moonbug333

[moonbug333]

[moonbug333]

How I felt coming out of the theater just to go home and read fics of them

[moonbug333]

my fav author and my current hyperfixation??? life is worth living <3

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭

You like to rush things. Clark takes things slow until he can’t anymore. (Or, you attempt to seduce your coworker in a series of little skirts, and while Clark falls in love with all of you, the skirts don’t hurt.) 4k words, fem.

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s mildly manipulative, what you’re doing to him. Subtle seductions stretched far and wide between weeks of work, your eyes alighting a moment too long on his lips and his neck and his arms. 

You don’t flirt. That’s important. You don’t tell him how handsome he looks when the cold has rosed his cheeks. Won’t mention the poor fit of his gray suit, how it’d look far better on a bedroom floor, or draped across a bathroom stall. Nothing severe. You’re… teasing him. 

For no reason, really. It might be frustration, but wow, wouldn’t that be introspective? You know you could never land a guy like Clark, so you pretend. Blah blah blah, it’s all very boring and your skirt is very short. 

Alright, it’s not that short. It’s the illusion of the thing. The idea that he could get a glance at something, even though the skirt has an inner lining. 

You’re not, you know, obvious about it. Clark might not be looking. But you place your hand on the counter as you reach up with the other for a mug, and you know there’s a stretch of thigh on show if nothing else, heat of a real or imaginary eye on the backs of them as you sigh softly. You genuinely can’t reach. 

You settle back on your heels and turn to find Clark not too far away. “Hey, would you help, please? If you can reach it.” 

You can’t glean any overt interest from his expression, but he says, “Sure,” with warmth on his lips, like he’d gone to say something else and let it fizzle out. 

Clark opens the cabinet door wider and reaches in for a pink mug. It has ‘sweetheart’ written on the side in white, textured font, though the script is elegant. 

“Here, sweetheart,” he says. 

You laugh, mostly to see his satisfied smile. “Thank you.” 

“Can I make it for you?” he asks. 

Clark could hang you upside down and shake you for spare change if he wanted. “You know how I like it.” 

Teasing aside, you spend the afternoon sipping at your coffee with Clark a desk away, Lois adjacent, listening to the click of tens of keyboards and the scritch of shuffled paper on the edges of desks. You work on your small cooking column in relative silence. Three recipes a week, minimum. If you do especially well, Perry lets you slide a conversational piece across his desk for reviewing. You’ve had a couple on the third page. Clark has taken the front page again this week —an exclusive interview with Superman about the Jelly-Mecha that attempted to swallow the WGBS building. 

You’re leaning back with a leg over your knee, your eyes dedicated to the little clock in the corner of your monitor, when somebody hooks the empty chair in the desk beside yours and wheels it over. Clark is sitting next to you before you can protest, a dark-sugared donut in his hands. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Are you sharing?”  

“Obviously.” He grins, pulling the donut in his hands apart. Sugar crumbles down into his lap, and the smell of it erupts between you. Apple-cinnamon, miraculously warm when he presses it to your fingers. 

“Thank you.”

Your quiet doesn’t perturb him. He matches your tone, “Yeah, don’t mention it.” 

“Where’s this from?” you ask, taking your first bite.

He takes his own, covering his mouth with his hand as he answers. “Beanies.” 

“That explains why it’s still warm.” 

He shrugs. You don’t get what it means but you don’t care to argue, savouring each mouthful of dough and sugar. You lick the crumbs from your fingers and the corners of your mouth. Clark ate his own half fast, ‘cos he’s a giant with an appetite you envy and revile; in your most humble opinion, it is both impressive and audacious to watch Clark house a BLT in half a minute. 

“Was that good?” he asks quietly, his eyes on your shining fingertips. 

You wipe them on the edge of his napkin. An achy heat eats at your stomach. “You’re spoiling my appetite.”

“Do you have big dinner plans?” 

“Huge! I’m testing something new tonight. Snow mountain garlic and pea risotto, for health week. It’s not particularly healthy,” you confess. “But snow mountain garlic has all these supposed special properties. Doesn’t matter if it’s true, though.” 

“Why not?” 

You like his tone. “It has more allicin. That’s what makes it taste good.” 

“Allicin is antibacterial,” he says. 

“Brilliant. Antibacterial risotto.” 

He holds your eyes for a moment, his own big and especially blue behind his straight frames. “I hope it goes well,” he says. 

It’s a measured sentence, like he’s crafted each word carefully as he said it. 

“I’ll bring you some if it does.” 

“I’d like that.” 

You hide how warming it is to be spoken to like that, carrying the feeling home with you to unravel against the stovetop. If you try harder than usual to make a good meal, it is nobody’s business but your own, and Clark’s, who sits waiting and ready at his desk the following morning. 

“Clark Kent on time?” you tease, letting the handles of your handbag fall into your elbow. “Who would’a thought we’d ever see the day?” 

“I can be punctual,” he promises. 

“Can you? Aren’t you on probation?”

“That wasn’t for tardiness, it was for sick days, and no. I’m no longer on probation.” He smiles with white, shy teeth, a peek of them from between his lips. “I’m on the straight and narrow.”

You imagine the hardness of them against your own lips as you lean in for a kiss, for a split second. The clack you’d inevitably make as your teeth knocked into his, as you hooked your arm behind his neck and dragged him down to you for some light force. 

“‘Cos you’re a good boy,” you murmur, mumble, more to yourself than him (though he is definitely meant to hear you). 

Clark’s face is still. His hands less so, a fist curling against his thigh. His smile is remarkably genuine. “Coffee?” 

Calling Clark a good boy might be flirting. Or not! What’s important is the way it softens him for the working day. How quietly awed he sounds as you unveil a Tupperware container full of risotto for him. He tells you it’s good between big bites. You want to nibble on him, taken by the curve of his bicep each time he brings up his fork, and the tip of his tongue darting out to catch a grain of rice. He’s killing you. You’re dying at the Daily Planet. 

Dramatics aside, he compliments your risotto egregiously, returning the Tupperware with a pristine shine. You don’t play short-skirt with him for days. 

When you do, the skirt is a delicate thing that isn’t as short as you’d expect considering the name of the game, but it’s nearly sheer. Standing in the right light, your hip smushed to the pillarway near his desk while Jimmy tells you about a new kind of giant slug they found living in West Africa, you assume you’re displaying what you’d seen in the mirror that morning. Given enough sunlight, the lavender fabric of your skirt goes translucent. Anyone in looking distance can make out the barest hint of your legs, their shape, a shadow of your thighs and the neat little underwear you have on beneath. You aren’t trying to harass him, but, this is Metropolis. It’s not the most conservative place when it comes to fashion. It isn’t much different to wearing a pair of daisy dukes. 

They’re cuter than denim shorts, though. Velveteen paisley overlaying plain panties. 

It’s not entirely a sex thing. It’s to feel sexy, sure, as an arm to feeling beautiful, desired. You want to know that Clark (handsome, kind, beautiful Clark) sees it, that he wants it, even if it’s a fleeting flash of lust and nothing else. 

And Clark —he doesn’t notice. Doesn’t say a word about it, doesn’t clench his fist or take in a sharp breath. 

You decide you like that just as much and return to your desk, happily ashamed. 

—

The pasta you made yesterday is far better today. The mushroom sauce has soaked into the fusilli. With a scratching of fresh cheese, you lay it over a fresh bowl of rocket and watercress, coat the entire thing in lemon juice, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and flaky salt, and eat it enthusiastically behind your computer. 

“That smells amazing.” 

You lighten at his dulcet tone. “It’s pretty good. D’you want some?” 

“I’m trying to keep you fed, sweetheart,” Clark says, placing down your ‘sweetheart’ mug and a small plate, “not the other way around. Thank you.” 

His thank you is diligently gentle. He must work at it, to sound so docile. It has to be practised. 

The small plate homes two cupcakes. One has golden cake with a great dollop of fresh cream and cut raspberries atop it, and the other looks like a darker flavour. Ginger? The buttercream is thick and caramelised, with cookie crumbs between its peaks. 

“What have I done to deserve all this?” you ask. 

“You don’t have to do anything at all. It’s your afters. Your dessert.” 

“I haven’t done anything?” you ask. 

He shakes his head kindly. “It’s inherently deserved.” 

If he’s charming or teasing, you can’t tell. 

His eyes fall from your face. You get distracted by his details, the clean hills of his cheeks, his dark brows, sweet mouth and a sweeter nose broad enough to take a kiss or two, and you almost miss the stroke of his gaze lingering on your collar. His fingers twitch. “Can I?” he asks. 

You follow his finger. One of your straps has fallen down, leaving the simple pale elastic of your bra alone. You couldn’t have faked it better. “Sure,” you say under your breath. 

Clark hears it regardless, slipping a fingertip up your arm, a backwards tumble that threatens to send tattle-tale goosebumps over your skin. He hooks the strap under his fingers and brings it over your shoulder, pulling at it enough to make your eyes widen. Then his touch is gone, leaving a strange sensation in its place. 

“You’re dressed really pretty, today,” he says. 

You smile at the joke before you’ve said it. “As opposed to every other day,” you say. 

“This is beautiful. You look beautiful.” 

You duck your head. Sincerity in the face of your sarcasm inspires an amazingly dizzy feeling in the stem of your neck. You have to force back a smile. 

“Thank you, Clark. I’m… glad you think so,” you say eventually. There’s emphasis there for him to take or leave. 

You can see his hesitation, then, a palpable pause while he makes a decision. 

“It’s a nice skirt,” he says quietly. 

There’s nothing imposing in his tone, but there doesn’t need to be. He isn’t tall, dark, and handsome, he’s incredibly, scarily brilliant. He’s smiling at you like you’ve given him a compliment. 

“It’s a little brave,” you say. 

“Bravery suits you. Anyways,” —he touches your arm briefly— “don’t let me keep you. Eat your lunch. Hopefully your coffee won’t be too cold to enjoy when you’re finished.” 

You wish he’d press you up against a wall. He did notice the skirt. He has the self control to leave it alone, or at least to wait for you to bring it. And… yeah, that’s working for you, actually. Really working. You stood in the sunshine to give him an explicit view of your legs and he brought you cupcakes to say thank you. 

—

Apparently, there are limits to Clark Kent’s self control. 

You’re lavishing in Centennial Park under a gorgeous sun. It’s barely seventy two degrees, a tame heat for July in Metropolis, and yet the sun is hitting you just right, kissing at your skin, leaving you sated and heavy under its weight. Clark has rolled up his sleeves (a contributing factor, perhaps, to the contentness you’re carrying) and loosened his tie, sitting where you’re laying down, a sweet hand held to your knee. Today’s skirt is a bias-cut midi dress made of a dark sage green. There are bell-sleeves like petals and a neckline you aren’t worried about, not when he’s guarding you like this. You shift on your back to better feel the sun on your face, and he pulls the skirt along the inside of your thigh. Keeping it in place to protect your modesty, setting every nerve-ending you have aflame with pleasure. 

“Tell me if you feel too warm,” he says. 

“I’m not worried about the sun.” 

“What are you worried about?” 

“Oh, the usual. That some weird space creature is gonna break the atmosphere and kill us,” you croon. 

He delights in your tone, his thumb sweeping a line into your leg. “I won’t let anything kill you.” 

You’d kissed his cheek in the elevator because the line of his nose had looked rather unkissed, and his cheek had been the politer option. You hadn’t expected the quick turn of his head, or the complete lack of nonchalance about him as he’d smiled and laughed and pressed that same cheek to your temple as he’d hugged you with one arm. 

So now you’re here in the park because you hadn’t wanted him to stop touching you. The summer dress wasn’t part of your seductions but it seems to be working all the same. You’re hoping you’ll get a kiss of your own to settle the score before the sun goes down. With where his hands are resting, you aren’t sure where you want one most. One hand on your thigh, one on your knee, his body turned to you like it’s the natural thing to do. He could be generous and give you a kiss beneath both palms. You think you’d quite like that. 

“Do you worry about that a lot?” 

“Hm?” 

“The aliens… The space creatures, do you worry you’ll get hurt?” 

“Not really. We have a great protection detail, don’t we?” you ask. 

He’s quiet for a bit. “What do you think about him?”

You don’t ask, Superman? Of course he’s talking about him. “He’s extremely handsome.”

Clark laughs boisterously and shakes you by the leg. “Alright. Knock it off.” 

“Or what?” 

“Or nothing. Just knock it off.” 

He makes everything sound so satiny. 

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he adds. 

“Promise?” 

Half a joke. Clark pushes his glasses up onto his nose and finally leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your elbow where your arms are crossed over your chest. “Yeah. I promise.” 

You let him walk you home. That night, one of the star-shaped superaliens appears in the air near your apartment and then there’s a breathless Clark on the line asking if you need some company. You tell him no, ask if you can see him tomorrow when the dust settles, and he promises you that his Saturday was all yours. He actually says it, says, “I think you could ask me for anything after today and I’d try to do it for you.” He’s laughing to diffuse the weight of it, but you take it to heart. 

A Saturday turns to Sunday. A week turns to two. You and Clark trade careful kisses anywhere but the mouth and he doesn’t mention your little skirts. You keep wearing them, especially the velveteen lavender one too sheer for summer, layered over a short silk underskirt to protect your own wits. You’ve seduced him (have you?) but now you’d really like to keep him. 

It’s a Tuesday morning with little to give. The air is already warm, the tram platforms are full. You commute to the Daily Planet for another day of dedicated journalism. 

Jimmy begins the morning with praise. “I made your honeycomb macarons. I actually made them.” 

“And?” 

“And? They were amazing! You’re such a goddamn genius,” he says. 

He gives you a macaron from a tin shaped like Yoda. The cookie is sweet with that perfect, delicate crunch, and the honeycomb ganache is better than your own. You take another one from his tin, giving him a congratulatory pat on the elbow. “They’re amazing!” you say, shells and honeycomb pieces thick in your mouth. 

“What’s amazing?” 

You remember where you are urgently. 

“I made macarons,” Jimmy says. 

Clark doesn’t make fun of his pride. “Really? That’s awesome, man. Can I try one?” 

You swallow the lump in your mouth, washing it down with a quick swig of coffee. 

“Morning,” Clark says. 

“Hi. Good morning.” 

“Hi,” he says, fond. “How has your day been so far?” 

You lick your lips without thinking, sweetness lingering in the stick of your lipgloss. “It was good, yeah. The tram was hot.” 

“You look good.” 

Jimmy wrinkles his nose. “Guys, we talked about this.” 

“‘Bout what?” Clark asks, finishing his macaron in one bite. 

Jimmy is kind enough to roll his eyes and leave it alone, wandering off with his tin clutched to his chest. Clark rolls his eyes too, a secret gesture that has you laughing through your nose. 

“You do look good,” he says again. 

You look down in mild bewilderment. “It’s laundry day.” 

You’re in a pair of black slacks that threaten to slip off your hips at any moment and a button up that should be tight to the waist but unfortunately isn’t. You’d saved the outfit with a necklace and a handful of jewelled rings, but it’s nothing like the stuff you’ve been wearing as of late. Of course he’d notice. 

“This…” He raises a hand to your hip but doesn’t touch.

“What?” 

His thumb presses to a slip of skin so small you hadn’t noticed it was visible. His brow creases like he’s been burned, yet his hand remains where it is. After a heavy second, he squeezes, and he says something too quiet to hear to himself. 

“Clark?” you ask tentatively. “You okay?”

“You have no clue… no clue what you do to me.” 

His eyes are all on you. Deep, indigo-blue. 

Heat leeches up your neck. Your heart capers suddenly. “What do I do to you?” you ask, your tentativeness turned to silk.  

“Don’t.” 

“What do I do, honey?” you ask, nearly whispering now. “I don’t have a clue, right? So tell me, then, what I do to you?”

“What am I supposed to do?” His fingers adjust against your hip. “Why would you do this here?” Clark’s voice breaks with a put-upon heartache. He’s still smiling. “What am I supposed to do, here?” 

“Take me somewhere else.” 

His hand falls away from your hip. You can feel where his fingers had shaped your skin for minutes afterward, following him with a poorly faked casualness to the elevator. 

He hits the button for the basement as you step in. 

“I think they’re still printing,” you say. The mock-up copies get made in the basement, and it’s an all day affair. “It’ll be as busy there as it is–”

No sooner has the elevator started moving than Clark is hitting the emergency stop. 

“Clark!” you say. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

He doesn’t laugh. You lean away from him to take in his long body, his grey suit and red tie and the wetted run of his bottom lip. He has honeycomb in the very corner of his mouth. 

You raise your hand to wipe it away. 

“Yeah, okay,” you say, tilting your chin up slowly. 

Clark grabs two great, heaping, greedy handfuls of your back, long fingers spread out and guiding you in for a kiss you aren’t expecting. There’s genuine hunger there, your teeth clicking as you’d always imagined, a voracious sort of meeting that quickly gentles. He lets out a sigh against your lips and melts against you like a stick of butter over a flame, lax, a hand traversing upward and over and– and his mouth, his kisses are these open, warm mouthings you meet with a stammering heart. This isn’t the slip of control you’d imagined it to be. 

Clark’s kissing you without an ending in mind. You can feel it in the tenderness of his open palm, seemingly laid to sleep at the small of your back. 

“How long does that work?” you ask in a murmur, your lips happily stung. 

“I don’t know. I’ve never done that before.” 

“Really?” 

“When would I have had reason to try?” Clark asks, cupping your cheek in his hand. “You’re so pretty.” He steals another quick kiss. “Do you know that?” 

“I can’t believe this is what got you to crack,” you laugh. 

His eyebrows pinch. “What?” 

“This,” you gesture to your clothes. “Of all the things I’ve worn.” 

“I don’t understand.” Though it’s dawning on his face quickly. “Oh. You– The… Oh.” 

His neck goes all shades of rose. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. 

He tips your head back nicely. “For what? I would’ve cracked anyway. You could’ve worn anything, but… The little purple skirt, that was for me?” 

You press your flushed face to his chest, arms crossing lazily behind a strong neck. “Clark…” you mumble. 

He digs his face into your neck to kiss the softness beneath your ear. You’re surprised he doesn’t whine your name back to you, what with the mood he’s in, but Clark’s got a propensity for sweetness that won’t quit. 

“On purpose,” he whispers, vindicated. “I knew it.” 

The elevator chugs back to life. 

—

You are delightfully, blissfully human. There comes a time when you need saving, and it just so happens that Metropolis brags its very own (and very only) Krypton superbeing. One minute you’re being squeezed in the fist of a raspberry-furred mega fox thing, and the next you’ve been freed and grabbed and propelled through the air in arms that feel oddly familiar. 

“Miss, are you okay? Miss? Miss, are you alright?” 

You look down at the ants of your city and nearly puke up your dinner. “Oh my fuck,” you squeeze out. 

“I’m sorry! I’m taking you back down. There’s a girl, breathe in for me. Deep breaths.” 

You can hardly breathe at all, but your shallow breaths earn you a thank you and a proud pat on the back. Your legs are shaking so hard at touchdown that Superman has to physically arrange them beneath you, his arm glued to the small of your back when you list unsteadily. 

“You’re okay,” Superman assures you. 

His little curl is ever so darling. “Like Clark’s,” you say unthinkingly, wrapping the short strands of hair around your finger. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, generously ignoring your moment of delusion. 

“I thought I was gonna die.” You blanche, glancing back over your shoulder for signs of the megafox. “Fuck.” 

“Everything’s fine, now. I promise you.” 

You take a deep breath. Superman holds you by both shoulders, forcing you to copy a second, deeper breath, then a third. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. 

Too much like Clark. “My boyfriend, he was–”

“Everyone’s safe.” 

You let out a shaky breath. The last of your panic ebbs from your shoulders. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, thank you. For saving me. Thank you so much.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” he says. His voice goes bendy and weak. 

“I really do. If I died in this skirt, my boyfriend would never forgive me.” 

Superman gives you an appraisal, up and down. Heat flares in your stomach and refuses to cool as he smiles. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin a skirt like that,” he says knowingly. 

You shake your head, not without fondness.

All boys are the same. 

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed <3 and thank you Bec for reading it twice at different times

[moonbug333]

THIS IS SO SWEET IM GONNA EXPLODE‼️‼️

he's all that.

clark kent x reader. (3.2k)

summary: as a reporter of the daily planet, you haven’t been shy of your dislike for superman. clark is desperate to prove to you how superman, and by extension, him, is not as bad as you think.

content: flufff, clark kent being an adorable loser, still a loser as superman, interview banter, superman as the wingman for clark (cheeky ik), silly coworkers having a crush on each other but having no idea its reciprocated, office romance

author’s note: seeing clark’s frustration in the interview and article scene in superman 2025 got my head spinning 😏

“Okay, but why do you dislike him?”

Clark is on his interrogation case again. You don’t blink an eye as he settles across your desk, squeezing into the office chair with one elbow leaning on the armrest as he waits expectantly, almost desperately for your answer.

Every time you publish a new article with your detailed opinions on Superman’s recent actions, to provide an alternate perspective against the other rose-coloured articles of Metropolis’s favourite metahuman, Clark is always the first in line to question you.

“I don’t particularly dislike him.” Typing away at your computer to polish up one of your drafts, you rehearse the same line you tell everyone. “How could I dislike someone I’ve never met?”

“Then why the title?” He huffs. “I mean, come on. 'Superman’s Ulterior Motives In Recent Metropolis Fire Controversy'? You make him sound like a criminal."

“Come on, Clark.” You give him a pointed look. “You know how article headlines work. If I wrote something like “a critical approach to Superman’s latest actions regarding the fuel explosion”, who would read that?”

“I would.” His response is immediate, and it forces you to crane your neck, away from your latest article that’s been giving you writer’s block, to cast your attention to him.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but one reader wouldn’t exactly meet my paycheck’s expectations.”

“Well, I’m sure there are others who would appreciate a less cash-grabby title.” He retorts.

He realises the error in his words the moment he's on the receiving end of your icy glare.

“I have work to do, Clark.” Placing a metal sign that states "DO NOT DISTURB" on your desk, he doesn't need a hint to get that you're telling him to leave. "Even if you don’t appreciate my efforts, you could at least go distract someone else with your critiques.”

