Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You hated weekends. Because when everyone was out chatting or drinking or clubbing, you sat at your dorm window. Woeful. Like some sad character in some sad book with a sad story and a sad life. Sad. If you were to speak the word, it would roll off your tongue with the sensation of sandpaper. Your drink bottle needed filling. It was sad you couldn't be bothered to walk the two metres to your door and the next two to the water fountain in the hallway. Sad you remained rooted to your perch on damp white plaster, the wood crowded with black mould and condensation. Sad. Your only protest to this feeling was a heavy huff, blinking at the joint pinched between your thumb and index finger. The smell of cannabis wasn't particularly beneficial to the pungent aroma in your dorm of a smell you could only describe as 'stomach turning'. But another sad weekend within this sad dorm upon this sad window for 'sad little me' was better than returning home. 

Students who didn't remain on campus headed home for their weekend. Spent time with their family, their fucking dog for all you knew. You never had a dog. But you loved them. An internal apology was uttered within your head to all the family dogs you just cursed. Suki fucking Waterhouse. Never mind, back to cursing. Her voice filtered throughout the dorm, travelling at a slow speed, the sound following the smoke out your window. Someone had complained about the volume of your music already. Alby, Alistair, whatever his name was. He stunk of cigarettes and, oddly enough, played his euphonium when it rained. The girl to your left, Masha, hadn't complained. Well, to correct that, she did very passively aggressively increase the volume of her music whenever yours came on, Suki's voice currently clashing with Taylor Swift. Your blunt had diminished to a sad little stump, your lungs heaving with a cough when you'd realised you'd been zoned out, having inhaled more paper than actual bud. 

It was your last one. You'd promised yourself you'd save it for something good. A party or even a link-up. You were just kidding yourself. No one invited you to any fucking parties, and you most certainly hadn't experienced any human connection since you'd left home. It was now your second trimester, and you were sad, weedless, desperate. Maybe you were a loser, but not an uninformed loser. You'd overheard a conversation behind your lonely seat during a lecture. Your University had an infamous plug. You found it hilarious. But she (to your surprise) was remarkably intelligent due to her impressive marketing scheme. Not to mention her bud was quote on quote "fucking otherworldly", points to a loud-mouthed Tim who you'd been, technically, eavesdropping on. Her name was Ellie, the plug, and the impressive marketing scheme was a badly printed Canva poster, offering guitar lessons and... tutoring? You stood before the student bulletin board, dismissing the dude who walked past, floppy hair not hiding his gaze. 

He'd been staring at your ass. Mental note to stop wearing pyjama shorts in the hall. Second mental note, find Ellie's mobile number. Bold numbers surrounded by JPG images of pixilated guitars and study stationery. 'For extra tuition help and guitar lessons', you read aloud, tapping your fingernail against your bottom lip, holding your phone to the poster and taking a photo. The walk back to your dorm was more enthusiastic than the journey you'd previously taken. Maybe the walls were vibrating from the party above you that you'd unsurprisingly not been invited to, and you weren't even sure you had the budget for a pre-roll, but not to stress. Because you had a new source, and maybe that guy was staring at your Pikachu slippers, not your ass. You'd just added the contact, feet crossed beneath you on the edge of your duvet. You stared at it for a while. God had this much of a lack of human connection, dragged you so far from socialisation skills, you couldn't even write a fucking text message? No, you could do this. 

'hi, u free rn'

Easy, casual. 

'who is this?'

You released a quiet 'fuck'. Rereading the message, fresh eyes could assume you were suggesting a hook-up. Reminded you of your drastically sad sex life. Sad, oh so sad. While pondering the word, you were oblivious to the three moving dots beneath your new texts. 

'hello???'

'u do prerolls?'

Smooth. Real fucking--

'bro who is this???'

'y/n'

'i still don't know u' 

'thanks'

'where u at?'

'west of campus hall jospeh fith floor 29'

':)'

Maybe the emoji wasn't necessary, but when the stranger on the other end heart reacted to the message, you had a feeling you'd made the right move. I mean, hey, who needs human interaction when you have the blessing of an iPhone? A very desperate person you realised, chewing your thumbnail till it snapped, beginning to pace your dorm, glancing now and then through your open window. Despite its overhype, human interaction was very much a necessity if you wanted to start a new, frequent contact with a stranger. Stranger. Ellie was a stranger. This stranger knew your current living address. You'd given a stranger you'd current living address. You mumbled a concerned 'fuck', halting your pacing to blink at the open MacBook opposite you. You needed to settle. Ellie was just a hostile Uni plug, not some serial killer (at least not to your knowledge). Your SpyxFamily profile picture blinked back at you in the low light. You'd told yourself the best way to make friends was to be what you thought others would like. I mean, nineteen and still watching anime? What a loser, totally couldn't be you, you thought to yourself while the intro to Soul Eater began. Your mum was still paying for your Crunchyroll account, unknowingly, of course. You had a café job, but what was the harm in exploiting the 'bottomless pit of an adult's wallet'? You'd been awkwardly sitting for ten minutes before someone made their presence clear by rapping their knuckles against your dorm door.

'Yeah?' Your voice came out quieter than you'd intended, sliding off the mattress to reach the doorknob, opening your small warm space to the cold hallway. 'What's good?' Damn. You weren't subtle, eyes travelling over the stranger. Definitely gay. That sounded fun. 'Hi,' you responded timidly. She grinned at you. You probably looked like a helpless animal cornered in its weed den in her stupid Pikachu slippers. 'Cool shirt.' She grinned wider, eyeing your grey tee, chuckling when you adjusted its choppy neckline on your shoulder. 'It's BMO, ' you almost whispered. 'I know,' she returned, casually slipping past you, eyes falling on the illuminated screen propped on your bed, animated Japanese commentary and Suki Waterhouse making her eyes land on you. Maybe Ellie didn't know you prior, but she was glad she did now. You kicked a stray thong under your bed, following Ellie's line of sight to your laptop, lurching to snap the screen closed. 'What episode?' Her question made your face feel hot. 'Forty-seven,' was your almost choked reply, watching her nod before reaching into her pocket, taking a step towards you. She felt warm, her skin close enough that its heat radiated off and met yours. 'One pre-roll, for Maka, ' she must've thought she was hilarious. 

You made sure to diminish that thought. 'How much?' You dismissed her joke, doing your best to ignore the grin that only grew at your dismissal. 'Free of charge for first-time customers, ' she stepped even closer, and you felt small despite standing your ground. 'And girls who like Adventure Time,' she added, her comment an excuse to glance at your nipples instead of your loose BMO shirt. 'You sure?' It was a genuine question, but Ellie laughed as if you were asking her something naughty. 'Yeah, course-- holy shit dude I didn't even notice your slippers, you're like the whole package'. Her chuckle brought your eyebrows so high up you swore they'd disappear into your hairline. 'I just meant-- cos' yknow... nevermind', she was cute when she wasn't cocky, still annoying but cute. 'You look like Cole Palmer. '

She snorted, fiddling with the pre-roll between her sharp fingers, glancing at you to read your expression. 'Never took you for someone who watched football, ' she hummed. You bit back a smile. For someone who lacked human interaction, you were doing pretty well. 'White boy of the month kinda thing, ' you added, receiving a giggle. She scoffed, holding the blunt in front of your face, watching you pluck it from her fingers and taking that as a memo to step back. You missed her warmth despite not making any physical contact, chewing away at your bottom lip. 'Dream SMP maybe, ' you added, shooting a grin her way, watching her head drop with a smile, her hand running over the choppy hair on her nape. 'Kay, I'll fuck off then, avoid getting insulted anymore.' The way she worded it sounded more like a question than a statement, as if she were asking for your approval to leave. You nodded, following her to the open door, leaning against the frame while she stood in the hallway. 'You sure it's free?'

You got a nod, casual. If you knew Ellie better, you'd have known it was a shy one, using her auburn hair to hide her flushed face. 'It's y/n, not... Maka y'know,' You mumbled, her eyes meeting yours across the hallway, her shoulders slack against the wall behind her. 'I know,' she shrugged with a smile, her reply making your ears burn, your hands subconsciously lifting to cover them when she displayed your messages. 'Enjoy Maka,' she was quick to go, moving across the stained carpet to the lift at the end of the hall. 'Fuck off, ' you didn't mean to smile, but it happened anyway. Sad sad sad. Being sad was for stupid people. And you refused to be either. 

Chapter Text

God, how you hated it here. You were supposed to be focusing on your lecturer, on his droning voice and lopsided glasses. But instead, your phone was illuminated behind the cover of your bag, your mother's contact frowning back at you. Something along the lines of 'any boys?', 'I do hope you're not drinking', 'the Louises messaged me again about their son'. You hit the back of your head against those shit thin chairs, blinking at the lights above you. A shuffle of White Fox hoodies and clawclips moved in the right corner of your vision, some dude with a cameo jumper to your left laughing at a joke along the lines of 'where's your shirt'. You couldn't bear to remain in this room with its cold "doctor waiting room" lighting, and with a huff, stood and abandoned your seat, leaving through the doors mid lecture. You'd been huffing a lot recently. Maybe that's why you had no friends. People didn't like huffers. You continued your polite stomping towards your hall, triumphant in the fact that you didn't have another lecture for the remainder of the day. 

Sitting within a dimly lit room, regretting your career choice and watching Evangelion was not everybody's ideal afternoon, but you'd settle for it instead of replying to your mother's rants. At some point, you'd become serious about studying—keywords: some point. The thing was, it's hard to focus on school work when there's no pressure to do so. You had nothing due, no exams to study for, and no financial burdens. You weren't rich. You would've loved to have been, but you weren't. The truth was you were on one of those 'equity scholarships', the ones that basically said "hey, even though it's out of our jurisdiction to do anything about your home situation, we still feel bad, so here's twenty-five thousand dollars and a catered dorm, have fun!". To add even more truth to the current subject, you'd received it, because your dad was a 'druggie'. To be blunt, a bipolar asshole on heroin or fentanyl. Safe bet it was both. You hadn't spoken to him in three years, for all the right reasons, of course. 

Addiction ran in the family; you certainly bore the burden. But commercialised THC wasn't opioids, and at least you weren't beating some wife and her poor kids. Speaking of weed, you were out. Ellie's finished pre-roll was tossed in one of the many public bins on campus. Ellie. You hated university. You reckoned she was the reason you now hated it even more. You'd always had an internal battle with sexuality. Your mother wasn't necessarily open to anything different to The Graham Norton show every Friday night and Chamomile tea before bedtime. She was homophobic. Blantantly so. You'd brought it up once at fifteen. You were sitting at a noodle place outside of town, dragging your chopsticks through a small bowl of miso soup and listening to your mother complain about inflation. The topic switched to school and from school to boys. 'If I'd had it my way, I'd have had you go to private schooling; the public system is corrupt, ' you'd nodded eyes focused on your lap. 'But your nana insisted! "No", she said, "my granddaughter will not be subjected to the pressure of overpriced schooling", Stupid woman,' your mother continued, taking a bite of her Katsu chicken. 'Anyway, as much as I dislike that school, I'm sure you've found one or two boys good-looking, you have potential, y/n, I didn't have you do ballet for no reason, you know.'

You hadn't known what she meant by that back then. But now thinking about it, she was probably encouraging you to be more 'feminine' after spending your twos and threes in mud puddles and on bikes. 'I'm sure you've looked at one or two boys, ' she winked at you across the table, in what she believed was a knowing way. "Uhm, actually,' you managed a nervous cough, 'I haven't looked at any... boys.' You finished the last word in a whisper, hesitantly meeting her eyes. She took a sharp inhale, as if dropping composure before lifting it again, sending a flashy smile your way. 'Don't worry, it'll come, I didn't start liking boys till a bit older than you dear, soon you'll be wishing you didn't'. She laughed as if it were an inside joke she shared with the napkin she had a habit of dabbing on the left corner of her overlined lips. 'Mum', you met her eyes again, watching her smile morph into a frown. 'Yes y/n', her voice was cold, and it had made you hesitate, inhaling large quantities of air as if they'd give you confidence. 'I don't like boys, ' at your words, she nodded as if you were a toddler about to begin an incoherent ramble. You spared yourself another deep breath and released the tension that had built in your throat. 'I like girls-- I think,' you stammered behind your udon. The warm restaurant felt cold, and your mother looked even icier. She was silent, pausing, her lips pursing and opening only to close again. 

You spent the remainder of your meal in silence that night. And on the car ride back, your mother's knuckles flushed lighter when she gripped the wheel. 'I'm worried about you, going through these phases--', 'mum... It's not--', 'you'll grow out of them. Everyone does.' You learnt that night to never mention the subject again. But it was difficult, painful almost. Even if your mother very rarely brought up the subject of boys again after that night, she didn't hide the way she grimaced when a same-sex couple displayed romantic tension in a movie you two were watching. It hurt when she left the living room to 'get water', or 'go to the bathroom'. The truth was she was avoiding her daughter, and the "gay demon" that grew within her child's body. She was ashamed, as if it were something you could control. Something you chose not to control. And now, that rampent "gay demon" had been exposed to the environment of 'University'. Exposed to Ellie Williams. It angered you how easy she had it. That's what you assumed, at least. 

You were jealous of her confidence. How she shopped at male-catered stores, played football, and fingered girls at flat parties. She had tattoos and confidence, and friends. She had support. Company. You had a pair of broken AirPods and a homophobic mother. It was cool when Ellie was gay. It was weird that you were. It was 'quirky' that she watched anime, and 'creepy' how you did. Even if she liked your Pikachu slippers, the guy down the hall probably thought you were mentally challenged. Ellie was gay, and that was cool. You were gay, and it was something to be ashamed of. You wished you could hate her. I mean, you'd met her for two minutes and already adapted this holy image of the woman who stood in your dorm doorway. You yearned for Ellie, and you barely knew her, having barely spoken to her. But she was beautiful, and despite never making physical contact, she'd felt warm. So warm. Your face felt hot, and to combat that, you buried it in your knees, hugging them to your chest. 

Your phone sat daringly beside you. You considered opening it up or throwing it across the room. Picking the less emotionally fueled option, you decided to unlock the device, staring blankly at your screensaver. Ellie. Her name sat comfortably within your contacts. As if it'd earned its place. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, making contact before drawing back with such ferocity you almost dropped your phone. Ellie. You threw your head back in despair before blinking at the screen, doing your best to swallow the itch of a sob. The light your phone illuminated began to swim before you, the blues and greys of the previous messages drifting before your eyes. You wiped them and fiddled with your phone, only to realise you'd managed to send something. 'Fuck.' Fortunate for you. Because of your luck, which you seemed to have a never-ending abundance of, alongside sarcasm, had led you to the delivered message on the screen before you. 'le;..wkfbh' it read. 

'Fuck!' This time the word was released louder, and you lurched off your bed, fingers scrambling at the screen. Alby, Alistair, whoever the fuck that dude was, hit a fist against your wall, demanding silence. You muttered a childish 'fuck off', returning your attention to your phone. Maybe if you chanted some gibberish, you could magically snatch the typo from the phone. But upon realising black magic only existed in that fucking Little Mix music video, Ellie had already so graciously replied. 'hi stranger, morse code for 'want more papa'?' If you weren't so fucking mortified, you would've laughed at how lame she sounded. But instead, you burst into tears. 'im so sorry', was your quick reply between choked sobs, rubbing your eyes until they stung, watching those grey dots promptly appear. 'u good ma, ik how those cravings get', you giggled at your screen, feeling your ears warm, writing a reply before pasuing, watching those dots appear again. 'im assuming that message was a mistake but i'm around at a friends tn if ur free. u keen?' You blinked at your phone in confusion for a good collection of minutes. Keen? Keen on what? Die? It's what you wanted to do after that insufferable, unbearable amount of embarrassment you'd just experienced. 

Keen to go with her? 'sure', you sent it before your brain had the capacity to keep up with the weight of the question. 'Sure!? Are you fucking stupid!?' Speaking to yourself certainly didn't help the 'mysterious' image you'd been trying to set for yourself since you'd arrived at this University. It was definitely wiped clear when Al-don'tknowhisfuckingname banged at the wall again. 'Fuck off!' You yelled it this time, receiving a muffled 'you fuck off' back. Ignoring him, you scrambled towards your mirror. You were wearing denim capris. I mean fuck, who even wears those anymore? You apparently. They came flying off in a desperate chase for different attire. You'd showered twenty minutes ago and felt dirty again. But Ellie had sent the address already. She would be 'there in five', and you would be hanging from the ceiling if you didn't tackle your clothes drawer in the next few minutes. You had clothes upon clothes upon clothes, and yet no inspiration. Causal? Dressy? Slutty? How did people dress again? You'd forgotten. It had been so long since you'd been in a casual social setting, and it had begun to show when you haphazardly smeared deodorant beneath your armpits for the third time in the past ten minutes.

Sweatpants and a hoodie. A pathetic effort on your part. A puffer jacket because winter wasn't over yet, and a scarf. Glancing in the mirror, you could've been mistaken for a roadman. An understatement because it looked like you'd threaten some poor single mother outside a supermarket with a butterknife for a vape. It'd have to do. Your lash extensions didn't look crazy, but you'd have to get them redone soon, the synthetic lashes clustering in the corners. Your concealer from the beginning of the day still sadly clung to your face, but you didn't have the time for beautification. You had to gas it across campus for a last-minute meetup with your new plug. You trudged across the pavement, burying your hands further in your jacket and watching your breath escape the warmth of your scarf and disperse into the air. The building before you was stumpy, its windows dimly lit and flushed with condensation. One window in particular caught your attention; its glass was illuminated a soft purple by whatever LEDs lay on its interior. You pushed through the doors, beginning your journey up the concrete stairs to avoid the lift with the convenient 'out of order' sign. 

You didn't need to check the door number on the message Ellie sent you. You could already hear the music. The soft base of a mix of afro house and some sleazy jazz made the carpet buzz beneath your Uggs. Your hand fell on the handle, and you considered it. Considered pulling away and beginning the trek back to your current residence. Hiding beneath your duvet and reading the captions of some show that did little to distract you from your life. You considered it. And before you went through with it, you twisted the knob. You were met with a wave of warmth. Warmth and the unmistakable stink of bud. And her. It was faint at first, a whiff of cologne and leather seats which only grew, sliding towards your hiding spot behind the harshly painted door. The pathetic gap you'd opened it to widened. Ellie grinned down at you, one hand on the doorway and another finding your shoulder before you could form a greeting. Whisked into the buzzing world of purple LEDs, weed, and Ellie Williams.  

Chapter Text

Ellie was good at faking confidence. Could probably have made a career out of it if she hadn't invested her time in an art degree. If that went down the drain, she had a wary feeling she might spend the rest of her days rolling joints for University students. She didn't know why she'd invited you here tonight. Maybe because she felt bad for you. Even if she had a creeper hoodie slung over her desk chair, she had friends. You didn't. Maybe a little something in her asked you to come because she wanted to see you, not that she'd ever admit it. She liked the idea that you'd been looking at your messages, however. It's what gave her the fake confidence to sling an arm around your shoulders when you entered Cat's dorm. 'Hey, ' she grinned down at you, watching you shrink into the hood of your puffer. Ellie thought you smelt nice. A combination of herbal tea and shampoo. Subconsciously licking her lips, she glanced up, her eyes meeting Dina's and receiving a subtle eyebrow raise. Caught. 

Kaytandra and weed made Ellie's senses buzz, her eyes falling back on the girl hiding beneath her arm. The longer she looked, the prettier you got. Lips glossy from the nervous swipe of your tongue and lashes sticky with tears. Tears? Damn, maybe it wasn't a good idea to invite you. But now that she thought about it, you got here impressively quickly. If anything, this probably made your night better. She assumed you'd be watching Soul Eater right now if you hadn't come, and not to toot her own horn, but she reckoned she'd done you a favour. 'Hey,' you hummed back, offering Ellie a shy smile and watching her melt. Your eyes were dragged from the girl at your side and to a walking sex dream who handed you a joint. 'You smoke?' Her question made your cheeks heat, nodding and accepting the blunt with a small 'thank you.' She shot you a grin. 'M' Dina, you one of Ellie's girls?' At her question, the arm was quick to slip off your shoulders, and a sigh left your lips just as quickly, meeting Dina's brown eyes. 'No.' Ellie answered before you had to. Cold and clear. Dina shrugged before reaching forward, humming a short 'mine now', her hands now free and unzipping your puffer for you, tossing your scarf and the jacket on a hook. 

Despite losing your puffer, you oddly felt even warmer, nervous goosebumps leaping across your skin. Dina's friendly grin was the perpetrator. 'How come I never seen you around?' The questions didn't stop, her hands soft and warm, guiding you to a bed. 'Keep to myself, ' was your contained reply, managing a small smile. Ellie stood motionless in the centre of the dorm, perplexed by the empty space that had been occupied by you only seconds ago. She made a beeline for the woman perched on the sofa, Cat, who placed her bong on her bedside, almond eyes narrowed as if she were studying you. Ellie hummed a quiet 'hi,' snatching the bong off the peeling paint and ripping a lighter out of her jeans pocket. Dina was practically eye-fucking you, holding the joint between her fingers and softly propping it on your lips, inhaling the smoke you released. Ellie leant forward, heavy on her knees, dropping her head between her shoulders to avoid looking at you. Cat's hand crept up her back like a spider, her fingers spreading and parting auburn strands. She watched Ellie's head fall back into her palm, eyes sealed and shoulders dropping. 'She's cute, ' Cat hummed, stealing a glance at Ellie and watching a grin trail onto her face. 'Mm, she's okay.'

Cat glanced at you again. Cute in the adolescent kinda innocent sense. You looked like a helpless, oblivious little bug, crawling into Dina's sticky web of brown eyes and full lips. Pretty though. Maybe you were the spider. She narrowed her eyes again, watching you shift closer to Dina. Despite only meeting ten minutes ago, you were both bumping shoulders, all ditzy-eyed. Ellie bit her thumb with a small frown, watching the interaction with the utmost concentration. 'Stole her pretty quick, huh?' Cat grinned at her friend, watching Ellie shake her head slightly, eyes pinched in the corners when she squinted at your smile. Ellie bit deeper into her thumb, feeling the skin gather between her teeth, your hoodie coming off in a swift motion thanks to Dina's hands. And there were your tits. Ellie's face fell into her hands. Push-up bras and THC didn't mix well in Ellie's experience. She felt even more dismay when Dina complimented your tight-fitted shirt. It scooped low, advertising your chest to Dina's wondering eyes. Once Ellie had regained consciousness again, her eyes dropped, smirking at the Moshi monster print bold and bright against the white short-sleeve. 'Very cute,' Cat glanced at the girl beside her, receiving Ellie's pink eyes and flushed cheeks. 'Yea,' she managed to whisper. 

'You gon' talk to her?' Cat asked, her lips pursing when the bong returned to her hand. 'Dunno,' Ellie mumbled back, meeting Cat's eyes only to avert them. 'You brought her here just to watch Dina fuckin' spoon feed her joints?' Cat exhaled the smoke, watching Ellie wince behind its vapour. Her gaze returned to you and the brunette. Your back was slouched against the wall, eyes half closed, and a grin stretching your face. Dina had slung her legs over yours, fiddling with your hair and giving you dreamy looks. Ellie wanted to kill herself. She dragged a palm over her mouth, glancing at Cat one more time before pushing herself off the sofa, hearing a quiet cheer behind her. 'Maka', she was frowning down at you, arm outstretched and palm open, as if offering something. 'Not m' name', you hummed, gazing up at Ellie, who flushed pink. 'I know, just-- can you come with me?' Her request made you frown, Dina almost mirroring your face, hands subconsciously reaching for you, pleading with you to stay. 'Just wanna talk,' Ellie shrugged, watching you take a hit, smoke curling from the entrance of your mouth. 'Yeah? ' you whispered, glancing from her frown to her hand. 

Your palm hovered over hers, snatched by her before you had the chance to slide your fingers against her hand. Dina huffed, a pouty kind of look, blinking all doe-eyed up at you when you abandoned the mattress. 'Give us a minute, D,' Ellie didn't look at the brunette before quickly guiding you out of the warmth and into the dimly lit hallway. The music became muffled, and your senses more enhanced. You felt Ellie's breath on your collarbone, her hand in yours, thumb sliding over your wrist. 'Havin' fun?' She brushed past you, leaning against the wall, waiting for you to follow suit, joint still between your fingers. You nodded, mumbling a soft 'Dina's nice'. She hummed in response, managing a small smile. 'Dug her claws into you,' you glanced at her, only to find Ellie smiling, releasing the tension in your shoulders, glad she had only meant it humorously. 'Not my type, ' you grinned at your socks, watching your toes curl into the carpet. 'Yeah?' Ellie briefly glanced your way, meeting your eyes, feeling your breath on her neck. She hadn't realised how close you were.

'What is it then?' Her question made you cock your head, uncertain what she meant. 'Type,' Ellie clarified, pushing out a nervous laugh before shooting a shy glance your way. 'White boys,' you hummed in reply, expression unreable. 'Shit-- you're not gay?' Ellie's already bloated pupils became larger, her head leaning closer to yours. You giggled, shaking your head before pausing to hold her eyes. Fuck. You hadn't realised the distance between the two of you. Your noses almost brushed. 'Oh,' she whispered, head cocking slightly, watching you nod. 'Me...?' You didn't meet her eyes. Your silence was enough of an answer. 'Sorry,' you whispered, brushing your thumb against your cheek, rubbing away some imaginary thing to keep yourself distracted. Ellie's index finger tickled your wrist, the heat from her body the only warmth within the cold, dingy hallway. 'Yea,' you finally whispered awkwardly, eyes still pinned to the ground. Her index finger trailed down, following a vein and the rivers of bloodstreams that lead towards the open plain of your palm. 

You met her eyes finally, and they were already on you. Ellie smiled softly at your sharp inhale, her fingers sliding into yours, her vision fuzzy. But you were clear, crystal clear. Like a glowing orb surrounded by dark, a pretty girl in an empty hallway. 'Yea?' She whispered back, daring you to look away. You didn't. 'Yeah,' you mumbled, releasing a soft exhale when your foreheads met, your eyes softly falling shut. The hand surrounding yours squeezed while the other one trailed up your forearm, guiding you closer to her and her warmth. The hand went further, brushing your forearm, then your bicep before moving from your shoulder to your cheek. Her palm sat there, the pad of her thumb tracing back and forth over the cheekbone. 'You okay?' She whispered, her words crawling beneath your skin and warming you from the inside out. You nodded, eyes remained sealed, your breathing inbalanced and rushed. She squeezed your hand, receiving a small squeeze back, her breath catching in her throat. You waited, skin prickling in anticipation when you felt her move closer, her lips brushing your nose. 'Y/n', she whispered, waiting for your eyes to open. 'Yes,' your answer silenced by the lack of oxygen in your throat. 

She leant closer, her lips brushing yours, holding herself back. 'Ellie!' She pulled away from you, your cheek now cold, abandoned by her palm, and your hand hung lonely at your side. Her back was to you, her hand clasping with a guy you'd seen in one of your lectures. Jess? Jason? You were terrible at names. Ellie didn't even introduce you; in fact, she seemingly forgot you were there. The guy gave you a small wave, receiving your timid smile, no match to his friendly grin. Ellie led him inside, the door closing behind the pair. Cool. Fucking amazing. You head hit the wall behind you, a singular tear creeping down your cheek. You ran your fingers over your lips, chewing at the skin surrounding your fingernails before sinking onto the carpet, picking at a loose strand on your sweats. The door didn't open again, and when it did, it wasn't Ellie, it was Cat offering you your coat. 

Chapter Text

You stared at the tapestry above the two of you, fighting back tears. 'I love Ellie, but she's a fuckin' asshole,' Dina admitted, turning to gaze at you across her duvet, watching you nod, glossy eyes plastered to the ceiling. You'd told Dina what happened—had blamed it on weed and loneliness. 'Hey,' she whispered, her hand finding yours above her quilt, giving it a soft squeeze. You picked at your bra strap, eyes meeting hers. You'd learnt Dina had a lot of smiles. Friendly ones, flirty ones, kind ones. The one she was currently giving you was a mix of pity and empathy. 'S' so stupid,' you mumbled, cheeks flushing when your face screwed up, a tear trailing its way down your cheek. 'Hate feeling attached to someone like this, especially when you barely know them,' you hiccuped, blinking pathetically over at Dina. 'I know,' she mumbled, shuffling closer, the pair of you rolling onto your sides. Her hand cupped your cheek, gentle, telling. 'Can I be honest with you?' You responded to her question with a hesitant nod, watching Dina's eyes stray from your face. 

'I think-- I think it'll help if you meet more people,' you blinked in surprise before releasing a laugh, ignoring her perplexed expression. 'I know,' you sighed, sitting up to wipe your eyes. Biting down on your thumb, you glanced over your shoulder at Dina, who'd propped herself up on her elbows, her brow heavy with worry. 'I just don't know anyone, ' you admitted awkwardly, wrapping your arms around your knees and gazing at the mosaic of photos on Dina's wall. Your eyes lifted to her light, a translucent pink fabric pinned in front of the bulb, Dina's room a rosy shade. 'Y'know, I did like the idea of doing a Bridget Jones' Diary marathon... But, I have a better idea', when she spoke, you glanced over your shoulder at Dina whose eyes lit up, whatever idea hiding in her head leaving a smile on her face. 'A party, ' at her words, you groaned, your forehead meeting your knees with more force than you intended. 'What's wrong with Bridget Jones?' You fell back beside her, frowning at the grinning girl. 'Ellie won't be there,' she spoke softer this time, offering a reassuring smile. 

'Neither will Bridget Jones,' you muttered, falling back into the bed while Dina fiddled with her hair. 'Seriously, it'll be good for you,' You wanted to ignore her, but Dina had a tendency of being right, like all the fucking time. And you'd just had your lashes redone. Two hours later, Dina had shoved you into a skirt that definitely displayed a good chunk of your ass and a bra possibly crafted by a higher power, or a lowly paid seamstress. 'C'mere,' she grinned at you, raising her phone, and you blinked at your appearance on her screen, freezing when she took a photo. 'Where's that going?' You hummed, returning your attention to the vanity, leaning forward to inspect your lip-liner. 'Ellie,' she didn't look up from her phone, her fingers travelling over the screen at lightning speed, her grin oddly Disney Villain-like. You blinked at her in shock, brows raised before dropping to crease your forehead. 

You hadn't seen Ellie since that night. Your pride said you'd avoided her, but that was far from the truth. If anything, Ellie avoided you. And between lectures, you'd spend your time wrapped in your bedsheets studying until you wanted to pound your head into the nearest wall. At least you'd spent your free time with Dina; she kept your mind off Ellie, and anything was better than thinking about Ellie. This night, despite not fitting in with your original plans, was an improvement. 'She's with Cat,' Dina hummed, turning the phone and displaying a photo taken from Ellie's perspective, her sweats bunched while Cat lay across her lap. You hummed, returning your attention to the religious act of over-applying lip gloss. 'I honestly don't know what's going on between the two of them, that's why I was kinda surprised when Ellie brought you back to her ex's dorm,' Dina continued, glancing at your shocked expression in the mirror. 'They dated?' You stammered, face feeling flush. 'Yeah,' Dina glanced back at you with a smirk, watching a smile creep onto your face. 'Kay.'

The pair of you had already finished a joint and a souju bottle before you were stumbling to the flats on the outer sector of campus that held students in the higher years. Heiniously loud drum and base seemed to rock the small buildings, Dina giving your bicep and excited squeeze, the pair of you bouncing off one another. 'Ellie won't be here,' Dina had promised you before you'd left, 'neither will Cat.' You assumed she'd said that because they'd been together, but the truth was a certain someone was hosting the party you were heading to. A certain someone Ellie couldn't stand. You hadn't attended a house party since high school, not that there was anyone there that you were friends with anyway. This time, Dina was glued to your side, and some angel was currently on AUX; the awkward sober portion of the party had passed, and everyone was drunk. Girls you'd never met complimented your clothes, reached for your hands, called you pretty. Tugged you into a crowd of dancing bodies, skin clammy and warm. Dina pressed a joint to your lips, her hands finding your hips. Rhythm had become your best friend under the influence, and even if you didn't possess a single instrumental bone in your body, you knew how to follow a beat, especially when it pulsed up through your shoes and exploded through your body. You felt possessed, and Dina wasn't helping, guiding your hips against hers, giggling in your ear, her chin resting occasionally on your bare shoulder. 

Moving away from the dance circle, Dina made you promise you'd come back, watching you side-step a drunk group playing mortifyingly bad beer bong. The kitchen was in sight, and you drifted across the lino, finding comfort in the corner of the cabinets, leaning against the granite. The dim kitchen lights held the outline of the smoke that left your mouth, and you watched it drift towards the ceiling. Your gaze fell, expecting the pantry that you'd just been staring at, but instead, your eyes found someone occupying the space, leaning against the doors. She was already watching you. The most common human reaction to being stared at is to look away, a fear of judgment or being watched. But you were drunk, and floating on cloud fucking nine. So you didn't look away, and that invited her closer. When you were younger you used to watch a worrying abundance of animal documentary’s, a rule installed by your mother that any screen time had to be 'educational screen time', and in doing so you learnt about the diets of otters off the coast of California, the mating cycle of orcas and the distance army ants could travel in a day (the equivalent of a human marathon). You'd also watched those scenes that portrayed the 'circle of life', e.g. kill or be killed, where the predator stalked its prey from an isolated spot where it blended with its surroundings until it had the clearance to pounce. 

The blonde didn't pounce. It was more of a stumble. She caught herself on the granite, her head hung before she lifted her chin, her eyesight conveniently in line with your tits. 'Hey?' You blinked down at the girl, watching her bounce up, suddenly towering over you. You shrank back into the bench behind you, lifting your gaze to meet her eyes. ‘Hi,’ she had a smile like a shark, startlingly white, her face however flushed red with the effects of alcohol and embarrassment. She went to lean an elbow against the granite upon noticing your discomfort to her leering, however her hand landed on a tea towel and the second she placed her weight upon it, it slipped beneath her. She would’ve found herself in the dish drying rack if you hadn’t made a reach for her arm, your grip connecting with the firm muscle of her bicep. Trying to hide your shock at the feel of rock solid flesh you pulled your hand away at lightning speed, stuffing it at your side. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled awkwardly, fiddling with the lengthy plait following her nape. ‘It’s okay,’ your voice gentle in hopes to make this experience less embarrassing for her. 

‘You’re surprisingly strong,’ she muttered, refusing to meet your eyes and continuing to fiddle with her hair. Your face felt warm, unsure if the comment had been directed your way. ‘Sorry?’ You hid a giggle behind your palm, extended your spare hand to offer the joint. She paused before accepting it, nervously taking a long drag released in a coughing fit. You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips, giggling a small ‘here,’ finding a spare glass in the cabinet behind you and filling it with water from the sink to your left. She graciously accepted it between coughs, partially spilling water on her black tee while she gulped. You snickered behind the joint she’d reluctantly handed back to you, sneaking a glance over the girls shoulder to meet Dina’s eyes. She mouthed a small ‘you okay?’ receiving your enthusiastic nod, taking that as a sign to slip back into the sea of dancing people. The blonde set the glass down in the sink, taking a deep breath before offering you a wide smile. ‘I’m Abby.’

Chapter Text

You'd seen her before. You went to the gym around four to five times a week, giving you something to do that didn't involve rotting away. Abby was one of the University's sponsored weight lifters, a year above you and many weight sets too. You went to mention it, but she got there before you did. 'You go to the campus gym, don't you? Haven't seen you train anything other than core or legs,' she hummed, clearly amused by your imbalance of training. 'You been watching me?' That put an end to her teasing, her face flushing pink, and that hand returning to fidget with her hair. She didn't deny it, though. 'M' kidding,' You grinned, overtaken by the confidence to slip a hand into hers, watching her head drop to your interlinked flesh. When her head lifted, you were already gazing at her. Abby thought you were about to eat her. She had no complaints. 'You lift?' Your hand-on-hand contact made her head short-circuit, too dazed to reply. You repeated yourself, receiving an embarrassed, rushed nod. 'Cool,' you hummed, gazing up at her, watching the large woman shrink. 

Abby clearly wasn't going to spark any more conversation, too far gone by the small portion of physical contact she had with you. You were nervous too, uncomfortably aware of how your hand was probably clammy as fuck. But because the blonde wasn't making any movement, partially shell-shocked and incapable of doing anything other than gazing at you with puppy eyes, you decided to make the move. You lifted onto your tiptoes, and the hairs on her exposed arms prickled when your breath hit her neck, your lips brushing her ear when you swayed, whispering something that made her go pink. Flume rocked the portable speakers and made the lino vibrate beneath your body; if you weren't aware of your feet, you would've mistaken this feeling for floating. You drifted through groups, Abby trailing behind you like a dog, eyes wide and shining with anticipation. You dodged a couple making out on the kitchen island, your feet meeting carpet, becoming highly aware of the sinking feeling you experienced in comparison to the harsh lino. You paused, Abby coming to a halt behind you, her chest meeting your back while the pair of you blinked at the dancing mass. They moved like a current, flowing between one another, skin glossy with sweat. 

Electromagnetic waves and base filled your eardrums with a feeling of ecstasy, bringing your eyes to the ceiling, following the hectic pathways of mini strobe lights. You wanted to join the movement of bodies before you, your feet frozen into the carpet. It felt like a boiler room, a tangle of limbs thrown into the air and feet travelling over trampled carpet: stray hands, an offer of reassurance. You glanced back at Abby, who'd taken up the courage to place her large hands on your hips, delicate, as if scared she'd hurt you. 'This okay?' Her gentle voice made you smile, her face inches from yours. You nodded, watching her face turn pink, her grip tightening slightly. She used her hold on you to direct you into the ocean of bodies, gasping at the feeling of your ass meeting her crotch. Something you didn't know about Abby was that she was a virgin, and worryingly enough, it might show soon if you kept rotating your hips against her. She tried to take control, her hands occupying more room on your waist, her thumbs dragging down your abdominal muscles, her attempt at control resulting in you bending forward. 

If she weren't drunk, she would've frozen, eyes locked in place, admiring the movement of your body despite the restriction of a demin skirt. It didn't stop you, and Abby certainly wasn't going to either, the logic of a testosterone-fueled teenage boy. If Dina had been notified, prior to this party, that her new extremely shy, introverted friend would be throwing ass on the host, she would've laughed. But all she could do was stare, stare and lift her phone. The last communication Dina had had with Ellie was roughly twenty minutes ago, when Ellie had kindly asked how you were doing, clearly assuming you'd already gone home, retiring for an early night. Dina hadn't responded; she had actually been trying to look for you for a good ten minutes, concerned Ellie was right and you had disappeared back to your dorm. But she proved both herself and Ellie wrong with the seven-second video that was sent to the girl on the other side of the phone.

