warlike hearts & vanilla tears

❀ fluff ♡nsfw ☆angst

one shots ⊹ ࣪ ˖

❀ Sleepy Morning morning with Ellie

❀ ♡ Not Just a Customer dealer!e x client!r

♡ ☆ Jealous Ellie angry car sex?

fanfic ⊹ ࣪ ˖

❀ ☆ Room 214 college au

head cannons ⊹ ࣪ ˖

❀ ♡ shy!ellie first time

❀ ♡ dominant!ellie first time

❀ ♡ when it’s your birthday

❀ SFW Alphabet

Jealous!E

synopsis: Ellie finally reaches her breaking point. When someone mistakes your kindness for interest at a college party, you don’t think much of it, but Ellie does. What follows is a tense drive home, painful silence. Jealousy turns into honesty, honesty turns into something neither of you can pretend this is “just friendship” anymore.

warnings: friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, jealousy, emotional confrontation, explicit sexual content, consensual intimacy, dirty talk, possessive behavior (within a consensual relationship), praise, hickeys/light biting, strong language, alcohol/college party setting

The party was louder than either of you expected.

Not that Ellie would ever admit that.

She stood beside you in the middle of the crowded college apartment, shoulder brushing yours every few seconds as people moved around you. The music was too loud, the lights were too dim, and someone had already spilled something sticky on the floor.

Ellie looked completely at home.

Of course she did.

She leaned against the kitchen counter, nursing a drink she had barely touched, watching the chaos around her with that familiar amused expression.

You, on the other hand, were trying very hard not to look overwhelmed.

“You know,” Ellie said, glancing down at you with a small smirk, “for someone who claims she hates parties, you’re not doing terribly.”

You looked at her, slightly offended but mostly amused by the observation. “I’m standing here.”

“Exactly.” She nodded seriously, like she had just made a groundbreaking point. “Usually you’d be hiding somewhere with a textbook.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared. “I don’t bring textbooks to parties.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, pretending to be suspicious. “Not even secretly?”

You laughed quietly. And that was the problem. Everyone else noticed things like that. The way Ellie always found a reason to stand close to you.

The way she remembered your drink order. The way she looked for you first whenever she entered a room. The way you automatically looked for her when something funny happened.

Everyone assumed. Your friends assumed. Ellie’s friends assumed. Even strangers sometimes assumed. That you were together. Except you weren’t. Not officially.

And neither of you had ever been brave enough to ask what exactly was happening between you. So instead, you existed in this strange space where Ellie acted like she belonged beside you and you acted like you didn’t notice.

“You want another drink?” Ellie’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You looked up.

“I’m okay.”

She studied your expression for a second, like she was checking if you actually meant it. Then she nodded. “I’m getting one anyway.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“Because I want one.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Ellie grinned. “It’s an Ellie answer.” You shook your head, watching as she walked toward the kitchen.

You didn’t realize how much you relied on her presence until she wasn’t right beside you anymore. Not because you couldn’t handle yourself. You could. You were just used to having Ellie there.

A few minutes passed. You were checking your phone when someone approached. “Hey.”

You looked up. A guy you vaguely recognized from one of your classes stood there, smiling. You searched your memory for his name. You failed.“Hi.”

He laughed softly. “Sorry, I know you probably don’t remember me.”

You immediately felt bad. Because he sounded embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

He waved a hand. “No, no. It’s fine. We’ve only talked like twice.”

You relaxed slightly. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Same lecture.”

You nodded. That explained it. He seemed friendly enough. “So, how are you liking the class?”

You smiled politely. “It’s okay. The professor is a little difficult.”

That made him laugh. “The understatement of the year.”

You laughed too. And because you were laughing, because the conversation was easy enough, you didn’t notice how close he moved. Or how he angled himself so people passing by couldn’t interrupt.

Or how his hand briefly touched your elbow when he laughed. Small things. Things you didn’t register. Because you weren’t expecting anything. He was just being nice after all.

“So what do you do outside of suffering through that class?”

You smiled. “Mostly study.”

He smiled back. “That tracks.”

You tilted your head. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “You just seem like someone who’s responsible.”

You laughed awkwardly. “I guess.”

“You know, I’m surprised I haven’t seen you at more parties.”

You looked around. “I’m not really a party person.”

“I can tell.” You weren’t sure if that was an insult. His smile suggested it wasn’t. “You should come out more.” Before you could respond, he leaned slightly closer. “Actually, you should give me your number. We could study sometime.”

You blinked. Study? That made sense. You opened your mouth to answer. Then you felt it. A familiar presence beside you.

Ellie.

She appeared like she had been there the entire time. She stepped between you and him just enough to create space, handing you your drink.

“Here.”

You looked at her. “Thanks.” Her eyes flicked toward you. Then toward him. Her expression was unreadable. At least to anyone who didn’t know her. You knew Ellie. You knew when she was joking. You knew when she was annoyed. And right now?

She was trying very hard not to show something.

“You good?” You asked quietly, slightly concerned. Ellie looked at you for a second. The fact that you were genuinely asking almost made her frustration worse. Because you had no idea.

“No, yeah.” Her answer was quick. Too quick.

“I’m fine.” You accepted it because Ellie was Ellie.

Sometimes she was just in a mood. She placed one hand lightly against your lower back. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough that you felt it. A grounding touch. A reminder that she was there.

The guy looked between you both. “So…”

His smile returned, but Ellie noticed the hesitation.

She noticed everything. “You were saying?”

His eyes moved toward her. “I was just talking to her.”

Ellie nodded. “Yeah.” Short. Flat.

The guy looked confused. “Okay.” The silence stretched. You looked at Ellie again. She seemed tense. But you couldn’t figure out why. You assumed she was tired. Or maybe the party was annoying her.

“You want to go somewhere quieter?” The guy looked at you, smiling. “We could actually talk.”

And there it was. The moment Ellie stopped pretending. Because she heard what you didn’t. She saw what you didn’t. The way his eyes lingered. The way he ignored the fact that Ellie was standing right there. The way he looked at you like he had already decided something. Ellie’s jaw tightened. Her hand on your back stilled. You looked between them, confused by the sudden shift.

“Ellie?”

She didn’t answer immediately. She was trying.

Trying to be reasonable. Trying not to let jealousy make her look ridiculous. But then she looked at you. At your confused expression. At the way you still genuinely believed this was harmless. And something in her snapped. Her voice was calm. Too calm. “Maybe you should back off a little.”

The guy laughed. Not because he found it funny. More because he seemed surprised. Like he genuinely couldn’t believe Ellie was serious. “What?” His smile faltered slightly as he looked at her. Ellie didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The noise of the party continued around them, people laughing and talking, music shaking the walls, but somehow the space between the three of them felt completely separate from everything else.

“I said back off.” Her voice was quieter this time. That somehow made it worse. There was no joke behind it. No playful attitude. No sarcasm. Just Ellie.

You immediately felt the tension shift. Your stomach tightened. Because this wasn’t the Ellie who teased you about your planners or stole your snacks or made you laugh when you were stressed.

This was a side of her you rarely saw. The side that appeared when she decided something mattered.

“Ellie—” You stepped forward slightly, hoping to soften whatever was happening. You weren’t angry. You were confused. You didn’t understand why this had become a confrontation. But Ellie stopped you before you could say anything else.

“No.” The word was immediate. Firm. Her eyes never left him. Not even for a second. You went quiet. Because Ellie wasn’t dismissing you. Not exactly. It was more like she was asking you to trust her for a moment.

The guy looked between you both. “Seriously?”

Ellie’s expression didn’t change. Your eyebrows pulled together. You looked at her. Then at him.

“What?” You sounded genuinely confused. Because you were. You weren’t pretending. You really didn’t understand. “We’re just talking.”

The words came out softer than you intended. You weren’t defending him. You were trying to understand. Ellie finally looked at you for a brief second. And that almost hurt more.

Because there was something in her expression.

Frustration. Concern. Something you couldn’t name. Then she looked back at him. Ellie let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Jesus.” She shook her head slightly. Not at you. Not exactly. More like at the entire situation.

“Seriously?” The guy raised his hands slightly. “Okay, I don’t know what your problem is.” Ellie didn’t answer. Because she didn’t trust herself to. Instead, she reached for your wrist. Gently. Carefully. The contrast almost surprised you. Her voice had been sharp. Her posture tense.

But her hand was gentle. She guided you one step behind her. Not dragging. Not forcing. Just creating space. And only then did she finally look him directly in the eye. “I think she’s done talking.”

The finality in her voice made the guy pause. You stood behind her, still trying to piece everything together. Because from where you were standing, the situation made no sense.

But from where Ellie was standing…She looked like someone who had been watching a storm approach long before you noticed the clouds.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved.

The guy seemed to realize he had lost whatever argument he thought he was having. Not because Ellie had raised her voice. Not because she had made a scene. Because she hadn’t.

That was the unsettling part.

Ellie simply stood there with her hand still around your wrist, her expression unreadable, like she had already made up her mind. The guy looked away first. “Whatever.”

The word was quieter than before. Ellie didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. She just turned slightly toward you. “Come on.”

You looked at her. There was no anger directed at you. Not yet. Just a wall. A distance you weren’t used to. And somehow that made you more nervous than if she had snapped immediately.

“Ellie…” Your voice was softer. Almost careful. She didn’t answer. She simply started walking. You hesitated for half a second before apologizing to the guy and following her.

Because even though you didn’t understand what had happened, even though part of you wanted to stay and explain yourself, something about Ellie’s silence told you this wasn’t the time.

The walk outside was quiet. The music faded behind you. The cold air hit your face immediately, sobering you slightly. The parking lot was almost empty compared to the apartment.

A few cars. A few distant voices. The sound of your footsteps beside hers. Ellie walked ahead. Not far.

Just enough. You watched her shoulders. Usually, Ellie filled silence. She hated it. She would make a joke. Say something sarcastic. Point out something ridiculous. Anything to avoid sitting in a quiet moment.

But now? Nothing. You swallowed.

“Ellie.” No response. You tried again. “I’m sorry.”

She stopped walking. For a second, you thought she might turn around. She didn’t. The silence stretched. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

That made her pause. Only slightly. But you noticed.

Because you always noticed Ellie. She finally looked back. And the expression on her face made your chest tighten. Not anger. Not exactly. Something more complicated. “You didn’t.”

You frowned. “Then why are you acting like this?”

Ellie looked away. Because she didn’t have an answer that didn’t expose too much.

She didn’t want to admit that seeing someone else stand too close to you had made something ugly twist inside her. She didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t just annoyance. That it was fear. That she knew exactly what kind of person that guy was because she had seen it before.

She didn’t want to admit that watching you smile politely while someone slowly crossed every line you didn’t notice had made her feel helpless.

So instead, she walked to the car. Unlocked it.

The lights flashed. You followed behind her. Still confused. Still trying. Ellie opened the passenger door for you. You blinked. That was almost normal. Almost. Except her expression wasn’t. “Ellie—”

She didn’t let you finish. She just waited. You climbed in. The second you were inside, she closed the door. A little harder than necessary. Not enough to scare you. Just enough to show she was holding something back.

Then she walked around the front of the car and got into the driver’s seat. The door shut. The engine started. And then… Nothing. No lecture. No explanation. No sarcastic comment. No “you should’ve seen his face.”

Nothing.

The silence filled every corner of the car. You looked over at her. Ellie stared straight ahead, hands resting on the steering wheel. Her jaw was tight.

The streetlights passed over her face as she drove.

You had never seen her this quiet. Not when she was annoyed. Not when she was stressed.

Not even when she was upset. This was different.

You shifted slightly in your seat.

“Ellie.”

Nothing. You looked down at your hands. You weren’t used to not knowing what someone was thinking. Especially not her.

Because Ellie usually wore everything on her face.

Except now. Now she was locked away. The drive continued. The party disappeared behind you.

The streets became quieter. And Ellie said absolutely nothing. Which, somehow, was the loudest thing she could have done.

The drive is silent. Painfully silent. The kind of silence that feels heavier than an argument.

The kind where every small movement feels too loud. The music stays off. Usually Ellie always has something playing. A song she likes. Something random she found. Something she claims is “not that deep” despite the fact that she knows every lyric.

But now there is only the quiet hum of the engine.

Streetlights slide across the windshield in long golden streaks, painting brief flashes of light across Ellie’s face before disappearing again. Your hands stay folded in your lap. Not because you’re nervous.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Mostly because you don’t know what else to do with them. You glance over. Ellie’s grip on the steering wheel is tight enough that her knuckles have turned pale.

That alone tells you something is wrong. Ellie is not someone who holds things in. She explodes.

She jokes. She argues. She makes everything impossible to ignore. But this? This quiet version of her? You don’t know how to handle it.

“You okay?” The question comes out carefully. Almost hesitant.

You hate that. You hate feeling like you have to be careful around her. The question hangs between you. For a second, you think she might answer.

But she doesn’t.

The only response is the soft sound of the car moving over the road. You look away. Maybe she didn’t hear. Or maybe she’s choosing not to.

Neither option feels good.

You wait another minute. Maybe she just needs time. Maybe she’ll say something when she’s ready. But the silence keeps stretching. And eventually, you can’t stand it anymore.

“I’m sorry if I—” You stop yourself. Because you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.

For talking to someone? For not noticing something Ellie noticed? For making her upset? Still nothing. Your chest tightens slightly. Then Ellie moves. Without looking away from the road, her hand leaves the steering wheel. You immediately notice.

Her fingers brush against your leg before her hand settles on your thigh. Firm. Grounding.

The gesture catches you completely off guard.

Because it doesn’t match the distance she’s been creating. She isn’t looking at you. She isn’t saying anything. But she’s touching you like she’s reminding herself that you’re there.

That you’re okay. That you’re still beside her.

Her fingers tighten once. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to stop your leg from bouncing. You hadn’t even realized you were doing that. You look down at her hand. Then back at her face.

The gesture confuses you more than it comforts you. Because you don’t understand how Ellie can seem so angry and still be so gentle.

“Ellie…”

Your voice is quieter now. A little more uncertain.

She doesn’t respond. Her eyes stay fixed on the road. The passing lights reflect in them, but you can’t read her expression.

“Can you please say something?”

Your voice cracks slightly at the end. Not from crying. Just frustration. You don’t like not knowing.

You don’t like feeling like there’s a problem you can’t solve. Ellie’s thumb shifts slightly against your leg. Another small squeeze. Almost automatic.

Almost like she’s trying to answer without words.

But it isn’t enough. You swallow.

“I honestly don’t understand why you’re upset.” The words leave your mouth before you can rethink them. And the second they do, Ellie’s expression changes. Barely. But you notice. Her jaw tightens.

Her shoulders rise slightly. Then she closes her eyes. Just for a second. Like she’s forcing herself to breathe. Like she’s counting to ten.

Because if she speaks too quickly, she knows exactly what will come out. And she doesn’t know if she’s angry enough to say it. Or vulnerable enough to admit why.

“He’s just friendly.” The words leave your mouth quietly. Not defensive. Not argumentative.

Just honest. Because that is genuinely what you believe.

You turn slightly in your seat, trying to catch Ellie’s expression, trying to understand the invisible thing she seems to be seeing.

