nomie-11

[nomie-11]

heyyy, i wanted to ask if you will be continuing the story of xaden and gen. i love it but i see that’s you haven’t updated in a while

hey!! im sorry but i probably wont be continuing gen and xaden's story, its just become a drag to write and i didn't like onyx storm so i think it's done for now. of course if i continue to write it i'll post an update so maybe at some point in the future you will see some new content!

[nomie-11]

Hiii!! I love your ficss, can you make a fic about Ellie and reader being enemies but they have to make a crime?

Partners in Crime

masterlist!

notes: sorry this literally took forever, my gf takes up all my time (she's the best)

pairing: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

“Drop your gun,” her voice rang sharp through the rain, cutting through the hollow silence of the alleyway. Her silhouette was a blur at first—just a figure through the fog—until you saw the glint of her revolver aimed squarely at your chest. 

“Yours first,” you snapped, tightening your grip on your own weapon. Your voice cracked louder than you meant it to, but the threat in it was real. 

A tense pause, a breath passed. 

Your eyes met, really met. 

Freckles, sharp eyes, scarred forearm. You recognized her now—not by name, but by presence. She was that girl from Jackson, the one you had watched Nora press into the ground and force her to watch as Abby murdered her father. Cold, clinical violence. Rage wrapped in youth. Ellie. 

And she was standing between you and what might be your one shot at redemption—or vengeance. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. 

“I know who you are,” she said, voice low now. Not afraid. Not aggressive. Studying. 

You didn’t respond. You just stood there, breathing heavy, soaked through heart rattling inside your ribs like it wanted to claw out. 

“You ran with them,” she went on. “With the WLF. You helped them. You helped her.”

You bit back the first dozen things that came to mind. Defenses, excuses, regret. Instead, you said, “That was a long time ago.” 

Ellie’s grip tightened. “Not long enough.” 

You shifted slightly, enough to feel the cold of the concrete wall against your back, but not enough to drop your aim. The clicker’s distant screech echoed again, but neither of you moved. The real threat wasn’t out there—it was the woman standing five feet from you. 

“She’s not your kill,” Ellie said, and for a second her voice cracked with something that wasn’t just pure anger. 

“And she sure as hell isn’t yours,” you retorted, trying not to let your own bitterness show. But the name stuck in your throat like glass. 

“I’m  not here for you,” Ellie added, lowering her gun an inch. “But I’ll put you down if I have to.” 

You hesitated. Then took a slow step forward. “You think you’re the only one she screwed over?”

Another step. You could see her jaw twitch now. 

“She left me to die,” you said. “After everything I did for her. After everything I let myself do for her. I said one wrong thing and suddenly I was a liability.” 

Ellie watched you . You could tell she was weighing something. Maybe if you were telling the truth. Maybe if your story even mattered. Or maybe, if she was too tired to keep doing this alone. 

“I know her,” you went on. “How she moves. How she thinks. How she hides. She’s not some mastermind, but you’ve been chasing her blind.” 

Ellie scoffed. “I’ve made it this far.” 

“Have you?” you asked. “You got lucky. You almost walked into a WLF trap three blocks back. That sniper in the tower? I established that patrol spot. That’s bait and you almost walked right into it.” 

Ellie’s face darkened. “So you’re still with them? The WLF?” 

You pulled your jacket aside and tossed a bloodied, faded patch onto the ground—the WLF insignia, torn off, burned at the edges. 

“Because If I was, you’d already be dead,” You said. “And probably so would I.” 

Another silence. But this one felt different. 

Something shifted—not trust, not yet. But a truce. 

Ellie slowly lowered her gun. You didn’t drop yours right away, but you stepped back, gave her space. 

You both stood there in the rain, staring at each other. Two ghosts in the same graveyard. 

Finally, Ellie said, “you get me to her, we kill her. And when this is over, we go our separate ways.”

“Deal,” you said. 

—-------------------------------------------

You weren’t sure why she hadn’t walked away. 

Maybe it was because you knew Seattle better than she did. Or maybe she was just desperate enough to take a bad bet. Either way, Ellie followed you. One street behind, boots splashing in the shallow rainwater that pooled through the city. 

The silence was thick between you, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the whistle of wind through the cracked windows. You moved fast and low, cutting through alleys and abandoned storefronts with practiced ease. You didn’t ask if she was keeping up—you could hear her. She didn’t ask if you knew where you were going. 

You both just moved. 

“Don’t step there,” you muttered, throwing an arm out to stop her from placing a boot down on what looked like nothing but muddy gravel. 

She froze. You crouched, pulled back a piece of broken metal, and revealed the tripwire laced between two chunks of rubble. 

“Claymore,” you explained. “WLF’s favorite toy.” 

Ellie raised a brow. “So you did help lay these?”

“Some,” you admitted. “Most of the inner city’s a patchwork of old Fedra, WLF death traps, and improvised scar paranoia. I have a map of everything. Isaac thinks the traps are enough to keep everyone out.” You gave her a glance. “I’m 99% sure Isaac thinks I’m dead.” 

Ellie stepped over the wire, brushing past you, eyes still scanning. “So why are you going back?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you checked the rusted signpost ahead and motioned left. You both ducked into what used to be a pharmacy, now gutted and stripped clean, floor covered in shattered glass and old needles. 

“Abby’s not a good person,” you said finally. “We—uh—dated for a while. After everything that happened in Jackson, I told her she was selfish and an asshole. I watched her justify the slaughter with the same calm voice she used to tell me she loved me. And then one morning on, the way back from Jackson, she told me she would do it all over again, and then left me on the trail alone.” 

You swallowed hard, glancing at Ellie. 

“She used me. And when I stopped being useful, she left me behind. Literally.” 

Ellie didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled her jacket’s hood lower over her soaked hair. But her voice, when it came, wasn’t sharp. 

“But that’s not really grounds for killing her.”

“Are you really going to try and convince me that the woman who murdered what I assume is your dad in cold blood doesn’t deserve to die?” You paused, looked at her. 

She looked away.

The two of you moved on, quieter now. Together, but still with a cautious distance between your bodies. Not close enough for comfort. Just close enough to cover each other if something went wrong.

And it did—faster than you expected. 

You were crossing what used to be an old SkyTrain overpass, the metal groaning beneath your feet, when you heart it. 

Whistling. 

Ellie spun the second you dropped to your knees. 

“Scars,” you hissed. “Get down.”

Another whistle answered, and then came the twang of a bowstring. The arrow struck the pole inches from Ellie’s shoulder. 

“Down, idiot!” You shouted. 

She didn’t hesitate. You rolled to cover, pulled your sidearm, and fired once—blunt suppression, not a kill. It brought time, not safety. 

Ellie popped up and fired two clean shots into the brush. You heard a body drop. 

You moved together. Not like strangers now, but like soldiers who’d been under fire before. Every step was backed by instinct, by necessity. Ellie’s blade found a second Seraphite who tried to flank you. Your own bullet dropped the third who had almost crept up behind her. 

When the quiet finally returned, your hands were shaking. Hers were bloodied, but steady. 

“Thanks,” you said, breathing hard, eyes still scanning. 

She nodded once, leaning against the low wall beside you. “You were right,” she admitted. “I don’t know this city.” 

“I told you,” you said, a small grin ghosting your lips. “You’ve been getting lucky. But Seattle sucks.” 

She turned to you, and for a moment, she looked at you as if she was seeing something different now. 

“You saved me,” she said, like she was testing the words in her mouth. 

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, half-joking. “You’ll owe me next time.” 

“I already do,” she murmured, barely audible. 

The moment stretched, both of you sitting there in the rain-slicked ruin, backs against cold cement, adrenaline still thick in your blood. 

You glanced sideways. “You hungry?” 

She raised an eyebrow. “We’re surrounded by death cults and probably being hunted by your former employers. So yeah, starving.” 

You pulled a half-smashed WLF ration protein bar from your bag and tossed it her way. “Luxury.” 

She caught it, grinned. 

And just like that, something cracked. Not quite a friendship, but not enemies anymore.

—------------------------------

The rain had let up just enough to leave a thick mist in its place, curling between the buildings like breath from a dying city. You were leading Ellie through a narrow corridor of collapsed storefronts and overgrown fences, careful with every step. Her boots were quieter now, movements sharper. She was learning your tempo. 

“Nora is stationed at the hospital, so I assume Abby will be there too for a few more days,” you murmured, crouching behind the burned-out sedan motioning for Ellie to follow. “Not staying there long, her place is in the WLF base, but she gets stationed there with Nora every now and again.”

“You sure?” she asked, her voice low but skeptical. 

“I’d stake your life on it.” 

Ellie snorted. “Comforting.” 

You moved fast through a side alley, ducking under a fire escape, boots crunching glass as you slid into the skeleton of a half-collapsed cafe. 

CRACK–!

The sound wasn’t a gunshot, but it was equally a death sentence. 

The floor gave way beneath you without warning, the rotted wood splintering like wet paper. You felt the drop in your gut before you even screamed, landing hard on your back in the dust-choked dark of the basement below. 

Pain shot up your spine. 

“Shit!” Ellie’s voice from above. “Hey–hey! Are you—?!”

“I’m fine!” you coughed, before covering your mouth with a bandana you had tied to your belt, struggling upright. 

You turned your head. Rats scattered across the floor. Light spilled in from the hole in the floor and the flashlight on your backpack, casting just enough light to show you the worst news of the night. 

“Ellie,” you called up, heart pounding. “The basement is full of spores!”

“Shit,” she muttered. “You have your mask?” 

You were already scrambling through your pack with shaking hands. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.” You snapped it on with practiced speed, wincing as the strap tugged against your neck. “Don’t come down here. There’s a door—I think to the left—see if it leads to the stairwell or up to another floor. I’ll meet you up top.” 

“No.” 

Your head jerked up. “No?” 

“I’m not leaving you down there. She was already moving, checking the ledge for a safe place to drop, ignoring the debris that tumbled with each step. “You’re hurt.” 

“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, but your voice cracked around it. 

She didn’t argue. Just let herself down, landing with a grace you couldn’t afford right now. Her boots crunched across the debris, flashlight beam sweeping until it hit you. You caught the look on her face and instantly regretted not lying harder. 

“You look like shit,” she said bluntly, approaching fast. 

“I just fell through a floor. Forgive me for not sticking the landing.” 

“Can you walk?” 

“I can limp attractively, if that helps.” 

