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wingedhallows · 2 days ago

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Abby x masc reader who can DANCE hips waist and everything is moving and Abby’s just hypnotized, then getting wayyy wayy too jealous when they end up catching ass on accident

Angst or smut or fluff is fine!! (But please fluffy)

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒-𝐘𝐎𝐔

━━ ᝰ.ᐟ

──★ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 abby anderson x reader / 0.8k words ──★ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 suggestive, jealousy ──★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 this was such fun to write! thanks for requesting, i hope you like it!!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The music pulses through the club, a steady thrum that settles in your chest like a second heartbeat. Lights strobe overhead, casting flashes of color across the crowd.

Abby’s hand is warm in yours as she pulls you through the chaos, weaving past bodies with single-minded purpose. She’s taller, broader—built like she could knock someone out without breaking a sweat—and right now, she’s dragging you like a ragdoll toward the bar.

She doesn’t look back, doesn’t need to. You follow, breathless and grinning.

Abby orders a beer—classic. No surprises there. You opt for a whiskey and coke, because the bartenders here are generous with the ice and stingy with the pour. You don’t even try to hide your fond eye-roll when Abby pulls out her wallet.

Swiftly, you push her hand down and slip your own card to the bartender. “Let me pay, baby,” you murmur into her ear, soft and teasing.

Abby makes a sound—half grunt, half sigh, clearly displeased—but she doesn’t push it. She never really wins these little standoffs, and you both know it.

You take your drink, give her a look, all crooked grin and heat behind your eyes. “Wanna dance with me?”

She takes a swig of her beer instead of answering. The scoff she lets out is subtle, but you hear it loud and clear—her silent “hell no.” You just laugh, lean in to press a quick kiss to her cheek. Her lashes flutter at the touch.

And then you’re gone, slipping into the sea of bodies moving under colored lights.

The music’s something vaguely familiar—upbeat, maybe a 90s throwback—and it fills your limbs like static. You let it guide you, hips swaying, arms loose at your sides.

You’ve never needed company to own a dance floor, and if Abby prefers to brood in the corner with her beer and her eyes locked on you like a sniper—well, that’s her prerogative.

You’re in your element. You’re grinning. Until she shows up.

A girl—tipsy, bold, barely held together in a slinky black dress—locks eyes with you from across the floor. She points, long manicured nail aimed your way like a dare.

You barely have a second to react before she spins around, throws an arm around your shoulders, and grinds herself against you like you’re part of the scenery.

Your arms shoot up, stiff in the air like you’ve just walked into a bank robbery instead of a club. You don’t move. You don’t touch. Not because you’re uncomfortable, but because you already feel the change in the air.

You don’t need to look to know she’s seen it.

Abby.

She moves through the crowd like a storm brewing slow and dangerous—shoulders squared, jaw tight, that unmistakable scowl carved into her face like stone.

Her eyes are locked on the girl plastered to you like a second skin, and if looks could kill, there’d already be blood on the floor.

You swallow hard.

Shit.

“Get the fuck away from my girlfriend.” Abby’s voice cuts through the music like a whip—low, sharp, and laced with barely restrained fury.

Before the girl can blink, Abby’s hand clamps around her upper arm and yanks her back.

She stumbles with a startled squeak, heels catching on the floor, and spins around with a glare already forming—until she gets a proper look at Abby.

All 5'9" of broad-shouldered, scowling woman.

The girl's expression flickers from defiance to survival instinct in half a second. She mutters something under her breath and slinks off, wisely choosing not to test her luck.

Abby doesn’t even spare her another glance. Her arm snakes tightly around your waist, firm and possessive—like a claim, like a warning. You feel it in your bones, and it makes your knees a little weak.

Your heart’s still hammering like a war drum, but you lean in, smiling softly despite yourself. “I think I like jealous-you,” you tease, arms sliding easily around her neck.

“That’s ‘cause half these bitches think you’re a stud,” Abby grumbles against your neck, voice all gravel and heat as she presses a trail of warm, lingering kisses to your skin.

You hum, half-laughing, fingers toying with the soft hairs at the nape of her neck. “Yeah, well…” you begin, breath catching when her lips brush a little too close to your pulse.

Abby huffs, half into a smirk. “Gotta start makin’ you wear skirts—can’t have us both out here lookin’ like masc trouble.”

“Oh, hell no.” You scoff with a laugh—but barely get the words out before her hand slides down and grabs a handful of your ass.

“Would look good on you,” she murmurs, shameless. “Might give me easy access.”

Your ears burn, and you slap her bicep with a shocked laugh. Abby just grins wide, unbothered, delighted with herself, her laugh low and rumbling in your ear.

#abby x reader #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #tlou part 2 #tlou game #the last of us part ii #the last of us part 2 #abby smut #abby fanfiction #abby fanfic #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine

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wingedhallows · 2 days ago

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AYO! we’re 900 now! thank you so much for the support, really. i never thought this silly little blog would reach this far. so thank you!

love, hallow 🪽✨

#hallow!mail

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wingedhallows · 2 days ago

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love ur writing! can u write sub abby being obsessed with reader’s tits and calling her mommy?

𝐒𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘

━━ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

જ⁀➴ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 sub!abby anderson x reader / 0.4k words જ⁀➴ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 smut - MDNI જ⁀➴ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 i've never done sub!abby but i think it was time - hope you like this little filthy something!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

It starts innocently - who’re you kidding - nothing’s really innocent with Abby. Her head’s resting on your chest and her fingers absentmindedly toy with the hem of your shirt. You know what’s coming, you always do.

“Can I..can I take your shirt off?” She mumbles into the fabric of your shirt, breath warm against your covered skin, you have to suppress a smirk.

“That’s not how we ask, is it, baby?” You answer, voice soft and quiet, it earns you a low desperate sound.

“Can I please take off your shirt, mommy?” She tries again. Her gaze lifts to yours - glassy and so needy - to think that this mountain of a woman is this desperate little thing when in your bed makes you wetter than anything else.

