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perfectsunlight · 2 months ago

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[30] I, CARRION (ICARIAN)

warnings: heavy themes (depression, suicidal thoughts, emotional distress, family conflict, intense feelings of isolation) and public scrutiny.

DO NOT READ IF THESE THEMES ARE TRIGGERING FOR YOU.

jennie had always been afraid of falling. nothing good came from such an act. falling in love, falling out with friends, falling from fame. it was an act that symbolized the moment one became weak, vulnerable, and at the mercy of the world around them. and jennie kim had always prided herself on being anything but weak.

she had built her life, her career, and her reputation by standing firm. she had learned how to hold herself together when everyone else was falling apart. she knew how to stay on top—how to be untouchable. her world was one of carefully managed control, where every detail was scrutinized, planned, and executed to perfection. but the truth was, beneath that polished exterior, jennie was terrified of the one thing she couldn’t control: losing the people she loved.

falling, to jennie, wasn’t just a physical act. it was emotional, mental—it was the slow, creeping descent into something deeper and darker than she could manage. she had seen it happen too many times, to too many people. friends who had lost themselves in the chaos of fame. relationships that had crumbled under the weight of expectation. but nothing scared jennie more than the idea of falling away from the one person who mattered most.

ivory.

if the wind turns, if i hit a squall

allow the ground to find its brutal way to me

becoming a mother had changed everything for jennie. it wasn’t a decision she had made lightly. in fact, when she first found out she was pregnant, fear had consumed her like nothing she had ever known. she could handle the demands of being an idol, the grueling schedules, the intense scrutiny, the endless pressure to be perfect. but being a mother? that felt like a fall she wasn’t prepared for.

and yet, when ivory was born, it wasn’t fear that overwhelmed jennie—it was love. a love so intense, so consuming, that it redefined everything she thought she knew about herself. ivory became the center of jennie’s universe, the only person who could truly make her feel both grounded and weightless at the same time.

but with that love came a new kind of fear.

jennie knew the demands of her life—the constant traveling, the public persona, the secrecy—would one day take its toll. ivory wouldn’t always be a child, oblivious to the world outside their small, hidden bubble. eventually, she would ask questions. she would want to know why jennie had kept their life a secret. she would wonder about her father, about the world jennie had shielded her from. and jennie feared that when that day came, ivory wouldn’t understand. she would see jennie not as a protective mother, but as someone who had kept her in the dark, someone who had hidden too much for too long.

i feel lighter than i have in so much time

i've crossed the border line of weightless

the more jennie thinks back, the more she concluded that this burning bridge started when her daughter was just a child. it started when jane would hide from her mother, the small habit becoming a sort of game between the two.

it began with those playful moments of hide-and-seek, when little ivory would giggle, darting away to find the best hiding spots—behind the sofa, beneath the dining room table, or even in the small space behind the curtain, her laughter ringing like chimes in the air. for jennie, it was a cherished game, one that solidified their bond and filled their home with warmth and joy.

“you know i’ll always catch you,” the idol had whispered to her daughter, her voice a playful mix of mock seriousness and warmth as she tried to pull a squirming toddler closer to her. the corners of her lips curled up in a smile, an expression of love that glimmered in her eyes like the soft glow of a sunset. ivory’s innocent laughter was a melody that echoed through the house, drowning out the worries of the outside world, the pressures of fame, and the relentless pace of her career.

in those moments, time felt suspended, and the burdens of life faded into the background. jennie had reveled in their little universe, a sanctuary built on shared secrets and unbreakable trust. they were a team, navigating the unpredictable waters of life together, her daughter’s tiny hand always reaching for hers, trusting that jennie would guide her through every storm.

but as the years slipped by, that innocence began to wane, replaced by the turbulent tides of adolescence. the once-cherished game transformed into a battleground of wills, where jennie found herself no longer seeking out her daughter’s hiding spots, but instead chasing shadows. each giggle that faded into the distance now felt like a reminder of what was lost, a haunting echo of the connection they once shared.

the playful laughter turned into hesitant sighs, and the hide-and-seek evolved into secrets tucked away in the corners of her daughter’s heart. where once she had run to jennie with open arms, she now retreated into her own world, a realm filled with friendships and experiences that jennie could only glimpse from afar.

but jennie knew she had to be an idol first, she always had to be. but her heart ached to simply just be a mother.

one deep breath out from the sky

i've reached a rarer height now that i can confirm

all our weight is just a burden offered to us by the world

ivory was the perfect baby girl. she always had been, even when she cried and kept jieun and jennie up for hours.

those late nights, filled with the sounds of wailing, never diminished the beauty of her daughter. each cry was a reminder of ivory’s fierce spirit, a testament to the life she brought into their home. the way she scrunched her little nose in displeasure or how her tiny fists waved in frustration were moments that painted a picture of pure innocence.

jennie often found herself mesmerized by the sight of ivory’s delicate fingers wrapping around her own, as if they were meant to fit together. even during the toughest nights, when exhaustion clawed at her, jennie would look down at her daughter and see perfection—the way ivory’s lashes fluttered softly as she finally drifted to sleep, or the gentle rise and fall of her tiny chest, filling jennie’s heart with a warmth that made every sleepless night worth it.

yet, amidst the laughter and joy, there lingered an undeniable weight in jennie's heart. she missed so much—missed first steps and the excitement of new words, the way ivory would proudly show her the drawings made in preschool, her fingers smudged with paint. with every missed moment, a piece of jennie’s soul felt like it was slipping away, replaced by guilt and longing.

but every time ivory saw her, she would run with open arms, too innocent to understand the world of obligations and the pressures that pulled her mother away. “mommy!” ivory would cry out, her voice bright as sunlight, wrapping her little arms around jennie’s waist. those moments made jennie’s heart swell, yet the ache of missed opportunities would linger like a shadow.

how could her little girl forgive her for being absent during so many pivotal moments? how could she bear the thought of her daughter feeling alone when all she wanted was her mother close by? would she hate her when she was older?

however, despite it all, jennie would never forget the way ivory had changed her, even if she couldn't see it yet for herself. because it wasn’t just her experience and the industry that shaped her.

it was also ivory.

and though i burn how could i fall?

when i am lifted by every word you say to me

jennie remembered the day her daughter saved her life.

it was the darkest time of her life, the media tearing every piece of her limb from limb. she had done her best, she had tried to kill them with kindness, but her mind had suffered far too much. each headline was a knife, each article a reminder of her failures, her struggles, the weight of expectations pressing down on her.

it was late one evening, and the rain had poured down in sheets, mirroring the turmoil in her heart. she had found herself standing on the edge of the balcony, feeling the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. the city sprawled beneath her, a maze of lights that felt as distant as her hopes. the thought of jumping had crossed her mind—a moment of reckless abandon that almost felt liberating.

she hated falling, but maybe this time it would be freeing.

droplets of water soaked through her clothes, clinging to her shivering body. whether she shook from fear, the cold, or from crying, she couldn't tell. all she knew was that she was exhausted. she was tired of feeling like this. it would be so easy, so quick to just end it all. her members would be fine, the company wouldn’t suffer much of a loss. her mother would grieve and move on, and her daughter would be taken care of regardless. jennie was a bad idol, a bad person, and a bad mother. there was nothing left for her to try and be good at anymore. a lull of thunder groaned in the distance, the rain not letting up one bit. jennie’s clothes still hung off her form like wet rags, her body just as numb as her mind. with a deep breath, she made her decision. she took one step forward, than another, and then she was at the edge of the railing. her hands gripped the wet metal bar, feeling how easy her grip slipped. they could make it look like an accident. it would be a bit easier to digest for people that way.

but just as jennie prepared to let go of her anguish, a bright, cheerful voice broke through the raging storm outside and inside her mind.

“found you!”

startled, jennie turned slowly, her heart racing as she caught sight of a small figure emerging from the curtains of the doorway leading to the balcony. ivory, only five years old, stood there, beginning to become wet from the rain, her cheeks flushed with excitement. she was soaking wet but beaming, her eyes the same as her mother’s beaming with innocence.

“ivory,” jennie’s voice trembled as she stepped away from the edge, her heart pounding not just from fear but perhaps relief as well. “what are you doing out here?” she whispered, trying to comprehend how her daughter had found her. jieun had been sending the small girl home from school with a personal driver.

but this was jennie’s house, not her mother’s. that could only mean ivory had asked the driver to take her home to her, not to jieun.

jennie’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at ivory, the little girl’s presence pulling her back from the precipice of despair. the warmth radiating from her daughter felt like a lifeline, grounding her in the chaotic storm of her emotions.

“i found you!” the girl repeated with glee, the innocence in her tone cutting through the weight of jennie’s sorrow. in that moment, the world outside faded, and all she could see was her daughter—the embodiment of everything she loved, everything worth fighting for.

but as the reality of the situation settled in, so did the crushing weight of jennie’s anguish. tears brimmed in her eyes, spilling over as she dropped to her knees, unable to hold back the flood any longer. the sheer relief of seeing ivory, of having her here and safe, overwhelmed her senses.

“valentine,” jennie choked out, her voice trembling as she fell to her knees and pulled her daughter into a fierce embrace. she clutched the small girl tightly, burying her face in the soft fabric of her daughter’s damp clothes, feeling the warmth of her small body against her own. “oh, my sweet girl,” she sobbed, the tears flowing freely now, each one a testament to the fear she had felt just moments before.

jane wrapped her tiny arms around jennie’s neck, the innocence in her embrace radiating a comfort that began to mend the pieces of jennie’s shattered heart. “i thought you were hiding from me!” ivory exclaimed, her voice still light, filled with the joy of the game.

“i’m here, sweetheart,” the idol admitted, her heart aching as she held her daughter closer. the weight of the world seemed to lift just a little, but the fear remained, echoing in the back of her mind. “i didn’t mean to worry you.”

ivory tilted her head, her brows furrowing with confusion. “why are you crying, mommy?” the young girl asked, her dark pigtails soaking with water and her face covered in droplets that reflected light like diamonds.

jennie felt a rush of conflicting emotions. her heart swelled with love, yet the fear of losing her daughter loomed like a dark cloud. “i’m just scared,” she whispered in reply, doing her best to try and not cry even more in front of her daughter.

but all the little girl did was smile up at her mother, the rain not causing her emotions to falter. “but i'm here, you don't have to be scared.” she pulled the idol in closer, and jennie never cried harder in her life.

if anything could fall at all, it's the world

that falls away from me

it had been two weeks since the incident happened and jennie had been fighting tooth and nail with her lawyers to sue those who dragged her daughter in the headlines. she didn’t care what they said about her. the idol didn’t care what they called her, or what they thought of her. all that mattered was ivory—all that had ever mattered was ivory.

the thought of her daughter’s name being dragged through the mud ignited a fire within jennie, one that eclipsed her own anguish. she was ready to battle, ready to shield her child from the cruel world outside, a world that had become increasingly invasive and toxic. the whispers of judgment and disdain only fueled her determination.

no amount of scrutiny or scandal could diminish her devotion as a mother.

at night, she would lie awake, her mind racing with the words she would throw at the media, the statements her lawyers would issue. she replayed the interviews, the snippets of hurtful commentary, the careless remarks that had turned ivory into fodder for sensational headlines. it made her sick to think that people could be so cruel, so callous about a child who hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

during the days, she stayed busy, ensuring that every detail was managed, every angle covered. meetings, phone calls, legal documents—they all became her lifeline, a distraction from the gnawing worry that threatened to consume her. she felt like a warrior, fighting against an army of nameless faces and faceless voices, all bent on destroying the one thing that mattered most to her.

but in the quiet moments, when the chaos of the day settled, the weight of it all would come crashing down. in those stillness-filled nights, she couldn’t help but wonder how ivory was coping with the backlash. was she scared? confused? had she eaten?

“we need a statement from you,” her manager hesitantly brought up during their next meeting. “you haven’t confirmed your relationship to her yet. i think it is best if you say something officially.”

jennie felt a surge of frustration rise within her, an emotion too powerful to suppress. she stood in the dimly lit conference room, the soft hum of fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare on the glossy table that reflected her tense expression. dressed in a tailored black blazer that hugged her form and paired with fitted trousers, she exuded an air of professionalism, yet the sharp edges of her attire did little to mask the storm brewing within her.

“no.” the word sliced through the air, sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. “this isn’t about me. it’s about ivory. i won’t put her in front of cameras until she’s ready. if she wants to make a statement, that’s her call.”

her manager frowned, shifting uneasily in his chair, the weight of their conversation heavy between them. he adjusted his tie, a nervous habit she’d come to recognize. “but the media won’t wait. the speculation is damaging. we need to control the narrative.”