She didn’t laugh. Just hauled you up to your feet and slung your arm over her shoulders, looping her other hand around your waist. You hissed, pain spiking so hard you vision swam for a second. 

“Easy,” she murmured, guiding you slowly. “Jesus… you’re lucky you didn’t break your spine.” 

“Yet,” you muttered. “I think I broke rib instead.” 

You could feel her pressed against your side—warm and solid, her breath steady, her movements careful. She kept her head turned slightly to avoid the worst of the spores, her mask on tightly, but didn’t look at you. 

“You really don’t need to be down here,” you said again, softer this time.

“Shut up.” 

There was no venom in it. Just quiet resolve. 

You limped toward the far end of the hallway, past overturned filing cabinets and collapsed lockers. She scanned the walls until she found a rusted emergency exit, the sign barely legible under the years of grime. 

It took both of you to shove the door open, a grinding scrape of metal against concrete, and when it gave way, the staircase beyond smelled like rot and damp mold, but not spores. Safe enough. Ellie helped you out first, then followed, pausing only to let the door swing closed behind you. 

When you reached the second landing, your legs gave out. She caught you before you hit the floor again, easing you down until you were sitting against the wall, chest heaving, back screaming. 

“Hey. Breathe,” she said, crouching in front of you. “You’re okay.” 

You laughed, hollow and aching. “Sure. Floor tried to murder me, but otherwise great.” 

“You might have a concussion,” she said, serious now. “You hit your head?” 

“No, just my pride.” 

She looked at you, flashlight off now, just her face in the dim light that bled in from a broken window above. Her expression was hard to read—worry, maybe. Or something close to it. 

“You didn’t have to come down,” you said again, quietly this time. 

“I know,” she said. And for once, she didn’t follow it with sarcasm or a threat. 

You let the silence stretch, both of you just breathing. You noticed the cut on her forearm from earlier—still bleeding a little. You reached into your bag, pulled a half-crushed bandage and a bottle of antiseptic. 

“Here,” you said, offering it. “For the road rash.” 

Ellie blinked at you, then took it slowly, watching your face the whole time. “You keep doing that.” 

“What?” 

“Surprising me.” 

You looked away. “Well… I’m not trying to.” 

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then her voice dropped low—softer than you’d heard it before. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” 

You looked back at her, your knee pressed to hers, both of you bruised and bloodied. 

“Me too,” you said, barely audible. 

For a second, there was something warm between you—not a flame, not yet, but the flicker of a match just lit after a cold breeze. 

Then Ellie stood, all business again. 

“C’mon. Let’s move before anything finds us down here.” 

She offered a hand. 

You took it.

And this time, when she pulled you up, you didn’t try to let go too fast.

If you enjoyed this one shot, please make sure to check out my other series!

[nomie-11]

hi i’ve been stalking your blog (as one does) and omg you seem so cool and talented??? wow?????

omg hi!!! thank you so, so, so much!!! im like so honored and flattered what this is one of the kindest things a stranger has ever said to me

[nomie-11]

You're Burning Up, Babe

masterlist!

synopsis: based off the prompt "Aren't you like... tired? Stop putting up a fight."

pairing: abby anderson x reader (no use of y/n)

The kettle whistled angrily from the stove, but Abby was quicker. She yanked it off the burner with practiced ease, pouring steaming water inot the mug already waiting with a tea bag. Chamomile. Your least favorite, and not the fun kind, but the kind that says “I care about you even though you’re being a pain in the ass.” 

From the living room, she heard another mangled cough echo off the walls. You were curled up on the couch in one of her old hoodies, a box of tissues at your side and a scowl drawn deeply across your face. 

“I told you, I’m fine,” you rasped, trying to swipe at your phone with clammy fingers. “I’ve worked through worse.” 

Abby stalked over and plucked the phone right out of your hand. 

“Hey!” You protested, but it came out more like a croak. 

“You're burning up, babe,” she said, ignoring your glare as she set the tea on the coffee table and pressed the back of her hand to your forehead. “And I swear your body’s radiating more heat than my entire gym after leg day.” 

You didn’t laugh, which made her frown deeper. 

“I can’t just not go,” you said, stubborn as ever. “Jesse already bailed, and I’m covering for Vi. If I don’t show up tonight, the bar’s screwed.” 

“You’re screwed,” Abby shot back. “Babe, you can barely sit up without looking like you’re gonna pass out. And since when is it your job to keep the entire bar running single handedly?” 

“It’s not,” you muttered. “But I’ve got bills. Rent. Tips from fridays are—”

“---not worth killing yourself over,” she interrupted firmly, crouching in front of you. Her calloused hands found your knee, grounding. “Aren’t you like… tired? Stop putting up a fight.”

You looked at her throught the haze fo your fever, her brows drawn in concern, her blue eyes soft but resolute. She’d come straight from the gym, hair still slightly damp from a post-shit shower, sweatshirt slung over her shoulder before she tossed it over you instead.

“...Yeah,” you admitted finally, voice quieter. “I’m tired.” 

“There it is,” Abby smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your damp forehead. “Took you long enough.” 

You huffed, sinking deeper into the couch. 

“Fine,” you muttered. “You win. Text Vi for me?”

She gave your leg a gentle squeeze. “Already did. She said to shut up and drink your tea.”

You blinked. “She was at the gym?”

“You left your phone unlocked,” Abby said, far too smug as she handed it back. “Your weak little defenses never stood a chance.” 

You groaned and buried your face in the hoodie. 

“Abby?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You going back to your apartment later?” 

She leaned in and kissed your forehead, careful and lingering. 

“Not tonight. I’m right here.” 

if you enjoyed this tiny little one shot, please make sure to check out my other series!

also i'm working on requests rn so they should be up by sunday, feel free to send in more!!

[nomie-11]

Orion's Belt

masterlist!

synopsis: ellie and reader steal some mulled cider from maria and go star gazing!

pairing: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

The night air was cold, but it wasn’t the kind of cold that bit through your skin. It just settled into your jacket, crept through your sleeves, and nestled into your bones—a quiet kind of winter chill that felt oddly comforting when paired with the warmth of the cup in your hands. 

Ellie passed you the battered thermos, her gloved fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. 

“You really think Maria’s gonna notice two mugs’ worth missing?” you asked, taking a sip of the cider. It was a little too sweet and a little too strong, but that only made it better. 

Ellie grinned, her freckles glowing under the lantern's light like constellations of their own. “I think she’s too busy trying to make sure Tommy doesn’t fall off a roof or something. We’re fine.” 

You both sat tucked into the corner of the old watchtower—the one just past the creek and up the hill, where the radio used to work and someone had once spray-painted stars onto what was left of the ceiling next to the huge windows that overlooked the valley. You liked it here, so she did, too. 

It was your spot now. 

The tower creaked with the wind, and from up here, Jackson looked like a snow globe someone had gently shaken—soft lights glittering through the trees, smoke curling from chimneys, life ticking on inside warm homes. But up here, time felt slower. 

“Which one’s Orion’s Belt again?” You asked, pulling your legs up and under her legs, and leaning towards her, your breath fogging in the cold. 

She pointed through the dusty glass toward a cluster of stars. “There. The three in a row.” 

You squinted, then nodded. “That one looks like the handle of a sword. Or a… space wrench.” 

She snickered. “A space wrench?” 

“Yeah,” You said, grinning again, this time a little more shyly. “Y’know, for fixing alien stuff. C’mon, it fits. You see it, right?” 

She tilted her head, trying to follow your imagination. “I guess if you squint and pretend you’ve never seen a real tool in your life…”

Ellie laughed again, quiet and low, the sound curling in the space between you like smoke from the thermos. She leaned back against the wall, the wood groaning slightly behind her. 

“I’ll give you points for creativity,” she said, nudging your knee with hers. “Still wrong, though.” 

You shrugged, pulling the sleeves of your jacket over your hands. “Doesn’t really matter what it’s supposed to be. Stars can be whatever you want, right?” 

She looked at you then—not just looked at you, but saw you, the way she did sometimes when the world was quiet enough. Her smile softened, like she was deciding not to say something, but thinking it all the same. 

“Yeah,” she said finally. “I like that.” 

For a while, neither of you spoke. The wind settled down a little, and all that was left was the quiet hum of early winter–branches shifting under the first frost, the distant howl of a wolf far beyond the ridge, the pop of a log in a fire barrel somewhere down below. 

“Y’know,” Ellie said after a bit, “When I was little, I used to think Orion was a person. Like, literally up there. Just floating around in space with his stupid shiny belt.” 

You smiled into your cup. “And what, you thought he’d just hang out? Watch us?”

She chuckled. “Yeah. Judge us, probably. Especially me.” 

“Why you?” 

She shrugged, pulling her beanie down a little lower over her ears. “I dunno. ‘Cause I broke stuff. Lied. Fought. Did some stupid things. I figured someone up there had to be keeping track.” 

You leaned your head against her shoulder, gently, like the whole world might hear if you moved too fast. “Well, If Orion’s keeping score, he’s a terrible judge. He let me hang out with you, didn’t he?”

Ellie glanced down at you, her eyes soft and unsure in an undeniably private way. Then, slowly, she reached for your hand under the shared blanket, lacing her fingers through yours without saying a word. 

The stars didn’t care what they were called, but from here, with Ellie beside you and Jackson glowing far below, they were exactly where they were meant to be. 

Even Orion’s Belt.

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[nomie-11]

Snowed In

masterlist!

synopsis: after the third snowstorm of the season, you're finally able to repay the woman who has been shoveling your driveway

pairings: vi x reader (no use of y/n)

Shifting awkwardly on your heels, your gloved hands gripped the tray of brownies so tight you knew your knuckles were white. You couldn’t figure out who was shoveling your driveway after it snowed the first and second time you had woken up to a cleared driveway, but this time you woke up early and watched as the woman across the street—dressed in tight thermals that did everything to show off her toned upper body—emerged from her house with a shovel and cleared your driveway. 

Now, you didn’t really have money to spare to pay her. But you did know how to bake and which house she lived in, so here you were, at 7:00 p.m. on a stranger’s doorstep, waiting for her to open the door and take this stupid tray of brownies before you retreated back into the warmth and comfort of your house. 

The door swung open a little faster than you expected, making you jump. You looked up right into the unmistakable face of the woman you’d watch from your window earlier that morning. 

She was just as imposing up close, with those unmistakable pink locks half-tucked under a beanie, a grease-streaked hoodie hanging off one shoulder, and an eyebrow cocked in surprise. She didn’t say anything at first—just stared at you, her eyes flicking between your face and the tray in your hands. 

