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kirammanss · 3 days ago

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warning: reblogging this post summons her at 3am.

18+ ⋮ desperately need a feralwife!ellie who:

౨ৎ records you riding her without asking, saves it in a folder on her desktop named taxes and watches it every time she’s left alone with nothing but her hand to keep her pussy company, the filthy video reflecting on her too-big, nerdy glasses.

౨ৎ pulls you into her lap during dinner just so she can innocently grind her thigh up into you and call you dramatic when a soft mhph slips out.

౨ৎ asks if you’re ovulating just to get on her knees and say she can “smell it,” and she can—this fuckin’ horndog swears she can taste it in your sweat, savour it in the air, and see it in the sway of your hips.

౨ৎ moans your name into your pillow when she humps it on days you’re too tired to fuck—cause she’d never dare push you into anything you don’t feel like doing. she’ll even give you a five-star massage and put you to sleep. either way, she always leaves a sticky patch on your side of the bed like a dog in heat marking territory.

౨ৎ gets a rush from public stuff. like letting her fingers brush the inside of your thigh under the dinner table at family events, then gaslighting you right after. “what a snowflake, i wasn’t even doin’ anything.”

౨ৎ manifests sex by walking around the house with a white, see-through tank top and Calvin Klein boxers. ngghhh.

౨ৎ masturbates to your voice notes when you’re at work—casual, boring updates about what you’ve eaten or done—and she’s fingering herself to your laugh like it’s the best porn she’s ever witnessed. obsessed much? nah. she calls it devotion. same goes for the sound of your voice during arguments, she replays voice memos where you’re yelling at her and imagining you doing it naked. she needs you mean. it’s a necessity, not a want.

౨ৎ presses her strap into your ass while folding laundry together, completely deadpan, like she’s not wearing that thing just to get you dripping. “oops. my bad.”

౨ৎ fucks you in front of the huge mirror hanging in your bedroom so she can see your face falling apart in real time, pulling your hair while hissing, “look at you, look at what i do to you,” and she pounds you like she’s trying to milk your womb and get you pregnant. she cruelly slows down when you’re about to cum, “i know, i know baby—it’s too much, but you’re takin’ it so good,” and won’t stop until your legs shake. keeps going even when you sob, pressing apologetic kisses to your neck and the blade of your shoulder. “one more, i know you’ve got one more in you, for me, c’mon.”

౨ৎ moans your name while she comes in her boxers from dry humping your soaked pussy, shaking like an electrocuted virgin, “fuckfuckfuck baby, i’m gonna cum.” #bringdryhumpingback

౨ৎ gets emotionally and spiritually hard off watching you sleep. not in a romantic way either. she just stares at your parted lips, your shirt riding up, and whispers filthy things under her breath like a creep. and when you do catch her, she doesn’t even look ashamed.

౨ৎ slips her thigh between yours while you’re sleeping, just to keep you open. not even trying anything… unless you move in your sleep.

౨ৎ plays with the hem of your panties when you’re knocked out, fingertips ghosting the lacy edges. sometimes even tucks her hand under your waistband and falls asleep like that.

౨ৎ sleeptalks filth, whimpering your name. “just a taste, babe, please…” then wakes up with her boxers wet and pretends not to remember what the dream was about... even after orgasming three times in her sleep.

౨ৎ grinds in her sleep, needy little humps against the fat of your ass with her arm locked around your waist.

౨ৎ asks if she can nap between your legs, then accidentally falls asleep face-first against your pussy, arms slung around your thighs like you’re some kind of personal mattress.

౨ৎ cries if you don’t let her eat you out when you’re on your period, tells you she’s just spiritually cleansing you from the inside out and that “real love is messy.”

౨ৎ watches old videos of you gagging around her strap when you’re not home, whispering “that’s my fuckin’ wife” while she jerks herself to tears. in her defence, she’s a proud wife.

౨ৎ offers to shave your pussy for you but keeps “accidentally” bumping her knuckles against your clit between passes. “oops,” she drawls, fingers already prying your lips open.

౨ৎ tucks her strap into her boxers before bed, praying you’ll climb on and use her while she’s still asleep.

౨ৎ gets lowkey jealous of your vibrator, calls it names under her breath, and once threw it across the room because it made you come faster than she did (she set a timer). later apologized. to you, not the vibrator.

౨ৎ refuses to wash her face after you sit on it.

౨ৎ makes you sign odd contracts before sex as a joke, but they’re full of “i allow ellie to smell my armpits as much as she wants” and “ellie owns my socks now.”

౨ৎ remembers what you wore on your first date, and gets genuinely mad if you ever try to throw it away.

౨ৎ has an entire notes app filled with your old texts. every compliment you’ve ever given her, she’s written down and reads them back when her brain starts lying again. she even keeps little stolen moments trapped in polaroids of you, tucked in corners of the house.

౨ৎ makes sims of the two of you, builds fake lives, and gets jealous if sim-you flirts with npcs.

౨ৎ gets genuinely upset when you don’t tag her in italian brainrot reels or spam her with random tiktoks. “so you got a side chick, huh?”

౨ৎ says “i would’ve loved you in every lifetime,” with such passion it feels like a threat. “if your soul was reincarnated into a cockroach, i’d still marry you.”

౨ৎ shuts down for ten full minutes when you say someone else is funny, then tries to make you laugh harder just to “win” you back. when it doesn’t work, she sits there questioning everything she’s ever said to you.

౨ৎ claims she wants to be buried next to you when the day comes, and already has a google doc planning it. she showed it to you once at 2am and cried when you laughed.

౨ৎ keeps the tag from the first hoodie you ever bought her, tucked in her wallet like a family heirloom.

౨ৎ snoops through your childhood photo albums not to judge you, but to fall deeper in love with the little version of you she never got to meet :(

౨ৎ refuses to delete your old voicemails, even if they’re just about picking up milk. she has them backed up on a usb, just in case.

౨ৎ stalks your spotify activity. you listen to one breakup song and she’s immediately texting, “you okay?” all concerned like she didn’t just have a mini mental breakdown five minutes before sending that.

౨ৎ laminated screenshots of your first convo and hid them in her guitar case. when you laughed, she deadass called you toxic and didn’t speak to you until you apologized.

౨ৎ has a secret scrapbook of you, but is too shy to show you because it’s full of stolen receipts, screenshots, and the wrapper from the first snack you shared.

౨ৎ gets real quiet real fast every time you say “i need space.” (even if you just mean the couch.) her poor brain goes straight to divorce → abandonment → enemy arc unlocked.

౨ৎ asks every six months if you’d still love her if she lost all her limbs, and takes your answer very seriously.

౨ৎ tugs on your necklace while you’re talking, dragging you closer mid-sentence just to kiss you quiet, “you talk too pretty to ignore.”

౨ৎ cups your tits from under your shirt while you’re watching tv, just to keep her palms full and use them as stress balls.

౨ৎ gets pouty if you roll away from her mid-sleep, grumbling “rude” under her breath and spoons you aggressively out of spite.

౨ৎ pretends to be asleep just to see if you’ll touch her, and if you do brush her hair or stroke her side, she’s smiling into the pillow like a pathetic loser.

౨ৎ starts overthinking the moment you seem distant, even if it’s just work stress. she spirals in silence, convinced she’s done something wrong, and won’t say anything until you pry it out of her. “you’re not bored of me, right?”

౨ৎ compares herself to every girl you follow, scrolling through their pages late at night with a pit in her stomach, wondering if they’re more your type than she is. spoiler: they’re not.

౨ৎ pulls away when she’s insecure, even though she craves your touch more than anything. she goes cold, starts sleeping on the edge of the bed until you notice (you always notice). she doesn’t ask for reassurance right away, but instead she drops weird hints “you don’t have to stay with me, you know,” or “if you ever wanted someone else, i’d get it.”

౨ৎ packs your lunch with dumb sticky notes saying “eat this or i’ll cry.”

౨ৎ used to call you her wife even before she proposed, and even now, years later, she still asks if you wanna grow old together, adding a little scared “if that’s okay” at the end that breaks your heart all over again.

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kirammanss · 3 days ago

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Hey, if you're up for it, could you write like a twisted fairytale inspired fic for ellie pls. Like flynn rider ellie would EAT. Huntsman! Ellie and snow white reader would EAT. Btw im in love with your writing MWAH

if this is a fairytale, let it be the wrong kind ࿐

❀ word count: 2.5k �� ݁ ˖

❀ content warnings: fairytale-like au, huntsman!ellie x princess!reader, fluff, soft romance, gentle tension, yearning, pining, implied class difference, longing, mutual awe and aching, AFAB reader, likes, reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

the morning begins with lace.

fine as gossamer, soft at the wrists—your favorite dress, dove-white, threaded with blue silk that catches the light when you move, pearl buttons climbing up the slope of your spine. it was sewn for parlors and politeness, for tea at noon and embroidery at dusk. for sitting straight and talking softly.

not for this. not for grass-stained hems and the hush of the early afternoon pressing cool against your skin.

but something inside you aches today, not a sharp one. not the kind that demands, or cries. this one is quiet, steady. the ache of rooms that remain always quiet, of footsteps too graceful and always being watched.

so you slip out.

before the cooks stir the hearth, before your sisters rise for lessons, you pad barefoot through the servants’ wing. past the rose trellis, past the fountain with the cracked cherub, past the garden gates no one expects you to cross.

and the woods greet you like an old friend.

they stretch together—green, unspoken, older than your lineage, older than the palace. the trees rise like cathedral columns, their limbs tangling high above your head in whispered praise. sunlight breaks through in speckled ribbons, and somewhere, water hums over stone.

the forest remembers what the castle forgets. and you, the youngest daughter of a crown too heavy, come here to be forgotten.

you step lightly, in silence, alone. or so you believe.

because from the thicket — unseen, quiet, breath held tight behind a branch — a pair of green eyes watch you.

ellie doesn’t believe in fairytales.

she believes in the weight of blood in snow, of meat over her shoulder, of a clean shot held steady in her lungs.

she’s been tracking this buck since sunrise — wide rack, steady gait, a good kill. one bullet could feed the village for days. it’s not the first time she’s watched through her scope and lined up the end of something.

but then a girl steps into her view.

barefoot, graceful, glowing — dressed in something white and weightless, fabric soft enough to catch the light like water. your hem brushes the ferns, but you move as if gravity forgot you. as if the world, with all its mess and weight, doesn’t dare cling to you the way it does to everyone else.

ellie’s breath catches.

she’s seen a thousand things in these woods. blood, bones, beauty in pieces.

but never anything quite like you, never anyone that beautiful. never anyone that makes her wonder if their feet even touch the ground.

the buck lifts his head, but doesn’t run.

you move towards him slowly, hands open, soft whispers spilling from your lips in a language not meant for soldiers or servants. soft and strange, tender in a way ellie has never heard before. a language meant for gentler things.

and then your hand — careful, dainty — grazes the velvet of his antlers, and he stays.

ellie’s finger slips from the trigger.

something unfurls in her chest. not a snap, not a shatter, but a slow pull. like the first thread coming loose from a tightly sewn seam, sharp and unfamiliar, pressing against the inside of her throat.

you smile.

and her heart does something it’s never done before.

it aches.

just slightly, just once, but it’s enough to make her gasp.

and in the still air of the forest, you hear it.

“hello?”

you lift your head, and your voice carries like wind through leaves— light, curious. it sounds like music, it’s sweet like honey on spring.

ellie freezes. still crouched behind the brush, rifle lowered, heart pounding loud enough to startle birds from trees.

she then steps accidentally on a branch, wincing at the snap and cursing under her breath. your head turns sharply towards the sound.

“who’s there?” you call, still gentle, but now laced with the kind of fear that doesn’t come from fairytales.

then a girl steps out from the brush slowly, rifle slung over her shoulder, both hands raised in harmless surrender.

“s-sorry,” she says, voice low. “didn’t mean to scare you.”

you blink, and so does she.

you have never seen anyone quite like her.

sun-warmed, broad at the shoulders, sleeves rolled to her elbows, arms smudged with dirt. her right forearm is speckled with ink, markings that curl and bloom down to her wrist, somewhere between maps and magic. her auburn hair is tied back in a loose, messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. freckles dot her cheeks and nose, scattered like constellations. her eyes — green, striking — meet yours without hesitation.

and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

you hadn’t expected a girl, and definitely not a girl like this. not one this handsome, this rough-edged, this beautiful. not one dressed in worn canvas and leather, boots scuffed, looking more myth than maiden.

she startles you. not because she’s threatening — but because she doesn’t look like any girl you’ve ever seen around the castle.

and she’s looking at you like she’s not sure you’re real, either.

“i didn’t mean to interrupt,” you finally mumble softly, your cheeks warming.

“you didn’t,” she replies, voice gentle. “he let you get close.”

you glance toward the buck, already slipping away into the trees, unbothered.

“i just…love animals,” you admit.

ellie’s mouth quirks at the corner.

“that’s why you came all the way out here in a dress worth more than everything i own?”

you laugh, bright and unfiltered. “you think this is my finest dress?”

she lifts a brow, teasing. “well, it ain’t exactly hunting gear.”

you smile, faint and fragile, and then you hesitate.

“…are you a hunter?”

she nods, eyes not leaving your face. “yeah,” she says. “had him in my sights.”

“the buck?”

“mhm.” she shifts, and there’s something sheepish in the way her voice dips. “but then you stepped out from the trees and… yeah. ruined the whole thing.”

your mouth drops open, scandalized. “i did not!”

“you did,” she says, grinning. “completely.”

you cover your mouth with your hand, laughter caught somewhere between apology and delight. “oh—i’m so sorry—”

“don’t be,” she interrupts gently, shoulders lowering. “i’m not mad. just… surprised.”

you tilt your head. “surprised?”

