#wind core ellie

[perilusjax]

Dc X Dp

The Rage of Two Brothers

The world could only look in fear as an image is shown throughout the world. As two white haired figures raced throughout the sky. The image split to show them both.

One is covered in an inferno, the colors always shifting as he destroyed the land. The two figures fighting him were Wonderwoman and Shazam. The heroes being pushed back with ease.

The land scorched as even from so far apart they could feel his blazing rage.

The second figure only trailed the silent lands. Without a word, the area froze in his silent fury. Spires of ice shot up impaling military machines and encasing soldiers. His eyes only looked forward as he traveled.

Until Superman stood in front of him, trying to calm the being. When a white flash covered the screen, as it ebbed, many could see the man of steel encased in ice.

The man walking past the alien, still walking forward.

Suddenly, Wonderwoman had ensnared the being withing her lasso.

"Speak Spirit! Why are you here? The lasso of truth compels you!" Diana shouted, her grip tightening despite the burns along her arm.

The fire spirit growled as he form shifted, instead of the fire collosus, stood a a tall humanoid figure.

His white hair flowed like fire, his athletic form was covered in a blood red button up, and ash gray pants. His snarling face showing elongated canines and blood red eyes.

"You think this will hold me, Amazon!" He shouted, his voice filled with viseroul anger, that it caused many to flinch.

"I repeat! Why are you here?!" She shouted as she reaffirmed her stance.

As this was going down the icy figure stopped, and turned slightly, as if he was looking at something.

Then the fire deity shifted, as if another being took control, his once red eyes became red and blue. While red was a raging fire, blue was a cold fury.

"Leave Princess Diana of Themyscara, Shazam Champion of Magic, the only reason you live is because your roles are needed," he? They, spoke two voices overlapping each other.

One being the fire spirit's voice, the other a cold and emotionless tone probably belonging to the Ice being.

As the two heroes flinched, they looked to enother. Before Diana's eyes hardened as she turned towards the ensnared creature.

"I ask again spirits! Why are you here?" Diana commanded, as the spirit grunted from the lasso's power. Before the two figures opened their mouth in tandem.

"WHERE IS OUR SISTER!" They shouted in tandem before their powers burst in a flurry.

No longer restrained by their physical forms, the beings power flowed throughout the lands. The heroes only stared, unable to do anything. As the two brothers unleashed their fury, trying to find their missing sister.

[goddessofbees]

Phantom sibs

[wonderlandsakura]

So I think of Dan and Ellie as Vlad and Danny's children, we know this

Dan is literally a fusion of both their ectoplasm, and Ellie, despite being probably a clone, was still raised around Vlad and his ectoplasm, which I think would have affected her.

So I think their cores should reflect that:

Wind core for Ellie, as wind can be cooling, but can also carry gusts of heat. She is ultimately her own individual, only slightly influenced. It is wild and untamed and free like she is and it can chill and it can warm and it can comfort and reassure, yet also be brutal and wild and rip and tear and rend all that blocks it's path.

Water core for Dan, melted ice, a representation of what caused his birth. An Ocean, a Tsunami. Tears, mourning, grief. Constant and unrelenting and inevitable like the tides, sometimes seeming calm and still, but this stillness is but an act to hide the brutal, crashing, fatal waves that will soon follow. A sudden, striking, forceful anger and grief that sweeps in and destroys mercilessly, unknowingly, without bias or care, going where nature wills it, and though it can stop and recede just as swiftly, it sometimes merely slows, lingering and receding, and at times never really leaving.

Ice core for Danny, cold and harsh yet all the more reassuring and safe for it. The cold of an ice fortress or igloo, protecting those within it and keeping in the warmth. The cold of an ice pack on a nasty bruise, the chill as you watch the anger of someone else standing up and protecting you and knowing only your enemies will face it, the cold of a snow day, the carefree enjoyment of childhood, unburdened, knowing that the snow has no wish to harm you, but instead bring joy. The ice of protection of safety, just as sharp and cold and cutting, but only to it's enemies, those who do not see the love and joy in it.

Fire core for Vlad, the ever-burning embers of a wood fire, something that must be kept feed, lest it die out and leave one to freeze. The fire that cannot die, cannot rest, can burn down to embers, but must never be extinguished, for fear of the cold that will creep in and kill, for fear of the longer time one will starve for it, for fear of the darkness and the enemies within and the inherent uncertainty of the unknown, for fear. The simmering embers of everlasting devotion, the crackling warmth of the hearth that heats the home and heart, the shared light of companionship.

Basically, I'm saying that Ellie has a wind core as her obsession is freedom, Dan has a water core, and his obsession has something to do with his intense grief, if that grief is not in itself his obsession, Danny, has an ice core and a protection obsession in this case, while Vlad has a fire core and an obsession concerning love and companionship, but it's become mutated and twisted by his fear.

[fizzytoo]

next time ama offers to help her papa with the garden, she's making sure he promises not to get all sentimental

[bluerosefox]

Protecting Family

Hmmm

I'm on a Danny is Dick's child kick rn so I'm making more.

But lets add in some Ghost King Danny!, Dad to a deaged Ellie and Dan! And toddler Mar'i Grayson.

Danny was conceived during Dick's amnesia year when he was Ric and the woman couldn't find him to tell him (or maybe the Owls caught wind of the pregnancy and took her) and he ended up somehow (hmmm maybe a meddling time keeper?) with the Fentons.

Danny grows as a Fenton, he knows he was adopted btw, then becomes Phantom, protects Amity, becomes the Ghost King and things seem to be going okay between Amity Parkers and the Infinite Realms since they took care of the GIW problem, AND has been a good doting teen dad to his deaged 'cousins/clones' turned kids.

Danny was going to go pick his kids up from daycare one day when CHAOS happens. Just as he wrangles Ellie onto his shoulders, cause she wants to be tall today, and about to take Dan's hand cause he's and I quote "A big boy and not a baby like Ellie, Dad!" he suddenly feels the tug of his family being in danger.

Thing is, its a blood related danger. Meaning someone blood related to him was in grave danger, and by the emotions he can feel, its someone young, way younger than him.

Problem.

The only people Danny knows with his blood in their veins and are young enough for the feeling are with him.

So who?

But due to Danny being a protector spirit AND knowing the feeling is from someone as young as his own kids, Danny decides to use his Ghost King Powers to summon said person from the danger to him.

Danny opens his free arms out just as a tiny toddler with black hair like his own but with bright green eyes, even the sclera were green, in a ruined party dress drops from the sky from the summoning circle that had opened above him.

Danny stares at the terrified child, whose hands are tied by rope and was crying, and takes notes of certain traits she had that he saw every time in the mirror or on his own kids, same eye shape and cheekbones. He can tell his ghost core has claimed her as family but not as his kid though.

No the connection that formed was almost like his connection with Jazz but a bit stronger.

This kid, was his sister. His blood related one.

-Meanwhile-

Dick Grayson, aka Nightwing, and his family were freaking the fuck out.

Dick was already panicked when his daughter Mar'i had gotten kidnapped just a few hours ago by the Joker.

Now he was feeling pure dread when his daughter, who was about to be killed, was suddenly pulled into a strange glowing circle at the last minute and disappeared into thin air.

[woodland-gremlin]

How to Adopt Your Clone Pt. 1 (Adoption AU)

Ao3

Elle loves flying. The way the wind whips around her, the weightlessness of it, how small everything looks so high up, and most of all how freeing it is.When she is up in the air she is free, safe, away from everything that hurts her and tries to drag her down into their control. Free, never being tied down and forced into a role she never wanted. Free, able to go from place to place, exploring a world that was kept from her. Free to be herself, to learn what she wants and who she is. Ellie truly loved flying and the freedom it offers down to her very core. She wouldn’t trade it for anything, much less anything that the Fruitloop offered. 

She was just so lonely. She has traveled far and wide, exploring different cultures, meeting new people, and learning about the world that the oldest Halfa hid from her. That is how she learned he lied to her more than she thought. While somewhere like the horror stories he told her most were nothing like he said. The people she met and spoke to were as wide and diverse as the sea. Some were tall and strong, while others were small and sneaky. Some knew so much she didn’t know how they fit everything in their head, then some may have not known as much but were no less clever. Some remind her of the Creep and why she left, yet others remind her of her template, Danny.

It seemed like that no matter where she went she saw something that reminded her of the first person to accept her. An observatory telling her all about space and the stars he endlessly spoke about. A mechanic down on his luck. A kid in highschool that was stressed about finals.The kind old lady that gave her the last of her own food to her because she noticed she was hungry. Someone told a ridiculous pun that made everyone groan. Another that saved a cat from a tree. Even seeing someone with black hair with either blue or green eyes made her turn her head and do a double take.

The worst was when another hero saved the day. She never stayed for too long when that happened, it made her bitter. Bitter to hear of a hero that claimed that they could hear a cry for help from across the world but never bothered to save her. Where was he when she and her siblings were being abused by a madman? When her sibling kept dying, only to be replaced by another as if they were objects? When she was being manipulated into betraying one of the only people that was treated with kindness?

In the end it was her own template that was the one to save her, not some boy scout who thought it was a good idea to wear his underwear over his other clothes. Her own template who had every reason to hate her after everything that had happened but instead looked her in the eye and said she was family. Who offered to risk his own freedom, his own safety, for the one-in-the-million chance his parents would accept and she would have a safe place to stay. Who saw her as her own person, even helping her come up with a new name after she offhandedly mentioned that she hated the one Knock-off Vampire gave her. Who made a grave for his siblings and worked to give each of them names after she chose her own. Who saw each and everyone as their own person, not just a failed copy that Cliche Money Bags saw us as. Who mourned them, who grieved the lives that they never got to experience, that he was too late to save them.

Danny was a hero, much more than the League of Idiots who can’t even see what is right in front of them. She doubts that they would treat her or her siblings even half as well as Danny, much less if they were clones of them.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA # 36

X

Imagine dis…

No this is not the app-related prompt…

I had just introduced my youngest brother to the original Ben 10 and worked our way to the latest to show him what he was missing, so when I saw that episode…

It immediately went to Danny…

…

Danny was falling, a normal Wednesday for us readers but not normal for our resident ghost boy.

To cut the flashback short, he had just been pushed by Clockwork, to where you ask he didn’t know.

It had been a while since he had permanently entered the Realms to learn to become a king and an Ancient. An Ancient of what you ask, Space, he was a newly formed which made the other Ancients namely  Undergrowth, Frostbite, Vortex, and so on…

They were ecstatic as it had been a while since they met a new Ancient in the making, thus leading him to be pushed by CW to a space for him to not only practice his powers as an Ancient but also practice his newly formed title can help him heal his two packages. Namely, Ellie and Dan previously inhabited a clone body made by Vlad but due to its imperfections led to an early melting form. To gain a stronger body that can wind-stand their ever-growing powers, they both needed to grow into a body aka letting Danny incubate them like some sort of MPREG situation that he accidentally saw Dash’s notebook containing his fantasy writing about him and Phantom, it was a very dark day that was, it could use some work but the fact that he improved due to his sister’s tutoring, he doesn’t know what to feel.

Now he found himself in the middle of nothing with both cores in between inside himself. At first, he didn’t know what to do, the word space kept floating in his mind so stars? He asked himself, and so the first stars came forth. He was hesitant of course, usually whenever he had to use new powers usually under duress or even sometimes instinctively so now he had the time to explore his newfound powers he didn’t know where to start.

But slowly he let his instinct control his actions creating, with a flick of his writs galaxies formed, a single blink black holes were formed, a twitch here Pulsar were made, and so on… Each move and each breath made way to a new formation creating the former vast emptiness into a thriving space life with various life forms that have come first in the race of evolution. They first stayed within the confinements of their homes and in time they began reaching for the stars.

Throughout the years Danny also began to change, Danny, in his new form, is an ethereal being with enormous power. His skin is a deep, inky black that resembles the immensity of space, with constellations and galaxies quietly dancing across it. His eyes, unlike his former look, he has now customary pitch-black voids, gleaming a vivid, intense emerald that exudes alien intensity. These penetrating green eyes appear to reflect the force of the universe, continually moving and pulsing as if they hold the secrets of existence themselves. 

White accents run throughout his physique like celestial ribbons, following his limbs, torso, and face. These streaks shine like stardust, with a faint glow reminiscent of a faraway nebula. The highlights are flowing, almost as if they are shifting and moving like stars in the night sky, creating a captivating contrast against his body's deep black color. His silhouette, while humanoid, seems almost unreal—tall, imposing, and continuously emitting the faint hum of cosmic power.

Danny Phantom—now known as Alien X dubbed by the Green Lanterns who were lucky enough to witness him at the rare times he ever so twitched—floated serenely in space, his visage as unreadable as it had always been. The once-human ghost-boy had evolved into one of the universe's most powerful entities, capable of altering reality with a single thought.

During the thousands of millennia that he spent his time crafting and perfecting his new powers came with a very heavy headache. In all the time that he had spent filling the space, he had gathered enough energy for the two to create new bodies that could accommodate their growing powers, both Dan and Ellie kept on arguing inside his head about what they wanted to look like, like some sort of demented sims game. Always arguing which would look great on them, how this piece fits them better than the other.. and so on…

…

Did you ever have the instinctive feeling that something new is happening somewhere that you can't explain? Today was that day. The silent space around him was abruptly filled with the wailing of two babies. Danny had given birth, causing shockwaves throughout the universe. Alien X, as the Lanterns dubbed him, was not intended to change or reproduce. Yet here he was, cradling two small, glowing children in his arms, their bodies moving between colors and shapes, a clear indication of their limitless potential.

And the relief of Danny as the two finally settled on a form and agreed on something.

The Lantern Corps was the first to notice. The Guardians of the Universe had long feared Alien X's might, and now, with two offspring whose talents remained unknown, they were on high alert. Every Lantern, from the enraged Red Lanterns to the hope-filled Blue Lanterns, was summoned. The stakes were too high; the children had the potential to become the universe's greatest protectors or its most terrifying adversaries.

Hal Jordan headed the Green Lantern Corps, his emerald light shining through the blackness of space as he interacted with his fellow colored Lanterns as the Green Lanterns' primary representative.

Trouble had already arrived. Darkseid, the dictatorial ruler of Apokolips, and Trigon, the demonic conqueror of universes, have established an unusual alliance. Even beings of enormous strength found the promise of possessing the power to modify reality too appealing. They each coveted one of the offspring, knowing that having even one would give them an advantage over the entire cosmos.

The Lanterns fought bravely, their united lights creating a stunning display of force. Hal solicited every favor and ally he could get. Star Sapphire, Sinestro, and even Larfleeze, the ruthless Orange Lantern, heeded the summons. The battle was intense, with cosmic energy crackling across the starry sky. However, for each wave of adversaries, they vanquished, more appeared, drawn by the irresistible power and potential of the 2 new offspring of Alien X.

As the conflict continued, the Lanterns beheld something they had never seen before. Alien X moved. Danny, who had seemed unconcerned by the mayhem surrounding him, switched his attention to the fight. His normally expressionless face softened as he stared at his children, who were now cooing in his arms, unaware of the battle raging on top of his own hands.

Danny's palm began to glow, and to the surprise of all the Lanterns present, his fingers curled into a protective ball around the infants. The difference was slight yet profound. Alien X was operating independently, free of the never-ending internal argument that had before crippled him. His hands, capable of wiping out entire galaxies, were now a barrier, protecting his children from the evil that loomed over them.

Now, both enemies and heroes are trapped together within Alien X’s hands as they all watch in fascination as two beings are now being formed before their very eyes.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[roundaboutnow]

I briefly considered calling her Spirit in one fic but ended up backing out and having her be called Phantom as well, and everyone kinda just goes with it since theyre cousins. never really touched on how the media and public might differentiate between the two since it was more focussed on her.

maybe the media goes back to those puns and calls them Inviso-Bill and Aerial Phantom 😆 (assuming they havent already revealed that their first names are Danny and Dani, which I guess would still need some clarification) or maybe just Phantom and Aerial since he came first?

of the options however, my vote is on Specter! i think that is pretty cool

Ellie’s Ghost Name

Okay so I’m working something rn and I wanted to give Dani’s ghost half an alternate ego name but can’t decide between a few options. I really want to lean into her lively nature and world traveling for this plus I’m also a headcanoning in her with the wind core for this project so take that as you will.

Originally I wanted to go with Apparition but now I’m leaning towards Spirit bc of the layers of double meaning, so what are you guys think?

[ireadwithmyears]

Absent mindedly making me want you

Pairing: Ellie Williams / female reader

Word count : 12 K��💀 I swear it’s worth it I just really wanted a well rounded story even if this is just a one shot

Summary : 

Due to her first-hand experience when it comes to drowning, Ellie takes it upon herself to teach you how to swim. Something that neither of you had anticipated, however, was how intimate this endeavour would be, resulting in a day filled with unresolved sexual tension, that, unsurprisingly and inevitably comes to ahead

Tags/warnings : established relationship, soo much sexual tension, smut (18+, MDNI), porn with minor plot, dom/sub undertones, soft dom Ellie, submissive reader, inexperienced reader (first time), light hair pulling, unsafe lesbian sex, fingering, oral (F receiving), face sitting, lots of dirty talk(bc you cannot convince me that Ellie doesn’t have an absolutely filthy mouth), praise kink, overstimulation, forced orgasm, multiple orgasms, pussy slapping (just once), aftercare, fluff, no use of Y/N

“I’m sorry, wait, hold on. You’re telling me you’ve never learned how to swim?”

The settlement of Jackson has been dealing with, hopefully, the last of its winter storms for the year. Spring had crept its way around the corner, shining its promisingly hopeful rays of warm sunlight for a few, blissfully beautiful, but in the end, all two short days

But then, in what must be mother nature’s idea of a harmless joke, it was crudely snatched away and replaced with icy winds that seemed to settle within your very core, leaving you shivering long after you went inside to get warm. Wyoming had been hit with a blizzard that had caught everyone so off guard, that Jackson was ill-equipped and unprepared to handle it, leaving most of the community snowed in; workloads being much reduced and limited to essential services for the time being, until the snow abated.

This is how you and a group of friends found yourselves in Jesse’s living room, cradling mugs of hot chocolate, enjoying the warmth that seeped into your fingertips, and making a blanket fort as if you were still school children at a sleepover. The snowy days and lack of work seemed to bring out a childish side to everyone, which is how you found yourself engaged in a game of never have I ever, sitting in a tight circle with your friends and girlfriend who, up until a few seconds ago, had been absent mindedly playing with your hair, your head resting against her shoulder, where you had been quite content to stay.

But, she had now pulled back, looking at you with her eyebrows raised, lips quirked down quizzically, as if in thought. You look around at your friends, taking note of everyone else who’s never learned. You’re relieved to find that you’re not alone in this. As expected, the Jackson old-timers, the few of you who have been settled here almost your whole lives, or at least, as long as you could remember, had never encountered an environment that required the ability to swim.

“Nope, it’s never been necessary.” You shrug. 

She tilts her head, thinking, a few wisps of auburn hair escaping her ponytail as she regards you, teeth lightly grazing the bottom of her lip as she appears to be calculating an idea in her mind.

“As soon as it gets warm enough, I’m taking you out, and I'm gonna teach you. Joel taught me because he said that I would never know when it was a skill that would become necessary for me to have until it’s too late,” she says, nodding to herself decisively.

“Ah, I see your dad‘s passed off his overprotectiveness onto you,” you smirk, rolling your eyes fondly.

She hits you with a pillow for that. 

“Quiet, you,” she says in mock offense.

