#Keep Seattle Weird

[chrismighton]

Seattle Is Not Dead

[cartoonghosts]

everything is terrible actually

[ominous-signs]

~keep seattle weird~

Official ominous sign

[orphicsun]

. ✦ .R U Mine? FWB Ellie x Reader. ✦

Content: JACKSON ELLIE X FEM! READER, Alcohol consumption, friends with benefits, mentions of casual sex, some angst, Cat is Ellie's ex-girlfriend in this fic, making out in the rain, nipple play (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), scissoring, happy ending this is definitely an emotional roller coaster though, set in TLOU universe in which reader and Ellie are young adults, Joel is still alive and mentioned, Jesse and Dina are in a relationship in this, I know the pic is Seattle Ellie but this is still set in Jackson.

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: I know I literally just said I'd be releasing this in a week, get tricked. (I spent hours editing to finish this but it was so worth it)

Description: Ellie has always been bad with emotions. Dina tells you that what seems like everyday at this point. Still, you can't help but notice the way she leaves the morning after your nights together. You can feel the tension in the way she pretends like nothing happens during patrol together. Just when you think you finally have the situation figured out, it blows up in your face.

 "How drunk are you?" Dina's voice echoes in your head, making you turn away from your current view and back onto the current conversation.

"Uhhhhhh…..however drunk you want me to be?” You giggle at Dina’s failed attempt to stifle a laugh.

“You are so doomed tomorrow..don’t you have patrol with Jesse?! And I thought you were gonna try to go talk to Ellie and make things less awkward..” Dina looks at you more sternly now.

You groan. “It’s not like it’ll even fuckin’ matter, she’ll just ignore me like she always does. Like she’s doing right now.” 

You know that was a bit over dramatic, but it’s not untrue. Ellie and you have been seeing each other - no, fucking, for the past few months. Every single time you’re in public together, she mostly acts weird towards you, feigning disinterest. The act she puts on is hard to believe when she’s between your legs making you cum your brains out the next day. It’s not like you don’t understand the difference between love and lust. You absolutely understand it, especially in a place like Jackson where getting attached to someone can be riskful. However, Ellie is never a quick fuck-and-leave. Not only is the sex amazing, but she tells you things in the voice she limits for only you to hear, and things she says never make you wonder if she means them. Her actions, however, have you lost. 

Ellie was a friend before all of this. She was no childhood friend who grew up with you but simply someone who you connected to well, and well was an understatement. You know almost everything about her, from her favorite rations to bring on long supply runs to her shower routine. Now, the two of you are really at a limbo; the patrols since the first hook-up have all been awkward, with Ellie being extremely quiet or overly nice, which may seem like a good thing but once again you know Ellie. She has never been the type to keep her mouth shut and clean. The crude jokes and sarcasm are your favorite pieces of her personality, and you just assumed at first that it was just her getting used to the dynamic. However, as time continues, it is still just as weird, and the two of you are hooking up just as often. 

Currently, you’re wasted to no ends at a party in Jackson you wish you didn’t even go to. Of course, Ellie’s here joking around with Jesse in the far left of the backyard like nothing is weird between the two of you. Again, it may be dramatic, but you just hate the fact that you have to keep it all a secret from everyone. (You told Dina as soon as it happened, but that’s because you can’t keep secrets from your best friend!) You know that from the beginning, it was always supposed to be sex and a friendship. Both of you didn’t want a ton of commitment, but that changed overtime as the hook-ups started to last longer and the aftercare went from sitting in bed together to holding each other like lovers do. Dina warned you that Ellie isn’t good with her feelings, but it causes bitterness within you when she kisses the top of your head the other night then refuses to even say hi to you at a party.

You sigh, turning your attention back away from Ellie once more and onto Dina, who is trying her best to lecture you on why you should just talk to Ellie instead of letting the situation get so awkward, but you’re not really hearing her. You’re not typically a melancholic drunk, but Ellie really has a knack for bringing that side out of you, especially when she’s halfway across the yard talking Jesse’s head off and refusing to make eye-contact. Every time she laughs, it stabs at your heart. Not because she’s happy, but because you want to be the one to cause that feeling in her. You want to be the reason she smiles and giggles, you want to hear all of the swear words she wants to say and the stupid jokes she likes to come up with. You honestly miss her, and you know it’s stupid that you even fell for her, but you hope that someday things will at least be normal once more. Not that you wanna lose the sex, though.

Dina drags you over to the mentioned group and forces her boyfriend Jesse to escort you home. You don’t argue back. You’re too sad to argue and it’s embarrassing to be on the verge of tears as Ellie’s silence next to is continued.

-

You can’t help but think of Ellie, even when you’re all snug in your bed and half-conscious. It’s the memory of her face as you walked away and how she glanced over to you but never spoke up. She would have made your day so much better with a simple ‘hello.’ It’s not her fault, you tell yourself. It was never ever her fault but yours. Still, you feel so bitter wondering where it all went wrong for you. 

Usually, you never experienced such a level of attachment to one person. It’s not like love was new and you were far from a virgin when you and Ellie first hooked up, but something about her is engraved in your head and you just can’t escape it. You picture the button-like curve of her nose and the way light reddens her hair, a color that is almost impossible to make out in the confines of the indoors. Sometimes, you wonder if Ellie was born to be part of nature. She smells so Earthly and the way she moves, converse padding through grass, it’s like when you see someone practicing a hobby meant for them: you just know it’s meant to be that way. You used to love going on patrol with her for that reason, to be able to see her so comfortably scavenging and on Shimmer’s back. Now, it’s stiff and awkward, and the sense of fate that you feel when seeing her do what she is so naturally good at is challenged by her distance. 

Deep within your thoughts, you’re pulled out by a creak and the sound of your window opening. You quickly sit up, attempting to dry your tears with your sleeve when you see Ellie clumsily diving into your bedroom. Usually in the circumstance of being angry with someone, you know that you would tell them to fuck off. Ellie, however, cannot be told that. Her charm on you is far too wrapped around you like vines to concrete and so you laugh even through the tears. 

“Your window is fuckin’ narrow, you know.” 

“I wouldn’t know. I use the front door.” Despite the snark in your words, your voice cracks slightly as you sniffle and try to hold back the hot tears. 

Ellie sighs, and you can tell she is holding back. You hate this, the way conversation still flows at little points in time before continuing onto becoming nothing but awkward, stiff silence. Ellie surprises you and moves quickly to sit on your bed near you, pulling you into her arms. 

You know you shouldn’t crumble, but you do. Her embrace is so warm despite the fact that tomorrow it’ll be non-existent, and so you cling onto her while you still can. Your tears dribble down your cheeks and onto her shirt where the material grows damp. She only holds you tight, not making any further moves. Somehow, that is worse than the latter. The idea that this is what the relationship (if you can even call it that) has become is so emotionally involved, now there is no doubt that there is more, but there won’t be in the morning. 

You grieve the moment for what it could’ve been and fall asleep in Ellie’s arms as she coos you so softly, whispering sweet reassurances, only taking your tears as drunken sadness and not for what it was - her own doing. 

When you were once a young girl, you found comfort in the sound of clocks. The rhythmic tick, tick, tick lulled you to sleep. Now, you awake to the same ticking coming from the round clock mounted on your wall by a nail behind it. The familiar sunlight is plastering the bed in patterns much like time itself, telling you that the day is ahead of you and that you cannot sleep it off for much longer. Of course, Ellie’s presence is lacking. She left before you woke up. It hurts more than the other times that you opened your eyes to see that the girl you slept with the night before had left you, because she held you so dearly the previous night in a way that is always more than friendly or sexual. The inbetween of that must be hard for her to differentiate. 

You arrive at the East gates around 8 am, and Jesse is there waiting for you with a polite smile on his face. 

“Hey. You ready to head out?” 

“Yeah, sorry if I’m running a bit late.”

Jesse lets out a small laugh at that. “I won’t hold you to it. You were pretty hammered last night.” 

You avoid his teasing gaze, knowing full-well his words ring true. You were embarrassingly drunk last night, and you probably said some things to him that you don’t even remember now, but he definitely does. 

“You act like you weren’t drinking too!” 

“Oh, please. I’ve been drunk but not that drunk. You were white-girl wasted.” 

That makes you laugh, but at the same time your heart clenches along with your uneasy stomach. That’s a term one freckle-faced girl is known for saying because of Joel. 

“Can we just get on with patrol now?” Jesse rolls his eyes at your whiny tone and short dismal, but nods anyway and begins to signal for the guards to open up the large gates. You sigh, taking reluctant steps out of Jackson along with him. “My head’s killing me and I need to get this over with so that I can go home and nap.”

The first 30 minutes of patrol goes just as expected, the trek to the neighborhood you were assigned to clear and search through is long and boring. Jesse isn’t much of a talker when it comes to patrols, usually sticking to professionalism. That doesn’t surprise you much. While Jesse likes to drink and have a good time, he’s always taken patrol seriously. You recall countless times you’ve heard him scold other people for not taking their work seriously enough, and you partially understand. The lives of the people in Jackson all count on each other to do their jobs efficiently. Still, you know that patrol can be boring and nerves can be high. Sometimes, people just need to have a bit of humor in their lives to keep things from getting too grim. Afterall, leading an overall grim life as a patroller is no way to live. It’d tear your spirit out, starting from the inside. 

However, as you reach the building, Jesse stops in his tracks. His usual disposition is broken and he turns to you with a sigh. 

“Listen..” He struggles to find the words, “I just wanted to talk to you about something that I’ve noticed.”

You hope this isn’t going where you think it is. “Yeah?”

“Ellie’s one of my best friends, and I can tell something’s going on between the two of you, even if she won’t tell me.” He notices your visible discomfort at the mention of Ellie, but presses on. “I’m just warning you that she’s not good with her feelings. She can be all awkward and weird about them, but you’re a good person. I know she cares about you.” 

You don’t answer immediately, a bit caught off guard by his words. Still, they resonate with you. You’ve heard this from Dina too, but you previously wondered if she was only wanting to give you a soft landing. Dina, as much as you love her, has a tendency to try to avoid hurting your feelings. Jesse is quite the opposite, and you know that what he says has meaning to it. 

“Thanks, Jesse.” You give him a slight smile, and he nods. 

“Just talk to her, okay? You guys are both great. You deserve better than whatever the fuck you’ve got goin’ on.” 

You can’t help but laugh slightly at that despite anxiety churning through you. If Jesse sees potential, why can’t it be realistic to think that you and Ellie have a shot at being more than just friends who often have sex? Why can’t you be girlfriends?

The rest of the patrol is still half better, half worse. You’re anxious about actually talking to Ellie about your feelings and the aching from the previous night hasn’t faded. The task of taking out infected is just as dreadful because you know that in any moment, all of your current problems can become squabble compared to the issue you’d be faced with if a bite were to be imprinted into your flesh. It’d be tragic. Still, you have hope. You carry hope with you that soon, you may get to make some progress with her and get out of this weird spot. You think about that hope every moment that your knife is plunged into the rotten fungi-covered skin of another clicker. 

Before, your plan was to make a bee-line for your own house and sleep off the liquor from the night before, to get some actual sleep. Now, your feet seem to lead you to the path of Ellie’s garage. You’re just ready to see her and get the difficult conversation over with so that you can finally know how she feels.

On the way, your heart races with hope and fear. Questions circle around your head like bees swarming their hive; will Ellie reciprocate your feelings? Even if she does, will she want to actually be in a relationship with you? She may not even feel the same way.. You have to stop yourself from going overboard. As you reach her little garage, you take a deep breath and mentally count the seconds in your head.

Tick, tick, tick…One, two, three..

Everything will be fine. Even if this doesn’t work out, you can at least move on from her and have closure. You can’t help but smile at the thought of no longer having to deal with awkward patrols and weird conversations. Finally, you walk towards the garage door; your steps are faster than before and charged with nerves. Your hands are shaky but your mind is determined. 

You stop yourself from knocking on her door when you hear the sound of laughter.

You recognize the all-too-familiar laughter that belongs to Ellie, of course. It always makes your heart tumble into your stomach upon hearing it. However, you hear another fit of giggles beside hers that cause a clenching in your heart. Was she with another girl…?

You quickly pad towards her window, her curtains opened wide of course. From even just the side, you can see the scene inside of her room. Ellie is sitting in bed with Cat. You feel sick to your stomach at the sight of the girls so effortlessly talking, something Ellie hasn’t bothered to give you in months besides the times you’re in bed together, naked for her. 

Cat is drawing on her arm and it makes you livid with jealousy. You know that she and Ellie dated before. You can’t help but wonder if this is the reason that Ellie holds back from you. Was she really still in love with her ex-girlfriend all of this time? Were you just a rebound to her? 

Your heart breaks within you, and you’re more hurt than you are angry. The frustration is definitely there, though. You don’t bother to knock, storming back off to your home.

-

Ellie knew from a young age who she was. She has a foul mouth, likes nerdy things that others may insult her for, and she likes women. Her sexuality may have been a bit of a spectacle in Jackson. When she and Cat were seen holding hands when they were together, she was forced to get used to the stares thrown at them. They built her up into everything she is today. However, Ellie is nothing if not troubled.

Her emotions aren’t so easily adaptable. Her feelings feel murkier at times and clear at others, yet she cannot convey them in the ways others do. She knows that she is in love with you. She feels an emptiness when she is away from you for too long and wonders if it would be smart to let herself be so honest with you, to risk losing you after spending the rest of her days with you. She struggles to convey all of that, too; what if you find her to be overwhelming? Sex with you may be one thing, but these feelings could scare you away. She can’t lose you. 

Perhaps her lack of proper conveyal pushed you further away from her grasp.

It seems that you won’t talk to her anymore. She can’t pinpoint what is causing the change, but all she knows is that it is all too real. You, for some reason, won’t volunteer to patrol with her anymore. You don’t knock on her door, even if it’s just for that one thing that has been the main foundation of your relationship for the past few months. You lack the softness in your gaze when you’re in her presence; you lack to gaze at her at all. 

Something in Ellie is entirely disheartened by your sudden absence in her life. She knows that she was awkward before, but she genuinely wanted to tell you how she felt about you. She wanted to carve your name into the surface of her heart so that she can only bleed you, as if your hands don’t squeeze at the organ enough. She recalls the times that she’d take deep inhales of your hair after sex just to be filled with your scent. She thinks about the last time she got to hold you and how she left after, just because she couldn’t live with it if you rejected her in the morning. 

For weeks, this avoidance continues. At first, Ellie tries to speak to you. You ignore her or brush her off with short responses every time. After a while, she begins to pull away as well. That is, until you’re walking home in the rain as the crash of thunder surrounds Jackson at all angles. 

Your boots make wet pitter-patter noises as you try your best to hurry back home after a late patrol. The sky is dark, the only source of light is your own flashlight and the dim street-lights that make a path down the street. Unfortunately, your house is so far from the center of Jackson that it requires a longer journey to get home than it does for most people. You live on the outskirts, which can be good for privacy, but not so good for travel. 

You wish that you had brought an umbrella with you earlier before leaving your house. Now, it doesn’t matter. All you can focus on is getting home and not being struck down in lightning. In a world filled with fungi-based zombies, you’d think that something as unique as being fried from a thunderstorm would be the least of your worries. Your steps quicken until they don’t. 

You trip face-first into the gravel, your skin on fire from the sudden harsh tumble. Your clothes are covered in mud and dirty rain water, some pebbles sticking to the soaked fabric. You groan in discomfort, but you’re halted from your progress in rising when you look up to see a frantic Ellie staring down at you. 

“Holy shit, are you okay?! What the hell are you doing out here, it’s raining cats and dogs..” 

Usually, you’d laugh at that joke. Instead, you avoid her gaze and try to stand, wincing at the soreness from the fall and the scrape on your knee left from the sharp gravel. 

“I’m fine. I just got back from patrol.” Your words are so boring and short, it makes Ellie’s heart ache. She misses how things used to be.

“You’re not gonna make it all the way back to your house like this.” She states, and you know she is right, unfortunately. Your clothes leave you feeling like a wet dog, dirty and half-way drenched. Your knee is probably bleeding, and you simply don’t want to walk all of the way home. Still, you’d rather do that than face Ellie after what you witnessed. 

“I can make it, I’ve walked home before.”

Ellie scoffs at your stubborn, dry tone. “Yeah, no shit. But not like this. C’mon, just come back to the garage. You can borrow my clothes and I’ll ask Joel for a first-aid kit.” 

That sounds so like Ellie to offer. You remember countless nights in her garage, some before the whole situation happened when you only played video games and let her read you comics until you were snoring on her couch. You also remember the late nights spent against her, panting as she made you cum in any way she could, only to act as if it didn’t happen the next day. The thought makes you grow bitter. 

“Maybe I don’t wanna go home with you.” You state in a monotone, or at least try to. You pray that she can’t hear the break in your voice, notice how your already wet face is easily splotched with a cluster of tears. 

That makes Ellie’s heart completely squeeze within her body. “But..why?”

“Why?! Because you led me on, Ellie!” 

Ellie’s eyes widen at that. She didn’t expect that. “Lead you on? How..How did I lead you on? I know I was awkward, but I-”

You quickly cut her off, your voice raising with pent-up hurt. “It’s not about your stupid awkwardness! It’s about the fact that I was clearly just a rebound.” 

Ellie goes silent at that. A rebound? What the hell were you talking about? A rebound for who?

“A rebound? What are fuck are you even saying right now..? I never..” Her voice trails off, she’s clearly confused; that only fuels your anger further.

“You only agreed to sleep with me because you wanted to get over Cat. Am I right, or am I right?” Your tone slides from angry to practically livid. Underneath it all is pure heart-break. 

“That’s not even true! I’ve been over Cat for a couple years now and you know that. Why would I still like her after this long?”

“I saw you and her in your stupid garage, Ellie!” As you shout, lightning strikes, causing you both to flinch. You should just turn away and rush inside, rush anywhere indoors. You know that. Still, you’re too focused on all of the hurt inside of you. “I saw her drawing all over your arm and I heard your laughter. You never laughed like that for me unless we were fucking. You never smiled at me like you smile at her, or Jesse, or even Joel for fuck’s sake.” You feel sobs bubble up from your throat and the rain pouring down upon the two of you. “I just wanted you to be happy with me like how you were before. Instead of…just pretending like we were nothing at all.”

Ellie looks like she’s about to argue back, but her words best her. She instead moves to stand in front of you, and even despite the tension and distance between the two of you, you can’t help but think about how beautiful Ellie looks, her soaked bangs glued to her forehead and her clothes soaked, clinging onto her slender form. She cups your face almost hesitantly, her fingers brushing against your jaw as if she’s afraid you’ll push away. She can feel the heat of your tears in contrast to the coldness of the rain water on your wet face. She aches at the difference. 

“Listen to me..please..” Her voice, so soft and intimate, makes you want to do whatever she asks. She is so gentle even as the thunder booms once more, almost making you jolt again. “Cat was only drawing on my arm because I wanted to get a new tattoo, and I’ve been well over her for years now. We might’ve dated when we were young, but all we are now is a friendship. I needed her advice on you. I wanted to know what to do, how to tell you how I feel..” 

You look up at her, your voice hesitant. “And how do you feel?”

She exhales, a shaky and addictive sound. “I don’t want Cat back. I want you back..I miss you. I miss the goofy shit we used to do on patrol.” She chokes out a laugh, ironic for the speech and the nerves she’s feeling from confessing all of this to you. “I miss hearing your laughter, I miss how you smell so lovely even when you live in a fucking apocalypse. I yearn to hear you talk to me. Talk to me about anything. I miss the way you sneeze, the way you stumble over yourself like how you just did and got your damn patrol clothes all muddy.” She takes one final moment to savor your face, to memorize your features right in front of her in case you reject her final confession. “I don’t love Cat. I love you.

Her words hit you so deeply, right in the heart where you need to feel her. You don’t hesitate to lean in and Ellie almost immediately meets your lips in a bruisingly desperate kiss. 

Your hands grasp at her face like she’ll disappear in any moment, fingers finding her hair and pulling at the wet, tangled strands of auburn.. She pulls you closer by the waist and her palm can feel sensations that make her believe this moment is something straight out of a dream. Dots of rain fall upon the both of you as her lips pull your bottom one in between them, making you gasp softly and part your lips. She takes full advantage, slipping her tongue into your mouth. 

The two of you are now impossibly close as your mouths slide against each other so needily, so fervently. Every brush, every wet smack of your lips ignites more than just a fire between the two of you. Ellie is itching to keep you like this, but she desperately misses all of you. She wants to devour you and solidify the fact into existence that you are hers, and you won’t ever doubt her love for you. 

Droplets of rain wetten the kiss further, but they do nothing to prevent the heat of your mouths enveloped, or stop the way the two of you push and pull closer to each other like magnets. The only thing that breaks the kiss is a sudden bolt of lightning rather close to your location. 

Breathless, Ellie’s forehead meets your own. “We should go back to my garage.” You nod, and quickly, the two of you scamper off to Joel’s backyard in which her small place is located. 

Inside, Ellie’s lips meet yours once more, thirsting and full of longing. Damp clothes are pulled off of the two of you; bodies meet each other and you can feel every inch of Ellie against every centimeter of you. Her stiff nipples graze yours, making you shiver despite the warmth of her garage. 

“Say you love me again,” you plead with her so breathlessly.

She doesn’t hesitate to be truthful, not after holding back for so long. “I love you. I love you so much, it hurts.” 

Her lips drag down your neck, her hands guiding your hips to walk back towards her bed. You fall onto the soft mattress and her body quickly follows yours. Each swipe of her tongue over your skin sends sparks of pink electricity through your veins and between your legs. 

“I need you, Els.” You’re panting, a delirious mess and yet more content than you’ve been in a long time. 

“Shh, I’ve got you. I’ll give you all of me. I’m yours now.” 

Ellie’s body is smothering yours, and she has to settle further down to make contact with your tits. Her mouth is all over the soft, bumpy texture of your nipples, lapping at the hardened peaks to send little shudders through your spine. Your body craves her after so long, but you appreciate all she gives you. Her mouth takes its time on each of your nipples, her love so needy and desperate yet savoring. You grasp at her messy hair, trying to pull her up to kiss you.

When her bare weight settles back onto yours, your mouths soon meet for a slower, but just as intense kiss. You take your time to slide your tongue against hers and lick into her mouth, exploring her as if your time here would last forever. Her body involuntarily grinds against yours and though there’s not direct friction onto either of your clits, you still whimper into each other’s throats.

Ellie’s palm slides down between your humid bodies as she distracts you with her tongue swirling against yours, a delicious sensation you can’t seem to find anywhere else. Her fingers suddenly rub at your clit, making you moan into her mouth, an eager sound so easily swallowed.

This isn’t the first time she’s touched you like this, not even the second time. Still, your body reacts as if this is all new. The way she touches you is sloppy and passionate, not anything in comparison to the previous hook-ups in which she was able to make you cum but gave you what was a watered down, held back version. Now she can give you everything. 

The kiss slows, but your lips lingered against each other’s. You can still lick at the taste of rain droplets on her swollen lips; you wish to rub against them so hard that they taste of nothing but your own lips. 

“Inside me, please.” You beg against her lips, sending fizzles of heat throughout her own cunt and making her clench around nothing. 

“Good,” she mumbles against you as she eases two fingers into your moistened hole to elicit a soft, open gasp from your lips, “wanted to feel inside your cunt again. Missed it.” 

Her calloused fingers work you, stretching your walls to ease any discomfort. You don’t know what to focus on with the amount of feelings coursing through your body - the subtle curve of her breasts are visibly if you flicker down, but you can’t seem to do so as you throw your head back onto her pillow and stare up at her ceiling to try and collect yourself; the way her eyes intensely watch over the way you gnaw at your bottom lip with pleasure, biting down when she curls her digits in the most delicious way possible; her mouth painting noticeable hickeys all over your neck, an action you’d usually scold but can only grasp her face for more; the soft ‘love you’s leaving her mouth between suckling. She can’t help but remind you after all of this time.

Her fingers batter your insides repeatedly, fingertips pressing into your spongy spot until you cry her name and your nails are piercing into her skin. Each slide into your walls and the slight retreats sends waves of pure pleasure through your body, your peak being the only thing either of you can focus on. Her eyes look over your face, watch the way your breath recedes as your orgasm bleeds into your stomach and into your head. Each ripple shooting through your walls causes your walls to clamp down onto her fingers as if to hold them inside of you forever. She doesn’t stop pumping into your hole until you physically cannot withstand it any longer. 

“I love you, Ellie.” 

Your words, so saccharine, make her forget about her plan to cuddle with you after making you feel good. She’s now hitching up your leg and pulling hers over your thigh, slotting her neglected and slick cunt between your legs, her folds grinding against yours and causing you to mewl at the sudden sensation against your clit.

“You love me?” Ellie asks, watching as you nod your head eagerly, “bet this pussy loves me just as much,” her words so filthy make you even wetter than you thought was possible in a single night. 

Ellie whines as her clit receives little sparks of friction, the swollen bud savoring each moment of contact with your cunt. 

“Feels so good, h-holy fuck..” You whine, your hips bucking up into hers in small shudders of movements. The pure sloppiness of your pussies rubbing together causes the room to be filled with the sounds of squelching and strained moans, Ellie’s more breathy and yours more pitched. Her hips quiver against yours as she gets closer and close to cumming, her movements more sloppy as your wetness turns into hers, and hers yours. 

“Please, please, please I’m gonna cum, I’m-” Your own orgasm washes over your body, your back rising to accommodate for the sudden intense pleasure. Soon, Ellie’s cumming with you, not hesitating to swallow up your cries with her lips sealed over yours. You can feel each sloppy hump her cunt gives yours, can feel her whines only attempt to leave her throat. All of it has you drunk off of the feeling, possibly even harder than the last orgasm. Her tongue lazily fucks your mouth as she gives a final few sloppy judders to your clit before her body gives in to the utter exhaustion and she settles on top of you. 

Her body, coated in sweat and her pussy, covered in both of your juices, are completely worn out. Ellie’s head finds sanction in the crook of your neck where her breath tickles your purple-splotched skin. You wrap your arms around her, squeezing her tightly. Her leg brushes up against yours and that’s when you noticeably flinch; right, the scraped knee from earlier. 

Ellie quickly pulls herself off of you to  catch sight of your left knee, slightly red with dried blood and clearly tender.

“I’ll take care of that, just lay here and rest, ‘kay” You nod eagerly, wanting to get rid of the burning sensation as quickly as possible. Ellie quickly pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before giving you a quick kiss on the forehead, her eyes taking a final glance to admire your naked body sprawled out on her bed.. all she can seem to feel now is love for you. “Stay here and I’ll be back soon.”

-

Quickly, Ellie returns to you with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a large adhesive band-aid. Her face is rather irritated. You raise your eyebrows. 

“What’s with the look?”

She sighs, muttering out, “Joel..that’s all.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. Fuck, you missed Joel. You missed watching movies with Ellie on his couch and the popcorn he’d microwave for the two of you to share. You can already tell by her face that he was pretty teasing about her scavenging through his cabinets for first-aid items looking like a hot mess. “I missed him,” you mumble quietly.

