#suicide loss survivor
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#grief#loss#sorrow#gru meme#grief journey#trauma recovery#guilt#my mum#i miss you#death#grieving#mourning#bereaved by suicide#grief awareness#grief and loss#grief recovery#suicide loss survivor#suicide loss#bereavement#mother#mum#rip#5 stages of grief#bereaved#parental loss#grief support#grief quotes#it's a cycle#oc#ineedfairypee
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November 23 is National Survivors of Suicide Loss Day. In the US.
My mom lived with the guilt of her friend committing suicide until the day she died. My mom was at her friend’s house but went home. Her friend died that night. My mom’s friend had been able to get her meds for some time because she couldn’t afford it.
#ancestor work#suicideprevention#survivors#survivors of suicide loss#I remembered to add alt text but I’m not sure how well I described it
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Daisy’s case was talked about in the infamous and eye opening documentary Audrie and Daisy. But Emma Kenny’s deep dive went so in depth and revealed more and more that wasn’t told and should be known.
From a true crime perspective, it’s disgusting looking at the severity of crimes compared to the amount of injustice delivered.
From a human perspective, I’m horrified at everything not only Daisy but her whole family endured. It makes me ashamed to be part of the human race.
From an emotional perspective, I felt the pain and sorrow in this case. I think I cried like 4 times as different details were discussed.
From a survivor perspective, we need to do better. So so so much better. We need to give victims and their families the support they deserve. This is a story that should never have happened and needs to be spread.
If you’re interested in true crime and you’re in a healthy enough mindset, I highly recommend watching this deep dive on the beautiful and strong Daisy Coleman.
The Tragedy of Daisy Coleman:
youtube
Additional Resources:
Daisy’s organisation (SAFEBAE):
National SA hotline (US): (800) 656-4673
Samaritans: 116 123
Crisis line: Text HOME to 741741 (US) - Text SHOUT to 85285 (UK)
Emergency services: 999 (UK) 911 (US)
#daisy coleman#strong#brave#warrior#tw: sa#tw: abuse#tw: assault#tw: bullying#tw: death#tw: loss#tw: grief#tw: bereavement#tw: sh#tw: alcohol#tw: mental health#tw: suicide#you’re not alone#survivor#sa awareness#text post#2024#Youtube
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My boyfriend of four years cheated on me and thr only reason I ever found out was because he paid this female for sex it was a regular thing between them for several years before he met me. Ive been struggling for awhile with my mental health and was actually in the hospital when he fucked this bitch. He didn't pay her all of what he owed so she messaged me to tell me what they did and to tell me her youngest kid was his.
Before the revelation of cheating came about I handed him my phone one night so he could look something up, I was grooming my dog. He not only looked up what we needed he went to my texts messages and looked for messages between another ex bf and a former fiance. There were inappropriate messages from them talking about sex but there was never any acting on it as opposed to be actually physically got with this chick.
Anyhow for months and months he tried to find more and more ways to make me that bad guy when he crossed the physical line. I never denied those texts were inappropriate in a relationship, but he found ways to continuously find ways to read my emails and messages. First i locked the phone, than my tablet, than my car from when my phone was on blue tooth and than finally my smart watch.
I had been sexually assaulted and he didnt seem to care he pressured me more and more about how we werent habing sex and he needed intimacy and blah blah. He brought this shit up over and over for two years. I asked him repeatedly to table the conversation about our sex life and intimacy but he wouldnt.
Two weeks ago I called him out on the fact that he rarely listened to me when talking to him about anything. He didn't say anything. I asked him how often he was talking to the chick he fucked he said rarely. I already knew that was a lie but wanted him to be honest and he wasn't. Than i saw she was coming to town to visit whatever family she has here and i asked him and he lied again. He than got pissed off at me for telling him she couldnt come in our home nor was i going to allow him to take our vehicle to go see her and/or give her a ride. He laughed and called me dumb.
I asked what normal woman would be ok with their partner talking too and hanging out with the woman they cheated with?! He said probably none.
A week goes buy and I am no longer able to fight with him.about this but asked why he can't just be honest. The next night he sends me a text message, couldnt even tell me in person that he isnt in love with me and hasnt been and all this other fucked up shit. We just bought a $500,000 home and hes planning to move out and take the only car we have and leave me fucked. Tonight he tells me his pos alcoholic former bestfriend got his army disability money and he will be leaving even sooner cus the friend owes him $10,000. I asked if he told Josh we aren't together and he says yeah and wtf does it matter since Josh and I dont even speak anymore. I had to deal with Josh's shit for almost 2 years because of my bf. Josh is an alcoholic and caused so many issues.
This is not the first time Justin hurt me i nearly died in 2017 because of him and a friend bullying me. I NEVER should have trusted him again but I have bpd and didn't want to be alone and he promised he would never hurt me again and yet thats all he has done. My dad died 4 May 2021 and my mom 19 April 2022. So i have had nothing but fucked up shit for awhile now. Which is why my mind goes to the darkest and impulsive places. I hate life more and more everyday. My mom was my bestfriend and we were there for eachother and never abandoned. Now not only she is gone but my dad to and I am alone in this world because I trusted someone I shouldn't have. A pos like him. I should have known better....here i am alone in an expensive house with tons of pets a place I thought i would be happy because we bought it and got this specifically for my mom becauae it is handicap accessible but she died two months after moving in.
I truly no longer care about anyone and anything. The more I allow myself to feel things the more pain I end up in. I just want it all to stop. SI is on my mind constantly. The method I'd use so it would guarantee no coming back. The other times I called my doctor and she called 911.
I'm a fucking idiot and an absolute failure at everything. I can't even work because my mental health. I quit working after my first suicide attempt on 7 February 2016. That attempt was the worst of all and I wasn't expected to make it. Why I did I have no clue. I guess I was a puece of shit person in another life and this is KARMA or maybe its just karma for all the shit ive done my entire life.
I always want to help people and everything I ever did that was good never happened in other peoples eyes. I am the villain. I sacrificed half my life to take care of my addict sisters kids and yet my plder sister who actually did the fucked up shit before and after the kids mom died gets all the credit for everything I did. Thats an entire other situation but it all culminates to now and what I am dealing with. I don't know or understand why everyone hates me, why they abandon me, why the hurt me, what is wrong with me?!? I don't belong on this Earth. All I have is constant unbearable pain from loss, grief, depression, anxiety, sadness, trauma, ptsd, bpd, bipolar. What is the point in continuing to live this miserable life?! No one misses me. No one even talked to me at my mothers funeral.not even the other siblings!
#borderline personality disorder#loss of loved one#fuck life#tw depressing thoughts#please dont leave me#hate life#hated#everything is awful#unloved#piece of shit#cheating boyfriend#lies lies and more lies#sex trauma#abuse survivor#suicide survivor#i want to be alone#dont want to be here#fuck you#broken#death#youre nothing#borderline personality traits#bipolar#ptsd
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I feel this. Also, sometimes you just gotta let the grief stay around for a while until you can manage to wrestle it back into its little cage in your mind.
#I feel this#medical trauma#brain injury#heart transplant#medically complex adult#suicide survivor#partner loss#dealing with grief
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Reflecting on Growth: A Year of Single Stars
Tomorrow is the start of a new day, a new year, and a chance to reflect on the good in our lives. As I’ve mentioned, since January 4th of last year, the NOOM community (a lifestyle app focused on weight loss and healthy habits) has revolutionized my life, leading to a 36-pound weight loss and a significant boost in my confidence. The quote I’m sharing, from Noom, feels especially relevant as we…
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#acceptance#Alex#anchors#Blogging community#brave#bravery#Challenges#courage#embrace#Embrace Life#Encouragement#Faith#faithful#Full life#guide#hope#inner strength#International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day#joy#life#loss#Love#Marshall#Marshall Matters#Milky Way#Missing Marshall#moments of time#night sky#Noom#seasons
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Man Therapy brings mental health resources to Taylor County residents
Man Therapy is a comprehensive, upstream approach that meets men where they are with a groundbreaking, humorous approach to provide resources to tackle such issues as depression, divorce, trauma and suicidal thoughts.
Prevent Suicide Taylor County and its partners have recently joined forces with Man Therapy to break the stigma of mental health, suicide and addiction, and help to connect men – and those who love them! – with life-saving resources, where and when they need them. The effort is done in honor of the 25th annual International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day and in observance of Men’s Mental Health…
#International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day#Man Therapy#Melissa Moore#Men&039;s Mental Health Awareness Month#Prevent Suicide Taylor County#suicide prevention
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Day 2,960
Testing the waters of vulnerability. Maybe it wasn’t a hiatus but a hibernation?
#addiction#blackwidowx2#dead#findyourtribe#Grief#griefrecovery#griefsucks griefwriter#growth#hopeforwidows#survivor#warriorwidow#widowstrong#Addiction growth survivor warrior warriorwidow#Are you listening?#core#daily prompting#fuck shame#Grateful#Grief Recovery#job changes#Loss#perspective#suicide awareness#suicide survivor#survivors#The Universe is Talking#twin flame#warrior widow#what’s good for you heart is bad for your art#Widow
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The Soul Journey with Sarah Moussa
She has two faces.One face that she shows the world, loved ones, and in public.The smiling one.The happy, friendly, and talkative one.The confident one full of laughter and positivity.The face that everyone is used to. The second face is the real face.The one she tries not to show anyone.The face behind closed doors, when she’s alone away from the world, in the security of her own emotions that…
#Abuse#complex trauma#depression#dissociation#dissociative Identity disorder#emotional abuse#fear#flashbacks#grief#guilt#loss#MEMORIES#mental abuse#mental disorder#mental health#Mental Illness#Multiple Personality Disorder#psychological abuse#psychological trauma#PTSD#self harm#shame#stress#suicidal ideation#suicide#survival#switching#TRAUMA#trauma survivor#traumatized
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Writing Reference: Grief
“Grief is the emotional reaction to a loss, in this case, to death” (Samuel, 2019, p. xvii), and mourning is the process of adjustment to a world without that person.
The following physical sensations and perceptual experiences often accompany the grieving process (modified from Worden, 2009):
Hollowness in the stomach
Tightness in the throat and chest
Being oversensitive to noise
Feelings of unreality
Shortness of breath
Muscle weakness and lack of energy
Dry mouth
Strong emotions typically occur during grief, including (from Worden, 2009):
Sadness. Failure to acknowledge and embrace sadness can cause more complicated and prolonged grief.
Anger. A common reaction to loss that leads to many issues during the grieving process.
Guilt and self-reproach. Often regarding something that happened or was neglected at the time of death.
Anxiety. Ranging from feelings of insecurity to panic attacks, sometimes associated with fears of being unable to take care of yourself in the absence of the other person.
Loneliness. The loss of a day-to-day relationship can leave someone feeling all alone. Social support can help but does not remove the sense of a broken attachment.
Fatigue. Feelings of apathy and listlessness are not uncommon following the death of a loved one and may limit behavior and activity.
Helplessness. Survivors can be left feeling vulnerable and helpless, especially when they have young children to look after.
Shock. Sudden death, by its very nature, can cause the survivor to experience shock.
Yearning. Yearning or pining for the loved one is a typical reaction to death, and as it reduces, may indicate the mourning process is coming to an end.
Emancipation and relief. It is not uncommon for a survivor to experience a sense of relief, especially where the deceased was oppressive or was suffering a prolonged illness. While a normal response, it may be accompanied by feelings of guilt.
Numbness. While the previous feelings are common, so too is an absence of emotions, at least initially. With so many feelings to experience and manage, the early stages of grief may be overwhelming and result in a protective numbness.
It is important to note that each person’s experience of grief is different, and while the emotions above are typical of loss, they are not exhaustive.
Types of grief can take various forms, including (Elizz by SE Health, 2019; CaringInfo, n.d.; WebMD, n.d.):
Abbreviated grief. A short-lived response to a death, possibly following the experience of prolonged anticipatory grief or something immediately filling the space left by the loss.
Absent grief. The bereaved may not acknowledge or may remain in denial of what has happened. If prolonged, the lack of response can be concerning and require specialist support.
Anticipatory grief. For a caregiver, grief can begin before the person being cared for dies. It may be associated with a sense of losing what they expected life to be like. Such feelings can start with a terminal diagnosis or a worsening state of health.
Chronic grief. A sub-type of complicated grief (see below), left untreated, chronic grief can involve extreme feelings of hopelessness, a sense of disbelief, and a loss of meaning, leading to severe clinical depression or thoughts of self-harm and even suicide.
Collective grief. A shared experience of grief that affects a family, group, or community, often preceded by an event (natural disaster or attack).
Complicated grief. Where grief seems to deviate from what’s expected, complicated grief interferes with the ability to function. Complicated grief may include chronic (see above), delayed, or absent grief (American Psychological Association, n.d.).
Cumulative grief. Multiple deaths over a period of time can leave the bereaved without the opportunity or capacity to process each loss.
Delayed grief. Grief may not occur immediately after losing a loved one but may be postponed until another significant event occurs, resulting in what may seem an excessive response to the present situation.
Distorted grief. An extreme form of complicated grief exhibited as self-destructive behavior, anger, guilt, or hostility toward others.
Disenfranchised grief. When others do not recognize the importance of the loss, such as the death of an ex-partner, pet, or colleague. Society may consider the loss as minor or not legitimate.
Inhibited grief. Grief may not always be outwardly visible; it may result from a conscious effort to maintain privacy or keep emotions hidden from close friends or family.
Masked grief. Atypical physical symptoms and behaviors can be a response to grief without being attributed to the loss.
Normal grief. While there may not be a ‘typical’ grief shared by everyone, normal grief is considered to be when emotional intensity surrounding the death gradually decreases or basic daily activities begin to return to normal.
“We need to learn to support a healthy grieving, and to help people to understand that each person goes at their own pace” (Samuel, 2019, p. XX).
The treatment given to those attempting to process grief must be specific to the individual and their experience. The following approaches overlap and complement one another in supporting the bereaved (modified from Worden, 2009).
Helping the survivor actualize loss
When and where did the death occur?
What happened?
How were you told and where were you?
Visiting the grave can also make the loss more concrete.
Helping the survivor identify and experience feelings
Many feelings may not be recognized or felt to their full degree during intense grief. It is essential to help survivors experience the following:
Anger – arising from feelings of frustration and helplessness.
Guilt – for what the bereaved did and did not do to affect the outcome (usually irrational).
Anxiety and helplessness – feelings of helplessness can leave the bereaved unsure if they can survive alone and concerned about their own mortality.
Sadness – it can be challenging for many to show their upset in front of others. Crying can be helpful if associated with an awareness of what was lost.
Assisting living without the deceased
What problems are you facing, and how can they be resolved?
It is important to neither rush the bereaved to make decisions nor encourage a sense of helplessness, but instead communicate that they will be able to make decisions when they are ready.
Helping find meaning in the loss
Why did this happen?
Why did this happen to me?
How has this loss changed me?
Allowing for individual differences
No two people grieve in the same way; the process and feelings associated with loss are unique. There is tremendous variability in the following:
Intensity of affective reactions
Degree of impairment
Length of time it is experienced
Source ⚜ Bereavement ⚜ Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs
#grief#writeblr#writing reference#psychology#character development#dark academia#poets on tumblr#writers on tumblr#characterization#spilled ink#writing prompt#words#literature#poetry#langblr#writing inspiration#creative writing#fiction#writing ideas#anthony van dyck#writing resources
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Forsaken, Forgotten Without Any Love
A/N: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. THIS FIC IS VERY DARK AND MAY BE TRAUMATIC FOR SOME READERS. PLEASE READ EACH INDIVIDUAL WARNING BEFORE PROCEEDING TO READ. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CHOOSE TO CONSUME. Thank you to my pookie @syd-djarin for betaing and the beautiful moodboard <3 this is for my June writing challenge lovers to enemies
word count: 15.3k
Summary: you and Joel Miller met in the springtime. You were as naive as a fawn, and he was a ruthless guard dog. You were willing to do anything to survive, and he could offer you protection for the exchange of your body and whatever else he wanted. The mutual understanding you had worked…until it didn’t.
Pairing | dark!joel miller x f!reader
Warnings: ‼️DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT‼️GRAPHIC NON/CON, HEAVY COERCION AND MANIPULATION, VERBAL ABUSE, THREATS, TRAUMATIC VIRGINITY LOSS, CANON TYPICAL VIOLENCE, GASLIGHTING, MISOGYNY, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF WOUNDS, LANGUAGE, IMPLIED AGE GAP (READER IS OF VOTING AGE WHEN THE OUTBREAK HAPPENS), SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, THANATOPHOBIA (FEAR OF DEATH AND DYING) MENTIONS OF GUNS/KNIVES, SEX IN EXCHANGE FOR PROTECTION, NO HAPPY ENDING, HEAVY, HEAVY, HEAVY ANGST & GRAPHIC THEMES, readers nickname is little fawn, +18 MINORS DNI!
We met in the springtime when blossoms unfold. The pastures were green and the meadows were gold. Our love was in flower as summer grew on, her love like the leaves now have withered and gone.
Forsaken - abandoned or deserted
When you and Joel Miller first met after the world had gone to shit, and the home you once knew was no longer, it was springtime in the Boston QZ. The name Joel Miller rolled off the tongues of many residents of what remained of Boston. But who was Joel Miller really? Just another survivor haunted by the looming shadows of his past? A man hardened by loss, grief, and indescribable pain? Or was he more than just his brute strength, quick tongue, and menacing stature?
You never intended to find out what laid beneath his defensive façade, but like most things, it all happened…unexpectedly.
“I can’t.” You whispered solemnly through the drenched fabric of the bandana secured around your face. A makeshift mask to help with the constant stench of rotting flesh, death, and charred bones. It was one of the many grueling jobs the QZ had to offer, but it was not meant for those with a weak stomach as you learned very quickly.
He turned to you, a ghost of a scoff painted on his cracked and dehydrated lips. He barely acknowledged your presence with a slight roll of his shoulders. His piercing brown eyes hardened on your face, and then the culprit of your reason to bother him. A child, wrapped in a dirty cloth to be discarded with the rest of the dead infected, lay in the open bed of the truck, face covered completely.
When you opened your mouth to speak again, perhaps an explanation as to why you couldn’t dispose of the adolescents body, Joel Miller let out a grunt, brushing against your shoulder rather roughly. His arms tucked under the child’s limp corpse, lifting it from the bed of the truck with ease. He felt nothing, no remorse, not a lick of empathy washed over him.
“Move.” He snipped unkindly.
Your jaw went slack at his harshness, teeth grinding down and catching on the sensitive flesh of your inner cheek causing a burst of copper to ignite on your tongue. You stepped off to the side, body working on autopilot at this mystery man’s gruff command.
Joel could have shown that his latent Texas gentleman manners were not completely buried. He could have, but he didn’t. Instead he marched past you, carrying the corpse to the nearby pit. He paused, looking straight ahead with a dull expression on his face before he dropped the corpse from his arms and into the smoldering flames below.
He walked back to the truck where you were left dumbly standing looking like a lost lamb in all of this surrounding death. He wiped the dirt and grime from his hands with an old rag that was sticking out of the worn denim jeans that clung to his thighs like a vice. “Jus’ a word of advice, don’t let anyone around here know your weakness. They’ll tear you apart before you even see ‘em coming.” His unmistakable Texas twang reminded you of home, a simpler time when the world was normal and each day was promised, or so you used to believe.
“Thank you.” You nodded, reaching your hand out as an offering, an extension of friendship that sent his right eye twitching at your meekness.
“Ain’t a reason to thank me. Didn’t ask for it.” He eyed your outstretched hand suspiciously, eyes narrowed and brows tightly furrowed across his forehead.
