#tw dv
Note
what if… rafe ever hit shy reader from built up anger like more of an accident? we lowk need some rafe and shy reader angst😢
this kind of slayed me.. i feel like disclosure i do not condone abuse of any sort i just think shy reader would like getting slapped around and being really roughhoused..
but if rafe reallyyy got mad about it, it might be angsty. like if she really messed up and was apologizing a ton if he actually was mad at her her heart would stop. warning rafe is rlly mean in this
being a little whiney, a little too needy and maybe excessively touchy came easily to you as rafe's girlfriend. he was always coaxing you into being more comfortable with him, and you think you'd finally reached that point.
some of your shyer tendencies seemed to have finally abandoned you when it was just the two of you. and just like you had guessed, a smaller, more possessive side of you had recently emerged from the cocoon—wanting all of rafe's attention, all the time.
it wasn't good, maybe a small part of you knew that, but it was easy to play into it, and you liked how you felt these days, more comfortable in your skin and around rafe than you had been even just a month ago.
like today. you had been a little needy all day, not wanting rafe to leave when he said he needed to go to barry's for picking something up.
"ple-ease rafe," you said it a little singsongy, serious but not that serious. "don't go. i want you to stay." it was more just wanting to hang out with him than anything else—when he left, he was usually gone for ages, and things weren't that fun without him.
"i'll be back, kid. jus' stay here, got it?"
"but you said you would-"
"kid." the way he says it, you should have realized he wasn't in the mood for you to be behaving like this.
"yesterday you said you were free all day. and i get bored-"
"yesterday i didn't know i was doin' this shit. just, please. sit tight. i'll be back."
rafe goes, and though a part of you knows you shouldn't, you blow up his phone throughout the day. really, you're not even that bored—showering and getting ready for the day and then curling up with your book after you make rafe's bed, but you played a little too far into it.
when he comes back, you should have realized something was off—but you let everything else cloud your judgement. the way rafe is never mean to you (despite the stories you had heard), how he always reassures you that he's not mad and that you didn't do anything wrong. you were led to a false belief that nothing you could do would change how rafe acts towards you.
rafe comes to sit on the bed near your feet, and you lower your book to look at him, but don't say anything. when he turns to look at you, you bring the book back up so it looks like you weren't peeking.
"c'mon. y'mad now?"
"no."
"kid, i don't have time for this-"
"you didn't answer any of my texts! or calls. and i've just been waiting here all day-" you don't know what you want—attention, quality time, an apology. you just want something other than what you're getting.
"i told you i'd be back. had shit to take care of-"
"well, i just-"
"why're you actin' like this? huh?"
you think rafe's gonna ask you the things he always does—what's wrong? did someone say something? do i need go have a talk with 'em?
but he doesn't this time.
"spoiled your ass too much and now you wanna talk back? is that it?" you're so taken aback, you think all the air has left your lungs. did rafe really think that? he stands up, so you do too, facing rafe while he paces.
"no, i just-" you're being defensive, like always. you feel like crying—you thought rafe knew you better than that, but it's also not his fault. maybe you were acting too spoiled after all, and maybe despite what he always says, he preferred you how you were when you first started dating him.
"you think m'goin out there to paint nails and gossip with barry? we had shit to do. real shit, so i can take care of you. i thought you understood that."
when you start crying, you think rafe will stop—he always does, stopping to apologize and make sure you're okay.
"tears. great. i'm tryna explain this to you. are you gonna cry everytime i get serious? huh?" it comes out a little more like a bark than a sentence—now you're scared.
"i-i'm sorry," you get out, though it's strangled in a sob and sounds more like a whisper. you don't think he heard you, but your feelings are so hurt—the rush from thinking rafe would be happy to be back home with you crashing and burning quickly, the pit in your stomach that doesn't blame him—but rather blames yourself for your behavior.
you had gotten too comfortable, too pampered, thinking that acting like this was okay—briefly you think it's not rafe's fault at all for getting mad, that it's your own fault for this happening.
you think it's best if you leave, dejectedly heading towards the door, but the second he catches you trying to walk away, he rushes over, pushing you against the door before you can even open it. your back thuds against the frame.
"rafe, you're hurting me-" you cry out, but he seems to be lost in his own anger. "please-"
"didn't say you can leave. what the hell are you doin'? you tryin' to make me mad? huh?"
"rafe, m'sorry, i-"
"actin' like this 'cause you wanna get slapped around? is that it? y'like that too much, don't you? you want me to slap you around now?"
your heart feels like it's just stopped beating. the very idea that rafe would bring up something you had just gotten comfortable with liking, only recently convinced yourself—with his help—that it wasn't wrong or dirty to like those kinds of things with him—slapping and spanking and a whole host of other things you had never even talked about, much less actually done, with anyone other than rafe, in this situation, made fat tears slip down your cheeks.
your boyfriend didn't seem like himself right now. and you were so distraught, if you were a little more clear-headed you might realize his bloodshot, dilated eyes and shaky hands. your arm hurts from where he's holding you tightly.
"rafe, please-" you get out through tears, and he lets you go a little. you slide out of his grip and stay against the door, still crying. before you can even think about it, your cheek is stinging.
he does slap you—not in the light, playful way he does when it's just the two of you somewhere or in the slightly rougher manner reserved for bed—this one is harder, everything hurting.
after it happens, you look up at rafe through glassy eyes. your fingers go to your cheek, pressing down where it was painful, like it would help it go away. but you knew deep down nothing could ever erase this memory.
you look up at rafe and he looks down at you. when you try to turn to open the door, he presses down and slams it shut before you can get out.
#this was hard to write :(#but i hope i did your prompt justice#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#shy reader#tw abuse#tw dv
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a safe haven l ten
Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader
series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter
summary: After a long night, Joel and Ellie take you home.
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF AN INJURY SUSTAINED FROM AN ACT OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, PREGNANCY, CONVERSATIONS SURROUNDING PREGNANCY LOSS . PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. Ellie and reader are very close to each other, Joel deals with feelings of guilt, Joel and Maria make nice, Joel gives reader a bath and washes her hair, food consumption (i am just gonna apologize to my lactose intolerant folks right now, trust me i must pretend with you), both reader and Joel have some big feelings, reader mentions her deceased father, angst, soft and domestic Joel, fluff.
word count: 5k
a/n: i have not updated this series since october. :l i feel a a mixed bag of emotions updating after all this time, but most of all, i am grateful to know there are a couple of people out there who are still invested in this story. to anyone who has been waiting: truly, it means the world that you have shown me patience, support, and kindness. believe me, i am going to be seeing this story to the end, and it is all thanks to those who continue to show this lil story of mine a whole lotta love. special shoutout to the loveliest human @mrsmando who made me this beautiful mooodboard every single time i got stuck during this chapter, i looked at it and it gave me the boost of inspiration i needed. thank you mimi <33
this chapter is fairly tame, the next chapter is already in the works, and there are a couple of time jumps coming. overall, we are down to the last handful of chapters. let’s finish this story and give these two the ending they deserve, shall we?
“What the hell is taking Tommy so fucking long?” Ellie whines. She’s sprawled out on the couch with her head in your lap, and her arm draped over her eyes. Her feet are hanging, dangling over the edge of the couch at an odd angle after you’d warned her not to get muck from her sneakers on the linen fabric. Despite Joel insisting over and over that she head on back to the house, she had stubbornly refused, not wanting to leave your side. “It’s been over two hours! He’s taking fucking forever, man. What’s the fucking hold up?”
Joel bites back a sigh, masking his own impatience. Or at least, he tries. He’s grown just as restless as the kid, if not more. Much like Ellie, he’s desperate. He’s itching to take you home already, almost too anxious to watch you take that first step over his threshold, and into your new life with him and with Ellie. He aches, aches, to get you settled into the place where you would be spending the remainder of your days with one another, where you would be safe, and loved in the way you deserved to be loved—the place where he would cherish and adore you until his final breath.
“Don’t know,” he answers, his voice sounding rougher, more gruff than usual. Reaching up, he scrubs his hand down the side of his face, adding tiredly, “He might be a while longer, kiddo. It could be another hour, could be more. Like I already told you, s’probably best if you just go on and head back to the house without us, alright?”
“No. I’m not walking out that fucking door unless she’s with me.” She pauses and pulls her arm away from her face for a moment, just long enough to throw a teeny glare his way. “Unless you’re both with me. The three of us go home together, or it’s no fucking deal. Got it?”
He shakes his head in utter exasperation.
“Ellie, we’ll be right here down the fuckin’ road—”
Her hand shoots out and she flips him off.
Just when he’s about to chastise her, he stops himself, clamping his mouth shut. It’s pointless.
Kid’s too goddamn hard headed for her own good, and Joel knows he’s just wasting his breath with her.
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” you reassure them both, weaving your fingers through her hair to scratch at her scalp in an effort to soothe her. “Right, Joel?”
He meets your exhausted, worn down gaze from where he’s standing across the room, and his heart lurches in his chest. As the guilt begins creeping in, he’s forced to look away. He can’t imagine the living hell you had been through over the last twenty four hours alone. And the worst part about it was the realization that last night, while he was fast asleep in bed just a couple of houses up the road, that fucking bastard had his belt wrapped around your throat.
Joel feels sick to his fucking stomach all over again.
Horrifying, vividly real images of you helplessly trapped underneath Luke scratching and clawing at the leather around your neck with trembling fingers, struggling to breathe oxygen into your burning lungs as he tugged it tighter and tighter through the buckle flash in his mind, a gruesome nightmare turned into reality.
Exactly how far had Luke taken it?
Until you had grown too weak to keep fighting?
Until you almost lost complete consciousness?
Until he noticed the life threatening to leave your eyes?
Is that when he had finally stopped pulling on the belt?
Joel shudders, a bitter taste climbing up his throat as it sinks in. He could have lost you—and his unborn child.
This shouldn’t have happened.
He shouldn’t have let you walk away that night.
This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let you walk away from him that night.
“Joel,” you say his name, quiet and weary.
His head snaps back in your direction and he glances at you, almost missing the subtle shake of your head. It is a silent warning telling him not to go there, though you know by the tight clench of his jaw it’s too late for that.
Joel makes the futile attempt to hide it, but he sees it written all over your face—you know what he’s thinking because you know him like the back of your own hand, and you just know he’s placing all of the blame for what happened to you on his own shoulders.
But can you honestly fault him for that?
How can you expect him not to feel like he is somehow responsible for this? Just how the hell is he supposed to make himself believe he hadn’t failed you?
Joel promised—he had fucking promised you—that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. He had sworn to keep you safe, made a vow to protect you from Luke, but here you are, your soft, delicate flesh marred with the painful evidence of yet another one of his failures.
And it was all because he had let you walk away on that fucking night.
He should have done something.
Even if it meant running the risk of you never speaking to him again—even if you never forgave him, spent the rest of your life angry and hating him for going against your wishes. He should have something.
“Joel—”
“Be right back,” he mutters, lightly shaking his head.
Shoving away from the doorframe he’s leaning against, Joel pivots on the heel of his boot and starts down the hallway. He walks into the kitchen where he finds Maria standing at the counter, tapping her fingers against the smooth, laminated oakwood as she waits for the coffee she’d offered him a few minutes ago to finish brewing. She’d offered to whip up a quick supper, but food was the last thing on everyone’s mind.
“Tommy’s been gone for a couple hours now. Girls are startin’ to get real tired of just sittin’ around waitin’ for him to come back,” he tells her, exhaling the sigh he’d held back in the living room. “What do you think could be keepin’ him so long?”
With her back still to him, Maria reminds him, “Well, he did mention he was going to round up the council and get them together for an emergency meeting.” She lets out a sigh that matches his own—it’s been a long night for her, too. When the last drop of dark roast drips into the glass pot, she carefully takes the pot by the plastic handle and pours the steaming coffee into a speckled, white and blue ceramic mug. “Do you take it with milk and sugar?”
“No thanks, that’s alright,” he declines as politely as he can.
“I also have cinnamon if you’d like?”
“Plain black’s just fine.” He gives her a nod of gratitude when she hands it to him. “Thank you. And I don’t just mean the coffee, but for, uh—for bandagin’ up my hand for me, too.” He clocks the brief look of surprise on her face and almost laughs. He doesn’t blame her for being taken aback, because truth be told, so is he. Since he’d met Maria, he had known she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. There was something of a mutual understanding between them, a silent agreement they had made to keep each other at arm’s length, to only interact when it was absolutely necessary.
Never did he think he would be standing in her kitchen, thanking her for patching up his hand, and for making him a cup of coffee out of the kindness of her heart.
His brother wouldn’t believe it.
“Don’t mention it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter. “How’s it feel, by the way?”
“S’fine,” he replies, shrugging. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”
There’s a momentary silence. A taste of tension lingers over their heads, and he knows at one point or another, he’s going to have to address the affair, the very reason everything had unfolded in such a terrible manner.
Guess now’s as good a time as fuckin’ any, he thinks to himself with an inward sigh.