The pretty loser Ellie dodged outside her ex's dorm, a girl she barely knew, quiet, timid, shy, had her ass pressed against Abby Anderson's crotch, grinning like it was her fucking wedding day or something. Ellie sat upright so quickly that she almost pulled a muscle, her fingers tight around the device. Was this your way of getting back at her? No, it couldn't have been, you didn't know anyone on campus, let alone Abby. And you most definitely weren't aware of the hatred Ellie felt for the blonde who gripped your hips, biceps stretching the black cotton of her shirt. Dina was giggling in the background, releasing a drunken hoot, the camera shaking before the video came to a halt, your smiling face and Abby's drunken grin frozen on her screen. She knew she shouldn't have, but she zoomed in. She studied your happiness as if she could touch it through the screen, your bare shoulders and messy hair. She ignored Abby, not that it was easy; the girl was fucking huge, standing like a brick wall behind your bent figure. Ellie continued her 'research', following the curve of your spine, the bend of your knees, and a fucking buttery yellow thong. It was light in colour and lacey, peaking out of your skirt, so pretty, so cute and so you, until Abby's thumbs dared to slip beneath the elastic. 

Ellie must've won the title for quickest individual to put on a pair of Converse with a whopping three-second time. She knew where Abby's flat was, knew which room you two had been in. Abby closed in behind you, her arms locking around the front of your torso, her chin finding residence on your shoulder, inhaling your shampoo like a pheromone. It made her feral. Experimenting with a soft kiss that brushed just beneath your lobe, Abby felt you shiver within her arms, eyes finding yours over your shoulder. She did this in search of discomfort, only for your fingers to tangle in her hair, tugging her face back into your neck. Your perfume made her go haywire, lips feverishly travelling over your flesh, wet a sloppy, leaving glossy dark marks, hidden by the shadows. She wanted to sink her teeth in, draw the soul out of you and let you consume her, and maybe you were on the same wavelength because she didn't hesitate to follow when you dragged her out of the living room in search of a bathroom. It was occupied, but Abby was quick to lead you to the laundry room instead, slamming the door shut behind her and lifting you on the washing machine with such ease you felt your stomach sink, your finished joint abandoned on the concrete floor. 

Ellie stepped over a couple 'stargazing' beneath the light-polluted night sky, dodging a guy who doubled over to vomit in the nearest hedge. She ripped the door open, stomping into the flat, pink lights flashing over her skin, a smoke machine billowing out unsanitary amounts of artificial fog. She desperately pushed through the crowd, searching for you, for Abby. She was near distraught, suffering the consequences of her own actions. Maybe if she hadn't dodged you, you wouldn't be here. With her. 'Ellie!?' Dina had a grin on her face, open-armed and swamping Ellie in a sweaty hug. 'She's here?' Ellie ignored the embrace, tugging away to glance over the sea of people, the pink strobe lights like a malfunctioning lighthouse above the wild tide. 'Ellie,' Dina sounded disappointed. Ellie wanted to pretend the tone she'd used didn't exist. She snuck a glance at the brunette, receiving a small headshake. Her arms were folded over one another as if she were telling off Jesse. 

'Leave her,' Dina was serious now, frowning up at Ellie, who raised her palms in surrender, requesting peace. 'M' serious, Ellie, leave her alone,' Ellie audibly groaned at Dina's words, throwing her head back. 'You had her, now you don't. This is the consequence of a missed opportunity.' Dina continued watching her best friend scan the room. 'Bro, just tell me where she is. What if Abby does something to her?' Ellie was becoming agitated, throwing her arms around haphazardly. 'I'd be more worried about her doing something to Abby,' Dina deadpanned, watching Ellie's face morph into a frown. 'I don't know where they are, Ellie, y/n pulled Abby away somewhere. Just leave them be, it's the most you can do for her,' her eyes lowered, avoiding the glare on her best friend's face. 'She pulled Abby?', 'Yes, Ellie, what I just said. Now go home.' Dina rolled her eyes, drifting back into the ocean, her back searing with Ellie's glare. Fuck that. Ellie wanted to find you. Before it was too late. Before Abby had taken her opportunity, refusing to acknowledge it was her own fault that you weren't with her, not anyone else's. 

You felt Abby groan into your mouth, her hands wandering less strategically and more desperately now. You tugged her palm to your tit, held her head in place, your thumb above her Adam's apple and your fingers brushing her blonde hair, messy from your directing. She said she'd never touched a girl before, and you returned your matching answer, watching her face flush with confidence now knowing the pair of you were on the same page. You did leave out a girl called Sarah, whose boob you'd held at a going-away party, the girl graduating a year before you were due to your last year of high school. It was embarrassing enough to be forgotten, so you chose not to mention it. Abby was always asking, checking, and requesting. You found it assuring that she cared so passionately about how you felt, desperate not to mess this up. She liked your neck and the perfume you'd applied before the party, digging her nose into your skin and biting it till you groaned. Abby was noisy, whining and gasping into your neck, gripping your hips and grinding them into the washing machine. When she wasn't occupied with your neck, she was staring at your face, watching your expression, trying to decipher what you did and didn't enjoy. 

From what she had studied, you were enjoying this, nodding mindlessly at whatever question she panted. Her hands gripped your ass, tugging you forward until your crotch met her belt buckle. Your skirt had ridden up, and you didn't have the care to tug it back, just widening your legs and letting Abby take control. Your tongue was in her mouth, one hand cemented behind you, leaning against it for support, your other hand around her neck, fingernails digging into her nape, forcing her closer. You pressed your thumb against her Adam's apple, grinning when she moaned into your mouth, helplessly grinding against you. You'd lost track of time, consumed by Abby's pathetic humping and minty breath. Abby appeared consumed by you, and you equally consumed by her. Her large arms moved from your hips to lock behind your lower back, pulling you closer, desperate for intimacy. Even if it was desperate and messy, you felt loved. So you clung to Abby, who, despite her urgency, was so careful, conscious of your comfort. 

She was drunk, and you both were. Terribly drunk. But Abby was drunker on you than the alcohol she'd consumed hours ago. You left it up to a lack of sobriety and being a virgin, but it didn't stop your eyes from widening. She ground her crotch against yours, arms holding you so tightly as if you'd skip off, leaving her lonely. Your arms were now wrapped over her shoulders, grinding back against her, focusing on the feeling of her panting into your neck. That was when she said it, whiny and slurred, but you heard it. 'Love you, fuck love you so much,' she whimpered into your skin, her boxers so wet beneath her jeans they clung to her skin. You ignored what she'd said, dragging your hips and receiving a whine. Abby was so far gone, pathetically humping against you, her drool wetting your hair and dragging against her cheek. 'Love you-- fuck,' she would've doubled over if you hadn't been there holding her, gently grinding against her crotch until she shook, eyes rolling back. Did she just? She had, mouth wide and body slack, her weight leaning against you.  

You paused, blinking in partial shock at the trembling figure. Her large shoulders seemed to have shrunk, her body hunched and leaning into you like she wanted to crawl into your skin. You let her remain there for a few minutes, your hands sneaking beneath her cotton shirt to run your nails over the taught muscle of her back. She pulled back, gazing at you in the low light, flushing pink when you wiped a trail of drool off her chin. 'Sorry,' she whispered, eyes shamefully dropping to your chest, adjusting your top for you, apologising again when her shaky fingers brushed your tits. 'S' okay,' you whispered back, your palm cupping her warm face, watching her eyes lift to blink at you. Someone so impressive reduced to this. Gentle giant or whatever the fuck they said. 'You're really pretty,' Abby acknowledged, receiving a snort, her worried expression loosening with a shy smile. 'You too,' you hummed, your hand travelling to her nape, bringing your foreheads together. She exhaled softly against your lips, her face all pink and flushed, eyes closed. 

You pecked the corner of her lips, watching her eyes open, grey and foggy, focused on you. You didn't mention what she'd said, save her from the embarrassment. But you'd both end up embarrassed either way because the laundry door was flung open and your skirt was practically off, uselessly sitting at your waist, tugged up by the calloused hands gripping your ass. 'Ellie?' Abby spoke first, her gentle demeanour becoming distant and cold. Her hands didn't leave you; in fact, that only seemed to tighten. Possessive. Ellie ignored her, eyes landing on you. 'You okay?' She sounded genuinely worried, and despite your assuring nod, she only seemed more worried. As if she were upset that you were happy within Abby's company, happy with her hands on your ass. Abby was giving Ellie a stony frown, glancing at you when your hands left the tangle at the bottom of her braid to hide shyly in your lap. The silence consumed the three of you, and it was only broken when you spoke. 'You two know each other?' You mumbled, blinking up at Abby, who gave you a kind smile, as if she were about to explain a serious matter to an uninformed child. 'Yea,' she hummed, not breaking your gaze, refusing to look at the girl who stood in the doorway. 

You nodded, glancing back at Ellie, who had been staring at your ass. Abby noticed it too, lifting you with ease to gently pull down your skirt. She remained between your legs, however, making her position obvious to Ellie, who could do nothing but glare at Abby. She was, however, weirdly happy you hadn't known about her dislike for the blonde. You weren't unkind or attempting to get back at her. Just innocently hooking up with a stranger in a laundry room. Ellie was just angered that the stranger had to be Abby. Because Abby was the only person she couldn't fake confidence around. She hoped you wouldn't notice. 'Dina's looking for you,' Ellie spluttered suddenly, watching worry creep on your face, sneaking a glance at the blonde who was still gazing at you with a care that made Ellie's stomach churn. 'Okay,' you whispered, tapping Abby's bicep, and without pausing, she moved on request. You didn't need the help, but Abby assisted either way, large hands encasing your hips and lifting you off the washing machine, gently lowering you to the ground. Ellie remained rooted to the doorway even when you slipped past her, only moving when Abby bumped their shoulders, pushing out into the hallway to trail after you. 

You found Dina outside scrolling aimlessly on her phone. You smothered her in an apoligetic hug, whispering a small 'sorry'. Her mouth opened to respond, only to shut it, eyes frozen on Abby who was awkwardly leant against the front entrance ot her flat, arms folded over her chest. Her eyes went from you to Abby and repeated the action until a grin slipped onto her face. 'It's okay, I'll give you two a second,' she smiled, vanishing into the dark, leaving you and Abby alone on the doorstep. She smirked down at you, the nerves she'd first struggled with seemingly gone, until you grinned back. She blushed, her freckled cheeks stretching into a wobbly smile. 'Nice meeting you,' you hummed, taking a step towards Abby, you hands finding hers, gently swinging them betwen the pair of you. 'You too,' she whispered, lowering her face to kiss you, tugging you closer. 'I'll see you at the gym?' You blinked up at her when ou pulled away, reciving an overly enthusiastic nod she tried to play off with a casual 'yea'. 'Bye Abby,' you pulled away, watching her hands reach for you the second yours left hers. 'Bye y/n,' she whispered aimlessly, leaning towards you as you dissapeared after Dina into the dark.

Chapter Text

You didn't know how it had become this. But you weren't going to complain. Abby was spotting you, encouraging you to train arms, something about potential, grinning at your screwed, exhausted face. 'One more,' she encouraged, hands reaching out when your arms shook, helping you place the bar back on the rack, arms falling slack at your sides. Abby went to give you a high-five, before thinking it was best not to, her face flushing pink. You'd enjoyed the past month getting to know the blonde. She was kind, friendly, and easy to talk to. She handled you gently, helping you sit up on the bench despite your protest that you could do it yourself. She dropped beside you, elbows resting on her spread legs, glancing at you and receiving a small smile. 'Shower time,' she hummed, adjusting the sleeve of her compression shirt around her bicep, pretending you weren't staring.

You and Abby hadn't kissed after that night. Hadn't even flirted to be honest. She was too nervous, and you certainly were not known for making the first move. You'd asked her about Ellie and their weird, hostile interaction at the party, but Abby brushed it off. 'We just fell out,' was her reply to your question, and respecting her boundaries and obvious dislike of the subject, you remained silent. You exhaled, stuffing your hands between your knees and shooting Abby a grin. You discovered she liked Hozier and The Strokes. Although she didn't watch anime, she wasn't opposed to the idea. And following gym, you'd sit curled up in the duvet of her flat bedroom, her wet hair spread on your lap, eyes focused on the screen episode six of Barakamon, fighting with the noise of the hairdryer. You kissed her head when you finished drying her hair sometimes, in a platonic way, of course. And she'd kiss the back of your hand in a platonic way. Of course.

You enjoyed this. It was soft. Gentle. Abby made you feel safe. You hadn't smoked that entire month, and you didn't feel drained or stressed; you felt content. Your mother hadn't messaged you, and for once, you didn't feel guilty spending time with a girl. However, everything good has to come to an end, even the little things. 'I have to compete,' what I've been training for,' she leaned forward, her grey tank riding up, your nails sneaking beneath the cotton and travelling up her spine, feeling her lean into your touch with a contented sigh. 'How're you feelin' about it,' you hummed, meeting her eyes when she glanced over her shoulder at you. 'Okay,' was all she said, eyes returning to stare at the wall opposite when you nodded. 'I'll miss you,' she whispered, hiding her pink cheeks from your concerned expression. She was never good at hiding, however, and froze when you pulled yourself forward, arms snaking around her neck, resting your chin on her large shoulder. 'I'll miss you too,' you whispered back, delicately kissing her bare shoulder. Abby didn't admit it, but she loved when you kissed her. The simple contact of your lips to her skin could improve her whole week. She'd miss it. She'd miss it for a good month.

And this was the first night you found yourself alone. Dina was at Jesse's because his iguana had separation anxiety and he couldn't go over to hers. Abby was away, and you found yourself sitting in the centre of your dorm, picking at the carpet, staring at the lampost outside. Your phone was in your hand before you could question how it got there. Ellie's contact flashed up. You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the number. It felt wrong. Was it wrong? Were you disrespecting Abby? Surely not. It was simple cravings, and Ellie was good at pre-rolling. You thumb hit the button, and the dial began. She picked up almost immediately, her voice tinted with desperation, 'you okay?' She sounded genuinely concerned, similar to that night in the laundry room. You felt your face heat. 'Yea,' you replied, voice quieter than intended, picking at the seam of your sweats. The line crackled. She was in bed, probably repositioning herself. 'I, uhm... You free right now?' You couldn't see her, but at your question, her face lit up. 

You couldn't know that, though. She played it cool. 'Uh, I'll have to check, but dunno, not really,' you hummed in response to her reply. 'Okay, don't worry about it, sorry-- 'no! I mean no, I'm free, someone just cancelled a meetup,' she stammered. Thank god she couldn't see your smile. It was wide. 'I'll be over in a sec,' she hung up, and that was when you realised you'd forgotten to ask for a pre-roll. You liked that she'd decided to just come over. She was at the doorway quicker than you'd anticipated, hands hiding in her pockets. Causal. Her eyes lit up when she saw you, however, dropping to the Moshi Monster shirt you'd last worn to Cat's. She reckoned you'd worn it on purpose. You had. Her fake confidence faltered for a second, and you offered a small smile. She dodged it, remaining rooted to the hallway carpet. 'I um brought it,' she mumbled, bringing to pre-rolls hidden in a napkin, watching your brows lift in surprise. Shit. She had to cover up for herself. 'I just assumed-- cos y'know...' she trailed off, scratching the back of her neck and hesitantly meeting your eyes. 

To her surprise, you were smiling. You giggled, accepting the joints and dropping them onto your bedside table. You returned to the door, leaning against the wood, gazing up at Ellie. She cleared her throat, placing a hand on the doorway, her spare hand lazily hooked in her pocket. 'Do you wanna come in?' Ellie liked that about you. Soft-spoken, shy but level-headed. Down to earth. Genuine. You smiled when she faltered, mouth opening only to close. Her keys jangled in her pocket when she readjusted her hand. 'You wanna, uhm, go for a drive?' Her question caught you off guard. Why now? Why that? It was your turn to falter, eyes leaving hers to blink at your socks. Abby wasn't here. You couldn't see Dina. You thought Ellie hated you. You cursed under your breath, your eyes beginning to well. 'M sorry,' you whispered, Ellie's hand falling off the doorway when your voice cracked. 'Hey,' she mumbled, bending to meet your eyes that were glued to your socks. Her fingers met your chin, tipping it upwards, watching a tear roll down your cheek. She wanted to console you, to hold you. But didn't you hate her? So why were you crying?

You wrapped an arm around yourself, forcefully rubbing your eyes with the bottom of your palm. 'Sorry,' you repeated, dropping your hand in defeat when another tear breached your lid. Whether you hated her or not, Ellie embraced you, her chin resting on your head, feeling you crumble into her. 'What's wrong?' Her voice sounded syrupy. It made you cry more, silently staining her hoodie in tears. She held you tighter, waiting for you to regain your voice. 'Thought you hated me,' you hiccuped, pushing your face into her chest. 'No,' she mumbled softly, stroking your hair. 'I thought you hated me,' she whispered, pulling away to look at you, all puffy-eyed and pouty-lipped. 'No,' you sniffled, 'm' sorry, it's been a stupid day,' you avoided her eyes, melting into her chest when she embraced you again. 'Yea, I know how you feel, ' her chin rested on your hair again. 'How much?' At your question, she shook her head, running a hand up and down your back. 'S' free,' she hummed, her eyelids fluttering closed. 'You sure?' You mumbled into her chest, feeling her nod above you. 'M' sure.'

Chapter Text

this songgguuuhhhhh

Streetlamps oranges blurred behind the condensation that clung to the windows of Ellie's car. You're eyes became unfocused, watching the blue hour of the sky merge with apricot oranges. 'Someday, someday, I, I wanna wear a starry crown,' Ellie glanced at you, eyes tracing your posture in her peripheral. Your legs were tucked beneath you, forehead rested against the foggy window while you blinked at the outside world, as if fascinated by it, blinking slowly, tiredly. You caught her watching you. 'What?' you whispered, gazing at her across the console, receiving a small smile, her eyes returning to the road. 'Nothing,' she hummed, turning on the motorway. She drove a 1998 BMW, something from the 3 series. It smelt like leather and cologne, Ellie times ten. Your attention returned to the world that raced past outside, sinking deeper into the car seat. The vehicle hummed as she increased speed, the music on AUX changing. 

'Childish Gambino? Not King Princess?' You glanced at Ellie with a grin, her mouth falling open, pretending to take offence. Her lips betrayed her, however, tugging up at the outer corners. 'Fuck off, dude,' she muttered, defeated by her facial muscles and smiling at the road. You grinned, head returning to the fogged window, a finger tracing the outline of a smiley face, blinking at the glass smile back at you. Ellie glanced your way, and you froze, waiting for her to tell you off like your mother used to when you drew on her car windows. She didn't. Instead, she smiled, shaking her head before her attention turned back to the motorway. The heater hit your socks, your toes curling beneath the warmth, releasing a contented sigh. The car was warm, orange shades flashing behind your eyelids when you closed them. It reminded you of summer. The heater hit you like a breeze, and you sank further into the leather, letting it swallow you. Peacefully drowning in a sea of Ellie Williams.  

'Hey?' Ellie's fingertips brushed your bicep, coaxing you awake. You pushed yourself up groggily, squinting at the sight opposite the car. Ellie's bumper was parked metres from a cliff ledge, and the city spread out before the two of you, lights winking up at you through the windshield. The carpark you were in was empty, and from first glance, she'd either brought you here to talk or to kill you. Both those assumptions had been wrong when a flame lit up beside you, a blunt between Ellie's lips. She had cracked open the window, rotating the tip above the flame until it caught. The hairs on your arms prickled, hit by the cold sneaking through her window. She pulled it up, taking a slow hit before passing you the joint. You watched it appear through the wall of smoke, accepting the blunt and lifting it to your lips. Ellie gazed at you for a few seconds before her eyes focused on the view before her. You followed suit, sinking back into the seat, feeling smoke fog your head, caress your brain and stir behind your eyeballs.

Neither of you spoke, smoke and silence drifting through the car. Quiet usually made Ellie tense, but the lack of noise hanging between the two of you helped her settle, eyelids drooping so she could study the city. A plane flew overhead, and your eyes followed its trail, a single flashing red light illuminating its presence in the sky. The heater whirred, hitting your face and encouraging you to sink back into the seat, returning the joint to Ellie. This felt familiar. Like a sting. A numbing one. You were sixteen. Izzy had just got her license, and the pair of you were sitting in her dad's ute, opposite the beach, shrouded in the pink evening sky. Summer was coming to an end, and the pair of you people were watching until Izzy broke the silence. She was picking at her black locks, nerves wrinkling her umber face. You thought she looked flushed, her eyes dancing between yours and the console. 'Y/n,' you nodded at the sound of your name, studying her expression, becoming worried. 

'I know,' she began, her voice cracking in the silence, pinching the crucifix attached to her neck before her hands moved back to her nape, unlocking the necklace. The pair of you watched the gold pool in her palm before your eyes met again, feeling your palms become clammy. 'I know it's wrong,' she continued, 'but I think,' she paused again, the dramatic effect making you fidget in your seat. Her eyes were glossy, a tear slipping down her cheek when she dropped her head back. 'I think-- I'm in love with you,' she stammered, her lip quivering at the sight of your face. You lurched forward, clasping her hands, feeling her fist tighten around the crucifix. 'It's not wrong,' you whispered, feeling your eyes begin to well, 'Promise, Izz.' She wouldn't look at you, face lifted to the sky, 'he thinks it is,' she whispered back, wincing when you squeezed her hands tighter. You weren't Christian like Izzy; you'd been baptised when you were born, but hadn't attended church, let alone pick up a bible. 'He loves you, doesn't he?' You were crying too, now, leaning over the console, trying to force her eyes on you. 'God doesn't judge.'

She shook her head, realising your feeble words were no match for belief. 'Dear God, I know that I am a sinner,' she began, her eyes squeezed shut and head bowed so deeply her chin almost dug into her chest. 'Izz, please--',' I confess my sins to you and ask for your forgiveness,' she continued, ignoring you. 'Izzy--', you were interrupted by your own sobs, grabbing desperately at her hands. 'I believe that Jesus Christ died for my sins and I accept him as my Lord and Saviour,' she tugged her hands from yours, stuffing them between her thighs, eyes bloodshot, 'Dear God, I know that I am a sinner. I confess my sins to you and ask for your forgiveness. I believe that Jesus Christ died for my sins, and I accept him as my Lord and Saviour.' Your hands quivered over your face, feeling your body spasm with sobs. 'I commit to turning away from my sins and following him,' she glanced at you, your crumpled figure, back hunched over and face buried in your hands.  

She didn't speak to you after that. The car was quiet apart from your broken sobs and the whir of the motor. She dropped you off at home, not daring to speak, didn't even risk a glance. The worst part of it was that you couldn't even tell your mother what was wrong when she found you crying. All that could be done was hide away for the rest of the weekend and the weekends to come. Ellie leant forward, her thumb brushing your cheek, a tear you didn't realise had been there. She offered the joint again, and you accepted it, silent words passing between the two of you. You gazed at the city ahead, feeling pressure settle behind your eyeballs. It felt like the sides of your eyes were being squeezed. Silence hung like fog, and you met Ellie's eyes through the haze. You made the mistake of looking at her, because as soon as you did, you were doomed to look away. She did the same. Fortunately for Ellie, her fake confidence gave her the power to look away, unlike you, but she chose not to, gazing back at you across the console. 'Have you ever been in love?' The question came out quieter than you'd intended, watching Ellie's fake confidence falter for a moment. Despite this, she nodded through the wall of smoke she'd created with the substance that left her lips. 

You nodded, focusing on your lap as if it could hide you from her eyes. 'Cat seems cool,' you hummed, meeting her eyes again, receiving another nod. 'Mm, she's okay.' She sounded distant, gaze leaving you to stare at the city below. You mirrored her. 'Did you ever let anything get in the way of it?' you mumbled, 'love,' you clarified, glancing at her again. She was already watching you. 'No,' her answer was firm. confident, speaking from experience, you assumed. You nodded at her reply. 'But sometimes--,' she paused, as if debating whether to continue, 'sometimes people get in the way.' The way she looked at you as if she were trying to tell you something without it being spoken. You cocked your head, confused, 'Who?' you mumbled, watching her eyes drop to the blunt in her hands. She opened her mouth to speak before closing it again, shaking her head slightly. 'My mum's homophobic,' it came out in a stammered rush, refusing to meet her gaze, digging at something beneath your fingernail. 'So y'know I get it if...' you trailed off, sneaking a glance at her. She looked concerned. 'I'm fine,' you spoke quickly, too quickly, indicating you were being untruthful. She picked up on it immediately. 'You sure?' Her voice was so quiet you struggled to hear it. You nodded firmly, maybe too firmly.

Her hand found itself in yours before she could question her movements, clasping the fist you'd balled in your lap. 'Are your parents--',' No,' you stopped, glancing at Ellie. She had flushed pink, conscious she'd just interrupted you. 'No... Sorry, Joel's chill,' she mumbled, picking at the sleeves of her hoodie. You smiled gently, nodding in response. She took advantage of your vulnerability to share her own, but still couldn't meet your eyes. 'Jus' me and him,' she admitted. Ellie could feel your eyes on her, felt them with such warmth that it almost burnt. You squeezed her hand, and her eyes finally met yours. 'Me too,' you whispered, offering a small smile. She felt like crying. She wished she'd known how kind you were earlier on when you'd first met. It made her crave her mother, crave your kindness. It was quiet again, not eerie, just quiet, soft. You'd never loved eye contact, but this wasn't sharp. It didn't burn. This you could hold. In Ellie's eyes, you found tranquillity. Eye contact with her felt harmonious. She refused to look away. Neither did you. She'd gotten closer. You hadn't realised. So close you could see the fleck of brown in her left eye, the freckle beneath her nostril. But despite the lack of space between the two of you something was still there.  

'You still in love with her?' It was as if she'd been expecting the question. She didn't seem taken aback, she was collected, shaking her head. 'No,' she sounded confident when she spoke. It made it hard to doubt her. She squeezed your hand again and you felt warmth blossom throughout your chest, feeling your skin expand above your ribs when you inhaled. 'Who's getting in the way of your love then?' You whispered, gazing at the girl opposite you, the warmth spreading throughtout your bones. She was tempted to look away. She couldn't for this part. 'Ellie?' You mumbled, brushing a thumb over the back of her hand. Her eyes had that telling look. Like debating whether she speak, shut up, or cry. She cleared her throat. The car seemed to swim around you, colours and scents and sounds and Ellie. Ellie. Ellie. Ellie. Her eyes were glazed over, tinged pink, all pretty and low-lidded. 'You know her,' she swallowed harshly, her throat parched. 'Really? Who?' you whispered, leaning closer, noticing the smudge above her cheekbone, the fold on her ear. 'Abby.'

Chapter Text

Her hands were on you before she had the chance to open the door. The air escaped your lungs, flung against the wall, moths circling the porch light above you. One hand was on your neck, the other fighting to find the keyhole. 'Ellie-- Slow down,' you were overwhelmed, gently pushing at her. She halted immediately, backing off completely. She snatched her hands back to her sides, terrified to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable. Hair messy, eyes low-lidded and pink. Your saliva hung on her lips all glossy and shit. You mumbled a breathless 'fuck,' launching at her, hands tangled with her hair, teeth scraping her tongue. The door was open in a tangle of limbs, and a loose key was tossed somewhere on the carpet. A light switch was turned on at some point; you were too enthralled with her to tell when. You pulled her hair and suddenly ended up in a bedroom beside a SpongeBob pyjama shirt. You remembered the lamp, however. You liked the light it dispersed, warm and gentle. Ellie was beneath you, like hell she'd have the opportunity to take charge, your lip gloss on her temple and your hands in her hair. Her shirt was off in a flurry of cotton, yours soon to follow, landing side by side on the carpet. 

She sat up, a hand sliding behind her to rest, your thighs nestled on either side of her lap, cupping her flushed face in your palms. She accepted your delicacy and flourished in your control. Her free arm was around your waist, forcing your spine to curve, your chest colliding with hers, skin meeting skin. You were biting and nipping at her lips, slobber and saliva and spit trailing down your chin, her tongue already in your mouth. You tasted addictive, like mind control, your figure swimming before her low-lidded eyes. She tugged herself back, her spine hitting the headboard, hands sliding beneath your sweatpants to grasp your ass, using her grip to tug you further towards her. Your lips parted with a string of spit, drool gathering at the side of her mouth, eyes wide, practically popping out of her head. You were panting, chest expanding only to suction in, shallow, messy breaths. Ellie was pink, a bright blushing blossom, eyes shiny and enlarged. You were so warm and soft. Her face fell into your chest, savouring your warmth and soft skin as if it were capable of running away, escaping her lips.  

You were already grinding against her before her hands could grip your hips. Already moaning in your ear, her shaggy hair blocking her vision, making out the shape of your bouncing tits in the low light. Manicured nails tangled in her hair, tugging and moaning into her ear, her face buried in your neck. You smelt like weed and Victoria Secret spray, something sweet and sticky that clung to your skin and made her eyes roll back when she inhaled. Ellie's head hit the headboard when your fingers curled around her neck, squeezing until she whimpered in your ear, cute and panty. Freckles and blush, she was so fucking adorable, you wanted to bite her, sink your teeth into her white flesh, and devour this girl. Your hand secured around her throat while you pulled back, eyes thinning and consumed by lashes when you smiled, tooth gems and white canines. Looking like some kinda porn star, skin sweaty and tits pushed up in pink lace, Ellie wanted you to swallow her, chew on her bones and feast on her blood all heartless and feral. 

You eased up on her throat, watching her pant, lurching forward to stick your tongue down her throat, grinning against her soggy lips. Her hands continued to guide you, moving from your hips back to your ass, bringing your crotch down on hers with desperation. She whimpered when you groaned in her ear, nipping at her lobe until she shook, toes curling in her dirty socks. When you pulled back, she'd chase your lips, relentlessly tugging at your skin, desperate for contact. But she realised during her chase that she didn't want to do this to you. Didn't want to drag you into her life, her chaos. You had good results, a stable job. You had Abby. And a plug. That's all she was. Even if she meant more to you than that. That's all that she could be because that's what you deserved. Someone who didn't suffocate her with their unbalanced lifestyle and ex-girlfriend. Someone who didn't pull you away from a kind, genuine girl. Abby was suited to you, and she'd just taken that away from you. Taken you from Abby. 

Her hand was on your chin, delicate but firm. You blinked at her with heavy-lidded eyes and a tilted head. Confused. 'M' not gonna be good for you,' she whispered, avoiding your eyes because you were too pretty to push away. You felt cold beneath her hands, suddenly stiff, 'I know,' you whispered. She grimaced at your reply, flushing pink, thumbs tracing your stomach. 'I know Ellie,' you repeated, lips brushing hers. She frowned up at you. You pulled back, spine straightening, still perched on her hips. 'You don't get to do that,' you mumbled, hugging your arms around yourself. 'M' serious,' she whispered, her breath catching in her throat when your arms left your sides to cup her cheeks, the skin warming beneath your fingers. 'Me too,' you whispered back, gazing down at her. She looked guilty. Hadn't put up much of a fight. She couldn't even try, found you too fucking pretty when you looked at her like that. 'Don't wanna do this to you though,' she mumbled, ashamed and honest. 'Too late,' your reply had her brows rising before they dropped again to scrunch in a frown. 

'Can this end here?' She whispered, squeezing your sides, avoiding your eyes when they became glossy. 'No,' you mumbled, 'you wanted it this way.' She couldn't help but glance at you when tears hit her face. You hung above her, pressing your palms into your eyelids. 'You're a fuckin' bitch,' you said it so quietly she was worried she'd misheard. But when you removed your hands, she knew you'd said what you'd said. For a pretty girl, you could turn ugly, your glaring so harsh she wanted to disappear into the pillows behind her. And because of her cowardice, you pushed off Ellie, yanking your shirt off the ground and storming out of the bedroom. You could hear her rushing for her clothes behind you, appearing in the living room with her shirt inside out when your hand sealed around the door. 'Y/n, I'm sorry-- fuck jus' c'mere,' her hands were stretched out as if the pathetic gesture would help her situation. It didn't. You were out the door and on her porch, storming somewhere, anywhere. So dramatic, so reactive, but so necessary. 

You could book an Uber, fuck you could walk; extra steps wouldn't hurt. But a hand was around your forearm, and the cold rising the hairs on your body settled when you were swamped in her arms. Her chin was in your hair, and she was muttering something incoherent. You heard 'sorry' one too many times, a word that didn't let you book an Uber, didn't let you walk away. Because you were inside her flat, cold and crying. You shoved her away when she tried to embrace you again. You shoved her until you gave up. She was around you. You stunk of her. Fucking leather seats and cologne, cheap cologne. In her grey sheets that smelt like citrus laundry detergent and your skin. Bare flesh in cotton pyjamas that didn't belong to you, a stupid fucking shirt that said 'do LSD, play Minecraft'. You told her it was fucking dumb, and she just hugged you till you hugged her back. Until you laughed at the shirt and kissed her lips. Until you fell asleep in her grey sheets and cotton pyjamas. 

Chapter Text

more music <3

'How's it going, miss you ;(, 'sent at 01:46 am. You blinked at the message from Abby, your screen appearing dim in the early morning hours. Ellie had a kind of transparent curtain, white light reflecting off the screen and forming a white patch on the wall. The look on your face didn't convey the feeling you were experiencing, as you glanced at the forearm wrapped around your waist and back to the text. You felt like an asshole, especially when Ellie stirred, shifting behind you, her arm only tightening. To make matters worse, she shuffled closer, her breath warm on your nape, her cracked lips brushing the flesh. 'Mornin',' she sounded nasally when she woke up, like some sick Victorian child midway through the plague. You hummed, feeling her kisses leave your neck to travel into your hair. She kissed the skin of your shoulder, tracing your bicep with her lips before resting her chin on your arm, blinking at the screen. You heard her sharp inhale, choosing to keep your eyes on the screen instead of glancing at her. This didn't look good.

She pulled away, leaving you cold and lonely, her feet swinging over the edge of the bed. She leant forward, gripping the edge of the mattress. You heard her palms land on her cheeks and the bed squeaking when she leaned forward to hide her face in her hands. 'Ellie?' You were facing her now, knees curled beneath you and phone discarded somewhere in the duvet. 'I told you last night,' she groaned into her hands, rubbing her palm over her mouth. You'd been dazed previously from sleep and emotionally fueled text messages, but you were wide awake now. 'You can't say stuff like that then push me away, s' not fair,' you returned, your tone quiet and calm. Ellie would've preferred you yelled. Give her a reason to drive you back to your dorm and never contact you again. 'Thought you hated Abby,' you added, beginning to chew your thumbnail, staring at your lap. 'Yeah, well, I don't hate her that much,' she mumbled, twisting her head over her shoulder but not yet looking at you.

'What happened?' She imagined you were trying to change the topic. Which you were, apart from your curiosity (nosiness). 'Just fell out, I guess,' she shrugged, and you narrowed your eyes, shuffling on your knees, now centimetres from her. 'Abby said that too,' she was beginning to become frustrated with your soft-spoken sentences. It made her feel as if you didn't understand the gravity of what she was doing. She had the capability to ruin you. Ruin you and Abby. Ruin the potential. So she was putting a stop to that. That's why she didn't have sex with you. As much as she wanted to, something about the intimacy would render her useless from running away from you. She would've seen you at your most vulnerable, and you at hers. And that's when she couldn't turn back. 'It doesn't matter,' she spoke firmly, and you decided not to push, at least not verbally. She stiffened when the warmth of your palm travelled up her spine, fingers curling around her right shoulder. She stared at the wall as if it had eyes and were blinking back at her. The paint laughed at her, a cruel 'you're fucked,' the second your lips met her neck. The worst part was that it wasn't sensual; it lacked sexual intent. It was pure innocence, a display of gentle passion. She stood up before she returned the same passion. 

You sat back into the sheets, feeling your arms curl around yourself again as if they could offer the touch Ellie kept herself from giving. Did she dislike you? If so, why not just say it outright? If she were trying to show it instead of speak, she was doing a shit job. You didn't want to argue, collecting your clothes from the day before, dressing and padding into the living room. Ellie was outside, the sliding glass door cracked open, dragging cool air into her flat. You joined her, lowering yourself onto the wooden decking and fidgeting with your hands. 'I'll grab my keys,' she didn't wait for you to respond, disappearing back inside. You felt like driving a screw through your frontolobe. This wasn't fair. Pratically admitting she's fucking in love with you and then turning so cold? Maybe letting her see Abby's message was overstepping, but you weren't going to hide it from her. You preferred to be honest, but apparently that never gets anyone far. She brushed past you, ducking beneath the naked tree overhanging her bland home and slipping into her car. She started the engine, never glancing at you, not even pausing. She fidgeted with the console and the glove box, stalling her attention span to avoid glancing your way. You pushed yourself off the porch, watching dead damp leaves fold beneath your shoes, trying to drag out the journey between her flat and her car. 

She'd already turned the heater on. The car smelt like weed and regret. You shouldn't have kissed her last night. You'd sealed your fate the moment she sealed your lips. The beauty of hateful weekends and their situationships. Maybe this would teach you a lesson. Don't get romantically involved with a University plug and her fucked up version of doing you a favour by stringing you along only to shove you away. You started to hate Ellie. Curled in her passenger seat, you glared at the frost outside. You reckoned she didn't even acknowledge its beauty. Her cold, ugly demeanour. Ellie was Ellie, and Ellie only cared about Ellie. She wasn't doing this for your benefit. She just didn't like you and couldn't form a coherent sentence to tell you. Couldn't say it to your face. You'd probably receive some empathetic explanation of her reasons through Dina the fucking messenger pigeon. You were out of the car before she could utter a goodbye, a clipped 'thank you,' leaving your lips. She could tell you were mad, but you still closed the door timidly, politely. You didn't slam it, and looked her in the eyes when you thanked her. She watched your back until it disappeared into your building before she let her head hit the wheel. She fought foolish tears. Ellie pressed her palms forcefully into her eyelids because maybe that way she wouldn't have to see her empty passenger seat, the leather still warm, her skin still smelling of you. 

But now, herbal tea and shampoo clung to the interior of her car, to the pink flesh of her palms and the crease below her jaw. Abby's message stung the space behind her eyes, fitly snug in the back of her mind. She remembered the curve of your tits, the edge to your voice when you'd smoked, and the feel of your teeth when you smiled shyly against her jaw. All so vibrant and so fucking sore. But maybe a bitter end would encourage you to drift away. Find someone else to roll your weed and kiss your neck. Abby didn't smoke, but she cared for you. She wouldn't let weird guys grab you at parties or cause you to get involved with the wrong crowd. She'd encourage your studies and not give you stupid graphic print shirts. Abby would let you braid her hair when she was too tired to do it herself. She'd stop you from smoking and hug you back. You'd cry, and she wouldn't leave you, wouldn't push you away. Abby knew how to deal with people, knew how to be kind and how to care. Abby was suited for you; she was healthy. And Ellie hated that she wasn't the one capable of being that for you. That she wasn't healthy. Not for Cat, not for you. Not for anyone. 

