brothers!best friend!ellie when your brother introduces ellie to you and ellie was very happy to meet you and also a little head over heels and she makes you and her in tomodachi life . .
themes & tropes : brothers!best friend!ellie williams fem!reader tooth rotting fluff lesbian yearning very!nerdy!ellie tomodachi life mentioned !! & femme!lesbian!reader
creds to @dearbaes for the trope idea!! love your work :)
the first time your brother brings ellie over, you’re on the couch, knees tucked under you, a bag of sour gummy worms balanced on your stomach.
you don’t look up at first.
you just heard the front door click shut, your brother’s voice rumbling about some new game he’s been playing.
and then a second voice, a little raspy, a little nervous, laughing at something he said.
“—and this is my sister,” your brother says, and you finally glance up.
ellie williams is standing in your living room like she’s not sure she’s allowed to be there.
she’s all flannel and freckles and a mop of auburn hair shoved under a backwards baseball cap.
her hands shoved deep in her jacket pockets. her eyes land on you and she freezes.
but only just for a second. just long enough for you to notice the way her throat moves when she swallows.
“uh. hey.” her voice cracks on the single syllable. she clears her throat, cheeks flushing pink.
“i’m ellie. obviously. your brother’s, uh. yeah. we’re friends. best friends. i mean, i don’t know if he told you, but. yeah.”
your brother snorts. “dude, chill.”
ellie shoots him a look that’s half murder, half please shut up forever.
you can’t help it, you smile, and she sees it.
and her whole face goes through about seventeen different emotions in two seconds flat.
“hi,” you say, voice soft. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”
“all bad, i hope,” she says, and then winces like she immediately regrets the joke.
you laugh, and ellie looks like she’s just been handed the last slice of pizza at a party.
she’s completely gone. you can tell. it’s written all over her.
three weeks later, ellie is at your apartment almost every day.
she claims it’s to hang out with your brother, but your brother works nights.
so it’s usually just her on your couch, legs pulled up, 3ds in her hands, mumbling about island layouts and how her villagers keep moving their houses into weird spots.
“you’re really into this game,” you say one evening, sitting beside her with a cup of tea.
you’re wearing one of your oversized sweaters, hair loose.
and ellie keeps sneaking glances at you like she’s trying to memorize your face.
“it’s called tomodachi life: living the dream ,” she says, holding the ds out so you can see. “you make little people, aka miis and they live on an island and do stuff. it’s stupid, but. i don’t know. it’s cozy.”
“show me.”
ellie’s eyes light up. she scoots closer, her shoulder pressing against yours, and you feel the warmth of her through her flannel.
she navigates to her island, and there they are.
a bunch of little cartoon characters with big heads and tiny bodies, wandering around in a colorful world.
“this one’s me,” she says, pointing to a mii with ellie’s messy hair and a little smirk. “and this one's—”
she pauses. hesitates. her thumb hovers over a mii with long hair and a soft smile.
wearing a little sweater that looks suspiciously like the one you have on right now.
“that’s you,” she says quietly.
“i made you. i hope that’s not weird. it’s probably weird. i can delete it, i just, i thought it’d be nice. to have you on the island. even if it’s just, like. a digital version of you.”
you look at her. she’s not looking at you. her ears are red, her jaw tight, like she’s bracing for you to laugh or tell her she’s being creepy.
“ellie.” you say, serious.
she flinches. “yeah?”
“that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” you say seriously and sweetly.
she finally looks up, and the relief in her eyes is so raw, so open, it makes your chest ache. “really?”
“really.” you say, jokingly.
you lean in and press a kiss to her cheek, soft and quick. ellie makes a sound like a deflating balloon.
and when you pull back, she’s bright red, grinning.
“okay,” she says, voice a little hoarse. “okay. cool. so. do you want to see our apartment? in the game. i decorated it. it’s not much, but there’s a cat.”
“you gave us a cat?” you ask, curious.
“obviously. we’re lesbians. we have to have a cat.” ellie says sarcastically.
you laugh, and she laughs too.
and the two of you spend the rest of the night on the couch, shoulders pressed together.
watching little digital versions of yourselves fall in love on a tiny island screen.
and when your brother comes home at 2am, he finds you both asleep, your head on ellie’s shoulder.
her cheek resting on your hair, the ds still glowing faintly on the coffee table.
he doesn’t say a word. just turns it off, drapes a blanket over both of you, and heads to his room, smiling to himself.
mae mae's ending notes: first drabble !! hey hey everybody!! hope you enjoyed :D i tried my best with this one :( the graphic above was made by me please do not steal! i will open commissions for that if you want!
𝐦𝐚𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐞'𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 (0/50): comment if you wanna be added!!
It’s been so long since Ruben was this angry. It almost feels good, to experience an emotion void of complexity—just raw, unadulterated rage. His hands are shaking and he can hear his own heartbeat thumping against his skull. The anger envelops him like a wave washing over him, dragging him under. And he lets it.
Across the table, Marlene watches him and appears unamused as she does it, almost bored. Her hair is pinned back into a neat twist, making her cheekbones pop. She looks like a skeleton. Finally, after allowing his words to settle in the entire room around them, she sighs. “I evaluated them. I tested Y/n’s loyalties, ensuring she would not flee as soon as the opportunity was presented to her. Shockingly, she did not. At the same time, I tested Ellie’s immunity, measuring the lengths to which her body would survive while others would not.”
“And you risked their lives doing it.” Ruben seethes. “They could have died for your damn evaluation!”
“But they didn’t.”
“No thanks to you!”
“Everything I did last night was calculated and efficient.” She speaks evenly, as though she were risking a dummy rather than two sentient human beings. She taps her nails against the table, eyes still dull and listless. “I knew what would happen and I was willing to gamble for the results I desired.”
“You didn’t even offer them a chance to deny you!” His voice shakes and he hopes Marlene knows it’s due to anger rather than weakness. But whatever she thinks, she keeps it to herself. “They didn’t know what they were being put into. You knew the Peacekeepers would show up and you didn’t warn them! You knew they had gas bombs and you didn’t give them masks! You knew there would–”
“That is quite enough.” She holds up a hand, successfully silencing him with a single gesture. He feels his cheeks heat at his own compliance.
He wishes he were brave enough to defy her, to continue shouting despite her refusal to listen. Alas, he does not. Because there are far too many people he cares about whose lives are placed wholly in Marlene’s hands. His insubordination would do naught but risk their lives. You, Ellie, Dina, Jesse, Tommy, Maria, Birdie, Avner, Noam, Cricket, Oakley, JJ. He is not foolish enough to jeopardize any of them for the sake of his pride.
The table which separates Ruben from Marlene is long and glossy. They are at least twenty feet apart despite both residing on opposite ends of the same furniture. But he knows why this is: Marlene enjoys placing herself on a pedestal, displaying blatant symbols of her own power so no one dares question it. And this table is no different. It represents how she holds everyone at a distance for her own protection, not willing to place herself among her own people for fear of them turning on her. Or worse, plaguing her with their mundanity.
“You are excused, Mister L/n.” She says with a wave of her hand before dipping her head in a false display of respect. But he sees the way her eyes never leave his face, always pinned to him. Without caring to provide his own fake respect, Ruben turns and leaves.
The guards outside the room are strong and solid, but hold expressions of pity as he passes. Everyone knows what happened last night: you and Ellie were sent on a solo mission under Marlene’s orders. And it went terribly wrong. When the hovercraft returned to Thirteen, calamity ensued. Medics and doctors were running toward the hangers, carrying as much medical supply as possible. He ran alongside them, somehow knowing it was related to the two of you despite not yet knowing anything. Sure enough, when he arrived, you were unconscious and hardly breathing while Ellie was struggling to hold herself upright.
You’ve both spent the whole night in the medical bay, swarmed by medics. Ruben has visited more times than he can count, but only managed to catch slight glimpses at you both. And, now that he’s been removed from Marlene’s quarters, he knows where he will go. Again.
On the way to the med bay, he stops by his compartment. Ruben peeks his head inside the room, making sure everything within is running smoothly. Thankfully, it is. On his bed, Birdie is fast asleep with her two younger brothers flanking either side of her.
Over the past four months since the victors’ recovery from the Capitol, Avner and Noam have slowly grown used to Birdie’s condition. It was hard at first—of course it was—but those boys are strong. There is not a world in which they would allow Fedra to come between their relationship with their big sister. And Ruben is glad to see it because, despite Birdie’s mental complications, she knew something was missing. She knew there was more that she wanted from Thirteen than Ruben’s attention. And ever since Avner and Noam’s acceptance, her happiness has become palpable. She is smiling more often than she is not. She makes noises of contentment and movements of glee. It absolutely warms his heart to see her happy, even though she cannot fully express it.
Ruben pushes the door to the med bay open, wishing the damn hinges didn’t announce his presence because now the medics will be prepared to turn him away. He’s realized, in the past few hours, that the only way to sneak a glance at you and Ellie is if the medics are not aware of his peeking. Alas, the door has other plans.
“I apologize again, Mister L/n,” says one of the medics as she notices his approach, “but you cannot–”
“Please.” He begs while standing on his toes and attempting to peer over her shoulder into the room. She is shorter than him, so he is able to snag a look at your face. There are tubes hooked up to your nose and mouth, extracting something from your lugs. Something with particles in it. He does not have to assume what it is, judging by Marlene’s descriptions. It’s the spores.
After the seventy-fourth Games, the Capitol realized that they’d overlooked a significant factor of their strength: the Games. For over seven decades, the gamemakers have been designing horribly dangerous tools for the arena. And, for over seven decades, these tools have only ever been used in the arena. Now, as the war wages onward and the tides begin to shift, the Capitol grows desperate. Fedra, hoping to soothe such desperation, has begun to use the gamemakers’ tools as war armaments. Primarily the spores from yours and Ellie’s Games: fungus-infected particles which are lethal without a gas mask to filter them.
And, according to Marlene, Ellie might just be immune to these spores. Seeing as Ellie was bit by a clicker in the seventy-fourth Games then cured by Capitol doctors, Marlene thought she might have formed a resistance to whatever fungus was used in creating the mutts. It was a complete assumption and one based on absolutely no proof, but Marlene took the risk anyway. And, miraculously enough, she was right.
But she risked both of your lives in proving a baseless theory. Doing so resulted in your hospitalization after inhaling way too many spores, and Ellie’s hospitalization after being shot in the back.
“Ruben, listen to me,” beseeches the medic. Finally, he tears his eyes away from you and spares her a glance. He recognizes her. She is the same woman who sat with Birdie a few months ago when he needed to calm Ellie down from a panic attack. She is looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “If you stay in the med bay, I might be able to help sneak you into one of their rooms. But you would have to be complacent and quiet while you wait.”
“How long?” He asks.
She frowns in thought, then, “I don’t know.”
He hesitates, glancing over her shoulder again toward where you’re lying. There is a heart monitor beeping steady at your bedside: the only indicator that you’ve not yet taken your final—toxic—breath. It’s rather difficult to not shove the medic aside and rush to you, but he manages to stay civil. Not only that, but he manages to nod in agreement to her offer. The medic exhales a sigh of relief before guiding him toward a chair to occupy while he waits, then reentering your room.
The med bay, aside from the bustling nurses tending to you and Ellie, is rather tranquil. It smells of antiseptic and bleach: a stark contrast to the rest of Thirteen, which smells of dirt and stone. Ruben’s leg bounces impatiently as he waits, watching the closed door for some kind of sign that the medic is about to appear from it. When no such sign occurs, he wonders if she lied to him—offered a false hope that he’d be permitted inside solely to keep him from causing further issues. A smart decision, if so. Just when he begins to stand up with full intentions of bursting into the room, movement catches his eye.
His head snaps toward the door, but it remains firmly shut. He turns, jolting to find Thea standing over him. Her priorly beautiful platinum hair has been chopped from her head in a messy fringe. Her skin, in some places, is torn like paper to reveal the flesh beneath. Burn marks. In other places, there are clear slashes from a whip, and he seethes at knowing the Capitol hadn’t even bothered trying to hide it. Slashes down her arms, across her chest, over her throat, on her legs. Her left arm, beneath the elbow, has been removed; she does not wear the prosthetic with which Thirteen has provided her. On her right foot, however, she does wear a prosthetic, perhaps not willing to appear so weak as to be limping around, yet still defiant enough to not want to be half concealed by metal. A shame there are no prosthetics for her missing ear. There, he can see the clean cut of where a knife had severed it from her skull.
“You are scared.” She speaks slowly, as if to sample the taste of each word before it leaves her mouth. “I remember when Ellie left us, when she broke your sister’s heart and you had to reassure her that she did not deserve to be abandoned. I think you remember it, too.” Thea leans forward, head tilting ominously to the side as she examines Ruben as closely as possible. “So why are you scared for them both?”
He leans back, tensing under the scrutiny of her gaze. Somehow, the gray of her eyes feels like the sharp edge of a steel blade: enough to slice the throat of any man. He wonders how much of her has changed. Unlike most of the other victors, Thea has managed to return with the majority of her mind intact. Which means something else ought to have been damaged in its stead. He wonders what that is. Her pride? Her sympathy? Or perhaps her soul?
“Ellie made mistakes,” he agrees, “but they were mistakes anyone else would’ve made if they were in her shoes. If it were my sister who was slaughtered by Abigail, I’d have left Birdie to avenge her. And I dare say there would have been a time in which you’d have chased Y/n across the arena to avenge Thalia.”
