sofi ౨ৎ

Amaya sets you down, rambles about her new position as a songwriting intern spilling from her like an overfilled glass. Tears of joy flow from you and her as she retells every detail about her acceptance. She’s leaving in a week and a half and going farther than you thought. 

“Girl… you’re really moving to New York?” 

“Only for like… four months, max. But yeah… Boutta be on BET come next year— “

“Maya.” 

“Hm?”

“… I can’t pay rent by myself,” you whisper, cringing and embarrassed. 

You hate to ruin her moment, but you’re concerned; Living off campus isn’t cheap and moving in the middle of the semester is less than ideal. It’d be a fucking hassle, and — to be frank — you’re not a people person. 

People like having you around because you’re fun, sure. But your reputation isn’t what you hoped for it to be when you moved out of your dad’s place for school. You wanted to be recognized for your creativity, and while your professors never hesitated to praise your talents, your peers failed to see past the status that was placed upon you. 

Frankly, you’re deemed as a dumb whore, especially after your falling out with one of the campuses best softball pitchers. 

It wasn’t even your fault. One raunchy snap to the wrong person and people think you live for sex and sex only! Just when you think everyone is over slut-shaming… 

“You thought I was gonna leave you to fend for yourself? Guess what I did.” 

Oh God. “What?” 

She twiddles her fingers together villainously, “I may or may not have set up an application on the student homepage— “

The small glimmer of hope washes away, shoulders dropping, fingers coming up to massage your temples.  

“Maya…” You exhale, trying to keep calm, “You know those things don’t fucking work!” 

Roommate compatibility is a fucking scam. No one ever notes how they actually are in the application. You think you’ve found someone that’s clean, quiet, stays out of your space without permission and the next day you find dead roaches under your couch. College attendees have no idea what bleach is and it makes you sick. 

“Damn… you’re usually optimistic.” 

“I’m optimistic about good ideas. I’m gonna be living with a fucking freak from Craigslist, thanks a lot.” 

“C’mooon! You’ll be fine, babe, trust me.” Amaya wraps her arms around your neck once more, wetly smacking your cheek before turning to paddle to her room. “Plus, you’ll meet someone new!”

When you don't follow, she spins. She must’ve noticed your impassiveness, poutingly asking to help me pack? Tears overwhelm your ducts once more, quietly taking her extended hand as she leads you to her bedroom. 

DAY ONE of roommate searching began, and you were already prepared to move back in with your dad. Amaya had enough time to orchestrate the housing agreement with you, making sure to highlight some of your most important characteristics in a roommate. One of the main ones being cleanliness. Some form of organization. 

DAY TWO was easier… Someone finally made it to the in-person interview stage. They didn’t make it far, though; They wouldn’t stop smacking their gum and it drove you crazy. Back to square one. 

DAY SIX came around and you were losing hope; Why are frat boys applying to live with you? You’d rather jump into oncoming traffic than house with any of Abby’s annoying, dirty friends. You've seen their house on numerous occasions and it never fails to make your skin crawl. 

It’s DAY THIRTEEN, and Amaya’s gone. After the sobbing fit with your best friend at the airport last week, you got back to work. 

DENY REQUEST. 

…

DENY REQUEST. 

…

DENY REQUEST. 

You sigh in exhaustion and lean back in your chair. If you don't take a break from your screen in the next five seconds, your eyes will bleed. 

Why are people… so odd? 

The number of applications you’ve had to deny in the last week is criminal; Why are cis-het men continuously filling out applications knowing they’re not welcome in your space?! 

Even the people that made it to the in-person interview stage are incapable of being… not strange. You’d rather die than live with someone who collects dead maggots in mason jars (yes, you did almost call the police when they described their fascination with death in depth)!

All you need is one fruitful application with an identity to match! Just one. 

Amaya still calls from New York whenever she has a moment of peace to see how the roomie-search is going, but you can’t ignore the sadness that fills your heart every time she misses a call. Her laughter is gone, and your day-to-day life feels empty. 

They’re already working your bestie to the bone; You hope she can feel your encouragement from thousands of miles away. 

You scroll and click, scroll and click, scroll and deny deny deny until you pause, your eyes skimming over the application with a familiar name. 

ELLIE WILLIAMS. 

Ellie from stats, you instantly recognize. Curiosity perks and your brows furrow, sipping lukewarm tea as you skim over her contact information, her pet preferences, all the way down to her additional commentary. A snicker left at her blunt statement. 

temporary request. my last roommate moved and i’m poor. just waiting on this job approval. 

… Ellie in a nutshell. How relatable.

At least she’s not a complete stranger. Every interaction with her stirs in your mind as you jot her number down on a lone sticky-note. They were nothing special from your perspective: the two of you exchanging notes, her holding the door open as everyone scurried out of class, you asking for a pencil (and her asking for it back after the lecture), and you can’t help but wonder why she would want to apply to share a space with anyone, let alone you. 

She's only ever been described as standoffish by your peers. From the outside, Ellie’s blank. Flat tone, flat expression, plain appearance, and the fact that you never know what she’s thinking is unsettling. You’re thrown off your game whenever she’s near and you hate it. 

But the spot is temporary; Amaya will be back in a couple of months, and it seems Ellie’s leaving sometime soon by her small note. 

You down the rest of your tea and stretch where you sit, pondering. Trying to imagine Ellie in your space.

“I don’t know why I can’t take Maya’s spot. I’d make an excellent roommate.” 

Your expression flattens, glare piercing through your good friend. 

Abby scoffs, “C’mooon! I mind my business...” She pauses, leaning across the table, nearly knocking your coffee over. Her whispers send a shock down your spine, “…and I give good head. I’m a package deal.” 

A brow raises. Abby’s sweeter than candy and she puts it down, but you already made the mistake of living with someone you fucked before, and you vowed to never do it again. If Amaya hadn’t given you a place to stay after the blow up between you and your ball-throwing sneaky link, you’re not sure where you'd be. Definitely not a student; The stress would’ve forced you to collapse. And drop out. 

“Sorry, stink. Not happening.” 

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever.” She takes a spit from her drink, “Can’t believe you’d let that freak in before me.” 

You pause. “You’re a freak, too— “

“I’m the good kind!” She searches like someone’s watching her, voice dropping to a whisper, “Ellie’s fucking weird, dude. When’s the last time you’ve seen her interact with anyone? A literal fucking NPC. All she’s programmed to do is stand and look.” 

