusers," you met Loki's eyes for just a moment before looking back to your arm on the table, "is that they don't just hurt you. They convince you that you deserve it. It's your fault. They get in your head. You believe it." The brothers wore grim expressions. Loki felt a fury build in the pit of his stomach. He had known something like this was possible, of course. He had hoped for some time now that the scar was from some unfortunate accident. Someone hurting you intentionally was unfathomable. To find out someone did so repeatedly was beyond understanding. To know you had thought you deserved it left him in despair. He watched you speak while fighting every impulse to take you into his arms, or alternatively to dash out the door and track down this man.

"One night, he had a broken bottle." You spoke gravely and pointed now to the scar. "This was meant to be my face." You held up your arm to demonstrate, as if blocking your head. Loki felt he could see it, you desperately trying to defend yourself, this man's furious swing arching through the air, meeting your forearm. His stomach turned. You looked down at the scar with a hint of disgust. "I didn't leave after this, if you can believe it. Stupid." The brothers moved in unison to object but you waved them down. The story wasn't finished.

"One day he comes home with a puppy. His friend's dog had a litter. He had the idea he'd train him up to be this tough guard dog or something. He lost interest pretty quickly, I knew he would, but that was fine. Because Ash was mine." Your face melted into a nostalgic smile, your eyes soft as you looked to your friends. "Oh, you should have seen him. Just a little ball of black fluff. Feet too big for him to manage. He was adorable." You grew somber again. "There was a bad night. I don't remember what he was angry about, but I ended up on the floor and he was coming toward me. Ash came and stood between us with his hackles up. He was maybe six months old, just this gangly thing, but he stood between me and this... monster." Your eyes grew distant as the memory replayed. "He kicked Ash in the face then stormed out. It knocked Ash down, he cried. And it was this... this revelation. I knew that Ash didn't deserve it." You looked up at the brothers, your eyes brimming with tears. "And Ash thought that I didn't deserve it either." Your voice cracked during that last line and you took a moment to recover. "We didn't deserve it. The next day I packed a bag and we left while he was at work. I didn't have many people left to turn to at that point, but I had a couple friends that let us stay for a few days." Your face drew taunt. "He was looking for me, though. We had to get further away. I called my aunt in Oslo. She brought us over, sent us here to Gerdy. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Ash." You sighed and wiped away a stray tear. "I might not be alive if it weren't for Ash."

Silence reigned in the kitchen for some time. Loki reverently lifted his glass. "To Ash, a savior and a guardian. May we all have his strength and compassion." Thor raised his glass as well. "We owe him a debt beyond measure." Your lip trembled slightly as you lifted yours. "We'll miss him." The glasses clinked and everyone drank to his spirit. "Okay, boys." You set your cup down and reached again for the bottle. "Teach me another song."

They were more than happy to comply.

The laughter returned to the table and the night rolled on. The entertainment, and perhaps the drink, seemed to cast away most of your concerns. You were jovial and carefree, which was comforting to see. Your expression changed immediately when Thor checked the time and frowned.

"You have to go?" There was the slightest tint of nervousness in your voice. "Yes, I must regrettably take my leave. Early morning work." He looked truly remorseful as he stood. "Oh, that's alright." Your tone was light, but Loki saw the tension in your jaw. "I think I'll stay for a few drinks more." Loki interjected. "If I'm welcome, that is." You smiled and he watched the relief fall across your frame. "Of course you're welcome." Thor patted his brother on the shoulder and gave him an understanding nod.

You walked Thor to the door, where he gave you a tight, lingering hug and spoke his condolences again. You returned to your seat at the table and fixed Loki with a mock glare. "Any ulterior motives?" "Darling, we have already established that this practice was your idea to begin with." He replied with a smirk. "I don't care to participate in his early morning." "Is that all I am to you? An alibi?" "If it helps, you are my favorite alibi." You laughed. "It does, a bit."

The two of you carried on much as before, though the energy had shifted a little. There was a touch of desperation when you poured yourself a drink. There was an undercurrent of anxiety in your stories and your laugh. As the time passed Loki began to notice a change. Your words became slurred, your movements clumsy, your eyes glazed. He scolded himself, he should have been paying closer attention. He had been too focused on your mirth and distraction. He should have realized you were losing yourself.

You reached for the bottle of spirits and Loki slid it away from your grasp. "Hey!" You leveled a wobbling glare in his direction. "I believe you've had enough revelry for the night." "You aren't the boss of me." You muttered, standing to reach for the bottle again. The bottle vanished. You frowned at him. "That's cheating." He offered a casual shrug. "Cheating is in my nature. God of Mischief." "God of bitch-chief." You grumbled. He wore an amused smirk. "Your retorts suffer when you drink." "Your retorts suffer when I drink."

His amusement was replaced by the sting of guilt as he watched you stumble back into your chair. He shouldn't have let you reach this state. He took your glass and crossed the room to fill it with water. When he turned back to you your head was resting on the table.

He set the water down beside you. "You should drink this." "Sing that one again." Your voice was muffled in your arm. "The one with the trees and the waterfalls." He pulled his chair next to you and took a seat, speaking gently. "We've finished the songs for the night." You shook your head. "No. Let's keep going. I don't want to sleep." You whimpered, eyes shut. "If I go to sleep I'll have to wake up." He placed a hand on your back and leaned close. "Darling, the morning will come regardless." You looked up at him with such a mournful expression that if he'd had the power to do so he would have stopped the dawn. "Please drink this." He pushed the glass closer. "For my sake." You pushed yourself up from the table. "Fine, but you owe me." A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Any favor you wish."

You finished the glass of water and Loki convinced you to stand. He grew more concerned with your condition when he saw the trouble you had doing so. He practically held you up as you walked to your bedroom. He couldn't put you to bed in these clothes, without question, but he struggled with what he could do. You assured him you could manage it, so he helped you gather up something to change into and helped you to the bathroom. He gave you the benefit of the doubt--and he had many doubts--and closed the door.

He took the time to turn down your blankets. There was another dog-sized cushion against the wall in this room also. He returned to thoughts of how utterly miserable your morning must have been. He wished he had been here. The thought of you bearing that loss alone ate away at him. He should have been here. There was no way for him to have known, but he wished he had. You shouldn't have been here by yourself.

