@marianeski - Tumblr Blog

losing my way

church boy!leon x reader

religion doesn't call out to you, it doesn't even whisper to you. but for leon kennedy, his faith is the very foundation that upholds his life. you're not a part of his world, and they're all worried you're going to lead him astray. but a chance encounter at his church's annual summer barbecue is one telltale sign that it's quite the opposite. in fact, maybe he even enjoys being corrupted by you.

tags: 18+, f!pov, religious themes - church boy!leon / christian!leon, rookie!leon, re2!leon, smut, corruption kink, religious guilt, LEON IS A PATHETIC WHIMPERING MESS, this re2!leon variant may be slightly ooc due to the context btw, masturbation, voyeurism, porn with plot, modern universe no virus!au | wc: 5.4k (additional note: this fic has religious themes. reader's context is that they left the church but remain amicable. read at your own discretion)

starduszt

⚢ PAIRING: jackson!ellie x fem reader

SUMMARY: What started as a cautious familiarity between you and Ellie grew into friendship, then into a closeness built from shared moments, lingering looks, and nights that felt too meaningful to name. Somewhere along the way, love settled in without asking. And on your 18th birthday, it finally found its voice—in a confession, and in a kiss that changed everything.

WORD COUNT: 11,9k

CONTENT WARNINGS: set during tlou ii, ages 14/15 → 18/19, first kisses, mentions of death, guns and injuries, peepaw joel lives, no major character death, slow burn?, FLUFF, soft angst?, friends to lovers, mutual pining, jealousy and yearning... idk what else to put here. if there's something that should be tagged missing pls let me know!

PART 1 — PART 2 — PART 3

Some time had passed since you and Ellie became close. Really close. For some insane reason, she liked being around you.

It happened gradually, like most good things did with you. One day you were still awkward around each other, and the next you were... this. Whatever this was. Friends, definitely. Best friends, maybe, though that spot still belonged to Lila, and Dina still held that place in Ellie's life.

Things had changed recently. You had more shifts at the clinic now. Your mom said you were ready, that you were good enough to handle more responsibility. Which was great, except it meant longer hours, more patients, less free time.

And Ellie was fully on patrol now. She wasn't just mucking stalls or feeding horses anymore, she was out there beyond the walls, facing infected and raiders and god knows what else. That made your heart feel heavy every time you thought about it.

You missed going to the stables, bring her lunch and watching her brush down the horses. Missed those easy afternoons where you could just exist near her, listening to her talk about nothing and everything.

Ellie still found time, though. Somehow. She'd show up at the clinic between your shifts, or she'd swing by your house after dinner, throwing rocks on your window like some kind of character from those old movies you loved.

She always found you.

"Oh," Your mom muttered, halfway through setting the table. "I forgot the salt. Can you go grab it, sweetheart?"

You were already standing before she finished. "Of course."

The kitchen was quieter, away from the noise of everyone talking and laughing in the dining room as you scanned the counter, looking for the small ceramic shakers Maria always used.

You stepped up to the cabinet, craning your neck to spot the little glass jars on the top shelf. Even on your tiptoes and with your arms stretching as far as they would go, your fingertips barely grazed the edge of the salt shaker.

You were so focused. Your brow furrowed, bottom lip caught between your teeth, reaching, reaching—

"Come on," you whispered to yourself, like they might hear you and scoot forward, already feeling the familiar flush of frustration creep up your neck.

Suddenly and with no warning, you were lifted off the ground.

Your body went stiff. Panic flared hot in your chest for half a second. Who, what, why…

When you twisted your head around to see, it was her. Of course. No one else would dare to pick you up like that. They knew better.

"Got you," she said, her voice right by your ear, her breath warm against your skin.

Oh. The panic dissolved instantly. The flush of frustration quickly replaced by something so much worse.

She was grinning up at you, and her hands were firm on your waist, holding you like you weighed nothing.

"Ellie!" you squeaked, your hands flying out to grab the shelf for balance.

She just laughed, playfully. "What? You couldn't reach."

Your voice came out higher than normal. "You could've warned me!"

"You're right, my bad. Gonna grab them or not?" she said, voice low and teasing.

You just stared at her, face burning so hot you were sure you were about to combust.

Ellie's grin widened. "Come on. I can't hold you up here all day. I'm not that strong."

That snapped you out of it. You let out a breathless laugh —half embarrassment, half disbelief— and fumbled for the salt and pepper shakers, nearly knocking one over.

"Got them?" Ellie asked, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

The only thing you could manage to do was nod.

She lowered you then, slowly. So slowly.

That was somehow worse than being lifted, because her hands slid from your waist down to your hips as your feet touched the ground. Her palms settled there, fingers curling slightly against the denim of your jeans.

They stayed there, just for a moment. Then she stepped back, and you instantly felt the absence of her hands.

You spun around, clutching the seasonings to your chest. "You—" Your voice came out too high. "You can't just do that!"

Ellie’s grin widened. "You were taking forever. Thought I'd speed things up."

You opened your mouth and then closed it, because you had absolutely no idea what to say. Your brain was still stuck on the feeling of her hands on you, on the way her breath had ghosted across the back of your neck.

"Come on," Ellie said, nodding toward the dining room, still smiling. "Food's getting cold."

She brushed past you, her hand grazing your shoulder for half a second before she moved toward the door.

You stood there for a second longer, trying to remember how to breathe.

You didn't remember walking back home after dinner. Your legs carried you, but your mind was elsewhere.

You barely registered saying goodbye to Maria, or your mom kissing your forehead and telling you she had the night shift at the clinic. You just nodded, mumbled something that might've been "okay," and walked home on autopilot.

It was meant to be a normal evening. You'd nodded along, smiled when you were supposed to, passed the bread basket twice. You thought you were fine.

But then Ellie did that. She'd just… done it, and you hadn't freaked out or panicked or frozen or pulled away.

It was bad. It was so bad.

You'd never let someone touch you like that, but just let her. And worse, you liked it.

What did it mean?

Every part of you was still buzzing, like electricity beneath your skin. Your chest felt full and tight, but not in a bad way, not like when the lights flickered at night and you couldn't find Ezra and you couldn't breathe.

This was different.

You flopped back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. You were grateful that your mom had the night shift and couldn't see you like this.

A strangled, horrified sound escaped your throat after a few minutes, and Ezra mewed in alarm besides you. You just buried your face in his fur. "Oh my god, Ezra… I have a crush.”

You could still feel the ghost of her touch, and your skin still tingled where her hands had been— on your waist, your hips...

You were never going to be normal about her again.

Lately, you had been feeling off.

It was hard to explain. Your own reflection looked kinder some days, and cruel the next.

Even the compliments felt strange, wrong. You wanted them, craved them sometimes, but when they came, it was the worst thing ever. Your mom said you were becoming “a stunner” and Tommy called you “a little heartbreaker” the other day and you thought you might collapse into the dirt like a kicked flower. Even Joel told you that you looked cute. Joel.

Sometimes, you believed it… a little.

Lila had plucked your eyebrows just last week, shaped them thinner and told you, “You’re a knockout, girl.”

Sadly, boys thought the same. One tried to flirt with you last week, and you felt nothing but revulsion.

You didn’t want him nor his attention. Or anything. You didn't want anything from him or any other boy.

No thank you, you wanted to snap. I already want someone. I want her. I want Ellie.

You didn’t know how to think about her anymore. Well, that wasn’t true. You knew how you thought about her (way too often)

She was looking more and more grown by the day. Stronger, a bit taller. Her arms… veiny, and her confidence different—less playful, more solid. She moved like she belonged everywhere.

It shattered something in your stomach. Something new and unnameable.

She made you feel so tiny, sometimes. And other times, she made you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

It wasn’t even jealousy. It was not.

Cat was here. In your clinic, using your gauze and the disinfectant that you made, cleaning your— Ellie's forearm—

Ugh. You couldn't stand her.

You clearly remembered the way she once looked at you, years ago, and said, “You’re a weird little thing, huh?” and laughed.

You had never forgotten that. Not even now, when Cat was older, and prettier, and apparently "friends" with Ellie.

You hadn’t known Ellie liked girls. You should’ve known, of course, Lila told you a like a hundred times, “She’s like, so gay. Like obviously gay.” Still, it had been a quiet surprise, one that made your cheeks go bright red and your hands clumsy.

Maybe it was the way Ellie never said it aloud, the way she acted like nothing about her had changed, even though everything felt like it had, that made you ache the most.

Now, her arm was being inked by her, and it made your stomach twist.

Ellie didn’t look your way when she left. Just said a quiet thanks to your mom, and then walked out.

And you just stood there, skin hot, heart sore.

You were supposed to be practicing your sutures.

Your mom had given you a piece of pig skin earlier that week, thick and tough, good for learning.

She'd shown you the running stitch, the interrupted stitch, how to tie off the knot so it wouldn't slip.

You had been excited about it, really. You even read three chapters in your dad's old surgical textbook the night before, studying the diagrams until your eyes burned.

But now you sat at your desk, needle and thread in hand, and all you could think about was Ellie.

Ellie with her stupid new tattoo.

Ellie with Cat.

Your hands shook as you tried to pierce the skin. The needle slipped. You tried again, but your eyes kept blurring.

Just thinking about them made your chest feel like it was full of knives.

It was a physical pain, sharp behind your chest. And even though you tried to rationalize it, tried to tell yourself that Ellie could like whoever she wanted, nothing soothed the feeling.

Now, it definetly was jealousy. It had crept up slowly at first, and you hadn’t even noticed it.

At the start, it was just an itch under your skin when you heard Ellie talking about the design.

Then, days later, a burn in your stomach when you saw them together, both smiling, and Ellie laughing.

Laughing.

Ellie didn’t laugh like that with you.

You had gone home with your chest full of sand after seeing them come out of Ellie's room. She had never invited you to her place, either.

You told Lila, who only raised an eyebrow and said, “You’re prettier than Cat. And smarter. And kinder. And you don’t talk shit to old people.”

That last part was very true. You still remembered the day Cat called poor Mr. Klein slow for forgetting his supply list.

It made everything worse, because now you weren't just sad, you were also angry.

Angry that Ellie would like someone so rude.

Angry that Ellie hadn’t told you anything. Nothing. You had found out about them being… whatever, by yourself.

It was happening again.

Ellie felt it before she even saw you. That shift in the air. She could feel your presence before you even entered the fucking room.

There you were. Just standing by the main board in the council hall, talking to Tommy with this excited energy that made your whole face light up.

You were holding a folder, gesturing animatedly while he listened, nodding along.

Ellie knew what this was about. Some proposal about expanding the town's herbal medicine program. Growing specific plants for antiseptics, painkillers, antibiotics.

You had been working on it for months, reading every book you could find, taking notes, testing combinations in your mom's clinic, and you talked Ellie's ear off about it.

Ellie barely understood half of it, but she listened anyway. Watched you get so passionate about it that you forgot to be anxious.

How the hell were you getting prettier every time?

Ellie blinked, hard. Like maybe if she unfocused her eyes she could shake it off, like a vision or something.

