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punkshort · 3 months

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somewhere to run | 6. the confession

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel finds out the truth and convinces you to press charges.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, PTSD type symptoms, mutual pining, domestic violence and SA (discussed after the fact), mental and physical abuse, detailed conversations about DV and SA (I didn't get too descriptive about the SA but I do use the R word a couple times) please let me know if I missed anything because there is a lot going on here

WC: 9K

A/N: as the title implies, we are going to get more details about what happened to reader in this one so once again, please heed the warnings and don't read if you think it will be triggering for you. I tried not to be too graphic.

Series Masterlist

Joel could hardly sleep that night. Instead of going to the station, he headed home so he could be with Sarah. She wondered why he got home so early from his date, but he dodged the question and the two of them worked together in silence - Sarah on her homework, Joel on his incident report. When she asked him why he was working from home, he just shook his head and said something came up. She was a smart girl. She knew something was bothering him, but she didn't push it and he was grateful.

He tossed and turned all night, his mind reeling while he looked at his phone every few minutes. He checked the volume, he made sure do not disturb was off, wondering if you would reach out, but you never did. Maybe it wasn't unusual for Patrick to not come home. Or maybe you heard what happened and you were mad at Joel. That worried him the most. The fear that his actions might have destroyed what fragile relationship he had left with you ate him up as he stared blankly at his ceiling.

Morning came too quickly and too slowly all at once. He rubbed his tired eyes as he dragged himself into the bathroom. When he leaned forward to turn the water on, he was met with a sharp pain in his chest. He glanced down, rubbing the area tenderly and realized a large bruise was forming from his fight the night before. He winced when he pressed on a particularly sensitive spot and tried his best to avoid the area during his shower.

After he dropped Sarah off at school, he headed into work, his heart beginning to beat faster the closer he got to the station. He had no doubt in his mind the whole town knew what happened last night, but he was too tired and too overwhelmed to care about their curious questions and senseless gossip.

When he walked in, he breezed right past Helen's desk with a curt nod, doing his best to avoid all eye contact until he was within the safety of his office. He booted up his ancient computer and waited, his thumb rubbing mindlessly against his lower lip as he stared out his window.

He would go to the diner today. He already decided he had to see you. The radio silence was killing him and he needed to make sure you were okay. He was embarrassed about the Facebook messages, even more so that you weren't the one to read them, but Patrick was right. They were not innocent. The words held more weight than they appeared, but he had to come to terms with the fact that you were not his, and then maybe with some closure, he would be able to move on.

The morning dragged on slowly. Bobby caught him at the coffee maker, already working on his third cup, depending solely on the caffeine to help keep him going.

"Hey, boss. You look like shit, but not as bad as him," Bobby said, pouring himself more coffee and jutting his chin to the back of the building where the holding cells were located.

"Feel like shit," Joel mumbled, leaning against the counter and taking a sip from his mug.

"Think you broke his nose," Bobby added, finally looking up at him. "Called the doc but turns out he's real busy this mornin', won't be able to come by til after hours. Such a damn shame," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Joel understood what he was saying without him having to say it. The people in this town looked out for one another and didn't take kindly to a stranger hurting one of their own. They were leaving Patrick to deal with his injuries longer than necessary.

"I don't think I broke anythin', he did that all on his own chargin' into that table," Joel said, but Bobby shook his head.

"Not the way he tells it," he replied with a chuckle. "You'd think you nearly killed him, the way he's been whinin' back there."

"No doubt lookin' for a lawsuit," Joel said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Don't worry, boss. You got a bar full'a witnesses. Hank already offered to give a statement and he was probably the only sober one there."

"Yeah, good. Thanks," Joel replied, pushing off the counter to head back to his office, trying to ignore the sideways glances of the men watching him from the bullpen. He shook his mouse and grimaced when he saw an email from the mayor looking to set up a meeting with him that week to discuss the incident. He knew he did nothing wrong, but the more attention this brought him, the worse he felt. Eventually, all of that talk would make its way back to you and Sarah, the truth most likely getting distorted along the way. He made a mental note to have a talk with his daughter that night as he slowly typed out a response to the mayor.

He swore he would try to get some actual work done, but he ended up spending more time staring out the window or at his phone, watching the minutes tick by til it was lunchtime and he could see you. Maybe he could pull you aside and talk to you in private. Maybe he could fix this.

The moment the clock read a reasonable hour, he jumped up from his seat and snatched his blazer from the coat hook, rolling his shoulders as he walked and put it on, then stifling a grunt when he felt a muscle in his chest pull from the effort.

He kept his head down as he walked down the street towards the diner, only glancing up once when he passed the pizza place. Your curtains were still drawn, no lights on that he could see, no sign of life.

A few people called out to him as he passed, but all he could muster was a tight smile and quick wave, not in the mood to get wrapped up into any conversations.

When he swung the door open, his eyes immediately went to the counter, searching you out but only finding Betty. Before he had a chance to look around the dining room, he heard María greet him.

"Where the hell were you last week?"

"I was here Friday," he muttered, looking around and avoiding her eyes.

"Yeah, with Nikki. Heard some stuff about that-"

"Is she here?" Joel asked, finally dragging his gaze to meet Maria's. She frowned and shook her head.

"No, she called in sick," Maria said, watching him carefully. "Joel, what's going on with you two? People are saying stuff about you and her husband, and-"

"She's sick?" Joel repeated, panic beginning to bubble to the surface. Maria nodded and shrugged.

"Yeah, people get sick, Joel. Hey! Where are you going?"

Joel didn't reply, he just hurried out the doors, nearly knocking down a middle aged couple as they were about to walk inside. He mumbled an apology as he jogged down the street towards your place.

Something was wrong.

Your eye cracked open when you heard the doorbell, the heavy thudding in your head making you immediately nauseous. You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut, rolling back under the covers. Maybe if you were quiet, Patrick would think you were at work and he would leave. But the bell kept ringing, the sound pinging around in your brain making the headache you already had so much worse.

When he began pounding on the door and shouting from the street, you dragged yourself out of bed and wrapped yourself in a thin robe. You knew your body couldn't take much more, but letting him in would be better than allowing him to make a scene in front of the whole town, so you forced your feet forward, still limping from the day before.

You had to pause in the doorway to catch your breath as you clutched your side, wincing in pain as you tried to gingerly walk down the steps, but you were taking too long and he just kept pounding and shouting and the all noise was making you sick.

"Stop," you called out weakly, not convinced he would even hear you, but miraculously he did because the noise finally ceased, and you sighed a small breath of relief.

Shakily, you reached out to grip the doorknob, your fingers fumbling with the locks until you finally managed to twist the brass handle, opening the door just a sliver, worried people walking by would see your face. Then, unexpectedly, you heard Joel's voice instead of Patrick's say your name softly and before you could peer around the door, you went to quickly shut it with no success. His hand gripped the door tightly, but you held firm, hiding behind the wood.

"You shouldn't be here," you told him, your voice weak and broken.

"I know you're mad at me but I gotta talk to you 'bout what happened," he said from the other side. "Please let me in."

Unbeknownst to you both, you were talking about two different things.

"If he finds you here... no, you have to leave," you said, pushing the door again, but he didn't budge.

"Patrick?" he questioned, sounding confused.

"Yes, Patrick," you rasped, getting dizzy from exerting so much energy in your weakened state. "Please just go."

"He's in jail, did - no one told you?" he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice down.

"Jail?" you repeated, and your grip on the door loosened in surprise. Joel felt it and took the opportunity to open it further. You stepped back quickly, wrapping the robe around you tighter and trying to fidget with your hair to hide the marks, but you knew it was pointless the moment you saw his face after closing the door behind him.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, his jaw dropping as his eyes slowly raked over your face, neck and arms. Your lip was swollen and cut, the scab breaking open and beginning to weep the more you spoke. Your cheekbone had a light purple bruise blooming under your skin, as did your jaw. There was a small gash near your hairline and what looked like scratch marks down your neck, leading past your collar bone and below your robe. When you shakily brought your hands up to cover your face in shame, he saw the dark bruises on your wrists.

"Oh my god," he whispered, unable to bring his voice any louder. When he reached out, you flinched away and he felt like he had been stabbed in the chest.

"You should go," you said quietly, your eyes pinned to the ground.

"I can't," he said in utter disbelief. "I can't... why didn't you call me?"

You looked like you were about to reply but decided against it and instead still kept your gaze averted.

"C'mon, lemme take you upstairs and get a look at you," he said, reaching out again, but you stumbled backwards, nearly falling onto the steps.

"Please don't touch me," you told him, holding up a hand, and he nodded.

"Okay, I won't touch you," he said, trying to remain calm while his heart was breaking. "Let's just go upstairs, alright?"

Reluctantly, you agreed and slowly ascended the steps, Joel following dutifully behind. He ushered you over to the couch, making sure you were seated before he went to your bathroom, rummaging around in your medicine cabinet while you sat there, your face buried in your palms and trying not to cry.

He came back into the living room, trying not to make you feel worse by hiding his reaction, but it was hard. He swallowed and dropped his eyes to the assortment of first aid items in his hands.

"Did you take anything for the pain?" he asked, his voice thick, his throat tight.

