#the plot potential… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

butchsucker · 10 days ago

Text

(1) NEW MESSAGE (or, ellie accidentally sends a picture to abby that has her knocking on her door)

contents: subtop!ellie, dombottom!abby, pussy eating, fingering, strap-on use, abby throwing ellie around, overstim, technically college!au, but i will not pretend like that matters, pretty much just porn.

word count: 5,468

It’s a few minutes shy of midnight when Abby’s phone buzzes on her nightstand. Nothing unusual about that. Her screen lights up with the kind of low glow that usually signals an Instagram reel from Manny or a spam text about winning a cruise she never entered.

But this one stops her thumb mid-scroll. It’s from an unsaved number. That’s the first oddity. The second is that it’s a photo. She frowns, instinctively wary, but taps the notification anyway, thumb sluggish from sleep. The image bursts onto her screen and her breath catches like a fist tightening in her chest.

Her heart stutters, then barrels forward at a sprint. Because she knows that body: lean muscle wrapped in sun-kissed skin, a constellation of freckles she’s glimpsed only in the periphery of locker room glances.

Ellie. Naked from the waist up, her jeans slung low enough to reveal black harness straps sharp against her hips. Her lip caught between her teeth, a casual sort of suggestion in the way one hand rests on her taut stomach like she’s offering something. A sheen of sweat glistens at her collarbone. Post-workout, maybe. There’s a message below the photo, short and utterly incendiary: Thinking about you.

Abby stares. Her pulse beats hard in her ears, drowning out the soft hum of late-night traffic outside her window. It doesn’t make sense. Not in the cosmic, karmic, world-spinning-off-its-axis kind of way.

Ellie Williams—her teammate, her occasional sparring partner in post-practice banter, the girl who’s always two seconds away from a fight (usually with Abby)—sent her this? There’s no reason for it, no context.

They aren’t friends. They barely tolerate each other’s presence, each interaction laced with competitive edge or thinly veiled snark. The only reason they even have each other’s numbers is the team group chat, a necessary evil for coordinating practice schedules and lineup changes. Abby hadn’t thought twice about it. And now she’s staring at a picture that feels like it was meant for someone else. Has to be.

Her brain scrambles for a rational response. Maybe it was an accident. A misfire. Maybe Ellie meant to send it to someone else—a girlfriend, a situationship, whoever her harness-and-sweat selfies are usually reserved for. It’d make more sense.

Thinking about you.

She chews on the inside of her cheek. She could ignore it. Probably should. But then what? Just pretend it never happened? Let Ellie squirm in silence? That doesn’t sit right either. The last thing she wants is for Ellie to feel weird around her—or worse, think she’s made Abby uncomfortable. And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? The thing twisting low in her stomach. Because she isn’t uncomfortable. Not really. If she’s honest, and God help her, she hates being honest with herself about this. She’s…something else.

Ellie doesn’t seem like the type to be embarrassed by something like this, not with the way she carries herself like she’s always in on the joke before it’s even been told. Abby’s overheard enough of her cocky, borderline obscene anecdotes to know modesty isn’t exactly in her vocabulary.

And yet, this feels different. Personal. Intimate in a way that Abby isn’t sure how to categorize. She locks her phone and sets it down face-first, staring up at the ceiling like the plaster might offer answers. But her mind is a hurricane of possibilities, and all of them start with the same unthinkable truth: she’s seen Ellie Williams in a way she never has before and she doesn't want to look away.

Abby doesn’t mean to hit “call.” Not really. Her thumb hovers over the screen for a full five minutes, the photo burned into her retinas. Every rational part of her is screaming to leave it alone, but she can’t. Her thumb moves like it has a mind of its own, and suddenly the phone is ringing. One ring. Two. Three—shit, she’s going to hang up.

What the hell is she even doing? Who calls people about this? She doesn't know the perfect solution, but it can't possibly be this.

And then it clicks.

“Hello?” A voice, rough and cotton-thick with sleep, stretches through the line.

Abby freezes. She’s already halfway to pulling the phone away when Ellie keeps going, her tone flipping quick into mischief like a switchblade flicked open.

“Wow. Didn’t think you’d be calling me back that fast,” Ellie drawls. There’s the distinct sound of bed sheets rustling. “But I'm glad you did. Anderson's been such a hard-ass lately, I could really use the relief.”

