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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ muñeca — been a tumblr girl since 2015 .ᐟ cat enthusiast, lemon drop martini luvr, self-made atelier, and music connoisseur .‧ 🜲
up thinking about whimsy!reader & hannah wells as a couple ೀ
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ♡ this was originally supposed to be posted when i originally posted whimsy!reader but i got requests and wanted to do those first because they deserve but this is my first official post for hannah wells and im so so so excited, my requests are currently closed.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ♡ none!
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ♡ hannah wells x whimsy!reader
⤿ this is whimsy!reader & hannah wells’ first wlw relationship and safe to say, they’re so nervous it’s adorable!!! they’re constantly asking each other if certain touches are okay or even if they’re comfortable with a simple hug.
⤿ whimsy!reader & hannah wells kiss like crazy. nothing sexual or anything (as of right now) but every task done together, there’s at least 4 kisses minimum. about to go to the bathroom? quick peck. studying? another peck. cooking together? 40 different kisses happen.
⤿ hannah wells favorite way of physical touch with whimsy!reader is holding her hand or placing a hand on her hip or waist. after countless of talks and explaining comfortability, they both mutual agreed they can hold each other that way.
⤿ whimsy!reader loves to cuddle hannah wells. if she could, she would physically get into her girlfriend’s skin but the closet she gets is getting up under her too big t-shirt. a win is a win
⤿ hannah wells watches whimsy!reader try on a million different outfits and she loves it. whimsy is kind of indecisive so her mind switches about a simple grocery store outfit, but her girlfriend helps her in the end so all is well in the world.
⤿ whimsy!reader randomly smiles at hannah wells and when asked why, she just says she’s happy to have her in which has her girlfriend blushing like crazy.
⤿ hannah wells loves showing off whimsy!reader in a casual way. when asked whose that on her lock screen, she simply just says her girlfriend and shows the picture. doesn’t make a big fuss but acknowledges that that’s her girl on her phone and no one else.
⤿ whimsy!reader makes clothes that fit her but also can fit hannah wells. one day she was altering her shirt and forgot to wear it and her girlfriend put it on and realized that she looks so pretty. so now everytime she’s altering or fixing something, she tries her best to make sure it can also fit her girlfriend comfortably.
⤿ hannah wells & whimsy!reader are the cutest and sweetest couple ever and everyone loves watching them slowly fall in love!!!!!
garrett graham definitely gets turned on when he sees you wearing his hockey jersey.
normally you’d sleep in one of his t-shirts when you stayed over, but you saw one of his jerseys folded up in his drawer and couldn’t resist trying it on.
garrett would go absolutely crazy when he saw you in it, walking into his room to see you lazily lounging in his bed with it on would have him freezing in place.
at first you couldn’t quite gauge his reaction — that was until you saw him discreetly trying to adjust himself, immediate arousal flowing through his body at the sight.
“fuck baby, what are you doing with that on?” he asked breathily, his training bag dropping to the floor with a soft thud.
you just playfully shrugged in response, letting the view speak for itself.
when he saw that you were only wearing a little pair of panties underneath, his clothes were in a pile at his feet before you could even blink.
and he would make you keep it on while he fucked you, the material bunched up between his fingers as he used it as leverage to pull you closer to him.
summary: the four times your friend group tried to set you up with logan, and the one time they find out you’ve been dating the entire time
established relationship
warnings: just pure sappy fluff, usage of y/n
word count: 4.2k
a/n: based on this request! i hope you like it :))
john logan masterlist off campus masterlist
── ᵎᵎ ✦
the funny thing about keeping your relationship with logan a secret was that neither of you had ever actually decided to.
if someone had asked during those first few weeks, you probably would’ve told them. there wasn’t anything scandalous about it. no reason to hide. nobody in your friend group would’ve cared beyond teasing the two of you for a while before eventually moving on.
it just… never came up.
the relationship itself had arrived so quietly that, looking back, neither of you could really pinpoint where friendship had ended and something else had begun.
after hockey season, you’d simply started spending more time together. study sessions that always seemed to run too late to justify walking back to your own dorm straight away. dinners that lasted twice as long as either of you intended because conversation came so easily with him. evenings spent wandering across campus without much destination in mind, filling the silence with the sort of conversations that only happened when neither person felt any pressure to keep talking.
somewhere between spring arriving and final exams looming over campus, he’d walked you back to your dorm after one of your study sessions like he always did.
the conversation had drifted off several minutes earlier, leaving only the sound of your footsteps against the pavement and the distant buzz of students enjoying one of the first genuinely warm evenings of the year.
you’d stopped outside your building. he’d looked at you for a moment before kissing you.
it hadn’t been particularly dramatic. there hadn’t been fireworks or declarations or some overwhelming certainty that everything had changed. it had simply felt… right.
afterward, logan had rubbed the back of his neck with the slightest hint of uncertainty before quietly asking if that had been okay. you’d kissed him again instead of answering.
that had been four months ago.
the next morning, you’d still met everyone for breakfast. logan had still sat beside you because he always did. you’d stolen fries from his plate because you always did. he’d walked you back to your dorm after classes because he always did.
the only real difference was that now, when nobody was looking, he’d steal a quick kiss before heading back across campus.
for a while, having something that belonged only to the two of you had been… nice.
your relationship existed outside everyone else’s opinions. there were no questions, no teasing, no constant interruptions every time one of you sat beside the other. it was just yours, tucked quietly into the spaces between lectures and late-night walks and evenings spent curled up together in your dorm.
eventually, though, the novelty faded.
more than once, one of you would look at the other and say, we should probably tell everyone.
the other would agree, but then someone would change the subject, or dinner would arrive, or you’d both forget. the conversation kept being postponed until it somehow became stranger to announce it than not to.
neither of you worried about it, because you assumed everyone would find out eventually. you just hadn’t anticipated it to take so long.
by the time coach finally called it, the sun had already started dipping behind the campus buildings, painting long shadows across the parking lot outside the arena. everyone was tired in that familiar, satisfying sort of way that followed a good skate. conversation came easier once helmets were off and sticks had been tossed carelessly into the back of trucks, the intensity of practice gradually giving way to the comfortable rhythm the team always seemed to settle into afterward.
logan adjusted the strap of his hockey bag higher on his shoulder as he stepped out of the rink. he’d texted you nearly an hour earlier.
logan: running late don’t wait if you’re hungry
you: too late already ordered enough fries for both of us x
he’d smiled to himself without really thinking about it.
logan: good
the parking lot had begun emptying by the time he started walking toward campus. several of the guys peeled off in different directions, climbing into cars or heading toward the hockey house, until eventually only garrett remained beside him since they had decided to carpool.
for a while, neither of them spoke. garrett, however, lasted about three more minutes until he felt the need to break the silence, “you know…”
logan glanced over. garrett shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, looking ahead as though the conversation wasn’t particularly important, “y/n’s cool.”
logan nodded once, “yeah.”
garrett continued walking, “i mean it.”
“i know.”
“she’s funny.”
another nod from logan, “she is.”he wasn’t entirely sure where the conversation was going yet.
people complimented their friends all the time. it didn’t seem especially noteworthy. garrett kept talking anyway, “she actually knows hockey.”
“yeah.”
“which is rare.”
logan thought about the number of times you’d sat through games you hadn’t understood at first, asking quiet questions until the rules gradually began making sense. now you caught missed penalties before half the people around you did. you’d been strangely pleased with yourself the first time that happened. he’d been pleased too, though.
“she’s easy to be around,” garrett said.
logan looked at him, “…she is.”
there wasn’t much point pretending otherwise; you were. conversation with you never felt forced, and silence didn’t either. most evenings, the two of you could spend hours together without either of you feeling the need to constantly fill the space between you. logan had never realised how rare that was until he’d found it.
garrett slowed slightly as they reached the crosswalk outside the arena and looked sideways at logan, “you should ask her out.”
the traffic light changed. logan waited for a car to pass before stepping off the curb, “oh, i already did.”
garrett laughed. not the polite sort of laugh people gave when they weren’t sure whether someone was joking. it was a genuine laugh, “yeah?”
logan frowned faintly, “yeah.”
“good one,” garrett laughed again.
for a second, logan wondered whether he’d said something wrong. then he realised garrett thought he was kidding, but before he could explain, garrett was already talking again, “seriously, though, i think you’d really like her.”
you discovered hannah’s theory by the middle of the semester over afternoon coffee.
the two of you had escaped campus between lectures, ducking into della’s diner. it had become something of an unspoken tradition over the past year. whenever your schedules lined up, you’d spend an hour there together before heading back to class, talking about everything and absolutely nothing until one of you inevitably glanced at the time and realised you were already running late.
that afternoon was no different. hannah was halfway through describing one of garrett’s increasingly questionable cooking experiments when she paused.
her expression shifted ever so slightly. not dramatically, just enough that you’d learned to recognise she was about to say something she’d clearly been thinking about for a while.
she stirred her coffee absentmindedly before looking up, “can i ask you something?”
you nodded, “always.”
her spoon clinked softly against the side of her mug, “have you ever thought about logan?”
thankfully, your coffee was already back on the table, otherwise, you suspected you might’ve dropped it. you blinked as you did your best to keep your expression neutral, “in what way?”
hannah shrugged one shoulder, “in a dating way.”
you hummed thoughtfully, lowering your eyes to your drink before she could read your face too closely, “why are you asking?”
she smiled to herself, “i don’t know.” which, coming from hannah, almost certainly meant she knew exactly why. she tucked one leg beneath herself in the booth before continuing, “i’ve just been watching you two.”
your heart gave the smallest, traitorous little skip. not because you thought she’d figured it out, but because she was far more observant than most people gave her credit for.
you’d spent the last four months being careful. never sitting too close when everyone else was around. never holding hands unless nobody could see. keeping kisses to empty hallways, quiet walks back to your dorm, and the brief moments before one of you inevitably headed home for the night.
you’d convinced yourself nobody had noticed and, for the first time, you wondered if maybe someone had.
hannah rested both hands around her mug, “he always ends up sitting beside you.”
you smiled faintly, “there’s usually a free seat.”
“maybe.” she shrugged, but she looked unconvinced, “but he always notices when you leave the room.”
you hadn’t realised anyone else had noticed that. it happened almost unconsciously; whether you were getting another drink, answering your phone, or stepping away to use the bathroom, his eyes almost always followed you for a second before returning to whatever conversation he’d been having.
he didn’t seem aware he was doing it and neither had you. until now.
hannah continued, counting quietly on her fingers, “he remembers everything you tell him.”
you opened your mouth to answer, but immediately closed it again. she wasn’t wrong.
logan remembered things. all sorts of things. the name of your favourite author after you’d mentioned it once in passing. which professor insisted on surprise quizzes every friday. how you always ordered extra fries but never ate the last one. the way you preferred your coffee. the fact that you hated walking across campus with wet socks after it rained.
he carried little pieces of information about you as though remembering them required no effort at all.
“and,” hannah added, smiling into her coffee now, “he always makes sure someone walks you home after group nights.”
this time, you couldn’t help smiling. not because she was wrong, but because she thought it was someone. she had no idea that, more often than not, the someone was logan himself.
you looked back at her, “you’ve thought about this a lot.”
she laughed softly, “a little.”
“a little?”
“okay.”she grinned, “more than a little.”
you shook your head, laughing under your breath, “so…”
hannah leaned forward just enough to rest her elbows on the table, “i think he likes you.”
you let the silence linger for a second. eventually, you took another sip of your coffee, “you think?”
she nodded immediately, “i’m almost certain.”
you traced absentminded circles around the rim of your mug, “i’ll keep that in mind.”
hannah smiled, clearly satisfied she’d done her part.
malone’s was busier than it had been when you’d first arrived; conversations overlapping beneath the steady hum of music drifting through the speakers. pool balls cracked together somewhere behind you every few minutes, punctuated by the occasional cheer whenever someone managed an unexpectedly good shot. every booth seemed occupied, and the warm scent of fried food lingered in the air long after the plates had been cleared away.
the eight of you had claimed the same corner booth you always seemed to end up in.
tucker and dean were arguing over something that had happened during practice earlier that afternoon. allie was attempting to convince hannah that dean had, in fact, exaggerated the entire story. garrett kept interrupting to make things objectively less accurate, while beau looked increasingly entertained the longer the argument continued.
logan sat quietly beside you, only contributing every now and then with the sort of dry comment that somehow made everyone laugh harder than the original story had.
the first round of drinks disappeared into a second. someone ordered fries for the table, garrett immediately claiming most of them.
eventually, dean pushed himself upright, “pool.”
nobody seemed particularly invested one way or the other, but everyone followed him toward the tables anyway.
there was a brief discussion about teams. mostly because dean insisted there needed to be strategy involved despite nobody else caring very much who they played with.
he looked around the group for a moment before pointing at you and logan, “you two, you’re together.”
a silent looked passed between the two of you, but neither of you questioned it, “alright.”
dean looked absurdly pleased with himself and you caught the expression immediately. logan, apparently, did not. he’d already reached for one of the cues leaning against the wall, turning it over once in his hands before offering it to you instead, “this one’s straighter.”
you accepted it automatically, “thanks.”
the game started. calling it competitive would’ve been generous. beau insisted dean wasn’t keeping score properly. dean insisted beau simply couldn’t count. garrett somehow managed to sink the cue ball twice within five minutes. allie laughed so hard she almost missed her own turn.
you weren’t especially good at pool. you’d played often enough to understand the rules, but accuracy remained … inconsistent. halfway through the game, you leaned over the table, squinting down the cue as you tried to line up a shot that looked considerably easier in theory than it did in practice.
you adjusted your grip. then adjusted it again, but something still felt wrong.
before you had the chance to rethink it a third time, logan stepped quietly beside you. he didn’t say anything straight away. instead, he looked from the cue to the angle of your arm before gently reaching for your hand, “here.” his voice stayed low enough that only you heard it. his fingers shifted yours slightly higher along the cue, “you’re holding it too tight.”
his hand was warm and steady against yours. he moved your wrist barely half an inch before stepping back again, his attention returning to the table as though nothing particularly noteworthy had happened, “try that.”
you did and suddenly the ball rolled neatly across the felt. two seconds later, it disappeared cleanly into the corner pocket. you stared after it, “huh.”
logan’s mouth lifted at one corner, “better.”
“little bit,” you smiled despite yourself.
across the room, dean noticed the entire interaction. he leaned sideways toward allie, “see?”
allie followed his gaze, “what?”
“chemistry.”
she looked back toward the two of you. logan was already focused on the table again while you circled around the opposite side, trying to decide which shot came next.
“i think he just helped her,” she knitted her brows as she looked back at the blonde.
“exactly.”
“you’ve become weirdly invested in this.”
“i just think they’d be good together,” he shrugged.
she smiled to herself, “they would.”
by the time the game ended, nobody seemed entirely sure who had actually won. dean claimed it had been your team, but beau disagreed loudly, and garrett insisted the score had become irrelevant after someone accidentally knocked two balls off the table.
eventually, everyone gave up trying to work it out.
chairs scraped against the wooden floor as people stood, conversations overlapped while jackets were pulled on, and someone inevitably realised they’d forgotten to close their tab just as everyone else reached the door. after a few hours, the evening had settled into the comfortable kind of tiredness that came from spending too long laughing with people you genuinely enjoyed being around.
outside, the air had cooled considerably.
the streets were quieter than they’d been when you’d arrived, most of the foot traffic now made up of students wandering back toward campus in small groups. the lights from the bars spilled across the sidewalks, catching against puddles left behind by an afternoon shower and turning them gold.
everyone lingered outside for a minute or two, deciding who was walking where.
dean and allie had parked across the street, garrett and hannah were already arguing over whether they had enough food left at the hockey house to avoid another late-night grocery run, and beau and tucker had somehow wandered into an entirely separate conversation before anyone else had finished saying goodbye.
you slipped your arms into your jacket, only half paying attention.
“i’ve got to head this way,” you said absentmindedly, nodding toward the opposite side of campus, “my dorm’s clear across the other end.”
before anyone could answer, allie looked toward logan who was stood beside you, “logan, can walk you back, right?”
the suggestion landed so naturally that nobody questioned it. logan didn’t hesitate, “yeah.”
you caught the smile dean tried, and failed, to hide. it lasted barely a second before he looked away, but you’d seen it. you knew exactly what he thought had just happened.
allie, on the other hand, looked entirely unconcerned. if she had any ulterior motive, she hid it considerably better than dean ever could. she simply smiled at you, wished you both goodnight, and climbed into the passenger seat of dean’s truck.
one by one, everyone drifted away. before long, only you and logan remained standing beneath the glow of the streetlights outside malone’s, “ready?”
you nodded, “ready.”
the walk back toward campus began in easy silence. you’d discovered early on that neither of you felt any pressure to speak simply because there was empty space to fill. sometimes one of you started talking after a few minutes. sometimes neither of you did. either way, it never felt awkward.
the sidewalks were damp beneath your feet, carrying the faint scent of rain and warm pavement. somewhere across campus, music drifted lazily through the night air before disappearing again as you turned down a quieter path lined with trees.
logan matched his pace to yours without seeming to think about it. he always walked slightly slower when he was with you. not enough that anyone else would notice, but just enough that you never had to hurry to keep up.
you’d made it halfway across campus before you finally smiled to yourself. logan glanced over, “what?”
you shook your head, “i think everyone’s trying to set us up.”
he blinked, “what?”
“garrett, hannah, dean, and now allie,” you gestured vaguely behind you, toward the direction of malone’s, “they’re trying to get us together.”
logan was quiet. you watched him think, his gaze dropping briefly toward the pavement as he replayed the last few weeks in his head. you almost saw the moment everything clicked into place, “oh.”
you smiled, “there it is.”
he looked back at you, “they are trying to set us up.” another few steps passed before he spoke again, “i didn’t notice.”
“i know.”
he rubbed absently at the back of his neck as he chuckled, “i thought garrett was just being friendly.”
you returned the laugh, “he was.”
“…and dean?”
“less subtle.”
“huh.”his expression settled somewhere between thoughtful and faintly amused. for another minute, neither of you said anything. then, quietly— “that’s kind of nice.”
you looked at him, “what is?”
“they like you,” his mouth twitched and the smile that appeared was small enough that most people would’ve missed it entirely.
you didn’t, though. you never did.
the path narrowed as you approached your dorm, forcing the two of you a little closer together. your shoulder brushed his once, then again a few steps later.
the building came into view not long afterward, its windows glowing softly against the dark campus.
you stopped near the entrance and for a moment, neither of you spoke. the night had settled comfortably around you, carrying the distant sounds of laughter from somewhere across campus. “thanks,” you said.
logan looked at you, “for what?”
“walking me home.”
he seemed almost surprised by the question, “always, you know that”
the answer came so simply. as though there had never been another possibility.
something warm settled quietly in your chest. you stepped a little closer, close enough that nobody looking out from the dorm windows would’ve noticed anything unusual. your fingers briefly caught the sleeve of his hoodie, “i know.”
his hands found yours for the smallest moment, hidden between the two of you. he gave them one gentle squeeze before slowly leaning closer to place a soft kiss against your lips, “night.”
the hockey house was unusually quiet that evening. someone had left a hockey game playing on the television more out of habit than genuine interest, and dean and garrett were arguing half-heartedly over something that had happened during practice while tucker scrolled aimlessly through his phone.
allie and hannah occupied opposite ends of the couch, comparing notes for a class neither of you had been unfortunate enough to take.
logan had disappeared upstairs twenty minutes earlier to shower after practice.
you’d made yourself comfortable in the corner of the couch with one of your textbooks balanced across your knees, though you’d spent considerably longer reading the same paragraph than actually understanding it.
your attention drifted every few minutes. sometimes toward the television. sometimes toward whatever dean was complaining about now. sometimes… toward the staircase.
you heard footsteps before you looked up and logan appeared a second later, still rubbing a towel absently through his damp hair. he’d changed into gray sweats and a faded briar hoodie, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. his hair was still slightly damp around the edges, curling faintly where it hadn’t quite dried yet.
your eyes lifted from the textbook almost automatically.
the smallest smile appeared the moment he noticed you. he wandered into the living room, only half paying attention to whatever dean was saying.
as he drew closer, you noticed one of the hoodie strings had twisted itself awkwardly beneath the collar.
without thinking—
completely, utterly without thinking—
you held out your hand, “logan.”
he stopped beside the couch, “hm?”