She'd have hated you to see her break down like this. Fake confidence trailing down her cheeks and wetting her palms, making her sniffle. She hated herself and was worried she'd made you do the same. Not that she could blame you, she couldn't even defend herself. She wanted to curl up and die. Die and disappear. Wither into her leather seats. But people can't simply disappear, and the leather seats just smelt like you. 'can i come over?' Cat responded minutes later, a small thumbs up to the pathetic message, and you watched Ellie's car leave the asphalt beneath your dorm window. Your unlocked phone gazed back at you, its icons and apps swimming and swirling before your welling eyes. You found yourself crying a lot recently. The reason for your emotions had just reversed out of the student carpark and was heading at an illegal speed towards her ex's apartment. Blurry eyes could still depict the call icon on your home screen, trembling fingers making contact with Abby's name and number. 

She picked up quickly, her voice tired on the other end. Tired but happy, as if she'd been awaiting your call. Your heart dropped. She'd sent that message so late lastnight, debating whether it was too forward, too desperate, too much? Even if she was supposed to be sleeping. It may affect her performance. That message she'd stressed over for hours was enough for you. More than enough. 'Hi,' she sounded so hopeful, so kind. Your lip quivered. A harsh lump rendered your speech completely and utterly useless. Your lips parted to release a sentence, a word, a sound. Nothing came out, just a choke. 'Y/n,' was it that obvious you were on the verge of a meltdown, so close to sobbing. Her voice was too tender, too caring, not to know. To not have realised you were that close to breaking down. Abby was frowning on the other end of the line, knowing that your silence had reasoning, reasoning she was unable to comfort you over, physical distance distressing her, arms itching to embrace a girl who was miles away. 'Abby,' you whispered, feeling your heart twist and fold within your chest. 'Yes, love,' you almost collapsed in choked sobs. She was so fucking good for you, so why? Why Ellie? You hated Ellie. 'Miss you,' your reply was barely verbal, more of a pathetic choke. 'I'll be home soon.'

Chapter Text

You literally wanted to rip out your hair. That was fifty minutes ago. Now you wanted to grind against the hunk of woman in your carpark. Travelling back fifty minutes ago, you'd just collapsed into your duvet. Exams were over. It was the term break. Your fingers drifted towards your scalp before snatching them back. If the stress didn't make you go bald, tugging at your hair would definitely do it. The sky was blue. It felt like Mac Miller had arisen from the dead, and summer was beginning. Well, spring was on the horizon, and you were extremely impatient. So impatient you were in shorts and a pink shirt. But your tits were pushed up for the first time since that horrific incident with Ellie three weeks ago, and you'd just had your nails redone. Manicured toenails digging into the carpet as you spun, ignoring Alby's complaints from next door as you increased the volume of your music. Fuck Ellie. Fuck him. It was warm outside, and you never normally got this excited over weather, but Abby was coming back. 

Warm evenings and a hot blonde were going to be incorporated into your life. Shouju anime, blueberry slushies and minimarts. You could collapse right there. But you continued to prance around your dorm. Maybe you'd inherited that bipolar disorder from your father. After the soggy winter depression, you were re-emerging from the stinky wet earth like a happy little flower. A happy little bipolar flower who listened to Mazzy Star and danced around her dorm with the window open. It was open for a reason. Not just the warm weather, but a lookout, one that could be used by a professional sniper, but instead to spot the hot blonde. The poor girl didn't make it to your building; she barely got out of the car before you dashed down the four flights of stairs and across the asphalt. You know how in those stupid romances, the couple reunites and practically strangle each other? The guy will pick up the girl and spin her, that gross shit that either makes you smile or gag. You were used to gagging. 

This time, you smiled. It was more of a squeal and grin. She lifted you, too. Proper movie stuff. Pompompurin slippers abandoned the asphalt. You went lightheaded, all dizzy. It felt like little cartoon love-hearts bubbled and popped from your brain, lifting into the blue sky. You waited to feel the harsh ground beneath your heels, but found yourself perched on the bonnet of her Toyota Yaris, ass trapped in her hands. She was everywhere. Her lips on yours, on your neck, on your cheeks. 'Fuck, missed you s'much,' and simple as that, you began to levitate, gospel harmonies filtered into your ears, lightbeams spurting from your body because Abby's hands were on your ass and her tongue in your mouth. It was warm and tender, and you felt so happy you could've cried. You felt your heart beneath your skin, the blood that pumped through each individual vessel in your body. After all that, you felt alive again. She pulled away just to look at you. You didn't realise such an act would have such an impact on you. You'd missed kissing her. Missed her muscle, flesh and skin beneath your hands. Loose blonde baby hairs covered her eyes, making her squint at you when she pulled away. 

Her hands sat on either side of you, palms pressed into the car, thumbs brushing your outer thigh. She looked out of breath. All pink and smiley. She'd felt so large beneath your hands, strong and taut. But now she shrank like a lamb cornered by a wolf. You realised with shock that you were the wolf. Well, more of a cat, maybe, a cheshire one in Abby's eyes, head cocked a fraction. All white canines and sparkly gems. She caught the whiff of grapefruit tea on your breath, the feel of your manicured nails when they tickled her shoulders. Abby looked like a porcelain doll, a six-foot porcelain doll, with precious pink cheeks and glossy wet lips. You kissed her again, and she shrank even more. You snorted, and she smiled. Reactive. So reactive. If you poked her, she may have cracked, crumbled to the concrete beneath you. 'Missed you too,' you whispered, letting your noses brush, your eyes wandering from her flushed face to a fourth-story window. Someone was watching. Alby/Alistair, his glare peeking from behind his seafoam green curtain. Abby's hands were on your ass before you could react, listening to your laugh when he dashed away from the glass. 'He bother you much?' She muttered, eyes still trained on his empty window, her hands moving to your sides, running up and down. 'No,' you grinned at her, bottom lip tugged between your teeth and feet swinging beneath you. Her gaze was on you again, and she went red, your fingertips brushing her brow to tuck away a blonde strand. 'You wanna go to mine?'

Your jandals hung off your feet, Abby's windows down, the smell of the ocean and your phone plugged into AUX. She kept staring at your legs despite her attention supposedly being on the road. You were playing something Groove Armada, and she was rapping her thumbs against the wheel, grinning at you whenever she stopped at a light. Abby was a good girl. Always was, always, would be. She was polite and quiet and kind. She thought you were similar. Until the light turned red and your index finger was sliding over the volume dial. Her car vibrated, the bass making her seat shake beneath her. Her brows raised, glancing at you. You were already grinning at her, tapping a nail against her thigh, your eyes returning to the now green light. Abby didn't take you for a DNB person, but she wasn't one to complain, and her foot was already on the accelerator. Your nail became your finger, and your finger to your hand. You gripped her thigh until she squeeked, shaking her head at your small snort, leaning over the console to kiss her pink cheek. She said something about your glossy French tips, and you began to rub your hand. She sank further into the seat, increasing her speed until she felt the wind whip her hair through the open window and soothe the warmth that occupied her face. 

You were fiddling with your phone when she parked, the music coming to an immediate halt when she stopped the engine, her hand cupping your jaw before you could look up from your screen. She kissed you quickly, sweetly, before rushing out of the car. You watched her run around the front with a perplexed expression, placing a hand on the door handle, only for her to gesture for you to stop. She grabbed the handle on the other side, tugging the door open for you. Your head hit the headrest when you laughed, grinning up at Abby, who almost appeared out of breath. You thanked her, rising onto your toes to kiss her before padding towards the flat, waiting patiently at the doorstep. Her hands slid over your waist, gently tugging you in and catching your bottom lip with her teeth, smiling when you gasped against her mouth. You'd never been kissed so many times in one day. Kissed so many times by a girl. Your mother would be mortified. Good. 

She tugged you into her apartment. Still gentle, just... Eager, excited. She kissed you again. And again. You were out of breath by the time you'd reached her bedroom, where she collapsed into the duvet, travel bag thrown somewhere into the en-suite. It made you realise you had been her first stop. She meant you when she said home. Not her flat. You. You collapsed beside her, blinking at the smiling girl opposite you. She mumbled a nervous 'what?', suddenly aware of you're gaze. It wasn't harsh or serious. But you were focused, intent on studying her face. Maybe tonight she'd let you dry her hair, and then braid it the next morning. Because you were planning on sleeping over. No doubt about it. You wanted to spend the first night Abby was back with her. You asked her and she nodded so eratically you were worried her head would come tumbling off. You still laughed despite your concern, and she kissed you again. She made pasta bake and rambled about the tournament. You just listened, stabbing the dinner with your fork, more focused on her face than the food and her story. 

Then she told you about how much she liked Adrianne Lenker. You told Abby she looked like her songs. She blushed at that. Hard, pink, head down, blush. You laughed at her, and she told you to leave her alone. She told you about her coin fixation in high school. She told you how she got bullied until she was twelve and wasn't insecure anymore about liking girls. Apparently, you'd made her feel that way. You didn't believe her. But she'd meant it. She told you how much she wanted a dog. She had one when she was younger, Alice, a German shepherd with hip problems. You told her you loved dogs. That made her smile. Big and toothy. She mentioned her dad. He'd died. So you mentioned yours. You pretended he died, too. Far too embarrassed to admit the truth, you hid your face in the shadow of the kitchen light when you dropped your chin. She asked if you were telling the truth. You admitted you'd lied. Even more embarrassed. She told you it was okay and that you didn't have to tell her. So you told her. 

'I haven't seen him since like fifteen, sixteen maybe,' she nodded for you to continue, your eyes steadily meeting hers. 'Since he started doing drugs,' you whispered the last word like some pathetic attempt for her not to hear. She did. You liked that she didn't look pitiful. Just quiet. You were used to being the quiet one; it felt weird for her to go silent on you. But you could tell when people actually listened or not. And she was listening. You weren't sure whether you liked that or not. 'He might actually be dead,' you shrugged, dropping your chin in your palm to blink at her across the dining table. 'M' sorry,' she whispered as if anything louder would make you crack. You shook your head, offering her a smile. 'Was he nice?' You whispered, watching your finger trace the calluses on her open palm that lay flat in the centre of the table. 'Yeah, he was real cool,' she grinned. It looked sore. Kinda like a smile that hurt. It ended there. But it surprised you that you wouldn't have minded to keep talking. Instead, you sat at the dining table, watching your fingers follow the creases and indents of her hand, like the lines of a colouring book. 

You followed her into the shower that night. Steam and tile and wet pink skin. You'd never been naked with a girl. You didn't think she had either. Your brow met her chest, and her arms were around your shoulders, chin rested in your hair. She had a citrus-flavoured soap that you rubbed into her skin, the shower smelt of lemons and Abby. She kissed your brow when you frowned at the bubbles building between your fingers. And when she kissed your nose, you cried. Soft, small tears she wiped with her thumbs. She hid you in her arms as if the shower tiles were watching, as if she wanted to hide you from the world. And you cried because you felt safe. Safe in your body, with this person, in this room. Safe beneath the water and the whir of the bathroom fan. Safe in her bed sheets and her arms. Maybe your mum thought it was wrong. Maybe Izzy and her God thought it was wrong. Maybe even Ellie thought it was wrong. But you thought it was right. You thought it felt right. 

Chapter Text

You ran your tongue against the metal stapled to your teeth. You hadn't smiled since you got them. That was a year ago. Not that anyone would notice the braces anyway. They were the same colour as your dress, which you glanced down at, your manicured toenails peeking out of the hem, aching in the heels you wore. The balloon you kicked went sailing across the polished gym floor. You watched it leave, hugging your arms around yourself, squinting at the hanging disco ball. Purple glitter and sequins gathered at your feet, forming a small circle you stepped out of. A group of girls who bullied you a few years back were taking a photo to your left. If you didn't know them, you would've thought they were nice. Sarah was on your right, throwing Cheetos at a boy tying his shoelaces. Someone mentioned something about a party bus to your right, and you stalled, chin lifting to blink at the reflective ball above you. While it twisted, it threw specks across your face. You watched them fly over your arms and chest, travelling the length of the gym. Watching it made you dizzy, your eyes pink and heavy, low-lidded as you swayed beneath the rotating ball.  

You felt Cheeto dust gather on your fingers when Sarah grabbed your hand. She must've heard about the party bus, too. The school gym was warm and purple. Outside was cold and blue. Sarah pulled you through groups, her heels clicking on the concrete, her locs bouncing against her back. You watched the way her shoulder bones shifted when she walked, the glitter serum her mum had applied to them shining on her umber flesh in someone's torchlight. She was the only reason you came here. The only reason you spent the eighty bucks and wore a fucking dress. You thought smoking would make it easier. Instead, you just got transfixed by a fucking disco ball and pink balloons. You stumbled on the high steps, hiking your dress above your knees while Sarah dragged you up the stairs. Zebra print cushions and neon LEDs. If you weren't so high, you would've had an aneurysm. Some scooted over, and Sarah collapsed against the blacked-out window, dragging you down with her. 'You havin' fun?' She partially yelled over David Guetta and received your timid nod. 'Cool,' she grinned at you, that look in her eyes that made your stomach flip. She held your gaze until someone complimented her manicured nails, and you were left alone. Sweaty shoulders bumped you, and you searched for somewhere else to look that wasn't your friend. 

Someone grinding on their boyfriend, a vape that went flying across the bus and hit a girl in the face, and Fergus. South-African and offensively ginger. You shuddered, trying to ignore the glow of his yellow tie in the blue light. He caught your eyes through the haze of nicotine and artificial lighting. You suddenly felt sick, your stomach turning when he elbowed the girl beside you to sit down. Knees obnoxiously spread, and an arm awkwardly thrown around your shoulders. For someone trying to be smooth, he was shit at it. You felt like calling him a dick, but kept your lips sealed, thinking better when you caught the whiff of alcohol on his thin lips. 'You ready to get fucked tonight?' You glanced at him, hands held politely on your lap. At your lack of response, he scoffed, tapping his thumb against your shoulder to the music, horridly offbeat. He was acting as if you knew each other. Fergus had thrown a football at you the other day and sighed out an apology as if it were the most generous thing you'd ever been given in your life. 

You pressed your head against the window behind you, feeling his clammy hand shift to your knee, squeezing it, the fabric of your dress beginning to bunch. He was close enough that you could see the angry zits scattered across his cheekbones. Someone called him Mount Fuji during biology, you tried not to laugh, now making eye contact with the infamously named pimple on his chin. Your gaze didn't deter him. He leant closer and your nostrils filled with lynx Africa. 'So you watch hentai?' He had this nasty grin on his face. Like he was actually saying something funny. Mean people think they're hilarious. 'What?' You mumbled, leaning back, bumping into Sarah. 'That Japanese shit, y'know anime,' he grinned as if he'd won a Nobel Peace Prize. 'I don't watch that,' you shrank into her. 'You do,' he hadn't stopped smiling, eyebrows translucent in the low light. He looked browless. You should've said something.

'Hey, no shame in it, I watch it,' you were in disbelief that you were having this conversation with someone you hadn't uttered a word to in your entire life. It felt surreal. You must've had a look of disgust on your face because he reeled back as if you'd struck him. 'Just trying to talk to you, freak. Lucky I even said anything,' he muttered, hand snatched away from your knee as if you carried a fatal disease. You kept your eyes forward, pretending your heartbeat wasn't pounding in your ears, battering against the bone of your skull. You grimaced, chewing your fingernail until it snapped. 'You're gay, right?' He sneered. The extremely unwarranted questions were back, and to be frank, you'd rather kill yourself than answer. 'Dunno?' You mumbled, shrugging and pressing your clasped hands between your thighs, your broken nail snagging your dress. 

'How don't you know?' He stunk, and you felt your breath stick to your lip gloss, avoiding the use of your nose. 'Fuck off, Fergus.' Your words had the opposite effect. 'Hey, m' not homophobic or nothin', it's hot. Girls kissin' girls,' he swayed against you, and you held back a gag. Your lack of response encouraged him to continue. 'Want some?' He flicked a small plastic bag in front of your eyes. 'S' gear,' Heroin. His eyes were on yours, eating away at you. You shook your head, turning your chin in the opposite direction as if that would encourage him to fuck off. It didn't. 'You just snort it, easy,' he demonstrated, white powder scattered over his dress pants like icing sugar, 'see.' He grinned, white sumdged on his upper lip. You knew how, you'd seen your dad do it the other week on the coffee table in the living room. 'No,' you mumbled, shoving him away, receiving a short snort. 'Whateva, ' he muttered, sniffing the rest and tossing the plastic bag at you. It landed in your lap.

It crumpled in your fist when Sarah's hand found yours again. 'See you, faggot,' he watched your temple twitch and the trail of your dress disappear through the door. The streetlamps were harsh on your eyes, asphalt and then freshly trimmed grass made you stumble behind Sarah, who surged towards the open front door of Alison's flash house. It smelt like champagne and vomit inside, a group of girls singing Faye Webster, despite the Chief Keef on AUX. A chandelier swayed above you, and a beer can was thrown down the stairs, rolling towards your feet. You stepped over it, muttering something about using the bathroom to Sarah before slipping down a quiet hallway. The wood floors shone with polish that would be ruined within hours, trampled by strappy heels and stained with alcohol. The bathroom was warmly lit, with dark green tiles and white porcelain. Your fingers curled around the sink, blinking at the plastic bag you'd dropped on the shiny tap. 

If you stared at it for any longer, maybe it would disappear. Or set alight, burn until it fizzled, leaving a charred mark on the porcelain. Maybe it would slip off the silver and be sucked down the plug hole. Maybe. But maybe you left the bathroom and the plastic bag in the sanitary bin, its contents empty. The chandelier leered at you, the world spinning as the hanging diamonds multiplied. You spun beneath the chandelier, dancing bodies and sweat and stained carpet pulled you into the main area, the lights low. Red and blue. They shone against your skin, reminding you of that movie trip you did with your dad. He grabbed the 3D glasses, the shit paper ones that make stuff jump out of the movie screen. You watched snails fly out of the projector, Turbo, possibly the best film to this day. In all honesty, it was a shit movie. But the memory wasn't. You sniffed, brushing the white powder clinging to the skin below your nostril. 

Tripping on a Persian rug, you stumbled forward, catching yourself on a cream couch cushion and lifting your eyes to the glossy sliding doors. People were poolside, dancing, running, and kissing. They moved in slow motion, followed by translucent trails. You watched Sarah through half-lidded eyes. Your face felt hot, your stomach flipping, left hand squeezing the cushion. Her dress was pooling at her feet. Red lace and rich brown skin. You stumbled forward, feeling the white walls pulse around you, fingers meeting the cold glass. They left marks when you pulled away, using your palms to search for the opening. And suddenly you burst free. You weren't blue and red but a soft cyan. Waves rippled against the pool edge, casting a reflective glow over your skin. Sarah's skin. 

You reached out, fingers brushing her locs just as she went forward, submerged beneath a flurry of bubbles. You fell forward, catching yourself on someone's shoulder, muttering an incoherent apology, scanning feverishly for Sarah. She emerged, all dark shiny skin and bright white teeth. Her locs curled around her live snakes. Possessive and hostile. They hissed at you, and you froze into stone. She found your eyes. A finger left the water, and it dragged you forward. It dragged your dress off your body and down your legs. It pooled at your feet, abandoned alongside your heels. You teetered on the pool edge, cold tiles crawling up your flesh, scattering goose bumps across your exposed skin. Someone whistled at you. You were watching Sarah. She nodded. Your hands lifted as if possessed by a higher power, held above your head. Biceps pressed to your eyes, palms on top of one another, just as your dad had taught you. 'Bend your knees, imagine you're diving into a keyhole.' 

You weren't high in some girl's garden in your bra and undies after prom. You were in a flowery one-piece and pink goggles at the local community pool. 'You can do it, babygirl, deep breaths,' he grinned at you through a rosy lens, adjusting your yellow swim cap. You nodded, pressing your biceps into your ears until they hurt. 'On your marks,' your small toes curled around the edge, nails blue and sparkly, chipped polish from when your mum painted them last weekend. 'Set,' he crouched beside you, a comforting hand on your lower back. 'Go.' You dove forward, your senses fading. If you closed your eyes, you could see the faded paint, the hairties and old plasters. Smell the chlorine and see the red and yellow lane rope. You drifted in a sea of memories, of your dad's stubble against your left cheek, and chipped nail polish. You drifted until you remembered oxygen and light. Your eyes opened to a blur of red lace and bare legs. Your dad wasn't here anymore. Just Sarah and her smile. 

You broke the surface, and she was already there waiting. The pool lights illuminated the underside of her face, droplets clinging to her clustered lashes. She giggled at you, and you laughed back. High and nervous and in love. Her hands felt so warm around your face, cupping your cheeks. Holding you close. Tenderly. She blinked at you, her smile fading, replaced by something far away. Your lips parted, as if to speak, to say something. But there was nothing to say because your hands were on her waist, your legs brushing hers while you tread water. Sarah leant forward, and because you mirrored her, she didn't attempt to ask. You thought her lips felt soft. Like flower petals and new makeup brushes. Her tongue slid past your lips, and your arms tightened around her waist, locking her against you. Sarah was drunk, and her skin felt tender. She smelt like cocoa butter and vodka. 'Oi, some bitches kissing in the pool!' She pulled away to blink at you, hands still steady on your cheeks. You let her stay there for a moment before she slipped away. Wading out of the pool and back into the house. She left you floating there, arms wrapped around yourself, wet and soaked and freezing. You didn't cry. Too many people were watching, so you sank beneath the surface and pretended the arms hugging you were your father's, and you'd just won your backstroke relay. 

You opened your eyes to warmth. Large arms had wrapped you in a cocoon of flesh. You glanced down, expecting your father's hairy arms and weathered skin. But pink freckled forearms held your waist, tugging you closer beneath a blanket of cotton, not chlorine. Her lips brushed your nape whenever she exhaled, her heart against your left shoulder bone. Rain hit the tin roof, and you sank into Abby, blonde hair tickling your bare back, her naked body bare and warm behind you. If you focused on the rain, you could float away in her arms. Stranded on this mattress in her clean cotton sheets in the centre of an ocean, floating into an expanse of dark blue sea. She kissed your skin when you shifted, a lazy, gentle action. You twisted into her arms, head bowed at her chest, feeling the rain and the waves rock you back to sleep. 

Chapter Text

You wrung your hands, pinching the skin of your palm. Abby was bleeding, her teeth stained red, blood pooling from her nose despite the grin on her face. If she'd told you that she boxed too, you may have felt deterred. Sure, she looked mouth-watering in a tight-fitting tank, but was it really worth it to see her face get smashed in? Maybe she knew you'd react this way. Hands clasped and doe-eyed with worry. She'd seen you in a similar state that morning. Eyes wide, blinking up at her beneath her sheets. All sleepy and pretty and naked. You remained that way until she came out of the shower, saw you standing bare in her bedroom doorway, hand wrapped around the white wooden frame. She scooped you up and kissed you as if you were a prized possession. She looked at you the same way now. Standing in front of the ring, manicured nails adjusting your hair, distracting yourself from the blood and the possibility of broken noses. 

She'd put you in a grey fleece far too big for your frame to hide you from the rain and cold. She wished she hadn't now because all it did was distract her. When you handed it back, she glanced at the smudge of lipliner on the collar. Abby went to inhale the fabric before thinking better, shoving it in her closet to avoid making a decision she'd possibly feel ashamed of later. But before that, you stood in the cold concrete gym, rain loud on the tin roofing and large windows. What shocked you the most wasn't the fact that Abby boxed, especially in a place that was so... Not her. It was the fact that she was boxing a dude. You reckoned she'd set women's rights four years ahead with that match. Then he hit her jaw, and she rolled onto the mat beneath her in defeat. Women's rights returned to their current position. Your fingers curled around the ring, worried until she laughed, eyes landing on you the second they opened. She smiled even more. 'Really hurting my ego, you seeing me like this,' she chuckled, studying your worried frown. 'You okay?' You mumbled, glancing up at her sparring partner. He threw his head back, finishing the rest of his water and rolling his shoulders. 

'M' fine. Manny's jus' going easy on me cos you're here,' she grinned, glancing at the young man who made an 'up' motion with his boxing glove. She rolled her eyes, her hand colliding with his gloves. You stepped back when he pulled her up, the pair lifting their fists again. You felt like looking away, chewing feverishly at the minty gum between your teeth, accidentally biting your inner cheek when Manny made a good swing at Abby's jaw. He was stronger but not nearly as fit. Abby's actions were quick, while his appeared almost sluggish. Didn't make you any less nervous, a young woman leaning against the doorframe, glancing between you and the blonde. You weren't aware of her presence until she was beside you, hidden in a slim hoodie and cargo pants. 'Hi,' she grinned at you, full lips stretching above her teeth. You felt your face warm, returning a polite 'hey, ' watching her eyes return to the pair in the ring. When she spoke, she didn't look at you, not even in your direction, attention still focused on the casual match.   

'You know, Abby?' The answer was obvious: you, shrouded in the blonde's fleece and hair slightly out of place from the make-out that morning. Nora thought you looked out of place. Not in a hostile way, just a 'she's not from around here' kind of way. Levi's jeans that sat tight around your ass, manicured nails and Ugg boots. Not the usual for a boxing gym, especially with the group of people who tended to use the space. Abby was leaning against the rings now, watching the interaction play out, Manny at her side. 'We met a few months ago,' you hummed, tucking your arms behind your back to avoid fidgeting, interlinking your fingers. 'Yea?' Nora was still smiling, but you couldn't figure out what kind of smile it was. Genuine? Curious? Judgemental? You nodded awkwardly, meeting Abby's eyes. She was smiling at you, too. But you could read that one. Reassuring. 'Cute,' Nora hummed, more to Abby, giving her a nod of approval you tried to ignore. 

One thing you'd noticed recently is that everyone you were drawn to was older than you. They all had a good two to three years on you. Made you feel immature and out of place. You listened to Amy Winehouse and enjoyed the odd cigarette, but now, standing with this group, you felt too young. Naive. Maybe if you watched the Amy documentary and smoked more cigarettes, you'd fit in, feel older. But that wouldn't help you in any shape or form. Amy Winehouse made you cry, and cigarettes would kill you earlier than you'd like. So you just stood in the cold gym, rocking nervously back and forth on your heels. Nora's eyes were back on you, her brown curls pulled back in cornrows, her finger and thumb fiddling with her left earring. You couldn't tell whether she liked you or not. Couldn't even grasp her opinion. At times like these, you wished you had the power to reach into someone's mind and tug out their thoughts, re-read and decipher them until they became clear. But you couldn't reach into Nora's skull, and the look she was giving you was enough of an answer. She didn't approve. Not yet. 

Was that what you wanted? Was it what Abby wanted? University had been an opportunity for you to stop worrying about what others thought. About their approval and judgment. A new city and new interactions had started strong, with half of your situationships friend group staring you down in a cold boxing gym. 'Glad you got to see me beat her ass?' Manny grinned at you. You liked him. Managing a partial nod, before looking worriedly to Abby, who'd taken no offence, shaking her head with a grin. 'Fuck off, don't put her on the spot,' she glanced apologetically at you, receiving a shy smile, your reassurance that you didn't mind the sudden spotlight. 'I might bet next time,' you offered Manny a grin, receiving a chesty laugh and Nora's snort. Abby blushed, tugging off a boxing glove to throw at you. You barely caught it before it hit your face, tossing it back at the blonde, who laughed in such a way that made you question if you'd ever been this turned on before. Her muscles flexed when she leaned back against the ring, 'might needa ring girl,' she grinned despite her flushed face, picturing the image of you in aggressively small shorts, waving a scoreboard above your head.

You had the same picture, but partially twisted. Because it involved you lying beneath her in the centre of the ring instead of strutting around it. Nora was beginning to like you more, tooth gems and a faint hint of weed. Because she hadn't lied when she called you cute. You were quiet and eager to please. Fiddling with your fingers and gazing up at Abby. She didn't doubt the feelings you held for her friend, her shoulder gently nudging yours. You stumbled in surprise, glancing at her when she giggled. Reasling she was teasing you, you smiled, shy and sweet. You reminded her of a cartoon character. Someone dressed in pink and soft-spoken. Ellie thought similarly to Nora. You reminded her of Princess Bubblegum. But Abby didn't remind her of Marceline. She reminded herself of Marcerline. She'd sing a copyrighted version of Monster to you with her acoustic guitar and steal your heart like some snake charmer. But Ellie never got the chance because Abby was Finn, and you kissed her in episode five. The one she wished she could forget. 

Ellie already missed you. It had been a few days since Victoria Secret spray and herbal tea left her flat. She'd lit a candle and opened the window. Cat came over and closed those windows, filling the room with ink and incense. And with her nose pressed against wet pussy, Ellie could still smell you. Your soft skin and lashes. Your sharp teeth and mint gum. Cat was lying on her sheets, moaning behind her hand, and Ellie pretended it was you. Cat wouldn't be offended, that's why Ellie didn't feel guilty. But she did. She felt guilty about the thong you'd left at hers. The one she stared at on her carpet, refusing to touch it. Leave it there as if you were still in her flat. Imagined you were there, had noticed it, and went piping hot with embarrassment. You'd get nervous and apologise until she laughed. But she could only ignore and imagine for so long. Because Ellie did something terrible. Gross and creepy. Something that terrified her. It would terrify anyone who knew. She sniffed the cotton, and now, nose deep in her ex's pussy she smelt you again. She felt so guilty, placing the thong in her washer, putting it on a repetitive cycle of soap and warm water until she could forget what she'd done. She just missed you so much. And when your scent abandoned her flat, that was all she had left of you. 

But it wasn't the sweet and kind version of you. She'd made it dirty and embarrassing, groaning against worn fabric like some fucking sicko. Cat saw the thong hanging from her desk chair's shoulder, accompanied by Ellie's green creeper hoodie. It was blue and lacy. She glanced between the underwear and her friend, smoke curling from her lips. Ellie tried to ignore her gaze, folding her arms over her bare chest, pulling the sheets up to hide beneath the duvet as if it would dissipate Cat's silent judgment. 'So,' the young woman hummed, peeling the sheet back from Ellie's sealed eyes and pink face. 'What?' Ellie mumbled, eyes still closed and cheeks red. Her stomach hurt, and Cat's breath smelled of weed and pussy. 'This why you called me over?' Her question made Ellie groan, veiny hands dragging down her burning face. 'Sex isn't how you cope,' Cat blinked at the blank wall opposite the bed. 'Worked for me,' Ellie muttered, stubborn but unsure. 'It isn't,' Cat pointed out, motioning towards the thong, blunt still between her fingers. 'Having sex with me isn't sex with her. Even if you pretend,' she took a hit, receiving Ellie's sunken eyes. 

'We never had sex,' Ellie clarified, 'jus' kissed and stuff.' Her head hit the board behind her with a thump, face twisting in a wince. 'Nd' I wasn't pretending I was anyway,' Cat scoffed at her lie, passing the joint to Ellie. 'Bro, you had her right there, now you've handed her over to Abby fucking Anderson.' Her words made Ellie frown, pouting behind the duvet. 'Willingly,' Ellie muttered back, as if that made any difference. 'How much more you gonna let her take from you?' Cat sighed, chewing her lip, taking the joint back. 'Calling me up cos you wanna fuck someone who's not her just to pretend I am her? S' fucked Williams,' Cat mumbled, glancing at Ellie, who tried to sink beneath the sheets again, ignoring the consequences of her actions. 'Stop calling my phone and fix your issues,' she was slipping out of the bed, tugging a shirt over the tattoos littering her chest. 'Cat, c'mon, babe,' Ellie muttered, a hand curling around Cat's thigh only to be shaken off. 'M' serious, El, wasting my time,' she pulled cotton sweats up her legs, stuffing her feet into a pair of slides and shuffling out of the bedroom. Ellie listened to her fill the kettle, switching it on. 

She stared at the ceiling light for a bit before glancing at your thong. Then back at the ceiling. She tried to suffocate herself with a pillow, yelling nonsense into the case, before throwing it off the bed in defeat. Cat was in her doorway with a lazy cup of coffee. Ellie hated coffee. Cat knew this, let the room fill with its harsh smell. 'You're loosin' your shit, message her before I leave,' Cat muttered, stirring the steaming milk and sugar with a spoon. She said it like a threat. Five minutes ago, Ellie wouldn't have cared whether Cat left or stayed. Now she was desperate for a human connection. 'Cat--', ' Ellie, I'm serious, message her. You still have her number, do it,' Cat watched her like some rabid animal to be pitied, curled in navy sheets that smelt of sex and coffee. Ellie was fighting for her life here. She knew your favourite Adele album was 19, that your mother was homophobic, and you still watched Gravity Falls. She bet Abby didn't know these things. So why was that girl any more deserving than her? Ellie didn't know anymore. She was yearning, hating herself for pushing you away.  

The meaner she treated you, the more eager and persistent you became until she dropped you home without a word. Until Abby came back from her competition and wrapped you around her finger. You hadn't even asked for bud. It made her uneasy, alongside Cat's watchful eyes. 'You done it?' Ellie hadn't realised she'd been blinking at her unlocked phone. Opening the app, your conversation with her was pinned. It was short, kinda boring, but if she stared at the messages you'd sent, she tried to imagine your tone, the expression on your face when you'd sent them. The shade of your lip gloss and the deepened skin beneath your eyes from lack of sleep. Playing with someone's feelings was making her tired. Exhausted even. Her fingers moved over the letters, pausing at the send button, considering before her thumb made contact with the screen. She dropped her phone dramatically into the sheets, admitting defeat to Cat, who offered a ceasefire by drifting forward to perch on the mattress edge, sipping her coffee. 

You were curled up in Abby's car, giggling behind the hot chocolate she'd bought you, listening to her talk about Manny. Your phone buzzed, sat on the armrest behind the console. You watched Abby's eyes find the screen, watched her smile drop. You leaned forward, cocking your head to read the notification. The screen went black, but she switched it back on, looking at you for communication, consolation. She was confused, waiting for you to respond, only to notice you were equally as shocked. Your hot chocolate tasted bitter now, melted marshmallow thick in the back of your throat. 'Y/n?' she glanced at you, your lips sealed, fiddling with the lid on your drink. 'I don't know,' you mumbled, twisting the phone to blink at the message. You'd briefly mentioned the harsh no-contact with Ellie, how she'd caught up with you. Encouraged your attention only to suddenly deny it. You'd very briefly mentioned it to Abby. You unlocked your phone, staring at the screen, the collection of words occupying your attention, Abby's car becoming cold and stale. 'missed you recently, can we talk?'

Chapter Text

bita smut ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)

You hadn't remembered Abby's sheets being this soft, her fingers so calloused. Hadn't recalled her being jealous. Maybe when she gripped your ass outside your building and looked stiff when Nora glanced at you for longer than she would've liked. But she didn't need to be. Because she was still fully clothed, you were the opposite, naked and nervous. She'd driven home from the gym, fingers curled around the wheel, replaying the text message until it drove her insane. You hadn't told her much about the interaction with Ellie, but Abby had emotional intelligence; she wasn't stupid. Could tell you were hurt by Ellie's actions and words. Now she had the audacity to chase you, harass you. She knew that word was harsh, possibly overdramatic. But you were so sweet and soft and kind. You didn't deserve to have a bum blowing up your phone, playing with your feelings. Abby reckoned she was more deserving of you. She knew your favourite TV Girl song, the name of the chick who did your nails, and that you studied French in elementary. She bet Ellie didn't know these things. That's why Ellie didn't deserve you, and Abby reckoned she did. 

She was jealous, but didn't need to be. Because you were naked, blinking at her from the nest of pillows and unmade sheets from that morning. Ellie was sitting on her porch waiting for your reply, blinking at the last read at 4:16 beneath her message. It was five-thirty now. Cat left an hour ago. She reckoned you were with Abby, didn't even want to consider the context. Certainly not the context of Abby gently kissing your inner thighs and knees, nervously mumbling about 'first times'. Her lips were on your stomach, kissing up, towards your chest. She watched it rise and fall, your manicured nails digging into the mattress cover. You held your tits between your hands so her lips could move there too, leave slobber on your nipples and a hickey above your left boob. Your knees fell so she could rest between your legs, letting your thighs drift wider, feeling the metal of her zipper brush your pussy. If you weren't gasping above her, she would've paused to blink up at you, check in. Make sure you were comfortable. 

But you weren't comfortable, just desperate and fidgety. She paused then, gazing down at you, hair within the pillows, and lips parted and legs spread. She rolled up her sleeves, and you giggled. She blushed, pink spreading across her face, tugging her zip-up off her head, tossing it onto the carpet beside her bed. Her shirt was tugged up, grey cotton bunching beneath her tits. You shrank, glancing at her abs, her biceps, her thick fingers. It made you squirm. She was nervous but knew all she had to do was ask you if you liked it. If you enjoyed what she was doing to your body. And all you had to do was nod or shake your head, direct her. Kneeling between your parted legs, her thumbs running down the sides of your pussy, pushing them inwards and watching what she squeezed out of you. It collected on her sheets, made your ass shine. When you groaned, she glanced up, pulled from the trance your body had possessed upon her. Your eyes were squeezed shut, fists bunched beside your head, lifting your hips into her large hands. 'You okay?' Her voice so soft you almost missed it. She exhaled a breath she hadn't realised was being held in when you nodded. 

A hand cupped your warm cheek, lashes low above your eyes, casting a shadow, deepening their colour. She sucked in a breath as if it would give her confidence. 'Touch me, Abby,' you mumbled, legs widening and watching her face explode with red. 'Okay, baby,' she mumbled, fingers shaking, massaging the flesh of your inner thighs, watching more need pool out of you. She knelt awkwardly, her index finger nervously hovering in front of your pussy. She watched it throb, a constant movement that made the hairs on her arms prickle. 'Tell me if it hurts,' she whispered, voice cracking, clearing her throat and trailing her finger through you until it glistened. Her spare fingers parted you, exposing you to cool air and her low eyes. You tensed with anticipation, that feeling snatched away when she pulled her finger back, hesitantly holding it in front of her lips. She looked at you, flushed and shy, before parting her lips, tasting you, fresh from the shower and dripping. The room smelled of her Dove soap and the sound of Summer Walker, the volume lowered so you wouldn't be distracted. So you'd be solely focused on her and her fingers. 