Joel lightly clears his throat. “Listen, since we’ve got a minute alone, just the two of us, I was wonderin’ if, uh—if we could talk ‘bout somethin’? If that’s alright?”
“Of course.” Maria gives him the floor.
“I know that she—” Pausing, he shuffles from the heel of one boot to the other, his ears burning hot. He had known it wouldn’t be an easy conversation to have, but he underestimated just how uncomfortable it would be, regardless of what she already knew. “I know she told you and Tommy all ‘bout us, and ‘bout our relationship. See, the thing is, the first time I saw her—”
Again, Joel stops, the burning sensation now radiating, spreading from his ears to his face and down his neck, flushing his skin a deep, deep shade of pink. Unable to meet his sister in law’s gaze, he glances down into his mug, as if he will somehow find the right words to say somewhere in the depths of his coffee.
“It was never my intention, y’know,” he finally says after a minute. “Goin’ after a married woman. I swear, I never meant to fall for her. I just fuckin’ did. I think I might’ve fallen for her long before I even met her,” he confesses. He feels himself darken to a shade of maroon under her curious stare. “And somehow, for reasons I ain’t all too sure I’ll ever understand, she fell for me too.”
Maria raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m not judging you, Joel,” she assures him, shaking her head. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not judging her, either.”
He looks up at her, blurting out, “You’re not?”
She moves her hands to cradle her swollen middle. “Do I wish you two had handled everything differently?” she answers her own query with a nod of her head. “Oh, I’m sure we all do. But I’ve known her for a long time now. I know the kind of woman she is. And I’m starting to see the kind of man you are.”
“And what kinda man is that, Maria?”
He waits without the slightest clue as to what she could possibly say.
“Since you came back to Jackson, I’ve chosen to keep my distance from you—but make no mistake, I’ve been watching you like a hawk since day one. Waiting for any signs of trouble. Waiting for you to fuck up. Waiting for you to give me a good reason to throw your ass out of this community because I didn’t trust you. Not after all the things I was told about you.”
He snorts. “You goin’ somewhere with this?”
“You are not who I thought you were,” Maria admits, smiling wryly. “I’ve gotten to see a different side of you. You pull your weight around here by doing your job and doing it well. You stay out of trouble—for the most part. And more importantly, I have seen the way that you’ve stepped up to be a father figure to Ellie. It takes a good man to do that, Joel.”
“Think that’s the nicest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses, setting his mug down on the counter. “I stepped up because I love her. I love them both. Those two, they’re the best parts of me. They’re the reasons I keep goin’ and now I’ve got another reason on the way.”
Maria smiles, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.
Catching her hesitance, Joel asks, “What? What is it?”
“What comes next is not going to be easy,” she warns him, lowering her voice. Even with the living room a fair distance from the kitchen, she doesn’t want to run the risk of you overhearing her. “For as hard as we’re going to try to contain the fire, it will spread, and everyone in this town will find out about everything—including the affair. People are going to talk, and believe me, they’re going to have a whole lot to say about it, Joel.”
He can’t help but roll his eyes at her.
“Think I can handle some fuckin’ gossip, Maria.”
“I know you can. But I’m not sure if she can,” Maria tells him, quietly. “It worries me. She’s been through a lot in just one night alone. I don’t want her stressing anymore than she already has. She is in a very delicate stage of her pregnancy right now, Joel. If she’s not careful, she could have a miscarriage. She had one about two years ago when her father became sick—” Observing his lack of a reaction, she realizes, “You knew that already.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. He knows where she’s going with this. “I did. She told me ‘bout it.”
“It makes her chances of having another one higher—”
Joel doesn’t even allow himself to think of it happening to you again. “I get it,” he interjects, trying not to sound too curt. “I’ll make sure she takes it real easy, alright?”
Lifting a hand off her belly, she reaches out and takes a hold of his forearm, gripping it tightly.
“Promise me something, Joel. Promise me that you’ll look after her,” Maria pleads him, gently. “Please. After everything she’s been through—I need you to promise me that she’s going to be in good hands with you.”
He nods. Without thinking, he places his hand over hers in an unexpected token of affection and reassurance. “You have my word, Maria. I’ll take good care of her.”
She gives his arm a grateful squeeze, then glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. We don’t know how much longer Tommy’s going to be with the council. Why don’t we just go ahead and call it a night?” she suggests. “We can all get together first thing in the morning at your place to talk about it.”
“Yeah, good idea,” he agrees. “She really needs to rest.”
Maria gives his arm another squeeze.
“Go on then, Joel. Take your girls home.”
“Finally!” Ellie exclaims with a dramatic flail of her arms as she shoves through the front door.
“Alright, kiddo. Get your behind upstairs and into the shower,” Joel instructs her, flipping on the lights in the foyer. “Y’smell like fuckin’ horse shit.”
She lifts the collar of her shirt to her nose, takes a whiff, and makes a face. “Yeah, I won’t argue with you there,” she mutters. She toes off her dirty sneakers and leaves them beside the door before dashing up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.
He shouts after her, “And don’t use up all the hot—”
“Yeah, yeah, I fucking know the rules, dude!”
Moments later, you both hear the shower going.
“Little shit,” he grumbles.
You exhale an amused huff through your nose.
Joel withdraws his arm from around your shoulders and reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “C’mon, darlin’.” He guides you up the stairs and down the hallway into his bedroom where he switches on the light before proceeding to lead you over to his dresser. “I’ve got a bunch of shirts in this top drawer here,” he says. Dropping your hand, he pulls it open for you and gestures to it with a jut of his chin as he takes a step backwards, moving out of the way. “Go ahead and pick one to sleep in tonight. Want you to be comfortable, so help yourself to whichever one you want, sweet girl.”
Nodding, you begin to rummage through the drawer, unaware of the moment he slips away. You reach for a t-shirt, but then a plaid green flannel catches your eye. You pluck it from the drawer, running your fingers over the soft, warm fabric. “Is it alright if I wear—?” You turn around, stopping mid sentence when you realize he’s no longer standing behind you. Puzzled, you follow the sound of running water into the bathroom where you find him kneeling beside the tub. “Joel? What are you doing?”
“Runnin’ you a bath.”
You notice the bloodied bandage beside him on the tile floor. “Joel, are you serious?” you scold him. “Maria just patched your hand up for you.”
“S’okay, peach. I can rewrap it when we’re done.” Joel sticks his injured hand under the faucet to check the temperature, the cold water soothing his cuts. Once it turns warm, then hot, he pulls out his hand, waiting for the tub to fill halfway before shutting the faucet off and rising to his feet. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, then beckons for you with both of his hands. “Let’s get you washed up.”
You remain standing by the door. “Joel, you don’t have to do this for me.”
“I know.”
“I’m capable of washing myself—”
“Yeah, I know that too,” he says, chuckling. “S’only fair, darlin’. Don’t you think?”
That’s when it hits you—how this moment is mirroring that night you had cleaned Joel up after you and Ellie had brought him home from the clinic with an injured shoulder. He allowed you to take care of him, and now, he was looking to do the same for you. And all you had to do was let him.
“But your hand—”
“Will be just fine,” Joel persists, stubbornly. “It’s nothin’ but a few cuts and scrapes. C’mon—or else I’m gonna march right over there and get you myself, peach.”
Knowing Joel, you certainly wouldn’t put it past him to throw you over his should and carry you to the bathtub.
“Fine,” you relent with a small sigh of defeat.
Setting his shirt down on the sink, you slowly walk over towards him and whirl around, letting him help you out of your knitted cardigan. You finish undressing yourself, inhaling a deep breath as you muster up the courage to turn back around and face him—when you finally do, it feels like a punch to the gut to see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes, the subtle tremble of his bottom lip. You don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror to know it looks about a hundred times worse when you’re not wearing clothes.
Keeping your arms down at your sides, you fight every urge to cover yourself up. You’ve never felt so fucking vulnerable.
Clearing his throat, Joel holds out his hand. “C’mere.”
You accept it, and he helps you into the tub.
“How’s the water? S’not too hot, is it?”
You shake your head and he leans forward, kissing your temple so sweetly, your eyes flutter closed.
He washes your hair first, then takes a clean washcloth, lathering it up with a bar of milk and honey soap—the same soap he would smell on your skin all those nights. Admittedly, Joel preferred castile soap, but switched it when he found himself missing you during those weeks you were apart from him, when he needed the comfort of your scent. He is gentle with you, so gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter into pieces in his hands.
As he lightly drags the washcloth up your back and around your neck, you stiffen, prompting him to freeze too. “Fuck. Baby, did I hurt you?” he asks, and you hear the slight panic in his tone.
“No,” you say quickly, desperately trying to swallow the lump rising in your throat. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just—” Every overwhelming emotion slams into you all at once, and you can’t seem to figure out which one to feel first. Humiliation? Fear? Relief?
The water sloshes around you as you pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around your knees, giving yourself permission to feel them all. Bowing your head, you begin to sob quietly, hoping that Ellie, who is just down the hallway, won’t hear you crying again.
Joel says nothing. Washcloth still clutched in his hand, he leans forward over the edge of the tub and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, or at least, as close as the barrier between the two of you will allow him.
“Joel,” you choke, trying to push him off. “Stop it. Your clothes, they’re getting all wet.”
“Hush. Don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout my clothes,” he croaks, and for a second, you swear he’s about to cry too. But he doesn’t. He holds himself strong. Tugging you closer against his chest, he buries his nose into your soaking wet hair, whispering his reassurance. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe, my sweet girl. I’ve got you, alright?”
He pulls back slightly, dipping his hand into the water, placing it on your lower belly.
You look down, your eyes glazing over his bruised and battered knuckles. Proof that Joel Miller really would do anything for you.
“I know you do,” you say, softly. “I know you’ve got me, Joel.”
A while later, you’re dried, dressed, and composed. You follow Joel out of the bathroom and back into his room, where he has you take a seat on the bed. Noticing you had missed a button on his flannel shirt, he does it for you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and says, “Give me a minute while I change.”
He peels off his wet clothes, being careful so as not to further agitate his sore, injured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you’re sitting in bed underneath the covers.
“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy—and it smells like you. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”
Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home. Alright?”
Home.
You’re home.
He touches the tip of his nose to yours, and then draws himself back up to full height. “There’s somethin’ that I’ve gotta take care of downstairs, peach. I won’t be too long,” he promises.
It’s almost midnight. Joel goes about the kitchen and he prepares you the quickest meal that he can think of. He plates the sandwich he’d thrown together and pours a glass of cow’s milk—he’s always sure to keep a pint of it in the refrigerator to make the kid her oatmeal in the mornings.
He heads back upstairs, only to find that while he had been gone, Ellie had joined you, making herself a little too comfortable on his side of the bed. He stands there at the door, watching the two of you.
“Hey, so is it true babies can hear stuff while they’re in there?” Ellie questions you, curiously.
“Mhm,” you reply with a nod. “They can hear music, for example. Voices—”
“Voices?” She smushes her face into your stomach and he hears a muffled, “Hey, dude!”
You giggle. “Ellie, I think it’s still a little too early.”
“When do you think it’ll be able to hear me?”
“I’m not too sure. In a few months, maybe?”
Ellie lifts her head, humming. “You know, I bet there’s baby books in the library,” she tells you as she sits up. “I’ll have Dina help me look for one tommor—oh shit.” She stares at you with wide eyes. “Dina! How are you going to tell her and Talia about Luke?”
Joel grimaces. He hadn’t thought of that, either.
“I—I’m not too sure.”
“You have to fucking tell them. Dina has to know about him. She has to know what a piece of shit he is, and so does Talia.”
Sensing your discomfort, Joel steps into the bedroom and intervenes before she can say another word. “Ellie, get to bed. S’late.”
“But—”
“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns her, sternly.
She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She climbs off the bed and on her way out, she eyes the plate in his hand. “That chicken?”
“Turkey. And it ain’t for you, it’s for her. So scram, kid.”
“Couldn’t have made me one while you were at it, old man?”
“Ellie, if you don’t get outta here right now—”
“Alright!” Ellie holds her hands up. “I’m leaving. Jesus.”
She disappears, closing the door behind her.
“Pain in my ass,” Joel mumbles, shaking his head as he walks over and carefully perches himself beside you. He hands you the plate. “Here, darlin’.”
“Joel, I appreciate this, but I’m really not very hungry.”
“Maybe not, but y’gotta eat,” he insists. “Baby needs it.”
Thankfully, you accept it without further protest.
“I’ll have Ellie get your things tomorrow,” Joel states as you’re eating. “Maria can go along with her since she knows the house. They’ll get your clothes and whatever else you might need outta there.”
“My father’s belongings.” You accidentally talk through a mouthful of turkey and bread. Swallowing, you tell him, “I have some boxes of his stuff in the basement. But they’re way too heavy for either of them to carry.”
“I’ll take care of that for you.” He reaches up, wiping a breadcrumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “I can ask Tommy to give me a hand. Don’t you worry, peach. We won’t leave your dad’s things behind, I swear it.”