“that you chased off the deer,” she says, then flicks her eyes over your dress again, that faint smile tugging at her lips, “and that someone who looks like you would wander into these woods alone.”

your cheeks blaze, and you can’t stop it. it’s the way she looks at you — sharp and soft all at once, like she can see straight down to the bone — that makes your heart trip and race, beating harder, louder, like it’s trying to escape. like it’s waking up to a feeling it’s never felt before.

“well,” you say, quiet and a little breathless, “sometimes princesses get tired of being watched.”

and just like that, the air changes.

ellie freezes.

princess.

the word lands heavy between you. and now, of course, it all makes sense.

your voice, your posture, the embroidery on your cuffs. the single gold ring on your right hand, with the family crest etched into the band as a promise you didn’t ask to wear.

ellie lowers her eyes and bows her head slightly.

“your highness.”

you wrinkle your nose. “oh, don’t do that.”

she lifts a brow. “do what?”

“that! the bowing, the title,” you say, waving a hand between you. “it ruins it.”

“ruins what?”

“this moment.” your voice is quieter now. “i’d like to pretend, just for five minutes, that i’m not who i’m supposed to be.”

she studies you, green eyes tracing the lines of your face like she’s reading a book she never imagined she’d be allowed to hold.

“then who are you?”

you inhale slowly. the warm breeze stirs your hair, tugs soft at your skirts.

“…a girl,” you say, “that talks to a buck.”

a silence settles between you, delicate as spun sugar.

“what’s your name?” she asks, not like she’s demanding it, more like she’s hoping you’ll trust her with it.

you hesitate, but only for a breath.

“it’s—” your voice softens, as if saying it aloud might undo the spell. “y/n.”

ellie’s lips curve around it, soundless, tasting it in her mouth before saying it back.

“y/n,” she repeats. “suits you.”

you tilt your head, curious. “and you?”

“ellie,” she says. “just ellie.”

“...ellie” you smile. “suits you, too.”

she grins, a little sheepish, a little proud. “i’ve never heard it sound that pretty before.”

and for a moment, the forest breathes around you — slow, golden, endless — and your names hang between you like a promise.

her eyes crinkle.

“you always talk to animals?”

you blink. “yes. why?”

ellie shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “just seems... personal. like they know things you don’t tell anyone else.”

“they do,” you say, half-teasing, half-serious. “they’re the best secret-keepers.”

she laughs, low, surprised. “guess i missed out, growin’ up with chickens and hogs instead of deers and doves.”

you grin. “and what would you tell them?”

“hm?”

“if you had your own creatures, what would you tell them?”

ellie goes quiet for a moment. then, “maybe that i wanna leave sometimes. just pack up and keep walking past the river and the mountains.”

you blink. “why haven’t you?”

she flicks a pine needle off her sleeve. “because someone’s gotta stay”

“so you stay for others?”

“not exactly” she looks at you again — really looks. “do you?”

you don’t answer right away. instead, you smooth your skirt, glance at your bare feet in the moss.

“…i do,” you admit. “but sometimes i wonder what it would be like to wake up with no one expecting anything from me.”

“i wonder the same,” she says. softer now. “except the other way ‘round.”

you lift your eyes.

“what do you mean?”

ellie picks at the edge of a callus on her thumb.

“i think i’d like someone waiting. just one person, expecting me to come back.”

the hush that follows feels almost holy.

a breeze rustles the ferns. the leaves above you catch the light, spill it down in golden strings. petals tumble lazily from a nearby branch, spiraling to the ground like blessings.

there’s nothing clever left in either of your mouths. just awe, just quiet.

ellie shifts. clears her throat. “you wanna sit?”

you nod.

right there, in the grass, knee to knee, sunlight balmy on your shoulders, you watch her pull her legs up and rest her arms on her knees. her eyes keep soft but her voice is a little steadier now.

you talk.

about animals, books, your childhoods. she tells you about the time she tried to tame a raccoon, and got bit on the ankle for her troubles. you tell her about the time you dropped your crown into the fishpond during a royal procession and jumped in after it, dress and all.

“and you just jumped in?” she repeats, laughing.

“i was six,” you say. “i thought it was enchanted.”

“was it?”

“no. i smelled like fish for a week.”

you both dissolve into laughter.

and god—it feels so real.

there’s a rhythm to her voice, a music to it. her drawl catches the ends of her words like soft twine. you catch yourself watching her lips more than once.

and ellie’s watching you, too. every time you laugh, every time you push a strand of hair behind your ear, every time you glance up at the sky, nervous you’ve stayed too long.

which you have, because the sun is starting to set, pouring warm aureate through the trees. and because the ache in your chest is only growing.

you glance at the treeline, reluctantly. “i should go.”

ellie’s jaw ticks. “me too.”

you both stand. brush the grass from your skirt, shake the dirt from your sleeves. she rises beside you, and just like that, you remember how her shoulders slope like a drawing come to life. how the light kisses her freckles, how her eyes are the color of moss and storms and something you’ve aren’t sure if you will ever be brave enough to name.

you fidget. she watches you.

“…about the buck,” you begin, suddenly timid. “i really didn’t mean to ruin your hunt—”

“don’t worry about it,” she says quickly, voice low and fond. “i think he earned the day off.”

you smile.

then you step closer, just a little. not quite valorous enough to touch each other, but close enough to feel the heat of your bodies.

“will you be here tomorrow?”

she shrugs, but there’s a flicker in her voice.

“maybe.”

“maybe?”

“depends if another girl comes wandering into the woods and ruins my shot.”

you narrow your eyes. “you’re blaming me again.”

“not blaming,” she says. “just… hoping.”

and you laugh, soft and quiet, but so bright it finds its way between her ribs, making her chest ache as a pulled bowstring.

“i hope you’re here,” you murmur. “i mean it.”

ellie swallows.

“i hope the same.”

you don’t say goodbye. you don’t have to.

there’s something about the way you look at each other before parting — something quiet and knowing — that makes words unnecessary. your fingers never touch, but they flex in tandem. your paths diverge, but your steps feel tangled.

you walk barefoot back up through the woods, your hem damp with dew and heart too full to carry properly. the world feels different now. lighter, overall, but heavier in places you’ve never noticed before.

behind you, ellie stays in the clearing long after your glowing figure disappears behind the trees. her hand lingers on the bark of the tree where you sat, her thumb pressed into the groove where your skirt rustled the moss.

and something in her, restless and tender, doesn’t follow her home.

it follows you.

that night, in your canopied bed with silk sheets and moonlight spilling over the pillows, you bury your face in your hands and whisper her name into the stillness. once, then again, just to see if it feels real.

ellie.

it does.

more real than anything else has in your life.

your maid knocks once, gently, to ask if you’re feeling well. you don’t answer. you just smile to yourself, and say nothing.

miles away, in a low cabin tucked between two hills and swallowed in pine, ellie lies flat on her back, boots still on, one arm thrown over her eyes. the fire is down to embers, the windowless walls creak with wind.

she should be asleep, should be out cold after the miles she walked and the meal she skipped.

but her whole body is humming. her lips tilt into a foolish, beautiful smile, and her chest aches. warm, sharp, like it’s learned a new language.

she keeps thinking about the way you laughed — high and sweet and sudden, as if you hadn’t done it in a long time. she keeps replaying the moment your eyes glinted, the way your lips parted, the blush that bloomed slow and shy across your cheeks when you saw her for the first time.

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you were never meant to meet.

she’s a hunter. you’re a princess.

she smells like smoke and sleeps in wool. you smell like flowers and dreams and wear pearls on your wrists.

you belong to opposite worlds.

but even still — lying there in the dark, fingers curled into the edge of her blanket, teeth worrying her lip — ellie can’t help but think:

if this is a fairytale, then let it be the wrong kind.

because god, what a feeling.

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW LETS ALL JUST AWWWWWWW IN TANDEM BECAUSE AWWWW HEART IS MELTINNNGGG!! first time writing something like this HEHEHE wanted to try out fluff and romance and i kinda really liked the result!!! hope yall did too <3333 thank you nonnie for the request love youuuu

perm taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <3): @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andiemiaswife @mayfldss @sewithinsouls @coastalwilliams @hotpinkskitties @ssijht @pleasejoel @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @beeisscaredofbees @d1catwhisperer @the-sick-habit @elliescoquettegirl @elliewilliams-wife @yueluv3rrrr @your-eternal-muse @ellies-real-wife @katherinesmirnova @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @thxtmarvelchick @natscloset @lesbiansreverywhere @2against3 @wwefan2002 @ilahrawr @harmonib @piastorys @azteriarizz @starincarnated @natssgf @ukissmyfaceinacrowdedroom @iadorefineshyt @claudiajacobs @urmomssideh0e @kingofeyeliner @womenlover0 @ferxanda @imunpunishable @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @elliewilliamskisser2000 @azxteria @elliecoochieeater

images from pinterest - edited by me

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kirammanss · 3 days ago

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Woman Inherits the Earth

Ellie Williams x fem!Reader, 6.6k

Summary: You came to Jurassic World for industry connections, a killer CV, and maybe a LinkedIn flex. You didn’t expect to fall for the raptor girl.

Warnings: dinosaurs (scary (not really)) and fluff

this came to me in a fucking vision. i love jurassic park so much and i love a nerdy dinosaur girl even more. HAPPY FUCKING PRIDE MONTH.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

You’d never seen trees this green.

Even from the window of the ferry, long before the first monorail glided into view, Isla Nublar looked like it had been pulled from a storybook. Unreal and mythical, lush in a way that didn’t seem modern. Like you’d time-travelled, or stepped into a planet no one had touched yet.

But of course, they had touched it. Touched, branded, monetised.

The first thing you saw when you stepped off the dock was a smile. Big, toothy, perfect. The kind that came with corporate training and a contract. The greeter handed you a cold drink and a pamphlet with a map of the island, the Jurassic World logo shimmered in glossy blue foil.

“Welcome to paradise,” they chirped.

You smiled back, polite, but your fingers clenched just a little too tight around the strap of your bag.

This wasn’t what you’d imagined when you applied for the communications internship. You thought you’d be documenting field conservation work. Real science. Camera in one hand, clipboard in the other, boots deep in the mud beside palaeobotanists and wildlife biologists.

Instead, it came with air conditioning, swipe access, and a smoothie bar. Your badge still felt surreal in your hand, no matter how many times you’d read the word COMMUNICATIONS next to your name.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and headed toward the staff gate, trying not to feel like an imposter. A monorail train whirred overhead, casting a brief shadow across the sun-bleached pavement. In the distance, a long-necked sauropod lifted its head above the treetops, and a group of tourists shrieked in delight.

It felt like a zoo.

“You lost?” came a voice from behind you, dry and amused. You turned. She stood with one hip cocked and a clipboard tucked under her arm, chewing the end of a pen which was leaving ink on her lip. Her uniform shirt was rumpled, sleeves rolled up, collar open like it’d been yanked loose. Her name badge was clipped to a carabiner on her belt, hanging with a mix of keys and decorative chains.

ELLIE WILLIAMS RAPTORS

A velociraptor had been doodled beside her name, the first you’d ever seen with sunglasses on. You glanced up at her, blinking once. “Uh, yeah,” you admitted. “Trying to find Admin.”

“Figures.” She jerked her chin toward the path curving behind the guest welcome pavilion. “You’re going the wrong way. That’s the tourist route and you want the staff tram.”

You followed her gesture. “Thanks.”

Ellie took a few steps down the path, then paused and turned to look over her shoulder. “You coming or what?”

You scrambled to follow her, jogging a few steps to catch up.

It was quieter here, just beyond the sound radius of the tour groups and audio guides. Jungle air hung thick and damp, fragrant with wildflowers. You could hear insects buzzing, cicadas thrumming like a heartbeat.

“Comms intern?” she asked eventually, as you both ducked under a low branch.

“Yeah, PR.”

Ellie snorted. “That’s cute.”

You looked at her, frowning. “You think that’s funny?”

“I think cloning ancient apex predators to entertain tourists and using PR to make it seem ethical is kind of hilarious.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So why do you work here?”

She stopped walking to turn to face you.

“Because they’re not monsters,” she said simply. “And someone needs to be here who sees them that way.”

Her voice changed when she said it. You saw the passion then—not just behind her eyes, but in the way she spoke. Devout, almost. She didn’t talk about dinosaurs like exhibits, she talked about them like people talked about art, or music, or something ancient and breathtaking and alive. She started walking again, but slower this time, allowing you to catch up.

“I’ve been obsessed with them since I was eight,” she said, almost absently. “Used to sleep with an encyclopaedia under my pillow. Drew feathers on every T Rex I saw in books and got in trouble in school for correcting my science teacher.”

You laughed. “Sounds familiar. I had an entire binder dedicated to Stegosaurus migration.”

Ellie looked at you sidelong. “You know they’re not actually that dumb, right? Their brain-to-body ratio is small, yeah, but that doesn’t mean they were stupid.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.”

Her smile—just for a second—was radiant.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

The staff dorms were nestled behind a canopy of flowering trees, shaded and still. Just far enough from the bustle of the park to feel like their own little ecosystem. Your room was on the top floor of Dorm C, down a quiet corridor that smelled like lemon cleaner and warm pine. No roommates, just you and the view—a forest stretching endlessly beyond your window. Ellie had walked you there herself your first afternoon, pointing out the vending machine that never worked and the communal washer that always overflowed. She stood in the doorway while you unlocked the door, arms crossed, a little smirk on her face when you looked around and said, “Not bad.”

She’d only said, “You’ll get sick of the crickets,” and then wandered off.

That next morning, you reported to the marketing branch’s main office. The main conference room was glass-walled and aggressively minimalist. Every surface gleamed and succulents lined the windowsill in matching white marble pots.

Inside, women in sleek neutrals sat around a long matte-black table, each one with a tablet or stylus in hand. No one looked particularly stressed. They didn’t speak much, just tapped and swiped in perfect silence, like synchronised swimmers in Lululemon. Their hair was glossy, their nails minimalist. Someone sipped a matcha from a branded Jurassic World cup that probably cost more than your entire lunch budget for the week.