“Yeah… He missed you, too.” Ellie unscrews the lid on the alcohol and braces herself to do what she has to do.“This is gonna hurt, okay?” You nod, bracing yourself. Soon, the stinging of the alcohol hits your knee. It’s sudden and makes you wince. Seeing that look on your face makes Ellie want to stop and just hold you tightly, protect you from any harm. When the sting finally fades, you let out a soft sigh. She quickly peels the back of the band-aid off and with gentle but calloused fingers sticks the adhesive onto your scrape. She gives you a soft smile. “There. All good, now.”

You don’t hesitate to smile back, but another thought crosses your mind. “Hey, Ellie..?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is heavy with exhaustion and a noticeable, gentle affection.

“I meant it when I said I loved you.” 

Ellie gives you a toothy grin, a familiar one. “And I meant it when I said it, too.”

“But..I still just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me that before, you know?”

Ellie exhales quietly and nods, understanding what you mean. “I was really nervous, okay? I’ve just lost people before,” she leans in closer to you, admiring your eyes which observe her as she speaks, brushing messy strands of hair behind your ear, “I know it’s stupid, but it really is true when you hear people say I can’t handle my feelings well. I get all weird about them and I’m like a social recluse when I have a crush for some reason. As much as I just wanted to be around you, I was scared.” 

Your eyes soften slightly from her words, but curiosity takes over. “Scared of what? I wouldn’t ever hurt you, Els.” 

“It’s more than just getting my heart broken by you.. I mean, I’m scared of losing you physically, too.” She admits quietly. 

Ellie’s fears aren’t irrational. Everyday, people who have lovers, have friends and family are bitten or torn apart in the most gruesome ways possible. That’s always a reason to be cautious to care, but you can’t help but want to disagree with that sentiment. 

“But Ellie, you can’t just be alone with the fear of losing the people you care about,” you argue softly, “if you live your life like that, you’ll never get to have all of anyone. Sometimes, you have to risk losing the person you love so that you can at least have them in every way possible, even if it’s temporary.” 

“I know that, believe me. I’m so damn tired of keeping myself away from you and not fully giving you what you deserve.” Ellie leans down to plant a soft peck to your nose, making you giggle, “you deserve to be loved wholeheartedly and not like how I was doing before..so..” she sighs. “If I asked you to be mine, my girlfriend…would you say yes?” 

Your eyes widen and your heart beats faster. “You really mean that?”

Ellie nods, her cheeks red from earlier activities somehow burning brighter. This time, it’s more from embarrassment and something more childish than previously. 

You giggle and quickly lean up to hug her tightly. “Yes. Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.” Ellie pulls you further in, squeezing you tightly. “You gotta promise to not hold back on me, though.”

She nods, feeling emotions pull at her chest at the feeling of your embrace, of finally having you in her arms without having to think about leaving you in the morning. “I promise.”

The rhythmatic, quiet sound of Ellie’s clock lulls you to sleep as she holds you in her arms. 

Tick, tick, tick. 

This time, Ellie won’t hold back from you when you wake up.

Taglist: @firefly-ace @kaykeryyy

[alexispunkkk]

no mercy in seattle

- pairing: dark!tommy miller x fem!reader

- summary: on tommy’s rampage in seattle after the death of his brother, he needs a way to get his anger out. he uses you as his outlet, taking his emotions out in the best way he knows—sex.

- warnings: rough sex, cussing, unprotected piv, dark!tommy, dubcon, boot riding, boot humping, oral sex, spanking, face slapping, spitting, hair pulling, manhandling, creampie, mentions of murder and guns blah blah blah, joels sooo dead sorry

- word count: 5.1k

- weird mix between the game/show plots adjusted for this. anyway i wrote this in protest against the show writers because where tf is tommy!!! jesse says he’s in seattle with him but they’re not even gonna show me my man?? need him picking off the hoes one by one at the wlf with a sniper. soooo here u go here’s tommy’s deserved vengeful journey

based on this ask | on ao3 | masterlist

For Tommy, mornings don’t exist in Seattle. Not anymore. There’s no sunrise, no one to wake him up. Not Joel, obviously, not Ellie, not Dina, and not you. 

Just sudden jerks out of sleep where his hand automatically reaches halfway to his gun, his breath caught in alarm. He’s endlessly alert and anxious, alone, every noise sounding suspiciously like footsteps and every little rustle in the woods like someone’s about to take a shot at him. 

He sleeps in fragments: an hour there, and another thirty minutes on occasion–never in the same place twice. Temporary safehouses, abandoned rooftops and buildings. He misses having a real bed. Especially the part where he’d have someone next to him. 

Everything is covered in moss, rain leaking through cracks and soaking into his jacket, pooling by his thick boots. He doesn’t care much, though.

He’s a smart guy. A good hunter. When he moves, it’s silent and calculated–each move is normally from a vantage point, though. Seattle is a fucking maze of concrete and glass and vines and rot that invade the city. And the damned Washington Liberation Front patrol it like they own it. They’re well-armed and well-fed, something Tommy can’t afford or handle all by himself out here. 

So, he watches from above. Behind the scope of his gun, he watches. Never hesitating.

He takes them clean out, one by one. One shot, one body. Quick, clean, never caught by the others. Another shot.

It’s not for trophies, but simple revenge–he gets closer, mind searching aimlessly for the names reported by Dina on the day that his brother died. 

The list burned into his soul like a brand on the hyde of Jackson’s cattle, giving him the motivation to keep cleaning the WLF off in hopes to find one girl in particular. He moves silently and quickly, gone before they can catch sight of the figure taking them out one by one. 

But, every time he thinks he’s found a trail, it went cold. Every time he gets close enough, they slip away in time and it becomes harder–he feels like he’s being hunted in return. Being played. Has to ration his ammo so, so meticulously. Three bullets for his rifle, two for emergency. Every shot counted with Tommy. 

The same goes for his food: little pieces of jerky that he ripped up and chewed while his eye remained in his scope. Ate in silence, slept with a shiv clutched in his hand and his rifle right next to him.

All the while, the ghost of his brother followed him. Not in body, but in the quiet of the city.

Tommy sees Joel in the corner of his vision, egging him on to find Abby and end it. He hears his grumbled laugh in the rustling leaves, his flannels in the cold air when it rains. Seattle is a rainy place. It worsens it.

Sure, it kept him motivated in his killings. But moreover, it kept him angry. Not just the fact that he’s gone, but how it happened. The mere sight of a golf club drives him off the wall nowadays, and he rages in silence.

When he does take a shot, it’s quiet, but it’s not exactly clean. He’s taking them out, destroying them. Knees, throats, headshots. Watched their blood boom and splatter across concrete from over a hundred yards away, but it still didn’t feel like enough. Not enough for the taking of Joel.

Not even close. 

There are days his hands still shake, days he punches walls if he misses a shot, or if he catches the scent of something in the air that reminds him a little too much of his older brother. The guilt swallows him whole, bringing him into a mindless pit of rage and vindictiveness. 

It’s not resentment that he has for the WLF–it’s genuine loathing.

So, when three familiar figures show up, he’s acting a bit different. 

Ellie and Dina allowed you to tag along to Seattle with them, trusting you enough with your knowledge of weaponry and hunting. Thanks to Tommy for teaching you, of course.

The three of you have been doing surprisingly well, beginning your arrival with a stay downtown: searching synagogues and courthouses and banks before landing yourselves in a hotel. There were dead bodies–not many infected–but of soldiers and humans.

Tommy’s doing. 

Naturally, there are instances that put your group in grave danger, but you make it out decently. An elementary school, news station, tunnels, a theater. Clickers and runners and more bodies, a horse that had once been Tommy’s as well, and lots of Ellie’s guitar playing.

On the third day, Dina isn’t feeling too hot. Finding Tommy would be the best decision right now, in equal importance to finding Abby. In a mix of luck and the opposite, your group clashes with him in the Seattle Waterfront Aquarium. 

In a frenzy where Ellie had managed to successfully kill both Mel and Owen, leaving her with a panic attack due to the now-dead woman’s unknown pregnancy, he shows up behind her and prompts you all to leave. Always a pragmatic thinker.

The reckless first three days, thankfully, did leave you back in the hands of your Tommy. The same tanned, flirtatious man you once knew now ruined by the guilt of his brother’s passing and having to strip himself of sleep and life in order to kill civilians over and over in a ruthless rampage of revenge. 

His eyes, once a soft brown, seem darker, flicking over you in silence. When Ellie and Dina were around, his mouth opened like he might say more, but he doesn’t. Couldn’t. 

The air stretches thickly between the two of you as if waiting for something, but the energy is off. Your sweet, caring man now tortured with a lack of sleep and too much violence, even for him. That says a lot, considering his days as a combat veteran in the Gulf War and the strenuous times spent hunting infected ever since the outbreak. 

He’s always been the strongest man you know, ever since the two of you met in Jackson a few years back. Goes on every patrol without a word of complaint, gets over serious injuries like they’re simply papercuts, can take out six clickers in a row without the blink of an eye or a breath harsher than the last. 

Hell, he’s handled bloaters by himself before.

But something about him seems different–not only in the sense that he’s tired and sick of killing, but he’s truly hurting. 

You know Joel’s death got to him. Badly. He and his brother were so close growing up, stuck together for years at the start of the outbreak. Tommy was there for him when Sarah passed, when he lost hearing in one ear from a missed shot to his own head. They hunted in Boston together, took the lives of so many. A strong bond.

So you have a basic understanding of his drive for revenge. You certainly didn’t know it could reach this extent, though.

The theater door clicks shut, the sound echoing longer than it should’ve when Ellie and Dina head out for a bit on a supply run. That was their excuse, at least–it was probably because they could feel the tension and the way Tommy was about to unravel.

For a long second, you just stand there and watch him from across the room.

It’s the first time the two of you are alone since he left, and as much as you missed him, you’re a little scared. You feel bad, obviously, but you’re terrified for him. He’s seemingly going insane right now, looking incredibly tired. A big gash on his hand from accidentally grabbing his knife too quickly, hair plastered to his neck, jacket soaked and rain-damaged. 

His back is to you, crouched beside a bench while he unstraps his gear and sets his guns down for once. 

“Tommy…” you take a breath, stepping closer and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. He’s literally radiating fury in the form of heat, seething profusely with each breath.

He doesn’t answer yet, just stands. Slowly. Too slowly. It doesn’t feel like your Tommy.

He turns around, and it feels like it hits you in the chest this time. His face is hollowed out, wrenched with exhaustion. His eyes are bruised and sunken in, his jaw clenched so tightly that you can see the veins of muscles tick. Not just grief, like you would’ve expected out of a normally soft-spoken man. 

It’s fury. Bare and red seething rage curled under his skin, eating him from the inside out. 

“Can’t do this shit anymore,” he begins, voice rough and gravelly. He hasn’t spoken in a few days now, and he’s severely dehydrated. “I can’t—fuckin’ can’t.”

You step forward carefully, as if approaching a wild animal, unknowing if it’s docile or not. 

“Tommy.” 

Your fingers slide from his shoulder to his arm, working down gently until reaching his hand. It’s the same hand you always hold, the same soft and big fingers that have graced and worshipped every part of your body back in Jackson. Just now, hardened by a week in the wilderness without access to much clean water or resources other than his need for carnage.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. That look on his face. And I swear to God—” he cuts you off, swivelling around to grab the back of a chair and slam it into the ground. The wood splinters under his grip, two of the legs breaking off entirely as the piece of furniture hits the surface. 

“Could fuckin’ kill every one of ‘em with my bare hands.” He resumes, turning back around after the crash of the chair. His chest heaves. “Still wouldn’t be enough.”

You’ve never seen him so angry. You didn’t know he had the capacity to be so angry. Back home, he’s all sweet and southern–a townsman, good with the animals and kids. Never yells. Jokes and flirts his way out of situations.

Now, his eyes are dark and bloodshot. Genuinely wildlike. 

“Tommy,” you repeat, trying to calm him down. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in a while, so you want it to be nice–but his mind is racing. “C’mon, hon’. Calm down a bit. We can sit. Take a break.”

“No.” He scoffs, breath picking up quickly as his chest rises up and down. Deep, dense heaves that he can’t control. 

“I’m losin’ my mind out here, baby,” he rasps, shaking his head and beginning to pace around the room, trying to keep from looking at you while his pants start to feel just a little bit tighter. “I’ve been out here alone, killin’ and hunting and shit. None of it’s fuckin’ changing anything.”

He steps forward now. Fast and desperate. He smells differently than usual, that usual clean cedar adjacent scent replaced by an unwashed musk and the acrid scent of gunpowder lingering on the fabric of his jacket. He’s a little gross and smells faintly of the mildew that comes alongside heavy rain, but he’s still your Tommy. Your poor, tortured, grieving, angry Tommy. 

“You get it?” He asks, grabbing your face. Rough and needing as ever. “I’m gonna explode and I can’t—-I don’t know where to put it. Don’t know where the fuck to put it.”

You nod. No, you don’t really understand. But you’ll always do anything for him.

“I know,” you respond, voice hardly above that of a whisper.

Tommy only stares at you like he doesn’t fully believe you, like he needs you to prove it. 

“Don’t need any talkin’,” his forehead presses hard against yours, breathing coming out in pants now with your face this close against his own–his breath isn’t the freshest, either. Jerky and days without brushing. He gets a pass, though. 

His hands slip down to your hips, holding onto you for dear life. He’s always been one for constant consent, but now his eyes are asking all that he needs. After all, he did just say he doesn’t need you talking. 

“Please. Tell me you want this. Just need something that ain’t anger right now.” He gasps when you nod and rut against his hips in return, taking that as a pathetic excuse for consent. 

“Tell me I can have you right now before I lose it and don’t ask.” 

You don’t speak. Just pull him in. And he completely breaks in that moment after one of the worst weeks of his life. 

The threat of not asking gets your heart racing, showing how badly the trip has really treated him. The Tommy you know wouldn’t even be able to conjure up that thought, but he’s filled with such unfathomable rage and frustration that he physically needs a place to dump it. Luckily, your pussy is up for offer.

Your back hits the wall with a hard thud, the cracking plaster of the theater catching your shirt and tugging it up to expose your stomach as his body presses flush into yours. His breath is hot against your neck, raising the baby hairs on the back of it and eliciting a flush all the way up to your cheeks.

“Fuck,” he hisses, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “You don’t get what you’re fuckin’ doing to me right now. What you are to me.”

His hands are everywhere in seconds, rough and dirty palms ghosting up your sides and moving the shirt further. He fully untucks it from your belt, shamelessly forcing his hands up the fabric and snaking around to reach the familiar clasp of your bra. 

He’s done it a million times, but somehow manages to get it off faster than any previous attempt. The fabric hits the ground while his mouth trails up to your ear, front teeth nibbling at the dangling bit of your sensitive earlobe. 

There’s no foreplay like usual. No finesse. Just want and frustration. 

Raw, filthy, desperate need. 

He bites down, hard, right after moving his set of teeth to the base of your throat. Your gasp makes him almost snarl, grinning and breathing out the filthiest noises onto the skin he’d nearly ripped through with the force of his jaw. 

“That’s it.” He mutters, voice meaner now. He tries again, sinking his teeth into the area above your collarbone, leaving a sticky patch of saliva where he’d also left his mark. “Like it when I’m mean. Fuckin’ slut getting off to me bein’ angry about my brother.” 

He’s never talked to you like this before. Never even been close to something that resembles an attitude with you. But here you are, growing wetter at the sound of his mumbling and yelling after a rough week. 

“Tommy–” your hand curls into the bottom hem of the damp flannel under his coat, fingers barely grazing the hot skin on his lower belly that lies under. 

“Nuh-uh.” He growls, forcing your legs apart with his knee and shoving his thigh between yours. It locks you in place, his hands grinding you down on the thick, meaty stretch of thigh enough to make you whimper. “Think I’m gonna be soft on you? After what they did to Joel?”

His voice cracks again. His head dips with a grunt, forehead pressing hard into your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist to keep himself from falling apart. His chest is heaving, and he’s gripping onto you like you’re physically keeping him alive and intact right now. 

“Could be out there killin’ someone. Finding the bitch who did it to my brother.” Tommy laughs, one hand moving from your waist to your jaw, tilting that pretty head back to look up at him. 

He kisses you, absolutely devours you in one go–like you’re air after he’s been drowning. A lifeline. His tongue is hot, teeth clashing carelessly into yours. His hands yank at your clothes until the shirt you’re wearing joins your bra on the ground and your belt is half unbuckled. Doesn’t pay any mind to seams or buttons like usual.

“But I’m here with you, yeah? So you gotta make it good. Give me something, baby.”

He says between kisses, slightly guilting you into helping him out. It’s not that you don’t want to, but the delivery is so strangely unlike Tommy. Fuck it, though. You’re admittedly a slut for him–you take any chance to get on your knees.

Each movement is loud and chaotic as he pushes you to your knees, already grabbing your head of hair in one hand and twisting it up into a makeshift ponytail–or a grip, in his case. 

The man’s belt is off in seconds, discarded to the ground before you can even acknowledge what’s going on. The waistband of his jeans drops, hitting the floor quietly. Before you know it, his hand is on your jaw, forcing your head back while his thumb finds your lips to part them. 

His tip comes in contact with your lips, smearing the sticky residue of precum on the pink surface of them. It’s been too long since he’s felt them on him.

“Fuck, you’re takin’ it. C’mon now, open up.”

You obediently open, parting both of your lips to allow room for his puffy, sensitive head to slip in. At the simple feeling of your wet, warm mouth, he groans. Head falls back, hips stuttering pathetically. To come back to the feeling of a familiar, welcoming mouth on his cock after the worst week of his life was the best feeling. 

Normally, Tommy would allow you to do the work on your own. Meaning you would hold his hips, go at your own pace, take as long as you’d like with the tip versus the shaft.

Tonight, though? Oh no. He’s not waiting. The hand gripping your hair tightens mercilessly, yanking your head toward his body, his thick cock sinking deep into your throat without warning. 

“Mmphm—” you try your best to mumble to tell him to slow down, but he’s already thrusting. In, out. Using your mouth like some useless ten dollar pocket pussy. Saliva is dripping from the corners of your fucked-out mouth, groans escaping from the depths of your throat each time he hit it.

“Fuck, take it. Lemme use ya,’ honey.” Tommy groans, yanking your head again until he’s balls deep between your lips, your nose buried in his graying bush of pubic hair. 

He’s too distracted by the overwhelming feeling of having this after a tortuous week, getting a break for his own pleasure. From his girl. His perfect girl who’d do anything for him. 

So, he doesn’t quite pick up on the rustling beneath him. 

While you’re taking his dick as far back into your throat as possible without gagging, you’re getting wet. As you do. He’s right–you are a slut for him. He’d already undone your belt, so it wasn’t that much work to get the rest off. 

You managed to shimmy your pants off, leaving you in a pair of dangerously wet black panties. The pooling in them soon transferred onto leather while your aching pussy came in contact with Tommy’s boots. Grinding softly at first, just to relieve the tingling. 

In a mere thirty seconds, it became more than gentle grinding. Oops. You’re losing focus on the cock in your mouth because of the feeling of his hard, dirty boot against your sensitive cunt. Even through the fabric, it was fucking orgasmic. You haven’t seen him in a whole week. You’re clearly needy, is that so bad?

“Baby,” Tommy whines petulantly when your usually skilled mouth starts to lose its practiced technique, giving your face a soft slap.

His eyes finally open, drifting down to take in the sight of him between your lips. One of his favorites. Instead, his eyes draw downward further to the desperate movement of your hips.

He raises an eyebrow and snorts, gripping your jaw again and fucking your face harder. Forceful, now. It does hurt a bit, the muscles of your jaw aching as much as your poor pussy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he begins, shaking his head scornfully. “What’chu doin,’ huh?”

You whine and feel a few pathetic tears slip when he uses your throat more.

Tommy doesn’t stop at the tears, but does manage to get his hips to still when you gag much harder this time. Sure, he’s angry right now, but he’s not evil. He knows your limits.

“M’kay. I know, I know. Fine.”

Pulling his cock out of your mouth slowly, he groans at the sight of the long string of saliva that connects the two. Sticky and stringy, stretching out a few inches before falling back and dribbling down your chin. His hand reaches out, rubbing a bit of it off and cleaning his thumb in his own mouth.

“Y’can’t take it? Gaggin’ already?”

He belittles you, bringing his hand back down to the right side of your face. He rubs it, gentle for a quick second, before drawing his palm back and meeting the cheek with a slap. Not the hardest, but enough to leave a mark. Just a little bit of his frustration escaping.

“M’sorry.” You begin, but Tommy’s shaking his head in disappointment.

“Usually better than this. Usually waitin’ your turn all good and proper, not gettin’ yourself off on my boot like that.”

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment. You didn’t think he noticed the grinding on his shoe. Somehow. 

Tommy tuts, shaking his head and rubbing the reddening patch on your cheek he’d just hit. It burns so good, a hot feeling rising in the stinging skin the same way it was rising in your stomach while you got yourself off on his foot like a slut.

“Can’t wait, huh? Just had to? That it?” He grumbles, thumb dipping down between your lips and parting them yet again. There’s still a drop of precum on the corner, some saliva dribbling down. He likes the look of you, all spent and messy like this. 

“Guess so.” You answer quietly, mouth opening for him when he spreads the two lips.

Without saying anything else, Tommy takes a moment to collect some saliva in the warmth of his mouth. He swishes it around, lips puckering up before opening as he spits right into your now-opened jaw. 

It catches you off guard. But you take it, feeling guilty you couldn’t even finish off the head earlier out of your own neediness distracting you. You remain on those knees like a good girl, staring up at him patiently with the gob of his saliva pooling in your mouth, his thumb on your chin. 

He raises his eyebrows, just testing you like a fucking asshole right now. Waits too long, a good ten seconds, before nodding.

Obediently, you swallow it, eyes shutting as you savor the taste of his spit after too long.

“M’kay, up, baby.” Tommy nods in approval again, hands slipping under your armpits in order to hoist you up. 

He’s always been able to manhandle you so easily, and you love it. The fact that he can pick you up, toss you around, make you his, without you being able to do anything about it. Yum. He’s so muscled and just large, especially his hands. Vascular, thick, hardened from work like all of him is.

You’re in his arms for a few seconds before he finds a little chest to sit down on, grunting while he sits back and sets you down on his lap. Your legs come around his hips, straddling him, your body resting on top of his.

“Might as well give ya’ what’chu want. Clearly not doin’ me good being apart from you.” 

His hand comes down your back, feeling the soft plunge of the dimples on the small of it. He rubs your soft skin, slipping up under the shirt he’d previously pulled up, before his hand moves lower. It comes in contact with your ass, the little black panties not giving your skin much protection.

A loud slap sound snaps in the air, louder than the one to your face earlier. It draws a whimper out of you, making you bury your little head in his sweaty neck.

Tommy chortles, rubbing the spot and tapping it a few times.

“Fuckin’ mess. Whimperin’ and shit.” 

Another slap, and then he eases up. Your whimpers make him feel bad about it–the sounds of actual pain. But, on the down low, they’re making his cock stand up more.

You’re shifting around, trying to get it to hit perfectly against your clit through the fabric. No luck, though, as his hands come to still your waist.

“Uh-uh. M’doing this tonight. Sit still for me.”

Tommy advises, raising his eyebrows while he gives your right hip another tap of reassurance. You can hardly sit still, even with his hands keeping you in place. Pathetic. Today, there’s no gentleness like the Tommy you know. Just fervor and need. Absolutely raw and heightened by his anger.

He lifts your thighs, turning you around, so you’re in his lap and facing forward. Your back is turned to him, hair tousled from his grip in it earlier, shirt pulled up and bra discarded. Oops. 

“Gonna sit and take it for me. Lemme’ use you, hon’.”

His voice is rough in your ear, hand snaking around your waist to the front of your body. It works up your shirt more, moving upward to grip your breasts tightly. His other hand carelessly scoops beneath your thighs, pulling the fabric of your panties to the side.

No, he’s not taking them off. Not enough care for that. Just gonna do what he knows he needs.

Your pussy is exposed to the warm air of the abandoned theater, pressed down on the skin of his hair thighs. His hand spreads your legs, finding your folds and humming at the feeling of how wet you are.

“Goddamn. Soaked.” He snorts, tapping at your clit pitilessly. It’s tortuously teasing, making you gasp and writh. “All cause I’m angry, huh, baby? Likin’ that?”

You nod and lean your head back, not even listening. Already cock dumb, and he hasn’t put it in yet.

“Fuckin’ slut. C’mon, now. Up for me.” Tommy lifts you so he can slip his cock under you, pressing it between your slick folds. “Fuck.”

The two of you both moan, hips moving in practiced unison to rub together for utmost pleasure without penetration. You usually both withstand teasing for a bit, so you’re expecting more of the pussy job, but he’s not wasting time.

Tommy sinks in, sliding his thick shaft right into you without any issues. So soaked, so excited that you’re all opened up and pulsing for it.

“Ah, baby. Wet as shit tonight.” 

His hands both find your hips, watching your ass jiggle each time he thrusts up between your legs. He’s pressing you down on him, minimizing the amount of space possible between your two sweaty bodies.

“Tommy.” You whine out, leaning your head back and trying to fall back into his body for comfort. 

“Uh-uh. Lean forward, honey.” He growls, pushing you forward and tightening his grip on your hips to ensure you stay like that–it’s the deepest angle, after all. 

In seconds, you’re fucked out. You have no clue what he’s saying, but you pick up on the occasional mumble while he slams in and out of you.

“Take it all. Every fuckin’ inch, baby.”

“M’not okay. Only thing holding me together is you.”

“Fuckin’ hell–look at you. Look.”

“Should’ve been me they took. Not Joel.”

“Gon’ kill that motherfucker.”

It's an almost sad range of pure neediness to grief for his brother, the rage shining through yet again while his brain unravels. His thrusts get more reckless, the grip on your hips bruising with each. 

And soon, he was close.

You feel it in the way his hips stutter, the way his fingers dig in tighter as if you’d disappear.

“Fuck–” he rasps, voice torn. “Fuck, baby. Can’t…can’t hold it.”

The anger dissipates as need numbs his mind, forehead dropping to your shoulder. His sweat-slick skin rubs and burns against yours.

Tommy is panting entirely, shaking now. His rhythm falters, picks up harder and rougher, all until your breath catches in sync with his and your knees nearly give out.

“Too good. Oh.” He growls into your ear, speeding up impossibly and closing any distance left between your crotches until he’s bottomed out, hardly moving.

His teeth graze your neck, eliciting a moan from your throat. And that’s it.

Tommy snaps, a pained and guttural sound ripping from his own throat. He slams into you a final time, hips jerking in brutal strokes. You feel his entire body tense, but the hot pulse of his cum spilling inside you calms the two of you down.

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t want to. He can’t.

