she’s my priestess, i’m your priest

slowly, she got better. it took time and it took you telling her, once, that the silence made your brain do things. once she did, her messages became unbearably tender. tiny updates throughout the day, pictures of things that reminded her of you, half-finished thoughts sent at three in the morning because she suddenly missed you too much to stay quiet about it.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie treats facetime like the sacred thing it is. there are loose scheduled times that you two try to keep but honestly it just happens whenever it happens. she'll be deep in research at midnight, papers spread everywhere, and you'll call because you just got off your shift and she'll always answer immediately, without hesitation. sometimes you two talk for hours. sometimes you two just exist together on screen. her at her desk, you wherever you are, neither of you saying much. just there, present. it's more than enough.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie has fallen asleep during your calls more than once and this embarrasses her deeply. you have a collection of pictures and screenshots, evidence of her sleeping like a log. one of them has her drooling slightly on her notes. the irony is, you're statistically the more frequent offender; you've fallen asleep on call more times than either of you can count, but ellie's cases are documented and that's what matters. she has pretended, every single time, that it didn't happen. you have let her have this because you sense her embarrassment.

͙͘͡★ will watch you do your skincare routine with her chin in her hand and not say a single word. you prop your phone up against the mirror and just talk, rambling about your day, about your students, about whatever is happening in your busy head at eleven pm. she listens and watches carefully every single time. something about the domesticity of it does something to her that she couldn't name even if she tried.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie who sometimes plays guitar on call because you ask her. at first, she refused but you asked again and then asked again after that. she caved eventually and now it's a thing. her, her guitar in her lap, her phone propped somewhere nearby, playing quietly while you listen. if she's feeling particularly daring she'll even sing a little, just a bit. she acts embarrassed every time, but she's not that embarrassed anymore. she loves it and she loves that you love it.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie who secretly saves every photo you send her, every single one. selfies, coffee pictures, random screenshots, your classroom decorations, your dog, your lunch. it doesn’t matter. her camera roll is basically just evidence that she’s deeply in love with you.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie never gets used to missing you, but also never stops feeling grateful that she gets to. missing you means that she gets to love you and to her that’s worth every ache.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie struggles with the distance more than you do, even if she doesn’t always know how to say it. she isn’t clingy exactly, but she needs and craves closeness. she just feels the distance differently than you do. you miss her terribly but you can hold yourself together with words, the connection sustains you as long as it's there.

ellie needs the words and the physical. she doesn't need much, she just needs something. kissing your temple while passing behind you in the kitchen, feeling your fingers play with the baby hairs at the back of her neck, you, specifically, scratching slow circles between her shoulder blades... she especially misses all the tiny unconscious intimacy.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie who genuinely cannot believe she’s dating you, like actually. sometimes she’ll just look at you and think what the fuck. the prettiest girl she’s ever seen is talking to her... willingly. that's crazy.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie gets sent a lot of pictures per week of your newest coffee creations. little foam flowers, hearts, leaves... one time, somehow, an actual swan. most of these look a little curious but that's okay.

ellie 🦕

oh i know that coffee is fire

you

you don’t even like coffee so how would you know...

ellie 🦕

the barista is gay as hell so i know actually

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie especially loves when your hands are visible in the photos you send her. when she can see your rings, the chipped red nail polish, the little ink stains you get from correcting papers. sometimes there’s glitter stuck to the side of your hand from classroom crafts or faint marker smudges near your wrist. all these tiny traces of your life she’s grown so painfully fond of. tiny fragments of a life she wishes she was standing inside of instead of only witnessing through pictures on her phone.

she stares at those pictures longer than she means to because she misses your hands terribly. misses the feeling of them in her hair, your fingers softly tracing shapes against her arm while talking or the outline of her tattoo, misses holding your hand while walking somewhere with no rush to get there.

sometimes she catches herself staring at a picture and thinking how badly she wants to hold your hands again. not even for long, just once.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie thinks you’re beautiful in a way that actually disorients her a little. especially because you’re not just hot — you’re sweet. she does think that you’re the hottest person alive but also the sweetest. and somehow the combination completely ruins her. because okay yeah your tits are incredible but you also remember little things she says in passing and send her voice notes when you walk home and talk about your kids so lovingly and suddenly she’s sitting there like damn... i’m doomed.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie who sends you bouquets of flowers quite frequently. she found a flower shop near your house and even though they didn't do house deliveries, she got them to do it somehow. the florist on the other end of that call was charmed within thirty seconds when ellie first called and agreed to deliver a bouquet to your house.

it started because you had a terrible week. like genuinely awful — double shift at the café, a difficult class, one of your kids was having a hard time and it was breaking your heart, and you mentioned it to ellie scattered across three different conversations that she was paying close attention to even when she didn't say much.

the flowers arrived next day. you just got home from your classes when your mom called you to the door and there it was, a bouquet of pink flowers with a little card.

"you're doing really good. i mean it. - e"

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie after that, it becomes a thing, though not on a schedule. it just happens when it happens, which somehow makes it more devastating each time because you never see it coming. tucked between the stems there’s always a tiny little note. in it it's not her handwriting, but definitely her words.

"obviously. you studied for two weeks straight. - e"

“i kissed you in my thoughts did you felt it... -e"

"that bus driver will go to hell. -e"

"i beleaf in you -e"

“for my favorite teacher ♡ -e"

"you're worth every mile between us. -e"

“sometimes i think the universe made you specifically for me. like okay. pretty girl who smells like coffee and oranges and kisses me softly. alright man. - e”

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie once opened tiktok late at night and got one of those tarot readings that are now flooding her fyp thanks to you. the woman in the video was saying something like "YOUR PERSON IS A STUBBORN FIRE SIGN WHO MISSES YOU EVERY NIGHT. YOU WILL BE SOON TOGETHER ONCE AGAIN." she was already prepared to scroll past it but she opened the comments and noticed your profile picture in the comments, dead serious:

"i claim this energy ✨🧿"

she laughed so hard she had to put her phone down for a second. still, she found the whole thing weirdly endearing... it was just so painfully you. romantic and earnest without embarrassment. you love things wholeheartedly and openly in a way ellie still still isn't fully used to.

okay, maybe the universe is speaking directly to her girlfriend through tiktok tarot readings. WHO is she to judge.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie teases you relentlessly for your tarot habits but also listens with complete seriousness whenever you start explaining them. she'll sit there nodding while you talk about crystals and energies and card pulls like you're presenting groundbreaking scientific research.

sometimes, she'll pretend to be skeptical just to hear you defend it harder. she even lets you do readings for her and acts deeply unimpressed about it. "this is bullshit.... okay, pull another card though."

