i have a big fat fucking crush on him
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

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DEAR READER
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@555-9275
i have a big fat fucking crush on him
omg stop.. think abt pervert coat guy masturbating in your bed at night when youve just woken up from your nap next to him because he’s so drawn to your warmth, cue to him getting caught when he moans a little too loud, you turn around and jerk him off forcing him to stay quiet…
NSFW DRABBLE: slightly dubious content, he goes into your room without permission and jerks off LOL. he’s aware of how creepy he’s being but he can’t help it, he’s fantasizing about you, you catch him & instead of kicking him out you jerk him off, calling him good boy, he cums really hard, etc.
PERVERTED COAT GUY NGHHH gonna he honest i write this at 5am and IDK!!! i hope you like it though im sorry if its mid
a heavy breath slipped past his chill lips, and the grip of his hand around his own cock was tight.
he was jerking off.
to you.
you slept so soundly, your front facing him as you slept on your side. he shouldn’t be here; he knew this, and yes—maybe his moral code was a bit fucked. he simply couldn’t help himself.
long time no see. anyways currently writing a one shot angst fic. hooray and all that jazz. i love torturing myself.
"What do you think the universe has planned for us?" series masterlist ⛅︎ Ellie Williams Story
Total wc: 9,9K rundown: This is NOT a love story. Sure, it contains of it, but if you're searching for a love–driven plot that is slowburn you will not find it here. I created this series on how I think Ellie would deal with her grief in a modern au where she cannot gain any vengeance, because there is no one to blame. It is up to you and your attention span to really understand her as you stride the evolution of your life being the support of Ellie, to see how she handles her relationships after a tragedy. After years, and years, you will watch her drive herself insane, bottle up her emotions, and see how her love and empathy will falter. So read, and find out if your story ends in harmony or the usual disappointment humans tend to show you. Maybe she'll be different than them. Author Notes: chapter 1 is lowkey ass now that I look back at it. (personal opinion) chapter 1 ✦ ☼ ✧ chapter 2 ✦ ☪︎ ✧ chapter 3
(divider credits: uzmacchiato & anetalenia)
"What do you think the universe has planned for us?"
Bsf!Ellie & Fem!Reader
Sypnosis: A journey of figuring out what you and Ellie are.
Word count: 3,8k
Contains: swearing (if you're sensitive, idk gang), angst, fluff, lot of ellie's thoughts, sexual tendencies (partial smut), mentions of drugs, ellie's thoughts. My writing also contains lots of metaphors, similes, so idk oops. I have a voice in this story, so you might see some author's notes as you read, as if I'm involved.
Author Notes: hello.
Recommendations are appreciated.
chapter 2 chapter 3
Chapter Three
Journal Entry — a (unfinished) poem from ellie, to my beautiful girlfriend who I will procrastinate showing this to lol big whoops
You've stepped into the Earth
like it was yours.
Your feet kissed the soil—
Like fertilizer.
Every step, every laugh, every smile
It had bloomed behind you
and their vines had wrapped everyone—
in chaos, in a riot, in a sunflower's yellow—
around your finger.
——————————————————————————————————
She wrote off the poem.
You've quite literally corrupted her brain with your vine roses, and now she sits in the middle of her floor, smiling to herself like the big idiot she was, and God, how beautiful you looked that night.
How incredibly, fucking colossal it felt to have your pretty face perched over her shoulders. She could still smell your fragrance over her shirt, and it's gardenias sprouted over her skin. One little match, and she'd light herself aflame with the firestarter you've somehow grown inside of her—residing and thriving solely off the sound of your voice. Luring her into the Strait of Gibraltar like a mermaid with your enchanting, dangerous sound. It was hypnotizing, and it held her deep within your temples to where she'd laid in her tomb; in the lost city of Atlantis. In the coral reef, she'd sail through the carribean and hope to God that you'd drag her down into your Utopian lands like an anchor as gallons of water shove her farther.
See how much pressure you've carried over her?
You've got her stringed up in your town, your city, your mind, and she's lost in a world of you. She drowns for miles as she hears naval fire above the waters fighting for land, for mercy, for you.
For your land and all things idealistic, to witness your eyes and how they stand out like a biblically accurate angel. For what you left underground and into the depths of risking your life over.
She swears, and she knows she has hit the jackpot in the means of you.
Smiling ear to ear, her phone rests in her palm as your voice croaks over her thumb. She feels the vibration over her fingers, and she tries to inhale the sound of your voice within her skin like an IV injecting something like morphine, methamphetamine, or anything else possibly addictive, and you must know how badly she wants to touch herself as we speak, right?
Aren't you doing it on purpose?
Don't play dumb. Me, Ellie, and yourself can tell with that sultry sound in your voice.
She hears you fumbling on the other end, on the opposite side of the street where your window stands tall, directly across from her bedroom window and she imagines how you look behind those cotton, velvety curtains draped like a caution warning, but she only sees it as a challenge. She'd have to earn your body in all it's glory, the image of your dainty, conjuring nails stroking your sternum like an invitation, and her only job left in this vision she was imagining was to guess what bra and underwear you'd be wearing, or maybe, none at all?
Just open those curtains now, let her get a glimpse of you won't ya?
Your lips hum over the line, and she remembers the taste of your cherry flavored chapstick from two nights ago. The sway of your hips like a tide, the heat of your body,
your tongue against hers,
the curve of her palm over your knee,
opening your legs wide,
that fucking whine that came out of you?
Are you teasing yourself right now? Hearing the roughs in Ellie's throat, do you feel obliged to get off? Like her?
She likes to think you are.
Until some sort of presence from above strikes down in your very neighborhood, gifting you both misfortune. Your continuous fumbling, the soft, little huffs of air leaving your throat? God forbid a girl is clumsy and knocks the filled glass of water on her bedside table.
It's shards spread over the wooden–tiled floor, droplets of water vault into the air and lands ice, cold against your thighs to which you let out a scream.
Not the good kind.
At first you didn't realize it was you who caused the mess and the loud, shattering noise as it reverberates over the wooden floor like nails on a board. It was 2am, and obviously you were fucking scared.
"oh my fuck, fuck, fuck," You scrambled out of bed, and stepped in between the shards of glass trying not to tarnish your little, bare toes. You could hardly see with the candle being the only light inside of your dark room, dispelling whatever evil entity it was breaking through Ellie's imagination.
"What?!" she sat up, heightening her posture as she tried to decipher what the hell was going on in your room.
"Fuck, I'm going to get my ass beattttugh."
She put you on speaker, lifting her ear up to her phone and it sounds like nothing but pure chaos, constant clinking of glass, and also very constant pacing around your room as you question if you had woken anybody up.
"What?? Are you okay? What happened??" she looks out of her window and into yours,
okay, so no one is breaking in.
"Um.." you carry glass over your palms, disposing it into your recycling bin as it slides out of your hands, carving faint, red scars over your fragile skin.
"I accidentally knocked my glass of water over," you fumble back into the sheets, and a smile creeps up onto your face as you hear her laugh on the other end. You could imagine it now—the little shake from her head, the smirk on her lips, and the flush of pink that always meet her pale cheeks when she laughs.
"God, you're an idiot."
You beam and roll your eyes as you snuggle within your silky sheets, feeling it brush against your cold figure as the sound of her voice fills your ears with playful banter. It was very her.
"Mmm well you made out with this idiot," you could imagine another head shake of disapproval on the other end, "Hey, are we ever going to talk about that?" you mutter into the phone, turning your body over as you face the window. Now you were wondering what she was doing behind her curtains.
You hear a sigh.
"What's to talk about?" her voice is soft, serious.
"Um, well," you're getting nervous. She smirks.
"What did it mean to you?" you think back to it, not in memory, but like you're taking a trip into the galactic center, surrounded by fire, and set ablaze as stars form everywhere around you and over the curves of her cheekbones, her nose, and you were so out of it, so into her once your fingers wrapped around her jaw and pulled her in a kiss above rushing waters. Something about the way her features drew you in, how sharp and somber she stood out reminding you of Picasso's Blue Period. An emotional turmoil she was.
Romance was in the air then. Written like a Bayeux tapestry, everything barely made any sense as you were left with a million things you wanted to say, but your lips said everything.
You draw a shaky breath, "was it nothing to you or did it like, you know, actually mean something?"
Quiet looms over you, and even the static falls out of reach into a gravitational pull, into the vacuum of the universe as lightning strays far from you.
Then she speaks in what offers you great relief, saving you from trouble in extensive ways a hero could ever go as she says, "I've never loved anyone as much as I love you."
When you know, you know.
She awoke in the middle of her floor, just where she was. Sunlight seeps through the cracks of her curtains, onto her face as it shines over the gloss slipping from behind her teeth and onto her chapped lips, moisturizing them while morning doves sing outside of her window. She blinks her baroque eyes, away from where she lays like a sleeping beauty, a mosaic painting dreaming of rejoicing in between your thighs, where violets grow.
She fumbles over for her phone, to maybe say good morning to her beautiful girl, but her phone was dead, and your voice was no longer in reach.
Her head turns over to her door as she's greeted with a loud, irritating knock.
"It's 2pm, kiddo. Wake up for your and my sake," a male voice is muffled behind the wooden door as his boots thudded away, down the steps of their shared home.
"Jesus," she mutters as she runs a hand over her auburn locks, "was already fuckin awake."
She dresses herself in an old sports shirt. Go Wyoming Cowgirls.
She doesn't expect anything, but a waft of roasted coffee once she steps down the stairs. The air was soft with an aroma that was vanilla–y, sun flares shimmered over stained–glass windows working in like the greenhouse effect. It was calming, yeah. She felt very collected standing in her hazy stairwell.
The atmosphere was nurturing, and it cherished whatever good times were bound to happen in their last moments.
All of this? A facade to cover up your reality, your future and what was left of it because you must know, life isn't fair. Soon it'd be gray and depressing in contrast to how tall and strong you thought your fortress was, how untouchable you and Ellie's life felt, right? Am I getting any of this right? You know you can't get your hopes up if you're ignorant as well?
Let's think; For example: have you and Ellie noticed Joel's chest pains, have you ignored the gray hairs peeking out of his head spreading faster than a wildfire, have you completely forgotten that he was getting to that age?
What'll it take for you?
A flock of birds? A warcry? Tornado sirens? To finally remember to open your eyes?
Wake up.
Whatever. Now, Ellie treads downstairs.
As predictable as ever, she is indeed met with the smell of that nutty, toasted smell of coffee, along with a mixture of eggs, bacon—damn Joel it's 2pm let's remember that—and oh wait. What is that glorious smell? Quite literally lifting her up from her toes and luring her into the scent like an old cartoon character reacting to the smell of pie?