“You… uh—” You thrust the brownies toward her like a peace offering, voice cracking slightly with nerves. “Thanks. For the driveway. I can’t pay you, but I can bake. So… brownies.”

She blinked, and then her mouth curled into a smirk—sharp, but not unkind. 

“Well, damn,” she said, reaching out to take the tray. Her fingers brushed yours, warm despite the chill in the air. “I thought you were going to yell at me for trespassing.” 

You let out a nervous laugh. “I considered it. But then I remembered I can���t get my car out without your help.” 

Vi laughed—a low, light sound that settled comfortably in your chest. “Smart move.” She looked down at the brownies, eyes crinkling. “These homemade?” 

“Yeah. And if you’re allergic to anything, you’re probably fucked.” 

“Risk I’m willing to take,” Vi said, gently taking the tray from your hands. “Wanna come in? It’s freezing and you brought me food. Least I can do is offer some heat in return.” 

You hesitated for just a second, surprised by the offer—and maybe just a little too eager to say yes. 

“Sorry, I’ve got work,” you trailed off, backing away before you could tell yourself to just step into the doorway of her very nice and heated house. “Enjoy the brownies.”

She smiled, a little confused, and yelled a goodbye after you as you hurriedly walked down the path, desperate not to slip on the snow-slick stones. 

—---------------------------------

A few days later, you’re elbow-deep in dish soap when a knock rattles your front door. You peer out the window, half expecting a delivery. But it’s Vi—this time without the beanie, her pink hair pulled back showing off her undercut, and the now-empty brownie tray in her gloved hands. 

You dry off quickly and crack open the door, surprised by how nonchalant she looks, like this is just part of her weekly routine now. 

“Hey,” she says with a lazy half-smile, lifting the tray slightly. “Return delivery. Also, those brownies? Unreal. You got, like, a bakery you’re hiding from me?” 

You laugh, opening the door a little wider to take the tray. “Glad you liked them. No license—just an overachieving sweet tooth.” 

Vi lingers in the doorway a moment, rocking on her heels like she might say more. But then she nods toward the driveway across the street. “Looks like we’re getting more snow later this week.” 

“Oh,” you say, a small grin on your face. “Guess I better buy more sugar.” 

She grins back. “Guess you better.” 

She walks away without another word, tossing a lazy wave over her shoulder. You stand in the doorway longer than necessary, tray clutched in your hands, until the cold finally drives you back inside. 

—-------------------------------

The snow came heavier than expected. 

By the time you’d finished your work and looked out the front window, the whole street was buried in white. Your car was nothing more than a lumpy silhouette, and the walkway you’d salted down earlier was completely useless now. You sighed and shut the curtains, resigning yourself to another day snowed in—maybe two. 

You were mid-way debating what to scavenge from your fridge when the power flickered. Once. Twice. 

Then everything cut out. 

“No,” you whispered into the dim, humming silence. “No, no, no—come on.”

You scrambled for your phone, using its flashlight to dig out the drawer with your emergency candles. Within minutes, you had a small cluster of flickering lights on the kitchen counter, casting just enough glow to make the place feel a little less post-apocalyptic. The house was already getting colder. Fast. 

You were layering up—second hoodie, two pairs of socks—when another knock came at your door. 

This one wasn’t tentative. It was solid. Confident. 

You opened it to find Vi again, this time bundled in a thick coat with a scarf slung loosely around her neck and snowflakes dusting her hair. Her eyebrows lifted at the sight of you, wrapped in mismatched layers like a human burrito. 

“Lights out here too?” she asked, nodding toward your darkened hallway. 

“Yup,” you said. “Heat’s gone too. Pretty sure I’m a popsicle now.” 

She grinned. “Yeah, I thought so. Grid’s down for the whole block. I’ve got a gas heater and some chili on the stove. You wanna ride it out somewhere that isn’t subzero?” 

You blinked. “You’re inviting me over. Again.” 

“Hey, you brought brownies. This is just me returning the favor with beans and central heat,” she said, stepping back and jerking her head in the direction of her house. “C’mon. I won’t bite. Unless you brought more baked goods—because then I might have to.” 

You hesitated, heart thudding a little too fast, not entirely because of the cold. 

“...I’ve got peanut butter cookies in the pantry,” you said. 

She turned on her heel. “That’s a yes, then.” 

You grabbed the cookies, your boots, and your last shred of composure, and followed her across the street. 

The warmth hit you the second you stepped inside her house. It smelled like spice and something savory simmering low and slow on the stove. The lights were out here too, but she’d lit enough candles to make the living room glow soft and gold. Blankets were already piled on the couch, a few cushions tossed down like she’d been halfway to building a fort. 

Vi looked at you over her shoulder as she unzipped her coat. “Make yourself at home. I figured we could suffer together. Or, you know… try not to suffer.” 

You slipped off your boots, cheeks already warm from more than just the sudden temperature change. “You do this for all your neighbors, or am I just special?” 

Vi chuckled as she plucked the cookie container from your hands and popped the lid. “Guess you’ll have to keep baking if you wanna find out.” 

You tried to think of something clever to say, but she was already walking into the kitchen, stealing a cookie on the way and tossing you a wink over her shoulder. 

So, you followed—into the warmth, the flickering light, and whatever this weird little snowstorm relationship was becoming. 

Maybe being snowed in wasn’t so bad after all.

if you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

also send me requests i beg

[nomie-11]

Hold Your Hand - Part 5

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synopsis: ellie will stop at nothing to get you back, even if all you need is to hold her hand

pairings: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

The rink was quiet at night. 

The overhead lights cast long, silver reflections on the ice, turning it into a mirror, and the steady hum of the cooling system filled the empty space. It was peaceful—at least, it should have been. 

But you weren’t at peace. 

You skated across the rink, breath coming quick, muscles burning. You had been at this for nearly an hour now, pushing yourself harder and harder, trying to shake off the frustration that gnawed at your insides. Your movements were sloppy, your footwork slow, your jumps weaker than they used to be. 

It had been too long. Your body remembered, but it wasn’t sharp like before. You could feel the rust in your bones, the stiffness in your edges. You tried to push through it, but every mistake, every misstep, only made your frustration worse.

You had been great once. 

Now, you just felt like a fraud. 

With a sharp breath, you set yourself up for a double axel, gritting your teeth as you stepped onto the left forwards outside edge that once used to be second nature, and launched into the air—

Only to land under rotated and off-balance. Your blade wobbled, skidding slightly as you tried to compensate for the missing rotations, and before you could catch yourself—

Crash. 

You hit the ice hard, the cold biting through your jacket. The impact jolted through your body, knocking the air from your lungs. 

“Fucking—!” You slammed your fist against the ice, squeezing your eyes shut, your breath shaking. 

You heard the sound before you saw her—the faintest scrape of skates shifting behind the rink boards, just out of sight. 

Your chest tightened. 

“Ellie,” you muttered, without looking. 

“You’re gonna break something if you keep going at it like that.” 

You exhaled sharply, rolling onto your back. The ceiling lights blurred in your vision, white and distant. “Go away.” 

“Yeah, no.” 

A shuffle of movement. Then, slowly, Ellie skated out from the shadows, her hands stuffed into her hoodie pockets. Her skates cut smooth lines into the ice as she moved, but she stopped a few feet away, like she knew better than to get too close. 

You closed your eyes. “How long have you been here?”

She hesitated. “Long enough to watch you wipe out three times in a row.”

Your jaw clenched. 

Ellie sighed, shifting on her skates. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

You swallowed hard. “I just need to get it back.” 

“Get what back?” 

You sat up abruptly, looking at her. “Everything. My edges, my jumps, my spins—all of it.” Your voice cracked, raw and strained. “If I’m gonna do this again, I have to be better.” 

Ellie frowned, watching you carefully. “You don’t have to kill yourself trying.” 

“If that's what it takes, I do.”

The words were automatic, slipping out before you could stop them. But they were true. You had to. If you were going to leave hockey—if you were going to make this choice—you had to prove that it wasn’t a mistake. 

Ellie didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then—

“You don’t even look happy.” 

You flinched. 

Ellie sighed, sitting down on the ice next to you. “Look, I don’t get it,” she admitted. “You say this is where you belong, but all I see is you beating yourself up over not being good enough.” Her voice softened. “That’s not what love looks like.” 

Your chest ached. 

She tilted her head, eyes searching yours. “Is this really what you want?” 

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. 

You didn’t have an answer. 

Ellie took a glance at you, then scooched in closer. “You’re not a figure skater anymore.” 

“Fuck you,” you whispered. 

Ellie didn’t flinch. “You’re not a hockey player either.” 

She moved until she was right in front of you, resting her forearms on her knees. “You’re just you,”

You blinked hard, your throat tightening. 

Ellie hesitated, then reached out, her fingers brushing yours lightly where they rested on the ice. “You don’t have to prove anything.” 

You exhaled shakily. “You don’t get it.” 

Ellie’s jaw twitched. “Then make me get it.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking away. 

“I spent years trying to be someone I wasn’t,” you admitted quietly. “And then I left skating, and I thought… maybe hockey could be my thing. Maybe I could make it fit.” Your fingers curled into the ice. “But I was wrong. I should’ve never left.” 

Ellie was quiet for a long moment. 

“Or maybe you were just scared.” 

Your head snapped up, eyes flashing. 

Ellie held your gaze, steady and unwavering. “You didn’t leave because you weren’t meant for hockey. You left because you were afraid of what it meant to stay.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. 

Ellie pressed on. “You’re scared, Cap.” Her voice was so soft, it nearly broke you. “And I don’t really get it or get why. But you’re not alone, you know.” 

Your breath shuddered, and Ellie reached out, her fingers curling around yours, squeezing just slightly. 

“You belong with us,” she said. “With me.”

You stared at her, at the certainty in her eyes, the warmth in her touch, and the weight in your chest eased. 

You squeezed her hand back. 

But your heart still stuttered in fear. 

—---------------------------------

Four days. 

Ellie had spent every single one of them in some kind of hell. 

She hadn’t expected you to come back right away. She knew you needed time. But as each day passed, her nerves got worse. She kept replaying your conversation over and over, dissecting every word, every glance, every flicker of emotion on your face. What if you decided it wasn’t worth it? What if she’d been wrong? What if she pushed too hard? 

And worse—what if you never came back?

The team was falling apart without you. 