“come here.”
he stepped closer immediately. not because you’d sounded particularly serious. simply because you’d asked.
you reached up, gently tugging the twisted drawstring free before smoothing the collar flat against his chest. the fabric had folded awkwardly beneath the hood, so you fixed that too, “there.”
logan glanced down briefly, “thanks.”
you brushed one last damp strand of hair away from his forehead before letting your hand fall. the movement had become so instinctive over the past few months that neither of you gave it a second thought.
logan certainly didn’t, because he leaned down to press a brief kiss against your forehead before dropping onto the couch beside you. his hand found yours beneath the blanket draped across your lap with the same unconscious ease he’d done it a hundred times before.
it took several more seconds before you realised the room had gone completely silent.
you looked up to find that dean had stopped talking mid-sentence, garrett still held an unopened bag of chips in one hand, hannah was looking between the two of you with an expression that suggested several months’ worth of observations had suddenly rearranged themselves into one very obvious conclusion, allie blinked only once, and beau looked at each face in turn, then at you, then at logan. the corners of his mouth started twitching.
logan followed your gaze around the room, “oh.”
you looked at him, “shit, we forgot.”
dean found his voice first, “what.”
neither of you answered immediately. mostly because there didn’t seem to be much else to say.
you and logan looked at each other before you finally closed your textbook and set it carefully on the coffee table, “we’re dating.”
silence. dean blinked, again, “what.”
“logan and i are dating.”
another pause and garrett frowned, “since when?”
this time, logan answered, “about four months.”
garrett slowly lowered the bag of chips onto the coffee table as though any sudden movement might somehow change what he’d just heard, “four months.”
logan nodded, “yeah.”
garrett looked genuinely wounded, “i told you to ask her out.”
“i know.”
“you were already dating.”
“yeah.”
garrett stared at him, “why didn’t you tell me?”
logan frowned slightly, considering the question with complete sincerity, “well, you didn’t ask.”
beau made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough. dean ignored him completely as he looked between you and logan, “hold on.”he pointed accusingly between the two of you, “the pool game.”
you looked at him, “what about it?”
“i put you two together.”
“you did.”
“because i was trying to set you up,” he voice raised slightly as he spoke, obviously in complete disbelief.
“we know.”
“you knew?”
you nodded and dean looked personally offended, “the walk home from malone’s.”he turned toward allie, “you literally asked him to walk her home.”
allie slowly covered her face with one hand, “oh my god.”
you smiled apologetically, “he’d actually been walking me home for months.”
allie let out a quiet groan, “we spent an entire semester trying to get these two together.”
another beat of silence passed. then beau finally gave up trying to hold it in. his laugh echoed through the living room, loud enough that dean shot him an unimpressed look before the sound became contagious.
garrett started laughing next. then tucker. even hannah eventually shook her head, smiling into her coffee, “to be fair,” she said, “i did tell her i thought logan liked her.”
you laughed, “you did.”
hannah looked at you, “you could’ve said something.”
“…probably.”
dean threw both hands into the air, “probably?!”
you couldn’t help but smiling, “it was kind of funny.”
dean stared, “funny??”
then beau laughed even harder. dean dropped backward onto the couch with the sort of dramatic resignation usually reserved for championship losses, “i cannot believe,” he muttered, rubbing both hands over his face, “i spent four months accidentally rooting for a relationship that already existed.”
logan gave him a sarcastic smile, “hey, thanks.”
dean groaned loud enough for the entire house to hear, which only made everyone laugh harder.
through the middle of it all, unnoticed by everyone except you, logan’s fingers tightened gently around yours beneath the blanket, and when you looked around the room and found everyone still laughing at dean’s expense, you realized there wasn’t any reason to hide it anymore.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⌗ KISS ('N FUCK) A OUTLAW AND A COWGIRL? abigail "abby" anderson & ellie "els" williams
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝒻eaturing 🧺 ⋆｡˚ sheriff!abigail anderson x cowgirl! bimbo!reader x outlaw!ellie williams ⋆˙⟡
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝓼ynopsis 🪵 ✧˖°. while you and abby r on patrol and you see ellie williams. the same ellie williams who's been on the run for 2 years. and you guys finally catch her but not without you and abby teaching her a lesson.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝔀arnings 🪶 ˚.⋆⟢ reader is a bimbo (but not in the typical stereotype sense.) sub!ellie double strap penetration (cue that one vanillamace gif) use of pet names (sweetheart, darlin', bunny, etc) bratty!ellie soft dom!reader & dom!abby wild west au! boot humping rough!mean!asshole abby threesome (abby, ellie and you!) age gap only by 2 years (nothing too drastic.) possibly some spanking...? emdashes used (REAL PEOPLE CAN USE EMDASHES. NOT EVERY PERSON WRITING WITH EMDASHES ARE USING AI.)
the dust of the trail settled around your boots as you tugged on the reins, bringing your mare to a halt beside abby's larger frame.
the sun was a brutal, unrelenting eye in the sky, baking the dirt and sagebrush until the whole world smelled like heat and dry grass.
you fanned your face with the brim of your hat, letting out a little sigh.
"abby, honey, i'm meltin'," you whined, your voice carrying that sweet, drawling lilt that always seemed to make her jaw tighten.
you batted your lashes at her from under the shadow of your hat. "can't we find a creek or somethin'? my skin's gonna turn to leather."
abigail anderson, the sheriff of silver creek, sat ramrod straight in her saddle.
her shirt was stretched tight over her broad shoulders, a silver star pinned to her chest, and her expression was carved from the same stone as the mountains in the distance.
she cut you a sideways glance, her blue eyes sharp.
"we ain't on a picnic, sweetheart," she said, her voice a low rumble. "we're trackin' a ghost."
you pouted, nudging your horse closer to hers. "i know. but we've been out here for hours. my thighs are chafin'."
a flicker of something—amusement, maybe—softened the hard line of her mouth for half a second. "should've worn your ridin' pants instead of the ones with the fringe."
"but these are pretty," you protested, looking down at the soft, suede-like material decorated with intricate beadwork and swaying fringe. "and they make my ass look good. you said so yourself."
abby just shook her head, but you saw the tips of her ears turn a little pink.
you were about to push further, maybe offer her a sip from your canteen in exchange for a kiss, when she pulled her horse to a dead stop.
her hand went to the rifle holstered on her saddle.
"shh," she breathed, her entire body going still and alert.
you followed her gaze. down in the gully, a lone figure was leading a horse, favoring one leg. the horse was a beautiful, stolen-looking black stallion, and the person… the person had a shock of auburn hair that was unmistakable even under the grime of a long ride.
your breath hitched. "is that…?"
"ellie williams," abby finished, her voice dropping to a dangerous growl. she swung off her horse with a practiced grace that belied her size, landing silently in the dust. "stay here."
"like hell i will," you whispered back, scrambling down from your own horse. you weren't as graceful as abby.
you stumbled a little, your boots scuffing against a rock—but you were fast.
you pulled your own pistol, a pearl-handled revolver that matched the shiny buttons on your blouse.
abby shot you a look that could curdle milk, but she didn't argue.
she didn't have time. ellie had heard the scuffle. she was turning, her hand flying to the gun at her hip.
"sheriff anderson," ellie drawled, a cocky, insolent grin spreading across her dirt-smudged face.
she was younger than you, maybe a year or two, with sharp eyes the color of a summer storm and a mouth that looked like it was born to talk back. "fancy meetin' you out here. you lost?"
"you're under arrest, williams," abby said, her voice flat and cold as she leveled her rifle. "for the bank in red rock. for the stagecoach job near fort smith. for bein' a general pain in my ass."
ellie laughed, a bright, reckless sound. "you'll have to catch me first." she moved, a blur of motion, but she was limping. her ankle twisted on a loose stone and she went down hard, her gun skittering out of reach.
in a second, abby was on her. she flipped ellie onto her stomach, one knee planted in the small of her back, and yanked her wrists together. ellie struggled, bucking and swearing.
"get off me, you big ox!" ellie snarled, her face pressed into the dirt.
abby cuffed her, the metal clicking shut with a satisfying finality. "that's 'sheriff ox' to you."
you holstered your pistol, a giddy thrill running through you. "we got her! we actually got her! abby, we're gonna be heroes!"
you bounced over to them, crouching down to get a good look at the infamous outlaw. she was even prettier up close, in a feral, dangerous sort of way. her hair was a tangled mess, and there was a fresh cut on her cheekbone.
"well, hello there, darlin'," you cooed, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. ellie flinched away from your touch, glaring up at you with pure venom.
"who's the doll?" ellie spat, looking at abby. "your wife? you bring your wife to work, sheriff?"
"she's my deputy," abby said, hauling ellie to her feet. ellie stumbled, her injured ankle giving out, and she ended up leaning heavily against abby's solid frame.
the outlaw was flushed, embarrassed by her own weakness.
"a deputy?" ellie scoffed, her eyes raking over you from head to toe. "what's she deputize you to do? look pretty and slow me down?"
you just smiled, a slow, sweet smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.
you stepped closer, close enough to smell the sweat and dust and leather on her. "oh, i can do a lot more than look pretty, bunny."
ellie's eyes widened slightly at the pet name. "don't call me that."
"why not?" you asked, your voice dropping to a whisper. "you're caught. all tied up. just a little bunny in a trap."
abby watched the exchange, her jaw tight. "enough. we're takin' her back to town. now."
the journey back was tense. ellie was silent for a long while, just glaring at the back of abby's head.
you rode beside her, keeping a loose hold on the lead rope attached to her cuffs.
the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple.
"you're gonna hang me?" ellie finally asked, her voice quiet, losing some of its bravado.
abby didn't look back. "that's the judge's call. but i'd say the odds ain't in your favor."
ellie was quiet again. you saw her shoulders slump slightly. she was just a kid, you thought. a mean, ornery kid who'd made a lot of bad choices.
we made camp by a narrow, sluggish river when the stars came out. abby built a fire while you tended to the horses.
ellie sat with her back against a tree, her hands still cuffed in front of her. you brought her a tin cup of coffee and a piece of hardtack.
she looked at the offering with suspicion. "what's the catch?"
"no catch," you said, sitting down across from her. "you gotta eat."
she took the cup, her fingers brushing yours. they were rough, calloused. she took a sip and grimaced. "this is shit."
"abby makes it shit," you agreed with a little laugh. "i tried to teach her, but she likes it strong enough to walk on its own."
a ghost of a smile flickered on ellie's lips before she suppressed it. she looked at you, her head tilted. "why are you bein' nice to me?"
you shrugged. "don't see the point in bein' mean. you're caught. it's over."
"it ain't over," she muttered, looking into the fire. "it's never over."
later, after abby had checked the bindings and grunted a goodnight, you found you couldn't sleep. the fire had died down to embers.
you got up to add another log and saw that ellie was awake, staring at the stars through the canopy of leaves.
you walked over and sat beside her, close enough that your shoulders almost touched. she stiffened but didn't pull away.
"can't sleep?" you asked softly.
"never can," she admitted. "too many ghosts."
you were quiet for a moment, listening to the crickets and the crackle of the fire. "what's it like?" you asked. "runnin' all the time?"
she let out a humorless laugh. "lonely. you get tired of lookin' over your shoulder. tired of never trustin' anyone." she turned her head to look at you. the firelight danced in her eyes. "you ever been lonely, deputy?"
your breath caught. the question hit a little too close to home. you looked down at your hands, at the fringe on your sleeves. "sometimes," you whispered. "even when i'm with people."
something shifted in the air between you. it was charged, heavy. ellie's gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up to your eyes.
"you're real pretty," she said, the words tumbling out like she hadn't meant to say them. "it's annoyin'."
you felt a blush creep up your neck. "you're not so bad yourself, outlaw."
a slow, dangerous grin spread across her face. "careful, deputy. you keep lookin' at me like that, and i might think you want somethin' more than just small talk."
you leaned in, your voice a whisper. "and what if i do?"
the next morning, abby woke to find you sitting cross-legged by the fire, braiding a piece of leather, and ellie leaning against the same tree, looking more rested than she had in days.
but the air was different. there was a new tension, a secret shared between you.
abby noticed it immediately. her eyes narrowed as she looked between the two of you. "what's goin' on?"
"nothin', sheriff," ellie said, her voice dripping with false innocence. "just gettin' to know your deputy."
abby's gaze settled on you. "you. a word."
you followed her a little ways from the camp, into the cover of the trees. she turned on you, her expression hard.
"what are you doin'?" she demanded.
"nothin'," you said, but you couldn't meet her eyes.
"don't lie to me," she said, her voice dropping. she stepped closer, caging you against a thick oak. her body was a wall of heat and muscle. "i saw the way you were lookin' at her. the way she was lookin' at you."
your heart hammered. "abby…"
"she's a criminal, y/n. a killer. she's dangerous." abby's hand came up to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at her. "i won't let her hurt you."
"she won't," you whispered. "she's just… lost."
abby's thumb traced your lower lip. "and you think you can save her? is that it?"
you didn't answer. you couldn't. because maybe, a little bit, you did.
abby's eyes searched yours, and then she sighed, a long, weary sound. "you're too soft for this world, sweetheart."
"maybe," you said, leaning into her touch. "but i got you to keep me safe."
she kissed you then, a hard, possessive kiss that stole your breath. when she pulled back, her eyes were dark. "i'm keepin' an eye on you. both of you."
the rest of the journey was a silent, simmering standoff. abby was more watchful than ever, her hand never straying far from her gun.
ellie was quieter, too, but her eyes followed you constantly, a silent promise in their depths.
by the time you reached the outskirts of silver creek, the tension was a living thing, coiled and ready to strike. the town was quiet, the streets empty as the sun began to set.
"we'll lock her in the holding cell overnight," abby said, her voice businesslike. "judge comes through tomorrow."
you looked at ellie. she looked small and dirty and tired, but her chin was lifted, her eyes defiant. she caught your gaze and held it.
"can i have a moment alone with her?" you asked abby. "to… search her properly."
abby's eyes narrowed. "i already searched her."
"i know, but… i wanna be thorough," you said, your voice dropping to a purr. "make sure she ain't hidin' anything… dangerous."
a muscle feathered in abby's jaw. she looked from you to ellie, and a slow, knowing look dawned in her eyes. she let out a low chuckle.
"fine," she said, her voice rough. she unlocked the door to the empty sheriff's office. "make it quick. and thorough."
she pushed ellie inside, and you followed. the door clicked shut behind you, leaving you in the dim, dusty space with the most wanted outlaw in three territories.
ellie turned to face you, her cuffed hands held out in front of her. "so, deputy. gonna search me?"
you smiled, a slow, wicked thing. "turn around. hands on the desk."
ellie's breath hitched, but she complied, bending over the heavy oak desk.
the position made her jeans pull tight across her ass. you walked up behind her, close enough that your chest brushed her back.
"you've been a very bad girl, ellie," you whispered, your lips near her ear.
"i know," she breathed, a shiver running through her.
your hands ran down her sides, over her ribs, her hips. it wasn't a search. it was a caress. you felt her muscles jump under your touch.
"i think you need to be taught a lesson," you murmured.
the door creaked open. you didn't have to turn around to know who it was. you felt the heat of abby's presence fill the room.
"need a hand, deputy?" abby asked, her voice a low growl.
"i think i do, sheriff," you said, not taking your eyes off ellie's trembling form. "this one's a handful."
abby walked over, her boots heavy on the wooden floor. she stopped beside you, looking down at ellie. the outlaw's eyes were wide, a mixture of fear and anticipation.
"you heard her," abby said, her voice hard. "time for your lesson."
abby's hands went to her own belt buckle. the sound of metal jingling was loud in the quiet room.
you watched as she unbuckled her belt and pulled it free from the loops of her trousers. she doubled it over, slapping it against her palm with a sharp crack.
ellie flinched.
"count," abby ordered.
the first strike landed across ellie's backside with a sound like a gunshot. ellie gasped, her fingers curling against the wood of the desk.
"one," she choked out.
again. harder.
"two."
by the time it was over, ellie was shaking, tears streaming down her face, leaving clean tracks through the grime.
her lip was bloody from where she'd bitten it. abby tossed the belt aside and grabbed ellie by the hair, yanking her head back.
"you wanna thank your deputy for her kindness?" abby snarled. "or do you need another round?"
"thank you," ellie whispered, her voice raw, her eyes fixed on you. "thank you, deputy."
you stepped forward, cupping her tear-stained face in your hands. you wiped the blood from her lip with your thumb. "good girl."
abby moved behind you, her hands coming to rest on your hips. she pressed her body against your back, her lips finding your neck. "now," she murmured against your skin, her voice a dark promise. "let's really have some fun."
abby's hands left your hips, and you heard the telltale jingle of her belt buckle again, but this time it was different.
it was the sound of leather and metal being undone, of a duty belt being set aside.
you looked over your shoulder and saw her reaching for the saddlebag she'd dropped by the door. she pulled out a harness, the leather worn and supple, fitted with a thick, curved length of silicone.
your breath caught. you'd seen it before, of course. you'd felt it before. but never like this. never with an audience.
ellie's eyes went wide as she watched abby strap the harness around her hips, adjusting it with practiced ease. the outlaw's face was a mess of confusion, fear, and a desperate, undeniable curiosity.
"what… what are you doin'?" ellie asked, her voice cracking.
abby didn't answer. she just finished buckling the harness and walked over to you, her boots heavy on the floorboards.
she turned you gently, her hands sliding up your arms to your shoulders. her eyes were dark, hungry.
"your turn, sweetheart," she murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "you got yours in your bag?"
you nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. you fumbled with your own saddlebag, pulling out a similar harness, this one fitted with a polished rose quartz colour, smooth and cool to the touch. it was smaller than abby's, more delicate, but no less potent.
ellie watched, transfixed, as you strapped it on over your trousers. her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly. she looked like a deer caught in a thicket, frozen and trembling.
"please," ellie whispered, the word escaping her lips before she could stop it.
"please, what?" abby asked, stepping closer to her. she ran a finger along ellie's jaw, tilting her face up. "use your words, outlaw."
ellie swallowed hard. "please… don't stop."
a slow, cruel smile spread across abby's face. "oh, we ain't gonna stop, darlin'. we're just gettin' started."
abby guided ellie to the cot in the corner of the cell, pushing her down onto the thin mattress.
the metal frame creaked under the sudden weight. ellie looked up at both of you, her eyes wide and dark in the dim light.
"you ever been with a woman before, ellie?" you asked, your voice soft as you knelt beside the cot.
she shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "no."
"then we're gonna take real good care of you," you promised, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "ain't we, abby?"
"the best care," abby agreed, her voice a low rumble. she knelt on the other side of the cot, her large frame casting a shadow over ellie. "but you gotta be good for us. you gotta listen. can you do that?"
ellie nodded frantically. "yes. yes, i'll be good. i promise."
abby's hand went to the buttons of ellie's shirt, working them open one by one. the fabric parted to reveal a thin undershirt, stained with sweat and dirt. she pushed it aside, baring ellie's chest. the outlaw's skin was pale, scattered with freckles and a few old scars.
