Ellie’s standing in front of the dresser, her gun disassembled and splayed out before her. She’s toying with something, you don’t care to examine what. You slink up behind her, wrap your arms around her waist.
She jumps, twisting back to peer at you. Her brows curl up in surprised disgust.
“Dude, I thought you were Jesse.”
You laugh.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” She says, turning back to mess with the gun again.
“Surprising you.” You smirk, pressing your hips into her ass.
Ellie freezes.
“And what the fuck is that?”
You lean further into her, press a kiss to her cheek.
“You know what it is. Intimately.” You joke.
She shakes her head, thinks you can’t see her smile from your angle.
“There’s something wrong with you.”
You ignore her, your fingers drift beneath the hem of her shirt, slide beneath her waistband. Her hand catches yours.
“I’m on patrol, stop.”
“No you’re not.” You tell her. “Maria sent Greg to relieve you, cause I snitched and told her how many patrol days you got stuck with this month.”
“I don’t mind patrol.” She tilts her head.
“I do. I miss you.” Your fingers drawl across her skin; goosebumps raise on her skin.
Ellie sighs. The pressure of you against her back is comforting, your coaxing touches feel too good to deny.
“Which part of me, exactly?”
You shove your hand the rest of the way into her underwear, drag it down through her folds and cup her, hard.
“This part.” You murmur.
“Jesse’s here.” Her voice is strained.
“Jesse’s meeting Greg at the next lookout.”
Her shoulders relax at that. She turns to let you see her smile.
“Miss you too.” Her brows raise.
You press a kiss to her lips and she melts into it. It doesn’t last long, she can’t keep her mouth closed when your fingers start moving, rubbing heavy circles into her clit. She leans back into you, her abdomen stretching.
“Shit,” she breathes shakily.
Your other hand lifts to her chest, massages the plump flesh through her shirt as your lips attach to her throat. Ellie’s hips roll into your hand, quiet moans buzz beneath your mouth.
“Gonna bend over for me?”
She steadies herself, straightening to fumble with the button of her jeans. You do the same, reach in to pull the strap out. It bounces free, seems just as excited as you are. You reach past her to sweep the gun parts to the side.
Ellie bends at the waist, braces her forearms against the dresser and leans onto them as you pull her jeans down below her ass. You take in her pussy, pink beneath the tufts of auburn, and starting to swell. She’s soft beneath your fingers, where they soothe the side of her thigh. The anticipation rises in her stomach, sets her heart pounding. You grip the strap, rub it up and down her slit till her breathing speeds again.
Then you push into her, slow, watch her pussy swallow the strap hungrily. Her ass presses back to meet you as her head bows low. The sensation of you settling in deep is already enough to turn her legs to jelly. Ellie sucks in a breath through her teeth.
“Shit, that was easy, babe.” You murmur, tauntingly. “Think she missed me too.”
“Fuck off.”
You hum in amusement, caress a hand along the plane of her freckled back, her skin velvety but muscles firm. Then your hips start gyrating, a gentle movement – to warm her up, probably. But her pussy’s aching, begging for it harder and you’ve only been inside her for half a minute.
Ellie doesn’t beg – but she does rock back into your hips. The stretch, the girth rubbing up and down every inch of her walls, it drags the breath from her lungs. Heat pools low, she can feel it starting to coat the silicone deep within.
“Looks like you want more.” Your eyes devour the sight of her slick, glimmering on the base every time you shift out a little.
“No shit, dude.” She huffs. Impatient. You came her to surprise her, now you’re making her wait for it?
You bend over her, bring your mouth to her ear as your hand roams beneath her, up her stomach to palm her tit.
“I love fucking that attitude outta you.”
Ellie’s mouth opens to reply, and stays that way when you start snapping your hips into her – hard enough to make her tense up but not hard enough to satisfy. She pulls in a breath, grits her teeth against the urge to moan. You straighten, grip her hips.
“Do it, then.” She finally manages.
The fight behind her taunt dies on her tongue. You’re fucking her hard now, faster, a satiating rhythm that puts pressure on all the right places.
“Ugh, god.” Her eyes roll as the feeling spreads through her abdomen. One of her hands shoot back to clamp around your wrist. “Fuck… fuck.”
Ellie’s pussy spreads around your size, glistening, you can almost feel the way she’s pulsing. Your hand shifts down, wrenches one of her thighs further to the side. The fingers around your other wrist disappear, instead reaching forward to splay against the wall just above the dresser as an anchor. Ellie whines low and lustful, her mouth widening, eyes squeezing closed.
You angle your hips down, thrust once, and Ellie jolts with a light gasp.
“There?” You say, giving another pointed thrust into that spot before letting your grinding shallow again.
“Yeah.” She breathes, lifting her ass to try and shift the strap back.
“Yeah?” You mock, delivering one more hard thrust.
“Yes,” Ellie’s nails dig into the wood, “please, please, please.”