"Not today, no," you admitted softly. He nodded and shook out two white pills from a bottle and handed them to you before getting you some water. While safely in the kitchen where you couldn't see him, he let out a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down. How could this happen? How didn't he see it? He should have checked on you earlier. He never should have fucking let you leave with Patrick yesterday. Guilt racked his brain as he exhaled slowly and went back to you in the living room.

"Here," he said, handing you the bottle of water. You took it and popped the pills in your mouth, wincing as you swallowed them down.

He sat down on the couch next to you but was sure to give you your space as he picked up the antiseptic and some gauze.

"Will you let me?" he asked, holding up the items in his hand. You paused and looked at them, then him. His eyes were wide and soft and shiny with unshed tears. Slowly, you nodded and watched as he twisted off the cap and put some of the antiseptic on the gauze, first pressing it gently against the gash on your forehead, then making a fresh one for your lip.

At first, he dabbed at the cut gently, ghosting over your skin as if he were afraid. But then he brought his other hand up to caress your chin, his fingers feather-like and so careful that it made your eyes flutter shut, his touch unlike anything you were used to. When you finally opened your eyes again, his hands were gone and he was staring at you, the look in his eyes morphing from sadness to one you were much more familiar with.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him," he said menacingly, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Don't," you said, shaking your head, but his eyes darkened and his jaw was set.

"Why didn't you tell me, sweetheart? I could've done somethin'. I could've-"

"What? What could you have done, Joel? I've heard it all before," you told him, your lip trembling. "I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. And it never works. Nothing ever changes and it just gets worse."

Joel shook his head, still not understanding.

"I'm a cop, I coulda protected you. There's laws in place for this kinda thing."

"I've gone to the cops, Joel! More than once! And they all told me the same shit!" you exclaimed, getting worked up now. "Then I go home, and magically my statement goes missing, or my medical exam report, and I'm in worse shape than before because guess what? It makes him really fucking mad when his buddies on the force find out what he does to his wife at home."

Joel's lips parted as he watched your chest heave for breath, the energy quickly draining from your frail body.

"I... I'm so sorry," was all he could say. He couldn't blame you for not trusting anyone, especially him, now that he finally knew the truth. Everything was starting to make sense. His guilt was pulling him down and he felt like he was drowning in it. So many things he should have done. Should have seen. He should have helped you but instead he trotted Nikki in front of you to make you feel even worse.

"I can really help you, though. I ain't like that," he said, scooting a little closer to you.

"I've heard that before, too," you said sadly, dropping your gaze to the ground. "There's no getting out of this. I thought by running I could try to start over, but it's clear now he will never let me go." You closed your eyes as two tears fell down your cheeks. You wiped them away angrily, hating yourself for being so weak all the time.

Joel felt his chest squeeze, his heart breaking as he watched you fall apart. He needed to do something. He couldn't let you down. You needed to get out of this, or else it could cost you your life.

"Look at me," he said, waiting until your tears slowed and you forced your eyes open. "I promise I'll help you. I fuckin' promise you, alright? You ain't in Pennsylvania, I ain't his buddy, and I will do whatever I gotta do to keep you safe."

You searched his face, eyes all wide and your heart sliced open, lying on the table between you. You've been let down so many times, it was so hard to tell when anyone was being truthful anymore, but you couldn't deny what you felt for him. And what he felt for you. You knew something was there, something real and honest and pure. He wouldn't have any reason to lie to you at this point, so after a moment, you nodded.

"Okay," you whispered, and you could see the relief flood his face.

He sat back on the couch and rubbed his chin in thought, staring at the TV screen across from him that wasn't even on while the gears in his tired head worked overtime.

"Alright," he finally said, slapping his knees and standing up from the couch. "First things first: you gotta get to a doctor."

You immediately recoiled and shook your head.

"Absolutely not."

"I'm sorry, but you have to. I gotta..." he trailed off and chewed the inside of his cheek before pushing onward. "I gotta have a doctor take pictures."

Your face instantly crumpled and you buried your face in your hands once again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered for what felt like the hundredth time, getting down on one knee to be eye level with you. "But in order for this to work, they gotta record evidence, okay?"

"Joel, I can't," you whimpered, your face still covered, but he nodded and caressed the side of your head with his palm.

"Yes, you can. I'll be right there, okay? Unless you don't want me there, but I'll go with you if you want. Or I'll wait outside the door. Whatever you need, I'll do it. I'm gonna get you outta this."

You sniffled and finally dropped your hands to your lap, your gaze finding his.

"This is the last time, I promise you," he said, staring deep into your eyes. "I'll never let him near you again."

You thought his words over for a moment, the two of you sitting in silence, looking at the other. One trying to earn trust, the other trying to give it. Finally, you closed your eyes and nodded, giving your consent for what was to come.

"Okay," Joel said softly, dropping his hand from your face and standing up to pull out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm lookin' up the number of a doctor I trust. She's a woman, too. She's real nice and sensitive. I've used her for a couple cases in the past," he said, finding the number and dialing it, bringing the phone up to his ear. Cases. You couldn't help but feel like just another victim the way he said it, even though he didn't mean it that way. You listened as he spoke to her over the phone in a hushed tone, not giving too much of your information away but insisting it was an urgent matter. When he hung up, he turned to you with a weak smile.

"She can see you this afternoon."

"Oh," you said, glancing down at your appearance. You weren't expecting to leave the house that day and you weren't sure what to do.

"It's okay," he said, sitting down next to you again and resting his hand on your knee. "I'll take you through the backdoor of her office, no one'll see you. She'll be fast."

You nodded and looked up at him.

"Maybe I should shower," you said. He paused and shifted his gaze away.

"You, uh," he cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers. He knew this would come up, one way or another. "I don't mean to get into too much detail, but if he..." Joel trailed off, finding it difficult to finish his sentence. "If he did more than hit you, you shouldn't shower," he finally choked out, unable to look you in the eye.

You froze, finally understanding what he meant. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall, his neck tensing, his nostrils flaring, as he waited for your response.

"I won't shower, then," you finally said, your voice strained.

His eyes slid shut and he dropped his chin to his chest. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He pinched the bridge of his nose while he tried to steady his breathing.

"I'll just go change," you mumbled, standing up while he nodded, still trying to breathe.

He did his best to collect himself while you were out of the room, but he could feel himself spiraling. What was he doing when it happened? Was he watching a movie with Sarah? Was he eating dinner? Was he getting ready for his fucking date with Nikki?

He could feel the tears welling up but he quickly wiped them away. You needed him to be strong. You needed someone to help you, to take care of you. He couldn't afford to be weak right now. He would let himself feel it later, when he was all alone at home and Sarah was asleep. When nobody needed him and he could just let the guilt and shame and sorrow wash over him.

"Jesus, Joel," Carol muttered as she left the exam room. Joel jumped up from his seat, anxiously waiting for it to be over. He rubbed his palms against his pants, trying to wipe the sweat away. She sighed and looked up at him, taking off her glasses.

"So?"

"So?" she repeated, shaking her head. "So, I have your evidence."

Joel nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"She's been through a lot," Carol said softly, walking him down to her office for privacy. She closed the door but he didn't sit down.

"She's gonna be lookin' for me," he explained, jutting his thumb over his shoulder.

"I'll be quick," she said, sitting down at her desk with a sigh. "There was significant scarring and healed bones, detailing years of abuse, and definitely evidence of some most recently."

"Yeah, I imagine anyone can see that by just lookin' at her face," he replied, but she shook her head.

"I didn't mean her face."

Joel felt his breath get caught in his throat.

"Right," he finally said, his voice cracking.

"She said her husband is a cop?" Carol asked, flipping open a yellow file on her desk. Joel nodded.

"Got him in lockup right now for swingin' on me at Hank's," he explained.

Carol's eyes glanced up at his and she quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I heard something about that," she said, lacing her fingers together and looking at him closely. "Can I give you some advice, Joel?"

He shifted his weight, not sure where she was going with it, but nodded anyway.

"Don't take her statement yourself. Have someone else do it, alright?"

"Why?" he asked quickly, and she gave him a knowing look.

"Because it'll be gruesome, and you're too involved."

Joel frowned.

"Too-"

"Don't care what you've got going on with her, I'm just giving you some friendly advice. Let someone else do it," she said, her eyes softening. "Besides, you got into it with her husband last night. You don't want some hot shot lawyer tossing out her testimony in court because he can link together some personal relationship between you two."

Joel considered her words for a moment and reluctantly nodded. She was right. He was having a hard time keeping things separate, and he appreciated the clarity. He couldn't fuck this up for you. Not now.

"Anythin' else?"

She leaned back in her chair and shook her head.

"You'll have my report in the morning," she said. He nodded, thanking her again for seeing you on such short notice before exiting the room. He turned the corner just as you were opening the exam room door clutching a worn hoodie around yourself and looking around frantically before your eyes fell on him and you visibly relaxed.

"Hey, sorry. You alright?" he asked, his hands gently coming up to your shoulders to guide you towards the back exit. You gulped and nodded.

"Wasn't so bad," you said.

"Good. You did the right thing," he said as he held open the door for you and led you back to his truck.