But instead of answering, Ellie laughs. Just once.

A short, humorless sound. Not amused. Not surprised. Almost like she can’t believe you still don’t understand. You look away. The sound settles uncomfortably in your chest.

Because you know Ellie.

You know the difference between her real laugh and the ones she uses when she’s trying to hide something. And that wasn’t a real laugh. A few seconds pass. The silence returns.

You watch the streetlights blur past the window, trying to figure out what to say without making things worse. You hate this. You hate feeling like you’re missing something. Like everyone else knows a rule you never learned.

Eventually, the question slips out.

“Are you mad at me?” The moment you ask it, you regret it. Because you don’t want the answer. Ellie’s fingers tighten slightly against your thigh. Not enough to hurt. Just enough that you notice. She’s distant. Quiet. Frustrated.

But she hasn’t moved away from you. She exhales slowly through her nose. Like she’s trying to pull herself back before she says something she can’t take back.

“I’m not mad at you.” The words are immediate.

But her voice isn’t. There’s something underneath them. Something strained. Something that makes you frown. Because she doesn’t sound convinced.

You shift slightly toward her.

“Then what is this?” The question is softer than before. Less frustrated. More confused. Ellie’s jaw tightens. Her grip on the steering wheel gets harder.

For a moment, she says nothing. The silence stretches long enough that you think she might ignore the question again.

“He wasn’t interested in your fucking major.” The bluntness catches you off guard. You blink. The car goes quiet again. Ellie shakes her head slightly, almost like she’s frustrated with herself for even having to explain it.

She looks out the window for a second. The passing lights reflect across her face. When she looks back at the road, her expression is still tense. But now you can see it more clearly. It isn’t just anger.

It’s disappointment. Not in you. Something else.

“He wasn’t asking about your classes because he cared about your classes.” Her voice stays low. Controlled. But every word feels like it has been sitting there for a while.

You open your mouth. Then stop. Because you don’t know what to say. Ellie notices. Her thumb moves slightly against your leg.

Then her hand squeezes again. This time harder.

Not enough to hurt. Enough to pull your attention back to her. Enough to make sure you’re listening.

“Ells…” Your voice is quieter now. She finally glances at you. And for a second, all the frustration disappears. There’s something else there. Something much harder for her to admit.

“You really don’t see it, do you?” The question isn’t mocking. It isn’t teasing. The next few minutes pass in a blur of quiet tension.

The conversation feels like it is sitting between you both, unfinished and heavy. You can feel Ellie trying to hold something back. You just don’t know what.

And then, suddenly—

The car jerks. Your stomach drops.

Ellie pulls over far more abruptly than you expected, the tires shifting against the road as she brings the car to a stop. You gasp instinctively, one hand flying out to grip the door handle. For a second, neither of you moves. The engine hums. The world outside keeps going. But inside the car, everything feels frozen.

She leans back slightly and runs a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. The frustration on her face is obvious now. Not the kind where she’s angry at you.

The kind where she’s angry because she doesn’t know how to explain something without revealing too much.

You watch her carefully. You have seen Ellie irritated. You have seen her sarcastic. You have seen her reckless and impulsive and impossible to predict.

But this? This is different. She’s quiet. Focused. Almost painfully controlled. Finally, she looks back at you.

“Get on my lap.” The words are firm. Not a suggestion. Not a joke. You blink. For a second, you wonder if you heard her correctly. Because Ellie says a lot of things. Usually things that make no sense. Usually things she laughs about five seconds later. But she doesn’t laugh now. She just looks at you. You hesitate.

“Ellie, what are you—” The question dies halfway through. Because then you meet her eyes. And you understand why she stopped talking. There’s no anger there anymore. Not really. The sharpness is gone. What’s left is something heavier.

Something intense.

Like she has been holding onto a storm for too long and she’s finally letting herself admit it exists. You’ve never seen Ellie like this. Not angry. Not exactly. Just overwhelmed. Like she needs something she can’t put into words. She gestures toward herself, impatient but not unkind.

Your heartbeat picks up slightly. Not because you’re afraid. Because this is unfamiliar. Ellie is usually impossible to pin down. A mess of jokes, sarcasm, and half-finished thoughts. But right now she’s certain. There’s no hesitation in her. No pretending. No hiding behind humor.

You search her face for some sign that she’s joking.

There isn’t one.

“I said get on.” Her voice is lower this time. Still firm. But beneath it, you hear something else. A need for reassurance. A need to know you trust her. And somehow, that makes your confusion soften. Because this isn’t Ellie trying to win an argument.

This is Ellie, for once, admitting that something got under her skin. That something scared her.

You take a breath. Then slowly you move closer. You move carefully. Not because Ellie is forcing you.

Because, for the first time since you’ve known her, Ellie looks like someone who is trying very hard not to fall apart. You settle closer, watching her face the entire time. Waiting for the joke. The teasing comment. Anything that would make this feel like the Ellie you know. But it doesn’t come.

Her hands find your hips almost immediately, steadying you. Not possessive. Not careless. Just grounding. Like she needs the reminder that you’re actually here. That you chose to come closer.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence feels different now. Less like an argument. More like both of you are standing on the edge of something neither of you knows how to name.

Ellie looks away briefly. Her jaw tightens. Then she looks back at you.

“Listen to me.” Her voice is low. Serious. You immediately become more attentive. Because Ellie rarely sounds like this. “If you don’t want to be here, you tell me.”

The firmness in her voice catches you off guard. Not because it’s harsh. Because she means it. You search her face. She isn’t trying to pressure you. She’s making sure.

“I mean it.” Her hands loosen slightly, giving you space even while she keeps you close. “You can say no.”

Something about that makes your chest tighten. Because Ellie, for all her confidence, is actually asking. Not assuming. Not deciding. Asking. You nod slowly. “I know.”

But Ellie doesn’t look satisfied yet. Not because she doubts you. Because she needs you to understand.

“Trust me.” The words are quieter. Almost vulnerable. And that is what gets you. Because Ellie Williams does not ask for things easily. She demands. She jokes. She pretends she doesn’t care. But trust? That is different.

You look at her. Really look at her. The tension is still there. The frustration. The jealousy. The emotions she clearly isn’t ready to admit out loud. But underneath all of it is something much simpler.

She cares. A lot.

“I do.” The answer comes before you can overthink it. Ellie goes still. Just for a second. Like she wasn’t expecting you to say it so easily. Her expression softens. Only slightly. But you notice. You always notice.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” The question is almost whispered. Your heart stutters.

Because there it is. A crack. Not a confession. Not yet. But a glimpse. You don’t know what to say. So you don’t. You just stay there. And for once, Ellie doesn’t need to fill the silence.

Her hands stay steady. Her breathing slowly evens out. The storm inside her hasn’t disappeared.

But somehow, with you there, it feels less impossible for her to handle. And maybe that’s what she needed all along. Not to win. Not to prove a point.

Just to know that when she finally stopped pretending she was fine… You were still there.

Ellie’s hands remained on your hips. Steady. Warm.

Not pulling you closer. Not letting you drift away either. She looked at you for a long moment, her breathing uneven, like every sentence had to fight its way past everything she was trying to keep under control.

“You really don’t get it.” It wasn’t an accusation.

If anything, she sounded tired. Your brows knitted together. “Then tell me.”

She let out a slow breath, her gaze dropping briefly before finding yours again.

“I walked back to you…” Her jaw tightened. “And he was looking at you like he’d already decided he had a fucking chance.”

You stayed quiet. She shook her head.

“And you were just…” A small, disbelieving laugh escaped her. “Smiling at him.”

“I was being polite.”

“I know.” The answer came so quickly it caught you off guard. “I know you were.” Her thumbs absentmindedly brushed against the fabric at your sides.

Her eyes searched yours, almost pleading for you to understand. The car fell quiet again. You watched her carefully. She looked almost embarrassed by what she was about to admit.

“I hated watching him look at you.” Another pause. “I hated watching him think he could have you.”

Your heartbeat stumbled. Ellie laughed under her breath, shaking her head at herself.

“I kept standing there thinking…” She rubbed a hand over her face. “…that I wanted him to stop looking at you like that.” She met your eyes again. “I wanted him to know.” Her voice was barely above a whisper now. “That you weren’t his to flirt with.”

The words settled heavily between you. She didn’t look away. “I can’t keep pretending this is casual.”

There it was. Not a joke. Not a sarcastic comment.

Just the truth. “I like you so fucking much.” You felt your chest tighten. “So much that it scared me tonight.”

Silence stretched between you, but it no longer felt hostile. It felt fragile. Ellie’s grip loosened slightly on your hips, giving you room to move if you wanted to.

You held her gaze. She continued before you could answer. Her thumbs brushed your sides once, gentle now.

“I want to know that if I kiss you…” She paused, choosing her words with unusual care. “…or if I hold you right here, hold you down until you ask me to stop…or beg me to keep going …” Her expression softened. “…it’s because you want that too.”

The intensity in her eyes hadn’t disappeared. Neither had the fire you’d seen since the party. But now you understood what it really was. Not anger. Not possessiveness. The answer came before you could overthink it. You nodded. Once. Immediately. Ellie searched your face one last time, as if giving you every opportunity to change your mind.

Something inside her seemed to give way.

The tension she’d been carrying all evening, the jealousy, the fear, the helplessness of watching someone else stand too close to you, finally cracked.

Her hand rose to your cheek. Before you could register, she closed the distance between you.

Her lips met yours with weeks of unspoken feelings behind them. It wasn’t a careful first kiss. It wasn’t practiced or perfect. It was honest.

You felt the shaky breath she let out against your lips, like she’d been holding it since the party, maybe even longer.

Your hands found her shoulders instinctively, steadying both of you. Ellie held you as though she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

And then, she let it all out. Her jealousy flared, hot and wild, and she ground you against her lap with rough little rolls of her hips. Instinctively a noise escaped you. Ellie’s breathing turned ragged the second she heard your whimper like a spark to her gasoline.

Her lips found your neck, nipping, sucking, a possessive mark blooming just above your collarbone. Every movement was sharp with frustration.

"Fuck," she muttered between kisses, "he wanted you all over him."

Her hands squeezed tight at your thighs suddenly before sliding up under the hem of your shirt.

Ellie’s fingers traced your bare skin, rough and impatient, her touch burning with pent-up jealousy. She kissed you again, harder this time, a messy collision of teeth and tongue that tasted like beer and desperation.*

She didn’t want sweet. She wanted claiming.

One hand fisted in your hair while the other pulled at the waistband of your jeans, tugging just enough to make you gasp. Her hips kept rocking up against yours in sharp little thrusts, frustrated energy turned into something hotter, needier.

Breathe, she thought distantly, but all she cared about was wiping that dumbass from every inch of your memory.

Ellie’s lips stayed locked on your neck, sucking hard, leaving a mark that would definitely show tomorrow. Her teeth grazed the tender skin just once, a warning bite, before she pulled back slightly, her dark eyes locking onto yours. Her breath was uneven. Heavy.

She gave you that look, the one that said she was barely holding it together, and if you didn’t stop her right now… there’d be no turning back. A beat of silence. Then softer than before, almost a whisper against your lips: "Last chance."

But even as she said it… her hands were already moving again, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants again with quiet urgency.

“I-l” you stutter but desperately nod as she rolls her hips up once more. The second that whimper slipped out, soft, helpless, hers, Ellie snapped.

No more waiting. No more chances.

She crashed her mouth onto yours again, kissing you like she was starving for it. One hand stayed tangled in your hair while the other slid down to unbutton your jeans with frantic fingers, shaky from want.

Her hips rolled up hard against yours again, a deliberate grind, and this time she moaned into the kiss low and deep, losing herself completely in how good you felt on top of her.

The cool air hit your skin the second her fingers popped the button, then immediately, Ellie’s warm palm slid down over your stomach, sending a shiver through you. She didn’t waste time.

Her hands were quick now, impatient and sure, and she yanked at the zipper of your jeans with zero hesitation. The sound was loud in the quiet car. When they came undone completely, she wasted no breath. Her lips left yours just to trail kisses down your jaw… then neck… then collarbone…

But her hands?

They were already sliding under fabric, fingers skimming along sensitive skin below waistbands, as if memorizing every inch on their way lower.

Ellie’s breath hitched, audible, rough, as her fingers glided through your folds. She didn’t expect you to be this wet.

The groan that escaped Ellie was low, primal, almost a growl, her eyes flickered with something feral as she felt how soaked you were through your underwear.

She just stared for half a second, her breath hitching, and then her thumb brushed over the damp fabric again… slowly this time… testing. A shudder ran through her.

Fuck. You wanted her. Not him. Not anyone else. Just her.

Ellie held your gaze for one long second, green eyes locked with yours, both of you breathing fast. There was fire in her stare: jealousy still burning, but now mixed with something hungrier.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she pushed your thighs further to the side. The movement opened you up more for her.

Her fingers slid right back where they were before, but this time lower, bolder, and when she finally touched there, pressing gently against that sensitive bundle of nerves?

She didn’t look away. No smirk. No teasing words. Just intense focus and a slow circle of her fingertip that made your whole body jerk.

She absolutely loved that reaction. Loved how you responded to just one little circle. And she chuckled. Low. Quiet. Smug. She’d just won something precious without even trying hard yet.

Her eyes stayed locked on yours, dark with desire, amusement dancing in them. Just... possessive and pleased as hell.

Then she did it again, a slow, deliberate rub right over your clit, and watched every tiny flinch it pulled from your face.

Ellie noticed the second your gaze wavered, when your eyelids fluttered shut, when you looked down at her hands or to the side like you couldn’t handle how intense this was. Her voice came out low. Firm. Not angry, but commanding.

"Hey." And instantly, your eyes snapped back. She cupped your jaw with her free hand and tilted it up slightly, forcing eye contact again.

"Eyes on me, baby" she murmured, softer now, but still unyielding. "Don't look away." The demand hung between you. Raw intimacy layered over pleasure and jealousy alike.

And then… without breaking that stare… she pressed two fingers gently against your entrance.

Ellie saw the furrow between your brows, the quiet, breathless anticipation and it killed her. You were waiting. For what? Her touch? A kiss? Something deeper? She held that gaze like a dare.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she slid one finger inside.

Just an inch at first. Testing. Feeling you clench around her instinctively from surprise and heat and want all tangled together. Her lips parted slightly, not kissing you yet, but watching every micro-expression on your face. Your mouth softened. Your breathing hitched

And still… she didn’t look away. The second she pushed all the way in, knuckle-deep, smooth and sure, Ellie’s breath caught.

A real gasp. Not teasing. Not smug.

You were tight. So tight. Warm and pulsing around her finger, maybe because it was her, finally giving you what stupid guy never could.

Her eyes fluttered shut for half a second, the sensation overwhelming, but she snapped them back open instantly, remembering her own rule.

And there it was again that quiet chuckle escaping her lips. This time softer, more dazed than cocky.

Then she curled that finger slightly inside you… just to feel how much your body gripped tighter in response. The curl of her finger drew a soft, involuntary sound from you, maybe a whimper, maybe just air escaping your lips, and Ellie felt it everywhere.

Her pulse jumped.

She did it again. A slow, deliberate curl, gentle but deep, and this time she added the faintest grind of her palm against your clit with her thumb.