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie is incapable of saying goodnight first, you've noticed. no matter how tired she is, no matter what time it is, ellie will not be the one to end the conversation. you have to do it every single time, and even then she always sends one more thing after just in case.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie misses your country’s summers so much it physically pains her, even though she spent the entire time complaining. she genuinely hated it. your room had no AC, only that loud ass fan that sounded like a plane preparing for takeoff and barely helped at all. secretly, she loved feeling your skin warm and sticky against hers. both of you were always too overheated to fully cuddle but still found a way to touch each other somehow; a leg thrown over hers, your fingers sleepily scratching her stomach, her face tucked into your chest at 3am while the fan rattled violently in the background...

she complained about it and yet, she would give anything to be back in your bedroom right now. she misses those horrible sweaty nights more than she can explain once she’s back in jackson.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie randomly sends you songs, and you do the same. it's like another form of communication at this point.

ellie’s are usually late night sends with absolutely zero context. just a link, no caption. just the song and the implication that she heard something and thought of you or thought of herself or thought of the two of you and couldn't not send it.

you send her songs too, even though your music taste is a tad different than hers. she listens to every single song carefully because a song you love is information about you and she wants all the information about you she can get.

your contributions to this arrangement include playlists with titles like songs to kiss me to when you see me again and, inexplicably (or not so inexplicably if she thinks about it), multiple tracks from the shrek soundtrack.

you

this is the greatest song of all time

ellie 🦕

disespectfully i disagree

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie cannot, under any circumstances, maintain a single linear conversation and neither can you. this is a ongoing issue. you will be mid-sentence about something important and one of you will say something that reminds the other of something completely unrelated and suddenly you're three topics deep with no map back. many important conversations have been lost this way. every discussion becomes like ten different discussions stitched together badly.

the solution you implemented, after one too many "wait what were we talking about" moments was the parentheses system because otherwise neither of you would ever finish a story.

you say parentheses out loud and whatever comes after is a detour. you're allowed to go as far off road as you want but when you close the parentheses, you go back, no exceptions. and it works! you actually finish conversations now... occasionally.

both of you say the word “parentheses” out loud constantly because both your brains work at the speed of light apparently.

“PARENTHESES. did i tell you dina and jesse are dating again?"

“okay so my professor said— wait, parentheses. remind me to tell you what happened at the café afterwards.”

of course, you forget to close the parentheses half the time anyway. you absolutely enable each other’s tangents too, neither of you are helping the situation AT ALL.

͙͘͡★ the issue now is nested parentheses, which happen constantly and were not accounted for in the original system design.

"so the kid did the funniest thing— PARENTHESES this reminds me of what you said about the museum tours— PARENTHESES wait that also reminds me of— okay i have THREE parentheses open right now."

"well, close them in order?"

"i don't remember what order i opened them in."

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie actually loves listening to your brain jump around topics though. loves seeing how excited you get when you remember something halfway through another sentence. she thinks it’s very cute!

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie gets sent approximately eight hundred tiktoks per day. genuinely an alarming amount considering you are both busy adults... you send her tiktoks like you're being PAID per video sent. ellie wakes up to at least five notifications minimum on a slow day. she's completely baffled by it, but she still watches every single one, always.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie on the other hand, is an instagram reels person and this is genuinely incomprehensible to you. you receive reels from ellie that were funny approximately four to six months ago. memes that have been dead and buried and mourned.

you

ellie. this meme is from february

ellie 🦕

okay? it's funny

you

it was funny... in FEBRUARY

ellie 🦕

it was funny in february and it's still funny now

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie who receives a good morning texts from you every single day, without fail. even if it's just "gm <3" at 6am while half asleep. ellie wakes up to them and her whole morning is different.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie quietly opens her camera roll and just looks at your pictures for a while when the missing gets particularly bad. she always avoided cameras, even before meeting you. always turned her face away or groaned whenever someone pulled out a phone, but now she wishes she had documented every ordinary little moment that felt infinite at the time. she regrets not taking more pictures so much.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie is a composed person... generally. she acts all cocky over text until you tell her “i’ll send you something later” and suddenly she’s typing like her hands are vibrating because they, in fact, are. her body just responds before her brain can do anything about it. she genuinely shakes in excitement when she knows you’re about to send boobs or ass, like a damn chihuahua. pacing around her room and checking her phone every four seconds.

you figured out very early that you have an extraordinary amount of power in this specific situation and you use it responsibly (well... no.)

ellie 🦕

i was in a meeting????

you

i know 😚

ellie 🦕

ok so you did that on purpose

you

it was on purpose yes

ellie 🦕

i hate you

you

booo you don't

ellie 🦕

were you actually thinking about me or

you

literally yes. i'm thinking about you alllll the time <33

ellie 🦕

okay

i don't have another meeting until 3

you

LMFAOOO

ellie 🦕

what

you

nothing nothing 😇

you're so cute i can't stand it

ellie 🦕

i'm not cute

so about that 3pm window

you

yes els

yes okay 😭

ellie 🦕

cool cool cool

i mean

good

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie literally gets hit with longing at the the most mundane moments that have no business making her feel like this. like, when she's doing the dishes, or when she hears a song you love, or when she wakes up from naps and reaches for you before remembering... just yearning and daydreaming all day long.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie has a moment, just a few months in, where she genuinely cannot see how this works long term and it terrifies her. she almost texts you about it at 2am. instead, she stared at the ceiling for an hour and then send "i really like you" completely unprompted. you answer immediately "i really like you too ILOVEYOUUUU <3333 go to sleep. long day tomorrow"

and the crisis passes, just like that.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie owns an “i ♡ my girlfriend” pin. it’s clipped onto her backpack right beside the one joel got her for her birthday a few years ago. she looks super proud every time someone points it out and will talk about her awesome girlfriend—you, of course. it has never been removed and it will never be removed. it will be on that backpack until the backpack disintegrates.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie gets a summer position doing guided tours for children at her local natural history museum. this is objectively perfect for her and also a disaster because ellie is great at information but not so great at children, or so she claims. she called you in a quiet panic on her second day.

"there's so many of them and they won't stop moving and one of them just licked a bone?"

obviously, you immediately appoint yourself as ellie's unofficial child-wrangling consultant. you had been handling this exact category of chaos for some time now, so you gave her the tips you'd collected the hard way. the advice starts coming in unprompted, but ellie listens to all of it and takes notes.

"okay, if a kid won't stop touching the display, what you do is give them a job. tell them they're the official display guardian. suddenly it's their responsibility to protect it."

ellie tries this the next day, and it miraculously works.

͙͘͡★ so, this becomes a thing. ellie encounters a child situation, texts you, you provide a strategy, ellie implements it, and it works most of the time, so she ends up using your techniques constantly.

