Chords, Cleats, and Complications
Abby anderson x ellie Williams x oc
Warnings : love triangle , pining, aggression, slow burn
Description: When Abby Anderson, the seemingly untouchable football captain, secretly falls for sarcastic drummer Jorden, she finds herself trapped in a messy love triangle with her needy best friend Ellie—who's crushing on both of them—forcing Abby to confront her inner "loser" or risk losing everything she's pretending to protect.
The locker room smelled like old sweat and cheap disinfectant. Abby slammed her locker shut harder than necessary. "Coach wants extra laps again tomorrow."
Ellie adjusted her glasses, struggling with her cleat laces. "At least it's not raining this time." She paused, squinting at Abby. "You've been weirdly tense all week. Everything okay?"
Abby ripped a stray thread from her jersey sleeve, avoiding Ellie's curious gaze. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making the damp tiles gleam. "Just tired," she mumbled, the lie tasting sour. Across the room, Jordan fumbled with her drumsticks, stuffing them into a battered backpack covered in band patches. Her short, choppy hair stuck up in sweaty tufts.
Jordan's drumsticks clattered to the floor. Abby flinched at the sharp sound, her gaze snapping to the messy-haired girl scrambling to pick them up. Ellie followed Abby's stare, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Ohhh," she breathed, nudging Abby's shoulder. "Is *that* why you're all wound up?"
Abby shoved Ellie away harder than intended, her knuckles whitening around her jersey. "Shut up," she growled, heat creeping up her neck. Jordan finally retrieved her sticks, slinging the backpack over one shoulder. Her eyes flickered toward them—just for a second—before she hurried out the swinging doors. Abby’s stomach tightened. That glance hadn't landed on her. It had landed squarely on Ellie, lingering a fraction too long on Ellie’s crooked smile.
Ellie chuckled, low and knowing, as she finally wrestled her cleat tight. "Relax, big guy. You're gonna pop a vein." She nodded toward the empty doorway where Jordan had vanished. "Though I gotta admit... she's got decent taste." Abby's glare could've melted steel, but Ellie just winked, hoisting her own bag. "See you at practice. Try not to murder the woodwinds when they start tuning."
The next morning’s sun glared off the dew-slicked turf as Abby paced the sidelines. Her cleats dug into the grass, each step deliberate. Across the field, the marching band’s brass section warmed up with screeching scales that grated like nails on chalkboard. Ellie jogged past, tossing a water bottle her way. "Still breathing fire, I see."
Abby caught it without looking, her eyes fixed on the percussion section. Jordan stood near the back, adjusting a snare drum strap, her movements quick and efficient. When Jordan laughed at something the cymbal player said, Abby felt that familiar twist in her gut—sharp and inconvenient. She crushed the water bottle in her fist, plastic crackling like dry leaves. Ellie whistled low beside her. "Someone's got it bad."
Jordan's drumming solo sliced through the halftime chaos—sharp, staccato bursts that echoed off the bleachers. Abby leaned against the chain-link fence, knuckles white. Each beat felt like a hammer strike to her ribs. The crowd roared, but Abby only saw Jordan's focused intensity, sweat glistening on her temple as she drove the rhythm forward. Ellie nudged her. "Stop staring like a starving wolf, Anderson. It's creepy." Abby jerked away, cheeks burning.
A stray football spiraled suddenly from the scrimmage line, arcing high over the band formation. Time slowed. Abby tracked its path—headed straight for Jordan’s oblivious profile. Jordan tapped her drumsticks absently, eyes fixed on the conductor. The ball spun, leather gleaming under stadium lights. Someone shouted a warning, swallowed by brass. Jordan didn’t flinch.
Ellie moved before the shout fully registered—a blur of cleats tearing across damp grass. She lunged, fingers stretching wide as the football spun toward Jordan’s temple. Leather slapped hard into her palms, the impact jolting up her arms. She stumbled sideways, glasses askew, but held firm.
Jordan blinked, drumsticks frozen mid-air. The sudden blur of motion resolved into Ellie breathing hard just inches away, grass-stained knees trembling. Sweat plastered Ellie's dark hair to her forehead, her glasses crooked, the football gripped tight against her muddy practice jersey. The scent of damp earth and exertion hit Jordan first, sharp and immediate. "Whoa," Jordan breathed, her voice barely audible over the fading cymbal crash behind her. Her gaze traced the line from Ellie's determined scowl to the football, then back to Ellie's flushed face. A slow realization dawned – that ball had been seconds from cracking her skull.
Jordan’s drumsticks slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the snare drum’s taut head with a hollow thud. Her eyes widened, flickering from the football still clutched in Ellie’s hands to Ellie herself—the fierce set of her jaw, the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath the stained jersey, the way a bead of sweat traced a path down her temple and vanished into her collar. The stadium noise—the band’s fading notes, the distant roar of the crowd—seemed to mute into a dull buzz. "You..." Jordan stammered, her voice thin. "That was... aimed right at me , shit i gotta look out better ."