Something in Thea’s eyes flashes, that silver hue glinting under a ray of sunlight. But he cannot tell whether it is rage or sorrow which he has shined upon her. Thea takes a step closer, leaning forward until her hands are rested on the arms of his chair, her nose an inch from his own. He can smell her breath and taste her ache. He shivers, trying to squirm away only to find that there’s nowhere to go.
“I will mourn my baby sister for the rest of my life. She is my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night.” She doesn’t dare move away from him even as she speaks; or perhaps she doesn’t care to. “But I have come to terms with the fact that Y/n did Thalia a favor. Because if she’d let Thalia live, I’d have had to watch my sister get tortured in the Capitol; if she’d let Thalia live, I’d be you. I would rather die than be you.”
He opens his mouth, intending to ask whether that is pity or hatred on her tongue. But he’s interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Thea shifts away from him, not bothering to look toward the door before she exits the med bay, vanishing as quickly as she’d appeared. Ruben’s breathing is heavy as he stands from the chair and approaches your room.
“Was that Thea Thatcher?” Asks the medic, voice pitched with curious hope. But Ruben doesn't answer her, pushing his way into the room. He’s a few feet from your bed when the medic grabs at his arm. He turns toward her to find her eyes wide, blazing with a hunger for answers. “What did– Thea has hardly spoken a word to anyone since she arrived. What did she say?”
He yanks his arm from her grip. “If she wanted you to know, she’d have spoken to you.”
07:12.
DISTRICT THIRTEEN.
“I love you.” In Ellie’s most beautiful dreams, she can hear herself saying it.
She can smell the candles you picked out, and she can imagine the beaming smile on your lips as you picked them: shoving them into Ellie’s face, excited to get her opinion. She can hear the distant chatter throughout Seven coming in from the window, voices of families as they wake up and start their day. She can feel the heat of your body pressed in a seam against her own, bare.
In these dreams, you are both lying naked in bed together. There is nothing lustful about it, though. Just the innate intimacy which accompanies human nudity. She knows every inch of your skin, every scar and where you got it. She knows the hills and valleys of your form, having memorized all her favorite parts. There is a reason all the best statues are naked, for sculptors knew how to best turn stone into art. And that's what you are to Ellie, in the end: art.
Her face is nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the fragrance of your existence. She can feel your heartbeat thudding against her own, the two of them perfectly in sync. She can feel your breath fanning across her clavicle, though you are not asleep. She can feel her hands rubbing up and down the hills of your spine, yours playing with the ends of her hair, twisting and turning them between your fingers. And she can feel her mouth shaping around those three words which she never had the valor to truly speak aloud: “I love you.”
She always wakes before she can hear your response—how cruel is that?
The moment her eyes open, agony is ripping through her body. It traces tendrils through her nerves, setting alight all which it passes. Her entire back is screaming for a relief she doubts will ever come. Ellie peels her eyes open, only to wince at the immediate intensity of the room around her, all white and bright. She squeezes her eyes shut against, breathing heavy at the effort it took to open them. How pathetic: the rebellion’s symbol can hardly open her eyes without wanting to cry. Which makes her think—why does she hurt so badly?
Ellie lies in bed for a long time, wracking her mind for recollections of the day before. They come to her in pieces. She remembers watching you through the window, as she always does. She remembers speaking angrily with Marlene, though the words are all jumbled. She remembers entering a hovercraft, and waiting for you to enter behind her—that’s weird. She remembers flying for a long time, not knowing where she’s headed. She remembers holding a conversation with you at some point, though she cannot make sense of the subject matter. She remembers descending into a ruinous district—Nine, she thinks, or perhaps Ten. No, it was most definitely Nine. After that, however, her memory seems to fog.
Ellie peels her eyes open again, staring up at the blank white ceiling and trying to breathe through the agony in her back. She presses her nails into her palms until they bleed, hoping to focus on that spot of pain instead. It doesn’t work as well as she’d hoped, so she goes back to trying to recall yesterday’s events.
There is a clock ticking somewhere in the room, measuring the passage of time. She listens to it, thinking she has been lying there for two hours before she can clearly remember everything which happened the day before: the gas bombs, the gunshot, everything.
“Miss Williams!” When she tries turning her head, everything spins and she grumbles in pain at the throb which instantly elicits within her temples. “Sorry, I hadn’t meant to frighten you. We just weren’t expecting you to wake until later this afternoon. How are you feeling?”
“Bad.” Her voice is rough, grating against her throat like sand against a chalkboard. She attempts to clear it, but that only makes her pain intensify.
She watches through hooded eyes as the medic bustles around the room, pressing buttons and examining vials. Then, the medic is filling a syringe and bringing it over to Ellie’s bed. She wants to thrash and scream and refuse, but her body is far too weak to obey any of her commands. She can only manage to make pathetic whining sounds as the medic approaches, causing her to tut sadly before sticking it in Ellie’s arm.
The effects are immediate. All the pain in her back ebbs away, leaving her mind fuzzy with a sense of vague pleasure. She hums with delight, and the medics laughs before stepping out of the room.
Ellie looks up at the ceiling again, watching as the white panels swirl around one another. The clock continues to tick, tick, tick away. She wonders how much time has passed. She wonders how many years have passed. She shuts her eyes and dreams again of you. When they open, her head is throbbing and the pain in her back has returned.
Stupidly, she tries to sit up—a foolish instinct that only causes her to cry out. To her surprise, a hand is quick to settle on her hip and ease her back against the pillows. She blinks blearily at the person before Dina’s face comes into focus. The gauntness in her face which was present during her labor has long since left, but Ellie still expects to see it for some reason: expecting the pain in her body to be reflected in everyone else. But Dina’s face is full and rosy and blooming with life.
“I don’t–”
“Shh.” Dina smoothes a hand through her hair. “Don’t try to speak. You were shot in the back. Had you not been wearing that bullet-proof vest, you’d have died on the spot. Their aim was impeccable, would’ve gone right through the heart. You have, um, two broken ribs, bruising in your spine, and a damaged lung. But– but you’re alive.”
That’s when Ellie realizes that Dina is crying. It’s a silent and solemn affair, but there are tears nonetheless. She moves her hand toward Dina’s face, hoping to console her but results only in patting weakly at her cheek, nigh slapping her. Dina laughs at the attempt, wiping roughly at her eyes. She inhales a deep breath through her mouth before addressing what she knows Ellie is yearning to hear: not her own condition, but yours.
“She’s okay.” Dina says tearily. “Apparently, Marlene knew this would all happen and– oh, I shouldn't stress you out. I’ll tell you all of that when you’re not so drugged. But– but yeah, Y/n is okay. She inhaled a lot of the, uh, gas, but she’s okay. Medics tended to her for five hours straight before they were able to fully drain the toxins from her lungs.”
“She–” Ellie winces, trying to speak even as her throat and body renounce it. Dina tells her, again, to stay silent but she refuses. “She wouldn’t– y’don't think she’d, y’know… want t’see me?”
“Oh, baby.” Dina continues to rub her hair, her other hand holding one of Ellie’s firmly. She presses a kiss to her knuckles before starting to cry again. The tears soak into the back of Ellie’s hand and she wishes she weren’t so drugged so that she might be able to offer some comfort. Dina eventually manages to regain herself before apologizing. “Sorry, I don’t mean to burden you with my tears. You’re the one who needs comfort. Blame the hormones, I guess.” She laughs weakly. “Y/n would be lucky to see you, Ellie, but I don’t know what condition she might be in. I don’t know how she might react to seeing you, and I don’t know how well you’d fare against her if need be.”
“I can–” She coughs, which sends pain all through her chest and back. But she pushes onward. “I can handle ‘er. I’ve always handed ‘er.”
Dina hesitates but, after a moment, she nods. She presses another final kiss to Ellie’s knuckles before standing from the chair beside her bed and leaving the room. When she returns, it is with a trio of medics to assist her in walking to your room. Ellie frowns, not knowing why so much help is needed. You should only be a few yards away.
She realizes the answer when she sits up. Instantly, she is dizzy—which one of the medics claims to be caused by painkillers when Dina asks. She is instructed to sit on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, for a few minutes while the dizziness wears off. Ellie has to resist complaining the whole time as she is itching to see you. After a while, she is finally helped to her feet by the medics. Dina walks a few feet behind, wheeling an IV pole and oxygen monitor. Ellie feels terribly embarrassed to have so much attention on her when she is so used to being perceived as a strong, impenetrable symbol of rebellion. More a visage than a human.
The medics answer Dina’s questions on the way to your room. Due to the slowness of Ellie’s gait and the insatiability of Dina’s curiosity, there are a lot of questions. Firstly, her damaged lung should heal within two weeks, her ribs within two months, and her spine within four weeks. Secondly, movement is advised in order to promote the clearing of fluids and mucuses from her lungs, prevent clots in her blood, and reduce muscle stiffening in her spine. Thirdly, she should keep a pillow against her chest when walking or coughing to prevent any sharp pains from her lung damage. Fourthly, she should– well, if she’s honest, Ellie stopped listening after the third question because it was beginning to grow boring.
Finally, after spending an eon walking to your room, the medics push the door open. You’re sitting up in bed, your back braced against a wall of pillows to keep you upright. At your bedside, Ruben sits with his head rested against your knees. He is sleeping and you are watching him very closely, as if trying to decipher a puzzle of which no one else is aware.
When Ellie enters, you lift your head toward her. Your expression flickers but remains primarily in that same puzzled contortion. The medics leave, allowing Dina to assist her toward the other chair beside your bed. By the time she is sitting down, her heart is racing and her lungs are heaving for air—though she assumes one of them is doing most of the work. Dina is considerate enough to stand on the opposite side of the room to offer a semblance of privacy, but not yet willing to leave her alone with you.
“Is Oakley here?”
The question shocks her, not only due to the roughness of your voice—which, truly, shouldn’t be surprising—but also because of the desperation behind it. There is a certain amount of pleading that you will allow yourself to reveal to people you don’t trust, and this question has certainly surpassed it. Which either means you finally trust Ellie again, or, more likely, you are that desperate to see your son.
“No, but–” she has to speak between her heavy breaths and pain in her chest. You don’t seem to mind, watching stoically as she catches her breath and tries again. “No but, I could– I could ask t’have ‘im sent here.”
“Yes.” You nod instantly, even leaning forward a bit like you can hold him without him actually being present in the room. “Yes– yes, I’d like that.”
Ellie turns toward Dina, who nods before poking her head out of the room and requesting for a medic to have Oakley sent to the med bay. Dina reenters the room a few moments later with a small smile, signifying that the medic agreed to the request.
When Ellie turns her attention back toward you, there’s a slight narrowing to your eyes. You glance back and forth between her and Dina and, well, Ellie knows you intricately enough to recognize when you’re calculating something. However, before she can build the courage to inquire, the expression is erased—as though it were never there to begin with. You look down at Ruben, seeming to have turned your calculations to a new equation. But then–
“Do you love her?” The question comes rough from your throat, but the words are even enough.
“What do you–” Ellie begins.
“Not you.” You interrupt her before lifting your head toward Dina, eyes sharpened. If she’s shocked by the sudden attention, she doesn't show it. Her posture and expression remains wholly unmoved as you stare at her. Then, just for good measure, you repeat the question: “Do you love Ellie?”
“Yes.” Dina responds. Ellie turns to her, opening her mouth to deny the implications that she’s certainly put into your head. But Dina continues before she has the chance to say anything. “Everyone loves Ellie, if they have the privilege to get to know her well enough. But no one loved her more than you. No one ever held a candle to you.”
“Why?” There’s a hunger to your tone now, one which you don’t bother trying to hide. You lean forward despite the wince it elicits. Your eyes are wide and frantic—desperate, she realizes belatedly.
For all Ellie once prided herself on knowing you, she’s rather out of practice now. She never stopped to consider how this might be affecting you. She thought of the physical aspects: how your wounds and traumas might be fairing, how your appetite and tremors might be healing. And, well it’s no secret that you’ve always been so good at concealing things, but she never thought she would have to look very deep. She’d gotten to know you better than anyone. If you were hurting, she thought she would know.
But this hungered despondency is new to her. She thought you were so permanently affected that you didn’t care about the gap in your memories. Not much, anyway. But she forgot how painfully intellectual you are. No amount of torture could rid that from you, as it’s an integral piece of your soul. When you don’t know something, you ache for it. She can hardly imagine how badly you’re aching at not knowing your own life—not knowing yourself.
“‘Why’?” Dina repeats the question like it’s hard to imagine you’d ever ask such a thing. Her eyes flick between your famished expression and Ellie’s pained one. “You mean, why did you love her?”
“Yes,” you nod, “why?”
“Oh, because you couldn’t help it.” A small smile tugs at the corners of Dina’s mouth, sad yet reminiscent. “You tried to refuse it, of course you did, but– but your affection for her was just too great. As terrible as the Games were, the evolution of your guys’ relationship was rather entertaining to watch. You were both so angry all the time. And you were taking it out on anything and everything you could get your hands on which, more often than not, was each other. For anyone else, that’d have surely resulted in murdering one another. But… you soon learned that you were angry because you loved her. And because she loved you.”
Ellie can feel her cheeks heating up, not a particular fan of being talked about like she’s not in the room. She lowers her head into her hands, trying to cool her face down. It doesn’t work, of course, but she keeps her head there anyway, so as to resist looking either of you in the eye.
“These Games were recorded, no?” You ask, voice almost sounding small—shy. Ellie assumes Dina nods because then you continue. “Is there… well, is there a chance that I could watch them? Would it be, you know, an accurate representation?”