You lingered just outside the doorway, unsure if knocking was too formal or if speaking would ruin the mood. You opted for clearing your throat lightly.

“Hi,” you offered. “Marketing intern. Here for assignment placement?”

A woman near the head of the table looked up. She wore a navy linen suit that probably had a brand name you hadn’t heard of and her gold-rimmed glasses caught the overhead light. Her name badge said AUBREY in minimalist font, with the word STRATEGY underneath it. No drawings like Ellie’s.

“Oh, right,” she said, her voice creamy like the oat milk in her latte. “You’re the PR girl?”

You nodded, already regretting whatever energy you were bringing into this room. You felt too loud.

“Well,” Aubrey said, turning her tablet with a soft tap of manicured nails, “good news and bad news.”

You resisted the urge to sigh. Of course there was bad news. There was always bad news.

“The bad news is: you’re not in this building often.”

Of course not. You didn’t fit in here anyway. These women looked like they did Pilates before and after work. Like they carried moon water in their tote bags and gave each other skincare advice. You doubted any of them had ever gotten dirt under their nails, much less had a real conversation with a field biologist.

Aubrey gave a pleasant, symmetrical smile. “The good news is: you’ve been assigned to our highest-profile initiative.” A few swipes, and your personnel card floated across the screen like she manifested it. Your photo was awkward.

“We’re launching a new engagement campaign—Humans of Jurassic World. Emotional branding with candid moments with our top experts.”

You tried to picture the slide deck that had birthed that phrase. Probably beige, with animated transitions from Canva. You imagined the words relatability and authenticity in bold, overlaid on a stock photo of a tranquil-looking intern smiling at a stegosaurus.

“We want content that connects,” Aubrey continued. “Emotion-forward, but not messy.”

God forbid it ever be messy.

She tapped your card into a new category. “You’ll be shadowing Ellie Williams.”

Your mouth opened before you could catch it. “The… raptor girl?”

Aubrey blinked, her expression unchanged but visibly cooling by half a degree. “She prefers animal behaviourist,” she said. “And I’d watch your tone.”

You nodded, swallowing the embarrassment. Noted. No jokes. No personality, either, apparently. Not here.

“She’s a little...feisty and... temperamental,” Aubrey added, delicately. “But she’s one of our key experts. The higher-ups want her front and centre.”

You couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or a warning.

So, the highest-profile assignment on the island… and they were sending you into a paddock where you might get bitten. And there’ll be raptors there, too.

You gave a polite smile, even as your stomach folded itself neatly in half.

“Great,” you said.

Because what else could you say?

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

That afternoon, Ellie knocked and let herself into your dorm room like it was nothing.

“Hey,” she said, stepping inside without waiting. “I was… in the area.”

You turned from your half-folded laundry on the bed, one eyebrow raised. “This area?”

She leaned in the doorway, grinning like a cat in a sunbeam. “Okay, fine. I came to see if you had a clean towel. Mine’s still soaked from yesterday, and I figured you’re probably the organised type. Please, I need to dry my hair.”

“You could’ve asked literally anyone else on the floor.”

“Yeah,” Ellie said, shrugging. “But I didn’t want to.”

Your stomach fluttered. Weird. Probably nervous that she’d found out you were assigned to her and she’d come to bite your head off about it. Temperamental, remember.

You wordlessly walked to your wardrobe and tossed her one of the folded ones from the top shelf. She caught it with both hands, smiling with her eyes more than her mouth.

“Smells like citrus,” she said, lifting it to her face.

“Laundry sheet. Sorry if it’s too floral for your whole field-biology aesthetic.”

Ellie chuckled and stepped further inside, this time with purpose. “Please, I’ve smelled worse.”

You laughed and turned back to your laundry, only half paying attention as you folded a clean shirt, but you were acutely aware of the sound of boots thudding to the floor, of fabric rustling behind you. When you finally looked again, Ellie had stripped off her overshirt, now dressed in just a black tank that clung to the water she was unable to dry off. You noticed a patch of silvery scar tissue near her shoulder blade, like something long and narrow had raked across her.

You caught yourself looking too long and turned quickly back to your duffel bag.

Ellie noticed. Of course she did.

“They’re not from the raptors,” she said casually. “One’s from a thorn bush. The other one’s from a juvenile ankylosaur who didn’t like being sedated.”

You turned back, smiling faintly. “Is that better or worse?”

“Depends on your insurance.”

Her right forearm bore a black fern, curling in a slow spiral up her skin. A small moth nestled in the roots, wings outstretched like it had just landed to rest there. The lines were fresh, almost glossy in the dorm light.

Her other tattoo sat high on her left arm, above the curve of her bicep. It was older, slightly faded, but still striking: a raptor skull, drawn in precise anatomical detail, the kind you’d see in a museum display. Ferns and bones looped around it in a circular crown, delicate and wild at once.

“The moth one’s new.”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah?”

“Got it after I transferred out here. It’s a death’s-head. Some cultures say it’s bad luck.”

“Do you believe that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I like it. That’s enough, right?”

You nodded, then gestured toward her shoulder. “What about that one?”

Ellie looked down at the raptor skull, smiling like it was an inside joke. “I got it when I was sixteen. Had to lie about my age.”

You laughed, but the sound caught in your throat. She was still close—too close, maybe—and the way she stood, so casual and self-assured, made something twist in your chest.

You smiled faintly, folding another shirt. “Hey,” you said after a moment, trying to keep your voice even. “I, uh—found out where I’m placed today.”

Ellie paused, mid-pat of her face with the towel. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed. “Marketing’s doing some new campaign—Humans of Jurassic World or whatever. They’re assigning interns to departments for storytelling and engagement.”

Ellie raised a brow, sceptical. “Sounds fake.”

“It does,” you agreed. “But apparently I’m shadowing someone from the Raptor Program.”

Ellie blinked, then narrowed her eyes a little. “Wait. Me?”

“Yeah. Aubrey said you’re temperamental,” you added, smirking.

Ellie grinned, a little wild. “Temperamental’s just code for doesn’t suffer fools.”

You laughed. “Guess I’m in trouble.”

She studied you for a moment. “Nah. You look like you might surprise me.”

Your fingers brushed a fold in the laundry you weren’t folding anymore. “You could’ve just said you wanted to hang out.”

She tilted her head, voice low. “Would that’ve worked?”

“Maybe,” you said. “Next time, try it and see.”

Ellie stepped back toward the door but didn’t open it right away. She lingered, fingers brushing the frame.

“I like your room,” she said. “It suits you.”

“Is that your way of asking if you can come by again?”

“Not asking,” she said, grinning as she slipped out. “Just warning you.”

And with that, she was gone.

But your room still smelled faintly of sun and citrus and Ellie.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

You woke to the sound of your alarm playing the Jurassic World theme in low-fi synth—a joke you’d set up on your first night, which now felt vaguely threatening at 5:45 a.m.

Through the open window, the jungle was still waking up. The air was thick with dew, soft birdsong trilled between branches, and far off in the distance, something massive made a low groaning sound— Good Morning.

Your hands moved through routine before your brain caught up: quick shower, camera bag over your shoulder, badge clipped, shoes already damp from the dew on the steps as you headed out into the humidity of early morning.

Ellie had said to meet her at the raptor supply shed by 6:30. You arrived at 6:25 and she was already there, sitting cross-legged on top of a crate, sipping coffee from a dented thermos and picking grass off of her cargo pants. Her hair was tied back in a loose knot, her boots unlaced. Her face lit up when she saw you, and your stomach betrayed you with a little flip.

“You’re late,” she teased, hopping down.

You raised a brow. “I’m early.”

“I know,” she said, grinning as she handed you a cup. “But I wanted to say it. I was here at 5:45.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Also, the system flagged a motion trip around four. False alarm. Bird or something.”

You took a sip—strong, a little burnt. “God bless you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Ellie said, hopping off the crate. “You’re on raptor duty today.”

You blinked. “I thought I was just filming?”

“You are,” she said, already walking toward the gate. “You’re filming me and I’m working, so raptor duty.”

The raptor enclosure was larger than it looked on the map. Part jungle, part reinforced paddock, part bunker. The outer gate opened into a winding path lined with reinforced steel and topped with electric fencing.

Ellie moved through it like she was part of it—radio clipped to her belt, keys jangling from a carabiner, hands already gloved as she scanned a tablet for sensor data.

"You’re not gonna see this on the tours,” she said. “These girls don’t perform.”

Three of them, each moving with uncanny precision as they darted between the trees. One lifted her head, her gold eyes scanning the tree line. The other two circled near a feeding station. You felt a pulse of adrenaline as one of them lifted its snout and made direct eye contact.

“They’re watching us,” you whispered.

“They always are,” Ellie said.

The outer gate hissed open with a groan. Another handler pushed a steel cart in—two heavy haunches of meat, marked and logged. The scent hit immediately, the girls went still.

“That’s Jinx,” Ellie said. “Leader.”

“She doesn’t look aggressive.”

“She’s not. She’s calculating.”

You watched Jinx tilt her head, just slightly, then the others followed. Ellie nodded once, like she understood something no one else could hear.

“She knows you,” you said quietly.

Ellie’s mouth curved.

You blinked. “Imprint?”

“She was too old to imprint properly. But yeah. Something like that.”

“Is that… safe?”

Ellie shrugged. “Nothing here’s really safe.”

Then she glanced sideways. “But she’s never come for me. Not once.”

The cart was wheeled back out. The gates hissed closed behind the handler. The girls returned to the trees slowly.

“They’re amazing,” you breathed.

“They’re misunderstood,” Ellie said. “Everyone thinks they’re monsters.”

You turned to her. “Why do you think that is?”

She paused. “Because they’re smart. People don’t like being outsmarted, especially if who they’re being outsmarted by isn’t human.”

There was a long moment of silence between you, broken only by the whir of a distant drone circling above the canopy. Ellie leaned her weight on one hip, glancing down at her arm where her raptor skull tattoo peeked out from under her tank top.

Unfortunately, Ellie’s morning raptor routine was not fit for public consumption.

She barked into radios, swore when a feeding gate jammed, wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her glove. She talked to the raptors and they responded in a way with soft huffs and curious clicks.

You’d filmed interviews before. Sat through seminars, cut and edited dozens of high-gloss campaign reels for campus groups and charity drives. But this wasn’t that. Ellie Williams didn’t have a camera version of herself. There was just Ellie.

That meant she also had no interest in being directed.

“I don’t want to do the influencer crap,” she had said. “No offense.”

“Some offense taken.” You said, crouched beside a control panel, adjusting your camera. “Let’s try something for TikTok. Just, like, say your name and job? Maybe give a fun fact about the raptors?”

Ellie squinted at the lens like it had personally offended her. “Why would I do that?”

You blinked. “Because it’s part of the job?”

She turned toward the paddock instead, shielding her eyes to scan the treeline. “Fun fact: their eye sockets are larger than yours. Next question.”

You huffed. “Ellie.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “What?”

“You’re making this hard.”

Her mouth quirked. “I thought you PR types liked a challenge.”

You pointed the lens at her anyway, just to spite her. “Fine. I’ll work with what I’ve got.”

“If I catch you filming my ass without permission, I will feed you to them.”

Later, when she took a break in the shade of the fence wall, you passed her the water bottle from your bag.

“Don’t say I never give you anything,” you said.

She took it, eyeing you with mock suspicion. “You poison it?”

“Tempting.”

She drank anyway.

You sat beside her, back against the warm concrete. The raptor sounds faded behind you.

“Hey,” you said. “You’re really good with them.”

Ellie looked away, squinting at the sun breaking through the canopy.

“They’re predictable,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“They don’t lie. They don’t fake anything. If they like you, they show you. If they don’t… well. You find out fast.”

You nodded slowly. “Sounds refreshing.”

“People,” Ellie said, almost absently, “aren’t like that.”

You studied her profile—sharp jaw, sunburnt nose.

“No,” you said softly. “They’re not.”

For a moment, she looked at you like she wanted to say something else. Instead, she stood.

“Come on,” she said. “We’re not done.”

The juveniles—the babies, as she called them—were only slightly less terrifying than the adults. Half-sized, sleek, wicked fast. Ellie led you into a smaller enclosure for behavioural training.

“You can film,” she said. “Just don’t run.”

“Why not?”

“They chase.”

You laughed nervously. “Oh.”

One of them, a smoky blue female with a slitted golden eye, approached Ellie and bumped her thigh with its snout like a puppy.

She crouched, whispering something you couldn’t catch. The raptor tilted its head, then chirped. A moment later, it lay down and rolled onto its back, exposing its belly.

You caught the whole thing. Ellie laughing, hand buried in feathers, dirt smeared on her cheek, her whole face lit up.

That night, back in your dorm, you sat at your desk with the lights off, your laptop glowing.

You edited late into the night—cutting through shaky footage, filtering the sun just right, lining the audio to a soft indie track. You saved the file, but you didn’t upload it. Tomorrow, you’d show her first, just in case she wanted to see herself the way you saw her.

Before the rest of the world did.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

The fluorescent light flickered above your desk like it, too, was tired of this job. Half your shift had been spent hunched over your laptop, headphones in, sorting through footage from the Raptor Paddock. You didn’t really mind.

The head of PR wanted more behind-the-scenes enrichment content for the park’s YouTube channel—playful but grounded, edgy but safe, and most of all, viral. Their emails used a lot of adjectives.

Your headset buzzed.

Minor incident, that’s how they phrased it.

“Minor,” in Jurassic World terms, meant no deaths, no lawyers yet.

You sat up straight.

A group of influencers had been taken too close to the Raptor Paddock. Someone thought it would be great content and someone else ignored the guest photography guidelines.

