✯ Abby & Ethel Enthusiast ✯

25

[trevor4ever]

[vanillat3ars]

Room 214

Chapter Six

If you haven’t read it yet, here’s Chapter One

synopsis: One shared blanket, a lingering high, and conversations that drift somewhere between laughter and honesty. As the night stretches on, you and Ellie discover that the hardest walls to tear down aren’t the ones built from arguments, they’re the ones you’ve spent years building around yourselves.

warnings: college au, post-cannabis use, cozy domestic fluff, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, “accidental” physical touch, slow burn, introspection, light humor, no explicit content.

The room had become… soft.

That was the only word your brain could find.

Not blurry. Not spinning. Just soft.

The lamp on your desk cast a warm pool of light over the scattered papers still covering the floor, turning the mess into something almost pretty. The open window let in cool evening air that brushed across your face every so often, and for reasons completely beyond you, you found yourself deeply fascinated by the way the curtain moved.

It swayed. Then stopped. Then swayed again.

“…What are you looking at?” Ellie’s voice drifted over to you like it had traveled across an ocean.

You turned your head very, very slowly. “The curtain.”

Ellie followed your gaze. “The curtain.”

You nodded once. “It keeps…” You lifted a hand vaguely. “…doing that.”

She looked back at you. Then at the curtain. Then at you again. A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

“You laughed.”

“No shit.”

“Why?”

Ellie pressed her lips together, clearly trying to compose herself. “I’ve just…” Another laugh slipped out. “I’ve never seen someone get this high their first time.”

You blinked at her. “I don’t think I’m that high.”

That only made it worse. Ellie bent forward, covering part of her face with her hand as her shoulders shook. “You don’t?”

You looked around the room. “I just think…”

Your sentence trailed off. Ellie waited. You waited too. Then your eyebrows slowly pulled together. “I forgot.”

She snorted so loudly she nearly dropped the joint. “Huh.”

You accepted all of this surprisingly easily before looking back toward the window again. Silence settled between you. Comfortable silence. Ellie leaned back against her bed, taking another slow drag before letting the smoke drift lazily toward the open window. Every few seconds, her eyes wandered back to you.

You hadn’t stopped looking around the room. Not nervously. Curiously. Like you’d never actually seen it before. Your gaze lingered on the bookshelf. Then the ceiling. Then your own hand. You turned it over slowly. Studied your fingers. “…They’re weird.”

Ellie looked over. “What is?”

“My hands.”

She stared for a second before another quiet laugh escaped her. “You’ve had those your whole life.”

“No shit.” You flexed your fingers. “But… look at them.”

“I’m looking.”

“They’re so…” You rotated your wrist. “…i don’t know.”

Ellie actually laughed hard enough to cough. “You are so gone.”

“I’m right.”

“You are.”

“They’re really hand-shaped.”

“They sure are.”

You nodded solemnly, satisfied with your own observation. Ellie couldn’t stop smiling. She wasn’t even trying anymore. Somehow this was the funniest thing she’d seen in weeks.

Not because she was laughing at you. Well… Maybe a little. But mostly because she’d never imagined you’d look like this. You. The girl who color-coded. Who rewrote lecture notes because the margins weren’t straight enough. Who practically had an internal alarm clock.

Now you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring thoughtfully at your own hands like they’d personally betrayed you. It was ridiculous. And… Kind of nice.

She’d spent so long watching you carry the weight of everything. Watching your shoulders stay tense. Watching you worry. Overthink. Stress. Now…

For the first time since she’d met you… You looked light.

Like your brain had finally stopped running laps around itself. Ellie caught herself smiling. A real smile. One she hadn’t meant to let happen. You turned toward her suddenly. “Ellie.”

“Hm?”

“You have freckles.”

She blinked. “uh…Yeah.”

“I never noticed.”

“You’ve lived with me for almost two months.”

“I know. I mean I did notice, but not like this.”

You leaned forward slightly, squinting at her face with absolute concentration. “There are a lot.”

Ellie stayed perfectly still, watching you with raised eyebrows. “You counting them?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“You absolutely are not.”

“I might.”

She laughed under her breath. You kept staring. Your head tilted ever so slightly.

“They’re…” You frowned as though searching for the perfect word. “…Nice.” Ellie’s smile faltered. Only for a heartbeat. The compliment had been so genuine. So absent-minded. You looked like someone commenting on the weather.

She scratched awkwardly at the back of her neck. “…Thanks.”

You nodded once, seemingly satisfied before your attention wandered somewhere else entirely. “You’ve officially become my favorite person to smoke with.”

You frowned. “I don’t smoke.”

“You literally are.”

“No.”

You shook your head very seriously. “I smoked. Past tense.”

Ellie leaned back against the wall, shaking her head with a chuckle. You looked at her suspiciously. “You’re making fun of me.”

“A little.”

“A lot.”

“…Maybe.”

You huffed quietly. “I don’t appreciate it.”

“But you’re smiling.”