It wraps her around like a bundle of roses, stands out like a painted rock over Mount Rushmore, and it smells like a nursery rhyme with it's floral, citrusy smell. It reminded her of the neon lights down in South Padre Island, like the summer breeze that lifted the stress over your shoulders, the breeze that crashed waves into your shins and washed jellyfish ashore.
"Hey," your voice pitches through her thoughts, softer than satin. Her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, were you real?
She thought she was imagining you until you wrapped your arms around her shoulders, hugging her tight. Your hair scrunched up against the crook of her neck, she felt every strand as if they each enacted a little memory of your life.
And of course, it was you with your hidden, dimensional path of gardenias she was smelling.
She stood awkwardly, and behind your shoulders was the very man who disrupted her lazy morning holding a mocking smile, wiggling his eyebrows, and he himself had to restrain the whistle that wanted to release from the stubble around his lips.
Her arms reach around your waist, holding you tight against her abdomen as your smell engulfs her into fireworks, and Joel is getting a kick out of this. Watching the flush creep onto her face like it has any business being there, witnessing the same nervous little girl she was when she first brought you home.
In your pink, sparkly, little flip flops as they clad over her porch hastily, your hand was in hers. You were dragging her, you were the one who was eager enough to run and invade her home with the sparkle in your eyes—they stood out for the world to see, showcased like a ballerina dancing over the moon. She could only pick up her feet and follow you behind wherever you went.
Now here you both were, all grown up, back at it again and forever, because let's recall—she promised.
"What're you doing here," she laughs quietly as you pull away, looking between you and Joel—the very two people she loved most in this world.
Joel is wearing his usual flannel, greasy and dirty jeans with his loud, thudding boots that always somehow managed to piss Ellie off.
She wouldn't say it out loud, but you looked out of this world besides her old man.
Light pink western dress—it's strings fell off of your shoulders, and the plush of your thighs—white snow boots in the middle of October, your nails were polished into a new color—light green with white tips—your hair was down, and it was glowing an orange hue as the sun spilled into the windows.
10 out of fuckinggg 10.
Her breathing nearly stops, but she stares. At the way your dress hugs your body—watching is sink down your hips like a waterfall—at the way bees produce pollen over the flowers you've sprouted within her humble home, and at the way the gloss around your lips smack as you open your mouth to speak.
"I cooked for you," You press your hands behind your back, lifting your chest and standing tall on your toes because you deserve a gold–plated reward around your neck, didn't you? Gold was your color. And wait, you cooked?
Joel chuckles as he wipes the yellow, yolk staining the corners of his lips, full of food, full of love.
"You kids don't burn the house down, alright?" He points a finger towards you both, walking aimlessly backwards towards the direction of the front door like he didn't have to worry, like he was allowed to be reckless and vulnerable as he galloped deep into the forests, enjoying nature, listening to geese fight in the ponds afar, bathing in the sun as leaves roll over the autumn floor when really a hunter stood out in distance, in his camouflage as the scope to his rifle aimed perfectly over his button nose, covered in white spots as he continued to live in hope like you, like Ellie and anybody else in this story, or maybe just like everybody in this world.
Everything really is just disappointing.
The wooden door slams shut with a clack, the silence interrupts for just a couple seconds—only while the pinecone, firewood smell of joel traces off with him—and then you both spill into laughter. Not because anything is funny, no. More like you're both nervously gazing into each other's eyes and you begin to lose it.
"So," Ellie brushes her hair out of her face, taking in a look at you once more as you watch her, and your smile is always so bright with her.
How helplessly kind you were with anybody you've met. Whether it be an asshole trying to get into your pants who's got nothing better to do with his life. Probably watches porn and fantasizes what you are not capable of, has mastered the predicament of being your typical 28 year old slacker, and probably wouldn't even fucking care to know how to finger you just right. Not to mention your supposedly other 'best friend' who's behavior you've chosen to be oblivious to, I mean, come on you're torturing yourself here. Sure, there have been moments where she's maybe given you a compliment or two, but don't you see the rivalry in her eyes? There is no spotlight, but obviously if there was, well it'd be on you, and both she and Ellie knew that. So she keeps you to yourself, puts herself out there and shakes her ass because she does love you until you're in her way. But that's not true love is it? It's grown from insecurities like it's manufactured with preservatives and contaminants. Mutated into an ugly, nasty feeling that is reborn as what she apparently likes to think is love.
Those, my dear, are only two examples of what you dare to put yourself through. You're lucky Ellie has finally hit first base, she'll take care of you now.
"This," the arch of her pointer finger glides over the fabric covering your abdomen. It drifts to your waist, picking at the fabric as she smiles, because you look so pretty.
"Why're you dressed up? I mean, uh, look at me," her hand drops back to her side as her chin lowers down to what she is wearing. An embarrassed little chuckle falls from her throat as she stares down at her sports shirt, sleeping shorts, barefeet.
"Didn't expect you," she sucks in a breath as she fumbles with her fingers.
"No, no, no, don't worry," you open your hands towards her, and your laugh falls out like honey dew, "You look... charming!"
"Uh huh.." she lifts an eyebrow.
"I made you eggs and bacon. Since we stayed up late last night, you missed breakfast, so I just came over and Joel let me in," You take your hand in hers, and she looks down to see your pretty nails wrapping around her palm as you lead her to sit down into the kitchen.
She watches you from where she's sat, watches you plate up her food over the fine China to which Joel refuses to use unless it is special occasion, and yet you've somehow gotten his permission to use it beneath a very traditional, basic meal, but it's special to her. Look at you, taking care of her. When all she wants to do is take care of you.
"Voila," you flaunt it in front of her like it's a monument. For a second she stares in silence, but she laughs as she looks back at the smiling face; two overeasy eggs—or eyes—and a rasher of bacon—or a smile.
She watches the steam rise into the air, stares at the way your soft fingers glide the silver, flower–engraved fork towards her.
"Oh, wow. For me?" she speaks in a low, sarcastic tone. She stares up at you leaning on your arm as you wait for her to take a bite, and how proud and smug you look as you tilt your head, lifting your chin up towards the dish, and giving her the go ahead.
"Yes, and you're authorized to take a photo."
"In your dreams."
Your dress is left discarded somewhere in her room and now you're only left in your lacy white bra and white panties that have miraculously been stained with the aftermath of Ellie. You lay in your slick as your legs drape over her and your head is beneath the crook of her neck.
You hear her heartbeat. You bathe in the sounds of her anatomy as you listen to blood flowing into her arteries, and the noise of her inhaling and exhaling through her nose, and into her lungs, but you don't really know she's actually breathing you in, do you?
She's quite out of it, how could she not be?
She doesn't have to use her imagination anymore now that she's seen all of you.
She smiles to herself with a chuckle, thinking about how you were just moaning her name, and how now her back ached with crescent shapes, her neck stained with faint, pink lipstick stains, and her fingers? Well the smell of you.
"What's so funny?" you nudge a knee into her chest as she shakes her head.
Her thumb strokes your hip, playing with the hem of your underwear, "nothin."
"Mhmm, sure," you slump back into her body, molding into her like clay.
Then once again, an evil presence strikes down in your very neighborhood, gifting you both misfortune in this very sweet moment with a loud, irritating phone call—possibly more unbearable than the sound of Joel's boots.
Your eyebrows turn as you lift up your chin to the sound, how adorable. She looks over you, brushes your hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead before she swings out of bed to answer it.
The evening glow shines over her skin, making it glitter over her carved muscles, she glimmers brighter than a shoreline. Golder than treasure with her freckles dancing all over her body, beneath her sports bra, beneath the shorts she just slid over her body as she picked up her phone to answer.
You admire her from where you lay, snuggling into her sheets that smelt like her cologne she stole from Joel, along with the smell of sex. You feel cradled and safe within her navy blue sheets, and you listen to her voice like it's hushing you like an angel watching from above.
"Hey, Tommy," she lifts the phone up to her ear, watching you watch her, and she's smiling. Content.
She listens to his voice on the other line, distressed, shaking, and questioning what was real as he spoke, "I'm at the fucking morgue. I, I—shit, Ellie. It's Joel."
Her heart drops to her stomach as she hears sobs fall out from her old man's brother.
"What?" her voice cracks.
She throws her phone towards the wall, startling you. It slams into the wood, bouncing against the floor as it shatters.
She paces around the room, breaking into tears and it's horrifying. You'd never want to see her like this, not to see her live in grief. Not her with her tenderness, not her because she was beautiful, nerdy, and she humored her father, laughed with him yesterday, so how could it be?
She drops to her knees on the edge of the bed, muffling her sobs, spilling her curses, contemplating whether Tommy was lying, and you crawl over to her, wrapping your delicate nails over her cheeks as you swipe tears away. You don't ask what's wrong as you crawl onto the floor with her, cradling her into the crook of your neck as her lashes bat wet tears onto your sensitive skin. She presses her ear over your collarbone, listens to your breathing, and her chin rests over the plush of your chest, and she hates the present.
She wants to take it all back a couple years, breathe it in again. How consistent it felt, how hazy the streets looked as the neighborhood kids filled them with laughter and playful banter, teasing and joy. It moved past her like a melody, kept her on her toes. Everything felt alive, and she could take a breath and feel like she'd be okay. She'd hear her name in the wind. Now present calls, and how still it felt was torturing because she couldn't do anything about it.
How could she be so lustful? How could she have chosen it over love, over her father. It wasn't fair, you stole the last moments she could've had with her dad.
divider credits: (@uzmacchiato)
ask to be in a future taglist!!
currently writing a poem AND chapter 3 to "what do you think the universe has planned for us?" hello my brain is literally glitching.
I suck ass at writing poems 😔.
This songggggg
dramatic sigh
texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 7
nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader
bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.
masterlist
The water felt nice. Warm, a little heavy.
Lights swam over your arms — red, green, something blue, whatever. You kicked lazily toward the deep end, hair floating around your face, eyes barely open. Everything up top was loud. Music, shouting, glass clinking, someone throwing up maybe.
You didn’t care.
It was better down here. Dimmed and Fuzzy. Kind of perfect.
You heard your name, muffled and far away.
You stayed under a second longer.
The second shout came clearer. “Bitch, come up!”
You broke the surface with a laugh, hair slicked back, water dripping down your face. “What?”
Your friend stood at the edge of the pool, holding a half-empty cup, eyes wide like she’d been calling you forever.
“What?” you asked again, louder this time, wiping your face as someone cannonballed behind you. A wave hit your back, followed by a splash of cold and a bunch of laughter from the other end of the pool.
Your friend rolled her eyes. “Get your ass up here. Gio’s been bugging me since he got here and you’ve just been floating around like a mermaid bitch.”
You scoffed, rubbing water off your cheek. “The hell do I care about Gio? Tell him to get over it.”
Your friend scoffed and shook her head before turning away, muttering something under her breath as she pushed through the crowd and disappeared back inside the house.
