Ellie Again?????? Yeah

now i know if y'all can read smut all day like you get paid for it, you can take the time to read and inform yourself about the genocide that's going on. it literally does not hurt at all to repost and speak up about it. you don't have to have the money to donate but don't stay silent about it???? just because it's not personally affecting you doesn't mean it's not affecting others. it's kind of bothering me to see mutuals actively ignoring what's going on. i don't wanna tell people what to do with their own accounts but you have the power to bring awareness to what's going on and you choose not to.

angel i fear you never miss

Jealous. 🎀

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

cw: mean dom!ellie sub!reader, jealous kinda toxic ellie, eating it through the panties, orgasm denial, spit play (literally spits down ur panties like), exhibitionism, some dude named michael.

an: pls be gentle, i haven’t written in a long time! 💗 credit to angel gbc for the mod used in the picture above <3

something we can all agree on is the importance of aftercare — right?

Ellie is big on that obviously, as she should. Caressing her slim fingers down your body, planting wanton kisses on your shoulders, running her palms across your shaky thighs, whispering words of encouragement in your ear;

“Did so good for me, babe”

“I love you, so much”

“Need anything? hm?” She’d murmur against your skin whilst cradling your body from behind.

And she always insists on cleaning you up. She consistently renders you nothing but an achy mess, dried up juices staining your wobbly jelly thighs, combined sweat on your breasts and ribs, back of your neck. The ritual of bringing a wet towel to bed, swiping it’s fabric across your inner thighs, your face, your behind — is a sacred one for her. Not solely because she loves hearing your sweet, exhausted sighs of relief as she cleans the soil away, but also not solely because she gets to see your naked body in all of its glory again.

It’s the act of taking care of what’s hers. In a way, when she wipes your cum away, she’s taking care of herself — too.

Here, lays a solid proof that she can break things apart and put them back together again. She’s not a total fucking fuckup.

The ability of making you scream and cry, then moments later have you whisper in that saccharine voice of yours an airy “love you s’much, Els…”

It’s fucking exhilarating.

She loves it every time, she does it every time.

But today… today you pissed her off. You poked the bear, for real this time.

There’s this new Michael guy in Jackson. He’s handsome, tall, has coal black curls that somehow stay soft and shiny even in this apocalyptic hellscape. He told Ellie and you where he was from, what he did, why he came. Ellie didn’t listen to a thing he was saying. It was like he turned into a fly and started loudly buzzing in her ear. He kept looking at you weird. Smiling at you, smirking, laughing at your jokes, even the ones that weren’t all that funny. She knows you have this affect on people, that damn charm, hell — you have this affect on her.

And she’s usually just playfully jealous, manages to keep it relatively tame and simple by tightening her grip on your waist.

But you just wouldn’t stop bringing him up. “Michael” this, and “Michael” that, “Michael invited us for dinner”, “Michael said this funny thing earlier”,

For all Ellie knows Michael could die in a ditch and she wouldn’t give a fuck.

You're on your way back home from the Tipsy Bison on a chilly Thursday night. Jesse was there, Dina, Maria... and Michael. She thinks of his name and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, tart, pungent.

"Meh, I'm more of a Tequila girl, Whiskey tastes like shit" you announced with a giggle. Michael rested his hand on your thigh, and agreed with a nod and a chuckle. For you, it meant nothing.

For Ellie, it meant everything.

Her blood pressure was usually low, steady, healthy as a bull. As of now, Ellie felt like she just ran a marathon. The blood rushed to her head and her brows furrowed without intention. She cracks her neck and moves it left and right, takes a long and burning sip out of her Whiskey and shuts her eyes. She repeats a mantra in her head; "I'm not angry, I'm not angry, It's fine."

But you're so damn intuitive.

"Els? y'tired?" you murmur towards your auburnette girlfriend. She suckles on her bottom lip and considers saying no, but she lies.

"Exhausted"

You leave the humble bar hand in hand, wrapped up in her big coat that smells of mint and wood and Ellie. She prays you won't mention his name, prays you could just go home and forget about this whole thing, but you do, innocently.

"Oh, Michael said one of the horses is sick, I'm thinking of helping out in the barn tomorrow an—"

She stops you mid sentence with a scoff and a tightening grip on your hand. "Oh, mhm, Michael said that?"

Her voice mocks your own a little.

You stop and shift your gaze towards Ellie who has her lips tucked in a tight line. Internally, she's cussing herself out. You don't deserve her anger, but she can't help herself. Your answer is an unsure hum. Her grip tightens even more, and it hurts your palm but you keep on walking side by side, quietly. Five minutes manage to pass with no words being muttered by no one. That's until she shakes her head and lets go of a husky chuckle.

"Did I do something?", you mutter doe eyed. Ellie stops in her tracks and inhales. She grabs you by your waist and walks towards you, making you have to clumsily pace backwards until your back meets a cold grey brick wall with a resounding thud. "Uhg!" You hiccup, breath catching down your throat. You even sweetly giggle, thinking in your head that this could possibly be just a sweet attack of PDA.

But her eyes are dark, gone from emerald to pine, pupils pitch black as big as a button. Her warm whiskey breath meets your nose and your top lip, you gulp. Why isn't she laughing? teasing?

"El?" your voice is still candied, always. Ellies mouth is agape, scarred eyebrows scrunched and furrowed as if she's confused, or pissed, or provoked. Her forehead meets yours so automatically, you attempt to connect your lips with a kiss but she backs away meanly. Albeit her taunting position, how intimidating and truly scary she looks whilst you're caged within her frame, your'e still smiling, you're still thinking she's just teasing.

You're not used to this, she knows, but god knows she yearns to teach you a lesson.

You don't fuck with what's hers.

She licks her bottom lip before she starts speaking.

"Take off your skirt"

Her voice nearly renders you drunk, It's huskiness, gruffness, it's depth, and really, you've only had one shot. Your cheeks heat up and your ears feel as if they're nearly burning. Her lips are so damn close to yours and she still won't let you kiss her.

"Wh... we're in public, we can't—" you stutter, eyes shifting downwards towards the knee she has shoved near your barely covered crotch. When she brings it upwards just to brush delicately on your inner thigh, you let go of a small gasp.

She responds to your gasp with a barely audible "Mhm?", her eyes sharpening with intent.

"Yes we can", she tsk's, and her voice taunts. Her eyes graze over your face, and you expect her next sentence to bite like the last one did, but her voice goes softer. "For me?", she cocks her head to the side.

And it simply pushes you over the edge.

You peel your skirt off of your body, asscheeks plastered over the brick wall as her body squeezes you further back, and you're left half naked with a piece of fabric scrunched below your knees, resting on your shoes. She eyes your body up and down, meeting your pleading and still confused eyes — and for a moment, thinks of just carrying you home and taking care of business once you get there. No jealousy, none of that.

But it's still bitter down her throat, and she can still picture his disgusting hand meeting your soft thigh, her soft thigh — as your body is hers, so that thought is ever so fleeting. It's either now or now.

Her cold as ice finger traces faint circles on your lower tummy, making the fine hairs of your body rise like soldiers. You whimper quietly as her finger snaps the elastic band of your panties and lets it smack down your pelvis. You rub your thighs together, but you're ever so pliant as she makes your legs spread wide with a boot covered foot opening up your calves like a gate.

She whispers in your ear. "Are you wet?", it makes you shiver.

"M'cold" you whine.

She scoffs.

She kneads your bra cup with her palm, squeezing an erect nipple with her thumb and middle finger. "Didn't ask that"

Her eyes meet your gaze and again she reconsiders this whole thing — because you truly look so needy, and your lips are so pouty and sweet and red with cold, you look as if you'd die if she didn't kiss you right now so how can she even be worried, let alone be jealous?

She knows how much you love her, how much you yearn for nobody but her, how her touch leaves you speechless time and time again.

But it's like something takes over, a dark figure, a figure that's thirsty and starving and wants to prove a thing it already knows.

It's an internal struggle, she doesn't want to be possessive,

She can't help it.

Your panties are striped with pink and white, and she looks at them as if they're the most expensive lace in the whole entire world. Her breathing gets heavier as she curls her fingers inside the cotton fabric, pupils darkening when she notices a sweet clear string of your arousal clinging from the entrance of your cunt to the bottom of your underwear.

She chuckles, followed by a sigh of relief that you notice. You are wet, right in the middle of the street where an innocent soul could catch you at any given moment. "Didn't answer cause you're shy?" She knows you so well. You bite your lip and nod, butterflies fighting in the pits of your stomach. A chaste kiss on the lips is all you get from her, and you deeply whine into the air. "At least kiss me!" you beg, — god, you're so cute when you're pissed.

Before landing on her knees, Ellie looks from side to side in order to check that there's truly nobody around, and no — not because she's scared to get caught, but because she'd die before she let someone see her girlfriend half naked with her skirt down her thighs.

Ellie is face to face with your quivering, pantie covered cunt. A wet patch greets her — a fuckin' pleasure, one she can't help but swipe her tongue across. Your choked up, terrified sound of a moan is a symphony to her hears, fuck Mozart. Her eager muscle of a tongue is so warm against your pussy you nearly forget it started snowing yesterday.

You buck your hips inwards, she groans. "No moving", she warns — simply to assert a dominance that has already been asserted. She kisses your little clit, coo's at the way it slightly pokes out of the fabric, erect and pumping on her tongue. "Ellie... Ellie... Ellie", you babble like a prayer, which she nods to. "S'my name, that's fuckin' right", she groans as her husky voice is muffled by your soaked panties.

"Ellie..." you repeat, thighs beginning to ache as you try and spread them further apart, almost sitting on her face.

Ellie, not Michael.

She smiles, greedy, triumphant.

She flicks her tongue on your clit, once, twice, three times before biting on your meaty pussy lips. You bite your knuckles in order to keep your voice down, but she glares up at you. "Do that again n'I swear to god I'm stopping" she growls.

You're not used to this side of her at all, but her voice makes your hole leak a small stream from deep inside. She feels it's wetness on her tongue, eyes closing in ecstasy as she audibly suckles your sweet, tangy, heavenly juices from the now sheer fabric. Her own spit runs down her chin, she doesn't even bother to wipe it off. All you can hear are your breathy, whiney moans, tiny begs of "take 'em off, please", regarding your panties, and Ellie's throaty groans. You're so wet from your own juices and her saliva it nearly gets uncomfortable, but then again you're so goddamn close to cumming.

You try taking matters to your own hands, attempting to peel off your panties from your waist with a shaky hand but she snarls and slaps your wrist away.

"Nuh uh, pussy's fuckin' mine, don't touch it"

With relentless sucking on your drenched clit, and soiled panties, she opens her eyes to merely glare at you again with a warning look. "When you're close, you let me know" she bites.

You don't respond.

A stinging slap meets your pussy, which makes your thighs shake, whole body jolt, and throat ache with a high pitched yelp.

"You're not listening" Ellie warns.

"You listen when I talk" she warns again. Her tongue meets your clit and it pushes it further and further up. You shake, eyesight gone blurry, you're close, you know it by the way the coil down your stomach threatens to snap, and by the way it tickles down there so damn bad.

"M'close" you brokenly wail.

She grunts deeply and stops completely. your heart nearly breaks, no no no no no. "Ellie, Ellie, Els, no!" You try and buck your hips forward but she holds you in place with an iron like grip. You buck them again and she peels off the fabric of your underwear, slightly rising up as she stares inside at the mess she made of you. There's a devilish smirk that creeps up from her lips, apple of one cheek rising. You let out a sigh of relief, thinking that perhaps she'll actually fucking eat you out properly instead of letting you suffer inside a warm, wet material of a mess that truly doesn't look like something wearable anymore. Instead, she audibly spits inside with a "Ptu'", letting the band snap shut. Her saliva mixes with your warm sleek. You're so confused she nearly feels bad, but she's such a cunt that she really doesn't.

"Were going back inside," she murmurs so casually as if she didn't just fuck you up in the middle of the street, as if her chin isn't shiny with your precum. "N'if Michael puts his hand on you again, I'm eating it in front of him"

PEDRO PASCAL For the Observer (2016)

URGENT HELP SAVE THE LIFE OF MY CHILD

Dear humanity,

Please Help Me – My Son May Die at Any Moment.

I'm Amal from Gaza. 🍉

Here’s my story, and I’m reaching out with a hopeful heart 💔✨, hoping someone will feel what my family and I are going through.

My son is suffering from a severe and life-threatening injury after being shot by Israeli drones. He urgently needs medical treatment outside Gaza.

I beg you, i kiss your feet, to help my son. My son may die at any moment

I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my son too 🥺 .

Please Donate now:👇👇 👇

https://gofund.me/305028dd

Thank you for your compassion and kindness

25#free_palestine 🍉🇵🇸

this blog stands with palestine and if you don’t you can get the fuck out. what israel is doing is genocide and i will not tolerate anyone who supports it.

⠀ ⠀ 𝒢𝒪𝒮𝒮𝒜ℳℰℛ 𝒟ℛℰ𝒜ℳ𝒮 .ᐟ

꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ 20.1k word count ( . . . yeah ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა ) , fem reader [ she / her prnz ] , soulmate au , reader is hyperfem ! ! ! , she wears dresses n bows n skirts , traveler ellie , kinda mean ellie , age gap [ not rllie . . but rllie . . but Not rllie . . you’ll understand ] , nonhuman reader :3 [ she’s not a monster ] , mention of family death , dom + sub dynamics , pouty reader , pet name usage [ ex. angel, babe, baby, mama, little girl ] , strap on usage , thigh riding , oral sex [ r. + e. receiving ] , ass eating ! [ r. receiving ] , ellie has a broken limb for half of the fic , impact play , lots of praise , vvv minor degradation , overstimulation , fingering , lots of cum , ellie is also taller + bigger than you in dis fic . don’t care how tall or big u may be .

belladonna's note to you .ᐟ . . . another loooonnggg one :3 but but but ! ! i had lotzzzz of fun w writin dis one . i’ve never written smthg kind of like . . mystical-y ? fantasy-ish so . . i tink dis will b one of da bbiez i hold close to mi heart ): here u are ! ! have fun < 3333 Minors / Ageless Blogs Do Not Touch !