He can bury himself there for days and stay right where he is if he could. He could live in your sweet little spent pussy if it meant he wouldn’t have to go back out and find those fuckers who murdered his brother. 

But no, Joel takes his mind again. This time, it’s less of rage, more of sadness. Guilt for going too rough out of anger.

His hands are fisted in your hair, jaw clenched like he’s trying to fight something. They both loosen up and he shakes his head, slowly pulling out and wrapping an arm around you. 

“Shit.” He whispers, panting into your ear. “I’m sorry, baby. But fuck, I needed that.”

He presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, returning for a bit to the Tommy that you know. 

“S’okay. I get it, you’re mad. Understandable.” You respond, turning in his lap and tucking your head in his neck. You’re straddling him now, kissing the soft skin wherever you can reach and stroking his hair. 

He stays like that, rage finally quieted by your presence, his arms wrapped around you. 

For now, at least.

@xodilfluvr @lowrisemiller @exqorcism @idkwhylou @thesecretdiaryofnoah @ssssc0m @ilovetoomanymen @darknight3904 @tokkiotears @vrstppnfcb @itwas-maroon16 @valentineispunk @pearlessance @moonchild-143 @randomstuffndstuff @millersdoll @d0uwannkn0w @grayandthyme @pedropascalshubby @mani-pedro @thaliagracesgf @userdarkholme @sweetmonsters @heyitsmirae @ohhoneypascal @joelscowgirl69 @mylittlebleedingheart

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 2

paige x azzk

word count: 7.1k

a/n: just wanted to get this out before i got too busy this weekend. kind of moves the story forward a little bit but not much lol. let me know what you think if you can 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

Azzi didn’t see Paige again for about two weeks.

Not that she was counting. That would be weird…right?

The Sparks’ starting shooting guard wouldn’t admit to anyone—not even herself—just how often the blonde had crossed her mind in that time. How many random moments she spent wondering what Paige did when no one was watching. If she ever took a day off. If she had any hobbies that didn’t involve punching something until her knuckles were raw.

She told herself it was just a casual curiosity. That it was normal to think about someone who barely acknowledged your existence but still managed to leave an impression. It was the—your mind craving what it can’t have kind of thing.

Once on their way to a game in Seattle, Azzi had asked Cam about her. Just in passing, trying to keep it casual. Cam had glanced up from her phone, smiled a little as she thought about her sister, and rattled off the usual—Paige liked her space, didn’t go out much, trained more than she slept and that she just had her weekly lunch date with her the day prior.

That was it. No further elaboration. No insight.

So when Cam mentioned that Paige would be in Dallas for All-Star weekend, Azzi wasn’t about to admit the small wave of anticipation that washed over her. Or the stupid little jolt of excitement that followed.

Because she hadn’t forgotten that house in the hills. Or the girl with the blue eyes and quick hands who didn’t smile but had somehow still managed to get under her skin.

…

As soon as someone stepped into the arena for All-Star weekend all they would notice were the bright lights, cameras flashing, and fans on their feet. Azzi had just taken her warm-up shots for the three-point contest and a towel was now slung over her neck as she walked back toward the sideline with a bottle of water in hand.

Her eyes moved toward the tunnel entrance when she heard Cam’s laugh cut through all of the noise. Rickea was next to her, clearly having just said something that had Cam laughing. A couple of their teammates trailed behind, but Azzi didn’t fully process which ones they were. Because Paige was trailing slightly behind Cam and Rickea and Azzi had to do a double take.

She didn’t have on sweatpants and a hoodie. Instead, Paige had on baggy low-rise pants that showed the band of her boxers and a black tank top that clung to her skin perfectly, revealing the lines of her stomach muscles. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and a simple silver cross chain sparkled at her neck. She had silver huggies in her ears and rings on a few of her fingers. The contrast made Azzi freeze for just a second, because damn—she looked good.

Azzi had known Paige had a nice face; everyone with eyes did. A sharp jaw and pretty eyes, light freckles if you looked close enough. But Azzi had only ever seen her in gym clothes. This version was attractive in a completely different way.

Azzi blinked, forcing her gaze away, her heart skipping once before she reached for her towel again to wipe her face—like that would distract her. It didn’t. Her hands felt just a little warmer now.

Eventually, during a lull before the contest started, Azzi walked toward the sideline where her teammates were gathered. She greeted them with quick hugs, some of them teasing her about bets placed for her to win.

Eventually her eyes drifted to Paige. She was standing up near the back, hands in her pockets, Paige gave her a once-over, expression unreadable as always before giving her a simple nod. “Wassup.”

Azzi arched her eyebrow, her smile making an appearance. “You came for the show?”

Paige’s head tilted slightly. “That's what we’re calling it?”

Azzi stepped a little closer to hear her over the noise, crossing her arms. “Well, I didn’t come here to lose.”

Paige’s eyes flicked over her face, lingering for a second longer than before when they made eye contact. “Let’s hope the ball agrees.”

Azzi laughed. “That almost sounded like encouragement.”

“Wouldn’t call it that,” Paige replied dryly.

Azzi tilted her head, her eyes narrowing playfully. “So you won’t have a problem putting a little bet on the table then? Seems like that’s what everyone’s doing.”

Paige blinked at her in confusion. “A bet?”

“Mhm.” Azzi didn’t break eye contact. “When I win, you have to get a drink with me.”

Paige didn’t blink. “I don’t drink once I have a fight scheduled.”

Azzi smirked. “Alright. I’ll get a drink—and you can sit there and pretend to enjoy yourself.”

A breath passed between them. Paige’s gaze finally lifted back up to meet hers, unreadable as always. “And if you lose?”

Azzi shrugged, eyes a little bright. “You tell me.”

Paige watched her for a moment, considering her options. “You do a workout with me.”

Azzi’s smile grew. “Perfect, so I win either way.”

“You do?”

Azzi tilted her head to the side slightly in a flirtatious way, her gaze softening. “Either I get you out or I get you alone. Win win.” With that she turned and walked back toward the court.

Paige just shook her head, lips pressing together like she was fighting off something—maybe a smirk, maybe a sigh.

Paige looked over at Cam, her voice dry. “What’s with your friends flirting with me?”

Cam just shrugged, looking at something on her phone. “You’re weirdly their type, apparently.”

Rickea leaned around Cam with a hand on her chest. “Nobody can replace me though, right, Paigey-poo?”

Paige didn’t even look in her direction. “A fly could replace you.”

Rickea gasped dramatically, hitting Cam’s shoulder. “Did you hear that? She’s so disrespectful.”

Cam laughed. “You know that’s just how she says she loves you.”

Paige shook her head, but her jaw relaxed just slightly, her eyes moving to Azzi as she took her position on the court.

Round one passed without much drama—Azzi setting the tone as soon as she stepped on the court for her turn. Her form was smooth and consistent. Rack after rack, shot after shot, she barely missed. By the time she reached the final ball, the crowd was on their feet and it was obvious to everyone she’d be advancing.

Rickea, Cam, and Rae were up and yelling before the buzzer even sounded. “That’s my shooter!” Cam shouted, hands cupped around her mouth. Rickea was clapping so hard it echoed, while Rae jumped and hollered, almost spilling someone’s drink beside her.

Paige didn’t move much. She just sat in her seat, one leg crossed over the other, a bottle of water balanced in her lap. Her expression stayed unreadable, but her eyes never left the court.

After her turn Azzi sat with her warm up jacket unzipped, bouncing one knee as the next shooter lined up. She wasn’t really watching—at least not the court. Cam and Rae had walked over to talk to her in between her turn.

Her gaze drifted again, pulled without permission to the row of seats across the court where Paige sat, arms draped over the back of Cam’s empty chair like she had nothing in the world to care about.

Until someone smacked the back of her head.

Azzi blinked in shock but Paige didn’t even flinch knowing exactly who it was.

It wasn’t until the woman—Azzi recognized her after a second, DiJonai—stepped around the chair and stood in front of Paige with her arms open expectantly that Paige finally moved. She shook her head, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at her mouth, and pushed herself up. She threw one arm lazily around DiJonai’s shoulders, pulling her in for a quick hug.

DiJonai said something that made Paige huff a laugh—one of those small ones that looked more like exhaling her amusement than expressing it.

Azzi tilted her head. She didn’t notice she was staring until Cam leaned down near her ear. “Careful,” Cam said quietly, so no one else could hear. “You’re gonna make it obvious.”

Azzi glanced up at her, lips twitching. “I’m just studying the competition.”

“Nai’s definitely not competition.” Cam said casually before she fully processed Azzi’s words. Then she pulled back slightly, her eyebrows raised. “Pause. Competition?”

Azzi shrugged, casually. “Maybe.”

Cam stared at her for a moment, long enough that Azzi met her gaze. Then came the slight shift—her shoulders straightening, ‘big-sister’ mode taking over.

“Wait, let’s get one thing clear Az—”

Azzi held up a hand, laughing. “Relax. I’m not trying to fuck are with your sister’s head.”

Cam narrowed her eyes but didn’t say anything.

“I just wanna get to know her,” Azzi added, this time without any sarcasm.”

Cam studied her a moment, then finally said. “Just don’t come crying to me when she disappears on you for three days and pretends it’s normal.”

Azzi grinned. “Noted.”

Cam leaned back in her seat with a quiet scoff. “And you better come correct. She’s my sister so no matter what the situation is I’m going to be on her side. ”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

Once the conversation settled Azzi’s gaze drifted right back across the court—drawn in again without even meaning to.

Dijonai had taken the seat beside Paige, her posture relaxed. One leg was crossed over the other, her foot bouncing lightly, the outer curve of her knee pressing against Paige’s from the way Paige was taking up space—her legs wide, both arms draped loosely over the sides of the chairs next to her like she owned them.

Their conversation seemed to flow in low tones easily. What caught Azzi’s attention was the way Paige was talking. More than usual. Not animated, but more consistent, like she didn’t feel the need to censor herself around Dijonai. She still wasn’t look directly at her, gaze mostly ahead or on the court, but every now and then, when Dijonai said something that almost pulled a laugh out of her, Paige’s mouth would twitch at the corner—one of those rare flashes of expression Azzi had been waiting to catch again.

It didn’t seem flirty but then again it did seem a little more intimate for Paige.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, watching the scene unfold with curious eyes. Just observing the scene.

Then Paige’s eyes flicked over to her and she caught Azzi looking.

Their gazes locked across the space, a weird static humming between them. Paige didn’t glance away. She just held the look, seemingly reading Azzi in the same way that the brown eyed girl had just been doing.

Azzi raised a single eyebrow, challenging the silent conversation.

Paige didn’t smile. Didn’t frown either. She just looked for another second—and then slowly turned her attention back to Dijonai, as if the moment hadn’t happened at all.

"You're still talking too much,”" she said dryly, leaning back further in her seat. Her voice was calm. She didn’t need to look at Dijonai for her to know it wasn’t serious. Just Paige being Paige.

Dijonai bumped her knee against Paige’s with a mock offense. "And you're still pretending like you don’t like Dallas so here we are.”

Paige’s lips parted like she might answer, but her eyes drifted back to Azzi

She was still looking but bolder now. Like she wanted Paige to know she wasn’t hiding it.

Paige didn’t turn away again. Letting her gaze linger longer than it should’ve. Long enough for her brain to feel that subtle pull again. What the hell was she doing?

Dijonai said something else—something about the skills competition—but Paige didn’t really catch all of it.

“Mm,” she responded automatically, but her eyes didn’t leave Azzi.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, smiling a little. Nothing obvious. Just the tiniest invitation.

Paige swallowed, then finally shifted her attention back to Dijonai with a delayed blink. But even as she spoke, her thoughts were still across the court. “So wait what’d you say she did this time?”

Dijonai sighed, resting an elbow on the back of Paige’s seat as she leaned in a little. “She didn’t do anything wrong, technically. Just… she shuts down every time I bring up anything serious. It’s like dating a wall. She’s irritating.”

Paige nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch as her eyes scanned the court. “And you’re trying to get serious right. Settle in Dallas?”

Dijonai gave a dry laugh. “Exactly. Thank you, Confucius. Or however you say it.”

Paige let out a breath at her last sentence—almost a laugh. “Maybe she just need more time Nai.”

“Paige, she's literally had time. We been doing this for years. ” DiJonai leaned her head back, her knee pressing more firmly into Paige’s because of how Paige still had her legs spread out. “I’m not asking her to propose. I just want her to tell me if I’m wasting my time. Anything.”

“You tell her that?”

“I did. Got a bullshit ass ‘I’m hearing you’ and then she changed the subject.”

Paige finally glanced over. “Want me to talk to her?”

Dijonai laughs before saying, “Hell no. I won’t have a girlfriend when you’re done.”

Paige huffs a laugh at this.

Dijonai tilted her head before saying, “But look at you being all supportive and shit.”

“I have my moments.” But as she said that Paige’s eyes drifted to where Azzi was talking to Cam before she looked back down at her shoes.

Dijonai leaned forward a little bit and smirked. “You worried about me or ole girl who’s been staring at you since I sat down?”

Paige didn’t react. Just blinked once. “Cam’s friend?”

“Mmhm,” DiJonai said. “She got that ‘undivided attention’ look. She trying to make it clear she want you.”

Paige’s eyes had already wandered back to Azzi and she shook her head once. “Cam’’s friends always flirting with me.”

Dijonai leaned back with a grin. “Azzi look deadass, though.”

That earned her the rarest thing—Paige laughing, the blonde biting her bottom lip a little to stop the smile. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “I noticed.”

The final round of the contest was louder. Brighter somehow, even with the same lights. The energy from the crowd had tripled. But to Azzi it all dimmed for a moment as she stepped behind the line to start shooting again.

Thousands of eyes tracked her every move, but somehow, she only felt two. She knew it was the blue ones. She felt them but they weren’t distracting. If anything, they just reminded her that she actually wanted to win the contest.

The moment she started she was moving with a mechanical ease. Her eyes stayed on the rim the entire time, her release time consistent as she moved through the racks. Once her final ball dropped through the net, she let her follow-through hand for a second longer than necessary. She had only missed two shots. After letting the cheers from the other players around her settle, Azzi's eyes cut toward Paige, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Across the court, Paige didn’t smile back but Azzi caught the way her chest shook slightly. A laugh, maybe. Quiet and held close to the chest like everything else about her.

Next to her, Dijonai narrowed her eyes at the blonde. “What was that about?”

Paige’s gaze didn’t move. “We got a bet.”

Dijona raised her eyebrows. “You have a bet?”

“Mm,” Paige hummed, like it barely mattered.

Once the contest wrapped and Azzi had won in a landslide she gave a very brief interview and was presented with the trophy that she didn’t care much about. She handed it to her manager and eventually, her feet carried her toward the edge of the court, where Paige and Dijonai were sitting in the middle of a conversation that slowed when she neared.

Azzi greeted Dijonai first with a kind smile, the kind of warmth that was for familiar players who'd shared the floor with her enough times to earn a mutual respect. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Dijonai replied, pulling her into a half hug. “Congrats.”

Azzi thanked her and her smile lingered before her eyes shifted to Paige.

Paige hadn’t moved much, still lounging like she had nowhere to be. But her eyes were already on Azzi when she looked over.

“So…I win.”

Paige blinked, nodding slightly. “Yeah. You did.”

Azzi smirked, stepping in just a touch closer, lowering her voice. “I don’t get a good job? Only missed twice, and not even a pat on the back?”

Paige glanced at her, just the corner of her mouth twitching. “You get a drink with me. Worth more than a pat on the back.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow. “You’re really committing to the whole emotionally unavailable bit, huh?”

Paige took a breath, eyes flicking down to Azzi’s shoes before dragging back up. “You’re the one who wanted to bet. Don’t start acting like you need compliments now.”

Azzi leaned her weight onto one leg, arms crossed loosely. “Maybe I just like hearing you talk.”

Paige looked at her for a long moment, then asked, “That why you were staring?”

Azzi’s smile grew, but her voice stayed quiet. “Maybe. You gonna start keeping count or something?”

Paige didn’t respond the way she knew Azzi wanted her to, didn’t smirk, didn’t frown. Just let out a short breath through her nose and said, “Tell me when and where.”

Azzi tilted her head again, like she was studying something. “Tomorrow night. I’ll find somewhere quiet.”

Paige gave the faintest nod. “Text Cam.”

Azzi’s eyes sparkled, and she leaned in just a little. “You’re not gonna give me your number?”

Paige stood up casually. “I don’t give my number to strangers.”

Azzi squinted her eyes, her lips tugging into something between a smirk and a pout. “I’m a stranger?”

Paige’s eyes flicked over her face. “I don’t know your favorite color.”

“Pink,” Azzi answered without hesitation.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t make us friends.”

“Guess I have some work to do then.”

Before Paige could reply, Dijonai stood back up, brushing down her skirt. “Can you come with me? I gotta go get ready for the skills challenge in the back.”

Paige gave her a quick nod, then looked at Azzi one more time. “Tell Cam to give you my number.”

And with that, she turned and walked off, leaving Azzi standing there with her arms slightly crossed and a smile tugging at her lips.

…

Azzi [2:08 PM]:

so about that drink…

where’s your favorite spot in dallas?

Paige [2:14 PM]:

i don’t go out like that

you can pick

Azzi [2:16 PM]:

hope you like rooftops and overpriced appetizers

Paige [2:20 PM]:

sounds like you googled “places in dallas to impress a girl”

Azzi [2:21 PM]:

and it’s clearly working since you’re still texting me

7:30?

Paige [2:22 PM]:

send the address

i’ll meet you there

…

Later that night Azzi stepped into the rooftop lounge just as the sun began to dip behind the skyline, casting a glow across the space. Her shirt was cropped—black with just the right cut to hint at the abs beneath. She had on high-waisted jeans and her hair was pulled half up, half down, her soft curls falling just past her shoulders. There was something easy and confident about the way she moved through the crowd, like she belonged anywhere she went.

Paige didn’t look over right away, but the second she felt her presence, her eyes flicked to her—sweeping over Azzi’s figure a little slowly. She greeted her before turning her attention back to the bar in front of her.

Azzi slid onto the stool beside her, shoulder brushing Paige’s for a second before she leaned her elbows on the bar. “You always look this thrilled to be out, or is it just for me?”

Paige didn’t look over. “Depends who I’m out with.”

Azzi grinned. “So...you like the place? I picked it just for you.”

Paige gave the space a once-over. Exposed brick walls, low lighting, music just under the noise of conversation. “Didn’t peg you for the moody rooftop type.”

Azzi shrugged. “Multifaceted.”

They sat in a comfortable beat of silence before Azzi leaned in slightly. “Soo is this the part where I pretend to enjoy myself?”

Paige’s lips twitched, barely. “You don’t have to pretend.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow. “You’re not gonna entertain me at all?”

Paige gave her a sidelong glance. “You invited me here, remember?”

“That’s true.” Azzi swirled the ice in her water with her straw. “I figured you’d at least try to keep up. Thought you were competitive.”

Paige exhaled a quiet breath. “What—you used to women falling all over you or something?”

“Yes, actually.” Azzi said without thinking about it. Then, with a tilt of her head, she added, “You’re not?”

Paige looked at her. “What do you think?”

Azzi let her eyes sweep over Paige for a second—deliberately slow on purpose. “I think if they’re not, they’re definitely missing out.”

Paige’s eyebrow arched slightly, a small scoff escaping her lips as she turned back to the bar. “You don’t stop, huh?”

Azzi just smiled and swirled the straw in her drink, watching Paige over the rim of her glass. “So…you like hitting people for a living?”

Paige let out a short laugh through her nose. “Something like that.”

Azzi leaned her elbow on the bar, chin resting in her hand. “You ever think about why?”

Paige’s gaze dropped to her water for a moment, fingers tapping lightly against the glass. “It’s quiet,” she said finally. “Everything goes still. You physically can’t think about anything else while you're there. Just…them or you.” She shrugged lightly.

Azzi nodded slowly, studying her. “So it’s like peace in chaos.”

Paige didn’t respond right away, but her eyes flickered with something—recognition maybe. “Sure.”

Azzi studied her for a moment, head tilted slightly, saying nothing.

Paige’s eyebrow lifted. “What’s that about?”

Azzi blinked innocently. “What?”

“You,” Paige said. “Always looking at me.”

“Well, one—you’re nice to look at. Two—still trying to figure out how to make you smile.”

Paige looked at her again, more direct than before. “What if I just give you one right now?”

Azzi shook her head, a grin spreading. “Wouldn’t be genuine. And I’m not a cheater.”

That pulled a soft chuckle from Paige. “That so?”

“Mmhm,” Azzi said, folding her arms on the bar. “I want to earn it.”

Paige tilted her head, eyes flicking over her. “You always work this hard?”

Azzi shrugged. “Only when I think the reward’s worth it.”

At these words Paige leaned back slightly, arms crossed as she looked at her like she was trying to figure her out—maybe for the first time, maybe not. “You don’t even know me.”

Azzi’s voice softened. “Then tell me something I don’t know.”

Paige took a long breath, eyes flicking down for a second before lifting again. “Look…if you think I’m some project or sum,” she said, her tone calm but slightly tight. “Or if you got this weird fixation on tryna fix me—I’m not interested…truthfully. I’m good.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. She just watched her quietly before saying, “Who said anything about fixing you?”

Paige shrugged, but it wasn’t careless—it was careful. “You’re just…too interested in tryna get me to talk. Smile. Open up.”

Azzi let out a small laugh, not mocking her, it was lighter, more like surprise. “That’s because I’m attracted to you, Paige.” She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Paige blinked once, eyes steady on her. “Like I said. You don’t even know me.”

Azzi leaned in slightly, resting her elbow on the bar. “That’s kind of the point of talking, isn’t it?”

Something flickered across Paige’s face—quick, almost gone before it could land.

Azzi decided to add, “I’m not trying to fix you. I just…like what I see. And I’m curious about you.”

Paige was quiet for a long second. “Curiosity gets people in trouble.”

Azzi smiled. “Only when it’s not mutual.”

Paige tilted her head slightly, seemingly unimpressed. “You think it’s mutual?”

“I think you wouldn’t be here with me if you weren’t at least curious.”

Paige let the words hang there for a moment before replying, dry as ever, “What if I’m just kind?”

Azzi laughed and gave her a look showing that she was unconvinced by the words. “You don’t strike me as the type to entertain people out of kindness.”

Paige’s lips twitched. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

There was a pause and something crackled in the silence between them.

Azzi leaned back just slightly, deciding to tease Paige some more. “You going to keep pretending like you don’t like me, or should I give you more material to work with?”

Paige’s gaze stayed fixed on the bottles behind the bar. “I don’t know what I think about you yet.”

Azzi smiled like she’d been waiting for the honesty. “Well, I can help you with that. If you let me.”

Paige exhaled lightly, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “That so?”

“Mmhmm. I’m good with people. Real good if they let me be.”

“Mm.” Paige’s fingers tapped once against her glass of water. “You this confident with everyone or just me?”

Azzi tilted her head. “Just you, lately.”

Paige didn’t look over, but the corner of her mouth curved up slightly. “Lucky me.”

“You are,” Azzi replied, her tone casual, like it wasn’t even up for debate.

They fell into a pause. It wasn’t awkward—just space to breathe. Then Azzi added, “What would I have to do to get you to relax for real?”

That got Paige to look over. “I am relaxed.”

Azzi raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Sure…What do you do for fun?”

“Hit a bag.”

Azzi rolled her eyes lightly. “Outside of that.”

Paige thought for a moment before saying. “Cardio.”

Azzi let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. “You are exhausting.”

Paige just shrugged, unapologetic.

“Alright,” Azzi leaned on the bar, turning slightly toward her. “If you couldn’t work out, couldn’t hit a bag or do any training for a day—just one—what would you do?”

Paige thought for a second. “Prolly watch basketball.”

Azzi perked up, smiling. “See? We’re getting somewhere. Why basketball?”

Paige’s eyes dropped to the rim of her glass. “I grew up watching Cam play.”

Azzi nodded, quietly interested. “How’d your families meet?”

“Our dads were best friends and lived down the street for each other,” Paige said. “So we grew up together.”

Azzi’s expression softened. “That makes sense. You two definitely have that annoying sibling vibe.”

Paige just hummed in agreement, eyes still on the bar.

Azzi didn’t fill the silence right away. She just let it hang there, like she was getting used to the rhythm of Paige’s pauses.

Then, casually she asked, “Are you single?”

“I wouldn’t be at a bar with another woman if I wasn’t.”

Azzi let out a low laugh. “That’s fair. Just had to make sure.”

Paige was already looking ahead again but she already knew what made Azzi ask her that.

“DiJonai is prolly my best friend,” Paige said plainly.

Azzi tilted her head, eyes still on her. “What makes you think I was asking because of her?”

Paige let out the faintest breath—maybe a laugh, maybe just air. “You haven’t seen anyone else to make you ask.” She paused, then added, “She��s a less annoying version of Cam. Only less than Cam because she’s in Dallas most of the year and Cam pops up at my house like it's hers.”

Azzi nodded as she listened. “So…has anything ever happened there?”

That pulled Paige’s gaze. Her eyes flicked to Azzi, and this time, the edge of her mouth curved—barely. “You ask a lot of questions,” she said. After a second, she spoke again. “To answer—no. She’s like my big sister. Spent all-star weekend complaining to me about her love life actually.”

Azzi leaned back with a quiet “Mmhmm,” her smile growing just a bit.

Paige gave a slight nod, but didn’t say anything—just let the moment settle. Paige’s eyes drifted toward the bar, then to the seat in front of Azzi. “You don’t have a drink,” she said, a statement more than a question.

Azzi glanced down at her water, then back up. “Tequila pineapple,” she said with a small grin. “Unless this is some kind of setup.”

Paige didn’t rise to the bait. She simply caught the bartender’s attention with a subtle nod in Azzi’s direction.

Azzi turned toward the bartender to order, but her eyes flicked back to Paige with a quiet amusement. “Didn’t think you were chivalrous.”

Paige kept her eyes forward. “I’m not.”

When the bartender brought Azzi’s drink over, he lingered a second longer than necessary, his gaze settling on Paige. “Where do I know you from?”

Paige looked up at him, her expression blank as ever. “Nowhere.”

He squinted like he was unconvinced. “Nah, I swear I’ve seen you before…”

She shook her head. “Don’t think so.”

The bartender looked like he might press again, but something in Paige’s expression—or lack of one—shut it down. He let out a soft “huh” before walking off.

Azzi sipped her drink, watching Paige over the rim of her glass. “You sure you’re not famous?”

Paige didn’t look at her. “Positive.”

Azzi hummed, amused at Paige’s clear disdain for the topic. “Could’ve sworn I watched you in a fight once. Women were basically throwing their clothes at you.”

Paige’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Probably somebody else with blonde hair and blue eyes again.”

Azzi tilted her head. “You saying you don’t get that kind of attention?”

“I’m saying I ignore that kind of attention.”

Azzi grinned. “So what kind do you pay attention to?”

Paige finally turned her head toward her again. “Apparently the ones who don’t stop asking questions.”

Azzi lifted her glass again, smirking before she took a sip. “Sounds like I can keep your attention then.”