She cups your pussy, watching you grind against her palm as if it'll make you feel anymore. It doesn't, and you whine. She would be on a power trip if she weren't so nervous. She thought you'd be confident and directing. Right now, you were just tired and desperate, humping against her palm and wrist like it would do anything. Abby watched carefully, her lips parted, on the verge of panting, a finger probing your aching hole. You're sticky and warm, so warm. She's worried you're too tight, eyes wide and pupils wider, mouth open, lips wet from her kiss. You're worried she's too gentle, and Abby's worried she's not gentle enough. She pushes a single finger in slowly, feeling you accept her without hesitation, gaping around her skin and sucking her in. She glances up at you, all pink and flushed when she feels her finger get tugged deeper, watching you exhale with a content expression, eyebrows tugged up, and inwards. She pulls it out, feeling your pussy cling to her, all wet and demanding, your eyes rolling back when she pushes back in. 

She finds your eyes again when they come back, returning to a low-lidded and hazy state like you've just smoked. You're high off her and groan when she tugs her finger out again, shoving it back in, deeper and meaner. She's still gentle, leaning forward to kiss you tenderly as if her finger isn't stuffing your pussy. For someone new to this, you felt insane, trembling from the overwhelming feeling, Abby studying you behind her glasses as if she were reading a research paper. Collecting the data of your facial expressions, the statistics of how fucking wet you were. And it continued like a glorious pleasure-filled cycle until your phone hummed with another notification. Abby, distracted by you, found her eyes on your phone. It sat on her bedside table, glowing in the faint afternoon sun. 'ma, please.' She felt sick, averting her eyes from the notification, but the thickness in the air had faded, and you were blinking up at her, finger frozen inside you. 'Abby?' You hummed, propping yourself up on your elbows, stiffening when she dove forward, her tongue slipping between your lips. 

Your phone pinged again, and she groaned into your mouth, pulling away from you. 'I can silence it,' you whispered, legs closing, shrinking into yourself. Abby managed a grunt, pushing herself off the mattress and disappearing into her en-suite, the tap water hitting the sink in a gush. You trembled, glaring at your phone and Ellie's newest message. 'know you're ignoring me, come on.' Abby stood in the doorway, still rubbing the hand towel over her palms. 'Are you mad at me?' you mumbled, blinking up at her, watching Abby lean against the doorframe with a sigh. 'When she gonna stop messaging you?' She tossed the towel onto the sink, glancing back at you, watching you hug your legs to your bare chest. 'Dunno,' you whispered, propping your chin on your knees, stiffening when she sighed. You thought she would say something, maybe walk straight out of the room, but she approached you, careful and slow. Her hand slid over your jaw, fingers finding your hair, using her grip to pull you closer. 

You obliged, blinking at her when your foreheads met. 'Jus' wanted this moment to be about us,' she mumbled, lifting her chin to kiss your forehead, bringing you into her chest. You curled there, her cotton shirt bunching between your fingers. 'It can be?' Your response was pathetic because the moment had come and gone. The phone hummed again, and Abby sighed into your hair. 'You gotta see her,' she muttered, her thumb and index finger stroking the length of your ear. You hid your face in her chest, listening to her heart. Your silence was enough of an answer. 'If you don't talk to her, she won't stop,' she leaned back to gaze at you, pushing hair from your eyes. You didn't respond, didn't even nod, just took in her words with a slight pout. 'Kay,' you mumbled, picking at the blisters on your palm, breaking eye contact with Abby to stare at the bathroom tiles opposite. 

She was re-watching the FNAF lore when you arrived, perched on her sofa, remote held lazily in her hand, a beer in the other. You knocked on the glass door, and her eyes found you before noticing Abby's car disappear down the street. Ellie scrambled off the couch, rushing towards the door, helping you slide it open. She fell back into the cushions, slightly flushed, attempting to look smooth. You fought a smile, standing in her doorway. 'Thank you,' she glanced between the screen then to you, then back to the screen, realising what had been playing. You snorted, perched on the sofa arm, glancing at her shirt. Eat, Sleep, Roblox, Repeat. You hummed a small 'cool shirt,' her eyes falling on the white cotton, quickly folding her arms over her chest. She'd forgotten to wear a bra, but that was the least of her worries. Your hair looked slightly off. She wanted to doubt herself, but the smell of Abby was thick on your skin, and stray baby hairs said enough. 

She could see your nipples through your bebe tank, gems, and skin-tight fabric, the hickey above your tits. She sank her teeth into her fist, squeezing the thong in her hand. You glanced at it, ears feeling hot, her eyes following yours and going pink. 'You forgot it,' she muttered, playing it off, offering the underwear to you. You took it, leaning forward awkwardly, the strong scent of laundry detergent wafting off the thong. 'You washed it?' You mumbled, glancing up at her pink face. She nodded, turning her head away. 'This the only reason you wanted to see me?' You were pulling your phone out of your pocket, preparing to ring Abby. 'No-- wanted to talk,' she stammered, the cool act completely forgotten, replaced by desperation for you to put that fucking thing back in your pocket. 'Stay,' her eyes were on yours, eating away at you. 'Y'know I can't do that,' you whispered, toes curling in your socks, dropping your phone in your lap. 'You can,' she lurched forward, hand clammy and trapping you there. 'You two dating?' She seemed relieved when you shook your head. 'Cool,' she mumbled, letting your hand go and dropping it in her lap. 

'You see Mexico beat America in the final?' You glanced at her, trying to avoid awkward silence, watching a grin stretch her cheeks. 'Yea,' she looked shy but thankful. Hopeful, too. That wasn't good. 'They deserved it,' she mumbled, glancing back at her TV screen, going red again at the image of the Afton Family on pause. You laughed again, which made her more hopeful. You were a drug in human form, pretty and smiley, ass peaking out the trim of your sweat shorts, adjusting the strap on your tank so casually as if it didn't have her mouth watering. You looked like an old Bazzi song, Tumblr and keyboard emojis. She reached for your hand, and you didn't pull it away this time. 'Wanted to make it up to you,' she whispered, awkward and loser-ish, eyes searching desperately for support. You cocked your head, encouraging her to continue. 'I um-- was gonna go to Chief Keef concert, and bought two tickets, on accident,' she clarified the last part in a way that made it sound like she was lying. She was lying, having bought them, knowing she'd ask you to come with. Heard you humming along to him when he came on her AUX, adding him to the queue when you curled up on her leather seats the other week. 

'You're kidding?' You blinked at her, partially shocked, receiving a shy nod. 'Yea, you like him, aye ma?' She still wouldn't meet your eyes, but could catch the whiteness of your teeth exposed in a grin in her peripheral vision. 'Yes,' you mumbled, feeling warm when she squeezed your hand. You didn't know how she knew. Didn't question it. Didn't question the hand in yours or the washed thong on your lap. You did question her intentions, however. 'This an apology?' You hummed, watching her eyes rush over your face, your chest, your lap, your intertwined hands. She squeezed your fingers, feeling you bristle. She wanted to say it was from discomfort to save her from her delusions, but if she were to give in to them, she would've thought you looked turned on. Her hand moved from yours to your thigh, her hand spreading warmth throughout your body. You looked at her as if she had some type of power over you. In a sense, she did. Because you kept crawling back. 'Party this weekend, bring her if you want.' 

Chapter Text

cos im missing summa  ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)

Dina grinned at Abby, all white teeth and flushed cheeks. She'd started drinking before you arrived, the warm weather making her skin shine. Ellie certainly didn't invite you to this party to grind on Dina, and Abby certainly didn't come just to have her girl hogged by the brunette. But that didn't mean they weren't watching. Even Jesse, who split up with Dina last week, was debating whether to pull his ex aside. Her thumbs were in the belt loops of your shorts, and your skin shone beneath the sun. It smelled like Asahi beer and sunscreen, Dina's hair wavy from the humidity. One of Ellie's 'customers' (if you could even call them that) had a river. A literal river. One that headed through his property, shaded with boulders and trees. You were drunk, and Dina was singing along to SZA, adjusting your bikini bottoms for you. Ellie was smoking, hidden somewhere in the shade, avoiding the sudden heat wave and disappearing behind a cloud of smoke. It was so that no one could see her. See her eyes. Because they were on you. 

Abby and Nora occupied a boulder. She was braiding Abby's hair, her fingertips skimming her sunburnt shoulders, pink and freckled. Abby was watching you, too. But she didn't need to hide it. She had to glance away when you shimmied out of your denim shorts, tossed somewhere on the bank, Dina's hand now in yours and your bikini leaving little to the imagination. She tugged you towards a ledge, feeling you fight her strength, only to be shoved off the rock, disappearing beneath a flurry of bubbles with no more than a shriek. The surface was warm from the sun, but the deeper you sank, the cooler it became, shadows and loose weeds floating past you. You watched your hair and the glint of the sun dance above you, the music and singing faint, just the water and your docile limbs. You saw her face, a wide grin peeking over damp rocks. You burst above only to be swallowed by a wave, Dina narrowly missing you, giggling and splashing cold, fresh water. The world around you sounded alive, someone playing something Australian and surferish from their waterproof speaker. Noisey birds and squeals, bare feet meeting warm rock, sunscreen shining on blistering skin. 

You drifted downstream, catching onto a wet root, clambering up a rock face, Dina tagging behind. Ellie hid behind the shadow of a tree, leaned back in a campchair, and offered a half-smoked joint your way. You giggled behind the smoke, watching her snag the rope swing, dragging it from the water to toss at Dina. The brunette didn't hesitate, soaring over the water and dropping at the ropes' peak, sinking below you with a scream. Ellie chuckled, her hand 'slipping', bumping your ass, a grin on her face that Dina was too drunk to notice. She saw your eyes flick Abby's way, a hand lifting to snap the string of your triangle bikini, giggling at your squeal, hands smacking her away. You felt split. Abby was gorgeous. The girl treated you so well, it made you cry. But Ellie. She was cheeky with a masculine scent and shaggy hair. Like some kind of abandoned mutt that would answer to your call whenever, tail wagging and tongue out while it panted. She muttered something about your ass, and you felt heat blossom in your cheeks. You moved away before she could do more, before she got the idea that you liked the attention. Because you didn't. Did you? 

The rope had a scoop, one you hooked your foot in, shooting Dina a horrified look before you pushed off the edge. She shrieked at you, laughter and shiny teeth echoing off the rocks, a cyan reflection dancing across the grey. You were surrounded by people. For once in your life, you were surrounded. Even if in the past you'd been in groups, in teams and classes, you'd felt alone. Like a bubble sat around your exterior, preventing you from leaving or others from entering. But you'd realised recently you could pop bubbles. Pop them easily. You let go of the rope, sailing through the air until you disappeared into the stream below, seaweed and pebbles surrounded you, pink bikinis and painted toenails. The world above smelled like tanning oils and sweat and a faint hint of her. Weed and leather seats grinned down at you, a blunt perched on her pink lips, a spare hand shoving Dina and the rope swing your way when the brunette had scampered back up the rocks. You flinched at the spray but didn't stop smiling at her. She grinned back, a hand stuffed in her jorts, charcoal smudged on her wrists. 'You gonna get in?' Dina was floating beside you, head cocked and blinking up at her friend. 

Blunt still between her lips, Ellie lifted both hands in defeat. The collection of paper, bud and smoke bounced when she spoke, 'What kinda person would it make me to deny you, Dina?' She grinned behind the smoke and shadows, lifting her shirt above her hair, her tank, also smudged with charcoal. She fished a stick off the dusty ground, dropping the blunt on the edge of a twig and doing her best to balance forward, holding the stick out to you. You swam forward without the need for directions, grinning up at her, reaching for the joint. Her eyes were on your tits, not your smile. Even worse, they weren't on the stick or her joint. It hit the water with a fizzle just in front of you. 'Damn, shoulda caught it bro,' she chuckled, throwing the stick onto the bank and reaching for the rope. The glasses balanced on her head fell over her face, pink eyes hidden by shaded glass. She swung forward, sailing over you and landing a few metres away, glasses soaked and teeth exposed. The laugh that left your lips didn't sound like your own. Your wet fingertips delicately pulled the sunglasses off her face and placed them over your eyes. You moved in a way that you couldn't control, her warm hands sliding over your skin beneath the surface, her smile on your neck, and wet denim brushing the back of your thighs. 

She kept you there, from drifting downstream, drifting away from her. 'Thank you for inviting me,' you spoke softly; she was close enough to hear. She made out the appreciation in your tone above the Sticky Fingers on the speaker and above Dina yelling at Jesse. Her chin brushed your shoulder, fingers tracing the shape of your stomach, your soft, addictive skin. 'You're so warm,' she murmured, breath on your neck, hair tickling your nape. Maybe you could drift away, leave her arms and the lips that brushed against the back of your ear. But you just grinned, mumbling something about how stupid she was. She laughed into your shoulder, the stink of weed making your head light. Her eyes found Abby's amidst the linen towels and flip-flops. She couldn't tell if the red on the blonde's face was due to the sun or anger. Maybe a combination. You felt Ellie smile against your shoulder, oblivious to her plan, watching your hands drift through the water in front of you, weeds catching between your fingers. She ducked her head, eyes still on Abby's, sucking fondly at your neck, expecting you to lean into her touch. You didn't, not this time. Instead, tugging away to frown at her. 'Ellie?' She couldn't tell whether you were confused or frustrated. Maybe a combination. 

Her eyes left Abby's, the stare off between them broken by the relieved sigh the blonde exhaled at your confusion. 'S' not like that,' you mumbled to Ellie before drifting towards Dina, who was tugging herself onto a shallow rock, basking in the sun like a shiny seal, oblivious to what had occurred. You hadn't noticed Abby's eyes until you joined Dina, lying flat on the boulder, feeling small waves brush your sides, head hidden in your arms, feeling the wet rock warm your stomach. She muttered something about wanting summer, and you returned something about the UV. You squinted through the weight of your lashes and bright sun, finding Abby's pink face. She looked bothered until she noticed you watching, a shy smile stretching her face. You grinned back, dropping your head down into your arms, hiding in the warmth and lapping water. You could smell weed and pine, the sun burning your back, turning your head to blink at Dina. She was already facing you, smiley and pretty, eyes pink, her expression fogged by contentment. 'Feel like I could open my sixth sense right now,' she mumbled into her forearm, watching you gaze at her forehead, half expecting a third eyeball to blink back at you, embedded in the shiny skin. 

Gold and blue flickered behind your eyelids, warm skin brushing against you, fingers tracing your spine. You didn't open your eyes. Assumed it was Dina. Until you heard her voice, partially slurred and edged with anger. 'Fuck you doing?' The air stilled; it wasn't Dina's fingertips on your skin, but someone else. The first thing you saw was the blonde, slipping between rocks to stand above you. The second thing you saw was Ellie when you rotated your head to the right. Dina, now alert, was watching too, shuffling closer to your side. Ellie's back was to you, leaning against one hand, the other one following the curve of your spine and the dimples that sat on either side of your tailbone. She wasn't looking at you. Well, not your face, just your legs, the backs of your thighs and the Cinnamon Roll bandaid stuck to the underside of your knee from when you nicked yourself shaving the other day. You glanced between the girls, releasing a sigh, dropping your head into the shaded space between your folded arms. 'Chill,' Ellie muttered, kicking at the water, reluctantly removing her hand when you shrugged her off. 

If you pressed your biceps harder against your ears, maybe you could block out their bickering. But your ears were beginning to hurt, and someone mentioned your name. You glanced up, still having to squint despite the glasses shading your vision. Abby was gesturing between you and Ellie, her words coming out rushed, agitated. Ellie just kept baiting her, kept encouraging her to continue. You thought everything was stuck in slow motion, the blonde lurching for the ginger, Dina's gasp, the water hitting your back. It was just a flurry of bubbles, frothing water and blood. Everything returned to a normal pace, and you were following them into the water, into the tangle of limbs and silky blonde hair. Dina was next, her fist secure around Ellie's forearm, yanking her back with little fight. Abby, however, didn't give up that easily. You were still toned, still strong. But she was built like a fucking tank. Maybe she mistook you for Ellie, only able to see a frame smaller than hers in the water because her fist collided with your ribs. 

You burst above the surface, using what air you could swallow and spitting out 'shit's and 'fuck's. Abby followed you up, cheeks pink from adrenaline and embarrassment. She saw your wince and the hands cupping the left side of your torso, saw Dina's glare and the blood pooling from Ellie's split brow. 'Fuck your strong,' you muttered, grimacing when you tugged yourself onto the bank, Nora already at your side, mumbling something about a nursing degree. You could still hear Empire Of The Sun and chatter. No one had really noticed; those who did returned to the water or their towels. Jesse handed you a sandwich for whatever reason, Abby's eyes glued to your expression, watching for frustration, dislike, hate. God, she hoped you didn't hate her. You offered Nora some sandwich, and she decided her assessment of your physical condition wasn't necessary, accepting a bite of the ciabatta and ham. Ellie looked pitiful, wiping blood from her nose and shoving Dina off her, storming somewhere up the bank and out of sight. 

Dina sighed into her hands, giving in to the sandwich too, reluctantly accepting the bread roll with a defeated expression. You'd offer it to Abby, but you were slightly frustrated; your lips parted to question her stupidity, but Nora beat you to it. 'Ab's what are you doing?' You almost felt bad for the blonde. Nora sounded like a mother. Not an angry one, a disappointed one. The girl who'd been questioned shrank into the water, glancing at Jesse for assistance, only for him to offer her another sandwich. She declined, eyes steady on yours, guilt and shame creeping over her expression. She looked like a beaten puppy, all big eyes and downturned lips. She was quiet, your brows lifting a fraction, patiently expecting an excuse. You got a mumbled sorry, her apology disappearing into the water that lapped at her chin. 'M' fine,' you returned, concerned caution on your expression, 'are you?' Your question took her aback, glancing at her knuckles, a blistering red. 'She's had too much,' Nora muttered as if the girl she spoke of wasn't floating two metres away. 

'You gonna take her home?' You glanced at Nora, joining in on the mother act, receiving a small nod. You stood to leave with them, Abby protesting, her hand wrapping around your ankle. 'M' sorry, please don't make me leave,' she watched your face shift, torn and unsure. 'You've had too much,' Nora was glancing at the sun, it had begun to dip, reaching late afternoon, people and their swimwear moving through the trees and toward the illuminated house. 'Please,' Abby looked at you, not Nora, knowing you were the weaker link. 'Abby,' she sounded firm, tugging the blonde's eyes to her frown, a small shake of her head encouraging Abby to wade towards the bank. 'I can too,' you offered, receiving your own firm head shake from Nora, 'no, you stay, have fun,' her hand wrapping around Abby's forearm, dragging the blonde like a naughty child as if she weren't a six-foot woman. Abby's hand found yours, slipping from your fingers and falling weakly at her side. You watched her go, Dina stiff at your side, watching them disappear into the trees. Awkwardness stalled the silence between you, your head dropping on Dina's shoulder with a soft sigh. 'What've you gotten yourself into?' She mumbled, receiving your defeated silence. 

Chapter Text

makin me miss the chain smokers ૮◞‸◟˶𑁬

The house was filled with bare feet and bikini tops, a painting pushed lopsided by drunk stumbles. You were perched on the kitchen island, watching people drift throughout the open space, lounge on couches and disappear through the glass doors, cigarette butts glowing in the dark. The house smelt of eucalyptus and beer, something sleazy with rhythm controlling an ocean of moving limbs and dancing bodies. You didn't make a move to join them, remaining still, feet swinging beneath you, adjusting your tits in your bikini, eyes searching for someone you knew. Abby had left around four hours ago, and you didn't know what to make of the situation. Someone had slipped you an ecstasy pill, said something along the lines of 'you look bored,' you told them to fuck off with a grin, tentatively accepting the capsule, rolling it between your index finger and thumb, watching the living room thump. In your defence, what kind of person would you be to decline free MDMA? A sensible one. But you weren't sensible, at least not when it came to drugs. 

If you were aware of the eyes on you, hidden within the shadows, you would've chosen to discreetly hide the capsule in your bikini top or the back pocket of your shorts. But instead, you slipped away to the bathroom. This happened like a recurring nightmare. A nightmare of plastic powder and pills consumed within tiled rooms that didn't belong to you. You'd leave the locked room in a stumble, powder beneath your nose or eating away at your gums, eyes blown out and an opioid artificial smile. This time, you didn't lock the room, barely bothered to close it, toes nudging the door until it quietly clicked, glancing at yourself a final time before you'd look in the mirror and see a warped version of yourself. This was a repeated process, drugs on the flat stainless steel tap, three deep breaths before lifting it to your lips. From what you briefly listened to in high school biology, ecstasy, when consumed orally, significantly altered gut microbiota in the small intestine, cecum, and colon. You dropped biology too early to know what it meant. Obviously, it wasn't good. But it increased dopamine levels, targeting well-being and pleasure. And you were so fucking bored. 

You'd just reapplied lip gloss, open mouth, shiny and inviting. The capsule hovered there before disappearing into the abyss. You leaned forward, hair brushing the skin, turning on the tap to swallow down the pill sitting on your tongue. Until someone grabbed your jaw. You gagged, spitting the capsule out to avoid choking, watching it roll in the sink. The eyes that had been on you were inches away, dark and harsh. Something else sat there. Pitying. 'Ellie?' Your speech muffled by the hand firmly squeezing your cheeks. She frowned back at you, locking the door behind her and nudging you back, making you fall against the sink. Your hands gripped the porcelain to stabilise yourself, glaring up at her. 'What?' You hissed, her eyes on the curve of your shoulder bones in the mirror behind you. Her chest was firm against yours, hovering above your scowl, adopting her own glare. 'What are you doing?' She muttered, hand firm on your wrist, her breath hot on your lips, a shiver crawling up your spine. You gave a look as if to say 'you're not fucking stupid,' receiving a small scoff. 'You don't even know that dude. He coulda fucking roofied you,' her spit hit your face, and you responded by pushing your chest further against her, trying to win this game of dominance. 

She was right. Fucking spot on. You didn't know the guy. Didn't even consider what could've happened. But you wouldn't admit she was right, because Ellie was always wrong. 'What the fuck were you thinking? How you think I'd feel finding you passed with some-- fuck dude,' she stopped herself, stepping back, losing the game of dominance. But it was never a game. She was serious, brows furrowed, and her face hidden behind a hand, the other wrapped tightly around your wrist, still, pinning it to the porcelain. 'He sits behind me in lectures,' even your tone was pathetic, she couldn't even find your weak fight humorous, just groaning into her hand. 'If you wanna get high, go to someone you know, not some random dude in your classes, ' she muttered, hand leaving your wrist to nudge your chin, encourage you to look at her. You didn't, so she gripped it, gently forcing your head up, eyes on her. 'Why would you even do that stuff?' Even if she'd made the two of you eye-level, your gaze drifted to the towel rail, away from her face and her disappointment. 

'Oh my dad's just an addict, and he might be dead, and I think I inherited not only his bipolar disorder but his addiction,' is what you would've said if you weren't mad at Ellie. If you knew Ellie. Properly knew her. But you kept your lips sealed. Maybe she saw something there anyway, something you tried to hide. 'Someone influenced you?' She whispered, treading carefully. Not carefully enough. Your eyes were back on her, full of fire and fight. 'You'd be the only person who'd encourage me to do that,' you muttered, watching your words hit her as if they stung, a grimace overtaking her expression. 'Fuck you, Ellie,' you muttered, both hands against her chest, shoving her against the wall and stomping to the locked door. You thought you were fast enough to escape her, her strong hands and disapproving looks. But you weren't, and her grip was back around your wrist. She spun you around, pinning you against the wooden door, fists balled at your sides, glaring up at her. She exhaled heavily, as if fighting back a comment. You dared her to say it. She held it back, opening her eyes to your scowl. 'Fuck your pretty,' she mumbled, the silence stifling, your fire and fight dropping for a millisecond.

'Fuck you,' back to glaring, hands shoving against her chest. She saw it coming this time, remaining rooted, hand above the door handle. 'This doesn't end here. You know it doesn't,' she muttered, watching your eyes drop to her chest and your hands, bunching the cotton of her shirt. 'You tried to make it end, numerous times,' you added, quick and sharp. This side of you, Ellie thought she'd dislike; it honestly just turned her on. 'Then why'd you come?' She muttered, palm flat against the wood above you, the other pushing hair over your bare shoulder. She wouldn't fluster you. Not now, not after her shit. 'Cos' I fucking like you, Ellie,' her face flooded with emotions you didn't bother pursuing, 'but you're such a fucking bitch.' You shoved her again, and again, you did it until she stumbled, but didn't try to run, not this time. Just cowered, arms wrapping round your bare torso like a shield of flesh and bone. 'Y/n,' puppy dog eyes and outstretched hands. You wouldn't fall for it, not again. 'Fuck you, genuinely, I've never hated someone so much,' you spat, doing your best not to cry. 'Please,' she murmured, hands finding your waist, finger pads leaving imprints in your skin, clinging onto you. 

'No, jus' leave me alone,' you mumbled, nails digging into your biceps because it kept you rooted, reminded you of the hurt you felt. Ellie made you hurt. And you loved the pain, the sore feeling of her flesh against yours, the throbbing ache of her eyes on your skin. 'M' not gonna do that,' she appeared determined, as if you'd believe her, after all of it. 'You're fuckin' playing with me, Ellie, wasting my time,' your words stung, achingly similar to Cat's the other day. She was used to wasting her own time. Wasting other people's? Something else to be guilty of. 'M' sick of your fucking shit, do what you wanna do, Ellie, and leave me out of it.' Your fingers reached for the handle only to skim hers, her head tilting, waiting for your next move. 'How come you were mad at Abby, not me, huh?' She was fucking pushing now, she wanted you to react, hit her across the face, something dramatic that would leave a sting. Leave her begging for more. 'You're both stupid,' you hissed, jabbing a finger into her sternum, watching her face creep closer. 'How come I'm here, and she isn't. Why'd you send her home? Why not me?' She watched your lips part to speak, expression twisted with frustration, words catching in the back of your throat. She was baiting you, just as she'd done with Abby. She wanted you to fall for it. So you did. 

'M' not your fuckin' parent. You go home when you want to.' You stammered, the edge to your voice slipping. 'Then why am I in this bathroom with you then? Where is she?' Her eyes narrowed, daring you to respond. You just huffed, lifting a hand to flick her forehead. 'You followed me in. I don't know where Abby is; not your concern anyway.' At your words, she grinned, primal and gloating. Like you'd handed the win to her. 'So Abby could be here, with you. But she's not. I am. What do you think that says y/n?' You wouldn't accept defeat, not yet. 'What's your point?' You muttered, pushing against her when she leaned closer. 'That you'd rather be with me than her.' That did it; it actually happened faster than Ellie had anticipated, your palm flat against her face. She'd forgotten your strength, her face thrown to the side, her body following, stumbling against the sink, catching herself on the porcelain, wincing when her hip collided with the marble. Your hands covered your parted lips, eyes widened with shock. And she'd got you there. Hooked you. You rushed forward, cupping her face in your hands with such delicacy you had to question whether or not you'd just smacked her. But you had, her left cheek inflamed, your right hand stinging from the impact.

You expected her to shove you away, call you a slur, or hit you back. But she laughed, something throaty and obnoxious. And that's when you realised she'd wanted it. Wanted you to hit her, to hurt her. Because relieving the frustration might make your dislike of her slip a little, fade, even just a bit, enough to let you back in, cradling her cheek, asking her if she was okay. And when you realised she saw it. Saw the glint in your eyes and the expression on your face. You shoved her against the sink, feeling her pant against your parted lips, eyes wide and one cheek brighter than the other. She was making you do it. And so you did. Your lips collided with hers in a show of force that could only be described as hate and love and everything between. She kissed you back fiercely, teeth scraping and tongue slipping between your parted lips. You weren't sure if Abby and Ellie were ripping you between them like some kind of tug of war, but you had to consider maybe you were the tugger and Abby and Ellie the rope, unsure which side would win. It would be your decision at the end of the day. Life had been boring up until now. You decided to take advantage of its fun. 

Chapter Text

The sink dug into your thighs, a hand curling round your neck, fingers brushing your nape. She'd made a mess of you. Ellie fucking Williams. Fuck her. You kissed her like you hated her, hoping she could feel it, taste it. She did. Swallowed it, licked it from your mouth, kissed it into your jaw, down your neck. She could feel the blood thump beneath your skin, your heart against her jaw, all rushed and cute. You'd forgotten about Abby, about the capsule in the sink and the party outside. You forgot until someone banged on the door. Ellie ignored it, beginning to push your bikini top aside. She would've completely discarded it if you hadn't grabbed her, eyes glued on the door. She muttered something about cock-blocking, unlocking the bathroom and glaring at the poor girl who cowered beneath her scowl.  'I just needa pee,' she squeeked, squeezing past Ellie, giving you a small 'hello.' You returned it, yelping when you were tugged out of the bathroom and into noise and alcohol. Since starting university, you had only just managed to grasp the attraction towards drinking culture in the past few weeks. Sure, the level above your dorm always stunk of it, but you'd never been there to see it in person. 

Someone had a fucking funnel, two girls interlinking their elbows to toss their heads back, swallowing their shots. You were back in the kitchen, the lights on. You could see Ellie's face clearly again. Her pink cheek and split brow. You timidly touched it, bringing your finger back, feeling guilt bite at your expression. She saw it, her hand catching yours before it fell to your side. 'S' not your fault,' Ellie mumbled, twisting the cap of a Corona and taking a sip, eyes never leaving yours. 'I hit you,' you muttered, eyes leaving the scar to her pink cheek. 'You think that hurt?' She grinned behind the bottle, receiving a glare, her eyes leaving yours and landing on someone in the crowd. Someone who was already watching her. Dina came stomping over, steam practically shooting out of her ears. Not only had she been distracted from dancing and Charli XCX, but her bestfriend was also preying on you for like the fifth time. 'Ellie,' her voice was slurred, but her eyes didn't abandon the look of horror on her friend's face. 'Hi D,' Ellie managed meekly, hand sliding around your waist, tugging you into her side. Dina tugged you back, covering you as if she were protecting you from a predatory creature. 

In Dina's eyes, she looked like a wolf in sheep's clothing. You saw it too, but weren't opposed to the idea of being consumed right now. 'What are you doing?' She hissed, her question still meeting Ellie's ears, lifting her brows. You mumbled something sheepish back, something that made Ellie grin and Dina sigh. 'Y'know what, I can't be bothered,' she backed away, squeezing your hand, 'have fun, be safe.' Ellie's shoulders dropped in relief, and a snort left you, squeaking when hands lifted you onto the kitchen island, fingers curled and possessive around your thighs as if you'd ever consider moving. You hadn't, plucking the beer from her hand, tipping your head back to swallow half of it, Ellie's eyes locked on the movement of your throat. She thought about sinking her teeth into your exposed neck. It wasn't the first time this night, definitely wouldn't be the last. 'So after tonight, you gonna run away again?' You weren't drunk but sounded it, eyes low and finger hovering in front of her face. To your shock, her lips sealed over it, sucking gently before realising it with a pop. 'No,' the answer was simple. No separate meanings or underlined definition. Just simple. You glanced at your finger. It shone in the kitchen lights, her saliva gathering beneath your manicured nail. 

You reckoned she did stuff like this to render you speechless. That way, she'd never lose an argument because her opponent was always too stunned to reply. You hated her for it. That's why you kissed her. Deep and passionate, her hands digging into your ass, tugging you against her. Earlier, in the bathroom by yourself, you thought you'd return to this kitchen alone, happier than before, even if it was artificial. But you weren't alone because Ellie's hands were wherever they could be without it being too much, and you'd just saved your gut health. It would never be too much. No one bothered you, her tongue in your throat, and your hands in her hair, just bass and cigarette smoke. Ellie thought she'd spend this night alone. But Abby was gone, and she wanted you more than ever. She knew you wouldn't return to the kitchen alone because she'd be there with you, the pair of you a little less lonely together. You still smelled the same as the night she'd first kissed you, Victoria Secret and weed, a hint of sunscreen and herself. She knew she'd won when she smelt herself on your skin. She knew she'd won when you'd go home stinking of her. Of her lips and fingers, of her skin and sweat. 

The ceiling light hung above you, illuminating her face when you pulled away, freckles hidden within a mix of sunburn and tan. If you looked any longer, she'd blush, so she forced her lips back on yours, her hands squeezing your ass, swallowing your gasp. She'd eat away at you from the inside out, like some zombie still conscious but too full and driven with bloodlust to hold back. Some guy roughly patted her shoulder, yelling congratulations. 'Ellie's gotta new girl,' too drunk on the feeling of her tongue in your mouth and hands on your ass, you ignored the drinks that rose around you, a cheers, and happy laughter. Ellie ignored it too, muttering something along the lines of 'fuckin' idiots,' into your mouth, feeling your teeth brush her bottom lip when you smiled. You didn't wanna question why they were congratulating her; in fact, it made your stomach swim with something warm, as if it was hard to get this close to her, have her hands on you. You didn't have to try too hard, just had to get with someone she hated, shove your tits up and sing a sob story, all unintentionally. 

She wanted to grab your jaw, force your mouth open and spit down your throat. Bend you over the marble table top and memorise the shake of your ass and curve of your spine. But you'd probably body her if she even attempted spitting in your mouth, let alone fucking you in a kitchen. Maybe you'd smack her again. The thought made her groan against your lips. Everyone was too high and the music was too loud, and you were too horny. Someone's phone light was on your face, capturing your low eyes and blown-out irises, lashes heavy and lips glossy with spit. The video got Ellie's hands digging into your ass, your hands in her hair, your spit on her chin. You mumbled a 'fuck off' to the girl behind the phone, grinning at Ellie, fingers gripping her jaw, forcing her to gaze up at you. 'M not your girl,' you whispered, just so she could hear it, just so her face could drop, only to stiffen with determination. You were ripped from your perch, tugged through the crowd, through the dancers and glass sliding doors. Suddenly surrounded by stars and freshly mown grass. You heard frogs chirping down the creek, Ellie's breath on your face. 

She dragged you down the lawn, stumbling with drunken giggles until she collapsed on a shallow slope, others' eyes watching you disappear into the dark. When she fell, you went down too, collapsing into the warm evening air and smoke. Ellie was above you, panting, laughing, grinning. Her hands were threaded with the grass, a numbed thump and drunken chorus continued from the house, metres away. But all you could hear was the sound of her breath, her palms in the lawn. Ellie nudged hair off your face, dipping her head into your neck, knee slotted between your thighs and risky denim shorts. 'Meant what I said before, you're so fuckin' warm,' she groaned against you, nose nudging your skin, feeling you shiver beneath her. You're eyes opened to the sky, seeing the stars watch you, their shiny lights watching the knee that pressed against your crotch. You ignored their eyes and twinkling gossip, grounding yourself, tucking your fingers beneath her leather belt and dragging her against you. She grunted into your skin, her drool in your hair, on your collarbone. She inhaled you, nose buried between your tits, beneath the bob in your throat and the dip below your jaw. Ellie swore she could smell your need, her fingers frantically digging beneath the button of your shorts. You laughed into her hair, pushing her hand further, head falling into the grass with a soft thud, feeling the green strands tickle your nape. 

She made it past your bikini following your request, movement delicate despite her enthusiasm. You grunted against her, jolting when her fingers parted your pussy, feeling warmth crawl throughout your body. This was ridiculous. Waiting to be fingered on some dudes lawn by your plug. But she was taking you to a concert and smelled so fucking good. You felt a hot rush against your neck, her gasp, fingers tentatively dipping between your folds, lips parted in shock. 'So fuckin' wet,' her groan made your eyes dip back, chest meeting hers when you curved, feeling her fingertips spread arousal across your skin, wet the nylon of your bikini shoved carelessly aside. 'Bet she doesn't make you this wet, huh?' She knew she shouldn't've said it, shouldn't've done what she did after. But she said it and sank her teeth into your neck, her fingers dipping into your pussy harmoniously, feeling you dumbly nod against her temple. 'Fuckin' hate you,' you grit, eyes squeezed closed so she couldn't see them roll back. It made her moan. Didn't deter her like you'd expected the second the words had left your lips. 'Say it again,' she muttered, breath hot on your ear, tugging back to watching your face contort, hands grabbing her shirt. 'I hate you,' forget about keeping your eyes closed; she felt her boxers grow sticky just seeing your pupils disappear and the white sheen of your eyeball in the low light. 

'Yea, you hate me, ma?' She panted, thrusting her fingers the second you adjusted, watching your gaze fight to stay on her. 'Fuckin' hate you, Ellie,' your eyes found hers between the pleasure, between the liquor and her grin. 'Good,' your toes curled in the grass, her fingers quicker, harsher. Her pupils got larger, watching you hump against her palm, hips following something as simple as her fingers. And she realised you'd probably never been fingered, at least not like this. Not at this pace with this precision. Probably not on a front lawn either. But all that surrounded you was trees and the hum of the stream. You moaned her name, and she stalled, a stall that made the air catch in your throat, your mouth dry. It was a stall she'd done before. You looked at her like she had betrayed you, but not because of the immobile fingers that still sat in you, but her pause, the indecision on her face. 'Don't do this to me again,' you murmured into the silence, her eyes darting to yours, begging they didn't begin to well. 'I wouldn't,' she whispered, promising and untrustworthy. 

'Jus' don't know if I should be doing this,' her breath didn't smell good anymore, just stunk of cheap beer and weed. It had lost its charm, its pussy wetting effect. 'Ellie,' you mumbled, feeling her fingers slip out of you, tugging a broken whine from your lips. It was cupping your face next, all delicate and artificial. 'Abby,' she whispered, eyes tracing your expression, glossy eyes. 'She'll fuckin' kill me, fingering her bitch on some random's lawn,' she mumbled, watching your face twist. 'I'm just a bitch to you?' Teeth bared and eyes narrowed, hands on her chest, shoving her off you, watching her roll on the grass beside you. She thought you'd run away, disappear back into the house, never spare her a final glance. But you were above her, hands curling around her shoulders, so tight they were on the verge of painful. Wet lashes and angry eyes, glaring at her as if it would light her on fire, watch her char beneath you. Her hands wrapped around your wrists, but didn't push you away; kept you there instead because she wanted to stay. Fuck how she wanted to stay. 'I only wanna do this with you if we're more,' she mumbled, blinking up at you, watching your frown melt. 