“control?” she scoffed, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. the room felt constricting, the walls closing in as she thought about the tabloids ripping apart her daughter's innocence. “what control do we really have? we’re dealing with people who don’t care about the truth—only the drama. i won’t pressure her into speaking before she’s ready.”

she took a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the floor-to-ceiling windows, where rain streaked down like tears on glass. the dreary weather outside matched her mood, but she steeled herself, focusing on the task at hand. “i want to protect her innocence. if the girl chooses to speak, i’ll support her. but this decision has to come from her��not us. i won’t let them twist her words.”

silence enveloped the room, heavy with tension, as her manager hesitated, contemplating the implications of her words. “but jennie—”

“no,” she interrupted, her voice firm and unwavering, echoing off the stark walls. “i won’t make a statement without her consent. she’s been through enough. i want her to know she controls her narrative.”

her manager sighed, recognizing the resolve in her eyes—the fierce determination that set her apart from the fleeting glances of the world outside. “alright, but we need to prepare for the backlash.”

“let them come,” the idol replied without missing a beat, her voice steadying as a flicker of maternal instinct surged within her. “i’ll take whatever hits they throw. as long as none of them hit ivory.”

you have me floatin' like a feather on the sea

while you're as heavy as the world that you hold your hands beneath

jane had always been jennie’s strength. in her highest highs and her lowest lows, her daughter was always her anchor. each milestone in her career, every award and fashion show, was often celebrated with ivory in mind. every time jennie was whisked away for a new brand ambassadorship or invited to walk the runway, she meticulously picked out souvenirs that reminded her of the little girl waiting at home.

the delicate silk scarves from paris, the glittering hairpins from milan, the brightly colored baubles from tokyo—each item was a token of love, meant to fill the void of her absence. but soon, jennie started to notice a disheartening change. the excitement in ivory’s eyes dulled with each new gift, her small hands less eager to unwrap the carefully packaged tokens.

when the idol had moved into her own house, the distance between them became painfully clear. the new home was supposed to be a fresh start, a sanctuary filled with light and dreams. yet, as she unpacked boxes in the empty living room, reality settled heavily on her chest—ivory wasn’t going to be coming with her. her daughter would remain with jieun, it was safer that way. but even she knew it wasn’t just about safety, she had used that excuse too many times to believe it.

the day she officially moved out was the day everything changed.

as she stood in her new kitchen, surrounded by gleaming appliances and fresh paint, the echo of ivory’s sharp voice felt like a distant memory. that morning, jennie had sat down and explained to her daughter what was going to happen. jane was only 8 at the time, and she was already becoming extremely aware of the absence of her mother.

it was also when the small girl began to stop calling her “mom.”

“why don’t you want to be with me?” jane had asked bluntly, small hands balled into fists as she watched her mother taping another box shut. the innocence in her eyes pierced through jennie’s heart like a dagger. it was a simple question, but the weight of it felt insurmountable.

“i do want to be with you, sweetheart,” the idol replied, forcing a smile that felt strained and hollow. “but this is what’s best for both of us right now. you’ll be safe with grandma, and i’ll be here working hard so i can give you all the nice things you deserve.”

“but i don’t want things,” the small brunette insisted, her voice rising with frustration. “i want you.”

the sharpness of the truth stung like cold water, and in that moment, jennie felt the walls she had built around herself begin to crack. she wanted to scream that she wished she could be with her every moment, but the words died on her lips. instead, she knelt down to her daughter’s level, trying to steady her trembling hands as she brushed a few loose strands of hair away from her forehead.

“i know it’s hard, but i promise, we’ll make this work. i’ll visit you all the time, and we can have fun together. we can make new memories.” the rehearsed phrases felt empty in the air between them, but she hoped they would comfort the little girl.

but even jennie knew her daughter had heard those empty promises too many times.

ivory’s eyes, devoid of any real emotion, searched her mother’s face for reassurance, but instead, they found uncertainty. the moment hung heavy, and as ivory blinked back her tears, jennie realized just how fragile their bond had become.

“i don’t believe you,” ivory finally whispered, her voice small but fierce. but as jennie watched her turn away, something deep within her cracked open, and the reality of her choices loomed larger than ever.

and she finally realized that her daughter was slowly slipping away from her.

once i had wondered what was holdin' up the ground

but i can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down

each of the pinks had taken turns coming over, but tonight, it was just rosé sitting across from jennie. the glow of the candles flickered softly on the coffee table, casting dancing shadows against the walls of the stylish parisian apartment. the faint scent of vanilla wafted through the air, mingling with the sounds of the bustling city outside, a stark reminder of the world that felt both close and distant.

“what’s she like?” rosie asked gently, her tone laced with genuine curiosity as she observed jennie’s hunched figure on the plush couch, wrapped in an oversized hoodie that swallowed her whole. it was a cozy look, a comforting barrier against the chill of the night.

jennie’s gaze drifted to the candles, the flames reflecting the turmoil in her heart. there were so many words to describe her, and yet none of them were fitting enough. ivory was and always would be indescribable. “she’s everything.” the older girl whispered, trying to piece together her words. “she’s like poetry i’ll never fully understand. sometimes she’s the softest verse, the kind that makes you feel warm without realizing it, and other times she’s like the sharpest line, the one that cuts right through you.”

ivory had always been a melody jennie couldn’t stop humming. even when the world was too loud, when the pressures of fame felt like they were closing in, it was her daughter who reminded her what really mattered. how ironic was it? that the person who was her entire world was also the one holding it up. jennie had always known that getting to the top came at the expense of being there for ivory. she had built her empire on sacrifices, and the largest one was her absence from the moments that should have mattered most. each red carpet, each endorsement, each sold-out arena—they were the milestones of her career, but they were also the milestones of ivory’s quiet solitude.

it was upon her daughter’s small, unsteady shoulders that jennie’s world sat. the weight of it all pressed down on the girl, and jennie had given her the world and left ivory alone to hold it up.

leave it now, i am sky-bound

if you need to, darling, lean your weight to me

jennie didn’t know how many times she had called her daughter over the past weeks. ivory was eighteen now, legally an adult, but she would always be jennie’s little girl, no matter how much time passed. and that made it worse—because jennie knew her daughter was still too young to bear the weight of everything being thrown at her.

every unanswered call felt like another crack in the fragile bond between them. she had seen her daughter grow into this fiercely independent young woman, strong and capable, but jennie couldn’t shake the sense that she was crumbling beneath the pressure. the media, relentless as always, had turned their full attention to ivory. speculation, rumors, accusations—all aimed at her daughter, dissecting her life in the cruelest of ways.

jennie had faced that kind of scrutiny before; it came with the territory of being a global icon. but this was different. this was ivory, and jennie had no control over it. no way to protect her. all she could do was wait, hoping—praying—that her daughter would reach out.

the silence was suffocating. she had sent dozens of messages, her fingers flying across the screen in moments of desperation. ivory didn’t respond. not to her, not to jieun. her daughter was mia—not physically, they knew she was safe somewhere—but emotionally, she was unreachable. the longer the silence stretched on, the more jennie’s worry turned to fear.

what was she thinking? how was she handling the constant barrage of headlines, the ruthless commentary from strangers who had no idea what her life was really like? was she struggling alone, feeling abandoned? the thought of her daughter enduring all of this on her own made jennie feel physically sick. she had built her career on being strong, untouchable, but nothing could prepare her for the helplessness she felt now.

late at night, the older woman would find herself staring at her phone, willing it to light up with a message from ivory. she couldn’t sleep, her mind running through all the worst-case scenarios. what if ivory didn’t want to speak to her anymore? what if this silence was her way of pushing jennie out for good? it was a thought that haunted her, even though she didn’t want to believe it.

jennie had always been the one in control—the one with the answers, the one who made decisions. but now, she was at the mercy of her daughter’s silence. all she could do was wait, and it was tearing her apart.

we'll float away, but if we fall

i only pray, don't fall away from me

“have you talked to her?” the idol whispered aimlessly, leaning against the sofa cushion with her head propped on her elbow. jieun glanced over her shoulder, staring at her daughter. the older woman’s gaze softened as she took in jennie’s tired form, slouched on the sofa, her face half-hidden in the dim light. jennie looked like a shadow of herself—hollow-eyed, her usual resilience cracked and exposed, like glass splintered under the weight of her worry. she wasn’t the jennie kim that everyone knew—the one who faced cameras with a certain glint in her eye, who made the world bend to her will.

no, this was someone far different—this was a mother, unraveling at the seams of her sanity.

jieun sighed softly, crossing the room with measured steps, each footfall silent against the plush carpet. she’d watched jennie navigate the peaks and valleys of fame, but never had she seen her like this. this wasn’t the guarded idol, the woman who could withstand scrutiny and judgment with a steely front. jennie was exposed, raw, with her vulnerability wrapped around her like a second skin.

“she’s safe,” jieun said gently, kneeling down beside the sofa, her voice as calm as she could manage. “you know she’s safe.”

jennie’s lips tightened as she looked away, her eyes lingering on her phone as if expecting it to vibrate at any second. she lost count of how many times she had kept checking her phone throughout the days. it was not completely out of her daughter’s character to be radio silent, but this type of silence felt far more dangerous. it was the kind of quiet that echoed loudly in her maternal mind, amplifying every worry and fear she tried to suppress.

“but she’s alone,” she murmured, voice thin and cracked. “again.” her biggest regret as a mother was being absent for so long in her daughter’s life. it was a regret that gnawed at her like a relentless hunger, an ache that twisted and turned, reminding her of every moment lost.

the idol knew her mother would only understand somewhat, given she did help raise the girl in her absence. but jennie was her mother. ivory was hers. what if this silence meant something more? what if it signified that jane was falling away from her, slipping through her fingers like sand?

the rain pounded against the window, a steady rhythm that mirrored jennie’s racing heartbeat. outside, the world was drenched, streets shimmering with reflections of streetlights and the distant glow of the city. it was beautiful but also haunting, reminding her of every moment she had taken for granted—every hug, every laugh, every late-night conversation that now felt like a lifetime ago.

jennie’s voice was barely a whisper, more to herself than to her mother.

“i just wish she would come home.”

i do not have wings, love, i never will

soarin' over a world you are carryin'

jennie remembered the last time her daughter called her “mom.”

she was in la for a quick trip with her members, the sun dipping low in the sky and painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink. laughter echoed around her as they wandered through the bustling streets of venice beach, the salty air mingling with the scent of fried food from nearby stands. she and her members were meant to be celebrating, living in the moment, but all jennie could think about was how far she was from her daughter.

as they strolled along the boardwalk, her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her from the moment. she pulled it out, her heart racing at the sight of ivory’s name flashing on the screen. but just as quickly, the excitement turned to dread; she hesitated, caught between the urge to answer and the noise of her friends. the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—it all felt so vibrant, so alive, and yet, it felt hollow without her daughter accompanying it.

finally, she silenced the phone, promising herself she would call her back in a minute. yet, in that minute, the moment turned into hours. the sun sank beneath the horizon, and by the time jennie returned to her hotel room, the buzzing of her phone had stopped. she pulled it out again, her heart heavy, and saw a voicemail notification blinking at her. she didn’t need to listen to know what it was—a stab of guilt pierced her heart.

after she settled onto the plush hotel bed, she pressed play, her stomach twisting as ivory’s familiar voice filled the room.

“hi,” ivory’s tone was soft, almost shy, like she was uncertain of how to navigate this unspoken chasm that had grown between them. “i don’t really know why i’m calling.” jennie felt a lump in her throat as she listened. this wasn’t the vibrant teenager she usually heard, full of life and excitement; this was a girl grappling with the shadows of her mother’s absence. there was a pause, the silence on the line heavy and stretching on as if ivory was wrestling with words that refused to come.

ivory spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she feared saying it too loudly might shatter whatever fragile hope she held.

“i miss you,” she murmured. “i mean, i know you’re busy. and i know it’s important… but i just” her words trailed off, dissolving into silence once more. there was a rawness in her voice, a longing that felt like it had been buried for too long, like it had clawed its way up from deep inside her, desperate to be heard. “i did something today. um…”

another beat of silence passed by before the younger girl let out a muffled chuckle, and the unmistakable sound of a sniffle.