The raptor who lunged wasn’t Jinx. Thank god. It was Roo, the most skittish of the three. The flash went off and she reacted on instinct—leapt toward the fence, jaws wide, a blur of feathers and teeth. Now it was online.

Your screen lit up with hashtags you didn’t want to see. #DinoDanger, #SheAlmostDied. You stopped the autoplay, but the thumbnail was enough— Roo mid-snarl, one girl halfway into a dramatic faint. Her friend laughing, shakily.

You forwarded the footage to the Comms lead. A response came ten seconds later.

Get a statement from a trusted handler. Soften this. Now.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

You found Ellie behind the garage near the paddock gate, sitting on an overturned crate with a can of iced coffee sweating in her hand. She was coated in dust and grease, like she’d crawled straight out of a ventilation shaft. Which, knowing her, wasn’t impossible.

She looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t you have press releases to copy and paste?”

You gestured toward her with your tablet. “Don’t you have raptors to whisper to?”

Ellie grinned, tired and amused. “Touché.”

You sat across from her on a cooler. She didn’t offer the coffee, you didn’t ask.

“I need a quote,” you said.

Her smile vanished. “About what?”

“The influencer thing,” you admitted.

She exhaled through her nose and rubbed the back of her neck. Grease smeared higher across her cheek.

“I told them,” she muttered. “Told them not to bring cameras near Roo. She doesn’t like flashing lights. Makes her nervous.”

You stayed quiet. Not the time to turn on a camera.

“They had a whole goddamn ring light,” Ellie said, voice low. “Pointed straight at her. The guests got scared, so did she. Then security panics and sets off the siren. Good job, everyone.”

Eventually, she stood.

“You want a soundbite?” she asked, brushing her hands off on her cargo pants.

You waited.

She looked down at you.

“Tell them this isn’t a petting zoo,” she said. “These animals aren’t props. They’re thinking, breathing creatures. If you poked a bear in the woods with a selfie stick, whose fault would that be?”

You swallowed. “That’s not exactly... soft.”

Ellie tilted her head. “You want me to lie?”

“No,” you said, softer. “I want you to keep your job.”

That got her. A flicker of something passed through her eyes—surprise maybe. She stepped closer and dropped her voice.

“Okay. Try this: ‘The handlers at Jurassic World prioritise the mental health of every creature in our care. Safety and respect come first—on both sides of the fence.’”

You typed as fast as you could.

Ellie leaned over, tapped your screen with a single finger.

“Then add: ‘Some animals, like Delta, are sensitive to sudden light. We ask all guests to follow our guidelines to protect both themselves and the dinosaurs they came to see.’”

You looked up at her. “That was... actually perfect.”

She smirked. “I can do optics. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

Later, you sat alone on the roof of Dorm C, tablet balanced on your knees, watching the video you shot yesterday before uploading.

In the final cut, you watched a shot of Ellie walking alongside the paddock fence with the sun burning gold behind her.

You clicked publish.

The video went live at 6:49 pm, by 7:03 it was trending and the comments poured in.

Hear me out, She’s so serious I love her, and Mother.

You didn’t tell Ellie, but you saved the top comment anyway.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

Every now and then, the schedule lined up just right. Two staff members off-duty. No emergency drills. No PR fires to put out. A window. A breath.

And Ellie took it.

You didn’t take one of the trams. Ellie drove you out herself—an old off-roader that smelled like engine oil, tires kicking up trails of red dust as she pulled away from the paved park roads and into the island’s interior. The farther you went, the more the sounds of the resort faded—until there was only jungle. It wasn’t on any map they gave guests, no visitor trails or attractions.

“You’re not gonna murder me out here, are you?” you joked, peering through the trees.

Ellie grinned. “Not unless you start talking about CGI inaccuracies again.”

She parked at the edge of a ridge overlooking a narrow river. The canopy opened above you into streaks of blue and gold. A breeze moved through the high branches, the air wet and fresh, bird calls echoed through the valley.

Ellie plopped down in the dirt like she’d been here a hundred times before. “This was all here before the board meetings, before the fences, before the holograms. And it’ll all still be here when the last attraction breaks down.”

You sat beside her. The earth was warm under your palms.

“You ever think about what you’d be doing if you hadn’t come here?”

You nodded. “All the time.”

“And?”

You shrugged. “Maybe still in PR. Just… for a less cursed brand.”

Ellie smirked. “Like cereal.”

You laughed. “Exactly. Something safe. Something where the biggest crisis is oat milk backlash.”

She picked up a stick and started absentmindedly dragging it through the dirt—first a spiral, then something more detailed: the suggestion of a raptor skull, curved and sharp and familiar. She was quiet for a while, drawing.

Then she said, “You know what I wanted to be when I was a kid?”

You shook your head.

“Astronaut.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

Ellie smirked. “Yeah. Had the poster on my wall. Memorised the Apollo missions. Wrote a letter to NASA when I was nine asking if they’d let me bring my best friend.”

You laughed softly. “What’d they say?”

“They didn’t write back.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug, casual on the surface but threaded with something more tender. “I kept dreaming about it anyway. Floating above Earth. Being the first person to touch something that hadn’t been touched.” She paused. “Guess I still got that last part.”

You looked over at her. “What changed?”

Ellie pressed the stick into the soil. “I hit high school, and science was harder. Math was never fun. Biology clicked, and space didn’t.”

There was something in her voice that made your chest ache. Not regret, exactly. Just the trace of a fork in the road, a fig that hadn’t been taken from the tree. The version of her who might have gone up instead of underground.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

The dorms weren’t glamorous.

Faux-wood floors, standard-issue twin bed, metal desk with drawers that stuck, a narrow kitchenette with two mugs that were never clean at the same time, one window that opened exactly three inches. Jurassic World spared no expense for the dinosaurs, but the interns? You learned quickly how to make do.

Somehow, though, the place felt luxurious when Ellie was in it.

She kept leaving things behind: a thermos, a hoodie, the Jurassic World issue of National Geographic with her notes scribbled in the margins. She always ended up back here, always found her way to your side of the compound when shifts ended and the park dimmed for the night.

Lunch wasn’t a planned thing.

It started after a meeting, both of you too tired to go back to work, the cafeteria mostly empty. Ellie dragged her tray to your table without asking, dropped into the seat across from you like she’d been doing it forever. She had her sleeves rolled up and a smudge of something dark under her cheekbone, like she’d leaned against the wall of the paddock and forgot about it.

She looked exhausted.

You slid your extra protein bar across the table without a word. She didn’t say thank you, just peeled it open and ate half in two bites.

“A trainer tried to feed Scylla a banana.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“She said she read somewhere that primates liked them and thought maybe—” Ellie cut herself off, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t keep having these conversations.”

You bit your lip to hide your laugh. “Did Scylla eat it?”

“She spat it out!”

You pushed your tray closer to hers. Shared space, shared air. When she picked at the lettuce on your plate without asking, you didn’t stop her.

That afternoon, back in your dorm, Ellie dozed on your bed with one foot still on the ground. You sat at your desk, typing half-heartedly, sneaking glances every few lines.

Her breathing slowed. Softened.

You turned down the brightness on your screen and let yourself stare. There was something vulnerable about her when she was asleep. Less fire, less focus.

Her arm shifted, and her fingers brushed your pillow like she was reaching in her sleep.

Your heart jumped.

You turned away, flustered. Pretended to read a park protocol memo. Didn’t take in a word of it.

That evening, she cooked.

Not well or efficiently, but she refused any help. You offered, but she waved you off and handed you a drink instead. “This is a one-woman show. Sit and be amazed.”

She stood barefoot, chopping onions with the dullest knife in the drawer and humming something under her breath, maybe Fleetwood Mac or something from her endless playlist of 70s deep cuts, you weren’t sure. She burned the first round of garlic toast. She swore loudly. You laughed so hard your stomach hurt.

Dinner turned out… edible. You both sat cross-legged on the floor, plates in laps, knees bumping.

“This is terrible,” you said around a mouthful.

“Shut up,” she said, grinning. “You’re eating it.”

“Only out of fear.”

She nudged your knee. “Coward.”

You leaned back on your palms, looked at her.

“I like this,” you said.

Her smile faltered slightly, became something smaller. “What?”

“This. You. Here.”

Ellie looked at you for a long moment, unreadable.

Then she reached for your plate and took the last piece of toast.

“Me too,” she said.

Later, when the lights were off and the window cracked open to let in island air, she curled up behind you without asking, one arm slung loosely around your waist. Her breath warmed the back of your neck.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

The week hit like a monsoon, you barely had time to breathe. You fielded incident reports, coordinated guest services, drafted press responses in thirty-second bursts. You worked through lunch. You took dinner at your desk. You fell asleep in a chair two nights in a row.

And through it all, there was Ellie.

Sort of.

You saw her once—midweek. Briefly.

She caught you outside the main building, a clipboard tucked under one arm, sunglasses perched on her head. She looked flushed and windblown, like she’d just come from the raptor paddock. Her shirt stuck to her back. Her hands were dusty.

“Hey,” she said, jogging to catch up. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You were already walking.

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “I’m heading to the office—there was a perimeter breach yesterday, and apparently that means communications has to rewrite the entire emergency script again because no one in legal can do their fucking jobs.”

She fell into step beside you, smile dipping a little. “Right. Yeah. No worries.”

You didn’t notice the shift in her tone. Or if you did, you ignored it.

Ellie gave a short nod, one hand hovering awkwardly like she’d meant to reach for your arm.

Then she said, “Don’t work yourself to death, okay?”

But the door had already closed behind you.

She didn’t come by that night, or the next.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that she was busy too. If she needed you, she’d say so.

But every time you opened your dorm door and saw that she hadn’t left anything behind—no hoodie, no coffee cup, no scrawled note—something in you pinched.

The silence wasn’t cruel. It was worse than that.

It was polite.

By Friday, you were frayed at the edges. The comms team cleared out early. Some kind of mixer for the PR interns, catered with branded cupcakes and a weirdly peppy playlist of noughties throwbacks. You told them you had emails to finish, but you lingered in the empty office, lights half-dimmed, hands idle.

And finally, when you couldn’t stand it anymore, you grabbed your badge and left.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

The raptor paddock was quiet at this hour.

The jungle edge glowed gold. You leaned against the low fence, heartbeat a little louder than it needed to be.

You weren’t even sure why you’d come.

But then—you heard her voice.

“Good. Good, Jinx, yeah, that’s it—move slow.”

You turned just in time to see Ellie moving through the inner track. She had one hand raised towards Jinx, her movements fluid, confident. She was in her element, every line of her body relaxed but alert. The trainers nearby deferred to her, stepping back when she approached.

She was magnetic.

You suddenly felt like a ghost.

You waited until Jinx was redirected, until Ellie handed off her radio to another staff member, until she peeled off her gloves and stepped toward the break area alone.

You followed.

“Hey,” you said.

She looked up.

The smile she gave you was faint. Careful. “Hey.”

“I—uh, I didn’t mean to blow you off the other day,” you started. “It’s just been… a lot.”

Ellie nodded. “I figured.”

You hated how neutral her voice sounded. Like she’d coached it into steadiness.

“I missed you,” you said, softer.

Ellie didn’t look at you right away. She stared out toward the trees, jaw tight.

“I didn’t want to make it weird,” she said finally.

You stepped closer. “It’s not weird.”

“It felt weird,” she replied, still not looking at you. “Like maybe I imagined more than what this is. Or was. I don’t even know if you even like— Forget it.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

“You didn’t imagine it.”

She looked at you then, maybe a little hurt.

“I’m bad at balance,” you said, a little broken. “I pour into the job until I forget there’s a me underneath it.”

Ellie’s shoulders eased slightly. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

“I didn’t mean to make you doubt.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She gave a small smile. “But I’m not going to chase you through it. I care about you. Enough to give you space. Just… don’t wait too long to come back.”

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

You stood outside her door for what felt like a full minute.

It was too quiet. The usual hum of the compound felt distant here, muffled behind thick walls and late-night haze. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

One knock, that’s all it took.

When the door opened, Ellie was standing there barefoot, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. She wore an oversized grey shirt that hung off one shoulder and loose black shorts that looked like she’d had them since high school. Her eyes were tired, like she hadn’t been sleeping.

You stepped inside.

Her dorm was nothing like yours. The lighting was dim—one warm bulb over the bed, the rest off. The smell was a mix of sandalwood and cedar that clung to her clothes. A raptor plush sat on the windowsill next to a sun-bleached paperback copy of The Lost World and a tin of black guitar picks. Her desk was half-covered in field notes, fossil diagrams, and a mug full of broken pencils. There were stars painted on her ceiling—tiny, glow-in-the-dark ones, peeling at the corners. A few had drifted down to the floor.

And in the far corner, propped against the wall next to a stack of old music magazines, was a handmade guitar, a moth delicately carved to match her arm. The strings were a little loose. One of them looked like it had been replaced with fishing wire.

She noticed you looking. “My dad made it.”

“Seriously?” You approached it gently, like it might crumble if you touched it wrong. “It’s beautiful.”

“Sounds like shit if it’s not tuned,” she said with a smile. “But yeah. It’s mine.”

There was a long pause.

Then, from her spot by the door, Ellie asked, “Did you come here to say something?”

You hesitated. “No. I just wanted to be near you.”

Her expression didn’t change. But something behind her eyes softened. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I missed you.”

Ellie broke.

She reached for your face, and her touch was both careful and hungry. Her fingers brushed your jaw, your cheek, and then she kissed you.

And god, did she kiss you.

You melted into it, into her, into the way her lips moved slow and certain over yours, into the warmth of her hands sliding behind your neck. She tasted like mint, like she’d just brushed her teeth, ready for bed. The bed— you backed her towards it without even realising it, one hand tangled in the hem of her shirt, the other gripping her waist. She gasped when her knees hit the mattress, and then you were climbing into her lap, half-straddling her, mouths still locked together.

Ellie pulled back just long enough to breathe, her forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve wanted this,” she murmured.