You grab handfuls of her asscheeks, spread them before sliding down to the hilt. The tip presses against where she’s tingling, makes her pussy spasm. She’s about to start pleading again when your hips begin to bump into her, knocking down and pounding right where she wants it.
“F-fuck,” Ellie’s spine curves, her chest dropping onto the dresser. She presses her forehead into it, the cool surface soothing the warmth of her skin. Her muscles bare down at the mind-numbing pleasure, her moans curling in such a sinfully pornographic way her cheeks are burning.
Resistance meets your grinding, along with gloopy squelches loud enough to cover the sound of the dresser squeaking. The rigidity makes the strap drag too perfectly over your clit, has you letting out your own breathy whimpers.
Ellie’s legs are shaking, if most of her weight weren’t on the dresser they might’ve buckled beneath her. It doesn’t take long for her hips to start quivering too, stuttering jumpily as the pleasure empties out her brain, each hard grind sending flashes behind her eyes.
You recognize the jerkiness, the way her ribs flare before clamping back down with a choked moan. She’s so close, needs you on her clit to push her over the shimmering edge she’s teetering on. You ignore it for a little while longer, wait until her muscles are so taut she can hardly move.
“Wanna cum?” Your nails dig into her flesh.
“Mmh, make me cum,” Ellie pants. “Please, baby, please.”
You stuff your hand under her hip, press your fingers into her clit again. Once they start moving, Ellie’s cumming in seconds – chanting desperate curses and clawing at the chipped dresser. Her legs jerk below her, she can’t feel them past the bliss but can’t find it in her to care if she falls.
“There you go, baby, let it out. Been too long, huh?”
She nods, whimpering open-mouthed against the wood. Her pussy convulses around the strap as the final waves of her orgasm ebb, floods ecstasy through her veins. Then her hand’s snapping down to push yours away, and she’s sighing out to catch her breath.
well well look who’s back again. wrote this instead of sleeping because even tho i’m sleep deprived i can’t sleep because of the horny demon THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!
WARNINGS: THIS IS CRACK AND VERY UNSERIOUS! FT. AGGRESSIVE FLIRTING, oc is a big titty pansexual and the wendy’s robin hood, ellie is a butch-dyking, fry-dropping misandrist who frowns a lot, mentions of mary jay, MDNI: TIT AND SPIT PLAY, MILD DIRTY TALK
A/N: i literally have no plan for this it’s just for shits n gigs. obsessed with their dynamic lowkey first part LOL
This is not how Ellie thought she’d be spending her 15: outside at 11:47PM with her best friend calling her loose.
“This whole time, I thought, ‘wow, maybe Ellie has changed! Maybe she isn’t easy anymore’, but look at you! It took one hotbox and a hot box to—“
She massages her temples, “Riley—“
“I can’t lie and say y'all wouldn’t be hot together—Imma need that tape by the way, but Jesus Christ, get a grip—“
Why’d Ellie think confiding in her best friend about her new friend would be a good idea? Why’d she think befriending you in the first place was a good idea?
You’ve infiltrated her midnight sessions like a demonic witch. 3 days of pure torture: her waking up an hour before work steaming under her blankets, drenched in sweat and brain cursed with the image of you still with a full throat, only now… it follows her to work. Fuckass Wendy’s.
No one’s caught on—except for Riley, fuck her intuition—to the too long gazes shared between you, the playful shoulder bumps when you walk by her station, and the biggest one of all…
As Riley put it, “they’re not leaving a snail trail on the tile anymore. I think you tamed ‘em a little. Good for you, friend.”
But Ellie’s not trying to tame you. You can do, talk to, fuck, who and whatever you please. She doubts she’s made that much of an impact on you in such a short amount of time, but she does notice that you’re a bit more… chill? Chilled out? Still a menace, but slightly more selective with who you enchant.
That fucking shirt is still too tight, though.
And now, she wants to dunk whoever’s accepted your muted salaciousness into her 400 degree oil tank.
Ellie’s not a jealous person… She wasn’t, but there’s a deep sense of rage that overtakes her whenever men men men compliment you. It’s murderous, borderline sadistic what she envisions in her head while she throws their cheese slices on their limp. Dick. Fries. She despises their existence, wants nothing more than for them to die, or at the very least, shut the fuck up—
“I invited them over tonight.”
“… WHAT THE FUCK—“
… Yeah. Ellie felt so guilty about rain-checking you last week, but her cat got sick. Her baby wouldn’t stop vomiting.
A head pokes out from behind the back door, “Uh, y’all break ended 7 minutes ago.”
… Clock watcher. Maybe Ellie doesn’t hate all men. Jesse’s a guardian angel sent to protect her against the incoming force that is her best friend.
“BITCH, IT’S TUESDAY, WE’RE DEAD!” Riley shouts in his direction, “THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN THEY’RE COMING OVER—“
“Who’s coming over? Coming here? Health inspectors?—“
“I needa pee.” Ellie’s already booking it towards the restroom, an excited Riley trucking close behind while Jesse panics about The Pope possibly eating at Wendy’s in the middle of fucking Wyoming.