Clark knows he’s made a huge mistake. He doesn’t actually think your work is cash-grabby, he just wished you could see him- well, his alter identity in a more positive light. He loves your work, even if it makes him cringe when you point out his flaws with your cutting tongue, getting under his skin better than anyone else could.

You’re brilliant, and he’s just.. him. As Clark Kent, he doesn’t hold a candle to you. You’re fierce, bold and you leave a mark with your words and your presence. He can’t even begin to describe how much he admires you, but you barely even glance his way.

Maybe that’s why he’s in the office, eight on the dot every morning with a coffee in hand for you, asking you about your articles, your thought process, anything to get a few minutes with you.

Now, he’s officially screwed it up. Whatever tolerance you held for him previously, it’s all gone now thanks to his stupidity.

He sighs, shutting down his computer. He can’t even focus, and his eyes were starting to strain over staring at the blank document. Glancing over at you, you’re still typing away, with that same furrow in your brow that he’s memorised in his mind. How could he make it up to you? How could he change your mind?

Shifting his weight, his chair squeaks as he ponders.

“What are you looking at?” Clark jumps, suddenly registering Jimmy’s voice. Its rare for him to not hear footsteps nearing him, and it's only more proof of how much of a distraction you were. “Oh, her. Your office crush.”

“I do not have a crush.” Clark interjects, feeling oddly defensive. Having a crush on you, it makes his neck hot from the mere thought of it. “I just made her angry, and I’m thinking of how to make amends.”

Jimmy laughs. “Unless you somehow snag an interview with Superman for her, I think you’re going to have to wait awhile for her to cool down.”

“What did you just say?”

“That you’ll have to wait awhile?”

“No, the other thing.”

“Oh, an interview?” Jimmy scratches at his head. “I overheard her talking to Lois about how she’s stuck on her most recent article, and that she wished she could have a one-on-one with Superman to hear his perspective.”

That’s it. He may have screwed it up with you as Clark Kent, but Superman may be able to salvage this. Clark practically leaps off his chair, giving Jimmy a grateful squeeze. “Thank you, man. Seriously, I owe you.”

“Woah, dude. You’re heavy.” Jimmy huffs. “You’re welcome? But how are you going to get Superman to agree? It’s not like you have his contact or anything, do you?”

Clark doesn’t bother to reply, determination coursing through his blood as he walks out the office. Nearly out of ear-shot, he still hears Jimmy’s ‘Wait, Clark! Do you?’ repeating as an echo through the walls.

By the time you've managed to break a paragraph into your latest article, you feel that incoming headache and back-pain on its way to torment you for your incompetence. There's this block in your mind that refuses to be drained, and your tension with Clark earlier this morning certainly didn't aid you in your focus. You look up, noticing that the office is practically empty, and that most of the lights are off except for a few desk lamps from other co-workers who haven't left either.

You eye Clark's desk discretely, only to feel a pang of disappointment that he's already left. You rarely fought with him, as much as he was an insistent Big Blue fan. He was the sweetheart of the office, and on some days, you'd like to think he extended his sweetness a little more to you than everyone else. After today's conversation, you probably soured his impression on you after bashing his favourite metahuman in your headlines.

There's some part of you that worries you won't see him at your desk tomorrow with your coffee and another debate ready on his lips. He had left so early, which is incredibly unlike him. He couldn't possibly still be upset that you told him to bugger off, did he? He didn't seem like the type to hold a grudge, but maybe today was a step too far?

You shook your head, trying to shake off all your thoughts about your strange co-worker with his oddly charming demeanour and a size too large for his clumsy antics. Maybe you should pack up and go for a walk to clear your head. Sitting around here wasn't doing you much good other than increasing the hours of your back and eye strain.

Metropolis was nice at night. The city, which was always packed with crowds and honking cars, had quiet down at this hour. You watched as the lights went out in the tall buildings around you, signaling people leaving their work stations or going to sleep for the day.

If only you could get your hands on an interview opportunity with Superman. Funnily enough, despite having lived in Metropolis your whole life, you've never seen the hero who was so beloved in people's hearts. Other than social media spottings and the morning news, you have never seen the actual man who captivated Metropolis.

Kicking a crushed soda can on the sidewalk, you wonder if your bad luck in sighting him has to do with your articles being the singular negative perspective in the Daily Planet.

"Should I consider that as littering?"

Your head snaps up, and you.. can't believe it.

"Superman." You gasp, and realise this is probably the first time you've addressed him to his face rather than through an article.

He smiles, and you're surprised by how human it is. He bends down, picking up the soda can you kicked and tossed it into the nearest trash can- which was nearly ten feet away.

"You shouldn't be out alone this late." He comments. "The city's crime rate is higher at night."

"Isn't that what you're here for?" You ask. "To keep the city safe?"

His dimple deepens, and he lowers his head in a nod. "I do my best, but I can't be around every area no matter how fast I try to fly."

"Right." Through your daze, only one thought comes through with sharp clarity. You can't lose this opportunity to interview him. "Um, actually. I'm a news reporter from the Daily Planet. I was wondering if we could have a-"

"An interview?" His voice is filled with mirth. "Of course."

That was easy. Easier than expected. The daunting task and envy of Clark being able to secure interviews with Superman so easily seems less intimidating now, but you find yourself at a loss of what to ask as you prepared your recorder.

"What is your line of thought regarding the recent Metropolis fire?" You decided to start there, the topic most fresh in your mind from having just published the article this morning.

"I saw people that needed saving, so I did just that." He answers.

"However, when you saved the culprits who intentionally started the fire and insisted they be brought to the hospital and taken care for, you received a lot of criticism for not considering the victims who had to watch you care for the culprits."

"In life or death situations, I don't place people in boxes based on their roles. I do think the culprits need to face the consequences of their actions, but they were also injured. A life is still a life."

"You have very strong morals." You responded. "However, people are concerned on whether your judgement can be misplaced one day, and that you'll let the wrong people walk off free because you only cater to your own morals. What do you have to say to that?"

"If I had to consider what everyone wanted before I made a decision, I would have lost a lot of lives. In my situation, I will always be prone to making mistakes, so I try to make the ones I'll least regret."

"That is true." You answered, not expecting him to be so honest and open to your intrusive questions. "You are one of the only few metahumans in Metropolis. Have you ever felt out-casted by living on Earth?"

"Not really." He shrugs. "I always saw myself as human. I was raised by human parents with a normal human life. I am a Metropolitan as much as everyone else here."

"Just with ridiculous strength and the ability to fly." You point out.

He laughs. "And that too."

He walks alongside you as you add on more questions, your excitement palpable over the chance to finally have a real debate with the man himself. He's charming- irritatingly so, and sometimes, you have to force yourself to focus on what he's saying and not the way his eyes glimmer under the street lights, or how his height makes you crane your neck to look at him in the eye.

“So do you swoon all reporters this way to keep your pristine reputation?” You tease.

“Nope.” That damn dimple of his. “You’re the first person I’ve ever done this with.”

“Interviews? You sure give plenty to Clark.”

“Clark?" His expression freezes for a moment before relaxing. "Ah, that Daily Planet reporter? He’s a nice guy who happens to be around whenever I.. save people.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” You huff. “He might be your biggest fan.”

He takes note of your tone, the near sigh at the end of it. “Do you not.. like him?”

“No, I never said that! It’s just that..” How could you tell Superman of all people that you had a disagreement with Clark just this morning about him? “I was a little harsh with him this morning.”

“How so?”

“Well, before I met you.” Evading your gaze, your force yourself to admit the truth. “My impression was different to his, and it was quite obvious from my articles. He commented that my works were cash-grabby.”

“That’s a rude thing to say.” He responds.

“Really?” You implore. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly kind when twisting my words to fit the narrative of what sells. I didn’t consider how you also have feelings, and that you’ll probably feel horrible if you read what I wrote. Maybe I felt defensive about what he said because I was scared he’d be right.”

“Well, he isn’t right.” His gaze is determined, so sure his words are the truth. “Your articles are amazing, and he’s a fool to comment on them so carelessly.”

You blink. “You read my articles?”

He realises his accidental confession, his lips stuttering to come up with a response. “Occasionally.” He coughs, being the one to avert his gaze this time. “I am a Metropolitan, and you make good headlines for the news covers. Even I can be curious about what the Daily Planet writes about me.”

”My, if Superman is keeping an eye on my writing, I’ll have to be careful on what I say.”

“No, I like your honesty.” There he goes again with that smile. You understand what people mean when they say it blinds you. “It’s refreshing. And it’s good journalism.”

You snort at his words. “If Clark heard you say that, he’ll never dare critique my articles again.”

“You sure do mention Clark a lot.” He murmurs. “Is he a close colleague or..”

“Oh, not really.”

For some reason, his expression dampens at your words.

“He’s, how do I put it?” You mutter. “He’s like this ball of sunshine. He’s always got something nice to say to everyone, and a real big heart. He'll help out when the photocopier is down, when someone could use an extra coffee, when someone needs a proofreader. He’s the complete opposite of me. It's like he came into this world to help others.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks.

“No, actually I-” You bite your lip, wondering if you should tell him. I mean, it’s not like him and Clark are tied to the hip or anything, it’s practically the same as telling a stranger. “I kind of do- like him.”

Superman is silent. Deathly silent. It’s like he’s going through cardiac arrest, and you hurry to speak to clear the air. “You can’t tell him. I swear, not even my closest friends know about this.”

He seems to be recovering from your words, with a small grin raising the left corner of his lips. “I can keep a secret.”

“No, seriously. No one except you and my cat knows about this.” You sigh, feeling the flurry of emotions overwhelm you. “He drives me crazy.”

He looks like he’s trying to contain his laugh, making you feel even more silly. “How so?”

“He never gives me a break to recover from well, him. It's like he's always ready as soon as I reach the office with my favourite coffee, having already read through my entire article even if I published it minutes before. He’s always hogging my desk and asking me questions during my break too, and I do my best to not feel special because he treats everyone nicely.”

“From the way you put it, I think he likes you too.”

“Seriously?” You ask, trying hard not to be swayed by his confidence. He's looking at you so earnestly as he says it, it's almost like he knows he's right.

“Why don’t we do a little test?” He offers. “Does he wait to give coffee to other people in the morning?”

“No..”

“Does he ask other people about their articles?”

“Not that I know of?”

“Does he spend time with others during break or is it always just with you?”

You’re silent, feeling the racing of your heart. Superman smiles again, as if he already knows the answer you refuse to accept.

“I think you should have a talk with him.”

The moments you had with Clark flash through your mind. All the times he was so considerate with you, so passionate, and.. how you ended things today with him during your conversation. You didn't want to lose him, not when you had a chance to turn things around. “You know, Superman? Maybe you're right.”

The next day, after Superman graciously dropped you off at your apartment per your directions, you feel your anxiety clogged up in your throat as you wait for the office elevator. Your foot taps anxiously, wondering if you should truly take the advice given to you and confess to Clark.

Worse case scenario, you get rejected and have to face a lack of free morning coffees and interrogations for the rest of your career. That realisation does pummel your spirits down a little. You do like his interrogations, even if you had to be held at gunpoint to admit it.

You reach your floor, and step out with a chaotic choir shrieking in your chest, instinctively looking to your desk where Clark would usually be waiting with your coffee. Your heart seizes when you find no one there. Right, maybe this is a sign that your plan is bogus and you should come back to Earth, instead of listening to some metahuman’s love advice-

A call of your name interrupts your train wreck of thoughts. You turn around, and Clark is standing there with your coffee.. and a bouquet in hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be late.” He stammers. “Your favourite coffee spot was crowded today, and the florist was on the opposite side of town, and I wasn’t sure what flowers you liked.”

“Also, I’m really truly sorry about the other day.” It’s like he’s on a marathon but with words, spilling sentences out like he’s rehearsed them beforehand. “I didn’t mean to call your articles ‘cash-grabby’. You’re an amazing writer, probably the best I’ve ever met, and I don’t want you to feel insulted by my stupid comments-”

You step closer, ignoring his rant and place a kiss on his cheek, stopping him in his tracks. His lips are still parted midway through his sentence, only now, there’s no sound coming out from him.

“Thank you, Clark.” You replied, ignoring the shakiness of your hands. “And lilies are my favourite, so good guess.”

He swallows dryly, blinking like a morse code pattern as he tries to find something, anything to respond to you. “Well- Right. That’s good. Flowers are good.”

You laugh, taking the coffee from his hand to take a sip, mostly to ease your nerves from your impulsive action. The faint scent of coffee and peanut butter was still lingering in your mind from having been so close to him. “I have a new article on Superman." You brought up, trying to seem casual as you toy with the back of your chair. "I thought you would like to have a read.”

That seems to kick him back into his senses, his response arriving as soon as you stopped yours. “I would love to.”

You move the monitor to make the article visible to him. “I’ve come up with a few pointers, but I need help with the title. Do you want to.. work over it while getting lunch together?”

“Yes!” He exclaims, a grin so wide on his face it nearly splits it in two. “I mean, yeah." He shrugs, a light red coating his ears. "I would be glad to help out.”

You can’t help the grin that slips out when you see his, which is as infectious or even more so than Superman’s. Maybe Clark was right about Superman being more than the words you wrote about him in the past. Yet, it was the man in front of you now.. that held your heart.

a/n: I love him so much. The movie was so good, I was geeking the entire time. I have so many more fics I want to write for Clark, I can’t wait!

[moonbug333]

saw superman yesterday and i am a changed woman. this was so cute and so perfect for my delicate heart rn.

TOLD YOU SO

clark kent x journalist!reader | warnings: mentions of mugging, mentions of violence, hate towards superman (#supershit)

“superman’s not even that impressive,” you say, setting your coffee down with more force than necessary. you plop into your chair next to clark kent and sigh. the tv above you shows headlines about superman’s newest conquest.

clark doesn’t look up from his desk. “you say that like it’s going to hurt my feelings.” he chuckles, continuing to scribble stuff down on his notepad. you glance over. he’s typing with one hand, glasses slipping slightly down his nose, tie loose. it’s just past 9 am and he already looks like he’s been fighting for his life in the bullpen.

“you act like you know him,” you shoot back, reaching for your planner with an eye roll. “you’ve got this whole boyish glint every time someone mentions him, like you’re president of the fan club.”

clark chuckles, low and amused. “i just think he’s misunderstood. people see the cape and forget he’s out there risking everything for this city.” of course he’d say that. conveniently, he’s the only reporter on the planet who’s had more than one conversation with superman. suspicious, if you were the type to keep a conspiracy board.

you’ve been at the daily planet for about a year now. you came in wide-eyed and ready to put your byline on the pulse of metropolis—investigative features, hard-hitting exposés, maybe even a column. instead, you got a desk next to clark kent—senior reporter, newsroom golden boy, devastatingly handsome in that infuriating, all american way. easily the most annoying man you’ve ever met.

you snort. “he leveled three rooftops last week stopping a runaway bus.” he’s still typing with one hand and scribbling with the other. your eyes shamelessly fall from his face to his figure. those white shirts he always wears make it impossible to stay mad at him.

“the bus didn’t fall off the bridge, though,” clark says, finally glancing at you, mouth tilting up at the corner. “so maybe cut him a little slack?”

“please.” you flip a page in your notes. “he flies around in broad daylight, flirts with reporters, and acts like it’s a favor. he’s a glorified himbo with heat vision.”

clark stifles a grin. “okay, first of all—ouch. second, are you saying if he flirted with you, you’d be annoyed?” he raises his brow with a smirk. he loves teasing you and it’s one of the many things you hate about him.

you look at him flatly. “i’d be unmoved.”

“right.” he leans back in his chair, arms folding slowly over his chest. those arms. “i’ll make sure to pass that along.” you roll your eyes, muttering something about overcompensating. but you can’t stop thinking about that flicker in his eyes when you said you weren’t impressed. the little shift in his smile like maybe he wants you to be.

with a deep exhale, you swivel your chair back toward your desk and get to work, pretending not to notice the way clark’s still watching you. he tries to look away—really, he does. but there’s something about you he can’t shake. he’s hasn’t been able to, not since the first time he caught the scent of your perfume from a mile out. he tells himself it’s harmless. just a crush. but maybe. he lets his feelings get in the way of being superman sometimes. like that one time lex luthor’s wrath swept through the city, and superman evacuated everyone…except your ex-boyfriend. (it did eventually happen, of course. and sure, it may have taken a few extra minutes, but the look of pure panic on that guy’s face was so worth the headline the next morning: is superman getting sloppy?)

“your next article isn’t on my lips, kent.” your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. with a few blinks and the shake of his head, he sits upright and turns back to his computer. you keep your head straight, posture unbothered, but your lips twitch into a smirk.

~

hours later, the city has softened. you’re halfway through one of your usual late-night walks—coat collar turned up, headphones dangling from your pocket, hands shoved deep into your sleeves. the streets around your apartment are quieter than usual. most people are in bed by now, but you’ve always liked the hush between night and morning. it’s the only time metropolis feels like it might breathe.

your mind drifts. not to your article. not to the press deadlines or politics or the new intern who nearly spilled coffee on your keyboard. but to him. to that flicker in clark’s eyes. the smile when you called superman unimpressive. the way his voice dropped just a little when he said, i’ll make sure to pass that along.

you shake the thought off, crossing the street toward the corner bodega. that’s when you hear it. there’s a shuffling sound. it’s too fast—too close. you tug out your headphones and freeze, but you barely have time to register the footsteps before a hand wraps around your wrist and jerks you back, hard. “hey!” you snap, stumbling as your shoulder slams into a wall.

there’s a guy. he’s young and wired-looking—eyes too wide, body too twitchy. there’s a knife in his hand and something wild in his voice. “phone,” he snarls. “bag. now.”

your heart jumps into your throat. you raise your hands slowly, mind racing through every self-defense article you’ve ever written, every sharp-witted comment you should’ve made at the time, every unfinished sentence at your desk. you’re about to decide between a groin kick or an elbow, but he beats you to it.

the wind shifts as if a force just entered the atmosphere. suddenly, the guy is gone. he’s just gone. shoved back so hard he lands against the alley wall with a thud and a startled yell. the knife clatters uselessly to the pavement. in his place, superman stands before you. he lands like something divine, cape flicking behind him, eyes glowing faintly gold beneath his brow. “you alright?” he asks, voice low, rich, undeniably amused.

your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. he steps closer, gaze sweeping down your body. he’s checking for injury, but also looking. you nod, dazed. “yeah. i’m—i’m fine.”

“you sure?” he asks again, eyes still scanning your entire body at lightning speed. you nod fast, teeth buried into your bottom lip. “ok, good.” he sighs and steps back. it seems like he’s about to fly up and disappear to god-knows-where, but he stops. he turns his head back to face you. “maybe next article,” he says, voice low, “you won’t describe me as a nuisance.”

you crane your head to look at him and blink. warmth floods your cheeks. “you read that?” suddenly, every thought out article seems like a children’s book. suddenly, you feel like the biggest joke in all of metropolis.

“page three, under the headline ‘superman stalls traffic in midtown.’” you can’t tell if he’s teasing or genuinely offended, but you feel the weight of it anyway.

“I didn’t mean-” a nervous laugh escapes your lips. your neck burns from how hard you’ve been scratching it.

he lifts a hand. “it’s alright. critics keep me humble.” your throat’s dry. he’s still standing too close, but not in a threatening way. it’s warm, oddly comforting. he knows how much adrenaline is still coursing through your body.

“thank you,” you say finally.

he meets your eyes. there’s nothing smug there. just quiet understanding. “you’re welcome.” then he’s gone. no dramatic exit, no sound, just space where he’d been. you stand there for a moment, alone in the dark, your heart still racing and your mind spinning. maybe you were wrong after all.

~

the daily planet bullpen smells like burnt coffee and deadline panic. so…nothing new. you push through the doors a few minutes later than usual, sunglasses on despite the cloudy weather, iced coffee in hand, and a very deliberate expression of calm indifference. it lasts about ten steps. then clark looks up from his desk. he’s already grinning, practically kicking his feet.

“morning,” he says, voice smooth and all easy, like he didn’t just save you from getting mugged twelve hours ago. “you look well rested.”

you slide your sunglasses onto your head and shoot him a look. “i am rested.”

he hums, tapping a few keys like he’s very focused on his work. “huh. must’ve been a peaceful night in the city, then.” your jaw twitches. you toss your bag onto your chair, take a sip of coffee, and don’t look at him. he keeps going. “no near-death experiences? no high-speed chases? alien invasions?”

you glare. “did you need something, clark?”

he shrugs. “just making conversation. you usually come in ranting about superman’s lack of regard for traffic laws.”

you inhale slowly. look at your screen. then, before you can stop yourself, you murmur, “he’s not that bad.”

clark freezes. not visibly, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you see it. the stillness in his shoulders. the tiny flicker in his eyes. “…what was that?”

you roll your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “don’t make me repeat it.”

“no, no,” he says, leaning back in his chair, arms folding across that annoying chest. “by all means, take your time. i’m just a humble reporter trying to process this historic shift in perspective.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, i’m right.”

you attempt to bite back a smile. “hypothetically,” you say, trying for casual, “if someone were to have a change of heart about superman, it might be because he saved their life. hypothetically.”

clark raises a brow. “well. that would certainly give someone a new perspective.”

“mhm.” you hum, eyes still glued to your computer screen.

he glances at you again. it’s longer this time, quieter. the teasing softens around the edges. “you okay?”

you nod, shoulders relaxing at the question. “yeah. i’m okay.” he studies you for another beat, then nods too, turning back to his screen. but his mouth curls at the corner, just a little. he doesn’t say it out loud, yet it’s all over his face.

told you so.

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[moonbug333]

me rn

“Don’t Call Me That (Unless You’re Mad at Me)”

Pairing: Ellie Williams x fem!reader

AU: College AU, established relationship

Length: ~1.7k

You’re sitting on the couch trying to salvage a half-baked group project presentation that’s due tomorrow, staring at a slide that literally says “Capitalism be wild” in bright pink font when Ellie walks in and drops her keys like she wants an audience.

