beanlot

[beanlot]

simon riley, who’s trudging through the sand, leaving the chopper. his darkened eyes, usually surrounded by smudged ink, has been diluted by sweat; the scorching three-week effort of travelling through mexico, and long before that, the confines of the dingy underground bunker they’d used as a command post.

his eyes squint harshly in response to the sunlight, pupils dilating when he sees your figure in the distance.

his wife, holding his little girl in her arms.

sometimes he feels like a failure. absent, unable to provide - no matter how much you tell him you signed up for this, marrying a man who served; no matter how much you try to reassure him that it’s fine he’s missing his child’s first steps or words.

he hates himself for it.

“look, it’s daddy!” you whisper excitedly, gently bouncing the little human in your arms as he approaches. his eyes have softened, a contrast to their usual aggression.

“hey there, my little angel..” he murmurs, clearing his throat as his hands cautiously take her from you. her eyes are big, bulging with surprise, and quickly glassing up with fearful tears.

great. the cherry on top to let you know you’re a shit father, riley.

“oh, i don’t think she likes the mask..” you murmur, trying to calm her down as she starts bawling in his arms. but he’s quick and selfless, gloved fingers reaching for the hem of his balaclava and slowly peeling it off.

“it’s just me, angel. daddy’s not scary, hm?”

“simon-“ you quickly look around, noting the disorientated faces - because he’d never taken his mask off so carelessly, it wasn’t just habit or a way to hide the torture, but it was second skin.

“it’s fine, love.” he reassures you, because for the second time in his life, he needs to figure out his priorities. and ghost, was starting to go further and further down the list, especially when he looks at his daughter; her big eyes, ones she’d adopted from you, scanning his face with amusing confusion.

she looks like an alien this close up. she’s probably wondering who the frick is this guy?

“see, baby? it’s just me..” he whispers, his desire to protect her strengthening when he feels little hands start touching his eyes.

it makes you laugh. fuck, you’ve been staring with love-heart eyes for ages now.

with your help, he’s sliding off a glove, and tenderly tracing your jaw. he missed this, your skin under his fingertips, his thumb tracing the dark bags under your eyes.

“you’re alright? everything been going smooth whilst i’ve been gone?” he murmurs with concern and doting, “getting enough rest, love?”

“i’m okay. it’s part of the job.” you nod, because you knew what you were getting into when you had the conversation, how long it took just to muster up the courage to say i think i want a baby. you knew what motherhood meant, for you and your marriage.

he admires you for it. and he’ll get on his knees and worship the ground you stand on for providing him with a beautiful family, a warm home when he needs it.

and quite frankly, someone who puts him in his place so effortlessly.

“i missed you, c’mere.” he murmurs, burly arm wrapping around your shoulder and enticing you into his chest, careful not to squish the little one. you’d sway side to side, your heartbeat cudgelling against your chest with his scent; he doesn’t smell that good, but you’re grateful that he’s just here, grateful enough to be smelling his dehydrated sweat and grime.

i missed you too, handsome.

“she’s perfect, ain’t she?” he whispers, letting you step back. his eyes are fixated on his little girl, pupils dilated with adoration; the little eyes stare back, but go to curiously analyse the surroundings not long after.

he breathlessly laughs, watching as the little hands tug at his badge. “looks just like you. thank god..”

you playfully nudge his shoulder, sighing. he looks like he’s daydreaming as he scans her - chubby cheeks that have ate well, little strands of hair, thick lashes that blink in bewilderment as she looks around.

but she’s definitely got his bitch face. she looks like she’s judging all the grown men in here.

“had a talk with the lads, and there’s some discussion about me coming home.” he states, his fingers delicately stroking the back of his little girl’s head, feeling the soft fluff. “permanently.”

“what..? but you love.. but this is al-“

“i know, love. but i just can’t.. be out ‘ere whilst you raise ‘er alone.” he pauses. you know he’s right, it wasn’t devotion that had him stuck to you like glue during the end of your pregnancy, or the birth. it was pure luck.

he wished he could’ve been around to watch your bump grow, sit there each morning whilst you retched into the toilet. he needs to be the man you deserve, the father his daughter deserves.

“i wanna be there, for ‘er and for you.” he murmurs, hand reaching out to graze your cheek affectionately. you missed the scorching heat of his palm, the callousness of the jagged scars tainting it.

it was time for him to pack his shit, scrape away all the baggage and gruel from al-mazrah and las almas. and instead, bathe in the intermingling body warmth of his wife, under the sheets on a thursday evening. praise her for the fine woman she is, kiss at the stretch marks on her hips and stomach from the beautiful life she’d created. sit beside his child as she bashes shapes against the toy sorter angrily, pretend to eat the plastic food she gives him.

it was time for him to forget ghost, just for now, and be simon riley.

[beanlot]

ur writing is so beautiful n honestly u write dialogue rly naturally, that's hard 2 come by

thank u for ur masterpieces

thank you❤️‍🩹

[beanlot]

Holy freak your so talented

talented horny

[beanlot]

ok but ellie with a phantom strap…🤤🤤🤤

i was thinking of incorporating dirty talk that included shit like ellie coming inside of reader and etc. but i didn’t know if it was too farfetched, u feel me?

[beanlot]

ellie, who unexpectedly orgasms as she’s strapping you.

you thought something was off by how sloppy she was handling your hips, her fingers twitching impulsively and the thrusts of the silicone in your cunt is faltering. maybe her stamina is no longer, or maybe she’s just not into you.

but you hear her exhale shakily, her choked up breaths. people usually tried missionary first, but not ellie - she wanted to see you ride it reverse cowgirl, watch your ass from behind in doggy, and she wanted to hear you cry out speed-bump style.

but she’s on top of you now, your lower back angled comfortably on a sweaty pillow, legs hanging off the edge of the mattress.

“fuck.. fuck.. fuck—“ she whimpers silently to herself, and your glossed eyes are fluttering open. you’ll call out her name with difficulty, ellie?

that intangible pleasure in your cunt she used to hit with ease is starting to subside, but it doesn’t matter, because your core is tightening when you see her fucked-out expression. her lids shut, eyebrows arched in ecstasy and my god, williams.. it looks like you’re the one getting fucked.

the constant rocking has been stimulating her poor, swollen clit. and suddenly provoking her orgasm, her hips are twitching like crazy, whimpering exhales sloppily seeping from her lips.

“are you fucking coming?” you gasp jaggedly, feeling the silicone burrow deeply into your hole in these random and unanticipated twitches.

you’ll cup her face, and her skin is piping hot, melting into your sweaty palms. her eyes are closed, and even when they are fluttering, you can only see the pleasured whites of her eyes.

