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marscardigan · 16 days ago

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A-lister — chapter i. happy new year!

A-lister masterlist

summary: to serve as ellie williams’ assistant was to live a dream, or survive a nightmare. no one made it past eight months. and then, you showed up.

content warning: mdni. smut ahead. no use of y/n.

word count: 5.1k

You don’t move across the country for just anyone.

But when Theresa Servopoulos calls you directly and says she needs someone, you pack a bag, hand in your notice, and get on a plane.

Now you moved through it all in a daze, nerves buzzing. Your carry-on bumped your heel for the third time, and you were half a second from kicking it across the floor when you heard her voice.

“There’s my girl.”

You turned—and there was Doreen.

She looked like the sun breaking through New York’s humid concrete gloom: golden skin that glowed like she carried her own light source, long dark braids streaked with copper, and wide brown eyes that already held you like home. She was wearing gold hoops the size of your palm, and her smile was soft and a little sideways, the kind that made you want to confess things.

“I missed you,” you breathed, nearly dropping your bag as she pulled you into a hug.

“Mm-mm,” she murmured, squeezing you tight. “I can already tell. You’ve been holding it in, haven’t you?” You nodded into her shoulder, suddenly too full to speak. “It’s okay,” she said gently, pulling back. “You’re safe now. Let’s get you out of here before you start crying.”

“Alright,” she said from the driver’s seat an hour later, both hands steady on the wheel. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet for ten whole minutes. Spill it.”

You blinked over at her, and hesitated. “You know Theresa Servopoulos?”

Doreen’s foot jerked off the gas for a second, so fast the car lurched forward. “Fuck.” She reached across your chest dramatically. “Sorry. Reflex. You can’t just drop that name mid-traffic like she’s your cousin.”

“I take it you’ve heard of her.”

“Heard of her? Babe, you know how many people I know would give up a kidney just to get a five-minute Zoom call with her?”

You looked down at your hands. “Yeah, well. She called me.”

Doreen stared straight ahead, jaw slack. “She called you. Directly?” You nodded. “No manager, no assistant—Tess fucking Servopoulos got your number and called you?”

“Apparently my name was recommended,” you said, like it wasn’t the most surreal thing.

“By whom?”

“She didn’t say. Just said she was in a bind, and that someone she trusted said I was… what they needed.”

Doreen let out a long breath through her nose, quiet for a beat. Then, softly, “are you okay?”

It was such a simple question, but it hit harder than you firstly thought.

“I think I’m still in shock,” you admitted. “I mean, she didn’t even tell me what the job was. Just that it was a personal assistant role, high-level, sensitive, and… quote: ‘not the kind of thing you describe over the phone.’”

You felt her glance over again. “That’s cryptic as fuck.”

“She said I had to talk about it in person to understand.”

There’s a pause before Doreen murmurs, “Jesus. That sounds serious.”

“Right?”

“Not just serious. That sounds life-altering.”

Her apartment in Queens hadn’t changed at all. Plants still climbed the windows, books still lived in little messy kingdoms on every flat surface, and the scent of clove, cardamom, and the faintest hint of eucalyptus was always in the air.

She opened the front door and gestured inside. “Your kingdom awaits, my lady.”

You smiled. “You didn’t have to—”

“—I wanted to.” She took your bag and set it down for you. “You stayed with me when I got fired and didn’t know what to do with my life, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” you said.

It was right after college. You had pure luck in finding a decent job after your internship. Doreen didn't have the same destiny, and her first job after uni was hell. You stayed with her until she found something better, helping her paying the rent. And now? Now she had everyone in the palm of her hand.

You hadn’t known who Doreen would become when she first moved to New York. That first job nearly broke her. She almost quit the city entirely. But she didn’t. She jumped ship, freelanced, networked, and found herself curating campaigns for indie designers and visual artists so good it made people stop scrolling mid-thumb-swipe.

Now she was known as someone whose word got people in the room. She worked with stylists, production designers, and cultural consultants. She built brands from scratch. She knew people, not just names on rosters, but people who created real things. She was always meant to shine, after all.

Later that night, you sat on the fire escape with mugs with hot chocolate, staring down at the street below.

You broke the silence first. “What if I’m not what they’re looking for?”

She shrugged gently. “But what if you are?”

“I keep imagining all the worst-case scenarios.”

“Here’s a better one: What if it’s someone brilliant? Someone who needs you the way you deserve to be needed?”

You smiled tiredly. “That’s not a thing.”

“Sure it is,” she said. “You just haven’t seen it yet.”

You looked out at the night. “And what if I mess it up?” you asked quietly.

Doreen’s answer came soft and immediate. “Then you come home to me. And we can talk about it as much as you need to.”

You leaned your head on her shoulder, warmth pooling behind your eyes. Her touch alone was enough to ground you, to make you feel safe. “You’re too good to me,” you whispered.

“No, baby. I’m just good at loving what’s good.”

Your heart was loud. You didn’t know who you’d be meeting Monday. You didn’t know why Tess was so vague, why the job was secret, why even she sounded uneasy when she said the words ‘it’s complicated.’

But you do know that you were not here by accident. And you were not going back.

As days passed, your anxiety started eating you alive. And Doreen could tell. Now it was December 31st. The last night of the year. And you were at her kitchen table in your softest hoodie, rereading your notes for the fifth time, when she waltzed in wearing a floor-length coat and a velvet head wrap.

“Okay,” she said. “Here’s the deal. You’re coming with me tonight.”

You didn’t look up. “I love you. No.”

She leaned against the counter. “You haven’t left the house in three days except to go buy cereal.”

“Correction,” you said, flipping a page. “Also toothpaste.”

“And I will throw that toothpaste out the window if you don’t listen to me.”

You smirked, eyes still on the paper. “I need to focus. The interview’s on Monday. I need to be clear-headed, not hungover and panicking because I made eye contact with someone who was on the cover of Vogue.”

She stepped closer, lowered her voice to that gentle, glinting tone she saved for moments she knew she was right. “I know you think preparing means being perfect. But what if it just means being present? Trusting your instincts? Trusting you?”

You looked up at her. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and still looked like a goddess who could command a room with her posture alone.

“Please,” she said, softer now. “Come with me. You don’t have to drink, or talk to anyone you don’t want to. Just be there. You deserve to enter the new year feeling alive, not locked in.” You hesitated. “And also,” she added breezily, “I told people you were coming, and they’re excited to meet you.”

“Doreen—”

“It’s mostly work people. Creative people. Respectful, weird, brilliant—”

“Famous?”

She smiled with all her teeth. “Maybe one or two.”

You sighed. “Fine. But if it’s weird, I’m leaving early.”

“I will personally unlock the fire escape for your escape route.”

Both of you knew how tonight’s party wasn’t just a party. It was the party: an invite-only, rooftop-under-the-stars kind of night with stylists from Milan, playwrights from downtown, Netflix showrunners, Victoria Secret’s supermodels, and, apparently, you.

The city buzzed that night, a hum beneath your skin.

A low vibration, like something about to start. Streetlights diffused by fog, the hiss of tires on wet asphalt, and the deep bass of music rising from somewhere above, like the party was floating above the rest of the world, unreachable unless invited. And you were, indeed, invited.

Wrapped in winter, cheeks flushed and fingers stiff in your gloves, you stepped out of the elevator and into a rooftop that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread. It was all polished glass and concrete softened by string lights. Hanging lanterns glowed honey gold. The skyline opened beyond the safety rail, glowing like the inside of a beehive.

People glittered. Silk. Sequins. Fur coats unbuttoned just so. Perfume that smelled like luxury and secrets. You adjusted the hem of your dress. The dress Doreen had insisted you borrow from her closet. “Something that doesn’t look like you’re trying,” she’d said, rifling through hangers. She landed on one that was midnight-colored, silky but not too shiny, hugging the lines of your body like it knew what it was doing. You’d protested. Then looked in the mirror. And she was right, like always.

“You’ll thank me later,” she had whispered.

The scent of money and ambition hung in the air like incense. Everyone looked like they had perfect teeth and someone to manage their schedule. Polite conversation clinked like glasses.

You clutched your mocktail too tightly. Took a breath. Then reached for a glass of wine instead. Just enough to soften the edges.

At some point, you laughed too loudly at something Doreen murmured in your ear. Her hand was on your back, grounding you. She could tell when you needed it. Her concern came through in small ways, like a slightly longer glance, a subtle repositioning to block someone’s gaze.

“I’m gonna go talk to Jules about this campaign pitch,” she said, brushing a kiss against your cheek. “Sit. Breathe. Soak it in. You’re doing fine.”

You nodded, the wine finally easing your shoulders. “Okay.”

And then she was gone, swept up in the slow-moving tide of social sharks and glass clinks.

You turned, off-balance in that way you only are when you're slightly tipsy and slightly too aware of yourself. A velvet couch near the corner of the terrace caught your eye—tucked into an enclave half-sheltered by hanging lights and a sleek heat lamp that made the shadows long and soft.

You let your body fall into the cushions with a sigh that felt like release. It was quieter there. The edge of everything. You set your glass down on the little marble table and relaxed.

When you opened your eyes—God knows how much later—someone had taken the other half of the couch.

A woman.

You blinked slowly, trying to focus. The room shimmered slightly at the edges, like it was underwater. Your head was light, your limbs too warm, and the lighting in this corner was low, just the soft gold glow of string lights spilling sideways from a nearby window. Shadows sliced across her face like secrets.

She wore a dark satin shirt, matching pants. Her posture was effortless, an ankle resting over her opposite knee like she’d been there forever. There was something about her presence, but you couldn’t really see her face. Not clearly, anyway.

The alcohol made your vision slightly syrupy. And she was positioned just off the edge of the light, her face half in shadow. You caught flashes: the strong line of her jaw, the subtle glint of freckles, maybe? Or just the way her mouth moved when she sipped from her glass. Her hair was cropped close, that much you could tell, and it suited her, framed her head like something deliberate, almost poetic.

But the details like the color of her eyes, the exact curve of her smile, they were just out of reach. Like trying to remember a dream after waking up.

And when she muttered under her breath, “I fucking hate parties,” with that dry, dismissive edge, you snorted. Out loud. You knew the comment wasn’t meant for you. But you heard it.

She turned. Slowly. “Wow,” she said dryly, “that wasn’t even my best material.”

You pressed a hand to your lips, trying not to laugh. “Sorry. You caught me off guard.”

“What?”

You hesitated, then smiled. “You kinda just appeared.”

“Would you have said no if I’d asked?”

“Would you have asked?”

She shrugged, eyes glittering. “No.”

There was a beat.

“Why are you even here?” you asked, waving at the glittering crowd. “Doesn’t seem like your scene.”

“Oh, it definitely isn’t. Came with someone. Got bored.”

“You ditched them?”

