Look For The Light

The alarm clock screams at six-thirty. Same as it always does.

You lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, pretending that if you just keep your body completely still, the day wont start. Your sheets are warm, your pillow soft but the second your phone buzzes with its insistent reminders - emails, calendar updates, the soft chime of someone posting to the office group chat - you know you’ve already lost.

You swing your legs off the bed and your feet hit the floor with a dull thud. The motions that follow or practiced, mechanical: shower, brush, teeth, clothes, brush, hair, coffee. Nothing special. Nothing memorable. The bus arrives on time, like it always does, and you step into the stale heat of its interior, crammed against the same strangers you’ve been crammed against for months. The smell of damp jackets and bad cologne hits your nose.

Every day feels like this.

Every day is this.

You catch your reflection in the bus window, the city rushing past behind the glass. You look fine – presentable, normal, one of the crowd. But there’s always something missing behind your own eyes. The spark you remember from your younger years, when every day still carried potential for surprise. Now it’s gone, replaced by a quiet way you don’t often put into words.

At work, the computer screen greets you like an old friend you’ve finally grown tired of. You type the same reports, answer the same emails, nod at the same coworkers. You laughed at the jokes in the break room that aren’t funny. Lunch comes and goes without you, remembering what you ate. The hours stretch, fold and collapse into themselves.

By the time you’re back home, night pressing against your apartment windows, you feel like the day has drained something from you. Not energy exactly – more like the possibility of things being different.

You want more. You want something. Adventure, chaos, even danger. Something to remind you that you’re still alive and not just coasting through the days that blurred into weeks, 10 months. You imagine yourself in places you’ve never been – standing on cliffs above roaring oceans, weeding through foreign streets, lit by neon signs, meeting people who don’t already know the way you take your coffee.

But then your alarm goes off again the next morning, and the cycle repeats itself again.

It takes three weeks of your friends begging before you finally agree to go out with them.

You tell yourself you’re regret – you’ll be tired the next day, hung over maybe, wishing you had just stayed in it. But you also know something deeper.: you’re desperate for a break in the routine. Even if it’s messy, even if it’s stupid, at least it won’t be the same.

The club is a sensory assault the second you walk in. Music pounds heavily from unseen speaker speakers, bass thrumming in your ribs. Strobe lights cut through the dark, catching flashes of faces, glitter, sweat. Your friends grabbed your hands, laughing, pulling you towards the bar and you go because there’s nothing else to do.

The first drink burns in your throat, but loosen the knot in your chest. You laugh at things that aren’t funny, let yourself sway with the music, let yourself believe for a second that maybe this night could actually be fun.

That’s what he appears.

He’s taller than you, built, solid, the kind of guy who thinks leaning too close is the same thing as flirting. His word slur, his breath sour with alcohol, but his brain is persistent.

“You look too good to be here alone,” He says, pressing in. His hand brushes against your arm.

You smile politely, but shake your head, “Thank you, I’m. Not interested.”

He doesn’t hear you. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. He doesn’t move - in fact, he moves slightly closer so there isn’t much space between the two of you.

The second attempt is firmer, your voice sharper, “I said I’m not interested,”

Still, he laughs like you’re joking, moving so he’s standing in front of you, trapping you against the bar. You feel your stomach in knots, that familiar mix of anger and unease tightening in your chest.

Your third attempt comes with a shove, small but enough to put some space between the two of you, “I said no.”

He laughs again, as if the word doesn’t apply to him. He’s about to step closer again, when -

An arm slips around your waist, firm and certain, “She’s taken,”

The voice comes from your left, low and clearly very annoyed. Before you have the chance to figure out what’s happening, you feel the press of lips against yours.

It’s not gentle, not hesitant. It’s a kiss thats meant it be seen, meant to claim, meant to send a message. Your heart leaps into your throat in shock, but you dont pull away. Something in you - maybe instinct, maybe virtuosity - leans into the kiss instead.

The man scoffs, muttering under his breath as he stalks off, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

When the kiss breaks, you finally see her. Freckles cheeks, green eyes catching the glow of the club lights. A smirk curving her mouth like she knows exactly what she just did and how effecting it was - not just in getting the man to back the fuck off, but an excellent ice breaker.

Ellie Williams.

“Sorry,” she says over the music, though she doesn’t sound sort at all, “Seemed like you might have needed an out.”