“ if you came to me with a face i have not seen with a voice i have never heard, i would still know you. even if centuries separated us, i would still feel you. somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and i. when we leave this world, we give up all our possessions and our memories. love is the only thing we take with us. it is all we carry from one life to the next. “ — lang leav 

the delicate flares of the moon’s light squeezes through ragged, sharp branches and brushwood to shine a pale gleam onto the muddied face of a girl. 

she pants — breathes hard chuffs of air that pitches into a wheeze on the inhales upon her delicately touching a bleeding wound that’s stretches vertically about four inches down the bars of her rib cage. heavily, the soles of her dirt caked boots drag through jillions of dried leaves and twigs. she walks with a heavy limp — essentially hauling her right leg behind herself as if it had been a lone sack of spuds.

it’s cold tonight. 

air feels in such a way that it’s biting — gnawing frosted, angry fangs through the thick corduroy of her jacket and bottoms to dig in deep within the cushion of her flesh. she shivers, she aches, she groans. 

the eventide seems to drag . . . it’s as though the more she focused on the stinging, whetted pain of the gash oozing out precious, fine rivers of cardinal plasma, the longer the night had continued to fall — darkening the forest around her, chiseling thick tree bark into silhouettes of wading bodies, sprigs into sharpened knives, and the water of shallow riverbeds into blood. 

ellie wheezes once more, watching the world tip on its axis for a moment . . slowly turning on its side, sending her slanting with it. her hand slams against the jagged surface of a tree stock as she pauses and breathes, attempting her best to relax, to think, to stay alert as her other palm weighs down upon her injury. blood seeps through the rifts of her nimble fingers — warm, thick, seemingly never ending. 

she releases a trembling sigh through the delves of her nose, looking out towards the earth spread out before her underneath the short, thick feathers of her lashes. it’s nothing but a thicket of woodland and bushes. she fights to ignore that unremitting feeling of anxiety eating away at the muscle of her heart — sending the organ on a hurried frenzy that also alerts her brain of the fact that,  ‘ you could be stuck in here for the rest of your life. ‘

she’d rather fucking die.

through the blurry border of her vision, albeit, she notices a glow. 

nothing too bright, nonetheless, a softened radiance enveloped around the outline of a person . . another human being about fifteen yards away. 

the dull blades of her nails eat through the bark of the tree as she squints her eyes a bit tighter, fighting to determine if the figure had been real or a simple hallucinated byproduct of too much blood loss. 

furthermore, posthaste, a gentle, resounding giggle floats inside the tunnels of ellie’s ears. 

“wha . . .” she swallows a pained gulp to moisten her dry mouth, watching the gleaming contour pick up the edges of her ankle length dress by the fabric at her thighs and begin to skip away. it moves slowly — as if a sailboat wafting upon rocky shores — buoyant and gliding. “w-wait,” ellie gives a shaky step. her vision seems to blacken for a twinkling before it returns once more. the figure seems further away now. “fuck, wait.”

it isn’t like ellie to beg for help. she doesn’t know why she decides to ask for it tonight, even so, she feels as though she can’t stop herself from following the girl in front of her. 

leaden legs propel her forward. ellie feels as if she’s running, yet she’s not getting any closer. her hands reach out for the rough barks on either side of her, using them to thrust herself onward, more quickly. 

she hears a giggle again — a sweet, melodious thing that echos in her ears and spells her limbs into nothing but heavy casts of molten honey. 

“you have the sweetest soul i’ve ever seen.”

ominously, the voice begins to sing, quiet and prettily — tone sweeter than the syrupy saccharine of a honeysuckle, “have you ever loved a rose, and watched her slowly bloom; and as her petals would unfold, you grew drunk on her perfume . . .”

her voice is everywhere — sounding as if it had been amplified from the skies down into ellie’s ears. 

she’s gasping for breath, fighting to move faster. harsh winds rush by and her feet sink into pulpy, sodden beds of running streams. 

“have you ever seen her dance, her leaves all wet with dew; and quivered with a new romance — the wind, she loved her too.”

she’s getting closer. the luminous frame only about four yards away now. upon a closer view, ellie realizes that it isn’t the consequence of too much blood loss sending her tired mind into a running swirl of delusion, nor simply her imagination. no, the girl running — coasting in front of her is glowing. 

a brilliant blaze of cool white exudes from her pores, glaring softly against the shrubbery around her, igniting the forest. 

“have you ever longed for her, on nights that go on and on; for now, her face is all a blur, like a memory kept too long.”

ellie feels herself slowing. 

her throat and lungs burn with the inhales of frigid airs and no longer can she ignore the pain of her injury. she reaches out her hand, forcing her way through the exhaust for a wink longer. 

“have you, ellie?”

at the exact same moment the tip of her finger drifts along a curl — finer than woven gold, softer than satin — her next step is misplaced. 

what was supposed to be ground underneath her is gusting air. ellie doesn’t have the energy to scream when she feels her body plunge down into the pull of gravity, within the darkness over a cliff.

glooming murk is what surrounds ellie’s vision when she opens her eyes. 

no. 

never mind that. 

golden rays of warm sunshine is the first thing she sees upon finally welding up enough resolve to truly open them. 

she stares at the streaks for a while, mind blank, eyes hazed over. fine particles of dust make themselves known as they drift and float within the beams glowing in through a low window that had been bordered by twisting vines. 

“oh, goodie!” she hears. “you’re up.”

she’s supposed to be dead. 

she plunged off of the peak of a thirty foot high cliff . . . she’s supposed to be gone.

and yet, she smells sweet yeast and hears the sound of a pot with water bubbling over and the voice of a girl. ellie flits her tired eyes over to her left, revealing her aching body laid sprawled over a burgundy, leather loveseat. her leg, the right one, has a thick plank of wood beneath it with pieces of fabric knotted firmly around the base of her knee down her shin to her ankle to hold it into place. 

the gash along her rib cage is patched up, fragrant of strong pharmaceuticals that seep into the air underneath the plaster. 

ellie exhales a slow, soft breath and palms her temple. her brain feels as though it’s hammering against the bounds of her skull. 

“hi.”

you make yourself known. 

you round the couch with your hands behind your back and an enchanting, little smile on your face as you stand before ellie. “you took quite a nasty fall.”

ellie can only stare at you for so long prior to her beginning to realize that she had been coming off a little rude. she notices your hair first — long . . so fucking long, stopping near midway of your shins in fine rivulets that do little to hide the pointed peaks of your ears that protrude out from the sides of your head. 

and she tries to look away from you, she really, fucking does however, she can’t. each time her eyes attempt to shift away, they only seem to gravitate back up into yours and there’s this certain way how your smile lessens into a mere smirk . . . as though you’re aware of her strain and struggle that makes ellie’s heartbeat grow irregular. 

“. . what are you?”

your brows furrow as you glance up into the air, as if trying to recall something, prior to you clicking your tongue and rocking up on the toes of your feet to put yourself back into motion once more. “i found you at the bottom of a cliff,” you tell her, voice sounding as though tiny tinklings of bells resided in the back of your throat, sending each word out pass the divot of your tongue into a harmony. “leg was broken — bone jutted out from your skin and all . . hmph,” you give a firm pout and shiver as if remembering it. “brought you back here and patched you up. you should be saying thank you.”

you walk to the staircase that resides a few feet behind the loveseat. cynical eyes of hardened sage follow your every move, watching you bend to take hold of a chubby, ginger cat that lazed upon the bottom step and adjust it in your arms. 

“. . thank you,” ellie’s voice is flat. 

when you turn back around to face her, you can’t help but giggle at the sight of her head, peeking up from the back of the sofa just so that she was able to keep an eye on you. 

“don’t look so frightened,” you coo quietly, scratching underneath your cat’s chin. “look. say hello to ellyllon,” you suddenly pause and press your fingers against the pillowy skin of your lips, eyes wide. “mm, two ellies now. ‘s gonna get a bit knotty. call her lonnie, then.” 

both ellie and lonnie quietly stare at one another, neither making a gesture to greet the other. 

you let a beat of tensed silence pass, ahead of giving a dispirited sigh and letting the feline hop from your arms to prance back to where she had originally been. 

“okay,” you mewl and give a small shrug. “we’ll try that again later, hm? ‘m sure you both will grow to be fond of one another. the two of you are very much alike.”

keenly, ellie watches you turn to your left to walk over to and push open a swinging door. through flashes of it waving back and forth as it settles to completely close shut, she’s able to see a kitchen, completed with a large fire pit that takes up an entire wall that sparks heavy, warm flames and an old, rustic table with a fruit bowl and bouquet of tulips in a pink tinted glass vase set upon the middle of it. 

she shifts her widened eyes over to the front door where her pack hangs on a nail beside. 

“okay,” she hums quietly. “uh, i just want to give my thanks for you helping me. last night was a fuckin’ blur, i’m usually much more attentive to my surroundings,” she’s slowly moving to straighten up her haggard body and place both feet on the floor. “i’ll just . . . be on my way now.”

the kitchen door is slamming back open to reveal you holding a silver tray enclosed within the small digits of your fingers. upon the tray sits a freshly baked and buttered bun, arrayed with heirloom tomatoes, churned goat cheese, and hummus on the side. 

your pretty, little face is full of dejection as you whimper and utter, “b-but i made this for you and,” you hiccup, eyes beginning to brew with darling tears finer than chiffon. “i have a chicken p-pot pie in the oven and — you can’t go. not yet.”

ellie’s body is molded halfway into a position of her reaching for your wooden coffee table to further straighten herself out. albeit, when the savory, sweet scent of the buttered bun and goat cheese drift within the tunnels of her nose — her stomach decides to hit her with a punch hard enough to knock her back down into her seat. 

a free meal. she can’t pass it up. 

“. . alright,” she utters. can’t deny that your face, although stunningly ominous, aids in her final decision as well. “just for dinner. i have to head back out.”

your tears are gone after a simple blink and you’re squealing while rushing over on your tip toes, pass another chubby, lounging cat ellie hadn’t even noticed, plausibly due to its onyx - black coat, to set the platter down on the table. “how nice of you,” you coo and then round the table to plop down beside ellie, thigh to thigh. “you have manners. i like that.”

with a huff, ellie reaches for the bread. her fingers are tearing off a decently sized piece when, abruptly, her hand is smacked away. she pulls it back into her chest, snapping a rough glare your way. “what the hell?”

you only give a sweet simper, “you’re injured, silly,” with a roll of your big, pretty eyes. 

“my hands aren’t.”

“shush.” 

you’re ribboning off a warm piece of bread, scooping some goat cheese on it with a delicate finger then holding it up towards ellie’s lips. your eyes are honed in upon them, lids falling halfway into glassed over irises when you utter, ‘ say ahh. ‘

you’re strange. ellie can’t decide if she hates you. 

when she allows you to feed it to her, you absolutely beam and reach for a tomato. “i don’t get a lot of travelers out this way,” you quietly tell her with the fat of your bottom lip jutted out. “ ‘s jus’ me and my kitties and goaties and horse and piglets and chickens. on the rare occasion that someone does venture into this part of the forest,” a twinkle shines within the pupils of your eyes as ellie slowly chews. “they’re usually a man . . . i’ve never had someone like you though.”

“someone like me?” she questions after swallowing. 

as eerie as you are, you could make a damn good bun though. 

you nod with a tiny ‘ mhm ‘ then pop the tomato pass her lips. “a girl — really, really rare. think the last one i met was about . . .” you tilt your head and look up towards the heavens as you think, small pinkie pressed within the skin of your chin. “forty years ago.”

ellie chokes on the gulp down this time and turns her head away to keep from sending some pieces of slimy fruit your way. 

you jolt and hesitate upon your hand falling onto her back to rub soothing circles upon it. “ellie, oh goodness, are you okay? is it your side?”

she’s coughing hard, reaching out a hand to keep you at arm’s length. “f-forty . . — fuck, forty years ago?”

your face is smoothed over with endeared bewilderment as you nod and carefully settle your hands within your lap. you hadn’t known what the big deal was, why ellie began to stare at you seemingly harder than before, if even possible, with eyes of bright apple darting across almost every centimeter of your features. 

no smile lines, crows feet, not a single wrinkle in sight. 

you hadn’t looked a day pass ellie’s own age which had been twenty two years old. 

the only thing that had somewhat gave away your maturity — that had ellie believing, albeit for a split second, that you were older than you appeared were your eyes. 

time seems infinite as she stares into the dark, boundless pit of your pupils — letting her own globes drift across smooth irises where endless torrid summers and bitter winters of generations upon generations danced upon the surface of. 

the longer she stares, the more the heavy ponderosity of her heart divests. it is as though the muscle had been shedding the years of loneliness, of dreadful melancholy, sorrow, and worry until there was nothing . . . nothing but you inside of it, inside of her, glowing bright. 

ellie watches you smile. it starts off as a slow thing that has the corners of plump, glossed lips lifting until blushed cheeks were brimming, curving your eyes into sweet crescents. “oh, ellie,” you hum quietly and cup her face within the cradles of your hands. 

your delicate touch sends an immediate wave of sweet serenity over the girl’s mind. it shuts off. she doesn’t think, doesn’t move, no longer feels the claws of hunger scratching along the interior of her stomach. 

