movie night :: e.w.
synopsis: you agree to watch ellie’s favorite sci-fi movie — aka the most important film in the entire known galaxy, according to her.
a/n: pov loser!ellie heals you
genre: fluff
part two: you’ll be back (because you’re trapped here with me)
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els took movie night seriously.
you knew this. you’d witnessed it countless times before — the snacks, the exact angle of the couch pillow for “peak visibility.” she even lit a stupid candle that smelled like pine and nerf herders. (you didn’t ask. she wouldn’t have explained it anyway.)
“okay,” she said, dragging the bowl of popcorn onto her lap. “tonight is important.”
“they’re all important.”
“this is different,” she said, flipping the lights off. “this is foundational sci-fi. this is, like… the holy text. the blueprint.”
“so… the space movie bible?”
“shut up,” she grinned, hitting play. the screen flared to life with loud music. something about a war and secret plans and an evil empire.
you stole a handful of popcorn.
“so who’s fighting?”
“just wait.”
“but—”
“shhh.”
you quieted down. for about four minutes.
then, casually: “okay but who’s the shiny robot guy again?”
pause.
ellie turned her head so slow it was actually scarier than if she’d snapped around.
she stared at you like you’d just insulted her mom. or kicked a puppy. or both.
“he’s a droid, not a robot,” she said flatly. “and he’s not just shiny, he’s protocol model C-3PO, he’s fluent in over six million forms of communication, and he’s best friends with the most important character in the saga.”
you blinked. “…the trash can guy?”
ellie looked personally offended. like you’d slapped her across the face with a bootleg dvd.
“you take that back.”
“no.”
“you take that back.”
“nope.”
“take it back.”
“you’re so easy to wind up,” you said, grinning as you scooted closer.
she narrowed her eyes. muttered something that sounded like ‘whatever.’ then grabbed another fistful of popcorn and shoved it in her mouth like she needed fuel before going nuclear.
and then she went off.
like, off off.
arms waving, speech speeding up, brain working faster than her mouth could keep up. it started with the droid thing — “he’s not just comic relief, okay, he’s symbolic of the old republic and the failure of diplomacy” — and quickly spiraled into a whole ten-minute monologue about the fall of democracy, corrupt chancellors, ancient wars, political puppeteering, and how “the droid’s entire existence is a commentary on class and function and the dehumanization of service labor, actually.”
you blinked. “you’re foaming at the mouth.”
she ignored you. stood up to reenact a battle with two throw pillows, one tucked under each arm like laser cannons. she did sound effects. made whooshing noises with her mouth. tried to mime lightsaber choreography in the three feet of space between the couch and the coffee table.
you didn’t understand half of it — something about order 66 and a galactic senate and a “chosen one” with abandonment issues — but god, she looked so animated. her eyes were lit up. her cheeks were pink from talking so fast. she quoted entire scenes from memory and kept pausing to say stuff like “okay wait, wait, this part’s important,” even though you hadn’t asked.
she was standing now, pacing in socks, getting genuinely heated about fictional war crimes.
you didn’t care about the politics. didn’t care about the backstory. didn’t care about the fact that she just used the phrase “pre-imperial core worlds” without blinking.
you cared that she looked happy. you cared that she kept glancing at you to make sure you were still listening.
you cared that her voice cracked a little when she talked about the fall of the jedi, and how the main guy lost everything, and how no one ever really taught him how to grieve.
“he never stood a chance,” she said quietly, hands slowing, voice dipping low. “he was just… a kid. and everyone expected him to save the galaxy. and then hated him when he couldn’t.”
you blinked. “dang.”
“yeah.”
a beat of silence. then:
“but also,” she added quickly, “he sucks.”
you snorted. “very nuanced take.”
she shrugged. flopped back down onto the couch like she’d just finished a press tour. “i contain multiple opinions.”
you curled into her side. “you contain too much lore.”
“you’re just mad because you can’t keep up.”
you grinned. pressed your nose to her neck. “maybe i like it when you get all nerdy and wild-eyed.”
she scoffed. tried to hide the way her face turned bright red.
“shut up,” she muttered.
but her hand was already resting on your thigh.
and the popcorn was long forgotten.
you interrupted again during the desert part.
“okay but why’s the main guy dressed like he’s in a cult?”
ellie groaned. not dramatically — genuinely pained. like the sound you make when you stub your toe and don’t want to cry about it.
“he’s a moisture farmer,” she hissed, like that answered anything at all.
you blinked. “he farms… moisture?”