“okay guys, if you can hear me clap once!” and suddenly twenty children are listening to her. holy shit. witchcraft? maybe.

ellie starts looking forward to having problems just so she can ask you about them.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie by the end of the summer is genuinely good with the kids on her tours. like actually really good. she crouches down to their level and speaks to them like small intelligent people and gets them excited about bones and fossils they did not care about in the first place.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie has a contact photo of you that you hate with your whole entire heart. it was taken during autumn. you're sitting on a park bench, mikey in your arms, laughing at something off camera — something she said, probably, though neither of you can remember what. you were not aware that she was taking a picture; your hair is messy from the wind and your mouth is wide open mid-laugh, your nose scrunched the way it does when you laugh. mikey is looking at the camera with his whole little face.

you've asked her to change it an ungodly number of times but ellie genuinely loves that picture so much that her eyes go a little watery when she looks at it for a long time.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie is not a words of affirmation person in general EXCEPT with you over long distance. because she can't touch you or show up the way she wants, so she has to say it. and every time she does, you stores her words up like treasure.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie is not sending nudes. this is a non-negotiable that she established early and has maintained with great conviction. she's glad that you respect that completely and never make her feel weird about it.

you, on the other hand, have no such convictions. you send her nudes like you're sending a good morning text. she receives these and has to take a minute because holy fuck? she loves receiving them, loves them BAD. but sending things back? uh, that's an horrifying concept. she just doesn’t feel fully comfortable with it at first, not because she doesn’t trust you —she trusts you completely— she’s just awkward and weirdly shy about it.

the first time ellie sent something, it was completely unannounced. just a mirror picture of her in her sports bra after coming back from the gym.

she slowly starts getting more confident over time, little by little. at first it’s just mirror selfies in sports bras. then maybe the waistband of her boxers peeking out low on her hips, maybe a blurry picture of her stomach while she’s laying in bed... she always sends what she's comfortable with and nothing more, so, her face isn't showing in most of these pictures.

the no face rule is also firm and you think it's actually really cute.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie spends like twenty minutes deciding whether or not to send a picture only for it to be the tamest thing you’ve ever received in your life, but to her it feels insanely vulnerable. she gets embarrassingly proud of herself afterwards too, trying to act all casual while clearly waiting for praise.

ellie 🦕

so

was that like. cool or whatever.

you

i almost passed out in the middle of the grocery store

ellie 🦕

okay relax

you

NO because why are you casually sending me stomach like that ??? happy pride to ME !!!!

need you so bad phone sex isn’t enough anymore actually i’m being serious

and then you said the most explicit shit she ever read.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie gets so flustered when you’re explicit because she never expects it despite the fact that you have literally been dating for ages. you’ll say the most insane out of pocket thing imaginable and she’ll just stare at her phone blinking slowly with her cheeks burning bright red. she secretly loves knowing she can affect you like that, loves when you lose your mind over the smallest things she sends. she still genuinely can’t believe you want her that much.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie is, however, extremely and immediately down for phone sex every single time. her consistency is actually remarkable... this is not something she needs convincing about AT ALL. she's down for it literally every time, there is no situation where she’s turning down phone sex. you could text “u busy" and she’s already plugging her headphones in. the contrast between "will not send a single picture" and "phone call? yes. right now? yes." is something you find both hilarious and incredibly her.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie has a name for you when you're grumpy. it started because you called her once when you were in a sour mood that had no single cause, just the accumulation of a long day. she listened to you rant for minutes before saying, very calmly:

"okay, miss trunchbull."

you got grumpier immediately, which made her laugh. and you cannot stay grumpy through that laugh, you've tried, and it's physically impossible, but you were determined that day so you stayed grumpy a little while through sheer force of will before it cracked you open.

so, she calls you miss trunchbull just when you're grumpy because it makes you grumpier first and then not grumpy at all. it's the most efficient method of fixing your mood and she uses it without shame.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie almost cried tears of joy when your old phone finally died. not because she hated it or anything — she had defended that thing for months actually. “it’s still working” she’d say every time you complained about storage or battery life or the camera quality resembling active surveillance footage. it served you well. it was a good phone. she harbors no ill will toward it whatsoever.

but the second you texted her my phone finally gave up she sat up so fast because okay, that meant you were getting a new one… a better one. with a better camera, probably. which meant she got to see you in HIGH DEFINITION.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie was genuinely stunned into silence for a second the first facetime call after you got the new phone. because suddenly there you were, her girl. all pretty and alive looking on her screen. your face clear and detailed in a way she hadn't seen in months. she could see the exact shade of your eyes, the little moves your eyebrows made while talking, the texture of your lip gloss. the tiny beauty mark in your face that she used to kiss all the time.

her eyes went embarrassingly wet.

obviously, she became immediately unbearable afterwards.

“wait hold on move closer.”

“lemme see your makeup.”

“baby your skin looks crazy good on this thing, what the fuck?"

“wait, smile again”

“okay now turn your head to the side please— wait, you got a new piercing?"

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie did not come pre-assembled for this relationship. opening up —about feelings, mostly— did not come naturally to her. it took time, an embarrassing amount of time, by her own private admission.

joel miller raised her, so one can do the math.

early on she'd go quiet when something was wrong and you'd be on the other side of it not knowing what you'd done or what she needed. more than once you asked are you okay and got yeah and had to decide whether to believe it or not. sometimes you pushed gently and sometimes you waited, but you got good at reading the difference.

she's quite good at it now. not perfect, and she's probably never going to be perfect, but now she'll tell you when something's wrong and she'll tell you what she needs and she'll say it was a bad day and instead of just not saying it and hoping you somehow know.

you think it's one of the bravest things about her, and you love her a little more for that.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie thinks loving you feels a little like adding honey to bitter things. the bad parts don’t disappear completely, but somehow they become easier to swallow.

you are, very literally, the sweetness of her life.

since you got into her life, her days started feeling softer around the edges simply because you were in them. she notices it especially on bad days, because even when everything feels exhausting and frustrating, there’s still this quiet thought in the back of her mind:

i can call her later.

and somehow, that makes everything feel a little more survivable.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie doesn't talk about you much with joel. not because she doesn't want to, it's just kind of weird, so she keeps it brief. like, she mentions you occasionally. "she's good" when he asks about you. "yeah, we're good" when he asks how's everything between you two. joel doesn't push much and she's thankful for that. still, somehow, he ends up knowing plenty about you anyway through little things she mentions.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie whose lockscreen is a strip of those vintage photobooth pictures with three frames.

in the first, the two of you are side by side, just looking at the camera, her arm around your shoulder

in the second frame, you've turned toward her, one of your hands grabbing her face with absolutely zero gentleness, and you're kissing her cheek so hard she has her eyes closed. her expression is somewhere between laughing and suffering, even though she was delighted.

in the third one you're sitting in her lap and you're kissing her properly.

she’s changed phones twice and somehow the lockscreen always stays the same. she's never changed and never will because you look so pretty in it. she's told you this more than once and she's not saying it to be nice, she's saying it because it's just true.

once she admitted very quietly that she likes it so much because it captured you exactly as she remembers you, just loud and sweet and all over her in the most loving way possible.

