lou

Although many students decided to live in an on-campus dorm, you had the amazing idea of saving money and the time it would take moving in. Your childhood bedroom held memories that you couldn’t seem to let go of yet, so staying here for a while longer didn’t seem like such a burden. The wind whistled through your slightly open window and the sound of an owl hooting in the distance created the perfect atmosphere to do some light stalking.

You had been through this routine many times before, typically starting with a harmless search and ending with the knowledge of where your unsuspecting victim’s great grandparents attended school. Though you were used to this procedure, you were not always guaranteed a direct entrance into everyone’s life. Many people were careful with their private information, but even your friends would boast to others about how you definitely could work for the FBI due to your incredible detective skills.

You were currently knee deep in Ellie’s feed. She got 40 likes at most on each of her posts and was the kind of girl who only ever posted at most three photos at a time, which included mixes of landscapes, silly candids, and shots of her looking away from the camera.

You were specifically observing the people who surrounded Ellie in a bonfire photo posted three years ago. Some guy with black hair draped his arm around her shoulder displaying the biggest smile you had ever seen. You narrowed your eyes and chewed on your cheek, sliding your thumb down with enough force that brought you to this year’s posts. Three months ago, she was hiking with a girl named Dina who was tagged as the trashcan next to them. In this photo specifically, Ellie smiled with her teeth, which was a rare sight compared to the rest of her posts. The sun filtered through the canopy of pine trees and spilled on the top of her head, highlighting the ginger strands of hair. After a moment of staring, you caught yourself smiling for a bit too long and pouted your lips instead, looking around your room in shame for feeling anything towards just a photo. Trying to ignore that fact, you went to scroll back up in order to view her highlights, but instead of clicking a specific highlight with the camera emoji, you clicked the follow button.

Adrenaline shot through your chest, making your sternum feel as if fireworks were being lit inside. You threw your phone across the room out of shock and covered your mouth in unison, kicking your feet on the mattress. It hit the floor with a muffled thud before hitting the base of your wall. You sat in silence for a moment listening to your heart thumping in your chest, realizing the time you spent panicking could’ve been used to press the block button instead and hope she never saw it or eventually forgot about it.

You scrambled up to grab your phone and act out your plan, your socks sliding on a piece of clothing that caused you to stumble forward. You barely caught yourself on the edge of your bed, reaching for the device which laid face down. The screen illuminated your face as you desperately unlocked it. You went to your following, frantic to find her account and block her as soon as possible before she was able to see your follow, but you froze instead when a notification popped up at the top of your screen.

ellie_w440 requested to follow you.

You sat there for a moment, processing the words and feelings that were currently conjuring in your chest and stomach. Your face scrunched up and you took a deep breath in before settling on two options: block her, pretend this never happened, and go on with your life like usual, or let her into your personal world, giving her free reign to judge every aspect of you. Every photo, every future story, every friend and family member you followed. The thought of a pretty girl with the seemingly coolest energy scrolling through your life while you sat here in your mismatched socks made you quite literally shiver from both fear and thrill.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, time running out before it became rather weird. She definitely knew you were online, and you definitely knew she was as well. It was almost intimate how quickly she followed you back. What if she was in the same situation as you–would you even want that?

You bit the skin off of your lip and stared at the screen a moment longer before impulsively hitting ‘Accept.’ You tossed your phone on your pillow and buried your face in your arms and comforter. You had just let the most interesting thing on campus so far into your personal life, and you felt sort of relieved that there was no going back.

You grabbed your phone again, unable to stay out of loop for too long, and skimmed through her account one more time before moving on to one of her friends. Her hair and skin had the perfect contrast, and her features were definitely something to be jealous of. Those doe eyes and that sweet smile had you contemplating if you should actually try and go for something with Ellie. Minutes of stalking through her account felt like hours until you were snapped out of your trance when your phone buzzed lightly against your hand, a message notification popping up at the top of your screen.

