Sofii

honey you’re the only thing i’ll wait around for

ways to help palestine!!!

Every game you play (I'll be watching you)

“Williams says she’ll break your goal record this league season. Any words of encouragement for her?”

“Who?”

That was the only thing Abigail Anderson had answered when the name of the first person who had proven to be a rival worth worrying about came up in one of her interviews.

Of course she knew who Ellie was, but she had no intention of giving the interviewers the pleasure and even less so her, who surely read those press notes like an obsessed fan (not as if Abby didn’t do the same before going to sleep). No one was going to get a genuine reaction out of her, only her stoic face and a slight raise of an eyebrow, not as if she were playing dumb but completely dismissing the competition.

Abigail’s team had the advantage. They had grown more united, and she had made sure of that by fulfilling her leadership role, studying each of them to perfect their game and sometimes participating in the group chat, trying to maintain a fraternal relationship beyond her friends Nora or Mel. And why not? While she took care of the notes alongside the Coach, studying her teammates’ abilities, she also felt curiosity about Williams.

Ellie’s agility and speed had always caught her attention, in addition to her creative way of evading the defense of other teams. She had talent, yes, but she lacked discipline, considering the red cards she picked up for aggressive behavior disrespecting the referee by clapping ironically or rolling her eyes after a call, and worse still with other players, pushing them or whispering inappropriate comments into the ears of those who dared to mark her. That was why Abigail was the one meant to mark Williams if they met on opposite sides of the pitch.

It was her foreplay pissing her off by threatening to trip her so she’d fall in front of everyone, with no malice at all, only seeking skin-to-skin contact, her thigh brushing her leg, her arm extending to block her chest, pushing her back, demanding that she fight against her weight. And the times Ellie wasn’t able to break free, Abigail hears her ragged breathing in her ear, similar to the sounds she makes when she’s eating (devouring) her from behind, her bicep applying pressure to her throat in a headlock!

Baby, what was that?

author note: i have no idea what i’m doing, it’s been a while since i wrote, but i saw heated rivalry and had to come back to ellabs, obviously. please, this is trash, don’t mind it ! ! <3

(also, it’s sexually suggestive… kinda)

“Why would I care about her? Her physique doesn’t intimidate me.”

That was the answer Ellie William, Arsenal’s Rookie of the Year, had given when her rival Abigail Anderson was mentioned, someone the media seemed unable to stop comparing and looking for a fight between them as if there wasn’t already one.

From the beginning of the season, Anderson’s fixation on Ellie had been driving her crazy. Every time an important match started, she immediately tried to mark her, preventing her from advancing freely down the wing and making it impossible to shoot or assist because Abby’s dorsal was immediately blocking her with her leg brushing against her thigh in a way that shouldn’t excite her so much (whether out of anger or… arousal…)

It was no wonder Abigail Anderson was Chelsea’s tank, centre-forward, the captain who had a record of goals scored. I mean impossible not to, right? With all her physical advantage, from height to muscle.

Every time she sees the number 13 on Anderson’s back in front of her, Ellie feels the pressure and her confidence falters trying to slip past that wall; sometimes she succeeds by tricking Abby with fake moves or seeking support from one of her teammates (usually Dina can accompany her).

But it was already becoming too much. It seemed as if Anderson had studied her technique and movements, and even worse she was never alone, she always came with the same teammates to corner her. At this point, Ellie had memorized the surname and number of one of those two as well: Harris, Nora. 52.

abby anderson’s the complete opposite when it comes to footwear. she always wears pristine white shoes, looking so clean, like she just took them out of the box. it’s a habit she’s had since her teenage years—thanks to her dad. she hates seeing them dirty, so she cleans them every weekend to make sure they’re perfect for the whole week.

a slight flex of her bicep with the movement, her white shirt just tight enough to make it noticeable.

her fingers dampened by sea salt, caresses the hardened muscles of abby's abdomen, tracing up and down with a slow, lingering touch that never quite progresses. the roughness of her fingertips, worn from years of guitar playing, contrasts with the slight stickiness of the melted ice cream she'd held earlier. it dripped between her fingers, careless from kissing abs, savoring her instead of asking for a spoonful, experiencing the bittersweet taste of lemon directly from her lips. the lingering sugar makes her touch subtly adhere to abigail's skin, as if she wishes her hands would always leave a trace.

abby shudders at the slow, swirling movements that turn ellie's caress into a circular path around her navel. her thumb explores, while the rest of her fingers linger just at the edge of her swimsuit, brushing the area but not revealing it, only hinting at the possibility. it would seem like an innocent, almost indifferent caress, if not for abigail's response, which reflects desire; their legs are intertwined, and even her hand, placed firmly on the curve of ellie's ass, is clasping it. she caressed her complexion slowly, longing for the texture of her slightly damp skin beneath her fingers, still entirely warm from sun exposure, both their skins drying lazily.

their limbs fit naturally together, ellie rested on top of abby, torsos pressed against each other. her head finds refuge in the hollow of abigail’s neck, avoiding the sun’s rays, reluctant to gain more freckles. abigail simply closes her eyes; the arm that isn’t absorbed in massaging her buttock remains draped over ellie’s shoulder, bent at the elbow, framing the space where she nestles. it’s a firm hold, but unhurried—not seeking possession, only presence. she embraces her not to capture but to feel her close, to chase the serenity that comes from having williams lying against her.

abby’s a total sweetheart, literally such a good, kind person. she’s always joking around with her friends and grabbing random little things for lev if they remind her of him (like a shark plushie she saw once). she falls asleep reading whatever book she’s into at the moment. talking to her is actually so fun. she’s got this great vocab and somehow turns casual dinner or morning chats into deep, philosophical stuff without even meaning to, just by sharing her own thoughtful perspectives.

she starts her day walking alice at the park, gets her workout in, says hi to people she passes, then finishes her shift at the hospital and makes sure to say bye to every single one of her coworkers, even if she’s gonna see them the next day. abby loves greeting people and having quick chats, always genuinely interested in how her close circle is doing, or even ending up talking to an old lady in the grocery line about the price of blueberries.

she doesn’t really swear unless she’s really mad. when she is, she’d rather throw out a ridiculously specific, painfully accurate insult or just pull a face instead of cussing. not like ellie, who somehow says “fuck” ten times in two seconds while trying (and failing) to explain something.