#ellie x reader

[littledykeblue]

──𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑;

(fwb! ellie x reader): you and ellie help end each other's dry spells.

wc: 4.3k | cw: top!ellie, bottom!reader, kinda dom!ellie, friends with benefits, sorta fluffy, oral sex (r!recieveing), fingering (r!recieving), strap-on usage, established friendship, MINORS DNI.

note: in honor of my first tumblr fic, it's gotta be my sweet angel ellie <3

"I mean...we could always fuck?" Ellie says it casually, shrugging one shoulder as she ashes the joint in her little Martian ashtray—the one shaped like a tiny green guy with his mouth wide open. It’s such a stupid ashtray, really, but she's so proud of it.

Her tone is flat, nonchalant, like she’s suggesting grabbing takeout or seeing a movie. Nothing about her delivery suggests the weight of what she’s just said.

You level your gaze at her, waiting for the twitch of a smirk, the inevitable laugh that will let you off the hook, but nothing comes. She just looks back at you, entirely unbothered. Steady. Oh. Oh, she’s dead fucking serious.

"Ellie, what the fuck are you talking about?" You sit up a little, tension tightening your shoulders.

"I'm just saying! You're pent up, I'm pent up..." She lets the words hang in the air, like they’re perfectly reasonable. Like that explains everything. As if desire is a simple math problem that can be solved by proximity and a mutual dry spell.

This whole conversation started because you told her—emphatically—that she should not call her ex for a late-night, emotionally reckless hookup. A basic rule. A golden rule. Exes are off-limits, especially the one who cheated twice and still somehow calls Ellie every few months like they’re on some time loop. But Ellie, ever the disaster romantic, whined that she hasn’t had sex in months, as if celibacy were a terminal illness and she was hours from death.

You, being the absolute fool that you are, admitted that it’s been a while for you too. Not that you elaborated. God, no. If Ellie knew exactly how long it’s been, she’d never let it go. She’d turn it into some running joke—years later, she'd still bring it up in a bar with a grin and a dig to your ribs. So you kept it vague. Unfortunately, that seems to have sparked something in her. Something impulsive and chaotic and very, very Ellie.

She’d propped herself up on her elbows like the thought had just dropped into her brain fully formed and was too juicy not to share. Looked down at you from the bed with that infuriating half-smile she gets when she knows she’s about to say something dumb and provocative.

She’d passed you the joint like it was a peace offering. “Y’know, that’s got me thinking,” she said, voice dipped in a conspiratorial lilt.

You snorted. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Fuck you,” she shot back without heat, grinning.

And now here you are, locked in this weird, stupid moment that feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something you can’t quite name. You roll your eyes, desperate to push things back into normal territory, but she’s not budging. "You cannot be serious," you say, your voice somewhere between amused and alarmed. “You’re on a roll with the shitty ideas today.”

"Dude, give me one good reason why we shouldn't," she says, and there’s something dangerous about the way she says it now—bolder, almost daring. She’s testing something. Maybe testing you.

You could give her a hundred reasons, probably more. She’s your best friend. You’ve known her for years. It would ruin everything. It’s a terrible, world-ending, heart-splintering idea. But the way she’s looking at you right now—eyes steady, mouth just slightly parted like she’s already imagining what it would feel like—it makes your brain go kind of static.

“Ellie, please,” you mumble, forcing your gaze away, handing the joint back after dragging too hard, letting it burn the back of your throat like that’ll ground you. It doesn’t.

“I’m not hearing a reason,” she says, calm, insistent.

“You’re such a slut.” You try to laugh it off, to toss it away with a joke, but it comes out quieter than you meant it to, rougher around the edges. Like you’re not really joking at all.

She tilts her head just slightly, like she’s getting ready to pounce or maybe just waiting to see if you’ll crack. She doesn’t seem content to leave well enough alone.

Ellie watches you for a moment longer, her gaze sharp despite the haze from the joint. She flicks the roach into the Martian’s gaping mouth again, then gestures loosely toward the bed. “C’mere.”

It’s not said with urgency, but you know what she means. And she knows you know. That two-syllable invitation is the hinge the whole night turns on.

You don’t move at first. You just lie there on the floor, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer an answer. Every cell in your body is vibrating with something like warning. This is probably a bad idea.

But she’s still looking at you, waiting to see what you’ll do. And even though your brain is screaming no, your body—traitorous and heavy with want—starts to move before you've fully decided anything. You push yourself up off the floor, knees stiff, mouth dry, heart pounding too fast for something that isn't technically even happening yet.

You crawl up onto the bed slow and unsure. It’s quiet in the room except for the rustle of sheets and the distant hum of traffic outside her window. And then Ellie reaches for you, hands landing on your hips like they’ve always belonged there—steady, sure, warm through the thin fabric of your pants.

She guides you forward, not forceful but intent, until you’re straddling her lap, your knees bracketing her thighs, your hands hovering like you don’t know what to do with them. Which, you don’t.

“See?” she says, tilting her head, smirking just a little. “World’s not ending.”

You exhale something that might be a laugh, except it’s breathless and frayed. You want to tell her that it feels like it might be. Like something irreversible just clicked into place. Like your whole reality is shifting on its axis.

Ellie reaches up, one hand tracing the hem of your shirt absently, thumb brushing just under the fabric at your side. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips parted and soft. “Wanna make out?” she asks, voice low but clear.

You freeze. Not because you don’t want to, but because you do. So badly. And there’s something terrifying in the want, in how deep it goes. Your eyes flick down to her mouth—those pretty, pink lips, slightly chapped.

Then up, across the slope of her cheek and the soft constellation of freckles dusted there like stars arranged by some careful hand. But it’s her eyes that stop you. Shining green, rimmed red from the smoke, glassy and warm, looking at you like you're something worth waiting for.

You nod once, a small, shaky thing.

Ellie waits patiently for you to bring your lips to hers. Her mouth moves against yours with a confidence that makes your head spin, all warmth and friction and the faint taste of weed and the cherry candy she had earlier.

Her hands are still firm on your hips, pulling you down just a little harder into her lap, and you can feel her now—every solid inch of her body beneath you, the heat of her chest rising with each breath, the flex of her thighs between yours.

She moans into the kiss, soft but needy, like the sound is pulled from somewhere deep in her chest. It shoots straight through you, lights something molten in your belly. The sound of her, the sound of Ellie, makes your hands curl uselessly at your sides for a second, overwhelmed by the sheer fact of her—real and warm and under your fingertips.

You gasp into her mouth, the sharpness of it involuntary, like your body forgot how to hold onto air. She responds immediately, like that breath cracked something open, like it gave her all the permission she needed to take more.

Her tongue slips against yours, teasing and just a little greedy, and it makes your whole body tremble. You're already so far gone, drowning in the feel of her and the heat pooling low in your stomach.

Her hands slide up your sides, under your shirt, rough fingertips dragging across your skin. The touch is firm, exploratory—like she's trying to map you by feel alone. One of her hands cups the back of your neck, the other still guiding your hips, keeping you pressed down against her like she doesn’t want to leave a single inch of space between your bodies.

And then, in one smooth movement, she shifts her weight and flips you so that your back hits the mattress and she’s hovering over you, bracing herself on one elbow.

Her knee nudges between your thighs, spreading you just enough to make your breath hitch. Her eyes flick up to your face, checking in, but her hands don’t pause.

They find the hem of your shirt, and with a smooth tug, she pulls it over your head. The fabric lands somewhere on the floor, forgotten. Ellie stares at your bare chest for a long, beat-heavy moment, a little awestruck.

“Your tits are awesome,” she says, dazed and in awe like they're the first tits she's ever seen.

You blink, momentarily stunned by the absurdity of it all: Ellie Williams, hands all over you, mouth seconds away from following. And that's the shit that comes out of her mouth.

“Ellie, you’re such a loser,” you groan, throwing your head back against the pillows. “This isn’t gonna work if you keep saying stupid shit—”

Your voice cuts off in a strangled gasp as her thigh presses flush against your pussy and her mouth closes around your nipple. Heat blooms sharp and sudden in your core. You glance down and see her immediately lost in it: lips wrapped around you, one hand groping your other breast with no finesse, just greedy, desperate need.

The fabric of your shorts offers barely any barrier. The friction is heady and immediate, each grind of your hips sending sparks through your spine. You bite down on a moan, hips moving on instinct, chasing pressure and the promise of release.

Ellie doesn’t seem to care whether you’re loud or quiet; she’s too busy sucking, nipping, groaning low in her throat like it’s turning her on just as much. Maybe it is. You feel yourself clench around nothing, pulse fluttering as you grind harder against the muscle of her thigh.

Eventually, she pulls back from your chest, lips flushed and wet, face shining faintly with spit. Her pupils are huge.

“I wanna eat you out,” she says, voice wrecked and breathless. “That cool?”

You nod, lifting your hips before the words even settle in the air. Ellie’s already pawing at your waistband, hands feverish and eager. She yanks your shorts off like they’re in her way (they are) and flings them to join your shirt on the floor.

Then she slides down the bed, smooth and certain, hooking your legs over her shoulders like they're also in her way. She presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and mutters, almost to herself, “Can’t believe you were gonna act like you didn’t want this.”

Her thumb glides over the damp patch on your panties. She groans, loud and entirely unashamed.

“You’re fucking soaked.”

She hooks her fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down slower than your shorts because she’s too busy staring at what’s underneath. Her breath hits your skin before her mouth does, warm and unsteady.

“Fuck,” she whispers, like she didn’t expect you to be this wet. Like she’s never seen anything better in her life.

And then she’s on you.

No preamble. No teasing licks or featherlight touches. She dives in like she’s starving, mouth hot and open, tongue slipping between your lips, nose pressed flush against your clit. Her hands grip your thighs tight, fingers digging in like she’s anchoring herself, like she’ll drown if she lets go.

She groans as she eats you out, loud and unashamed, the sound vibrating through you. Her tongue moves in messy, desperate circles, lapping at everything, dragging slow and then fast over your clit. She buries her tongue as deep as she can get it like she’s trying to memorize you with her mouth, get drunk off how you taste.

You can’t help it. Your hips buck, thighs twitch, fingers curling in the sheets. You try to keep quiet, but a strangled moan slips past your lips anyway.

Ellie hums, pleased, and doubles down. She tongue fucks you like she’s got a point to prove, like she won’t stop until she’s wrung every last bit of pleasure out of you.

Her spit’s everywhere, dripping down her chin, smeared across your inner thighs. She doesn’t care. She keeps going, licking and sucking and moaning into you.

Your thighs start to shake. The pressure builds fast enough to feel a little embarrassing, and your voice cracks as you gasp, “Ellie. Fuuuck. If you don't slow down—”

She doesn’t. If anything, she moans louder, presses closer, and drags her tongue flat and hard over your clit until your whole body tenses. You twist the sheets in your fists, cry out, hips lifting off the bed.

Your orgasm slams into you hard and inevitable, your muscles locking up, thighs trembling around her head. You try to push her away, fingers weak as they tangle in her hair.

“Ellie, Jesus, okay, okay—” you gasp, trying to catch your breath.

But she just groans again, deep in her throat, and licks you slower now, gentler, but still relentless, like she’s chasing every last aftershock. It’s too much. Your body twitches, your legs clamp around her ears on reflex, and you whimper as you try again to shove her away.

This time she lets you, dragging her mouth off you with one last slow lick, chin soaked, lips shiny. She looks up from between your legs, hair a mess, pupils blown wide.

You’re still trying to remember how to breathe when Ellie crawls up beside you, grinning like the cat that got the cream. She reaches for her water bottle on the nightstand, unscrews the cap, and offers it to you.

“Drink,” she says. “You’re gonna need it.”

You take a few sips, pulse still thudding in your ears, and shoot her a wary look. “Ominous,” you say, taking a long drink of water. It rejuvenates you almost instantly.

Ellie shrugs, impossibly smug. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn't give you the strapping of a lifetime?”

She doesn’t even try to hide the challenge in her voice.

You raise an eyebrow, mouth curving as you sit up and set the bottle aside. “Psh. As if, Williams.”

That grin spreads, crooked and wolfish. “You asked for it.”

She stands, tugging her shirt off with one hand, exposing toned arms and abs. Her jeans hit the floor next, leaving her in just a black sports bra and matching briefs. She leaves the bra on but pauses at her dresser, rooting around with purpose.

You watch her with a raised brow until she pulls out a harness and a thick, dark purple silicone dildo—definitely above average in girth. Your eyes widen slightly despite yourself.

“You used that thing on all your hook-ups?” you ask, nose wrinkling just enough to tease.

Ellie snorts and flips you off without looking back. “No, dumbass. Bought it for myself. Broke it in solo.”

You hum, eyeing the thing again. “Okay, size queen.”

Ellie chuckles under her breath, buckling the harness with practiced ease. “Maybe. If you're good, I'll let you see just how true that is next time.”

You try not to let your face give you away, but something flickers there. A next time. You pretend not to care, to play it cool, but your throat’s a little dry again.

She notices. Of course she does.

The strap sits snug on her hips now, the silicone cock jutting forward obscenely. You’re still staring when she catches your eye.

“What?” she says, all faux-innocence.

“You’re such a slut,” you murmur, but there’s no heat behind it.

Ellie laughs, genuine and delighted. “Takes one to know one.”

You open your mouth to volley something back, but she’s already climbing onto the bed, hands sliding up your thighs again.

“C’mon,” she murmurs, voice lower now, more serious. “Turn around for me.”

Your heart stutters. You hesitate just long enough for her smile to turn predatory.

“On all fours.”

Your breath catches, arousal blooming hot and fast again as you shift forward, hands planting in the sheets.

You don’t look back, but you hear the pleased sound she makes. This is exactly how she wanted you. Her hands skate over your ass, squeezing once before settling on your hips.

“I’ll go slow,” she promises, a little too sweetly. “At first.”

You shift onto all fours, breath shallow, anticipation curling low in your stomach. You feel the mattress dip behind you as Ellie settles in, and then there's warm hands on your hips, smoothing up your back, tracing the dip of your spine.

“You're so fucking hot,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “M'gonna fucking pass out.”

You barely have time to respond before her fingers are parting you again, two of them sliding between your folds, gathering the slick already pooling there. She groans under her breath.

“All this just from my mouth, huh? You liked it that much?”

Then she’s easing two fingers into you without resistance, and you have to bite your lip to swallow down the pathetic noise that threatens to spill from your lips.

“God...Els—”

“Mhm. I know, baby.” Her fingers curl just right, dragging against that perfect spot with infuriating precision. “You feel fucking incredible.”

She moves slow, deliberate, pumping her fingers in and out with growing confidence. The heel of her palm brushes your clit every now and then, just enough to make you twitch.

She adds a third finger, stretching you open with aching patience. It burns, just a little, but her other hand slides up to rub your back in slow, grounding circles.

“That’s it. Take it for me. Fuck, you’re taking it so well.”

You drop your forehead to the mattress with a whimper, hips starting to rock back against her hand. Your body sings with the pressure, the stretch, the rhythm she’s coaxing from you. And just as you start to fall into it, just as your thighs begin to tremble and your mouth opens to plead—

She pulls her fingers out.

You make a broken sound, high and desperate, hips rutting in the air for more. “Ellie, what the fuck.”

