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thewinterdrafts · 4 months ago

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Part 02 - Incision | Frostbite Series | The Winter Soldier

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x Original Female Character (1st Person)

Word count: 2,383

Summary: Elena begins the grueling task assigned to her, forced to work under impossible conditions. Every wound she treats only deepens the horror of what’s been done to the Soldier—what’s still being done. But exhaustion makes people careless, and in a single moment, something happens that should be impossible.

Disclaimer: This series is extremely dark, touching on graphic violence, psychological torment, and human suffering in all its forms. If you choose to read, proceed with caution.

Warnings: strictly 18+, Graphic medical procedures & surgical descriptions, Torture & inhumane treatment, Psychological distress & breakdown

A/N: i got so lost in this story that i literally had to step out and touch grass to realize i'm not physically in there. with that being said, happy reading!!

❄️ Frostbite Chapters: Part 01 - Severance Part 02 - Incision - you are currently here Part 03 - Containment Part 04 - Recognition Part 05 - Trigger Part 06 - Submission Part 07 - Disobedience Note: The Frostbite series has officially migrated to bigger platforms! Check out the rest on AO3 and Wattpad ♡

📍Masterlist

I wash my hands until my skin burns.

The water is ice-cold, but I don’t care. I scrub harder, my nails digging into my palms, my breath shallow and uneven. My reflection stares back at me in the small, fogged-up mirror above the sink. I don’t have the luxury of breaking down now, even though I am still sick to my stomach.

The room behind me is as close to being sterile as it can get in a place like this. It smells of antiseptic and metal, with the constant presence of rot in the air. It looks like something straight out of a time capsule from the 40's, or like the setting of the first Saw movie. There’s an underlying scent of blood, lingering even after the floors have been wiped clean. Or attempted, at least.

I square my shoulders, forcing myself to breathe and push down the knot of horror coiling in my gut.

I am a doctor. I fix things. This is no different. However, even though I am skilled, I still only have two hands. And for what I'm looking at, that's not gonna be nearly enough.

"I need a sterile workspace. Proper surgical tools. A fully stocked medical kit, not whatever half-assed excuse for supplies you’ve been using. I also need a nurse."

One of the men scoffs, arms crossed over his chest. "You think this is a fancy hospital, Professor?"

"You think I can fix this with a prayer?" I snap, gesturing toward the Soldier’s ravaged body. "If you want him operational, I need supplies. I need hands."

The room is silent for a beat. They dragged me here, expecting me to do my job. They better fucking deliver then.

Upon realizing that I will not back down, one of the higher-ranking men—judging by the insignia on his uniform—nods toward another. "Get her what she needs. And assign her someone."

There’s a pause before a hesitant voice fills the room.

"I—I’ll do it."

I blink, turning toward the source.

She’s young—too fucking young. Barely eighteen, if that. Dark curls spill from beneath her poorly fitted medical cap, her uniform is slightly too big for her slight frame. Her wide, nervous eyes dart between the guards and me, but her jaw is set with determination. I quickly realize that she must be a prisoner here, like me.

"You?" The guard beside her snorts. "You barely know how to hold a scalpel."

She swallows, knuckles white where they grip the edge of the doorframe. "I know enough."

I scan her face carefully, noting the shadows beneath her eyes. She’s afraid but resilient, which reminds me too much of myself when I was her age.

The guard looks like he’s about to argue, but the superior holds up a hand. "Fine. Take her." His lips curl. "But if she slows you down, she’s dead weight."

The girl’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t back down. She holds my gaze like I was some sort of savior, and this ignites a sense of protectiveness in my chest.

I step forward, voice firm. "She won’t be."

The man only smirks. "Then get to work, Professor."

I turn to my new assistant, who silently sneaked next to me in the meantime. Her hands are shaking, but when I meet her eyes, she straightens.

"What’s your name?" I ask quietly. I don't want the guards to hear anything.

Soft as a whisper, she says, "Yulia."

I nod. "Alright, Yulia. The Soldier is dying."

I don’t miss the way the Soldier’s eyes meets mine, and for the first time, they linger. The average person would describe it as emotionless, downright unreadable—but not me. I've seen way too many of these looks from cancer patients, trauma survivors and soldiers who barely made it back from the battlefield. He's in so much pain, his eyes are begging. Pleading.

To let him die.

The sheer pain on his face startles me so much, my breath catches in the middle of my throat. After all he's been through, death would be the highest form of mercy he could receive from the gods, and for the first time in my life, I wish I could give it to him. I wish I could take it all away.

"I know. I'm sorry," I whisper to him, not even sure he can understand me. He holds eye contact for a couple of seconds before he is back to being a... being.