“And give out pencils,” You interject with a snicker, “Who cares. I don’t like most of the idiots here, either. I barely put up with your ass.” 

Abby raises her glove-covered palms in surrender, “Fuck it. When I see an alert about a missing student, I’ll know who it is.” 

“You’re so fucking extra— “

DING!

Your neck cranes towards the opening cafe door, shock surging through your body at the sight of the NPC in question. Ellie silently stands at the back of the line, headphones secured on her head and nose red from the cold, classically bored expression plastered on her face. 

“Oh, this is hilarious,” Abby huffs, “Go greet your new housemate.” 

Another glare is sent in her direction, “Can you shut up? Her name’s not on any lease. I barely talked to her.”  

“Do it now, then. Triple dog dare you.” Abby smirks behind her cup. 

You sigh and raise from your seat, “You’re a cunt.” 

“The wettest. Go.” 

You flick her forehead before making your way over to Ellie, who’s mindlessly scrolling through her phone. Her sniffles get louder with each step you take, metal music blasting through her speakers. 

You tap her shoulder and she jumps, sliding one of her ear cups over to hear. 

“Hey, Ellie,” you smile politely. 

“… Sup,” she mutters hoarsely, turning her body towards you, eyes filled with… nothing. Expected. 

Silence passes, and you fill it, “I got your app yesterday. Just wanted to come and introduce myself.” 

“Alright.” 

More silence. You can see Abby out the corner of your eye, mockingly swiping her tongue between her index and middle finger. You flush and stutter, and Ellie’s staring like you have two heads. 

“I, uh… yeah. I’ve been having interviews with some people that submitted a form. You free sometime this week?” 

“Uhh…” She glances down at her phone. “Yeah. Around five tomorrow.” 

More silence. Fuck, this is awkward. 

“… Cool.” You pull your phone out and text her saved number, the alarm ringing from her phone. “That’s me. Just call before you stop by.” 

She nods and turns her back to you, cranking her music to full volume. You gawkily shuffle where you stand before hustling back to your table, Abby cackling to herself. You plop down and kick her under the table, but she laughs harder. 

“What’d I say!” 

“Not a thing,” You hiss, “She’s just a little awkward. It’s not that serious.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“Oh yeah what.” 

“She’s definitely your fucking housemate.” She tsks in disappointment before a smirk appears, her eyes darkening. “Can I eat it one last time before she moves in?” 

A jolt surges in your tummy, your hand closing into a fist. You kick her again and she giggles. 

Time passes as you and Abby’s conversation carries on like normal. Another ding rings through the coffee shop after some time, and you watch Ellie’s backpack bounce as she rushes down the sidewalk; Abby’s rambles about a soccer player she’s trying to smash sound like gibberish. 

Ellie has a Spider-Man charm and laminated polaroid latched onto her zipper. 

… Cute. 

You’re going to fail statistics over a random.

Your professor’s voice sounds like white noise; Every pause she takes is used as an opportunity to sneak glances at Ellie. None of your notes are useful; The doodles and sloppy scribbles are solidifying that incoming F, for sure. Only fifteen minutes until you’re out of here. 

She’s two seats down from you, jotting down whatever she deems necessary for the midterm. You didn’t even register her answering the professor’s question, her rosy lips curving around her teeth with each syllable. 

Ellie blinks slowly, twice, three times before her eyes lock with yours, brows furrowed, evidently confused at your gawking. 

Your stomach drops with your gaze, fingers curled tightly around your pencil. 

The lecture finally comes to a close as your thoughts flurry, wordlessly shoving your books into your bag. A light tap on your shoulder yanks your attention. 

Ellie stands before you, puffer cinched under the bands of her backpack and cheeks just as rosy as before. 

“Hey. Can we switch the time?” 

“Huh?” Don’t stare, don’t stare. 

She sighs, “The time for the interview. Can we change it?” 

You blink dumbly, “Uh… sure. To what time?” 

Agitation creases her brows. “Now. Something came up and I can’t miss it.” She pauses, eyes flicking awkwardly around the room, weakly adding, “If that’s okay.” 

“Um… yeah, no problem…” You peer at the clock on the wall, “You want a coffee?” 

A slight wince from her. “… Yup.” 

She clearly doesn’t by the way her fingers are anxiously tapping on her thigh, but you nod nonetheless, hurriedly grabbing your belongings and leading her down to the student lounge. 

“I don’t want you thinking this interview is one-sided,” You pray your gentle smile is calming the evident nerves of the freckled girl. “You can ask me anything you want, as well. If you have any concerns, any questions, shoot.” 

Ellie’s eyes are glued to her coffee cup, but her head bobs, expression void. Silence simmers between you. 

“I usually start these off with an icebreaker to get the jitters out! Just list three facts about yourself and I’ll follow.” 

Ellie’s lone hand comes up to scratch underneath her ear before meeting your gaze. Her eyes are so pretty; Too bad there’s nothing behind them. 

“Or I can go, sure, so!” Your hands clap together, “I’ll start with myself. I’m majoring in graphic design, I’m secretly a theater nerd, and I dream about owning an eggplant farm.” 

The girl before you clearly didn't expect that last statement. Her brows crease and the corner of her lip arches upward in a barely-there smile. Foreign to her face. 

“That’s not a fact,” She mutters, the shell in her pupils cracking. Just slightly. 

“Who cares, I love eggplant. Best vegetable by a landslide.” 

“Sike.” 

You scoff in disbelief, “What?” 

“Everybody on the planet knows that squash is god-tier— “

You squint, “Squash? Are you deadass?”

“It’s fucking versatile!” Ellie’s voice pitches higher, and your grin widens, “You can put it in everything and you don’t have to do much. Eggplant sucks up everything in the pan and still comes out soggy and tasteless— “

Choked laughter leaves your mouth, “If you don’t know how to cook, just say that.” 

Her mouth drops in exaggerated shock. “I know how to fuckin’ cook.” 

“Right.” 

“I do, what the he— “

“Fun fact about Ellie: she can’t cook!” You kiddingly sneer. She chuckles and shakes her head, tongue poking the inside of her cheek. You almost miss her statement, “I take pictures.” 

“Hm?” 

“I wanna be a professional photographer... At some point. I take pic— “

Ellie’s phone vibrates on the table and she leaps into action, snatching her bag from beside her and standing from her seat. 

“Wait— “

“I gotta go,” She mutters as she straps her bag around her shoulders. “Sorry. See you later.” 