Abby scoffs, agitation overriding panic. “Jesus. You’re such a slacker.”

There’s a beat. A pause that splinters at the edges. Then—

“…Wait.” The voice sharpens. “Wait, what the fuck—Anderson?”

And just like that, any softness Abby might’ve brought into this call evaporates like mist under a blowtorch.

“Why the fuck are you on my phone right now?” Ellie all but screeches, the soft, sleepy edge gone from her voice.

Abby pushes herself up from the bed, pacing without realizing it, voice tighter than she means it to be. “You’re the one who interrupted my night, Williams. Why the fuck was I just looking at your tits?”

There’s a pause so long Abby wonders if the call dropped. But no. It’s Ellie, very much still there, very much absorbing what she just said.

Then, low and slow: “…Dude. That is my bad.”

And then Ellie starts laughing. Not a small chuckle, not a little embarrassed giggle but a full-bodied, wheezing, what-the-fuck-is-life laugh, like this is the best goddamn comedy set she’s ever heard in her life. Abby pulls the phone away slightly, eyebrows drawn together, equal parts stunned and offended.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she mutters, but it only makes Ellie laugh harder.

“I just—Oh my God, Anderson,” she gasps between cackles. “You saw that? I sent that to you? Holy shit.”

“You think this is funny?” Abby deadpans.

“It’s hilarious. So...did it get you all hot and bothered?”

“I'm not—” Abby starts, but then shuts her mouth. Because fine. Yes. A little.

“Fuck,” Ellie says again, and Abby can hear the grin in her voice now. “Out of all the people I could’ve accidentally sexted…”

“Lucky me,” Abby says dryly.

“Seriously. You gonna make a formal complaint to Coach? Get me benched for harassment?”

Abby closes her eyes. There’s a headache forming behind her left eye. “No. But maybe you should stop taking thirst traps when you could be practicing.”

“That's cool and all, but it feels like the trap is working.” Ellie hums. “You called me, didn’t you?”

Abby glares at her bedroom wall like it personally wronged her. “I think you have a face that should be punched.”

Ellie laughs again, softer this time. “Come over and punch it then.”

Abby scoffs. "You're ridiculous."

“You should just come over,” Ellie says, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. Like they aren't consistently seconds away from tearing each other to shreds. “I mean, you’re already up. We’ve crossed the threshold of decency at this point.”

Abby snorts. “No fucking way.”

“Why not?” Ellie asks, sing-song. “Too scared?”

Abby lets that hang in the air, refuses to dignify it with an answer. Her silence is all the fuel Ellie needs.

“You’re thinking about it,” she says, voice low and smug. “I can hear it. That little wheel spinning in your big ol’ head—”

“I’m not.”

Ellie chuckles, like she doesn’t believe her for a second. “C’mon. I swear on my life, I fuck good.”

Abby presses the heel of her hand to her forehead and lets out a noise that’s somewhere between frustration and disbelief. “You are so full of yourself.”

“Yeah,” Ellie replies, unapologetic. “And you're still on the phone.”

“Guess I should hang up,” Abby says, but doesn't, unable to resist the pull of their usual back-and-forth.

“Why do you deny yourself heaven? I could change your life.” Her voice dips in a way that’s meant to fluster, and annoyingly, it does.

Abby walks over to the window and yanks the curtain closed, like that’ll help settle her nerves. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You wanna come over,” Ellie teases. “You just don’t wanna admit it. But picture this: my bed, me in my boxers, you sitting all awkward and stiff because you won’t let yourself relax. But when I get my hands on you...you'd melt.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Abby mutters.

“Chicken.”

“I swear to God—”

“Come on, Anderson. What’ve you got to lose?”

“My dignity?”

“Oh, that ship sailed when admitted to staring at my tits.”

Abby grits her teeth, opens her mouth to fire back, then closes it again. A breath. Another.

"I wasn't staring."

Ellie hums, obviously delighted in the way she worms under Abby's skin. "Weren't you, though?"

“…Goodnight, Ellie.”

“Aww, don’t be like—”

Click.

Abby tosses her phone onto the bed and stares at it for a long moment, arms crossed, mouth tight. The silence stretches, comfortable in its own tension.

She should just go to bed.