“mm—fuck-‘m sorry, i’m sorry baby-ah—..” she whimpers, too embarrassed to open her eyes fully for you to see her shameful irises, dilated pupils that are so selfish.

she’s using her remaining momentum to sporadically thrust into your soaked slit, encouraging those last ruffles of her rupturing orgasm, humming low and guttural as she does so. “felt so good—fuck, pussy feels so good, baby—“ she exhales breathlessly, her parted lips against your chest.

you can feel the hot air on your skin, condensation melting into the pores.

she tries to continue, for your sake, for your enjoyment. but it’s too much, oversensitivity that has her trembling like a loser; her arms are quivering as they try to hold her up. “i can’t-can’t go anymore—“ she whines, her measly thrusts forcing her clit into overdrive.

just the smallest tap has her overwhelmed. but you’re not satisfied, she knows this.

“keep going.” you demand, determined eyes maintaining a solid gaze at her own, your palms still framing her jaw. “i need to come too.”

and when she pauses, eyes glassy with the overbrimming bliss, you dip her face lower. her ear inches away from your lips, and you whisper with a callous hue. “you talked so much fucking game, so fuck me until i come. is that so much to ask?”

“i can’t-i can’t, it’s too—“ she tries to defend herself, tries to ignore the constant contracting of her hole; the rigorous pulsing of her tormented bud. but you’re quick to deflate it.

“it’s always about you, huh, ellie?” you murmur, slowly rutting your hips against the silicone. she can hear the challenge in your voice, the way you diminish her, the humiliating wetness of her slick.

and she loves it.

“stop being so selfish, and fuck me.” you order, your arms sprawling out to your sides - because you want her to put the work in, make the same mess of you as she did herself.

and she will. she’ll whine, she’ll beg, she’ll plead. it’s too much, i can’t, please baby as she fucks into you like you deserve. the veins in her hands prominent as she tries to keep herself steady, the definition in her abdomen from the clenching, and the pitiful way she’s crying out. whimpering for breath, a pleasured tear landing on your collarbone.

but she fucks you good, and you’re grateful for it.

[beanlot]

am i getting a gym membership bc i wanna look like abby anderson?

yes ma’am

will i probably quit and realise im not abby anderson?

maybe

[beanlot]

when i see sevika and her arm spins to three 💦💦💦’s.

[beanlot]

ellie, who uses a vibrator on you for the first time, and just can’t get e-fucking-nough.

wc: 2.2k (smut + light fluff)

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

“the fuck is that?” you hum from the crook of her neck after having examined the small toy, and it rests in her palm, her voice a little shaky from nerves. “okay.. so.. uh.. this little guy, helps stimulate certain areas..”

“this little guy?” you repeat her words with a playful smirk, pupils dilated with adoration when you look at her, resplendent enough that she can see her flustered expression reflecting back at her when she maintained that eye contact.

“yeah, this little guy..” she has a teasing smile to her, which only amplifies the pooling anticipation in your stomach.

“turn it on. turn it on.” you eagerly whisper against her neck, your lips still numb from your previous make-out, tingling from her savoured taste. after a few seconds of tampering with the remote, you hear a silent whirring. “alright.. says here that this is the lightest level. ‘n then..” she mumbles, and the whirring intensifies into a jarring buzz.

“i see..” you mumble as you watch the toy convulsing in her palm, and you touch it, your fingertips shivering intensely upon the metallic. “damn.”

but whilst your eyes are inspecting it, her eyes are plastered onto you, eyes brimming with desire. lust. hunger. you don’t notice it, you just feel her seductive breath on your cheek; her inviting whisper following shortly after.

“let me.. please?”

you slowly turn your head to look at her, noting her low lids and desperately parted lips that beg for your acceptance. you don’t answer, admiring her features as it fuels the fluttering in your chest and the cudgelling of your heartbeat against your ribs.

you want it. you want her so bad.

“it’ll feel good, baby.. i’ll try..” her whisper is a plead, delicate kisses peppering your jawline so seductively as she guides the device to your chest. your breath is unregulated, shaky with her intuitive touches.

you sigh, when she grazes it over your clothed nipple, the vibration a pleasure on your breast. “it tickles.” you breathily laugh, your stomach shuddering along with the device.

“tickles?” she laughs against your lips, smooching at the corner of them amorously. her elbow propping herself up, and you watch as she grazes it repeatedly over your nipple; watching as the fabric starts raising slightly when it hardens.

the vibrations start teasingly streamlining down to your underwear, wetness so evident when your clothed slit engulfs the metal.

“gonna put it on your clit, my love..” she whispers, as if she’s asking for your permission, your guidance.

her breath ghosts your cheek as her gaze focuses on your thighs - the heaven between them. the way your dripping cunt swallows it, blissful sensations on your swollen and clothed clit when she applies pressure.

“oh..” you whisper shakily, your hips instinctively and subtly rutting into it. because you want more.

“oh?” she repeats, eyebrows arching momentarily. she experiments, fingertips guiding the device - circling, tapping and grazing your clit.

it’s when she pulls the dampened fabric to the side, holding the vibrator down onto your hood that you seem rather eager. “wait. keep it-keep it there.” you sigh, thighs twitching. you feel your core tightening, clit pulsing with it's own lustrous heartbeat, and your hips subconsciously rolling into it. “keep it-there..”

“feels good, baby?” her lips subtly turn upwards into something you could only describe as a snarky smirk, tongue resting between her teeth.

you’re focused, ankles quivering and your abdomen tensing repeatedly from the ecstasy. you hear her mumble again through the concentration, her irises narrowed at your body’s reaction. “shaking so much, holy shit.”

your breathing is a little jagged, and you’re clutching at her wrist, making sure she doesn’t move or mettle up that teasing courage of hers to deny you what you so desperately want need. “just don’t move it..” you gasp, your back arching into the vibrations.

you scan her features through the haze; pretty verdant eyes tainted with desire, the fruitful shape of her lips, and that fucking scar slicing her eyebrow. she's wearing that stupid black shirt you like so much, and has that stupid hairstyle you love. “you’re so hot..” you whisper faintly, impulse that reflects your innate need to finish spilling out. “i’m gonna-fuck. i’m gonna ride your fucking face after this..”

“yeah?” she arches her eyebrows, voice a pitch higher, as if she’s challenging you. mocking you, even.

“uh huh.. gonna-i’m gonna-“ you try to think of what to say, but nothing other than your whimpering blither seeping from your helpless lips. and so she interrupts you,

“gonna what, baby?” she whispers, and you know for sure now - she's definitely mocking you. you look down to her hand between your thighs; watching the tendons that manifest her slender wrist start to twitch, those admirable veins framing her knuckles.

your impending orgasm is obvious by how tremulous your body reacts, her fingers amping up the vibrations as she presses it deeper onto your clitoral hood.

"oh, that's it. just let go, feel it.." she whispers, her free hand slithering down to your tremoring hip, measuring up the clenching and troubled muscles within them. her mouth is watering, she doesn't realise it until she swallows back her saliva.

she wants nothing more than to suck at your clit, coat you with her, slurp up your taste so disgustingly that you wouldn't be able to look at her the same tomorrow.

her free hand glides towards your slit, your thick juices coating her slim fingers so seductively. you hear her hum, a low and guttural moan, as you feel one of them slew inside your hole. it contracts so welcomingly around her finger, and it's so easy for her to slide another in.