Ellie throws some bills on the table before dipping, her phone pressed against her ear, rambling about making time. She barely touched her coffee. 

Could’ve been worse, you utter to yourself. 

Days pass, and you don’t hear from Ellie. 

When you saw her in stats two days after the interview, she hardly acknowledged you, morphing into the hermit that you knew her to be. You noted how tired she looked, though. You would’ve asked if she were okay if she hadn’t run out of class without a word. 

You’re weighing your options: allowing a random oddball into your apartment, or allowing a random oddball who hates eggplant into your apartment. Rent is due next week, and Amaya’s space is still vacant. 

At this point, the roster is almost nonexistent, and Ellie was the least concerning candidate. Despite Abby’s concern, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to bury dead bodies in the front lawn. 

“I dunno, friend. She’s a little weird. Getting mad incel vibes from her.” 

Your eyes roll back into your skull as you munch on cashews, “You’re getting vibes from someone you never talked to. She seemed cool at the interview.” 

“Yeah, 'cause vegetable debates are so note-worthy,” Amaya scoffs. 

She’s starting to sound a little too much like Abby, “I think y’all are forgetting that this is a temporary solution. I’m not tryna spend the rest of my fucking life with her! I need rent paid and she needs a place to stay for a few months.” 

Your best friend’s sigh drags through the line, “Alright… It seems like you made up your mind.” 

“Like I said, rent is due. I don’t have many options.” 

“Stop stressing. You found my replacement, apparently.” 

She pauses before hollering, “BITCH, IT’S SATURDAY! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU INSIDE? WHERE’S ABBY?” 

“Out smashing soccer players.” You huff. 

“Damn… My fault.” 

“I’m chilling. I just need head.” 

“Go out! Find somebody!” 

You groan, “Then I’ll have to shave— “

“Nair exists, you bonehead! Just go! You keep calling in a bad mood and it’s getting on my nerves!” 

You ponder and glance at your digital clock. It’s not even ten… Abby did tell you that Kappa was throwing.

“I can hear the engines turning in your big head. Bye.” 

Laughter explodes from you at the dial tone. 

“Hey, Siri… call Abby.” 

“CALLING ABBY BIG DICK SLUT— “

Tonight has been a blur since you left your apartment. 

You remember making it halfway through Blam Boom before your speaker died, downing your last couple of shots of 1800, and Ubering to the location Abby pinged. 

It only took a few minutes for her to scoop you up onto the packed kitchen counter and shove her tongue in your mouth. One shout of I’m horny from you and she was yours for the rest of the night. 

Now you’re pressed up against some bathroom sink upstairs, Abby’s head shaking between your legs, your jeans and underwear flung onto the shower rail. Each flick of her tongue is both clumsy and precise, applying pressure exactly where you need it. 

Your clit’s throbbing under her tongue, the muscle igniting the flame in your tummy as your climax builds, zaps in your spine. Cries of her name meld with the booming music from outside, the walls rattling like nerves in your toes. 

Abby’s gorgeous under you, you know it, the drunk part of your brain knows it, your desperate cunt knows it, but you’re no longer thinking about her compared to earlier. Your mind is elsewhere, somewhere it shouldn’t be. 

You’re thinking of freckles. Green eyes instead of blue. Chapped, rosy lips, and you don’t know why. But you succumb to it. Ellie’s trapped underneath your eyelids, crowding your senses, your empty head suddenly full of images of her in any way you could conjure. 

Your orgasm shatters you, but you’re silent, trembling hand glued over your mouth as Abby groans in your cunt. She’s a doll, easing you back down to earth, dragging your underwear and pants up your shaky legs and getting you back home safely. 

When you’re showered and your teeth are brushed, she tucks you in, gently kissing your forehead. You beg her to stay with you, but she declines with I know how you get before silently departing. 

Your phone is squeezed between your fingers after minutes of trying to sleep, eyeing Ellie’s saved contact until darkness overtakes you. 

The pounding on your door is worse than the ones from inside your skull. Fuck Tequila, from the bottom of your heart. Waves of nausea crash over you with every waddle, hobbling your hunched form over to yank the front door open. 

A bored Ellie stands in front of you, a large camera and headphones hanging from her neck, seemingly cozy in her sweater and puffer, large duffel bags packed to the brim with clothes dangling from her shoulders. Your cheeks warm instantly. Gray sweats, gray sweats—

“I’m here,” She states plainly. 

“… Why?” You croak.

Ellie’s seems just as confused as you, her eyes piercing as if her appearance is obvious. 

“To move in.” 

“… Why?”

Ellie sighs and snags her phone from her jacket pocket, swiping a few times before nearly blinding you with her screen. 

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. When the fuck did you send that? 

“So, I’m here,” she slips her device back in her pocket. “Which room am I in?” 

“E-Ellie, uh… there's been a mis— “

“Look,” she holds her pale, veiny hands up. “I don’t wanna beat around the bush anymore. I got evicted and I need a place to stay until I secure this job. I’m willing to put down whatever’s needed for rent but I don’t have time to bullshit.” 

Ellie proceeds, sarcasm slipping, “Respectfully.” 

She pushes past your stunned form, bags accidentally brushing against your bare legs. You can't even move to stop her; You merely watch Ellie shuffle to inspect the living room, the small kitchen, pausing in front of the abstract painting you made for your dad before eventually moving down the hall and into Amaya’s empty space. How the fuck did she get in the building, anyway?

Your deer-like eyes lock with her void, mossy ones as she peers over her shoulder. 

“I still have some stuff to pick up. Please leave my key under the mat if you go somewhere.” 

Before she enters the empty room next to yours, you hear her gruffly say, “Leave the lease on the table so I can sign it, too.”

Amaya’s — Ellie’s door slams shut seconds later, the soft click of the door locking follows suit. 

…

What the fuck just happened. Gaul almost surpasses your anger. The audacity...

For the first time, you’re grateful that your shift is in two hours. You need to get the fuck out of here before you cause a scene and catch a case. 

tagggiiiesss missed yall ;3 : @starologist @hrtmal @ohlawdthebirds @villainousbear @timmy-27 @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @shurisbigtoe @emothurman @lonelyfooryouonly @imelliesgf @baumbii @brackishkittie @littletinyladybugs @r1miese @horror-whoree @elsbunny222 @elliesatchel @makemescreamel @lav3nd3rhaze @elliezflower @ellieloml @ellies-princess @saverdelrey @womenofarcane

VOLUME ONE – The apple that tempts

Infidelity.