Relieved, you shoot him a grateful look, then polish off the last few bites of your sandwich.
“Here,” he says, offering you the glass of milk. “Figured it’s good for you, and good for the baby. Y’know, since it’s got calcium and…stuff.” He shrugs sheepishly, no clue as to what he’s talking about. “Vitamins, right?”
Nodding, you grab the glass and take a reluctant sip.
“You hate milk,” Joel realizes, raising an eyebrow.
“I do,” you admit with a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s good for both me and the baby, so cheers.” And with that, you somehow force the entire glass down.
He sets the dishes aside on the nightstand, figuring he can take them downstairs first thing in the morning.
Without bothering to rebandage his hand like he’d told you he would, Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you. “All those nights wishin’ I could bring you home,” he muses as you curl into his side. “Wantin’ nothin’ more than to hold you in my arms in this bed. In our bed.” His arm slips around your shoulders, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “Almost doesn’t feel real, darlin’.”
Tilting your head, you nuzzle your nose into the scruff of his beard, prompting him to laugh again. Then, he remembers his conversation with Maria, and his smile fades from his face, his lips pursing together.
You catch the sudden shift in his demeanor.
“Joel? What’s the matter?”
“M’fine, baby. It’s just—” He hesitates. “From this point forward, I need you to let me handle things.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want you gettin’ all stressed out, alright? I don’t want to run the risk of you—” He’s unsure of how to say it.
“Of me losing the baby,” you finish for him, quietly.
Joel winces, knowing he was wandering into sensitive territory. “Yeah. I—I really don’t want that to happen.” He pauses. “Maria mentioned to me you’re in a delicate stage. When do you reckon you’ll stop—how long until you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it?”
“After twelve weeks, my risk isn’t as high. If I make it to the second trimester in six weeks, then my chances of having another miscarriage are lower.”
Though you speak calmly, he clocks your anxiousness.
You’re worried, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fucking worried out of his mind too.
Being a father at his age wasn’t ideal, but he wanted this child. It was part of him, and more importantly, it was a part of you.
Joel squeezes your shoulders. “I only ask ‘cause I was thinkin’ that, y’know, once we get to that point, maybe I can go ahead and start buildin’ the baby’s crib.”
“You’re going to build the crib?”
He nods. “And the highchair too. I can even make you a diaper changin’ table if y’want one.”
“Joel.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Our worlds were just turned completely upside down. You just found out that I’m pregnant, and you’re already thinking about building furniture? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”
“Hey, those things take a whole ‘lotta time,” he says in defense of himself. “Besides, winter’s right around the corner and I don’t wanna be out in the garage freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off. If I can get a head start now, I can have them all done in the spring by the time the baby comes.”
You fall silent.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I’m really scared of losing it,” you confess. “When I first took that pregnancy test, I wanted nothing more for it to be negative. Now, I’m terrified I won’t make it past my first trimester again. I really don’t want to lose it. I want this baby, Joel.”
He turns his head, meeting your eyes in the silver light shining through the lace curtains over his window. “S’why you’ve gotta let me handle things, darlin’. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“C’mere, my sweet girl.” Joel presses his lips to yours, murmuring against them, “I love you.”
His declaration comes with natural ease.
And so does yours.
“I love you too, Joel.”
#fic: a safe haven#fic: ash#tw dv#tw domestic violence#tw pregnancy#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller series#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller angst#the last of us fanfiction
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At the table.
2.2k, DARK!Joel x f!reader, then dark!Tommy
Joel master list
A/N: One shot, follows Caught, can read alone. Throwaway Joel encore by popular demand 🚬🤡
SUMMARY: Joel brings you back to his apartment and makes you suck him off then cockwarm him while he and the boys play cards. Tommy tucks you in but not before getting off.
WARNINGS: Very dark, mean, dubious consent (captivity & ongoing abuse), humiliation, degradation, manhandling, injury (intentional burns), shackles, blow job, P in V, cockwarming, stretching, fisting-adjacent fingering
He caught you. You knew he would. You never should have tried. It was too easy and you’re beginning to realize he probably left you unlocked on purpose. For the chase, the thrill of the hunt, and the punishment. The humiliation.
On the walk home, Joel screws open his canteen and asks if you’re thirsty. You nod and he forces you to your knees and tells you to open your mouth. He takes a swig of water, swallows it, then spits it in your mouth. Then he takes another sip and doesn’t swallow it. He squats down, firmly takes your jaw in his hand, and lets it dribble from his mouth to yours.
“Now get up.”
You struggle to your feet and he yanks you up by the elbow. His apartment isn’t too far, because you didn’t make it far when you ran.
On the way up the stairs, he groans with the effort. “Too fuckin tired,” he complains. “I should get Tommy to fuck some sense into ya.”
You’re quiet.
“Bet ya’d like that, huh?”
“No,” you reply.
“‘an’ why’s that?”
“Only want yours.” If he knew any different, he probably wouldn’t let Tommy speak to you much less touch you.
“Cause i ruined ya, didn’t i? Ruined all your holes.”
“I dunno”
“Got ya too stretched to even feel Tommy’s, right?” He sighs and musses your hair. “Ruined. Now you’re just for me. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“That cunt’s never gonna please another man now.” He chuckles darkly. “But hell, might as well try, darlin’.”
You don’t say anything else.
“I ain’t gonna stop ya.” He’s passed you around enough that you don’t doubt it, but he always keeps you to himself in the end. It’s almost like a game of dominance. Like he’ll let the men get a taste, then yank you away and laugh that they can’t have the rest.
Joel gets you back to his apartment and you’re briefly relieved when he doesn’t take you straight to the dim room with your bed and chains. But he does shove you up against the door with his hand around your throat. “Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”
You nod a tearful acknowledgement. He lets go of you and softens his tone. “Such a pretty girl,” before adding, “Fuckin’ act like it.” You nod again.
“Boys are comin’ over,” he says. “You’re gonna sit on my cock and you’re not gonna fuckin’ move.”
—--
Your clit twitches. The sitting-on-his cock part, that doesn’t sound half bad. But you’re afraid of what else he might do. You’re also afraid of what’s becoming of you. Part of you (a specific part of you) is more excited than fearful at the thought of him hurting you, humiliating you. It’s pavlovian - he’s forced you to cum so many times in fucked up situations, your body can’t help itself.
They’re coming over to play poker. They sit in the kitchen. First, Joel puts you under the table at his feet. “Do a good job, and I might let ya stay there.” You palm the warm bulge over his jeans, then straddle his boot as you unbuckle his belt. You slowly feel him getting bigger and harder. When he’s fully stiff and his hips begin to rock into your hand, you dig your knuckles into his belly as you unbutton his jeans then unzip him. You massage him through his boxers before unbuttoning the flap and taking out his hard cock. You wrap your hands around it as you sit up more to bring your head to his crotch as Tommy deals the cards. Joel moves an ashtray from the table to a shelf behind him.
As your head approaches his groin, you get a strong whiff of his musk and it makes you throb. You take his tip into his mouth and don’t go slow. He doesn’t like it when you ‘tease’ him. You suck with your whole mouth and throat, bobbing your head, getting him really slobbery, his girth stretching the corners of your mouth. Your suction extracts his salty precum and a drop trickles down your throat. Joel plays a hand of poker and growls from his chest. The sound makes you twitch and your crotch presses into his shin for relief.
“Lil slut’s already humpin’ my leg.”
They laugh. Tommy asks, “dibs on next?”
Joel scoffs. Not today, apparently. “Fuck off, man,” he grumbles, then peeks under the table at you. “Take your clothes off, baby.” You get his dick really wet, then take off your pants and underwear, preparing to climb into his lap. “Everything,” Joel says. You take off your shirt, too. You don’t own any bras right now. "C'mere." He puts down his cards and rests his hands face up on his knees for you to grab onto. You begin to hover over his lap, biting your lip. He sticks two dirty fingers between your legs and slides them through your folds. He laughs at how wet you are. "Thirsty bitch. Turn around."
Your thighs shake as he makes you face the rest of the guys. He holds his cock with one hand and guides you by your hip with another. The men stare. As soon as his slobbery tip hits your cunt, he impales you on his cock. You gasp as he bruises your cervix and your body tries to catch up with him, giving you more moisture. Then he roughly gropes your breast and pulls you back against his chest on full display for all of them. He massages both your breasts with a groan.
"Your hand, buddy," Joel says to the man across from him. The men compose themselves to keep playing.
He rocks you on his cock, massaging your breasts in a circular motion with your nipples between his middle and ring fingers. His thick cock moving deep inside makes you feel good. Nothing hurts at the moment, except your nipples which are so hard they're on the verge of pain. He moves one hand to your clit and begins to rub you with abandon, still massaging your other breast. Tommy lights a cigarette.
By the time it's Joel's turn to play, you're about to cum. You look up at the ceiling and he bounces you on his cock in short quick pulses. The tension bursts and you whimper as he moves his hand from your clit to the back of your neck. "Look at me, baby." When you turn your head to the side, he slams you down on the table. Your hard nipples are swallowed up by your breasts with the impact and you're still coming. He holds you down and you whine as your walls choke his cock.
Your hips rock with your climax and he commands "stay fuckin' still." You whine and gush on his lap as he holds you down on the table.
"Good God," he grumbles. "You're gonna wash'em"
You finish coming and Joel keeps holding you still. You know better than to try to move. He picks up his cards and holds them between your naked shoulder blades as he plays his hand. Then he puts them face down on your back to light a cigarette. He picks up his hand of cards again and sits back in his chair.
The men continue their game, talking like you're not there, but you can feel their eyes on you. Your breasts are sweating against the slick wood table. Your eyes are growing bloodshot with the smoke of their cigarettes. Joel's cock occasionally twitches inside you, thick and stiff.
Tommy finishes his cigarette and hands it to Joel, nodding at the ashtray behind him. You flinch and your ass clenches as he brings it to your shoulder, close to a cluster of scars. He presses the smoldering end to your skin and you tense with the white hot burn, making your cunt choke his cock. You twitch with pleasure as the burn fades. His cock moves.
"Oof," his hips shift under you. "Easy baby." He's close to finishing his own cigarette. They continue playing. When Joel finishes his own cigarette he sits back and brings the cigarette butt to your lower back.
He lifts his hips as he presses the butt of it into your skin and your eyes pinch shut. Your body erupts in goose bumps and as you clench around him, he begins to erupt with a long sigh. He pulses warmly against your cervix. Lifting his hips and sighing as the other men watch. Your eyes briefly flutter open to see Tommy palming himself and you lock eyes with him. Your mouth falls open, you pinch your eyes shut, and you moan as another climax overtakes you.
Joel finishes dumping his load in you and you're a whimpering mess as you finish coming. He leaves you on his softening cock for the rest of the game, and you begin to drift off, then one of the men wants to talk about their drug supplier. Joel sighs.
“She asleep?” Tommy asks.
Joel leans to one side as he digs into his pocket and hands Tommy a key to your chain. “Put her to bed.”
—---
Tommy clears his throat then adjusts himself, then nudges you. “Hey, ready for bed?”
“For Christ’s sake, just take her, Tommy.” Joel lifts his hips and holds you up against the table by your sides. You wobble as you begin to stand on your feet.
“Clothes?” Tommy asks.
“Nah,” Joel says.
Tommy swallows and takes you by the elbow. His grip is firm but nothing like Joel’s. He takes you down the basement, catching you when you wobble on the stairs. Then he gently shoves you down on the bed like it’s a chore. “Why’d ya run?”
“I was hungry.”
“I’ll getcha somethin’ if you’re good.” He probably would. He was the one who got you a blanket.
“Thanks.”
Tommy palms himself over his jeans as he watches you turn on your side and reach for the dirty blanket. He shakes his head. “Not yet, sugar,” and you drop the blanket. He kneels on the bed. “Open those pretty legs and lemme see the damage.” You turn onto your back and spread your thighs.
Tommy bends your knees for you then spreads your thighs wider.
He watches Joels cum leak out of your fucked-out cunt and gives a low whistle. “Really did a number on ya tonight, didn’t he? Kept ya on it forever”
Tommy sits on the bed and reaches for your pussy. He runs his fingers through your slick and inserts two, then three of his thick digits within seconds. “God damn,” he mutters. "Does it hurt?"
You shake your head no.
You squirm with tension building as he finger fucks you. You watch him watch his middle three fingers go in and out of your cunt. He then he adds his pinky, stretching you even wider. You gasp at the strain. "Fuck," he says. He thumbs your clit and slowly moves his fingers inside you in small pulses. Your body adjusts and gets wetter again. "You wanna cum again? Cum in my hand like a good little slut?"
You nod.
"Gonna let me fuck ya first though."
You swallow. "Okay."
Tommy takes his soaking wet hand away. He unzips his pants and takes out his hard cock, stroking it with his dripping hand as he gets between your knees. His cock looks painfully stiff.