“i dunno,” she shrugged afterwards, all awkward about the vulnerability. “you just look really happy with me in them. i like it.”

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie sends you a picture immediately every single time she sees hello kitty and spiderman together anywhere. doesn’t matter where she is. random stores, at the shopping, on gas stations, when she's doing her groceries... you best believe she’ll stop dead in the aisle to take a picture.

ellie 🦕

thought you should know we’re apparently luggage now?

ellie 🦕

you and me

ellie 🦕

i got these two. they reminded me of us

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie stole your hello kitty plushie before leaving. technically, you let her borrow it while she stayed in your place, but one day she left with it tucked under her arm and never gave it back.

in her defense, she fully intended to tell you before leaving. then she forgot. she got back to jackson and unpacked and there it was, sitting in her lap looking guilty as hell. you discovered the theft like four days later.

you

ellie. WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?

turns out, she underestimated how emotionally attached you were to that thing. she should've known, of course, since it was very obviously beloved. poor thing looked like it had survived several wars. one eye missing, fur all faded and discolored, stuffing slightly lumpy from years of being held too much. maybe that’s part of why she loved it immediately.

eventually, after a long dramatic exchange where you accused her of kidnapping and demanded visitation rights that she had to pay, you relented.

you

okay okay okay… you can keep her

take care of my daughter please ☹️

now it sits on her bed in jackson like it belongs there. she uses it as a pillow sometimes, mostly when the missing you thing gets particularly bad. not because it’s comfortable but because it smells like you. like coffee, your shampoo, and that sweet clean scent that clings to your sheets. every time the smell faded a little more she genuinely felt devastated.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie cannot peel an orange without getting nostalgic.

it’s genuinely baffling to her how specific the memory is, too. every time she peels one, the memory just hits her. the juice on your fingers, the smell sharp and sweet in the warm air.

it's this really specific memory: the two of you sitting outside in the sun, eating oranges like two elderly people with nowhere to be and nothing to do. you beside her, handing her a piece before she asked.

you’d peel them together and leave little piles of orange skins between you while talking about absolutely nothing.

it was genuinely nothing. no special occasion, no milestone. just a random afternoon in your backyard eating oranges in the sun because you insisted you needed “vitamin D and enrichment,” so you dragged ellie outside with a bowl of oranges.

she'd been so hot that day, she remembers. she'd also been so happy, but she hadn't said that part out loud.

every time she peels one, she immediately gets hit with this horrible ache in her chest because suddenly she could practically hear your voice again in her ear.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie has a locket with a tiny photo of you inside it.

you both do. they're small matching ones in silver, heart shaped and worn from constant use — your idea, which she called cheesy and agreed to in the same breath.

inside hers there’s a tiny picture of you on one side and a picture of the two of you together on the other. inside yours, the same. just ellie where you were. the photos are cut unevenly because you were laughing too hard while trying to trim them with tiny scissors.

she touches it constantly without realizing.

when she’s stressed, her fingers drift there automatically. when she’s tired. when she’s thinking. when she misses you. she’ll rub her thumb over the edge of it absentmindedly over it.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie knows the distance is hard and ugly sometimes. there are nights where missing you sits so heavy in her chest she genuinely doesn’t know what to do with herself besides call you and listen to you breathe for a while. there are days where the time difference frustrates her so badly she has to put her phone down and walk around the block before she starts feeling too miserable about it.

but still, underneath all of that there’s certainty. quiet certainty, but certainty anyway.

it won’t be like this forever.

maybe she’ll come back to you, or maybe you’ll come to her. maybe it’ll take longer than either of you want, but it will happen because she’s sure of it, like the way she’s sure the sun rises every morning in the east. it's not blind optimism, just faith. in you and in what this became. faith in the fact that loving you has rooted itself too deeply into her life to ever become temporary

she doesn't know when it will happen and she's made peace with it, mostly. the logistics are complicated, after all. visas, flights, money, schedules and a thousand more small bureaucratic obstacles that stand between two people who just want to be in the same room again.

she knows all of them by heart. she's been working through them one by one, but she doesn't talk about it much. doesn't say i've been researching flights or i asked about visa requirements again or i've been putting money aside every month since i got back. she just does it without fanfare.

you know, anyway. you can tell by the way she says when instead of if. always when. from the very beginning, it has always been when.

when i visit.

when you come to jackson.

when we're in the same place again.

when i see you again.

when, when, when.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie works so hard for it too. probably harder than you realize. taking extra shifts at the museum and saving money whenever she can, researching programs for once she graduates and jobs late at night when she should be sleeping.

she's building a bridge back to you, piece by piece. slowly but surely.

͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie once told you, after one particularly difficult night apart:

“i don’t know exactly how yet. but i know i’ll find my way back to you.”

and she meant it with her whole heart.

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⋆｡° ⋆ ˖ a/n:

honey-sick because... homesick. but honey. because she misses you and you’re the sweetness of her life. get it... 😚 maybe it sounded better in my head BUT WHATEVER. maybe i’ll rename this part later hehe

this was originally written as a little extra or as companion piece for my one shot bittersweet, but honestly i think it can be read as a standalone too. it’s basically just ellie and reader being painfully in love across several time zones and trying to survive it <3 also this is my first time writing in this format so i genuinely have no idea if i did this correctly LMFAOOOO but i had so much fun writing it. these two mean everything to me actually. like genuinely i think about them all the time

i wrote this in one sitting and didn't proofread it so the tenses are probably all over the place i’m SO sorry i’ll probably fix them later. or not..

anyway thank you so much for reading ♡ and if you have any requests or thoughts about these two PLEASEEE send them my way because i will take literally any excuse to write more of them 😚 mwah

scanning the area for any other signs of life, you cautiously approach the tree from which the girl hangs by her ankle, rope taut.

you’re half-hoping she’s already dead - it’s better than whatever the rattlers would have in store for her. but when you’re close enough to reach out and feel for a pulse, her weak heartbeat thumps against your index and middle finger.

“shit,” you hiss, cursing yourself for wanting to help. whoever this girl is, she’s either not from around here or just plain stupid. and maybe you’re just as stupid for cutting her down.

when her body hits the gravel, the girl gasps awake, groaning in pain as her hands fly to her hip. her fingers emerge red from the blood-soaked cotton of her tank top.

you watch with curiosity, knuckles going pale as you grip your pocket knife tight.

the brunette coughs dryly, her body weak. she pushes herself up onto all fours and finally turns her head to look at you, green eyes wide with confusion and surprise.

“could’ve gotten yourself killed,” you say, just loud enough for her to hear. “or worse. rattlers all over this part of town.”

“rattlers,” the girl croaks, eyes flitting to the knife in your hand. “the fuck’s a rattler?”

you arch a brow. “seriously?”

as the girl stumbles to her feet, she grunts again in pain and presses her palm against her hip. she ignores you, instead scanning the area for something. when she finds it, she limps over to an overgrown patch of grass and pulls a backpack from the ground.