'But Abby--,' she stopped, closing her eyes, her sigh warm on your cheeks. Your thighs consciously tightened around her hips, horny and terrified. 'She hates me,' Ellie whispered, this probably being the first time you'd seen her genuinely scared. 'Why?' You murmured, feeling your stomach churn, her thumbs rubbing your wrists. Ellie didn't want to tell you. Explain why her fake confidence didn't work around Abby, why she shrank. 'She bullied me,' Ellie swallowed whatever lump sat in her throat, whatever was fighting to keep the embarrassing memory down. Your stomach flipped again, saliva building on your tongue, wetting your gums. 'Nd' after her dad died...' she trailed off, and you shoved yourself off her, stumbling somewhere away from Ellie. You fell to your knees, vomit and saliva and alcohol disappearing into a bush, staining a trimmed garden, acid stinging your mouth. You gagged, gripping your hair and the bark that cut your knees, Ellie's hand warm on your back. She said your name softly when you'd finished, spitting into a tussock and watching its strands shiver. You were looking at her over your shoulder, hand still squeezing your hair. 

You hadn't had much. At least not enough for this. Not enough to regurgitate your daily meals into some poor dudes garden. But because you'd listened to Abby talk. Talk for hours beneath that soft kitchen light. Talk about how she was bullied, how it was she who avoided school, and struggled with friends. She who had no one because... Because... It struck you with disgust and confusion. It made your eyes sting and throat throb. Because you'd encouraged her story, shared your relations, shared your struggle, one you thought you shared. You'd grown up with few friends, popular until you hit elementary school, eating in bathroom stalls and hating the shape of your body. 'She told me she was bullied?' You sounded so small, cornered, hands stuck in the garden and your hair. She shook her head, biting back something, her hand still on your back, as if it could offer stabilisation. 'No,' Ellie whispered softly, studying the look on your face. You appeared horrified and suddenly regretful. 'But I told her...' you trailed off, hands falling to your lap, keeping those words in your throat to battle within your trachea until they sank back down, defeated. 

'But I thought...' it happened again, your words stuck, stalled. Ellie was quiet, letting you process, letting you frown and ball your fingers in fists. 'She bullied you?' Ellie hated how you asked it as if you didn't believe her. As if Abby's word would always carry more weight and truth than hers. But she deserved it, knew you held distrust for her. She nodded firmly because maybe that way, you could gain more reliance in her promises. You didn't know how it hadn't made you stop and think. Abby was surrounded by heaps of friends, fuck, she hosted parties at her flat that were spoken about for weeks after. She was gorgeous and intelligent and athletic. You weren't one to stereotype, but glancing back at Ellie, you felt guilt pool in your gut. She was small, with charcoal smudges and ginger hair. She had an art degree, fantasised about rocketships soaring into space for fucks sake. Watched anime and had a downloaded album from the Invincible soundtrack hidden in her Spotify library. Ellie was a target, just like you and Abby... Abby was a liar. 

Chapter Text

i love these two so much stop (kept it short cos i feel like an evil writing wizard) ˊᴖˋ 

'You fuckin' lied to me, Abby,' she reached for your shaking hands, stumbling when they made contact with her chest instead. 'You lied to me, and I actually felt bad for you,' you spat, ripping your jeans off her chair, pacing into her bedroom and snatching your bra off the side table. 'Do you think I'm stupid?' Your eyes were brimming, glued to the wooden dresser, hearing her shuffle closer. She was careful, as if approaching a wild, untamable creature in a cage with a frothing jaw and drooping ears. 'No,' she whispered, reaching for a hand you snatched away, glaring at her flushed face. 'That's why you hate Ellie? What did she ever do to you?' She tried to ignore the fact that you were sobbing now, hands back on her chest, pushing hard. 'What did she do, Abby?' You repeated it, consumed in hot tears and gritted teeth. 'Nothing,' it came out as a mumble, full of shame and regret. 'What!?' You raised your voice, taking a step toward her, watching her visibly shrink. 'Nothing!' she yelled back, eyes squeezed closed, fists balled at her sides. Your shoulders dropped, all the hostility and anger reduced to a simple fizzel. 'Nothing,' you mumbled, her eyes shamefully meeting yours, tracing the shiny streaks dipping over your cheekbones before disappearing beneath your jaw.

'Fuck, Abby,' you used this broken kind of laugh that made any resilience she had left shrivel. 'I told you about my dad.' You sounded defeated, eyes glazed over, unfocused, looking past her as if she weren't standing inches from you. 'I don't tell anyone about my dad,' this time, you were focused, glossy eyes on hers, digging guilt further into her. 'I told you about mine,' she whispered, slipping her hand into your spare one, feeling your fingers shake against her palm.  'I told you I got bullied-- I don't tell anyone I got bullied,' you mumbled, eyes slipping from her face, your hand loose within hers. It felt firm, but not safe. Not anymore. 'And you lied to me,' her exhale was shaky, as if she were on the verge of tears. She looked it, flushed and stiff, under-eyes swollen. 'Baby, I know, and m' so fuckin' sorry-- you have no idea--,' let me go, Abby.' You didn't want to do it. So you made her. She didn't want to either. Her hand tightened, as if it had a mind of its own, begging to stay with your skin. 'Abby,' you whispered, puffy eyes meeting hers. She was crying now, chin dipped so low it almost met her chest. She shook her head like a disobedient child, still clinging on. 'Please,' you mumbled, not angered, just defeated, like you'd come to the end of a game but no one had won. Everyone had lost, and it was time to pack up the playing pieces. 

'No,' she mumbled like a kid refusing punishment. You didn't pull away, didn't scold her. Let her take her time, wiping snot and tears with the back of her spare hand. 'No,' she repeated, as if it would make you stay, the weak two-lettered word. Such a small word hurt your head, a thumping ache that sat behind the front of your skull. 'Okay,' you whispered, letting her cling to that word and your hand. 'Was it cos of Ellie?' she hiccuped, eyes still firmly shut, refusing to see your face. 'No,' you whispered back, soothing your thumb over the back of her hand. Her head dipped lower, chin meeting her chest, choking on a sob she tried to bury. The walls watched on, their plaster ignoring the interaction, the laundry machine humming down the hallway. 'Was it cos' I lied?' She mumbled, not needing her vision to see you nod. She could feel it, the air sticky and suffocating. Her back curved, curling into herself, the hand around yours beginning to loosen. You couldn't leave her like this, a jutted lip and wet cheeks, snot collecting on her upper lip. 'Abby,' you whispered, letting your jeans and bra hit the carpet with a thud. She choked on another sob, clinging to you when both hands slid into hers, fingers tracing the indents of her palms. 

She followed you to the mattress, trembling against your skin. The headboard sinking behind your head, the bed dipping beneath her weight. She curled like an attacked bug, sheltering beneath a shell of muscle and flesh. Her hair was still out. You weren't with her that morning to braid it. She tried herself but couldn't make it look like how you did. Too loose at the beginning, ending too early at the base. Her face in your chest, arms woven around your waist, feeling your body dip and lift with breaths, your fingers in her hair, lips above her brow. You began to hum, and her tears eased, her breath even. It was something Adrianne Lenker, something sad and sweet. Something that made her slip into sleep. A sleep that let you leave without a fight and clinging hands. You fell into the passenger seat, consumed with leather and cologne, no longer lemon detergent and Dove soap. She spared a glance at you and watched you crumble beneath her gaze. 'C'mere,' Ellie whispered, arms open, tugging you across the console and into her chest. If you pushed your face further into her hoodie, maybe you'd stop crying. But it didn't, and her arms just tightened around you because maybe that would work. But it didn't. 

Chapter Text

didnt like the past two chapters sozz (๑•́ -•̀)

'I'll be late,' her hands didn't heed your words, feeling the flesh of your stomach knead beneath her warm hands. You smelled like sleep and drugstore shampoo. If only a scent could be imprinted in her nostrils, she'd never feel discomfort. If she shoved her face any further into your shoulder, her glasses would fog up. Not that she cared, she didn't need to see you to know you were there. 'Wanna take care of you,' she murmured like a lazy promise, something that would keep you from class. Maybe if you gave in, she could carry you back to her bed, fog her glasses up even more. But you pulled away, and she caught a whiff of iced tea on your lips when you spoke to her. 'I'll be back at twelve, ' was what you told her. You weren't because your mother called you. And whenever she called you, she required your utmost attention, which meant sitting in the sweltering sun on a unloved campus bench. 'No mama, no boys,' you mumbled, watching the lead of your pencil leave glossy silver lines in the weathered wood. 'You sure y/n?,' You refrained from rolling your eyes. Jesus fucking Christ. The line was scratchy, but you could tell she didn't believe your words held even an ounce of merit, jeez she was onto you. 

'Second trimesters finished?' It was more of a rhetorical question, a.k.a you better be doing your work, you little shit. 'Yes,' you watched someone toss gum out the library window. 'Still going to the gym, I sure hope you aren't getting those takeaways,' she kept going, but it wasn't like you were paying attention, studying how Ellie's name looked sketched on university property. 'And I've invited the Louises to dinner. This weekend." You hummed absentmindedly, sketching a smiling flower, your eyes landing on the noisy bird watching with a discomforting amount of curiosity. 'Y/n, you'll be there?'' You were paying attention now, eyes snapping to the pencil in your hand, its lead end jagged and snapped. You were unaware you'd been forcing it into the wood. She cleared her throat on the other end, 'Thought you could bring someone? A girl-friend,' she laughed as if she'd said something funny, 'not that kind obviously.' You forced out a laugh, digging the lead into your hand before you shoved it between your eyes. 

'Sure, mama,' you muttered, hoping and praying this conversation would end. 'You are making friends, aren't you? Didn't always have the knack.' You glared at the pencil indent in your palm as if it were your mother. 'I had Sarah,' you mumbled, hearing an obnoxiously audible sigh on the other end. 'Yes, well, you did now you dont,' she sounded clipped like you'd overstepped an invisible line. Talking to your mother was like a fifty-minute pilates lesson with little to no breaks. Not like you'd ever done pilates or could afford it at that. But it sounded like torture, and your mother's voice did too. 'The Louises' son is lovely, has that southern charm.' You silenced a scream, burying your face in your hands as if you could hide from her voice. 'Mum not boys-- m' serious,' you mumbled, hearing her sharp inhale. 'This isn't up for discussion. I'll see you this weekend. The house has been quiet without your noise,' for someone talking about something they supposedly missed, she didn't sound particularly fond, just agitated. 

You felt like saying you already knew someone with southern charm. And that's what gave you a terrible idea. An awful, heinous, wonderful idea. 'Can I bring Ellie? Her dad owns a farm, might work with the whole Southern thing,' you hummed, hearing the smile in her voice, even if it seemed strained. 'Perfect,' your mother sounded genuinely excited, despite neither of you giving two fucks about Southern 'things', she was just eager to shove heterosexuality down your throat and what better way than to organise a dinner between you and a boy you'd met at two family BBQs. The Louises only owned utes and had an anti-smoking campaign for the town you'd grown up in. They were white and rich and hosted dirt bike competitions. Killing yourself sounded more exciting than a dinner with that fucking family, but with Elliet there, maybe it would improve. Make things a little less traditional. Arranged marriages tended to happen in developing countries and cults, but every now and then, you find the odd single mother who is desperate for her loser daughter not to become a lesbian, so she attempts to give her away to some church boy. The Louise's son probably played Valorant and watched tentacle hentai, but I mean, hey, you kissed girls, so could you really judge? 

Oh, you definitely could. Because it was the weekend and Ellie, who'd agreed to come for the 'plot,' was standing behind you, her scruffy Converse sinking into the worn doormatt. Remick was shockingly tall, towering an impressive six feet and five inches, his mother near the same, while his father looked like he had to squat to stand comfortably, teetering beneath his gorgeously tall wife. Ms Louise was gorgeous, someone your mother was probably envious of. She had a crisp white blazer and a blouse with pink hydrangeas like a proud blonde flower, her curls slicked back with hair gel that gave her freshly baked bread smell a minty tang. Her tiny, lucky husband lacked hair and a neck, apparently, his double chin hiding where you'd expect a collarbone to be. He sweated quite a bit and nervously blushed when his wife asked him to remove his hat when they got inside. Ellie muttered something about her pegging him. You avoided giggling due to your mother's icy gaze, plum nails peeking out from her folded arms. 

You told Ellie to be 'extra gay,' so obviously, she just acted how she normally would, fake confidence and cheap cologne, her tattooed arm wrapped around your tense shoulders, her beaten BMW sat comfortably next to your mother's tired little Suzuki. She went to hug you before thinking better, conscious that lesbian was contagious. She certainly didn't hug Ellie, daintily shaking her hand with a smile that looked like it hurt. She asked Ellie the usual: what degree she was studying, her friends, sport, and hobbies. It got to the job part, and you had to take over. Because Ellie, even if nervous, never dialled down her pride for anyone, especially shallow people such as your mother. But after the incident with your father, your mother (fairly enough) declared a natural hatred for all drug dealers, and to find out her daughter had brought one into her house? It was betrayal. You did feel guilty about that part. But all the guilt faded when she nudged you into what she'd call a 'polite greeting hug' with Remick, who had more pimples on his cheekbones than brain cells in his head. That was mean, you'd admit it, but he made your skin crawl, his drawl and terrifying hazel eyes. 

Ellie gave him a hug, too. It made you giggle, like witnessing a kind of masculine display, two birds displaying feathers to encourage a mate. You weren't encouraged, just entertained, but if you were to pick between the two, Ellie was currently winning by a mile. You'd cut her hair the other night in her bathroom because you'd discovered, while midlife crisis at age thirteen, you weren't horrendously bad with a pair of scissors and a razor and liked mullets. Even if she was painfully gay, she certainly looked country, with auburn hair collecting at the base of her nape, cotton flannel loose against her skin. The Louises were the country type with money. Ellie looked like she knew how to plough a field and fucked girls on a tractor with a cowboy hat. Which you reckoned was close enough, despite your mother's disapproval. Mrs Louise told you you'd suit navy and that her favourite animal was a tiger. She liked your cardigan and bralette combination alongside your mother's bay-leaf potatoes. After lunch, Mr Louise hid in the bathroom, avoiding his family and nervously rewashing his hands with fresh sandalwood soap. Your mother and Mrs Louise retired to the battered couches in your living room, sipping a wine neither of them liked, only knowing it was expensive, so they automatically were entitled to enjoy nothing but dated pinot noir. 

And unwillingly, you led Remick and Ellie towards your bedroom because socialising with your tispy mother and hydrangea Mrs Louise was not how you'd planned to spend your post-lunchtime. Remick walked through your house as if he knew where to go, going past your bedroom, only to sheepishly turn on his heel and walk in. Maybe he found the MF Doom poster on your wall distasteful and the collection of Horimiya Manga uncool, but Ellie stood almost star-struck in your doorway, hands shoved lazily in her pockets, lips slightly ajar in partial shock. Remick was the type of boy who was entertained by misogyny and whose social media profile pictures all consisted of him posing with a dead animal he most definitely hadn't shot himself. For someone vegetarian, he definitely didn't mind animal cruelty, proceeding to butcher Ellie's attention span with the story of when 'he' supposedly shot a stag. She was still studying your room, studying little you and your little life. You had a surfboard with old wax you hadn't scraped for two years, an Animal Crossing poster and the LittleBigPlanet disc on your shelf. And in the centre, you stood nodding along to whatever Remick had to say about portable mini fridges and Zach Bryan. She picked up the slightly tattered elephant Jelly Cat that had been tucked beneath your devet, its wonky trunk between her fingers. 'What's his name?' She hummed, not looking up from the toy but knowing you glanced her way. 'Alro,' you hummed back, stepping out of the way of Remick, who'd grown bored of your attention and chose to wander somewhere other than your bedroom. 

'How’re you feelin’?' She tucked the elephant back beneath your sheets, patting the mattress beside her and watching you sink into the fabric, blinking at you open door. 'Successful,' you hummed back, glancing at her to receive a small grin. 'Yeah, your mum fuckin' hates me, dude,' she chuckled, fiddling with her fingers. Ellie Williams displaying low self-esteem? There must be something wrong with the world. You nudged her gently, watching her eyes find you again, 'can probably smell the deadbeat drug dealer lesbian,' she stared up at your ceiling light, and the cobwebs cluttering the corners of your room. 'Probably,' you whispered back, shooting her a grin and receiving a small smile. 'I wanted her to see me and be like "whoa, hey Ellie, so I know you're a faggot but you seem great for my daughter, want to stay for dinner?", or somethin',' her senserity disappeared the second you laughed, eyes searching for your approval. 'I mean, you could probably stay for the night,' you mumbled, feeling your face warm at the idea of a girl staying in your house. 'She'd make me sleep outside, can't go possess her daughter with evil dyke spirits,' she tickled you when you shoved her, laughing until you became conscious of the other individuals within your home. 'Oh shit dude, you never told me you played guitar.’ Her eyes were on the instrument that made your heart drop. It sat wearily in your stomach, refusing to return to your chest. 'Was my dad's,' you even sounded out of breath. 

She was quick to glance at you, 'sorry,' she mumbled, her hand curling over yours on the white cotton sheets. 'Why? You planning on stealing it?' You grinned at her, receiving an apologetic smile. 'No,' she murmured, her cheeks flushing pink when you leant closer than you'd intended. You felt flushed too, heat creeping up your neck and warming your ears. 'You can, s' not like I know how to play it,' you whispered, feeling her hand squeeze yours. 'Is it tuned?' You shook your head at her question, releasing her hand when she padded towards the wooden instrument. Her eyes found the Huntress Wizard and Finn poster on your door, and she landed softly on the bed beside you again, her fingers drifting over the tuners and strings. The first strum made you want to choke. But it eased, that feeling. Because she began to sing, and all of a sudden, you were fighting not to kiss her. 'I know we'll never grow old together,' she took a deep breath, strumming again, 'cos' you'll never grow old to me.' You smiled at her, something genuine that made her blush. 'You're the pink in my cheeks, and I'm scared that makes me a little bit soft.' Her strumming picked up, and so did your heartbeat. Sometimes she'd sing along to an anime intro or the song on her car stereo, but not like this. Not for you. 

'But don't beat yourself up, Bonnie, it wasn't just the sun I was hidin' from,' you smiled at her, only for it to make her more nervous, her calloused fingers fumbling on the strings. 'We were messed-up kids who taught ourselves how to live, and I'm still scared that I'm not good enough.' If you'd noticed your mother in your doorframe, you would've gone rigid with shock, maybe you'd have told Ellie to stop. But you didn't. 'I've always felt like a monster long before I was bit, but only seen as a monster, let's just say I'm used to it,' she looked at you like she was in love, and you hated that. Fuck you were cooked. And maybe she could tell, that's why she continued strumming, continued singing. Because you'd fall more in love with her just as she'd planned. Like a snake charmer, she wormed you in with her Marceline songs and Adventure Time references. 'And I grew tough cos' love, it only hurt me back, but loving you's a good problem to have, and I'm used to that, but I could get used to this.'

Her eyes were closed, maybe to avoid your gaze because it would’ve made her spiral into a chasm of stuttered sentences and pink cheeks. 'Yeah, I'm used to that, but I could get used to this, ' she opened her eyes, and she expected you to be watching her, but you weren't. You were watching your mum and her conflicted expression. To Ellie, your mother looked frustrated, maybe discomforted, but you realised with shock she was confused, the confliction on her expression a fight to keep herself from crying. 'Didn't know you could play the guitar, Ellie,' she hummed after a few beats, her composure regained. Ellie nodded, almost nervously, blinking up at your mother and her folded arms. 'Or sing,' she added, glancing over her shoulder at the hallway where the Louises were gathering their things. 'Lovely,' that was the first genuine smile she'd given you since you'd arrived and even if it wasn't directed at Ellie, it still made her heart swell. Because she'd done something right, even if she were doing it using your mother’s ex-husband's guitar. 

'Mum,' she nodded expectantly at you, watching your lips part, stuck in place by nerves. 'Can Ellie stay-- the night?' You wanted to avoid her gaze, but you remained strong and you watched her prickle, a tense moment where she reloaded the question inside her head until she could decide her answer. She was always strategic, a person who enjoyed pleasing but did very little of it. You felt Ellie stiffen at your side, the guitar gripped in her hands like it was offering her stability. 'You okay sleepin' on the couch, hun?' You could've burst into tears. Maybe because you'd asked in front of Ellie and your mother felt pressured not to say no, this was certainly an improvement. You'd never seen Ellie nod so enthusiastically, the guitar trembling on her lap while her knee anxiously bounced. 'Yes, please,' her reply almost made you laugh. Your mother loved manners, and you'd almost dismissed Ellie's intelligence, but she was doing well, earning another one of your mother's tight but genuine smiles.

sorry i deleted the past two chapters, just got worried i was rushing my story and got writers block (._.`)

Chapter Text

The checkered school uniform still hung slouched over your desk chair. The fan hummed, its green light blinking at you, faintly illuminating the chipped paint on your bedside table. Ping. You found your phone buried beneath the covers somewhere between your pillow and Arlo, Ellie's contact casting a bright light over your face. You squinted at the text message, your yawn harmonising with the fans' whir. 'missing u,' you buried your smile beneath your fresh sheets, fingers moving avidly over the keys. 'sofa too lonely? :p' she laughed, burying her face in the couch cushions, quick to type back. 'cold too :(,' you grinned at your screen, trying to imagine her down the hallway and past the bathroom. 'i can get u more blankets,' your fingers paused, waiting for her reply, the three illuminated bubbles holding your upmost attention. 'just want you,' she went red, her lips parting in a silent scream like some disaterous horror. The only horror was her messages, but you weren't horrified, just nervous. 

'know how to get to my room in the dark?' You chewed your bottom lip, awaiting her reply, only to never receive one, a soft knock dragging your eyes off your phone and to the door instead. 'Yea?' You mumbled into the dark, your room flooded with soft hallway light, shaded by her head. You smothered a laugh into the stuffed toy, tossing the duvet off yourself and padding towards the door she closed with a soft 'click'. Your kiss surprised her, purely gentle, your vaseline smudging on her upper lip. She grinned against your mouth, and you were worried she could hear the butterflies flapping in your stomach, their soft, dusted wings brushing your intestines. She kissed back firm enough for you to taste the toothpaste on her tongue, taste the Chow Mein from the Chinese takeaway your mum had picked up. You stumbled back, and she came down with you, crashing softly into your bed, her hands cradling your head so it didn't hit the wall you'd pressed your mattress against. She laughed against your lips, her giggle hushed and shy, burying her face in your neck when her smile got too wide and her cheeks too pink. 

You whispered her name into the dark and made out her shaggy hair and low-lidded eyes. 'Yea?' Her lips ghosted yours, and you shrank into the duvet below you, fingertips brushing over the moth perched on her forearm. She blinked expectantly down at you, awaiting the words that never left your lips. 'Nothing,' you murmured, watching her grin grow. 'What?' The teasing had begun, and you refrained from rolling your eyes, fingertips pinching the bedsheets. Her biceps flexed when she leaned closer, her palms sinking into the mattress on either side of your head, watching you suffer in this cruel game of eye contact. 'You're jus' pretty,' you mumbled, watching her pause, blinking slowly at you, lips parted in surprise. 'Yea?' She murmured, cocking her head, watching you wriggle beneath her. 'Yea,' you whispered back, gasping against her lips when she kissed you, her tongue sliding into your mouth with a muffled groan. It was risky but also quiet and soft. You kissed her back, hands finding her hair.

You rolled her over, and you parted for a moment to just stare at one another in the dark. If your fingers weren't so soft and delicate, maybe she would've pulled away. But she pushed her cheek further into your palm, all docile and quiet, letting you hold her. She had charcoal on her temple, the stuff following her around like a bad smell. But you loved it. Cold fingertips found their way across your skin, skimming the flesh beneath your yellow pyjama shorts, then moving up to squeeze your waist. It was the kind of kiss that tasted hungry and made you hot, gentle enough to feel like love but eager enough to swallow you. 'You're the first girl who makes me feel loved,' it was muffled against your lips but still audible. Maybe she said it that way so you couldn't hear it, but at least the weight would be relieved from her chest. You heard it, though, and it sounded fucking poetic. You'd pour out whatever she thought you were giving her, you'd give it until you were parched and shrivelled. 

She tasted like good decisions and something you could only describe as love. You could hide here in this bubble of home and bedsheets, Ellie's fingers on your skin and her knee between your legs. It stayed there, applying pressure on your crotch until you muttered a curse, letting her hand squeeze your hip, guiding you against her thigh. You'd trusted being alone for years because it was something you could rely on. Set the lowest expectations and never be disappointed. But this felt good. So fucking good. Your expectations were far from exceeded, and Ellie was groaning into your mouth. She smiled when you nervously giggled against her lips, fingers gingerly holding her cheeks, your forehead hot and sealed against hers. 'Stop if you want to,' she murmured, your soft pants warming her wet lips, eyes stuck on yours. 'Don't want to,' you admitted with a battered sigh, grinding against her until she felt her thigh grow wet, your shaky breath in her hair. She smiled against your cheek, words short and punctuated 'yea, ma?' She liked that you nodded dumbly, as if your mind weren't capable of processing anything other than her words. 

'Yea,' you mumbled, your head stretching back on your pillows to invite her into the expanse of your flesh. She kissed the skin like she loved it, her thumb brushing your hip bone, her hand continuing to guide your hips, the other beneath your chin. She lifted it, and you would let your neck break beneath her touch if she'd asked. You'd have done anything if she'd asked. Her drawled fuck had your eyes in the back of your head, hopelessly humping against her thigh because it was all she'd give you. Not that you had the current brain capacity to request more. The embarrassing thing was that you were already close, her thigh wet and glossy, the crotch of your pyjama pants soaked. 'Ellie,' you called her with such a delicacy that it sounded rare, her lips stalling on your neck just to drown in the sound of her name leaving your throat. 'What's going on, baby?' She murmured, her hand gripping your hip as eager to get you there as you were. You whined her name again, and she groaned like it was her receiving the pleasure. It was pleasure to see the expressions flood your face, brows drawn in the centre, lips parted, and eyes rolling back. She'd kill to see this again. 

'Almost,' you whimpered, fingers digging into her shoulders, dragging against her wet thigh, hearing her pant in your ear. It made her throb, her hand leaving your hip to cup your pussy, feeling you rut pathetically against her palm. Fingertips curled past the waistband, dipping beneath the pre-cum and sticky cotton. She waited for you to do it one more time, whine her name pathetically, and she'd give you what you wanted. 'Ellie,' you drawled it this time, eyes on hers, desperate and sweet. 'Fuck,' she muttered, sliding a finger inside you and feeling you pulse around her. 'So warm-- fuck,' she gritted, her forehead meeting yours, dragging her finger out at a pace that made you whimper before pushing it back in, accompanied by a second. That did it for you, nails digging indents in her shoulders, grinding against her palm, her hair tickling your brow. 'Shit,' Ellie mumbled, gently pumping her fingers in and out of you, feeling cum slide down her knuckles and wet her palm. 

You managed a meek moan, dropping your head into her chest, shuddering when her wrist brushed your clit, slipping her fingers out of you, her palm cupping your pussy. 'This mine?' She didn't expect you to answer, but you nodded, small and weak, not even bothering to process what she'd meant because you'd agree with it no matter what she'd said. Her teeth nipped your jaw, and you just trembled, tired and used, fingers twitching on her shoulders. Foreheads slick with sweat and heated by something tender consumed you, her lips meeting your brow, kissing you and feeling your body sink into her skin. Selfishly, you wanted to slide your fingers into her pants, make her enjoy something even close to what you'd just experienced. But she stopped you before you made it to her boxers, her thumb rubbing small circles on your hip, a palm cupping your face. She cursed at your eyes, blown-out and obedient, eager to please. However, she noticed they were low-lidded with exhaustion, the tremor in your wandering fingers enough of an indicator. 

Her lips brushed your temple when she kissed your brow again, tucking your face into her chest. You complied, drool gathering on her shirt when you slipped into sleep, her bicep cradling your slack head, a hand running tenderly yet possessively down your waist. You didn't snore. Just soft, uneven breaths that made her grow tired, her heartbeat steady beneath your ear, listening to you sniff in your sleep. Your limbs shuddered beside her, so still and vulnerable. She'd done a number on you, fighting back a tired laugh, gazing down at you despite the low light, hearing your breaths harmonise with the whirring fan, its air prickling the hairs on her nape. A sleeping angel, the vaseline you'd applied to your lips earlier on Ellie's chin now, your sheets warm and duvet astray. She'd stay here, and you'd stay sleeping. Maybe she'd stare at you for the next few minutes, insomnia haunting her long hours into the night. But if she ever were to wake, your face would be there, eyebrows twitching, processing whatever dreams occupied your mind. And she'd brush hair off your shoulder, and rub a thumb over your warm cheek. 

Chapter Text

If only you could rearrange brain chemistry. Convince them to like you, to love, treasure and worship you. Have the power to twist someone's mind, have their dopamine levels rely on the number of times you messaged them that day. But you didn't have that power. Ellie did, though, your mood dependent on the attention she gave you. Measley dishes and scraps that you lapped at, reliant on her lasting looks and stolen glances. As if they could do anything for you other than reduce your self-esteem to a sad pea-sized lump of pathetic 'does she like me?'s. And it hurt, it hurt so deeply. She told you stuff like that. That she loved you, or at least thought she did. You relied so heavily on her minute miligrams of attention, your weekends became dizzying. Your life was organised but somehow a mess, based on Ellie's carefree, random cycles and daily life. Not your random cycles or daily life. Hers. That's when it became unhealthy. You cancelled a tutoring session to be at this stupid fucking meetup in this damn basement that reeked of weed and sausage sizzle. 

Someone had accidentally drizzled ketchup on the sofa armrest, now smeared over your elbow. You weren't sure if you'd walked into a hangout or the pits of hell when you padded down the steep basement stairs. But it was beginning to look like hell. Everyone was too stoned to say hi. Not that you were complaining, even if you were. The pits of hell had to be better than whatever the fuck this was. You watched a girl your age sink into the brick wall opposite you, her laugh too fake, too high-pitched to be real. Not that it bothered Ellie, her hand skimming the underside of a tanned forearm, watching with low-lidded eyes a strand of blonde hair flick over a sharp shoulder. Her jokes were underwhelming if anything, and that blonde bimbo didn't get half of them. You'd laugh if you were part of the conversation. But you weren't. You were eavesdropping from the opposite side of the room beside an obnoxious fish tank and a LeBron poster. If you could throw up, you would've. At least you spared yourself a gag. The blonde's defined facial bones sharpened, her cheeks suctioning as she sipped her Diet Coke. She smiled behind the can again when Ellie mentioned something only she found funny. Maybe you should just fucking kill yourself. Your cheek smushed against your palm, watching with a throat full of bile at the interaction across from you and considering who would actually miss you if you were gone. Not Ellie. 

Chewed fingernails jumped across the tattoo on Ellie's abdomen beneath the lifted hem of her flannel. She knew you were watching too, chin in your hand and dopey eyes glassy with tears and betrayal. They were searing. Painfully so. She spared a glance at you, casual and careless, offering a friendly smile. One that killed you inside. Your organs were set alight, becoming burnt and charred, stinking the room with the smell of rotting flesh and jealousy. Your arms dropped to your torso, digging into your stomach, trying to trap down what threatened to spill out of your throat. The bile rose watching her hand squeeze her hip. Who cares that she met your mum, sang you a song, fingered you in your bedroom? You certainly didn't. Not one fucking bit. You held back a gag, denying the ache of your guts and their request to spill past your lips, all bubbly and acidic, full of anger and betrayal. You got ketchup on your elbow, vomit in your throat, and her back to you. You needed a handful of painkillers and a fucking gun. Maybe if you bombed this stupid fucking basement and its stupid fucking fishtank, you wouldn't feel like crying. But you were already crying and didn't have a firearm license. You just wanted comfort, from someone, anyone. She didn't dare glance at you again. The last time she saw you, you were on the verge of tears. Now they'd appeared, ugly and honest. 

Then it snuck your way, dipping beneath your nostrils, that scent of lemon detergent. The LED fishtank flashed past your eyes, the stairs and the lava lamp. But she wasn't here, just Ellie and that girl and people who didn't hold any similarities with you other than the weed in your systems. But someone your eyes had missed was close, close enough to leave a shadow over your knees and smell like the same lemon detergent. Ink swarmed her arms, black hair choppy and originally unappealing. Now it was intriguing. 'You okay?' Cat smiled when you huffed, the sofa dipping beside you, beer threatening to hit the red carpet, sloshing in the bottle she tipped her chin up to drink. She watched your eyes follow her, the bob of her throat and the chipped black polish clinging to her stubby nails. You'd never looked at Cat long enough to form an opinion on her. But she was comforting. The comfort you needed. She looked at you expectantly, and you realised you still hadn't answered her question. If you nodded, she'd probably leave you alone. But if you didn't, what would she do then? That intrigued you even more. 

You shook your head instead, excusing your tears on the Rita Ora songs playing from the imported speaker in the corner. The sofa dipped again. She had moved closer, your mental compacted with outer knees brushing and blocked noses. 'No?' She muttered, the ink beetle on her inner wrist crawling towards her elbow, imprinted on the skin with a needle, caged above her flesh and veins. You felt her warmth like a calling, soft and inviting. Ellie was watching you. But Cat was too. And it was Cat's hand sliding into yours and leading you up the steep stairs, not Ellie's. The house smelt like burning incense, expensive abstract paintings morphing before your twisted vision. Your hip bumped a mahogany table with an ugly decorative bouquet, Cat's hand curled around your wrist in an attempt at gentle guidance. You didn't know where you were going. You didn't think she did either. But she found the bathroom, tugging you into dimly lit light and heated marble tiles. The warmth crawled through your socks and up your heels, making it to your face when she let your hand go, dropping onto the toilet lid, hands clasped between her legs, beer forgotten on the carpet beside the sofa. 

The basin was cool beneath your palms, your exhausted expression blinking back at you, a lonely vape and Nivea lip balm abandoned on the sink. Love Galore stroked the floor beneath your feet, thumping through the house from the basement. You noticed Cat's eyes on you in the reflection, expecting her gaze to deter upon being caught. It wasn't, in fact, it seemed to deepen. Maybe it was SZA or the closed bathroom door, but this felt intimate. More so than it should've been. She knew that. It's why she didn't look away. It's why you didn't either. Your bottom lip stung when you bit it, chewing away something dry and flaky that bothered you. 'Does she hate me?' Her eyes didn't falter, but yours did, dropping to your feet, watching your toes curl in your socks. If you'd been watching her, you would've noticed her flinch, as if the truth hurt her as much as it hurt you. 'I think she's stupid,' her reply was open and honest. Partially heartbreaking because it wasn't new information to you. 'Who was that?' You whispered, staring at your reflection like it could answer for you. The other woman did, though. 'Dunno,' once again open and honest, just as heartbreaking. Maybe if you dug your nails deeper into your palms, they'd bleed. The shame would leave your body in trails of red sticky substance. The shame of being pathetic. But your nails just hurt, and Cat pushed off the porcelain lid, taking a whole three steps until she was behind you. Directly behind you. Her eyes met yours over your head, low-lidded and pink. 

She wasn't touching you, but she may as well have, her breath on your neck, chest brushing your shoulder bones. She looked taller up close, taller than you. More intimidating. One thing about Cat you couldn't grasp was her intentions. You didn't get a gut feeling around her, no type of reading or radar, just a neutral expression and a bubble of nerves in your stomach. 'Did I do something wrong?' you spoke softly enough; she strained to hear you. But she was close enough, close enough to hear it clearly, to think of a response that your emotional stability relied on. Her eyes danced across yours, across your streaked cheeks and snotty upper lip. She wasn't neutral anymore. Because Cat was staring at your downturned mouth, your glossy eyes, and wondering just how Ellie was so fucking blind. Just your broken expression made her falter; short-circuit. If only she could imagine your smile, it would probably ruin her. I mean, she'd met girls, met mean girls, clingy ones, pretty ones. Devoted ones? She'd fight for one, not that she'd ever had the chance. Because girls like you weren't common, at least not for Cat, Ellie maybe. But you weren't like the blonde in the basement who centred her life around Lululemon and the hatred of consuming something with artificial sugar. You were awkward and quiet and so fucking pretty. You had interests and emotions, and a somewhat functioning social standing. Ellie had choppy hair and sold weed.

'She's an asshole,' the words that left her mouth finally brought out the smile, even if it was pained. You fought it, that fear, the barrier the mirror had provided, and you turned. The reflection wasn't there to protect you; now you were properly looking at her, real eye contact, not something shared between glass on a bathroom wall. If you hadn't smoked and Cat wasn't looking at you this way, maybe your head wouldn't be spinning. But it was fucking reeling, and Cat's face only got closer. You felt like you'd been unconsensually shoved on a rollercoaster, forced to sit throughout the ride. 'This can be nothing,' she wasn't making sense, but you didn't want her to, 'but, if you let it happen, I wouldn't mind.' She'd gotten closer and you realised what she meant, her hand squeezing yours, pinky finger hooking around your thumb. You hated that you were sensitive and never fully happy with your body. You hated that you had no connections and needed to buy a new toothbrush. You hated your life and this fucking weekend and Ellie. You were stoned, and Cat had tattoos, and Ellie was probably making out with that girl down the hallway. 'Okay,' you mumbled, kissing her before she had the chance to close her eyes, her grip stabilising you, the heated bathroom tiles warming your socks. She tasted like bad beer and bubblegum, her tongue above your teeth.

You hated that you were stupid and picky. Hypocritical and psychotic. You hated that you were kissing Cat and not Ellie. But you weren't sorry. Because you didn't owe her that. Didn't owe anyone it, not even yourself. That part you didn't hate. You loved it. You loved Cat's hands and how they pulled you closer like you were important, worth holding. Physical touch with her didn't feel forced, specific. Just a 'I'm here,' alongside a hidden meaning behind her gentle kiss, something like 'I love bad ideas and your lips'. Maybe all you'd needed was a hug, but a kiss was just as good, all hot and heavy and complicated. Weed was good too. It made you giddy and giggly. It made you do stupid things that you couldn't bring yourself to hate. Ellie was probably still in the basement, chatting to that girl like she was planning on fucking her later. Maybe she had been, her hand sat casually on the slope of her hip, her thumb lazily rubbing over the bone of her pelvis. Maybe she'd taken that girl to a different bathroom like Cat had with you. Maybe she'd driven her home in the car that smelled like your body spray and the KFC bag that'd been left there for weeks. But maybe, by chance, by horrid chance, she'd left that girl in the basement because your dopey eyes and downturned lip made her acknowledge the undeniable fact you were a human being with feelings. Feelings that would end up hurting Ellie more than yourself. Because Cat didn't lock the door, and you moaned in her mouth when she gripped your waist, the beetle coming to life when her wrist flexed so she could pull you closer. 