She kicks her shoes off too aggressively and flops onto the couch next to you with the dramatic sigh of someone who just got dumped and evicted in the same day.

“Don’t ask,” she says, already face-down into the cushions.

You don’t. You just glance at her and go back to the war crime that is your shared Google Slides.

She rolls over. “You’re seriously not gonna ask what happened?”

“No,” you say, deadpan. “I assume it’s mildly inconvenient. Like your favorite pen ran out.”

Ellie sits up and blinks at you. “Okay, rude. But kind of accurate.”

You smirk, still not looking at her. “Shocking.”

There’s a pause. Then—

“Ellie, what happened,” you mutter without looking up.

Another pause. Then a sharp inhale.

“You just called me Ellie.”

Your fingers freeze over your trackpad.

“…Yeah?”

“No baby? No babe? No ‘you absolute freak’?”

You look over at her. “I literally just said your name.”

Ellie squints at you like she’s trying to determine if you’re possessed.

“You never call me that unless you’re annoyed with me.”

You blink. “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

You finally set the laptop aside. “I’ve been staring at Comic Sans for forty minutes. If I sound irritated, that’s why.”

Ellie’s already climbing over you like a cat determined to be in your way. She sits sideways in your lap and rests her chin on your shoulder.

“I just think it’s kinda harsh,” she says casually. “Dropping government names like we’re not in love.”

You snort. “You’re so dramatic.”

She shrugs. “I’m sensitive.”

“No, you’re a menace”.

“Menace with standards,” she mumbles, half-buried in your hoodie. “I still expect to be called baby.”

You glance at her, unamused. “You’re getting nothing until I make it through this slideshow without ripping my hair out.”

Ellie groans. “Wow. So this is how it ends. Cold shoulder over Google Slides.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You watch one psychology TikTok and now you think you’re a licensed therapist.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Okay, Dr. Williams.”

“I like the sound of that,” she says, sitting up straighter. “Say it again.”

“Only if you stop talking.”

She squints. “You’re being so cold to me today. Is this about the last slice of pizza last night? Because I genuinely didn’t know you wanted it.”

“I didn’t. But now I do, retroactively.”

Ellie looks offended. “You can’t just claim food in hindsight.”

“You can if you’re petty.”

Ellie huffs but doesn’t move from your lap. Instead, she hooks her arms around your neck.

“I liked it better when you called me gross pet names in front of your friends.”

“You mean when I said ‘hey loser, come here’ and you acted like I gave you an engagement ring?”

“Exactly.”

You laugh softly and tilt your head forward until your forehead bumps hers. She smiles, eyes closing, her whole body softening against you like it always does when you’re quiet like this.

“You’re so annoying,” you say gently.

“Say it nicer,” she murmurs.

You lean in and kiss her cheek. “You’re my favourite headache.”

She opens one eye. “Still not ‘baby,’ but I’ll allow it.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re really gonna act like this over a nickname?”

“Yes,” she says immediately.

You tilt your head. “What if I started calling you something worse? Like El.”

She physically recoils. “Don’t you dare.”

“El.”

“I swear to god—”

You grin. “E-dawg.”

“Stop.”

You’re laughing now, and she’s pretending to be offended but already smiling, already giving herself away.

You shift slightly, readjusting your laptop and giving her a half-hearted pat on the thigh. “If you get up and make popcorn, I’ll call you baby.”

She considers this like it’s a high-stakes negotiation.

“Movie night?”

“Yeah.”

“Your pick or mine?”

You pretend to think. “Yours. But nothing that’s, like, sad for no reason.”

“Fine,” she says. “But if I see one more Google Slide with neon fonts and drop shadows, I’m unplugging the router.”

“Deal.”

She finally gets off you and heads toward the kitchen, mumbling something about kettle corn.

You reopen your laptop, adjust the disaster of a slide, and call out casually, “Thanks, baby.”

There’s a pause, then—

“I forgive you!” she yells from the kitchen.

Of course she does.

[moonbug333]

omg i’m gonna faint. if this were actually me in this situation i would fold IMMEDIATELY

becoming ellie williams' personal nurse was absolutely not part of your grand plan. in fact, being ellie williams’ anything hadn’t crossed your mind until an unexpected run-in left you the only one available to patch her up after a rough patrol. you’d spoken fewer than ten times before that, but after that night, ellie unilaterally decided you were the only person allowed to help her when she got injured. you didn’t fuss as much as maria, or dina, or anyone else—and that was enough for her. or at least, that’s what she claimed. it certainly didn’t hurt that you were cute.

that's how you found yourself falling into a routine—ellie 'just happening' to show up at your door, flashing those worn green eyes and grumbling about how "it's not that bad" to garner enough pity until you inevitably caved and fixed her up, sparing her yet another lecture from maria.

tonight was no different. she lingered outside, shifting her weight like she was debating whether to knock. but since this had become clockwork, you were already pulling the door open, and she shuffled inside uttering a, “don’t make a big deal out of it.”

you sighed, already moving to nab your ever-growing stash of first-aid supplies as she dropped into your desk chair. ellie had tried to clean herself up beforehand, but it was fruitless—her green jacket, the one now being hastily shrugged off, had been covering the worst of it. a deep gash on her arm, the lingering traces of a nosebleed, fresh cuts along her cheek. she’d been through hell and back.

"ellie," your voice carried a warning as you approached, reaching out to cautiously inspect her wounded arm. "this isn't just some scrape." ellie exhaled sharply through her nose, taking the accosting while settling in the chair she'd visited many times already. "it's nothing. i don't want maria finding out and pulling me off patrols."

your lips pressed into a thin line, but you didn't protest further. you knew how much patrol meant to her—how she needed it. how ellie seemed to rely on it to feel like she provided something useful to jackson. so instead, you got to work, gently cleaning the cuts along her forearm. ellie winced as the antiseptic hit raw skin, her fingers twitching against her thigh. unfortunately, the cut had grazed her tatted arm. you made a valiant effort to be delicate enough to mend the cut without disturbing the tattoo—luckily, it had missed the chemical burn ellie said she'd gotten on that arm years ago.

"oh, stop whining," you chided over her complaints. "shouldn't you be used to the pain by now? little masochist. and what's with you aiming for this poor arm so much? you've got two to work with, you know.” ellie scoffed at your chastizing, biting the inside of her cheek as her expression shifted to annoyance but not full offense. "right, lemme plan my injuries better next time."

you dabbed at a shallow abrasion beneath her cheekbone. ellie's eyes flickered up, trying to capture yours, but you wouldn't budge from the injury. she bit her crimson-stained lip, like she was weighing her next words wisely. "you keep patching me up, though. makes me wonder... i mean, i dunno..." ellie stilted her delivery, partly out of nerves, partly to grab your attention. "maybe you like seein' me all banged up," her tone took on a pitchy lilt as she kept peeking up at you.

the way she said it—less of a tease, a tad second-guessing, trying to dare a reaction out of you—made your stomach do something stupid.

"a better patient would stop causing such a distraction," you shot back, deliberately avoiding her gaze while keeping with the 'strict nurse' facade. you couldn't suppress a hint of a smirk though, briefly wiping your mouth to try and shield the small break over her nervous attempt at flirting. you just hated how right she was—no one was forcing you to do this, to put up with her maddening stubbornness and save her hide time and time again. all ellie had to do was bat those ridiculously pretty greens, and your defenses crumbled.

ellie huffed, pleased with your accidental admission but now more determined to coax more from you. she shifted slightly—and that's when you felt it. the light press of her fingers against the dip of your waist, like she had just meant to steady herself but forgot to pull away. her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine. you said nothing, pretending not to notice. maybe she hadn't even meant to. you'd both insist, later, it was simply the sting of the antiseptic anyway, as if she hadn't weathered worse injuries before. neither of you moved.

ellie couldn't disguise her beaming when your strict charade allowed the gesture. she swallowed, like she was trying to decide whether to try her luck. her fingers tapped your side, hesitant.

“i think you're helping me all the time 'cause you've got a soft spot for me."

your breath hitched, warmth creeping up your neck, but you weren't about to let her win that easily. with a little head shake, you willfully regained your composure and lightly patted ellie's uninjured cheek before schooling your expression. "hush. you're being disorderly. i can't fix you up with all this blabbering."

ellie let out an exaggerated hiss, scrunching her eyes shut dramatically. your stomach clenched in brief panic, helper mode reigniting—until you realized she was full of shit, twisting her head like she'd been mortally wounded when, in reality, you had barely touched her.

"you're impossible," you muttered, smacking her good arm lightly in playful retaliation. "your life is in my hands. don't forget that." ellie leaned forward just enough to close the space between you, her voice dropping. "yeah, yeah, and every time i show up like this, i'm choosing to put my trust in you."

she wavered briefly, then added, softer still—only brave enough to say it now because she was already committed to the bit—"and that’s also why you won’t look at me."

you froze, and the second you met her gaze, it was over—long lashes framing those round green eyes, a smattering of freckles, some loose auburn strands that had escaped her barely-held-together bun sticking to her skin from the leftover sweat of patrol. with scraped skin and blood-streaked face, ellie was a proper mess—and yet, here you were, fighting every aching urge screaming at you to throw yourself on top of her.

you swallowed hard. the unassuming, bashful, loserish ellie was nowhere to be found. replaced by an ellie probably still riding the adrenaline of her close call with a horde of infected earlier, caring a little less about the consequences of her words and even further fueled by your easily cracked stoicism.

ellie seized your defeated, flustered silence to keep going. "also, as my nurse, i'm surprised you don't know the best cure for any injury."

you inhaled to brace for whatever nonsense was about to come out of her mouth. "oh, yeah? what's that?"

".....a kiss."

a drawn-out groan escaped you. "jesus," you muttered, cheeks burning. but fine—just this once. you weren't giving in completely, but you leaned in, pressing a fleeting peck to the tip of her nose.

the way ellie's face immediately split into a stupidly giddy grin was almost worth it. almost. her whole expression flushed a rosy pink, too.

"oh, on the nose? that barely counts," ellie teased, her voice dipping into something softer, more expectant. definitely hoping she hadn’t pushed her luck too much.

"deal with it, williams," you murmured, but your mind was already betraying you.

despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what it would be like if you really gave in. if you disregarded all medical safety and climbed into her lap and kissed her senseless, letting your hands explore each other in desperation and recklessly savoring the taste of metallic red left on her soft lips.

snapping yourself from that less-than-holy thought, you deflected under the guise of needing to retrieve more supplies for another small cut you had overlooked.

when you came back, ellie was still watching you, something unreadable in her expression. you hesitated for a moment, then finally gave her a little glimmer of hope to cling to.

"tell you what," you started. "don't be an idiot—which i know is hard for you—and let everything heal," you let the jab sit for a second to build suspense, "and i’ll grant you the other half of that kiss."

ellie's smile widened triumphantly, though her posture was beginning to laze as exhaustion from the day's chaos caught up with her.

"anything for the nurse."

"yeah, yeah. now hold still so i can finish fixing you up."

and, for once, ellie williams actually listened. pic creds @/elliesgalaxy

[moonbug333]

YES COFFEE SHOP FLUFF RAHHHHHHH

coffee shop fluff with ellie williams rahhh

pitter patter. the slosh of each step onto the sidewalk, the missteps into murky puddles during the drizzle, threatened to seep through your fuzzy socks and erase the last barrier between you and the storm above.  

the forecast had promised sunshine—what a load of shit that was. a pleasant excursion into town with your best friend ellie had turned into a zig-zagging mad dash between stops, making the chill vibes more fickle as you tried to have fun while evading a sniveling cold. the day still managed to be something close to perfect. because, at the end of it all, you were with ellie.

seeking some reprieve from the onslaught of trickling rain, you both slipped into an equally busy coffee shop. despite all the action, you sighed in relief as the inside brought a coziness the foggy, slate-grey spring weather had not granted. it was a steady crowd—everyone else must have had the same idea, trying to escape the lousy weather.  

“whatcha want?”  you asked ellie, who was raking a hand through her auburn hair, now darkened to a deep chestnut from the rain.

“anything but coffee.”  

“got it.”  

you took ellie’s entirely too vague order and stepped ahead to the counter, purchasing yourself a latte and ordering the barista’s special recommendation of tea for ellie.  

as you waited, elbow leaned against the corner of the countertop, your eyes wandered, quickly spotting ellie on the far side of the café. she’s holding what appears to be a comic, plucked from shelves that sat riddled with trinkets, purchasable knickknacks, and dime-a-dozen books.  you quietly head her way.

“did you find the one comic in this café?” you asked, leering over her shoulder, eyeing the yellowed pages ellie was flipping through.  

she snorted, barely sparing you a glance. “obviously.” she traded in the zine for her tea, taking it from you and blowing on the top to cool it down.   

you and ellie made your way to a small circular table near the windowsill, watching the droplets trickle down the glass. it was peaceful, even if you were both wet as stray dogs at this point of the day.  

“you know,” you started, initiating a random topic to keep the momentum going. “i don’t mind the city.”  

ellie shrugged. the city didn’t seem to bring the same twinkle to her eye as it did to you. she leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers idly against the side of her cup.  

“eh. it’s a lot sometimes,” she admitted, “but… not bad if you know where to look.”  

you nodded. “exactly.”  

then you paused, sensing a layer underneath ellie’s words. your eyes narrowed mischievously as you leaned in slightly, like you were coaxing a secret out of her.  

“wait. do you have some mystery spots you haven’t told me about?”  

ellie shrugged again, her false coyness meant to taunt you, rile you up—her favorite pastime, it seemed. “dunno.”  

you groaned, blowing on your drink to soothe yourself, taking a small sip before really grilling her.  

“what are you talking about?”  

ellie hummed noncommittally, slowly swirling her cup in her hand, acting as though the conversation wasn’t all that interesting.  “wouldn’t you like to know.”  

“ellie, you fucking suck.”  

ellie merely smirked, clearly enjoying your weak attempt at prying an answer from her. she took a slow sip of her tea, looking entirely unbothered—maybe even a little smug—as you steeped in your frustration.  

“if we were dating, i’d take you to all the best places…” she mused, her inflection practically begging you to cling to and make a deal of her teasing words.  so you did. “what’s stopping you?” you fired back, playing along.  

in your pride, you caught the way ellie visibly stiffened, her lips pressed to the rim of her cup, frozen mid-sip as if she might choke on your reply.  

“…excuse me,” she muttered, a bit gruff, her eyes flicking toward you as if unsure whether to scoff or take you seriously.  

“you heard me.” you mirrored her energy, wiggling your brows, acting as if the rising tension wasn’t threading through your every last nerve. there had been plenty of cheeky flirts and lingering touches before this titular moment with ellie—she was your pretty best friend. you’d be ‘down’ if she asked. but the possibility had never been quite so direct as this.  

“mmmh, i’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, trying to sound stoic before finally taking that sip she wanted. you caught the quiver in her voice and the rose-petal blush on her cheeks, however, shining through the sheen of rain still clinging to her face and hair.  

“nice.” you grinned, pleased with her words. “when can we start?”  

“start what?”  “dating. so you can show me those so-called best places..duh.” ellie finally, actually choked on her tea.

[moonbug333]

oh she’s so cute there’s something about this version of jealous ellie that makes my heart melt. like she’s so pathetic i love it!!

your quick footsteps slow to a crawl in the snow from last night's flurry. the blanket of white dampens your boots and muffles the impact. you come to a stop next to your favorite auburnette, also up bright and early—and equally grouchy about it.

"hey," you mutter a greeting, eyeing ellie's figure, but her attention is locked on the zipper of her green jacket.

"hey." it comes out as a low grunt as she irritably yanks at the zipper, clearly snagged on something.

"need help?"

"no, i got it—"

you don't wait, stepping into ellie's space so your nimble fingers can wrestle it for her. ellie lets her hands fall to her sides, fists clenched tightly, cherry color blossoming on her cheeks. the tense air between you is so thick that she can't bring herself to look at you. instead, the wood paneling of the nearest building suddenly becomes the most fascinating thing she's ever seen.

a few seconds of tugging and angling the zipper in several impossible directions later, you hit the sweet spot that allows you to glide it smoothly to the top with one final pull, properly shielding ellie from the frosty weather.

"there," you say softly, reluctantly letting your hands drop away.

ellie's eyes remain stubbornly skyward, but she replies with a sheepish, "thanks."

you don't step away, though, as this unexpectedly charged closeness presents the perfect opportunity to ask the real hard-hitting question.

"why have you been ignoring me?"

ellie's green eyes widen into saucers, panic stiffening her entire body. it's true. she has been avoiding you—going from spending every day together to ducking out of every room you enter for weeks or forcing her attention on everyone besides you during group hangouts. the abrupt change has been eating away at you. despite her attitude having more bite than the surrounding chill, you miss her, so you won't let her blow you off any longer. ellie realizes it too.

"seems like you've been busy," she grumbles.

you blink. "busy? with what?"

ellie can't resist the temptation to admit the truth, just hoping to get the words out in a way that doesn't sound too bitter.

"with zoey."

"z—zoey?" you ask, thrown off by the mention of a new friend you've barely hung out with. you practically gawk at ellie, mentally trying to paint a picture of whatever the hell has been going on inside her head.

ellie picks up on your disbelief, fidgeting as she realizes she at least owes you an attempt at a plausible explanation.

"zoey," she repeats, the name sour on her tongue. "i've seen you hanging around her a lot, i guess. saw her take you out to practice shooting, didn't wanna like, get in the way or anything," ellie's voice wavers as she digs herself further into a hole with every word.

ellie's trying to make avoiding you over a new friend sound believable, but it's weak. she knows it. ellie also knows it's unfair to you and feels the weight of guilt knowing how much her absence has affected you. what she won't admit is how much she misses you, how much the space affected her too.

you tilt your head, trying to understand. the silence stretches on for far too long for ellie's rapid heartbeat beneath her now-snug jacket.

"she taught me some, i guess," you agree, oblivious to the implications.

"well, like... i could show you how to shoot, too," ellie suggests tentatively, aware that she's leaning into the patheticness now. her gaze, once stuck in the sky, suddenly drops to the ground, glued to the toe of her sneaker, tracing circles into the skiff of snow.

you scoff at this new, flustered side of her, glancing around as if to say, 'is anyone hearing this?' ellie is always deeper than the front she puts up, but this is different.

"ellie, if you wanted to join, i'd love that—"

"or just us. easier to focus that way—" ellie butts in, grasping flimsily for excuses. how inconspicuous.

you start to see through the cracks in her demeanor. it's always been clear to anyone—aside from you, apparently. ellie can't understand why you're upset with her avoidance, and you can't pick up on the source of her frustration. loser lesbians doing their thing.

"oh, okay, um—" you scramble for a solution.

"don't worry, you've probably got a lot of practice with her, i'm guessing," ellie starts to brush off the idea before you can reject it, but you interrupt her.

"but. i want you to show me, ellie," you insist earnestly, shutting down her assumptions and giving ellie the opening she's been yearning for. she thankfully gets it, meeting your gaze for more than a millisecond.

"you sure?"

"yeah. like, really sure."

for a moment, ellie stares, a faint flicker of something you can't quite name lighting up her expression. then, finally, she subtly nods, stuffing her hands deep into her pockets. she looks a little less like she wants to run away and more like the frigid distance between you is starting to melt.

"okay," she says, her voice almost shy. "cool."

[moonbug333]

this was simultaneously so cute and so hot at the same time

marigold crush

gardener ellie!au. what you thought would kick off a petty neighborhood feud ends up turning into something a whole lot hotter than the summer sun above. the reason? it starts with ellie, the cute employee at the garden center—who knows a thing or two about getting her hands dirty. thank you to my @meganegatari for providing input and proofing as always <3

wc 3.1k minors dni - making out, dirty talk, fingering (r!receiving)

with summer rapidly creeping up, you set your sights on a new project—upgrading your gardening skills. it sounded simple enough at first. plant a few things, water them, watch them grow. oh, how wrong you were. you realized, much too late, how surprisingly demanding it all was. soil types, lawn maintenance, what plants thrived where, which ones were perennials, how to keep them alive with proper care like watering, pruning, and mulching. before long, you were making an embarrassing number of trips to the nearby garden center.

not that it had anything to do with the pretty employee who was always ready with a new tip just when you needed one.

miss ellie—as per her name tag—carried herself professionally, politely enough. always eager to explain answers, she sometimes skipped over beginners’ tricks, then circled back to catch you up. everything she suggested, though, ended up helping immensely. you liked that. she was sweet.

you told yourself it was a coincidence, how often your visits lined up with her shift. you weren’t memorizing her schedule—god, no. you just… noticed a pattern. for advice purposes. obviously. she had the best advice.

while the trial and error of gardening took up most of your time, another thorn lodged itself in your side—this one not literal. your newish neighbor had apparently taken up the same hobby, and, enragingly, their results far outshone yours. how was everything so lively? why were their perennials already blooming? their yard looked freshly trimmed and popping with color every single day. yours, a work in progress, wilted a little more every time you glanced at the progress next door. you couldn’t help but sulk from time to time. it was starting to feel personal.

a part of you really wanted to give your neighbor a piece of your mind. in your opinion, there was absolutely no way they weren’t doing this on purpose. ever since they moved in just under a year ago, it had been the same infuriating pattern—everything you did, they somehow managed to do ten times better. halloween decorations, holiday lights, even their progressive political flags had wittier slogans than yours. and the worst part? you’d never even seen them. not once. this silent gardening supremacy—that you weren’t even sure they knew was a competition—was the final straw. how they pulled it off while staying completely out of sight was beyond you.

granted, your competitive streak might’ve been clouding your better judgment, and you were, admittedly, acting a little unhinged—but you had to know their secret. you had to meet them, to understand the method behind the madness of their picture-perfect flower beds.

so, in a move wholly unlike you, you got up early one sunny morning and baked cookies. warm from the oven, stacked neatly in a sewing tin—just a friendly, xenial gesture. no ulterior motives. none at all.

you step out your front door, ready to march up their porch and put an end to the mystery once and for all—only to freeze in place.

imagine the shock when there, in the garden next door, kneeling in the dirt with gloved hands and a quiet hum under her breath, was the very same ginger woman who had been giving you advice all summer.

ellie.

suddenly, it felt really personal.

she must have witnessed you struggling in your yard at least a dozen times by now. the tips. the encouragement. her uncanny ability to know exactly what should go where. the conveniently timed suggestions that always hit just right. and not once had she mentioned she lived next door?

diabolical, honestly. ellie was gradually unfurling under the strain of the heat and her work, of course. her white tank top, drenched in sweat, clung to her like a second skin. she tugged at the fabric to fan herself off. her flushed, freckled skin glistened under the early morning rays, and her auburn hair was plastered to the back of her neck. your gaze shifted to her arms—tense, fit, and tattooed—then to her hands skillfully handling the tools.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you huffed, louder than intended, managing to reach her ears. 

ellie looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. and then—she grinned. of course she grinned, like she hadn’t just upended your entire understanding of reality. like you weren’t standing there, tin of cookies in hand, suddenly feeling ridiculous, and very underprepared for whatever this was.