You kissed her again, deeper this time, slower. Your hands roamed over her hips, the curve of her back. She made a sound in the back of her throat when your lips grazed the corner of her jaw, then her throat, then just below her ear.

“You smell like rain,” you whispered, lips brushing her skin.

“I have showered,” she said, voice shaky but smiling.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

She shifted, pressing up into you, hands now sliding under your shirt, palms splayed warm across your spine. Her touch was reverent, exploratory, like she couldn’t believe you were really here.

You pulled away just enough to look at her.

Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, eyes wide and glassy like you were something she was still trying to process.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

“More than,” she whispered.

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kirammanss · 3 days ago

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someone sedate me now

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kirammanss · 4 days ago

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MISERY LOVES COMPANY - TEASER. ⌖

“i owe you a black eye and two kisses, tell me when you wanna come and get ‘em”

1:00 AM, SATURDAY MORNING.

Your temples pound against your skull, the pen in your hand trembles with the rest of your body. the stacks of papers that covered your table were telling of your stress levels, bills, and grocery prices plagued your mind whilst your body functioned on autopilot.

you had just gotten your youngest to fall asleep, and were now trying your hardest to focus on organizing the absolute mess of your personal life. you probably should’ve given up for the night and gone to bed unfulfilled, but you didn’t. instead you filled out form after form, and scribbled down grocery lists for weeks to come. “fucks sake,” you mutter under your breath, even the sound of your own breathing was irritating you.

time moved as if the clock was scared to startle you, slowly and quietly. the blaring ringing in your ears was probably the only thing keeping you awake, barely alert, but still conscious. your lethargic state is disrupted when your phone begins to buzz on the table. you rushed to silence the ringtone, silently pleading that the abrupt sound didn't wake your kids.

the number was unknown to you, outside of your small circle of friends, you debated answering, just to ask who, and how. but you declined. gently tossing your phone onto the table. the buzzing stopped just as quickly as it began. and you prayed to god for some sort of silence. your moments of peace were short, however. cut off by the persistent caller attempting to reach you once again.

you scoffed and stood up from your chair, pressing the answer button aggressively.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you whisper yell into the phone, trying your absolute hardest to keep quiet. the person on the other line coughs, “Who even is this?” they don't reply, all you can hear is their jagged breaths into the phone.

“Hello?” you press, your voice dripping with frustration, your head was pounding, your throat was screaming - you didn't have time for this.

”wait, don't hang up.” the person clears their throat, pressing the phone into their ear further, “Please.” the unknown woman roughly pleads with you, the rugged voice wasnt hard to distinguish from one you’ve heard many times before. although you hadn’t heard it in years, you knew.

you didn't have to hear anything else before you knew who it was, your heart dropped when the realization hit you. ellie. ellie that you haven’t talked to in years was calling you from what you suspected to be a pay phone.

“What the fu- ellie?” if you weren’t awake before this, you sure as hell were now. ellie laughs into the phone, an awkward tic that she did often.

“Yeah, hi. hey.” her voice cracked, you sighed aloud into the phone. your fingers massaging your temples to soothe the ache that hadn’t faded. if anything the pain had gotten worse, now seeping into the rest of your body.

“Listen im sor-” “where are you?” her breath hitches, her voice dripping with disappointment, insecurity replaces the blood in her veins, flowing all the way to her heart, where it would stay.

“The tipsy bison.” you scoffed, finally realizing the exact reasoning for her reaching out. “you’re calling me to come get you from the bar, ellie?” her silence is confirmation to her motives, you hear her sigh into the phone, twirling with the cord to distract her fingers.

you wanted to tell her to get fucked, to berate her for calling for the first time in years with the only intention of getting picked up from the bar. you wanted to so badly let her know how selfish she is, and how much you hate her. but you didnt. instead you silently grabbed your car keys and told her to stay put. hanging up the phone without a second thought.

you had just fought with your kids to go down, their room dark, and filled with silence. and you were not about to disrupt that.

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kirammanss · 6 days ago

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free use with els ؛ fingering u while u talk about ur day

“so, maria had me hauling supplies all morning...” you say, your voice breaking as you sinked back into the couch, your legs parted just enough for ellie’s hand to slip lower.

“It was—it was nonstop, my back’s killing me.” she chuckles, her fingers pushing your panties aside, finding you wet already, fingers circling your clit.

“poor baby..” she murmurs, voice all mock sympathy eyes locked on yours, watching you squirm. “keep talkin’ though, im listenin. tell me more.” her fingers dip lower one sliding inside you, slow and deep, you gasped your words stumbling.

“ellie! shit...” you moan your voice catching, hips twitching toward her hand as you try to focus, gripping the couch cushion.

“then—uh—tommy kept bitching about the fence repairs, like im supposed to—mhhp fix everything myself.” your voice breaks as she adds a second finger, curling them, pumping slow, her thumb brushing your clit.

“sounds like a lotta bullshit..” she whisper leaning closer, her breath hot against your neck, her fingers relentless, stretching you out, the sounds loud in the quiet room.

“you’re doin’ so good, though.. talkin’ through it while i fuck you. my tough girl, huh?” her words are sweet but teasing, her free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread.

“ellie, you’re—fuck, you’re not making this easy...” you whine, your voice high and needy head tipping back as your thighs trembled, her fingers thrust deeper, faster, her thumb circling harder.

“i—i was gonna say, then i had to— right there—deal with this kid who kept stealing tools, and—oh!” she laughs, her lips brushing your ear, her fingers pausing just enough to make you whimper.

“kid sounds like a pain in the ass.” she cooed her voice low, resuming her rhythm, slower, torturing you. “you good, babe? want me to stop so you can tell your story?” her tone is all innocence, but her smirk says she knows you won’t say yes.

her fingers curled, hitting that spot that makes you moan loud, your body betraying you. “don’t you dare stop.” you gasp, your voice raw, grabbing her wrist, urging her deeper, your hips rocking against her hand. “fuck, ellie! keep going, please, feels so— so good.”

“that’s what i thought.” she murmurs thrusting harder, her fingers slick, her thumb relentless, her eyes locked on your face, drinking in every moan, every shudder. “love hearin’ you like this, babe, all whiny and needy while you try to talk, tell me more, c’mon, what else happened?”

you try, your voice shaky, disjointed “i—uh —had to— fuck, ellie, i can’t—had to fix the gate, and—oh—it was freezing, my hands were—shit, faster.” ur words dissolve into moans, your body trembling, the pleasure too much, her fingers fucking you deep, her thumb circling fast, pushing you closer to the edge.

“freezing huh?” she teases leaning down, kissing your neck, biting softly her hand gripping your thigh harder. “bet i can warm you up, babe, cum for me, yeah?”

“ellie!” you cry your voice shattering, orgasm hitting as your body trembled clenching tight around her fingers, pleasure crashing through you.

she keeps going her fingers slowing but not stopping, drawing every shudder from you, her lips brushing your jaw. “fuck, that’s my girl, so goddamn pretty.”

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kirammanss · 8 days ago

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★ wild horses couldn't drag me away. | farmer!ellie williams headcannons.

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎she feeds the animals at dawn, fucks you raw by dusk. ︎ ︎ ︎| ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ellie williams. ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱

warnings: 18+ content, farmer!ellie au,soft dom ellie, fem!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering, strap-on use, praise kink, possessive ellie, jealousy kink, rough sex, semi-public sex, overstimulation, aftercare, marking, dom/sub dynamics, obsessive behavior, consent implied, reader is whipped, ellie is feral.

farmer!ellie who's up with the sun. Always. And even if you beg her to stay in bed, mumbling and pulling at her shirt while her skin’s still warm from sleep, she’ll just grin, press her rough palm against your belly, and mutter, "Someone’s gotta feed the goddamn chickens". But if you pout just right? She might give in. Just for five more minutes. Just long enough to slide her hand down and make you gasp.

farmer!ellie who smells like cedar shavings, hay, sweat. It’s in her clothes, her neck, her mouth when she kisses you hard after a long day outside. You get addicted to it, to her. To how she tastes when she’s worked all day and lets you lick the salt off her collarbones like you were starving.

farmer!ellie who doesn’t say a lot. But you know when she wants you, because she backs you up against the barn wall, one hand holding both your wrists like it’s nothing. The other slides between your legs, her voice husky as she says, "You’re dripping already, huh? You missed me that bad?"

farmer!ellie who will come in from the field all sweaty and flushed, grab you by the hips, and drag you onto the porch bench, doesn’t matter if the sun’s still up or if anyone’s around. You ride her with your hands buried in her shirt, her hands gripping your thighs so tight it bruises, she loves when you leave marks. Says she wants to feel them the next morning when she’s milking the goats.

farmer!ellie who fucks like she’s got something to prove. Like you’re the only soft thing in a hard world and she’s gonna ruin you if you let her, and you always let her.

farmer!ellie who but afterwards, she’s a total sap. She pulls you into her lap, noses your hair, murmurs sleepy things against your skin like "Should just marry you already" and "Y'look better than anything I’ve ever grown out there".

farmer!ellie who in the evenings, when her work’s done and her hands are finally clean, she reads to you under the yellow glow of a single lamp. Dirty hands, soft heart. You never stood a chance.

farmer!ellie who sometimes, comes home too tired to talk. She’ll toss her hat on the hook, kick off her boots, and just stand there in the doorway, eyes fixed on you like she’s starving. Doesn’t say a word. Just walks straight to you, picks you up like you're nothing, and carries you to the kitchen table, still covered in mail and a jar of honey you forgot to put away. She bends you over it. "Been thinking about this all damn day", she groans against your neck as she pulls your underwear down with dirt-stained fingers.

farmer!ellie who always smells like the earth. Like sex and summer and the heat off a storm. You swear her skin soaks up sunlight, and when she touches you at night, you feel it. Like she’s warming you from the inside. Like you’re something she planted and now she gets to reap.

farmer!ellie who's got a filthy mouth when she gets going. Not loud. Not theatrical. Just these deep, low-spoken praises that ruin you. "That’s it, baby. Ride it just like that", or "You need it deeper, huh? Of course you do, always so greedy for it".

farmer!ellie favorite thing? getting you off with her thigh. After a long day baling hay, arms streaked with sweat, she'll just sit back in the old wooden chair, shirt unbuttoned halfway, and say, "Come sit on my lap, pretty girl". And you do, grinding on that thick, flexed muscle while she smokes a joint and watches you lose your goddamn mind, hands behind her head, cocky smirk, lazy and low "Good girl. You're fuckin' perfect like this".

farmer!ellie when you once tried helping her fix the fence. Said you wanted to "pull your weight". Ellie looked at you in your little shorts, holding a hammer wrong, and grinned like the devil, she didn’t let you finish. Bent you over the fence post and took you right there in the golden light, pulled your panties to the side, fucked you slow and said, "I'll do the hard work. You just stay right here and make those pretty sounds".

farmer!ellie who after she comes inside and washes up, she'll lie back on the bed, pull you on top of her, kiss you until your lips hurt, and whisper "I never needed no city, no lights, no noise... just you".

farmer!ellie who her hands might be calloused, but her touch is scripture. And every night, she writes a psalm into your body like she’s trying to save your soul with her mouth.

farmer!ellie who keeps a photo of you in her back pocket. Not some cute selfie, no. One she took after you begged her not to stop. Eyes glazed, thighs shaking, face all fucked-out and ruined. She looks at it when she’s alone on the tractor, lip between her teeth, hand drifting under her waistband, "Gotta get home, she needs me, I fuckin' need her".

farmer!ellie who always makes you come first. Even if it takes forever, even if her cock is hard and twitching under her boxers, she’ll edge herself just to hear you gasp her name again. Rub your clit with slow, practiced circles, lean in and say, "You’re not done yet, baby, I just want all of it, every last drop".

farmer!ellie who strap stays under the bed, always ready, and when she uses it? she uses it, holds your face, watches your mouth fall open while she ruins your hole slow and deep, moans low and mean, "Look at you takin’ me so good. My perfect fuckin' girl".

farmer!ellie when she’s jealous, she doesn’t talk about it — she shows you. Drags you into the hayloft after someone stares at your ass at the farmer’s market, pulls your skirt up, panties to the side, fucks you until your voice cracks, and leaves you stuffed and sore, dripping down your thighs, whispering, "Mine. Say it".

farmer!ellie who's obsessed with your thighs. Squeezing ‘em, biting them, laying between them for hours like it’s church — she eats you slow, real slow, arms around your hips, tongue fucking you lazy while you cry her name into the pillow, then again — fast. Until you’re begging her to stop and she just hums against your clit like she likes hearing you break.

farmer!ellie who teaches you how to ride. And not just the horse. Says she wants you in control — hands on her shoulders, bouncing on her cock until she’s breathless underneath you, watches you from below, pupils blown wide, voice all gravel: "You like being on top of me, huh? Gettin' off like a good little wife?"

farmer!ellie when afternoon showers turn into rituals, she washes you like you’re made of glass, suds your hair, kisses the soap off your shoulder, fingers you slow under the water while whispering things like "Goddamn, you feel like home", and then goes down on you with one knee on the tile, water dripping off her freckled face.

farmer!ellie who aftercare is sacred, she tucks you in with trembling fingers, presses kisses into your back while your thighs are still twitching, brings you tea, tells you you’re perfect, wraps herself around you and mumbles, "I'll never let you go, y’know that?" while her heart thumps against your spine.

farmer!ellie who sometimes she needs it rough. She’ll push you up against the barn wall, hands everywhere, muttering "Need you now, can’t wait, need to feel you come around me" and you let her, every time, cry her name while she fucks you through the ache. But most nights... she just holds you. Stares at your sleeping face like it’s the only thing worth waking up for. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, smiles to herself and whispers, "Fuck the harvest. You’re the only thing I’ve ever done right".