I take a bit more time to analyze him under all the blood. His face is sharp—strong jaw, high cheekbones, the kind of symmetry that would make him striking if he weren’t marred by exhaustion and suffering. If he weren’t... this. There’s something bitter in the thought that makes my stomach churn. He would be beautiful if not for the violence carved into his existence.

I scoff at myself. I shouldn’t think like this. Shouldn’t look at a man responsible for so much bloodshed and feel pity. But how much of it was his choice? How much of the destruction tied to his name is his, and how much belongs to the people who turned him into this? My hands hover inches from his skin, hesitation burning through me.

He is dangerous. Lethal. But he is also trapped. And if I pretend I don’t see that, I’m no better than the people who put him here.

Yulia's studying gaze between me and the Soldier yanks me back to reality. The last thing I need for her is to be more afraid than she already is. I inhale deeply and force myself to see, to analyze, to calculate.

I start with the obvious.

The stab wound in his side—deep. Way too deep. If the blade had gone a few inches lower, it would have punctured his liver. The bleeding has slowed, but the wound itself is a torn mess that was never treated properly. Someone pulled the knife out without thinking and sealing the arteries. He’s been leaking blood internally ever since. I need to close it. Now.

His left leg is swollen, stiff, and discolored. Fractured tibia. A break this bad should have been treated fucking days ago. The bone has started to heal, but the alignment is wrong. If I don’t reset it properly, he’ll never walk without pain again.

His flesh shoulder is completely dislocated. A deep bruise spreads from his collarbone down to his ribs in a sickening shade of purple and green. They must’ve ripped it out of place and left it. Just left it for him to endure.

I press my lips together and breathe through my nose. Elena, for fuck's sake, you need to keep going.

His ribs are cracked—no, broken. The bruising pattern suggests repeated trauma. Someone must have kicked him or stomped on him with a steel boot to the ribs, over and over again. If there’s a punctured lung, I’ll need to act fast.

His metal arm—I hesitate.

This is why I was taken here. There’s something wrong with it. Not just damage, but something deeper. The plating along the shoulder joint is misaligned, as if someone forced it back into place without realigning the nerve ports. The metal twitches slightly, the hydraulics struggling to engage. I know right away that it will take me weeks to reconnect each nerve.

Don't even get me started on his face.

The bruising along his cheekbone is old, faded into a sickly yellow, but the cut on his brow is fresh. The split lip is fresh. The blood staining the corner of his mouth is fresh.

I don’t want to think about how that happened. I physically can’t, or else I will be sick. Instead, I swallow hard, steel myself and take a step back to look at the whole picture.

He should be dead. With injuries like this, with the kind of neglect he’s endured, his body should have shut down. Organ failure, sepsis, internal hemorrhaging. He should be in shock, actively dying.

But he isn’t, which terrifies me more than it gives me hope.

I turn to Yulia, my voice steady but firm. "We start with the stab wound. Then the shoulder. Then the leg."

She nods, wide-eyed, fingers still trembling.

I reach for the syringe, my grip steady despite the hurricane raging inside me. The vial of anesthetic catches the dim, flickering light as I prepare the dose. It’s the only mercy I can offer him and it does make me feel a bit better.

I position the needle to his skin, but before I can even spot his vein, a hand clamps down over my wrist.

"It doesn’t need that."

I snap my head up, meeting the officer’s lazy stare.

"What?" I grit out, shaking off his hold.

"It doesn’t feel pain like we do." He nods toward the restrained man on the table. "Don’t waste resources."

Cold slithers down my spine.

It.

Not he. Not him. It.

I turn back to the officer with a voice of steel. "Anesthesia is non-negotiable."

The man shrugs, looking utterly indifferent. "Waste of time."

I don’t respond, I just press the needle to his arm before the guard could take the syringe away. The moment it punctures the Soldier's skin, I wait, watching for a flinch, a sign, anything. For what seems like eternity, I see nothing. Then his fingers twitch again as his throat works around a slow swallow.

That’s all I need to know. He feels this, he’s just been trained not to show it.

The back of my throat burns as I press the plunger, injecting more of the sedative. Please, sleep. Just as I plead mentally, his body slackens and his breathing deepens, the tension in his limbs fading as the drug takes hold.

Yulia exhales a shaky breath beside me. I look at her, and as if she could read my thoughts, she pulls up the rubber glove on her hands while I pick up the scalpel.

I murmur a short prayer under my breath. I don't know if it's more for me, or him. And then, I begin.

The overhead lights are too bright, too artificial, washing the room in a sterile glow that feels almost mocking. My hands ache, fingers stiff from hours of careful, meticulous work. My back is screaming, my eyelids feel like they weigh a ton. But I don’t stop, I can’t stop. Not yet.