You blink once - twice, still half in shock as you wipe the taste of her lips from your own. You manage to nod, but words don't come easily. You’re already trying to retreat, stepping sideways through the crowd in an attempt to put distance between yourself and the stranger who just staged a whole performance in front of the bar.

But she follows.

“If you’ll let me kiss you,” she calls after you, weaving through the press of bodies with irritating ease, “as least let me buy you a drink too.”

there’s something disarming in the way she says it. Not cocky exactly, but sure of herself, like she’s already certain that you’ll say yes. And despite yourself - despite your better judgment - you pause misstep.

Ellie steps closer, the smirk still ghosting her lips, her hand already raised to flag down the bartender, “One drink. And then you can disappear on me if thats what you want.”

You should walk away. You know you should.

But you dont.

The bartender sets down two glasses - one in front of you, one in front of her. You didn’t technically agree to this, but Ellie slid your empty glass and replaced it before you had the chance to form an argument.

“On me, “ She says, pushing it closer, “Think of it as.. payment. For saving you from that douchebag,”

Your eyes narrow, suspicious but curious, “You kissed me.”

“Yeah,” Ellie nods, lips twitching into a half smile again, “and you kissed me back,”

Your face reddens, “No, I didn’t-“

“You didn’t not,” She leans her elbow against the bar, chin in her palm as she watches you like you’re the most interesting person in the whole room. The weight of her attention makes you sip the drink just to give your nervous hands something to do.

She notices. Of course she notices, “So, do you have a name? Or should i just refer to you as the mystery girl who let me kiss her?”

You hesitate. But the warmth of the alcohol, the chaos of the club, the fact that you’re already off script from the usual lie you told everyone - it all nudges you forward and you tell her your name.

Ellie repeats it under her breath, like she’s testing out how it sounds on her tongue. She nods once, satisfied as she takes a sip from her own drink, “Yeah, that suits you.”

You arch a brow, “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You look like trouble. The good kind.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself. Your bubbles up sharp and surprised, but she grins like she’s won something. Like your laugh is worth more than the drink she just bought you.

The music shifts into something heavier, the crowd pulsing against itself on the dance floor. Ellie tilts her head towards it, “You dance?”

“No.” The answer is immediate, instinctive.

“Liar,” She doesn’t wait for your denial. To stick - just catches your wrist and tugs. Her touch is light, but insists my. You find yourself moving before you can think to plant your heels.

the crowd swallows you both. Lights strobe. Bass shakes the floor. Ellie doesn’t let go of your wrist, sliding her hand to your waist instead. She’s bold about it, no hesitation, her body close enough that you can feel the heat of her through your clothes.

“You sure you dont dance?” She murmurs near your ear, her breath hot against your skin as she pulls you flush against her.

You do dance - because you have no choice but to match her. She moves easily, fluid, like she’s done this hundreds of times before, like she was made to occupy space like this. The press of her thigh against yours, her hand grips tighter at your hip.

You forget all about the monotony of work. You forget about your friends you had come with who are probably somewhere else in the club laughing loudly at drunk guys horrible jokes. All you can think about is her.

Ellie.

The kiss at the bar felt like an act, a cover, a show for someone else’s benefit. But now, moving with her, you wonder what it would feel like if she kissed you just for you.

You dont wonder for long.

Ellie leans in, her lips brushing the curve of your jaw. The touch is so faint it almost feels like it was accidental, but when she pulls back, there’s that smirk again - like she’s testing how much you’ll let her get away with.

Spoiler: anything she wanted.

Your chest tightens. You’re half a breath away from kissing her first when the song crashes into its final beat, the crowd roaring, shifting. The moment fractures.

Ellies hand lingers at your waist as she leans close again, “Back room,” she says simply, like its not even a question.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Her grin widens, “Don’t play innocent. You’re looking at me like you’ve already been thinking about it.”

Your heart stutters, heat crawling up your neck. She’s right and she knows it. But your instinct to retreat fights against the way your body aches to say yes.

“Why should i?” You counter, trying to sound steadier than you feel.

Ellie doesn’t miss a bendy. She leans in until her lips nearly graze yours, her voice dropping low enough that only you can hear. “Because if you let me kiss you again, it wont just be for show this time.”