"m sorry, baby.. i should've asked.." she whispers when she hears your troubled whine, but its not troubled in the sense you don't want it, it's troubled in the sense that you've never understood how fucking good it feels to be stuffed with her fingers.

so you shake your head with difficulty, trying to notion to her that it's fine, she can do as she pleases.

so she teasingly twines them upwards, feeling the harsh vibrations of the toy on your clit internally against your walls. "you feel that?" she asks softly, her voice silk.

"more.. just-just a little more.." you exhale unstably, so desperate to feel her against your most sensitive nerves, so guiding and patient with her. she takes your words, absorbs them with gratitude.

"more, my love.. i got you.." she's also unsteady with her breath, and just like your desperation, she's desperate to impress.

you feel her curl further against your spongy and quivering walls, eyes rolling back as she gradually fucks you with her fingers. "like that, pretty girl?"

"uh huh.. uh-like that.. like-oh fuck, ellie, baby-"

she can tell you're gonna come by how choked up your breaths are, and how rigid your body feels under her hands. "nice and easy, nice and easy.." she whispers, and you suddenly feel her wet tongue on your stomach, streamlining up to your abdomen and leaving a trail.

you can hear your own thighs walloping against her hand, your cunt squelching with every appreciative pump of her fingers. and ellie does what ellie does best, she talks you through it.

"thas' it, feel what i'm doing to you. just relax.."

"you whining for me?”

and it's suddenly too much, your eyes rolling back and head digging further into the fleecy pillow. "please please please please-" you're begging, pleading like a whore for it. you feel her tongue lick selfishly at your sternum, your shirt riding up and the air whipping against your piping hot skin.

when you look down to watch her tongue start relentlessly flicking at your nipple, her eyes dreamily shut, the sneezelike sensation in your core possesses everything in your body.

you're coming so aggressively, back arching into her as she keeps the vibrator on your messy folds - only this time, grazing it directly over your overstimulated clit, her fingers still urging you to your overbrimming limit.

you're whining like a mess, how she likes it.

she’s trying to hold you down, or at least stabilise you when you come, her fingers seeping out of your cunt and clutching at your shaking hips.

"i know it feels good, i know.." she murmurs against your skin, goosebumps littering your chest and arms. her fingers are glossed with your cum, thumb tracing patterns into your waist.

you’re trembling so much that she keeps losing grip.

she decreases the vibrations drastically to aid your oversensitivity, but keeps the device buried against your clit; your underwear slowly going back over your drenched slit as she lets go.

you’re confused at first, shuffling around uncomfortably when you feel your underwear soak up your cum, your clit still getting ambushed from the low vibrations.

but she’s not one to disappoint, stripping off her sweatpants and her bare thighs smoothing against yours as she situates her bare and drooling cunt against you.

your thigh is hoisted against her clothed abdomen, and you can feel the dips of her lanky muscle contract slightly. she’s worked herself up.

“ride my face in a minute, baby— i just.. i need this..” she sighs urgently, feeling the wetness of your underwear; she’s thirsty for it, dehydrated for it.

her clit is purple and erect, subtly grinding against your underwear, the vibrations humming through the fabric and stimulating her so divinely. the tone in her arms and the impulsive rolling of her hips, her stomach rubbing against your bare and piping hot thigh.

fuck, you like her using you like this. so selfish, self-serving.

you’re starting to uncontrollably tremor again, her movements forcing the vibrator against your overwhelmed clit. “i’ll be quick, pretty—i’ll be quick-“ she gasps, delectable lips parted.

her rutting hips are becoming sloppier, the bed frame starting to rock against the wall and creak.

“ellie—ellie, please- please hurry, it’s too much..” you whine, because the overstimulation is too shattering for you to orgasm again. but you’re trying to cherish the high of watching her face scrunch from abundant pleasure and yearning, the prize of hearing her guttural whimpers.

and it’s all so worth it, the torture of sensory overload, when her thighs start quivering against yours. her fingers clenching your thigh so frantically, her frenzied state erupting as she orgasms.

“mmph-holy shit-‘mm baby—“ she gasps, lips parted erotically against your knee, the adrenaline forcing her fingers to twitch around your thighs.

she’s still rutting against you, bathing through the last remaining ripples of her orgasm, before she takes note of your raw state. her fingers are delicate, sliding your swamped underwear down your legs and turning the vibrator off. it’s submerged in your cum, sweat and enjoyment.

“are you okay? was that too much?” she asks softly, hands gently squeezing your kneecaps in reassurance. she’s not sure why, but now that her impulsive drive to finish on your vibrating pussy is satisfied and fulfilled, she has some worried aftertaste on her tongue.

worried that she pushed your boundaries, or didn’t consider your feelings.

“no, you idiot. that was-“ you sigh, covering your dazed eyes with your arm. “that was so fucking hot.”

you hear her relieved laugh, and it’s silent for a few seconds. nothing but the sound of the light drizzles of rain outside, the balance of your relaxed and seduced breaths.

“still wanna ride my face, ma’am?” you hear her ask, not ignoring the tinge of hope in her tone. and so you laugh, looking up at her. she has a hue of mauve under her eyes, bags bags that demonstrate her careless sleep schedule.

but she’s stunning. and she makes those eyebags annoyingly sexy.

“i always wanna ride your face..” you mumble, unable to resist the spirited smile that tugs your lips upwards when you see the rosiness in her face bloom. she’s excited, she’s a loser for it.

“but.. maybe.. in the shower.. i’m like—“ you mumble, sluggishly sitting up, discomfort when you look down and see thick strings of your arousal between your thighs. “i’m hot, and sweaty, and gross.”

you look at her, and you’re strangely flustered by how she maintains eye contact. it’s out of character, even for ellie, but she’s jumped through the hurdles of being awkward with you.

all of the timidity and shyness has been bleached; she looks at you with such intimate love. “okay.. fine by me, ma’am..” she nods, lazily blinking through her infatuation.

and for the first time, it’s you that can’t uphold the eye contact. your eyes darting anywhere but hers - her collarbone, freckled cheeks fanned by her lashes, those admirable hands that are still resting on your knees.

they trace tender and doting patterns into your shins, nails that tickle and gently scratch your skin.

and when you look back up, she’s still gazing, nailing that romantic and worshipping gaze straight through you.

fuck, stop looking at me like that, williams.

“i love you..” you whisper, hands resting on her shoulders, before gliding up to cup her cheeks. her skin is also piping hot. “you’re so good to me.”

she looks calm on the outside, but on the inside, it’s absolute fucking havoc. her heartbeat hammering against her chest, eyes softening, and her hands reluctantly hovering above yours.

her palms rest on your wrists, and she slowly tilts her head to kiss your fingers, unblinking eyes that are still staring at you. her whisper is faint, anticipatory, and vanilla.