You frowned, unable to conceal your immediate reaction to his denial of your kindness. Despite the world fucking ending, and your own losses, you were softer than most, and that made you an easy target. You were as soft as salt water taffy melting on someone’s tongue. Or the gooey center of a charred marshmallow on a stick. Joel Miller wasn’t accustomed to someone of the likes of you. You were foreign, something taboo—too soft for his liking. How the hell you managed to survive the cordyceps outbreak was beyond him.
He didn’t even give you the chance to respond when he abruptly turned on the heel of his steel-toed boots, and stalked off in the direction of where the ration cards for the day's work were being distributed. He staggered at an angle that looked mildly uncomfortable, especially in his lower back, and you could see that he favored his dominant side based on his gait. The words you planned to present to him died in your throat. You couldn’t help but feel miffed by his dismissal, but all the more intrigued to know what this grumpy, guarded man was really all about.
-
Every resident in the QZ had their means to get by in life. Some kept going for family, others for power and brutality—authority above all. Some were like Joel Miller; holding little value to their life, and spending their days drinking like a fish, and popping smuggled pills to alleviate the constant emotional and physical pain that they carried like a heavy burden on their shoulders. As for you? You simply were just trying to get by unscathed. Death terrified you, haunted you even in your dreams. Your survival was purely based on luck, with little to no survival skill sets. It was a fucking miracle that you had survived this long on your own.
That’s why you were the perfect candidate to join the elusive Fireflies. Marlene sought you out one evening before curfew in the QZ’s makeshift community circle. It was an open space sheltered between two buildings where residents could converse freely for a short period of time. Marlene and the Fireflies had one goal in mind; to overthrow FEDRA and liberate all of Boston’s QZ residents from the government's cruel and unjust authority.
Marlene could sense that you were weak minded and naive the second she laid eyes on you from across the way. The way you nervously fidgeted with your fingers in your lap, glancing around every so often as if you had something to hide. You stuck out like a sore thumb, the ugly duckling in a sea of normal…people.
The chair adjacent from where you were sitting scraped along the concrete like nails on chalkboard and your posture immediately stiffened at the sudden intrusion. Your invisible safety bubble had been popped, and there was nowhere for you to hide.
“Easy, friend.” Her tone was a complete juxtaposition to Joel’s innate harshness. Marlene’s eyes were kind, soft in the low light of the slow setting sun. You felt like you could immediately trust her, and maybe even view her as an ally? “Mind if I sit?” She gestured to the chair across from you, the same chair that dragged across the concrete and made you alert in the first place.
You eyed this stranger warily, glancing around before you meekly nodded, not finding your words quite yet. Marlene pulled up the chair, sitting down quietly with her forearms resting against the table in a casual motion.
“So.” She started, “you’re fairly new to the QZ, aren’t you?”
“…yes, how did you know?” You weren’t aware that you were sitting across from one of FEDRA’s most wanted, and the leader of the rebellious group known as the Fireflies.
“Sweetheart, I have eyes and ears all over the QZ.” She gestured to the surrounding area with her hands in emphasis.
“Really?” Your eyes widened slightly in shock and for a moment you were questioning whether you should get up and leave, or wait to hear what this woman had to say. “Are you…FEDRA?”
“No, not FEDRA.” She shook her head, reaching her hand out across the table in your direction, “I’m Marlene, leader of the rebellion, and commander of the Boston QZ Fireflies.”
Fireflies. You had heard the hushed whisperings of the ‘terrorist’ group that was at war with FEDRA. Sometimes there were calculated bombings, planned attacks, all for the cause of liberation and justice for the QZ residents—so you had heard.
You reached for her outstretched hand, giving it a gentle, yet firm squeeze before retracting your own hand back to your lap. You’re just about to tell Marlene your name, when your attention is stolen by something-someone. That someone being Joel Miller. He wasn’t alone. A woman walked alongside him, and from the angle you were sitting at, you could see his hand resting protectively against the small of her back.
His eyes were looking ahead, not behind or the area surrounding him. He was intently focused even as his companion leaned in close to him, her lips moving but you couldn’t make out the words. His chin dipped towards her, thick fingers flexing against that sliver of skin between the top of her jeans and the hem of her shirt.
You found yourself transfixed by his subtle movements, his natural authority permeating the small space. No one even dared to look directly at him, no one except you. He could feel a pair of eyes burning into the side of his face and he clenched his jaw tightly, cocking his head in the direction of the last empty table before he nudged his companion in that direction.
Marlene had said something to you, but you didn’t hear her the first time because you were frozen in your seat when Joel Miller’s piercing glare landed upon your face. He scowled, grinding his teeth together. He recognized you, that was a fact. But just as quickly as you had his attention for a fleeting moment, it was gone and he had sauntered off, taking the seat across from his partner.
Marlene watched the whole silent exchange go down from her seat. She observed your body posture intently, brow raised in curiosity. She leaned forward over the small expanse of the table, tone low, almost at a whisper, “do you know that man?”
You shook your head, meeting her curious gaze. “No—I mean, not really. He…sorta helped me out the other day though. I don’t have a strong stomach in the slightest and—”
An incredulous look crossed her face immediately to hear that Joel Miller ‘helped’ someone? She called bullshit immediately.
“Joel Miller did you a favor? That’s unlike his character. Only good thing that man has ever done is introduce me to his brother.” Marlene said almost bitterly.
So, that was his name. Joel Miller.
“He has a brother? Is he in the QZ as well? I guess…maybe it wasn’t a favor necessarily, but in my eyes it was.”
She nodded. “Yes, his brother's name is Tommy. He’s in Wyoming now. Tommy, like myself, was a firefly and Joel…he wasn’t too keen on his brother joining a rebel alliance. I tried to get him and his partner, Tess, to join our cause as well, but they wanted nothing to do with it. So, Joel and Tommy had a massive falling out, and Tommy left the QZ shortly after.”
“Marlene, when you said that the only good thing Joel has ever done is introduce you to his brother, what did you mean by that exactly? Is he…dangerous?”
“Sweetheart.” She started, almost in a patronizing tone, “he and Tess are the kinda folks you don’t want to associate yourself with. If you’re not careful, you’ll get caught up in their web. They ain’t good people. Did a lot of bad things before they ended up here. Killed a lot of innocent people and now they practically have FEDRA wrapped around their finger…most days.”
You mulled her words over in your head, falling into a silent thought of determining whether Joel Miller was who she said he was, or if he was more than just his past. You imagined he, like most of the surviving population, did what he had to do to keep himself and his kin alive. How could Marlene judge him for that?
“You tell me to look for the light, and I’ll break your jaw.”
His low, menacing tone rumbled like thunder in the distance, and the person he was addressing immediately scampered off into the shadows like a dog with its tail between its legs.
“Marlene, I mean no offense by this, truly, but didn’t everyone have to kill innocent people at some point to survive?” You couldn’t help but question her logic and reason to judge.
“Let me reiterate what I mean by that. You know what raiders are, don’t you?”
You nodded.
“Well, Joel and Tess were raiders at one point. Tommy as well, but Joel was the driving force of their operation. He was ruthless—still is.”
All you were hearing from her words was that Joel Miller was a capable man. More capable than most. He had a history of violence, and whether that was solely for the means of survival, or because he was a murderous, blood thirsty psychopath, did not concern you in the slightest. Joel Miller was exactly the kind of man that you were looking for. The kind of man that would lay down his own life for yours. The kind of man who would tend to your wounds, and then rip your enemies apart limb from limb, and then come home to you drenched in their blood; a badge of his conquest at exacting revenge.
Joel Miller was the type of man who would ensure your own survival above all else.
“If it’s protection you’re looking for, the Fireflies can offer you that.” Marlene interjected after you didn’t initially respond to her previous statement.
You chewed on your lower lip, gnawing on it for a moment feeling vulnerable and exposed when Marlene was easily able to read between the lines. You thought you were more discreet than that. More guarded, not a weak minded damsel in distress.
“What makes you think that I’m looking for protection?” You quipped back, opting to lean into the defensive side, rather than admit that you were in fact seeking just that.
Marlene stifled a laugh, briefly catching the attention of Joel from across the way. “You’ve been on edge since the moment I sat down. You stick out like a sore fuckin’ thumb, and I’m surprised that you haven’t realized sooner that you’re practically a fawn in the midst of a pack of wolves.”
Marlene was right. She hit the nail right on the fucking head. You weren’t cutthroat like Joel. You survived this long purely based on dumb fucking luck. Not because you were skilled with a weapon, or had fists of steel. You were not violent in nature, you had only killed when necessary, and you stayed hidden when trouble arose; much like a fawn in the dense thicket. Marlene didn’t need to know that you were seeking protection, that every night you lay awake fearing death and ending up pitifully alone; unloved.
“You don’t fucking know me, or what I need.” You hissed, finally finding your voice and standing your ground. You pushed your chair back abruptly, the bottom of it scraping on the concrete, and catching the attention of everyone in the secluded, intimate space.
Marlene shrugged at your defiance, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest. She may have not been successful in this first attempt, but she got under your skin, and that was only the start of it.
Unbeknownst to you or Marlene, Joel had silently eavesdropped your entire conversation, growing stiff suddenly when he picked up on Marlene’s little ploy to manipulate you to join the Fireflies. You may have been a nobody, bare bones and all, but he’d be damned if another naive soul would end up wrapped and constricted in Marlene’s web of empty promises and lies.
Preventing you from joining the Fireflies was about to become Joel Miller’s personal vendetta, and you hadn’t a fucking a clue. As far as he was concerned, the only person in this entire shithole QZ who would ever get close to sinking their talons into your flesh, was himself.
He watched you storm away from the table, your fists clenched tightly at your sides. You feel someone’s eyes locked onto the back of your head, but you didn’t dare turn around to see if your assumptions were true; you just knew.
~~
The following morning you and the rest of the QZ residents were required to attend a public execution before work would begin for the day. Three individuals were sentenced to death for breaking curfew, and attempting to leave the QZ without authorization. The three guilty perpetrators stood in a row, their faces covered with a cloth loosely draped around their heads so they could not be identified.
As the charges of the crimes that were committed were read out, you could feel your knees grow weak, and nausea bubbled deep in the pit of your stomach. Could you be next?
Joel Miller was in the crowd as well, concealed and aloof, but you could sense his domineering presence immediately, and he could sense you as if he was like a moth drawn to a flame. He imagined you couldn’t stomach the prospect of a public execution, and his assumptions were true when he saw you slipping between bystanders and fleeing towards the nearest alley.
He was quick to follow you, feeling more intrigued than anything when you scurried away like a little mouse. He took his time as he was in no rush, and well—there was nowhere else for you to go. He shoved his hands deep within the caverns of his jean pockets, his footsteps were heavy and calculated when he turned the corner to the alley.
You were waiting for him with your trusty pocket knife armed at your side, whipping around to face whoever had left the crowd to follow you. Your teeth were barred as if you were a cornered animal ready to attack if provoked.
He slipped his hands out of his pockets, holding them up so that you could determine that he wasn’t an immediate threat. His dark pools of brown locked onto your face and his head was slightly cocked to the side. “Easy there, little fawn. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He rasped.
You took a shaky inhale, palms beginning to sweat and your grip around the worn hilt of your knife began to slip from the clamminess. You took a timid step back, closer to the impending brick wall behind you. “Yeah? I’d believe that if you—”
“If I what?” He challenged, taking a step closer to where you stood.
“If you didn’t follow me here like a goddamn stalker, Joel!” You half yelled.
“Hey!” He snapped calmly, “easy. Don’t wanna be drawin’ any unwanted attention to ourselves, do we? And for the record, I do believe that you were the one stalkin’ me the other night.”
“Excuse me? I—I don’t even know you! Why the hell would you think I was stalking you?!” You took another step back, the hem of your shirt just barely grazed against the exposed brick wall.
“Oh, so that wasn’t you sittin’ with Marlene?” He questioned you dryly, shaking his head with a grin tugging on the corner of his lips. “It wasn’t you prying for some information on me? Guess I oughta go get my eyes and ears fuckin’ checked then…oh, wait! Can’t really do that, huh?” He scoffed, crossing his arms against his chest.
Who the fuck did he think he was?
“If I’m not mistaken, it sure as hell sounds like you were the one spying on me.” You quipped back, nearly stumbling when the heel of your boot made contact with the brick wall; now he had you trapped.
“No, you are mistaken. M’jus’ a real observant guy. Plus, sniffin’ out a snake in the grass like Marlene ain’t rocket science. She give you her whole ‘liberation’ for all bullshit?”
“I don’t know, Joel. Did she?”
He looked amused by your response, not expecting you to bite back so fast, but at least now he knew you had a little gumption to work with, but instead of indulging you in your insignificant win, he danced around the subject to catch you off guard.
“That’s a pretty dull fuckin’ knife you got there, little fawn. Ain’t gonna do much stabbin’ with it lookin’ like that. When’s the last time you got it sharpened?”
You did not appreciate, nor like how he effortlessly changed the conversation on you in a blink of an eye. You glared at him, struggling to hold your ground when he was nearly on top of you, one step closer and his chest would be pressed against yours.
“I think it’s more than capable of doing a considerable amount of damage to you if you don’t back the fuck up in the next five—”
“Yeah?” He pressed, looming over you like a shadow blocking the sun, “I’d love to see you try.” He snarled.
And well, you did. A pitiful attempt that he immediately saw coming. It took nothing for him to overpower you as if you were a helpless bug beneath his steel toed boots. The knife was yanked from your grip, your wrists pinned in one of his large hands like a dart on a board. His eyes were a shade darker up close and they were locked onto you.
“Now I understand why Marlene wanted you in the first place.” He snickered, “you really are that fuckin’ gullible.”
“Y—you don’t know shit about me! You think you do, but you don’t!” You tried to push against his chest, but he was like a slab of concrete or an unmoving mountain.
“No?” His eyebrows quirked upwards in amusement. Toying with your fragile mind and now wounded ego was easier than he imagined. “Think you’re wrong, little fawn. You’re pretty damn readable, and that ain’t somethin’ that you want to deal with ‘round here. You might actually be the most transparent person in the entire fuckin’ Boston QZ.”
“W—why are you calling me that?”
“Because, you remind me of a fawn. You’re meek, quiet, and…naive.”
You wanted to yell and scream till you were blue in the face, but what was the point? Marlene saw right through you, and so did Joel. Maybe…you could use this to your advantage, somehow.
He backed off you then, dropping your wrists from his grip and gave you the space to breathe finally. He flipped your dull pocket knife over a few times, brushing his thumb against the unsharpened steel with a light scoff and subtle roll of his eyes. “You can’t even kill a clicker with this thing. You realize that, right? What was your plan if someone else followed you back here, huh?”
He was making your head spin, all this back and forth bantering, and him getting under your skin was becoming too much. Why the hell did he care, anyway? Did he always prey on the weak minded? Or did you just happen to become his unfortunate target?
“I didn’t really…have a plan.” You said quietly under your breath, taking a moment to rest your head back against the cool brick wall.
“Good god, girl. You didn’t have a fuckin’ plan of action?! You really are a damsel in distress.”
“I am not a damsel in distress! You’re just some asshole that clearly has nothing better to do except prey on the weak minded! So, how about you just go pick on someone your own size!”
“So, you agree that you are weak minded? Yeah, Marlene sure as fuck would have had you wrapped around her fuckin’ finger and indoctrinated into her fuckin’ terrorist cult.”
“Sounds like you have a fucking problem with Marlene, and not me.” You attempted to walk away for good, but his palm reached out to stop you, pressing flat between your breastbone, leaving you both feeling surprised.
“Relax, would ya? I see right through your little tough girl gimmicks, and so does everyone else. I also happen to know that you, my dear, are terrified. It’s written all over your pretty face, and of what exactly? I can take a few educated guesses, but I think I’ve already humiliated you enough for one day.”
You were stunned into silence. Pacified by his words and the weight they held over you.
“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought.” He concluded. The rational part of his brain was telling him to ease off and let it fucking go. Hell, maybe you wouldn’t fall into Marlene’s trap after all. The other part of him? Well, you can just imagine how it was telling him to proceed with tormenting you. “If it were anyone else that followed you back here, they would have the means to hurt you. And I don’t mean just by killing you, little fawn. You think that just cus’ we’re under the governments ‘protection’ that evil people ain’t just roamin’ around here freely lookin’ for their next meal?”
“Yeah? And are you one of those evil people, Joel?” If he was gonna go for your jugular, you were gonna go straight for his.
“Might be.” He shrugged indifferently. “If I had the means to hurt you, I would have already done it.”
He did make a fair point. He was a capable guy, and if he had ulterior motives to cause you harm, you would surely be dead already. Still, you were weary nonetheless, but also intrigued.
“Okay, so you don’t have the means to kill me and that’s great, Joel. I’m relieved, but I’m failing to understand…why did you follow me back here in the first place?”
“Because, little fawn, I have exactly what you’re looking for, what you need. No reason to lie to ourselves here, right? Especially when I’ve already got you figured out. You can deny it all you want, but I know a terrified person when I see one. You ain’t gonna last long lookin’ like a fuckin’ target to every passerby.”
“And what exactly do you think that I need, Joel?”
“Protection.” He stated simply.
“And what's in it for you?”
He thought about coming up with a lie, something that sounded convincing so you wouldn’t question his motives, but he chose the latter in the end.
“Means that Marlene doesn’t get to sink her fuckin’ claws into another naive person such as yourself. Less Firefly scum for me to deal with, and you’re too pretty to end up with a bullet between the eyes.”
Maybe it was the way that Joel Miller was looking at you like you were about to be his next meal, or maybe it was the fact that no one had ever called you pretty before. This guard dog of a man was the first person to ever truly take in your physical appearance, and man, did that feel fucking good.
“You think I’m pretty, do ya?” Your tone came out teasingly, mildly playful, and not what Joel was expecting from you at all.
“Christ.” He laughed, “is that really all you fuckin’ got outta what I was jus’ sayin? That I think you’re pretty? Don’t let that feed your little ego now, alright? That‘ll get you killed, too.”
You wanted to tell him that no one ever called you pretty before, but that felt too personal, too vulnerable. So, instead, you shrugged your shoulders and raised your brow suggestively in his direction. “I heard you loud and clear, Joel.”
“Good. Cause I ain’t gonna repeat myself.” He glanced around the secluded alley for a moment, mulling his thoughts over before he returned your knife to you with the blade facing downwards. His rough, calloused fingers brushed against your own when he returned the hilt of your knife to your palm. “For starters, let’s get that pathetic excuse of a knife sharpened.”
You nodded, tucking it back into your concealed holster around your waist. “Lead the way, Miller.”
He looked you over once more, brows tightly furrowed together, shoulders stiff before he turned on his heel and started to walk towards the opening of the alley. “Hurry up, little fawn. We ain’t got all day.”
You had just secured yourself your very own lethal guard dog, claws and all.
~~
Up until this point, you hadn’t thought about the prospect of Joel Miller wanting to fuck you. In your mind, he truly was just inviting you to his shitty little apartment to sharpen your knife and send you on your way. You were beginning to believe that his little fear tactic in the alley was just his bark, but you were about to experience his bite very, very, soon.
He said no more than a few words to you, a few grunts here and there when you ended up rambling because you finally had someone to talk to. He acknowledged your existence, and that was good enough for you to at least be seen.
“Do you always talk this fuckin’ much?” He gruffed out from where he was hunched over at the kitchen table, dragging the edge of your knife along what appeared to be a large, flat stone.
“Sorry.” You muttered under your breath, sinking further against the old, musty couch that had seen far better days.
“Thas’ better.” He mused.
A man of few words…unless he wants something.
“It’s getting late…I should probably head home before curfew. Can we pick this back up again tomorrow? FEDRA is gonna start patrolling soon and—”
He looked up from where he was focused on dragging the edge of the blade at an angle against the stone to gradually sharpen it. The glare he sent your way immediately had your blood running cold.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually that fuckin’ naive to believe that my generous services are free of charge, little fawn.” He tsked under his breath, shaking his head in disappointment.
