witchofthewest

inked in quiet places .⋆♱

♱ cw: tattoo!artist!ellie, masc!reader, tension, grungy kinda, flirting.

♱ a/n: my comeback fic

♱ part two

the bell above the tattoo shop door chimed softly when you pushed it open.

the sound brief and delicate compared to the steady mechanical buzzing that hummed deeper inside the studio.

a sound that carried through the space like a low electric heartbeat and immediately told you that someone was already working.

you stepped inside and let the door fall closed behind you, rainwater still clinging to the shoulders of your dark denim jacket and dripping faintly from the ends of your hair.

the shop smelled like antiseptic and ink and faintly burnt metal, the kind of smell that most people associated with pain but that, strangely enough, felt grounding to you.

like stepping into a place where things were deliberate and permanent instead of temporary and disposable.

the walls were covered in flash sheets, rows of traditional designs inked onto thick paper and framed behind glass:

panthers with their teeth bared, roses wrapped around daggers, skeleton hands holding cigarettes, delicate moths and swallows and small linework constellations that looked surprisingly similar to the one saved in your phone.

you hovered near the entrance for a moment, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket and shoulders slightly hunched in the way that people sometimes mistook for confidence when it was really just a comfortable kind of awkwardness.

you’d been thinking about this tattoo for a long time.

not in the impulsive way people sometimes talked about tattoos, no drunken ideas scribbled on napkins or blurry midnight decisions, but in the slow, quiet way where something lived in the back of your mind for months until it started to feel like it belonged on your body already.

the buzzing from the back room stopped for a moment.

then a voice called out, casual and slightly rough around the edges.

“hey, gimme like two minutes.”

you leaned your shoulder against the wall beside the flash sheets, glancing around the shop while you waited, your shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor when you shifted your weight.

through the open divider you could see part of the tattoo station.

and the person sitting there.

she was leaning forward in a rolling stool beside the chair, auburn hair pulled back loosely so that a few strands kept falling into her face every time she tilted her head down to focus on the skin beneath her hands.

the sleeves of her faded black shirt were rolled up to her elbows, revealing forearms scattered with tattoos that looked like they had been built over time rather than planned all at once.

little pieces tucked between older ones, lines that overlapped slightly, the kind of patchwork collection that told a story about a person rather than trying to present a perfect aesthetic.

even from a distance you could see how steady her hands were.

the buzzing started again for a few seconds before stopping completely.

“alright,” she said to the client sitting in the chair, wiping the tattoo gently with a paper towel before spraying it with green soap and cleaning it again.

“that’s it for today, let it breathe tonight, wash it tomorrow morning, and don’t scratch it even if it feels like your skin’s trying to crawl off your arm.”

the client laughed, thanked her, and stepped out past you toward the door.

when the bell chimed again, the girl at the station peeled off her gloves and tossed them into the trash before finally glancing up.

her eyes landed on you immediately.

you were taller than her by a few inches, wearing a beat-up jacket over a loose black hoodie and dark jeans that had clearly seen better days, the fabric worn slightly at the knees and cuffs.

your hair was messy in a deliberate sort of way, the kind of cut that looked like you trimmed it yourself sometimes.

you didn’t move.

she studied you for a second, her head tilting slightly like she was trying to figure something out.

then she wiped her hands with a paper towel and leaned back against the counter behind her.

“you here for a consult,” she asked, “or are you walking in?”

“walk-in,” you said.

your voice came out low and calm, the kind of tone that suggested you didn’t feel any particular need to rush through the interaction.

she nodded once.

“cool.”

she grabbed a sketch pad and pen from the counter and stepped a little closer, stopping just far enough away that there was still space between you but close enough that you could see the freckles scattered across her nose and the faint green tint in her eyes.

“i’m ellie,” she said.

you told her your name.

she repeated it once under her breath like she was testing how it sounded.

then she tapped the pen lightly against the sketch pad.