"pretty," you breathed, your fingers tracing a path down her sternum. ellie shivered, her back arching slightly into your touch.
abby's hands went to ellie's belt, unbuckling it with a sharp, efficient motion. she pulled the leather free and tossed it aside. then she unfastened her trousers and pulled them down, along with her underthings, baring her completely.
ellie lay there, exposed and vulnerable, her hands still cuffed in front of her. she looked small, fragile, nothing like the notorious outlaw who had terrorized the territory for two years.
"please," she whispered again, the word a prayer.
"please, what, bunny?" you asked, your lips brushing her ear.
"please… touch me."
you didn't need to be asked twice. your hand slid down her stomach, fingers splaying over her hip before dipping lower.
she was already wet, slick and ready.
you circled her clit with your thumb, pressing lightly, and she gasped, her hips bucking into your hand.
abby watched, her eyes dark and focused. she leaned down and captured ellie's mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her moans. ellie kissed her back desperately, her cuffed hands coming up to grip abby's shoulders.
you worked her slowly, building the tension, drawing it out until ellie was a writhing, whimpering mess beneath you. her thighs were shaking, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"please," she begged, her voice breaking. "please, i need… i need more."
abby pulled back from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting their lips. she looked at you, a silent question in her eyes. you nodded.
abby positioned herself between ellie's legs, the polished silicone of her strap catching the faint light. she ran the tip through ellie's wetness, coating it, teasing her.
"you ready, outlaw?" abby asked, her voice rough.
"yes," ellie sobbed. "yes, please, i'm ready."
abby pushed in, slow and steady. ellie cried out, her back arching off the cot, her fingers digging into abby's shoulders.
abby didn't stop until she was fully seated, her hips flush against ellie's.
"breathe, bunny," you whispered, stroking her hair back from her face. "just breathe."
ellie's chest heaved as she tried to obey, her eyes screwed shut. abby stayed still, giving her time to adjust. when ellie's breathing evened out, she opened her eyes and looked up at abby.
"move," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "please."
abby began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that had ellie moaning with every thrust. you watched, your own arousal a dull ache between your legs.
you leaned down and captured one of ellie's nipples in your mouth, sucking gently, rolling the peak with your tongue.
ellie's hands flew to your head, tangling in your hair, holding you there. "oh, god," she gasped. "oh, fuck."
abby's pace increased, her thrusts becoming harder, more urgent.
the cot creaked in protest, the sound mingling with ellie's cries and the wet, obscene sound of their bodies meeting.
"you like that, don't you?" abby grunted, her voice strained. "you like bein' filled up, bein' taken care of?"
"yes," ellie sobbed. "yes, yes, yes…"
you pulled away from her chest and looked up at abby. "switch with me," you said, your voice breathy.
abby pulled out with a wet sound, and ellie whimpered at the loss.
you quickly took her place, the cool rose quartz pressing against ellie's entrance. you looked down at her, at her flushed face and glazed eyes.
"look at me," you commanded softly.
ellie's eyes found yours. you pushed in, and she gasped, her eyes widening. you were smaller than abby, but the quartz was smooth and unyielding, filling her in a different way.
"that's it," you cooed, beginning to move. "you're doin' so good, bunny. so good for us."
abby moved behind you, her hands gripping your hips. she pressed against you, the wood of her strap sliding against the curve of your ass.
"you're next, sweetheart," she murmured in your ear. "soon as we're done with her, i'm gonna fuck you 'til you can't remember your own name."
you moaned, your rhythm faltering for a second. the thought of it, of abby taking you after watching you take ellie, sent a jolt of pure heat through your core.
you focused back on ellie, driving into her with renewed urgency. her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you deeper. her hands were on your cheeks, pulling you down for a kiss. it was messy, all teeth and tongue, but it was perfect.
"i'm close," ellie gasped against your lips. "i'm so close."
"cum for us, bunny," you whispered. "cum for your deputies."
that was all it took. ellie's back bowed off the cot, a cry tearing from her throat as her orgasm ripped through her.
her inner walls clenched around you, pulsing, and you rode her through it, slowing your movements until she collapsed against the mattress, boneless and panting.
you pulled out gently, the rose quartz coloured silicone slick with her release. you looked down at her, at the beautiful, broken outlaw lying in a heap on the cot. she looked up at you, a dazed, satisfied smile on her lips.
"that was…" she started, but words failed her.
"i know," you said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. "rest now."
abby's hands found your waist, pulling you away from the cot. she spun you around and pushed you against the cell bars, the cold metal pressing into your back.
her body was a furnace against you, the silicone of her strap pressing insistently against your stomach.
"my turn," she growled, her lips finding your neck.
you moaned, your head falling back against the bars. you could feel ellie's eyes on you, watching as abby's hands worked the buttons of your trousers, pushing them down your hips.
the cool air hit your skin, and then abby's fingers were there, sliding through your slickness, gathering your wetness.
"you're so ready for me," abby murmured, her voice full of dark satisfaction. "so wet. you liked that, didn't you? watchin' her fall apart?"
"yes," you breathed. "yes, abby, please…"
she lined herself up and pushed in, and you cried out, the sensation overwhelming.
she filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was almost too much, but exactly what you needed.
she began to move, a hard, punishing rhythm that had the bars rattling behind you.
you looked over at ellie. she was propped up on her elbows, watching you with wide, hungry eyes.
her hand was between her own legs, touching herself lazily, a mirror of your own pleasure.
"look at her, ellie," abby grunted, her hand coming up to grip your jaw, turning your face toward the cot. "look at what you did to her. you made her this messy, this needy."
ellie's eyes were fixed on you, her hand moving faster. "she's beautiful," ellie whispered.
"she is," abby agreed, her pace increasing. "she's mine. and now she's yours, too."
the words sent a shockwave through you. you came with a scream, your body convulsing around abby's strap.
she followed a moment later, a guttural groan escaping her lips as she buried herself deep and stilled.
for a long moment, the only sound was the three of you breathing, ragged and uneven.
abby pulled out gently, and you slumped against her, your legs weak. she caught you, holding you up, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"easy, sweetheart," she murmured. "i got you."
ellie lay on the cot, her eyes closed, a peaceful look on her face that you hadn't seen since you'd captured her.
her cuffed hands were resting on her stomach, her chest rising and falling steadily.
you and abby cleaned up in silence, pulling your clothes back on, stowing the harnesses away.
when you were both decent, abby walked over to the cell door and looked in at ellie.
"sleep," she said, her voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "we'll figure out the rest in the mornin'."
ellie opened her eyes and looked at abby, then at you. a slow, genuine smile spread across her face. "i ain't gonna run," she said. "i got nowhere to go that's better than this."
abby snorted, but there was no malice in it. she locked the cell door and turned to you, pulling you into her arms.
"you're a bad influence, deputy," she murmured into your hair.
you smiled, snuggling into her chest. "i know. but you love it."
"i do," she admitted. "god help me, i do."
over ellie's soft, even breathing, you listened to abby's heartbeat, steady and strong.
the wanted posters could wait. the judge could wait. the whole damn world could wait.
for now, in the dusty, dim light of the sheriff's office, you had everything you needed.
─── 🏹 CONFIDENTIAL ENDING MEMORANDUM: hello my angels. i hope you enjoyed. if you would like to see more like this, turn on your notifications and join the taglist. stay safe and get more gay. xoxo, the sacrificial lamb.
♡ ₊˚ ──── tags , cw .ᐟ hyperfem!curvy!sensitive!r, blunt!awkward!e, halloween, slight arguing, ellie struggling with her words without sounding like a total bitch ( hundred percent fails), medium length, trust she’s just trying to protect you, sweet petnames
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𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 was now an adult. she didn’t dress up, too “cool” for it now. n the costume she wanted to get was out of her size. anyways.. she knocked on your door. her beat up truck in your driveway, still running.
she looked down on her own outfit while she was waiting. ellie had been wearing a t shirt that had a dinosaur was wearing a skeleton costume. that was good enough, right?
when you opened the door, she could of swore her eyes fell out of her sockets for a split second.
“you like?” you gave her a twirl and a timid giggle, noticing the awkward silence from hers you tried to fill the air with more talking.
“i designed the ears myself.”
“uh yeah.. it’s.. cute..” she paused awkwardly to rub her thumb against her jaw.
“but uh.. you do know where we’re going, right?” ellie gave your outfit another glance. the thigh high socks, the ridiculously cute bunny makeup and ears, the short grey dress she will most definitely be hovering you because of.
you pout, feeling a bit silly now. “well i just wanted to look cute.” the mumble sounded defensive and unsure.
ellie paused, realizing her first impression of it was pretty bitchy. “hey hey.. i didn’t mean to sound like that.. my bad.. you look good though.. great even. cmon”
she took placed a large hand on the small of your back to lead you to the truck where she opened the passenger side. you had always struggled a bit getting up with that annoying step that almost always got your heels stuck in.
ellie grabbed your hips to help you up, being careful to not pull up your already short dress. looking everywhere but your ass that was so clearly in her face. still trying to be respectful n stuff or whatever.
her face was a bit flushed under that freckled fair skin. she started the truck then placed a hand on your thigh. squishing the soft flesh as you looked at her,
“love your shirt” your soft voice was teasing. the look she glanced back at you made you giggle.
“well i didnt know we had to going to be dressed up to the nines like.. that.”
ellie retorted before she could stop herself. immediate regret.
“like what?” your response was immediately. your straight eyebrows now upturned.
“baby,” she paused to collect her thoughts, not glancing at you while her focus was on the dark road.
“it’s just gonna be like a whole house of random strangers.. i don’t want you getting hurt or having unwanted attention. plus your not the most.. flattest person.” even ellie cringed at saying that last sentence.
you scoffed, your doe eyes widened in disbelief and hurt.
“wow.” all you said
“hey.. hey hey.. fuck.. i’m sorry for being a dick. you’re gonna be the cutest girl of the party, okay?”
ellie pulled to the side. they were there at the blasting halloween house party dina invited you guys to.
“i’m just gonna look dumb as hell for wearing a dinosaur t shirt while my girl beside me is looking like a disney princess.”
she unbuckled herself to lean over to press a kiss to your temple, subtly inhaling your delicious perfume, “my sweet girl.”
you look at her, still a bit pouty. she kissed those pouty lips. her lips now shined with your lipgloss. “you ready?” she asked softly while fixing those stupidly cute bunny ears that had fallen.
when you nodded and pulled your dress back up when your bra unwillingly showed. ellie looked down—she couldn’t help herself. then a soft smirk played upon those plump lips n then gave you a peck.
getting out of that truck, she quickly rounded it and opened your door. helping you down to your feet. ellie went behind you protectively as you guys entered the party.
she triple checked if her pocketknife was in her jeans, just incase she needed to protect her precious girl.
𝐤𝐚𝐥𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 . . . ౨ৎ this may or may not be just for my enjoyment as this happens quite regularly to me n i just needed to write some comfort as someone who is a g cup 😢
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ♡ hi! i tried my best to not make this like i guess cringey in a way also my car knowledge is genuinely zero so if it’s inaccurate don’t comment on it heh. based on this request, my requests are currently closed !! <3
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ♡ reader or author doesn’t know much about cars heh…, fluff, overthinker!reader, yearner!john logan if you squint, mentions of reader running fingers through hair
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ♡ john logan x bookworm!reader
you’re currently on the side of the road at 1:25 in the morning. whoever said studying at night in a library for finals was a good idea as lying because now you’re stranded with a broken down car, a phone on 3%, and it’s freezing.
pacing back and forth on the road away from the highway, you panic internally because this seems like the end of your life, a young vulnerable girl on the side of the road with a broken down car.
“what the fuck do i do? i’m gonna die, this is literally how i die,” you say to yourself as you run your fingers through your hair nervously.
you run through your contacts mentally of who you could possibly call, hannah? no. she’d just panic more than you which would send you into a deeper panic. allie? no, she’s too deep of a sleeper for all of that. then you remember.
john logan.
you think back on the memory of you, hannah, and allie at your apartment after a party at the hockey boys’ house.
“oh yeah, logan wanted me to tell you if you ever had any car troubles, just call him,” hannah tells you before her and allie head in the direction of their dorm.
it’s worth a shot if he answers.
so you call him and surprisingly he picks up after the second ring.
“hello?” he answers, his voice deep and laced with sleep.
“hi! sorry if this is out of the blue and random but my car kind of broke down on the side of the road, i’m scared, it’s cold, and hannah told me i could call you if im ever having car troubles but if that was a lie, i can totally call someone else,” you ramble, rocking back and forth on your feet.
“you’re completely okay, i did tell hannah that don’t worry, do you mind sending your location?” he asks as you hear him fumble around you guess putting on clothes and finding his keys.
you let out a breath of relief, “yes i can, thank you so much again,” you send your location after hanging up the phone.
seeing logan’s truck pull up, you slip out of your own and back into the freezing air. logan gets out of his car and walks over to yours.
“thank you so much for coming to help me,” you say immediately as he’s within earshot of you.
he gives you a sleepy smile, “of course, can you tell me what happen?” he asks as he looks at your open hood.
“well, i was on the way home from the library from studying and my car started making weird noises so i pulled over and realized i know nothing about cars and i tried to start it again and it just wouldn’t,” you explain as he starts looking at your car.
“i don’t think ill be able to do anything tonight but how about we call a tow company, have it towed to the hockey house and i can drop you off at home and fix it in the morning?” he offers as he leans up from your car.
you nod as he pulls at his phone, calling a tow company. once he finishes on the phone, he offers for you and him to sit in his car while we wait for the two truck.
you grab your bag from your car, making your way over to his truck where logan stands as he opens the door for you.
“thank you logan,” you say with a soft smile as you get in the passenger seat.
“of course,” he says as he closes your door, crossing the front of the car and getting in on the drivers side. he turns the car on and you feel the warm air hit your cold skin instantly.
a couple of minutes of comfortable silence passes before you ask, “sorry if this is a weird question but, why did you come to get me when you could’ve easily told me no?”.
logan felt his chest get a slight but tighter at that question, was it not that obvious to you that he likes you?
“well for one, i like you and two, knowing someone i know in the middle of the night is stranded doesn’t exactly make me the happiest man,” he says, quickly skipping over the first point.
did you hear his correctly? john logan likes you?
“wait repeat your sentence please?” you ask as you turn your body towards him.
“what? that someone i know is stranded in the middle of the night,” he says, actively avoiding eye contact.
“nono, before that,” you push.
“you asked me why i came and got you,” he says scratching the back of his neck nervously.
“john logan, you know exactly what part of the sentence i’m talking about,” you say.
“oh that i like you? i thought it was obvious,” he says as he finally turns to look at you.
“obviously to who? because it’s for sure not obvious to me!” you retort back.
“honey, do you honestly think i’d be sitting here at almost 2 in the morning with anyone other than you?” he asks seriously.
“you just said you would!” you answer back.
“i was lying! i obviously did it to spend more time with you or to hell just get you to look at me,” he pleads, turning his head back towards the windshield.
you lean slightly over the console, taking your hands and gently turning his face back to you, leaning in closer.
“you could’ve just told me you know, wouldn’t have tried to spend so long ignoring my feelings for you,” you say before you gently connect your lips to his.
his shoulders relax as he moves his hands to your waist, holding it gently, squeezing softly every once in awhile. after a couple of minutes, you pull away.
he smiles, “so does this mean i can officially ask you out on a date?” he asks.
you smile back at him before nodding and kissing him again.
᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ Summary — Fetching a zip of weed on your sorority president’s orders was only meant to be one time errand. You weren’t expecting to fall in love with your dealer, or to find out some new stuff about yourself along the way.
᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ Warnings — College/University Alternate Universe, Marijuana & alcohol consumption, sorority!reader, Dealer!Ellie, horny reader, Reader’s kind of a bitch (Sorry not sorry), slight coming of age themes, death of a Best Friend, Briefly touched-upon grief, use of nicknames (Baby, Ellie calls you Peach), partying, Douchey Frat Boy behavior, Reader has an intox. kink, smut, dubcon elements (lots of em), masturbation, some dry humping, slight Dacryphilia, fingering, Ellie’s a little mean
᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ Word count — 15k
᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ A note from Me — I wanted this so badly to come out during Pride Month but alas here we are. Just consider this a June 44th release ;)
The static hum of your vibrator fills the otherwise silent hours of dawn behind the walls of the Phi Mu sorority house. You’re trapped in a seemingly endless loop of aimless masturbation that has yet to lead to an orgasm in all the forty five minutes the instrument has buzzed against your clit. Fretfully awaiting that gentle tug beneath your naval that always alerted you your climax was near.
You sneak a glance at your bedside clock. 5:45. In about fifteen minutes, the sun will pour through your curtains and successfully ruin any chance you have at getting your rocks off. With a trembling hand, you pull your curtains tighter together and yank your comforter over your head. You turn the vibrator off and rest it over your mound while you work to conjure the mental scenario that will bring you over the edge.
Like fellating the gardener who visits your house every two weeks to trim the shrubs and make sly peeks at the plentiful helpings of attractive young women walking through the lawn every ten minutes or so. He has hay colored hair and a pompous demeanor that more than makes up for the fact that you don’t even know his name.
You let the picture fill your mind, restlessly awaiting the lurch in your belly that notifies you you’re sufficiently turned on. But it never comes, so you knock the thought out of your head with a harsh shake.
Then, you imagine sucking the nipples of the TA from your previous semester’s philosophy course. She was a redhead with the cutest dimples you’d ever seen, and, if memory serves you right, the only interesting thing about that class. You are nearly certain this will be the thing to get you off (it surely did countless times last semester), but your body feels just as it did minutes before: frustrated, antsy, and so very sore.
If you were to put a mirror in front of your vagina and inspect it from above, you’d likely find it to look as though it had been flattened repeatedly under the wheel of an F-150. You rub a cautious finger over your clit only to find that the bud is almost numb and begging for you to give her a fucking break.
So, you do. You throw your vibrator toward the foot of the bed and yank your pants back over your hips in defeat, ignoring the sensation of your juices smearing over your inner thighs and leaking down the crack of your ass.
For a moment, you consider slamming your head against your headboard or letting your body roll off of your bed and onto the floor. Just to feel something, or maybe just because.
You’re asleep for maybe twenty five minutes before a quintet of knocks at your door wakes you. When you swing your legs over the edge of your bed, you have to kick your feet around for a second in search of your slippers.
The early morning sun is trying its damndest to peer through the thickness of your curtains. Though, just enough light shines through for you to take a glance at yourself in your floor length mirror and see the glaring wet spot staining the crotch of your pants. You grab a silk Victoria’s Secret robe and cover yourself in it just before opening the door.
It’s Kingston, the girl who lives just down the hall and has a penchant for making her early risings your problem. “I’m totally late for the gym, and I can’t find my deodorant. Do you have a spray on I can use? Pretty, pretty please?”
The words shoot out of her mouth so fast you hardly have time to process her request. You’re only nodding to make the noise stop.
You allow her in to get what she needs, and the vanilla scent tinging her skin spreads through your room like fungal spores. Her brown eyes are wholly alert, almost as if they’ve been surgically peeled back. It never fails to amaze you how awake someone can be before 6:30 in the morning.
She deodorizes her armpits before you can even make niceties and skips out of your room with a chirpy, “Thanks, see you at brunch later!” without shutting the door behind her.
A recently bought dress stares at you from the purchase of your closet door. You had completely forgotten your sorority’s brunch.
***
Your plate is covered in a hearty helping of french toast and apple slices, a dollop of yogurt, and one omelette. You’re surrounded by about seventy of your sisters, all dressed in white, all talking in place of eating.
An occasional cloud dots the sky, but other than that, the sun has a crystal clear view of Phi Mu’s All White Brunch. About thirtysomething small circular, white tables fill the sunny space of your backyard.