You just rolled your eyes and grinned at the girl sitting at the edge of the pool, who held out a red cup without a word. You took it and drank whatever was in it without thinking. Something fruity and strong. It burned just enough.
You winked at her, head buzzing, skin warm, everything soft around the edges. The music thumping in your chest. Voices blurred with the beat as lights swam across the pool deck.
You climbed out of the pool, water trailing down your legs, your black bikini clinging to your skin. The night air wrapped around you, cooler than you expected, but you barely felt it.
You grabbed the shirt you left on the table and pulled it over your head, still damp, sticking a little as it slid down.
The music shifted into something you like, “Love Me Harder”. You bobbed your head to it as you walked back toward the house, passing a couple making out against the open bathroom door. The shouts from the patio faded behind you.
Inside, it was louder.
Your eyes moved across the room, scanning for Olivia. You’d left your phone with her hours ago. Maybe longer.
“Hey, have you seen Olivia?” you asked the nearest person, some girl holding an empty bottle. She blinked at you and shrugged.
You rolled your eyes and cut through the crowd, weaving past people playing some drunk version of charades in the hallway, others yelling over a chug.
The kitchen smelled like tequila and weed. Too hot and loud.
You barely looked up until you spotted her—Olivia—perched halfway up the stairs, talking to some guy.
You walked over, stepping between them without a word. “My phone?”
The guy looked you up and down.
Olivia grinned, already holding it out. A smirk tugged at her mouth, eyes gleaming like she knew something.
She passed you your phone, fingers brushing yours for a second too long.
“Oh,” she added, almost as an afterthought, “Gio was looking for you.”
You groaned. “I don’t wanna hear another thing about Gio.”
Your face twisted without meaning to, already turning away—right as he showed up.
Of course.
“Hey,” Gio said, stepping in front of you. “I’ve been looking for you.”
You blinked, trying not to sigh. “Yeah? What?”
He smiled like it meant something. “It’s just been a long time, you know? Since we talked. Since... all that. I guess I just wanted to say I missed it. Or whatever we had.”
You barely looked at him as you opened E's messages that had been sitting on your phone for an hour.
E:
well don’t drink too much ?
plss
take care
i still wanna marry u
Your lips twitched. That stupid flutter in your chest kicked up again.
Gio was still talking. You weren’t listening to any of it.
You tapped back to your messages.
you:
still sober babe
You sent it, even though the edges of your brain were already fuzzy from everything you’d had.
“Hey—are you listening?” Gio’s voice broke in again.
You looked up and raised your brows. “What?”
“I just told you I missed you.”
You shrugged, tone flat. “Well, Gio. I don’t. And seriously, you need to find another girl. I’m too busy with my life right now.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “How am I supposed to just get over it? You think it was easy for me? I—”
You weren’t even hearing it. Your eyes shifted past him, drifting lazily until they landed on someone leaning against the wall near the billiard table.
Her head was down, thumb lazily scrolling through her phone, a red cap dangling from her other hand like none of this touched her.
Is that Ellie?
You squinted through the low light and noise. Shit. It was Ellie.
She was in a black jacket thrown over a white tee, pants slung low on her hips. Leaning against the wall like she didn’t care to belong, sipping from her drink like it was just another night to survive.
Gio was still talking, some half-assed plea falling out of his mouth, but you were already walking, cutting straight past him without a word.
“Ellie?” you called out, blinking hard. A grin tugged at your lips. “No way! You’re here?”
She looked up, caught off guard, eyes widening just slightly.
You didn’t think and closed the space between you and threw your arms around her, your body still a little damp, shirt clinging where it shouldn’t.
Her hand settled lightly on your waist. Warm and a little hesitant.
“Hi,” you laughed as you pulled back, grinning stupid. “I thought my mind was the playing tricks on me for a second back there.”
Ellie scratched at the back of her neck, “Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “I’m here.”
You tilted your head a little too close, eyes glittering. “This definitely wasn’t on my bingo card tonight.” Your voice came out sweet and reckless, heat curling behind it.
You glanced down at yourself, dragging two fingers over the damp hem of your thin shirt. “Oh, and shit—sorry for the,” you waved at your clothes, “I’m a little bit wet.”
Ellie’s eyes dropped before she could stop herself. She nodded, a tiny jerk of her head, mouth opening like she might say something—but didn’t.
“It’s… it’s okay,” she said quietly, eyes dipping down for the briefest second before meeting yours again. Quick, but not quick enough.
She gave a small shrug, like she hadn’t just looked.
Her fingers tapped lightly against her cup, trying to seem casual. But her gaze kept pulling back—hovering just a little too long before she forced it away again.
For a moment, you just looked at her.
You didn’t know why, but she looked different tonight. Or maybe it was the way the slow flashing lights hit her face, catching in her lashes, slipping across her cheekbones. She looked… kind of good like that.
You smiled, small and easy. “So what made you come here?”
Ellie glanced down, then back up. “I don’t know. Just... really checking it out.” She gave a half-smile, one corner of her mouth lifting like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to stay.
You tilted your head. “Damn right. But if I’m Stan though?” You widened your eyes a little. “I’d be honored. Ellie Williams? Here?”
Ellie shook her head, eyes rolling soft. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.” You grinned, watching the way she tried not to smile.
She scoffed under her breath, shaking her head again.
“So how’s your night so far?” you asked, shifting your weight closer to her. “Just got here? You seem sober enough for me.”
Ellie glanced to the side, like she was about to lie but didn’t. “Just watching. And yeah... sober enough.”
You followed her gaze to the group around the billiards table, some guys lining up shots with way too much confidence.
“Oh? You play with them?” you asked, already grabbing her wrist, pulling her gently with you. “C’mon. Let’s watch.”
Ellie let you lead her, falling into step.
“Just watching,” she repeated, eyes flicking to the table. “And you? You looked drunk to me.”
You gave her a look. “Oh please, drunk? I’m tough.”
She watched you for a second, like she was trying to tell if you were serious. Her eyes flicked over your face, amused and skeptical.
“Right,” she scoffed again, shaking her head.
You smirked as you caught her smile she tried to hide before she turned back to her drink.
“What? Do I look drunk to you already?” You asked, leaning in slightly.
Ellie raised her brows, amusement dancing in her eyes. She took a slow sip, watching you over the rim of her cup, before shaking her head. “Actually.. no.”
“If I were drunk, I’d already be doing something reckless.” You said with a grin.
You paused just long enough for it to land.
“Which will be later.”
You looked around, just casually scanning the room—until your eyes landed on Gio, cutting through the crowd again like he hadn’t gotten the message the first time.
You groaned under your breath. “Oh, fuck me.”
Ellie glanced over.
Before Ellie could ask, you grabbed her wrist. “Come with me. Please.”
She blinked. “What?”
But you were already pulling her, slipping through bodies, heading for the stairs like you had somewhere to be.
You took the stairs two at a time, a little buzzed. Ellie followed close behind, her cup in one hand, eyes flicking around, unsure where you were taking her. A couple was half-tangled on the landing, making out as if they forgot other people existed. You sidestepped them, brushing past a guy vaping at the top who barely looked up from his cloud. The sweet smoke curled around your head.
Ellie quietly moved past him too, close enough for you to feel the warmth off her arm.
The hallway was narrow and dim. Doors shut or cracked open, bass from downstairs thudding through the walls. You walked past a room glowing blue from a TV screen, another filled with people yelling over Mario Kart.
You made it to the end of the hallway, eyes landing on a closed bathroom door. You knocked once, then again—louder.
Ellie raised a brow behind you. “You brought me all the way up here… to pee?”
You knocked again with more urgency. “Kinda?”
No answer.
You leaned your ear closer, but it was quiet inside. Probably empty.
“I just needed to escape my obsessive ex for a minute,” you muttered, knocking once more for good measure.
You pushed the door with your shoulder. A little harder than you meant to.
It creaked open, swinging wide—and you stumbled a step forward, catching yourself on the doorframe with a laugh.
Ellie stepped forward fast, her free hand reaching out like she might catch you. “Jesus—are you good?”
You looked over your shoulder, rolling your eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Her brows pulled together just a little.
You smirked, brushing your hair back. “I’m not drunk, Ellie. Relax.”
She didn’t say anything right away, just watching you like she wasn’t fully convinced.
You pulled the door slowly, inching it closed. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
Ellie gave a quiet scoff under her breath. “Don’t fall in,” she muttered.
You flashed her a grin. “Yeah yeah, oh—tell Gio to get lost if you see him looking for me.”
That earned a small snort from her, but she nodded, backing away down the hall as the door clicked shut behind you.
You peed quickly, flushed, and washed your hands. When you looked up, your reflection met you in the mirror—flushed cheeks, lips pink from whatever drink had been in the red cup.
Your hair had started to curl as it dried, sticking in loose waves around your face and neck. One side of your shirt had slipped down your shoulder without you noticing, the thin fabric hanging unevenly, clinging to your skin in places, loose in others. It barely reached the middle of your thighs.
You tilted your head at your reflection, eyes narrowing slightly.
You grabbed your phone from where you left it on the sink and angled it toward the mirror.
One quick pic. Just you—flushed, eyes low-lidded, shirt slipping off your shoulder.
You sent it to E.
You:
[image attachment]
does this look drunk to u?
It took less than a minute for the screen to light up again.
E:
do u want me dead?
u look hot
like way too hot
that’s what u look like drunk ??
no. come home right now.
i wanna be the only one who sees u like this
You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.
You:
not drunk yet 😋
E:
can you come home now pls?
i can't take others seeing u like that
i'm picking u up
the kids miss u
come home and let me take care of you
i wanna take care of you when you’re drunk
You stared at the screen, a little smirk tugging at your mouth. Heart all gooey and stupid. God, she was such a loser.
Another message lit up.
E:
but go on
have fun
i understand this is all part of dating someone pretty like u
You scrunched your nose, fingers already moving.
You:
awww baby shut up
no one else gets me stupid like you do
they can stare all they want
but you’re the one i go home to 😌💋
E:
good
don’t kiss other girls pls ? xD
You:
courseeee
ttyl
💋
You locked your phone, grinning to yourself. The mirror caught your bright smile again.
God, you were down bad.
But you felt good. Buzzed in the right way, skin warm, head light. You weren’t about to let some clingy ex ruin the night for you—not when you looked like this, not when the air felt this electric.
You adjusted your shirt half-heartedly, let your hair fall where it wanted, then reached for the doorknob with a smirk.
You unlocked the door, pulling it open to find Ellie leaning against the wall just beside it, phone in hand. The soft glow from the screen lit up her face, catching on the curve of her smile.
The music downstairs thudded louder now, flooding the hallway again.
She glanced up when she saw you. Straightened a little. Her eyes dropped down to your body—just for a second—before meeting yours again.
“Hey,” you said loudly, grinning. “Let’s go back downstairs.”
Ellie gave a small nod, tucking her phone into her pocket as she pushed off the wall.