Maybe you were the naive one to follow the wolf right back to his den.
Your eyes widened, fists clenching at your sides when the realization that you willingly followed this…stranger back to his apartment hit you and sent the warning alarms in your brain blaring immediately.
“I—I have ration cards.” You meekly responded.
He cocked his head to the side, lips curving upwards into a wolfish grin. “My god.” He chuckled, “you really are that fuckin’ naive, huh? You think I’m doin’ this because I’m a good man or somethin?’”
“Well, you said that you—”
He rose from the chair then, the hilt of your freshly sharpened knife clutched at his side. His eyes stayed locked on you as he staggered forward, coming closer to where you were sitting on his couch.
“And you really believed in every word that came out of my mouth?” He questioned dryly.
“I—I didn’t see a reason not to, you said that if you wanted to hurt me, you would have already done it.”
“You’re right, little fawn. I would have already hurt you if those were my true intentions, but you’re so foolishly naive to believe that I’m doin’ this out of the goodness in my heart.”
You were frozen on the spot when he stopped at the edge of the couch, bending down to meet your eye level, towering over you in such a menacing way, you truly thought right then and there that this man did lie to you, and you were going to die at his hand. Your body flinched on instinct when one of his big palms came to rest against the wall alongside your head, while his occupied hand that was still grasping your knife stayed glued to his side.
“I—I don’t have anything else I can offer you, Joel.” You met his gaze, trembling when he leaned in closer.
“Don’t tell me now that you’re truly jus’ beauty with no brains, sweetheart.” He cooed softly.
Your lips parted open in shock as you began to read between the lines of the words coming out of his mouth. He didn’t want your ration cards, he wanted you, and not just a piece. He wanted all of you.
“There she is.” He preened, “Knew you weren’t all that dumb. Those gears in your pretty little head finally turnin’?”
You wanted to bite back, to snap at him so that you wouldn’t feel so fuckin’ small, but he had you locked in a trance right where he wanted you, and deep down…you liked it.
“…you want me?” You whispered through the thick growing tension.
“Mhm.” He nodded in confirmation. “You didn’t think that I just said you were pretty without havin’ some ulterior motive in mind, did ya? You’re the one who decided to trust me so easily. The second I confirmed that I didn’t want to hurt ya, you wrote me off as a good man. Well, sweetheart, I hate to break the pretty picture you painted of me in your head, but I ain’t a good man. I don’t have the means to hurt you, but I have every intention to take what I fuckin’ want from you.” His forehead was nearly pressed against yours now, hot breath fanning your face. “Jus’ remember that you willingly followed me back to my apartment, and take this as a warning to not be so easily swayed to trust a fuckin’ stranger.”
You swallowed the lump that was gradually growing in your throat as your flight or fight instincts were in full swing. You briefly eyed your knife in his hand, thinking that maybe…you could get out of this, but he would be quicker, surely. He’d overpower you in a heartbeat.
“I’m a virgin, Joel. Are you sure you still want me, knowing what you know now?”
He stalled briefly, caught off guard by your admittance. He thought that maybe this was your cheap way of trying to get out of this situation all together, but based on your trembling, and overall demeanor, he could tell you weren’t lying and he took some satisfaction in knowing that he was about to be your first; completely his.
“You think thas’ gonna stop me from wantin’ to fuck you, little fawn?”
You shook your head quickly and pressed yourself as far against the couch as you possibly could. “No—no, I—I just wanted you to know.” You squeaked out.
He nods, flipping your knife in his hand a few times while his other hand slowly drops to rest against the crown of your head, “if anythin’, it makes me want to fuck you even more now. Can take whatever I want from you, and make you mine. How’s that sound to you, hmm?”
“Can you…promise me it won’t hurt? I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want, Joel.”
Whatever I have to do to live another day, I’ll do it. Keep me alive, and you can take whatever you want from me.
“It’ll hurt a little, sweetheart. Better me than anyone else. I’ll only be gentle till you’re adjusted. After that, I ain’t gonna hold back.” While his words were blunt and straight to the point, his tone was soft, gentle even.
“Okay. I trust you, Joel.”
“Good. Thas’ good to hear, little fawn.” He gently dragged his thumb against your hair, feeling the texture of it beneath his hold, and how if he truly wanted to, he could crush you like a bug beneath his hand.
Your hands worked on autopilot to reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, fingers shaking against the fabric.
He shook his head, brows raising in slight amusement. “No.” He rasped sternly, “I’m going to undress you. Hands off, and keep ‘em where I can see them, got it?”
You nodded, dropping your hands to rest along your jean clad thighs.
“Wanna show you just how sharp I got your lil’ knife now. Can cut through just about anythin’, I reckon.” He mused, secretly hoping to ease your impending fears just enough that your body would naturally begin to relax.
You took a shuddered inhale when the edge of your freshly sharpened knife rose and rested against your concealed breastbone, sending your heartbeat racing and rattling out of your chest like a stampede.
“Relax.” He whispered, careful to not apply too much pressure, but just enough that the blade easily cut through your flimsy top as if it was made of cheap paper. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
Your words were lodged in your throat as tears began to spring to the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t help it, you were terrified. One wrong move…
“Joel…please.” Was all you were able to get out. His hand that was gently resting on the crown of your head dropped down to gently cradle your face. His big thumb brushed directly under the tears leaking from your eyes, gathering them up with a soft sigh.
“If you listen to me and relax, this will feel good for you, little fawn. You jus’—gotta let me have my fun first, alright?”
You let out a silent sob, squeezing your eyes shut tight as you tried to wrap your mind around how this could possibly be fun for him. “This—this is fun for you?”
His nostrils flared, reminding you of one of those animated bulls from the old cartoons you used to watch as a kid on Saturday mornings. He let out a sigh, grinding his jaw and shaking his head. “Course this is fun for me. I told you already, little fawn. I ain’t a good man.” He carelessly yanked the scraps of your shirt down your arms and torso before he dragged the knife upwards towards your flimsy bra straps. “Only reason I’m choosin’ to be somewhat merciful on you is because you’re a virgin. If you weren’t, I would have shoved my cock so far down your throat, you’d be chokin’ on it, sweet girl. Gonna save that for another time.” He reassured you.
“I’d…prefer if you never did that.” This was your weak and fruitless attempt to try and gain any semblance of control in this situation.
“You ain’t in the position to be callin’ the shots on me. Keep it up, and I won’t be so fuckin’ nice. I’ll stuff your pretty little virgin pussy with my cock like you’re a fuckin’ pig on a spit.” He snapped. “Secondly, I’d prefer if you’d quit your yappin’ and start makin’ yourself useful by takin’ your jeans off—nice and slow for me. Make it last.”
“But you said—”
“Know exactly what I said, sweetheart. M’changin’ my mind, we clear?” He sternly asked while he sliced through one of the bra straps, watching with hooded eyes as it fell from your shoulder.
“Crystal.” You shakily reached for the button on your jeans, slowly undoing it followed by the zipper while he sliced through the other strap.
“Good girl.” He praised you, “you’re a fast learner. Thas’ real good, little fawn. That’ll keep you alive longer.”
“Thank you…sir.” You whispered, feeling your tears begin to dry on your cheekbones when you slowly began to shimmy your jeans down your thighs.
“Mmm…no.” He scoffed at you calling him sir. “Not sir. Jus’ call me Joel. It’s gonna be the only name you’re gonna be sayin’ for as long as I decide you’re worth keepin’ around. Best start gettin’ used to the way it tastes on your tongue.”
“Yes, Joel. I—I understand.”
He was kind enough to help you finish removing your jeans completely so you were left in just your cotton panties that were well worn. A touch of innocence could be found on the little faded pink bow right in the middle of the hem. His lips quirked at this, finding it endearingly…cute.
What remained of your bra fell away in pieces, the clasp old that was old and frayed, came undone easily. Now your breasts were bared to him for the first time. He liked that they weren’t magazine perfect, nothing like he had seen in his teenage to young adult years. They were natural, beautiful, and you.
“I know they aren’t—they aren’t anything special…” you trailed off, moving your arms up to cover your chest.
He shook his head and reached one hand out to stop you from covering them from his perfect view. “They’re beautiful. M’glad they aren’t perfect like the shit I would find in the old playboy magazines.”
“Really?…thank you, Joel.”
He didn’t acknowledge your gratitude and his eyes trailed southwards once more, right between your thighs. “Thought about cuttin’ these off, too.” He casually gestured to your panties, “But I think I wanna keep ‘em as a souvenir.” He mused with a wicked grin. “Don’t go all shy on me now, alright? Spread your thighs, sweetheart.”
You obeyed his request, your thighs falling open to his prying eyes. “You want to keep my panties as a souvenir?”
“Mhm.” He reached behind him briefly to set your knife down along the coffee table so both of his hands were free. You watched as he slowly lowered himself onto his knees between your spread thighs. “You won’t be needin’ them when you’re here, anyway.”
Before you could respond, his warm palms came to rest along your hips where his thumbs gently dipped beneath the hem of your panties and slowly began to peel them down your thighs. “Can’t remember the last time I had the pleasure of tasting virgin pussy.” He chuckled. “Been too goddamn long.”
“I thought most guys weren’t into eating…pussy.” It was your turn to giggle now, and Joel was secretly relieved that you were finally relaxing.
He slipped your panties down your ankles making quick work of stuffing them into the back pocket of his jeans. “What makes you say that, sweetheart?” He shifted his hands from your hips to rest between the apex of your thighs, spreading you open further at his leisure.
“Well, uh—before the outbreak, I had a boyfriend, and all my friends at the time told me that I should ask him to go down on me. I didn’t know what they meant at first, so my friends and I bought a porno from an adult film store to watch, and then shortly after I asked my boyfriend if he would go down on me, he said fuck no.”
Joel laughed, a real hearty laugh that sent a warm vibration and tingle creeping up your spine. He used his thumbs to spread your inner lips apart before he peppered kisses against the inside of your thighs, inching closer and closer to the seam of your pussy. “No offense, sweetheart. But your boyfriend sounds like he was a fuckin’ tool that didn’t know the first thing to pleasin’ a woman and makin’ her sing, and for that reason, I hope he got infected.”
Despite the gravity of the situation you found yourself in, it felt good to confide in someone and laugh about the past. “I hope he got infected, too.”
The tension flipped once more when Joel’s darkened pools of brown flickered up from between your thighs. His hot breath was directly fanning your exposed core, and you watched as he licked his lips. “I take a lot of satisfaction knowin’ that I’m gonna be your first for everythin’, little fawn. You belong to me, your tight virgin cunt belongs to me. Jus’ want you to understand what that means before I defile you, piece by piece.”
You found your words lodged in your throat when you felt Joel Miller’s hot, wet, and skillful mouth press directly against your clit. His thick, dark lashes fluttered shut, and a groan bubbled from deep within his chest. He was immediately a man starved at the first taste of you. Lathing his tongue through the seam of your pussy as if he was a cat lapping up warm milk. And once he got a taste, he couldn’t stop, and you didn’t want him to.
“Sweetest fuckin’ virgin cunt I’ve ever tasted, little fawn. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re like honey.” He rambled on, slurping and obscenely sucking on your sex. He meant it when he said he was going to defile you, and this was just the beginning.
Your fingers naturally found themselves tangled in his salt and peppered streaked curls. They were softer than you ever imagined them to be. And in that moment, when your orgasm rippled through you like a tidal wave, and your pussy drooled along his tongue, you were grateful that he at least took the time to make you feel good first.
But like most good things, it passed just as quickly as it came when he pulled his mouth back from your cunt, a translucent strand of his saliva mixed with your release hung from his lower lip like a thread from a spider's web. The strand reached all the way to your glistening clit and disappeared when he licked the taste of you from his lips.
Your cheeks felt hot to the touch, and there was a sheen of sweat coating your skin when he reached for his belt and began to unfasten it. That’s when the fear began to creep its way back in.
“Joel, do you think that maybe we can—”
“No.” He gruffed out over the sound of his belt buckle clanking open, and his zipper being yanked down in a haste.
You could see just how hard he was through his worn down briefs, and when you finally got a first glance at just how thick and large his cock was, you were immediately trying to clamber off the couch. There was no way he was going to fucking fit.
He let out an annoyed growl, one hand quickly darted out and grabbed your ankle with a roughness that immediately had you yelping in surprise. “Do not fuckin’ test me, or I will really fuckin’ make this hurt for you. Do I make myself absolutely clear?” He glowered, tightening his steel like grip on your ankle. “Get back to how I had you spread open. Don’t make me ask you twice.”
Only when you reluctantly abided by his request did he loosen his grip before releasing your ankle completely. He rose to his full height, kicking his jeans and boxers off to the side as his heavy cock bobbed between his thighs. “Try anythin’ funny again, and I’ll bend your ass over this fuckin’ couch faster than you can say stop.”
“I’m sorry, Joel—I didn’t mean to upset you I’m just—”
“Afraid?” He mused. “Yeah, I gathered that. But I told ya that it’s only gonna hurt a little. All you need to do is relax for me. Thas’ it, and the pain will only be temporary. I promise, little fawn.”
He leaned over you, grasping your thighs in his hands and molded your body exactly how he wanted to take you so that he could easily wedge himself between your thighs. Now your back was against the side of the couch, the arm rest acted as a makeshift pillow for your head while he wrapped your legs around his hips for support. “Missionary is gonna cause ya the least amount of pain, but after today we ain’t gonna play it safe anymore.”
“Joel, can we please—I’m not ready for this. There has to be someone else that I can offer you…right?” You glanced down between your thighs, right where his thick cockhead was lined up at your tight opening. There was a drool of arousal that pooled and dripped down from the seam of your puffy and stimulated pussy right into the already soiled fabric of the couch.
“You jus’ don’t fuckin’ quit, do ya? I’m about five seconds away from fucking you like you’re just a piece of meat. Do you really want that, little fawn? Do you want me to fuckin’ hurt you? Is that it? You’re so goddamn lucky that you didn’t get captured by a group of raiders who would take turns gang raping you, and ripping you apart like a fuckin’ ragdoll. Show some fuckin’ gratitude for the fact that I’m not like them.” He hissed between his teeth. “You are mine. Get that through your pretty little brain sooner, rather than later.”
“You’re not going to fucking fit! There’s no fucking way that you’re going to fit without ripping me apart from the inside, Joel!” You cried out, fists clenched so tightly at your sides, that your blunt nails were digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood to the surface.
“I sure as fuck ain’t gonna fit where you’re so fuckin’ stiff. Ya don’t want it to hurt, d’ya? Well, more than it’s already gonna. Jus’ relax for me. That’s all you gotta do.”
It did fucking hurt. It felt like you were being ripped apart seam by seam when he slowly started to press himself inside of you. Your body seized up around the intrusion, clamping down on his cock like a vice as tears began to leak down your cheeks again.
“You gotta let me in, little fawn. Or so help me god, I will fuckin’ force my way right into your tight little virgin cunt.” He growled out of frustration, wanting this part to be over already because that very minuscule part of him felt bad for what he was doing.
“I—I can’t, Joel! Please! It hurts! You’re hurting me!”
He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping forwards and his forehead came to rest upon your own. His hand that wasn’t wrapped around the base of his cock came to gently rest upon your cheek, a moment of tenderness that sent your mind reeling. “I ain’t tryin’ to hurt you, little fawn. Please jus’ relax. Take a deep breath in and out. Focus on this instead, alright?” He dropped his hand from your cheek and slowly slipped it between your parted thighs so his thumb could gently thrum your clit. “Focus on how good that feels, and not my cock splittin’ you apart and takin’ what’s mine.”
Maybe you were the masochist, and he was the sadist. The mixture of pleasure with pain was something you never had experienced before, and when your body finally began to relax and let him in fully, that’s when you finally understood what he meant earlier about the pain only being temporary. It was numbed the second he started to piston his hips into you, stretching you open more and more with each heavy and calculated thrust. His thumb stayed glued to your clit, rubbing you in steady circles to keep your stimulation present in your mind.
He did defile you, piece by piece. Taking and taking while you continue to give and give. You want to be good, you want him to like you, to want you because if he does, maybe he’ll keep you around. Maybe he’ll fuck you again, protect you, keep you safe, and maybe you’ll never have to live in fear again.
Sometime after Joel had fucked you till he felt satisfied and spent, you passed out on his couch purely from exhaustion. He didn’t tend to you right away. He didn’t kiss your forehead, and he certainly didn’t kiss your lips. He left you there, stained in his cum and completely ruined for anyone else. That’s how he intended to leave things, but his need to care and tend to you ultimately won when he appeared from his bathroom with a wash rag in hand. His footsteps were soft as he padded into the living room and knelt beside you as you slept. In comparison to earlier, his movements were very tender as he gently spread your thighs apart so he could wash between them.
You stirred only slightly, mumbling in your sleep when the wash cloth gently dragged across the seam of your pussy and everywhere in between. And even after he was finished he sat there for hours in a deep contemplation over his decisions. He was a complicated man, with conflicted feelings driven by grief and loss. And that was the reason for his unkindness. His ability to remain aloof and cold. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the notion that someone as innocent as you, had survived the cruelty of the world for this long.
~~
Your relationship with Joel Miller, or lack thereof, turned into a mutual exchange. He offered you his protection, and you offered him your body and some semblance of control. It was his driving force, after all. To feel like he was in control of his life and the remaining frayed threads of it. The more times he fucked you, the more you began to enjoy it. You liked his meanness, and he liked how compliant you were. It was simple, no emotions tied up and he could simply just be.
Sometimes you did talk, and other times he just took what he wanted. You were like his personal punching bag, his means to get his frustrations out through having you beneath his sheets, molded however he saw fit.
Tonight was one of those nights.
“Yeah, thas’ it, little fawn. You can take all of me. Know you can.” He huffs out a hot puff of air against the shell of your ear. His broad shoulders, hard chest paired with a soft stomach, cage your softer frame like a protective shield. He’s drilling into you from behind, strong hips are flush against the soft curve of your ass, where he’s molded the shape of your body into the old, squeaky mattress. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through his tiny apartment, and your mind begins to grow hazy, consumed with pleasure, and him—Joel. He’s got you right where he wants you, where he can take, take, take, and you’ll give, and give, and give. The heady stench of sex, sweat and Joel swarms your senses like bees in a hive. He drinks in the wet, familiar sound of your pussy squelching around his cock, dragging him in further like a never ending vice.
He paints your insides with hot ropes of his seed, spending himself completely before he’s collapsing on top of you, drenched in sweat. His cock pulses inside of you for a few seconds longer before he draws his hips back and sits back on his thighs, resting his weight along his forearms as he catches his breath.
You lay flat on your stomach like a limp fish while you catch your own breath. He has your attention when you feel his hand gently curve around your ankle and you immediately roll over onto your back, silently begging him with your eyes alone to let you breathe a little longer. “I can’t go another round that fast, Joel. I need to catch my breath.”
“I wasn’t gonna suggest that, sweetheart.” He rasped softly, stroking your skin gently with the pad of his thumb. “I was—uh, gonna ask if you were hungry?”
You blinked a few times, trying to understand if you were hearing him correctly. Was he…offering you a meal? Did hell freeze over?
“Oh.” You couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yeah…I am a little hungry.”
Maybe he’ll ask you to make him a sandwich, hah!
“I ain’t got much to offer, unfortunately. But I think I got a couple cans of Chef Boyardee and some stale bread?” His cheeks are flushed from exertion, but there’s a hint of nervousness in your tone. It’s not like he said he loved you, he was just offering to feed you.
“Oh, man. That guy was great!” You sat up on your elbows watching his lips begin to curve upwards into a half grin from your enthusiasm.