“you’re hurt,” you say as the brunette shrugs on her backpack. her eyes search the gravel for something else - a pocket knife, you notice, the silver glinting in the afternoon light. she picks that up too, doesn’t flip it closed. her green eyes flicker over to you.

“i’m looking for someone,” she tells you, voice gravelly. “abby’s her name.”

“if she’s as careless as you, the rattlers already have her.”

“thought i made it clear i don’t know what the fuck a rattler is.”

you snort. “keep making stupid choices and you’ll find out.”

the girl sets her jaw, expression stone-cold. you glower back at her, too exhausted from the hours of walking you’ve done today to be afraid of her. she’s clearly out of her depth here, anyway.

“slavers,” you say, folding up your knife and stuffing it into your pocket. “they set those traps. they catch you, you’re fucked. so… you’re welcome.”

after a beat, you turn on your heel and start walking away. you’ve found enough supplies to keep you going for a while, and this block’s too hot. you’re ready to call it a day and head home.

when you’re still within earshot of the brunette, you pause, turning your head. “come with me and i’ll patch you up, get you some food, maybe help you find this… abby.”

you shoot a glance at the girl, whose eyebrows are knitted together. the blood on her face has gone dark, drying to a crust on her forehead.

“or stay here. choice is yours.”

when you start walking again, it’s not long before you hear a second set of footsteps approaching behind you. reaching into the side pocket of your backpack, you pull out a metal canister of water and offer it to the girl. she takes it wordlessly, gulping down mouthfuls of water as you trudge through the barren neighborhood.

“god dammit,” ellie cries, knuckles going white as she grips the edge of her seat, alcohol stinging the open wound on her side. you mutter a quiet sorry, wiping smears of blood from her skin until only her wound remains angry and red.

“good news is you don’t need stitches,” you tell her, reaching for your first-aid kit. you wrap her wound with bandages and hand her a clean shirt, her blood-soaked tank discarded on the floor. she pulls on the t-shirt with cautious movements, careful not to disturb her freshly-wrapped wound. you dip your hands into a bucket of water to wash the blood off.

the boat rocks calmly with the rhythm of the waves, the gentle whoosh of the ocean outside a soothing white noise. ellie’s quiet, still catching her breath. you kick off your boots, stretching your legs out. god only knows how many miles you’ve walked today.

“why are you helping me?”

ellie’s question breaks the silence, her voice still hoarse. when you spare a glance her way, you find her already looking at you, eyes narrowed just so.

you shrug. “honestly? i felt sorry for you.”

ellie laughs humorlessly. “great, well… thanks, i guess.”

“you’re really not from around here?”

she shakes her head, eyes downcast. she taps her foot against the rug on the floor.

“i came here to find someone.”

“abby,” you say, nodding. “who’s she?”

a family member? a girlfriend, maybe? you’re not sure, but the still-human part of you hopes it’s not the latter. ellie’s pretty - freckled cheeks and toned arms, careful lines of ink decorating her skin, her hair somehow falling perfectly into her eyes. god, it’s been a while since you’ve looked at someone like this. it almost feels wrong. almost.

“long story.” ellie runs a hand through her hair, glances back over at you. “i have some unfinished business with her.”

not a girlfriend or a family member, you conclude, if the hatred in ellie’s eyes is any indication. you nod, not wanting to pry further.

“i don’t know anyone who goes by abby,” you confess, “but i can help you find her. or at least… i can tell you how to not get caught by the rattlers again.”

“yeah,” ellie says. when she’s quiet for another few moments, you stand up and grab the bucket at your feet, the water within it pink with ellie’s blood. you walk out onto the boat deck and toss the water over the edge, watching it splash into the sea. the weather has turned moody again, gray clouds rolling in with the coastal wind.

you fix a meal of canned baked beans and half-stale crackers, trying not to stare too long as ellie scarfs down the food like she hasn’t eaten in weeks. and, well, maybe she hasn’t. she’s quite thin, you had noticed, despite the lean muscles that define her frame.

the sun has already dipped below the horizon by the time you’re finished with dinner. your bed, at the back of the boat, is already calling your name - your legs are sore and tired from a long day of walking. call it naivety, but you’re not too nervous about sleeping near ellie. despite that threatening gaze when she’d talked about abby, she seems relatively harmless. or maybe you’re just being reckless, wooed by her good looks and mysterious charm. it’s embarrassing how drawn to her you are - so much so that you offer her a spot on your bed for the night.

“i can’t do that,” she responds, one hand rubbing the back of her neck.

“it’s that or risk dying from exposure outside,” you deadpan. she almost smiles, exhaling quickly in something akin to a laugh.

“you pulled my leg.”

so you end up in bed together, stripped down to your underwear in the long-unwashed sheets. you hadn’t asked ellie to undress, but she’d peeled her bloodstained jeans off anyway, settling into the mattress beside you. over the sound of the waves crashing against the shore outside, you hear her breathing quietly. you stare up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep.

“thank you,” ellie says suddenly. you turn to look at her in the dark, her face finally clean of blood and sweat. she doesn’t look at you, eyes trained on the ceiling.

“it’s nothing.” you shrug a shoulder.

except that it’s not nothing - you haven’t had company in months. you’ve been on your own for so long you’d almost forgotten what it’s like to share a space with someone else, to eat together and share a mattress with someone, completely at their mercy should they have bad intentions. it’s a kind of trust you’re not accustomed to doling out to strangers.

but something about doing this for ellie feels right.

or maybe you’re just an idiot. who’s to say?

as the boat cabin darkens with night, you turn over onto your side, facing ellie. she finally shifts her gaze to you, pupils wide in the dark.

“you’re not gonna kill me in my sleep, are you?”

the question seems to take ellie by surprise, because her eyebrows shoot up her forehead.

“after you saved my skin?” she scoffs. “god, no.”

“good,” you murmur, chewing on the inside of your cheek. before you can reconsider, you blurt, “but i guess a pretty girl killing me is a fine way to go.”

ellie’s silent just long enough for you to mentally scold yourself for the tasteless comment. you nearly chew a hole into your cheek until ellie’s voice cuts through the quiet. “you like girls?”

there’s a sudden lump in your throat. you nod, hesitant. “yeah. i do.”

the brunette turns onto her side, wincing just slightly at the pressure the movement places on her wound. you open your mouth to tell her to be careful when she reaches out to cup your cheek, her fingertips rough against your skin.

“this is stupid,” she murmurs, her thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “tell me to stop.”

your heart thumps wildly in your chest, pounding against your ribcage. your skin burns where ellie’s touching you.