“w-wait . .” she slurs, watching her vision fade into a muddled cloud as exhaustion starts to pull her eyes down. 

she hears you shushing her quietly, prior to your face inching in close. ellie wants to shove you away, wants to slap herself, make herself get it together, nonetheless, you’re daintily nuzzling the rounded tip of your nose against hers for a sweet bunny kiss. “let it take you, hm? . . you’re a stubborn one. i’ll make it all better. i promise.”

time is subjective. 

at least, for ellie it is. 

she isn’t quite sure how long she sleeps for. each instance of her waking up, through the window before where she lays, she finds the golden sphere of the sun hanging high within the soft blues of the skies, sinking below the perimeter of the horizon where cosmos bid ascending, green hills and slopes goodbye, or it simply being gone — leaving her sister, the moon, and all of her dazzling nebulas of children behind.

occasionally, she hears you humming softly, to that familiar song she heard in the forest that night. she sometimes feel the gentleness of your fingers — them peeling back the plaster on her side to gently sponge her gash clean, rub a thick paste into and bind a new piece of adhesive to it. 

ellie isn’t sure if its her mind jiving and fooling her, nonetheless, she’s sure each time before you add the paste and after cleaning it, you lean in real close to where your lips nearly touch the cut and meekly, you murmur something into it, enclosing sweet words inside the wound with a final kiss.

 she’s absolutely positive that you have her underneath some sort of trance. 

against her waking up every now and then and finding the strength to move, she only makes it about halfway to the front door prior to you appearing out of thin air, shushing her tired huffs and groans with coos, silkenly sweet. you always walk her back to the couch, lay her back down, adjust her leg, and bundle her up within a thick, fleece blanket. “you’re okay,” you always tell her, kneeling down beside her body. constantly feeling as though her tongue had been too thick for her mouth, ellie could only stare at you through dim eyes, trying her best not to lean into your lulling touch that smooths tufts of dark auburn from off of her freckled forehead. “gonna take care of you. ‘m gonna take good care of you, ellie. haven’t i always?” 

she never understands what you mean. you seem to talk in riddles — everything connected though puzzling and unclear.

still, regardless of such . . . of your blatant eeriness, ellie likes when you feed her, likes your cooking, and can’t help but begin to like your pretty face, too. 

you allow ellie to wake up a few weeks later. 

spring is here, bringing in tow the blooming of sweet daffodils and precious daisies. plump beads of dew make home upon the blades of grass that spreads into a field along the inclined slope your charming, little, pink cottage sits upon . . you think it’s a good time. 

spring is a season of new — new beginnings, reawakenings, and flowerings. 

you’re seated on a tire that hangs from thick twine, wrapped around a firm branch underneath the weeping willow tree in your backyard. you can hear ellie groaning once she finally begins to rouse and stir and you try your best not to squeal. 

ellie, you think while dating the journal you hold against the seat of your thighs that are pulled in close to allow your body to scrunch up real small within the burrow of the tire. ellie, ellie, ellie, ellie.

you think that’s all your mind consists of now. just her, will always be. freckled cheeks, eyes the hue of calla lilies, tawny hair, flushed lips, bulging biceps, strong thighs, hard calves, agile fingers.

a shaky breath is exhaled past your lips as your ear twitches in the direction of your cottage behind you, listening to her curse as she conceivably gathers enough bearings to stand. what’s heard immediately after she takes a step is a tiny yowl from lonnie and you try not to giggle to much when ellie hisses back, “what the — why the fuck are you laying right there then?”

you hide your grin with your fingers, hearing the heavy thuds of a boot and the hard mold of a leg cast taking slow steps out towards the deck where you reside . . and you try not to coo at the face ellie makes as she steps out into the sunlight, one eye squinted tightly shut.

she looks around — at the white picket fence that borders your backyard from your farmhouse that stands proudly in the middle of a field acres away . . at your flowerbeds and little shed that houses the necessary tools needed to keep your cottage so quaint, at the two baby lambs sleep beside the tree you hang from, then finally . . . at you.

her eyes begin to acclimatize towards the sunbeams and she stares at you for a moment. 

you give a happy sigh and rise gracefully from the swing to pad your bare feet through the grass all the way to her. “how did you sleep?”

she’s still staring at you, expression indecipherable to most as the corners of her lips pull down — not you though. you can practically read what she’s thinking as if she had been nothing but words on parchment spread before of you. she’s wondering what you are. it’s all she ever seems to think and it makes you deflate a bit and pout. 

“good,” she murmurs, taking one more look around. “shit, where . . . where the fuck am i?”

“my cottage.”

“mm,” she sucks a tooth, tilts her head, and lifts her brows — making an expression that clearly reads ‘no shit.’ “yeah, i can see that.”

you disregard her sarcasm to suddenly gasp and shoot up on your cute toes. “would you like a tour?”

her answer remains unknown, drifting along a warm breeze as you start to trot away, expecting her to follow. 

you’re pleased once she does. 

your feet step onto the back deck of your home where a white iron tea table and two matching chairs sat in the corner underneath a window. a pink, lace trimmed tablecloth drapes along the expanse of it and right in the middle is a bouquet of white and pink hydrangeas plopped within a heart shaped vase. “this is the terrace,” you lift your arms above your head, wiggling your fingers as if to say ‘ ta - da! ‘ 

ellie tilts her chin skywards, admiring the pots of plants and flowers, hanging from hooks along the protruded awning that tent the entirety of the deck. she can’t lie . . . it’s cute — very . . charming. 

you lead her inside the home, showing her the kitchen where a kettle of tea boiled on a grate within the fire pit, the staircase which you conveyed’s upper level chartered your bedroom, a guest chamber, and a bathroom. 

beside the flight of steps, ellie can’t help but notice a short hall with a door standing directly across from her. another is aslant to it — she thinks it’d lead to the basement. 

“come, come.” you’re ushering her out towards the front, through the living room. “wanna show you the porch swing.” it’s your favorite part of your home. 

the front porch is painted white and a swinging, pink bench, padded with comfy pillows and a lone fuzz covered serape, hangs from the canopy of the roof on ellie’s right. it sways idly, almost to the tune of the wooden wind chimes which dangle beside the front door’s threshold and peals a sweet melody, involuntarily relaxing the rigidity of her muscles. 

a clothesline hanging long dresses, fine blouses, and sweaters flanks near the left side of the front yard, completed with a large wooden tub and a washboard plopped inside of it upon the bright, green lawn. ellie tries not to stare at the night slips and panties, clearing her throat and immediately whisking her sight to somewhere else.

in wonder, her lips part at the heart shaped stone path that curves this way and that between shrubs of pretty flowers to lead out towards the gate, down the short hill, where a large meadow branches off into the beginning of the forest. it’s about twenty yards of land until it does — in which another large weeping willow stands proudly, underneath it, a few stone hedges that piques ellie’s interest, causing her brow to raise.

“my old animals,” you follow her sight with your own and your fingers poke and twist at the wooden rail of the short staircase, languidly. “couldn’t just toss them anywhere.”

“oh.” she nods slowly with the corners of her lips tugging down as if saying, ‘makes sense.’ “understandable.”

“yeah,” you sigh and the sound of your bare feet padding quickly down the stairs so that you can go and stand in the middle of your lawn breaks ellie from her reverie. “this is my little home.”

you’re proud of it. she reads it in your big smile — warm and kind and for some reason, ellie wants to smile, too. 

“you like it?”

she’s imprepared of your question. 

you watch her lips pop open, prior to her pausing. she seems to really think about it, really ponder her decision before nodding, voice gentle, “yeah,” she utters. “yeah, i like it.”

dinner that night consists of roasted duck, veggies, potatoes, cheesy cauliflower, and an apple pie for dessert.

ellie’s reminded of the last time she ate so good — ten years ago in her hometown of jackson, just her . . and him. she had managed to shoot her own kill for the first time — a tiny, white rabbit. fur peeled, skin braised, then covered in a sweet sauce . . . she had ate until she couldn’t anymore, enclosed within the sound of burning, crackling embers and his low chuckles at her banal jokes. 

“what’s wrong?” you’re pouting, tilting your head. 

you both sit at the kitchen table, across from one another and ellie has her thumbnail lodged between two teeth lined along the bottom of her gums, trying to work out a particular piece of duck that had gotten stuck. she stares out into nothing, eyes blank, deadly quiet and that isn’t abnormal. 

ellie is, mostly, a quiet person. 

though, you know she’s bothered upon the feeling of your own heart sinking into the deepest, darkest pit of your tummy. makes you feel as though it’s going to suddenly rush up and out your mouth through your throat or implode where it sits. it’s horrible . . . grim.

she doesn’t answer your question, merely looks up into your eyes and asks, “which way to texas from here?”

you take your time replying — inhale a breath, straighten your spine, stand, then reach for both your dishes to stack and walk over to the sink. “you’re leaving?”

ellie nods, “yeah . . got to.”

“you got someone waitin’ for you?”

she doesn’t. she wants to tell you that she does though. “no,” the word comes out before she can even attempt to lie — tickles up her esophagus in front of the real truth falling off of the sheet of her tongue, making her brows furrow at her own answer, taken aback. “uh, no. i guess i don’t. i just—“

“—why are you in such a hurry then?” your pointed ears flick as you turn back around to face her. 

your face . . . how cute. lips pursed, eyebrows dipped in low, cheeks puffed. a lone piece of a honey crisp apple dots the corner of your mouth . . ellie’s thumb twitches in your direction, wanting to swipe it away. 

“why are you fighting to keep me here?” her question hangs within the atmosphere of the kitchen like a thick cloak. her eyes are drilling as they stare into yours and she slowly leans forward, familiarity beginning to brighten her face. her mind flows her through that night all those weeks ago . . . of the glowing silhouette and elfin song. “that was you,” she utters, voice soft. that was you . . . she had fallen off of a cliff trying to chase you. “you in the forest . . singing. what—“ she stops herself, scoffs a bit, and looks away. “who the hell are you?”

you haven’t told her your name. all this time has passed and you haven’t told her your name, what you are, what you want from her. 

it all seems to suddenly hit ellie at once. 

and you, you mewl and walk over, taking her by surprise once you kneel in front of her and take a seat upon your haunches. your lashes are long as you bat them up at her, nevertheless — even in a position so servile, so . . . obedient, ellie knows that it’s not her in control here. 

you tell her your name quietly, plump lips curving around the syllables with a hum. “y-yeah,” you stammer and look away, suddenly sheepish. “that was me in the forest, but, ellie,” you perk up, face earnest and imploring. “i never meant for — this, your leg, i . . at first i just saw a figure and i,” your mind seems to take you back and your eyes absolutely sparkle as you stare off at a lone piece of firewood propped up against the kitchen’s doorframe. “i got so happy, ‘cause i knew who you were and . . regardless, i haven’t had a visitor in such a long time and i jus’ wanted to . . play, have some fun, i don’t know but i see now that, hm,” you huff and frown. “i took it a little too far. it doesn’t help that . . . that . .”

when you look back up into her eyes, your own are tender and soft. you stare at ellie as if she had been everything and more — the creator of all things good and divine and ellie’s chest begins to burn because . . geez, she’s never held someone’s stare for so long and this intense.

“what?” she asks, irises flicking from left to right within your own, searching for an answer. “it doesn’t help that what?”

you shuffle closer on your knees, fitting yourself between her legs and take hold of one of her hands. cliché, ellie fucking knows, but your touch kindles a flame that rises from the tips of her fingers, up her arm. her blood warms a degree hotter and it all swarms up to her face, sending a blush the hue of ripe cherries blossoming across her freckled nose and cheeks. 

“don’t you see?” you squeeze her palm, just a bit. “i don’t . . i don’t know how to expl— mm,” you get frustrated with yourself and puff your cheeks out again after pausing. “i don’t know how to say it.” 

you simply take hold of that single hand you held and you grab ellie’s wrist, leading her palm towards your chest.

as her face darkens a shade again, ellie freaks and attempts to pull it back, “wait—“

“—relax, ellie,” you coo with a knowing, little smile and she . . does. she breathes out an exhale and allows you to press her hand against the center of your chest, right over where your heart resides and you do the same against hers.

for a moment, nothing happens. ellie’s staring at her twitching fingers, wondering what the hell you were possibly trying to do but then she feels them — the pounds of your heart . . hard, steady . . and a bit rushed. 

when another second passes, she recognizes that it matches the exact same tempo of her own. the realization makes her eyes squint as an alloyed sensation of doubt and bewilderment settles within the root of her stomach. and ellie wants to pull away, she wants to snatch herself from you, grab her pack, and hightail her ass out of here but she feels . . . stuck. your touch is not the slightest bit forceful or demanding, albeit still, she can’t move.

“i wondered for the past few weeks why the first person to stumble into this forest within the last thirty years had been you. why you had been the one to see me that night and,” your eyes are twins of gleaming heavens as you pull your hand back to hold ellie’s within the cradle of your soft palms. “it’s because you found your way to me — back to me. we’re destined, ellie. we’ve always been.” 

the outer corner of ellie’s right eye twitches as she stares at you, deep into your own. “you’re crazy,” is what she whispers quietly, finally building up enough willpower to slip her hand away from yours and stand. “you’re fucking crazy, lady.”

you pout, slowly standing with her and — there it is, that precious expression . . that tiny shift within your natural, sweet resolve that makes ellie’s chest ache. ellie has to take a step back and the hind of her cast knocks against the wooden chair behind her, sending the legs scraping against the tiles of the kitchen floor. ellie tries not to pay too much attention to how your shoulders shoot up to your ears at the sound, how your pretty face screws and body tenses as if a string intertwined along your spine had been forcefully tugged from up above. everything you do, every word you say . . . they seem to be already written within the universe’s book. you don’t walk — you glide, or you skip, or you coast. you don’t talk — you drawl and soliloquize. 

“ellie,” your voice breaks between the two syllables as you take a step toward her. 

ellie takes another back, blindly reaching for a utensil upon the table beside her. the second her fingers touch the smooth steel of one, she fists it and shoots her arm up, holding it out between you both. 

her eyes are dark, louring into yours — eclipsing day with night. “i swear to christ, if you take one more fucking step . . .”

tears, warm, soft, and shimmering, bubble up the surface of your eyes, drip off of the long cast of your lashes, and down the smooth surface of your cheeks. “ ‘m not crazy,” you whimper, chin angling down and away from ellie. “and ‘m not a liar—“

“—shut,” the volume of her voice makes one of your cats yelp and scurry along from the kitchen’s threshold. when you gaze over, you see lonnie simply seated on her haunches, head tilted, staring at ellie. “the fuck . . up.”

ellie takes another good look at you — trailing her eyes up from your soft feet to the dress you wore, long, lilac, and pretty. she looks at your fingers, your hair, your eyes, your ears. “are you a w—“

“—‘m not a witch,” you hiccup and roll your eyes, lifting your hands up to gently dab away your tears. “if you’d put the butter knife down and take a seat so that i can further explain, that’d be nice, ellie.” 

ellie looks at the utensil she holds. she hadn’t even noticed that she had grabbed a weapon so callow. silence seems infinite as you both stay where you stand. time ticks and ebbs away just as a woodworker’s blade on a rind — sharp, unchanging, steady. ellie’s hesitant. you look as though you wouldn’t hurt a fly, couldn’t is a word that no longer occupies her mind because she’s positive you can. you’re not human . . not completely from what she sees, some . . . creature from god knows where, ellie thinks she has enough reason to stay on guard with you. 

though, when she slowly makes a move to take her seat once more, this time, a bit more further from the table, and when she watches you go to take yours, however pause with a soft noise of oracle, then turn on your feet to scurry off upstairs, she realizes that the pained knot in her heart hasn’t always been there. 

it’s strong — feels as though a hand has been reaching inside of her chest this entire time . . tying and twisting arteries with veins, knotting them all up with one another until it was one, ginormous mess.

her face is one of discomfort as she massages the area over with her fingers, trying to work it out. 

you’re back within an instant, your cats are in tow too. 

you carry a book, one almost half the size of ellie, and it’s thick, completed with frayed pages and a torn spine. flowers are flattened between the pages, clearly used as bookmarks, and a large bronze crest is stamped upon the hardcover on the front of the book. when you let it fall onto the table with a heavy thud and flip open to the front page, ellie only catches a quick glimpse of it prior to you beginning to thumb through the sheets quickly.

with you preoccupied, ellie turns her attention to lonnie. the feline sits right beside your feet and continues to stare at her, blinking slowly . . eyes almost squinted with suspicion. 

ellie narrows her own. 

the hell . . .