“i thought that was you,” the text read, followed by another notification, alerting you that she had just liked your most recent post from three days ago. You quickly closed the app and opened your notes instead, already trying to jot down what you could possibly reply with. You barely had time to think about what corny message you could go with before another notification popped up.

“i’ve been trying to figure out what you were reading in the theology section for like three days. pls tell me ur also failing”

You opened your notification center to get a better view of the full message without actually having to open it, giving you way more time to think about what to say now. Her words were so normal and, in a way, comforting. You’d worked yourself up–created this intimidating mystery of a girl for no reason. Although this new atmosphere was reassuring, you didn’t type a response yet. Instead, you set your phone face down on your bed and settled into the sound of cicadas and wind.

The ceiling was suddenly more interesting than the events that had just occurred, not because you were uninterested or trying to play hard to get. You just didn’t feel the need to rush anything–if it was even going to be anything at all. The conversation could wait until tomorrow. For now, it was enough to know that you weren’t the only one intrigued with the other.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

tags : @kaikaikaifin @ar1-angel @girl-so-gay @bournedientity

The rain picks up outside the building and you imagine yourself in bed with a candle lit and a book open. You had tried your best so far to drown out your professor’s whiny voice, but for some reason he has the energy of a small dog every other morning at 9:00. Your laptop was set to the lowest brightness and the notes app you had downloaded at the beginning of the year to help you “study better” was completely empty. This was the one class you failed to pay attention in, even with Mr. What’s-His-Name practically yelling in your ear for nearly 2 hours.

“Ellie, yes!” the professor calls out, basically begging for participation. You grab the edge of your hood and pull it further down your face, trying to block out the fluorescent lights, until you hear a familiar voice.

“Your point relates to the core concept we discussed earlier, but if you apply the second one to this specific scenario, the outcome becomes pretty self-explanatory.”

You peek a squinted eye out from behind the navy blue fabric and see the quick-witted auburn from last night. She is three rows down and either wet from the rain or just a major grease ball. Either way, her answer seemed like something she had pulled out of her ass even though you had no idea what was going on.

“And how does that relate to the Permian-Triassic transition?” You could tell he was trying to sound not so judgemental about her answer, trying to get something out of anyone.

The girl, now known to you as Ellie, doesn't even sit up straight. She just spins a pen between her fingers and shrugs, “Because the Siberian Traps caused a massive carbon excursion.”

You furrow your eyebrows and pout your lips in more of a surprised way than an annoyed one. “Right,” he says just before he glances your way and sees your seemingly condemnatory expression.

“Do you have anything to add to this conversation?” Ellie turns her head slightly and looks at you for a moment out of the corner of her eye. You make eye contact, but quickly break it and fiddle with your fingers. “Me? Uhm, no, I agree with her,” you lie straight through your teeth. You had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, and that just drew her attention to you. Talk about awkwardness. His serious face and robust nod cause your stomach to turn, and you give Ellie one last glance before sliding down the bench and bringing your hood all the way down to your chin.

You wake up 45 minutes later to the sound of shuffling and various students mumbling around you. You stretch and a squeak-like noise comes out from the back of your throat which you silently pray nobody heard. You close your laptop and pack up your belongings, grabbing your phone to quickly look at yourself only to notice a red mark on your cheek from how you were sleeping. From the corner of your eye, you see Ellie packing up her own things, swinging her backpack over her shoulder and moving quickly down the stairs, dipping between three people and leaving the building with absolutely no grace and giving a sorry expression to the girl she somehow managed to bump into. You wonder for a moment if that’s what you looked like in high school before turning your phone off and following Ellie’s routine, dodging a certain group of annoying boys still stuck in the headspace of senior year.

The sweet late October breeze hit you immediately as you stepped outside, red and orange leaves giving off a soft crunch beneath your feet. The concrete was freshly wet, the puddles reflecting the warm colors of the trees surrounding the campus. With one earbud in your left ear and the other tucked into your clothes, the warmth of both your navy hoodie and leather jacket was welcoming. You grabbed your phone out of your jacket’s pocket and shuffled through your playlist, eventually choosing “Hearing Damage” by Thom Yorke.