You hated confrontation. That's what made it easier to be alone. You'd never have to deal with it, put yourself through that torture. But you'd become a whole lot less alone recently, and you were already facing the implications of bad decision-making. 'Y/n?' If she'd yelled it, you would've felt a little less worse. If she'd said it in a way that sounded like she hated you, the guilt wouldn't be as suffocating. But she just sounded broken and pathetic, switching her weight between her feet. Cat was watching you when you pulled away, those tears resurfacing, words visibly caught in your throat like bad breath. 'Cat?' She sounded even more defeated, even smaller. Neither of you spoke. Just sat and stared at Ellie's slouched shoulders and chewed fingernails. Part of you was glad this had ended so abruptly. because you wouldn't have to answer the 'what now?' question. You could pretend it didn't exist for now. But the question reappeared on Ellie's lips, something she held back, too afraid to speak it. You were scared, too, visibly. She looked at Cat to blame, then at the bathroom tiles, the empty shower, anything but you. Because you wouldn't do this to her. Not you. Not the person who made her feel loved, properly, romantically loved. But Ellie's hand stung from another girl's skin, her hip bone imprinted on the warmth of her palm and your tears were smudged on Cat's flushed face. 'Yea?'

Chapter Text

'I should go,' You didn't protest to her words. She silently prayed you begged her to stay, scrambled after her, and maybe punched Cat in the process. But you did none of it, letting Cat pull you closer, letting her lips skim your brow. You let it happen because you were in control. You had to trust yourself instead of Ellie, and finally rely on the only person who knew what you wanted. You. Ellie craved control; control over your body and emotions, and being. The days and weeks rotated around the consciousness of her Earth, while you, her moon. Grey, solemn and forgotten, only appearing at night and shadowing one side of her surface. But Ellie wasn't the only planet in the solar system. Mercury pulled you closer in the dim bathroom, glaring at the Earth, who stood awkwardly in the doorframe, seemingly billions of light-years away. They now orbited you, the night sky becoming a complicated conjunction, more than one celestial body aligning your small planet. Stars flickered across your vision, dazed flashes of yellow, your brain thick with a fog that held too much familiarity. The planets were about to collide, and you panicked, the dizziness overwhelming you, your knees buckling dramatically, dropping you forward. 

And just as you'd predicted, the celestial bodies met in the middle, swamping you between their orbits, truly fucking up the planetary organisation. A subtle beating was thumping against the front of your skull, hands on your hips and waist. Mercury's thin atmosphere clashed with Earth's, the pair sheltering the moon, who had spontaneously greened out. You watched those planets swirl before you, concerned by your pathetic, weak knees and slurred speech. 'M' fine,' was what you said despite the wave of nausea and scramble for the toilet. Ellie pushed her hair off her brow, stumbling back into the sink and watching your shoulders curl, Cat's hand occupying your bare back. You wanted to acknowledge the skinny elephant in the room, Ellie, but you were more occupied with avoiding getting vomit on your white yoga pants. If you weren't so fucking stoned, you'd also acknowledge how embarrassing this was. And if Ellie wasn't so torn, she would've been staring at your ass. But both of you were beyond any of that at this point, caught in a dim bathroom with the sound of your rethching. 

You're sure the car ride home was awkward if you could've remembered it. But what you did remember was the aftermath of waking up alone in your dorm. Your neck smelled like Ellie, the collar of her hoodie tucked beneath your chin, Hunter X Hunter and your open laptop screen opposite you. Someone down the hallway was listening to Reneé Rapp, and you were crying into your hands. Because you hated this feeling of control. At least the moon was close to the earth, circling one another, but it felt like you'd been projected millions of light-years away, rotating on your own axis, consumed by dark atmosphere and gossiping stars. You circled the small universe of your dorm room, glaring at the grinning monkey on your Paul Frank shirt, and the Miffy nightlamp Cat had switched on. That was all the sun you were allowed, other than the vitamin D peeking beneath your window blind. Speaking of vitamin D, you were horny. Which just had to be the final straw. You threw yourself on your sheets with a groan, bordering on a yell, ignoring Alistair's euphonium. It wasn't even raining. 

So, what to do when you're bordering on depression and recovering from greening out? You wallow in your bedroom, hoping your duvet will greedily swallow you up alongside your tears and regret. What was it now? What could you even call the 'this' you had with Ellie? Was it even considered a 'this'? Maybe it had been called 'a bad fucking idea'.  A bad idea that would go wrong eventually, which you'd known from the beginning. Since her unemotional availability and sudden late-night calls. Clingy to cold. And so you fell into the cycle. The cycle of tutoring and summer classes, and utter self-hatred. The campus gym had a public pool that stunk of chlorine and styrofoam kick boards. You wore a one-piece too expensive for a communal, locally funded pool and the sponsored swim cap from your old club. The competition goggles your dad had bought you at fifteen were probably too old now, water leaking behind the rubber suction, but you wore them anyway, feeling the damp tiles cut against your soles. The Uni swim club trained five days of the week from five till three, your world consumed in lat muscles and whistles. 

You swam in the outside lane, watching trained muscular bodies race past you beneath the surface, and the viewers sat on the plastic chairs poolside. Sometimes you thought you spotted your dad in the spectators, his glasses perched above his head, leaning forward on his knees, studying the curve of your elbow and pace of your kicks. He critiqued your butterfly stroke and turns inside your mind, a conscious voice that haunted you despite the comfort it offered. You saw her at the gym sometimes, too. Not just imaginary flashes of your father, but Abby's muscular physique. She was real, though, not your distorted imagination. That somehow made it worse, the fact that she wasn't simply a vision. The gym overlooked the pool. You'd catch her watching you from the start block, focusing on your crouched body despite her attention supposedly being on the treadmill. If she were lucky, you'd smile. Otherwise, you'd glare behind your drink bottle, the expression on your face reliant on whether you'd beaten your freestyle PB. Sometimes the club members would chat with you over the lane rope, easy, casual. Sports friends came more easily than regular ones. In the pool, you were forced to converse with someone, even if it was about the coach or their faulty stopwatch. You'd been offered a place too, a swim cap belonging to another club and a competition time sheet. 

If you actually thought about it, you could've been deadly. And maybe you would've been if it weren't for your father. His interest in his daughter's swim team was occupied with meth instead, and so your motivation was descalated. No one could drive you to competitions, and the money for your training went to opioids instead. Swimming, originally an escape, just became a chore, something you sliuggishly dragged yourself along to. Overlapping weeks of dodgy bus rides and complaining coaches until you dropped it completely. The sport you loved now felt like a sin, and the chlorine dried out your hair. You couldn't escape him, though. You had his mannerisms, his eye colour, his bipolar. You were a carbon copy who couldn't escape her father because she couldn't escape herself. And later, watching the bubbles gather in the shower drain beneath your slides, following them beneath the stall wall and into the gym plumbing, you felt his presence. Like a bad smell or a familiar song. Your father's voice and frown, his encouragement and disappointment. The foggy mirror held his reflection, not yours. 'Do I look like him?' You whispered aloud in the empty bathroom, steam hovering around your shoulders. No one answered. Just the truth. He appeared the most when you were alone, when you had no one else. You weren't sure whether his memory was chasing you or you were chasing him. 

He was most clear in the pool. In the changing rooms that stunk of chlorine and the posters of past athletes beside the front desk. Beneath the water, you could hear him, past the hairties and lane ropes, you could see him, his murky reflection. No matter how hard you tried to envision your own face, it was his that stared back, truthful and horrifying. You probably frowned like him. It made you sick to your stomach. Even your posture. But that wasn't the only thing that haunted you. Because you'd catch Abby's eye in the changing room. The 'coincidentally' shared time you both finished your session. You'd change and she'd watch, the room thick with tension and risky glances. Five in the morning was an absurd time to be in a public gym. It wasn't the usual for you, but it happened anyway, catching her eye in the mirror, watching her back double in size, her lats flexing as she pulled down the bar. You fought it, the tension. Because fighting it was better than falling for it. Abby fell for it, though; she was too easy. A fight she'd lost before it had even begun. She missed your skin and your scent, your taste and sound. She yearned for you. And you had just found your modern-day Mr Darcy. 

You could hear the Jeff Buckley flooding out of her broken headphones, diminished to a husk when she leaned forward, large shoulders bowing with her head. Broken down and hungry for your love with no way to feed it. It hurt how she could relate. It ached, her heart set alight, slowly charring and transforming from pink to black, molten and gooey, dripping down her ribs to pool in her pelvis. And her battle against her empty hands and determination to fill them with your love was lost. The question echoed in the changing room despite how soft her voice was, a subtle ringing that stung your eardrums. 'Can I touch you?' She was looking at you before you had the chance to turn, shirt wrinkled, one shoe on the bench, the other one hanging off your foot. 'I've almost forgotten,' Jeff Buckley had gotten louder, and your modern-day Mr Darcy gazed at you across the gym locker room like a patient puppy. If you'd open your mouth, words wouldn't have come out, even if you forced them. If you'd shaken your head, it wouldn't have moved, even though you desperately told yourself to do so. Your muscles ached, but so did your heart, opened, a spilling wound begging to be patched. Betryal had split it, betrayal from one too many women. You swayed on the cool linoleum, telling yourself no, as if you'd ever listened to your inner dialogue. Because now would be a great time to listen, to take on its wisdom and not make a decision you'd regret.

But her hands trembled and her eyes were glassy, a perfect porcelain doll, filled with anguish and shame and love. Your modern Mr Darcy called your name, passed you a thin string that you clutched from across the room, letting it feed through your fingers, wrap around your wrist. With that string, she pulled you closer, your legs lacking strength, wobbling forward, like this was your first time walking. Stumbling towards your Mars, collapsing into her arms like gravity didn't exist, like you were weightless. She held you that way, a soft sob disappearing into your hair, shading her heartbreak. You were so warm, so warm she'd almost forgotten. 'Missed you,' she could tell you were crying. Small, contained tears that made your shoulders tremble and eyes sting. You buried yourself there, in her shirt, in the cold gym changing room. She smelled like sweat and angst, something that made your legs collapse beneath you, her hushed words transforming your polite cries into quiet sobs. Your hands met her chest, giving it a pathetic shove. She stumbled back despite your lack of effort, gazing at you, teary-eyed and open-armed. 'I hate you,' you spat, unable to look at her face, pushing your palms into your eyelids, feeling tears slide down your wrists. 'I know,' she murmured, unlike you, not bothering to wipe her eyes, letting her heartbreak stain her cheekbones. You should've known it wasn't over; it never would be. She's a tear that hangs inside my soul forever. 

'Hate you s'much,' you couldn't see, blinded by rage and tears. She didn't wince at your words, just your broken expression and soft, wavering voice, like you didn't mean the things you said. 'I know, love,' her outstretched palms were reaching for you again, sliding across your forearms. You shoved her again, a solid brick wall that refused to move, refused to leave you lonely. Maybe if you kept shoving, she'd leave, but you knew it was futile; she was three times your muscle mass and fucking determined. 'Hate you,' it was absorbed into her chest, muffled against the loose cotton of her shirt. 'S' okay, baby,' she whispered with such fondness you broke down. Hate and anguish diminished to a puddle of tears and trembling fingers. You'd gone without human touch for bordering two weeks, and it was beginning to show. You clung like she'd run if you dared let go. 'I won't leave,' she whispered, just to reassure. You weren't sure if it had that effect or did the opposite. Maybe it was best you didn't ask. You didn't say goodbye either, pulling away when your legs could hold your weight and leaving the changing room like she hadn't been in it. 

Chapter Text

Could this be called depression? You weren't a trained psychiatrist, so you didn't have the answer. The ceiling melted above you, a mixture of blaster, light fixtures, and insulation dripped down in gooey clumps, sliding over your skin and cementing you to the scratchy carpet. You huffed. You were doing it again. That thing that people didn't like. Huffing. Because it meant you had something to complain about, and people are so caught up in their own lives, they don't have time for yours. Certainly not your issues. Didn't have time for the hyoketsu spilt on your dorm carpet and the sour expression on your face upon spotting the spider in the corner of your room. You weren't sure if you wanted to see Ellie, crash a car or die. All of them sounded like far too much effort. Maybe you were dramatic. Perhaps you were insufferable. But one thing you certainly were was miserable. Really fucking miserable. Your cardigan smelled like someone's cheese toasty, and the summer sun made your skin itch. The cardigan came off and hit the wall with a thud, its buttons softly clattering against the plaster. Your life wasn't going well. Not how it was intended. Sure, Laufey's voice was comforting, but Alistair was playing his fucking euphonium and Falling Behind felt slightly too targeted. But you couldn't be bothered to switch it off or tell Alby to shut up. So you lay in the miserable pile of your own life, rolling onto your side ever so often to keep the blood circulation throughout your stiff limbs.

You never thought you could hold so much hate in your body for a specific emotion. Loneliness. God, you were sick of it. It was a temporary thing, but it had already gotten old. You were missing a connection. You had the thought process that your constant lack of company and the familiarity of loneliness would make this easier. But it didn't. Because even though kids weren't laughing at you on fathers Day and your mother wasn't using your birthday money to pay for your dad's hospital bills after he overdosed, this didn't feel great either. You were starting to get a feel for this yearning thing, Abby's Mr Darcy act and her soft sobs. You wanted someone. No, you weren't a psychiatrist, but maybe this constant searching and need for devotion was caused by the hole your father had left. Something deep and dark that sucked up the light, sucked up the life, the emotion—leaving you with solace, stillness, and horrid loneliness. Yes, you were in your Pikachu slippers and pyjama shorts, but you had to leave your room. Leave before you stood in the hyoketsu stain and the gooey ceiling melt slid into your ears. You probably would've made it down the hallway now, but you didn't manage it, frozen in your doorframe—a stoic expression blocking your exit. 

She had shaggy hair, an arm raised as if preparing to knock. But you'd beaten her to the door, and it was really awkward because that yearning appeared again. Now you were Mr Darcy, and your Elizabeth Bennet was standing in the doorway. But last time you checked, Keira Knightley wasn't a masc lesbian with a forearm tattoo, and you hadn't watched Pride and Prejudice since your horrid high school English class. 'Hi,' she breathed it out like she'd been holding it in, which she had, for at least twenty-four seconds as well. That time had been occupied by you both staring at each other before your ears felt hot and her cheeks flushed pink. 'Hi,' your voice trembled. Probably because you hadn't spoken in the past two days. Maybe because you wanted to cry. Maybe because she looked like she wanted to too. She heard the Laufey in your bedroom and the Pikachu slippers hiding your feet. She saw the lovestruck look in your eyes and the missing manicured nail on your thumb. She saw it all and felt forced to kiss you. But she didn't. I made a promise to distance myself. Took a flight through aurora skies. For once, you wished you couldn't hear Laufey. But you could. And it was as if your speaker knew what was happening, your Spotify queued, torturing you. Honestly, I didn't think about how we didn't say goodbye, just 'see you very soon'. 

Ellie heard it too. Experienced the torture. She was red. Bright red. Adorably red. Your heart was going to burst. Maybe she could hear it, that's why her eyes dropped to your chest. The truth was she had to avoid your eyes, your upturned brows, and your bitten lower lip. The silence hung there, immobile and obnoxious. Like some rude old person at check out who couldn't grasp personal space and social cues. You let it stay because maybe she'd fill it. Fill it with her wobbly smile and soft lips. But neither of you spoke or moved or dared to breathe. Soon she'd flush purple from lack of airflow, and your knees would buckle, sending you tumbling to the carpet. But you inhaled through your nose, and she exhaled through her lips. So I broke my promise, I called you lastnight. I shouldn't have, I wouldn't have, if it weren't for the sight of a boy who looked just like you. She smiled, something that made your breath hitch. Because it was awkward and painful and confronting, and you smiled back. Because what else would you do? What else could you do? Words couldn't make a moment. And even if you spoke, what would you say? You secrets? Your love and hurt? Your addiction? The relentless chase for Ellie's attention and opinion, the feeling of not being enough yet being too much. Not similar enough to that blonde, too much to be close to what Ellie wanted. What did she want? Would she ever tell you? 

Ellie didn't speak. It'd been two minutes since you'd uttered the greeting to her. Hi. Easy enough. But else did she say? They were on again. The Pikachu slippers, that fucking BMO shirt. The Laufey on your speaker and dorm doused in Victoria Secret spray. Not to your knowledge, she'd already been here, at your door. That was last week; she never found the courage to knock. She almost lost it today. Too scared to interact. Partially worried someone was in there with you. Cat, Abby, someone, someone who wasn't her. No, she didn't deserve you, but she loved you. Ellie thought that was credible enough. If she stared at BMO any longer, she might come to life, padding around your dorm, softly humming. Your Pikachu slippers would wake and, from their immobile state, shimmy off your feet and run laps around the room. It made her smile, the grin on her face balancing the weight between your feet. You rocked back and forth on your heels, awkward, unsure movement that she mirrored, her fingers pinching the skin of her palm. The summer had burnt her skin, a tan freckled shoulder exposed by the loose strap of her tank top. It slid, and without thinking, you reached out, gently tugging it up. And upon realising what you'd done, you tugged your hand back, desperate for redemption. But she caught your retracting arm before it could meet your side again, her fingers stiff around your wrist. 

'Ellie?' You said it like a question because that's what you were doing. Questioning her. Her intentions. The tongue that darted out to lick her dry lips and low-lidded eyes. 'Baby--' it's how her sentence started, and you knew you'd be doomed by the end of it, 'how are you?' Her eyes searched your face like they'd find something. Something worth her time. 'M' okay,' you whispered back, glancing at the hand that curled around yours, holding it tighter than necessary. But it felt necessary enough. 'You okay?' She didn't answer your question. Well, in a way she did, but through actions, not words. You felt the weight of her body, and you let it all fall onto you, her pathetic collapse into a hug. Face buried in your shoulder, and arms locking around your waist. She winced when you didn't hug her back, too shocked by the sudden embrace to return it. But the shock fizzled away, and your chin found her collarbone, accepting the weight of her body. 'Missed you,' she sounded nasally, love caught in her throat and rendering her speech. 'Why didn't you come see me?' You mumbled back, lips brushing her warm skin and feeling her bristle in your arms. 'Didn't know if you wanted to see me,' you pulled away at her words, feverently searching her expression to make sense of her whisper. 'Ellie,' your eyes fell to your feet because it was easier than seeing her face, 'I think I always wanna see you.' That surprised her. 

Yet it didn't. Because you finally found her eyes, plucking up the courage to meet them. 'Shit,' she choked, burying her face in your skin, fists balling up your shirt. You finally understood her quiet curse when you felt the tears on your shoulder. 'Ellie,' you murmured, pulling away to blink at her red, tear-stained face. 'You've fucked me,' she mumbled, hair falling over her glassy eyes, hiding her heartbreak. Your confused expression made it even worse, brows drawn together as if what she was saying made no sense to you. 'You've fucked me,' it was more defeated this time, lips brushing your collarbone, giving it her vulnerable confessions. 'I can't not think about you,' she spoke to the window behind you because it was easier than looking you in the eyes. 'Hate it,' she murmured, feeling you stiffen in her arms. 'M' sorry,' you whispered back, pinching the cotton of her shirt between your fingers like it would give you comfort. 'Don't be,' she left the safety of your shoulder, braving the storm to look at you. And you looked right back. You looked like a fucking Montell Fish song. Glassy eyes and clumpy lashes, your lips downturned and swollen on the verge of tears. 'God,' she exhaled, her laughter cracking in her throat, her tears hitting your chest. 'I hate this so much,' at her words, you did that thing she loved. Where you cocked your head when you didn't understand what she was saying. 

Like a perplexed, curious cat. 'Ellie?' You sounded small, intimidated. She hated that you sounded scared. Because she was too. 'I want you,' she whispered, finding your hands, feeling them tremble. 'But this hurts so much,' she bowed her head, listening to the catch in your breath. 'Too much?' You mumbled, not bothering to wipe your stray tears. She did it for you. 'No,' and finally she looked at you again. You were good at reading people. Just not Ellie, not when it came to this. 'It could hurt more and I'd stay,' she mumbled, watching you bite back questions. She was sure they were filled with doubt. The blonde, she forgot the name of, twenty minutes after meeting her. 'Hurts me too, y'know,' you felt ashamed when your voice cracked, its betrayal loud and ringing through the hallway. 'I know, ma,' she mumbled, head bowed again, only for your palms to slide over her wet cheeks, cradling her face. It hung, her neck slack and practically useless, her hands sheltering yours. She'd destroy you. Your well-being would crash and send you into a spiral of bad mental health and nights of self-loathing. And despite knowing all this, you pulled her into your dorm, the door lazily kicked with her heel. And it happened even though it shouldn't have. That show of vulnerability. The thing that made Ellie display her entire self to you. It wasn't sex, but it was just as scary. Her tears on your fingers and lips in your hair. It hurts to be something, it hurts to be nothing with you. 

Chapter Text

It's not like she'd never danced with a girl before. I mean, if you counted Riley, this wasn't Ellie's first instance. But that was when she was fourteen. Now Ellie was twenty-one and bright red, your ass taking as much of her focus as a nine-to-five. Because what else do you do at a Chief Keef concert? You dance, don't you? And you definitely danced. Ellie was worried you'd be pulled on stage at one point, accused of not knowing what to do with what you were giving her. Which wasn't wrong. Not only was Ellie doubting her potential, but a stud was eyeing you, her shiny grillz exposed when she smiled. You did it back, too. Thick lashes, batting and tooth gems reflecting off the stage light. Because yes, Ellie's hands were on your hips, but 'this' wasn't official. It was her word over yours. So why not enjoy it before 'this' became 'this'? She did have your handbag over her tattooed shoulder, but the dude in front of you had already asked for your number. For a girl who spent her free time watching Adventure Time in a room by herself, you were popular. Not in the social sense, more so in dressing as one of the Dimitrescu daughters for Halloween and listening to Fergie sense. Eye candy. That's what you could be called. Ellie was worried others would call you the same. The Dimitrescu daughters were vampires, and Ellie honestly wouldn't mind if you considered sucking her dry right there and then. She'd collapse in the bumping bodies, blood pooling from her neck, your mouth smudged with scarlet and grinning down at her. The spotlight caught the glow of sweat on your shoulders, your hair brushing her chin when you straightened just to bend forward and rub your ass against her crotch. You smelled like shower sex and made her hands twitch. She was also conscious of how the two of you looked together.

You looked like a Looney Tunes character she used to have a crush on, and she was worried she looked like fratboy Eren Yeager. All she needed was a blue durag, and she'd appear on someone's Instagram highlights in the next forty-eight hours. At least you liked Attack on Titan, and were probably responsible for one of those horrendously detailed modern-day fanfics somewhere on the Wattpad guest page. Ellie glanced to her left and felt as if she'd been sucked into a National Geographic documentary. The stud was lurking like an apex predator. She was top of the food chain, and Ellie was at the bottom. You looked like a colourful fish caught in the clutches of a coral reef, a tiger shark drifting your way, jaw parted to expose her sharp, pointy teeth and silver grillz. Ellie felt like a sad, defenceless squid, squeezing into a rock cave, about to watch the onslaught from her hiding spot in the crowd of sweaty bodies. 'What's good, ma?' She grinned at you like your ass wasn't flat against another woman. Ellie tried to hide behind you, her hands sliding off your hips and over your stomach, pulling you in. She could smell the other girl's cologne despite shoving her nose into your skin, unable to ignore fresh twists and a vinted Stussy hoodie. And despite it not being physical, it still hurt. The aching pain. The pain of not being 'this' but instead 'this'. Because you smiled at her, which hurt more than the tattoo Ellie got above her ribs when she turned eighteen. 'M' Shay, what's your name, baby?' Ellie reckoned she'd just been shot. Because you answered without hesitating, your passionfruit-scented hand cream sliding over her palm, your smile so soft, Ellie had to hold on to you in an effort not to collapse. (author psa: these studs smell fear, always watch your back, have eyes EVERYWHERE).

It was as if she knew the two of you were only 'this'. It's why she pulled you away from Ellie, the effect of weed making the transition easy. From having your micro-shorts and body glittered skin beneath her palms to feeling cold in a pit of sweaty guys and girl-stealing studs. But you reached for her through the haze, manicured nails scraping the moth frozen in solace on her forearm. 'Ellie,' she didn't hear you say it, the crowd too boisterous, her inner voice too snarky. But she read it on your lips. The gloss catching the stage lights, your eyes wide and hopeful. Hopeful she'd grow a fucking spine and reach back, claim the pinches of what she still clung to. And she did. You were tugged with such force that your hair loosened from its up-do, Shay's rings catching on your shorts, snagging the fabric. You had no bearings or balance. Just a masc lesbian and her public display of subtle jealousy. You stumbled because platform heels were made by some fucking asshole, and Ellie almost pulled your arm out of its socket. And similar to the cheesy movies you've seen, you fell, expecting the concrete and stamping feet. But all you found was black cotton and warm pink skin. She’d caught you. The gesture was kind and appreciated, but you weren’t allowed the opportunity to find your feet or regain balance because a hand was on your lower back and another beneath your chin. She tasted nervous, like licked lips and old chewing gum. It made your pussy wet and she probably knew it too. That’s why her hands were now on your ass and Shay was drifting back into the masses of moving bodies. Ellie muttered something about ownership and it made you moan into her mouth, letting a needy girl have her way. She wasn't good for you. She never would be. You told yourself the same with pills. But you hadn't taken any in months, and Ellie hadn't made you cry for the past two days. You could disappear into her skin, your nose snug beneath the dip in her throat, her hands possessive on your waist. 'Bet her strap games weak anyway,' she muttered, glancing down at your face. She expected anything but your smile, wide and fucking poetic. It said something like Ellie, take me away or some shit. She'd gladly do it. The function was dry, and you had this look in your eyes that you either wanted to be fucked or passionately adored. She could do both with ease. So she pulled you away from the blown-out speakers and Shay's stupid fucking Stussy hoodie. Stole you from sweaty bodies and an overpriced ticket.

You felt exposed beneath the bright lights, nervously pointing at a shrimp tempura dragon roll, a hand delicately curled around Ellie's bicep while she tugged her wallet out of her jeans. You fiddled with the delicate silver necklace sliding against her throat, shooting the lady behind the counter a small smile. Her car thumped with Santigold, your mouth thick with mayo and avocado, listening to Ellie mutter about inflation behind her bento bowl. You reached out, slipping your fingers through her choppy hair, watching it fall behind her ear. 'I like mullets,' your speech muffled by sushi, Ellie's bento almost coming back up when she laughed. She shook her head, the auburn hair falling in front of her eyes. 'Needa' cut it,' she glanced at you with a grin, waiting for you to recognise her look, the telling expression on her face. 'No,' you mumbled, shaking your head and sticking your tongue out to catch a piece of rice caught on your lip liner. You had a University degree, not a qualification in hairstyling, Ellie knew this. 'I can't cut your hair, Ellie,' you thought you were being stern, she thought you were just nervous. Which you were. She laughed at you again, watching your eyes follow her messy hair down to the base of her nape. 'M' sure you can, you good with scissors?' A brow popped up, looking at you expectantly. 'Fuck is that supposed to mean?' It was your turn to laugh, holding your hand over your mouth as you fell back into the passenger seat. 'Serious questions,' Ellie giggled, leaning against the wheel and placing her bento on the dash. 'I could pay you, ma,' she watched you fix your makeup in the sunvisor mirror, catching your eyes in the reflection. 'How much?' The sun visor hit the car roof with a snap, your hands daintily intertwined in your lap. 

'Depends how good'a job you do,' she returned, mouth full of karaage chicken and noodles. You shook your head, gazing at the illuminated sushi store opposite the parked car, watching the workers move quietly inside. Her thumb brushed your chin, catching a stray sesame seed, before lifting it to her lips. You gave her a look, one she still wasn't sure the meaning of, but that felt familiar. 'What?' She murmured, a soft smile tugging at her pink lips, cocking her head like you did, gazing at you across the console. 'You sure about this?' You whispered, pinching a section of hair, feeling it slide over your fingers. She nodded with such little hesitation you couldn't help but believe her. 'Okay?' She hummed, shooting you a grin, feeling your nails scratch the skin behind her ear. She leaned into you, her eyes closed and shoulders loose. You released a giggle, watching her sink into the armrest, your nails combing through her hair, scraping against her scalp. 'Okay, Ellie,' you mumbled, gazing down at her. She couldn't see your smile but knew it was there. Could hear it in your voice and the way her stomach felt warm. Ellie stayed still because that meant you wouldn't stop. The comfort of physical touch rendered her utterly vulnerable to your hands, letting them scrape against her shoulders and arms, listening to you hum some addictive melody she blamed her pink cheeks on. 

'Fuck,' you stood behind her, tits resting against her shoulders, a pair of kitchen scissors in your left hand. Ellie laughed, blinking at your reflection, your bottom lip taut beneath your teeth, eyes blinking at the back of her head. 'You look nervous,' she addressed, watching your head rise in the mirror, lifting your brows at her. 'So you're sure-- like about me cutting it?' You stammered, receiving a confident nod. 'I trust you,' she was pink, unable to decipher if it was because she could feel your nipples against her shoulder bones or because she'd just said something that seemed to have more meaning than necessary. 'Okay,' you exhaled, your fingerpads gentle against her temples, turning her head side to side. The first snip wasn't any harder than the last; each movement you made was based on intense indecision and concern. You watched a shabby Brad Mondo tutorial while Ellie talked about how she attempted to dox him once, her feet swinging beneath her on the barstool she'd grabbed from her kitchen bench. The finished result wasn’t impressive, and certainly not up to Brad Mondo’s satisfaction, but it was up to Ellie's. She grinned, turning her head, peeking curiously at her trimmed sideburns and the hair dusting her nape. ‘Dude, you ever considered being a hairdresser?’ She mumbled, running a hand over the top of her head, the ladybug tattoo on her knuckle shivering when her fingers flexed. ‘I work at a café, ’ you murmured, brushing out loose strands onto the bleach-stained towel hung over her shoulders. ‘Close enough,’ she hummed, meeting your eyes in the mirror when you tugged the towel back, shaking it into the shower. 'Every thought about dying it blonde?' You had the towel pinched between your fingers, inspecting the freckles of bleach scattered across its rough surface. 

'You got a type, don't you?' she hummed, meeting your eyes in the mirror and practically seeing the embarrassment explode dead-centre across your face. 'No,' you mumbled, awkwardly folding the towel and tossing it on the sink, combing your fingers through her short hair. 'Bro,' she chuckled, twisting her arm to inspect the tattoo she got last Sunday, 'don't care'. You gave her a disagreeing look. Ellie cared. She cared about a lot. You were just questioning the bleach and her future intentions for the trimmed auburn mop above her eyes; surely she knew that. I mean, obviously, you liked things other than her and Kid Cudi. You did-- had liked Abby. Loved her, maybe. But it's hard to decipher if it's love after five months of knowing a person. Maybe it's like when kids go through phases of liking something sparkly until it's artificial Barbie hair becomes matted or a LEGO piece becomes wedged between the wheels of a baby-proof toy car. They're parents take them to the mall and they pick up something new. Something shinier without stuck wheels and matted hair. 'I want that,' they say, so confidently despite their parents' disapproval, and they come home, a new toy gripped between their sticky hands. But Abby didn't have wheels or artificial matted hair, and you certainly hoped your hands weren't sticky. Abby was a bully and a liar. Abby wasn't an old toy, just a memory, a scent and a feeling. A craving, but only for lonely nights, familiar but foreign, too harsh a memory to be considered nostalgia. And Ellie didn't need to go blonde. You hoped she didn't think you wanted her to go blonde. 'I like the colour of your hair,' you murmured, arms wrapping around her neck, your chin meeting her head, your tits resting above her shoulders again. 

'S' unique,' she chuckled at that, something that bumped you, your bra scraping her nape, her eyes low. Blondes seemed to be her type, too, that girl from the basement, unforgotten, her Good Girl perfume and Jaded London tee making your tongue swell inside your mouth, almost choking but not quite, just discomforting. 'Ellie,' her name came out soft, like silk, easy to snag but tender to touch. 'What was that you were saying about strap game?' She laughed, but after meeting your eyes, realised you were serious, head cocked, nervous, but curious. Cat-like. Feline. 'You're the judge of it,' she shrugged, making you bounce from your position leaning against her shoulders. You smiled at that, sharp teeth and narrowed eyes, Ellie was surprised a tail didn't creep out from behind you, a pair of ears popping from your head. 'You have any more on you?' You'd pulled away, the conversation ending before she could gather hope of seeing your ass against her pelvis and face in her pillows. 'Cos' y'know, I don't take cash,' you grinned, ruffling her hair and padding out the bathroom, her laughter following you down the hallway. 'Yeah ma, always got sum'n for you,' that made you grin, digging a knife into the pomegranate you'd swiped from the fridge. The AC scared goosebumps up your back, her shirt brushing your thighs, some hideous graphic tee with Chicken Joe on the back. This felt domestic, I mean, you were gutting a pomegranate in a thong she'd picked out for you that night, your foundation smudged on the black tee she tugged over her head. You shot her a glance, something sneaky and eager. Something she noticed. The shirt hit the coffee table, sliding onto the carpet, font too curly to read, crawling up the rungs of her ribs, ink exposed in the moonlight. You were too easy. A Nike sports bra? Weak knees, immediately. She had a joint, too. If you didn't have an ounce of self-control, you would've moaned. 

The juice-stained knife was brandished before her face, its silver catching the hall light. She didn't step back, only closer, her tongue lurching from between her lips to swipe against the blade, watching your irises double in size. You hadn't realised, too over-taken by her actions to notice you were now pinned between the marble kitchenette and Ellie's grin. The knife hit the surface with a clatter that made her flinch. It wasn't he sound that did it, it was your lips. Swollen and soaked, desperate for attention. Her right hand found your ass before anything else, her left digging into the marble like it would keep her in place. The joint joined the pomegranate on the bench, rolling until it hit the split fruit. Forgotten by its creator, too busy shoving her tongue down your throat. You smelled weed and Ellie's sweat, the latter pushing your eyes into the back of your head like you experienced pleasure from her body odour. Which you did in a sense, the mix of deodorant and glossy skin on her nape could've made you cum. Maybe an overstatement, but when she moaned at the feeling of your teeth sinking into her bottom lip, you didn't doubt your claim, because it couldn't have been closer to the truth. The kitchen sounded like sloppy kisses and Mac Miller, her shitty JBL speaker quivering with sensual bass. It travelled through your muscles, waves of sound and oceans of orchastrea, entering your left ear and exiting out the right. Some of the notes and lyrics got stuck inside your head, bouncing against your skull until you were bound to the music and Ellie's hands. This was like living. Living and breathing and processing, the very definition of existence, purpose. You weren't high, but this was close enough; you're being overwhelmed with the essence of the divine. Ellie Williams. And fuck did it feel like she gave you purpose. 

She called your name against your lips, and it tasted so good. Yeah, are you my soulmate? My angel? What do you want from me? God bless the soul of a man who'd left too soon. It's like he'd been brought back alive just to speak these words for you and Ellie. For this moment. You smiled against her lips. Surely, she was more of a Clairo girl? Now, Mac Miller? It surprised you, yes, but not in a bad way. The opposite. Maybe it was her adrenaline or subtle muscle, but she lifted you onto the kitchen counter with such ease you had to stifle a moan. Too high, slow pace. My eyes closed, your body all I see. Something with wings sat above her heart, its feathers spread, mid-flight, soaring for her collarbone. Your hand rested above it, lifting the flying creature with your palm, feeling her heart like the subtle beat of flapping wings. But it wasn't gentle or slow. It seemed to move a hundred miles per hour, and if you were to hold the same skin above your chest, your heart would have done the same. I think you're too divine for my human mind. When I'm with you, what do you do? Bring me to life. She gasped like you were stealing her air, which may've been the goal. Her hand left the corner of the counter, slamming against the marble in hopes of gaining more stability. She hit the pomegranate, sending it flying off the kitchen bench. It landed with a splat, her hand only tightening on your ass, pushing you closer into the marble. You're the one to show me divine love, love, love. 

Chapter Text

bita' smut (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

All you wanted was to be taken care of. You wouldn't consider yourself spoiled. Maybe just inexperienced. That's why Ellie took care of you, took charge. The blunt and squished pomegranate was forgotten. You could smoke it another time and clean up the fruit tomorrow. For now, you were more concerned about, well that, the thing between her legs. More importantly, why was it purple? You would've asked, but your pussy didn't care and neither did Ellie. Especially not Ellie. You'd had dick before. From a guy who didn't know what to do with the thing that swung between his legs. But that was mediocre, if you could even call it that. This was bigger and certainly didn't hold the air of something mediocre. The sheets rustled when you quivered, her eyes snapping from the harness to your face. 'Y/n?' She murmured your name, like uttering the title of some holy being. You nodded, naked and nervous, bent knees drawing towards your chest like a shield. 'You okay?' She crept forward on the sheets, sliding over the duvet like floating across an ocean of shy glances and cotton covers. You nodded again because words wouldn't be released, stalled. 'Jus' don't know what m' doing.' You mumbled the truth like it would take away your embarrassment. It didn't. But Ellie smiled softly, and you found it comforting because it wasn't a pity but a pledge. 'You don't have to, what m' here for,' she murmured, a hand sinking into the sheets beside you, the other cradling your flushed face. 'I can take it off...' Her proposal trailed off at your head shake, and the firm defiance to her offer made the hunger inside her become ravishment. 'You want this?' Her checking was comforting yet exhausting, but telling her to fuck you there and then had to be too forward. Maybe when you'd grown more confident. 

You'd expected this to be mindblowing, but if anything, it was awkward. Her chuckle, an act meant to hide her pink cheeks, was slipping, the laughter forced. There were just a lot of components to this, ones that had her mind racing. Would this hurt you? Were you comfortable? Did it feel good? How many times had you done this before? Was Abby better? Were you enjoying this? Did you hate it? Why was her strap purple? So many things she had to focus on, to worry about. All you wondered was whether it would even fucking fit. She started by kissing you. It always made you wet, embarrassingly so. Overcome with the feeling of someone like her showing you interest, love, it had you and sheets below your ass soaked. That's where she went next, between your parted legs to lap at your pussy until you panted her name. You felt intimidated by your lack of clothing and the sweats that remained loose above her skin, but the fear faded when she kissed you again, pushing the tongue that had just been on your nipple between your lips. You hadn't realised she'd been drooling until it smudged against your chin, and you felt as if you're sitting opposite a dog. One with a lolling tongue and bossy paws. She blinked at you in the low light, the lamp quaking on the bedside table when she lurched forward, kissing you with such intensity you fell back against the headboard, a laugh escaping your throat. It was awkward, so awkward, a tangle of limbs and nervous laughter, constant questions and reassurance, but it was perfect. Exactly what you wanted. Passing your expectations of mindblowing, instead, receiving a humble, shy intimacy only Ellie could provide. 