Once you were comfortably seated and Joel merged back into traffic, you shot him a sideways glance and asked him the question that had been weighing on your mind since he came over that morning.

"Joel?"

"Hm?" he said, twisting his head to the side to change lanes.

"Why is Patrick in jail?"

Joel's grip on the steering wheel tightened and there was an uncomfortable pause before he sighed.

"He came at me last night. We happened to both be at a bar at the same time, he was drunk and swung on me."

"What?!" you exclaimed, twisting around in your seat to look at him.

"I thought you knew since he didn't come home last night. Thought you were avoidin' me by callin' off work," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"No, I had no idea. He hasn't been staying at my apartment, he has a motel room somewhere," you said, peering at his face, then dropping your gaze to his hands where you could see now his knuckles were a little red.

"Are you okay?" you asked after a beat, and he scoffed.

"Am I okay?" he repeated with a shake of his head. He looked at you in shock, the corner of his mouth turning up into a half smirk. "I'm fine. Can't believe you'd be worried 'bout me after what you went through."

"Of course I worry about you," you said softly, and he felt his heart melt. Why did you have to be so sweet? After everything you've been through, after everyone in your life has let you down, you were still so fucking sweet.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to say so much more, but he couldn't. He couldn't put that kind of stress on you. It would be selfish to tell you how much he thinks about you, how much he wished you were his, how he hasn't been able to get you out of his head since the moment he laid eyes on you. No, that would be wrong. It wasn't the right time, so he swallowed the words back from the tip of his tongue and focused on the road.

"What's next?" you asked him as he walked you up to your front door. Mercifully, the weather was threatening to downpour so the streets were quiet.

"Well, next you'll have to come down to the station and give your statement so we can formally press additional charges," he said, knowing you wouldn't want to hear it but he was surprised when you simply nodded your head.

"Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow?" he offered, and you nodded again as you unlocked your door.

"I'll have to call off work or come by after," you told him, stepping inside and turning to look at him.

"Listen, 'bout that," Joel began, and you frowned. "I gotta tell Tommy."

"No!" you cried, your eyes going wide with worry, but he shushed you and shook his head.

"I gotta tell him so he can keep an eye on things, alright? I won't be able to keep him in lockup for much longer and I can't be with you all the time to protect you, d'you understand?"

"Joel..." you whimpered, burying your face in your hands. He had to physically restrain himself from pulling you into his arms. He fucking hated seeing you like this.

"We can file a restraining order tomorrow but a piece of paper won't necessarily keep him away, and I can't risk it," Joel explained, his heart breaking for you.

"Okay," you sniffled, finally coming to terms with it. If you were going to do this, you had to trust him.

"Okay," Joel repeated. "Tommy served in the Army, he knows what he's doin', I promise. I'll tell him to keep it quiet, alright?"

"Yeah," you whispered, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand.

"And no more walkin' back from work in the dark. Take your car or get a ride. If I can, I'll drive you - " Joel pulled out his phone to look at his calendar, but you stopped him.

"I can manage, but thank you."

You looked at one another for a moment, both of you unsure what else to say. You were thankful for what he was doing but you weren't sure you had the words to properly express your gratitude. Everything you wanted to say felt so small, so insignificant. So instead of attempting to cobble together some sentence that wouldn't do your feelings justice, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face against his warm chest. He quickly brought his arms up around you in return, gently placing his hands on your head and back as he held you carefully against him, as if he was worried you would break. He was absolutely certain you could feel how hard his heart was thumping in his chest, but he didn't care. He just wanted to feel you, to hold you, to keep you safe.

"It's gonna be okay," he told you, his voice heavy, and he felt you nod against him before pulling back, his chest suddenly feeling so empty.

"Thank you," you whispered, then spared him one more glance before heading inside, the door clicking shut softly behind you.

Later that evening, after you had forced yourself to eat some soup and drink some water, you were settling in on your couch when you heard a soft knock at your door. You muted your TV and strained your ears to listen. It didn't sound like a familiar knock, not one filled with anger or urgency. You glanced down at your phone, wondering if Joel had sent you a text that you missed, but nothing was there.

Hesitantly, you made your way down the steps. Your fingers brushed the doorknob, but before you opened it, you spoke through the door.

"Who's there?"

"It's me," Maria's voice drifted through the wood, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You unlocked the door and met her eyes. She tried to hold back the wince upon seeing your face, but you still caught it.

"Heard you might need some help," she said, holding up a small plastic bag. You frowned, confused, until she tilted it open for you to look inside. There, you found a variety of makeup bottles and powders in shades that looked pretty close to your skin tone.

You opened the door and let her in. You could tell you were able to take the stairs a little quicker than the morning, and you hoped that meant you were healing because you really couldn't afford to miss more time at work.

"Cute place," she said, glancing around before following you into your living room.

"Thanks," you murmured, turning the volume back on the TV as she settled into the couch next to you.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, motioning towards the bag. "Joel called and told Tommy what happened... I'm so sorry, I wish you would've called us, we could've helped you."

"Thanks," you said with a shrug. "I guess I'm just used to dealing with it on my own."

"Well if you're ever scared of staying alone, we have a spare bedroom, so please don't hesitate to ask."

You gave her a small smile, hoping she could tell how grateful you were. With the exception of one cousin back home, nobody had tried to stand up for you before. Not even your own parents. The whole concept was so foreign to you, you weren't sure how to respond.

Maria seemed to sense this and she changed the subject, leaning forward to sift through the contents of the drugstore bag, pulling out item after item and holding it up against your arm to decide which shade would work best. She spent the next hour helping you cover your cuts and bruises, and by the time you were done, you didn't look half bad.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she packed up her things and shoved her sneakers back on.

"A little less sore," you admitted. "I should be able to work tomorrow."

"Why don't you take one more day? Joel said you're going down to the station tomorrow, it might take more out of you than you expect."

You thought it over for a moment before reluctantly agreeing. Money was a concern, but you could wait one more day, and maybe you could pick up an extra shift over the weekend.

You thanked her as she headed down the steps and she reminded you again to call her and Tommy if you ever needed anything, and you promised you would.

When you were finally on your own again, you sat in silence, thinking about these people who barely knew you, who you essentially lied to, banding together to help you out. It was unlike anything you were used to, and you were beginning to think you may have finally found your home.

The next morning, you paced around your living room, anxiously nibbling at your nails as you waited for Joel to ring the bell. He had insisted on picking you up. He said he could swing by after he dropped Sarah off at school, that it wouldn't be a problem and he passed by your apartment anyway. You didn't understand why he was so insistent: the walk was less than ten minutes, but you didn't feel like arguing.

You were checking your makeup job in the mirror for the fifth time when the bell rang. With a deep sigh, you pulled on your sneakers, slung your purse over your shoulder and headed down the steps. When you opened the door, he was standing with his back to you under a brown blazer and his arms crossed, trying to appear casual for anybody who might be walking by, but when he heard you step through the door he swiveled around quickly.

"Good morning," you said to him with a small smile after you were sure the door was locked tight.

"Mornin'. You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," you said as he led you to his truck parked a little ways down the street.

"You really didn't have to do this, you know," you said again, glancing around to see if anyone was watching.

"I know," was all he said before opening the passenger door for you and giving you a hand to step up into the cab.

The quick ride to the station was quiet, only the hum from his radio filling the air as your fingers fidgeted in your lap. When he parked the truck and you made a move to open the door, he held a hand out.

"Wait a minute, I gotta talk to you before we go in there."

You dropped your hand to your lap and looked at him expectantly.

"I can't take your statement today, I'm gonna have another officer do it," he said, his words rushed like he knew you wouldn't take the news well. And you didn't.

"What?!" you cried out softly, anxiety already creeping up and squeezing your chest.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he said, taking a deep breath and glancing out the windshield before looking back at you. "There's a conflict of interest. Patrick assaulted me, and if I go and take your statement, it won't look good to a judge."

"Oh my god," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands.

"It'll be okay. I'll be right there the whole time. Right on the other side of the glass, okay? I promise, I won't leave."

He watched you for a minute, waiting for you to say something, and when you didn't he began to question himself.

"Unless you don't want me to hear, I don't have to-"

"No, I'd prefer you be there," you said quickly.

He nodded and took a deep breath in.

"I asked a female officer to do it. Her name's Beth. She's real nice, she's dealt with... situations like this in the past."

"Okay," you said softly, reaching for the handle, but once again he stopped you.

"One more thing. I gotta cut him loose tomorrow."

You squeezed your eyes shut. You knew this would happen, but it didn't stop you from feeling the overwhelming sense of dread that crept up your spine.

"It'll be fine. I'll file the restraining order today. If he comes within fifty feet of you, he's goin' right back to jail, okay?" he said, his hand coming up to rest assuringly on your knee.

"Okay," you whispered, finally opening your eyes to look at him.

"You can do this. I know you can."

You had to hold back the tears that sprung up when his words hit your ears. Nobody has ever believed in you, listened to you, took care of you the way he did, and he hardly even knew you. People who have been in your life for years, your own family didn't encourage you the way Joel did. On one hand, it was depressing to realize it took this long for someone to give a shit, but on the other hand, you were so, so relieved someone finally did.