“here it is,” you sniffle, wiping away the last bit of your tears and ellie focuses her sight back on you. you tuck pieces of your long hair behind your ears to remove them from your vision. ellie has to stand to view the page herself when you point to it, however, just her fucking luck, the words printed on the old parchment aren’t english, moreso greek. her eyebrows furrow at the little, pastel etch of a tiny figure, maybe about four inches tall. its skin is a pale green, it has pointed ears, and eyes the color of cyan. wings protrude from its back — they’re scraggly, resembling tree branches and it wears leaves for clothes. 

her eyes snap from it to another image, this one of what looks like a woman, walking along a creek, hand outstretched where a butterfly sits perched upon her fingers. she has wings too, only they seemed to be composed of iridescent scales and more rounded out. she wears a knee length dress, made of woven gold. 

another image is of a woman. she doesn’t have a solid, physical body, no, she’s concocted of the water she stands in with soft blue eyes, plush lips, and hair stopping at her ankles.

ellie stares at all of the sketches for a second longer.

“wait,” her voice cracks as a slow smile of disbelief raises the corners of her lips. “. . this is a joke, right?” she looks at you though points to the book. “you fibbin’ me?”

“ellie, i’m not a liar,” you look at the book and point to the tiny, green creature. “this is a pixie . . here is a fairy, and this is a sprite.”

the longer ellie stares at the images, the more she notices that you take on characteristics from each species. she doesn’t have to speak because you tell her. “you keep asking me what am i,” you utter gently. “this . . is it. they’re all me.”

ellie inhales a slow breath through her mouth. she places both hands flat on the table and takes a few steps back so that she’s now leaning over the book. “. . you don’t have wings.“

“i can show you them,” you’re playing with your fingers, rubbing your index harshly while nibbling at your bottom lip. “they’re pretty . . . wide . . so we’d have to go outside—“

“—i don’t want to see — what the f . . .” ellie takes in another breath and looks up at you through lowered brows. “what does any of this have to do with what the hell you were saying? destiny and shit?”

you look away, soft lips jutted, “i don’t know how to explain it, ellie . . you’re not gonna believe me.”

wordlessly, ellie straightens her posture and starts to make her way out of the kitchen to the living room. you follow her, voice pitched an octave higher, “we’re lovers, ellie,” you spout through a shallow breath. “we . . we’re soulmates. two halves, one whole. y-you and me.”

ellie scoffs, limping slowly towards the couch. she has her eyes set for her pack, it’s right underneath the center table. “you’re insane, you know that? you’re crazy.” she’s getting the hell out of here. if she had known that for weeks, she’s been in the care of someone so looney, she would’ve tried harder to leave. she conjures up that you’re just lonely . . . you’ve been here on the outskirts of this forest for goodness knows how long and you’ve lost your mind, it’s completely fathomable.

“i’m not crazy.” 

one moment, her backpack is resting underneath the table, propped up against one of its legs. the next, it’s suspended in the air. ellie pauses in her steps, watching it float almost an entire foot above her head . . . then it moves. she jolts, falling into a crouch, narrowly missing it when it flies past her face to halt suddenly beside your own.  

you keep the sack hovering in place with a single finger. 

ellie’s heart falls. 

your expression is unreadable. you’re staring at her as if upset that you even had to do that to prove her wrong. “i’m not crazy,” you softly reiterate. 

when ellie looks down at lonnie, the cat seems to give a low mmrph of pride, intertwining herself between your legs to plop down at your feet and fix her with a smug glare. 

the embers of the warm fire casts rays of golden against your skin. 

ellie can’t stop staring at you. 

you both are seated upon the floor within the living room. it’s been a couple hours since dinner. the sun has fallen and the moon has made her home once again within star studded, indigo skies. since you’ve miraculously made ellie’s backpack float within thin air, she decided that she ultimately had to hear you out and understand this whole, soulmate-one bond type connection the both of you seem to share. 

you had told her, “you feel what i feel and vice versa.” and left it at that. 

ellie thinks, sadly has to admit to herself, that she’s too scared to ask anymore questions. 

she inhales a shuddering breath through her nose, lips rolled into her mouth, watching you stroke the coat of your black cat whose name ellie has only now found out — ozias. you call him ozzi for short. “so,” her voice is low when she speaks against for the first time in an hour. and you look up at her with your big, round eyes, expectant and waiting. ellie bites her bottom lip. “. . . how do you know that i am your soulmate?”

you take your time answering; look back down at ozzi, hum softly to a lone tune playing in your head, sigh. “because i feel it,” you gently reply. “i don’t want you to go. i’m drawn to you.”

“okay, but—“

“—we’re magnets, ellie,” your voice is teetering on a tired edge, as if you’ve explained this a dozen times before. “within every life time, we find each other. that’s how it goes. i don’t know why, don’t ask, okay? i’ve been here for so long and i still can’t find a reason, but . . it’s you. sometimes you come back as a friend, a pet, a muse . . this time,” you feel a warmth span across your nose. “you’re my lover. you’ve always been mine . . . and i’ll always be yours. that’s how it always is.”

ellie clamps her mouth shut, finding herself silenced, and looks out toward the fire’s dancing flames.

you’ve always been mine and i’ll always be yours.

she hates that her stomach flips at the simple sentence. with another creeping silence comes more questions. ellie can’t seem to quiet her mind for the life of her. “. . a pet?” that one word seems to blare louder than the others. 

you huff a small giggle, touching your lips, “. . it was a while ago. i resided near the gulf of mexico back then. you were a wolf,” you grin and gaze off into the fire. “very protective — if even the wind blew a certain way you would snarl and bite at it. very sweet . . kind, gentle. we went everywhere together. you’d never let me leave the house alone.”

your words revoke a sense of deja vu within ellie and that, by the narrowest of margins, lets her know that this was real and, straightforwardly, not a delusion. she sighs, “why is it—“

you shush her and stand, “no more questions, alright?” your long hair sways as you bend to grab the pail of water beside the fireplace and wet the flames, ebbing them out. “you’re curious, i know, but we both need sleep. it’s gettin’ late, els.”

you hold out a hand and ellie takes it, this time without thinking. 

your touch is calming — so, so gentle and soft and nice.

“no more couch for you.”

you help her up the stairs quietly, keeping an arm wrapped around her midriff, careful with her still healing wound. by the time you both make it up to the second story of your cottage, exhaustion seems to hit ellie tenfold. maybe it was the trek up, maybe it was you.

she’s always sleepy around you. 

you open the door to the guest room, delicately whispering to her that your room was just next door if she happened to need you. ellie’s then carefully laid down, bundled up, and only a second away from sleep’s chasmic embrace when you hear her quietly murmur, “sorry for . . . butter knife . . and calling you a liar.”

“i accept your apology.” 

you’re smiling as you close her door, walk to your own bedroom, and take a seat at your vanity to perform your nighttime routine. kismet’s your best friend. you can’t help but thank her with a thousand whispered prayers and expressions of devotion for guiding your ellie back to you.

ellie’s dragging herself down the staircase with both hands on the rail, slowly, come the next morning.

last night, that’d been the best sleep she’s had in a long, long time. she feels . . renewed, ready to take on today’s obstacles and challenges without a moment’s haste. initially, upon her eyes first opening earlier in the day, ellie had known last night had been a dream. her floating sack, your crestfallen face and teary eyes, pompous lonnie, this . . soulmate, thing ( ? ). it all seemed as though her brain had produced it on a whim, maybe the pain of her leg was really starting to get to her. 

nevertheless, then, she smelled cinnamon . . and had been greeted by a fat ozzi who plopped down on her chest, as if to say, ‘get up’ and, she’s aware now. you’re real.

you’re really here — standing with your back towards her as you stir a thick, firm batter with a wooden spoon, working it tirelessly, standing on your tip toes. lonnie, never too far from you, sits atop of a chair at the dining table that had been seemingly pulled out and angled to face you for her comfort.

ellie lugs herself over to the other, making sure to cut her eyes at the feline who only seems to give her a bored blink. 

“good morning, ellie,” you sing quietly, making sure to turn your head over your shoulder to look at her. “you feel okay?”

“i’m fine,” she replies, trailing her eyes across your dress of choice for today. it’s not a dress at all, but tiny, blue denim overalls with cute bees stitched along the outer hemming and a white, short, puff sleeved, blouse underneath. 

“good, good.” 

you seem to be a bit more frantic today, shuffling all over the kitchen — from the stove to mix and settle the pot of grits that begun to boil over, the fire pit to check on the rising biscuits, back to the fridge to grab a carton of milk, the sink to rinse a few things off, then the countertop once more. ellie and lonnie follow you with their eyes silently. 

“i was thinkin’ that maybe i’d show you the grounds today.”

you’re surprised when ellie makes her way to stand beside you. she doesn’t say much, only a firm, ‘hand it over’ while motioning to the bowl you hold. your eyes are wide and your glossed lips are popped open, “i can do it—“

“—you’re all over the place.”

you hand ellie the bowl with minimal back talk. she’s right. you don’t know what’s got you so jittery today, irregardless, you do know that it has something to do with the pretty, red haired girl with a sharp tongue standing next to you. you lean awkwardly against the counter, watching her begin to stir the batter . . . and she isn’t bad at it, not in the slightest. 

she gives you a look beneath the strands of hair that hang into her eyes once she finds you staring, a huffy one. “gonna just watch me like a hawk or . . ?”

you flush, embarrassed. you don’t want her to think that you can’t trust her with the food, you know that she knows what to do. “sorry,” you whisper and head over to the fridge once more to grab a small basket of eggs, close the door, walk to the stove, then reach above it within the cabinet to grab your favorite cast iron skillet. “scrambled, over easy, or none?”

“scrambled, please.” 

you’re cracking two eggs inside of a small bowl, sprinkling a good measure of black pepper, salt, and paprika onto them prior to grabbing a fork and beginning to beat them. 

ellie’s clearing her throat while you do, still mixing when she utters, “so . . how do you like your eggs?”

you’re marveled at her question — one so mundane, anyone else wouldn’t think of it as such a huge feat, albeit, you do. it’s ellie . . someone that runs through your brain day and night. someone so arduous and complex you had begun to think that maybe . . . this would be the lifetime where you’d have to let her go. nevertheless of you knowing that it’d be a long one . . for what’ll feel like an eternity of misery and heartache, you now know that she’s willing to try. in her own type of ellie way, she’s giving you the go ahead for you both to do this. 

“mm, over easy,” you gently say, trying not to blush too much while pouring the runny eggs into a buttered pan. “with salt, pepper, and strawberry jam on top.”

“. . . that sounds good.”

you think you feel your wings fluttering. “. . i’ll let you try some off of my plate.”

breakfast is mostly quiet this morning. 

you eat, ellie eats, you both try not to stare at the other too much though find it nearly impossible not to. 

ellie likes your face. 

she knows that’s not the cause of the bond, thinks that if she saw you back in her hometown you’d have her awe struck, despite a soul tie or not. your features are enchanting and pretty all over.

“i’ve been sewing some clothes for you over the last couple of days.”

when breakfast is done and dishes are washed, you’re leading ellie to the living room where a few pieces of clothes laid folded on the table. two pair of pants, some shorts, a few shirts, a flannel. ellie thanks you quietly. you’ve got her measurements down pact . . her style, too. she’s thankful that’s you’re not shoving a dress into her arms. 

“uhm,” you’re chewing on your bottom lip, wide eyes looking at ellie’s cast. “would you like a bath or shower? we’d have to wrap your leg for both, but i think a shower would be a little easier for you.”

ellie doesn’t care. she shrugs, face even. “alright.”

and so you help her back upstairs into the bathroom. her leg is then wrapped in cellophane, after, you’re twisting a few knobs to kindle the spray of the shower. “wash cloth’s right there and there’s the soap . . it smells like honey.” 

she can’t help but sniff a soft chuckle at the somewhat useless piece of information. still, above all, ellie’s appreciative. you’ve been doing a lot for her since she’s been here. 

“i’ll let you . .” leisurely, your eyes pull up from her feet, up her legs, to her thighs. thick muscle strains against firm cotton. you exhale a sharp breath. “i’ll let you — yeah.”

the day spent with ellie is . . . nice. 

you had planned to show her the ropes of how you ran your farm while still managing to keep your cottage so quaint and clean — were prepared to instruct her on how you fed your baby lambs, the pigs, cows, and hens. you don’t have to show her how to behead a chicken, ellie already knows. watching her effortlessly go through your taskings, emphasis on her with a healing leg at that, that sometimes take you all day to complete is . . . gut stirring. 

she doesn’t talk much, does it all with minimal difficulty. 

you’d sometimes hear her scoff a soft chuckle when you’d make a tiny mistake — trip over a stone, snag a nail on a hay bed, almost fall head first into the riverbed where you both had been filtering it for some fresh water. it’s as though she had been the one living here for decades and not you.

“what now?” her voice is rich and low as she asks you the question. the sun has begun to set and a glow the shade of warm apricot paints her skin and makes the sweet moles and freckles on her face appear more palatial. 

you both stand in your backyard. the chores are done, your animals are fed — nothing else to do. you hum softly, “. . . we can have some lemonade,” you look down at your feet, covered by your favorite calf length western style boots and innocently kick one out. “i can answer the rest of your questions. ‘m sure you have some.”

ellie takes a seat at the table on the back deck. a deep sigh is expelled from within the midst of her chest. she’s exhausted, of course she is. even so, only after a hard day’s work is she susceptible to the feelings of satisfaction and sweet serenity. she likes feeling useful, and if she wants to push it a bit further — be more honest with herself, she likes doing all of this with you, for you. you’re a small girl . . ellie stands over five inches taller than you. how you’ve been managing to get all of this work done alone? she will never know. the amount of times you’ve nicked and pricked yourself today was ample.

“here we are.”

you’re placing two tall glasses filled with ice down on the table. there’s a straw within both glasses and a lemon wedge tucked onto the sugared rim. the pitcher is set down with a firm thud, followed by a platter of chocolate chip cookies. “help yourself.”

ellie grabs two cookies, aligns them with one another and bites into them both while you pour cold lemonade inside of the glasses, almost to the brim. “ta’mk you,” she murmurs around her mouthful, dodging the straw to take a sip right from the glass. cold, sweet, and refreshing. “. . . you’re a really good cook.”

you smile softly, taking the seat across from her, “you think so? . . thank you.”

ellie gives a few short nods and finishes her cookies, takes a few more large swills of lemonade then lounges back in her seat with another big sigh. “so,” she utters. “let’s just get right into it, yeah?”

you give a small shrug and sip through your straw, “ ‘m ready.”

ellie licks her lips free of sugar and stares off into the horizon where the tall blades of grass kissed the bottom of the sun. “you said that i feel what you feel . . and you feel what i feel . . . . what does that—“ as the corners of her soft lips pull down, her brows push in close. “what does that mean?”