No luck. You were real, and glowing, and your hair looked darker today, parted a little off-center so a few strands kept falling in your face. You brushed them behind your ear only for them to fall again, soft and loose and aggravatingly perfect.

Ellie felt her whole body tense.

It wasn’t fair. You weren't doing anything. You were just existing. Quiet and soft-spoken and tidy in that boring navy sweater and jeans you always wore.

It was not just that you were gorgeous and that you were getting more and more gorgeous every fucking day. It was the effortlessness you had.

That was even worse. It made Ellie feel like a freak.

She ducked out of the hallway, cursing under her breath, pretending she was doing something. Anything not to stand there and look… again.

She couldn’t think. Could barely walk straight. It was like her body was permanently tuned to your frequency, hyper-aware of your every move, every glance, every breath.

It was embarrassing.

Ellie flopped face-down on her bed later that night and groaned into her pillow. She was not okay. At all.

She wasn’t sleeping. She wasn’t thinking straight. She caught herself zoning out during patrols now—zoning out, for fuck’s sake.

She dreamed about you. No, worse, she daydreamed. In the middle of chores or conversations. Imagining dumb things like touching your hair or lying beside you or kissing your shoulders gently.

And then she'd snap back to reality, wondering what the hell was wrong with her.

Wondering what the hell she was supposed to do with all this wanting.

It was getting unbearable. That was what it was. Unbearable.

You had been holding it together for months, but you were not sure if you could keep doing it.

Ellie was here. In your house. With a perfect tattoo, and perfect arms, and a warm laugh that made you want to scream.

Now, sitting in the quiet of your own living room, something was finally cracking inside you.

Ellie had taken her hoodie off. And was showing the tattoo.

You had seen it once before, of course. Sometimes you helped her clean it at the clinic. But this was different. This was intentional. Intimate, somehow. Like Ellie didn’t even realize what she was doing. Or worse, maybe she did.

The tattoo was beautiful. Bold black leaves, all curling and winding up Ellie’s forearm, tapering delicately into the shape of a moth perched right above her wrist. It followed the path of her veins like it belonged there.

Your breath caught so quickly it made you dizzy.

You tucked her knees up under your chin and tried to focus on the movie, but your eyes wouldn’t stop flicking toward Ellie.

She sat sprawled on the rug, close to the heater, wearing a black tank top with fraying edges and gray sweatpants low on her hips.

Her arms were bare.

You couldn't stop staring at them. The way muscle moved under skin when she gestured. The tattoo winding up her forearm. The veins that traced from her wrist to her inner elbow. Her hands—calloused and scarred and strong.

Your stomach clenched.

Her hair was messy from where she'd scratched at her scalp, half-fallen out of its bun, and there were pieces falling around her face. You wanted to brush them back. Wanted to touch.

She was talking in that low voice she always had when she was sleepy, explaining something to Dina and Lila, and every word seemed to vibrate in your chest.

It wasn’t even directed at you, but you felt it.

Elephants. It sent elephants stampeding through your stomach.

Your cheeks flushed hot so suddenly you had to hide your face against her knees.

It was mortifying. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at Ellie again. So, you got up a little too quickly and said something about being tired and that you would go to bed early.

Now, you were lying in bed, facing the wall, trying to calm your breathing. You could still hear them laughing in the living room, her voice cutting through the muffled chatter, saying something about the movie.

Why did Ellie have to sound like that?

Why did she have to be so casual? So handsome and cool and effortless and funny and kind? Why did she have to care about Ezra and laugh with you and talk about old music and tell you that you looked really pretty two weeks ago while you were planting strawberries? Why did she have to have those arms?

You tried not to cry, your stomach fluttering every time Ellie’s voice carried through the walls.

It made you feel crazy.

You wouldn’t sleep tonight. Not even a minute.

It had been a good night, by all accounts.

Dina had somehow found the only bag of chocolate chips left in the entire settlement, and you had baked too many batches of cookies. Lila had picked a dumb old Christmas movie.

Ellie sprawled out on the rug, her stomach sore from laughing. You had laughed too, quietly, but it had still made Ellie’s chest feel full in a way she was not proud of.

But then you got quiet. Like someone flicked a switch, when Ellie showed Lila and Dina the finished tattoo.

You didn’t say anything. Just mumbled something and went to bed even though it wasn’t that late.

Ellie had let you go, even if her stomach pulled a little in protest. But when Lila and Dina finally decided to head to sleep and she was left standing in the middle of the living room, she found herself staring toward the hallway.

She didn’t think too hard about what she was doing.

She just filled a glass of water, cold, the way you liked it, and crept toward the door like a thief, sliding inside.

She didn’t have to see her to know you were awake. Your breathing wasn’t deep enough, and your shoulders were too tight.

You were curled like a scared little fawn, Ellie thought, heart squeezing tight.

Ellie hovered near the nightstand and placed the glass there gently, whispering, “Brought you some water. You okay?”

No answer.

Ellie smiled. The kind of over-the-top fake sleeping that screamed I’m awake but I don’t want to talk to you right now was kind of funny.

Ellie crouched a little, her voice quiet and teasing. “So we’re gonna pretend now?”

Still no response. But your silence was screaming.

Ellie shook her head, a little fond and a little achey. She didn’t know what she’d done. Well, no. She did. Kind of didn’t want to admit it.

You didn’t like Cat. That much was obvious. You always went kind of sour when Ellie mentioned her.

It had amused Ellie at first. Like, genuinely. You glaring at the floor while calling Cat ugly with that soft little voice? That shit was funny. But when the humor faded, all that was left behind was this weird tight thing in her chest.

Because you weren't joking. And Ellie didn’t know why it mattered so much what you thought.

It wasn’t like her and Cat were even official. They were… something. Easy, maybe. And Ellie had been trying, hadn’t she? Trying to want the right things, kiss the right people.

So why was it that when you walked out of the room like that tonight, Ellie felt like the floor dropped out from under her?

She watched you now, in the dark, that small shape under the blanket

When you spoke, it was barely a whisper. “I’m alright. Just tired.”

Ellie didn’t believe you, not for a second. “Wanna be alone?” she asked, softly.

Silence. But it wasn’t the kind of silence that meant no.

So Ellie moved slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed first. Then, when you didn’t flinch or push her away, she eased in behind you.

“Get closer,” You whispered, barely audible.

Ellie did. She slid one arm around your waist, and the other under your head. You didn’t speak, but shifted just enough that Ellie knew it was okay. That you wanted this.

Ellie almost couldn’t breathe.

You felt so small in her arms. Warm and tense and vibrating with some emotion she couldn't name. Ellie tucked her chin into the space between your shoulder and neck.

This was nothing like being with Cat. Nothing at all.

But she buried it all, holding you tighter. Pressed her lips to the side of your neck in the barest, softest ghost of a kiss.

Ezra curled up at the foot of the bed sometime during the night, a small warm weight against your ankles. The three of you tucked together in the small bed.

She just listened to your breath then, the rise and fall of it, and wondered if maybe she’d already fallen all the way in.

You slept like never before.

There were no restless flips in the dark, no tangled sheets from night sweats or clawing dreams or the weight of your own too-loud thoughts.

Just a deep, warm float. Like sinking into thick honey. Or a cloud.

You only remembered flashes of the night: Ellie’s arm loose around your waist, the gentle rise and fall of her breath behind you, the feeling of that faint exhale in your hair. You had barely dared to breathe. Just laid there, dizzy, caught between wanting to never move again and the insane urge to run out of the house and throw yourself into the snow.

You didn’t even stir when they left. Not when Lila patted the top of your head, or when Dina whispered something about not waking you.

Instead, you stayed sleeping. For hours, apparently. Because now it was almost 1 p.m., and you could hear the distant sounds of the town.

When you finally dragged yourself up into the kitchen, a little smile tugged at your lips.

Your stomach fluttered in waves. It wasn’t just a good morning, it was an Ellie morning. And it made everything feel sun-warmed and lighter.

You could live inside last night forever if you just closed your eyes hard enough. So you did.

But when you opened them again… your mom was sitting at the table. Eating soup. And watching you.

You froze.

Not because you weren't expecting her to be home, but because of the look on her face, too neutral and too casual at the same time.

“Mom,” you greeted, voice an octave too high, scratching the back of your neck. “Didn’t know you were home.”

Your mom’s gaze narrowed with interest. “I figured I’d come home to make lunch.”

“Oh,” You squeaked, suddenly fascinated with opening the pantry. “Thanks.”

There was a long pause, just the sound soup being blown on.

“So…” she began lightly. “Did you sleep well? It looked like you and Ellie were very comfortable last night.”

You choked on nothing, slimming the cabinet door shut and turning around, red to the tips of your ears. “Mom!”

“What?” She raised her eyebrows, utterly unbothered. “It’s an honest question. You two were all curled up together.”

You buried her face in your hands. “Please don't talk.”

She laughed, warm and teasing. “Alright, alright. I won’t tease.”

She stood, carried her bowl to the sink, and washed it slowly while you fidgeted with the sleeve of your pajama shirt

The casualness only made you more anxious.

She knew. She definitely knew. And she wasn’t saying it yet, but it was coming. The question. The real one.

“So,” Your mom said quietly, drying her hands, “You like her?”

Something fluttered painfully in your chest, heart pounding so hard you thought you might vomit. But you didn’t cry, not yet.

“She’s dating Cat,” you whispered. “So it doesn’t matter.”

Your mom didn’t answer right away, just watched you carefully.

“Oh, honey,” she finally said, her voice quiet and too gentle.

She stepped forward, but you didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

Not when your face was crumpling and your lips were pouting. Not when your hands had started to shake a little from holding everything in, from carrying this thing you never said aloud. This knowing. This quiet ache you had tried to smother and hide.

But she just came closer and placed a hand on your cheek, then kissed the top of your head.

“I love you,” she said softly. “You know that, right?”

You finally let out a shaky breath and nodded.

No dramatic confession or grand admission. Just this.

Just your mother knowing, without you needing to explain what you couldn’t yet say. That you liked girls. That you maybe loved this one girl. That it hurt, and it confused you, and it terrified you. But she knew, and loved you anyway.

For the first time in weeks, it felt like you could breathe.

She hugged you, and you sniffled, pressing your forehead against her shoulder.

“…She made you all breakfast before leaving,” she added lightly, rubbing your back. “She’s a keeper.”

“Moooom!”

Ellie didn’t talk about it.

Because what was she supposed to say?

That she held you in her arms all night and it ruined her?

That the girl who once wouldn’t let her shake her hand had curled into her like a kitten, warm and soft and smelling like the vanilla lotion Ellie had learned to make for you?

That you made these tiny noises in your sleep and her entire nervous system reconfigured?

That she’d stared at the ceiling for two hours trying to convince herself that what you two had was platonic?

There was nothing platonic about the way her heart rate spiked when she thought about you.

Cat had never made her feel like this, and she liked Cat.

Still does, in some fuzzy, dull, almost fond way.

