texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 4
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.
texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 3
You were already home when you opened your conversation with her.
i have to tell you something.
You frowned the second your eyes landed on it.
You were already curled into bed—fresh from the shower, hair damp against your neck, oversized shirt slouching soft over your thighs. The room was dim, lit only by the weak orange buzz of your fairy lights. That Friday exhaustion still clung to your bones, but none of it mattered.
You were settled. Cozy. Warm.
There was nothing better than the thought of spending the whole weekend like this—no plans, no noise. Just your room, your phone, and her.
Something about the message hit different. Not her usual caps-locked chaos or horny emoji spiral. Just plain. Sharp. Hanging in the air like a loaded pause.
You stared at it longer than you meant to, thumb hovering.
You watched the read receipt appear, vanish, then return—followed by the word Typing, then nothing, then Typing again, like she was wrestling with whatever it was she couldn’t quite say.
u ever think a thing and go wait no i’m actually insane?
You stared and your frown lingered.
There was something in it. Something unfinished, like she’d swallowed the thought halfway. It pressed at your chest—not hard, but enough to make you pause.
You let it sit there and tapped your thumb slow against the screen.
if it mattered to you, it’s not dumb.
A beat and you double texted her.
but fine. i’ll stop bugging
just tell me when ur ready
okay but what if it was like “i was possessed by a sexy ghost” weird
or “i’ve been thinking about ur mouth for 5 days straight” weird
bc that’s the category i’m working in rn
You snorted, the knot in your chest loosening instantly.
ur criminally hot and i’m emotionally unstable.
i almost sent u a poem today and had to physically restrain myself
wait u wrote me a poem???
no one’s ever gonna see it
unless i die then u can publish it posthumously
You rolled onto your side, laughing into your pillow, smiling so hard it made your face ache.
other than spiraling over my mouth
did the tragic lesbian survive algebra?
i almost died. they tried to silence me.
i doodled boobs on my notes again. staying humble.
u say that like it’s a coping mechanism
it is. ur boobs specifically
You snorted again, tension bleeding out of you with every stupid message that followed.
should i send u some again so u can cope better?
don’t tempt me rn i’m weak and unsupervised
You bit your lip, grinning into your pillow like an idiot.
She was back to herself—unhinged and dramatic, talking about how her math teacher was probably a demon who fed on the dreams of students. Complete with all-caps outbursts and at least two conspiracy theories. You kept laughing. Kept typing.
Eventually, your thumbs started to cramp.
i swear my thumbs are buff now bc of u
everything i say u turn into gay
You bit your lip. Your heart thumped—stupid and full.
You didn’t ask again about the message. You didn’t have to. Whatever she’d meant to say, she clearly couldn’t yet.
You stayed texting until your phone went warm in your palm, until your eyes stung from grinning too long. By the time you checked the clock, it was 3AM.
You didn’t mean to stay up that late, but that’s what always happened with her. The later it got, the more chaotic the messages became. If it wasn’t full-blown unhinged, it was weirdly horny. And if it wasn’t horny, it got accidentally deep—like two sleep-deprived idiots trying to figure out the meaning of life between memes and finger-smash typing.
do u ever wonder what we’d be like if we met in real life?
or would we combust instantly?
You barely had time to brace for whatever ridiculous answer that would get when your phone buzzed again—this time from a different notification.
You blinked at the name—Ellie, already saved in your phone—and still typed:
A faint smirk tugged at your lips.
Just wanted to let you know I’m starting the draft for our project. It’s nothing serious, just bullet points. I figured I’d organize ideas before Monday.
You stared at her message, already smiling.
you couldn’t tell me that earlier in class??
I didn’t think of it until now.
Also I'm still awake, so.
why r u still up anyway ?
I wanted to be productive while the ideas were still fresh.
You paused, glancing at your other chat. E hadn’t replied yet. Your thumb hovered, tempted to double text.
But right before you did—
sorry went blank for a sec i was picturing how u say my name in a whisper lol anyway what were we even talking about
You laughed out loud, the sound muffled into your pillow.
Let me know if you’d rather read the notes now or wait for Monday. Either way works.
You laid your phone on your chest for a second, staring at the ceiling. One of them wanted to die at your hands. The other was politely offering to share bullet points at 3AM.
And just like that—when you’re happy, when it’s fun—time moved stupidly fast.
The hallway pulsed with the usual Monday mess—shuffling sneakers, lockers clanging shut, someone already yelling, and of course, that one kid running like it’s a sport.