Jordan swallowed hard, the drumsticks forgotten at her feet. "Fuck," she breathed, a shaky laugh escaping her. "That was... impressive." Her eyes stayed locked on Ellie, taking in the grass stains on her knees, the crooked glasses, the way Ellie’s knuckles were still white around the football’s laces. A slow, disbelieving smile spread across Jordan’s face.
Jordan stared, really stared this time. The crooked glasses, the messy dark hair plastered to her forehead, the fierce scowl softening into awkwardness now the danger had passed. Recognition clicked, sharp and sudden. "Wait..." Jordan breathed, leaning in slightly. "You're... Ellie Williams? From Pre-Calc? The one with the..." She gestured vaguely toward Ellie's torso, though her usual Spider-Man shirt was hidden under the muddy practice jersey.
Jordan's smile widened, genuine surprise lighting her eyes. "Yeah, that's definitely you. Always scribbling equations in that galaxy-printed notebook." She chuckled softly, the sound warm against the fading brass notes. Her gaze dropped to the football still pressed against Ellie's muddy jersey. "Didn't peg you for a linebacker, Williams."
Ellie shifted her weight, suddenly hyper-aware of the dirt smeared across her jersey. avoiding Jordan’s direct gaze. The football felt heavy and awkward in her hands now. "Mostly just try not to get tackled during drills. Catching rogue balls is... new."
Jordan reached out, her fingers brushing Ellie's cheekbone as she gently nudged the crooked glasses back into place. Her touch lingered, warm against Ellie's flushed skin. "Looks better straight," she murmured, her thumb tracing the frame's edge. The scent of rosin and sweat mingled between them. "Definitely suits the hero look."
Ellie flushed crimson, the heat spreading from her cheeks down her neck. "Uh, yeah, well, guess someone wasn't watching their trajectory," she stammered, fingers tightening on the football's laces. Her gaze darted away from Jordan's intense focus, landing instead on the chaos erupting near the scrimmage line. Abby’s furious voice sliced through the muted stadium noise, sharp and unmistakable. "HEY! DICKHEAD! YOU AIMING FOR THE BAND OR JUST BLIND?!" Abby was storming toward a cowering lineman, fists clenched, her frame radiating pure, incandescent rage.
Ellie flushed deeper crimson, her ears burning as Abby's furious shouts echoed across the field. She glanced frantically between Jordan's soft, lingering smile and Abby's stormcloud approach toward the terrified lineman. Abby's knuckles were white, her shoulders rigid—a volcano about to erupt. "Uh, excuse me," Ellie mumbled, shoving the football clumsily into Jordan's hands. "Gotta... stop a murder."
She sprinted toward Abby, cleats digging into the turf. Abby was inches from the lineman now, her voice a low, dangerous growl. "What the hell is wrong with you? That could've cracked her skull open!" Ellie skidded to a halt, grabbing Abby's elbow just as her fist drew back. "Abs! Cool it!" she hissed, yanking her backward. "He's not worth it!"
Abby jerked her arm free, breath ragged, but her eyes snapped past Ellie toward the percussion section. Jordan stood clutching the football, her expression a mix of confusion and lingering awe as she watched the confrontation unfold. The drumsticks dangled forgotten from her other hand. "She's fine, Abby," Ellie insisted, planting herself firmly between Abby and the trembling lineman. "See? Not a scratch." Abby’s furious glare softened fractionally as she took in Jordan’s unharmed face, the slight tilt of her head as she tried to make sense of the shouting. The football Jordan held gleamed under stadium lights, an anchor in chaos.
Abby’s chest heaved, the lineman’s terrified face blurring as she wrestled down the urge to slam him into the turf. Ellie’s grip on her arm was a tether, but it was Jordan’s wide, unblinking stare from across the field that finally doused the fire. She shoved the lineman backward with a snarl. "Run," she spat, the word sharp as shattered glass. "Twenty laps. Now. And if you ever pull that shit again?" Her knuckles cracked. "You’re off the team." He scrambled away, legs trembling.
Ellie dragged Abby away from the retreating lineman, her fingers digging into the sweat-damp fabric of Abby’s rules." Her voice low and urgent. "You can’t keep exploding like that." The scent of cut grass and Abby’s anger hung heavy between them. Abby shrugged Ellie off violently, shoulders still tense as coiled springs. "Diplomacy?" She spat the word like poison, eyes darting back to Jordan, who was slowly turning away, clutching the football to her chest. "That ball could’ve— "
Ellie kept her voice low, leaning in close as Abby glared at the fleeing lineman. "You think losing your temper like that makes Jordan like you more?" She jabbed a finger toward the percussion section, where Jordan stood clutching the football, her light blue eyes wide with lingering shock. "All she sees is you threatening to break someone’s jaw over a mistake."
Abby whirled around, her furious scowl evaporating as she locked eyes with Jordan clutching the football ten yards away. The flush crept up Abby’s neck like wildfire, painting her cheeks crimson. "J-Jordan," she stammered, voice cracking mid-word, "I—you shouldn’t have to see... that." She gestured weakly toward the fleeing lineman, her knuckles still pale from their earlier grip. "I just... got carried away." The words tumbled out, clumsy and thick, as she awkwardly shoved her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunching inward.