“exactly what you think it means,” you giggle and take a cookie. “i mean, undoubtedly, you feeling annoyed that you stubbed your toe or lost a pen is a fleeting emotion — things like that, i barely feel. however, i can feel when you’re longing for something . . for someone. i can feel when you’re happy, when you’re tired, when you’re angry. and you, me.”

ellie pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue, scoffing a small ‘huh’ while tapping her finger against the table. she doesn’t know how to feel about that, she’ll be sincere. never has she been able to put her emotions into words, only actions. knowing that someone else feels what she feels — at any given moment or time . . . addles ellie. 

on one side of her mind, she’s battling with feeling bad for you. you shouldn’t have to be subjected to her emotions all of the time, she thinks that’s cruel . . selfish. an agendum so callous and wicked, nothing you can say about how this could be a ‘ blessing ’ can amend her now crossed feelings towards all of this. the other, is naturally annoyed. her feelings are hers, yes, albeit, no longer having the privacy and volition to stomp them down within her chest if she wants to without you . . knowing everything is . . . fathomless. 

your sweet voice is more quiet when you gently utter, “you’re upset.”

ellie smiles, looking down at her legs that she calmly sways in and out. that spark of bile making home within the cradle of your heart seems to grow larger. “ellie, i can always ignore it,” you murmur, setting your cookie down to let your hands fall against bare thighs. “if you don’t want to talk to me about something, i’ll never pressure you . . . i’d want you to tell me outright about your feelings in your own way, on your own time,” more delicately you whisper. “i promise.”

the auburn takes in a big inhale, blows it out, and lifts her head to shake it. the fire diminishes a bit. “so, who came up with this whole . . soulmate, two half, one whole bullshit anyway?”

“i don’t know,” you shrug. “the universe . . ancestors . . the moon, whatever you want to believe. for some, it’s just . . . definite.”

“so some don’t have a soulmate?” ellie finally looks at you, eyes dark beneath her overgrown bangs. “ ‘s what you’re sayin’, yeah?”

your responding nod is slow, “those are the people we call lost souls,” you pluck your cookie back up between your fingers again and bite into it, licking chocolate from your lips. “i’d say . , about eighty to eighty five percent of us have a soulmate.”

“and these soulmates can be . . platonic . . . and pets, right?”

quietly, you reply, “that’s right.”

ellie folds her arms, looking back out towards the horizon. so many questions. she has so many. “am i the same . . . you know . .”

you fill in the rest of her question yourself, “the same person? within each lifetime?” you look up towards the sky and tilt your head left and right as if you were weighing something within your head. “somewhat . . your personality never changes, just your appearance and name. you’re never a male though,” you swallow the rest of your cookie. “ever.”

ellie finds some comfort in that, “and you just,” her hands come up then fall back down onto her thighs with a resounding smack. “always find me. we’re always . . drawn.”

“i can pick you out of a crowd of a million people, ellie.” it’s not an exaggeration. it’s true. you don’t know how else to explain it. ellie is quite literally half of you, and you, her. “if at any point you decide to leave, reason being unknown . . we’ll always find ourselves back with one another.”

ellie keeps quiet, considering that a challenge . . . one that she will irrefutably accept. 

⠀ ⠀ ❤︎

slinking out of your cottage during the early mornings of a sunday proves to be more difficult than ellie had thought.

she has to be deadly silent — constantly takes deep inhales of air to hold within her diaphragm upon exiting the room right beside yours, all in efforts to not make any sort of literal sound. she walks slow, a snail would give her shit for being in its way. her cast is heavy and hearing it thud against the flooring, a wall, a piece of furniture . . ellie might as well simply knock upon your door and tell you that she’s leaving.

she doesn’t think she can do it.

you’re pretty, yeah, most definitely. you’re sweet, can cook your ass off, kind, clearly intelligent, there’s so many good things about you that ellie has had the pleasure in witnessing and being on the ending receiving of, nonetheless . . . maybe it’s the inevitability of it all — of the endgame of you two. ellie doesn’t like to feel controlled . . . she doesn’t like to be contained and fixed to one thing, whether that be a relationship or not. she’s not sure she can do this.

she’s huffing come her cast dragging through ragged branches and moist leaves. 

she has gotten out of your cottage successfully and managed to find an opening to the forest that hadn’t seemed to be trailing her towards her doom. “fuck that,” she’s murmuring while ducking underneath a tree trunk’s tattered arm. “ ‘m not doin’ this.”

near the back of her stubborn mind, ellie feebly wonders if you’re going to be okay — if you’re going to need her help when beheading the chickens, gathering up the pigs, lifting a heavy sack of flour. what if you trip again and fall into that river stream? hurt your pretty head and lay there all concussed in a mat of moss? ellie knows that this forest is pretty unoccupied most of the time, doesn’t mean curious kids and puerile men don’t scour and scavenge to gauge if the myths and bedtime stories about what resides inside isn’t true. 

ellie stops in her steps . . releases a weighty exhale . . and tilts her head up towards the sky with her eyes closed.

she shouldn’t be thinking about this. she shouldn’t be worrying about you. 

she forces herself to drag on. 

why do you have to be so pretty? make your house look so pretty? it’s as though you want to attract the murdering creeps looking to get their hands on a sweet, little thing like you. 

the further ellie gets, the more an almost gaping ache in her chest starts to broaden. “f-fucking . .” she snuffles a hard breath. 

mint green and pastel yellow brighten the sky — dawn. 

she can’t do it.

she can’t leave you. she refuses. “the fuck has gotten into me?” she’s grumbling, essentially stomping on her way back towards the way she had came. 

she had only managed to make it about an hour or two out, albeit, it takes her approximately forty five minutes to get back to your cottage. 

feet away, as she’s re-emerging through the swirling tree trunks that open up into a stone bath that zigzags through the grass up the small slope to your home, she sees the small figure of you . . . seated upon your darling porch swing.

you’re curled into a ball, silk, white nightgown still on, knees to your chest, arms wrapped around them and the side of your face smooshed against the knobs. a thick wad of shame and sorrow spans across the stave of ellie’s chest as she lets her backpack fall upon the steps that open up to the front porch. up close, your eyes are red rimmed and glassed over, trickles of mucus escape the little holes of your nostrils and you don’t even move upon hearing her footsteps nor look up at her. 

“. . .” ellie swallows and croaks out a stifled, “i’m sorry.”

your answer is only a sniffle.

ellie doesn’t know what else to say. she’s hardly ever been sorry before, she’s hardly ever began to even care for someone before . . aside from him, but . . . clearly you’re becoming an exception. you're wiggling your way through into ellie’s life, into her mind, into her heart . . it’s fucking crazy.

“if you don’t want to stay then you don’t have to,” your voice is so tiny. ellie’s never heard you so frail. you lift your head and look out towards the iridescent green and blue glow of the tree’s leaves. “i’m not chaining you in the basement or something, ellie.”

“i know.” ellie hesitates . . nonetheless goes to take a seat beside you. it’s a weird feeling to describe how the ache in her chest ebbs into nothing — no, a warm . . mushy sense of affection as soon as you’re in eyesight. you’re like a cup of rich, warm cocoa on a snowy night, that first, crisp autumn breeze after a scorching summer, a strawberry flavored ice pop as the sun’s streams beat down on her. “ ‘m sorry, i . . .” she breathes out. “god, this is — this is fucking . . i’m sorry, alright?”

you sniff again and ellie lowers her head as she rubs her brows. she understands how you feel because she feels it — the sheer heartache and abandonment and pain. she hopes that you feel how sorry she is, how it hadn’t been in her intentions to make you feel so blue. 

“mm,” you use your knuckles and push them against your tear ducts, hoping to stop the tears sooner. “ ‘m gonna . . . ‘m gonna go lay down for a bit longer.”

i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have done that. let me make it better. what can i do to make it better?

silently, she watches you unravel yourself from your curled position — feet delicately falling against the smooth deck of the porch as you stand, your gown dropping back down to your shins. she’s left to hear your little sniffles and barely there mewls as you skim past her to walk back inside.

⠀ ⠀ ❤︎

the rest of the day is solemn.

you spend most of it inside of your bedroom, only leaving it to go to the bathroom, downstairs to feed ozzi and lonnie, or grab yourself a little snack if you got hungry. through the kitchen’s windows, each time you happen to peek through the lace curtains, you see ellie in the henhouse or barn, feeding the lambs and chicks, lugging a wheelbarrow, or even crouched down within your backyard, snatching the weeds from your pretty garden with more force than necessary. 

you know she’s sorry. if you hadn’t been able to feel it, you still would’ve known. her regret shined brightly on her face the second she caught you sitting on the porch this morning.

you knew she had left — the nihilistic, seemingly waiting abyss of emptiness had woken you up in the middle of the night as soon as she got far enough. you had thought she’d be gone forever, that you’d be alone for the rest of this lifetime.

you hadn’t encountered a person like ellie before. she’s different . . . nevertheless, she doesn’t divert you. you’re intrigued and fascinated by all things her, you know you can’t stay upset with her for too long — especially come a soft knock at your door near around lunchtime. 

you know it’s her. 

you had been seated at your work desk, sewing machine in front of you, and round specs drooping down across your nose bridge. ellie needed more clothes, you knew the ones you gave her could only last for so long. “hey,” she’s panting softly when you open the door, dew drops of sweat peppering her forehead. “uhm,” she licks some off of her top lip. “i know . . you’re upset with me — fuckin’ livid probably and i know that i have a lot of fuckin’ audacity but . .” she pauses then touches her hair — grabs an long auburn strand that halts almost near her hips, by her ear and lifts it a bit. “i was wondering if you could . . . possibly . . cut my hair?”

you look at her through the lenses of your glasses, at the freckles and deep, green eyes then at her hair . . . then give a slight smile. “yeah, sure,” you quietly retort. “come in. take a seat over there.” you point to your vanity and don’t miss how she heaves a relieved sigh. 

“thank you.”

ellie slowly enters your room, unashamedly turning her head all over to get the full scope of it. 

it’s bigger than what she had thought it’d be — given your little cottage, she hadn’t known so much space of it belonged to your bedroom. 

inside, your bed is big and plush, covered with dozens of frill and lace trimmed pillows. the comforter is a thick quilt, printed with baby pink carnations all over, both ozzi and lonnie are asleep upon it. a large, oval shaped, golden mirror hangs above your bed, bordered with pink roses. beside it, and essentially covering the entire wall behind your bed are old photographs and paintings, hanging necklaces, dream catchers, and vines. suspended potted plants and singing, heart shaped sun catchers dangle throughout, glinting precious little rainbows across the walls, your bed, the floors . . 

“woah,” ellie’s breathless.

there’s a strong scent of you all over — something akin to rose and baby powder, fresh and clean. it makes her tremble. 

“let’s see.”

she tries not to stare at you too much once she’s seated at your vanity. your fingers stroke slowly through her scalp as you try to analyze where to start first. ellie can’t help it — her eyes close at the sensation . . she lets herself melt into your soothing caress. 

you try not to smile too hard. “you have a couple knots . . gonna have to brush them out, okay?”

“yeah, sure,” she nods, watching you grab a wooden detangling brush and part her hair into thirds with a finger. you grab a section and begin at the ends.

for a while, it’s quiet between you.

the doors to your windows are both open, you decide to focus on the sweet chirping of the hummingbirds and buzzing of bees outside while you work carefully, shifting around ellie here and there to better brush a piece or part once more. 

“you know i’m really sorry, right?”

you hesitate, “. . . yeah, i know, ellie.”

“. . okay, good,” she nibbles upon her lip and taps her good foot. “. . . it was never in my intention to make you cry—“

“—ellie, it’s okay,” you look at her through your vanity to assure her of such. “it’s in the past now and . . all i can do now is move forward.”

you mean that — every word. there was no use in still being upset with her. she’s back, and regardless if she’d stayed gone, you knew you had no right to be upset with her even then. “okay,” your voice is tender. “how short do you want it?”

ellie looks at her reflection, “uhm . . . up to here,” she uses her middle and index fingers to grab a section of her hair between them near the nape of her neck. “want all this shit gone.”

you giggle — quietly, but you’re smiling and ellie likes that. 

she smirks a bit. 

“alright,” you sigh. “let’s get to it then.”

you’re careful . . very, very careful. the heavy, stainless steel scissors impart sharp snip! sounds with each cut. ellie keeps herself still; she feels as though with each slice of her hair that falls down onto the floors below, a little piece of her is renewed and replaced by something fuller . . better.

you layer a couple sections, thin them out with shears, adjusts her bangs to where they aren’t too much in her face and . . there it is. ellie’s amazed. “shit,” she marvels breathlessly, leaning in close to her reflection within the mirror to touch her head. “way better than what that old man used to do.”

you’re happy she’s pleased with your somewhat amateur hairdressing skills. still and all, you can’t help but think you did a good job yourself. with her hair shorter, it’s as though more of her face is revealed. you can’t help the quickening beat of your heart when she looks at you through the mirror and you come face to face with features so intense . . and brooding. her bangs had previously hid most of her forehead and her hair had grown out to where when she’d turn her head or bend it downwards, the sides of her face were covered.

now, it’s all . . . open. her jawline is nicely sculpted and she has a natural, cool toned contour that carves out her freckled cheeks. 

you feel your own heat with sudden demure, and you quickly turn away to begin sweeping up the hair with a lone hand broom and dustpan. “old man?” you ask, not wanting a silence to stretch out awkwardly. 

“hm? . . yeah,” ellie huffs a soft chuckle. “uhm, joel — he uhm . . he took me in when i was a kid back home, basically raised me.” her eyes are closed now and her elbow is propped up against the seat’s armrest. she scratches at her eyelid.

faintly, you return, “that was sweet of him, ellie.”

“yeah . . .” she sighs and drops her hand, face that familiar blank. with her hair gone, her stare is more stoney. you seem to look away each time you both make eye contact. “yeah, it was.”

“where is he now? . . back home?”

“no, he’s dead.”

you feel your own heart start to seep with dark melancholy. you stop sweeping to slowly stand, eyebrows lowered and lips in a small pout, “oh, i’m . . i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have asked—“ how insensitive.