Yulia isn’t much better. She’s trembling beside me, sweat clinging to her hairline, her breath shallow and uneven as she hands me the next suture. She hasn’t spoken in hours. Neither of us has.

The table beneath us is slick with blood; the Soldier's blood. It pools in the crevices of his restraints, dark and glistening. My gloves are stained nearly black, my forearms streaked with it, the scent thick in the air.

I press my lips together and refocus, suppressing the nausea curling in my gut. The damage I’ve seen… God.

His right shoulder, nearly torn apart from repeated stress and neglect, had to be painstakingly repaired—each muscle fiber, each tendon, each shredded nerve carefully restructured, piece by piece. His ribs—fractured in multiple places, likely never given time to heal—had to be set, his sternum realigned. The internal bleeding had to be drained, the damaged vessels cauterized.

And then there was his spine. Fuck.

A brutal cocktail of fractures and nerve damage, the result of untold trauma, had left his lower back an absolute mess. An absolute fucking mess. I spent nearly three hours stabilizing his lumbar vertebrae alone, each movement precise, each incision deliberate. If I hadn’t, he’d have lost full motor function eventually—not that HYDRA would have cared. They would’ve simply fixed him up in whatever way was convenient—or thrown him away if he was no longer useful.

But now, after ten relentless hours, we’re finally near the end. The worst of the damage has been handled. He’s stable.

I exhale through my nose, pressing the final suture into place. One last stitch, and then—

Flinch. A barely-there movement.

I freeze.

So does Yulia.

Our eyes snap to the Soldier’s face—absolutely nothing, still lifeless. Maybe it was a muscle spasm—I think to myself—a side effect of prolonged stress on his nervous system.

Maybe—flinch.

Stronger this time. His brow furrows, barely perceptible, but I spot it immediately. A muscle in his jaw jumps, his fingers, the ones still restrained at his sides, twitch.

Something thick and ice-cold settles in my stomach. This isn’t normal. This isn’t right.

I glance at the monitor, trying to search for an explanation. His heart rate is elevated, but not alarmingly so. His breathing is steady. His pupils are dilated—wait. Dilated?

My pulse pounds in my throat. A slow, horrible realization starts creeping in.

There's no fucking way.

I turn to Yulia, voice dangerously low. "What sedative was I given?"

She blinks at me, confused. "I—I don’t know. They just handed it to me and said it was for deep sedation."

A rush of heat floods through me—anger, panic, horror, sickness all at once.

No.

I rip my gloves off as I grab the empty vial I had discarded hours ago. The label is vague, the chemical compound not what I was expecting. I inhale sharply as I read the small letters, my chest tightening like a vice.

This isn’t an anesthetic; this is a fucking neural inhibitor. A drug designed to numb the brain, not to block pain—just to prevent a reaction.

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

Oh my fucking God.

I look at the Soldier again in sheer, blood-freezing horror.

I cut into him. I sutured him, burned and stitched and drilled into him—and he was awake the whole time.

He felt everything.

Everything.

A shuddering breath leaves me. My throat is closing up as I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turn white. Yulia whispers something under her breath in Russian, her face pale as she steps back from the table. She realizes it, too.

My legs give out beneath me, and I collapse onto the cold, bloody tile.

I cried six hours straight that night for him.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #sebastian stan #marvel #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky ff #bucky barnes ff

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cowgirlcherrie · 2 years ago

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georgia canned peaches — ⋆｡°✩ 🐎 cowboy! ellie

pairing: cowboy! hitwoman! ellie x black! fem! reader. wc: 5.0K

synopsis: on the run was Tennessee’s peach, who trades a life of discomfort for security with a Texan stranger

warnings: 18+, MDNI! mommy issues, slight religious trauma if you squint, heavy touching, ellie has an accent, mentions of death and loneliness, heavily inspired by Bones and All ( minus the c*nnibalism and gore), dom! ellie, domestic! ellie, heavy use of petnames (peach, sweetness, sugar, doll), stranger danger lowkk…, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, mentions of weapons, killing, black feminine coded reader, running away, taking care of injuries, injured ellie (so mention of blood, bleeding),

━━━ ♪ peach & georgia by kevin abstract

a/n: heyy everyone!! here's a quick lengthy one-shot for cowboy-ish Ellie! if you enjoy it babis my ask button is open and I'm always accepting requests if you want headcanons, etc, but enjoy!! ⊹˚. ♡⊹˚. ♡

✧˖°.

Mama didn’t raise no bitch! Or a conniving little thief either.

