#nerd!ellie

Your smile is small, absentminded, the exact kind that could fuel her daydreams for days, and Ellie's rehearsed opening sentence evaporates. She'd had one— Several, actually. She'd gone through them while brushing her teeth, while walking across campus, and while pretending to pay attention during quantum mechanics (oops).

Hey, I read your paper on anisotropic metamaterials. Too intense. I really liked your derivation in the third section. Sounds like she's grading you. I think your treatment of the boundary conditions was—Jesus Christ.

Nobody wanted to hear that from a stranger. Not when you'd probably already heard it from half the department. Besides, even if she managed to work up the nerve, what then? You'd thank her, maybe the two of you would talk for five minutes. Ten, if she got lucky, then you'd sling your backpack over your shoulder, tell her you had somewhere to be, and that would be it.

Ellie wanted— God. She wanted something embarrassingly, painfully more than that. She wanted a reason. An excuse that wouldn't make it obvious she'd been carrying a stupid, hopeless crush on you since the second week of sophomore year. Something believable. Something academic. Something that let her sit across from you without admitting she'd crossed campus just because she'd heard you usually studied in the science library after a lecture.

"So..." She shifts her notebook from one arm to the other, thumb worrying at the frayed spiral binding. "I was wondering if you, uh..." don't say it like that. "I mean—" christ, she can practically feel her GPA dropping. "I had a question about the homework."

You wait patiently for her to complete her thought, which only made her feel all the more bad for wasting your time like this. "It's just..." Ellie opens her notebook, flipping through pages she'd already memorized. Equations, margin notes, corrections she'd made to the lecture after the fact. Anything to avoid looking at you.

"I got stuck on one of the electrostatics problems." The lie sits strangely on her tongue, but not because it's a particularly big one. Because she's spent the better part of three semesters building a reputation for being the girl who argued with professors over sign conventions. You'd seen her do it. Hell, you'd shoot her a smile afterward. If anyone on campus should know she didn't need help with electrostatics—

"Would you..." She clears her throat. "Would you maybe look it over with me? If you're not busy." There's a beat, and she almost just walks away and pretends this conversation had never happened. She's already planing what tv series she’s going to binge before she hears you speak up—

"Sure."

She straightens almost immediately. "Seriously?"

You blink up at her. "Well, yeah."

"I mean—"

"It's just a homework problem." You interrupt before she can start spiraling again, a little amused now. "You make it sound like you're asking me to donate a kidney."

Heat rushes to Ellie's face. "I dunno." She laughs, rubbing the back of her neck. "It just felt weird."

You scrunch your brows together, tilting your head. "Why would it be wierd?"

Because I have a ridiculous crush on you. Because I've rewritten this conversation in my head at least forty times. Because if you said no, I'd probably transfer universities. Instead she shrugs, "Just didn't wanna bother you… schedule of yours is probably pretty full."

You turn to face her fully, and Ellie almost shrinks beneath your full attention. Somehow, standing in front of a lecture hall of eighty students and defending a proof had always been easier than holding eye contact with you.

"Trust me," you assure, "it wouldn't be a bother at all." You let out a quiet laugh, your chin dipping toward your chest, and Ellie's gaze follows the movement. "It's just..." You hesitate, almost like you're debating whether to say it. "Don't take this the wrong way, but... you would've been one of the last people I'd expect to ask for help."

Ellie's stomach drops, but you continue before she can panic. "You ask Abrams more questions than anyone else in class." Another small smile. "Half the time I think you've planned them in advance." She blinks, warmth creeping up the back of her neck at the realization that you'd noticed.

"Only because he keeps saying, 'we'll prove that later-.'"

"-and he never does?" you finish, crossing your arms. "Yeah, that drives me insane."

Ellie looks up, briefly making eye contact with you for the first time since this conversation began. She almost throws up. "You too?"

"Every damn lecture." You sigh like the memory alone is enough to exhaust you. "He spends twenty minutes deriving an equation from first principles, just to finally get to the interesting part and be like, 'We'll just accept this result for now.'"

"Exactly," She agrees, the word leaving her a little too quickly. "Dude can't just say 'for now' and then never come back to it."

Your smile widens. "Right?"

"I always spend the rest of the lecture wondering about it instead of paying attention."

For one dangerous second, she forgets she'd started this conversation with an ulterior motive. Then, you shift your backpack a little higher onto your shoulder before looking back at her through your lashes. "So... which problem?" Right. The homework. The homework she'd already finished two nights ago.

"...Uh." Think, Ellie, think. "Number..." She flips open her notebook with far more urgency than necessary, praying she remembers which problem she'd erased. "Seven."

your eyes light up with recognition "The one about the conducting sphere?"

"Um, yeah that's it."

"I remember that one." Of course you do.

"You free later?" you ask. "I was gonna spend a couple hours in the library today anyway." Ellie's brain screeches to a halt. Later? She hadn't planned for later. Her entire mental rehearsal had ended at the minor possibility of you saying yes. In every version she'd imagined, she'd walked away immediately afterward—heart pounding, sure, but victorious. She'd never gotten as far as logistics. And now you were standing in front of her (wearing what Ellie was almost certain was a new lip gloss and it was driving her mad) waiting for an actual answer.

"Ellie?"

"Right. Of course." Fuck, sound more desperate please. "I mean—yeah, sure that works." She presses her lips together before she can embarrass herself further.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, maybe you found her flusterdness oddly endearing? or maybe you were just used to people stumbling over themselves after two straight hours of electrodynamics. "How about we meet up by seven?"

Be cool. "Yeah," she managed. "Seven works."

You smile a little brighter, and a warmth unfurles low in Ellie's chest. "Alright, I'll see you then." Before she could think of a normal way to respond, you'd already lifted a hand in a small wave and turned toward the stairwell.

She watches you disappear into the current of students moving through the hallway, and doesn't move a single muscle until she sees you disappear round the corner, then—

"Holy shit."

── .✦

The lie starts small. Problem 7, that's it. One question out of twelve. She'd already finished the assignment two nights ago, which was mildly inconvenient considering she was now supposed to act like she was struggling with it. The problem she'd picked had taken her maybe four minutes to solve? which was obviously not information she planned on sharing. but she figured that was probably fine, It wasn't like you were going to know.