“—it’s fine,” ellie quiets your apologies while raking her fingers across her head, sending tufts the color of dark copper off of her forehead. “happened about . . two years ago now, fuckin’ . . bar fight, can you believe that shit?” her voice is lower now and she rolls her eyes as if she had been recalling the day. “fucker’s always been rational and . . i guess, logical? right in the head? — i don’t know . . i do know that he had to have walked away but . . . those motherfuckers couldn’t let whatever he said go. snatched him up and beat him to death in the alley.”

grief isn’t a sensation you’re too familiar with. you hardly feel it because you’ve never gotten too close with others who hadn’t been your animals or ellie. you feel hers though . . and it’s strong. it hurts — physically pains you. “mm,” you take a seat upon the edge of your bed, rubbing a soft palm over your chest. “i’m sorry . . . ‘m really sorry, ellie.”

she looks at you, at your grimaced expression, your hand, how your eyes began to fester with warm tears behind your round specs.

her own widen and the rolls the chair on its wheels over to you, “oh shit, i didn’t — i forgot you feel what i do, damnit—“

“—no, no, don’t make this about me,” you shake your head, soft lips quivering. “this’ll pass . . i guess it’s more of . . . i don’t like that you’re hurting so much.”

ellie pauses. 

i don’t like that you’re hurting so much.

she breathes out a slow breath. 

i don’t like that you’re hurting so much.

she shouldn’t. she tells herself that she shouldn’t but god . . you make it hard. what could she have done within her past lifetimes to receive such a gentle soul like you? her eyes fall to your lips — and she hardly even thinks about it. she rises halfway up from her seat, grabs you by the sides of your face and pushes her lips against yours. you’re surprised, ellie’s surprised, but she decides shit, she’s already here, why stop? 

you taste just as sweet as you look, similar to cool whipped cream and all of those fucking fruits you like to eat almost all day. ellie breathes out a sharp exhale through her nose and kisses you harder upon the feel of your little hands grabbing hold at the sides of the shirt she wears. 

ellie’s slow with it, drags and separates her lips from yours with leisure smacks as if she didn’t want to pull away, as if with each peck and each skim, she finds herself craving more, more, more. when she straightens up, standing before you, your face still held between her hands — you have to tilt your head almost all the way back to accommodate her build. 

the position you find yourselves both now in is . . . telling. 

you soon realize that you’re dreamily sighing between pull aways, your hands grip her tighter, pull her closer. you recognize that you’re yearning, falling quickly within her spell. “e-ellie.”

when she hears you whimper — a sound connate to the one you had made only hours earlier, then, full of hurt and sadness, this one more needy and full of desire . . ellie supposes that’s what snaps her back into reality. 

she pulls away, lips flushed a watermelon red. 

and she doesn’t say anything to you, simply takes a step back — eyes wide with what you read is . . panic, prior to her quickly walking out of your room, slamming the door behind herself. 

⠀ ⠀ ❤︎

life is a bit . . . different after that. 

you’d thought that ellie regretted the kiss, that she’d run away soon after you fell asleep again and head for the hills, nonetheless, that doesn’t happen. 

ellie . . . seems to pretend that it didn’t happen. she doesn’t get weird or distant or cold, no, she’s still . . a bit aloof at times, but, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. she begins to open up more over the next month, even so, telling you about her life back in jackson, the reason of her leaving ( “jus’ for a change of scenery.” ), more about joel. and it feels good opening up to her as well, revealing your wings to her for the first time, educating her about your history and the makings of your kind, and she’s so eager to learn all about it — reading through your novels and books within a day’s time. 

albeit, with you both growing to know one another more, becoming more comfortable with one another . . you recognize that the two of you are beginning to inch into unknown territory.

you want to feel bad when you find her voice dipping and weaving in and out of your ears, akin to a radio being turned up then down, when she talks to you sometimes yet you can’t. the kiss plays on rewind within your hazy brain, almost all day and everyday. the way she had kept you still so effortlessly, how she stood tall before you, letting you hold onto her like the true, whiny little thing you are.

you’re both ecstatic come her cast coming off. 

you try not to giggle too much at the expanse of pale skin that darkens into an olive tan near her knee and thigh. you think she looks a bit silly, however, ellie doesn’t mind. she’s happy to no longer walk with a hobble or limp, to shower without needing to wrap her leg any longer, to do things without the occasional aid of you. 

summer is here — and what she brings is a bright, shining sun, cloudless skies, and humid nights spangled with glowing lightning bugs. 

tonight’s one of those nights where you think you’ll be sleeping in the backyard, upon the soft palette of grass with your lambs and cats, letting dame nature cuddle you within her arms. your ears flick upon the sound of the back door closing. you don’t move from your position on your back because you know it’s ellie. her steps are light as she pads on over. 

“here.”

you flutter your lids open, discovering her above you, carrying a bowl. she holds it out and you sit up to carefully take it. 

“eat.”

within the bowls are frozen, cube shaped, yogurt bites. little pieces of strawberry, mango, or banana are capped inside of the treat and as soon as you find yourself suckling on one, you think you’ve been hooked. “oh my goodness.” your widened eyes follow ellie as she takes a seat, pretzel style, beside you. “ ‘s so yummy, ellie.”

frozen vanilla yogurt and fruit — like a child who has managed to get their sticky, little hands on their favorite candy, you recognize that if anyone were to take the bowl away from you, you’d probably throw a natural born fit. humming and rocking from side to side happily, you indulge upon your bonne bouche with not a simple care. 

ellie huffs a small sound through her nose, smirking, watching you get lost within your own world as you look down into the bowl, murmuring, “think i like the banana the most . . — no, no the strawberry. ooh, but the mango is so good, too.”

she’s happy you appreciate the dainty, frozen treat. it’s been too hot lately. she hasn’t seen you drinking enough water or staying out of the sun, no, you seem to live outside now, frolicking about, disregarding your overall health. ellie doesn’t like that . . not one bit.

“y’ever been into town?”

your big, doe eyes look over into hers and ellie tries not to focus too much on how your lips are puckered around that melting cube which drips creamy, tiny droplets down your fingers. “mm, a while ago,” you answer with a smack of your tongue. “. . . i get weird stares when i go.”

maybe it’s your ears . . or your hair . . or the way you dress, but each time you head into the town of mullsberry located about an hour and a half out east from the forest, you register that you become the talk of it. “i don’t like goin’ there.”

ellie doesn’t understand, “why’s that?”

you shrug, popping the now softened cube inside of your mouth to slowly bite down on it, “makes me uncomfy.”

“mm, yeah?” ellie doesn’t think about it. she sees a lone trickle of yogurt dripping down from your lips and reaches over to swipe it away with her thumb, pop it inside of her mouth, and suckle it off. “well, we gotta go. you need sunscreen . . and a hat.”

the action had been so quick, so unanticipated, it leaves you quiet — owlishly blinking at her. your response is delayed. the chords of your voice seem to be shrouded beneath tiny hiccups and dry wheezes, “. . . i don’t need sunscreen.”

“everybody needs sunscreen.”

“but, i don’t need it—“

“—you’re getting some.” effortlessly, ellie ends the conversation. you roll your eyes, pushing another cube inside your mouth, deciding this time to let the warmth of it melt the yogurt for you. 

ellie lays back against the grass, heaving out a comforted sigh as she closes her eyes, “. . out of all your lifetimes, who’s been your favorite ellie so far?” she mumbles, hands interlocked upon her stomach. she’s been curious. the more she learns about you, the more she adores. which one made you laugh the hardest? smile the biggest? you loved the most?

the shirt she wears is a simple black beater with a flannel over top. it’s a bit tight — rides up to stop at her belly button with her new lounged position. you hadn’t heard her question. your eyes are transfixed at the sight of her stomach, flat and carved and a distant thought of you pushing it all the way up . . . of you lowering your head to trace the deep divots and valleys with the pad of your tongue flashes through your mind.

you wonder what she’d do if you climbed on top of her. if she’d push you off, keep you there . . make you grind yourself against her lap in that same desperate way you’ve been envisioning yourself for the past couple weeks now.

“huh?” 

ellie peeks one eye open, just in time to see both of your own staring at her thighs. “hm?” 

you both are quiet.

ellie lifts herself upon one hand to then lean on it. she’d caught you — blatantly. you feel your nose begin to fester with a familiar heat. 

“what’s up with you?” quietly, she asks the question.

you stay silent and direct your vision to the grass below to delicately push your hand through the blades. not a thought runs through your mind. you don’t know what to say. you feel embarrassed. 

ellie’s voice is sweetly firm as she directs your eyes back up into hers with a nice nudge of her knuckle upwards beneath your chin, “you know, it’s basic manners to answer when you’re asked a question, hm?”

you turn your face away, now pouty, “it’s nothing.”

she turns your face back her way . . and holds it there. ellie reads the unrefined amount of shock within your eyes, it makes her smile. never has there been a case given to ellie where she’s been able to unveil you this side of her — the one who if not just as, maybe even more tougher . . and mean . . and frigid than the one you already see. it’s refreshing to finally give you a taste. 

“what’s up?” is all she casually asks, not giving you the option to pull away — not anymore. 

again, you whine, “it’s nothing, ellie, i swear it to the stars—“

“—i feel it,” ellie scoots in close, heels on the grass, legs agape, free arm draped across her knee. you just want to scream because, goodness, how, of all times, did you forget that she can feel it? “know i can feel it, right?”

the gaze held between you both grows dense, it weighs down upon your heart akin to a boulder on foam, sinking lower and lower to the pit of your stomach until ultimately, it ends right within your core, pushing a solid beat against your hardening clit. there’s no point in veiling how you feel anymore, what is clear that you want — not when you know that she feels the same way, if not, more.

she releases your face from her hand while gathering a deep breath within her nose. she then blows it out with a slight smirk on her face and a gentle ‘ hm, ‘ interlocking her fingers and letting them hang between her legs. her touch is already missed.

you look down at the grass again, trying your best to be as inconspicuous as you can upon your body tilting her way so that you can nudge your forehead against her shoulder — almost in the same way ozzi does to your shin when wanting an extra nibble of your sliced ham bites. ellie lets you. she tilts her head down with a slight smile, watching you rock back on your butt, still not looking at her before you tip back forward and do it again.

she doesn’t say anything. you don’t either.

you groan impatiently — a little sound, similar to a kitten’s hiss, “ellie.”

“hm?”

you press a bit harder, only this time, you also push your face up to get a nose full of her scent from within the pocket of her neck. she smells like your soap, nonetheless, something strong and woodsy and almost directly after her scent is entering then coasting between the lines of your veins, a vicious wave of syrupy slick finds its home within the seat of your little panties. 

you push yourself between her arms, separating them, prior to you shoving her legs down flat to then swing your knee onto the other side of her hip and take a seat. your actions are quick, but . . they are also anticipated. ellie isn’t taken off guard, not in the slightest bit. in all fact, she even quietly chuckles at the feel of you push your face deeper inside of that splendid, little pocket of her neck to get another deep whiff of her smell. your hands are grappling at her shoulders, small fists gathering the fabric of her flannel between them, pulling.

“mm, ( ❤︎ ) . . . (-(❤︎), babe, hold on.”

“no.”

your hand is grabbing a chunk of her hair at the crown to pull her head back. you don’t hesitate, no, you dive head first, colliding your lips against the soft surface of hers, breathing her in, holding her tight, making sure she doesn’t pull away. you’re exhausted. you’ve hit your limit with the dance around and the teasing and pointless flirting. life is short, you don’t want to waste not another second from kissing her . . touching her . . having her. 

ellie hums — it’s a long, ‘ hmmm. ‘ a deep thing, coupled with her calloused hands sliding beneath the thin garment of your little dress to grab your hips. her hands are frigid to the touch and as your glossed lips pop open at the sensation, your breath hitches upon the next inhale. ellie takes advantage of the accidental blunder to touch the roof of your mouth with the tip of your tongue. when your body essentially liquifies above her, pushing your breasts harder against her own, ellie does it again. she nudges her tongue against your own, curling it around it, pulling it further inside of her own mouth.

your responding hiccup is adorable. you start to rock — pushing and pulling your lower half back then forth, dropping yourself further down to receive some friction from her shorts against your throbbing cunt. 

“what are you doing?” ellie’s voice is quiet. she speaks through slight pants, looking up at you beneath the fine feathers of her lashes. she feels what you’re doing — the beat of your clit against her thigh, the way your lips separate with each pull back then smoosh back together when you grind forward . . your pussy isn’t quiet neither, no, she hears the wetness, the squishes and slurps and purls. it’s as though she’s begging for ellie, to fill her up, make her cry and burst and gape.

your counter is a little sniffle and mewl as you tilt your head back against your shoulder, eyes closed, “n-nothing.”

“nothing?”

you nod, lips falling open when your hips stutter and makes your clit catch on one of the buttons of the pockets on her cargos. “n-nothin’. i . . p-promise, ellie.”

softly, ellie laughs. she can’t help it. “shit,” she leans back and watches you, corners of her eyes creasing from her big smile. “what am i gonna do with you?”

you seriously think about the question even while never ceasing to slow the momentum you had built up during that kiss. what is she going to do with you? and what are you going to do with her? she’s yours and you’re hers. you’re compelled to gasp once more at the simple thought. your pussy produces another wave of sticky slick. “oh, heavens.” the quickening beat of your heart should scare you, never have you felt it hammering so fast, in spite of such, you know that it’s the wedded reaction of both how you and ellie are feeling. she’s nervous too, she’s aching too, she wants you too.

“fuck me.” that’s the answer to her question. you whimper out the two words gently, even while so needy, you’re still shy, still hesitant. “p-please, el’.”

ellie finally chokes up. she doesn’t make a sound, not outright, but her spine straightens . . her breath catches . . her eyes grow a bit wide. “what?” she watches you lick your lips prior to you biting down slightly onto the corner of your lower. with your eyes still closed, your eyebrows furrow, and she knows what you’re going to say, what you’re going to do. still, while feeling so good, you’re embarrassed and second guessing it. “no, no,” ellie doesn’t want that. she enfolds you within her arms. “jus . . . jus’ say it for me one more time. that’s all,” she grazes a small kiss upon your collar bone, right above the pearl linked sautoir of a gold framed, white opal heart. “want you to be sure."

you swallow, lowering your head down to press your forehead against hers. ellie smells your fine scent of roses, jasmine, and white musk and leans in to lightly brush the rounded tip of her nose against yours for added assurance. she has her answer, she knows what she wants to do. she’s waiting for you. 

“i have . .” your voice is nothing but a mumble beneath the quiet chirping of cicadas and crickets. “i have this . . toy . . . in my bedroom. before you came, i barely even used it . . bought it when i went into town two years ago — was sittin’ in my nightstand forever . .” you release a breath, closed eyes squinting just the slightest bit tighter. “but then . . that kiss . . . . made me — you made me . . i dunno,” you squirm, hips shifting. “been usin’ it since then—“

“shit.”

ellie manages to lift you both with one arm holding onto your waist as the other helps hoist herself up so that she can stand. you wrap your legs tighter around her when she pushes on it and can’t help the giggle that slips past your lips as she quickly stumbles into your cottage and up the stairs. “you’re gonna show me . .— why are you laughing?” ellie’s trying not to smile too hard herself. “think i’m playing . . huh?”

the door to your bedroom bursts open as she pushes through. 

you don’t have any electrical lighting, only candles. there’s about four of them lit on your vanity, two on your nightstand, and a couple more on your work desk. they all bathe your room in a light, golden glow.

both lonnie and ozzi lay asleep atop the foot of your mattress. they jolt with a slight yelp when ellie plops you down and scratches her fingers against their scruffs to wake them up.