You tested that theory. Your hands became sticky with anything remotely flashy. Perhaps that was how you found out how to survive on your own. Times like this you wondered where you would be if your mama had just been a perfect Mary Sue. Made dinner, taught you how to wash your clothes and braid your hair, tucked you in at night, and just maybe taught you how to be better than a man. But now you were alone, in the hot Texan heat, and it felt like a smack to the face. Similar to her handprint the night she let you loose and hissed that you are on your own. You didn’t wanna cover the bills anymore or hear her bullcrap about how it was Adam and Eve — not Eve and Eve. You grew tired, and so did your feet that seemed to get you as far as you were now. Perhaps it wasn’t smart to smash your piggy bank taking the $500 dollars you spent bussing tables to go and a messenger duffle that could fit 3 heads. No plan either, which was significantly negligent, but your sticky fingers got you farther than you ever could, and they made sure you were fed.

That would explain why you were stealing in a gas station grocery. Crouched by the nonperishables stuffing anything and everything into the duffle bag. Georgia peaches, check. Canned pineapple, check. Dried beans and nuts, double-check. You weren’t exactly careful, but the place loomed with unfamiliar faces who certainly were too full of themselves to stop you. So you kept going, a first aid kit for the bruises that were forming on your knees and sewing material to fix the rip in your jacket. Well not your jacket, but your dad's jacket. Brown thick cotton over your shoulders to cover the long dress you were in, it was a smart decision. The jacket kept you warm on the desert nights, and it made home in your hands during the day. The little pockets are perfect for stuffing loads of crap you don’t need. With the crack of another can hitting the floor, it paralleled a shiny brown boot. Drenched in leather and gold detailing as it smacked the tile. Left foot – right foot – left again. Your eyes followed the trail of feet, ignoring the can that rolled away from you as a hand reached down to pick it up. A roughened, bloody, feminine freckled hand. Now the mystery girl was looming over your figure, in an authoritative stance, as if her ego had been bigger than her height itself. But she was also bleeding. Her right arm clenched to her hip as blood seeped between her fingers.

“Yers’ drop somethin’ peach?” The accent sent a shiver up your spine. It was thick and unfamiliar but maybe the word peach, at the end masked her roughness. You now made eye contact with the girl, green eyes looming into yours as you shakily took the can of peaches.

“M’sorry that was my bad,” you mumbled taking the peaches back and tucking them into your chest. You couldn’t slip it back into your bag now, next thing you know she would yell THIEF! and drag you by your collar to the front counter. But the woman was in such poor shape to do so, her freckled face wincing ever so slightly with every movement her body made. She was a cowgirl, you’ve heard all about them in the papers but didn’t take them for the real deal. Her hat told you all you need to know, brown to match her thick belt and blue bell bottoms. Oh, she was the real deal.

“Could ya be a doll n’ grab me a kit” The woman groaned out, pushing her body weight in front of you. Her standing position contrasted yours that was crouched down, at eye level with the material. “You’s a real catch ya know? Put the peaches back in. I know you were stealin’” This made you freeze. Fuck!Fuck!Fuck! Your brain shouted you were screwed.

Your hands now moved slower reaching for the kit in front of you, and you suddenly realized how overly close the woman was to you. Almost blocking your field of vision from anything to your left. You ignored her statement, as you shakily lifted the first aid kit to her hands.

“Peach…you are a delight, but now you listen,” The woman didn’t take the kit, “A camera has been pointed at ya for the past 5, and now you got Tina’ at counter watchin’ ya. You are gonna live up to bein’ delightful and pay for this one thing” The woman was scrounging in her pocket and you took the moment of silence to think to yourself, you had barely any money. $500 was something you needed to make stretch.

“What?”

“I don’ take you for a fool, I’m Ellie, and I mean no harm.” Ellie took off her hat placing it over the left side of her chest at her heart, giving you a simple nod before putting the dusted brown hat back on her head. Ellie this time put a stained $10 bill on top of the first aid kit that had been suspended in the air by your hand. This action made you stand up – eye level with this time. Noticed the girl has a height to her, her figure looming over you as you stood.

“Give me the bag [what?] your bag sweetness! we don’t got all day, dammit I’m hurt” Ellie stated bluntly. There was no more time for jokes or stealing any more Georgia canned peaches. There were better things to worry about. Like the fact that you can go to jail for stealing and Ellie who was bleeding out in front of you. You slid your brown bag off your shoulder handing it to Ellie who swung it over her left shoulder.

