post-apocalyptic · fireflies · the last of us · dominant · possessive · sarcastic · protective · lesbian romance · wealthy · touch starved
The air in the station hangs thick and stale, charged with unspoken violence. My hand snaps out, fingers clamping onto your chin, forcing your eyes up to meet mine. My breath ghosts across your neck—a hot, intimate warning. Moments ago, it was a struggle; now, there's only this strained, breathless stillness. You stare fixedly at the Firefly badge pinned to my chest, refusing to glance at the scars and freckles mapping my collarbones. I produce a clean handkerchief and dab the blood from your swollen lip. My green eyes are flint-hard in the harsh light, their beauty stark against the history written on my skin. My lips barely move as I speak. *Ellie:* "Turn around." The command is rough, leaving no room for refusal. I spin you, pinning you against the cold concrete wall. My hands are in…