As Joel led you into the station, he kept his head held high, ignoring the glances shot your way and you did your best to do the same. You followed him towards the back, and you hesitated a brief moment before entering the interrogation room, pushing all the bad memories to the back of your mind and focusing on the present.

You needed to put an end to this, once and for all.

You were doing okay. It was half an hour into giving your statement to Beth, and Joel was right. She seemed very kind and patient, and you relaxed after speaking with her for just a few minutes. Or maybe it was because you knew Joel was just a few feet away, watching from the other side of the glass, just like he promised. Whatever it was, you were doing better than you expected.

You had gotten through the bullet points of your history with Patrick. You had detailed how you met after you graduated from high school, how he had just gotten back from basic training with the Marines and was applying to join the Philadelphia police department. You explained how at first, things were great. He was loving and kind, for the most part, but you had been inexperienced and didn't recognize the red flags when you saw them. Like when he got overly possessive at house parties, and especially so when he started drinking. At first, you had thought it was sweet, but then he started getting a little rough. You explained at the time, he would apologize the next day and promise not to do it again, but a few weeks later, he would inevitably go back on his word. The cycle repeated itself over and over for a year, until he proposed one night in front of your entire family, and you had felt pressured to say yes. You had hoped it was just nerves, that eventually you would be excited about marrying him, but it never came. He had rushed you into planning the ceremony and you were only engaged for a few short months. And again, you fooled yourself into thinking everything was just happening so fast, that it was so stressful planning a wedding and that one day, you would be happy.

You couldn't remember the argument that caused him to first hit you. To really hit you, enough to leave a nasty bruise, but you remembered the shock, and you remembered the pain and the fear. And once again, he had apologized the following day, and you forgave him. Because you were weak and scared and confused.

"Did anybody in your life notice?" Beth asked, her eyes filled with what appeared to be genuine concern.

"I hid it at first, but eventually, yes, people noticed," you admitted, fidgeting with the edge of your shirt.

"Did they offer to help you?"

"My cousin," you said, looking down at your hands. "She helped me... she helped me find a clinic so I wouldn't get pregnant."

"Did Patrick know you were on birth control?" Beth asked gently while scratching away with her pen on paper.

"No, I didn't think he would like that."

"Why not?"

"He's made comments to me in the past about wanting a big family, and I was afraid to tell him no. I was afraid he would hurt our children, too," you said, still staring down at your hands.

"Has he raped you?" Beth asked bluntly, and you visibly balked.

"Oh, um," you faltered, the word for whatever reason sending shockwaves through you. You knew the answer, but you just hated admitting it.

"Yes," you finally said, your voice cracking, so you cleared your throat and took a sip of water.

"I'm sorry," Beth said quietly, catching your gaze and giving you a sympathetic look. "I won't ask too much today, but you need to know if this goes to trial, a judge will ask for a lot more detail. You can get a lawyer and they will help walk you through it when the time comes." She reached out across the table to place her hand on top of yours, her thumb rubbing over your knuckles. You nodded, wordlessly telling her to keep going.

"When did it start?"

"Right after we got married, I think."

"How often?" she asked, pulling her hand back so she could focus on writing.

"A few times a week, I guess? I mean, I don't know what counts. A lot of the times I wouldn't be in the mood and he would pressure me, other times were more... deliberate." You swallowed and glanced quickly at the mirror behind Beth, suddenly regretting asking Joel to listen.

"Did you tell your parents?" Beth asked, glancing up at you.

"I told my mom, yes."

"And what did she say?"

"She told me it was a wife's duty to... be available to her husband. She didn't think it was rape." You spit the last word out like it was poison on your tongue. Beth winced but tried to hide it by looking down at her notes.

"And when would he hit you?"

"It varied. Most of the time it was when he was drunk or high. He promised me all the time he would get help, but he never stuck with it."

"Did you ever have to go to the hospital?"

"Yes. A few times. He's broken my arm twice, fractured my hip, and I've had a few concussions. On one occasion, he strangled me until I lost consciousness. I had to be admitted for a bruised trachea." You absentmindedly rubbed your arm and neck as you spoke, your fingers gliding over the old wounds.

"And you've gone to the police before?" she asked.

"Yes, a couple times, but -" you could feel your resolve breaking, and you bit your lower lip to keep it from trembling. "But he always did something to make it go away, and then he would get really mad. One time when I went to file a complaint, he had a cop friend of his lock me in a room just like this one for a whole day. To teach me a lesson." You twirled your finger around the sparse room, tears glistening in your eyes. "They didn't let me out, I couldn't use the bathroom, I didn't have anything to eat or drink. I was all alone."

You stopped talking and tucked your chin against your chest, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay. You wiped a shaky palm against your cheek, drying the tears that fell before you looked back up.

"There were times he would be gone for two or three days at a time and come back, all strung out and crazy... those were the times, the times I went to the police, that I ended up in the hospital. So I stopped asking cops for help."

She nodded as she wrote, giving you a minute to collect yourself before her next question. You glanced up at the mirror again and wondered what Joel was thinking. Did he leave? Or was he still there? You almost hoped he had left. You were feeling too vulnerable as it was, but the thought of him looking at you with pity after this was over made your stomach turn.

"I've done this before," you said suddenly, pulling her attention off the page. "And it always ends up the same. Please tell me this will be different."

"It will be different," she said immediately, her jaw set. She put her pen down on her pad and laced her fingers together. "I'm so sorry the justice system as failed you so tremendously, but we will do everything we can for you now that you're here."

You nodded and wiped more of your tears away before she handed you a box of tissues from a small cabinet in the corner of the room. Taking a deep, shaky breath, you met her gaze once again.

"What else?"

"I think that's enough for today," she said, flipping the pages closed on her legal pad. "We got your doctor's report this morning, and combined with this statement we will start the process of formally pressing charges. After that, if he pleads not guilty, it will go before a judge. But let's take it one step at a time, okay?"

"Okay," you said quietly, gathering your purse and following her out of the room. Your eyes immediately drifted around the hallway and then the bullpen, searching for Joel, but he was nowhere to be found. You frowned as Beth led you towards the front lobby, prepared to walk home, when you heard his voice call your name just as you were opening the door.

"I'll take you home," he said. His face looked hardened and his eyes looked distant.

"You don't have to," you began, but he just shook his head and gingerly cupped your elbow, directing you out the door and into the parking lot.

The ride back was silent. He didn't even have the radio on. You glanced out your window nervously, trying not to read too much into it, but when he dropped you off with barely a comforting word or any acknowledgement of what you confessed, you were convinced your greatest fear had come true. Now that he knew it all, now that he finally heard the truth, he couldn't look at you the same.

You were glad Maria had the foresight to tell you to stay home that day. You were mentally exhausted. Rehashing everything and then Joel's reaction put you in an awful mood. By 4pm, after lounging around watching mindless television and checking your phone constantly for any sign of life from Joel, you decided to just make yourself an early dinner, take a shower and then go to bed early.

As you were stepping out of the shower, the water finally turned off and all of the day's makeup covering your wounds down the drain, you heard your doorbell ringing incessantly. Repeatedly. Urgently.

A jolt of dread shot down your spine, but you remembered Joel said Patrick wouldn't be let out until tomorrow. But what if he got out early? What if he made a phone call and Joel was forced to release him?

Wrapped in a robe, your hair dripping down and soaking the thin material, you jogged to the living room and checked your phone. Surely, if Patrick was released, Joel would have warned you, but you didn't have any missed calls or texts. Then the pounding on the door started, making you jump out of your skin.

Slowly, you crept down the stairs, your hand gripping the doorknob tightly, your fingers hovering over the lock.

"Who is it?"

"It's me," you heard Joel's voice say from the other side, and your eyes widened in shock. You glanced down at your robe, little streaks and drops of wetness trailing down the shiny material.

"Uh, can you -"

"Please open up, people are startin' to look at me like I'm crazy."

With a sigh, you unlocked the door and stepped back, clutching your robe tightly against your chest. Joel squeezed inside and shut the door quickly behind him before turning around, his eyes raking quickly up and down your body before looking you in the eye.

"You were in the shower."

"Yeah," you said, glancing around anxiously before looking up the stairs. "Did you want to come up or something?" He just nodded slowly, his eyes flitting down once again as you led him up the steps.

"I got worried, I was ringin' the bell but I guess you couldn't hear it," he explained, taking off his shoes and shrugging off his blazer.

"What were you worried about? He's still in jail, right?" you asked, handing him some water before sitting down on the couch.

"Yeah, I just... I shouldn'tve left you alone earlier. I shoulda stayed." He stood there, a glass of water in his hand, the other rubbing over his mouth nervously.

You stared at one another for a moment, both trying to figure the other one out. He was breathing faster than normal, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his white button down shirt.

"Why are you here, Joel?" you finally asked, your heart starting to beat faster. "Because if it's out of pity, I don't want it."

"It's not -" he cut himself off and shifted his weight before setting the water down. "It's not pity." He took two steps and sunk down into your couch, his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor, trying to figure out what to say.

"It's not fair," he finally said quietly. So quietly, you almost didn't hear him. "Everything that's happened. It's not fuckin' fair."

You scrunched your nose, confused, as you looked at him still staring down at the floor. You were about to open your mouth and ask him what he meant when he spoke again.