“You good now?” she asked, voice a bit low and husky.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Never better.”
Ellie fell into step beside you as you started walking back down the hall, the two of you brushing shoulders once.
“What about your ex?” she asked, voice low, almost amused.
You scoffed. “He can do whatever he wants. I didn’t come here for him.”
Ellie glanced sideways at you, a crooked smile twitching at her lips. “No?”
You turned your head, smirking. “Duh.”
Right then, someone rushed past—barely looking where he was going. A splash of cold hit your side as the drink in his hand tipped, spilling across your already damp shirt.
“Seriously?” you muttered, looking down. The wet spot clung colder than before. You patted at it uselessly, annoyed.
The guy tossed a lazy “my bad!” over his shoulder and disappeared down the hall.
You sighed. “Drunk boys.”
Ellie didn’t say anything at first. Her eyes followed the guy as he stumbled off, then flicked back to you—pausing on your shirt for a beat before she cleared her throat.
Then, casually, she slid off her jacket. “Here.”
You raised a brow. “What’s that for?”
She held it out. “Before someone else spills something on you again.”
You waved it off with a grin. “No need, I’m good.”
Ellie hesitated.
You tilted your head, playful. “What—trying to cover me up?”
Her mouth parted like she was about to respond—but you beat her to it, tugging the loose edge of your shirt back into place.
“It’s fine, seriously,” you said, flashing a grin. “Feels like you’re the only one looking anyway. And I’m starting to think you like the view.”
That made her blink. She scoffed softly, shaking her head, but the flush creeping up her neck said plenty.
You turned, already heading back toward the stairs, tossing a wink over your shoulder. “Come on, Williams. Try to keep up.”
The bass had thudded through the floor, pulsing straight through your legs as you moved a little quicker down the stairs, the song blasting loud—something synthy and bold that made your heart beat in time with it.
Behind you, Ellie had called out, “Don’t move so fast.”
You’d glanced up just as you hit the last step, tilting your head back at her. “What?”
She’d been halfway down, steady, careful, her hand brushing the railing. The music had swallowed your voice, so you raised it.
“I said—what?”
Ellie had shaken her head, eyes rolling a little, but there’d been a smile tugging at her mouth, trying not to let it win.
The thump of the song had gotten louder as you pushed back toward the billiard table. Everything had been darker now, all red-and-gold haze. The overhead lights were gone—maybe someone had turned them off on purpose—but the glow from the string bulbs and that lava lamp in the corner had been enough to see by.
The house had been packed. People were laughing too hard at nothing, leaning too close to be casual. The air had been hot, sticky with heat and alcohol, and the edge of your buzz had turned a little giddy again.
You grabbed a bottle off the counter and sank onto the edge of the sofa near the billiard table. The cushion gave under your weight, still warm from whoever sat there last.
Across the room, a group of guys play pool like there’s a trophy on the line.
Ellie trailed behind, hovering for a second before sitting beside you.
You held out the bottle with a raised brow. “Want some?”
She glanced at it, then shook her head. “I’m good.”
You shrugged. “More for me, then—”
But before the bottle reaches your lips, her hand slips in and takes it straight from yours.
You blinked, caught off guard, watching as she tipped it back and drank without saying a word.
“Thought you were good,” you said, laughing a bit.
Ellie leaned back slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Changed my mind.”
The room pulsef around you—saturated in red and gold, the music heavy and constant. You felt it under your skin.
You glanced at her for a while—longer than you meant to.
She didn’t notice at first, too focused on the game, the bottle resting loosely in her grip. Her jaw was tight, lashes catching the red-gold light.
She looked good like that. Kinda hot.
Your eyes dropped to her mouth before you caught yourself, heart kicking a little faster as you glanced away.
You shifted on the couch, letting your knee brush against hers, feeling the warmth creeping up from somewhere deeper than the alcohol.
You cleared your throat, watching as the guys at the table started arguing over a missed shot. One shoved the other, laughing, before the group wandered off, taking their chaos with them.
You scoffed softly. “Wanna play?”
Ellie glanced over. “Billiards?”
You nodded, trying to keep it casual. “Unless you’re scared.”
She arched a brow, amused. “Of losing?”
“Of me.”
Ellie smirked, pushed off the couch, and set the bottle down on the nearest table.
You were already standing, a little unsteady, grinning at her. “Let’s make it interesting.”
She raised a brow. “Yeah?”
“Loser takes a shot,” you said, eyes gleaming. “Come on. Don’t be soft.”
Ellie hesitated just a second too long—like she wanted to say something else—but the look you gave her made her sigh, amused. “Alright. But just one.”
You cocked your head. “Scared already?”
She rolled her eyes, grabbed a cue stick, and twirled it once before stepping toward the table. The music throbbed louder and heavier.
You followed, your heart syncing with the bass, beat for beat.
People had started to crowd around, some watching, some dancing, the air thick with smoke and spilled drinks. You grabbed a stick from the rack and moved to the other side of the table, grinning as you leaned down to break.
You chalked your cue with dramatic flair—pure show—but your aim was off. The cue ball barely clipped the edge of the triangle and sank a single striped.
Ellie watched from the other end, mouth twitching like she was trying not to laugh.
Then she stepped forward, bent low, and broke with a sharp crack—clean, loud, and confident. Two solids dropped like nothing.
You blinked. “Okay. What the hell was that?”
She shrugged, all casual. “Guess I’m good at stuff.”
You narrowed your eyes. “No one’s casually that good.”
She just shrugged before sinking another. Smooth and effortless.
You leaned back against the edge, arms crossed, watching her with a squint. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
She didn’t even look up. “You’re the one who challenged me.”
“And you’re the one who’s apparently a secret pool monster.”
Finally, she glanced at you, eyes glinting under the red-gold glow. “You said loser takes a shot, right?”
You scoffed. “Yeah, and I think I just sealed my fate.”
She lined up again, slow and sure. “Might as well pour it now.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting a grin. “Keep talking like that and I might pour us both one.”
Ellie smirked, not breaking eye contact as she leaned over the table, cue steady in her hands. “You wouldn’t dare.”
You tilted your head. “Wanna bet?”
She lined up the shot, lips twitching like she was trying not to smile—and sank another ball, clean and smooth.
You let out a groan, grabbing the nearest bottle and unscrewing the cap. “You’re obnoxious.”
Ellie stepped back, cue resting against her shoulder. “You challenged me.”
You raised the bottle, letting it hover over the rim of a plastic cup. “Yeah, well—I’m challenging you again. Winner takes a shot this time.”
Ellie quirked a brow. “That’s not how winning works.”
You shrugged, already pouring. “Yeah, well. I'm tipsy and I make the rules.”
She watched you for a beat, something amused and soft in her eyes.
You handed her a full cup. “No backing out now, Williams.”
Ellie took it slowly, fingers brushing yours for a second too long. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The music behind you shifted. A family familiar beat, much louder.
“God, I love this song,” you murmured, already moving your hips a little, tipsy joy radiating off you.
She took the shot like it was nothing, barely even wincing as it went down. You watched her, eyes narrowing a little—not just because she handled it better than you ever could, but because she looked unfairly good doing it.
“Okay, now we’re even,” you said, grabbing your cue again. “Back to losing gracefully.”
Ellie smirked. “Speak for yourself.”
You rolled your eyes and took your turn—this time, a lucky one. One striped ball sunk clean into the corner. You gasped, triumphant, raising your arms like you'd just hit a buzzer-beater.
Ellie clapped, slow and sarcastic. “A miracle.”
“Shut up,” you grinned, eyes glittering as you lined up another. “I’m making my comeback.”
You missed completely.
Ellie didn’t even hide her laugh this time. “Inspiring,” she muttered, stepping in again.
Her shot was perfect. Of course.
You leaned back, cup in hand, watching as she moved around the table—cool, steady, casual in a way that made your stomach flip. Her shirt shifted as she bent forward, and you looked away before you stared too long.
“You know,” you called over the music, “you’re really annoying when you’re good at things.”
“Aw, thanks,” she said flatly, not looking up.
Another ball sank.
The crowd behind you had mostly shifted away, drawn back into the music or to whatever chaos was happening by the patio doors. It was just the two of you now, a half-empty bottle and a cup between you, the light flickering red over Ellie’s face.
You let out a small breath, arms folded lazily across your chest. The buzz was heavier now, in your limbs, your throat, your head.
So you just… watched. Let her play.
She moved with that same quiet precision—focused, lowkey cocky in the way she leaned over the table, cue steady, eyes narrowed.
She looked hot like this, it almost annoyed you.
A guy suddenly stepped in, looking sober enough to ask for a match.
“Winner stays?” he asked, grinning at Ellie.
She hesitated, eyes flicking toward you.
You rolled your eyes, waving her off with a lopsided smile. “Go on, Williams. Defend your throne.”
Ellie squinted at you, clearly not loving the idea. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” you said.
She looked at you for a second longer, like she didn’t quite believe it, but then turned back to the game.
You stuck around, letting your back hit the nearest wall as you watched them play. Occasionally, you sipped from your cup—sweet, sharp heat sliding down your throat. Ellie never missed. Ball after ball, clean and controlled, giving the guy barely a chance.
Except once—right when she glanced your way.
You were already staring at her. A soft grin curling at your lips.
She muttered something under her breath—too low to catch—then shook her head as the guy lined up his only real shot.
You grinned wider, pleased with yourself.
You stayed there for awhile before you wandered toward the kitchen, grabbed another drink you probably didn’t need, then found yourself in the bathroom down the hall, dabbing cool water on your neck and cheeks. Your head was buzzing and too warm. Everything was a little floaty and pink.
When you stepped back into the hallway, Ellie was already there, waiting.
She looked at you for a moment. Her yes trailing over your flushed face, the slight wobble in your step, the faint glassiness in your eyes.
She let out a soft breath.
“Hey… you okay?” she asked again, voice lower this time.
“I’m great,” you said, slow and sure, even as your words almost slurred. You tilted your head, smiling all dumb and tipsy. “Did you win?”
“Yeah.”
You grinned at her. “Good. I don’t want you losing to some guy.”
Ellie huffed a soft laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.
You brushed past her, already heading down the hallway again. “Latch” was playing in the background, Sam Smith’s voice curling through the air like a memory.
“Oh my god, I love this song,” you said dreamily, half to yourself.
“Wait—what?” Ellie called after you, catching up with a few quick strides. “Don’t you need to sit down for a bit? How many did you have?”
You ignored her. Your fingertips trailed along the wall, that floaty warmth in your chest swelling with every lyric bleeding through the air. You looked over your shoulder with a teasing smile.
“Come on.”
Ellie slowed beside you, brow creased, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to figure out just how far gone you were. But there was something soft there, too. Maybe even amused.
Before Ellie could say anything else, a pack of rowdy guys burst through the hallway behind you, all hyped up and laughing as they started doing some train-line dance toward the back doors.