You had a firm idea of what to foretell working on your friend's farm. Grueling hours spent roasting beneath the light of nature, check. Hearing the squelch and squeeze of mud– and sheep shit– blob out from under your rain boots' rigid sole, check. Pat the back of a baby shrilling out the utmost eldritch screams to ever grace your ears because someone other than his mama is cradling him to their scruff, check.

That's all your mind bends to, is fixated on, the mundane. In contrary fashion, you may just be within your right to enact somnolence, supined in the family room so graciously lent to you. Shut–eye in a room sunbathed in the astral hues of lemon and amber, shining off your skin like a reflective boundary. 

From winterscape to springside, you worked. For most hours until vesper dawned, every waking day. That barren barrows' handle came to know every bullet of sweat offered by your roughened glands, before it had only known one flavor.

Ellie's hands.

The hands of an auburnette who is a bit agitated by her wifes' irksome expectations and complaints as of late. Late being, the entirety of the new years' youth, January to April. Beginning of your stay to now.

All because of one evening, a sundown in December that set off their relationship– Apologies, set aflame. A slow burn that would only fully consummate the marriage when you plonked two feet on their bay oaken floor later on. That evening, the mental scars of Seattle would ache too hard and too loud– they clanged, a blaring knell. Smack dab right in the middle of lugging a load of hay in, the pent up bitterness just washed over her. A despair she could only wash back– with alcohol. Bitter versus bitter.

That scotch poured down her gullet easier than any attempts to hydrate herself during the day, much like the repulsion of food she suffers– via stress, and worse. Drowning her sorrows, she winched her butt up on one of those haystacks' just outside the barns' cracked doors. With the horizon void of sunlight, she assumed Dina was fast asleep. Assumed.

Ellie hadn't only done this once.

"Seriously Ellie, again?"

"It's just one drink–"

"You were supposed to get JJ ready for bed by–"

"Dina–"

"Are you gonna disappear into the woods like last–"

"No.." weakly said, weakly.

"Then tell me, why?"

"..."

"Speak to me Ellie, speak.."

Since she was too stubborn to speak then, Dina knew she'd need assistance. Psychologically and physically.

That's where you come in, joining Ellie on the vast flaxen corn acres.

'Until Ellie gets better,' promised Dina, broken voice hollowing through the janky radio intercom, 'you'll probably leave by summer.'

Oncomes a clement, thawed time of transition into springtime.

Ellie's practiced feet partner up in the field, tending to her own orders– shovel in hand, pungent muck burrowed in her nasal cavity. Nostrils cringe, she flipped her head the polar direction of such a stench, groaning. That's when she saw you in action, for the first time. 

Pomegranate pupils sifted the length of your upright body, diving your arms up to the elbows into a basin of must and murk, hardly eclipsed by the hung laundry set to dry that morning. A view her eyes caught and held, placing her thumb on the edge of her lower lip. Lips then turned cloven, and a lukewarm breeze blew past. A sigh taken in your beauty, but a step taken towards her interest in you. The grip on her shovel subsides, a pluck to her heartstrings she felt, bruised toes that stung as she meandered through grassy pots and wolds on her way to you. Not much was spoken when you first began in the late–aged winter– snow pulped to a melt– only the utters of small talk and niceties guided by Dinas' conversations with you. So this, this strain of words you remember so clearly, was her true first impression that virgin spring day.

Wisped with a husky fry, "Dina makin' you do all the dirty work now?" was a quip, a pure quip.

You replied, "No– thought I'd just stick my hands in the laundry bucket for fun." with a matching jest.

An involuntary toothy smirk tugged to one side of her face, fluting her cheek into nasal wrinkles and sepia freckles nearly bursting from her skin. A smirk so jubilant– and far from platonic.

For a future affair was born.

An unexpected tryst. No where on your chore list was infidelity defined.

Oh, but how it made her cunt throb knowing she embarks a sin for you, with you?

And this sin– this sin in particular, is undeniably delectable.

Delectable is the crisp, nectary core you set your teeth into. Eggshell pearls sunk in a brittle apple, frangible to your jaw, the honey–esque notes melt on your taste buds and remind you of sweeter melodies. For sweetness will croak the moment adulteration coddles in the sodden crotch of your cotton panties.

The murder of love in April.

"So, how would you rate these apples?" asked Dina, stressing an emphasis in her pitch.

An unfurled cloth of cardinal red apples sit still upon the timbered dining table, splashed with a tint of gold nearing the stubby brown stems. Dina just brought them in from the backwoods orchard, a harvesting you specifically volunteered to carry out yourself– 'No, it's fine,' replied her, 'Just watch JJ for me, you've been working your ass off all day!' like the concerned mother she has become.

She slowly rotates an apple between her spindling digits, grazing her thumb over the dry flesh of it, "I wanna dip these in honey, like my sister used to. It's so fuckin' good, trust me." she states.

"Mhh," you bolt a pulp of apple down your gullet, "I believe you~"

A babble of vocals purls from under the brawn oak surface, engaging a rocking motion from her arm so disposed to soothe JJ, or else he might actually start banshee screeching.

"So, are these apples worthy of that–" she gestures the crispy delicacy in your direction, "–or are they sheep shit?"

"Whys' it up to my expertise?"

"Well," Dina smacks her tongue, tossing her head lightly, "you've got good taste, yeah?"

"And Ellie?"

"That girl can't even tell the difference between salted and unsalted," she quips, bearing a snarky grin, "and.. she's busy, mucking sheep shit."

An airy chuckle brushes off your lips, a breath tepid of those sweetly acidic globes. Yeah, these are pretty worthy.

"They're good."

An eased sigh enlightens her lungs, "Good, cause I'm not going another season with sub–par quality a–"

You jump at the impromptu creak of a door opening, veering your eyes to the backdoor. A certain auburn tuft cocks from the doors' rustic edge, next a set of fern eyes unveil and surge with the rest of her body, side–stepping out of the shutting doors' sway.

A face that discreetly made your heart pass a beat.

"Oh, Els, u're done already?" whisked Dina, speaking with breath softer than a petal.

"Yeah, 'ts not that hard." her leathered steps draw close as she whips around the table, sidiling onto the wooden chair adjacent to yours. The spokes grind as her weight slumps upon it, thighs splayed in a manspread.

"You got the outside too? Not just the–"

"Yes, Dina."

"And the stall–"

"Yes." she reiterates, tone bitter in grit.