You instinctively touched your face. “…I am?”

“You are.”

You thought about that. For an oddly long time. Then a small smile grew without you realizing. “…Huh.”

Ellie watched you. The smile lingered on her own face now. She hadn’t seen you smile this much since you’d moved in. Actually… She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen you smile like this. Not careful. Not polite. Not the restrained little smiles you gave classmates or professors.

This one was loose. Unplanned. Completely genuine. She looked away before she stared for too long. That would’ve been weird. Instead, she took another small drag, exhaling slowly as she watched the smoke curl toward the open window. “You know,” she said after a moment, glancing back at you, “I kinda like this version of you.”

You turned your head. “What version?”

“The one who’s not trying to have everything figured out.”

You blinked slowly. “I don’t.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t have everything figured out.”

Ellie smiled faintly. “I know.”

She’d known for a while. You just hadn’t let yourself admit it. You looked down at your hands again. “…I think I try really hard.”

The words slipped out quietly. Without embarrassment. Without the instinct to cover them up. Ellie’s expression softened. “I know.”

The silence settled comfortably between you, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves outside the open window or Ellie’s quiet chuckle whenever your attention became completely absorbed by something insignificant. You weren’t even sure how much time had passed.

Five minutes. Maybe thirty.

Time had stopped making much sense. You shifted where you sat, absentmindedly rubbing one forearm with your opposite hand. Then the other.

Across from you, Ellie glanced over. Her eyes dropped briefly to your forearms. Then to the tiny goosebumps scattered across your skin.

“You’re cold.” You looked up immediately to see her looking pointedly at your arms before meeting your eyes again. One corner of her mouth lifted. She snorted.

You instinctively looked down. Still smiling, Ellie pushed herself off the bed. You watched her go, your slightly slowed mind taking a second to catch up. “Where’re you going?”

“My incredibly important mission.”

“What mission?” Instead of answering, she grabbed the blanket from the end of her bed. It was old and faded, the dark green fabric softened from years of use.

She walked back over without another word. Then, with surprising ease, she tossed it over your shoulders. The sudden warmth made you blink. The blanket smelled faintly of laundry detergent… And underneath that, unmistakably, Ellie. You instinctively pulled the edges closer around yourself. “…Thanks.”

The words came out barely above a mumble. Ellie looked at you for a second. Really looked. Then she rolled her eyes with theatrical exasperation. “C’mere.”

You blinked. “What?”

“My bed’s warmer.”

Your brain immediately stalled. You looked at her bed. Then instinctively over at your own. Then back at her. “…Isn’t that weird?”

Ellie looked genuinely confused. “It’s literally a mattress.”

“I know, but…” Your thoughts tangled together before you could finish them.

She watched you struggle through them for a few seconds. Long enough that she sighed dramatically, throwing her head back. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“I’m not flirting with you.”

Heat rushed into your face before you could stop it. “…I didn’t say you were.”

“No.” She folded her arms. “But you were thinking it.”

You stared at her. She stared right back. After a painfully long pause, you looked away. Ellie’s laugh filled the room again. Not loud. Just warm. She patted the mattress beside her. “You coming or what?”

You hesitated. Not because you thought Ellie meant anything by it. She clearly didn’t. That was almost the problem. To her, this was simple. Someone was cold. There was a warm blanket. End of story.

Your brain, meanwhile, insisted on making everything complicated.

Eventually, with the air of someone agreeing to an impossibly difficult negotiation, you stood. The blanket stayed wrapped around your shoulders as you shuffled over. Ellie had already climbed back onto the bed, sitting against the wall with one knee bent.

She waited patiently while you climbed onto the very edge of the mattress. You sat with your back ramrod straight. Hands folded neatly in your lap.

Leaving what you considered a perfectly respectable amount of space between the two of you. Ellie looked at the gap. Then at you. Then back at the gap. “…You know I don’t bite, right?”

“I know.”

“You look like you’re waiting for a dentist appointment.”

“I’m comfortable.”

“Mhm.”

You were not. Not particularly because of Ellie. Because you had suddenly become intensely aware that you were sitting on someone else’s bed. Specifically, Ellie’s. Specifically while very, very high.

You focused very hard on looking anywhere except at her. Outside. The ceiling. Your own knees. Anything.

Ellie watched you for another moment before her attention dropped to your shoulders. Despite the blanket, you still shivered. It was small. Barely noticeable. She noticed anyway. With another exaggerated sigh that suggested you were personally inconveniencing her, she reached for the blanket.

Before you could ask what she was doing, she lifted one side and pulled it around herself too, which made you shift back towards her until your back hit wall.

The fabric settled over both of you in one oversized cocoon. You looked down. Then back at her.

Despite yourself, a laugh escaped you.

Your shoulders relaxed just enough that you leaned the tiniest bit toward the middle. Your shoulder bumped lightly against hers. Both of you froze for half a second. It had been completely accidental.

Neither of you moved away. Neither of you commented. After a moment, Ellie simply adjusted the blanket around both of your shoulders, making sure it covered you properly. “Better?”