She pokes your belly lightly and you instinctively jump back with a surprised squeal. You hear the quiet amusement of your friends, Jesse barely containing a snort as he watches. You’re about to utter a retort when she reaches out, pulling you against her, settling you on her lap, where you happily go. 

When she presses a chaste kiss to your lips, hand settling at the back of your neck, fingers brushing against your skin, leaving goosebumps to form beneath their eager caresses, any kind of argument dies on your lips. Resistance melts as if it hadn’t been there in the first place, and all thoughts scatter like butterflies, only landing on the one thing that you care to focus on. 

It’s her, with her teasing lips and wandering hands, that explore and touch you as if she wants to know you, to memorize you, like you’re her well-kept and cherished secret. She is the only thing that surrounds your mind, the only one who holds your attention so easily, and it takes you a moment to shake yourself free of this haze. It’s strange, and euphoric, a kind of feeling that you’ve never felt before, and you find that you like it – instantly craving more the second that her lips leave yours.

She's kissed you plenty of times before, and though it’s always been an enjoyable experience for you, it’s never felt like that. You decide to file that information away for now; you’ll sort out whatever the fuck these new feelings are later. 

When you do come back to yourself, your head nestled against her shoulder, her arms wrapped around you as she looks down at you with warm, soft eyes, you think, yeah, you’ll let her teach you how to swim. You’ll let her do whatever she goddamn pleases, as long as it means that she’ll keep kissing you like that, and bringing out those good kind of butterflies that flutter in your stomach whenever she’s close to you.

*

To your surprise, Ellie makes good on her promise at the earliest opportunity.

In your experience, life is full of making plans and dreams that, more often than not, fall through. Even here, even in Jackson, where the walls are fortified and everyone is protected, the act of planning future endeavours is a luxury.

Spring finally comes , for real this time, with its customary blend of warmer weather that makes everyone instinctively turn their faces towards the sun, tentatively brushing its heat against their skin. And then, in complete juxtaposition, rain that starts in a slight drizzle that quickly descends into a downpour that sends those who’d ventured outside to appreciate the sunlight running back inside, scrambling to find cover, while quietly grumbling that they wish it was summer already, if only so that they could be freed from this topsy-turvy weather. 

Humans are funny like that, you suppose. Never fully able to live in the moment, always wishing for the next season the second spring reveals its more wild side. They forget that the scorching heat of summer will have them complaining and wishing for autumn to come faster in a few months.

Nonetheless, it’s early summer, and you find yourself riding astride Ellie’s mare, Hazel, whose step is light and carefree, tale gently swishing in the warm breeze as you make your way to a clearing with a lake, a few miles out from Jackson’s gates. You’ve taken up the rear position, head resting against your girlfriend's back, arms wrapped around her waist.

From her position, she can’t see the expression on your face, the way you worry. Your bottom lip is between your teeth until it starts to bleed, because quite honestly, you’re nervous. Your instinct is to hide your feelings from her, because it feels silly.  “A tough girl like you all freaked out over a little water?” You can almost hear her snark in your head. Logically, you know she wouldn’t say that, not to you, at least. But you can’t help but wonder if she’d think it. 

You also know, however, that the minute you’re off this horse and she turns to look at you, she’ll read right through any bullshit or lies you come up with in an instant. Ellie’s just that kind of person; able to read right through people without them even having to say a word. So, as the bird chatter accompanies the beat of Hazel’s hooves against the ground, you speak, softly, tentatively, half-wishing that she won’t hear, almost hoping that your words will be carried off in the slight breeze that ruffles the braid against your back, delicately freeing strands of your hair.

“You know, I’m actually kinda fucking scared to do this,” you figure if you’re going to admit this, it’s just best to rip the Band-Aid off. 

She holds the reins one-handed as her other comes to squeeze your wrist gently. 

“Can you tell me why?”

You sigh, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you rest your chin against her shoulder. She’s so warm and steady, confident and self-assured in a way that you couldn’t even attempt to replicate. 

She senses your unease, moving her thumb beneath the thin material of your sweater, stroking against the skin of your inner wrist. She lets it rest at the point where she feels your pulse lightly fluttering beneath her. 

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, encouraging, “Talk to me, Sweetheart, you’ve got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

Her thumb resumes its movement, stroking back-and-forth along the inside of your wrist, soothing away the knot that’s begun to tie itself in your stomach.

“It’s stupid, I know. It’s just, I’m scared that I’m gonna drown, or something dumb like that,” you roll your eyes, feeling a little bit pathetic. 

“It’s not stupid,” you’re not surprised that she’s come to your defence so quickly, but the conviction in her voice gives you pause.

She continues, “I almost drowned, once. Well, I guess it wasn’t almost, I did drown, though I don’t remember the details. It was before Joel had taught me how to swim, probably what made him decide that he had to. But, when he did, it took me the longest time to get over my fear. Every time I so much as touched the water, my mind would bring me back to that moment where I thought I was about to die.”

Her voice is sheepish, nonchalant, but you scoot closer to her on the saddle nonetheless, wrapping your arms just a little tighter around her waist.

“My point is, if you would have seen me when I was fourteen, the way Joel would have to coax me into the water bit by bit, you wouldn’t believe I’m the same person now. Now, I can be assured that whenever I go into the water, nothing’s going to happen to me that I can’t handle.” 

She takes your hand in hers, and her voice is completely serious when she speaks now.

“Baby, you know I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, right?” 

In spite of your nerves, you know the answer to this question immediately. It’s not even a question, really, you know without even having to think about it that she’ll keep you safe, protect you with her life if necessary, and you nod aggressively, even before she finishes speaking.

“I know, Elles.”

She gives your hand a squeeze. 

“Good, because if my 14-year-old freshly traumatized from actually drowning ass can learn how to swim, I am fully confident in your abilities.”

Hazel trots on, and for the first time since you headed out today, you feel a genuine smile pulling the corners of your lips upward, your laughter accompanying the birdsong as you ride on.

*

“That’s it, just lean back into me, I gotcha.”

She’s teaching you how to float on your back, first, and as you lean against her and lower yourself into the water, you swear you feel the peak of one of her nipples, hardened from the cold, poking through the flimsy material of her tank top, brushing against your back as you submerge yourself. You have to fight to keep your expression neutral, trying not to betray anything on your face. If she asks why you’re blushing, you’ll just say it’s because of the heat.

Her hand holds you up, pressing into the small of your back as she instructs you, and it’s nice, the heat that radiates from the warmth of her skin. You feel it through your tank top, and maybe it’s because the water is cold and it’s heightening all of your senses, or maybe it’s because you’re in a pair of underwear and a tank top, feeling very exposed to your girlfriend in a way that you’ve never been with anyone, but you’re getting goosebumps, and you know for a fact that it has nothing to do with you being cold.

You hope to yourself that the feeling of having her hands on you will get easier throughout the day, because for some inexplicable reason, the feeling of her hand pressing against you like this is making it hard to focus on what she’s actually saying.

*

You quickly discover that it does not get easier as the day goes on. 

It actually gets so much fucking harder to bear as the sun begins to sail higher in the sky.

When she’s about to teach you how to kick, her hands ghost over your hips, making you jump. 

“Sorry, hun, I should’ve asked,” she apologizes softly.

You can’t bring yourself to look at her, and have to temper your voice to not sound eager as you respond. “No, you’re good, go ahead, I'm just cold, that’s all.”

When her hands caress your sides before settling against your hips, your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, trying to contain the gasp that wants to escape. 

Is she truly that fucking unaware of what she’s doing to you? 

The skin where her fingers had trailed over tingles, and you have to give your head a slight shake to clear it, because that touch, regardless of how innocently meant it might’ve been to her, suddenly makes you want to get on your knees and beg her to touch you like that again.

You want more.

*

You learn the mechanics of how to propel yourself through the water, arms and legs separately. When it comes time to put the two together, Ellie eases you onto your stomach. The water is still shallow, your toes can still touch the ground. This was as deep as you’d be going today, she had told you, making you feel relieved.

“I’m just gonna put a hand on your stomach to hold you up. You’re still gonna have my help, I’m right here,” you’re stomach muscles tense when her hand lightly presses against it. She must think you’re nervous, because she gently strokes her thumb up and down between your rib cage, in a way that should be reassuring, but in reality, makes heat radiate from between your legs. You’re grateful that she can’t see your face, because the small pool of wetness that blossoms against your panties is undeniable now, and it makes your cheeks heat.

Okay, so you have to admit it now. You’re horny. In spite of the fact that you’ve never had sex and you haven’t been ready to take that step before today, as you slowly move through the water, feeling her hand pressing against your stomach, so close but so, so far from where you want her to be, you know that you want her, in a way that you’ve never wanted anyone before. 

“At a girl, just like that,” she says encouragingly, and you swear you can feel your thigh muscles clenching involuntarily, thoughts drifting to a very different scenario in which she’d utter those words.

*

It’s late afternoon, the sun is high in the sky, warming your shoulders as you stand in the water. You’ve long ago adjusted to its cool, murky depths, and you’re not on edge anymore. 

At least you weren’t, until Ellie suggests that to finish off the day, you try moving a little bit on your own. Your eyebrows raise, in obvious alarm, and her hands settle on your shoulders, quick to reassure you.

“You won’t have to go far, I’ll be right in front of you, I promise, all you need to do is just keep coming towards me.” 

You tilt your head, considering. Yes, you’ve grown accustomed to the water, but whenever you’ve been moving, she’s always had a hold on you, and you felt safe, knowing that there wasn’t even a chance that you would go under. 

Seeing your still evident hesitation, Ellie steps closer, a hand grazing against your waist as she presses her lips to your forehead briefly, before she speaks, her voice low and teasing against your ear.

“Can you do it for me?” She says softly. Her fingers are tracing slow, enticing circles over your waist, soothing you, but making you feel all worked up at the same time. 

She’s so close that you can feel her lips brush against your ear when she speaks, and you can’t hide the shiver that runs down your spine. You’ve lost the ability to form coherent thought, for the moment, and you have to mentally kick yourself to push your mind back into any semblance of reality. God, if she asks you like that, you’ll do anything.

You don’t say that, though. You only nod meekly, not trusting your voice to be controlled when you speak. 

When her hand gives your hip an appreciative squeeze, you feel her breath ghost against the curve of your neck as she speaks. “Good girl,” she practically purrs, a quiet, low hum against your ear that makes your knees buckle so hard that you have to dig your feet into the sand beneath you so that you don’t faceplant into the water.

When she pulls back, taking slow, tentative steps away from you, she knows that you’re watching her every move. She can feel your eyes burning into her, the further she moves away, nerves making you fidget with the hem of your top. When she’s several metres away, she reaches out a hand, beckoning.

“Okay, c’mere, Baby Girl.” 

Her voice is low, persuasive, encouraging you forward. But it still takes you a solid 30 seconds of anxiously staring at her before you actually begin to move. She stands, arms folded, patiently waiting for you to give in, because she knows that sooner or later, you will.

She’s not that far away, not really. She still would easily be able to reach her arms out, steadying you if somehow, even in this shallow water, you managed to bring yourself under. Still, when you kick back, and you no longer feel the assurance of the soft sand against your feet, or Ellie‘s arm wrapped securely around your stomach to hold you up, you freeze. She notices instantly, and her voice is quick to call you back, bringing your racing heart back down with a few, gentle words.

“Hey, eyes on me.” 

You swim forward, it’s unsure and hesitant, but at least you’re moving. You can’t always keep your eyes on her, but when your head is lowered to the water, you can always hear her voice, which she uses to get you to keep going. 

“That’s it, almost there.” 

She eggs you on, making your limbs instinctively move faster, cutting through the water with an almost desperate urge to get to her. You’re reaching for her, arms ready to wrap around her waist when she meets you halfway, scooping you up into her arms.

“That’s my girl,” she whispers against your lips, cradling the back of your head as she pulls you in. Your eyes flutter shut, and you can’t help the small sigh that she elicits from you as she lowers her head to kiss you. Her lips meet yours in a slow, soft caress, searing as her touch sets your skin alight with heat. Instinctively, only half aware of what you’re doing, your legs wrap around her waist, desperately pulling yourself against her with a sudden need that is too strong to be contained.

When her hand, tangled in your hair, gently pulls, forcing your head back as she deepens the kiss, your mouth falling open as her tongue teases past your lips, you are unable to hold back the little moan that escapes you, scalp tingling at the sensation of her fingers, curled against strands of your wet hair, holding tight, keeping you exactly where she wants you. 

She’s so close, you realize. Your legs wrapped around her like this, your heat pressed so near to hers. It’s enough to send your thoughts reeling. Every nerve ending in your body is alive with want and need. 

Her hand makes a slow path, warm, delicate fingers journeying from your waist all the way up to the peak of your breast, leaving a trail of goosebumps to form in their wake. Her hand rests against you, leaving you warm and wanting, and just when you think that you can’t handle any more, she moves her thumb in a slow, deliberate caress over your perked, hardened nipple, which, at this point, your tank top, with its thin, soaked through material that clings to your every curve, leaves little up to her imagination. She can see you, she can see all of you. Your breath shutters, the smallest sound of want, of need, of desperation escaping your throat in a choked, pleading moan that has your back arching.

And that’s when Hazel makes her displeasure and boredom known, letting out a loud, displeased nay of indignation as she stamps her hooves against the ground.

The noise is so sudden, so out of the blue, disrupting the sounds of the water gently lapping around you, and the ambiance of nature that you’ve grown quite accustomed to hearing over the past few hours, that it makes you both jump. You startle so hard that you nearly fall into the waters below, jolting back as your head whips around to discover the source of the noise. Ellie’s arms are secure, though, you feel her adjusting her hold on you, wrapping them around you tighter. She too frantically searches the area around you for signs of trouble.

When you realize that you’re in no imminent danger, and that it’s just Hazel being her typical, dramatic self, you both look at each other, and simultaneously, slow smiles creep across your faces. She can feel you begin to shake with laughter. All the adrenaline leaves your body in a relieved, sudden rush that escapes with the quiet, barely contained snort that you desperately try to hold back. After that, it’s over. Ellie’s face buries against your hair as you both begin to laugh uncontrollably.

You feel her breathy, relieved sigh ruffle your hair. “We should probably go see what her problem is – knowing Hazel, a mosquito probably landed on her and she freaked the fuck out. God, that horse is such a drama queen.” 

She rolls her eyes, but there’s an underlying affection that she can’t keep out of her voice, even if she tries.

“Probably saw us kissing and was offended. Maybe she’s homophobic,” you quip, chuckling. 

Ellie gasps in mock horror. “I practically raised that horse, there’s no fucking way,” you both laugh as she begins to move towards the shore, you cradled against her with your head on her shoulder.

*

Riding back to Jackson when you’re extremely sexually worked up, it turns out, is no fun. 

Your girlfriend, as much as you love her, is doing nothing to help the situation. 

In general, Ellie prefers to ride horses that are the most chaotic, and that carry attitudes that make them almost borderline untrainable. She says it’s because she can empathize with them, she listens to them in a way that no one else does. 

You think, privately, that it’s because it scares the shit out of Joel. He lives in constant fear that Hazel is going to throw Ellie off, sending his already accident prone daughter home with a broken leg and a concussion. You swear, Ellie enjoys getting a rise out of him, making his heart race with all of the reckless shit that she does.

Hazel has been sitting still for too long, and is now thoroughly enjoying the freedom of being able to trot about; she tries to take advantage of it regardless of the cargo on her back, making for a bumpy ride. 

You’re riding in front, this time, and every time you hit an unavoidable bump, Ellie rests her hands on your hips. She claims that she’s doing it to keep you steady, make sure that you don’t fall off the horse. but, you know better. You know an ulterior motive when you see one. The way that her hands linger, fingers slowly teasing At the edge of your still damp top, drawing slow, light circles against the exposed skin she finds beneath, suggesting that she has other plans in mind. It makes you shiver.

“You cold, baby?” Her voice is low against your ear, the unexpected proximity making you jump. She cannot be serious. Even though it’s late afternoon, evening fast approaching, the day is still scorching, hence why you’ve opted out of wearing your sweater on the way back. You didn’t even want to put on shorts over your damp underwear, but alas, you still had some shred of modesty left, not wanting to make whoever was stationed to guard Jackson’s gates uncomfortable.

When her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against her, you swear that you can feel her hips slowly moving as she grinds against you suggestively. Her lips brush against the bare skin of your shoulder, lingering as her warm breath ghosts against your skin, caressing against your neck with its heat. You can’t hold back your gasp at the feeling.

One of her hands travels down, settling against your knee with a gentle squeeze. 

“How’s that, Baby Girl, is that better?”

God! 

If she doesn’t fuck you soon, you swear you’re gonna kill her. Or, at this rate, she’s gonna kill you first with the way she’s sending your heart racing like that.

*

If you had thought that getting home, changing into a fresh pair of clothes, and giving yourself the chance to calm your racing heart would magically put an end to whatever was stirring up inside of you, you were sadly incorrect in your assumptions.

You’re sitting on the couch in your living room, wearing a sundress that falls to your knees because it’s light and you enjoy the slight breeze that it creates when you move. It flutters around your legs gently in the humid air. It might provide next to no relief at all, but it’s still better than nothing. 

Ellie sits across from you in an armchair. Without even looking, you can feel her staring at you, eyes burning into you with a restrained and tempered want. You suspect that she’s holding it back, now wondering if she’s crossed a boundary today and made you uncomfortable. 

That couldn’t be further from the truth, but Ellie is the type of person who acts on impulse, then completely over analyzes and over thinks her actions later, until she’s convinced herself that she’s fucked something up. She’s so bold, so confident in the things she does in the moment. But, in the end, she’s still someone who sometimes needs you to explicitly communicate and validate what she does after the fact. Regardless of how her confidence is so vast, and can sometimes be mistaken for being cocky, on the inside, she’s deeply insecure and needs reassurance.

Glancing up at her through your lashes, seeing the way that she twists and fidgets with the hair elastic on her wrist, the slight frown on her face, the almost guilty way her eyes flit away from you when she sees you looking, you know that she needs that right now, and you fully intend to not just give that to her, but encourage her forward. 

Setting down the book that you weren’t actually reading, just trying to distract yourself with and completely failing, you rise to your feet, and as you move to her, she looks up at you with a smile, slipping back into its place effortlessly.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” 

Her voice is low and soft, and the way her eyes skim over you, pausing at where your dress falls, the hem barely skimming your knees, makes heat flush at the back of your neck.

“Want somethin’.” 

You admit, crawling into her lap, bracing your hands on her shoulders.

“Yeah? What’s that?” 

She quirks a brow, and the way her eyes smoulder as she looks at you makes you nervous, stomach fluttering with anxious butterflies as she looks intently at you. 

You’ve got her full attention, and now that you do, you don’t know what to do with it. You were fully ready to take the lead on this, but at the end of the day, you’re still shy and inexperienced, and she’s everything that you’re not. To be honest, it’s intimidating, knowing her wealth of experience that you couldn’t even attempt to match. 

The insistent butterflies take flight in your stomach; you decide that the only way forward is by pure instinct, and the blind hope that you won’t embarrass yourself too much.

You lean forward slowly, hesitating slightly until, with understanding, Ellie’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, encouraging you the rest of the way forward until your lips meet hers, and suddenly, you forget exactly what your plan originally was, if you even really had one in the first place. It easily slips out of your mind as you melt against her, effortlessly letting her take the lead. 

Her fingers brush against your lower back, holding you securely against her. This isn’t like your usual, every day kiss, one that starts off slow and gentle. Her lips are insistent, pressing against yours with a desperate, persistent need. Her fingers absently brush against your scalp, running through your hair before cupping the back of your neck, the pressure just firm enough.