“Mm,” Dina hums in thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t deem it an entirely bad representation, but I wouldn’t advise you to base your entire perception of your relationship on it, either. The most reliable source would, of course, be Ellie herself.”
She can feel both gazes turn toward her and she shivers, knowing she cannot hide in her hands any longer. Slowly, she lifts her face from her palms and meets your eyes. They’re not as desperate as before. Instead they carry a mix of confusion, apprehension, and—dare she say—fear. Fear that she might decline the offer to tell you the truth; fear that she is what the Capitol made you believe her to be.
Ellie tries to keep her gaze as steady as possible, tries not to think of that beautiful dream in which she can feel every breath you take and every inch of your skin. She takes a deep breath, then: “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
09:27.
DISTRICT THIRTEEN.
Jealousy is a vicious beast with which you have very little experience.
Growing up how you did, there was no purpose to be found in envy. Sometimes, you wished you were as strong or as quick as Ruben, but those were fleeting moments. This, however, is a festering wound that you fear will soon begin to suppurate.
You hate Ellie. Your deep loathing for her is one of the few things of which you're wholly certain—or, rather, you were certain. Lately, it’s become more nuanced than that. The warmth radiating from her body is almost enough to distract you from the synthetic memories of her brutally slaughtering everyone you’d ever loved. Almost. Sometimes, when you’re lying awake in bed, it is all you can think about: the swing of her arm, the length of her blade, the blood on her skin. It drives you crazy. But what drives you even crazier is that, when you see her, all the anger seems to evanesce.
Dina loves people easily. It comes naturally to her, like breathing or blinking. For that, you hate her; for that, you envy her. But it’s not the mere ease with which she loves people, it’s who she loves also. You’ve seen the way she whispers to Ruben, offering him comfort when you’ve hurt him. You’ve seen the way she touches Ellie’s skin, being gentle when you’ve only ever been harsh.
For some people, that would be reason enough to want Dina dead. But, of course, nothing is so simple with you. There are layers—there are always layers. And, with Dina, there are plenty. Including the little infant she gave birth to a few weeks ago.
JJ, you believe his name to be. You only caught a short glimpse of him during Dina’s hospitalization in the medical bay. She was so happy and he was so small. His skin is tan like hers, his hair is black like hers. But his eyes and his lips are his father’s: Jesse’s. For the rest of the day, you could think of naught aside from JJ and his perfect little self. You wanted to hold him and coddle him and kiss him; you wanted to strangle him.
How is it fair that some babies are born with two loving parents and a plethora of kisses on their head, while other babies have watched both parents die and been forced to live underground with stunted growth?
You envy Dina for the ease with which she loves people. You envy Dina for the people she has chosen to bestow her beautiful love upon. And you envy Dina for the life she is able to provide JJ—a life which you’ll never be able to give to Oakley.
“Sunlight.”
You had not seen sunlight in a long time. You wondered if it is even real. You wondered how it would feel on your skin. You wondered how it would burn your retinas. You wondered how something so lethal could be so beautiful.
Before you could come to any conclusion, Doctor Fulmer approached. His white hair fell over his shoulders like snow: an enemy of the sun. Snow refused to melt under the sun’s power. Snow was defiant and cold and miserable. The sun was powerful and hot and valiant. His skin was overly wrinkled and you wondered if it was due to long days spent under the sun. Back before his head was covered in snow.
“You were once deemed the sun.” He spoke like everything was amusing to him. “I doubt you remember that, though, do you? I doubt you remember dousing yourself in liquid gold, dancing around the Capitol with your pet moth. I doubt you even remember her name.”
You were sitting in a chair. There were leather straps binding you to it. They secured your ankles and your wrists, keeping you still. You wondered what Fulmer was planning. Whatever it was, it could not be good. His plans were never good. When it was another doctor treating you, it was not so bad. They would electrocute you while you were held underwater. They would hang you by your neck with a rope before untying you at the very last second. But their methods had been done before. You knew what to expect from the other doctors. Doctor Fulmer was spontaneous. He was the one who tested the new methods. He was the one who created the sessions. He was the one to fear.
“No matter.” He said in a sing-song voice. “You needn’t recall your own treacheries in order for them to be atoned for. You won’t like this, my dear, but it will be rather fun for me!”
He turned around. He messed with something on the table behind him. You craned your neck to get a better look; to no avail. When he turned toward you again, there was a wet cloth in one hand and an odd-looking metal box in the other. A lighter, perhaps.
Fulmer stepped forward before removing your clothes. You were nude by the time he started to rub the cloth over your skin. It smelled terribly of chemicals, burning your nostrils. The stench was all you can focus on while he rubbed it across your chest and down your arms and over your thighs. A mistake. You should have been watching his hands.
When Oakley is brought into the room, you instantly feel whole again. After so many months of floating aimlessly through a life in which you do not belong, he provides stability. An anchor to an estranged vessel.
The medic is kind and gentle as she enters the room, pushing the door open slowly so as to announce her arrival. But you can see the weariness in her gaze as she looks at you, like she’s not quite sure whether you should be trusted with the boy. You hate her for that; you are grateful to her for that.
Oakley’s hair has grown to his shoulders, all dark and wavy and thin. He is dressed in a pair of dark cargo shorts and a shirt with a dinosaur on his chest. His feet are bare and dirty, patting lightly across the tile as he is brought into the room. His bright blue eyes stare at you, unsure what to think, before turning toward Ellie for support—support which he does not think you can offer him. Perhaps you can’t.
“Thank you,” Dina says to the medic as she ushers her out the door. The medic lingers, her eyes pinned to the scene as though trying to commit it to memory to tell to all of her friends later.
Oakley walks over to Ellie, wasting no time in climbing onto her lap. She winces but does not deny him, attempting to situate him on her thigh in a way which does not cause her pain. He appears wholly unaware of her issues, though, those big eyes pinning back onto you again. Perhaps you should smile or wave or say something. Instead, you hold his gaze with an equal ferocity. He does not cower from you—which is odd, because most people do. Especially children. They find your appearance disturbing, and your composure eerie. He seems not to mind it, like he’s used to it. And, if what Ellie said is correct, then perhaps he is.
“Does he speak?” You don’t know why you ask it. Maybe hoping the answer is yes, so that you might have another ‘reliable source’ to inquire; maybe hoping the answer is no, so that you might never have to suffer his audible judgement. But when you raise your eyes to Ellie, she looks pained. Like the question is a sensitive topic to her. You look back down at the boy to find that he never looked away.
“No.” She responds, voice rough. “He should. Being two years old, he– he definitely should be able to speak coherently. But he– no, he cannot.”
You push up from the pillows to get closer before tilting your head at him. Oakley mirrors your actions, leaning away from Ellie and tilting his head at you. There are light freckles dotting his nose, which remind you keenly of the ones that cover Ellie’s own skin—envy, envy, envy. His stomach is rounded, still carrying that ‘baby belly’, which elicits a sense of fondness to flare in your chest. You wish you could remember him when he was smaller, when he was growing his first teeth and struggling to hold his head up on his own.
You do not realize that you’re crying until a tear drops onto your blanket. You look down at it for a moment before rubbing at your eyes roughly. Oakley continues to watch you, his chubby face contorting into a frown—then into a pout. Then, within a few moments, he has begun to cry as well.
“Sorry–” you turn away from him, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. Your shoulders shake with your silent sobs and you wish desperately that you could shut all your feelings off. You wish you could gaze upon your life without any ties to personal emotional burdens. Your crying seems to wake Ruben from his nap, because you can feel him shifting while you attempt to compose yourself.
“What–” His voice is groggy as he assesses the situation, but he seems to understand quickly. “Oh.”
You don’t even know why you’re crying, not really. Seeing Oakley is always a sorrowful affair but during every moment in which he is away, you crave him. You want to see his face and hear his footsteps. You want to breathe his air and kiss his head. So, really, it shouldn’t be so difficult to face him considering he composes a vast majority of your thoughts: how did he celebrate his first birthday? How did he celebrate his second? When did he take his first steps? Were you holding his hands? How old was he when–
“Do you want to hold him?”
All of your thoughts stagger to a sudden halt, your head snapping up. Ellie isn’t joking, though. She is staring at you with such sincerity that you’re afraid that speaking might shatter it. She doesn’t acknowledge the sound of trepidation which rises from Dina’s throat. Nor does she look at Ruben for acceptance. This is a question meant solely for you, and thus your opinion is the only one she cared to heed.
You look down at Oakley. He has stopped crying, having long since stopped mimicking you. But he is still watching you. For some reason, you expect him to stand up and leave. You expect him to shoot an anxious glance at Ellie. You expect him to hit you, to grow fangs and rip your throat from your neck. But he just continues staring, waiting for you to do something; to say something. You wonder if he knows what you guys are saying. Perhaps he’s deaf and that’s why he cannot speak. Or perhaps he is just so severely traumatized that his body would rather spare him the agony of engaging in conversation.
He is not nearly as small as JJ is, but his body still holds a certain fragility to it. His bones are tiny and thin, his organs are still forming in his gut. His skull is frail and easily damaged. His entire hand is the side of your pinky finger. It would be so easy to hurt him; to kill him.
“I don’t–” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your chest. The action causes you to start coughing, but you hardly notice. “I couldn’t.”
“It’s your choice.” Ellie’s voice is so gentle, so soft—envy, envy, envy. You wonder how a person could ever be capable of such vulnerability. You wonder if, at some point, you were capable of it, too. You assume you had to have been, or else no one could ever have loved you. No baby could ever have trusted you.
You look at Ruben, only to find that he is wholly indifferent to the situation. He cares, of course he does, but he is still half-asleep and rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. You look at Dina, who is practically buzzing with anxiety but, when she catches you looking at her, she is quick to give you a nod. Despite her own fears regarding Oakley's safety, she knows—as a mother herself—how important it is to connect with one’s child. Then, finally, you look at Ellie. Her hands are rested gently on Oakley’s torso to keep him steady, her wounded body kept a safe distance away from him. But then she’s giving you a small smile and all of your anxious thoughts are suddenly washed away.
Hesitantly, you agree.
After soaking your skin with his cloth, Doctor Fulmer wasted no time in moving on to the ‘fun’ part. He examined the metal box before flicking it on. Yes—you thought belatedly—a lighter. You began to thrash against the restraints, your body convulsing as the realization settled into your thoughts and plagued your mind with fear.
“Shh, shh.” He smoothed a hand over your hair. “You’re the sun, remember? The sun is meant to burn.”
Oakley situates himself in your lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him.
His legs fit perfectly between your own, his back reclining easily against your chest. You try not to cough, but cannot help it and eventually descend into a fit as your lungs heave. He looks at you over his shoulder, eyes wide with panic. You assure him that you are okay, then you rest a pillow between his spine and your recovering chest. He leans back, humming in contentment. He shuts his eyes, his thin black hair spilling onto your collar. You try not to cry at the sheer delicacy of him.
“If I do anything,” your eyes remain firmly trained on the top of Oakley’s little head, speaking to everyone in the room. “If I try anything, take him from me. Kill me if you must.”
You can hear Ruben shifting awkwardly beside the bed, not brave enough to speak. Dina also remains silent, and you wonder if it’s because she knows what it’s like to be fearful of hurting your own child—you doubt it; she’d never hurt JJ. Ellie is the one who sucks in a sharp breath, saying, “I couldn’t–”
“No.” You snap your head up, scowling at her. “Promise me.”
Her eyes are deep with sorrow, but also understanding. They flick momentarily to where Oakley is lying against you, so small and so easily broken. She shuts her eyes for a moment, just breathing as she considers the weight of what you’re asking of her. Then, finally, she opens them but she doesn’t meet your gaze. “I promise.”
The sun is not gentle.
It rages and it seethes and it burns everything in its path.
Some deem it to be a beautiful mother, kissing the skin of children and leaving them pink with love. But that is only because it is too far away to kill them. If given the chance, the sun would not hesitate to burn all Earth’s children to ash. They would be reduced to a pile of soot. And no one would be left to mourn them.
The sun is not gentle. It is angry, and it deserves vengeance.
Oakley looks up at you, eyes bright with adoration. You look at his cheeks before anything else, checking them for burns. He smiles, flashing a mouthful of gapped baby teeth and pink gums. You return the smile, though it feels much less familiar to you than it might to him.
His expression begins to shift and you frown, thinking you might have frightened him. His mouth is moving and pursing and trying to fit around a sound. You think he might start sobbing. You look at Ellie for help and she begins to move forward. Her arms are already outstretched toward him, prepared to scoop him from your arms and console his cries.
But instead, he makes a noise. Something akin to a word. Ellie freezes, her eyes flaring wide. You look down at him, and he is still staring at you. His face is firm with concentration and his mouth is still moving oddly. Like he cannot quite figure out how to use it. Then he makes another noise, like a long ‘o’ or perhaps a wide ‘ah’ wound. You watch him, suddenly interested in what he is trying to say.
You wonder if this happens a lot: his body trying and struggling and failing to speak. His mind being so overwhelmed with words that he cannot express. If so, that would be terribly depressing for a two-year-old to endure. But perhaps the other option is worse: that he has never before conjured the confidence or will enough to attempt speaking. You’re not sure how you would feel about the latter; how you would feel being the object of his bravery: the thing which pushed him over the edge. Should you be flattered or offended?
Then, clear as day, as though he’d been speaking for years, Oakley looks at you and says: “Momma.”
⌇ synopsis . . . When Ellie Williams’ theatre-actress girlfriend has to commit to one too many onstage kisses, she tends to grow jealous. In an attempt to soothe her nerves, you decide to demonstrate the common technique to her.