A few minutes had passed and he realized that you had fallen silent on the other side of the door. All sounds of running water and shuffling around had stopped. He knocked on the door and called your name, when you didn't respond he opened it slowly, peering in. Surprisingly, you had managed to change. You were now lying on the floor, curled up on the rug in front of the bathtub, eyes closed.

Once he saw you were decent he stepped in and knelt down beside you. "Come now, little bird, you need to go to bed." "Here's fine." You mumbled sleepily. "It is decidedly not." Your response was an unintelligible mumbling and you settled yourself in on the rug.

He waited a moment, deliberating, then gently scooped you up into his arms and stood. You sighed and tucked your head against his shoulder. He walked you back into the bedroom and stood beside your bed. He didn't want to set you down. It felt right, holding you, and so he held you a little closer. You were unlikely to remember this in the morning. He considered just standing here, cradling your body against him. You wouldn't know. No, he shook the thought away. He shouldn't take such liberties. Reluctantly he placed you on the mattress and pulled the covers up over you.

You stirred and whimpered, your eyes barely fluttering open. "I don't want to be alone." "You're not alone." He knelt beside your bed, gently rubbing your shoulder. "I'm right here." "No. No." You whined. "Gerdy's gone. Ash is gone." A tear rolled down your cheek as you stilled. "I don't want to be alone." "I'm right here." He repeated quietly.

You didn't respond, likely pulled away to sleep. He remained there, kneeling beside you, and cupped his hand to your cheek, his thumb lightly brushing the tear away. The pain had finally left your face, it was a relief to see you tranquil again. He took a moment to appreciate the sight. He glanced down at the scar on your arm and his jaw tightened. Anger flared in his chest. He quickly tamped it down and replaced it instead with determination. The hurt you had been put through, he would do everything in his power to keep you from that again. He never wanted to see you as he had seen you today. Broken and defeated, wounded, aching. He would see to it that the rest of your days gave you the peace you deserved.

With that thought, a lie suddenly came to his attention. One of his greatest, and one he had been telling himself. He watched your sleeping form as the truth rang out clear. This was no passing infatuation. He was devoted. A part of him was terrified by that realization, but a greater part felt freed. You were precious to him in a way that he couldn't fully voice, but he no longer needed to. It was the sort of thing that defied definition, thus removing the necessity of explaining it. He could care for you in whatever way you needed, without any conflict or confusion, because that is what people did when they were in this position. His thumb caressed your cheek again as he settled into this newfound resolve.

You would be loved. Little else mattered.

He stood and looked down at you, and felt his priorities fall into place.

****

You were pretty sure you weren't dead. Dead people's heads don't feel like this, probably. It was currently the only evidence supporting the claim, but it was strong enough that you attempted to open your eyes. You succeeded, confirming that your state was at least something approaching consciousness. After a short struggle you slid one leg out from under the covers and over the side of the bed, followed by the other. With great effort, you managed to crane yourself up into a sitting position. Victory. The surge of throbbing in your head declared it a draw instead. You groaned and leaned forward to place your head in your hands.

With little notice, you remembered. You remembered why you felt this way. A sob rose in your chest but you fought it back down. You couldn't cry right now. You needed to hydrate first. You took a minute to take in the world. The light coming through the window told you it was late. Breidr and Goat were probably starving. Then you realized you were in your pajamas, in bed, with no recollection of getting there. You squinted, trying to determine where your memory stopped. Thor went home, Loki stayed, things got fuzzier after that. You really did a number on yourself. You hoped you didn't do anything ridiculous before he left.

A glass of water and two little white pills were waiting on your nightstand. You silently thanked drunk-you for having the presence of mind. You took the pills and downed them along with the entire glass. You sat for another minute, finding your resolve and trying hard to not think about anything at all, then finally pushed yourself to your feet and left your room.

You stopped immediately outside your door. All the furniture had been moved. Ash's bed was gone, the kitchen table was shifted closer to the wall, everything was in a new arrangement.

Loki stood from where he was reading in the armchair. "Good morning. How are you feeling?" You couldn't muster much of a response. He approached, looking a little nervous, likely due to your dumbfounded expression. "Is this alright? I thought... perhaps it would be easier. It might simply feel like something had changed rather than something was missing." He did this for you. You closed your eyes to fight back a wave of tears. You managed to nod in response.

He took the empty glass from your hand and led you to the kitchen table, gently pushing you down into a seat. "The livestock have been fed." He refilled the cup and placed it in front of you. "Can I get you something to eat?" He took a moment to look you over, appraising your state. "Perhaps you would like to start with toast?" It took you a second to catch up with current events. "Ye-yeah, toast would be fine." He gave you a gentle smile before turning to the task.

You propped your head in one hand while you came to terms. Had he stayed with you all night? You looked up and watched him. There was a god in your kitchen. He was doing your chores and treating your hangover. You wondered what you had done to be worthy of such a thing.

"Are you alright?" He looked at you with concern. "Given the circumstances, I mean." You nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah." You took a sip of water to ground yourself, then looked up at him again. "You don't have to do all this." He shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm honor bound. I have a promise to keep." You thought hard, willing some memory from last night to surface. You gave up. "Did you promise me something?"

"Not you, no." He said it casually as he plated the toast. "I once promised Ash that I would look after you, while he rested." A sudden wave of tears stung your eyes. Your voice was lost as you watched him cross the room to you. He set the plate in front of you and offered another gentle smile. "And I am a god of my word."

He wasn't, you knew. But it still felt true when he said it.