“Shhh, I got you,” she coos, leaning over to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Just wanna give you the good stuff. You ready for me?”

You nod furiously, still trembling from the sudden loss.

She shifts behind you, taking her time, and then you feel the blunt head of the strap-on nudging at your entrance. Your whole body goes still.

“Breathe,” she says, low and steady, one hand bracing your hip while the other rests warm and reassuring on your lower back. “I’ll go slow. Just let me in.”

She starts to press in, inch by careful inch. The stretch is intense, not painful, but undeniably full, and your hands fist the sheets as your body fights the instinct to clench down. But you trust her. You stay open.

“That’s it,” Ellie breathes. “You look so pretty right now. Wanted this for so long. Fuck.”

You whimper, arching back toward her instinctively. She groans, grip tightening. When she bottoms out, the strap pressed snug to your ass and her hips flush with yours, she stills. Just breathes. You both do.

“Fuck,” she says again, like it’s all she knows. “You’re unreal.”

Your body twitches. You start to move. Tiny, needy little grinds, and Ellie’s breath catches behind you. "More," you mumble, cheeks burning with the shame of just how eager you are.

“Oh, that’s how it is?” she murmurs, her tone darkening with delight. “You want it that bad?”

You don’t answer. Can’t. You just keep rocking back into her, silently begging.

Her first few thrusts are slow, deep, dragging that thick length out almost entirely before easing back in. One hand stays anchored to your hip, the other presses firm between your shoulder blades, keeping your back perfectly arched.

“There you go,” she says, rhythm building steadily. “God, I couldn't have imagined it would be this fucking good.”

You moan beneath her, hips rolling in time with her slow strokes. It’s almost too much. Not in speed, but in depth, in heat, in the weight of her body and voice behind it all. Ellie’s hand never leaves your spine, firm and grounding, guiding the curve of you with every thrust.

“I could fuck you like this for hours,” she groans. “Just keep you here, dripping and begging.”

You shiver hard, the words sending a fresh wave of arousal burning through you.

You can scarcely believe this is your friend Ellie speaking right now. Ellie who you've heard say the dumbest shit you've ever heard is saying shit like that. It's almost impossible to reconcile.

Ellie’s pace stays steady for a while, deep and deliberate. At least, until she realizes your moans are being muffled by the sheets. “Fuck,” she mutters, pulling out of you suddenly.

You whine at the loss, already aching, already empty.

“I wanna see you,” she says simply. She flips you over like it’s nothing. “And now I can hear you, too.”

"You're such a fucking perv," you say breathlessly.

You barely get a breath in before she’s between your legs again, pressing the head of the strap back against your entrance. Her eyes lock on yours, wild and possession. And you're fairly certain that's not how friends-with-benefits are supposed to look at each other.

You're certain it's not supposed to be this intense.

Ellie as she pushes back inside with one smooth, devastating stroke.

You cry out, your legs falling open instinctively, your body arching to meet her.

“Oh my God, Ellie—”

She groans as she bottoms out, already starting to move with far less restraint now. Her tempo is vicious and sharp, her hips slamming into yours with unrelenting rhythm.

“You like that?” she growls, one hand finding your hip and gripping tight. It's tight enough you’ll definitely feel it later. “Like me fucking you hard like this?”

You nod frantically, too far gone for words. Her other hand slides between your legs, fingers immediately finding your clit and circling, relentless.

“You’re so fucking wet,” she snarls, watching where her strap disappears into you with glazed-over eyes. “God, listen to yourself — listen to how loud your pussy is.”

You can’t even be embarrassed. It is loud, wet and obscene with every thrust, slick and suctioned around the toy in a way that’s absolutely filthy. Her cock drags along your walls with each brutal stroke, hitting deep, deep, perfect.

Your hands claw at the sheets, mouth open in a silent moan, hips lifting to meet every snap of hers. You lift your hands, seeking something, needing something. You find purchase on Ellie's back, your nails digging into the firm muscle underneath.

You can feel something building again, this time too fast—tight and electric, coiling low in your belly.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, pace only getting rougher, more ragged. She seems to be spurred further on by you clawing at her. “You’re close. I can feel it. You gonna come for me again, baby?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a helpless sob.

She grins, feral. “That’s it. Don’t think. Just feel.”

Her fingers press tighter to your clit, her thrusts snapping harder, faster, punishing. She’s everywhere—on you, in you, owning every inch of you. You’re not even moving anymore—she’s doing it all, fucking you into the mattress, pulling you forward onto her cock with a desperation.

The tension inside you snaps like a wire pulled too tight. Your body locks up, and with a cry you can’t hold back, you let go.

A gush of wet heat floods out of you, legs shaking violently, your whole body spasming under her. The bed under you is soaked in seconds as your back arches cleanly off the bed.

“Holy shit,” Ellie gasps, eyes wide and reverent as she slows just enough to ride you through it. “You just—fuck, baby—look at you.”

Your thighs are trembling, chest heaving, vision going soft around the edges. She doesn't stop touching you, her fingers still gentle on your clit now, coaxing every last spasm out of you.

You’re floating, dazed and undone, gasping for air while Ellie presses her forehead to yours and whispers, “that was perfect.”

You're not sure how long you lie there in the aftermath. It could’ve been five minutes or fifty. What breaks through first is the press of her lips to your cheek. Then your temple. Then the tip of your nose.

“Hey,” Ellie murmurs. Her voice is warm and low, no trace of the rough edge from earlier. “You alive in there?”

You hum weakly in response, eyelids fluttering as she holds a water bottle up to your lips. “Drink for me, baby. You need it.”

You sip, and Ellie looks entirely too smug the entire time. When you finish, she sets the bottle aside and kisses you again. Cheek, brow, shoulder. Soft everywhere.

“I cannot believe you didn't tell me you were a little sex goddess,” she says against your skin. “We could'a been doing this for a long time.”

You breathe out a quiet laugh, your muscles too loose to do much else. Everything feels heavy and pleasantly sore but spent. Your thighs ache in a way that promises to linger for days to come.

At some point, Ellie's got you standing and wrangles you into one of her hoodies. It smells like her: cedar and clean laundry and something distinctly Ellie. The fabric is soft, and you feel like you could fall asleep right now.

She kisses your forehead, then coaxes you up with a hand at your back. “C’mon. Just to the bean bag.”

You let her lead you across the room before collapsing into the oversized bean bag with a soft grunt. It’s absurdly comfortable, swallowing you whole.

Ellie crouches in front of you, still half-naked and grinning, hands braced on your knees.

“You good?”

You nod, blinking slowly. “Think so.” A pause. You eye her for a beat, head tilted. “You want me to return the favor?”

Ellie’s smirk widens. She stands, stretching, and jerks a thumb toward the bed.

“Definitely. But not until I change those goddamn sheets.”

You glance back at the bed, where the evidence of what you just did is very, very apparent.

“Fair,” you murmur, trying to hide the way your face heats up.

Ellie just laughs, shaking her head as she grabs clean linens from the shelf. “Don't be shy now. That was fuckin' awesome.”

You sink deeper into the bean bag, hoodie pulled tight around you, and let yourself smile.

“Oh my god, fuck off.”

[lemonbbars]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a little present

pairing: workaholic!ellie x wife!reader

synopsis: you try to get ellie to come to bed after she’s been working all day. when she doesn’t comply, you have to come up with a different solution, a proposition she can’t resist.

cool, bright light from the monitor illuminated ellie’s face through the dark of her office as she sat hunched at her desk, typing furiously at her report. she’d been glued to her desk since her phone rang at two that afternoon.

you watched, confused, as she got up from her seat in front of you. she held up her phone to her ear, intently listening to the voice on the other end, mouthing a sheepish ‘sorry, work.’ before turning to leave, abandoning you and the lemon pesto pasta you made for lunch that day.

nasa had requested her immediate assistance on a new research report asap. something about mars.

it was now 11:37pm.

your wife had been tirelessly working for nine hours. nine hours. with scarcely any time to eat or rest at all.

you understood she was doing important work. and you knew exactly how much her job meant to to her. you could still remember ellie all those years ago, excitedly rattling on to you about asteroid belts and dwarf planets while you lay at the foot of her childhood bed.

her love for her job was important and endearing, but it could also cause her to get a tad bit carried away.

you tried coaxing out of her office, trying to tempt her with a warm meal, a snack, a movie and cuddles, but to no avail. she left you no choice.

you approached the office door with a knock as you had the last few times that day, arms wrapped around yourself as the chilly night breeze fluttered through your sheer robe—the one ellie had gotten you last week because you’d been ‘working too hard’.

ellie was like that. always willing to care and tend to others while rarely doing so for herself. but that’s what you were there for.

a few minutes passed with no reply. you pressed your ear to the door, the only audible sound the rapid clicking of keys. you sighed, knocking once more before entering the room. “i’m coming in, els.” you called out, carefully closing the door behind you.

“ellie?” you turned to see your lover busy at work, tired eyes glued to her screen. you walked up next to her, sliding your hands gently over her shoulders.

ellie, hypnotized by the graphs on her monitor, finally snapped out of her spell at the feeling of your touch. she looked up over her shoulder, a little surprised. her glasses sat crooked on her nose bridge as she reached up to kiss you. “oh hey babe. sorry, didn’t hear you come in.“

you smiled back at her, a wave of worry washing over you as you took her in; the dark bags under her eyes, her chapped lips, the several strands of hair that managed to slip out of her half-ponytail in the last nine hours, now the threatening to give her bangs.

you brushed the stray hairs aside gently, tucking them behind her ears. you cupped her face, watching as she melted into your touch.

“you almost done?” you asked softly, thumbing her cheek affectionately. her eyelids, heavy with exhaustion, had begun to close, betraying her earlier assurance that she was completely fine. you sighed. what were you gonna do with her.

“come on els.” you whispered, “let me take you to bed.”

ellie’s eyes immediately flew open at the mention of ‘bed’. she drew away from your hand, pushing her lopsided glasses back up and turning back to her work. “i’ll be fine, babe. i just need to wrap this up.”

it would’ve been adorable if it weren’t an actual problem for her health.

well, time for plan b.

you stepped away from ellie, quietly walking yourself backward as you reached down to your waist, slowly lifting the strings of your robe.

ellie, surprised at your silence, turned to face at you. you usually tried a few more times. her head slowly swivelled sideways, eyes delayed, still stuck on the screen.

she finally managed to peel her eyes away from her monitor, to fully look at you before turning back to work, only to give the most adorable double take you’ve ever seen.

her head whipped back in your direction, eyebrow now quirking up in intrigue. “…what’re you doing?”

you took the tails of the little ribbon you’d tied on your waist, holding them up to her in offering.

“i have a present,” you tipped your head slightly, eyes meeting her watchful ones across from you, “but you can only open it if you come to bed.”

you watched as your wife’s demeanor quickly changed, eyes hungry as they left yours, finding their way down to the little ribbon at your waist.

she looked back up at you, eyes pleading. “babe, please.”

“you can’t do that.”

“do what?” you asked with mock innocence, fingers toying with the tails of your ribbon—the one she desperately wanted to undo—the sole thing keeping her all-nighter plans from utter destruction. whatever you were keeping hidden under there, she knew, she wouldn’t be able to resist.

she stared back at you, desperate eyes sending a silent plea. but you didn’t listen. this was her fault, really. if only she’d listened when you told her to come to bed.

“well if you’re not going to open it…” you took the ribbon tails between your thumb and index.

ellie watched you carefully, hypnotized as you slowly pulled the tails of the ribbon with your manicured fingers. you watched her face as her breath hitched, eyes fixed steadily on your waist.

she’d settled into a manspread, chin propped up on her hands as her elbows rested low on her knees. she looked like she was ready for a show. good, that’s exactly what you were going to give her.

in a less than a second, the knot was gone, leaving an exposed line of skin down the middle of your body.

you shivered slightly as the cool air hit your bare skin. two lines of sheer, white lace peeked through the slit of your robe as ellie eyed them hungrily. you could see the gears turning in her brain, trying to recall when she’d gotten you this particular set.

adorable. but she’d never remember the day she bought it. “i bought it myself.” you told her. her head snapped up to your face. “i was saving it for an emergency.”

goddamn. were you trying to kill her?

“baby-baby, please. just thirty more minutes, ok? i promise i’ll be there, just wait for me, ok?”

you pouted at her teasingly. “i’m not sure i’ll be awake in thirty minutes.”

then she groaned. straight up audibly groaned like you just ruined her entire week, throwing her head back in a mix of frustration and desperation.

“babe, if i finish this tonight i won’t have any work to do tomor…” she trailed off, finally lifting her head back up and catching sight of you; tempting and angelic in the middle of the room, robe pooled at your feet.

you watched as her eyes roamed your body, tracing every dip and curve with an overflowing desire. no matter how many times she saw you like this it never got old. it never would.

her eyes returned to yours before she looked down to her feet, cursing under her breath.

“fuck, come here.”

it only took one last glance at you before she had you pressed up against the wall, mouth against yours as her hands roamed your body hungrily, desperate for contact.

you gasped into her mouth as she slot her knee between your legs, the feeling of friction so electric you’d almost forgotten why you were here in the first place.

you pulled away, albeit reluctantly, as you tilted your head to the door.

“right. bed.” ellie breathed, hands resting on your hips as she planted a kiss on your nose, smiling, before turning to lead you out of the room.

ellie’s hand was already on the door handle when you spotted her computer from behind her head, it’s screen casting bright, white light on the outline of her body.

“honey, did you hit save?”

ellie looked back at at you, then at her desk, brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“ah, shit.” she ran back up to her desk, clicking her mouse a few times before turning off her monitor and returning to you.

you cupped her face, smile forming on yours. “dork.” you laughed, planting a quick kiss on her lips, now, bright and swollen from your previous ministrations.

she kissed you back, sliding an arm up your waist as you stepped through the door. “you love me.”

you giggled, reaching behind you and opening your bedroom door, before kissing her back gently. “i do.”

[isabelckl]

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class masterlist

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

[nramv]

Hey yall uh,im a lil late but food is ready

[opt1mistic]

smut, dubcon if you look away and shove forks into your eyes

ellie’s thigh is firmly pressed up to the crease of your pants that was pressing just right on your clit. her hands sitting on your hips, pushing you harder against her leg, as you dragged them, slowly, up and down over her.

your lips mingled, tongues against one another; it felt foreign for some reason, as if you’ve never tasted her before. like she was a stranger. your drunken mind wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between ellie’s mouth or the mouth of another woman at this moment. but behind the unfamiliarity was hint of home. the way she moved her tongue, the way her lips sucked on your bottom one was all too comforting.

those last few drinks didn’t do anything to soothe your racing thoughts, seeing ellie in that black tank, and her black trousers. and the way she had her arm around your waist the whole night, like you were something too precious to let go.

and now, you’re in her car, with her tight in between yours, rubbing your cunt on her, as you let out moans into her mouth.