────────⊱ ⵌ 1.7k+ Fluff, jealous!loser!ellie x theatre actress!reader. No use of y/n, use of pet names (baby, gorgeous etc.) Reader described to have wavy/curly hair (very breifly). reader highkey babies ellie at times. Reader is depicted as a lesbian!!!!
Heathers seemed to be Ellie’s biggest enemy—not a person or a friend of either of you, but the musical you had performed over six times in the past week and a half.
Ellie was so supportive—ecstatic, even—when you got the news that you’d been cast as the lead, Veronica Sawyer. She’d thrown a whole cast party to celebrate, repeating over and over how amazing you were and how much you deserved it.
But the second she saw the first of many intimate scenes on stage, her heart began to ache. She knew they weren’t a big deal—you told her all the time they were fake, that your lips never actually touched—but that information always seemed to go in one ear and out the other.
The thing was, it was always a man you were kissing, and as a known lesbian, you didn’t see the issue—especially since they weren’t even real kisses.
But Ellie—oh, poor Ellie—didn’t exactly let go of the image that seemed engraved in her mind, even after the production concluded.
So now you stand in the marbled kitchen of your shared apartment, making breakfast for the two of you. Your unstyled hair framing your face as you had slipped off your bonnet in bed, the frizz softened by the winter air.
The tingling sensation of cold hands slipping around your waist makes you glance over your shoulder. Ellie presses her face into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, her lips trailing soft, damp kisses along your skin.
You let out a soft giggle at the ticklish feeling, turning down the stove before facing your girlfriend fully. She smiles, “g’morning, gorgeous” she rasps, eyes barely open, her messy, unbrushed hair making it obvious she slept well.
“Good morning, baby,” you reply gently, your voice quiet against the distant sound of birds outside. Your hands cup her face, pressing soft, much needed kisses across her freckled skin.
Her hands stay on your waist as you pull back, your gaze drifting down her relaxed posture. You fix the scrunched-up sleeve of her dinosaur shirt—the same one she’s worn more than any other since you gave it to her for her birthday last year.
“I see you slept well,” you tease with a small laugh, reaching down to fix her pants, the waistband twisted and one leg bunched up to her thigh. Blush creeps up her neck at the contact, a hand moving up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.
You straighten up, turning back to the stove and adjusting the heat. Ellie leans over your shoulder, the smoky scent of bacon engulfing her senses.
“Mmm… bacon,” she hums, tightening her arms around your waist. “God, what did I do to deserve you…” she murmurs, more to herself than to you.
“You made me fall in love, El. Simple as that,” you reply softly, leaning back into her.
Her heart stutters─presses a quick kiss to your cheek before slipping away toward the bathroom, wanting to freshen up before eating.
“Oh! And then Dina and I went to this archive center in some random part of town, and—oh my God, baby—when I tell you it felt like heaven, I mean it!” Ellie rambles, still riding the excitement from her weekend.
You smile at her, feeling yourself fall in love all over again with how easily she lights up over things like fossils and leaf imprints pressed into stone. You nod along, finishing the last few bites on your plate.
She glances down, gathering both your plates and carrying them to the sink. You thank her before heading to the living room, sinking into the soft cushions.
“C’mere,” you say, patting your lap as she walks over.
Ellie settles down, her head resting against your bare thighs, your shorts riding up slightly. You run your fingers through her hair while she looks up at you, quietly admiring the way the sunlight catches your skin.
“How’s everything with those girls?” she asks, referring to the ones from your theater group.
You’d told her about the tension—how they were still upset, jealous that you got the lead… and that you had to kiss the guy everyone seemed to obsess over.
Not you, though—you couldn’t care less.
A quiet sigh leaves you. “They’re still mad. I’ve tried telling them I’m not into him, but they won’t drop it—like, I’m a lesbian! I’m literally dating the girl of my dreams, for fuck’s sake.”
A soft pink flush spreads across Ellie’s face as your words settle in.
“Girl of your dreams?” she mutters.
A grin tugs at your lips at her reaction. “Mhm,” you hum, gently pulling her hand away from picking her lips and lacing your fingers with hers.
A sense of comfort settles over her—not just from your fingers interlocked with hers, but from the quiet certainty in your voice, the way you reaffirm your feelings without hesitation.
Her mind drifts back to the most recent show from a week ago—your final performance.
You gave it everything, making sure it would be unforgettable. Every kiss had your hand tangled in your co-star’s hair, every intimate moment carefully played out—just a little too convincing for some people’s liking.
Her heart seems to skip every time, her hands trembling slightly at the repeated images in her mind.
She lifts your hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it, her thoughts still caught on the one thing she wishes she could forget.
You frown at the sudden gesture. “You okay?” you ask, your fingers drifting back into her hair.
“Mhm!” she nods—too quickly, too eagerly.
You gently guide her up so she’s sitting, facing you properly. “Ellie,” you say, your tone firm despite the softness in your expression.
“Yes?” she replies, crossing her legs and sitting a little too straight.
You tilt your head, looking deep into the green eyes infront of you. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been like this since last week…” you say, concern beginning to show.
She hesitates, embarrassed by the jealousy sitting heavy in her warm heart. Her hand moves to the back of her neck, rubbing it nervously.
“I mean… they aren’t the only jealous ones,” she mutters, her gaze dropping as her hair falls forward, hiding her face.
Your hand finds her chin, tilting her head up so she can look at you. “Really, baby?” you ask, a small smile stretching across your face. “I’ve told you a million times those are fake kisses!”
“Yeah, but—I don’t know… It’s stupid, but I can’t seem to forget about them…” she says, her hands moving up to cover her pink face.
You frown slightly. “First of all, nothing you say or feel is stupid. Second of all, you know I love you,” you say, setting the point straight.
“I love you too, but those kisses—they just—they looked so real…” she stammers, her face only a couple of inches from yours as you pull her closer.
Your eyebrows raise slightly as an idea comes to mind. “Want me to teach you how to stage-kiss?”
Ellie’s eyes widen, a smile settling on her lips as she nods eagerly. You inch closer, your hands resting on her cheeks while hers sneak under your shirt, caressing your waist.
“Okay, you gotta imagine this, baby,” you say, glancing up as you think of a scenario. You begin to hum the melody of one of the songs where a kiss is placed in the middle.
You place your thumb over Ellie’s lips, pressing it between both your mouths as you push your lips against hers.
Her eyes widen before you pull away. “See?”
She nods, a soothing feeling settling in her chest. “That’s the first step—to make it look more real, I usually add more passionate actions, like grabbing hair or tilting my face slightly away from the crowd,” you explain.
Ellie nods once more. “Ready?” you ask, only to be met with a shake of her head.
“Wait—” she says, pulling you in for a real kiss. It lingers, long and passionate, before you pull away with a giggle.
You place your thumb back over her lips, pulling her in with much more emotion, your head tilting as Ellie plays along, her hands roaming through your hair.
Your lips lightly brush each other, prompting you to pull away fully. “Hey! It was going so well—why’d you pull away?” Ellie asks, her voice growing quiet.
“El, you were getting way too into it.”
Ellie squints at you slightly, still close enough that your noses almost brush. “You’re the one who started this,” she mutters, though there’s a grin tugging at her lips.
You huff out a quiet laugh. “And I’m finishing it—c’mon, there’s another way to do it.”
Her brows lift a little. “There’s more?”
“Mhm!” You adjust your posture. “What if you can’t hide it with your hand?”
Ellie hums, settling back in as her fingers idly tracing along your waist again. You shift closer, one hand sliding up to the back of her neck, the other resting against her cheek. “This one’s all about angles,” you murmur.
You tilt your head slightly, guiding hers the opposite way until your faces line up just off-center. Your lips hover just beside hers, close enough that from the front it would look real.
“See?” you whisper, your breath brushing her skin. “You don’t actually kiss—you just—”
Your lips ghost near the corner of her mouth, barely there, more suggestion than contact. Ellie’s breath catches anyway.
You pull back just enough to look at her. “From the audience, it looks like you’re fully—”
Before you can finish, she leans in that tiny bit more, closing the gap on her own this time. You let out a soft, surprised laugh against her lips. “Ellie!”
“What?” she murmurs, softly pulling away. “I’m practicing.”
“You’re terrible at following directions.”
“And you’re bad at making me want to,” she shoots back, the previous kiss still lingering in the air.
You shake your head, but your hand tightens slightly at the back of her neck, pulling her in again—this time slower, like you’re actually trying to demonstrate it right.
“Okay,” you mumble softly, brushing your lips just off hers again. “Try it properly.”
Ellie huffs, but she follows—tilting her head, stopping just shy of your lips, her breath warm against your skin. For a second, she actually holds it.
“…This is stupid,” she whispers before kissing you anyway.
You laugh quietly into it, your thumb brushing along her jaw. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah?” she coos against your lips, not pulling away this time.
➶-͙˚ ༘⋆ tlnl reader sometimes is able to take a few strands of Ellie's hair and put them into teeny tiny braids. It's usually when Ellie is high and blissed out, because you're able to play with Ellie's hair without as much of Ellie's typical fidgeting. Ellie's head would tilt to the side, her eyes shut as she focused on the sounds of Pearl Jam filling her room. The feeling of your fingers working gently through her auburn strands actually plays the biggest part in her relaxation, but Ellie doesn't mention that part. The tiny braids don't get mentioned either, but she leaves them in her hair.
➶-͙˚ ༘⋆ tlnl Ellie sleeps much too soundly in your bed, surrounded by an abundance of pillows, throw blankets, and stuffed animals. Since high school, Ellie has teased you about the amount of pillows on your bed. And yet, it is her ideal nap spot.
➶-͙˚ ༘⋆ tlnl reader calls Ellie every single variation of her name under the sun and Ellie doesn't even blink about it anymore, even though it used to previously cause her to huff and puff. Ellie's just heard too much bullshit from your mouth to be phased. Ellie, El, Ellie belly, Ell bell, Ellie belly jelly bean, Elliesaurus, Ellie Williams... honey-baby once when you were wasted and half asleep and grabbing for her arm and complaining that it was taking Ellie too long to sit with you in bed.
➶-͙˚ ༘⋆ tlnl Ellie has a lot of classmates in college that, unbeknownst to her, silently assume that she has a girlfriend because of her lockscreen (a photo from when yourself, Ellie, Jesse, and Dina had gone out of town some weekend during college to go to a museum. The photo is of you and Ellie, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of a massive dinosaur fossil display. Ellie is staring up at the dinosaur, and you’re staring at her with a grin on your face. Technically, Jesse was in the photo, too. He was standing on the other side of Ellie. He had been cropped out, though. Still, you can kinda see part of his arm if you look close enough), and the smell of perfume wafting off of her clothes... not like Ellie was the one to spray it, but like it lingered.
➶-͙˚ ༘⋆ tlnl reader loves to paint her nails, and Ellie's whenever she allows — which is pretty much always. You are extremely aware of Ellie's fidgeting habit though, the way in which Ellie will twist her fingers around whenever she idles. Whenever you paint Ellie's nails, you gently massage her hands and chat with her while the paint dries so that she feels a little less restless while waiting.
thinking about ellie laying on her stomach, cotton shirt rolled all the way up her back for you to trace your manicured nails along the warm skin. dotting each freckle with the tip of your nail, dragging them down the curve of her spine and poking the dimples at the bottom. all this until you start to hear soft, muffled snores, her head buried into her arms :(
── reader is possessive , ‘mean’ , unfiltered , prone to jealousy , n anger. 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛 ♡
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who knows exactly what makes you tick , even things you’re not aware of.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who will hold you despite your continuous protest for her to let go. she won’t say anything ,, simply wrapping her arms around you tightly , tight enough so you can’t escape her , waiting until she feels your breathing slow against her chest.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who is the mediator in every situation , stopping you from doing something impulsive n regretful.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who reassures you over n over that there is nothing to worry about. she is yours n only yours , she wouldn’t want it any other way.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who knows how to fix every argument between you two. whether it be taking you on the most thought out dates , to writing you love letters that take her hours to finish , she’s a lover girl at heart.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who learned how to do your hair n makeup so that when you were too frustrated , stressed , or too down to do it , she’d step in.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who handles your pouty n whiny moments by saying all the right things. teasing you at first , loving how you grow more n more irritated , just to baby you n watch you get all red n flustered.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who is calm n listens when you’re yelling about what’s bothering you. she would never perceive it as you yelling at her , matter of fact , she encourages you to openly feel , be honest , n to trust her.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who approaches you with a kind , low tone , asking if you need anything. 99% of the time it results in her holding you , letting you cry out all the pent up stress , then lulling you to sleep with her touch.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who calls you all the pet names you claim you hate , although each time they roll off her tongue you’re unable to speak , aways hiding your face in your hands.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who navigates every problem for you , guiding you through every emotion you feel instead of leaving you to deal with them alone.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who is oh so gentle with you , whispering reassurance while tending to you like you’re fragile , irrevocably too delicate for this world.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who takes notice to how people around you react to your difficulty in handling emotions , becoming more protective of you n more resentful to others.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who teaches you everyday that your emotions are manageable with time. she is patient , understanding , n knows your limits / boundaries. ❤︎ ⸝⸝
goals goals goals goals when will i find this oh myogdh
of course, out of all the people you could possibly be stuck in this situation with, it’s lottie. who else, honestly, if not charlotte fucking matthews, who you’d had the glorious idea of hooking up with a while back, despite you being neighbors, as well as your very strict rule not to hook up (or have one night stands) with anyone you could still run into later on. now here you fucking are, stuck between the fourth & the fifth floor of the apartment building, so close, yet so far from home, and if those aren’t the consequences of your own actions….
as if that’s not bad enough already, it has to happen during a heatwave. you’d already been dreading the elevator, sometimes opting for the stairs instead, simply because the walking & reaching your floor all sweaty was still better than willingly stepping inside that heated metal box. had you known lottie would be taking the elevator too, you would’ve gladly subjected her to getting stuck in it alone. instead (and during the one time you actually decide to take it in this weather), she had to wait until the very last moment before slipping between the already closing doors, leaving you no other choice but to stay in there with her for what, at least you assumed, would only be a short ride up.
now, what was supposed to take a few seconds has already turned into minutes, which might not seem like a lot, but the cramped space is heating up quickly and, besides, you were counting on it being over by now. whilst you’ve been told that help is on the way, it has yet to actually show up and, at this rate, you’re starting to wonder if every single person in the fucking city decided to get stuck in an elevator today just to delay your rescue.
having made peace with not getting out any time soon, you lean against one side of the elevator, leaving lottie the other to herself. you’d considered sitting, but then she remained standing, and you did not want to sit with lottie practically towering above you, so standing up it is. she’s in fucking heels, too, you note as your eyes drift over her, so thank god you chose to stay on your feet. overall, lottie looks weirdly formal, dressed in a blouse, slacks and said heels, whereas your outfit consists of shorts & a tank top, and you have to physically hold back from commenting on that, because, out of the two of you, she’s definitely wearing the worse clothes to be in this situation.
awkwardly shifting on your feet, you glance around the room once more. there’s still nothing new to look at, the same four metal walls as five fucking minutes ago, the only difference being the gradually rising temperature, and your shoulders drop as you sigh in defeat.