“well, hey there, neighbor.” she greets you far too warm, too chipper. 

you stared at her. “you live next door?”

“mm-hmm,” she said, standing up slowly to stretch out her legs and dusting her earth-covered hands off on her thighs. “for, like, ten months now. give or take.”

you glance down at the sewing box of cookies in your hand. despite ellie’s state—sweating, smudged with dirt—you hold it out for her.

“a welcome gift,” you offer. “just… ten months late. give or take.”

ellie breaths a laugh and takes the box, peeking inside, nodding in approval.

“damn. look at you. thanks,” she mutters, setting it down on a nearby plastic chair cluttered with gardening tools. your eyes flicker between your sad little yard and her perfectly maintained one.

“did… did you know? all this time? when i came in to ask questions?”

“yep,” ellie says, totally unfazed, hands settling on her hips. “it was kinda cute, watching you take my advice and, y’know… try it out.” she pauses, then adds to soften the blow, “i thought about coming over a few times. offering a hand. but you looked so determined, hacking away at weeds, replanting flowers i suggested, i didn’t want to interrupt...” she trailed off. 

you blinked, trying to recalibrate. “that’s okay, i just… wow.”

ellie notices your stupor and an idea comes to mind. “well. since you’re already here—i was about to head to the shed. wanna stick around? i could show you a few things. if you’re cool with that.” then, teasing, “no charge. this time. cookies count though.”

you find yourself trailing after her into the backyard—just as immaculate as the front—to a small shed tucked in the far corner of the lot. it doesn’t look like much from the outside, but inside, it’s packed chock-full with every gardening item you could imagine, from seed packets, terracotta pots, and shelves lined with tools. half of them, you didn’t even recognize, which only made the sting of your amateurity more potent. 

thankfully, ellie’s easygoing explanations help ease the mood. she’s showing off her tools, fertilizers, and offering tips, and you’re taken aback by seeing her in this new light. she was always cute, which is why you’d kept timing your visits to the garden center a little too well. but this? watching her work in the summer heat, flushed and confident, completely in her element—it ignited something new in you. here you were, ready to start a petty squabble with your new neighbor, but instead, your stomach was full of butterflies. ellie added a few well-loved, indiscernible tools to a bag, slung it over her freckled shoulder, and ushered you outside before closing the shed door behind her.

“alright, so. show me the damage,” she said, jerking her chin toward your yard.

“my what?” “your flower bed,” she called over her shoulder, already walking ahead. “gotta check if you actually listened to me.” before you can say anything, ellie’s already knee-deep in your garden, pulling up the weeds you missed and fixing the patches where your mulch is spread too thin. you’re not sure what hits harder—the embarrassment from the sheer number of mistakes she’s quietly correcting, or the way her initiative turns you on.

your role is mainly reduced to handing her tools and keeping her hydrated. water swiftly proves to be necessary as ellie worked diligently, showing off her mastery, the early morning sun rises to a brighter, more oppressive, sweltering heat. you try stepping in to help a few times, but the firm swats from ellie’s palm—quick, pointed, and slightly amused—make it clear she’s not about to let you much of the heavy lifting.

still, she doesn’t treat you like a helpless maiden. eventually, she has you kneeling beside her, guiding your hands, her calloused fingers splayed atop of your own, instructing you through the same techniques she’s spent the season explaining in passing. her voice is low, sure, and steady beside you, her skin warm where it brushes yours under the sun. 

she starts with the marigolds, helping you replant them first—their vibrant yellows and oranges thriving in this full-sun corner. from there, it’s onto the petunias, where she fusses over spacing, then the dusty miller and the salvia. her encouragement is doing the opposite of helping. you try to stay focused, to press the soil like she showed you, but your thoughts keep drifting to the feel of her hand on yours.

"no—don’t just pat it down like that, you need to press a little firmer with the trowel. yeah, like this." she shifts closer, her hand curling over yours, both of you bent low over the bed of marigolds. you can feel her breath at your temple, her voice gone a little quieter, more raspy now. "there you go. knew you had it in you."

her sheer determination shouldn’t affect you the way it does, but damn. the moment your thoughts start lingering on the idea of licking the brine off her neck, you know you desperately need to cool off—literally and figuratively. it only gets worse when her hand holds the small of your back for half a moment too long, steadying you as you dug further into the soil. the simple touch sent a shiver through you, making your pulse race. it wasn’t just the heat anymore. did she know what she was doing? there was no way ellie wasn’t this self-aware. given she had let you try and fail at this garden all summer, she was probably more aware of her actions than you could easily wrap your brain around.

the rest of the adjustments come together quickly after that, both of you worn out and damp with sweat, but working in sync. at long last, ellie straightens up with a groan, wiping her glossy brow, appraising your now vastly-improved flower bed with lazy pride. “muchhhh better,” her eyes glint with approval, tossing the trowel practically molded to her hand aside. then she stretches, slow and unbothered, muscled arms rising overhead until they’re drawn taut, her off-white tank lifting just enough to entice your most lewd thoughts into wanting to see more. then she runs a hand through her damp, disheveled auburnette hair, leaving it even more a mess. “may i ask the lady for a drink? and a chance to wash up a bit?” your yes is obvious. you leave your tools just as they are on the ground and motion for ellie to follow you inside. of course she needs a rest, probably dying of thirst—though you’re probably the thirstier one in that moment.

the space is filled with the sound of the rush of crisp water and the clink of glasses as you both scrub dirt off and pour drinks. ellie mutters a soft thanks, taking hers after drying her hands on a dish towel.

she looks hot here. out of place, certainly—sun-streaked and a perspiry mess in your nearly spotless kitchen. but it only makes you want the cute gardener turned hot nuisance of a neighbor-turned... whatever this is... even more.

you swallow your nerves, chasing them with another sip of water.

“you know, i always thought you were cute,” you tease, eyes flicking to hers. “ever since you helped me pick out my first supplies.” you reflect like you’re feeling nostalgic, though you’re definitely up to something.

“yeah?” ellie quirks a brow. she’s smart, knowing exactly what you’re doing. the cute, tentative girl from the garden shop was gone- this was someone confident in every move. her voice dips low, eyes narrowing with a flirtsome gleam. “you still think i’m just cute now?”

“well,” you murmur, voice low, a little shaky, trying to match her coy pitch, “i wouldn’t say just cute.”

she tilts her head, flashing a zealous, lopsided grin. “i’ve got a lot more i could show you. with my hands. can i?”

when she then takes a step closer—your heart seizes.

was this really happening? were you about to get fucked into next week by the cute gardener turned next-door neighbor? your mind races a million miles a minute, the whole scenario unraveling like a scene straight from fanfiction.

well, you were right! just like that, ellie closes the space between you, her hand sliding around your waist as she nudges you back against the cool, angular side of the kitchen island.

the marble presses against your lower back, forcing a half-giggle, half-stunned, shaky exhale from your lungs. you realize you’re probably not hiding the gleeful expression on your face as well as you thought, especially given the cheesy grin the hot dork returns.

her roughened hands trail along your jawline, the juxtaposition of her tough-feeling skin with the most gentle gesture makes you feel woozy. “you know,” she murmurs, voice low and almost amused, “i thought about you a lot. the clueless girl always showing up on my shift, asking the kinda questions you knew i’d love answering.”

your face warms, and ellie clicks her tongue, clearly satisfied. “and here's the thing. i didn’t mind. kinda liked knowing you’d come find me.” she pauses, smirking as a vexing fire ignites behind her eyes. then she adds, “figured you’d eventually need help with the yard. saw you out there, all hot and frustrated trying to figure it out on your own. guess i was right, huh?”

the reminiscent teasing is cut short when her lips connect with your own, tossing the last of your inhibitions aside and letting blind instinct take over. all nerves melt, and your mind goes blank as her teeth catch your bottom lip and tug. you grab at her waist, hands sliding up to her ribcage — one curling into a fistful of her auburn hair, the other slipping beneath her dirtied tank top to caress the warm skin at her side.

time ceases to matter. all you feel is her hands, fervid and searching, and her hot, wet mouth moving against yours — heaven. the soft, immodest moans she lets slip only pull you deeper in. ellie traces your lips with her tongue, coaxing them open, chasing breathless sounds from you. the kiss is messy, to say the least. your front teeth collide with hers, noses bumping, spit dribbling down both your chins— it was clear she wanted you just as much as you wanted her. the waiting paid off. 

but, you feel a pause, and then loss of contact.“fuck i—” ellie huffs. she's breathless, her voice scratchy with need. the voracity at which she pulls away, breaking the fragile strands of spit that webbed across your mouths— it concerns you. 

you open your mouth to inquire, but she cuts you off by grabbing your hips with her muscled hands, and fleetly turns you around so you're facing away from her, and are bent over the counter. its hard surface is chill to the touch- your only reprieve from the heat between you two. 

your mind practically short-circuits. even though she isn't too forceful, the motion still makes you yelp. you want this, no— you crave it, and ellie’s animalistic side takes over, leaning over you with her front pressed flush against your back, one hand perfecting the arch of your back and then finding purchase at your waist. she starts shamelessly sucking purpled marks into the side of your neck and rutting her pelvis against the swell of your ass. pushing your hair further to the side, she bites down on your skin and soothes with her tongue, the acts sending goosebumps all over you.

you were completely at her mercy, no thoughts occupying your head other than everything about her: her voice, her touch— you couldn't get enough.  “ellie,” you moan her name, and she damn near purrs into your ear. you brace yourself against the cool surface, clinging onto it for respite, grounding yourself to keep steady as your legs grow weak. 

her right hand is pawing all over you, stopping to fondle your clothed breast, then snaking down your stomach and into your pants. hooking your panties aside, ellie lets out an unholy sigh at how wet you already are. 

her greedy fingers graze your slit, then begin steadily circling your clit as you mewl. ellie groans like she can feel it herself. her voice breaks, but she mutters against the nape of your neck, “fuck, damn baby. all this f'me?”

you weren't going to last, all the build up was about to bubble over momentarily. but you had to try, because it was all too good to end so soon.

descending further, she pushes her two middle digits inside your eager, sopping hole, curling as she fucked into you, your body gradually rising like a crescendo to a dizzying peak. “come on, cum for me,” ellie encourages, her free hand reaching out and landing on top of yours to share in your pleasure as your orgasm washes over you. she soothes you with a placid squeeze, a silent reminder she's got you. the pressure in your lower abdomen builds, until one last thrust sends you spilling ecstasy all over her fingers. she helps you ride it out, lightly rubbing your twitching clit and mumbling praises all the while. as your body shudders, ellie’s rutting against your ass slows, mirroring your panting and humming some encouragement.

upon coming down from the buzz, you rest your forehead on the counter's surface, trembling whimpers leaving your fucked-out form. the fingers just inside you meet ellie’s lips, tasting you on her like you’re something ambrosial, already addicted to your essence. her hands then run over your form in calming passes as you fully return to reality. “you know…” after some comfortable silence she starts, voice smug, “this could’ve happened a lot sooner—if you’d just said something instead of memorizing my whole damn work schedule.”

“oh, shut up,” you manage, still catching your breath, but content nonetheless.

ellie grins, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “what? i mean it. you're sweeter than anything i’ve ever grown.”

[moonbug333]

WOOOOOOAHHHHH

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ellie gets too carried away when strapping you down: ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤㅤ is it her fault? no fucking way. it's the damn playlist.

cw  #  18+ mdni, porn with no plot really i deserve this, music!nerd ellie at its best, strap-on sex [ aka the cock© ] mentions of blood and bruises, she can (wo)manhandle me anytime idk, blink and you’ll miss the slight aftercare at the end.

side notes —   based upon lists of requests now lost from my pillar nonnie (I LOVE YOU COME BACK TO ME) — if you recognize this it may be because my previous account @vicorices got deleted out of nowhere, i'm trying to get all my work back up again cause of tumblr's dumb ass, check out my masterlists. wc: 1.6k

it’s suffocating when the fabric of your girlfriend’s tie wraps against your mouth. parted lips, a thin line of drool escapes from the corner of it dampening the cloth: she said it would help out in muffling the sounds you’re making, keep you in check.

"oh fuck- you're taking it so good" her voice sounds distant at the moment, like an echo brought by the wind. rough and raspy you become aware of yourself when her hands wrap around your waist, digits pushing against the flesh until ellie's nails are digging into that spot almost hidden there that forms when you're down on all fours "you're such a good girl, aren't you? the best girl in town taking my cock."

your girlfriend has reached a new state of nirvana when the sound of the speakers too loud and it's so filthy you can't help but love it, the sweat, the combination of fluids and the clumsy movements; you're sure there's some spit there from before now staining the sheets, blood from when she bites your lip too hard — it's all an experience.

makes you regret it almost when you mocked her in the beginning: an-hour-and-forty-five minutes in a sex playlist where most songs were deftones and heavy metal in the end? perverted fuck. she's spending at least an hour explaining how each song means something, a lyric maybe, the rhythm, or how she’s shamelessly thinking about fucking when one of the tracks slips in her headphones and she's having dirty thoughts on her way back to work, in the middle of the damn supermarket, at the dispensary.

damn. you let her ramble. ellie’s cute when over-speaking, when explaining about how she curated it from hours, put so much effort on it: "we take our time in fucking, you know it. do you ever look at the time? i do."

so it starts slow. she has the decency to think about foreplay so there's this mellow sounds in the air when she's undressing you, almost an inviting dance on the privacy of her room, in the dim lights, the barely illuminated scene with a music that seemed to make the walls vibrate with the loud sound of the speakers connected to her phone. it escalates a song or two after, the dragging of the guitars, ellie know what she's fucking doing when the sound seems to surround you, drown you while it carry the sinking ship to the bottom of the ocean in a one-time-trip.

it takes time but by the first ten minutes you know she's right, too prideful to ever admit it, much less when she's roughly pulling your face against the pillows and she's asking almost breathless if that's okay with you cause she's desperate to just do it, push and fuck you against the mattress, her sheets: you two, indeed take your time.

"ellie," the words seem to get stucked on the tie gagging you silent, muffled and barely audible since the music's too loud — your girlfriend's enjoying every second of it though when the most noisy rock fills the room now after some while and she's matching the sharp sounds of the song, the screams, the heavy guitars with the desperate movement of her hips like she’s unaware she keeps fucking you, too invested in her own mind as her eyes remained closed, nose wrinkled when her fingers seem to apply the right amount of pressure against your skin to practice the damn chords of the song.

so your girlfriend's ignorant of the force she's using to rail you against the mattress, the annoying sound the bed's making as it slams against the wall. there’s a glass of coke she was drinking from yesterday there in the nightstand connected to her bed that falls to the floor, but ellie don't care about the shattered pieces, too engulfed by the sight of the dildo filling your oversensitive cunt, the way your folds open for her as she sinks down and you swear you can feel it in your guts, a kiss on the damn cervix only to withdraw almost entirely and slam back in again and again and again.

she’ll take care of the pieces later.

she’s enjoying the show. ass up, face down, a delicious fucking show. you're dripping all over the strap and it's simply so great to see, to witness as your arousal coats her cock and trails down in between your thighs. her hand's imprint marked in red only seems to spur your girlfriend on, the primal instinct that dictates the lust, the craving on her hands when they pull your hair backwards.

and thank god for fucking cardio, cause even when ellie’s muscles are sore she keeps pushing as the sweat gathers on her forehead and it becomes the perfect kind of pain, the ache on her body begging to take a break before the tie slips from your parted mouth and she can hear again the irregular sounds you’re making, the need in your voice when tears are gathering in your eyes since it’s already too much — you’ve already endured her fingers and her fucking tongue hungry as ever, killer combo and nothing to say, but that? that was overstimulating.

“ellie,” you whine, “baby- you’re going too far- s’too much i can’t-”

“m’sorry” the words slur together as she tries to shake off that feeling that got hold of her for a moment, keeping you full as her body follows the angle forward, falling against your figure. her weight crushes you down, movements shifting pace now, slowly moving as her hand presses against your stomach and you cant help but crumble on the bed, unable to hold any preasure on your body “was i too hard on you?”

“yeah-” to be fair, she shouldn’t be getting off by the image of the debased state you’re in, loosened cunt she’s been using for the entire length of her damn playlist “s’okay, i’m okay don’t worry.”

“want to stop?” she asks, kissing on the exposed flesh of your neck, pulling your hair to the side as she makes both of you roll into the bed, gentle, almost playful bites on the skin of your shoulders now, glued to her chest. “anything you want me to do, i’ll do it. just name it out for me.”

“no- no don’t stop i can take it” you reassure her, cause it never cease to amaze you that nice switches she have on her personality, the way of destroying you entirely so she can put you back together after that “just go slow, please.”

“m’ so sorry baby, i got too carried away” she speaks against your ear, now much closer. and it’s more intimate like this, pressed against your girlfriend’s chest, she keeps her word when slowing down, mere second passing by before she’s using her own tie around your neck to hold you in place “better now? you’re enjoying it?”

it’s a prize when you cannot answer, heavy breathing, her hips barely move now in contrast from the rough thrusts from before: you’re enjoying it and there’s nothing better than the distortion, that smell on the air ellie’s always quick to pick up from. your skin’s salty now as she kisses you, teeth pulling on the flesh when she finds a secluded spot to leave a hickey, a perfect one that will make you wear your hair down in order to cover it and fuck it — you look so good with your hair down she has no choice to keep going.

“mmf-nooo- no hickies” you try to say and she knows you’re close by the shivers your body involuntarily gives, the way you lose control of your limbs, pliant and ready for her to keep taking what she needs — “please- got work tomorrow.”

“they’re hidden” she promises. the muscles in your back tensing now as ellie keeps her pace, makes her smile when you’re trying to find another argument, one that dies on your throat as she’s pinching on your nipples, rolling the stiff peaks between her fingers and pulling just enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head — “got my girl too dumb to answer me back?”

you’re mumbling something incoherent she’s not able to understand, goosebumps on your skin ellie can physically see. the combination of it ends with you entirely — the bites on your shoulder, her filthy words on your ear, the playful game with your nipple. your girlfriend’s singing the damn fucking tunes on her playlist and it’s enough to make you dissolve into lust, one with desire as your body shakes violently and she knows it’s the rippling force of the orgasm that makes you go stiff, that tears you apart as a loud cry fill ellie’s dorm room, messy moans, incoherent words of praise. there it fucking is.

“ride it” ellie commands as you have no room to comply, moving your hips as a wet sound fill the air “good fucking lord listen to that- you’re chaotic, you know that?”

makes you chuckle when you’re coming down, your girlfriend’s already pulling out as you gasp at the sensation of being hollow: “god, what the fuck-”

“one more” she begs with pleading eyes “you must be so sensitive right now- please i just want to see you in between my legs, riding me.”

and it’s the face she's making. the pure need on her voice that makes you agree: how are you ever denying anything to her? when she has this power over you? shit.

“atta girl” ellie seems pleased as you straddle her lap, lazy movements, half lidded eyes struggling to find a focus “slow baby, let me feel how soaked this greedy cunt is, yeah? take your time there’s no rush.”

it’s the damn fucking playlist. the damn heavy metal.

[moonbug333]

stop they’re so cute

⇢ ˗ˏˋnaked in her journal pt ii࿐ྂ

˗ˏˋellie fluff!!´ˎ˗mdni, lowercase intended, fluff, srry this took forever to get to out!! debating on making this a longer series!! *ೃ༄ pls leave reqs!!

part i | part ii

ellie let out a huff of air and rolled her shoulders, her back aching over her desk. her fingers were starting to cramp but she wouldn’t stop. the image of you too beautiful to not capture forever.

you slept peacefully on her bed, the setting sun gleaming through her curtains hitting you softly. the blanket had long since fallen off leaving you only in your shorts and tank. ellie watched as goosebumps glittered your skin and knew she should warm you with the blanket; yet she couldn’t move from her spot, the sight of you too beautiful.

instead of warming you, she took to drawing you. every curve and angle of your body as you laid on your side, one hand under your cheek the other splayed where ellie’s spot would be.

her eyes couldn’t stay on the page long, only enough for a few strokes of her pen before she got lost in the sight of you again.

“how are you so beautiful?” she whispers to you, hands rapidly going against the paper.

she flips the page, finishing one drawing and starting the next. ellie doesn’t realize how many different drawings she does until you slowly begin to stir, the moon having now risen.

your eyes slowly begin to blink open and you roll onto your back, hands coming up to rub your eyes. ellie doesn’t think before quickly rising from her spot, her hands still holding her pen and journal as she sits next to your head.

“good morning you bed bug” she pokes your nose with the back of her pen. your nose scrunches and it takes everything for her not to bend down and kiss it.

“its night” you start, eyes catching the darkness from the window,

“you let me sleep too long!” you finish, whining and rolling your head into the side of ellie’s thigh. your arm goes to wrap around her legs when it hits something harder.

your head lifts to find her journal, the same journal you had found those drawings only yesterday. her hands immediately attempt to hide the book from you but your faster, fingers catching the coils before she can pull it away.