He braces one hand on the bed near your navel and slides his cock right into you. "Shit," he mutters, disappointed rather than pleased. "Shoulda done this first," he laughs. "Could prolly fit two of me in here right now, huh?" His cock wasn't small, either. He thrusts a few times and pulls you toward him by your thighs. You try to squeeze him with your walls and he chuckles. “‘s good effort, sweetheart.” After thrusting a few more times, he speeds up. He slams his hips into you and your back arches. You whimper on the verge of coming.
“Really?” Tommy asks? “I’m hittin' somethin'? You can feel it?"
You nod with a whimper.
“Alright,” he pants, “I'll let ya have it.” He rails you hard and fast for a minute then you whine as a climax overwhelms you. Your walls contract around him and he says, “Yeah, there we go,” and keeps fucking you. "There it is." He fucks you through it. “Ready or not,” he mutters, then slams his hips into you and begins to dump his load. He sighs as his spend fills you and mixes with Joel’s. Then he pulls out and smiles darkly as some trickles out of you. He gathers it with his fingers and pushes it back inside.
"Gettin' real good at takin' all this," he whispers, then squeezes your thigh affectionately. He reaches for the floor and grabs the blanket. "you're a good girl, ya know." He cuffs you to the bed and spreads the blanket over you. "you know better than runnin’.”
You nod. Tommy squeezes your thigh as he stands up, then he goes across the basement and returns with some jerky. “I’ll talk to him ‘bout the food”
“No don’t”
“Why not”
“I’ll get in trouble”
“Not gonna say you said it.”
“Thanks,” you smile.
He walks upstairs leaving you alone.
-------
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Thank you so much for reading and engaging 🖤🤟
@toxicfics for notifications ✉️
For a different dark Joel who's more complex, read raider Joel ⛓️🖤 read the latest if you haven't for his POV.
For a different dark Tommy, see Birds of prey (raider Tommy)
For another under table bj that leads to Tommy, see Tommy's hard day. 🗼
#dark!joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#dark!joel#toxicanonymity ☠️#ultradark ☠️#tw dubcon#tw dv
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It's Personal
Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader
TW: Violence against Y/N (not via Billy), farfetched for the plot, Billy is mean, angst, possible cringe idk. We're all friends here. THE VIOLENCE IS DESCRIBED IN DETAIL FOR THE MOST PART. A little bit non-canon Billy, but if you're reading his dialogue as sassily and as dry as I'm writing it, it's not quite as jarring to his personality.
Notes: I literally just learned about the "Who did this to you?" Trope and now I'm giving it an angsty go. This is not smut, womp, womp. Also, I did the gifs like a picture book so you can kinda see the expression or energy I was going for.
Summary: Billy's been an ongoing bully/ nuisance in your life since you met. He's acting a little different after finding out you've been hurt.
"Can you try not to take up half the lecture dick-riding the professor?" Billy catches you as you're making your way across campus. He's always been an issue for you, ever since he moved here your junior year in high school. Now you're both freshmen in college. He'd taken a year off to pursue other outlets, but sometimes you're convinced he did it just to be able to torment you in college, seeing as he was always a grade above.
"What are you talking about, Billy?" You ask with an exasperated sigh. Already too exhausted from studying late the night before to deal with his endless harassment.
"I'm saying every time we have this course, you ask a million fucking questions the whole time," his voice is low, but filled with a palpable hate. Why does he dislike you so much? You've never known. You've never asked. "Try to save your desperation for after class, cool? It's hard to watch," He jabs, speed-walking ahead of you.
Most days, you'd say something back. A quip just as hateful, if not worse. You were his rival in every sense of the word. The two of you even shared the same genre of fashion sense. You stole his spotlight, and he doesn't like it, so he notices when your venom is running low. You're silent the entire lecture, not because of what Billy said to you, but because you're tired.
Your study session only ran so late because you and your boyfriend spent most of the day arguing. The gaslighting is constant, and his moods have become more and more unstable and harder to navigate. You tell yourself over and over that you love him. You've loved him since you were young. He's your high school sweetheart. Andy was on the basketball team in high school and while that type usually didn't take to a hair-metal gal like you, he seemed so smitten when you met.
The room is dismissed and you try to file out long before Billy can make it to the door. He laughs at your desperate attempt to get away. Like a cockroach scurrying away from a suddenly illuminated bulb. You're not fast enough and as he passes you before you reach the exit to the building, he leans over and taunts you in your ear.
"It's about time you listened," he hisses and walks away laughing. You're indifferent. Nothing he says could hurt the way Andy's words do. You tune everything out to make room for your insecure thoughts to take over. You blame yourself for Andy's rapid change in personality. What could you have done to make him feel like this toward you? Your mind is far too occupied by these untrue concerns, that you barely feel the anxiety settle in until you get back to your dorm. It was a bit more pricey on your tuition, but your scholarship allowed you to have a dorm room for yourself. Instead of another bed, it has a small "living room" area.
With a deep, grounding sigh, you reach for the door handle and step inside. Things are fine. Andy greets you with a smile and kisses you sweetly as you set your things down by the door. You're pleasantly surprised, allowing all the toxic thoughts circling your mind to melt away under his gentle touch.
"How was class?" He asks.
"It was fine. Nothing spectacular," you giggle, smiling warmly, overtly relieved that he's not still upset with you. You can barely recall what he was angry about, to begin with. You snuggle into him as you both relax on the couch. He stares straight ahead as he opens his mouth to speak.
"One of my buddies said he saw you talking to that Steve guy," Andy's voice becomes colder, and you realize it was all a trap. You're wrapped in his arms, feeling his body go rigid as you hesitate to answer. "Y/N." He finally looks down at you, meeting your anxious gaze.
"Oh, uh," your throat goes dry. "I did talk to him. He was a little late and just needed the notes from the first section. I charged him five bucks." You begin to ramble, hoping to defuse the situation before he explodes. "He's still going steady with that Debra girl, too. She's in my journalism class. I bet those cookie-cutter losers end up married, honestly."
"You know I don't like you talking to other guys without me." Andy clenches his jaw.
"I know! I completely understand, too. You know I love how possessive you are, babe. It's hot," you're desperate and hopeful that stroking his ego will put this anger to bed. "There were so many people around, so I was thinking nothing could happen." You furrow your brow at your own words. "Your friend was even there to make sure!"
Andy's grip around you tightens, nearly cutting off your ability to fill your lungs just using one arm.
"I don't ask you for a lot, Y/N." His free hand reaches up to your face, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look into his eyes, though you weren't looking away to begin with. "Don't make me look like a fool." When he loosens his grip, your lungs inflate with a loud gasp and his shift in position slides you off the couch, into the floor with a small thud. Now you're angry. The two of you have screamed at each other plenty of times, but how dare he act so bold?
"Andy," you stand, hovering over him where he remains on the couch. His arched brows frame his bright eyes with anger. "Get out." He smirks, and it fills you with unease. Standing from the couch, he takes one step forward, nearly chest to chest with you, if it weren't for the dramatic height difference. He towers over you, stealing the feeling of power you thought you were cultivating.
"What'd you just say to me?" He asks with a sociopathic smile.
"I said," You swallow hard. "Get. The fuck. Out." You barely get a chance to speak the last word of your sentence before a fast, hard open hand meets your cheek, knocking you to the ground, and almost sending you across the room, it felt like.
"Do not ever talk to me like that just because you got caught," Andy's words are full of anger. You stare at him with wide eyes, arching your brow in an expression that asks him who the fuck he thinks he is. He storms out of the dorm, but you know he'll be back. And after these events, you're scared to try and stop him. His college teammates are at every corner, it seems. It's as if ever since Jason went out of state for college, they all bend to Andy's will. Losers. Andy doesn't come home until after you've fallen asleep. You stayed up as late as your body could take, but he wasn't back in bed until 5 AM. You have no idea where he's been.
The next day, it's your misfortune that you and Billy share yet another class. This one was early in the morning rather than yesterday's afternoon lecture. You're running on very little sleep, and the trauma of Andy snapping and putting his hands on you. It's just something you could never even fathom. The way he would kiss the ground you walked on when you first met, how could he? You're more than distracted, staring directly at the floor as you walk until you run flat into someone else in the hall.
"I stood here, completely still, to see if you'd notice. I guess other people don't exist to you, huh, princess?" He mocks you. It's not long before he notices the dark bags under your lifeless eyes and the speckles of red that have risen in the hazy shape on the side of your face. Assuming it's an allergic reaction like you had back in high school, he didn't hold back. "Jesus Christ, Y/N. You look like shit."
"Still look better than you could pull, pussy," you sneer, shoving past him. "Don't fucking make me late." He steps in front of you again, knowing neither of you is late because he's on the same schedule.
"What happened to your face? It looks like your boyfriend had to tell you twice," he bursts out laughing at his distasteful joke. You can feel your blood begin to boil. You no longer wish to exchange hateful comments. Now you want to hurt him. You want to hurt Billy the way Andy hurts you. You can't swing on him, so you take your next best shot.
"Yeah? How many times did your mom have to tell you before she just gave up and left?" You boldly stare Billy in the eyes, hoping so badly that none of Andy's henchmen see the two of you going at it. Billy's jaw is rigid, and you can see it tighten as he grinds his teeth, subduing his emotions. You've never come at him like that, it wasn't expected. His taunting smirk is long gone.
"Are you trying to get your fucking ass kicked, Y/L/N?" Billy's disgusted with himself the minute he says it. Of course, he doesn't mean that. He'll drive you into an early grave, but it's never been in his moral compass to hurt a woman the way his father hurt his mom. He wants to rescind the rhetorical threat, but his ego just clamps his lips shut. Your eye twitches as you wonder what else you've got to lose. Or would Andy hit you again for letting another man kick your ass? Your thoughts are exaggerated and full to the brim with frustration. You finally explode.
"Fucking do it then, Billy! Swing! Hit me, motherfucker!" You drop your belongings and stomp toward him and he's unsure how to react now that you've called him on his bluff/ intrusive thought.
"Calm the fuck down. You look ridiculous," Billy takes a cautious step back.
"No, let's go outside. Let's see how hard you can hit someone half your fucking height, pussy!" You're nearly causing a scene, but the building is empty for the hour. Tears well in your eyes and you refuse to let up, demanding he act on his "big, scary" threat. He won't. He stares at your watery, red eyes. Your face is flushed and only your cheeks, nose, and around your eyes hold any pigment. He essentially waits until you tire yourself out.
"You've gotta do something about that shit, Y/N. You're fucking losing it," he shakes his head.
"I'm not losing any-fucking-thing, Hargrove. Don't ever mistake me for a bitch you can scare off with an empty fucking threat," you spit, grabbing your things and taking off, leaving Billy standing confused in the empty hallway.
"What the fuck was that?" He questions aloud. He has no idea you've been drained with no way to recharge. You've been hurt with no way to heal. To him, you're losing your goddamn mind. After that, he's not even angry at your comment anymore. He's just, concerned? Maybe just curious, really. After all, he's supposed to be your burden. Anything else takes the attention off of him.
The class is long and just like yesterday, you're quiet when you usually never stop engaging. Even the professor notices, and she asks you to linger behind after the lecture is over.
"Hey, Y/N. What's up? You were so quiet today," the professor's soft voice is sweet to your ears.
"I've just been, um, tired." You shake your head, barely convincing yourself.
"Is that a bruise on your cheek, honey?" The kind, older woman asks with two hands resting on her coffee mug. Just outside the open door, Billy waits for you to pass by before he realizes you're staying behind. He scoots as close to the door as he can, flat along the wall, listening.
"A bruise," he whispers to himself, recalling what he thought was a rash. His stomach almost attempts to simulate the feeling of guilt as he remembers the joke he made at you. The one that set you off.
"Oh, no. It's a reaction. New laundry detergent fucked me up," you stop yourself. "Messed me up, sorry."
"Y/N, you're an adult. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, but it's very clearly not hives," the professor sighs, her eyes full of concern as she stares at the ever-developing bruise as it slowly takes the shape of a hand. "Is it another student at the University?"
"Ma'am, with all due respect, I'm dealing with a lot right now. I will see you on Wednesday. Goodbye." You snatch your things up and zip toward the door, holding your breath. The wind from your speed walking blows your hair back, giving Billy a perfect view of the hand-shaped bruise yellowing on the side of your face. You're too determined to get out of there to react to his eavesdropping, so the two of you just share a look, and you keep going.
Billy furrows his brow. He's unsure you even have a boyfriend, so who exactly is leaving bruises like that right, front and center on your face? After his last course of the day, Billy congregates with his friends at a nearby frat house belonging to a different college.
"Hey, Tommy," Billy calls his friend's attention. Tommy pulls himself away from the group of guys he was laughing with and sits across from Billy. "You know that Y/N girl? Lots of denim, nice ass?" It's not until the last two descriptors that Tommy recalls who you are. Figures.
"Yeah, what about her?"
"What's her deal? She dating anybody?" Billy asks, innocently enough.