“out,” she tells them.

you laugh a bit harder, watching your babies hop from the bed onto their paws.

ellie bends to shoo them faster with her fingers tickling their tails, an act neither of them appreciated. they trot a little faster with irritated hisses. “yeah, yeah. go. hurry it up. mommy’s mine for the night.”

the door closes behind them with a firm click. your mouth is agape, corners of your lips raised with a slight smile as you watch ellie walk back over to you, pausing for a moment to kick off her shoes. “lonnie’s going to seriously hurt you one day.”

ellie slowly slides herself between your legs to hold herself above you with her forearms on either side of your head. she’s smirking, jade irises shimmering beneath the darkened sky of the night. “what about ozzi?”

her body, lean and tall, pressed against yours makes you shudder. “ozzi,” you inhale. “o-ozzi likes you.”

ellie lowers her head down and you think she’s going to kiss you, withal, she sidesteps to peck a gentle smooch against the chub of your cheek. you squirm underneath her, knees bending, folding back so that the pudgy lips of your pussy pressing up against your panties is exposed. you’re impatient, ellie knows you are. “please,” you gasp and pull at her flannel. “c’mon, ellie . . please.”

“jus’ wait, pretty,” she mumbles and grabs the bottom hemming of your dress. “gonna be good, yeah?”

you will, you will be, you promise and you want to tell her but you’re far too pent up. words become nothing but a jumbled mess knotted within your brain. ellie hums, gradually sliding her hand down the front of your panties, inch by inch. her eyes are focused on your face, catching the exact moment when you suddenly gasp when her fingers find your clit. “shit, baby,” ellie sucks in some air through her teeth at the feel of the pads of her fingers slipping and sliding off of the slicked nub a few times before she can firmly begin to circle it. “y’fuckin’ soaked . .” when she starts to hears them — those precious little squelches and slurps, ellie decides that just feeling you isn’t going to cut it.

she slips her hand out. you whine, of course you fucking whine. 

“careful, baby.” ellie’s shushing you as you pull at your dress, lifting halfway up to tug it off of your body only to get some of your hair caught in the strappy neckline. she’s smiling as she helps you unfurl it, slender fingers gentle. “see, this is why we need to take our time. there’s no rush . . we got all night.”

you sniff, “ellie, before you . . i — jus . . . can you stand, please?”

ellie’s eyebrows lift, nonetheless, she goes with your request to slip off of the bed and place her two feet on the floor. you follow her, only to then grab her hands and lead her over to the center of the bottom of your bed frame, a few feet away from your vanity. 

“been wantin’,” your eyes are focused downward as you let ellie’s hands go to slide your own up her torso. “been wantin’ to do this . . for so long — think since . . . that day you helped me out around the farmhouse.” since you saw the swathe lines of her biceps rippling through her shirt, the way she parted her lips to exhale those shallow pants, how she brushed her then long hair back with gapped fingers to comb it off of her flushed face. you want to know if she’d look the same when you get to finally do what you’ve been dreaming of, if she’d let you. 

ellie’s mind is blank. she holds her breath when you lean in to give one, little kiss beneath her ear. she thinks she knows what you want . . . withal, she thinks better of that. are you that type? 

her lip is pinned beneath the top row of her teeth once she feels your fingers plucking open the button of her shorts to then pull the zipper down. your tongue is warm and soft — it drags down the slope of ellie’s neck to her collarbones where you drag it back inside of your mouth to plant a kiss at. then it’s back . . down the middle of her chest, near the peaks of her tits . . . and you’re lowering down. 

ellie hadn’t known when she found the glossed mahogany of your bed’s footboard between her fingers, but she finds herself gripping it tight enough for her nails to leave indents within the wood. “hey,” she breathes, chin lowering to watch you kneel and tug her shorts all the way down her legs. it leaves her in her simple grey briefs. “hey, babe . . — what are you—“

“—shh.” 

your fingers — small and pretty, nails painted a pearlescent, lemonade pink, dip inside the band of her those as well so that you can pull them down, too.

ellie breathes out a curse while her head tilts back. she’s exposed. she’s open . . all for you to see. “jesus—“ it’s an odd feeling. she’s had some mediocre experience with girls back in her hometown. a sloppy kiss hidden behind a park’s apparatus, a tit grope over a shirt in a childhood treehouse, some quiet fingering in her bedroom — all actions she’s performed on one, never had done to her. 

she hears you hum, then the feel of soft skin upon her thigh. she has to look down . . .

and there you are . . cheek rubbing against her and your eyes are sparkling. it’s like you’ve hit the lottery, you’re as excited as a kid at the fair. “are you shy?” you look up at her as your fingers tickle up the inside of her calf. 

ellie scoffs, “fuck no.”

“no?” you giggle and nuzzle up against her again. “well, i think you are.”

“and you’re just the smartest girl in the world, huh? you know everything?”

you shrug, little smile precious and adorable, “yeah.”

ellie rolls her eyes at the same while your fingers find the soft lips of her cunt. her next inhale is sharper than last and she has to close her eyes to remind herself to gather her bearings. this is nothing and she already feels as though she’s a hair away from blowing her load like a fucking teen. 

“ooh,” your voice is quiet and your tone takes on a dreamy lilt as your index and middle fingers spread open her pussy so that you can catch an eye full of the wetness that shimmers behind them. “y’so pretty, el’.”

ellie hums, “y . . yeah?”

“mhm.”

your tongue is sudden. ellie’s entire body tenses the minute she feels it nudge at her clit. “oh, shit,” her voice is lowered to a sigh. 

and you’re eager . . so fucking eager. your lips wrap around the swollen bud before you’re rolling it over the textured, little pad of your tongue again. you suckle it loudly with cute whimpers of your own and you stare up at ellie the entire time — eyes big and round and so empty and so trusting. 

“fuck,” ellie fists a handful of your hair as she falls back onto one of her palms that press against your mattress. “yeah,” she’s breathless, mouth continuously falling open to shape a perfect ‘ o ‘ as her thick eyebrows fold in close. “j-jus like that, baby . . jus like—“ when your tongue slides an inch down and she feels the tip of it probe her clenching hole, ellie jolts. it’s a sudden reaction, neither of you expect it and her own response makes the auburn laugh around a hiccuped grunt. “—o-oh, fuck . . who . . . t-taught you all this, huh? y-you’re . .” she swallows. “you’re so fuckin’ good.”

you pull back to catch your breath and swallow her taste within your throat. “mm,” you savor the tang and brine, it’s already hooking. “no one . . you jus’,” your face burns. “you taste heavenly, ellie.” not the sweetest of fruits, the most tender of savory meats, or honeyed candies could compare. she’s your own luxury, your favorite treat. 

“mmm.”

your mouth is back on her before ellie can blink. as the seconds pass, it’s as though you get more comfortable. you let your fingers trail up her thighs to her hips, then back down to her calves, and the way you touch her is . . riveting. by its nature, you can’t seem to get a fill. what’s enough, isn’t. you’re not satisfied, not even while you have copious amounts of ellie’s juices dripping down the sides of your face, from your chin, flowing down your neck to your heaving tits.

“god, you’re so . . .—” ellie’s voice tilts on a while as she lets her head fall back. the sounds you make are disgusting . . they’re sloppy and wet and sticky and you moan like you can’t get enough. “o-open. tongue out,” the auburn snaps your head further back, looking down to watch you comply to her directions. “ ‘s a good girl . . fuck, you’re so g-good to me.” 

her hips start to buck . . she drags the soft strip of her pussy back and forth across your planed tongue and hiccups at the look you give her. you look . . . happy, as if this was what you wanted this entire time . . as if you’ve been dreaming about this your entire life. “s-shit, you’re my good girl, huh?” ellie watches you nod. your nails dig deep into her skin . . she likes the pain. “all m-mine . . . mine . . for the rest of f-fuckin’ eternity.”

when she cums, you squeak. her eyes roll back and body tautens almost painfully tight but you’re pushing yourself further up, swallowing each gush and stream like a kitten starved. ellie shivers, falling back onto both of her palms to watch you lap her clean. “so yummy,” you murmur into her cunt, long lashes fluttering up to gaze at her. your tongue drags slow, wide circles along her stout clit. it throbs and aches and pounds, you can’t help but kiss it a few times, too. you don’t want to pull away, not even for a moment. “one more time?” your lips are already pulling gently at the bud when you ask the question. 

ellie heaves a tired chuckle, “oh no. no. up.”

she forces you to stand and you pout your plush, glossed lips at her once you do. “jus’ one more?”

she grabs your face — in that same despotic way she did only less than half an hour before. her eyes are drilling. “don’t get greedy,” she murmurs, rubbing her thumb along the fluid drying into a sticky paste on your cheek. “y’so messy.”

you can’t help yourself. you push in to kiss her. ellie appreciates the mix of you two’s conjoined taste. she relishes in it as she turns to lay you back down upon your bed. “you don’t think i want a taste too?” she utters into the heat of your mouth while her fingers peel away your panties. “didn’t know you were so fuckin’ selfish.”

your pussy aches when exposed to the cool air and you whine at her words. “ ‘m not.”

“i think you are.”

“and you’re the smartest—“

the sudden yelp when you’re flipped over onto your stomach is warranted, followed by the squeak upon a thick smack being stowed onto the plump skin of your ass cheek. “ellie.”

“dunno how i’m jus now seeing it.” her roughened hands are grabbing your hips and she’s tugging them back to prop you up on your knees. “you’re kind of a fuckin’ brat.”

you don’t like that word. not one bit. “i’m not.”

“you are.” ellie sends another smack to your ass to watch the way it bounces back. fuck. she’s had dreams about this — about rubbing lavender scented oil upon the globes until they shined beneath the moon’s rays, groping it tight to watch the skin pale around the shape of her hand, swatting at them hard enough to bruise . . especially when you wear those fucking denim cut offs . . the mini dresses and tiny overalls. “shit.”

when she peels the rounded orbs away from each other, splitting them far apart . . she’s faced with your chubby, leaking pussy and a winking button right up top. she feels her cunt begin to ache again. “ ‘s no way in hell i’m ever leaving you again, you know that?” your responding giggle makes ellie think that you don’t take her words serious. “you’re stuck with me.”

“i know, ellie.”

she lets her thumbs graze your folds prior to her carefully separating them and gluey webs of your crystalline nectar, strung along your hole and clit awaits her. “so fuckin’ beautiful.”

ellie lets her first mind get the best of her — she swats one more smack against your ass to hear you yelp again before she’s lowering her head and burying her face within your pussy. you positively melt where you lay, eyes cycling back within your skull as your mouth falls open, “oh,” your voice is pitched an octave higher. “oh, ellie.”

she hums her understanding, stroking her tongue along your clit back and forth, back and forth to hear you whine. your hips wag from side to side and ellie doesn’t know if you’re trying to pull away or push yourself further back into her mouth but she grips them between her heavy palms to keep you still. you’re delectable. she can’t help dragging her tongue further up to taste the knitted surface of your hole above. 

“ellie!” 

she pulls off with a loud pucker and smiles, letting her fingers stroke between the creases of your labia to collect the product of your arousal along the pads of them. “too much?”

you keep quiet, save for your hollow breaths. 

“tastes good though . . gonna keep me from it?”

when her middle finger slowly starts to breach the inside of you, you guess that’s when you finally, truly, ultimately break. your eyes close as you bury your face within the crease of your inner elbow and shake your head. “a-again.”

“hm?” 

her finger slides in ‘til the knuckle. you’re warm . . and so fucking tight. “again what?”

a tease. she’s a fucking tease. “d-do it . . again,” you’re whimpering, hand reaching back to grab a cheek and spread. “please? . . pretty please?”

ellie licks her lips. when her finger is halfway free from the inside of your cunt, you hear a quiet ‘ ptu ‘ as a net of her saliva is shot onto your hole only to be quickly followed by her tongue. when you ask so cutely like that, how can she say no? her middle finger pushes and pulls from the inside of your drooling pussy as her tongue caresses the taut ring. she gets it messy — lets her saliva drip from the canvas of her mouth so that those darling, little clicks and slurps can echo off of the walls of your bedroom.

when she slides in her ring finger beside her middle, your hips buck. “oh, stars,” you’re mewling, reaching a hand down to grab her wrist when you feel her push them in deep with each thrust inside. “hng, ellie . . . e-ellie . . — please, ‘m . . ‘s a lot.”

ellie pulls back, “move your hand,” she breathes. you’re fucking with her pace with the amount of squeezing you’re doing and ellie needs free reign. when you don’t do remove it quick enough, ellie grabs your wrist and pushes it away herself. “grab my wrist again and i’m tying yours.”

she straightens her back to kneel before you and push her palm against your back, making sure you don’t lose that arch. she wants to just watch for a while — watch the way your pussy spasms around her fingers, how it drips and squelches and throbs soon after she trades the in and out technique for a more stroking motion. “oh, fuck,” she curses when she sees that first trickle of thick, white cream.

she thinks her eyes are deceiving her — has to remove her palm from your back to spread your ass apart again to watch your cunt slowly begin to froth precious, little milky bubbles at her knuckles. 

“feels so good,” you’re babbling, spreading your knees further apart to feel more, more, more. “jus’ l-like that . . d-don’t stop, ellie, please.”

“ ‘m not, baby,” ellie’s voice is nothing but a whisper as she watches a few beads start to ooze down the smooth veneer of your thighs. they remind her of the pearls that are currently draped across your neck — so dainty and pretty. “oh my god . . how are you — fuck, it’s so much.”

you tremble beneath her. all that leaves your spit slicked lips are whimpers and cries, not a single intelligible word. how a girl so articulate and eloquent gets dumbed down just from a few fingers toying with the inside of her little cunt, ellie doesn’t know. but, she likes you like this. likes you just as much when you’re teaching her about your history or telling her how much she should feed your kittens and lambs. 

she can’t help but chuckle and tilt herself forward to pepper a line of kisses up your curved spine, “you’re so fucking cute,” she murmurs against your skin. “y’hear that?”

her palm has to cover your mouth just so that the both of you are able to hear the thick wallows of your pussy gushing around her digits. she sees how your eyes widen just the slightest bit with embarrassment, feels how your body goes rigid and your hand scramble for hers against your mouth to pull it away.

ellie only pulls her fingers out so that the both of you can also hear the wet ‘ pop ‘ of them exiting. she’s smiling against your temple as she plows them back in for a thrust or two then jerks them back out. “so fuckin’ dirty,” she groans with a chuckle at the feel of you melting and shivering back against her. “filthy little girl.”

she plants four, sticky little pats against your pussy before she’s flipping you back over. “where’s your toy, hm?”

you’re panting, thoughts jumbled and voice gone as you let her question flow in then out of your ears. you don’t know. you don’t know anything anymore. you just want to cum. you were so close just then. everything hurts. “hey,” her voice is breaking you out of your reverie. “hey, pretty girl.”

when she kisses you, you sniff out a soft cry. ellie coo’s. “none of that,” she mumbles. “i’m trying to make it all better — make you feel more good.”