“Moment they got sucked into a conversation about some rich shit.” You winced. She sipped her drink. “You?”

“Friend dragged me out. Even allowed me to borrow her dress and everything.”

Her eyes flicked down your frame, slowly, like she had all the time in the world. “The dress was a good call.”

You felt your ears flush. “Thanks.”

Something in your chest ticked faster. You picked up your glass again for something to do. The conversation moved from there, warm and comfortable and safe. Something spun loose inside you. It didn’t feel like trying anymore. It felt like finding a strange rhythm with someone who danced the same way.

Then she said it. Like a challenge. Like a door swinging open.

“Come with me. Let’s disappear.”

And just like that, she lifted her palm, waiting for you to grab it, and you did. You rose. She stood. No one noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care. You moved together like shadows along the back wall, down a side hall, through a door that probably belonged to a coat closet but felt like something more secret.

It wasn’t like you planned it. You were following her. Or maybe she was following you. Or maybe the universe cracked open just wide enough to let this happen, the dim hallways that rich people always seem to have in their homes.

She reached past you to open a gold-trimmed door. You slipped inside first.

The light was low, almost nonexistent. Just the thin glow of the hallway seeping through the cracked door before she closed it. The air inside was heavy, warm, thick with expensive perfume soaked into designer coats. You could smell vanilla, amber, cedar. Something floral. Something like leather.

The door clicked shut behind her, soft but final. And in the dark, the world shrank.

You could feel her, even before she moved. That quiet presence, like heat. Then, you felt the contact. How her fingers brushed your hip. Barely. Just enough to make your breath catch. Tentative. A question, maybe.

You turned toward her, heart thrumming like wings against your ribs. The closet was too narrow for distance. You were already close, but now, face to face. Eyes somehow finding each other in the dim.

And hers, God. Even if you couldn’t see clearly, you could decipher them perfectly. They weren’t impatient, or cocky, or drunk. They were something else entirely. Like hunger layered with caution. Like she was afraid of breaking something sacred. Like a restraint coiled so tight it might snap.

Finally, her mouth was on yours. Not rushed. Not clumsy. A ghost of a kiss. A brush, a pause. Like a prelude. Like a question you didn’t know how to answer except to lean in, give more, let it happen.

So you did. You kissed her back. Soft at first, tasting her, breathing her in. The shape of her mouth was like a secret. Warm and deliberate. You could feel the way she was holding back, measuring the space between pleasure and permission. It made your skin burn.

Then it shifted into something hotter, something deeper, but still soft. Her hand found your waist again, firmer this time, fingers curling through your dress like she wanted to memorize every inch. She tilted her head and kissed you like she'd waited hours. Days. Like she was trying to burn her name into your mouth without ever speaking it.

Your back hit the wall of coats with a muted thud. She pressed into you as her other hand slid into your hair, slow, threading carefully. You gasped when her teeth grazed your bottom lip, sharp and fleeting.

And still, she paused. “This okay?” she murmured against your mouth.

The words ghosted over your own lips. You nodded, dizzy. “Yes.”

But she didn’t kiss you again right away.

She pulled back just far enough to take a good look at you. Her gaze flicked between your eyes, scanning for something. For doubt. For permission. And when she found it, whatever she was looking for, her mouth came back to yours with purpose.

And this time, it wasn’t soft. This time, she kissed like someone who had nothing left to lose. Like she was trying to brand the night into you. Like the only thing that mattered in the entire city, the entire world, was you saying yes and meaning it.

Your hands slid to her shoulders. Her jaw. The back of her neck. Every part of her was heat and pressure, intention and control. She was taller up close. Or maybe it just felt like she towered, the way she moved against you, steady without being still at all.

She tasted like whiskey and Marlboro. Her lips moved to your jaw, slow, trailing heat. She kissed the place under your ear, and you inhaled sharply, your knees nearly buckling.

Outside, faintly, the countdown began.

Five!

Her mouth was on your throat now, open and warm, teeth teasing the skin before she soothed it with her tongue. Your head tilted instinctively, letting her in, exposing more.

Four!

Your hands gripped her shirt, fingers curling in satin. She pulled you closer like she couldn’t stand even a sliver of distance. Like needing you against her was the only thing that made sense.

Three!

Her hand found your thigh. She slid it slowly, deliberately, under the hem of your dress, fingertips featherlight, waiting for the smallest shift of your body to tell her yes again.

Two!

You kissed her like you had nowhere else to be. Like you belonged there, in the dark, in her hands, in the fire she’d lit inside your ribs. Her mouth moved over yours with bruising intensity now, like she was starving for something neither of you could name.

One!

A ragged exhalation passed between you as her hand tightened on your thigh. She pushed gently, fingers slipping upward with aching slowness, testing every second for resistance. You didn’t pull away. You tilted your hips forward, just slightly, a silent answer—yes, yes, please.

She groaned softly, like the sound had been dragged from somewhere low in her chest.

Happy New Year!

Outside, muffled through walls and coats, came the pop and sizzle of celebration. The windows must’ve lit up with color from the fireworks. Someone yelled, followed by glasses clinking and a shriek of laughter that felt miles away. A whole world was happening outside. But inside, time fractured. She was kissing you like she’d forgotten language itself. Like her only fluency was touch and need and want.

Her hand slid further, seeking for skin, heat, finding the soft inside your thigh. You gasped into her mouth. She swallowed the sound like it fed her, grinning deviously. Her fingers traced a line with maddening patience, not rushing, not assuming, she was just taking her time to learn you with every move.

You were breathless now. Unraveled. Your hands gripped the collar of her shirt, then her shoulders, grounding yourself in the strength of her. Her body fit against yours like puzzle pieces twisted into something new; familiar and foreign all at once. She cursed under her breath. And then her hand moved where you’d wanted it. And you arched.

Your back hit the coats again, your forehead dropped to her shoulder, and she held you there, one arm firm across your lower back, anchoring you like she knew you'd forget gravity existed. Her mouth traced your temple, your jaw, the curve of your neck. She kissed every inch she could reach, slow and reverent, like you were something holy and fragile and on fire.

And when her fingers moved, when she pressed and stroked in rhythm with your breath, your knees almost gave out. But she caught you.

You bit your lip, hard, to keep from crying out. She kissed you again, coaxing the sound out anyway. Every touch was impossibly tuned to your body, like she knew how to ask without words, how to listen to the smallest shiver of your hips, the catch in your breath. Like this was the language you both shared now, this rhythm, this rising tide.

You pulled her closer, nails pressing lightly into her back through the thin silk of her shirt. Her breath was ragged against your skin, just as undone as yours now. You buried your face in her neck and let it take you. A trembling wave of sensation that left you raw and open and shaken in the best possible way. She didn’t say anything. Just held you. One hand cradling the back of your head. The other still resting on your thigh, soft now. Still.

Minutes passed, and the fireworks faded outside. The party throbbed on beyond the door. The music pulsing low, someone stumbling past the hallway with a laugh and the clink of heels. But in the quiet closet, you breathed.

Finally, she spoke. Low. Breathless. A little stunned. “Happy New Year.”

You exhaled against her collarbone. Your lips brushed her skin as you answered. “Not bad,” you murmured. “As far as midnight kisses go.”

She laughed softly. “High praise.”

Silence again. But it wasn’t awkward. It was charged. Like the air still crackled with what had just passed between you. Like the universe was still catching its breath.

You could’ve stayed. Could’ve said something. Could’ve asked her name. Could’ve learned her voice, her laugh, what color her eyes really were in the light. Could’ve exchanged numbers.

But something in you wavered.

Maybe it was the sudden rush of clarity, the sharp return of your heartbeat as the spell broke. Maybe it was the way she didn’t ask for anything else. Didn’t say “stay.” Didn’t try to stop you. Maybe it was your own fear. So, you reached down. Smoothed your dress. Ran trembling fingers through your hair.

She stepped back just enough to give you space. Her hand lingered on your wrist for a beat longer than necessary. She didn’t speak.

So, you opened the door as the cool air rushed in. Sound returned. Light. Laughter. The sharp clink of glasses. You stepped out into the hallway. She didn’t follow, and you didn’t look back. But you could feel her, standing in the shadows. The shape of her still written on your skin. Her mouth still warm on your lips. Her fingers still trembling ghosts on your thigh.

Later, you would wonder what would’ve happened if you’d turned back. But instead, you found Doreen again—her makeup smudged, her laugh still bright. She was holding two flutes of champagne and raised one when she saw you.

“Hey, dove,” she said, tipping her head. “You good?”

You nodded, breathless. “Better than good.”

And for once, you meant it.

The next morning hit like betrayal.

You woke up on Doreen’s couch with your face half-stuck to one of her throw pillows, mouth dry. Your head pulsed in slow, deliberate thuds. The kind of headache that felt personal. Like your brain was mad at you specifically. You groaned and pulled the blanket over your face.

“Oh, good,” Doreen’s voice came from somewhere near the kitchen. “You’re alive.”

“Debatable,” you croaked.

“Didn’t even drink that much, lightweight,” she teased. A mug clinked against the counter. The smell of coffee drifted across the room like a blessing. “You know you have your own room, right? I know the couch is good, but…”

You sat up slowly, regretting every second of the motion. “This feels illegal.”

“Hydration is not a crime,” she said cheerfully, walking over with a glass of water in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. She handed them both over like a priest delivering a sacrament. “Water, coffee and ibuprofen. Say thank you.”

You squinted at her, blinking. “Thank you, Jesus in a silk robe.”

“You’re welcome, my child.” She sat down on the other end of the couch, one leg folded beneath her. “So.”

You blinked again. “So what?”

She grinned. “Are you really gonna pretend you didn’t disappear for like thirty minutes and come back looking like your soul had just been rearranged?”

You groaned and collapsed backward onto the couch. “Oh my God.”

“I knew it,” she crowed. “You hooked up with someone, didn’t you?”

You covered your face with the pillow again. “Shut up.”

“Tell me everything. Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled into the cushion.

There was a beat of silence.

“…You what?”

“I don’t know!” you said, sitting up, hair a mess, coffee sloshing in your mug. “She just—she was there. On the couch. We talked. And then we ended up in that weird gold closet, and I don’t even know her name but—” Doreen stared at you like you’d announced you’d married a cryptid. “—Doreen. She was so good at it.”

You weren’t even sure what ‘it’ covered, exactly. Kissing, touching, the part where her hand slid up your spine like she’d been built for it. The part where you forgot your own name for about thirty seconds because her mouth had learned you too quickly.

Doreen’s jaw dropped. “Okay, wait—like, good good?”

You nodded slowly. “Like—how-do-you-know-what-I-want-before-I-do good.”

“Damn.”

“Right?”

She whistled low. “So mystery hot girl with angel face and demon skills just made out with you in the coat closet, then vanished into the night like a horny fairytale?”