“I actually agree.”
You ate in his bed, sitting across from one another in comfortable silence. Your knees were lightly touching, but neither of you seemed to mind the closeness. He even offered you the last half of his bread and you felt your heart swell at his selfless gesture.
A dog only bites when provoked. Maybe your guard dog was growing soft for his little fawn.
“Can I ask you somethin’?” He asked suddenly, breaking through the comfortable silence like a knife.
“Of course you can, Joel.”
He was never good at this sorta thing; talking about his feelings and emotions. He swallowed his last bit of food before reaching across to set both of your empty plates on the nearby nightstand.
“What are you gettin’ out of this? And don’t lie to me or try to give me some bullshit.”
“You make me feel safe…and protected.” You murmured softly, looking directly into his eyes for the first time that entire night.
He scoffs, gnawing on the inside of his cheek with his canines, “I ain’t a fuckin’ charity service, or your knight in shining armor.”
“You’re right, Joel. You aren’t. And that’s okay. I don’t need you to be either of those things. But—you’re all that I want, all that I need.”
His face softens slightly, that permanent frown between his brows and pout of his lips is almost not so permanent before his scowl returns.
Deep down in that black pit of his heart, he wants that too. To be relied on, wanted, needed. He likes that what he has with you is something that he doesn’t have to fight for. He could get all of this and more from Tess, but she always challenged him and wanted more. She would lay her life down for his own and he hated that. He was the type of man that would rather lay his own life down in the place of someone else. He valued his life very little at this point, and here you were acting like he had done something monumental by keeping you safe, fucking you, and providing you with a meal.
“Joel, can I ask you something?” You interjected through the silence, hoping that he wasn’t upset with your honesty.
“Depends what it is that you’re about to ask me, little fawn.”
You want to reach out and grab his hand, to feel his fingers lace through your own. You wanted him to hold you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. You were his, but only under his terms. He wasn’t yours and he would never be. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t inclined to try and break through his nearly impassable walls that he had laid down himself, brick by brick.
“Why do you wear that watch on your wrist…if it’s broken?”
He froze like a deer in headlights as his ears began to ring, the blood rushed in his veins and his heartbeat began to race. His fingers twitched at his sides, and by the way his eyes began to darken, you realized very quickly that you had crossed a boundary. He didn’t speak, he didn’t even scold you. He ignored you completely and threw his legs over the side of the bed and snatched up the two discarded plates.
“Never fuckin’ ask me that again.” He muttered in the doorway, his back facing you and you could only see his side profile before he stomped off towards the kitchen.
Moments later you heard the sound of the plates breaking in the sink, one by one. You had never heard him sound so…violent before. He was yelling, but you couldn’t make out the words he was saying. He might have been crying at one point, but you didn’t dare investigate.
Only when you could no longer hear his pained yells, did you finally reach for your discarded clothes and quickly redressed before tiptoeing out of his bedroom. Your plan was to slip out the front door of his apartment undetected and never look back.
That plan went to shit when you stumbled upon the massacre in the kitchen and a broken man standing amongst shattered plates and shards of glass. He looked defeated, unmoving amongst the wreckage. His hand was trembling as small droplets of blood dripped from the open wound on his palm, the same hand where his broken watch was strapped to his wrist. The crimson droplets landed on the scuffed up floor beneath his feet. He heard the floorboards creak beneath your weight and he whipped around, eyes rimmed red from his incessant, crestfallen tears.
“Where the fuck are you goin?’” He croaked out, his voice sounding like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper.
“Home?” You didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but even you couldn’t determine exactly why you were trying to leave.
“Did I say you could leave?” He took a step towards you, somehow avoiding the stray shards of glass.
“N-No…I just thought that—”
“Yeah?” He questioned, cocking his head to the side as he observed your timid demeanor. “Well, unthink that. Please.”
He was…asking you to stay? Not only that, he said please?
“You’re bleeding.”
He glanced down at his hand in surprise. He didn’t even feel the glass cutting through his palm or the familiar wetness from the blood dripping from the fresh wound.
“Let me patch it up for you, okay?” You took a small step forward in his direction while he wearily watched you. He brought his injured hand down to his side, holding it out of your reach.
“Are you going to stay?”
You nodded. “Yes, Joel. I promise I won’t leave.”
So, he chose to trust you and allowed you to touch him and guide him to the couch where he was forced to sit down while you rushed to the bathroom to grab his first aid kit. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling when you gently grabbed his hand and rested it palm side up on your knee and began to tend to his wound. He wasn’t capable of love, not after she died. He wasn’t capable of softness and kindness, not when he watched the light fade from her eyes, and yet he sat quietly under your soft touch and gentle eyes. You had become like his supply, a new addiction, a craving, a need that could only be satiated by you. It scared him down to his very bones.
The personal vendetta was long since forgotten and was replaced with his latent nature to protect and care for. You had given him that purpose again, and maybe he could do better and become a good man again because of you. Maybe you were the answer to it all.
And unknowingly, and unintentionally, you had tapped into his inner psyche, one soft touch and gentle gaze at a time. And he was beginning to believe that maybe he wasn’t better off being alone and forsaken, after all.
~~
When Tommy Miller hadn’t returned any of Joel’s radio calls for two weeks straight, Joel was facing a tough decision that he ultimately was going to have to make. His kin was out in bum fuck Wyoming, he could be dead for all Joel knew. Despite how rocky his relationship with his brother was, he was still family, and now Joel was going to leave the QZ and find his younger brother.
This was the beginning of the end of yours and Joel’s mutual understanding, and it was happening before your very eyes.
Tonight he was in a haste after fucking you for hours. Usually he would stay in bed, his limbs tangled with yours, locked together like two puzzle pieces. You learned that sometimes he liked to be the little spoon, but he would never ask, not verbally at least. He’d turn his back to you, reaching for your hands to wrap yourself around him. Tonight, neither of those things happened while you watched him gather up his discarded clothes, throwing on his briefs over his thighs and hips.
You sat up slowly, using the old sheet to cover your breasts. Your heart began to sink when he sat on the edge of the bed, revolver in hand and bullet cartridges in the other.
“Joel?…” you asked in an unsure tone. Would this turn into another one of his meltdowns? You had hoped that it wouldn’t.
“What?” He gruffed out, reloading the bullets one by one.
You recoiled at his tone, chewing on the inside of your cheek to try and distract your mind from assuming the worst was about to happen.
“Is everything okay?”
He sighed, rolling his shoulders forward as he finished loading the revolver and looked over his shoulder, refusing to meet your eyes and instead focused on the peeling wallpaper along the walls.
“Everythin’ is peachy, little fawn.”
Even he didn’t sound too sure of his words. You had been around him long enough to pick up on his changes in demeanor. Sometimes they were subtle, less easy to detect, but tonight it was clearer than day that there was something deeply troubling him.
“You’re acting really fucking weird, Joel.”
He laughed dryly and turned to face you completely. “That’s because I got something to tell you, but you ain’t gonna fuckin’ like it.”
Your face fell immediately and your loose grip around the sheets became tight, as if the fabric between your fingers was the only grounding source available in the vicinity.
“Please, don’t look at me like that. Like I’m about to break your heart or somethin.’” He sighed. “You can’t look at me with those—eyes.”
“Well, are you about to break my heart, Joel? Cause if that’s the case, just rip the fucking bandaid off already.” Your voice cracked, and tears were already threatening to spill, but you held them at bay.
“I need you to understand that I don’t have any choice in this, alright? Tommy hasn’t returned any of my messages in two weeks. It usually only takes him a day to respond, and he’s gone completely radio silent. I’m leavin’ the QZ as soon as Tess and I can locate a truck battery, and I’m goin’ to Wyoming to find him.”
He didn’t have any choice?!
“Joel, do you realize how fucking insane you sound right now?! If Tommy hasn’t responded in two weeks he’s probably—”
“Don’t you dare fuckin’ say another word, ya hear me?!” He growled, cocking his revolver and stood up abruptly from the edge of the bed. “You don’t get a fuckin’ say in this! You ain’t my family!”
His words stung, slicing your heart in a million tiny pieces from the venom dripping from his lips. Maybe this was the wake up call you needed. The rose colored glasses were beginning to lift, and the ship that you and Joel had sailed for so long, was finally sinking.
“You’re right, Joel.” You agreed with him. “I’m not your family. So, what the fuck am I then?”
He looked at you coldly, eyes narrowed into slivers. His jaw clenched and unclenched. He didn’t want to be having this conversation with you right now. He needed to focus on finding this damn truck battery and going after Tommy. But of course you just had to be fucking stubborn about the whole thing.
“You’re nothing but a goddamn liability.”
There was no emotion in his tone, just the cutthroat truth of what you truly meant to Joel Miller.
“You don’t mean that. You’re just trying to hurt me!” You tried to convince yourself that this man did care for you in a sense. That he thought higher of you than just someone he fucked, someone he held, someone he shared his meals with.
“Why are you makin’ this so goddamn difficult, huh? You want me to stand here and tell you that I love you?! That I care for you further than what our relationship is?! Would you like me to spell it out for you?!” He yelled exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in the air out of frustration.
He didn’t even flinch when you scrambled out from under the sheets, desperately reaching for your discarded panties and shirt. You felt more exposed than ever in front of him as hot tears flooded and rolled down your cheeks. The same cheeks he had tenderly held between his calloused palms.
“You’re practically…a prostitute.”
You reached for your own gun that was resting on the nightstand closest to your side of the bed, and once you had a firm grip on the base of it, you whipped around to face him, gun aimed directly at him, mirroring his own.
“How—how fucking dare you! I’m not a prostitute, Joel! We—we have a mutual understanding! That’s how it’s worked, that’s how it’s always worked!”
“Had.” He corrected you coldly, cocking his head to the side. “And mutual understanding?! You mean our exchange?” He laughed and shook his head, “you offered me your fuckin’ body, and in return I’ve kept you alive! That ain’t a mutual understanding, sweetheart. Thas’ an exchange of services.”
“So, the time that I patched up your hand, and stayed with you even though I knew I shouldn’t have, meant nothing to you?!” You were full on screaming now, seeing red through your blurred tears. “My kindness meant jack all to you, Joel?!”
“Don’t stand there and act so surprised! I told you from the get-go, I am not a good fuckin’ man! You made those choices, sweetheart! I didn’t hold a fuckin’ gun against your head and force you to stay!”
You laughed, throwing your head back slightly because you couldn’t believe how fucking delusional he was being. As if he ever gave you a choice in the first place?!
You took one bold step in his direction with your gun still aimed and at the ready. “Choice?! Oh, please enlighten me on what choice you’re speaking of when you never even gave me a choice in the first place, Joel!”
“I ain’t got time for this. It’s fuckin’ done, alright? We’re done and you’re just gonna have to find someone else to keep you alive, little fawn. You can be someone else’s liability!” In the midst of his yelling, he eyed your gun wearily, already mentally planning in his head how he was going to disarm you if you made the stupid decision to lunge at him.
“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU, JOEL MILLER! I HATE HOW YOU HAVE MADE ME FEEL! DON’T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME?! I—I HOPE THAT YOU NEVER FIND TOMMY. I HOPE HE’S DEAD, AND I HOPE YOU DIE ALONE, AND UNLOVED. I HOPE SOMEONE HURTS YOU THE WAY THAT YOU HAVE HURT ME AND—”
He wasn’t ready to admit just how shattering your words were. How it felt like someone had just ripped his heart out and tore it apart, piece by piece. But this is how he got by in life, by hurting those who he loved.
“I’m so fuckin’ relieved that you’re finally wakin’ up from whatever fairytale land you���ve been livin’ in, little fawn. There’s some hope that you won’t end up with a bullet between your eyes. Congratulations on joining the rest of society.” He muttered condescendingly. “Now, you’re gonna get that fuckin’ gun out of my face and go home, and you’re gonna forget all about me.” He deadpanned.
You did just that. He stood there just watching you quickly redress and tuck your gun into the waistband of your jeans. You strode past him, shoulder checking him on your way out.
“Careful. You might end up shootin’ your damn ass off.” He commented from the open doorway.
You didn’t have the strength to snap back at him. You felt broken, beaten, and defeated. He had taken all of you, and you felt like all that was left was your shell; withered and cracking away under his harsh cruelty and scrutiny.
You grabbed your backpack from the hook alongside the door and yanked the handle open, swinging it open loudly on its hinges. He waited till he heard the apartment door slam shut before he left his bedroom, padding quietly down the hall. He went straight to the door and locked it for good measure.
~~
When Marlene found you, you were in a drunken stupor after spending a day in lockup because you had stupidly punched a FEDRA officer in the face, oops. You traded a few ration cards for a cheap bottle of hooch, and proceeded to drink it in broad daylight in a deserted alley. It was nearing curfew now, and the bottle you had been nursing was completely drained and discarded by your feet. Marlene found you slumped over, covered in dried blood, vomit, and tears. You were curled up like a little fawn hiding in the thicket. She checked your pulse before you sputtered awake, lashes fluttering and eyes squinting through the massive hangover you were experiencing.
“M—Marlene?” You croaked out as you tried to wrap your drunken mind around how the fuck she found you here in the first place.
“He broke your heart, didn’t he? Told you he was bad news, sweetheart.” She sighed with a disappointed shake of her head. “Take my hand and we’ll get you cleaned up, okay?”
You neither confirmed nor denied her assumptions of why you were piss drunk in an alley. You simply reached for her outstretched hand and let her help you up from the ground. You were wobbly on your feet, like a drunk Bambi on ice, but she let you lean your weight entirely into her side.
A week later, you were officially a member of the Boston QZ Fireflies and under the direct protection of Marlene. If only you had known then that you had signed off on your own death certificate.
You were assigned to Riley’s position in the QZ mall making bombs for the Fireflies to use on an upcoming attack on FEDRA. When you asked Marlene what had happened to Riley, she cut right to the chase and told you that Riley had been bitten by an infected person. You didn’t ask for any further explanation, or where Riley had been bitten. Had you known that she was bitten in the mall, you would have begged Marlene for a different post instead.
When you proved yourself loyal to the Fireflies, Marlene decided that you were ready to be on the frontlines of the attack. Right in the midst of it. One of the bombs that you made with your own hands was about to be used in warfare; what a twisted turn of events.
~~
Tess Servopolous was having a shitty fucking day. After being jumped by a couple of Robert’s goons, and then finding out that he sold the truck battery that her and Joel needed, she was ready to go home and drink the whole thing off, when an explosion went off directly outside of the building that she, Robert, and two of his men were occupying.
She stumbled out of the wreckage, dazed and confused when she saw a FEDRA vehicle demolished and in flames. She squinted through the blinding sun when someone from a nearby rooftop yelled, “free Boston now, motherfuckers!”
And then, directly across the street, she caught a glimpse of you; Joel’s ex little fawn turned rebel scum. You were fleeing the scene just as FEDRA had shown up. Tess claimed she wasn’t a Firefly, but they threw her into lockup, anyway.
“He sold our battery to someone else, Joel.” Tess was sitting across from Joel in their shared tiny apartment. She had just disclosed to him that the men that had jumped her were with Robert, and she was in lockup all day. Joel was fuming.
“Who the fuck did he sell it to? That fuckin’ snake. Swear to god I’ll—”
“Joel, I need you to take a breath.” Tess said plainly, rubbing her sore temples with a sigh.
“I need that battery, Tess. It’s the only way we’re getting to Tommy and without it, we’re shit out of luck. He could be fuckin’ dead out there already for all we know. Where the fuck are we gonna find a battery now?”
“I saw her.” Tess said above a whisper to draw his attention.
“Don’t.” He warned her.
“Joel, I fuckin’ saw her! She’s—Firefly scum now. She was across the street when the bomb went off. She’s with Marlene now. She was fleeing the scene like a goddamn coward, too.”
It felt like Joel’s entire world was crashing down around him all at once. He hadn’t thought about you since your ugly departure from his apartment, but to hear that Marlene had sunk her venomous claws into you after all? He was furious, disappointed, and above all, he felt betrayed.
“You swear that you saw her?”
“On my life, Joel. It was her.” Tess would never lie. She had no reason to.
He swallowed the thick lump growing in his throat. It felt like hot bubbling tar was melting his insides away, melting the flesh from his bones and leaving him bare and brittle. He could taste the bitterness of betrayal on his tongue, and the dull ache in his heart. His fists clenched and unclenched, his brows furrowed tightly and his lips were in a straight, emotionless line. He looked across the table at his partner, giving her a slight nod of acknowledgment. “If I ever see her face again, I will kill her, Tess. I’ll make it hurt. I’ll kill her with my bare fuckin’ hands.”
He was a man of his word, but he was secretly praying that day would never come because he wouldn’t have the guts to do it. Not even after he promised Tess to her face that he would kill you. You were that weakness that he couldn’t shake free from.
“Good.” She nodded. “Now let’s go hunt that motherfucker down, and get our battery, our truck, and then we’ll go find Tommy, alright?” She reached for his hand that was clenched in a tight fist along the table.
“Alright.” He nodded.
Joel and Tess had a stash of weapons and supplies scattered about in different areas in and outside of the QZ. One of these areas included the boarded up mall, and this was Joel’s first stop. He had heard rumors sprinkled about that there were a handful of infected roaming the mall, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. He snuck into the building the same way he always did and retraced his steps purely from memory.
His confidence only began to waver when he approached the same door he had entered through over a dozen times and saw the unmistakable Firefly logo spray painted right across the frame of the door.
“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath and withdrew his concealed gun before pushing the slightly ajar door open with his broad shoulder.
On the other side of the mall, you were dealing with trouble of your own. Why hadn’t you asked Marlene more questions about Riley’s death—specifically where Riley had been bitten. Would Marlene have even told you the truth?! You were beginning to question the Fireflies true motives when you overheard Marlene and a few others talking about taking this girl out west to be tested in a hospital. This wasn’t just any random girl; she was immune to the Cordyceps infection. She could possibly be the cure to save the world, but even you were smart enough to know that Cordyceps grow inside the brain. This poor girl was going to die, and you wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.
From that point forward you decided that you were going to sabotage Marlene and Fireflies plans. After setting off a bomb in the QZ, you fled back to the mall to dispose of the rest of the bombs you had made that week and then you were going to leave the QZ for good. It was supposed to be simple and go exactly as you planned it to, and it did up until the point when you ran into an infected person.
Your gun was knocked from your grip leaving you with only your knife for protection when the infected person shoved you against a nearby wall, knocking the wind from you. You fought like hell, stabbing wherever you could reach till the infected collapsed to the ground after you jabbed your knife directly into its neck before you sank down against the wall to catch your breath. Its body lay in a heap at your feet, blood pooling and leaking from the deep gash in its neck.
A few minutes later you heard a door nearby open and close followed by heavy footsteps. You scrambled to your feet, wiping your knife along your jeans and snatched up your gun that was on the floor a good few feet away. Your boots slipped in the puddle of blood and created a trail of crimson footprints. So much for remaining concealed.
Joel appeared shortly after you had taken off. He could smell the stench of blood and death permeating the air upon his approach. When he found the dead infected, he kicked it with the toe of his boot, checking to make sure it was actually dead. When the body didn’t move or twitch, he let out a brief sigh of relief before he noticed the trail of bloody footprints and followed them.
It didn’t take him long to find the room that you had been occupying. The trail of footprints had led him straight to another door and that’s when he noticed the fresh blood on the handle and proceeded with caution. When he pushed open the door, he expected to find a person on the other side but there was no sign of anyone. He was drawn to the table in the corner of the room where he recognized a plethora of materials used to make a bomb.
Jackpot.
He surveyed the small room with his gun still drawn at his side as he crept around. You were hiding in the supply closet which was an uncomfortable tight fit. You had no idea who the fuck was on the other side of the door, but you didn’t intend to find out anytime soon. Through the small gap in the metal closet, you were able to make out a pair of all-too familiar black boots.