“WHO’S COMING TONIGHT? HELLOOO—“
“YOU—YOU’RE FAKE AS HELL! YOU WAITED THIS LONG TO TELL ME ABOUT Y’ALL—“
“Shut up, I’m peeing, byeee, love ya, bye I needa pee, bye—“
The door shuts and locks, but she hears them yelling. A couple bangs on the door.
Just when she thought she found sanctuary…
“Hey.”
You stand by the mirror adjusting your tits in your tight ass shirt. All buttons are undone today, just her fucking luck.
“… You didn’t lock the door.”
“I wasn’t pissing.” You hold Pennifer up in your hand like a trophy, and Ellie snickers.
“Started without me?”
“Was fienin’,” With no hesitation, you offer it over, “Wanna pregame?”
She doesn’t mean to snatch it, but she’s a bit jittery. She puffs from, exhales in the opposite direction from you.
“I like when you do that.” Your tongue sounds larger in your mouth. Ellie has to puff again to keep from laughing.
“Do what. Get high on the job?” She whirs around smoke, but you ignore her.
“Tough night?” You nod towards the door that’s still being punched in by Riley.
“Somethin’ like that, yeah.”
“I HATE YOU, BITCH! NEXT TIME YOU WANNA SNEAK, LEMME KNOW—“
“Damn… what happened?”
“I just… I told her you were coming over tonight.” She hands Pennifer back.
Ellie’s surprised when you laugh. She half expected you to be irritated for snitching you both out to someone at work, was so prepared to ride for how trustworthy Riley is, that she wouldn’t get you both fired for workplace flirting and potential bathroom fondling.
But you don’t seem to care, just asks a simple question,
“Should I be concerned?”
She knows what you’re implying. Her head immediately shakes in denial. “I told you. Just a friend. She’s just nosy.”
“Alrighty,” you purr, and Ellie’s heart skyrockets when you take 2 steps closer. The bathroom suddenly feels like a funnel tube. Tight, closed-off, trapping, but she doesn’t leave. The door’s right there; she can’t bring herself to open it.
The pounding suddenly comes to a pause before irritated footsteps vacate the outside.
Ellie can’t stop the ache that blooms in her core or the watering of her mouth when both your hands rise to rest on your chest, the pudge poking through the gaps between your fingers. Either you're that soft, or you’re not wearing a bra.
“Buttons or no buttons?” Asked with fluttery lashes.
Ellie swallows. “One button.” For my fucking sanity, she wants to add, but you got enough ego to cover a goddamn army.
“Help me? Full hands ‘n allat.” That bottom lip juts out slightly and your lashes flutter, and it takes everything for Ellie to not press your face against this filthy ass door. Never in her life did she think she’d reach this level of depravity, but it’s been days. Days. She’s fucking starving for you.
Unfortunately, she has smidge of dignity, and wants you to keep yours.
So she buttons the last one, knuckles brushing against that small sliver of skin, taking in the way your pupils shake with every maneuver of her fingers. Your gaze alone could light a match. Start a forest fire. Burn this whole building to the fucking ground if you wanted.
“Thanks!” You say in your usual bushy-tailed tone, gently shoving Ellie aside to unlock and open the door. “Hi, favorite coworkers!”
The screaming stops, and Ellie’s head knocks back on the wall.
The last thing she wants to do is see her friends' faces. Riley’s hollering is enough.
“… WHAT IN THE FUCK IS GOING ON—“
Ellie’s sigh leaves her breathless.
—
“Welcome to my humble abode.”
Ellie shuts the door behind her, untangles her earplugs from around her neck to drop them, along with her keys, on the dining room table before shrugging her jacket off.
You were pretty quiet on the ride over. Made her a little nervous… A lot nervous.
“Why, thank you.” Ellie can’t hide her smile at your courtesy.
She watches your wandering eyes, moving all over her decorated walls, sloppy paint jobs, shredded up couch from kitten claws. She hopes you don’t notice the coffee stain that she could never remove.
“‘S very you.”
“I would hope so,” her feet carry her to the kitchen, “want a drink? I haaave…” She inspects her fridge. Empty, minus the to-go box, 3 beers, and 2 jugs of berry Minute Maid.
… Awkward. You’re a peckish pothead. Couldn’t even bother to get you a meal on the way home. Dumbass.
“Damn, bitch, no water?” You laugh, and Ellie huffs.
“You’re lucky I drank all my O-negative this morning. You’d be pissing yourself.”
“Sike, I’d buss it wide open for a vampire.”
She flushes before shutting the fridge and guiding you to the couch with a hand on your back.
“We matching? Or are you robbing me again?” You nudge her playfully before rummaging through your purse, and Ellie follows, pulling two jays out of her backpack.