But Cat had never made her feel the way she felt when she looked down and saw you sleeping soundly against her chest. Ellie didn’t even know she could feel like that, warm and terrified and sort of like she might cry, all at once.

“Okay, you had one thing to do. One. Butch up and kiss her. And you didn’t? Ellie, c'mon. I told you like a hundred times, she likes you.”

“She doesn’t even—” Ellie started, biting down on the inside of her cheek. “She doesn’t even like girls.”

Dina stopped, turning back to look at her like Ellie just said the dumbest thing imaginable. “Are you sure?”

Yes.

Ellie had never seen you show interest for anyone besides Ezra or your friends. She had never seen you flirt with anyone, not boys or girls. She remembered how once a boy had tried to flirt with you. He had said something weirdly polite like you look beautiful today, and you just stared at him like he had thrown up on your shoes.

It was kind of funny. But also intimidating.

“Yes,” Ellie muttered, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “I don’t think she... thinks about people or me like that.”

“Okay,” Dina said softly, suddenly less teasing. “But do you?”

It was not even a question.

“Yeah,” Ellie whispered. “I do.”

Ellie’s birthday was coming up.

You had been asking her what she wanted at least five times a day, but every time, Ellie just waved you off.

“Don’t want anything, seriously. You don’t have to.”

Which was ridiculous. It infuriated you. Ellie brought you so many little things from patrols, like rocks that sparkle, weird books, flowers, hair clips…

Last year, she gave you two gifts.

First, she sang a song for you. Her voice was quiet and a little shy, fingers moving across the guitar strings like they had been doing it forever. (You cried and she teased you about it for weeks after)

And then she pulled out a small package, wrapped carefully in old newspaper. Inside, there was a maroon stethoscope.

It was pristine. Not scavenged or repaired or held together with tape, brand new.

"I know you already have your mom's old one," Ellie had said, scratching the back of her neck. "But I saw this on a run and thought—I don't know. You should have your own."

You'd hugged her so tight she laughed.

You still use it every day. Your mom's old stethoscope sat on your desk at home now, retired.

And what had you given her? A half-assed lopsided cake that you had stress-baked because you couldn't go to the creek with them and felt terrible about it. She said it was the best cake she'd ever had, even though you knew she was lying because you forgot to put sugar in it.

You couldn't do that again. You couldn't.

Of course you had to give something back. You had to. The least you could do was get her something for her birthday. But you didn’t know what.

You saw them the second the door opened. Joel's wide shoulders ducking through the clinic frame, Ellie under his arm, breathing hard.

Your own body went still. Cold all at once, like your veins had traded blood for freezing water.

Lila and your mom moved fast, already pulling gloves on, and you followed. It was instinct. The second someone was bleeding, your hands just moved.

But your breath came shallow and tight. You didn’t even notice you had been holding it until you saw a big cut near her hip. There was also a bruise so big and dark blooming over Ellie’s side like something rotten beneath the skin.

It made something inside you want to break.

Ellie, for her part, looked… well, fine. Stubbornly fine. Gritting through it, but you knew her enough by now to see the way she was hiding how much she hurt.

You didn’t even hear most of what your mom said, something about the damage being surface-level and rest. Then she tugged Joel by the sleeve and left you two alone, promising to come back in a few minutes. Lila looked between you and Ellie and vanished too.

And then it was just you two.

Just you sitting on your desk, writing down the pills she had to take and how often she had to disinfect the gash on her hip. Your hands were still trembling, though you were trying not to show it. And you were trying so hard not to pout, but failed miserably.

“Are you mad at me?” Ellie asked after what felt an eternity

That was all it took. One simple question, and your whole chest folded in on itself. Your covered your face with your hands fast.

“No—” But your voice broke. “I —”

Ellie was off the stretcher before you knew it, stumbling slightly. She crouched down to your level, touching your shoulder.

The tears came quick and hot. Silent sobs, not even making noise but the kind that hurt so much more because you didn’t want to cry at all. She was the one hurt, the one who needed you, not the other way around.

“What if you died, Ellie?”

She didn't say anything, just moved, arms wrapping around you like she’d done it a hundred times before, and you clung to her.

With your face hidden in the crook of her neck and your hands gripping the back of her shirt, you let yourself fall.

“It’s not fair,” you whispered, breath catching. “You shouldn’t have to get hurt. You should be safe. You should be—here, not out there, not—”

Her voice came only after a while, warm in your ear. “I’m okay. You know Joel wouldn’t’ve let anything happen.”

She rubbed your back in slow, clumsy circles, and eventually, the tears dried.

Ellie pulled back only a little, just enough to look at you. She cupped your face on her hands, her thumbs swiping softly beneath your eyes to clean the remain of tears on your lashes.

“I’ll be more careful,” she said. “I promise you”

After the injury, Ellie was assigned fewer patrol shifts. Something she hated, of course. She grumbled about it often, muttering how she wasn’t “a fucking baby,”

But to you, it was the most selfish relief. Because fewer shifts meant more time. More Ellie.

You always invited her to stay for dinner after she walked you home, because you knew how often she skipped it. Sometimes you cooked, sometimes your mom did. When she was shameless enough, she would ask you to make those rice stuffed onions you dad used to make. (You would cooked them for her everytime she asked.)

She would sit at your kitchen table like she belonged there, fork in hand, telling stories while you and your mom listened. She always helped with dishes after, drying while you washed, your shoulders bumping.

Sometimes, you even made dessert. Last week you made her cinnamon rolls because she never tried them, and she said they were too sugary, then ate three of them and asked if you had more.

Other times, she would lie on your bed while you sat at your desk, nose buried in one of your dad's old medical textbooks. You read passages aloud sometimes, and Ellie would listen.

"Listen to this," you said, eyes bright. "It says here that willow bark contains salicylic acid, which is the same compound in aspirin. Isn't that incredible? We could grow it here. We could make our own."

"You're such a nerd," Ellie said, fondly

You liked sharing things with her, because Ellie was so smart. She knew things you would never learn from your textbooks.

And she shared them with you, too.

She would tell you about infected patterns, about how to track someone through a forest, about which buildings were safest to hide in and which ones would collapse if you breathed wrong. She'd explain gun maintenance while you watched, fascinated, asking questions she never seemed to mind answering.

"Why do you clean it in that order?" you asked once.

"Because if you do it wrong, it'll jam. And if it jams out there..." Ellie shrugged. "You're fucked."

But she also told you about the things she loved, the things that made her eyes light up, like space and dinosaurs.

It felt like an exchange. A balance. You taught her about medicine and plants. She taught you about survival, the world outside the gates and the things she loved. You taught each other.

It was nice. You liked it this way. Predictable and comfortable. A routine you could count on.

You two also spent time in Ellie's place now.

The first time you walked in, you nearly passed out.

It was so Ellie. Messy in the way only she could be, but still organized enough that you could tell what meant the most.

There were posters of bands and space, a tiny stack of worn comic books on her nightstand. Her guitar leaning against the wall in the corner. A TV and console that had definitely seen better days. Pictures with Jesse and Dina and Joel. One of you two a two years ago, smiling big.

It made your eyes shiny. She just shrugged, and said, “Told you it’s a disaster.”

But it wasn’t. It was perfect.

You two watched movies, played games and argued about superheroes.

Ellie loved Wanda. You loved Sue storm.

"Sue Storm is the most powerful," you insisted.

"Okay? She's powerful, but you're wrong."

"I'm completely right. She can turn invisible, create force fields, and she's brilliant. She's a scientist. And you picked Wanda because she's—" You gestured vaguely at Ellie's poster. "—that."

Ellie threw a pillow at you.

You joked once that you wished you could be her, so you could turn invisible at will. Ellie had snorted and said, "I'll still find you, you know."

You nearly fell off the couch.

She knew it was wrong the second she pressed her mouth to Cat’s.

It was not new. It was just louder now, like a song she used to ignore but couldn'’t anymore.

They were in her room, door locked, and the lamp turned down low. It was supposed to be good. It had been good, a while ago, but now Ellie's body was stiff, her mind somewhere else.

Someone else.

Ellie freezed mid-kiss, because all she could see was you, and all she could feel was guilt.

“Ellie?” Cat’s breath brushed against Ellie's lips. “Hey, you okay?”

No. Absolutely fucking not.

Ellie pulled back like she was burned. Sat up so fast the bed creaked beneath her. “I—I can’t,”

Cat sat up too, blinking, confused. “Did I do something?”

“No.” Ellie ran both hands through her hair, yanking a little, trying to drag the buzzing out of her skull. “It’s me. I’m sorry.”

Cat looked at her for a long moment. Then she nodded, quiet. It was not the first time Ellie had pulled away lately.

“I should go,” Ellie muttered, already reaching for her jeans. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper.

“Ellie, wait—”

But Ellie didn’t wait. She didn’t think. She just bolted.

The cold night air hit her like a slap when she stepped outside. It was quiet. The streets were dim, and she walked fast, hands in her pockets, hood up.

She made it home, eventually.

That morning you were just there to find chicken scraps for Ezra, and you hadn't meant to hear that.

It wasn’t like you lingered on purpose in the kitchens.

You hadn't even paid attention to her or her friends when you walked in, just mumbled a quiet "morning" and headed straight for the scraps bin.

No one responded, but you didn't expect them to.

You found some and had just started to cut it, still sleepy when you heard them.

Cat’s voice floated behind you. That casual over the top confidence you always found so abrasive.

"—Okay but like, she's so good at it," Cat was saying, and there was a smile in her voice. A bragging tone that made your stomach turn.

You knew. Your body knew before the rest of you could catch up.

Cat was talking about Ellie. Your Ellie. Your Ellie who wasn’t yours at all.

"Shut up, details!" one of her friends said, voice high with interest.

"Oh my god," another girl said, giggling.

More laughter. The clatter of dishes being washed.

"Wait, with tongue?”

"Obviously. What do you think we were doing, holding hands?" Cat's voice dropped lower, more conspiratorial. "I can't even say what else we did, there's kids here.”

Giggles and laughter followed, then the cackle of pots being washed.

The next thing you felt was pain when the knife bit deep into the pad of your index finger, and blood bloomed out of it, bright red against your skin.

You hissed out a breath and pressed your lips together, too ashamed to make noise, even though your eyes blurred with tears.

Then the door creaked open behind you and someone yelped, and the next thing you knew, Lila was stitching your finger.

Ellie showed up later, of course she did. Worried and breathless, probably fresh off patrol.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice low and tight, like she was trying to stay calm.

You couldn’t even look at her. Not when you still saw flashes of Ellie kissing someone else, Ellie’s mouth, Ellie’s hands, Ellie’s touch on someone else’s skin.

The next night, Lila slept over. It was supposed to be normal. You were supposed to eat cookies, watch The Holiday, and maybe cry a little when Iris finally told off the guy who didn't love her back.

You weren't supposed to relate to her that much.

Your head was bowed into a pillow on your lap, and Lila was sprawled across the bed like she always did.

For a while, it was fine. You ate cookies, half-watched the movie, and tried not to think about Ellie.