Abby knocks softly, hoping Ellie doesn’t make a whole thing out of it. Which, in hindsight, is exactly the kind of delusional optimism that led her here in the first place. She’s standing on Ellie’s porch in a pair of gray sweatpants and a black tank top, sports bra underneath because it was closest and clean.

The door swings open and there’s Ellie. Barefoot, boxers low on her hips, legs covered in a few bruises from their last game. She’s wearing a cropped band tee that’s been through one too many dryers and reads “ANARCHY IN THE YOUTH LEAGUE” in cracked red letters across the chest. Her smile is slow and sleep-warmed and smug in a way that makes Abby want to shove her or kiss her, or maybe both.

“Well, well,” Ellie says, one hand braced on the doorframe like she’s in a coming-of-age movie. “Look who showed up anyway.”

Abby rolls her eyes so hard it hurts. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ellie’s grin stretches. “Please let me say I told you so? Because I really want to say it.”

Abby steps forward and pushes her way inside without waiting for permission. “Seriously. Shut up.”

Ellie lets out a low laugh, stepping back, letting the door fall shut behind her. Abby doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t want to give Ellie the satisfaction of seeing her face—because it’s doing something, and she doesn’t even know what. All she knows is that she’s here, and Ellie’s warm, and the air between them is thick enough to slice with a knife.

“Make yourself at home,” Ellie says, voice bright, teasing. “My fuck palace is your fuck palace.”

Abby shoots her a glare over her shoulder. “I hate the idea that you say stuff like that and girls still have sex with you.”

"And yet they do!" Ellie grins wider, like she’s already won. "Exhibit A," she says, motioning towards Abby.

The hall is dim, the only light coming from the warm lamp glow spilling out of Ellie’s room like something half-inviting, half-dangerous. Abby steps in, eyes adjusting, and takes a slow breath before lowering herself to sit on the edge of the bed. Her hands rest on her thighs, fingers flexing.

The mattress gives under her weight, too soft. Too intimate. She feels her heart kicking up again, that old instinct screaming to retreat, to reassert control, to not fall into whatever this is—this mess, this heat, this girl.

Ellie watches her, leaning in the doorway like she’s seen this kind of hesitation before. Like she knows exactly what to do with it. She walks over with all the ease of someone who’s never second-guessed a single goddamn thing in her life, and when she stops between Abby’s knees, that cocky smirk is already blooming. “You’re nervous,” she says, mock-sweet. “That’s adorable.”

Abby scowls. “I’m not nervous.”

Ellie arches a brow. “You sure? Sitting there like you’ve never been in a bedroom before.”

“Shut up,” Abby mutters, but she doesn’t move. Not even when Ellie leans in, palms on either side of her thighs, close enough that Abby can smell her skin, the lazy linger of laundry detergent and sleep. And then Ellie’s kissing her. No hesitation, no question. There is only warm lips and wicked tongue and soft hands tugging her forward by the front of her shirt like she belongs closer.

Abby groans into it, caught off guard by the rush that slams into her chest, that pools hot in her belly. She kisses back harder, tilts her chin, grips Ellie’s hip like she can anchor herself there. But then Ellie pulls back with a breathless little laugh, eyes shining.

“Y'know, Anderson,” she says, smug and breathy. “Didn’t know you were that into me.”

Abby huffs, cheeks flushed. “You’re unbearable.”

Ellie grins. “That's not a very nice way to talk to someone who's about to be fucking you.”

Abby doesn’t bother replying. She stands instead, all tense muscles and simmering heat, and before Ellie can get another word in, Abby grabs her by the waist and lifts just enough to toss her backward onto the bed with a soft oomph. Ellie sprawls across the sheets, laughing as she props herself up on her elbows.

“Well damn,” she says. “And here I thought you'd be all cute and willing. Gonna make me work for it, huh?”

Abby shrugs, nonchalant, even though her heart’s doing parkour in her chest. “Of course.”

Ellie watches her with something greedy in her gaze as Abby reaches for the waistband of her sweats and drags them down her legs in one smooth motion, leaving herself in just her tank and a pair of dark briefs.

She doesn’t miss the way Ellie’s eyes track her every movement, like she’s cataloging everything, like she’s been waiting for this moment with an aching kind of patience. She's sitting fully up now, legs criss-crossed. Abby climbs onto the bed, slow and heavy, not yet sure if she's down to surrender.