Practice had been a disaster. Abby and Vi were constantly bickering over defensive plays, Caitlyn had kept second guessing her shots, and Dina—Dina who never complained about anything—had started throwing her glove down in frustration every time another goal slipped past her. Ellie had tried to keep them together, to remind Abby of her position as assistant captain, but she wasn’t you. She didn’t have your presence, your authority, the way you could make everyone feel like they could do the impossible just because you believed they could. 

She hated it. She hated that she couldn’t fix it. And she hated even more that she missed you—not just on the ice, but everywhere. She caught herself glancing at the locker room door, half-expecting you to walk in with that look of quiet determination .She found herself looking for you in the hallways, in the cafeteria, in the places you used to stretch before games. 

And it scared the hell out of her. 

Because this wasn’t just about her need to fix the team anymore. It was you. 

It was the way you fit—like a missing piece she hadn’t even known she was missing. It was the way your hands felt in hers that night on the ice. The way you looked at her like you wanted to believe her. 

Ellie had never been good at this kind of thing. Feelings. Emotions. But this? 

She couldn’t ignore this. 

So when the locker room door finally swung open on the fifth day and you stepped inside, a duffel bag slung over your shoulder, Ellie nearly lost it. 

The room went dead silent. No one moved. No one breathed. Until—

“You came back,” Dina’s voice was barely above a whisper, like she didn’t want to jinx it. 

You dropped your bag onto the bench and started pulling out your skates, like it was any other day, like you hadn’t been nearly 192 hours since, besides Ellie, any of them had seen you on the ice. “Yeah,” you said simply. “Figured Abby wasn’t doing a good job and I should step in.” 

The tension in the room snapped all at once. 

“Rude statement aside, thank fucking god,” Abby groaned, throwing her head back. 

“Holy shit, do you know what we’ve been through?” Vi demanded. “It’s been like the goddamn wild west out there.” 

“We’ve lost three practice matches. In a row.” Caitlyn muttered. 

Dina huffed. “Understatement. We got steamrolled.” 

You snorted. “Sounds like you guys need your captain.” 

Ellie was still staring at you, her heart beating way too fast, but she managed to find her voice. “Yeah,” she said, quieter than she meant. “We do.” 

Your eyes flicked to hers, just for a second. Something unspoken and undeniably private passing between you. 

Then you sat down and pulled your skates out of your bag, lacing them up like nothing had changed. 

But everything had changed. 

Because when you finally stepped back onto the ice, something in your expression shifted. Your shoulders relaxed, your posture settled, and the second your blades made contact with the rink, it was like you breathed for the first time in days. 

And Ellie saw it. She saw the way the ice welcomed like an old friend, the way your body moved like it belonged there. She saw the way your face softened, the way your hands flexed, the way you felt at home again. 

And that's when it hit her; this wasn’t just admiration. This wasn’t just respect. 

Ellie liked you. Really liked you. And suddenly, that realization was the most terrifying thing in the world. 

—----------------------------

You were 13, fresh off a promising figure skating career, when the hockey girls picked you up halfway through February. It was dark out, and a cold winter night in New York, but the tension between you and your mother at the dinner table was too much, too sharp—too final. 

So you did what you always did when you didn’t know what else to do: you went back to the rink. 

You weren’t allowed on the ice anymore unless you paid for a free practice session, and you ran without cash, so you couldn’t skate—the program made that much clear. One rumor turned into a whisper campaign, and that campaign ended in a meeting behind closed doors. A meeting where no one said the word gay—but everyone knew exactly what crime you had committed. They told you ‘your attitude didn’t reflect the program's values.’ That you ‘weren’t a good fit anymore.’ That you ‘needed time away.’

They took your jacket. Your friends. Your club. They left you with your skates and a locker you needed to empty and nothing else. 

You couldn’t go home. Your dad was out of town and your mom had gone quiet in that terrifying, clipped kind of way that told you nothing would ever be the same. She hadn’t even looked at you when you walked out. 

So you sat on a bench near the locker rooms, your breath fogging in the cold, the ice humming just beyond the plexiglass. The rink staff had gotten to you lurking. You kept to yourself. You didn’t bother any of the real skaters. You were just a girl in a parka with a beat-up duffel bag and nowhere else to go. 

That was where they found you. 

The first one to notice you was Jo. Big, loud, never shut up—she wore number 18 and had a wicked slapshot. She skated by, paused, then doubled back. 

“You a ghost or something?” she asked. 

You blinked up at her, startled. “What?”

“You’ve been sitting in that exact same spot every night for like, a week.” Jo dropped her stick against the boards and crouched down a little. “You okay?” 

You didn’t answer. 

Then came Anya—center, number 91, with the same kind of sharp stare that made people move out of her way. She leaned over Jo’s shoulder, expression unreadable. “She’s the figure skater,” she said quietly. “From Team USA.” 

You flinched. 

“Was,” you muttered. “Was the figure skater.” 

Anya tilted her head. “So you skate?” she asked, like it was an invitation. A test, more accurately. 

You looked up slowly. “Yeah.” 

“You wanna try something new?” 

You hesitated. 

Then came the third. Frankie. Backup goalie, second-line enforcer, and the one with the kindest goddamn eyes you’d ever seen. She sat down right next to you without saying anything, unzipped her hoodie, and offered you half of her protein bar. 

“C’mon,” she said after a minute, voice soft. “We’ll even let you borrow a stick.” 

And from there it started slow. They’d let you shoot around after practice, help collect pucks, hang out in the locker room and steal their tape. They taught you how to body check without taking someone’s head off, how to hold your elbows up when you skated into a rough corner, and how to hit a mean slapshot. 

But it was Frankie who stuck. 

Frankie who noticed when you started staying later and later, when you stopped mentioning school, when you flinched at the sound of a phone vibrating. 

It was Frankie who handed you an extra toothbrush and said, “My place has working heating and a free couch. You’re not sleeping in a locker room.” 

It was Frankie who picked you up from the curb after your mom locked the front door and told you not to come back until you’d “fixed yourself.” 

It was Frankie who drove you to your day of high school and to the AA team’s tryouts, sat through the entire thing, and signed every sheet of paper, saying “you ever need anything—you call me. No matter what.” 

And most importantly—it was Frankie who showed you that hockey wasn’t about approval. It wasn’t about medals or podiums or being perfect. 

It was about freedom. About crashing and bruising and choosing yourself, even when no one else did. 

She taught you how to take up space. How to exist on the ice like you deserved to be there. 

She was the first person who looked at you and didn’t see a problem that needed fixing. 

She just saw you. 

—-------------------------

“Hey,” Ellie’s voice brings you back, low and uncertain. 

You glanced over your shoulder, watching her jog to catch up with you outside the rink. Practice had ended more than an hour ago, but she must’ve stayed behind. 

“You good?” she asks. 

You pause, then nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.” 

Ellie slows to match your pace. “You looked sharp out there today. Like scary sharp. Totally bruised my ribs when you checked me into the boards.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “That a compliment?” 

“Definitely,” she teases, then after a moment, more quietly: “You okay for real though?” 

You look at her. Really look at her. 

And something about the way she meets your gaze—steady, patient, warm—makes your chest ache. 

You nod. “It was good to be back.” 

Ellie watches you, then reaches out, brushing her fingers against yours again—gentler this time, more deliberate. 

You don’t pull away. 

She laces your finger together. 

You squeeze back. 

Because for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of the future. You’ve already lived through the worst of the past. And maybe you were always meant to end up here. 

With her. With this team. With the people who really see you.  With people who stay.

This is part 5 of a multipart series!

<- previous part | next part ->

If you enjoyed this series, please make sure to check out my others!

Taglist: @vahnilla , @sevslover , @taurtel , @liasxeatt , @aliluvszs , @riiinnniiieeee , @dreamersbelieveinus , @sophie-thefrog8 , @escaping-reality8 , @saturnhas82moons

[nomie-11]

Quick Announcement!

hey guys!!! sorry ive actually been missing from tumblr for literally three months (whoops), its been a crazy couple of weeks and I have a lot to share now that I'm finally done with finals and all that stuff.

first of all--if you're still following me from my fourth wing content, I'm probably not going to be continuing those any time soon. I've been on a long journey of self discovery and recently learned that I am a lesbian and have no interest in men, and I'm not really interested in writing hetero relationships at this point.

second of all--if you're following me for my tlou or arcane writing, I'm going to be posting a few part 2s coming up (biker girl to name one), as well as posting the next chapter to the ellie soulmate au series I was writing, and a few completely new things.

third of all--i've lowkey ignored all of my requests since february, so if you have a request starting now I'm reopening them but all the old ones I will be deleting, and i'm only writing for tlou, arcane, and other shows (maybe yellowjackets??)

and finally--i've previously posted that i'm in a relationship with a friend of mine, so thats why I kind of dropped off from writing as my entire brain was consumed by her (lol girl simp), but we still are together so my brain is lowkey still all consumed by her

thats it for now! please bear with me as I get back into the swing of things! i'm so excited to hear from all of you

[nomie-11]

Sorry about being so MIA recently, currently experiencing yuri irl 🤭🤭

[nomie-11]

Figure Skater - Part 4

masterlist!

synopsis: ellie loves to press your buttons, she just doesn’t know when to stop

pairings: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

Ellie was going to be the death of you. 

It had been a grueling practice—Coach pushing everyone past their limits, bodied aching, lunges burning, the ice slick with sweat and determination. And yet, somehow, Ellie still had the energy to get under your skin. 

The locker room was noisy, the team chattering as they peeled off their gear, stretching out sore limbs and exchanging playful chirps about the scrimmage. You were exhausted, the weight of the season, your classes, and Ellie’s constant defiance settling heavily on your shoulders. 

And then, as if the universe had a personal vendetta against you, Ellie’s voice cut through the hum of conversation. 

“You ever gonna tell me why you always wear long sleeves?” 

The girls who knew went quiet. Too quiet. 

Your pulse spiked. You willed yourself to keep your expression neutral, methodically unlacing your skates as if she hadn’t just thrown a grenade into your locker. 

“Seriously,” Ellie continued, leaning against the bench with that insufferable smirk. “We’re all dying to know. What’s the dead, Captain? Some kind of superstitious thing? You hiding a bad tattoo? Or—” her eyes glinted with something sharper, more curious “—is it something else?” 

“Ellie,” Caitlyn warned, her tone light but edged with caution. 

But Ellie wasn’t backing down. She never did. 

“And the figure skating pin,” Ellie went on, pushing further, her voice teasing but laced with real intrigue. “You never talk about it. Didn’t peg you for a figure skater, Captain Perfect.” 