You considered it. The warmth. The blanket. The quiet. “…Yeah.”

Ellie nodded once, satisfied. “Told you.”

Outside, the wind continued to drift through the open window. Inside, tucked beneath one blanket with an absurd amount of empty space still somehow existing between your shoulders and hers, neither of you said anything for a while.

The blanket trapped the warmth surprisingly well. At some point, you’d stopped thinking about the fact that you were sharing it. At some point, you’d also stopped sitting quite so rigidly.

Neither of you noticed when it happened. You shifted to get more comfortable. Ellie shifted too. The gap between your shoulders became a little smaller. Not gone. Just… smaller. You were still undeniably high.

Your thoughts wandered wherever they pleased, and trying to steer them back felt about as effective as trying to tell the wind where to blow. For a while, neither of you spoke. You watched the shadows from the tree outside sway across the ceiling. Ellie watched them too. “…Can I ask you something?” Her voice was quieter than usual.

You turned your head toward her. “I think so.”

She smiled faintly. “You think so?”

“My brain’s moving… slowly.”

“I noticed.”

You accepted that with a thoughtful nod. “What?”

Ellie picked absentmindedly at a loose thread in the blanket. “Were you always…” She glanced sideways at you. “…Like this?”

You frowned. “…What do you mean?”

“You know.” She gestured vaguely in your direction. “So…” Another gesture at the room. “…Organized.”

You stared at her and thought about it. Longer than necessary. “…Yeah.”

Ellie’s mouth twitched. “Yeah?”

“My parents…” You paused, searching for words that didn’t seem to want to line up. “They liked things done properly.” She nodded once, listening. “They weren’t… mean.”

“They just…” You rubbed your thumb against the edge of the blanket. “They cared a lot abou doing well.”

“In school?”

“In everything.”

Another pause. “If I got a good grade…” You smiled weakly. “They’d ask why it wasn’t higher.”

Ellie’s eyebrows lifted. “Ouch.”

You shrugged. “It wasn’t… bad.” It sounded like you were trying to convince yourself as much as her. “They thought they were helping.”

“Were they?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. “I don’t know.” The answer sat between you. Honest. Simple. “I was always…” You looked toward the ceiling. “…The responsible kid.”

Ellie snorted softly. “That’s not hard to believe”

“The teachers trusted me.”

“Mhm.”

“If someone forgot homework…”

“You had yours.”

“I had everyone’s.”

Ellie laughed. “I knew it.”

“I never wanted anyone to be disappointed.”

The words came out before you could stop them. You blinked. “…Huh.”

Ellie looked at you for a moment. She didn’t make a joke. Didn’t brush past it. She just nodded once. “I kinda figured.”

You looked over. “You did?”

“Like I said, you apologize when people bump into you.”

“…That’s polite.”

“It is.” She smiled. “But it also says a lot.”

You thought about that. Then frowned. Ellie tilted her head. “So…” She grinned. “You were born with a planner?”

You looked at her, horrified. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

She narrowed her eyes dramatically. “You hesitated.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were remembering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You absolutely were.”

You felt yourself smiling despite your best efforts. “I was six.”

Ellie immediately pointed at you. “You had little colored tabs.”

“They weren’t—” You stopped as you watched her face turn into an even wider grin in horror.

Ellie’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t!”

“You almost defended the tabs!”

You buried your face in your hands. “I don’t like you.”

Ellie laughed so loudly she nearly slipped farther down the bed. “You definitely had a planner.”

“You are making assumptions.”

“They’re incredibly accurate assumptions.”

You huffed. “…It was a notebook.”

Ellie stared. Then she laughed even harder. “I knew it!”

“It wasn’t a planner!”

“It was emotionally a planner.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed too. It started as a reluctant little breath through your nose. Then it grew. Soon your shoulders were shaking just as much as hers. The sound filled the room.

When the laughter finally settled, you wiped absent tears from the corners of your eyes. “Your turn.”

Ellie leaned her head back against the wall. “My turn?”

“Yes. You asked me.”

“So?”

“So now you answer.”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t nearly as interesting.”

“I doubt that.”

She let out a thoughtful hum. “My childhood was…”Another shrug. “Messier…My Dad used to think I’d either become famous or end up arrested.”

You blinked. “…Those are very different outcomes.”

“Exactly.” She grinned. “I kept people guessing.” You laughed quietly at her enthusiasm. “I used to sneak out.”

You looked at her. “Really? Why?” She scratched absentmindedly at her jaw. “My ex girlfriend.”

You froze for the briefest moment. Girlfriend. The word landed somewhere low in your stomach before you had time to prepare for it. You couldn’t exactly say you were surprised. If someone had asked you to guess, you probably would’ve.

Still… Hearing Ellie say it so casually made something inside you flutter strangely. You immediately ignored it. “What is her name?”

“Her name was Cat. We’re not y’know…anymore”

“Catherine?”