The words light something inside you. The monotony, the dull routine, the empty ache you’ve carried for months - gone in a snap, replaced by a sharp, undeniable pull. You dont say yes, but you dont say no. Ellie takes that as enough.

The hallway behind the bar is narrow and dim. The music muffled to a dull throb through the walls. Ellie leads, glancing back once to make sure you’re still following. When you hesitate, she reaches for your hand, threading her fingers through yours without asking.

It feels reckless. Dangerous. Exactly what you had been needing.

The back room is barely lit, a storage space with boxes stacked high against the walls, an unused table shoves in the corner. It smells faintly of liquor and dust. It shouldn’t feel intimate but when the door clicks shut behind you, it does.

You lean against the wall, half defiant, half nervous as you watch Ellie close the distance between the two of you.

”You really do look like trouble,” She whispers, her eyes fixed on your lips.

Then she’s kissing you again.

Not like before - this ones hungry, real, pulling you in so close your back presses hard into the wall. Her hands find your hips, sliding up your sides. You gasp against her mouth, and she swallows the sound with a low groan that makes your knees weak.

Her body pins yours, all heat and urgency and when her lips drag down to your throat, you can’t help the soft sound that escapes your lips. She smiles against your skin, clearly pleased with herself.

You fist your hands in her shirt, tugging her closer and she laughs - short, breathless, delighted, “I knew you would stop pretending..”

The kiss deepens, rougher now. Teeth clashing, tongues tangling. Every part of you hums with the reckless thrill of it, the part of you thats been starving for something finally fed.

The back room could collapse around you and you wouldn’t even care. The only thing that existed is her.

Ellie Williams, with her sharp grin and steady hands, pulling you out of the life you had been drowning in. For the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re not just living. You’re alive.

Ellies mouth crashes back onto yours, hungry now and no longer playing coy. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, desperate like she’s been waiting all night for you to finally give in. Her hands grip your waist, tugging your body flush against hers until there is no space left between the two of you.

The dim light makes shadows of her freckles, her eyes blown wide with want as she drags her lips down your jaw, your throat, biting lightly at your skin until you gasp. The sound makes her groan, low and rough, and she presses you harder against the wall, one thigh sliding between your legs.

”Fuck-“ You whisper, clutching at her shirt to pull her closer.

”I knew you’d sound good for me,” Ellie mutters against your throat, her voice ragged.

Her thigh grinds up, deliberate and you can’t help the whimper that slips out before you can bite it back. She grins, catching your bottom lip between her teeth.

Her hands are everywhere - cupping your ass, sliding up your sides, slipping under your shirt to feel bare skin. Her palms are calloused, warm, rough in a way that makes your whole body shudder.

“You’re so goddamn hot,” She breathes, lifting your shirt higher, “Please.”

You raise your arms without thinking, and she yanks the fabric off, tossing it aside like its nothing. Her gaze rakes over you, hungry and appreciative as her tongue swipes across her bottom lip.

“Fuck,” She cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra and your knees nearly give out. Her hand slides around your back, skillfully unclasping your bra in one smooth move, “Look at you,”

Her mouth quickly replaces her hand, hot and wet all over your chest, sucking until you arch into her. She hums against you, pleased as her tongue flicks against your nipple. She repeats that movement, enjoying the sound of your gasps and the way your fingers tangle into her hair.

Ellie groans like she could live on the sound of you, her teeth grazing before she pulls back, eyes locked on yours, “Can i-“

You dont give her a chance to finish the question. You want it. You want her. Your answer is shaky, breathless, “Yes,”

She smirks, “Good girl,”

Her hand drifts lower, unbuttoning your jeans with practiced ease and sliding inside before you can catch your breath. Her fingers brush over the damp heat of your underwear and she groans again, “Already wet for me? Fuck,”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a broken sound when she presses harder into you, rubbing slow circles that have your hips bucking against her hand.

“Ellie-” You gasp, clothing her shoulders, your body already trembling.

She kisses you again, swallowing your moans, her tongue sliding against yours as her fingers push past your underwear. The first touch of her fingers against your slick heat has you crying into her mouth.

“Shh,” She whispers, though she’s grinning agaist your lips, “Don’t wanna get us caught, do you?”

Her fingers stroke you, teasing, circling until your legs are shaking. She takes her time, drawing it out, her thumb catching your clit just right again and again until you’re whimpering, desperate for more.