All you know is her. Her lips, claiming your mouth with a possessiveness that makes you ache for her inside. Her tongue, swiping over your lips, making you gasp slightly. As your lips part for her, you hear the low, satisfied sound she breathes against you as her tongue pushes past your lips, exploring your mouth with a hunger that you’ve never sensed in her before.

Her thigh pushes between your legs, parting them with ease and settling between them, grazing against your clothed heat. When her hand schemes down your lower back, caressing over your ass, before pressing against it with a firm squeeze, you can’t resist the way your hips buck against her, desperately chasing the friction, unable to hold back the small whimper when you’re clit presses against the rough denim of her cut-offs. 

The sound seems to startle you so much that you still your movements, eyes going wide as Ellie pulls back to look at you. She doesn’t even bother holding back the smirk that overtakes her features.

“Oh, so that’s what you want.” 

Her green eyes darken with want, voice low and gravelly with desire as she studies you, perched on her lap with a needy expression behind your innocent eyes.  Her fingers brush against your hips, teasing over your skin.

Heat flushes against your collarbone, spreading to warm your cheeks as you try to look down, wanting to escape the scrutiny of her piercing gaze. She anticipates your movement, and stops you with a hand coming to curl beneath your chin, making a soft noise of disapproval.

“Look at me, pretty girl, and tell me what you want,” 

Her voice is still soft, still gentle, but there’s a warning edge that’s crept into it, an effortless authority, that sends a jolt straight through you, making your already throbbing clit pulse with anticipation. Her fingers nudge your chin upwards, holding firmly as she directs your eyes to meet hers, smouldering with uncontained lust as she watches you. 

“You.” 

Your answer comes out in barely a breath, barely a whisper. 

“I want you.” 

You feel like your response sounds ridiculous.

It sounds small.

It sounds completely inadequate.

And yet, when Ellie’s hand snakes beneath your dress, fingers toying with the waistband of your panties, her lips brushing against your ear as she says low, “that, sweet girl, I would be happy to oblige.” 

She flexes her thigh up against your heat, rubbing over your swollen clit, making you cry out in surprise.

*

Her shirt hits the floor with a dull thump, pulled off by your eager and curious hands. You want to see her. You want to touch her. You want...

But now that it’s off and she’s looking down at you like that, your brain catches up to your body. What are you doing? What are you supposed to do? You don’t know how to do this. You don’t know where to put your hands, and the idea of fumbling around and embarrassing yourself is enough to make you nervous.

She sees the moment you begin to question yourself and overthink it, in the way that you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, the way your hand flexes, curling into itself with anxiety.  

“Hey,” she says softly, waiting for your eyes to meet hers. Her hands caress up and down the sides of your arms, pulling you from the spiral that your mind was going in, bringing you back to earth with a soothing touch. 

“I know that this is your first time, and I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything of you tonight. The only thing I want is to make you feel good. So just, let me do that, okay?” 

When she leans in, arms wrapping around you, and her lips press against your neck in a slow, seductive kiss, she can feel the shiver that runs down your spine, and she makes a note to remember that you’re sensitive there.

You feel her lips close to your ear as she speaks. 

“Just let me take care of my girl tonight.” 

Her hand schemes down your side, fingers drawing teasing circles over your hip. Your eyes close and your breath comes in a sharp, unsteady inhale and all you can do is look at her, eyes hooded, and say in a shaky voice, “please.”

You feel her low chuckle against your neck. 

“Such pretty manners,” she hums against your skin, before you feel the gentle graze of teeth join her lips, delivering a small, sharp sting that you imagine will leave a mark. 

This thought doesn’t scare you in the way that you thought it would. Your first thought isn’t of how on earth you’re going to cover this up tomorrow. The idea that there will be physical evidence of her, of what she’s doing to you, that there will be a reminder of it in the morning turns you on, sending a thrill through you. 

Her tongue replaces where her teeth had just been, gently soothing over the sting. “Good girl,” she breathes, hand coming up to fiddle with the spaghetti strap of your dress. “I want this off,”

She waits for you to nod your consent, and then she’s sliding the straps off your shoulders, letting it fall. It pools around your waist in a soft brush of its material.

Fingers brush over your stomach, and you shiver with anticipation, already knowing the path they intend to travel over your skin. Her hands graze over your ribs, before she curls them around the curves of your breasts. She looks down at them, cradled in her hands, and her lips curl upward. 

Warm, experienced hands massage and knead your breasts, gentle caresses and squeezes encouraging, coaxing your nipples to harden beneath her touch. Her thumb brushes over one of the hardening buds, and you gasp at even the slightest attention. She seems to relish in drawing sounds from you, her index finger joining her thumb, as she rolls your perked nipple between her fingers, adding the slightest pinch. 

“You’re so fuckin pretty, you know that? The site of these,” she tweaks your other nipple, making your breath stutter, “peeking through your shirt at the lake was teasing me all day.” 

Her face buries against your neck, she becomes rougher, more insistent. Still slow and attentive, but there’s a possessive edge to it as she leaves a trail of marks down your throat, your collarbone. 

You love every second of getting to see this new side of Ellie, one that you haven’t seen before. The way that she’s intently listening to your body, finding out exactly how to touch you in a way  that brings out those little gasps and mules that are like music to her ears, you want to see this side of her more often.

She’s enjoying the sight of her marks on you just as much as you are; a thrill runs through her, knowing that everyone will see that you belong to her.

She pauses toying with your nipple as her hand falls to your thigh, letting her breath graze against your skin, before she leans in, lips encircling the pebbled bud with a gentle suck. You whimper as her teeth barely graze your skin, tongue swirling over the small bud teasingly. She makes an appreciative sound against you while her fingers brush the bare skin of your inner thigh. 

Her thumb teases over the seam of your panties, and you swear that you can feel her lips pull into a smirk as she feels the evident wetness pooling there. When she grazes a knuckle over your clothed clit, using a featherlight touch, your hips instinctively buck, you’re so worked up. 

“Ellie,” your cheeks flush at the way that she’s got you whining for her with just one touch to wear you’ve been craving her to be. “Please, I, I need you to touch me there.” 

“Aww, you’re so pretty when you beg for me,” she coos, two fingers caressing over your heat. 

Your head falls back, eyes closing as you try to suppress the whimper that fights to escape at her teasing.

“Ellie, please,” and if you weren’t trying to beg before, you definitely are now.

She tilts her head, a slightly pleased expression crossing her kiss swollen lips as she looks at you, thoroughly unravelled before she’s even fully gotten you undressed.

“That’s all you had to say, Princess.”

Her voice is low and smooth, calm and effortless, in complete juxtaposition to her next actions, because suddenly, your dress is being yanked the rest of the way down, Ellie tossing it to the floor in a careless heap. She lifts you with ease, flipping you around so that your back is pressed against her bare chest. Her arms curl around you, holding you close to her, fingers trailing down your stomach, scheming over the waistband of your panties. One finger hooks under, and she pauses, voice suddenly soft.

“Can I take these off, baby girl?” Her finger strokes along the bare skin that she’s found beneath your panties, just above your mound, inviting, but not moving lower. 

“Ellie,” you say with growing desperation. She’s teased you all day, and you can’t take much more of it. You’ve reached the end of your rope, and you can tell, without even having to look at her, that she’s fully aware of it, she’s just enjoying teasing you a little longer, dragging out the moment for even just a few seconds more. She’s so close to where you need her, but not close enough, and you need her to bridge the distance. “You can do whatever you want,” your head falls back against her shoulder, auburn hair tickling against your face as she leans down to whisper.

“Don’t give me any ideas, princess. You might regret it.” 

Her words make you shutter, but, nonetheless, she pulls, and in a matter of seconds, she’s sending your panties to join your dress on the floor, with a practiced flick of her wrist.

She doesn’t waste much time now; her hands gently part your thighs. 

“Spread your legs for me, Pretty Girl, I want to see all of you.” 

She coaxes, not that you need much urging. You feel her legs cage over yours, wrapping around them, holding them open for her. Fingers ghost over your curls, dipping between your lips. She collects your wetness, fingers gliding effortlessly up to your clit, coating it in your own arousal. 

“Barely touched you, and you’re already soaked for me,” two fingers press against your swollen clit, drawing slow, easy circles over your heat, already making your walls clench around nothing.

Her other hand moves, pausing to give an affectionate pinch to one of your perked breasts, making you gasp in surprise, your hips instinctively jolting forward, pushing against the hand that continues to massage, tease, and press against your clit. It continues its path downward, caressing over your hip, your inner thigh. 

Long, tapered fingers dip between your folds, tentatively swirling around your entrance, gathering the wetness that’s collected there. You don’t realize you’re begging until, achingly slowly, one of her fingers brushes over your tight, glistening hole. She doesn’t push it forward, only curling it slightly to pet at your entrance. 

“F-fuck, please,” your head falls back against her shoulder, and your hips push forward, trying to take her inside, but to no avail.

“Such a needy girl,” she murmurs, smirking at the way that you nod. 

She’s got you so desperate that you’ll agree to anything she says; you won’t even try to deny it. It would be pointless, anyways. All she has to do is look down and see the way that your hips are bucking against her to know that you would be lying through your teeth. Nonetheless, she gently eases a finger inside you and you let out a long, tremulous breath as she pushes her finger, easing it all the way inside until she’s down to her knuckle.

She’s watching carefully for your reactions and she can feel how tight you are around her; she doesn’t want to cause you any pain. But when she tentatively, curiously, crooks her finger slightly upward, searching, a jolt runs through you, your body trembling and hips jerking forward, chasing the contact. It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and you need more. 

“Fuck, I, Ellie, I I want,” your hands grip onto her thighs tightly. 

She presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck before whispering,“That’s it, baby, use your words. Tell me what you need,” her finger pumps in and out at an unhurried, languid pace, barely grazing over that spot that you so desperately need her to touch. 

“Need more of you inside me,” you whimper, unable to keep the desperate edge from creeping into your voice. A second finger joins the first, slowly pushing through your entrance. You immediately feel the stretch, unfamiliar to having someone else’s fingers there, but you’re quickly distracted, because as soon as both fingers are pushing into you, she increases the pressure against your throbbing clit, fingers drawing rough, tight circles over your swollen bud. 

The sound you make is high and uncontained.

Calloused fingers brush against your inner walls, clenching around them as Ellie stretches you out. Her fingers curl, a slight beckoning motion as she easily finds that spot inside of you. The pads of her fingers press firmly against it, fingers insistently petting at your center with small, precise strokes against your sweet spot. She's hitting that spot in a way that you’ve never been able to accomplish on your own. 

You’re seeing stars, because she’s everywhere you want and need her to be, and now, the only thing you can do is grind your hips down against her fingers that are so effortlessly toying with you. 

It comes out of nowhere, the coil that eagerly begins to tighten in your stomach. Your toes curl with anticipation, and your hands are gripping onto her so tightly. You’re pretty sure that you’re the one who’s going to be leaving bruises now. Her fingers continue to thrust in and out of your weeping cunt, and maintain the relentless pressure against your clit.

Ellie’s chin rests against your shoulder, watching attentively, and if you could see her, you’d see how utterly enthralled she is at how much of a mess she’s made you, eyes heavy as she watches her fingers plunge in and out of your cunt. Her voice is low against your ear, rough, commanding when she speaks.

“That’s it, Baby Girl, I want you to fuck yourself on my fingers and cum for me.” 

You’ve always experienced orgasms as a gradual build, a wave, gently cresting against the shore. So, the way the coil in your stomach abruptly snaps, almost an instant after Ellie finishes speaking, has you taken completely by surprise. She’s attached her lips back onto your neck, sucking a mark just against your pulse point, which she feels fluttering rapidly beneath her tongue. 

There’s the stuttering of hips accompanied by a sharp cry and Ellie feels your walls tighten around her fingers, unceasing in her ministrations even as your orgasm barrels through you. 

“Good girl, fucking give it to me,” she nearly growls, as her fingers continue to fuck you through your orgasm. All you can do is whimper uselessly, rocking your hips against her hand, as thrills ignite every inch of your body, making you tremble all over. 

When you come down from your high, you’re collapsed against her chest, and she’s slowly easing off the pressure. 

The first thing you notice is that you don’t feel the same as you usually would if you had just done this by yourself. For some reason, you thought that you were a one and done kind of girl. Usually you orgasm once, and then you take a nap, feeling for the most part satisfied. But as her fingers slide out of you, leaving you feeling empty, all you can think is that you want more.

Then, Ellie’s holding up her glistening fingers, slick with your arousal, in front of her face. You turn to watch her, curious, as she slides them into her mouth, licking them clean. She hums, and you raise a brow questioningly as she looks down at you, her eyes bearing an expression that is almost predatory in its intensity.

“What?” you ask, already feeling goosebumps rising along your skin.

“Nothing,” she shrugs, shaking her head slightly. “It’s just, now that I’ve had a taste of you, I want more.” You turn fully to face her, lips curving into a smirk. Your hand trails over her breasts, and she looks at you with interest.

“Please,” you’re still breathless, and your voice is still unsteady.

“I want you too.”

*

“Atta girl, just like that.” 

Admittedly, as much as you’ve had countless fantasies involving sitting on Ellie’s face, the prospect of actually doing it, as much as you want to, gives you pause. She’s carried you up to the bed, at some point along the way, the rest of her clothes came off, you’ll probably find them scattered along the hallway later. But that doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is that you’re hovering over her face, looking down at her while trying not to look nervous and out of your comfort zone, which you totally are, and she obviously isn’t buying it. Gentle hands reach for you, holding your hips and pulling you against her easily. 

“All the way down, Honey, that’s it,” she coaxes, easing you down onto her. “You’re good, you’re not gonna kill me,” her hand caresses up and down your side, soothing, even as you feel her warm breath ghosting over your heat, making your cheeks flush, as you look down at how close she is to you.

“I gotcha’, Pretty Girl, just relax,” her voice is smooth, assured, confident, in a way that makes your muscles relax in spite of yourself.

That’s when you feel her tongue, warm and wet, brushing through your folds. The sensation is so new, so unfamiliar to you, that for a second, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. 

Then, her tongue flattens, pressing over your clit and applying a slight pressure that has you arching against her. Her tongue curls over your swollen nub, gently drawing it towards her lips, an almost imperceptible pulling motion that has your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, finding a grip against the headboard of the bed.

She makes a contented hum as her lips wrap around your center, the sound vibrating against you making your hips jolt. Her hands curl around the undersides of your thighs, holding you in place. Your hands hold onto the headboard of the bed for dear life, feeling like it’s the only solid thing that you have to hold onto, keeping you from toppling over the edge and out of control. 

You’ve never felt like this before. Each swipe of her tongue over your heat, the gentle pulse of her lips as she sucks, enveloping you in her warm, wet mouth, brings a new sensation thrumming through your veins, almost akin to fire as it shoots through you, pleasure licking over every inch of your skin like flames. It’s overwhelming, in such a way that you don’t know what to do with it, how to express it. 

All you can do, at this point, is roll your hips against her mouth, hold onto the headboard, and let small, desperate whimpers escape your lips. You’re trying to hold onto some semblance of containing yourself, because you don’t know what would happen if you let yourself unravel completely. You’re terrified of what Ellie might see if you fell apart like that.

She seems to be doing everything she can to break away at your composure though. Her tongue is alternating between dragging slow, tender circles over your clit, and firm, quick strokes, that has your head falling against your hands, braced against the headboard. She flicks her tongue against you, her lips surrounding your clit in a particularly firm suck, and before you know it, you’re spilling over the edge, eyes shut tightly, and breath releasing in a long, shuttering moan that seems to run from the top of your head to the tips of your tightly curled toes, her tongue continuing to caress you over your peak.

She moans into you, and it all becomes too much. Your head is thrown back and your hands are reaching down, tangling in her hair, to push her away or pull her closer; it’s unclear in your fuzzy mind. All the while, her insistent tongue continues to swirl over your increasingly oversensitive bundle of nerves, the relentless and inescapable pleasure making you shiver all over, while a light sweat breaks out on your bare skin.

You only drift back into yourself when you become aware of a shift. It’s so fast, you barely have time to even blink, before Ellie manoeuvres you, flipping you onto your back and roughly parting your thighs with her hands. Her fingers run through your glistening folds, calloused thumb pressing against your aching, overstimulated clit. The sensation has you gasping, crying out, and trying to close your legs, buck your hips, move away.

Frantically, you try to jam your legs shut, trying to escape her mercilessly teasing fingers. Rough hands force your thighs apart, putting you on display for her as she holds you open. 

“Uh uh, not this time, Baby,” she tuts disapprovingly. “No more holding back on me, Sweet Girl,” listening to the low, dominant tone of her voice is like a drug to you, and your eyes roll back into your head as she speaks. 

“I want everyone to know how good I fuck this pretty little pussy.” Two fingers circle your clit and you jolt, trying to move away. But a strong arm pushes your hips down, pinning you against the bed easily.

Faster than you can process, her fingers retreat, and you don’t even have time to feel relieved, because a split second later, her hand comes down against your cunt with a smack, delivering a stinging, rough spank that has you crying out, clit throbbing and pulsing with the agonizingly delicious mix of pain and pleasure. 

“Now, you’re gonna be a good girl, and you’re gonna take everything I give you.” 

Two fingers notch at your entrance, but she waits, looking at you, a silent question, an invitation for you to tell her that this is too much and that you need to stop. You know she would in a heartbeat if you told her that this was too much or too rough for you right now, and that’s what makes you feel safe enough to continue.

So, when you respond by attempting to push your hips forward against her, a soft whimper falling from your lips, she smirks, and with the slightest movement of her wrist, her fingers thrust into you. Seconds later, her face is buried in between your legs, tongue gently lapping at your sensitive clit. After two orgasms, you’re hyper aware of every movement; every swirl of her tongue is sweet, hot agony that undoes you in seconds.

At the same moment her lips take your clit into her mouth, holding it as her tongue swipes a tight, rough circle over your heat, her fingers curl, and she finds that spot inside you that makes your legs begin to shake, pressing against it with each punishing thrust of her fingers. 

Your moans are loud, unrestrained, sounds that you would be embarrassed to make if you were in any way capable of controlling them. But you’re not, because your mind is only filled with her, her and her tongue on your clit, and her strong fingers pumping in and out of your wet cunt, playing with you as easily and as effortlessly as she plays the guitar. 

She’s clearly enjoying the sounds that fall from your lips, every beg and plea and moan of her name making her feel quite smug that she’s undone you so easily…she encourages you to continue, making a contented hum against your clit. She only looks up long enough to say:

“That’s it, I want to hear you being such a dirty little girl for me.”

A third finger slowly, carefully, pushes in; the stretch makes you feel so full, so good, it nearly takes your breath away. Her fingers thrust in and out slowly, testing the waters, wanting to make sure that you’ve adjusted – but you are having absolutely none of it.

Your head is thrown back and your hips are thrusting forward, or trying to, but her arm is so fucking strong that she doesn’t even have to try that hard to keep you pinned against the mattress, exactly where she wants you to be.  You don’t even realize you’re begging until you see her smirking up at you.

“Please, Ellie, please, fuck, I-I want,” it’s a challenge to even string coherent words together, but you’re distracted by her face, now looking up at you as her thumb takes over, stroking against your clit. 

“Come on, Baby girl, tell me what you want,” she presses her thumb a little harder into you, making you gasp brokenly. 

You take a breath to steady yourself, and your words still come out stuttered, but you say them, blushing in a way that she finds absolutely endearing considering you’re already spread out on her bed with three of her fingers buried inside of you.

“I-I want it harder,” you admit, your cheeks burning. “Want you to fuck me.”