“has someone been drawing again?” you say smiling up to her red face.

“they’re not that good” ellie replies embarrassed, hands folding into her lap anxiously. would this feeling ever go away?

“haha yeah, i bet they-“ you begin a joke to lighten her mood when you choke on your words. the images that stare back at you are beautiful. the definition and shading creating your sleepy features on the page made your chest constrict, you thought you looked beautiful.

“oh ellie…” you whisper in awe, slowly bringing yourself to sit up against the headboard next to her. she’s silent next to you, wide hazel green eyes on your every reaction.

ellie wished to sketch this moment as well, the awe and wonder on your face as you took in the drawings warmed her entire body.

your hands slowly flipped through almost twenty different drawings of your sleeping form, some of your full body, your face, your breasts, your stomach, etc; they went on and on.

ellie grew more anxious as you flipped through, watching your pupils then the page to see where you could be looking,

“they were slightly rushed” ellie says, ringing her nervous fingers together after a quiet moment.

you turned your head from the journal to find her apprehensive eyes, complete awe in yours. you push the journal off of your lap and crawl into ellie’s.

the shock is evident on her face as her eyes shoot into saucers, hands hesitating before coming down onto your hips. she had only watched you finger yourself last night, and with the act having not been brought up between the two of you, she was nervous to know how you stood.

your legs straddle her and your hands find her cheeks, pulling her face closer to yours,

“how are you the only one to see me so beautifully?” you whisper to her as your foreheads slowly meet, resting against each other.

“everyone sees how beautiful you are” she whispers back with a slight hint of annoyance. the men and women of jackson were always throwing themselves at you. sometimes it took everything in ellie not to scoop you up over her shoulder and hide you from the rest of the world.

“not the way you do” you stare into her eyes, finally letting yourself cave into the need for her. your eyes go down to her lips, finding the beauty mark you’ve been dying to kiss for years.

ellie was quick to catch the drift of your eyes, shifting her head quickly up to catch you in a kiss. your hands rested lightly on her cheeks as her tongue found yours.

ellie’s heart was rapid in her chest as her lips kissed yours, teeth clashing with nervousness. her hands tightened their grip on your hips as you instinctively rolled them down onto her.

your hands moved from her freckled cheeks to the nape of her neck, pulling on the hair making her moan into your mouth.

“wait wait wait” she pulls back breathless, two hands going into your hair.

“did i do something wrong?” you say nervously, worried you read the situation wrong.

“i can’t do this without knowing what it means for us” ellie finally lets out after shaking her head ‘no’ rapidly.

you understand her then and bit your lip to stop your smile,

“ellie” you start, knowing the beautiful girl in front of you sometimes needed reassurance, which you were always happy to provide.

“you’re the only person to make me feel this beautiful, the only person i think about morning to night, you are mine and i am yours” you brush a stray auburn strand behind her ears, watching as her eyes glistened and jaw goes slack.

“you don’t know how long i’ve waited…” ellies voice trails off.

you bring your forehead back down onto hers,

“i know baby i know” you close your eyes, letting yourself feel the warmth of her.

her arms come up to wrap around you tightly, securing you to her as she closes her eyes as well. you both sit in the comfortable silence until she breaks it,

“can i show you the older ones now?” she says, her warm breath hitting yours cheeks.

“the older ones?” your eyes pop open, head whipping back so fast you’re shocked you didn’t give yourself whiplash.

“are you talking about drawings?” you ask with a frown and a smile. ellie’s once apprehensive face was filled with a sly joy. she nods yes.

“of me?!” you exclaim, pointer finger going in your direction. she shakes her head yes again, this time with much more enthusiasm. she then helps you off her lap and runs over to her bookshelf grabbing three different journals.

with quick feet she runs back to the bed jumping into the sheets next to you. without a second thought, you grab her recent journal and cuddle into her side.

thats how the two of you spent the next few hours until the sun threatened to rise again. you laid in her side, on of her arms holding her head up, the other around your body using her finger to point to specific images.

you both go through years of drawings, starting from when you first became friends. she had drawn you doing so many different things, in so many different moments. with every flip of the page you praised her skill, her beautiful mind and how it always seems to turn to you.

it was going to be hard not to fall in love with her by the time the sun was in the sky.

[ellie masterlist]

[moonbug333]

this is INSANE omg i love it

Girl I’ve been thinkin sooo much about the entries in Ellie’s journal and 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 can you pls write reader finding some nsfw drawings or entries in her journal?

my mind also likes to wander and think of all the things ellie must put in there as someone who also keeps a journal. id like to think she would fill it with song lyrics she would find, what she would imagine planets to look like close up, omg i cant shes fucking adorable.. thank you for this anon!!

⇢ ˗ˏˋ naked in her journal ࿐ྂ

˗ˏˋellie smut/fluff!!´ˎ˗ mdni, lowercase intended, bestfriend!ellie, loser!ellie, fluff/smut *ೃ༄pls leave reqs!!

headphones sat on ur head as you laid on ellie's bed waiting for her to get back from patrol. you knew her entire schedule by heart and since you had an extra key to joel's garage and currently ellie's bedroom, you felt no shame as her best friend waiting for her in her room slightly earlier than needed.

it had been a long day and you desperately needed your best friend. no one understood you like ellie did, always listening so intently to the issues you had. you listened to some track ellie had already set in her cassette tape, something joel had given her when you hear a thud.

eyes shooting open, your hands remove the headphones and you sit up inspecting the noise. jackson was relatively safe but you still worried about something making it through those walls.

"ellie? joel?" you called out to the empty room, your eyes scanning each corner to find the window open, a breeze coming through, and a book that had sat on the ledge now on the floor.

with a roll of your eyes and a sigh, you rise from her bed the feeling leaving you cold and make your way to close the window. with a heavy push, you manage to close the rusty thing and lean down to pick up the object that had fallen.

what looked like some kind of notebook stared back at you, the name 'ellie' written across the front in large block letters. what was this? you didn't realize ellie kept a journal and you'd known ellie since the day she and joel walked into jackson.

your eyes shot to the garage door, then to the half-working clock ellie kept next to her bed, and finally back down to the journal in your hands. you had probably five minutes before ellie walked through that door huffing about how annoying jesse had been today.

you bit your lip, slightly in guilt but also in excitement. of course you knew it was wrong to go through your best friends most important thoughts. yet everything in your body was telling you just to take one peek. how would she ever know?

caving into your thoughts, you flip open to a random page somewhere in the middle, 'june thirteenth' it reads across the top right corner. you giggle at the chicken-scratch that is ellie's handwriting.

you read about her day with joel, raiding some pharmacy that probably had nothing left to give anyway. mindlessly, you flip the page to find something drastically different from her takes on joel's horrible jokes making you pause.

the page you find, well what spans across two pages are different drawings. they scatter from one side of the notebook to the other, they're all different but all the same; each of them depicts you. ellie had drew you in various positions, yet in every single one of them you were completely bare.

your eyes were wide as you scanned each and every drawing. there was not a single part of you that felt disgusted or uncomfortable, only a heat began to pool between your thighs. she likes me back.

every image she drew was different from the next, a few of your full body laid out on what seems to be her bed, completely bare in different positions; splayed out on your back with two fingers curled into ur glistening cunt and your face in a moan, your ass in the air and head to the bed cunt being spread by two very familiar fingers.

some of them were more close up images, the tinier details. your eyes caught one of your tits, every detail exactly perfect down to the beauty mark that she definitely shouldn't know about. had my ellie taken a peek during one of our sleepovers?

your eyes find another one, this time its your back and ass on display, then another, your neck stretched back.

"fucking hell ellie" you whisper into the book, flicking through more pages of your naked body, completely engrossed in her beautiful drawings.

she notices that? you note as your eye catches one of your smile, a little higher on the left side.

you don't hear the door open or ellie's whisper of a "fuck" when she sees you on her bed, specifically when she sees what's in your hands. all of a sudden the journal is ripped from your hands, head shooting up so fast it's a surprise you didn't hurt your neck.

"ellie-" you attempt with no success as her babbling starts.

"you weren't supposed to see that, fuck! please don't hate me or think i'm weird, i promise i don't mean anything weird by it! i honestly didn't realize what i was drawing till i was done! no- wait- that sounds bad-" you cut off her babbling with a hand to her mouth.

"ellie, shut up" you smile as you look into her eyes, filled with fear and embarrassment. once you're sure she won't continue her nonsense, you remove your hand from her mouth.

slowly taking the journal from her shaking hands, you place it onto her bed and turn back to your nervous best friend.

"ellie?" you look at her freckled face.

"y-yeah?" her cheeks a shade of pink,

one of your hands goes up to brush a stray auburn lock behind her redden ear and her eyes go wide at the act this situation going completely different from when it did in her head,

"you wanna touch me ellie?" you innocently question her, pulling lightly on her earlobe as you watch her eyes flutter and jaw go slack.

she gives you a mindless nod in response, completely in shock by the entire situation. you don't find her repulsive? weird?

your eyes catch one of her pencils on her desk and a new idea sparks. with a new excitement you turn around grabbing ellie's journal and walk over to her desk, taking the pencil.

you turn to find her eyes watching you curiously, still in her clothes from patrol, shaky hands at her sides. walking over to her, you place the two objects in her hand and grab her desk chair rolling it up to her bed.

ellie watches you with confusion as you sit on her bed, her desk chair a few feet in front of you,

"c'mere" you pat the desk chair, signaling her to sit in it.

hesitantly, ellie walks over and sits in the chair, her journal and pencil between her sweating hands. when you could see her begin to get anxious, you slowly begin pulling the strap of your tank top down your arm. her eyes catch it immediately.

"here's what we're going to do ellie..." you speak seductively as you slowly remove your shirt; ellie's brain began to short circuit at the sight,

"you're going to open that journal of yours and draw pretty pictures of me and I'm going to make myself come." her wide eyes shot to yours in shock.

when ellie first starting drawing you, after years of imagining what you might look like in those delicious positions, she thought you would find her completely repulsive. she never thought this would be the reaction she got and fuck did she feel so blessed.

ellie couldn't move, frozen in her spot as she watched you slowly removed each article of clothing. first your top then your shorts leaving you in only a lace bra and panties. she held her breath watching you remove your bra, tits bouncing with their release.

"fuck" ellie whispers, chest heaving.

you continue with your show, slowly laying back onto her bed as your hands come down to slide off your panties.

"better start drawing baby" you tell her, spreading your legs to give her a perfect view of your soaked cunt and ellie loses it.

"fuck, please let me touch you" she leans forward, hands reaching towards you but your foot comes out and presses into her chest stopping her.

"draw." is all you give her as you push her back into the chair with your foot, re-spreading your legs, and dragging your hand slowly down your body until it reaches your aching clit.

ellie's eyes catch each movement as she fumbles with her pencil and journal. not once looking at the objects as her hand starts rapidly drawing across the page, no her eyes stayed on your fingers and cunt the entire time.

[ellie masterlist]

a/n: should i do a part ii ???

[moonbug333]

lesbianism is so beautiful ❤️ this is so amazing and this last bit at the end is so amazing just exploring each other like hello??? beautiful!!

WHERE IT’S SAFE.

ellie williams x reader | fluff & a little bit of angst ♡ patching up ellie. wc: 1782

contains: descriptions of violence, disassociation, panic responses, emotional intimacy, intimate nudity (non-sexual).

a/n: im weeping and screaming

Enjoy ♡

The door slammed behind you as you locked it tight, your chest heaving. Ellie stumbled in after you, barely upright, her hoodie soaked in blood and something worse. Her hands were shaking. Her face was pale. And she wouldn't look at you.

"Sit," you said gently, guiding her toward the chair without waiting for a reply. She moved like she was in a daze, limbs stiff, haunted eyes still scanning the room like she wasn't convinced it was safe.

You crouched in front of her, already digging through your first aid kit with trembling fingers. "Ellie," you whispered. "I need to see."

She gave the smallest nod, and you peeled back her jacket—slow, careful not to jostle her too much. That's when you saw it. 

A long, raw gash along her ribs, blood crusted along her arm, scrapes up her neck. Nothing too deep, nothing infected—but it was bad enough.

Your heart clenched.

"They were everywhere," she rasped. "I—I almost didn't get out."

You swallowed hard and dipped a cloth in warm water. "But you did get out."

She didn't respond. Her gaze was locked somewhere far away.

Not just far—gone. Like she wasn't really in the room with you anymore.

Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, staring past your shoulder at nothing. Breathing shallow. Shoulders tense like she was still there, still fighting.

You dabbed at the blood carefully, your touch featherlight despite the tension in your chest.

She flinched.

"Sorry," you murmured.

"Doesn't hurt," she said quickly—too quickly.

You paused, watching the way her jaw clenched, how she wouldn't look at you.

Even like this—bleeding, trembling, barely pieced together—she was still trying to pretend she wasn't falling apart. 

Like if she said it enough, it might be true. Like staying tough meant she hadn't just survived hell.

But then... it happened again.

You saw it in her eyes first-the way the light dimmed, how her gaze slid past you and fixed on nothing. Her shoulders went rigid. 

Her breathing turned shallow, uneven. It was like someone had flipped a switch and pulled her under.

"Ellie," you breathed, softer now, familiar with the signs.

No answer.

She was dissociating again.

Her hands were still, fingers slightly curled, her whole body frozen like she was somewhere else—back in that alley, or that house, or wherever her mind had fled to escape the weight of it all.

You dropped the cloth. Moved closer.

"Ellie... hey. You're doing it again," you whispered, touching her knee gently.

"Come back to me."

You brought her hand to your chest, pressing it flat against your heartbeat.

Steady. Real.

"That's me. Right here."

Still nothing.

So you reached up, cradling her face in both hands this time. Her skin was cold.

Her lips slightly parted, breath shallow.

"Ellie," you said again, firmer now—but still soft. "Look at me, baby. You're safe."

Her eyes twitched. A small flicker of something passed through them. Then, slowly, finally, she blinked—and her focus shifted back to you.

"There you are," you whispered, thumb brushing along her cheek. "It's okay. I've got you."

Her voice broke the silence, barely audible.

"I thought if I died out there, no one would even know I was gone."

Your breath hitched. She wasn't crying, but her voice trembled like she was holding back a flood.

"I kept thinking about you. Wondering if you'd be waiting... or if you'd just think I disappeared."

You leaned in and pressed your forehead to hers.

"I'd never stop looking for you," you whispered. "Not ever."

You stayed there for a moment, just breathing together. Then, gently, you reached for her other hand—still bloody, scraped raw— but you didn’t care. You brought it to your lips. You kissed each knuckle, one by one.

"I like your hands," she murmured, voice small.

You smiled softly. "Yeah?"

"They're warm. Not like mine."

"I like yours too," you said. "They're strong. They saved us both more than once."

You went back to cleaning the gash on her side, slower now, more careful.

Every time she winced, you soothed her with soft words. When you finished, you pressed the last gauze into place and leaned in to kiss just above it—gentle, reverent.

Then another kiss. One at her temple.

One at the corner of her mouth.

And finally—when she leaned into you— you kissed her lips.

It was slow and tender, her breath catching like she wasn't used to being touched so softly. Her hands gripped your shirt, grounding herself, and you could feel the way her whole body trembled—not from the pain anymore, but from letting go.

When you pulled away, her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unsure.

"I missed you," she whispered.

"I'm right here," you said. "You're safe. You did everything you could, and you came home."

Her forehead dropped to your shoulder.

You held her tightly, burying your nose in her hair, breathing her in. Blood and salt and the faint scent of her skin beneath it all.

"Don't let go," she said.

"Never."

You stayed there like that for a long time

—just holding her. Letting her come down. Letting her remember she was still alive, still loved.

And when you finally pulled her close and helped her onto the bed, she let you. Curled into your chest like she belonged there.

The world outside could wait.

Tonight, all that mattered was that she made it back to you. And you weren't letting her go.

You helped her lie down on your shared bed.

You kissed every bruise. Every scrape.

Her fingers found yours and didn’t let go.

She curled into your chest like it was the only place she could breathe.

“I keep thinking…” she whispered against your neck. “What if I never get to grow old with you?”

Your heart cracked open.

“Don’t say that,” you breathed, holding her tighter.

“I think about it all the time, every time I’m out there. Fighting.” She said. “That one day I won’t come back, and you’ll be here. And I’ll just be—gone. And I won’t get to see what you look like with wrinkles and grey hair. Or how your voice sounds when you say still love me after fifty years.”

You kissed her hair.

“We’ll get that,” you said. “You and me.  Even if it takes the world falling apart.”

She buried her face in your neck. “Promise me.” She said while her hand reached for your waist.

“I promise.”

A long silence.

Then: “Can I touch you?”

You blinked. “Of course.”

Her hand slipped under your shirt—not with lust, but reverence. She traced your ribs, your waist, the soft skin of your stomach like she was trying to memorize every inch.

“I thought about this when I thought I was gonna die,” she murmured. “Not sex. Not anything like that. Just.. this. Feeling your skin. Knowing you’re alive.”

She reached for the hem of your shirt. “Is it okay if i..?”

Your eyes met hers, all softness and trust. “Yeah.” You breathed.

You let her take your shirt off. Then hers. Just warmth, skin to skin.

Her lips brushed your collarbone. 

“I love you,” she said, voice shaking. “I love you so much it hurts.”

“I know, Els.” You whispered. “I love you.”

She kissed your sternum, then the side of your chest, her hands roaming gently. Then she hesitated, her fingers hovering over your inner thigh. 

“Can I?” She asked again, quieter. 

You nodded.

She let her palm settle there, her thumb tracing delicate circles on the inside of your thigh. Not near your center. Just close enough to make you whimper.

Not from desire.

From how good it felt to be touched like this. Like she knew you. Like she cherished you.

“Shit,” she whispered. “You’re so soft here.”

Your breath shook. You squeezed her hand. 

“I didn’t know being touched like this could feel like.. breathing.”

Her head dropped against your shoulder. 

“I almost died thinking I’d never get to lay here again. Just like this.”

You didn’t speak. Just kissed her temple. 

Then her voice cracked, slurred with exhaustion.

“I don’t wanna be a ghost in your life. I don’t want you to remember me—I want to be here. With you.”

Your throat burned.

“You’re not a ghost,” you whispered. “You’re here. You’re mine.”

She looked at you then, eyes wide and wet.

“I would’ve come back from the dead just to hold your hand one more time.”

And you let her. Let her explore your body like it was the only thing keeping her sane.

Let her kiss the hollow of your neck, the curve of your stomach, the scars you never let anyone see.

Her breath hitched. Her mouth hovered lower, pressing the faintest kiss over the curve of your chest—just above where your heart beat loud and steady beneath her lips.

Not sexual desire.

Not need.

Just longing.

Like she was trying to tell you something she didn't know how to say. Like kissing you there might be the only way to make you understand.

You felt her exhale shakily against your skin.

Her hands didn't wander. They just held you.

And still, that kiss burned.

You let her love you.

Not with lust.

But with every ache in her chest. Every brush of her fingers. Every shaky breath she took against your skin.

She pulled back just enough to look at you-really look at you. Eyes dazed, reverent, like seeing you this close had unraveled something in her.

"You're so fucking pretty," she whispered, voice hoarse, like it physically hurt to hold that truth inside any longer. "Like—it hurts to look at you. I don’t deserve it.”

And before you could answer, her mouth was on yours.

Not rushed. Not hungry.

It was slow. Deep. Endless.

The kind of kiss that felt like falling into the center of the earth.

You whimpered into her mouth, and her breath hitched. Her hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as she tilted her head and kissed you deeper.

 You could feel the tremble in her fingers. The ache behind every movement.

"Fuck. Ellie," you breathed against her lips—her name breaking out of you in a soft, shaking moan.

She gasped at the sound. Pressed closer.

She kissed you again, harder this time, but not rough. Just full. A kiss like gravity. Like a tether pulling you both back to the earth.

She moaned your name into your mouth, voice breaking with it—like saying it too loud might shatter her.

You didn't know how long you stayed like that, tangled in each other, your mouths slow and warm and desperate with affection. But when you finally pulled away, your breaths were fast and shallow, hearts thudding like drums.

Your foreheads stayed pressed together.

"I love you," she said, wrecked. "God, I love you so fucking much."

You kissed her once more-soft and slow— then eased her down into the blanket, tucking her against your chest. Her breath hitched once, then began to steady. Your hand moved gently through her hair as her body relaxed, piece by piece.

She fell asleep there, wrapped in you like a lifeline.

She didn't flinch in her sleep this time. Just breathed. Soft and steady. Like she was home.

whew.

Critcism and ideas are heavily appreciated (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

thank you for reading! ♡

[moonbug333]

they’re both losers and i’m living for it!!!

couldn't fight to save your life (but you look so cool) ❀˖꩜˚࿔ - e.w

loser!ellie x popular!reader | 3.2k words

a/n: guess who rewatched bottoms for the billionth time (me. it was me.) :p loser!ellie won't leave my mind and neither will crush by ethel cain so here's somethin' random i came up with, enjoy!

cw: cursing, bullying, a little violence, mentions of blood, two idiots that are obviously infatuated with each other, mentions of reader wanting to punch ellie for being too cute cuz they’re strange like that

˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

you're an angel, she's sure of it.

ellie watches with glassy eyes, practically in a trance, as you absentmindedly play with your hair. she drinks in the way your perfectly curated outfit adorns your body; you always look flawless to her. you were laughing at something your friend had said, ellie's ears straining to hear the saccharine sound over the chatter buzzing. she just heard it, and god, what she would do to have a recording of it to listen to over and over again.

the two of you weren't friends by any means, but she knew you.

most of ellie's time was spent staring at you during class or when you passed her in the hallway. her eyes would shy away every time they met yours, the intensity of your gaze leaving her a flustered mess within seconds. 

when she wasn't looking at you, her head was buried into her journal, pencil dragging fervently across the pages. her entries always had your name embedded somewhere within their sentences. it was like you were all she could think about. when she would draw, the lines and curves always morphed into you, capturing a moment of you daydreaming in class or whatever other snapshot her mind had taken of you that wouldn't stop plaguing her.

she'd listen to your conversations when she was close enough to hear - not to be a creep or anything! but how else was she supposed to learn more about you?

sure, the obvious answer would be to talk to you, but she was a nervous wreck from just seeing you. you'd only had a few brief interactions before, and she swears she almost fainted when you remembered her name when you asked her for a pen once.

while she believed the popularity contest that was high school to be ridiculous, her very low place in the school's hierarchy was a definite set-up for failure, she was certain. ellie kept to herself, mostly, aside from her few friends, but that didn't stop her from becoming the target of relentless bullying from some of the other students, the ones at the top of the food chain.

you were well-liked amongst your peers, but your popularity never merged you with those people. you were known for your sunny disposition, whereas they tormented their way to the top.

you'd seen it happen a couple of times, the sound of their jeering always catching your attention, especially when you heard them say ellie's name in that disgusting tone that made your heart ache for her. in fact, it's what snapped you out of your current conversation as an irritated, "what the fuck, williams?" sounds throughout the hallway.

in her lovestruck daze, ellie hadn't been looking where she was walking, which conveniently caused her to bump into one of them - a girl you didn't care much for, quinn was it? all you knew for sure was that she was trouble.

ellie winced and scrunched her face at the sound of her voice, internally cursing at herself because now she had to deal with her. she opened her eyes to see that everyone was looking, including you.