"I don't know, man. Why do you always ask me about shit like that?" Tommy laughs.
"Because you gossip like a woman," Billy smirks, standing from his slouched position on the couch and grabbing a beer from the large, ice-filled cooler in the kitchen. "She's some annoying broad in a couple of classes with me. I thought I'd ask around and see if there's a reason she never shuts her goddamn mouth." Both of them laugh at his hateful remark, but it's true to him. You get on his nerves, but it's less what you say, and more so the fact that you do "him" better than him. The men drink irresponsibly and cause a ruckus until late, late at night where they then wander back to their campus/ dorms on foot.
You wake up in the morning finally feeling well-rested for the first time in a while, despite the sudden changes in your relationship. You look over to see Andy's side of the bed is empty. You assume he slept over at the frat house after getting too fucked up. You know he likes to party.
Sitting comfortably on your couch, watching an episode of your favorite show, though it's a rerun, you involuntarily flinch when you hear the door open. Andy slightly stumbles through, laughing with messy hair. His clothes seem disheveled, but you chalk it up to drunken hijinks.
"Hey, babe! Did you have fun?" You ask, smiling, beaming, really. Hoping the sound of his laughter is a sign he's in a good mood this morning.
"Huh?" He looks over at you as if he didn't notice your existence until you spoke.
"I was just asking if you had a good time. Sorry I couldn't go with you, I was just too tired," you laugh.
"Oh, no. It's cool. I like it when it's just me and the guys, actually." His confession makes you a little sad, but you try to understand.
"Got any plans for today?" You grin, letting your guard down.
"For the love of God, dude. Can I get in the door first?" He snaps.
"Okay... Sorry," you quieted yourself down at first, but then quickly realized that's not who your daddy raised. You're getting ready to confront him again despite the smack until you notice something that makes your stomach drop, a small trail of three faint hickeys along your long-term boyfriend's neck. "Babe. Where did those come from?"
"What are you talking about?" He groans, throwing himself on the couch next to you, gripping your thigh possessively.
"I'm talking about the hickeys on your neck, Andy. Where did they come from?" Your voice is low and shaky. "Just you and the guys, huh?"
"Don't start with this shit again, Y/N. I'm too hungover." He dismisses you entirely, and all the rage you'd been holding back to be the "cool girlfriend" comes pouring out.
"You knocked me to the floor for looking at Steve Harrington! You put your hands on me for some made-up story you formulated in your own head and now you're coming home with hickyes?!" The longer you scold him, the darker his expression becomes.
"I'm giving you one fucking chance to get on your fucking knees right now and apologize," Andy's unsettlingly calm. You're frozen. Too scared to be openly defiant, but too angry to fold at his command. "One... Two..." He stands, softly placing a hand on your cheek and sliding it up into your hair, gracefully scraping the tips of his fingers behind your ear. It's so soft and soothing, that the sensation causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and just as they're about to open again, he closes his fist around a large portion of your hair and forces you to the ground.
"Andy!" You scream, both terrified and in pain.
"I'm so sick of this, Y/N. I'm sick of you," he growls through gritted teeth, holding you painfully at his side like a heeling dog.
"God damn it, stop! It's fucking over! Fuck whoever you want!" You cry, shifting your position against him in hopes of loosening the pull against your scalp.
"And let you whore yourself out to every other guy on campus? Fuck off. You're mine." He finally releases your hair, tossing you forward in front of him. He kneels down to get closer to your face, speaking lowly. "I heard Hargrove's been asking about you. Think you're safe with your playboy side-piece?"
"He's not my side-piece! Please, Andy. Why are you being like this?" You hold a hand up to defend yourself.
"You think I don't see you two whispering to each other? You think you're smart enough to hide anything from me?" Andy's voice is slowly rising in volume. You worry the other students will hear the commotion. You don't want to lose your solo dorm rights seeing as men aren't supposed to "live" with women in the dorms.
"He's a dick, dude! I fucking hate the guy, please stop!" Your makeup is trailing down your face as you continue to cry for mercy. He shakes his head at the scene.
"I tried warning you. I tried getting my point across to you, but you won't hear me," he sighs as he snatches your hair back into his fist in one, quick, snake-like action. You wail at the aching tug, squeezing your eyes shut from the pain. Just as you go to open them, you see his hand flying toward you. It starts with open-handed smacks, knocking the wind out of you from how bad they hurt, but he progresses until he's landing blow after blow, all over you. Anywhere he can reach as you try to block him.
Eventually, you're badly roughed up, and Andy stands to look at what he's done. The remaining alcohol seems to clear from his system as the reality of his actions sets in.
"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he mumbles, tearing his shirt off as it's stained with your blood. He shoves it deep into the trashcan and disappears to wash the evidence of the horrors against you off of his hands. He returns to where you lie in the living room. He's wearing a fresh shirt and his breath heaves as he stares at your seemingly unconscious body. You're awake though, barely. Holding your breath as long as possible, only allowing the shallowest of breaths, basking in the stillness after the abhorrent beating.
Andy bolts out the door and after a few moments of silence, loud sobs of relief and pain emit from your sore chest. You roll over into a ball, holding yourself close as you process everything. You mourn who you were before the person you trusted most betrayed you. You mourn your relationship, regardless of the last few days. You mourn your own face as you imagine the recovery process will be long and draining. You lie there for a while until night falls.
Once it's dark out, you sneak to the old gym building to use the showers there, hoping to avoid running into anyone and having to answer any questions about your battered appearance. No one uses the old gym because it's full of spiders and has a terrible draft, but it's still open to the students 24/7. It's your run-of-the-mill college basketball court with a weight room and showers.
You get inside the building and listen to the silence of the empty halls. Peace. You're numb now. You've cried all you can, and the pain has become a dull hum. Now you just want to shower and try to find yourself beneath all the blood. You scale the walls of the dark hallway, searching for a light switch. You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel what you can only imagine is human flesh.
"Oh fuck!" You and the mystery person exclaim in unison, startled by each other's presence. Still on edge, you duck down, covering your face. The light flips on and you recognize the sweaty figure who stands before you. Billy. He comes to this gym for privacy in the weight room and always has. Not as confident as his demeanor would lead you to believe.
"Had to be you, didn't it?" He rolls his eyes. "Did you come here to- Oh fuck, Y/N." His uncreative insult is cut short when you lower your arms, revealing the massacre of swollen features and bloody skin that used to be your face. His mouth hangs open for a moment. "What happened to you?"
"Oh, shut the fuck up. Like you fucking care, Hargrove. Get out of my way," you're angry, and it feels like you'll be angry forever.
"Hey," he stops you from walking past him by stepping in your path. "I said what happened?" His voice sounds different. Like you've never heard before. Uncharacteristically concerned, but don't let that fool you. It's still not a lot of concern and it's quite monotoned. His eyes search yours for any kind of answer and it's the least arched his brow has ever been. He's being so... Quiet. You're silent too, stunned by his behavior.
"Thought you were gonna kick my ass too, Billy. You scared now?" Your remark is meant to be a bold taunt, but your voice cracks as you fight for your life to hold back tears.
"Y/N, I'm serious. Who did this to you?" He asks sternly, losing patience by the minute. You still can't seem to trust him enough to open up, so you look down at the ground in silence. "Fuck it. Come on." Billy's long legs float him swiftly down the hall and you hesitate to follow, ultimately deciding all these years arguing with Billy have at least felt better than the last three days with Andy. He leads you to the empty men's locker room where he retrieves an old first-aid kit and a bottle of water from the coach's office, then he makes his way to a locker and retrieves a clean shirt. It's soft and worn in and has the name of your university written across the front.
"Thanks," you mumble, taking the box and other supplies from him. You douse the shirt in water and begin to try to wipe your face clean. There's no mirror, so you can't quite tell what you're doing, causing you to scrape over your open wounds and flinch.
"Just fucking," Billy snatches the damp shirt from you. "Let me do it." He's careful and thorough as he gently works the soft, wet fabric across the new and old blood covering your identity. You can't help but stare at his eyes as they focus so intently on each section of your face that he wipes clean. Just as he's finishing up, his eyes meet yours for a moment. It's a short, little second, but it felt so drawn out. Billy breaks the eye contact when he sets the shirt to the side.
"That should be okay, for now." He reaches for the kit in your hands.
"I can do it, Billy," you remind him, yanking the box away, rejecting any more gentle touch. It doesn't feel like you deserve it right now.
"Let me help," he demands softly, popping the little tin box open and rummaging around for bandaids and antibiotic ointment. He patches you up and while he's working, you're watching his intense face. His brows are arched and his lips every so slightly pursed. You can't clock what emotion he's feeling. Obviously, he's expressing some sort of sympathy, but he hates you. He always has. So maybe he's just having a human moment.
"What's the matter with you, man? Are you fucking with me?" Your guard begins to rise again. You don't trust your own intuition anymore. You tighten your grip around a plastic pair of scissors from the first-aid kit. Billy notices and releases a laughing sigh.
"No, I'm not fucking with you." He places one final bandage. "You're insufferable as fuck, but I don't think you had this coming." He looks you up and down. That's as close as Billy can get to "comforting" anyone. "Don't stab me with those." He points to your hand and you blush, a little embarrassed by your overly-cautious behavior.
"Why do you hate me, Billy?" You ask, point blank as you release the scissors, catching him off guard.
"Because you're the worst. You're loud, you're egotistical, you're an ugly crier," he chuckles, all too quickly, being put on the spot.
"You're just describing yourself," you knit your brows, quickly wiping the tears from your eyes after his ugly cry comment. "I'm serious. You'd think we'd have so much in common. You hated me the second we met. Why?"
"I don't hate you, Y/N. I'm putting bandaids on your split fucking eyebrow. You're just fun to get a rise out of." Billy closes the kit and tosses it aside with the bloody shirt. It's not news to him that he torments you because of a mix of annoyance and attraction, but you have no idea. What started as his catty attempts to pick you up turned into an all-out rivalry when you were the first girl to tell him to shut the fuck up instead of batting your eyelashes at him. To you, he's just a mean dude. But right now, it's like he's someone else entirely. When he's acting like this, you're finally able to see what makes him so irresistible to every girl on campus. Your rivalry kept you blind to it, but now, you can see his brilliant teeth in his wide, warm smile. You can see his sunflower eyes, framed by long, thick, dark lashes. His jawline, his shoulders, everything about him seems so beautiful to you now.
"Thank you, Billy," you smile weakly. He scans your swollen features and something in him awakens. A possessiveness. Rage ensues. Every opinion of you he's ever had melts away except for his attraction to you. Your voice, your mannerisms, everything he's ever absolutely torn you to shreds for, suddenly he admits to himself that it never bothered him. In his eyes, you're his, even if you're just a target for his teasing, a bit of banter around the school, you're still his.
"You never said who did it," Billy chews his inner lip, trying to keep calm until he gets the information he needs from you.
"It doesn't matter-"
"It matters. Who was it?" His voice is stern and sharp. He's still knelt close to you even though he's done tending to your wounds.
"It just... Happened so fast..." You flinch as you recall opening your eyes to his incoming hand.
"Start from the beginning," the sternness in his voice softens. You give him the full run down. Billy's face remains stone, motionless, but his eyes twitch and flutter with each gruesome new detail dragging him further down to the point of no return.
"We've been together so long. I never thought..." You hold your hands up in confusion, dropping them hopelessly in your lap.
"A name. Now." Billy stares deep into your eyes as he makes his demands. You can almost feel a heat coming off his gaze as it bores into you. It's clear he will not relent until he gets the answer he's asking for.
"His name is Andy." That's all Billy needs before he's standing up and exiting the locker room without another word. "Billy?" You call after him, still sitting on the bench. You finally stand to follow when you don't hear a response from him. "Why do you care?" This stops him in his tracks. He turns around for a second as if he's going to explain, but he never does. He tilts his head with a small shrug and disappears. "Wait!" You call, but the exit door is already closing behind him and he stalks off into the dimly lit campus. He sparks up a cigarette on the way, exhaling a large cloud behind him. Andy better have life insurance.
Billy ponders your question as he makes his way across the courtyard. Regardless of any flirtatious feelings he has for you, this comes down to wishing he could've defended his mother in this same way. He was too small then, he's not now, and Andy's about to face the full extent of that rage extending all the way back to his childhood. For now, it's personal.
You take the time alone to have a quick shower to wash away the blood in your hair and hopefully make yourself feel a little better. You're careful not to get your face wet and ruin Billy's careful doctoring. Once your shower is finished, you grab your bag and head back to your dorm. It's still dark, so you keep close to the dim, yellow street lamps that lead to the student housing. There's a dull hum that vibrates from each light post, it's all you can hear, all you can focus on to make yourself stop thinking about Billy.