Your entire body went rigid. She had been paying attention. She had noticed. Of course she had. 

Ellie was reckless and impulsive and impossible—but she wasn’t stupid. she saw things, put things together. And right now, she was pressing her advantage, digging her fingers into the cracks you had tried too hard to seal shut. 

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” you said coolly, shoving your skates into your bag with a little too much force. 

Ellie clicked her tongue. “Nah, but you’re acting real weird about it.” She tilted her head, green eyes flickering with something calculating. “What, you embarrassed or something?” 

That did it. The air in the room shifted. 

Your blood burned. Your hands clenched into fists before you could stop them, the years of carefully constructed controlled restraint snapping like an overstretched wire. 

“You don’t get to ask me that,” you snapped, standing so fast your bench rattle. “You don’t know shit about me, Williams.” 

Ellie blinked, clearly not expecting the explosion. “Fuck, okay—”

“No, seriously,” you cut her off, your voice rising. “You waltz in here like you own the place, like you don’t need to listen to anyone, like you’re the goddamn center of the universe. Newsflash, Williams—you’re not. And just because you think you’ve got me figured out doesn’t mean you do.” 

The room was dead silent. 

Everyone was staring now—Abby frozen mid-lace, Vi and Caitlyn exchanging glances, Dina wide-eyed. The tension was suffocating, thick with something raw and exposed. 

Ellie scoffed, pushing to a stand. “Fuck, what the hell if your problem?” 

“My problem,” you seethed, stepping closer, “is that you don’t know when to shut the fuck up.” 

Ellie’s expression darkened. “Oh, so now I’m the problem? Because I’m asking you a question?” 

“Yes!” Your voice cracked, your breath coming too fast. “Because you don’t know when to stop, Ellie! Because you push and push and push—”

Until what? Until you snap? Until you lose control? Until the thing you’ve been hiding, the thing you’ve spent years running from, finally spills out into the open. Too late. 

Ellie’s eyes flickered down—to your wrist. 

To the sleeve that had slipped, just enough. To the ink, deep forest green, the same color as her eyes—

Fuck. 

Time slowed. The world tilted. Ellie stared. 

You yanked your sleeve down, heart pounding so hard you felt it in your throat. 

And then you ran. 

You barely heard the chorus of your teammates calling after you. Barely registered the sound of the door slamming behind you. You just moved—out of the locker room, down the hall, out of the rink, into the cold night air. 

The air burned in your lungs, but it didn’t matter. You had to get away. You had to—

“Wait!”

A voice—her voice. 

You froze. 

Footsteps, then warmth, so close behind you. 

Ellie stood there, chest heaving, her hands clenched at her sides, her gaze locked onto yours, unreadable, unreadable, unreadable. 

Your heart pounded. 

You turned away. 

“Don’t,” Ellie said, her voice quieter now. Steadier. “Don’t run.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t—

Ellie exhaled sharply, running a hand through her messy auburn hair. “It’s me, isn’t it?” 

You swallowed. You didn’t answer, you didn’t have to. 

Ellie took a slow step closer. “You knew.” 

Silence, and then, a quiet, breathless laugh. 

Disbelieving, almost soft. 

“Holy shit,” Ellie murmured. 

You opened your eyes. 

Ellie was staring at her own wrist. At the words permanently inked into her skin. 

“Pass the stupid puck,” she read aloud, almost like she couldn’t believe it. Then she looked back at you, green eyes burning. “It’s you.” 

Your throat felt tight. 

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. 

Ellie flinched, just slightly. “What?” 

“I can’t do this,” you repeated, stepping back, the panic crawling up your throat. “This—this doesn’t change anything, okay? It doesn’t—”

“Doesn’t change anything!?” Ellie’s voice rose, the shock giving way to something raw. “Are you fucking kidding? We—we’re soulmates, and you—”

You shook your head. “No.” 

Ellie’s brows furrowed, her breath coming uneven. “What do you mean, no?” 

“I mean no,” you snapped, voice breaking. “I mean, I don’t—I can’t—”

Ellie stared at you like she had never seen you before. And maybe she hadn’t. Not like this. Not unraveling. Not running. 

Your hands were shaking. Your pulse was thundering in your ears. 

“I have to go,” you choked out. 

Ellie took a step forward. “Wait—”

But you were already gone. 

Running, disappearing into the night, into the only thing you knew how to do—create distance. 

And Ellie was left standing there, standing at the empty space where you had been, her hand pressed over her wrist. 

Over your words. 

Over you. 

————————————-

The locker room felt hollow without you. 

Three days. 

Three days of practice without their captain. Three days of Abby trying to pick up the slack, of Vi leading drills without the usual sharpness, of Caitlyn and Fina stealing glances at the door every time it opened, expecting you to walk in like nothing had happened. 

Three days of Ellie sitting in the bench, gripping her stick hard enough to splinter, staring at the empty space where you should have been. 

No one knew where you had gone. No one knew why you had really left. And when Abby, frustrated and tired of all the waiting, had finally banged on your dorm door, there had been no answer. 

You were… gone.

And then, on the fourth day, you came back. 

Ellie wasn’t the first to see you. She had been in the locker room, lacing up her skates, trying to push down the gnawing feeling in her gut—the one that made her stomach twist every time she thought about you being gone, the one she didn’t know what to do with. 

It was Dina who spotted you first, her voice ringing out from the doorway. 

“Oh my god—Cap?”

The whole room went still. 

Ellie shot up, nearly knocking over the bench in her rush to stand, Vi and Caitlyn following right behind her. Abby, who had been tying up her pads, froze mid-motion. 

And then you stepped inside. 

The second Ellie saw you, her heart dropped. 

You weren’t in your hockey gear. No team jacket, no skates slung over your shoulder, no helmet tucked under your arm. Unsteady, you wore something entirely different—something Ellie had never seen before. 

A sleek black skating jacket, simple but elegant, with long sleeves covering your arms all the way down to your wrists and your old club logo on your chest. A pair of sharp, well-loved white figure skates dangled from your fingers, the laces curled loosely around your hand. 

You weren’t just back. 

You were here to say goodbye. 

Everyone else seemed to realize it at the same time. 

“The hell is this?” Vi said, her voice unusually sharp. “What are you wearing?”

You didn’t meet her eyes. You didn’t look at anyone. Instead, you took a slow breath, shifting your grip on your skates. “I’m done.”

Silence. 

Then—

“Done?” Caitlyn repeated, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean ‘done’?”

You exhaled sharply. “I mean I quit.”

It hit the team like a physical blow. Abby straightened, her expression darkening, while Dina took an uncertain step forward. Vi crossed her arms, jaw clenched tight. Caitlyn just shook her head, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t make sense. 

Ellie just stared at you, her pulse thudding in her ears. 

You lifted your chin, but there was something in your eyes that made Ellie’s chest ache. A weight she had never seen before. Something raw. Something final. 

“I don’t belong here,” you said, voice firm but quiet. “I don’t even know why I tried to convince myself I did.”

Dina let out a sharp breath. “Bullshit.”

You flinched, just slightly. 

“No, it’s not.” You swallowed hard, shifting on your feet. “Hockey was never supposed to be my thing. I just… I needed something after I left figure skating, and this was—this was a placeholder.” You gestured vaguely around the room, but your expression shifted, like the words tasted like biting into a sour lemon. “I made myself believe that I could fit here, that I could be this person, but I was lying to myself. I should never have been here in the first place.”

Vi scoffed, stepping closer, her expression so angry you wanted to melt. “Are you kidding? You’re our fucking captain. The best player on this team. If you don’t belong here, then none of us do.”

“That’s not true,” you protested. “You guys—you love this. This is who you are. But me?” You let out a hollow laugh. “I don’t even like hockey.”

Ellie felt like the floor had just dropped out from under her. She opened her mouth, but no words could get past her shocked expression. 

You didn’t like hockey?

No. No, that didn’t make sense. She had seen you play. She had seen the fire in your eyes when you skated, the way you moved like you were made for it, the way you fought for every puck, every point, like it was your life on the line. 

Ellie had spent weeks thinking you were just some hard as perfectionist, obsessed with winning, obsessed with control. But this was something else. 

You weren’t leaving—you were running. 

Caitlyn stepped forward, her voice softer now, careful almost. “Cap, I know you’re going through something, but you—”

“This isn’t about that,” you interrupted, your grip tightening on your skates, knuckles going white. “This is about the fact that I’ve spent too many years of my life trying to force myself into something I was never meant to be. I should have never left figure skating. That’s where I belong.”

“No,” Abby said sharply, speaking up for the first time. “You belong here.” 

You looked at her, and for the first time, your composure cracked. 

“No, I don’t,” you whispered.

Something in Elli snapped. She surged forward before she could stop herself, stepping right into your space, forcing you to look at her. 

“Why are you really doing this?” She demanded, her voice low and urgent. 

Your breath hitched. 

She saw the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the way your fingers twitched against the fabric of your sleeves. For a second, just a second, Ellie thought you might actually talk to her about the fact that the two of you were soulmates and you knew. 

Then you took a step back, shutting down, shutting her out, and she felt the loss of your warmth like a punch to the gut. 

“I already told you,” you said. Your voice was steady again, but your hands trembled at your sides. “This was never where I was meant to be.” 

Ellie exhaled sharply, shaking her head. 

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” 

Your jaw tightened, your eyes flashing. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

Ellie’s heart pounded. “I know you.” 

You flinched. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The rest of the team was silent, watching, waiting, as if they knew—this moment was different. 

Finally, you looked away. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. 

And then you turned, stepping toward the door. Panic surged in Ellie’s chest, rising like a tide. If you walked out now, you weren’t coming back. 

And she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—let that happen. 

“Cap.”

You stopped. 

Slowly, you turned your head, meeting her gaze. 

Ellie swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. 

“You’re not just out captain,” she said, voice rough. “You’re my soulmate.” 

The words hung thick in the air. Your breath hitched. 

Ellie took a step closer, something raw and desperate rising in her chest. “You can walk away from hockey, fine. But you can’t walk away from me.” 

Your lips parted, your throat working like you wanted to say something—like you wanted to stay. 

But then just as quickly as it appeared, the hesitation was gone. You straightened, your expression hardening. 

“I’m sorry, Ellie,” you said again, softer this time. 

And then you turned. And you walked out the door. 

Ellie felt it like a blade to the chest. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. 