No, no, no. Please. Anyone but him. Anyone but—
your foot slipped from the blood causing something from the top shelf of the closet to fall and cause a loud racket. Moments later the janitor closet doors were yanked open leaving you exposed. Joel didn’t see your face at first when he grabbed your arm and yanked you out onto the ground with his freehand.
You let out a yell, trying to claw at the man when he yanked you onto the floor. You scrambled to sit up, raising your arms above your head when he trained his gun on you. Your eyes simultaneously widened in shock. The masochist and the sadist together again.
“You have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” He let out a scoff. “So, Tess wasn’t lyin’ huh? You really are…Firefly scum?”
“You are quite literally the last person I ever wanted to run into, Joel.” You hissed between your teeth while you were at his mercy.
“Well, sweetheart, that makes two of us.”
“Hilarious, I’m absolutely dying with laughter right now.” You rolled your eyes and he scowled at your sarcasm.
“Turned into a joiner just like Tommy. How fuckin’ predictable.” He shook his head in disappointment. “I promised Tess that I would kill you with my bare hands if I ever saw your face again, but…I can’t bring myself to do that, little fawn.” He lowered his gun slowly just as you began to lower your arms.
“You were leaving me behind, Joel. What—what else was I supposed to do, huh? Marlene found me in an alley, covered in blood and vomit because I had gotten my ass thrown in lockup after punching someone from FEDRA in the fucking face. I had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to, and Marlene offered me protection.”
“You punched someone from FEDRA in the face?” He couldn’t help but feel a little amused with this knowledge. “Never expected those words comin’ outta your mouth.”
“Yeah, well, things have changed, Joel. I did what I had to do to survive. I’m sure you think I did it to betray you, right? Not everything is about you. And even if that were the case, why would you even care, considering I’m just a liability in your eyes.”
“You’re right.” He stated simply. “I do think you did it to betray me, but clearly Marlene’s war ain’t goin’ to peachy with you fuckin’ it up. If I’m not the one to kill you, then I’m sure she’s hot on your trail already.”
“You’re probably right. After I set that bomb off I decided that I was fucking done with the Fireflies. I came back here to destroy the rest of the bombs and then I’m leaving the QZ tonight.”
“Wow.” His eyebrows rose in surprise and he couldn’t help the grin that slowly tugged over his lips. “Look at you havin’ a plan of action. I’m impressed.”
“And I take it you haven’t located that truck battery, huh? Man, that’s gotta suck.” You snickered softly.
“Watch it.” He snipped, “We ain’t friends or nothin’ and I still can kill you.”
You both fell silent as your emotions swirled like a dust bowl. You could only imagine the hate that could spew from his lips next.
“Did you…” he was referring to the dead infected that you had killed earlier.
“Yeah, I did.”
He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he observed you from where he was standing. “And you didn’t get bit, right?”
His question hung heavy in the air between you. You don’t remember if you were bit or not. It all had happened so fast—
“I—I don’t think so.” You were unsure as you slowly rose to your feet and that’s when he noticed your hand and the obvious teeth indentations in your skin. The same hand that patched up his wound, the same hand that wrapped around his middle when he wanted to be the little spoon.
“Oh Christ.” He whispered in disbelief, taking a small step back from you, his instincts kicking in immediately.
You looked down at your right hand, noticing the bite and the blood slowly leaking from the grooves in the indented marks. You quickly wiped the blood away, thinking that the bite mark would suddenly just disappear.
“No, no, no!” You yelled a broken cry, “I don’t—I don’t want to turn into a monster, Joel!” You continued to furiously wipe at the bite mark, growing more and more frustrated—afraid when it wasn’t going away.
His heart sinks and he doesn’t know what to do, or how to react. His eyes are fixated on the bite mark and what it means, and he isn’t sure how much time he’ll have left with you. The one thing that he does know for certain is that he won’t let you turn into a monster. He’ll make it quick, painless. You won’t feel a thing. It’s the least he can do for you after all the pain he caused. It’s really starting to hit him now, all the hurtful things he said. The cruelty he thrashed upon you. God, how could he do such awful things to someone like you?
“I—I need you to take a deep breath for me, little fawn, okay? Please. You need to calm down.” He tried to reason with you as he took a half step forward.
“Calm down?! You—” tears began to profusely roll down your cheeks when you faced your own realization that it was only a matter of time before you would turn into one of those monsters.
“I’m—I’m not going to let you turn into a monster, okay? I swear on my life, I’ll make it quick. You—you won’t feel a thing, okay? I’m so sorry—I’m so sorry that I’ve been nothing but cruel to you. I pushed you away, I forced you to leave. I’m the reason you joined the Fireflies. It’s all my fuckin’ fault.” He was struggling to hold his own tears at bay when he saw your body begin to tremble.
“Let—let me be till…my last breath, okay? Please, Joel. Can—can you do that for me? I’m—I’m so afraid.”
He nodded and slipped his gun into his holster. “Until your very last breath, little fawn.”
You slowly sank to the floor and despite every cell in his brain telling him not to join you, he ignored his instincts and found himself sitting alongside you.
“Will—will you hold me? I—I want one last comfort before my mind and body is no longer my own.”
How could he say no to your final request? He knew it was risky, and the Cordyceps were already laying their claim inside of your body. “Of course I will.” He whispered softly.
You slipped into his arms as if they were made for you, and he held you close, resting his chin along the top of your head.
He told you about his daughter Sarah and how he closed himself off to all feelings after she died. He told you that she died in his arms on his 36th birthday and that he wore the broken watch on his wrist because it was her birthday gift to him. He was wearing it when she died, and the bullets ripped through her body. A stray bullet had pierced the glass on the watch and her time of death would forever haunt him.
The last words you spoke to him were of forgiveness, and the last touch you felt from him was his lips pressed to your forehead before your mind and body were no longer yours.
He could sense that your time was up, and that you were no longer with him. He had gone numb when he reached for the gun in his holster and quietly removed it. When the infected head turned towards him and he was met with its dead, glossed over eyes, this was his final confirmation and nail in the coffin that his little fawn was no more.
He mouthed, I’m sorry, before he locked the infected in a headlock. They tussled on the ground momentarily before he pressed the barrel of the gun between its eyes and pulled the trigger.
The body went limp in his loosened grasp, slumping into his arms like a bag of bricks. He broke down into silent tears that wrecked through his body as he cradled you in his arms, rocking back and forth to try and calm himself down.
“I’m so sorry, little fawn. You deserved so much better.” He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before he lifted your corpse into his arms. He wanted to lay you to rest someone soft and comforting in hopes that wherever you were now, was filled with nothing but peace, love, and no pain.
He found a bed of moss nearby and gently laid you down upon it. His fingertips brushed across your eyelids, pulling them down gently so that it would appear as if you were sleeping peacefully. He placed your pocket knife between your hands and said his final goodbyes.
When your body rotted and decayed, you became one with the moss and only your bones remained.
Years later, Joel still thinks about you, his little fawn. He wonders if you’re dancing amongst the stars when he sits out on the back porch of his home in Jackson. There’s frost in the air, but it’s a clear night with the moon shining bright. His guitar sits off to the side and his mug of coffee has steam billowing off the rim of it. He catches a glimpse of the tail end of a shooting star striking brilliantly against the jet black sky. He knows in his heart that it’s you up there.
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If it’s uncomfortable to hear about imagine how it feels to experience it
#mental health memes#mental health awareness#mental health matters#suicide prevention#loss#trauma#grief journey#trauma recovery#trauma memes#suicide loss#suicide loss survivor#bereaved by suicide#grief and loss#grief recovery#reach out#social support#mourning#grieving#bereavement#mental health month#depression#depression memes#depression awareness#ineedfairypee#fairypeememes#I Need Fairy Pee
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one breathes life unto the other
Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader (GN terms & pronouns, reader has breasts & a vagina)
This is part two of one sin leads to another (both also on ao3), I highly suggest reading this first so you’re not lost! Also, this is the end of this little two-part fic. MDNI!
Summary: The catastrophic destruction of Hawkins leaves Steve utterly hopeless. You refuse to give up on him, trying to find a shred of comfort to offer among tragedy.
WC: 10k+
Includes: angst, hurt/comfort, a lot of grief and survivor’s guilt, suicidal ideations, PTSD, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of memory loss, brief appearances of other characters, friends to lovers, fuck-ton of feelings, smut— handjob, soft dom!reader, sub!steve, dirty talk, PiV sex (unprotected), nipple play, oral fixation, praise kink, etc.
A/N: I wanted this out months ago, but life happened. This one is heavier than the first, focusing on Steve’s feelings/pain post-s4 destruction, but there’s comfort smut and a realistic happy ending as promised. If it’s not your cup of tea, I understand. Please heed the warnings if you decide to read! I appreciate y’all so much<3 title is from dusk - chelsea wolfe, and dividers from @strangergraphics!
Despite only just reconnecting with your childhood best friend again, you still knew the way to Steve’s house like the back of your hand.
What you weren’t so great at navigating were the roads all torn to shreds, cracked wide open. Down the street, you can see the front of Steve’s house, with no smoke or fire in sight; you assume his was one of the lucky ones that weren’t sucked into the ground.
Rolling to a stop, feet away from a fissure in the ground, you sigh; foot on the brake, chin atop your resting hands on the wheel, you break the silence.
“Steve?”
He barely has the energy to acknowledge you, weakly humming in response. It’s hard to fight the weight tugging his eyes shut, but he somehow manages to.
“I don’t think I can get any closer to your house from here.”
You offered to drive, after all was said and done; everyone was hurting, emotionally, physically, but you knew Steve was in no shape to be behind the wheel.
“S’just a bump in the road,” he murmurs, not bothering to peer out the windows.
“I’m not wrecking your car trying to get through this shit.”
“Drive in the grass. Who cares?” He still won’t look out the window, stare landing on you instead. “All these fucks are gonna move after tonight anyway.”
Steve’s not wrong about his neighbors, wealthy enough to quickly find homes elsewhere, you know that. Hell, his parents will probably never set foot in Hawkins again after tonight; won’t even come home to assess the damage, gather personals, just leave a mess for their son to handle.
But the damage hasn’t discriminated what paths to take; some houses are crumbled wrecks, too, falling into the mini canyons the earthquake created. If you could even call it that.
“It’s not safe—“
“I don’t even care if the car gets scratched up—“
“Even if I found a way around this shit, there’s a chance we’d fall right through the ground.”
Silence falls between the two of you, and you wonder if Steve fell asleep. Seconds of quiet feel like hours, but he eventually answers, and it’s not one you’d like to hear.
“Fuck it. Not like this was worth surviving anyway.”
Your heart sinks, and it sinks fast. Never once have you heard him so hopeless before. Not even in the past day.
“Steve, don’t say that—“
“Bet it was nice to just… be asleep during this shit.” He throws a hand out to the ruins of a nearby house, void of any faith left in existence. “Not even know the ground opened up wide under your house, die in your sleep— it- it’d be so quick, you’d never even know. You’d be stuck in a dream, forever.”
You want to counter that with the fact his dreams— more often than not, are nightmares— but you hold your tongue.
The last 24 hours alone have changed you drastically; you can only imagine the amount of change Steve has undergone time, and time again these last several years. But this isn’t him; no past, present, future version of him would ever sound like this.
This is a polar opposite of the Steve you’ve always known.
You blink away tears, scorching hot, while your throat threatens to close, aching as you do your best not to give into your emotions.
Don’t be a crybaby. Don’t cry, don’t cry, please don’t fucking—
“How can you say that?”
No tears, not yet, thankfully. You’re shaking, though.
“It’s true—“
“It’s not true, Steve. I- I can’t imagine how awful this all feels, how heavy this weighs on your heart every time something terrible happens, but you can’t believe that.”
“Well, I do, so deal with—“
Rage shoves sorrow into the backseat, takes control before your mind can catch up with your mouth. You slam your hand on the steering wheel.
“Don’t you dare tell me to “deal” with you feeling so hopeless like it’s… like it’s some fucking chore. I know you feel awful, you have every right to, but I’m not going to ignore the way you’re talking, either.” Resting your head on the wheel, you sniffle harshly. “Eddie is dead, an- and Max… she’s barely hanging on. I am not trying to guilt you, but goddammit, Steve, this group can’t afford to lose you, too.”
You take a deep, shaky breath, sitting up again.
“Dustin looks up to you and Eddie, you’re both practically older brothers to that kid.” Steve slinks down in his seat, almost trying to make himself small, picking away at the callouses on his fingers. “Don’t make that harder on him.”
A mirthless laugh bubbles out of his chest. “Now you’re definitely guilting me—“
“Fine! Maybe I am! A- and maybe that’s fucked up, but we all need you. We need you here.”
“Always needed, but no one ever wants me to need them.”
You’re balancing on a line between empathy and anger, a very dangerous, thin, wavering line. So, you don’t respond, you only reverse his car away from the fissures, find a safe enough spot to park it on the street, cutting the engine.
“Get up. We’re walking.”
“What?”
You’re already out of the car, slamming the door behind you; rounding the hood, you tug his door open, hand outstretched towards him.
“Out.”
“Just leave me here.”
“I—“
A shrill static flows out of the walkie on the floor of his car, followed by a tinny voice.
“Hey… what’s the status on your house, Dingus?”
Dustin cuts in, “Robin, you’re supposed to say ‘over!’” He sighs dramatically.
The sound of the kid’s voice— somehow strong enough to still be a little shit after the traumatic night— brings tears to Steve’s worn eyes, fixated on the floor. He can’t bring himself to grab the walkie to respond, so you do.
“Uh, we have to park a few houses away, the street’s all torn up. I think his house is safe, though.” You’re quick to add, “Over”, before Dustin can scold you. While Steve rubs his glazed-over eyes, a hint of a chuckle escapes him. It gives some relief; an ounce, but it’s relief, nonetheless.
While you give the others the rundown, you watch Steve disconnect from the present, face blank and weary stare off in the distance. They agree to meet at his house, since everyone else’s are blocked off by carnage, or completely uninhabitable from the destruction.
Next step: convincing Steve that rotting away in the car isn’t an option.
“Do you want me to help you out? Or do you want to wait for Robin? Because she might drag you out.” You feel like you’re trying to bargain with a child mid-tantrum. He scoffs, crossing his arms; how fitting. “And if she doesn’t, you know damn well Dustin will. Do not make that child drag your grown ass out of this car—“
“Okay, okay, Jesus.” Cautiously, he climbs out, hands gripping the door’s frame. His stare flits to yours, only for a moment; it falls to the cracked ground. “I’m sorry. This— I can’t stop thinking— it just feels like…”
Steve trails off, unable to either find the right words, or unable to speak them into existence. You give him a moment, but he just runs his hand through his hair with a sigh.
“C’mon.” Gingerly, you wind your arm around his torso, tucking it under his arms to help him walk. It’s impossible to remember where his wounds are under his shirt and jacket, so you do your best to keep a gentle hold; he winces as your hand brushes against a raw spot. “Sorry, should I let go?”
It embarrasses him how quickly he responds, swallowing down his pain as he gasps, “Please don’t.”
“S’okay, I got you.”
What should be a five minute walk feels like an hour long trek, weaving around the fissures and splits in the ground; illuminating red, the sweltering heat radiates out, while thick smoke billows out of a few. Some neighbors are missing their cars, or parts of their house have been swallowed by the ground beneath them. You wonder how many of them were home when this happened.
You wonder how many of them are still alive.
Steve has to pause every now and then, catch his breath and assess the surroundings; one wrong step could be fatal for the two of you.
“God, I can’t wait to sleep,” He murmurs as his house comes into full view. A sigh of relief spills out at the sight of his house completely intact— at least, from the front, it seems. “Gonna crash as soon as we get in.”
“You can’t go to bed like that, you’ve got…” You give him a once-over, grimacing, “… Upside Down gunk on you.” He snorts as you make your point. “And you have to clean your wounds.”
“Yeah, do I? Thought I’d let them get gross this time around.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
The rest of the journey is uneventful, much to your relief; you get Steve inside and help him up the stairs. He begins to wander to his bedroom, but you gently redirect him, hands on his shoulders, pushing him into the bathroom.
“Nope. You’re gross. I’m gross. I can guarantee we’re both still covered in each other’s—“
Steve groans, more out of disgust than anything.
“God, yeah, okay. Yeah.” He carelessly shrugs his jacket off onto the tile floor. Dirt, soot, and dried blood sprinkle off the leather, tainting the pristine surface. “I’ll… tomorrow.” He’s too tired to care about complete sentences right now.
Removing his shirt is another story; the fabric catches on his bandaging before he can pull it over his head. He winces, hissing in pain.
Blood soaked through his makeshift bandaging from his wounds— which really should’ve been re-dressed by now, but there were bigger concerns at hand. Now, it’s been— and still is— seeping through the fabric, through his shirt, sticking it uncomfortably to his skin as it dried over, and over, against the gashes on his torso.
The discomfort makes his head spin, like he hadn’t paid much attention to the severity of his injuries until this moment; he reaches for the edge of the bathroom sink, breathing shakily.
“Did it— is it kinda hot in here?”
“Hm? No, I kinda think it’s a little cold— shit—“
Steve’s knees buckle, and you don’t completely catch him in time, but you attempt to anyway. Quickly, you throw your arms out behind him as he falls; you lose your balance as he stumbles back against your chest, slamming against a wall.
“Okay,” you groan, holding onto him tightly. “You need to be at the hospital, not here—“
The fear in his eyes reflects in the mirror before you, breaking your heart.
“Yeah, no, that’s not an option—“
“It’ll have to be if you’re just gonna bleed out on the floor—“
“Well maybe that’s for the best,” he grumbles, finding his footing again only to lower himself clumsily to the floor. “The room’s spinning like I have the worst hangover, I have a headache the size of Alaska, and—“ He squints up at you, frowning. “There weren’t four of you before, when did that happen?”
“Yeah, I’m calling 911–“
Steve uses the little strength left in him to grab your ankle, anchoring you in place to the floor.
“Don’t.” He forces himself to sit up, wincing with a sharp hiss. “M’fine, and there’s no reason for me to take up a bed a the hospital when someone else might need it more.”
You drop back down to the floor in front of him, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Sounding more wounded than pissed, Steve can’t meet your gaze; he averts his stare as he tilts his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “For once, can you stop putting others needs before your own? You mean well, I get it, but you need help, too.”
“I can’t go.”
“Give me one good reason why not.”
That’s when you notice a tear cascade down his face, then another, and another.
“I’ve never seen anyone outside of our friends deal with this shit. What if I— shit, this is so stupid—“
You take his hand in yours, embracing it with a reassuring squeeze.
“If it upsets you, it’s not stupid at all.”
His eyes screw shut, attempting to stop the tears, but his body betrays him, only letting them flow freely.
“I can barely handle seeing any of our friends getting hurt, and I just know if I see anyone else we know, it’ll make all this shit more real. A- and I can’t see Max. I know we should visit, but—”
“Steve, it was only a few hours ago. They’re taking care of her, and probably wouldn’t allow visitors anyway, and you’re in no condition to check on others right now.”
His shoulders jump as he suppresses a sob, but it’s no use when the dam breaks. He blankets his face with his empty hand, splaying it over his spiraling expression. He shouts into his palm, voice raw from agony, “We shouldn’t be living through this shit- why the fuck are we living through this shit?!”
Sliding closer, you keep your voice calm, even as it wavers with the threat of your own cries; somehow it’s easier to push your emotions aside to take care of Steve, though.
“We shouldn’t… and I don’t know why, but we’ve survived it this far, so we gotta keep going.”
Steve shakes his head, his cries steadying into full-blown sobs. Hand falling away from his face, you notice how swollen his eyes are already.