“you looked so beautiful tonight,” ellie murmured against you lips, as she softly kissed down your jaw, then your neck, sucking a bruise into the tender skin.

her thumbs rubbed in a circular motion as you continued your thrusting on her leg. at the pace you were going right now, sooner or later you might develop a hole in both her pants and yours. your hips moved in a slow rhythm; you dragged your clothed pussy deeply across her thigh, over and over again trying to catch that pleasure, that ringing in your clit; how it pulsed more with every roll of your hips.

your brain was a haze, overcome by pleasure, and the need for release. you wanted to tell her, let her know, how good this feels. but you’re too blissed-out to form a single coherent word. with your jaw slacked, and your head whipped back, giving ellie more room to kiss and suck at your exposed neck. 

an abrupt moans leaving your mouth, and it felt like your whole body was spasming with every quick roll of your hips, and the way ellie was dragging them down harder making sure the hem of your pants was digging into your clit.

and when you felt that feeling of release wash over you, and felt how your underwear are completely soaked through with cum, you let out a sound of relief, but it came out more like a moan rather then a pleased hum.

“mmmuuh.” your head returned back to its place, and you slow your hips to a stop.

ellie’s hands gripped your hips to ground you, and her lips detached themselves from your neck (where in the morning you were going to find a very dark bruise blooming) with a string of saliva connecting her lips to your skin. she brought her plum, swollen lips to your ear, and whispered:

“fuck, baby…did that feel good?”

you’re still coming down from your high, chest rising up and then back down; taking deeper breathes, desperately trying to catch it as fast as you could. you hum in response.

ellie moved her face closer to yours, noses brushing one another. “use your words, come on now, i know you can.”

you gulp down the last breath, letting your diaphragm expand fully one last time. “yes…” it was breathy, you almost sounded lightheaded.

“good, good.” there was a grin on her face before she kissed you with the utmost passion.

[dykebehaviour]

⋆ ˚｡✞ ⋆˚sanctified⋆ ˚｡✞ ⋆˚

rebel!ellie x preachers!daughter!reader

✞ summary : you, the preacher’s daughter, falls for the school’s rebellious out lesbian. shame, faith, and first love collide in a slow-burning secret romance that threatens to ruin everything - unless you’re brave enough to choose it.

your body is a prayer

��� cw : smut, oral r!receiving, strap on sex r!receiving, fem!reader, religious trauma, internalised homophobia, emotional abuse, emotional breakdown.

✞ wk : 9,500

✞ 1 > 2 > 3

it’s been three months.

three months since your back hit the altar and ellie williams knelt between your thighs in the chapel.

three months since you stopped asking god to fix you and started asking him to understand you. since you started sleeping with your cross still around your neck, but not for the same reasons.

no one knows.

no one dares to know. not about you. you’re the preacher’s daughter. the vessel of all things pure. the example.

but your body hums with disobedience. quiet and constant. like the sound of a bell that’s been ringing in your chest since you were old enough to be afraid of your own reflection.

and ellie? ellie is gasoline to that flame.

you still pretend not to look at her when she lights joints behind the gym and blows smoke toward the heavens. when she skips communion and leans back in her desk chair during morning worship, mouthing lyrics to you like a joke. when she walks the halls with her hoodie pulled up, biting her nails, looking at you like she already knows how this ends.

you keep your hands to yourself.

most of the time.

but sometimes… sometimes your fingertips graze hers when you pass her in the hallway. sometimes you find notes in your textbooks - little drawings of your lips, your hands, the slope of your neck. sometimes you open your phone in the dark and see nothing but her name, typed and unsent.

and sometimes - like tonight - you crawl out of your dorm window, walk barefoot across damp grass, and let her fuck you breathless in the art studio while the saints weep from the stained glass.

the studio: 11:03pm

it’s raining.

not hard. not loud. but steady, like a breath held against your skin.

you slip inside quietly. the studio smells like paint thinner and pencil shavings. you love it. you hate that you love it.

ellie’s sitting on the floor. hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows, a smudge of graphite on her jaw, sketchbook in her lap. she doesn’t look up when you close the door.

“took you long enough.”

you roll your eyes, toe off your shoes. “i had to sneak out past sister maria. she was doing a room check.”

ellie hums. “you could’ve told her you were going to confess your sins.”

you walk past her, letting your fingers drag across her shoulder. “i do that every time i’m with you.”

that gets her attention.

ellie looks up.

and for a second, the smirk fades. her mouth parts. her eyes go soft.

you see it then - the crack in her, the wound she won’t name. she’s been quieter lately. drawing more, talking less. touching you like it’s the last time, every time.

you sit beside her.

silence.

then:

“you still think it’s wrong?” she asks, not looking at you.

you stare at your hands.

“i think…” you swallow. “i think it’s wrong that i was taught to believe you’re the devil.”

ellie blinks.

then she laughs, but it’s not cruel. just tired. “hot devil, though.”

you smile despite yourself.

and that’s when she kisses you.

slow. familiar. gentle.

but underneath, always - the heat, the ache, the thing neither of you can name out loud.

hours later you’re lying on the floor, tangled up in each other. ellie’s sketchbook is open beside you. there’s a drawing of you asleep, mouth parted, hand curled near your chest.

it’s so intimate you almost can’t look at it.

ellie’s fingers trace your hip bone, slow and absent.

“you gonna tell your dad?”

the words hit like a slap.

you close your eyes. “no.”

ellie says nothing.

then, quietly:

“he’s gonna find out anyway.”

you nod.

because you know.

and because you don’t know what you’ll do when he does.

the moment you see the photo, the room spins.

the chapel’s holy quiet is shattered by the harsh glow of your phone screen, ellie’s face pressed against yours, your skirt riding high, your fingers tangled in her hair. and beneath the image, the cruel words: “preacher’s daughter getting saved by the dyke. how poetic.”

your breath catches. your hands shake so hard you nearly drop the phone.

you don’t remember rising. you don’t remember running. only the pounding of your heart against your ribs, the bitter taste of panic and shame flooding your mouth.

ellie finds you behind the rectory, where the shadows crowd close and no one can see. she’s already there, waiting, her eyes flickering with the same fear you feel.

“they saw us,” you whisper, voice barely a breath.

her jaw tightens. “who?”

“i don’t know. someone from school.” you shake your head, the cold sinking deep. “they sent it to my father.”

ellie’s body stills like you slapped her. the fierceness drains from her posture, replaced by a fragile quiet.

“i’m sorry,” you say, voice cracking. “i didn’t mean for this to happen.”

she looks at you, eyes raw with something fierce and sad. “it’s not your fault.”

but you know it is.

you know the fire is coming. and you don’t know if you’re ready to burn.

when your father storms onto campus two days later, the sky is swollen with gray clouds, and the air tastes of rain and thunder.

he doesn’t wait for permission. his voice cuts through the quiet corridors, sharp and accusing, as he leads you to the headmistress’s office.

ellie follows behind you, defiant but careful.

the principal’s office is a cage. windows shut tight, the walls lined with faded diplomas and a crucifix that seems to mock the moment.

your father’s eyes burn into you. “you’ve disgraced yourself. disgraced me.”

you stare at the polished floor.

ellie’s hand finds yours beneath the table, warm and steady.

your father doesn’t even glance at her.

“you were meant to be a beacon,” he says, voice low but icy. “a vessel of god’s grace.”

“she’s a person,” ellie interrupts, voice firm. “not your property.”

your father snaps his gaze to her, lips curling in disgust.

“she’s an abomination,” he spits. “you’ve led her astray.”

ellie’s jaw tightens. “she was already lost. i just showed her she wasn’t alone.”

you swallow the lump in your throat. you want to speak. to fight. but the shame is a weight too heavy.

later, when the storm has moved on and the world feels hollow and distant, you sit on your bed in the dim light of your dorm room.

ellie is beside you, close enough to touch, but you feel miles away.

“i don’t know if i can do this,” you confess, voice barely a whisper. “i still hear his words in my head. like I’m dirty. like i’m broken.”

ellie’s fingers brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “you’re not broken. you’re just scared.”

you bite your lip, tears threatening. “i’m scared of what i want. scared that god hates me for it. scared that i’m hurting you just by being me.”

her eyes soften, fierce and tender all at once.

“you’re not hurting me,” she says. “you’re hurting yourself by holding it in.”

you lean into her touch, the first real comfort you’ve felt in weeks.

ellie pulls you close, arms wrapping around your trembling shoulders. “i love you,” she murmurs. “every part of you. even the scared parts.”

you let the tears fall, burying your face in her neck. for once, you don’t fight the broken pieces inside you. instead, you let her hold them, help carry the weight.

the next day is hard.

but it’s also the day you decide.

you walk into the chapel, head held high, despite the whispers.

you catch ellie’s eye across the room, her silent anchor.

when your father appears in the doorway, eyes blazing with fury, you don’t flinch.

he strides over, voice low and dangerous. “you will come home with me. you will end this.”

you take a breath, steady as you can.

“no,” you say, voice strong. “i’m not ashamed of who i love.”

ellie steps forward, protective and fierce.

“touch her,” she warns, “and you’ll regret it.”

your father hesitates, then storms out without another word.

you turn to ellie, breathless, heart pounding.

she pulls you into a rough, desperate kiss, as if sealing the vow you just made.

“i love you,” you whisper against her lips.

ellie smiles - a real, vulnerable smile - and replies, “i love you too. always.”

the storm has passed.

but something still trembles inside you, raw and aching in the quiet aftermath of everything that’s been said, everything that’s been broken and chosen.

ellie’s room is dim, lit only by the golden spill of her desk lamp. her bed is unmade, her sketchbook open beside a half-finished drawing of your mouth.

you sit at the edge of her mattress, heart racing, still tasting the sharp ghost of your father’s voice in your ears. the shame is quieter now, but not gone.

ellie stands across the room, watching you carefully. like she doesn’t know what you need. like she’s afraid of giving you too much or not enough.

“i’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” she says finally, voice low.

“i’m not,” you admit.

she nods once. “but you’re still here.”

you look at her then - really look.

she’s so much more than her reputation. more than the weed and the fights and the rumors. ellie is hands that shake when she’s scared. ellie is softness wrapped in armor. ellie is a girl who loves you like she doesn’t believe she should be allowed to.

“i love you,” you say again, quieter this time. more like a truth than a declaration.

ellie crosses the room without speaking.

she kneels in front of you, gently parts your legs, and places her hands on your thighs like she’s asking permission to breathe.

“i need you to know something,” she says, looking up at you, eyes wide and scared. “if you tell me to stop, i will. if you need to slow down, or back out, or fall apart, i’ll be here for all of it. i just need you to know that.”

you nod, your throat tight.

“i don’t want you to stop,” you whisper.

ellie’s hands move slow, like every inch of you is sacred.

she starts by kissing your thighs. one, then the other. her mouth lingers over your skin, open and reverent. she looks up at you with blown pupils and shaky breath, like she can’t believe she gets to do this.

she slides your skirt up, slowly. pauses. waits for your nod before hooking her fingers in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down your legs, so slowly it hurts.

when she presses a kiss just above your clit, your entire body shudders.

“you’re shaking,” she murmurs.

“i want you.”

that’s all it takes.

ellie groans softly and lowers her mouth to you; tongue warm, slow, purposeful. she licks a long stripe up your center before flattening her tongue and pressing it firm against your clit.

you cry out.

her hands grip your thighs, anchoring you as she moves, each motion practiced, gentle, devastating. she licks you with intention, with care. she doesn’t rush. she doesn’t tease.

she worships.

“fuck,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut. “ellie…”

she hums against you, and the vibration sends another wave through your stomach.

“you taste so good,” she says, voice hoarse. “you’re so wet for me, baby.”

you cover your mouth with one hand to keep from moaning too loud. the other twists into her hair, grounding yourself as your hips buck up into her face.

ellie groans when you do that, like she loves how desperate you are. she licks you harder, faster, her nose brushing your pelvis, her tongue flicking just right.

you come with a soft cry, trembling under her mouth, legs locked around her shoulders as everything inside you breaks and burns and finally, finally lets go.

but she doesn’t stop.

not yet.

she kisses up your stomach, your ribs, your chest, pulling your blouse open, unbutton by unbutton, until you’re bare and gasping beneath her.

ellie lies on top of you, warm skin pressed to yours.

you feel her breath on your neck.

“i want to fuck you,” she whispers. “can i?”

you nod without thinking. “yes. please.”

she reaches into her nightstand, pulls out the strap - black, familiar, worn at the edges.

you watch her put it on, hands shaking a little, eyes never leaving yours. she climbs between your thighs again, guides the tip through your slick folds, rubbing gently against your clit until you’re squirming beneath her.

“look at me,” she says softly.

you do.

and when she pushes in - slow, careful, steady - you swear the air leaves your lungs.

your back arches. her name slips from your lips like a prayer.

she groans low in her throat, hips sinking deeper.

“you feel so fucking good,” she whispers. “so tight for me. you were made for this. for me.”

she starts to move, slow thrusts, deep and deliberate. each push hits something inside you that makes your toes curl, your breath catch.

ellie leans down, pressing her forehead to yours. her hand finds yours, fingers interlacing.

you’re both gasping now.

her voice cracks. “i love you.”

you cry when she says it. because it’s too much. because it’s everything.

you squeeze her hand.

“i love you too,” you whisper. “i think i always have.”

ellie fucks you deeper, slower, like she’s trying to make the words real with her body. like she’s afraid she’ll never get another chance.

your legs wrap around her waist, anchoring her to you. you’re close again - burning, shaking, unraveling.

“come for me, baby,” she breathes. “i want to feel you. want to see what i do to you.”

you fall apart in her arms.

and this time, when you cry, it isn’t out of shame.

it’s because - for once - you feel whole.

✞ perm taglist : @yasmilks , @frosttbitten , @lovemiraamira , @ellies-real-wife , @wewerewildandfluorescent , @jullsii , @eyesttokill , @dmenby3100 , @bunchogravie , @oneinameliann , @intheshadowofthestars , @pariiissssssss , @vanpalmertruther , @madsxh1022 , @rbnvrnxoxo , @firefly-ace , @alyaserrax , @silly-pigeon69 , @glassofgreenteapls , @pearlsiie , @aj0elap0l0gist , @sincerelyherz , @imsiriuslycool , @0phantom0 , @ggutpunch , @leeidk87 , @mikellie , @celiacallsitcasual , @gurlbownerr , @l0veylace , @bluminescent-moon , @oatmatchalatte , @hitmehardmommy , @iadorefineshyt , @jksevendays , @liztreez , @clemrules , @yourl0caltrash , @rootytootymeow , @thebadwritersposts , @vanillacigarettes777 <3

[tryonfemme]

✮🕷✮⋆˙ not so funny

spider!ellie williams x neighbor!barista!reader

chapter 1 ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ crackers in bed

⚡︎ series summary: ellie promised herself she wouldn't let anyone else get hurt because of her secret identity—which is why she hasn't dated in six years. she doesn't need to date. but for some reason her new next door neighbor won't leave her mind, in a friendly way. god ellie hopes it is a friendly way.

✮ overall content of series: soooo much pining, fem!reader, grief, the loss of a partner, death, language, conversations of homophobia, mental health, drug use, alcohol use, hurt/comfort, disaster lesbians, sunshine!reader, slightly grumpy but more so awkward! ellie, reader & ellie are both 26.

word count: 3.1k

a/n: woot woot!! so excited to get this first chapter out :) hope you guys love it :D

₊˚.🕸️🕷️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ᶻ

series m.list

previous / next

august 11th

god it was hot.

the type of hot that kept ellie awake, even in just a loose tank top and boxer shorts. she hated the feeling of her own sweat soaking into her cotton blue sheets, darkening them in patches –leaving a sort of sad, broken inkpen royal blue behind. each turn she took felt sticky and damp. she wished the perv she called her landlord would fix the damn ac unit. 

she glanced over at her alarm clock.