Paige didn’t deny it—just leaned back in her seat as she replied, “You’re still talking to me, aren’t you?”

That earned a soft laugh from Azzi, who took it as her cue to keep going.

The next forty five minutes passed in a rhythm that didn’t feel rushed or forced—it was almost steady. Azzi did most of the talking, not in an overbearing way, but with the kind of ease that made silence feel optional. She told Paige about growing up with younger siblings, how she hated running unless it involved a basketball, and her low-key obsession with romance novels. Paige offered small comments, dry humor, the occasional question that showed she was listening even if her body language stayed relaxed and unreadable the entire time.

Azzi ordered a second tequila and pineapple, then a third—this time switching it to cranberry after Paige made a sarcastic joke about how she probably ruined Sponebob’s house at this point. Azzi raised an eyebrow, grinning as she took a sip of her new drink.

“Happy now?” she teased.

Paige’s expression barely shifted, but her chest moved with a quiet laugh. “Didn’t know you cared to make me happy.”

Azzi leaned in slightly, her brown eyes dancing. “I aim to please.”

Paige stared at her for a moment—fighting the urge to lick her lips. “Crazy thing to aim for.”

Azzi smiled. “Only if I’m not good at it.”

Before Paige could respond, the bartender reappeared, snapping his fingers as if something had just clicked. “Nah I remember now—you’re that UFC fighter who broke that girl’s jaw!”

Paige’s gaze barely lifted away from Azzi. “Am I?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, grinning. “I just watched the video—man, that shit was crazy. Her shit was fucked up me and my buddies were talkin about it for weeks.”

Paige didn’t respond. Just nodded once slowly.

“You got that real killer instinct for real. I’ve seen a lotta knockouts, but that one? Different. You training for something now?”

Paige’s jaw moved slightly like she might answer, but she just shook her head once.

The guy kept going, oblivious. “That right hook? Crazy brutal. You always fight like that?”

Another slight shrug. Her eyes stayed on her glass.

“Damn,” he muttered, clearly impressed. “I wouldn’t be caught dead messing with you. You ever think about teaching classes or something?”

Azzi’s head tilted as she watched Paige—curious about the interaction but staying quiet.

Paige let the silence stretch before finally saying, flatly, “Not really.”

The bartender leaned his forearms on the bar, still animated. “Why not? I’d definitely take a class—no hesitation.”

Not a people person.”

He laughed. “Nah, that’s fair.” He tossed his towel over his shoulder. “You just got that look, y’know? Like you don’t fuck around. Gotta be wild, getting in the cage like that.”

Paige gave the faintest nod, eyes still forward.

The guy lingered a little too long, clearly trying to stretch the moment. “So how long you been training? Since you were a kid prolly right?”

She entertained it—barely. “A while.”

“Yeah you definitely could teach a thing or two then. Especially to guys like me. Willing to learn you know,” he laughed.

Paige turned her head toward him. “You’re kinda interrupting our conversation.”

That got him. He blinked, then looked over at Azzi like he’d just remembered she was there. “Oh—my apologies, sweetheart. I didn’t mean no harm. Just got a little excited to talk, that's all.”

Azzi offered a polite smile. “It’s okay.” Her tone was smooth, but her eyes flicked back to Paige.

Once the bartender walked off, Azzi swirled her drink, then looked over at Paige with a smile. “I think you might actually be famous.”

Paige tilted her head slightly. “I think you might like attention.”

Azzi laughed softly, leaning her elbow on the bar. “Only when it’s yours pretty.”

That got Paige to glance at her, just for a second, before her gaze returned to the glass of water in front of her.

Azzi caught it. “You never react to compliments.”

Paige didn’t look back. “You want me to react.”

Azzi smirked. “So you are playing hard to get.”

“No,” Paige replied dryly. “Not in the business of satisfying people just for the hell of it.”

Azzi let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re gonna make me work for it, huh?”

Paige turned toward her slightly. “Work for what?”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “You.”

Paige didn’t blink. She just looked at her evenly for a long moment before lifting her glass of water and taking a sip. “I’m not a prize, Azzi.”

Azzi rested her chin on her hand, still smiling. “Didn’t say you were. Now can you tell me why you won’t accept my compliments?”

Paige's eyes flicked over to her. “You like bets, right?”

Azzi perked up slightly. “Yes.”

“If you can float around for the next month, I’ll accept your compliments.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted. “Why a month?”

Paige’s gaze dropped briefly to the condensation on her glass before answering. “I can get a little…tense closer to fight time, for lack of better words. Not everybody can handle that.” She gave a small shrug. “I’m not dense—I know it’s something I need to work on. But that’s where I’m at.”

Azzi faked a look of shock, hand to her chest. “This is you relaxed? Wow. Who would've thought.”

That drew the faintest curve at the edge of Paige’s mouth.

Azzi leaned in slightly. “Can I at least flirt?”

“If that floats your boat.”

Azzi smiled at that, pleased with the outcome. “It’s a bet, then. What do I get when I win?”

Paige looked at her. “You tell me. You’re the one winning apparently.”

There was a pause. Then Azzi said, “A date.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “A date?”

Azzi nodded once, holding her gaze. “Mhm.”

Paige hesitated just a second, then gave a small nod. “Alright bet.”

Azzi reached her hand out. Paige looked at it, but still shook her hand. “What’s this?”

“Shaking on being friends,” Azzi said. Then, after a slight pause, “For a month.”

Paige smirked, just barely. “Friends, huh.”

Azzi grinned. “Friends…For now.”

After another thirty minutes at the bar—Azzi nursing one last drink and the conversation never quite losing its playful edge. Once the two of them decided to call it a night Paige slid off her stool and pulled the keys for the rented car from her pocket. “I can drive you,” she said simply, already heading toward the door.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “I can Uber.”

“Unnecessary,” Paige replied, opening the door and waiting.

The ride to Azzi’s hotel was quiet in a comfortable way. The Dallas lights flickered through the windshield as quiet music hummed through the speakers—nothing distracting, just enough to fill the space. When they pulled up to the curb of Azzi’s hotel, Azzi turned to her. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Paige nodded. “Goodnight, Azzi.”

Azzi smiled, lingering for just a second before stepping out. Paige didn’t drive away right away. She waited until Azzi was safely in the lobby, then reached for her phone.

She pulled up DiJonai’s contact.

Paige [10:17PM]:

where’s that gym u were telling me about?

The response came almost immediately with a dropped pin.

DiJonai [10:17PM]:

You want me to meet you?

Paige thought about it for half a second, thumbs hovering before she replied.

Paige [10:18PM]:

u don’t have to. just need to hit somethin. haven’t been in a gym today

DiJonai [10:18PM]:

I’ll meet you.

Paige liked the message, tossed her phone in the passenger seat after pulling up maps, and drove off.

When she got to the gym Paige sat in her car with the engine off, one arm draped over the steering wheel as she stared out at the empty lot. The gym looked exactly how she liked it—quiet, barely lit from the soft glow of streetlights bouncing off the windows. She didn’t move until DiJonai’s car pulled in beside her.

Paige stepped out and popped the trunk, pulling out a gym bag that had seen more miles than most people she knew. DiJonai stepped out of her car and put her hands in her hoodie pocket as they walked toward the entrance of the private gym.

“How was your date?”

Paige didn’t miss the side eye Dijonai threw her way. “Wasn’t a date.”

DiJonai just smirked and flicked on the lights as they walked in. The fluorescents buzzed overhead, illuminating the rows of heavy bags, speed bags, mats, and benches. As soon as the space lit up fully, Paige felt her body respond—her shoulders loosening, chest less tight. Like just seeing the setup gave her permission to exhale.

She glanced over at DiJonai as she walked toward a bench. “You wanna hit?”

DiJonai shrugged like it wasn’t a question. “Yeah.”

They settled across from each other on a bench, facing inward. Paige unzipped her bag, pulling out a pair of hand wraps. Without saying anything she motioned for DiJonai to give her one of her hands. DiJonai lifted one and Paige started wrapping her knuckles with ease as the two of them sat in silence.

As Paige tightened the wrap around DiJonai’s wrist, DiJonai gave her a look. “Okayyy…so how was your not date?”

Paige didn’t glance up, just shifted to grab DiJonai’s other hand, her eyes still focused on the wrap. “It was cool. Just talked.”

“About?”

“She asked me about fighting. Talked about basketball a little.” Paige paused for half a second. “She flirted nonstop.”

DiJonai’s eyebrows shot up at this, a grin spreading across her face. “A pretty girl was flirting with you all night, and you look like you’re in pain and dragged me to a gym. Please make it make sense.”

Paige motioned for DiJonai to flex her hand so she could finish the wrap. “Not sure if you heard,” she said dryly. “I’m fighting somebody who’s fucked up every person she’s stepped in the cage with.” She finally looked up, sarcasm laced in her voice. “So I’m sorry if I’m a little distracted.”

DiJonai dropped down into a deep quad stretch as Paige started wrapping her own hands.

“So how’d you respond to all the flirting?”

Paige gave a small shrug, eyes on the wrap. “Told her to give me a month, basically.”

DiJonai switched legs. “So you’re interested.”

Paige didn’t look up. “I’m not…not interested.”

“But?” DiJonai asked, already knowing there was one.

Paige let out a breath, securing the loop around her thumb. “I can’t wake up without thinking about what I can do that day to make sure I don’t get my shit rocked in a month.”

That made DiJonai laugh, it was a short real one. Not surprised or concerned. Just letting the subtle joke land.

And that’s what Paige loved about her—everyone else either flinched or tried to change the subject when she joked like that. DiJonai just let her say it and kept it moving.

“The money must’ve been nice,” DiJonai said, still stretching.

Paige hummed as she finished up her hand wrap. “1.5. 2 if I win.”

DiJonai stood up straight, shaking her head. “Damn. That’s crazy. I’ll make sure I send my invoice for the free therapy.”

Paige laughed as reached into her bag and pulled out two sets of gloves, tossing one to DiJonai without looking.

“Exactly, so I can’t really think about shit else right now even if I wanted to,” she said, flexing her fingers as she slid her gloves on.

DiJonai looked at her as she adjusted the velcro on her gloves. “That’s fair. You’re locked in. I get it.”

Paige nodded once. “Doesn’t leave much room for flirting and cute drinks, though.”

“Which is why you dragged me out of bed to punch something,” DiJonai said with a laugh.

“You volunteered, I said you didn’t have” Paige responded back, laughing too as she stepped toward the mat.

The two of them moved in sync, warming up—light footwork, shoulder rolls, stretching. One they were about to start hitting Paige circled her quietly, eyes scanning like she was a coach.

“Your stance is too narrow,” Paige said, gently nudging DiJonai’s front foot out with her own to widen it. “You’re gonna fold if someone comes at you heavy.”

DiJonai adjusted. “Didn’t know I signed up for a critique tonight.”

“You didn’t,” Paige said, with a small smile. “But I can’t help it.”

DiJonai laughed mumbling, “Control freak.”

Paige didn’t deny it—just nodded as she watched DiJonai hit the speed bag a few times before moving to her own bag, slipping into a rhythm that calmed her for the first time today.

[elliesmainhoe]

need ellie to take care of me drunk desperately

i love your writing 😭

Rescue Remedy

e.williams x fem!reader

summary: you call Ellie to come and rescue you from a bar after having a few too many drinks

warnings: alcohol, cigarettes, mentions of hangovers, slurred speech, drunk crying, fluff.

just realized this is basically a self insert vent post of a very similar situation I've been in LMAO

WC 1K

DAY 4 OF SAPPHIC SUMMER

you were relieved when the familiar beaten up Ford focus pulled up beside you. you'd been sitting on the curb for almost 15 minutes- tear stained cheeks, smudged glitter and mascara as your body shook and jittered from both the cold Seattle night and the mixture of cigarette smoke and alcohol causing the most humbling case of hiccups you think you've ever had.

"Ells!" you whined, a new flood of tears streaming from your eyes at the sight of your night in shining armour- your girlfriend.

"c'mon sweet girl" she huffed, hair thrown up messily in the usual half up, half down style, clad in red and black checkered pyjama pants, black hoodie that was splattered with paint topped off with the obnoxious lime green crocks you'd gotten her for her one Christmas, of course decked out in charms shed collected over the past few months.

before you could even process it you were sitting in the passenger seat, leather seats sticking to your sweat glazed skin, and sobs turning to hiccups.

this had been the worst night out you'd had since your 21st. and as soon as the car revved and moved down the road, Ellie's hand pressed firmly on your bare thigh, the fabric of your dress not long enough to cover the majority of your thigh.

"what happened sweet girl?" oh and by that one question, it's like Ellie had opened a flood gate.

firstly, you got to the club of choice after having to walk almost a mile from where your designated driver had parked, accompanied by a couple of friends. after queuing on the curb for almost thirty minutes, you reached the front of the queue and then promptly realized you had left you purse. with your id. in the car. a mile away.

so after you'd trekked all the way to the car, retrieving your purse and id, getting back to the club, queuing for another 30 minutes, on your own this time- as your friends who had not forgotten their id decided to go in and leave you to sort your shit out.

let's just say you were already a little pissed off.

secondly, you got in the club and it stunk. not just of sweat and booze, but piss. fucking piss. and to top that all off you couldn't find your friends so- you did what any other sane person would do and ordered shots.

shots that were actually doubles, but of course you hadnt realized that until way too late.

which leads into the final stage of the night, your head being deep in a grimy toilet bowl, knees bruised from having to kneel on tiles that were not grouted properly and pieces of them shot out and cut at your skin.

and by that point you had gotten out your phone, which was now on 7% charge because you had offers to use your GPS and it drained all your battery, and was a blubbering mess on call with your girlfriend.

you would later have to retell the story again, as apparently according to Ellie- she couldn't understand a word you were saying, just nodding along in a desperate attempt to keep you awake long enough to get a glass of water and a slice of toast down you.

it must have been during your tangent when you'd gotten home, as when you finally finished your incoherent mumbling you were sitting on the beat up leather couch of yours and Ellie's apartment, a couch you'd hated as soon as you moved in, but Ellie had a weird attachment to so it stayed in it's place, the first thing you saw when you entered the home.

Ellie was kneeling in front of you, sitting between your thighs and facing you, holding up a large glass of water,

"sip baby" she spoke softly, to which you groaned.

"do- do- I haveeeeeee to?" you whined, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to distract your girlfriend "jus' wan' sleep"

"you can sleep after you drink that." after another groan you took a sip of the glass of water- admittedly, it was refreshing, however you still gagged to prove a point.

"good girl" she purred, standing up and kissing your forehead, moving over to the cabinet to grab a packet of pills.

"fuck off"

she laughs, moving back with a small white pill in the palm of her hand, to which you begrudgingly take after Ellie promises to take you to get ice cream the day after.

you felt your eyelids droop once more, you couldn't tell if it was sleep, or just your false eyelashes becoming suddenly very heavy, you whine "'m tired ells..."

"alright I hear you, c'mon baby" she sighs, leaving a half eaten piece of toast on the coffee table, one arm supporting your back and the other under your knees as she made her way to your bedroom, plopping you on the mattress and you sigh, already drifting to sleep before you screech at the feeling of something wet in your face.

"hey- hey" Ellie laughs, "I'm just taking off your makeup baby, just taking off your makeup", she smiles, dragging a cotton pad across your skin, taking off the creams and powders you had applied previously, smudged mascara coming off with it.

Ellie was thankful you'd taken off your clothes as soon as you stepped foot into the apartment saying something which she thinks was "dresses like these are modern day torture devices"- but with the way you slur your words when drunk she could never be sure, leaving you just in your underwear, making her job a whole lot easier.

trying to maneuver you, who had now dropped on the mattress like a deadweight, would've been a too strenuous task for 3am.

after discarding the used wipes and pulling your hair back into a very messy ponytail, Ellie scooted in beside you, the mattress sinking as you unconsciously snuggle in closer, head nuzzling into the girls neck, her hand going around to caress your back, soothing you into an easy sleep.

the hangover tomorrow was going to be horrible.

••••••••••••••

The third time I've tried to write this, I almost gave up 🥰

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (1/20)

See? I'm here and you didn't even waited that much😋

I hope you can enjoy the first chapter!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: +18, angst and semi-public sex.

Pairing: Governor!Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: Accepting the date with your friend Carol cost you more than you imagined.

Music recommendation:

Pawn

noun

1. a chess piece of the smallest size and least value. Each player has eight pawns at the start of a game.

Staring at the mirror for the sixth time, obsessively applying yet another layer of lipstick. You sighed—you still didn’t feel grown-up enough.

A little more mascara, even though your lashes were already heavy from previous coats.

But it didn’t matter.

You still weren’t pretty.

You weren’t worthy.

Checking your teeth, you spotted a smudge of lipstick on them. You exhaled sharply, grabbing your toothbrush to scrub away any imperfection.

You brushed a single tooth exactly twenty times.

Fuck.

The lipstick smudged.

You could feel hot tears prickling the corners of your eyes in frustration, as your reflection seemed only to highlight every flaw on your face.

You hated mirrors.

Three sharp knocks startled your muscles into tension.

“Bear, we’re gonna be late!” your roommate’s voice rang out—loud and impatient.

Bear. As if you were special, as if it were affection. But this was only when no one else was around.

It had been three months since you arrived in Washington. Three months of a new city, new university, new social codes you were still trying to decipher. And tonight would be your first off-campus party.

It felt like some kind of rite of passage into adulthood now.

This wasn’t Westview. Back there, the parties were small, familiar. The big city turned everything into a spectacle, and you didn’t want to be part of it—not even a little.

“Wow. You look… stunning!” Carol’s voice made you smile as you stepped out of the bathroom.

Carol Danvers.

Tall, blonde, with that air of someone who always knew what you were about to say before you said it. The girl of your dreams, your nightmares and your vices.

Having a crush on her wasn’t new—you had always liked them.

Girls.

But especially the tall, popular ones—and maybe, just maybe, the ones who were a little mean to you.

However, Carol… she’d always treated you differently. One night, she snuck into your room and kissed you.

And in that moment, you felt like the only one.

But you never were. And you knew that. Carol asked to keep things a secret, said it would be... weird.

The ambiguity of that word haunted your nights, often stealing your sleep.

“Thanks,” you said, your cheeks flushing under her gaze.

She stepped closer. Close enough to cup your cheek in her hands, a sweet, innocent gesture. One that melted you inside, like everything she always did.

“Okay!” She dropped her hand. “Here’s your ID! Don’t worry, it’s totally legit. A few dollars work miracles…” She smiled with her tongue between her teeth—mischievous, cocky.

You took the card from her hand.

“Melinda… Nox?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Amazing, right?” She beamed. “Tonight, you’re someone else. Give Melinda the chance you never gave yourself, Bear,” she whispered it with her lips close to your ear, planting a soft kiss behind it—warm enough to melt your common sense.

You tried to smile.

Pretended to believe her.

Pretended it didn’t hurt.

[...]

“Shit! Deep breath. If you keep staring at him like that, he’ll get suspicious,” your situationship said.

You were in line to enter Lux, an expensive bar in Seattle. You didn’t even know how you were going to pay for it.

Your thoughts spiraled toward the worst. They’ll find out. You’ll be expelled. Arrested. Or worse—you’ll be sent back to Westview.

To your mother.

Oh God.

The thought alone made you want to vomit.

“Carol, how are we even going to pay for this?” You looked at the people in line—it felt wrong.

You didn’t belong here.

“I’ve been working on a project,” she said cryptically, and before you could ask more, a very tall man said:

“ID!”

You handed him the fake ID, which he barely glanced at.

“Enjoy the party,” he returned the papers, leaving Carol confused.

“Excuse me, sir. You didn’t even look properly,” she said with a nervous laugh. “How can you be sure we’re not underage?”

Fuck. Carol. No!

She was being impulsive again.

“Are you?” he asked, peering over his glasses.

“No!” you both answered at once.

“Then enjoy. Next!” He turned back to the line.

Rolling your eyes, you pulled her by the arm.

“What were you thinking? Are you insane?” you hissed.

“Do you know how much those damn things cost? Too much not to be at least looked at!”

“Forget it, okay? We’re in. That’s what you wanted, right?” you softened your tone, trying to calm her.

“Yeah… yeah, whatever.” Her eyes scanned the bar, like she was looking for someone. “Don’t do that again, okay?” Carol warned, and you nodded, ashamed.

Normally, alcohol only amplified what you spent your life trying to suppress—the smothered affection, the unresolved longing, the neediness spilling through rehearsed smiles. And you knew that. Knew that two shots were enough to make you even more desperate than you already were when sober.

Carol probably thought you were unbearable. Too fragile, too dependent, waiting for a kind of love she never promised and deep down, never intended to give.

You watched her walk away again, disappearing into the crowd, into the lights and noise. And still, even with the absence scraping at your chest, you didn’t follow.

You stayed.

Alone.

A sudden bump against your shoulder jolted you back like a harsh tug to the surface. Your body reacted before your mind: your lungs faltered, the air grew thinner, and everything around you felt both distant and overwhelming.

Panic was an old acquaintance, a silent visitor who always knew where it hurt.

You squeezed your eyes shut, clenched your fists like you were trying to hold the whole world inside them. You could feel the edge drawing near with the precision of a step in the dark.

But not tonight.

Not with this name.

Melinda wasn’t you. She didn’t shake. She didn’t break. She didn’t cry at fancy parties or beg for scraps of attention. Melinda wanted to live, to have fun, and feel something other than fear.

You raised your chin, fixed your smudged lipstick, and ordered some shots of tequila. Drank the first without breathing. The second burned, and you almost smiled.

The alcohol slid down warm, spreading through your body like an unwelcome hug—comforting and fake, but effective.

You looked around, your eyes wandering over silhouettes dancing under pulsing lights.Some laughed loudly. Others whispered before smiling drunkenly.

You wondered, as you always did, if they were happy. What was the story behind each of those figures? Did they also feel small sometimes? Did they watch, too?

Or were you the only one carrying this absurd desire to be seen, this ridiculous need for approval?

Another shot.

This time, a slower sip. The world seemed to dissolve into soft tones and disjointed rhythms and then, your eyes landed on someone.

A woman.

She was surrounded by voices, yet didn’t seem to belong there. She laughed naturally, but there was something rehearsed in it —something too practiced.

The kind of smile a powerful woman wears like a weapon.

You smiled too, without realizing it.

A foolish and childish reflex, almost ridiculous.

And when you opened your eyes again, she was looking back.

Two blue eyes, so intense—but from where you sat, the color shifted. Sometimes green, sometimes blue, deep, almost violet, like precious cold stones carved into a face too sculpted to be real—and you wanted to get closer, to find out the true color of the mysterious woman’s eyes.

She wasn’t smiling anymore. Just that raw and wild look.

Aimed at you.

Your heart skipped a beat. Shame came first, hot and treacherous. But it was quickly replaced by something more primal: curiosity. Fear. Fascination. You should have looked away, you knew that.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You were being devoured by that gaze. And somehow, you wanted it.

You wondered if she saw something in you too—or if she was just playing, like everyone else.

You laughed to yourself.

It was a stupid thought—a woman like that would never look at you... Not really.

Not the way you wished she would.

You downed your last shot in one go, the taste burning your throat, your stomach, what was left of your judgment.

The world spun a little—but honestly, you didn’t care anymore. It was past 3 a.m., and the heat of the dance floor felt like it was choking you. Sweat glued the dress to your body like the fabric was punishing you for every misstep.

You needed air.

You got up with effort, ankles a bit unsteady, and pushed through the crowd. Shoulders bumped into yours like no one had time to acknowledge your existence. That was fine. You were used to going unnoticed.

The first door in sight was the emergency exit. Narrow. Empty. The cold concrete outside contrasted with the heat from inside, and you felt the thermal shock ripple across your skin, up your spine.

Seattle's lights blinked on the horizon like promises never meant for you.

The cold air froze the tip of your nose and bit at the bare skin of your arms, but still… it was better than the suffocation inside.

You leaned your back against the wall and sit on a concrete stool, lettting your head fall back, eyes fixed on a starless sky.

For a moment, you thought of your childhood summers back in Westview. Those days when the world was small and kind, when the sound of the ice cream truck’s bell was enough to make you run barefoot, lighthearted, laughing freely.

God, how you missed that.

When you were just a girl and that was enough. When your father’s love was all you needed to fill the empty spaces—Before he died.

Before the world crumbled at five years old.

Since then, ice cream never tasted the same again.

Your mother never looked at you the same. Or maybe she never looked at you at all.

You were always the mistake.

The disappointment.

She said it with her eyes—and sometimes with harsh words—you weren’t enough. That everything you did could have been better, prettier, more useful.

But she smiled at your brother with that pride that never belonged to you.

So when the letter from UW came, it was your chance. The chance to prove to her that you could, to find your own path.

The chance to run.

A city where no one knew your flaws. Where you could be someone— anyone. But even here, you brought the same fucking broken pieces.

The same hunger that now made you accept Carol Danvers’ scraps like they were feasts. She kissed you in secret, called you “mine” in a whisper, but never in public.

And still, you waited—like a fool.

Because deep down, being with her hurt less than admitting that maybe no one would ever truly choose you.

You bit your lip, tasting the metallic sting of frustration. The alcohol made everything feel more distant, more confusing.

The truth was you didn’t know who you were or who you wanted to be.

You just knew that… maybe you needed a little love.

Was that too much to ask?

The door behind you creaked open.

You turned slowly—thinking it was some janitor asking you to leave.

But no.

It was her.

The woman with the mysterious eyes.

The feminine silhouette in front of you was imposing, exuding importance. Her long dark hair fell like a rope, framing a strong face—and yet, the redness in her cheeks—from the alcohol or the cold gave a softness to such a harsh figure.

Your eyes locked for a while, too long, but neither of you dared to look away.

You swallowed hard. Should you say something? Your lips trembled, parted to speak, but her voice came first—strong, rough:

“Are you alright?”

The question cut through the silence like a blade.

Her voice was firm, almost impersonal, but there was something there...

You nodded, a gesture too small to mean anything.

Of course you weren’t alright. But what could you say? That you were trying not to cry over a woman who didn’t know how to love? That the bitter taste of tequila still burned in your throat, but what really stung was the absence—of everything?

You looked away, pressing your shoulders against the cold wall behind you.

“Just needed some air,” you finally said, almost in a whisper, like the words were being swept away by the freezing wind between you.

She stepped closer with careful strides, sitting down beside you. Not too close, but close enough for you to feel the warmth of her body. And her perfume, too—something woody, discreet, sophisticated.

You knew she was special. Rich, very rich—from the leather heels to the minimalist jewelry.

“I figured…” she said, drawing a breath with some care. Her head tilted slightly, like she was trying to steady her thoughts more than her steps. Her hands buried in the pockets of her cream colored coat—expensive, heavy, pristine like her. “It’s crazy in there.”

Her voice, though touched by alcohol, still carried strength. But you noticed the subtle crack in her posture, like a piece of porcelain that only fractures under the right light.