You barely had time to blink before Ellie’s hand was at your waist, tugging you gently aside.
“Careful,” she muttered, guiding you out of their path.
You stumbled a little with the sudden movement and ended up against the wall, your shoulder brushing cool plaster. Ellie stayed close—close enough that you could feel the warmth of her side next to yours, her hand lingering for a second longer than necessary.
The two of you stood there, side by side, watching the dance floor ahead in silence.
The glow from the string lights outside flickered through the patio doors, soft and uneven. The thrum of the song still pulsed beneath your feet.
Ellie said something beside you but you couldn’t hear a damn thing over the music.
You turned, brow raised. “What?”
She leaned in, her mouth just beside your ear, her perfume catching faintly.
“Do you wanna dance?” she asked, voice rough over the bass.
You tilted your head, grin already tugging at your lips. You leaned close to her ear, just enough for your breath to tickle. “Are you asking me to dance?”
Ellie pulled back an inch, smirking. She leaned in again, even closer this time. “No. Just saying that if you do wanna dance… I won’t be there with you.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes in mock offense. You leaned in, palm brushing her arm lightly as you whispered into her ear, “I don’t feel like dancing anyway.”
Ellie gave a quiet huff of laughter, her eyes dropping briefly to your mouth before flicking back up again.
You caught the flick of Ellie’s eyes down to your mouth, and it made something wicked curl in your chest. Drunk and warm and reckless, you smirked.
“Do you wanna fuck?” you asked, half-shouting over the music, teasing.
Ellie’s eyes went wide. “What?!”
You laughed, tossing your head back, “I’m kidding!!” you grinned at her.
Ellie shook her head, the tips of her ears red as she muttered something under her breath.
You laughed again, softer this time, but it came out more breath than sound.
Your smile faltered. The warmth in your chest turned heavy.
You blinked, frowning suddenly, one hand pressing lightly to your ribs like you could calm it down. “Shit,” you mumbled. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”
Ellie straightened immediately. “Hey—hey, okay, come on,” she said, slipping her arm around your waist before you could even stumble.
Ellie helped you up the stairs, her arm still steady around your waist, guiding you toward the hallway. You managed to make it halfway before the next wave hit—sharp and sudden.
You stopped, hand flying to your mouth, the other gripping the wall beside you.
Your head dropped forward, eyes squeezing shut. The air felt heavy, like it was pressing down on your shoulders.
Ellie hovered beside you, silent but present, her hand resting lightly on your back.
After a moment, the feeling passed—mostly.
You let out a long breath and straightened slowly, leaning back against the wall, the cool paint grounding you.
“I’m fine,” you said quietly, not meeting her eyes at first.
Ellie moved to stand against the opposite wall, arms loosely crossed, watching you. “You sure?”
You gave a soft smile, rolling your eyes a little as you finally looked up at her. “Yeah. I’m not that gone.”
Ellie didn’t respond, just watching you, her face unreadable in the low purple hallway light.
Downstairs, Latch still playing, the bass just a faint thrum beneath your feet now. Like memory. Like déjà vu.
You stared at Ellie for a second, something tugging at the edge of your chest. The light from the stairwell tinted her skin, softened the space between you.
“Do you wanna know something?” you asked suddenly, voice low.
Ellie raised her eyebrows, tilting her head slightly—wary now, remembering what you said earlier, unsure whether to shake her head or nod.
“I kissed a girl before,” you said, your gaze unfocused, drifting just past her shoulder. “To this exact song.”
You breathed out a laugh that didn’t feel like one. “We were fifteen. At this party thing, kind of like this. She pulled me outside and kissed me when this came on.”
You looked at her now. “She was my first.”
And hopefully not the last.
Your mind drifted, landing somewhere familiar.
On E.
The girl who got to know every version of you without ever seeing you in person. The one you told things you hadn’t even said out loud before. Who asked questions gently. Who stayed up late just to talk.
The girl who felt safe. Soft in a way that wasn’t just flirting—it was understanding.
You swallowed, pulse fluttering.
You didn’t say any of that. You just leaned your head back against the wall, the music humming through your ribs.
Your eyes settled on Ellie.
She stood right there in front of you, her brows drawn just slightly like she was trying to read you. Lit by dim hallway light and a song that had already carved itself into your memory once.
She looked worried. Not just in a you might throw up on me kind of way, but something quieter. Like she knew something you didn’t.
Like she was watching you chase a thought she’d already caught.
And maybe that was what made her feel so real in that moment.
And maybe the closest you’d ever get to having E at all.
That thought alone was enough to make your head spin.
The music thrummed through the floorboards. Your body remembered this song the way your heart remembered E’s messages. The softness. The teasing. The way she made you feel like she knew you, even through a screen.
You swallowed hard.
Because you remembered what Ellie said at the library that day, too.
The way Ellie’s voice cut through your thoughts so casually.
Your stomach turned. Not in a bad way. In that horribly fluttery way. The way it had back then, when your brain had first started making connections it had no business making.
E. Ellie.
The timing.
The sarcasm.
The way she said it—too smooth, like she knew what she was doing.
And you’d told yourself it was ridiculous.
But then… wasn’t that exactly how E flirted? Smooth. Confident in a way that snuck up on you. The kind of teasing that made your knees weak and your mouth dry.
You remembered thinking, That’s not Ellie. Ellie’s not like that.
But now… standing here, drunk and warm and wrecked under the pressure of her gaze, you weren’t so sure anymore.
Because maybe you didn’t know Ellie like you thought you did.
And maybe that was the problem.
You didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the song, or just the way Ellie was looking at you right now, like she already knew what you were about to say.
Your pulse picked up.
Somewhere beyond the walls, the music swelled again. Clearer now, and louder. Like the whole house was leaning in too.
I feel we're close enough…
You blinked, heart thudding. Ellie hadn’t moved. She was still watching you.
I wanna lock in your love..
Your lips parted, the air too thick and warm. Your hands twitched where they hung at your sides.
I think we're close enough…
The words echoed through the hallway, slow and sticky, wrapping around you like heat.
Could I lock in your love, baby…
“I think…” you swallowed, voice soft, barely audible above the throb of bass, “I think I wanna do it again.”
Ellie didn’t say anything. Her expression didn’t even shift. She just looked at you. And for a second, the space between you buzzed with something you couldn’t name.
Now I've got you in my space…
You leaned in.
I won’t let go of you…
No plan. No thinking. Just instinct, and warmth, and that stupid song crashing in your chest.
Your lips pressed to hers, quick, uncertain, too drunk to be graceful but not drunk enough to pretend you didn’t mean it.
_
You woke up with a pounding headache.
The room was familiar—sunlight spilling through pale curtains, soft and quiet. You’d been here before.
You shifted, the sheets cool against your skin—bare skin.
Your eyes shot open.
You were naked under the covers.
Your heart kicked up. You turned your head slowly.
You were in Ellie’s room.
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TELL THE PRESS CHAPTER 7 IS OUTT
"What do you think the universe has planned for us?"
Bsf!ellie & fem!reader
Sypnosis: A journey of figuring out what you and Ellie are.
Word count: 4,6k
Contains: swearing (if you're sensitive), angst, fluff, ellie is a bitch, sexual tendencies but no hard core smut (I'm edging you guys), kissing, grinding kinda??, a whole lotta Ellie's thoughts, Joel is presently dead but he will show up in memories, Reader is delusional. This story contains lottsss of metaphors, similes, and the use of the word 'little.'
Author notes: This took me so long because i literally put my heart, soul, and ass into this. I researched, searched for synonyms, increased my vocabulary (whaaaattt??)
Recommendations are appreciated. chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3
Chapter Two
Her breath felt tangy against her lips, a wet gloss hovered over them; chapped, cracked like a drought. Tainted with her whiskey breath. Curtains of rain adorned the window, and droplets fell as they scanned over her face. They blurred the scars, the burns, the proof of each and every fight she had won or lost, and they decorated her pale skin like tally marks. It wasn't a supernatural creature awakening her, and if she did believe in them, she'd believe you were one of them.
Your sun-kissed skin, the silhouette–like embodiment you carried, and the whistles from men you've always received along the pathway of your carefree, naive life that you've somehow managed to embellish with flowers, swans, bows, and whatever girly things you were into. You could bend the air around you like pipe–hot, tea–whistling, and fire–alarming warnings with that sweet voice of yours.
You could sink her below Earth's crust, pull her from the arctic circle, and it's long winters into the tropic of cancer—where you were born in the summer solstice.
When your delicate, spirited, and cold fingers brush over her freckles, lighting each one in a glow, in a whisper, she gawks over your fragile, almost transparent skin. You look like a porcelain doll and easy to break. Something supernatural. The prettiest entity or anomaly she'd ever seen.
You really were something.
Instead it was the loud and screaming sun—bright even above the gray, saddened clouds—waking her up from her own little universe, but not without an annoyed groan. She was so damn close. Dreaming about being in the stratosphere, falling out of the world and disobeying the law of gravity, she almost reached the stars.
Now the sun seeps through the cracks of angry clouds taunting her, wondering what it'd take to get her out of her little trance that maybe—just maybe—there was actually a precious, innocent girl who in the end was actually just a girl, waiting for her. Begging for her to fall back down into the plush of her arms from whatever black hole is drawing her away from the girl and into self–destruction. Lord knows, maybe she'd even prefer it.
Because maybe she deserved it.
The way her viridescent, mafioso eyes stared at you, waiting for you to take an action, or most likely to waste it on an aspiration that you never had the possibility of winning. Your chances are low, and her presence always lingered with the cold press of a gun to your temple—metaphorically speaking of course.
Don't waste your breath.
Don't let her see you're struggling, comply with her needs, forget yours, and for God's sake find your rhythm.
Make a damn move in this life–sized chess game. Roll the dice, hope for the best, gamble which Ellie you were going to get as you played Mae Josephine to her Al Capone and do not profane her lifestyle of being an outlaw—just sit and look pretty.
Don't let the rattles and drums alarm you. Listen to the jazz of your pathetic life.
You've been burdened with her heavy soul, and how much baggage she held over her shoulder blades. Sharp, it almost hurt to embrace her. Your nails skimmed over her skin as they ride along the curves of her spine, feeling her arch just a few inches to know she isn't just a fallen angel being held in the arms of divinity, aka you.
But she was human too.
Could you remember that she was also just a girl? One who was trapped in a flammable void, on the brink of igniting an environmental phenomenon.
You continued to orbit her planet like a satellite, staying far from the threshold you kept yourself placed in, damned to hush her sobs into a tiny snore as you cradle and rock her worries away. Never straying too far from the very fiend who tore your dreams into pieces, naming them impossible when the only thing you've asked was to be loved.