You sipped your coffee. “Pretty much.”

“And you didn’t get her number?”

“She didn’t ask for mine.”

Doreen threw both hands in the air. “You’re killing me.”

“I didn’t plan it! It just… happened.”

“Okay,” she said, holding up a hand like she needed to physically catch the chaos. “Was she someone I invited? Someone from work?”

“I didn’t ask.” You shrugged helplessly.

“But like—you can’t even describe her to me?”

You looked at her, deadpan. “Oh, I’m sorry, it was kind of hard seeing anything in the dark apart from her lips.”

Doreen choked on her own coffee. “Jesus Christ.”

“I stand by it,” you said, sipping yours. “They were very informative lips.”

“Did you at least recognize her from somewhere?”

“I was too busy trying not to combust.”

Doreen made a dramatic noise of suffering. “God. This is why I need to start running background checks on my party guests.”

You laughed weakly, falling back again. “Do you think I’m gonna see her again?”

She gave you a look. “In this city? Not unless fate’s feeling flirty.”

“I hate that you’re probably right.” You sighed.

“Okay, but what if she was someone famous?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Like, what if you made out with someone who has a fucking Wikipedia page?”

“Oh my God, stop.”

“I’m just saying—if you turn on HBO, and she’s the lead in some big series, don’t act surprised.” You threw a pillow at her. She ducked, laughing. “Anyway,” she said, calmer now, “I’m glad you had a good night.”

You looked at her. “Me too.”

She smiled gently. “It’s nice to see you let go. Even if it took whiskey and a woman with witchcraft lips to make it happen.”

Finally, Monday arrived.

You were up hours early, pacing the length of your apartment with a mug of black tea you never drank, because your stomach couldn’t handle it. Your phone buzzed with a final confirmation from Theresa Servopoulos’s:

Subject: NYC Meeting – Confirmed Time: Monday, 10AM Location: Office address attached. No phones. No assistants. NDA will be waiting. T.S.

Tess. Fucking. Servopoulos.

Even saying her name in your head felt like trying on something expensive and too tight. She wasn’t just a powerhouse in the industry. She was the industry. The woman had turned reputations into legacy, scandal into stardom. She was untouchable. And you were walking into her office to interview as a personal assistant to a ‘very high-profile’ client. No name. No details. No photos. Just the warning: this person is very private. Very well known. Very demanding. Your knees nearly buckled in the elevator.

Theresa’s studio wasn’t quite an office, it was more like a sanctum. You were led down a hall too silent for footsteps and into a glass-walled room with floor-to-ceiling views of Manhattan.

And there she was. Sitting at the head of the room like a god behind glass, wearing an immaculate gray suit. Her gaze flicked up as you entered, cool and precise.

“Sit,” she said simply, and you obeyed. She didn’t waste time. “You’ve worked in event coordination, communications, and crisis management. But you’ve never been a personal assistant.”

“No,” you said, willing your voice to stay steady. “But I’ve supported high-pressure workflows. I’m organized, fast, and extremely discreet.”

Theresa arched one brow. “Everyone says that until the first public meltdown.”

“I don’t melt,” you replied swiftly.

A pause. Then a twitch of something almost like approval at the corner of her mouth.

“This client,” she continued, “requires a full-time shadow. Scheduling. Messaging. Coordinating press with multiple teams across time zones. You’ll have no work-life balance. You’ll have no predictability. You’ll have to know what she needs before she says it.”

She. She said she.

“This client values privacy. Discretion. Stability. You’ll travel, often last-minute. Works irregular hours. And she doesn’t tolerate… dramatics.”

You nodded. “Understood.”

Theresa studied you a moment longer. “You’ll meet her now. She’ll make the final decision.”

That thud in your chest? That was your heart deciding it might bail. You swallowed hard and nodded. Before you could even say anything else, the door behind you clicked open. You turned, and your heart dropped clean through the floor.

Leather jacket. Auburn hair tied back, loose at the nape. Eyes shadowed behind dark sunglasses — until she took them off.

It was her. Ellie Williams.

Oscar-nominee. BAFTA darling. The face of two billion-dollar franchises. You’d seen her a thousand times. On billboards. In interviews. On streaming platforms and film festivals and magazine covers.

She was one of the most recognizable woman in Hollywood from this generation.

And you’d had your tongue in her mouth in a coat closet two nights ago.

series taglist !

@leaaavesss @yasmilks @bambi-luvs @mars4hellokitty @esotericatrait @wewerewildandfluorescent @ferxanda @haithone @bbut3rflyi01 @lvmxih @oneinameliann

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hsangel64 · 2 months ago

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meeting the family

pairings: neighbor!ellie williams x fem!reader

synopsis: its been a few weeks since ellie asked you to be her girlfriend and now its time to meet her family

warnings: use of y/n, mild cussing, mainly fluff!!

a/n: really short thats all enjoy!

pt. 2 — pt.4

“dont be nervous! joel can be scary but he’s like a giant teddy bear. just has that hard exterior cause he’s old..” she waved her hand around and went back to sifting through her clothes.

“i know i just get nervous with this stuff, my ex’s family HATED me! of course i’m going to be nervous.”

“i promise they will love you.” she came over to you and put her hands on your shoulders reassuring you, landing a small peck on your cheek and going back to finding herself an outfit. you groaned and fell back into the bed trying to reassure your own feelings. if ellie says it’ll be okay…it’ll be okay. you got up and got your things ready as ellie finished getting ready. ellie emerged from the bedroom smelling like her famous pine cologne.

“ready to go?” you nodded and you both made your ways outside to ellie’s car. the drive over was silent with the radio on a low volume and the sound of the car. you were nervous, like a lot. just thinking about the worst outcomes wasn’t helping your case.

“are you okay baby?” grabbing your attention you turned to her and nodded.

“yeah im okay.” she placed her hands on your on your thigh rubbing her thumb.

“i promise you it’ll be okay, ill be there to help.” you gave her a small smile and took a deep breath.

you guys got there quickly, pulling into the drive way you took yet another deep breath and got out of the car. following ellie close behind carrying the small tupperware of the cookies you made.

“babe its going to be fine. if you feel too overwhelmed just let me know okay.” you gulped and nodded thanking her. ellie knocked on the door and a woman opened it.

“hey honey! joel ellie’s here!” she pulled ellie into a hug and you just watched from behind.

“hey tess.” she giggled at the sudden hug.

“you must be y/n!” you held your hand out but tess pushed your hand away and pulled you in for a hug.

“no need to be formal were all family here!” you smiled at her and followed behind ellie inside, you saw two men standing in the kitchen and another woman sitting at the dining table.

“hey kiddo! how goes it?” she went around and hugged everyone and said hello.

“its been great…oh this is y/n.” she introduced you and you held out your hand, he shook it and nodded at you.

“i’ve heard a lot about you, been wondering if ellie was gon’ find someone to deal with her.” she hit him and you giggled at his remark.

“she doesn’t deal with me!”

“okay okay.” he put his hands up in defense and looked over at you and winked, you giggled quietly at his action. maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

———————————————————————————

you all were sat at the patio table outside enjoying a delicious dinner that tess and joel made. the string lights and the sunset being the source of light with the smell of food and laughter from everyone around the table. your nerves eased down and you got more comfortable. ellie had her hand on your thigh as you guys talked about funny moments during ellie’s childhood.

“you really were an ankle biter huh.” ellie pushed your shoulder as you all laughed at the story joel told. everyone was done eating so joel grabbed everyone’s plates.

“hey y/n why dont you help me with these dishes, i’ve gotta show you somethin’.” your heart dropped, what was he going to show you….oh god. you got up and grabbed some plates looking at ellie for some support. she tapped your butt and whispered that it would be okay. you followed behind joel as you both made your ways into the kitchen.

“i don’t want you to think i pulled you in here to tell you i don’t like you or somethin’ like that.” you nodded to him and he continued. “ellie’s been through so much, last time she had a girlfriend it ended horribly and she was here sulkin’ on my couch for months. all im sayin’ is i trust you and i like you a lot already. i just hope you don’t go and break her heart too.”

“no i promise i would never mr miller-“

“please call me joel, mr makes me feel old.”

“okay- sorry…but i promise i like ellie a lot and i would never go out of my way to ruin the one thing that has made me happy in a long time.” he nodded and did the unexpected…he pulled you in for a hug. pulling you against his chest with his hand holding your head against him, you slowly placed your arms around him and sat there for a little.

“woah were buddy buddy already??” you both pulled away to see ellie standing in the arch way of the kitchen, eyes wide open.

“was just givin’ her a talk that’s all.”

“oh jeez joel don’t tell me you scared her away..”

“i think you need to worry about that with yourself.” she gasped loudly and pushed him.

“you ass!” you laughed watching them mess around, you were thinking about what joel had told you and it made you smile. he wasn’t so bad after all.

———————————————————————————

taglist: @elliespotion

a/n: the shortest thing i think i’ve ever written but i’ve been busy and couldn’t think of what else to do for this… i will have longer chapters though!

#ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie williams fic #ellie x reader #the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie x y/n #tlou fic #ellie x you

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juletheghoul · 10 months ago

Text

Grown

AN: I am sort of going through a writing bender? A manic episode? I don't know, I just know that if I don't get it down I will lose my mind. I have been wanting to write an age-gap fic for Joel (aside from LMF) for a while but I couldn't really find the format or the idea that I could sink my teeth into. There are SO MANY good ones out there, I even had a whole other thing started but it got too intense, and making it sexual wouldn't have been true to that version of Joel, so here is what I came up with. (I kept Tess out of this story) Big thank you to @foli-vora for letting me exorcise this demon, and to @frannyzooey for putting up with my endless messages and voice notes through discord, love y'all! (this is unbeta'd and barely proofread, any and all mistakes are mine)

Joel Miller x F!reader (sex worker) (Joel calls you ‘Pretty’)

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) , language, Smut 18+, PIV sex (wrap it up), fingering, cream pie, one lonely little lick of his cock👅, come play sort of? dirty talk, age gap (legal), feelings of guilt, talk of sex work, some of it traumatic (no details, no violence)

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

He was a risk, calculated but definitely worth it up close. He fidgeted, flexing and unflexing his hands as you moved around the tiny studio apartment. Your home, and ‘office’. You’d searched long and hard, and paid a hefty price for the soft lamps, the newish linens for your bed, the homey touches.

He shifted his weight as you put the quilt down, separating the outside world from the privacy of your sheets. Easier to clean up after too.

“Boots off, please.” You gesture to the place by the door, and he nodded with a frown.

“Sorry.” He groaned as he brought his foot up and for a moment you saw his age, through the pleasant features.