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@mischief2sarawr, @imalovernotahater, @norestfortheshelbywicked, @purplekitten30, @ozymdias, @pdraxxi, @goblingirlsarah, @chantsdemarins, @n3rdybirdee, @marvel-love24, @lokiprompts, @ladymischief11, @gigglingtigger, @lilmilkbun, @huntress-artemiss, @ellooo0ooo, @femme1fatale, @clairewinchester14, @glitterylokislut, @psychospore, @ladyloki3, @skinij3fx, @iamlokisgloriouspurpose, @lunarnights95, @callxmexnadine, @lilibet261, @valeave, @f2mhg2lt2rta, @fruit-caught-on-camera, @ladymischief11, @paetonnn, @confusedpanda-777, @honeyrydernot, @sarcastic-siren, @wolfsmom1, @lokisgoodgirl, @cakesandtom, @unlucky-number-13, @rinnwylde, @javagirl328, @josiedoesdoodles, @rose7420

#loki #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #mcu loki #loki mcu #loki & thor #reader insert #slow burn #loki thrown #pet death #tw: pet death #tw: domestic violence #tw: alcohol

[juicycoutureheaux]

Fixer Upper

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Hey y'all. Here's Chapter 2 of my Sheriff!Leon Kennedy AU. Just a couple of notes, this chapter does have some TW. Domestic violence and Alcohol are mentioned in this chapter. If those are active triggers for you and still want to read, PM me and I'll be glad to summarize for you. Seriously! Also I gave Patrick a last name because he literally DOES NOT HAVE ONE. LOL Anyway this is kind of slowburn-y and this may be more than three chapter but not too many. I might extend to four. Anyways this fic was inspired by @angelscoda and I strongly recommend that if you haven't discovered her page, check her works out! Also, I churned out this Chapter and it hasn't been edited very well, but I did not wanna keep yall waiting. Also if you or anyone you know is affected by domestic violence call 800-799-7233 or text 'START' to 88788. You are not alone, your family and friends love you no matter what situation you may be in or what your abuser says. Love is patient and Love is kind.

You went to bed with a strange feeling. Instead of thinking of your sweetheart, Patrick, you were enamored with the thought of your new boss, Sheriff Kennedy. 

He was so kind and unpretentious, it seemed so easy to be around him. You wondered if he read books or looked at the stars and wondered what was behind them like you did. 

Y/N shook herself out of her thoughts and drifted off to sleep. 

She dreamt of finding new life on other planets, her parents taking her seriously, and most importantly, she dreamt of Leon. 

You woke with a start, to the sky at the precipice of sunrise. The oranges and purples danced together as the moon made its grand exit into the horizon.

You swiveled around to the side of your twin bed and let the bottoms of your feet touch the smooth hardwood floor. 

You turned off the old fan on your bedside table. The fan had seen better days, however, y/n had taught herself how to make repairs to keep it in working condition. 

Her tinkering had been born out of necessity; however, over time she grew to love being able to make old things efficient again. She wondered if Patrick ever had to repair a fan or anything really. 

She imagined he had enough money to get a new anything, anytime it broke.

You started the morning by combing your hair and brushing your teeth. You splashed cold water on your face to make it seem less irritated. You didn’t want to admit it, but you wanted to look good for Leon, even if he didn’t notice.

You picked out your favorite dress and ironed out all the wrinkles. You looked at yourself in the mirror admiring your reflection. You felt confident enough to head down the stairs to the kitchen table. 

Mary-Anne and Mama were busy fixing breakfast. Mama was fussing over Mary-Anne telling her to sit down and whatnot.

“Mama L/N, I promise I’m fine and your grandchild is just fine!” 

“All that moving, he’s gonna come early!” You heard your mama say.

“You and the rest of the family are so sure Hank & Mary-Anne’s baby is going to be a boy.” You said announcing your presence. 

“Good! Someone else is here, Mary-Anne! Please sit!” Mama said, exasperated.

Mary-Anne, not wanting to put up a fight any longer, sat down.

“Y/N, why don’t you look pretty today? I remember when I could wear dresses like that!” Mary-Anne said, rubbing her belly.

“You mean like six months ago?” You said sarcastically. 

Mary-Anne smiled and your mother rolled her eyes. 

You grabbed an apron not wanting to ruin your dress, and began kneading the dough for the biscuits. 

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay too long, mama. I gotta make sure I'm on time to meet my new boss!” You said a little too enthusiastically because your mother whipped her head around to look at you. 

“You know, if you marry Patrick, you won’t have to work anymore, you’ll be busy planning parties and get-togethers for all the married ladies.”

“Mama…” you groaned. 

“I’m just saying Y/N, you would love it, imagine, my daughter, the belle of the social season in Collier!” Her mother sighed. “So don’t ruin it by chasing after some cop!”

“Mama!” You said insulted.

Mary Anne decided to get in between the duo. 

“I think Y/N just wanted to make sure he felt welcome; after all, it is her job.”  She made sure to emphasize the last word. 

Mama’s body relaxed and so did yours. 

With that, you kissed your mama goodbye on the cheek and mouthed a “thank you!” to Mary-Anne. 

You walked out the door shocked, to see your new boss waiting outside leaning up against the side of the patrol car. 

“Hey! Y/N!” He said, smiling with all of his teeth.

You thought your legs were going to turn to jello, he was so handsome.

“W-what are you doing here?” 

“I thought I’d save you the trouble of driving that old truck and risk not having a secretary for the day.” He opened the passenger door. “Wouldn’t want to make me late for my first day would you?”

You smiled a genuine smile. 

You hopped in the car and you made your way down the road. 

The radio was playing Elvis's “Blue Suede Shoes.”

“You like this kind of Music Deputy Kennedy?” You asked genuinely curious. He didn’t strike you as the Elvis type.

“You can call me Leon when it’s just us,” he said, eyes not straying from the road. 

He made you blush, and you sank down in the seat unconsciously.

“But to answer your question,” he looked at you with those sharp baby blues. “I love the King.”

You laughed together like it was the funniest joke ever. 

You were a little disappointed when you arrived at the station. You could have spent the whole day in the car with Leon.

You two entered the building and you went quickly to the break room to start the coffee for the day. 

Leon entered his new office and opened the blinds. Two years ago he would have never imagined a career in law enforcement, let alone a town like Collier’s Sheriff.

Leon was brought out of his thoughts when you walked into the room carrying a fresh cup of coffee.

“Should I get used to this or are you just being nice because its my first day?” 

You looked at him confused.

“I’m not used to someone else doing things like this for me.”

“Well get used to it,” you said happily. “The old boss made me bring him his coffee like clockwork and I had to make it juuuussst riiiiigggghhhttt.” You emphasized.

Leon just nodded.

“So Deputy Kennedy, how do you like your coffee?”

“I can make it myself Y/N, don’t worry about it.”