But the question circled her mind and refused to fade away. What was she doing here? Had she followed you? Had she come here just because of you?

"Why are you here?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Shit.

You didn’t want to sound rude to her—not at all.

She didn’t answer right away.

She just turned her face toward you—and there was something in her eyes that froze you in place. A contained glint, sharp, like wet steel under the moonlight. And now, up close, under the moonlight, you could tell. Her eyes held perfect shades between green and blue.

It was like saltwater meeting freshwater in a single gaze.

The woman was truly stunning.

Her jaw clenched, as if she were fighting her own words. Or the impulse to say them.

Your stomach turned. Chills ran down your spine, and it wasn’t just the cold.

It was her.

How could someone look so dangerous and so hypnotic at the same time?

"I don’t know," she finally said. The sincerity in her voice was a near wounded whisper, and it caught you off guard. "I saw you leave. And... I came."

Silence returned, but now it was a different kind of silence.

Alive.

Dense.

You looked down for a moment, feeling your heart beat too loud in your chest. It was scary. Not her—not exactly. But what she awakened. 

The way she looked at you. Like she saw something even you couldn’t name. And still, she didn’t look away.

"I don’t usually do this," she continued, and there was something restrained in her voice. Almost self-directed anger.

And you understood. Fuck. How you did understand!

That feeling of doing something against your own instincts just because, for some inexplicable reason, you have to.

That stupid war between protecting yourself and letting go.

"Me neither," you confess with a laugh, still feeling her now-blue eyes cut through you. Your voice came out small, almost like a shared secret.

You felt naked under those eyes. Like every layer of you was being unfolded with unsettling precision.

She didn’t smile.

She only looked deeper, and for a moment, you had the impression she was going to say something. Reveal something.

But she stopped.

The blue-eyed woman seemed to be battling her own body. Her own impulsivity, as if every inch of the space between you had been measured, restrained, smothered by something she refused to name.

You could feel her breath. The woody scent of her perfume. You wanted to get closer.

She turned her head sharply, like it would stop her from doing something reckless. You noticed her jaw tightening, her hard swallow, and her hands—now out of her coat—clenching into fists.

She rose from the concrete bench, stumbling elegantly in her heels to face the city.

"You’re... different," she said, as if spitting out the word with difficulty.

And she didn’t sound like she meant it in the usual way people try to impress someone at a party. There was real weight behind it. As if that “difference” was dangerous—or worse: unacceptable.

Your eyebrows furrow.

"What do you mean?" you ask, standing up with some effort.

She hesitated. A small pout formed on her lips, as if annoyed that you had asked. Or that she didn’t know how to answer.

Her eyes drifted to your mouth. A subtle, restrained motion, but not fast enough to hide it.

You held your breath.

"I don’t know," she said, but it felt more like a confession. Her hard gaze stayed fixed on you, but there was something different now. Something raw. More... human. "But I despise it."

The words came out like poison caught in her throat—not necessarily to hurt you. But as if the mere idea of someone unraveling what she thought was solid was intolerable.

You swallowed hard, your heart beating so fast it hurt. You stood there, between impulse and fear, trying to figure out someone who seemed made of thorns and glass.

Too beautiful to touch without getting cut.

But maybe, getting cut would be worth it.

"Why?" you dared ask, your voice low. You were afraid of the answer, but more afraid of the silence.

She turned slightly, her eyes meeting yours with something close to fury—but it wasn’t at you.

It was at herself.

A clash of wills sewn by years of restraint. Everything about her was control, you realized that now. Every gesture, every word, every space between blinks was meticulously guarded.

Except here. Except now.

"Because I hate losing control."

The phrase hit you with the force of an intimate confession, almost an apology, and at the same time, a warning.

The wind blew stronger at that moment, tossing her hair across her face. She didn’t brush it away. She stayed like that, partly hidden, as if she didn’t want you to see what her eyes were saying.

But you saw anyway.

"Maybe..." you began, not knowing exactly where you were going. "Maybe that’s not such a bad thing."

She laughed. Softly. Without humor. A bitter, restrained laugh, like you’d told a joke too cruel to be funny.

"You have no idea what you’re saying."

You stood up to face her. 

Now there was no space between you. Only tension. A magnetic, cursed field. Hot and cold at once.

Your eyes searched hers, and in them, you found a wound no one should’ve ever touched.

But you wanted to.

You wanted to enter that pain and know it like someone opening a forbidden book.

"Then tell me," you whispered. "Make me understand," you pleaded.

She was so still, she looked carved out of air.

"I can’t do that." Her voice broke, and it was the first time that had happened. She stood up. Stopped at the door to leave, to run. Run from you. "You should go back too. You’ll freeze out here in that outfit," she said without looking at you, still facing the door and holding the handle.

And she seemed to be waiting.

You studied the silhouette of the much older woman leaning against the door. She was undeniably elegant, and the heels made her seem even taller next to you.

Those eyes seemed so dominant, always in control.

And maybe you were the one who had to take the risk here, after all, she looked like someone who had much to lose...

You stepped closer.

Each step measured, deliberate, until you could hear her breath change. A subtle, trembling exhale, as if your nearness had broken something in her.

Carefully, your fingers touched her dark hair, sliding through the strands like someone caressing a secret.

She let out a soft sound through her mouth—a stifled noise, somewhere between a moan and a protest.

And you smiled.

She was trying to resist, but failing.

"Please..." you begged, your mouth so close to her skin your warm breath touched her.

She turned sharply. Her back against the iron door. Breathing fast and looking like she might kill you if she could.

But you were too far gone now to care about dying.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" she growled, her jaw tight, her breath short like she could barely stay on her feet.

You didn’t answer.

You just let your lips touch her neck. Slow kisses, warm, like promises you didn’t even know if you could keep.

"Please, please, please," you begged between the kisses, the words staining her skin like fever.

You lifted your face until it was level with hers. Your lips brushed against hers in an almost-kiss.

Burning, cruel.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice so low it barely made a sound.

But she heard it.

The woman finally leaned in, ready to be kissed—but you pulled back.

Just enough for her to feel the absence.

Her blue eyes burned with something primal.

“Fuck,” she breathed.

And then she kissed you.

Like she was breaking a promise. Like she was diving off a cliff, not expecting to survive.

And it wasn’t gentle.

It was ravenous.

It was need, despair, fury.

The kind of kiss that shouldn’t happen, but it did.

And you knew—right there, with her back slammed against the cold metal door, lips crushing yours with a hunger that felt decades old—that nothing would ever make sense again.

Her mouth was hot, urgent, and her tongue claimed yours with such authority it made you moan into your own teeth.

She took control without asking, without waiting. Like she was quenching a thirst that had gone too long ignored.

Her hands—big, firm, experienced—grabbed your waist with such force that you lost your breath.

And you let her hold you.

Let her brand you.

It was insane to be there.

In an emergency hallway, in an uncomfortable position and the wind bit at your exposed skin.

But honestly? None of it mattered. Because the heat came from her—that tall, mature body carved by time.

She could’ve been your mother’s age.

And fuck, why did that make it even hotter?

The way she held you, like she already knew every path to pleasure before you even knew their names. The way she kissed, without hesitation, without the impatient rush of someone just chasing release.

Nothing like Carol.

Your hands moved up her back, feeling the expensive fabric of her coat, then pushed it gently off her shoulders to reveal the heat her skin carried.

Your fingers moved on their own, hooking into the waistband of her linen pants.

She moaned against your mouth, a muffled sound, and a shiver ran through both of you. She broke the kiss violently, her breath ragged, like she’d just run a marathon. 

“No,” she whispered, resting her forehead against yours. “I can’t...”

You whimpered at the sudden distance and pressed into her, needing to make sure she was real.

“Why not?” you whispered back.

“Because...” She inhaled, trying to think, to erase your scent and your kiss from her mind. “Because this is wrong.”

“This?” You smiled, dragging your tongue across your lips. “Well... You don’t have to do anything.” Your voice was soothing. “I can do it for you.”

You brought your lips back to her neck.

Yes. You’d do it. You’d do anything.

She melted under your touch, letting out a desperate moan as your hands traveled lower down her body.

“W-what are you going to do?”

“Shh... Just feel.”

You stole her lips again, this time taking the control that seemed meant only for her. You explored every curve, alternating between squeezing her waist and her ass.  

“Can I do this?” you asked, resting your hand over her panties, waiting for a reply.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. And she just nodded.

You smiled.

Unbelievable.

You slid to her clit, and she gasped. She looked so beautiful, so ready...

You moved your fingers in figure eights, making her moan and grab the back of your neck.

Then, without warning, you slipped two fingers inside her, dragging a cry of pleasure from her lips.

“Fuck, it’s been so long,” she moaned, delirious.

You kept thrusting, fingertips massaging the soft flesh inside. She throbbed and clenched so tightly around you...

“More!”

You brought your thumb to her clit, stimulating both spots at once. You felt her legs tremble. “I can give you this,” you whispered into her ear, biting her sensitive earlobe. “I’m a good girl.”

And when you heard her moan loudly, you knew she was the kind that liked dirty talk.

You looked at her again.

Fuck! How is she this beautiful?

Cheeks flushed, spit escaping her lips, hair tangled in your fingers, one leg wrapped around your waist—the tip of her high heel digging into your back—while the other leg stayed grounded, giving her that precious balance she seemed to crave.

This time, she was the one who stole your lips—and the moan that escaped you was shameful. Her tongue moved wildly, like it was saying something.

She was going to come.

“God— I—” she cried, bouncing on your fingers.

With one final thrust, she came.

Watching those once-cruel, dominant eyes roll back in bliss was something you would tattoo into your memory, forever.

And when she opened them again, you saw two oceans—still shimmering with pleasure.

Your chest burned with pride, you could die happy.

But all that feeling was devoured by three words:

“This never happened.”

The words hung in the air like the toxic smoke flooding the city, seeping into you.

You needed a second to process. Then two. And on the third, your stomach turned.

Your blood boiled.

“What?” Your voice came out as a choked disbelief.

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

She just straightened her coat, then her hair, staring past you at the buildings like you were a mistake she needed to delete.

Like you weren’t worth her time.

“You heard me.” she said coldly, sharply.

Her blue eyes locked on yours—and this time, there was nothing in them.

No desire.

No warmth.

Just a shadow of disdain.

You stepped forward. “Are you serious?” Your voice cracked midway, but you stood your ground.

She sighed, like she needed patience to deal with you and that only made you angrier.

“It was a mistake,” she said, dry. “One I don’t intend to repeat.”

Your chest cracked.

You laughed, bitterly.

“Of course. Because God forbid someone like you be seen with someone like me, right?”

“It’s not about that, girl.”

Girl.

Said like that.

Like you were too small to understand.

“No?” You stepped closer, so near you could see her spit on her own chin. “Then what is it? Your last name? Your reputation? Whoever you think you are!?”

She glared at you, like she wanted to reduce you to dust.

“It’s about you being nothing.”

Silence.

A bottomless void.

It hit like a punch to the chest. A blow full of condescension and venom.

You stepped back, tears welling in your eyes.

“Yeah. I’m nothing,” you nodded, smiling with eyes full of rage. “The nothing that made you moan like a desperate whore in a dark corner.”

Her jaw clenched. She took a deep breath, but said nothing.

“Don’t look at me like you’re better than me,” you went on, your voice shaking with fury and adrenaline. “You’re just a lonely woman fucking the void inside you with someone else’s fingers. And fuck, you love it. Every second. So spare me the performance.”

“If I were you, I’d watch that tone.” she replied, tense—but not with the same fire.

You laughed again, bitter, haunted by the echo of that damned phrase.

“It’s about you being nothing.”

Like a low blow.

Like a rejection letter.

Like Carol.

Your chest tightened in that familiar, because you already knew that taste: the taste of abandonment that comes right after the touch.

The touch that makes you feel wanted.

The touch that lies.

You pulled away like you'd been burned, as if every second there had started to scald you. Swallowed hard, ignoring the lump in your throat, the salty taste that threatened to spill from your eyes.

“Go fuck yourself,” you said, but your voice came out too soft to hurt.

You brushed past her, your body still hot, still trembling, but already feeling the cold swallowing you whole again.

You stormed out the emergency exit like fleeing from a fire—even if now, the fire was inside you.

The dawn air hit you like a slap—cold, harsh, indifferent.

You descended the emergency exit steps with heavy steps, feeling the concrete vibrate beneath the thin soles of your shoes, but it was like every step was a surrender.

As soon as you returned to the dance floor, you saw your “friend with benefits” grinding on some guy while his hands roamed her sculpted body.

Fuck this.

Fuck her.

Fuck all of them.

A retreat on the board.

A pawn.

The smallest piece. The most predictable. The one that only moves forward and dies first.

You laughed again, alone, with that irony that rises from your gut. The bitter laugh of someone who realizes they were just a convenient move in someone else’s game.

Just a pawn advanced out of pure whim.

You stumbled outside, like a mistake hidden behind the scenes of a party that was far too expensive.

The wind whipped against your sweat-damp skin and unshed tears. And you swallowed hard again, throat tight, the acidic taste of humiliation rising like bile.

You thought of her.

A stranger—eyes sometimes blue, sometimes green, but always vivid.

Of her touch.

Of the rough fingers gripping your waist. The way she moaned greedily for more, even if only once.

The way she came with her face turned toward the sky, as if you were some kind of gift.

And even then… “You’re nothing.”

Fuck.

Why do those words hurt more than they should? Why does part of you want to go back, just to scream? Just to force her to admit that you gave her the best orgasm of her life?

But you didn’t go back.

You just clenched your fists, walking the dark streets like someone running from their own shadow. Like someone who finally understands that some people were made to move the pieces… and others were made to be moved.

And you swear to yourself—somewhere between the step and the regret—that next time, God, if there’s a next time, you’ll play the game before it plays you.

Because being a pawn is exhausting.

And you weren’t born to die in the first move.

~*~

UHhhh... Agatha's such a bitch... I'm sorry!! Y-Y

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi @milfovers4

[slimybeth69]

Part 2- Cave In

Series Masterlist | Part 1

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

content warnings: Reader (no descriptions besides having hair that can be pulled) is in a weird mindset; hears voices, talks to herself. non-con/dub-con (if you're looking for enthusiastic consent, ya wont find it here) smut, cock-warming, unprotected P in V, creampies, oral (m&f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, pussy and peen pronouns, alcohol consumption (altered mental state). Joel wears a shock collar and other various horrible things that would keep him in check-- and he doesn't fucking like it.

Reader warning- flashbacks of readers graphic and sad past!!!

While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you!

Joel’s mind drifts off to the days and nights he spent teaching Ellie how to play guitar– watching her learn, grow more confident in the way she held the instrument. Then hearing her play her first song is one of his favorite memories. He wonders what her, Dina and JJ are doing right now. 

He wonders if Tommy and Ellie are looking for him– Joel can’t imagine they wouldn’t be. Not after what they did in Seattle a couple years ago. His daughter and his younger brother would come looking for him, and eventually they’d find him- and rescue him.

The three of them- Joel right alongside them, would kill you in the process, he’d make sure of it. 

That’s all he can think about– being rescued and watching you die as you wrap a second layer of duct tape around the oven mitts on his hands. 

As much as Joel hates you, he can’t deny that you’re resourceful. 

With the shock collar still around his neck, and now, two pairs of oven mitts secured to each of his fists, Joel watches you untie his arms from the chair. 

He is stiff, and misses the fucking sun. Joel just wants to the feel the warmth on his face- but he can’t really even think about that now, he’s thinking of all the ways he’s going to fucking knock you out the minute you crawl into his lap. 

He’ll knock the shock collar remote out of your hand, headbutt you– a real one, he’ll go right for your nose and try and break it– then he will wrap his big strong arms around you, and squeeze until he can feel your ribs snap.

He’s got it all planned out- until he hears the sound of more duct tape ripping, and he wonders what part of him you’re going to tape next. 

Joel watches in horror as you tape the remote to your palm, your thumb gingerly laid across the button that would shock Joel probably into next week. You wrap the tape until Joel can barely see the remote anymore. 

You’re more resourceful than he thought, and that’s terrifying. Joel is almost sixty years old– he’s being outsmarted by some insane woman who lives in a mall in what now is the woods outside of Jackson. 

How did you get here? Where’s the rest of your group or community? Joel hasn’t seen a single other person since he got here, and he hasn’t seen or heard you interact or say you had to go meet up with anyone since he’s been here. 

There is no way you’re surviving out here all on your own on peanut butter, raspberries and whiskey. 

“Let me go,” his voice croaks. “C’mon. Y’don’t really wanna do this.” He’s pleading. He hasn’t fully begged yet, not pathetically– which is what you must want to hear. You wanna hear Joel– the big strong man cry and whine and beg for you to let him go. 

You drop the roll of tape on the floor beside your feet, “Got some rules ya’ gotta follow, Mister.” You ignore Joel, taking an inched step towards him. “Number one is ya’ don’t hit. You don’t hit– I don’t zap ya'. Sound fair?" You don't wait for him to reply. "Good. Glad we're on the same page.”

Joel rolls his eyes and is immediately met with an intense muscle spasm throughout the entire right side of his face, and down his neck. It spreads out over his shoulder and through part of his chest. 

It lasts for only a split second, but it leaves Joel panting, his brow already beaded in sweat from just that short electric shock. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ– don’t fuckin’--" he starts to warn you with a stern tone and narrow eyes– but he’s greeted by your wet, stare only inches from his. 

Your mouth opens and closes once, twice… three times before any sound comes out. “Stop makin’ me hurt you,” you whine, one single tear falling from the corner of your eye. “I really don’t like hurtin’ ya’-- I don’t wanna do it, so don’t give me reason to, right?” 

Joel glares at you while deep down inside him somewhere his heart twists slightly. 

Awww, look it’er cryin’. Cute lil puppy, alone, out here in the woods–

Joel blinks twice as you crawl into his lap, your soft, warm body pressing against his tentatively, as if you were waiting for him to start fighting you off, to start screaming and shouting at you. 

He wants to so badly, he wants to feel his forehead connect with the bridge of your nose as hard as it can– but it’s like you hypnotized him when you curled up on his lap. 

“Now ya’ wrap your arms ‘round me,” you breathe against Joel’s neck. 

Joel fucking sighs at the feeling, almost wishing you press your lips to the spot directly behind his ear.

Go on, move your arms…

Fuck no! Something is seriously wrong with him, he needs to talk to someone besides you. He knows you’re a bad person; a good person wouldn’t do something like this. 

Joel knows that if he puts his arms around you the way you want him to, he might start squeezing, and keep squeezing regardless of the pain from the electric shock. He’d seize up and wouldn’t be able to let you go, even if he wanted.

That might not be a bad thing though, either Joel would kill you, or you would kill him. It would solve his problem either way– and that was fine because he didn’t want to keep living like this. He couldn’t.

It would drive him fucking insane. He already feels like he is going insane the way he wants to kiss your neck, and suck on the spot where your collarbone ends, and your throat begins.  

C’mon, fuckin’ do it. Ya’ know she wants it, give it to her– make her fuckin’ beg for it first…

Oh fuck, Joel knows that is the unstable part of his brain talking– and he has to shut it out. 

You are Joel’s attacker, his fucking captor– the one keeping him from his family, the one he worked so fucking hard to get back. He might never see them again because of you. He’s thinking of all the ways he could hurt you–to hurt you badly, he wants to see you dead– but all those feelings of anger and hatred flee from his brain when you press the most soft, sweetest, barely-there kiss to his jaw. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder. The way you sigh and melt into Joel, molding to him, has his head spinning for a whole new reason, and he’s completely fucking sober this time. 

See big feller, ain’t that hard t’just comply.

Joel realizes only then that he has both of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him, with his cheek resting on your head. 

She ain’t t’bad, right? Smells nice’n sweet, like a pretty lady.

It’s so hard to hate you and want you dead when your soft, sleepy breaths flits across the skin on his neck. 

“I have more movies–” 

“Anything besides the princess movies- please,” Joel sighs, not removing his cheek from your head. “I can’t do the princess movies again, anything else…”

“Do you like Batman?” The action of you lifting your head off his shoulder is the only reason he pulls away from you. “The cartoons?” 

Joel snorts, and nods his head at you. “I do– me ‘n Tom–” Joel stops himself from sharing too much with you for no reason whatsoever, his eyes dropping to your bare thighs. 

It makes his mouth water when he looks at them, even though they’re bruised to hell, with fresh cuts and old scars adorning your supple, and kissable looking skin. 

He can feel you looking at him, waiting for him to finish what he was about to tell you. His eyes flash up to yours when you question him. 

“Who’s Tom? Whatta’bout him?” 

Joel can see your desperation in your face and eyes–they're wide, still slightly wet with the tears from zapping him moments ago. You must want to know so badly, and he decides to use it to his advantage. 

“Get me some meat– anything– n’ I’ll tell ya’.” Joel can’t help but smirk to himself because this is going to work. 

Your eyes light up, and you lean in real close- the tip of your nose pressed against his. “Promise?” 

Joel nods, his eyes locked on to yours, “Promise.” 

Give’er a lil kiss. 

Joel leans forward to do it, but you pull back with your brows furrowed and a scowl on your face. 

“No. Ya’ punched me last time ya’ did that.” You whisper at him, still frowning. 

“Sorry f’that-” Joel starts but you don’t let him finish. 

Your head shakes from side to side quickly, eyes still wide– untrusting, but desperate for something, he’s seen that look before so many times in so many different sets of eyes. After you scramble out of his lap, finding your footing on the floor beside the chair, you look down at him, still frowning. 

“Sorry don’t mean nothin’- not out here it don’t.”

S’okay, Sug. You’ll be fine– Mister-man’s gonna be real thankful. 

“Well he fuckin’ better! I hate gettin’ shot at, I hate havin’ t’fuckin run real fast- I hate that the place is almost three fuckin’ hours awa–” Your eyes fall onto the horizon where the sun is starting to rise just over the mountains in the distance. “Ain’t even get any fuckin’ sleep–”

Oh Sug, it’ll be worth it, he’s gon’ tell you–

Lies. He’s going to tell you lies, and for what!? You almost got shot–

“I know I almost got shot— You don’t think that I know I almost got shot!?” You’re nearly shouting in the woods. “Now both of yous be fuckin’ quiet– m’tired, and I twisted my fuckin’ ankle–”

And it’s the truth, you did twist your ankle when crossing the stream about a mile back, and thankfully the raiders had stopped following you a while ago, but with all the adrenaline it was easy to keep running. That was, until you slipped on those stupid fucking rocks.

It takes you thirty more minutes to get home, and by the time you do everything hurts, and you just want to go to sleep. Your ankle throbs with every tender step you take.

Taking a deep breath, you plaster on a smile and push open the door. "Honey, I'm home," you call out in a sing-song voice, trying to mask all your exhaustion and this fucking pain that won’t quit.

Mister’s already watching for you as you make your way slowly down the stairs. His eyes narrow as his eyes mill across your frame.

You don't look great. Disheveled, torn clothes, scrapes on your hands and knees from when you fell.

"What happened t’ya?"

Oh he’s worried ‘boutchya! Let him help you, honey.

You wave off his question with a limp hand. "Never mind me,” you toss your backpack on the table, the bottles of whiskey clank around inside noisily as you sit down in the metal chair beside Joel’s recliner. “Gotch’yer meat you wanted to fuckin’ bad.” You say, rolling your eyes.

Mister-man looks you up and down. "Y'look like hell," he says, his eyes tracing over the scratches on your arms and legs.

You ignore his words and his wandering eyes and open up your backpack. “I got jerky,” you pull out two large containers of dried meat and set them on the table. “-got bread ‘n more peanut butter— they had jam this time.”

“Who is ‘they’?” Joel asks, his eyes never leaving you even as his arms and wrists begin to twist gently under the restraints.

Embarrassment floods you, it takes over everything that you are, just like it did when you told him you had been watching him for a while. You know what you did was bad, and you shouldn't be stealing or killing-- but you're only doing it for him!

You look at him, with a hollow feeling in your chest that you can't quite place. "They’s just... people," you say quietly. "They don't matter none."

Joel tilts his head, studying you so intently that makes you want to squirm. "Ya’ hurtin’?" he asks, voice rough like sandpaper grating your ear canal.

“Who is Tom?” You avoid all questions about you, and any issues you have because why burden Mister-man? You're not his problem, you want to give him a worry, burden free life here in the mall with you and Puddin'.

Mister watches you very carefully as you pull a slice of jerky out of the container, he’s practically drooling when you place it as his lips. He groans as he begins to chew, and immediately takes another bite before he’s even swallowed the first.

He doesn’t answer— not even after the entire piece of jerky is gone, so you withhold the next piece.

“Who. Is. Tom?” You shift closer to him and wince when your ankle brushes against the leg of the chair.

"Tom... Tommy is my brother." His voice… there's something almost tender in his tone when he says his brother's name.

It feels like someone it clenching your heart in their fist, and they’re fucking squeezing.

"You're my fucking sister!" His voice is so hoarse, raw and desperate. It doesn't even sound like him anymore. "Don't— please, don't fucking do it, I'm sorry-" "You told me sorrys don't mean nothing anymore— not out here they don't!" You shout back at him, the gun in your hand trembles right along with the rest of your body. "You were supposed to t-take c-care of me! You p-promised mom and dad," you sob, your thumb pulls the hammer of the revolver back and your index finger squeezes the trigger. "Hey, HEY!" He holds both of his hands up, a weak attempt to shield himself from whatever is about to happen. Shoot him, kid. He deserves it after what he put you through. He let those guys— The gun just goes off, you don't even feel yourself pull the trigger. All you see is a fine, red mist explodes from his forehead and the back of his skull— and then everything is quiet, everything is calm. Good job, Sugar. I'm so fucking proud of you.

That was the first time you ever heard the light voice, the sweet voice that says nice things to you.

And m'gonna be here for ya' forever, Sug.

“I know,” you sigh.

Mister blinks at you, “You know Tommy?”

You blink back at him, “No?”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy like the evening air at the end of the summer. Joel watches you, his eyes darting between your face and the jerky still in your hand. “Okay…”

“Did Tommy like Batman?” If Tommy likes or liked Batman or anything about that universe at all, he’s an okay guy in your book.

“He likes Superman,” Joel chuckles when he delivers the news. “I’m the one who likes Batman.”

You audibly gasp, “You like the comics and the cartoons?”

Joel's lips twitch at the corners, almost forming what looks like a smile. "Used to read 'em with Tommy when we was kids. " His eyes fill with sadness.

You lean forward, tilting your head to the side in curiosity. "Why’re y’sad?" you whisper, the pain in your ankle momentarily forgotten.

"I ain’t sad," Mister-man is gruff. "Tommy and I used to collect comics, argued about who was cooler. Obviously Batman, 'cause he ain't got no superpowers. Just pure skill. Tommy thought Superman was better."

“Both of ‘em suck— I just like Harley Quinn,” you nod.

You were going to say more but the very faint sound of clicking ticks in your ears. It’s far enough away that you can get upstairs and drop the metal gate that locks the store up nice and tight.