“so,” she said, glancing up at you again, “what’re we doing today?”

you pulled your phone from your pocket and unlocked it, scrolling briefly before holding the screen out toward her.

ellie stepped closer to look.

your shoulders were almost level with hers now, and when she leaned in slightly you could smell the faint scent of disinfectant soap mixed with something warmer, maybe the ink itself, or maybe just the lingering smell of the shop.

she studied the design on your phone in silence for a few seconds.

it was simple.

a small constellation, drawn in thin clean lines with the stars connected by delicate geometric spacing.

ellie hummed softly.

“nice,” she said. “fine-line stuff like this can look really good if it’s placed right.”

she rotated the phone slightly, looking at the spacing again before handing it back.

“you want it exactly like that,” she asked, “or are you cool if i adjust it a little so it fits your arm better?”

“whatever works best.”

her mouth curved slightly.

“good answer.”

she gestured toward the chair behind her.

“sit.”

you shrugged off your jacket and draped it over the back of the chair before sitting down, pushing the sleeve of your hoodie up past your elbow.

your forearm was solid with muscle built from everyday work rather than workouts, veins faintly visible beneath your skin.

ellie noticed immediately.

“not bad placement,” she said, stepping closer and gently taking your arm to turn it under the light. “inner forearm’s good for linework, skin’s usually smooth enough that the lines heal clean.”

ellie’s hands were warm, steady, as she turned your wrist slightly, examining the space.

the faint scent of antiseptic and something subtly floral hung in the air of the tattoo studio, a low hum from a distant machine a constant backdrop.

“you got any tattoos already?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.

you shook your head.

she glanced up at you with a raised eyebrow. “seriously?”

“yeah.”

her grin widened. “you look like someone who definitely has at least one dumb tattoo.”

“thanks.”

“i mean that in a good way,” she said, a playful glint in her green eyes.

“not sure there is a good way.”

she laughed quietly, a soft, husky sound, and reached for the stencil paper.

“you nervous?”

you leaned back slightly in the chair, shoulders relaxing. “not really.”

ellie pressed the stencil against your skin, holding it there carefully before peeling the paper away. the cool, damp sensation lingered.

“you don’t seem nervous,” she observed.

“is that a problem?”

she tilted her head, a few stray strands of dark hair framing her face. “most people are a little jumpy the first time.”

you shrugged. “guess i trust you.”

for a moment she didn’t say anything. then she looked up at you again, her eyes meeting yours.

“you just met me.”

“yeah,” you said calmly. “but your linework looks solid. i checked out your instagram.”

ellie stared at you for a second before snorting quietly. “that might be the smoothest compliment anyone’s ever tried to sneak into a tattoo appointment.”

“i wasn’t trying to be smooth.”

“sure you weren’t.” she handed you a small mirror.

“check the stencil.”

you leaned forward slightly. the constellation sat perfectly along the inside of your forearm, a delicate scattering of stars. it looked exactly right.

“yeah,” you said. “that works.”

ellie pulled on a fresh pair of black gloves, the material snapping taut. she snapped a sterile needle cartridge into her machine, the metallic click echoing in the quiet room.

“alright,” she said, adjusting the voltage slightly. “this is gonna feel like a very angry cat scratching you repeatedly.”

“good to know.”

“you’ll survive.”

the machine buzzed to life, a steady, high-pitched whine.

she stretched the skin on your forearm gently with her fingers before guiding the needle into the first line.

the sensation was sharp but manageable, a vibrating scratch that made your muscles tense slightly before relaxing again.

ellie noticed immediately. “breathe,” she said without looking up, her voice calm.

“i am breathing.”

“you were holding it.”

you exhaled slowly.

“there we go,” she murmured. the buzzing continued steadily.

after a few minutes she glanced up at you again. “you’re weirdly calm about this.”

“should i be screaming?”