Your yogurt disappears after about two spoonfuls down your throat, and your apple slices don’t stand a chance for much longer. You skewer some elaborately on your fork before practically inhaling them.
Sitting to your left is a girl named Parker, whose entire vocabulary seems to be ripped straight from a social media comment section. “Ugh, I’m scared to even touch any of this,” She says at a volume that makes it unclear if she’s talking to herself or your entire table. “My back is gonna be soooo big later.”
You look down at her modest helping of potato wedges and egg salad. “I think you should just eat your food.” The small smile you lend her afterward is only to signal that you meant it in the kindest way.
To your right is Leila Hanamichi, your sorority’s president—a picture of grace as she demurely sips her grapefruit juice through a paper straw. She is having a rather animated conversation with the girl to her right, about plans for an upcoming party. Something about exchanging numbers and ‘making sure things go smoothly’. Whatever that means, you don't spend much time pondering it as you dig into your omelette.
Then, Leila turns to you.
Still stabbing into your food, you don’t notice her until she chirps, “Hi!” Your name rolls off her tongue, albeit unsurely. It doesn’t offend you. “Oooh, french toast! Delicious. I’ll have to grab some in a bit.” It’s clear she’s attempting to make friendly conversation, so you indulge.
“Oh, yeah, it is really good.” You say, despite not having had a single bite yet.
Her voice lowers to a soft whisper. “Do you think we could talk later? Before we all take pictures?” Almost as if she can hear the quickening of your heart, she follows up with, “Don’t worry, it isn’t anything bad. I just need a small favor from you.”
“Right,” you say, slowly processing her words. “okay.”
She gives you a brief squeeze on your hand. “Perfect.”
After brunch, just before you were all due to have your group photo taken, Leila led you into the empty living room of your sorority house.
“Now,” she says as she guides you into a pacing rhythm across the living room floor. “You know that Theta party that’s coming up?”
You nod with a soft hum.
“Well, it’s been a real hassle for the boys to plan, and they asked for my help. So, I’m—”
Offloading chores onto us to make their load lighter?
That’s not what she says, but it may as well be. At this point, you’d rather her be honest with her motives than sugarcoat it under the guise of purely being helpful.
“I need you to get weed for the party.”
Your poker face doesn’t kick in in enough time for Leila to miss the incredulity on your face. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll Venmo you whatever I need to. And Tucker knows a guy who sells already, so it’ll be easy peasy!”
“If he already knows someone, then why can’t he just buy it himself?”
“Midterms, y’know? He’s been really slumped, and he had to pay for Steve Aoki all by himself, so I just offered and…”
You tune her out without even trying, annoyed that you and your sisters were having to play housemaid to those guys. For a moment, you wonder which one of the Theta boys Leila must be fucking.
***
Do you sell?
???
who’s asking
Me?
do i know you?
Tucker gave me your number.
He told me you did.
ahh, ok
yeah i do
whatu need?
A zip, I think.
I’ve got cash.
cool cool
i can meet u wednesday @ 5
corner of mckinley
behind the old pizza hut
That’s pretty out of the way for me.
Do you know anywhere closer?
u want the shit or not?
Fine. Wednesday at five.
That night, you clean your room as obsessively as ever. Just so you can have control over something.
You pluck every bit of dirty laundry off the floor and separate it into hampers, Windex both mirrors—floor length and vanity—, and clear the empty bottles of water from your nightstand. You clear the rugs and vacuum until the carpet is layered in sleep lines, clean your vibrator under warm water and antibacterial soap in the bathroom, and move any shoes you might’ve kicked off in the path to your bed.
Finally, you take a lysol wipe and polish the framed photo of you and your best friend until the fine covering of dust is gone. For a moment, you lose yourself and you can hear her laugh in your ear as if she’s right next to you. You still have that? she’d say, We look so young.
“I know,” you respond.
It’s the two of you at your high school graduation. Hands around each other’s waists, matching gowns and diplomas. Your smiles light up the photo, her’s especially.
Her eyes carry the familiar, optimistic gleam of a high school graduate—eager to take the plunge into collegiate adulthood. Only, she doesn’t know she will be dead within a month and a half. Funny how that works. How can someone be here one moment and gone the next?
You finish wiping the photo without even giving it a final look, choosing to instead drown your sorrows in a vigorous workout tape and another round of failed masturbation.
***
The parking lot by McKinley is dimly lit by a couple of blinking lamp posts. Brilliant streaks of orange and pink smear the sky in what looks like a drunken watercolor image. Ellie arrives at 5:13 to find a car is already parked there.
Her primary customers are usually frat guys, nerds who use weed to relax, or nerds who swear weed gives them super-genius brain power. She came across the occasional dad that wanted to relive his teen years and was always stunned by her prices, always commenting, ‘this better be some good skunk for what I’m paying’.
So, she’s uncharacteristically intrigued by the figure stepping out of the white BMW before she can even fully park.
The two of you exit your respective cars at the same time. Ellie, wanting this to be quick, doesn’t even bother shutting off her engine.
She’s pretty
The thought eclipses Ellie’s better judgement, but she is wholly unable to help herself. It’s true. It’s all there in the deep furrow in your brows, the slight crinkle in the bridge of your nose. The anger visible in your eyes should give way to unease, but it only incites embers of newborn curiosity within Ellie. She wants to know how she can soften them.
The headlights of her car illuminate the delicate sheen of sweat on your collarbone and forehead. You look as though you have just worked out. A likely possibility, considering the athletic tank top, jacket, and leggings you’re wearing—all of which accentuate curves Ellie feels a guilty letting her gaze linger on.
Her eyes are just beginning to draw over the bow of your lips when they part to say:
“Do they not teach punctuality at drug dealer school?”
The words are so bluntly absurd that Ellie finds trouble being offended. “What?”
You heave a world weary sigh before rolling your eyes. “You’re, like, fifteen minutes late. I thought I was walking into a sting operation or something.”
She’s surprised at how forthcoming you’re being. Most patrons don't care that she turns up late. Usually, they’re nothing but elated that she showed up at all and are itching to get whatever she has off her hands.
However bizarre your statement may be, Ellie lets it roll off her back with a mirthless laugh. “You’re real prissy for someone buying a whole zip.”
“It’s not for me. It’s for—oh, who cares.” You cut yourself off with another eye roll. “It’s none of your business, anyway.”
You step closer to Ellie, fully bathing yourself in the warmth of her headlight. You’re even prettier when she can see you crystal clear.
She extends the package out to you and you take it, reaching into your pocket with your other to retrieve a modest wad of cash. When the exchange is made, your fingertips brush over the heel of her palm. It’s a familiar skin to skin that usually carries no weight, but now makes the hairs on her nape stand at attention.
Against her better judgement, she calls out, “I’m Ellie, by the way.” as you make your way back to your car.
You shoot her a, “Yeah, nice meeting you.” before you disappear behind the deep tint of your windows.
***
Theta parties suck ass—a fact you’re only just fully realizing as a clammy brother shoulders you in the back for probably the third time. You’re still somewhat tipsy from the shots you threw back at the pregame, but not enough to ignore the blatant discomfort of the atmosphere.
Frankly, you’re not even sure why you convinced yourself to come. Something about being a supportive sister and needing to get out of the place where orgasms went to die (your room).
Sufficiently annoyed, you venture from the backyard and into the house where the haze of marijuana smoke and perspiration has transformed the air into a murky abyss. It’s asphyxiating and pungent and it reminds you of Ellie.
It was unlike you to kick yourself for any reason, but you had been for two days over your interaction with her. She seemed nice for the most part, despite how viciously upset you were at her.
Truthfully, her presence intimidated you in an odd way. She was stupidly attractive, so much so that it almost made you angrier at her the moment she stepped out of her car.
A smattering of freckles covered her face. From the crown of her head to the column of her neck, right where the collar of her pitch black hoodie censored any further showings of skin. Her hair was tinged the sweetest flavor of auburn you had ever seen and framed her face perfectly.
And her eyes. You had never felt your body betray you on such a visceral level until you looked into her eyes. They were a bewitching shade of green that sent your heart lurching into your throat.
You could go on and on. Her lips that settled somewhere comfortably between a smirk and a pout. The half a second of contact you made with her hand—a barely there graze you were still reeling from a whole forty eight hours later.
Guilt swells in your chest.
You quickly weave your way through the sea of inebriated bodies until you were behind the door of nearest bathroom.
It’s not exactly the Ritz Carlton, but you’re not there to pee. You retrieve a shooter from your purse and down the thing in a few paced chugs. The guilt is promptly replaced with a delicious burn that your body is more than elated to host.
When you come out, the party’s a lot more bearable. Without even thinking, your hips sway to the rhythm of whatever song is playing, even if normally you’d find it a little repulsive. For a moment, you feel in with everyone else. Not like you’re tiptoeing along the outskirts, awaiting permission that will never be given to you.
That is, until an arm snakes along your shoulders. So confident and sure, as though it’s meant to be there. The touch is accompanied by the scent of cologne so sharp you can taste it.
You choke back a cough as you look up at the person. “This your first time at Theta?” he asks. He’s blond and confident enough in his approach that you can tell he’s been successful in it before.
“Excuse you?” You say, shrugging out from underneath him.
He’s offended as though he’s the one that’s just been unconsensually solicited by a strange drunk man. “Don’t be rude, baby.” He slurs, taking a closer step toward you. “I just wanted to show you around, that’s all.”
You push through the congregation of people until you’re outside. It shocks you how fast you moved in the span of only a second. But it isn't enough to just be outside with more people and music and possibilities of discomfort.
Your feet carry you what feels like miles down the street until you are completely alone on the sidewalk. You find a car parked against the curb park yourself atop the hood.
Occasionally, a gaggle of drunk girls will skip past you, moving from one party to the next. One of them will say, “You’re so pretty!” or “Ohhh, I just love your hair,” or “That’s such a cute dress. Where’s it from?”
While it does lift your spirits just a tad, you cannot help the feeling nagging at you within. The feeling that you don’t belong here, or anywhere at all. If you could shake that feeling at all, maybe you would have joined those girls at the next party.
You look down at your dress and fix its hem just a tad. It’s a white, strapless number that flows freely around the tops of your thighs. It’s a shame you had to waste it on a night like this.
A soft ahem cuts through the silence, and you snap your neck toward the noise. Behind you is Ellie, walking slowly toward the car you’re sitting on as if she’s approaching a wild tiger.
“Ellie?” It’s the first time her name has ever left your lips, and it feels wonderfully foreign rolling off the tongue. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I was at the Theta party and—”
“You were at the Theta party?” You’re unable to stop yourself from interrupting her, try as you might. “Sorry, continue.”
Ellie chuckles. “Friend invited me.” She explains. “Anyway, I saw you running out and thought I’d check on you.”
“Oh,” Your lips quirk up in what’s sort of a smile. “Well, thank you, but I’m fine. Really, I am.”
At that, Ellie raises her hands in surrender before walking closer to you with a more relaxed gait than before. She sits next to you on the hood of the car at a more than respectable distance. You highlight that part because you count the inches you are apart (five) and feel the urge to scoot closer to her.
“I never got your name,” She says. You can smell her from here. A twisted mix of mahogany and vanilla. It’s deep and sweet at the same time. You look toward her, slow and cautious, trying not to drink too much of her in at once.
She’s wearing a shortsleeved black band T-shirt that showcases the subtle definitions in her freckled arms. As well as the vague, inky patterns of a tattoo that travels from her elbow to her wrist.
“Figured you could at least tell me that. Since we’re exchanging pleasantries on top of my car and stuff.”
Your sadness is quickly eclipsed by embarassment when you look down to ee that you are, in fact, siting atop the hood of Ellie’s black Chevy sedan.
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” You move to get up, but her hand reaches out to stop you.
Still, though, she isn’t touching you. Her fingertips only graze the fabric of your dress. “No need,”
“Why? Are you enjoying your time with me or something?”
“Oh, yeah,” She smiles, “Lot more fun than my time at drug dealer school.”
Your forehead falls into your palm. You’re not entirely shocked she would bring that up now, but that doesn't take away the embarrassment of having said it. “I’m—” You cut yourself off, feeling as though a plain sorry is insufficient.
“It’s okay.” Her voice drops to a lower register, like she’s trying to whisper it into the shared space between you. Even though the street is virtually deserted now. “Next time we meet, I’ll be perfectly on time.”
Hope tinges your voice. “Really?” You ask, even though Leila and Tucker will have to pay your remaining tuition balance before you buy drugs for them ever again.
You whisper your name and hope Ellie catches it before it disappears into the inky black night. She does. And she repeats it, trying it out on her tongue a couple of times. The sound sends waves of warmth rolling down your body.
Ellie moves her hand away from your dress and you feel cold without it there. She runs her palms over the denim of her jeans, and you begin to think she’s ridding herself of you bit by bit. That is, until she heaves a breath and asks, “Wanna go for a drive?”
***
Ellie’s car is a separate embodiment of her. When you slide into the passenger seat, you’re bombarded with the scent of her, multiplied by about fifty. She cranks the engine to life, and an Oasis song stirs from the radio. It’s one you recognize from an episode of The OC you watched ages ago.
You jam your seatbelt into place, pull down the passenger side visor to take a quick look at yourself. Your makeup doesn’t look horrible. A little smudged around the eyes, but it adds to the spontaneity you feel. You catch Ellie’s gaze through your peripheral vision. “Sorry,” You say, folding the visor back up. “Am I touching too many things?”
“No,” Ellie says, her tone light. She puts her seatbelt on and pulls the belt so it’s pressed under back instead of against her chest. “Touch whatever you want.”
You open her glove department and peek in before turning an overhead light on and off. Then, after a second of shallow deliberation, you poke your index finger gently into Ellie’s bicep. It’s a feeble attempt at humor that makes you immediately bury your face in your hands. “I’m sorry,” You say, even though Ellie’s giggling silently under her breath. “I was, like, trying to be funny, and I’m not very good at it. That’s my fault.”
Ellie heaves one more boisterous laugh as the car drives down the road. “I’m a little drunk, too,” You say, the speed of the car making your body feel light as a feather. “Sorry.”
“Stop that.” She replies.
“Stop what?”
“Apologizing for shit,” She’s a vision as she maneuvers a smooth turn with just one hand, the other finding purchase on the back of your headrest. The contact moves her just barely an inch closer to you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making an unbecoming sound.
“It’s okay.” Ellie’s voice breaks through your reverie. “There’s a joke book in the console. If you ever wanna be as funny as me one day.”
“Really? You haven’t made me laugh yet.” Hesitantly, you pull the little book from her center console and flip to a random page. “Why do mushrooms get invited to all the parties?”
“Hm,” Ellie hums as she comes to a stop light. The blare of red does something to her beautifully concentrated face that is almost trance-like. “I don’t know. Tell me.”
“Because they’re such fungis.”
“Oh-ho!” She chortles, a full belly laugh, as if the joke was that funny. “I hadn’t heard that one before.”
“Looks like I’m the one that’s making you laugh.”
“Hey, don’t rush greatness.”
Silence purges the air for a moment, giving way to the guilt that still lingers in your chest. You glance at her focused face, your gaze drawing over the furrow in between her brows. It feels wrong to be enjoying her so much after how cruel you were.
Your voice is a squeak over the music. “I know you told me to stop apologizing for shit,”
“Then, why does it feel like you’re about to?” Ellie says, the sentence scored with a throaty chuckle.
Despite yourself, you smile. Somehow, she manages to make the hardest thing in the world (apologizing) just a little easier.
“Because, I really am sorry about the other day. I…” have been going through a hard time for the past two years. “…was having a bad day, and I took it out on you. I’m…” You want to finish with, not usually like that, but you are unsure if that’s completely true. Instead, you just say, “…sorry.”
“Can I be honest with you?” She inquires earnestly, whilst also seeming wholly unmoved by your apology.
Whatever she is about to say, you’re not sure you’re ready to hear it. Still you hum, “Mhm.”
“I think you take yourself way too seriously.” She says it lowly and a little fearfully, as if she’s trying to convey bad news in a soft way. “It’s okay to chill every now and then.”
“I am chill sometimes!” You erupt without meaning to, moving from the comfort of your seat and fully turning to face her. “I am,” you repeat in a softer register, only after proving her point.
“No, you’re not. I mean, even in your texts, you sound like a fed.” The statement is so jarringly and absurdly sincere that you can’t even bring yourself to be offended. Instead, you laugh so hard for so long that stitches cut up your sides. Ellie continues, “Who texts someone, do you sell? Like, okay. Good morning to you too, officer.”
She’s so right, you think. You are incredibly hard on yourself. You do think about yourself much more than any twenty year old girl ought to. It’s been an issue for so long that you’ve began to see it as a fact of life.
“It’s not intentional.” You say. Leftover giggles thread through your words. “I’m a very no-nonsense sort of person.”
“Life is all about balance. I think you can fit a little nonsense in.”
“Alright, o wise one.” God, this girl was all sorts of bad for you. You’re joking with the sole purpose of making her laugh and saying things like o wise one completely unironically. “Where do you suggest I start?”
There’s a mild timidness to her voice when she asks, “You ever smoke weed?” as if she’s heavily anticipating your response. Maybe, to her, you don’t look like the type to smoke. Hell, twenty four hours ago, you probably would have thought the same of yourself, too.
Your answer, though, is short and long. Yes and no. You had definitely hit a joint in an effort to impress some stoner boys in the ninth grade. And from what you could recall two years prior, you quite enjoyed the lack of inhibition that accompanied a fifty milligram edible.
“Not really,” you end up saying to Ellie. “Why?”
“‘Cause, you’re going to tonight. And you’re gonna like it.”
There’s something about the finality in her voice that makes you explode on the inside. Her telling you what you will do and what you will like without any room for dissent invokes a swell of warmth through your body. It spikes behind your ears, in your chest, right in between your thighs where you’re beginning to need her the most.
Still, you tease, “What makes you so sure?”
“I’m the o wise one, remember?” She parakeets your words from earlier, and you swat playfully in her direction. “Just trust me. Can you do that?”
Mhm, you ache to say, I can do whatever you want me to do.
You just say yes instead.
“Atta girl.”
***
Ellie drives to the old parking lot on McKinley, where the two of you met just days ago. You conclude to yourself that this spot holds some comfortability for her; whether it be for its vacant nature of vast amount of space.
It’s different from Wednesday, though. The place is blanketed in darkness, only dimly brightened by faraway amalgamations of stars and those same twinkling lamp posts.
Ellie rolls a blunt with all the finesse and care of someone performing surgery. After sprinkling and dispersing the weed over crisp rolling paper, she appraises it for a while. You stare at it too, though you’re not sure what it is you’re supposed to be looking for.
Then, Ellie darts her tongue out to wet along the hem of the paper.
It’s a methodical motion that feels like it lasts forever. You definitely want it to. You don’t even hide the way your eyes drink in the pink muscle. So full, so wet, you want to suck it into your mouth and caress it with your own, over and over again.
“Based on our first interaction, I wouldn’t have expected you to be much of a partying type.” She hypothesizes, pulling a lighter out of her jean’s front pocket and sparking the blunt to life. Graceful tendrils of smoke fill the air like tiny dancers.
“It’s on and off,” You say, watching the gentle purse of Ellie’s lips as hits it once. “Theta parties, not really. Phi Psi is usually fun, though.”
“Yeah?” She asks even though you’re positive half of what you’re saying sounds like gibberish by now.
“Yeah. They play good music, and they serve real alcohol. If I have to try and get drunk off another beer I might kill myself.”
Ellie hums a soft, throaty chuckle, and you feel as though you have hit the lottery. But, like any gambler, it isn’t good enough to win once. You want to do it again and again and again until you touch that ever elusive state of euphoria.