Her breathing had gone uneven now. Chest rising and falling faster than before. The heat between you wasn’t just about sex anymore, it was something heavier: jealousy turned into intimacy… possession turned tender.

Still staring into your eyes… She leaned forward and kissed you, softly at first. The kiss broke just as Ellie leaned back, her lips still close to yours, and she spoke, voice low and rough with jealousy barely contained.

"Bet hecouldn’t make you this wet," she muttered, "or touch you like this." Then, without warning, she picked up the pace. Her finger pumped harder. Faster. Curling deep inside while her thumb circled your clit in quick, relentless strokes.

No more teasing slowness.

Now it was all urgency, a frenzied rhythm meant to overwhelm you, prove a point. Judging by how fast your breath turned shaky… it was working. Yes. She was better at making you feel good than anyone else.

Ellie’s jaw clenched as she kept up the relentless pace, her finger plunging deep, her thumb grinding in sharp circles, and with every thrust, she locked eyes with you like a challenge.

"You were so fucking close to him," she accused between breaths. Her voice was tight, not quite yelling, but edged with that raw jealousy again. Possessive. Hurt.

And still… still… she didn’t slow down.

If anything, she got rougher when your nails dug into her shoulders for balance. The pressure only fueled her. It was proof you were affected by this too.

She leaned forward suddenly and bit your lower lip, a quick sting of punishment-turned-kiss—before diving back into watching how your face twisted from the intensity. The sudden buck of your hips against her palm, desperate, instinctive, sent a jolt straight through Ellie’s body.

God. She almost moaned.

It slipped out, a quiet, breathy noise from the back of her throat. Not quite a sound she’d ever admit to making… but it happened.

And then came that chuckle again, the smug one, but softer now. Affectionate beneath the jealousy. Because you were losing control for her. Only her. Right here in this car with no audience but the dark outside and their racing hearts.

She loved it.

So instead of slowing down?

She pressed harder with her hand, finger driving deeper while thumb rubbed faster, and leaned in to kiss you mid-buckle. Ellie held your gaze like a brand, unyielding, intense, as she kept finger-fucking you with steady, punishing rhythm. Her eyes were dark green pools of jealousy and heat… and she wasn’t done.

"He’ll never touch you like this," she said lowly, voice rough with emotion, not accusing anymore, but stating it as fact. "He’ll never get to see that beautiful fucking face..."

Her thumb pressed harder on your clit right after that. A tease. A punishment. She wanted the contrast: the man who had casual access to her girl… versus her, actually owning every moan, every shiver.

“Fuck.” The second your hips stuttered, losing rhythm, losing control, Ellie’s breath hitched.

Then came the moans.

Soft at first, then louder as pleasure overwhelmed you, and fuck, it was music to her. Her chest swelled with something fierce: pride. Possession. Triumph.

“Ellie…oh god.” She’d done this. She was making you fall apart right on top of her lap while she glared into your soul like a jealous goddess claiming what’s hers.

The teasing stopped for a heartbeat, no more talk about the guy, as she focused entirely on the way your body trembled around her fingers… how wet and tight and desperate you were getting…

And without breaking eye contact, the stretch of a second finger made Ellie’s pulse spike, she felt you clench around both, tight and hot, and she didn’t hesitate.

She started pumping hard. Fast. No teasing now.

Just raw, relentless fucking with her fingers, curling them on every thrust like she was trying to reach something deep inside you that only she could touch.

Your head dropped onto her shoulder, a heavy surrender, and your hips stuttered wildly against her hand, chasing the friction desperately.

Ellie bit down gently on your neck in response, a silent mark, to claim even more space while watching (and feeling) how close you were getting…

Her own breathing turned ragged… but not from effort.

The second she felt your body tensing, right on the edge, Ellie yanked hard on your hair. Not painful. Not cruel. But firm. Possessive. Commanding.

Your head snapped up, eyes flying open as you were forced to look at her again, your lips parted, cheeks flushed, breath coming in shaky gasps. She wanted to see it all: the moment you shattered… while staring into her eyes.

Her fingers never stopped, they kept moving fast and deep, but now with even more intensity behind each thrust, like she could push you over just by sheer willpower alone.

That intense gaze locked onto yours. Ellie’s voice dropped, low, filthy, vibrating against your ear, as she finally let go of all restraint.

"Look at you," she whispered, "so close… falling apart on my fingers. Only mine." Her words came fast between breaths, each one a spark to your nerves. "You’re gonna cum for me like this? Huh? All because I’m touching you right?"

She curled her fingers deeper with every thrust now, hitting that sweet spot inside you while her thumb pressed hard on your clit. And when another loud moan tore from your lips? She smirked, and leaned in to bite down gently on the shell of your ear. "Cum for me, pretty girl."

Ellie felt your body coil tight, every muscle tensing, breath hitching, and she knew. You were right there. So close. Her voice turned more commanding.

"Yeah… that’s it. Let go," she breathed against your ear, "I’ve got you."

She didn’t slow down, not one bit, but matched her filthy talk with the rhythm: relentless fingers fucking into you, thumb working in perfect circles like she’d been studying how to make you cum for weeks.

And when another wave of moans spilled from your lips, louder this time, she kissed the corner of your mouth briefly before whispering: "That’s it…Fucking cum on my hand."

The command hit you like lightning. And just like that, you shattered.

Your back arched slightly, your thighs squeezed around her hand, and a choked cry escaped as the orgasm ripped through you. Wave after wave of intense pleasure surged, hot and dizzying, and all while Ellie kept her fingers moving through it, riding out every pulse with quiet satisfaction.

She watched your face, the way your eyes fluttered shut for a second before snapping open again to meet hers… how breathless you were… No words. Just warmth in her gaze now.

Ellie’s voice softened, completely different now. No jealousy, no teasing. Just tender, guiding warmth as she felt your body throb through the orgasm.

"Shh… that’s it," she murmured, brushing damp hair from your forehead with her free hand. Her fingers slowed to a gentle pace, still inside you, but barely moving now, just keeping contact so you could feel her there while coming down.

"You did so good," she praised quietly, "came so pretty for me..." Every word was calm and reassuring, the kind of tone only someone who cared deeply would use after pushing someone over the edge like this.

Ellie looked down, really looked, and her breath caught all over again. The way your body still trembled. The flush on your cheeks. How relaxed you’d gone against her, like every muscle had melted into her shoulder.

Her fingers were slick with you, and the sight of it, your pleasure glistening on them, sent a quiet ache through her chest. She almost moaned. Not from lust this time… but something deeper. Something warm and possessive and weirdly emotional.

Her thumb brushed softly over your lower lip, a rare moment of gentleness after all that fire, and then she slowly pulled out, being careful not to startle you.

The second you lifted your hips, helping her slide her fingers out, Ellie’s heart did something funny. You were so soft now. So pliant and peaceful, sighing against her shoulder like a sleepy cat after being fed. It undid something in her, the jealousy, the tension… all of it melted into quiet affection.

She carefully wiped your slickness on the inside of your jeans with two fingers, and then wrapped both arms around you properly for the first time since this whole thing started. Just holding. Her chin rested lightly on top of your head as she exhaled slowly, finally relaxed. “Ellie…”

“I know you.” She cuts you off, but not harshly. “I know you think people are just being nice because you’re nice.” Her eyes meet yours.

“And that’s a good thing. It is.” A pause. “But it also means you don’t always notice when someone isn’t.” You don’t have an answer. Because a small part of you wonders if she’s right. The silence stretches.Then Ellie looks down, running a hand over her face.She wasn’t done. Not even close.

Then she turned to you, voice low and suddenly thick with desire once again, and gave one simple command: "Back seat."

No hesitation. She unbuckled your jeans properly this time and nudged your shoulder gently toward the back of the car.

Because if she was gonna eat you out?

She wanted room.

A = Aftercare — Ellie is incredibly affectionate afterward. She’d pull you into her chest, brush your hair back, ask if you’re okay, and refuse to let you get up for at least another ten minutes.

B = Body Part — On herself, probably her hands, she’s quietly proud of how capable they are (iykyk). On you, your eyes. She’d catch herself getting distracted every time you looked at her.

C = Comfort — She wants you to feel safe enough to tell her exactly what you’re thinking, even if it’s awkward. Honest communication means everything to her.

D = Dates — Her idea of a perfect date is something simple: exploring abandoned buildings together, watching the sunset, then ending the night wrapped up in blankets listening to old music.

E = Experience — She acts more confident than she feels. Even if she’s been in relationships before, every new relationship matters enough that she still gets nervous.

F = Favorite Nickname — “Baby” slips out naturally just like “Babe”, but when she’s especially soft it’s “pretty girl.”

G = Goofy — She absolutely ruins serious moments by making you laugh. If you’re blushing too hard, she’ll pull a ridiculous face just to make you smile.

H = Hugs — Ellie gives the kind of hugs where she practically melts into you. She’d bury her face in your shoulder and stay there until one of you complains about your legs falling asleep.

I = Intimacy — Emotional closeness comes first for her. Long conversations at 2 a.m., quiet forehead kisses, and simply existing together are just as meaningful as grand romantic gestures.

J = Jealousy — She isn’t possessive, but she gets a little insecure. If someone flirts with you, she’ll pretend it doesn’t bother her until later when she quietly asks if everything’s okay between you.

K = Kisses — Her favorite are forehead and temple kisses. They’re absent-minded, almost instinctive.

L = Love Language — Acts of service mixed with physical touch. Fixing your guitar string, carrying your backpack, holding your hand without thinking.

M = Motivation — Seeing you genuinely happy. Your laugh is enough to brighten her entire day.

N = No — She hates dishonesty and emotional games. She’d rather have an uncomfortable conversation than wonder what you’re feeling.

O = Open — Ellie takes time to open up, but once she does, she’ll tell you things she’s never admitted to anyone else.

P = Protection — She naturally positions herself between you and danger, barely realizing she’s doing it.

Q = Quiet — Comfortable silence is one of her favorite things. She doesn’t always need words to feel close to you.

R = Reassurance — She gives it constantly, but secretly needs it too. Hearing that she’s enough means more to her than she’ll admit.

S = Sleep — She’s absolutely a cuddle thief. You’ll wake up tangled together because she unconsciously scooted closer overnight.

T = Trust — It’s the foundation of everything for Ellie. Once you’ve earned it, she’s fiercely loyal.

U = Understanding — If you’re shy or anxious, she’ll never rush you. She’d much rather move at your pace than make you uncomfortable.

V = Vulnerability — The strongest sign that Ellie loves you is letting you see her cry without trying to hide it.

W = Wild Card — She secretly loves cheesy romance. She’ll roll her eyes at love songs, then learn every lyric because they remind her of you.

X = X-Factor — The little half-smile she gets whenever she catches you looking at her. She’ll tease you for staring while secretly hoping you never stop.

Y = Yearning — When she misses you, she misses everything, your voice, your laugh, the way you absent-mindedly play with her fingers. She’s hopelessly attached once she’s in love.

Z = Zzz’s — She falls asleep quickly if you’re playing with her hair, usually mumbling an “I love you” that’s so sleepy it’s almost impossible to understand.

(When it’s your birthday)

birthday!ellie who wakes up before you do because she’s been planning your surprise for days and somehow still looks nervous when the moment finally comes.

birthday!ellie who doesn’t start the morning with a big speech or some dramatic gesture, just a sleepy smile, a quiet “happy birthday, baby,” and the kind of attention that makes you feel like the only person in the world.

birthday!ellie who knows you’re still half-asleep and loves how surprised you are, teasing you softly when you realize exactly how she decided to make your morning special.

birthday!ellie who keeps checking your face the whole time as her fingers work between your legs, because even when she’s confident, your comfort and happiness are still the thing she cares about most.

birthday!ellie who whispers little birthday wishes between soft kisses, acting like she’s trying to memorize every reaction she gets out of you.

birthday!ellie who jokes that she should get bonus points for being the first person to make you smile on your birthday.

birthday!ellie who spends the rest of the morning wrapped up with you, refusing to get out of bed because “technically it’s your birthday, so you’re allowed to be lazy.”

birthday!ellie who brings you breakfast afterward, looking way too proud of herself while pretending she isn’t waiting for you to tell her she did good.

10 posts yayyyy!

dominant!ellie who takes the lead naturally, not because she’s impatient, but because she can tell you’d rather follow than worry about what comes next.

dominant!ellie who gently tilts your chin up whenever you hide your face, smiling when your cheeks immediately warm. “There you are.”

dominant!ellie who absolutely lives for how flustered you get, teasing you with a quiet, “You’re cute when you blush, y’know that?” before letting you recover.

dominant!ellie who never assumes anything, checking in with you in a calm voice. “Still okay?” and refusing to continue until she sees you nod or hears you answer.

dominant!ellie who keeps one hand wrapped around yours the whole time because she can feel how tense you are, giving it a reassuring squeeze whenever your nerves creep back in.

dominant!ellie who notices every tiny reaction you have, every shy smile, every nervous laugh, and slows down the second she thinks you’re getting overwhelmed.

dominant!ellie who praises you without even thinking about it. “You’re doing great.” “That’s it.” “I’m right here.” and somehow every word makes your heartbeat speed up.

dominant!ellie who can’t help but smile when you keep hiding your face against her shoulder, rubbing small circles along your back until you finally peek up at her again.

dominant!ellie who has a naturally confident presence, but softens instantly whenever she sees you hesitate, making it obvious that your comfort comes before anything else.

dominant!ellie who laughs quietly when you apologize for being shy, brushing it off with an affectionate, “You don’t have to apologize for being you.”

Chapter Four

If you haven’t read it yet, here’s Chapter One

synopsis: Sometimes it isn’t the deadlines or the sleepless nights that finally break you. Sometimes it’s a blue mug, a room that’s fallen apart, and the last person you’d expect quietly refusing to let you carry everything alone.

warnings: college au, emotional comfort, reader has a stress-induced breakdown, crying, academic burnout, sleep deprivation, hurt/comfort, gentle physical affection, soft Ellie, slow burn, light humor, no explicit content.

It happened on a Thursday.

Apparently Thursdays were particularly cursed.

Your body had finally decided it couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine.

For nearly two weeks, your life had revolved around one thing.

The essay.

You woke up thinking about it. You went to sleep thinking about it. When you did sleep.

The stack of books beside your desk had grown taller than your lamp. Half your notes were spread across the floor in careful little piles that only made sense to you. Empty mugs had replaced the neat collection you usually kept on the shelf, and the bed you made every morning now sat unmade, the blankets twisted from nights spent tossing and turning instead of resting.

You hated it. You hated every second of it. Nothing felt finished. Every paragraph sounded wrong. Every sentence needed rewriting.

And every time you checked the clock, there somehow seemed to be even less time left than before.

It was suffocating.

Coffee had become breakfast. Sometimes lunch.

Occasionally dinner. You knew it wasn’t particularly good. You just… couldn’t make yourself care.

There wasn’t time. There never seemed to be enough time.

Across the room, Ellie had noticed. You knew she had. She’d stopped playing guitar altogether.

Even the cereal bowls disappeared from your desk before you had the chance to complain about them.

She wasn’t making jokes anymore. Not really.

The silence between you had changed once again.