Those memories she tells you to forget now blink past your eyelids like celluloid film. The wind lifts your hair, the sun beams over your skin to emphasize the light in your veins, your nerves—it carries you to the shore as you write your wishes into a bottle, when you wave goodbye as the ocean takes your wish in it's hymn–like swishes.
Sun flares sharp as a blade spear through the window like a magnifying glass, warming and simmering the space of your shared bedroom with it's after showers intensity. Taking in the greenhouse effect, it was almost peaceful. Streaks of light drape in over the stained glass, scorching her skin as it shines brighter than ever.
Reminded her of somebody she knew.
Just outside, you're deep in a slumber.
Fetal position, curled up like a pangolin—a bear hibernating over a coat of autumn leaves tarnishing with other debris. A cold blanket of white snow outside in contrast to your warm, unconscious skin.
She's nervous to step out of the bedroom. She prepares herself to be yelled by you, yet you never do. Instead you always run back to her like a lost dog who found it's way home. With those dolly eyes.
So goddamn helpless.
With every step she takes—resonating a grace cluster, loud and panicking—she hears past arguments, sees the suffered hot tears against her shameful and flushed cheeks, and they stain the walls and the wooden–tiled floor with its bleakness. Trudging down memory lane—it hangs like a chord progression—the floor rots beneath her feet like a wildfire to be tamed. Pessimism filled the halls of your shared apartment and whispered of resentment that would never end—a perpetuity stitched in silence. You were always there. Amidst the black smoke after the fire cooled. Inhaling the smell of burnt firewood, savoring in what was left to be saved, you dipped your tongue out to catch the falling ashes—to taste and feel the scorch of Ellie's disastrous consequences.
An unredeemable girl who cannot be saved in this labyrinth path of fields; heavenly with rows of orchids, daisies, and roses among the constantly shifting weather. Where they were subdued eternally in the middle of her head, where just outside she remained a speculation of misfortune.
And you?
Lost in her head just as much as she was. Both of you were dying to get outside of the chaos that gated the fields tying the girl she used to be firm to the ground, and all she needed was to take the hand of somebody wanting to cut the strings.
You were dressed in linen—a blue velvet color, and looking like an orchestral interlude.
Stained eyes that gave you that natural eyeliner look, and how peaceful you looked to be burdened with her. Flowers bloomed around you and the pout of your lips, filling her nostrils with the distinct smell of you.
The curve of your back shaped like the heart of a valley, and no matter how old you'd grow to be, she knew you'd still be full of life.
Stand tall if not taller than the Sierra Madre.
She crouched low as she brought her tatted arm up to your cheek, brushing the hair out of your pretty face. Clear as day, lashes like butterflies, beaming with energy despite how belittling she made you feel, and you still get back up and run to her with your hind, little legs.
You were her girl.
Your eyebrow twitches and a grimace pulls your full, heart-shaped lips waking to her rough, slender fingers in silent apology.
She never apologizes. You never speak about the night before.
"hey babe," she presses her cold palm against the small of your back, massaging your half–asleep body. Dragging her fingers to the back–opening of your silk nightgown, sinking into your soft skin as she sent sparks below your flesh, firework thrills into your vessels, a tiny smile molded over her face. She loved to corrode your skin with goosebumps.
"hey," your voice sounds staticy, breaking frequence in the sweetest melody. The rasp in your voice at the end of war, like a comfortability after a fallout. Earth collasping in on itself with it's instrumental 'end of the world' trombones and trumpets. She'd bathe in it as if it were a lagoon.
"You look pretty," she unleashed her gaze from yours as it slithers down the lustrous, slippery slope of your body. Her fingers grab a piece of your nightgown, rubbing the fabric diligently over it's satin quality—she hums, "I like this on you. It's cute."
Your eyes are still softly closed, and a smile is plastered to your lips as you relish this feeling—feeling like an old married couple.
"Thank you," like you need her approval.
But the roughs in her throat—like the rocky mountains, what you thought was good intentions in her fingers as they misled and lured you even closer into the eye of her storm. Degradingly enough, it hushed you to sleep, it gave you purpose and reason. However stripping you of your dignity, and keeping you at bay during her occasional 50 feet catastrophic, and ravenous oceanic waves.
You could settle there.
She huffed out a breath of air as you opened your eyes to stare into her wandering ones. Diving into a puddle of thoughts as she bit her lip. Her eyebrows are creased, like maybe she might just feel sorry for the other night.
You lift up onto your elbows, legs dangling in the air like the loose jewelry around your neck: a cross, a heart–shaped locket with ellie's face inside, and your birthstone laying in the crease of your cleavage. Your toes curl as you feel the chill wind from your ac unit breeze through them.
"Something on your mind?"
"No," she glances towards you for a second. focused.
"You want something to eat?" she's already standing up, "I'll go out and get us something."
Your voice cuts through with consternation, taken aback.
"I–"
"Love you, I'll be back." She bends down to press a kiss to your head, smelling your hair with it's cheap, Pantene smell.
A blink from your lashes and she's gone.
It's been maybe 3 hours?
You're bent over the counter, contemplating God as Amy Winehouse sings into your ears and through the circuits of your earbuds.
"I don't know why I got so attached," her jazzy voice fills your ears, letting you fall into the syrupy sound as she lulls you around and keeps you up like a puppet.
You hum the melody with it's soulful sound, finally pushing you out of the ordinary world and into a new opened door. One filled with R&B, catching you in a dance, a rollercoaster of all your awarenesses. You're moved by her voice. Out of the darkness, you release the tension over your shoulders because at least... you are awake, you are aware.
"It's my responsibility, and you don't owe anything to me."
Your stomach rumbles along the constant passing thunder; rolling in, they speak to you in poems and songs.
You crack three eggs over the pan—a lightning bolt outside after each break. Sounding like a laugh, like it's making fun of you as she shreds your mental being.
"But to walk away, I have no capacity."
You've never been where others have been, you've never heard the same melodies others have heard in the same key. Your passions don't grow from the root of a tree, but they are born within the tragedies of your life—without them you'd never dream this big—as large as the paramount sign as it chimes with it's glittery lights. Written like an Edgar Allan poem.
Your food is already plated over a slab of silver–rimmed porcelain. Seated at the counter as you hear the door rattle with fumbling keys, and she walks in like she hadn't been gone for awhile.
She's holding a small bouquet of gardenias—your favorite, your signature flower with it's hopeful meaning. In her other hand she held a bag full of chinese food, and a dragon breathing fire plastered the plastic bag, a classic, a homebody.
You're still dressed in your nightgown, hair disheveled in a way she found attractively luring. She wanted to put her lips between the crook of your neck, between your legs.
Until her eyes trailed down to your plate.
"What is that?" completely deadpanned, and unfucking predictable.
"Eggs," you replied cautionly.
Placing the food and flowers in front of you, she marches around the counter from where you sat, picking up your plate of food with no care, because well, she throws it into the sink.
It crumbles into pieces as the ugly, sharp sounds fill your ears—causing you to flinch and you're frightened as they fly into the air.
A tear rolled down your eye to which gets wiped away by the cold press of her thumb.
"What did I fucking tell you huh?"
Every damn time you think something will get better, it springs on you like a jack-in-a-box. The compexities in your relationship stood rather taller than the simple life you wanted to breathe in. Instead you're overflowed with abandonment, loss, and holding onto a hope—and immense leap of a hope—that maybe you can change her.
She begins pulling out the food hastily, sliding it over to you as she slaps her palm to the table.
"Eat."
So you opened the lid of the food she bought you with shaking fingers.
The sound of glass breaking still drummed inside of your ears—slicing arteries as it makes passage down into the pit of your stomach.
She sees.
A sigh falls from her lips, because she knows you. She pretends she doesn't, but she does.
You have an obsession with moroccan lamps, you love watching Breaking Bad with her, she knows you religiously listen to Lana Del Rey. You make handmade gifts, you play mom whenever she needs you to.
Her boots thud against the floor one step before the other, and she wraps her arms around you. Holding you in place, telling you it's going to be okay as her strong arms soothe your back, tuning the ache in your heart just a little lower.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispers into the hair covering your ear. She feels the strands get caught between the cracks of her lips—kinda like you—a little rabbit caught in between the bricks of her teeth, like a trap.
She never says sorry.
"I shouldn't have done that, please forgive me," she continued to ramble on as you broke into muffled, quiet sobs.
"I love you so much. I know I'm angry, I know, I know, God I know. But I want to be better, I want to love you better than anybody can. One day I'll put a ring around your finger, and we'll be okay. Please just bear with me," the last sentence loomed over the both of you like a broken halo, and she stood tall in between your thighs like a fallen angel as she held you close, even breaking into her own little sobs because even she wishes she was better than this.
You both knew what she was speaking of from her last words, but nobody ever let the name fall from their lips—it stayed encaged in between your teeth like a prison, and it hummed a little tune among a strum of a guitar.
"If i ever were to lose you."
You just wanted to rest, lay in a bed of wildlowers, and let the air of lemongrass waft around both of your restless souls.
Instead the trope you are begins from friends to lovers, and now you both aren't good for one another. You are refused any straightfoward answers in the quandary, makeshift ward invading your minds that you've almost grown accustomed to, and you begin to decline into the smog. You're forbidden the easy passageway—bright with floating lanterns—of sentimental resolution and you're shoved into a torrent of tears as they whisper 'just deal with it.'
You wondered whom it was from above whispering the truth, the reality that you so blandly wanted to cover up with a facade. How credulous of you. But really. Who was it making your life this miserable and keeping their anonymity sacred to them?
Perhaps Paula Fox? And her tragic storytelling?
Just maybe.
You're out in the streets, of your little, western neighborhood.
2am, low temperatures sent unpredictable shivers down your spine, and it made you ecstatic, nervous, and ready because you've prepared yourself. The smell was gratifying after the storm with farms from afar, minerals invade your nostrils like the scent of the inside of a rainstick.
Celestial showers wash above your head, cupid is there.
The puddles beneath your feet glow with the curve of your smile like bioluminescent shores.
Ellie is walking besides you as she watched your skin gleam bright. The sun is on the opposite end of the world, but she swears your hair is highlighted golden.
You're so pretty wearing her Guns N' Roses hoodie—a band you couldn't care less about despite it's popularity.
"Want to get slushies, and you know, like dangle our feet over the bridge on Shorevale?" you're practically skipping in glee, and she can see the way your eyes crease with genuine, careless youth; standing tall like Grand Teton. She'd hike miles to see it.
Summer is fading away, but you still wear shorts, she wanted you to impart on her your logic. How unworried you were as sounds of tibetan bowls echoed around you, and in the distance North Platte River's velocity has increased just as her beating heart.
Her nerves jumping, her eyes bouncing everywhere and never landing against yours. Palms sweaty, self–doubting, reaching for the stars as she nods to your request, but not without a little laugh—shaky and breathless like she'd been holding onto the oxygen for way too long before she breathed out carbon dioxide, and into the atmospere it went—where her heart already landed.