"Okay." mumbled her flatly, setting the apple down with a gentle thud.

Rough.

A streak of elusory tension makes itself known after that thud, an awkward, stiff tint in the air. It's been this way for a week now. Dina would pressure Ellie to do this, do that, 'did you do it right?', which only made her standoff–ish and irked the oncoming hour. When the crescent moon hits the midnight sky, and you're held fondly by a woolen blanket– that's when Ellie would skulk from her shared room, plod down the rickety staircase and lurk near your door. Knock knock, her fist would patter against the door, call your name, and then await your answer.

In essence, this happens every night. Dusk to dawn. She plants her restless bottom on the opposite side of the sofa– a reasonable handful of inches from you, pops the cork off a whisky bottle, and peruses her emotions in the art form of sentiments, in hopes that you may pamper her up. Color her the martyr.

"Did you see the way she ran outside to make sure I actually herded all the sheep? It's like she doesn't fuckin' believe me anymore." 

"Was she.. always like this?"

"No, ever since she caught me slacking off that one time with a drink, she– ugh."

"..."

"I just.. needed something to hold off the thoughts. It's been hard, y'know?"

"I get it."

"Don't want you to think m'not trying my best, I–"

"You're good, don't sweat it."

And at every florescent aurora, when moonlight dies ayont the horizon, a meek hour before Dina could awaken, she would leave. Naivety would strike you at the ends of these overnight rendezvous', for Ellie wanted to kiss you, so dearly– to engulf you with her tongue of starvation, so dismally– her heart would throb. A throb of debauchery, it drums, but remains swallowed deep in the cavity of her stomach. And you never knew.

She didn't even understand why these feelings had won over her heart– had won over Dina, her mind too frazzled to even comprehend. A lust not even discernable by science. 'There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'

Your kindness was her weakness.

"Anyways," Ellie clears her throat, raucous in the ugly quietude, "what're all these apples for?"

"For honey–dipping. Tommy and Jesse's parents are visiting for the weekend, remember?" her tone curls, inflicting the 'obviousness' to her words.

"Right, right– stupid of me to ask." she rasps sarcastically, rucking her brow line in offense.

"It's not– mmht," Dinas' lips smack wetly, a small grunt fumbling her protest, "you're good, just– we need to prepare, yeah?" 

Ellie nods, "Yeah," and a nasally gust of air flakes from her open mouth– a timid reply, "d'you want me to clean up the house today?"

"It's fine."

"Are you s–"

"Babe, it's fine."

A nod jounces that rufescent mullet once more, aflame in a spilling sea of light– fluidal in the hyaline pane windows. It is patent that she was trying her best to leave no stone unturned, to appear inclined. She still loved Dina, right? Or was this just a covert way to paint the scene far from suspicious– to have you.

The desire to engulf you with her kiss of blue hot delirium. 

Despite that fact– that nagging fact, right now, it manifests as something entirely smutty in comparison.

In your peripherals, a knobby comb of sun–baked digits snake atop your thighs, dull fingernails prod the plush of them, plentiful near to your crotch. Her hands, a mere fingerbreadth under the leg opening of your denim shorts.

Dina couldn't even espy this action, being that your chairs were already planted hugger–mugger side by side to begin with. No need to fret. A width so insignificant, Ellie only had to pivot her forearm in a circle to grope your thigh, not a nudge perked her shoulder.

Then her eyes give you that fucking look. That fucking side–glance.

The glance she forfeits bits of her dignity for.

She's been staring at you all day, everyday. In the garden, a set of eyes scrutinized. No, not some kind of stare that feels like lasers piercing your flesh– rather, a warm tingle. A stare that makes you feel achy in the hips. But, then again, maybe that's' just cause you have a thing for Ellie. Fuck. You can't help it. Not when she blatantly flirts with you on the job, whilst you're covered in actual shit or something. Smitten, she is. Tailgating you like a lost pup whenever Dina isn't around. She plays a bit, pokes at you, then flakes off. The usual.

Those lids, husking akin to pale first quarter moons surrounding her irises of juniper fauna. Those lashes, a semblance of caramel hazel striae swelling out of her puffy waterlines. 

A sin so beautiful.

Underneath a gaze so soft was an appetite, a mean craving. Ellie would have you spread out like a whore if she could, dam up your hole with the same cock she fucks Dina with, squeeze out every rope of cum and let it taint her freshly mopped floors. Froth her spit into your cunt and suckle every sweet drop of your finish, wag her head like a madman so your folds would part and smear her cheeks nectareously. To have you deepthroat her dick coated in your slick and–

But alas, that's only a dream.

Her fingers squeeze with tender pressure, digging bulged trenches in your skin and calligraphing dented crescents, stung with fervor. Gnarled callouses, they scrape. Fuck number two.

"Hey, could you wash the dishes?" Dina snaps your fixation over, neutralizing that second of sexual tension, barely, "I'm gonna go wash JJ up, he really needs it." she hoists out of her seat with said baby in her arms, feigning grimace trailed by a giggle.

"M–Mhm–" a hum hitches awkwardly in your tense throat, peeling your leg away from her gripe, which traces cold, hiemal veins as her finger–pads drag off, dreadful to her. 

It lingered like a phantom. Even when you trot away to the sink, fruit in–hand, the ghostly grip dwells– icy to your tepid quad. A pulsing mark you can't carve out. 

Why do you still feel it?

The fore of your pelvis presses arrantly against the flat oak rim of the counter, dimpling the pockets of your denim overalls. You hear one hefty step after the other, thump– thump– thump.. up the stairwell, seating your mind on the confirmation that Dina was gone. And Ellie was with you, alone.

Knowing that, has you faint in the bones and pounding with vigor in the heart. Gulp it down, exhale, screw your eyes shut, keep it steady, ignore the hairs standing on your nape as two pupils lock on you, ignore the padded footsteps drawing in.

A scratchy linen rag is scrunched in your meek grip, soaked in the sudded water kept in the sinks' steel basin. You cruise the cloth in annular motions, taking gentle time to diminish each food–ridden blemish. It distracts you enough, just enough, to forget she was there. Waters of Lethe, draining your sense of 'person–permanence', so you might catch up with your breath. Or catch the breath that looms over your scruff.

"You see how deflective Dinas' being?" Ellie's husky cadence thrums near to your ear, jerking you to the core.

"F– mm, u'huh." you flub over syllables, fabric squeezing as you clench your grip.