Less sharp. More… cautious.

Like she was trying not to make things worse. You appreciated it. You just didn’t have the energy to tell her.

It was nearly one in the morning. Your eyes burned.

Your neck ached. You’d been staring at the same paragraph for almost twenty minutes. You read it again. Deleted a sentence. Added it back. Deleted another.

Nothing sounded right. Nothing. You rubbed your face with both hands.

“…Come on.” Barely above a whisper. Your laptop blinked back at you. Mocking you. You reached for your mug. Empty. Of course.

With a tired sigh, you pushed your chair back and stood.

Too quickly. Your foot caught on the strap of your backpack. “Oh—” The mug slipped from your fingers. It wasn’t even full. It hadn’t been full for hours. But it hit the floor with a sharp crack.

Porcelain shattered across the room. Silence.

You stared. It was one of your matching mugs.

The blue one. Your favorite. You just… Stared.

Behind you, Ellie looked up from where she’d been lying on her bed. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer. Your chest suddenly felt tight. It was just a mug. Just a stupid mug. You knew that.

You knew it didn’t matter. It could be replaced.

It wasn’t important. So why—

Your vision blurred. “No…”

You swallowed hard. Not now. Not over this. You squeezed your eyes shut. Your breathing hitched.

“Seriously…?”

The first tear landed before you even realized you were crying. Then another. Then suddenly you couldn’t stop. You covered your face with both hands. Embarrassment flooded through you almost immediately.

No.

No, no, no.

This was ridiculous. It was a mug. You weren’t crying because of a mug. You knew that.

You knew exactly why you were crying.

Because you were exhausted. Because you were overwhelmed. Because you hadn’t slept. Because nothing you wrote ever felt good enough.

Because no matter how hard you worked, it always felt like you were one step behind.

Because—

“Oh…” Ellie’s voice was quiet.

Very quiet. You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

Your voice cracked halfway through.

Neither of you believed it. You crouched down automatically, reaching for one of the broken pieces. “I’ll just…”

Your fingers shook. You couldn’t even pick it up properly. Everything was blurry. Another tear hit the floor. Then another.

You let out a shaky breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “…Shit.”

The curse slipped out before you could stop it.

You hated crying. You hated crying in front of people even more. You heard movement.

Slow. Careful.

Ellie approached like she was worried you’d bolt if she came too quickly. She stopped a few feet away.

“…Hey.”

You shook your head harder. “I’m okay.”

“You are literally crying.”

“I’m aware.” Your laugh came out broken. “I just need a minute.”

Ellie stayed where she was. You expected a joke.

A sarcastic comment. Something to make this less uncomfortable. Nothing came.

She looked… lost.

Like someone had handed her instructions in a language she didn’t speak. She rubbed the back of her neck. Looked at the broken mug. Looked back at you. “…Don’t pick that up.”

You frowned. “I have to clean—”

“No.” Her voice wasn’t harsh. Just firm. You blinked.

Ellie stepped closer. Then crouched in front of you.

For a second, she just looked at you. Really looked.

Your red eyes. Your shaking hands.

The exhaustion you hadn’t hidden nearly as well as you thought you had.

Something in her expression changed. The teasing disappeared completely. She reached out hesitantly. “…Come here.”

You stared at her. “What?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she slipped her hands beneath your arms. Carefully.

Like she was worried you’d break if she moved too fast.

She gently pulled you to your feet. You went without resisting. Mostly because you didn’t have the strength not to.

The moment you were standing, Ellie wrapped both arms around you.

Not awkwardly. Not halfway. Completely. Her chin rested lightly against the top of your head.

One hand settled between your shoulder blades.

The other cradled the back of your head. Holding you close. Securely.

Like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

You froze. Every muscle in your body locked.

You hadn’t expected… This. Ellie wasn’t saying anything. No teasing. No “I told you so.”

No awkward attempts at cheering you up.

She just… Held you.

Your forehead rested against her shoulder almost by accident. You could feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Slow. Even. Grounding.

“…I’m sorry,” you whispered.

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

Ellie’s hand moved gently through your hair.

“You don’t have to.”

That was all she said. You closed your eyes. Something inside you cracked. Not painfully.

Just enough that all the pressure you’d been carrying suddenly had somewhere to go.

You grabbed the back of her shirt. Held on.

Your fingers curled into the fabric almost desperately. Another sob escaped you. Louder this time. Your shoulders shook.

Ellie tightened her arms around you instinctively. Just a little. As if trying to hold all the broken pieces together. She still didn’t say anything.

Didn’t tell you to calm down. Didn’t tell you everything would be okay. She didn’t offer solutions.

She didn’t tell you to look on the bright side. She simply stayed.

Your tears soaked into her shoulder. You buried your face there, embarrassed, exhausted, overwhelmed.

And somehow… She didn’t seem to mind.

Every so often, her hand would slowly move across your back. Not rhythmic enough to be deliberate.

Just absentminded. Comforting. Like she wasn’t thinking about it.

Like touching you was the most natural thing in the world. Minutes passed. Neither of you counted them.

The room remained quiet except for your uneven breathing.

Eventually, your crying slowed. Not because everything was suddenly better. But because you’d finally run out of tears. You stayed exactly where you were. Still tucked against her. Still holding onto the back of her shirt. Ellie didn’t let go.

Not once. Not until you were ready. And for the first time since you’d met her… Ellie Williams didn’t try to fill the silence.

She simply shared it with you.

Eventually, reality crept back in. Slowly. Painfully.

Your hands were still gripping the back of Ellie’s shirt. Your face was buried against her shoulder.

Your cheeks were undoubtedly blotchy. Your nose probably looked ridiculous. And—

Oh God.

You had just cried. Not just cried. You had sobbed.

In front of Ellie. Your entire body stiffened.

Ellie noticed immediately.

She loosened her hold without pulling away completely. “You good?”

The question was gentle. Not teasing.Not loaded.

Just… gentle.

You took a small step back, your eyes fixed firmly on the floor. “I…”

Your voice came out embarrassingly hoarse. You cleared your throat. “I’m sorry.”

Ellie’s eyebrows knitted together. “For what?”

You gestured vaguely toward… everything. “That.”

“You cried.”

“I know.”

“…Okay.”

You looked up. “What do you mean, okay?”

“I mean…” She shrugged one shoulder. “You cried.”

You frowned. “I don’t usually do that.”

Ellie gave you a look. “I kinda figured.”

Heat immediately flooded your face.

“Can we please never talk about this again?”

One corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“I’ll think about it.”

You groaned quietly. “Oh my God.”

“I said I’ll think about it.”

“You are the worst.”

“There she is.” It wasn’t mocking. If anything… She looked relieved. Like hearing you complain again meant you were feeling a little more like yourself.

Your embarrassment only grew. You crossed your arms tightly. “I can’t believe I cried over a mug.”

Ellie’s expression softened almost instantly. “You weren’t crying over the mug.”

You looked away. “…No.”

“You’ve been running on coffee and four hours of sleep for, like, a week.”

“I’ve slept.”

She stared. “…Sure.”

“I have.”

“You fell asleep sitting at your desk two nights ago.”

You blinked. “…You noticed that?”

Ellie looked at you like you’d asked whether the sky was blue. “You almost face-planted into your keyboard.”

“Oh.”

“And yesterday?” She continued before you could interrupt. “You forgot your lunch.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“You were.”

“I—”

“And you left without your backpack on Monday.”

“…”

“You came back ten minutes later looking annoyed.”

“…”

“And,” she added, folding her arms now, “I haven’t seen you make your bed all week.”

Silence. You stared at her. She stared back.

“You notice a lot.”

The words slipped out before you thought about them. Ellie’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I guess.”

It didn’t seem like a big revelation to her. It felt enormous to you. Because somehow, despite all the arguing… Despite the silence. Despite the frustration. She’d been paying attention.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Then Ellie’s gaze shifted downward. “The mug.”

You followed her eyes. The broken pieces still covered the floor. “Oh, right.”

You immediately bent your knees. “I’ll clean—”

“Nope.” Before you could crouch, Ellie gently caught your wrist. Not tightly. Just enough to stop you.

“You’ll cut yourself.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“I know.” She smiled faintly. “I still don’t trust you right now.”

You opened your mouth to argue. Nothing came out.

Because… maybe she had a point. Ellie let go of your wrist before crouching down herself.

She gathered the larger pieces first, careful not to slice her fingers on the jagged edges. You stood there awkwardly. Watching. “I can help.”

“I know.”

“But I’m going to.” She shook her head.

“No.”

You frowned.

“Ellie—”

“I got it.” There wasn’t an ounce of annoyance in her voice. Just quiet certainty. She picked up another piece. Then another, then a chuckle.

You looked at her. “What?”

She glanced around the room dramatically. “I always thought I was the messy one.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. “What?”

She gestured toward the floor.

“Your notes are literally everywhere.”

You looked around. Your stomach sank. She wasn’t exaggerating. Books. Loose papers. Sticky notes. Highlighters. Printed articles. Half-written outlines.

Your carefully organized system had collapsed into complete chaos sometime during the last week.

You hadn’t even noticed. Well you had. You’d seen it. But the realization came now.

Ellie looked back at you. “I think your desk is attempting to escape.”

A surprised sound escaped you. Half laugh. Half sniffle. You immediately covered your mouth.

But it was too late. Ellie looked up.

You rolled your eyes, though another tiny laugh slipped through despite yourself. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was.”

You shook your head. “…You’re annoying.”

“So I’ve heard.”

You smiled. Just a little. It felt strange after crying so much. Like your face wasn’t entirely sure how to do it anymore. Ellie noticed anyway. She smiled too.

Small. Quiet.

She reached for another shard, and as she did, you found yourself simply… watching her.

She was kneeling on the floor in front of you, one knee resting against the carpet while she carefully brushed tiny porcelain fragments into her palm.

Her movements were unexpectedly delicate. Patient. Completely focused.

A strand of auburn hair kept falling into her face every few seconds, and she’d absentmindedly puff air upward to move it without using her hands.

You’d never seen her this…

Gentle. Your gaze lingered. Ellie looked up. Your eyes met. Neither of you moved.

For a brief, confusing moment, everything else disappeared.

The broken mug. The scattered notes. The essay.

The stress. There was only the quiet room…

And Ellie, looking up at you from where she knelt.

Something strange settled low in your stomach.

Not unpleasant. Just… Unexpected.

You frowned slightly. What… was that?

The feeling disappeared almost as quickly as it came. You blinked. No. You were tired. Emotionally drained.

You looked away first, mentally scolding yourself for overthinking something so insignificant.

Ellie didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. She simply stood, careful not to drop the porcelain pieces gathered in her hands. “I’ll throw these away.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

She gave a small shrug, already walking toward the kitchen.

“No problem.” You watched her disappear around the corner before letting out a slow breath.

Then you looked down at the room. At the scattered papers. At your uncapped pens. At the blanket half hanging off your bed. At the version of yourself reflected in all of it.

For the first time in weeks… You allowed yourself to admit something. You hadn’t been okay.

And somehow… The last person you expected to notice had been the first one who actually did.

Ellie came back a minute later, dusting her hands together as she stepped into the room. “Mission accomplished.”

You looked up. “Hm?”

“The mug has officially retired.”

Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched.

She glanced around the room. The floor was still covered in papers.

Your desk looked like a small paper factory had exploded. Without saying anything, Ellie crouched beside one of the piles.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping.” She picked up a stack of printed articles.

Then placed them neatly…On top of your handwritten notes.

You stared. “…Ellie.”

“What?”

“Those don’t go together.”

“They’re papers.”

“They’re different papers.”

She looked down. “They all have words on them.”

You let out an exhausted sigh before kneeling beside her. “No, look.” You reached over, separating the stacks. “These are sources.”

“Mhm.”

“And these are my notes”

“Mhm.”

“And these…” You picked up another pile. “…are drafts.”

Ellie blinked. “They all look the same.”

“They absolutely do not.”

She shrugged. “If you say so.”

You opened your mouth to correct the way she’d stacked another pile. Then stopped. Your eyes drifted over the room.

The mess. The notes. The highlighters scattered across the floor. The empty mugs. Your unmade bed.

A week ago, seeing all of this would’ve made your skin crawl. Now… You were too tired to care.

The realization settled strangely in your chest. You slowly lowered the papers back onto the floor.

“…Whatever.”

Ellie looked over. “What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing.”

Silence settled between you again.

Not awkward. Just… quiet.

Ellie finished stacking the papers into what she clearly believed were reasonable piles.

They weren’t. Not even close. Normally, you would’ve fixed every single one. Instead, you just watched her.

She looked oddly focused. Her brow furrowed in concentration like organizing papers was somehow a serious task. It made you smile a little.

When she noticed, she raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“…Nothing.”

“Mhm.”

You looked down at your hands. Your fingers twisted together. Your thoughts raced for a moment before one escaped your mouth without permission.

“…Do you still have that weed?”

Chapter Three

If you haven’t read it yet, here’s Chapter One

synopsis: Some days are determined to test your patience. After one inconvenience too many, all you want is a quiet room to study, only to find Ellie making herself far too comfortable. Somehow, a near fire-alarm disaster turns into a conversation neither of you saw coming.

warnings: college au, post-argument tension, academic stress, teasing Ellie, grumpy reader, light humor, mentions of smoking/weed (non-explicit), slow burn, mutual pining undertones, no explicit content.

The strange thing about anger was that it made you notice everything.

Before the argument, Ellie had just been Ellie. A loud roommate. A walking inconvenience.

A person who left her shoes wherever she wanted and somehow managed to make even breathing seem like a rebellious act.

You had noticed the obvious things. The clothes.

The guitar. The cereal. The mess.

But after the fight, after the distance settled between you, you started noticing things you hadn’t meant to.

Like the way Ellie went quiet when she was actually upset. The way she tapped her fingers against her leg when she was nervous.

How she stopped humming when you entered the room.

And you hated that you noticed. Because noticing meant paying attention, and you definitely weren’t r gonna grant her the glory of knowing you thought about her even once.

The day had already been awful. Not dramatically awful.Not the kind of awful where something life-changing happened.

Just the slow, exhausting kind.

The kind where every little inconvenience stacked on top of the last until you felt like you were carrying a weight nobody else could see.

Your alarm had gone off too early. Your coffee had gone cold before you even had time to drink it.

Your professor had spent twenty minutes explaining an assignment you were convinced they didn’t fully understand themselves.

And then there was the essay.

The essay that had been hanging over your head for weeks.

The essay that was nowhere near finished.

You had spent the entire day in the library, surrounded by books and notes and empty coffee cups, staring at the same paragraph until the words stopped looking like words.

By the time you finally gave up and went to your professor’s office hours, your patience was gone.

You had asked. Politely. You had explained. You had tried to be reasonable. You had even swallowed your pride and admitted that you were struggling.

And your professor had still looked at you like you were asking for something completely unreasonable.

You walked back across campus feeling defeated. Not because you couldn’t do it. You knew you could.

That was almost the frustrating part. You knew you were capable. You just needed time.

And apparently, according to someone who had assigned an impossible amount of work while barely explaining the expectations, time was a luxury you weren’t allowed.

By the time you reached the dorm, your shoulders were tense, your head hurt, and all you wanted was to walk into a clean room, make tea, and work in silence.