“i don’t know what i’m saying.” jane added, her vulnerability in her voice hitting jennie like a punch to the gut. “i’m sorry for bothering you. have fun, mom.” the voicemail ended with a soft click, leaving jennie sitting in stunned silence, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on her.

later on, she would find out from jieun that was the day her daughter had gotten into hybe. and once again, jennie was halfway across the world for it.

jennie remembered the way she went to the bathroom and sobbed on the edge of the tub, fighting the urge to throw up. everything she had worked for, everything she’d sacrificed—it all felt so hollow in that moment, sitting on the cold tile floor of some high rise hotel in the city of angels.

what kind of mother was she?

the thought echoed in her mind, relentless and unyielding. jennie gripped the edge of the tub as if it could anchor her, her fingers shades of her daughter’s name with the effort to keep herself steady. she had spent years building an image, carving a path to success and fame, but now, all of it felt like dust slipping through her fingers. she was idolized by millions, praised for her talent, but in the one role that mattered most, she felt like a stranger.

her daughter had achieved something extraordinary, something she would have been so proud of—and jennie hadn’t even been there to pick up the phone, let alone celebrate. she could only imagine ivory standing alone, phone pressed to her ear, hoping to hear her mother’s voice, only to be met with silence.

she’d missed it. she’d missed everything.

jennie’s vision blurred with fresh tears, and she buried her face in her hands, biting back a sob. she could picture every missed moment, every time she’d told ivory she’d make it up to her, every night she’d kissed her through a screen, promising it was only temporary. but her baby girl had grown up in the gaps jennie had left, filling in the spaces with memories jennie would never share.

if these heights should bring my fall

let me be your own

icarian carrion

part of jennie always knew she wasn’t invincible. she could conquer stages, face the world’s scrutiny, but when it came to protecting jane, she felt utterly powerless. it was a thought that twisted in her gut, reminding her that no matter how much she wanted to shield her daughter from the storm, she was just one woman against an unforgiving world. still, the fierce love she held for ivory ignited a fire within her.

she would die trying to keep her daughter safe, even if it meant battling the very system that had once elevated her to the highest heights.

the idol leaned back in the plush leather seat of the car, her eyes vacant as she stared out at the blurred lights of the city. the soft hum of the engine was drowned out by the relentless patter of the rain, but it was a comfort compared to the storm brewing in her heart. just as she closed her eyes to escape her thoughts, her phone buzzed insistently in her lap.

she glanced down, the dim light illuminating the screen, and her breath hitched in her throat. the headlines pierced through the fog of her despair.

"IVORY DENIES ANY RELATION TO RUMORED MOTHER, JENNIE."

“LE SSEREAFIM MEMBER IVORY DENIES FAMILY TIES WITH BLACKPINK’S JENNIE.”

“JENNIE KIM—NOT A MOTHER AFTER ALL?”

jennie couldn’t believe the words she was reading. she read the different headlines over and over, trying to understand what was happening right now. her heart sank even further as she read the quote beneath one of them:

“in a recent statement, ivory kim has publicly denied any familial ties to the renowned idol jennie, stating, ‘i am my own person and have nothing to do with her public image or lifestyle.’”

a bitter chill coursed through her veins as the weight of those words settled in. the world was watching, and her daughter was choosing to distance herself from her mother. it felt like an emotional dagger, the kind that twisted and turned, severing the bonds they had fought so hard to forge.

if the wind turns, if i hit a squall

allow the ground to find its brutal way to me

“why would you say that?” she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling. the denial felt like a rejection of everything they had built together, a painful erasure of their connection. she quickly checked her recent call history, tapping on her daughter’s name once again for the nth time. the idol fought the urge to scream when she heard the dial tone go immediately to voicemail. just then, the driver turned onto a familiar street, the sleek glass building of her office looming ahead. the car slowed, and jennie blinked back the tears that threatened to spill, her heart racing with a mix of anxiety and determination. the sleek façade of her workplace, usually a source of pride, now felt like a battleground, a place where she would have to face the raging storm outside.

as the car came to a stop, she could hear the distant shouts and the clicking of cameras, the cacophony of the paparazzi waiting to pounce on her the moment she stepped outside. she felt sick. she wanted to tell the driver to turn around and drive straight to the hybe building. but she couldn’t.

with a heavy sigh, she adjusted her sunglasses, the dark designer lenses serving as a shield against the world. she took a moment to gather her thoughts, feeling the weight of her daughter’s words pressing down on her chest. she quickly wiped the corners of her eyes with the ends of her sleeves before steeling herself for the hell awaiting her.

taking a deep breath, she opened the car door and stepped out into the pouring rain. the cold droplets hit her like a thousand tiny needles, but she welcomed the sensation, using it to mask the tears threatening to escape. she could feel the cameras flashing, the questions being shouted, but all she could think about was ivory.

“jennie! what do you have to say about ivory’s statement?” one reporter shouted, shoving a microphone in her direction.

"did you pay her to say that?” another voice rang out, sharper than the rest, slicing through the crowd's cacophony and echoing in jennie's mind like a jagged wound being reopened. "where is your official statement?" someone else demanded, and the barrage of voices grew relentless, questions stabbing through the heavy rain, flashes sparking like bursts of lightning even through her tinted lenses.

the idol’s fingers curled into fists as she fought back the impulse to scream, to plead with them to understand that this was more than just a story to her. her skin felt raw, scraped by the flashing cameras and the biting cold, as if each shout and accusation stripped another layer from her, laying bare the ache she tried so hard to hide. but she couldn’t break down here—not in front of the world, not with ivory's fragile truth hanging between them, vulnerable to this voracious hunger for scandal.

she swallowed hard, pushing the tears down, forcing herself to lift her chin. each step she took toward the building was heavy, as though she were dragging the weight of her guilt and grief alongside her. it felt like walking through a storm without shelter, the rain mingling with her tears, each ounce of water a reminder of the distance that had grown between her and her daughter—a distance she’d allowed to widen.

ivory’s innocence, her future, was on the line, and jennie would do whatever it took to protect her, even if it meant facing this battle alone. she could bear the cruelty, the invasion, the unyielding scrutiny if it meant her daughter didn’t have to. this was her responsibility. her burden. and if it came to it, jennie would willingly take every accusation, every whispered insult, if it meant jane could live without this shadow hanging over her.

she had no delusions about the battle ahead, but she would face it—she would endure every cost, every scar, if it meant shielding ivory from this storm. even if it destroyed her, jennie would be her daughter’s armor, her shield.

even if it meant her daughter denied her as a mother, the same way jennie had done for years, she would still keep trying. she would always be a mother, no matter what.

and if that meant she had to fight until there was nothing left of her, then so be it. she’d die trying.

if i should fall, on that day

i only pray, don't fall away from me

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TAGLIST ⸺ ✶ @silantryoo @imahallucination11 @jisooftme @yerimbrit @linnnsworld @edeivveiss @urmom2314 @aespasoooool @mygfiswonyoung @yeetaberry127 @@sixflame438 @yourmyst4r @shegoswhoree @saysirhc @hwm1hyun @literallybipanic @yejiscene @gayforalll @yvsvrn @bunnywonyo @karifrogs @thefckghost @yoontoonwhs @pandafuriosa60 @somedaydream @hotluvlet @pagedpick7 @lizseos @cy8erpunkz @keiji-jin @lizseos @xszn @awkwardtoafault @hellokiraa @chicopichu @chocolatestrawberrykryptonite @lesbian4themis @literallybipanic @tjdc25 @st4r4ngel @jihyos-hoe @jxmis @phamianaz

CLOSED.

#jennie kim #blackpink #lesserafim #angst #kpop angst #original series #jisoo kim #roseanne park #lalisa manoban #kim chaewon #ivory #perfectsunlight

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

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Price to Pay

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power dynamics, violence, blood, death, grief and trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: a robbery changes your entire life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 Siri's Birthday Bone-nanza! Happy Birthday. Enjoy. I've cooked you up some Mob AU+Andy Barber.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The flashing lights fade away with the squall of the siren. The smell of iron tinges the air and stains your every breath. You shudder as you stare through the tight squares between the bars across the windows.

That grating did little to deter the robber. No, he made you do it. You had no choice.

You look down at your hands. Will the shaking ever stop? There’s blood crusted around your nails despite the frantic scrubbing in the bathroom. Once the officers took their evidence, you couldn’t stop trying to wash away the taint.

The floor shows the crimson imprint of where the men fell. Where you went to hold him in the throes of death. The fate you fired into his chest. It was you or him. That’s what you told yourself. It’s what the police said too as they wrote out the report. Come down tomorrow and sign your statement, ma’am.

Stan couldn’t be bothered to come down to the corner shop. He owns the place but is doesn’t mean he gives a shit. The officers waited for him to show but resigned themselves to following up later.

He had a gun. You couldn’t do anything else but open the drawer and scoop out the bills. You weren’t going to do anything but hand over the money but then he fumbled and you did too. The scramble for the pistol under the counter slowed time. The pull of the trigger put it into overdrive.

You can feel the recoil in your forearm. The rest of you is just as stiff. You can’t untie the tension left by the night’s deadly end. You killed that man. He's rolled him out under a sheet.

He bled out in your arms, even as you desperately tried to stem the flow with the dirty rag. Why did you shoot him? Over fifty bucks worth of change?

Adrenaline. That’s what the cops told you. Stupidity is what you believe. This job isn’t worth all that.

And you still have to finish your shift. You look away from the faded stain on the floor. He was so young. He just made a stupid decision and you took everything from him. He’s dead. You killed him.

🚨

You stand outside the convenience store. Strange how it seems just the same as it was. The dingy moniker flaps at one corner as a tear rents the fabric.

Customers come and go as you stand on the curb. You’ve been standing there for an hour now, trying to make yourself go inside. You have to work. If you want to stay in the hell-hole you call a home, you need the stingy paycheck.

You check the time. You’re not late yet. You only came early because you couldn’t stand to be alone in your apartment. Now that you’re here, you just want to go back.

A bang jars you and you cry out, spinning to search for the source. A rusty old Chrysler chuffs out black smoke and rumbles loudly. Just a backfire. You knot your shaking hands together and search the block.

“Heard something about a robbery,” a voice draws your attention towards another car. The model is too nice for a neighbourhood like this. A man leans against it, his hands in his pockets. “Young kid. They took him down to the morgue.”

You squint at the man in confusion. His suit is finely tailored and his beard trimmed to a tee. He stands out among the sagging jeans and worn leather. You shake your head.

“I heard...” you croak.

“Sad. Stupid kid, huh? Stupid decision. All for a couple bucks.” He tuts and shakes his head.

“Yeah, um, tragic. I...” you look over your shoulder. “I gotta work.”

You turn away and march across the pavement. Something about the man’s cool demeanour sets you on edge. Or maybe it’s the reminder of the night before. Not that you could forget.

You enter with the chirp of the bell and greet Mauricio as he plays solitaire on the counter top. Your sneakers squeak to a halt before you can step on the cracked tile with the red splotches. You stare down at the festering memory.

“Tough night,” Mauricio says. “I never shot one, ya know? Always shoot past ‘em. Give ‘em a scare.”

You tuck your chin down and step over the tile. Mauricio lets you in through the door and you sidle behind the counter. You put your purse in the cupboard by the cigarettes and sniff. You wring your hands and lean on the shelf as you wait for your shift to start.

Mauricio shuffles the cards and packs them away.

“You okay? Police were here earlier.”

“They were?” You gulp.

“Might be back. Think they just wanted some Coke,” he snickers and tosses the cards under the till. The gun is still gone, probably down in some evidence locker. “Stan is pissed about the pistol, ya know?”

“Mm, I didn’t... didn’t mean to.”

He sniffs as he pats his back pocket, making sure he has his wallet. “Sorry, senorita. It can’t be easy, wish I had some way to help but Stan isn’t gonna pay me nothin’ to stay and I got that gig down at Jethro’s.”

“I’m fine.” The lie is less than convincing.

“Told him, shouldn’t have you on nights.” He shakes his head as you move to let him past.

“It’s work.”

“Eh, it’s somethin’,” he scoffs and hands over the keys. “Whole thing was plastered in the paper and all over the internet. Should keep the bad ones away for a while. Place is hot now. No one wants to get their ass blown off over pocket change.”

“Sure.”

You clip the keys on your belt. You back up and cross our arms. You lean again as you wait for him to go. You can’t say what’s worse, being alone or talking about it.

As Mauricio goes, a customer enters. She wants a pack of menthol and some scratchers. You ring her through as she snaps her gum between her teeth. The bell chimes with her exit and stutters as another enters.

It’s the man in the nice suit. He stops at the newspaper rack and grabs an issue. He struts up to the counter and throws it down.

“Just the paper?” You ask.

He steps closer and opens the newsprint. The crinkle is deafening in the drone of the local radio station buzzing from the speaker above you. He taps the page.