“i love you more, pretty..”

[beanlot]

butterfly knife

a tlou canon love story, a collection of ellie's memories, and a butterfly knife.

wc: 4k (fluff + major angst, brief vanilla smut segment)

reader referred to as ‘pretty’ and ‘ma’am’, major character death, mutual masturbation. just a sappy story.

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

“how long have you been collecting all this?”

she was astonished, gawking at the collection of daggers, folded knives, dual blades. your first knife, a typical switchblade, laid there neglected and rusty - you refuse to use it, she doesn’t ask why. “since i was.. twelve, maybe.” you answer, your singular karambit swinging back and forth between your fingers. “still waiting for my first butterfly knife.”

“butterfly? yeah.. good luck..” she scoffs, inspecting one of the daggers closely, her fingers gliding alongside the handle’s delicate intricacies. some are brand new, handcrafted with glory.

it was hard enough finding a serrated piece of metal that wasn’t blunt and rusted to shit, never mind a functional butterfly.

its habit, the way the karambit spins in your fingers; you’d spent years collecting knives, learning them until mastery. she watches as the metal swirls around your thumb, hypnotised under its beauty, she’d never seen one in person.

“which knife did you use first.. y’know, for your tricks..?” 

“mm. this one. it’s pretty basic, but.. it’s a good starter knife.” you tap one of the combat knives, and when you do, ellie observes the rugged scars on your hands from practising over the years; the side of your hand littered with slices and morbid consistency.

“been going through infecteds’ pockets and everything.” you mumble, and she releases a breathy laugh under the impression you’re bantering - when she looks up and sees the earnestness in your gaze, her laugh falls flat. “oh.. you’re being serious..” she gawks.

she admired you. the tangible things, from the bruises on your shoulder blades to the indented scar on your collarbone; the intangible things, like how willing you were to clear a corner first incase you needed to bite a bullet, or how you made her stomach ripple whenever you returned a witty remark.

“look at you being a little garden gnome.” you hear her approach from behind. your arms are sunburnt and itchy under the blistering wyoming sun. and so you snap at her, a sour “not in the mood.” through the dehydration and empty stomach. “it’s boiling hot, i can’t breathe in this fucking greenhouse, and there’s spiders everywhere.”

“want me to come join? i can do the cabba-“

”even fucking worse. get out my face.” 

she knew it was your relationship friendship. it was her ‘tsk’ing you teasingly, understanding the sarcastic dynamic between you both. you were partners in crime, rum and cola, two broken people who found comfort in eachother.

winter was nice though. she’d amble into her little cubby in jackson, hanging up her jacket with a spirited hey you when she’d notice your curled figure stirring under a blanket. the ground outside is crunchy with thick snow, the wind whipping against the windows and the wispy air barbaric against your skin.

she’d slide a vhs tape into the tv, gather some more sheets from her bed and cove herself behind you. body warmth intermingling as your back presses against her chest, her arm settling around your collarbone.

she’ll inspect your face, alarmed by the brutish graze on your cheek, fingertips impulsively feathering against the wound. “holy fuck. what’s this?”

“ow! don’t touch it!” you flinch, rolling on your back.

“sorry.. sorry..” she’d whisper yell, before you feel her wintry touch along your jawline, framing the abraded skin. you hear her tut, her verdant globes darting along your cheeks,

down to your lips,

and then to your eyes.

“your pretty face.. all ruined..” she sighs. she’s not sure what she’s doing, how to initiate; all courage in her stomach rotting to doubt when she sees your eyes nailing into her. you look confused, so she decides to play it off. “i’m joking. you’re not even that pretty.”

“ellie.”

“that was also a joke. you are that pretty.”

“ellie.”

“hm?”

“just stop talking, or i’m gonna beat your ass.”

“.. yes ma’am.”

it’s silent for half an hour, the occasional rubbing your legs against eachother like crickets or her fingers tracing circles on your arm. she wishes she could settle her hand on your waist, or your hip. but she struggles with establishing boundaries, the mere handshake or high-five is too awkward for her.

“have you ever liked someone?” you hear her murmur, her breath fluttering against your neck. you think for a little, eyes glued to the tv screen. “i guess.”

“did you ever tell them?” her nails are delicately feathering against your bicep, soothing patterns that heat your stomach with vim. you tell her a simple no, rolling to your back and maintaining eye contact with her.

she studies you, much like you study her. her cheeks are florid, peppered with subtle freckles that could be counted up close, pupils dilated and pooled with something you could only describe as adoration. “same..” she whispers, eyes mesmerised when they scan your lips. “sometimes, i wonder if i should’ve said something.”

you’re not stupid. and she knows you’re not stupid. you’re piecing the puzzle together, analysing the way her gaze softens with vulnerability, a sweetness which is such a stark contrast to her usual hostility.

“ellie..” you clear your throat, breaking her trance. it’s like she’s asking you, wanting your guidance, your permission. “if you want to kiss me, then do it. stop being such a pus-“ you’re interrupted as she leans in, tilting her head and swallowing your words.

her lips are weightless against yours, a years-in-the-making kiss, longing yet patient with you. her hands hold her up, one by your head and the other beside your waist; she parts her lips again, inviting you to connect with her, deepening it experimentally.

she wants to dart her tongue out and taste you, but the unknown boundaries of.. whatever this is.. is suspenseful and terrifying to her. so she’ll let you take initiative, her lips only smooching at yours with yearning, tilting her head to ease into it.

when you do part, her eyes are brimming with intimacy, as if she’s savouring you in this moment. you rub your lips together, and tastes like coffee, which makes sense. considering it has been all she’d been drinking this morning.

“.. ew..” you whisper, your hands cupping her jaw. she rolls her eyes, and she’s about to say something, but you pull her down towards you; your lips brushing together, feather-light and exploratory, before she kisses at the corner of your lips.

“m sorry-“ peck. “you’re just-“ peck. “too fucking-“ peck. “pretty-“

her kisses dot around your jaw, mindful of your tormented cheek, spreading to your neck. she was nurturing, taking your hand in hers, bringing it to her graceful lips and kissing each knuckle; each scar, each rugged slice.

the verdant shade in her eyes reminds you of the outside, the earth, the soil and the overgrowth; her pupils dilate as you maintain eye contact, bleaching that infected overgrowth with adoration. “can i..?” she whispers, fingers tracing the dips of your hips, dusting your stomach in circular motions.

“no. those are places you can’t touch.” you whisper, jokingly. but when she looks at you with soft brows and convincing eyes, you feel like siren bait.

“places i can’t touch.. yet?” she whispers back, genuine softness in her voice that seeps out like caring silk.

she’s a little bit of a loser. but it’s okay, because you’re wanting it just as much when you look down and see her slender fingers, admiring veins around her knuckles.

your legs subconsciously part at it, accepting her, inviting her. she takes the hint, manipulative fingers dipping under the fabric of your torn sweatpants.

it was essentially lovemaking, her obsessively pecking at your lips as your hands are nested into eachother’s underwear, mutually masturbating. you provided for eachother, blossoming pleasure when you feel her finger tease your swollen clit.

