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preacher’s daughter!reader x older!ellie
cw: preacher’s!daughter!reader, older!ellie, drunk confessions, tender angst, hurt/comfort, reader is a mess, ellie is so patient.
a/n: inspired by ethel cain’s ‘fuck me eyes’
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ellie’s boots hit the pavement with a slow, steady rhythm. the kind of walk you only take when you’ve got no choice but to. her truck was still stuck in the shop - alternator or belt or something else she couldn’t afford to fix till friday. she didn’t mind walking, not really. the meeting with joel had run long, and the sun was starting to dip, bleeding gold and orange over the sleepy edges of town. cicadas loud in the grass, heat still clinging to her neck like a warning.
she was halfway down willow avenue when she heard it - the guttural purr of an engine that didn’t belong on these streets. way too smooth, too clean. then the screech of tires. a flash of chrome and candy apple red.
ellie barely had time to step back before the cadillac veered too far onto the shoulder. her breath caught in her throat as gravel kicked up, and for a second, she saw the front end of that shiny thing coming right for her.
the car slammed to a crooked stop a foot from her boots.
“oh my god,” came a slurred voice from inside. “oh my god. i almost killed you. i-fuck, i’m so-i can pay for that. whatever that costs. i can pay for it.”
ellie blinked. the driver’s door creaked open and you stumbled out, heels uneven against the slope, one arm catching yourself against the frame. your eyes were wide, frantic. face flushed and glistening. hair stuck to your temple like you’d been crying already, or maybe sweating through whatever you’d been running from.
the preacher’s daughter. the town’s golden girl. ribbons and sunday dresses. charity luncheons and pressed white linens. she’d seen you a hundred times at the market, at town events, always tucked beneath your father’s arm like a badge. clean and proper and quiet.
you were not clean right now.
your lipstick was smudged like a sin. perfume thick and sweet and dizzying in the warm night air. and your eyes; those big, blue, water-slicked eyes, searching ellie’s face like you were begging for forgiveness. or mercy.
“you drunk?” ellie asked, voice low, steady.
you looked down. laughed, bitter and choked. “just a little.”
you swayed again, and ellie caught your elbow before you could fall. your skin was burning. your fingers curled in her jacket like a reflex.
“fuck,” you whispered. “my dad’s gonna kill me.”
ellie held you there for a second. watched your mascara blink into your cheek. watched you bite the inside of your lip like you were trying not to cry, even though you were already halfway there.
“c’mon,” she muttered. “give me your keys.”
“you’re not driving. give me your keys.”
your mouth opened to argue, but you must’ve seen something in her face that shut you up. maybe it was the way her hand didn’t leave your arm. maybe it was the fact that she didn’t seem mad, just… tired. like she’d seen this before. like she got it.
you handed them over without another word.
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ellie didn’t say much as she drove. the cadillac felt wrong under her hands. too smooth. too soft. the leather seats stuck to her thighs and your glitter lip balm was rolling back and forth in the cupholder. the radio was low, some old song about heartbreak and rivers.
you sat curled in the passenger seat like a kicked dog. arms wrapped around yourself. your cheek pressed to the window. the eyeliner smeared under your eyes made you look younger somehow. undone.
ellie snuck glances every few minutes. the hem of your dress hiked halfway up your thigh. your shoes kicked off and left abandoned on the floorboard. your head lulled to the side when you realised she was looking.
“you’re not gonna tell anyone, right?” you asked.
“joel doesn’t need to know.”
you nodded. silence settled in again, heavy like humidity.
“my dad. he says i’m a light in god’s hand. says i have a ‘purpose.’” your voice wobbled around the words. “i feel like i’m rotting. like everything inside me is fucking rotten.”
ellie didn’t say anything. just let the confession hang in the air between you. you didn’t seem to care. or maybe you needed someone to hear it.
“they all think i’m this… good girl. town angel. but i’m not. i’m not, i’m not, i’m not.”
you were crying now. silently. like it was muscle memory.
ellie pulled into her driveway and killed the engine. she didn’t look at you right away. just sat with it for a second. then:
“you’re staying here tonight. no way i’m letting you go back to him like this.”
you swallowed, and for a second she thought you might argue again. instead, you nodded. small. fragile.
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you sat on ellie’s couch, wrapped in a fleece blanket with a mug of water pressed between your hands. your mascara had bled down your cheeks. you looked like a painting someone had cried on.
“you wanna shower?” ellie asked, voice softer now.
“i don’t wanna be alone.”
the admission cracked something open in ellie’s chest.
she sat down beside you. didn’t say anything. didn’t touch you.
you leaned your head on her shoulder anyway.
you were quiet for a long time. the tv was on low. ellie could feel your breath steadying. you smelled like peaches and sweat and vodka.
“you looked at me like you knew me,” you murmured.
“back when i almost hit you. you looked at me like you already knew what kind of girl i was.”
ellie looked down at you.
“no,” she said. “i looked at you like i wanted to.”
your breath hitched. you pulled back, slow, blinking up at her.
your eyes - still glassy, still ruined - locked onto hers.
fuck me eyes, they’d call them in some cheap song.
but they didn’t know the whole story.
they never saw you like this. wrecked and wide open and afraid of your own shadow. they never saw you gripping the hem of someone else’s t-shirt just to keep from falling apart. they never saw you wiping your fuck me eyes on the sleeve of a woman you’d barely spoken to before tonight.
they never saw the part where ellie pulled you close, tucked you under her chin, and said, “you’re okay. you’re safe. just sleep, alright?”
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