But then Iris was crying on screen, talking about how she'd loved Jasper for so long, how he was with someone else, how she kept hoping and hoping and hoping—

And suddenly you couldn't breathe, and the dam broke. You just needed to say it, couldn't hold it in your chest anymore.

“I heard Cat talking about making out with her,” You blurted.

Lila blinked. “Wait. What?”

Your words came out too fast, tangled and tumbling, barely enough breath in your lungs to carry them. “I didn’t mean to listen, I swear I didn’t mean to, I was just getting chicken for Ezra and Cat was in the kitchen and she was talking to her friends, like, just, talking, and then she said that she and Ellie make out sometimes and I just. I just stood there like an idiot and I heard all of it and I couldn’t stop listening and I couldn’t breathe and I cut myself with the knife because I was thinking of Ellie and— oh my God. Lila, I think I’m gonna die.”

Lila blinked. Mouth slightly open. “...You’re into Ellie?”

You shoved a cookie into your mouth to muffle the horrified groan that you let out. “Nooo—Yes! I don’t know. I’m gross. I’m so disgusting.”

Lila made a choked, startled sound, and then went very still. “Oh my god. Are you in love with her?"

“No I’m not,” You said quickly. Too quickly. “I mean. I can’t be.”

Lila just raised an eyebrow. “There's nothing wrong with that.”

You just buried deeper in the pillow. “...I don’t even know if she likes me like that.”

“You can't be serious,” Lila said, deadpan. “She literally brings you presents from the woods everyday.”

Okay?, she wasn't wrong. But still.

You groaned, dropping sideways onto the pillow. “I sound so weird. Lila, I swear I’m not a perv—”

Lila leaned forward and wrapped her arms around you. “You’re not a perv. You're just… in love, I guess.”

You clutched her back tightly, eyes wet. “... I’m in trouble.”

Lila just squeezed her tighter. “Yeah. Deep trouble.”

Okay. Ellie had to admit it hurt.

The damn bruise ran from her armpit to hip like she pissed off a rhino, not an infected. Dumb fucker had slammed her into a pipe, and now Joel was lecturing her, Maria cut her patrols, and Dina and Jesse wouldn't shut up about “taking it easy.” Even Cat said something about it, back when they were still… whatever they were.

Ellie doesn’t really think about Cat anymore.

The truth is, it was you who messed her up.

You, who hugged her so tightly that day Ellie thought her bones might melt. You, who had a way of looking at her like Ellie is something important, something good. You, who she couldn't stop picturing anymore, especially not when she was kissing Cat.

That’s when she knew it had to end.

She didn’t tell Cat it was because of someone else, because she didn’t have to. The sigh Cat gave her said enough.

“I figured,” she said. “You're always somewhere else lately.”

Yeah. Ellie had been somewhere else. In your orbit. It was warmer there.

You walked close together, like you always did lately.

It had become a routine over the past few weeks, Ellie showing up outside the clinic just before your shift ended.

You could feel Ellie beside you now, could feel the way she looked sideways at you sometimes, a little smirk tugging at her lips every time Ezra meowed softly in your arms.

Then, Ellie reached out.

Just a casual slide of her fingers over yours, and before you could even process what was happening, your hands were linked.

Your hand went rigid for a second, unsure if you should squeeze back or pull away or make some kind of noise. You didn't do any of those things. You just held still.

Ezra shifted against your chest with a soft whimper, but you couldn't focus on anything except the feeling of Ellie's thumb brushing lightly against your knuckles

The rest of the walk felt like a dream sequence. Like snow might start falling and soft music might swell around you if you just closed your eyes for a second.

By the time you reached your front porch, you weren't sure if you urvived or not.

Your chest hurt. You didn't want to let go. You also didn't know how to keep doing this without melting into a puddle on the ground. Your knees were jelly. Your brain was soup.

You squeezed her hand, just a little, before you reached your door. Just a tiny pulse of your fingers against hers.

She squeezed back.

Ellie let go gently then, stuffing her hands back into her hoodie pockets. "Thanks for letting me walk you back home, Ezra," she teased, reaching out to scratch behind the kitten's ear.

Ezra meowed once, stretching toward Ellie's hand, and you mumbled, "He says, you're welcome."

Ellie smiled, her eyes sparkling. "See you tomorrow, doc."

And just like that, she walked off into the dusk, hands still in her pockets.

You stood at your door, Ezra purring against your chest, heart full of stars.

After that, it became a routine.

Every night you worked late, Ellie was there, and every night you walked home together.

Sometimes you talked, sometimes you were quiet, just existing in the comfortable silence.

And every night, Ellie reached for your hand.

Not right away. She'd wait until you were a few steps from the clinic, like she was giving you space to pull away if you wanted to.

Every night, when you reached your porch, you'd squeeze her hand just a little before letting go, and she always squeezed back.

It became the best part of your day.

You were going to die.

You were genuinely going to die.

Lying across Ellie’s bed on your stomach, your body was buzzing.

You'd shut down twenty minutes ago, brain fried from the game. Ellie had just said, “Wanna lie down for a sec?” and that alone made your throat ache with something you didn’t have words for.

You watched her like that for a while, from under your lashes, from across the room, a little floaty now that your body was finally still.

You didn’t mean to stare, but there Ellie was, looking so good while she cleaned the pieces of her gun.

She was talking, rambling more than usual while her hands worked, going on about Tommy’s rifle like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You barely registered it. You weren't paying attention. Or rather, you were, but not to what Ellie was saying.

You couldn't stop watching the way Ellie’s wrists moved, the subtle strength in her grip, the curve of her mouth when she muttered under her breath.

And then it hit you.

You had the perfect gift for her.

It was stupid how big a deal it was for Ellie.

Her garage wasn't the tidiest place ever, but you didn't seem to mind. You'd been here before, sure, but not like this. Not for hours. Not flopped across Ellie’s bed, curled on your side, quietly breathing after you two spent two hours screaming over Mario Kart.

You were quiet, and Ellie was supposed to be focusing on the gun.

She really was. She needed to focus on literally anything that would keep her brain from completely short circuiting over you.

You, lying across her bed like you lived there.

Ellie's eyes betrayed her, flicking up for what had to be the hundredth time in ten minutes because you were right there.

Stomach-down, cheek squished into Ellie's pillow. You were wearing Ellie's shirt, an oversized Nirvana tee that she'd lent you weeks ago and you'd never given back.

You looked sleepy and so, so cute. So fucking perfect it made Ellie's chest hurt.

She was so in love with you it was insane. Like, genuinely insane. She loved you so much she didn't know what to do with it. It was too big, the love she felt for you. It filled up every corner of her body.

Ellie forced her eyes back down to the gun.

The silence was comfortable. But Ellie kept talking anyway, gently. Not even to fill the silence, but to have an excuse to keep you here in her room, on her bed, close enough to reach.

“I swear, Tommy’s rifle is unreal. I got the whole east hill from, like, a hundred yards.”

She doesn’t expect an answer. Just likes hearing herself talk with you nearby.

But you made a sound. A little giggle. Soft and breathy and so you it made her heart stutter.

Her hands stilled completely on the gun, and she looked up. "What?"

Your face was half-buried in the pillow, but Ellie could see your smile, the way your shoulders were shaking slightly with suppressed laughter.

"Nothing," you said, muffled and sweet, and then you giggled again, louder.

It made Ellie feel like she won something. She would do anything to make you laugh like that. Anything.

"You're laughing at me," Ellie said, already grinning and moving.

"I'm not—"

"You are," Ellie insisted, setting the gun down carefully, wiping her palms on her jeans as she stood.

She crossed the room in two steps and dropped onto the bed beside you, wrestling a knee between your legs, bracing her weight on her hands on either side of you.

"I’m not!" you gasped through laughter, trying to squirm away.

But Ellie didn't let you. She couldn't, because she was selfish and in love. She needed this, be close to you and touch you, even if it was just like this, just playing around.

"Tell me what was funny!" she grinned and poked your side gently.

You shrieked. "Ellie!"

"Are you ticklish!?" Ellie asked, grinning wider even though her heart was trying to beat out of her chest.

Ellie's fingers skimmed your side again, finding the spot where your—her shirt had ridden up.

The moment her fingertips touched bare skin, you exploded.

You shrieked, laughing so hard it came out breathless and gasping, your whole body convulsing under Ellie's touch.

You tried to fight her off, kicking wildly, hands shoving at Ellie's chest and shoulders, but you didn't budge her at all.

"NO—" you gasped between fits of laughter, twisting and squirming, but Ellie's fingers kept dancing across your ribs and then over the soft skin of your stomach.

Ellie was laughing too, grinning so wide her face hurt. You were so ticklish it was adorable. Even the lightest touch sent you into hysterics.

"ELLIE!" you wheezed, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing so hard, your face flushed bright red, your braid completely falling apart now.

You kicked again, harder this time, but Ellie just shifted her weight, pinning you more firmly, and you just let her.

The realization hit Ellie like a freight train.

You were letting Ellie touch you. Pin you. Tickle you. Be this close.

And you weren't pulling away, glaring at her, or asking her to stop for real. If Ellie had tried this a year ago, you probably would've panicked, or worse, would've started crying.

But now you let her. Let her. When you were so careful about touch, so particular about who got close and how and when. When even your own mom had to navigate your boundaries like a minefield.

You let Ellie. Trusted her enough to be this vulnerable, this unguarded, this close.

It meant everything. It meant the fucking world.

Your laughter was loud and genuine. The kind that meant you were happy, even if you were breathless and gasping and completely at Ellie's mercy.

Ellie's grin softened into something gentler, and she stilled her fingers, just resting her hands against the soft skin on your stomach, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing.

You collapsed back against the bed, your face flushed and eyes squeezed shut as you tried to catch your breath.

You were so beautiful, it made her throat tighten. Ellie flopped back with a dramatic “oof!” beside you, suddenly exhausted.

“You’re evil,” You gasped, red-faced, your eyes gleaming.

“Yeah?” Ellie breathed, staring at you. Her hand slid away from your skin, settling on the mattress between you.

The room was quiet except for your breathing. Yours coming in soft, uneven gasps as you recovered. Ellie's shallow and careful because she was trying so hard not to move, not to break this moment.

Then, your fingers slid against her knuckles.

Ellie's breath caught.

She turned her hand palm up without thinking, without hesitation, and you laced your fingers with hers. Yours was smaller than hers. Doctor hands, delicate against her own calloused, scarred knuckles.

They fit so perfectly.

Ellie never cared much for birthdays.

She didn’t hate them or anything. They just felt… kind of dumb. Like, yeah, cool, you made it another year, congrats.

Last year, Jesse and Dina had dragged her out to the creek. Dina had screamed the loudest, Jesse had almost drowned laughing, and Ellie had come back sunburnt. They’d stayed out there until their fingers went pruney and the sun dipped.

You were supposed to come.

Ellie remembered the way you’d told her you couldn’t, standing awkwardly in the doorway of your house. You’d tried to say it like it was nothing, like you didn’t care, but your voice wobbled anyway.