Back at your place, you lock the door as many times as possible before shakily taking a seat on the small couch. You flip the TV on, just to have something to fill the silence. Every time someone passes by your door, your heart rate leaps and you lose control of your breathing. After the third or fourth time it happens, you seem to desensitize. Billy's new demeanor he has toward you is all you can think about. The softness of his words, his touch. You didn't think he was capable of it. You curl up, pulling your legs to your chest as you snuggle into the plush cushions, nearly dozing off, trying to remember the way his shirt smelled when he was using it to clean you up.
Billy's hell-bent on getting his hands on Andy, tonight. Crossing the lot, he reaches his car and slides inside. His face is blank as he stares ahead, with only one objective in mind. He follows the sound of blaring house music to a nearby frat house and angrily tears the door open. Wasting no time, he walks right up to the first person he sees.
"Where's Andy?" He asks, yelling over the music. The first few people have no idea who he's looking for until he comes to Tommy. "Where's Andy?"
"Andy from Econ? He's upstairs. Dude's super stressed about something and took a bottle up there. Finals, man." Tommy laughs, but Billy's already walking away before he's even finished his sentence. The entire party becomes muffled beats in his ears as he climbs the stairs in pursuit of the man who made you look like a bad Halloween decoration.
First door, nothing. Second door, nothing. Third door, Billy slings it open and a stressed out, curly-haired brunette man jumps out of his skin.
"Fuck, dude! You fucking scared me!" He exclaims.
"You Andy?" Billy asks, already breathless with anticipation.
"I- yeah? Why?" Billy answers his question by crossing the room in the blink of an eye and scooping him up by his shirt. He slams Andy against the wall, eyes wide with unbound rage. "What the fuck are you doing, man?!" The commotion can't be heard over the party below. It's just the two of them.
"You know how much of a pussy you gotta be to beat up on someone half your height?" Billy strains through gritted teeth. This is a thin reference to what you said to him when he let his emotions cloud his judgment and threatened to kick your ass.
"Wait... Y/N? She's alive? Jesus Christ..." Andy's eyes nearly roll back with relief and Billy looks at him disgusted.
"What? You thought you beat her to death? Then, you just left her there and went to a party?" Billy raises his eyebrows, almost seeming to smile. "That's fucked up, man." He slams Andy against the wall again, harder, to accentuate his point.
"Come on, dude. Whatever she told you-"
"I'm not here to talk about her." Billy silences your cruel, long-time partner. "Right now, we're not gonna talk at all."
"Dude-" Billy tosses the guy to the floor, cutting off his futile begs.
"I think right now, I'm gonna beat the living shit out of you," Billy kneels at Andy's side. "And then I'm gonna go fuck your girlfriend."
Billy lands punch after punch, unintentionally mirroring the way Andy laid into you. The only difference is that Billy's got a lot more size, muscle, and strength training than Andy. He lays into him, pummeling in any way he can figure out to mimic all the bruises and blood he could see on you. Billy grips Andy's shirt by the shoulders and forcefully pulls him to his feet just to uppercut him in the stomach, over and over. Blood and saliva fly from Andy's mouth as Billy hooks his fist up against his stomach.
When he's finally done, Andy's no more than a gargling mess on the floor. Properly bloodied just like he left you. Once again, Billy kneels down to Andy, establishing dominance and reminding him who he's fucking with now.
"If you come near her again," Billy inhales and exhales a shuddering breath as adrenaline continues to surge through him. "I will hurt you. I will hurt your family. There is no hiding, I will fucking kill you." His threat is no more than a low whisper before he stands and leaves Andy to wallow in his filth.
Billy's drive back is short and sweet, but he doesn't trust Andy or his entourage of prissy jock boys, so he rolls his eyes and pulls into the lot in front of the women's dorms, and makes his way to yours. He's always known which one you stay in, though finding out was an accident while he was being snuck in by one of his one-night-stands. It was common practice, hence why Andy pretty much lived with you since he had a shared dorm on the men's side.
He raises his hand to bang on the door, but hesitates, knocking softly and even calling your name through the door so you'd know it was him.
"Y/N, it's Billy." You smile with relief, still steadying your anxiety from his initial knock.
"Billy? How did you know which dorm was mine?" You question as you pull the door open.
"I knocked on every single one. And asked for you by name. At 11 PM." He looks at you, straight-faced, annoyed that you think so little of him.
"Are you fucking serious? They'll crucify me," you sigh, unsure if you can even feel any more stress at this point.
"I'm fucking with you. I know where your dorm is because I pay attention."
"And here I thought I was so annoying," you chuckle. There's a short silence between you, something unheard of for you two. "Do you, um, wanna come in?" You step to the side, inviting him in. Nervous, but not sure why. He's never had that effect on you before.
"No, you're coming with me."
"I am?" You raise an eyebrow.
"Yeah. I just stirred up a lot of shit, probably. I don't like the idea of you sleeping here alone." His words are compassionate, but the delivery is so blank, that you'd think he didn't actually care at all.
"Oh, alright. Let me grab some stuff." You gather your things and follow Billy to his light blue Camaro. He opens the door for you, but even he's wearing an expression that says this is a foreign act of kindness for him. He closes the door and takes his spot in the driver's seat. Billy glances over at you, but you're peering out the car window, searching the shadows for movement. The copper-colored light shining from the street lamp illuminates the high points of your face, exposing your expression as he watches the anxiety dissolve into comfort. Something about being the cause of it strokes his already inflated ego.
"You know what?" You break the silence, turning to meet Billy's gaze.
"What?"
"Contrary to the way my face and body look right now, he really can't hit that hard." You raise your eyebrows and nod, reassuring him that you mean that with your whole chest.
"I wouldn't know. I didn't give him a chance to swing." His grip around the steering wheel tightens, but he grins proudly.
"Don't worry, I took enough for the both of us," you joke, earning a shocked laugh from the curly-haired man you positively loathed just a day or so ago.
"I dunno. I think you could've taken him if the circumstances were different," he smirks at you, chin up.
"Oh, absolutely. If the emotional ties weren't there, we'd at least have gone a round or two," you mimic boxing the dashboard. It's obvious to both of you that this is not the case, but making a joke of a bad situation is a lot easier than crying. Billy's relieved, as he would have zero idea how to even approach you if you were crying. He's the "tell you you're not a pretty crier and then wonder why you cry harder" type of guy.
"Matter of fact, put me back in coach," you chuckle, accidentally reopening the split on your lip. "Oh, fuck," you mumble, pressing a finger to the wound, worsening the mess.
"Shit," Billy grabs a napkin from his glove box. "Don't touch it," he snaps. You quickly pull your hand away from your face and for just a moment, your breath hitches in your chest. You don't mean to react this way, you're not scared of him, you hope he knows that. He gives a small smile and a nod, almost like a silent apology for scaring you. He holds the napkin to your lip for you as he pulls into the Men's dorm parking lot. His family, much like yours, paid the extra fees to have a large dorm room all to himself. It was sort of a necessity for Billy considering his short temper and inability to compromise.
"How's your lip?" He asks as you set your overnight bag on his small futon in the tiny living area the solo dorms come with.
"It's fine. I think the bleeding stopped and everything," you smile, keeping it small so as not to pop open another split.
"You can take my bed. I got the futon," once again, his words are so kind and generous, but his tone is flat and bare.
"Don't be stupid. I'm your guest. You've..." You sneer at yourself in disgust as you prepare your next sentence. "You've done a lot for me already."
"God," he stares at you with wide eyes.
"What?"
"It looked like you were gonna be sick from saying that out loud."
"Came pretty close, bud." You squint your eyes. It's clear to both of you that this is weird. It's awkward and even a little uncomfortable. He's done so much for you, yes, and you do feel it outweighs all the innocent hell you gave each other, but where do you go from here?
"So, now what? I sleep here. We go to tomorrow's lectures. Then, I just go back to normal?" You don't want to insinuate that you expect him to play bodyguard forever, but it would be kind of nice. You lie the futon into its flat, bed position as you ask.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. 'Night." Billy climbs into his bed.
"Goodnight, Billy," you say, lowering the tough-gal front you attempt to keep up, usually when you aren't dealing with shit like this. Your voice sounds different when you let your walls down. It's sweeter. And the sound of it makes Billy's chest light.
In the safety of Billy's dorm, sleep finds you swiftly. You're out like a light, but Billy can't say the same. He lies with his eyes plastered to the ceiling. His mind is incoherent, bouncing all over from the possibility of the entire college sports program jumping him to the thought of you and him going back to "normal." It all started when he saw you, thought you were hot, but learned pretty quickly how self-assured you are. You would never be the easy catch he was used to and it pissed him off, igniting a multi-year feud between you. What if that feud were to end?
Billy lies on his back, his two muscular arms propped beneath the back of his head. He glances diagonally in the direction where you sleep. You're peacefully out, features slowly healing from the damage. He could stare at you all night, and that pisses him off too. He rolls his eyes and expels an exasperated sigh before rolling over, hoping that keeping his back faced in your direction will help shield him from the ambiguous thoughts invading his mind.
The next day, you're awake long before him, and to avoid overstepping, you rush through your morning hygiene routine and begin to reset the futon. You're as quiet as possible, but the second your fingertips graze the doorknob, Billy stirs.
"No," he says, wiping a hand over his face to rub the sleep away. "Just give me a minute. We'll go together." He sounds annoyed. You shake your head, dropping yourself down onto the futon while you wait for him to wake up.
"It's really no rush. I gotta get back across campus to get ready anyways." You call to him as he brushes his teeth in the small bathroom.
"I know you do. I'll drive you, just give me a minute," he waves away your excuses to leave without him, his voice becoming a little harsh as he repeats his request for more time. You know walking across campus isn't a treacherous walk. It's long, sure, but not unmanageable. What's really at stake is you running into anyone from the basketball team. And while that's your main concern, Billy has his own selfish reasons for wanting to keep you around. She's nice to look at, he tells himself, but it's more than that.
He walks from one end of the dorm to the other, wearing nothing but a dark grey pair of boxers. He's so lean and huge with well-toned muscles. He must spend a lot of time in the old weight room. You begin to wonder if Andy's in the hospital or not. Your eyes travel from his broad shoulders down to the V shape at his waist. You're unsure if it's your newfound ability to see him as a person, or maybe a trauma bond, but this man has you feeling out of character.
"Alright, car." He points out the door, using his primitive two-word command to instruct you to get into his car. He's still waking up.
"Billy, you know I could've just come back by myself, right? You didn't have to get up so early." You're the first to break the sleepy morning silence in the car. He looks at you like you've suggested possibly the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.
"I know that. That's stupid. You're too trusting." Billy stares straight ahead through his black sunglasses.
"I guess," you shrug, not taking anything he says too seriously. How could you after all these years? He pulls into the Women's dorm lot and the two of you approach your personally decorated dorm room door. To your horror, the doorknob opens with ease. You forgot to lock it. A wary breath falls down your chest as you squeeze your eyes shut, grounding yourself before opening the door. Billy's confused until he finally sees inside. It's just as you suspected. The entire room, top to bottom, is trashed- thoroughly.
"What the fuck?" Billy inserts himself in front of you, taking a few steps inside to further assess the damage. His eyes narrow in anger as he catalogs every broken picture frame and demolished knick-knack. You seemed to have had a lot of curiosities and oddities, all of which were destroyed on your equally ruined floor.
"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I'm gonna lose it," you whisper, exasperated. You place your fingers on your temples and apply gentle pressure in hopes that it'll do any fucking thing for the way you're about to break the fuck down right now. "They want me to fuckin' lose it." Your voice is nearly inaudible.
"Hey, okay. Don't... Lose it. Let's go find 'em and beat the fuck out of 'em." Billy grins, still bloodthirsty. It's as if defending you almost feels like having you.
"I'm gonna get dressed. I'm gonna fix my fucking hair and makeup. And we're gonna go to our goddamn morning classes. This afternoon, we will figure out which one of them is getting their mom's severed middle finger in the mail."
"Sure thing, Killer Klown. That's not at all an overreaction." Billy shakes his head, laughing at your misfortune, though he does feel for you. You disappear into your restroom. It's miraculously, for the most part, untouched. You do a quick version of your usual big, glamour hair and slap on your makeup. It feels good to look like you again, even with the scabs and colorful bruises threatening to peek through the foundation. When you return to the common area, looking and feeling more like yourself, you radiate a type of glow. Billy catches himself in the very initial stage of staring but quickly nips that in the bud. You hardly notice.
"I guess I'm ready. You walking me to class, big guy?" You ask, teasingly.
"I am."
"Listen, I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but this isn't nes-"
"Y/N, have you looked at your dorm? Do you see how every single thing you own is destroyed? Stop being an idiot." His harsh words carry an air of motivation with them as he scolds you.
"Fine. But you're gonna have to pick up the pace or something," you snap your fingers repeatedly, in a circle to show him it's time to leave, now. He sighs, standing and leading the way out the door.
He walks you to your first lecture and waits outside for the entire hour. You don't know, but he actually doesn't have any classes today. He just knew you'd make a big deal out of it if you knew he was going any more out of his way than he already is. All 60 minutes drag by painfully slow, but all the while, Billy notices a few familiar faces casting passing glances into the building, only to suddenly change direction when their eyes meet his. He huffs out a satisfied sigh.