"I think I'm setting up the boundary conditions wrong," She blurts out a few days later, sliding into the seat across from you in the library. You lean over her notebook.

"Hm..." She watches your face as your eyes skim over the problem. she's noticed over the past few days of having the privilege of sitting this close, that you have a habit of reading with your lips barely parted. Your eyebrows pinch together whenever you're concentrating, and one of your teardrop-shaped earrings catches the afternoon light every time you tilt your head, which does absolutely nothing for the catastrophic crush that's been eating away at Ellie's common sense for months now.

"...and that's basically it"

Yeah it is. Wait- "Hm?"

"Earth to Williams.” You tilt your head regarding her, “Have you been paying attention?"

Heat climbs all the way to the tips of her ears. "Um- yeah, I was just thinking."

"Mhm, where you?" You nod mock seriously. "About electrostatics?"

"I take my tutoring lessons very seriously."

"Thought so."

You spend the next forty minutes working through the problem together. Well. You do. Ellie spends forty minutes pretending she doesn't already know the answers. She hates herself a little for it. Not because she's lying—though if folktales had taught her anything, her pants would've burst into flames days ago—but because she's enjoying it far more than she has any right to.

She had mistaken intelligence for accumulation before, like brilliance were measured by how much a person could carry. Yours was something altogether different. It was centrifugal. Every idea seemed to gather momentum the moment it reached your hands, flinging itself outward until there was just enough room for someone else inside it. You never guarded what you knew; you offered it with both hands, delighted less by having the answer than by watching recognition bloom across another person's face.

Sure, she'd met people who could solve impossible problems. The physics department was full of them. But they wore their minds like locked rooms, each answer another key tucked safely into their own pocket. You left every door open.

"See?" you beam, sketching another diagram. "The symmetry does most of the work for you."

Ellie feels another smile tug at the corners of her mouth. She couldn't remember when that had started, only that somewhere between borrowing your notes and inventing excuses to keep talking to you, smiling around you had become less of a choice than a habit.

“That’s so cool.”

The tutoring becomes routine. Every Thursday at seven, the third floor of the science library, same table by the windows. After a while it stops being the table by the windows and starts being your table. Neither of you ever calls it that, but Ellie catches herself thinking, She's probably already there, instead of, I should head to the library.

She starts bringing you coffee. She's only mildly grateful, at first, when you don't comment on how suspiciously well she remembers your order, or on the fact that she always arrives carrying two cups, despite never seeming particularly interested in the one with her name on it. It takes you exactly three Thursdays to notice she's only buying herself a coffee so it looks less like she's buying you one.

It definitely doesn't make her heart skip a beat when you smile over the rim of your cup and say, "You know you don't have to pretend you like coffee just because I do, right?" It also does not make her want to crawl under the table when you tease her for being awkward about it when it's just you.

Ellie keeps bringing you coffee anyway. She just stops buying one for herself.

You make a big fuss out of it initially, because according to you, it's "unfair" to let someone buy you something while refusing to accept anything in return.

Ellie argues that your company is enough. Which is a much more honest answer than she intended. She tells herself she imagines the way your ears turn pink afterward.

The thing about Ellie is that she is very good at convincing herself that her intentions are logical. There’s nothing suspicious about asking for help with a chapter she finished three days ago, or choosing the hardest problems in the textbook because she knows it'll take longer to get through.

It's totally normal to stay another twenty minutes after the library closes because the conversation somehow drifted from science to favourite movies to whether dinosaurs had feathers.

As for routines, she's never been particularly good at admitting when she has one. She likes to pretend she's spontaneous, like she doesn't rely on anything too heavily. That she can go wherever, whenever, without needing much from anyone.

Which is probably why she finds it so deeply inconvenient that your sessions have become something of a fixed point in her life. Your coffee order written permanently somewhere in the back of her mind, alongside every other uselessly important detail she's collected about you without meaning to.

So when she wakes up Thursday morning feeling like someone has replaced her bones with wet sand and her head with a malfunctioning computer, her first thought isn't I feel awful. It's oh shit, I can't see her today.

Ellie: i have terrible news You: did u forget to put a pad on again Ellie: okay so no. Ellie: im fudging dying You: oh thank god, I was worried it was something serious

⤷ smellie reacted 😡 to your message

Ellie: it so is. it means you won't get to see me decimate differential equations today You: ellie u got a 98 on the midterm😭 Ellie: that was luck You: riiiight Ellie: why aren't you more upset about this??? Ellie: i knew u hated me You: omg ellie i can't believe I'm not going to see you today fuck I'm gonna miss you sososo much :(((((((( Ellie: fuck you Ellie: blocked You: woow so i'm being nice and you're threatening to block me Ellie: f.u.c.k y.o.u You: y.o.u w.i.s.h

fuck yeah she does. Which is a deeply inconvenient thing to realise while she's lying in bed surrounded by tissues, cough drops, and the general humiliation of being defeated by a microscopic organism.

She types out three different responses, deletes all of them, and eventually settles on throwing her phone onto the other side of the bed like that might make her less affected. Nothing about this whole thing has gone according to plan.

By the time evening rolls around, Ellie has accepted that she is not, in fact, dying. This is unfortunate, because she had spent most of the day building a very convincing case that she was.

Instead, she's just sick enough to feel miserable and just well enough to be bored. Her textbook sits open on her desk, untouched except for the occasional glance she gives it like that might somehow count as studying. Her room has slowly surrendered to the consequences of being occupied by someone who feels like death: tissues scattered across the bedside table, a half-empty glass of water going warm, her hoodie abandoned on her bed because putting it away requires much more energy than she currently possesses.

She can hear a bunch of kids laughing rowdily in the hallway, and fights the urge to roll her eyes. At least someone’s having a good time. When there’s a knock at her door, she assumes it is the pizza she ordered twenty minutes ago. A decision she made entirely because cooking required standing up, and standing up for that long was not gonna happen.

"Finally," she mutters, pushing herself out of bed.

She drags herself across the room, running a hand through her hair in a completely useless attempt to look less like she has been fighting a losing battle with her own immune system. She isn't expecting anyone worth impressing. The pizza guy has probably seen worse.

She flings the door open, already reaching for her wallet, and nearly gives herself whiplash when she finds you standing in the hallway instead of the pimply teenager she was expecting to hand her a pizza box.