“You’re so fuckin pretty when you use your words like that, Baby,” she praises. “Such a good fuckin girl,” then, her fingers are thrusting in and out, setting a rough pace, hitting that spot in a way that feels so much stronger than it already was. 

When she lowers her head, tongue dipping between your folds, returning to feast at your clit rough, persistent swirls and flicks over your swollen center, any slight ability to contain yourself is lost. You’re not aware of the sounds that you’re making, or the way that your hands scramble to find a hold on something, anything solid, eventually coming to clutch the soft bed sheets, holding them tightly in between your fingers.

You’re only aware that your orgasm is approaching, and that Ellie, little by little, is nudging you towards a peak that once you make it over, you think might absolutely wreck you, in the best possible way. All you know is that you want this, you want her. You need her.

God.

You really fucking need her. 

She feels your walls beginning to flutter around her, her free hand shifts down, coming to grip your thigh, opening you even wider for her.

 “Come on, baby, wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make for me when you cum.” 

She says against you, adjusting her wrist to fuck you with her fingers deeper. The new angle has you keening, hips desperately thrusting to chase the friction of whatever new spot she’s hitting. 

Her tongue flattening against you as she draws firm, tight circles over your bundle of nerves, The way that your back is arching, hips uselessly trying to grind down against her and her relentless fingers, fucking into your weeping cunt mercilessly.  She’s guiding you exactly to where she wants you to go, straight up towards that peak. Your vision blurs. 

“Fucking give it to me, Pretty Girl, want you to cum for me, all over my fingers and my mouth.” 

Your back arches off the bed, and suddenly, all you know is wave after wave of ecstasy that crashes through your body, electric shocks that pulse through you, making you jolt and flail uselessly combined with the rhythmic pumping of her fingers, and the dipping and swirling of her tongue against you. 

She works you through your orgasm, never slowing the movements of her tongue or her fingers that continue to drag in and out of you, sustaining your pleasure for as long as she can possibly hold it. Her lips wrap around your clit, as her tongue swipes through your folds, collecting all the wetness that she can find. She hums against you, encouraging your loud moans, and by the time it’s over, you’re a shaking, completely fucked out mess on her bed, 

If you happened to see the expression on her face as she watches you writhing beneath her, your hands twisting the sheets into knots and broken, unrestrained whimpers fall from your lips, she’s taking in the sight with immense appreciation, as if you’re the work of art she’s just created.

*

Turns out, the only thing that you have the ability to do post-three orgasms is roll over onto your stomach, shaking and trembling, and try, desperately, to regain your breath. 

Ellie, for her part, crawls up the bed beside you, hand coming up to tenderly stroke back the hair that sticks to your forehead, before gently rubbing your back.

“Easy, baby, that’s it, just breathe for me.” 

You’re eventually able to regain your breath, but your body feels floppy and light, and you can’t even begin to comprehend the slightest of movements. Ellie tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, saying softly, “I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna get something to clean you up, okay?”  

You nod in slight acknowledgement of her words, but your mind is still fuzzy, and the only thing that you’re really aware of right now is the sudden sleepiness that comes over you in a soft, comforting wave. You feel her stroke your hair once more before she rises from the bed, briefly pausing to look at how fucked out you are, stretched out across her bed, bare skin glistening with sweat that makes your hair stick to your forehead, eyes heavy and cheeks flushed.

“So pretty,” she breathes, before exiting.

She isn’t gone long, and when she returns your eyes are closed, head buried against a pillow. She kneels between your legs, hand reaching out to gently rub your back as you turn your head to look at her. 

“Just need to clean you up, pretty,” she whispers, and you realize how sticky you are in between your legs. 

“Okay,” you mumble, your voice sounding slightly hoarse, similar to the way it does when you first wake up in the morning. Were you really moaning that much?

You feel a warm, damp washcloth brushing against your inner thigh. It’s nice, soothing, but as Ellie moves towards the place in between your legs, you instinctively flinch, overstimulated and slightly sore. 

A large hand splays out over your back gently. “I know, Honey, it’s okay, I've got you,” Ellie soothes. 

She runs the cloth over your folds. “There we go, sweet girl, almost done.” Its brush against your clit makes you cry out, leg kicking out instinctively. Ellie shushes you gently, pressing chased, featherlight kisses against your spine, the curve of your hip, effectively distracting you while she finishes cleaning you up. 

When she’s done, she throws the cloth to the side, coming to sit beside you. “Okay, Baby, I just need you to get up and go for a quick pee.” You turn your head to look at her in bewilderment, staring up at her with your eyebrows raised.

“Why?” You ask, confused. She chuckles softly at your expression. 

“Because, nowadays there isn’t much to protect ourselves from any infections that we could pick up while doing this,” she gestures vaguely. “And this is the one thing that we can do to at least try to help prevent something from coming up,”

“Buuut Elliee, I don’t wanna get up,” you grumble, burying your face back into the pillow.

She sighs softly, “come on, it’ll be fast, and then we can get back into bed and cuddle for as long as you want.” 

That idea is tempting, but she could just get into bed with you right now and cuddle. Plus, you want to know who gave her this information, because it sounds pretty fucking stupid to you. 

“I don’t want to,” you grumble.

Ellie playfully hits you with a pillow. “Come on, Lazy Ass,” she’s guiding you to sit up now, in spite of how much you’re resisting, because the bed is so warm and soft. 

“Besides,” she reasons, “we both go out on patrol in three days, and I am not dealing with you having to dismount your horse every five minutes because you got a urinary tract infection and now you need to pee every time we hit a bump on the path.” 

You dramatically sigh in defeat. “Okay, okay, I get it, Jesus Christ,” you roll your eyes in mock exasperation, but the smile pulling at your lips betrays your true feelings. “On one condition,” you say, folding your arms across your chest.

“What?” Ellie is fighting to restrain a smile, because you’re just too goddamn cute when you’re like this.

“You have to carry me there and back,” you say, reaching your arms up like a child who wants to be picked up. 

She sighs, feigning annoyance, but she’s already positioning an arm beneath your knees. “You’re such a fucking brat,” she mutters against your hair as she cradles you against her chest. 

You snuggle into her, smile growing wide as she moves towards the door, holding you in her arms. “Don’t lie, you love it.”

“Shut up ,” she says, hand sneaking around to give your ass an affectionate squeeze, making you gasp and giggle in surprise, instinctively kicking, nearly falling out of her arms in the process. But her hold is secure, arms tightening around you as your cheek presses against her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, babe, I got you.”

*

After gently setting you back in bed, once you’ve finally gone to the bathroom, grumbling the whole way there and back, Ellie went to get you a glass of water. She’s been gone for less than 30 seconds, and you already miss the feeling of her body, Strong and warm and steady, pressed against you. While she’s gone though, you entertain yourself by letting your eyes roam over your body, finding the evidence of her, left behind on your skin. You discover each new mark, each trace of her presence imprinted on you with the anticipation and joy of a child finding Easter eggs. 

Your hand runs over your inner thigh, Lips pulling into a smile as you take in the sight of the finger shaped bruises that she left from where she gripped onto you so tightly. The site makes a warm, tingling feeling settle in your stomach.

You don’t hear her approach from behind you, and she must not see the expression on your face.

“Did I hurt you? Was it, was it too much?”

You turn, eyebrows raised and already shaking your head with vehemence, to find her watching you, biting her lip, concerned frown on her face. 

“What, no, no, Ells, it’s just,” you avert your eyes, the blush creeping onto your face is mortifying, and in spite of everything you too just did, and how you had expected talking about things like this would be easier now, it’s still hard to admit it out loud. 

She catches your chin in her hand, gently redirecting your eyes back up to meet hers. Seeing her so close to you, you don’t have to look hard to see the anxieties, trying to be contained and hidden, but dancing behind her eyes nonetheless. 

You feel your heart clench. She’s opened up to you about her past on a few occasions, but when she has, it was easy to sense how fearful she was of her own inclinations towards violence, regardless of how necessary and imperative it might have been for her survival. She’s like a fire, impulsive and easy to set off, her flames all-consuming without a second thought. But after, even now, even when all this is small bruises marking your skin in the heated passion of lust, that will fade and be gone within a few days, she’ll still twist herself into knots, thinking and overthinking until she’s convinced herself that she’s ruined you.

“Please, Babe, tell me the truth,” her voice is soft, barely a whisper, but you hate the way that there’s a slight tremble in it, so uncharacteristic of Ellie. It breaks what’s left of your embarrassment, and the words fall from your lips without hesitation now.

“It wasn’t too much. It’s just, I-I liked it...the marks... I think it’s kind of hot.” 

You wonder, in the back of your mind, if she can feel the way your cheek heats beneath her hand, resting against it ever so lightly. Her breath comes out in a soft, surprised laugh, and you’re relieved to see the concerned edges fade from her expression, a smirk instead overtaking her lips. “

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she whispers, fingers coming to trace over the scattered marks, littered across your neck and collarbone. 

“You’re cold,” she observes, hands running up and down your arms, goosebumps beginning to form there. You hadn’t even noticed that you had begun to shiver.

When she crawls into bed behind you, wrapping her arms around you, Holding you against her, her warmth settles into your bones, running through you like melted chocolate. She brings the glass of water to your lips, insisting that you drink, and refusing to back down, in spite of your protests that you’ll need to get up to go pee in the middle of the night and does she realize how annoying that is? 

She does, but she still coaxes you to drink half the glass.

You hold the glass up to her, pouting slightly. “Now you drink some, I feel like you should, too, because you were doing a lot of work, you know, with your mouth,” you say suggestively. 

“Oh my God, shut up,” she groans. She gives you a playful shove that nearly makes the glass tumble from your hand. But she has quick reflexes, and her hand is steady against yours as she gently grabs your wrist, preventing the spill.

“Careful, Hun,” she cautions, plucking the glass out of your hand easily. “If only to appease you,” she sighs dramatically, before tipping it back and draining the glass.

The inevitable crash that you hadn’t, but probably should’ve, anticipated hits you all at once. It starts with a sigh that quickly turns into a yawn that seems to take all of your energy with it. You move to shrug your shoulders, brush it off like it’s nothing, because honestly, it’s only just starting to get dark outside, you can’t go to sleep right now, it’s just too early.

Your bones feel oddly heavy, sore in a way that shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. Adrenaline, and passion have temporarily blinded you to trivial things, like being a human and having a body that can get physically exhausted, especially after trying so many new things at once. You wince because fuck, you hadn’t realized how tense you had been holding yourself today until now, and the consequences are quickly setting in. 

She’s watching you, observing you closely as she always does. She doesn’t say a word, but she intuitively understands.

She brushes your hair off to one side, and you shiver as your bare neck and shoulders are exposed to her. Warm hands settle over your shoulders, there’s a gentle squeeze, an unspoken question, an offering. The way your head falls forward, the low, contented noise that falls from your lips is all the ascent that she needs.

Her thumbs gingerly press into the tense muscles beneath them. She hums sympathetically, feeling how tender you are beneath her. She keeps her movements slow and precise as she presses her thumbs against you, applying a slight pressure, running them over the backs of your shoulders, gently encouraging the tension to release. She’s ceaselessly patient, only continuing her path upward when she can feel your muscles relax, giving into her ministrations.  

She continues to massage across your shoulders and your upper back, seeming to find and undo tension in places that you didn’t even realize you were carrying. It makes you sleepy, the gentle caress of her hands gliding over your skin, paired with the firm press of her knuckles, exactly where you need it.

One of her hands slowly runs up the back of your neck, gently cupping you at the base of your skull.  Her fingers smooth over your temples, stress easing away as your eyes flutter shut.  Her other hand continues to press and massage in between your shoulder blades, firm and insistent as she smooths her thumbs over the tight knot that’s gathered there, with patient persistence, making it unravel at her touch, and forcing the tension to leave your body. 

“Relax, Pretty Girl, I’m not going anywhere,” her voice is a low rumble against your ear. 

Her lips brush over one of the bruises she’s left on the side of your neck, and suddenly, it’s like all the tension bleeds out of you, draining so quickly that you don’t have time to catch yourself.

She laughs softly as you try to contain the yawn that tears through you as she eases you back towards the pillows. She wraps a soft blanket around both of you, covering your bodies and making sure you’re tucked in securely. 

She settles in behind you, warm, bare skin pressing against yours as she curls herself around you. A strong arm wraps around your waist, gently tugging you close to her as her leg hooks over yours. 

You’re barely awake, only aware enough to snuggle into her, saying sleepily, “if this is the treatment I’m going to get after one swimming lesson, what are you gonna do when I’ve mastered it?”

There’s a soft chuckle, low against your ear as she whispers, “don’t worry about that, pretty girl, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” 

She kisses the top of your head, lingering for a moment as she adoringly watches your eyes flutter. You sigh with contentment, letting a sleepy smile graze over your lips. Maybe she doesn’t realize what she’s doing, maybe she isn’t even aware…but, in this moment, you’re surrounded by her. 

Her safety.

Her warmth .

Her unconditional and unwavering love is curled around your heart as closely as she’s curled herself around you. She’s here, she’s safety, she’s love,and right now, she is all that you could ever want.

-

this was actually my first attempt at writing smut, and in spite of how nervous I am to share it, I’m actually really happy with how it turned out. So if you enjoyed it, please let me know, notes, comments, and re-blogs are so appreciated. Thank you so much for reading

[ariundercovers]

Bad Man (joel miller x afab!fem!reader)

Words: ~1.2k

Summary: Joel was a bad man. Neither of you gave a single fuck about it. (there's nothing here but pure filth. i am not sorry nor will i apologize. it spewed out of my brain and now here you be)

Warnings: 18+ only, rough sex, unprotected p in v, ass slapping, neck grabbing, bruising mentioned, girthy age gap, slightly toxic internal thoughts/monologue

masterlist here

You’re not sure how you got into this position, got to this place.

Well… actually, that’s a lie.

You’re pretty sure of it, if you’re being honest with yourself, and it has everything to do with Joel’s big fucking mouth and his stupid, flirty personality. It has even more to do with his perfect, stupid, glorious tongue and his frustratingly fat cock.

The speckled gray hair and the crow’s feet at his eyes were just the icing on top of the cake for you, really. A well-worn man with just as worn hands, willing to use them to deliver all of the pain and pleasure you could possibly ask for. He fucks, and he fucks well. He fucks like someone who’s lived an entire life, knows exactly what he wants, and takes it. Every time.

It’s all that you can think about, all that you can manage to do as he spears his hips into you from behind, nearly knocking the wind out of your chest with every thrust.

Joel was a bad man. A very, very bad man. 

And you fucking loved him for it.

Every grunt you hear from behind you spurs you on a little further, makes your core get a little bit wetter, until you feel beads of sweat start to drip from his body and onto your back. You cry out for him as the fingers of one hand dig bruisingly into your hip, and the palm of the other takes turns slapping at each of your asscheeks until you’re sure they’re a bright, stinging red with the heat you can feel radiating off of them already. 

There’s nothing in your mind, nothing in your body, but Joel. Joel everywhere.

He stops his smacks, but not his thrusts, and grips you tightly at the nape of your neck, shoving your face down into the couch beneath you. He holds you there, barely enough room to get a breath in between your cheek and the cushion, but the new angle makes you absolutely see stars. You cry out for him, fingers digging into the couch as you try to find purchase anywhere you can manage.

You feel like your insides are on fire - and so are your asscheeks - everything is, really, because Joel is all over you and inside of you and everywhere and everything and it was so fucking perfect you could cum just from the thought of it all. 

You were sure this was what heaven must feel like. Did you make him feel just as good? He hisses behind you and you feel another rush of slick to your core as you think about it. 

This, right here, was heaven. You knew it. You didn’t need to die to get there, and hell, you surely knew Joel wouldn’t be coming with you, anyway. So this would be enough. You’d let Joel bring a little piece of heaven to you, just like this, anytime he wanted to. You’d never say no to him.

And the thing is, you were right. Joel was a bad man. A very, very bad man. And he knew it. He just didn’t care.

With Ellie leaving and Tommy off to start his own family, what else did he have left? Who cares if he started fucking the little stable girl, young and perky and pliant and willing… all for him, any night of the week?

Could you really blame him for not giving a rat’s ass about what anyone else thought?

Maria would have his head if she knew, probably chastise him for being a dirty old man, call him a pervert or a cradle robber or something even worse.

You were legal, though. At least legal to the standards of 2003… legality ain’t much of a thing, these days.

He grunts heavily above you, staring down at you like you’re some kind of magic, materialized beneath his hands. Your fucking skin is just so fucking soft… Not hard and war-torn like his. And your hands… Oh the way your soft, gentle hands make him feel when they’re wrapped around his cock. Don’t even get him started on your fucking perky, perfectly pouty lips. He might as well have a heart attack and go to heaven each time you wrap your lips around his length.

So, fuck it. He wants this. Damn near feels like, after all this time, maybe, just maybe, he even deserves it. Deserves a warm cunt to sink himself into at the end of the day, a perky set of tits to play with, a smiling face that calls out for him not in stress or frustration but in pleasure.

Yeah. He wants it. He really, really fucking wants it. And he’s gonna take it - and keep taking it - over and over again until you’ve had your fill of him or until he drops dead in the process. He’s gonna take you every way he possibly can.

With the most mental clarity he’s had since that moment in the hospital with Ellie, Joel’s hips stutter for a moment as his breath catches in his throat. It’s just a second - barely a blip - but you notice. Of course you fucking notice. You start to turn your head back to him as if to ask him about it, but he just keeps fucking you relentlessly into the couch, never giving you a moment to even breathe, let alone ask a question.

He keeps your face pressed down into the cushions beneath you, and one of his broad arms wraps around your waist, a single calloused finger rubbing softly at your swollen nub. It takes very few moments of his touch at your clit to send you spiraling into oblivion, your back arching violently away from him as he continues to pound into you, both hands resting at each hip. His fingertips dip into your hip bones as he pulls you up and down on his cock, bouncing you off of his thighs with each thrust. He doesn’t give you a moment to think, let alone come down from the high of your orgasm, until he can feel the familiar tightening in his balls, slamming into you once - twice - three more times before he’s pulling out of you just in time to splatter his hot cum all over your well-abused ass. 

The pearly white beads of his cum nearly sparkle across the reddened skin of your ass cheeks and he groans in satisfaction as he catches his breath, loving the look of you painted with his seed. His. 

His. 

The possessive, needy demon comes out in him as he slaps his hand down against your reddened ass one more time and smears his cum all the way across your backside.

“You’re fucking mine, little girl. You understand me?”

You mewl, eyes shutting tightly as you press your ass back into the touch of his hands. He’ll be gentle with you later when you’re alone upstairs, buried under the sheets, where it’s safe and he’s sure no one’s watching. His shell will crack and you’ll get a little glimpse into his miserable broken insides, but not now. Not yet. 

Now, he’s all sharp edges and teeth, rough and raw and oh-so Joel.

He slaps your ass again, smearing his cum across your back before raking his nails sharply down your spine.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

~ ~ ~

A/N: if you liked it, PLEASE leave a comment and/or a reblog! your interactions are literally the fuel to my fire! Love you all! xoxoxo

[puppetmaster13u]

SO. Thinkin of This AU/Thread of ideas. Y'know, Halfa Jason adopting the entire liminal class. That one.

But what if, Dragon. Because I am in fact weak to dragon AUs. And I could draw them, but instead have scrys beneath the keep reading bit.

So, Ghosts are Dragons sort of AU. Which means that the people in Crime Alley debate on whether local dad Peter (Who is totally with Red Hood they're sure) & the kids are dragon-based metas, or in fact straight up dragons disguised as humans.