"Don't even think about it," he whispers, staring out the small door window. He glances at the clock, and just a moment before the lecture hall dismisses, he steps outside and waits for the crowd. After a handful of peers pass by, he then walks inside, keeping up his ruse.
"Oh, just in time, I guess," you say, meeting him in the middle of the breezeway as if he'd come from the other end of the college.
"As always," Billy sighs, unbothered, indifferent. You don't mind. It's a peaceful shift from his usual behavior before everything went down. The two of you step out the door and immediately, your eyes meet Andy's. He is standing around his car with his goons. They're all staring, not at Billy, at you. An intimidation tactic that might've worked before, had you not been walking next to a brick wall of a man. As the two of you strut past the bitter sportsmen, you hear Andy decide to pipe up.
"Told you she was a slut. It's already happening," he laughs and his teammates join in. You are unfazed by this sort of insult. Before the trauma at the hands of Andy that you'll now have to work through, you've always been a confident, self-assured person. At least that's all you'd allow anyone to believe. You shake your head at the insult, but when you look beside you, Billy's nowhere to be seen.
"That's pretty bold Andy. How're you healing? Doctor already tell you it's safe to get your shit rocked again?" Billy smiles sadistically as he stalks up to Andy. His crew of bench warmers seems to tighten up, taking a few steps closer, surrounding Andy. Billy can't hold back his laughter.
"Are you guys gonna jump me?" He asks, taunting, grinning as he does. "You think it's gonna be easy because there are so many of you?" Billy's only getting closer by the second, and the confidence of most of the players begins to waver. "Do you think I'll stop if I get my hands on you a second time?" Billy's icy blue eyes are dark with rage, almost black in the right lighting. They bore into Andy's and the two men fall silent.
Eventually, Andy's the one to back down. As expected, of course. And from the look on his face, you'd think he'd just been mugged and told his mom died. Billy smiles, tongue between his teeth as he watches the team climb into their cars. They have a visitors game, so you won't have to deal with them for the next 48 hours at least. As Billy returns to where you wait for him on the sidewalk, he wraps a protective arm around your shoulder. You're visibly jarred by this action, but Billy just stares straight ahead, leading you back to your dorm. He's wearing a self-satisfied grin as each and every busybody on campus whispers when they see the two of you.
Billy's a known bachelor and you're a known bitch. Even his more reoccurring hookups never got the public treatment. And you, fuck you're mean sometimes. Andy liked that about you. You'd be mean to anyone but him, but you guess it just stopped being enough. Even you and Andy weren't exactly "public" with your opposing schedules. You'd only ever been seen together at parties.
You finally reach your room and Billy leans against your counter, silently smiling at you as if he expects you to say something.
"What?" You ask, already starting the clean-up process.
"Just thought a 'thank you' would be in order." He shrugs.
"Thank you, Billy. Please hand me the broom," you groan, pointing to the tiny closet in the kitchen area. He rolls his eyes and carries the broom over to you. You're picking up the larger pieces of shattered glass and placing them into a small trashcan, hoping to make sweeping easier.
"Careful," Billy says as he notices a crack in the shard you're holding. His warning didn't reach you in time though, and the piece snapped, catching the upper part of your palm, slicing it open. "Jesus fucking-" Billy drops the broom and you follow him to the counter where he tears a wad of paper towels off the roll and shoves them into your hand. He stares at you with a straight face, almost like a disappointed parent. You stare back, blinking.
"What?" You ask, daring him to give you a hard time or risk being kicked out of your domicile.
"Nothing. Just getting tired of having to play doctor for you all the time." You release a huff and he smiles, a little sweeter than before.
(Do we want a part 2? Do we still read angst or are we all into smut rn? Maybe sex next chapter. idk.)
#stranger things 4#stranger things fanfiction#billy hargrove#billy hargrove fanfiction#billy hargrove imagine#billy hargove#billy hargrove angst#who did this to you#angst#stranger things#revenge#who did this to you trope#billy is mean#but also not#billy hargrove x reader#tw violence#tw domestic violence#tw dv#graphic violence#billy hargrove x y/n#stranger things angst
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hellooo. i try to keep my blog free from this kind of discussion for a multitude of reasons, but i am quickly finding myself unable to hold my tongue and recently, this has become impossible to ignore.
i am fully aware as a writer that i will unavoidably create characters, situations, and plots that not every reader will agree with or like all of the time. i love this part of it! i love to hear what you think, who you're vibing with, what you hope or even fear might happen. so long as we're respectful about it, open conversation (kindness and constructive criticism!) is one of my favorite parts of reading and writing.
but, please, let me make one thing very, very clear:
if your reaction to a decision that any of my characters make, is to comment telling me that you want to physically assault them over it - remove yourself from my blog. exit the fic, unfollow me, block me if you think it'll stop you from commenting something so repulsive and downright triggering.
i've deleted i think seven comments so far across both tumblr and ao3 which, at best, were plain rude, and at worst, were pretty fucking triggering to read. these comments were all, incidentally, directed at only the women in the fics. zero of my male characters have ever been attacked with such vitriol and hostility. i'm not cool with that. do not come on my blog with that attitude.
i have no problem with anyone disagreeing with something in my fic, but please remember that things like physical violence are not jokes, they're not quirky reactions to silly twists in stories, and they're not fucking welcome on my blog.
#please remember that this community exists to provide escapism and safety for people#and that anyone might read your ‘funny’ reply about wanting to slap women#this is a safe space. idk how many times i have to fucking say it#tw discourse#tw violence#tw dv#makes me ill that i even have to post something like this
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Build Jakapan, Daemi's Poi, and other individuals stepping forward
I like my peace, but this situation is very serious and deserves to be documented clearly for the international/English-speaking fanbase, which was my original goal of archivism on Tumblr. Some of the posts have already been deleted and others will be washed away with the sands of Twitter time.
Please do not talk about this in terms of "drama" or "tea" because that does a disservice to the victims and people here on Tumblr who may have lived through these experiences watching you treat their trauma like nonsense.
I have no stake in this and do not claim to know the full truth. However, rather than seeing everyone vague about what's happening, I want to provide an account of what people on Twitter are seeing above the noise. I will try to keep this post updated with important developments when appropriate.
My only ask is please don't comment to my inbox about this post. I understand your anger and hurt, but I need to take care of my own well-being. Make a dummy account if you want to talk about it; I will not censor the comments section of post as long as you are reasonable and not victim-blaming.
Finally, please be kind to each other, including Pond (as long as he is doing the right thing) and [Jan 23 update: lmfao fuck Pond] the other actors in BOC given that Poi specifically said she hid this from the cast, and also especially fans who loved Build and were blindsided. There is no "deserved" to be upset, people who invest their love and free time into something are allowed to be hurt... the only thing that matters about a person's integrity is how they choose to act with this information.
tw: domestic violence, intimate partner violence, abuse, threats, photos of bruises, rape, miscarriage
On approximately Jan 19 2022, right after the BOC line-up announcement), Daemi announced they would be breaking up as a writing duo, which prompted fans to speculate about the future of Kinnporsche season 2. Daemi as a writing duo is made up of two members: Yok and Poi.
In the next day or so, Poi insinuated that Build had stolen the idea for 4 Minutes from her and given it to Sammon, who then helped cut her [Poi] out of involvement in the new series. Build responded to this by publicly crying and issuing a statement, going above BOC's management. Pond was with Mile in Pairis at the time/flying home and responded to Instagram comments that they would investigate fully before issuing a statement.
Approximately the next day, on Jan 22 2022 local time, Poi came out with a statement and chat logs with proof that she used to be in a relationship with Build, and he had cheated on her, financially manipulated her, physically abused her, and threatened to kill her.
The original translator is a ManUtd fan and had no involvement in the fandom but took the time to do the translation since it was blowing up on Thai twitter and known fandom translators were not doing them. They then deleted those tweets after being harassed by Build's fans, but has continued to tweet about the situation.
(please click on the image for the full translation of the chat, I stacked them to save space)
Here is an additional Thai summary of Poi's claims and an english translation of that.
Some people noted that in the original IGS where Poi references this abuse on approximately Jan 19, she used stock images from Pinterest. Those claims included that she had a miscarriage due to the fact he had hit her so hard. Poi again confirmed that she had a miscarriage and noted she had hospital documents to back up her claim. She also addressed the comment that she used stock images due to the fact that Instagram is a visual social media.
Poi also confirmed that the legal process was already started. Given her history with the BOC cast, she might have also felt the need to get the story out of accusations of her lying and starting "drama" about the situation by posting her chat logs and photos.
Subsequently, Build shared messages that Poi had sent him regarding a situation with a sponsor in an attempt to make her look like a "crazy" woman, but incriminated himself and deactivated on Jan 22 2022 (possibly temporarily).
During this time, additional people came forward about being a victim of Build. One Thai fan came forward about knowing another of Build's former girlfriends, who was the victim of gang rape. However, the OP is getting permission from this individual to tell the story first and so the story may not be released to the public. Update Feb 10: Most likely false. (leaving text here for honesty that this rumor existed and debunked)
Another one of Build's ex-girlfriends, who was previously silenced and shamed by his fans, confirmed again that she was physically assaulted by Build 8 years ago.
I will not add the tweets with evidence of Build cheating on Poi/involvement with other women while supposedly dating one of them as while cheating on a partner is bad, it is a personal indiscretion and not a crime unlike the situations highlighted above.
As for the fact that both authors in Daemi sexually harassed other actors in KPTS, I am not excusing those actions. People, notably WOMEN, should not have to be perfect victims to be believed. You don't have to like Poi or approve of her past actions to think she does not deserve to be abused.
Additionally, if you believe that Poi's past actions are indicative of her character, I want to clarify why people were upset with him in summer 2022 since that was not documented on Tumblr either. Having bad opinions online is not a crime, but they do show a pattern of behavior from him from attitudes to actions. Build's comments/attitudes from that situation are consistent with his abuser behavior that is documented above. (1) (2) (3) (4)
Any additional documentation from past victims will be a link to the reblog since I will run out of image space on Tumblr. I will not document things like BOC suspending Build for the time being since those are widely seen and have an English translation.
Final update update as of Feb 10, 2023: Updated on the false allegations about rape and this being debunked since it's important. Please do not ask me for updates about him; I don't care about him, he makes me miserable, people whose careers I do care about don't have to deal with him anymore. Please do not make me responsible for your mental health.
Jan 28, 2023: Build has left BOC. At this point, there's nothing else I can provide as context in English that will change people's minds so let's respect that this will be processed in a court like it should have been in the first place. Take care of yourselves friends.
Final notes: Genuinely fuck Pond.
Jan 25 2023: link to the latest post with evidence from Poi and Mynk
Jan 23 2023: Kind anonymous provided IDs which have been added. Clarified position on Pond, with link to latest comment. I have more posts with translations from Thai twitter and will update another day.
Please take care of yourselves and your mental health. 🙏
#build jakapan#build jakapan puttha#kinnporsche#kinnporsche the series#kpts#kinnporsche cast#tw domestic violence#tw dv#tw abuse#tw rape#tw miscarriage#tw bruises#tw threats#thank you to anon for IDs#be on cloud
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Astarion Headcanons (that you probably won't like) Pt. 1:
Part 2 link
BG3 does an excellent job at depicting SA trauma and the beginning of the healing process/journey. Many of the headcanons I've seen floating around (intentionally or unintentionally) gloss over the uglier side of healing from (prolonged) trauma. I'm not judging anyone for magically healing him, he's fictional after all, but I'd like to make some more ...realistic... headcanons.
Disclaimer: Everyone's healing process looks different, but they tend share commonalities. These headcanons are based on my own experiences. Not everyone who is healing from their trauma will experience what I have or have experienced it like I have.
[Please don't message me with explicit details about your trauma. I am at the point in my healing journey where I can share my experiences, and commiserate with other's similar experiences, but I am unable to support others in a more personal manner at this time. I wish you the best of luck in your healing process/ journey.]
Spoiler warning
Mental illness, SA, & DV Trigger Warnings
These headcanons are based on an Astarion who is still a spawn and romantically involved with a Tav who honestly loves him and isn't abusive or manipulative. Also Cazador is dead and Astarion got to stab him. They also assume that he himself does not turn into Cazador 2.0 or Wish.com Cazador.
He needs a LOT of love and patience. Which, frankly, many people don't have.
He's messy af. If "Damn bitch, you live like this?" was a person it'd be him. C-PTSD is a hell of a drug. I think he wants to be more organized and clean than he is, it's just going to be a looong process for his inside appearance to match his outside appearance. (His appearance may stay mostly the same or drastically change).
---Don't believe me? Just look at the outside of his tent: it's mostly organized and sophisticated, but the inside is messy and he sleeps on a plank of wood with a threadbare stained blanket.