“feel good, baby?” she’d whisper against your cheek, lips lazily grazing your skin, breath hitching when you’d circle her clit.

at first, it was being careful around the edges, tracing each other precisely; then it was hips rutting against each other’s hands messily, the silent room filled with your heavy breaths and your thighs walloping sloppily against her hand as she’d fuck you with her fingers.

“fuck, more up. more up.” you’d whimper, core tightening as her dilated pupils look at you.

you wish you could make sense to her, but the stimulation is forcing your words to melt into difficult blether. “more up? like this?” she whispers, and you feel her fingers curl more, your clit pulsing with its own heartbeat as she does so.

“holy shit, you’re so good.. so fucking good, ellie.” your head would fall back, legs quivering as her fingers would twine inside and rock into you how she learnt you like it.

“that.. that was-fuck, you.. you’re incredible..” she’d swallow, trying to regulate her breathing, feeling your clit throbbing under her palm; your tight core and clenched hips relaxing post-orgasm. “you-you came so quick..” you hum, your hand gliding out from between her legs, her cum glossing your fingers seductively.

“can you blame me? you’re in my ear going mmph.. mm-mhm, mmphm..” she would mimic your whines, because your relationship friendship situationship was teasing. you’d roll your eyes, nudging her shoulder from embarrassment.

she loved you, to pieces.

but those pieces started to crumble after joel.

“didn’t mean to wake you..” you hear her mumble as she zips her bag up, consumed by grief. she’d been packing as you slept, which wasn’t totally out of character - ellie’s always been sneaky. “what are you doing?” you sit up, scanning the puce bruise under her eye through your blurry vision, framing her bloodshot and revenge-driven pupils.

she’s silent for a little, as you rub your eyes and try to regain consciousness from your heavy sleep. she’s wondering if she should tell you this truth, but she knows you’re not stupid.

“i have to find her..”

she seems cold, distant, too numb to remember everything you had both built. it’s hard to see her go down this route, this isn’t your ellie.

“so.. you were gonna.. what? sneak out?” you slowly rise to your feet, tilting your head in challenging. “you were gonna leave me here? i’ll be waiting here for months.. when i could just go with you?”

i think this was the first time where ellie found something she hated about you. your ambition, your selflessness, your urges to wrap her in cotton wool. she wished you could just.. listen.. please listen. even though she knew you were so capable, you took charge of the ground you were on, domesticated it.

but her gut feeling told her something was off. you can’t come with her.

“i just.. no offence, but.. you haven’t exactly been the most helpful recently.” she mumbles, and she hopes you don’t hear. she can’t bear to look at you, your narrowed eyes hammering into her relentlessly. “what are you saying?” you contest, “you think everything revolves around you, ellie.”

and it was a spiteful comment from you, you know that. but it gives ellie some courage to look back at you, eyes of conflict. “you’re not like me, you don’t have to do all this shit. you have nobody.”

you bite back your malicious words, eyes shutting to adjust your temper. “i’ve done this, ellie. i was just asking to go wi-“

“i don’t want you with me.” she interrupts, and it’s then that you find something you hate about her. ellie’s always blinded by rage, she likes getting her point across, cutting you off. “it’s just gonna slow everything down, i’ll be here qu-“

“slow you down? me?”

“fuck me. this is the thing, you think you’re something special because you’ve done this and that-“

“woah, i do not think i’m-“

“yes, you do! i see through all of..” she gestures to your body, and you look down at the scars on your arms, the slices on your hands. “all of that. you think it’s made you all strong and mighty, you aren’t shit.”

“ellie, respectively, you’d struggle making it there alone even if you had five hands and six legs.”

and when the insults bounced back and forth, you decided to sit out on the porch. it’s quiet, an owl hooting amongst the stifled streets of jackson, snowflakes settling on the ground.

after half an hour, you hear the door open, her bag shuffling against the wooden floor as she sits beside you. she’s not good with apologies, and you’d find it cute if she hadn’t annihilated your self-esteem just now.

her eyes are fixed to an invisible point in the floor, and she’s testing the waters, her breath misty with every exhale. you feel her reluctant eyes on you, as she bites her lip out of newfound anxiety. “i wanted to say sorry.. i said some nasty things..” she mumbles, looking ahead at the streetlights and the hushed streets of jackson. “you deserve the world. i wish.. i could give it to you..”

you look at her, feeling your insides marshmallow up inside with her endearing and sincere words. her eyes are overflowing with apology, and you nod at her, grateful. “i’m sorry, too. i didn’t.. mean anything i said.”

she processes your words, eyebrows peaked, as if she’s melting with your apology. “i know..” she whispers, shuffling beside you and her lips planting a remorseful kiss on your shoulder. “i love you..”

you feel sedated under her touch, your lids low as she brings her lips from your shoulder to your forehead, pecking it fondly. and so you whisper back that you love her too. it feels like home to her, confirmation that the relationship between you is okay.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

idaho falls was stop number one. it’s hard to believe tommy had made his way through it alone.

ellie was focused on eastlake, that was the golden ticket. although she was affectionate enough to put her hand on your waist on horseback, or send you quick reassuring nods, she was rather inanimate. you can’t blame her, you’d be the same.

“bastard things..” you huff, trudging through the disarray of infected corpses, trying to retrieve your knife, lodged deep inside a clicker’s shroomy neck.

you’re both blood-soaked, heavy breathing from the ambush. you’d gotten used to shivving through large groups like this, but it was game over when you’d set off nail bombs. it was as if the whole town had came alive and started sprinting at you, screeching and cackling.

“what are you doing?” ellie mumbles when she sees you look through a dusty bag that had seemingly fused into the clicker. “there’s no way you’re actually looking.” she releases a breathy laugh, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“you never know, it’s how i found one of my daggers.” you look at her defensively, fingers carefully diving into the bag, only to find a crumpled letter and a lighter. “i mean.. these guys used to be people, ellie. with hobbies, and memories and people who cared about them.” you mumble under your breath, “if someone ever found me like this, they’d have a fucking field day going through my pockets.”

“don’t say that.” she sighs, eyes softening as you rise to your feet. she’s trying not to imagine it. “besides, remember your whole i don’t die talk yesterday? if anything, it’s your ego that’ll get you killed.” she smirks, and you’re a little surprised. because it’s the first time in a while ellie’s taking intuition to lighten the mood with some playful banter between you.

you return a subtle smile when you remember the conversation from yesterday, wiping your knife clean against your shirt, watching the muddy blood smear the fabric.

e: “if you die, i’m gonna be so fucking furious with yo-“

“i don’t die.”

e: “whatever, fine. don’t disappear on me then.”