You give her a once over, probably taking in how shit she looks. Fuck. She’s starting to wish she changed out of yesterday’s clothes. But it’s hard for her to stay wrapped up on how terrible she must look when you’re standing there looking like that.

You look like you just got back from one of your (thousand) classes, your bag slung lazily over your shoulder, completely unaware of the fact that the sweater you’ve chosen to wear almost makes her eyes roll back into her head. The collar falls just enough off each shoulder for her to see your collarbones and ngghhhh fuck she just wants to sink her teeth into—

“Wow,” her eyes snap up to yours “you look like a corpse.”

Her ears immediately turn pink. She manages a scoff anyway, stepping aside to let you in before shutting the door behind you.

“Can I help you?”

“Just came to see if you were still alive,” you tease, holding up a brown paper bag. “And I brought supplies.” Ellie blinks. She hadn’t even noticed the bag, probably because she’d been too busy ogling you like a creep.

Her eyes drop to it and then she catches the faint smell of butter and chocolate. She knows that smell. “You brought me cookies?”

“I figured they couldn’t hurt,” you hold the bag out a little awkwardly, smile turning a touch sheepish. “You said they were your favourite.”

Her fingers brushing yours as she takes it and sets it down on her nightstand. Ellie clears her throat, “Y’know, if this is your way of poisoning me, it feels a little excessive. Pretty sure the fever’s already doing the job.”

You roll your eyes. “Right. Because if I wanted to poison you, I definitely would’ve gone with chocolate chip cookies as the method of choice.”

Ellie narrows her eyes at you, though there isn’t much intimidation behind it when she’s pale as a ghost and holding back a cough.

“That’s exactly what you’d want me to think.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You know, most people just say thank you.”

She shrugs, sniffling. “I’m not most people.”

“No, you’re definitely not.”

A silence settles over the room, and for once Ellie doesn’t have a smart reply ready. Because she’s now all too aware of the fact that you’re standing in her dorm room. Her actual room.

The place where she sleeps, where she eats cereal straight out of the box when she’s too tired to cook, where her textbooks pile up in corners and her laundry has a tendency to become a permanent part of the furniture. Usually, she doesn’t care. It’s lived in okay?

But now you’re here, and naturally, this is the exact moment her room has decided to look even more like a crime scene. Not exactly how she imagined you seeing her place for the first time.

Then again, she also hadn’t imagined you showing up at her door completely unprompted, with cookies because you remembered some throwaway comment she made weeks ago. You were here because you wanted to be.

Ellie looks back down at the bag on her nightstand, at the cookies she hasn’t even tasted yet, and has the deeply damming thought that they probably still wouldn’t taste as sweet as you. She blames the fever.

“Y’know,” she starts, mostly because the silence has bagan to feel dangerously like it might lead her do something incredibly stupid, “for someone who came here for a check-in, you seem pretty comfortable insulting a sick person in their own home.”

You offer her a deadpan look, unimpressed. “You literally accused me of trying to poison you.”

“Valid concern.”

You laugh, and Ellie would legitimately embarrass herself a thousand times over if it meant getting to hear that sound every time.

“I missed you at the library today.”

The words catch her so off guard that, for a second, she thinks she’s hallucinating.

“Yeah?”

She shifts her weight. Between the exhaustion, the fever, and the fact that you're literally standing in her bedroom, she's doing a pretty terrible job of pretending she isn't a sentence away from passing out.

“Yeah,” you repeat, “we should hang out more often.”

What the fuck is happening? She had not expected you to say you wanted more of this. More Thursdays and conversations that somehow lasted an hour longer than they were supposed to. More moments where neither of you had anywhere else to be.

“You'd actually want that?” The question slips out before she can stop herself, and she hates how desperate she sounds for an answer.

You blink at her for a moment before your shoulders loosen with a quiet laugh, taking a small step closer absentmindedly.

"You think I walked across campus on a whim?" You ask, your expression softening in a way that makes Ellie suddenly very interested in the loose thread hanging from the sleeve of your sweater.

She ducks her head, scrubbing a hand over the back of her neck before wandering back towards her bed with all the grace of someone whose body has spent the day trying to mutiny.

"Don't just stand there then," she mumbles. "You'll make me feel like I have to host."

She drops onto the edge of the mattress with a sigh that rattles somewhere in her chest. The mattress dips beneath her weight, and she has to shove a stack of notebooks out of the way to make room for herself. A hoodie she'd meant to hang up two days ago gets unceremoniously kicked onto the floor.

You pull her desk chair over with your foot before sitting down. Huh. So apparently this wasn't a five-minute pity visit. Something warm stirs low in her chest.

Your gaze drifts around the dorm, lingering on the haphazard stacks of textbooks she just pushed over, the half-finished lab report pinned beneath an empty mug, and the guitar propped against the wall with one broken string Ellie keeps meaning to replace.

"You've got a lot of physics books for someone who apparently needs tutoring."

Ellie follows your eyes, a faint groan escaping her as she lets her head fall back for a second. "Yeah, uh... Joel says I've got a problem."

You glance back at her, one eyebrow lifting. "With physics?"

She snorts, rubbing absently at the bridge of her nose where the beginnings of another headache have settled. "With buying books faster than I can read them."

Your laugh comes easy, warm enough that it fills the little dorm room. "I'd say he's exaggerating..." Your eyes flick back to the teetering pile by her desk. "...but I think he’s pretty spot on."

Your attention wanders further. It's strange seeing Ellie in this context, like someone has turned her inside out and pinned the evidence to four walls.

There are a handful of Polaroids tacked above her bed, corners curling ever so slightly. One of Joel, who you'd recognise anywhere after the number of times Ellie had interrupted your study sessions with, "Look what this old man just texted me." Another of a lake at sunset, the colours faded into soft oranges and blues. A few blurry ones of laughing faces you vaguely recognise as Jesse and Dina, neither in your department, though you've seen them orbiting Ellie often enough to know they're fixtures in her life.

Ellie lets herself sink back against the headboard, pulling her knees up beneath the duvet. The fever still clings stubbornly to the edges of her vision, leaving everything just a little hazy, but it has become easier to ignore now that she has something else to look at besides the same four walls she'd spent the entire day avoiding. It probably helps that you're a much prettier view.

"...Hm."

The quiet sound barely registers at first. Ellie is too busy wondering whether your hair always catches the light like that, or if her eyes were just watery.