“can you not?” lottie asks suddenly, making your eyes snap from her clothes up to her face, and, okay, maybe you’d ended up staring at her again, but, in your defense, there isn’t a whole lot else to look at in here.
“jeez, sorry,” you mutter, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes.
“no, i’m sorry,” lottie sighs, throwing you off. admitting she’s in the wrong is not something she ever liked doing during your short time sleeping together. “i shouldn’t…” she pinches the collar of her blouse and fans it back & forth in an attempt to create some fresh air. “sorry.”
still not sure whether or not you can trust her, you eye her sideways. then again, you have nothing better to do anyway, and so you might as well make the most of it, asking: “how have you…been?”
“seriously?” equally as wary, lottie glances up.
“why not?” you shrug. “i don’t think we’re getting out of here any time soon, so…”
at that, she huffs, but relents, if only to answer rather curtly: “i’ve been…fine.”
“right.” when lottie doesn’t bother asking how you’ve been in return, apparently content without any smalltalk, you take it upon yourself to keep the conversation going. “and the cat? how’s the cat?”
“wilder is fine too.”
wilder, such a pretentious name, for a pretentious lottie with her pretentious fucking cat. to be fair, the cat is actually really cute and had given you an ego boost the first time you went to lottie’s apartment, and she warned you that wilder wasn’t good with strangers, only for him to climb into your lap, purring straight away.
“great!”
“yeah.”
just like that, your pathetic attempt at making conversation dies again. you’d forgotten how perfectly capable lottie is of doing nothing (like she’d done nothing when you’d asked her what all the great sex you were having meant, when you’d told her you were gonna need a little more initiative from her, only for lottie to do just that: fucking nothing), standing around without seeming to feel even the tiniest bit awkward. you, on the other hand….
“fuck, it’s hot, isn’t it?” and what a way to state the obvious that is!
still, it’s better than all her capital n Nothing, even though lottie gives you a look in response. caught under her gaze, you shift again, rocking on your heels when, suddenly, there’s a loud clank that echoes through the elevator shaft above. you & lottie snap your heads back in unison, listening out for any other sounds, but whatever made that noise, it is not the help you’d been hoping for.
at least the cables seem to be doing their thing still, and your cabine isn’t plummeting down. “still stuck,” you offer eventually, feeling stupid the second that leaves your mouth.
lottie closes her eyes. “is anyone even coming?”
“nobody is gonna let us die in a fucking elevator, lot,” you reply, because only the concept of what she’s verbalizing here has a dreadful knot forming in the pit of your stomach. you’re so insistent you don’t even notice the nickname when it slips out, yet if lottie catches it, she’s become a nicer person, not calling you out on it.
the real problem with being stuck in an elevator with your ex-hookup-slash-neighbor-slash-person-you-most-definitely-did-not-have-feelings-for-while-you-were-sleeping-together, you’re starting to understand, is that there simply is not enough to look at before your eyes inevitably find her again. and lottie…well!! there’s a reason why you broke your most important principle of not getting involved with somebody like that, and her looks certainly played into that in the early days.
another two minutes pass, and the temperature continues to climb: sweat has gathered in every fold & crease of your body by now, dampening your armpits and quite literally trickling down your spine. at least you’re not alone with that: lottie lets her head fall back with a groan, muttering: “jesus christ, why is it getting hotter?”
“giant metal box?” you offer unhelpfully, rapping your knuckles against the wall behind you.
she rolls her eyes. “i was being sarcastic.”
you wonder when you last spent this much time in the same room as her, hell, when you last spoke to her at all, beyond very limited exchanges in the stairwell. “were you?”
lottie shoots you a glare, though considerably less venomous than the last, and if it’s not you who momentarily forces her into friendly compliance, it’s this scorching heat. “why are you wearing that, anyway?”
looking down at herself, lottie asks: “what’s wrong with my outfit?”
“you’re asking me what’s wrong with a blouse and slacks in this heat, lot-” this time around, you can stop yourself. “lottie?”
“i had a meeting,” she says, giving you a skeptical once over in return. “some of us have jobs that require some more…professionalism.”
and that would be a dig at you, then, but it’s a little difficult to take seriously given that you’re not the one with sweat running down your temples at lottie’s level, and is it bad that the sight takes you right back to the many nights spent in one of your apartments? both your bodies slick with sweat, chests rising & falling as she kissed you until your lips were swollen, her hand wandering between your-
“fuck…” lottie groans as she fans herself with one hand. she isn’t only sweaty from the heat, either; her cheeks have gone all pink, the flush spreading from her face, down her neck, where it disappears into the collar of her blouse, and just as you’re starting to wonder how much farther below the fabric it must reach, she suddenly undoes the top button. you force your gaze away, then, jerking your head toward the opposite wall. with subtlety not being your top priority, there, it is no surprise lottie notices the sudden movement and arches a brow at you. “it’s hot.”
“i- i didn’t say anything.”
popping another button, lottie huffs, and you avert your gaze again as she curses, still fanning the front of her blouse. you swear by now there are so many buttons undone you see flashes of black lace each time it falls open. “where are they?” she sighs again. “didn’t they say someone was coming?”
eyes still glued to the floor, you shrug, selfaware enough to know how stupid you must look to her, the sheen of sweat covering your face aside. “what are you looking like that for?” lottie asks bemusedly, a bead of sweat slipping down the slope of her neck as you dare glance at her, and you are most definitely not imagining yourself leaning in, nor are you thinking of the salty taste of it in your mouth if you were to drag your tongue up her skin now.
“n-nothing.” you stammer, shifting again and getting a feel of how slick your arms have gotten from being crossed over your chest.
“okay,” lottie pushes herself off the wall, then. she isn’t outright in your space yet, but given the size of the room you’re trapped in, it won’t take many such steps for her to be. as if reading your mind, earlier, she says: “this is probably the longest we’ve talked since…god, how long has it been?”
“i don’t-“ you start, about to tell her you don’t remember (although that would be a blatant lie, but what’s the use in telling your ex that you’d been counting the days since?), when lottie beats you to it, whispering: “i missed talking to you,” at the same time as she pops another button. now, she no longer has to fan herself for you to see the lacy fabric of her bra.
“l-lot…” she doesn’t want an answer from you, you realize, she just wants…what, exactly, is it that she wants? lottie takes another step forward, and now you can quite literally feel the heat that radiates off her body, and despite how sweaty you both are, you’re forced to grapple with the fact that you want it even closer still, getting rid of any distance left between you. “we really shouldn’t, it’s not…” another step, and you’re chest to chest, with lottie’s blouse hanging open between you. in her stupid heels, she really does tower, cocking her head as she looks down at you.
you’ll blame the heat, that’s what you will later remember thinking in this moment. you’ll simply just blame the heat for what you are about to do. it could very well be true, because for all the time you spent avoiding one another around the building, giving in to a pull that has never truly left comes easy. lottie’s gaze drops to your mouth for a split second, where the well maintained self-control she prides herself on finally cracks. and that, among other things (among each button of her blouse popped, each inch of skin revealed in the process), is what finally has you surging forward, into lottie’s waiting arms. one touch of her mouth to yours, and you’re trembling with want, as the length of her body presses you back against the warm metal wall.
you know damn well you shouldn’t. there’s a reason for all that distance you put between the two of you. nonetheless, you’re pushing yourself closer, shamelessly letting all those sounds you would normally try to suppress, so as not to seem overly eager, slip from your lips. lottie has heard them before, anyway, and learned to coax them out of you herself, so what’s left for you to hide? besides, she hasn’t changed much, either, still kissing like a woman starved, only slightly more slick, this time, with the sweat that had formed on both your faces.
“lot…” you sigh against her mouth, barely managing, with how ravenous she’s kissing you. “lottie..”
cupping your cheeks, lottie draws you back in without another word, nearly sending you tripping over your own feet as you stagger closer, as close as you possibly can, and then pushing some more. for the first time in weeks, you forget about the heat altogether, and, fucking christ, if you’d known all it would take to put an end to the suffering you’d endured in this weather would be to make out with lottie matthews….
one hand falls to your waist, urging you against her while the other remains on your face, but whatever lottie is doing with her hands becomes hard to keep track of, anyway, when there’s also her tongue, suddenly slipping past your lips and into your mouth. in the frantic heat of the moment, your own hands reach for the unbuttoned collar of lottie’s blouse, pleased that she is either too distracted kissing you to care or that (more simple yet no less surprising), she’ll just let you. not particularly interested in finding out which of the two it is, you hastily undo the final few buttons, keeping lottie occupied by sucking on her tongue, until the fabric parts and your hands land on bare skin.
you have to pull back then; you simply have to, to get a look at lottie’s exposed upper body. she has not changed, and your memory has served you well during those many desperate nights you spent fantasizing about her, but nothing will ever compare to the real deal: under her blouse, lottie is wearing a lacy, black bra, a shiny layer of sweat glistening on her sternum.
any longer, and she would probably be telling you that it’s gross, and that she needs to take a shower, so before it can come down to that, you’re practically burying your face in her cleavage. it is lottie’s turn to stumble back, caught off guard, the elevator wall keeping her upright as you cover what of her breasts is spilling over the bra cups in kisses. you feel lottie’s fingers sink into your hair, the chest below your mouth rising & falling rapidly when you suck a mark into the soft skin.
grinning, you realize that she doesn’t call you out or even warn you for shamelessly leaving so many hickeys & little lovebites. nobody there to care for the marks on lottie’s tits, then, and it should not come as such a relief, yet you are about to yank down the lace in your excitement, knowing how much she liked it when you played with her nipples, when the hand in your hair yanks you back.
you hadn’t known how spit slick your lips had gotten until you look up at lottie, who, without uttering a single word, only decisively shakes her head once. you’re not given the chance to ask what that’s supposed to mean before she grabs you by the collar and, with the strength you always knew she had in her, spins you around so that you’re the one up against a wall once more. under different circumstances, you might’ve put up a fight, wanting to touch lottie, too, but it’s too hot and, anyway, how much time have you spent ever since things between you ended, dreaming about her touch?
plus, at least you can still see her chest when lottie drops her hand down to the waistband of your shorts, hurriedly unbuttoning them before letting gravity take care of the rest. the denim falls from your hips & pools at your feet, leaving you in only your underwear. from there, lottie works her way around it with ease. if you could, you would ask her to just take off all your clothes, have you naked right then & there, but even through the haze of heat and, frankly, horniness, you’re still aware enough of your surroundings to understand that that would be too much of a risk. only letting her fuck you here already is, but then lottie shoves the crotch of your panties aside, and her fingers are gliding through your folds, and everything else just sort of stops.
“fuck-” you can’t help but gasp, lottie’s digits forming a v-shape and parting you open, “fuck, lot, that’s-“
humming, she drags them back & forth, slicked up in your arousal by the time lottie dips then towards your entrance to gather more of your wetness there and bring it up to your clit. it’s pulsing under her fingertips, even more so when she starts circling it slowly. pleasure shoots up your spine, the heat intensifying as the walls of your cunt clamp down around nothing, desperate for more. “you’re so wet…” lottie rasps.
what did you fucking expect, you almost say, but the words only make it out in a strangled moan that rings through the elevator. smiling, lottie applies pressure to your clit until your knees buckle, nails digging into her back in a desperate attempt to hold yourself upright, because you will not be caught falling to your knees from this tiny bit of stimulation.