'Tell me if it hurts or if you wanna stop,' she'd never sounded so pleading, begging that you provide your sense of comfort, so desperate to please. Make you feel good. Because it was all she cared about. Her breath hot and damp on your neck as she slid it in as if she could feel it too. The way you jolted up into her and she immediately stopped, only for your hand to press against her lower back, a gasp so full of pleasure from your lips enough to make the cream-coloured walls blush. She did it too. The sudden emission of breath so harsh it came out in a hiss. Because between the heavy breathing and soft skin, she could hear it, your pussy, coating her lower abdomen in a mixture of lube and cum. She didn't move until you provided the confirmation, a gentle tap on her bicep, clutched beneath your manicured nails. She dragged her hips back, tugging out another gasp, and one more when she pushed back in, your wet pussy accompanying you in the orchestra of noises your body could make in one sitting. Her tongue swiped your jaw, the simple tension of your throat beneath her teeth loosening your pussy, letting it accommodate more of her. She went faster, once again, under your request, so well behaved, hanging onto your every direction despite being the one on top. That changed soon, the gentle missionary switching to your thighs, trembling beside her hips. 'Let me know if you need help,' she murmured against your lips, your hair sliding against her shoulders when you nodded, lifting your hips with a nervous quiver, sinking back down. She grunted, hands twitching on your hips, fighting every atom within her being not to take charge. 

But your tits distracted her, falling in front of her face only to bounce back up when you moved, a constant movement that she'd hate herself for ignoring. So she remained entranced by your body and its nervous, jolty movements. You were awkward and unsure, a incoherent whine requesting help, dragging her focus from your chest to your low-lidded eyes and lazy smile. 'Need you,' you mumbled, gasping at her rough guidance, tugging you so far down on her strap you lurched forward, choking on a moan that disappeared into the pillow beside her head. When you emerged from her neck, her eyes weren't on yours, but on the lewd, greedy swallowing of your pussy. It was almost hard to tug you up, a huffed 'so fuckin' tight,' leaving her lips, one hand leaving your hip to spread your labia, watching purple silicone become swallowed by swollen wet flesh. Her focus came back to you when you threw your head back, overwhelmed by the image of her entranced expression, closing your eyes, using her guiding hands to bounce. Her grip made your movements easier, faster, desperate. The noise between your legs became louder, and Ellie couldn't care less about the ruin spreading through the fabric of her sweats. If anything, it egged her on knowing your cum was seeping towards her boxers, her clit pulsating so desperately she wondered if you could feel it. The thought made her moan. You looked wrecked, only twenty minutes in, hair everywhere but where it should've been, lips parted like you could suction in more air than you needed.

And she felt it, your cum against her pussy, mixing with her own, the intimacy and filthiness combining in a groan she pushed out before tugging your face forward, kissing you like she could taste how good you felt. Something had shifted; you were louder, wetter, sloppier. And those thin walls flushed at the sight and sound. It was even worse when you saw it, the indent of something foreign poking your lower stomach. Ellie saw it too, groaning like it felt even better for her. 'Fuck,' she choked, abdominal muscles tensing, exposing her abs when she sat up, hands grasping at the fat of your ass, her face disappearing in your tits, guiding you with ferocity despite the ache that had settled into her biceps. 'Baby fuck--,' she whined into your chest, her clit swollen, begging for friction. She got it when you sank back down, thighs throbbing with a hell even the stair-master hadn't put you through. You felt her nose nudge against your sternum, a pathetic attempt to get closer to you despite already being there. 'Wanna cum in you,' her voice was strained and muffled, but you heard it, enough to make you groan, humping against her, your clit finding pressure on her tensed abdomen. You found the angle and took advantage of it, moving with sudden desperation, an act that had Ellie panting against your bouncing tits, her tongue hap-hazardly darting out to chase your skin. When you ground against her, she practically choked around your nipple cumming so suddenly it knocked the air from her lungs. It had crept up on her, and she fought exhaustion and overstimulation, too caught in euphoria to acknowledge the act of finishing so quickly. You didn't stop, torturously fucking yourself against her dick until the result of sex splattered over her torso. 

She gaped at the cum crawling up her stomach, your neck slack and head slouched above her. She peeked past your hair, trying to find your eyes, hands leaving your hips to stroke your waist. You were hit with an aftershock, spasming, more cum leaking out of your pussy, sliding between her thighs and onto the sheets. She grasped you in an attempt to ease the constant quivering, arms wrapping around your waist until the quaking of your limbs eased, and she could meet your eyes. 'Shit,' she exhaled, watching your expression, too fucked to laugh. 'Baby?' She sounded scared for the split second of your silence, one hand leaving your waist to cradle your face. And after all that time, your eyes finally eased open, blinking back at her flushed face, memorising the mole beside her temple and the cupid bow above her lips. 'You okay?' It was back, the constant checking in and worried expressions. You nodded dumbly, pussy squeezing the silicone like she could feel it, the red in her face hinting that she just might've. 'Can I pull out?' she mumbled, searching for rejection to her question, only to receive none. 'C'mon, baby,' she murmured, lifting you, her self-control crumbling when you winced, so fearful of you experiencing pain. She wanted you to enjoy this, what had happened, and want to do it again if you desired. But conscious she'd put on a shabby show, her cheeks flushed, hiding her face behind her hair when she lowered you into the warm sheets. And Ellie, used to pulling away, tugged off her ruined clothing, preparing to disappear into the shower while her partner rolled away, hand reaching for their phone, was shocked when you whined her name, reached for her warmth. 'Don't leave,' you whispered, watching her whip around in partial shame and partial shock. 

'I won't-- right here, baby,' she grabbed your hand, her skin soft and bare beneath your hands. You hadn't seen her naked before, not like this; it made you shiver at the vulnerability suddenly hitting you. For the first time, you could stare at her flesh, its brown freckles and pale milky tones. Her elbows and knees were shaded a blossoming pink, similar to the cheeks above sharp, structured bone. She sank into the bed, and you didn't hesitate to disappear into her skin, her warm arms and the navy sheets that needed a wash. Here, time could be frozen, and you'd be overcapacitated by pink supple skin and your name sliding off her tongue.  She said it quietly, maybe so you wouldn't hear, because there was a chance you wouldn't respond, or maybe push her away. You were capable of doing both. So she lowered her voice to a tremble that disappeared into your hair. 'I love you,' she wanted to pluck out her eyes when you stiffened in her arms. Because, she assumed, she'd just fucked it up. All of it. Too impatient, too honest. But something else came back, something unexpected, something that you said almost as quietly, just because it was so terrifying to say. 'I love you too.' 

Chapter Text

tw: weirdos 

You groaned like someone had forced a sledgehammer through your skull. Ellie wasn't there like you'd expected her to be. Matter of fact, she'd left without a trace, just the quiet hum of her AC and crumbled sweatpants on the bedroom carpet. And you were naked, naked and alone, with residue from lastnight between your legs and a frown. You stumbled into the shower like it was capable of fixing all your problems. Which it was, and following the process of slathering yourself in a jasmine body wash Ellie didn't use and tossing the navy bed sheets in the washer, you padded into the kitchen. The pomegranate was gone, but the hint of its prior existence remained, a pink stain glaring at you from the linoleum. You dropped the abandoned knife in the sink, listening to it clatter against the steel drain with a poetically depressed expression on your face. Surely it wasn't normal to sort of take someone's virginity, then leave them alone in your flat without so much as a goodbye. So you decided to lie there on her living room carpet, hoping the lamp above would miraculously fall and put an end to your emotional suffering, watching smoke curl above you towards the ceiling. She'd left the sliding door open, the rain hitting the porch opposite you, soft, humid warmth filling the flat, letting you sink further into the grey carpet. She didn't acknowledge your presence when she returned, slipping through the door and tossing her keys on the coffee table, humming an absentminded, 'we're going out tonight.' You swallowed a snarky reply, pulling the joint from your lips to exhale curly wisps of stinking bud. 

'Some frat hosting,' she continued, snatching her shirt off the ground, sparing you a glance, taking a moment to absorb the image of a Tumblr angel spread across her carpet. Those white yoga pants were back, a Dior bra Dina found you while thrifting at the charity store down the road, holding your tits. The gems of the scarlet Bebe tank caught what sunlight made it through the glass doors, a constant glint that caught her eye. She'd fucked you. She was considered lucky. Her supplier had called her out early that morning, and the utter self-control it took for Ellie not to throw herself back into her bed, her tattooed hands frantically chasing your skin. 'Sorry bout' this mornin',' you didn't spare her a glance, absorbed by smoke that stained your clothes with an identifiable smell. 'Wanna pick out my thong again?' you blinked up at her through your lashes, completely dismissing her apology, the bracelet hugging your wrist sliding down your forearm towards your elbow. She visibly swallowed, and it surprised you at the lack of a comedic gulp to leave her throat. 'Yes, please,' it came out as a longing sigh, something that made you smile around the joint between your lips. They were something Ellie loved about you, always glossed, whether with drug store products or her saliva, your lips always caught the light, stretching over your teeth when you smiled. You rolled onto your stomach, knees bending to gently kick your feet, chin resting on a palm, the joint loosely hung between your fingers. Your eyes stayed on her, and she had to lean against the sofa to avoid falling over when you smiled. 

She glanced at your feet for a split second, manicured toenails, a neat white line dressing the trimmed edges. Sick fuck. Was she seriously staring at your toes? 'Ellie,' you grinned, her face shading with shame, fingers perviously perched on her hips falling to join in front of her to fiddle with one another, her eyes dropping simultaneously to her shoes. Even though she'd never say it aloud, she loved how you took care of yourself. Money well spent on hair, nails, lashes. She always got the first look, her hard-earned cash disappearing into the blackened pit of your Chloé Paddington bag, bills she'd never see again, but she knew where they'd gone. The hair you adjusted in her sun-visor mirror, the nails that followed the tattoos down her torso and lashes that fluttered when you blinked, eyes gazing longingly her way. You'd play the Tina Snow album in her beat-up car, glossy lips syncing with the lyrics, gem-styled oversized sunglasses that made you look like a spoiled celebrity. It was a lifestyle she wanted to get used to. Her dirtied elbow-rolled flannel sleeves and leather belts were a stark comparison to your cocoa butter body lotion and fur-trimmed hoods, but maybe that's what made her so devoted, even if it wasn't displayed. You looked like a modern-day princess in True Religion with a vanilla Coke in your purse. For someone so pretty who listened to trap house music, you weren't her usual. Cat was your fucking polar opposite: tattoos, choppy hair, week-old nail polish and uncut cuticles. Cat used cologne and could throw Ellie around in bed. You changed your signature scent twice a month and looked at her like a virgin between her sheets. But you'd memorised her zodiac and were growing more confident in bed, even if it would take time. 

She was sure your high school classmates felt robbed of the modern-day version of you. Bullied kids seemed to have the biggest glow-ups in her experience, but you were in a whole other world. From braces to whitening strips and toothgems, you'd grown confidence, even if you were still a loser; you knew how to dance and could now admit when you wanted something. Ellie made you greedy, greedy for love and touch. And to feed that she'd slide notes into your bra, her hands dancing over your hips, muttering something about using her money for new manicured nails to spread your pussy with. And even if that morning had started sour, her car speakers practically deafened her with M.I.A., your denim ass bouncing on her passenger seat in your own world of music and your situnationships cheap cologne. You didn't know frat guys were a thing in University, that's what college was for. But they were here, and exactly what the internet had warned you. Stepping out of Ellie's BMW was like witnessing the appearance of a diamond in the rough. She'd opened the door for you to be consumed by racism and Jägerbombs; you weren't even on the front lawn, and you could already smell white men who preferred University basketball over their girlfriends. Someone hooted at you from the front door, only for Ellie to tug you beneath her arm, your glitter body lotion wiped on the torso of her shirt. 'Stay close,' she hummed, her throat vibrating against your temple, feeling you nod beneath her chin. You didn't know LEDs could be so fucking obnoxious, a mini disco ball missing you by a fraction, thrown down the hallway by the arm of someone who definitely played rugby. Everything spun and thumped, smudged mascara, Stunna, and peach Kirin Hyoketsu made you dizzy. 

'You here with anyone?' The words of a girl who grasped Ellie's arm, arrogantly ignoring your scowl. She stepped closer, and your foot stuck out, catching the toe of her heel and sending her face-first into the hallway's Persian rug, tugging the laughing ginger into a crowded living room and away from the shrieking girl. Of course, she'd get attention. Masc's were scarce, and Ellie had a backpack and an almost visible smog of bud around her. You couldn't blame these girls, but fuck were they rude, and you weren't a pushover when it came to ownership. And after torturously watching multiple seasons of UFC with your father, you'd McGregor a bitch that started something unnecessary. Somewhere out there was a Twitter post of a school fight you'd been temporarily involved in that Ellie had found upon discovering your socials in an act that would technically be classified as stalking. But instead of encouraging your frustration, she pulled you closer, muttering something about a customer out back. You just nodded because what else could you do? Follow her? She disappeared into the tide of strangers before you had the chance, waves of drunk guys and girls you didn't know the names of holding you back. The kitchen was the only room without a fog machine and visible lighting that wasn't every fucking colour of the rainbow and capable of sending you into an aneurysm. You opened the fridge of a house that didn't belong to you, sighing dimly at the limit of beverages. Corona or Rum and Coke. The second sounded less stomach-churning, however, no more appealing, your manicured nails wrapping around the neck of a stray bottle. 

Hybrid Minds and the stench of weed weren't an impressive combination, but chugging a drink you disliked would hopefully get you to a point where you wouldn't care. But you weren't at that point, and men were closing in like predators stalking prey. The first guy had to be at least five years older than you, also quite possible the only individual in this house who hadn't discovered deodorant yet. He said you looked fit, and you told him you had a girlfriend. Admitting you were gay while lying about your situationship had to have meant you hit a new low, but he left without questioning, instead searching for another girl who could start a conversation about the turtle on his shirt. Next was an individual who thought embracing you in a hug was an impressive first impression. You were deterred and noticeably so, which he received as an invitation to leave you alone, leaned against the kitchen island with a half-finished bottle between your hands. The third had hair bleached so noticeably blonde it hurt to look at, but at this point, you were so utterly bored you entertained his wonky teeth and drunk grin. He talked about the time he went bungee jumping in Eastern Cape, South Africa, not that you gave two shits about the shaky video he held in front of your face, the quality so poor it was hard to decipher where the bridge or bungee itself was. You were bored, bored until you glanced over his shoulder, that familiar sting of eyes on you. 

She was there, like a bad memory all over again. Stood in front of a pantry at some random party, already watching you before you had the chance to address her presence. God, you needed to stop meeting one another in strangers' kitchens. And the worst part was that she looked fucking good. Mouth-wateringly good. Heartbreak does something to a person. And for Abby, it made her gain an extra ten kilograms worth of muscle. Lucky you, she'd worn a compression shirt to a frat party, and your thong was suddenly discomfortingly wet. You muttered a distant apology to the man who was taking you through his iPhone camera roll like a family photo album, slipping past his figure and Abby's chasing eyes. The living room swallowed you, underarm sweat patches and the stench of beer encouraged you through the sea of dancers until you burst free through the other side in a desperate hunt for a bathroom. You had to lock yourself away from her before you did something regrettable, especially since Ellie had abandoned you around thirty minutes ago, her presence absent for half an hour of hell. The bathroom was so inviting that you didn't bother acknowledging the guys standing outside it, drinks sloshing within red party cups, their speech slurred and laughter thundering down the hallway. She stared back at you, your shameful reflection. Hair partially astray and eyes wild with a mixture of fear and distraughtness. God, what if she followed you? Knocked on the door? Came in? You'd be done for. Something would happen, another mistake you were so good at making.

You stared for longer, distracting yourself with the smudge of artificial blush on your cheekbones, the brassy bathroom tiles. Anything. Until it happened. That dreaded thing. The knock. You were sure it was her. Couldn't have been anyone else. Right? Your hand shook around the handle, a prayer of utter despair leaving your lips. The door handle plunged, the hot hallway air hitting you like a gust of future regret. Abby was supposed to be there, giant folded arms and eyes peaking with interest. But it was a man you'd never met, freshly buzzed hair and a tattoo stapled beneath his temple. Someone accompanied him, grinning like the look of shock on your face was groundbreakingly hilarious. You apologised briefly, sliding to the left, doing what you could to avoid breaths that stunk of alcohol and leery, low eyes. 'Nah, c'mon,' he grinned sadistically at you, a hand around your bicep, the muscle tensing beneath his grip. You were tugged back in front of the bathroom entrance, all wide-eyed and high heart rate. 'Yes?' You mumbled, sliding your hand behind you over the doorframe for support, leaning back while they leaned forward. 'Where's Ellie?' You didn't want them to know anything about you, but your frown was telling, a small 'dunno sorry,' escaping your trembling lips. 'You with her?' They got closer, playing a tag team on who could intimidate you the most. 'Yes,' it wasn't a sure answer, and it was as if they could smell fear, you stunk of unsurity and nerves. 'Nah?' One of them grinned, leaning so close you had no choice but to step back, back into the bathroom. They followed, a hand closing around your other bicep. It was an experience that was new to you. The feeling wasn't though. The awful torture of your heart dropping so low that it practically fell in your ass. Because you'd probably be forced into a frat party bathroom by two guys who didn't care for your name or opinion. Just your body and dismissible tears. 

And then your final chance, your final chance to avoid being scarred eternally, was beginning to disappear, the door sliding towards the frame, a click finalising your demise. But there was no click, more of a bang, and your final chance bounced back, hitting the wall instead. 'Abby!' You reached for her past a tattooed forearm, watching the buzzcut hit bathroom tiles, the guy who'd previously held you captive beneath his firm hand was shoved by her into the bath. The other one stumbled against the basin, arms raised in surrender, terrified of you're modern-day Mr Darcy, whose hand found yours, tugging you into her. A flurry of tattoos and auburn hair was next, an inked fist colliding with an ashamed face. Ellie lifted her foot, shoving him back further, his legs meeting the toilet lid and buckling, falling against the wall with a grunt. The blonde pulled you into the hallway, her frame hiding you from curious expressions and hushed whispers, large hands cradling your face. It began in a choke, before you burst into tears, fear and relief colliding behind your eyes and rolling down your cheeks. She sheltered you through the hallway, down the stairs and onto the porch outside, the night warm and terrifying. Ellie came soon after, the splatter of blood on her wrist and the split skin above the knuckle on her right hand making your stomach churn. You choked on clear air, leaning against the porch railing with fingers wrapped so fiercely around peeling paint that it hurt. Abby saw you'd stabilised yourself, saw the tears had begun to ease and turned so sharply you thought she'd get whiplash. 'What the fuck are you doing?' 

Ellie glanced up from the knuckle she'd been tending to, scowling at the blonde who glared above her. 'What?' Ellie shot back, taking a step forward, wiping blood on her second-hand jeans. 'Leaving her here? With people she doesn't fuckin' know? C'mon, Williams,' Abby scoffed, speaking about you as if you weren't there. Truth be told, Ellie did look ashamed, but she wouldn't admit that, not in front of Abby. You swallowed bile, your eyes choosing to chase the stars in the sky, the number limited by light pollution. And it was hard to avoid the argument beside you that was fueled by Ellie's attitude and Abby's suffocated feelings for you. 'What would you have done if something happened to her?' Her hand brandished so close to Ellie's face that the ginger looked enraged. 'It wouldn't have cos' I was there,' she retaliated, giving Abby a soft shove. She barely moved, rooted in place, face shaded in fury. 'It would be your fault, Ellie,' Abby hissed, a finger meeting her sternum. You trembled beside them, cheeks damp and body shaking. You looked like a chihuahua in a family of disruptive kids, wide-eyed and constantly quivering. They went back and forth, the odd shove making you flinch until the anxiety and dread and regret built again, a sharp sob leaving your throat, stepping back and bumping against the railing. They looked at you simultaneously, snapping to attention at your unintentional request. 'Baby,' it was mirrored by both of them, Abby regretting the name as soon as it left her lips, Ellie's eyes shooting to her, a glare so fueled with annoyance it stung the blonde. The argument almost started again if you hadn't continued crying, wrapping your arms around yourself as if providing a shield of flesh from their anger and hatred. 

'You wanna go home?' Ellie switched painfully quickly, her current behaviour a stark comparison to seconds ago. You glanced at Abby, as if searching for her opinion, but all that was written on her expression was defeat, eyes glued to the wooden decking beneath her shoes. You nodded, gulping down another sob, letting Ellie's hands guide you to her car and into the passenger seat. The wound-down window invited Abby closer, taking her chance while Ellie chucked her backpack in the back seat. 'Tell me if you ever need anything,' she murmured, leaning against the car, her braid skimming the door. It's as if she knew you never deleted her number, too cautious of the fact that just maybe you'd need her one day. 'Thank you, Abby.' She hated how heartbroken you looked; she hated that you were in Ellie's car, not hers. She hated that she'd lied to you and not killed the guy who'd tugged you into the bathroom. But all she could do was love your face, your glassy eyes and what truth could lie behind them. Did you secretly wish for the things she wished? The things she regretted? She'd never be told because the driver's side door slammed closed, the car swaying beneath her when Ellie started the engine, not sparing her a glance. 'Look after her,' Abby muttered, almost as if she assumed Ellie knew she'd say it. And she must've judging by her eyeroll. 'Bye, Abby,' you mumbled, blinking up at her before the car pulled away from the curb, her feet slowly being swallowed into the front lawn's trimmed grass, watching Ellie's brake lights disappear into the dark. 

Chapter Text

You scribbled her name across the inner wall of your closet, beside the pink Heelys your mum got you for your twelfth birthday and the lemon-coloured cardigan you didn't wear anymore. Nadeesha. The teachers couldn't pronounce her name, but you always made sure you said it right. Even after she started calling herself Nadia. It wasn't as pretty. Too conventional. You wrote it in a purple glitter pen. Because she liked that colour and the expensive gel pens your dad bought you before his money started disappearing. Nadeesha stayed with her grandfather, and they visited their cousins in Sri Lanka every school holiday. She had four siblings, and they all lived above the local laundromat with a ginger cat called Appu. You still listened to AJR and had scars from the blue braces lining your teeth, a fraying beaded bracelet trimming the circulation on your ankle. You were fourteen and had just put a tampon in, not to mention you were officially in a bra. None of that training or sports shit. A proper big girl padded bra with adjusting straps. It was a time for things that were new. One of them being Nadeesha. Her pencil case had daisies on it. Blotchy white petals with duck yellow inner surrounded by navy denim. Apparently, her grandfather had doubled a shift just to buy it. She didn't tell anyone. Anyone but you. You were an exception because Nadeesha liked you. You liked her, too. But your version of like was different to hers. She liked the hairclips your mum made you wear to school and your glitter gel handwriting. You liked Nadeesha's dark hair and glowy skin, the mole to the right of her chin and the pink polish she wasn't allowed to wear. You thought she looked pretty in her uniform and perfect tie. Yours hung loose around your neck, shoes scuffed and socks yellowed. You played in the sandpit and read comics in the library when no one would hang out with you at lunch. Nadeesha helped the caretaker plant Snapdragons in the school garden and won the art competition last year. 

She was top of the year in algebra, and had purple glasses with violet Marigolds climbing over the frames. You met when her classmates said her food smelled weird. Soon you were shoulder to shoulder, sharing the school meal your mum had given you money for. You didn't tell her Kottu Roti smelled different to what you were used to, or that your mum had never packed your school lunch. Her food tasted like it was made with love and colour, while yours was bland with grey undertones. Nadeesha said she liked the stickers on your iPod shuffle and the Arrietty manga inside your Nike backpack. And so you abandoned the sandpit and the library, curled in the 'mindful corner' of your classroom, flicking through the Studio Ghibli graphic novels you'd stolen from the local book donations, her head on your shoulder, painted nails tapping against the glossy pages. You listened with her to sampled Diana Ross, and she introduced you to Chinmayi, and together you talked about buying a castle or something big that towered over your town. You'd look down on everyone and cook as much Kottu Roti as you wanted, and no one could tell you different. Her favourite Steven Universe character was Ruby, and yours was Sapphire. One time, you got a cold from using her purple shimmer lip gloss, and she called you stupid. That made your face flush and heart flutter. Your mum frequently called your father that. It reminded you of marriage and relationships and rings. Scaring things. The scariest of all being a crush. A crush on Nadeesha. You wanted your handwriting to be neat with all the loops Mrs Lankin taught you on the whiteboard. But it was shaky, a trembly scatter of lines that formed her full name. It wasn't proud or pretty like it was supposed to be. It was wiggly with shame and nerves. Even the glitter didn't do it justice. Maybe it was for the best; it had been hidden behind the sliding wooden doors of your wardrobe, where it would never be seen, be known. Here, the crush could remain hidden, forgotten. But you'd never forget. Not when you memorised the sound of her pace when she walked, the sound of the gold bangles cluttering her left wrist, the scent of home, Indian cooking, and fresh linen from the store below her bedroom. 

She played football and had a Real Madrid jersey two sizes too big. It hung over the corner of her bedroom door to avoid the 'bang' when it slammed from that Summer's harsh winds. The one time she took it down was that Thursday. What a dreaded day. You remembered it for years afterwards, the thirty-degree weather and blistering sunburn. Skin flaked from Nadeesha's shoulders like scales, her sunburn ugly and violent. It crept from her lower shoulders to her collarbone, the poor girl frigid on her pink sheets to avoid scraping the raw flesh. You bought her an aloe vera remedy your mum made and an iceblock meant for her back she just ended up sucking on, staring at her old night-light while your fingers doused her scabbed skin. Her waist-length hair, braided by her little sister, Hirushi, was thrown over a tender shoulder, golden bangles singing in the gentle breeze rustling her curtains. Her siblings were away at sports practice and tutoring, her grandfather's soundless presence radiating from the laundromat below, the odd clink of coins and the constant hum and vibration of soaked washing. Your fingers left her back sticky and slick with slime, wiping them on your shorts before crawling across the mattress to face Nadeesha's sharp face. She gazed at you from behind her thick-rimmed glasses, her lashes brushing the lens whenever she blinked. 'You're stupid,' the words made you nervous the moment they left your lips. Nadeesha just grinned, poking you with a chewed red fingernail, wincing when the movement stretched her skin. 'At home we don't have to wear sunblock,' she mumbled, a hairtie dancing between her fingers, the tense fidget caused by your frown. 'It stinks,' she added, glancing your way when you giggled. 'Nadeesha, you have to wear it wherever you go, otherwise you'll get all wrinkly.'

'Like you?' She giggled, squealing when you swatted at her. 'M' serious, that's how people get skin cancer,' you muttered, pinching the hairtie from her fingers and twisting it around your wrist. 'How many people do you know who ever got skin cancer?' She sighed, purple glitter gloss lips catching the sun when she pouted. 'Bob Marley?' was your hesitant answer, waiting a beat before another laugh exploded from Nadeesha's throat. 'I'm not kidding, he got melanoma,' you added, sling-shotting the hairtie at her. 'On his toe!' You added for good measure, voice cracking with passionate sincerity. 'People you actually know, though,' she flicked your shoulder, watching the corners of your lips twitch, fighting what she wanted to see. A smile. Because you were always too serious. Too reliant on others' opinions and perceptions. 'See!' She laughed, brown eyes squinting when she smiled, watching the metal of your braces flash in the sunlight sneaking through her window. She'd done it, won a grin from you. Was probably the only one who could make it happen, too. Much to your dismay. Because it meant you really liked Nadeesha, like really liked her. 'Hugh Jackman had it too, y'know,' she added, smart as always, more charming than ever. 'Fuck off,' you giggled, gently shoving her and winning more laughter. She tipped her head, and you saw the length of her lashes, the pimple on her jawline, the rubies pierced in her lobes. You saw it and you loved it. You loved it and wanted to hide that love. This war waged within your heart, battering at your ribs, bullet holes, and bayonet scars, piercing the muscle and flesh above the internal organ. You wouldn't have done it if you'd known. Wouldn't have reached forward, fingers trembling above her bare knees, ears at near boiling temperature. 

Her glasses bumped your nose, teeth meeting with a soft 'clink', lips dry and chapped, brushing in the silence of summer breezes and the Bollywood drama on the TV speakers down the hallway. You pulled back, and her fingers brushed her lips, your hands still quivering above her knees. She glanced up at you, slow, soft blinks. You froze, patiently waiting for everything, anything to be hurled your way. Heartbreak, anger, disgust and a stray aloe vera bottle. But all you received was a gentle smile. 'I didn't wanna tell you,' she whispered after a minute of suffocating silence. You cocked your head, cheeks set alight, and heart thumping at such a rapid pace you queried it may burst. 'M' going back to Sri Lanka,' her words so quiet your ears strained to hear them. 'Like for the holidays again?' You mumbled, gently pinching your palm to avoid screaming at what you'd just done. Nadeesha shook her head, and your heart's frantic beating faltered; it seemed to stop for a second, suspended in silence, suddenly immobile. 'Baba said the shops too quiet, we have to go home,' her voice trembled, eyes refusing to meet yours. You didn't understand why, didn't understand until they did. She was crying, watery snot meeting purple glitter gloss. Her glasses came off in an aggressive movement, the lenses clattering on the bedroom floor, her palms digging into her eyes, sniffling behind her hands. You didn't move, solidified in shock. Frozen and unmoving, forced into a standstill with Nadeesha's future, a future without you. A future without Nadeesha. You'd never considered it. 

She flinched when your thumb brushed her cheek, squinting at you behind her bitten fingernails. 'M' sorry,' you whispered, gentle, honest tears slipping down your cheeks. 'For what?' She hiccupped, leaning into your touch, her fingertips smudging wet heartbreak over her face. 'For having to go home-- for kissing you,' you stammered, flinching at the smile that exposed her gums and wonky teeth. 'Don't be sorry,' she whispered, 'I'm happy you like me,' she continued, bashful despite her broken heart. 'But you're leaving...' you trailed off, the adolescence of fourteen years old, letting your mind spiral with possible Skype calls and flights to South Asia. 'Will you ever come back?' Your voice cracked with fear of what answer you'd receive. 'Don't know, Baba said maybe when m' older,' she mumbled, her knuckles leaving her eyes blotchy and pink. 'How much older?', you wanted to ask. But you couldn't because she didn't know. Nobody knew. The only thing that was known was that she wouldn't be around any longer. Your iPod would lose its Chinmayi albums, and you wouldn't be eating her shared Pol sambol for lunch anymore. Because Nadeesha left, the laundromat two blocks from school was shut down, and the smell of fresh washing no longer snuck through the bus window when it drove past. You stopped painting your nails and continued eating bland school food. You returned to the library and sandpit, before moving on to high school, becoming familiar with the bathroom and the slurs written on the stalls. Nadeesha was soon reduced to less than a background thought, simply a smudged, badly written word on your wardrobe wall, something you only gave a sparring glance when removing clothing from your closet before sealing the doors and the soured memory. 

The Real Madrid shirt swayed on Ellie's folded clothing rack, dried by the summer breeze creeping through the sliding doors of her flat. The legs curled beneath her were numb from lack of movement, blood circulation slow, a forever-moving mass of liquid that supplied her limbs with life. She didn't dare move, terrified of disturbing the sleeping face on her lap. But it had to be done when the tear she'd been watching landed on her knee, your silent sadness forcing her finger tips over your hairline, tenderly willing you awake. You squinted up at her worried face, feeling her legs shift beneath you. 'Bad dream?' She murmured, her voice hazy in your post-nap solace. You nodded because you couldn't tell her. Couldn't tell her it wasn't a dream, but instead a memory, one that felt like your heart was being ground against a cheese grater, collecting strips of veins and jelly-flesh. Ellie nudged the tear away for you, before it travelled into your ear, pushing with it a hair that brushed your cheek. 'Go back to sleep,' it was still the muffled mumble, like cotton had been jammed inside your ears. You took it, though, drifting back into slumber and the resting place of her thighs. There you could feel her heartbeat, her breath, the ache of her muscles and the movement of her blood. You heard how she lived and existed, the thoughts that piled in her head. You heard it all and let it synchronise into a harmony of Ellie. Of life and the new girl you loved. Because despite there being several, this was maybe the best one so far. That could never be quoted, though. 

bro i cried writing this something in the air today ૮◞‸◟˶𑁬

Chapter Text

been m.i.a mb love yall!! ૮๑ˊᯅˋ๑ა

If waves could swallow your being whole, you'd let them. Salt water chilling your skin and freezing your soul, trapping it in an icy cold cage that resided in the depths of despair. But from what you remember from that fleeting memory of the high school band competition, sound waves weren't a physical form nor a liquid. They were invisible, with eardrum-expanding properties, ones that made your glasses steam and your head throb. You didn't like being the way you were. There was no love for yourself contained within your shrivelled heart. Weird and worried, anxiety-ridden and nearly allergic to the concept of being 'cool' with a mother who loved Dolly Parton before her breast reduction. And now, well, you smoked weed, ignored Mr Darcy at social gatherings, and had Dina Woodward for a bestfriend. You didn't watch Roblox MVs anymore, or experience the torture of bright blue braces throughout primary school, but you were insecure and owned a collection of Sanrio slippers. Dina helped with that. She had a pair of My Melodys curled beneath her crossed legs, a face mask leaving slimy residue on the peak of her nose. Your lashes caught on the edge of the aloe-infused sheet, gum caught in your teeth. She skipped through Mariah The Scientist's albums, her thumb lazily swiping over the illuminated screen. 'Y'know,' she began with a soft hum, eyes never leaving her phone, 'sometimes it's best to let go of the people who won't grow with you.' You shot her a glance, lifting the passion fruit vodka and Lemon, Lime & Bitters mix to your glossed lips, pretending you knew even the slightest fuck what she was talking about. 'Is this trajectory?' You mumbled behind the glass that hid your flinch at the sting vodka left in your throat. 'No,' she waved you off, her hand flapping in front of your face, wine-red nails merely missing your cheek. You nodded timidly, chewing on a cold mozzarella stick from the wrinkled Uber bag, staining the bedsheets with oil. You picked at the purple fluff on your Kuromi slippers, squinting at the women wrapped in satin pyjamas. 'Towards Jesse at least,' she murmured, wiping a chip crumb off the matte blend on her lips.

Dina looked like a Kardashian caught mid Vogue photo shoot. You were in Ellie's SpongeBob shirt and thong. Not necessarily as lavish or materialistically focused, but it didn't bother Dina, her phone cluttered with your hazy pink eyes and bare legs. 'Cat said she'd tattoo my boob,' you hummed in the discomfort of silence, watching Dina's head whip your way, suddenly losing the possessive focus on her iPhone. 'For real?' She took a hit, forgetting to lower her brows, letting them remain halfway up her forehead. 'For free,' you added, pinching the joint from her and giggling behind the wall of smoke in front of you. 'Too good to be true, don't trust that damn girl,' she rolled her eyes, stealing the blunt back, falling into the duvet, the joint jumping on her lips. You nodded, taking a generous swallow from the now-empty glass with a chipped rim, glancing at the TV glow. Dina's roommate threw something at the thin wall from the bedroom opposite and received a very aggressive phone call. 'I'm gonna skin you, Sydney!' You giggled behind a manicured hand, continuing the swirl of doodles over the brunette's knee, watching the bullpoint pen stain her brown skin with navy ink. You learnt things about Dina in the authentically enjoyable time you spent with the young woman was that she spoke like a Fifth Avenue pimp who unironically listened to Pentatonix. You'd met her sister, Talia, equally as authentic and equally as hot. The speakers on her Nissan Altima 2013 were blown out with Blood Orange and a podcast about feminism, despite being deeply rooted in religion. Talia was in the bathroom, perched on the toilet lid, swallowing half the vegan menu from Tacobell and listening to Raye, pretending she was in a Soap opera. Your fingers flew over your phone screen, sending her a pixilated video of a tabby cat in hopes it would brighten her mood. ':((( this video from 2013 its probably dead!!,' You blinked fearfully at her message, choosing to drop the phone into the floral sheets and shoot Dina a glance. 

She was inspecting the doodle on her knee, pretending you hadn't added Bazzi to the queue. 'How are you and Jesse?' You hummed, sliding forward on the sheets to regain feeling in your legs. You unfolded them, dropping your elbows onto the duvet and gently kicking your feet behind you. She shot you a pout before her bottom lip began to quiver, big brown eyes glossy and pink. You sat up and snatched the joint away, dropping it in the pink ashtray on the bedside table and brandishing your arms outwards, wincing when she collapsed into you, a tumble of limbs and silk pyjamas. 'I hate him!' She wailed, gripping the SpongeBob shirt like it was him, not her frazzled best friend. 'I hate him! And I failed my project, and my friend still likes Bazzi!' The tangent was relatable, your palm sliding over the back of her head, pulling her further into your arms. You kissed the back of your teeth, mumbling a small 'oh baby,' just for her to wail more, flopping in your arms. The sobbing only got more intense, 'and I missed the Kali Uchis tour!' You stifled a giggle, shooting Talia a frantic glance when she appeared in the doorway. She went to turn on her heel, avoiding the disaster in your arms, but stopped in her tracks at the 'Talia come here!' from her little sister. The brunette exhaled a year's worth of patience, plodding over to the sheets and the grin tugging at your lip. 'And! And-- my evil friend! My evil friend Ellie has brainwashed my innocent baby!' You hid a giggle in Talia's shoulder, glancing at the older woman and her worn expression. 'Sorry?' The older sister mumbled, pushing thick curls over her shoulder. 'It's true, Talia! All of it! Her spiritual barrier has been intercepted by women eating mascs!' 

You glanced at Talia, who found peace in not questioning the vocal mush, nodding passively and shooting you terrified glances. 'I think Abby's butch,' you mumbled honestly, ignoring the soft slap on your knee. 'Who cares? They all wanna eat your fucking ovaries,' Dina sobbed into your chest, feeling your chin brush her head when you nodded. Talia appeared unfazed, holding back a correction regarding the use of coarse language. 'Is this a fertility thing?' A hopeless attempt to catch up, her sense of understanding visibly blowing up in her face. 'What happened with Jesse D?' You mumbled into her hair, watching Talia's face sour at the mention of the man. 'M' pregnant!' The realisation that had never been an issue for you. The lack of opposite sexual productive organs? Wasn't your business. Definitely wasn't your ballpark, let alone sport. You were far out of this one, as well as Talia, who avoided romantic relations like the plague. But now pregnancy was Dina's problem, so pregnancy was your problem too. Just not your ballpark. She was angry, you could tell. The heat practically radiated off her, radioactive rage even if it wasn't directed at her little sister. 'I'll fuckin' kill him,' Talia muttered, ignoring the aggressive shake of your head. You actually liked Jesse, considering his emotional baggage and his separation anxiety Igunana. 'Ellie can be your babydaddy for all I care,' Talia continued, stabbing a finger in her crying sister's direction. 'She'd forget to pick them up from school!' Dina wailed, ignoring your quiet 'I could do it.' 'I wanted to teach them Spanish too! At least Jesse learnt it in the second year, all Ellie does is listen to Bad Bunny!' So the option to skin the young, partially bilingual man was out of the question. Your Bazzi had turned to Jai Paul, and Dina's sobs had lessened, a quiet sniffle buried in Ellie's SpongeBob shirt. 