“My mom said no.” Then your face had crumpled before you could stop it, eyes shining, “Sorry, I really wanted to go.”

Ellie had felt like a complete asshole, even though she hadn’t planned it.

She understood your mom, though. You were the light of her eyes, her whole damn world, and letting you wander out past the walls with infected lurking was dangerous. Ellie got that.

Still, it hurt to see you disappointed. Hurt worse because you didn’t even complain, despite how much you yearned to see the outside — the water, the open air, the kind of freedom you only ever read about in books.

You’d made up for it later.

That evening, after the sun dipped low and the heat faded, you showed up with a cake you made yourself. Nothing fancy. A little lopsided, frosting uneven, and you two ate it together.

Ellie remembered that part more than the creek.

The way you sat close, knees brushing hers. How you smiled every time she told you it was the best cake she’d ever tried. The way the whole thing felt quieter, softer, like something just for the two of you.

So yeah. That had been good. Really good.

This year, summer wasn’t even summering right, and the infected count had been acting up. Maria was this close to issuing a two-week lockdown, so the plan of sneaking off to the creek again was scrapped early. No secret excursions to museums, no swimming trips. Just… Jackson. Safe, reliable, quiet Jackson.

Fine by her. She wasn’t even going to do anything this year. Nineteen didn’t feel like much, just another number.

But of course, Jesse had to open his mouth, and then Dina got involved. She’d shrugged when he said he wanted to do something anyway.

“Nothing crazy,” he’d promised. “Just a barbecue for us.”

Dina had clapped and offered to bake a cake. Ellie couldn’t even pretend to protest. So… sure. Fine. A little backyard thing.

You were coming, so that meant Ellie had to prepare everyone like she was leading some kind of mission.

“Seriously,” Ellie muttered earlier, pacing around the kitchen. “Don’t make her talk too much, don’t make her eat if she’s not hungry, and definitely don’t touch her hair, okay? I swear to god.”

Jesse, mouth full of chips, nodded solemnly. “Got it. No pressure. No food. No hair. No touching. Got it.”

“I didn’t say no food,” Ellie barked, frowning. “Just—don’t push her.”

Dina had smiled all knowingly, that smug little oh, Ellie smile that made Ellie want to knock over a table.

“She’s coming to see you,” Dina had said. “No one else.”

And yeah. Okay. But still. Today was her birthday, but… if you came, it would be yours too. That’s how Ellie felt about it.

She sat on the porch steps with her legs stretched out, rolling a bottle cap under her boot, hoodie unzipped and cold wind brushing her collarbones.

She felt you the second you arrived. Didn’t even hear your footsteps, didn’t see you come through the gate — just felt you. Like the whole backyard bent slightly in your direction.

Ellie turned, and heart fucking stopped.

You were wearing one of those loose, ruffly skirts, like it belonged on someone who ran barefoot through fields or some shit, swishing around your thighs when you walked. And a tube top, tight and black. Your collarbones were sharp and perfect and your stomach showed, just a little strip of smooth skin and your hair was long and down and fuck.

She didn’t breathe. Genuinely. Her body forgot.

She stood. Somehow. Not by choice even, she just rose to her feet like her body had a better idea than her brain.

“Hey,” you said, eyes lighting up.

She only snapped out of it when you stepped forward with a shy, warm smile.

“…You look good,” Ellie said. Her voice cracked halfway through it, goddammit.

Your cheeks went pink immediately, eyes darting away, but you smiled. Like, a proper smile. Teeth and everything.

You stepped in close and hugged her.

Just like that, your arms closed around her neck, your body soft against Ellie’s. She went still like an idiot, then her arms wrapped around your waist.

“Happy birthday,” you whispered near her cheek. Your breath was warm.

“Thanks.” she croaked.

After a moment, you leaned back just enough to look at her properly, your faces suddenly right there, close enough that Ellie could feel your breath

“Oh,” you said softly. “I didn’t bring you a gift.”

Ellie’s brain shut off.

You were right there. If she leaned forward even a fraction, something irreversible would happen, and she was painfully aware of it.

“What?” she said, a little dumb.

Your eyes flicked up to hers, then away again, and there was a little glint that made Ellie instantly suspicious.

“I didn’t get you a gift,” you repeated, softer. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re lying,” Ellie said flatly.

“I’m not,” you said, too fast.

“You are the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

“I'm serious,” you admitted, quiet.

Ellie swallowed. Her thumbs digged in just slightly at your waist, like her body was making decisions her brain didn't approved yet.

“Don't worry,” she said, squeezing your waist once more. “You being here is enough.”

You nodded. Just that.

Her heart was going absolutely fucking feral in her chest, and when you beamed at her again, Ellie thought, Okay. Maybe I can survive nineteen after all.

When the sun came down, the wind got worse.

Jesse cursed under his breath when the fire in the grill started to fizzle out, but he managed to revive it like a champ. Dina and Lila made fun of him while chewing a chunk of roasted zucchini.

Ellie didn’t even really notice the wind, honestly.

All she could think about was the girl sitting two feet away from her, chewing politely on meat skewers, lips sticky from whatever sauce Jesse had slathered on the meat

Ellie kept sneaking glances, she couldn't help it.

She didn’t say much. She chewed and nodded and smiled and tried not to melt every time your voice drifted to her ears.

When the wind picked up harder, Lila ushered them all inside Joel’s house, where it was warmer.

Ezra was already sprawled out like a rug in the center of the carpet, purring while you scratched his massive stomach. “You weren’t invited,” Jesse muttered, poking the cat’s side with his foot, but Ezra didn’t even flinch.

You had disappeared for a bit, and when you came back everyone had settled in already, the couch stuffed.

“Nowhere to sit?” Dina asked, mouth half-full of cake.

You hesitated, just for a breath, eyes flicking around the room like you were checking for permission that no one had to give you.

Ellie’s body betrayed her completely. She didn’t plan it, her greedy ass just moved on instinct.

She patted her thighs twice, quickly, almost subtle.

The second she did it, panic hit.

Oh shit, did I went to—

She didn’t get the chance to panic for longer than 2 seconds, because you stepped in and sat down on her lap fast. Your body folded into hers with an ease that knocked the air straight out of Ellie’s lungs.

Her heart slammed so hard she was sure everyone could hear it.

After what felt like an entire lifetime, Ellie forced herself to move. She rested one hand on your waist, her fingers touching the skin between the hem of your top and the waistband of your skirt.

She tried to focus on the TV, the low roar of dinosaurs or Lila humming along to the movie soundtrack.

None of it landed.

After everyone went back home, Ellie returned to her room.

She kicked the door shut with her heel, her chest still full of whatever had bloomed there during the movie, and then during karaoke. (You had danced around the living room singing Britney Spears like it was your life mission. Ellie had almost died watching you—soft hips swaying, cheeks flushed, that adorable voice just butchering the melody and not caring at all…)

When she flicked on the lights, she froze, because there was something on her bed.

A rifle.

A whole rifle, just lying there across her bed like it was the most normal thing in the world.

For half a second, her brain ran through every worst-case scenario at lightning speed.

But then she thought about the look on your face when you told her you didn’t bring a gift.

She knew you were lying, she just didn’t expect this.

Ellie snorted. A soft, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of her chest.

“I knew you were lying,” she said to the empty room, voice fond and wrecked all at once.

She picked it up before she could stop herself, and it fit immediately, like it was meant for her. The weight settled into her hands like it belonged there. Like it was made for her grip, her stance.

It was beautiful.

Matte black, without a speck of rust or a scratch. Whoever owned this had taken care of it, had loved it.

“Holy shit,” she murmured.

She sat on the edge of the bed and turned it over, checked the action, the barrel.

Ellie spent a good fifteen minutes like that, sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, taking it apart just enough to check it, putting it back together.

After a while, she noticed the sling. The fabric was thick and soft, worn in just enough to be comfortable, and embroidered all over with tiny, careful designs.

Little dinosaurs. T-rexes and brontosauruses in different colored threads. Stars scattered between them, little crescent moons. A tiny rocket ship near the buckle.

And on the inside, your names stitched side by side in silver thread. As if you two were something together.

She ran her fingers over both your names, over each little dinosaur, each star.

You did this. You sat somewhere and stitched this. For her. Spent hours making something beautiful just so she could carry it.

Ellie’s vision blurred.

She set the sling down gently on the bed beside her, like it might break, and that’s when she noticed it. Tucked beneath her pillow, like you didn’t want it seen right away, was an envelope, decorated with little stickers and hand-drawn stars.

Ellie pulled it out with shaking hands.

to: ellie ♡

She ran a shaky hand over it before opening it carefully, trying not to mess up the stickers. That felt wrong.

There were four pages. Four whole pages in your careful, rounded print.

She sat back against the headboard, knees pulled up, the rifle forgotten for just a second as she opened it and started to read.

Ellie only made it two paragraphs in before she had to sit up straight. Her throat was burning.

Halfway through, her eyes were glassy.

By the fourth page, Ellie wasn’t even trying to hold it back anymore.

The tears came hot and fast, spilling down her cheeks and onto the paper. She tried to wipe them away quickly—didn’t want to ruin your letter, didn’t want to smudge the ink—but they kept coming. Her shoulders shook. Her breath came in uneven gasps.

Ellie didn’t understand.

How could someone love her this much?

How could you love her this much?

How you looked at her and saw someone worth four pages of careful words, of hours of embroidery and tiny stitched dinosaurs, of one of the most precious things you had from him.

She didn’t understand it. Didn’t know what she’d done to deserve it.

She didn’t know what to do with all of it. All this affection. All this… love. Was it love? Was it not?