It takes her a second too long to realise you're no longer empty-handed. By the time she follows your attention, the workbook she'd left splayed open on her desk is already resting in your lap. the workbook that contained every problem she'd planned on "working through" with you next Thursday, solved neatly in pencil.

Fuck.

You frown slightly, eyes moving between the page and the notes squeezed into the margins.

"Uh..." Ellie sits up a little too quickly, immediately regretting it when the room gives a slow, lazy tilt. She catches herself on the edge of the mattress, leaning forward as though she's considering snatching the book back before thinking better of it halfway through the movement. "You don't—you don't need to look at that."

You don't seem to hear her. Or maybe you do, and you're simply too absorbed in the page to understand why she's suddenly so interested in what had, until five seconds ago, been gathering dust on her desk.

Your eyebrows draw together ever so slightly as you scan over the work, thumb turning the page back before returning to the one covered in pencil. "Wait,"

Your head lifts just enough to look at her over the top of the book. "Isn't this the same thing you were complaining about last week? quantum tunnelling?"

Ellie opens her mouth. "It's not exactly—"

"You said this chapter made absolutely no sense."

"Yeah, well..." she hears herself say, her voice landing somewhere between a shrug and a surrender. "I did say that."

You don't rush to fill the silence. Instead, you lower your eyes to the page again, brow faintly furrowed in concentration as you follow the ink winding through the margins. Ellie can almost pinpoint the exact moment you reach the solution she'd spent half an evening rewriting because the algebra looked untidy.

"I, uh..." She clears her throat, suddenly finding the pattern on her duvet intensely interesting. "I figured it out."

The only sounds in the room are the muffled footsteps drifting through the hallway outside, and the occasional rustle of paper as you turn the page back to check a previous step.

"Ellie, this is really good." You compliment. "You've even used the alternate derivation." You glance up at her, genuinely impressed. "I don't think I showed you this method."

"Did someone help you?"

Ellie blinks. "What?"

"I mean," You shrug, looking almost sheepish for making the assumption. "If you asked someone else, that's completely okay." Your thumb worries absent-mindedly at the edge of the cover. "Honestly... if you needed another session" You smile apologetically. "You could've just texted me. We would've figured something out."

She winces, and her pulse stumbles into a sprint. "No, It wasn't like that."

You slowly close the book, careful with it for reasons Ellie thinks are entirely unfair considering it's currently ruining her life. Your eyebrows lift ever so slightly but you don't say anything. you don't have too.

"God..." She groans, rubbing both hands over her face. "This is not how I imagined this conversation going."

"Okay, I'm officially lost." You straighten, placing the book back on her desk. "look, Ellie. If my sessions just weren't doing it for you I totally get it if you—"

The words land with all the subtlety of a freight train and she rises from the bed on instinct, instantly regretting how quickly she'd done it when her head swims just enough to make her pause beside the desk.

"—I didn't ask anyone else." it comes out louder than she'd intended and you fall quiet. She scrubs a hand through her already unruly hair, then lets it rest awkwardly on the back of her neck. "I mean..." She lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh at her own expense. "I may have exaggerated... just a little... how confused I was."

"A little? fuck, Ellie y'know most people who are confused by quantum mechanics don’t usually respond by deriving the whole thing themselves.”

“I know I-“ She holds up her hands in surrender, “The original plan was just one session, but then you were so cool and then it got kinda hard to stop.” she admits.

“Hold up, you’ve been lying about this the whole time?” You stand to meet her.

"Okay, I know it sounds insane. I just..." The words tumble out of her as she worries at the sleeve of her shirt. "I didn't know how to ask you to hang out."

For the first time since you'd met her, Ellie Williams—the girl who could somehow turn a conversation about movies into an hour-long debate, who sent you photos of every stray cat she found on campus, who had gradually stopped looking at the floor every time you spoke to her—looks spainfully unsure of herself.

The mild frustration you'd been holding onto fades when you actually look at her, and you huff out a laugh at the absurdity of it all. "I get it, els. I'm just trying to understand how all of this seemed easier than, I dunno, texting me?"

Ellie stares at the floor for a moment, fighting the urge to crawl under her bed and remain there indefinitely. The sound of your laugh feels embarrassingly close to a pardon, enough for the knot that's been lodged somewhere beneath her ribs since you picked up the textbook to finally begin to unravel.

"I know, okay?" She risks a glance up at you before looking away again. "It made sense at the time, I guess."

You stare at her for a moment, head shaking in quiet disbelief. It's impossible to miss the way she's avoiding your eyes, like she's genuinely expecting you to laugh her out of the room after spending the better part of two months orchestrating what is, at its core, an extremely elaborate excuse to hang out. Which, unfortunately for your dignity, is sort of sweet.

"So," You narrow your eyes at her. "That time you made me explain the uncertainty principle three different ways you were just—what? Acting?"

She winces. "Let's not call it acting, please."

"What would you call it then?"

"I was trying to keep the conversation going." She says it with a sincerity that catches you completely off guard, stripped of the awkward jokes and half-hearted excuses she'd been hiding behind for the last ten minutes.

Heat creeps up the back of your neck. You clear your throat and busy yourself with straightening the stack of notebooks on her desk, even though they weren't particularly messy to begin with. "Well, next time you want to spend time with me, just ask."

She echoes the words before she can think better of it. "Next time?"

You shrug, trying—and failing—to hide your smile. "When you're not dying of the plague, you can redeem yourself by taking me to the planetarium."

Ellie blinks at you, momentarily speechless. "You're serious?"

"About the plague or the planetarium?"

"The planetarium, asshole."

You snort. “You listened to me ramble about physics for six Thursdays in a row. The least I can do is let you infodump about stars for an afternoon."

"Yeah. Okay." She runs her thumb over her knuckles, ducking her head to hide the ridiculous grin creeping onto her face. "I think I can manage that."

wc: < 2k

Keyboards clacked throughout the building; the soft chatter and hum of coworkers blended into the office sounds. Late-afternoon phone ringing, the annoying-ass microwave in the break room that never shut up, email notifications, and the sound of fresh code. It all combined into a frequency that Ellie’s ears learned to filter out.

Her back hurt; hell, everything of Ellie’s ached. What they didn’t tell you about working with technology all day was the strain it put on your posture—eyes too. Code had been engraved into her brain over the years, but it had also been long enough to burn into her corneas. 