Ellie smiled. “No. Just… Cat.”

You nodded slowly. “And you’d sneak out?”

“All the time.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

Ellie laughed. “Constantly.”

“I thought you were fearless.”

“Nah. Not when it comes to Joel” her father, you guessed. “I just did dumb stuff anyway.”

You smiled. “That sounds more believable.”

“I got caught plenty.”

“I can imagine.”

She told you about climbing back through her bedroom window one night only to discover Joel sitting on the edge of her bed waiting for her. “He didn’t even yell.”

“What did he do?”

“He just looked at me and went…” She lowered her voice into a surprisingly convincing impression. “‘You done embarrassing yourself?’”

You laughed. “What happened?”

“I got grounded.”

“Were you upset?”

“I was mostly impressed he stayed awake.” You laughed again. She smiled at the memory. “He taught me guitar.”

Your eyes drifted toward the instrument leaning against the wall. “Really?”

“Mhm.” She nodded. “He wasn’t… exactly patient.”

“You?”

“Yeah.”

You scrunch your nose up, not entirely convinced. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh, shut up.” You smiled. “He’d make me play the same chord over and over.” She mimed pressing invisible strings. “I hated it.”

“But you kept going.”

She nodded. “I think…” Her voice became quieter. “I just liked having something I could do alone.”

You looked at her. Really looked. There wasn’t any bitterness in her expression. Just something thoughtful. Something almost distant. You’d expected stories about parties. About getting into trouble. About doing reckless things.

Instead… She remembered the quiet moments.

The small ones. The ones that mattered. You realized she’d told you what Joel used to wear while they practiced. How he’d always tap the rhythm against his knee. How he’d pretend not to notice when she’d play the wrong chord twice.

Tiny details. The kind people only remembered if they’d meant something. She smiled to herself. “I still have my first guitar pick.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. A bit broken. It’s useless.”

“But you kept it.”

She shrugged. “It felt wrong to throw away.” You watched her as she spoke. The tiny scar through one eyebrow caught your attention. You’d never noticed it before. Or maybe you had. Just not properly.

Freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose, more noticeable now in the warm light. A loose strand of auburn hair kept slipping into her eyes.

Every few minutes she’d absentmindedly blow it away instead of tucking it back. She laughed loudly.

She swore every other sentence. She acted like nothing ever got to her. And yet… She remembered everything. The little things. The sentimental things.

The things most people forgot. You weren’t sure she’d even realized she was showing you that part of herself. “…What?” Her voice pulled you back. You hadn’t realized you’d been staring.

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re thinking too hard.”

You blinked. “…I’m observing.”

Ellie groaned dramatically. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“The weed wore off just enough for you to become observant again.”

A sleepy laugh escaped you. “I never stopped.”

“No.” She smiled, nudging your shoulder lightly with hers beneath the blanket. “I guess you didn’t.”

Neither of you moved away. Neither of you seemed to notice that somewhere during the conversation, your shoulders had ended up resting comfortably against each other. Or maybe… You both noticed. And neither of you minded enough to mention it.

Ellie was still talking occasionally, jumping between stories with the kind of enthusiasm that made it obvious she remembered every tiny detail.

She was explaining something about one of her old neighbors, something you had already forgotten the beginning of but were still listening to anyway, when that familiar strand of hair fell into her face again.

You noticed. You had noticed every time it happened tonight. Usually, Ellie would just blow it away. Exactly like she was about to do now. You watched her lips part slightly, ready to push air upward. And without really thinking… You moved.

Your hand lifted. Your fingers brushed the strand away from her face, tucking it back where it belonged. The movement was so natural that you didn’t realize what you’d done until it was already over. Ellie stopped. Completely.

Your hand lingered for half a second too long before you quickly pulled it back. And then your eyes met. Everything went quiet. For a moment, your brain caught up just enough to realize how absurdly cliché this was.

Seriously. It was the kind of thing that happened in movies. The dramatic pause. The soft lighting.

The accidental touch. The two people staring at each other like they had suddenly forgotten how being normal worked. You almost smiled. Because honestly? It was ridiculous. Except… You understood why people wrote scenes like this.

Because apparently, annoyingly, they were right.

There was something about it. Something about looking at someone and realizing you were closer than you had been before. Something about the sudden awareness of another person.

Your heart gave one strange, heavy beat. Then another. And immediately, you panicked.

You looked away. Fast. Cleared your throat. Because apparently the best way to deal with a moment like that was to completely destroy it. “So…” You stared very intently at the blanket.

“You know, technically, if your hair keeps falling in your face, it might be because your hair is trying to escape you.” Silence. You immediately regretted everything. Ellie didn’t say anything. Which was worse. You looked back at her. She was staring. Not in a bad way.

Just… Processing. Then you noticed the way her mouth twitched. She was trying. Actually trying. Not to laugh. Your face immediately heated. “Don’t.”

That made it worse. Her shoulders shook once. “I’m not laughing.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are physically holding it in.”