“Kid was eighteen.”

You bite down and stare back at him. You don’t know what to say or do. Is he some sort of detective? His suit might suggest as much but he hasn’t flashed a badge.

“It was a BB gun. Looked pretty real, didn’t it?” He spits.

You wince and shrug. You trace your knuckles nervous as you look down at the paper. Your nose tingles, your eyes too.

He backs up and heaves out a sigh. He glances around and strides up to the stained tile. He looks down at it emphatically.

“Blood don’t come out easy. No matter how much you scrub or bleach. It’s like that Edgar Allan Poe story...” he raises his chin and closes his eyes, taking another deep. “Do you hear it? His heartbeat? Racing as the life drains out of him?”

Your lip quivers and you shake your head. You flick away tears before they can fall, “I didn’t mean to.”

His cheek twitches and he snorts. He turns to your stiffly. He comes back to the counter and you tense as he reaches under his jacket. You shudder and peek at the empty shelf beneath the till where the pistol should be. He slips out a photo and lays it down, his thumb lingering on the frame.

You gasp. It’s that boy. He’s young and smiling. He doesn’t look scary like the night before.

“You didn’t mean to kill my son? Over a bunch of piss-stained bills? You couldn’t tell the gun was a fucking toy?!”

You cower and your eyes well. You rub them with your sleeves.

“I’m sorry.”

“You fucking will be, sweetheart. Do you know who I am?”

You stare and your mouth falls open.

“His name was Jacob. Jacob Barber.” He swipes up the photo and snarls. “Any bells ringing?”

You gape at him in horror. Barber. Yes, you’ve heard of him. He’s no detective. That suit is just a disguise. His business is deadly. His business is his ego. The personal is professional and you just stepped over the line.

You brace yourself and drop your arms straight. You watch him, waiting. He looks back at you, agitation rippling above his brow.

“Nothing else to say?” He sneers.

“I deserve it.”

He arches a brow, “deserve what?”

“To die. So do it, please.”

He laughs sardonically. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s cute.” He puts his hands on the counter and leans in. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m gonna do a lot fucking worse.” His eyes flick up and down and he pushes off. “You owe me and I always get what’s mine.”

He twists on his heel and marches out. You gulp, frozen in fear, and watch after him. You don’t move until the next customer enters. Even then, you can hardly make your body listen to your fractured mind.

🚨

There is no coming back. Thing’s don’t get better. You don’t calm down. You don’t sleep. You barely eat.

All you can think about is the blood gushing from that boy’s chest. When you manage to close your eyes, you feel the hot stream flowing through your fingers. You smell it in the air. Beneath it all, you hear his father’s threat.

‘You owe me...’

How can you repay that sort of debt? You killed his child. You didn’t have to. You could have handed over the money and told Stan the kid had a gun pointed right at you. Why did you do it? That question is as torturous as the memory.

A week goes by. Ragged nights followed by desolate days. You stand behind that counter and stand at the reddened tile, or sit at home and rot. You wait for him to come back. Maybe then he’ll just end it.

Another week of purgatory and your dissociation gives way to paranoia. Every time the shop door opens, you expect to see him. Barber and his tailored-jacket, a gun in his hand, ready to claim what’s owed. Every stranger on the street is just him in disguise, every shadow in your apartment is him haunting you.

When he does appear, a month to the day, you’re almost relieved. There he is at your apartment door, stood as he was the first time you saw him. Arms crossed, leaning, looming. You stop and stare at him.

He looks you in the eye and nods at the door. You unlock it and let him in. He isn’t in a suit this time. He’s dressed down, a hoodie and jeans. He doesn’t seem the type for denim. He struts inside and you close the door behind him.

The air is static as he examines the bachelor suite. Your whole life in a single room. He is unimpressed as he stops by the table. Stan lets you take the old papers. You’ve brought home every single issue with a mention of the boy; Jacob. You don’t know why.

His blue eyes are darkened in the gloom of your apartment. His beard is thick across his cheeks and defines his square jaw. His features are stony in determination.

He pushes them to the floor and huffs. He stalks around the space as you stand by the door. You imagine him spinning to you, pulling a gun from under his sweater and firing. You could smile at the thought of it ending.

He stops at the foot of your bed. The lumpy mattress sits on a metal frame. Beige sheets are pulled to the corners, a plaid comforter strewn carelessly below a single pillow. A used double you got from the thrift shop with your first pay. It smells like cigarettes.

You stare at his broad shoulders as he runs his hand up his front. His zipper slices through the silence as he pulls it down. He shrugs off the hoodie and spins on his heel. He slings it over the only chair, right beside the table. He looks up at you, eyes blazing.

“Strip.”

His demand shakes you. It’s the first you’ve felt anything but horrible grief and self-pity. You’re afraid. You weren’t before. Just anxious.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” he snarls as he tugs at his long-sleeved tee.

You untie your sneakers and leave them by the door. You cross the room, staying far from him as you take in every inch. The apartment feels even smaller now.

You unzip your jacket and fold it over the side of the plastic hamper in the corner. You pull of your socks and drop them into the depth of unwashed clothes. You undo your fly, your hands clumsy and shaking. The rustle behind you adds to the speckle of ember under your skin.

You push your jeans down and step out of them. You throw them into the basket and peek over your shoulder. He stands at the foot of the bed once more. His hands are on his hips as he glares at the mattress. He wears only a pair of dark briefs.

His intent isn’t hard to fathom. It’s not about the act itself, it’s the power, the humiliation. You ruined his life; he’ll do the same.

“Hurry the fuck up,” he barks.

You pull your shirt off and fumble with the back of your bra. You can barely get a grip as you quake. You push down your underwear and hang your head. You turn and march forward. He shoves down the elastic of his briefs at your approach.

He’s a big man. Tall, muscular, stronger than you, without a doubt. Even if he wasn’t, he has all the power to keep you in line.

“I don’t want to see your fucking face. Get on your stomach.” He commands as he peels off his last layer.

You put your hands on the mattress and crawl over it. You cry out as he strikes you across your ass and sends you flat. You brace yourself on your elbows and whimper. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed.

He hauls your legs over the edge so your feet are on the floor. He growls and scratches up the back of your thigh. You whine and he swats the back of your head.

“Quiet,” he warns.

He leans over you and plants his hands on either side of you. You stare up at the pillow, focusing on it as you desperately search for the numbness of those last weeks. It’s all gone now. You feel everything. The sting of flesh, the futility, the horror.

He lifts a hand, the bed shifting with him, and traces along your spine. He dips along your ass and kicks your legs wider. He feels between your thighs and jams his fingers against your folds. He’s impatient and cruel. He rams two fingers into you and you squeak, spine arching as you grasp the linen comforter.

He hushes you as he pushes deep. His knuckles press against you and he draws back. He jerks his hand gruffly, fucking your dry cunt raw. You hold your breath as he plumes out around you. Each intrusion is dull and achy.

He tears free of your cunt and angles over you. He guides his tip along the swell of your ass and presses to your entrance. There is no time to be ready for him.

You cry out and throw your head up. It’s like a red-hot iron inside of you, burning from inside out. He snarls and hooks his arm around you, smothering your mouth in his hand. You smell yourself on his fingers as the press against your nose.

He snaps his hips and buries himself in you. You kick the floor and slap the mattress. Your muscles tighten and your bones thrum. He pushes his nose into your hair and ruts again. You squeal into his palm as your eyes bead with tears.

He’s methodical. He pumps into you. Long, slow strokes so you feel every inch. He’s taunting you. He’s punishing you. His hot breath wraps around your scalp as he puffs.

He bends his other arm, elbow digging into the limp mattress, and stretches his fingers around your throat. He collapses onto you, crushing you beneath him as he squeezes your neck and jaw. He has you trapped in his grip.

His pace quickens with his breath. He grunts and growls against your temple as the bed frame whines with his rhythm. His flesh slaps between the squeaky tempo and your pathetic mewling stays cupped behind his rough hand.

He pounds you into the mattress, each dip of his hips heavier than the last. Every ounce of emotion; anger, grief, resent, hatred, is hammered into your helpless body.

He puts his teeth around the brim of your ear and pinches. He growls and you feel the rumble roll through him. His thrusts turn snappy, punctuated by the bite of your flesh. Harder, harder, harder. He spasms but doesn’t let up.

He untangles his arms from under you and pins your shoulders. He fucks his cum into you as he lifts himself up. His weight threatens to pop your bones out of joint. He pushes his thighs against yours, splaying you as far as he can.

His furious onslaught doesn’t let up until your thighs and cunt are painted in him. Until your breathless and babbling, head lolling, defeated as he leaves you smeared across the blankets. He burrows in as deep as he can before he pulls out.

He pushes off the bed, jarring the world around you, and his shadow hangs over you. He inhales and lets it out slowly.

“My son. My only child,” he grits out. He bends and feels along your cunt, spreading the slimy mess leaking from your cunt. “You owe me and I will get exactly what you took from me.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #one shot #dark!fic #defending jacob #happy birthday siri 2024

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tinytalkingtina · 2 months ago

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Writing a Happier Ending

Written for the November @steddiemicrofic prompt, using the word "guard" and 532 words

Rating G | Ao3 link

Tags: Fairy tale, cursed Prince Steve, falling in love, first kisses, "as you wish" continuing to be peak romance

Thank you to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the lovely divider!

Once upon a time, a king and queen ruled over a kingdom bordered by a great lake. Though skilled in matters of diplomacy, and outwardly kind to those of their own station, the couple had never been blessed with a child.

The lack of an heir was a never-ending source of embarrassment for the king and queen. Their resentment towards each other grew and grew, until one day the pair sought out an audience with the powerful Fairy of the Forest.

When they begged her for a miracle, the fairy asked them why they wanted to have a child:

“You have a prosperous kingdom, why would you ask for more?”

The King and Queen replied that they wished to have an heir, so that their legacy might continue, and so someone might speak of their virtues long after they were gone.

The fairy thought for a moment.

“Very well,” she said. “I can grant you what you desire. But it comes at a price. Your child shall never truly be loved by another, unless they can see and accept him as he is.”

The monarchs readily agreed.

Prince Stephen was born soon after, a squalling star-marked beauty.

As the years passed and the prince grew, his parents held onto lofty expectations for their son. But no matter how hard he tried, the prince could never quite meet them. Eventually, the king and queen turned their attentions elsewhere.

One day, the prince made a rare appearance in town. Eddie tried not to gawk, as hard as it was.

Jeff saw him staring and rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows Prince Stephen is nothing but a pleasure seeker who’s bedded half the court. Better to stay clear of him.”

Surrounded by fawning courtiers, at first glance Stephen seemed just as vapid as Jeff proclaimed him to be. But the longer Eddie looked, the more he saw how people flocked to him only with selfish demands, and how guarded Stephen kept himself.

It was curiosity that drove Eddie to steal into the palace gardens that night, unable to rest until he found out what lay beneath the mask. Deep within the hedge maze, he found Stephen all alone, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at a book by candlelight.

Eddie's foot hit a stick on the path.

At the noise, Stephen drew his sword, but sighed when he found Eddie, frozen in fear.

“Hello. I suppose you also want something from me like all the others.”

Eddie stared at the tired and sad face before him.

“I don't want anything from you, your majesty.” Eddie replied. “But do you wish for something?”

Stephen shrugged. “Perhaps you can help me read this book. The letters dance around when I try.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Eddie said with a smile.

He returned the next evening, and many times after that.

Every night, the prince would ask Eddie what he wanted from him. And each night, Eddie would ask instead what Stephen desired for. Seasons passed, until one day he asked for something new:

“I wish for a kiss from someone who loves me.” Given permission, Eddie drew Stephen close.

“As you wish, my heart.”

And then the two of them ran away to start new lives elsewhere. Stephen learned how to do his own laundry and they lived happily ever after, the end.

Misc. notes: -Eddie ran an apothecary in town

-It was implied, but the idea with Steve seeking meaningless sex from those around him was it at least let him pretend someone cared for him, poor thing

#steddie #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficnovember #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #tinawrites #getting the fairy tale-esque style down was fun

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prismatica-the-strange · 1 year ago

Note

Saudade and Serendipity for the f/o ask game!

Saudade (n.) the feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia. Have you had any of your f/os for a long time? How long have they been your f/o? Which one have you had the longest?

Probably Jim from Treasure Planet. That movie and subsequently its characters have been there for me through everything and I would be remiss if I didn't consider Jim as one of my closest friends since I was the ripe age of baby.