11:07 PM.

not even that late yet. she let out a groan—it was sharp, tired, lingering in the grey area between annoyance and well, shit.

ellie could be out on a run. on patrol still. climbing up some city building looking as the street lights turned on, illuminating the world in a way that only the night could. she could be doing anything but laying here, trapped here with thoughts that she didn’t invite in. the screaming. the fall. the sound—the snap when her body hit the ground, bones shattering. her own scream, which had left her throat raw and voice hoarse for the week to follow.

six years.

six whole fucking years. 

“go to sleep, just go to sleep,” she muttered to herself. presenting herself with hope. “be normal for once.”

and she let herself flutter shut, bringing herself closer to unconsciousness. and for once…it felt like it was going to happen. that soft feeling of sleep was tugging at her brain, body falling more limp with each passing minute. maybe tomorrow wouldn’t suck. maybe she would impress jameson so much that he would go a whole five minutes without going on about her laziness, even though she consistently brought the best photos in all of new york.

tomorrow would be amazing, because she was the amazing spider-person. gendered terms were overrated.

tomorrow would be amazing because she needed it to–

BANG!

ellie shot upright, her short hair sticking to the back of her neck like glue. her heart was like a jackhammer as she blinked at her poster-covered wall. 

“jesus fucking christ,” she muttered, but it came out hissed. venomous. 

another thud followed. and then what seemed to be the sound of furniture dragging against the rough floors that settled in each apartment. then the crinkle of what seemed to be a snack wrapper; crackers.

ellie’s jaw clenched so hard she thought she might crack a tooth. which she couldn’t afford to have fixed. 

the apartment next to hers–512—had been vacant for months since ole’ man bill bit the dust finally. the building was an ugly six-story shithole with water stains in every ceiling and a roach problem that had been ignored, just adjust to showering with them. rats residing in the lobby had become the welcoming committee. 

it wasn’t exactly prime real estate. But clearly someone had been desperate enough for the cheap rent to move in. someone either recently divorced, or a college kid pursuing theatre.

and for the past two weeks, ellie had found herself subjected to late-night furniture rearrangements, weird scratching at the walls from what sounded to be a senile cat, and the sound of chomping on crackers in bed. usually she would work endlessly to ignore it all.

but tonight, she couldn’t let it go.

today had been shit for ellie williams.

her bread had been moldy so no toast.

no hot water. 

jameson’s voice echoing in her mind; how spider-person was a no good criminal.

the thought of crackers in bed.

it was all too much.

she yanked on the nearest zip-up and shoved her feet into slippers that joel had gifted her a few holidays back, each action coming with some sort of murmur of annoyance. before she even knew what she was doing, she was in the hallway, the hot air hitting her bare legs, calloused fist banging on the cheap wooden door of 512.

knock. knock. knock. 

ellie knew she was an asshole. she knew it down to her core and she wasn’t exactly proud of it. but right now she didn’t even care. 

footsteps shuffled on the other side of the door. quick and light. 

ellie froze up, tilting her head. 

then she heard a voice – it was quiet, female, and obviously surprised – “shit.”

silence for a few moments. 

ellie rolled her eyes, tapping her fist once more, “dude, i can hear you by the open. just open up.”

silence again. 

but she could still hear the soft breathing, and the way the air would shift when someone leans their body too close to cheap wood. 

“i still hear you.”

finally; clink. 

the sound of the chain sliding from the lock, the metal hitting the surface of the wood. the doorknob turning. 

and the door opened.

ellie had been ready to completely go off– she had masterminded a speech on how normal people didn’t eat saltines in bed nevertheless at midnight or why would anyone move furniture around at an ungodly hour. she was going to let go of every single moment of gripe she had built in the past two weeks since the first bang on the wall. 

but then she saw you, and suddenly her brain forgot how to be mad. 

big, soft eyes blinked up at her. frizzy curls which had been crafted by the heat, haloed by a soft yellow light flickering in your apartment. skin was freckled on the cheeks, looking porcelain in a strange sense. and your lips – cracked, pink in color, plump, soft-looking – parted if you were preparing to say something but nothing would come out. 

you were wearing satin pajamas – a soft yellow, little daisies embroidered on them —mismatched socks though. the neckline of your top fell low enough to hint at curves, fabric clinging yet falling gently to the skin of your waist. you looked like someone who stepped out of a dream and landed, very inconveniently, in a shit new york apartment with paper thin walls. 

and ellie? shit she would let this woman eat crackers in her bed. 

she stood there, pad thai stained zip-up hanging on her shoulders. her heart suddenly seemed to be louder than her neighbor’s chaos. right shit that is why she was over here. 

you then blinked at ellie again. 

“um,” your voice softly. 

shit even your voice was like honey, ellie thought to herself. 

ellie pointed her finger, clearing her throat, “you–you’re loud.” 

and somehow, your already big eyes seemed to grow twice the size, those plump cheeks flushing with color. 

shit. that wasn’t what she meant to say. well she did mean to say it. just not like that. 

“i mean that, you have been loud these past two weeks. at night. a lot. just…like all the furniture and the loud laughing with other people, and,” ellie gestured towards the walls of the hallway, “crackers in bed at night.”

and your cheeks flushed a deeper color, “shit, i didn’t think anyone could hear—”

ellie cut you off, “you live in a building made out of paper thin walls—and probably rat shit,” ellie crossed her arms, voice still sharper than she meant it to be, “of course i can hear it.”

more silence followed, the two just looking at each other.

before, you just began smiling, the kind of smile that killed people. people being ellie. “you wanna come in?” you asked like it was the easiest thing in the world.

ellie blinked, “what?”

“i promise to stop making noise at night – it is just when i have freetime the most – but i swear i will. but…you’re already awake, right? and i just made a pot of tea.” 

ellie didn’t move, and she swore her brain shut off. 

but her mouth still worked, “sure. yeah. i guess.”

you stepped back and opened the door wider, just enough to reveal the soft glow of more yellow lights, a stack of books on the floor, and a tiny kitchen which smelled of honey and mint. 

“shit. forgot to introduce myself, i’m y/n.” 

fuck even your name was sweet, ellie thought while nodding her head.

“ellie.” 

as she stepped inside, ellie noticed how the apartment's layout mirrored her own, but it was a whole different world. y/n had crafted something cozy. you had plants. like real ones. ones that had little vines that curled around the cracked window sills, and half-alive succulents grouping like gossiping old ladies in manhattan. those warm, almost buttery yellow lights soaked into everything, giving the walls a softness which contrasted with the usual roughness of everything. 

ellie stood awkwardly at the front door, clinging onto the sides of her zip-up hoodie as if she was a child clinging to a comfort blanket.

but you were already on the move —your sock-covered feet, making a quiet advance to the tiny kitchen. “i made sleepytime, but i can make chamomile. or even hibiscus, if you are weird.” 

ellie blinked like the curly headed woman was speaking another language, “sleepytime?” she repeated.

you looked over your shoulder, a crooked smile on display. “yeah. it is quite literally called that. but it is all some big corporate lie. just tastes like mint and probably broken dreams.”

ellie snorted —caught off guard by someone so comfortable with newness. “okay, that one.”

she watched as you poured the drink into two mismatched mugs—just like your socks—, watching as a soft steam arose from the cup as the liquid splashed in. but her gaze drifted around the space.

it was cluttered. but it felt like it was deliberately cluttered. books had been stacked like towers on the floor, a chipped mug held pencils, a cracked mirror hung on the wall above a record player. a small photo was tucked into the corner of the mirror; a picture of three–two girls, one boy—sat in the middle was you, obviously younger. your smile looked as if you hadn’t discovered what fear was yet.

“you aren’t like the people who usually live in this place,” ellie spoke up finally.

you looked up, “oh yeah?”

“yeah—usually broke college kids, or old people, or newly divorced men with no money, or me,” ellie shook her head, before continuing to talk, “we have a lady on floor six, believes she is a witch— or some shit like that —but she rearranges her fucking stuff whenever mercury is in retrograde.”

you laughed; it was soft and warm. “well it was in retrograde last week.”

“jesus christ.”

and then a pause settled. it wasn’t awkward. but it wasn’t comfortable. it was that middle ground.

and then you handed ellie her mug.

their fingertips brushed–and for the first time in a long time, ellie felt it. that feeling of something human, of spark, something fragile, something so annoying. 

she held the cup with both hands, as if it was an anchor holding her there. 

“thanks,” she muttered, lifting the cup to her lips. she felt the steam hit her face with a soft punch.

you plopped yourself down on a beanbag chair near the window, legs folding underneath yourself like you belonged there. Fuck you could belong anywhere.

ellie stopped by the front door just watching for a beat too long. she felt like a stalker, or maybe a coat rack. “can i sit?”

you looked up, surprised, “yeah! shit sorry, totally. i have the floor— or actually you probably want to sit on the couch!”

ellie again snorted softly, shaking her head at your way of expression. she dropped into the couch. the furniture creaked under her weight. she sipped her tea trying to not make a face. it tasted of mint and grass all at the same time. it was mildly sweet though. not entirely terrible.

“so, we are neighbors?” you spoke; that voice of honey.

“i was the one banging on the door with murder in my eyes—so yeah,”

you, and that crooked smile, “nice to meet you, neighbor.”

“hi,” ellie said, immediately hating everything about how she did. she was twenty-six years old and somehow her voice still cracked like a goddamn teenage boy. 

another long sip of tea. she felt her tank top sticking to her back with each drop of sweat. looking at you—who looked to not be affected by the heat at all. she wondered if the other just ran on sunshine and chaos.

you tilted her head, speaking up, “so what do you do?”

“oh, i’m a photographer for the daily bugle.” 

 perking up, you spoke again, “really? like all the crime scene stuff? and the spider-person stuff?”

“yeah, sometimes. a lot of street stuff. crowds. accidents. candid stuff around the city.” plus all the spider stuff she did off the clock. 

“that is badass,” you grinned, sipping on your tea. “i own a coffee shop, down on sixth, ‘take a bite’?”

“no shit? my friend dina loves that place,” ellie smiled—for what felt like the first time in awhile. “said you guys are killer.”

“i’m flattered.” you placed a hand on your heart, before giving ellie another one of those crooked smiles. “i try not to kill anyone, but a compliment is a compliment.”

ellie let out a laugh—an actual laugh. she felt it in her chest, how it echoed in apart of her chest she had forgotten about. 

a moment passed between the two of them. the sound of thick city sounds from outside pouring in from the cracked windows.

you took a sip of your tea, before speaking up once more, “moved here two weeks ago, thought the independence would make it all easier.” your words had been sudden, deeper than intended. “turns out, just keeps me up rearranging at odd hours and snacking like i am preparing for the apocalypse.” 

ellie observed you—taking in all your quiet features. even when speaking in a more deep tone, you were still sunshine. you were still soft, still a level of gentle that ellie had yet to observe in life. 

“why’d you move?” ellie questioned before she could think to stop herself. 

“wanted to stop leeching off my friends.” 

that is all you said. all you needed to say, it was your truth.

ellie nodded—showing the other a sense of understanding. 

the two drank in silence. ellie’s mug at this point was close to empty, her fingers warming around the ceramic. she didn’t know if the tea actually worked or if the placebo effect was real; but she felt a wave of sleep begin to hit her system. 

“you know,” you said, your voice soft, “you don’t seem like the type of person who shows up to yell at someone and then accepts a tea ten seconds later.” 

ellie gave you a half shrug, “yeah and you aren’t the type of person who should be living in this building.” her words came sharper than she intended. she was an asshole not even intentionally at times.

but it was like you didn’t care about her tone. they met eyes. and something passed between them. it wasn’t flirtatious. but it wasn't vulnerability. just…a recognition. 

and then you smiled, “guess we both are a little out of place.”

ellie’s chest ached. 

you have no idea, ellie thought.

but instead, she spoke, “yeah guess so.”

you stood up to get yourself more tea. your perfume—or maybe just your shampoo smelled of orange and sugar, it was so light, stupid, wonderful.

ellie allowed her eyes to drift again; taking in more details. the books stacked along the floor weren’t organized in any way and she could tell: poetry was with a cookbook, then some romance novel was placed with the bell jar. a sketchpad was sitting half under the coffee table, a page dog-eared and a pencil laying next to it.

“you draw?” she asked before allowing herself to think.

you followed her gaze, before scrunching up your nose, “sometimes. mostly doodles. i’m quite shit.”

ellie snorted, “bullshit.”

you bite your top lip, holding in a smile, “truthfully, just you need to see the evidence. i have flowers and butterflies that are lopsided. just all terrible stuff really.” 

ellie let out the smallest laugh, “well now i have gotta see it.”

“you wanna see my sketchbook?”

ellie realized what she said in that moment. her heart did the thing again— it raced without asking permission. opening her mouth to talk back, to make a joke, to be an asshole, and then–

“okay,” you smiled, as if it was all no big deal, “next time.”

“yeah. next time.”

a peaceful quiet fell. a kind that didn’t ask to be filled. 

and for a moment, ellie let herself feel it. the warmness of the tea she had just drunk, the soft yellow of the lamplight, the way that your presence didn’t make her panic. it felt like the first time in six years that she wasn’t surrounded by ghosts.

but she couldn’t ignore it for long. the air shifted in the way that memories and grief slowly slip themselves back in. it was inevitable for ellie. how she reminded herself of the promise she made six years ago. 

setting her mug down, rubbing her palm across her thigh. god she was still so clammy.  “I should get back. long day tomorrow— gotta rest.”

you nodded, not hurt, not surprised. “of course, hope you sleep okay.”

ellie gave you a crooked smile. “if your furniture stays in one place, i might.”

you grinned. “no promises.”

ellie stood and moved toward the door, brushing her hand along the frame as she passed. before she opened it, she turned back one last time.

“hey,” she said quietly, “thanks. for the tea.”

you leaned a shoulder against the counter. “anytime, neighbor.”

the hallway felt colder when ellie stepped into it.

her apartment was still just as dark, just as humid, just as miserable as before—but it felt different now. not better. not quite as empty.

she sank back onto her bed, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling, letting her body melt into the sweaty cotton sheets again.

she didn’t cry. she didn’t think about the fall. not yet.

but she did think about your cracked mirror, and the chipped mug of pencils, and the stupid, sweet smell of your shampoo.

and then she thought about how easy it would be to ruin everything. how easy it was, always, to lose something as soon as it started to matter.

ellie stared at the ceiling and muttered to herself.

“don’t do this, williams. don’t be a fucking idiot.”

but her hands still smelled like mint and honey.