Dopamine rushes through your brain so turbulently that you don’t even feel nervous when she passes the blunt to you. You put it to your lips and suck for only a second. Just long enough to keep you from falling into a coughing fit.
When you breathe it in, it spreads throughout your body real slow and warm. Like you’re sinking into a bubble bath. You blow it out, and surprisingly only cough once.
“Anyway, yeah, they’re usually a good time.” You repeat the process, subconsciously uncrossing your legs. “You should come to their next one. It’s for St. Patrick’s Day.”
Stray light from a lamp post catches a portion of Ellie’s face perfectly. One of her eyes, the smooth valley of her cheekbone, that flash of auburn at her hairline.
“See, thing is, I’m not really much of the partying type.”
The sting of rejection feels unnatural to you. “It’ll be fun, though. The theme is Nothing but Green. You could, like, sell some of your weed there. I don’t know, is that allowed?”
You go to hit the blunt a third time, but are interrupted when Ellie deals a prompt pinch to your arm. It commands your attention without being altogether painful. You let yourself imagine how it would feel for her to pinch your nipples. Would she start off more gentle than that? Would she do it harder if you asked her to?
“Don’t do that shit,” She says, summoning the blunt from your hand.
“What?”
“Puff puff, pass.” She faux demonstrates. “All the time, every time. Golden rule.”
“Got it,” You nod. “Puff puff, pass.”
You are not sure if this teaching moment embarrasses you or turns you on. Perhaps it does both at once. Maybe, the fact that you’re embarrassed turns you on. Or the fact that you’re turned on embarrasses you.
“When will it start to kick in?” You mumble, entranced by the sight of smoke leaving Ellie’s lips and dispersing into the air.
“You said you don’t really smoke, right?” You nod. “Then, probably around now.”
Ellie hits the blunt again, a longer one this time. She lets the smoke come out of her mouth and nose in some entrancing trick of magic.
“Mmm,” She hums, brows furrowing in inquisition. “Your lip gloss is all over it.”
You’re so turned on you don’t even notice how you nearly grit your teeth to the point of stubs. “I’m sorry,” You whisper. It’s all you can say.
“Don’t be.” She reassures you, her voice taking on a more authoritative tone. It’s clear she’s the teacher to your pupil. “‘S just got a little bit of your taste on it now, that’s all.”
“What do I taste like?”
The words leave your mouth before you can even assess them properly. Strangely enough, you do not care to. It’s freeing to not have to think about anything.
Ellie licks her lips—slow and pensive, the way someone would if they were in deep thought. But she isn’t. She’s just trying to get an accurate appraisal of your flavor before it dissolves in her mouth.
She tasting me, you think. I’m all over her tongue right now.
“Peaches.” She decides after a moment. “Like the kind they make in Georgia, y’know. Fresh. Sweet.” Ellie softly smacks her tongue against the roof of her mouth a couple times. A slow, deep gulp from her follows. “Pure.”
You feel anything but. There’s nothing pure about the way you feel right now, or the things you want Ellie to do to you.
Your mind is mangled by desire, but the usual bashfulness around it completely disappears under the weed’s influence. If she asked you right now (What do you wanna do?) you would answer with full sincerity (I want to sit on your lap, and grind against your thigh until I cum. Then, I want to do it again and again and again and again and…)
Arousal begins to drip out of you at a sedated pace, rendering your panties a sticky mess.
“That’s really sweet of you, Ellie.” You smile. “You’re really sweet.”
“Yeah,” You know you aren't hesitating when you feel her gaze ride over you in a slow, long once over. Individual hairs on your body point up under her stare. It smooths up your calves but pays extra care to the buttery softness of your thighs.
When your four eyes meet, Ellie knows that you know she was just ogling you. But she doesn't care. She doesn’t even afford you the politeness of looking away, flustered at having been caught. She isn’t embarrassed of wanting you. You just wish she would take you already. Instead, she just says, “You’re not too bad yourself.”
When the blunt has been smoked down to basically nothing (a roach, Ellie calls it) your limbs feel like big hackysack bags, and your heart is beating maybe twenty times per minute.
You use an inordinate amount of strength turning your body towards Ellie. She’s began fiddling with the aux on her radio, flipping back and forth through songs in search of what she deems perfect.
Despite being a little out of your sound mind, you cannot fight the desire you have for her to fuck you anyway. You hope that by the time you get out of her car, the evidence of your want has soaked through your panties and into the suede passenger seat, leaving a little piece of you behind for her.
Ellie calls your name just as she’s picked what she deems the perfect song—Mac Miller’s Skin. She relaxes in her seat, narrowing her eyes on you and whispering, “You feelin’ alright?”
“Mmmhhmm,” You hum, soft and content. “Does it always feel this good?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” The low rumble of her voice softens your chest like hot tea. “Helps when you have someone to shoot the shit with.”
“Am I a good… shit shooter?” You ask, though not a hundred percent certain you’re even saying the right words.
“Not bad for your first time.”
Ellie drops you off in front of the Phi Mu house not too long after. You slink out of her car just as the clock strikes 2:53 in the morning. “Thank you, Ellie,” You say through open passenger side window. “I had fun.”
“So did I.” She says. Then, after a moment of tensed staring, “Will you text me whenever you get settled in? I don't want you bumping your head or anything.”
“Okay,” You grin. “Drive safe.”
You turn away and begin walking to the door, only looking back once you’re a few paces away from her car. Ellie watches you the whole way up.
***
You slump against your bedroom door, pushing it closed with a loud thud. The space is so dark you can’t even see your own palm in front of your face. You don’t care. You kick your boots and socks off before shoving your panties down to your ankles.
Your spine goes soft at the first brush of your fingertips against your pussy lips. You spread yourself open, exposing your clit to the stiff chill of your bedroom. A soft hiss escapes your lips as you take a finger and dip it into the cleft of your hole, collecting a gush of your slick, before lathering it over your cunt. Wetting the softness of your clit and labia minora.
“Ellie,” You whine as those first few embers of goose flesh prickle over your skin. If you focus just enough, you can still smell the deep scent of her lingering against your skin. If you close your eyes, you can imagine she’s right in front of you, egging you along.
You couldn’t even make it to the fucking bed, she’d murmur into your lips, her breath fanning over tongue. The thought of her seeing you so vulnerable makes you rub your clit in a steadier rhythm.
“No,” you mewl, “I couldn’t.” Already, you feel that pull behind your navel that tells you you’re gonna cum soon. You’ve never gotten so close so fast before and the shock of it has you whining.
Is this what you were thinking about the whole time? You nod so hard that you bump your head against the door. ‘Cause I could’ve given it to you. All you had to do was ask.
That sends you over the edge. You come apart with a sharp gasp that tears through your throat. Your teeth lock together in an attempt to stop any further sounds from escaping, but you can’t help the desperate sob that comes with the relief of your orgasm.
Don’t stop, you hear Ellie’s voice say again, and your hunger is back as though it never left. Your middle and ring fingers return to your clit like reunited lovers.
“Please,” You breathe out. You’re scared of the fire erupting inside you. You’re scared that you won’t be able to stop now that it’s started.
Answer me, Ellie says, is this what you wanted?
“Yes,” you confess in a short grunt. You didn’t care that you were too high to hold your head up straight. You didn’t care that you wouldn’t be able to fight her off even if you wanted to. You just needed her so bad it made everything else seem foolish. “I wanted it so bad.”
Yeah? Her voice is so taunting it almost feels humiliating. Wanted me to reach over and lift your dress up?
“Mhmhmhmhm,”
Wanted me to play with your pussy?
“I did, I did, I did,” You pant, moving your fingers off your clit and dipping them into your sopping hole. The stretch sates you, though you have to imagine your fingers as Ellie’s just to tame that fire burning in your gut. A prurient chorus of wet sounds fill the air.
While you fuck yourself, you grind your clit against the heel of your palm, hungry for as much stimulation as your pussy can take.
Look at how wet you are for me, Ellie taunts, and I’m not even fucking here.
Your orgasm sneaks up on you so quickly, you have to clamp down on your bottom lip to keep from screaming Ellie’s name into the pitch black air. Your cunt flutters around your fingers as you ride it out.
As you begin to come down, your knees buckle together and you tumble onto the floor. You’re totally spent by this point—toes crinkling in aftershock, legs completely liquefied, heart hammering through your ears.
The scent of carpet deodorizer makes you sneeze but keeps you from knocking out on the floor. You pat around the floor for your purse, hastily retrieving your phone to text Ellie.
All settled in :)
Your text is read, and about a minute later, telltale typing bubbles pop up on her end of the screen.
goodddd
take it easy tomorrow
***
The next couple of weeks are punctuated by texts. For days after your first rendezvous, you weren’t sure if you should be the one to text first or vice versa.
Then, you were heading to your car after the end of a midday class when your phone pinged twice.
there were peaches at the dining hall td
ate one and thought of u
You responded quickly after skipping the rest of the way to your car.
Wowww
How were they?
Five minutes pass, and your heart is on edge for all of them.
nice i guess
not as good as the real thing
From then, you don’t feel so apprehensive texting her first or at all. Coming up with the most perfectly cool-sounding thing to say does leave your stomach in knots the first couple of times, but you get over it soon enough when you read whatever she sends back.
While picking up a study book at Barnes & Noble, you convince yourself to get one of those joke books on the next aisle over. You purchase it quickly so that you have no time to regret it. When you make it to your car, you send a picture of it to Ellie.
Picked this up at the bookstore.
Gonna be just like you lols
oh yeah?
spit me smth
Why don’t melons get married?
mmmm
i don’t know
tell me
Because they cantaloupe.
lmaooo
that’s a good one
i’m proud of you
Better step your game up!
At night, when you’re in the midst of sleep, three pings would startle you awake, only to be promptly delighted when you process Ellie’s name attached to them.
u up?
sorry that sounded weird
couldn’t sleep thought i’d text u
Lol. Nothing better to do?
woahh ur awake
You woke me!
Are you alright?
yeahhh
just up thinking i guess
About what?
What you’re gonna wear to the NBG party?
very funny peach
The three words on your phone nearly burn your eyes. Your chest floods with a surge of ecstasy as you process the nickname she’s given you. You read the message about seven times over, your smile stretching bigger each time, imagining the words leaving Ellie’s mouth exactly as they’re written. You’re about to read it again when a new message springs forth.
you really want me to come?
You’re the only person I want there
***
Ellie sighs as she places her cards in the center of the coffee table.
It’s one of relief and anticipation—she can finally pick her phone back up and see what texts have materialized on your side of the screen.
“One three.” Jesse says, placing his cards down to the right of her.
Dina follows excitedly after. “Two fours.”
She can barely get the words out of her mouth before Jesse is declaring, “Bullshit,”
She scoffs and pulls the pile of cards at the table into her own deck.
While this is happening, Ellie is silently swooning over a photo you’ve just sent her—posed in front of your bedroom mirror, clad in a blush-pink athletic jacket and breathy white tennis skirt. Your eyes are just the tiniest bit softer, and Ellie swears she can see a kaleidoscope of emotion threatening to burst through your irises.
She’s not even sure if you’re trying to, but you look perfect. You always do. On the day the two of you met. On the night of the Theta party. On those Instagram stories Ellie isn’t sure if she’s supposed to heart or not (though, she always ends up doing so after an embarrassing amount of deliberation).
Fit check before my run later.
She’s about to respond when Dina’s voice sifts through the chaos of her thoughts. “Ellie,” She calls, “It’s your turn.”
Ellie diverts her attention back to her hand of cards. “One five.” She quickly lies, sliding it toward the center of the table, faced down.
She surveys the caption of words under your photo, swiftly and carefully preparing words of her own to send. love it peach, Ellie types. Then, once she’s gathered the confidence, lol run to my place.
Butterflies run fretful laps around her stomach as she awaits your response. Ellie presses her eyes closed for a moment, but only sees your smile twinkling behind the lids. She goes to worry her bottom lip between her teeth, hoping to find remnants of your taste still there, like some sort of perverted scratch and sniff.
“Three sixes.” Jesse announces, no doubt present in his voice.
“Bullshit,” says Dina, just as confident, “I’ve got all the sixes.” After a few moments of whispered counting, she offers, “Two sevens.”
When Ellie opens her eyes, three texts have appeared.
Haha, you wish
Come to the party tomorrow
Then I’ll consider.
Before she can think of a charming enough response, Dina nudges her leg under the coffee table. “Earth to Ellie!” She calls out. Ellie looks up—really looks—for the first time since before the game started to see Dina and Jesse staring back at her with annoyed albeit slightly amused faces. “Hey, we’re playing a game here.” Dina cajoles.
“Yeah, Ellie. Is it phone time or friend time?” Jesse joins, clearly equally motivated by curiosity and messing with her just for the sake of it.
Ellie breathes a soft laugh. “Sorry guys,”
“What’s got you all smiley, anyway?” Dina asks with a quirk of her brow.
“Nothing.”
“Bullllshit,” Jesse says, as confident as ever.
Ellie places her cards down, trying to conceal the lump passing through her throat. Despite being surrounded by her closest friends, she can’t help the spike in her heart rate.
“It’s just this girl I sold to a couple weeks back.” Ellie confesses.
“Oh,” Dina says, utterly delighted. Ellie doesn’t miss the look her and Jesse exchange across the table. “She nice?”
Just talking about you gets her going. A rush of heat blooms beneath her cheeks. “Yeah, she’s real sweet,” Ellie says before realizing that may not be completely true. So, she adds, “once you get to know her.”
Jesse pipes up from the other side of the table.“Is she cute?”
Dina reprimands him with a glare. “Don’t be such a pig, Jess.” Though it’s likely Jesse’s only said that to make her jealous. Her features soften as she turns her gaze back to Ellie. “But, I mean, is she?”
Ellie pulls a low whistle between her teeth, her own modest way of saying fuck yeah.
She pulls up your Instagram to show Dina and Jessie. Frankly, she couldn’t help the intimidation crawling up her back when she first looked at the page. One post, sixteen hundred followers, and a bio with only two characters—ΦM.
“Woah,” Dina blurts as she taps on the lone post. It’s a single photo of you outside a restaurant. The gown you’re wearing is a deep shade of scarlet, and your full, glossy lips are tilted upward in a coquettish sort of half smile.
Jesse claps a firm, proud hand over Ellie’s shoulder. “Sorority girl,” He says the two words as if they alone convey something much deeper. “Nice, man.”
“Yeah,” Dina chirps, “when can we meet her?”
“Woah,”
“Slow your roll, D.” Jesse says in the familiar mediating way that only he can. “You gotta let her come to us.”
“Yeah, you heard him, Mom,” Ellie smiles, though suddenly fighting the warmth that swirls in her chest at the prospect of you meeting her friends. “One eight,” She says, placing her last card on the table and revealing that she’s won the game.
“Bullshit!” Jesse and Dina exclaim together.
Ellie turns her card around to show that it is indeed an eight, and is met with a chorus of grunts. “I had a lot riding on that game.” Jesse says, gathering the deck and preparing to shuffle again.
“You bet two slices of your pizza.”
DIna rolls her eyes. “Clearly that was all he had.”
“Fuck it. New game! This time I’m betting the whole box.”
Later, after the pizza boxes and wine bottles and cards have all been cleaned away, Ellie shuffles into bed with excitement purring inside her chest as she opens your messages.
i’m back peach
Hi!
How was game night?
pretty fun
told my friends about you
Oh?
What did you say?
that i sold to a pretty girl a couple of weeks ago
& we hit it off
Lolll, I don’t remember it happening that way
uhh it happened eventually
also told them i’d go to your party tmrw
The screen goes still for a few moments after Ellie last message. Only alight with your speech bubble making disjointed appearances on the other side of the screen, fading in and out in the manner of a thready pulse.
YAY!!
I could just kiss you right now.
Ellie stares at the wall long after you’ve fallen asleep, trying fruitlessly to run the thought of you out of her mind. Still, no matter how many invisible constellations she draws with the popcorns in her ceiling, no matter how many sheep she counts or puffs she takes of her weed pen, she can’t calm her brain.
The only thing that sates her is the image of you.
Figuratively, because when Ellie finally allows herself to think of you, a slow warmth rushes over her body. It begins at the tips of her fingers and doesn’t stop until its peaked at her longest eyelash.
Literally, because she pulls up a photo of you to feed the fire burning in her heart. It’s the first picture you ever sent her—a selfie of you in a cream colored, off the shoulder sweater, your face only brightened by the glimmer of a nearby candle.
You look like a dream. Ellie’s concerned for a moment that the vision of your face may be the result of her own prolonged, feverish hallucinations.
Don’t mind my eyes. Just finished a study sesh lol. Ellie reads the texts you sent under the photo countless times. When she looks back at your eyes in the picture, they do seem to show the quaintest signs of sleepiness—soft and low and too relaxed to hold up your guard.
Ellie imagines your eyes to look that way after sex. The soft, sweet, romantic kind you have on Valentine’s Day or prom night. The kind you tell your girlfriends about a couple days later over salads. (“It was the most romantic night of my life!”) Love making.
What scares Ellie is that she doesn’t want to do that to you. At least not right now. Right now, she wants your back pressed flush against her chest as plows into you from the side. She wants to grip one hand at the junction under your knee, keeping you anchored open so that there’s nowhere to go but deeper.
Does it always feel this good?
Your previous words reverberate through her head. Ellie wonders if that’s the kind of thing you would say after sex. The kind of delirious, euphoria-drunk question you would ask after she’s coaxed a fourth or fifth orgasm out of you. Does it always feel this good, Ellie?
With a heavy sigh, Ellie closes her phone and her eyes, resolving not to think about you for the rest of the night, lest she unravel her remaining bit of sanity. She fails.
***
Ellie’s text comes just as you down your fifth green apple jell-o shot. Checking your phone, you chew and suck the thickness into a smooth dissolution until it’s melted completely in your mouth.
i’m outside peach
A smile splits your face before you even realize it. Excitement surges through you so quickly your body jolts as if you’ve gotten chills.
“Sorry,” You say after accidentally bumping into a guy wearing a simple but effective dollar sign costume. He murmurs a polite, you’re good, and continues flirting with a girl dressed as the green M&M.
The floorboards tremble under the bass of Lil Yachty’s Broccoli and the hundreds of feet moving along to the music. You make your way through the crowd, passing a huddle of girls dressed a leprechauns and one not so convincing Hulk before you make it outside.
You spot Ellie instantly. Firstly, because a few porch and string lights illuminate where she stands at the front of the house. Secondly, because she’s the only person not wearing any green.
Your eyes lock as you storm up to her, and you catch the subtle appraisal she does of your outfit. You’re wearing a green, sequined mini dress that’s hemmed just beneath the curve of your ass and strappy stilettos that curl up your calves. All your jewelry is gold—your big hooped earrings, jangling bracelets on both arms, and mess of thin chains around your neck. And though Ellie can’t see it, you swear her eyes focus in on the thong you’re wearing under your dress. It’s a soft, sheer material of pale green, trimmed with scalloped lace. Two words sit woven into the fabric over your soft mound—Lucky You.
“Now it’s my turn to pinch you,” Your voice comes out familiarly cheery, even if you are trying to reprimand her. “Where’s your green, loser?”
She’s wearing another band tee and straight-legged jeans, her hands shoved into the pockets. “Is it too late to tell you I don’t have any?”
Just the sound of her voice is enough to evaporate your frustrations. It doesn’t help that your eyes are following a trail of freckles down the bridge of her nose toward the soft bow of her upper lip. And her eyes are such a brilliant tinge of olive that you altogether stop caring just for a moment.
“No,” You clear your throat to keep the word from coming out as a whimper. “because we’re gonna get you some.”