Soon enough, your hands are stocked with Pennifer, a ziplock baggie of your own pre-rolls, and a… fucking butane lighter that your hand can barely close around.
“Goddamn—“
You cackle. “Shut up! Couldn’t find my pink one.”
“So you brought a fucking campfire?”
“If you’re gonna judge, you can spark yourself. Don’t mind m—“
Ellie snatches your lighter with an eye roll that borderline launches them to her brain, flickering the lighter on. It feels like a fucking fireplace. You’re ridiculous.
But you’re quiet. Ellie sparks the end with as much skill as you did last week.
Speaking of.
“Sorry I had to cancel a few days ago—”
“No need to be.”
“My cat got sick and it freaked me out. So. Yeah.”
“Aww, nooo,” you whine sympathetically. Even in your times of softness, that pout makes her lightheaded.
“Where's the baby? Is it okay?”
“He’s fine now. With my… dad.” She passes the jay to you. Watches you puff like a hawk, tinted chapstick smearing the edge. “I pick him up tomorrow.”
“That’s good. What’s the baby’s name?”
“Stewart.” She says stoically.
“… Is he orange?”
“Yes.”
“I can tell. He fucked this couch up.”
Ellie smiles. “You should see my room.”
“Is that an invite?”
Her heart stutters in her chest, but her gaze doesn’t falter from yours. She simply takes the joint from your grip, speaks around her puff.
“It’s whatever you want it to be.”
“Well.”
“Well what.” She pins.
“I want your mouth on my tits.”
“… And I want your tits in my mouth.” She speaks through a dry throat and a thrumming core, your tone set deep in her bones.
You nod your head once before unbuttoning the button she buttoned for you earlier, leaving your greasy cloth on the floor.
“Well… Lean.” Your hands gesture backwards.
And Ellie does, back pressed against her couch cushions, joint hanging from her fingers, almost as low as her eyes. Her suspicions were correct: you’re that soft and braless. You throw a leg over her lap, tits jiggling in her face.
She nearly yanks you down onto her lap when your lips curl around the joint, the orange end cresting like the sun in the morning.
“Suck on ‘em.” Smoke wafts in her face and she curses low and broken.
Your nipple beckons her lips and your hand flies to yank at her hair, pleased whines leaving your lips and vibrating down to her toes. She can barely gather the strength to rub on you like she wants; she’s too enraptured by your softness.
And your filth. That fucking mouth...
“You’re eating ‘em up like a fucking slut.” You whisper in astonishment before pressing a kiss atop her head. Ellie moans around you in response, tongue swirling messily around your areola before suctioning your nipple, drinking in your satisfied squeaks.
One of your nipples is more sensitive than the other. It's cute how loud you get when her teeth rub on them. Just an inch. Enough to get you jumping on her lap like a bunny.
They’re so heavy on her tongue, so soft in her mouth. She’s sure her jeans are staining with her slick… and yours. She can practically smell you.
“Ellie, ‘m—oh fuck, I might cum—“
Her muscles act on their own accord, her joint-less hand coming down to whack your ass, mouth popping off to spit sloppy on both your tits, rubbing her mess in with her tongue.
“You’re so hot, you’re so hot, m’cumming, ohhh fuck—“
Your arm closes tight on the back of her neck, shoving her face tight against your breasts and she accepts that she’ll happily die here: under you, trapped by your scent and your skin and your yipped thanks for the nut.
You have to shove Ellie off your tits after your comedown, thighs clamping shut on her lap when her teeth nick your more sensitive nip, her mouth matching your chest in wetness.
“Fuck.” She exhales, head plummeting on the back of the couch. Tokes one last time. Blows it in your face between giving you one.
“I thought you were a fucking prude when I met you. My fault.” You exhaust through heaves and clouds. She shakes her head uncaringly, massages your tit just to watch you twitch.
“You want another one?” She asks plainly despite the throbbing between her thighs.
“… You serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure… After you show me what’s in your nightstand.”
WARNINGS: THIS IS CRACK AND VERY UNSERIOUS! FT. AGGRESSIVE FLIRTING, oc is a big titty pansexual and the wendy’s robin hood, ellie is a butch-dyking, fry-dropping misandrist who frowns a lot and is horny MDNI, mentions of mary jay, mentions of dead parents(my signature), descriptions of sex. alluded to driving while high(pls don’t do this irl. characters can’t die but you can) TRIGGER WARNING: FILTHY MEN!(it’s just for plot forgive me)
A/N: random mini series of 2 oddballs. HAPPY PRIDE! FUCK ICE! ITS JUNETEENTH I LOVE EVERYBODY BLACK ALSO SISI MADE THE EDIT PURRR @inf3ct3dd
“Good evenin’, my love, what can I get for ya?”
…
“Oh my god, new strain? Didn’t expect to see you back so quickly! How are you, honey? What do you need?”