Your slushy is in your hand, and her eyes focus as you lower your body, letting your legs fall over the rushing water.
"Come sit."
And she does.
The stars fall over your shoulders, placing you both in another plane of existence where only you two stood. Young and reckless, obsessed with the autumn breeze as it breathes through the fabric of your clothes, pulling you into the sky like an invisible cloak, or a magic carpet.
"You're unusally quiet today," you stare at her, and just finally her pastoral, emerald eyes meet you halfway. Debating on looking towards you, or up above towards the stars as they dance and ring like bells. They blinked at her just as you did, waiting for an answer.
Well. It was because today was THE day.
She didn't say that out loud of course.
You grab her slushy sitting beside her and now she looks at you, watching your lips wrap around the plastic straw of her drink—she'd enjoy it a little extra now.
"Hey–"
You turned your face away to take a longer sip but she caught it in between her calloused fingers. Years of progression chords marking the tips of them.
"You're annoying."
"Yeah, whatever. Strawberry is gross anyways."
"What?" she spoke breathlessly, "You're impossible."
"You're smiling," you spoke with a melodic lilt in your voice. Heat rose to her cheeks like volcanic lighting, like the beginning of the industrial revolution as it caused temperatures to rise.
"Shut up."
You laugh and she showers in it. It swirled out of your mouth, and it hung in the air from the sustain pedal of a piano, and it sounded like a triad—a musical harmony. Your voice echoed through her ears like a subliminal and in her eyes, light pillars fell down onto you with their crystal ice lights.
The skies spun as Earth rotated, and your eyes never left the stars, but hers would occasionally glance at you.
4am was read over her watch.
Neither of you wanted to move, but to just keep talking about stupid information the other hadn't needed to know. Over the past hour, she had explained the lore of her favorite sci-fi movie, showed you the constellation of your zodiac, and procrastinated how she'd tell you that she was head over heels over you.
Something she'd never admit: the pages and pages of poems and journal entries inside of the nebula–hard–covered diary she held a little too close onto. Maybe because it sustained sketches of you, or graphic thoughts of what she'd want you to do to her. What she'd want to do to you.
"You know insects used to be bigger than cats like 299 millions years ago?" Her arm laid beneath her head as she begins to settle into this little bubble of friendship. Her eyes are wide, genuinely being herself as her nerves let loose and into the sky like fireflies.
"What? No way," the back of your palm gently slaps her obliques, and you can feel her flinch just slightly, but you don't push any further.
You don't want to make her nervous.
"No, I'm serious," she trails back to what she was saying, "During the Carboniferus Period—Bro, there was like large fucking dragonflies called Megan...iz..opera?" (Meganisoptera), "Shit I don't fucking know how to say it, but I just know that it had something to do with the oxygen. It used to be higher back then."
"Wait dragonflies are actually pretty cool."
"And the milipedes were nine feet tall!" her hand shoots up as the end of her sentence speaks louder, and she looks over to see the disgusted expression over your face.
"Jesus, you can't handle a nine feet millipede?"
"Ellie, You can't either."
"You haven't seen me play God Of War."
"Excuse me?"
She watches you smile and she breaks.
"I have another fact," she snorts with a finger in the air, shoving humor into her little situation she did not want taken care of. She'd shove her feelings back inside if she could, but not when you keep looking prettier everyday.
"Yes, Ellie?"
A sigh falls from her lips, and you can see the condensation from the pale moonlight. It ignites it's matter into fire, heat, and all things hot and ready to implode on itself.
She shifts up, holding a bar from the fenced bridge she's debating jumping off of and into the fast waters of North Platte River. The bar is cold and feeling damp along her slender fingers. She waits for you to sit up with her.
And you do just that as you shift closer, knees and thighs almost touching, the concrete is cold against the plush of your thighs, and it's sediment sticks to your skin like it owns you. Wyoming owned you. The western, country life kept you at bay and it washed your worries away, but now you were concerned as you stare at your best friend—the same girl you'd do anything with.
Her lips were pursed in thought, her button nose was highlighted beneath the North star, and her auburn locks faded into the night's darkness—stardust glimmered over her cheeks, or you could say freckles but that's boring.
"What's wrong?"
she cuts you off.
"I like you," and her head turns just a bit away, trailing off into the trees because oh yeah trees are so interesting, I wonder what could be in that forest over there?
Your hand slides over her thigh and over the back of her palm; she looks below, watches you intertwine your fingers around hers, and she lives for it.
Those fireflies of nerves that she once released? They came shooting back into her skin and implanting freckles over her body as she restrained the action of jumping in glee.
"Ellie.."
Your other hand lifts a finger, and you turn her jaw closer to you with it's pink–polish.
Then your lips were on hers, and for a moment you were in control—just for a bit until her soul retrieved down from the skies and back into her body. She let go of your hand, using both of hers to wrap around your beautiful face. You both became breathless. She wanted this for so long, she waited so damn long. You could let her steal a breath, a muffled little moan, a smack of your lips, and you could wait another damn second to breathe too, right? You could, couldn't you?
She gave you mercy, gave you a second to breath.
And what did you say?
"Ellie–" you whined
Of course you fucking wanted more. Greedy little thing.
So she pressed her lips to the crook of your neck, found that sweet spot, and she already knew how desperately you wanted to thrust into the air. Give her that cute, submissive look with your eyebrows creasing up like your chasing for something you've been waiting for, and she couldn't deny that, not when the stars sparkled into your eyes, reflecting off of that beautiful gloss she found herself lost in.
She obsesses over the feeling of your delicate nails inching from the lows of her back, up into the sharps of her shoulder blades.
One of her hands rest at your waist, slowly encouraging you to sway your hips into the rhythm of her kiss, and her other hand crawls to your bare knee, feeling the goosebumps grow beneath her dedicated hands as her lips suck and suck and suck, and God knows you're both going to hell as she marks you up while embroidering a purple stain over your creamy, soft skin like it's the devil's mark—a subtle foreshadowing of just the kinda girl she'd be in the future
Then she slowly opens your legs, and you break away from the kiss with a cute, little laugh.
What a damn loser, you thought.
"Damn, Ellie. Take me on a date first," her cheeks are flushed like a tree squeezed a cherry over them, and her hand brushes the back of her neck as a smirk crawls up her face.
Her apple watch read 5am.
"I want to," you press a kiss to her cheek, the corner of her lips, and God, you're getting her riled up again.
"But people go on morning runs. On this very same route, silly."
"Sorry, got ahead of myself," she laughs quietly. (acting like she's not butthurt and disappointed)
You sigh with the prettiest smile, and the sun is on the edge of the ground, warming the skies slowly with it's hazel, morning glow. Your head is perched over her shoulder, and she feels your chest against her arm and it shivers, so yes, she is still turned on and replaying that moment like a vinyl over a record player. How could she not?
Do you know what you do to her?
She's the happiest, most luckiest girl in the world right now. She'd bow to you if you asked, loved you like you deserved, spend her last savings on you because you were a deity, and she wasn't tripping on hallucinogenics as she thought so.
"What do you think the universe has planned for us?" you stared over the rushing waters, listened to the morning doves as they awaken your neighborhood. The wind kissed your cheeks, and she wrapped her arms around you like a blanket of comfort with all things unsaid. The air was crisp, her breathing was empathetic, and all charged up energy in the air wired through the both of you, connecting you both into your own little, delusional world. Maybe if you both had each other, nothing bad could happen.
She hums, and she thinks.
For a moment you think she's serious.
"A black cat and a German Shepard or something, I don't know."
"Oh, wow," You roll your eyes, but you love her.
She knows it.
divider credits (thank you!!) : @uzmacchiato
(yes i listened to lana del rey as i wrote this)
Ask if you want to be in the taglist!!
cursed are the ones who stay .♱ ݁˖
previous part — blessed are the ones who sin
♱ word count: 6.2k 𖥔 ݁ ˖
♱ content warnings: country!ellie x preacher’s daughter!reader, switch!reader x switch!ellie, oral sex (r!receiving), tribbing, religious guilt/blasphemy, nipple play, use of southern accents/drawl, internalized shame, heavy misogyny, toxic family dynamics, arranged marriage, AFAB reader. MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes, reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖
header edited by my beloved @satellitespinner <3 ilysm. also, i highly recommend listening to hozier — my emotional support poet — while reading. it truly elevates the experience.
the dress feels like a noose as you drag it down your body.
stiff, pale, a fabric that doesn’t breathe, doesn’t give. you stand in the mirror for too long, brushing a palm over the faint sting where ellie’s fingers pressed into your skin the night before. the marks aren’t gone. they’re still there, blooming dark and sinful on your hip.
a rosary rests cold and delicate at your throat, its beads brushing the hollow of your collarbone. your hair is brushed, styled, molded into obedience. the reflection stares back at you like a stranger, a saintly ghost you can’t recognize.
downstairs, your father’s voice hums from the dining room, wrapped in scripture, politeness and the sound of silver clicking on porcelain. you draw a breath — shaky, sharp — and walk down the stairs.
the room goes quiet when your heel finds the last step.
holy fudge i loved this so much. I strive to write this beautifully.
hellur
being productive right now but I will start writing after dark, yk, when the night time crazies are initiating sequence.
Hiiii! Will you be writing more loser!Ellie & Latina!Reader? I loved the headcannons you wrote and the ‘chile relleno’ texts.
I would LOVEEE to read more of it! 🤍
YESSSS of courseee my lovellyy. I have a draft waiting to be finished i have just been super busy with other priorities 💔💔. I’m glad you like it though!! It’s very reassuring to writers to have these sort of compliments 💕
unpopular opinion that nobody asked for: i HATEE ellabs bro. Why would some girls suddenly start making out and thrusting into each other after they just killed each other’s dads??? I think even im not delusional enough to ever fantasize these weird kinks. They just don’t work.
I love Abby and ellie by themselves, and I can comfortably sit down and understand that some bonds aren’t meant to be.
Loser!Ellie & Latina!Reader
Headcannons!!
Contains: stalkerish behavior, slight smut but not too imagery??, masterbation, cringey maybe (at least i cringed because who the fuck do i think i am writing this), just ellie in her head. wc: idk guess silly duck
sypnosis: This is the start of ellie and latina!reader's relationship, so there isn't like an actual bond yet. (lmk if we want more of this)
Author notes: i literally did not write this. it was the freaky demon who possessed me that also coincidentally likes ellie.
RECOMMENDATIONS ARE APPRECIATED!!! also like questions please I'm bored out of my mind.
When Loser!Ellie first laid her eyes on you, she had no intention of speaking to you. The way your eyes gleamed mean, and your strut with confidence felt like you were aware of the scent you were throwing around. What was it? Chance Eau Fraîche? It was a citrusy smell—opening up with a spring awakening before florals fell to the puddles beneath your feet. It was clean, crisp and it bended the air around you into your own little social bubble as invitations flew out of you.