She pressed her lips together. “I swear I’m not.” You stared at her. A second passed. Then another. Finally, you looked away again. “That was a good joke.” Ellie made a strangled noise.

You closed your eyes. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was still fighting a smile.

“I am.” You glanced at her. She was looking at you with the most apologetic expression she could manage. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t very convincing when she was clearly one second away from laughing again. “You’re terrible.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve pretended it was funny.”

“I tried.”

“You failed.”

“Yeah.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “But for what it’s worth…” You looked at her. She shrugged. “You were very confident when you said it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That does not help.”

“I know.”

“You’re making it worse.

“I know.” You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped. Ellie smiled when she heard it. Not the teasing one. The softer one.

The one that appeared when she wasn’t trying to be funny or annoying. And that somehow made your chest feel strange all over again. So you immediately looked away. Because apparently that was becoming your new strategy. Ignore things. Hope they disappear.

Unfortunately, with Ellie Williams sitting beside you under the same blanket, that strategy was becoming increasingly ineffective.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Masterlist ⊹ ࣪ ˖

@vahnilla @saurbunsies @lxsztomaniaa

[renskylo-deactivated20211212]

[cucumberr0]

reading bloom town 🧐

[maybemacdc]

[sophiethatchersource]

Sophie Thatcher photographed by Jason Renaud before the Her Private Hell private screening (July 21st, 2026)

[didanagy]

SLEEPING BEAUTY (1959)

dir. clyde geronimi, eric larson, wolfgang reitherman, les clark

[chocochip087]

Me and the 3 other ellabs shippers just cheered

[chocochip087]

HELLO ELLABS COMMUNITY I COOKED UP ANOTHER ELLABS ART FOR YALL

[svndaymorning12]

Ethel & Willoughby

[only-alter-idem]

i wake up, i think about how pretty nat is, i go back to sleep

[empire-of-light]

YELLOWJACKETS 2.09 • Storytelling

[snuffuri]

save a horse

[butchqueersapphic]

Paris lesbian club, 1934

[ruin333r]

i got requested to draw tess and i love it

[ceraphyte]

angry abby

[atsapphictown]

🝮 ⋆ ⸻ 𝕋𝕠𝕡 𝔹𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕖𝕣

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: cellmate!abby x reader

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠: implied mention of addiction and loss , fluff , masturbation , fingering (r!receiving) , everyone has a bush (because you know, prison) , muscle mummy abby , abby’s a literature nerd

𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: jail isn’t so boring since your new cellmate arrived. abby notices how your cheeks flush and your bottom lip slips between your teeth every time she does a pull up. she drives you crazy, and she knows it. how will she react when the attraction gets too much for you late at night?

𝑤𝑐: 3.4k

abby x reader oneshot masterlist , abby x reader oneshot taglist , masterlists

𝑎/𝑛: this fic is based on this blurb by @littlexdeaths (thanks for giving me permission to write this!). i've never been to prison, much less an american one, so apologies for the probably many inaccuracies. also, I will take any and every opportunity to talk about abby’s love for literature

You want to read. You truly do.

Pride and Prejudice sits open in your lap, but every time you reach the bottom of a page, you've forgotten every word on it.

A soft grunt cuts through the prison cell, lifting your eyes off the page, again. Abby hangs from the doorway, arms flexing as she does a pull-up with effortless control.

Abby has only been your cellmate for a couple of days. At first she seemed agitated and argumentative. You'd learnt to only speak when spoken to, but something about Abby made you desperate to know more.

She gave short responses, likely not wanting to get tangled in any drama. But yesterday she'd opened up and you had talked for over two hours. Conversation drifted from the prison's worst meals to inmate gossip, and, unexpectedly to both of you, it settled on your lives before prison.

You'd told your past first, describing how you'd fallen in with the wrong crowd and done things you deeply regretted.

Abby listened with a deep intimacy. She caught every hesitation, every name that snagged your tongue, every memory you skimmed over before it dragged you back into a whirlwind of emotions.

Conversation eventually moved to her. She detailed how she'd tried to sneak a younger boy over the boarder. The boy, Lev, was in an unsafe household.

Her eyes shone for a moment before she glanced up at the ceiling, blinking the tears away.

"I don't regret helping him," she sputtered, "I just wish he'd made it somewhere safe."

You'd both gone to sleep after that. Or well, you fell asleep.

Abby lay awake, staring at the underside of the bunk above as she listened to your uneven breathing and the faint, incoherent mumbles that slipped from your sleep.

She cycled her memories of Lev, the image of the boy's face when they got caught burnt into her eyelids. Light tears traced the scar carved across her cheek before falling and tinting her pillow. She didn't wipe them away when no one was watching.

Abby's shoulders shimmer with a thin layer of sweat, her skin flush with exertion. A bead breaks free, tracing a slow path down the curvature of her arm before disappearing beneath the fabric of her orange tank top. The damp material clings to her back, moulding itself to the faint outline of her sports bra underneath.