“I don’t want to, I don’t fucking want to!” He removes his hand from your own, glaring back at you. “I don’t want to be strong, or brave, or any of this fucking bullshit. I just want to go to sleep, and never wake up. I want th- this shit to go away. I want to go away.”
It’s years of turmoil, torment, and trauma, all spilling over into what he believes to be a last ditch effort to end the suffering.
“Can’t help my friends—“
“You do, Steve—“
“One of them is dead!” He’s inconsolable; while it’s better to let out the emotions than bottle them up, you’re scared of the way he’s spiraling so rapidly. “One of them is dead, one is barely alive, we all got hurt one way or another— I couldn’t— I just want everyone to be safe, but I can’t even protect anyone.”
“It’s not your job, and realistically, you can’t protect everyone. No one can. We do our best to watch each other’s backs, help out where we can—“
“And you,” his bottom lip curls into a trembling pout, while his bloodshot eyes bore into your own. “You could’ve been killed, and it’s my fault you were hurt to begin with. Then those— the fucking vines, god, the more I think about it, the more I realize how insanely fucked up that was.”
“But we survived, Steve. I’m okay, I promise.”
“That shit was against our will,” voice cracking, he runs his hands through his hair, tugging with stress. “Wh- what the fuck do you mean you’re okay?!”
You scoot closer, hands softly grabbing his face on either side.
“I’m okay, ‘cause it was with you. I wish you never went through that, never even saw what happened, but you saved me anyway.” Calmly, you reassure him you’re fine. Granted, you’re not, you’re far from fine, really, but you’re more stable than he is right now; if he won’t take care of himself tonight, you will.
His grip slips out of his hair, expression softening with your touch.
“We’re beat up, and mentally, we’re fucked. For life, probably, just from those stupid fucking vines.” Tilting your head forward, you rest against his, sighing. Steve shudders with a small, broken noise, face twisting up with grief. His tears drip onto your cheeks while he reaches out to you. “But we’re alive, we’re home.”
He brings you closer, cautious of the physical state you’re both in. The moment he ducks his head into the crook of your neck, the cries build back up.
“I don’t want this to be home anymore.“
“I know, sweetheart,” you hold him close, choking back your own tears.
There’s no bright side to look to, no silver lining hiding in the clouds; you have no words of comfort that’ll actually relieve his pain. Reassuring he’s not alone won’t do much here either.
What the fuck do you do? How do you convince him surviving this tragic, reoccurring, living nightmare is worth it?
Instead, you let him sob it out, whisper anything you can think of to remind him you care, his friends care, that it’s worth sticking around than disappearing forever.
Time is lost on the both of you, and if he needed all the time in the world to cry on your shoulder, you’d let him. When he starts calming down, he begins to murmur something into your shoulder, but makes a frustrated huff.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Will you… would you mind… helping?” He nervously asks, face still squished against you shoulder, breath tickling your throat. “Helping me, I mean… with the- in the—“
Steve has put everyone first for so long, it’s as if he forgot how to ask for help for himself. You realize it’s not that he doesn’t want to ask, he doesn’t really know how. Not without feeling like a bother to others, or that his problems are minuscule to anyone else’s.
“Of course, I’d help you with anything, y’know.”
He slides back, loosening his grip with a teensy, tiny, fraction of a smirk, “Anything? You’d rob a bank with me?”
“I’d even bury a body for you,” you joke, but cringe at yourself; the timing isn’t the best.
Read the fucking room.
Yet he allows his smile to grow, not much, but enough for it to be visible. “For me? Not with me?”
Snorting, you roll your eyes teasingly, rising to stand with your hands held out. “Can you stand?”
It takes patience, soothing encouragement, and keeping him upright to get him undressed and into the shower safely. Unfortunately, that’s not the hardest part of this process.
Steve leans against the shower wall while you strip quickly, worried to watch him collapse again. As you fiddle with the water temperature, you hear his breath hitch; you glance over your shoulder to check on him, still facing the shower head.
“What’s wrong?”
His gaze is fixated on your back, eyes wide with concern.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”
Your brows scrunch together, turning to him as the water finally feels comfortable enough. “What are you talking about?”
Trembling hands gently spin you around by your shoulders while he examines your back.
“Shit…” He breathes, fingers gliding along your skin. “Your back is all scraped up.”
“Goddammit.” Poking your head out of the shower, you glance down to your shirt on the floor; sure enough, there’s blood stains on the back of the garment. “Is it bad?”
“The marks don’t look deep—“
“Then I’m fine.” You push past the sharp stinging in your wounds as water rolls over them.
“Bullshit.”
“Fine, okay, yeah. Compared to you, though, I’m okay, so let’s clean you up first, alright?”
Steve’s first instinct is to argue, but one glance at the look you give, and he bites his tongue instead. Allows you to guide him under the water, murmuring for him to take his time. You brace yourself for his cries as the blood and grime washes out of the gashes on his body, but they’re nonexistent.
It hurts, it really, really fucking hurts, more than any other injuries he’s had in the past— and that’s saying a lot after everything he’s endured, yet he can’t react. His emotions feel frozen, stuck in between bottling them back up, and breaking down all over again.
“I hate that you’re quiet right now,” you suds up soap between your hands. “If you need to cry, or scream, or whatever helps, you can.”
Steve shakes his head, stare far away in some distant thoughts, exactly like earlier, while trying to coax him out of the car.
“Okay… well, you’re safe with me. You know that, right?”
“Don’t want to scare you after… all of that.” He means the outburst he had— minutes, maybe hours, who fucking knows— ago.
“After tonight, you’re the farthest thing from scary.”
The light teasing leads him back, just enough, to the present, to you; he snorts, and it brings you some relief.
“Was I scary before?”
“Oh, the scariest,” you quip, careful to keep your touch light as you massage soap onto his forearms. He groans as you sweep your fingers along his biceps, aching from exertion. His limbs feel heavy with pain and grief, but your touch is a soothing balm amidst the suffering. “Never met anyone as scary as you.”
He’s not used to this, being doted on with extra care and precision, and the bonus hint of playfulness, too— but maybe he can get used to it, as long as it’s with you.
You take your time, washing around his wounds, trying to avoid and divert any soap slipping into his wounds. It surprises you how still he stays, but you notice the way his jaw tightens when your fingers wander too close to some of the gashes.
“You doing alright?”
“Kinda, y- yeah, nothing I can’t handle,” he mirrors your words from earlier, after the vines finally released you.
“Can you turn around for me?”
Steve’s eyes snap wide open, “What? Why?”
Your brows knit together, “So I can clean up your back too?”
“Oh. Right.” He turns, hands planted on the shower wall for support. You continue your meticulous work of cleaning away dried blood and soot from the Upside Down off his skin. In time, he’s free of any filth that hell left behind.
Tenderly, you massage any areas far enough away from the wounds, hoping it brings some relief. It’s relief in itself to watch his shoulders relax, while he releases a soft sigh. It goes on like this for a bit, until you get closer to Steve’s hips. That’s when he tenses up again.
“Does it hurt?”
“No,” he strains out.
You’re not buying it. “Steve, what’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer you, rather, mutters to himself, “Christ, am I really—“ Steve forces a laugh, hair flopping forward as the water weighs it down. Sighing, he leans his head against the wall, eyes shut. “Ah, fuck.”
“What’s up?” Your hands wind around his hips, fingers brushing low against his hard-on. “Oh. Well, I guess you’re up.”
It bubbles a laugh out of him, a real one; it’s weak, but you’ll take it.
“Wow, that was—“
“Smooth, right? I know.”
He doesn’t answer, only turns slowly, hand splayed out against the tiled wall for support.
“Second time in 24 hours I’m hard when I shouldn’t be. That’s fucking embarrassing,” he mutters, shaking his head with a bashful smile. You quirk a brow at him, a smirk curling along your lips.
“Second time? When was the first?”
Steve’s eyes meet yours over his shoulder, before looking away. He murmurs, “When I found you.”
Oh. Duh.
“Why are you embarrassed? It happens. The— getting hard part, I mean. Not the whole… weird mind-controlling pollen that turned us into insatiable freaks thing, that… that doesn’t happen. Often. Ever. At all.”
The two of you hold one another’s stare for a second before bursting into a fit of laughter. He’s caught up in the brief moment of joy, he doesn’t notice you step closer, eyes pinching shut as he snorts. Not until your hand slides around his shaft, then the laughter dies abruptly; his breath hitches for a moment, then he shakily exhales.
In a languid motion, you stroke him with one hand, while the other finds his face, palm resting on his cheek. His head lolls into your touch with a whimper.
“Hey, you don’t— it’s— don’t feel like you have to do this.”
“I know I don’t. I want to.” Your thumb rolls over the head, catching a bead of pre from the slit. You laugh softly, hand sliding down to his neck while you kiss the opposite side.“Actually, what I really want is to get on my knees for you, but there’s no way I’d get back up right now.”
Steve begins to smile, but you stroke him just right, enough pressure over that prominent vein to lure out a beautiful, breathy moan.
Without disturbing his injuries, you lean as close as possible into him, head resting on his shoulder to gaze up at the pleasure written all over his face. The blush on his face has crept down his neck, spreading along his chest; you can feel the heat under his skin turning red. His eyes screw shut as he bites his lip, muffling the sweet sounds you’ve grown to love in the last 24 hours.
For a split second, Steve appears tortured in his expression, but sinks deeper into bliss. Your hand on his length slows, while the other lets go of him, concerned.
“Are you alright? Does it hurt?”
He shakes his head frantically, managing to look down at you without losing it right there.
“N- no, it— pl- please keep going.”
His back arches off of the wall, reminiscent of the way he writhed on the floor for you earlier. Now, though, he’s not bound by vines, nor is he in a frenzy, looking for a way to put the fire out. It’s your gentle touch turning him to putty; a drastic contrast from the way you treated one another in the Upside Down. One hand slides around your waist, holding you even closer, while the other cradles the back of your head, kissing the top and lingering there. His moans are quieted while he nuzzles into your wet hair.
God. This man is un-fucking-real.
“When you said no one ever wants you to need them… that just isn’t true,” you mumble into his neck. “I need you, and I want you to need me, too.” You’re trying not to get emotional while giving your friend— boyfriend? whatever— a hand job, but the vulnerability won’t stop pouring out. “I’ve always wanted you. I’ve always needed you. And I’ve always wanted you to feel the same.”
Steve tucks his head against your shoulder, “Close…”
“You’re so good, Steve. So good to everyone. So good to me.” You wish you could shut up, you’re probably ruining the moment, but it’s true. It’s all true. The praise seems to spur him on, regardless; he’s thrusting into your fist and panting. “Shhh… let me take care of you, for once. I got you. Do you trust me?”
“Yeah, I- I do,” he’s whining into your skin, sucking marks along your shoulder. “I trust y- you, I really—“ He chokes back a wavering whimper.
“Don’t be afraid to be loud with me,” you reassure him, stroking him at a steady, delicious pace. “S’okay, Stevie. I got you.”
Just as Steve finally reaches his peak, about to release some of the most sinful, beautiful moans you’ve ever heard, the front door slams shut.
“Hellooooo?”
Eyes clamped shut, he bucks wildly in your grip, whimpers building into those sounds you were oh so lucky to hear earlier. You already know from experience he is loud, and you just encouraged it, but you’re forced to mute his audible bliss, throwing your hand over his mouth.
Steve’s eyes spring open, glancing down at the hand over his mouth, trailing his gaze to you, only to nearly cross as they roll back. The vibrations from his moans shake you to your core, but never mind that. He spills over— your hand, the shower floor, his stomach, your leg— it’s all a mess, matching his demeanor.
“Good boy,” you whisper, rewarding him with soft, slow kisses, planted along his neck, under his jaw. He shudders, your hand still guiding him through the last of his climax, but then he jolts under your touch, squirming and panting under your palm. Barely finished, another wave of pleasure rolls through him, and he’s shooting pearly, thick ropes everywhere again.
“Is that really all it takes to get you off? Just some praise and kisses?” Steve nods aggressively, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps against the wall. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
“Are you guys here?!”
His head falls back against the tile, catching his breath. “Ah, shit.”
“Yeah… um, sorry for the whole ‘be loud for me’ thing… kinda got carried away and forgot they’re coming over.” When your hand slips away, he gives a drained, yet content smirk.
“Thought this whole time—“ He holds a finger up, trying to ease his breathing steadily. With lids still hooded, he glances over your way, smirking ever so slightly. “— You weren’t into taking control.”
“What? Why do you say that?”
“I thought it was just that pollen and the vines earlier.”
BANG!
“Christ on a fucking—“
“I hope you’re not dead in there!”
“We’re actually far from it—“ Steve slaps his palm over your mouth this time, glaring as you whine.
Well. This is horrible timing.
“We’re alive, just— just give us a minute!”
“Us?” Nancy’s tone would pair well with a pearl-clutching expression. “Are they—“
“You two are gross!” Robin chastises through the door, kicking it for emphasis. “Wasn’t once enough?!”
Dustin gasps, “Once? Wait, are you saying—“
“I can’t believe this is happening right now,” Steve grumbles under your palm, head falling onto yours, sighing. You pull his hand off your mouth, rolling your eyes.
“Steve was bleeding out, and I was trying to— ugh—“ Frustration overwhelms you while calling out your defense; to be fair, you’re not lying, just… not telling the entire truth. “— can y’all for once, just once, not make it weird?!”
Though they don’t sound like they’re buying it, Robin, Nancy, and Dustin murmur apologies through the door before walking away.
Sighing with relief, Steve’s arm slides around your waist, reeling you in closer. Water continues to tumble down between your bodies, rinsing away evidence of his arousal. Under calmer, lighthearted conditions, you’d be happy to clean him with your—
“Hey,” Steve’s hand cradles your face, leaning in to kiss you softly; it’s quick, but reassuring, breaking you from your thoughts. “Thank you. For taking care of me, I mean.” He’s got a dazed smile on his face, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, but he’s content, just enough in this moment.
“Not sure if you’re thanking me for making sure you didn’t bleed to death, or for the handjob, but you’re welcome—“ He clasps a hand over your mouth again, eyes wide.
“Shhh!”
“Not even 24 hours ago, you were railing me with a buncha’ fucking vines—“
“Oh my god.” With a groan, he glares at you, “Please shut up—“
“And now you’re too shy to talk about a handj—“
Both hands fly up to cover your mouth, which you only giggle under them.
“You’re so lucky we’re not alone right now.” It’s cute, watching him try to take control all on his own; he’s a flustered mess without the pollen running through his system.
“Oh, please, like you’re in any state to fuck me at all.” You slip out of his grasp before he can pathetically try to silence you once more. He rolls his eyes, but again, a hint of a smirk lingers.“Lemme bandage you up before we go downstairs.”
“Hang on,” he grabs your hand, stare falling to your back again. “Gotta take care of your back, first.”
“It’s fine, really—“ Hands flying to your hips, Steve gently leads you under the water again. His forehead rests against yours, lips brushing together.
“Let me take care of you, too.”
He sounds so broken, desperate to repair something within him by doing what he knows best— putting others before himself.
You don’t have the heart to deny him right now; with a simple nod, you allow him to dote on you, too.
“Fucked up we can’t order food right now,” Robin grumbles, digging through the kitchen cabinets. “Could really go for some comfort pizza.”
Dustin frowns, “Robin, people died.”
“Like I don’t know that— I’m trying not to think about how many people we might know that didn’t survive tonight, so let me whine about pizza, okay?!”
“Pizza would be in the freezer, not the cabinets,” Steve, fighting sleep that he needs in the worst way, counters. He’s leaning against the kitchen island, chin in hand, elbow on the table, falling asleep every so often. It’s when he begins to fall over that he wakes up, and repeats the process all over again.
“Okay, y’all just go— go be comfy somewhere, I’ll make something.” When Steve lingers while everyone else files out, you narrow your eyes. “Steve, babe, that means you too.”
“You don’t need help?”
“With what? I still know where everything is.” You begin opening cabinets and drawers, not looking when you name the contents correctly. “Plates, silverwear, mugs on the bottom, glasses on the middle shelf, top shelf has the nice glass—“
“How the hell do you remember this?”
“— The really fancy glass is in that hutch,” you throw a thumb over your shoulder in its direction, rummaging through a drawer. “The one your mom hated us running around when we were kids.” Steve’s silence catches your attention, finally looking up. “You alright?”
He opens his mouth, ready to speak, but can’t find the words he needs. He loses them, like a dream slipping away after waking up, just dissolving the longer he thinks about it.
“Steve? Did I say something wrong?” You step closer to him as he shakes his head, running a hand over his face with a sigh. “Is it weird that I remember this stuff? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t, you don’t,” his voice splits with despair as he gets up suddenly. “I— I need to lay down.” You don’t get a chance to comfort him as he rushes to the stairs, wincing and hissing from the deep aches and stabbing pain all over his body.
Instead, you’re left standing alone, stumped, and a little hurt.
What did I do?
“What happened?”
Nancy’s soft voice, laced with curiosity, startles you out of your thoughts.
“Sorry,” She grimaces, but notices how tense you are. “Are you okay?”
“I… don’t know. Not really, I guess.” You still stare where Steve was moments ago. “I have no clue what’s going on. I think I upset him,” You tell her what happened, slumping into a chair nearby, sighing with defeat. “He just… froze, and left.”
Nancy seems to catch on immediately, nodding with her lips pursed. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
She slides into the chair next to yours, sighing with a shake of her head.
“He’s been pretty beat up the last four years, but the damage left behind is worse than he likes to let on.” She glances down at her hands, folded in her lap, speaking carefully. “He’s still himself, but sometimes he— he has these memory lapses, and gets really frustrated with himself, even if it’s out of his control.”
You feel sick. This is a detail he shouldn’t have left out while reconnecting with you. You’d never judge him for what he can’t control, and of course one could only take so much damage before there’s heavy consequences.
“I think the trauma kicked it off, because it’d happen at times when we—“ She cringes, pausing, not wanting to cross a line, but you’re not bothered by the past they have.
“S’okay, you don’t have to tiptoe around it, Nancy.”
Offering an apologetic smile, she continues, “He’d forget things here and there, when we were dating, but it wasn’t enough for the alarms to go off, at least not for me. It changed quite a bit after Billy nearly beat him to death. We weren’t really close anymore at that point, but it was still noticeable, even from a distance.
“Some days seem to be better than others… at least that’s what Owens said. Then last summer, he was even more roughed up, and this time has to be the worse yet.”
Yet.
God, you want to vomit.
“It’s the trauma and head injuries combined,” she explains, voice wavering. “Steve’s still Steve, but sometimes he just… loses himself for a bit. It’s not so life-altering that he can’t be independent, but it’s gotta be terrifying just… forgetting your own life, even for a second. Especially while we’re still young.”
“So that’s why he left,” you realize aloud; Nancy nods solemnly. You need to check on him. “I— do you care if I go—“
“I got it under control, it’s all good.” She rushes over to the pantry, pulling out boxes of pasta— angel hair’s easy enough to make with low energy.
“Thank you so much, Nancy.” You wipe your eyes as you head for the doorway, but she calls your name, spinning you back around.
“I’m glad you two found each other again, even if the timing is shit.” Her sincere sentiment eases any lingering tension. “He needs someone like you.”
The door to Steve’s bedroom is ajar, and he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, looking through a book.
“Steve?” You call out softly, poking your head through the door. He whips around, dropping the book, facing you with a bloodshot stare. “Shit, sorry, I just— I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
He gives one, dismal laugh, “I think you know the answer to that already.”
You step inside, gently shutting the door behind you. As you move closer, you notice he wasn’t holding a book, but a photo album; when he dropped it, some of the photographs spilled out onto the floor.
Most of the images are of you and him throughout your childhood years.