She pays a hawk–eye to your trembled chest swelling in a jittery manner, tenderizing her tone, "Sorry if I spooked ya', I just– you know." 

The porcelian plate in your pinned grasp shakes, tapping on the sinks' metal edge. You gulp once more, "Mhm– yeah.. I get it.." mumbled weakly– browbeaten, even more so with her body now mooching behind you.

"Don't even worry 'bout the dishes, c'mon–" she lightly glides her fingers under yours, deposing the plate from your loose hold.

Your skin freezes up, even when her toasty breath fans over your neck. A stifled hiss to pair, a seize of your limbs, frozen. You slip out just when her opposing arm slinks back– and slinks forward, planting on the small of your spine.

"Is this.. okay?" shuddered she, pawing her digits on the bend of your upper–hip.

You swore the amount of foamy spit you kept nervously scarfing would have your gut fermenting sickness at this point.

"Ellie.." you wince quietly, whirling around to face her, "– we can't just.."

"Why not?"

"Dina–"

"–s'not.. here," your words flow into hers, spurning whatever you had to say. She nudges you firmly in place, poised vis–à–vis, cupping your waist in her palms, "D'you want me to stop?"

Your heart screams no.

But remorse is a blight to the lining of your stomach, and it hails your attention.

Angel on your right, Devil on your left.

"Did I say something wrong?" 

"No, Ellie.." 

"Then can I kiss you?" Her facade quickly molts to a smug grin, those stupid dimples popping– god, those dimples. How can you resist those dimples.

A scoff trills from your throat, "Ah, I mean– I would love–"

On spur of moment, her hands skid the hillock of your rump, pulling and rutting the front of your hipbones into hers, shamelessly kneading your ass cheeks. Explains the pure cold bulbs shanking the chub meat, causing you to clench them tight. 

"..that.."  

"So.. yes?" She stumbles her face an inch from yours, tongue sleeking out to wetten her lips, "c'mon.." she croons.

As tempting as her lips were, the angel wins. Too risky.

"Mh–mm," you decline with a shake of your head, prying her grubby grips off your butt, "not here, not now." 

Ellie just becks and downturns those bushy brows, spanning her arms out for you like a zombie, "Don't be a tease.."

"Seriously, Ellie– we cant.." you rewarn in a chimed whisper, shooing her away, "don't you have other shit to do?" You attempt to gauze up her needy behaviour, mousing back over to resume cleaning.

"Hmm, no.. otherwise I'd be doing it.." she evades your shoos and shirks up on your behind again, this time pressing her clammy hot body plumb into you and hoarding the crook of your neck as a seat for her chin, all with that dorky giggle.

This girl..

Water seeps under your nailbed, drowning in the stockpile of dishes filthily in need of washing– but, your brain just couldn't muster a flinch to your stagnant fingers, instead focusing on the damp opening that smacks at where your ear and neck meld, peppering velvety kisses there.

"Mhh–" another smooch rolls from her pucker, "we'll hear her coming– mmph–" the words vibrate densely on your scruff, pattened with a second kiss, "just wash those dishes, hm?"

The heap of slobber left by her slithering tongue peaking out to play chills on your skin, creeping your shoulder up to nuzzle her off, "God, do you get a kick out of distracting me?" scorned you.

"Mhm," despite your shoulder butting her, she cranes over the angular bend of it and sutures surplus kisses to your mid–jaw, crooning, "saw you in th' garden earlier," and gusting to your cheek.

"I'm well aware." you reply with a smidge of wit curling your lips, picking up one of the dishes.

"Mhmm, n' you know how pretty you are?"

"Yes– you like to remind me everyday when you get the chance, don't you?" Your act turns a bit smartass–ish, in reality, you're just trying to keep it cool. Highlight trying.

"Fuck," purred Ellie, foxily twisting her tongue in a tango on your cheekbone, and levys a tighter squeeze to your waist, "she's getting smart with me, oohh~" 

Bitter mistake. Ellie fucking loves that.

Your fingers drudge along– bartering your time on each plate, four circles to the left, three vertical strokes on the rim, pivot the nozzle and rinse, set to dry. Like a cog in a machine, you carry on, blissfully unaware of whatever mischief has Ellie fleeing from your cheek– and meeting eye to eye with your ass.

Then, a balmy kiss sticks to your inner–thigh, dreadfully close to the rise of your crotch.

Startled, your optics dart down to descry the subtle movement of her rugged hands taking second rounds on your lower thigh– to cosset the malleable flesh, casting dim shadows where the chub bulged.

"What the f– Els!" you twine your leg, which proves ineffectual in her taut grasp.

"Callin' me Els out here? Fuck babe.." 

"M' not– ugh!" you growl beneath your full tone, dramatically flapping your head in case Dina was magically there.

Her crouched knees embrace your calves genially, dragging the rough ridge of her jeans' seams on your skin. Tenderness, the tender care she holds you down with, kills you. It aches with that guilt of unmentionable cuckoldry, but in natural human nature, it also aches with a mushrooming arousal. Lips that burn a spot in your skin, toxifying your veins with lust– it streams, it grows, reaching your heart with a foretold appetency towards this flavor of sin. The throes of passion.

Forget the dishes.

"Hmph– mm, mmm." she whirs satisfaction in each nip planted, skulking closer and closer to your clothed cunt.

A hefty sigh displaces your words of complaint that wanted to retaliate, that wanted to repel her consumption of your body– but, at this point, the angel on your shoulder, has died. The plate tumbles from your grasp and splashes in the sink water, leaving you to bend rosy knuckles into the metallic frame.

Convinced, you were.

A blasphemous confession then scorches your ears, spreading to your cheeks.

"I w'nna eat ur' pussy, y–you'll let– fuck, lemme' eat your pussy? I'll be quick." a rushed splutter of a plead flicks specks of spit off her pouty peached lips, nearing a hungry demand, "Babe, please– m'wanna taste you." she paws at your hips, wringing up the denim.

Babe. Babe. Does she ever call Dina that anymore?

"Ellie–" you shiver, beads crawl up your spine and make you feel, vulnerable– but bothered by heat, "..be quick." 

Green light given, her brain sparks, the stupidest grin of excitement flattening out that pout. A husky, "Good girl.." blows through the faint opening of your pantleg, brushing over the slight exposure of your labia– no thanks to thin–width panties.

A gasp holds in your chest, goosebumps raise and thighs stiffen with this swipe of air catching you off guard, a reeled, "Good.. girl?" hoves reluctantly from you.