“I insist! You’re going to be pretty busy, pretty soon.” You said looking into the mug. “I don’t want you to worry about the easiest part of your day.”

Leon smiled and patted you on the shoulder. “I take it black, with just a little bit of sugar, Y/N. Thank you.”

You smiled and felt your cheeks get a bit rosy. You fixed his coffee and set it on his desk.

“Well if you need me, I’ll be outside the door. Just ring me if you need me.” 

He grabbed your hand gently. “Do you mind staying in here just a little bit longer, I’m not ready to start working quite yet.” He smiled a toothy, but nervous smile. 

You held on to his hand and squeezed it in a friendly, assuring manner.

“Of course, Leon.”

He smiled in response.

You looked around the office. It was empty, there were no pictures of his family or any personal effects to the room, save for a framed police academy diploma. 

“They didn’t give you time to set up here?”

“What do you mean Y/N?” 

“The last guy here had tons of pictures and hunting trophies and…” you realized your mistake a little too late. Maybe, Deputy Kennedy didn’t have those things and you had just reminded him of the fact.

Leon smiled a sad smile, “Well maybe while I’m here, I’ll be able to fill this room with all those things.”

“Leon, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…” 

“It’s okay, you’re honest. I like that about you.”

You smiled and heat spread across your cheeks.

“I don’t have any living family members, I grew up in a group home.”

You felt so embarrassed. How could you just interrogate him like that?

The blowing of the A/C unit emphasized the silence. It felt like your body was on autopilot when you went up to him to pat him on the shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry, Leon, I hope you can find your chosen family here.” 

“That's really nice of you, Y/N. I hope I do too.”

You quickly took your arm off of his bicep, realizing you were touching your boss in a more than intimate way. You didn’t want to be known as “that” type of girl.

You quickly mumbled “Gotta get back to work,” or something along those lines, and scuttled away.

Leon just kicked his boots and sat down behind his desk. He couldn’t quite figure it out, was she flirting with him or was she genuinely kind? He hated to admit it, but he was used to women throwing themselves at him. They’d be good for a night or two, but they never seemed to care to learn more about him than what he could do for them.

Y/N was sweet, but she was young. She probably had never had a real relationship before, her kindness was just surface-deep; it was nothing more.

He decided to go ahead and look over the schedule for the week that Y/N had already prepared for him. 

He could get used to this.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

You were heading to Leigh’s diner to grab lunch for the office. It was actually one of your favorite tasks. You were able to get out of the office and walk around town for a bit. It also helped that you walked past “Gannem’s Appliances” where they always had the news on in the window. 

You would take a moment to look at the goings on in the world, to see what was happening outside of your small fishbowl of a town. 

The announcer was reading hastily from a fresh news bulletin. 

“After 40 years of groundbreaking research, NACA has officially decided to change its name to NASA. The official decision was made late last week, after changing their focus from just flight to space travel of humans and robots.”

You could have fallen right where you stood. Robots? Spaceflight? You were in heaven, you had only daydreamed about working in a high-tech lab with robots; now it was really happening.

You quickly looked at your wristwatch and scuttled to the diner to pick up the order before the men at the office got too hungry and wondered where she was at.

You walked into the bustling diner, thank goodness her order wasn’t quite ready yet. You decided to stay out of the way of the other patrons and sat at an odd chair near the window. You felt almost invisible, but, you were used to it and didn’t mind.

You were stuck in your thoughts until the sound of women gossiping brought you out of your stupor.

���Did you see the new Sheriff? He’s a cutie!” one girl with perfectly coiffed blonde hair asked. 

“Do you think he has a secretary? They almost always marry the secretary!” Another girl with auburn hair giggled.

Y/N recognized the girls. They were girls from her graduating class, they had gone to the same school since kindergarten and they either didn’t seem to recognize her or were ignoring her. You couldn’t decide what was worse.

“Oh he has a secretary all right, it's Y/N. Do you remember her from school?”

The girl with auburn hair just raised her eyebrows in slight confusion.

“Great.” you thought. “They don’t remember.” That stung.

“Well, she wasn’t much of anyone, she’s lucky her daddy “the farmer” got her the job,” she emphasized the farmer part as she lit her cigarette. 

“Ohhh, I remember said the auburn-haired girl. “Isn’t OUR Patrick supposed to be courting her? I heard his mother set him up, guess they’re trying to fix his image. I hear he made a fool out of himself at the University of Georgia last year. His daddy had to call in a LOT of favors from his buddies from the law school.”

“That’s just Patrick, he’ll grow out of it. I feel bad for him, one bad mistake and he has to get married off to the first prude that would take him. I bet Y/N’s mother is just beside herself, all the new social connections and money.”

“My mama told me her mama was a social climber. Always trying to get invited to social events;  well she’ll never belong just like her daughter.”

The girls broke into laughter.

Your face was red from anger and embarrassment.

Of course, your order was ready and the waitress called out your name which made the girls' heads snap and turn around to look at you. You did your best not to make eye contact, as you grabbed the food, but tears were already falling from your eyes.

As you left you could hear them burst out in more malicious laughter. 

You were humiliated, and you just wanted to get back to work.

You were two doors down from the office when you heard a car next to the sidewalk slow to a roll.  You instinctively glanced over and there was Patrick in his fancy car. He was definitely the last person you wanted to see right now. 

“Hey, baby. I missed you.” He slurred as he stumbled out of the car.

You took a minute to look at his car, there were beer bottles littering the back seat. 

“Let’s go for a ride, I’m bored and I want some alone time with my girl.” He grabbed her roughly. 

“Have you been drinking? Why did you drive here? You know it's dangerous! You whispered harshly at him. People were beginning to stare.

“Baby, I just wanted to see you, I’m lonely. You should keep me happy you know, if you’re gonna be my wife,” he was looking at you like a piece of meat. 

You felt sick to your stomach.

“I have to get this back to the office, then I’ll come with you.” You were trying to stall, you didn’t want to make him angry, but you surely didn’t want to get in the car with him.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t like your answer. Patrick was shockingly strong and when he yanked you into him, you both fell over and you yelped. 

People were now watching and whispering. 