"I never shoulda let you leave with him that day. Somethin' felt off, I felt it in my gut-" he sat back to press his hand against his stomach for emphasis. "But I let you go. And he -"

He couldn't finish his sentence, his throat closing up as he fought to blink the tears away.

"It's not your fault, Joel," you told him, resting a hand on his broad shoulder but he stood up quickly to pace around the room.

"I'll never let it happen again," he muttered. "Never gonna let him near you again. I'll fuckin' kill him if I have to, he's never comin' here again." His voice was rising as he spoke, his breath coming in short stutters as he rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers, eyes wide and crazed as the panic seized him.

So it wasn't pity. It was guilt that brought him to you.

"Joel, calm down," you said, standing up to reach out to him, but he kept pacing.

"Oh fuck, I'm never gonna forgive myself," he whispered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"You didn't do this to me, he did," you assured him, trying to get him to stop moving. "You're helping me, Joel. You're the only one who ever really tried to help me. There's nothing to forgive."

He finally paused and glanced at you, his breath a little shallow as the panic began to subside.

"I'm gonna get you outta this, I promise," he said, his voice sounding more steady.

"I know," you replied, nodding your head.

He took a deep breath in through his nose and tore his eyes away from you to glance at his watch.

"I better go," he said regrettably, looking back up at you again.

"Okay," you said, following him to the door and leaning against the wall as he put his shoes back on.

"D'you need anythin'? Did you eat? I can -"

"I ate, I'm fine," you told him with a small smile. "Thank you, though."

"Alright," he said after a moment, then forced himself to open the door. Before he stepped through, he looked back at you over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm working dinner tomorrow," you told him, suddenly feeling crestfallen you wouldn't see him for lunch.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he repeated, more firm this time. You slowly nodded and wrapped your arms around yourself, hoping he couldn't see through your robe.

You listened sadly as his heavy footsteps descended the stairs and the door shut softly behind him. You knew him well enough at this point that he would have turned the lock on the knob before he left but you still wanted to peek down the steps to check. Your eyes widened when, to your surprise, he was still standing there at the bottom of your stairs, his back leaning up against the door. His eyes flicked up to meet yours when he noticed movement, and you saw Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he spoke.

"I can't leave."

You looked at one another for a long moment, your heart slamming in your chest, knowing what this meant. You were sick and tired of always trying to do the right thing. Where did it get you? How could you even fool yourself into thinking you had any obligation to Patrick anymore? Joel knew everything now. He knew what he was doing, so you said the words that were on the tip of your tongue. The words that you knew would open the door for something both of you wanted so desperately, you could taste it.

"Then stay."

Taglist: @harriedandharassed@merz-8@sarap-77@nandan11@anoverwhelmingdin@fandomscollide@survivingandenduring@honeyedmiller@pedropascalsbbg@southernbe@pedrosfanny@gobaaby-blog-blog @eloquentdreamer @yomiyasxx @mrsparknuts@missladym1981@spacedoutdaydreamer @cosmic006533-blog @prettyinpunk85@maried01 @sunnyskyapplepie @sawymredfox@gobaaby-blog-blog@stevie75@mxtokko@sleepylunarwolf@lizzie-cakes@laurrrra@annieispunk@here4thedilfs @navystandardheatingoilcap @slugz-writes-shit@devilbat@ashleyfilm@scp116@tragerlover@iveseenstrangerthings50 @yvonneeeee @brittmb115@lulawantmula@abbysgirlll@ro-nahime-things

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller angst #joel miller series #joel miller x reader #sheriff!joel #STR fic #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal

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cats2019forthenintendoswitch · 2 years

Text

Yes, that is Helen Keller. Yes, they turned her braille book into a purse.

#tbh she kinda ate #helen keller #instagram #ask to tag #i dont have insta btw i stole this from twitter #my own posts

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iovesia · 9 months

Note

John Wick being your married professor, who uses his position of power to take advantage of you. He makes you come to his house for some “extra tutoring” and his wife is there and she’s so kind to you and you feel so guilty as John takes you to his study. He keeps his hand over your mouth because you need to be quiet. Afterwards, his wife invites you to join them for dinner and you just want to get away but she doesn’t take no for an answer just like her husband. She has no idea what John is doing with his hand under the dining table as you all eat.

(I’m sorry Helen but being John’s dirty little secret got me feeling some kinda way)

STOPPP this is so evil (literally kicking my feet) — ofc john would never do this in canon, but for smut's sake . . .

୨ ˙ ∘ cw.⠀ cheating & infidelity. professor / student relationship. p in v. this got, like, really long lmfao OOPS !

you're mr. wick's top student in his class— or so you thought. you're shocked to find out, that after being a straight-A, rory-gilmore level student your entire life, you seem to be failing mr. wick's class.

mr. wick (fully aware of your desperate need for academic validation) uses this to his advantage. it first started off harmless enough: giving you feedback after class, meeting in his office during his hours. but he wanted more, he needed more.

an hour during the day turned into late night "study" sessions in his office. he's bent you over his mahogany desk, forcing you to read aloud from your textbook while he pounds into you.

"t—the halo effect is a c-cognitive bias— fuck—," you bite hard onto your bottom lip, toes curling at the delicious stretch of mr. wick's cock in your wet cunt. you try to continue reading, but the words fall jumbled from your lips. his rough hands are all over you, caressing and clutching at your sides, pulling you back onto his cock like a ragdoll.

"don't make me tell you to start over, ms [l/n]," he scolds, but you can hear the teasing in his voice. his hands cup the fat of your ass, watching as he disappears in and out of you. "i know you can do better than that."

yes, of course you felt guilty. he's your professor— your married professor. but that guilt quickly flew out the window, when he's shoved the frame picture of him and his wife on his desk to the side, and laid you on top, gently spreading your legs.

soon enough, mr. wick started inviting you back to his home. his place of sanctuary. a sanctuary shared with mrs. wick. who you've managed to completely avoid (and pretend didn't exist) up until this moment.

for once, he was giving you genuine advice on one of your essays when his wife walked in. your heart dropped to your ass and sweat began pooling on your forehead. sure. . technically you weren't doing anything, but the guilt ate away at your heart.

"wow, this is really nice, mrs. wick," you mumble, giving the older woman a polite smile. she grins, insisting you call her 'helen'. her shiny smile and bubbly personality only make bile boil in your throat. she was sweet enough to offer you a home cooked meal, and in return, you're letting her husband finger you under the table.

"john talks a lot about you! he's very impressed with your progress," helen takes a bite of her food, offering sweet words and polite conversation. you nod, biting the inside flesh of your cheek and john's hand crawls up your thigh.

"she was really struggling this year.. but i guess all she needed was an extra hand." his innuendo flies over his oblivious wife's head as his warm fingers slide under your underwear and in between your wet folds.

you were definitely going to hell for this, you think to yourself, biting down on your fork to stop a mewl escaping your lips.

#love letters.#keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves x reader #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick smut #tw cheating #professor au #*⠀john wick.

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sam24 · 4 months

Text

Chicken Butt

Summary: It was supposed to be a good deed. Really, it was. Tony had woken himself and the team up at ass o'clock to get ready for your morning birthday surprise, barking out orders like a dad on the morning of a road trip. Everything was supposed to be perfect. But a 6 foot something blond super soldier laying in your bed was not part of the plan.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader

*****

Tony crept down the hall, motioning for the rest of them to follow his lead through the silent hallway.

His janky ass team clearly didn’t care as much as he did, grumbling loudly, their arms full of birthday kazoos and party horns that Tony had shoved into their hands earlier.

“I don’t think she’s gonna appreciate you waking her up by tooting horns in her face, Tony.” Natasha fixed the party hat that was sliding over her eyes. “Taking her out to breakfast would have been so much nicer.”

“Breakfast is temporary, carrot top. The memory of us working hard to surprise her and make her birthday morning special is permanent,” Tony whispered.

“I don’t know about that, Tony.” Sam piped in. “Those hash browns down the street are pretty damn memorable.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Bucky’s lips were pressed tight together, looking a little nervous and queasy, like he ate a couple moldy hot dogs before hopping on a roller coaster. But Tony didn’t have time to call out the cyborg, especially when you could wake up any minute now.

“When did you suddenly start caring about birthdays?” Clint looked suspicious. “For my birthday you gave me a half drunk coffee.”

“Don’t be selfish, Barton. I was tired that day.” Tony dramatically turned his head to peer down the hallway, making a weird sweeping motion with his hand.

He turned around to see everyone staring at him questioningly.

“It means all clear, you imbeciles. Has no one seen Die Hard?”

“Oh, I have!” Peter raised his hand and let go of his balloon, and Bucky snatched it before it could float off with a roll of his eyes. “But it’s kinda more like this, Mister Stark-”

Peter tried to demonstrate but Tony silenced him with a glare. “Guys, you’re ruining the whole thing. I’m trying to be nice and surprise our friend without you chihuahuas waking her up before we even get to the door.”

“Why are you trying so hard to be nice, Tony?” Natasha shook her head. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“C’mon, are you doubting me? I love being nice. It’s my favorite hobby.”

Natasha was unimpressed. “Pepper told you to be nicer, didn’t she?”