“That’s better, mh?” You give her a small grin and tilt your head, your hands let go of her hair and it signals the go, she doesn’t need words. Abby doesn’t waste any time and strips the shirt off you with fidgety hands and teeth biting the corner of her lip.

Her eyes focus on your now bare chest and you watch how her pupils dilate - how she licks her lips and makes a soft involuntary sound which can only be described as pathetically needy.

One of her hands comes up to cup your left tit, thumb gently running over the rosy bud which earns Abby an approving hum from you. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

“Can I..please lick’em, mommy?” she whispers breathlessly and all you can manage is a nod - Abby doesn’t need to be told twice. She surges forward, warm tongue on your nipple like she’s been dying to taste you. Her tongue moves desperately - fast and wet.

You lean your head back with a moan.

“Taste so good, mommy - so good.” She mumbles between sucking on the pebble like a drowning man clings to a raft.

The wet obscene sounds fill the room and you bring a hand to her hair, reverently stroking her scalp as you watch her lap at your breasts.

“Such a good girl.”

#abby anderson smut #abby anderson #abby smut #abby fanfiction #abby fanfic #abby x reader #abby tlou #abby the last of us #tlou part 2 #tlou game #the last of us part ii #the last of us part 2 #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x reader

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wingedhallows · 2 days ago

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𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐊𝐄-𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋?

━━ ꩜ .ᐟ

♒︎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 spike x reader / 4.2k words ♒︎ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 fluff, funny banter ♒︎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 this has been sitting in my drafts but i think i wanna just throw it out there, here u go :)

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The stench of freshly turned earth makes your nose twitch. A fledgling’s grave, sloppy job. You can practically hear the bastard breathing under the soil.

“Are they always this late?” you mutter, voice like silk and venom, arms crossed over your leather corset. Spike lights a cigarette beside you, grin twitching like he’s been waiting for that exact question.

“Yeah. Slayer’s got a flair for dramatic timing, luv. Likes to roll in just as the punchin’ starts.”

You roll your eyes. The last time you waited this long for a hunt, Napoleon still had teeth.

Then—finally—voices. Footsteps. That chirpy American cadence that makes your ears bleed.

Buffy Summers arrives in a blur of blonde and sarcasm, flanked by her usual entourage: Red Witch, Book Boy, and the Tall One Who Smells Like Anxiety. Buffy halts when she sees you standing at Spike’s side, her stake twitching slightly in her grip.

“Who’s the new bloodsucker?” she asks, eyes narrowing.

Spike grins wider. “Not new, Slayer. This is Y/N. My bird.”

You offer a smile that’s all teeth. “Charmed,” you say, voice like a threat wrapped in velvet. “Spike insisted we do this the collaborative way. Personally, I find hunting more efficient without teenage commentary.”

Willow lets out a small “oh,”

Xander nudges Buffy. “She kinda sounds like if evil had a skincare routine.”

You arch a brow. “You do realize insulting ancient vampires is a quick way to test your mortality, yes?”

“Okay!” Buffy claps her hands once, fake cheerful. “Let’s hunt.”

The earth cracks beside you. The fledgling bursts through like clockwork, teeth gnashing. Spike launches forward with a delighted, “Ooooh, here we go!” and it’s a blur—him swinging a fist, you catching the vamp mid-snarl, twisting his head like a bottle cap.

Dust.

“Damn,” Buffy mutters. “Didn’t even get a hit in.”

You brush invisible ash from your jacket and look over your shoulder at her. “Yes, I do make a habit of cleaning up after younger generations.”

Spike stifles a laugh, then hooks an arm around your waist. You tolerate it because you love him, idiot that he is.

“You’re so bloody elegant when you’re condescending,” he whispers in your ear.

“I learned from the best,” you murmur back, eyes still locked on Buffy.

Buffy narrows her eyes. You narrow yours right back.

This is going to be so much fun.

Buffy’s still sizing you up like you’re a puzzle piece she doesn’t like the shape of.

“So, what—you’re Spike’s girlfriend?” she asks, voice dripping with disbelief. “Do they even make vampires that old?”

You smile sweetly. “Oh, darling. They made me before they made rules about vampires.”

Giles has just arrived—poor man, slightly out of breath, holding a crossbow and several books under one arm like he thought this would be a classroom session. He slows to a halt when he sees you, his eyes widening behind those thick glasses.

“Oh,” he says. “Dear God.”

You give him a polite nod. “Rupert. Still quoting Latin badly, I assume?”

He actually blushes. “You—you know who she is?” he says to Buffy. “That’s Y/N of Carthage. She predates the Council’s earliest records by nearly four centuries. Allegedly wiped out a monastery in Provence for mispronouncing her name.”

You sigh. “It was a spelling mistake. And they knew better.”

Xander lets out a nervous laugh. “Cool. Cool cool cool. So, Spike’s dating the Dracula version of a Bond villain.”

“Oi!” Spike protests, arm still slung around your waist. “She’s not a villain. She’s just misunderstood. Also terrifying. But like—in a sexy way.”

You elbow him lightly in the ribs. “Flatter me again and I’ll let you live.”

Willow edges closer to Buffy, whispering, “Do you think she’s evil? Like, really evil? Or like Spike-evil?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy mutters back. “But she makes Spike look like a kitten.”

You roll your eyes. “You children and your obsession with alignment. I’m not here to destroy the world. That’s so… 2003.”

Spike snorts. “Told you, she’s retired. Took up pottery for a bit. Think she got bored after the Great Fire of London.”

“I caused the Great Fire of London,” you correct.

Buffy opens her mouth to respond but a noise cuts through the cemetery—another vamp. Sloppier this time, and clearly drunk on fresh blood. Before anyone can move, it lunges for Xander.

And you’re there. In a blink.

Your hand slams into the vampire’s chest and you rip it back just as fast, clutching his heart like a spoiled fruit. The vamp dusts before it even hits the ground. You toss the heart aside and calmly brush your hands clean.