Serendipity (n.) Finding something good without looking for it. Which of your f/os did you fall for without meaning to? Were any of them a surprise to you?

Surprisingly Eddie. I'd only gone in on st4 for Steve and came out of it cradling this new guy.

Aleksander too. I'd watched season one of shadow and bone but it wasn't until I was watching season 2 with Egg that I started falling for my Darkling.

And Bumblebee. Something about my mood when I went to watch that movie a few months back turned that watch into a catalyst for shipping with him.

#prisma self ships #american honey 🐝💛#I'll forgive your sins #forged in hellfire #no matter the squalls #ask game #prisma answers

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strawberrymolks-blog · 8 months ago

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Boy I say I said boy listen here! Ya’ got the makings of greatness in ya’ boy! But ya’ gotta take the helm and chart your own course, yessiree! Stick to it, no matter the squalls! And when the time comes you’ll get the chance to really test the cut of your sails and show em’ whatcha made of, boy! And I hope I say I HOPE I’m there, catchin’ some of the light off of ya that day!

Based on some stupid twitter trend

#disney treasure planet #treasure planet #jim hawkins #treasure planet jim hawkins #james pleiades hawkins #foghorn leghorn #twitter

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helenanell · 1 month ago

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Shattering Still || Joel Miller

'I had been so ready to die, but Joel Miller stopped me.'

Joel Miller x OFC - (Although can be reader as there's no name or physical description, just an age: 40)

WC: 11K

Warnings: ANGST! Smut MDNI. Interrupted suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, grief, loss of a child. (I'm so serious this is SAD) Joel is angry but well-meaning. Not quite enemies to lovers, but they have no idea what to make of each other.

AN: I never thought I'd write for Joel, but I've been obsessed with and inspired by @almostfoxglove - specifically 'Lock the Gate' which is amazing!

Read on AO3

:✮:·

Blood bloomed upon the snow.

One after the other, crimson drops fell to the ground. And fell and fell. The gash on my forehead had scabbed over the day before, but the tumble I'd taken down that slope an hour or so ago had ripped it right off. I could have stopped, wiped the blood from the side of my face and fashioned some kind of bandage. But there’d be no point.

My path stopped here.

The small clearing in the woods I’d stumbled into was beautiful in its barrenness. As good a place as any, I supposed.

My bruised and battered body screamed when I pressed my back against the nearest tree and dropped inelegantly to the earth. The snow cushioned the impact, but it began to seep into my jeans; dozens of frost-tipped pins pricking at my skin.

I sat there for a moment, transfixed by the indifferent incandescence of winter: so lethal yet so enrapturing. The snow that covered everything from the ground to the tree branches was a smothering weight and yet it glinted in the sun like diamond dust.

Blood from my head wound rolled down and got caught in my eyelashes. I blinked to get rid of it, but it only served to bathe that eye with a tinge of crimson. With an irritated huff I pulled off my glove and used it to wipe at my face. It was messy and sure to be smearing it about my skin, but in minutes that wouldn’t matter. I pulled the glove away and looked at it: stained red, some of it transferred onto my palm, but my eyes snagged on the dried, darkened blood beneath my fingernails that wasn’t mine.

It’s easy to tell yourself that killing in the interest of self-preservation is permissible. Or, at least, that it should not burden you: the snuffing out of a life. I’d always liked the idea of that: snuffing out. To extinguish a flame. It felt fitting when applied to people, seeing as we're all just stardust; detritus from a dead thing that burned in the sky.

We wink out just like stars. What human beings had used to navigate upon land and sea for millenia, were just dead things. We found our way thanks to bodies burning in the darkness.

I’d left behind enough bodies to form whole new constellations. There wasn’t one of them that I regretted.

I’d had someone to protect. Someone worth saving. And I had. Over and over again I had saved that little boy. But none of that had accumulated into some lasting cosmic protection, or formed armour over his skin. None of it had stopped him from dying.

I’d saved him, until I hadn’t. Until I’d watched him die. Let him die.

He’d always been small for his age, but his hands had felt smaller still in my own bloodstained ones, his unblemished skin swallowed up by the crimson smeared on me.

My nephew had been born into grief. He’d been placed, red-faced and squalling, into my arms instead of my sister’s. In the moment, I hadn’t been able to look at him, a led-weight in my arms, screaming for breath as my sister drifted away.

Too much blood.

I’d known it, but I'd still stood there, my sister’s baby in my arms as I screamed at someone- everyone to save her. I’d screamed at the fucking world.

Someone must have taken him from my arms then. I don’t remember it happening, only that my memories then skip like a scratched record to me kneeling at my sister’s side and squeezing her hand. She’d been so exhausted that her head hadn't so much as turned to me, rather it had lolled to the side. Her gaze had been distant and untethered as though she couldn’t see exactly where I was, only knew I was there because of her hand in mine.

“You have to protect him.” She’d begged, her voice hoarse, tears trailing down her face. “He’s yours- your family. Promise me.”

I’m no longer sure if I said it back before her eyes drifted closed. I used to be ardent in the belief that I had, but over the years I started to think maybe her eyes had already been shut when I’d finally said it. Maybe I’d still been kneeling by her side, her hand cooling on my own and the sun set behind me when I let out a sob and said: ‘I promise.’

I had named him. Sophie had told me that she wouldn't feel right to give him one without having met him first. She'd wanted it to suit him. So, I'd looked at him and done my best. Fred, after our grandfather, because I hoped he’d be just as kind as him. I hoped that I was capable of raising him to be kind.

I’d raised him to die.

Perhaps it was my punishment to outlive them. To live long enough that I started to forget. Already my sister’s face had started to blur, the tides of time wearing down her features. Like waves against a rock face.

Everything is always crumbling to pieces. Life is a perpetually disintegrating thing.

It was time for me to disintegrate, to let death wash over me like a wave over a sand castle. When it receded, the thousands of pieces of me would be dragged back into the deep, with no evidence left on the shore that I had existed at all.

I could have just laid down in the snow and shut my eyes, let the cold subsume me, purify me in a wash of white. Drift off in a snow drift. It even sounded nice.

Just like falling asleep. Isn’t that how hypothermia was meant to end. Peacefully?

As tempting as it was, I knew that I couldn't do that. I didn’t deserve an end so… quiet . Not when all those I'd loved had died in such pain and so afraid. The people I had known who were the least deserving of suffering.

The least I could do for them was pull the trigger on myself.

With my body now quaking with the cold, assailed by the dampness soaked into my clothes, I pulled the gun out of the waistband of my jeans. I let out a breath, watched it appear and then disappear in the air before me. Like human lives: blink and you’ll miss them.

I pressed the barrel to my temple, the metal so cold it was a biting kiss.

I shut my eyes. My finger fell upon the trigger.

Snap! A branch broke close by.

It’s funny how even when humans are ready to die, our bodies can still react to imminent danger. Fight. Flight. Freeze. I’d always favoured the first.

My eyes flew open, the gun fell from my temple as I swung it out and pointed it at the figure that had emerged through the trees. No- figures . There were two of them.

Two men moved towards me, similar in aspect but with markedly different expressions.

The one that stepped through the trees first, dressed in a thick tan coat had his gloved hands closed around a rifle that was pointed right at me. He had dark, distrusting eyes that were narrowed into a scowl. His hair was snow-dusted and shot-through with grey.

“Put it down.” He snapped, voice forceful but calm. Texan, if I had to guess. He nodded at the gun in my hand as if I couldn’t have put two and two together.

I didn’t obey him, at least not right away. I watched him watching me and thought about letting him put a bullet between my eyes.

It could be my coward’s way out. If I kept the gun in my hand for even a few seconds more, he would fire his. I could see the promise of it in his eyes. He could finish the job for me. But Sophie and Fred deserved more. I couldn’t be a coward for their sake. I had to be the one to end myself, not a stranger.

I uncurled my rapidly freezing fingers and dropped the gun. The impact sent up a small dusting of snow.

The man grunted disapprovingly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Throw it out of reach.”

“I’d rather not.” My voice was hoarse from dehydration and my throat was still shredded from all of the screaming I'd done when Fred…

I was going to need the gun once the two men had left and I really didn’t want to have to get up again. I wasn’t really sure I could.

The man was having none of it. His face tightened with anger.

“Wasn’t a request.” He snarled. “Now do it.”

I couldn't help the scoff that bubbled up. He had just come across me about to shoot myself, the precaution felt unnecessary. Then again, being distrusting had probably allowed him to live long enough to get the grey in his hair.

At last, the other man stepped forward. He was younger, his hair still mostly dark, but there was a kinship in their features. His deep brown eyes looked me over, not unkindly, before settling on his companion.

“Joel.” He said pointedly. I didn’t need to know him to discern what he left unsaid.

It’s not us that she’s a danger to.

Then, his eyes slid over to the object clasped in the other hand. Pressed against my chest was Fred’s teddy bear, it’s fur matted with blood. I’d been carrying it for my entire journey and ice crystals had formed upon it. The teddy was the only thing I’d brought with me besides the gun: I had no need for anything else l where I was going.

Joel’s gaze followed the other man’s and for a moment, he went utterly still. Only for a moment though, because it wasn’t long before his eyes snapped back to my own and he repeated his order:

“Throw the gun out of reach.”

With an exhausted sigh I did as I was told. The moment the thump of the gun landed, the other man moved forward and pushed down the barrel of Joel’s gun so it pointed at the ground.

“Sorry about my brother.” He said, shooting the brooding man a reproachful look before looking to me. His smile was tentative. “I’m Tommy and this is Joel.

I nodded stiffly, not in the mood for greetings. I just wanted them gone. And yet, when I spoke it wasn’t to tell them to fuck off and let me die.

“You’re from Jackson.” I said.

It wasn’t a hard leap, we couldn’t be more than an hour outside of it.

“That a question?” Joel spat.

I didn’t acknowledge the walking stormcloud and instead kept my attention on his brother. It wasn’t that I was deluded enough to think he was in any way kinder, the way he stood told me enough: just as willing to shoot me if I looked at them the wrong way.

“Yes, we are.” Tommy confirmed. His brother’s head whipped around, but he was unbothered by the glare he received.

“We were heading there.” I uttered mournfully.

We . I must have been more delirious than I realised.

Thankfully, neither of the men pressed me on my blunder. I suppose the way they had found me and the blood-stained bear in my hand made the absence at my side clear enough.

“We’re on our way back.” Tommy said. “You could come with us.”

“Tommy!” Joel closed the gap between himself and his brother, grabbing his arm and jostling him.

Honestly, I was also a little startled. It took the exchange of a couple of sentences for him to extend such an offer?

Tommy shrugged off Joel’s grip. “That’s not your decision to make big brother.”

“Tommy, look at her! With all the shit she’s covered in, she could be bit and we wouldn’t see it. You want to drag an infected into Jackson?”

“Not infected.” I sniped back, not really knowing why I bothered.

Something about his contempt stoked the dying fire within me. There was no need to be a bastard about the woman you’d just stopped from blowing her brains out.

Joel’s eyes returned to me, sharpened with a new edge. “If you’re not bit, then why were you–”

His speech stopped abruptly, his mouth clamped shut before the rest of his sentence could tumble out. I could make an educated guess at what it would have been: Why were you about to kill yourself?’

“That’s hardly the only reason for it.” I grumbled, answering his incomplete query. “Now, seeing as you made me get rid of it, I'd appreciate it if you could pass me my gun before you go.”

Whatever wary confusion had possessed Joel to even start to enquire about my motives disappeared and his scowl returned.

“Get it yourself.” He barked. His hand shot out and he grabbed his brother’s arm again, tugging him back. “Tommy, time to go.”

With that Joel turned away, already marching through the trees. I entertained the thought that if he found anything in his path, instead of going around he’d just walk straight through it. He seemed the type: stubborn to a fault. Stubborn to the point of pain.

Tommy, as if repelled from his brother like a magnet, moved in the opposite direction and right towards me. His heavy boots crunched on the snow. As he came to a stop, he slung his rifle over his shoulder.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly trying to find the right words. “Look- whatever you were about to do…I know that ‘aint any of my business.”

“Tommy!” Wherever Joel was, his brother’s body blocked my view, but I could feel the glare passing through his brother and into me like a laser beam.

Tommy ignored him and moved closer, then dropped to a knee in front of me.

“Our lives are all we’ve got a right to anymore, so yours is to do with what you will. But, that’s not a decision to be made lightly and you look like you’ve been through it. How about you come back with us, stay for the night, have a hot meal at least?”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. He had no reason to offer me this, to try and coax me to Jackson at all. At least, no good reason. No one made altruistic offers, not anymore.