…
“Hiii, babydoll, havin’ a good night? How was last night, by the way? … So good it brought you back to tell me? Ohhh, goodness—“
Is moaning through your headset that necessary?
The later it becomes, the more… gross you are. It’s nauseating.
The agonizing shrill of potheads bemoaning about the speakers blasting Carly Rae Jepsen while they litter the floor she may have to sweep is torture enough as it is. Listening to you bewitch customers into buying the Berry Frosty is the icing on the cake. Tastes like fucking cough syrup but they’ll gladly scarf it down because you told them to like a bunch of cash pigs. The tip jar beside the window is probably overflowing and it’s only 9.
That’s why Chris schedules you for all window and register duties now. Ellie used to be stationed at the window upon hire, but her opportunity for tips came crashing when a cup of mixed Sprite and Dr. Pepper splattered all over her uniform after supposedly “having attitude” and “being stingy with the bacon on the Baconator” despite having not made it. She nearly jumped out the window to beat on the old fuckhead with a broomstick before he skrrted off.
There she was—caught by her manager, half-hanging out the window
Prior to that, she earned 40 cents in tips and a fuck you from some drunk college student trying to film prank videos for TikTok. Chris chose not to fire her(instead put her on bathroom duty), mainly because they’re understaffed and Ellie’s mom is dead.
She’s been dead actually. For years, she told Chris, and sometimes Ellie has outbursts due to the lack of emotional outlets at home. “They come sporadically! I just feel them and they take over sometimes!” Chris’s scolding became more sympathetic the longer the intervention became, Ellie dragging on and on about her traumatic experiences with grief and how they follow her like a ghost. Even to work.
Some parts were exaggerated, but anything for the dollar. Fuck this country.
But her guilt tripping promoted her from shit unclogger to fry dropper.
“You want an extra patty? Can you even swallow that much meat?”
Working in the kitchen is a blessing and a curse. No more male bathrooms to wash down, but now she has to listen to your incessant flirting… which is more like workplace harassment but everyone just accepts that that’s just the way you speak? With deep drawl and seduction. Or something like that.
When she hears boisterous male laughter at your disguised lecher, she almost dumps the bags of ice into the boiling fryer. Alongside disgust, there’s something else. Akin to envy but not quite. It couldn’t be that.
At least she wasn’t forced to hear it from the bathrooms.
She salts the limp-dick fries on a draining tray before packing them right as you slide your headset off to assist the customers at the register.
More men. Great. She’ll make sure to add a little extra spit.
“My boys came to see me?” Your smile shines like crystals, and they all swoon. Bark at your feet and ogle at your chest like dogs. She told you your uniform was too fucking tight to be professional months ago, in which you replied, “bitch, this is Wendy’s, not Google.” It's still a concern. Looks uncomfortable. Hugs you too tight… not that she cares. Not that she notices.
You promise to give those punks extra fries if they clean up after themselves because her friend works too hard to make it look nice in here. Your friend being her.
It’s been 4 months at this location, and you’ve spoken to her a total of 6 times. A few bright good evenings, one time when she slipped on a mop puddle and you asked if she needed an ambulance or life insurance or a lawyer, and another when you were fried outta your mind with a handful of stolen fries in the staff room; she quotes you often, “bitch, these hit. Nice work.”
Point is, if she’s a friend, she’d hate to see your family.
Like clockwork, you’re given more money than necessary. Their order of spicy nugs was $20, but they handed you thirty-fucking-five. Told you to keep the change, and you do, because you’re greedy and annoying.
… Despite having always evenly split. With everyone. Even the new bathroom cleaners. Fuck you for being so giving.
“Stop staring so fucking hard.”
Ellie nearly leaps onto the ceiling, already shoving a snickering Riley.
“I’m not,” She groans, eyes dropping where the rested low on your waist to the deep fryer, “just making sure they don’t do anything weird.”
“What’re you gonna do, save-a-ho? Throw grease on ‘em?”
Not the worst idea. “Yeah. And she’s not a ho.”
The defense is sudden, makes Riley laugh. Ellie cringes. “How sweet,” Riley coos and blows light kisses, “don’t forget she’s a pro. Conman-esque. She got this.”
“Whatever.”
“Fries look like shit, by the way.” Riley giggles before jetting off to flip her patties.
That’s how the rest of the night proceeds: with you selling sex to crossed party hoppers and Ellie despising you because it works. If there were opportunities for commission in this fuck-ass establishment, you’d be top dog.
“Have a nice night, doll!”
“You too, m’love! Get home safe!” Your voice drops to a whisper as you trail behind your… friend? Whatever. “Text me about dick appointment!”
“And will!”
You giggle, “Love you!” Blows the person kisses before locking up and shutting the entrance lights off.
“Another day, another—“
Slay. Fuck you. Did one of your buttons pop open at the top?
“Ellie!” You call, and she nearly faints.
“What.” She grumbles.
“Any fries left? M’leaving early.”
“No.”