“yeah…” lottie nods and repeats the motion, making the whole length of your pussy throb against the heel of her hand. a few more of those maddening circles around your swelling clit, then her fingers finally begin to glide a little lower, the pad of her thumb replacing her index & middle finger to keep rubbing you.
your next moan is silenced thanks to lottie, who presses her mouth back to yours, swallowing the sounds you make once she actually starts probing your sloppy entrance. your hips jump forward of their own accord, pressing yourself closer as you groan into her mouth. everything between your legs is slick, both with sweat and your wetness, and if she doesn’t properly fuck you soon, you are convinced that you’re going to pass out.
another flare of heat in your abdomen, then, when lottie’s fingers move forward, followed by the brief resistance of that first stretch, which she easily pushes through. your cunt squelches obscenely, and no matter how good her kisses feel, you cannot help but pull back to look down between your bodies at least for a little while, where lottie’s knuckles bulge against the fabric of your underwear. sensing that you’ve broken eye contact, she whispers: “look at me,” the sound of her voice alone forcing you into submission.
lottie’s expression, despite her not being on the receiving end of any stimulation right now, mirrors your own: her mouth hangs open, her lashes flutter, just like yours, and even a moan tears from her throat when her fingers thrust into you for the first time. simultaneously, her thumb grinds against your clit, smiling at your hips jerking forward again. you wonder if lottie can feel how wildly your pussy is fluttering around those two fingers, desperately wanting to suck her in deeper as she begins setting a nice pace, just how she knows you like it, and fuck, she remembers, doesn’t she?
the digits curl against your g-spot, ragged breaths falling from her lips in time with lottie’s thrusts, all while her thumb continues to circle your clit, and it won’t actually be the heat that kills you; it’ll be getting fingered to death by lottie matthews and how insanely good it feels.
“oh, fuck, lottie, fuck!” you hear yourself crying out, slick dripping down your thighs, where the arousal is refreshingly cool in the hot, open air. lottie, meanwhile, is moaning in unison with you, like she can actually get pleasure out of feeling your pussy squeezing down on her fingers, and chances are you’re being much too loud. you don’t know how far you are from the next floor, and, more importantly, how soundproof these walls are, but does that really matter when lottie keeps thrumming her fingers against your g-spot like that, forcing you towards the edge within mere minutes?
her exhales come out hot to the side of your neck, and you hadn’t even noticed that she’d leaned in like that, mouthing at your pulse point while her knuckles bulge against your entrance. her fingertips hook into that spot at the front wall of your cunt, making you gush, most of the clear fluids getting caught in the palm of lottie’s hand, and it dawns on you suddenly that you’re going to cum. “lottie, i’m gonna- keep going! please, you’re- you’re gonna-” it’s barely coherent babbling, but it gets the message across.
you’re so close you can taste the climax on your tongue, if that is even remotely possible. it has been building up since she popped the first, stupid button of her blouse, and now it’s about to wash over you, and there is nothing you can do except grind yourself into her hand and let your body do its thing, pussy spasming around lottie. it all feels so fucking good that the final warning you can get out is a lewd: “lottie i’m cumming!” before pleasure reaches its peak.
you’re distantly aware of her rasping something along the lines of: “mhm, come for me,” but even that, along with the heat, suddenly seems impossibly far away from you. clutching lottie’s shoulders, your clit twitches under her thumb while your walls squeeze her fingers tight, moans spilling from your lips as you ride it out.
familiar with your body as she is, lottie knows to keep thrusting, slower than before, but pleasurable all the same, causing more of your release to splatter over her hand. through the haze, you manage to pull her close to you, needing her mouth on yours, some evidence that this is real, although your kiss isn’t so much a kiss as you moaning against her lips. this could very well be the best, most long lasting orgasm you’ve had in months, your cunt still twitching even when lottie leans back, and you let your own head tip against the wall.
you’re not sure when it ends, or how it does, but eventually, lottie’s fingers slip out, leaving your cunt fluttering around nothing, and then out of your underwear, too, and then she’s on her knees, and for a hot moment, you actually think she’s gonna put her mouth on you, but that turns out to be wishful thinking. instead, lottie pulls your shorts back into place for you, still letting you come down at your own pace but making sure that you do so with your clothes on. help is on the way, after all.
“fuck, lottie, this was…” with that, you find your voice again, wobbly with the aftershocks of the climax. lottie, meanwhile, has begun buttoning her sweat soaked blouse again, and just in time, it turns out: before you can so much as finish that sentence, a shudder runs through the elevator, and you both brace yourselves against the nearest wall as it begins to rise.
so help has finally come, filling the space with the groan of cables as you are being lifted, though you’re not sure they could’ve picked a worse timing: you don’t get to ask lottie what any of this means, let alone what you’re gonna do about it (because, surely, getting finger fucked by an ex must have consequences), before the cabin jolts to a stop and the doors slide apart, releasing the two of you into the stairwell, where maintenance workers & a firegfighter wait.
thankfully, they don’t keep you for long. they are a bit concerned with how breathless you are as you stumble out after lottie, but upon insisting that you really are fine, and that it isn’t a medical emergency but only the heat (certainly not the mindblowing orgasm), they let you leave to return to your apartments. awkwardly enough, you still have some stairs left to climb together, walking shoulder to shoulder as you make your way up. only at lottie’s door, the two of you come to an abrupt halt, and while you sure could keep on walking up to your own front door, something forces you to stop dead in your tracks. turning to lottie, you’re relieved to find it was the right thing to do: “call me sometime, yeah?” she asks, “you still have my number.”
— a/n: wilder, get it….? wilder as in wilderness?? i’m so funny 🤣🤣 anyway, i wrote this over the heatwave, and today it’s finally been ‘cold’ enough to actually edit it!! i still kinda rushed the ending because i wanted to get it out there asap, so please don’t mind that.
just some cute fluff of ellie picking up reader from a night out with girlfriends.
𝐸𝐿𝐿𝐼𝐸 picking you up after a night out
cw ─── ♡ ─── suggestive content
ellie's thumbs hooked onto the pockets of denim jeans, she stood waiting for you outside, leaning against the light post as she tapped the soles of her shoes onto the pavement.
it was late, the sky was already dark and filled with stars, but the street was lit up, music you could faintly hear through the cracks of the bustling bars. ellie's stood there for 10 minutes waiting for you, but not once had she rushed you. well, you did tell her you'd be out in a minute. but she knows how talkative you get, and how you probably chatted up strangers on your way to the door.
by the time you're out the door, you're already scrambling on your feet, your mind dazed and you're out of it. ellie can't help but smile once she sees you stumbling out of the door, a half finished cup of liquor wrapped around your hands.
"hey—hey. you brought this as a souvenir?" ellie holds in a tender laugh as she sees you up close. your face flushed, but your eyes stay tender as you look at her. her eyes soften, and ellie's hand come up to wrap around your waist, the pads of her fingers resting on your supple skin.
"mm—what?!" you yell a little too loud, still used to shouting over the blaring music. ellie just smiles and kisses your cheek, not missing the faint smell of cheap tequila.
"how much have you had to drink? huh baby?" her voice stays soft and smooth when talking to you, and her fingers slowly pry the cup from your hand that's been nurturing it the whole night. "c'mon baby. let's put this back then i'll take you home."
before you could get a word out, ellie shushes you with another kiss on the lips, and you could feel her smiling against you. she pulls away and she holds your waist through the door, when you're met once again with the same, shitty techno remix that's been playing since. she sets the glass on the bar, where the bartender gives ellie a nod.
he seems used to ellie picking you up now.
you guys make it to ellie's car, and your full weight's on ellie, leaning against her like she's some sort of anchor. she opens the passenger side's door and leads you into the seat, the car's all warmed up and her rough, course hands get you all settled in. before she could shut the door, you lean your head against her shoulder.
you warm up against her jacket, and you pull at the scuff of her jacket's arm cuffs, pulling her arms to wrap around you. "god—you're so warm." you whimper into her, pulling at ellie to feel her warmth.
"you had way too much fun, huh? you're clingier than usual." ellie gives you a kiss on the blade of your shoulder and you can't help but let out a soft noise. all you needed was ellie after a long day.
"i missed you. the entire night." you mumble, maybe it was the alcohol talking but you couldn't help but cling to ellie. "mmhm? that it?" ellie coos. "how'd it go?" ellie brushes through your hair and for a moment everything goes quiet.
"it was so—so fun. and then...then i had uhm, i met dina's friend from college. the one she was telling, or err— told us about." you slurred half your words, and would get too distracted while talking and end up looking at something behind ellie. but she stayed, perched in front of you, in front of the car door as she listened, and stroked you thigh as you kept going.
"mm—but, i wanna..go home." you mutter, and lean in to kiss ellie's lips. ellie's startled, but quickly recovers with a sly smile. "mmhm. go home to do what?" she teases. your already red face blushes and you nuzzle further into ellie. "let's go home—please baby." you whine once again.
"that's it?"
"please. baby, please. let's go home." you whimper.
a/n: i will defend trinity to the ends of the earth. my angel. not proofread!
masterlist
trinity santos was all tough and spikes on the outside, and only you knew the real version. you softened her in a way no one else got to see. she curled up into your arms the second she got home, pressing kisses all over your face as you pet her hair. she loved doing everything with you - shopping, cleaning, showering, cooking - anything. she bought you little gifts as her own way of saying ‘i love you’ even when she didn’t know how to express it in the way she wanted. her favourite thing to do was listen to a playlist of songs she made that reminds her of you.
‧₊˚ ⋅ ❤︎ . . . nsfw/ smut◞ needy needy ellie◞ ellie needs u so bad◞ omg she’s so needy◞ neediest top ever.
♡◞. . ⊹₊ ˚‧ — drafts drafts drafts
word count — 0.2k
thinking about morning sex with a horny ellie williams .
the early morning light hits soft through the cracked window. ellie wakes groggy and presses hard against you under the blankets. her hand slides under your shirt quick and you turn a bit.
“stay,” she mutters. her voice is soft but groggy. “need you, babe.”
she hooks her leg over yours and grinds slowly, and you can feel how wet she is even through her panties. her fingers dig into ur hips. “fuck. missed this.” her breath catches when you start touching back. she kisses your neck like she’s hungry. like she needs more.
ellie pushes closer. hips rolling desperate. “touch me please.” her hand moves lower. strokes you firm. “yeah. just like that.. fuck.” she groans low. body hot and needy.
“don’t stop.” she presses her face into ur neck. “so wet for you.” her fingers slip inside you. thrusting steady. “so good.” she squeezes her eyes shut in pure bliss.
“i need it so bad baby.” she says it like she’s almost about to start crying. like it’s too much but never enough. like if you don’t make her cum right now she might go crazy. you giggle sleepily at her neediness. always so needy.
she grinds harder and you respond with the same amount of pressure. breathing heavy, and it feels like both of ur bodies have synced to be one. “cum with me.” her free hand grips your hip. pulling you tight. “pleasepleasepleaseplease. fff- ohmgod ohmgod.. don’t stop.. please don’t stop.. fuckfuck..”
ellie trembles n moans into your skin. “mmmgh..” she keeps moving through it. soft and intense. then collapses against you. still touching. “one more..?”
‧₊˚ ⋅ ❤︎ . . . smut◞ weed◞ lowkey porn without plot because i didn’t include any in the last part◞ ellie not knowing what to do with her hands◞ ellie is so cute
♡◞. . ⊹₊ ˚‧ — sequel of “just a dare” — i made sure to include smut this time. please enjoy. requests are open you guys!!
word count — 1.9k
part i
—
just a dare sequel
—
ellie’s forehead stays pressed to yours, breath hot and shaky against your mouth like she is still deciding if this is real. the tv flickers uselessly in the corner, some old movie neither of you gives a shit about anymore. her hand grips your hip tighter, fingers digging in just a little, calluses rough from years of holding bows and knives and guitars.
"okay," she breathes, voice low and rough, almost cracking. "that was not enough. not even fucking close."
she kisses you hard then, tongue pushing in like she is scared this moment might slip away if she does not grab it. the nervousness is still there in the way her breath hitches and her shoulders tense, but underneath it is that ellie intensity. the same one that drives her through infected and worse. once she lets herself want something, she commits, even if it terrifies her. she pulls back just enough to reach blindly for the nightstand, knocking a half empty glass over with a dull thud. she does not even flinch.
"this first," she mutters, grabbing the half smoked joint and lighter. the flame catches quick, lighting up the freckles across her nose and the thin scar through her eyebrow. she takes a deep drag, holds it till her lungs burn, then leans down and presses her mouth to yours, shotgunning the smoke slow and thick into you. her hand slips under your shirt at the same time, palm warm against your side. you inhale together, exhale the cloud between your faces, and the weed starts hitting. warm, hazy, loosening the tight knot in your chest and making every brush of skin feel heavier.
"fuck," ellie says quietly, voice already gravelly as she takes another hit and passes it to you. her green eyes watch you closely while you smoke, half lidded and dark. "you look good like this. all relaxed. been thinking about this shit way too much lately. like stupid amounts."
it is blunt, a little awkward, pure ellie. she has never been smooth with this stuff. she sets the joint on the ashtray edge carefully, then yanks your shirt up and off, tossing it toward the floor. her own tank follows after a second of hesitation, revealing the lean muscle and old scars that map her torso. she pushes your pants down roughly, impatient now, muttering a curse when the fabric catches on your ankle. her own clothes come off fast after that, kicked somewhere off the side of the bed.
she crawls over you, knee pressing between your thighs to spread them, but she pauses there, hovering. her eyes flick over your face like she is checking for any sign you want to stop. "you sure?" she asks, voice low. when you nod she lets out a shaky breath and kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck.
ellie’s mouth moves to your neck, open and warm, sucking lightly at first then harder, like she is leaving proof that this happened. her hand palms your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it tightens, and she makes this quiet, surprised sound in her throat when you arch into her. she grinds her thigh against you, slow and experimental, feeling how wet you are getting.