'Don't let Ellie get you pregnant, she'd be a terrible father,' Dina hiccuped, earning your quiet agreement. It wasn't like you'd thought about having kids with her anyway. Yea? Totally hadn't. Even if you hadn't, UK drill, despite it being Ellie's preference, wasn't an ideal lullaby. And even if it wasn't scientifically possible, you managed to slim your chances even more by not partaking in the act since that night. It wasn't like you didn't want to. It didn't feel wrong and bordered on feeling right, but it missed an edge. Whatever that meant. Ellie made you feel things. So many things. One of them being sexually motivated. She was a good sexual motivator. You could title it that. But she also motivated depression, self-loathing and anxiety. Ellie motivated overwrought. You reckoned Dina felt overwrought, too. Maybe slightly nauseous as well. 'I don't know what to do,' she whispered, Talia's anger fizzling like the candles on a cake, her hand comfortingly stroking her sister's hair. 'What do you want to do?' She mumbled, using a spare hand to rub the purple circles beneath her eyes. Dina hesitated like the world rested on her answer. I mean, her world did. 'Wanna keep it,' she curled into you to hide from her sister's defeated expression. 'Okay,' Talia mumbled after a beat, warily smiling at the mess of silk pyjamas and tangled brown hair practically in your lap. 'Okay?' Dina appeared from your chest like she'd been hibernating for the past two seasons. 'Okay,' you whispered back, brushing away matted hair that had cemented to the tears on her face. 'You guys,' spit and snot gathered on her outer lips, brown eyes hazing red when she started crying again. 'D,' you giggled, smothering her in a hug, hiding a sob in your shoulder. 'You'll be okay, mama,' Talia hummed, rubbing Dina's back, satin crinkling above her spine. 'Just gotta be sober for the next eight months,' Talia quietly added, receiving a tormented groan. 

'Just keeping it real,' she muttered, meeting your smile. 'No more pub stops,' you continued the tag-team of torture, pushing away the fists that pathetically battered at your chest. 'Don't even like the fuckin' pub,' Dina sulked, falling back into the duvet, her legs thrown over your lap. 'Or the shit Irish band,' Talia chimed, squeezing your hand to receive one back. 'I personally love the shit Irish band,' you hummed, lying beside the brunette, her sister falling against the mattress, rolling onto her side to blink at Dina's puffy face. You'd almost had this years ago. A sleepover with girls who actually liked you, found you funny and compulsively enjoyed spending time with. But those girls hadn't liked you. Even if you hid your manga copies in the closet and pretended the Adventure Time poster was years old, not a recent purchase on a website that gave you a pornsite scam. Your playlist had Joji, and theirs had Gwen Stefani. 'Y'know, I was kinda scared about this sleepover,' Ashanti hummed, trailing red polish over her toenail, meeting Tana's eyes with a mean smile. 'Why?' You mumbled, fiddling with the charms on your bracelet. 'Cos' you're like a lesbian,' they erupted into a chorus of torturous cackles that made your stomach turn in a sharp motion like you were trying to stretch into a position you weren't flexible enough for. 'Seriously, Angeline didn't come cos' she was worried she'd get raped,' Tana laughed, adding to the murderous intent of uneducated fifteen-year-old girls. 'What?' You whispered, blinking away tears, the charm biting into your fingertips. 'Don't play dumb, you invited us cos you have a crush on Ashanti,' Tana rolled her eyes as if the statement was overused. 'No,' you defended, voice cracking and eyes squinting when Ashanti's gold hoops caught the light. 'Don't lie you, freak,' Ashanti muttered, screwing the lid loosely on the nail polish and dropping it on the carpet. 

'M' not,' your voice raised enough to make them lurch back. 'Careful, Tana, if she bites, it might spread,' the teasing continued like a relentless stabbing pain to the broken heart within your chest. 'I don't like girls,' you pleaded, 'I promise,' they didn't care. Didn't even listen, the hacking sound of Tana's laugh and the clinking of the beads at the bottom of Ashanti's braids creating a chorus of self-hatred that knawed at your stomach lining. 'I don't,' you whispered, defeated by their giggles and shared looks. 'Girl, whatever, you're still weird,' Tana hissed, dropping her palms into the carpet and pushing off them to trot out the door. 'M going to the bathroom,' she added, Ashanti, a scramble of red nails and brown braids following, terrified of being left alone with you. 'Don't leave me alone with her!' She giggled, the pair dashing down the hallway. You sat motionless on the bedroom carpet, tears pooling in your hands like the red polish that sank into the rug. Your mother would kill you for the stain it would leave. They smeared toothpaste around the basin and wiped the lip gloss you'd spent your birthday money on, on the expensive linen towels your mother had just bought. They heard your parents argue downstairs that night and told the whole school about it the following day. You hid in the bathroom for the entire week, missing your new lip gloss and avoiding your mother's snarky remarks. And you didn't feel vengeful or angry. Just at fault. For everything. For your lip gloss and linen towels, and social standing. At fault for trusting. The toilet stalls stunk of piss, regret and fake Juicy Couture body spray. But you stayed because out there was a warzone. One between whether Tyrone liked Lacey or Summer, and whose chromebook wallpaper was the lamest. And you were in no-man's land. You were gay and weird and quiet. You read manga and had braces and avoided the teacher's targeted questions. 

There was another girl at school. She sat with the boys at lunch and played football. Her name was Jasmine Ramireź, but made everyone call her Jay. She liked Alison McKay, who was in the year above. And Alison invited her to the school dance. They kissed at Aubrey Bllu's sixteenth birthday party, and no one cared. At least not in the way they cared about your existence. Jay could play football and wear a suit to school-hosted events. And you could hide in a bathroom stall and receive detentions for not handing in your statistics homework. It was at the bottom of the recycling bin in the science block because a boy named Alaric, who couldn't tie his shoelaces at the ripe age of fifteen, shoved it in there. Jay got B's in music class, and her dad had taught her how to play the chalo. Maybe your internalised homophobic approach towards Ellie Williams was because of the stark comparison between her and Jasmine Ramireź. But the truth was the comparison instead between you. They were everything you could've been. Wanted to become. But you liked manicured fingers instead of bitten nails and didn't shop in the men's section of clothes stores. They were gay and that was it. You were gay, and your world curdled like old cream, full of sour social interactions and a mother's disappointment. But now. Now you lay on a pink duvet, surrounded by chocolate that could give a malnourished child heart disease and the sense of inclusion. Even if this situation didn't have a title, you knew how it felt. Acceptance. Cherisment. Your presence was wanted, not disregarded. Someone liked you because they liked you, not because you played football or changed your name. They included you in group photos and mentioned you when they posted them. You weren't the one behind the camera or the person they ran away from during lunchtime. You had matching nails with a girl who called you her friend, and a smile from the people above the duvet with you. You had something and didn't need to change in the way you thought you would to achieve it. You grew, but not for anyone. Just yourself. And it made you content. 

Chapter Text

You thought it was cute. The glowing stars, their flickering specks. How their UV glow still simmered in the summer sun. Her curtains a silky white, oak leaves and manure carried through the window by a breeze too warm to stand. You were supposed to be watching the movie. A Monster in Paris. But fuck that and the human-sized flea. Because you were watching Ellie. Prentending you could taste the pink on her lips and the subtle glow of summer sweat on her skin. You hadn't smoked but were experiencing some form of existentially otherworldly. This was like watching the rise of Doja Cat in twenty-eighteen. Groundbreaking. But instead of a controversial rapper, it was the girl who'd invited you to her dad's house for the summer. Opposed to you, Ellie was watching the movie. Very intently, in fact. She hummed along to La Siene, oblivious to your mental drooling and clammy palms. You could blame the sweat on the summer heat and cotton duvets, but all of it was honestly Ellie's fault. You recoked white masc lesbians used voodoo in their day-to-day routines. That's how she'd bewitched you with her tattoos and choppy auburn hair. Her crashed car and wobbly front bumper sat outside the window, the left back wheel with a missing hubcap sat half in a ditch, Joel's vintage lawnmower, an addition to the oak leaves and manure. She said it was from the horses, the creations of their bowel movements feeding the tomato garden behind the tattered shed. The gravel road leading to his home left a coating of dust and dirt on the right side of the house, stones and pebbles embedded into the grooves of your shoes. Ellie found it comical that you owned a pair of cowboy boots despite only ever taking riding lessons around the age of eight. They sat snug beneath your jeans, True Religion denim and a white tank top that couldn't hide a sweat stain even if it tried. She even lent you a hat. Either you were a barn dancer in the Footloose movie or Hannah Montana leaving Malibu to ride in Tennessee and complain about horse shit. Either was attractive. And Ellie had never been picky with women. 

You'd honestly tried to get into the mindset. Rural ranches and free-range chickens. You even played Body Like a Backroad on her blown-out speakers. That just made her laugh so hard she crashed into a lamp post. But it wasn't like she didn't know all the words. Even dropped a worn Western hat on your head. 'You got this, baby,' her lips brushed your burnt bare shoulder, tasting sweat and sunscreen, 'nice n' slow-- atta girl.' At this point, you couldn't tell if she was talking to you or the fucking horse. For someone who was previously laughing at your awkward attempt to slide into a saddle, she now sounded like a sultry Dustin Lynch. Sheer force and muscle trembled beneath you, brown eyes swivelling occasionally, her snout curling with the scent of mowed grass. ‘Relax,’ She was laughing behind you, her thighs closing around your hips. You dropped your shoulders just for her breath to collide with your nape, hot against your skin, and you straightened like someone had shoved a pole down your spine. ‘You okay if we move?’ She murmured, voice low, thumbs brushing your hands, adjusting your taught knuckles over the leather. You just nodded, lips parted to express opinion, only for them to seal again, her crotch pushing against your tailbone. You’d expected horse riding to be like the Cowboy Carter album, fast and controversial. This was awkward and, to be frank, terrifying. You didn’t know horses could be so fucking big, a Noriker, something ginormous covered in white and ginger spots. She was passive, her head elegantly bowed, waiting on Ellie's call, whose chest leaned into your back, running a warm palm against Anoki's freckled coat, her glossy body quivering. 

‘C’mon girl,’ her breath still against your skin, Dustin Lynch talking you through the process of encouraging a horse to walk. She obediently struck out a hoof roughly the size of your head in front of her, the golden grass folding beneath her weight at the subtle squeeze of Ellie's heels. You squeaked, seemingly miles above stable ground, fingers trembling on her dirty white mane. The closest to this experience was watching Barbie & Her Sisters in a Pony Tale at seven, or the Carrie Underwood album you could never bring yourself to enjoy. The cheeky ponies you'd ridden in your pre-teens were nothing in comparison to this tame beast, her mane flicking away a fruit fly. 'There we go, easy mama,' she chuckled in your ear, her cowboy hat so wonky it was sexy. 'You sound like Zach Bryan,' you muttered, her thighs squeezing around your hips, 'Zach Bryan beats women, and I bet he couldn't ride a horse for the life of him.' Her breath smelt like the homemade honey she'd fed you earlier, sticky sweet and warm, treacle that could rot your teeth and brain. She'd been around Joel for a total of thirty-seven hours and already sounded so Southern she could've been racist. 'What makes you any different?' You teased, tangling your fingers with the brittle hair brushing from Anoki's mane. 'Women beat me instead,' you felt the Adam's apple in her throat when she laughed, kissing your neck when you gently smacked her thigh. 'You're so stupid,' you giggled, tilting your head to blink at the clouds above, lazily floating across the sky, not once covering the beating sun. 'Sorry, ma'am,' she chuckled, kissing the tip of your ear to find it burning hot. 'Makin' you nervous?' She was doing it again, that unfamiliar southern sting in her accent. It had your knees weak, as if the distance from the ground wasn't bad enough. 'You keep going, I'll fall off this horse,' you murmured, sucking in a breath when her calloused hands, roughened by sun and riding leather, dropped the reins in your lap. You grabbed them on instinct, hearing Anoki snort but continuing her plodding tramp along the gravel pathway leading to a pollen-riddled pine forest. You didn't consider where her hands would've gone after leaving the priority.

At first, they were gentle, helpful, gliding over your fingers to adjust comfortably and correctly on the reins. Then they became hungry. More demanding. Now she didn't give two fucks how you held the reins, more focused on the cotton that stuck to your skin. Her chewed nails skimmed the Buddha-like figure on the jacron embroidered to your waistline before sliding forward, the buckle of your belt clinking, the detached ends sinking into your lap. You muttered something she'd normally find offensive if she weren't so distracted, fighting with the two buttons and zip holding the denim together. Dust kicked up behind Anoki, your skin glossy with sweat, losing that sheen when you were buried by the shadow of a pine tree, beginning the journey into the forest behind Joel's tired property. You caught whiskey on her breath and starvation in her eyes, as if you'd intentionally stolen her past meals. She looked at you like a malnourished child in those famine action sponsors when she was anything but. 'Don't know if rednecks are supposed to have sex with girls on horses,' you murmured, shifting when her fingers slipped past your low waistband. 'I ain't no redneck,' she chuckled into your shoulder, sounding more redneck than ever, fingers excitedly finding your underwear. 'No, you just gonna' be in a Brokeback Mountain rebrand,' you sighed, head falling back and hitting her shoulder, feeling her laughter disappear into your hair the moment her fingers slipped past cotton and instead against bare skin. 'Ellie,' you whined, feeling her breath hot and heavy on your skin. 'Keep callin' me, m' right here,' she whispered, her fingers steady but hungry, fighting the stravation that had overtaken her self-control. Your hips twitched into her hand, feeling it cup your pussy, her finger tips stretching your entrance and feeling pure pleasure drip out, leaving residue on her hand. Anoki surged forward suddenly, a hare scampering into the foliage. 'Shit,' Ellie jumped, hands snatching up the reins while the mare snorted, regaining her composure. You glanced over your shoulder at Ellie, eyes wide and mouth hung ajar. She was the first to laugh, a snort prominent in the silent forest, her forehead falling on your shoulder and her hands circling your waist. You followed, laughing into your palms, dropping forward to hide your face and the way it curled when you laughed. Ellie wouldn't let you get away, especially when she had the opportunity to keep you this close. 'C'mere, pretty,' she stroked your stomach like she could feel it flip at her soft words, her lips gentle behind your ear, leaving a kiss that managed to sting. 'Shut up,' you mumbled, her lips chasing your smile, fingers fumbling with your zipper and belt, listening to her whine against your shoulder.

'I was thinkin',' she began, her voice low, its volume straightening your spine. 'Could bring you to the local pub, show the town the pretty city girl I got now. Whatchu' think?' You nodded because you couldn't speak. Definitely couldn't form anything coherent. Thought process? Hadn't heard of it. Just Ellie and her warm breath on your neck. 'Yea?' She murmured, fingers gently squeezing your stomach. 'Yea,' you grinned at your lap, fiddling with the reins she steered. 'Hold on then, let's get you back,' Ellie muttered, straightening Anoki on the pathway before tutting a command, her heels adding pressure to the mare's freckled abdomen. She snorted before breaking into a canter, ignoring your yelp and the hands that rudely grabbed her mane. 'Ellie!' You shrieked, a hand flying to hold the hat on your head, the other tangled in Anoki's hair. She laughed behind you, throaty yet girlish, something that made her cheeks flushed and gums appear. Joel laughed at you too, his stoic expression cracking with a grin at your entertained squeals, watching his daughter slide off the large mare with practised grace, only to be followed by your awkward movements. You tried to copy Ellie, throwing a foot over the horse, balancing your weight on the toe caught in the stirrup and then... Now what? Your fingers tremored on the warm saddle, nails digging into the worn leather, glancing over your shoulder, past your hair, and what seemed like miles down to where Ellie stood, hands on her hips, clearly entertained. 'You got it, babe,' she grinned, and you scowled. 'Uhm, what have I got?' Your voice wavered with concern, highly aware you were being viewed by experts at the sport of hopping off horses. 'You not from round here?' Joel shot Ellie a glance, receiving a snicker. 'No, sir,' you dropped your head between your shoulders, staring at the metal stirrup holding your flexed foot. 'Ain't none of that, call me Joel,' he grinned, shoving at Ellie, who hadn't looked away from your ass once. 'No, Joel,' you repeated, a terrified squeak leaving your lips when Anoki shifted.

Ellie, clearly entertained enough, stepped forward, hands steady and strong, closing around your hips, thumbs tangled in your belt loops. 'I got you,' she chuckled, plucking you off the saddle and onto the gravel driveway beneath you. It made you sway partially, the sudden solid ground despite Ellie's faltering hands, hesitant to leave you. 'Got plans for tonight?' Joel hummed, simple and gruff, large tanned forearms crossing above his chest. You glanced at Ellie out of habit, an arm sliding over your shoulders, casual and comfortable. It fit there, the bend in her elbow snug against your nape. 'Takin' her dancin',' she grinned, holding you at her side like an inanimate object repurposed as a trophy. Joel lifted his eyebrows, glancing between the two of you before grinning, 'You finally gonna settle down, kid?' She went redder than you'd ever made her, freckles practically disappearing in scarlet, the arm shrinking on your shoulders and lips thinning with an awkward smile. You suctioned in air, letting oxygen weigh over you to avoid the sudden crushing expectation of what she'd say. No? Nah? Never? 'Couldn't hurt,' her words made you stiffen, stealing a glance at her side profile, a scalding shade, ears dusted with blush and sunburn. Joel hummed in approval, shooting you a wink and turning on his heel, hands in his jean pockets. 'Treat er' well, n' don't crash,' he tossed the keys over his shoulder, the mess of keychains and metal clinking in Ellie's palms. 'Treat er' well,' you imitated a southern accent, nudging a teasing shoulder under Ellie's armpit, watching her flush again. 'Fuck off, dude,' she mumbled, dropping her head to hide a smile and pink cheeks behind her hair. 'Trust I'll treat you well,' she muttered, pressing a promising kiss to your temple. 

hope u all lovin' southern ellie like me (˶´ཀ`˶)

Chapter Text

i needa make a playlist for this fic instead of just adding songs lmfao 

All veils and misty. Streets of blue. Almond looks, that chill divine. Joel's battered 1960s Chevy kicked up dust, the night sky scattered by stars chasing the night till the horizon met the twinkling lights of town. She roared along to the scattered INXS travelling from the beaten CD speaker. You gazed at Ellie across the console, and you didn't think you'd ever seen her so full of life. She smelt like a fresh shower and crisp flannel, arms exposed to what warmth the night had to offer before her shoulders and biceps hid beneath cotton sleeves. Too busy on the road, on the music to notice your eyes, your longing. Pure yearning. She'd laugh at you if she ever caught on. But no point in hiding, especially when she wasn't watching you. You liked it when she watched you, though. So you took that and made do. Some silken moment goes on forever, and we're leaving broken hearts behind. She shot you a glance, her peripheral vision snatching movement from you. Your worn-in boots dug into the ripped leather seats, back curved indecently on the windowsill, manicured nails curled around the grab handle. She had to swerve, barely missing a stray fence, hypnotised by you. Hair whipped by the wind and her eighty-kilometre pace along a partially gravel road were certainly not the conditions to be sticking half your torso out of the car. But she was looking at you. Not just looking. Salivating. Mystified, just like the song on the radio, loud and grainy. Raw. Mystify, mystify me. Mystify, mystify me. 'Go faster!' You yelled above the wind, earning her wide eyes. She shouldn't, but who would that make her to deny you? Your smile? Your happiness. For your plead, at your word, she'd do anything. At the price of her life, she'd sacrifice if it meant making you smile. 

I need perfection. Some twisted selection that tangles me to keep me alive. So she hit the accelerator. You laughed into the night, leaning further out of the car, thighs squeezed together and head hanging back, eyes closed. Content. The motor roared, and Ellie hooted like she was in a movie, stealing glances at you, daring herself to risk it. To risk it all. Just to see you this way. This free and fucking beautiful. In all that exists. But none have your beauty. I see your face, yeah, I will survive. Your head was thrown back with another laugh, opening your eyes to meet the Milky Way and its spectacular display of dancing stars. A ballroom held within the galaxy between planets and celestial bodies, hosted by the sun and moon. And you and Ellie had just joined them. Twirling through atmospheres, free of gravity and sailing through galaxies. Mystify, mystify me. Mystify, mystify me. Her fingers prodded the dial, flooding your eardrums with new-wave funk, the truth of love and its addictive, awful qualities. Wind whipped past you, its pace almost stinging, but you couldn't let it go. Couldn't let any of this go. Not yet. The town was minutes away, and soon this moment with Ellie would be snatched away. 'Hold my legs!' She barely regained the chance before you'd released the grab handle, hands flying above your head, leaning out of the car, too casual for breakneck speed. Her hand left the gearstick in a scramble, wrapping around your calf, keeping you rooted within the vehicle. She panted in partial shock, glancing between the windshield and your smiling face. The shock was worth it. Was worth your laughter and happiness. 

By the time she screeched into the carpark, you were back in the car, a giggle of adrenaline and tangled hair. She pushed the old Chevy into park, dashing around the car to open your door, dismissing your giggle and politely taking a hand. She'd started drinking already, giving you a short spin on the wet concrete from the summer rain that afternoon. Warm wind crept up your cotton shirt, jeans so low she saw the symmetrical dips of the dimples accentuating your back. You'd expected some kind of Hannah Montana rip-off but felt like you'd entered a line dance mid-Footloose shot the second she glided into the bar, your warm hands wrapped around her arm. You weren't used to this. The stamping and hats. Belt buckles bigger than your hands and a harmonica louder than any singer on the stage beside the bar. The lights were soft and caught the sweat on your collarbones. Coin-slot machines in shadowed corners, drunk hollers and pints you'd never dream of finishing. Ellie pressed a note into the hand of a blonde bartender, red lipstick hiding her age, and blue eyes swallowed in smoky powder. 'Well, I never,' she grinned above the music and shouting, sliding Ellie a glass of something far too strong for your liking. 'Ellie fuckin' Williams, how college treatin' you sweetheart?' Ellie took a swig, coughing before shooting the woman a charming smile that wobbled in the corners. 'Shit,' she grinned, tugging you in by the waist, ordering you something the bartender didn't hesitate to pour. 'And who's this pretty thing?' She tutted at the smiling girl stuck to your side, shooting you a grin so sweet you felt sugar on your tongue. 'What's your name, dear?' You yelled it above the music, receiving her raised brows. 'Ellie ain't bein' a bad influence on you, is she? Keep that one on a leash, trust she gets up to no damn good,' you giggled in response, nodding solemnly. 'Well, m' Cherly, yell if you need a single thing, love. I can whip this one into shape in no time,' she teased, swatting a hand towel in Ellie's direction. She dodged with a laugh, hands lifting in surrender, tilting her hat Cherly's way. 'You know I'm a gentleman,' her hand sliding to cup the crease beneath your ass, giving it a squeeze hidden from Cheryl's eyes. 'Sure, honey, look after her, she's a good girl, not like you, Ms Williams.' 

Her hand wrapped around your wrist when you waved, and Cheryl blew you a kiss, returning to someone sitting before the bar, Ellie dragging you into the semi-organised chaos of dancers in leather shoes. It wasn't your scene, but bless your sense of rhythm and the girl whose hands steered you by the waist. You caught up with the beat, the boots and strums. For a small country town, they didn't bat an eye at the two woman dancing like it was their  nature. Her hands dipped to your hips, thumbs sliding into your belt, crotch pressed to your ass and hat brushing your hair when she dipped her head to kiss your neck. 'Sure know how to dance lil' missy,' she grinned, dragging out her accent, feeling you laugh against her temple. 'Learnt it from the best in town,' you teased back, flirtatious and country, even if you were neither. But she'd teased vodka down your throat, and her smile was so appealing. She leaned too close, and her hat was soon on your head, snatched away and stolen, dragging a laugh of disbelief from your girl in men's jeans. It wasn't line dancing, just a frenzy of twirling in heeled boots and energy fueled by alcohol. Her hair was shaggy, sticking right and left like some scruffy mixed mutt tagging after a glossy pure-breed Australian shepherd. You shot a smile, and she practically wagged her tail, trailing through the dancers after you. 'You're just trouble, ain't you?' Her arm slid around your waist, watching you dip back on instinct, foot kicking up comically. The hat tipped over your eyes was plucked off your head and placed back on her own. Ellie leant so close her nose brushed yours, breath hot and stinking of whiskey. 'You dance so pretty, makin' me nervous,' she murmured, spellbound when you simply smiled, blinking up at her like it was nobody's business. 'Love makin' you nervous,' speech slurred and face hot, you threw your arms around her, laughing in her face when she blushed. 'You sure are good at it,' she whispered, glancing at your lips, swollen from the kisses she'd given you in the carpark that smelt like rain and drunks. 

' You keep dancin' like this, someone will come steal you away,' her words left warmth on your cheeks and heat within your chest. 'You won't let them,' you returned, half joking, half not. Because it was true. Someone had tried that before. It didn't end well. Because they were alone, and she was here. Here with you in some cheap small town pub, too busy for its own good. 'Damn right,' she laughed, half joking, half not. She glanced over your shoulder, meeting the eye of a man she forgot the name of years ago. He was twenty-five and still worked at the local dairy and had teeth stained from cigarettes. Ironically, he was watching you, just as she'd predicted. Her eyes found yours again when your palm tenderly cupped her cheek. 'Wanna get outta  here?' She whispered, watching your pupils swell with desire and questions. 'Where would we go?' You mumbled, spare hand tightening around the flannel that had begun to stick to her back. 'Anywhere, baby,' she watched you think it over, innocent, batting eyes flashing with something she blamed on the lights. It was intriguing, though, seeing that side of you that wasn't behaved, that fought to ruin your reputation. She wanted to dig towards it, split the cracks in your brain, find the gold she'd been seeking. You found it before she had the chance, warm hand wrapping round her wrist, shooting Cheryl a smile and sprinting into the outside. Your boots cracked against the concrete, Ellie's laugh loud in your ears. 'Slow down!' You laughed at her demand, rain painting your clothes with wet shadows. 

' You really country ain't you, Williams?' You giggled, glancing over your shoulder at her, auburn hair now a deep brown drenched by summer rain. She nodded in return, lungs too occupied by your unfaltering sprint. 'Show me,' you dared, squealing when your feet left the ground, scooped into her arms, swaddled in the scent of whiskey and freshly washed flannel. 'Shouldn't have tested that,' she grinned, feeling your adrenaline-riddled breaths meet the tattoos creeping up her throat. Conveniently, she'd parked on the outskirts of the carpark, Joel's fogged windows indiscernible in the night light. Your hand hit the glass, laughter and moans unnoticed by the life within the pub, the Chevy's gentle rocking blamed on the harsh, warm winds that filtered through the car and past the engine. She'd thrown your clothes onto the dashboard, a boot stuck beneath your naked body, her hand somewhere between your thighs, yours fighting with the tangle of hair teasing her nape. You moaned her name and your love for it. For her and what she did for you. What she did to you. You were so happy. You were so fucking happy, her lips on your neck and pussy, flannel shirt discarded and hanging on the steering wheel. A chaotic, frantic, drunk display of love, you meant. Truly meant. She said she meant it to. Said it so many times. 'Love you, love you so much baby-- fuck,' she hissed against your lobe, the words sliding into your head and rotting your brain with a promise that made you giddy. 

Chapter Text

'Fuckin' weirdo,' Ellie watched the paper crumple in her fist, catching her forehead before it hit the table, the impact from Abby's hand leaving a ringing in her ears. The blonde stood in front of her desk, arms folded over one another, sneering down at the ginger. Ellie ignored her, nose practically smushed against the desk, pen gripped so tight that navy ink slipped between the webs in her fingers. Abby was relentless. Maybe it was because she could hear the Little Miss Perfect through her headphones or see the Tubbo x Ranboo badge on her backpack. But she was top of the food chain. Ellie, well, Ellie, wasn't even on the chain, sulking around six feet under the concept of trophic levels. Put simply, if Abby were a Polar bear, Ellie wasn't a seal, or even a penguin. Ellie was a shrimp. A crustacean. She fed on bacteria while everyone else fed on her. The deepest depths of the ocean were her home, that, or the belly of a whale, also known as the school bathrooms. She'd been drawing, not her usual sketches of bucks beyond Joel's property or the quiet thoughts that crowded her head. She'd been, partially, shamelessly drawing Sango from Inuyasha. She'd had a crush on her since like what? Five? Probably even earlier. But Ellie was fifteen now. It must've stuck—all of it. Riley wasn't here today. Not here to defend her, to save her honour like a shining white knight with friendship bracelets and a purple NASA shirt. If she hadn't been moved up a year and Abby down, maybe they wouldn't've met this way. Ellie wouldn't be tortured day in and day out. But she was. Nonstop, unless Riley was there, which she wasn't. She'd been bunking more often. Ellie was worried she'd been smoking with those boys who called her slurs. 

She dropped the wrinkled paper at her feet, watching the toe of Abby's boot meet it, kicking so forcefully it bumped against Ellie's Converse. It didn't hurt or make noise, but she flinched. Flinched like she'd been shot. Why Abby picked on her, she didn't know. Would never know. Maybe she could wait on Riley. Riley could spontaneously appear in the doorway, small hands meeting Abby's chest, shoving her into the bookshelf in the reading corner, watching the literature tumble around the blonde. But Riley would never come. Because Riley died from brain cancer last week. That's why Abby was relentless. She wouldn't be punished. Would face no repercussions. Riley wasn't there to stop her, to defend Ellie. Even though the ginger wished she were. 'Drawing your anime shit, you're so fuckin' annoying,' so scornful and monstrous. Ellie watched Abby's blossoming cheeks expand across her face, her face flashing an angry red, pristine, sharp smile and pointy horns protruding from her scalp. Maybe they could've been friends. I mean, Ellie and Abby were the only 'known' lesbians at high school, at least the ones that didn't bother hiding it. Ellie's backpack was enough of a fucking indicator. Abby didn't openly discuss it, but she did kiss Jessie Huang at Samuel's band practice, even if they'd hidden behind the clothes line on the wet grass. They'd appeared with damp patches in the knees of their pants and pink faces. No one had said anything, considering how ruthless juniors can be. Ellie didn't deal with it either, the homophobia, maybe with the boys Riley shouldn't have hung out with. Joel thought she had a crush on Daniel, the blonde kid in her class who could burp his name. But Daniel didn't catch Ellie's eye once. Just Riley, and well, ironically enough, Abby. Those feelings, the ones she tried so hard to suppress, made her ashamed. The girl who threw her dad's homemade pasta bake at her during lunch when she sat alone? Or took a photo of her sketching on the bathroom walls over the stall and shared it on a group chat consisting of kids who couldn't give two fucks whether Ellie came to school the next day or not. 

And now with the blonde stood ruthlessly above her, vile as ever. Ellie felt heat blossom in her face; it's why she dipped it even lower, bringing her arms up to hide within. Because this... Whatever she could call it was wrong, so wrong. But at the fireworks show in May, she'd snuck a glance at the blonde, sat snug beside Nora, feeling her stomach bubble and curl just from the sight of a toothy smile. There, Abby looked nice, pretty. She looked like someone Ellie had a crush on, even if it was so, so wrong. In P.E, while everyone begrudgingly slid into the boarding fifteen-degree water while Ellie sat poolside because she was on her 'period' again for the third time this month, her eyes found Abby. Her arm curled back with the accuracy of a professional athlete, launching the water polo ball across a twenty-five metre distance. Ellie discovered her chin sliding into her hand, a faraway look in her eyes, her head swimming with dreams. Abby was like Flame Princess, easily agitated, emotional, and beautiful. Ellie thought she was personally more like Marceline, with spikey teeth and Joel's guitar propped up in her bedroom. Marcleine and Flame Princess were never destined, but that didn't stop her dreams. Flame Princess, despite kissing Jessie Huang began dating Owen the following year. The year Ellie started cutting her hair shorter, her voice getting lower, clothes becoming more masculine. Because maybe Abby would like that? But she didn't. Gave her another reason to bully the ginger. She stopped listening to Cavetown and instead Dave because maybe UK drill was cooler than modern indie. But then she felt like an intruder in the wrong person's body. She wasn't Ellie; she was the person Abby might like. But Abby would never like her because she was Ellie. And even Ellie didn't like Ellie. At least Riley did-- had. But now? Now there was no love for Ellie, just an effort to become someone different. 

Riley accepted Ellie for who she was. She loved Ellie, genuinely loved her. Riley moved throughout the foster system, just as Ellie had. But unlike Ellie, who'd found Joel, Riley never found her Joel. She was thrown in and out of homes. Kids get expensive when they become self-aware and more intelligent, more emotional. Riley was smart, smart enough to know no one wanted her, excluding Ellie. But then Riley was diagnosed, so she started hanging out with boys two years older. Ones who called her best friend slurs and smoked weed because that was considered cooler than going to school. Riley knew Ellie didn't like them, couldn't hang around them without hearing 'faggot' every passing minute. She became desperate to create a void before Ellie discovered her sickness. But she'd made the mistake of kissing Ellie at that arcade section in the old local pub on the Dance Dance Revolution machine a few months ago. They'd been surrounded by copyright MKTO on LED arrows bright enough to cause the elderly an epileptic stroke. Joel was around the corner, losing a pool game to a woman who'd bought him a flat beer. Ellie had been thinking about it for years. Kissing Riley, that was. Prettiest girl she'd ever seen (apart from Sango). But Riley probably wasn't like that, probably didn't find Ellie as pretty as she found Riley. But at fifteen, you're overrun with good intentions and desires, even if your adoptive father is obliviously playing pool ten metres away. American Dream overlapped Riley's small gasp, Ellie's lips awkwardly colliding with hers. It was one final desperate attempt to keep her close. Riley was drifting away, and Ellie could sense it. All the late nights spent out with those boys who thought graffiti penuises were the pinnacle of life. It was like she was being forgotten. And when Riley said she was leaving soon, to another city, another care home to host a kid they'd throw out in a few months, Ellie knew she had a deadline. 

So she kissed Riley. It was shit and stupid. She even apologised. What made the current day even worse was that Riley answered 'For what?' like Ellie's kiss wasn't a mistake. That it wasn't poor judgment of the situation; of the cancerous lump growing in her best friend's brain. But now Ellie was hunched over a table with the words 'fugly' scribbled on her assigned desk, pretending Riley was alive and Abby wasn't here and someone, anyone, actually liked her. But Abby barked her name, kicking a table leg and watching Ellie's head rise, cheeks flaming pink, eyes equal in shade, glossy with tears. 'What?' She mumbled, watching Abby take a small step back, a frown that bordered on guilty. 'You're so fuckin' weird,' Abby managed to mutter, new to the concept of Ellie actually hosting feelings. Of course, she knew Riley had died; everyone at school did. The board had hosted a memorial at lunchtime, planted a magnolia tree in the corner of the school no one saw. Ellie didn't come to school that day, but Abby barely noticed. I miss her. Her eyes caught it, scribbled haphazardly on the blotchy pages beside a sketch of Freddy Fazbear. 'She's gone, y'know that aye?' Abby muttered, watching Ellie's pink eyes travel upwards, towards the scornful look on her face. She didn't respond, lips sealed, wobbling in an attempt to suppress emotions that the blonde would laugh at her for. 'Did you hear me? Riley's dead,' Ellie wanted to scream at her, throw the lunch she hadn't touched all day at the wall. Do something, anything. What Riley would do, fight back.  

But Ellie didn't. She wasn't like Riley. She was a crustacean. Not an angel, not like Riley was, now is. 'You're a pussy,' Abby snarled, snatching the notebook previously slotted beneath Ellie's folded arms. She yelped like a hit puppy, lashing out her hands, flailing to capture the sketchbook concealing her hatreds and memories and confessions. That was her escape, her quiet place. Her sanctuary. And now the girl she regrefully found pretty was aiming it for the recycling bin, just like she had in waterpolo. 'I hate you!' Ellie screeched, reaching for the book only to be shoved back. Abby didn't laugh like she usually did. She was stoic, almost sad. But nothing of pity or mercy lay in her eyes. She aimed it again, only for Ellie's short nails to dig into her bicep, drag pink lines down her freckled flesh. 'Give it back!' She was feral, clawing and scratching against Abby's shoving. 'She's gone!' Abby was yelling now, too, face red and angry. 'Girls!' Mr Afzal roared from the doorway, thin spectacles so high on his face they pushed his thick eyelashes against the glass. He saw Ellie's tears, the blood on Abby's right arm and declared a suspension. Joel was informed, to no surprise, and Ellie, too tired to argue, to defend simply explained the past two years of instances Abby probably wouldn't remember. But Ellie? Oh, Ellie remembered all of it. All the names and fake online accounts. The glares and laughter. She told Joel. Mentioned Riley too. Maybe that's what made the old man snap, his tormented Chevy parked illegally outside the Andersons' two-story home. 

Ellie sat in the ute, met Abigail's fearful eyes through the blinds in her living room. Jerry and Joel got in a fight. Joel didn't know Jerry had heart problems. He had a stroke the next morning around ten forty. Abby didn't come to school that day. She stopped tormenting Ellie, too. Maybe the odd shoulder shove through the halls or the odd carrot stick thrown her way. But no more pasta bake, Jerry wasn't there to cook it anymore. Abby moved away not long after to live with her Aunt in a different city. And Ellie? Ellie stayed with Joel in their quiet countryside home with the horses and the gravel road and the pines. Ellie returned to school and the magnolia tree. She'd sit beside it, pretending Riley was there. Chatting away about the cast of Star Trek or the gum her roommate stuck to the matron's ballet flats. On her worst days, she'd hug the tree. Feels its brittle bark scratch her cheeks, flushed by the winter cold. Then the school got a bigger budget and invested in a renovation. The magnolia tree was cut down, and Ellie spent the rest of her high school years in the bathroom stalls, dodging wet toilet paper that fell from the ceiling and girls who threw their burnt vapes at her. Riley & Ellie. She scribbled it on the dirty inner stall on her graduating day, perched on the closed toilet lid beside a pad sliding out the sanitary bin and a poster for the community news station. And then she did something she had always wanted to ask herself why, but could never find the answer to. Abby. Written next to the names. Not as pretty or straight, more messy and slanted. But it was there. And Ellie didn't know why. 

ugh bro  ദ്ദി( ;´-`;)