It’s never fun, and you don’t like having to do it— but thankfully you just made a haul, so you’ll be good for a couple day.

You just hope Puddin’ is okay. Ya' saw him yesterday, but he didn't sleep in the big bed with ya' like he normally would.

“Har—” Mister-man starts, oblivious to the terrors that are lurking just above your head.

“Shhhhhh,” you hold your finger up to your mouth and furrow your eyebrows at him. “Stay quiet ‘n I’ll give ya’ some more jerky, okay?” You whisper almost silently.

He nods and stays quiet because he knows how scary those fucking things are, and he probably doesn’t want to be tied to a chair if one every came around.

Standing up feels like a pack of sparklers— like the ones they used to have at the 4th of July parties when you were a kid, before all this— it feels like those, popping and sizzling up your leg. You have to bite back a moan as your body leans against the table for support. The table skids across the floor noisily as you hold yourself up on it and it makes your blood run cold.

You have to get up those stairs and drop that gate, Sug. Mister is countin’ on you…

It’s like time freezes and all you can picture is poor Mister getting torn apart.

You hesitate listening intently. The clicking grows louder, a sickening, bone-chilling sound that echoes through the abandoned mall. Your twisted ankle throbs, but adrenaline starts pumping through your veins.

“Gotta move, sweetheart.” He must have heard the clicking this time too. Joel’s whispering voice is even and calm even though your chest feels like it could cave in on itself, your ribs feel like they could explode inward towards your lungs like sending shattered bone fragments hurdling towards your delicate, soft insides. “Y’can do it. I know it hurts—”

The metal gate. Everything around you goes silent, and the only thing you can hear is the sound the gate makes when it closes and locks into the floor. You have to get to the metal gate.

You clutch the railing with a white knuckle grip and pull yourself up the stairs two at a time, biting almost completely through your bottom lip, grunting with each painful step.

The clicking is clearer, and closer now that you’re on the same level as the infected, and you can tell there is more than one, and they’re moving fast.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hiss as you limp towards the entrance of the store.

As you reach it, you can see the seven infected closing in fast. Your sweet, sweet Puddin’ is hauling ass towards you— the infected right on his little, scaly tail.

“C’mon Pud,” you whine, dropping the gate down for just enough room for him to run through, and possibly let one of the infected in if you weren’t quick enough closing it behind him.. “C’mon Puddin’!”

It’s like your words spur him on and his little legs kick into overdrive. He slips under the metal gate just as the infected slam into it, throwing you off your balance. You’re thrown back at least three feet, and watch in horror as the gate starts to rise on its own.

Move kiddo, come on! Get your ass up and fucking shut that gate!

Your body screams in protest as you scramble across the floor, your twisted ankle sending sharp bolts of pain through your leg.

Puddin' is playing dead right behind you, but you don't have time to think about him right now. He's safe and inside, that's all that matters. The gate keeps rising, inch by torturous inch, and the infected are pushing against it with stupid inhuman strength!

"No, no, no," you mutter, pushing through the pain. The clicking grows louder, more frenzied, as the first infected begins to squeeze its misshapen head underneath the rising gate.

Pulling the knife from your belt in one hand, you bring it down into the skull of the infected trying to slip through, and with the other, your fingers grapple for a hold on the handle of the metal grate.

The infected skull cracks open with a sickeningly wet crunch, dark blood and gray matter splattering across the floor.

Your hand finally grips the smooth metal tightly, even though now your palm is nearly dripping with sweat, and with a grunt that feels like it's being stolen right out of your lungs, you pull down with all the strength you have left inside of you.

The gate comes down with a crash that echoes throughout the mall, the infected on the other side of the gate screech and squeal loudly. Some of them stick their arms through the slots, and their skin peels back like overripe fruit, claws scraping desperately for any piece of you they can reach.

You don't even want to think about how grotesque they are, you flip the lock that secures the gate to the floor as their fingers grapple and scratch deep into your skin. It clicks into place and you finally exhale, not realizing you had been holding your breath.

So fuckin’ proud of you, Sug. Knew you could do it.

The shrieking cries of the infected fill the otherwise silent mall and the confined space you’re now trapped in. You can't help but glance back toward Puddin'—the little white and gray furball who is still playing dead.

“S’okay, we’re safe,” you sigh, letting yourself rest on your elbows and then on your back completely. You stare at the ceiling, and wonder how long the infected will stick around.

The sounds coming from right above Joel has his heart racing, and he’s trying to free himself from his restraints harder and more desperate than ever before.

With a roar of determination, uncaring of the dangers above him, he jerks one arm up and then down. It’s not enough; he can still feel them biting into his skin painfully, creating new rope burns.

“C’mon, c’mon!” he grunts as time stretches into an eternity. The picture of you being shredded by gnawing and gnashing teeth makes his stomach churn.

Just as that thought creeps in, he hears a metallic rattling, but the wailing of the infected are still clear as day.

The clang of metal echoes again, and for a moment, he thinks maybe you did it. Maybe you’ve locked them out. Maybe you just signed yours and his death certificates and locked some of them in the store.

He tries to twist his wrists again, then again, but each movement sends sharp, stinging pain surging up his forearms. “Fuck!” He exclaims loudly.

She’s up there, fightin’ them off all alone—

"I know, dammit.” His jaw is tense and he focuses all of his energy on trying to loosen the ropes enough, or rub them against the metal fame to fray it enough so he can snap them. The strain builds in his muscles, and he can feel the ropes biting deeper, but he can’t stop— the feeling inside him brings him right back to the hospital in Salt Lake when he was looking for Ellie.

He thought he had felt helpless then, he thought he had felt helpless when that girl and her group of friends had trapped him and Tommy in that cabin— but now he knows the true definition of despair. Tied to a chair, listening to you getting torn apart right above him, and then he’ll have to watch those infected come to tear his throat out.

The door to the basement opens slowly, and Joel’s heart almost stops beating completely. Bile rises in his throat at the uneven steps that start down the wooden steps. It’s a slow, clumsy sound accompanied by grunts and pained whimpers.

When your boots come into his line of sight, he exhales loudly. The sight of you, safe and still breathing sends a warmth through Joel’s spine that spreads into the rest of his body and he’s not sure why.

Awe shit, she’s hurtin’ real bad.

Joel fucking knows, he can see it with his own two eyes. You’re limping, worse than you were went you bolted upstairs and now you’re covered in fresh wounds, and blood trickles down your left forearm, wrist and fingertips, leaving little droplets in your wake. Your cradling something dead and furry in your right arm.

“Ya’ get bit?” Joel’s skin prickles as he asks, trying to get a better look at your arm, straining to see in the dim light.

“Naw,” you grunt at him, sitting in the chair you had been sitting in before you had run upstairs. “Just got scratched.”

Joel eyes you, unsure if he can believe you while you extend your left arm and show him the deep gouging scratches carved into your flesh. “S’bad,” Joel murmurs as you press your arm against your dirty jeans. He flinches at the sight, and turns his arms under the ropes.

What’chya wanna do? Hit her or help her?

Both? Joel synchronously wants to do both. He wants to lay you down on the mattress across the room and tend to your wounds. He wants to wash the blood of your skin, and wrap you up— watch your eyes glisten and sparkle as he cares for you. And then Joel would beat your face bloody, and bludgeon your chest in until it caved.

“M’fine,” you offer weakly. “Ain’t the worst that’s ever happened t’me.”

Somewhere deep inside of Joel twists painfully when the inflection in your tone tells him you think that’s true.

“How’s your ankle?” Joel doesn’t bother looking, he knows it’s bad by the way you limped down the stairs.

“Said m’fine,” you grumble, setting the dead animal down on the table very gently next to the shock collar remote.

“What’s that? Fresh meat finally—”

Joel doesn’t even see it coming, your hand moves so fast and the next thing he knows he is being zapped into silence.

“Ain’t fuckin’ fresh meat- you don’t ever speak about Puddin’ that way, ya’ hear me?” You zap Joel the entire time you’re speaking, and he can barely hear you over the screaming between his ears. It’s deafening and blinding, and making him feel fucking stupid.

“Fine fine.” Joel grits out through a jaw clenched so tight he might actually break his teeth.

You flick the remote off and toss it on the table as if it’s too hot to touch any longer. The buzzing in Joel's ears fades slightly, leaving only the thudding of his heart and the rasp of his breathing.

“I fuckin’ hate hurtin’ you,” you sob softly, wrapping your arms around what appears to be an opossum. You pull it closer to you, and nuzzle your face against his fur.

Joel recoils at the sight, but watches as the dead animal comes to life, and gives your cheek a gentle lick. “That’s your pet?” He asks, disbelief dripping off his tongue.

You don’t look at him, or even really acknowledge that you heard him— you just continue to snuggle the animal and cry quietly.

Joel doesn’t really know what to do, he wants to comfort you in a weird way, but he still wants to see you dead? But the thought you dying also scares him a little?

It’s ‘cause you wanna be the one snuggled up next t’her. Jealous of an opossum—

No the fuck he doesn’t! Joel does not want to snuggle up to you, he doesn’t want to feel your warm body pressed against his—

Even though she’d fit perfect right next to ya’. Picture it, ya’ got’chya arms ‘round her ‘n you got your legs all wrapped in hers…

The sight of you, vulnerable and fragile with that small, stupid animal, tugs at his heart in ways he hasn’t experienced in years. He shakes his head violently, as if he could actually dislodge the thoughts spinning in his mind. “You’re fuckin' crazy,” he mutters to himself under his breath.

Your chair scrapes across the floor as you turn quickly to the right so you can face him. Your jaw ticks and one of your eyes twitch. “I ain’t fuckin’ crazy— stop sayin’ that.” You whisper to him. “Why ya’ bein’ so mean? I jus’ saved your life…” Your face twists up like you might start crying again, and your eyes now are still wet with the tears you had been crying moments ago.

“Saved my life?” Joel scoffs through clenched teeth, the remnants of your electric assault still tingling faintly in his fingers and toes. “That’s what y’think you did for me?” He can feel his resolve faltering as the fat, wet tears begin to roll down your cheek, but he forces himself to stay angry. It feels safer— it feels better that way. “More like puttin’ me through hell, darlin’.”

He doesn’t even mean for the word darlin’ to come out of his mouth, he wasn’t even thinking it, at least— he doesn’t remember wanting to cal you darlin’.

But the moment it slips out, he watches your expression change. You wipe at the tears staining your cheeks, smearing dirt and blood across your face. A flicker of something warm and soft ignites in your eyes, like sunlight breaking through dark clouds. “Darlin’…” you echo him, a fractured smile threatening to bloom despite the pain etched across your features.

Joel’s heart sinks, and also bursts with pride all at the same time. You are in fact insane, but he made you stop crying.

Look’it that, she’s almost smilin’ now.

That warmth spreads through him again, against his will—against all logical reason. “I didn’t mean it,” he mutters, not really sure if he did mean it or not. Yet the sight of you still clinging to that opossum, caressing him carefully as he nibbles gently on one of your fingers. The sight draws him in deeper than he would like to admit, but he just wants to clean you up, wrap you in bandages and then let you fall asleep on his lap.

“Didn’t… mean it?” You repeat the words like you don’t understand them, and your smile falters just a bit as you study his face, searching for truth. “Liar,” you smirk at him.

There is a warmth in your crazy eyes that makes Joel want to sink as far into the chair as he possibly can, he wishes he could disappear but he doesn’t. He says, watching you like he’s frozen in place. “Nah, s’just the shock talkin’,” he whispers and nods his head to one side like there would be a video replaying the who ordeal that happened only moments ago. He wishes there was so he could watch it happen over and over, so he could build up the walls around him, keep you the fuck out of his head.

“Yeah…” There is a distance to your tone, like you’re not really there anymore, and you drop your gaze to the opossum nestled in your arms. “Ya’ made me do that though,” you whisper, eyes flicking up to him quickly— they’re darker, a little scary and Joel wishes he could hide inside his own skin.

“Made you?” Joel’s voice rises, anger flaring throughout him like a wildfire in a forest of dead, dry trees. It spreads fast before Joel can control himself.“Y’think I made you do that? You are a crazy fuckin’ bit—”

You zap him again with a jolt that sends white hot sparks crawling up his spine, and sucks the air right out of his lungs.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” you scream and clutch the opossum tighter.

Joel watches as it goes back to playing dead in your arms. He’s about to shout back at you, start a screaming war and hope those infected break through that gate upstairs and kill both of you— but then you whisper something quietly, and Joel almost doesn’t catch it.

“I’m not gunna fuckin’ do that, stop tellin’ me t’kill him.”

Joel’s blood runs cold like ice… who the fuck are you talking to? Or about?

“Are you still hungry?” Your voice is soft, almost sweet now. “I can get you more jerky… I got lots of whiskey—” you say, the fierce anger from moments ago melting away, replaced by a manic eagerness to please him. You reach for your bag again, your arm still bleeding badly— but you’re unfazed by it, or at least doing a good job pretending it doesn’t bother you.

You pull out a glass jar.

“Are those coffee beans?” Joel can barely believe his eyes. His mouth starts to salivate immediately.

You wrinkle your nose at him and shrug your shoulders. “Dunno— they look like some kinda bean— smell all burnt up to shit though,” your nose stays scrunched up as you begin digging around in your bag again.

“Lemme smell,” he can barely contain his excitement as he watches you unscrew the lid to the mason jar. There is a hesitation in your movements when you go to hold the jar under his nose, like you’re trying to figure out his game, the trap he’s set. Your eyes scan all around him, face and body unmoving. “I jus’ wanna smell it— I’ll tell you if it’s coffee or not,” he’s as close to begging for something as he’s ever gotten.

“You like coffee?” You sound so curious, and gingerly place the mouth of the jar under his nose. He takes in a deep inhale and the wonderful, deep and rich aroma of coffee fills his nostrils.

Joel groans loudly, and for a long time as the scent permeates his sinuses, he can almost taste it on his tongue for a fleeting moment.

“Take that as a yes,” you giggle and let him breathe in the smell a little longer. “How do I make it for ya’?” You ask, pulling the jar away and screwing the lid on tight.

“Gotta grind those beans up real fine— then let it brew in some hot water.” Joel explains, watching as you dig around in your bag for more of your loot. "They make special pots for it— percolators."

"Percolators?" You parrot him, tilting your head to one side—

Cute lil puppy.

You fucking are, Joel hates to admit it to himself but even all covered in blood, and muck— looking like you've been to hell and clawed your way back out by the skin of your teeth— your eyes are bright and alert, watching him intently.

"Yeah, keeps the coffee grounds out of your water—" he starts, but you cut him off.

"So you put those crushed up beans… in the water… to just not want them in the water at the end of it all?" You hold up the coffee beans and look at them incredulously, your eyes squinted and narrowed on the glass jar with one eyebrow cocked up slightly.

Joel can't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up at your expression, your face still dirty and tear stained. "Never had coffee before?"

You shake your head at him, and continue rifling through your bag.

The opossum on the table comes alive again now that you're calm and quiet, he pops his little head up and this is when Joel notices the small teal and pink collar around his furry neck. As you pull the rest of the things out of your pack, the little critter starts to lick and clean your wounds.

It makes Joel grimace at the sight of the wild animal trying to help you, take care of you, but again— it tugs at a place inside of him he hasn't dared venture in years.

You're in the small bathroom just off the main room cleaning up in the sink you filled with water from a jug you brought down yesterday. “Ya’ wanna sleep on the bed t’night?” You nod to the mattress pushed up against the wall across the room.

What the fuck?

Mister-man looks just as shocked as the dark voice in your head sounds. “Ya’ gon’ let me sleep comfortably- take these fuckin’ ropes off me?” His voice is bitter and bites at you, makes you furrow your brows at him.

Sug, he’s been tied up for a while now—

For good fucking reason, he’s going to kill her the minute she unties him.

He’s got the dang collar on now, he’s gonna listen to her.

What happens when she falls asleep? Huh? She’s been up going on almost eighteen hours—

How d’ya know how many hours it’s been? She don’t have a watch or a clock!! You don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ ‘bout.

She’s going to fall asleep and the minute she does— he’s going to strangle her.

The image of Mister-man with his hands around your throat makes you do two things— it makes your stomach flip, and it makes your cunt clench.

What the fuck was that?

She likes the idea of Mister-man chokin’ her a lil, dont’chya Sugar?

The heat rises from your chest and up your neck, behind your cheeks. You kinda do want Mister to choke you a little, but not with the intention to kill you!

“What’re you fuckin’ smirkin’ ‘bout over there?” Mister snaps at you.

When you look at yourself in the mirror, you are smirking and just standing in front of the sink frozen in place. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the images of Mister’s big, strong hands around your neck. “Nothin’,” you lie to him, which makes you feel bad— but you can’t tell him that’s what you were thinking about.

Tell him, see what he says…

Will you shut the fuck up—

“I figure you can sleep there ‘n I’ll sleep in the chair t’night— still gon’ have to tie you up, but least you can lay down…”

That’s not really what you want. You want his arms wrapped around you, and your legs all messed up in his. You wanna feel his warm breath on the top of your head because that’s gotta be the best way to fall asleep, feeling someone else’s warm body, feeling their heart beating inside their chest.

Let’s ya’ know they’re really there- ain’t a dream or something you’re imaginin’.

“Why the hell d’ya want me all comfy f’anyway, huh?” he asks, suspicion laced in his tone, but a hint of curiosity glimmers behind his dark brown eyes.

You shake your head and go back to cleaning your arm so you can bandage it. “No, I’m jus’ tryin’ t’be nice. Figur’d you could stretch out if ya’ wanted.”

He watches you, that suspicion still etched into the lines of his face, but the curiosity is unmistakable, swelling in the way his brow furrows deeper and his lips twist just slightly. “Why ya’ tryin’ to be nice?”

“I dunno… don’t want you hatin’ me no more—”

Stop it right now! Shut the fucking door and stop talking to him.

“Why would I ever stop hatin' you?” His voice is low, almost a whisper. Mister-man hones in his gaze on you like a hawk. “You think bein’ nice t’me is gonna make me forget that ya’ tied me up down here?”

You shrug lightly as you wrap a bandage around your arm, feeling the warmth of blood already seeping through the fabric.

Don’t listen to him, Sugar. He don’t mean it.

Sounds like he fuckin’ means it.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” you say softly, finally meeting his stare head-on. “I just wanna feel normal again…”

Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

Yeah Sug, keep that to ya’self.

You feel ashamed, real shame, uncomfortable for sharing too much, and now the voices are agreeing with each other? That’s never a good sign. You’ve done something wrong.

“Normal?” He chuckles, but it feels malicious. “Ain’t nothin’ fuckin’ normal about this, sweetheart.”

“Stop sayin’ that if you don’t fuckin’ mean it!”

His laughter dies down, leaving an awkward silence between you. The room feels smaller, somehow and it feels like Mister-man is right on top of you with judging eyes. “I do mean it,” he replies, softer now but still sharp and angry. “Y’think it’s normal t’be tied up in the basement by some—”

“Some what?” You interrupt him as the anger rises to meet the shame and hold its hand.

Mister stares at you, face unchanging when he speaks. “Some. Crazy. Fuckin’. Bitch.” He enunciates every word. “What is this? Some fuckin’ fairy tale to you? One of your stupid princess movies, huh?”

“They’re not stupid,” you snap back, your voice rising in defiance. “And I’m not crazy. I just…”

“Just what?” he presses, his tone challenging. “What do you want from me?”

Don’t fucking say it.

“I jus’ want ya’ t’like me,” you whisper- feeling small and insignificant. “Want ya’ t’not hurt me again,” you point to your still slightly blackened eye.

His studies you like you’re a problem that he can’t solve— the muscles in his jaw flex, and he pinches his brow together tightly. “Ya’ want me t’like you?” He echoes softly, he says the words like they might unleash an evil into the room.

You nod, feeling like you’re frozen and on fire all at the same time, it makes your stomach churn like you might be sick. The way he’s staring at you make you feel naked and exposed.

“Why?” he asks suddenly, breaking through the silence and makes you flinch.

“You’re handsome,” you let the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them.

He shifts in the chair like you made him uncomfortable, confusion weaving its way into the creases of his hardened and in fact, beautiful face.

“Handsome?” he repeats the word like it's a foreign language, like it’s something he hasn’t heard in ages.

“I sure think so,” you nod again.

Your face is so hot it feels like it’s being held to flames.

Well, this is the most you’ve talked to anyone in a real long time, Sug… it’ll get easier.

You could just stop talking completely and go to sleep. You’re delirious.

No she ain’t. Mister-man is handsome, and she want’s him inside her again real bad.

Your walls clench around absolutely nothing at the thought of his thick, throbbing length plunging inside of you, stretching you to fit around him perfectly. The idea of it happening again makes you dizzy and you can’t help but bite your lip, your face somehow grows hotter than you thought possible.

The look Mister gives you- the half smirk, one raised eyebrow makes you think he can read your mind.“Handsome,” he snorts softly, eyes never leaving you, but now they trail down the curves of your body. “You trynna ‘sit in my lap’ again, sweetheart?” The words come out of his mouth slow like molasses, and that country twang he has sends a shock right to your core.

“Maybe,” you say, voice trembling slightly but unwavering, “maybe if you wanted to, I would.”

His face softens slightly, the anger and suspicion melting away like snow in the sun. He raises an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. "Why would I want that, honey?" he asks, his voice teasing slightly.

“You seemed to want it the other night,” you limp out of the bathroom and sit down in the metal chair beside his recliner.

“I was real drunk,” Mister explains, but his demeanor has changed, he looks relaxed, he’s resting his head on the back of the chair, looking at you through hooded eyes. “Ya’ took advantage of me,” he growls softly, but beckons you over with a nod of his head.

“Ya’ told me t’do it…” you snap. “I ain’t take nothin’. Advantage- I ain’t-- what? You asked me t’do it!”

He sure fuckin’ did ask you! How dare he say that bullshit ass—

I hate to admit it, but… he’s right—

The last thing you ever wanted to do was take something from Mister-man that he didn’t want you to take! It’s the worst feeling in the world- being held down and forced into—

Shhhhh, Sugar. It’s alright, s’all over now. It was just a misunderstanding.

“I ain’t m-mean t’do that,” you say weakly through the lump forming in your throat. “I thought ya’ wanted me t’do it— that’s why ya’ punched me?”

His eyes widen slightly, “I didn’t punch ya’ for that.”

"Then why did ya’ punch me?" Your voice cracks slightly as tears begin welling up in your eyes again; embarrassment filling every cell within your body once more.

“I was gonna try’n leave. Go home—”

“Ya’ lied t’me… said you’d stay,” you whimper, wiping the tears before they can fall.

“Please stop cryin’…” Mister-man's voice is surprisingly gentle as he speaks, and you feel your heart squeeze in response.

You sniffle, trying to regain your composure. "I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t ask me first," you mumble, wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve.

"Why not?" Joel asks softly. 

Look'it that, ya went'n made her cry! For what!? She's just trynna be nice t'ya! Jus' like she said. She wants a lil boyfriend, someone t'snuggle up with at night-- like a normal person!

There isn't anything fucking normal about you, not at all. 

“I ain’t like stuff gettin’ taken from me,” you admit quietly, turning your gaze away from him.

Joel narrowed his eyes, sitting up a bit straighter in his recliner, the leather creaking underneath his weight. "What’ya mean by that?"

“Lets get ready for bed, ‘kay?” You ignore his question and stand up, wincing when you put any weight on your ankle. You hold the remote in your mouth gingerly as you begin untying him from the chair.

****

Joel watches you from the mattress in the corner. You have his hands still bound up in the oven mitts, and now you’ve tossed a rope over a pipe in the ceiling and tied up his elbows so he can move and lay down. Stretch out if he wants to, but he can’t walk more than five or six feet in either direction— and the pipes secured tighter than he had been hoping it would be.

Joel can hear you reading the Batman comic books to yourself and that opossum you keep calling Puddin’, but you haven’t looked or spoken to him since you tied him up an hour or so ago. Just left him with two things: a plastic bottle of water and metal flask with whiskey in it. He was silently thankful when you twisted the lids off without him having to ask.

He knows struck a nerve with his question, but he didn’t really expect you to shut him out completely. He takes a swig from the plastic water bottle.

Ya’ want that sad lil puppy t’come over here, dont’chya?”

He does, oddly enough. You being crazy was better than you giving him the cold shoulder, like he wasn't even there.

He wonders if you read to that stupid animal every night, and if you snuggle with him in the bed you sleep in upstairs. He wonders if you have to drink yourself to sleep every night with how many bottles of whiskey you brought back.

His mind just continues to race.

****

Joel can’t sleep. He thought for sure the minute he put his head down, he’d drift off and sleep better than he has since you tied him up down here, he’s got a blanket and a pillow now but they do nothing to comfort him into closing his eyes.

Call her over, see if she’ll come snuggle up next to you.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into the completely dark room.

“What?” You whisper back to him from the void.

“C’mere— it ain’t fair ya’ gotta sleep in that chair. I know s’uncomfortable.” What the fuck is he doing? He’s not going to willingly allow you into his space, is he?

“M’fine,” you murmur back to him. “Go t’sleep.”

“Can’t sleep— come sit in my lap again,” Joel smirks to himself because fuck, what he would do to feel your warm cunt enveloping him like you were made strictly for him, and him alone. It makes his cock twitch just thinking about it.

Joel holds his breath, waiting for you to respond. Then, finally, you murmur back, your voice barely more than a whisper, “Why would I do that?”

“‘Cause I’m handsome…” Joel teases you, listening to the way the chair creaks as you shift on it. He wishes so badly he could see you. “I know ya’ wanna feel good, I wanna feel good too.”

“Y’just wanna punch me again, try’n escape—”

“Where would I go? Them infected are still up there, I ain’t gettin’ outta here anytime soon,” he’s being honest. He had thought about it, but the idea of having to share a room with your dead body— even if he moved you upstairs, the idea of having to wait around with your corpse until the infected cleared out gave him a bad feeling.

It’s ‘cause you don’t wanna kill ‘er. Ya’ wanna be deep inside that tight, wet, warm perfect hole.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters under his breath. His cock’s fully hard now, and it’s making a tent in the black sweatpants you put on him before bed. He rubs the oven mitt on his hand against the bulge in the fabric and groans loudly.

“What’re you doin’?” You ask from your place in the chair.

“Come find out, sweetheart.” He sighs, leaning against the wall the mattress is pressed up against.

Joel listens to you limp and shuffle towards him in the dark. Your hands hesitantly touch his shins before you crawl onto the bed with him.

“Take ‘em out f’me, baby girl,” he leans into you now that you’re sitting next to him, pushing his nose into your hair. He inhales deeply and takes in the heady scent of your sweat lingering whatever fucking pheromones that are making him just as insane as you.

“Ya’ really want this?”

Joel wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you as close as he can get. “M’sober this time,” he moan quietly into your ear when you push his mitt covered hand, away and slip your hand underneath the waistband. He bucks his hips up into your fist as you begin to stoke him.

“You’re s’warm,” you sigh, turning your head to face him.