You unlocked the door. And immediately stopped.

Smoke. Not the smell of something burning.

Not a fire. Something else.

Your stomach dropped.

“Ellie?” No answer. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you and making your way toward your shared bedroom.

The first thing you noticed was the haze hanging in the air.

The second thing you noticed was Ellie. Of course.

Of course it was Ellie.

She was half lying back against her pillows, completely relaxed, like she wasn’t currently turning the dorm into a questionable life decision.

She was wearing only a sports bra and boxers, her hair messy, her expression calm as she held a joint between her fingers.

And for half a second— A very inconvenient half second—your brain registered that she looked good.

It was the way she looked completely comfortable in her own skin. The way her hand rested against her knee, veins standing out slightly as she moved.

Your thoughts almost wandered. Almost. Then your eyes flicked upward.

The fire alarm.

And panic immediately took over. “Ellie.”

Her eyes lifted. “Oh.”

You stared at her. “Oh?”

“You’re here.”

You looked around. “Yes, Ellie, I am here.”

She blinked.

You took a step forward. “Why does it smell like this?”

She glanced around. Then back at you. “Like what?”

You stared. “Smoke, we’ll not exactly, but- ugh I don’t know, weird.”

“Oh.” Again. That was somehow worse. Then you see it, a joint between her index and middle finger.

“Are you serious?”

Ellie sat up slightly, watching you.

“You look stressed.”

“I am stressed.”

“You look extra stressed.”

You ignored that. “The fire alarm.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “What about it?”

“What about it?” Your voice rose. “Ellie, you’re smoking under the fire alarm.”

She looked up. Then back at you. And the worst part was that she looked amused. Actually amused.

Like your panic was something entertaining.

You immediately moved toward the window. You pushed it open, letting cold air rush inside. Then you grabbed the sleeve of your hoodie and held it in front of your nose.

Ellie watched you. Still sitting there. Still calm.

“Are you done?”

You turned around. “Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“I know.”

“That isn’t something to be proud of.”

“It kind of is.”

You stared at her. She smiled slightly. And somehow that made you more irritated. “You thought this was a good idea?”

“I did.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugged. “I know what I’m doing.”

You looked at the ceiling. “Clearly.”

Ellie tilted her head. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I am not.”

“You are a little.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Because arguing with Ellie when she was calm was somehow even more frustrating than arguing with her when she was angry.

Then she sighed. “Alright, sunshine.” She pointed upward. “I turned the alarm off.”

You froze. “What?”

“The alarm.” She gestured. “I turned it off.”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me that before I almost opened every window in here?”

Ellie shrugged. “You seemed busy.”

You stared at her.“Busy?”

“Yeah.”

“Busy panicking?”

A small grin appeared. “Exactly.”

You let out a frustrated breath. “You’re impossible.”

“Again, yeah.” She said it easily. Like she had accepted that fact a long time ago.

You crossed your arms. “You could have started with that.”

“You could have asked.”

“Why would I ask when I walk into a smoke cloud?”

“Fair point.” That answer caught you off guard. Because you expected another joke. Another sarcastic comment. Instead, she just admitted it.

You hated how often Ellie did that.

How she could annoy you endlessly and then suddenly say something reasonable.

Your gaze dropped for a moment before you caught yourself. No. You were not doing this. You had a terrible day. You were exhausted.

You were angry.

Absolutely not.

“You’ve never smoked before.” The sudden observation made you look back at her.

“What?”

Ellie looked at you. “You’ve never smoked.”

You frowned. “How would you know?”

She shrugged. “Because you’re you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And what does that mean?”

Ellie smiled slightly. “It means you read the syllabus.” You didn’t answer. “You color-code your notes.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You own matching mugs.”

You looked away. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

Her voice softened slightly with a chuckle. And that caught you off guard. Because for once, she wasn’t teasing. She was just saying what she thought. Exactly like she always did.

“You just seem like someone who likes knowing what happens next.” The words landed somewhere uncomfortable. Because they were true. You did like knowing. You liked plans. You liked preparation.

You liked avoiding situations where you felt out of control.

Ellie noticed that. Of course she did. You looked back at her. “Are you psychoanalyzing me right now?”

She laughed quietly. “No.”

“Sounds like you are.”

“I’m just saying.” She lifted the joint slightly. “You could try it.”

You stared. “Absolutely not.”

Ellie grinned. “See?”

“See what?”

“That.”

“What?”

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“Because it’s a bad idea.”

“Or because you’re scared.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I’m not scared.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay.” The way she said it immediately made you suspicious.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That little voice.”

“What little voice?”

“The one where you act like you don’t believe me.”

Ellie smiled.

“I believe you.”

“You don’t.”

“No, I do.” A pause. “I just think it’s funny.”

“What is?”

“That you look like you’re about to argue with a wall because someone merely suggested doing something spontaneous.”

You scoffed. “I am not arguing with a wall.”

“You kind of are.”

“Ellie.”

She laughed. “Relax. I’m not trying to force you.”

“I know.”

“I just think it would be funny.”

“What would?”

“Seeing you try something you can’t prepare for.”

You stared. A pause. “You’re annoying.”

“Yeah.” She leaned back again, completely satisfied with herself. “And you’re predictable.”

You rolled your eyes. But despite yourself, despite the exhaustion and the frustration and the horrible day you’d had…

You almost chuckled at the back and forth.

Almost. Then you remembered she had filled your room with smoke. So you absolutely did not.

shy!ellie who spends the entire day acting like nothing is different, but she’s painfully aware that tonight is your first time together. she keeps rubbing the back of her neck and pretending she’s just “hot.”

shy!ellie who blurts out, “we don’t have to if you’re not ready,” at least three separate times because she’s just as nervous as you are and wants you to know there’s never any pressure.

shy!ellie who can’t hold eye contact for more than a few seconds without smiling to herself and looking away, cheeks turning pink every single time you catch her staring.

shy!ellie who keeps asking, “is this okay?” over the smallest things because making sure you’re comfortable matters more to her than hiding how anxious she is.

shy!ellie who laughs every time the moment gets a little too quiet, not because she’s making fun of it, but because she’s trying to keep herself from completely freezing up.

shy!ellie who admits, in the tiniest voice, “i’ve… never done this before,” and immediately looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole.

shy!ellie who keeps fidgeting with the hem of her shirt until you gently take her hand, and she instantly relaxes just from feeling your fingers intertwined with hers.

shy!ellie who melts the second you reassure her that there’s no rush. suddenly all that tension leaves her shoulders because she realizes she doesn’t have to get everything perfect.

shy!ellie who ends up spending way more time cuddling and talking than she’d planned because once she’s wrapped up in your arms, she forgets she was ever trying to be “smooth.”

shy!ellie who whispers little apologies whenever she gets flustered or awkward, only for you to laugh softly and remind her that awkward is kind of adorable.

shy!ellie who can’t stop smiling afterward, hiding her face against your shoulder because she’s embarrassed by how obvious her happiness is.

Not Just a Customer

synopsis: Finals season is approaching, and you’re drowning under the pressure of deadlines, expectations, and a mind that refuses to quiet down. After months away, you find yourself returning to the one place you remember finding temporary peace: Ellie Williams’ apartment.

warnings: College AU, Mental health struggles (stress, anxiety, burnout), Drug use/weed, Emotional vulnerability, Sexual content, Explicit themes, Power dynamics/transactional undertones

The first message sits in your drafts for almost ten minutes before you finally send it.

You around?

She leaves you on delivered for twenty-three minutes. Not that you’re counting. You sit hunched over your desk, knee bouncing beneath it hard enough to rattle the cheap particleboard.

depends who’s asking.

You roll your eyes.

Funny. You know who it is.

Another pause.

been a while.

Half a year.

Half a year since you stood outside the student apartments in the freezing November rain with your hood pulled over your head, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot while Ellie Williams leaned against the entrance, hands buried in the pockets of her worn leather jacket like she’d been waiting for you all day instead of five minutes.

She hadn’t judged you then.

She probably won’t now.

You stare at the stack of notes scattered across your desk. Flashcards. Highlighters. Open textbooks with entire chapters underlined in different colours—as if making the pages prettier somehow made the information stick.

It doesn’t.

Nothing sticks anymore

Your lectures blur together. You spend hours at your desk only to realize you’ve reread the same paragraph six times without absorbing a single word. Every time you close your eyes, your brain simply… keeps talking. Lists. Deadlines. What-ifs. Regrets. The future. The past.

It never shuts up.

Finals are three weeks away, and everyone around campus suddenly seems to have transformed into productivity machines.

Meanwhile, you’ve forgotten what sleeping feels like.

Your phone buzzes.

need something?

You hesitate.

Yeah.

Another buzz almost immediately.

same place.

That’s all. No hey. No question about how you’ve been surviving since the last exam season drove you into her apartment three or four nights a week.

You suppose that’s just Ellie.

The walk across campus feels longer than you remember.

The shortcut through the library is packed despite the late hour, every window glowing warm against the darkening sky. Groups of students hunch over laptops, coffee cups piled between them like monuments to poor decisions.

You wonder if any of them feel like they’re drowning too.

Before you realize it, the apartment buildings come into view.

They’re technically student housing, though “housing” feels generous. The brick is faded, balconies lean ever so slightly, and every hallway permanently smells faintly of detergent, old pizza, and someone’s incense trying desperately to cover both.

You remember climbing these stairs with bloodshot eyes after cramming for twelve hours straight.

You remember sitting cross-legged on Ellie’s floor while she counted bills with one hand and rolled a joint with the other. You remember the silence.

She’d never been much for conversation.

It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… sparse.

Ellie never seemed interested in filling empty space with pointless words. If she had something to say, she’d say it. Otherwise, she’d let the quiet settle.

The stairwell creaks beneath your weight.

Second floor. Apartment 87. The number’s still crooked.

Nothing changes. Your heartbeat picks up anyway. Maybe it’s embarrassment. Maybe it’s the fact that the last time you were here this often, you’d promised yourself it’d be temporary.

Just until finals. Just until things calm down. Things never really calmed down.

You stop outside her door. The chipped green paint is exactly as you remember it.

There’s a faded sticker near the bottom corner that’s peeling away from the wood. You don’t remember what it used to say.

You raise your hand. Pause. Drop it again.

This feels pathetic somehow. Like admitting defeat before you’ve even taken the exams.

Your phone vibrates.

that you outside?

You blink. Glance toward the window. The blinds are tilted just enough for someone inside to see the walkway. Of course she’d noticed.

Yeah

Locks click from the other side.

One. Two. The handle turns. She opens the door. “You look awful.”

No hello. No smile. Just those green eyes sweeping over your face with unsettling precision.

She’s wearing an old forest-green hoodie with the sleeves shoved to her elbows, dark jeans, and socks that don’t match. Auburn hair falls messily across her forehead, longer than you remember, like she hasn’t bothered cutting it in months. There are faint shadows beneath her eyes, the kind earned by too many late nights and not enough sleep.

“You too,” you mutter.

She snorts. “Liar.”

She’s wearing grey sweatpants and an oversized flannel over a faded band tee, auburn hair pulled into a messy bun that’s already falling apart. She looks… surprisingly domestic for someone whose side hustle pays half her tuition.

“C’mon”

She steps aside.

The apartment smells exactly the way you remember.

Pizza that’s long since gone cold. Paperbacks with their cracked spines piled into uneven towers beside the couch. Laundry that probably should’ve been done yesterday. And beneath it all, lingering in the walls and cushions like it’s seeped into the drywall itself—

Weed.

It’s a strange combination.

Comforting, somehow.

It smells like Ellie.

The apartment isn’t particularly clean, but it isn’t dirty either. It’s lived in. Lecture notes are spread across the coffee table beside an ashtray and three highlighters without their caps. A hoodie is draped over the arm of the couch, and someone’s biology textbook lies open on the floor with a pen tucked between its pages.

Ellie nudges the door shut with the heel of her shoe before walking past you. “You can sit.”

You don’t need telling twice.

The couch sinks beneath your weight with the same familiar groan you remember, and for a brief moment, it almost feels like six months never happened.

“So.” She drops onto the couch, stretching one arm across the backrest. “Six months.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Mhm.”

“I have.”

“I’m sure.”

You sigh dramatically before collapsing into the armchair opposite her. “It’s exams.”

“I figured.”

“My brain won’t shut up.”

That gets her attention. The teasing slips from her expression. You don’t mean to keep talking, but once you start, the words tumble out on their own.

“I sit down to study and suddenly I’m thinking about assignments from last semester, then groceries, then whether my professor secretly hates me, then I remember I forgot to answer my mom’s text three days ago…” You rub your eyes. “It’s just… loud.”

Ellie listens. Really listens. No interruptions. No jokes. When you’re finished, the room settles into a quiet that doesn’t feel awkward. Just… still.

“You eating?”

“What?”

“Food.”

“…Sometimes.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You sleeping?”

“…Define sleeping.”

She exhales through her nose and chuckles. “Jesus.”

“I know.”

“You don’t need weed.” Your heart sinks a little.

“You need a fucking therapist.”

You bark out a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re expensive.”

“They are.”

Silence. Then Ellie stands. “Hold on.”

She disappears into her room, footsteps muffled against the old carpet.

You lean back into the couch, listening absentmindedly to a faucet running somewhere deeper in the apartment before it clicks off again.

A minute later, she returns with a small silver tin in one hand.

She sets it on the coffee table, pops it open with practiced ease, and begins gathering papers and filters without so much as looking. “Guess you still can’t roll for shit?”

You groan. “Seriously?”

“I’m asking.”

“You know the answer.”

“I do.” She pinches a little weed between her fingers, spreading it evenly across the paper. “Was hoping maybe half a year would’ve taught you.”

“I’ve learned plenty.”

“Apparently not this.”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees.“I used to be your best customer.”

Ellie’s eyes stay on the joint she’s rolling, but one corner of her mouth twitches upward.

“That’s not the flex you think it is.”

“I’m just saying.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t complain.”

“Exactly.”

She seals the paper with practiced precision, holding it up between two fingers.

The realization hits somewhere between Ellie setting the joint down and reaching for the lighter.

Your stomach drops. Your hand moves automatically. Pocket. Empty. Other pocket.

Still empty. Your bag.

You unzip it quickly, fingers digging through notebooks, pens, old receipts, anything that might explain where the hell you put it.

Nothing. Your wallet isn’t there. For a second, you just stare. No, no, no.

Your mind immediately starts running. You left it.

On your desk.

Of course you did.

Because apparently remembering twelve different deadlines, exam dates, and entire chapters of information was possible, but remembering the one thing you actually needed to bring with you wasn’t.

Your chest tightens. It isn’t even about the money.

It’s about the fact that you’re here. You’re finally here. The one place where your brain feels like it might go quiet for a few hours.

And now you’re going to have to leave empty-handed.

The thought alone makes your thoughts start piling on top of each other again. The exams. The studying. The endless noise.

The feeling that you’ve been drowning for months and this is the one thing you know will give you a break. And suddenly the room feels smaller.

Because you need that joint.

Not in the dramatic way you know people say they need things. Not like you’re convinced it’s some magical solution that’s going to fix everything wrong with your life.

You know it won’t.