Jason isn't exactly oblivious about this per se, but like, dude also has 13 kids ranging from 4 to 6 who are also both very powerful and also traumatized from the whole GIW experiments going on. So. He's understandable more than a bit Distracted.

Jason [Star Core] & Jazz [Ocean Core] & Jordan [Sun Core]

Kyle [Shadow Core] & Kwan [Wind Core] & Dash [Speed Core]

Wes [Light Core] & Paulina [Fire Core] & Star [Electric Core]

Sam [Life Core] & Tucker [Storm Core] & Valerie [Metal Core]

Ellie [Moon Core] & Danny [Space Core] [& Bonus Fright Knight just Because]

Also have link to the designs of the fam for the base Au

Psspspsps @mkarchin713 @radiance1 @hdgnj @theobliviousshipper perhaps u may enjoy or have ideas

[anonymous-existences]

Chapter 10 : Happy Moments for the Badger

Fluff And Happiness :33

[𝔻𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕪-ℂ𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕔 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣]

[ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 12 , ????? ᴀᴍ , ꜰᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴢᴇɴ]

"Danny!" Dante yelled out as Danny ran to Dante and jumped in his arms "Big Brother!!" Danny giggled as they spun around and Dante Kisses his forehead. "Are you feeling okay now you little twerp?" Dante asks, his voice still filled with worry for Danny's health.

"Yep! Nocturn made my nightmares go away!" Danny chuckled and the two pressed foreheads with each other, Frostbite merely chuckled and Plasmius ruffled Danny's Hair as Ellie hugged Danny as well.

"You did a good job fighting your nightmares Daniel..." Vlad says with a comforting gentle voice as he smiled at Danny, Danny only nodded and talked about the dreams and Conversations and things Nocturn had taught him in his dreams as Dante carried him and Ellie back to Gotham.

"Goodbye Frostbite! Thank you again!!" Danny waved and Frostbite waved back, "You're always welcome here, Oh Great One." Frostbite chuckled deeply as he waved his giant furry paws at Danny as a goodbye.

Danny kept waving until they reached the makeshift portal Dante had made and Danny regal clothing turned back to his normal clothing as they passed through the portal. "Finally back home! Nocturn taught me how to write ancient ghost spea—" Danny stared at Jason who was chilling on the couch.

His pupils turns into slits and he immediately hides behind Dante, "Oh right, Danny... That's... Jason, the Revenant, c'mon now don't be shy." Dante kneels to Danny's Height and Danny Cautiously stepped out behind Dan.

Jason stood up and slowly also kneeled to Danny's Height, "Hey there kiddo, I'm Jason! Jason To—" Jason was cut off by Danny's sudden speaking "You're also Red Hood, Former Robin before Red Robin and the youngest Robin." Danny merely said and Jason was stunned.

"It's a pleasure to meet you" Danny smiled softly but cautiously. "I am also dating him—" Dante tries to say but Danny just whips his head at him in shock.

"H-HUH??? DATING?! YOU STARTED DATING SOMEONE WHEN I WAS ASLEEP?!?!? WHAAAAAAT?!" Danny yells in shock as he grabbed Dan by the collar and tried shaking the... Very large Man.

"My Reaction Too!!" Ellie interjects in protest, "Even Sissy Sam was Shocked that Undergrowth probably got hit with an eco-fwendly frying pan because he tried to ask Sissy Sam why she's so distressed!" Ellie adds into her small statement.

Danny was just stunned and mouth agape in shock, "Now Now Daniel, Calm Down... Do you all want to go out to the city today? So I can buy you 2 more possibly furniture and groceries and such." Vlad suggests as he puts his hands in Danny's Shoulder behind him.

"You're coming with us?? Fuck yeah!" Dante said as he slowly stood up with Jason, "You pay for everything right?" Dante smirked,

"I always paid for everything Dante." Vlad states with a blank face and a blunt tone as he carried Ellie in his arms. "Isn't that right princess?" Vlad asks Ellie and Ellie Profusely nods in agreement.

"True" Dante didn't defend himself and just laughed at the sight before him, his core now vibrated and felt more at ease, matching Danny's Purring, they were both happy to be finally back by each other's sides. Jason was still adjusting to the 'Ghost Cultures' and stuff but he's slowly getting used to it seeing as how he's cooing over Danny's Purring making Danny feel Embarrassed with his cheeks Flushed an odd but cute greenish Red.

His freckles were much more noticeable now, constellations bore his face in bright neon green that occasionally glowed in the darkness, his hair seemingly sometimes floating or flowing in this non-existent wind in the surroundings, Jason Hesitantly but gently pats Danny's Head and Danny lets him making Jason's Heart feel even more happier because he feels as though he's in a family again.

They all liked it.

Even Vlad Surprisingly.

[𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 12, 4:45 𝐏𝐌, 𝐆𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥]

Danny was with Ellie and Dan in the Space-Section, Jason followed them but Vlad couldn't come anymore Because of how busy he got all of a sudden.

"Aries constellation! I want it! I'm going to school again right? Can I have that bag?" Danny pointed at the Aries Star Constellation Backpack. "Ofcourse Twerp! You can pick whatever you need for Back to School Stuff." Dante chuckled and reached for the Bag and Gave it to Danny.

Ellie was very pleased to pick her own Backpack, she picked a Badger(?) Designed Backpack, her smile was wide and very pleased . "Hey JayJay! Can you come with me to pick my stuff in the girls section?" Ellie asked enthusiastically as he grabbed Jason's Hand.

Jason was taken aback— honestly these kids trust him already and it was heart melting. "ofcourse Ellie, Dan, Babe, Just Call me if you need me Kay?" Jason looked at Dante and Dante nodded with a wink.

"Ew. Don't do that shit Infront of me" Danny motioned a Fake Gag and Ellie just Laughs as Dante stared at Danny and Judgingly, "Language Twerp, Vladdy Daddyo's gonna fuckin kill me if he finds out you swear cuz of me" Dante joked and laughed,

"Ugh, You just did Bitchass." Danny scowled jokingly as they picked more back to school items, Danny hadn't felt so excited for school until now. He never knew he loved education as much as he did now and it was honestly very much fun and amusing.

Danny picked everything he could find that could relate to stars and Dante paid for them with Vlad's Card, they then waited for Jason and Ellie to come back and when they did Jason was chatting happily with Ellie who was yapping continuously about Badgers and Animals she sees as Ferals in General.

Danny felt as if he's in a happy family but something inside him tells him something is still missing and Dante notices it fast. "I know bud... I know." Dante pats his shoulder reassuringly and Danny nods with a gentle caring Smile.

He loved being in this warm environment... Hopefully it stays that way... Oh.

"Dante can I dye a part of my hair orange?" Danny suddenly asks and Dante froze, Slowly Dante's eyes softens and he merely nods before speaking with approval. "Ofcourse Danny. Anytime!" Dante smiled and they bought a small box of orange hair dye and a turquoise headband Bandana sort... just like Jazz's and one that Danny had picked by himself.

Dante paid for it and ruffles Danny's hair, Jason was confused on why the three Phantoms are acting like this, as if mourning someone but he not dare to ask just because it felt like a sensitive topic for them... A very sad topic probably.

Danny smiled to himself as he stared at the plastic bag that contains his Hair Dye and Headband.

His core was Happy and So was he.

[𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 12, 9:40 𝐏𝐌, 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞'𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭]

Robin landed on Danny's window as Danny was placing his new Glow in the dark stars to his ceiling, he soon noticed robin as Robin knocked on the wall to get his attention.

Danny slowly hopped off the ladder and ran to Robin Enthusiastically, "Robin! Hi! Do you want to help me put stars on my ceiling?" Danny asks happily. Robin was honestly taken aback but he couldn't force himself to Reject his offer and so he complied.

Robin hesitantly helped Danny Form the Constellations and got so into it that he didn't notice that Jason was staring at them and leaning on the door frame as he watched amused by this.

"Hey Babe what are you doing ther— oh. Robin." Dante says totally unbothered by this scene and Robin stares at them for a moment. He felt his cheeks redden in Embarrasament. "Heya Red Hood! Robin is just helping me out stars on my ceiling! Isn't he nice?" Danny says Enthusiastically as Dante gave him a plate of cookies. "H-Hood— did.... Goodness fucking gracious— this is quite the humiliating scene..." Robin stuttered as he slowly got down from the Ladder.

"Yeah, Demon Brat, I can tell it IS humiliating for you but absolutely fucking funny for me." Jason laughed and Damian held back his urge to wield his katana or to tackle Jason and Plummet him into the ground. But Danny was there so that wasn't allowed, Danny gave him a cookie and Robin sat On Danny's bed Beside Danny himself.

"So why are you here Baby Brat?" Jason chuckled with a smirk, "Same Question to you Todd.." Damian's tone remained plastered and blunt towards Jason. "I'm dating his Brother." Jason said Straightforwardly making Robin almost choke on his cookie. "What...? Does B know about this... Relationship??" Robin tries to say and to state Jason the HINT.

"He doesn't need to and I know.. I know.. the whole scarecrow thing and shit but he's hot and stuff—" Danny cuts Jason Off.

"Not Infront of my Cookies Please." Danny says with a frown and Glare with his tounge out. "Right Sorry Kid. And yes. baby Brat. They know. Dante has known the very moment he saw us but now don't tell B but he doesn't intend to tell anyone unless we want anyone to know so do not fuckin worry about anything." Jason Reassures Damian.

"Right-right- Christ. Mother of Christ?? Whatever god it is out there— This is... Utterly Shocking to say the very least— you don't actually expect me to believe all that but then again HE IS the... Prime suspect so I can say the very least to that is that most of it is true." Robin huffs as he ate another cookie and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I might become like Red at this point... I need more coffee to process this... Information you have provided to me." Robin sighs.

"Right! Now. Why don't you two continue sticking up the stars and go back to B and tell him everything— well mostly everything except the identity part Kay Demon Brat?" Jason stood up and leaned on the door frame as he told Damian with a subtle Stern Glare.

"Whatever Todd.... Fucking—" Damian calms himself down Infront of Danny as they finished up sticking the constellations in the Ceiling.

It took atleast an hour and a half for them to finish it finally, with the Last Final Touch Being a Crescent Moon that glows brighter than the others.

Danny's eyes sparkled and soon Robin hopped on His bedroom window again ready to leave and disappear off to somewhere Danny doesn't know— probably a secret base but eh—

"You'll come back to visit me again right robin?" Danny asks him and Robin just smiled, "Ofcourse Danny... Anytime..." Robin chuckled unexpectedly as he disappeared into the shadows and heading back to the Batcave to Report to B.

Danny was Happy, very happy, this was the happiest day so far for him. Nocturn was right after all, that once he wakes up he will feel this type of Heart Melting Happiness that made his core purr.

His eyes flashed green for a few moments gradually fading to the Deep Sea Blue eyes of his as he felt intense emotions of positivity seep out.

He wishes jazz was there to feel the same...

Jazz too would have been happy.

I'm insane. MY HANDS ARE COLD FROM WRITING SO MUCH ANYWAYS ENJOY ILY GUYS ALL SO MUCH FOR READING THESE <333 AHAHHA HAVE FUUUNNN

[astralnymphh]

okay vamp! ellie who maybe walks past reader in a public area and getting a whiff of the scent of reader’s blood and just gets fully riled up as her fangs drop, embarrassing the fuck out of herself lmaooo

took me a toot little while to get to this, but omg, it would be totes more embarrassing if she had a crush on reader too.. she'd be so conflicted cause like— strong blood scent equates to a wound. okay! so obviously that would concern her enough to scurry on over and offer help. ellie's a sweetheart, even in this vampire trope; a fucking heart swell for you— even if her heart drums significantly slower, or not at all. so let's say, hand wound? her deft hand would pat down the tender flesh circling said wound, cupping the opposing side of your wrist in her bunched palm, her other hand minding the nostrils so eager— so thirsty to suck up that metallic scent, she just has to stifle a growl about it. n you peek up and wonder,

"what's wrong?" with a cadence so alluring. alluringly distressing on her hungry ears, wanting to consummate that urge. fucking devil–bestowed urge to just.. bite. those concentrated brows pulling up at the center like an artist swoops their hand, gulping those ill–omened words that wanted to vomit up.

i say omen, cause fuck— would her twist of tongue wrench your gut in all the wrong ways? or would you be lulled in tender as a lamb and fall for her. both are bound to hurt. on that note, all she can utter past pursing, thin lips is:

"nothing, just— hate the sight of blood, hmmph." and reaching for a wind of gauze. ellie couldn't take this shit a teardrop longer. more skin will break if she remains, gleam of her forehead caused by a taunting kiss of sweat.

but there's some figment of her that's just.. giddy, excitement stretching from her heart to her core. who could blame her? damn that's embarrassing though.

(little rushed im like tired and going crazy rn so this is just raw thrown-at-the-wall ideas)

[penvisions]

garnish {office hours}

Paring: Chef! Joel Miller x Professor! Reader (Formerly known as Bartender! Reader)

Summary: Busy with a new teaching schedule and a hectic holiday at the restaurant, Joel surprises you with a visit on campus.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: age gap (joel is mid to late 40's / reader is late 20's, early 30's), adult content, sexual content, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v, reader is on birth control, creampie, dirty talk, secret sex, office sex, panties used as a gag (!!), hint of f! recieving oral, nipple play, rough joel, light dom / sub tones, joel's biceps and chest need their own warning, pretty much pwp, joel and reader are down bad for each other

A/N: whelp, i got totally taken hostage by these two and how desperate they are for each other. had a poll and everything organized for once but uh, i love them, posting this utter filth and then running away, never have i ever written anything so unhinged. so. oops, happy valentine's day, y'all! ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Your classes were back-to-back, tutoring sandwiched between. That didn’t leave you much time to feel like a human, let alone a woman. The last weeks have been a whirlwind of activity for you. A hectic first semester of teaching cresting and beginning to wind down in the face of finals and testing. Papers packed tightly into your bag, almost flowing forth from the binder in which they were encased. Pens scattered to the bottom of it, a collection of bobby pins, hair ties, an errant starburst candy and more than a few wrappers.

You were rushing to your assigned classroom, two floors down from where your new office was. The office was adorned with your name in glittering gold letters. A flutter in your chest each and every time you catch them in your sight. Joel had frowned when he saw them for the first time, lamenting that the dull brass of them didn’t suit you. The next time you found yourself retiring to the confines of the room, you had stopped so abruptly that the student following behind you had run straight into your back.

The shiny gold of the polished letters had taken you off guard, as had the note telling you he would be making dinner that night. Smiling to yourself as you recalled the memory of your first time together after getting back, you had nearly made him late for an inventory shift the next morning when you splayed out for him a second time.

The class went smoothly, Ellie asking so many insightful questions that the discussion ran well over the end of it. No one seemed to mind. Retreating back to your office for study hours, a smile gracing your lips. As soon as you pushed open the door, you could smell him. His woodsy cologne rich in the confines of the room. It was dizzying, the image he created as he leaned casually against the front of the desk, the crammed bookcase behind him and the plants you cared for. He was dressed casually. Though the way he crossed his arms allowed for the rolled-up sleeves of his button up to display his forearms and it downright erotic.

He cocked a brow up as you let out a dreamy sigh, the door clicking shut behind you. You could only stare as he pushed off from the sturdy piece of furniture and walked toward you. The bag hanging from your shoulder slipped to the floor with a thud as you unconsciously backed into the door. Wide eyes watching the way he got right up in your space, the way that his chest visible with the two top buttons undone, freckles and bronze skin begging to be nipped and licked. One of his wide palms came up to lift your chin, his dark eyes catching yours as a filthy smirk pulled up his lips.

You could feel it against your lips as he pressed them to you, the click of the lock being pushed by his other hand before it found your shoulder and guided you flush against the door. One of his legs nudged between your own, the dress you had worn hitching up as his knee rested up against your tingling core.

He pulled back as the whine you felt ghost between your lips sounded, hands reaching out to hold tight to his biceps.

“Gotta keep quiet, darlin’,” He whispered, voice raspy and pressed to your neck. “Don’t want your students to know what a naughty professor they’ve got.”

All you could do was nod as he licked a hot stripe up from your collarbone all the way to your jaw. His thigh pressing up, the front of your underwear completely damp from his sudden attention. He sunk his teeth into your jaw, soothing it with the heat of his tongue as you wriggled in his loose hold. The hand at your shoulder trailed down, thick fingers pulling at the sleeve of your dress as it went. You preened, his lips connecting harshly with yours, mouths open and seeking contact in every way possible. With a growl that sent shivers down your back, his other hand let go of your chin to pull the other sleeve down roughly, exposing your chest to the open air of the room. Your nipples perked at the cool air before large hands caressed them, thumbs stroking over them.

“Oooh, fuck.”

His fingers pinched at them, pulling slightly and your back arched at the pleasant sting that wound its way down to your core.

Gravity shifted as you were suddenly spinning, being corralled toward the desk and bent over it. Your hands flat against the surface, and your hips flush against the biting edge.

Breasts swinging with the motion, all you could do was lock you knees as you heard him quickly unfasten his belt behind you.

“Gonna wreck you, darlin’. Is that alright with you?” His hands glided over the backs of your legs, up your thighs and pushed the skirt of your dress up around your waist. You panted as words failed you, but you arched your back in an obvious response of his words, as if the answer would be anything other than god, please ,yes.

His fingers hooked over the band of your underwear and he dragged them down, groaning at the sight of your arousal making a slick trail that connected you to them. The edge of his nose ghosted over your backside as he leaned down to help you step out of them.

On his way back up, he nipped at the puffy outer lips of your cunt, eliciting a startled yelp.

“Ah, ah, what did I tell ya about being a good girl for me?”

“J-Joel, I can’t-“

He shushed you, the fabric of your drenched underwear gently pushed between your lips before his hands hooked around your hips and pushed you down onto the desk more fully.

“You can and you will.” He was suddenly pressed against you, the thick line of him dragged along your slick folds. Your moan muffled by the fabric pressed into your mouth seemed to do the trick as he lined himself up and moved a hand to your shoulder as leverage to push in.

You fluttered around his cock, body making room for him as he bottomed out. Your eyes rolled, the head of him pressed up right against the spot impossibly deep that made stars sparkle over your vision and pleasure sear through your nerves. The front of his thighs were hot as they pressed flush to the back of your own. The hand at your waist moving down to dip between your legs. A callous fingertip nudged you apart further and circled your clit before pinching it tight.

You tried to yelp, body clenching tight around him and legs shaking with the effort it was taking to hold yourself up against the barrage of pleasure that was cascading over you. White stars exploding before your eyes as tears welled up. Your hands scrambled for purchase, only finding the smooth surface of your desk.

Not giving you a moment to breath, Joel was pulling back, the drag of him delicious before he pounded back into you. He set a devastating pace, grunting as quietly as he could manage but nothing could hide the tell tale smack of skin meeting skin nor the squelching of your cunt around him. Pulling him back in the second he was pulled almost all the way out.

“C’mon, baby girl, you can take it, I know you can.” His voice was close, lips caressing your ear as he whispered to you, bent over you completely and pressing you to the top of the desk. The hard wood was an intense feeling against the hardness of your nipples, and you wanted to moan out for him to him, because of him. But you couldn’t. Fabric now completely damp between your lips, all you could do was let him make good on his promise and wreck you.

The new angle had the tip of his head kissing your cervix and you felt tears of pleasurable pain fall. The wire inside you taut and shaking as he moved against you again, again, again. His finger began to circle your bundle of nerves, pressing down and grinding.