She hates how your pout rattles her ribcage. “Fuuuuck me. Was gonna spark tonight.”
“Yesterday's zoot wasn’t enough for you?”
The one where she had to babysit and make sure you didn’t stick your fingers in electrical outlets? Holes are for filling, you said. Like a shithead.
“Fuck no. Shauna, you remember Shauna—pothead Shauna with a fatty—she put me onto some new shit, so. Yeah. We’ll see!”
Ellie has never met a Shauna in her entire goddamn life. Must be one of your Berry Frosty friends.
“Just go get food.”
“That’s dumb as shit—and corporate cheating. Do you know how stupid I’d look going through the Dairy Queen drive-thru in a Wendy’s shirt?” Your eyes roll before they melt.
“Pretty plleaaase with a cherry on top, drop a fresh batch for me?” You ask lowly with buttery eyes.
So fucking crude. Let people clock out at least.
But she says nothing. Just heads into the kitchen and shoves a potato in the slicer. Preps fresh oil for you, all while you evenly split crumpled wads of cash with Jesse and Dina and Rod and everyone else she doesn’t care to get to know. $15 each. Decent.
When your fries are crispy, she salts and bags them up like she’s sending her partner off to work with a packed lunch—what.
Said partner must’ve heard Ellie's mind because there you are, here you come—what.
“Thanks, angel!” You take the small bag from her with the brightest, most appreciative smile. The one that swells your under eyes. Ellie’s ears burn at the term, and her cheeks follow when your fingers tuck a rolled ten and five, stuffing the bills in her apron pocket. There’s a deep, internal thud rattling her ear drums.
“How long you staying tonight.”
Ellie freezes, “What.”
“Pulling an all-nighter again? Might be a new record, washing dishes til dawn and what have you.” Ellie doesn’t laugh when you do, and annoyingly, that seems to tickle you even more. Your smile makes her chest itch, thrum with something.
“Extra salt on my fries?”
She nods. Like always.
“You deserve brain-breakin’ head.”
“Jesus Christ.” Ellie grumbles like her core didn’t just pull inward.
“You lowkey look like a pothead. Come over sometime.” Not a question, an open demand. Ellie never says no.
“Not a fucking pothead.”
“Do you smoke at all?”
Against her better judgement, she nods again, and your eyes shift: a slightly darkened overcast that gets her chest pounding.
You ponder for a moment, rocking to and from on your heels.
“Lemme take you home.”
“I have to clean—“
“ANDY!”
Sounds like Godzilla gets to tussling with King-Kong in the bathroom. The door bursts open and some dipshit she’s never met with a mop and filled bucket clammers like a jester to a Queen.
“Yes?” His voice cracks.
“Do me a favor, honey?”
“Of course, what’d you need?” Ellie scoffs under her breath.
“Mind putting in a little extra work for me in the kitchen? We gotta emergency to tend to.”
Why’re you saying it—wording it like that? Gets the apparent freshman blushing red like he’s hauling in bulls.
“I gotchu. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thank ya, darlin’. Get home safe, okay?”
He smiles like a lottery winner. “Yeah, you too,” before stumbling back into the bathroom to text his group chat he bagged a milf. Dumbass.
“You’re so—“
You smile. “I know. Get your shit.”
And you leave. Just like that. Ellie watches your shadow disappear into darkness and to your car like a hawk.
I hate this, she tells herself all the way to the staff lounge to grab her backpack, excitement exuding with every peppy step she takes to your car.
—
Hotboxing in your beat-up Camry in her apartment complex parking lot was not on her 2025 bingo card. You crunch on fries and guzzle water like a dehydrated cat and all Ellie can do is stare with intrigue.
At your tits then your face. Why the fuck are you so hot? Even with grease and salt covering your entire mouth and fingers.
She has no idea what you’re talking about, hasn’t for a while now—this is the most hyperactive high she’s ever witnessed. You will not stop talking. To think you smoked down hybrid and hit your pen. Pennifer, you called it. Weirdo.
“—Taxidermy… Like, when people can write with both hands… What’s that called? Tax-e-derm—“
“—I just couldn’t believe that shit, I was literally a witness to armed robbery but it was a bank so fuck it. Get to the bag anyway possible and fuck capitalism—“
“—I want a pet axolotl. They’re so fucking cute, I see why toddlers love ‘em—“
“… OH, MS. NUNN—“
“Riley’s your girlfriend?”
It takes a second to grasp that you’re asking a direct question, joint extended out, which she gladly accepts.
“Best friend since middle school,” she says quietly, smoke swirling to join the cloud high at the ceiling.
“… Shit. Lucky. I don’t talk to anyone I went to school with.”
“How come? Lost touch?”
“Yeah… I dropped out in 10th grade.”
“Why?”
You shrug. “Dad died. He was a piece of shit, but I had… a really bad breakdown. Went into psych care and allat.”
“Damn… Sorry.”
You shrug again, accepting the hit she offers back.