The silence that follows is thick.

Xander squeaks. “…So are we, like, on her side? Or just not on her bad side?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you say coolly, turning on your heel. “But if I wanted any of you dead, you’d be dust before you finished your clever quip.”

You stalk off into the dark, coat billowing, heels clicking on cracked stones. Spike jogs to catch up, grinning like a schoolboy who just watched his crush set something on fire.

“That was brilliant, love,” he says. “You’ve got such presence. Terrifyin’. Hot.”

You glance at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“I put up with that Slayer and her band of fools only because you amuse me, William.”

“Aw,” he says, clasping his hands to his chest. “Romance isn’t dead after all.”

“Not yet,” you say, linking your arm through his. “But give me another hour.”

#spike btvs imagine #spike btvs fanfiction #spike btvs fanfic #spike btvs #btvs #spike x reader #spike imagine #spike #buffy the vampire slayer

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wingedhallows · 2 days ago

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hi babes - had a bad day, gonna turn my brain off and write whatever i want tonight 🙃

#hallow!mail

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wingedhallows · 3 days ago

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Hiiii, hope you're doing fine and are having a great day 🩵

I just wanted to request a Caitlyn X fem!reader with eating disorders. Like Caitlyn and reader are together for a long time and Caitlyn starts to notice something weird but doesn't really know what to do? Could be angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, just anything you want 🩵and if you're not comfortable with writing this, it's ok!!

𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

━━ -ˋˏ⟿

-‘๑’- 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 caitlyn kiramman x reader /0.6k words -‘๑’- 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 angst, eating disorder - nothing explicit -‘๑’- 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 thank you for requesting this. i had to really think how to approach this but i enjoyed writing a little emotional something. i hope u like it!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

You love pancakes—you always have. For as long as Caitlyn can remember, pancakes have been your favorite breakfast. Sometimes you’d load them up with whipped cream, other times with berries and a drizzle of melted chocolate.

But lately, pancakes haven’t been the same. You barely touch them. And it’s not just the pancakes—it’s the little bretzels you used to devour during one of Cait’s old movie nights. Something shifted. But Cait’s sure: it started with the damn pancakes.

Caitlyn’s never been one for jumping to conclusions. She doesn’t want to corner you, to make you say something neither of you are ready to admit. So she does what she knows—she makes the pancakes.

She’ll offer them, just like always. And if you turn them down—again—then maybe she’ll finally ask the questions that have been eating at her. Because she can’t ignore it anymore. Not when she knows you've started buying clothes three sizes too small. Not when her own uniform would hang loose on your frame. She won’t stop—not until she gets to the bottom of it.

Now she stands in the kitchen, one hand braced against the counter, watching the batter bubble and turn golden in the pan. You’d love these, under normal circumstances.

You’d devour them, grin through powdered sugar, tease her about whether it’s her mother’s recipe. And she’d laugh. You’d share a plate, and she’d get to kiss the sweetness off your lips.

She flips a pancake just as soft footsteps pad into the kitchen—lighter than they used to be.

“Morning,” you mumble.

She turns her head, offering a small smile, choosing gentleness instead of confrontation. “Morning, sweetheart.”

You move around the counter, her oversized shirt hanging off your frame, falling to mid-thigh. Your shoulders are sharper now, more fragile beneath the fabric.

You rise onto your toes and press a faint kiss to Caitlyn’s cheek. She hums in return, but her fingers twitch at your side, hesitant.

“I made your favorite for breakfast,” she says, voice soft, coaxing. Her hand brushes lightly along your waist, the touch as careful as her words.

You glance at the pan, at the pancake sizzling gently. And she watches it happen—the hesitation, the flash of panic in your eyes. That flicker of fear at the thought of eating something with real weight to it. It guts her, because you were never like this before. You never used to flinch at food.

“I’m not really hungry,” you whisper. The words are quiet. Apologetic.

Cait sets the spatula down with a soft clatter. Her hand slips away from your waist. “You’re never hungry these days, are you?”

It comes out sharper than she means. You flinch. Your throat tightens, but you try to smile through it—gentle, shaky. “I don’t know what you mean, baby.”

But Caitlyn shakes her head. Her lips press into a trembling line, eyes shining, and she steps back from you—once, twice—until she’s leaning against the kitchen island like it’s the only thing holding her up.

“Do you want to leave me?” she chokes out.

Your heart stutters. “What—?”

“Because that’s what it feels like.” Her voice wavers, rough and raw. “You’re disappearing in front of me, and I don’t know how to help. I don’t know how to fix this, love.”

She rakes a hand through her hair, like she’s trying to hold herself together by sheer will.

“I’ve let this go on too long. You’ve become so thin and I... I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to save you.”

Her voice breaks on the last word. You stand there, frozen. Mouth slightly open. Hands trembling.

“Cait…” you say, barely above a whisper.

But she holds up a hand, her expression twisting, like she’s trying not to cry.

“Please, love… eat the pancakes. Or something else. I’ll make you whatever you want. Just—please. Eat something.”

You swallow hard, throat burning. And you look at her—really look. How her shoulders hunch under the weight of worry. How her eyes plead with you like she’s already lost you.

You did this. You put that look on her face.

“Okay,” you say, your voice hoarse with the tears you don’t let fall.

It’ll be hard. You know it will. But you’ll do it.

You’ll eat every bite of those pancakes if it means Caitlyn never has to look at you like that again.

Like she’s already mourning you.

#caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn #league of legends caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kirraman x reader #caitlyn league of legends #caitlyn kiramman angst #arcane au #cait arcane #cait kiramman #cait angst #cait imagine

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wingedhallows · 3 days ago

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i need more nat! looove ur writing 💗

𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔

━━ ☾𖤓 .ᐟ

𓆩❤︎𓆪 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 nat scatorccio x reader / 0.5k words 𓆩❤︎𓆪 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 fluff 𓆩❤︎𓆪 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 thank you so much for requesting - this is a little something i've cooked up because i believe that nat deserves a little comfort too. hope u like it :)

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The makeshift tent rustles softly in the wind, its thin fabric fluttering like breath. The cot beneath you offers little warmth—it’s starting to cool again.