You pretend to read another sentence. It doesn't process.

She drops from the doorframe and twists her body just enough to lock eyes with you.

It's obvious you've been gawking. Abby had felt the weight of your gaze prickling across her shoulders. Still, she didn't stop, didn't acknowledge it. She kept going, letting your eyes linger if they wished.

You break the eye contact almost immediately, heat flooding your cheeks as you force your attention back to the page.

Abby wipes her moist forehead with the hem of her top, revealing the sculpted stomach and soft blond happy trail beneath.

"Jane Austen," she blurts, making you jump.

"Pride and Prejudice is a classic, who's your favourite?"

Her question shakes around in your empty skull. You couldn't name one character.

Your eyes frantically search the page for a clue, settling on the first name you see.

"Jane is sweet," the shake in your voice surprises you.

"Yeah, she is. Might be cliché, but I've always loved Elizabeth best." Abby deepens her voice, "She trusts herself, her opinions and judgments. And she doesn't settle for less than she's worth. I… admire that."

Abby drops her top and you allow yourself to lock eyes with her.

"She reminds me of you," Abby mumbles, turning her focus to the apparently incredibly interesting floor.

"A bit," she follows up in an embarrassed plea to reverse her words.

"Really?" your smile once holding embarrassment twists into mischief. “So you admire me,"

"No," Abby snickers before pausing. She stares deep into your soul, seriousness coating over her features.

"You're not Elizabeth. You're definitely Mr. Collins."

You stare her down.

Who the fuck is Mr. Collins?

"I don't…" you pause, "know whether that's a good thing."

Abby lets out a weary chuckle, reaching back to massage the base of her neck that she's been whining about. "That just proves my point. Keep reading."

Embarrassment stains your cheeks.

Page 1. You've been rereading the same first paragraphs for the last couple of days.

You're both interrupted by the screeching sound of metal scraping against metal as the hatch of the food tray door slams open. Two trays of stale bread with an abnormally thick and cold soup slides through the hatch.

Another five-star fucking meal. Be lucky if I don't die from vitamin deficiency in here.

You try to force the soup down your throat, but the twist in your stomach rejects it. The bread is much more manageable.

You stuff the remaining bread in your mouth and enthusiastically toss the tray holding the soup across the floor.

The tray clatters loudly before coming to a stop beside Abby's foot.

She glances at the tray, then you.

"May I?" she asks.

"Be my guest," you say, resorting to playing with your fingers to pass the time.

Abby snatches the tray, sliding it to her side and dunking her bread into the thick soup. She guards the tray like a hungry lion, not that you'd want it back anyway.

"How do you eat that stuff?" you question, almost laughing out loud at her animalistic eating.

Abby gulps down her mouthful. "Reminds me of something my Dad used to make." She was already preparing her next bite.

"Wow, your Dad must've been a chef," a smirk tugs at your mouth.

Abby looks up at you with an unamused glare, but beneath it, pain flickers in her irises.

"No," is all she responds, her expression changing back so quickly you almost miss it entirely.

The smirk melts off your face in an instant, swallowed by the heavy silence consuming the cramped room.

You sit up from the floor and climb up to your bed, lying there until lights-out.

Abby savours every last bite with a delicate patience before crawling into her bed mere seconds before it switches black.

The cold evening air and pitch-black silence wraps around you. It should be the perfect sleeping conditions, but you can't get comfortable.

The bed creaks as you shift your weight from the left, to the right, to the middle, then back to the right.

Your toes wriggle, itching for movement.

You’re contemplating getting up and running laps around the tiny cell until you're exhausted, but your thoughts wander back to Abby.

Her arms curled, slick with her bodily oils. Her soft grunts and whimpers of athletic struggle.

The thoughts bundle and flow downward, settling in your lower abdomen.

You roll onto your back, earning another whine from the bed frame, and quietly slip your hand underneath your thin prison sweats. You’re especially careful not to slap the band of your underwear.

You press your lips together, repressing a whimper as your hand reaches your heat. You spread yourself open, your ring and middle finger already drenched in slick.

Your hand begins performing lazy, wide circles over your clit; the bed creaking as you raise your hips. You try to control your breathing, but soft moans and uneven breaths still escape your lips.

The circles turn more desperate, Abby's body flashing in between waves of pleasure.

You wonder if she's asleep or if you've woken her up.

You wish she would pop her head up over the ladder and climb onto the thin, firm mattress. She'd kiss down your stomach, looping her tongue around your clit. Her strong arms holding your thighs apart, even when you're squirming as your eyes flicker with stars. Her movements gentle yet vigorous with desire. Desire for you. To hold you, please you, worship you.

Your fingers slide into your cunt, but you imagine they're Abby's.

Your walls clench at the base of your fingers. You want so desperately to call out Abby's name, to bring the fantasy into reality.

You begin to find a rhythm, fingers curling at the perfect spot. Sweet noises are at the tip of your tongue, pleading to be released. You force your free hand over your mouth, muffling the whimpers.