You wanted to disappear into dust and wondered if you should have just got in the car, maybe nothing would have happened, and the two of you wouldn’t be out on the sidewalk in the middle of town embarrassing yourselves. 

Patrick yanked you up and raised his hand to hit you, you braced for impact when someone broke you two up.

It was Leon and his face was calm, but she could feel the anger radiating from him.

“Y/N! Do you know this man?” He said calmly but firmly. 

Before you could answer, Patrick yelled at Leon. “I had it handled man, she’s my fiance. We don’t need your services anymore.” He made a move to grab your arm again. Leon moved in between you two.

“Sir, not only are you in violation of a city ordinance of being intoxicated in public, but you are also assaulting your fiance in public, which is a felony charge.” 

Patrick just scoffed. “And what? You’re gonna arrest me? Do you even know who I am?”

Leon stepped closer to Patrick, they were about the same height, but something about Leon’s body language made him seem taller. 

“Yes, Sir you’re under arrest for the assault of my secretary Miss Y/L/N. You have the right to remain silent…” he began cuffing Patrick in broad daylight. 

“Wait a minute! Y/N just tell him we were just fooling around baby.” Patrick pleaded with you.

“Deputy Kennedy please, we’ll handle this in private. Patrick just made a bad mistake that's all.”

You pleaded to Leon, you hoped he would take your side.

“Handle in private? Are we supposed to wait until he kills you Y/N?” He said loudly.

You couldn’t move. This was really happening and everyone was going to blame you for Patrick going to jail. 

Leon picked Patrick up and brought him into the station and locked him up in their little holding cell.

Everyone in the office was dead silent when they saw who Deputy Kennedy was bringing in on the first day. You followed in quickly behind them and everyone glared at you. You ignored the glares and got on the phone to call Senator Armstrong, Patrick’s father. 

Deputy Kennedy refused to let you see your Fiance, stating that she was the victim and a witness to his crime. 

You just sat in your small little cubicle and cried. You cried over how embarrassed you were and how those girls were right, Patrick didn’t really love you. How could he? Who would do that to someone they loved?

The sounds of a man shouting broke the silence of the police department.

“How could you lock this man up? It was a simple lovers' quarrel, they’re both kids!” You heard Senator Armstrong’s baritone voice fill the small station. 

“You either ignore your son’s behavior or are too ignorant to see it.” Leon quipped back.

“Excuse me?” Armstrong sneered. “You better watch it boy or I’ll…”

“Or what Armstrong? I’ll go missing? Don’t go incriminating yourself in the police department now.” Leon said smugly. 

You walked out of your cubicle to see the scene unfolding in front of you. You thought Senator Armstrong was going to have an aneurysm with how red his face was. 

He quickly looked over at you and saw your tear-stained face. “My poor future daughter! Look what you’ve done! You’ve upset her by jailing her fiance right in front of her!”

He wrapped a heavy arm around your shoulders. “ I paid the bail and I'm taking my family home.”

Leon just gestured for the door and said nothing. Senator Armstrong ushered you out, but not before you took one final look back at Leon with fresh tears in your eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

You were sitting in the Armstrongs’ tinted limousine Patrick’s head on your lap. You couldn’t help but stroke his soft hair. He buried his face in the fabric of your dress and groaned.

“I can’t believe that asshole through me into the cell with all those actual criminals. It was miserable, sobering up in that shithole.”

You rolled your eyes instinctively, Leon’s words ringing in your ears still. “What if he did lose his temper and couldn’t stop hitting me?” You shrugged it off. It was just one bad moment, he’ll change.

Your future father in Law just glared daggers into his son. 

When you arrived at your home, you still patted Patrick’s head gently. “I’ll see you later honey.” 

He quickly leaned up and kissed you on the mouth for the first time. It was sloppy and full of want. It wasn’t sweet at all and you felt sick.

You quickly got out of the car and ran into the house. 

When you arrived in the foyer, Hank was waiting for you.

“Is that bastard out there?” He asked angrily.

You looked down at your feet, you thought you’d at least be able to sleep and take a bath before being interrogated about the incident earlier. 

You heard your mom shout from the kitchen. “Is my baby home? Hank you leave your sister alone! She needs to rest.” Your mother hurried in to welcome you.

“Oh sweetie, there’s no need to cry.” She wiped your tears with a cloth she had in her apron. “Daddy and I get into arguments all the time.” 

Hank got even angrier. “You know damn well that was no argument they had, Thomas Wells said that son of a bitch shook her like a ragdoll before Deputy Kennedy got to them.”

Your Mama just rolled her eyes. “Thomas Wells is a known exaggerator, people love talking about people who they’re jealous of. Speaking of Y/N, you’re not going back to that job. It doesn’t look respectable to have the future Mrs. Armstrong working at that office.”

Your mother grabbed your arm gently and took you into the dining room and fixed your dinner. She hadn’t done this since you were a child, she was definitely trying to get on your good side. 

You felt that familiar pit of disappointment and anguish in your stomach. You had realized Mama really did want to be a part of the social class as the Armstrongs. She wanted it so bad she was willing to cover up what Patrick was willing to do to you.

You nibbled on supper and went upstairs to cry, you were exhausted.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

You couldn’t sleep that night. All you could do was replay the day’s events over and over in your mind. 

You also felt extremely violated by Patrick’s lack of respect for you.

When daybreak came, you took a light catnap for an hour or two. You were awoken by your mother shaking you awake. 

“Y/N, sweetie, time to wake up.”

You squinted at her through your dark eyelashes, confused.

“Don’t give that look, Y/N, Suzanne Armstrong called and wanted to take you shopping.”

You lurched up from your bed. “Miss Suzanne...why?” 

“She wants to make sure you look polished for the engagement party of course. The local and state newspapers will be covering it of course.” Your mother said excitedly. “Hopefully she’ll remember your mama too, I could get one of those tweed suits just like the first lady! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

You smiled a sad smile. You wanted to see your mama happy, but was she willing to do the same for you?

You got up and began your morning ritual, you made sure your dress was crisply ironed and you even added a ribbon in your hair to make yourself look a little more stylish.

You waited patiently in the sitting room before seeing the car roll up. Your mother ushered you out the door and into the awaiting town car, driven by a chauffeur of course. He opened the door for you. Inside awaiting looking prim as ever, was Miss Suzanne in a pastel-colored suit. 