“No problem, how do you want me?” You stand at the foot of the bed, naked under the well-worn, but cherished robe and for a moment he gawps. You don’t laugh, men don’t like it when you laugh. “On my back?”

“Wait- how old are you again?” He pads over, tall and broad, obscuring the light source when he walks past it.

“Old enough.” You smile, “come, why don’t you sit here with me?” You hold out your hand to him, and after a tense glance, he takes it and sits where you gesture. His grip is firm, but soft, years of hard work rooted in the calluses that meet your significantly softer palm. It isn’t a turn off though, he’s a man, men work hard. The real ones do, or did anyway.

“How long do I have? S’there anyone else…?” He trails off, his voice cutting off and you smile, placating.

“You have as long as you need, tonight's all yours.” You sit beside him, and put your hand tentatively on his arm, channeling every single ounce of calm you have and pouring it into him. He’s warm and alive beside you, heat radiating off him under the soft pass of your thumb against the skin peeking out under the denim sleeve, you let the soft light, the light patter of rain outside your window work on him. He surveys the area, learning the layout of your space and you don’t interfere, you follow his gaze and try to see it all from his point of view.

It's small, but comfortable. It’s exceedingly clean, you’d spent hours and hours making sure, back breaking hours on your hands and knees scrubbing and washing and it had paid off, no matter how sore you’d been after. There’s a little table, with two chairs, a big lumpy chair near the window, where you spent most of your time not working curled up with one of your precious books. He noticed the tiny chest of drawers, the top of it clear except for a half-full glass of water. He saw the baseball bat leaning against the wall tucked just behind it.

“Can I get a little closer?” You scoot a little, pressing your thigh to his, turning to hold his restless arm between your breasts, your fingers intertwining with his while he got accustomed to your own warmth. Those big, callused, hard-working hands wrapped up in yours. Invitingly warm.

Some people needed a little push, sometimes they were nervous on how to start and they needed someone to get them out of their heads. Some wanted to talk, to sprawl out naked with you and get all of their thoughts out.

Loneliness is the main malady you alleviate.

Some didn’t want to talk at all, some just wanted you to open your legs and take, and that was okay too. Everyone had their thing.

“This okay?” You put your linked palms on the little bit of skin poking out through the gap in your robe, your skin surrounding both sides of his hand.

“Yeah, s’okay.” He watches the robe slip open, and his other hand joins the fray, pulling it apart to see more of your thigh. He licks his lip as more of you is revealed and you artfully let the shoulder slip, drawing his eye up to your cleavage. He pats his leg, and you get a genuine thrill, sliding over and up onto his lap. He needed no further guidance after that, now that he had permission, his body was taking over.

His eyes were dark, focused, tracking the line of your throat when you swallowed thickly. He watched the way your breath hitched when he slid his hand up your inner thigh and found you bare underneath, his fingers slipping through the silky hair at your mound, his fingers parting your lips softly to find your slick folds. He lets out a shuddering breath at the same time you do, when his finger slips over your clit.

“I’m too old for you, pretty.” He watches his hand between your legs, using it to spread your thighs enough to see your pussy dripping for him.

“You don’t feel too old.” You hold onto his neck, giving him more access and your stomach drops to feel him hardening under the swell of your ass. You pull his hand from between your legs, and dip his fingers into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around them before pressing them back against your achy clit. He pulls a genuine moan of pleasure at the extra slip when he swirls around your clit nice and slow. Tortuous, and talented.

“So fuckin’ soft,” He glides his fingers down, circling your entrance but his eyes are focused on your mouth now, “bet you’re tight as a fist, aren’t you baby?” He slides two thick fingers inside and you clutch at him, more turned on by him than you’ve ever been doing this line of work.

It’s a stretch, but he works them in, pressing against your upper wall, looking for something and when he finds it you whimper in his arms.

“Do you kiss?” You barely hear him over the blood pounding in your ears, his fingers curling inside you, and he puts more pressure on the button he’s found and you moan, lost and mindlessly enjoying the fullness.

He presses devastatingly soft, tender kisses to your throat, completely at odds with the wet sounds of his exploration between your legs.

“Baby, can we kiss?” He repeats it, this time with his fingers still, but stuffed deep. You press your mouth to his, humid and hot and he tastes like the good alcohol you have stashed in your cupboard. He groans and his fingers scissor inside you, squelching between your legs with every lazy pump. He traps your bottom lip between his, alternating a teasing bite to the plump of it, with deep licks into your mouth. You’ve never been kissed like this.

“You just gonna use your fingers?” He pulls away to skim his nose down your neck, bunching the top of the robe in the splayed hand at your back to pull it down from where it hangs on your shoulder. His mouth engulfs your nipple when it falls and any thoughts that he may be too old for you seem to slip his mind because he doubles down, moaning obscenely into your skin as you leak onto his lap.

“No, just wanna open you up, I wanna make sure this little pussy can take me.” Arousal and excitement pools in your belly.

“What a gentleman.” You laugh, half crazed with lust for this man who just might be old enough to be your father. He smiles, drunk on the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, his spit still shining on your breast. He has a dimple, so boyish in contrast to the grey in his beard and in his hair you can’t help but love it, it suits him.

“Spread your legs a little more for me darlin’,” one hand is heavy on your hip, holding you so you can drop one leg and open up a little more, “I wanna see you come,” he speeds up, his thumb now doing tight little circles against your clit and you moan, unabashedly, “look how wet she is,” he stares between your legs “I just wanna see her come.” He hooks his fingers again and the pressure is almost too much. It only takes a few moments, his fingers pet, pet, pet and then you clench, the pleasure going off in your belly like a bomb, radiating out through your breasts, into your hips, all the way down to your fingers and toes.

A universe contained within your body, borne of his hand.

“Fuck.” Your legs close over his hand, and he slows down but doesn’t stop, a softer, slower stroke while you catch your breath. “Let's get you outta these clothes.” you start undoing the buttons to his shirt, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the smattering of freckles littered along his skin. He pulls his fingers out from between your legs, shiny and dripping in you and sticks them into his mouth, moaning at the tang of you.

Undressing him is like opening a gift. His arms are strong, his biceps flexing when he all but lifts you up to stand, pulling your robe off and away from you like it’s on fire. His midsection is soft, but you can feel the strength underneath when you undo his jeans, tensing in excitement the closer you get to the considerable bulge in them. You curl your fingers around both his jeans, and his boxers, impatient to get him naked. You crouch as you pull them down, mouth watering at the size of him, hard and bobbing in front of you. The muscles in his thighs are firm, his skin so warm and you can’t help but lick a stripe up the underside of his cock on the way back up.

He lets out a sound like he's been punched in the gut and you take it in like sustenance.

“Don’t–I’ll come too fast if you put it in your mouth.”

You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, just as he reaches down to grab and spread the cheeks of your ass, stomach full of butterflies at the feeling of him hard and leaking against your belly.

“But I wanna swallow it, I wanna feel it in my throat.” You pout and he lets out a shuddering breath, “Don’t you wanna fuck my mouth?” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat, your fingers slipping through the unruly, grey strands at the back of his neck.

“Not now baby, I’m barely goin' to last as it is.” He turns you, pressing you to lay in the middle of your quilt and he’s quick to follow, fitting himself between your legs, leaning on one arm beside your skull and when he grabs his cock and gives it a few strokes, you almost can’t watch him. It’s too erotic, it looks so big in his hand, too big to fit but you know it will, he’ll make it fit.

“Jesus Christ,” He whispers as he feeds himself inside you slowly, an inch, before pulling it out, then a little more, until he’s fucking you a little deeper each time.

There wasn’t enough air in the room to fill your lungs, he took up every fucking drop. You’d been with other men, you’d been with women, all of them taking their pleasure from your body and most of them giving pleasure in return, this was something else. This was almost scary, the way the vision of him above you made your brain buzz and your nipples hard, made your cunt leak all over him.

He moves up onto his knees, those big hands pull your legs up and apart, pressing the backs of your thighs into your chest, practically folding you in half to slide his cock deeper still.

He snapped his hips hard, pulling a sound you’d never made out of your mouth, again, and again, until it was a continuous babble. He watches the way his cock disappears inside the tight clutch of your cunt with every dirty roll of his hips. He sinks a little further down, and adjusts his stroke, until just the tip of it stays inside of every heavy push forward.

This isn’t some desperate, lonely old guy looking to get his dick wet, this is a grown man, fucking you like a grown man does and you feel like a grown woman taking it.

“Joel, baby that’s so fucking good-“ you press your hands to his chest where he leans against you. He’s focused, eyes glazed over, sweat dripping down his nose in his efforts. He shuts his eyes tight for a moment, his pace stuttering slightly and you know he’s not gonna last.

“I wanna see her come with me inside,” he whines, and you don’t want him to stop what he’s doing so you reach down and swirl your fingers around your clit while he watches, “that’s it baby, that’s it, fuck, I’m close-“ he somehow spreads you wider, the wet suck of your pussy is louder, more obscene, more erotic.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-“ the orgasm strangles the words in your throat, pulsing him out but he pushes back in and you feel it all the way in your toes.

“Fuuuuuckkk—“ he pulls out and pumps himself furiously against your mound, covering the soft patch of hair in spurt after milky spurt. It’s a lot, some has splashed onto your hip, your belly, you feel it slipping down to where you clench, empty and gaping without him filling you.

It’s quiet for a moment after, while your blood cools, and he milks himself dry, pumping a few more times despite the over-sensitivity.

“You got anything for me to clean you up with?” He rubs at the indents he left on the back of your thighs before unfolding you.

“There’s a little pile of rags in that first drawer behind you.” You point to the tiny chest of drawers, and he groans when he moves up and off of you. Now that he’s emptied his balls, the signs of his age rear their heads. He groans, wincing as he bends forward to carefully wipe everything away with gentle hands.

It’s nice to see him walk around naked, welcome, you wouldn’t mind seeing it more often, if he came back that was.

“That was-“ he scratches at the back of his neck, passing the cloth over your belly, “that was really good.”

“I’ll say, it was better than good.” You stretch out and luxuriate like a cat in warm patch of sun, seriously debating offering him time to recover so he could fuck you again. He quirks his lip, the ghost of a smile, the confidence dulled to shy, awkward fumbling. He tosses the rag into the little basket you point to, and he begins the process of getting dressed. You get up when he’s almost done, your thighs, and what’s between already sore and pick up your robe. He’s putting his neat little stack of ration cards on the table when you finish tying it up.

“Thanks.” He pulls his boots on, opening your door before turning back to find you right on his heels.

“Anytime.” You smile at him, hoping it won’t be a one-time thing. He moves to step outside but you pull him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and taking something for your own. He kisses you back when you press your mouth to his, it's softer, his tongue sweet when it tangles with yours and you smile into the kiss when he reaches down, and grabs your ass.

“Bye, Pretty.”