A sure sign that winter is coming, and out here, winter never brings anything good. Still, you try to sleep. You really try. But the night is restless.

The wind howls through the trees like a warning, threading its way into the silence of the camp—a silence that feels less like peace and more like a held breath.

You shut your eyes tight, willing sleep to take you. Just rest. Just for a little while.

Then—a gust of wind. And something else. A shift in the air. That sharp, cold flicker of instinct snakes down your spine like white-hot fear.

A figure looms, casting a faint shadow over you. Before you can even part your lips to scream, a hand gently clamps over your mouth, muffling the startled gasp that rips from your throat.

“Shh—it’s me.”

Her voice is low, a whisper laced with familiarity. Nat.

Relief floods your chest, hot and dizzying. You go slack beneath her touch, a strangled little sound escaping you as she slowly pulls her hand away.

“Jesus,” you breathe, your voice a soft exhale. “You scared the crap out of me.”

You drop your head back against the makeshift pillow—a bundled-up jacket—and try to steady your pulse.

“Didn’t want you waking the others,” she murmurs, a flicker of amusement dancing beneath her words.

Nat lowers herself beside you, propping her head on one hand, the small cot creaking under the added weight. She’s close enough now that her breath grazes your shoulder.

“Mind if I stay here tonight?” she asks quietly, her fingers brushing up the length of your arm—light and hesitant, like she’s asking with more than words.

Please. Don’t kick me out.

You sigh again, softer this time, and give a small nod in the dim light—though you doubt she can see it.

“You’re already here,” you murmur, voice barely louder than the wind outside.

Without hesitation, she settles at your side, her head finding its place on your shoulder like it’s always belonged there.

“I’d kill for a smoke right now,” she mumbles against your neck, her voice warm and worn down.

Her hand finds yours in the dark, and this time, you don’t pull away. You let her lace your fingers together—slow, tentative, like it means something.

“I miss hot showers,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the sagging roof of the tent above.

Nat hums in agreement and gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad to have you,” she says after a beat. “Just… don’t tell the others. I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

You huff a laugh. “Okay, miss mysterious.”

She chuckles, the sound barely a whisper. “I’m glad to have you too, Nat.”

You shift your head slightly, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to her forehead.

Outside, the world might be falling apart. The cold might be closing in. You might not make it home—not in one piece, not ever.

But right now, in this stolen sliver of quiet— You’re not alone.

#natalie scatorccio fanfic #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio fic #nat scatorccio fanfic #nat scatorccio imagine #nat scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio fluff #nat scatorccio yellowjacktes #yellowjackets imagine #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets

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wingedhallows · 3 days ago

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Can u do dancer!reader X nat scatorccio?

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

━━ -ˋˏ✄┈

ᯓ ✈︎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 pre crash! nat scatorccio x dancer!reader /0.6k words ᯓ ✈︎ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 kissing, making out ᯓ ✈︎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 thank you so much for requesting this - it's a little something and i hope you like it!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The studio is filled with soft music—a delicate ballet score chosen by your teacher for the upcoming evaluation—and the sound of your quiet, uneven panting.

You’ve been at it for hours. Skipped lunch again, just to nail the damn transition after the arabesque. Your leg moves, the motion familiar and fluid, but something’s off.

The angle, the weight—something. The arabesque lands, but it looks more like a dying swan than anything remotely graceful.

“Last one in the studio again?”

Her voice doesn’t startle you—it washes over the piano notes like silk, smooth and warm. You turn slowly, a smile already tugging at your lips before you even see her.

There she is—Nat.

Still in her soccer jersey, hair tousled like she’s just come off the field, and that trademark smirk curling at her mouth like she was born with it.

“Always,” you reply, tilting your head slightly, letting your muscles finally relax. One hand rests behind you on the barre for support as your chest rises and falls a bit too fast.

You’ve pushed yourself. Again.

“Well…” She strolls across the room, slow and cocky, holding an iced coffee like it’s a trophy.

“I brought caffeine and my company—you’re welcome.”

You push off the barre and meet her halfway, your arms winding lazily around her shoulders. She doesn’t miss a beat—leans in and presses a kiss to your jaw, quick but electric.

Your pulse jumps like it always does when she touches you like that, like it’s the first time all over again.

“You’re a hero,” you murmur against her cheek as she slips the cool drink into your palm.

“Just fulfilling my girlfriend duties,” she teases, her voice low and fond. “Since someone doesn’t know when to take a damn break.”

Her hand finds your waist and she gently steers you down to the studio floor.

You sink onto the wood with a soft exhale, and she settles behind you, legs tangled with yours. You take a sip of the coffee—cold, sweet, perfect—and hum softly in appreciation.

“I’m just caught up in this routine,” you sigh. “It’s impossible.”

Nat hums again, low in her throat, and pulls you into her lap. Your thighs part and fit around hers without hesitation, like your bodies already know the steps.

“Sounds like you need a little distraction,” she murmurs, her hand trailing slowly up your side.

You place the cup on the floor beside you, a smile tugging at your lips. “Do I now?” you ask, your voice quieter now, tinged with teasing.

“Mhm. I think so.”

She leans in and presses a kiss to the underside of your jaw, then another at the corner of your mouth—soft, coaxing.

Finally, her lips find yours, and the kiss deepens quickly—hot, slow, consuming. Your hand slides up to cup the back of her neck as your mouths move in sync, tongues tangling with an intimacy that makes your heart race.

She grins into the kiss when a soft, involuntary sound slips from you.

“There she is,” she breathes against your lips, voice a little smug, a little tender.