“Well look at this little doll,”  she said and kissed your cheeks. “I just can not wait for you to marry my son. You two are just going to give me and your mama the cutest little grandbabies.”

You smiled uncomfortably. 

The town car started to pull away into town and Miss Suzanne wasted no time discussing future plans with you.

“So, I’ve already contacted all the news outlets. The Atlanta Sentinel is sending reporters to this party and even LIFE Magazine!” She squealed excitedly. 

“They love the Cinderella feel of this story, my dear. Everyone loves a great love story.” She composed herself again. “and it is my job as fairy godmother, to make sure you ARE the belle of the ball. There are going to be a lot of eyes and I want to make sure you look perfect.”

She looked you up and down. “We’ll have to do away with this wardrobe,” she motioned with her pointer finger to your homemade dress.

The car was heading out of town, you made a comment about going to the local department store in town. 

Miss Suzanne let out a full-bodied laugh. “My dear, we’re going to Atlanta to shop. You can’t be photographed in some outfit from Belford’s.” 

You just fell silent and looked out the window as Miss Suzanne rambled on about how excited she was, planning a wedding, and how much great press it would be for her husband and Patrick. 

When they finally arrived at the fancy boutique in midtown Atlanta, they were greeted by staff in crisp uniforms waiting outside for their arrival. 

The head designer, or who you assumed was the head designer came blowing through the doors and came to greet your future mother-in-law. 

“My dear, thank you for coming, let me grab your coat.” He grabbed Suzanne’s expensive tweed jacket and hat. He handed it to a dour-looking assistant.

He then acknowledged you. 

“My, my who is this diamond in the rough?”

Suzanne answered for you. “A diamond in the rough indeed. This is my future daughter in Law, Y/N.” 

You didn’t know whether to curtsy or not. You gently bent your knees and answered with a quiet “hello.”

“My goodness, she is just precious! We certainly have our work cut out for us.” The man snickered.

Being brought up in the south, you knew being called precious wasn’t a compliment. 

You sighed as you followed the man and Suzanne into the boutique knowing it was going to be a long day. 

#resident evil #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #tw: violence #TW: domestic violence #tw: alcholism #tw: alcohol #tw: unsafe alcohol use #resident evil Alternate Universe #Patrick infinite Darkness

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Running from the Flames {2}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Summary: Brianna Vowles grew up on the paddock. It was what filled every weekend. There were endless trips around the globe with her father and Uncle Otmar in Formula One, until she went to college. Suddenly her life revolved around studying and boys, one of whom wasn't as nice as he had appeared. Five long years later, with a hiatus in between, she graduated with her engineering degree and had decided to use her VIP pass to see if life in the fast lane had changed. Warnings: 18+ only, domestic violence survivor, lots of drama and fluff, this is a work of fiction and the events are not based on reality. Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || under construction

The moment Adelaide was asleep I opened my laptop and fired an email through to my psychologist. Considering how much she had earned from my family over the years, I wasn’t surprised to see a link for a zoom call come through within ten minutes. Ever since I escaped Erik’s clutches Dr Shirley Pascoe had been there to help me take back my control and unravel the tangled thoughts in my head so I could be the mother that Adelaide deserved. She was an innocent child and I would not hold her accountable for her father’s actions, even when it was hard. 

The zoom call connected and Dr Pascoe’s face appeared with the monotone grey walls of her office filling the background. I knew Addie wouldn’t be asleep for too long and didn’t want to waste the time we had on pleasantries so cut right to the chase. 

“I met someone today,” I started vaguely, feeling as if I were confessing to a priest and not my therapist. “He was nice and friendly but I completely froze up when he touched my knee.”

Shirley waited for me to continue or maybe the internet froze for a moment but finally she spoke with that irksome serene tone she had perfected. “And how were you feeling before he touched you? Was it a welcomed touch?”

“I…was comfortable.”

“That’s good, what about when he touched your knee?”

“It made me feel something I didn’t expect, something I haven’t felt since Erik - that’s when I kind of freaked out.”

Shirley wrote on her notepad like she did when I saw her in person, her grey bob cut swaying with the cursive writing. “Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” I huffed and picked at my freshing painted nails before sighing as she waited for the truth. “I felt like I could trust him, talk to him, you know? But I thought I could trust Erik too. What if I’m making another mistake or just have terrible instincts with men?”

“Your instincts saved your life,” she reminded me as she closed the notebook. “Unfortunately in life we all make mistakes, some not as insignificant as others, but we still learn from them. We have spent almost three years building tools to cope with the trauma you survived but a fundamental step is to trust in yourself and the work you have put in to get you to this point. Ask yourself this, would your day have been better or worse if you didn’t interact with this man?”

I frowned at the question thinking it was so obvious that of course it was better having talked to Pierre. He had made me smile, and Addie too. I even liked the warmth of his hand before my flight mode was triggered.

Then I realised that if I applied that question to other men I had spoken to in the last two years that answer did not have the same result. The surprise must have shown on my face because Shirley chuckled. “This progress is good, Brianna. I would like to schedule you in for an appointment when you come home and I would like an update on what you did with this realisation.”

I was still a little stunned but managed to agree to a time and date that I would be back in London and closed the laptop lid. A vibration in my pocket had me pulling out my phone and I opened it to find an unsaved number had texted me. My immediate reaction was to delete the message thinking it was spam but when I saw it had my name I opened it.

From Unknown: Hey Brianna, it’s Pierre. I just wanted to thank you for the Bonjela, you were right, it does work miracles.

To Pierre: Glad it helped. I can’t have the star of my favourite team worrying about anything except the car during the big race.

From Pierre: I’m also sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier, it was not my intention. You think I’m the star? 

To Pierre: I’ve seen your stats, Gasly. Otmar may not play favourites with his drivers but the stats don’t lie. 

To Pierre: And I should be the one apologising. You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I'm just skittish. It wasn’t your fault. 

From Pierre: My offer still stands if you want to talk.

I stared at the message and chewed on my bottom lip. My stomach was in knots and felt giddy from just a few texts, my thumbs shook as they hovered over the buttons waiting for the response to be typed. This was the step Dr Pascoe was talking about, trust in myself and my instinct. Instinct told me Pierre was a genuinely nice person and Uncle Otmar only signed respectable, loyal people to his team knowing having a good heart was worth more than just talent alone. 