“Bye Joel.”

You hadn't fallen into the work, so much as slowly slid into it. The first time had been almost a dare, a challenge to yourself, a proposition made by someone and maybe your own foolish, naive need to prove that you weren’t some stupid baby. A man, an older man that had shared cleaning duty with you had come right out with it, saw you bending over to pick something off the floor and told you that he’d pay every ration card he had for a taste of that ass, as he so eloquently put it.

At first you’d been shocked, he seemed like a perfectly bland, run of the mill survivor making his way in the QZ, but he’d been serious. You’d asked him to clarify, to repeat his words, and he had. He’d shaken his hands of the dirt and dust of the job, produced a tiny stack of much needed ration cards from a hidden pocket and held them out for you like a cold glass of water in the desert. Something inside you had recoiled, he wasn’t repulsive, but he wasn’t exactly the object of your late night fantasies. Another part though, a hidden little sliver of something jumped at the chance to have some power, some semblance of control and so without much thought to consequence, you’d taken him up on it.

An uncomfortable fifteen minutes later, he was grunting behind you, stroking himself furiously to paint the cheeks of your ass in his come.

Once it was done, the little part of you that had welcomed the challenge was curiously absent, and the part that had recoiled was bigger, swelling like some awful, infected limb. But you had rations enough to stop working for a few days, and that took some of the repulsion away.

It was a while before you did it again. It was a while before you saw the man again, maybe part of you, that ever-present bit of self-preservation urged you to avoid him but he eventually found you again. This time you turned him down, and he hadn’t pressed, but he’d told others. Other men who seemed to sniff you out, some of them older, and less diplomatic and those you told to fuck off. Some of the younger ones though, closer to your age looking for the experience, some of them you took in, with the strict promise to never tell anyone unless they wanted to never see you again. Those experiences were better, less traumatic.

After that it seemed like things came together, you had a steady string of people who took you seriously and paid up front.

The first woman had been a girl of around your age, she’d heard from a friend of a friend, carefully and strategically keeping the source to herself. You’d never really given it much thought but once you did it seemed only natural, women got lonely too, and there was nothing about her that you didn’t understand. So you accepted her, took her rations and gave her as much of yourself as you gave the men.

It’d taken time to establish yourself, to find the regular people you let into the circle, it was all much easier now. With the exception of Joel, you hadn’t taken on someone new in a while, but he made you glad you did.

His hands always shake before it starts.

It’s a light tremble, a couple of fingers in his left hand and you aren’t entirely sure if it’s an injury, or a sign of nerves. He’s hard of hearing in one ear too, his right. You hadn't picked up on it at first but once you do, it makes sense. He tilts his head to the right a tiny bit, turning his good ear towards your mouth. It doesn’t bother you.

He was older than the rest, that did bother him, but never enough to stop visiting. He dragged it out sometimes, made himself wait, avoided you, but whether it took him a week or a month, he came back.

“Hi Joel.” You smiled to see him standing at the threshold, fingers twitching by his side, his hair a mess, a small bundle in his grip.

“Hi.” He doesn’t smile back, he’d waited too long, the frown practically tattooed on. He puts the bundle down on the dresser after kicking off his boots, and doesn’t mention it.

It’s dark outside, later than you usually let anyone come see you but for him you make exceptions. His hands keep rubbing at his thighs, his eyes darting around, you let him settle for a moment, get his bearings before jumping into anything, it’s a dance and you both have your steps.

“How do you want me?” You finally break the silence once he sits on the quilt. He looks up at you, but doesn’t answer right away, his eyes fall to your cleavage, then down to your waist where the robe is cinched, then further still to your hips. You move closer, until you stand between his spread thighs.

“Hm? Wanna fuck me on my back? Or should I get on my hands and knees?” You thread your fingers through his hair, slicking it back as best you can, he shudders at your words and at the feeling of your hands on him, putting up his usual show of shame at being here with you, at being older. “Should I get on my knees right here and suck your cock?” His hands land on your hips, his face pressing against your sternum, robe parting enough for him to press his lips to the valley between your breasts.

“You’re too fuckin’ soft, way too fuckin’ pretty to be lettin’ me touch you.” He always does this, has to make it known that you shouldn’t let him do this, that he shouldn’t want you like this. It never stops him, he opens the robe and pushes it off to fall on the floor regardless of his words and moans into the skin of your breast where he nuzzles like a cat.

“Prettiest thing I ever saw.” His mouth laves at one pert nipple, then the other, leaving them hard and shiny when he trails his kisses down to your belly.

All day you’ve thought about him here, getting to have him to yourself, opening you up and molding you to fit him like a glove, making you see stars like he always does. And all day you’ve felt that slow simmer of arousal, that steady ache to bloom and gape for him, both soft and obscene. The constant excitement of anticipation. His mouth on your nipples only served to turn it up to an inferno, turning you to liquid for him.

“But I like when you touch me.” You scratch at his scalp, pressing his face into your skin, “I like it when you fuck me, you make it so good, much better than anyone else.” You flatter him, but you don’t lie to him. You’ve learned to be impartial to your experiences, sex is work. As fun as it can be with some of them, it’s all a means to an end, you need to eat and so you do what you have to do. You are also realistic about him, he is not your boyfriend, he’s not your partner, he barely gives you a second glance on the street but in here, he’s your favourite. He fits you better than anyone and anything, and as much as you hate to admit it, you need him as much as he needs you.

He takes in the words, believes them and relishes them.

“How do you want me, Joel?” You pull his face up, bending down to kiss him before he can answer and his desperation comes through. His tongue is insistent, his kiss almost violent.

“I want you here-“ he pats the bed, before getting up to take his clothes off. You help him, both of you working efficiently until he’s as naked as you are. His cock is already hard, the tip of him pearly with his own want despite any and all notions of impropriety.

His body always betrays him.

He gets you on your back, but he doesn’t lay on top of you, rather beside you. He doesn’t let you turn to face him, he wants it like this, his body curling around yours to be able to see it spread out for him without himself in the way.

“Open up for me, s’good, just like that.” He takes the thigh closest to him and drapes it over his hip, positioning himself to enter you from underneath. He lifts his head, showcasing his core strength to watch as he brings his cock to the open mouth of your cunt, sliding in without so much as a warning. You feel exposed, spread open and bare under his eye and it only heightens the experience, cracking something open inside of you.

His hips push and pull slowly, lazily at first despite how fucking hard he is but doesn’t last. The sight in front of you there, breasts bouncing with every snap, is too much for him. With one hand free, he strums and plucks at your nipples, opening up the dam between your thighs to ruin the quilt underneath.

His other hand isn’t idle though, it slips down, grabbing onto the plush of your ass, holding you in place hard enough to bruise.

“That feel good?” He watches you leak all over him, and knows it does but he wants to hear it anyway.

“Yes- Yes Joel–” You moan, turning to watch his face.

“This little cunt goin' to come for me? I wanna see her come, I wanna feel her choke my dick.” He surges forward, swallowing the moan from the source before speeding up. His cock strokes, strokes, strokes and you feel the warmth blooming in your core, spreading like a wildfire through your hips, the release so close you can almost taste it, you whine and he shushes you, his voice soft despite how depraved you feel with his cock kissing something sacred inside of you.

You roll your hips to meet his thrusts and sweat builds in your hairline and at the back of your neck, collects and slips where your skin and his meet.

“I know baby, I know, I can feel her, she wants to come doesn’t she?” His lips press against your cheek, his words warm against your skin. His lips are so soft, so plush as he pants into your face, goosebumps cover your body. You nod against him, mouth open in a silent scream when he adjusts his angle slightly.

He’s no longer able to form complete sentences, his words are reduced to a repeated chant of yeah baby, yeah baby, right there, right there huh? Barely formed questions for the answer you know he already knows and then his fingers are in your mouth, stretching out your lips, holding your mouth open in a filthy, yet pale imitation of what his cock is doing.

You drool, and you don’t care but it’s what he wants, he takes it from your mouth and slides it over your clit and it’s like he’s pressed the nuclear codes in your body.

You want to curl into yourself, but you can’t, his grip tightens, painfully, holding you to take and take and take his cock until he bursts inside you like a ripe berry. His groan is almost more obscene than the act, his groin pressed up against you tight, pressing himself deeper than ever to paint your cervix in his come.

“Fuck–” He presses the word to your cheek, sliding his sweat soaked face down your neck, to your shoulder. He pulls out after a moment, and you feel him leak out of you. He moves to hover over you, pulling one nipple into his mouth to taste before the blood has cooled, and then the other. He isn;t done yet though, he kneels between your spread legs, inspecting the mess he’s made of your pussy, a self satisfied look on his face.

“Gonna dream about this, while I’m gone.” He lifts your legs, pressing them up and open and slips two fingers deep inside to push his come back in and as you moan at the act, you cannot help but wonder where that worried, too-old Joel is right now.

“Prettiest little cunt.” He says it to himself, rubbing his mess into the sensitive walls of your sex like a balm.

He licks his fingers after, tasting the combined flavours of both of you. Your heart almost can’t take it.

Once he’s dressed, and you have gained enough strength to get up and put your robe on he’s almost back to his shy self.

“I have the rations here, but I brought somethin’ else.” He gestures to the little bundle he’d left on your dresser, “I found it, thought you might like it.” He opens it, and it’s a can of peaches.

“Oh!” You’re genuinely taken aback.

“You ain’t allergic right?” He frowns, and you smile, something soft spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the sex you just had.

“No, I’m not allergic. Thank you Joel, I am really excited for this.” You ignore the soreness between your legs and close the gap between you, pressing a soft kiss to his lips in thanks.

“Well alright then.” He frowns again, and it’s not shyness you see on his face now, it’s awkwardness, it’s a man who doesn’t know how to be soft, but is trying his hardest.

“Bye Pretty.” He lingers at the door, devouring you with his eyes and even though he was still dripping out of you, you felt naked and exposed, open and spread out for his gaze.

“Bye Joel, don’t wait too long to come see me again okay?” You press yourself against him, the soft lines of you tucked tight against the hard angles of him. He gifts you with a rare smile but doesn’t respond, save for a toe curling kiss at your threshold before he’s gone.

Hours later, when your body is truly sore and spent, you lay in bed with a book, eating the peaches he brought, and wonder idly what he’ll bring next time.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel tlou #oh joely #joel #joel x you #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #joel x y/n

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incorrectredwallquotes · 1 year ago

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Mrs. Churchmouse: Stop arguing with your brother. Tess: I’m not arguing. Mrs. Churchmouse: Then what are you doing? Tess: Being right.