“i mean,” she said casually, a playful glint in her eyes, “it would make the day more interesting.”

you smiled faintly. “i’ll keep that in mind.”

ellie wiped the tattoo with a paper towel and leaned closer to inspect the line.

up close, you could see the small scar cutting through her eyebrow and the faint smudge of ink on her thumb where the glove didn’t quite cover.

“why this design?” she asked after a moment, her fingers continuing their work.

you watched her work for a second before answering. “my mom used to show me these stars. orion.”

ellie’s hand slowed slightly. “she into astronomy?”

“yeah.” your voice softened without you meaning it to. “when i was a kid i couldn’t sleep much, so she’d take me outside and point them out. said the sky looked different depending on how you felt.”

ellie nodded slowly while continuing the line. “that’s a good mom thing.”

you swallowed. “she died a couple years ago. cancer.” the words were quiet, almost a whisper.

for a moment the only sound in the room was the steady buzzing of the machine.

then ellie wiped the tattoo again and said quietly, her voice imbued with empathy, “then it’s a good tattoo. a beautiful way to remember her.”

you looked at her. she glanced up briefly, your eyes meeting for half a second before she looked back down at your arm. the buzzing continued.

“you know,” ellie said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence, “my first tattoo was awful.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.” she leaned back slightly to switch needle cartridges.

“got it when i was sixteen. a stick-and-poke in a friend’s garage.”

“that tracks.”

“it’s a moth.”

“that’s not bad.”

“it looks like dog shit,” she deadpanned, a wry grin on her face.

you laughed, a genuine burst of mirth.

ellie smiled faintly. “see,” she said, “i knew you were gonna laugh at that.”

“you set yourself up.”

“yeah well.” she leaned closer again, finishing the last star with careful precision. after another minute she wiped the tattoo clean and sat back.

“alright.” she angled the lamp toward your arm. “take a look.”

the constellation looked perfect. thin. clean. exactly like the sky you remembered, now etched onto your skin.

you stared at it for a moment, a profound sense of peace settling over you.

ellie watched your face instead of the tattoo. “you like it?” she asked quietly, a hint of vulnerability in her tone.

“yeah.” your voice came out softer now, thick with emotion. “i really like it. it’s… perfect.”

her expression softened slightly. “good.”

she wrapped the tattoo carefully with protective film before peeling off her gloves.

“you’ll probably want a touch-up in a few weeks,” she said, leaning back against the counter, a casual confidence in her stance.

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.” her eyes flicked up to yours again, a direct, lingering gaze. “you can book with me.”

you stood and pulled your sleeve down carefully. “strictly professional?” you teased.

ellie scratched the back of her neck, a faint blush dusting her cheeks.

“or,” she said casually, her gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again, “you could come back even if you don’t need a tattoo. just to, you know, hang out.”

you grabbed your jacket from the chair. “just to hang out with my tattoo artist?”

“exactly.”

you headed toward the door. then paused.

“hey ellie?”

“yeah?”

you lifted your arm slightly. “this might not be my last tattoo.”

she leaned against the counter, a small, knowing grin pulling at the corner of her mouth.

her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. “good,” she said, her voice soft. “i was hoping you’d come back.”

not one of the bros

ellie williams x masc!reader

cw: party hookup, banter, awkward oblivious ellie, smooth flirty reader, smut, oral sex (e!receiving), dominant!reader, top!reader, bottom!reader.

a/n: wrote this for all my masc baddies (myself included) because where are all of the masc!reader x ellie fics??!!

the house smelled like sweat, vodka, and someone’s cheap cologne that hadn’t been updated since 2014. you were halfway through your second drink and already debating if it was time to ghost through the side gate and pretend you never came.

it wasn’t the party’s fault, necessarily. the music was okay, some underground house mix you vaguely recognised from someone’s tiktok set, and the crowd was exactly what you’d expect in east la: too cool to care and too high to notice anyone who wasn’t already verified online. but you weren’t here for the ambiance.

you were here because cat invited you. which in retrospect, was mistake number one.

you leaned against the grimy counter in the kitchen, fingers curled around your red cup, while cat talked at you. she had that lean-in thing going on, fingers just barely grazing your forearm, head tilted like you were in the middle of an intimate confession instead of her oversharing about some girl she matched with and never messaged back.

her knee brushed yours.

you shifted away slightly, but she didn’t seem to notice. “you look good tonight,” she said, licking at her straw like it owed her rent. “missed seeing this face.”

you raised a brow. “you ghosted me the second you came.”

she laughed, unbothered. “i was busy.”