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kirammanss · 12 days ago

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ᯓ ONE SIMPLE FAVOUR (FIVE)

WEEK ONE

taglist:

@firefly-ace @abigaillovestoread @yasmilks @nattakasuperlesbian @kylorey25 @tired-duckling @keikuahh @piastorys @l0velylacey @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @theangelwaltz @leaaavesss @ellies-real-wife @eriiwaiii2 @soraynn @purinukie @valeisaslut @oneinameliann @sunflowerwinds @hbwrelic @prettygirlfemme @mxrauders4lyfexx @rbnvrnxoxo @d1catwhisperer @dreamypinkprincessworld @modernvenuss @naomis-daydream @averysmorgue @flynnph0bias @jullsii @koipuddle @wwefan2002 @bluminescent-moon @mccrispy29 @moonfloweredprincess @onlyyoudarleng @mikellie @urfav-izzy @jazzyxox @pexurina @liztreez @elliesfavtoy @anhedonicnightmare @sewithinsouls @i-feel-violated @ggutpunch @jinxsgirl @sincerelyherz @elliesbabygirl @lavenderseeding @slutformangos @vanpalmertruther @crucifiedfem @moonfloweredprincess @vamp1reg1rrrl @chappellroankisser

comments and kind critiques are widely appreciated!! talk to me and i’ll talk back <3

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kirammanss · 15 days ago

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when the wine runs out

ellie williams x female!reader

main masterlist

summary: you met ellie at a late-night dive bar. and somehow, she ended up in your bed by dawn.

word count: 5.5k

THE BAR smelled like beer and cheap cologne, the air heavy with something thick—heat, maybe, or desperation. Ellie was already regretting the second shot of whatever Jesse had shoved into her hand, tongue still numb from it, when they pushed through the doors.

It wasn’t even a cool bar. Not really. One of those try-hard places with neon signs and floor lights, but Jesse had said it was the spot, and Dina had rolled her eyes, and Ellie—Ellie just followed. And she was mid-eye roll, already writing off the crowd, the noise, the way everything felt like it wanted to press in, when she saw you.

Dead center of the room. Laughing. Spinning. Glitter catching on your cheeks like you'd kissed a star goodbye and kept the residue. Your hair was damp with sweat, your chest rising and falling like you hadn’t stopped moving all night. And everyone was watching you—sure, they were. But no one looked at you the way Ellie did in that second.

Like you were a fucking mirage.

It hit her like a bruise. Like a punch to the ribs, slow and blooming. Her hand tightened around the rim of her glass and she almost forgot how to swallow.

You didn’t see her yet. Of course you didn’t. You were too busy dancing like the music was yours, like the whole place was just background noise to the world happening inside your head. Your laugh cracked open the bass, clear as a bell. Your smile lit up the goddamn shadows. And she wasn’t usually like this.

She wasn’t the poetic one. She didn’t fall headfirst. But she could already feel the words clattering around in her mouth. Want. Need. Stay.

“You good?” Dina asked, bumping her shoulder. Ellie didn’t even blink.

“Yeah,” she said, voice rough. “Yeah. I just…”

She trailed off because she didn’t know how to finish that sentence. ‘I just saw God and she's dripping glitter. I just saw the reason I came here and didn’t know it. I just saw you.’

Jesse followed her line of sight and let out a low whistle. “Damn,” he muttered. “She looks like a born again wild card.”

Ellie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her jaw was locked, her heartbeat somewhere in her throat. There were people between you—bodies, sweat, the beat of a remix that barely held together—but Ellie could see you like there was no one else. Could feel you.

You tilted your head back, laughed again, and Ellie felt her knees go soft.

And for the first time in a long time, maybe since the world started ending and starting over and ending again, she wanted something with teeth. Something that didn’t make sense, something stupid. She wanted to walk straight into the storm you were and never come out.

And she didn’t even know your fucking name.

“Ellie,” Dina said again, her voice softer this time.

But Ellie didn’t move. She just stared. Until you turned like you’d felt her looking. Just like that. One spin, hips still swaying, and suddenly your eyes locked on hers through the haze of bodies and bass. You didn’t look surprised. You looked like you’d been waiting.

And Ellie? Ellie froze.

Your smile widened, and her stomach dropped through the floor. Jesse caught it instantly, let out a low “Oh, shit,” beside her, and Ellie didn’t even flicker in his direction.

You didn’t hesitate. No dramatic pause, no slow approach. You walked straight toward her, sweat and glitter still clinging to your neck like jewelry. The people around you seemed to part without even realizing, like the crowd made room for you out of instinct. Or reverence.

You didn’t say hi. You just reached for her hand—warm fingers wrapping around hers, calloused from guitar strings, and yanked.

“Hey—wait, wait” Ellie stumbled forward, instinctively tugging back. “I don’t—I don’t dance.”

You stopped and turned around to face her fully. Up close, you were ridiculous. Sparkles dusted your collarbones like stardust. There was a smear of highlighter across your cheekbone, and Ellie had the sudden, awful urge to trace it with her thumb.

Your breath smelled like mint and alcohol, and she didn't mind. She didn’t care if you were drinking something too sweet or if your lip gloss got stuck to her mouth. She’d taste every version of you just to say she had.

You leaned in just enough for her to hear you over the beat.

“That’s okay,” you said, all casual mischief and magnetism. “No one will be watching anyway.”

And then you grinned. Like this was a joke you’d already told yourself and the punchline was Ellie’s heartbeat skipping a step. But everyone would be watching, because you were there.

Jesse’s voice was fading behind her, something about good luck or don’t die or maybe remember to breathe, but none of it registered. Your hand tugged her forward again, and she let you.

She let you drag her into the chaos. The floor swallowed you both whole; the throbbing lights, music that hit in the chest more than the ears, strangers pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. But somehow, inside all that noise, it felt quiet.

It was just her. And you.

You didn’t make her dance. Not really. You just danced around her. Your hips swayed, your arms draped over her shoulders once, teasing and light, and your eyes stayed locked to hers like you were trying to pull something out. Ellie’s hands hovered awkwardly at her sides until you grabbed one and placed it gently—gently, like it mattered—at your waist.

“See?” you whispered. “You’re already doing it.”

Ellie shook her head, cheeks burning, but you laughed again, and she swore it rewired something in her. God, that laugh.

She forgot the music. Forgot the lights. She forgot the fact that she’d come here tonight just to get a little drunk and hide in a booth with her friends. You were here now. You were everything now.

You leaned closer again, your mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “You look like you’re thinking way too hard.”

“I’m not,” she lied, because she was thinking so much. About you. About how you felt in her hands, how you moved like you belonged to the rhythm, and she was just lucky enough to be orbiting in your pull.

“You’re cute when you lie,” you said, pulling back. “Kind of obvious. It’s adorable.”

Ellie tried to laugh, but it came out like a breath.

Then—after another beat of dancing, of you spinning and pulling her close again—your mouth dipped low near hers, and you said, “You’re not from around here.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a knowing. You were full of those truths, wrapped in teasing.

“No,” Ellie admitted. “First time at this place.”

You smiled like you’d known that the second you saw her. “Figures. You walked in like you didn’t want to belong to any of it.”

“Yeah?” Ellie tilted her head, biting her lower lip with nervousness. She should’ve said something cool. She didn’t. Instead, “what’s your name?”

You looked at her, eyes glinting, and said, “Does it matter?”

“I kinda think it does.”

You thought about that. Really thought about it. Then leaned in and whispered your name like it was a secret you were letting her borrow, just for tonight. It rang in her chest like a melody. Like something she already knew.

“Ellie,” she said back. “That’s mine.”

You repeated it, now closer to her lips. And she could've sworn her knees buckled. Ellie’s hands didn’t float at her sides now; they rested on your hips like they belonged there. The crowd didn’t feel as loud anymore. Like you were both underwater and only each other’s faces were in focus.

And then you got close again. Really close. Close enough for your lips to graze her ear.

“I want to tell you something,” you said.

Ellie swallowed. “Yeah?”

You pulled back and looked her dead in the eye. Serious, for the first time. A flicker of something behind your smile. Something just shy of sad.

“I think you’re gonna fuck me up,” you said.

Ellie blinked. She didn’t know what to say. You didn’t wait for her to figure it out.

You were still dancing. Still shining, and your mouth keep whispering wild things to her. Things like stay a little longer. And who has she to decline such an offer?

Time felt drunker than she was. The lights pulsed softer now, more like a heartbeat than a strobe, and Ellie’s feet barely remembered what not dancing felt like. Her mouth was dry, her fingers still ghosting your skin like they hadn’t realized the song was over.

You were leaning against the bar now, one arm slung lazily across the counter, your glitter mostly smudged and sweat dampening the curls at the back of your neck. You looked at her like she was the most interesting thing in the room—even now, even after hours of everything.

Ellie didn’t know what to do with that.

You ordered two drinks with a grin and the kind of charm that made the bartender smile too long. You turned back to her, eyes heavy, pupils wide, cheeks pink with warmth or alcohol or both. She’d lost track of how many drinks she’d had, only knew her body felt light, and her brain felt loud. And you were everywhere.

Before she could say something stupid—probably about how your nose scrunched when you laughed or how you hadn't let go of her hand all night—she heard Jesse’s voice from behind.

“There you are,” he said, low and amused. Dina stood beside him, coat over her arm, tired but watching Ellie with that look that meant we’re gonna talk about this later.

“We’re heading out,” Jesse added. “Want a ride?”

Ellie blinked. She looked at you. You were looking at her, waiting.

She shook her head. “Nah. I’m good.”

Dina raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Ellie said. Her voice was steady, but her chest wasn’t. “I want to—uh. I’m staying.”

Jesse smirked, and Dina tugged his sleeve. “Text us if you need anything,” she said, voice softer now. And then they were gone, the door swinging shut behind them.

You slid her drink toward her. “Friends leaving?”

“Yeah,” Ellie said, fingers curling around the glass. “I’m staying, though.”

The bar noise kept spilling around you both for a while, until you leaned in close again, that breathy little edge to your voice that made every word sound secret.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Ellie nodded before her brain even caught up.

You took her hand again—fingers laced this time—and pulled her through the crowd like you were leading her to something holy.

YOU LIVED just past the 7-Eleven.

Ellie didn’t know that until the two of you were stumbling down the sidewalk, half-dizzy from the bar’s warmth and the weight of everything unsaid. You’d peeled her out of the last chorus, fingers laced with hers, saying something like ‘Come on. It’s not far.’

She hadn’t even asked where.

The street was quiet, dipped in shadows and old porch lights. Somewhere behind you, the world was still spinning its noise, but here—it was just the smell of pavement and wet leaves, your voice like sugar melting in her ear.

“So,” you said, swinging your arm lazily in hers, “what’s your damage, Ellie?”

She laughed despite herself. “Jesus.”

“You’ve got baggage,” you added, like it was charming. “So do I. Don’t worry. I won’t unpack mine if you don’t.”

She almost said something like I don’t want to fuck this up but swallowed it. Instead, she squeezed your hand a little tighter. You tugged her to a stop at the crosswalk. The red light lit up both your faces, washing you in color. Cars passed slowly. You looked like a movie scene she’d never admit she’d dreamed of.

Ellie didn’t mean to say it. Not all of it. But your hand was warm, and your thumb was brushing back and forth against her skin, and your hair was a mess, and she was just drunk enough to be honest.

“I don’t do this,” she said. You looked at her. “I don’t let people in,” she added, voice lower. “Not fast. Not like this.” You didn’t say anything, not right away. So she kept going. “I feel like I’ve known you longer than tonight. And that’s stupid. And I’m probably reading this wrong. But I don’t want it to be nothing. Does that sound stupid?”

You tilted your head. A car whooshed by. The red light held. And you didn’t answer, you just smiled. But there was something underneath it. A sadness she couldn’t name. The light turned green. You crossed the street in silence, hand still wrapped in hers, and didn’t let go even once.

Your apartment was a few floors up, door painted a chipped blue, a wind chime hanging that didn’t match anything else. Inside, it smelled like sage and vanilla and something soft. You dropped your bag. Toed off your shoes. And fell onto the couch like you’d done it a thousand times before.

Ellie stayed standing.

“You want another drink?” you asked, already reaching for a bottle on the counter.

“Sure,” she said, but she didn’t care about the drink.

You poured two, and handed her one. She took a sip. Winced. “Jesus, what is this?”

“Courage,” you grinned.

You sat next to her again, this time with your legs crossed under you, arm along the back of the couch, eyes watching her like she was a stranger you wanted to learn. Your warm skin was touching hers, and she suddenly felt dizzy.

“You always spill your guts at traffic lights?” you asked.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Only for you.”

Now, the bottle was almost gone. It sat on the table, the last inch settling thick and dark in the bottom. The glasses had stopped being topped off—just sipped slower, stretched thinner, like time itself had started running out with it.

You were curled into Ellie on the couch, legs draped over hers. The mood had dipped quieter for a while, but something in the silence had started to change.

She could feel it in your laugh. Looser. Drunker. In the way you played with your own ring, twisting it around and around your finger while you talked about nothing. In the way, your leg shifted just a little—closer. Seeking friction. A touch. An answer.

Ellie caught your eyes for too long on her mouth.

So, she did something about it.

Her hand, slow and warm, slid along your thigh, her fingertips just barely pressing into your skin through the soft fabric of your jeans. Her pinky lingered, teasing the edge of the rip near your knee. She didn’t look at you right away, just smiled to herself.

A shit-eating grin.

You glanced down at her hand, then back at her face. “Oh?” you said, a single eyebrow raised.

Ellie met your eyes, still grinning, still slow and unreadable. “What?”

“That’s a bold move,” you said, breathier now. Your lips curved into a grin of your own, like a dare. “You trying to be slick?”

“Is it working?”

You snorted and leaned forward until your faces were close again. “You’re lucky I’m tipsy,” you murmured.

“I’m lucky either way.”