You were cresting, riding the pleasure out high, high, high until it snapped and your entire body tensed underneath him. He grunted as he tried to keep thrusting, chasing his own high and prolonging yours, the clench of your cunt so tight around him it felt like he was being pushed out. White stars taking over your vision completely as he moved against you.

“Fuck me, you’re so god damn tight around me, baby girl.”  

You could only groan out unintelligible as your legs began to shake, body spent with the force of your orgasm. He panted against you, lips pressing to the back of your shoulders, his forehead pressing heavily against them. His hips snapped a few more times with deliberate deep, hard motions before they began to stutter. His own release cresting over him before he was burrowing deep and filling you with the hot spurts that dribbled out where you were connected. Grunting at the feel of it so deep and filling you up you could only take it, but then again, you had been ever since getting back together with the devil of a man still pressed tightly against you.

“Naughty professor, indeed, letting me cum inside her. Can’t even hold it all, darlin’.” He pressed sucking kisses all along your back, slowly removing himself from between your legs to watch it drip out between your puffy folds. His fingers were pulling the drenched fabric from between your lips and allowing you to take a deep breath.

You lay still atop the desk, his hands trailing down your shoulders, the curves of your waist, the flare of your hips, before his fingers were spreading you open for him to see the mixture of you both gathered in your fluttering cunt. You moaned at the oversensitivity of two of his fingers pushing back in what had dared to dribble out and glisten on the soft inside skin of your thighs. The feeling of weightlessness overtaking you as your head became light and mind completely at ease by the mere thought of Joel.

“Did such a good job for me, baby girl.” You preened underneath the dirty praise falling from Joel’s lips, allowing him to begin to shift you around to face him and pull you flush against him. His lips crashed down onto yours and you parted them to allow his tongue to take whatever it wanted from you.

Leaning back, he held your spent body tight to him and brought his fingers up for you to lick unprompted. Moaning wantonly around the taste of you both collected along the thick digits.

“That’s a good girl, let me do whatever I want, huh?”

You hummed an affirmative around his fingers, letting them go with a pop.

His hands were gently, always so gentle after being rough, as he fixed your dress back the way it had been before his determined hands. He leaned down to peck a few more kisses to your lips, huffing out a chuckle when you chased after him, arms clinging tight around the back of his neck.

“Glad to have been able to catch ya, feel like I only see ya when you’re asleep next to me lately.” His hands fastened his pants and belt back up, tucking his softened member back into place with an endearing bend of his knees.

“I know, I’m so sorry, it’s just really-“ You leaned back to take in the whole of him, his slicked back curls still in place despite the rough activity, save for a single curl that fell over his forehead. You reached up and wrapped it around a finger, delighting in the softness of it.

“Not complaining, just miss ya is all.”

“Joel…”

“I’m real proud of you, darlin’.” He untangled from you, his hand coming up to tilt your chin for a final, parting kiss. He reached around you with the other, hands closing in around something atop the desk.

With a wink, he tucked the fabric of your underwear into his pocket and turned to the door.

“See ya tonight, was thinkin’ take out since I plan on revistin’ that pinching you seemed to really like.”

Heat crept up your neck and filled your cheeks as his lips quirked up and he was walking through the now open door. Gone in a breath, just as suddenly as he had appeared.

Silently thanking whatever being ruled the universe that no students had sought you out for tutoring, you made your way out of the office and onto your next class. The feeling of him lingering all over your body, the breeze wafting in through the open windows lining the halls cooling the heat of him still in between your legs.

taglist: @hiddenbabynyc @jessthebaker @clevergirl74 @anavatazes @samiamproductions @76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute @sarap-77 @honeyedmiller @joelsgreys

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

part 11- a thousand candles burn into the night

"When the ashes start to rise and the moon falls from the sky and a thousand candles burn into the night. When the angels softly cry on the flames below the sky, would a thousand souls still pray for you and I?" -Day of the Dead by Hollywood Undead

Masterlist Part 10

Just like the summer air began to cool into autumn winds, Jasmine and Jason began with a heated tension between them that dwindled into a slow simmer of what neither of them wanted to jinx by calling it love. 

Both were aware of how unnatural their connection was, how quick one was able to trust the other with simple thoughts that roll off the tongue- Jazz’s favorite tea, Jason’s favorite book, her younger siblings, his many brothers. It was obvious that Jason held some lingering anger towards those he called family, but it was an old wound, infected yet healing. When it came to more in-depth questions about Jazz’s siblings, Danny and Ellie, there was a sad tinge to the affection. Jazz missed Ellie with every fiber of her being, but her little sister was free as her heart desired. 

Jason spoke at length about his own, eventually admitting his anger issues that had led him to attempted murder on one of the younger boys, Tim, that he deeply regretted. 

Jazz had only to listen, because who else could understand the deeply rooted rage that came with betrayal? 

One slash, two, three

Blood is on your hands already. 

Fourth, fifth slash

Ask the ghosts if honor matters, buried amongst the ash. 

Slash six, seven

Sharpen your love into a weapon

They went out on several dates, each one special and lovely, but Jazz’s favorite was being wrapped in familiar arms as they watched Pride and Prejudice on Jason’s couch. It was a comfortable warmth that lulled the redhead into a deep sleep, the best she had gotten in a long time. 

Jazz was the first to wake, lying on Jason’s firm chest and ear pressed firmly to where she could hear a faint purr from his Proto-Core, she felt no compulsion to move even though there were things she had to do as Regent and as Jasmine. 

She had to talk to Frostbite, because she needed to understand why she was so connected to Jason. It frightened Jazz, to have her emotions so sharpened towards someone she hadn’t known for very long. 

(She was in love.) 

Her own Proto-core purred in tandem with Jason’s, happiness bubbling up in her chest. This was a peace she never wanted to let go, regardless of the reason why the two of them were brought and bound together. 

Jason was in love. 

There was zero doubt in his head or heart that he was fully committed to his darling Jazz, the beautiful woman who understood him in ways no one ever had. With her, the pit remnants were calm and he was happy. 

Happy. 

Sheer happiness was in his grasp, in his arms and resting on his chest as she slept. Her long hair smelled like strawberries and he never wanted to leave. 

Yet, bat-trained paranoia reared its ugly head in moments like these. 

Jasmine Nightingale was, by all accounts, a civilian with a trust fund who cared for her younger brother. No other records were found that could tie either Jazz or Danny to crime, but Jason didn’t want to see them if they existed anyway. He hadn’t even met Danny yet and the kid, despite being prime adoption bait, was already one of Jason’s favorite people. He made Jazz proud with his intelligence and good-natured attitude, so Jason would do his best to form a good relationship with the kid. 

He guessed he should be more concerned with how quickly he fell for his darling, but he wasn’t. It felt right. It felt safe. Like he could trust Jazz with every thought, every dream, every hope, every nightmare and she wouldn’t run away. He wanted her, plain and simple. 

Thankfully Jazz was more or less on the same page as him. 

She never had to say a word about how she felt for him, it was obvious in the way she would gravitate towards him, want to be around him, talk to him, simply be with Jason. How honored he felt to be gifted such attention by Jazz. 

He didn’t know how to tell her about Red Hood though. 

The Nightingales lived outside Crime Alley’s borders, in a shitty neighborhood of Gotham recently claimed by two new vigilantes- Phantom and Regent. 

Jason tried to shove back the horrifying images of a vivisectied Phantom, screaming, sobbing and whimpering, but he would ever be able to forget. 

The video of Regent killing the Fentons was glitched, but cross referenced with the Ghost Files, it was obvious the Regent of Now and Then were the same woman…entity that saved Phantom, no, avenged the ghost kid. 

The fact that the Fentons death prevented a war was karmic justice, in his humble opinion. 

Yet, there was something familiar about the Regent. Something that called to him on a baser level… as if he knew the entity behind the helmet. 

But that was ridiculous…right? 

Right? 

Jazz was going to kill him all the way this time, Danny bemoaned while in flight. He really stuck his foot in it this time and yikes, he really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. 

He just had to go behind Jazz’s back and give the Ghost Files to Batman instead of Superman or Constantine. Big and blue wasn’t available when Danny found an opportunity and for shame if he wasted it! Sad trench coat man being there was really just a bonus, honestly. 

With the Acts getting the League’s attention, it was time for a desperate move on the part of the GIW. 

They infiltrated Gotham. 

Danny had no idea how they had found a way past the border Lady Gotham kept a tight leash on, but the agents were able to pick up his trail with a lucky break on their end. He had a haunt in Gotham, which meant his ecto-signature was strong in that area and weak in others. A glaring neon sign of where the Phantom often could be found. 

But Danny would never give up his haunt again, not without a fight. 

This haunt didn’t just belong to him, not like Amity had. This had become the home of the Nightingales, the Phantom and the Regent. They had shed blood to claim it and would shed more to keep it. 

If it meant admitting to his mistake, then so be it, that’s where he would start. 

“Bold of you to assume I thought that far ahead.” Was probably not the best response to Jazz’s irate question of ‘Did you even consider what Batman, Mr. Contingencies-out-the-ass and minion-acquisition-instead-of-therapy, would do with the files?’ 

Needless to say, Jazz wasn’t impressed. 

She had been rather happier lately, with her boyfriend Jason constantly in her orbit, but responsibility still weighed on her. 

(Danny’s fault, he was aware, but he still had so much growing up to do before he was ready for the crown.)

Getting the AEA demolished was sure to take some weight from her, even if it would be only the beginning of resolving the repercussions of the United States’ crimes against the Infinite Realms. 

It would be years before it would be considered repaid, the blood shed and existences snuffed out. The deaths of the Dr. Fentons were only a consequence of their actions, not truly recompense for the torture they inflicted on the people of the Realms. 

(Danny never told Jazz, but he knew they didn’t die when the portal was destroyed.)

(He knew his sister had killed their parents to save him.) 

(He still didn’t know how to feel about that.) 

Lady Gotham offered a sad croon as Phantom curled his form under a gargoyle’s wings, the heavy rain an ironic ambiance for his mood.

There was nothing he could do about the GIW in Gotham until they showed themselves and they were doing an unusually good job of keeping on the down low. If it hadn’t been for the frantic screeches of the friendly shades and a few blob ghosts cuddling him for comfort, he would have been caught off-guard by an attack. As long as he stayed out of his haunt for a while, let his signature be caught somewhere else, then Jazz would be able to defend their home until he could deal with the bastards. 

He just needed to wait. 

Jazz had been livid with him admitting his fuck up with the files and deeming the GIW’s presence his fault for claiming a Haunt. With a threat to hug him and make him talk about his feelings until he no longer believed such a lie, Jazz agreed to remain in their Haunt until he could draw some of their forces away. Lady Gotham’s ecto-siganture would be enough to scramble their trackers once further into her city and she would subtly lead her Knights to the agents when able. 

It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough.

Phantom curled his tail around his laid back form, mimicking a cat as he texted Sam and Tucker with updates. They had sworn to visit him during Summer Break, but the Halfa wasn’t holding his breath. Gotham wasn’t safe for them. It wasn’t safe for anyone and that’s coming from a kid who can punt a building into the sun at a moment’s notice. 

Amity was (laughably) the best place for them. 

Phantom wasn’t really paying attention, absentmindly petting a blob ghost that was cuddled into his side, when he was joined by none other than the Red Hood. 

Badass armor and weapons aside, the Hood was an Antihero he admired. The avenged dead sung his praises for all who’d listen. 

And… he was very familiar. 

Red Hood possessed a Proto-core, one he’d sensed before in his own home….with Jazz. 

It couldn’t be. There was no way the Fenton luck could be that wonky that his big sister was dating Red Hood of all people, Jason Todd when unmasked. She had to know right? There was no way Jazz could miss the Proto-core signature of the Once-Revenant they’d housed for a while. Was Jazz okay with Jason’s past? Sure, Red Hood didn’t kill much anymore, but he was still a crime lord who thought severed heads in a duffel bag was a great gift to leave on someone’s doorstep, like a particularly picky cat. 

“Uh, hi?” 

Hood crouched down, rain blocked by his huge body, water droplets dripping off his red helmet. The white lenses gave nothing away as the Anti-hero spoke, “Hey kid. You ok?” 

(Danny was well aware of how gentle and caring Red Hood was towards kids.) 

(He couldn’t wait to be an uncle.) 

“I’m fine, dude. Just chilling.” 

“Under a gargoyle in Gotham?” The disbeliving tone made Phantom snort in laughter, because wow not the scariest concept to a halfa. 

“Hey, it was either this or the sewers. I wouldn’t be caught dead,” Phantom chuckled a bit at his joke. “Down there without hazmat gear and the Anti-Creep stick.” 

Hood snorted, the sound stackity through the modulator, “Fair enough. Don’t get caught by the big bat, ok? He doesn’t like Metas in his city.” 

“Oi, being dead is a meta-cal condition.” 

“Ugh,” Hood groaned, “a punster. You’re not dead, kid.” 

“‘Fraid I am, my good dude. Fourteen and fried alive, zero outta ten, would not recommend.” 

“...You’re a ghost?” 

“Right in one! Name’s Phantom.” the Halfa offered, seeing no point in correcting the Anti-hero. 

“Red Hood.” 

“Dude, I know. The shades sing your praises given half a chance.” 

“Shades?” 

Phantom shrugged, “The restless dead, unable to pass over without a lot of ectoplasm.” 

Hood didn’t ask what ectoplasm was, which surprised the Halfa. Did Batman share the Ghost Files with Red Hood? 

“You’re from Amity Park, right?” 

Phantom cringed at the name of his former haunt, anger bubbling in his gut, “I died there. I haunt Gotham now.” 

“....I’m sorry.” Even with the modulator, Hood sounded genuinely sad for Phantom. 

(Batman definitely shared the Ghost Files with the Anti-Hero.)

“Are you alright here? Do you need help?” 

Phantom shook his head, “The GIW invaded Gotham tracking my Ecto-signature, so I’m leading them away from my Haunt.” He raised an eyebrow, “You should be careful too. You’re a pretty strong liminal, but they’ll still try to capture you.” 

“No, they won’t get me. Phantom, where’s your haunt?” 

If Hood was anyone else, Phantom would keep his mouth shut. A Haunt is sacred, a home for a Fraid, it was not some measly address freely given. Yet, Red Hood was also Jason Todd, Once-Revenant Death-claimed Champion turned Proto-core Liminal dating his older sister. If Jazz trusted him enough to date him, then it was good enough for Phantom to offer him a place in his Fraid. (He really couldn’t wait to be an uncle.)

A/N: This was beta-read by @meditating-cat, thanks!

The little bit at the end there... foreshadowing, perhaps? Ooh... all those baby names I could give a Hardcover kid.

Perhaps, perhaps not. Who knows. I have the end of this series mostly planned out, but it could likely change.

Thanks for reading!

[urcursebreaker]

burning body waiting (ellie williams x fem!reader)

read chapters one and two here

warnings for this chapter— graphic blood/gore, alcohol, overall adult content | word count: 8.8k

chapter 3: animal instinct

WINTER

2 years ago

Burgundy and pink wax dripped poignantly down the slender candles, pattering on the grimy, unfinished wood floor. The winter wind howled ominously, whistling through the cracks of the deteriorating shack, the battered, peeling Hole poster you half-heartedly pinned up fluttering with it.

Hot tears trailed down your cheeks, warming your wind-numbed face. You adjusted your mother's lavender cardigan over your shoulders, her lingering scent growing fainter alongside the memories of her voice as the days without her pressed on, ceaselessly. The Cranberries blared disjointedly through your staticky headphones, your shaky fingers drumming to the beat against your walkman.

Do you know you made me cry?

Do you know you made me die?

It is the lovely thing

The animal, the animal instinct

You squeezed your damp eyes shut and craned your head back, resting it against your mounted wall of sketches, humming softly to yourself. The cold had raked phantom talons through your spine, chilling you to the core.

The dim candlelight flickered as the shack door abruptly, forcefully swept open. You deliberately disregarded the pulsing presence occupying the threshold, the snow billowing in fiercely around his broad, heaving frame.

Zander hollered something incoherent over your boisterous music, the shack walls vibrating at the intensity of his voice.

You swiveled away sulkily, somberly tucking your knees to your chest, staring out the splintered window. Snow fell gracefully like an all-white hour glass, plodding and dense. Snow that you spent hours fumbling through in search of him.

He grabbed you, shaking your shoulders rapturously, your teeth clattering at the violent judder, panic contorting his features. You shredded off your headphones and shot him a withering glower, swatting him away. "What?" You sniped heartily, lip curled.

Your brother's mutilated, gauged eyes were concealed by a strand of fabric you'd cut from your sheets, enveloped around his head in a makeshift blindfold. Recovery was torturously slow. The wounds were open and gaping for weeks, baring soulless, fleshy caverns to the world. The memory of those black pits penetrating through you blankly sent a shudder of repulsion trickling up your spine.

Blood still oozed from the punctures in the delicate, healing flesh. It'd been months.

Then again, it had been months, and you were still waiting to wake up from the nightmare; to burst out of your tucked sheets, your mothers tender smile illuminated by the morning sun, as she smoothed back the hairs from your forehead and murmured a reassuring, "Just a dream, baby. It was all just a dream."

Your dad would be planted on the porch, sipping his scalding black coffee. Zander would be in one piece, zig-zagging through the fields of corn, chasing you with a laugh.

"Don't do that!" Zander bellowed in outrage, his severe, deep voice extracting you from the depths of your memories and reverberating through your shack, one of the candles winking out from the gust of his harsh breath. "Don't what me, fuck ass! I couldn't fucking find you!"

His hands vehemently patted your features, before pinching each of your numb cheeks. "Ow! Asshole!" You exclaimed, thrashing your head out of his unyielding grip, slapping his hands.

"I thought something happened to you. I know you're pissed off at me, but you cannot do that!" His voice had magically escalated, spit lurching through his barred teeth.

"Where else would I go, Zan?" You drawled acidly, rolling your eyes, heedlessly flicking off your walkman and popping out the cassette tape you found crammed under your parents bed, labeled in fraying marker: "OUR MIX."

"I can't see you," Zander breathed raggedly, dismay lancing through his tone, as he braced both hands on your shoulders. The pain in his voice gave you pause. "I can't see. I had no idea where you went..."

Guilt bloomed and sprouted in your chest, bubbling up your throat. You uncomfortably gulped down the apology simmering at the tip of your tongue, steeling your resolve. The thought of him flailing absently, desperately through the snow, screaming for you in terror, blind to the treacherous scenery and any potential harm.

All because he'd left without telling you.

Fresh tears surfaced in your eyes— not from the paralyzing remorse that mental image ignites, but from the reminder that he had left.

You seethed out a trembling breath, belligerently shoving him off of you. "And who's fault is that." You speared accusingly, glaring at him, a pit of dread yawning open in your stomach.

All you wanted was your brother. He was all you had left. All your friends had left you. Your parents were dead. He was the only remaining scrap of your untethered family.

And you thought he'd left you.

It'd been a cruel, unforgiving winter, snow knee-high, wind glacial and penetrating. Every day a cutting, bone-chilling cold. The furious flurries of snow so dense and strenuous, only the few feet ahead of you were visible if you dared trek the winter plains. You and Zander promised one another to never, ever leave the house without notifying the other, for safety reasons. Made an effort not to leave alone at all.

Yet you awoke that morning to a creeping silence. The wind rattling the bones of the hollow houses vacant carcass, the beams groaning emptily.

And a note. Tucked into the dry-rotting pages of your leather-bound notebook in a nearly unintelligible scrawl, reading vaguely:

Don't look for me.

You'd spent hours enduring the vicious blizzard, feet and hands plump and swollen and pulsating with frostbite, in search of him. Rummaging through all the snow-sunken debris within a three mile radius of the old house you were squatting at.