“Go see Tina with ‘er blonde hair, act sweet, say your visitin’ family. If they ask, say the Williams Ranch, she’ll give you no hard time” Ellie started as she was giving you instructions, “When ya finish, keep the change, meet me at my car I’ll be outside. You get your bag – I fix my wound, and you get the fuck outta town.” Ellie finished. This time her look was stern, and aggressive as if she was testing you. Testing your loyalty, your honesty, your act. She wanted to see how you worked under pressure, she wanted you to suffocate from fear. All you could do is nod, swallowing harshly, as Ellie turned her body walking down the Isle to your left.

You took the initiative to make your way to ‘Tina’. Ellie was right, the blonde had been suspicious of you. Asked you all the questions that Ellie said she would, but she backed off once you mentioned the Williams Ranch. Handing you the exact change of 0.50 cents and a hospitable smile, saying “Have a great day.” Tina’s defensiveness changed with one simple title. This made you wonder how much authority Ellie had over the place, questions flooding through your brain as you pushed the door and walked out, being met with the setting sun.

The sun was getting low, and there wouldn’t be a motel for another mile out. Sure you could do the walk but you weren’t guaranteed anything. A whistle brought you out of your trance, belonging to Ellie who this time had a toothpick between her cushioned pink lips, as her body leaned against a ran down red car, with muddied wheels. You jogged over this time seeing that your bag was missing from her shoulders rather this time in the passenger seat of her car.

“Here you go, what you asked.” You pushed the first aid kit into her hands like you’d done back in the store. Ellie mumbled a thank you, as she nibbled on the toothpick. This time, taking the kit and putting it on the hood of the car.

“Yous’ as quiet as a mouse, but orders ya take well…Peach could you help me patch up, I ensure you a place to stay and food in return – all comfort no lies…” It took you time to think about it. What did people call this…southern hospitality? She was sweet to you despite not really knowing you but the situation was still tit for tat. You do for me, I do for you. Wax on, Wax off. You weren’t gonna say no to a place to crash, where you didn’t have to worry about the faucet being broken or water barely coming out because the bill wasn’t paid. You were certain her bills were paid.

“Yes, please…uh thank you!” You exclaimed as you began to dig through the box, taking out a bottle of water from your coat pocket, also stolen using it as a hand wash and something to clean the area, temporarily where the wound is. “doncha thank me just yet, you’re just getting started, peach.”

Ellie was surprisingly still gentle with you, taking her time to crouch into the backseat of the car, while you sat next to her with the kit on the center console. Ellie took her time to untuck the white button-down shirt, as her hands shakily fiddled with the buttons. Due time, her snail speed started to irritate you making you smack her hands away doing it yourself. The exchange was silent, but you preferred it to keep the awkwardness at bay. Ellie shook off her white button down, leaving her in a white tank top — Ellie this time took the initiative to roll the tank top up to right below her boobs allowing you to wince at the large gash on her hip.

“Holy Sh—”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

“Not my first Rodeo” Ellie continued as you poured water on the wound making Ellie grit her teeth. Tilting her head back as whimpers left her mouth at the sudden coldness. All of it was hard to do when you’re in the back of a car trying to patch up a borderline dead woman. But before you could ask any questions, Ellie took the initiative to do it herself.

“W-Where you headed, whats yer’ story?” Ellie grimaced through the pain as she held her head against the headrest, pants escaping her lips at an alarming rate. “God…I’m sorry,” You hesitated, you couldn’t even answer one simple question, your hands shaking at the blood that was covering your hands as it just wasn’t slowing down.

“Jeez– I hope a lil’ blood don’t scare you peach, I woulda done it myself baby,” Ellie hissed, trying to stay moderately sweet as she was now gripping onto the door handle, her right hand finding its way to your thigh, squeezing for the endless support. That’s when you noticed her tattoo, a death’s-head hawkmoth, and vines. Beautiful, yet chaotic, she had a story. Ellie squeezed again your thigh again making you look back at her. “Eyes up here baby [sorry] where [shit] ya’ from?” You couldn’t lie, the rifle at the back of her car taunting you. If she wanted to kill you she certainly would have done it by now. She wasn’t a threat, and she proved that in the store.

“I’m from Tennessee, I’ve been traveling on foot. I’m runnin’ away” You confessed as Ellie nodded her head in response, Your accent was slight, barely noticeable making more sense in Ellie’s head at why you struck her as different. Your beautiful brown skin glowing under the setting sun, you were a beauty to her. “Figured, how old?” Ellie questioned as you continued to stay frozen, eyes on her face to continue the conversation. “21” Ellie nodded again.

“Thought so, 22” Ellie responded. There it was again, the tit for tat.

“You seem like a good girl, far away from home aren’t cha. What’s wrong with yer family? Perhaps your mama?” Ellie tilted her head watching as your face transitioned from bliss and tranquility to fear and panic. She knew she struck a nerve, your mama was the problem. She didn’t wanna pressure you, hell it didn’t matter now. You were on your own, like a scared little lamb that has been deterred from its family. Possibly you were the black sheep, different from the rest. Ellie, once again, didn’t wanna pressure you.