“with what, haunting other girls’ lives?”

that earned a smirk. “you love it.”

you didn’t. not anymore.

before you could respond, a ripple in the energy of the room made your eyes flick toward the hallway. and there she was.

ellie fucking williams.

messy auburn hair. gray tank top. one arm tucked into the pocket of her jeans while the other held a solo cup like she was auditioning for a levi’s ad. her expression was unreadable as she stood half-listening to some tall guy with a beanie, nodding vaguely while her eyes wandered.

and then they landed on you.

there was a pause, just long enough for your pulse to skip, before she lifted her cup slightly in acknowledgment.

you grinned. not because she waved. because she looked again.

“ellie’s here,” cat said beside you, suddenly cooler. her voice took on a casual sharpness. “didn’t think she’d show.”

“ellie?” you echoed, not looking away.

“my ex,” cat said, and then like it was some cautionary label: “she’s intense.”

you tilted your head, letting your smile grow a little. “yeah?”

“she draws stuff. real quiet. weird in relationships. can’t read her.”

you hummed, taking another sip. “sounds hot.”

cat blinked. “what?”

you finally turned to face her. “she’s your ex, right? so hands off?”

cat scoffed. “she’s not even your type.”

“sure about that?”

before cat could formulate another territorial rebuttal, you were already moving - slipping through the crowd, drink in hand, heartbeat thumping a little faster for reasons that had nothing to do with the bassline.

ellie clocked you a few seconds before you reached her. her eyes darted over your outfit; loose button-up, rings, baggy jeans, that cocky half-lidded smirk you always wore when you were feeling yourself.

“hey,” you said smoothly, leaning against the wall beside her. “you look like you’re two eye-rolls away from leaving.”

ellie huffed. “i hate parties.”

you sipped your drink, tilting your head. “yeah, you seem like the brooding type.”

she turned slightly toward you. “you were talking to cat earlier?”

“trying to,” you muttered. “didn’t realise i signed up for a monologue.”

that earned a smile. not full, but real. “yeah, she does that.”

you looked her over, slower this time. “you’re ellie, right?”

“how do you-“

“i’ve been warned about you.” you grinned.

ellie raised an eyebrow. “oh yeah? what was the verdict?”

“that you’re emotionally unavailable and intense.”

she shrugged. “not inaccurate.”

you chuckled, sipping your drink again. “i like intense.”

there was a pause. ellie blinked. then gave you a polite, tight-lipped smile. “right on.”

you blinked back.

oh my god, she thinks i’m just being friendly.

there was a beat of silence, and you decided to double down.

“you dating anyone right now?” you asked casually.

ellie shrugged. “nah.”

“damn,” you muttered. “what’s it like to have people leave you alone at parties?”

that made her laugh - a short, surprised one. “i wouldn’t know. you’ve got cat following you around like she wants her name tattooed on your thigh.”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, i’ve been turning her down.”

ellie glanced at you. “why? thought you two had a thing.”

you tilted your head, letting the silence stretch just long enough. then, you sighed - loudly, dramatically, eyes cast upward like you were asking the ceiling for strength.

“i haven’t been laid in, like, weeks, ellie.”

she blinked.

you gave her a deadpan look. “do you think i’d be out here suffering if cat was doing it for me?”

ellie stared at you, jaw slightly slack.

your mouth twitched upward. “jesus, do i need to spell it out for you?”

there was a full beat before her eyes widened.