Then again, I could guess that this man had taken his fair share of lives. Maybe he’d changed, or was changing and thought that stopping a stranger from dying would do a little to balance his scales.

I could understand that urge. I’d thought Fred could redeem me. Make me nurturing when I’d never had the inclination. Kids will do that to you. Make you want to be better than you had ever considered possible.

I’d tried my best. I really had. But I’d never escaped the feeling of being a poor substitute for my sister; my care and compassion so pitiful compared to what she could give. I’d never had a deep well in that regard.

I suppose I wouldn’t have known until Fred was older if he’d truly felt loved by me. Sure, he’d told me he did, but he was a little boy and I was all he had.

It had been a selfish, self-indulgent fear of mine that he’d grow up, meet other people, perhaps see other families and realise how poorly I measured up; that he’d been deprived by me. How desperately I wanted to return to those anxieties that had felt so crippling at the time. Fear meant he was alive.

Now there was just…nothing. I served no purpose. There was no point to anything at all.

But I also had no fight left to give and I had a feeling that despite what he said, Tommy wasn’t going to let me refuse him so easily. I also doubted that he’d retrieve my gun for me: passing me the weapon that I would use to end it all might feel too much like culpability for a man who seemed to have a conscience.

So, I gave in. I granted a stay of my own execution and nodded.

Tommy smiled warmly as he stood up. “Come on, we got our horses tied up nearby. You can ride with me.” He leant down and offered me a hand, easily hauling me to my feet.

Weak and exhausted, I staggered to the side, but Tommy’s hold stopped me from falling. The wind blew, drying the blood that had slowed to a trickle on the side of my face.

“Woah, easy.” He said, looping one hand through my arm to anchor me to him. “You good?”

“Fine.” My breathlessness betrayed me.

“We gotta worry about anyone coming after you? Your blood’ll be like a trail of breadcrumbs in the snow.” Tommy guided me to turn around and we walked towards the treeline. Joel was waiting there, his gun still gripped tightly as he watched his brother and I advance.

“No one’s following me.” I assured him, fighting against the images that flashed behind my eyes. Bullets fired in my mind and then ricocheted off the inside of my skull.

“You sound very sure.” Joel said flatly as Tommy led me past him, he fell into step behind us. It was like having a dog snapping at my heels.

I bristled at the hostility in his voice, it was a challenge that I usually would never have been able to resist but there was no point in fighting him.

“They’re dead.” I answered bluntly.

I’d killed every last one of them.

Their blood had mingled with Freddie’s on my hands. It had felt like a desecration but it hadn’t stopped me.

Both brother’s made no further comment. When Tommy told his brother to fetch my gun, I was surprised that he complied without verbalising any objection. Although he didn’t give it back to me, just tucked it into the back of his jeans.

We remained silent after that, right up until we reached their horses. I joined Tommy on his, his, his brother striking out in front and brooding on his own mount.

When the wall’s of Jackson came into view I failed to fight back tears. I’d been so close to getting Fred to safety.

So close.

:✮:·

Once I had the two jagged edges of the gash on my forehead pressed together between my fingers, I gritted my teeth and pushed the needle through. The skin was already livid and raw, but a fresh drop of blood beaded there thanks to the pressure I was exerting. As I made the first stitch, I caught the sympathetic wince of the woman behind me in the mirror’s reflection.

“Not good with needles?” I asked, already back to sealing myself shut. It was another pointless endeavour, like glueing a shattered teacup back together while knowing that I was only going to drop it again, but acquiescing to it had seemed to appease Tommy. He’d also assured me that his wife wouldn’t hear of it being left unattended.

That had proved true enough when Maria had arrived at Jackson’s infirmary. Tommy had sent someone to pass along word of the stray he’d brought home.

Maria had looked me over with guarded concern, assuring me that I was welcome, while making it very clear that stepping out of line would be met with swift consequences. I admired her sternness: it was so clearly rooted in the desire to preserve the remarkable place that had been built.

I wasn’t entirely convinced that I hadn’t passed out in the snow back and was just imagining all of it.

Jackson felt like a dream that only my dying mind would have the luxury of conjuring up. I’d walked through the streets with Tommy and seen…normalcy. A sort of mundanity that had become a fanciful thing in my mind.

“Not good at watching someone stitch themself up, I guess.” Maria answered. She shifted so that she was leaning back against the wall, one hand cradling her belly. She couldn't have been far off her due date.

“I’ve never had anyone to do it for me.” I admitted, piercing my skin again.

I’d had to fight them to be able to tend to myself. Maria had insisted they had someone who knew what they were doing, but I couldn’t stand the idea of it: a stranger leaning over me, breathing on me for an extended period of time. Too close. Too prolonged. Just the thought made my gut twist.

It was best that I did it myself.

“It’s hard to accept help, at first. But you’ll adjust.” Maria’s tone was soft yet knowing.

I focused intently on the movements of the needle, forcing down a scoff at her words.

“Trusting people to have good intentions is asking for trouble.”

Maria nodded. “Out there, sure. But there are good people here. Families just trying to make it through.”

My grief was as volatile and shifting as the sea and I found myself biting back a nasty retort about it being pretty damn easy for the people here to make it through, safe behind high walls with their children, while somewhere else another mother lost hers.

The people of Jackson weren’t surviving, they were living . That was a luxury. And while it was a beautiful thing, practically incomprehensible given the state of the world, it shone too brightly for me to stand. I found it blinding. I wanted to throw dirt on it, smear it with filth to cover the shine.

When you’ve lived so long by crawling through the dirt, the sight of cleanliness is disconcerting. Almost uncanny.

As I came to the last stitch, my open wound now a raised edge, puckered and tied together with thread, I let myself meet Maria’s eye through the mirror.

“Look, I do appreciate the welcome, but there’s no need to go to any trouble.”

Maria waved my words away. “We’ve got enough empty houses to go around.”

Houses.

Not a room in an abandoned building where i’d have to barricade the door, or a tent that never felt remotely safe enough to get any sleep in. Or out in the open, beneath the stars.

Wherever Fred and I had found ourselves, I had never slept. I always ended up just watching him, his little chest rising and falling beneath his sleeping bag.

Oblivious to my wandering mind, Maria continued. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we do have a process. The council–democratically elected–would want to talk to you if you decided to stay with us. You got any skills?”

“Define skills.” I said, as I tied off the thread and reached for the scissors that gleamed in the metal tray by my hand.

“Hunting. Shooting. Would be nice to have another person with a green thumb.”

put down the scissors and turned to face Maria. I leant back against the table, crossing my arms over my chest. It had long been my instinct to take a defensive stance.

“I can hunt.” I told her. “I can make traps and snares and I’m good with a gun.” I didn’t know why I was entertaining Maria’s inquiries, but acting as if I was someone intent on surviving seemed like it would lead to less resistance.

The last thing I wanted to do was solicit questions about what had happened to me. To Fred. Questions about why her husband and brother-in-law had found me alone in the woods, clutching a bloody teddy bear and readying to shoot myself. Tommy must have told her.

Before he had excused himself, husband and wife had ducked out into the hallway to talk and while Maria hadn’t treated me like a broken thing once she’d returned, there was something in her eyes that amounted to understanding.

“How good with a gun?” Maria asked, appraising me inquisitively.

“Very good.” I admitted matter-of-factly. “Our dad was a marine. Taught us to shoot long before the world went to shit.”

“Us?” Maria pressed tentatively.

Shit.

A decade after my sister died and I still thought in terms of ‘us’ and ‘we’. Ours.

“My sister.” I offered, hoping my bluntness would crush the topic of conversation before it could grow. Thankfully, it did.

We fell into a brief silence that bordered on comfort before Maria pushed off the wall.

I tensed instinctively at the movement, my hand itching to reach for the gun that Joel hadn’t returned. I’d need to ask Tommy about that.

Maria woman clearly noted my reaction, but carried on as normal.

“So…” She began with a smile. “Have I convinced you to stay? For the night, at least?”

“That’s what your silence was: you convincing me?”

“With some people, words hurt more than they hinder.” Maria said simply. “It has to be up to you. So?”

“Okay.” I said slowly. “One night.”

Maria had started moving towards the door before I'd finished my sentence. “Great! Let’s get you home. I’ll find you some clean clothes too.”

As Maria walked out, beckoning me to follow, I released a long sigh. I didn’t like the sound of that: your home. It had the distinct whiff of someone who wasn’t done trying to convince me, in silence or otherwise.

If only the Miller brother’s had arrived in the clearing just ten seconds later. I’d already be far from there, far from myself and all that I had done. And all that I had failed to do.

:✮:·

Something about the house I was given broke through my numbness to inject a dose of sadness. It was small. Just one floor. But it held vestiges of the life that had been lived so long ago.

Lines were etched into the wooden door frame that led into the kitchen, marking the growth of ‘Katie’ . She’d reached the height of my belly button before any chance of a normal future had been snatched away from her. Maybe she was alive somewhere, now an adult taller than me, but hope was just self-deception. It made reality more bearable.

Then there were the cupboards that were full of mug’s, many of them chipped. One had ‘ World’s Best Mom!’ stamped across it.

Everything was covered in dust that had gathered since the last occupants had fled, only to be kicked up by my footsteps. It felt a bit like disturbing a tomb. Except there were no bodies, just an absence. But that’s what death was: an absence in the existence of those left behind.

Maria had showed me to the house and then promptly left me to my solitude.

I attempted to settle down in the bed, curling up with the patchwork blanket I'd been given, but the softness of it was unpleasant.

I’d gone too long moving from place to place with Fred and when there had been a bed–and there was usually only one–I had let him take it and slept on the floor, or in a chair. Sometimes, I sat with my back against the door all night.

Then there had been all of the camping we had done. It had felt strange calling it that, as if it had been a recreational activity rather than a necessity, but framing it that way had made it seem more like an adventure for my nephew.

All of which was to say, I lasted a pitiful amount of time in the bed before I was gathering up the blanket and the pillow and traipsing into the living room at the front of the house and settling down on the floorboards between the couch and the coffee table.

There were bay windows that looked out onto the street, but there were no curtains or blinds to close for any semblance of privacy. No matter, it meant I could see the stars.

I laid down, bathed in a moonbeam that streamed inside, but made no attempt to shut my eyes. I just stayed there and stared up at the damp stain on the ceiling. Once clouds crossed the moon and the room darkened, the stain became a pool of blood in my eyes, spreading and spreading and spreading.

:✮:·

Tommy had returned my gun to me on the morning of my first day in Jackson. And yet, three sunrises later, I was still alive and kicking. Well, not kicking, but I was breathing.

I hadn’t had a change of heart where the wastefulness of my life was concerned, I just…hadn’t ended it yet. I was just so fucking tired. Part of me had died back in that clearing I think, even though Joel and Tommy had stopped me pulling the trigger.

There were so many more kids in Jackson than I’d thought there’d be. I don’t know why it surprised me, but seeing all the chubby cheeks and gapped tooth smiles was salt in a gaping wound.

I couldn’t help but imagine Fred and his head of blonde curls amongst the little flock. I’d called him duckling for a long time, because when ruffled, his hair had looked like the fluffy down of a little bird.

He’d have been so happy in Jackson. Nervous, at first, because he had never grown up with kids his own age, but he’d have shaken the worry off in no time, buoyed by the prospect of friends.

We’d been so fucking close. So close to a type of happiness I’d thought died with the old world. Part of me hadn’t even believed that a place like Jackson could exist. A community where actual kindness could be found, polished to a shine; a point of pride instead of something people let gather dust in a dark corner of their mind.

It had been a dream. A wish that I'd made for the both of us, one that I’d repeated with every step that we had taken forward.

But it did it exist.

Just being there hurt .

And if there was one thing that was intrinsic to humans no matter what state civilization was in, it was that we’d hurt and be hurt. And pain led us to seeking out ways to numb it. It’s how we’d ended up with alcohol.

The Tipsy Bison was almost too close to the bar’s I had spent my early twenties in. All dark wood and dark walls, sticky booths and shitty lighting.

The back wall behind the bar was an explosion of discordant memorabilia, all fighting to catch your eye first: a shooting trophy, a tiny American flag, a clock with what looked like a submarine on it, a little anchor. Everywhere you looked something new.

With a heady buzz building behind my eyes, I looked up at the mirrors behind the bar, partially obscured by the empty bottles that cluttered up the shelf beneath it. There were fairy lights strung up on the ceiling and in the reflection, my blurred vision made them bleed into one pulsing, glowing mass.