"shit, sorry. wasn't looking where i was going, won't happen again," ellie's tone is curt, trying to move past her and continue with her day before things got worse.

but of course, she wouldn't get let off the hook that easily; that was just her luck.

"where do you think you're going?" she probes, moving to block ellie's path. ellie has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes in her face, not wanting to escalate things if she could help it. how naive of her to think that nothing could ever be easy for her.

"c'mon, dude. i apologised. can we move on and-"

suddenly, it feels like the wind was knocked from ellie's lungs, and she's… falling?

a little stunned, she looks up from her newfound place on the floor after quinn has shoved her to the ground. all because of an accident that could have been easily brushed off and forgotten about. such a dumb fucking reason, and yet it has ellie seething.

"you should watch where you're going, williams. always lurking where nobody wants you to be." quinn spits, taunting ellie to get a rise out of her. 

it was likely that ellie's indifferent reactions to quinn's bullying irritated her, unable to fathom why ellie wouldn't buckle and submit like every other one of her unfortunate victims.

while the teasing and mean remarks were an unfortunate constant in her life, this never mellowed ellie. she was always quick-witted, her slight temper always having her ready to argue back and stand up for herself, and this time was no different.

ellie rises from the ground and delivers an equally hard shove, an irate, "what the fuck is your problem?" leaving her chapped lips. being the drama-obsessed hive mind that high schoolers were, it didn't take long for people to start crowding around the two once things intensified.

you had been watching the whole thing from afar before a wall of people began forming, not realising it'd evolve into this. you heard a pained groan rip from ellie's throat after what you presumed was the first punch being thrown. now you are only able to listen to the commotion but not see the situation, making your anxiety skyrocket. 

you liked to keep an attentive eye on ellie from a distance despite your paths rarely crossing, feeling some strange obligation to watch over her. you knew quinn and her posse of assholes always gave ellie a hard time, but she seemed to handle herself just fine, sometimes hearing one of her clever comebacks that made you giggle.

while the brawl entertained everyone else, you grew increasingly agitated. you were never one for drama and kept a relatively peaceful circle of friends, but the idea of just standing and doing nothing felt like a personal failure.

so, before you knew it, you were excusing yourself from your friends and pushing your way through the crowd to get to ellie.

once you breached the crowd, you found yourself in the eye of the storm, your eyes wide. after a while of their struggle against each other, quinn was now situated on top of ellie as she delivered a particularly hard punch to ellie's cheek. the wounded groan she let out was what urged you out of your frozen shock, rushing towards the tangle of violent limbs, grabbing quinn's shoulder and pulling her off of ellie with a hard tug.

"get the hell away from her!" you yell, trying hard to ignore the disappointed groans of the audience as you interrupt their entertainment. "assholes." you thought to yourself. 

wiping the blood from her nose, the sight of the trickling crimson more satisfying to you than it should be, quinn looks at you confused, clearly not expecting you of all people to come to ellie's rescue.

"the fuck are you doing?" she sneers, looking between you and ellie, who is still on the floor, propping herself up on her elbows with the nastiest glare you'd ever seen on her face. "don't tell me you actually give a shit about this loser-"

"back off, don't touch her," you snarled, pushing past her to kneel beside ellie on the ground.

you had this untouchable air about you, something that was a little lost on you but not to quinn. she knew you had people to back you up, her targets usually being the loner outcast types, being the coward she is. the same ruthlessness ellie received was not given to you, an irritated scoff being all you heard from quinn. she was the least of your worries right now.

"are you okay?" you ask, a little breathless from the adrenaline of putting yourself in the middle of a fight in front of an audience. your brows furrowed at how quickly deep purples and blues had already started blooming around ellie's eye and her freckled cheek. 

ellie looked at you blankly, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, and she tried desperately to find any words to say to you. how was she supposed to think straight? the rush from the fight and now having her crush come to her aid rendered her speechless. her lack of answer only worried you more, pinning her silence on being stunned from the fight still.

"ellie, i need you to answer-"

you were cut off by the sound of the principal pushing his way through the mass, his stern voice demanding that the two battered girls follow him to his office.

you watch doe-eyed and nervous as ellie pushes herself off the floor with a wince, looking at you with eyes that have so much to say yet a mouth that cannot quite verbalise it. but she couldn't stay, so without a word, she reluctantly trudged behind the principal with her head hanging low, utterly fed up, and man, that one punch hurt.

˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

you peered around the corner to the row of chairs lined up outside the principal's office, eyes fixated on ellie's slumped figure occupying one of them. you had been watching for at least a minute or two now despite there being the opportunity to approach her like any other normal person. but this was comfortable for you, familiar. if ellie believed she was the only person with a staring problem, and she did, then she was painfully wrong.

it felt routine for you to watch her like this from afar, a look in your eyes brimming with so much more than just innocent curiosity.

it was like you could sense her presence in a room, your gaze always finding her so easily amongst the hoard of other students. your eyes would rake up and down as you shamelessly drank her in, that camo jacket of hers that she wore like a safety blanket hanging loosely from her frame. she wore it infuriatingly well, paired with her unbothered demeanour that looked oh so good on her. a witty remark was always ready on the tip of her tongue when one of her tormentors dared to speak to her, her scarred brow furrowing into a scowl that made your stomach flutter.

you knew what cuteness aggression was, but that surely couldn't be what you felt now. but it made you mad how badly ellie affected you even from a distance, what was once just a silly hallway crush twisting into a near-violent obsession. you spied her fresh bruises, almost filling you with a little satisfaction. serves her right, your voice whispers quietly inside your head, as if you were scared someone could hear you. you almost wished you had been the one to give her the bruises only so you could plant two gentle kisses over the skin to soothe the sting afterwards. the deep plum colour blooming across her skin still somehow made her look pretty, and you had to take a moment to ask yourself if that was a fucked up thing to think. probably. 

suddenly becoming aware of how much of a creep you must look, lingering but not daring to approach, you decided to finally go check on her. it wouldn't feel right for you not to ensure she was okay.

ellie wonders how hard she was punched when she looks up to see you, a concerned and bashful smile on your face.

"hey, ellie. i just wanted to check on you after what happened with… y'know." 

ellie spends a moment in silence as she processes what's happening. you're fidgeting with your hands, rocking back and forth on your heels like you don't know what to do with yourself. she could have scoffed in bewilderment, as if you had any right to look so nervous standing in front of her, effortlessly beautiful and so sweet.

"ellie?" you repeat her name again, softer this time. ellie almost wants to stay silent just to hear you repeat it. but she needs to respond, fuck think, think, think-

"o-oh, hey. i uh- yeah, i'm okay. nothing i can't handle," ellie finally manages to get out. you nod in acknowledgement, tearing your eyes away for just a moment to compose yourself.

"do you mind if i sit?" you gesture to the empty chair beside her, which has her perking up almost immediately. ellie nods, a simple "sure," leaving her lips in a tone that sounded far more curt than nonchalant like she intended. really, she was just trying to focus on not bursting at the seams. you were so close to her, and now she had to keep her cool.

"thanks for stepping in earlier and pulling her off of me. you didn't have to do that."

"i wasn't just gonna stand there and watch it happen," you say it like that wasn't what anyone else would have done, what they did do. all more than happy to watch her get her ass beat just to spice up what otherwise would have been another boring school day.

"i'd say i held my own somewhat well," ellie quips, her tone a little lighter than before. you giggle softly, deciding not to remind her that she had been floored by the time you got to her. she had definitely lost the fight, and in her defence, that girl was notoriously scrappy, but fortunately for you, she made losing look so good. holding herself up on her elbows, the meanest look on her dishevelled face as she stared up at the girl with an unwavering glare.

"and what did the principal have to say about that?" you press for details, head tilting curiously. you looked like a puppy, sitting all cute and pretty next to her. ellie swore you were trying to kill her; such a simple movement made her heart rate spike. 

"got a firm slap on the wrist and the usual 'you're better than this' speech." you hum in acknowledgement, a breath of a laugh exhaling through your nose.

"well, for what it's worth, i think you gave her what she deserved." your statement caught her off guard, and she was not expecting you to condone any of what went down earlier.

"oh, you think?"

"oh definitely. the only time i see her is when she's making some poor person's life hell. i'm glad to see her get a taste of her own medicine."

ellie couldn't argue with that, shrugging in agreement as she tried to keep the pride bubbling up in her chest at bay.

"i am a little surprised, though. i wasn't expecting you to entertain a fight with her." this makes ellie raise her eyebrow inquisitively. did she not look tough enough to be in a fight or something? she knew she was nerdy, but surely she didn't look utterly defenceless, right?

"how come?" she questions, leaning back more comfortably in her chair, legs settling into her usual manspread that had you reeling just from seeing it from a distance, never mind being right next to her. your eyes darted around the hallway, desperately trying to focus on the conversation.

"well, y'know, i see you around, and you're usually so…" you trail off as you wave your hands in soft, fluid motions, whimsical and a little silly as you try to explain the softer side of her you had always noticed in what looked like some strange interpretive dance. 

"but back there, you were all like-" you're swinging your arms a little more frantically now, a poor recreation of some generic karate moves. you would feel like a total idiot and you very much do if it wasn't for the cheesy smile spreading across ellie's face at the sight of you.

"yeah?" she feels like she's getting lightheaded from how giddy she feels.

"yeah." you parrot back sheepishly, twiddling your thumbs to ground yourself. so cute.  

all ellie seemed to be good for was being riled up by the other students, so hearing that you had acknowledged her enough to make up your own mind about her made her feel like she was short circuiting. she was quickly snapped out of her temporary high when she felt a sharp sting on the side of her face, her sappy smile irritating her bruises.

"shit, are you okay?" you ask worriedly as she tries to brush it off with a wave of her hand.

"yeah yeah, i'm fine; this could've been way worse. you don't need to worry." her thoughts didn't quite match up with her words, though, silently begging that you'd keep doting on her. she was basking in having your undivided attention.

"ellie, these bruises are pretty big, i'm allowed to worry after i watched you get your ass handed to you," you ramble, ignoring her dismissal. 

"hey! she didn't have that much of an upper hand against me-"

you don’t reply, your hand absentmindedly reaches out to cup her jaw, being careful not to press into where it hurts as you inspect her injuries.

"has anybody checked over you yet?"

she feels like she's on fire, palms sweaty as she silently lets you examine her. she barely managed to respond to your question with a simple "no." she swore she could feel everywhere your eyes landed on her face, and fuck, your hand is so warm. the mess of a girl was surprised that steam wasn't radiating from where your skin met. 

as you give her face a final once over, you catch that frazzled deer-in-headlights look in her eyes and realise what you were doing, immediately removing your hand. if ellie wasn't frozen in place, she would have chased your touch, already missing the feeling of you on her skin.

"s-sorry, i just- i didn't mean to touch you out of nowhere. i was checking for my own peace of mind and got carried away-"

"no!" ellie interrupts a little louder than she meant to. "i mean, it's totally fine," her voice is shaking, "thank you for caring. you don't even really know me, and you're doing all this for me, so thank you."

her abruptness halts your apologetic rambling. you look at her wide-eyed for a moment before letting a soft little smile tug up the corner of your lips. if only she knew just how well you'd come to know her from all of your stolen glances, committing her to memory like she would disappear.

"don't mention it."

silence falls over you, both fidgeting shyly as you struggle to find something else to say. but that was okay. the giddy smiles you were both biting back said everything they needed to.

"i should probably get back to class, i've been holding this hall pass hostage for a while so i could come to check on you." you huff out a little disappointed sigh, reluctant to leave now that you'd finally been able to talk to ellie after so long spent longingly glancing in her direction.

"oh right, sorry. don't let me keep you, like i said i'm fine, really." ellie felt herself deflate a little now that she knew you had to go. the word pathetic came to mind when she realised how silly she must have looked, sulking like a kicked dog.

"i'm glad you're okay, ellie. i'll um… i'll see you around, yeah?" you couldn't help the hopefulness seeping through your words, and ellie noticed. the slight lilt in your sweet voice, your awkward shifting as you stood up, ready to leave.

"yeah, i'll see you around." ellie smiled up at you, ignoring the sharp twinge where her bruises were. maybe she should get beat up more often if it meant getting your attention.

[moonbug333]

me rn

Inspired by charli xcx's 'party 4 u' because I'm unoriginal and still not over the fact that my 'RYM' series has just ended :( + I love writing cool-ish loser! Ellie. She's like a guilty pleasure that I crave really bad 24/7. NOT proofread like always considering I import it from my google docs. 😭Consider it a sweet treat for showing my 'RYM' series sm love🩷

Summary: a small fic that follows you and ellie in a series of moments, where the two of you are too nervous to confess and instead decide to play the long game over some not-so platonic moments.

You told everyone it was just a chill hangout. "Lowkey", you said. "Just a few people, good music, my place." But you’d spent two days rearranging furniture, stringing up lights, and refreshing the playlist so it hit that perfect mood—right between casual and maybe-I-like-you.

Your tiny off-campus apartment buzzed with soft chatter, solo cups in hand, laughter spilling into the hallway. The bass of Charli XCX’s 'party 4 u' thumped low underneath it all, like a secret. And in the center of it? You. Smiling. Mingling. Laughing a little too hard and watching the door.

Jesse bumped your shoulder as he handed you a drink. “You owe me.”

You grinned, feigning innocence. “For what?”

“For casually mentioning this party to Ellie in our lab today. Loudly.. multiple times.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “She’s coming?”

Jesse just sipped his beer and raised a brow. “She said she might. That’s the most commitment you’ll get from her.”

Your pulse picked up. You thanked him—sincerely—and flitted off to refresh the chips or the playlist or just to keep moving so you wouldn’t go insane.

Twenty minutes later, she walked in.

Ellie Williams, with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized hoodie, a faded science joke T-shirt barely visible underneath (“Never trust an atom. They make up everything.”) and worn jeans that somehow made her look cooler than anyone in the room trying too hard.

You were in the middle of a story—something about a disastrous mixer and three fire alarms—when you saw her. And for a second, your words faltered. She spotted you through the crowd, and her lips pulled into the faintest smile, like she wasn’t used to smiling but still wanted to try.

You waved her over before you could second-guess yourself, cheeks already warm.

“Ellie! You made it!” you said, maybe a little too excited, but you didn’t care.

She gave a short laugh. “Yeah, well… Jesse said there’d be free drinks and good music. He wasn’t wrong.”

Her voice was casual, but she kept glancing around—at the people, the lights, your posters, the blanket you’d half-draped over the couch in a panic to make it look effortlessly cozy.

“So,” you said, stepping closer, voice soft under the music. “You’re not usually a party person.”

“I’m not,” Ellie said. “But… I guess I wanted to see what kind of party you throw.”

You smiled, heart skipping. “It’s literally for you. So… hope it’s decent.”

Ellie blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you teased, stepping back a little, playful. “I throw parties for all the quiet, tattooed girls in science shirts I secretly have a crush on.”

She laughed, head ducking slightly, the tip of her ear pink. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re here,” you said.

“Guess I am.”

For a moment, the room felt smaller, the lights softer. The music just a little louder.

Then Jesse passed by, grinning like he’d won a bet. And you didn’t care—because Ellie was still looking at you like you were the only reason she showed up.

Which, maybe, you were.

The living room hummed with energy—your sorority sisters playing some chaotic drinking game, a speaker nearly tipping off the table from the bass, someone shouting “who brought the glitter??” but in the kitchen, it was quieter, dim. The yellow light from the overhead bulb buzzed faintly. Safe.

Ellie followed you in with an awkward sort of hesitation, her hands fiddling with the strings of her hoodie, like she wasn’t sure if she’d crossed some invisible line by following you.

“I swear, this kitchen is the least aesthetic part of the apartment,” you said, grabbing two sodas from the fridge. “But… also the most peaceful.”

She took the offered can with a quiet “thanks” and leaned her hip against the counter. You mirrored her on the opposite side, just far enough to pretend you weren’t stealing glances at her.

“So..” Ellie said, popping the tab on her drink, “you really threw this party just because of me?”

You gave a light laugh, shrugging. “Well, technically it was an excuse to wear my cute outfit and force Jesse to help me clean my apartment, but yeah… mostly you.”

Ellie smiled into her can, trying to hide it but failing.

“I don’t really get invited to stuff like this,” she said after a pause. “Usually just study groups or… I dunno, weird board game nights in the dorm basement.”

“You’re seriously telling me no one invites you to parties?” you asked. “Like, Ellie Williams, girl-who-always-knows-the-answer-in-chem?”

She snorted. “Yeah, that’s my reputation. Super hot.”

You leaned forward a little, teasing. “Actually? It kinda is.”

Ellie looked up sharply, her expression unreadable for one second too long. Then she bit her bottom lip, hiding the way her face went pink.

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I showed up.”

“Nope,” you said. “I say it every time you leave class with that nerdy little squint of yours”

She laughed again, more quietly this time. Her foot tapped nervously against the floor. Yours mirrored it.

The silence that followed was charged—soft and anxious and somehow perfect. Like the both of you were standing at the edge of something but didn’t quite know how to fall into it.

You took a sip of your soda just to do something with your hands. “You know, we could probably stay in here all night. They wouldn’t even notice.”

Ellie nodded, eyes drifting towards the doorway like it was another planet. “Yeah… I like it better in here. It’s… nice.”

You grinned. “You mean I’m nice.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

“Maybe I just like being cornered by the sorority girl in a too-perfect kitchen.”

“Careful,” you said, stepping just a little closer. “That almost sounded like flirting.”

Ellie tilted her head, curious. “Would that be… a problem?”

You looked at her, really looked at her, all nervous humor and fidgety hands with a hidden warmth.

“No,” you said. “It’d be a start.”

The music pulsed faintly from the other room, the sound like a heartbeat you didn’t have to chase anymore. And in that tiny kitchen—amid the empty solo cups and the hum of the fridge—neither of you moved, but something changed anyway.

Ellie shifted her weight, shoulder brushing just barely against the cabinet as she leaned in a fraction—like it was accidental, it wasn’t. You were leaning in too. Inch by inch, like gravity had its own agenda.

“Your playlist is kinda fire,” she murmured, eyes flicking to your lips and then back up. “Didn’t know you were hiding taste and brains.”

You smiled. “I have secrets.”

Ellie smirked, that soft, rare kind of smirk like she wasn’t used to letting herself have fun. “Bet you say that to all the chemistry nerds you trap in your kitchen.”

“Only the ones who wear punny science shirts and look like they’d rather die than admit they’re having fun.”

She laughed, quiet and breathy, and the space between you shrank again.

Your shoulder grazed hers, then your hands, and then her knee bumped yours under the counter and neither of you moved away. Her eyes locked on yours, green and stormy and very, very close.

“You always do this?” Ellie asked, voice almost a whisper now.

“Do what?”

“Throw a party for someone you like, then corner them and flirt until they can’t think straight?”

You blinked slowly. “I don’t think you’re thinking straight right now.”

She breathed out a laugh, but it caught in her throat. Her hand brushed against yours on the counter—barely there, but deliberate. Everything in you felt still, humming.

Her voice was quieter than ever. “Maybe I’m not.”

You leaned in, so close you could feel her breath on your skin and you didn’t even notice how close your faces were until your nose nearly brushed hers. She didn’t pull back. Neither did you.

Then—

“YO!”

Jesse’s voice blasted into the kitchen like a bomb.

You and Ellie jolted apart like you’d been caught setting off fireworks in a church.

“There is puke! Puke! On your rug!” he shouted, flailing into the doorway with a wild look in his eyes and a towel wrapped around one hand like a crime scene.

“What the—who?!” you yelled, stepping away from Ellie so fast you almost tripped over your own foot.

“I don’t know! Some girl in glitter boots and a unicorn onesie. I think she thinks this is the chi o afterparty..”

Ellie cleared her throat and took a big, unnecessary gulp of soda, pointedly looking away from both of you.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Of course! The one time I throw a party for a girl—someone nice, not a walking frat mistake—and this happens.”

Jesse blinked. “Wait. This was a—oh, Ohhhhh. I’m gonna go clean..i was never here.”

He disappeared as fast as he came, leaving a gust of hot wind behind him.

You looked at Ellie, your cheeks burning, heart still racing for a completely different reason now.

“I swear this never happens,” you said, voice hoarse.

She laughed—quiet, but warm. “Sure, but… you did corner me.”

“I did.”

She looked at you again, really looked. “You gonna finish what you started?”

You smiled. “Maybe. Just… after I make sure my rug survives the night.”

Ellie snickered. “I’ll be here, kitchen's kinda… cozy.”

The last of the music had faded into silence. Your apartment looked like a glitter bomb had gone off during a frat hazing ritual—red solo cups littered every flat surface, someone had left a half-eaten slice of pizza on a bookshelf, and the rug (miraculously) had survived.