She was too afraid to call it that, but it felt like it. She wanted it to be.

dear ellie,

⋆｡˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧.* happy birthday ⋆｡˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧.*

i don’t know really know how to write letters, but i wanted to say some things i can’t ever say out loud to you even if I want to

i thought really hard about what to give you this year, i didn’t knew what to get you (you said you didn’t want anything, which, by the way, is the most annoying thing someone can say)

so i got you something that means a lot to me.

the rifle was my dad's, it is one of the only things i have left of him.

after he died, my mom kept it in the attic for years. she gave it to me when i was thirteen, and since then it sat under my bed for years. i couldn’t use it, but i couldn’t give it away either. i couldn’t even really look at it without feeling sad.

he taught me how to hold it when i was way too small to lift it properly, stood behind me and put his hands over mine and helped me aim. he used to clean it every sunday morning at the table. he always let me sit next to him and watch. he said, you have to take care of the things that keep you safe, and i want to do that.

this is going to sound stupid but sometimes i feel like he’s still watching over me. like when i’m scared and then suddenly i’m not. or when i’m walking home at night and i feel this warmth on my shoulders. i know it’s probably not real but i believe it.

i want that for you.

because you go out there every single day and you face things i have nightmares about, you put yourself between danger and everyone else like it’s nothing. like your life matters less. (this makes me really upset ૮(ˊ ᵔ ˋ)ა )

every time you’re late, i can’t breathe. i stand by the gate and i wait and i make these stupid bargains with the universe like if she comes back i’ll never ask for anything again.

i think about you constantly. i think about you getting hurt. i think about you not coming back. i think about hearing the gate open and it being everyone except you. every time i hear horses and it’s not you, i panic, and it makes me feel so sick i can barely breathe.

i know you’re good at what you do, and i know you’re careful but i still worry every day.

so i thought — if you had this, if you had my dad’s rifle, maybe i could worry just a little bit less. maybe i could feel like a part of him is out there protecting you. like a part of me is out there with you, keeping you safe when i can’t.

i know it’s just a gun and that it doesn’t change anything, but it’s all i have that means something, and you mean everything to me, so now it's yours

you make me feel like i’m exactly right. like i can stop pretending to be normal. like being me doesn’t make me a burden. you just let me be. you wait when i need time to find my words and you smile when i say something weird. you never make me feel like i’m too much

i don’t know what i look like through your eyes. i probably seem so strange compared to everyone else. i know i’m weird. no one says it to my face anymore, but i know.

but you never make me feel like that’s a problem, even when you tease me. you never make fun of me for real and you never make me feel like i need to change.

you just let me exist next to you and that’s the greatest gift anyone’s ever given me.

thank you for being patient with me. thank you for listening when i ramble about singers or books you’ve never read or plants i’ve been studying. thank you for letting me be clingy sometimes. thank you for letting me hold your hand when i’m scared.

thank you for being my friend.

i didn’t know i needed you until you were there, and now i can’t imagine what anything was like before you. you make everything better so i think, maybe the world isn’t so bad if it has people like you in it.

i’m so grateful you came to jackson

you’re a good person. i know you don’t always believe that, but you are. you’re one of the best people i’ve ever known. maybe the best person. and i’m so lucky that i get to know you and that i get to be your friend.

you’re my favorite person. i know that sounds intense but it’s true.

i hope we’re beside each other forever.

i want you in my life for as long as you’ll have me. i want more sleepovers and bad movies and terrible hot chocolate that you somehow keep making wrong no matter how many times i explain it. i want more stupid jokes and late nights and falling asleep on the couch without meaning to.

i want to be there when you come home from patrol. i want to patch you up when you’re hurt, even when you say it’s “nothing” and it’s obviously not (please stop doing that…). i want to be the person you look for when you’re tired or hurting or don’t want to be alone. i want to make you laugh when everything feels heavy.

i want you to know that you have a home here with me always.

and i know you don’t think very nice things about yourself so i’m going to say them for you:

♡ 10 things i love about you ♡

♡⃞⠀ your freckles

♡⃞⠀ how you make me laugh without trying

♡⃞⠀ how gentle you are with kids and animals

♡⃞⠀ the scar on your eyebrow

♡⃞⠀ how funny you are

♡⃞⠀ your laugh

♡⃞⠀ how you understand silence

♡⃞⠀ how talented you are

♡⃞⠀ how brave you are

♡⃞⠀ just you

❤︎ i love you so much ellie ❤︎

please be careful and protect yourself too. i know you’re needed out there but you’re needed here too, by me… i don't know what i’d do if something happened to you and i don’t want to know.

love,

me ♡

aquaticmercy

what would freak4freak reader do if Dex threatened to lock her up in a basement?

Dex Thinks He Can Lock You Up In His Basement “For Your Own Good.” He Didn’t Expect This.

WC 1.4k

TW freak4freak, established relationship, switch!dex, mentions of violence, confinement, restraint and gagging, humiliation and degradation kink, free use arrangement, and explicit sexual content. Fem! Reader. Reference pic at the end of the post!

Task force agents almost killed you, so Dex killed them all.

It was simple math, really.

You had gone out looking for trouble, because apparently you adored him for killing task force so much that you had decided to try killing them yourself just to feel closer to him. Dex found you standing in the middle of the aforementioned trouble, killed everyone that you hadn’t already, and cupped your face.

He checked your pulse with two fingers, ran his fingers and eyes over you to make sure you weren’t hurt.

“They almost killed you,” he said.

You smiled a little. “I’m fine, baby.”

“They almost killed you,” he repeated.

“Dex—”

“They almost killed you.”

And then he bent down a little, shoved his shoulder into your stomach, and hauled you up over him like you weighed nothing. His arm was locked over the backs of your thighs, the other braced against your hips, as if you were gonna wander into gunfire if he put you down for even a second. You kicked once, more out of principle than hope, and Dex only tightened his grip.

By the time you got home, he went straight for the fucking basement.

“Dex.”

preechie

⋆ The Guy Next Door Masterlist ! ⋆

Benjamin Poindexter x Cannibal! Mutant! Reader

°˖𖣠⋆˚࿔ Summary: You have been shunned out your entire life because of your enhanced abilities and the need to feed on other beings to keep your power. Forced to hide in the shadows and act like a regular citizen. What if you find someone who is just as in need to break free from their societal expectations? What if that person was your next-door neighbor?

Or; a multi-part series that follow the reader and Dex understanding each other through their psychological and mental illnesses.

⋆˚꩜｡ General Tags! : Cannibalism (ofc), f!Reader, Slowburn, Angst, Stalker x Stalker, awkward situations, violence, canonical divergence, ddba S2! Dex, mental health.

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭𖣠 General Vibe 𖣠.⊹ ˚ ₊‧

✧ ₊˚ - "Love us together / An eater, I need her / I'll feed her, I'll keep her." ~ "An Eater" by Matt Martians ✧ ₊˚

✧ ₊˚ - "Oh-oh, here she comes / Watch out, boy, she'll chew you up / oh-oh, here she comes / She's a maneater" ~ "Maneater" by Daryl Hall and John Oates ✧ ₊˚

✧ ₊˚ - "I could eat that girl for lunch / Yeah, she dances on my tongue / Tastes like she might be the one" ~ "LUNCH" by Billie Eilish ✧ ₊˚

✧ ₊˚ - "Don't be scared / I've done this before / Show me your teeth" ~ "Teeth" by Lady Gaga ✧ ₊˚

⌯⁍ Each Part ⌯⁍

Part I [4.9k]

Part II [2.3k]

Part III [3.5k]

Part IV [4.4k]

Part V [4.2k]

Part VI [2.2k]

Part VII ~ coming soon . . .

pianosi

mel king had this way of disappearing while standing right in front of you.

not physically. she was there. technically.

but sometimes halfway through a conversation she’d just go quiet and drift somewhere else entirely, eyes fixed on nothing, fingers picking at the skin around her thumb until it bled. and everybody in the er treated it like normal because mel still did her job perfectly. she still answered questions. still stitched people up with steady hands. still caught mistakes before anyone else did.

but you noticed.

you noticed everything about her, which was probably part of the problem.

“you missed two pages,” you said quietly, setting the charts beside her.

mel blinked hard like she’d just remembered where she was.

“oh.”

her voice sounded rough. tired.

she took the charts from you carefully, not meeting your eyes.

“thanks.”

you lingered for a second.

“you okay?”

“yeah.”

immediate. automatic.

a lie.

you leaned against the counter beside her. the er buzzed around you — phones ringing, someone arguing with radiology, a kid crying down the hall — but mel stayed curled inward like she was trying to make herself smaller than the noise.

“you haven’t taken a break in like eight hours,” you said.

“didn’t notice.”

that was another thing.

mel forgot she existed sometimes.

forgot to eat. forgot to drink water. forgot her own limits until they slammed into her all at once and left her shaking in supply closets trying not to cry where anybody could hear.

you knew because you’d found her there before.

not crying exactly. mel didn’t really cry in front of people.

just sitting on the floor with her hands over her ears and this awful exhausted look on her face like the world had become too loud to survive.

she’d looked humiliated when she realized you’d seen her.

you’d never hated anybody more than yourself in that moment for making her feel exposed.

“mel.”

“i’m working.”

“you’re dissociating.”

her jaw tightened immediately.

silence.

then: “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“say things like you know me.”

the words landed harder than they probably should have.

you stepped back a little before you could stop yourself.

mel realized it instantly.

you could always tell the exact second she regretted something because panic flashed across her face so fast it barely existed at all.

“i didn’t mean—”

“it’s fine.”

“no, i—”

“mel, it’s okay.”

but it wasn’t.

because the thing about caring about mel king was that it always felt like standing too close to something skittish. every time you thought she trusted you, she pulled away again like she regretted letting you near her in the first place.

and maybe she did.

mel stared down at the charts in her hands so hard it looked painful.

“i just don’t like people assuming things,” she muttered.

“i wasn’t assuming.”

“you were.”

you swallowed hard.

“okay.”

she flinched at your tone.

god.

you hated this.

hated how easy it was for the two of you to become strangers again.

a trauma alert went off before either of you could say anything else.

mel moved instantly. work mode. gone.

by the time the patient was stabilized an hour later, she still hadn’t looked at you once.

—

the worst part was that mel wasn’t mean.

not really.

people thought she was cold because she got quiet when she was overwhelmed and blunt when she was tired, but underneath all of that she was painfully soft in ways she clearly wished she wasn’t.

she apologized to inanimate objects when she bumped into them.

she got attached to difficult patients.

she once cried in the ambulance bay over a dead bird and then refused to talk about it afterward.

she cared too much about everything and acted like she cared about nothing because it was easier.

you understood that.

which was maybe why it hurt so bad when she shut you out.

you found her hours later sitting alone outside the ambulance entrance during a lull in the shift.

freezing cold.

no jacket.

knees pulled to her chest.

she looked up when the door swung open behind you, immediately tense until she realized it was you.

then she looked away again.

you stood there awkwardly for a second before sitting beside her on the curb.

neither of you spoke.

cars hissed past on wet pavement somewhere nearby. somebody laughed too loudly inside the hospital. mel kept rubbing her thumb against the seam of her scrub pants over and over and over.

“i hate when you do that,” she said eventually.

“do what?”

“go quiet.”

you stared at her.

“you told me to stop acting like i know you.”

“i know.”

“okay.”

mel pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.

she looked exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” she whispered.

“then how did you mean it?”

she opened her mouth.

closed it again.

sometimes talking seemed physically difficult for her. like thoughts got stuck somewhere between her brain and her mouth and she hated herself for not being able to force them out correctly.

“i don’t know,” she said finally, frustrated. “i just—”

she stopped.

you waited.

mel laughed once under her breath, but there was nothing funny in it.

“you make me feel too visible.”

your chest tightened.

she still wouldn’t look at you.

“most people don’t notice things,” she continued quietly. “and if they do, they don’t say anything. but you always know when something’s wrong with me before i do.”

you didn’t know what to say to that.

mel swallowed hard.

“it scares me.”

there it was.

honest and ugly and small.

you looked down at your hands.

“i’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“i know.”

“then why does it feel like every time i get close to you, you panic and push me away?”

mel’s breathing caught slightly.

for a second you thought she wasn’t gonna answer.

then, barely audible:

“because i don’t know what you want from me.”

your heart broke a little at that.

because she sounded genuinely confused.

not manipulative. not defensive.

just scared.