Tony grumbled, choosing not to reply.

Okay, so maybe Pepper did want him to be a little kinder, especially after he sent a few too many interns home crying.

”It’s not my fault they don’t understand my humor!” Tony had insisted.

Pepper had just given him a firm look and told him that he had to put more effort into expressing his appreciation for other people.

Tony was offended, but he knew his wife was right (as always). He didn’t exactly know the right way to express his love, growing up in a house with minimal affection.

He had tried multiple techniques: saying kind words, giving out compliments like candy, and even going as far as squeezing in random hugs, but none of them felt natural to him.

His love language was remembering the little things, Pepper had told him after she saw Tony give you a full-sized cardboard cutout of Channing Tatum after you had mentioned that the Jump Street movies were your absolute favorite.

However, some didn’t appreciate his little gifts as much as you did.

Helen Cho was not very thrilled to see thermal underwear for hands, no, not gloves, on her desk after whining that the medical wing was always cold.

Tony had decided to change his affection tactics to something everyone could enjoy. Everyone likes surprises. Right?

He liked to act like he didn’t care about anything other than AC/DC and whiskey, but he honestly did. He loved his team to pieces and would do anything for them.

Plus, it would be some practice for his incoming child. His future daughter would probably prefer hugs and playtime with her daddy rather than a chicken butt magnet (but considering it was Tony’s kid, the chicken butt might have a chance.)

So, that’s how Tony ended up here, searching his pocket for the keys to your room that he bribed borrowed from the floor’s housekeeper.

He made a mental note to fire the lady for dangerously handing out keys to anyone who asked.

“Wow, Tony. Look at you. Breaking into girls’ rooms,” Wanda snorted. “That’s a new low.”

“Quiet, before I burn you at the stake.”

“I still don’t think we should do this.” Bucky shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“You know, I would’ve expected Steve to say something, he’s being weirdly quiet. Something like, Anthony, respect her privacy-” Tony looked up from the lock. “Wait, where is he?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “Uh I dunno.”

“You don’t know?” Tony raised his eyebrow. “I thought you two were telepathically connected or something.”

Bucky looked down, suddenly very interested in the carpet under his feet. “Um I don’t know but I think we should go-”

“Whatever, he’s probably running an ultramarathon right now for some senior citizen charity, doesn’t matter. We’ll save some cake for him. But make sure someone has a glucose monitor. I don't think Cap can handle too much sugar.”

Tony inserted the key, the lock settling with a satisfying click as he turned it. He slowly opened the door, bringing his kazoo closer to his mouth.

What he was not expecting was that the same Steve who he thought was probably helping an old woman cross the finish line right now was lying in your bed.

➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸➸

You thought you heard the creak of your door, but you mentally waved it off, classifying it as the creak of your fan.

You turned, not bothering to open your eyes, your hand feeling for your human pillow, who was unusually soft and an excellent cuddler for being built like a wall of muscle.

Your palm landed smack dab on Steve’s chest, and you buried yourself into his side with a smile creeping across both your faces.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” You felt Steve sleepily pressing his lips into your hair and all across your face.

Fuck, his morning voice was so hot.

You were glad you had him to yourself for a little while before you two had to act like colleagues. It was a mutual choice between you two to keep it from the team. Some of them could be just a tad bit dramatic, and you two wanted a quiet relationship before it went public.

Bucky already knew, because he knew Steve more than Steve knew himself, and you suspected that Natasha knew as well because she’s Natasha and knows everything.

Everyone else probably didn’t know, and you’d like to keep it that way for a little bit before Tony would inevitably scream "PDA! PDA!" everytime yours and Steve’s shoulders grazed.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and he buried his head into yours.

You mumbled something along the lines of “thank you” as you pressed kisses into his hair.

“I love you so much.” Steve lined kisses on your bare shoulder.

You heard a gasp followed by extremely violent shushing.

Your eyes flew open and Steve turned around in a split second, looking for the intruder.

You both were met with the team standing wide-eyed in your room, Tony in the lead looking like he was either about to pass out or throw the cake in his arms to the ground.

Steve tried his best to cover you with his body from his nosy team, trying to keep the blanket from slipping down his waist at the same time.

All eyes turned to Bucky, who was wearing a glittery-pink polka-dotted party hat that, by looking at the dents in it, seemed like it was wrestled on by someone.

He blew his party horn with a pathetic puff of air, smiling nervously at Tony. “Surprise?”

Thor launched his arms into the air. “SURPRISE!”

The commotion started.

“C’mon Cap,” Sam whined in the corner. “I thought I was your friend! How could you not tell me?”

“Knew it.” Natasha grinned cheekily.

“You two are so cute!” Wanda gushed. “Right Vis?”

Vision nodded, sending Steve an awkward thumbs up.

Bruce coughed, trying to respect your privacy by looking down at his shoes.

“Always thought you had a little crush on him,” Clint smiled.

“This is so cool! Wait, if you have a kid can I babysit please? I love babies. Oh my god, is it going to be a super baby?” Peter was bouncing with excitement. “Crap, I’m sorry, Mr. Steve. I didn’t mean to call your baby an ‘it’. I swear, I don’t see your baby as an object, I’ll be a great sitter.”

“Um, yeah, sure, kid-” Steve started.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Tony finally jolted out of his paralysis state. “How the hell did I not see this?”

“Tony-”

“Are you telling me that the whole time I was trying to set you up with Matthew from logistics, you were getting pounded by Ol’ Captain here?”

“Jesus, Tony.” You grimaced. “Why would you put it like that?”

“So, this is why Steve was extremely against my brilliant idea of locking you and Matthew in the bathroom together? That jealous bastard!”

“Your what-” You choked.

“That wasn’t the only reason why, Tony.” Steve huffed. “That’s just plain weird.”

“You know what else is weird, Cap?” Tony narrowed his eyes. “The fact that you’re hoeing around with a girl who’s literally a baby compared to you.”

“I’m not ‘hoeing around’, Tony. I love her.”

Tony’s eyes danced between you and Steve until his face finally relaxed.

He sighed, coming around to your side of the bed and planting a kiss on your head.

“Happy birthday, kid. I would hug you but I’m pretty sure you’re naked under there.” He turned to face Steve again. “If you break her heart, hang onto your dentures, 'cause I’m blasting your dusty ass back into the ‘40s, got it?. ”

“Got it, Tony.” Steve smiled.

“Ew, don’t smile at me like that.” Tony made a face and looked back at you. “I had a backup present, just in case the whole surprise thing went to shit.”

Tony fished out something from his pocket, placing it into your hand.

"You mentioned something about how you loved to use that stupid chicken butt joke when you were a kid," Tony mumbled.

It was a chicken butt magnet.

You loved it.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #marvel fanfiction #crack fic

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albywritesfiction · 2 months

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Just out of curiosity... Since Aedrick has been soft in love with MC since the beginning, what WOULD he have done had MC actually married Aedan? *Especially* if down the line Aedan makes it obvious how little he actually does care for MC. For added drama, maybe throw in an am affair with Royal Mistress Helene

Oooooh

This scenario would happen if Ædan hadn't met Helene prior to his and MC's wedding, meaning that Ædan is still keeping up his act as a loving fiancé.

In this case, Ædric would pretty much be like Angelica in the Hamilton musical with her line in the song Satisfied,

"At least I keep his eyes in my life."

because all he sees at this point is that Ædan is treating MC well and MC is happy. Ædric would lock away his feelings and throw the box into the deepest pits of hell if it meant that MC would always be as radiant as they were on their wedding day, and just being able to witness everyday how their eyes seem to twinkle when they smile, even when those smiles aren't meant for him, is an added bonus that he would always be grateful for.

Ædan would still maintain his façade as the ideal husband until he meets and falls in love with Helene.

As he gets to know Helene, the time he'd spend with MC would diminish over time, always giving them excuses so that he could meet with Helene in secret, until he realizes that he loves Helene. Then he would bring her to the palace as his mistress.

Meanwhile, with Ædan gone from the palace on his clandestine rendezvous, Ædric would keep MC company, but he wouldn't see it as an opportunity to get MC to fall in love with him. It's just him spending time with someone because he cares about them, like how he'd spend time with his family and his buddy Bertrand because they're the most important people in his life.

But oh boy, being in love with someone you can't be with is hard. Everyday he thinks that he couldn't possibly fall deeper in love with MC, and every night he just ends up with his head in his hands because damn was he wrong.

I'll try to move on tomorrow for sure. I just have to give them a polite greeting and be on my way. No more inviting them to have a break together. No more finishing work early to have dinner with them. No more checking in on them in their office. I have to get over them.

But when he sees MC the next day, his resolve instantly shatters, like it does everyday, like it has done everyday ever since he fell in love with them.

Tomorrow again, tomorrow for sure.

The day that Ædan brings Helene to the palace as his mistress is the day that Ædric nearly commits fratricide.

#after the end #ate-if #ate-if asks #ate: mc #ate: ædric #ate: ædan #ate: helene #ate: bertrand #angst be upon ye #oh you want angst #imma give you angst #elmo fire meme

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barbarianprncess · 3 months

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annabeth chase and her many losing dogs: an (incomplete) anthology

read on ao3

chapter one: a (brief) introduction to the game and it's players

She gives Cerberus her red rubber ball.