They’re barely settled before the next argument sparks — natural, inevitable.

“Lie down,” Abby says, nudging Ellie’s hip.

“You lie down,” Ellie counters, shifting her weight just to be stubborn.

Abby gives her a look. “Why would I—?”

“Because I’m trying to eat you out, dumbass.”

Abby’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

Ellie grins, teeth sharp in the low light. “What? You want your pussy ate or not?”

Abby groans and drops her head back against the pillow. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

But she lays back anyway.

Because she does, in fact, want that.

Ellie’s hands are warm on Abby’s thighs, fingers spread wide, thumbs brushing along the inside like she’s mapping out every inch. Abby's breath hitches without her permission, chest rising and falling with a rhythm that’s already offbeat.

Abby watches shamelessly as Ellie drapes herself between her legs like it’s her natural habitat. And maybe it is. Maybe this is where Ellie Williams thrives: with her face buried between a girl’s thighs.

“You can relax, you know,” Ellie murmurs, mouth grazing the inside of Abby’s knee, voice all soft provocation. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“You actually haven't stopped touching me,” Abby grumbles, breath catching again as Ellie presses a lingering kiss higher.

“You know what I mean,” Ellie says, smiling against her skin.

She doesn’t rush. She works slowly, like she wants to savor it, like she’s giving Abby every opportunity to bail. Eventually her thumbs hook under the waistband of Abby’s briefs, and she glances up.

“Good?”

Abby grits her teeth and nods once. “Hurry up.”

“Bossy,” Ellie mutters, but she's grinning. She peels the briefs down slowly, watches the way Abby shifts, how her breath gets shakier with each inch of skin exposed. Then Ellie tosses them somewhere off the bed and lowers herself fully, shoulders braced under Abby’s thighs.

The first swipe of her tongue is gentle, exploratory. Just a taste. But it’s enough to make Abby jolt, her spine arching slightly off the mattress as a low sound escapes her throat. Ellie hums, pleased, and licks again. And again. Until Abby’s head falls back and her hand finds the sheets, twisting them tight around her fingers.

Ellie’s mouth is warm, steady, methodical. She kisses and sucks like she’s trying to prove something. She's always trying to prove something. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and Abby, for all her pride and restraint, can’t fucking hide it.

Her breathing grows uneven, soft curses slipping through clenched teeth. Her thighs twitch under Ellie’s grip, and when Ellie slips her tongue a little deeper, curling it just right, Abby moans. Low and sharp, involuntary.

Ellie pulls back just slightly, lips slick and smug. “That was a very pretty noise.”

Abby exhales hard through her nose, scowling up at the ceiling. “Keep going or I’m going to wring your neck.”

“You could say please,” Ellie teases, already dragging her tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe back up. She pauses just before reaching her again, hovering like she's waiting.

Abby lets out a sharp, frustrated noise and lifts her head just enough to shoot her a glare. “Ellie.”

“God, I love when you say my name like that.” Her voice drops, thick with satisfaction, and then—without warning—she sinks two fingers into Abby, slow but certain. Abby gasps, the sound raw and sharp, catching in her throat like it surprised even her.

Ellie kisses just above her clit, then settles back in without preamble—tongue and fingers working in tandem, slow and deep and mercilessly steady. Abby’s hips begin to rock into her mouth, chasing every inch of contact, every spark of friction. There’s no shame in it anymore. No hesitation. Just need.

Her breathing goes uneven, then ragged soft, broken sounds pouring out of her, interspersed with the occasional gasp whenever Ellie changes her angle or pressure. It’s good, so good, but it’s not enough.

Ellie knows that. Of course she does.

She keeps slowing down just as Abby teeters close to the edge, pulling back with a deliberate drag of her tongue or easing the pressure of her fingers by the smallest, most maddening degree. Abby doesn’t even have to look to know Ellie’s smiling—smirking—because every time she forces another frustrated sound out of her, it only feeds her.

“Stop fucking around,” Abby growls, reaching down and fisting a hand in Ellie’s hair to tug her up. The sudden movement earns her a surprised little sound, and that smug grin still lingers at the corners of Ellie’s mouth.

“I’m gonna go home. Swear to god.”