"shit. you are really into this, huh?" she mumbles against your skin, half embarrassed, half awed. the weed makes everything feel slower and more intense, every touch lingering. she spends time on your chest, mouth switching between your tits, biting gently then soothing with her tongue, like she is learning what makes you react. her hips keep rolling against your leg, leaving a slick trail on your skin, her own breathing getting ragged.
she does not drag it out forever. ellie has never been great at patience once she is decided. she slides down your body, pushing your thighs wider with those strong, scarred hands. she stares for a second, ears red, then leans in and licks a long stripe up your pussy. the groan she lets out is low and real, like she was not expecting how much she would like it.
"fuck, you taste good," she mutters, almost to herself. then she is really on you. tongue circling your clit, two fingers sliding in easy, curling careful but firm. she builds a rhythm, mouth messy and focused, short hair tickling the inside of your thighs. when your hips twitch she presses her forearm across your stomach, holding you steady without being rough about it. "just stay with me. wanna feel you."
it is intense in that ellie way. all her attention narrowed down to you, like nothing else in the world exists right now. the weed stretches it out, turns every lick and thrust into something deeper. she adds another finger, stroking steady, sucking your clit until your thighs start shaking and you come hard, moaning her name. she keeps going through it, gentler but not stopping completely, drawing it out until you are breathing shaky and oversensitive.
she finally pulls back, lips shiny, chest heaving. she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and crawls up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself. it is sloppy and desperate and so her.
"you okay?" she checks quietly, forehead against yours again. her hand is still between your legs, fingers moving lazy. when you nod she exhales in relief and reaches for the joint. she takes a long hit, then offers it to you, watching the smoke curl from your lips.
"turn over," she says after a minute, voice rough. you do, and she settles behind you, chest to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist. she kisses the back of your neck, grinding against your ass slow while her hand sneaks between your legs again. "this good?" she asks, fingers sliding back inside you from behind. the new angle makes you gasp and she curses under her breath, hips pressing tighter.
she fucks you like that for a while. deep, steady strokes, mouth on your shoulder, free hand roaming your body. it is not rushed. she takes her time, thumb finding your clit, building you up again until you are pushing back against her hand, coming with your face buried in the pillow.
ellie flips you onto your back after, breathing hard, face flushed down to her chest. she looks at you for a long second, something vulnerable flickering across her expression. "i want you to.. on my face. if you want.. only if you want."
you move up and she pulls you down gently, hands on your hips guiding you. her tongue is eager but a little uncoordinated at first, figuring it out, then finding what works. she moans into you the whole time, vibrations rolling through your body, hands squeezing your thighs and ass. you brace on the headboard, rolling your hips, and she takes it, licking and sucking until you come again, thighs trembling around her head.
she helps you down after, both of you sweaty and sticky. ellie is soaked, breathing heavy, but when you reach for her she catches your hand. "wait. just c’mere." she pulls you close instead, kissing you slow while her own hand slips between her legs. you watch her touch herself, then join in, fingers sliding through her wetness. she is sensitive and vocal in a quiet, broken way. little gasps and curses, hips jerking against your hand.
"fuck. right there, do not stop," she mutters, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut. she comes hard like that, clenching around your fingers, body shuddering against you with a muffled groan into your neck.
afterward you are both wrecked, tangled together under the blanket she eventually pulls over you. ellie’s arm is wrapped tight around your waist, face buried in your neck like she is hiding. the room smells like weed and sex and the faint whiskey from earlier. she is quiet for a long minute, thumb tracing absent circles on your hip.
"that was yeah," she says finally, voice hoarse and a little shy. "you good? i did not get weird or anything? i just. i have never really done a lot of this before. not like this."
you reassure her and she relaxes a fraction, pressing a soft kiss under your ear. "good. cause i am not letting you leave tonight. seriously. stay." she huffs a small, awkward laugh. "fuck that stupid dare. this feels real. scary as shit, but real. you are staying, right?"
"yeah. i am staying."
ellie smiles against your skin, small and genuine, the kind she does not show many people. she reaches for the joint one last time, sharing a lazy hit with you between slow kisses, the high wrapping around both of you soft and warm. her legs tangle with yours, protective even in sleepiness, and for once she lets herself just exist here. no guilt, no ghosts, just the two of you in the hazy room, hearts slowing together as the night stretches on. the weed keeps everything floating, so she pulls you even closer, her body warm and solid against yours. she runs her fingers slowly up and down your back, tracing old scars of her own in her mind while feeling yours under her touch.
minutes pass like that, lazy and quiet except for the low hum of the tv. eventually she shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look at you properly in the dim light. her hair is messy, sticking up in places, and her cheeks are still faintly pink. she studies your face like she is memorizing it, green eyes soft but still carrying that familiar intensity.
"you are really here," she says, almost like she cannot believe it. "with me. after all that dumb game shit." her thumb brushes your cheek, gentle in a way that contrasts everything that came before. she leans down and kisses you again, slower this time, no rush, just deep and lingering. the taste of smoke and sweat and each other lingers between you.
she does not stop there. her hand trails lower again, sliding between your legs with a question in her eyes. you nod and she touches you carefully, fingers circling your clit with the kind of patience she shows when she is fixing something important. she watches your reactions closely, adjusting every time your breath catches or your hips move. it builds slow under the weed haze, warm waves instead of sharp peaks, until you come again with a quiet moan against her shoulder.
ellie follows soon after, guiding your hand back to her, whispering soft instructions and curses under her breath until she trembles and presses her face into your neck. afterward she stays draped over you, heavy and content, one leg hooked over yours to keep you close.
the joint gets lit one final time for a shared, lazy pull. she blows the smoke gently toward the ceiling before turning back to kiss your forehead. her voice is sleepy now, rough around the edges but warm.
"stay," she repeats quietly. "please. i do not want this to end yet."
you promise again and she finally relaxes completely, body melting into yours as the high and exhaustion pull her under. her arm stays wrapped around you, protective even in sleep, and the room fills with the steady sound of her breathing mixed with the forgotten tv. for tonight, in this small hazy space, ellie williams lets the weight of everything else fade, holding onto you like you are the one thing worth keeping close.
trinity santos and the sweetest soul in the er and everyone thinks she’d hate her but trinity is crushing HARD
sugar, spice, and everything nice | trinity santos x fem!reader
like, reblog & comment! requests are open; refer to the pinned post
Summary: Trinity Santos's soft spot that she would die before admitting she had it in the first place. Dennis is so fucking tired.
pairing: trinity santos x fem!reader
cw/tw: a kiss? literally nothing, this is just fluff. i can write smut but i'd rather not do it if it's not explicitly requested. lesbians i guess? (although if that's a tw for you idk why you're in this tag at all)
quick note: i'm actually coming down with a cold so i apologize if this is short and a bit shit, i tried my best, fueled with the crush i have on trinity
If one were to ask at the PTMC's emergency department, at least 90% of the people there (counting only the recurring patients, and the doctors) would be able to say they knew who Dr. Trinity Santos was. Should the following inquiry be then about her personality, the consequent answers and the faces accompanying them would be less than promising. She was a damn good doctor with a difficult personality, and she did not try to hide it. Let the people think what they want, she would say to her fairly recent best friend. What do I care how I look doing my job?
Perhaps for this reason, when you arrived at the ER, all smiles and a sparkle in your eyes that would surely disappear after your first week, everyone thought the same: Trinity Santos would hate your guts. As if trying to put this theory to practice, both Dana and Robby had decided to put the two of you in as many cases together, as if they were teachers choosing an entertaining sitting plan.
You had been more than happy at the prospect, always eager to make friends wherever you went. Work should be a place where you actually want to go, if not for the job itself, at least for the people there, was your motto. Blissful ignorance kept you from seeing or noticing the silent bets passed around by basically everyone in the ED.
Working with Santos proved to be way less eventful than everyone thought it would be. The two of you somehow complemented each other pretty well, not too many words necessary between you to be understood. In fact, sometimes it seemed as if Trinity had no interest whatsoever in talking with you more than the usual pleasantries you gave to an acquaintance or colleague you saw every day.
Which is why it surprised both Dennis and Victoria when Trinity approached you out of her own volition 12 hours in of a grueling shift that surely you would feel on your feet for the next twelve. The central hub was calm, relative as everything was in an ER. Everyone was either doing their charting or taking a rest while the night shift arrived so handoffs could be done, and you were no exception, munching on a protein bar while talking animatedly about a particular case to your coworkers.
"Hey, Bubbles," a voice rang behind you and you turned around, throwing a smile at Trinity. That was a new nickname.
"I gather you're Buttercup then?" You said with a soft smile, missing by a hair both Dennis's and Victoria's wide open mouths.
"Duh." Trinity swayed on the balls of her feet, hands in her pocket. A smirk crossed her face. "Huckleberry can be our Mojo Jojo."
"Hey–" Dennis's complaint was swiftly cut by Victoria jabbing her elbow on his side. Trinity just rolled her eyes.
"There's no way you know what The Powerpuff Girls are."
"I'm not that much of an idiot!" Dennis's complaint was once again punctuated by an elbow on his side. He was going to get a bruise at this point.
"So your parents let you watch a show with a drag queen crab demon and not one with a sponge cooking?" Trinity rolled her eyes. "Don't answer that. I don't care." She turned back to you. "Anyways, can I talk to you for a moment?"
Your eyes widened and you found yourself nodding before you were aware of it at all. "Uh, yeah sure. Right now?"
"Sure. I'm all up to date with my charting." She frowned and pointed at the amused gazes of her two friends. "I am." Her eyes looked down at you. "So?"
"Yeah, of course! Let me grab my things." Your bag was ready to go by your side and you swung the strap over your head and rested it on your shoulder.
The ambulance bay would have to do, Trinity thought. It was getting too warm for her liking in the ER. All courtesy of your presence, of course.
Finding a nook where a somewhat private conversation could be held, Trinity found herself leaning on the wall, the solidness of it helping to ground her body and mind, which felt like they were going to float away like the smoke of a cigarette (not that she smoked).
"You alright?" Her thoughts found an anchor in your voice and she lowered her eyes to find your concerned face. She felt a strange mix of relief at that expression being directed at her, and guilt for the exact same reason.
"Yeah," she choked out. "Yeah, I'm fine."
The unimpressed glance you sent in her direction was so endearing that Trinity felt as if her heart was going to explode. She wondered what that would look like. Biting her lip, she shook her head and looked down to her sneakers.
"Actually no, I lied." She swallowed thickly. "I'm ass at this feelings stuff. Ask Fuckleberry, he'll tell you. He's been on my ass all this time about how I should just suck it up and talk to you, but then I look at you and you're so pretty that I immediately get cold feet."
"Pause," you raised your hand and she looked up in panic. "You think I'm pretty?"
She snorted. "Bordering on adorable, to be honest."
After her confession that left a lot to desire, any reaction would have been fair game in Trinity's perspective. Anything except for the bright smile that filled your face with that same light she always found herself attracted to like a moth to a flame.
"Really?" Your tone was one of awe. How could you not see what she saw?
Trinity nodded, not trusting her voice. She hoped you would understand. And you did, if you walking the few steps that separated you was any sign of it. Your hands found hers and she found out she didn't want to part with that feeling ever again.
"Can I kiss you?" She blurted out and immediately blushed.
"Of course."
The kiss would go into Trinity's metaphorical vault of most cherished stuff in her mind. It was not groundbreaking and she had definitely had had more heated ones in the past. However, it had your signature softness, and that made it more important than anything else. Unhurried, matching her pace so that she wouldn't be left behind. She could cry, actually.
When you pulled away, a soft flush covered her cheeks, which made her all the more endearing. "Wow," was the only thing she could squeak out.
"Good?" You looked earnest.
"Fuck yeah," she laughed. Before you could completely pull away, she gathered her newfound courage.
"Do you want to grab dinner?" She had been about to invite you over to her flat but she felt that was going too fast when you had just had your first kiss.
"Sure! You got any ideas?"
As the two of you walked over to your car, you didn't notice Dennis and Victoria observing the whole scene from behind an ambulance. The younger girl was almost buzzing, most likely in anticipation of all the money she was going to get come next shift.
"You're gonna have to invest on new noise-cancelling headphones," she said to Dennis, putting her hand on her shoulder, as he sighed in resignation. He had done his job as a (unwilling) matchmaker, but at what cost?
in which you and trinity are exploring your committed relationship slowly, only you getting to get a look at her soft side — until you come over to her house and her roommate walks in on a sweet moment between the two of you.
warnings: fluff, making out, periods (santos), suggestive, soft trinity (to some extent)
“ Well, back at my houseI've got a California king Okay, maybe it's a twin bed And some roommates (don't worry, we're cool)” red wine supernova, chappell roan 1k celebration
𑣲⋆𑣲⋆
It's an unusually quiet day in the ER, considering that in a normal day you wouldn't be able to be sitting down for more than 3 minutes to have a quick look at some data of the patient who needs his cast removed without getting called for a more urgent task.
And you appreciate the small moment of getting to stretch your legs, quietly sipping on your coffee as your fingers tap against the screen. You rock the chair from side to side gently, a concentrated habit you've obtained since working here.
You're too engrossed on the screen to notice Trinity coming to lean by one of the computers in the station, obsessing with charting ever since Doctor Al-Hashimi took over as an attending.
She looks at you amusedly when you don't seem to even notice her presence. Fishing the receipt of the breakfast she had earlier out of her pocket, she rolls it into a ball in her hand before throwing it directly at you.
You barely flinch when it hits you, too used to her antics by now and unbothered by them — if not a bit endeared.
"Hey, dork." Santos calls, grin full of teasing when you scowl at her.