You felt obnoxiously good for a Monday. The kind of good that only came from two straight days of texting someone who made your brain feel like soda bubbles. You were still carrying a smile that hadn’t fully faded since 3AM.
You suddenly spotted Ellie.
Standing at her locker, blue flannel shrugged over her usual black tee, one side of her hair still sleep-creased. Headphones rested around her neck. She looked a little worn—like sleep hadn’t been a priority. Like someone who’d stayed up too late doing something they didn’t regret.
You didn’t stop walking. Just drifted right up beside her locker, leaned against the one next to it like you had all the time in the world.
She didn’t look at you at first—just shifted her books with one hand, nudging her sketchpad into place. Her fingers lingered at the edge of a notebook you knew too well now. The one she said she started drafting in.
Finally, a glance. Quick and dry.
You smirked at her reaction. Tilted your head like you were observing something mildly amusing.
“So,” you said. “How was your weekend?”
Ellie didn’t answer right away. Just reached deeper into the locker like she was debating throwing herself inside it.
“Quiet,” she said without looking at you.
You raised your brows. “That’s it?”
She shoved a pencil case into her bag and shut the locker with a dull thud. “What do you want me to say? I spent it drafting our project.”
You leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “Mm. So productive.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can’t help it if you’re easily impressed.”
“Who said I was impressed?” you shot back, one brow raised. “I’m just asking.”
Ellie adjusted the strap of her guitar case on her shoulder, finally meeting your eyes. “Right. You’re just asking. Because you care deeply about how I spent my weekend.”
You shrugged, unfazed. “Maybe I do.”
That got you a blink. A pause. Her gaze flicked over your face—just for a second too long.
“Wanna guess how I spent mine?”
Ellie didn’t say anything—just glanced away, too fast to be casual.
You tapped the locker with your knuckles, straightened up slowly. “See you in class, Williams.”
And with that, you walked off and didn’t look back.
But if you had, you might’ve caught the exact moment Ellie muttered under her breath—barely audible over the hallway noise.
You slipped into your usual seat, still warm from your walk through the halls and encounter with Ellie. One of your friends tossed a lazy “hey,” but you barely glanced up—already pulling your phone out, screen lighting up with that soft blue glow.
don’t blame me again if you end up being late, poet
Your grin was immediate. Unchecked. You bit it back behind your palm, thumbs still hovering when someone cleared their throat right beside you.
You didn’t hide your expression—still smiling like a dumbass, phone in hand.
“Yeah?” you asked, one brow raised.
She was holding out the notebook. The one she told you about. She didn’t quite meet your eyes.
“Just—here,” she muttered, placing it down in front of you.
Your gaze dropped to the familiar cover, then back to her.
You smiled wider. “Thanks. I’ll look over it later.”
She nodded, quiet. “Cool.”
She turned without another word and made her way to her own seat. You tapped the corner of the notebook with your fingers, still smiling.
i was gonna be late but now i’m getting up just to annoy u
also maybe to see what u look like in class all smug and pretty
You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh.
i wish u were my classmate for real tho
i can only think of many things 👀
maybe like… we’d be seatmates
and i wouldn’t wear any undies on purpose
Three dots appeared immediately. It vanished and came back again.
ok well. i just flatlined in my desk chair.
just trying to motivate u to get to school on time
I'M ALREADY AT SCHOOL BRUH
i am not responsible for the thoughts i’m having rn
You grinned, legs curled up in your chair, heart stupidly light.
ma’am this is a public institution
let’s just say i’m sitting very still rn
and ur going to hell. congrats.
You bit back another grin so hard your cheeks hurt.
Your thumb hovered over the screen, still smiling like a complete idiot as the bell rang.
ur really gonna hate me when i say
i’m not even wearing a bra rn
i hope you’re proud of yourself for what you're doing to me
thighs touching, shoulder to shoulder
and i’d keep dropping my pen just to bend down and grab it
okay actually u don’t need to
you wanna play? let’s play.
Your phone buzzed again, and you bit back another grin.
but thank u i guess for giving me something to think about while i touch myself tonight
or maybe right after this class ;)
Class, lunch, class again—standard Monday drag. Nothing special. Just the usual shuffle between subjects and half-awake conversations that barely counted as human interaction.
Now, you were in the library for your last period. Final class of the day. The room was quiet in that stiff, almost sacred way libraries get—like if you breathed too loud, someone would smite you.
Ms. Alvarez, who walked in balancing a thick binder and a tired expression. She barely made it past the first five minutes before clearing her throat and announcing, “Alright, class. I have a faculty meeting in ten. You’re allowed to continue working on your project in pairs, but you must stay in the classroom or within school premises. No one leaves early. Understood?”