“yes.”
you stared at the screen. wide shot of endless sand and, like, two beige buildings and some weird pipe things sticking out of the ground.
“…how?”
she paused. like she was about to drop a knowledge bomb on you.
but then her mouth opened. and nothing came out.
“i don’t actually know,” she admitted. “shut up.”
you smiled. snuck a piece of popcorn from her lap.
he did look like he was in a cult, though. white robes. tragic little haircut. weird wide-eyed vibe, like someone who’d try to convert you at a farmer’s market.
then came the bar scene.
absolute chaos. weird aliens everywhere. some looked like squids. one had a hammerhead. one looked like a fish in a leather jacket. the music sounded like drunk jazz from a parallel dimension.
“is this like…” you leaned in, whispering against her jaw, “space hooters?”
ellie didn’t even pause it this time. just exhaled through her nose and shook her head, already regretting all her life choices.
“you’re ruining this for me,” she mumbled.
“you love it.”
she didn’t answer, but you felt her arm slide tighter around your waist.
someone got their arm chopped off. the camera didn’t even flinch.
“damn,” you muttered. “no bouncers in this place?”
ellie half-covered her face with the blanket. “please,” she whispered, “just let me live.”
you settled in closer. tucked your legs over hers and rested your head against her chest, right where her heartbeat was steady and loud and warm. every time something exploded — which was often — you felt the rumble in her ribs. felt her breathing shift, get tight with anticipation. her fingers curled into the hem of your shirt when the action kicked up.
you could’ve slept. but she kept whispering things — trivia, lines before they happened, facts about ships and pilots and old legends — like she couldn’t help it.
somewhere between the rebel plans and the glowing sword guy sacrificing himself in that cold metal hallway, you glanced up at her.
her face was totally soft.
eyes wide, lips parted a little, blinking way less than usual. she looked so there. so present. like this part still broke her every time, no matter how many times she’d seen it.
the flicker of the screen lit her face in pale blue. her lashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks. she smelled like pine cologne and a little bit like popcorn butter and a little bit like herself — something warm and familiar you couldn’t name.
“you’ve seen this movie, like, ten times,” you whispered. “why do you still get emotional?”
ellie blinked slowly. like she had to pull herself back to earth.
“because he chose to sacrifice himself,” she said, voice quieter now. “because he knew the mission mattered more than revenge. because he loved them enough to die for them.”
you stared at her.
she caught you looking.
“what?”
you shrugged, nose brushing her collarbone. “you’re just… really hot when you talk about space ethics.”
she rolled her eyes. “shut up,” she mumbled, but her ears turned red, and she didn’t stop smiling.
you kissed her collarbone. she didn’t say anything about that, either.
by the time the final battle rolled around — loud, dramatic, fast — ellie was clinging to you like she hadn’t already seen this scene fifty times. like she didn’t know every beat. every explosion. every line.
you pretended to care. but really, you were just watching her watch it.
her jaw clenched when the hero missed the first shot. her fingers curled around yours when the villain’s ship entered the scene. her breath caught when the friend died. and when the final moment hit — lasers fired, chaos everywhere, tension snapping like a string — she didn’t even blink.
you whispered something dumb. a joke about tractor beams or wormholes or why every spaceship had a British guy in charge.
she elbowed you. but she was smiling. and she didn’t ask you to stop.
the credits rolled.
big swelling music. names you didn’t know.
the rebellion won.
ellie let out a breath. leaned back against the couch like her whole body was soft now, like the tension had finally leaked out.
she looked over at you. hopeful. a little sheepish.
“so?” she asked.
you stretched your arms over your head, cracked your neck. “eh.”
“eh?!”
you grinned. “i mean, it was fine. i liked the scuba guy.”
“he’s not a—” she stopped herself. narrowed her eyes. “you’re messing with me again.”
you kissed her cheek. “i am.”
she huffed and shoved you off her lap.
you landed half on the floor, laughing into the carpet.
but then she reached for you again. pulled you back in. tucked her face into your neck like she hadn’t just shoved you with full dramatic flair.
“thanks for watching it with me,” she said, quieter now.
“thanks for pausing it every five seconds to yell about space communism.”
“you love it.”
“i love you.”
her smile cracked wide. all teeth and dimples.
“gross,” she whispered.
but her hand curled into your hoodie and didn’t let go.
you ended the night wrapped up in her arms, your legs tangled under the blanket, a bowl of popcorn crumbs somewhere under your knee.
the screen went dark.
but the TV still glowed soft and blue.
the galaxy was saved.
and your girl was warm beside you.