You’re so focused on avoiding as many puddles as possible and the vibrating tension of the song that you don't notice the sudden change in the crowd until you’re shoulder-to-shoulder with someone. You misjudge the height of the curb, your foot sliding on a patch of wet, decaying leaves. Just as you’re bracing for the impact of the wet concrete, you feel a firm tug on the back of your backpack. It’s just enough to yank you upright, the momentum snapping your head back slightly.

"Careful," a voice mutters, cutting through the music.

You stumble into a standing position and whip your head around to find Ellie. She’s still holding onto the top handle of your bag, her knuckles pale from the grip. Up close, she’s less of a "grease ball" and more just incredibly damp. Strands of hair are plastered to her forehead, and she smells faintly of burnt wood and rain. She reaches out, her hand hovering near your arm as if to steady you, but she doesn't actually make contact.

You realize you’re staring. Your face is still warm from the nap, and that red mark on your cheek makes you self-conscious.

"I, uh–thanks," you manage, reaching up to adjust your earbud. In your haste, you accidentally knock it out. It dangles by the wire, Thom Yorke’s voice barely audible in the open air between you.

Ellie glances at the earbud, then back at you. Her expression stands somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. She doesn't mention what happened in class, and she doesn't mention that you clearly just woke up.

"Good luck with the Traps," she says, her voice dry as she gives a short, awkward nod and steps around you.

You stand there for a moment too long, the cold breeze hitting the spot where she almost touched your arm. As you put your earbud back in, you wonder why she looked like she wanted to say something else.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A headache mixed with coffee was not how you wanted to end your day, but the uninterrupted silence and dim ambience helped with the pain caused by assisting insufferable students, which seemed to fill your entire shift. By 11:53, the last few pupils filling the wooden seats lined with dark green, leather cushions unplugged their chargers from their respective outlets and headed out the building. You received three apologetic ‘goodnights’ from those who seemed to realize you were not in good shape after having to stay here way past your bedtime.

Once the last person left and the automatic doors closed, you gave an obnoxiously loud sigh for no one to hear and brought the palms of your hands to your eyes, trying your hardest to wipe the headache off to no avail. Several books still needed to be put away, and you stared at them with malice as if they would magically be scared of you and run off to their individual shelves. Alas, you took the handle of the metal cart and walked it towards the elevator.

It was 12:15 when you had finished putting the books to bed. A wave of relief hit you like a warm, fuzzy truck and you headed towards the stairs, leaving the cart behind at the expense of your freedom. As you were eyeing the steps down, you noticed a red-headed girl hunched over a wooden desk meant to seat four people.

Her black headphones kept her overgrown bangs out of her face as she buried her head deeper in the book she was studying from. Her laptop lit up her face, accentuating her scrunched up nose as she sniffled twice quietly. Your lips formed a prominent line as you breathed in deeply before reluctantly walking toward her.

Her eyes widened ever so slightly as they met yours, but it didn’t go unnoticed, and her headphones were quickly taken off before you even had the chance to try and get her attention.

“Hi, uhm, sorry but we closed like 16 minutes ago.” Your voice was sweet and airy, although you were the slightest bit annoyed. She stared at you for a second too long before her eyes flicked to her laptop screen then meeting yours again, opening her mouth and spitting out a jumble of words that assured you of your annoyance. “17 minutes, actually. Ago. 17 minutes ago.”

Eyes still glued to hers, your lips pressed into a line again and your head turned to the side slightly, as if to say, “Okay?” without actually saying anything at all. She stared for a moment before quickly closing her laptop and unplugging her chargers, clearly taking your exasperated expression into account.