#source: twitter #Redwall #brian jacques #book 3 #Tess #tim #mrs. churchmouse

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get-snuck-up-on · 5 months ago

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He would not fucking say that

#tess is talking #Tails is a MORON in this game #I blame Sega for hiring writers who don't give a shit about the source material

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bucketbueckers · 6 months ago

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I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER FIVE

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @bueckersg1rl @l0verl4ne @clouded-whispers @dolliest-thena @katemartinlvr @numberonepartyanth3m @glamourdaya @pbbucks @unadulteratedcyclepaper @paiges-1vur wc: 6.3k notes: masterlist ahead? uh yeah i sure hope it does! decided last minute i didn't really care about any real plot action this chapter outside of tess and paige so if you are disappointed by that, sorry but it's better this way, tess and paige are the plot now🤞 accidentally made this chapter kinda important, it lowk got away from me, but i hope you all enjoy 🫶

‘This Month in Review - The Cutest Sports Couple Since Megan and Sue’

Whether you’re a sports fanatic or a casual watcher, there is no denying that Paige Bueckers and Tess Kennedy have taken the sports scene by storm. They are a topic of conversation in every room – and for good reason. Bueckers and Kennedy were top recruiting prospects out of high school, with Bueckers leading the pack as the #1 recruit and Kennedy following close behind as the #2. They are the current leaders of two superstar programs and despite not having played their full collegiate careers, Bueckers and Kennedy have already cemented themselves as players that will go down in history as the greatest to play college basketball at their institutions.

Bueckers and Kennedy are a power couple through and through, and while neither of them have made anything official, it is clear that they have spent this entire offseason together – even several hundred miles apart. Fans have pointed out that their recent TikTok reposts make references to missing a long distance lover or are largely relationship focused. Their Instagram stories often feature each other. From Kennedy’s Instagram, a recent story showcased a short clip of Bueckers holding a LEGO rose, winking as she blew a kiss to the camera. From Bueckers’s Instagram, a recent story included a FaceTime screenshot of Kennedy, grinning as she threw a thumbs up for the photo, and it was affectionately captioned, “My duo 🎮.”

Additionally, they have been noticeably active in each other’s Instagram comment section:

[IMAGE TRANSCRIPTION: MAY 30, 2023 | BUECKERS IS PHOTOGRAPHED WEARING A LEG SLEEVE, BLUE AND WHITE PATTERNED BASKETBALL SHORTS, AND A BLACK LONG SLEEVED SHIRT ROLLED UP TO HER ELBOWS. SHE IS MID-JUMPER, LEFT ARM EXTENDED AND RIGHT WRIST BENT. USER PAIGEBUECKERS: “TUNNEL VISION ON A MISSION ⏳” | USER TESSKENNEDY25: “I AM LOOKING RESPECTFULLY 👁️” END TRANSCRIPTION.]

Their galavanting didn’t end there. They made their relationship known through TikTok live one night, featuring Bueckers, Kennedy, and some of Buecker’s UConn teammates including Aaliyah Edwards and Nika Muhl. The TikTok live was a source of endless laughter, jokes, and games. Again, nothing was officially confirmed, although many viewers posted various screen recordings the morning after, and all fans can agree on is that Bueckers and Kennedy are not slick.

Many are comparing their relationship to Sue Bird and Megan Rapinoe, and we have to admit, the similarity is there. Bueckers and Kennedy are both standout athletes and leaders on dynasty teams. Fans are eagerly awaiting the hard-launch, if only just to confirm what we all know is true.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

JUNE 20, 2023

“Do you have everything, piccola? Brace, heating pad, charger?”

Making a conscious effort to fix her face, Tess resists a sigh and responds, “Yes, mamma, I have everything.” She knows that her mother is just looking out for her, but she’s been through all of her belongings three times now and she knows for a fact that she has everything. If something was missing, she’s certain Paige would have an extra or she’d be able to buy a new one in Massachusetts.

She got the call from Amaya only a few days ago. To no one’s surprise at all, the media was eating up her and Paige’s fake relationship. Their brand deals were feeling secure in their investments once more and the tabloids were far more concerned about Tess & Paige than they were about Tess’s month-long crash out. With everything aligning once more, Bose actually wanted to sign a joint deal with her and Paige and get them to advertise a new product – standard NIL endorsement stuff, but the icing on the cake was Amaya’s cheerful, “You’re married now!” that nearly made Tess’s heart fall out of her ass.

Tess doesn’t make a habit of being a gullible person, but she genuinely thought Amaya was going to make her and Paige scrap the whole “soft-launch” idea and just come out at the altar with wedding rings. Amaya was quick to clarify it wasn’t actually like that (Thank God), but the Bose representatives wanted to do something corny, monopolize on their traction as a duo, and Tess and Paige would henceforth be named Mrs. and Mrs. Bose.

It was pretty stupid, but a little funny, and as soon as Tess saw her payout, she couldn’t really complain.

“And Paige is getting you from the airport? No Uber?” her father asks for the second time, mostly to clarify.

Tess can’t stop the flush from spreading across her cheeks like she’d been caught red-handed. Truthfully, her parents weren’t haters by any means. They were oddly invested in her and Paige’s ruse – which made lying to them about it so much more difficult, but the both of them seemed to genuinely like Paige despite never speaking to her. They’d been begging for weeks straight for Tess to bring her home so they could meet her since it’s “getting serious,” although they were pleased to know she’d probably be around by Christmas. She and Paige had this commercial to film, then Paige would have to return to Storrs for summer practices (Tess wouldn’t be returning until the semester officially started – she wants to work as much as she could with Terri, no hate to Craig), then Paige was set to spend early August in Europe with her teammates. Both of them would be extremely busy in the coming months, especially once the season started, so they weren’t expecting to see each other all too much outside of FaceTime.

“Yes, Paige will pick me up,” Tess confirms, zipping up her backpack one last time. “She flew in this morning.” Tess tactfully leaves out the part where Paige had completely rearranged her flight schedule for her. Paige argued that it “wasn’t safe” to put her safety in the hands of a random Uber driver given her knee and that she hated late flights anyways. Tess knows that Paige truthfully doesn’t give a fuck about flight times, but arguing with her was near impossible.

Her father gives an approving nod, and much to Tess’s well-hidden anxiety induced annoyance, the three of them do one last check of her belongings before they load up in the car to drop her off at the airport. Tess tries her best to tune into the conversation, although part of her is still nervous about flying. She’s been cleared to travel for a week or two now. Despite that, she can’t help but anticipate the worst going wrong. Amaya splurged on first class so she’d have plenty of leg room and she’s flying on a very reputable airline. She has to remind herself that realistically, she’ll be perfectly fine.

It’s a quiet morning at the airport as her father pulls into the drop off lane, putting the car in park. “Text us as soon as you land, okay, piccola?” her mother tells her.

Tess flashes the both of them a comforting smile, leaning forward to give them quick hugs. “Of course.” And with that, she grabs her suitcase and her backpack, says her goodbyes, and waits for her parents to pull off before she walks through the airport in search of her gate. She’s only stopped a few times by fans asking for photos, which she dutifully poses for, then she makes her way to the counter to check in. She only has to wait a few more moments to board the plane. Amaya set her up with a secluded seat in the back. She snags a quick photo of the tarmac and sends it to Paige, whose response comes quickly.

Tell your pilot to take a shortcut or sum I miss you

you use that line on all the girls back home?

Is it working?

maybe a little

Then no All my lines are for Tess Kennedy and Tess Kennedy only

good

🤔 Are you forgetting something?

miss you too pb 👎

I know 😁

so modest gtg we’re about to take off

I’ll be waiting 🫶

Tess simply reacts to Paige’s last message with a heart, unable to wipe the smile off her face. She shuts her phone off and settles in for the hour long flight.

When the plane touches down in Framingham, Massachusetts, Tess is full of restless energy. It’s equal parts relief and excitement; however, after spending the morning traveling, she’s ready to get back to the hotel and get a nap in before she has to be productive. She hauls her bag over her shoulder and exits the plane with the other passengers as she waits for her phone to power back on. When it does, she sees that a text from Paige is already waiting for her.

I got your suitcase I’m like right in front of the gate

Tess sends back a thumbs up, something she’s sure Paige is annoyed by, and slides her phone back into her pocket. She follows the crowd out. Her heart thrums with anticipation, even as she tries to shove down those complicated feelings. Friends are allowed to miss each other, but her longing feels different somehow. She and Paige were practically inseparable for the month they were apart. Knowing that they’re about to reunite in person leaves her giddy with anticipation.

The crowd clears. Paige stands tall and proud in the center of the boarding area, an easy smile on her face and her arms hiding something behind her back. When Paige finally spots her, her smile widens and she begins taking swift steps towards her. Tess matches her strides, falling into her embrace with a soft laugh and overwhelming relief. One of Paige’s arms loop around her waist, squeezing her gently. “Missed you,” Paige murmurs, her cheek pressed to her head, and Tess doesn’t bother fighting the flush or the enamored upward curve of her lips.

“Missed you too, P,” she confesses. Paige’s arm tightens around her waist and she can feel the smile the blonde presses to the crown of her head. She pulls back, uncaring of the way the crowd clamors or the phones pointed at them, fully focused on Paige. Her hair is pulled back into a wavy ponytail, her face bare (yet she’s still undeniably beautiful), and she’s dressed in a UConn hoodie and a pair of grey sweatpants. Simple, but Paige is good at pulling just about anything off. With a mischievous grin, Paige displays the bouquet of flowers she’d been hiding behind her back, and Tess can’t quite hide the surprise on her features. “Paige – what?”

Paige carefully pushes them into Tess’s hands. They’re roses and in shockingly good quality, as if they’d been plucked directly from a garden rather than purchased from a grocery store. “Saw ‘em and had to get ‘em for you. Figured you deserved a little better than that LEGO flower after these past two months, yeah?”

Tess is speechless, her mouth opening and closing much like a fish’s. No one has ever gotten her flowers before, high school graduation aside. Paige did this completely on her own whims, and that thought alone makes a fresh blush creep up her neck. She glances at Paige, a soft smile spreading across her face. “These are beautiful, P. Thank you.”

Paige’s grin turns tender, her face clearly pleased as she pulls Tess in by her waist once more, careful to not squash the flowers. “‘Course, ma,” she says like it’s the easiest thing in the world, which, for a girl like Paige, it probably is. That thought alone is sobering and Tess remembers where they are, adrenaline rushing into her mouth as Paige releases her. “Ready to go, Mrs. Bose?”

“So fucking corny,” Tess groans, but Paige’s joke is enough for the tension to melt away, for Tess to forget all about the sudden sadness she’d felt as Paige hugged her. “Lead the way, Mrs. Bose.” Paige cocks a wry smirk at her and does just that, her left hand reaching for the handle of Tess’s suitcase. Her free hand brushes against Tess’s, a silent question in her eyes. One glance at the crowd makes her heart race, but Paige’s eyes are soft, understanding, and all the convincing she needs. She links her fingers together with Paige’s, relishing in the squeeze Paige gives her in reassurance. Tess tries not to think too hard about how well their hands fit together – the blonde’s are just slightly larger, enveloping her own in a way that should not be as comforting as it is, and her thumb mindlessly brushes against her knuckle.