Not only was she sore, but she was also exhausted. She swore the screen had grown since she’d been oggling at it, staring at the computer screen. It blinked back at her, the cursor probably judging the dark circles under her eyes, the slightly frazzled hair she didn't have time to comb through that morning. 

A voice jolted her from the half-asleep zombie state she’d fallen into.

“Williams!” Heels clicked against the marble with authority.

Ellie straightened too fast, wincing at the protest in her spine. Her boss stood beside her desk, arms folded—not angry. Maybe a mix of disappointment and concern. Which, arguably, was worse. Chief Cage, the five-foot-seven resting bitch-face of a woman, stood tall, enough so that Ellie had to tilt her head up to catch a glance.

Blazer had one button undone today, but she still looked put together in that effortless, government-issued way. Blonde hair, kept slicked into a tight bun and disciplined. A sharp, deliberate set to her jaw. The kind of blue eyes that had years of experience behind them. They didn’t miss, didn’t forgive much either.

She shifted her weight slightly, one hand resting on the back of Ellie’s chair instead of crossing her arms. A small tell. Less confrontation than usual.

“I was under the impression this was priority.”

“It is,” Ellie replied automatically.

“Because when I’m asked for progress, and I give them ‘she’s close,’ I prefer that to be true.” The screen reflected faintly against the lenses of her glasses. Cat Eye, sleek. She glanced at the unchanged build.

“We’re still sitting on yesterday’s version.”

Ellie nodded once, already tapping at keys to make it look less damning. “Just refining.”

“Refining,” she repeated evenly. 

“Mm-hm,” she replied, nodding as she stared ahead at the computer. Her eyes drifted to her phone—it sat neatly on the table, taunting her with the promise of you. The camera software she downloaded, one she didn't dare look at around her coworkers.

Cage’s gaze flicked to her for a second longer than necessary—taking in the shadows under her eyes, the slight delay in her responses.

“You’re one of my best analysts,” she said quietly. “But lately? I’m defending potential instead of results. And while I don’t need your brilliance, Williams, I at least need your consistency. Preferably before higher-ups begin asking me why I’m extending deadlines.”

“Right.” The auburnette nodded, “Yeah. Won’t happen again.”

“If something’s dividing your attention,” she continued, voice lower now, “handle it. I don’t want to have to start reallocating assignments because you’re… stretched thin.”

Ellie nodded again. “Won’t happen.”

Her jaw tightened firmly.

“I know what you’re capable of, Williams. That’s why I haven’t moved this yet.” A beat. “Don’t make me regret that.”

Chief stood up straight, posture pulling fully into command mode again.

“And get me something I can show upstairs before end of day.”

Then she was gone.

Ellie turned off the ignition, the engine ticking and wheezing as it cooled, metal settling like it was exhaling after a long day. The quiet that followed rang in her ears. She sagged back into the seat for a beat to feel her spine decompress. Her hand reached up automatically, flipping down the overhead mirror. She slid the cover aside. The plastic snapped open with a sharp click.

Jesus.

Her hair was a mess—loose strands stuck to her temple with dried sweat. Her under-eyes were bruised-looking, faint purple shadows sinking into her pale skin, and her eyes seemed… dimmer. She leaned closer to the glass, squinting. Was that scientifically possible? Could eyes lose their glow?

A car door slammed somewhere ahead, the sound cracking through the still air and vibrating faintly through her windows. Ellie blinked, distracted, gaze drifting past her own reflection—

—and landing on you.

The world seemed to refocus. Her world, more specifically.

You were a little windblown, grocery bag hooked in the crook of your arm, the thin paper crinkling dangerously under the weight. Your purse was slung loosely around your arm, phone clutched tightly in your hand like it was absorbing whatever stress you carried. 

“No, Abby, that’s not what I said—”

Your voice carried across the lot, sharp and low at the same time, like you were trying not to make a scene but couldn’t quite keep the heat from seeping out. You paced a half step, then stopped yourself, jaw tightening. The crease between your brows hadn’t been there this morning.

Familiarity settled in Ellie’s chest anyway. The cadence of your voice. The way you tucked your chin when you were frustrated. The stubborn set of your stance when you felt cornered.

The seatbelt snapped back with a thwip as she unbuckled it, fumbling slightly in her rush. She pushed the door open, stepping out into the sunlight. Heat kissed her skin instantly, warming her cheeks, her arms. The breeze caught her hair at the nape of her neck, tugging loose strands free and brushing them across her lips.

She laughed under her breath and tried to tame it with her fingers. It was pointless. Her hands were still shaky from the long day.

God, she felt stupidly giddy.

Like a teenager. Not just dead-eyed in a mirror thirty seconds ago. You did that to her; you were her revival, her espresso.

You adjusted the grocery bag against your hip and started up the apartment steps. The building cast long shadows now, the light slanting sideways, catching in your hair.

“Look, all I’m asking is that you come over tonight—“ Your voice echoed against the metal of the stairs, tense and exasperated, “—I don’t care how late. I just want to see you.” 

Ellie was halfway across the lot when she realized you weren’t slowing down.

“Hey—” she called lightly, jogging the last stretch, soles scuffing against pavement. She took the stairs two at a time to catch up, breath puffing out in a soft laugh. “You planning on outrunning me or what?”

She kept her tone easy. Friendly. The smile she mastered that showed teeth but not nerves. You didn’t smile back, just glanced at her over your shoulder, and ended the phone call.

You turned back to the steps, returning to the climb. Guarded. “Hi, Ellie.”

That did something small and unpleasant to her stomach.

She slowed behind you, then moved up alongside as you reached the first landing. The air up there felt different—less breeze with more heat trapped against the stucco walls.

“I was gonna text you,” she chirped, hands slipping into her pockets like she was just casually there, totally not rehearsing lines in her head. “Thought maybe we could maybe grab dinner. Or coffee—” she tilted her head, gently playful, “You need help?”

It typically worked on you, loosened your shoulders, and gave Ellie some points, but you adjusted it tighter against your side, fumbling with your keys as you climbed the second set of stairs. The sound of the silver reverberated against the walls, mixing with your breath and the crinkling of the bag.

“I’ve got it, thanks though.” Your tone was flat. Preoccupied and bothered.