“oh,” she said slowly.

you didn’t move. just looked at her; calm, amused, and deliberately not saying anything more.

her lips parted again. then pressed together. then opened a third time. “…oh.”

you gave her a smug little nod. “there it is.”

“you were flirting with me?”

you raised both eyebrows. “ellie.”

“i thought we were like…y’know. bros.”

you deadpanned. “do you flirt with all your bros like this?”

she flushed. “no, i-fuck, okay.”

you laughed softly. “you’re cute when you realise things three drinks later.”

ellie took a long sip from her cup. “you’re dangerous.”

“only if you let me be.”

she licked her lips, glanced down the hall, then back at you. her gaze dipped to your mouth. you didn’t miss it.

“i’m not gonna lie,” she said. “i kinda wanna kiss you.”

you smirked. “what’s stopping you?”

ellie glanced around, then tilted her head toward the hallway. “bathroom. two doors down.”

you were already reaching for her hand.

the bathroom door clicked shut behind you, muffling the party to a dull throb. it smelled like someone’s vanilla hand soap and weed. you didn’t care.

the second the lock turned, ellie was on you; hands gripping your open flannel, mouth slanted over yours like she’d been waiting weeks. you pushed her gently back against the sink, kissing her deeper, slower, just to savour the way her hands trembled when she touched your waist.

“you still think i wanted to be your bro?” you murmured against her lips.

ellie huffed, breathless. “okay, okay. i get it.”

“say it.”

she rolled her eyes. “you were flirting.”

you grinned. “there we go.”

your hands slipped beneath her tank, fingers brushing soft skin. her breath hitched.

ellie pulled back, pupils blown wide. “you gonna let me top?”

you leaned in, lips grazing her ear. “do you really think you’re gonna top right now?”

ellie exhaled. “i could.”

you stepped back, dropping to your knees in one slow, deliberate motion. “not tonight, baby.”

she cursed under her breath, her voice gone rough as you tugged her jeans down, boxers sliding with them. your hands gripped her thighs, thumbs brushing goosebumps along her skin. ellie leaned back against the sink, biting her lip like she might explode just from being seen like this.

you kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and warm. “tell me what you want.”

ellie shuddered. “fuck-just… touch me.”

you didn’t waste time. you licked a slow stripe up her pussy, then circled her clit with your tongue, steady and focused. she let out a choked moan, hips stuttering forward. you sucked, gentle but insistent, and slid two fingers inside her at the same time.

“oh-fuck-” she gasped, clutching the counter. “you-jesus…”

you curled your fingers just right, lips never leaving her clit, building a rhythm that made her thighs shake around your shoulders.

ellie’s breath hitched. “don’t stop, don’t-fuck, don’t-”

you didn’t. you held her through it, mouth and fingers working in sync, until she broke with a gasp and a trembling moan, legs buckling as she came hard against your mouth.

you stood slowly, wiping your chin with the back of your hand, and kissed her again. ellie grabbed your face, kissing you like she needed to recover through you, breathing hard and laughing softly into your mouth.

“i hate how smug you look right now,” she muttered.

you grinned. “still think i’m your bro?”

she groaned. “shut the fuck up.”

yes ofcc

ellie x male!reader hcs

✰ 1. she’d leave you for a woman

can we all agree people who enjoy writing and reading incest are fucking weirdos.

example:

as someone who grew up in the rigidity—and, at times, oppressive nature—of roman catholicism, i am so tired of the religious!reader trope where they’re portrayed as so innocent they’re practically a child. we were not innocent. we knew the names of our bodies, the weight of shame, and the crushing complexity of guilt. i knew that my vagina was a vagina.

the sheer amount of extremely innocent!religious!reader fics is unsettling. they turn the reader into this caricature—wide-eyed, naive, almost infantilized, complete with pigtails and an oversized cross necklace perfect for a porn video thumbnail.

for me—and for a lot of other lesbians i’ve bonded with over religious trauma—it was never about innocence. it was about guilt. guilt over pleasure, guilt over sin, and all the ways we punished ourselves for being human.