Paige leads them through the busy airport, the crowd parting for them, and Tess hardly pays it any attention as she gets lost in her racing thoughts. They’re just friends. Sure, no one in her life is as close to her in the way Paige is right now, but they just have their own thing going on right now. Pretending to be each other’s girlfriend requires a lot of commitment that neither of them have otherwise experienced. Tess was never one for romance – it wasn’t in the cards for someone like her. Growing up, she was taller than most other girls – and boys – her age. A lot of people weren’t into that. Then she realized she didn’t even like boys, which never bothered her, but she felt as though she was missing out on some crucial part of girlhood because she wasn’t desired or yearned for. She’ll be the first to admit it sounds stupid. There’s many people out there with issues far more serious than whether or not they were somebody’s crush in high school. She’s out of her element in so many ways, and she can’t help but think back to that initial burst of anxiety she felt as soon as the severity of the situation finally hit her. She’s in way over her head, she’s realizing it now, and she fears that it won’t be long until people realize she has no idea what she’s doing.

But Paige? One glance at her, at the easy expression on her face, the slight furrow of her brow as she scans the airport signs for the exit, and Tess can tell she’s not freaking the fuck out like she is. Paige is vastly more experienced in this situation than Tess is and they both know it. Paige said she could do casual. This is essentially what this was, right? All of the romance without the intimacy. Tess should have told her right then and there that she was not built for casual. It always spins out of control, and Tess is probably living proof of that.

This is all physical, she tells herself, unsure of if she even believes it. You don’t actually like her. She’s attractive – that’s all there is to it. And for now, that explanation is good enough for her. She’s going to do these commercials with Paige, hard-launch their fake relationship, and then they’re going to be far too busy to see each other until the holidays when they visit each other’s families to, again, hard-launch their fake relationship and tell the biggest lie to the people closest to them. That time apart will be enough for Tess to get her head back on straight and realize there's absolutely nothing going on between her and Paige that should be of any (reasonable) concern.

She almost believes that. At least until Paige smiles at her as she loads her suitcase into the trunk of her rental, opening the passenger door for her. Tess’s heart swells and she realizes just how unfathomably fucked she is.

JUNE 21, 2023

After a calm night spent watching Grey’s Anatomy – Paige’s request, obviously – Tess and Paige were up bright and early Wednesday morning to drive out to the Bose main office for filming. Paige entrusted her with the aux and promised to not complain about her music choices as long as Tess bought breakfast, which was a deal Tess was all too happy to make as she directed Paige to the nearest Dunkin. She made sure to snag plenty of pictures for the Instagram hard launch they planned to post before they went their separate ways. Her personal favorite was the one of Paige sitting in the driver’s seat, legs wide and pressed against the door and the center console, sunglasses perched over the bridge of her nose as she held both of their coffees. The blonde sported an easy smile with her hair in her game-day braids and her thin, black fleece jacket was unzipped, showcasing the UConn shirt she was wearing under it. Paige made sure to get one of her, too, but it was less presentable and far too candid – Paige had swiped whipped cream across her nose and photographed her mid-gasp. Tess begged her to delete it, but Paige’s infectious laughter caused all of the indignation to drain from her body.

With breakfast and coffee secured, Paige drives the rest of the way to their filming location as Tess hums along to Omar Apollo. The silence in the car is calm, both of them comfortable in simply sitting next to each other as the music plays. Paige shifts, her elbow resting on the center console as she drives with her left hand. Her fingers mindlessly twirl the straw in her cup. The movement catches Tess’s eye and she’s suddenly overcome with the urge to grab her hand.

It’s domestic, in a sense – sitting next to Paige in the car as they drive down the road with the windows down. The weather holds a gentle bite, not overbearingly cold, but chilly enough that it makes Tess feel a little more tethered, that she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

In her last session with Yvette, the psychologist recommended she just let go. As obvious as the advice is, and despite it being easier said than done, Tess is interested in giving it an honest shot. For years, she’s carried so much anxiety with her, worried about whether or not she’s doing something right or worried about how she’s being perceived. Sometimes, it takes a little bit of discomfort to move forward.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Tess props her arm up on the center console. Paige is close enough that she can feel her jacket sleeve brushing against her arm. She can feel Paige’s gaze on her, the gentle curiosity, but she keeps her eyes straight ahead, watching as the trees pass by in green blurs. Then she feels her move, feels her knuckles brush against her hand; and with her heart thrumming in her chest, Tess wordlessly unclenches her fist in invitation. Paige doesn’t hesitate before she’s linking their fingers together, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Tess spots her smile from the corner of her eye, and knowing that Paige is watching her, too, she allows a smile of her own to grace her features. Nothing has ever felt as right as Paige’s hand in hers in a long time. As she continues driving, Tess can’t help herself from feeling at peace.

When the two of them finally make it back to their hotel room after spending the day filming, Tess collapses onto her bed with a dramatic groan, immediately reaching for her pillow and wrapping both arms around it, pressing her chin into the cushion. She hears Paige snort from somewhere in the room, followed by rustling as she shrugs her jacket off her shoulders and throws it haphazardly on her bed. “Tired?” Paige asks teasingly.

Tess hums in confirmation. Tired doesn’t even begin to cover it. She was up early, was on her feet for most of the day, and all of the reshoots and retakes weren’t doing her any favors. She knows she’s crashing out for no reason – this is literally her job – but she’s equal parts tired and hangry and she honestly just wants a hot shower.

“Want me to DoorDash somethin��?” Paige asks, as if reading her mind. She kicks off her shoes and falls into bed next to Tess, already pulling out her phone.

Tess cracks one eye open as the mattress dips under their shared weight, glancing at Paige, who crosses one leg over the other as she gets comfortable. “Chick-fil-A?” she requests. “Nuggets and fries? My card’s in my wallet.”

Paige wrinkles her nose. “Hell no. You got breakfast.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “Breakfast and the aux.”

“All you played was sad, break-up R&B,” Paige grumbles. “I really should make you cover dinner after that bullshit. Feels like there’s something you’re tryna tell me.”

“Pretty sure I’m not contractually allowed to break up with you,” Tess retorts. “So don’t worry.”

The blonde hums, unconvinced, before she turns off her phone and throws it in between the two of them. “Dasher’s gonna be here in 15,” she says, gazing down at her. “You good? Your knee okay?”

Figuring her current position probably isn’t the greatest for said knee, Tess rolls onto her back and stretches her leg out with a sigh. Her elbow brushes against Paige’s stomach and Tess shifts again, not realizing how little space she’d left between them after she moved. “‘M good,” she says. “Should probably get an ice pack just in case.”

Paige is rolling off the bed before Tess even registers what’s going on. She watches her pull the lid off of the ice box on the desk, scooping up a handful and depositing it in a plastic bag. She tests the seal, and once she’s satisfied, she wraps the makeshift pack in a towel, plucks a pillow off of her bed, and holds the ice pack in between her teeth as she gently lifts Tess’s leg, sliding the pillow underneath. Tess’s breath hitches at the slightest contact, and despite the chill of the ice pack, Paige’s hands are inexplicably warm on her skin.

“Is this the Dr. Bueckers the ladies told me about?” Tess asks with a coy smile, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. The way Paige was gazing at her left too much for her to want, eyes soft and attentive, and for Tess, it was easier to hide the longing with humor.

“You play too much,” Paige says, but her words lack any real heat as she rounds the bed once more and crawls back in, reclining against the pile of pillows. She’s closer than she was before she left. Tess can smell her perfume, the shampoo she’d used the night before. Paige is magnetic, that much Tess knew to be true – she’d felt it the very moment Paige stopped her outside of the conference room to inform her that she’d be tagging along for PT. It’s only now that she realizes how strong her pull was as she unconsciously leans into Paige’s space, the blonde’s arm raising to wrap around her, fingers splayed against her shoulder.

“Do I?” she asks, if only to fill the silence. Paige’s thumb begins to trace soft patterns on her skin. It’s difficult for her to focus on anything but that, but she cranes her neck, finding that Paige is already staring at her. Tess flushes under her gaze, though she refuses to break eye contact.

Paige’s lips quirk as she responds, “Yeah. You do.” She seems as though she’s content to leave it at that, but a couple beats pass before she’s speaking again. “You want a lot of things you think you can’t have.” Tess’s brow raises at her words, but she remains quiet. “I see it in film. You’re an insane three-point shooter but you rarely take middies or layups unless it’s absolutely free. And you do this thing – it’s like you’re faking the drive, and I can tell you really want to do it, but you just…don’t. You’re not faking. You’re just scared to get out of your comfort zone and go for it. Scared to get close.”

Tess doesn’t think they’re talking about basketball anymore. Despite the sharpness of her words, Paige’s tone is gentle, and the smile on her face is both confusing and frustrating. Frustrating because Tess knows she’s right; confusing because Paige knows she’s right, but it seems like she’s not completely confident in Tess taking that leap. Honestly, part of Tess is tempted to prove her right. She knows they could drop this topic right now and Paige wouldn’t press her. The other part of her knows they’ve come this far together, that she’s come this far. Doesn’t she owe it to herself, to Paige, to be vulnerable? To take the drive into the paint, risk getting fouled, instead of hovering at the perimeter to take the same shot she’s taken thousands of times already?

She thinks she does. Tess is tired of wanting, of yearning for the things well within her reach if only she had the confidence to go after them. But perhaps there is a thin line between confidence and bravery, between knowing and trying. So she shifts, feeling a little braver, angling her body towards Paige’s, fists the collar of her UConn t-shirt, and pulls her closer and closer until their lips finally meet.

Paige gasps against her, surprised, before her good sense returns and she melts into Tess. The hand on her shoulder skims across her skin to rest on the nape of her neck, her right hand reaching up to hold her face. As Paige guides her jaw to get better access, her kiss deep and consuming, she takes full advantage of Tess’s jilted sigh. Her hands fall from Paige’s collar, finding purchase on her stomach and her waist in search of stabilization. Paige leaves her breathless and woozy, and if she didn’t feel secure in the way she was holding her, then Tess would be afraid of floating away completely.

They break away, chests heaving, flushes down to their collarbones. Tess’s eyes open with a flutter of her eyelashes. Paige is already staring at her, her eyes wide in some sort of awe, pupils dilated. Her lips are swollen, shiny, and Tess can’t help the feeling of smug satisfaction that comes with knowing she did that. Paige Bueckers looks like a mess and it’s all because of her. “Still think I’m scared?” she asks, voice hoarse, her fingers gripping the fabric of Paige’s shirt.