Ellie’s grin faltered for half a second before she recovered. “Right. Yeah. Of course you do.” She let out a soft huff of a laugh, stepping up beside you at the top. “Still. We could hang out. If you wanted—or I could just bring something here.”

You stopped at your door.

The key didn’t go in right away. You stared at the lock instead, the set swinging in your hands idly.

Ellie’s heart started doing that quick, hopeful thing again, anticipation buzzing under her skin. She read the room, but couldn’t help but offer dinner or some sort of opportunity that granted her wiggle room. She leaned one shoulder against the railing, trying to look relaxed.

She told herself she wasn’t pushing. She wasn’t like that. She didn’t corner people. Didn’t maneuver them into things they didn’t want like Abby did.

She just… knew when to lean in. And when to step back, especially with you.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” she added lightly, tossing her hand out haphazardly in a shrug motion, like it hadn’t mattered in the first place. As though she hadn’t jogged across the sidewalk with her pulse in her throat. “I just figured… You sounded like you could use a break.”

You exhaled through your nose. Not exactly annoyed. 

“Tough day?” she tried again, softer now. Seeing her opening. She adjusted her stance, angling her body slightly away instead of toward you—giving space without making a show of it. You were like wired headphones, knotted up after hours of tumbling. But patience, enough detangling with nimble fingers eventually loosened the knot that held it all together. Only then could Ellie listen to her favorite music.

The key finally slid into the lock.

You didn’t look at her when you spoke. “It’s just… a lot.”

Knot loosened.

Ellie nodded once. Understanding. She understood you so much she could almost see the calculus happening behind your eyes—Abby, the phone call, the groceries digging into your arm, the fact that Ellie was standing with that hopeful half-smile she always wore, and it didn’t cost her anything.

She didn’t let the smile slip. Not yet.

“Another time,” you said, and it came out soft. Almost careful. “Maybe we can do dinner another time. As friends.”

As friends.

There it was. A line drawn so lightly, most people would pretend not to see it.

Ellie saw it. Her jaw tightened for the smallest fraction of a second—gone before it could register. But to you, she was most people. So she, too, pretended not to see it. She gave a small shrug instead.

“Yeah,” like that had been the plan all along. “Another time. You’ve got my number.”

The corners of your mouth lifted, relieved.

“I do.”

She pushed off the railing, already retreating to the side for her own door. “Text me if you need help carrying round two.”

You huffed a quiet, genuine laugh at that.

“I will.”

Your door opened. You slipped inside. The door clicked shut.

Ellie’s smile finally dropped.

Her own door shut behind her within the minute, and she felt the mask slip entirely. 

Her keys found themselves tossed onto the counter with a jingle, her feet drifting on their own towards her office—her room, she moved her computer in there after dedicating so much time to you—and her body slumping into her chair like routine. Because that’s what it was, routine. 

Not only had code become so engraved into her day, her brain, her eyes. But turning on her monitor directly after work, gliding the cursor over to the file in the corner of the screen, and seeing the blue hues—the code, your code—light up with life, had carved its way into her life. Into her heart. 

Your apartment, dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, decorative pillows strewn on the floor in your room that you never put back onto the bed, the half-dead plant in your living room that slightly resembled your state of mind. It was yours.

And after hours, days, endless nights of watching you, making sure you were safe, bringing you the things you were too afraid to ask for when you needed them, building the very furniture you reside on after a long day...

She earned the right to call it hers, too.

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mr. brooks clears his throat.

“alright, students. group projects. DNA replication and genetic variation. pages 94 through 99. picked your partners for you.”

groans ripple across the room. you roll your eyes, zoning out as he goes on to list random pairs of students in the class… “david and rebecca, ashley and karen, adrian and braxton, becky and jared-“ then suddenly.

“y/n and… ellie.”

you look up from your manicured hands in your lap instantly, silence. you make a disgusted look. brows furrowed, lips pouted.

but ellie? she jerks in her seat like someone pulled a string in her back. her eyes snap up and lock on you, wide behind her crooked-ass glasses. her whole face goes red—forehead, ears, even her damn neck. she freezes. then immediately starts fumbling with her the spirals on her notebook, like she thinks if she looks busy enough, maybe you’ll ignore her.

you don’t.

you sigh heavily as you take your time walking over, swinging your hips just enough to make two boys whisper. you drop your bag next to her desk. she looks at it like it’s a bomb.

you sit down.

“so,” you say, voice flat, bored, already annoyed. “you gonna write the whole thing or just f*ck yourself to it?”

she chokes. like physically chokes, hand flying to her chest, eyes bugging out. she tries to answer, fails, tries again, and somehow makes it worse.

“i—i don’t—i wasn’t—f*ck mysel-?—no—what—”

you stare. blow a bubble. let it pop, then giggle in her face.

her face is ruined. her mouth opens and closes like a fish. she looks like she wants to die. and then crawl under the desk. and then die again.

you lean in, just a little, enough for your perfume to hit her nose.

“i still remember that sketchbook from last week by the way.”

ellie flinches.

“i wasn’t—you know.. it’s for anatomy,” she blurts, which makes no sense, and she knows it. “not like, your—i didn’t mean your anatomy, just—like—the concept of anatomy, which, like, technically—f*ck—”

you tilt your head.

ellie covers her face with her hands and groans, long and low, like she’s in pain.

“do you touch yourself to those with your hoodie on, or do you take it off to set the mood?”

“please,” she whispers. “please shut up.”

you giggle again, soft and wicked.

adrian—your adrian—is three rows in front of y’all, hearing the whole thing. you haven’t even acknowledged him since class started either.

ellie peeks through her fingers. she’s twitchy. sweaty. miserable. and when you pull your chair closer, she damn near leaps out of her skin.

“we’re gonna get an A,” you hum, dragging her open textbook toward you. “you’re gonna do all the work. and you’re gonna keep your nasty little sketchbook zipped up tight.”

she nods. small. frail.

“say ‘yes, ma’am.’”

“…yes, ma’am.”

you smile. pop another bubble.

this is gonna be fun.

ellie keeps her eyes locked on the textbook. she hasn’t spoken in five minutes. not since the “yes, ma’am.” her handwriting’s shaking. her cheeks are red. her hoodie sleeves are halfway over her fingers again, clenched tight like she’s praying.

you lean back in your seat, legs spread just a little wider, flipping your hair over your shoulder. her eyes flicker for a second—just a second—to the inside of your thigh under the desk.

you catch it.