Ellie just laughs, soft and low, her eyes half-lidded with heat. “No, you’re not.” She drops her gaze again, presses a kiss to the inside of Abby’s thigh, then ghosts her lips over her clit so lightly it’s more suggestion than touch. When her eyes lift again, they’re molten. “You know, I still haven’t heard you say please.”

Abby doesn’t respond. Instead, she tightens her thighs around Ellie’s shoulders, hooks her legs underneath to trap her, and flips them in one smooth motion. Ellie lets out an indignant squeak, cut off by a breathless laugh as she lands flat on her back.

Abby keeps her pinned, thighs pressing firm against Ellie’s arms, holding her exactly where she wants her. She leans forward, panting, flushed, hovering above Ellie’s face.

“This okay?” she asks, voice low and shaken but sure.

Ellie looks up at her with wide, wild eyes, pupils blown and mouth parted in awe. Her breath stutters before she grins and nods almost frantically.

“Shit. You’re so fucking hot.”

Abby watches that look in Ellie’s eyes shifts from want into hunger, pupils dilating so wide they nearly swallow the green. And then, without breaking her gaze, she sinks down.

Ellie moans into it, the sound muffled and desperate. Her arms twitch, instinctively trying to rise, to reach for Abby’s hips, her thighs, anything. But they’re still pinned by the weight of Abby’s legs, useless. Trapped.

Her hands flex against the sheets in frustration.

Abby hums, low and almost sympathetic. “No,” she says, steady, breath catching just slightly as she adjusts her weight and rolls her hips down more firmly. “You don’t get to touch.”

Ellie groans, straining again, her fingers curling like she could will them free. She tries to speak, but Abby just tightens her hold and cuts her off with a slow grind of her hips, smearing slick across Ellie’s mouth, her chin, her nose.

“You had your chance,” Abby says, voice thinner now, a little frayed around the edges. “You fucked around.”

She drags herself forward, slow and deliberate, rides Ellie’s face from tongue to chin to nose, then back again, chasing the contact, the edge, the pressure.

Ellie’s tongue is relentless, mouth open wide, licking and sucking like she’s starved. Her eyes roll and flutter shut, hands still pinned, but she arches up as much as she can beneath Abby’s weight, chasing every movement like it might be the last.

Abby starts panting harder, rhythm faltering as sensation builds, her thighs trembling where they cage Ellie’s head. Her hands grip the headboard behind Ellie for leverage, knuckles white, arms shaking.

“God—fuck, just—” she gasps, jaw slack, hips stuttering forward with less control now, mouth open but too overwhelmed to keep speaking.

Ellie groans into her again, deep and guttural, and that’s all it takes.

Abby comes hard, legs seizing around her, riding through it with long, grinding rolls, burying Ellie in her until her whole body starts to go soft, boneless and spent. She keeps going until it’s too much—until she finally lets herself lift up, barely, and shifts to the side, chest heaving, heart pounding in her ears.

For a long second, neither of them moves. Just the sound of their breathing in the dim room.

Ellie eventually makes a strangled little noise—half whimper, half laughter. “Come here,” she says, pulling Abby in by the back of her head. She slots their mouths together, kisses her sloppy and uncoordinated.

Abby laughs softly into her mouth, grips her by the chin to hold her steady and deepens the kiss. She bites at Ellie's lip, revels in the little gasp that pulls from her.

"So, about that life-changing fucking?" Abby asks, rubbing her hands along Ellie's side.

Ellie grins against Abby’s mouth, eyes glittering with something sharp and dangerous. She pulls away with a final nip to Abby’s bottom lip, then rolls off the bed in one smooth motion. Abby watches her move, lazy and sated but buzzing just under the surface with anticipation.

Ellie digs through the top drawer of her dresser with the kind of frantic determination that makes Abby smile to herself, even as her thighs twitch from exertion.

“Get on your hands and knees,” Ellie says, voice thick and a little rough around the edges as she straps in.

Abby arches an eyebrow but moves anyway, slow and deliberate, turning and sinking onto her elbows before lifting herself up onto all fours. Her ass tilts back instinctively, back curved with just enough invitation. “Okay,” she says, soft but not shy, a little amused. “You can have this one.”

She doesn’t say she wants it too. Ellie already knows anyway.