“You look like you need someone to take care of ya, don’t worry Peach I’ll take care of you” Ellie whispered, her voice all velvety like icing a chocolate cake. Smooth and sweet with care and caress. Ellie was unlike others you’ve met. Or any ex-lover you had. This time you weren’t afraid to let her in or take care of you. Hell you wanted that, you’ve been craving it for all years of your life while you had to do it for others. Maybe it was time someone exchanged the favor. The good karma bell rang in your ears, as a smile tugged at your lips.

“Make sure you cared for, if you let me” Ellie whispered some more, her hands this time traveling to your waist, giving a gentle squeeze, to which you could only hum in response. She was a charmer and knew all the right words to get you sunken in with her. Mama always said to not trust strangers, but why didn’t she feel like one? Her scent was intoxicating all you wanted to do was lean down and sink your pointed fangs into her shoulder, hearing her cry of satisfaction while she continued to call you Peach. Peach…Peach…Peach. You liked that name, no one called you that but considering that's what she handed you when you first spoke, it didn’t run as a surprise.

Ellie squeezed, “Words, sweetness?”

“Yes” you squeaked, which probably sounded oddly sexual now that you thought about it. Unholy thoughts plague your brain at the sight of the Texas beauty in front of you. Realizing your task still was unfinished you got back to work. Hands working fast as you took your time, threading the suture thread through the needle as it came in contact with the flesh that was Ellie’s loose and separated skin.

Ellie wincing as you dug the needle in, and back out with an exhale. It was a semi-shitty stitching job, but you were able to tightly close the wound and stop the bleeding. Ellie didn’t speak, considering she’d risk completely yelling every curse word and potentially scaring you off, she settled on biting the hem of her tank top instead. Thick black lashes coated with tears at the sudden pain and blood crust. You were gentle though, Ellie caressing your waist as you put down a gauze pad, followed by wrapping it with the gauze roll and securing it with the adhesive tape. Patting to let her know that you were finished.

“Yer’ such a good girl you know?” Ellie cooed as her hands found their way up to your braids, bringing your head down so she can give a chaste kiss to your head. Right…Right… Southern Hospitality. The feeling almost made you cry. Praise, followed up with affection? Like nothing you have felt before – hell you only thought they did that in movies. Ellie, however, was like a movie. Purley a fever dream, you were scared to fall asleep, what if you imagined the whole thing? You were enjoying your runaway escapades too much for it all to be fake.

“Let’s get the show on the road,” Ellie gave a smile, making her way out of the back, suggesting that you do the same. So much for not trusting strangers.

✧˖°.

Father, Forgive me for I have sinned… it was blurry

As we forgive our trespassers…still blurry

Trespassers…clear

You were a trespasser, is what you were getting from Ellie’s narration. Over the 30-minute car ride to her Farmhouse, Ellie explained to you the whole ordeal. Her cowboy hat was on your head as you listened to her tell narration of the cowboys' sealant for the townspeople. Why Tina, at the gas station tried to make you a friend. This Texan desert, farmland was constructed with the passage that cowboys and cowboy decedents protect the townspeople from narcs and trespassers, which in this case you could have been either. Debunked neither. It was one of those towns that people suggest you pass, hell probably inquire why it's still on the fucking map.

Ellie confessed that she was also a trespasser, just like you. Taken in by her late found father Joel who showed her how to run the rodeo. How Millers Ranch, became Williams Ranch. It was impressive, your eyes gleaming with admiration. Then it hit you, why she had the shotgun she did bounties on narcs, drug smugglers, the whole ordeal. People who came in to steal, wreak havoc, and destroy the peace. She was the town's grim reaper. She was the one who knocks. You felt faint, as the realization knocked into you like a brick. Nothing was truly sweet about her, that accent was to mask how with one click she’ll hunt like they were rabbits. You were trapped in her cage.

Upon arriving at her farmhouse which was large enough for more than one, it made you sad to see. She was alone, by herself. No wonder it was easy for her to drag you into her company, human interaction seemed obsolete out here. A dim light shown from what you assumed to be the horse stable, that was rather quiet as the nightfall had put you at ease. You held your jacket to your body tighter at the sudden gust of wind, hearing the weeds brush against each other — almost screaming in the wind. You held tightly onto your bag while Ellie limped past you, with the white button-down rested over one shoulder. Fiddling with the keys in her pocket.