"Doctor Santos." You acknowledge with fake professionalism, fingers pressing to your lips in attempt to hide your inevitable small smile.
"What are we up to?" She askes with what she tries to come off as boredom, but that you know is just an excuse to talk to you.
"I am working, dunno about you." You retort playfully, glancing up at her without moving your head. "Kid broke his arm a few weeks ago and i have to take the cast off."
"Cool." Trinity hums, though you're not sure she's even listening to you properly. It might have to do with the intentional use of one of her favourite shirts of yours under your scrubs.
"You?" You question.
"What?" She seems to snap of her daze, neck turning slightly red with being caught.
"What are you up to?" You indulge in her conversation, chin coming to rest on your palm.
"Actually," She comes lean on your table table, "Check this out, some idiot comes in with a bad looking neck strain because as it turns he was trying to look at someone's phone in the train"
"Really?" You chuckle with raised eyebrows.
"Yep. Way more interesting than yours, i win." Her foot kicks your chair slightly and you push her arm with just as much force.
"It's a competition?"
"Absolutely." Trinity says triumphally, chin jutting out just a bit in a way you find too adorable.
You sit in silence for a minute, surprised to notice your girlfriend lingering by your table. You notice the way she nervously plays with her hands, exactly like would when she has something to say. So you wait for her to muster the courage to say whatever she needs to.
"Hey so i was thinking..." She pulls your attention from your ipad back to her, giving her a curious but reassuring look. "Maybe you could like come over after our shift is over? You know, have dinner and watch a stupid movie or whatever."
Her words bring relief to you, heart warm with the knowledge that she was so nervous to simply ask you over.
"Of course." You answer warmly, fingers hitching to take hold of her anxious hands.
"Okay. Cool." The doctor nods, gulping to play it off as she stands straight again. "You can also sleepover. If you want." Her eyes don't meet yours as she adds.
"Sounds really good." Your fingers tap the table as you throw her a sweet smile. "But only if i get to make dinner. Your food is awful."
Santos scoffs, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth as she pretends to be offended. "Sure, chef."
You shoo her away with the receipt she threw at you a moment ago, watching as she finally decides to get up and catch up on her charting.
But she's only two steps away when her figure rushes to turn back to you, only glancing around for one second before grabbing your face with one hand and clumsily kissing your lips.
Your fingers come to grab at the front of her scrubs, thorn between pull away and preventing her from doing so. But before you make up your mind your girlfriend pulls away, walking towards her table like nothing happened.
"Are you crazy?!" You whisper-yell, hands left in the air with shock.
Trinity laughs, shrugging as her fingers start tapping away on the keyboard. She seems pleased with her work, lips a darker shade of pink from the hasty kiss.
"Hey kid, what the hell are you doing?" Dana interrupts the moment, eyeing the both of you but not acknowledging anything. "Got a patient waiting for you, don't ya?"
"On it, sorry." You raise your hands in surrender as you slide of your chair.
Santos looks like she's going to quip something as you're walking by her chair, but interrupts herself with a subtle wince. Worry insights itself immediately on your stomach, stopping on your tracks. "You okay?"
She clears her throat, "Yeah, period's just kicking my ass." Her voice comes out in a grumble, as if to hide the vulnerability she feels for opening up to you — even if for something so small.
You soften at her, resting a hand on the back of her chair. "I'll make you some tea when i'm done with this." And then you're off to your task.
Trinity can't help but appreciate your words, throwing you a thankful look. You don't fuss over it, don't make a big deal out of it. She couldn't feel more understood.
Suddenly she doesn't feel like she minds Whitaker telling her she looks at you like an idiot in love. Because it might just be the only thing she's sure of.
Later she finds a sealed cup on top of her paperwork, a tiny smiley face drawn on it. She feels like an absolute loser for the fact that it brings out a smile of her own.
The day goes by as fast as it can in the hospital, and you find that at the end of it you're more excited than tired. The realization that it's your first time sleeping over at Trinity's house makes you giddy as you're pulling your things from your locker.
She finds you waiting outside after she comes out a bit later than you, dark hair down and falling over her shoulders smoothly. Her bag slung over her shoulder, dark navy jacket that you insist makes her even more cuddly and face glowing under the streetlights.
You don't miss the way her expression lightens up when she spots you leaning against a wall with your eyes already on her, as if your own light is the source of hers.
The walk to the car is comfortably silent, slightly mandatory to decompress from the loud ER. As she drives, you make sure to pull her free hand to your lap, aware that she enjoys it even without the courage of initiating it.
When you arrive at her apartment, you make sure to send her off to a warm shower, insisting it's exactly where you want her and promising to have some pasta ready as soon as she's out of it. Trinity relents easily, eager to get out of her work clothes and take away the smell of hospital, cramps making her move slower.
She's back before you know it, large sweats thrown on her legs and a large t-shirt that's wet on the shoulders because of her freshly washed hair. After pouring two cups of wine, you both find yourselves eating your bowls of pasta in front of the tv —watching a sitcom that you insisted would make her mood better.
Which is exactly why you find yourself leaning against her couch cushions with a full stomach, half of Trinity's body thrown across your lap.
It's not necessarily unusual to receive this type of affection from her, at least not now. You'd never believe it months ago if someone told you there was this whole other side of her.
Now you relish in the comfort of it, fingers running through her hair that you brush and dried earlier and scratching her scalp with your nails softly.
"He absolutely cheated on her and she shouldn't get back to him." She grumbles from your lap, weirdly interested in the drama going on in the tv. "Besides, who the hell dates an idiot named Ross?"
"Sure, love." You agree with a chuckle, hand stopping its movement on her head to come and rest on the back of the couch.
She doesn't seem to mind it at first, lips pulled into a concentrated pout as she looks at the screen. But after a moment her head leans closer into your lap, hitting your stomach in request that you amusedly ignore.
"Baby." She calls for you without looking up, voice sweet dripping with honey.
You have no choice but to comply pulling your hand back onto her hair and twisting some strands with your thumb. As if not satisfied, Trinity grabs your other hand with hers. Guiding it to her stomach, you understand the assignment and gently massage it with pressure right above the waistline of her sweatpants.
Your girlfriend hums in appreciation, hand still atop of yours and tracing shapes with her fingers.
Without strength to hold back, you lean to press a peck on the corner of her lips. Her face turn as you do, capturing your lips in hers for a kiss that leaves you wanting more. And she knows it just with a look to your face.
She's sitting up in a flash, peering at you with need. "Can i?" And she's already leaning in, lips smashing into yours eagerly.
Her hands cup your face to pull it as close as possible, connected lips turning you into one only. You grab at both sides of her waist, fingers bunching the fabric of her shirt into your hand as you continue to relish in the taste of wine that lingers in her mouth.
Frustrated at not being as close she wants to, Trinity moves to your lap with you now trapped between her legs that press on the couch beside your hips. A noise leaves your throat, giving her the opportunity to deepen the kiss as one of her hands tangles on the hair at the back of your head and tilts it up.
Her body practically falls onto yours, tongue exploring your mouth like a thousand times before — every time more avid than the one before.
One of your hands slips inside her shirt where it rides up on her lower back, slowly tracing up her spine and exploring every inch of skin you can find as the other grips her waist to pull it flush to yours. You can't help but moan when she complies quickly with a grind of her hips.
"Fuck." You breath out, lips shiny with her as you move your ministrations to her jaw.
Your girlfriend is quick to tilt her head to give your access to her neck, your mouth pressing wet and messy kisses along her throat and all the way to the spot under her ear. You nip gently on the side of her neck, kissing the marks right after leaving them.
"God, i love you." The words leave her mouth before she's able to think them through, immediately freezing you on the spot.
Your mouth is slightly ajar as you lift it from her skin, eyes wide as you observe her every expression. "What?" It comes out quiet, your voice feeling rusty.
Her throat bobs as she swallows nothing, and you can already feel the wall she's about to build. But you fight it, steading her in your lap when she makes move to leave.
"Did you mean it?" You question with adoration, searching her eyes when she refuses to look at you. "Trin." The call is gentle enough for her to come back to you
"Course." She mumbles like it's obvious, which it is. But it's nice to know it anyway.
"I love you." You reciprocate feeling giddy.
"Yeah, don't let it get to your head." She rolls her eyes with a smirk, mouth close to yours as she speaks.
You're too emersed in your own bubble to notice the door opening and closing.
Dennis steps inside the apartment with soft steps, aware of how late it is and how he doesn't want to annoy his grumpy roommate by waking her up at this hour after a day of work.
What he doesn't expect is to walk in to the living room to the sight of her making out with you on their shared couch, sitting right on your lap and unaware of his presense.
"Oh my god!" He exclaims in panic, heat rushing up his body and turning his cheek into a deep shade of red.
You both scramble away from each other, startled by the sudden presence in the living room. Trinity throws him an annoyed look, as if having forgotten he also lives here.
"Are you just gonna stand there, dumbass?" She asks with a roll of her eyes.
"I- No! I'm so sorry." He scrambles to cover his eyes as if he's seen something obscene and rushes to his bedroom, awkwardly greeting you when you throw him a warm smile as if to tell him it's okay.
Santos groans in frustration once the door of his room is closed, "Stupid Fuckleberry." Her hands rub at her face.
"I think he's sweet." You reason, chuckling as you take in what just happened.
"Cockblocker is what he is." She retorts, slumping beside you on the couch.
You raise your eyebrows with a grin, "Poor baby."
"Shut up." She shuts down your teasing.
"You love me." You affirm with a softer tone than intended, pressing one last kiss to her cheek. And the worst part is she can't deny it now.
Later that night you fall asleep on her bed that is a bit too small for the both of you, mouth pressed to her shoulder and arm thrown across her stomach.
She falls asleep only a while after you, too aware of the way your energy is the one to light her up, your light reflecting in her moon that turns just for you.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 headcannons because i’m bored n currently working on part two of sacrificial lamb . . ♡ ( if you have any suggestions on where the plot should go , PLEASE tell me as i am debating many . . ) anyway ,, these are things i personally think ellie would do that align with things i want someone to do for me , so if you disagree that’s okay . . n besides the fact i am deeply starved of any sort of romantic love lolz. this is pure fluff by the way , sorry to disappoint . .
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who notices everything. whether it be the way you love the sun but hate the heat , how specific you make your hot chocolate , how you get overstimulated very quickly , she sees it.
you’re always so anxious , especially in public settings. you will absentmindedly pick at your skin , a habit you formed since you were little. her hand will interlock yours , squeezing tightly but not too tight , letting you know she’s got you.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who picks up on queues of when you’re becoming or currently non verbal. she finds it adorable how you communicate through hums , nodding or shaking your head as she pretends to not know what you need , just to see your excited expression when she finally ‘guesses’ it right.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who will do your hair when you can’t do it yourself , gently brushing each knot out n putting it up so it doesn’t touch your neck , who also frequently plays with it without you having to ask.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who holds you while you cry , whispering the sweetest things , tracing messy pictures on your back with her finger. she knows you struggle to say what’s bothering you , mainly for the fact that you’re such a crybaby your voice immediately cracks , n because you’re so scared she will be upset with you. she is undoubtedly patient n understanding , wiping each tear away with her thumb , reassuring you that your feelings could never ever upset her.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who writes you love letters n paragraphs throughout the day , reminding you how much she loves you , how important you are , n how there’s nobody else she could ever want but you. she will go into detail about the things she loves about you , what you remind her of , expressing her undeniable devotion n commitment. ( this is what i yearn for . . )
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who regularly fantasizes about your wedding , thinking about how beautiful you will look walking down the isle , how she wouldn’t be able to look at you without crying. she is so lucky , n she doesn’t know how she found someone as perfect as you.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who can’t stay away from you. she becomes restless n feels like apart of her is missing when you’re not there. coming home to you is the greatest gift she could ever receive , n she never forgets to remind you of that.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who loves to tease you , especially when you’re nervous. pulling your hands away from your face , kissing you all over. she loves the effect she has on you.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who means it when she says ‘if it’s not you , it’s nobody.’
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who supports you in every choice you make , encouraging you to do whatever you heart desires. reminding you that she’s right next to you every step of the way , n that every accomplishment no matter how small , is something she will forever be proud of.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who knows exactly what nicknames you love , mainly calling you ‘her bunny.’ she loves the look on your face , how your smile reaches your big eyes , your cheeks all warm n pink.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who is cautious your first time , asking over n over if what she is doing is okay. interlocking her fingers with yours , kissing you softly , telling you over n over that you’re safe with her.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who picks you up n ties your shoes , gives you her jacket when you’re cold , n sits extra close to you at dinner so she can trace along your thigh.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who loves when you hold her arm , smiling at the feeling of you tightening your grasp when you’re in a crowd of people , making sure you don’t lose her.
𝓮𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝔀𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔 who surprises you with something you mentioned months ago , never forgetting even the little things. ❤︎
a little n much needed thank you for all the support n love you all have shown me. i don’t think some people realize how far words can impact someone , especially when it comes to things they’re passionate about. to be told my writing is admirable n inspiring , along with the want for a second part of a story that received so much hate . . it means more than anything. ❤︎ so much love to all of you
the idea of ellie in canon universe being excited to go back to her place after a function or patrol so she can chill and play her video games PLEASE pls plssss she’s so cute my baby my baby
i’m thinking of canon au a lot lately, esp ellie’s birthday in canon au. like, reader going out of her way to find savage starlight trading cards during patrols, making maria assign her more routes just so she can find more of them to give ellie as a gift 😭
pls don’t tell me this has already been done cuz i’m getting excited abt this idea………