Your mouth twitched. Then your hand was on her neck. Just like that. Your own fingers grabbing her short auburn locks like they were your own anchor, and pulling her in like it had been inevitable. And maybe it had. Your lips met in the middle—open and warm and shameless. It was messier. No hesitation.

Ellie kissed you like she’d wanted to since the moment she saw you spin in the middle of that dance floor. Like she’d waited long enough.

You straddled her on the couch, knees pressing into cushions, one hand braced against her chest, the other tangled in her hair. She groaned when you bit her bottom lip, and you grinned against her mouth, drunk on it. Drunk on her.

The couch groaned with every shift.

Ellie’s hands slid under your shirt, warm palms against warmer skin. You laughed into her neck, breath hiccupping.

“I thought you didn’t do this kind of thing,” you whispered, voice broken with breath.

“I don’t,” Ellie said, mouth chasing your jaw. “But I do you, baby.”

“Fuck,” you muttered, laughing again. But your nails dug into her shoulder like maybe she just knocked the air out of you a little.

When you pulled back, your pupils were blown wide, lips swollen, glitter smudged across your cheekbone like war paint. You were art, and Ellie was too far gone to pretend she wasn’t starving for it.

“Bed?” you asked, voice rasped and daring. She nodded without thinking.

Your room was smaller than Ellie expected. The walls were covered in posters, torn magazine clippings, books stacked in a corner with no shelf. The sheets were half-made. The window was cracked open to the humid night, letting in a soft breeze that raised goosebumps across your arms.

You climbed onto the bed first and flopped back, limbs sprawled, breathless from laughing at something dumb Ellie said on the way down the hall. You looked up at her, all soft and dangerous, and held your hand out.

She took it.

When she leaned over you, her hair fell forward. Your fingers caught a strand and tucked it behind her ear, eyes never leaving hers.

“You’re trouble,” you whispered.

“I know,” she said. “So are you.”

Then it got quiet again. Like, even the air knew something was about to crack wide open. Her lips met yours again, and it was different now. Slower. Hungrier.

She kissed down your neck, pausing at the collar of your shirt. You nodded, and she tugged it off, tossed it somewhere behind her without looking. Her mouth followed the trail of exposed skin like it was instinct.

You arched under her, breath catching, chest pressed to hers. Her hands knew exactly where to rest. Your hips rose, legs wrapping around her waist. The contact was almost unbearable now.

“You good?” she asked, forehead resting against yours.

You nodded, panting slightly. “Just kiss me.”

So she did. She kissed you until you weren’t laughing anymore, just moaning softly, whispering her name between gasps and half-laughed curses. Your hands were under her shirt now, lifting it slowly, nails dragging across her ribs. She hissed at the contact, and you smiled, smug.

“Sensitive?”

“Shut up,” she muttered into your neck, biting just enough to make you squirm. Enough to leave a mark.

Clothes fell away, piece by piece. The bed creaked under you. The sheets tangled. You kissed until you were both raw from it, until everything sticky and loud turned tender again—hands on hips, fingers in hair, the space between your bodies so thin it felt holy.

You whispered things. Some of them true. Some of them you’d pretend you didn’t remember in the morning. Ellie held you through all of it. Pressed kisses to your shoulder, your cheek, your sternum. Told you between sighs that you were beautiful when you called her a liar. Called you dangerous when you grinned into her mouth.

The glitter was gone by the end of it. Just sweat now, and heat. The kind of closeness that didn’t have a name but didn’t need one either.

And somewhere between a kiss and a laugh, you fell asleep with your face tucked into her neck, and Ellie stayed awake a little longer—just long enough to memorize the rhythm of your breath.

ELLIE woke up smiling.

Not the usual twitch of her mouth when a dream made her laugh. No. This smile was full. Real. A slow, stretching kind of smile that bloomed across her face like sunlight through a cracked window.

She blinked into the soft haze of your room. Bare legs tangled in thin sheets, the scent of your skin still clinging to her. Her arm reached across the bed instinctively, fingers grazing a pillow still warm on one side.

But you weren’t there.

She sat up slowly, her body sore in the best kind of way. The room was quiet, the morning light dull and golden, drifting through your thin curtains.

Then she saw you.

You were across the room, near the window, half-lit by the sun. Wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie. It swallowed you whole, the hem brushing your thighs, sleeves too long for your hands. Your makeup was smudged, the glitter from the night before a faint shimmer across your cheekbone, lips still faintly stained wine-red. Your hair was a disaster.

And you still looked like Aphrodite, dragged through war and woke up winning.

You turned when you felt her eyes on you. Your smile was quiet. Gentle. But distant in a way that made Ellie’s stomach twist.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“Hey,” she murmured back, rubbing a hand over her face. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

“Mm,” she stretched, muscles aching. “You always look like this in the morning?”

You smiled, a little sad this time. “No. Just when I’m trying to figure out how to say goodbye.”

Ellie blinked. “…What?”

You stepped toward the bed, bare feet soundless on the floor. Sat on the edge beside her. Close enough that your thigh brushed hers, but your body didn’t lean in. Your hands stayed in your lap.

“I don’t want to be confusing,” you said quietly. “Last night was real. Every second of it.”

Ellie watched you carefully, that smile fading from her lips. “Okay…”

“But this is where it ends, babe.”

She froze. You didn’t say it with cruelty. There wasn’t anything sharp in your voice. No mockery. No regret. You said it like it was just the truth. Like it had always been the plan, even if she didn’t know it.

“I don’t do the morning after,” you continued, eyes still on your fingers. You winced, still not looking at her. “I should’ve warned you.”

She didn’t know what to say. A dozen things rushed to her tongue—half of them defensive, the other half just hurt. But none of them left her mouth.

“Was it something I did?” she asked finally, voice hoarse.

You looked at her, eyes softening. “No. You were… honestly, you were better than I ever expected”

Ellie shifted on the bed, blanket falling to her waist. Her hand reached for your thigh, but she stopped just before touching you. Let it hover in the space between.

“So that’s it?” she asked. “We don’t get to see what happens next?”

You hesitated. “I don’t think you do wanna know what happens next.”

There was silence for a long beat. Then Ellie leaned back, dragging a hand through her hair, trying to mask the ache blooming in her chest.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

You stood slowly, tugging the hem of the hoodie lower. You turned your back to her, busying yourself by folding a blanket that didn’t need folding.

“You can stay a few more minutes if you want. There’s water in the kitchen. Toothbrush in the drawer.”

“Wow,” Ellie said, dry. “This the deluxe split package?”

You glanced at her over your shoulder. “Ellie.” Her name sounded like a sigh. Like maybe, you wished you were someone else too. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you said.

“Well, you’re doing a fucking stellar job anyway.”

You nodded. Took that. Accepted it. Ellie stood up, slowly, grounding herself. She pulled on her jeans, her sports bra, her shirt, all in silence. You stayed near the window, arms crossed, eyes not on her anymore.

You still looked like a dream. Even sad. Even untouchable. And that was the worst part.

By the time she made it to the door, Ellie paused, her hand on the knob. She turned to you one last time. Then she stepped out into the hallway. The door shut behind her.

And just like that, you were gone.

IT HAD been months.

The bar hadn’t seen your laugh since that night. No glitter, no flash of thigh catching the strobe lights. Dina stopped mentioning your name after the third day. Jesse had told Ellie to move on. And eventually… she tried.

But your absence lingered in her like an unfinished chapter. Until the day Ellie took the long way home.

The engine of her bike purred through a side street, the air dry and the sun dying orange behind the horizon. She was late, hungry, pissed about her dead phone battery. She almost didn’t notice the car on the shoulder.

She slowed instinctively.

And then she saw you.

Bent slightly over the engine, hair tied up, grease on your cheek and frustration painted all over your face. Your car door was open. Music played softly from inside—Fleetwood Mac, of all things—and you were muttering to yourself like you were about to commit arson.

Ellie’s heart nearly stopped.

You turned, and your eyes met hers like the universe had planned it. She could barely get off the bike. Her legs moved before her brain caught up. You blinked, startled. And then your face did something strange—this flicker of recognition, disbelief, and then—God, something like guilt.

“Ellie,” you said softly. “Holy shit.”

She stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets. “What happened?”

“Car’s dead,” you muttered. “Won’t start. I’ve been here for over an hour.”

“Damn,” Ellie said, lips quirking. “Fate’s got jokes, huh?”

Your smile was cautious. Tired. Silence stretched, awkward at first, but not cold.

“I can give you a ride,” Ellie offered, regretting it instantly.

You hesitated, eyes flicking to her bike, and nodded. Ellie handed you her helmet and tried not to smile like an idiot when your fingers brushed. Dina would’ve slapped her silly, but right now, she didn’t mind. She chose to be selfish, even for a couple of minutes, if it meant she could have you.

The ride was quiet. No words between you, just the wind, her heartbeat pounding, and the pressure of your arms around her waist. You didn’t let go quickly when the engine cut off. Not even when she reached back to shut it off. Your chin lingered on her shoulder for half a second longer than it needed to. She noticed.

Her place was quiet. Dina was staying with Jesse in Jackson for the week. A blessing Ellie didn’t deserve, honestly. Inside, you stood in the entryway, glancing around like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to step deeper.

“You want a drink?” Ellie asked, already walking toward the kitchen.

“Sure,” you said. “Surprise me.”

She cracked open two beers and tossed you one. You leaned against the counter, sipped, then looked down at the bottle like it held answers. “I was kind of a bitch that night, huh?”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip. “Mean as fuck.”

You laughed, and Ellie couldn’t help but smile.

“God,” you muttered, brushing hair behind your ear. “I thought about apologizing like... five hundred times.”

“You should’ve,” she said easily. “I looked hot as hell, heartbroken.”

“Jesus,” you muttered, laughing again. “You’re still such a smug little shit.”

“And you’re still unreal,” she said, stepping closer.

You didn’t move back.

“I hadn’t stopped thinking about you,” you whispered, suddenly serious. “The way you tasted. The way you looked at me.”

Ellie’s fingers brushed the hem of your top. “Still looking.”

You inhaled, as your lips crashed against hers—hungry, messy, no time for permission.

Ellie dropped the beer bottle onto the counter without looking and pulled you in hard, teeth dragging on your bottom lip as you gasped into her mouth. Your hands found her jaw, her shoulders, then her waist, like you were starving for a map and she was the terrain.

You stumbled backward, slamming into the couch, never breaking the kiss. Ellie’s hand was already under your top, fingers grazing your bare waist, pulling you onto her lap. You moaned against her mouth, grinding down hard, and she hissed between her teeth.

“I swear to God,” she muttered against your throat, lips brushing your skin, “if you disappear again, I’m suing you.”

You bit your lip, breathless, already half-undone. “No chance,” you panted. “Not letting you go twice.”

That wrecked her.

Ellie shoved the coffee table aside with one foot, her other hand gripping the back of your neck as she kissed you harder. You were already rocking against her thigh, sweat sticking your clothes to your skin, and every touch between you was fast, greedy, heated like the heater behind the couch that buzzed faintly against the cold walls.

“You’re so fucking hot,” she whispered, lips at your ear. “You always were. Thought about this every fucking night.”

You whimpered—actually whimpered—and Ellie nearly lost it.

Her hand was between your legs before you realized what was happening, teasing you through your jeans, making you squirm. You yanked at her shirt, her hair, anything to get more skin.

“Say it again,” she whispered, tongue against your jaw. “Tell me you missed me.”

“I fucking missed you,” you breathed, hips rolling helplessly. “Missed your mouth—missed your hands—missed you.”

“Yeah?” she grinned, cocky and wrecked. “Still taste like heaven?” You nodded frantically. “Prove it,” she said, dragging your hand to her chest.

And then it was just mouths and breath and sweat and denim and sighs and heat, heat, heat—until neither of you could speak. Until your fingers were tangled in her hair and her hands were under your clothes and the only sounds were the heater clicking, the couch creaking, and the gasps you made in her ear.

You stayed there for what felt like hours. Limbs tangled. Hearts pounding. No wine this time. No morning after to fear. Just you and her and a chance neither of you expected—but weren’t about to waste again.

THE COUCH cushion was warm under her back, your body draped half across her chest. Your breath was soft now—finally—even if your heart still beat against her ribs like it didn’t know the night was over yet.

The room smelled like sweat and skin and something sweeter. Maybe you. Maybe just relief.

Ellie stared up at the ceiling, one hand resting on your bare back, slowly tracing invisible lines. She felt like she’d run a marathon without moving. Her legs were jelly. Her mouth was wrecked. Her hoodie was probably lost under the coffee table, and your jeans were hanging off the side of the couch like they’d been in a fight and lost.

You were quiet. Still. And she was scared to break it. Then you spoke—barely above a whisper. “I thought about that night way more than I should’ve.”

Ellie’s fingers paused on your spine. She turned her head slightly, looking down at you.

Your face was buried in the curve of her neck, lips ghosting her skin.

“I felt so much that night, I panicked,” you continued. “Like, I walked out before it could ruin me.”

Ellie didn’t say anything yet. Just waited. Let you spill it.

You pulled back slowly, sitting up on your elbow, the blanket clinging to your bare skin. “I didn’t think you’d look at me the same if you knew how messy I really was,” you said, voice trembling slightly. “If you knew how easy it is for me to fall apart.”

Ellie sat up, hand sliding up your arm, fingers curling at your shoulder.

Your throat bobbed. You looked away. “I’m still scared,” you said. “Like… this could be nothing. Or it could be everything. And I don’t trust myself to know the difference.”

Ellie leaned in, forehead brushing yours.

“It doesn’t have to be, either,” she murmured. “It can just be right now.”

You let out a shaky breath, and that’s when Ellie saw it—your eyes glimmering, raw and red-rimmed, not from sex or sweat or makeup, but from vulnerability. From trust.

“I haven’t let someone stay in years,” you admitted, voice small. “And I usually leave before they wake up.”