Pierre had a good heart.

To Pierre: I’d like that.

The phone rang and I rushed to answer it before the ringtone woke Addie. “That was quick,” I said quietly, covering the microphone so my voice didn’t carry into the bedroom. “I didn’t realise you were so interested in hearing my drama.”

His soft laugh in my ear was relaxing and if I closed my eyes it felt like he was right beside me on the couch. “I didn’t want to give you time to change your mind. Have you?”

“Not yet,” I half joked.

“If you do, we can talk about the weather instead.”

“That would be a very boring conversation.”

“I don’t mind, I just like hearing your voice.”

In my head I could see the smile that he was talking through and my own curled up in response. “You are a charming man, Pierre Gasly.”

“Does that mean you’ll say yes if I ask to drive you to dinner tonight?” 

“Come and ask me yourself,” I dared, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. “Room 626, the Hermitage.”

“Already on my way.” 

I heard the phone shifting and what sounded like keys rattling before an engine roared to life and the hand holding my phone began to tremble in anticipation. “Dinner’s not for another two hours.”

“Then there is plenty of time to talk and get to know each other.”

“You might not want to take me to dinner by then, I mean, drive us to dinner, the team dinner.” I wanted to slap myself as I bumbled almost incoherently but Pierre just laughed.

“Sounds like another dare to me, and I love a challenge.”

It was my turn to laugh and the tension began to ease. “I have my own challenge now because I thought I had hours to get ready.”

I knew it wasn’t far from the paddock to the hotel but I was still surprised when only minutes later there was a knock on my door and I struggled to zip the back of my cocktail dress all the way to the top. Holding it tight over my breasts, I hid behind the door as I cracked it open and spun around the second Pierre was inside. “Can you please do me up?”

He brushed my long dark hair over my shoulder and goosebumps rose where his fingers touched my skin as he closed the zip. 

“Thank you,” I said as I turned to face him. “I was too rushed to think about that when I grabbed it from the closet.”

“You look beautiful.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tube of Bonjela but I closed his fingers back around it, still recovering from his compliment.

“Keep it, I have more in Addie’s bag.” He immediately started looking for her and appeared a little disappointed that she wasn’t around until I told him she was still napping. “Help yourself if you want a drink,” I offered as we passed the fully stocked wet bar, grabbing a bottle of water for myself before taking a seat on the outdoor couch that overlooked the race track in the road below. 

He took a seat beside me with a water of his own and his eyes followed the curve of the track as if he could see himself taking each of the turns. 

“This was the room dad always rented when I was a kid,” I broke the comfortable silence. “We would sit out here after practice sessions and he would tell me about each turn, how sharp the angle was, and how best to take them. I guess I’ll have to make a tradition of it when Addie gets older.”

“Tell me about that one,” he said as he leaned in and pointed towards the closest turn to the hotel, turn three.

“Massenet is best to be left-of-centre. It gives the best rotation going into it but most drivers take a bit of extra road preferring to see around the corner but if you trust the mass delay you can shave some time off and take it blindly.” The words were ingrained in my memory and it was surprisingly easy to recite the details you had heard dozens of times over the years. 

“Wow, I am impressed,” Pierre admitted wholeheartedly as he placed his hand over his chest. “You could be an engineer with information like that. Karel better watch out.”

“I am an engineer, just not that type. I just graduated last month as a mechanical engineer.”

Pierre grinned and nudged his shoulder into mine. “You are amazing. Doing that and raising a child, it’s unbelievable.”

I looked down at my water bottle, nervously picking at the label as my cheeks heated. “I finished two years behind my class.” 

“So? It’s just like out there.” He nodded his head to the paddock and the stands. “When something happens to the car you can either choose to retire it or try for plan b and push hard to finish the race. No one wants a DNF.”

A swell of emotion choked me as he pinned me with those gorgeous green eyes and the intensity of them showed me how much he believed his words. “Thank you,” I managed to say through the lump in my throat and I reached for his hand to give it a small squeeze when words failed me. 

I had done it. I had chosen to initiate the touch, something I hadn’t been able to do in years. It had been something reserved for the people I considered family and trusted with my life. But with Pierre there had been an indescribable connection the moment he had looked at me and I wasn’t going to deny myself the opportunity to explore where it could go.

I hadn’t realised how much I had missed it until he turned his hand over and my fingers drifted between his. “Is this alright?” he asked as his thumb drew small circles over my skin.

The spike of adrenaline began to fade and I nodded as it passed along with the fleeting feeling to take flight. I even went so far as to tuck my legs up under me and lean into his side, craving the warmth that came with being closer to him.

My head came to rest on his shoulder and we started out across the city that was the heart of Formula One. “This wasn’t what I had planned this weekend.”

Pierre agreed with a quiet reply, “I was supposed to be concentrating on the race.”

“You should still be concentrating on the race,” I pointed out, tilting my head back so I could check he was listening. 

“I was until you walked into the garage and took my breath away.” 

He ran his tongue across his lips as he stared at mine and I was equally torn between wishing he would kiss me and hoping he wouldn’t so I could have a moment to think clearly. He was consuming my thoughts too fast for me to even process them but he seemed to see that and broke away from the intense moment we shared. 

My hand tightened in his and he glanced down at our entwined fingers as I decided to share a little more, hoping he would understand my reluctance. “Addie’s father wasn’t a nice man.” 

I took a few deep breaths as I prepared myself to share details for the first time since the news had broken to the world what I had been subjected to. My eyes were fixed on the track and I didn’t dare look away from the familiar turns and straights as I recalled it all with a sense of detachment that kept me from reliving it. 

If my father wasn’t so high up in the FIA I would have just been another domestic violence survivor, but because of his position my situation had become a news bulletin. I became a recluse for months in the wake of the story, hiding from the world until they forgot about me. Just when I thought I was healing from the fractured bones and broken heart I found out I was pregnant. 

“I have spent the last two years completely focused on Addie and finishing my degree so I can finally leave London and move on with my life.” I had forgotten our hands were still joined until he lifted them to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the top of mine. “I don’t know what this is or where it’s going but I want to get to know you, Pierre.”