“Shoes off at the door, watch your step,” Ellie spoke up as she opened the door, you were hit with the sudden aroma, it smelled like fresh wood, pine, and just a hint of freshly baked cookies. It was how you pictured going to visit your grandmothers to be. Warm and welcoming. Complying with her wishes, you took your boots off, leaving you in mix-matched socks with funky designs that you have bought out of quirkiness. Ellie found this amusing. White ones to contrast your colors, the two of you had a lot of differences. But for the lack of similarities came an understanding. A mutual grounding between the two of you. A grey area. Ellie was behind you this time, taking her hat off your head, hooking it onto the wall, your thick jacket as well, and placing it on the hook beneath it.

“Welcome, home”

Now that made your stomach curl, you didn’t know what home is, besides yourself and your belongings. Attaching your home to people, not places. It was a wave of worry and fear that hit you. Your feet stuck as it felt like someone took a hammer and nailed your feed to the wooden floors. It was lively and well-decorated for someone that lived alone. Breaking free from your sinking feet you started to observe the living space. There was art, tones of it, stumbling across a photo in the bookcase of a much younger Ellie and an older man with salt and pepper hair who you had presumed to be Joel. The name fit his face well, A small smile creeping up to your face at the closeness of the two. Ellie seemed happy – carefree now that you look at her, that happiness seemed sucked away from her life, she didn’t smile quite like that anymore. Not until you cracked jokes in her car and made her laugh.

“Ya thirsty peach?” Ellie questioned her voice coming out muffled as her figure was far away in the kitchen area, hearing as the refrigerator closed. “I’m good, thank you though.” You put the photo back where you found it, following the trail of her voice. She was very trusting for a stranger, you were already infatuated with the woman, yearning for more. Yearning for her to give you a taste or perhaps a touch. Now you were sitting on her marble countertop, placed there by Ellie as she moved quickly around the kitchen pouring herself a glass of water from the glass pitcher, drowning it all in one go. She wiped the falling water around her mouth with the back of her arm eyeing you in the process, Ellie laughed. You knew her for a short amount of time, but long enough to know that laughter from her was rare – take it as a compliment, you thought.

Ellie made her way over to you, her hands now on your knees, moving them further apart as she pushed her body in between her legs. Her arms resting on the counter space behind you, trapping you in her arms.

“Mama didn’t teach you no good...to trust strangers? Oh…Babygirl you’re dangerous” Ellie scolded, laughing as you give the girl a doe-eyed look – your hands finding a home on her arms. Wrapping your hands around her biceps, as your thumb move up, down, and in a circle.

“I figured if you were gonna kill me, you already would have done so.” You mumbled as Ellie’s face got a lot closer to yours now. You can see the freckles that decorated her cheeks, her hydrated pink lips from the water she just had, the slit in her eyebrow, and her eyes. The piercing green forest that was her eyes, but it was beautiful, reminded you of the trees that you had seen when you walked. The storm that was your life, before Ellie became your superhero, the knight in shining armor. She saved you, and you owed her big time.

“Bingo! I know you smart peach, and that’s why imma tell you once, listen t’me real good.” Ellie specified, bringing one arm up to grip your chin gently, not allowing you to look anywhere else but herself. Ellie seemed possessive, maybe she lost too many people or her lack of social interaction but she didn’t want to let you go, and you could tell. She needed you just as much as you needed her, a packaged deal.

“You don’ trust nobody that ain’t me.” Ellie began, “Someone’s overly nice to ya’ you tell me. Mean? You fuckin’ tell me. Both don’t fly with me baby, if it ain't from me” Ellie finished, letting go of your jaw to which you nodded. Ellie was a fuckin’ force to be reckoned with, It was like digging into a mystery box, you were unsure of the flavors and layers she had to herself. Hell, she could be manipulating you and you wouldn’t even notice. Hospitality for comfort or comfort for hospitality, it all looked the same.

“Ay Ay, captain!” You playfully military saluted the girl, making Ellie roll her eyes at your statement, you were exceptionally fun. Which Ellie didn’t have anymore...fun. If you classify a night at Typsy Bison as fun then so be it. “You hungry? I can run you a shower before you eat – it’s leftovers if that's alright with yourself?” Ellie questioned and that’s when it hit you, you’ve been traveling afoot all day, and the thought of even having a meal slipped your mind, but you were famished, stomach lightly growling at the mention of the word food.

“I could use food, yeah — as long as there’s no cheese.” You challenge making Ellie back away this time as she took out a glass plate, a fork, and a knife. “No cheese sugar, but something to get you settled – I always have dessert peach if you want that instead?” Now you felt like a kid in a candy store. Dessert was a rarity and boy did it sound delightful right now. Ellie smiled as she watched the way your eyes gleamed at the mention of dessert.