The room was silent, the weight of your absence suffocating. 

And then, finally— “Fuck,” Ellie muttered. 

———————————

The first time Vi saw you drunk, she knew she liked you. 

Not in a soulmate kind of way—not that heavy, overwhelming weight that people waxed poetic about—but in a friend kind of way. The kind of way that made her want to keep you around, see what you’d do next, hear what you had to say when you weren’t holding yourself together like your life depended on it. 

And right now? Right now, you were not holding it together. 

Dina was worse off, draped over the couch in your shared dorm, giggling into a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka. Vi was cross-legged on the floor, tipping back a beer and watching you sway slightly as you tried to prove—rather unsuccessfully—that you could still land an off-ice axel while drunk, even on the shitty carpet of your freshman dorm. 

“Okay, okay, wait—” You stumbled, catching yourself on the arm of the couch before shooting them both a lopsided grin. “That one didn’t count.” 

Vi smirked. “And which one does?’ 

“The next one.” 

Dina snorted, shaking her head as she took another long sip from the bottle of vodka. “Babe, you’re gonna break something.” 

“I never fall.” 

“Bullshit,” Vi drawled, taking a sip from her beer. “Everybody falls.” 

You stuck your tongue out at her, the most unserious thing Vi had ever seen you do, and tried again. You made it half a turn before you lost your core mid-air, and you went crashing down in a heap of laughter and tangled limbs. 

Dina howled, kicking her legs. “Oh my god. Flawless execution!”

“Shut up,” you groaned, but you were laughing, too, rolling onto your back trying to catch your breath. 

Vi leaned back on her hands, watching yuo, that loose, tipsy warmth settling deep in her chest. Two months. That was it. two months of living together, of stolen fries at the dining hall, of cramming assignments you’d all put off, of late-night practice sessions after the upperclassmen had left and the rink was empty and you could breathe. 

Two months, and Vi already knew—she liked you. 

“Hey,” Dina slurred, her head lolling toward you. “What’s your thing?”

You blinked. “My thing?” 

“Yeah.” Dina waved her hadn vaguely. “Like—figure skating, obviously. But what else? What’s your deal?”

Vi raised a brow. “The hell kind of question is that?”

Dina groaned. “I mean, like—we all play hockey. Vi’s a gym rat, I like vintage music and photography. What do you do?”

You hesitated. It was brief, but Vi caught it. 

You shrugged, staring up at the ceiling again. “I don’t know. I just… skate.” 

Dina hummed, watching you. “Yeah, but you’re like—crazy good. I looked you up, y’know.” 

Vi glanced between you. “Wait, fill me in.” 

Dina grinned. “Bitch is famous. Junior national podium and a top Triple A hockey team.” 

Vi whistled lowly. “Damn. And now you’re stuck with us losers.” 

You just laughed, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Guess so.” 

Dina didn’t push, Vi didn’t either. Not then at least. 

The room settled into comfortable silence, the alcohol making everything feel softer, easier. Dina had started flipping through one of her photo books, and Vi was idly peeling the label off her beer when she noticed you fidgeting. 

You were tugging at your sleeve. 

Vi frowned. She’d seen you do it before. Always long sleeves, even in the dorm, even when it was hot. 

“You got a shitty tattoo or something?” She asked, nodding toward your wrist.

You stiffened. Just barely. 

Dina perked up. “Wait—do you?” 

“No,” you said quickly. 

Vi smirked. “That was so convincing.” 

Dina gasped, eyes wide. “You totally do! Oh my god, let me see it!”

“Nope,” you said, sitting up. “Absolutely not.” 

Dina was already lunging across the couch, and you yelped, scrambling back, but she was relentless, fingers curling around your wrist as she shoved up your sleeve—

The room froze. 

Vi saw it first. Not some shitty freshman tattoo. A soulmate mark. Deep forest green, looping across your skin. 

For a moment, none of them moved. 

Then, quietly— “holy shit,” Dina breathed. 

Your face was pale, eyes wide, like you’d been caught. 

Vi didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t that. 

“Who?” Dina asked, still staring at your wrist. “Who is it?” 

You yanked your arm back, tugging your sleeve down with shaking fingers. “I don’t know.” 

Vi narrowed her eyes. “Bullshit.” 

“I don’t.” You snapped, but your voice cracked at the end, and fuck, you looked scared. 

Dina’s excitement faltered. “Hey,” she said softly, reaching for you again, but this time—gently. “We didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered curling into yourself. 

And that—that—was what made Vi let it go. 

She didn’t know much about soulmates. Didn’t care much, either. But she knew what it looked like when someone was trying not to break open. 

So she leaned back, cracking open another ever. “Fine.” 

Dina looked between the two of you, hesitant, before sighing dramatically. “You suck.” 

You let out a weak laugh. “I know.” 

The tension eased—just slightly. 

The night carried on, but Vi noticed the way you kept your sleeves pulled low. 

And she noticed the way your fingers lingered there, like you could erase what was written. 

This is part 4 of a multipart series!

<- previous part | next part ->

If you enjoyed this series, please make sure to check out my others!

Taglist: @vahnilla , @sevyscoven , @taurtel , @liasxeatt , @aliluvszs , @riiinnniiieeee , @dreamersbelieveinus , @sophie-thefrog8 , @escaping-reality8 , @saturnhas82moons

[nomie-11]

Model Behavior

masterlist!

synopsis: models are supposed to have some kind of professionalism, right? (18+ themes ahead)

pairings: vi x reader (no use of y/n)

Your agent said this would be easy. Quick, easy, only three shoots. Hit a few poses, change your clothes a few times, have some good camera chemistry with your partner. 

Yeah, well easy your ass. 

You had never met a model more annoying than Vi. 

Right off the bat, she was the worst. 

“Hey, coffee?” She smiled, her grin obnoxiously charming, before she turned to the shoot director. She thought you were a damn intern, not the model who was on the cover of vogue last week. “When’s Caitlyn getting here? I thought she was my shoot partner.”

You cleared your throat, arms crossed as you stared her down. “I am your shoot partner.”

Vi turned, blinking at you before giving you a once-over. “Oh. Huh.” She nodded like she was mentally adjusting, then grinned again. “Well, nice to meet you, newbie.” 

You exhaled sharply through your nose, already tired. “I was on vogue last week. I’m not a newbie.”

“Right. Cool.” She stretched her arms over her head, the hem of her tank riding up to reveal just enough abs to be distracting. Not that you were looking. “No hard feelings, yeah? I just figured they’d pair me with Cait. We’ve got that whole thing going on.” 

You frowned. “Thing?” 

Vi wiggled her eyebrows. “You know. Tall and gorgeous meets devastatingly charming and ruggedly handsome? Classic duo.” 

You stared at her, unimpressed. “You’re neither devastating nor rugged.” 

“Ouch, brutal.” Vi clutched her chest like you’d shot her. “Alright, Vogue, I’ll try not to let my fragile ego get in the way of our ‘good camera chemistry’.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. This was going to be a long shoot. 

————————

The first setup was simple: a monochrome background, complementary outfits, standard high fashion poses. Easy enough. 

At least, it should have been easy.

“Closer,” the photographer directed. 

Vi stepped in, her breath warm against your cheek. “Like this?” She asked, voice lower than before, almost teasing. 

You didn’t flinch, didn’t react—professionalism and all. But when her fingers brushed the bare skin of your waist through a cutout in the Versace dress you wore, adjusting the pose ever so slightly, you felt your stomach tighten. 

“Perfect,” the photographer said, snapping shots. “Hold that.” 

Vi’s fingers lingered, and you could feel the faintest press of her palm against your hip. 

———

The next setup was a little more intimate. Something editorial, something dramatic. 

“Hands in her hair, tug her head back,” the director instructed. 

Vi didn’t hesitate. She slid her fingers through your locks, slow and deliberate, nails grazing your scalp. You fought the shiver threatening to run down your spine. 

You held your ground, adjusting your stance, bringing your own hand to rest lightly against her jaw. Vi’s smirk softened, and for a second—just a second—her gaze dipped to your lips. 

“Beautiful,” the photographer murmured. “Love the intensity.” 

You swallowed hard. 

————

By the time you reached the final setup, the line between professional and something else entirely had blurred beyond recognition underneath the heat of Vi’s gaze and the mixing of your bodies under the camera. 

This time, it was a softer, more intimate scene. Dim lighting, silk sheets, light and airy clothing, the illusion of something almost domestic. 

“You’re going to have to get real close for this,” the photographer said, adjusting the lens.

You were already close, so close you could feel Vi’s heartbeat from where she slain draped across your back. But Vi, of course, took that as a challenge. 

She slid in closer, one arm draped around your waist, her mouth just shy of your shoulder. The heat of her breath sent goosebumps down your arms. 

“You good?” She murmured, voice just for you.

You exhaled. “Yeah. I’m good.” 

“Alright, then,” her fingers traced the curve of your wrist, slow and deliberate. “Let’s give ‘em a show.” 

The camera flashed, the shutter clicking in rapid succession as Vi tilted her head, brushing the tip of her nose against your jaw. You felt the whisper of her breath, the heat of her body pressed against yours, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this was just a job—a performance, carefully crafted illusion for the camera. 

And yet. 

“Closer,” the director said, voice even but expectant. “Like you’re about to kiss.”

Vi’s hand tightened slightly where it rested on your waist. She adjusted, shifting so that her lips hovered a breath away from yours. The air between you felt charged, electric. 

You weren’t sure if the flicker of her eyes to your lips was intentional or just a trick of the dim lighting. 

“Hold it,” the photographer called. “Perfect.”

The seconds stretched long, each click of the camera punctuating the space between you. You could see every detail of Vi’s face—the curve of her lips, the freckles dusting the bridge of her nose, the sharp amusement lingering in her gaze. She wasn’t just playing the part. She was enjoying this.

Damn her.  

“Alright,” the director said, stepping forward. “Now, slowly, undress each other.”

Your breath caught. Right, you had been expecting this. Your agent had said this would be a more intimate shoot—partial nudity, the whole shebang. 

Vi arched a brow at you, smirk deepening, like she was daring you to back out. 

But you didn’t. 

Your hands found the hem of her loose linen shirt, fingers brushing the bare skin beneath as you began to lift it over her head. Vi exhaled, the sound nearly imperceptible, but you caught the way her muscles tensed under your touch. 

In return, her fingers found the delicate straps of your top, slipping them off your shoulders, knuckles ghosting over your collarbones. It was careful. Intentional. Every motion drawn out just enough to be torturous. 