“Me too,” he said with a reassuring smile. “We can take it slow, I’m a patient man.”

Click here for chapter three.

#pierre gasly x poc!oc #pierre gasly x oc #pierre gasly fanfic #f1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #tw: domestic violence #running from the flames

[happy-lemon]

PRISON

Makoa: The reason I went to prison was very...specific. My whole life, my dad was an abusive alcoholic. Whenever he got physical, my mom would send me running to my auntie‘s house until it was over.

,

Makoa: Eventually, I got too old to run away. I‘d bait him until he took his anger out on me instead of her. And one day...I just snapped. I fought back and didn‘t stop swinging until someone pulled me off. He, um...he died from the injuries I caused. I only meant to hurt him the way he‘d hurt my mom, but...

,

Makoa: I promise, Eliana, I‘m not a threat to you or your daughter. I did my time, kept my shit wired tight, and now I‘m just trying to make an honest living. But if you don‘t want me working for you, I understand.

.

Eliana: What was the deal you made with my grandpa?

Makoa: Reduced rate in exchange for a room. I, uh...also don‘t have a place to live.

Eliana [sighing]: There‘s a room in the basement of the garage. Please don‘t make me regret this.

#ts4 #sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #eliana machado #makoa wells #tw: abuse #tw: domestic violence

[ohtobeleah]

I don’t think I owe a single person an explanation, but in light of recent events & comments made about me—I feel as though I need to make a statement that is without a shadow of a doubt how I really feel.

I almost made sure to sleep on this prior to saying anything so my head was clear.

Below the cut there is explicit personal information - reader discretion is advised. TW: Rape, Domestic Violence.

I don’t support any of the for mentioned topics. For me, writing is an expression of empathy and allows me to work through emotional trauma.

Majority of people understand that just because an author writes about a certain subject matter doesn’t mean that author is in favour of said subject matter.

For me: Gravitating towards harder topics to digest and swallow help me recover from personal challenges. But I don’t agree with it, I don’t agree with what Jaidyn did in Terms of Endearment. But let’s take a step back to remember he was a real person to me. Jaidyn is a real person in my life, name and all. I was 14 when I lost my virginity and 14 when I realised men will take anything they want even after being told no.

Don’t wish that on people, don’t go around wishing ill-will on others over the internet. The chances are you have absolutely no idea who this person is outside of their blog in real life.

I don’t agree with any of the events that happened in Bruises, the antagonist in that series is an awful human being—but he’s a representation of all our fears as women. And although we’re independent and literally don’t need men what so ever, Jake is the representation that someone guys walk heaven and hell to stay by your side. If you took the time to read the series it’s more than just its surface layer of traumatic events.

I don’t agree with 99.9999% of what my stories portray. I’m not a bad person. I don’t kick kittens or scream at children, I don’t wish for women’s suffrage. Domestic violence damn near killed me and I was only 14. 14!

Thankfully I’m 25 now, married, and have an amazing career with friends and family that love me—so you, the one who claims I’m some pig can slander me all you want, but I know who I am, and I know what I write although confronting at its worst helps people at its bests.

Summary: I DONT SUPPORT THE FOR-MENTIONED TOPICS AND I NEVER WILL. This isn’t for sympathy, this is serving as a reminder that you have no idea what makes someone tick.

#tw: rape #tw: domestic violence #personal rant

[ventresses]

Imagine bending over backwards like this to defend a character for screaming at and choking his pregnant wife...

#wow... just... wow #it's not even like i hate anakin but i just sure as hell ain't gonna make or tolerate excuses for domestic violence and abusive behavior #btw the second incident of domestic violence is in TCW w/ him showing up unannounced at her apartment and wrecking up her living room while #while beating up her guest to a pulp and yelling at her in a jealous rage because he misread the situation. (and showing up later on her #balcony and forcing a conversation even though she'd just asked for space) #tw dv mention #tw: domestic violence #please learn to enjoy characters without also defending their shitty behavior #i'm gonna lose some followers for this but so be it

[pretty-weird-ideas]

If you believe Louis being an unreliable narrator means that Ep 5 's domestic violence didn't happen... QUICK NAME A SHOW THAT TALKS ABOUT DOMESTIC VIOLENCE TOWARDS BLACK PPL.

Okay now name one that features queer Black people...

If you can't name one that you've fully consumed. You shouldn't be mocking people who want representation like a soulless ghoul for internet clout. Mocking people who are offended that a highly misrepresented concept will be further misrepresented makes you an asshole.

As someone who makes Loustat content, I can't believe that people are trying to rip such a powerful narrative out of survivors' hands. What do they have, quickly? What do people who relate to Louis' relationship to Lestat have in modern media? You all make me sick.

Louis is an unreliable narrator, he's nuanced, and he's flawed, but I will be damned to hell if you take the REAL REPRESENTATION of domestic violence out of people's hands and then laugh at people for being offended.

(also you are chronically online if you think Advocacy groups would be chill and airheaded if they retconned or altered Episode 5 in a way that implied the abuse didn't happen)

#iwtv #iwtv fandom #tw: domestic violence #louis du pointe du lac

[leftfield-fm]

As fame and the pressure of life on the road hit us, Brian's behaviour became a liability.

At Clearwater, I slept late on 6 May, then joined the others at the poolside along with my girl. Then my girl's friend who had slept with Brian arrived, looking battered and bruised and said Brian had beaten her up. We were disgusted by this. Mike Dorsey promptly disappeared into the motel in search of Brian. When they met, blows were exchanged and Brian suffered two cracked ribs, to the satisfaction of everyone.

Within a couple of days, news of the punch-up had trickled out to the press. We concocted a story. I gave an interview to New Musical Express by phone, saying: "We had a gorgeous pool here in Clearwater and we were doing karate beside it. Brian fell heavily and the next day, a lump came up on his chest. The doctor told him he had cracked two ribs. He wears an elastic belt, which we call his 'corset.' He's recovering rapidly, I'm glad to say." Lies!

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

#the rolling stones #tw: domestic violence #brian jones #comeuppance #touring #coverup #that same night Keith Richards came up with the riff for ''Satisfaction''