“Please,” You pant, eyes squeezed shut as her forehead presses against yours.

Ellie laughs softly, kissing you again, “So polite,”

And then - finally - she pushes two fingers inside you, slow but relentless, filling you in a way that makes your entire body seize with pleasure.

Your back arches, nails digging into her shoulders as you choke out her name.

“Thats it,” She whispers, thrusting surprised she curls her fingers just right, “Take it. You feel so fucking good,”

The rhythm builds, faster, harder, her thumb still circling your clit as her fingers fuck you deep. The world narrows to nothing but her - the way she smells like smoke and sweat, the rough sound of her breathing, the burn and stretch of her fingers inside you.

You’re close- too close- your body already tightening around her fingers.

“Ellie-” You gasp, half a warning, half a plea.

“I got you,” Her forehead presses to yours again, eyes dark and voice ragged, “Cum for me, baby,”

Her words break something loose in you. The orgasm rips through you sharp and overwhelming. Your cries are muffled against her mouth as you convulse around her fingers. She groans, fucking you through it, her thumb relentless until you’re shaking, clinging to her like you’ll fall apart without her.

When you finally collapse against the wall, she kisses you again - slower this time, softer, her hand still cupping you possessively.

You’re still trembling, breath shallow when Ellie finally eases her fingers out of you. She keeps her hand pressed against your thigh for a second, grounding you. She smirks at the whimper that escapes your lips at the loss.

“I’m not done,” She says simply, as if its already been decided.

Before you can ask what she means, she’s sinking to her knees. The sight alone nearly buckles your legs- Ellie Williams, kneeling in front of you in a dim, half forgotten room, her green eyes flicking up like she already owns you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your hand flying to the wall behind you to brace yourself.

Her fingers hook in your waistband, tugging your jeans and underwear down in one rough motion. The cool air makes you shiver, but her hands on your thighs are steady, warm.

“Spread ‘em,” She mutters, voice husky, eyes locked on the heat between your legs. When you hesitate, her grin widens,”C’mon, dont get shy on me now.”

You obey, legs parting just enough and Ellie exhales like she’s been waiting her entire life for that very moment.

”Fuck,”

The first press of her mouth against you steals the air from your lungs. Her tongue drags slow, deliberate, teasing you. Your knees threaten to give out within seconds. She groans into you, the sound vibrating against your skin and its obscene how good it feels.

one of her hands grips your hip, holding you steady while the other slides up to ours flat against your stomach, pinning you to the wall when your hips jerk.

”Stay still,” She mumbles against. You, her lips slick, tongue circling your clit with maddening precision, “I just want to taste you,”

You can think, cant breathe, can’t do anything but feel. Every flick of her tongue has you gasping, every suck makes your thighs clench around her shoulders. She moans like she loves it, she’s drunk on you and it only drives you higher.

”Ellie- fuck, please-“

Your voice breaks, and she hums in approval, the sound buzzing through your core. She pulls back just long enough to glance up, chin glistening and eyes dark and wild.

“You sound so good begging for me,” she says, diving back in.

Her mouth moves mercilessly, tongue sliding in deep before returning to your clit. Her lips sucking, teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out but not quite enough to send you over the edge just yet. Your hands find her hair, pulling hard but she only groans, burying herself deeper between your thighs.

The pressure builds fast, unbearable, your body wound tight and shaking. She feels it, knows it - her fingers dig into your thigh, her pace relentless, refusing to let you escape the edge this time.

”Come on,” She murmurs against you, words muffled by your skin.

Its all too much, you break with a strangled cry, your orgasm hitting like a wave and tearing through you until your legs give. Ellie holds you up, her mouth never leaving you, lapping at everything you give her - greedy and unrelenting until you’re whimpering, oversensitive.

Only then does she finally pull back, smirking as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, “Fuck,” She breathes, eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing that exists, “You taste like heaven,”

You’re still gasping, your body limp against the wall. She stands, crowding into your space again as she kisses you deep - letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

”Ellie-“ You start, but the words dissolve into another desperate kiss, her hand sliding into your hair.

When she finally pulls away, her forehead rests against yours. Her grip is dangerous, satisfied, but there’s something softer underneath.

”You gonna let me take you out again,” She whispers, not as a question but as a promise.