"Yeah, my girl." oraled with an austere covet to her tone, cold and keen– the latter words emphasized.

You bat a clench to your quads in phase with a ticklish head of hair lodging between your thighs, smushing the plump of her cheeks with the friction created. Her lips pucker out and catch on your crotch, incisors hooking on a folded seam directly under your clit. If only– if only, she could tear your bottoms off conveniently. Wrong day to wear overalls.

"Oh'm god.. ghnn–" your folds stiffen up prompt to her hot mouth baking your bud, a pressure– she pushes and yanks, tugging on your clit. You can feel the sleek pooling right about now.

The world is then encompassed in fast motion once she slinks under the arch of your legs and settles her head between the cupboard and your groin, detaching her lips with a wet ring to mark it. Confident in her claim of 'being quick' her hands make easy work of your loose pantholes, shoving her hulky hand fully through the crotch cover, scissoring your sappy pussy lips apart and warping that beady little bud in lovable circles. 

With your touch–starved cunt rutting back into her digits, she giggles, entertained by your sudden flux of pleasure relish, "Look at that, tellin' me you didn't want this all along? Haha–" her adams apple bops gently, "ur' funny." 

A gasp hitches, "Ahh– u're annoying.."

"Bite me."

Her sense of sound asphyxiates in the muffled squelching of your folds, lathering the first quarter of her digits in a film of lubricant– globby as aloe gel. Faster, and faster, her veins pop. A labyrinth of blue rivers, prominent in each gyrate of her lithe wrist.

"Fuck you, Williams– ghh, fuck, 'need you now.." moaned with sotto voce, scratchy in your contempt grunt of her coercive fingers clasping your clit, lulling you to arousal. Your hand sinks down and rakes through those glossy chestnut locks, curling your hand into a lesser than gentle grip.

Ellie chokes up a grumble when you yank on her head, garnering a flinch up to glare at you. Not a flinch of pain, nor vexation, rather– getting turned on. A husky glare. That tug alone had her hormones swelling, rushing to her own inflamed pussy begging to be played with. Her hips buckle slightly, riding her engorged pussy against the rugged inseam that stood as the only source of stimulation– and it felt like the fucking seventh heaven.

"Ghhm–" she compresses her lips together, grousing in dulcet pain, "ouch~" and whined fakely to your grip, ditching her brows low as she canvasses the brain–fucked face you made while doing so.

You glimpse at her visage, dizzy noggin and soot–spotted vision egging the assumption that you'd done harm, "Shit– m'sorry–" babbled you.

 "–Shh.." She mutters hoarsely, "go on, keep tuggin'." and manhandles your slippery clit with sloppy strokes, fingers fuzzy in the visuals.

"Oohh– my god," and so you tug, raising her scalp aloft harshly enough to jack her head back. 

"Fuck, that's right," she grizzles, upper lip tugging, "hurts just right."

In return, her digits halt and begin to flick that bud with the motion of her whole hand adding on– only slightly constrained by your shorts. That girls' got strong hands.

You coil your hips back, the cord in your pelvis tightening with a bliss none of your on–hand, literally, fingers could ever provide. A whitecap moan sounds from you, "Uahhh–" and you chant, "keep goin'– keep.. k–keep, oh my god–"

She pipes her voice low and druggy, frying her chords, "Fuuckk," then her voice silkens, a high coo, "like when I play with ur' pussy, yeah?"

"Yes yes– huhh.."

"She get all wet f'me? Hmm? This, all for me?" her opposing hand inclines and feathers up your leg, fingers prodding the two valleys' around your labia and squeezing– all that nectar out.

"Mhm–" you nod briskly, "all for– y– ohh.." 

"Good, baby.. good.." 

The sin so beautiful. This was her leaping chance to lade her hungry tongue of your taste. Her lips wrinkle and purse, gulping the foamy spit that pools for you. To swap the placement of her tongue and fingers, is what she yearns for– right now. Can't you see how fucking bad she needs you? How she needs to make you hers.

The only annoyance to cross her on Gaia's green earth, was those shorts– creasing the hardy fabric with intention. The intention to seriously rip them off.

"Take ur' clothes off, c'mon– can't lick that pussy like this." she chuckles at her own quip, ushering you.

"Okay.. okay." 

Amidst a haze of sensations slowly ebbing your ability to stand upright, you draw up a hand from her tousled locks and thumb at the zinc pin that fastened your overalls up. The bumpy underside of that button made to pop off easily– was not. That haze indeed made you hazy. How the fuck her fingers can make your pussy throb in pulses of rapture in a span of seconds, failed to spark musing.

Your fingers flip, shaking the strap around, "Els– El, Ellie.. it's not–"

Her free hand cranes up, humming a question, "Hmm? Want me to–"

Steady thumps resound in the walls behind you.

Dina.

"Fuck– god dammit," she pleats your panties flat in place and scrambles up from her squat, toiling her ankles in a scurried drag.

Two of your hands skip and gingerly clasp her jostling shoulders, guiding her up by a whisker– hovering your palms over, if anything. A stuttered, "Get up– get, shit, now!" wisps out in a hush.

Bonk!

The crown of her head clocks on the counters' edge and sends waves of pain like fluid, clogging her ears. Ellie scowls, "Shit! Fuckin' counter!" shutting her eyes and cringing in pain, freezing her teeth in a hiss.

"Ellie!" you scowl back, wrapping your arm under hers and hocking her up fully.

A wince further attests her pain, "Tss– hey– hey, my head! Shit.." She stumbles over flimsy feet and her palms topple flush to your collarbone, shifting her bumbling weight on you.

A whorl of footsteps strike the rounded corner, nosing out a certain sable–haired Dina from the rustic trim. Her earthy eyes scan and unearth the situation before her. Concern crafts amongst her faint freckles– nicks creased in her forehead, "Jeez, you two good?" a light chuckle fades off her words.

"Yeah, Ellie just– took a tumble," you vaguely explain, inching away from her hands timidly, which hesitantly drop to her sides.

Her verdant eyes droop and look– disappointed, briefly, before her mind catches on the facet of acting natural, because nothing totally just took place. Zilch.

Ellie withdraws and parks her bottom on the counters' edge, crossing her arms void of composure and swamps the floor with her sight of starkness. A reply, nor a peep, widened past her larynx. 