₊˚.🕸️🕷️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ᶻ

any reblog, comments, likes, etc are so so so so appreciated !! thank you so much <3

taglist is open!! thank you so much for all of the support :D

[elslova]

some reels i think loser!ellie would leave a like on

[gooseraider]

sympathy is a knife

summary: you and ellie hit it off one night, come to find out she’s your brothers best friend.

part: one, two, three, four (here), five

weeks go by since you last saw ellie, being apart wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. you guys talked almost everyday, you’d both facetime after your classes debriefing about your day.

the distance wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, after the first few weeks of school ellie surprises you. when you come back to your room after one of your classes ellie’s standing in the middle of your dorm with a bunch of flowers. lilies, your favorite.

you capture her in a giant hug, telling her how much you missed her. you two spent the day together, side by side, you introduced her to your friends, showed her around your school, and took her into the city to show her your favorite places.

the night was spent in her arms, you guys squeezed together in your tiny dorm bed with a movie playing on the small computer screen. you fell asleep in her arms and it was the most peaceful you’ve felt in a while.

the next morning, sunlight slowly crept into your room. you avoided opening your eyes because waking up meant getting up and saying goodbye.

ellie was leaving in a couple of hours, those last few hours were spent laying in bed cuddled together. when it was time to say goodbye, you held onto her extra tight, scared to let go as you didn’t know the next time you’d see her.

after ellie left, you continued on with school. picking up right where you left off, classes, parties with friends, and your daily facetimes with ellie. everything was working out and you started to believe that the hundreds of miles between you guys wasn’t going to come between you, that the distance was just a number.

for ellie, the distance wasn’t just a number, it was the space between you that separated you from her. she didn’t think that it would affect her, she convinced herself that she would be fine, that she wouldn’t miss you as much as she did.

she thought about you all the time, you consumed her thoughts, lingered around throughout her day. she hated this feeling, she hated that you had such a strong hold over her.

she wanted to talk about this with someone because she couldn’t go to you as you were the reason she felt like this. her roommate cat ended up saying something along the lines of sounds like you’re in love with her. after ellie told her what was going on.

that twisted something inside her, she knew deep down that she was falling in love with you. she knew she loved when you told her you loved her that night on the beach, she didn’t say it back because she didn’t want to admit it, she didn’t want to feel it. so she didn’t, she pushed it down. keeping it buried deep inside her.

hearing cat say it made it too real, she wanted it to be real but she couldn’t let it. she dismissed cat saying, “i don’t love her, i just miss her i guess.” cat just rolled her eyes, laughing at ellie’s obvious attempt to dodge her feelings.

since that conversation with cat she was overwhelmed, she didn’t know what to do with her feelings. she couldn’t tell you, she wanted to so badly but something inside her wouldn’t allow it. she ended up doing the same thing she always did when she couldn’t face someone, she pulled away.

not right away, she didn’t want to pull the plug immediately. probably because she knew deep down under all of those buried feeling and fears that she cared about you, loved you.

it started off small, not noticeable to someone who wasn’t looking. her texts got dryer, the long paragraphs she would send about her day turned to a couple short sentences.

your nightly facetime calls turned to every other night, then to three times a week. the calls weren’t the same as they used to be, no soft giggles, no silly jokes, even the compliments she’d give you began to fade.

you dismissed it as her being busy, college is stressful so it was understandable that she couldn’t have time for you always. you told yourself she was just stressed and life just got in the way, telling yourself that over and over again. even as her texts got dryer, as the days between your calls grew, and as the ellie you knew over summer was slowly morphing into someone you didn’t know.

you tried to confront her but she avoids the question every time you ask her what’s wrong? or did i do something wrong?

it was driving you mad, you tried to talk to her and she’d pull away. you did your best to reel her back in, trying to go back to the way you two used to be.

ellie was spiraling, every time she opened a message you sent but never replied, each call that went unanswered, and the look on your face when she constantly dismissed you. she knew it hurt you, it hurt her too.

she told herself that this is what’s best, that you’re better off with someone else, that she’s doing you a favor.

the guilt of knowing that she was the reason you were in pain ate her alive. she didn’t know what to do with herself, she needed to get you out of her mind.

she was at a party with a few of her friends, drinking and smoking. you still were on her mind, consuming all of her thoughts. she hated it, she needed a distraction.

she scanned the room full of bodies, eyes landing on a girl whose been eyeing her since she’s been there. discarding her cigarette, she gets up and approaches the girl.

“hey.” she says in a low, flirtatious tone.

the girl turns around smirking, “finally got the balls to approach me huh?”

“yeah guess i did, you wanna get out of here?”

“i’d love to.” ellie takes the girls hand and leads her out of the house.

ellie knows she shouldn’t be doing this, sleeping with people as a distraction, as a way to avoid her feelings. she knows it’s wrong but it’s the only way she believes she can forget you, it’s for the better.

she brings the girl up to her dorm, the second the door closes ellie’s lips are on hers instantly. there’s no true emotion behind this, even when ellie has the girl on her back, eyes looking up at her, she doesn’t feel a thing. all she feels in regret but she pushes it down and buries it.

that was how it started, ellie began sleeping around with different girls. a quick fuck with no real feeling behind it, always leaving the girl high and dry by morning.

she gained a reputation as a player, the girl that slept around, yet that never stopped girls from throwing themselves at her. she accepted it, every invite back to a random girls dorm, every bathroom quickie at a party. she convinced herself she liked it this way, no girl to get attracted to, not girl getting attracted to her. no feelings.

not until autumn, she met autumn in one of her classes. quickly becoming friends after becoming study buddies for physics. at first the friendship was simple, silly banter, random movie nights, and many coffee trips.

one night, autumn and ellie were sitting on her bed, autumn was helping ellie with her makeup as they were about to go to a party. their faces were close together, looking into eachothers eyes. before ellie could register what she was doing, she leaned in to kiss autumn.

she pulled away instantly once her brain caught up to her body, “shit, i’m sorry- fuck i don’t know why i did that.”

autumn continues watching ellie as she rambles on, she places a hand on ellie’s knee, “it’s okay, i was kinda hoping you’d kiss me at some point.”

“really?”

“yeah, i kinda have a crush on you if you haven’t noticed.” a nervous laugh escaping autumn’s mouth.

ellie leans back in to kiss her.

soon after their shared kiss, they started dating. it was going well, autumn was a sweet girl who was a great girlfriend. ellie was happy, she was enjoying life and her time with autumn, at least that’s what she told herself. autumn reminded ellie of you, you two were similar with the way you spoke and got excited over the little things.

that’s probably why ellie was drawn to autumn, she missed you badly. you’ve been erased from ellie’s life, she thought she’d be happier this way but she wasn’t. she missed the way you laughed at her stupid jokes, she missed your warm presence when she held you in her arms, she missed everything about you and she couldn’t do anything about it anymore because she pushed you away and shut you out.

you were beginning to spiral, ellie hasn’t talked to you in weeks. it used to be one or two short texts throughout the week but soon turned to complete silence. you no longer believed it when you told yourself that she was just busy.

you forced yourself to forget her, focusing harder on your school work, hanging out with friends more, but nothing really worked. you missed her, thinking about her all the time, her eyes, the way she held you, how she made you feel like the only person in the world. you were confused on how she could make you feel so special one day then acted like you meant nothing the next.

it hurt that you didn’t know why she ghosted you, constantly questioning what you did wrong and why you weren’t enough for her to stay.

you wanted to be mad at her, you wanted to send her a hateful text or a angry phone call but you couldn’t. no matter how hard you tried because you loved her and that wasn’t going to change overnight. deep down you were hopeful that you and ellie would work out, but that hope was quickly crushed after your friend showed you an instagram post.

you and bella were laying around in her dorm, she let out a quiet oh my god which caught your attention. you turned to her muttering a soft “what?”

she passes her phone over to you without saying anything, you take it and begin looking at the post. when you read that caption your jaw drops.

i love my girlfriend ☺️💗 is written under a photo of ellie kissing another girl, you’re at a loss for words. girlfriend? how long have they been together? is this why she’s been ignoring you, she found someone better?

you wanted to scream, ellie’s had a girlfriend this whole time. bella turns to you, “did you know she had a girlfriend?”

“no, guess i didn’t know a lot about her.” you say shrugging, your eyes starting to gloss over.

“how are you so calm about this, i would’ve already been planning to ruin her life. if you need me to beat her up for you i will i swear.”

you laugh, “that’s sweet of you, i think i’m gonna head to bed but i’ll call you if i suddenly get the urge to beat her up.”

bella laughs as she brings you into a hug, “goodnight, i’ll be waiting on that phone call.” she waves to you as you leave out the door.

once in your room you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, you walk over to your bed immediately laying down. you begin to cry, tears falling down your face and soaking your pillow. you look down at the bear in your arms, the one she won for you at the fair a few months ago. you felt stupid, stupid for believing her, for trusting her, for thinking that she actually cared for you. you fell asleep to the sound of your cries, a heavyweight falling against your heart.

the remainder of the semester went by in a blur, days merged into one. you don’t remember much from the last few weeks of the semester but you do remember how heart broken you were. you hated how ellie still had an effect on you, she was off with her girlfriend probably feeling happier than ever and you were left here picking up the pieces of your heart that she shattered.

before you knew it, it was winter break. as you were packing to leave, the normal feeling of excitement to go home was replaced with dread. dread of seeing ellie, knowing that you’d have to talk to her sooner or later.

the first week of winter break was nice, you helped your family decorate for christmas, bought gifts for everyone, and somehow made way too many christmas cookies. you managed to avoid seeing ellie, you were thankful she hasn’t come over to see your brother knowing you couldn’t see her, not now at least.

the day your brother invited ellie over, you were in the kitchen when she arrived. she pretended not to see you when she came over, it’s like she completely erased you from her life. you walk out of the room, not sparing a glance in her direction.

the next time you see her is at your parents christmas party, ellie’s different this time. instead of pretending you don’t exist, she acts like you’re the only person in the room. her gaze is fixed on you the whole party, eyes never leaving yours.

she was watching you and made sure you knew it. as the night went on you grew more and more agitated, she had no right to act like that after the way she treated you.

you silently walk over to her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from whatever conversation she was having. you bring her to your room and shut the door.

“what the fuck is your problem?” she says, clearly annoyed.

“my problem? you’re the one who hasn’t talked to me in months and now wants to act like nothing happened.”

she scoffs as she begins to speak but you cut her off, “no seriously what’s wrong with you? you act like you act like me and treat me like your girlfriend then you just ghost me.”

“i didn’t mean to ghost you, i just got busy. my world doesn’t revolve around you y’know.”

you roll your eyes, “yeah you made that very clear, hope you and your girlfriend are happy by the way. i’d hate for her to find out what a shitty person you are.”

ellie sighs, “how’d you find out?”

“was it supposed to be a secret, were you trying to hide her? let me guess you’re cheating on her, telling someone else they’re the only girl in the world.”

ellie glares at you, “i didn’t cheat on you, we weren’t even together so why does it matter, god you’re so dramatic i never even liked you like that.”

“really, you’re telling me that the past six months meant nothing.” your voice begins to falter.

she shrugs, “yep, i never really liked you, honestly i regret even being with you.”

ellie instantly regrets what she said.

tears begin filling your eyes, “you don’t mean that.”

her heart aches at the hurt expression on your face but she decides that you’re better off without her. she doesn’t stop the words coming from her mouth.

“i do, you’re so desperate to get people to love you it’s embarrassing, i don’t know what i ever saw in you.”

tears began to fall from your eyes, “honestly i’m glad we had this talk, i got to see what a shitty person you are.”

she turns to leave your room, closing the door behind her.

you’re left standing in the middle of your room, tears falling down your face knowing you just lost the person you loved.

a/n: will they make up? ig we’ll never know 🤷‍♀️ jk yall will know soon 🤭 anyways hope yall enjoyed!🪿

taglist: @lavenderseedling @iadorefineshyt @nattakasuperlesbian @pearlzxx @beanbagbitch @liasxeatt @liztreez @moonfloweredprincess @starlightles2 @beaflyy @oneinameliann @softqirls

[slutforvika]

♱ strap sucking with ellie williams

warnings: strap usage only oral, strap referred to as ‘cock,’ gagging and crying, MDNI! dividers: jimzittos

you sink to the hard floor in front of ellie who’s currently sat on the bed, fully clothed, your clothes being discarded already from the harsh make out that was happening just a couple minutes ago that made you absolutely soaked.

she looks down at you with dark eyes, waiting patiently as you begin to undo her jeans, her lifting her body up slightly so you can pull them down. they’re down to her ankles now, only her boxers being on with a very visible bulge of her thick strap.

you look up at her once more before pulling her boxers down, her strap springing out. “shit…” you whisper, looking at how fucking humongous it was. she lets out a chuckle, “think you can take it?” she says soon after.

you hum in response, unsure but still open to it. you spit on your hand and start slowly stroking it for a beginner. your finger tips can’t even meet each other.

after a few strokes, you begin to take the tip on your mouth, earning a grunt from ellie. “that’s it…” she says, placing a hand on your head, tangling her fingers in your hair. you progressively take her deeper, more than half her strap inside your mouth, “taking me so well,”

you pull away for a second, a string of saliva going from your bottom lip and the tip of the strap, breathing heavily before you take her in your mouth again. “just like that,” she says, pushing your head deeper, the tip meeting the back of your throat.

you moan deeply, gagging at how deep it is in your throat. “ohhh i knowww,” she drags, your eyes watering, tears coming not only from your eyes but also your cunt that desperately needs to be touched. “you leaking on the floor baby? — cmon,” she says, pulling your head back off her cock.

you breathe heavily, gasping for air as mascara stains your face. she smiles before lifting you off the floor, her now being the one on her knees in front of you. “gonna make you feel just as good…” she says.

[lemonbbars]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ barista!ellie x fem!reader

barista!ellie who’s too much of a loser to realize when customers are flirting with her. “here you go~” a girl had handed her back her empty coffee cup with her number scrawled on the side. ellie, confused, looked the poor girl straight in the eye and threw it in the trash. safe to say that girl never showed up in the cafe again.

barista!ellie who is completely unaware as to why people would hit on her, when in reality there were a myriad of traits for girls to fawn over; her strong, deft hands that worked quickly to finish coffee orders, the lean muscle of her arms that she kept concealed under her flannel, and of course, her ridiculously attractive face.

barista!ellie who, on the rare times she does realize she’s being hit on, doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, begging dina or jesse to reject the girl for her.

barista!ellie who swears an angel just walked in the cafe when she first sees you, nearly dropping an order as she stared at you, starstuck. “ellie, careful!” dina exclaimed, hand hovering over the nearly-dropped coffee cup. “hello?” she waved her hand in front of ellie’s face, still fixed in your direction. “ellie what are you even looking at…” dina trailed off as she followed her coworker’s eyes to you, slowly making your way to the counter. dina let out a low whistle. “friend of yours?” she nudged ellie with her elbow.

barista!ellie who stared at you silently as you stood at the counter, green eyes wide. you smiled awkwardly when she didn’t speak. “can i, um, order?” “oh, y-yeah, of course.” she stammered, nervously jotting down your order on a notepad, strands of her auburn hair falling in front of her face as she looked up to catch another glance at you more times than you could count. you’d gone as quickly as you’d arrived. poor ellie watched as you took your order and headed out the door, too nervous to ask for your number, fully believing she’d missed her chance.

barista!ellie who can’t believe her eyes when you return the next day to pick up another coffee. “wow, you guys’re really fast.” you’d said when you picked up your coffee. little did you know that ellie had already memorized your order from yesterday, hoping for a time when the information could be put to use.

barista!ellie who scribbles her number on the side of your cup, not wanting to miss her chance again.

barista!ellie who can’t believe her luck when she hears her phone ding from her pocket and realizes it’s you. it read ‘look outside.’ and sure enough, there you were, smiling and waving to her adorably from outside the window.

barista!ellie who thinks she might just be falling for you, but she has no intention of stopping.