“yeah, i don’t disappear either.”

fuck, she loved you so bad. even the cockiness, the snark, the things that made you such a smartass. but as she watches you wipe the blood off the knife, her smile just.. suddenly drops. her usual barbaric eyes are blank and cluelessly staring at you all of a sudden.

you think she’s daydreaming, or maybe thought of a bad memory.

“what’s with you?” she thinks she’s seeing wrong, because it’s not possible. there’s no way.

denial.

“ellie..? what is it..?” you watch as her eyes start brimming, a glassy reflection of sorrow pinned to your hands. she approaches reluctantly, before she takes it in hers, and tilts it. whilst she’s used to seeing your usual scars and slashes, she’s not used to the fresh bite mark, fungal teeth that have torn your skin.

you stare, your hand piping hot and starting to tremor. because there’s not much for her to imagine anymore, it’s reality.

it’s nobody’s fault. you didn’t feel it, the adrenaline helped block it out. you hadn’t even realised one had gotten that close to you. “i didn’t.. but i didn’t feel it..” you blink in refusal, trying to remember if you’d felt it, when you’d felt it.

“i told you. i fucking told you to stay. and you just, don’t fucking listen.” her voice cracks, hands clenching into wrathful fists. she can’t believe you’ve been bulletproof all these years, untouchable, survived wounds from the neck; the head, every limb. yet a measly bite was all it took.

anger.

maybe you’re immune, you’re like her. maybe it’s a mistake, you didn’t get bitten at all. maybe if she’d fucking knocked you unconscious and left before you had woken up, you’d be okay.

bargaining.

“ellie. listen.. it’s not your fault.” you state bluntly to her, cupping her face in your hands. she struggles to hear through the stressful ringing in her ears, it’s as if she’s already screaming on the inside. “ellie.. can you hear me?” you ask when you notice her eyes go blank for a second, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. it feels as if she’s exiting her body, pretending it’s not real.

“ellie.. listen. i don’t know when this shit is gonna kick in, but when it does. i need you to think straight.. okay..” you explain to her, noticing the life in her eyes revive only slightly as she reads your lips. “you need to think straight, because i won’t be.”

and she slowly nods, blinking through the tears.

she decided to wait it out with you, she’s not sure why, it’s not like you were going to get better. by the second hour, your vision was pixelated, violet blurs that you try to blink away as you look at the sculptures around you.

it’s a museum, and you smile slightly.

“always wanted to visit one of these.” you slump into the leather chair, head aching and eyes feeling as though they’re being hammered from the inside. ellie kept her distance for the first hour, regretful eyes that scan you - your skin is glistening with sweat, and she doesn’t think you notice how your limbs keep twitching.

you look at her, eyebrows arched as you spin your karambit between your fingers. “talk to me.. please, ellie..” you plead quietly, noticing she hasn’t said a single word. she’s void, a mourning shell.

she ambles towards you, hands out as she delicately takes your arm, tilting your hand to inspect the wound. “let me look..” she whispers, as if she’s still trying to convince herself it isn’t real. but how can she, when your hand is ice cold, stripped of its usual warmth?

by the third hour, ellie could tell you were really struggling. really struggling. you had kept asking her to repeat what she said, when she hadn’t said anything - you’re hallucinating, it feels like you’re going crazy.

“baby..” you hear her murmur through the deafening ring in your ears. “please.. please tell me it’s a joke.. you’re fucking with me..?” she clears her throat, releasing a breathy laugh. “please.. i’m fucking begging you, say you’re just messing with me..”

her fingers intertwined with yours as she kneels infront of you, on her knees, helpless. “i.. don’t make me do this.. i can’t.” she can’t see through the puddles in her eyes, it feels like she’s talking to herself.

because she knows she has to stop this, your misery, your suffering. she has to walk away and make peace with the fact she did it for you.

“you’re gonna be fine, ellie. people like you always are..” you whisper breathlessly, your lungs feel useless, paralysed by something growing inside.

“ellie..” your lids are low, eyes morbidly rolling to her, feeling heavy and strenuous. you’re so fatigued, seeing ellie’s bloodshot eyes and her cheeks raw and worn from the constant rubbing of her tears. she maintains eye contact, shuffling closer until her forehead presses against yours.

her lashes are dark and thick, and she closes her bleary eyes. you used to cup her face when she’d press her forehead against yours, but you’re so cold, and limp, and lifeless.

“give those bastards hell.”

and it took until the fifth hour - until you were unresponsive, until you’d start begging her with pained tears to end it - that she’d muster up the courage to let go of your hands, give you a graceful kiss on the forehead,

“i love you..” she’d choke back a sob, lips against your forehead, “you.. you are.. the most magnificent person.. i have ever met..”

and shakily aim at your head, pistol quivering in her hand as her finger rests along the trigger.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

jackson, wyoming. blissful summer, two years later, the grass dehydrated.

she’d be kicking at the dry ground, scraping her converse against the cracked mud simmering under the heat. she needed air, time to think, to dilute her thoughts. she’d cut her hair recently, it hurt. you fucking loved the half-up half-down, and she knew it.

it feels like she’s erasing you, which aggravates her. it wasn’t just the hair, or the sound the scissors made when she cut the tiny ponytail off, or watching the strands streamline down the sink. it was dina’s confession, and constantly taking out the roll bag you kept your knives in when she felt strong enough, only to quickly roll it back up and hide it in her drawers when she realised she wasn’t.

but she’s done well recently, she’s sleeping more, dreaming less; eating bigger portions, and she’s able to look people in the eyes. her dead rabbit lays beside the stream, bow slung over her lanky shoulders.

she kicks against something solid, slowly kneeling when she realises it’s caved in the ruptures of the ground. there’s a metallic glint as she tilts her head, digging into the parched earth and slowly dragging it out.

“still waiting for my first butterfly knife.”

“butterfly? yeah.. good luck..”

it clicks in her hand, her fingers trying to rub off stains of mud, and she sighs. she sees your face, pretty lashes fanning your cheeks, the echo of your laughter when she’d kiss at the ticklish areas of your body.

“so.. how does this work?” she looks at you, knife in hand.

“you see that red thing right there? you throw the knife at it.” you point at the target on the wall, crossing your arms as you inspect her.

“wow.. so helpful, baby..” she murmurs under her breath, before she adjusts her shot, and throws the knife at the wall. it lands beside the red bullseye, a decent throw.

“wow. that was..” you start, eyebrows arched as if you’re impressed. she feels a gratified smile pull her cheeks upwards as you walk towards the wall, clutching at the knife’s handle before pulling it out. “ass. go again.”

you were beautiful. she’ll never love like that again.

and so she slowly tucks the knife back into the ground, respectively concealing it in the soil, it feels as if she’s burying you within these meadows - letting go of you a final time.

acceptance.

[beanlot]

i missed you so bad its not even funny

i waited 2 years, bean.

2 years..

but it was worth bc u wrote a banger

lets kiss?

a lot happened in those 2 years mb

[beanlot]

straddling ellie’s lap as you apply eyeliner to her waterline.