"Well um, think y'could take a break from the sink and herd the sheep in? Last thing of the day, I swear," a chuckle ruffles from her rosy mauve lips, awkward grin hewed, "apologies for– makin' you do all–"

"Eh, it's fine," you parry her retorts, speaking kindly, "–that's what'chu brought me on for, isn't it?" a cock of your head, and she's smiling, less than awkwardly.

"Yeah, yeah.." 

You steady up your feet and brush the invisible dust off your shoulders, antsing away from Ellie– who stood still in solitude, still– with a light tapping of your shoes striding you onwards to the back porch.

"Say good night to them for us, yeah?" shouted Dina with pep, who began to back away from the kitchen as well. 

"Will do!"

The netted backdoor screeches, then clacks with a rackety warble, the colors painting your figure slowly amalgamating as you stroll further and further.

Ellie tuts her eyes fleetingly, poring over an ambling Dina. She stutters, coming absentminded out of her daydream– in specifics, about the whorrish event of minutes foregoing, "H–hey, wheres' JJ?" she wonders, digits fidgeting.

She slows her steps a shade, leaning weight onto her left foot sowed behind the right, "In his crib, why?" she kinks her voice in curiosity, body slanting into the dining rooms' evanescent illumination.

Ellie mumbles, chin to her plender gap, "Nothing, just– wondered." 

And airy was the, "Okay." that gusted from her, staler than forgotten bread in the sun.

Chained thumps of padded steps recede around that corner once more, bearing an empty room for Ellie to marinate her ear–reddening thoughts in. A neutral quietude unknowing to the lewd leech that sticks to her brain. The cloth, the hem of her shirt she rolls between the pads of her thumb and index, the soft woven material– has her grasp feeling mislaid. That soft material one might deem soothing enough to weary bones, was far from the silkiness of your cunt. Her fingers grow pale as she presses, revolving a clumped bit of her hem in circles, how she did with your clit. A stifled sigh abandons her chest, caught in the mystery that is her obsession with that motion. Motion of pleasure. Just an inch away, a minute longer, and her fingers would have met that sappy, inviting, hottish hole that clenched for her. 

Just a hairbreadth longer, and she would have tasted you.

It wasn't until the death of eve, floating passage into a darkly blanketed evenfall– that her tongue would enjoy the taste of somebody. Other than you. 

"Wow, mmh– you haven't shown me this much passion in a while, Els." A moan so thick carries humidity to her ears, wetting Ellie up.

Her tongue has settled for Dina, escorted by loath.

Longing can drive someone to the strangest alleyways. The backdoor options for satiating a rumbling hunger only the essence of true desire can fulfill. Ellie, in perusal of that malnutrition so curtly birthed by the stolen opportunity of afternoon light, ends up projecting those filthy desires upon Dina, her 'true lover'.

"Fuckin' moan m'name.. mhhph–" her pursed lips muffle in the sleek velvet of her pussy, foliated in her precum.

She derived pleasure from playing with your pussy, so much.. that the touch of anything sodden and soft– or the spread of another cunt, evokes images of yours. Rather, it inspires the idea to pretend it is yours, not 'hers'.

A soiled up flannel clung to her perspired torso, the hem of it narrowly dangling over the curve of her bare ass, collar clumping up in crinkles as her body sticks flank to the bed. Her pores, weeping in the heat produced between open legs, pledges her skin that vividness. A vivid flare much like the sun. Her wrists, they flex. One pair of fingers dipped and spread Dinas' glossy folds with ease, tapping the gummy bump of her g–spot till it had her squirming. The other dyad of digits, curled and jammed in the valley her own pussy lips, rubbing with a sticky sound roundabout her clit. 'Your clit' she thinks, 'not hers' she asserts.

"Shit– Ellie.. m'gonna cum– agai– fuck!"

Her passion for you, led to a tumultuous amount of orgasms for Dina. 

A guttural growl to her cunt bubbles up all the slick gathered at her cupids' bow, vibrating upon her beaten clit popped like a cherry in her mouth, "Fhmm–" her lips separate, a weave of slobber pulling, "all over my fingers, god– dirty girl."

"Uh' huh.. yes yes yes– shhhh–!"

Ellie dims her sight of the world around her, eyelids closing like two curtains. Lashes flit on her crotch as she dives her tongue back in, mildly wagging her head with the savored ministrations to her clit. Then, when Dina spurts her last surviving bit of energy into her mouth, coating that coral worm in 'your' cum, Ellie forgoes her own orgasm, thinking of you.

A gush of lush slick trickles from her quivering pussy lips, oiling the sheets with a buckle of her hips smashing into them. Fingers mix in the stream of her release and slap her happy clit down repeatedly, pushing grunts into Dina, "Mhh– hmhmm.. fhck!" 

Her tongue– and her pussy, enjoys the taste of 'you'.

Dramatic respire shuts both of their bodies down– Dinas' arched legs more than satisfied to plop down on that bed, transferring muck sweat to cloth. Ellie oscillates her head, planting a tomato red cushion on the deflated life of her weary legs. 

"Jeez–" a croupy chuckle erupts, Dina smacking her lips, "where did this Ellie go?"

"Hmph–" her chest bops in a hiccupy jerk, snorting at what's been voiced upon the space above– steeping within a lie.

Her paw laxes upon the greasy tuft of auburnette, gracing the mist–fucked cranium with a much deserved caressing, "Was this just t'get me sleepy– yaawnn.. cause it worked."

"Totally." she rasped.

"Well then–" Dina whips her leg over the body averse to scrambling off, letting her cheek drop to the sheets.

"Hey!"

"M'gonna sleep.." 

"Pshh.." Ellie wrenches an offended visage, pasting her cheek off the sheets and army–crawling her slinky way up to Dinas' side, arm hooking a home on her waist. She foxily grumbles, "Can I kiss you?"

She veers her neck in a creepy turn, giving Ellie that 'really?' expression, "Uh, duh."

"Just askin',"

The kiss you refused to give her earlier.

Their lips connect in a skimpy peck, initiated by Dina no less, otherwise the kiss would have been.. doggish.

"There." and she rolls back, having nothing else to offer.

Ouch.

A somber pout blows those glossy puppy lips, vision tunneling on the bare nape that now faces her– with a tinge of hurt.

Unmet needs, they plague this girl. You, you you you. Her brain falls to you, and dies with the thought of your lips– both lips, as she coasts into the dream world. Won't you feed her hunger, solely rumbling for you? To quell her wants, with your easy love? 

Guess they'll be quenched tomorrow. ౨ৎ