[dykeriver]

ellie with a mommy kink on the brain… her getting all flustered and calling you it over and over as she bounces on your strap… phew

[valeisaslut]

bleach me, baby.⭑ ݁˖

⭑ word count: 3,1k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭑ content warnings: sub!reader x top!ellie, oral sex (r!receiving), tit play, shower sex, hair dye/bleach antics, stablished relationship, fake blonde ellie…?? (we TWININ), DUMB AF so im sorry in advance, AFAB reader. MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes, reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

header edited by my beloved @satellitespinner <3 ilysm

you’re both barefoot in the kitchen when ellie casually drops the bomb — still lounging in pajamas despite the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, leftover pancakes going cold on the counter.

she's perched on the edge of the table, one leg swinging lazily, syrup smeared on the corner of her mouth. she tucks a strand of auburn behind her ear and tosses it out like it’s just a passing thought, as if it doesn’t hold any significance and its not going to make your brain immediately short-circuit.

“thinkin’ of going blonde.”

you freeze mid-sip, nearly choking as the coffee stalls halfway to your lips, sloshing dangerously close to disaster.

“blonde?!”

she nods peacefully, licking maple off her thumb. “like… white-trash, on-the-run, don’t-ask-me-where-i-came-from blonde. bottle blonde. the kind of blonde that makes people suspicious.”

you nearly choke. again. “jesus.”

she grins at you, wide and unrepentant. “what? you don’t think it’d be hot?”

“i think you’d look like you just crashed a car into a liquor store.”

she squints. “so like... hot.”

you finally let yourself giggle, stepping between her knees. “okay, then. we can call the salon, get you an appointment for next week—”

but ellie’s already shaking her head, fingers catching in your belt loops, tugging you closer. “nope,” she says, voice a little too self-assured. “i want you to do it.”

you blink. “me?”

“you.”

you narrow your eyes, still not entirely convinced this isn’t another one of your stupid girlfriend’s even stupider jokes. “ellie, i’m not a hairdresser.”

“babe, that’s like, the whole point!”

“you’re going to regret saying that when your hair starts melting off.” you deadpan, as if you need to remind her—and maybe yourself—that this could end in flames. literally.

she leans in, syrup still on the corner of her lips. “then i’ll just have to let you shave it. britney spears era. bald and unhinged.”

you roll your eyes but snort despite the scenery currently unfolding. “you’re insane.”

“maybe, but at least i’ll be iconic.”

you sigh, the sound resigned and dramatic, accepting the doom of your fate as you reach for your keys.

“god help me. if your scalp falls off, we’re breaking up.”

and you don't exactly know how or when you ended in this position, but now a plastic drugstore bag hangs off the doorknob, bloated with bleach kits, toning shampoo, a rat-tail comb you spent five minutes trying to identify in aisle nine, and gloves that are definitely too big for your hands.

ellie’s in a tank top, hair damp and messy, neck freckled and pink from where you’d kissed her earlier on the couch. she’s sitting backwards on the closed toilet lid, a towel around her shoulders, smirking at her reflection like a girl who knows she’s about to do something really dumb and can’t wait to see how it turns out.

you snap on the gloves and shake the bleach kit in your hands, then mix the developer and powder in a little plastic bowl, the smell burning sharp at the back of your throat while ellie watches you with a mix of amusement and affection.

you start slow. your legs drape across her lap, bare skin against bare skin, knees bent on either side of her hips as you settle above her thighs. the bathroom’s too small, too warm, and the smell of hydrogen peroxide hangs thick in the air — sharp and chemical, biting the inside of your nose until your eyes turn watery.

her tank is somehow already spotted with bleach, little constellations of chaos splattered across the fabric. you’re in your sleep shirt—old, oversized, barely hanging off one shoulder—the hem brushing against her thigh every time you shift in her lap. her fingers rest lightly on your hips.

the bowl of toner teeters dangerously on the counter behind you, and the cheap plastic brush trembles in your grip like it knows it's not nearly qualified for this task.“ellie. this is a terrible idea,” you murmur. “i’m scared.”

“good. keeps you humble.”

“you keep talking like that and i’m giving you leopard spots.”

“kinky.”

“shut up.”

she hums, eyes flicking up to yours. “you’re the one who sat on me.”

“you said it’d be easier!”

“i lied. i just wanted your ass on me.”

you snort and try not to smile, but it pulls at your mouth anyway. 

your fingers finally slide into her hair — soft, parted sloppily into sections with the comb that now lives somewhere on the floor. you start with the pieces that frame her face, brushing them forward so they hang loose near her cheeks.

ellie tips her chin up, lets her eyes fall shut.

you gather a lock in your gloved fingers, and begin painting the bleach from root to tip, watching it soak in like white-out on a dark page. the paste glows faintly under the light, ghostly against the reddish-brown of her natural color.

her hands flex against your hips when you lean forward to reach the next strand. your breath ghosts her skin and her lips part, letting out a shaky exhale.

“this is kinda hot,” she murmurs, voice low, like she’s saying it more to herself than to you. “you touching me all careful... fucking up my hair... feels so intimate.”

your fingers still for a second before you glance at her, eyes flicking down to her flushed cheeks, to the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“you’re so weird.” you whisper.

“mm,” she shrugs. “you love it.”

you dip the brush again while rolling your eyes, smearing bleach through the next section. her hair begins to clump in pale-violet streaks, turning lighter with each stroke, and still — she doesn’t move. just sits there, legs parted, your weight balanced on top of her.

you take your time with the strands at the back, working slowly — more confident than when you started, but still careful. ellie’s hair isn’t long, not enough to make this a real ordeal, just soft tufts and uneven layers that cling to your gloves as you drag the mixture through.

you angle closer, chest pressing forward as you lean in to reach the base of her skull.

ellie shifts, straightening a little, and your chest brushes her cheek. barely, just a graze — the soft curve of your breasts against her jaw as you tilt her head forward with one hand, using the other to get a clean angle on the last section at the nape of her neck.

her skin prickles under the contact. you pretend not to notice, but your breath catches.

she doesn't say anything — just blinks up at you through a low-lidded haze, eyes flicking from your mouth to your collarbone, then back again as your gloved thumb pushes a damp piece of hair away.

her breath ghosts over your sternum, warm and shallow.

“you know...” you say lowly, tone light as you coat the final piece and pull away “if this goes bad, you owe me a blowjob.”

she laughs, loud and bright. “deal.”

you raise an eyebrow. “that was really fast.”

“yeah, well. i was gonna do it anyway.”

your mouth curves, “so if it goes good?”

“you get two.”

you hum and toss the brush in the sink, then settle your hands on her shoulders and let your thumb slide beneath the edge of the towel, brushing the warm skin just beneath her collarbone.

“deal, then.”

thirty minutes later, the bleach is rinsed out, the chaos contained—barely—and you’re kneeling on the bathroom tiles like some half-mad alchemist, bowl of purple toner in your lap, gloved fingers coated in violet as you run them gently through strands of half-dry and now light hair.

ellie sits in front of you on a stool dragged in from the hallway, legs wide, topless. a towel hangs low around her waist, her skin still flushed from the heat of the water, freckled breasts rising and falling with slow, amused breaths. her hair, damp and golden, catches the light like a star.

you coat the last piece near her temple, careful to avoid her ear this time. she’d made a scene—more like a full oscar-winning production—when bleach slipped into it earlier, clutching the sink like she’d been shot, insisting she could “hear her secrets and sins fizzing in her brain.”

and earlier—god. when the bleach started to tingle, that slow sting blooming across her scalp, you caught the tiniest flicker of panic in her eyes. she blinked fast, jaw clenched, clearly trying to channel the spirit of someone braver, like a soldier in a war movie or a guy about to get a tattoo he can’t afford to back out of. “’m fine,” she snapped, sitting up straighter like good posture was gonna cancel out the chemical burn.

you leaned down to check on her, already suspicious, and yep—her lashes were wet. not full tears, but just the subtle, heartbreaking shimmer of someone trying very hard to act unbothered while her scalp was on fire.

“my eyes are just sensitive,” she mumbled before you could even say anything. “from the light. or the bleach fumes. or the political climate in this godforsaken country.”

“done!” you say, sitting back on your heels, peeling the gloves off with a snap. “you need to let that sit for a few minutes before we rinse.”

ellie turns her head just enough to glance at you over her shoulder, and her lips twitch. “rinse it how?”

“sink, same as before.”

but she doesn't stand up. instead, her hand reaches out, fingers curling around your wrist, thumb pressing into the damp skin just beneath your pulse point.

“orrrr...” she says, voice sly, “we could just… get in the shower.”

you laugh under your breath, pretending not to feel the way your stomach flips.

“we, huh? you tryna rinse your toner and get laid at the same time? i kinda like this concept of multitasking.”

she shrugs, grinning. “i’m a woman of efficiency.”

then she pulls you gently, slowly, into her. your knees slot between hers, hands finding the curve of her jaw, and when she kisses you—it’s warm, wet, familiar in a way that still knocks the wind out of you. her lips are soft but purposeful, still sticky with the remnants of laughter, still tasting faintly of spearmint and syrup.

and when she breaks away, breathless, eyes lidded, she mumbles against your mouth, “c’mon. before i start leaking purple.”

you both strip with clumsy fingers and half-choked giggles, bumping into walls and knocking over shampoo bottles, and then the curtain’s drawn, and the shower hisses to life around you.

the water starts cool, then warms with a soft hiss, steam curling up in a pale cloud. ellie steps in first, the purple streaks in her hair darkening under the spray, trailing lavender rivers down her spine. she leans back into it with a sigh, hands slicking her hair through, letting the water do its slow, messy magic.

you step in after her, shivering once before the heat wraps around you. your hands find her waist, thumbs brushing the edge of her ribs as you guide her under the stream. she leans into you without hesitation, her back flush against your chest now, body molten and relaxed under your touch.

the toner spills in violet spirals down her back, swirling around your feet like ink dropped into glass.

your fingers comb through her hair, careful not to tug. you take your time, dragging your nails gently along her scalp, and she tilts her head back with a soft groan.

“jesus,” she whispers. “keep doin’ that and i’m gonna forget my own name.”

you smile into the curve of her shoulder, mouth kissing the heat-softened skin there as your fingers work slow through her hair, chasing out the last ribbons of purple until the water runs clear.

you pull back just enough to look at her, to see her.

and for a second, you forget how to breathe.

“ellie,” you whisper, cupping her cheek, guiding her to face you fully. the droplets catch on her lashes, her freckled nose, the strong line of her jaw. her wet hair—pale now, streaked silver-gold and damp—frames her face like moonlight.

you run your thumb just beneath her eye, slow and careful. “it looks amazing.”

ellie blinks, caught off guard for half a second. “really?”

you nod, breath hitching in your throat. “yeah. like… dangerously hot. borderline illegal.”

she grins, tongue poking behind her teeth. “that’s the goal.” she then leans closer, dragging her hands down your waist. “so, just to be clear—you’re saying I look good.”

“i’m saying you look too good,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, smug now. “which means…”

ellie raises an eyebrow, amused. “means what?”

you tilt your head, pretend to think, then smirk.

“means I remember our deal, blondie.”

ellie’s smirk falters, shifts, melts into something heavier.

her fingers tighten at your waist, grip no longer playful, and her gaze drops from your eyes to your mouth, then lower—dragging over the slope of your throat, the shine of your collarbone, the way water clinging to the swell of your breasts like it’s worshiping them. every drop catches the light, turns your bare skin into something untouchable.

“fuck,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “look at you.”

you lift your chin, teasing. “if you’re backing out of our agreement—”

but you don’t get to finish— because ellie’s already reaching for you.

her hands slide up your sides, fingers wet and firm, and she pulls you in with a slow, hungry kind of gravity. her mouth crashes into yours like she’s starved for it, like kissing you is the only thing keeping her upright. it’s deep, messy, all tongue and breath and the soft hitch of your moan when her teeth catch your bottom lip. you melt into her instantly, hands threading through the damp strands of her light hair.

she backs you into the shower wall without breaking the kiss, one hand cradling your jaw while the other drags down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. her mouth pulls away only to breathe—quick, ragged—and then she’s kissing down, open-mouthed along your throat, sucking just beneath your ear, where your pulse hammers loud and fast.

and then lower.

her tongue traces a path between your breasts, slow and reverent, and when her mouth closes around your nipple, you gasp sharply. the suction is immediate, her tongue flicking, lips pulling softly, and she groans low in her throat like she needs it —like the taste of you is making her lose focus. her hand cups the other breast, thumb dragging across the peak, pinching just enough to make your hips twitch against her.

she alternates between the two, teasing, sinking her teeth in just enough to sting. your head tips back against the tile, breath shaky, fingers buried in her damp hair. water drums against your back, hot and rhythmic, but it’s background now. the only thing you really feel is her.

her hands glide down the backs of your thighs, anchoring you with a firm grip, and her mouth trails heat down your stomach, open kisses scattered across your skin.

she presses her lips just above your hipbone and pauses, looking up through soaked lashes, green irises dark and hooded, and catches you staring down at her—wide-eyed, wrecked, completely gone. her blonde hair’s slick and wild, sticking to her forehead, strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. you don’t even try to hide how ruined you look.

“what?” she murmurs, voice thick and warm, lips grazing your skin like a spell.

you brace your palm against the tile behind you, heart racing, thighs already trembling.

“fuck… i’m just not used to you blonde,” you whisper, voice cracking halfway through. “you look—”

she cuts you off with a quiet hum, something close to a growl.

“you will,” she mutters, and then her hands are back on you—firm, sure, rough in all the right ways. she grips the underside of your thigh, lifts, and pushes your knee in her shoulder, sudden, a little filthy, a lot intimate. the cold of the tile seeps into your back while your whole front lights up under her touch.

“you’ll get used to seeing it,” she whispers, eyes dark and gleaming, her mouth inches from where you need her. “especially between your legs.”

your breath punches out of you like she knocked the air from your lungs.

and before you can try to reply, her tongue parts you slowly, the flat of her tongue dragging through your folds with maddening precision. she groans as soon as she tastes you, the sound vibrating against your skin and making your hips jerk in her grip, making her hands anchor them as her mouth moves deeper, sloppier.

you grab at her hair, tugging gently—like you need something to hold onto, like the earth is tilting. your hips twitch forward, but she keeps holding you steady, mouth greedy and reverent all at once, licking into you like she’s trying to etch herself into the most vunerable part of you.