“okay, don’t move.” you warn, yet she still flinches when she feels the pencil graze her lashes. “you moved.. as i said, don’t move.”

her eyes water, and she’s rubbing them. “i can’t help it, you’re stabbing me in the eye.”

eventually, she’ll comply and stay still in the desk chair, looking up. “you smell like a dentist.” you’d tell her, pencil gliding along her lashes. “is that.. an insult or.. a compliment?”

“mm..” you think. “i guess it’s a compliment, means you smell clean.”

“oh.. thanks..” she’ll murmur awkwardly, hands resting on the armchair. she wants to touch your hips, but too scared to initiate.

she wants to do a lot of things.

“it looks stup-“ she quickly closes her eyes when you finish, because you’re smiling as if she looks like a clown. “no, no, no. the opposite.” you’ll cup her face urgently. “you look like hot shit.”

“hot shit?” she opens her eyes, the juniper green contrasting so tastily with the dark eyeliner. you’ll smudge it slightly, her skin so warm under your touch. she’s excited.

“yeah, like.. i’d ride your face right now.” you joke, because your relationship was tight-knit. humour was easy, but her usual banter is replaced by seriousness.

“deadass?” her eyebrow twitches, teasing challenge in her eyes. “right now?”

“what? i mean.. i, i don’t know, i g-“ you panic a little, because you didn’t expect her to return the playful exchange. you were always just friends. but she tuts, hands having settled on your waist. “tsk. no.. course not.”

and in that moment, you accept her challenge, straightening your back and hands at the hem of your shirt, ready to slide it off your skin.

“fine, right now.”

[beanlot]

Aww, yay you’re back bean! I’m so glad!

I love seeing your re-writes! I can definitely understand and visualize your stories better now.. 😅 couldn’t really do that before; but this is really great and interesting to read all the differences.

i appreciate you 🫡

trying to make sure my works have more clarity to them, instead of me just being a flashy prick

[beanlot]

indecision

ellie wants you back, even though she ended the relationship.

wc: 2.1k (angst + smudge of fluff)

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡��⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

“just get it over with, please.” she exhales jaggedly, smell of rubbing alcohol poisoning your nose as you apply pressure onto her wound. she’d been shot with an arrow, one you’d had to snap to pull out of her, but it’s nothing she hasn’t handled before.

she didn’t squirm, or whine when you bandaged her up. she sat still and took it, clenching onto the old and tattered leather seat.

you’d dated ellie for a shaky and indulgent two years before. your relationship at first was it - it was her looking at you when she’d done something clumsy or funny in hopes to see you laugh, it was holding each other tightly after you’d gotten separated, it was her lips kissing at your skin fruitfully. you remember it so clear.

“mm. baby.. baby..” you hear her voice, low and groggy. you’ve woken her up, shuffling around endlessly for half an hour trying to sleep. “baby.. shh. relax.. relax with me, you’re fine.” her hand settles on your hip, and she’d bring you in closer, tatted arm ravelling around your stomach. she was so gentle, so guiding, so protecting. “shh.. i’m here. i’m here, my love..”

ellie felt bad for ending it, it was necessary. there were times where she’d refuse to communicate, you would lose your temper, and start yelling at each other. you’ve grown hard around the edges over the years, your skin is scarred and tormented. it’s not your fault.

“oh shut the fuck up, ellie!” you spat at her. truth is, your arguments brewed for a few weeks. it started with glares, sly comments and ignoring eachother until it erupted. “you always do this, speaking to me like you’re so much better just becau-“

“speaking to you like what? just because i don’t sit on my ass here all day whilst everyone else does the work?”

the best thing to do was to break up, for both of your sakes. you were fine with it at first, you knew it was for the fucking best. you were starting to despise eachother’s company; you knew you’d get over it. because just like the scars and torment weren’t your fault, ellie was often blinded by hatred and impulse, it’s how the world shaped her.

“you know what.. i think.. we should just.. stop.” ellie scoffs.

“stop what?”

“us. it’s not fucking working. i can’t stand you.”

but what you couldn’t get over was overhearing her speak with dina, flirty and sultry tones bouncing back and forth between them a week later. they’d slept together, not long after that breakup.

and here you are, a few months later, knelt in front of her to relieve her physical pain.

“thanks..” a quiet whisper left her as you shoved the materials back into your bag. you’re still on high alert, ellie says that you always are, it’s like walking on eggshells being in a room with you.

she watches as you keep your eyes on the windows, peering through the blinds, your pupils narrow like the scope of a sniper. she tries to lighten the mood, tries to relax you a little. “a year ago, you would’ve passed out.” she jokes, a breathy laugh leaving her. but you don’t laugh.

i think that’s also what ate away at ellie during the end of the relationship. you used to have fun, and live, and look forward to the next day. but you’re a different mind in the same shell she used to love, and part of her believes she’s accountable for not being there for you.

you hear her whisper, as you sink into the chair opposite her, your head leant back towards the ceiling. “you okay..?” her voice is cautious, but she knows what’s up, she’s not stupid.

“fine.” you state bluntly.

it’s silent. she feels hopeless. you’re so cold now. but on the bright side, at least she no longer has to listen to your words of kindness easing her through the pain, or drink the poison of your fucking maturity.

“i’m sorry. for it.” you hear her. she’s darting her eyes around your body, the long scar under your jawline, the scratches on your wrist from trying to slice nettles out of the way. you try not to smile at her apology, because it’s pathetic. “it’s whatever.” you respond, your voice uninterested.

you feel sour thinking about it now, actually. you could’ve left her to those hunters, left her to infected, left her to bleed out and clean her wounds herself. “did you enjoy it?” you impulsively ask her, a saltiness to your tone that she was anticipating.

her stomach still drops though, and she can sense the eggshells cracking around her. “what?” she mutters, her eyes narrowing at you as you look at her. you used to look at her with delicacy, adoration, desire. but now your eyes are empty, glossed over; ellie could only describe it as you looking through people rather than actually looking at them.

“you know. sleeping with her that quickly, was she good? worth?”

it’s silent, and you’re both staring at eachother with challenging eyes of contempt. she gets it, understands your anger, yet she also can’t seem to wrap her head around your entitlement. “what are you sa-“

“scale of 1 to 10.”

“what the fuck are you saying?” ellie’s voice goes up a pitch. she wish she could stand up and grab your throat, try and knock some sense into you. but not only is the pain in her shin holding her back, it’s also the fact you’d hold up an ambiguous fight. “are you serious?” she leans forward in disbelief.

but when you don’t respond, your gaze unfaltering, she sighs.

“i don’t know.. like.. an eight, i guess..”

it was a rhetorical question, asshole.

you’re sure she answered it out of spite, and you feel internal rage. but you don’t let it show, you just nod with pursed lips. “i’m happy for you.” you state coldly. you wish you had the heart to just leave her here, take shimmer up north back to jackson, but you don’t.

it’s silent for a few minutes. she’s often glancing back at you, already regretting her answer. although it was a truthful answer, she should have kept her mouth shut. but the damage has already been done, she sees it honing on your face as you look elsewhere.