The smile that spreads across Paige’s face is raw, real, visibly affectionate despite her next words. “Yeah.” Tess almost rolls her eyes, but Paige’s hand drops to the base of her throat, her middle finger brushing against her pulse point. She doesn’t apply any sort of pressure, but the weight of her hand makes her head spin anyways. “But s’okay.”

Tess chuckles. “To be scared?”

Paige hums an affirmative, shifting again, and she presses her lips against Tess’s. It’s different this time; firm, lingering, and insistent, almost as though she’s trying to take everything she possibly could. The weight of Paige’s body against hers is exhilarating and it makes her heart race. She can feel Paige’s smirk against her lips. Tess is instantly reminded of the fact that Paige can feel the thrumming of her pulse. She pushes her back with a hand to her chest, smiling at the rumble of laughter that reverberates through her body. “S’okay to be scared,” Paige says seriously, her thumb wiping away the smear of gloss on Tess’s lip. “But you don’t gotta be. Not with me.”

Tess meets her gaze, studying her features, the sheer honesty in her expression. Paige releases her jaw, her hands reaching down to untangle Tess’s fingers from where they’re still clenched in her shirt, fitting their hands together. “Don’t overthink it,” Paige whispers, understanding Tess’s mannerisms by heart now.

But the peace is always short-lived. Tess frowns, her voice almost a murmur when she asks, “What are we doing?” Paige’s eyes widen slightly. Tess wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been so fine-tuned to Paige’s every move for the past month. “The rules, Paige, we agreed–”

“We haven’t broken any of the rules,” Paige states firmly. She squeezes Tess’s hands, her throat bobbing as she swallows. “We communicate. We don’t see other people. We don’t tell other people. And we…” Paige struggles to find the words. “We don’t have to label this. It’s just us.” Tess’s face softens, the furrow in her brow relaxing. “‘M just…glad it was here. You and me, no cameras. And... we can just say we practiced for the public, right?” Paige’s thumb brushes against her hand as she stares at her imploringly, almost as though she’s pleading for Tess to agree, to stop thinking and just do it.

Practice. That word fills her with simultaneous relief and dread, but she remembers Paige’s words. Don’t overthink it. Tess understands that they’re walking a very thin line right now. Why should she let her brain ruin it? They don’t have to complicate what they have right now. And for now, that’s good enough for her. “Practicing is fine,” she confirms, feeling a little more confident.

When Paige’s eyes light up, her lips quirking into a smile, Tess believes that she’s made the right decision. “Yeah?”

Tess nods, flashing a smile that’s unexpectedly genuine. “Yeah.” She pulls Paige in closer by her hands, their lips brushing again, but before she can melt into her completely, Paige’s phone rings and the two of them snap apart.

“Fuck,” Paige groans, her brows drawn tight in annoyance. She hardly looks twice at her phone as she picks it up and answers it. “Hello?” Tess can barely make out what the person on the other end is saying, but the tension leaves Paige’s body. “Okay, I’ll be down. Thank you.” Tess looks at her curiously as she hangs up the phone. “Cockblocked by the dasher,” she says solemnly, unable to hide her pout. “Gimme five minutes, I have to go meet him.”

Tess can’t wipe the smile off her face as Paige rolls off the bed again, slipping on her shoes and rummaging around in her bag for her wallet. Before she leaves, Tess catches her by her wrist, pulling her down to her level and planting a chaste kiss to her lips – a far cry from the one they’d been cheated out of. “Hurry back,” she says. “I’m hangry.”

“Two minutes,” Paige breathes out, grinning stupidly, pushing Tess’s hair out of her face. Then she’s gone, and Tess is left alone in the silence of their room. If any of this had happened a week prior, Tess would probably be spiraling, but she’s committed to turning over a new leaf. She’s not going to overthink it, she’s not going to crash out, and most of all, she’s going to accept this new development in her and Paige’s friendship for what it is without trying to second guess whatever it could mean. They can just be friends who kiss now. That’s a thing. They don’t have to label anything. They can just be them, and as far as Tess is concerned, she’s okay with that.

Paige makes it back in record time, Chick-fil-A bag and drink carrier in hand and slightly out of breath. At Tess’s brow raise, Paige shrugs cheekily, handing over a milkshake. “You said you were hangry,” she teases, sliding back into bed next to her. “I’m too young to die.”

Tess rolls her eyes as Paige begins dividing out their food, passing the sauce and napkins. “You’re such an asshole,” she says good-naturedly.

“You kissed me,” Paige reminds her, as if Tess could ever forget about that. “What does that say about you?”

“I’m a very charitable person,” Tess supplies modestly. Paige snorts like she doesn’t believe that, but Tess smiles regardless.

They continue chatting throughout dinner. Paige pretends like she doesn’t notice Tess stealing her fries, although Paige ends up using most of Tess’s sauce, so they call it even at the end. Paige throws their trash away while Tess scrolls on her phone, only glancing up when Paige returns, hooking her chin over her shoulder and throwing a casual arm over Tess’s waist. “Time to break the internet?”

“You better not post anything embarrassing,” Tess grumbles, enjoying the weight of Paige’s body on hers.

Paige hides her laugh in the fabric of her shirt. “I couldn’t if I tried.” She pulls out her phone, opening Instagram and begins drafting a new post. Tess’s eyes catch on some of Paige’s photos as she scrolls through them. There’s random screenshots of Bible quotes, a concerning amount of selfies, a lot of basketball related things, and pictures of Tess have somehow become a new trend in her gallery. From the photo of Tess with cream on her nose, FaceTime candids, to photos from their shoot today that Tess wasn’t even aware Paige had taken. Tess softens. Most of the pictures were nice. “Could get a new one,” Paige suggests, opening her camera and pointing it at the mirror on the opposite wall, displaying the two of them pressed close together. Tess rolls her eyes, chuckling, but Paige takes the photo before she can react.

“Paige Madison,” Tess sighs. She can feel Paige smile against her.

“C’mon,” she goads. “We look good.” Tess can’t really argue with that one, so she leans her head against Paige’s and begins drafting her own Instagram post. They work in silence as they select the best photos for the hard launch. It’s only been a month and a half, but Tess feels both fondness and nostalgia as she scrolls through their photos and their memories. She has a couple of photos from PT with Paige, FaceTime screenshots, the photo of Paige holding their coffees, and photos of Paige trying to style the Mrs. Bose earbuds they were promoting. She knows there was a reason why Paige came into her life, but she can’t help feeling like she showed up at the right time; it could have been anyone else – college athletics has an endless amount of controversial athletes who are in need of image repair – yet being paired with Paige feels like a stroke of fate.

Tess selects only a few photos, not wanting to go overboard. She includes their first picture at PT – Paige holding the ice pack over her knee, the FaceTime screenshot of Paige showcasing the LEGO rose, Paige and their coffees, and a mirror selfie they’d taken after stylists did their hair and makeup for the shoot. She captions it “here’s to tess kennedy’s worst kept secret. thank you for coming into my life when you did,” and while this hard launch is not real, the sentiment is.

Paige finishes at around the same time she does, a soft smile on her face as they swap phones to look at each other’s work. True to her word, Paige kept the embarrassment to a minimum, although the first photo she selected was the one with whipped cream on her nose. Tess shouldn’t have expected anything less, but it’s quickly growing on her. The rest of the photos consist of the mirror selfie Paige just took, a screenshot of Tess modeling the gold dress for her, a bible quote – 1 Corinthians 16:14 – and, shockingly enough, an older photo of them from their freshman year, shaking hands after the first game they’d played against one another. They’re both cheesing. Tess remembers that loss vividly. The media called it The Battle of the Freshmen, mostly because it was the long awaited match-up between Tess and Paige, who’d been hailed as freshmen phenoms, two top recruits. In that game, they both accounted for the majority of their team’s points. Paige was responsible for 31 of UConn’s 63 while Tess led South Carolina with 30 of their 59.

Tess couldn’t even be upset at the loss. She and Paige played their hearts out, and honestly, playing against Paige was the highlight of the game. From their expressions alone, you would have thought they both walked home with trophies that night. Tess could argue that she did. Playing with Paige makes you a better player, sure, but playing against her? Tess learned so much from her game, although she would never admit that to Paige; her ego is too overinflated and Tess will not contribute to growing it.

“Where’d you find the last one?” Tess asks curiously, handing Paige’s phone back.

Paige does the same, her face lighting up with a soft smile. “Got tagged in it a couple times,” she says. “Felt right.” Tess can’t argue against that, smiling too. “At the same time?” Tess hums in confirmation, her thumb hovering over the post button, and simultaneously, they both share the hard launch to their pages. There is a very brief period of stillness before the notifications and comments begin pouring in. Tess swipes over to Paige’s post and only then does she read the caption, “And her pink skies will keep me warm.”

“Cheesy ass Frank lyric!” Tess exclaims with a laugh.

Paige looks inexplicably smug, pleased with herself. “Full circle,” she says.

“Full circle,” Tess agrees, her smile turning tender.

It’s at that moment that everything finally clicks. The lyrics filter through her brain. And a new day will bring about the dawn. And her pink skies will keep me warm. She can hear it perfectly, Frank’s voice singing to her, “Abandon mission, you must be kiddin’, this shit feelin’ different, shit feelin’ different to me.” All of the thoughts she’d been ignoring, the uncomfortable conversation with herself she’d been avoiding. She tried to push it down, but the realization came into focus with stunning clarity. Tess liked Paige. Tess likes her.

That was the entire reason why everything has felt so different. It wasn’t because she and Paige were spending so much time together, why Paige has become nearly synonymous with Tess’s recovery. It wasn’t because their friendship was just different. It was because it wasn’t friendship at all. It was always something more, even from the start.

Tess feels as though the floor beneath her could splinter, a giant crack down the middle that would send her tumbling to the ground below. She likes Paige. She has feelings for Paige. Calling it by any other name wouldn’t do her any good. She broke their rules and it’s taken her this long to realize.

“You good?” Paige asks her, her brows drawn into a furrow, concern etched onto her face as her hand reaches for Tess’s. She hadn’t realized she was shaking.

Tess clears her throat, nodding. “Yeah,” she lies, hoping that it sounds believable. Bree’s words come back to her. You’re lying to Paige, which is why you’re fumbling the bag. She was right all along. Tess could laugh at the absurdity of it all if Paige wasn’t sitting next to her. “Just need a shower, I think.”

She decides right then and there that Paige can’t know. She can’t know that she’s close to ruining it all, close to undoing all of the work they’d done to restore their reputations. That she’d broken their rule after all. That she let this get out of hand, and if Paige knew, their friendship would be destroyed for sure, and Tess isn’t sure if she could handle not having Paige around.

Paige hums, seemingly convinced, but all Tess can think about is what she’s done.

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