You wrap your fingers around her wrist, gently pulling until her hand is out of her pocket and interlocked with yours. Surprisingly, you aren’t as unnerved by touching her as you thought you would be. It’s warm skin against warm skin. And while the softness of her palm encased around yours sends your pulse lurching, you don’t have it in you to be nervous at this moment.
“Where’re we going, Peach?” It’s the first time you’ve heard her say the nickname aloud, and you’re certain the feeling it gives you is akin to snorting a few lines.
“I’m gonna take you to get something green. Just stay close to me and try not to get pinched.”
You lead Ellie through the crush of people, tightening your grip on her hand as you pass through one particularly congested area of clammy, jittery bodies. You occasionally look back to survey her face, gauging her features for any signs of noticeable discomfort. However, you don’t find any. Only delight and a little bit of awe as she takes in everything around her.
One particularly rough wave of movement crushes the two of you together—your back against her front. Just as your balance begins to topple and your grip unfastens from Ellie’s hand, you feel it hitch on to your hip. Her breath is warm and smooth as she whispers into your skin, “Don’t worry,” The words run over the nape of your neck like water. “I got you.”
The two of you are so close, you can feel your ass slotting up and down over the hard steel of her belt buckle. For a second, you swear you feel Ellie tighten her hold on your hip so she can grind herself against you in turn. Just the thought that that could be happening makes you insane.
You turn back to her, nearly curling your body around hers, just so you let your lips brush against the shell of her ear. “Thank you, Ellie.”
You lock the storage closet door behind you. The sound of it is a soft, sharp click that you can’t be certain Ellie didn’t hear. Under the room’s singular lightbulb, she’s ruffling through a bin of beaded green necklaces and Party City shirts.
“Find anything?” You gently squeeze your thighs together before you make your way over to her.
“Just a bunch of shirts that say, I’m Single, Pinch Me Anyway.”
“Better than nothing,”
“True.”
You let yourself idly watch as she rifles through the bin. Her t-shirt rides just the tiniest bit up her back, so you can see the minuscule divots and twitches of muscle at the strong, svelte curve of her abdomen.
“I’m really glad you could come, Ellie.” Her head only slightly twitched toward the sound of your voice, but beside that, she doesn’t pull her eyes away from the bin. Almost as though she’s making a concerted effort not to. “For a minute, I wasn’t sure if you would.”
You stalk over to the other side of the spacious closet, sucking in a sharp breath as your back makes contact with the cold, dusty wall. You wonder if the sound of your heels clicking over the floor will arouse her curiosity, but she only manages a slight glance at you through her peripheral vision.
“C’mon, Peach, I was gonna pull through. Just had to tease you a little first.” Her voice comes out deep and smooth, a glass of whiskey you want to get drunk on any day of the week. Still, she doesn’t look your way. And that irritates you, because she’s been scraping the bottom of the bin for a good minute.
“Ellie,” you allow yourself to murmur once more. “Why won’t you look at me?”
She stops moving then, and you’re stricken with satisfaction. Her voice is a low, tortured sound. “You think I haven’t been looking at you?”
Finally, she stands up, turning her head your way. It pleases you, but only for a second. You outstretch your hand and curl your index finger in a come hither motion. So, she does. Ellie stalks toward you one careful step at a time until there are only two inches of free space between you. With your bodies so close, you’ve effectively trapped yourself against the wall.
“Do you… like my dress?” On the last three words, you voice slurs the tiniest bit. It comes out not at all how you intended. Vulnerable instead of sexy. You think that’s partly because you have to suppress a green apple flavored belch under you speech.
Ellie’s eyes travel over your dress in one steady motion, as if she’s counting the individual sequins. Your nipples stiffen under her gaze.
“Of course I do.” She says after a moment.
You nudge her leg with your foot, gently brushing over her shin a few times. “What about my shoes?”
She’s unfazed, though. She doesn’t take her eyes off yours. Her brows furrow interrogatively as she asks, “What are you doing, Peach?”
“I’m just trying to see if you like my outfit.” You lie, “I wore it for you, anyway.” Well, half lie.
Ellie entertains you for a moment, glancing down at your heeled foot as it pushes the hem of her jeans just the slightest bit over her inner ankle. “You’re beautiful,” she says, “but you know that already,” Blood rushes so furiously behind the shells of your ears that you feel you might vomit right at Ellie’s feet.
“What if I just wanted you to tell me?”
“Then I’ll tell you as many times as you want.” Ellie says, contented and resolved. You want her to tell you as many times as she can muster in one breath, between kisses, against the shell of your ear in the most intimate moments.
Want burns through you so rapidly your body feels as though it may dissolve into a heap of ash. With a shaky hand, you tug Ellie closer by the buckle of her belt and kiss her.
In those few seconds, it’s everything. Everything you’ve fantasized about, everything in this world you could ever want—it resides right here in the plushness of her mouth.
The skin of her lips is tinged with a decadent cocktail of flavors. Traces of mint, honey, and the sparsest bit of sweat. The taste sends a heady buzz down your spine that disorients your vertical. Luckily, Ellie stills you with warm, steady hands upon your hips.
Filled with a new mystical sense of exhilaration, you snake a hand around her waist, letting it sit comfortably at the slender small of her back. You pull her into you, and the movement of your lips grow sloppy as your body takes in this novel contact. Her chest pressed against yours, four legs moving as one at a messy interlock, her belt buckle’s chilled metal caressing your skin even through your dress.
It’s messy, but all the more electrifying. Just as the beginnings of a whimper are building in your throat, Ellie uses the same hands holding your hips to push you closer into the wall, away from her.
Your mouths are still so close that you can taste the warm fan of her breath. “I’m sorry,” Slowly, the pair of you untangle your limbs, Ellie initiating most of it. She lets her hands fall from your hips and puts a step of distance between you. It’s noticeable enough to make you shiver at the loss of contact, yet still small enough that just a single sufficient heave of either of your chests will push you back into the other’s orbit.
“You’re drunk,” She explains finally.
Years of premature alcohol consumption up to now had gifted you the ability of holding your liquor better than most of your peers, so you wonder what gives you away to Ellie. The strong and sickly, saccharine taste of green apple on your lips? Your less than perfect balance? The audacity you had to lock the two of you in a storage closet?
“It isn’t your fault, Ellie,” Your voice is so low it hardly forms any permeation in the atmosphere, a perfect antithesis to your shame that seems to swallow the room. “I kissed you.”
Ellie clutches her jaw, a pained expression shadowing her features, as if you’ve just socked her in it. “Still, I shouldn’t have… fuck,” A moment passes where you cannot tell what emotion Ellie is feeling. Frustration? Lust? Regret? A cornucopia of them swirl through the flecks of sepia in her eyes. “Let’s just get you home, okay?”
That word—home—doesn’t help your shot nerves. In fact, it only worsens them. The Phi Mu mansion a few blocks away feels less like home and more like a place where you live. A place with all your things, all the space, all the specially cooked meals you could ever want. And yet,
“I don’t want to go there.” Your own voice catches you off guard. No longer the still, controlled sotto voce of the past. You’re petulant. Teetering on the edge of an emotion you refuse to touch. You sound as though you are about to cry. Shit, maybe you are drunk. “Can I come to yours?” You ask so quickly that the words swallow your previous sentence entirely. Ellie’s face doesn’t even get a chance to express the initial sentiment of Where else are you gonna go?
“Okay,” She resolves, “let’s go.”
***
Ellie’s apartment is only a heap of shadows and abstract heaps of shape. She grabs you by the hand and leads you through the darkness. Even while drunk, you can feel the caution radiating off her in seismic waves.
“My room’s this way.” She pulls you along towards the right (you think), murmuring something about minding your step.
You only know that you’ve actually made it into Ellie’s room when your heels no longer click against the floor but instead putter clumsily through sumptuous carpet. She lets go of your hand and ventures deeper into the space, flicking on a lamp that floods the room with warm light.
Even while drunk, her room feels emblematic of everything cool, in the sense that it is wholly distinctive to her. While her bed is neatly made—a fluffy, tempting slate of onyx and navy blue linen—her desk seems homier, with a slew of artifacts littering the top of it. A notebook flipped open, pages tattooed in indecipherable, wiry scrawl, a laptop plastered in faded stickers, a mug of diverse pens.
An acoustic guitar sits in the corner of her room, staring at you through the gaping maw of its sound hole. “I didn’t know you played guitar.” You remarked, unstrapping your heels. When your feet are finally bare, you fight off a chill as they sink into the soft floor.
“Uh, here and there.” Ellie palms the back of her neck. Her flushed disregard piques your interest, but you just add it to the mental laundry list of things you’ll ponder on further when the sun comes up. “Bathroom’s right through there.” She points to an agape door parallel to another, which you assume is her closet. “I’ll be out here whenever you’re done.”
You aren’t shocked that Ellie is in the living room when you return from peeing. It’s a sobered, impregnable distance away that doesn’t stop you from wanting to kiss her no matter how many extra steps it will take to get there.
She left clothes for you at the foot of the bed. An old, shapeless Oasis tee that swallows your body in its fabric and a pair of boxers that are as comfortable as they are unflattering.
Ellie is setting up blankets and pillows when you join her in the newly illuminated living room. She’s gotten comfortable too, having bartered her jeans and tee for a wife-beater and flannel pajama pants. “Will your roommate be upset that I’m here?” You ask, tiptoeing further into the space.
“Nah, you’re good,” Ellie’s couch is compiled of two blankets. One, you presume, is to shield your skin from the glacial sofa leather. The other, from the air. “It’s about time I brought a girl home, anyways.”
What’s meant to be a joke only sours you for some reason you can’t put your finger on. “Right.” You sigh, feeling dejected by your own murky thoughts. You take to caressing the blankets you’ll be sleeping with tonight. Their fleecy hairs are as soft as plant soil. “Thank you for setting me up out here.”
Ellie chuckles. It’s a coquettish, nubile sound that fills your body with a fresh load of butterflies. “It’s for me, Peach.” She plops her butt onto the middle cushion and spreads her legs in the most territorial fashion, taking up as much space as possible, presumably to keep you from sitting near her. “Bed’s all yours.”
“Are you sure?” You protest, “I’m your guest. Shouldn’t I take the couch?”
“A princess like you, sleeping on a sofa? I don’t buy it.” Her tone is challenging, as though there’s some sliver of possibility she’ll let you take the couch, only if you want it badly enough.
Still, she’s right. Given the choice any other time, you would make a beeline to the nearest available bed. The only reason you can think of for feigning modesty is that it grants you an excuse to talk to her more.
“Yeah,” You relent, though still dipping your knee into the only bit of cushion unexplored by Ellie’s legs. “good point there. You like it though, right?”
The it is unspoken, though clear as day. It’s staring her in the face, kneeing her couch, wearing her clothes. It chewed her out within moments of meeting her, and not long ago, drunkenly kissed her as though their lives depended on it.
You watch her fingers inch their way toward your knee, dither slightly in their path, and then curl into her palm in an anguished fist. “Yeah, I do.” From where you stand, a slit in her eyebrow reveals itself to you. You are unable to tell if it was sliced there electively or acquired from injury. You’re about to reach out and touch it when Ellie speaks again. “You should get some rest, Peach.”
Too tired to fight it, you acquiesce, returning to Ellie’s room with a reserved, “Good night,”
After leaving her bedroom door open so that only a slice of outside light shines through, you pee once more before plopping into bed. You bury your face into a pillow, pleasantly surprised to find Ellie’s scent all over it. The living room light never dims or turns off, but you’re too tired to care.
***
The time on your phone reads 2:37 when you wake up. Nighttime is still in full swing, as evidenced by the sounds of drunk collegiates whooping about outside. Still, your heart hammers wildly in your chest and your bladder screams at you from beneath Ellie’s duvet, eager to be relieved of its green apple jell-o content.
When you finally do pee and get your pulse to calm, you notice the sound of television humming from the small crack in the bedroom door. The thought that Ellie could still be awake both bewilders and delights you. You know won’t be able to fall back asleep until you check.
You poke your head out the door to see that Ellie is still awake and watching a Spongebob rerun. While she’s blissfully unaware of your presence, you dedicate a few moments of your stealth to observing her.
Even the way she lazes makes you blush. Ellie’s head, a warm crush of velvety auburn, is sunken into a pillow, denting its center. Her chest is looped into an even rhythm of breathing, a hypnotic up-and-down that makes you jealous of the air she breathes. One of her hands swings idly off the edge of the couch while the other rests on her belly, fingering invisible patterns into the fabric of her tee.
“Ellie,” Try as you might (though, you did not bother trying) you cannot stop yourself from calling out to her. Her eyes flit from the television to you, and you see them come to life as they do.
“Peach,” Her tone betrays that she’s both delighted and scared to see you. “what are you doing up?”
You push the door open wider, making room for the rest of your body in that liminal space between here and there. “Couldn’t sleep,” Ellie sits up on the couch, and her shirt rides up, exposing that smooth canvass of skin just above the waist of her pants. “What’s your excuse?”
“Same,” she confesses, “bad dream.”
You aren’t sure what part of this minute interaction pushes you into your next train of thought. Maybe it’s the way her gaze pins you to the threshold of the door. Maybe it’s because all those feelings that stormed through you at the party never really evanesced in the way they should have, and you aren’t sure they ever will. Especially not now. I shouldn’t have asked to come here, you think, she should have told me no.
“Come to bed with me?”
It’s a tall order, and you know that. You know Ellie will probably roll her eyes and grumble something along the lines of, go back to sleep, Peach, but just like that night in her car, you lack too much inhibition to care.
You aren’t expecting her to rise from the couch and murmur something beneath her breath like, come on then.
“That didn’t take much convincing.” You quip, thoroughly surprised by your victory, as Ellie flits past you through the doorway.
“I’m in no position to fight it.”
“What, does that mean you don’t want to?” You inquire, “Or that you won’t?”
“Little bit of both, I guess.” Ellie pauses at the foot of the bed as she appraises it. You’ve already dipped one of your knees into the foam and picked up a pillow for fluffing. “You’re on my side of the bed, by the way.”
“Oh, I—” You dither some as you knead the pillow previously dimpled by the shape of your head.
“No, it’s okay. Looks like you slept on both sides, actually.”
Ellie smiles, gesturing to the identical concavities on both pillows, the messiness of the comforter that isn’t confined to one side of the mattress.
“Sorry, I’m—”
“Hey,” It’s a single, three-letter word with not even a second syllable afforded to it. So, why does the sound of it out of her mouth command your attention like that of clicker trained animal? “what’d I tell you about all that apologizing? It’s okay. Now my pillows’ll smell like you.”
She crawls over onto the mattress until she’s maybe a few inches across from you. You wonder if she’s even trying to control herself around you anymore. You certainly are not.
“Okay, but before we go to sleep, can I apologize for one more thing?”
“No, but I know you’re gonna do it anyway.”
“The kiss earlier.” You enunciate the three words as if they alone convey the entirety of your thoughts. “I’m sorry if I made anything weird, or crossed a line, or…” Embarassment and a lack of proper wording silences you. “anything like that.”
“You didn’t cross anything. It was… nice. I enjoyed it.”
The relief that fills your chest is almost immediately vanquished. “Nice? Just nice?”
A wolfish chuckle rumbles through her chest. “Yeah, I mean, we were in a closet, and I didn’t want us to get too carried away. And you were pretty drunk, so…”
“Sooo, you hated it?”
“I did not hate it. I just think we have the potential for better.”
“Well, we aren’t in a closet now. And I’m not drunk anymore.”
“What are you trying to say, Peach?”
Doing your best to keep the plush of the mattress from knocking you off kilter, you lean over until all of your weight is rested on your hands and knees, and you crawl to her. You slink her way until your noses are nearly sharing the same stream of oxygen.
Ellie’s eyes give way to every emotion that flickers through her, a tried and true window directly into her soul. Is she really doing this, you see her think. Fuck, she is.
Your lips connect for the second time that night, with less clumsiness and somehow even more apprehension than before—both purely motivated by the fact that you want to do it right this time.
The taste of her lips is even sweeter this time, fermented and rich and bursting with every flavor of her. When she opens her mouth a little wider, so that you can connect your lips more intimately, so that some of her saliva leaks onto your tongue, you mewl into her.
Your mouths move in communication with each other, a sort of interpretive dance. You creak yours open wider so that Ellie’s tongue can pass through and land exactly where you need it—tickling the roof of your mouth, massaging your own tongue.
It feels exactly as you imagined so many times before, better even. Wet and warm and soft and just so her. She begins to pull out of your mouth, but you just suck her back in, demanding and hungry. For a moment you think you’re being too expressive, too transparent with your desires, until Ellie cups the back of your head, pulling you deeper in and invigorating the want that pools in your belly.
After a couple more beats of heady, sedated sucking, you let Ellie’s tongue retract from your mouth, prepared to pull away. When you do, your bottom lip gets stuck—no, caught—between her teeth for half a second. Just long enough to push you closer and closer off the cliff of your sanity and into the hysteria filled waters below.
“Shit,” Ellie audibly gulps. A thin rosary of saliva connects your faces, and some smears the bow of her lips. You curl the tip of your tongue and lick up the mess.
She releases the back of your skull and you sink unceremoniously into the mattress, feet tucked underneath your butt. “Better?” You ask rhetorically.
“Kiss all your dealers like that?”
“Only my favorite ones.” You jest despite the puddle of need dampening Ellie’s boxers.
The two of you fall into silence, the space of the room post-kiss only soundtracked by whistling breaths and shuffling against the comforter. A minute of this passes before Ellie speaks up. “Can I tell you a secret?”
You hum affirmatively.
“I didn’t actually have a bad dream.” She divulges, “I just…” Her hands gesticulate aimlessly about, groping for the words. “couldn’t sleep knowing you were in the other room. It was driving me fucking crazy.”
“Were you just going to sit there and go crazy all night? Or were you going to come in here and do something about it?”
“I definitely thought about it.”
“What stopped you?”
“I guess I’m just a coward, or I would have done it sooner.”
Slowly and a little timidly, your mouth forms around a question that’s plagued the deepest recesses of your psyche for a long while. “Do you really want me, Ellie?”
Ellie answers your question with a kiss. She crawls over to you so slowly that, at any moment, you could have protested, asked, what are you doing? But you didn’t want to.
Once she’s on you, though, she doesn’t stop. She kisses you like she’s angry you would even ask the question, do you want me.
Her hands cup your face in a way that doesn’t even feign gentleness. You’ll pull away from her when she wants you to, and only then. “Lay back,” Ellie barely breaks away from you, practically spitting the words into your mouth.
Still, you recline your entire body until your head hits a pillow. It feels so good to have her like this—on top of you, kissing you, hands caging you in place, hips finding a welcome place in between your spread legs.
You ache for her, and you’re far past hiding it. Your hands find a steady hold on her hips, grinding your center into hers through your respective bottoms. Desperate whines travel out of your mouth into hers as your body drinks in the friction.
“I want you, Peach,” Ellie rasps over you. Her mouth connects to your ear, tongue drawing a precise curl around the shell. “Want you here,” she says, just before she lands on your neck and begins sucking tenderly at the skin above your jugular. “and here,” she manages to utter. Shuffling beneath your shirt, she slides her hands up your waist until they reach the pulsing expanse of your chest. “here, too. Can I touch you right here?” Ellie nearly pleads, even though she already is.
“You know you can.” You shudder, bunching the shirt up until it’s pushed completely over your head. The stiff air makes your nipples draw up and harden into sensitive peaks. It isn’t helped by the fact that you can feel Ellie’s breath fanning over them, humid and painstakingly close.
Ellie doesn’t take her eyes off you as she flattens her tongue over your nipple and licks. Slowly, up and down, over and over again. A whimper breaks from your gritted teeth when she rims your areola. “Do you like it when I do that?”