“i’m..” she starts, sighing. “i’m sorry.. that was fucked, it’s all fucked.” she shakes her head. you’d been forgiving and graceful enough to snap an arrow and pull it out her leg, bandage it up for her. and yet she sits here as if she uses that same arrow to pierce at your heartstrings, play you like an instrument, even if you act as if it’s not affecting you under your stoic mask.

“can you come here…

please..?”

you look at her, and her eyes are brimmed with vulnerability. you stay in your seat for quite some time, until you muster up the patience to approach her.

she feels you dip into the space beside her. she wants to reach out, touch your skin, marshmallow you up how she used to. but she knows she can’t, she has no right. “you don’t have to forgive me.. i just..” she whispers. “i wanna say i fucked it all up, for us. i know i did..”

you digest her words, your eyes darting around the ceiling in contemplation.

“i just don’t..” she pauses, her eyes ponder down to her thighs, and then down to her bandage that you had wrapped. she’s trying to word her next sentence without it sounding so morbid, but she cant. “i don’t wanna lose you one day, knowing you hated me.” she murmurs, waiting for an inkling of emotion on your face - anything, she’ll take anything - but it doesn’t come.

she’s dreamt about it. having you in her arms, choking on your own blood, using your last efforts just to spit out a malicious i hate you.

“i thought the.. whatever with dina would’ve got rid of you.” ellie squeezes her nose bridge, trying to explain in a way that doesn’t sound so bullshit. she doesn’t want to say that she had sex with her, even though that’s what it was. “i fucked her over too.. she didn’t do anything wrong, but she was.. just there.”

wow, you really are a scummy piece of shit, els.

she knows what you’re thinking when she looks over at you, your eyes nailing into her. “i know..” she whispers, and you notice her hand slowly raising, hesitant to graze your own. you flinch when she does this, and she notices your hand inching away from hers. “i know it sounds bad. because it is, it’s my fault.”

she looks down at your hand, her eyes desperate, pupils dilated when they look at you. “please let me..” her voice is tender, affectionate with you. you’re invested in it slightly, letting her nails run along your palm, her touch a wintry feather tickling your skin.

“i just.. i’ll do anything. anything to make it up to you, no matter how long it takes.” she whispers, and you feel her touch leaving your hand. you feel like ice when it does, only to feel piping hot again when she cups your cheek. it’s intimate, but it’s genuine: it’s regret and sorrow, self-hatred and adoration. “i just want you to know, that i know i’m a fucking asshole, i still am..”

“you make me sick.” your voice is piercing and cold towards her. but she understands your rage, and she takes it, absorbing it with accountability. “i needed you. and you fucking left me.”

ellie’s gaze is weak. she’s thinking of your pain, of your scar-covered back and tormented bruises. the ones she couldn’t be there to kiss and treat. when you had came back from torrington after a few weeks’ travel, and she had heard from maria that you were ‘all kinds of fucked up’ and ‘in need of stitches’ under the jaw, she’d dissociated for hours in her room.

she could’ve been there, could’ve helped stop the bleeding, could’ve killed the bastards who had done it to you. prevented it in the first place. you were always there for every tear that dropped from her pretty eyes, every injury, every nightmare. and yet you did it all alone.

“i know.. i know.” she whispers, and you close your eyes when you feel her forehead press against yours. it’s not romantic, it’s just impulse. she wants to just feel close with you again, absorb your warmth, feel the safe haven she neglected and left to rot. “i’ll do anything. you have no idea. anything, i’m begging you.”

you can feel her breath, she’s so close to you, so hurt. she knows she has so many - too many - amendments to make for you.

“i almost died yesterday.”

her whisper is faint, and her eyes are focused on everything, yet nothing at the same time. glossed over in daydream, inanimate and empty. “we were.. i don’t know, going down the southeast, by those cabins..” she tries to recall, memories blurred with the overwhelming poison of your ill feelings towards her. “this guy.. i was just on the floor suddenly, and he’s coming down at me with an axe.

and if it wasn’t for jesse, i would’ve..” she continued, pausing before her eyes glint. “but in my last fucking moments, all i could see was your face. and i just.. i didn’t feel fear, i just.. felt so much regret. and, love. worried about what would happen to you after.”

her words were reluctant at first, but came streamlining out of her mouth when she’s reminded of each emotion that came with having her back against the mud, life flashing between her eyes, the split-second images of your pretty face next to the fireplace. the way you called her name, ellie, so vanilla. so clean. so smooth.

“i felt like.. i just should’ve told you everything, talked it out. i don’t want you to feel bad for me. i’m just.. i am begging you..” she repeats, a faint and delicate whisper against your lips. “if you want me to disappear, i’ll go. i’ll never bother you, you’ll never see me again in that fucking town..”

something about that proposal doesn’t sit right with your heart, or your head. you can’t tell. a part of you wants to slap the shit out of her, and another part wants to kiss at those lips - not out of love, but out of hateful lust.

“it was never about you. it was about.. me. my failure to be a decent fucking person, to be the person you.. needed. it was my own weakness.”

you sluggishly and reluctantly pull away from her, and watch as her gaze softens into disappointment. “i should.. go check on shimmer.” you whisper, rising to your feet, emotionally warped. “you just.. sit here and rest..”

she has to accept consequences of her own actions.

as you start walking backwards and turn away from her, you can just hear all the emotions inside screeching in your head. it’s loud, blinding, deafening; you know ellie experiences it too, the same voices that just get too much. maybe that’s what dina was to her, white noise to dilute them.

she wants to chase you back, grab your wrist and talk it out. but the throbbing tremors from her wounded leg force her to slump back down into the chair with a defeated sigh. she lets you go, just this time, not willingly.

[beanlot]

IM SO HAPPY YOURE BACK !!!!!!!!!

woo!

only took me 2 years but woooo!

[beanlot]

I love you I think about you all the time (not like that) I think about your works daily and I keep on coming back to read them

I admire you so much you're so talented mwa mwa mwaaaa take careeee! 💚

i appreciate you ❤️‍🩹

i wish i could produce more writing but im not so passionate for it anymore so it’ll be hot ass. so instead i’m a loser painter bitch who says type shit after every sentence

but arcane s2 !!

[beanlot]

hey, I’ve missed you on here :(

hope you’re okay 💜

hello🙂‍��️

i’m doing just fine

(im not. ive spent the last week deep cleaning the entire house until i felt lightheaded, itching the shit out of my elbow tat, grinding papa’s freezeria and realising i am attracted to a man)

i’m not sure if i’ll ever start writing again. it’s not that i dont have any ideas or life is too busy etc. i think it’s just lost interest.

i’ve been trying to get into new media to obsess over and it’s just not working ✋

my dm’s are open always tho i’m still cool like that

[beanlot]

Um....

the talent

The utter GROUNDBREAKINGNESS

You're amazing

That's all

Have a lovely day