Thinking the worse. Thinking he'd took it a step further from impairing himself to deflect the harrowing scene he'd been bestowed. His eyes may be gone, however, the haunting memories did not die with his sight.

They plagued his slumber every night. He screamed and thrashed and begged the God's for peace.

Unfortunately for him, God abandoned them a long, long time ago.

Zander's hands fell dejectedly to his sides, wind-chapped fists clenching stiffly. He was silent, his lips pursed, chest heaving. Knuckles white. He composed himself before muttering regretfully, "You didn't see what I saw," he mused your name grimly, "and I am so thankful for that."

His fists unfurled, then closed. Wound back into taut balls. Opened, flexed. Closed. Sweat glistened on his calloused palms despite winters unapologetic chill. "If I had to go back, I'd see them and lose my eyes all over again, just so you don't have to see what I saw."

A deep frown transformed your face, a furrow stippling between your brows. You staggered toward him, planting an anchoring hand on his shoulder. The physical contact, the palpable confirmation that you were there, hearing him, seemed to alleviate his trepidation, a deep breath dispersing from his peeling lips.

"Zander..." you began cautiously, surveying the flakes of melting snow clinging to the front of his corduroy jacket in a shameful attempt to avoid the blindfold that ominously concealed the evidence of the terrors he'd witnessed, and the horrific truth that coincides with it. That they're gone. It's just you and him now. "I need you. I... I don't know how to do this on my own," your voice broke on a hideous, gurgling sob at the admission.

Zander's face crumpled. He leaned in to scoop you into an embrace, which you stealthily side-stepped, sniffling in disdain at the audacity. "Don't touch me. Were you really going to leave me without a fucking word?"

He swallowed ruefully, staying silent. You prompted him with an exasperated, biting, "Zander."

"I left a note," he muttered sheepishly in response, cheeks a chagrined flush. You scoffed bitterly as he crammed his hands into his pockets and continued, "It wasn't meant to happen that way. I- I wasn't leaving you. I would never, ever leave you. Ever." He swore faithfully and with enough conviction to ease your apprehension.

You would have never believed he'd leave you, before he did. It seemed reasonable he'd decide having a little sister to protect was a gamble with survival; no logical person wanted an extra mouth to feed, let alone a snarky, combative teenager to provide for.

"Really?" You blurted dumbly, tearily, voice hoarse with misuse, earlier's frantic screaming and sobs straining your vocal cords. Feeling smaller under the weight of all the uproaring emotions than you would've liked to. "Why did you go?" You croaked, using the sleeve of your sweater to smudge off the snot accumulating at the tip of your nose, mustering an ounce of dignity.

He didn't respond. He fumbled for you and enveloped your shivering frame with his big arms, crushing you to his chest; this time, you didn't protest, sinking into the damp, familiar fabric of his coat and hiccuping body-wracking sobs into him, letting him whisper false, ferocious promises.

Later, you come to find out, where he was heading to so cryptically. For a month prior to his sudden departure, he'd been sneaking off in the night to convene with a band of soldiers based on the outskirts of the deserted neighborhood you were residing in.

They told him they were part of an even larger organized group. They told him they had space for two more, plenty of supplies to spare.

And they told him they call themselves the Washington Liberation Front.

• • •

MID-SPRING

NOW

Rain patters down fiercely, thunderously, the heavens spewing an angry, roaring down pour. You grimace at the enormous crater splitting through the earth, a rigid canyon dividing the road, a public transit half-submerged in the mucky water. Obstructing your path.

"Fucking Washington," you mutter vexedly to yourself, craning your head back to examine the encompassing, collapsed buildings, squinting against the harsh rainfall.

You spot a rope dangling from the edge of a shattered window, mumbling reproachfully as you mount a concrete barrier and leap for it. Grunts flea from your pursed lips as you hoist yourself up to the dilapidated second-floor of an old commerce building.

Breathing labored, you plant yourself in one of the rusted office chairs, spinning around with a breathy chuckle. You rotate the chair back around to survey the shadow-shrouded view from the gaping hole in the wall, everything desolate and soggy.

This morning, the sun had blazed bright and true, gleaming through the window, illuminating the warm room you and Ellie had refurbished.

Now it seems the weather went to shit shortly after you noticed her absence, because now, you're drenched head to toe in glacial rain water, teeth clattering, nose tingling— and cripplingly alone.

You ignore the pain clanging through your chest at the passing thought, jarred by the solitude, the supposition of her abandonment. Is abandonment not a common practice? One shared despite religion or ones unspoken personal devotion? Something we all unite in? Snakes shed skin. People move on.

Will you keep pushing and pushing, begging to be worth fighting for? Will you keep proving yourself to people who've already decided you are nothing? It seems your life is an unabashed, consistent cycle of disappointing people. Over and over. Until they leave.

Ellie is no exception. You spent the morning over-analyzing every interaction you had with her, reflecting on every word you uttered, every ghost of a touch against her skin, down to every expression you donned, trying to pinpoint precisely where you went wrong. What you did to scare her off.

You chalked it up to her deeming you helpless. She had to save you numerous times. Had to haul your unconscious body across an active battlefield. Did sweeps of the building while you languished. Did most of the killing where infected were involved. Maybe she tired of your incapability, your inefficiency.

Maybe she got the relief she needed, and now you were useless to her, a worn toy casted aside.

You suppress the doleful thought. Force the notion that you're only insulted because she left you after sex; when in actuality, you'd be hurt either way. It feels like no matter what you do— the joy you sacrifice, the strength you wield, the precious parts of you that you bare without reluctance— it's never enough to make anyone stay.

Your mother taught you that kindness was a weapon in itself. If you wield it against your enemies, they'll falter at a glimpse of tenderness.

But you understand now that she was spoon feeding you morality; there's no home for altruism in this world. Violence is the true conqueror. The only way to survive, is to instill fear in those who cross your path.

Being soft in the face of brutality, honest in a web of lies, and tender-hearted at the end of a vengeful bullet has gotten you nowhere. You've been met with nothing but heartbreak and wrath. Snarls and gunfire. Skepticism and punishment.

One good beating heart is not enough to mend the fragility of this corrupted world.

Ellie had shown glimpses of herself, where the good festered underneath the thick layers of indestructibility she'd built around herself. You had a lick of it and now you wanted to rid her of it all, peel the sharp edges and rough plains from her one by one, learn the hurt that made a monster. Nestle yourself beneath her skin, coil around her bones, live in the casing of her ribcage.

The disturbing thought infiltrates your mind, looming like a dark, depraved shadow. You grit your teeth, massaging your temples, trying to banish the deranged image out of your head. It's always been either absolute disinterest or full blown, disabling obsession for you.

You're teetering toward the ladder.

Her brutality had captivated you. And that tongue...

You rapidly shake your head to banish the obscene thoughts. "Focus." You drawl to yourself slowly, examining the view. The forward operating base was around five miles onward. The only way left to go was back. Back to your brother. Back to the WLF.

You sigh heavily and study the jilted office, in search of anything that could be useful in getting you across your barricaded path. When you find nothing, you bravely measure up the distance between you and the neighboring building.

Close enough.

You wind up, hefting a placating breath, before leaping for the building. You narrowly make it. Your brain rattles with the force of the collision as your stomach slams into the crumbling ledge, soot and rubble clattering to the battered concrete below. "Fuck," you breathe hoarsely, weakly lifting your body up, wrists wobbling feebly.

You allow yourself to lay there for a moment, eyes closed, rain misting your face.

When you open your eyes, your body lurches in terror at the veiny spattering of spores curving up the wall and over the ceiling.

And the distinctive blood-chilling clacking of a clicker.

• • •

The waning evening sun peaks shyly through the overcast clouds, dimly illuminating the sprawling field before you. Wildflowers sway clemently with the breeze, soggy moss cushioning your hitched steps from earlier's relentless rain. Small, white butterflies flutter along the long, wisping coils of grass, their presence a promising sight.

But the dewy meadows damp, whimsical beauty could not outweigh the ugliness you felt rotting inside.

You try not to think about the excruciating pain lancing up your side. Disregard the blood gushing rapidly from your abdomen, the deep, dire crimson seeping through multiple layers of clothing.

Your fingers are drenched a thick, dooming red where you apply significant pressure to the oozing wound, limping aimlessly for the ivy-swathed, overgrown watchtower, sitting dilapidated at the edge of the clearing. Hoping you can preserve enough energy to make it to the top, where you can rest and get an adequate view of where you need to head at dawn.

You're nearing the splintered ladder when a whispered crunch sends you whirling in alarm. Your gun is nimbly drawn from it's holster, stance broad, the hairs raising stiffly on the back of your neck.

The drumming of your heart slows, blood roaring tumultuously in your ears at the freckled face staring back at you.

Ellie is frozen in place, arms up defensively, battered features contorted in authentic shock. Her muddy blue eyes are bright with consternation, flickering over you uncertainly.

Surprise, surprise, you think gratingly.

She startles when her gaze lands on the harrowing blood stain exuding from your jacket. "What happened—"

She cuts herself off when you flip the safety switch.

"You scared the shit out of me, you know. I thought you were one of those creepy fuckers," she quips breathily, her arms still raised, a hesitant smirk tugging on her mouth.

You don't smile back. You drag your gaze over her analytically, blankly, rage simmering low in your gut.

That untamable anger must bubble to the surface, glimmer darkly in your eyes, for Ellie's expression changes— you watch the light-hearted but uneasy amusement dwindle and leech from her face, a veil of vigilance draping over her.

"Easy, now," she murmurs cooly, warningly, carefully dropping her hands.

"Don't move!" You demand viciously, lurching forward, the gun a hazardous few inches from her face.

Her throat bobs with a swallow, hands half-lowered. "Hey," she whispers softly, though the warning in her tone was withstanding.

The gentle delicacy in her tone only ignites the already festering fury. "Stop talking." Your voice disperses from your lips with cold, lethal calm. Unfamiliar, that quiet violence rolling off your tongue.

It tastes good.

Her eyes dart between yours dubiously; regret tinges her cheeks a faint flush. She utters your name gently, taking a reluctant step forward. You let her, the gun trained on her forehead.

"It's just me," she says feather-lightly. As if one wrong breath would blow you off the edge, send you plunging to the deep end.

Maybe she was right to heed you like a rabid animal, uncaged. You feel like a dog downed, sick and trembling with want, deserted by its owner. Tail tucked and ears perked, belly down on the porch, waiting for the screech of tires on gravelly tarmac.

It takes you back to the day Zander disappeared. The memory so potent, so painful, you can presently feel the bite of winters bitter cold carving into your bones.

As your thoughts drifted, a hollowness creeping into your eyes, Ellie had inched closer without you realizing. She hovers only a couple precarious feet away, her fingers grazing the barrel of your gun. Your grip shakes violently, lip quivering.

"It's me." She repeats firmly, urging you to lower the gun. Your muscles naturally comply to the movement, until the gun is hanging limply at your side.

"I know," you respond dully, words ringing hollow, even to yourself. "I know."

She stares at you contemplatively for a moment, before her gaze droops to the gleaning wound. "Need some help with that?"

"I need to get going," you mumble absently in reply, pivoting away from her, her honed attention spearing through your back. Exhaustion was gradually, heavily weighing on you from the blood loss. The emotional turmoil from the memory of your brother, who's absence is growing palpable and leaden, like a boulder smothering your lungs, was making pressing on increasingly difficult.

You need to get back.

"Let me look at that first." She nods toward the blooming, shapeless stain.

You glance down at the wound indifferently. The blood is pouring out of you in heaps, flim and clots dribbling down your pant leg. "What the fuck," you gasp out, staggering, blood-blemished hand cradling the pools of crimson. Dots speckle your vision, and you plummet unsteadily to your ass, inching back as Ellie approaches, concern etched across her face. The tall grass engulfs you, it's embrace crisp and prickling.

"Fuck, am I gonna die?" You blurt, eyebrows furrowed, as you lift your faltering fingers and examine the near-black blood coating them.

Ellie is a looming shadow as the setting sun descends tranquilly behind her, rays radiating off her fraying ridges, the light off-setting the grim lines of her face. You squint up at her, and she crouches at your side, throwing off her backpack, fervently rummaging through it.

She fishes out a roll of gauze and a near empty bottle of alcohol. "Lay back for me," she directs in earnest, a hand on your shoulder carefully leaning you back, your body bolstered by plush, uncut grass.

You watch her silently, heavy-lidded, disorientation a dull drumming throughout your skull. The grizzly flesh around the wound is numb to the prodding of her insistent fingers.

She abruptly freezes, blood coating her calloused hands.

"What?" You rasp, fright gripping your heart and seizing at the look of dismay tainting her face.

She's silent for an imperative moment. Time ticks tediously, a shadow of fear contouring her expression.

"What?" You repeat breathlessly.

"Are you infected?" She asks after a long, apprehensive pause, attentively studying your injury. Blind to the scratch marring your shoulder.

Her composure bewilders you. If she truly believed you were infected, wouldn't she be scrambling away? Terrified you'd turn at any moment and take her down with you?

"No," you whisper, shaking your head, eyelashes fluttering in extortion. The hidden wound on your shoulder throbs perniciously at the lie. Your hand fumbles for hers, both grimed and caked in thick coats of drying blood, working in tandem to apply pressure to the wound. "I-I fell."

Her expectant stare roams over your paling face, urging you on. You swear her grip tightens imperceptibly on your hand— maybe in comfort— though it was likely just the excessive blood loss and trauma of the brutal injury warping your senses.

It hurt to speak, breaths leaving you in sharp, uncontrolled spurts. "I- there was a- a clicker," the words wheeze out of you. Instead of fleeing at the mention of your implied encounter, Ellie positions herself closer, draping over you almost protectively, holding a hand to the wound while the other cradled the back of your neck, propping you upward. "I tried t- to run. Jumped to another building but I- I missed, landed on a pipe."

That part is true. You left out the part where the clicker's talon-like hand scraped down your shoulder, grazing the flesh— enough to leave a scar. Enough to potentially inject venom.

She nods curtly, jaw set in determination, the warmth of her hand momentarily abandoning you as she picked up the alcohol and popped the cork.

She soaks a grimy cloth with it, casting you a fleeting, nearly apologetic glance before urging your hand aside and bunching it against the wound. You seethe, burning agony searing through your side, but you don't look away. You watch your blood soak the fabric, the alcohol tainted red, dribbling down.

"Why did you leave?" You ask deliriously, head lulling, words slurring. The pain almost doesn't register anymore. Neither does the shame the pathetic question should've brought.

She says nothing, not a flicker of emotion passing through her face, as she holds the wet cloth to your skin and stridently tears the medical tape with her teeth. She sloppily patches the cloth to you, hands swift and brutal, expression bleak and thoughtless.

"Alright. Lift your arms for me," she murmurs gravelly, a thick husk in her tone, fingers edging the bloodied hem of your camisole. You comply, a shudder wracking through you at that low voice, the one that had talked you through your shared obscene acts. Ordered you to ride her thigh, praised your dripping pussy...

"Good," Ellie drawls, leisurely, deliberately hiking your shirt up to avoid disturbing the wound. Her pale eyes probe yours, dissecting the rage and hurt that froths there in tumultuous waves, crashing against the surface, pooling there even with your effort to hide it.

She slips the shirt off of you, tossing it aside. Her eyes drag to your heaving breasts, as if an anchor of temptation was towing her gaze down. Her nostrils flare with her stuttered breath, mouth parting, as if in memory of how it felt to seal her lips around your budding nipples.

You arch your back under her attentive stare, your breasts grazing her front. Her eyes close briefly at the sensation, a breath stealing out of her. Her hand slithers up your waist, pausing before it reaches your tit, thumb smoothing over your hot skin.

"Don't move," she directs hoarsely, the bristle of the surrounding grass reducing her tight voice to a faint whisper.

She tilts you back further to examine the wound, and you whimper at the movement. "I know. I know," she murmurs distractedly, securely wrapping the bandage around your waist, the rough pads of her fingers dancing across your exposed skin, igniting a distant wave of pleasure in the pit of your stomach.

The wind escalates, whipping your hair out of your face, unveiling the pulsating mark on your shoulder. You forgot that you were supposed to be concealing it when she was looking at you like that; like you were a tempting meal and she was a person emaciated. Something delectable to be devoured.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck—

Your stomach roils with dread at the very moment she sees it. The ravaged, torn flesh is upturned and caked with blood, a golden, poisonous liquid seeping from the scratch, glimmering under the sun.

She's shell-shocked, unmoving.

"Ellie," you start hesitantly, fear creeping into your tone, as you rigidly sit up using your uninjured arm.

To your surprise, she doesn't stagger off. She slumps back defeatedly, studying you.

"It was just a scratch. I didn't think..."

She leans in, inspecting it. Solemnity twinkles in her eyes.

They dart back to your face, and the sadness there scares you for the first time since the encounter, the thought of your fragile mortality a lurking, creeping presence, clouding your mind.

You could die.

You open your mouth, tears brimming your own eyelashes, when Ellie forcefully cradles your neck and jerks your head to the side, baring the fizzing mark. "Stay still," she demands coldly, and you do, stiff with terror under her harsh hands. Half expecting her to put you out of your misery right then and there.

Her mouth unexpectedly connects with the wound, lapping up the blood, a startled moan squealing out of you at the intrusion of her tongue upon the tingling claw mark. "W-what are you doing—" the words tumble out of you in abject horror and confusion, your shaking hands planting on her shoulders, attempting to wrestle her away.

She suckles on the tenderized flesh, another moan hiccuping out of you, as she slides her fingers into your tousled hair and cranes your head further, licking ferociously.

"What the fuck!" You exclaim boisterously, mustering all your might to shove her away. She stumbles back, raking in a deep breath, crimson staining her lips, dribbling down her chin, venom glistening.

She flinches as she spits it out, her face rigid with determination. "I need to suck the venom out," she breathes, blood dotting her nose, smeared gruesomely around her mouth.

Understanding dawns on you, infiltrating the fear coursing through you. You nod reluctantly, permissibly, and she smiles, blood brimming the crevices of her teeth. She tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear, leaning in, her lips hovering a breath away from yours, watching the way they twitch at her nearness.

Earlier's resolve and resentment fade away as she peppers slow, ghoulish kisses down your jaw, your throat, the seam where your neck meets your shoulder. Her hot breaths skate across the injury, and you cup her head, shifting your shoulder to allow her better access. Her lips graze the wound, the brush of them nearly intimate, as they rove it over before latching onto a spool of gold-laced blood, suckling it in greedily.

"Shit," you whisper shakily, fighting the desire out of your voice, pain and pleasure coinciding at the warm sensation.

"Mm. Almost done," she mumbles into your skin dully, hand languidly slithering out of your hair and down your chest. You mewl, squirming when her thumb tweaks your aching nipple on its descent to your waist, holding you in place.

She shouldn't be doing this.

You know, by not only touching the venom but drinking it in, she's risking her own life to potentially save yours.

Which is so at odds with the way she left you without word just that morning.

She pulls away, spitting a thick wad of spit to the side, slowly running her sleeve across her tainted mouth. Blood blemishes the fabric, but she doesn't look at it, her eyes trained on yours.

You stare back, navally breaths spurting out of you, your cheeks buzzing at her attention, nipples hardened at the chill. It was nearly dark, dusk swathing the sky in subdued, swirling purples, the sun an amber pin-needle stabbing through the shadow-shrouded treeline. The darkness paints the blood marring her lips a near black, her breaths equally as heavy, unmeasured.