You were sitting across from Ellie. She was fully immersed in whatever she was typing on her laptop—jaw tight, brows drawn, fingers moving like she was coding national security protocols instead of organizing character arcs.
You tried to match her energy for a grand total of three minutes before your attention span gave out completely.
Your gaze dropped to the window. From the second-floor view, you could see a couple of students loitering around the quad, stretched out across benches and grass. Someone was dramatically eating a banana. You didn’t know why that annoyed you.
Without thinking, you reached for your phone.
IF UR GOING TO TELL ME SOMETHING LIKE THAT IN CLASS AT LEAST LET ME WATCH
You bit your lip hard—so hard it almost hurt—not wanting to smile in front of Ellie. You slipped the phone away like it burned, then reached toward her side of the table.
She didn’t look up when you slid her notebook over, flipping straight to the page.
Possible Story Structure – v1.0
You stared at it for a beat. Then made a face.
“This is so boring,” you muttered.
Ellie kept typing. “Don’t start.”
“I’m serious. This is criminal. Look at this—no dramatic kisses? No one cries? This is actual villain behavior.”
“They’re just notes,” she said without looking up.
“They’re rules. And they suck.”
“They’re guidelines,” she corrected, finally glancing your way. “And they exist because someone—you—suggested glitter-induced closet sex as a turning point.”
“And yet, you wrote it down.”
Ellie sighed through her nose. “So you’d shut up.”
You jabbed your pen at the “Maybe a forehead touch??” line. “This. Right here. What is this. This is loser behavior.”
You let out the fakest gasp imaginable. “Loser and pretentious.”
Ellie leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “You want them crying in the rain after a juice box incident.”
“Because that’s real storytelling, Ellie.”
“You literally renamed the central conflict The Tragic Juice Box Betrayal of 7th Grade.”
“It was a betrayal. And it was orange. It stained. It’s metaphorical. You just don't understand.”
You were staring back at each other.
You leaned forward just a little. “Also, I know you sketched the supply closet scene in the margin of your algebra notebook.”
“That was a box,” she said flatly. “It was a literal box.”
“Sure,” you said, unconvinced.
Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose like she was trying to summon patience from another plane of existence.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered.
She blinked. “Says the girl blushing at her phone two minutes ago.”
Ellie tilted her head, a little too smug. “Hmm?”
You cleared your throat. “That’s classified.”
She smirked—barely. “Suspicious.”
You slid the notebook back toward her. “Fix your outline before I submit a new draft with a title you won't really like.”
She rolled her eyes casually, shaking her head as she went back to her laptop.
You leaned back in your chair—annoyed, stretching a little before grabbing your phone again—this time not even pretending to be sneaky about it.
Ellie didn’t look up, but you could feel her noticing.
You opened your chat with E, thumb already moving.
i’m literally sitting across from the most insufferable person alive
she’s so bossy and uptight and acts like she’s above dramatic plotlines
like okay sorry i want EMOTION in my fake scenarios??? sue me???
she actually said “restraint” like it was a flex. loser behavior actually.
You smirked, shot a glance up, then kept typing.
also she keeps pretending she didn’t sketch the closet scene
it was OBVIOUSLY not just a box
You huffed quietly, shifting in your seat. Ellie was still typing—completely zoned in, not looking at you.
You looked back down at your screen.
she’s doing that thing again
getting all serious like we’re submitting this to sundance
like relax. it’s two fictional lesbians and a tragic juice box. let me work.
You paused for a beat, then kept going.
idk. don’t wanna argue about it
remember what i said before about making out in the nonfiction aisle?
i’m here at the library ;)
i'll have you finger me 'till I cum and my legs shake
and we go back to class like nothing happened
You stared at the message for a second, then laughed under your breath and set your phone down on the table, face-down. You suddenly felt silly—teasing, sure, but also a little giddy. Like you were getting away with something. Especially with Ellie right in front of you, looking like the literal opposite of whatever that text had just suggested.
She was still focused. Still typing. Her MacBook open, her hand flicking her pen across the margins of her notebook. The light hit her rings again. She was chewing her bottom lip.
You grabbed your pen and started doodling in the corner of your notes. Hearts, stars, little lesbian stick figures making out beside bookshelves.
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught something—Ellie’s posture had shifted. Her brow furrowed deeper, her eyes narrowed at the screen.
Then she bit her lip again, harder this time. Her hand came up, fingers scratching just above her eyebrow like she was trying to stay grounded. Her expression pinched for a second—like she was trying to keep her face neutral and failing.