“i won’t,” you whisper, and that’s all you can say before she’s kissing you.

it’s been ages since anyone’s touched you, let alone kissed you - that must be why your stomach turns with arousal almost instantly, a fire stoking between your legs. ellie tastes like salt, her tongue prodding against your lips until you open your mouth to allow her in. her hand moves to the back of your neck to hold you in place as she kisses you, lips wet and smooth against yours. you sigh into the kiss, somehow unafraid to melt under her touch.

you’re dizzy with want as ellie trails kisses down your neck, her fingers sliding under the elastic band of your sports bra. when you pull back to remove it, exposing your chest for her to see in the dark, she lets out a heavy sigh before her palms reach out to cup each of your tits and squeeze. the calloused pads of her thumbs brush over your taut nipples and you gasp, tangling a hand in ellie’s hair to steady yourself.

you’re not sure how exactly you end up naked in her lap, her fingers sinking into your soaked cunt as she sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin of your throat. you moan, cunt tensing around her fingers, and ellie pulls back to watch you with half-lidded eyes as her hand works between your legs.

“fuck, that’s so good,” you croon, grinding down against ellie’s hand. she curls her fingers inside you, prodding at your g-spot until you’re whining her name, already feeling your orgasm approaching far too fast.

ellie groans at the wet sounds of her fingers buried in your pussy, your arousal leaking down her hand. every thrust of her fingers produces a lewd squelch, and if you weren’t so fucked out, you might’ve found it in yourself to be embarrassed. instead, you drop your head to ellie’s shoulder and mewl, hips rocking weakly as she finger-fucks you so deep you see stars.

“i’m c-close,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. ellie wraps her free arm around your waist to hold you steady, fingers never slowing as they plow into you from below.

“i got you,” ellie murmurs in response, her palm pressing against your clit. you let out a wrecked moan and ellie smiles at you in the dark, a slight curve of her lips that makes your stomach flutter.

you come with a gasp, the air stolen from your lungs by the sensation of ellie’s fingers rubbing deliciously against your g-spot, her palm warm and firm against your puffy clit. seeking comfort, you lean your forehead against ellie’s, body shaking with every tremor of pleasure she manages to pull out of you. you’re not sure if it’s just the dark boat cabin or the force of your orgasm that has your vision going black, but when you finally emerge from the thick haze of your orgasm, ellie’s fingers have left your cunt empty, her hand rubbing soothing circles over your lower back.

“good?” she prompts, nose nudging against yours. your heart stutters at the way she asks - like she’s looking for reassurance. you nod.

“really good.”

the two of you tumble around in bed for half the night, careful not to reopen the patched-up wound on ellie’s side. you mouth at her pussy and dip your fingers into the slick heat of her arousal, let her climb on top of you and slot yourselves together so your soaked cunts can find friction against one another. after you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve orgasmed, you fall into a dreamless slumber, curled up against ellie’s side in the tiny cabin bed.

when you wake up to find the bed empty and cold beside you, part of you isn’t surprised. you stretch out on the mattress, flashes of the night before playing out in your mind - the heat of ellie’s breath, the warmth of her touch, the welcome sight of her smile.

you never end up seeing her again.

Abby stays just a step behind you, close enough for you to feel the heat of her presence, but far enough to still remain untouchable. A profound silence hangs heavily between you, stretching out like an endless abyss. 

That silence isn’t accidental—it’s deliberate. A new part of your arrangement that was decided for you, just like everything else in your life. 

But Abby hasn’t spoken to you in two weeks, not since that night. 

The night where you had somehow managed to thwart a kidnapping attempt. But it was also the night where she gathered you up in her arms and pressed you up against your chamber door, kissing you like she couldn’t stand the thought of ever losing you. 

Only for her to turn around and act like it never even happened. 

You couldn’t decide which was worse: knowing that she wanted you—craved you—or that she would rather punish you both than act on those feelings again. 

That is what this felt like. A punishment, because, regardless of what happened, she was always there. 

Waiting outside your chamber door every morning with dark circles under her eyes growing more sunken with each passing day. Trailing beside you in the palace’s lush rose gardens, her eyes sharp and focused as she surveyed the area for any signs of imminent danger.

And now, as she escorts you to the palace’s library, she’s silent and stoic as she follows you through the long, winding corridors. 

Abby had foregone her armor for something far more practical: a pair of dark, fitted riding pants, leather boots and a crisp white linen tunic that she wore tucked beneath a navy doublet. 

A golden emblem of a wolf is stitched over her breast pocket, a symbol of her allegiance to King Isaac. Her dark blonde locks are pulled back in her signature braid, but it’s looser from the day's wear. Her sword rests in its sheath against her hip, one of her hands perched atop the hilt—showing off that she is still a force to be reckoned with, if the occasion were to arise. 

And yet, she’s softer like this. Displaying a rugged kind of beauty that you’ve always admired since the moment you first laid eyes on her. Ser Abigail Anderson was known widely throughout the ten kingdoms as the Iron Wolf, simultaneously revered and feared.  

She knelt before the king and vowed on her own life to keep you safe from harm, and that was all it took for you to see beneath that hard, constructed exterior. To see the kind, gentle woman that lay hidden beneath, who was still frustratingly out of your reach. 

But despite the fortress she’s built between you, there’s no denying that something had shifted between you that night. Between your roaming hands and eager lips, she wasn’t just your hired protector anymore. 

And her refusal to acknowledge it hurt worse than you could have ever imagined. Every stolen glance felt hollow and cold, if she even dared to look your way at all. Her warm presence that had drawn you in like a moth to a flame was replaced with a rigid disposition. 

But it was the softer moments, the ones where you could truly see past that stone cold exterior that hurt the most. The novels she continued to leave on your bedside table each week, which were hand selected for you with the utmost attention and care. While she was out in the training yard, you realized she was still using the silk handkerchief you had given her that very first day to blot the sweat from her brow the same way that you had. 

It was beyond maddening, and none of it made any sense. Her silence and cold demeanor felt like rejection, but her constant presence and thoughtful actions spoke of something else entirely: a deep affection she was keeping hidden beneath that iron breastplate. It only left you reeling with each passing day. 

But as days turned into weeks, those feelings of hurt and confusion slowly morphed into a burning resentment that settled deep within your chest. It was heightened with Abby’s incessant need to have you in her direct line of sight at all times.

You can feel the silence between you start to swell, growing heavier with each step you take. It's a suffocating and unrelenting sort of feeling, pressing down on you until you can almost feel your lungs start to burn. 

You stop abruptly, and her steps immediately falter behind you. You can feel her release an unsteady breath, the sound tickling the back of your neck and sending shivers down your spine. You flick a quick but fleeting glance over your shoulder and the way she’s looking at you makes your stomach flip. 

But she remains still, silent and the last of your patience evaporates. 

“I think I can manage the rest of the way without the need of an escort,” you say as you whirl around to face her.

You can see the muscles in her jaw work as she looks at you, her brows pinching together in a scowl. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—” she starts.