Once packed up, she stood in front of you, pursing her lips as if she was waiting for you to speak first. Before you could break the awkward silence, she swiftly sliced it in half. “Thank you for letting me stay,” she paused to check her phone screen, “18 minutes after closing.” You rolled your eyes playfully and gave a sarcastic smile. “It’s okay. I didn’t even know, so…” you trailed off and stared at the floor. Her cheeks formed a bubble as she clapped her hands together louder than she meant to. “Well, okay,” she said with almost no emotion prior to walking past you and down the stairs.

It seemed warmer outside than the weather app predicted—the cause being your thick leather jacket you refused to take off for a week straight—minus the merciful breeze mother nature thrusted upon you. Your car keys jingled in your hand as you opened the passenger door to load your backpack and a few extra books you had grabbed–one for studying and two for enjoyment.

The drive home was quiet and foggy, the hum of the car monotone enough to allow you to file through the thoughts in your brain, one in particular you couldn’t quite forget: how absolutely weird and awkward the interaction between you and that girl was. Most people who overstayed their welcome in the library had stumbled over their words and gave excuses due to the embarrassment of being 19 and unaware in every circumstance. This interaction, however, was more awkward than any stilted apology. Her reaction was quite unique and unexpected, which left you wondering about her late into the night until slumber eventually claimed you later on.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You perched at the edge of the bed you and Abby had shared just hours before, your eyes red and swollen, tears slipping down your cheeks as you choke back loud sobs. Your sternum felt as if it had just shattered, the broken pieces scattering inside your body.

You’d been staying with her since the fight that went down in the small living room of your dorm which left you almost completely numb. Your partner’s words had cut deeper than ever, and you couldn’t remain in the space that your heart broke in.

Two years ago, everything had felt perfect. They were considerate then, sweet in ways that made you believe love could be tender forever. Biweekly flowers adorned your bedside table, music from the well-preserved records that had been looted just for you filled the area you claimed your own, but somewhere along the way, that sweetness soured. But you couldn’t cry. Not in front of them. Every time you did, they said, “Don’t be a little bitch.” So you swallowed your feelings whole no matter what.

Everything you had been keeping in all that time spilled out quietly in the evenings you had spent in this familiar place, and you were grateful to be alone in Abby’s room when everything finally unraveled.

. . .

The water had gone cold as it coated your back, drawing a constant shiver from you, but you stayed beneath it anyway. You hadn’t meant to cry again—not after the way your body had already emptied itself earlier.

You heard the front door open just as you turned off the faucet. Abby’s footsteps were heavy, familiar, and you moved quickly, wrapping yourself in the same towel you used last night, stepping into the bedroom before you saw your own sad demeanor in the mirror which would only cause you to cry again.

Her eyes caught yours the moment you emerged—wet hair clinging to your cheeks, eyes puffy and red, lips swollen. She didn’t say anything at first. Just scanned every inch of your face. Then, she spoke softly as she set the last of her equipment down next to the counter.

“You okay?”

You nod, turning away and dropping the towel to the floor before grabbing one of Abby’s grey-blue shirts, which was already laid out on the bed, and covering your bare body with it before the cold air had enough time to make you shake. You turn back to face her and catch her eyes darting up to yours rather quickly as her face glows with a small tint of deep red.

“I’m fine, Abs.”

Later, you curled into her bed, the sheets still warm from the dryer, and let the quiet hum of a boring movie that she turned on fill the room. She lay beside you, her arm draped loosely across your waist, grabbing the back of your shirt with only a slight grip, almost as if she thought you were to run away at any moment. The grip was not tight, but it was there and grounded you. You could feel just how tense her limbs were, the way she held herself back like she was afraid of breaking something fragile. You turned to her, voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you okay?”

Her moment of silence was deafening. She didn’t look away from the screen, and her grip tightened on your shirt.

“I should be asking you that.”

You took a quick breath and pursed your lips. She looked unbothered, but her body language said otherwise.

“I already said I’m fine.”

The sentence escaped your lips like you had been waiting to say that, waiting for this exact moment. She didn’t move—let alone blink. She only stared at the screen like it could speak for her, except now, she let go of your shirt, the bunched up fabric coming undone slowly.