The camera flashed. 

“Beautiful,” the photographer nearly whispered. “Slow. Keep that tension.”

Tension. Right. 

If they wanted tension, they were getting it in spades. 

Vi met your gaze, something unreadable flickering behind her usual bravado. Her hands lingered on your skin, as if waiting, as if daring you to push her away. 

You didn’t. 

The camera clicked again, and the lines blurred even further. 

Excuse me for knowing nothing about how modeling works 🤭

If you enjoyed this one shot, please make sure to check out my other series!

[nomie-11]

Muscles

masterlist!

synopsis: mmmm, muscles

pairings: vi x reader (no use of y/n)

You liked a lot of things about your girlfriend. She was smart, loyal, compassionate, caring. And an insanely hot fighting machine. 

But especially, you liked her muscles. 

You couldn’t help it. Maybe it was shallow, maybe it was a little obvious, but sue you, you had eyes—how could you not appreciate them? The way her biceps flexed when she pulled her hair into a half-ponytail, the effortless way she lifted weights that you wouldn’t even think about touching, the way her back tensed when she was between your legs, eating you out while her hand covered your mouth so you wouldn’t be heard—

Breath. Deep breaths. 

You needed to get a grip. Not on Vi’s arm’s, unfortunately, but on yourself. 

Because if you kept letting your mind wander like that, you were going to combust. And that would be an unfortunate way to go, considering Vi was currently across the room, doing pull-ups like it was nothing, and you would much prefer her to just choke you. 

You tried—really, really tried—not to stare. But it was impossible. The way her muscles shifted with every lift, the sheen of sweat on her skin, the little grunts she made under her breath—it was completely unfair. 

“You’re drooling,” a voice piped up beside you. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin, whipping around to see Caitlyn smirking at you. Of course she’d noticed. That woman didn’t miss anything when it came to blackmail and teasing material. 

“I am not drooling,” you shot back, but the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. 

Caitlyn just snickered. “Uh-huh. Sure. You wanna borrow a towel?” 

You groaned, shoving her arm. “Shut up.” 

Unfortunately, your outburst caught her attention. 

Vi dropped from the bar effortlessly, rolling out her shoulders before glancing your way. Her brows lifted slightly, like she was trying to figure out what was going on. 

“You good?” She asked, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from her face. 

No. No, you were not good. Not with the way her forearm flexed when she ran the fabric over her skin (maybe you would become religious if god could provide a way to be reincarnated as Vi’s gym towel). 

“Fine,” you squeaked. 

Caitlyn coughed—bullshit—into her fist, but thankfully, Vi didn’t push it. She just gave you a small smile before gently squeezing your hand and heading toward the weights, and you swore you saw the corner of her mouth twitch—like she knew exactly what she was doing to you. 

You wanted to climb her like a tree. 

God help you. 

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[nomie-11]

Omg just finished fight for me and ahhhhhhhhh I love it so much I’m so excited for them to fall in love and I’m so pleasantly surprised with the depth of the characters in this like wowowow amazing

The next chapter really progresses their relationship beyond what it’s been so far, so the love is coming!

And I put a lot of thought into each of the characters and their stories so I’m glad you liked it 🤭🥹

[nomie-11]

Omg a new part of the Ellie fic I’m so fucking excited ahhhhhh thank uuuu!!! Literally the highlight of my night today

EEK I’m so glad!!! More new parts are coming soon—probably Thursday!

Thank you so much for reading 🙂‍↕️❤️

[nomie-11]

Fight For Me - Part 3

masterlist!

synopsis: ellie never had anyone fight for her before, but hearing the way your teammates talk about you, she knows that maybe next time she won’t be alone

pairings: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

The locker room was alive with the familiar buzz of post-practice exhaustion. The sharp scent of sweat and cooling gear filled the air, mingling with the low hum of chatter and the occasional burst of someone’s laughter. Ellie lingered by her locker, fingers absentmindedly unlacing her skates as she listened to the others talk. She was sure what she was waiting for—maybe an excuse to leave, maybe a reason to stay. 

She found her eyes drifting toward you. You were across the room, leaning against your locker, laughing at something Vi had said. Even now, after an absolutely grueling practice, after putting everyone through hell on the ice, you barely looked tired. 

Ellie scowled. How the hell did you do that? 

Dina, sitting on the bench beside her, nudged her shoulder. “You’ve been staring for like, five minutes, dude.” 

Ellie snapped her head toward her. “What? No, I haven’t.” 

Vi, overhearing, smirked. “Yeah, you have.” 

“Fuck off,” Ellie grumbled, yanking her laces free with more force than necessary. 

Caitlyn, ever the observant one, arched a brow. “What’s your deal with Cap, anyway?” 

Ellie hesitated. What was her deal? She hated you—or at least, she wanted to hate you. But the problem was, she didn’t actually know you. Not really. All she knew was what she saw on the ice: a player who was better than she, a captain who commanded absolute loyalty, a strategist who made the game bend to her will. 

So instead of answering the question, Ellie deflected. “What’s her deal?” 

Dina and Vi exchanged a glance. Abby, who had been rolling out her shoulder with a resistance band, snorted. “The General?” 

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I keep hearing that. Why is that her nickname?’

Caitlyn smirked. “Because this is her team. She commands it and she built it.” 

Ellie frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Dina leaned back against the lockers, arms crossed. “Before Cap, the team was good. Like, really good. But good doesn’t win championships. Good doesn’t push you past the point where you want to quit. She made us great.”

Vi nodded. “She doesn’t just play hockey—she sees it. Lives, breathes, and eats it, too. The way she reads the game, the way she moves the puck? It’s like she’s playing five steps ahead of everyone else. When we got here, she made this team into what it is now. She made it better.” 

Ellie frowned, absorbing their words. She thought back to every practice, every game replay she’s watched. It was true—you didn’t just play, you orchestrated. Like a general in a command room, you saw the ice as a battlefield and your team as an army. 

Caitlyn added, “She took this team from a solid contender to a fucking dynasty. Three straight conference championships, frozen four appearances, and if we play our cards right, we’re winning the whole thing this year.” 

Ellie raised a brow. “And you guys just… let her take charge like that?”

Vi laughed. “Let her? You don’t let Cap do anything. She just does it.” 

Dina grinned. “Day one, freshman year, it was me, her, and Vi. She showed up to practice and ran everyone into the ground. Our seniors thought they were gonna humble her. They didn’t.” 

Vi chuckled at the memory. “Yeah, I remember thinking, ‘no fucking way this rookie is that good.’ And then she smoked all of us in suicides, outworked everyone in frills, and by the end of the first week, we all knew. She would lead. Be something different.” 

Ellie’s stomach twisted. She had spent the last few weeks resenting you, trying to fight against the way you led this team, when really—you were the team. 

Dina glanced at Ellie, as if reading her thoughts. “Look, I get that you and Cap don’t exactly vibe, but if you actually listened to her, you’d realize she’s trying to make you better, too.” 

Ellie scoffed. “I don’t need her help.” 

Abby smirked. “That’s cute.”

Ellie glared. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Vi leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “It means you’re playing checkers while she’s playing chess. She’s already figured out where you fit into this team. You just have to listen.” 

Ellie clenched her jaw, looking down at the skates discarded on the floor. The worst part? They were right, and she knew it. 

“Do any of you guys actually like her? As a friend?” Ellie questioned cautiously. 

Dina blinked at her like she had grown two heads. “Are you serious?” 

Vi let out a sharp laugh. “Ellie, she’s our fucking captain.”

”No shit,” Ellie muttered, rolling her eyes. “I mean besides hockey. Off the ice. Do you guys actually like her?” 

Caitlyn, who had been tying her sneakers, glanced up with a small smirk. “She’s intense as hell. Kind of a bitch, too.” 

“Super goal-oriented,” Abby added, stretching her shoulder with a wince. “Rides all of our asses like it’s her job.” 

Dina grinned. “Technically, it is her job.” 

Ellie felt something ugly twist in her chest. It was what she had been saying—you were too much. Too sharp, too demanding, too relentless. The perfect hockey player, maybe, but not someone anyone would actually—

Vi cut through her thoughts with a scoff. “But, yeah, dumbass. Of course we love her.” 

Ellie frowned. “Even though she’s—”

“A goddamn nightmare?” Caitlyn supplied. 

“A complete hardass?” Abby offered. 

“The most stubborn person alive?” Dina grinned. 

Vi leaned back on the bench, crossing her arms over her chest. “She’s all of that, yeah. But she’s ours.” 

Ellie stared at them. 

Dina’s voice softened, losing its usual teasing edge. “She fights for us, Ellie. Tooth and fucking nail. She’s been the first one in our corner since day one, even when we didn’t ask her to be. She’s had our backs through every shit call, every bad game, every injury.” 

Caitlyn nodded. “When I blew out my knee last season, she stayed at the hospital with me all night. Coach didn’t even ask her to. I woke up, and she was just there.”

Vi smirked. “She cussed out a ref so bad in our freshman year that Coach had to physically drag her off the ice.” 

Abby grinned. “When Dina got concussed, she carried her off the ice herself.”

Ellie blinked. “That’s not legal.” 

Dina snorted, shaking her head. “Yeah, and she bitched the whole time about how heavy I was.” 

Vi smirked. “To be fair, you were dead weight. You kept trying to tell us you were fine while your eyes were rolling back in your head.” 

“I was fine,” Dina said indignantly. 

Abby rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t even count to five.” 

Dina waved a dismissive hand, then leaned back against her locker with a grin. “Honestly, that’s nothing. You wanna know how I really knew Cap had my back.” 

Ellie arched a brow. “Spill.” 

Dina’s grin widened. “I’m actually a teen mom.” 

Ellie choked on her own spit. “What?” 

Vi snickered. “Yup.” 

Dina look way too amused at Ellie’s stunned expression. “Had my kid with Jesse our senior of high school. Just happened to line up with the end of the season and then summer, which, you know, lucky timing and all.” 

Ellie blinked, trying to process. “You—” she gestured vaguely, still thrown, “—have a kid?” 

Dina nodded. “Little dude named JJ. He’s three and a half now.” 

Ellie had absolutely no idea what to do with this information. “And—you still play?”

”Obviously.” Dina said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But BU almost tried to kick me off the team when they found out the little boy strapped to my soulmate’s chest was my kid mid-sophomore year.” 

Ellie frowned. “They can do that?” 