“Oh, so you can speak?” you interject with a sharp laugh. “Could have fooled me.”

Abby sighs deeply and takes a step toward you, forcing you two paces back in an effort to keep your distance. And she has the audacity to look hurt. 

“Please don’t do this,” she hisses, glancing over her shoulder. “Not here.” 

You have to hold back another bewildered laugh. “Why? Are you afraid someone might overhear that the fearless Ser Abigail would choose to suffer in silence rather than chase what she wants? Where is the honor in that?” 

She angrily runs a hand down her face. “It’s better this way,” she says, not fully meeting your eyes. “For both of us.”

Her words slice through you like a dagger, but the way she’s refusing to look at you only twists the blade in deeper. “Better for us?” you question. “Or better for you?”

The question hangs in the air between you, charged and full of indignation.

Her mouth twists, but her eyes don’t leave the ground. “There is no us. I’m sworn to protect you. It cannot be anything more than that.”

“You’re a coward.” 

Her head immediately snaps up, her eyes narrowing as they bear into yours.  “What happened that night was a mistake, I never should have crossed that line with you. It will not happen again.” 

Her words are the finishing blow to your already crumbling disposition. “Right,” you whisper, your throat tightening and your eyes stinging. “I really wish you would have figured that out before you convinced me otherwise.”

You start to turn and she grabs your wrist. 

“Don’t you dare touch me,” you choke out, yanking your wrist free and taking off down the hall. 

Behind you, Abby curses sharply but regains her composure enough to chase after you. Her footsteps are loud and heavy against the polished stone, rivaling the way your heart pounds in your ears. She’s already gaining on you. You quickly hike up the many layers of your gown in your fists and force your legs to move faster as you tear down the empty corridor. 

You ignore each call of your name, not bothering to think where you’re headed, only that you need to get as far away from her as possible. A passage leading to a winding staircase stretches before you and you quickly duck inside, taking the stairs down two at a time. 

You just barely reach the landing when a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist and lift you off the ground, whisking you out of the open stairwell and down a dark, empty corridor.

“Put. Me. Down,” you seethe, trying and failing to wiggle out of her tight embrace.

“Calm down and I will,” she chides, her lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

A shiver of delight races down your spine and you go practically boneless in her embrace, the last of your defiance disappearing with it. 

“Fine,” you whisper defeatedly. 

Abby loosens the iron grip she has on your waist and slowly lowers you to your feet. She doesn’t give you another opportunity to run as she backs you into the cold wall, bracing her palms on either side of you, caging you in. 

She’s so close that you can feel her warm breath fan across your mouth with every slow exhale—a ghost of a kiss—and your lips part.

It’s hard to make out her expression in the dark of the hall, but as your eyes slowly start to adjust you notice the deep rosy flush sweeping across her cheeks…and the way her eyes have unmistakenly fallen to your parted lips. 

“What are we doing here, Abby?” you prod. 

What am I to you? 

Abby releases another deep sigh, her eyes slipping shut as she bows her head. “I don’t know.” 

“Do you regret it?” you whisper. 

“No. I—” She grits her teeth, leaning her forehead against yours. “I’m trying to do my job, to keep you safe. I cannot allow my own feelings to complicate things more than they already have.”

“Why do you see them as a complication?” 

“Because I don’t think I would survive if I had to lose another person that I love.” 

The words are spoken softly, a confession that she never intended to reveal to you. Abby meets your gaze, releasing her hold to take a step back, fear and uncertainty in her eyes. 

You reach for her, cupping her face in between your palms. “But you won’t lose me.” 

She quickly shakes her head, removing your hands from her face to wrap around your wrists. Not to restrain you, but to ground herself. “You have people after you. You cannot promise me something like that,” she counters, unable to keep her voice from shaking. 

“You have sworn your life to protect me, Abigail. Why won’t you let me do the same?” 

Abby just stares at you for a moment, unblinking and tense as a silent battle wages behind her eyes. Then she stalks forward, the last of her restraint shattering as she closes the distance between you and crashes her lips against yours. 

She claims your mouth with the kind of desperation that leaves you feeling lightheaded, and you surge into her, kissing her back with just as much fervor. Her warm hands encircle your waist, splaying across the dip in your spine to pull you flush against her chest. Abby eagerly swallows your small gasp, releasing a strangled noise of her own when your fingers thread themselves into her braid to give an experimental tug.

The way she grounds out your name has liquid heat pooling in your middle, her lips leaving a trail of wet kisses over the curve of your jaw…down your throat, until she reaches the crook of your neck. Her teeth skim over the sensitive flesh there, earning her another breathy whine. 

“Abby,” you breathe, your fingers digging into the taut muscles of her shoulders. “Touch me, please.” 

Her fingers grip the layers of fabric keeping you apart, hiking up your gown as she hitches your thigh around her hip. The hilt of her sword digs into the soft flesh there, but you hardly mind when you feel her hand dip between your legs. 

Abby’s hand cups your mound of curls in her warm palm, her calloused fingers gliding through your slick center with ease. You grip tightly onto her shoulder with one hand, the other fisting into the soft fabric of your gown. Your hips jolt forward unexpectedly as she continues her descent, her fingers ghosting over that sensitive bundle of nerves—a place only you have touched. 

You only explored yourself in the seclusion of your bed chambers, where you’d bury your hand between your thighs and sink your teeth into the pillows to keep your whines from reaching the beautiful knight standing guard on the other side of your door. 

“Oh God,” you gasp softly, lashes fluttering when she brushes her fingers over that aching spot again. “That’s—Right there.” 

The corner of her mouth crooks up into a satisfied grin, but when her touch suddenly falls away you nearly whimper from the loss of contact. Abby hushes you with a firm press of her mouth before she drops down to kneel before you. 

“What are you—” you rasp, but the heated look she sends you has the words dying on your tongue. 

She quirks her brow up in a silent question, her fingers trailing over the back of your hand where you’re still clutching tightly onto the rumpled fabric of your gown. A pulse of white hot desire thrums through you, but instead of answering, you lift the fabric higher. 

Abby eagerly ducks beneath the layers of your dress skirt, her lips pressing a tender kiss to the skin just above your knee before she gently guides your leg up to rest over her shoulder. Her movements are slow but deliberate, each kiss and drag of her fingers are enough to have you trembling before she even gets her mouth on you. 

And when she does? You melt. 

She goes slow, taking her time to explore the most sensitive parts of you with her tongue, almost as if she's trying to make you feel all the things she’s too afraid to admit aloud. 

I want you, I need you, I’ll love you till my dying breath. 

Abby releases a muffled groan against your core when you cradle the back of her head, the vibrations sending another jolt of arousal through you. She presses the flat of her tongue harder against your sensitive bud and slowly guides a finger inside you. 

Abby’s hand stills once she’s slipped the entire digit inside, and while you appreciate her chivalry, that is not what you need right now. 