“You gotta girl, though? Or person? It’s fuuuuucking priiiiide.” You sing.
“Single… pringle.” She says lamely, and you laugh. Your cracked giggle makes her lips inch up a bit. “And you? Anyone special you go home to?”
You shrug; always careless with your words. “Nah. Just me n’ my 6 inch.”
“Damn.”
Your brows furrow, “Is that big? Damn, what the fuck—?”
“No judgement. Just… yeah.”
“Yeah, what?” Before you earn a jumbled response, you intercept, “Wait, you’re gay, right?”
She frowns. “My husband and I just put a down payment on a house. White picket and everything.”
“… I know that’s fuckin’ right, OKAY, BUTCH4BU— wait—wait, how the fuck do you gotta house and work at Wendy’s—“
“I was joking!”
You stare blankly before sulking, “so no butch?”
“No.”
“… Darn… But you are gay right?”
“Yes.”
“Merry…” It looks like you dissociate for a split second, “Happy Pride, queen.” You send a finger-heart.
“… Thanks.”
“Not gonna say it back, pussy?”
“… Wait, you—“
Offense taken. You look appalled. “GIRL—yes! Hello—“
“My bad… I’ve only ever seen you talk to guys that look like they piss in Sprite bottles and save them under their twin sized bed.”
“Wow, okay. Specific,” your jaw slacks, “men are whores that only have purpose if they’re giving out money or throwing pipe. You gotta use these bitches like they use us!”
“… Right.”
“I am right. Wanna smoke s’more?”
“I'm good. I’ll watch.” Quite closely. There’s a certain way your lips curl around each puff that makes her swoon.
“Kay.”
Could be the haze of her brain, but you look good lighting up. That orange cast from the flame highlights the brown tints in your eyes.
“I remember I was hooking up with this guy—and, like, for context, my nipples are sensitive. Play with ‘em and I’ll do anything you ask me to, right? Whatever,” You puff, “so, he kisses my neck, what, like, four fucking times before he whips it out with a rubber. I said, bitch, the fuck is this about? Barely any fondling, no hickies, no nothing.”
“I tell him… What the fuck did I tell him—I dunno, but I cussed him out hard enough that he made me cum just by sucking my tits and then I kicked his ass out, only for him to hit me up a week later asking to fuck again. Mind you, he never hit! They’re a bunch of sluts.”
“… Sheesh.”
She heard you but she didn’t hear you. Too stuck on you having tit-gasms.
“Right?” Blobs of smoke circle your face in puffy halos, “Lesbians just get it. Be grateful you never have to deal with these bullshit ass problems.”
She is. There’s not a second that goes by where she isn’t.
“They do get it, don’t they.”
“Yeah…” You sigh dreamily, “what about you? Any freak-nasty tales to tell?”
“Not with men.”
“Didn’t expect anything less,” You snort, “tell me a funny one. Farting mid-fingering or something romantic like that.”
Ellie laughs, and it looks like your smile grows because hers did. Or is she too fucking high?
“Not many funny ones, to be honest.”
“… Okay, Pussy Destroyer 3000—“
“No, I mean—I’m just… into them. You know? It doesn’t really matter if it’s not… perfect, or whatever. I just need them to enjoy it.”
And for the first time tonight, Ellie’s open, and you’re quiet.
She catches that look in your eye; softer and filled with intrigue. If there’s something you want to ask, she’ll answer, but you settle.
“That’s really nice.” You whisper, and it’s genuine. Ellie hums playfully in return, ignoring how hot her ears are, eyes locked onto yours when they start to waver.
… Are you shy? You?
“You’re sweet, Ellie.” You compliment, and Ellie plays with the ring on her middle finger.
“So, what color is it?” You ask.
“What color is what?”
“Is yo’ gun pink?”
“… What.”
“Your strap, piece, slanger, the slug in your nightstand, the girth you hide in your backpack—“
“I don’t hide—dude, you think I carry it on me at work? The hell—“
You squint before smirking. “I never said allat… but now I'm suspicious—“
“It’s bright pink and glows in the dark.” She snarks.
“Ooooo, so they be lightin’ up like a glow stick?”
Ellie cackles. “Oh my fucking god—“
“That’s so cute! I love that! Like a firefly!” You take a minute to catch your breath before exclaiming. “Bitch, you top? Queen shit—“
“I like it.”
“Is it psychological?”
“Huh?”
“Like… the need for control. Everything falls apart in your life so you make it up by topping the baddies you meet at bars.”
Ellie barely catches her breath, pain searing through her cheeks but she can’t stop smiling.
… Pretty spot on, coincidentally. She couldn’t stop the crash that killed her mom, couldn’t stop her burial two weeks later, her dad abandoning and leaving her with Joel—she loves the old man, but… he can be a lot. Two terrible communicators should never be subjected to living under the same roof. So much uncomfortable silence.
“And where’d you learn that?”