You hum softly before leaning back in, lips finding hers again as your fingers slide into her hair, gently tugging at her scalp.

“Eager, are we?” she murmurs against your mouth, her hand tracing slow, soothing lines up your spine.

“I’m done practicing,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. Your lips are kiss-bitten, flushed, still tingling. “Let’s go home.”

Nat tilts her head, gaze lingering on your face like she’s memorizing every detail. That soft, familiar grin spreads across her lips.

“Sounds good, baby.”

#natalie scatorccio fanfic #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio #natalie yellowjackets #nat scatorccio fic #nat scatorccio fanfic #nat scatorccio imagine #nat scatorccio x reader #pre crash nat x reader #pre crash nat scatorccio #pre crash nat #nat scatorccio smut #nat scatorccio yellowjacktes #yellowjackets

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wingedhallows · 3 days ago

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hey, what do u think of my new layout? (u likin’ the new navigation header and the icon?) ✨💗

#hallow!mail

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wingedhallows · 3 days ago

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𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐄

━━ ꩜ .ᐟ

ᯓ★ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 loser!ellie williams x reader / 4.2k words ᯓ★ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 fluff; suggestive talk (but mostly cute, awkward fluff) ᯓ★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 so this has been sitting in my drafts for months and i really, really needed to get it off my chest. so here you go!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The frat house is too loud, the lights are too weird, and Ellie’s clutching her Solo cup like it’s a life vest.

“Why are we here again?” she hisses at Dina over the rim.

“Because,” Dina says, already halfway across the room, “you need to talk to people who aren’t me or a textbook!”

And just like that, she’s gone—swept into the crowd like a traitor.

Ellie sighs, mutters something about “social torture,” and edges closer to the snack table, because if she’s gonna suffer, she’s doing it with pretzels.

That’s when she hears it.

“Well, well,” someone purrs just to her left. “Who’s the cutie with the bad posture?”

She freezes mid-chew.

Turns her head. Slowly.

And there you are—propped against the kitchen doorway like you belong on a poster, drink in hand, smile that could cut glass. You’re looking right at her. And worse—you know she knows.

Ellie stares. “Me?”

You grin. “Unless there’s another hot loser with nervous hands and a hoodie two sizes too big.”

She straightens up instinctively, knocks her cup into a bowl of Cheetos.

You raise a brow, watching the whole thing unfold like it’s a comedy special just for you. “So what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Ellie,” she says, too quickly. Then clears her throat. “Williams. Ellie. That’s my last name, not a—never mind.”

You hum, stepping a little closer. “Cute and awkward. Dangerous combo.”

Jesse appears like some kind of summoned witness and claps a hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “Oh, hey, you met Y/N?”

Ellie’s already short-circuiting. “I’m meeting her right now. I mean, yeah. I guess. She’s uh—she’s talking to me.”

“She does that sometimes,” Jesse says with a smirk. “You’re surviving though. I’m impressed.”

“I’m thriving,” Ellie says weakly.

You bite your lip to hide a laugh. “Oh yeah? That what this is?” You reach out, pluck a cheese puff off her hoodie like it’s an accessory. “Thriving looks a lot like secondhand embarrassment.”

Ellie rubs the back of her neck, ears burning. “You’re really gonna flirt with me in front of people, huh?”

You lean in just a little. “Sweetheart, I haven’t even started yet.”

And she swears—swears—she blacks out for a second. Just a little.

You’re still standing there with that smug little smile, and Ellie’s pretty sure her heart rate’s legally concerning. Jesse’s long gone, and now it’s just you and her and the thumping bassline of some frat boy’s heartbreak playlist in the background.

She clears her throat, steels herself. She can do this. She’s not a total idiot. Just… 78% idiot, maybe.

“So,” she says, hands in her pockets, rocking slightly on her heels. “You, uh… flirt with all the awkward girls at parties, or am I special?”

You tilt your head, eyes glittering. “You’re special.”

Ellie blinks. “Wait, really?”

You laugh, not mean—soft, fond even. “Yeah. You’re fun.”

“Cool, cool,” she says, definitely too fast. “I’m fun. That’s me.”

You sip your drink, eyes still on her. “You gonna prove it or just stand there looking like you forgot your name?”

“I—” she pauses, narrows her eyes, then squares her shoulders. “Okay, you want fun? Fine. Hypothetical for you.”

You raise your brows, intrigued. “Hit me.”

Ellie points between the two of you. “Say we’re alone. Like, really alone. No party. No music. Just… my hoodie, your lip gloss, and maybe a couch. What happens?”

Your lips part—just slightly—and that wicked smile curves again, a little slower this time.

“Mmm. Sounds like someone’s been thinking about that.”

Ellie’s ears go nuclear red. “N-no! I mean—not like, obsessively. Just like…casually. Once. Or twice. Or like—okay, a lot.”

You step closer, just enough that she smells your perfume—soft, a little sweet, like vanilla and trouble.

“Would you kiss me in that hypothetical?” you ask, tone light but laced with something molten.

Ellie swallows. “Only if you let me.”

You laugh—low this time, eyes warm, like you’re finally letting her win a little. “Permission granted, Williams.”

And oh, she’s malfunctioning again.

“Hypothetically,” she mumbles, eyes locked on your lips.

“Sure,” you say, smiling. “We’ll call it that.”

The living room smells like beer and bad choices. A half-deflated beach ball bounces off someone’s head in the background. Ellie’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet, awkwardly hunched between Jesse and some dude in a jersey, and she knows she should’ve left when the game started.

Truth or dare.

Of course someone suggested it. Of course Dina shoved her into the circle. And of course—you’re here now, perched on the arm of a couch like you’re being painted, drink in hand, legs crossed, smile dangerous.

Ellie’s trying not to look at you. She’s failing.

“Okay, okay,” Jesse says, pointing a mostly empty beer bottle at her. “Williams. Truth or dare.”

Ellie hesitates. “Truth?”

Groans echo around the circle. “Boring!”