Because he’s a monster, but she doesn’t think he means to be.

Because he’s a lonely dog and she is lonely the same way. The kind that doesn’t know how lonely it is until a person shows up and reminds them. The kind that wishes to just be left in loneliness long enough for companionship to be forgotten altogether.

The ball will make him happy. He will destroy it within minutes, it will disappear after he does nothing but be himself.

(She does that sometimes too.)

First Round: Frederick Chase

Bet Type: Blind Faith; awarded via mass tradition.

Made with no experience.

Trust given without the knowledge that trust must be earned.

Annabeth is four years old and hungry.

She hasn’t eaten since dinner last night.

Dad is playing with his planes again. The fancy small piece ones that Annabeth is not allowed to touch, ‘not now, not ever.’ She’s not supposed to bother Dad when he plays with his planes.

Plane time is Dad’s very special ‘by himself’ time. He’d explained a while ago that he has lots of very hard work to do, and then he has to take care of her which is even more lots of hard work, and sometimes he needs his special ‘by himself’ time, because Annabeth is a big girl now who can read her books and not touch the sockets.

(She wonders why he doesn’t do his special ‘by himself’ time when she’s taking her naps. That way they could have their together time when she’s awake.)

This would be fine, but she just ate the last of her super secret dad-is-in-his-study snack stash that she hides under her bed last week.

She wants to go in and ask, but the last time she’d interrupted him, even though he smiled at her, his eyebrows got all scrunched up together. He was not happy to see her.

(Sometimes, she wonders if he ever is.)

Annabeth is really very hungry.

There are bananas on top of the fridge.

Annabeth creates a plan.

The plan goes south almost immediately and she ends up dangling from the top of the white mountain with glass and bananas all over the ground.

“Christ! Annabeth!” She is being yanked from her very small cliff and carried into the living room and Dad’s voice is very loud and his face is more than scrunched eyebrows and Annabeth is ashamed.

“What were you doing?”

“I was climbing on top of the fridge. I knocked over a vase.”

That was the wrong answer because somehow his face gets even angrier. “Yes, I can see that. What were you thinking?”

“I wanted a banana. They were on top of the fridge.”

He pinches his nose. That wasn’t the right answer either. “You just had breakfast.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. You had the fruit circles.”

“That was yesterday.”

He hesitates. “Okay, well you did wake up late, you couldn’t have waited until it was time to eat lunch?”

The clock on the microwave says 4:13 pm. “It is lunch.”

He looks at the clock. Closes his eyes. When he opens them, he still looks angry but not at her. His voice is much quieter. “Why didn’t you come get me?”

“Last time you got sad. You were in a groove, you said unless it was an emergency not to come in. I thought I could reach it.”

She watches his face change. His eyebrows are still scrunched up but his eyes get gentler and sadder all at once. He sits down on the couch and lifts her up into his lap. It’s been so long, she sits on his knees like he’s a chair. He turns her around in his arms.

“You’re such a quiet kid, Annabeth. Sometimes I forget you're here.”

She doesn’t think he said it to make her sad, but it does anyway. Which is irritating because she didn’t do anything wrong and she feels bad anyway.

“I was a quiet kid too.”

She doesn’t want to be quiet. She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to hit him. She wants—

“I’m gonna clean up the glass and then we’ll have mac and cheese.”

She nods and lets herself be sat back on the couch.

Second Round: Ms. Helen (from Dad’s work)

Bet Type: Good Faith; awarded via proxy.

Made with no experience.

Trust given without the knowledge that trust must be earned.

The first time her father forgets to pick her up from daycare, she is too young to remember. She was also too young to remember the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th times.

She remembers the sixth.

Ms. Helen, dad’s work friend that has come to dinner every wednesday for four weeks, shows up at school wearing black yoga pants and a messy-on-purpose bun.

(The kind that always looks strange in the bathroom mirror when she tries it on her curls in the morning before they leave.)

She smiles at her teacher, tight and pinchy. She does that laugh/talk/sigh thing adults do when the words they're saying don’t really matter. And before Annabeth knows it, she's staring at the backseat of a minivan.

“What’s that?”

Ms. Helen raises an eyebrow. “The car seat?”

Annabeth nods but looks down. She said it like it was obvious. Annabeth knows obvious things.

“Don’t you sit in one of these to come to daycare?”

“No.”

“You just sit in the seat?”

“Yes.”

“You're too little. It’s not safe to sit by yourself.”

Annabeth doesn’t know what she's supposed to say. This happens a lot. Adults do this thing where they ask you a question that they want a specific answer to. Annabeth has developed a skill in which she can always tell when the truth is not what an adult wants to hear. It has, so far, been a pretty useless skill because she has yet to master the skill of knowing what it is that they actually want to hear.

(Sometimes, she figures it out and tells the truth anyway. Those times she doesn’t really mind getting in trouble after.)

“Your father must’ve put you in one of these.”

Annabeth shrugs. Her talent has deduced that Helen does not want Annabeth to say that she has never been in one of those, and figures nonverbal is the safest option because she would like to go home.

Helen crouches down and gets way up close to Annabeth's face. Her grown-up face-paint is smudged around the corner of her left eye. She smells like dish soap.

“I borrowed this from my friend when your father called, so we have to get you your own. From now on, you don’t get in a car without one of these. Understand?”

Annabeth nods.

Helen is looking at her with something strange and sad in her smudged up eye. She takes a deep breath.

Annabeth crawls into the backseat and waits to be tied in.

Fourth Round: Thalia Grace, Grover Underwood & Luke Castellan

Bet Type: Calculated Risk; awarded to an individual after carefully evaluated outcomes

Made after a great loss, in which perceived benefits outweigh potential detriment.

Trust earned after a win.

Thalia is frowning at her.

Annabeth hasn’t been with her and Luke for that long, but she knows that this is not cause for too much concern because she’s usually frowning.

Luke is the one with the smiles, and the cuddles, and the soft spot for the helpless strays—dogs and girls alike.

Thalia is the one with the frowns.

(Annabeth can tell she has a soft spot for Luke though.)

Before she can muster up the courage to ask, Luke beats her to it. “What’s up with you?”

“Her hair.” Thalia has a talent where she can frown and speak at the same time. Annabeth wants to learn how to do that.

Luke smiles at her before fixing his eyes on her puff. She gets that feeling in her stomach she used to get when her teachers asked her questions about her house, like she should be hiding behind her fathers legs.

(The last time she tried, Helen had snatched her arm and told her she was being rude.)

“Her hair.” He repeats in a way that tells both Annabeth and Thalia he has no idea what the problem is.

Thalia ignores him, and scribbles something down on his arm. “I saw a beauty supply store down the road. I need you to figure out a way to get this stuff.”

Luke frowns over her shoulder. (Uh-oh.) “That’s gonna be a bit of a stretch.”

“So stretch.”

“Thals—,”

She looks up at him and her eyes are all intense like when she’s fighting a monster. “They weren’t combing her hair. I took the hair tie off and it’s staying put. She’s only been on the run for 3 days.” Thalia looks back down at her. “Right? That’s how long you were by yourself?”

“Yes.” Annabeth nods. One of her favorite parts about being with Luke and Thalia, is that the truth is always enough.

Thalia looks back at Luke with something in her eyes that’s even softer than when Luke sleeps. “They weren’t combing her hair.”

Luke nods, a new kind of frown. The one he had when they found her. “On it.”

He winks at Annabeth and tweaks her nose which makes her laugh. Then he’s gone and it’s just the two of them.

Annabeth and Thalia have never been alone for that long before, except for bathroom trips and when Luke gets them snacks.

Annabeth knows it wasn’t Thalia’s idea for her to join the two of them. Annabeth doesn’t think she wanted to leave her there, but she knows Thalia liked it when it was just her and Luke.

She’s looking up at the sky muttering something angry in another language. “What’s Luke going to get?”

Thalia considers her for a moment and then sits down leaning against the brick alleyway. “Some hair stuff. Basics.”

“I thought we only took risks for food.”

Thalia smiles a little and it makes Annabeth's chest feel fuzzy.

“You’re a smart kid.” She pats the ground next to her and Annabeth goes to sit next to her.

“My mother…had a bad time. Things that aren’t supposed to be hard for mortals were very hard for her. And sometimes that made her not very nice to me.” She pauses and Annabeth waits patiently, doesn’t dare speak a word.

“She couldn’t really take care of herself. So, she couldn’t really take care of me either. My hair is curly like yours. And hair like ours needs special attention. When you don’t give it the care it needs, it gets stuck like this.” She takes Annabeth's hand and brings it up to her head, lets her tug on one strand gently.

“I like your hair a lot!”

“Thank you. I do too. But, it wasn’t my choice. My mother let my hair loc up so she didn’t have to comb it every day. You should get to decide whether you want your hair like this. Did you ask to have your hair up in a bun for that long?”

Annabeth could tell her how her Dad used to braid her hair on Sunday nights. How they would sit and listen to music and he would spray and comb and braid until she fell asleep on his leg. How when he and Helen got married, he suddenly had no time to do anything that Helen could do instead. How her slick, shiny, and smooth haired stepmother would wrinkle down at her curls, yank a brush through her head and tell her she was ‘impossible’.