“Divorce Court. And Dr. Phil but fuck him.”
Ellie shakes her head. “You’re not how I thought you’d be.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good. Definitely.”
“What’d you think of me before?”
“Uh… well…”
Your bottom lip juts out, pink and covered in salt. That fucking pouts gonna get her in trouble. And you. With your permission. “Thought I was a cum-guzzling skank-thot?”
“I… no. I just thought you were kinda…”
It’s hard to find words to describe you. Any preconceived notions she had seem to dwindle with every exchange you share, but still, what’s your motive for inviting her into your car? For toking? You’ve never seemed that interested in getting to know her prior to this. You’re cordial and… nice—as much as one could be while they’re seducing men into tipping the swabbers.
“So sexy and smart you didn’t know what to do with yourself?”
“Sure. That’s it.” She snorts. “Don’t take this the wrong way but you seemed… self-centered.” She whispers shamefully like she actually called you that skank thing. You don’t seem hurt by the term, though. Accepting even.
“I am.”
“… Okay.”
“… Wait, so you top?” You mumble slyly, and Ellie nods.
“Why?”
She shrugs. “Just prefer it. I don’t like spotlights.”
“Fair. I love ‘em.”
“I’m sure you do,” Ellie’s hand move on autopilot, taking the half-smoked joint from you to hit despite her better judgement, “you seem like one, too.”
“A spotlight?”
“A top, idiot.”
You contemplate for a moment, biting at that same pout. “If I like someone enough, I’ll do whatever they tell me to. I don’t really care.”
“Romantic.” Ellie grumbles—her time to toke hog, to ash off on your center console, and you let her. No more grabby hands for the spliffy.
“Romance sucks and fucks from the back.” You turn your car on to get the radio on, low enough to hear Ellie pick at your psyche. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Mhm.”
“Why’d you offer to drive me home?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No. That’s why I’m asking.”
Just when she thought it was impossible for your eyes to glaze more, they do, a perfect match for that devious fucking smile. Her heart full-stops when you lean in closer, elbow pressed against the console, your breath hitting her neck with your proximity.
“I wanted to know what color it was.”
She hums around the roach, blows the smoke away from your face before turning to face you. She stubs it in your tray, vision locked onto every detail of your face before finding her way back to your eyes that seem to glimmer and twinkle.
“Blue.” She hums quietly.
“Still glow in the dark?” You match her tone.
“No. Unfortunately.”
“…”
“Darn.”
Ellie laughs with you until her sides burn. Until you slump your head onto her shoulder in an attempt to catch your breath. Until laughter turns to winded inhales that brush each other's faces.
Until you inch up a bit, brush her nose with yours. Until she’s forced to fight temptation with her last cell.
“It’s late.”
Regret fills her the second she whispers it because you’re already backing up and she craves your warmth again, still smiling with that soft look in your eye.
“Would you like to come over tomorrow?”
An innocent proposal. Probably to smoke away the stress of Saturday’s.
“I'll let you know.”
You’re cheesing like she’s already accepted. “Okay.”
“You good to get back home?”
“Mhm.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
She physically has to cover her mouth with her hand to stop herself from inviting you in for a sleepover. A gay sleepover. During pride month.
Ellie nods, picks her bag up off your leopard floor mats before breaking the smoke cloud with a nudged open door. “Text me when you get back.”
“Okay.”
“Bye.”
You giggle again. How the hell could she deny you? “Bye, Ellie.”
The box breaks when her door opens, cold air lighting up her cells like a fuse box despite her legs feeling like jelly.
She doesn’t look back because she’ll turn back; climb right into the front—or back—seat and never come out again. She refuses to make this complicated despite it being in her nature. That was fun and you’re nice to talk to and you’re friends now. Friendship isn’t complicated.
… Well, it can be, especially when the brain sends whispers about said friend on their knees with blue down their throat. Ellie sighs against her front door.
She just needs to sleep.
Yeah. Sleep it off. Not masturbate to the thought of you swallowing her. That’s a no.
Hi! I put this together to highlight some of my favorite Black fanfic writers especially those creating amazing work for Arcane and The Last of Us. I hope this helps other Black readers discover authors who reflect their experiences and voices.If you know any Black fanfic writers you'd like to see added to this list, feel free to let me know! I also included a few Hispanic and Latino authors, since I’m Afro-Latina and wanted to celebrate that part of the community too.
@doiliedaze | African American
@vikasmama | African American
@applejade | African American
@jinxvex | African American
@vampirq | African American
@baambied | African American
@s-4pphics | African American
@valalice | Mixed
@atereaste | Mixed (Haitian & Greek)
@inf3ct3dd | Mixed (Haitian & Cuban)
@pivoinev | Mexican
@hcneymooners | Caribbean
@atomicami | Latina
I’ll add more soon but I hope you enjoy the ones that I put 🤗
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
prguitarman
blakekathryn
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
baratheonpilled
theartofmadeline