You glanced out the window instead. Golden light, slow-moving clouds. You imagined E, imagined her standing on the other side of this table, all smirking confidence and chaos. You smiled to yourself, tapping your pen twice before reaching back for your phone.
You frowned a little. Refreshed the app. Nothing.
Right then, Ellie stood up.
You looked up immediately. “Where are you going?”
She didn’t meet your eyes. Just grabbed the edge of her chair like she needed to move. “Getting a book,” she muttered, already walking.
You blinked, confused. “You already have like, four.”
She didn’t answer and just walked off. You watched her disappear down the aisle, your phone still in your hand.Still no message from E.
The empty screen felt louder than it should’ve.
A few minutes passed. Ellie didn’t come back.
You tapped your fingers once against the table, then got up, quietly making your way until the nonfiction aidle, farthest row in the back, where no one really went.
You found her there, tucked at the very end of the aisle, half-hidden behind the shelves. She was leaning slightly against them, phone in hand, her eyes fixed on the screen—expression unreadable, but her ears flushed just a little too pink to ignore.
She didn’t notice you right away.
But the second she did, she quickly lowered her phone and reached for a nearby book, flipping it open like she’d been studying the whole time.
You raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
Instead, you glanced at the shelves around you, trying not to smile—because of course it had to be this aisle. The same one you’d texted E about, half-joking, half-not.
“What’s funny?” Ellie asked without looking up, now looking so serious.
“Nothing,” you said, too fast.
“Really?” Her tone was dry, eyes still on the page.
You grabbed a random book from the shelf and flipped it open. “I just remembered something.”
“Uh huh.” She said it flatly, like she didn’t buy it.
You sighed and rolled your eyes. But you didn’t answer her. Just turned another page, pretending to read.
Ellie shifted beside you, thumbing through her own book.
“What are you even doing in the nonfiction aisle?” you asked, still not looking up. “It’s not like we’re writing nonfiction.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Well, actually… sometimes good fiction pulls from nonfiction. Real stories. Background stuff. It makes things feel more grounded.”
You peeked over the edge of your book. “Okay, nerd.”
She shrugged. “Just saying.”
You didn’t respond, but your thoughts were anything but neutral.
Okay sorry I'm just here because I’ve been thinking about making out with someone against these shelves for three days straight.
You stared down at the page—something about memory and neural pathways—but none of it stuck.
Your mouth twitched into a grin again. E’s dumb chaotic message echoed in your head.
You couldn’t wait to talk to her again tonight.
Ellie was still there, head tilted slightly, lips parted in concentration, bathed in soft afternoon light spilling through the high windows.
She looked unreal. Sharp in some ways. Gentle in others.
She wasn’t even trying. Her flannel sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and her hair was half-messy like she’d forgotten to fix it after leaning against her hand too long. A strand curled near her cheek. Her rings caught the light again when she shifted the book. And her mouth—soft, slightly parted as she read—moved just a little when she wet her lips without thinking.
“Actually…” you started, voice light. “Can I ask you something?”
Ellie didn’t look up. “What?”
You waited a beat. “Have you ever thought about making out with someone in the library?”
Her head lifted slowly, like she wasn’t sure she heard you right. “What?”
You grinned. Tilted your head. “I mean—have you ever thought about it? Like. Right here. This exact aisle.”
Ellie blinked once. “Do you mean making out with someone who’s… here in the library?”
Her voice had a weird edge. Something unreadable.
You scoffed, playful. “No. Just—like. Making out with someone in a library. Someone you like. A girl or whatever.”
She blinked again. Then scoffed lightly, like you’re ridiculous.
She leaned her shoulder against the shelf. “Why would I make out with someone here?” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s the library.”
You rolled your eyes. “Okay, well—where would you bring them if you wanted to make out with them?”
You watched her carefully.
She stared at you, then down at the book in your hands.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered.
You grinned. “That’s not an answer.”
She sighed and turned the page, trying to ignore you. “Not everyone makes out in public places, you know.”
“Yeah,” you said, shutting your book and letting it hang at your side. “But it’s fun to think about.”
“And you think about it a lot?” she asked, voice casual—but not quite.
“Yeah.” You shrugged. “I do.” You added, a smirk playing in your lips.
Ellie exhaled slowly, her eyes flicking up to your face—and lingering. You could almost feel her gaze pause on your mouth for a second too long.
Then she shook her head, barely, like she was trying to snap herself out of it.
Without another word, she turned and walked off, heading back toward your table with quick, quiet steps—like she needed to leave before she did something she’d regret.
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