“jesus, ellie—fuck!—”

she moans low, the vibration buzzing straight through you, and the sound she makes is nothing short of worship.

she works you open with her mouth, slow then sharp, mouth sucking and tongue flicking on your clit, every movement matched to the ragged sound of your breath. she whimpers into you when you pull her hair, when your thighs begin to tremble, when you gasp her name as if it’s a secret slipping out. “ellie! im—”

“c’mon, love. let me have it.” she rasps, pulling back just enough to drag her tongue up your slick heat. her lips glisten, her voice is wrecked.

you cry out, grinding down against her mouth without thinking, and she meets you there—matching every frantic motion, letting you ride it out until your vision whites out, your knees go weak, your whole body collapsing into the tiles like you were built to fall for her.

and still, her mouth lingers. slow, soothing now.

and you finally look down again—see her hair dripping, lips swollen, freckles slick with steam and want—you can’t help but laugh, breathless and slightly delirious.

“what?” she murmurs, smiling against your skin, breath still warm, lips brushing the inside of your thigh.

she keeps you in a trance, dazed, jaw slack, voice barely there. “you look even hotter from down there.”

her teeth catches her bottom lip. she already knows the effect she’s having.

“then I’ll stay right here,” she says, and sinks her mouth back into you.

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ the girls from the server bullied me into writing this LMAOOO i swear it’s so dumb i’m actually logging OFF. they saw ONE (1) blonde ellie pfp and immediately lost all sense of self-control. it was over before it began. and listen… i’m a giver. a woman of the people. i live to serve. they basically own me at this point. anyway i hope you all enjoyed the chaos i just dropped, consider it a gift from your local server clown 🤍 love you all endlessly <3

perm taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <3): @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andieprincessofpower @mayfldss @sunflowerwinds @coastalwilliams @hotpinkskitties @ssijht @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @sewithinsouls @beeisscaredofbees @d1catwhisperer @the-sick-habit @elliescoquettegirl @elliewilliams-wife @yueluv3rrrr @your-eternal-muse @ellies-real-wife @katherinesmirnova @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @thxtmarvelchick @natscloset @lesbiansreverywhere @2against3 @wwefan2002 @ilahrawr @harmonib @piastorys @azteriarizz @starincarnated @natssgf @ukissmyfaceinacrowdedroom @iadorefineshyt @claudiajacobs @urmomssideh0e @kingofeyeliner @womenlover0 @ferxanda @imunpunishable @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @elliewilliamskisser2000 @azxteria @elliecoochieeater @doodl3b3ans

dividers from @cafekitsune <3

[isabelckl]

somehow it’s december again and you’re still the first person i want to tell things to

girlfriend!ellie williams x fem reader

[idek4bands]

Peonies

word count 5.9k

warnings: death, cancer

Ellie Williams x terminally ill fem reader

summary: Ellie cares for her terminally ill wife in their final weeks together, one last sunset, and a final night of love before losing her.

Some days feel like they’re made of glass.

Not just fragile. Transparent too. You can see everything, every fear, every hope, every goddamn second ticking by like it knows something I don’t. Today is one of those days.

I’m sitting on the edge of our bed, staring at your pillow. It’s got little hairs on it. You used to shed a bit before all this, but now… now it’s different. Now it’s all gone. I watched you pull it back in your hands two weeks ago in the bathroom. Quiet. Numb. Like if you didn’t react, maybe it wouldn’t be real. I didn’t say anything,I just stood behind you and wrapped my arms around your waist. You didn’t cry then. I did.

Now, you're sleeping beside me, face turned to the window where the light spills in soft and gold. Your skin looks paler now. Chemo drains the color from everything except your eyes. Those are still fire. Still home.

You breathe shallow, quiet. Each inhale sounds like a secret you’re keeping from me.

I reach over and trace your hand. The hospital bracelet’s still around your wrist. I keep telling you we should cut it off, but you say you like it there. Like it reminds you you're still fighting. Still here.

“Morning,” you whisper, voice dry and soft. I hadn’t even noticed you woke up.

“Hey,” I say back, and lean over to kiss your forehead. You're warm. Too warm. My chest tightens. “How you feelin’?”

You smile, even now. God, that smile, it kills me. It’s smaller these days, like you’re saving energy for the parts that matter.

“I dreamed we were in Paris again,” you say. “You were terrible at French.”

I laugh. It's weak but real. “I was terrible at French.”

“You ordered snail pizza, Ellie. Snail.”

“Well, I thought ‘escargot’ sounded like something fancy. You know. Like… fancy pizza.”

You giggle, but it turns into a cough. I sit up fast, help you lean forward while you try to catch your breath. When it passes, your hand falls back against the blanket like it weighs a thousand pounds.

“Thanks,” you say. So quiet. So tired.

I hate this.

I hate this fucking disease. I hate how it’s stealing pieces of you every day, like it thinks I won’t notice. Like I won’t fight for every single piece.

But I don’t cry. Not now. Because you're looking at me like I’m still your Ellie. Like I still make you feel safe. So I smile. I take the blanket and tuck it around you more snugly.

“Remember what today is?” I ask.

You squint at me. “Tuesday?”

I shake my head. “Anniversary.”

Your eyes go wide, a flash of guilt washing over your face, but I cut you off before it gets too far.

“Don't you dare apologize. We’ve had seven anniversaries. This one? We’re spending it right here. You, me, and our very fashionable bald head.”

You smirk. “You’re into it?”

“Baby, you’re hotter than ever. Rockin’ that Vin Diesel look.”

You chuckle again, but I see the glisten in your eyes. And when I lean forward, resting my forehead against yours, I finally let the tears come. Slow, quiet ones. The kind you don’t want to admit are there.

“I love you,” I whisper. “More than music. More than the stars. More than breathing.”

You close your eyes, your hand finding mine under the blanket. Weak, but still warm. Still yours.

“I know,” you say. “I love you more.”

And for a moment, the sickness fades. The IV pole in the corner disappears. The hair loss, the meds, the weight that’s melted off your body, all of it vanishes.

It’s just you and me. Two souls, still burning. Even in the dark.

You haven’t spoken much today.

I watched you sit by the window for hours, knees pulled to your chest, eyes far away. You didn’t even put music on. That’s how I know it’s a bad day. You always put on music, something soft or something angry or something that sounds like us.

But today, the only thing playing is silence. And it’s loud.

I tried talking earlier. Just little things. “Want toast?” “Wanna watch something stupid?” You’d nod or shake your head, but your eyes never left that gray sky. Like you were waiting for it to rain just so the outside could match how you feel.

I get it. More than you know. But I don’t let myself show it. Not around you. I can’t. If I crack, even for a second, I’m scared the whole world will come apart.

So I do what I can.

I ordered your favorite food from that place downtown, the one with the spicy noodles and the dumplings that taste like heaven. I told them to leave it at the door so you wouldn't have to deal with anyone. I also ordered flowers. Peonies, your favorite. Pink and soft and a little ridiculous. Like you once said about them, “They’re too pretty for their own good.”

I set them on the nightstand beside your bed. You looked at them and gave me a tired half smile. That was enough.

Later, I help you into the shower.

You’re weaker now. I can see it in the way your knees wobble when you stand, in the way your fingers tremble as you try to steady yourself. So I hold you gently, like you’ll shatter if I grip too hard. The water is warm, almost too warm, but you sigh when it hits your skin, and I feel you melt against me.

I wash your back slowly. My hands trace every line, every freckle I’ve memorized. Your head leans on my shoulder, and I kiss the smooth skin where your hair used to be. You smell like lavender and soap and something still so you.

We dry off in silence. I wrap you in the big hoodie you always steal from me, the green one with the hole in the cuff. Then I carry you back to bed, place a hot water bottle against your feet, and pull the blanket up to your chest.

You speak first, voice low and raw.

“Remember how we met?”

I smile. “Coffee shop. You bought me a drink.”

“You looked like you hadn’t slept in a week.”

“I probably hadn’t. Finals were kicking my ass.”

You laugh under your breath. “I thought you were cute. All scruffy and tired. You didn’t even know how to order. Said ‘whatever has the least amount of sugar but the most amount of caffeine.’”

“Still my order.”

“Still a disaster,” you tease softly.

I reach out, tuck a blanket edge under your chin. “You offered to pay, and I was so embarrassed. Thought you were flirting. I remember thinking, ‘Who the hell is this beautiful stranger buying me coffee like we’re in a movie?’”

You smile a little wider. “I was flirting. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” I echo.

A beat passes. Then your voice turns soft again, wistful.

“You asked me out two days later.”

“At the same coffee shop,” I say. “You were reading something sad. I didn’t want to interrupt, but you looked up and smiled like I was the best part of your day. I swear to god I forgot my own name.”

You nod slowly, eyes glassy. “You said, ‘Wanna go out with me before I pass out from caffeine and nerves?’”

I laugh, hand squeezing yours. “Best line I’ve ever come up with.”

We’re both quiet for a long moment. I hear the rain finally starting outside. It taps gently against the window, like it’s trying not to wake us.

“You proposed on the beach,” you say softly. “With all those flowers.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Had ‘em flown in. Sunflowers, daisies, more of those stupid peonies. You cried so much you forgot to say yes for like a whole minute.”

“Because it was so beautiful,” you say, voice cracking. “The way the sky turned orange, and your hands were shaking, and you looked at me like I was your whole world…”

“You are my whole world,” I whisper. “You were standing there in bare feet, your dress flapping in the wind, and I thought this is it. This is everything.”

I watch a tear roll down your cheek. I catch it with my thumb before it falls too far. Then I lean down, kiss your temple.

You sniff, eyes closing.

“Our wedding,” you murmur, already slipping toward sleep, “in the fall… all those leaves…”

“Gold, and red, and orange,” I whisper. “You were the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You’re quiet. Breathing soft. Drifting.

I curl beside you, one arm under your neck, the other across your stomach. I press my lips against your cheek and close my eyes.

I don’t know how many more of these nights we get.

But I’ll treasure every single one. Because you’re still you. And I’m still yours.

I knew the news wasn’t going to be good. But I didn’t expect it to feel like a sentence. Like something final. Like a clock starting in the background, ticking louder than your heartbeat.

The doctor said it gently. I think. I couldn’t really hear much after the words “a few weeks… maybe a couple months.” Everything else just rang in my ears like static.

You didn’t say anything at first.

You just nodded, like you were trying to understand another language. Like if you just listened harder, it might change. Might soften. It didn’t.

In the car on the way home, you stared out the window. Silent. Until the tears started falling.

Not loud, not dramatic just quiet. They slid down your cheeks, one after the other. You didn’t wipe them away. You didn’t make a sound. And I… I just drove. I kept my eyes on the road, gripped the wheel like it was the only thing holding me together.

If I opened my mouth, I’d fall apart. So I didn’t.

When we got home, you went straight to bed. You were exhausted. The kind of tired that goes deeper than the bones. I helped you get settled, kissed your forehead, held your hand until you fell asleep.

And then… I left the room. Closed the door. Quietly.

I made it to the kitchen before I collapsed.

I fell to the floor like something inside me had given out. My hands were shaking, and my chest burned, and I couldn’t breathe. I pressed my fist to my mouth and screamed into it, just to keep you from hearing. Just to stop myself from breaking the silence of our home.

I can’t lose you. I can’t.

I curled up on the floor, pressed my head to the cold tiles, and sobbed. Like a kid. Like someone who didn’t know what the hell to do next.

Eventually, I picked myself up. Wiped my face. Went back to bed.

You were still sleeping, curled in a ball, breathing soft and slow. I climbed in beside you and whispered, “I’m here. I’m right here.” You didn’t stir.

The next morning, the sky was overcast. Fitting.

We sat on the couch, you wrapped in a blanket, your head resting on my shoulder. You asked me if we could talk.

“About the future,” you said.

My whole body stiffened.

You looked so calm when you said it. Too calm. I think you were doing the same thing I was holding it in for the other.

“I want something simple,” you whispered. “For the funeral.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cover your mouth and say no. You’re not dying. You’re not leaving. You don’t get to talk about this like it’s a checklist.

But I just nodded.

“I don’t want everyone wearing black. I want color. Fall colors. Red, gold, orange. Like our wedding.”

My eyes welled up. I blinked fast, turned my face away. You didn’t notice or maybe you let me have that.

“I want music,” you added. “Nothing too sad. Maybe that cover you like… the acoustic one of that old 80s song.”

“‘Take On Me,’” I murmured, my throat burning. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“I want you to speak,” you said gently. “If you can.”

I looked down at your hand in mine, the way your fingers curled against mine. Still warm. Still here.

“I’ll try,” I said. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

You smiled, but your eyes were glassy. “Thank you.”

Later that day, everyone came over.

Joel brought food. Tommy brought beer he didn’t touch. Maria brought a blanket she knitted herself. Jesse gave you a framed picture of all of us from last year. Sarah climbed into bed with you and braided a little friendship bracelet onto your wrist.

And Dina… Dina watched me the whole time. Quiet. Knowing.

When I stepped outside to breathe, she followed.

I broke the second the door shut behind us.

I sat down on the porch and covered my face with both hands. I didn’t even try to hide it this time.

“I’m losing her,” I choked out.

Dina sat beside me, pulled me into her arms, and held me tight.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered. “I don’t know how to live without her. She’s my everything, Dina.”

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

And I cried again, in her arms, while inside… you laughed at something Sarah said. Your voice soft, fragile, still so you drifted through the screen door like the last warm light of a fading day.

And I held on to it. Because soon, that voice would be a memory. And I wasn’t ready. God, I wasn’t ready.

The doorbell rings soft in the morning light.

I already know who it is. I just... don’t want it to be.

I open the door and there she is Emily, the hospice nurse. Mid-thirties. Soft eyes. Calm voice. She smiles politely, like she already understands the weight in this house. She’s carrying a small bag and a clipboard. Her presence alone makes the air feel heavier.

I step aside.

“She’s in the bedroom. She’s.. uh sleeping,” I manage.

Emily nods. “We’ll take everything slow. One step at a time.”

I nod, too. But I don’t breathe.

She walks in and I shut the door behind her, watching the sunlight catch on the dust floating in the air. The same air you’re struggling to breathe in.

It’s only a few hours later when you wake. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing my fingers gently through the little fuzz that’s grown back on your scalp.

You open your eyes and give me a small smile. You always smile when you see me. Even now. Even when it costs you.

“Hey,” you whisper, voice gravel-soft.

“Hey, baby,” I say, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “You’re up.”

“Is she here? The nurse?”

I nod. “Yeah. She’s just organizing stuff. She’s kind.”

You nod, too. Your eyes flutter closed for a second. Then open.

“I wanna go to Paris.”

I blink. “What?”

“Paris,” you repeat, stronger. “Let’s go. One last time.”

I laugh through the ache in my chest. “You think you can handle a flight?”

“No,” you say. “But I think I want to try.”

I stare at you, eyes already burning. “You’re serious.”

You nod. “I want to sit under the Eiffel Tower. I want you to order snail pizza again and pretend to like it. I want to watch the city lights with you one more time.”

And I realize I would give anything to make that happen.

“Okay,” I say. “We’ll go. Whatever it takes, we’ll go.”

You reach up, touch my cheek. “Thank you.”

That night, everything catches up to me.

You’re sleeping again. The nurse is gone for the evening. The lights are low, the air is quiet. I sit beside you on the bed, holding your hand, staring at your face.

And then, because I can’t hold it anymore, I break.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” I whisper.

You stir, eyes fluttering open. Your fingers squeeze mine.

“Ellie,” you say softly. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” I choke. “It’s not okay. None of this is okay. You’re the only thing in my life that ever felt like it made sense. I don’t want this. I can’t,” My voice cracks. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Your eyes glisten. You sit up as much as you can, your hand trembling as it reaches for my face.