“nothing,” you said softly. “i don’t want anything from you.”

she finally looked over.

eyes tired. guarded. uncertain.

“that’s not true.”

“okay,” you admitted. “i want you around. i want you to stop pretending you’re fine all the time. i want you to let people care about you without acting like it’s some kind of threat.”

mel stared at you for so long you thought maybe you’d gone too far.

then she said quietly, “i don’t know how.”

and that—

that nearly killed you.

because mel said it like she was ashamed.

like not knowing how to be loved properly was some personal failure.

you looked away before she could see how badly that affected you.

“you don’t have to be good at it,” you murmured.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

silence settled again.

cold air. ambulance lights reflecting off wet concrete. mel sitting so close your shoulders almost touched but not quite.

after a minute, she spoke again.

“when i was a kid,” she said slowly, “everybody thought i was angry all the time.”

you stayed quiet.

“but i wasn’t. i just…” she shrugged helplessly. “everything always felt too loud. and people wanted me to react correctly to things and i never really knew how.”

she laughed softly to herself.

“my mom used to tell me i looked miserable even when i was happy.”

your throat tightened painfully.

“that’s awful.”

“she wasn’t trying to be mean.”

“doesn’t make it less awful.”

mel rubbed at her eyes again.

“i think sometimes people decide who they think i am before i get the chance to explain.”

you looked at her carefully.

“is that what you think i’m doing?”

“no.”

she answered too fast.

immediate.

certain.

“no,” she repeated quieter. “that’s the problem.”

something shifted painfully inside your chest.

because suddenly you understood.

mel wasn’t scared you misunderstood her.

she was scared you understood her perfectly and wouldn’t like what you found.

you wanted to say something reassuring. something careful and gentle and convincing.

instead you just said the truth.

“i like you anyway.”

mel looked down immediately.

you saw her throat move when she swallowed.

“you shouldn’t.”

“that’s not your decision.”

another long silence.

then, very slowly, mel leaned sideways until her shoulder rested lightly against yours.

tentative.

like she expected you to pull away.

you didn’t.

you stayed completely still while she sat there trembling slightly from either cold or exhaustion or both.

after a while, she whispered:

“i’m trying.”

and god.

that was the thing.

she really was.

theaterkidfinalboss

If Sepideh does not win that damn Emmy trust they will have a problem

fawnindawn

ON THE SAME PAGE

summary: jason has no weaknesses. especially not that one bookstore keeper he visits every week. he merely needs new book recommendations, and you're the only person he's willing to trust. about the books, obviously. or jason todd falls miserably, pathetically in love with a bookstore keeper who insults him on first recommendation.

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader

You don't expect any customers tonight, not when Friday's are usually associated with activities more enthralling than a shabby bookstore that smells faintly of over-stewed tea. Your fingers itch to flip the signboard around to 'Closed', but they squeeze habitually around your mug instead. A brown rim has formed around the interior from the untouched tea left hours ago when sunlight still graced the shelves near the window seat.

Three minutes to closing, you decide to give the store the respectful grace of being a decent employee and waiting for the clock to strike eleven. At least, that's the excuse you give yourself. Your fingers tap lightly against the solid wood of the make-shift counter, a haphazardly placed desk shoved between shelves and boxes that are to be sent to the recycling center tomorrow. Your life is almost perfectly mundane.

The bell rings.

Almost, except for one sole factor. Your gaze shifts, your neck craning towards the door. Here, you thought your last visitor would finally break the pattern. It's certainly not Margery, a lady who thinks herself the most important customer to this small establishment, always inventing new cons in a skewed attempt to bargain for more free books as gifts for her many nieces and nephews.

This visitor carries a scent of smoke, broad shoulders stretching out a worn, leather jacket. Even from your skewed view, half his back turned towards you, he's gorgeous as he always is. Almost out of place, body stiff as his gaze glances past the stained glass stickers pasted onto the windows, shading the jagged line over his cheek in reds and blues. A familiar, brute tension stuffed into his posture, shadows striking his skin. Smaller, faint scars litter his jawline, and one prominent jagged line is carved into his cheek.

Your secret visitor, who brings in the scent of iron, faint bruises across his cheek on some nights, that goes by the name, Jason.

kaylasficrecs

this legitimately is one of my favorite jason fics i have ever read. i can’t put into words how much i feel about this fic.

3racha-agustd

Every morning I open Tumblr like it's the newspaper, searching for fanfiction.

gildedfawn

anything along the lines of dad daughter dynamics or fauxcest is simply weird as FUCK!! and you need lobotomising if you produce any kind of smut relative to the aforementioned.

gildedfawn

there’s nothing that hurts more than checking your fav tag and seeing that no new fics have been made and you’ve already read them all

sherryharlo

<𝟑 .ᐟ My World

Kara Zor-El x F! Reader

Fluff

W/c: 400+ (sorry it's so short, I'm having writer's block😿)

A/n: in honor of pride month and that my goat's movie will come out this month❗ also lowkey inspired by “The Guy She Was Interested In Wasn't a Guy At All”

My girl, my girl, my girl

You will be my world

My world, my world, my world

The laughter filled the place just as much as the soft music on the radio. Your playlist plays on repeat while the sunset rays reflect through the windows, perfect memories captured as beautiful photos to be remembered.

The shop has closed early, you flipped the sign so no one bothers the two of you. You're sure your uncle — also your boss — won't mind. He's not here anyways.

You two are lying on the floor, upside down facing each other, with several records scattered across the floor, along with some cheap beers.

You're wearing her beige overcoat.

“What was the music like on Krypton?” You asked, looking at a Pink Floyd album and swinging your legs slightly from side to side, moving your skirt along.

“Oh, there was just as much variety as here, I guarantee. The most common was the kinda- boring-classic ones, like harp and piano... It's pretty and all but it's not my type, I guess.” Kara answered while tossing a ball for Krypto, who came back in 3 seconds. Her tone was tinged with nostalgia.

You let out a small chuckle, “You know I imagine Krypton like the elf place from Lord of the Rings, right?”

That made Kara scoff, remembering the movies you made her binge watch with you. “C'mon, we weren't that boring and goody-goody!”

You laughed, putting the album aside, “Tell that to your cousin!”

“Well, now I don't have an argument, do I?”

You both laugh this time.

The close bond you two share now reminds you of how you met.

‘A bookstore is nearly crushed by a Kaiju, but is saved by Supergirl!’ Was one of the headlines of Daily Planet that day; In exchange, you and your uncle offered free books and dvd of her choice for Kara. It's obvious she exploited the opportunity, unexpectedly bringing you two together by how similar your taste in entertainment is.

“You know...” The blonde starts, “I liked listening to music in the sunset, just like that.” Her tone lowered, nostalgia turning into yearning. The ball stops on her hand. Suddenly the floor felt too cold.

At that moment, you sit up, only to lie down again, now facing her.

Your gentle hand reaches her face, brushing a strand of her messy hair, your eyes meeting each other's like diamonds shining together.

“I'm glad I can share this moment with my favorite girl...” Kara's words made your skin feel warmer. Without noticing, her free hand intertwine with yours.

Without noticing, you became her new home. You're the only person that makes her feel that cozy and lovely feeling she misses everyday.

“I love that you're sharing this moment with me.” You admit, laying your head on her shoulder, she kisses the top of your head...

Only for Krypto to jump on you both, the little brat knows that you're fragile, so he goes extra careful when playing with you.

You both laugh, warmer than the sun rays that hit your skins so ethereally.

msbug15

You lot better expect a shit ton of Supergirl x reader fics when her movie comes out! Thinking of making a vampire au as well 👅

gokusclit

Who tf watching shit like love island and euphoria

whitemelanin

Why in some fics i feel like im 12 and not 20 ?

sadmortician

Not bad, the feeling of imperfection

maplemackintosh

I seriously love your writing 😭 may I request some Protective/Guard dog (butch?) Reader X Mel

Very protective over everyone. But specifically Mel. Maybe R is the type to keep to themselves, stays quiet and doesn't talk much, but tends to keep a watchful eye on everyone (totally not projecting cause I'm autistic 😂) Maybe after the incident where Mel gets knocked over by the patient R pays more attention to her, slowly starts falling for her then maybe another roudy patient trys to attack her and pushes her or something, R is practically bolting across the ER and body slamming the crap out of them. Maybe as soon as help arrives R is right by her side, kneeling over her (Accidentally calling her baby and not even realising cause you're so worried???) R is the one to do the check up on them and Mel calls you out for the 'Baby' thing. Maybe they have a little heart to heart talk about feelings and maybe have a cute moment and kiss 👉👈

Orbiter

Mel King x Guard dog!Reader

Summary: You're protective of everyone in the Pitt, but especially Mel. And when she gets hurt for the second time in your presence, it's hard for you to not let it show just how much you care for her

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Medical innacuries, medical injuries, mentions of injury to the back of the head, bruised shoulder blades, bruised ribs, pet name (baby), protective!reader, reader is also kind of down bad sorry not sorry, multiple check in's throughout check up

🎵 - Orbiter

a/n: This one took so long, and there's literally no reason why because I enjoyed writing every bit of it. I also am in absolute LOVE with this concept. Of someone projecting Mel to the highest degree. She deserves it honestly for taking care of herself for so long UGH MEL GIVE ME A CHANCE I WOULD OUT-FREAK YOU AND TREAT YOU SO RIGHT LIKE YOU DESERVE

Everyone in the department knew to get you when something felt like it was about to go down. Not because you talked much, but because you didn’t. Not because you demanded attention, because you never did. People knew you because when things got bad, they looked to you.

A psych patient getting aggressive? Someone whispered your name.

Family member screaming at staff? Someone went to get you.

Drunk guy trying to swing at a resident? You appeared out of nowhere with that cold stare and crossed arms, and suddenly, he remembered how to act as a sober human being should.

You weren’t big necessarily, that was the funny part. You just had a face that looked permanently unimpressed. One look, and it had fully grown men reconsidering their decisions. And somehow, despite your silence, everyone trusted you. Especially Mel.

Melissa King was practically the opposite of you. Warm where you were guarded. Bright where you were sharp-edged. Granted, she didn’t always understand a joke, but once she got it when explained, she would laugh even if it still didn’t make sense to her. She cared for people a lot more than the average nurse or doctor, and somehow she still managed to smile after twelve hours of nonstop disaster.

You didn’t know when you started watching her more closely than everyone else. Maybe it was because she always smiled at you as she understood. Maybe it was because she’d started bringing you coffee without asking. Maybe it was because she never pushed when you didn’t answer right away.

Whatever it was, your attention had naturally become solely focused on her.

However, then the incident happened. July 4th.

You hadn’t seen the whole thing; you were on the other end of the department, trying not to punch the computer screen in front of you as Baran Al-Hashimi breathed down your neck, telling you to chart more. Chart faster.

You only witnessed the aftermath, the commotion as two police officers entered, found who they needed, and swiftly chased after him. The patient slammed into Mel hard enough to throw her backward off the chair she was sitting on.