“I just don’t feel like talking about it,” you added, defensive now, your voice cracking at the edges.

Still, she said nothing. But her eyes flicked toward you and it was enough. You felt a lump begin to form in your throat, desperate to shove it back down.

“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I just wish I felt loved. By someone.”

You felt her warm hand slip underneath the dark blue fabric, pressing against your bare back and creating loving circles with her fingers. Abby turned then, fully, her gaze steady and unflinching.

“You are loved. By everyone around you.”

You shook your head. “Not like that.”

She reached for your hand, her fingers curling around yours with a quiet sense of urgency. The touch sent a jolt through you—warmth flooding your cheeks, your breath catching in your throat. You looked at her, really looked, and she was already watching you. Her eyes were full of light even in the darkness of the room. She looked at you with such love, something you had been longing for since before you could remember.

She shifts closer. The blanket rustles and her knee bump yours. Her eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, then down again—like she was searching for signs of disapproval, to which no avail. She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she lifts her hand and tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear before planting her fingers down on your thigh. The slight buzz you received from the warm touch lingers on your cheek and gives you a tingly feeling on your scalp.

She was just close enough that you could feel her breath slightly on your mouth, making your lips part without meaning to. She stills for a moment, just staring at you, and you finally feel vulnerable again. Her hand tightens slightly around yours, grounding you once more with her simple touch alone. Her other hand lifts again, hesitates, then brushes your cheek with the backs of her fingers. You lean into it before you realize you have.

She swallows. You can feel the tension in her arm, the way she’s holding herself still, waiting for something—anything—to tell her it’s okay.

You bring yourself closer to her, melting deeper into her touch, and your lips are just barely touching now. That’s all she needs.

She leans in, her nose brushing yours, and for a heartbeat you’re suspended there. Her hand cups your jaw with a gentle touch, barely there. Then her lips meet yours tentatively, like she’s afraid to press too hard. Like she’s afraid you’ll break.

The way you had cried quietly the night before, believing Abby was sound asleep and would not interrupt your private moment. The way you fold into silence when someone raises their voice. And she knows that you’ve been taught to hide your hurt, to make yourself smaller, quieter, easier to love. So she kisses you like you’re glass. Not because you’re weak, but because you’ve been shattered too many times by someone who didn’t bother to be careful.

Her hand stays at your jaw, steady and warm, her thumb brushing against your cheek, ready to catch any tears that may fall. She doesn’t deepen the kiss—not yet. She waits. She listens. She lets you decide.

A content sigh escapes you quietly and you grab her forearm, running your hand up and down slowly, feeling the way her muscles flex as her hold on your jaw grows more desirous.

Her hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers curling gently into your damp hair. She shifts closer, her breath catching as she deepens the kiss.

You feel the light trace of her thumb against the edge of your ear, and it makes you shiver. She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching, her lips parted like she wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

You don’t speak either. You just lean in again, and this time, she warmly meets you halfway.

The second kiss is slower and sweeter. Her hand finds your waist, and you let yourself melt into her into the quiet, into the safety, into the way she holds you like you’re something worth holding. You arch into her forbearing yet desperate touch, drawn by something deeper than want.

She shifts, her hand sliding up beneath your shirt, palm warm against your skin. You breathe in sharply, and she pauses to look at you. Her eyes search yours, quiet and steady, and your eyebrows furrow up right in the middle, showing desperation to experience all of that over again. She moves like she’s memorizing you, all of you: your breath, your softness, the way you tremble when she kisses just below your jaw.

She exhales softly against your neck, her hands returning to your hips, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles into your skin. Her lips follow—pressing just above your collarbone, lingering longer with each kiss. You thread your fingers through her hair, securing her there as if you’re making sure she stays for good. She hums against your skin and the sound vibrates through you, causing a content sigh to leave your lips.

“I love you,” she murmurs between kisses, the words barely rising above breath.