You just tilt your head at her. “C’mon, Ellie. You don’t strike me as boring.”

She chokes. “I—yeah. Okay. Fine. Dare.”

Jesse grins. Evil.

“I dare you to kiss Y/N.”

And boom. The room erupts. People laughing, hollering, clapping their hands like it’s a damn sports event. Ellie goes stiff, like someone hit her with a freeze ray. She whips her head to look at you—and you’re already watching her with that same devilish smile, sipping your drink like you’re not the center of gravity right now.

“Oh,” you say sweetly, “are you nervous?”

Ellie blinks. “I—I—no? I mean, yes. I mean, not scared, just like, y’know, socially paralyzed.”

You giggle and slide off the couch with too much grace, sitting up on your knees across from her, face only inches away now.

“It’s just a dare, right?” you whisper, soft enough that only she hears. “Unless you want it to be something else.”

Ellie’s face is scarlet. She swallows hard, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes, panicking in real time.

“I—I don’t wanna mess it up,” she murmurs.

You lean in, voice low, teasing. “You won’t.”

She stares at you like you’ve just offered her salvation. Then—very gently, very awkwardly—she leans in, hesitates a breath away like she’s checking one last time.

You don’t move.

So she kisses you.

It’s short—soft and a little unsure, her hand brushing yours like she doesn’t know where to touch. But her lips are warm and honest, and the second she pulls back, the room explodes again. Jesse’s laughing. Someone’s whistling.

Ellie just sits there, stunned, blinking like a broken robot.

And you?

You’re still leaning close, smiling like the cat that got the very awkward, very kissable mouse.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” you murmur.

Ellie clears her throat. “Y-you taste like cherry vodka and world domination.”

You laugh—bright this time—and she looks like she might actually die.

Ellie doesn’t even remember how she got outside.

One second she was surrounded—noise, bodies, someone shouting about shotgun beers—and the next, she’s out on the porch, hands jammed into her hoodie pocket, pacing in tight little circles like she’s gonna vibrate into another dimension.

The door creaks open behind her.

She flinches. Freezes.

And then—you.

You step out slow, arms crossed, eyes locked on her like you’ve got her under a microscope.

“You okay there, Williams?”

She spins to face you too fast, nearly stumbles over her own feet. “Me? Yeah. No. I mean, yeah, totally. Just needed, like, air. Space. An intermission from the public humiliation.”

You smile—soft this time, none of that sharp party-girl edge, just warmth and curiosity. “Wasn’t humiliation. It was cute.”

Ellie groans, drags her hand down her face. “Oh god, don’t say ‘cute.’ That makes it worse.”

“Worse?” You lean against the porch railing, hip cocked, head tilted. “I thought you were thriving.”

“That was before I kissed you in front of thirty drunk strangers while sweating through my shirt and quoting… whatever the hell I said.” She sighs. “Was I drooling? I might’ve been drooling.”

You laugh, soft and sweet. “You didn’t drool.”

“That’s a relief,” she mutters.

You pause, then step a little closer. “You wanna do it again?”

She blinks. “Drool?”

You bite back a smile. “No, dumbass. The kiss.”

Ellie stares at you, eyes wide, pupils blown in the dim porch light. “Like… here? Now?”

You nod once, still watching her. “No crowd. No pressure. Just you and me.”

She hesitates—shifting, fidgeting—then takes a slow, deep breath and steps closer. Your knees bump. Her hands hover for a second like she’s not sure where to put them, and then one finally lands at your waist, the other bracing lightly on the railing beside you.

She’s still nervous. But this time, she leans in on her own.

And when she kisses you, it’s real.

Slow. Warm. A little shaky at first, but then she exhales against your mouth and sinks into it—like she’s been holding her breath all night and just now remembered how to breathe.

You curl your fingers into her hoodie, tug her closer, and she goes—completely—without resistance. Just melts into you like you’re gravity and she’s been off balance her whole life.

When you finally pull back, she’s flushed and breathless and smiling—small, crooked, and so smitten.

“Better?” you ask softly.

She nods. “Yeah,” she whispers. “So much better.”

Then a beat of silence.

“…I definitely drooled that time.”

You laugh, lean your forehead against hers. “Still cute.”

You’re still standing there when she pulls back the second time—kiss-drunk, your fingers still curled in the front of her hoodie like you’re not quite ready to let her go. And neither is she, really.

But Jesse’s yelling something inside about “where the hell is Williams with the lighter,” and the moment’s threatening to shift.

You glance toward the house, then back at her, smile tugging soft at your lips. “You gonna survive in there?”

Ellie snorts. “Physically, maybe. Emotionally? Jury’s out.”

You laugh again and reach for her hand, pressing a little slip of paper into her palm—your number, scrawled quick and messy in pink pen.

“Text me,” you say, like it’s obvious.

She looks at it like it’s a map to buried treasure. “You sure?”

Your grin goes wicked. “Unless you plan on kissing someone else next party.”

She’s already tucking the paper into her hoodie pocket like it’s gold. “Absolutely not. I’ve peaked. That’s it. I’m retired.”

You roll your eyes, nudge her shoulder. “Go home, loser.”

She grins, a little dazed. “Yeah. Okay. Night.”

“Night, Williams.”

She’s halfway down the block when it hits her.

You kissed her. Twice.

You gave her your number.

You told her to text you.

You laughed at her jokes.

You smiled like you meant it.

She stops on the sidewalk, presses her hands to her face like that’ll calm down the sheer voltage buzzing in her chest.

Holy shit.

She likes me. Or at least, she doesn’t hate me. That’s something. That’s huge. That’s—oh my god, I kissed her in front of people. I KISSED HER. And she didn’t run.

She keeps walking, hoodie pulled tight around her face, grinning like a fool.

I didn’t choke.

Okay, I kind of choked, but like… cute choke. Charming choke.

She said I was cute. She called me a dumbass, but like—affectionately.