You still remembered the sound of her body hitting the floor. Something cold and ugly had ripped through your chest, and by the time security tackled the guy, you were already beside Mel, crouched low.

“Hey,” you’d said quietly, hands hovering near her shoulders. “Look at me.”

“I’m okay,” she’d groaned.

She winced as you helped her up, and you remembered your jaw clenching so hard it hurt the rest of the night. After that day, everyone noticed the change. You hovered near her, not obviously because you were too subtle for that, but suddenly, you were always nearby when Mel was dealing with difficult patients.

You lingered around her trauma bays longer. You walked her to her car after night shifts without mentioning it. If someone raised their voice at her, they’d look up and find you standing behind them like an attack dog, seriously deciding whether you should go the full mile and show your teeth.

Mel had started to notice, and that should’ve been your warning sign.

But even if it was, you wouldn’t have taken it seriously. Because over the next few months, you had started to fall for her. Now, you had noticed her before all this. She was awkward in social situations, but so were you. She got overly emotional in some cases, and you had understood because while you don’t necessarily show a bunch of emotion anymore, you used to be her.

You two became friends, and you got even more protective of her if that was possible. Everyone in the ER began to refer to you as Mel’s Guard Dog. It was fitting, you had to admit, but you hated the title because it would get back to Mel. It always got back to Mel.

The second incident happened while the ER was once again overloaded. Half the waiting room was angry, psych was backed up, and staffing was short enough that everyone looked half-dead.

You were helping restrain a combative patient in Bay 6 when you heard Mel yell. Your head snapped up instantly, and across the department, a man twice Mel’s size was screaming in her face while she tried to calm him down.

Security was still too far away.

You tried to get away, but your hands were tied up with the current patient under you. However, then he shoved her, hard, and your eyes followed as Mel stumbled backward into a supply cart with a sharp cry.

Everything in you went white-hot.

“Sorry, Robby.” You told him before you moved, without thinking. One second, you were across the ER, and the next, you slammed into the patient hard enough to drive him sideways into the wall.

Gasps erupted around the department. “Bad choice, buddy,” you snarled as the patient tried to then swing at you. That was also a bad choice, as the adrenaline was coursing through you enough for you to drive him down before he could even finish the motion, pinning him brutally to the floor while security finally came running.

“Take him,” you snapped.

Your voice cracked through the ER so sharply that even the patient shut up. The second security had him restrained, you were already turning, already looking for her. Mel sat against the supply cart, stunned and breathing hard. The second you reached her, your entire demeanor changed.

Gone was the violence. Gone was the terrifying, angry edge in your voice. Your mouth isn’t in a frown anymore, your bottom lip is now sucked between your teeth as you dropped to your knees in front of her so fast that you know it will hurt later.

“Mel.”

Her eyes flicked up to yours. You reached for her carefully, hands hovering before settling on her shoulders.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

“That was a doozy.” She laughs a little.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, baby. You alright? Hm?” The word slipped out accidentally, but you didn’t realize it. “Melissa?”

“Y-yes. Yup. I’m okay.” Now, Mel is trying to reassure you.

Someone was asking for statements. Security dragged the patient away. Dana was yelling for someone to call psych. None of it mattered because all you saw was Mel. You checked her over quickly, gentle but thorough.

Her pupils are equal, so there’s no obvious internal head injury. You would know anything further when you examined her head more thoroughly, but she seems okay for now.

“Let’s get her to a room.” Dana is insisting, helping you haul Mel up from the floor. You keep your eyes on Mel’s face the whole time, making sure she stays wide awake. She’s still a little shocked, which who wouldn’t be, with her eyes wide open, pupils darting from both of you on either side of her.

She can certainly walk by herself, but some part of you likes to think she likes the attention. She’s not pushing you or Dana away; she’s simply following along. But it’s not like she has a choice anyway.

You get her to a room and have her sit down on one of the beds. You grabbed supplies from the cabinet- ice packs, gauze, a penlight, and vitals equipment. Your hands were steady now, but only because you were forcing them to be.

Mel watched you the entire time. You could feel it.

“Where does it hurt the most?” You ask, and she points to her right shoulder blade. “Are you comfortable enough with me to take a look?”

She nods in response and shuffles a little.

“Okay. Turn a little away from me.”

Mel shifted carefully, and your hand instinctively settled against her waist to steady her. The contact lasted maybe two seconds, but it was still too long. Your thumb brushed lightly against the fabric of her scrubs, slowly lifting the black fabric up past her side and stopping just underneath her ribs. You use your free hand to lift the shirt a little bit higher, but try to keep some decency for her as well, as you catch a glimpse of her bra.

Professional. Stay professional. You have to remind yourself as you hunch slightly to inspect her. The skin hasn’t turned purple or an angry red, but as you lightly brush your fingers over the spot she pointed to, it feels tender, and you can hear her let out a small wince.

The fluorescent lights overhead cast pale shadows across her skin as you examined the tough skin near her shoulder blade. “He’s lucky security got there first,” you mumbled. You reached for an instant ice pack, activating it with a sharp snap before wrapping it carefully in a thin towel. “This is gonna be cold,”

You moved closer again, gently pressing the pack against her back. Mel sucked in a breath.

“Sorry.” You told her immediately as a response.

“No, it’s okay.” She again tries to reassure you.

Your hand lingered there a moment longer than necessary, holding the ice pack in place while she adjusted. You hated how carefully she was breathing, hated how stiffly she moved, hated that split second earlier when you’d looked up across the ER and seen someone put their hands on her.

The memory made your adrenaline flare up all over again, and your hands clenched together. You stood and grabbed a second ice pack for her shoulder.

“Lie back a little,” you said quietly.

Mel shifted carefully until she was resting against the raised exam bed, one leg bent slightly to ease the pressure on her side. You adjusted the pillow behind her before she could do it herself. You wrapped the second ice pack in another thin paper towel before gently placing it behind her.

Then, you checked her pupils again, then her pulse, and then asked pain questions she clearly found repetitive. But she answered every single one anyway.

Mel watched you quietly while you updated her chart on the tablet.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. You loved being quiet. You had never been the talkative type. You were better at silent companionship than most people would probably like. Most people found your quietness intimidating at first, but Mel never seemed bothered by it.

If anything, she understood it better than anyone. She also liked silence, routines, and she also couldn’t help observing everything around her. She noticed a lot of other details that other people missed. Which meant she also, of course, noticed what you had called her earlier.

“D-did you mean that?” She asked, a little embarrassed to ask in the first place. Because what if you don’t remember? What if you just didn’t mean it? She has felt some way about you for months now. “What you said earlier?”

“What did I say?” You replied, your fingers coming around the back of her head to feel if there were any bumps or bruises. She winces a little, but so far, you don’t feel anything major. “I’m gonna take out your braid. It will make it easier to feel for anything abnormal.” You tell her, and she nods.

Your fingers slide down to the elastic holding her hair together and slip it off. Her hair fans out a little bit below her shoulders, and she looks beautiful like this. Granted, you think she looks beautiful in any scenario, anything she wears, anything.

“You called me ‘Baby’.”

“That’s what I said?” You question, your fingers feeling up the back of her head before moving down to try and get a look at her shoulder blade.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you said.” She nodded.

“I don’t remember.” You whisper, steadily focused on the back of Mel’s head. “Sorry if I said it.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for it. I….I actually quite enjoyed it.”

“Did you?”

Now her face is getting hot. “Yeah.” She nods, and you have to ask her real nice to remember to stay still for you.

“Stay still for me, baby.” You let the name slip again, before ultimately making the decision, you’re done with the exam, and you come back around to face her head-on. “That time I did it on purpose.” You smile.

“Are we…can we talk about…all of this? Please? It would make me feel better.”

“About what?” It’s a genuine question, as there are so many places she could potentially start.

“M-Me and you? I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’m observant in that aspect, and I find it… nerve-wracking when you look at me like that.”

“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way, Mel. I never meant to. I never wanted to.” You shake your head, looking at her face. “You’re just too cute to look away from sometimes.”

She offers you a smile. “Thank you. But I thought we were just…friends?”

“We can be friends if you want to.” Although it would break your heart. “If you don’t like me like that, then I’d rather you not pursue me.”

“Right. And I wouldn’t want to break your heart, either.”

“That would be very nice, yes.” You chuckle a little.

“I really like you as a friend, and I really like you as a person. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this, too, because I think I like you.”

“Are you sure this isn’t the adrenaline talking?” You try to joke, but Mel doesn’t grasp it. “I-I was kidding. That’s a joke, Mel. I like you too.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” She nods, tapping her thighs.

“I was hoping you’d say that too.” You confirmed. You just look at her, and she just looks at you. Both of you are watching each other’s mouths and eyes, your lips and the crinkles that appear around the corners.

“Can I kiss you?” Mel suddenly asks, and it takes you aback for a moment.

“Ye-yeah. Yeah, you can kiss me.” You’re a very protective person, a very guarded person, but you still have your moments where you’re caught off-guard. And Mel sure knows how to create them. Your knuckles grip the swivel chair beneath you as Mel leans forward.

You try to stay still, not knowing if a singular movement could potentially make her rethink her decision.

Mel’s soft lips press up against yours, and one of your hands slides towards the back of her head. It takes so much resistance inside yourself not to press your tongue into her mouth. But she tastes so sweet and so soft.

She lets out a small gasp of breath when the two of you finally part, and suddenly, it’s not just you and her in an examination room. The sounds of the ER flood back in, and the two of you become almost embarrassed.

“Was that…okay?” Mel has the gall to ask.

“Mel, it was perfect. I mean, did I think I was going to kiss you in an ER examination room? No.” You shake your head, reaching out to take her hand. “I was thinking more of a nice candlelit dinner, and then I would walk you back to your apartment and kiss you on the stoop. But this is just as fine.”

“You could still take me out for dinner. I wouldn’t mind. I really like Italian right now.”

“Noted.” You laugh.

“So are we…I mean is this…”

“Are we together? We can be. But we can also go as slow as you and I need.”

She seemingly lets out a deep breath. “Okay, good. That alleviates some pressure off my shoulders.”

“I like you a lot, Mel. And I would at least like to take you for Italian.”

“That would be very nice of you, thank you.” She smiles for what feels like the first time that afternoon, and it makes your heart flutter, and your stomach fill up with butterflies.

“8:00, Mariano’s?” You pull out your phone, typing in the address so she can look at the menu and decide if she’s comfortable with any of the food or not.

“Sounds good.”

You nod in confirmation. “Good.” You stand to leave, but you hear her make a disgruntled noise.

“Um, can I just…before you go…”

“You want another kiss?”

“Yes, please. If you want-” but you cut her off before she can finish and press your lips to hers this time.

ct-rhom

Pretty Privilege

FBI!Benjamin Poindexter x female!reader

16k+ words

Please Read: This story contains stalking, self harm, discussions of mental illness involving both Dex and the Reader, a female reader, an age gap relationship (Dex is 34 and Reader is in her mid 20's), and consensual sex.

MDNI

Story takes place in 2018, please see the authors notes at the end for more background on the story.

+++

He had seen you around.

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