But right now? Right now your mind has been unbearable. Especially today.

Every thought has been louder than the last. Every little mistake replaying itself over and over until you can’t tell what’s real and what’s just anxiety finding new ways to hurt you.

The idea of walking all the way back across campus empty-handed makes your chest tighten. No.

You can’t. You won’t. Ellie is a good person. You know that. But she’s not a charity.

She’s a student too. She has rent. Food. Bills. Her own problems. And she has never once pretended that what she does isn’t a business.

You can’t just take it. Your eyes drift back to the tin sitting on the table. Then to Ellie.

“Fuck.”

It’s quiet. But Ellie hears it. Of course she does.

Her eyes lift from the lighter in her hand.

“What?”

You hesitate. You could lie. You could say nothing and leave. But the panic is probably written all over your face.

“I forgot my wallet.”

Ellie looks at you. Then at the table. Then back at you. Not annoyed. Not angry. Just… thinking.

A pause.

Your fingers tap anxiously against your knee. “I still kind of need it.” Your embarrassment burns hotter.

“I can pay you back.”

“When?”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

Because you don’t know. Your next paycheck from your exhausting nine to five isn’t for another week. Your exams are before then. Your brain is already convincing you this is a disaster bigger than it actually is.

Ellie leans back slightly.

A small look. You sigh. “Okay. I don’t know when.”

The silence stretches. Your mind starts filling it with every possible outcome. She’s going to say no.

She’s going to tell you to leave. You’re going to walk back across campus with nothing.

You’re going to spend another night staring at your ceiling, unable to sleep, thinking about everything you should’ve done differently.

Then the worst idea comes.

A desperate one.

The one that makes your face heat before you even say it. “Could I…” You stop.

Ellie tilts her head. “Could you what?”

You look down at your hands. You know she’s into girls. You know she’s dated girls before.

And you know there’s something you could offer that doesn’t involve money.

Something that would probably get you what you want. Something that feels easier than admitting you need help.

“I could pay you another way.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Ellie pauses. Not dramatically. Just enough.

Her fingers still for a second over the rolling paper, and her eyes lift to yours.

“What?”

Your face immediately feels warm. Because now that you’ve said it out loud, it sounds even more ridiculous. “I mean—” You clear your throat. “Not like—”

Ellie’s eyebrow lifts. You immediately know you’re making this worse. “I just mean, you know…” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “You’re into girls.”

A small, amused smile begins to form.

“Okay.”

“And I’m a girl.”

“Really?”

You glare at her.

“I’m trying to explain.”

“I’m listening.”

The problem is that she actually is. Which somehow makes it harder. You shift on the couch, suddenly aware of every single word coming out of your mouth.

“I just thought maybe if you wanted to, I don’t know…” You trail off, then force yourself to finish. “Maybe that could count as payment.”

For a moment, Ellie only stares. Then she laughs.

Not loudly. Just a quiet, surprised chuckle that makes her shake her head.

“Wow.”

You frown.

“What?”

“I don’t know.” She looks down at the joint in her hands, still smiling slightly. “You’re really just… offering yourself up for a joint.”

You immediately get defensive.

“I’m not—”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m saying I wouldn’t hate it.”

That catches her attention. The amusement doesn’t disappear, exactly. It just shifts. Ellie looks at you differently. And suddenly you feel it. Her gaze.

Slow. Curious. Not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. Just enough that you notice.

Her eyes move over you, taking in the tired expression, the messy hair, the way you’re sitting there trying so hard to pretend you aren’t nervous.

For a second, you genuinely think she’s considering it. Actually considering it. And maybe she is.

Because Ellie doesn’t look disgusted. She doesn’t look offended.

If anything, she looks a little intrigued.

Then she leans back into the chair, a quiet laugh escaping her.

“No.”

The answer is immediate. You blink.

“No?”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

You stare at her. She’s still smiling. Not cruelly.

Just amused. “Ellie.”

“No.”

You sigh, sinking back into the couch. The joint sits between her fingers, unfinished.

You look at it. Then at her.

And the thought refuses to leave. Because it’s not just about the weed. Not entirely. The truth is, you’ve wondered before. Not about Ellie specifically.

Not at first. Just… What it would be like. To be with a girl. To know what it felt like. To stop wondering.

“I have thought about it before.”

That wipes the amusement from her face. Not completely. But enough. “What?”

You immediately regret opening your mouth.

“I mean…” You look away. “Being with a girl.”

Ellie stays quiet. So you keep going.

“I’ve just never done anything like that.”

You look back at her. Her expression has changed.

She’s not laughing anymore. She’s listening.

“I’ve just always wondered what it would be like,” you admit. “What it would feel like.”

Something in Ellie’s face shifts. Interest.

Not just amusement anymore.

“You’ve never been with a girl?”

You shake your head.

“No.”

Another quiet moment.

Then Ellie glances down at the joint, then back at you. “Huh.”

She is quiet for a moment. Then she sets the lighter down beside the tin and leans back.

“I usually don’t do stuff like this.”

Your eyes immediately move to her. The words shouldn’t make your heart jump. They should probably make you feel relieved.

But they don’t.

Because there’s something in the way she says it.

Not a rejection. Not exactly. More like she’s thinking out loud.

Ellie looks at you. The corner of her mouth lifts slightly. Your cheeks warm.

For a second, neither of you says anything.

Then her gaze drifts.

Not quickly. Not accidentally. Just enough that you notice.

Your breath catches as her eyes move over you, taking in the way you’re sitting on her couch, the nervous way your hands keep fidgeting, the tension you haven’t been able to hide since you walked through her door.

You try not to react. You fail.

Your thighs press together before you can stop them.

And the worst part is that Ellie notices. Of course she does. Ellie notices everything. She looks back up at your face, amused.

“Look.” Her voice is quieter now.

“I’m not just going to use you because you came here stressed and desperate for a way to shut your brain off.”

The words hit differently than you expect. Because that’s exactly what you were afraid of admitting.

That maybe this wasn’t about Ellie. Maybe it was about escaping.

She watches your expression change. You nod slowly. A pause. Then Ellie tilts her head.

“But…”

Your eyes lift back to hers. There it is again.

That little shift. That almost-smile.

“But what?”

She lets out a quiet laugh. “I don’t think I’m the only one who likes the idea.”

The words sit between you. And somehow, somehow, they make your heartbeat pick up faster than anything else she’s said tonight.

Ellie notices.

Her eyes flick over your face, catching the way your confidence disappears the second the attention turns back on you. The way you suddenly don’t know what to do with your hands. “You okay?”

You nod too quickly.

“Yeah.”

A small smile tugs at her mouth.

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing convincing comes out. Ellie doesn’t push.

Instead, she reaches for the lighter.

The little click of the flame fills the quiet room.

She lights the joint like it’s the most normal thing in the world, completely unbothered by the way you’re watching her. She takes a slow breath, letting the smoke disappear into the air before looking back at you.

For some reason, that calmness makes you even more aware of yourself. Of the fact that you’re sitting in her apartment after months of not seeing her.

She exhales, smoke curling away as she looks back at you.

Then she pats her thigh.

“Come here.”

Your brain stalls.

“What?”

Ellie’s eyebrows lift.

“You heard me.”

Your eyes flick down. Then back up.

“You want me to—”

“Sit.”

Simple. Direct. You swallow. Your body moves before your brain catches up. Slowly, you stand.

You feel ridiculous. Too aware of every movement.

Every second.

You’re much less graceful than you’d like to be.

You lower yourself carefully, almost stiffly, like you’re afraid the wrong move will make the entire moment disappear.

Ellie feels it immediately. Of course she does.

Her hand settles on your hip before you can fully sit, steadying you.

“Relax.”

The word is quiet. You freeze.

Then slowly let out the breath you were holding.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

You nod, still a little hesitant.

“Okay.”

“There you go.” Her hand stays there for another moment, grounding you more than anything else has all day.

Then she lifts the joint again.

“Here.”

You lean forward and take a small hit. The effect isn’t instant, but it’s close. The tension you’ve been carrying in your shoulders begins to loosen.

Your thoughts don’t vanish. They just stop screaming.

For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s space between them.

You sigh softly before you can stop yourself. A real sigh. One that comes from somewhere deep.

A small smirk appears on Ellies lips.

She’s noticing the exact moment you start coming back to yourself.

Then she takes another pull. You expect her to hand it over. Instead, she shifts slightly.

“Come here.”

Before you can ask what she means, she leans closer and guides you in. Your brain barely catches up before her lips meet yours.

The surprise alone is enough to make you freeze.

You go completely still, caught between confusion and the sudden realization that this is actually happening.

A quiet, amused sound escapes her before she lightly catches your bottom lip between her teeth.

The surprise of it makes you react instinctively, your mouth parting.

And that’s when she exhales.

The smoke passes between you, warm and unfamiliar, and suddenly everything feels softer around the edges. Your thoughts lose their sharpness. Your eyes flutter shut.

A dizzy feeling washes over you almost immediately, your thoughts turning soft and hazy at the edges.

But you know it isn’t just the weed.

It’s her.

It’s the fact that Ellie Williams, the girl you used to cross campus for every other night during exam season, is suddenly the reason your mind has gone quiet.

You don’t even realize you’ve started kissing her back until you’re already doing it.

For once, there’s no list of everything you’re behind on. No panic. No endless noise. Just this. The kiss doesn’t last forever. A few seconds. Maybe less.

But long enough that when you finally pull back, you’re left blinking at her like you’ve forgotten what you were supposed to say.

Ellie doesn’t look nearly as affected. If anything, she looks entertained. A little smug.

Her eyes flick over your face, taking in the dazed expression you’re trying and failing to hide.

The second your lips leave hers, she shoves the joint back into your hand without breaking eye contact.

Then she’s on you again, her mouth finds the curve of your neck first, teeth grazing lightly before her tongue follows. It’s not soft; it's hungry, impatient.

Her free hand grips your waist to pull you closer against her while the other keeps the joint balanced precariously near both of you. She exhales smoke right against your skin between kisses.

"You good?" she mumbles against you, not stopping for an actual answer.

“Yes” you try to say but the sharp sting of her teeth makes you gasp instead. Ellie smirks against your skin, feeling the way your body reacts. She doesn’t let up. If anything, she bites down just a little harder this time before soothing it with her tongue.

Her hands are everywhere, one tangled in your hair to tilt your head further back for better access, the other sliding under the hem of whatever is in the way of touching your skin.

She takes another drag off the joint without pulling away fully, blowing smoke out through her nose while still marking up your neck like she owns it.

"You taste good," she mutters, "like fucking strawberry body wash or some shit."

The second your hips move on instinct, Ellie’s breath hitches, her whole body tenses for half a second like she wasn’t expecting that. Then her grip tightens.

She grinds back up against you almost immediately, using the friction to her advantage. The joint gets abandoned in the ashtray on the coffee table with a careless flick of her wrist.

"Fuck," she growls low before crashing her lips onto yours again, this time messier, hungrier.

Her thigh presses harder between yours as she kisses you deep, a little sloppy from weed and want, but it works.

One hand slips under your shirt while the other cups your jaw to keep kissing you stupid.

Ellie can tell by the way you move, hesitant, unsure, that this is all new for you. Normally, she’d rush through something like this… but something about your clumsy eagerness makes her wanna guide you.

Her hands slide down to grip your hips firmly, not rough, just there, steadying. She starts rolling her own hips up against yours in slow circles first, showing you the rhythm without words.

Then she nudges with a little more pressure, her thigh becomes an anchor as she moves it up against you with a little more pressure. Her breathing gets heavier; even though she’s trying to be patient for once… it’s affecting her too.

"That’s it," she murmurs against your lips between kisses, "just like that."

The second that whimper leaves your lips, Ellie loses whatever control she was clinging to. Her hands are under your shirt before you can even blink, cold palms skimming up your back as she yanks the fabric upward.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it off completely, tossing it somewhere behind the couch without looking. The moment skin meets air, cool for a split second before her touch burns again, she’s diving back in.

Her mouth finds yours once more, but now there’s nothing between you two, no barriers. One hand splays across your bare stomach while the other tangles into your hair.

"God," she breathes against you, "you’re so fucking pretty."

A breathy whimper escapes you, “fuck.”

The second her mouth closes over your nipple, teeth and tongue working on you, your whole body jerks. Ellie doesn’t let up, sucking lightly while her thigh presses up with deliberate friction right where it counts.

You can’t believe what you’d gotten yourself into.

She’s relentless now, all patience gone. Every flick of her tongue, every roll of her hips is calculated to drive you crazy and needles to say it’s working.

Her free hand pins your waist down onto the couch so you can’t squirm away (not that you would), keeping the pressure exactly where she wants it as she alternates between gentle bites and soothing licks on your chest.

"You feel that?" she mutters against your skin, "That good?"

You’d nod desperately as all pure thoughts leave your mind. “Ellie,” you can’t seem to stop whimpering her name.

Ellie’s eyes darken at your desperate nod, she loves the way you sound right now, all shaky and needy just for her. It goes straight to her head.

She doesn’t tease. Doesn’t slow down. Instead, she doubles down, her thigh grinds up harder against you while her mouth moves to your other nipple, treating it the same way: biting gently before soothing with a swirl of her tongue.

Her hand that was on your waist slides up suddenly, fingertips brushing over the swell of your breast before squeezing lightly, just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Tell me," she demands between kisses, "tell me what feels good."

You’re unable to form a thought.

“F-fuck,” you stutter and throw your head back instinctively as you realize your answer didn’t satisfy her.

Ellie huffs, almost annoyed at how incoherent you are, but more than incredibly turned on by it. She doesn’t waste time; her hands slide under the waistband of your pants in one smooth motion, fingers skimming over bare skin.

The second her fingertips brush lower, teasingly close to where you really want them, she pauses. Just for a heartbeat. To watch your face twist with need.

Then she’s there: palm cupping you through thin fabric first, testing the heat before dipping lower…

The second Ellie’s fingers glide through your slick heat, her breath catches, she wasn’t expecting you to be this ready. But she doesn’t comment; just smirks, dark and pleased.

Her thumb circles your clit slowly at first, testing how sensitive you are. The pad of her finger spreads the wetness carefully, making sure every touch is deliberate… not too much pressure yet.

She watches your face like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, the way your lips part when she brushes a certain spot, how your hips twitch trying to chase her hand.

"Fuck," she exhales, "you're so fucking wet."

Ellie loves how wrecked you are how every brush of her fingers turns your brain to static. She doesn’t let up, alternating between soft circles and firmer presses on your clit while guiding your hips with the hand still gripping them.

Her thigh becomes a relentless piston beneath you, thrusting up in time with her finger movements. It’s like she’s playing an instrument, you’re the song, and she knows exactly how to make it sound pretty.

The couch creaks faintly under the movement; Ellie leans down suddenly to capture one of your whimpers with her mouth again, a messy kiss full of teeth because she can’t help herself.

"C'mon," she breathes against your lips, "let me hear you, pretty girl”

The second those words leave her lips a loud, uncontrollable moan leaves you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck”

When that moan leaves your lips, Ellie feels the shift, the way your body tenses right before something big happens. Her fingers don’t stop; if anything, they get bolder, pressing down with more purpose now.