Ellie returns to the bed, kneels behind her, and runs her hands over the backs of Abby’s thighs, up to the swell of her ass. Abby shivers. Then Ellie grabs the base and drags the tip slowly through her folds—slick and ready, teasing without comment.

Abby exhales sharply, pushes back a little without thinking.

And then Ellie’s lining up and sinking in, slow and deep and steady. Abby’s head dips between her shoulders, a long breath spilling out of her mouth as she takes it. It’s thick, the stretch just enough to burn, and Ellie gives her every inch with maddening control.

She pulls all the way out, until just the head stays hooked inside, then thrusts back in with a groan.

Again. And again.

Abby starts meeting her halfway, slamming her hips back with precise force, the wet clap of contact echoing obscenely in the room. Every time Ellie pulls out, Abby follows, chasing the drag and the heat and the friction.

“Fuck, Abby,” Ellie pants, her voice barely holding together. “That’s it. Just like that. You're—shit—you’re so fucking good at this.”

Her pace begins to stutter. She still pulls all the way out each time, but now she drives back in faster, deeper, each thrust more desperate than the last. Abby keeps up, refuses to be passive, her ass bouncing back with a rhythm that leaves Ellie gasping.

“God, you feel...fuck...you feel so good around me.”

Abby hears it in her voice, that telltale tremble, and grins despite herself.

“Oh my god,” she laughs breathlessly, “you’re about to come already, aren’t you?”

Ellie lets out a strangled noise and tries to slow her hips, to pull herself back from the edge, but Abby can feel the twitch in her rhythm, the way her hands scrabble at her waist now like she needs to hold on or she’ll fall apart.

“So much for life-changing,” Abby teases.

Ellie keens. “Shut up, I—god, it’s your fault. You’re so—fuck, you’re too hot, taking it too good—”

The praise goes straight through her. Abby makes a sound dangerously close to a giggle, a new wave of arousal soaking her thighs.

“Yeah?” she says. “Then keep fucking me. I don’t care if you come. Don’t care if you’re sensitive. You better not fucking stop.”

Ellie sobs something incoherent and tries. She really tries.

But she only manages a few more thrusts before she’s coming, hips jerking out of rhythm, her moan muffled against Abby’s shoulder as she collapses forward, arms trembling with the effort to keep moving.

Abby doesn’t let her rest. She reaches back, grips Ellie by the thigh, and starts grinding back against her with purpose.

“You’re not done,” she growls. “Come on, babe. Give me more.”

Ellie whimpers but obeys, her whole body shaking as she starts moving again—slower, uneven now, her hips stuttering with overstimulation, but she doesn’t stop.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Abby pants. “Good girl. Just like that.”

Ellie’s a mess—sweat-damp and flushed, brow furrowed like she’s on the edge of breaking.

Eventually Abby takes pity on her.

She pushes Ellie down onto her back, straddles her, and sinks back onto the strap in one smooth movement. Ellie moans so loud it breaks into a sob, arms flung out above her as Abby starts to ride.

There’s no teasing now. No pretense. Abby fucks herself on Ellie’s cock with single-minded focus, her rhythm relentless, using her like a toy like a gift. She chases her own pleasure with a growing hunger, her pace building and building until it crests into something loud and breathtaking and final.

She falls apart with a cry, shuddering and grinding down until it’s too much, everything gone electric and raw beneath her skin.

Ellie can only lie there, stunned, dazed, her chest heaving as Abby finally slumps forward, kisses pressed soft into her neck.

“My bad for thinking I could keep up with you,” Ellie mutters, still catching her breath. “You’re a fucking animal, Anderson.”

“Maybe you’d be able to keep up if you stopped skipping practice,” Abby says, voice worn but smug. She pulls back just far enough to meet Ellie’s eyes, grinning. “And wasted less energy trying to start fights with me.”

“What can I say? I like it when you get angry.” Ellie shrugs beneath her, the movement lazy and loose. “I also like that I’m the only one who can get you there. Takes me on a real power trip.”

Abby rolls her eyes. “There’s definitely something very wrong with you.”

That punches a laugh out of Ellie—quiet and bright and completely unguarded. “You’re the one trying to lecture me while I’m still inside you.”

Abby snorts and slowly eases off of her, limbs wobbly. “Not my fault you’re too slow to pull out.”