You nod hard enough to wrench your head off your shoulders. All the while, your shaky fingers are hooking under the hem of her shirt and pulling it up, up, up until it’s shuffled off the top of her head.
With both your shirts discarded to a distant corner of the room, Ellie’s mouth returns to yours, capturing it in a kiss so fervent it springs a tear behind your eye. She’s got you right where she wants you, you presume: ensnared within a hazy loop of wet kisses, heaving breasts pressed together, cunts still seeking each other out through the barriers of your pants.
If Ellie were to say to you, right now, Would you kill someone for me? Hm? I’ll make you cum if you say yes, you cannot guarantee your moral compass would even register killing someone to be wrong; not when the feeling of her rutting up against you is so incredibly right.
She doesn’t bother asking if she can stick her hand into your pants. The intrusion startles you a tad initially, makes you tense up, until she tightens her grip at the junction between your shoulder and neck, murmuring into your ear a soft, “‘S okay, baby, it’s just me,”
When Ellie does make contact with the desire that’s been dripping out of you, the edge of her lips curl into a wolfish grin. “You’re gonna kill me, I fucking swear.”
She pulls her hand out of your pants, and you can immediately tell which finger touched you. It’s wet and glistening beneath the moonlight as if bestowed with a halo. Ellie sucks it into her mouth, a slight moan falling from her lips as she does.
You hustle her boxers down to your ankles until you can comfortably kick them off. Ellie’s eyes darken over the picture of you, on her bed and naked as the day you were born. “Here,” She extends her middle and ring fingers out to your face. “get these wet for me.”
You imagine it’s intentional, the way she purposely keeps them about a hair’s breadth away from your lips. She wants to see you debase yourself a little bit, to shift your face smallest inch so that you can scoop her fingers into your mouth. So, you do.
Your lips wrap around her fingers in a sort of sweet surrender, sucking past the first knuckles, you taste remnants of yourself on her skin. Oral fixation, you presume, is why the act of doing this has felt more intimate than anything else so far. Your eyes bulge with naïveté as her fingertips press into your tongue, eliciting a teary gag.
You would think that the audible signal of discomfort would sway her to stop, but it seems only to invigorate her. Ellie’s eyes darken, and a strong, breathy hum vibrates off of her. “Yeah,” she goads, only removing her fingers once all your tears have spilled down your chin. She examines the wet canvass of your face with indeterminate emotion. You’re expecting concern. Are you okay, Peach? or something like, I’ll be gentle next time. Instead, she scoffs a condescending chuckle, remarking, “you look so fucking pretty when you cry.”
Without trying, your chest heaves against a broken sob. Like sweet prey at the mercy of a barbarous predator, you feel helpless. There’s nowhere you could go without her snatching you from the air with seizing paws. The feeling toes the line of being both petrifying and the most exhilarating thing you could ever imagine.
Ellie shifts until her weight is propped entirely on her right arm. From this angle, her warm breath sears the shell of your ear. You spread your legs without her even having to ask, pressing your knees as far back as you can, even as it starts to hurt.
Ellie brings her wet fingers to your cunt, caressing the swollen head of your clit with a thinly veiled hunger. The sensation makes every muscle in your body squeeze taut. Your toes curl and you have to fight the urge to shut your thighs together. “Ellie,” You whine, hiccuping a little as your asshole begins clenching in time with the movement of her fingers.
“I’ll give you anything you want. You know that?” Ellie coos into your ear, rubbing your clit a little faster, a little firmer. Your vision grows fuzzy at the edges. “All you need to do is ask. Use your words.”
“I want you inside.” Your voice is crossed between a whimper and grit. A satisfied purrr hums through Ellie’s body, but the confession embarrasses you a little nonetheless.
She dips her middle digit lower, letting her fingertip sit at the cleft of your hole. You whine a bit at the contact, squeezing desperately around nothing, trying to suck her in. “Atta girl,” Her first knuckle passes through with unsurprising ease, though only paltrily sates the appetence that’s tearing you asunder from the inside out.
Ellie affords you a few thrusts of her finger, curling it upward in a slow, come hither motion to test the waters. That feeling—that initial phalangeal push—gently coaxes a high pitched whimper out of your slacked mouth. She hums, satisfied, though only temporarily, as she pulls out a bit just so she can stretch you around a second finger.
“Oh, shit,” Your breathless cries fall on deaf ears as Ellie pushes her to fingers in, down to the very last knuckle. The feeling of being so full of her stirs a heap of emotions within you. It’s overwhelmingly and maddeningly perfect in a way you’re only able to communicate through broken moans. “Oh, my—” You hiccup, pressing your eyes shut as she pulls almost all the way out, only to push back in in a way that kind of hurts.
Ellie curls her fingers in tantalizing unison, her pace controlled, though, a tad feral. You can feel it in the melody of soft grunts that sneak through her gritted teeth and into your ears. It doesn’t take long before her fingertips are prodding at a spot that makes you gasp. The part of it that isn’t made up of sheer pleasure is genuine shock. You had no idea anything in this world could feel so good.
“Right there?” She asks, all too smug and casual, as if she isn’t literally fingering the pulse of your most sensitive spot. Every attempt you make to speak is thwarted by her feverish, determined pursuit of your orgasm.
“C’mon,” Ellie further riles when your whimpers start to synchronize in time with the steady plunges of her fingers. “show me how well you can take it.”
You don’t even notice the fledgling spring of tears that are dampening your cheeks until Ellie licks one clean with the curve tip of her tongue, and then sears the salty flavor into your mouth in a messy kiss.
Then, in the blink of an eye, you feel the pleasure intensifying in every part of your body, marching you toward an orgasm so intense that you actually do start to cry. Soft, tensed wails borne entirely from Ellie’s fingers. “W—Wait,” you nearly choke trying to say the word. “I need a minute. Can you just—”
“No.” She says. You don’t even think she considers the possibility of stopping. All that’s visible in the deep pools of her irises is stalwart resolution.
You make an attempt to squirm away, but she curls her fingers into that you again, adding pressure to where you’re already so tender. “Ellie,” you plead, her name falling clumsily out of your mouth.
Your desperation does little to stall her. In fact, it seems to be the thing pushing her forward. “You’re gonna cum so fucking hard like this,” Ellie promises, “just trust me.”
And you do.
It only takes a couple more nudges before your orgasm erupts from your body with all the intensity of an ocean bursting through a dam. In the heat of it, your voice reaches a screaming pitch. “Don’t stop,” you command, aching to ride it out for as long as possible. “please, please don’t stop.”
Thick, limpid rivulets of cum rush out of you in warm spurts, and Ellie fucks you through every second of it.
The next couple of minutes are spent trying to catch your breath. You flit your eyes over to Ellie’s face, repeatedly tracing your gaze over her eyes and lips. “You’re so fucking perfect.” She coos into your balmy skin whilst planting messy kisses into your temple. Then, she orders, “Come here.” Slowly, with small protesting mewls from you, Ellie pulls her fingers out of your cunt so that her hands can cup your cheeks and lock you into another passionate kiss.
***
When the two of you have wrangled into a position of post-coital cuddling—you curled into her side, face tucked into her neck, with her tattooed arm wrapped around you—Ellie asks, “Do you wanna hear a joke?”
Halfway lolled into slumber, you oblige her. “Lay it on me.”
“A weasel walks into a bar. The bartender says, ‘Interesting. I’ve never served a weasel before. What can I get you?’” The anticipatory gleam in Ellie’s eyes tells you that she’s really proud of this one, and that makes you smile.
You sigh, “I’m ready.”
“‘Pop’ goes the weasel.”
You go from sleepily smiling to rolling your eyes in record time. “Good, right?” Ellie jests, filling the room with raucous laughter that you’re sure would wake anyone, if anyone was here to hear it. “Come on, I worked really hard on that one.”
Not even a full five minutes later, Ellie has completely passed out before you. She is, for lack of a better phrase, a picture. Chest billowing steadily around slow, deep breaths, mouth slightly agape with a ribbon of drool staining its corner, a gentle snore singing from her nose.
With your pinky finger, you connect makeshift constellations in the freckles on her collarbone until your eyelids grow weary. Just before you surrender to tiredness, you let your gaze sweep over Ellie’s face a final time. Her eyes, her nose, her mouth that is now curled into a soft smile. You hope she’s dreaming of you.
“Ugh, I hate finals, remind me again why I need my degree?”
Garrett laughs from your bed, his hazel eyes looking up from his phone and finding you at your desk, papers and books strewn messily across the top.
“Baby, you’re pushing yourself too hard, come lay with me and take a break.”
You scoff. “Yeah, right, I don’t have time for that Garrett, I have to pass these exams or I can kiss the career I want goodbye.”
Swinging his legs over the side of your bed, Garrett stands, slowly making his way toward you. Your eyes look away from your papers and books and up at Garrett. The smile on his annoyingly handsome face makes you want to cave to his every request every time.
“Garrett…” you mumble, trying to put your focus back on your work, but his shirtless chest and abdomen are making it hard to focus on anything else.
His lips twitch up into a smile. “Am I distracting you, baby?”
You roll your eyes at the teasing tone in his voice. He knows how to break down all your walls, how to sneak his way into getting exactly what he wants, whenever he wants it.
It’s not that you don’t want to let Garrett help you relax, you just really need to focus.
But when Garrett’s hand runs over the length of your arm, making goosebumps rise on your skin, you know you’re five seconds away from caving.
Garrett’s large hands find your face, his index finger and thumb hooking under your chin and lifting your head, forcing your eyes on his.
“Take an hour long break, you’re not going to fail if you take pause for an hour.”
Letting out a resigned sigh, you allow him to grab your hand in his, gently pulling you into his chest. His arms wrap around you, squeezing tightly. He drops his lips to the top of your head, leaving a soft kiss there before he mumbles, “Go lay on your bed, pretty girl.”
You nod against his chest, pressing your lips to his warm, bare skin before pushing back and making your way to your bed.
Fluffing a few pillows, you lay flat on your back, your head resting on the comfortable pillows and closing your eyes, waiting on Garrett to do whatever it is he thinks will help you relax.
“Just turn your mind off, baby. Let me help you relax, okay?”
You do as he says, allowing your mind to turn off, relaxing into your mattress.
The feeling of Garrett’s fingers on your skin pulls a content sigh from you. He runs his fingers against the exposed skin of your stomach, running them down to the waistband of your tight biker shorts.
He slips his fingers into the waistband, slowly pulling them down your legs. You lift your hips, helping him glide them down past your ass, tossing them to the floor.
“That’s it, baby, just relax for me, okay?”
You bite your bottom lip, nodding your head as your glazed over eyes watch every single movement Garrett makes.
He climbs into the bed, his weight making your small twin size mattress creak.
Settling himself on his stomach, Garrett grabs both of your thighs in his large hands, spreading them so they’re open for him. He nestles himself between your thighs, his mouth pressing a firm but soft kiss to your panty covered clit.
“Fuck,” you breathe out, writhing beneath him already.
Garrett breathes out a small laugh, the warmth hitting the sensitive wet spot on your panties, making you shudder.
Your hands find his curly hair, fingers digging into the soft strands and pushing his head down, needing to feel the warmth of his mouth on your pussy.
“My girl’s needy.” Garrett rasps, one hand finding your tit and squeezing while the other slides your panties to the side, exposing your soaked cunt to him.
“Very needy, please, Garrett… I need you.”
Garrett groans, wasting no time to run the flat of his tongue through the folds of your pussy and up to your clit, tasting you.
A whimper falls from your lips when Garrett continues to lick long, calculated lines through your pussy. His lips suction around your clit, sucking on it hard. Your thighs tense, squeezing around Garrett’s head as he eats you as if you were his last meal.
One hand toys with your tits, his other coming down between your legs, finding your now soaked entrance. His middle and index fingers toy with you, pushing just the tips in and out slowly before finally pushing them in deep, curving them up slightly and toying with that sweet spot inside you.
Your eyes squeeze shut, a long, drawn out moan escaping you.
Garrett pulls back, his mouth glistening with your juices. “You’re being such a good girl for me, lying here and letting me take all the stress away.”
You whimper, your hips swaying, silently begging Garrett to keep going.
He chuckles, kissing your clit before trailing his lips on your inner thighs. He gently kisses up your thighs, reaching your knee and softly kissing there before he works his way back down, his fingers still slowly working in and out of you.
“Garrett… Please?” you whine, writhing and shaking beneath him.
“Tell me what you need, pretty girl.”
He kisses the inside of your thigh, teeth lightly nipping at the skin, his eyes never leaving yours as he does. You whimper.
“This?” he asks, kissing your thighs again, gently biting and sucking on the sensitive skin.
“Mmm-mnh.”
His eyes darken, his hips pushing into the mattress to help relieve some of the ache he’s feeling. He moves his lips down, pressing a soft kiss against your swollen clit.
“This?” he rasps, hazel eyes burning into yours.
Your eyes roll back at the feeling of his warm, wet lips on your swollen and sensitive clit, your head frantically nodding in agreement.
“Mmhmm.”
Garret growls, the sound deep and needy. His lips suction around your clit again, sucking on it harshly, his tongue flicking at the sensitive bundle of nerves every so often. The sounds of him slurping at your cunt coupled with the squelching noises your pussy makes as he quickly finger fucks you fill the air of your small room.
You let out a loud moan, thighs tensing around Garrett’s head, hips lifting up off the mattress as you come undone for him.
Garret doesn’t slow down, his tongue and mouth continue to work you through your climax, overstimulating every part of you.
Your hands tightly grip his messy brown hair, pulling at the curly strands as you whimper and beg him to stop.
“Garrett, I- Please, it’s too, shit, too much!”
Finally, Garrett slows the pace of his fingers, slowly removing them from inside you, leaving you feeling empty. He places one final kiss to your clit, using his palms on the mattress to push himself up on the bed.
You can’t help but find the very obvious hard-on showing through his grey sweatpants.
“Do you want me to help you take care of that?” you ask, pointing at the outline of his hard dick.
Garrett chuckles, reaching into his sweatpants and tucking himself into the waistband of his boxers.
He smiles, leaning down to kiss you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before he says, “No baby, later. This was to help you relax so you can finish studying. We have all night, trust me, this was just the first round.”
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ coach’s daughter!reader, secret relationship, possessive!garrett, praise, risk of getting caught; in the hockey house kitchen, fingering, handjob, briefff oral (m.) language, teasing, edging, pet names (baby, pretty thing, my girl, gorgeous + no y/n), oh && he refers to himself as a good boy + refuses to leave ☺︎ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You’re barefoot in the kitchen, hair still damp from your shower as you measure out some sugar with the little spoon. A to-go cup for Garrett. And a mug for you.
You stir without really thinking, watching the little sugar crystals disappear into the swirl as you hum some song from the bar last night, lingering in the back of your mind. Ding!
The toast pops out of the toaster. You walk over to the fridge to pull out some jam. You bend at the hips, reaching for the little glass jar tucked behind the mess.
A whistle cuts through the kitchen. You already know who’s standing behind you.
You glance back and sure enough, there he is, caught mid-stare, duffle slung over his shoulder, dressed head to toe in Briar U Hockey workout gear. His dark curls are sticking out from beneath his hat, still messy from sleep, and the gold chain around his neck catches the kitchen light when he shifts.
He looks at you like you’re something he’s not supposed to touch, always seconds away from getting walked in, but that's half the fun at this point. He takes his time looking you over, his hand lifting to turn his hat from the front to the back with a lazy flick.
He’s on you in a second, big hands sliding around your hips as you straighten up; his body pressing into yours.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with sleep—the kind that always gives him away when he’s stayed up too late the night before and woken up too damn early. “What are you doin’ down here, huh?”
“I made your coffee,” you murmur and he groans.
“Saw your text,” he hums, grazing his mouth over your cheek. “You’re too good to me.” His chain brushes your collarbone when he leans in, cool against your skin.
Garrett lets you go, reluctantly, and you start to walk toward the counter. His eyes trail up the length of you.
“It’s just coffee and toast, baby,” you smile, tilting your head slightly.
“Considering everything you did for me last night… I should be the one making breakfast—you don't owe me anything.”
Your cheeks burn, suddenly shy under all this attention as he walks closer. His hands rest on the counter on either side of your hips just as you lean over the counter, reaching for the butter, your ass arching back, right onto his lap. On purpose. You don’t even try to pretend it wasn’t.
“Oh, shit,” he breathes, his voice low and amused as he plays along with the accidental contact, his bag falling heavy to the floor, looking over his shoulder for his roommates. “Real sorry, baby.”
You let out a bubbly laugh as he grabs your body and turns you toward him, lifting you up to set you down on the cool counter.
“What if the boys see you down here, huh?”
His smile’s smug; the man stepping between your thighs as his hands slide up the back of his jersey. His rough thumbs slip under the band of your panties, gripping your hips in his big hands.
Garrett reaches up a little higher, squeezing your breasts before his thumbs brush softly against you. “And what if they did?”
“See you?” His grin widens. “Coach’s daughter wearin’ forty-four and not much else.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, arching into him a little more.
“Well, damn,” he murmurs, looking at you like he’s just remembered he has somewhere to be. “I’d be fucked—I mean, it's pretty risky. I could stop,” he grins against your skin.
“No, you couldn't,” you dismiss it with a teasing laugh.
“No shit. Wearin’ my jersey. No bra… Panties. Textin’ me telling me you made me coffee and breakfast. You honestly think I wasn't gonna thank you a little. Thank you, baby,” he breathes as he leans in, pulling the fabric up, his mouth finding your breast.
He circles it once with his tongue, then again before sucking down, rough enough that your breath hitches and your fingers thread through his dark hair, his curls tangling between your fingers as you hold him there.
“Wish we lived alone,” he grumbles, turning his face further into your chest as his curls tickle your skin.
“Yeah?” You ask breathily as your thighs widen on the counter.
“Whole house to ourselves?” He says, letting the words vibrate against your skin.
He tilts back in, greedy mouth following the curve of your neck as his hands clutch your thighs, holding you open as he leans in close.
“I’d lift up the back—bend you over the counter.” His fingers shift around your body, tracing down your spine, landing on your ass, kneading your flesh.
He smiles against your lips, snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin. “Couldn’t have put on some shorts, or somethin’?”
“More comfortable like this,” you whisper, turning his words back on him when you say, “I mean, it's pretty risky. I could run upstairs and put some on.”
“No, you wouldn't,” he hums. “You did this for me and I fuckin’ love it. Just walkin’ around here like you own the place. What if Tuck and Logan see you, huh? Dean?”
“Oh, Dean?” You ask, because suddenly this conversation makes a lot more sense.
“Don’t start,” he scoffs. “You know he likes you.”
“None of you are subtle,” you answer and he lets out a laugh.
“Yeah, well you got no idea how many conversations I’ve sat through, baby.”
Then his hand slips forward, grazing over the thin material between your legs, pressing soft little circles onto your clit until your hips twitch at his touch.
“They think they know what it’d be like to be with you—they got no fucking clue,” his voice breaks a little when he softens it. “How perfect you are—how much you do for me. To me.”
You hook a hand around the back of his neck, thinking about how easy it would be to have him press himself in and lay you out across the counter, but the both of you would never recover from being caught like that.
You pull him closer and his lips suck down on your neck, rough enough to leave a mark.
“Kept my mouth shut. Haven't said shit. It kills me…” He breathes over your collarbone right where the collar of the jersey meets your skin. “I've been such a good boy for you.”
“So good,” you whisper. “And yet, you stopped telling what we would do if this house was ours,” you breathe, nails tracing over the thick bulge in his shorts.
He laughs, liking the sound of that. “Got you bent over this counter. One hand on your hip, the other gripping this jersey in my fist while you cry out that name on your back.”
His fingers trail even lower, dipping just barely between your folds, right above your entrance, the barrier of fabric only adding to the ache between your thighs. So much for all that teasing he accused you of. He’s worse.