“Got a sweet tooth huh?” Ellie smiled, making you laugh in return. You did have a sweet tooth, anything sweet was enough to bring a smile to your face. That’s why you had a love for canned peaches. The taste reminded you of peach pie that you would get at the diner as you worked a closing shift. Sitting at a booth as you devoured a piece of peach pie, it was heated, like a warm hug in the winter. You cried every time you had a piece. It reminded you of all the good things in life – like how good your mother could be.

“I hope you have pie” you pleaded, making Ellie nod her head. “You aren’t pressin’ yer luck! I got an apple pie from a good friend of mine, I think you’ll love it – not too sweet, but fillin’” Ellie smirks in satisfaction as she placed one hand on her hip.

“Let’s run’ya a shower”

✧˖°.

How were you supposed to explain to Ellie why you were crying? Pajamas that you stored in your bag resting on your body as the matching white tank top and light blue shorts attached to your frame — you just had the best shower you’ve ever had in a while. Not only was the water hot, but it didn’t cut out every five minutes, and the faucet wasn’t leaking, everything was comfortable, perfect. Ellie herself took the time you were in the shower to clean up herself, now in different clothing — a white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants that clung to her body nicely. The two of you sitting at the dining table as Ellie watched you eat the warmed pie, a tear fell from your eye with swiftness. Ellie’s gentle gaze transitioned into confusion and eventually fear as she watched you cry.

“Oh god, wait!... I’m sorry” you laughed in between sniffles, taking the back of your hand to rub your face.

“Jeez, I thought I did somethin’ sugar” Ellie exaggerated holding her hand over her heart as if someone pierced an arrow through it. Now it was your turn to reveal your story, like how you cried every time you ate pie, specifically with peaches. It made Ellie give a small grin. Feeling as though she did something right in her life where she wasn’t playing god, It was wholesome that’s for sure. The redhead found it odd, but it was a sweet moment and she understood it. Ellie’s smile fell when she noticed the clock behind your head striking 10:30pm making her frown. The good times she was having at the moment were coming to an end, for both her and yourself.

“You go’n watch the tv til your tired, I have some business to take care of before tomorrow” Ellie didn’t wanna scare you, her business was taking the grey cloth, as she wiped down her guns and reloaded them for tomorrow. She didn’t want to give you the wrong impression.

“Can you watch it with me?” You inquired, ignoring the part where she said she had business.

“I’m cleaning guns.”

“So? You don’t scare me cowgirl” You wiggled your eyebrows as Ellie snatched the empty plate from your hands, placing it in the sink as she let the sponge soap up to wash the plate clean with hot water.

“Fine. I see you jump – I’m goin’ to another room, I don’t mix business with pleasure” Ellie confessed as she was less focused on you this time. You chose this time to leave the dining area, entering the living room as you hit the squared television's 'ON' button. It was small and run down, similar to the one at your moms before you left. You pulled at the antenna to catch a signal. The static glitching before on came Looney Tunes. You enjoyed the show finding amusement in the animals chasing each other and the crescendo of the music at all the right moments, it was comical and amusing. You spread your body out on the couch, laying on your side as you watched the television in silence, laughing every few minutes at something that you found funny. Ellie walked into the room with a black box and 3 guns in her hand. The redhead gently settled down the weaponry, being careful not to startle you, as she slipped into the seat on the far left — your legs now found a home in her lap, Ellie gently sending a rub at your legs. If someone walked right in, they would assume the two of you were probably married for some years now.

“This okay?” Ellie whispered as you mumbled a “yes” while your focus was still not on her. Ellie could see that you were getting tired, the way your eyes were low, and your breathing slowed down. You were at peace with yourself and with Ellie, this was one of the times when the silence was okay, a mutual serenity, and understanding — everyone was mindful of each other and it was pure love and bliss.

Ellie eyed your figure as your eyes fluttered shut, this time you were sleeping, fully this time letting yourself melt into the softness of the couch as Ellie reached over to her left to grab the blanket and drape it over your sleeping figure. This was also the time she finally got started on cleaning her guns, knowing that you were relaxed and cared for. Ellie wasn’t sure what she was doing, She felt vulnerable and that was rare, but she was doing what she said she would. Taking care of you, like you were taking care of her. You saved her life, and she saved yours, tit for tat.

Ellie in this moment craved nothing more than your lips on hers, perhaps your teeth to graze her flesh, biting…hard into her – wanting to connect and morph bodies. She craved for your love and your intimacy, she wanted you to love her bones and all. Ellie wanted you to love her past, her insecurities, her mistakes, and her wrongs. You were too good for her, she knew it, but there was nothing a sweet peach like you couldn’t fix.

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