“Rude,” Ellie mutters, but she’s still grinning, stretching her arms up over her head like a cat, then watching Abby from beneath her lashes.

“Hey,” she says, quieter this time, still a little breathless. “We gonna do this again?”

Abby glances over her shoulder, already halfway to the bathroom, and raises an eyebrow. “You mean the part where I throw you around or the part where I do everything myself while you whine?”

Ellie grabs a pillow and throws it at her—it misses by a mile.

Abby catches it anyway, tucks it under her arm, and softens just a little. “Yeah,” she says, quieter. “We are.”

Ellie’s smile goes crooked—pleased but almost surprised—and she sits up, stretching again before starting to clean herself up. “Cool,” she says, trying not to sound too eager as she pulls off the harness and grabs a towel. “You wanna stay the night?”

Abby looks over at her, eyes narrowed like she’s trying to decide if it’s a trap. But there’s something easy in Ellie’s face now. Open. Undemanding.

“Yeah,” Abby says again, after a beat. “I’ll stay.”

Ellie doesn’t wait. The second Abby slides back into bed, Ellie is on her, dragging her into a tangle of limbs and blankets, pressing her face into the crook of Abby’s neck like she’s been waiting all night for the excuse.

Abby lets herself be pulled in, arms wrapping around Ellie’s waist, their legs knotting together under the covers.

The room falls quiet except for the slowing cadence of their breathing. Ellie relaxes all at once, like a thread’s been cut, and Abby feels it in the way her muscles go slack against her, the way her fingers curl into Abby’s side just once before going still.

It doesn’t take long before they’re both asleep like that—tangled up, held close, warm.

The morning light cuts a soft, golden slant across the room, and Abby moves through it quietly, careful not to wake Ellie as she pulls her shirt back over her head. Her pants are found somewhere at the foot of the bed, so she grabs those next, hopping on one foot as she slides them on, grimacing when her ankle nearly catches on the hem.

The bed shifts behind her, the blankets rustling.

“Where you goin’?” Ellie’s voice is thick with sleep, scratchy and half-muffled by the pillow.

Abby turns just enough to glance at her over her shoulder. Ellie’s still sprawled where she left her, tangled in the sheets like a shipwreck victim, hair a wild halo around her head. One eye open. Barely.

“I’ve got class,” Abby says, voice low. “Shouldn’t even be up this late, honestly.”

Ellie stretches one arm out, palm open. “Just five more minutes.”

Abby rolls her eyes but crosses back to the bed anyway, bending to press a kiss to Ellie’s forehead. Ellie tries to catch her by the back of the neck, dragging her in for a proper kiss, but Abby dodges it, pulling away with a smirk.

“You’re evil,” Ellie grumbles, reaching again, a little more persistent.

Abby leans in just enough to let their lips brush, then pulls back before it can deepen. "You're surprisingly domesticated."

Ellie lets out a wounded little whine that punches straight through Abby’s chest.

“Don’t do that,” she murmurs, eyes flicking over Ellie’s face. “You’re gonna make me skip.”

“So?” Ellie mutters, curling deeper into the blankets. “You already know I’m worth it.”

Abby snorts but can’t help the soft little smile that tugs at her mouth. “Idiot,” she says under her breath as she grabs her bag and makes for the door.

She slips out quietly, pulling the door shut behind her, and heads for the front entrance. But as she crosses the living room and nears the kitchen, she hears her name.

“Abby?”

She freezes mid-step.

There, standing in the kitchen with a mug of coffee and a single raised eyebrow, is Dina.

Abby goes pink immediately.

“Hey, Captain,” Dina says with a smirk, leaning against the counter like she’s been waiting. “What are you doing sneaking out of my house?”

Abby flounders. “I...I wasn’t sneaking. I was just—uh, Ellie said I could crash—”

Dina sips her coffee with the air of someone watching a really good show.

“We were hanging out,” Abby blurts. “Studying. I mean, we had to study. Ellie had to study and I was helping her...study, that is.”

Dina nods solemnly. “Right. Studying. At one a.m.”

“I—” Abby makes a noise like a laugh, then huffs out a sigh. “You’re gonna make this weird, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” Dina says sweetly. “You’re doing a great job all on your own.”

Abby groans and starts edging toward the door. “Bye, Dina.”