────────୨ৎ────────

Ellie’s head is hanging low, staring at your soaked blue panties and then back up at you every so often with sparkles in her hooded eyes. Your right leg rests over her shoulder as she straddles your bare left leg, slightly moving back and forth for her own attempt at pleasure.

“You’re so pretty,” she says, easing two fingers inside you. “You always take me so well.”

 Your hand grips the thin, floral sheets tightly—your fingernails indenting your palm as if they were piercing the bedding—bundling them up and releasing them in an unconscious rhythm. The house is quiet, the only noise being your soft whimpers, until you both hear the front door open. Ellie pauses and turns her head to face the slightly open bedroom door, keeping her fingers focused on pleasing you albeit transitioning into a lazy pace.

“Joel…” she whispers underneath her breath so quietly that you almost couldn’t make out what she said.

You quickly try to move upwards to the wooden headboard, but Ellie keeps you still. Her hand is glued to your thigh and has just the slightest grip, indenting your skin. Her strength alone is overpowering; she barely even has to try to hold you still. 

“Ellie, please,” you whisper in such a whiny tone that makes her clench around nothing. She snaps her head at you and scrunches her face, shaking her head just before looking back at the door. Her fingers rested inside of you, slowly moving at an uncalculated pace; she was still trying her best to please you all while focusing on the footsteps downstairs. Your eyes make their way down slightly with the sole purpose of staring at her arm as it flexes and stiffens all while still moving back and forth. Suddenly, she picks the pace back up and you quickly catch a pornographic moan with the back of your hand and wrist which is covered in your thick sweater’s sleeve. 

“I wanna hear you,” she coos softly, grabbing your sleeve and peeling it off of your face slowly. She smiles at your bashful glow and gives a breathy laugh.

“He’s right downstairs. I knew we shouldn’t have done anything,” you whisper, voice barely audible. Ellie’s lips press into a flat line, her silence saying more than words ever could. But instead of pulling away, she lifts your sweatshirt, pressing soft kisses along your belly—each one slower than the rest as she moves up your torso; the edge of your bra teases her. Her eyes meet yours as she slides the fabric up, exposing your chest, scanning for any sign of discomfort. You showed no resistance, allowing her to do whatever she wanted to you as usual. The cold air paints your bare skin, drawing a quiet shiver from you. Your nipples begin to tighten—not just from the chill, but from the heat of her touch filling the absence of warmth where your sweatshirt once lay. Although the stimulation alone was enough to make you forget exactly where you were, you stayed hyper aware of the sounds throughout the house, waiting for the moment Joel would eventually come upstairs. You were sure that Ellie was listening intently, too.

The hardwood floors creak underneath the room you were occupying, the noise echoing throughout the house and making its way upstairs. You were almost positive that if you could hear Joel’s footsteps, he most definitely heard the downright lewd noises spilling from your soft, bruised lips—bruises lingering from over a week ago. Ellie kissed hard on purpose; she loved the provocativeness of it, the way your mouth betrayed you with every sound, and maybe even more, she loved how easily she got her way when she kissed with such passion. She really did seem to believe you were made just for her and you didn’t mind one bit. Sometimes you’d even try to enhance the marks she left on you by any means, knowing how much you both liked the way they looked. She never hid how she felt, especially when it came to her desire to claim you completely.

“You have to be a little quieter, babe,” Ellie murmured sweetly with a hint of urgency. Her fingers curled deep inside you, exchanging the movement with the steady pumping of her fingers, shifting angles with practiced ease to work both your walls and cervix.

She moved to straddle your hips between her knees—which were pressed into the sheets—and leaned over your torso, kissing along your breasts and avoiding your nipples on purpose. Teasing you was one of her absolute favorite things to do because she loved to hear you beg her to give you more of her every single time—which you did without fail every single time. She took your right breast into her hand, kneading it gently, and focused on the left with her mouth, enveloping it around her chapped lips. You give her a quiet moan full of pleasure until she bites down on your nipple. You yelp, the sound sharp and involuntary, and Ellie pauses just long enough to glance up at you, her eyes dark, her mouth parted. She doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t need to. Her tongue flicks over the spot she bit, soft and slow, and her hand squeezes your other breast just a little firmer.