Ellie pressed a kiss to the side of your jaw.

“Stay this time,” she whispered. “Let me make you breakfast like a loser tomorrow.”

You laughed into her collarbone. “Like pancakes?”

“Like whatever the hell is in the fridge that isn’t expired.”

Another breath. This one easier. Deeper. Your body softened against hers again, forehead resting on her shoulder now. She curled her arm around your back, thumb grazing slow, sleepy circles.

The heater buzzed softly. And then your voice came again, almost a murmur. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

Ellie closed her eyes. Let the words settle into her chest like warmth, like truth.

You weren’t glittering under club lights anymore. You weren’t laughing in the center of a crowd. You were naked, quiet, curled into her side, and letting her hold the parts of you that no one else got to touch.

And somehow, this was even more intoxicating than the first night. Then your lips found hers, slower this time. Lazy. Soft. Her hand slid under your thigh again, more tender now, more reverent than teasing.

You sighed into her mouth like you could stay like this forever.

And maybe this time, you would.

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kirammanss · 16 days ago

Text

meeting ellie in detention

nerdy ellie williams x popular fem!reader

detention has always been boring—until the last person you expected walks in. now you’re stuck in the same room, and it’s a lot harder to ignore her.

Detention. Again. Second time this month.

You’re slouched low in the hard plastic chair, spine curved in a way that probably screams "I give up," the edge of the desk digging uncomfortably into your ribs. One leg bounces under the table, the sole of your shoe scuffing softly against the floor with every twitch. The room smells faintly like Expo markers and teenage boredom, warm dust floating in streaks of light pouring through slatted blinds. The air conditioner hums in the ceiling like it’s trying too hard and still failing to cool anything down.

Your head hangs forward, a lazy weight, chin nearly touching your chest as you idly flick at the fake nail on your middle finger — the one that went flying across the cafeteria when you slapped the ever-loving shit out of Victoria during lunch. It clicks against your nailbed with each flick, a tiny, hollow sound that breaks the silence like a metronome for your regret.

You exhale sharply through your nose, lips twitching into a sour twist.

“I should’ve just let that bitch go,” you think to yourself, dragging your head back until it flops against the top of your seat with a dramatic, whispered groan.

The oversized clock on the wall ticks with cruel precision, every second dragging its heels like it's stuck in glue. The teacher — some substitute whose name you didn’t bother to catch — is half-asleep at their desk, hunched over a crossword puzzle or a book with the spine cracked flat. They're not even pretending to watch you. It's one of those afternoons where the heat makes everything slow, where even trouble feels sluggish and tired.

You’re just about to give in to the heaviness tugging at your eyelids, your cheek halfway to the cool surface of the desk, when the door creaks open with an uncertain squeal.

Your eyebrows lift.

Huh?

“You’re here,” you blurt out before you can catch the words, your voice cutting through the haze like a pebble tossed into still water. You sit up straighter, something in you crackling awake with sharp interest.

Ellie Williams steps into the room like she’s not sure if she belongs — the usual quiet type, always either with headphones on, a guitar slung across her back, or buried somewhere in the library behind a stack of sci-fi novels and sketchpads. Her eyes flit up and meet yours for a moment before darting away. Then she scans the room like she’s searching for the least cursed seat available.

“You can sit here,” you offer, nodding at the empty chair beside you. Your voice is casual, but there’s a flicker of curiosity you don’t bother hiding.

“I guess...” she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck with the palm of her hand. She moves like she’s being dragged by invisible strings — hesitant, stiff — and drops into the seat beside you like she’s expecting it to collapse underneath her.

You tilt your head, crossing your arms and letting your eyes roam, not subtle about it. Her flannel sleeves are rolled up, revealing a faint ink smudge near her wrist. There’s a nervous energy buzzing off her in low frequency, barely noticeable unless you’re this close.

“What?” you ask, a spark of challenge in your tone.

Ellie glances at you, brows drawing inward. “What?”

You squint like you’re staring at a half-finished painting, trying to figure out what’s missing. “Nothing. Just… Ellie Williams, in detention, here with me? You’re like the last person I expected to see.”

She stares at you for a second, then looks away, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know you knew my name,” she says, soft and matter-of-fact, like that’s what surprised her the most.

You let out a small, amused laugh. “Of course I know your name. We’re classmates in like… two subjects. You sit three rows over in Calc, always solving problems before the teacher even finishes writing them on the board.”

Ellie shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her jeans. She looks like you’ve just peeled back something she’s spent years sewing shut.

“So what did you do?” you ask, leaning in just slightly, eyes gleaming with interest. “Come on, I need something to keep me entertained.”

She gives you a look, equal parts wary and annoyed. “No.”

“Oh, come on. I just wanna know what got you here. I mean, I’m here because I bitch-slapped Victoria for spreading a fake rumor about me.” You say it like a badge of honor, chin lifted slightly. “Your turn.”

Ellie lets out a breath, glancing down at her hands again. Her nails are short, bitten at the edges. She chuckles quietly, a low, sheepish sound. “It’s lame.”

“Come on,” you nudge her with your elbow, grinning now.

She doesn’t respond, just offers the ghost of a smile and goes back to staring at the graffiti scratched into the desk.

You sigh and flop back into your seat again. “Fine. I get it. First time in detention. Gotta preserve your image.”

She side-eyes you, and this time, there’s a smirk pulling at her mouth like she’s trying to suppress it. “Why would you think I’m the last person you’d see here?” she asks, her voice lower, curious.

You scoff under your breath and rest your arm on the back of her chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Because you’re just... good.”

Her brow arches.

“I mean, a great example of a model student,” you continue, motioning vaguely in her direction. “You’re, like, top of our calculus class, probably gonna graduate with honors or whatever. And you draw, right? I saw some of your stuff in art class. The charcoal sketches.”

She stares at you now, like she’s hearing you through a tunnel. “You knew that?” she says, voice soft with disbelief.

“Yeah.” You roll your eyes a little, but there’s no bite in it. “I pay attention.”

Ellie smiles — not fully, just a quiet, private curve of her lips — and bites the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to hide it.

“No talking,” the teacher calls out without lifting their eyes.

You roll your eyes again and settle into silence, the kind that’s thick but not uncomfortable. The ticking clock sounds louder now, each second ricocheting off the pale classroom walls. Somewhere outside, a locker slams shut, followed by faint, echoing laughter. But your focus is stuck on the girl next to you — the way her fingers drum softly against the desk, the quiet way she breathes, how her knee is still barely an inch from yours.

You rest your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the desk, still watching her. Ellie stares straight ahead like she’s forcing herself not to glance your way. Like she can feel you looking and isn’t sure what to do about it.

“So...” you murmur, voice low and casual, “are you doing anything later?”

Ellie turns her head a fraction. “Uh, nothing... I think. Why?”

“Wanna go to a party with me? Just a house thing at Kendra’s.”

She blinks, clearly caught off guard, and gives you a look like you just asked her to go skydiving. “Why would I go to a party with you?”

You shrug, leaning back. “Nothing serious. Just wondered. Have you ever been to one?”

“Well... yeah. But not the kind of party you’re talking about.”

You squint, amused now. “And what kind is that?”

She shrugs, but there’s a glint in her eyes. “The ‘your kind’ kind. You know... boys and stuff.”

You snort. “Boys and stuff? Seriously?”

Ellie shrugs again, her smirk widening just enough to make your stomach flip.

“No one’s gonna make you do anything, y’know,” you add, raising an eyebrow at her, voice softer now, like an unspoken promise.

She hesitates, her eyes flicking to yours, then down to her lap. The pause stretches — not uncomfortable, just thoughtful — and then she nods slowly.

“I guess so. I could come.”

“Great. It'll be fun,” you say, a grin tugging at your lips as you lean back, arms crossing. There’s a fizz of electricity in your chest now, subtle but undeniable.

There’s a pause again — not awkward, just… still. The kind that stretches long enough for you to start wondering what’s going on in her head. You glance over, your voice a little softer now, curious instead of teasing.

“So... do you, like, have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

Ellie lets out a low laugh — short and breathy, like you caught her off guard. “Nah. Why?”

You lean your shoulder against the back of your chair, studying her expression as if it might give something away. “What’s your type, then?” you ask, tossing it out like it’s no big deal, like it’s just a casual, meaningless question — even though it kind of isn’t.

She glances at you sideways, her brow arching. “Why are you asking me that?”

You smirk, shrugging lazily. “So I can set you up with someone later. Maybe.”

Ellie scoffs, rolling her eyes — but there’s no real bite to it. “Didn’t you just say no one’s gonna make me do anything? And now you’re trying to play matchmaker?”

“I just wanna try,” you say, nudging her foot lightly under the desk. “C’mon, it'd be cute.”

She shakes her head slowly, but there’s a smile creeping onto her lips — small, like she’s trying to hold it back but failing. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Then, quieter this time, eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden desk, she says, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

You nod, and it’s not teasing now — there’s something softer in the way you do it, something that says you’re listening. That maybe you understand more than you’re letting on.

She glances up, eyes flicking toward you, just a little narrower now. Like she’s testing the waters. “How about you? Nathan?”

You blink, caught off guard, then immediately grimace. “Nathan? Nathan fucking Walsh? No way. Do people seriously think we hooked up?”

Ellie doesn’t answer — just lifts her eyebrows like, You tell me.

You groan, scrubbing a hand over your face. “Ugh, that’s a no. Like, a no-in-hell situation. I’d rather set myself on fire.”

Ellie actually laughs — a real one this time. It spills out of her unfiltered, her head tilting back just slightly. It’s soft, a little scratchy, and it warms something in your chest.

You can’t help but grin, cheeks already aching. “So… you’re coming with me later?”

She looks at you, really looks this time — like she’s trying to figure out what the hell she just got herself into. Her eyes flick between yours and the floor before she finally nods once.

“Yeah. Okay.”

The music is already pulsing through the house by the time you catch sight of her. It spills out the front door in a steady, throbbing rhythm, matched only by the flicker of string lights and silhouettes moving behind fogged-up windows. Ellie steps in with a slight hesitation, like the air is thicker here — like she’s walking into somewhere she’s not sure she belongs, but she's here anyway. A red solo cup is cradled loosely in her hand. Her shoulders are squared, jaw set, but her eyes move like she’s absorbing everything, scanning for a place to land.

Then they find you.

You spot her from across the room and light up, warmth blooming across your face, already flushed from the shots you took earlier. You break away from your group mid-sentence, weaving through a haze of cologne, sweat, and perfume until you reach her. Your grin is crooked, wide. “Heyyy,” you say, dragging the word out with a giddy lilt as you throw your arms around her.

Your balance tips a little on your heels — you’re slightly tipsy, full of heat and laughter — and Ellie catches you with a hand at your waist. Her grip is hesitant but steady. You’re aware of how solid she feels, how warm, how she doesn’t pull away even though she totally could.

“You really came,” you say against her ear, breath brushing the shell of it.

“I said I would,” she replies, voice quiet, like the volume of the house makes her want to retreat into herself. She looks down at you, eyes soft. The button-up she’s wearing is wrinkled at the edges, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and she smells faintly like clean laundry — sharp and comforting — mixed with the burn of something stronger. Whiskey, maybe.

You take her cup without asking, taking a sip and wrinkling your nose playfully before handing it back. “You’re late,” you say, tugging her by the wrist, your fingers lacing lightly around hers as you pull her toward the kitchen.

Ellie doesn’t resist. She follows you into the warmth and chaos of the party, and you hand her a shot before raising your own. She downs it without a grimace — like it’s nothing — then does the second one just the same.

You blink, impressed. “I thought you were all straight-edge,” you tease, nudging her elbow with yours.

She shrugs, lips curling at the edge. “Never said that.”

You laugh, leaning a little too close as your balance shifts again. “You’re full of surprises, Ellie Williams.”

The two of you end up at the edge of the kitchen, leaning against the counter while people move around you in waves. The music swells and falls, conversations weaving together in fragments. You’re mostly talking — telling stories, rambling through your buzz — while Ellie listens, her body angled just enough toward you to show she’s paying attention. Her green eyes flick over your face like she’s memorizing something, and every now and then, her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile.

Your fingers brush her forearm more than once. She doesn’t pull away.

At some point — you’re not sure when — someone drags you onto the dance floor. It’s hot and crowded, all limbs and flickering light, and you don’t remember if it was your idea or hers, but suddenly you’re dancing. Ellie’s hand is at your waist, grounding you in the motion, keeping you upright as you spin and stumble and laugh into her shoulder.

“Okay, okay, I’m done, I’m too drunk,” you wheeze out, laughter bubbling up. Your feet trip over each other, and you lean heavily into her as she catches you, both hands sliding to your hips, steady and firm.

You look up, breath warm against her neck, your heart hammering somewhere near your throat. Your cheeks are flushed — from the alcohol, the heat, her. “What if,” you say slowly, words slurring just a little, “what if the person I wanted to set you up with… is me?”

Ellie goes still.

She’s staring at you, eyes wide, mouth parted like she wasn’t expecting that. Her breath catches — just barely — but she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t laugh it off or deflect. Instead, she leans in close, her lips brushing your ear.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmurs.

You nod, barely thinking.

Everything becomes a blur of color and heat and motion. Upstairs, the bass from the music fades into a dull thump beneath your feet. You barely make it through the threshold of some stranger’s bedroom before Ellie’s lips are on yours, and your back hits the wall with a soft thud. Her hands are everywhere — in your hair, along your jaw, gripping your thighs as she lifts you up slightly, your legs tightening instinctively around her waist.

You’re breathless. Dizzy. Drunk off her mouth, her warmth, the way she kisses like she’s wanted to for a while and finally stopped holding back. Your hands are under her shirt, fingers skimming hot skin, tugging her closer, closer, until there’s nothing between you but heat and want and the sound of your own gasping breaths.

It’s messy. A little desperate. But god — you've never wanted anything more.

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