Crickets begin to chirp, the weeds undulating with nights restless creatures. Everything is quiet. Tranquil.

But not the storm brewing in Ellie's watchful eyes. Staring into them is turbulent and enrapturing; they beckon like a sea at night, moonlit and inviting, the air thick with electricity, waves battering a mean cliffside.

You tentatively extend your hand, thumb delicately plodding her bottom lip, ridding the blood there. She observes you closely, a smirk on her lips, and you scoot forward, hand dropping to her jaw.

"Ellie..." her name comes out a fragile whisper; concerned. "What if... what if you're... infected too, now?"

Her jaw clenched, the tendons flexing under your hand. Her eyebrows furrow, and she lightly shakes her head. "That's not possible," she whispers stoically back.

When you say nothing, confusion contorting your face, she scrunches up the sleeve of her jacket and leisurely lifts her tattooed arm between you, the winding moth design dark and elaborate.

The dense layer of ink did not conceal what lie underneath. The raised, marred skin expanding across her forearm, frail and wrinkled. You don't know how you never noticed before.

"What happened?" You mumble plaintively, caressing a gentle finger down the length of the rigid scar, speaking soft and cautious, afraid one wrong move would send her bolting, like a feeble, knobby-legged fawn caught in headlights.

She gulps audibly, breaking eye contact, eyes falling to your mercifully stroking hand. "I got bit. When I was 14," she informs callously, with a lack of emotion that did not equate her dismal words.

She traces a pensive finger over the scar, your hands brushing, an electric current hissing to life at the incidental contact. "So did my best friend," she continues bleakly, heartlessly, "Except she turned. And I never did."

You store the sacred information in a pocket of your brain; taking the tenuous piece of herself she willfully offered and handling it preciously, like an artifact to be glassed and admired, acknowledged from afar and with reverence. Knowing it's monumental and a rare, fortunate token in your treasure trove.

Grief for a little, less-scathed Ellie shades your heart. The thought of her harboring such a ghastly, horrific past; witnessing her friend transform into a beast she could not fathom.

You choose your next words carefully, not wanting to bestow a worthless apology. Sorry won't bring her friend back; won't mend the fractured pieces losing her had shattered. "You are very strong," you comment meaningfully, inching your hand off her pulsing wrist, splaying it upon her racketing heart. "Such a strong girl."

She swallows again, effortfully, as if forcing down the lump that had gathered there. "It's nothing," she says tightly, clearing her throat, stroking a thumb across your hand, where it rests gingerly on her chest. She remains silent for awhile, and you let her; whether the silence be to mull over her thoughts and meticulously craft her next words, or just as a space to exist in the quiet, in the now.

A loan bird soars overhead, the shadow of its feathery, nimble body spanning across the grass. It caws distantly, as if responding to the singing insects, the night breeze.

"I forget about it sometimes." She mutters suddenly, scratching the scar sheepishly. You see it now, the solemnity that her tone was void of— the despair kindled in her eyes, faint but flickering, like dying embers in the snow. As if she was just now remembering, the pain born anew, unsheathed from a hidden holster.

"I forget the worst things, too," you share benignly, honestly, removing your hand from her and tucking it under your chin timidly. It doesn't scare you to admit this to her; even though usually, there's a nagging voice, a phantom at your side, tittering that it's all going to be used against you, your own dull truths sharpened into blades aimed for your back.

"Until they spring up unexpectedly and ruin that moment. I can never fully escape it," you continue, shrugging.

Ellie stares at you a moment, that foundation of grief crumbling, reconstructed with hardened fury. One old and bone-deep. One that had resided in her, fed off her for some time. A slash of silver vengeance strikes through her eyes.

"It wasn't one of the worst things. Not even close," she declares without the malice you expected. Stated purely as a tragic wrong she had every intention of correcting.

She possesses an air of anger, even when she's placid, calm. You sensed it when you met her. When she was nothing but an eclipsed figure, disguised by the blood of her victims and the roaring of the flame she tamed. There was a darkness that leered over her shoulder, a honed presence waiting to strike, something hungry for violence. An itching lodged beneath her skin, only sated by bloodshed.

You can feel it now, the violence a living, breathing part of her. Even if it's tucked soundly into sleep, in the caverns of her soul. Even if right now she's looking at you like you hung the moon, like you are a temple to be honored, there's still that kill-switch, an inclination to snap and destroy. People ruin beautiful things all the time.

"Stop looking at me like that," Ellie insists softly, brushing a loose lock of hair out of your face.

"Like what?" you mumble absentmindedly, watching her bloodied lips quirk into a half-smirk. She leans in close, close enough you can count the freckles spattering her cheeks, her response a breath ghosting your lips.

"Like you fucking want me."

Your lips crash together in a symphony of need, your body awake and alive with desire, regardless of the wounds. You bask in the soft groan that grumbles out of her and into you, patiently, gingerly drawing your lips together. The metallic tang of your own blood violates your tastebuds as your tongues move ardently in tandem, slow and savoring, deep and searching.

Her arm envelops your waist, steering you nearer, and you melt into her firm embrace, chests constricted, hips aligned, the kiss long and languid, mouths leeching and hands claiming.

It feels right in the wrongest way. Like home, where the household is neglectful and thrumming with darkness under its floorboards, evil thriving behind closed doors; but still home. Where you're meant to be, where you feel you belong, even when you're petrified.

You straddle her hips and maneuver her backward, until she's laying on her back. The tall, coiling grass tickles your arms as you plant your hands on either side of her head, lips foraging. You roll your hips and she hisses a muffled curse when you grind your pelvis against hers, her hands roaming up your waist, masterfully avoiding your sealed wound.

It was instinct to move your body in time with hers. To get lost in the plush warmth of her mouth, that addictive, kindling pleasure between your legs.

But there was another instinct, humming to life in your core, slinking through your bones; one that came with living in this world, where danger lurks in every shadow.

That instinct must flare to life in Ellie, too, for her lips detach from yours, head canting. A faint crunch rings from the towering grass, and both of you are up in a minute, her gun drawn. You hurriedly tug your top back on, grimacing as you incidentally chafe your injury.

Stars speckle your vision, a migraine splitting your skull at the sudden shift of position.

"We should get inside," Ellie states breathily, sweeping a cautionary gaze over the dark meadow, before lowering her gun and pivoting to face you.

Dried patches of blood smirch her face as she scans you. "You good?"

You nod wearily, exhaustion ricocheting through your body. She must see your ailing face, for she hoists your unblemished arm over her shoulder and drawls, "I got you," partially alleviating the straining of your abdominal wound.

"Thanks," you grumble, slumping your weight into her. Allowing her to aid you across the lumpy field, toward a rusting twist of warped, wired fence, a hole yawning open in the center.

You're about to cross it when a dim orb shimmers before you. It twinkles, off and on, drifting by.

"A firefly," you whisper tenderly, smiling at the sight, despite the creaking of your bones, the misery lugging on your limbs.

Ellie starts to smile, too.

But she's not smiling at the firefly.

• • •

You stare into the steely face of the Bull, it's gold-encrusting fading. Vines dangle in snared tendrils from its protruding horns, the eroding, bleached bronze Bull overlooking the once country-themed bar. It was preserved due to being welded out of pure iron, withstanding the worlds fatalities, surviving the bombs and disease.

It's hollow slits for eyes leer right back at you, a cold, inhospitable welcome.

You waltz inside, disregarding it's looming heed, giddy at the indication of alcohol. You could knock back a few shots right now. To numb the now mellowing pain ambushing your body, and to calm your swarming mind.

You couldn't stop thinking about what Ellie told you. That she was bit— and lived. At the cost of carrying a heavy, harrowing memory through life with her.

Your mind wanders to Zander. Images of the now sealed over craters of his missing eyes flashing through your head. The way the blood had poured from him in alarming, unbelievable heaps that day, his eyes dangling from cords of tissue, hanging against his cheeks.

How could a person bleed out their body weight and miraculously survive?

How could a person get bitten and never turn?

You glance at Ellie uncertainly from over your impaired shoulder. She creeps into the bar with less enthusiasm, hand instinctively relaxing on her holster, thoughtfully scanning the place.

Tattered, dirt-blemished Texan flags hang from the low ceiling, dancing with the breeze whistling through the glassless windows. The walls are paneled with polished, dark oak, dusty black and white portraits either lining the walls or cracked on the unfinished wood floor. Depicting an array of Southern-America scenes, ranging from bull-riders to mane-flowing horses to western movie posters, pistols blazing, hats high.

You smile subconsciously, running your fingers over a painting of a girl about your age, wedged onto a stool, gloved hands milking a cow, a long, golden braid sloping down her back, her mischievous face craned toward the viewer. Her bell-bottom jeans hang low on her hips, gleaming red cowboy boots toeing the dirt.

You wriggle your toes in your own boots, the cowboy boots wearing and scuffed— a pair that belonged to your mother. "This place is in really good condition," you state aloud, eyes sweeping over the floor-to-ceiling bar, where bottles tipped and half-full and some broken, edged the shelves.

A lone cowboy hat, caked in grime, sits on the debris littered counter.

You gasp, swiftly shaking it off, wood chips clattering to the floor. You secure it on your head, the brim minutely misshapen. You adjust it and exclaim, "How do I look?" Sweeping your arms in an inelegant flourish, grinning crookedly at Ellie, who shakes her head in light amusement.

It reminds you of when Zander and you were little. He would force you to play a game where he was the deputy and you were the zombie that violated the Western town. He'd tackle you to the ground and bind your wrists with tethering thread, until you screamed and pouted to your dad, who scolded him for being rough.

"That's our baby, son," he'd tell Zander, always gentle in his authority, patting his shoulder paternally. Pointing to where you crouched in the grass, hopping in chase of a frantic butterfly, grinning ear to ear, the game forgotten— your cheeks still glistening with tears.

Zander would turn away at night in your shared bed, grumpy, furious that you ratted him out. Until you'd scoot closer and whisper into the balmy room, "Bubby, what's wrong?"

He would always ignore you. And you always scooched even closer, unruffled by his anger, sucking on Blue Bear's ear, resting your head on Zander's arm. You'd fall asleep there, chewing noisily on his bear, tiny body draped across him.

And you'd wake up back on your side of the bed, his face smashed into the pillow near your head, arm slung across you, as if naturally protecting you in his sleep.

The fond memory blooms and withers as soon as it sprouts. Zander always took care of you; even blinded, he put you above all else. You can't even stomach the thought of his worry at the news you were missing.

Glass crunches poignantly under your boot as you round the bar and pick up the nearest bottle of Vodka; nearly full. "Well, shit," you snort, popping the cap, taking a brisk swig straight from the bottle, wincing as it burns your throat on the way down. You spin around to Ellie, who was leaning against an intricately-carved wood pillar, watching you. "Want some?"

She contemplates your offer, before snatching it brazenly out of your hands, taking a controlled sip. Her head tilts as she surveys you. "You almost died today, and you're here, smiling like an idiot."

You shrug half-heartedly, stealing the bottle back, gulping down greedily. You smile uneasily at the repulsive, stinging taste overwhelming your tastebuds. "Happy to be alive, I guess."

"It's not a life worth living," she teases plainly, gesturing wide, emphatically to the sickened world.

You eye her diligently, tracking the sharp edges and soft planes of her face. "I disagree," you say quietly, crooking a knowing smile, sauntering off, swaying your hips.

The entrance gives way to an expansive saloon, a second, broader bar lining the back wall, tables dotting the spacious room. Fraying murals of rolling, sweeping mountains of Montana paint the perishing walls. In the center of the space is a mechanical bull, buffered by a barred platform.

"Oh my god!" You blurt animatedly, flailing for the bull, vodka splattering out of the bottle as you run with little consideration of your injuries.

You leap over the encompassing ring and size up the off-kilter bull before hoisting yourself onto it, flinching at the shooting pain careening up your side. "Zander always wanted to ride one of these! He was obsessed with the whole cowboy thing when we were kids."

You turn to face Ellie only to find her gone, a swirl of dust lingering where she once stood. "Ellie?" You holler, concern lacing your tone, tongue dry.

As if in response, the string lights overhead flicker and buzz raucously, illuminating the dark, decimated space. It's only a second later when the bull beneath you whirs to life, jerking suddenly, a clamorous sound emitting from you as you lurch for the handle on the synthetic saddle, gripping your hat to steady it in place.

Ellie emerges from a half-door leading to a dim back room, her face gleaming under the warm-hued lights. "I didn't think it would actually work," she admits, strolling over and leaning her hands on the railing, watching with a smirk as you struggle to maintain balance.

The bull is choppy and delayed due to age and unuse, yet it's belligerent movements are still sharp and undulating, the lag not enough to anchor you down without exploit. You shift your hips and bare your weight down, encasing your legs around the sides, wires and metal protruding from the matted, faux fur.

"That's it. Look at you," Ellie chuckles huskily, clapping, the praise in her tone awakening a string of tingles up your curved spine. Those sparks erupt into a raging hot flame when she drawls just loud enough for you to hear, "Ride it just like that."

Your head tips back on a dramatic groan, hips grinding into the jilting bull. "Fuck, what are you trying to do to me?" You giggle jubilantly, coyly, one hand planted on your hat, her unwavering attention spearing through you.

The bull screeches to a halt, it's rusted mechanics boisterous, the abrupt motion sending you careening off its back. You collapse to the matted floor with a thump, seething at the agony rocketing up your stomach, a faint dollop of crimson blooming through the bandage. "Ouch," you sulk, rubbing it half-hazardously, propping yourself on your elbows. Vodka still in hand.

The brim of your new hat obscures Ellie's impending figure as she heaves herself over the railing and stands over you. Her smirk is roguish, a formless dimple surfacing on her cheek. She rinsed earlier's blood away, but a nearly unintelligible crimson stain discolored the skin adjoining her mouth.

"Come here," you instruct softly. She's undeniable under the waning, golden lights, her mussed brown hair gleaming an auburn red, her eyes as blue and incandescent as you'd ever seen them, like ocean spray on a desolate beach.

She lowers herself just enough to suspend over your reclined frame, one knee planted between your spread legs, arms pinned on either side of your hips, caging you in her company. The imprisonment of her arms was a desirable iniquity; a preferred confine.

"Kiss me," you purr airily, as she crawls across you, descending her wanting lips onto yours on the cusp of your request.

You writhe beneath her, canting your chin to meet the divine ferocity of her desperate, animalistic kiss, your delighted moan muffled into her mouth.

Her lips detach from you just as swiftly as they had met yours. "Does that need re-bandaged?" She nods to the blood leaking through your top, a flush rising to her cheeks, as if fevered by the taste of your spit saturating her lips.

You snort. If you didn't know any better, you'd think she was flustered, your unabashed need for her making her shy. "No. I hardly feel it," you assure with a wispy laugh, wiping the dampness from her mouth.

She lingers there a moment, seemingly relishing in your nearness, before she ascends to her feet and extends a hand.

"Come on," she clasps your forearm and hauls you strongly to your feet, her hot breath reeking of liquor and something promised as it fanned your alcohol-warmed face.

You hover close, smiling mindlessly, looking at those damn lips. Imagining them snaking down your body, kissing you in forbidden places, eliciting unspeakable, ballooning pleasure within you.

That faint scar twitches upward under your amorous observation. "What?" She rasps, hand still encasing your wrist, the veins in her forearm fluttering.

You press a pliant, affectionate kiss to her lips and snake your arm out of her lenient grasp. "Nothin'," you muse blissfully, cheeks taut and sore from the strength of your grin, as you slither out of her residence.

She watches you slink away, rooted in place, as if frozen in disbelief by your easy display of endearment.

You hoist yourself onto the bar, all loose-limbed and unflappable, swinging your legs. "So what's our next move, then?"

She trails after you pensively, positioning herself between your legs. She sizes you up, from the shape of your thighs filling out your soiled Levi's, to the cleavage heaving at her from the brim of your dirty, lace-embellished top.

"What is it you think you want from me," she husks, craning her head with predatory calculation. "You want me to play with this pussy again?" Her hand slithers up between your legs and cups your clenching cunt through your jeans, sending you arching back in surprise. "Or is there more?"

Your heart drums mercilessly. Of course it's more. It's beyond her conception; the animal instinct that claws ravenously up your body and demands control whenever she's near, voracious for a sinking of teeth, a swallowing of her whole.

Of course you cannot tell her that when she's around, there's an incurable hunger, festering in the depths of your belly, chanting, I am hungry I am hungry I am hungry, for a taste of your darkness, a glimpse of its creator.

Of course you cannot say she is the catalyst and the maker of the peace you fabricated falsely for yourself. And that you want her to keep ruining all the ruined things you've built yourself upon.

So all you can you say, voice shaky with resolve, is, "I want you."

A grim understanding overtakes her face, varnished by varying shades of disappointment. Like you just asked her for the one thing she could never give you.

She takes a telling step back, distancing herself not only physically— imperishable walls of iron erect around her mind, barricading you, powerless and wailing on the other side.

"We should find somewhere to rest for the night."

She's gone before you're even off the counter, her shift in demeanor churning the alcohol sizzling in your gut.

That night, in the shadows of a grass-swept 7-Eleven, she sleeps with her back to you, her silence a skewering condemnation, prying open the scab of the wound her abandonment from that morning had opened.

Leaving you confused and, once again, wondering where you went wrong this time.

Maybe it's better this way.

You have to get back to Zander. Back to the base.

You don't have time to mull over what you said wrong.

You're in your own sleeping bag a few feet from her, watching her back inflate with unconscious, frantic breaths— like she's drowning in her sleep. You extend your arm across the space separating you, toying with a tendril of grass, circling it around your finger until the tip purples.

Sleep never graces you with its presence. You lay like that for hours, the tall crass whispering outside the broken window, the buildings groaning, Ellie's breathing labored but soft, the only noise the occasional bristle of her sleeping bag as she twitched and squirmed.

Until, with a suddenness that dropped your heart, she lurched up with a painful gasp, wretched, snotty sobs hiccuping out of her. She fumbles for the oversized, creased leather jacket she had draped over her as she slept, cradling it to her chest, unleashing ghastly cries into the fabric, covering her tear-slicked face.

Her back heaves with the force of her weeps as she bends over the jacket, rasping out hideous, wounded-animal like noises. You stare in horror, pain twinging in your heart at her palpable grief— wanting to comfort her, but being too coward to disrupt her unchained emotions.

She's nearly smothering herself with the jacket at that point, and you're about to intervene, jump up and rip it from her reddened face, when she comes up for air, gulping down hitched breaths.

You close your eyes in alarm, not wanting her to know you were awake, witnessing her meltdown.

"I'm sorry," she whimpers shakily, the hopelessness in her tone saved for the solitude of night, the unjudging eyes of the moon.

For a moment, you fear she's apologizing to you for the punishing silent treatment, so you crack open a heavy-lidded eye to peak at her.

She's thumbing the collar of the jacket, whispering into the flannel-liner inside, inhaling deeply. "I am so sorry. I am so sorry," she tips her forehead against the tag, rocking back and forth, muttering an indiscernible name, like a forgotten prayer.

She bows over it for so long, her tears muffled by the fabric, you wonder if she fell asleep while sitting up.

Just as the thought passes through your mind, she lays back down, cuddling the jacket to her chest, breathing harshly, appearing smaller than you'd ever seen her.

This time, instead of letting exhaustion cast you under its spell, you lay awake in the night, ready to face whatever dawn may bring— an empty bed, a lost companion; or a kinder tomorrow.

One that didn't tear you apart the way Ellie seemed to be torn as of now, her broken pieces discarded on the floor, unsalvageable— forged into an anger blazing like a loaded pistol.

Ready to load off at any given moment.