Your breathing builds, your heart pounding out of your chest as you murmur broken pleas through your hushed lips.

The corners of your vision start to blur and crackle. Your eyes roll back as the pleasure consumes your body. The orgasm thrashes over you, your whole body convulsing and your limbs tingling.

You slowly come down from the high, your spine lowering back onto the bed.

You steadily remove your hand and gather yourself as you roll over for the final time before finally falling asleep.

As sleep begins to pull you under, your mind lingers on one thought:

How much did she hear… if she heard anything at all? What would she think if she did? Why do I even care?

Abby lay below, eyes wide.

She'd heard everything. The whimpers, the muffled moans, the slick sounds. She'd watched your bed frame move with every thrust and wave. She'd noticed what noises you made with the depth and rhythm of the thrust. How you'd worked yourself up and how you'd calmed yourself down.

Her legs are crossed, thighs impatiently grinding together.

She waits longer than you did. Long enough to be certain that you're asleep, deeply asleep. Then, and only then, she allows herself to take care of her desires.

She only rubs her heat for a couple of minutes before throwing her head back in a bliss. The thought of you, your release, it makes her crazy.

Abby didn't manage any sleep. She lies with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes wandering aimlessly around the cell, searching for anything that might distract her from the ache she refused to acknowledge.

You awake to the sound of the food trays being delivered through the door.

Abby has already been moving about, but she's waiting for you to start her workout. She could go to the courtyard and use the gym equipment, but it'd be no fun without you. The equipment is old and shitty anyway.

You climb out of bed, hair dishevelled and fingers still smelling of last night.

Abby's eyes stay on you for a beat too long. No greeting, just a stare.

Oh, she knows. She definitely knows. Fuck it, let her know.

You gulp down the thought, breaking eye contact first.

This morning you eat the shitty provided breakfast. Not because it tastes good, but because you're famished.

Abby throws you awkward glances, clearly disturbed by your hunger. She slides her tray over to you far more gracefully than you managed last night.

You look up at her over your full cheeks.

"I owe you anyway," is all Abby offers in explanation. You accept it.

Abby watches with a slight smirk as you devour both plates.

"What?" you ask teasingly, with an undertone of annoyance.

"Nothing," she represses her smile, "keep enjoying it, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

Heat flows up your neck. You don't hate it, but she can't know that.

She waits until you finish the food before starting her pull-ups.

You don't try to hide your wandering eyes today. She knows you're watching, admiring. It's becoming an unspoken routine.

Abby's top rides up every time she lowers herself and her grunts increase with each rep. Her arms begin to glisten with sweat, flexing with each motion.

Your stomach flips, the breakfast threatening to come back up. You almost need to chain yourself down to not go over there and ride her top up to explore all of her.

Once Abby finishes and sits by the wall, you climb back up to your bed.

You read for hours. Actually reading this time.

You comb through 137 pages of Pride and Prejudice. You now understood who Mr. Collins is, sparing a glance in Abby's direction before chuckling and rolling your eyes.

It's an intimate story about finding love, or what love meant to women in the early 1900s who needed to marry to survive.

It didn't strike you as Abby's taste; suppose she never fails to surprise you.

Another meal that you slid over to Abby and it was lights out again.

But you don't wait 15 minutes this time. Or more you can't.

Almost instantly after the lights flicker off, your hand is back where it needs to be.

Truthfully, you've been waiting for this release since you finished last night. Your slick has been staining your panties all day.

The thought of Abby's body makes you want to crawl on your knees begging for touch. Pathetically feral.

This time, you don't conceal your moans. You allow your free hand to play with your nipple under your bra, causing more choked moans to escape your lips.

The noises of your slick and the shake of the bed fill the room more prominently tonight.

Your pants are annoying you, limiting the angle you desperately need to reach. You slip them down and off your ankles, leaving your legs over the thin blanket.

You're pleasure is already building when you notice a different noise between your whimpers.

It's a softer voice that sounds as though it's holding back its natural volume. You also recognise familiar wet noises that aren't your own.

You abruptly stop masturbating but the noises continue from below.

"Abby—"

The noises stop, the cell falling silent. The air is polluted with warmth and sex.

There is no point lying or pretending nothing happened. You both know what each other was doing and why they were doing it.

You take a deep breath, "would you want to… come up here?"

Abby goes silent. She stiffens up, not knowing how to react.

Without her saying a word, you hear her slowly move off her bed and climb the short ladder up to the top bunk.

She stands at the top of the ladder. Her prison pants sit loose around her hips, stretching where her hand was just moments before. The crotch of her pants is vaguely damp.

She looks at you with a dazed glow. Her eyes meet yours, her pupils widening as they explore the flecks of colour swirling through your irises. Her gaze then wanders around your body, first landing on your tits that are outlined underneath your bright orange top. They then find your parted legs, your slick staining your underwear. Her gaze drifts back up to your lips, studying their shape and soft curves.