I groaned and dropped my forehead down onto the bar, enjoying how cool the varnished wood felt. My stitched head wound stung at the impact, but I found a perverse thrill in it.

I thought if I stayed utterly still and tried my best to block out the noises of the other patrons, the headache might begin to abate. Then I would move, stumble back to the house I'd been given.

I thought my plan might just work, until someone gracelessly dragged out the empty stool beside me. It scraped against the floorboards and I felt the vibrations in my brain. I groaned as I sluggishly lifted my head to find the culprit.

The scar at Joel’s temple was the first thing my eyes fell upon. It was almost illuminated in the bar’s inconsistent lighting. His posture was rigid, making him seem somehow even more solid, like he weighed himself down to the extent that movement was a chore. A hulking immovable object.

“Quit it.” Joel groused. He didn’t so much as glance at me out of the corner of his eye, his attention reserved for the barman who’d already poured him a whisky.

I sat up a little straighter, narrowing my eyes at him. “What?”

“Quit fuckin’ staring.” He snapped in answer, still not deigning to meet my eye.

“Wasn’t staring.” I spat back.

“What would you call it, then?”

“Observing.”

Oh, and Joel really didn’t like that: the notion that I had been watching him actively. As if taking him in visually, learning even a little about him from it, was a kind of theft, a terrible, offensive transgression. He gripped his glass tighter, making the tips of his fingers turn white. He angled his head in my direction, not quite looking at me, but close enough.

“Nothing to observe.” He muttered resentfully.

It had been over a decade since I'd let myself get so drunk and it brought out an instinct to antagonise that I’d forgotten I possessed. I smiled nastily and leant a little closer to him.

“Are you under the impression that you’re invisible?”

“No.” He shot back. “Sure would be nice though.”

“Oh?”

“This conversation wouldn’t be happening.”

“You started it.”

Joel slammed his glass down into the bartop, some of the dark liquid spilled over onto his hand. “What are you, fuckin’ five years old?”

I didn’t answer. My heavy head became too much to bear so I dropped it back down into my folded arms. The energy the alcohol had given me was already spent.

As I expected, the silence suited Joel just fine and minutes passed without another peep. I started to entertain the thought that he’d never try to engage with me ever again but then…

“Do you not need to eat?”

I looked to look at him but didn’t lift my head up off my arms. “Feeling talkative now?”

Joel had gone back to looking at anywhere but me. He grunted in displeasure at my mockery but carried on. “Been five days, haven’t seen you in the mess hall once.”

Instead of answering him, I forced myself to sit up and called out to the bartender, pointing at my empty glass. But, when he approached, Joel’s hand reached out, enfolded the top of my glass and dragged it out of the man’s reach. And his generous pour.

“About time this one was cut off, Seth.”

I scowled and clumsily reached forward to snatch back the glass, but Joel just swept it up and away from me.

“You were happy to leave me to shoot myself in the woods, but you’ll stop me from drinking?” I seethed. I thought I had whispered, but the few heads that turned in our direction told me otherwise.

Joel tensed so severely I thought the glass might shatter in his grip. But after a second or two, he set down the empty vessel and retrieved his own drink and lifted it to his lips. He kept set his eyes forward and took an obnoxiously loud sip.

“Fine. Fucking asshole.” I mumbled as I slid off and snatched my coat off the back of the stool.

“What was that?” Joel asked sharply.

Emboldened by the alcohol and infuriated by him, I sidled right up beside him and leant onto the bar. My other hand fell on his arm and he actually flinched .

“I said, you’re a fucking asshole.” Before Joel could muster up much of a reaction, I pushed off the bar and sent a consternated Seth a weak smile. “Night.”

I lurched out into the street and had to steady myself against the wall, sucking in icy breaths that scratched their way down my throat like glass shards. Painful, but it helped me come back to myself enough to put one foot in front of the other and head for my house.

Shit.

My house.

It should have been ours: Mine and Fred’s. Our home.

Never just mine.

:✮:·

It turned out that getting blind drunk didn’t just impair your vision, but also created such a fog in your mind that you forgot a lot of things. In my case, what I failed to remember as I staggered up the cracked stone path towards the house, was Maria’s warning that the wooden steps of the porch had rotted.

I was not exactly light of step at the best of times, but in my inebriated state, my footfalls may well have been able to crack concrete. So, when I stomped up onto the porch, my right foot went clean through the top step.

My stomach dropped and bile rose as I lurched forward. I was just barely able to catch myself and avoid breaking my nose against the wooden planks. My palms were abraded against the unforgiving surface, my skin riddled with splinters in an instant. I could feel something digging into my ankle and suspected that if I wasn’t so numbed by the alcohol, that I’d be experiencing at least a little pain.

“Fuck.” I grunted as I dragged myself up, pulling my ankle free of the hole. Once most of my body was on stable ground, I flopped down onto my back.

I shut my eyes and willed the world to stop spinning. The wind blew, drawing my attention to the exposed skin between my pant leg and my boot, upon which I could feel the trickle of blood.

Out in the open air with the stars glittering above, although obscured from my sight, I found myself beginning to feel oddly soothed. It was more of a familiar sleeping arrangement than the bed in the house that I’d rejected.

Which was probably why my eyes drifted shut.

:✮:·

A sharp kick against my leg woke me up.

My eyes fluttered open, only to find a dark mass standing over me. After a few more blinks, the nebulous shape began to shift into something more recognisable. Wide chest and broad shoulders, atop which sat a distinctly displeased face.

I couldn’t actually see his expression all that well, but it wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make once I realised that it was Joel.

Now sleep-addled as well as drunk, I was unwilling to be the first to break the silence. He must have realised this, because he spoke first. It sounded like he was under significant duress:

“Your steps have rotted.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” I slurred.

Joel gave no answer, but dropped down onto a knee beside my prone body, emitting a small grunt when the bone cracked.

“Feeling your age?” I asked, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Shut up.”

I was, quite frankly, far too drunk, exhausted and frozen stiff to find to rouse myself to tell Joel to fuck off. The frigid night air had frozen my reservoir of rage. For now.

Despite that, when I felt cold fingers push up the bottom of my pant leg to expose my sticky blood to the night air, I kicked out at his hand. When the sole of my heavy boot made contact with Joel’s hand, he pulled it back with a hiss. “Go away.” I ground out, focusing on the way the now exposed scratches on my ankle stung.

Boots scuffed against wood as Joel rose to his feet, face contorted with displeasure. Before I could let out the sigh of relief at his anticipated departure, he kicked the side of my leg again.

“Can’t stay out here. Get up.”

“I’ll get up when you're gone.”

“No. You’ll pass out and freeze to death.”

“Just fucking let me, then! I’m nothing to you.” I hurled back at him, wincing at the resultant pain in my head.

Daughter, sister, aunt. Through every stage of my life, I had understood myself and my purpose through those titles. But now…I wasn’t anything to anyone. Just nothing .

The silence was drawn out just long enough, I thought he might have left and I was just so delirious I hadn’t heard his footsteps. But the next thing I knew a hand curled around my arm and I was hauled to my feet.

I wanted to curse him, to spit and claw at him, to turn my pain against someone other than myself and draw blood. Before Fred had died that’s what I would have done. But whatever the husk of who I was had left within it, it wasn’t the quickness to violence.

So, I let Joel drag me like a dog on a leash. He was rough. His fingers dug into my arm and he let me stumble over my own feet. He threw open the front door and stormed in, moving far too quickly for my drunken body to coordinate with. As we crossed over the threshold into the house, I tripped and would have ended up on the ground again if he hadn't pulled me to his side. He smelled of whisky and woodsmoke.

We moved down the hall at a jarring pace. It felt as though I was a piece of obsolete equipment that he was hauling around, and therefore he was uncaring about jostling me to the point that a screw or two came loose.

Thankfully, the little house didn’t give us much ground to cover before he was shoving me into the sitting room. When he came to an abrupt stop, I presumed that he was taking in the sight of my blanket and pillow on the floor, but when his hold on my arm eased up, I followed his gaze to the coffee table.

My gun sat atop the dusty surface and right next to it was Fred’s teddy bear, still stained even though I'd lost count of the number of times I'd scrubbed it. No industrial-strength stain remover at the end of the world.

I heard a short, sharp intake of breath and braced myself for a cutting remark, but instead he returned to his man-handling. Joel grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me onto the couch. He then bent down, took hold of my calves and lifted them up, forcing me to twist around so that I was lying flat. When he pulled off my boots, I hissed at his unforgiving hold on my bleeding ankle.

He made no apology, just dropped my boot to the ground and proceeded to yank off the other one.

I laid still and stared up at the ceiling, silently begging that he’d leave without uttering another word. He stood at the end of the couch, watching me like I was a rat caught in a trap. His brown eyes were black in the darkness of the room.

“You got a bed. No good reason to be sleeping on the ground.”

Exhaustion had me back in its grip, so all I could manage as my eyes closed was a mumbled: “What would be a good reason?”

A disgruntled huff. “Don’t be a smartass.”

A heavy weight was tossed over me. I clawed at the fabric, pulling it down until my face was freed and sucked in a breath as if I'd actually been at risk of suffocating. He’d thrown the blanket over me.

My eyes darted around but only caught a glimpse of Joel’s back as he was stepping back into the hall. His footsteps receded and then there was the unnecessarily harsh opening and closing of the front door.

Had I been less intoxicated, the entire interaction would have likely been confounding, but in the state I was in I just sank down into the couch cushions and shut my eyes and thanks to the alcohol, fell right to sleep.

My wakeup call was the sun that speared through the window and landed in my eyes. It split my throbbing head in half like a block of wood. My mouth was like sandpaper and something throbbed angrily behind my eyes. A hangover at forty was a different beast altogether.

I’m not sure how long I stayed inert and wallowed in my self-inflicted sickness, but eventually I did find it in myself to sit up, I swung my legs off the couch and edged forward and as I did so, my eyes fell onto the coffee table.

Fred’s teddy bear was right where i’d left it, but my gun was missing.

:✮:·

Thanks to the tour Maria had given me, during which she’d pointed out her and Tommy’s home as well as ‘Joel and Ellie’s across the way’, tracking down the thief didn’t take long.

My knuckles rapped viciously against his door, exacerbating the symptoms of my hangover and my anger all at once.

Just as I started to contemplate kicking it in, the front door swung inward and Joel filled the gap. It was obscenely early and yet he was already dressed in jeans, another plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled half-way up his forearms. I knew I was a ghastly sight and his displeasure was evident, but I gave him no chance to express that verbally.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth when you’re at my goddamn door.” He bit back.

“Give it back.” I held out my hand, matching his hateful stare.

Joel didn’t try to deny it, he didn’t even blink before he turned around and stomped down his hallway. I waited at the threshold, unwilling to enter his space.

Joel returned with the gun already held out, but when I reached for it, he pulled it back and left my fingers to clutch at the air.

“Don’t be a fucking child.” When I lunged for the gun that now hung in the hand at his side, he enclosed his other one around my wrist.

“You plannin’ on using it?” His voice was strained, as if pressure was being exerted on his neck.

“No.” I sneered sarcastically. “I just think it makes a nice table decoration.”

Joel’s hold tightened and the pads of his fingers pressed into my pulse point. The touch lingered long enough that it felt like he was tracking my heartbeat, but he soon let go.

He did let me take back the gun then, but when I put my back to him he asked:

“Why bother?”

“What?” I wouldn’t turn back to speak to him. I didn’t know what expression he’d end up finding on my face.

Wooden floorboards creaked beneath him as he shifted in place. “Killing yourself here or out there- it makes no difference. Why come with us when Tommy asked? Just means someone has to clean up after you.”

I wanted to see it. I thought. It came to me only then, having not really considered it before that moment. I wanted to see the place that could have become home if both Fred and I had made it.

I shook my head and continued on.

Joel’s voice stopped me again. I hated that it stopped me. Why didn’t I just keep walking?

“If you were sure, you would’ve done it already. You wouldn’t have walked with your head streamin’ blood for as long as you did before sitting down by that tree.”

I looked back at him over my shoulder. “I’m not dragging it out because I want to live, Joel. I just haven’t decided what the actual punishment is: life or death.”

“Punishment for what?”

“He died.” I didn’t offer Joel more than that and left him standing in his doorway.

:✮:·

In the two weeks that I had been in Jackson, I’d spent more time on the floor of my living room than anywhere else. My body protested in its stiffness, almost threatening to atrophy, but I could conjure no will to stop it.

I had no will to do anything at all.

So, it was night and I was yet again, flat against the floorboards, staring up at the stain on the ceiling.