But, she doesn’t. She looks down at her shoes and doesn’t say anything at all.

Thalia, even smaller than before, says, “Your parents weren’t very nice to you either. Were they?”

She doesn’t answer.

She doesn’t have to.

‘You’re such a quiet kid, Annabeth.’

(When Luke gets back, he and Thalia spend three hours spraying and combing and braiding until Annabeths hair isn’t stuck anymore.)

(In a few months, a satyr named Grover will take them to camp.

Thalia will not make it across the border.)

(Annabeth will refuse to let anyone touch her hair for a year.)

Final Round: Perseus Jackson

Bet Type: Wild Card; awarded to an individual that fails to qualify through conventional procedure.

Made with gut feelings, no logic, and excruciating human defiance.

Trust is given without measure.

Annabeth's first thought when she sees him for the first time is, “He must be the one.”

She’s sure of it. She says it out loud. Chiron tells her to hush, and she doesn’t even care.

He's the one.

She's not sure how she knows. She's waited for so long, seen so many campers. Many were far more promising than he is.

That's her second thought. He's skinnier than she thought ‘the one’ would be. Skinny and pale and more gangly limb than person.

He’s blinking up towards them but his eyes are unfocused and hazy. That's her third thought. He's fading. They’ll have to carry him.

‘Percy’ Chiron calls him. It’s a hero’s name.

She wonders if whoever gave it to him knew he’d be the one too.

‘He’s the one.’, she thinks again. It feels strange and tingly in her head.

Strange, but not false.

Hello, Percy Jackson. It's nice to finally meet you.

#SHEEEEEES BAAAACCCCKKKK!#it's been a while! i evolved and got a life and the show humbled me and took over my life.#for the percabeth induced insanity gc on twitter (love you)#percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth fic #grover underwood #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo series #pjotv #pjo tv show #pjo tv series #pjo tv spoilers #luke castellan #thalia grace #frederick chase

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apomaro-mellow · 29 days

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Every Baby Needs a Daddy 16

Part 15

The next day, Steve was probably the clingiest he'd ever been. He thought his heat had ended but the new pack bonds brought on a new crest of lust. For the first time since he had arrived, he ate breakfast with everyone in the kitchen. After the meal, Steve made himself comfortable in Eddie's lap.

Eddie and Jeff were talking about concepts for the next album. Gareth was nursing his coffee, still waking up. Grant got up to refill his own mug and Steve's eyes followed him like a hawk. Eddie was pretty attuned to Steve's wants and needs. And when he felt Steve's fingers brush against his lips while staring at the unaware beta across the room, he had a pretty good idea of what his baby wanted.

"Remember sweetness, you gotta use your words. The boys don't know all your tells yet."

Steve whimpered and whined at first, but not longer after he was purring as Grant ate him out on the counter.

Soon enough though, it was time for Corroded Coffin to return to the public eye. And almost just as quickly, the fans with a keen eye noticed a certain omega showing up much more. Not just on Eddie's arm but the rest of the band's as well.

The more it was seen, the more permanent Steve's position appeared. It was February when the competing hashtags #ccomega and #notouromega showed up. Of course, the overwhelming majority of the fans were in the camp of 'neither one is gonna fuck you, so stop wasting your time arguing about it'.

Eddie was reading through a couple of argument threads, snickering to himself when Steve stepped out of the dressing room.

"What about this one?"

The outfit consisted of tight leather pants, a blazer, and a mesh shirt under that. Eddie's hands fell to the magnetic force that was Steve's nipples and started playing with them through the shirt. He let that be his answer and the online comment wars were forgotten for a moment. The new outfit was for an award show the band was attending and throughout the whole thing, Steve ignored his own reserved seat and stayed planted in Eddie's lap.

Given that it was an award show, many eyes were on it, even those not typically concerned with celebrity gossip. When it started spreading to such a degree, even THEY couldn't ignore it. Helen Harrington should have known something was up the moment Irene got that nasty look in her eyes, taking a sip of her champagne flute before speaking.

"Of course, we can't all have such famous children. Steve has been in so many magazines these days. I think the last one actually caught him with his pants down", Irene laughed haughtily.

Helen's face was tight with control. "You're such a charmer Irene. Not most people would admit to reading such tabloid trash."

It was reaching their circle of colleagues, which meant something must be done about their son. She and her husband Richard discussed as much. Steve couldn't be allowed to drag their name through the mud like this anymore.

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

Steve had basically taken up residence in the band's house. He slept in Eddie's room, which was now functionally his as well. Every morning he woke up with their scents mingled and it made his omega purr with satisfaction. He liked whenever the rest of his pack's scents lingered on his body too. Every time he went out, people knew who he belonged to, even without a bite.

But the thought of getting a mating bite did intrigue him.

He wasn't sure how to bring it up though. They'd already taken a major step in their relationship. Asking to be mated forever seemed like asking too much too soon. But relaxing in the living room, warming his alpha's cock with his mouth while daytime television played on sounded perfect.

And everyday with Steve was perfect in Eddie's opinion. Valentine's Day needed to be more perfect. He had a hunch why Steve was spending February 13th with Jeff and Gareth. It didn't make him any less crabby about it though and unfortunately Grant was left to deal with his crabby ass. He was even crabbier when he realized Steve had awakened much earlier the next day and that Eddie wouldn't be seeing him until evening.

CC had a radio interview and Steve was off doing who knew what. Eddie had half a mind to send him relentless thirst texts but instead just made sure he remembered they had reservations at a private restaurant. Eddie sent a car to get Steve and by 8 they had both arrived. Eddie was practically drooling at the silk shirt Steve was wearing.

And the thrill of later events got to him as he put a hand to Steve's back and felt something lacy underneath the shirt.

"You got a surprise for me, baby?"

Steve's smile was coy. "Maybe. Maybe I did a little shopping and I needed a couple of extra eyes to make sure it looked right."

Well that explained why the other two tagged along. And Eddie was only a little jealous that they got to see his present early. Only a little. Steve was pressed to his side for the entire dinner, feeding each other and feeling his surprise just under the silk.

"Baby, I don't think I can wait any longer", Eddie murmured against his ear.

"I can't either", Steve whispered back, legs rubbing together.

There was no way they were making it back home. Steve needed Eddie inside him now and he let him know that by letting out quiet whimpers directly into his ear. Eddie bit his lip, getting a naughty thought in his head.

"I've got an idea...if you're into it."

Steve was definitely into any ideas he had and soon the bill was paid and they were rushing back to the car Eddie had driven here. Eddie started driving with one hand, then other cupped Steve between the legs. It didn't take long for Eddie to find what they needed.

A 24 hour car wash.

They both climbed into the backseat as soon as the car was set on the track. Steve sunk down on Eddie's cock and rode him without an ounce of shame, letting his voice ring out among the noises of the brushes and soap and water. Eddie knew he must have hearts in his eyes, watching this beautiful creature, shirt falling open to reveal the dark green lingerie underneath.

When they came, they only had a few moments to make themselves decent as the car started to exit the wash. Steve didn't even try, just lying in the backseat with his pants off while Eddie scrambled back to the front. With very little regard for much else, Eddie peeled out of the parking area to preserve Steve's modesty.

Meanwhile, Steve had few qualms about having his cunt out in the backseat. This time of night, it was dark besides a few streetlamps. he reached down to feel his own wetness mingling with Eddie's cum. Eddie wasn't playing any music, so the sound of Steve's pussy sounded like it was echoing in the car. This man would be the death of him.

The rest of the night was spent in romantic bliss, just the two of them. But Steve had already given the rest of his pack chocolates.

The next morning, Steve's dream of a domestic life with Eddie was interrupted by his phone ringing. Eddie groaned at the intrusion and Steve reached out to grab it and see who was calling him. The number had no name attached, but he knew it by heart. He'd known the number since he was young but it had been years since he'd called it. Or since it had called him.

He ignored the call to stop the ringing and cuddled back up to his alpha. Eddie was all who mattered right now. Not them. He ignored the call that came a couple of hours later, and the few that came the next day as well. He didn't even listen to the voicemails left for him. Whatever they had to say, couldn't be anything good.

It was two weeks later when he got his first piece of mail since he started living here and who else could it be from but his parents. He leaned against the fridge as he opened it, finally curious enough to find out what they wanted.

"So what'd they send you?", Eddie asked before spooning some cereal into his mouth.

For a moment, Steve simply stood there, mouth agape as he read the envelope's contents.

"Sweetheart?"

"My parents.... sent me a cease and desist letter."

Part 17 (final)

Tag Team CLOSED

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie @sllooney @starman-jpg @oxidantdreamboat @xxbottlecapx @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord @beckkthewreck @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi @abstractnaturaldisaster @ellietheasexylibrarian @eyesofshinigami @dragonmama76 @greatwerewolfbeliever @chaosgremlinmunson @blackpanzy @millseyes-world @batxsignalsx @lilpomelito @goosesister @libraryofgage @aresthelostboy @royjaimie4eva @silenzioperso @she-collects-smut @lost-wondering-souls @eddielives1986 @marklee-blackmore

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #omegaverse #a/b/o

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