He'll struggle with control issues rooted in his anxiety until he finds a way to channel that energy in to something productive and/or healthy.
---He'll veer between controlling micromanager (aggressive) and door mat (people pleasing/ passive) until he finds his (assertive) middle ground.
Anger issues ahoy! He went through "200 years of shit. PURE SHIT!" and had to dissociate/repress his feelings to 'survive'.
---Stabbing Cazador was cathartic, but it only released the surface level of his repressed rage.
-----An interesting line from the game that I haven't seen enough people talk about: When you tell Astarion to keep his cool when Cazador is goading him, Cazador scoffs and sarcastically asks Tav if they've witnessed his "fits of rage". (Of course a "fit of rage" to Cazador is probably Astaion having a slight frown when Cazador wants him to smile and be a pretty toy to show off.)
He will try to push you away and 'test' you to see if you stay consistent in respecting him and his boundaries. He needs to make sure you don't turn into a Cazador when you two are in an argument. He needs to be sure that his "No" is respected when in a steamy moment after a dry spell.
---This probably won't be as intense as it otherwise would've been because of what you two went through together, but he'll still do it.
-----He probably doesn't realize what he's doing, and when he does he'll shame spiral.
I hope you are prepared to patiently give lots of reassurance and affirmation about the same things over and over again.
---It'll sometimes seem as though he is seeking permission, but if you ever act as though you are giving him permission instead of affirmation/ reassurance he will become very defensive.
He's indecisive but unwilling to listen to your input.
---He went from 200 years of having no control or ability to make his own decisions to suddenly being free, he's going to feel overwhelmed.
-----He'll eventually realize that you have his best interest at heart and that you are not telling him what to do, you're offering suggestions to help him make an informed decision.
There's so much more but I'm tired. He'll eventually heal and live a happy and healthy life, but it'll be a bumpy road to get there.
#astarion#astarion headcanons#baldurs gate 3#bg3#bg3 spoilers#sa survivor#tw abuse#tw sa#tw dv#tw mental illness#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion ancunin#astarion hc#im projecting#i came out of hiatus to write this#astarion headcanon#mental health is hard#cw#heavy themes
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I was born for loving you.
#tw dv#madney#maddie buckley#chimney han#911 fox#911 abc#911edit#madneyedit#maddiebuckleyedit#chimneyhanedit#*911#*#*lyrics#madneyfiles#i know i said this was going to be happy#but it's me#if there's not a single drop of angst i will literally shrivel up and die#this does NOT mean i'm coming back to the fandom yet btw#i was just struck with inspo and i'm stuck in that Madney Mindset™#n e ways. this took well over EIGHT FUCKING HOURS so i SWEAR TO GOD if you don't love on her i will EAT YOU#LIMB FOR LIMB!!!
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Crystallization
-
The sky opened above me,
The rain hitting the ground,
Almost with anger.
Even the earth encourages my escape,
Frustrated at how I've paused in place.
Still as a statue,
My mother would whisper.
Not a breath, now.
Even as my body aches,
And the storms rage-
I do as I was told.
To protect us both,
I do as I was told.
x
#poets on tumblr#writing#spilled ink#poem#spilled thoughts#original poem#heartbreak#sad thoughts#mental health#lovesick#prose poetry#prose#simple poetry#poems#poetry#poet#poets#poems on tumblr#tumblr writers#writers of tumblr#writers on tumblr#tw dv#tw dv mention#fight flight freeze fawn#vent poem#personal vent#poems about life#poems about pain#spilled feelings#spilled words
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Niche Horror au
Billy is dead and Starcourt is being demolished.
Steve won't leave his house. It took Robin months to coerce him into leaving his front porch, let alone putting in an application at Family Video.
Even working, Steve is a recluse. He insists on only working a morning shift and blows out of the store at 5 on the dot. He doesn't answer the phone when Nancy calls.
He's far too busy.
Dustin visits but only gets as far as the foyer. Steve doesn't want to talk much. The house is so quiet and unsettling. Dustin hates seeing Steve like this. Steve says he's fine.
Something thuds far away upstairs. Dustin asks and Steve brushes it off. "The house is settling." Dustin has to go now.
Visitors aren't allowed inside after that.
Steve has a secret. One that isn't as agreeable as he'd hoped it would be.
"They can't know..." Steve says aloud, as he undoes the gag, petting soft blond locks. "They'll take you from me."
The blue, tear-rippled eyes don't understand. They don't see all that he's done for them. All that he's sacrificed. All that he's willing to do...
If they can't understand, Steve has no choice. This pains him. "Don't look at me like that. I love you.... I love you."
Sealing that searing gaze under the crawl space. "It's just for a little while. No one will find you. You're safe." He smiles crookedly. "I will protect you."
"No one will hurt you." He repeats to himself as he covers the other in total darkness.
He doesn't know what he has done.
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A Quick(-ish) Word on Gabe Ugliano
BTW spoilers for the PJO books and the series. Tw for mentions of abuse and domestic violence.
We all hate Gabe.
This is something universally agreed upon.
He's a fundamentally bad person in both mediums: book and show.
HOWEVER, I personally believe that Gabe Ugliano in the show isn't being set up to be as much of a hated character. Of course he's still abusive and terrible. Sally Jackson should get a divorce and ditch him.
But I don't think this show is making him seem terrible enough to turn to stone (essentially a kind of murder). In the books, this is how Sally finally finds her agency, her way out from under the thumbs of the men who have been the center of her lives, from her ailing brother to Gabe.
In the show, this seems like too harsh a punishment. The show has a couple precious minutes to convince me that I detest Gabe. Of course, this is only the tip of the iceberg. But Show Gabe has to evoke the same feelings as me as Book Gabe did, which is even harder, because I'm not in Percy's head.
And there are a couple details either added in or removed by the show which could help cement this.
First off, in the books, we first meet Gabe as he plays poker, completely unashamed. He demands money from Percy and we're like, 'this is a bad dude'. In the show, he knows it's vaguely shameful that he's playing online poker, and he's not sniffing out money like a basset hound (another negative character trait only seen in the books).
Second, the Knicks games. I know, I know. This seems stupid. But Sally brings up a pastime that she and Gabe share enough to be considered a habit, and not because she's being coerced into doing it or whatever. Sally chooses, of her own free will, to spend time with Gabe. You get the feeling, in the books, she'd rather pack herself and Percy off to Pluto on a deserted spacecraft than stay one more second there, but she remains out of love for Percy. Now, I understand that being a victim of domestic violence is an extremely complicated, terrible situation that I can't even begin to fathom. But the thing is, in the books, Sally chooses to marry this terrible scum of a guy because he smells like any old terrible scum of a guy. His utter sliminess makes him the perfect cover for Percy's emerging power. She hates Gabe with a passion in the books. We get this feeling less in the movie.
And finally, "Don't scratch it up". This shows Gabe distrusts Percy and Sally and jumps to blame them, especially Percy, for anything wrong. he values material possessions over being kind to his wife and stepson. It also reasserts control over them, even when they aren't physically at home. It's his car. His control.
This whole post probably seems really nitpicky, but the thing is, this show has to be down-to-the-detail on Gabe. They only get 8 episodes to tell us the story, and very limited time spent on Gabe. They have to convince us all that he deserved to be turned to stone by Medusa. And that was a very powerful moment for Sally Jackson, and when both she and Percy realized that they could survive together. This show also has to convince new fans, who may never have even read the books, that Gabe's fate is completely deserved.
#gabe ugliano#sally jackson#percy jackson#pjo#walker scobell#virginia kull#percy pjo#pjo tv show#pjo tv series#pjo tv spoilers#pjo tv adaptation#pjo show#pjo adaptation#percy jackson tv show#ranting#tw dv#tw dv mention#tw abuse
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w the recent news about roiland i feel that it's important to mention that liking his stuff does not make u a bad person. it's important that we stop praising him and educate ourselves on the situation. we need to separate ourselves as much as possible from him from now on and extend as much sympathy as we can to the victim.
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TW: Domestic Violence, Relationship Abuse
One of the reasons Jopper is like my favorite Stranger Things ship is because Joyce is heavily implied to be a DV survivor and is explicitly a survivor of Relationship abuse. One of the main things abusers tell their victims is no one will ever love them again. So the fact that a 40+ divorced single mom whose working class in the 80s could find a man who loves and respects her and wants to make sure she feels safe and cared for and openly values her autonomy and opinions is actually so sweet and amazing. Dear DV and relationship abuse survivors you can and will find love again. Real love. Love that makes you feel alive and respected and free to be yourself and euphoric and overjoyed. No matter who you are. I promise.
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My friend sending this to me about me
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Astarion Headcanons (that you probably won't like) Pt. 2:
Part 1 link
Part 3 link
More Astarion headcanons! (that are mostly me projecting but with an Astarion flavored twist.)
BG3 does an excellent job at depicting SA trauma and the beginning of the healing process/journey. Many of the headcanons I've seen floating around (intentionally or unintentionally) gloss over the uglier side of healing from (prolonged) trauma. I'm not judging anyone for magically healing him, he's fictional after all, but I'd like to make some more ...realistic... headcanons.
Disclaimer: Everyone's healing process looks different, but they tend share commonalities. These headcanons are based on my own experiences. Not everyone who is healing from their trauma will experience what I have or have experienced it like I have.
[Please don't message me with explicit details about your trauma. I am at the point in my healing journey where I can share my experiences, and commiserate with other's similar experiences, but I am unable to support others in a more personal manner at this time. I wish you the best of luck in your healing process/ journey.]
Spoiler warning
Mental illness, SA, & DV Trigger Warnings: I cannot stress these enough this post is much more descriptive and potentially triggering than part one was.
These headcanons are based on an Astarion who is still a spawn and romantically involved with a Tav who honestly loves him and isn't abusive or manipulative. Also Cazador is dead and Astarion got to stab him. They also assume that he himself does not turn into Cazador 2.0 or Wish.com Cazador.
I hope you're ready for abrupt mood swings.
--- One minute he's codependent and can't make a decision on his own because he's overwhelmed, the next he's hyper-independent and will take offense at any suggestion you make.
----- Astarion is aware that staying in either of the two extremes is unhealthy and would eventually lead him to acting like Cazador.
^ This ties into point two: You need walk the fine line between patient and understanding while he processes "200 years of Shit. PURE SHIT!". And at the same time you need to be firm in your own boundaries with how you allow him to treat you.
--- He's gone 200 years without autonomy and has no memory of what life was like before Cazador turned him. He has no frame of reference other than romance novels and watching couples interact with each other from afar.
-----TBH the best thing for him is to stay in regular contact with Halsin. The man has the same flavor as trauma as Astarion while also having strong boundaries and open honest/ healthy communication in his relationships. He can unjudgementally help Astarion navigate the pitfalls of his healing journey through first hand experience.
Plus Ultra Catholic levels of guilt.
--- Guilt for what he did while he was a spawn. Guilt for how he started his relationship with you (even after you've told him you forgive him multiple times). Guilt for how he lashes out at the one person who has shown him unconditional love (you). Guilt because he feels like he's dragging you down into his darkness and tainting you. Guilt because he fears he's pulling you down to bring himself up. Guilt for feeling guilty because it doesn't absolve him of his sins and makes healing harder.
Self-esteem issues
--- He was SA'd for 200 years, he was forced into prostitution, he was tortured in every conceivable way, he was made to do reprehensible things and learned to find "joy" in them because he would've lost all of himself and his humanity otherwise.
------ His inner saboteur (who sounds like Cazador and himself simultaneously- adding to his self hate) tells him that he is disgusting, wrong, filthy, a burden, unlovable, undeserving of happiness, a monster.
------- Like everything else these thoughts will become less frequent and easier for him to handle as time goes on. All you can do is love him while he self-flagellates and hates himself. One day he'll see himself as you see him.
^ Tying into all the points above, especially the one right before this one. You're going to feel useless. Most of the time all you can do is demonstrate your love for him and sit there with him while he is bombarded with years of repressed feelings forcing their way out.
--- In the beginning your attempts to help him will frequently seem to have the opposite of their intended effect.
----- It's important that you be honest with him about how you're doing mentally. It does him no favors if you set yourself on fire to keep him warm.
------- You'll be angry on his behalf and can't exact revenge.
--------- That being said you are helping him so much more than you think you are. I cannot express in words how much just being there while Astarion slogs through the painful process of healing will help him.
^ ALL of these will get less intense and easier to deal with in time. He will heal and move on from his horrid past. But, it will involve a lot of trial and error. He will have periods of exponential growth followed by a hard backslide in progress. But he will get there.
I wouldn't say that loving Astarion is hard, but it does involve conscious effort on both his and your parts.
#astarion headcanon#astarion headcanons#astarion hc#astarion x reader#astarion#baldurs gate 3#bg3 spoilers#astarion x tav#tw sa#tw dv#tw mental illness#tw#heavy themes#cw#astarion ancunin#mental health is hard#sa survivor#halsin#halsin bg3#trauma recovery#you've been warned#dead dove do not eat
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