 “Couldn’t help myself,” she murmurs, voice low and breathless. Then her mouth returns with a gentler kiss, soothing the sting with deliberate warmth, like she’s making up for it without ever saying so. She moves back up to your lips, resting her own just above them for a moment and letting her breath soothe them before smashing into them with desperate hunger. You moan into her mouth, her tongue grazing over your teeth before you begin to suck on it needily. She pulls back and spits the excess of mixed saliva into your mouth. With one last kiss to your nose, she eases back, her hands trailing down your sides as she repositions herself between your legs, her fingers slipping into place like they never left.

“Ellie,” you whine, your voice cracking as her fingers press deeper, your body arching instinctively toward her touch. The sheets bunch beneath your fists, your once-weak grip now clenched with sudden strength, but you don’t dare move away as you free one hand to grab onto her auburn hair. She leans in, her breath brushing your cheek, and whispers like she’s afraid the walls might hear her too.

“So perfect,” she says, her voice low and reverent as she swallows hard at the sight of her fingers covered in your warmth. “So quiet. You’re trying so hard for me.”

You nod faintly, unable to speak, your lips parted in silence as her fingers curl again, approaching a sloppier pace than all the other times. You want to be good for her. You want to stay quiet. But the way she touches you makes it nearly impossible. Her fingers quicken, the wet, messy sound softly flooding the room fast and hushed, but difficult to ignore. Biting down on a moan that quickly rises from your throat, she presses her lips against yours with her signature rough nature in order to silence the pretty noises that are now spewing from your mouth louder than before; she swallows every sound that you can’t hold back, every part of you that wants to cry out her name.

Her lips brush yours as she speaks, voice thick with affection and heat. She tells you you’re perfect like this—quiet, trembling, so close she can feel it in the way your body clings to her. Her breath becomes heavier as she watches you unravel under her touch. The pace is now calculated and desperate; She knows time is no longer on your side and you’re both on borrowed silence. 

Your thighs tremble around her wrist, the pressure building fast and unforgiving. She watches you with parted lips and furrowed brows, her focus razor-sharp, her fingers relentless. You try to hold back, try to stay quiet, but the moan rising in your throat is too thick, too sweet. Ellie leans in again, her mouth catching yours in a kiss that’s more instinct than thought, more need than restraint. She swallows the sound, her breath hitching as she feels you pulse around her fingers.

“I’ve got you, baby,” she whispers, voice trembling. “Just let go.”

Your body jerks once, then again, and Ellie doesn’t flinch. Her fingers stay deep, curling with precision, her palm pressed firm against your clit making sure to give you the maximum amount of pleasure. Her breath stutters against your cheek, her lips brushing yours between each shaky inhale. She watches you—eyes half-lidded, jaw tight, her focus unwavering. 

“You’re doing so good,” she whispers in awe of the sight before her. “Just like that. Let me feel it.” 

Your thighs twitch around her wrist, your grip in her hair turns frantic, and the tension inside you coils tighter, tighter, until it breaks in a soft, trembling collapse. Ellie holds you through it, her mouth never leaving yours, her fingers still moving, slow now, coaxing every last wave from you.

You’re still trembling when Ellie finally slows her hand, her fingers easing out with care, her palm resting gently against your thigh like she’s grounding you. She doesn’t speak right away. She just watches you—eyes soft, lips parted, her breath still uneven. 

She leans in and kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth, each one slower than the last. 

“You were perfect,” she whispers, voice thick with reverence. “So quiet. I’m so proud of you.”

Your chest rises and falls in shallow waves, and Ellie shifts to lie beside you, bringing the duvet over your bodies and draping her arm across your stomach, her fingers tracing idle shapes into your skin. The silence between you is calm and sweet. She presses her forehead to yours, her voice barely audible. 

“I love the way you fall apart for me.”

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·