Joel wastes no time catching your lips in a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to taste you, savor your flavor. You taste like whiskey and strawberry jam. The smell of cheap bathroom hand soap lingers on your skin from washing up in the sink. All of it makes him feel like hes intoxicated.

“Fuck, y’feel so good,” he growls into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip gently as you pull away. “Take these fuckin’ mitts off me—”

Your hand leaves his pants and the warmth of your body is gone from beside him. “It’s a trick?” You sound hurt in the dark, like Joel’s played some terrible prank on you and you just found out.

“No, no, no-” he’s desperate for your touch. It felt so good, and he wasn’t even thinking about trying to trick you or do anything shifty once you took the mitts off, he wanted to grip you and grope you. Plunge two or three fingers right into your wetness. “No, m’not trynna trick you— I just wanna touch you.”

“S’what you said last time,” you snap at him. He can tell you’re still close, probably still on the mattress. He shifts and tries to get closer to you but he hears your skin drag across the concrete floor.

“Shit,” Joel grumbles. “I know, fuck— I know, but I mean it this time-”

“I don’t believe you.”

Of course you don’t believe him! He socked you right in the eye as hard as he could the last time he didn’t have at least 4 inches of padding on his fists.

“I wanna make y’feel real good, the way y’were makin’ me feel real good just then,” he’s inching towards the sound of you dragging yourself across the floor on his hands and knees slowly. The ropes stop him from going any further while you continue your retreat. “C’mon, baby…”

“Y’just sayin’ that, don’t mean it…” The sound of your body shuffling away from him stops though, and he wonders if he’s got you on the hook with the pet names.

Try it again, Mister.

“Please, honey… I wanna hear y’moan Mister’s name,” he coos to you, hiding from him somewhere in the darkness.

You let out a long, slow, shaky breath before you answer. “What is your name…”

He’s so fucking desperate for some sort of relief that he tells you before he can come up with a fake name— he’s learned the hard way about sharing his real name with strange women. “Joel.”

“Joel…” You whisper back to him. “My very own Mister-J?” You sound excited.

“Mister-J?” Joel cocks his head to one side, but is pushed back onto the mattress by the force of you barreling into him.

“That’s what Harley calls the Joker,” your straddling his waist again and without thinking twice, Joel wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. His forearms brush against the bare skin of your thighs and it makes him groan softly as he pushes you down into his lap.

“Ya' wanna be m'crazy girl? Like Harley Quinn?” Joel chuckles as he nudges his nose against your chin, tilting your head back to expose your neck.

You hesitate, and pull back from him slightly.

“I ain’t gon’ bite you,” he promises, leaning in as much as he can so he can press his lips to the column of your throat.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, sinking into him like you’re melting. “Oh fuck,” it leaves your mouth as a whimper, and Joel’s cock throbs at the sound.

“Like this?” He nips at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and you shiver in his arms. He can’t hide the smile, he doesn’t care to. He loves that he’s capable of making you make those sounds.

You hum an almost silent ‘mhm’, and wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers through the curls at the nape.

Joel has so much more room to move around now that he’s unrestrained, so he rolls his hips up into yours so you can feel what he has to offer. You gasp and arch your back, pushing yourself further onto him. He moans softly, his mitts trailing down your spine and cupping your ass cheeks as best they can. He can feel the heat between your legs growing and he has a nagging thought in his head.

Lay down, let her climb right on top—

Joel shifts and wiggles down onto the mattress so he’s flat on his back, with you still straddling his hips. “Take your lil shorts off,” Joel taps your thigh, and then lifts his hips so he can shove his sweatpants down his legs.

You don’t ask any questions. You roll off of him and Joel feels your shoulder touch his as you lay down to remove your bottoms. You go to crawl back into his lap but he stops you.

“Sit up here,” he grips your hips as best he can with the mitts, and tugs you up to his face.

“What!?” You sound distressed, “Ya’ want me t’do what?”

“Turn around, and sit down,” Joel growls up at you.

You hesitate, the uncertainty clear in your voice. "I-I don't know..."

"C'mon, darlin'," Joel coaxes, his voice low and husky. "Let me taste you. I promise ‘m gonna make you feel so good."

With shaky movements, you turn around and slowly lower yourself over Joel's face.

He inhales deeply, taking in your scent. "That's it," he murmurs encouragingly. "Just like that." Joel can feel the heat radiating from your core as you hover uncertainly above him. He lifts his head, nuzzling his nose against your inner thigh. "Lil lower," he nips at your supple skin.

With a soft whimper, you finally sink down onto his waiting mouth. Joel groans at the first taste of you, his tongue delving between your folds. Your sweet and tangy, a little sweaty and musky— it’s fucking heady and perfect. He can’t get enough.

“Oh fuck,” you shudder as Joel licks a stripe from your clit to your entrance, which is already dripping and Joel feels pride swell in his chest.

Without Joel having to ask, or prompt you in any way, you lean over and take his hard, aching cock in your hand. Joel nearly comes right there when he hears you spit on it noisily and palm your warm saliva around the throbbing, drooling tip.

“Fuuuuck,” Joel moans approvingly before his tongue pushes into your entrance.

"Oh god, Mister," you whimper, your hand still working his cock in long, slow strokes. Then you kitten lick the tip and he has to stop himself from bucking his hips.

Joel's mind goes blank as your warm, wet mouth envelops the head of his cock. He groans against your pussy, the vibrations making you shudder above him. His tongue laps eagerly at your fold, drinking in your arousal as it flows freely.

You bob your head, taking more of his length with each downward motion. Joel's hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust up into the heavenly heat of your mouth. Instead, he focuses on pleasuring you, sucking your clit between his lips and flicking it with his tongue.

You whimper around his cock, grinding your hips down onto his face.

Joel pulls back slightly, his breath hot against your core. "That's it, baby girl. Ride my face," he growls before diving back in, his tongue circling your clit.

You pull away, your hand replacing your mouths ministrations and rest your head on Joel’s hip as you stroke him, never faltering on giving him pleasure. “Please d-don’t stop!” You cry out, your grip tightening around his shaft as you rock your hips. Joel's mitt-covered hands grip your thighs, urging you on.

"Gonna cum for me, darlin'?" he murmurs against your slick folds. "Let me taste it."

Joel feels you tense above him, your thighs quivering as you grind down harder on his face. He doubles his efforts, lapping at your clit with quick, firm strokes of his tongue. Your hand on his cock speeds up, pumping him in time with the rocking of your hips.

"Oh god, oh fuck," you whimper, your voice muffled against his hip. "I'm gonna-- I'm--"

Your words dissolve into a high-pitched moan as you come undone. Joel groans as he feels your pussy pulse against his mouth, a fresh wave of your arousal coating his tongue.

Your sounds, the way your hips continue to rock against his mouth as you unravel has his own release bubbling up to the surface. Joel groans deeply as his own orgasm crashes over him, his hips bucking up involuntarily as he spills into your hand. You stroke him through it, milking every last drop as he shudders beneath you.

Joel's whole body twitches as you clean him and your hand with your tongue, "Taste good," you mumble against his stomach, pressing soft kisses to the trail of hair between his cock and belly button.

Then, with shaky movements, you lift yourself off of Joel's face and turn around to face him. Even in the darkness, he can sense your uncertainty.

"C'mere," Joel murmurs, his voice rough. He reaches out, pulling you down to lay beside him. You settle against his chest, your breath warm on his neck.

“Don’t kill me in my sleep, ‘kay?” You sigh, pressing a kiss to his pulse point.

Joel murmurs something incoherent, already on the verge of falling asleep.

Sorry it was like 45 minutes late (two days early if you look at the master list ok?-- I may have had something to drink.... and of course thanks @pedrospookie for that adorable fucking mood board. I hope you all like this chapter-- it's a little domesticated (i think), but I have more crazy, unhinged antics coming next chapter!)

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories

(omg I think I got everyone but that's so many people, please let me know if I left you off or if you want to be taken out of the tag list!)

[reidsapplelady]

THE LITTLE THINGS — /S.REID/

SUMMARY: In which someone starts to leave little notes, complimenting you and giving appreciation, you had no idea who this was until they gave themselves up.

spencer x gn!bau!reader ⸝⸝ fluff ⸝⸝ coworkers to lovers

WARNINGS: n/a

WC: 760+

You're halfway into a grueling case in seattle, when you unzip your go bag on your motel bed, you find a piece of paper that was unfamiliar to you, it was folded in half. You reached in your bag to open it and read its contents.

"You were doing great today, you deserve to take a break." That's what was written on it, the handwriting was familiar to you, yet you couldn't seem to place a finger on it. You glanced around the room, before looking back at the paper. You guessed this was written before the jet flight to seattle, based on the fact that your go bag was in your motel room the whole time after you guys arrived.

The next day, a paper taped on the door of your motel room appeared, and something written on it. this time it wrote, "you did a great job at interviewing the witness, i know you're probably tired so please rest."

You grabbed the note, folded it neatly and tucked it in the pocket of your pants gently before opening the door, walking up to your bed and let yourself collapse on it, before you could let the darkness consume you, you vowed to catch the person who was giving you these notes.

The following days also blessed you a note, today was the 4th day in seattle and you were at the local police department with Spencer. Spencer noticed something was up as you kept fidgeting with a piece of paper. He opened his mouth before shutting it close, it took a few seconds before he opened his mouth again to speak.

"Are you okay?" he asks, brows furrowing, his brown eyes looking at you innocently as you continued to analyze the files that Penelope had faxed. You nod a little too quickly.

"Yep, just.. tired." You looked up from the file to look at him, flashing him a smile. You observed that he looked like he wanted to say more, but he doesn't. He goes back to analyzing the files. You've gotten used to him wanting to say more but not speaking anyway, you just assumed that he just restrained himself from rambling, though you enjoyed listening to him.

And when you guys returned from the tiring case in seattle, arriving at midnight, a note had popped up on your desk as you were getting ready to go home. "You smiled at me today. I had to pretend I was thinking of something. I'm probably currently looking busy with packing up, but please, approach me already. I can't keep it in forever." and suddenly, everything clicked, you tried to make sense of it but you couldn't.

You look around, it was just you two. Then you turned to Spencer, whose desk was right next to you, his ears were pink, he was trying to avoid your gaze. And suddenly you call out his name.

He flinched, he then proceeded to look at you immediately. He was sweating. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing came out, he cleared out his throat and opened his mouth again to speak.

"Hi..." And then followed by uncomfortable silence as you both stared at eachother.

"So it was you." You chuckled, "Why?"

Spencer looked like he was calculating if it was better for him to jump off of a window instead of giving the horrifyingly obvious note that revealed his identity.

"W-well— You looked stressed, and uh-uhm." He stumbles over his words before taking a deep breath. "I- I just thought you looked stressed than usual, and I didn't really know how to voice out my concerns so I just.. let the notes do it for me.." His voice slowly grew quiet, but loud enough to hear. "I-I'm sorry if you found it weird, I just.. I think I love you."

His forwardness took you by surprise, you chuckled before walking up to him, you take his hand into yours. "Don't be sorry," You whisper. "They were beautiful."

He blinks at you, his eyes widened at your statement before looking down, his hand squeezed yours, "I meant every word." He muttered. "Every single one."

You smiled at him, he blushed even more because your smile was driving him insane. "I know," you replied, your hand then reached for his face. "That's why I kept every single one of them."

You lean in and Spencer doesn't move away, in fact, he meets you half way like its instinct, your lips pressed against his. This whole time he was waiting for the moment you'd finally see his love for you.

all rights reserved — © reidsapplelady

[ladyredmoon13]

DCXDP PROMPT

GPS Shenanigans

So it's a regular Tuesday for Danny. He woke up late, got to first period by the skin of his teeth, got his lunch knocked out of his hands by Dash. You get the picture. Even after all that, the universe decides to throw in a ghost attack standard with this glorious day that he was having.( Sence his sarcasm? Good!)

Anyways, it was all very normal for him by now. Very predictable. What wasn't predictable was the natural portal opening up and the Ghost he was fighting to see it as an opportunity and blast him through it. He was annoyed, even more so when the portal shot him out in the Bremuda Triangle.

Not really knowing which way to go to get home, he takes out his phone and puts in his home address, hoping to get back before the Ghost he was fighting could reek more havoc. And maybe soup them up before his test sixth period.

All was going great. He was making great time flying back. He might even wrap things up to make it to fifth period and tell Tucker and Sam about the weird event of the day. Only his phones GPS takes him to Paris, Texas. Okay, not where he ment to go, but it was alright. He can just put his address back into his GPS and be on his way home again.

Only this time, he ends up in Seattle, Washington. What? Alright, the third time is the charm. Then he ended up in Star City. What?! He tried again and ended up in some small town in Kansas. So he tried again and nearly crossed the border to Mexico.

Completely fed up at this point, Danny then restarted his phone, did two virus sweeps, and changed the settings a bit before bringing his GPS up again. Putting his address into it, again! And was on his way home, AGAIN! Only for the stupid app to take him to another random location that he most definitely did not want to be. AGAIN!!!

Grounding himself on the roof of another apartment building, Danny cursed his luck and his phone and decided to play around with the GPS settings to see if that would do anything. Because now it was nighttime, and all he wanted to do was go home, collapse in his bed, and think of a way to convince his parents not to ground him for skipping school.

As he angrily grumbles to himself, he notices a dark figure land on the roof not too far from him. Looking up from his phone screen, Danny is shocked to see the one and only Batman staring him down not even fifteen feet away. Huh, guess he was in Gotham then.

"Uh, hi-hello, Mr. Batman, sir." Danny stuttered anxiously. 'Smooth Danny, smooth.' He thought to himself as he cleared his throat before continuing." Don't mind me. Im just trying to get my stupid GPS working-" he said with more calm than he felt." At Melbourne and 6th, make a u-turn." A macanical female voice said from Danny’s phone. Oh, he must of accidentally turned on the audio voice assistance function while messing with the settings.

"At Melbourne and 6th, make a u-turn. Then go straight till Wellmore Avenue." The GPS voice said making Batman hum curiously." Those street names don't exist in Gotham." He said making Danny double check what city the GPS said his location was." It's saying I'm in Gotham." He tells the older hero." Turn left on Wellmore Avenue. Keep left and go straight for twenty six miles."

"I literally haven't moved." Danny complained to the device in his hands. Not expecting an answer from the phone but getting one from the black clad vigilante just feet away now." I take it this is not the first time this has happened bassed on your reaction." It wasn't a question but Danny still answered it like one. Shoulders sagging with a sigh Danny nods and turned to the Dark Knight

"It's been acting like this all day. No matter what I do, every time I put in my address into the GPS app on my phone it'll take me to the most random places. I've been coast to coast already and almost flew to Mexico. I've tried restarting it, I played around with the settings and locations. Nothing helps." He complains frustratedly.

"Make a u-turn at-"

"Shut up you!"

Danny gets thrown through a natural portal during a fight and ends up getting spit out in the bramuda triangle. He trys to get home be using his phones GPS but unbeknownst to him the phone was damaged, either during the fight or because of the triangle; and it keeps giving him random directions to literally anywhere but Amity Park. He finally gets so frustrated that he lands just to see what the heck is going on with his phone when Batman shows up. Having seen a very agitated meta fly over and stop in his city.

Here's a question for you. Why, in comics do they never have GPS for people who can fly, and im not talking about like in helicopters. Im talking about people with the ability to fly. Sure they can see everything while they're up there but that doesn’t mean they know where they're going, where they are, or how to get there from so high up. I myself have lived in my hometown for most of my life and I still need a GPS to tell me where some things are. Your thoughts?

[shelbgrey]

Dating Derek Shepherd Headcanons(remastered)

Paring: Derek Shepherd x Reader

Summary: headcanons about being Meredith Grey's cousin and dating McDreamy. -SMUT warning!

💙MasterList ML2 💙Dating Moodboard

Your story starts at a coffee shop, sounds simple but your interaction really wasn't. You first met Derek a few months before your internship at the hospital. You just moved to Seattle with your cousin Meredith Grey and your meeting with Derek was totally unexpected but you'll never forget it.

Now, as weird or stereotypical it may sound it was love at first sight to Derek. You were there by yourself studying a medical book and Derek just happened to be walking by and saw you in the window.

He literally stopped when he saw you.

He wanted to talk to you so bad but he chickened out at first. In his eyes you were the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. You were right there and he finally worked up the courage to talk to you.

“Why would an amazing woman like you even talk to someone like me? That was the first thing he'd ever said to you and the words that fell from his mouth surprised you both.

you but you couldn't help but blush at his boldness.“Why not?”

The both of you talked into the day. You brought up that you were starting your intern year and he brought up he was a nero attending. Surprisingly you both failed to mention what hospital you were working at.

He was the first person to actually ask what you wanted to do in the medical field. To you it always felt like an unspoken rule that you and Meredith would become general Surgeons, that's not what you wanted and for some reason when he asked that you felt you could trust him.

“no one's ever asked me that before”

“well, I am” Derek smiled sencerly.

“I thought about Peds or Truama as my specialty”

He was pretty much smitten by you from the start. He couldn't keep his eyes off of you and for you a guy has never looked at you the way he did. It made you blush and feel things you never felt before.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you asked blushing.

“because your beautiful”

It was like he was something out of a romance book.

Even though it was the best conversation you had in a long time you unfortunately had to leave and meet Meredith some where. Derek wasn't about to let you go just yet so he offered to walk you to where you had to meet Meredith.

Then he asked for your number. It just felt too good to be true when it came to him, so you decided to mess with him a little bit. “you could be a masked murderer for all I know”

He would just chuckle and not take it personally. “there's always that possibility... Come on live a little”

You gave in with a loving heart. You wrote your number and drew a heart on a sticky note then stuck to his chest where his heart was.

Your first date was simple but romantic. You told him you weren't into anything too extravagant, so you went to a nice Italian restaurant and you talked the whole hole time.

You talked about anything and everything. Favorite movies, favorite childhood memories. You talked about why you guys became doctors, but failed to mention you both would be working at Seattle Grace Hospital.

Communication won't be a problem in your relationship. You both just find it so easy to talk to each other.

Later that night you went to your place and watched a movie. You almost kissed, but you made a rule not to kiss on the first date. Derek respected that and didn't have a problem waiting for you.

But you couldn't help it, your first kiss happened on the fourth date. You were at the movies and you couldn't help but lean into each other. The kiss was passionate and sweet. He held you and treated you like you were the only girl in the world.

The way he kisses you makes your heart race. He holds your face in his hands and you honestly feel like you and him are the only things that matter in the world.

He never felt this way with anyone, not even Addison.

You guys were dating for about a month before you started your internship at the hospital. You were suprised when Dr. Bailey asinged you to be on his service, you didn't even know he was an Attending there.

When you saw him you grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into an on-call room. “so you work here?”

He smirked. “yeah and so do you apparently”

Even though your relationship was growing stronger by the minute and it was going at a pace you both were comfortable with, you were worried about the fact you were an intern and he was an Attending.

You explained this, but he wasn't worried he just stared at you like a love sick puppy the whole time you talked. You sighed. “stop looking at me like that”

“like what? Like your the most beautiful woman in the world” he clicked his tough and shrugged with a stupid, adorable smirk. “sorry, I can't just not do that”

So you powered through it and ignored the whispers and honestly it made you two stronger as a couple.

You have an old black Labrador that is your protector and shadow. He didn't like Derek at first. Your dog Duke would stare him down every time he came over to the house, grumble at him and make sure to sleep on Derek's side of the bed, and he will shove his way between you if Derek was hugging you.

“there's this old soul that's just really hates my guts”

After a while Duke dose warm up to him and the two become quite close. If he works the night shift he'll pet Duke before he leaves and tells the dog to take care of you while he's gone. “take care of her buddy”

Your a Peds surgeon, you always look forward to having surgeries with him if the patient needs him.

You steal his ferry boat scrub cap all the time. You'd just get done with a surgery wearing it and when you come out of the OR you'd see Derek leaning against the wall with his arms crossed waiting for you. “I was looking for that... I didn't have it during my surgery”

You'd just shrugged and give him a cute smile. “but I love this one”

“your lucky you look cute in it”

He is your biggest supporter. Derek is your absolute number #1 fan, everything you do amazes him. You've never had a man supporting and encouraging you every day and night.

He's big on hand holding too, if your walking around the city your hands will be locked together, or sometimes hell just hold your had if your setting down at a table or something.

This man need physical contact a lot. He's a big cuddler and just needs you in his arms, it's a comfort and a protection thing.

“cuddle me?” he asked, giving you puppy eyes and holding his arms open. You smiled and cuddle up to his chest.

Your always resuring him that your always gonna be by his side. With that I think he's secretary insecure, Addison cheating on him really did a number on him. He trusts you, 100% but deep down he has this fear you'd find someone better.

You always tell him he's the only one for you and you love him “your so Handsome, have I ever told you that?”

“Yes dear, so many times” he smiled.

He leaves post-it notes all around the house for you. You find them everywhere. In your bag, the book your reading at the time. On top of your favourite cup. Stuck onto the mirror in the bathroom, if he has to get up and go to the hospital late into the night heal leave one on his pillow. He loves those little details. Loves to write you silly or romantic notes because he knows how much you love them.

Your Favorite one he ever wrote was, 'If I were to kiss you and then go to hell I would, so then I can brag with the devils I saw heaven without even entering it.'

You've kept every single note he's writin you.

He's so flirty with you. No matter how many years you've been together, he still thinks you're the sexiest, most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He'll learn quickly your a book warm. Sometimes if your reading and not giving him any attention he'll wedge his way between you and the book, resting his head on your chest.

Like I said, he flirts with you so much. Some times he'll come up behind you while your working and whispere suggestive comment in your ear or grab your ass.

Watching old Universal monster movies together and the show The Munsters.

If it's a smut book you get really secretive about and he'll notice quickly. “What you reading?” you blush and hold the book away from him. “nothing”

If he gets a hold of the book and reads a steamy part if the book he'd want to try everything he read with you.

Your hospital 'nickname' would probably be bookworm, but then after you and derek get married it'll be Lady Shepherd. Mark will tease you sometimes and call you McWife.

Speaking of which you and Mark become pretty good friends surprisingly. It'll scare Derek at first and in the back of his mind he'll have this fear of Mark sleeping with you.

“I'm not gonna lie she's beautiful... But I promise I won't do that to you ever again” Mark said to Derek.

Even if you're good friends with Mark he's not your person. Callie is your person and later on you become close to April and kinda become her guard dog.

When you fight you both always feel guilty. It hurts Derek seeing you so said. What makes it worse for him is when he's the reason for your pain. He's always the first to apologize. He hold you from behind, whispering he's sorry over and over.

“don't McDreamy me”

“McDreamy is being a McAss”

He drives like a maniac. Plain and simple. “Jesus Christ, Derek, we Are Not on a race track, why Are You Going so Fast?!!?!?”

He's a car guy. Old classic cars, muscle cars, race cars, anything. You don't really care for cars except for the iconic ones in movies or TV shows. “you just want a 67 impala because it's in 'Supernatural”

He may tease you about it, but he'd definitely try and find one for you. He's got that neurosurgeon money, so he can afford it😂

You guys play 'slug bug' or 'punch buggy'(whatever you call it), but he changes the rules a lot. “it's a water cooled one, it don't count”

“Yes it does!” you sighed and punched his shoulder again.

And don't even think about putting your feet on the dash of his car. “if we get in wreak your gonna go threw the windshield... And your gonna mess up the dash, get your feet down”

If you make him a bracelet he's never taking it off. You both probably have matching bracelets made of paracord or beads.

Your Song is 'you took the words right out of my mouth' by Meatloaf.

Ferry boat rides all the time. Sometimes just to get to work or maybe it'll be for a small date.

You definitely screw on one though...

God, this man loves everything about you. You have a couple of tattoos, he wants to know about them. It doesn't matter what type of hair you have or if you like it or not, he loves it. He'll love your voice, body, personality... Everything.

It won't take him long to open up to you about what happened to his father and how he felt about Amilea's drug addiction.

He wishes his dad got to meet you. “he would have loved you”

Now, his mom loves you. She thinks you balance Derek out quite well. She was a little concerned ablut the age gap at first, but she quickly found out you and derek love each other more than anything.

After the hospital shooting his mom will call you and check on you after she knows for certain Derek's okay. Her husband was shot and killed, so she wanted call you and check on you since you almost lost Derek the same way she lost her husband.

Now all of his sisters, aside from Liz hates you. It breaks Derek's heart. Nancy really doesn't like you and for no apparent reason too. It pissed Derek off so much when Nancy kept calling you a 'sluty intern` when she first met her.

“she's not sluty! She's beautiful, Smart. She has a heart of gold... You nothing about her, not a damn thing. You don't know the things that damn hospital says about her just because we we're together, you don't know the fact she's been through so much she only feels safe in my arms. She keeps get pushed down, but some how she gets back up still smiling.... Don't you ever call her Sluty again”

He's a family man and deserves one. When Alex did the medical project with the kids from Africa you and derek get assigned to a orphaned 6 year old boy named Atticus. He was of Asian decent and no one knew how he ended up with the group.

Neither one of you cold explain it, but you guys just knew he was your kid. You and derek were the only two he trust and once all his medical stuff was settled you adopted him.

Later on you two have twins. One boy named Jason and a daughter named Charlotte. They both look like Derek, but have your eyes.

He can be a rough kisser, but mostly he's a passionate kisser. He pours all his love and emotions into it, he makes sure your the only one on this earth he wants to love.

He's soft with you. He's so gentle and delicate and you can tell through the way he brushes your hair from your face or the way he nuzzles his face into your neck that he just absolutely adores you.

If your in bed he'll always have his arms around you. Rather your the little spoon or your on his chest. But sometimes if his day is rough he'd want to lay his head on your chest. His favorite feeling in the world is your arms around him and your fingers running through his hair.

He absolutely loves feeling your fingers run through his hair. He'll kill to have his head on your cheat while you play with his hair after a rough day at the hospital.

He can turn you on so easily, one look and you know to head into a spare on-call room.

NSFW headcanons:

He's that perfect mixture of slow and passionate but when you've had a stressful day and you need a little bit harder, a little rougher he will provide.

If he's had a rough day, he either needs one of two things. A rough fuck or he needs to curl up beside you and rest his head on your chest while you play with his hair.

He's a boob man, He’ll push your bra up and take a nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirls all around while he squeezes your hips.

He'll bury his face into your boobs as he pounds into you. He loves it when you start moaning and tugging at his hair, He honestly can’t get enough.

he loves grabbing you by the hips, literally squeezing his fingertips against your soft skin, holding you in the place or using them to help guide the pace.

He probably knows your body better than you do. He knows every single one of your ticks.

Hair pulling, he loves feeling your fingers in his hair or he'll tangel his fingers in yours and tug on it when he's getting head or about ready to cum.

He didn't realize how much he actually liked it untill you started pulling on his hair while he was eating you out. “Damn... Do that again... Please”

He love getting head. He loves having you on your knees. Plus, feeling your lips around him pushes him closer to cumming in your mouth.

Bondeg kink, his ties, belts, he'll tie you up with anything.