She touched my waist. She gave me her number. That happened. That was real.

And I didn’t screw it up.

I mean, I probably did a little. But she still smiled. And kissed me again.

I am so screwed.

She pauses at a crosswalk, fishes the paper out again just to make sure it’s still real.

Your name. A heart next to it. Your number underneath. A little arrow that says:

“Don’t be weird.”

She stares at it for a second, then stuffs it back in her pocket and pulls out her phone with shaking fingers.

She types. Deletes. Types again.

Finally hits send.

ellie williams: made it home without getting hit by a car. 7/10 night. could’ve used one more kiss for the road

She stares at the screen.

The three little dots appear.

And she dies.

She’s in her room now—door shut, hoodie still on, standing in the dark like a Victorian widow. The only light is her phone screen.

Your reply comes in fast.

you: bold of you to assume I didn’t want to kiss you a third time

Ellie stares.

She sits down. Then stands up again. Then sits on the floor.

She types.

Deletes.

Types again.

ellie williams: ok but like was that the vodka talking or

you: babe I was sober and looking at you like you hung the damn moon

Ellie throws herself backwards on the floor like she’s been shot. Hands over her face. A little choked, disbelieving laugh escaping her chest.

“Okay,” she mutters, staring at the ceiling. “Okay. I’m marrying her.”

Her phone buzzes again.

you: you kiss like you mean it, by the way didn’t expect that from the girl who panicked when I called her cute

She groans. Clutches the phone to her chest like it’s a love letter and she’s sixteen.

ellie williams: yeah well. maybe i meant it a little. or a lot. maybe i still do.

She stares at that last message for a long second.

Hits send and immediately rolls over and buries her face in the carpet. A beat.

you: I’m free tomorrow night. wanna prove it?

She yells into her hoodie.

Then—

ellie williams: ok but you’re not allowed to call me cute unless you mean it or… do. idk. i’m not the boss of you.

you: oh baby I always mean it

Ellie falls back again, heart a whole explosion in her chest. She’s grinning so hard it hurts.

She looks at the phone one last time, locks it, holds it against her chest.

And whispers to the ceiling:

“…I am so in love.”

6:42pm.

Ellie stands in front of her mirror, staring herself down like it’s a boss battle.

She’s changed outfits three times. The bed behind her looks like a war zone. Flannel shirt? Too “axe murderer.” Hoodie? Too “just robbed a gas station.” Black tee and denim jacket? Too gay.

Which… okay, is accurate. But still.

She settles on the jacket. Pulls it on. Immediately pulls it off. Puts it on again and groans.

She checks her phone for the sixth time in a minute. No new texts.

Maybe she changed her mind. maybe she forgot. maybe this was all a prank. maybe jesse paid her to kiss you and this is a long con and you’re walking into a humiliation vortex and—

Ping.

you: I’m outside :) don’t make me come up there and drag your hoodie-wearing ass out

Ellie jumps.

Grabs her keys. Stuffs her phone in her pocket. She stares in the mirror one last time and mutters: “Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird.”

You’re leaning against your car, arms crossed, wearing this effortlessly hot little outfit like this is casual for you. And Ellie?

Ellie nearly trips on the curb.

She recovers with a half-wave, half-salute that’s so awkward it makes her physically cringe.

“Hey,” she says, trying to sound cool, but it comes out like a dying frog. “Hey. Hi.”

You smile like she’s your favorite joke. “Hey, yourself.”

You look her up and down, real slow. “You clean up nice, Williams.”

Ellie tugs at the hem of her jacket like it might hide her flustered grin. “You, uh—you look… yeah. Wow. Like, unfair levels of wow.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. “That nervous?”

“I’m chill,” she lies. “So chill. Like, dangerously chill. Borderline frostbite.”

You walk up close, close enough that her breath stutters.

“Babe,” you say, voice low, teasing, “you’re sweating.”

“I run warm,” she croaks.

You lean in, real soft. “Relax. It’s just a movie.”

She nods quickly. “Right. A movie. Easy. Dark room. Low stakes. Sitting very close to you for two hours.”

You grin. “You gonna make it through the previews, or should I prepare for a mid-date meltdown?”

Ellie grins, finally settling, finally exhaling.

“I make no promises,” she says. “But I brought gum and panic meds, so… we’re covered.”

You loop your arm through hers and start walking toward the theater.

“Perfect,” you murmur. “I brought nerves of steel and a hand you can hold.”

She almost trips again on the way into the movie theater.

The line at the concession stand is long, and Ellie’s already made her first dramatic stand of the night.

“I’m paying,” she says, dead serious, digging into her back pocket like she’s squaring up to fight you and capitalism.

You raise a brow, amused. “Ellie, it’s popcorn.”

“Yeah, and it’s our first popcorn.” She slaps her card on the counter. “Don’t take this from me.”

You giggle and lean on the counter next to her. “Chivalry looks good on you.”

She stiffens like she’s been knighted.

“I—I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits under her breath. “But I’m trying to be, like… romantic and shit.”

“You’re doing great,” you whisper, brushing your fingers against hers.

Her brain short-circuits, but she manages to buy a large popcorn, a couple of drinks, and somehow doesn’t drop anything on the way into the theater. Barely.

You slide into the back row, far corner, and Ellie sits beside you with the popcorn in her lap like it’s a safety blanket. The previews start. The lights dim. And you glance over just in time to catch her cracking her knuckles in slow motion like she’s psyching herself up for battle.

She shifts. Clears her throat.

Does the classic hover-and-drop.

First her elbow nudges the armrest.

Then her arm sort of… inches along the back of your seat.

Then stops.

She’s frozen. Rigid. Terrified.

You smile to yourself, wait a second—then lean in just enough that your shoulder presses against her side, warm and certain.

Ellie exhales. Barely moves. But her arm settles a little heavier behind you.

You glance up at her.

She’s looking at the screen like her life depends on it.

“You good over there?” you whisper.