Jordan closed the distance in a few quick strides, the football tucked under her arm. She stopped inches from Abby, her gaze steady despite the lingering tremble in her own hands. "Carried away?" she echoed, a faint smile playing on her lips. Before Abby could fumble another apology, Jordan reached out and patted Abby’s shoulder—a firm, grounding touch. "Thanks," she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the distant chatter of the band packing up. "For caring that much."
Jordan’s hand lingered on Abby’s shoulder, a warm pressure cutting through the cool stadium air. She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur that only Abby could hear. "Honestly?" Her breath brushed Abby’s ear. "Watching you get all worked up like that?" A slow, deliberate smile spread across Jordan’s face. "Kind of hot." She gave Abby’s shoulder one final, firm pat and pulled back, holding her gaze just long enough for the words to land like a punch to the gut. Then, without another glance, she turned and walked briskly back toward the percussion section, the football tucked casually under her arm. Abby stood frozen, the scent of Jordan’s rosin and sweat hanging in the air long after she’d gone, the unexpected compliment echoing louder than any drum solo.
Abby stood frozen on the dew-slicked grass, Jordan’s words— “kind of hot” —echoing in her skull like a drumroll. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic counter-rhythm to the distant clatter of cymbals being packed away. She could still feel the phantom warmth of Jordan’s hand on her shoulder, the ghost of her breath against her ear. The world blurred at the edges, stadium lights bleeding into a haze. *She said hot. About me.* The realization sent a fresh wave of heat flooding her face, hotter than any sprint drill.
Ellie stared at Abby’s stunned expression, the crimson flush spreading from her neck to her ears. She crossed her arms, her own annoyance sharpening as Abby remained frozen, eyes locked on Jordan’s retreating figure. "Earth to Abby," she snapped, waving a hand in front of Abby’s dazed face. "You gonna stand there all day looking like a tomato?" Abby blinked, finally tearing her gaze away, but Ellie caught the lingering spark in her eyes—the one that had nothing to do with anger. Jealousy twisted in Ellie’s gut, hot and unexpected. She’d been the one who *caught* the damn ball, ‘ Why doesn’t abby ever look at me like that’ ellie thought
The janitor's mop bucket clattered against the locker room doorframe, sloshing gray water onto the tiles. Coach Miller barely glanced up from his clipboard. "Anderson, Williams—hit the showers. You reek like yesterday's gym socks." He scribbled something illegible, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry wasps
.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting stark shadows across Coach Miller's furrowed brow as he tapped his clipboard. Abby peeled her sweat-soaked jersey away from her skin, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly. Ellie nudged her shoulder, voice low. "Still replaying that 'kind of hot' comment?" Abby jerked away, heat flaring across her cheeks again. "Shut it, Williams." She slammed her locker open, the metallic bang echoing in the sudden quiet as the coach stalked out
.
The lukewarm shower spray hit Abby’s shoulders like a dull reprimand. She scrubbed at her skin with mechanical intensity, trying to erase the phantom imprint of Jordan’s hand—that firm, lingering pat—and the whispered words that clung like steam. *Kind of hot.* The cheap soap foamed uselessly against the memory. Beside her, Ellie stood silent under her own stream, water plastering dark strands to her temples as she stared fixedly at the cracked tile wall. The only sounds were the drumming water and the distant clang of locker doors from the main room
.
Abby tugged her hoodie over damp hair, the coarse fabric scraping against her flushed skin. Ellie slammed her locker shut beside her, the sound sharp in the emptying room. "Still glowing, Anderson?" Ellie's voice cut through the steam, edged with something brittle. Abby ignored her, fumbling with her backpack zipper. The phantom warmth of Jordan's hand lingered on her shoulder, a brand beneath the cotton
.
Ellie shoved past Abby toward the exit, shoulder clipping hers with unnecessary force. "Move it, lover girl." Her voice dripped acid. Abby stumbled sideways, catching herself on a locker door. The metal rattled, loud in the sudden silence. Ellie didn’t look back, pushing through the swinging doors into the hallway beyond. Abby stared after her, knuckles white around her backpack strap. The phantom warmth on her shoulder vanished, replaced by a cold prickle of confusion.
Ellie’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, sharp and retreating. Abby stared at the swinging doors long after they’d stilled, the cold prickle on her shoulder spreading into her chest. She shoved her hands deep into her hoodie pockets, fingers brushing against crumpled gum wrappers and loose change. The locker room felt cavernous now, empty except for the drip of a distant showerhead and the stale scent of sweat trapped in damp corners. Abby’s backpack strap dug into her shoulder as she finally turned away, pushing through the doors herself. The hallway fluorescents buzzed, bleaching the scuffed linoleum floor white.
Abby shoved through the hallway doors, the fluorescent glare making her squint. Ellie was already halfway down the corridor, shoulders rigid beneath her faded band hoodie, walking fast. Abby hesitated, then lengthened her stride. "Williams! Hold up!" Ellie didn't slow, didn't turn. Her footsteps echoed louder, purposeful. Abby broke into a jog, her own backpack thumping awkwardly against her hip. "Ellie, damn it!" She caught Ellie's elbow just as they reached the stairwell landing.