He needs to be in control....

He loves missionary, keeping eye contact while he fucks you. He loves how you dig your nails into his back and wrap your legs around his waist to bring him impossibly closer.

He wants to see if he can he make you scream louder than he did the last time. He loves the noises you make.

If you try to hold back your noises or even muffle them when it's unnecessary, he'd put an end to it. “don't hold back, let me hear your voice”

But he also lives for the moments where it's just sensual and gentle. He secretly loves just holding you and kissing you slowly.

He definitely has a Praise kink, he loves making you feel loved and appreciated. He love how he can easily make you blush.

“God, your so beautiful”

He's very skilled with his tounge, he loves eating you out. your legs around his head. He loves your legs in general and loves leaving kisses on the insides of your thighs. He'd rather pleasure you for hours than receive.

Biting, he's loves marking you up. There has been many times you had to cover your neck with makeup, but most of the bite marks are on your thighs.

Has a soft spot for sex in the shower, he loves holding you up against the wall, roughly while he drives his cock into you.

If you want to take a shower and get cleaned up, Derek will lift you up in his arms and carry you to shower, he'll hold you safe and will be extremely gentle with your sensitive body.

Dispite him being mostly rough in bed and pushes you to the point of screaming, he'll be so soft and gentle in the end. “you did so good for my baby, I wasn’t too rough was I?”

He's very attentive when it comes to aftercare. you want a warm bath? Done. You want massages? Done. You ask, he delivers. All he cares about is your comfort, he insists on cleaning up any mess that's on you or the bed. If he sees any marks or bruises he will apologize for that with a soft smile on his face.

[3liza]

"why do you hate progress so much???"

i dont! show me an apartment tower that houses 20 families and the rent is capped at $1/sq ft and i'll shut up! show me an office conversion like so many people have in Leipzig! airbnb condos and 5-over-1s with permanently-empty ground floors (or as we have in seattle, just regular apartments on the ground floor for some reason?? like looking right onto the sidewalk???) or as someone pointed out, always a fucking orthodontist, is not progress! no one is being additionally housed! rent never ever goes down! there is no shortage of suitable housing units for people who need housing, what's in short supply, and this is completely on purpose and will not change until it is forcibly and perhaps violently changed, is housing units people are actually allowed to live in!!! no one is moving that needle by building this dogshit and everyone keeps going whoaaoo but wee built so much Housing whered all the Housing go, we better build more Housing! no its ok you dont need to provide an elevator as long as you dont go over 5 or 6 stories, it'll be our little Deal for you to build more Housing because we need Housing so bad. i see you finished building the Housing but somehow nothing has changed. thats so weird, well, lets grade this stand of century-old fruit trees where the local schoolkids like to play in the shade and build more Housing and maybe it will work this time

every single time i walk past the blindingly white new condo block that has had uncurtained 24-hour-lit plate glass windows showing perfectly undisturbed model units (somehow theyre all model units??) with a big realtor sign outside right next to the permanent new private cop in his car which have all been there without Housing anyone for over a year (after bulldozing an entire apartment building) i think about all these stupid arguments ive had on tumblr about Why Do You Hate Building Housing and feel insane. you can just walk outside and see the effects. the effects are nil because housing poor people is not profitable and will have to be done at gunpoint if it's done at all. sorry

edit: but i stole the solar powered sidewalk lights right out of their barren chipped bark planters where nothing grows so hooray for the working class. hooray

[themothwhisperer]

That’s literally what we’ve been saying all this time. Patience pays off. The events are just starting to assemble together perfectly like a puzzle. All this time, it was just about waiting a little bit and actually giving this storyline a chance.

Weird! Tommy isn’t going to Seattle?? Well. He is there now, is he? Tommy not being involved so early on will probably bring us some brand new material and I can’t wait to see what they have in store for us.

Weird! Ellie is not even violent and brutal in this version of the narrative?? Well. She isn’t so soft anymore, is she? It’s getting quite obvious that Ellie is only ever this gentle with Dina. Because she loves her. And honestly, if this isn’t reinforcing the true romance feels we get with them, I don’t know what is! They are treating us so well with these two!

And that’s just to name two very obvious ones from this episode specifically, but I’ve read an insane amount of complaints. Waiting is apparently not an option for some people.

Things won’t all be “fixed” within a single episode. It’s not realistic and it simply isn’t how television works!

The vision keeps on getting clearer and I’m sincerely sorry for everyone who’s unable to see it.

[orphicsun]

Hello I was wondering if you could do Jackson ellie x bestfreind reader and like they have had a crush on eachother for a while and have a sleepover where they smoke or drink maybe or play some type of game like truth or dare and find out they like eachother and get kinda freaky idk. Thank you!

EEE I am so excited for this one watch me cook on this request. This is a rlly good request and I wanna write something just as good!! Also I want to recommend you an ao3 fic with this EXACT plot it's tagged here actually my favorite Ellie fic ever.

Content: 4k words, bestfriend reader, Jackson setting, pent-up feelings, nipple-play (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), tribbing, Ellie puts a finger into your mouth how fun!, a lot of dialogue before the actual sex sorry but I loved writing Ellie to be funny, reader likes pink a lot (couldn't help myself) and is afab, reader and Ellie 18+, NOT PROOFREAD LMAO

You're far from safe from liking people you shouldn't like.

That doesn't even cover the multitude of feelings! Like doesn't cover it. You're pretty sure you love Ellie.

Maybe in another lifetime, you and Ellie could've met and went on a date. You could've loved her freely. In this universe, she is your childhood best friend.

You know it could ruin the best thing that has ever happened to you if you tell her, or if she finds out in some way, but fuck; when she looks at you, it's like you forget how to breathe. You just wanna breathe her in, you want to share the same air and feel her lips on yours.

Ellie is unlike anyone you've ever known. She's sweet for you. She's impulsive to others, and honestly sometimes an asshole. That only makes you fall more and more in love for her. You didn't know it was possible to be attracted to someone's flaws, but you want every piece of her, even the bits that others in Jackson label as "annoying."

Ellie has always been there for you since you were just 15 and she moved to Jackson right by Joel's side. You just seemed to click. She was brash, foul-mouthed, and told ironically funny dad jokes. You were the type of person who liked having adventures and never shut up. Ellie always listened. She held you while you cried, let you borrow her book of puns, and volunteered to do patrols with you just so she could have fun adventures with you.

You couldn't ruin a good thing. You don't know what you would even do without Ellie in your life. You didn't wanna freak her out or make things weird. You feel like such a coward, but even thinking about Ellie distancing herself from you because of your stupid crush on her? It just makes your stomach churn with dread.

Little did you know Ellie was equally obsessed with you.

You're like a fucking ball of sunshine to the girl, always there laughing at the stupid things she says, defending her when she gets in trouble for something minor, and your smile should be considered warfare for how easily it could kill her. She tries to keep her feelings to herself, but it is so hard to when you look at her with bright eyes and the sweetest smile like you're trying to give her a toothache.

It's a recipe for a bomb, and it only takes one game to set it off.

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You're sitting criss-cross on your bed and Ellie is in your floor. It's a Saturday, which means both of you get to have a sleepover. No patrol, and no major chores to be done around Jackson.

Ellie just got back from a multiple day lasting patrol and she missed you so much while she was gone, it's not even funny. Seattle is beautiful, but boring when there isn't a sunshine girl in awe about how the verdure clings to the buildings. But at least now she is here, back in your bedroom which she loves so much.

Ellie's room is vastly different from yours. Well, her garage is. Her bedsheets are grey and minimalistic, and her make-shift kitchen is lined with posters. Her favorite is the one with the punk green-haired man holding a guitar. Her closet, however, it quite impressive. Her shelves are lined with comics and space movies, and her hangers are lined with flannels, of course.

Your bedroom, in contrast, has white bedsheets and a cozy pink blanket. You have a few raggedy plushies from scavenging around and your shelves are filled with lighter-colored clothing. White curtains decorate your windows and frilly pillowcases (that end up in the floor most of the time) compliment your bed. You have a full-length mirror in the corner of your room and a shelf of DVDs you usually just bring over to Ellie's garage, since she has a much nicer tv than you do. Ellie glances up at you from the floor, squiggling her eyebrows.

"I'm so fucking bored!" You groan, making Ellie laugh in the process.

"And how is that my problem?"

You flip her off and she clutches her stomach.

"Seriously, Ellie. I wanna actually do something and not just eat grilled cheeses and read your nerdy comics."

She scoffs.

"Excuse me? It's not my fault you have bad taste in literature."

You snort at that. "Starlight Savage and Raven Mouse are not literature."

"Oh, then what are they, huh?" She stands up, amusingly offended.

"Comics!"

Ellie grabs one of your pillows and pretends to suffocate you with it. You're laughing and trying to pry it off of your face.

"Hey, quit! You're actually gonna kill me!" You giggle, your voice muffled from the cushioning.

Ellie finally relents, laughing along with you.

"Better think twice before disrespecting Starlight Savage." She is wearing her signature shit-eating grin.

"Oh, whatever.. Hey!- You got me off topic." You groaned.

Ellie laughs at that. "And what was the topic?"

"I am bored out of my fucking mind," you complain, your voice rising in pitch to sound whiny, which she pretends to absolutely hate.

Really, she just hates that it makes her stomach clench when she hears your cute complains, and the tone of your whines only makes it worse.

"Okay, okay, fine. We can do something fun." She feigns reluctance, setting down on the bed beside you.

"Great!! So, what should we do?"

"Seriously? You don't even know what you wanna do and you gave me whiplash bitching about being bored?"

You scoff, jumping to your own defense. "I was tryin' to get you to come up with something," and then you add to complete your argument, "I wouldn't be bored if I knew what we could do."

Ellie sighs, and you smile because you know that means she has had enough of your bullshit and she just wants to throw in the towel.

"Fine. Well, we can play a game perhaps?"

You groan in protest at the suggestion. "You're a dirty cheater when it comes to Monopoly!"

Ellie only lets out a sheepish laugh at that, because she knows that you're being 100% truthful. "That is what makes the game fun!" When she sees your glare, she sighs once more. "Fine. How 'bout Truth or Dare?"

That sounds intriguing; the game begins.

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You and Ellie sit across from each other, and the game has been going on for around 10 minutes now. It's getting quite boring - always questions like "What's a secret you haven't told me?" or Ellie dares you to do something she knows you won't do, like lick the toilet bowl.

Then, she asks a question that brings the game onto another level.

"What's your favorite sex position?"

You stare at her, your jaw practically in your lap. You don't wanna talk sex positions with the girl you secretly wanna do sex positions with.

"What the fuck, Ellie?!"

She looks a bit guilty, but shrugs with a smirk that doesn't go unnoticed.

"What? I wanted to spice things up. C'mon, don't be a pussy."

You think it over, but finally, with a heated face, you say fuck it and give into her bullshit. "Missionary."

Ellie bursts out laughing.

You're sitting there not knowing what to do! She is laughing like a hyena at this point, tears in the corners of her eyes. She slaps her knee. What the fuck?!

"What's so funny?!"

Ellie just laughs, falling over and she is snorting like a pig now before she finally settles down. "It's just.." she tries to stifle a giggle, "that is the most boring thing you could've possibly said.”

You know that, but you're keen on defending your word. Ellie loves that about you, how you're always quick to stand up for yourself. "It's romantic!"

"Okay, okay," she shrugs. "Enlighten me on how missionary is more romantic than any other position that actually feels good."

You don't hesitate to list off the facts. "First of all, it does feel good! You just haven't tried the pillow method. Second of all, you can kiss your partner and actually talk to them." You sigh, getting a bit flustered (and turned on) by the conversation at hand. "Imagine fucking someone and getting to kiss all over their face while doing so, or on their neck or their tits. It's about the intimacy."

Ellie looks just as flustered as you now. She is silent for a moment before giving you the benefit of the doubt. "Okay, I guess you can rest your case now. But there is much more intimate positions than missionary, you know. You're just thinking vanilla ones like riding the strap-on, or from behind."

You raise an eyebrow at that. "Okay, I'll bite. What's more intimate than looking into someone's eyes while they cum?"

Ellie laughs at your vulgar question, pink tinting her freckled cheeks. "Tribbing." Her voice is more quiet, and that only makes you more aware of the slight tension.

You quickly brush it off with a laugh.

"Of course your gay ass would say that."

She grins and sits up at that, quick to defend herself. "Hey, you have no room to be talking, little miss 'my gay awakening is Rose from Titanic.'"

Your jaw drops and you look at her like she has said something crazy. "Hey, Rose is hot!"

She giggles. "Yeah, Sherlock, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, okay. Can we get back to the game?"

She nods, and it continues.

As time passes, the questions grow more and more...uncomfortable to answer. You're still asking her the more casual things, but Ellie is daring you to do stupid, impossible stuff, or to answer questions like "what was your first time like?", "do you have a friends with benefits situation with anyone in Jackson?", and "if you could kiss anyone in Jackson, who would it be?" (which you brushed off jokingly by saying old man Eugene. She didn't press any further, only mocking you).

Then, she leans forward after you choose truth, and she whispers something you can't really brush off.

"Who do you like?"

You're fucked. If she asked "do you like someone?", you could answer without revealing who it is. She knows she has you trapped. Sneaky cunt.

You don't answer right away. Ellie is so close, your knees touching. The air in the room is insanely hot, and you want to leave your own house, you want to hide under your blankets or cover your face, but you can't.

Ellie doesn't wait for you to answer.

"I know you like someone, I can tell when my best friend is in love. Who is it?"

"That's way too personal, I.."

She scoffs, but it's not a rude sound. Just shocked, maybe slightly hurt. "You have always told me your crushes. Why won't you tell me now?"

You feel guilty now because she doesn't understand. She doesn't get why you won't tell her. She can't understand that it's because you like her. You want to scream it: I'm in love with you, Ellie! But those words won't be the next you utter.

"I just...I feel like this time it should be private." You know that your reasoning is weak, for once in your life, the defense is slipping and it's ugly. You internally wince.

She just stares in silence, not really meeting your eyes. It makes you panic, and then, then the words slip from your mouth seeing the hurt on Ellie's pretty face.

"It's you."

She stares at you like she didn't quite hear what you said, even though it was shaky, nevertheless loud and coherent.

"What...?"

"I..I'm in love with you, Ellie." You repeat yourself.

She leans into you. "Fuck.." Her breath hitches. "You better not be fucking around with me, I swear to-"

"No!", you shout loudly and quickly try to compose yourself. "I mean..I'm not joking. I like you. I hope this doesn't fuck with our friendship, or like.." You trail off, not wanting to think about what could happen now.

"I'm in love with you, too." There, now Ellie has gotten it out too.

Ellie didn't even fully understand why she asked you that. She knew she could've gotten her feelings hurt, that you could've liked someone else or that it would definitely mean you did like her, and then she had to be vulnerable and confess it back. Still, she was so exhausted, so fucking tired of pretending like hugs and casual touches were enough. They were never enough.

"Can I kiss you?" She doesn't even give you the proper time to react to her shared confession before she springs that onto you. You don't complain, only nodding quickly.

Her breath is warm against yours, and you can tell how shaky it is. You've never seen her so nervous, it makes your own stomach flutter with butterflies. Then, Ellie's grasping onto your face and smashing her lips against yours. Her mouth is warm, and the kiss doesn't even start out gentle. It's all devouring, all need and passon.

You quickly move into her lap, thighs on either sides of hers, and both of you are desperately pulling each other closer, finally sharing the same air. She tastes like everything natural, something so unique it can't be described but you immediately know you need more of it. Her tongue moves inside of your mouth, devouring you just like how she has been dreaming of for who knows how long, and when you're forced to pull away for a breath, her lips are sloppily trailing down your jaw to your throat, her hands grasping your hips to pull you closer.

"I've wanted you for so long, you know that?" Her voice is warm against your sensitive skin, and you think you could just burst with how it feels to be practically intertwined with her.

"Show me how it feels, Els.." You gasp and tilt your head back for more, but Ellie pulls away to look at you.

"How what feels?' She doesn't sound rude, only confused with her lips swollen and wet.

"The intimacy..the intimacy you talked about.." Oh, that.

She nods quickly, and her mouth is all over your shoulders, leaving soft pecks between words, "We can do that, but I wanna do something first..is that okay?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

With that, she pulls your shirt over your head and stares at you like she has never seen a pair of boobs before. Her eyes are wide and she takes you in before her.

"You're so pretty," she mumbles with conviction, kneading your tits through your bra. You can only moan when she sticks a hand into your bra and rubs her palm over your nipples, her other hand deftly undoing the clasp of the fabric.

That was the hottest thing you could do for a woman, Williams..

Her lips quickly find a nipple, pulling it into her mouth to swirl her tongue around the bud. Your fingers tug at her hair, begging for more. You need her closer. She reluctantly pulls her mouth off off of its new favorite place and leans back up to face you, planting an affectionate kiss on your cheek before smiling sheepishly.

"I'm gonna say something I want to do to you, but you can't laugh.."

That makes you already giggle, despite the heat building between your thighs. That is something you love about Ellie, the way she can make you laugh even when you aren't supposed to be.

"I'll try my best. What is it?" You ask, and she fiddles with her fingers nervously.

"I wanna use my fingers on you," she says it so quietly, voice nervous but filled with hunger before she quickly adds, "if you want me to. It's okay if you don't wanna go any further-"

"I want you to finger me, Els."

That was easier than she thought it would be.

She nods now, slowly unbuttoning your jeans and watching with an intense gaze as you hop off of her lap to shimmy them off. Now you're in nothing but a cotton pair of panties and you look so gorgeous.

Ellie has always found you to be beautiful. During patrols and on lookout, your hair had a shine to it that most people wouldn't care to think too much about, but Ellie always noticed it. Ellie always noticed the way your lips parted when you were zoned out, or how you walked like you always knew where you were going even on the paths that were mainly uncharted. You were so lovely-looking.

Now, nearly naked for her, she doesn't know if she can bare to blink even for a second. She is currently having a never-ending starting contest with your body, and she has to stop herself from pouncing on you. She wants to love you, not just fuck you.

Ellie is on her knees between your legs, hooking her fingers into the waistband of your underwear. Her eyes flicker over your body before looking to yours for confirmation.

"You sure you want this?"

"Please, Ellie. I want you." You know you sound desperate for her, but it can't be helped. You were soaked through your underwear, clit beating with need, and Ellie is just eyeing you like she wanted to devour you. She probably would, but she wants to save your clit for later.

She nods and slips your underwear down your legs, pulling them off of your ankles and throwing them behind her. The action made you giggle, but Ellie quickly squashed your outburst.

"Somethin' funny?" She asks, slipping a finger through your slick folds. You gasp and jolt.

"Hey, where the fuck is the warning, you cunt?"

She has to stifle her own laugh at your outburst, but she is growing tired of the cute giggles; if you laughed one more time, she'd be fucking you until you were limping-

"Sorry, pretty. I'm gettin' impatient." Her tone mkes you involuntarily clench. You rarely hear that tone, the serious one when she is either around someone she doesn't know and is keeping it professional or just not in the mood to joke. Now, you discover it's her horny tone, too.

You nod, tilting your head back to rest it on your frilly pillow. Finally, she slips two digits past your lips and you resist the urge to let a whorish whine slip past your lips. When she easily slides into your heat, you then can't resist.

Ellie's eyes are glued to your pussy like it's magic, watching your hips try to rise for more, feeling the way your walls tighten around her intrusion.

It's too much for her poor, fucked head to bare.

She is already as wrecked as you are. She wants to taunt you for the way you already look like you're going to cum from her barely brushing at your spongey g-spot, but she can't. She is probably in rougher shape right now.

"You feel so warm." It's all she can manage to get out, and she curls her fingers inside of you into upward, making you moan.

"I wanna cum, Els..please, more. Give me more." Ellie has never seen you this dumb for pleasure before, but who is she to deny you?

Her fingers aren't thrusting in and out or finger-banging you, just slowly sliding through your cunt, her fingertips stroking where you need them to. You feel so full, so complete. You hope she does this every single day from here on out.

It doesn't take long to get you into a state of complete bliss, and you haven't even climaxed yet. Your legs aren't clamping down, rather spreading wider as if you're begging for her to take you in the most obscene ways possible, fill you up with more than just her fingers. If only she you two were currently at her house, she has that unopened strap-on box... maybe for another day.

The knot that builds in your stomach, the temperature of it overheating your insides is about to snap. You're begging as if Ellie is teasing you or something. You're whining, and you look like you're about to start sobbing if she pauses her pace even for a nanosecond. She just wants to gives you everything, thinks you deserve the whole world, so she leans forward and intertwines her fingers with yours as her other fingers pump deep inside you, and you swear it's rearranging your guts. You wanna be wrecked so damn badly.

"You keep fluttering around me, gonna cum?" She asks, and you whine and nod.

Your orgasm soon hits you like a tsunami, once in a crash and then it simmers throughout you in waves. This is probably the hardest you have ever came. You gasp onto her hand tight, squeezing her fingers. You can't even speak or you'd be howling her name. It feels so euphoric and you wonder how it can get any better than this.

When you come down from the peak, she eases her fingers out of your tender insides and licks her ring finger clean. Then, she settles her hips between your legs, bringing her soaking middle finger to your lips.

"Open up."

You do so without question, tasting yourself on her digit before she swiftly pulls her finger away with a "pop!"

"I taste weird," you mumble and she rolls her eyes, mumbling a little "fuck you" before sitting up to strip out of her flannel.

You feel maybe a little nervous before. Something about the thought of feeling her in such an intimate way makes you feel even more fluttery inside. You've been with women before, you are far from a virgin, but you've never clashed clits before (omfg what). Most girls thought it was just a porn thing.

"You okay?" Ellie pauses, her flannel on the bed and a black t-shirt layer underneath it.

"Yeah," you mean it, "just a little nervous."

Her eyes soften, and she takes your hand and squeezes it. "I promise I'll be slow with you. I'm not gonna rush you into this, and if you want, we can always stop."

You feel more assured now, and you smile. "Okay."

When she finally strips out of her clothing, you take her in. She is breath-takingly beautiful. Her body is pale but covered in tan freckles, and her nipples are perky with arousal. Her shoulders and collarbone look so fucking kissable. You're still in a daze as she hooks a leg over yours, her warm cunt only an inch or two away from yours. She hovers.

"You ready?"

"I want you, so yes."

That makes her smile, and she slowly eases down onto you, her folds rubbing up against yours and both of your neglected clits finally getting the attention they deserve. Both of you are already moaning and Ellie leans down onto you, her tits brushing against yours as she kisses you deeply.

This kiss is slower than the first, less desperate but just as emotional. It's hungry and consumes you in a sensual way. Her hips grind against yours, her slick mixing with your soaked pussy to make you only whine into her mouth.

Now you understand how intimate this is. You feel so connected to Ellie in a way you hope you never get to feel with anyone else. You wanna always be this close. You think that even after this ends, you'll feel that tie to her body and heart, always leading you back to her.

When you both cum together, it's much different than what she gave you before. You can feel her tense up with you, hear her shaky breaths and moans, and you feel a warmth inside of you reminding you that she feels this way because of your pussy, because of her feelings for you. It's making you obsessive to feel this way.

When the high fades, she collapses on top you. You're both breathing heavily for a few minutes. Her breath is against your neck and it feels like a kiss. Your brain is thinking of something stupid now that the horniness is over.

"Isn't it obvious that I'm your girlfriend now?"

Ellie laughs and squeezes you tightly.

"Yeah. You're my girlfriend now, and I'm not letting you go."

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄

[valeisaslut]

Hii I'm just wondering where ellie lives in collide

omg hii nonnie! i always wanted to respond this question!!!!

okay so ellie technically has apartments in like the main places she’s in the most — but in reality? she’s slept more nights in hotel rooms than in any of them. her life is a whirlwind. she’s either flying to a show, filming something, backstage somewhere, or waking up jetlagged and confused in a random city with a half-eaten protein bar next to her. her apartments are more like… crash pads she stops at when the world slows down for half a second.

✧ new york — this is the one she uses and likes the most. the one in soho. top floor, floor-to-ceiling windows, exposed brick, kind of industrial but cozy in that "someone rich definitely lives here and barely does laundry" way. she has vintage amps stacked in the living room like furniture. her guitars hang on the wall. one of them is signed by a drunk damon albarn and no one knows if it’s real. the coffee table is always a mess of scribbled lyrics, vinyls, dead lighters, and random things she found on tour and never unpacked. there’s a rooftop she likes to go up to when she can’t sleep. her neighbor hates her. she thinks it’s funny.

✧ los angeles — this is the one she was staying at during chapters 1-5, and honestly? it’s the most livable. it's tucked in the hills, mid-century modern, a little secluded. the kind of place you drive up to and think someone hot and emotionally unavailable lives here. big glass walls, black and white color palette, the pool out back is green half the time because she doesn’t remember to get it cleaned. there's a giant framed photo of patti smith in the hallway. all the shelves are filled with photo books and first edition novels that she swears she reads but definitely just uses to look smart when people come over. it always smells like sandalwood, weed, and whatever cologne she stole from jesse.

✧ seattle — this one’s more sentimental. the smallest one, older, moodier. it’s on the second floor of a quiet building in capitol hill, dimly lit, very grunge girl who lives in black hoodies and journaled through her entire teenage depression. there’s a drum set in the corner she never uses but refuses to move. the kitchen tiles are chipped. the fridge is 90% beer and 10% one expired yogurt. she never remembers to replace the lightbulbs. the view is of another building and she swears she saw someone get proposed to across the alley once. she cried about it for three days and wrote two songs.

✧ london — she keeps a flat there too. not for the weather (obviously), but because so many of her collaborators are based there and she had an on-again off-again situationship with a studio in shoreditch. the flat’s high-ceilinged, cold in the winter, decorated entirely in thrifted nonsense and whatever she packed in a suitcase. there’s a signed photo of liam gallagher on her fridge and no one knows how it got there. the bed frame squeaks and the neighbors smoke inside. she kinda loves it.

✧ paris — yes. she has a studio in paris. no, she doesn’t use it. it’s just vibes. she bought it impulsively after a press tour and has been there maybe twice. there’s a red velvet couch, one chair, and a guitar. that’s it. oh and a half-empty bottle of wine. it looks like a vampire’s vacation home.

every apartment is messy. not disgusting, just like… lived-in in a “rockstar doesn’t do domesticity” way. there are always takeout containers, mismatched socks, tangled charger cords, and sunglasses in weird places. the beds are unmade. the closets are chaos. her vinyl player is always out, always spinning something too loud.

but the truth is: she’s mostly in hotels. she’s barely ever still. her passport has more stamps than she can count. she knows every airport layout by heart. her suitcase is permanently half-packed. she’s had more existential crises in hotel bathrooms than in therapy. and her favorite chain? sofitel. because she’s annoying and dramatic and likes to pretend she’s in a french film when she throws on a robe and walks around with a glass of red wine at 2am after a show. the room service guy thinks she’s a menace. she tips very well.

and yeah. she's hella loaded. she has so much money she has no idea what to do with it.