She groans when you start to grind into her palm, your breasts straining against your bodice with each shuddering breath. “Please,” you plead. “I need more.” 

And more is what she gives you. 

Abby slips another finger into your dripping heat and your body welcomes it, your eyes nearly rolling back from the sheer sense of relief you feel when she buries herself to the hilt inside you. Her tongue circles back over your throbbing center, the sound of each wet thrust echoing down the empty corridor. 

“God, that feels…” you trail off with a gasp, your knees starting to shake. “You feel…” But any semblance of thought leaves your mind when she curls her fingers up and rubs against a spot that has you completely coming apart at the seams. 

Abby eagerly works you through each shuddering wave, finally relenting with one final flick of her tongue that has your hips jerking back. You can feel the small puff of breath when she chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the plush skin of your inner thigh before she guides you to stand on both feet again. 

When she emerges from under your gown to rise to her feet, her hair is a complete mess and you can’t help but giggle at the sight. The corner of her mouth quirks up in a grin as she snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against her chest. Her other hand reaches up to cradle your jaw, the pad of her thumb brushing over your lower lip before she leans back in. Her lips are warm and wet when they meet yours, the taste of you and her overwhelming your senses. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt of doing that,” Abby confesses, pressing another urgent kiss to your swollen lips. “How many nights I had to stand outside your chambers, hearing you touch yourself.” Another kiss. “The sheer willpower it took to keep myself from barging in there and claiming you with my mouth.” 

In one fluid motion, you have her pinned to the wall, allowing your lips to eagerly mouth over her bared throat while your fingers fumble to loosen the ties of her trousers. 

“You should have,” you mumble against her jaw, “God I wanted you to.” 

Abby is panting, soft ragged breaths that have her breasts surging against your own as your hand slips down past her waistband to untuck the soft fabric of her tunic.

“What else did you dream about?” you murmur, grazing your teeth along her jaw before nipping gently on her earlobe. “Please tell me.” 

The low moan that she tries to stifle only encourages your wandering hands. They slide up and under her tunic, over the warm, contoured planes of her stomach. You feel a burst of confidence when she shudders beneath your gentle touches, her back arching into your palm when you cup one of her breasts. 

One of her hands that had previously been occupied with gripping the fabric bunched at your waist captures your other wrist before it can finish its ascent. You start to pull away to look at her then, worried you had done something wrong. But Abby doesn’t let you stray very far, reeling you back in until your chests are flush. 

Her cerulean eyes are nearly black with a hunger you’ve never seen before—her full lips and chin still slick with a mixture of you and her saliva. Her hair is mussed and wild and she looks downright feral, sending another rush of pulsing heat between your thighs. 

Abby’s touch is firm but still gentle as she guides your hand up to her mouth, slipping two of your fingers past her lips and swirling her tongue around them. You release a soft whine when she begins to sucks on them, and you can feel her hum of approval against them. 

After a long, erotic moment, she finally releases your slick fingers with a soft pop, maintaining eye contact as she coaxes them back down and past the waistband of her trousers. 

“It was this,” she whispers finally before capturing your lips in another desperate kiss. “I dreamt of you doing this.” 

She thrusts her hips into your palm, and you’re met with a mound of soft curls and wet heat. You moan into her mouth as you slide your fingers lower, gathering more of the slick that has pooled at her entrance and circling it back up and over her sensitive bud. 

“I thought of you every night,” you confess, the sound of her stifled moans spurring you on. “How you would feel…what you would sound like and, God,” you sigh, “how you would taste.” 

It was true, you had thought about her far too much. Of what it would feel like to kiss her…hold her…spread her out on your silk sheets and taste every inch of her. You were plagued with these thoughts and fantasies for months, and now that one of them had come to fruition, you were going to savor it. 

Abby releases a string of curses under her breath, tilting her head back to rest against the stone wall. You can’t help but admire the way her eyes screw shut in pleasure, and her lips part with each drag of your fingers. But your gaze eventually drifts lower to watch the rise and fall of her chest and back down to where your hand is still inside her trousers. 

The sight alone has you squirming against her, unintentionally grinding your hips into hers in desperate need of some friction. The action pulls a strangled groan from her throat, as it forces your fingers to press harder against her swollen bud. 

“That’s…fuck—” she chokes out, her hips beginning to buck up frantically against your palm. You meet each of her thrusts in earnest, your fingers rubbing tighter circles against her until you feel her completely lose control. 

You stop once you feel her legs start to tremble, cupping her in your palm as her body sags back against the wall. Abby releases a soft, satiated sigh and leans forward to rest her forehead on your shoulder. 

You both stay like that for a long moment, no words, just holding her close as her breathing returns to a normal pace. But it’s not long before you feel her hands beginning to grab fistfuls of your gown, dragging the soft fabric back up to expose your bare thighs. With one gentle nudge, she spreads your legs apart with her knee, sliding it home right between your thighs. 

An offering. 

“Only if you want it,” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. The ache between your thighs reignites with a sudden vengeance, and your frantic nod urges her to press her knee up against your aching center. “Take what you need.” 

You release a breathy gasp, gripping onto her shoulder with your other hand and rocking your hips down onto her thigh. Every one of your nerves feels like a live wire, and each frantic grind of your hips is tipping you dangerously closer to the edge. 

“There you go,” she murmurs, her teeth lightly nipping at your exposed collarbone. “You’re doing so well for me, love.” 

Her soft praise and the feel of her thigh flexing against your dripping core unravels you completely and you sink your teeth into your lower lip in an attempt to stifle your moans from spilling freely down the corridor. 

She holds you close as your body writhes against her, slowly dragging her fingers up and down the length of your spine. Once the euphoric haze begins to clear, you come to the delightful realization that your hand is still buried inside her trousers. 

You release a soft hum, pulling back far enough to hold her gaze as your fingers descend one last time. Abby’s hips twitch involuntarily as you lightly brush your fingertips over her bundle of nerves, and she bites back a moan when they dip lower to gather more of the slick that’s pooled at her entrance. 

Your dutiful knight has been reduced to a panting mess once you slip your hand back out of her trousers, holding up your fingers to admire the mess she left behind. 

“Come here,” she says, pulling that familiar handkerchief from her breastpocket and reaching for your wrist. “Let me.” 

But you stop her with a subtle shake of your head, pushing away the offered handkerchief and slipping your fingers inside of your mouth to greedily suck each digit clean. Abby’s eyes darken at the sight, her jaw muscles flexing and you let out a small giggle. 

“You will be the death of me,” she mutters fondly, pulling you in close to bury her face in your bosom. 

You release another soft laugh and thread your fingers through the loose hair at the nape of her neck. “Well, at least it’d be an honorable way to go,” you tease and Abby nips the top of your breast in return. 

“Well, darling, I’m nothing if not honorable.” 

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖙𝖘: @justanotherabbystan @lobotomymutt @somebitchprobably @mxmsuki