Jesse was stacking cups into a tower in the kitchen, muttering something about “next time, no open invite.” Ellie was still here, to your total disbelief, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back with an elastic she found on her wrist, helping you pick up confetti with two fingers like it was nuclear waste.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” you said, dropping a plastic cup into a trash bag. “You’re officially above this. You helped clean glitter puke, you've earned your freedom.”

Ellie glanced at you from where she was crouched, grabbing a stack of napkins from under the coffee table. “Yeah, well… figured I’d see it through. Make sure your place doesn’t collapse.”

You smiled, tired but too giddy to care. “What a hero.”

She looked away quickly, but you caught the flush that crawled up her neck.

Jesse yawned loudly, clapping his hands once. “Alright. You two got this. I’m out.”

You didn’t stop him. Ellie didn’t either. The door shut behind him with a quiet click.

And then there was just… silence.

Ellie stood in the middle of the room, holding a sad party streamer in one hand like she’d forgotten what it was. You stood nearby, frozen with a trash bag half-full, too aware of the fact that she didn’t leave. That you didn’t want her to.

You both laughed at the same time—nervous, overlapping.

“This is weird,” you said. “Why is this weird?”

“I don’t know,” Ellie replied, smiling sheepishly. “You tell me. You threw the party.”

“For you.”

“I know.”

The silence came back, heavier this time. But softer, too.

Ellie stepped closer, tossing the streamer into the bag you were holding. Her fingers grazed yours. Not an accidental mistake.

“You were gonna kiss me earlier,” she said, voice almost a whisper.

You blinked. “You were gonna kiss me.”

She smiled. “So what happened?”

You gestured toward the now-destroyed battlefield of your living room. “A unicorn onesie and bodily fluids, that’s what.”

Ellie chuckled, and the tension broke—just enough. She was still so close. You could smell her faintly—soap, and whatever cheap body spray Jesse kept in the bathroom.

Your heart raced. You looked at her, at her stupid science T-shirt and her flushed cheeks and the way she couldn’t stop fiddling with the hem of her hoodie.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” you asked, half a statement, half full of hope.

Ellie shook her head slowly. “Not yet.”

She took another step.

You mirrored it.

Neither of you were sure who moved first—maybe it didn’t matter—but one second you were standing in the wreckage of a party, and the next her hand was on your waist, your fingers brushing her jaw.

The kiss started soft—testing the waters—but didn’t stay that way.

It deepened quickly, like both of you were letting go of something you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. Her lips were warm and a little uncertain, but she matched your rhythm like she’d been thinking about this just as long, maybe longer.

Her fingers curled into your sweatshirt. Yours slid to her neck, your thumb grazing the side of her jaw, and she made the faintest sound in the back of her throat—surprised and shaky.

The world around you slowed. The music was gone. The mess didn’t matter. There was just the pulse in your ears, the warmth of her mouth, the quiet tension that pulled you both in tighter.

When the kiss finally broke, it was slow—reluctant.

You stayed close, noses brushing. Neither of you ready to pull away.

Ellie’s voice came out breathless. “That was… wow.”

You smiled, giddy and flushed. “Yeah. Definitely… wow.”

She swallowed, still catching her breath, still holding on. “I thought I messed it up.”

“You didn’t.”

Her forehead rested against yours for a second—like she didn’t want to let the moment go.

Then you both stepped back at the same time. Nervous and a little dazed.

You cleared your throat, gripping the trash bag like it was the only thing tying you to reality. “So, um.. more confetti?”

Ellie laughed under her breath, eyes still locked on you. “Yeah, sure Confetti.”

The hum of fluorescent lights. The low clatter of glassware. That faint, sterile scent of ethanol and dust and overachieving. It was another monday in chem 204—unforgiving and way too early—but everything felt different.

Maybe because you were still riding the high from last night.

Jesse slouched next to you at your shared lab bench, scrolling through the instructions on the tablet like he hadn’t just watched half your apartment get turned into a frat-adjacent crime scene last night.

“Honestly,” he mumbled, cracking open a vial, “I don’t know how there was that much glitter. Like—do they make concentrated glitter now?”

You nodded absently, measuring out sodium bicarbonate, pretending to listen. You weren’t.

Because across the room—station C3—Ellie Williams was setting up her beakers and pipettes like it was just another lab day. Like she hadn’t kissed you in your living room until your knees felt like static.

Her hair was pulled back in a low bun. Same hoodie from the party, layered over a different science-pun T-shirt (“If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the precipitate”). You nearly choked on your own breath when you saw her walk in.

You’d barely said anything to each other this morning. A single text.

y/n: didn’t dream that right?

els: nope. you kissed me. pretty sure that was real.

And now she was here, four tables away, trying to act like she wasn’t sneaking glances at you every ten seconds.

You caught her eye again just as she pretended to adjust a burner. She bit her bottom lip, hiding a smile.

You smirked, turning back to your experiment as your cheeks flushed warm.

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “Okay, what's going on with you?”

“Hm?” you said, a little too quickly.

“You’ve measured the same solution three times. And you’re smiling at… baking soda.”

You blinked. “Oh, just… really love chemistry.”

Jesse gave you a flat look. “You’re a communications major.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you risked another glance.

Ellie was pretending to take notes, her pen unmoving on the paper. She looked up and met your eyes.

And that smile again—shy and smug and like she was remembering every second from last night.

You mouthed, hi.

She mouthed, hey, like it meant more than it should.

Across the lab, burners hissed and partners whispered, and Jesse kept muttering something about your measurements being off, but none of it mattered. Not really (yes really, you were being graded on efficiency).

Because you and Ellie were caught in your own little chemistry equation.

The study room smelled like old paper and floor cleaner, with the buzzing of overhead lights that had probably been flickering since 2013. One wall was all glass, offering a clear view of the rest of the library, but inside—at this small round table surrounded by mismatched chairs—it felt like its own little world.

Four laptops were open. A tangle of wires, coffee cups, and half-eaten snacks sat between all of you. Textbooks were scattered in varying degrees of neglect.

Jesse and Dina sat shoulder to shoulder, her legs thrown over his lap, both of them wearing matching hoodies they definitely stole from each other. Jesse was quizzing her on anatomy flashcards.

“Name the bone that connects the shoulder to the elbow,” he said.

“Your arm bone,” Dina said.

He stared at her. “You mean the humerus?”

“That’s what I said.”

Meanwhile, you and Ellie sat directly across from each other, separated by one open chemistry binder and roughly three inches of space.

Ellie was pretending to read. You were pretending to highlight something useful. Neither of you were doing a very good job at hiding it.

“Hey,” you said quietly.

Ellie looked up so fast she almost knocked over her iced coffee. “Hey.”

You smiled, nervous and warm. “How was your day?”

She blinked like you’d asked her to recite the periodic table backwards. “Oh. Um—good. Pretty average. I made a perfect hexane compound model in lab, which I know is thrilling content.”

“Super hot,” you whispered, teasing her.

Ellie let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “You?”

“Also thrilling. I watched three people fight over a toaster in the dining hall. Guy nearly cried.”

She snorted, trying to hide her smile behind her sleeve. “College is wild.”

You nodded. “We’re living the dream.”

Neither of you moved, neither of you said anything else for a second. You could hear Dina kissing her teeth as Jesse tried to explain what a scapula was. Ellie’s fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the table. Yours were close by.

Then—so soft you weren’t sure it was on purpose—her pinky brushed against yours.

You didn’t move, didn't look away. Just slid your hand a little closer.

She didn’t pull back.

Your fingers touched. Not holding hands, not really. Just touching. Playing, in that quiet kind of way that made your pulse skip. Her nail grazed your knuckle. Yours traced the side of her finger.

It was nothing but everything at the same time.

Ellie glanced down once then looked back at you. Her cheeks pink.

“You’re not… freaking out?” she asked, voice low so only you could hear.

“Not unless you are.”

She shook her head slowly. “Not freaking out.”

You smiled. “Cool, me neither. Totally chill. Definitely not counting how many times you blink.”

Ellie laughed—really laughed this time, head tilted back slightly. Jesse looked over.

“Ellie, you good?”

Ellie cleared her throat, sat up straighter. “Yeah, just… bonding over carbon chains.”

Dina snorted. “That’s what the kids are calling it now?”

You both looked down, hands slipping apart for a second—but not for long.

Because two minutes later, your fingers found hers again, underneath the table this time.

The booth was sticky. The lighting too yellow for your taste. The laminated menus hadn’t been cleaned properly since at least last tuesday. And still, somehow, it felt perfect.

You sat across from Ellie in a near-empty waffle house, the windows fogged slightly from the steam of the kitchen and the chill outside. A waitress with a name tag that read “barb” had taken your order without judgment, like she’d seen hundreds of college kids walk in with wide eyes and not-a-date date energy.

Ellie sat curled into the corner of the booth, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, chewing on the straw in her coke.

“This isn’t a date,” she said for the third time, obviously shitting her pants (metaphorically) from nerves.

You grinned over your mug of watery coffee. “Definitely not. Just two people eating waffles alone together at midnight.”

“Yeah,” Ellie said, nodding solemnly. “Very casual...very platonic.

You both broke out into quiet, giddy laughter.

The cook called something from the kitchen, and a plate clattered onto the pass-through window.

Ellie drummed her fingers on the table, then looked at you with that shy little tilt to her head. “So, tell me a weird fact about your childhood.”

“Oh, we’re doing that game now?” you teased.

“It’s tradition, non-date waffle house rules.”

You thought for a second. “Okay. When I was eight, I was completely obsessed with those mini baking ovens. Like—the easy-bake ones? I made the weirdest, driest little cakes and forced my parents to eat them.”

Ellie cracked a grin. “Were they good?”

“They were inedible. I made ‘pizza bagels’ once and nearly set the microwave on fire.”

She laughed, eyes crinkling. “That’s actually kinda badass, future arsonist vibes.”

“I prefer ‘culinary visionary,’” you said, mock offended.

Ellie smirked. “Alright, alright. My turn.”

She leaned back, eyes scanning the ceiling like she was pulling the memory from deep storage. “When I was ten, Joel taught me how to carve wood. Like—real, pocket-knife, dangerous shit. First thing I ever made was a little dinosaur, looked more like a lumpy potato with legs, but I was proud.”

You blinked, surprised. “Joel taught you?”

“Yeah,” she said, voice softening. “He’s kind of a hard-ass, but… he has this whole woodworking setup in the garage. Said it was good for patience... said I needed that.”

You smiled. “Do you still do it?”

Ellie shrugged, suddenly shy again. “Sometimes. It’s easier than talking, most days.”

There was a pause—comfortable, warm.

You reached across the table, gently nudging her fingers. “That’s really cool.”

She glanced down at your hand, then up at you, cheeks pink. “You ever wanna bake something not in a microwave, we could, uh… make a weird trade. Wood-carving for baking.”

You raised a brow. “Are you asking me on a real date now?”

Ellie grinned, eyes flicking away. “Maybe, you into lumpy dinosaurs and waffles?”

“Very,” you said, grinning back. “But only if you eat my awful cupcakes.”

Barb dropped off your plates with a tired smile, and neither of you reached for them right away.

You were too busy smiling like idiots, pretending this still wasn’t a date—even if you both knew it was.

The first bite of waffles hit like a religious experience.

You closed your eyes dramatically. “Holy hell.”

Ellie was halfway through her own plate of hash browns, looking similarly awed. “Why is this so good? Have we just been eating garbage all semester?”

“We have been eating garbage all semester,” you said through a mouthful of syrup. “This is real food, god-tier.”

Ellie grinned, syrup on the corner of her mouth, pointing at your plate. “You gonna finish that bacon?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Touch it and die.”

The banter went on like that, easy and unfiltered, between bites that got messier and sloppier as neither of you cared about being “cute” anymore. Hunger trumped awkwardness. You were both suddenly seventeen again, staying up too late and eating like you’d never see a kitchen again.

By the time you were both leaning back in the booth, plates cleared and stomachs full, you were practically melting into the vinyl.

Ellie glanced at you. “You wanna… come over? I mean—not like that,” she rushed, ears going pink, “just—I live super close and I have, like… tea? Or something.”

You tried not to smile too hard. “Tea sounds dangerous.”

She rolled her eyes. “Totally reckless and wild.”

+

It was small, but the kind of small that felt lived-in, cozy. You stepped through the door and took it all in slowly; stacks of books lined the floor by the windows, a second-hand couch facing a tiny TV, shelves full of random junk—rocks, figurines, more than a few cracked mugs. But what caught your eye were the walls.

Framed Savage Starlight comics, a whole set. Not just pinned—framed. Carefully, reverently, like museum pieces.

And above her desk, posters of galaxies and star charts, some yellowed at the edges, others so crisp they must’ve been recent finds. NASA logos. A glow-in-the-dark moon.

You turned in place, smiling. “Okay. You are, officially, a dork.”

Ellie rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah, well… I had a phase.”

“You’re still in it.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but she was smiling too, leaning against the kitchenette counter, arms crossed like she was trying to act unbothered. But you could see the twitch in her jaw, the way she kept flicking her eyes toward you—checking your reaction like this was some test she hadn’t studied for.

You walked over to the comics, pretending to inspect them like a snooty art critic. “Wow, this one’s worth, like, eighty bucks on ebay. Should I steal it?”

Ellie snorted. “Touch it and die.”

You looked over your shoulder, smirking. “Hey, that's my line.”

She blinked, caught off-guard, then laughed. “Damn, you're right.”

The silence that followed was soft, expectant. You weren’t doing anything particularly romantic—just… existing in her space. Letting her show you who she was without saying it out loud.

And Ellie, trying so hard to play it cool, stood there like her whole body was buzzing.

You finally turned fully to her. “I like your place.”

She nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s very… you.”

“Messy and space-obsessed?”

You shrugged, stepping closer. “Exactly my type.”

Ellie flushed instantly, looking down at her feet. “You’re impossible.”

You leaned against the counter next to her, close enough that your shoulders brushed together.

“Still not a date, by the way,” you said quietly.

She glanced sideways at you. “Definitely not.”

Ellie made the tea, or something vaguely like tea. It tasted like cardboard and chamomile, but you drank it anyway because she’d nervously handed it to you like it was a sacred offering.

Now the two of you were squeezed onto her too-small couch, feet tangled awkwardly over a throw blanket that smelled like laundry detergent and cedar. The TV was on but muted—some old sci-fi movie flickering in black and white, just enough to give the room a quiet glow.

You were pressed shoulder to shoulder, legs brushing occasionally, both pretending it wasn’t happening.

Ellie sipped her tea too fast, like it gave her something to do. “Sorry there’s, like, no room. It’s, uh— a studio. I didn’t think this far ahead.” An awkward frown on her face as she looked at you.

You tilted your head towards her, smiling gently. “You mean you don’t prepare for late-night almost-date hangouts with every girl you share waffles with?”

Ellie choked on her tea.

You patted her back as she coughed, laughing softly. “I’m kidding.”

“No, you’re not,” she muttered, grinning despite her face turning red. “You’re such a menace.”

You didn’t answer. Just let the moment settle. The silence wasn’t awkward anymore—just full, soft. The kind of quiet that feels like permission to say something you wouldn’t normally say.

She turned to look at you, eyes a little tired but warm. “Hey.”

You looked back. “Yeah?”

Ellie opened her mouth, then closed it. Looked at your mouth, then looked away. “…Nothing.”

You reached up gently, brushing her knuckles with yours again, the same way you had in the library.

“Ellie.”

She looked at you again. This time, neither of you looked away.

The kiss was barely a kiss—more hesitation than action. Her lips brushed yours like a question, like she was waiting for you to pull back. You didn’t.

You kissed her again, slower this time, still unsure, both of you smiling into it like idiots. It wasn’t perfect—your noses bumped, and the angle was weird on the tiny couch—but it didn’t matter.

It was clumsy, real. Warm.

Ellie pulled back, blinking, breath hitching as she let out a soft laugh. “Okay, so that happened..”

You nodded. “yeah..”

“Still not a date, though.”

“Definitely not.”

The two of you didn’t move for a moment, just stared at each other, hearts in your throats. Then Ellie shifted, slumping sideways, and you followed, curling instinctively against her.

You fit together like it had been waiting to happen.

Her arm tucked behind your shoulders. Your hand found hers again. The TV kept flickering, casting faint shadows over the framed comics and cluttered bookshelves.

And slowly, the tension melted away. Your breathing slowed down to sync with hers, your limbs tangled, and Ellie’s cheek rested against the top of your head.

By the time sleep came, the awkwardness had faded into something quieter. Something sweeter.

The living room was a controlled disaster.

Half a pizza sat in its box on the coffee table, two different board games were half-set-up and ignored, and someone (probably Jesse) had spilled root beer and made a failed attempt at cleaning it up with paper towels. The overhead light was off (thank god), replaced by the soft flicker of some D-list sci-fi movie Ellie had insisted on playing “for the vibes.” A spaceship exploded in the background as someone screamed something about “quantum portals.”

Ellie sat on the floor, legs crossed, chewing on a twizzler and pretending not to be pressed up against your leg.

You were half-leaning on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, your knee bumping hers every few minutes like it was casual. It wasn’t. She still gave you that same flustered little glance every time it happened.

You were officially girlfriends now. You’d said it—out loud, with words and everything, a few weeks ago. Maybe longer. But apparently the universe didn’t care, because you still flirted like it was week one.

“Okay,” Jesse said from across the room, holding up a card from the trivia game that had been abandoned twenty minutes ago. “New question. When, officially, do you two stop acting like you just brushed hands for the first time in a high school hallway?”

Dina cackled, curled into Jesse’s side like she lived there. “Seriously, it’s like watching a coming-of-age movie in real time.”

You groaned, reaching for a throw pillow. “I hate both of you.”

“You hate us?” Jesse leaned forward, pointing at you with a chip. “Ellie literally flinched when you tucked her hair behind her ear two hours ago. I saw it. It was like she was struck by lightning dude.”

Ellie, still chewing her twizzler, raised her hands. “Okay. In my defense, she does that thing with her thumb—on my cheek—and I’m not built for that level of affection, alright?”

You covered your face with your hoodie sleeves, muffling a laugh. “You’re such a nerd, ohmygod.”

“You’re dating this nerd,” Ellie shot back, poking your side.

You poked her back. It devolved into a low-effort war of soft jabs and teasing mutters in front of Jesse and Dina.

“Exhibit A,” Dina said, waving a hand. “Couple of actual teenagers.”

Jesse leaned over to her. “Should we leave them alone? Or, like, offer juice boxes and tell their parents they’re holding hands after school?”

You flipped them both off with a smile. “This is harassment.”

“This is friendship,” Jesse corrected, raising his root beer. “And we’re proud of you, but also painfully aware of how soft you both are now.”

Ellie leaned into you just slightly, like she didn’t mean to. You bumped her back.

The sci-fi movie in the background exploded again—something about a failed wormhole this time.

You sighed dramatically. “Next time we’re watching a rom-com.”

Ellie glanced over, mouth twitching into a smirk. “You’re really gonna try and make me watch 27 dresses again?”

“Hell yes, I am.”

Jesse groaned. “God help us.”

Dina nodded solemnly. “The true horror genre.”

And just like that, it settled—easy, familiar. You and Ellie, curled up together in the chaos. Still awkward, still soft, still brushing hands like it was brand new.

Girlfriends, yeah. The kind who talked about sci-fi movies like they mattered and touched each other like they still couldn’t believe they were allowed to.

The best kind.

[moonbug333]

so effin cute i love this little series

red wine supernova

neighbor!ellie williams x reader

neighbor!ellie universe

summary: celebrating your birthday for the first time without your family was hard, but ellie was there to make your special day better.

word count: 4.8k

YOU HEARD the clunk first.

Then came the gurgle. The kind of unsettling gurgle that said hey, I’m broken and probably leaking. You stared at your kitchen sink. The faucet was dripping slowly, then rapidly, and then suddenly it made a soft hissing pop and began a very non-cute stream from underneath the counter. You were already freaking out when you texted Ellie. 'help. the sink just made a sound like a dying animal D:'

Less than five minutes later, you heard a knock on your door, and there she was—smug little smirk, toolbox in hand. "Your handy girlfriend has arrived," Ellie announced, stepping inside dramatically. "I heard there’s a damsel in distress."

You squinted at her. "You’re holding your hammer upside down."

She paused. Glanced at it. "That’s... just how I carry it. For style."

"You sure you know what you’re doing?"

Ellie strutted past you like she owned the place, setting her toolbox on your counter and crouching to inspect under the sink. "I fixed Jesse’s garbage disposal once. Plus I watched, like, a lot of plumbing videos after the shower head incident at my place."

You narrowed your eyes. "The incident where you broke it off the wall and flooded your whole bathroom?"

Ellie’s head popped out from beneath the counter. "Okay, rude. That was sabotage. Gravity was involved."

You sat on the floor beside her, watching her try to identify which pipe did what with the confidence of someone who had no idea but didn’t want to admit it.

"Need a hand, baby?" you asked.

"No, no. I got it. I just.. I’m just surveying. For strategy, you know?"

Unbeknownst to you, Ellie pulled her phone from her back pocket while pretending to stretch and started texting someone. 

"No way," you peeked over her shoulder. "Are you texting Joel?"

Ellie froze. "No?"

You blinked. "Why are you lying?"

She groaned. "Okay, yes. But listen. I’m still doing the work. Joel is just... coaching. Spiritually."

You smirked. "Aren’t you supposed to be handy? You know, being a lesbian and all?"

Ellie sat up so fast she hit her head on the bottom of the sink, cursed, then pointed an accusing wrench at you. "Wow. I could say the same, ma’am."

You blinked, but a small smile appeared on your lips. "Touché."

She rubbed the back of her head, then sat beside you on the floor with an exaggerated sigh. "Okay. Real talk? I don’t actually know what the fuck I’m doing. I just wanted to impress you."

"You don’t need to impress me, El. You already do."

She gave you a sheepish little half-smile, bumping her shoulder against yours. "Even if I can’t fix your sink?"

"Especially because you tried to anyway."