“ ‘s in . . the drawer,” you give a quivering sigh while using your chin to point to where it is. “over there.”

ellie merely has to stretch one slim arm over to pull open the case and shuffle her hand around to find a phallic shaped object hidden within a silk drawstring bag. beside it is a bundle of faux leather straps. she grabs hold of them both, interest piqued. “oh, shit,” she scoffs a small laugh. “hm . . what’s this?”

you cover your face, horribly shy. “. . . it c-came with the harness!” you squeak. “i jus . . i took the toy out of it.”

“yeah?” she takes her time unraveling the bundle of belts until she could somehow make out the leg holes and where she’d tighten it around her waist. “this is going to be fuckin’ fun.”

you watch her open the bag and pull out the dildo — it’s about six and a half inches with a hefty girth. ellie’s smile seems to widen. you know she’s laughing at the color you picked . . a bubblegum blush tone that ombred out into a hot pink near the tip. “it’s pretty.”

you pout, “are you just saying that?”

“no, no,” she’s giggling while adjusting it inside of the harness. “it is . . . it fits you, i suppose.”

she’s climbing between your legs with a nice sigh, gazing at you for a moment. your blush seems to burn ten degrees warmer. “what?”

she closes her eyes for a split second, eyebrows raised as she shakes her head, “nothin’,” she tells you. “nothing, you’re just . . really fucking attractive, uhm,” she clears her throat and leans over you as you giggle. her cheeks are glowing a bright red. “we need lube?—“

you’re quiet when you utter, “—no, no,” while grinning over your bottom lip. “jus’ . . rub it against me . . . get it wet.”

ellie groans softly, adjusting herself more comfortably atop of you, “can you . . why say it like that?”

“like what?”

she’s pushing the underside of her cock against your still creamy cunt while grumbling, “want me to fuckin’ bust untouched? don’t do that.”

“think i do.”

“what’s gotten into you?”

“ellie, i’m achy—“

she slides in nice and smooth, watching your words die out on your tongue. the face you make is incredible — your eyebrows even out, mouth drops. “there you go,” ellie hums and breathes out once she reaches the hilt. your pussy is spread wide against the girth of the strap and she can’t help but adore that she has all access to your clit now that it’s fully exposed from the folds of your lips.  “feel nice?”

“yeah,” you whimper and nod quickly, hands sliding up to her hips. “s-so good.”

“mhm.” rolling her lips inside of her mouth, ellie pulls her hips back a couple inches and pushes herself back forward. “. . . you’ve really been using this for the past few weeks? every night?”

you smile around a dreamy little moan and bat your eyes open to look up into hers, “yeah,” you repeat. “jus’ thought of you . . . spreading me open . . bending me up, makin’ me . . t-take it.”

“oh my god.”

ellie supposes she’s never saw this side of you before. the one not so shy, the one who sees what she wants and takes it — regardless of you having to pull out the whines and the pouts and huffs to get it. she reaches for your knees, the backs of them, and folds them until they find the lobes of your ears. you gasp, widened, glistening eyes gazing up into hers prior to you nodding, “l-like that, mhm . . j-jus’ like that.”

ellie lets a web of her spit fall onto the dildo to wax it just the tiniest bit sleeker. “don’t move.” she gives you what you want — tugs herself back and makes her hips fall again to drop her cock in and out of your needy pussy. and you take it . . you take it so fucking good. your voice is caught in your throat as you lay there and keep still, eyes squinted shut and mouth wide open.  

“o-oh fuck,” ellie moans, feeling the harness knock against her clit with each pound inside of you. “fuck, baby . . why are you — s-so fuckin’ pretty — god.”

you suck in a squeaking inhale, arms pulling ellie in, in, in until her face is tucked within the curve of your neck and your legs are draped over her shoulders. “oh, christ — holy . . ‘s so deep. e-ellie . .” you’ve never felt it so deep. “oh, my.”

your pussy thanks her with ringing gurgles and sucks. it feels so good. she feels like heaven personified atop of you, heart against yours, hands indenting marks within your skin, lips siphoned around a chunk of your neck to bruise a love bite. your nails dig into her skin for a grip as she increases her momentum. “been wantin’ you for so long,” you hear her whisper beneath your ear. “been needin’ to kiss you . . f-fuckin . . hold you . . make this pussy all mine.”

“yes,” you hiccup as your little toes curl. “p-please, ‘s yours. ‘m yours . . i promise.”

“i know,” she moans and abruptly slams in to keep herself there for a moment. “i know, baby . . . t-think i wanna see you. i gotta see you.”

you let her pull herself away so that she can pull out and roll atop her back. “c’mere,” she’s hurried. ellie doesn’t want to keep herself away from you for a second longer. “ride it for me?”

you veer one of your legs to her other side and lean over onto a palm to reach back and carefully lead her cock back inside. “ellie,” you sigh her name sweetly. she’s so pretty, hair haloed upon the pillow, darkened eyes of sage locked upon your face. 

she groans, hands clutched at your waist to carefully begin to push you up and down her length. your hair’s so long, you have to gather it all onto one shoulder to keep it out of the way and ellie shouldn’t find that so endearing but she does. everything about you is absolutely bewitching. “fuck, baby,” she’s breathless, watching you lean forward to steadily stroke your cunt from crown to base, hips seemingly made of water. “keep goin’, yeah?”

you nod, bottom lip bitten, “s-so good . . your cock feels so good, ellie.”

your words make her shiver. she groans, grabbing hold the spheres of your ass to begin to make you rock harder, faster. “so filthy,” she whispers, swatting it when you release a particular loud sob. why the fuck did she put up a front for so long? that she didn’t want you? she can’t imagine never feeling this, seeing this again. “fuckin’ dirty — how can someone so pretty be this fuckin’ dirty, huh?”

you hic, keeping still for when she begins to meet you halfway, pounding you effortlessly from the bottom without a breath hiked. “ ‘m gonna c-cum, ellie,” you warn. you’re crying — beautifully, might she add, literal glitter encrusted tears cascading down the lower line of your lashes and down your soft cheeks. ellie hates that her cunt throbs at the sight. she feels depraved. “cum,” she utters. “cum on me. can take it, angel, y’know i will.”

she watches your eyebrows furrow and and eyes squeeze shut, “e-ellie . .” you gasps her name. “ellie, hng — oh . . . oh, f-f- . .”

abruptly, your knees knock closed and your spine straightens. ellie swears she feels it — your sticky, creamy cum gushing out over her cock, your walls compressing, locking her inside of you. the both of you are gasping. “oh, shit.” your entire body quivers over ellie’s hips. “shit.”

she smacks your ass to feel the skin recoil and you jump. ellie lets you catch your breath, let’s you slowly unwind your body from it’s coiled position and she massages her fingers within the knots of your muscles. she’ll allow you to think that she’s done, just for now. it looks like you need the peace of mind. you’re panting, eyes still closed, and head bowed. “good job, mama,” ellie lifts herself up to pull you inside of her arms. “you alright?”

you drape your arms across her to plop the side of your face upon her shoulder and nod, “mhm.”

her hands rub circles over your back and you soften. so good. you feel floaty . . completely gone. 

“c’mere.”

when ellie’s rolling over and pulling out, you’re thinking she’s going to put the harness away and lay back down, nonetheless, she’s carefully turning you back onto your tummy and tugging you back up on your knees. “ellie?” your wonder is palpable. 

“you okay? . . i can do this?”

your pussy is gaping, still achy . . still wanting. “yeah.” 

shit. ellie’s already sliding back in. you whine, grabbing hold of the comforters within your fists. 

“gonna let me fuck you for jus’ a while longer. want you to feel good, that’s all.” ellie’s selfish. she wants you to feel good, no doubt, but she also wants to hear those fucking moans . . and cries and cute sobs and disgusting squelches . . she wants to watch your body shake and your ass bounce upon her pelvis . . wants to pin you down and make you cum until you can’t take it anymore. 

and you seem to love how fucking rough she is. you let her hold a heavy hand at the back of your neck and pound you until your legs give out, leaving her directly atop of your flattened body. you do nothing but cry out precious ‘ yes ‘s and ‘ more ‘s and ‘ like that ‘s as she bites down hard enough onto your shoulders to leave the indents of her teeth into. she smacks your ass hard enough for the skin to begin to purple and all you do is sob out her name as if you wanted her to never stop. 

god. ellie can’t help but think she hit the fucking soulmate lottery with you. 

⠀ ⠀ ❤︎

you fuck until the sun rises.

your moans and cries indubitably dance within the heart of the forest and across the acres of land that surround your tiny cottage. ellis’s fucking exhausted come the end of it, albeit, given the amount of sweat and cum lost, she’s still not tired enough to go to sleep. she stays up . . . simply watches you doze as her fingers dance across the pretty slopes of your features . . your nose and lips and eyes and pointed ears. 

you sleep for what feels like eons. she doesn’t blame you. she’s fucked, what she knows, the life out of you and when you wake you can hardly even stand. “lonnie . . ozzi,” you whine out their names when you both hear scratching at the door. ellie chuckles, pulling you in to kiss beneath your chin. “mm, let ‘em wait just a few hours longer . . they’re so fucking clingy.”

“ellie, those are my babies,” you’re giggling yet tugging her in with your legs to keep her close. “mm . . our babies, now.”

ellie gives a content sigh. she likes the sound of that, she’ll be honest. muttering soft enough for only the two of you can hear, she says, “. . ozzi’s my favorite.”

your responding swat to her chest is expected, “you have to love them both, equally.”

when ellie pulls back to look into your eyes, she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face at the simple sight of you. “speakin’ of . . .” her low voice trails. “out of all of your lifetimes, who’s been your favorite ellie?” she repeats the question from the night before. she’s curious of your answer.

the question is heavy. you think about it while gnawing on your bottom lip, cheeks warming. you don’t want to say it, you shouldn’t say it. it feels wrong but, “you . .” you sough quietly, heart light. you’re happy to know that she feels it. “you’re my number one, by far.”

  ❤︎ — all rights reserved ! © poutsiez !

amazing. flawless. perfect.

Summary: you convince Ellie to let you use the strap on her.

Sub!ellie kinda. She’s receiving but still dominant. Fluffy af but still hot.

I’m new to writing so pls be kind<333

Warnings: SMUT. Minors do not interact.

It’s something you brought up in conversation here and there. Ellie would just laugh it off and be like “you strapping me? Not happening baby.”

One day you’re cuddling in bed and and you’re begging her and giving her the biggest puppy eyes and softly pouting. She can’t say no when you look like that. “Since you’re being such a good girl and begging me then fine but I’m still in control.”

You’re so excited and so eager to please her that you can’t help but smile and give her kisses all over her face. She thinks it’s cute how you need her help putting on the strap and wonders how you’re gonna be able to do this but indulges you because she loves you so much and wants to make you happy.

Once you’ve secured the strap properly, she starts to get a little apprehensive and you can tell by her face. You rub her thigh gently and kiss the inside of her wrist. “Are you sure you wanna do this El? We don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.”

Ellie takes a deep breath and smiles at you leaning forward and you think she’s gonna kiss you but once you lean in she moves back a little just ghosting her lips over yours and smirks. You wonder how she can still try to be in control and tease you right now. You roll your eyes and push her back pinning her wrists above her head smashing your lips into hers.

She chuckles, quickly freeing her wrists and grabbing your hips to flip you on your back leaning down to whisper in your ear “don’t forget who’s in charge here baby.” She kisses you hungrily and brings her hand up to your throat squeezing gently. She then props herself up, thighs on each side of your face and gives you the look like “you know what to do.”

You quickly pull her down swiping your tongue a few times before licking and sucking on her clit. Ellie lets out a whimper “fuck baby just like that” and you fuck your tongue straight into her. She grips your hair and starts riding your face completely using you, grunting with each thrust of her hips. You moan into her and the vibrations push her over the edge, eyes rolling to the back of her head and arching her back. She lets out a low moan, hips faltering while you work her through it, licking up every inch of her and leaving a gentle kiss on her clit.

She gets off and starts kissing you passionately still out of breath. She moves to your neck licking and sucking while her hands wander all over your body. You feel yourself melting and giving into her touch until you realize what you wanted to do.

You hesitantly push her away and she gives you a confused look. “Alright babe you ready?” She almost forgot and raises her eyebrows before closing her eyes and nodding. You switch to get on top of her, slipping your fingers through her folds to make sure she’s still wet enough. “Remember you’re in control and if you want me to stop just let me know.”

You start swiping the tip up and down her folds and she lets out a sigh, closing her eyes. “Eyes on me.” She opens them as you slowly start to ease your way into her. She winces as it gets deeper, getting harder to move in further. You caress her hip “just relax for me.”

You see her relax her body and you start to move again until it’s all the way in, watching her face to see if she’s in any pain. “I’m gonna move now okay?” You start out slow and her breathing picks up “oh fuck keep doing that.” You pick up the pace and she’s moaning like you’ve never heard before. You smile and lean down kissing her messily. Tongues and teeth clashing, panting in each others mouths. She grabs your hips tightly to stop you and pulls you out. You look at her in confusion before she’s flipping you on your back.

Before you can process what’s happening, she’s riding you and leans down to kiss you aggressively, biting on your lip so hard that you almost start bleeding. Moaning into each others mouths, she starts going faster and then buries her face into your neck. You feel her hips start to stutter so you grip onto them, fucking into her relentlessly. She’s moaning and panting “fuck fuck fuck. Don’t stop I’m gonna cum.” She bites into your neck to muffle her moan as she cums all over you, dripping down the strap into your lap. You help her move off you and she collapses on her back, trying to catch her breath. Eventually she looks over at you and you both start laughing. “Fuck why haven’t we done that sooner?” You lean over to kiss her and shyly ask “so was I good?” She lets out a chuckle “yeah baby. So fucking good.”