She recognizes that coiled feeling in your stomach—the telltale sign you’re right on the edge, and her own breath quickens. She’s never been great at patience… but this? This she wants to watch.

Her thigh keeps moving under you like a metronome set to ruin, while her other hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, keeping you close as she murmurs: "That's it... fucking come for me princess"

And just like that, your body snaps. The knot in your stomach unravels all at once, a wave of white-hot pleasure crashing through you as you clench around Ellie’s fingers.

She feels it, the way your thighs stutter, how your back arches off the couch, and for a second, she freezes too. Not out of hesitation… but because shit, watching you come apart is hotter than she expected.

Your fingers are twisting into Ellie’s shirt as your hips jerk against her thigh on instinct, fascinated eyes watching you.

She doesn’t slow down immediately, she rides out the aftershocks with gentle circles until you squirm from oversensitivity.

Her touch softens immediately after; gentler now as she rides it out with slow circles until the tremors stop. Then, without warning, she kisses you again: deep and slow this time.

"My good fucking girl," she murmurs against your lips.

For a while, you can’t do much more than breathe.

Everything feels distant. Not gone. Just softened.

Your mind, for once, has finally stopped clawing at you for attention.

Ellie catches you before you can even think about moving, pulling you back into her lap with an ease that makes you realize just how little strength you have left. You don’t fight it.

You just go.

Your forehead finds her shoulder, your arms loosely wrapping around her as you try to remember how breathing normally works.

You’re completely spent.

Not just physically.

It’s the exhaustion of finally letting go after carrying too much for too long. The exams, the panic, the constant pressure building in your chest for months, it all feels like it’s been set down somewhere outside the room.

Ellie stays quiet for a moment.

Her hand moves slowly, absentmindedly, fingers gliding through the aftermath of it all. You’re incredibly wet and sensitive, body twitching every once in a while when her fingers meet your clit.

And for once, she looks like she doesn’t know what to say. Which is rare.

Because Ellie always seems like she has something ready. A sarcastic comment. A dry observation. Some little remark to make you roll your eyes.

But now? She’s just watching you. Not because she’s never seen someone lose themselves in a moment like this.

She has. It’s not that. It’s you. The way you’re completely unguarded.

The same person who walked into her apartment looking like she hadn’t slept properly in weeks, apologizing for everything and carrying the weight of every thought in her head.

Now you’re quiet. Calm. Trusting. And something about that catches her off guard.

“You alive?”

The question is so very Ellie that you almost laugh.

Almost. Your response comes out barely above a whisper. “Shut up.”

A small grin pulls at her mouth.

“That’s a yes, then.”

You make a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a complaint, but you don’t lift your head.

Ellie looks down at you.

“Wow.”

You hum.

“What?”

“I didn’t know you could get this quiet.”

Your eyes close.

“You’re annoying.”

“Yeah?”

“Want me to go again?”

“Shut up” Your fingers lightly curl into the fabric of her hoodie.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

You try to glare at her, but you don’t have the energy to make it convincing. Ellie laughs softly.

There’s no teasing edge to it. Just warmth.

You want to tell her off. The problem is, your brain is moving approximately three seconds behind your mouth. Nothing comes out.

Ellie raises an eyebrow.

“Lost for words?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Tragic.”

You sigh against her shoulder.

“You’re the worst.”

Chapter Two

If you haven’t read it yet, here’s Chapter One

synopsis: Sometimes the loudest arguments are the ones that end in silence. With an essay deadline creeping closer and neither of you willing to take the first step, the distance between you and Ellie becomes harder to ignore than the fight itself.

warnings: college au, post-argument tension, awkward roommates, mutual stubbornness, academic stress, slow burn, emotional miscommunication, mild angst, no explicit content.

The worst part about fighting with Ellie Williams was that she was very good at giving people space.

Before, you would have considered that a good thing.

You would have appreciated it.

You had always been the kind of person who needed a little time to cool down before talking through something. You hated saying things you didn’t mean. You hated letting emotions take over and turning a conversation into something uglier than it needed to be.

But with Ellie, space felt different. It didn’t feel respectful. It felt like a wall.

And the worst part was that you were the one who asked for it.

The worst part was what came after. The quiet.

The awkwardness. The strange new rules that seemed to form overnight.

Before, you and Ellie had existed in a constant state of irritation. She annoyed you. You corrected her.

She laughed. You rolled your eyes.

It was a routine. A frustrating one, but a routine nonetheless.

Now? Now there was nothing. And somehow, nothing was worse.

You both acted like the other person wasn’t there.

Not completely. That would have been impossible.

You lived together. You shared a room.

A bathroom. A kitchen.

But, somehow, Ellie stopped leaving her clothes on your chair.

You noticed immediately. You hated that you noticed. It meant she was trying. Or maybe it meant she was annoyed enough to change something.

You weren’t sure which possibility bothered you more.

No more guitar. No music.No Ellie half-awake and stumbling around the room looking for her phone.

Just silence.

You sat up slowly, staring across the room. Ellie was already awake, sitting at her desk. Her hair was messy. Her headphones were in. Her back was turned toward you.

For a second, you almost said something. Something normal. Something like good morning.

The word sat at the back of your throat. Then you remembered. So instead, you got dressed.

Quietly.

The sound of your drawers opening seemed painfully loud. When you walked past her toward the door, Ellie glanced up.

You waited. You don’t know why. Maybe you were hoping she would say something. And, to your satisfaction, she seemed to notice, and so she did.

“Class?”

Her voice was neutral. You nodded. “Yeah.”

A pause. “Okay.”

And that was it. You left.

The days became a collection of moments like that.

Short. Careful. Cold.

“Are you using the shower?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Did my package come?”

“On the counter.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Every conversation felt like you were both walking through a room full of glass. One wrong movement. One wrong word. And everything would break again.

The frustrating part was that you were both trying.

You knew that. You could see it. Ellie stopped playing guitar late at night.

She started keeping her things on her side of the room. She washed her dishes immediately.

But she did it with this stubborn expression on her face, like she wanted you to know she was doing it but also wanted you to know she was annoyed about having to do it.

Which was very Ellie.

And you? You became even more organized. Which was saying something. Your desk became immaculate. Your notes became more detailed.

Your schedule became stricter.

Because if your room was the one thing you could control, then you were going to control it.

Especially now. Especially because everything else felt wrong.

Then your essay was assigned. And you immediately knew you were doomed. Not because you couldn’t write.

You could. You were good at writing.

But this subject? This was your weakness.

The one class where you couldn’t rely on memorization. The one class where highlighting every important sentence didn’t magically make the information stick.

You hated it. You hated the professor. You hated the topic.

You hated the fact that your final grade depended on a ten-page essay you had no idea how to start.

You stared at the blank document for nearly an hour. The cursor blinked. Mocking you. You had written the title. That was it. The title.

You had rewritten the title six times. By the end of the week, you were exhausted. You were sleeping less. Eating worse.

Your perfectly organized schedule was falling apart because there simply weren’t enough hours in the day.

And so, you were sitting at your desk, surrounded by books and notes. Your mug sat beside you.

Cold. Forgotten.

Your eyes burned from staring at the screen too long. You were halfway through typing a sentence when Ellie walked in.

She smelled like cold air. A little like smoke.

Normally, you would have commented. Normally, you would have made a face. This time, you didn’t even look up.

She noticed. You knew she noticed because she stopped moving. “You’ve been sitting there for like five hours.”

Your fingers paused over the keyboard. You kept your eyes on the screen. “Four.”

A beat. “Okay.”

Silence. You waited. You hated that you waited.

You hated that part of you expected her to say something else. She didn’t. She walked over to her desk. You continued typing.

Except you weren’t really typing. You were just staring at the words.

Because now you were aware of her. The sound of her chair moving. The sound of her bag hitting the floor. The quiet rustling of her papers.

Everything felt amplified.

“You should sleep.”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m fine.”

Ellie looked over. “Tell your face that.”

You finally looked at her. “What is that supposed to mean, Williams?”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “It means you look exhausted.”

You looked back at your laptop. “I’m working.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why are you telling me?” There it was.

That sharpness. The thing you hated. The thing you couldn’t seem to stop.

Ellie stared at you. For a second, she looked like she was going to say something. Then she just sighed.

“Never mind.”

And that annoyed you too. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly.” The response was instant. Too instant.

You looked at her. She looked away. The tension returned immediately.

Thick. Heavy.

“You know, Ellie, not everything has to turn into an argument.”

She laughed once. Not happily. “That’s funny coming from you.”

Your expression hardened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

You pushed your chair back slightly. “I’m stressed.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

Her eyes snapped back to yours. “How would you know what I know?”

“Because you haven’t asked.” The words came out before you could stop them. And the second they did, you regretted them.

Because Ellie went quiet. Again. She looked down.

Then away.

“Right.” A single word.

But somehow it carried more weight than a whole sentence. You looked back at your screen.

Neither of you spoke.

Eventually, Ellie grabbed her hoodie.

“I’m going to the kitchen.”

“Okay.”

She paused. Waiting. You could feel it. But you didn’t look up. A few seconds later, she left.

The door didn’t slam.

She wasn’t that kind of person. Somehow, that made it worse.

The next few weeks continued like that.

Two people who were both too stubborn to apologize. Two people who were both too frustrated to admit they missed normal conversations.

Neither of you hated each other. That would have been easier.

Hating Ellie would have been simple. But she was still the person who moved quietly when you were studying.

Still the person who left the room when she realized you needed silence.

And you were, because you wouldn’t exactly call yourself ignorant, still the person who noticed when she looked tired.

Small things. Things neither of you acknowledged.

Things that existed beneath the frustration.

Both annoyed. Both convinced the other person was the problem.

And with your essay deadline getting closer and closer, you had less patience than ever. Which meant one thing.

Eventually, something was going to break.

Chapter One

synopsis: You liked things organized. Predictable. Quiet. Ellie Williams liked leaving her clothes on the floor, playing guitar at unreasonable hours, and turning your carefully controlled world upside down. You were convinced she was the worst roommate you could’ve asked for. Unfortunately, she was also the one person who seemed determined to understand you.

warnings: college au, shy/reserved reader, confident and teasing Ellie, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, minor insecurity, emotional tension, comfort, domestic moments, no explicit content.

You had always believed there were two kinds of people in the world.

The kind who folded their laundry immediately after washing it. And the kind who left it on the floor until they ran out of clothes and were forced to dig through the pile like they were searching for buried treasure.

You had spent your entire life making sure you belonged to the first category.

Growing up, you were the person who color-coded assignments before you even started them. The person who rewrote messy notes because the sight of uneven handwriting made your skin itch. The person who checked the syllabus before the professor even finished introducing themselves because you liked knowing exactly what was expected of you.

It wasn’t that you were boring. At least, you didn’t think you were. You were prepared, yes, that’s the right word.

You liked structure. You liked knowing where things were. You liked the small comfort of control.

Especially after moving away from home for college.

Everything was new, the campus, the people, the expectations. For the first time in your life, you weren’t surrounded by familiar streets and familiar faces. You didn’t have your childhood bedroom or your parents reminding you when dinner was ready.

So you built your own little world.

Your side of the dorm room was proof of that.

Your bed was made before eight in the morning. Your desk was organized. Your books were stacked neatly, your pens arranged by color, and your collection of matching mugs sat carefully on the shelf above your mini fridge.

Your roommate, however, seemed determined to destroy everything you had created.

You met Ellie Williams on move-in day. And within the first five minutes, you knew she was going to be a problem. Not because she was rude, though, she wasn’t something you’d call particularly nice either.

No, Ellie was worse. She was completely comfortable.

She walked into the room carrying two bags, a guitar case, and the expression of someone who had never once worried about whether she was being too much.

She dropped one of her bags directly onto the floor.

You watched a hoodie, a pair of socks, and what looked suspiciously like yesterday’s shirt spill out.

“Whoops,” she said, though her tone suggested she wasn’t actually sorry. She crouched down, picked up the guitar case, and placed it carefully beside the mess.

You stared. “You’re not going to pick those up?”

Ellie looked over her shoulder. “Huh?”

You pointed.

“The clothes.”

She looked down. Then back at you.

“Oh.” A pause. “I’ll get them eventually.”

Eventually. You remembered that word.

It was the same word people used when they meant never. You pressed your lips together.

“Okay.”

Ellie studied you for a second. Not in an offended way. More like she was trying to figure something out. “You always talk like that?”

You frowned. “Like what?”

“Like you’re writing an email.”

You blinked. “I don’t.”

“You kinda do.”

You looked away, already irritated. You had known her for less than ten minutes. Less than ten.

And somehow she had already found a way to annoy you. “I’m just polite.”

“Right.” The way she said it made it sound like she was teasing you. You didn’t like that. Mostly because she looked amused. And you didn’t understand why.

By the end of the first week, you were convinced the universe had a personal vendetta against you.

Ellie Williams was everywhere. More specifically, Ellie Williams’ things were everywhere.

Her clothes migrated.

At least that was the only plausible explanation.

One day, there was a jacket hanging over your desk chair. The next, there were socks on the floor beside your bed. Then somehow, impossibly, a pair of boots appeared directly in front of the door.

You almost tripped over them. Almost. You caught yourself against the wall and stared down at them.

Your first instinct was to move them. Your second instinct was to throw them out the window.

You settled for picking them up and placing them neatly beside Ellie’s bed. When she came back later, she noticed immediately. “You moved my boots.”

You looked up from your laptop. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they were blocking the door.”

And with that, Ellie stared at you. Then slowly smiled. Not a big smile. Just enough to make you suspicious. “You know you could’ve just told me.”

“I have.”

“Have you?”

You opened your mouth. Then stopped. Because technically… No. Not directly. You had made comments. Heavy sighs. Long looks.

The occasional “interesting choice” when she left a pile of clothes on the chair again.

But no.

You hadn’t actually told her. You looked back at your screen. “Well, I’m telling you now.”

Ellie leaned against her desk, arms crossed.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not bothered?”

She shrugged. “No.”

That somehow bothered you more. You weren’t sure what you expected. An apology, maybe. A promise to change. Something.

Instead, Ellie just accepted your annoyance like it was a weather forecast. Not good. Not bad. Just something happening around her.

The worst part was the guitar. You had a very specific sleep schedule. Not because you were incapable of staying up late. Because you knew yourself.

When you didn’t sleep properly, you became a worse version of yourself. You were impatient. Distracted. Less focused.

You had an eight a.m. class. Ellie knew this. You had mentioned it. Twice.

So naturally, at 1:37 in the morning, she started playing guitar.

You opened your eyes. Stared at the ceiling. Waited.

Maybe she would stop. Maybe she would realize.

Maybe— Another chord. You slowly sat up. Your blanket fell into your lap.

“Ellie.”

The guitar stopped. A second later, her head turned. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, guitar resting against her body. “What?”

You stared at her. “Are you serious?”

She looked genuinely confused.

“About what?”

You gestured around the room.

“The guitar.”

“Oh.” She looked down at it. Then back at you “Yeah?”

You took a breath. A deep one. A calm one. Because you were a mature adult. You were not going to yell at your roommate. “I have class in the morning.”

“So do I.”

“You know what I mean.”