You crouch down, collecting and handing them back to him. Your eyes meet his own, soaked and swollen in sorrow.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the memory loss?” It’s not out of anger, or hurt, it’s out of concern, if anything at all.
“Would you believe me if I said I forgot?” He chuckles, but again, it’s lifeless. “I wanted to say something, but I kept pushing it off, and really did just… forget.”
Shuffling next to him on the bed, you wind your arms around him as he continues.
“When you brought up that old memory, it scared me that I couldn’t remember. The photos help, and shit eventually comes back to me, but those moments where everything dissolves away is—“ He chokes up, “It’s fucking terrifying.”
Steve rests against you, head on your shoulder as his arms lock around you, like you too, would dissolve at any moment.
“I scared you enough earlier, didn’t wanna do it again.”
“It scares me for you, but really, I could never be afraid of you. This is out of your control.” You kiss the top of his head, fingers running through his hair, gently scraping along his scalp in soothing, slow repetitions. “But you can’t get rid of me that easy, Harrington.”
The two of you sit in a comfortable silence, holding onto one another for dear life.
After managing to stomach some food and water— all five of you weren’t hungry in the slightest, but needed something in your systems before sleeping— you finally get Steve alone again, cozying up to one another in his bed. Clothes strewn around the room, you burrow under the covers, tangling around one another without fabric barriers— aside from bandaging, wanting to feel as close as possible.
You figured the two of you were both far too exhausted and depressed to fool around, but he’s determined to try and return the favor; you’ve tried telling him there’s nothing to return, you were happy to distract him, make him feel good, even for a little bit, but he wouldn’t have it.
“As much as I want this right now, we both really need sleep.”
“Please? I jus’wanna be good for you,” He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, sporadically leaving kisses on your skin. “Please…”
It pains you to say no, but you shake your head anyway. “Steve, you were ripped apart earlier, a- and flung around like a damn rag doll. I need more than anything for you to rest, okay?”
Silence hangs heavy above the both of you, buried beneath the sheets of his bed. Steve’s the first to shatter the quiet, barely above a whisper:
“What if you leave? What if I go to sleep and wake up and you’re gone?”
You lean up on your arm, trying to get a better look at him, but it’s too dark to make out his expression.
“Why would I leave?”
“Everyone always leaves.” He shudders a breath, adding, “You did.”
“Whoa, wait…” You’re baffled. “Steve, you left me behind. You walked away from our friendship for some—“
“Earlier, I mean. When you ran off. You just… left.”
“Because you were saying awful shit to me—“
“‘Cause you didn’t need to get tangled up in this mess!”
“It’s too fuckin’ late to argue that, Steve. It’s said and done— why the hell are you upset over this now? I don’t get—“
“I could’ve lost you!” His voice breaks into a pitchy rasp, trembling against you. “All of this has been so… so… confusing. Do you know how relieved I was to see you come through that gate, but how badly it pissed me off you’d even put yourself in danger to begin with?!”
“We talked about this—“ The sheet covering your naked form falls as you abruptly sit up, scoffing. “I was scared, and you never even asked what I was afraid of. Did it ever cross your mind I was scared to lose you?”
Steve shakes his head with a mirthless, forced laugh. “You said you were scared because everyone left—“
“And you never let me finish that thought, ‘cause you were too focused on being some… some know-it-all dickhead.”
“Yeah, yeah that’s real mature,” He sits up, close to you, but it’s still too dark to make out the details of his expression, whatever that may be right now. “Did it ever cross your mind that I never wanted you to see that place? That maybe I never wanted you to experience a hell like that? That— this— all of this has ruined my life. I’d never want you to feel what I feel— or what I don’t feel sometimes.”
“I’d follow you into hell, any form of it, if it meant helping you stay alive.” You say it so calmly, like it’s a no-brainer, and it is.
To Steve, it’s just another display of your well-intentioned naivety. He grabs you by the shoulders, hands shaking through his grip.
“What don’t you understand?” His voice cracks, weakened by exhaustion and hopelessness. “Why would I want you to do that? I want you safe. Not down there with me. I wanted to you stay here. Stay safe.”
“Well, sometimes, when you care about someone, you do stupid shit for them—“
“No, no way, you don’t get to use that as an excuse,” He flatly laughs. “You don’t see me pulling stupid shit ‘cause I love you.”
Your ears ring, nearly drowning him out as he begins to nervously ramble.
He what?
“A- and look, I get— I’m sorry. I really am. I know we said earlier we’d leave that shit behind, but I need you to know it was out of—“ He pauses, catching himself before letting the word slip again. “It was never a mistake fixing our friendship. Not for me, at least, but you’ve always deserved better. Fuck—“ His hands leave you to press the heels of his palms into his eyes as he sighs; that much you can tell from the sliver of moonlight creeping in through the window. “I never wanted you down there ‘cause you deserve better. You always have. If anyone deserves to live a normal life, it’s you.”
“Oh, fuck normal, Steve.” Pulling his hands away from his face, you lace your fingers between his. “When has normal ever been my thing? I don’t care how much it pisses you off— I love you enough to follow you into hell, and did.”
This is the version of you he knew all those years ago, before leaving you behind for a chance of a higher status that never would matter in the real world. A version so unapologetic your own skin, to defend what and who your heart embraces the most.
You’re climbing onto his lap, swinging a leg over to straddle him, and all he can do is watch you with a perfect balance of hearts and stars in his eyes.
One hand leaves his to cradle his face, skin tingling as he turns his head, kissing your palm. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble, with the— y’know—“ Talking about the vines is a little difficult without the intoxication of that sinful, stupid, demonic plant you found. “But I’m not sorry for loving you.”
Steve’s struggling to find the right words, eyes searching your own for any doubts, any signs to keep his guard up; all he can find is the sincerity you’ve always shown him, but it’s deeper now, rooted in love.
His hand reaches to the back of your neck, fingers splaying out and up to clumsily pull you towards him. You gasp once his lips meet yours, matching the hunger he kisses you with. It’s passionate, but slow, at first; in mere moments, he’s pressing his free hand to your back, pushing you even closer into him, whimpering into the lip lock.
Bucking up against you, his bare length glides along your slick heat; you’re caught off guard, completely forgetting the two of you never bothered to get dressed before bed.
“Shit—“ You throw your head back and grip tightly onto Steve’s shoulder. He hisses in pain, pulling you from the haze you’d began to lose yourself in. You immediately release your hold, realizing he was bruised badly. “Fuck, Steve, I’m sorry.”
“S’okay, I kinda— I forgot the vines did that,” He rests his head back against the headboard, wincing as the burning ache lingers. “You were right, we should just go to sleep. Neither of us are in the best shape right now, and—”
“What if I do all the work?” Your offer catches his attention as you run a hand through his hair. “I’ll be gentle, I promise, and you wouldn’t have to do a damn thing, ‘cept take it like a good boy.”
Steve shudders, cock kicking underneath you, still nestled between your folds. He wants it. Wants it bad. Real fucking bad. But, ever the gentleman that he is, there’s still concern over your current state.
“Yeah, but you’re not… you’re pretty beat up, too.” He swallows a gasp, hips twitching as he holds himself still. “Don’t wanna hurt you just to make me feel good.”
You shrug, like the pain’s not a big deal, and really? It’s not, not one bit. All you feel is love and heartache all at once, and you both need a distraction, to channel out the energy built up in that confession.
“I’ll let y’know if it’s too much,” You kiss his forehead, leisurely making your way down to his lips, only ghosting yours over his own. “But I’m gonna be so real with you, Steve—“ When you shift your hips, sliding tauntingly slow along his length, he whimpers, biting his lip to muffle what would’ve been a beautiful sound. “Can’t stop thinking about fucking you since yesterday.”
“Oh, fuck…”
“Shh, gotta be quiet for me, honey.”
It’s a surreal sight, having Steve writhe underneath you with overwhelming desire, whimpering again with his eyes rolling back as you call him honey.
That’s when it clicks; all Steve’s ever wanted is someone who can be as soft with him as he is with them. He just wants to be seen as precious and important as he sees you— wants to feel as treasured as he tries to make you feel.
And god, Steve Harrington is the most precious, important soul in your life. He’s so treasured, every fiber of his being— everything, even the stubborn, bitchy moods— you love all of him. Always has been near and dear to your heart, and always will be.
“Do- don’t think I can,” He pants, desperately trying to keep his voice at a whisper as the head of his cock catches at your entrances. Bucking up into you, he’s rushing out, “Just need t’be inside you. S’all I want, all I need— I- I need you so bad, angel.”
“I know, Stevie,” You grind down onto his cock, biting your lip to mute your own pleased sounds. “It’s all I want, too.”
His arms wind around you, reminiscent of the vines in their selfish urgency, but otherwise, his embrace is filled with a tender adoration.
Eyes flicking down to where your bodies meet, you glance back up at Steve, and oh, what a fucking wreck he is already; stare hooded with lust, mouth parted as he pants, the anticipation of your next move has him on edge, to say the least.
You search his expression for a final grant of consent, and he offers it in the form of a frantic nod, whimpering, “Mhm.”
The stretch as you slowly impale yourself onto him will take time getting used to; it was easier under the spell of some fucked up aphrodisiac, but completely tuned into reality has you taking it slow.
“Fuck. Fuck— Were you this—“ A moan attempts to leave him, until he strangles it into a grasp while you sink further onto him. “T- this fucking tight yesterday?”
Jaw falling open, you keep the cry of bliss to yourself, fully sheathing him while your breaths fall shallow. “M’sorry, I— give me a—“ Steve surges forward to kiss you, hoping it calms at least one of you.
He breaks the connection, just barely, to whisper against your lips, “I know, s’okay—“ The way you scrunch your eyes shut catches his attention, drags him out of the fog of lust, just for a moment. “Hey, hey, look at me,” Gently, he holds your face. “If it hurts we- we can stop.”
Your gaze is glassy as you open your eyes, shaking your head as your body trembles.
“I- I don’t know how to— it’s like you’re—“ You take a deep breath, then another, for good measure. “Yesterday was… intense, but you… you’re here, we’re both here.”
Steve’s puzzled. “Well, yeah, f’course we are—“
“I thought— shit, m’sorry, I was trying so hard to— I didn’t want to fuckin’ cry.” You mirthlessly laugh at yourself; the action flutters your walls around him, but again, for your sake, he finds the strength to ignore it, pushes back a throaty groan. “S’like… knowing we’re somehow still alive makes it I- I sound insane—“
“Not even close, honey.”
“I feel— you feel closer, somehow. I- I- don’t know how to describe it, but I feel you everywhere, and now that I know y’feel the same, it’s— you—“
“Shhhh, sweetheart, just breathe for me,” You take a deep breath, inhaling rapidly and constricting around him; with a sharp gasp, his cock throbs inside of you. “Okay, not— fuck— not like that, or I’m gonna lose it.”
The lapse of restraint gives you a step up, helps you regain control over your emotions. With a few more slow breaths, you settle down, anchor yourself into the present.
“Are you okay?” You manage to ask, and Steve, in need of rest more than anything, smiles dopily at you.
“M’good, you?” He grabs your hips, lazily guiding you back and forth on him.
“Uh-huh.” When you discover a rhythm gratifying enough for you both, he moans out, too tired to react in time to quiet down. “Steve.”
“Can’t help it,” He leans into your neck, kissing and failing to keep his mouth busy. “Not with a pussy like this.”
Flexing his hips into you, there’s nothing you can do in time to cover the quick yelp you make,“A— ah! Oh my god…”
Steve tries his hardest to hold back his needy sounds, but has to bite down onto your shoulder to muffle the noise somehow.
You rush out in a whisper, “Oh, fuck, Steve! Shit…” Riding him with a steady pace, you pant, “Wish I had something to gag you with.”
“M’sorry, m’so sorry,” He whispers frantically as you bounce on his cock. While you keep a gentle hold on his face, he parts his lips, turning his head towards your thumb, inches from his mouth. A brilliant idea crosses his mind, “Shit… use those.”
“Use… what?” He manages to flit his tongue out to the pad of your thumb, whimpering some more as his taste buds hit your skin. “Oh. You want this?” You bring your hand closer, and happily, greedily, he sucks your thumb in, tongue lapping around your digit.
“More,” He mumbles around your thumb. “Please… more.”
How could you deny his simple, yet sweet, request?
Sliding your thumb out, you replace it quickly with your pointer and middle fingers; selfishly, Steve takes in your ring finger, too, sucking sloppily on all three. With his mouth stuffed, just enough, he begins to drool a little at the corners of his mouth, while gazing up at you so lovingly.
“You’re fucking perfect, Steve.” You praise him, grinding down into his lap. He twitches, desperate to fuck up into you, but holds his composure. “So good for me, so, so good… this feel okay?”
Tears prick his lash line as he nods wildly, still gagging himself on your fingers as you fuck him.
“Here I was, trying to make love to you, but you still need it to be filthy, huh?”
“Mhm,” is all he can manage to reply with, but nearly loses it when you remove your fingers. “N- no, wait—“ The noise of protest dies on his lips as your hand curls around the back of his head, guiding him toward your chest.
“Would this help?”
“So fuckin’ much— mnph!” You push his face into your chest the moment he latches onto your nipple. He laps and sucks with abandon, drooling all over your breast as you lift and fall over his length.
You push his hair away from his eyes, running your fingers through it softly a few times. A rosy blush dusts over his cheeks, watching you watch him; he’s a bit embarrassed by how turned on he is just from this alone, but that’s clearly not stopping him.
“You’re so pretty like this, Stevie.”
Against your fluttering walls, he pulsates over your sweet words. He paws at your chest, toying with your neglected nipple, still swirling his tongue around the other.
“Can’t wait ‘til we’re alone so I can hear all those pretty moans you make,” You murmur to him, feeling him twitch inside you again. He’s whimpering again, stifled by his oral fixation. “I wanna take care of you, all of the time… would y’let me?”
He nods feverishly, teeth grazing along your nipple, earning a pitchy gasp from you. Lips glistening as he pulls back, a thread of spit still keeps him leashed to your skin.
“You’ll let me do the same, ye- yeah?” Steve asks, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth to quiet a groan; you lean back, arching yourself into him and finding a delicious angle for you both while you still ride him. “Jesus… you’re unreal.”
“Mhm… just gotta…” You trail off, biting down on your fist as a squeal threatens to form. “Gotta heal up for me first, okay?”
Steve shoves your hand away, holding your face again; he whispers his promises of healing, ones he plans on keeping. As he babbles on, drunk off the shared bliss while you meld together, he begins to get emotional. “I promise, yeah, I really do, I mean it, m’gonna get better, gonna be okay,” He whispers, kissing up your neck, avoiding any heavy bruising from the vines left behind. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
“Sorry? For what, Steve? Nothing’s wrong—“
“I fucked up, saying I didn’t wanna be here anymore. It’s so… fuck, it’s so hard sometimes to find reasons to stay.”
Your thrusts begin slowing to a stop, “Don’t ever apologize for telling me how hurt you are. I want you safe, and happy, but if you need to get it out, you get it out—“
“Yeah, but I shouldn’t—“ Steve attempts to guide you back into your steady pace, needing the physical connection to steady his train of thought. “I really wasn’t thinking—“
“I love you, and I mean that.” You’re as careful as can be, but wrap your arms around him, leading him to rest against your shoulder as you start grinding on him again. “This has to be hell… to relive over and over…” He can’t help it, bucks up into you, taking your breath away.
“Y’got every right to want the pain to end,” He’s going to leave aching bruises behind with the grip he’s got on your hips, fingers digging into your curves. “B- but it can’t end like that.”
What an emotional rollercoaster to ride while fucking.
“It won’t, I swear,” Voice wavering, he lifts his head. His eyes, filled with endless emotion, meet yours; pain, adoration, fear, passion— it’s all on display in his bloodshot, spent, tear-lined gaze. Resting his forehead on yours, he whispers, “Never, ever.”
“Good, ‘cause I- I— o— oh— kay—“ Steve finds your clit with ease, toying with it slowly. “If I c- can’t disappear, you can’t either— christ, Steve, don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey.” Your thighs tense up, squeezing around his body. His hips jerk up, slamming himself into you, so he plants his feet on the bed, intentionally fucking up into you. “Shit, you’re close, huh?”
You barely nod as your jaw slacks, body trembling as pleasure hits you all at once. Steve kisses you, just in time to muffle your cries of bliss. Your high racks through you in convulsing waves, coaxing him to the edge of his own climax.
He practically swallows your moans and mumbles against your lips, “M’gonna— I’m— honey, please—“
“Let go, Stevie,” You manage to tell him through pathetic whimpering. “I got you, a- always.”
Returning the favor, you smash your lips against his, muting his symphony of ecstasy, much to your disappointment. He forces gravelly groans down your throat while he sloppily runs his tongue over yours, sucking softly on it. With a borderline violent grip, he pins you closer to him, as close as physically possible, spilling over into you. Your aftershocks are enough to milk his cock for everything he’s got; he better sleep well tonight after this.
You’re so lost in the moment, drunk on passion, it takes a moment to realize he’s babbling something between kisses and winded breaths.
“Don’t let me go.”
Shaking your head, your nose brushes against his, feeling the dam of your emotions finally crumble. Your tears mix with his, holding him with great care.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”
Sleep breaks itself apart for you both; if one of you has a nightmare, the other stays awake to provide comfort. Steve’s taken more painkillers than his stomach lining can handle, and still continues to toss and turn from the deeply embedded ache in his bones. You have a harder time falling back asleep than he does— after all, it’s not his first rodeo.
Maybe, at most, you gain an hour or two of continuous rest, but daylight breaks far sooner than either of you would prefer it to.
It’s a little bizarre, hearing birds chirp outside among the never-ending sirens that have droned on through the night; the early morning skies paint the world outside his window in soothing hues of orange and pink.
You don’t dare to look longer, fearing the billowing smoke will break the little bit of illusion left that things are alright. If you avoid peering through certain windows in his house, you can’t see the bleak reality; you stay put, shielding yourself from the truth, just a little longer.
“Hey, Steve?” You’re draped over him from behind, cautious of where you rest your body onto his. You’re quickly learning you like any position where you’re wrapped up in one another, but being the big spoon for him might be your favorite yet.
“Hm?” His voice is gravelly, and you wonder if it’s always like this in the morning, or if it’s just free of charge with the suffering he’s endured all night.
It’s a naive question to ask, but you still want to know how he feels; after all, he is the seasoned veteran out of the two of you. “Do you think the world’s really ending?”
He exhales roughly through his lips pressed together, falling into a pause. “… I don’t know, honestly. It’s, uh, pretty scary, huh?”
Burying your face into his neck, you shrug. “Yeah… but it’s not as scary as it’d be going it alone.”
Squeezing your hands, holding them close to his chest while carefully pulling you closer against him, he sighs. His lips meet the backs of your hands, warmth lingering as he keeps them close.
“I take back what I said last night.” He whispers into your skin, “M’really fuckin’ glad we made it home alive.”
“Even if home’s hell right now?”
“Yeah,” Rolling over, Steve’s hand embraces your jaw, resting softly on your neck. He traces your bottom lip with his thumb, stunning hazel stare holding your own; it’s still bloodshot, but there’s now faint traces of rest, at least. “‘Cause it’s still home with you.”