“are you even paying attention?” you ask, fake sweet. “or are you too busy trying not to cum in your boxers?”

her pencil snaps in half.

“i’m—i’m paying attention,” she mumbles, head down, the tips of her ears red like she’s been slapped. “mitosis. cell cycle. S-phase. DNA replication. i—i know it.”

you hum. press your knee against hers under the desk. she jerks back like she’s been shocked. you look down at her shaky hand on the table. long, twitchy fingers. drum and guitar callused.

slowly, you reach out. grab her wrist. guide it down.

“wh—what are you—” she tries to pull away, but she’s weak. pathetic. you’re stronger. meaner. so much prettier. you press her hand against your bare thigh, just above the hem of your skirt. warm skin. smooth. soft.

she stops breathing.

“f*ck,” she whispers, wide-eyed, voice cracking. “you—you can’t—i’ll f*cking—”

you don’t let go.

“don’t be a p*ssy,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded. “it’s just a little skin, right? nothing you haven’t seen in your nasty little sketches.”

her fingers twitch.

you push her hand higher. just a little.

the edge of your thong peeks out. she squeezes her eyes shut, like she can block it out. but her fingers stay.

shaking. burning. gripping your thigh like it’s keeping her alive. ellie whimpers.

you smile, slow and wicked and keep her hand right where it is. she doesn’t move at first.

your fingers are still around her wrist, soft but firm, like a leash she doesn’t want to escape. her palm is pressed flat to your thigh, skin burning hot, nails barely grazing you. you’re looking ahead like nothing’s happening. like you’re so fucking bored. like her hand being between your legs is just part of your routine.

ellie’s brain? completely fried. ‘f*ck. f*ck. f*ck’ she thought.

she doesn’t know where to look. her eyes are flicking between the worksheet and your lip gloss and your thigh and the window and the corner of the floor like any of it will help her not lose it.

her face is flushed. her mouth’s dry. her hoodie’s too hot and her fingers are twitching because all she can think about is—

‘she’s soft. she’s so soft. i can’t—f*ck—i can’t.’

you’re right next to her. in the flesh. warm. sighing softly. looking down, pencil in hand while pretending to read the textbook like her hand isn’t right there.

and now?

her fingers start to move.

slow. slight. like she doesn’t even realize at first. like muscle memory. like her horniness has taken over completely.

she slides the tips up, just a little.

then down.

tiny little strokes. featherlight. testing you. seeing what she can get away with.

you shift in your seat.

press your legs together.

you don’t look at her. but you don’t stop her either.

so she keeps going.

and her heart is slamming in her chest.

she’s so wet in her boxers, her clit becoming a rapid beating second heartbeat to the point it’s actually painful. ellie thinks she might cum just from this.

her fingers dip slightly beneath the curve of your thigh. under the edge of your thong. just barely.

her breath stutters.

you’re wet. not soaked. not dripping. just warm and soft and slightly damp and f*ckf*ck—

she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning. her forehead hits the desk. just for a second. to ground herself.

you look at her finally. say nothing. just smirk. and she knows you know exactly what you’re doing.

she doesn’t say a word. she just keeps stroking.

slow, pathetic, desperate.

and no one can see a thing.

yet, her fingers go still when she feels it. the way your c*nt clenches as she pushes past the edge of your soaked thong.

how easy it is to slip in.

how tight you are. how f*cking warm you are.

like you’ve been waiting.

ellie lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding—shaky, low—and stares at your face like it’s the only thing that matters.

you’re still looking at your notes. like this is nothing.

like her fingers aren’t buried inside you right now, moving slow, dragging against that soft spot she’s imagined so many times her body could do it with her eyes closed.

and it kinda is.

her fingers start working in that perfect rhythm she’s practiced—on herself, in the dark, in the shower, during her breakdowns after seeing you in a mini skirt.

she curls them just right.

presses deep.

slides out slick and slow, then back in, faster.

you twitch.

your thighs shift.

but you don’t look at her.

and that’s what makes her lose it.

“f*ck,” she whispers. her head is down, lips barely moving. “you’re gonna make me cum in my f*ckin’ boxers, sh*t.”

you don’t flinch. you just turn the page in the textbook, lip caught between your teeth.

ellie’s eyes flicker to your mouth.

her fingers thrust deeper. faster. the sound is obscene but muffled by the low hum of the class, the hum of the lights, the buzz of old ac.

“this p*ssy’s so f*ckin’ warm,” she whispers, voice cracked. “you’re gonna—geez—you’re gonna ruin me.”

you pulse around her. her legs shake.

she’s gritting her teeth. trying not to grunt. trying not to moan.

“can’t believe i get to finger you in bio,” she breathes, nose brushing your shoulder. “you’re so mean to me—so f*ckin’ mean—and you’re so wet. you like this? letting the loser do this to you?”

your pencil scratches across the paper like nothing’s happening.

you’re breathing harder now. lips parted. eyes still down.

but your hips start moving—tiny little rocks forward against her fingers—and that’s when ellie knows you’re close.

she curves them deep, presses her palm against your clit, and starts pumping harder.

you clamp your thighs.

grip the edge of your worksheet.

swallow a whimper.

“good f*ckin’ girl,” she mutters, barely audible. “take it. just take it. i’ll make you cum so hard you won’t walk to 5th period.”

and you?

you turn your head just slightly.

lips brush her ear.

“then do it, perv.”

ellie’s gone. she’s imagined this so many times. in her sketchbook. in the shower. in her f*cking dreams.

you sitting on her lap, whispering in her ear, your lip gloss smearing on her neck, your tits bouncing while you ride her neon green strap—

you calling her a freak while grinding on her face—

you licking her fingers while sitting on her bed like a brat—

suddenly, she jerks awake with a sharp inhale, eyes wide, hoodie tangled around her arms, face flushed, sheets kicked off the bed.

her room’s still dark, lit only by the faint glow of her lava lamp and the blinking red light of her PS3. her sketchbook’s open next to her—flipped to a half-finished drawing of you sitting on her lap with your thong around one ankle.

her hand’s still in her boxers.

and yeah… they’re soaked.

disgusting. tragic. predictable.

ellie groans. drags her forearm over her face like it’ll wipe the sin away. mutters to herself.