Your dark features were intimidating. And like she did with everybody, Ellie created assumptions, used your stereotypes to shape who she thought you were as a person.
Those fierce, dark eyes? Long and chocolate hair that almost covered your ass? You had to be a bitch.
She was terrified of you and she made a solem promise—held her hand up as she stared at herself into the mirror, "I will NOT. talk. to the latina baddie in my AP US History class." she kept her hand high if not higher, "I repeat—i WILL NOT. talk to the latina baddie in my AP US History class."
She sighed to herself—clutched onto the edge of her bathroom sink as she stared into the abyss, wondering what the actual fuck she was doing with herself.
You shouldn't have held such an ache over her—an urge to kneel beneath you. But you did, and you couldn't do anything about it.
Loser!Ellie who slowly but surely over time becomes a wreck over you.
It was a slow day, and the teacher was gone—someone else subbing for them. You're seated just a table away from her, minding your own business as you flip over the pages of what she believed to be your favorite book series. She noticed a pin of it on your bookbag.
okay, she thought. Maybe you aren't as bad as she thought. Maybe there was a modicum, an inkling that you might just be a nerd like her. It was AP US History after all.
When you felt that heat over the corner of your eye—the pressure of somebody watching you—you turned your eyes to meet hers already on you. A twitch from your eyebrow and she looked away so fast, pressing her chin to the palm of her hand as she whispered a curse. You definitely hate her now. For sure.
She was doomed.
Loser!Ellie who canonically starts maladaptive daydreaming about you.
She's in her bed, letting her fingers draw over her freckled, sensitive body—she squeezes her eyes shut as her hands limp around because she knows she's weird for it. she keeps going anyways.
What kind of girl were you?
Submissive? Dominant?
Were you full of sins, and unapologetically the horny girl she knew you were?
She imagined how pretty you'd look above her, pressing your beautiful, pink nails against her chest as you lay her down, rolling your hips in circular motions while you pushed your underwear to the side and settled into her strap. (she didn't have one. she's a virgin.)
The thought that you were just at home doing God knows what—while she was teasing herself, getting off to the thought of you fucking yourself against her—it fucking turned her on so bad. She was so desperate. She slipped her fingers hazily into her boxers, glossing them with the slick you created.
She kept thinking.
Would you be the type to grope your tits in front of her? Let your eyes fall to the back of your head while you used her for your benefit? Like a toy?
wait a damn minute.
would you maybe like.. speak spanish to her?
"ew what the fuck," she was so close before she stopped. Wiping her fingers over her boxers, she slapped a hand to her forehead—convulsing into the air as she shakes and kicks into the sheets, "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck why am i so goddamn weirdugh."
Keep in mind, you had no idea how crazy she was over you.
credits to @uzmacchiato for the dividers!!!
i listen to lana del rey as i make these fics if you haven't noticed. she is my mentor.
"What do you think the universe has planned for us?"
bsf!ellie and fem!reader :) sypnosis: A journey of figuring out what you and Ellie are. wc: idk guess
Contains: cussing (if you're sensitive idk), angst, fluff, ellie is a bitch like fr (heh but that's kinda hot.), no smut but eventually?? maybe 😈, joel is presently dead but he will show up in memories, reader is delusional as fuckkkk because i am.
Author notes: this might be a series if you guys really eat it up. Or it might be a one time thing. I wrote this simply by just going by the flow. I didn't have really any plan and i'm new to tumblr and exploring how to use it SO if you see any errors be a dear and pretend i don't look like an elder learning how to use a computer.
RECS ARE APPRECIATED!!
I'd love to get to know you guys and learn about what YOU as a person would like to see more. I love my ellie gooners and want to please them as much as i can!!
chapter 1 chapter 2
Chapter Uno
It was that country life that pushed you into your most reckless, laughable moments—when the wind ruttled into your hollow bones that were waiting for something, or rather someone to fit their place into you.
You felt that familiar summer breeze, heard the kids gathering in the middle of the street, and felt the cold pavement against your barefeet as grass seeping through the cracks bristled past your ankles. The swift entrance led eyes over to you as they glittered beneath lampposts and fireflies.
You'd do anything to fall back into that moment. Or wished that maybe her eyes could've turned it into stone, held everything in place, so you could keep it next to you. Instead it deteriorates, crumbles from your fingers like an autumn leaf.
Smiling to your old friends, they slap their palms to yours, keeping their connection close but not any closer than she did. Nothing ever could.
Your hands slid in between her arms with a slight shove, pulling her close and into a proximity others weren't allowed to have. You loved to turn her frown into the shyest smile you'd ever seen, and to make her ears buzz louder with memory rather than the cicadas. With her, it was always, "We'll do everything together," and she nodded, and she promised.
Her dad was friends with yours, sharing a drink as they overlooked their porch and talked about the things to come. or about you two.
Grey streaks tamed their beards, the hair on their heads—each one a chapter of their life as they wear it like a badge, and hold it in honor to how they managed to get here; housed in the flat plains between mountains, a morning dove to wake them and start their day. Soft strums of their guitar, smells of pollen, and they could finally ease down and focus on giving their daughters a better life than they ever had. They flipped their nostalgia for yours and bathed in it.
They both laughed, and tried to pull the smile off the stubble of their beards when you kids came around, and when you showed them your new discoveries.
You'd do anything to rewind—to never see them age.
Now—you stand face to face with Ellie. She gave you that look as she stared at you like you were stupid.
You hated—despised—the present, and how still it felt. The past, the memory, the structure it filled into your head that kept you on your toes and moved past you like a melody; always moving, always alive and breathing just as your beating heart was. You loved to live in the past as she drove you insane, as you learned that it will probably be your best moments.
To be young and in love again.
Her eyes were full of lush and shrubbery in their oceanic hues, and you could hear it in each stubborn blink—waves crashing in trauma and anger, begging to unleash over someone responsible for her father's death.
She didn't believe in God, and she couldn't cuss mother nature out, so her eyes landed to you. Striking you and turning down your delusions with a bolt of lightning.
Her tatted arm held tight against your wrist—the one you remember coloring between the lines in, "the fuck are you doing?" she pushed you back from your approach, and ignored the worrisome in your eyes. She hated your pity, and how deep in your mind you were in to forget your reality. The hope sparkling in your eyes was unbearable.
"ellie—"
"Please just—god, your voice is so annoying."
It didn't smell like pollen anymore, and you could no longer hear the morning doves, but rather all you heard now was the public, chill streets outside of ellie's apartment. Something she'd promised was only temporary—lying through her teeth as tobacco filled your nostrils whenever she tried to convince you. The same smell you had no choice but to fall into, let your tears fall into the palms of her hands, and the drunken, slurred hushes she'd usually spill from her lips to make you feel protected by someone who wasn't even at all there. Yet this time she left you alone.
Left alone in the living room, you heard her slam the door to the bedroom you both slept in with helplessness, dying for something real. The hasty click of the door brought tears to your eyes, and into a flood she'd rather live than drown in. And she was so done with living.
Inside you heard glass break, furniture moving, kicks and punches against the walls before you heard the bed spring with defeat as she broke into sobs. Every voice crack that slipped past your lips was denied, and every look of concern just made her ache for you even more, but she wouldn't bother to jump back into the familiarity of your arms, listen to your soft praises as your manicured nails massaged her scalp because she lived in a cruel world, and she couldn't afford to pretend that everything was okay—not like you—living in your past, in your dreams.
Your legs are crossed as you sit over the carpeted-floor digging through boxes of her most precious things. You knew she had cried herself to sleep, out in outerspace as you take a trip into her interests, interstellar filled cardboard-boxes. Neatly organized, and smelling just as the pinecone smell she used to smell like.
You wish she was still like this—the nerdy, dinasour and space obsessed girl you fell in love with. The one who would fumble over her words, and practically break into hives whenever her gaze met your doe-eyed ones. She couldn't hold eye-contact with you because of how nervous you made her, and now she couldn't because you believed she hated you, and maybe she really just did.
You picked up a photo book, turning the pages as the years fly past you and hit you harder than ellie's gaze. In the wasteland, she felt lost at sea, and over and over again you had to remind her that it was a small world, that she had to just look out into the distance. For you. For joel. For her sake.
You missed the girl you knew.
Staring extra long at a photo, you tugged it out of it's place in the book. She wouldn't catch it missing, for she was fearful of reliving.
Her hand is trying to grab the camera as a smile creeps onto her face. Eyebrows soft unlike the usual resentment they hold, and her freckles are glowing in the summer haze spilling through the window, keeping everything frozen, innocent. Her body was warm with blood, and alive with a beautiful heart.
"stop— you caught me off guard." she laughs with a smile, and her calloused, slender fingers wrap around your wrists as colored-in ferns reach the back of her palms. The camera falls over the crocheted, throw blanket between you as you wrestle for your arms back.
"Ellie!" the camera clacks against itself, landing too softly against the bed for your kind of reaction.
She holds the camera in between her hands as she slips the polaroid out of it's socket, "jesus relax, it's fine." She glances over at you— you're flat against your knees, hands pressed to your thighs as a beat of silence washes over you two. She throws the photo into her drawer to keep it from light.
"i'm not forgetting about that photo," you remind her.
a laugh falls over her lips, sounding like honey, "you never do, do you?"
and there it is.
That teasing smirk with a different glint in her eyes, shining from the angels above whom you've silently thanked under the heat of your breath. Butterflies danced inside of your stomach. Tickling and sculpting out your insides to make you feel fatigue in this disgustingly very sweet moment.
You thought you knew her all to well. You could've sworn she wasn't the type to initiate nerve-racking eye-contact, and yet here you are—sinking flatter against the sheets as she melts you with only her eyes.
"You got sum to say?" you decide to ruin the moment with a little humor, but a beat of silence follows, and she's still deep inside of your eyes, falling into that pool of beauty.
You roll your eyes, throwing a pillow against her chest like you couldn't stand her. The excitement coursed through your veins and ate you up just moments before ellie could've.
She fell back against her bed dramatically.
"Ow," the word comes out with no emotion, no visual expression—just deadpanned and lifeless as the only sound that fills into her room was the creaking trees before you both spill into laughter.
Maybe if you heightened your ears just a little more—past the laughter—you would've heard the ocean crashing with it's thunder in the distance.
divider by: @uzmacchiato :)
i hope you guys liked this!! (should i make a tag list???)
literally first actual tumblr post and I have no idea how to manage an account. I’m just a girl with delusions and hopefully creativity that I want others to be able and reach. Any advice is well appreciated because idk what dafuq I’m doing.
OH!!!! And requests!!! I need some fun fic ideas because I want to write :))
warnings and mentions: loser!ellie paired with Latina!reader (cause I’m latina sue me), a little freaky deaky but no hardcore smut (read if you dare muaha). Please actually do.