You leaned your head on her shoulder, both of you sitting on the floor beside the broken sink, surrounded by scattered tools. Ellie let her head tilt onto yours, and for a moment the silence felt warm, easy. Comfortable.

Then the faucet hissed again. And it made you both jump.

"Okay," Ellie muttered. "Maybe we should call a real plumber before your kitchen becomes a swimming pool."

You didn’t expect Joel to show up with that much swagger. The moment you opened the door for him, he was already smirking like he had three dad-jokes lined up and a plumber's ego the size of Texas.

"Where’s the patient?" he asked, stepping into your apartment.

Ellie, who had been sulking on your couch with her arms crossed, shot you a betrayed look the second she heard his voice. "You called him?"

"You were texting him already," you pointed out, holding back a laugh. "I just… escalated."

Joel chuckled and patted Ellie’s shoulder on his way to the kitchen. "Don’t worry, kiddo. Some people are meant to fix sinks. Some are meant to break ‘em."

"It was already broken!"

You leaned on the counter and watched as Joel got to work. He made a few small grunting sounds, twisted a couple of things, mumbled to himself, and five minutes later, your sink no longer sounded like a dying animal.

You blinked. "Wait. That’s it?"

Joel stood up and dusted his hands off. "Yeah. It was just a loose coupling and a misaligned gasket. Easy fix."

Ellie was standing with her arms crossed now, jaw tight. "Cool. Thanks for making me look useless in front of my girlfriend."

Joel grinned, but didn’t bother to say anything. He just turned to grab his thermos. "So. You two are still comin’ over next weekend?"

You frowned a little, confused. "Wait… next weekend?"

"Yeah, before your birthday, right?" Joel said, totally casual.

You blinked. "How do you know it’s my birthday?"

He smirked as he took a sip of the coffee you made for him. "Ellie hasn’t shut up about it for two weeks."

You looked over just in time to see Ellie’s soul exit her body. "I—what—okay." She stood up straighter, backing toward the door like she was about to physically eject Joel from the apartment. "Thank you so much for the sink, Joel. Appreciate it. Really. You can leave now. Door’s right here. Bye!"

Joel laughed, deeply amused. "Just sayin’. That girl has been stressin’ about gettin’ you the right gift. Keeps mutterin’ 'what if it’s too much?' and 'what if she doesn’t like sur—'"

"BYE, JOEL!"

You were full-on cackling now, covering your mouth as Ellie turned cherry red and started shoving Joel gently toward the door. "Hey, hey!" Joel laughed, holding his hands up. "No need to assault me for being observant."

"Out." Ellie insisted, dragging him by the sleeve.

Joel turned to you, still laughing. "You’re comin’ next week, though, right?"

You nodded, smiling warmly. "Yeah. Wouldn’t dare to miss it."

"Good." He winked at Ellie, who was as red as her flannel.

Once the door shut, she turned around, arms stiff at her sides, eyes wide like she’d just been hit by a truck. You tried not to laugh. You really did. But her face was so red.

"Couldn’t shut up, huh?"

Ellie groaned and pressed her forehead into your shoulder. "I hate him."

You wrapped your arms around her and smiled against her temple. "I don’t. He’s kind of my favorite person right now."

She peeked up at you with a pout. "I thought I was your favorite."

You grinned. "Well, you were. Until Joel complimented my kitchen."

Ellie narrowed her eyes. But you leaned in and kissed her quickly, soft and sweet. "I love you, dork."

Her face softened instantly. "Yeah," she murmured. "Love you too."

Then she sniffed. "… How did he fix that in five minutes?! I was literally googling what a gasket even is."

You laughed again, pulling her close. "It’s okay, plumber girl. Your efforts were adorable."

She groaned into your shoulder. "I’m gonna hear about this forever."

"You are," you teased. "Forever. Just like Joel said."

She looked up again, defeated but grinning. "Okay. Now I hate you too."

THE TV flickered softly across the dim living room. Ellie’s face as she lounged at the end of the couch, socked feet kicked up on the coffee table. Her hair was a mess, and her oversized t-shirt hung off one shoulder, exposing the faint lines of freckles dancing around her pale skin.

The movie she’d put on was halfway through, and Ellie was narrating more than watching.

"Okay, okay, look— this part? Where Luke flips off the skiff? He actually did that himself, no stunt double. Mark Hamill, certified badass." She leaned toward you, finger pointing at the screen like you might miss it. "Also? Carrie Fisher hated that metal bikini. Like, despised it. Rightfully so."

You smiled faintly, eyes on the screen, but not really seeing it.

Ellie didn't notice at first, she was too busy giving you random trivia in her soft, nerdy ramble that always made you melt a little. But somewhere between the speeder bike chase and the Ewok celebration, Ellie finally glanced over. And paused mid-sentence.

You were curled up at the opposite end of the couch, knees tucked under your chin, blanket tight around your shoulders. Your eyes were dull, unfocused. Your expression that polite, empty kind of neutral you wore when you didn’t want anyone to ask you what was wrong. It was a dead giveaway.

Ellie immediately hit pause. The screen froze on a blurry Ewok mid-jump, mouth open like it had caught the tension in the room too.

You blinked slowly. "Hey, I was watching that."

She didn’t answer. Just turned toward you, her brows gently furrowed. "Okay, spill."

"What?"

"Don’t 'what' me," she said, voice soft but certain. "You’re quiet. That weird, echo-y kind of quiet."

You hesitated, fingers twitching with the blanket fabric. "It’s nothing. I’m just tired."

Ellie tilted her head, unconvinced. "You’re a terrible liar."

There was a long pause. The kind that buzzed in your ears. And finally, you sighed. "It’s just... weird. Thinking about celebrating my birthday without my family, I guess."

Ellie didn’t say anything for a second, and you hated how suddenly vulnerable you felt. You hadn’t cried or anything, hadn’t even planned to bring it up. But there it was, sitting thick in your throat like a rock. 

"My parents usually drove," you added after a second, eyes fixed on the paused screen. "Even if it was just for dinner. They’d bring cake and balloons, even when I told them not to. It was… dumb. But it felt good."

Ellie scooted closer, shifting the blanket without asking and tugging half of it over her own lap. Her hand found yours under the fleece, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"I’m sorry," she said, voice barely above a whisper. You blinked fast, trying not to let it show how much that small gesture hit you. "But hey," she added, her lips twitching into a little smile. "I’m not, like, blood-related… but I am contractually obligated to be your emotional support."

You laughed softly, pressing your face into her shoulder.

Ellie pulled you close, kissing the side of your head. "We don’t have to do anything big if you don’t want to."

"I don’t know. It’s just… gonna feel different."

"Yeah," she murmured, letting her chin rest against your hair. "Different doesn’t have to mean bad, though."

"I know."

The two of you sat like that for a while — quiet, bundled in shared warmth, the paused Ewok still mid-celebration on the screen.

Then Ellie whispered, "I, uh… may or may not have something up my sleeve for your birthday."

You lifted your head, smiling faintly. "El…"

"No, no — I’m not telling you anything. This face?" She pointed at her own. "Vault. Steel trap."

You gave her a knowing look. "You’re literally the worst at keeping secrets."

"Hey! I kept the Christmas sweater surprise and the concert tickets last month."

"You told me about the concert while you were trying to buy the tickets."

"Anyway," she said, leaning back dramatically. "This one? You’ll never see it coming."

You let yourself sink back into her side, fingers brushing hers again, more at peace than you’d felt all day.

THE CAR was warm from the sun, windows cracked just enough to let the breeze in, and Ellie’s hand was resting on your thigh in that casual, grounding way that always made your chest flutter.

"You sure we have everything?" she asked, as if the road trip didn’t last twenty minutes.

You held up the tote bag you packed. "I got snacks, water, charger, and gum. I am the ideal road trip companion."

Ellie smirked. "Passenger princess, you mean."

You gasped, pretending to be scandalized. "That’s so rude. I am a navigation expert and playlist curator."

"Yeah?" she glanced at you, amused. "Then how come you opened Google Maps like five minutes ago and already told me to turn down a one-way?"

"That was a test. And you passed."

She snorted. "Sure."

You leaned back into the seat, sunglasses perched on your nose, your legs curled up slightly in the seat like you always did. "Okay, okay, serious now. What playlist do you want?"

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Do you remember the one we did together?" You grinned, nodding. "Play that one."

You queued it up, and within seconds, the car was filled with music. Ellie hummed along under her breath, her fingers tapping the beat against your leg. You watched her drive for a minute — the way her jaw flexed when she focused, the small scar on her temple, the fact that she had her sleeves pushed up and one tattooed forearm resting lazily on the wheel. 

"What?" she asked, catching you staring.

"Nothing," you smiled. "You’re so pretty."

Her face pinked immediately. "Don’t distract me. You want us to crash before we even arrive?"

"I mean… if we crash into a field and get to live off the grid together, I’m not complaining."

Joel’s house at just outside a little forest area, one of those modest country homes with a porch swing and too many bird feeders. It wasn’t far from your apartment complex, but it felt different anyway. When you pulled into the driveway, Joel was already waiting on the porch with two beers and what looked like a glass of lemonade in his hand. You hopped out of the car before Ellie had even turned off the engine, practically bouncing on your feet.

"She’s excited," Ellie muttered, grabbing the bag from the backseat.

"I heard that!"

Joel stood up as you approached, already holding out the lemonade. "Told you she’d be happy to get outta the city."

"I’m always happy when there’s cake," you grinned, accepting the glass. "Hi, Joel."

"Happy early birthday, kiddo." He gave you a side hug and then clapped Ellie on the back. "You two hungry?"

"Always," you and Ellie said in unison.

Inside, Joel had really gone for it: steak, potatoes, cornbread, and now the three of you were settled on his large couch. You were sitting between them, Ellie with her arm casually draped along the back of the couch behind you, her fingers occasionally brushing your hair. Joel had turned on the Western on the old TV. 

Halfway through, Joel paused the movie. "Alright. Gimme a second."

You sat up slightly. "Wait, is it… is it cake time?"

"Patience," he grumbled, disappearing into the hallway.

Ellie gave you a look. "Gift time."

"What?"

Before you could say something else, Joel returned with a small box, wrapped in old newspaper and tied up with a small bow. He held it out to you, slightly awkward. "Here. It’s not much, but… I made it myself."

You blinked and took the box gently, heart already swelling before you’d even untied the bow. Ellie nudged your knee with hers, giving you a soft smile. Inside the box was a hand-carved wooden jewelry tray. The edges were smoothed out and rounded, the inside etched delicately with little stars and crescent moons. The craftsmanship wasn’t perfect, but it was personal. It was special. 

Joel scratched the back of his neck. "Thought maybe it’d look nice on your nightstand. Ellie said you keep losin’ your earrings."

"I don’t lose them—" you started, shooting Ellie a look.

"—She definitely loses them," Ellie confirmed.

You blinked hard, trying not to spill any tear. And then looked up at Joel. "This is… this is beautiful. Seriously."

He looked relieved. "Glad you think so."

You leaned over and gave him a hug without even thinking about it, arms around his middle, head resting on his shoulder. Joel went a little stiff, then sighed and patted your back. "You’re welcome, kid."

He looked over at Ellie, who gave him a thumbs up, smiling so hard it hurt. 

YOU WERE asleep. Deeply asleep.

Tucked into Ellie’s sheets, her warmth curled around you like a blanket of its own — one arm slung lazily over your waist, her breath slow and even against the back of your neck. The world was quiet, the apartment dark and still, save for the faintest hum of the city outside the window and the soft noise of a fan nearby.

"Baaaabe…"

You groaned. A soft kiss landed on your shoulder. Then another. Then one against your cheek. Then your jaw. Your temple. Your eyelid, which made you twitch.

"Babyyyyyy," Ellie singsonged, barely above a whisper but somehow managing to drag the vowels into your dreams like a little menace.

Your eyes fluttered open vaguely. "Ellie…" Your voice was thick with sleep. "Is the building on fire?"

"No," she grinned.

"Did the cat learn to talk?"

"We don’t have a cat."

"Exactly," you mumbled, rolling over toward her, face still half-smashed into the pillow. "Then why…"

Ellie’s face was inches from yours, eyes wide and shining in the dark like an excited kid. "It’s midnight," she said simply.

You blinked at her. "... And?"

"It’s your birthday, dummy."

You blinked again. Then, despite the groggy haze in your brain, you felt something warm pull at your chest. Ellie was grinning like she couldn’t contain it— her fingers gently sweeping a lock of hair from your forehead, her knee nudging yours under the covers.

"You woke me up… to say happy birthday?"

"Of course I did," she whispered, leaning down to brush her nose against yours. "I get to be the first one to say it."

Your heart did a little flip. Even in the dark, you could see the softness on her face. She tucked her face into your neck and kissed you there, just below your ear.

"Happy birthday, baby," she whispered. "I love you so much."

Your breath caught. Even half-asleep, that still made your stomach flutter. You let out a laugh, barely a puff of air. “Oh my god. You’re so annoying.”

"Yup." She pressed another kiss to your cheek. "But, hey, birthday rules. I get to be as clingy and chaotic as I want."

"You're always clingy."

"Exactly. So today I will be even worse." She poked your side gently, drawing out a muffled yelp. "How does it feel? Being the prettiest, coolest, most perfect birthday girl in the world?"

You buried your face in her chest, hiding your grin. "Feels like I’m gonna fall back asleep any second."

Ellie laughed and pulled you tighter against her. "That’s fine. I just wanted to be the first. Didn’t even need fireworks or cake. Just… this." Her voice was quieter now, more serious under the softness. "Just you here. With me."

You closed your eyes, heart heavy in the best way. "Thanks for waking me up," you whispered.

Ellie kissed your forehead. "Anytime, birthday girl."

You were already halfway asleep again when she pulled the blanket tighter over you both, her fingers stroking slow, lazy circles against your hip. But then you felt her smile against your skin. And you fell asleep smiling too.

WHEN the sun came up, you started to notice something was with Ellie. She started to... over-explain things. Like when she insisted you really didn’t need to come with her to the store that morning.

"I just gotta pick up a few things," she said, avoiding eye contact. "For… uh. Repairs."

"Repairs?"

"Yeah. You know, the boring stuff."

You stared at her. She fidgeted. "… Ellie."

"It will be so boring. Not worth your time, for sure." She added, pulling on her hoodie string so hard it almost slapped her cheek.

And when you tried to press further, she kissed your forehead and said, "You’re really cute, but no questions," then tripped over the welcome mat on her way out.

Despite the nerves and the obvious attempts at cover-up, there was something endearing in how hard she was trying. She wasn’t that bad at hiding it. Just… twitchy. And excitable. And grinning to herself when she thought you weren’t looking.

It was honestly kind of adorable.

By the time the afternoon arrived, she was barely keeping it together. She texted you five times from her place. The one that was down the hall. Terrible poker face, Williams.

When you opened the door that evening, Ellie was already outside waiting for you, pretending she hadn’t been nervously pacing the corridor for fifteen minutes. She offered her hand with a shy grin and said, "You look good. Like… criminally good."

You raised an eyebrow. "Criminal?"

"Yeah. Like, if hotness was illegal, I’d be a getaway driver."

You laughed despite yourself. She kissed your knuckles and walked with you down the hallway like she hadn’t spent all week having semi-anxious spirals in group chats with Dina and Jesse.

When she opened her apartment door, a rush of warm air, soft lighting, and music hit you first. Then came the voices.

"SURPRISE!!"

And there they were. Not just Ellie’s friends. Not just Dina and Jesse— who were already grinning ear to ear. But your people. A few from college. A couple from high school. A girl you used to sit with in freshman year creative writing. People you hadn’t seen in forever. Faces from every corner of your past life, standing under twinkling lights and hand-cut banners that spelled Happy Birthday! in mismatched lettering.

You turned to Ellie, stunned. She just smiled back, so damn proud of herself. 

The night unfolded in a blur of laughter, hugs and stories. You caught up with old friends, shared drinks with Jesse who was aggressively proud of Ellie’s 'romantic little brain,' and danced to terrible pop music that Ellie claimed to hate — but still danced with you to.

At one point, you noticed her standing near the back wall, just watching you with the most ridiculous, soft smile on her face.

"How you did this?" you asked, taking her hand. 

She shrugged, ears flushed pink. "You talk about people when you’re happy. I just… remembered the names. Asked around. Dina helped me with the Insta creeping."

Your heart swelled. And you leaned in to kissed her. 

As the party wound down, your friends, who were half-tipsy already, floated the idea of heading to a bar across town.

"You two are totally coming," one of your oldest friends said, tugging at your hand. "We haven’t seen you in years, you can’t just disappear now."

You turned to Ellie, who already had that mischief look plastered on her face.

"C’mon," she said, brushing your hair behind your ear. "I’ll buy the first round."

The bar was dim and neon-drenched, full of people and terrible music. Ellie stayed close to your side, one hand in the back pocket of your jeans, laughing at your stories, letting you steal sips from her drink. It was strange seeing your two worlds blur like this. Your past and your present. Your oldest friends watching the way Ellie looked at you, some of them smirking behind their glasses, others giving you subtle thumbs-up when Ellie leaned in to whisper something soft in your ear.

As the night stretched, the drinks became foggy. You weren’t much of a heavy drinker, not usually. But tonight was different. Your birthday, Ellie by your side, surrounded by old friends and new memories. The kind of warmth that went straight to your chest and, okay, maybe your head too.

Ellie had been keeping count. She wasn’t a buzzkill about it, just quietly attuned. Two cocktails, one shot someone handed you during a toast, and a half-glass of whatever suspicious pink stuff was handed to you by a giggling friend. That was your limit. But Ellie knew better than to tell you that. She just hovered nearby, patient as ever.

You stumbled into her at the edge of the dance floor, head heavy on her shoulder, arms winding around her waist. "You’re so pretty," you slurred, eyes sparkling. "Did you know? God, Ellie. You’re so stupidly hot. Like, offensively attractive."

Ellie laughed, catching you by the waist. "Okay, babe. That’s number four talking."

"Nuh-uh," you protested, poking her chest. "That’s just me. I love you."

You clung to her like a very drunk koala, and she steadied you with both hands on your hips, heart swelling even as she rolled her eyes affectionately. "You do love me, huh?" she said, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

You nodded emphatically. "Like. So much. It’s actually disgusting."

She grinned, soft and crooked, the way she always did when she was trying to mask how much your affection hit her. "Alright, babe," she said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Let’s get you some water."

You went willingly, still nuzzling into her side, giggling every time she called you a nickname. The bartender handed over a tall glass of ice water with a straw, and Ellie pressed it to your lips. "Sip. You’re gonna thank me later."

You sipped. And she grinned, whispering a soft ‘atta girl’ in your ear. 

"You’re so bossy," you mumbled, cheeks flushed.

"Yeah, and you like it."

"Love it, sure." you whispered, leaning up to kiss her cheek.

Ellie stilled for a second, watching you with that soft, unreadable expression she always got when she was feeling more than she could say. Then she smiled, tucked your hair behind your ear, and gave your forehead a gentle kiss.

"Alright, lover girl," she murmured. "We’re going home," Ellie said firmly, glancing at your friends with a nod.

You whined quietly. "I don’t wanna go yet."

"Yeah, I know. But your eyes say you’re five minutes away from sleeping standing up."

"I don’t want to go to my apartment, El. I wish we could live together. It’s not fair," you mumbled, barely audible. "Can’t wait for you to be my forever home.”

Ellie froze. Looked down at you. And something in her expression softened so completely it nearly melted. "Jesus Christ," she whispered, more to herself than anyone. "You’re gonna ruin me."

You smiled sleepily into her collarbone, not fully aware of the words you just spilled, and how much they affected Ellie for the rest of the night.

After saying goodbye to your friend, Ellie called a cab, half-carrying you inside it, holding your hand the entire ride home while you talked in dreamy, quiet nonsense about clouds and cake and her freckles. When you reached the apartment building, Ellie kept an arm tight around your waist as she guided you down the hallway. You were still humming something that sounded vaguely like a love song, leaning all your weight on her and whispering, "I’d die for you, you know that?"

"Let’s not be dramatic," Ellie muttered, but her heart was a puddle.

Back at her place, she helped you out of your boots and your jacket, guiding you gently toward the bed. You flopped onto the mattress like a fainting Victorian lady.

"God," you mumbled. "You’re the best. You’re actually the best thing in the universe. I’d fight a bear for you."

"Good to know," Ellie said, pulling a blanket over you. "Just, maybe fight your hangover first, okay?"

You reached for her hand, and she took it instantly, sitting down beside you, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Stay here," you whispered.

"I’m not going anywhere."

You were asleep two minutes later. Ellie stayed up longer, watching you, brushing hair away from your face, and thinking about forever homes and just how fucking lucky she was.

YOU WOKE up to the soft buzz of your phone vibrating under your pillow, and the too-bright morning light pouring through Ellie’s bedroom window. Your head was pounding, your mouth tasted vaguely like tequila and regret, and you were about 85% sure you told Ellie you wanted to marry her in the middle of a bar last night.

Ellie was sitting at the edge of the bed when you finally groaned and shifted under the blankets. Her hair was a mess, and she still looked beautiful. 

"Morning, lover girl," she said softly, holding out a big glass of water.  "Survived?"

You took the glass, sip, and glare at her weakly. "Barely. You didn’t even drink."

"Someone had to be the responsible adult," she smirked, then leans over to press a kiss to your temple. "Also, watching you proclaim your undying love to me in front of your friends was kind of the highlight of my week."

You covered your face with a groan. "Fuck."

"No, no—don’t be embarrassed." Ellie was laughing now. Finally, she leaned in and rested her forehead against yours. "Next time," she murmured, "you propose, can you do it when I’m not holding your hair back in a bathroom?"

You snorted. "Noted."

Ellie pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "You want pancakes?"

"God, yes. Can we get greasy diner pancakes?"

"Absolutely."

You smiled, rubbing your hands over your face. "You’re the best."

"I know," she said, standing up with a stretch. As she left the room to get dressed, you flopped back into the sheets, smiling into the pillow. Your head still hurt. Your throat still burned. But your chest? Your chest felt light.

It had been a very different birthday, but your favorite by far.

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