“Too bad you have a workout.” Your fingers card through his dark hair. “We could stay back.”
He grins as he chuckles warmly against the column of your neck, dragging your panties to the side. “Fuck, you wanna get me in trouble, huh? Won’t be able to play tonight if I don’t show—you know that. After the game, though. Boys’ll go to the bar,” he breathes as his fingers mimic the tempo of his words.
His breath catches in his broad chest as your finger slips under the band of his shorts, pulling him closer before you slide your hand inside.
“Christ,” he grits through a smile as your fingers wrap around his cock, finding him hard and heavy. You stroke and he hums deep against your lips about all the things he wants to do to you when you're alone.
“Trying to get me all worked up just to send me off,” he whispers. “That’s fucked, pretty.”
He works you with his long thick fingers, slow enough to tease. “How fast do you think I could get you off, huh?” He chuckles, his laugh buzzing against your lips. “Pretty close right now, huh?”
Garrett breathes those words against your jaw. Your hand slaps over your mouth, muffling the sound of his name.
Your pussy squeezes around his fingers and you lose the rhythm of your strokes, but he doesn't, leaning into the counter a little more. The wet sounds of his hand darting in and out suddenly, too loud but it's replaced by the pounding of your heart in your head.
“Come on, baby… Cum on my hand,” he mutters, teeth scraping your neck and your body releases, fluttering around his fingers.
Your thighs squeeze together as he keeps going, whining against your hand, before he slows his pace.
He brings his fingers to his mouth, cleaning them with his heavy gaze locked on yours, the watch on his wrist glinting.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbles as you slip off the counter and into his arms. “I love you—”
“I love you too,” you whisper as your lips find his again, hands sliding down his chest. Your hands slip lower. His shorts are already halfway down his hips, cock trapped beneath the waistband.
“What are you up to, huh?” He asks like he doesn’t already know as you back him into the counter. “Yeah?” He laughs softly. “Bet you won’t.” That challenge barely leaves his mouth before he kisses you again, eyes flicking toward the stairwell mid-kiss before dropping back to you as you sink to your knees.
“In my jersey,” he mumbles as he tilts back, hands resting on top.
He sucks in a sharp breath when the air hits him, shivering when your tongue glides up the side of his cock, tossing back his head as he bites down on his lip, holding back a moan—BANG!
“Fuck me,” he hisses, hanging his head between his shoulders when a bag drops in Logan’s room above you.
Your tongue swipes against his tip and he blows out a sharp breath through his nose, his sticky wet precum catching on it.
“Just—Just a little more,” he mutters, holding your head, following you as you take him in your mouth. You bob back and forth and his grip tightens, eyes fluttering shut—THUMP!
You draw away when you hear some more motion upstairs. He shakes his head, laughing under his breath, watching as you kiss the tip.
“That’s how we’re playin’ this, huh?” Looking back at you in playful frustration, he tugs you up fast, muttering bitterly under his breath as you tug his shorts in place.
“Sorry, baby,” you smile.
“Teasin’ me, baby. Just wait until later,” he warns with a smile, grabbing his workout bag, walking with you back up to his room.
His fingers find yours automatically as the two of you step into the hallway.
Garrett walks a half-step behind you, his thumb rubbing back and forth across your knuckles. You glance over your shoulder and catch him already looking. He drags a hand across his mouth, trying and failing to hide his smile.
You step up one stair, and by the third he already knows he’s in trouble. His number stretched across your back. His last name stamped over your shoulders. The curve of your ass peeking out each time you take a step higher.
The intrusive thoughts win without effort. His other hand reaches out for you, pulling you back and into his strong arms. “Garrett Graham!” You whisper-scream and his deep laugh echoes through the stairwell.
“You are drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles like he's pissed—smiling like he's in love. “I’m just a man, alright? What do you want from me?” Your arms curve loosely around his neck, your legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you, carrying you the rest of the way. “Plus you were walkin’ up the stairs too slow, you needed my help.”
“My hero.”
“Good thing I'm riding by myself. I need some time alone with my thoughts.”
“You’re dramatic,” you cut in, but that only encourages him.
“You know one hand on the wheel, the other doin’ what you started and didn't finish… you're lucky you're gorgeous.”
“So are you,” you smile and he scowls.
By the time he sets you down inside his room, he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, shutting the door before anyone can see. “I mean…” Garrett shifts his bag higher on his shoulder. “Maybe I could stay.”
You give him a look. A long look. And his shoulders slump.
“I know,” he mutters. “Goddamn, baby. You run a tight program.”
“Workout,” you whisper.
“Yeah.”
“Hockey,” you remind him.
“Mmm… Mhmm,” he hums, so dreamily you laugh. “Fuck, I love when you boss me around—”
“We’ll have all night—”
“How am I supposed to focus now? All I can think about is how pretty you looked trying not to make a sound.” His finger hooks under your chin, lifting your lips to his. “But you... you gotta be careful, baby. These boys are gonna hear you one of these days. They could have caught us down there.”
You look up at him through your lashes ever so slightly and he melts.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, blowing out a tired breath. “You own me—don’t even know why I try.”
He reaches out, grabbing the jersey on your body, pulling you closer. His nose brushes against yours—his lips doing the same, drawing back and leaving you chasing them just enough to notice before he kisses you.
“You don't have class until ten, yeah?” He murmurs between kisses.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Wishin’ you were me right now, huh?”
“Wishin’ a lot of things honestly.”
Garrett groans, dropping his forehead to yours, his voice dripping honey-sweet as he takes a different approach. “Shit, baby… what about your coffee? I should probably go get that for you, hmm?”
“Seriously—”
“Then, I don’t know…” He continues when that doesn’t work. “Maybe not get my ass beat at the gym. Sweat here instead. Do something better with my time.”
“You’re gonna be late—”
“And, I wonder why,” he cuts in. “Running out of excuses.”
“What are you gonna tell him, Captain?”
He thinks about it for a moment, stalling still. “Pretty thing. Wears my number. Torments me. Tells me I have to stay or else—”
“Or else, huh?” You giggle, and his eyes fall to your lips. “She sounds like a bitch, baby.”
“—Don’t talk about her like that. That’s my girl.”
“Such a charmer, Garrett Graham,” you hum, twirling one of his curls with your finger. “Leave—” Smack! His hand claps against your ass, the mesh barrier, just another reminder that he can't have you how he'd like.
He batts his hand against the door handle, still unwilling to let you go for another moment.
“Send me a picture or somethin’,” he mumbles against your lips. “You know, for the car ride there.”
“I don’t know, baby. You look extra pretty when you suffer,” you whisper, and he chuckles deeply, the sound going straight through you.
“Gonna ruin you later.”
“M’counting on it…” You smile and his groan breathes against your lips when he pushes open the door.
synopsis – feeling like you’re stuck with the title of ‘Allie’s little sister’, there was no way John Logan would ever reciprocate feelings for you… right?
based on this request!
warnings – mutual pining, slow burn, friends to lovers, good mix of fluff and humor, language, a cheeky kiss, reader gets called ‘Lil Hayes’, Allie is cracked out in the best way, some moments are taken from the show but are out of order (just go along with it pls!!!)
note – this one was so fun to write, thanks for sending it in! if you want to request something, you can submit it by clicking the ‘♡’ button on my page or commenting under this post! enjoy ♡
masterlist
✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧
Ever since you started attending Briar, you and your older sister Allie have gotten closer than ever. She took you under her wing the second you arrived at Briar. You integrated into her friend group with ease, however, feelings of insecurity and intimidation couldn’t help but seep in when you found yourself comparing yourself to your sister all the time.
Allie Hayes – the confident, beautiful, outgoing girl who managed to lock down Dean fucking DiLaurentis just by wearing a J-Lo costume at a party.
And sure, you shared the same confidence and beauty as her, but following her around like a lost puppy, literally and figuratively, only seemed to reinforce the idea that you were really just known as ‘Allie’s little sister’. The thoughts race through your head as you bike over to the hockey house, Allie insisting you come by and hang out. Music plays loudly in your headphones as you pedal down the street before arriving at the house, pulling up to the steps.
Climbing off your bike, you unbuckle your helmet, running your hands through your hair. Your back faces the front door as you take your bag out of the front basket of your bike. Taking your phone out, you pause the music, removing the headphones and putting them in your bag. Before you can lock your bike up, the front door swings open.
You turn around, seeing Logan rushing down the stairs.
“Lemme grab that for you,” he insists as you step back, hiking your bag up on your shoulder.
“Oh hey, thanks,” you smile. You toss the lock in the basket as he effortlessly lifts the bike, walking up the stairs as you follow him. He perches your bike up against the house.
“I… haven’t seen you around lately,” Logan says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.
“Oh, you know with finals around the corner, studying is taking up most of my time,” you say, nervously laughing, half telling the truth.
The full truth being you’re harboring the world’s biggest crush on John Logan, and you know he’d never feel the same way about you so you’re avoiding him as much as possible in the hopes that your crush will eventually go away. A mission that’s currently failing as his brown doe eyes look into yours, captivating you.
“Huh, I can’t imagine you struggling with finals, or anything really,” he says, the compliment going straight to your heart, a confidence boost radiating through you at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was flirting with you. A light smile crawls onto your face, the blush on your cheeks definitely noticeable.
“Well, I gotta keep that scholarship somehow, right?” you joke, trying not to blatantly flirt with him, just in case you’re misjudging this entire conversation.
“Right…” he trails off. He looks as if he’s about to say something, when the front door swings open, a mop of blonde hair peeking out behind Logan’s shoulder.
“What up Lil Hayes,” Dean says, peeking out the front door, immediately killing the moment, that same feeling of feeling small rushing over your body once again, depleting any confidence you had. Logan notices the subtle shift in your body language as you press your lips in a fine line before meeting Dean’s gaze.
“Hi Dean,” you reply.
“Allie’s looking for you,” he says, looking from you to Logan before heading back inside. Your eyebrows raise for half a second before your eyes meet Logan’s again. He turns to the side, holding his arm out, motioning to let you walk in first. You smile at him as a ‘thanks’ before he follows you in, shamelessly letting his eyes trail down your body as you walk inside.
Logan knew he liked you after your first interaction. The way your smile lit up the room, your confidence and personality had him whipped from the start. As bubbly as you were, you were a bit hard to read. He struggled to gauge how you felt about him, and the thought of ruining the friendship you had already developed scared the shit out of him, so he just felt it was better to keep these feelings to himself. In the meantime, he resorted to little flirty comments here and there, going above and beyond for you, not just to impress you.
But because he wanted to.
Clearly, he didn’t keep them hidden well enough, Dean winking at him as he makes his way into the kitchen. Logan slightly shakes his head at him in confusion, walking past you and Allie on the couch, chatting about something you clearly had interest in. Your smile big and your eyes widening, him truly thinking your eyes could sparkle if they wanted to. Dean’s eyes follow Logan’s to the couch before looking back at Logan when the realization dawns on him.
Logan approaches Dean in the kitchen, questioning the very smug grin on his face. “You like Lil Hayes, don’t you,” he says, the first time those words ever leaving someone’s mouth making his heart drop into his stomach.
Logan didn’t know why, but he didn’t like the nickname. Sure, it was cute and quirky, but something about it rubbed him the wrong way. It was almost as if it made you seem like you weren’t your own person, you were just Allie’s sister. But you were so much more than that. He could tell you didn’t like it either.
The subtle way your body would tense up when you hear it, trying to hide any discomfort as you swallow down the emotions, it happening just moments ago on the porch. After he saw your negative reaction to it the first time, he made a promise to himself.
He would never call you that.
“She’s really cool and we get along, how does that mean I have a crush?” he asks Dean, trying to deflect.
“I know what it looks like to be captivated by a Hayes,” he says, a hint of humor in his voice as he continues, “And she definitely likes you too, so you should go for it,” he says, making Logan’s head whip towards Dean.
“What?” he says, unsure he heard Dean correctly. Dean just shrugs, taking a sip of Gatorade and patting Logan’s chest before heading out to the backyard where Garrett and Tucker already are, working out. Logan’s eyes find you again, laughing at something Allie said. Your eyes glance over to him, the smile staying on your face that he gladly returns, before he heads up to his room to change to join the guys for a workout.
“You so like him!!” Allie says, grabbing your hands and bouncing lightly on the couch.
“Will you keep your voice down?! And no, I don’t” you deny, the lie falling a little too easily off your lips.
“I love you, but you are so naive if you think he doesn’t like you back,” Allie sternly says. One of the many things you admired about your sister was her bluntness to call things like she sees it. And Allie was never one to lie to anyone. About anything.
You and Allie go back and forth as Logan eventually catches your eye once more, rushing back down the stairs, before he heads to the backyard. Your eyes follow him as he walks through the living room, the cut sleeveless hoodie allowing your eyes to be blessed with the sight of his arms flexing, while he ties the red bandana behind his head as he continues walking outside.
“Yeah, that wasn’t subtle at all,” Allie sarcastically states, watching you basically eye fuck him. You look back at her, rolling your eyes, laying your body onto the back of the couch, hugging a pillow close to your chest.
“I don’t like him.”
“Whatever you say…”
✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧
“Thank you all for coming,” Allie says, having a presentation style hangout a few days later as Hannah, Garrett, Dean and Tucker sit around the couch watching her.
“Aren’t we missing two…? Tucker asks, looking around noticing you and Logan missing.
“No no my sweet Tuck, they are the reason we are all here right now.” Allie says very adamantly before continuing, “It’s so obvious they like each other but they’re both too scared to do anything about it. We have to intervene,” she finishes. The rest of the group looks around at each other, waiting for someone else to speak up.
“I’m in,” Dean says, “I talked to Logan about it the other day in the kitchen and he clammed up. He totally likes her,” he says. The rest of the group nods, more than willing to help their friends out. Allie’s eyes widen in excitement.
“Exactly. I love my sister, but I also know her, she’s gonna clam up the second he makes some cute comment, which is his passive way of trying to let her know he’s into her and then that stupid voice in her head is gonna sike her out and she’s gonna shut down,” she rambles, exhaling at the end.
“Okay, so how do we do this?” Hannah asks.
“It’s gotta be something good, no inviting her to a game or any of that crap,” Garrett chimes in.
Allie smirks, “I have the perfect idea.”
✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧
“You stole her fucking bike chain??!”
Allie stands there, having not been gone 30 minutes, her hands now all greased up, a bike chain dangling in one hand, a pair of pliers in the other. “Just trust me, okay? She’s gonna get out of class, realize it’s stolen and go to the one person we all know who can fix it. We all just need to be out of the house when it happens so they’re alone when they get back here,” Allie says, a smile on her face.
The group looks at her with a mix of emotions – impressed, shocked, concerned – as Garrett checks his watch.
“Logan’s probably still at the rink,” he says, mentioning how lately he’s been staying after practices to get extra skating time.
“Perfect, she gets out of class any minute now, that’s enough time for Logan to still be there while she realizes she’s screwed and reaches out to him all ‘damsel in distress’ like. This is gonna be great you guys, trust me!” she exclaims, the group just nodding in agreement, not wanting to hurt her feelings at the extremity of her way of trying to get the two of you together. It really was sweet how she just wanted you to be happy.
✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧
Your heart sinks as you approach your bike, the chain clearly missing from your bike. Who the hell even robs someone of a bike chain? The bike route from the campus building to your place was long enough as is, having to lug a broken bike all that way definitely not an ideal situation. You sigh, eyes darting around as you try to come up with a solution.
Logan’s phone buzzes repeatedly in his hockey bag, him catching the tail end of it after his shower before rushing over to his bag. Pulling his phone out, a light smile on his face seeing your name. Then, a wave of concern. You never call him.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asks. The panic in your voice sets alarm bells off in his head.
“Hey, sorry, are you free right now? I just got out of class and some asshat stole my bike chain. It’s a long way to my place to have to drag the bike with me. I didn’t know if you had a spare chain or anything to help me…” you trail off, sighing, embarrassed at your rambling.
“I’m actually still at the rink, I don’t have any tools or anything with me, but I can come by and take a look at it,” he offers. He grins, hearing the sigh of relief that came from the other end of the call.
“You’re a lifesaver,” you say, telling him which building you’re at before the calls ends. Logan arrives about ten minutes later, the sad look on your face making his heart ache before that look turns into your face brightening up when you see him. You greet each other before he takes a look at the bike.
“Yep… It’s definitely missing,” he says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice as you look down at him blankly, trying not to laugh. “Wow, thanks” you reply sarcastically, crossing your arms.
“It’s weird, it looks like it was yanked it out with pliers or something,” he says, confused.
“Yeah, who steals a fucking bike chain?” you rhetorically ask, rubbing your hands over your face, this being the last thing you need right now. The tense sigh that leaves your lips catches Logan’s attention, him standing up, wiping his hands before coming up to you. Your hands go back down to your sides as he speaks.
“Hey, we’ll figure it out. We can just take the bike to the hockey house, I’ll stop by the shop on our way to get a chain and it’ll be as good as new,” he reassures you, a light smile arriving on your face, incredibly thankful for his willingness to help you.
“There’s that pretty smile. Alright, let’s go,” he says, turning his back to you to grab the bike and put it in the bed of his truck.
Your brain nearly malfunctions, replaying that in your head, making sure you heard him correctly. He pulls the passenger door open for you. You hop in and before he can shut the door, you turn your body towards him. “Thank you so much, seriously, I owe you,” you say sincerely.
“I’d help you any time,” he replies, closing the door gently, the butterflies swarming inside your stomach.
✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧
One new bike chain later and you and Logan are sitting on the hockey house couch facing each other, the conversation flowing effortlessly. Your elbow is perched on the top of the couch, your head resting in the palm of your hand as Logan’s arm is sprawled across the top of the couch, his fingers dangerously close to your arm.
“I don’t know that we’ve ever hung out just the two of us… It’s nice,” you admit, his eyes softer than ever as he looks at you.
“It is nice,” he reaffirms, adjusting his arm as his hand gets even closer to you. Your eyes flicker down to his hand before quickly making eye contact with him again. The tension in the air feels incredibly thick, you both soaking in the moment.
“You are so beautiful,” he says, the intention in his voice clearer than ever, all the negative thoughts swarming in your head dissipating as you look down shyly, a blush creeping up on your cheeks, smiling as you look back at him.
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
Before you can come back with any self-deprecating comments hidden inside a joke, Logan continues,
“I know sometimes it can feel like you’re living in your sister’s shadow. But I want you to know that I see you for you. And I think you’re incredible,” he finishes, the warm feeling in your body radiating all throughout as your eyes slightly well up, lightly smiling at him.
“Thank you,” you say, your eyes telling a much larger story. And Logan was an expert in reading.
Logan’s position on the couch changes, him still facing you as he sits up, scooting even closer to you. You sit up too, the air getting heavier as he leans in slightly, gauging your reaction. Your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips as Logan leans in, connecting your lips.
Describing the kiss as fireworks would be an understatement, his hand coming up to hold your face as you lean into him, deepening the kiss. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you in even closer, your hand placing itself on his shoulder, slowly trailing down to his arm, squeezing his bicep, taking full advantage of the opportunity.
Smiling into the kiss, you slowly pull away, giggling lightly. Fighting the smiles growing on your faces was a lost cause, the both of you feeling giddy like kids again.
A smack on the window snaps the two of you out your bliss, your heads whipping over to the window, catching several heads quickly ducking, including a very delayed duck by a bright blonde mop of hair. You stare in bewilderment,
“Are they fucking watching us?”
✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧
note – NEED ME A JOHN LOGAN NOW!!! also, thank you to everyone who's sent in requests, I promise I'm working on them as quickly as I can, I'm trying to juggle work and writing right now so bear with me, they're coming!!!🩷