I hadn’t shut the door properly on my way in, something which was signalled to me by the noise coming from the hallway. The wind blustered through the gap, taking every opportunity to rush inside and whisper to me.

The door would hit against the jamb and then creak open. Shut. Then open again.

I had realised almost as soon as I’d laid down, but found myself unable to get up again to close it. So the cold invaded, a pervasive chill that had settled over everything, pricking the skin on my arms on the way down to my bones, attempting to freeze them too.

It didn’t help that I’d just dropped down on top of the blanket instead of crawling under it, leaving myself protected by only sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt.

The noise of the door didn’t bother me. It had a sort of soothing rhythm. Open, shut. Open, shut. The wind whispered through a wooden mouthpiece.

Just out of curiosity, I'd put my fingers against my wrist: the noise was almost in time with my heartbeat.

Outside, the dark clouds which had spent all day swelling to an ominous, bruised bloat had finally burst. Rain lashed against the windows as though it endeavoured to break the glass.

With my fingers still on my wrist, I felt my pulse jump as my front door slammed shut. I waited, but it didn’t creak open again. The wind’s whisper had been quieted.

I don’t quite know how I didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. I must have been more out of it than I’d thought.

“Catchin’ your death from the cold is slower than a bullet.”

I wasn’t startled by the sound of Joel’s voice. I wasn’t angry or even confused. It was more of a disquiet, that the noise of the wind and the door that I had used to ground me for the last hour or so had stopped so abruptly.

The feel of my pulse became an unwelcome sensation. I pulled my fingers away from my wrist.

I didn’t sit up. Couldn’t yet. It felt like there was a physical weight on my chest: grief sitting there, spiteful and malignant but unseen. Maybe I’d spent so long on the floor I’d fused to it.

Joel moved closer and that time, I heard his footsteps.

“You left your door open.” He said.

He’d stopped right by my feet. I could feel the scuffed soles of his boots brush against my socks. There was something about his presence that prompted a slight buzzing behind my eyes.

“I noticed.” I answered.

“Where’s the gun?”

I didn’t baulk at the question, or feel a familiar flare of irritation, I simply reached back, my hand questing beneath the pillow where it wrapped around the grip. I pulled the weapon free and held it up.

“Why is it under your pillow?”

If I had known Joel better- or just known him at all, I might have been able to tell what exactly the tone of his voice signified.

“I want it close, in case of intruders.” I said glibly.

I lifted my head just enough to make out the shape of Joel, a dark, unmoving mass and shifted my hold so the barrel was directed at him.

“Don’t point that fucking thing at me!” He snarled, his boots knocking against my feet as he lurched forward. “Put it down. Now.”

I was thrown into the memory of the day we’d met in that clearing, when he’d barked the same order with a rifle pointed at my head.

I let my arm drop and the gun clattered onto the floorboards.

He might have mumbled something under his breath then, but I couldn’t make it out. The buzzing was intensifying.

Joel moved forward and soon his large form filled the gap between my body and the couch. He crouched down, his knee brushing against my thigh. He picked up the gun and tossed it onto the couch.

“Still sleeping on the floor.”

My head rolled to the side and I found his eyes in the dark. Outside, the wind howled, the rain like stones thrown against the windows.

“I don’t really sleep.” I told him. “Doesn’t matter where I am.”

“You don’t sleep.” He repeated my words in a tone that I was far too untethered to pin an emotion to. If there was any emotion in it all.

“Why are you here?” I asked, if only to fill the silence.

I missed the sound of the wind through the gap in the door, considered asking him to go back and open it again but then thought better of it.

“I was passin’ by.” He said.

I chose that moment to force myself to sit up. Being around another person coerced me into some kind of self-awareness and I realised I was in a vulnerable position: him looming over me.

Once I was upright, the details of Joel came into focus. He was soaked from the rain. His tan coat darkened by patches of moisture. A grey-flecked curl fell over his forehead. I was much closer to him when upright. Close enough that I felt the warmth coming off him, flooding the freezing room.

My skin began to prickle.

“Why were you passing?”

“Hmm?” Joel hummed, Then, still kneeling he shifted closer to me. The knuckles of the hand thar he used to hold himself up, ran along the outside of my leg.

“It’s late.” I said thickly. “Why were you wandering about in the rain?”

Joel huffed as his eyes dropped to the ground. Perhaps he’d only just realised he was touching me and decided to take a look. He didn’t move his hand away. “You about to give me a lecture?” He asked.

I shook my head. “No. Tell me.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Is all he offered.

“You’re dripping onto my floors.” I said, drawing attention to the tell-tale noise that had been poking holes in the silence between our speech.

Joel’s thick brows rose, as if he was affronted. “Oh, they’re your floors? Thought you weren’t sticking around.”

The double meaning swelled in the air between us, taking up space. It stole our breath.

Was that what I’d been doing in Jackson the past two weeks? Just sticking around ?

Yes, I realised. It was exactly what I’d been doing.

I loitered in the land of the living when I knew full well that I didn’t belong anymore.

“My floors, for now.”

The hand against my leg lifted and then passed across my torso coming to settle on my side. With me now partially caged in, Joel leaned closer, which left our faces only a hands breadth apart.

The cold from his damp coat felt like it was seeping into me.

“For now.” Joel repeatedly tersely. His jaw tensed.

“Yes.”

Then his eyes flicked to the coffee table- to Fred’s blood-stained teddy bear.

“Your kid?” He asked upon a strained whisper.

Yes. No. My child and yet not.

My nephew. My reason for living. Mine.

Almost of its own will, my hand shot out and grabbed the collar of Joel’s coat. I held him so tightly I thought my knuckle bones might split my skin. The action inadvertently tugged him closer. His breath fanned out across my face.

“Don’t.” I warned him.

“Don’t what?” His voice had turned brittle, as if something within him was breaking. Perhaps it was his resolve.

“I can’t—” I spluttered out. “I'm not talking about that.”

About him.

Fred was still a part of me. Talking about him after his loss felt like surrendering further pieces of him; tearing of strips of my own skin, a slow flaying of flesh.

“Okay.”

“Don’t try to know me.”

Wanting to escape Joel’s unrelenting gaze, I stared at a bead of water that had fallen from his hair and rolled down his temple. I still had hold of his coat, the damp fabric bunched up between my freezing fingers.

“Who said that’s what I was doing?” Joel challenged, sounding almost insolent.

I made myself meet his eyes again. “Why are you here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He repeated, a stubborn set to his jaw. “Was walking.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Your door was open.”

“You could have shut it and kept on going.”

“Should’ve.” He admitted gruffly.

My shoulders sagged and I shook my head, trying to dislodge his unwavering gaze. It didn’t work

“I don’t want to talk, Joel.” I told him tiredly.

“Don’t have to talk.”

We watched each other closely. Carefully.

“Okay.” I uttered.

My breathing faltered as Joel’s calloused hand curled around my wrist and tugged, encouraging me to release my hold on him. I did immediately. Then, his other hand landed on my back and he began to guide me down. It wasn’t gentle, but the force didn't feel like an imposition.

When the back of my head hit the pillow, he clambered over me. One knee rested on the ground beside my hip, while the other nudged my legs open.

Joel sat back on his knees, his dark pupils trained on me as he unzipped his coat. I watched as he shucked it off and then tossed it onto the couch, right on top of my gun. Then he began to unbutton the cuffs of his plaid shirt.

A sensation that I thought had been lost to me long ago returned; something deep within me coiling tight at the sight of him rolling his sleeves up his toned forearms.

Then he crowded over me. His hands planted themselves on either side of my head. Joel held himself there, our chests brushed against each other, no longer enough space between us for them to swell with full breaths.

There was something suffocating about having him so near. Perhaps that’s why I welcomed it when he pressed even closer.

It felt almost as if Joel tried to cover my body completely with his and absorb me into him. He ran his hand down the side of my face, thumb grazing my cheek before he tucked my hair behind my ear. Then he pressed his lips there to whisper:

“If you want me gone, say it.”

“If I don’t?” I asked breathlessly.

Joel’s breath was hot against the side of my face and it faltered ever so slightly before he spoke again.

“Got something that might help you sleep.”

We stayed like that as his statement dissipated in the air like smoke. Even when it went, the scent lingered: heady and overwhelming.

I lifted my hand tentatively and let it fall on the back of Joel’s neck when he didn’t flinch from it. I don’t know I’d expected him to. I ran my hand up and my fingers collected drops of water until they curled into the hair at the nape of his neck.

In answer, Joel ran his lips down the shell of my ear and then nipped the lobe with his teeth. My eyes fluttered shut at the slight sting.

Joel was solid, tangible enough that he grounded me. He was something that wasn’t going to slip through my fingers. And yet he was utterly detached from me, after this, he would drift away untethered.

I knew whatever happened between us would be fleeting; melt away with the sunrise like frost. I wanted it that way.

My hands fell away from the back of Joel’s neck as he pulled back. Not far, just enough so that he could grab the band of my sweatpants and tug them down, my underwear going with them. He reached the curve of my ass and lifted my hips so that he could pull the clothing free.

I shivered at the rush of the freezing air of my exposed flesh, but Joel was already crawling back on top of me, his warmth returning. I stared up at him as he took two of his own fingers into his mouth. He pulled them free and they glistened with his own spit. Moistness gathered between my thighs accompanied by an agonising throb.

Joel pressed his chest to mine, my hardened nipples pressing through my t-shirt and into his.

When his fingers ran through my folds, my head fell back. He wasted no time, pressing firmly on the way down before he pushed them inside of me. He held them there, no doubt feeling me pulsing around him.

His mouth fell against my neck, not kissing, but holding me flesh between his teeth as he began to pump his fingers. The movement was almost languid, his digits rippling inside of me.

My breath stuttered and my hands lifted, falling on either side of his neck just for something to hold onto.

Joel’s mouth closed into an almost kiss against my pulse point and the little hum he let out vibrated through me.

The tightness deep within me intensified, but just as I began to grow close, he pulled his fingers out of me, leaving an ache in his wake.

But then there was the clink of his belt buckle and his hands fumbled to pull it free. I moved to help him, my fingers brushing against his own that were slick with me.

He submitted to my help and his hands returned to either side of my head as I pulled the belt free of the loops and let it drop to the ground. I went to work on the fly of his jeans, now desperate and panting, but he would not abide my help in that endeavour.

He murmured disapproval and took hand into his and held it above my head. He did the same with the other one and cuffed both of my wrists together with just one of his hands. With the other he popped the button of his jeans and the undoing of the fly soon followed.

His fingers ran through the sensitive flesh between my legs and gathered up some of the slickness there. He kept his eyes on my face as he took himself in the same hand and spread my arousal over his hardness.

My t-shirt had been shucked up to reveal my belly. His eyes flicked to the ugly scar just above my pelvis only briefly.

When Joel lined himself up at my entrance, I let my eyes flutter closed. It had been so long, but I didn't care. I wanted him inside me, to feel him moving. To feel pleasure. Anything to keep the numbness at bay.

Joel pressed himself inside me with a hard thrust. A low groan came from his throat and the hand holding my wrists tightened.

Our hips aligned. And then he began to move, rolling into me, the force of the movements pushed me along the floor, rumpling the blanket beneath me.

When I lifted my feet and wrapped them around his hips, intent on driving him into me even harder, Joel groaned in pleasure. His head dropped low again and his lips skimmed over my temple, then brushed over the still healing gash on my forehead.

Pressure built within me as he pounded relentlessly. The sound of our fevered joining and ragged breathing blocked out everything else, even the wind and rain beyond the house. In that moment it didn't really feel like there was a beyond. Just him.

When I murmured his name, Joel released my wrists. My hands immediately ran up his neck and over the sides of his face. Right when I brushed past the scar on his temple, he pressed his lips against the wound on my forehead.

He thrust into me with such a bruising force that my pleasure burst, my release rolling through me in a violent shudder. I dug my nails into Joel’s hair and his thrusts became sloppier, slowing until he was just grinding his hips against mine.

His hands mirrored my own and he cradled my head, his forehead pressed to mine as he came inside of me.

We stayed like that, our sticky skin pressed close, until our breathing calmed.

Joel pulled out of me and then sat back on his haunches. I felt him looking at me so I shut my eyes again.

I don’t remember much after that before I drifted off.

:✮:·

When I woke up, I was alone. There was an ache between my legs, but it wasn’t painful. I was fully-clothed and tucked beneath the blanket. Almost warm.

But, while I was glad that Joel was nowhere to be found–it had felt like an unspoken agreement between us–something else was missing.

My gun was gone. Again.

Bastard.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller smut #smut

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