She slips into the bed, bracing herself above you with her arms planted on either side of your head. Then she leans down until her plush lips meet yours.

The kiss starts slow and delicate. Then it becomes messy. Abby tangles her tongue with yours, a soft moan echoing between your mouths.

One of Abby's hands starts exploring your waist, following the curvature and petting over your tummy.

Abby's mouth eventually shifts downward, never pulling away. The soft kisses move down your chin and jaw, stopping at your neck.

A choked exhale exits your throat as Abby sucks, hard. You feel Abby's mouth warp into a smirk as the skin starts to stain a flush fuchsia.

Abby pulls herself away, her plushy pink lips looking down at you. Her eyes glaze over your body, landing on your top.

"I don't like this," she exclaimes, stretching the fabric between her fingers before slapping it back down.

You sit up just enough to force the shirt and bra over your head, quickly examining the fabric before tossing it onto the floor below.

When you look back at Abby, her eyes are black. Her pupils are blown wide, her blue iris barely visible as she examines your soft perks.

"Better?" you tease.

Abby doesn't reply. She brings her hand up, cupping the bottom of your breast as her thumb starts to work your nipple.

You lay back down, adjusting yourself into a comfortable position on the bed. You want to absorb every moment of touch. The touch you'd been waiting so desperately for.

Abby begins to move herself lower, her legs hanging off the bed as she kisses down your stomach.

"Is this okay?" she asks.

"Mhm… mm," is all you can manage with your lungs that have seemingly forgotten how to perform their sole function.

Abby stops with her head above your stomach but her hand keeps travelling down. Her fingertips snake underneath the band of your underwear, reaching your unkempt hair. She parts the tangled mess and explores between your lips, rewarding her a soft hum. Her fingers are already damp with her own slick.

Abby lets out a low moan as she finds your entrance. She begins by slipping in one finger. Your walls desperately clutch around it, begging for more, deeper, faster. She does none of those, she begins a painfully slow and shallow rhythm.

"Ab—Abby," you break through, "more please."

Abby lets out a low chuckle.

"Not yet, sweetheart. You're too precious for me to rush through this."

You let out soft gasps and chokes. You're too desperate for this speed, your body is screaming for all of Abby.

Abby's eyes never leave yours, even when you squeeze them shut.

After what felt like an eternity, she slips in a second finger, keeping the slow pace but inching in slightly deeper.

Your body responds instantly, walls closing around Abby, back arching, and palms digging into the thin sheet.

You can feel your body beginning to match Abby's pace, your breath hitching more often and harder.

As your body starts to relish in the feeling, Abby pauses and slips in a third finger.

Your pussy stretches to match her length, a soft cry slipping through your lips.

You can feel Abby’s forearm muscles contracting with each thrust. Abby towers over you, her silhouette shadowing over you, even in the darkness.

"Just like that," she whispers.

Abby's words cause it to all flood over you. A wave of warmth and tension spreads from between your legs, absorbing every last inch of composure you held. You throw your neck backward, your moan of unadulterated pleasure fills the room.

Abby works you through every wave that thrashes over you. Holding you up.

Your body begins to slow down with each flush of pleasure. It eventually stops responding, only twitching and oversensitive.

Abby gently removes her fingers and scoots over to lie down next to you.

She wraps her big arm around you, softly stroking your now matted and frizzy hair away from your eyes. The tips of her fingers brush over your jawline, still warm with your sex.

"You okay?" she asks in a soft raspy voice, like she's the one who's just been screaming.

You nod softly, tingles spread through you at the movement. You're still so sensitive.

She reaches for the blanket, now lying in a crumpled heap against the wall, and drapes it over you.

"I've been wanting to do that since I got here," Abby whispers along your ear.

"Me too," you mumble, your voice little more than mush.

Abby swings a leg over you, her hand never leaving the corners of your face.

The rest of the evening is a jumble of Abby's breathing, the cold, and the bed's desperate creaks under the weight of two people.

You fell asleep like the flick of a light switch. The horny waves had worked like melatonin.

Abby sleeps through the night for the first time in weeks. She watched as you drifted off, admiring your untangled beauty. The warmth radiating from your body gently lulled her eyes shut.

You awake the next morning to find her staring.

You offer her a sleepy smile, her constant eye contact flipping your stomach.

The moment is broken by the arrival of your 'breakfast'.

If the staff saw you two like this or, god forbid, found out about last night…

You force your aching hips up. Light red spots tint your neck. Evidence.

"They'll separate us if they find out," you state the obvious to Abby.

"Mhm," the husky mumble causes your heart to skip a beat. "It'll be our little secret, then."

𝑎/𝑛: you have no idea how tempted i was to make abby fall off the bed in the end. and no, i don’t know any other exercises apart from pull ups. also, i haven’t read pride and prejudice in ages so sorry for how vague that part is. i feel like i'm starting to understand what i need to improve on (e.g. showing the emotions not telling them: immersion). i think i like my first fic better than this one so i appreciate any feedback :)

thank you for reading 🝮