“You’re not losing me,” you whisper. “You’ve had me. All of me. Every part.”

I lean in, forehead pressed to yours, tears spilling freely now.

“I’m scared,” I say.

“I am too,” you admit. “I’m angry, and sad, and... tired.”

A sob escapes you, and I pull you into my arms. You cry against my chest, and I hold you like you’ll vanish if I loosen my grip. Your body trembles with every breath, but you don’t hold back this time. You let yourself fall apart.

And I do, too.

There’s no pretending. No more trying to protect each other from the inevitable.

“I wanted more time,” you whisper.

“I wanted forever,” I whisper back.

We cling to each other, tangled in grief and love and memories too big for words.

“I’m not ready,” you admit, voice shaking.

“You don’t have to be,” I tell you. “We’ll do this together.”

A long silence. Then you say, “When it happens… I want to be in your arms. I want you to tell me something beautiful.”

I nod, throat tight. “I’ll tell you our whole story. Every second of it.”

You smile again, and this time it’s sad but full. Full of everything.

“I’m so glad it was you,” you whisper. “My life... was so beautiful with you.”

I press a kiss to your forehead and hold you closer.

“And mine will always be beautiful... because of you.”

I’ve been painting again.

I set up the easel in the corner of the room last night, after you went to sleep. I told the nurse I needed some space, and for the first time in weeks, I picked up a brush.

It’s you.

Not the you from six months ago, or from Paris, or our wedding. It’s you now. Eyes softer. Shoulders thinner. The curve of your face a little different since the weight’s been slipping away. But your gaze... it’s still fire. Still home.

I paint you looking out the window, the sunlight spilling across your face like a spotlight. Like the universe still wants to touch you. Still wants to remember you.

I don’t cry while I do it. I just... breathe through every stroke. Memorize every angle. Capture what I can, because someday this will be all I have left.

We got the call from the doctor this morning: you’re cleared to travel.

You beamed.

We cried, quietly.

Paris. In three days.

We’ve been saying “one last trip” for weeks, like it was some distant fantasy. Now it’s real. We’re going. You made me promise we wouldn’t take too many pictures, that we’d just live it. I agreed, even though I know I’ll take a hundred anyway. Just to remember how your laugh sounded in the wind.

But first... we needed clothes.

You wanted a new dress for the Eiffel Tower. I wanted to see you try on something ridiculous just so I could watch you twirl.

So we went shopping.

I pushed your wheelchair through a little boutique on Main Street. You insisted on walking for a few minutes, and I let you even though I saw how much it cost you. You held a few things up. A scarf. A silk blouse. I noticed your arms looked smaller again, bones just barely pressing through skin.

It scared me. Quietly. Deeply. But I didn’t say anything. You smiled too much for me to ruin it.

You settled on a pale lavender sundress. “For the pictures you’re totally not taking,” you teased.

I kissed your temple. “You’re gonna make Paris jealous.”

After, we went to the funeral home.

Even just saying that makes me feel like I’ve swallowed glass.

You picked the place quiet, respectful, no fake sympathy in their voices. You held my hand the entire time, even when the man pulled out the binder of urns and caskets like he was offering cake samples.

You were calm. Braver than I’ll ever be.

We looked at a few coffins together, both of us silent. You traced the edge of one with your fingers, and then turned to me.

“I don’t want this,” you said softly.

I blinked. “What?”

You squeezed my hand. “I want to be cremated. I want to be... scattered somewhere beautiful. Maybe Paris. Maybe here.”

I nodded. “Anywhere you want, I’ll do it. I promise.”

You looked into my eyes, and for a second, your voice cracked. “I just don’t want to be in a box, El.”

“I know,” I whispered. “You won’t be.”

You rested your forehead against mine. We stood like that in the quiet room, the scent of roses and polished wood all around us. My heart felt too big and too broken all at once.

Afterward, we drove to the overlook just outside of town, the same spot where I once played you a dumb guitar song I wrote about you and you pretended it wasn’t awful.

We parked and climbed the hill together, slow, your steps careful, my hand always in yours.

The sky was painted in shades of orange and magenta, the clouds soft and streaked with gold. The wind was warm. The trees whispered.

You leaned your head on my shoulder.

“I think this is the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen,” you said quietly.

I looked at you instead of the sky. “It’s nothing compared to you.”

You smiled. Soft. A little sad. “I love you so much it hurts.”

“It’s supposed to hurt,” I whispered. “That means it’s real.”

We sat there as the sun dropped lower, our hands clasped, breathing in what we could. You closed your eyes near the end, face tilted to the warmth.

You didn’t know it was the last sunset you’d ever see.

And neither did I.

But even if I had… I wouldn’t have looked at anything else but you.

The sunset stayed with us all the way home.

It poured golden light through the car windows like the universe didn’t want to let go of you either. You fell asleep in the passenger seat on the ride back, your hand still laced in mine, your head tilted slightly toward me.

When we pulled into the driveway, you stirred and gave me a sleepy smile.

"Still with me?" I whispered.

"Always," you said, soft and sure.

Inside, the house was warm and quiet. The hospice nurse wouldn’t be back until morning. Just us tonight. Just us.

You asked me to help you to the couch. We curled up together, wrapped in the old quilt Maria made us. The lavender dress still hung on the back of the bedroom door, waiting for Paris. But I think we both knew, somehow, it would never get there.

Still, you looked at me, cheeks faintly pink, and said, “Take a selfie with me.”

I blinked. “You hate selfies.”

“Yeah,” you laughed weakly, “but I love you.”

So I leaned in. I held up my phone. Click.

In the photo, our heads are pressed together, both of us smiling through the heaviness. Your eyes look tired. But your smile? Your smile looks like the whole goddamn sky.

“Keep that,” you whispered. “Always.”

“I will,” I promised.

There was a pause then. You looked down at your lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

“Ellie... I don’t want to be scattered. I want you to keep me.”

I turned to you. “What do you mean?”

“My ashes,” you said, voice quiet. “I want to stay with you. On the shelf, in a jar, in your arms, I don’t care. Just... stay.”

I swallowed hard. My chest already ached.

“I’ll keep you,” I whispered. “I’ll never let you go.”

You smiled faintly, then looked around the room.

“Don’t change too much,” you said. “After. You know, when you fall in love with someone else.”

I stared at you, stunned. “I’m not,”

“Ellie,” you interrupted gently, “someday, maybe. Not soon. But... don’t shut the door. You deserve more love.”

My voice cracked. “There’s no room left in me for anyone else.”

“Maybe not now,” you said, brushing a thumb over my cheek. “But love has a funny way of sneaking in when you’re not looking. Just promise me you won’t forget the good things. Or stop painting. Or let this house feel empty.”

“I promise,” I whispered, even though I wasn’t sure I could keep it.

There was a long pause, thick with emotion. Then I asked, “Do you have any regrets?”

You looked at me with that soft, tired gaze that still melted me.

“Only one,” you said. “Not meeting you sooner.”

I felt the tears press hard against my throat. “If you could choose this life again… knowing how it ends… would you?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes,” you said. “Because I got you.”

And before I could cry, before the words could get stuck in my throat, you pulled me in for a kiss.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was full. Fierce. Real. Like you wanted to leave a piece of your soul with me. Like you were burning the memory of it into my skin. I held your face and kissed you back with everything I had every ache, every goodbye I didn’t know how to say.

And then we held each other, curled into the couch, the stars flickering outside the window. You drifted off slowly, your breathing light, your hand in mine.

I woke up just before dawn.

The light was blue, soft, barely breaking through the curtains.

Something felt... wrong.

You were still curled beside me. Still in my arms. But your chest wasn’t rising.

“Babe?” I whispered, nudging you gently. “Hey... it’s morning.”

You didn’t move.

I sat up, heart pounding, reaching for your wrist.

No pulse.

I called your name. Louder. I shook you.

“No, no, no, no, please” My voice cracked. “Please, don’t”

But you were gone.

Still warm. Still beautiful. But gone.

And for the first time since the diagnosis, I screamed. I screamed like the sky had fallen. Like the world had ended. Because in my world, it had.

I held you in my arms for hours, whispering everything I still had left to say. I told you the Paris plans. I told you the painting was finished. I told you I loved you more than any words had ever been able to hold.

And I promised I’d keep you.

Forever.

I don’t know how long I sat there holding you.

The sun was rising when Joel walked through the front door. I didn’t hear him come in. I only felt it, him dropping to his knees beside me, one hand on my back, the other gently trying to pull me away from you.

“No,” I croaked. “Don’t.. please.. don’t take her from me yet.”

Dina was next. She ran in barefoot, her eyes already red, Jesse close behind. Tommy. Maria. Sarah.

They all came, one after the other, into our home. Into the place that felt frozen in time now.

I think someone must’ve called them. Maybe it was the nurse. Maybe it was me. I don’t remember.

I only remember your skin still warm, your face still peaceful, and the hole in my chest that felt too wide to close.

“She’s gone, baby,” Joel whispered gently. “You can let go.”

But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

I held onto you like letting go meant forgetting. Like moving an inch would erase everything we were.

It wasn’t until Maria knelt down and wrapped her arms around me that I finally broke. My body collapsed into hers, and the sob that ripped out of me didn’t sound human. It sounded like the last echo of something sacred leaving the world.

They had to take you from my arms. I didn’t even watch. I couldn’t.

The couch still smells like you. That dress is still hanging on the door.

The funeral came three days later.

They dressed you in the lavender sundress you picked out for Paris. You would’ve laughed at the irony. “Guess I still got to wear it,” I imagine you’d say with a half smile, that dimple on your left cheek just barely peeking through.

It was a quiet fall day. Sunlight filtered through the trees, leaves dancing across the ground in soft reds and golds. Like the world knew it needed to be beautiful for you.

There were flowers everywhere, peonies, sunflowers, and little wildflowers I picked myself the day before. Everyone came. People from town. People from the coffee shop. Even strangers who’d only known you through stories I told.

I stood in front of your casket, hands shaking as I unfolded the speech I’d written on the back of an old receipt. But I didn’t read it.

I just spoke.

“She was the kind of person who made everything feel softer,” I began. “She laughed like the world wasn’t heavy, even when it was. She loved music, and cloudy mornings, and dumplings from that shitty place downtown.”

Soft laughter. Tears.

“She once told me she didn’t believe in soulmates… until me. But I think she was mine before I even knew what I needed.”

I paused. My voice cracked. My whole body felt like glass.

“She was brave. Braver than me. She held my heart like it was precious and made every day feel like a gift. And even at the end… she smiled. She comforted me.”

I looked at you, laid out like a painting, and whispered, “I would’ve followed you into the dark if you asked. But you didn’t. You told me to stay. So I will. But I’ll miss you every damn second.”

There wasn’t a dry eye in the crowd.

After the service, they took you to the crematory. I couldn’t go. I wasn’t ready. They said your ashes would be ready in a few days. I nodded, silent.

Then I went home.

The house was too quiet. Too clean. Too still.

Every table, every corner was filled with flowers, gifts from friends, neighbors, strangers. I didn’t know what to do with any of it.

I wandered into our bedroom, unsure why.

The bed was still unmade from that last night. The blanket rumpled. Your pillow still held the shape of your head. I collapsed onto the mattress, breathing in the scent of lavender and shampoo and you.

That’s when I saw it.

A folded piece of paper. Tucked into your nightstand.

My name on the front. Ellie.

I picked it up with trembling hands. I sat on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, and I read.

Ellie,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m not beside you anymore.

I hate writing this. I hate knowing you’ll be alone when you find it. But I needed you to hear these words from me one last time, in my own messy handwriting.

First, thank you. For loving me. For carrying me through every hard day, and for showing me that the kind of love they write about in books is real. You made my life beautiful.

I’m scared, El. I won’t lie. Dying terrifies me. Not because I’m afraid of where I’m going but because I won’t be here to watch you live. I won’t be here to kiss your shoulders in the morning or steal the covers or laugh at your dumb jokes. And that hurts.

But I need you to know: I was never alone. Not really. You held me so tightly, even when the world was slipping away.

You’re going to be okay. Not right away, but someday. You’re strong and kind and so full of love. Don’t let this break you.

Keep painting. Keep writing songs. Keep talking to me when no one’s listening.

And one day… when it doesn’t hurt so much, fall in love again. Let someone in. Let them see the light I got to hold all these years.

But until then... just hold me close. Keep me on the shelf. Talk to me. Play my favorite songs. Cry if you need to. I’ll be there, I swear.

Always yours,

I couldn’t finish the last line without breaking.

I curled into the bed and sobbed so violently I thought I’d forget how to breathe.

But even through the pain, even through the aching silence, I held the letter to my chest like it was you.

And I whispered, through the tears, “I’ll keep you. I promise.”

It’s been four days.

Four long, gray days of half sleeping, half eating, half existing in a house that feels both too full and too empty.

Today, I picked up the ashes.

The woman at the funeral home handed me the urn gently, like it might break. It was simple smooth, light gray ceramic with tiny pressed wildflowers around the rim. Your name etched across the front in small, elegant letters.

It felt impossibly light for something that used to hold so much of my world.

With it, she gave me a small box. I opened it in the car.

Inside was the lavender dress you wore. Folded perfectly. A pressed flower tucked in the collar. And there, on a thin velvet cushion, were your wedding rings both of them. The engagement band I gave you on that beach. The wedding ring I slid onto your finger with shaking hands under a golden canopy of leaves.

I held them in my palm for a long time.

And then I slipped them onto a silver chain and placed them around my neck. They rest just over my heart now. Right where you always lived.

When I got home, Tommy and Joel were already there, quietly waiting.

They built the shelf in the corner of the living room, just like I asked. Solid oak. Softly sanded. No stain, just natural wood and clean lines. It’s beautiful. And now it’s yours.

I placed the urn at the center. In front of it, a fresh arrangement of peonies and wildflowers. The same kind from our wedding. From our last sunset.

To the left of the urn: A photo of you, laughing in the kitchen, sunlight catching your hair.

To the right: Our wedding picture. You in your lace dress, me in that too tight suit, both of us smiling like the world would never end.

Behind them: A group photo of me, you, Joel, Sarah, Dina, Jesse, Tommy, Maria, Sarah. All of us. That one day we were whole.

It doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing ever will. But it’s something. A corner of the world that still belongs to you.

After Joel and Tommy left, I sat on the couch. Alone.

I stared at the shelf. At you. At everything that’s left.

And then I cried.

Not quiet, not clean. Messy. Ugly. Real. The kind of crying that pulls your ribs tight and makes your throat raw.

Because it’s really over. Because you’re really gone. Because I still want to turn my head and see you there, arms open, smiling at me like none of this ever happened.

But all that’s left is the silence.

The shelf.

The flowers.

The rings against my chest.

And the love. Always the love.

I whispered into the quiet room:

“I’ll carry you, for the rest of my life.”

And then I let myself fall apart, knowing somehow, even now…

you’d understand.

[jhyoos]

after hours💋

(teaser)

— in which a rich and powerful ellie williams gets too attached and desperate after a one-night stand with a pretty college girl . she’ll will do anything to see all of her again.

coming soon 💋

update : comment to be added to taglist !