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington smut#one breathes life unto the other#my fics#stranger things fic
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KISS ME ONE MORE TIME
pairing . . . percy jackson x fem!mortal!reader
the cassette playing . . . waiting room! phoebe bridgers
the letter reads . . . perseus jackson was supposed to die at 16, not get a girlfriend who he could break.
warnings . . . angst, cursing ( slightly ), slight nsfw ( making out ), ptsd ( post-traumatic stress disorder ), survivor's guilt, mention of suicidal thoughts
a/n . . . hi guys! sorry it took me a little more than what I said to get it published, I got an emergency and didn't have time to work on it (everything is alright 🫡) I REALLY liked how this turned out, I love the son trio SOSOSO much so of course I had to give them a little mention, hope you all enjoy it!! actual part 2 is on the way, I promise :pp also, this doesn't really follow the canon, so just fyi!!
a continuation of this . . .
percy jackson knew he loved you the moment he laid his eyes on yours.
because they were pretty, full of light and happiness, two orbes made out of pure beauty that were protected by soft eyelashes.
and percy jackson was a sucker for pretty things. or he was a sucker for you in general, because every milestone he had given you with his hear full of hope (because, yes, he had saved a lot of his firsts for only you), or because for the first time in his life, he had allowed himself to want something for himself. only for him.
since he was twelve everything— everyone had told him he was going to die soon, 'you're not gonna make it' 'you're too weak to be the hero of the prophecy' 'you will die alone, just how you started' blah, blah, blah. it didn't matter, he knew he was doomed to die soon, and for a long while, he wanted it, too.
percy started the end of his life at twelve, and by the time he was fourteen he was exhausted.
he worked himself to exhaustion each summer, picking up on more quest (or forcing himself in some, for a little while), not even allowing himself to break after each loss.
luke, chris, bianca, zoë, lee, charlie, silena, ethan...
it was all his fault, they were supposed to live, even if one of them made it out alive, it was his fault they didn't have a better life— the one they deserved.
he lost so many people. and everything in his birthday, like fate wanted to remind him that this was his fault. for all the time where the camp was in Manhattan, he even had forgotten it was his birthday, he was too busy focusing on trying to keep everybody alive to remember his day.
for a moment, percy felt bad for forgetting, and for the next one he just wanted to cry and find his mother. he wanted to be six again and be smothered by sally in Montauk, while they were away from the hell of house that smelly gabe had made.
that couldn't be, though.
percy jackson had found you, passed out on the streets of new york, holding bags of gifts and a boque of blue roses and lilies, all of which you had gotten for him.
"no, no, no, no," he breathed, repeating the word over and over as he laid his hand on your forehead. "please... j-just—" he cut himself off when his thumb rubbed on your pulse point. "you're good, yeah?"
he left a soft kiss on your forehead, before pressing his hear over your heart, sighing when he heard it beat loudly.
listen to me, i'm here, i didn't leave.
percy gently detached your hands from the bags, grinning at your hard grip, as if you didn't want to lose what you've gotten him.
"i'm not taking them from you, sweet girl, let me hold you, please," he whispered to you, holding you up on his chest, and grabbing your things before taking you to the Empire State Building.
if olympus were to fall, it would be after overcoming hundreds of demigods; that was the only safe place for you.
the rest was the usual for a hero, his beloved one waking up to his breakdown and being convinced to date. usual stuff. happens every tuesday in your local divinity show to your favorite sweetheart. you pick it.
he celebrated every day of dating you differently, but all started with soft, gentle kisses.
though, your second month anniversary had gotten... a little heated.
"you're so beautiful," he murmured against your neck, kissing the exact vein he had rubbed to make sure you were alright two months ago. then, he left wet kisses up yor neck and jaw before kissing your mouth. "i'm so grateful for you, baby. so, so grateful."
"pers—"
"what do you need, sweet girl?" percy gently shifted the both of you, grabbing his stuffed penguin and turning it around, before looking at you with a grin. "we don't want to traumatize him," he said as he kissed the corner of your mouth.
there were soft giggles between the two of you, before percy took a hold of your jaw and tilted your head, kissing around your adam's apple with wet lips, gently nipping the skin with his teeth, giving you a tiny smile when you digged your nails into his shoulder, creating soft crescent moons into his skin.
"so, what was it, angel?"
"hush, your lips made me forget."
percy wiped his head out from the crook of your neck, and pressed his big smile against yours.
it was one of his favorite memories with you, one hera couldn't take away from him as well as a lot of his memories.
there were only two things he was able to keep, your name, and the soft memory of your lips.
his only two amulets against all the hardships he faced in the little time he wasn't asleep.
"you should really consider calling home," frank, of course, had called after percy when he was slipping away into the endless pit of loneliness that had grown into his chest.
green eyes met brown ones, and soon percy's eyes had the water his irises imitated.
frank stepped forward and wrapped an arm around percy's body, and then the other, hugging him tightly as he held percy through cries.
"i miss her so much," percy voice was broken and low, yet the words cut through sobs.
"i know you do."
"y-you would love her, and she would love you," percy cried harder. "i.. i'm sorry, frank."
when percy tried to pull away, frank held him tighter.
"you're okay, percy, just cry until you feel a little better."
frank's body was like a living teddy bear, warm and safe, soon percy was gripping the purple shirt as he cried in his friend's shoulder, breaking apart after months— years, of holding it together.
every day for all the months he was missing had taken form of tears, falling and falling through his cheeks, burning his skin as more and more tears fell.
huffs and puffs, sobs and tears, all fell out of percy. soon he fell to his knees, only being held together by frank.
the boys sat on the sidewalk, frank's hand gently patted percy's head, supporting him through everything.
"t-thanks, frank," percy patted the shoulder his head wasn't resting on. "usually i'm good keeping it together."
"me, hazel and that girlfriend of yours are gonna have a talk about you putting too much pressure on yourself."
"what—"
frank pulled two coins from his pocket, like a magic trick, and offered them to percy.
"call home, percy."
percy looked like a fish out of water, an o instead of a mouth as he stumbled over his words, before swallowing them and grabbing the money, to then run over to the closest phone booth.
he punched in the only number he could remember, being the one from the jackson apartment, and hoped with every bit of his soul for his mother to pick up.
for someone to pick up.
"hi?"
percy wasn't expecting your voice, his stomach fell to the floor, feeling his organs creep and drool around his feet.
he opened his mouth, but then closed. once, twice, until your voice revived the line.
"anyone there? is this just some stupid prank?"
it wasn't. percy almost broke down again, gripping the phone tighter.
please, just say something, he begged himself in silence, feeling like he could pass out in a moment.
"i'm going to hang up if you don't talk soon—"
percy finally spoke up, feeling like he could cry.
"hi, baby... i miss you."
"holy shit."
percy laughed, finally hearing your voice, he just wanted you to beg you to keep talking. to never shut up.
percy laughed, more like a breath of relief.
"hi, pretty girl... can you talk?"
"y-you— me— percy, oh my god. where the hell are you?! oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod, i'mgoingtocry."
"uhm... well, it's a long story."
there was sobbing on the other line, and percy's knees went weak. he had to take a long drag of breath to stop himself from crying, too.
"sweetie.. please, don't cry, i'm too far away to hold you."
you composed yourself, hugging tightly the blue bunny you had, tears rolling down your neck. you had to focus on him.
"'kay. percy, my love, where are you? i'll tell annabeth and we'll go get you."
"tell her to tell you about camp, and to come get me from camp jupiter."
"alright... we'll meet you there," and before he could fight you on it, you rushed to your next sentence. "i love you, percy jackson. please don't run off to where i can't find you."
holy shit, indeed.
"i... i love you, too."
#percy jackson#percy jackson imagine#percy jackson and the olympians#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson x you#a vampire kiss#bella's written love#a bloody love letter
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A fun, happy dc story for a change
Look I can be very critical of Winick's writing because I'm so ambivalent about it but damn if it isn't, on a meta level, a really satisfying spite story.
At the core of this story, there is Jim Starlin. Now Starlin's writing has many flaws, not least of all the blatant racism and sexism. And if there's one thing Jim hates, it's Robin. He wants to kill that little boy so bad, oh how he hates that bright coloured child in tights that's just holding Batman back from reaching his true potential as an absolute badass... And hey, good news! Dc, in trying to bring a second Robin after the first got a new identity, has dropped the ball, and the new boy is unpopular amongst the fans who miss the previous iteration! This is his opportunity to kill Robin, definitely!
But how? People may not have voted him dead yet, but Jim is already planning, setting up plots and trying his damndest to get him killed. And the thing about Jim- the thing that makes him a good writer, you see, the thing that separates him from those losers who fail to see Batman's true potential, is that his writing is gritty. He's not afraid to write a true dark knight facing the grimdark horrors of a town laden with crime, to shy away from the real dark, gritty topic that are mature and dark like rape. And uh, sexual violence against women. And uh, serial raping and killing women. (I'm kidding, of course, I didn't forget the native american cult leader who bathes in blood to prolongate his life. Or about the kgb agent Batman straight-up kills after he tries to kill Reagan. Or about the suicides, god I haven't forgotten about that. Don't worry.) But anyway, sexual abuse in general is a big theme for Jim. It shows how serious and dark and gritty he can be. So he has an idea: why not make Robin a child sexual abuse victim and give him AIDS? That way that's a justification to write Robin unlikeable (by making him emotional when exposed to situations of sexual abuse, unable to restrain his anger when defending a prostitute...) and at the same time it's the perfect way to kill Robin! DC has been considering giving a character AIDS, it's perfect! It will show everyone how dark and gritty Jim's writing is, he can make Robin even more unlikeable on top of how people are upset about the transition between Robins, and then he can finally kill Robin! It's perfect! Jim is a genius!!!
Now, of course, we know that plan failed: first because dc rejected Starlin's idea for Jason to die of AIDS, and second because as soon as Jason (as a character, which is what DC apparently had a problem with) died, they fired Starlin as a Batman writer and introduced a new Robin, making Starlin's vehement campaign against a fictional fifteen years old completely vain.
So that's it, right? Crisis avoided, we almost had some even worst writing that what already was, everyone sigh in relief and go home?
Enter Judd Winick stage left.
Now, remember how DC wanted to give a character AIDS? In 2003, Green Arrow #43 reveals that Mia Dearden, Oliver Queen's ward and a csa survivor of underage prostitution, is HIV positive, and in #45, she takes on the mantle of the second Speedy, becoming, according to Wikipedia, the most prominent HIV-positive superhero to star in an ongoing comic book. (And also one of my favourite comics characters, but that's unrelated.) An important thing about Winick, who wrote those issues, is that he is personally invested in education about AIDS, continuing his friend Pedro Zamora's educational work after his death of AIDS-related progressive multifocal leukoencephalopathy. (He also wrote a graphic novel about it, called Pedro and Me: Friendship, Loss and What I've Learned). So kudos! We finally got someone who has done research and actually holds respect for HIV+ people writing HIV+ characters. And Mia is so cool, man- but not only is she a really interesting character, she is, first and foremost, a survivor. That's how she characterizes herself, sees what happened to her: she did what she had to do to survive, and now she's a fucking superhero and she's here to help others and you know what she's not gonna do? Die "of AIDS."
Yeah, I haven't forgotten Starlin's terrible writing. And, if Winick's writing is any identification, it seems like he hasn't either. The idea of making the second Speedy a parallel with the second Robin isn't groundbreaking, but it's cool that it's there (and also, incidentally, a reminder that parallels are interesting and fun and backstories are not a finite resource characters can run out of or steal from eachother.) Anyway, this includes Winick altering Mia's backstory and making her a street kid to make it more similar to Jason's, as well as Mia's on-screen murder offering a nice parallel to Jason's ambiguous murder in Starlin's Diplomat Son (a parallel I can't help but regard with vindicative snark, because that's how you handle a teenager who has just caused, directly or not, a man's death out of hopelessness in a situation that felt impossible. A little snark of See? Now this is how it's done. Yeah, Starlin's Bruce isn't winning any parenting against Winick's Ollie, that's for sure.) So there it is! Our fun spite story, Winick taking on Starlin's terrible ideas, a teen vigilante and survivor taking on a hero identity to mirror a teen vigilant's loss and death, a good old fashioned schooling. Cool? Cool!
And then, in 2005, Winick buries Starlin's last remaining impact on DC by bringing back Jason Todd, in a move so audacious in the back-then landscape it would be kinda akin to bringing Ben Parker back to life in Spiderman's life as a villain (please don't tell me this happens in the comics I don't read Marvel and if someone wrote that I would honestly prefer not to know). Now, of course, the impact of Jason's death on the narrative can't and shouldn't be undone by that move, but that's not important, because that's not what Starlin wanted when killing Jason - he wanted to kill Jason/Robin, not give everyone grief-induced hallucinations where Jason/Robin had an incredibly salient place in the narrative, so he didn't get what he wanted anyway.
Personally, my view on Winick's writing of Jason is contrasted (and the fact that there are some elements of Starlin's characterization of Jason that I prefer to Winick's deeply amazes me, incredibly ironic situation. Which only serves to point that even Starlin' goal of making us hate his version of robin failed drastically, as me and my jaybin fan mutuals can attest. Sucks to suck!). But as much as some of the decisions frustrate me, do you understand how much of a power move it is to take this child, this victim who has been victim-blamed for years, and bring him back to life with a vengeance and a demand that his life mattered, that his death was a bad thing that shouldn't be tolerated? Do you know how good that story feels, especially to victims when reading it and see that indignation validated, that rebellion against the status quo and victim-blaming, how good it feels to see a "bad victim" that refuses to stay down ? And in the context of Starlin's intent to write Jason a CSA victim, Winick writing Mia, the HIV+ plot for them both- do you understand the genuine and violent glee I feel, that it's Winick that wrote Jason coming back to life and hunting down the narrative with a machine gun?
So yeah. This is the context in which I talk about acknowledging the csa subtext in Green Arrow: Seeing Red, but this post isn't about lecturing you to accept it as canon or imply that you're bad for not sharing that interpretation. It's about spite -towards Jim Starlin specifically. And it's about that interpretation, but the context in which it was written in general, is not just a victory against Starlin, that guy lost long ago, but the narrative equivalent of that Green Arrow meme about taking a funny selfie over a gravestone. In Seeing Red (specifically in the line that's discussed when questioning the csa headcanon), Jason tells Mia they are similar because of what they had to do to survive, framing the sexual trauma on Mia's part (and thus allegedly also on Jason's) again firmly on the side of survival rather than victimhood. Whether it's by becoming a villain or a hero, there's this rebellion against being an object to the violence, which is at the core of Starlin's treatment of sexual violence. This is fun. We're having fun. I'm repeating myself, but do you understand how satisfying, electrifying it is? I'm filled with unreasonable amounts of glee. You don't always need the context in which a story was written to enjoy it but in this case, doesn't this make it so much more enjoyable? (And on top of that, kudos to Winick for killing Captain Nazi, I hope it was as satisfying to write as it looked.) Anyway, Mia Dearden and Jason Todd, the characters that you are. I love them so much.
#mia dearden#judd winick#speedy#speedy ii#red hood#robin#robin ii#jason todd robin#mia dearden speedy#dc#dc comics#jason todd#batman#green arrow#dc meta#jason meta#mia meta#jason mia duke steph... i have a dc character type and it's “defiant” i'm afraid#it's so satisfying
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Yanderetober 7/10
Yandere Scientific Abomination! x Female Scientist! Reader:
TW: Mention of torture, stalking and murder. MDNI +18!!
It's been some time since you left the abandoned premises of the old psychiatric hospital.
You were one of the low-level scientists who bragged about how they experimented on people, mostly men and women of different ages, who were criminals sentenced to life imprisonment or capital punishment, or who were mentally ill.
You saw how cold and sometimes cruel they were with the "patients" (experiment subjects), but your superiors forced you to keep quiet about what happened there in exchange for paying you very well and giving you good future recommendations. You tolerated it to a certain extent because of the needs you faced at that time.
Among all the subjects, there was him.
His name was Alan, and he was a psychiatric patient who developed amnesia and post-traumatic stress disorder after the heartbreaking loss of his family, leaving him alone as a survivor.
Of all of them, you were the one who treated everyone the best, including Alan. You once stopped him from attempting suicide with pills, something he deeply admired about you.
You felt sorry for what they did to him, and more than once you tried to help him, but your superiors had you under threat and surveillance, which limited your options. This, added to the fact that Alan tragically lost his family; his loneliness, depression, the guilt he felt, the torture he faced day after day and the little affection you gave him; made him fall madly in love with you. At first he developed simple emotional dependence, but ended up becoming obsessed with you.
Sooner or later you started to notice changes in his appearance.
-What… happened to you?- You asked him in bewilderment, watching strange lumps form on his face, neck, and back.
-Oh, (Y/n)!, nice to see you again!- He sat on the bed, smiling at you like a happy lover. -I don't really know what these bumps are, but they bother me a lot.- They looked like early stages of a fungus or skin cyst formations, leaving visible veins and arteries and taking on a fleshy red hue. This was just the beginning.
He grew hungrier and hungrier as his appearance grew worse and bigger. Every time you went to see him, you swore he barely let you leave the room until you ran away or escaped.
His mental state also worsened, and with it his obsession with you. You were practically the only thing that kept him sane until that fateful day.
Alan had completely mutated and turned into a complete monster, becoming the yandere scientific abomination that he eventually became. He brutally murdered the vast majority of the staff, including some subjects of future experiments who had tried to escape.
You were one of the only people who managed to save themselves.
Local authorities tried hard for years to cover up this event, but other survivors (apart from you), speculation, myths, legends and the internet itself made this impossible and slowly the history of the place and what may have caused its closure began to be revealed.
But what they didn't know was that there was a monster on the loose; or they didn't know that at first.
You, on the other hand, were looking for a way to continue with your life despite your traumas from that place. After your superiors died in that massacre, you made an anonymous report on the internet telling EVERYTHING that happened within the walls of that center, and then you moved to another city. Despite all the therapy you took, you never returned to normal.
-(Y/n)! Where are you?!- He wondered as he searched for you in and out of that facility. No matter how much he screamed your name or how much he trashed the rooms and furniture in the place, he just couldn't find you anywhere.
While you tried to continue with your life, Alan was looking for you after escaping from abandoned facilities, which made several of their sightings noticed.
The scientific/Alan abomination was looking for you everywhere. It was hidden in forests, alleys, warehouses or abandoned/lonely or forest sites; He hunted wild animals, unsuspecting domestic animals, rodents, plants and human beings that was on his way.
You were no stranger to these sightings, having come across photos and videos online, which made you even more paranoid. The photos showed a humanoid mass of reddish flesh, with multiple eyes in what were once "cysts"; living roots sprouted from several limbs, and it also had sharp teeth. What terrified you the most was that this thing was looking for you.
-"That creature often asks for a certain (Y/n)"-.
-"Yes, he usually calls her out loud, but why?"- And that's how your name came up again on those internet forums. You were afraid people would find out, especially now that you had a decent job.
Time passed and Alan didn't find you until he managed to move to your current city thanks to the lush forests between cities; taking a while to locate you.
One night, you woke up at 3:00 AM to strange noises outside your house. Frightened, you grabbed your phone and a bat and headed to your living room.
There is nothing to be heard but the clumsy footsteps of whoever was outside; the rain and your own footsteps, as well as your nervous breathing. Suddenly, there is a soft knock on the door.
You looked through the small hole in the front door and your body froze at the sight of Alan on the other side, making you jump in fear.
-<No... It can't be...>- You said in your thoughts in a terrified way, feeling your breathing accelerate at the appearance of his macabre smile.
-(Y/n), darling, i know you're there- He whispered in his guttural voice, then slammed the door and entered.
-I found you- Before you can do anything, he lunges at you and forces you to throw the bat and your phone away, breaking both objects.
-Let me go! I didn't mean to hurt you! My superiors…- You tried to excuse yourself with fear, but he only replied:
-They forced you, I know. What matters now is that you are with me again, as it should always have been.- With his long tongue he tasted your face as he held you motionless on the ground. You didn't know what he planned to do to you; whether to eat you whole, simply kill you, or spread any spores he could on you.
But one thing was certain, and that was that Alan would never let you go again.
-The End.
#yandere#yandere oc#cw yandere#yandere love#yandere x you#yandere male#platonic yandere#tw yandere#male yandere#yandere x reader#yandere boy#yandere core
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