“f*ck”

her voice cracks. she rolls onto her back, staring at the popcorn textured ceiling. her stomach flips. her hips twitch.

and suddenly she’s grinding her hand into her boxers again—again—because the image won’t leave her brain.

your face when you bit your lip.

your whisper in her ear.

your p*ssy squeezing her fingers like it needed her.

it’s too bad this is one of them. just another one of her pathetic dreams.

taglist : @deliciouslydeviantsatan, @valeisaslut, @dollinrehab, @l0veylace, @velvetinkbym, @liztreez, @elliesgffrfr, @sleepingwasp, @brooks-lin, @lovelessswan, @cherrylipsmakerss, @shookkatofthat, @mars4hellokitty, @jaydonisnothere, @ellieslittleslutt, @pussyeatercunt, @livvietalks, @angelsglitch, @robiceps, @lesb4ellie, @sparkle-jump-rope-queen, @sweet-anonyme, @mylettterstoyou, @pinkpigtailedjoy, @pink7princess, @nahcala, @mascspleasegetmepregnant, @sincerlykelsss

nerd!ellie who flinches every time you move closer. not out of fear—no, she's been waiting for this—but because she's the most nervous she's ever been in her life. painfully, pathetically nervous.

you slide off her glasses carefully and stare into her now darkened green eyes, taking a moment to relish in how flustered she was.

"relax, you look like you're gonna have a panic attack." you teased with a laugh.

"I am relaxed," she lies, giving you a few frantic nods to try and sell it. "mhm," she murmurs to herself as she tries to keep her composure, "'m relaxed."

she's absolutely not.

your fingers drop lower and slip under her tank top. her pale skin is cold to the touch and a little wet with sweat, her abs tensing as she squirmed under your touch.

"so needy," you observed, catching the way her thighs clenched in anticipation.

"'m not." she whined. she is.

you click your tongue and pull back, pouting in faux disappointment. "aw, I guess I'm gonna have to stop then. I mean, you clearly don't need me," you said jutting out your bottom lip, moving your hands off of her body and to either side of her on the bed.

"no! god—no, just—" ellie whines, reaching up to grab your left wrist and put your hand back on her stomach herself.

"just what?"

"..."

you raise your brows, waiting.

"just stop teasing me."

"there's a good girl." you smile.

her body shivered from the cold air when you tugged her underwear and sleep pants down, the fabric bunching at her ankles.

you dipped two fingers into her still clothed cunt and then pulled them close to your eye, spreading them to examine her slick.

her breath hitched at the lewd sight, and her knees spread wider without meaning to. "so wet," you exhaled, eyes flicking back down to hers with a slight smile.

"you're being mean." she looks at you with the most desperate, wrecked expression you've ever seen.

"awww, but you like when I'm mean, ellie." you tilt your head, making her whine.

"you're taking too long she quipped back."

big mistake.

you practically tore her underwear off and pulled your pants down, wasting no time to pop the head of your strap into her.

"wai–ah! I–I'm not ready, 't's so big."

"no, since you're so impatient you clearly want all of it."

with one rough thrust, you filled ellie to the brim. she scratched at your back and let out a borderline pornographic scream as the head of your cock kissed her cervix, a bulge forming underneath the skin of her stomach.

when you ceased your actions and paused, you half expected her to sigh in relief but her response was much more amusing.

"what're you doing? move."

"fine." and so you did, making sure to be as rough as possible and ruin her inside and out as you snapped your hips to meet hers.

"h-hate you. you're so mean to me," she mewls with furrowed brows, her lips parted and slightly tilting downward into a frown.

"oh yeah? you hate me?" a particularly harsh thrust. "is that why you've been stalking all my social media posts at night? why you want me to own you?"

"you've bee—nmh! fuck—s-seeing that? oh, god–need you! 'm all yours, please," she managed to whimper out between moans, eyes rolling back as she gripped the sheets.

"awwww that's cute, you thought I wouldn't? you're so stupid baby," you groaned, pounding into her faster.

"mh–no! I'm gonna, gonna–"

cum leaked all over your strap as you both came in sync, your body collapsing onto ellie's as you finished, strap still buried in her.

"such a good puppy," you cooed at her completely blissful expression, green eyes glassy without a thought behind them.

she sat in the bench, parting her legs just slightly enough to let you kneel in between them and get to work. as soon as you pulled her jeans down, you were greeted with the sight of a lacy black thong. could've never imagined it, truly. last time she was wearing some pathetic minecraft boxers.

"what? it's just in case someone fucks me in the lockers room." she joked lightly earning a chuckle from you, thought you could sense her nervousness. it was totally visible, especially because of her flushed skin, the slight tremble of her raspy voice and the way her hands fidgeted with her cheap rings.

"you look hot." you praised her, caressing her thighs slowly, mesmerized by the softness of her pale skin.

a minute later, you were still kissing her thigh and biting her, the pale skin bruising so easily it was scary. you weren't even near to where she needed you the most, but marking her was too fun to hurry up.

"oh god, please." she sighed out with desperation. "someone will notice i'm missing. well- no, but they'll notice you." she warned you. her leg started bouncing nervously, and you stopped her with a firm grip on her thigh.

"quiet. nobody will find us." you said playflully leaving another hickey on her inner thigh, though you weren't being completely true. you just wanted to drag the moment forever. she just sighed in frustration, not even daring to touch you.

when you finally dared to slide her underwear down, a shaky breath left her mouth without her cunt even being touched. and when you kissed her pale flesh slowly, just like you had been doing for almost 5 torturing minutes, her tattooed hand grabbed your hair and guided your mouth to her pussy.

"hurry." she complained, moving your head up and down against her; she was basically using you to spread her slick over her folds.

you slapped her arm off of you to take the matter into your own hands and licked a stripe against her cunt, tasting her nectar.

the small sounds she let out were truly heavenly, making you wonder what were you doing with your life if it wasn't pleasing her until she got sick of you.

you got quicker, even if your jaw hurt, and introduced your fingers inside of her, not even waiting for her to get used to it. you knew her too well; she could take it.

"cummin'." she told you weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. her legs locked around you as you worked her through her orgasm.

you finally pulled back, but everything felt too silent. like nothing could go wrong if you tasted just a little more of her.

ten minutes later, you were both in detention making up a story about a stuck tampon ://