She swallows. “Totally. I’m—just focused on the plot.”

You grin. “The plot hasn’t started yet.”

“…Right. I’m pre-focusing.”

You laugh, soft, and reach over to steal a piece of popcorn from her lap. Your fingers brush hers.

She flinches. Then looks at you. Like really looks.

And her voice comes quiet this time, nervous and warm: “You’re really pretty, by the way.”

You blink.

Slow smile spreading. “You trying to kiss me again, Williams?”

“I mean—only if you want—”

You don’t let her finish and kiss her.

Right there in the back row, soft and sweet, her hand curling instinctively around your waist. It’s slower than the last time, less nerves, more intention. Like she’s finally realizing you want her just like this—awkward, sincere, and completely gone for you.

When you pull back, Ellie’s eyes are glassy in the dark.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. “You really like me, huh?”

You press your nose to hers and grin. “Took you long enough.”

She’s still blushing when the movie starts—but now her hand’s laced in yours, and she doesn’t flinch when your head drops to her shoulder halfway through.

And yeah—she misses most of the movie.

But she doesn’t miss a second of you.

The movie ended over an hour ago, but Ellie still hasn’t quite settled. She’s sitting in your passenger seat like she’s afraid to move too much—one leg bouncing, hands in her lap, jacket wrinkled where you held onto her during the last scene.

You’re driving her home slow, like you don’t really want to get there yet.

And honestly? She doesn’t either.

She sneaks glances at you in the quiet. Streetlights flicker gold across your face, and it makes her want to say something wild—something brave. But it gets caught every time, right behind her teeth.

You pull up in front of her building.

Ellie doesn’t move.

You kill the engine. Turn to look at her, brows lifted. “You gonna survive parting ways, Williams?”

She chuckles under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean. I’m kinda tempted to fake a power outage in my apartment just so you’ll come upstairs.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease. “That your smoothest move?”

“It’s all I got,” she mutters. “Unless you wanna hear about my Blade Runner fan theory. Real seductive stuff.”

You laugh, warm and easy.

Ellie hesitates.

Then she clears her throat. “Hey. Um…”

You glance over and clock the shift in her voice.

She’s serious now. Barely holding your gaze. Thumb rubbing over her palm like she’s trying to ground herself.

“I know this was just a movie and some popcorn and, like, a public mental breakdown or two—but…” She pauses, breathes in. “I really, really like you.”

Silence.

Her throat bobs. “And I—I don’t know if you’re just being nice or if I’m reading into shit, but I’ve had a lot of dumb crushes and this one’s, like… different. Like I feel it in my ribs. Like when you kissed me the first time, I swear to god I blacked out. And I’ve been trying to play it cool but I’m not cool. I’m a hoodie-wearing idiot and I—”

You reach across the console, fingers brushing hers.

She stops talking.

You’re smiling.

But it’s not teasing this time.

It’s soft.

Real.

“I like you too, Ellie,” you say gently. “I’ve been flirting with you since the second I saw you. And I don’t do that with people I don’t mean it with.”

She just stares at you, frozen like you knocked the wind out of her.

“So yeah,” you continue, voice low. “You’re allowed to like me. You’re allowed to be serious about it. And if it helps—”

You squeeze her hand.

“I’m serious too.”

She lets out this little laugh, half-disbelieving, half-relieved.

“Holy shit.”

You smile wider. “You keep saying that.”

“I know. It’s just… you’re you. And I’m me. And now I’m gonna go upstairs and freak out in my kitchen about how I got kissed three times and didn’t faint.”

You lean across the console. Kiss her one more time—slow, grounding, and full of all the things she doesn’t have words for yet.

When you pull back, you whisper “Text me when you start spiraling.”

Ellie smiles like it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted.

“I will. Promise.”

Then she stumbles out of the car, turns once at the door to watch you pull away from the curb.

And yeah—she texts you four minutes later.

ellie williams: spiraling has begun please advise

Ellie crashes onto her couch the second she walks in the door.

Boots off, hoodie still on, cat immediately climbing onto her chest like so? did you embarrass yourself again or nah?

“Patches,” she whispers, petting her head with one hand and holding her phone in the other, “I think I’m in love.”

The cat meows. Judgingly.

Ellie sighs. Texts you again anyway.

ellie williams: hey what if i told you i almost tripped over the curb when i got out of your car would that ruin the vibe

A second later:

you: only makes the vibe stronger, babe you looked cute doing it

She lets her head fall back against the couch cushion, groaning. “Why are you so nice. It’s ruining me.”

The cat kneads her hoodie like she’s tired of this gay panic.

ellie williams: also i had fun tonight like a lot of fun like i already wanna do it again and the night isn’t even over yet

you: yeah? me too I kinda wanna see you with that panicked look again it’s hot

Ellie short-circuits for a solid ten seconds.

ellie williams: i can spiral in a panic attack anytime, babe tuesday work for you?

you: I’m free. pick the place.

She bites her lip. Brain screaming. You’re letting her choose? The possibilities are paralyzing.

ellie williams: okay i’m gonna pretend i didn’t just spend 10 minutes googling “cool second date ideas that aren’t weird” but like… maybe arcade? or mini golf? or i can just panic in public and buy you a smoothie your call

you: arcade sounds cute I’d love to watch you lose in air hockey while trying to flirt

ellie williams: oh i’m gonna flirt so hard and lose so bad can’t wait

The cat meows again. Ellie rubs her face and whispers,

“She likes me. Like, really likes me. What the hell.”

Then your last message comes in, soft and simple

you: goodnight, ellie love you talk tomorrow, yeah?

She stares, her mouth slightly open and her heart completely done for.

She whispers, “She loves me,” like she’s telling the cat a secret.

ellie williams: love you too night

She turns off her phone, wraps her arms around Patches, and lets herself sink into the couch with the dopiest smile on her face.

Outside, the city’s still buzzing.

But inside?

Ellie Williams is finally calm.

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