Ellie stared. Then a small smile tugged at her mouth. Not mocking. Almost curious. “You get annoyed a lot.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I do not.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

You stared at her. She stared back. And the worst part? She wasn’t even angry. She wasn’t defensive. She just looked entertained. Like your frustration was something she found interesting. You grabbed your pillow and turned away. “Goodnight, Ellie.”

A pause.

“Goodnight, sunshine.”

You immediately turned back. “What did you call me?” But Ellie had already picked up her guitar again. And she was smiling.

You told yourself you disliked her. It was easier that way. Because Ellie Williams was everything you weren’t. Messy. Unpredictable. Careless.

She ate cereal for dinner while sitting on the floor because she couldn’t be bothered to use the desk chair. Though, thinking about it, you did see her eating cereal in the evening too.

She swore so casually that you were convinced half her vocabulary consisted of curse words. She came back from parties smelling like smoke and cold air, dropping her keys onto the desk and saying, “Don’t look at me like that.”

Even though you absolutely were looking at her like that. And she always noticed. That was the most irritating thing. Ellie noticed everything.

The way you frowned when she left clothes around. The way you fixed your notes when you were stressed. The way you silently moved her things instead of confronting her. She noticed. And somehow, she found it funny. Not cruelly. Not because she wanted to upset you.

If anything, it seemed like she enjoyed watching you try so hard to keep everything perfect.

“You know,” she said one evening, tossing herself onto her bed after coming back from class, “you don’t have to organize everything.”

You looked up from your notes. “Yes, I do.”

Ellie tilted her head. “No, you really don’t.”

You frowned. “And you don’t have to live like you’re being chased by a tornado.”

She laughed. A real laugh. The kind that made her whole face change. You hated that you noticed.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered.

Ellie grinned. “Yeah.” She didn’t deny it. That was the thing about her. She never pretended to be anything else. And maybe that was what annoyed you most.

Because while you spent so much time trying to make yourself easier to understand, Ellie Williams walked into every room exactly as she was. No apologies. No explanations. No hesitation. Just Ellie.

A complete disaster.

It was bound to happen sooner or later.

The argument started over something stupid. Of course it did. Most arguments were never really about the thing that started them. It was about all the little things that piled up before.

The tiny moments where you swallowed your annoyance. The sighs you kept to yourself. The times you told yourself, It’s not worth bringing up.

Until suddenly, it was.

You walked into the dorm after a long day of classes, exhaustion sitting heavy in your shoulders.

Your first thought was that you wanted to shower. Your second thought was that you wanted silence.

Instead, you found Ellie’s clothes on your chair.

Again.

You stopped in the doorway. You stared. A sweater you recognized. A pair of jeans. A jacket.

Your chair, the one you used every night when you studied, completely covered.

You closed your eyes. Slowly. Very slowly. Because you were trying. You really were.

You picked up the clothes and placed them on Ellie’s bed. Then you sat down.

A few seconds later, Ellie walked in from the kitchen area, holding a bowl of cereal. At seven in the evening. Of course.

You looked at the bowl. Then at her. Then back at the bowl. Ellie noticed. “What?”

You looked away. “Nothing.”

A small pause. Ellie took a spoonful of cereal. “You do that thing.”

You frowned. “What thing?”

“The thing where you say nothing but clearly mean something.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

You looked at your laptop. You weren’t going to do this. You weren’t. You were tired. You had assignments. You had an early class. You didn’t have the energy. So you just let out a small breath.

A tiny huff. Barely anything.

Normally, Ellie would have noticed. Normally, she would have said something. But this time? Nothing.

She just kept eating. And somehow that made it worse. Your fingers tightened around your pen.

You looked at her.

She was sitting there completely relaxed, scrolling through her phone with a bowl of cereal in her lap like she hadn’t just walked into a room where you were visibly annoyed.

Your chest tightened. “Seriously?”

Ellie looked up. “What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Okay.”

That was it. Okay. You stared at her. You didn’t know why that was the thing that pushed you over the edge.

Maybe because you had spent weeks saying nothing. Maybe because you felt ridiculous for being upset about things that seemed small.

Maybe because Ellie always seemed so comfortable taking up space while you were constantly trying not to bother anyone.

“You know what?” you said.

Ellie lowered her phone. “What?”

“You never listen.”

The amusement disappeared slightly. Not completely. But enough. “What?”

“You heard me.”

She blinked. “I listen.”

“No, you don’t.”

Ellie sat up straighter. You could feel the words building before you could stop them. “You just do whatever you want and expect everyone else to deal with it.”

The room went quiet. For the first time all evening, Ellie looked caught off guard. Not angry. Just surprised.

Because she genuinely hadn’t realized how much this had been bothering you. “What are you talking about?”

You laughed once. A humorless sound. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Seriously.”

“The clothes, Ellie.”

Her face changed. Barely. But you saw it. Recognition. “Oh.”

That single syllable made something inside you snap. “Oh?”

You stood up. “Yes, Ellie. Oh.”

She frowned.

“Okay, I know I leave stuff around, but—”

“No, it’s not just the clothes.” Your voice was louder now. And you hated that. You hated feeling like you were losing control. “It’s everything.”

Ellie stared. You kept going. “You play guitar at one in the morning even though you know I have class.”

“I don’t do it every night.”

“But you do it.”

“Sometimes.”

“You leave dishes everywhere.”

“I wash them.”

“Eventually.”

Her mouth opened. Then closed. And there it was.

That tiny amused look. Not because she thought you were funny. More because she couldn’t believe this was happening.

“You’ve been keeping a list, haven’t you?”

Your face heated. “No.”

“That sounded like a yes.”

“Because you don’t take anything seriously!” The amusement vanished. Completely.Ellie set the bowl down. Carefully.

“Okay.” Her voice was quieter. And somehow that was worse. “I take things seriously.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you don’t care.” The words landed harder than you intended. You saw it.A flicker.

A small hurt expression that disappeared almost immediately. But you saw it. And somehow, instead of making you stop, it made you angrier.

Because now you felt guilty. And you hated feeling guilty. “I didn’t say you were a bad person, Ellie.”

“No, you just said I don’t care.”

“I said you act like it.”

“And you act like everything has to be done your way.” That stopped you. Because she sounded angry now. Actually angry. Not teasing. Not amused. Angry.

“You think because you have your color-coded notes and your stupid little schedule that you’re the only person trying?”

Your eyebrows pulled together. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you mean.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Then what is it?”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. Because you didn’t know. You just knew you were frustrated. You knew you were tired.

You knew you were sick of feeling like you were the only one trying to keep things together. Ellie ran a hand through her hair.

A frustrated laugh escaped her.

“God, you know what your problem is?”

You stiffened. “What?”

“You never say anything until you’re already furious.”

The truth of it hit harder than you wanted. Because she was right. And you hated that. You looked away.

Your throat tightened. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence felt heavier than the argument.

Then you grabbed your pillow. Ellie’s eyebrows lifted. “Where are you going?”

You didn’t look at her. “The living room.”

“What?”

“I need space.” The words came out quieter. Less angry. More exhausted. And suddenly you were grateful. Grateful that your dorm wasn’t just one tiny room. That there was somewhere else to go.

Because right now, you couldn’t stand being across from her. Not because you hated her. Because you didn’t. That was the problem.

You walked past her. For once, Ellie didn’t make a joke. Didn’t tease you. Didn’t say something sarcastic. She just watched. Her expression unreadable.

When you reached the doorway, you paused. Part of you wanted her to stop you. Part of you wanted her to say something. Anything. But Ellie stayed quiet.

And somehow, that hurt more. You walked into the living room, setting your pillow down on the couch.

The apartment was quiet. The kitchen lights were still on.

The hum of the refrigerator filled the space. You curled up beneath the blanket, staring at the ceiling.

You told yourself you were angry. You told yourself you were right. But underneath all of that was a much quieter thought.

Slow Mornings With Your Girlfriend

synopsis: Mornings with Ellie are slow, warm, and full of the kind of affection she rarely knows how to put into words

warnings: female reader, sleepy/affectionate Ellie, clingy and lovestruck Ellie, fluff, soft physical affection, teasing, comfort, domestic intimacy, no explicit content.

Morning arrives in pieces.

Not all at once, but through the pale wash of sunlight spilling between the curtains, a quiet hum of wind beyond the window, and a comforting weight draped over your waist.

You don’t open your eyes immediately.

A sleepy exhale brushes across the back of your neck, followed by the gentle weight of an arm tightening around your waist. It isn’t enough to trap you, the girl has never held you like you’re something to keep, but enough to pull you the last inch between your bodies until there’s nowhere left for the morning chill to settle.

Ellie.

You corners of your lips tug up before you’re even awake enough to realize it.

A sleepy mumble leaves her lips, too slurred to make out, and then her forehead bumps gently against your shoulder. It’s clumsy in the way only Ellie can manage, half asleep, entirely affectionate.

She sighs.

“…Hi,” she murmurs, voice rough from sleep.

Satisfied, Ellie settles again, though only for a heartbeat. She was never very good at staying still.

Her fingertips wander beneath the hem of your oversized sleep shirt, finding the warm skin of your stomach almost absentmindedly. Her palm rests there first, soaking in the warmth, before her fingers begin slow, lazy circles.

Not teasing, okay, well, maybe a little. But the main intent was to hold you.

You feel her shoulders relax behind you. A breath leaves her. Slow. Content. It’s funny, you think.

Ellie never really knows what to do with words first thing in the morning.

Her hands, though… They’ve always known. They wander because they can. Because they like the reassurance. A content hum vibrates against your collarbone.

“You comfy?” you ask quietly.

“Mhm.” Without lifting her head, Ellie starts pressing kisses against whatever part of you she can reach.

Your shoulder first. Then your collarbone. The side of your neck.

Each kiss is slow and lingering, separated by little pauses where she seems on the verge of drifting back to sleep. Just when you think she’s finished, another featherlight kiss lands beneath your jaw.

“You counting?” you mumble.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“…Maybe.” Her nose nudges against your cheek before she presses another kiss there.

Her hand begins drifting again, slow enough that you barely notice it at first. Across your ribs. Up beneath the loose fabric. Until her palm comes to rest against your chest.

She pauses there. Her thumb strokes once, absentmindedly. Then again.

The gentlest little knead follows, careful and unhurried, her sleepy mind seemingly more interested in the familiar warmth beneath her hand than anything else.

You let out the quietest breath and her kisses follow. One to the corner of your mouth. Another to your forehead. Another to your nose.

You scrunch your face, laughing quietly as she keeps going, unhurried and utterly relentless.

“Ellie.”

“Hm?”

“You’ve kissed, like…”

“…A lot?”

“A lot.”

“I know.”

She doesn’t sound remotely apologetic. Instead, she smiles into your skin and kisses your cheek again. “I missed you.”

You blink at that. “We’ve been asleep.”

“I know.”

“…Next to each other.”

“I know.”

“And somehow you still missed me?”

Ellie finally cracks one eye open, green iris barely visible beneath sleepy lashes. “You were unconscious.”

“So were you.”

“Yeah, but…” She yawns mid-sentence, eyes closing again. “…Different.”

You shake your head, unable to stop smiling.

Her hand is still tucked beneath your shirt, absentmindedly tracing lazy patterns. Every so often, her fingers flex gently, kneading the softness there with a tenderness that lets you gasp softly.

There’s no rush to the movement.

You thread your fingers through the messy strands of auburn hair sticking out in every direction, scratching lightly at her scalp.

She melts instantly. “Oh,” she breathes against your shoulder.

“There she is” you murmur and again, kisses follow your shoulder, slow, maybe with a little more intention than before.

“Don’t stop”she whispers softly.

“I thought you were asleep”

“I can multitask.”

“You absolutely cannot.”

“I absolutely…” Another yawn interrupts her. “…Can.”

Her words dissolve into another sleepy mumble as she buries her face against you, hiding a grin against your shoulder.

The room falls quiet again.

Outside, birds chatter somewhere beyond the glass. Inside, the only sounds are your steady breathing and the occasional sleepy sigh Ellie lets out whenever your fingers comb through her hair.

Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Neither of you cares enough to check. Ellie hums sleepily against your skin, her fingers warm and lazy as they move under your shirt. She’s not fully awake, her breaths are slow, deep, but instinct takes over.

“Mmm… you’re so soft,” she mumbles into the crook of your neck, pressing another drowsy kiss there before nipping lightly.

Her palm gently squeezes again, not demanding or intense like usual, but tender and half-dreamy. Like she just wants to feel you close while still floating between sleep and morning.

Ellie’s touch drifts lower, her fingers tracing idle circles over your thigh, slow, warm, exploratory. She shifts closer beneath the blankets, her body curling around yours like a cat claiming its spot.

Without opening her eyes yet, she presses a soft kiss just below your ear and exhales, a sleepy sigh full of quiet affection. Her thumb brushes lightly along your inner thigh now… not rushing anything… just being close.

A small smile plays on her lips.

“What’re you doing” you mumble sleepily.

Ellie stirs a little at your voice, still hazy, but her fingers pause for just a second like she’s considering whether to answer or keep going.

Then, without words, she kisses your shoulder again. Her hand slides back up your thigh with purpose now… deliberate. Not rushed or aggressive… but intentional in that quiet morning way.

She nuzzles into you again, letting her head fall against your neck. “Touching my girl.”

Ellie hums again, low and content, as your hips shift into her touch. She feels it, that quiet surrender, and something sleepy in her chest tightens with affection.

Her fingers trail higher now, teasingly slow over your hipbone, slipping under the waistband of your pajamas just a fraction. Her lips linger on your neck, pressing lazy kisses along the sensitive skin there… each one soft as a breath.

She’s not fully awake, but she’s present enough.

“Ellie” your murmur and the sound of her name, soft, sleepy, hers—unravels something in Ellie. Her breath hitches just slightly, and suddenly she’s moving with quiet urgency.

Her fingers slip fully under the fabric now, warm skin meeting warm skin. A slow exploration… curious touches that trace along your inner thigh… higher…

She kisses your neck harder this time, a little less drowsy affection and a little more hunger, as her fingertips finally brush where you’re most sensitive.

A quiet groan escapes her this time, the one who was supposed to be waking you up.

It vibrates against your neck, low, deep…unmistakably needy, as her fingers glide through the heat of you. She wasn’t expecting that. Wasn’t ready for how wet you are… how warm… how perfectly ready.

Eventually, Ellie tilts her head just enough to look at you again. Her expression is still heavy with sleep, freckles softened by the morning light.

She studies you for a moment, eyes drifting over your face like she’s committing it to memory.

“What?” you whisper.

“Nothin’.”

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re about to say something embarrassing.”

She smiles, small, crooked, unmistakably Ellie.

“I just…” She pauses, fingertips giving your side one last gentle squeeze. “Really like waking up next to you.”

Your heart gives the smallest, traitorous flip. “I really like waking up next to you too.”

Her smile grows. “Cool.”

“Cool?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s all you’ve got?”

“Mhm.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So all the kisses were your love language, and now we’re back to one-word answers?”

She snorts softly. “Pretty much.”

Starting a lil fanfic/ one shot blog for ELLIE WILLIAMS (or in other words; my wife),

I’m also thinking about doing those for VI (arcane)

If you have something specific in mind just know that

I take requests!!!