“They tried to,” Dina’s expression darkened slightly. “Tried to tell me I wouldn’t be able to keep up, that it’d be a distraction, that I needed to focus on my ‘future’—which, like, excuse me, this is my future.” 

Ellie’s stomach twisted. She could imagine it, the way schools and coaches could be—how quickly they’d turn their backs the second they decided you weren’t worth the trouble. “What happened?”

Dina smirked. “Cap happened.” 

Ellie blinked. “What?” 

Vi leaned forward, grinning. “Yeah, that was a fun day.” 

Dina laughed. “I thought she was gonna rip Coach’s head off. She stormed into his office and straight-up told him that if they kicked me off, she’d quit the team.” 

Ellie’s jaw nearly dropped. “She what?”

“Threatened to walk. No hesitation. Said she wouldn’t play for a school that didn’t have its players’ backs.” Dina’s voice was warm, fond. “And here’s the thing—this was right after we won our first conference championship. She was their golden girl, and they knew it. The idea of losing her scared them so much that they backed off.” 

Ellie was quiet for a moment, turning this over in her head. She’d spent weeks seeing you as this untouchable, ice-cold general who lived and breathed hockey, this was something else. 

What would Vermont have been like if she had someone like you to fight for her? Would they have still booted her at the first sign of real trouble?

Vi ran a hand through her short hair. “You think that’s bad? Try this one?” 

Dina smirked. “Smooth topic shift.”

Vi shot her a look but continued. “Middle of our sophomore year, I almost had to drop out.” 

Ellie’s brows furrowed. “What? Why?” 

Vi sighed, her fists clenching. “My little sister needed me. Money was tight—worse than usual. Our dad dropped dead out of nowhere, and if I wanted to keep her fed and taken care of, I had to pick up more hours at work, which meant I didn’t have much time for school, much less hockey.” She exhaled sharply. “So, I told Coach I was quitting.” 

Ellie blinked. “You were just gonna leave?”

Vi shrugged. “Didn’t feel like I had much of a choice at the time. But guess who didn’t let that happen?” 

Ellie didn’t even have to guess. “Captain Perfect stepped in.” 

Vi nodded. “She would not shut up about it. Helped me find grants, financial aid, hell, even some weird-ass booster program for ‘exceptional athletes in difficult circumstances’—which, yeah, that’s a mouthful, but it covered two-thirds of my tuition alone. She even bullied Coach into giving me a small stipend from the team budget.” Vi huffed out a laugh. “And when I was still being stubborn about it, she just showed up to my job one night, tossed an envelope of cash onto the counter, and told me to pay my goddamn bills.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “Where the hell did she get the money?” 

Vi smirked. “Her own savings. Said she didn’t need it. Said ‘what’s the point of winning if we don’t all cross the finish line together?’” 

Ellie swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way it made her chest tighten, and the overwhelming guilt and jealousy she had for these girls. The Vermont captain was nothing like this—didn’t even fight for her even after they had played together for two years. And here you were paying Vi’s rent after a year and a half on the same team? Threatening your career just to keep Dina on the ice?

Caitlyn sighed. “I guess I’ll go next, then.” 

Ellie turned to her, and Caitlyn leaned against Vi with a small huff. “My mom didn’t want me to keep playing. Thought I wasn’t focused enough on my studies, that hockey was just a distraction.” 

Ellie frowned. “That’s ridiculous. You’re, like, insanely smart.” 

Caitlyn gave a humorless chuckle. “Didn’t matter. You’ve never met an asian mother on a mission. In her mind, I had to be better. She tried to pull me from the team.” 

Ellie clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking. “What happened?” 

Caitlyn smiled slightly. “Our dear captain happened?” 

Dina grinned. “This was epic.” 

Caitlyn laughed. “She learned my mother’s language of numbers and statistics. Launched a full-scale campaign to convince my mother to let me stay. Had the entire team sign petitions. Brought in my academic record and class statistics to prove I wasn’t falling behind. Got Coach to sit down with her and explain how crucial I was to the lineup.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “She wouldn’t leave my poor mother alone.”

Ellie could picture it—your relentless determination, your refusal to let anything stand in the way of keeping your team together. 

“In the end,” Caitlyn said, “my mom gave in. She figured if I had a captain that determined to keep me on the team, I must be worth something.” 

Ellie didn’t know what to say to that. 

And then Abby sighed. “Alright. My turn.” 

Ellie glanced over. Abby had been quiet, listening, but now there was something hesitant in her expression. Ellie could feel the entire atmosphere in the room shift, as if everyone knew something she didn’t. Something bad. 

Abby took a breath. “Last year was rough for me.” 

Ellie didn’t move, didn’t respond, sensing the weight behind Abby’s words. 

“I had… a lot of pressure on me. To perform, to be the best, to live up to the expectations that came with being on her team.” Abby’s jaw tightened. “And I handled it like shit. Stopped eating right. Stopped resting. I thought if I just pushed harder, I’d b fine. But I wasn’t.” 

Ellie felt her chest tighten. “What happened.” 

Abby hesitated, then sighed. “I passed out. In the middle of practice.”

Ellie’s stomach dropped. 

“And Cap…” Abby exhaled, shaking her head. “She caught me. She was so pissed. But not in the way you’d think. She wasn’t mad at me at all—she was just mad at herself, like she was angry that she didn’t see it coming and felt like she should’ve.” 

Ellie swallowed hard. 

“When I was lucid—later that night—it was just me and her, and I totally broke down.” Ellie could see Abby blink back a tear from her eye quicker than it had showed up, immediately resuming her story. “I was so unhappy with myself. Unhappy with my body, with my performance, everything. I kept telling myself that I was fine, that I had it under control.” She huffed a humorless laugh. “And then, she just—looks at me. Really looks at me. And goes, ‘Abby, you need help.’”

Abby swallowed. “I tried to blow her off. But she didn’t let me. She got Coach involved. The team’s physical therapist. Even my dad. She forced me to go see a therapist. And I hated her for it at first.” 

Elli watched as Abby’s jaw clenched, but then her expression shifted, softened. 

“But she saved me.” Abby’s voice was quieter now. “She saved my career. Probably my life. And she never, ever made me feel weak for it. Just kept telling me that she needed me on her team. That we needed me on this team.” 

Silence settled over the room. 

Before Ellie could respond—before she could even process the weight of everything she’d just heard—the locker room door banged open. 

“Alright, dumbasses, listen up.” 

Ellie turned to see you stride in, a bag slung over your shoulder, your expression set in that signature no-nonsense look she was beginning to recognize. Without breaking stride, you reached into the bag and started tossing protein bars, apples, and electrolyte pouches at your teammates with the precision of someone who had done this a hundred times before. 

“You—” you pegged an apple at Dina, who caught it with a grin— “eat. You need more fresh fruits and vegetables in your diet.” 

Dina laughed. “Caught red-handed.” 

“You—” a protein bar smacked Vi in the chest— “drink some fucking water. if I see you cramping up in drills again, I’m making you run suicides.” 

Vi rolled her eyes but tore open the wrapper anyway. “Love you too, Cap.” 

“You—” you shoved an electrolyte pouch into Caitlyn’s hands— “I know you’re gonna be up late studying, so make sure you eat snacks. Also, I know you hate the cherry electrolyte pouch flavor, so I got you the blueberry.” 

Caitlyn gave you a smile, pocketing the packet. “You know me so well.” 

“And you—” you turned to Abby, softer now, pressing an apple into her hand instead of throwing it— “get some rest. No gym tonight.” 

Abby sighed but nodded. “Yeah, yeah.” 

Finally, your gaze landed on Ellie. For a moment, she thought you were going to skip her entirely, but then you tossed something her way. She barely caught it before looking down at her hands—a protein bar and an electrolyte pouch. 

“You looked like shit out there today,” you said bluntly. “Eat, sleep, and be ready to work in the morning.” 

Ellie bristled, instinctively wanting to push back, but then she caught the way the others were looking at you—like this was normal, like this was just how you were. Like this was caring. 

And then, for the first time, she saw the softness beneath the steel. 

This was you looking out for your team. This was you looking out for her. 

Ellie clenched her jaw, tearing open the protein bar just to give herself something to do. 

You nodded in approval before stepping back. “Everyone, get back to the dorms. Early morning practice tomorrow. I want all of you rested.” 

There were groans, but no one argued. They never did. You turned to leave, but just before you walked out the door, Ellie found herself calling after you. 

“Hey, Cap.” 

You paused, glancing over your shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah?” 

Ellie hesitated. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, just that she wanted to say something. Finally, she settled on, “you gonna get some rest too?” 

Something flickered in your eyes—surprise, maybe, or something else Ellie couldn’t quite name. Then, slowly, you smirked. 

“Worried about me, Williams?”

Ellie scoffed, stuffing the rest of the protein bar in her mouth just to avoid answering. 

You chuckled, shaking your head as you turned away. “See you at practice.” 

And then you were gone, leaving Ellie staring after you, a strange warmth settling in her chest. Shit. Maybe she didn’t hate you after all. 

——————-

The air in the Vermont locker room had been suffocating that night. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow over the silent team. Ellie sat at her locker, her fingers dripping the edge of the bench, knuckles white. The echoes of the final buzzer still rang in her ears, but it wasn’t the loss that made her sick—it was the fallout. 

No one was looking at her. 

Not her teammates. Not her coach. Not even her captain. 

Ellie swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in her throat. She had given everything she had that night. Played her fucking heart out. And now—now they were throwing her to the wolves. 

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “That wasn’t fucking fair, and you all know it.” Her voice cracked, raw with frustration, but no one spoke up. 

No one defended her. 

Not after the ref’s bullshit call. Not after the fight broke out. Not after the other team’s defenseman got away with a dirty, knee-on-knee hit on Cat. 

Ellie had seen red. Had thrown off her gloves, grabbed the fucker by the collar, and put them on the ice before they could even blink. It was instinct, fueled by adrenaline and the absolute rage at seeing one of her only friends on the team taken out like that. 

But the refs didn’t care about that. They didn’t care about what had started it—only how it ended. And it ended with Ellie being ejected. 

Coach had gone ballistic. Not at the other team. Not at the refs. 

At her. 

By the time the team had shuffled into the locker room, defeated and exhausted, Coach had already made up his mind. 

“You’re done.” His voice had been cold. Detached. 

Ellie’s head snapped up. “What?” 

“You’re off the team, Williams.” 

Her stomach lurched. “Coach, I—”

“Save it.” He shook his head. “You’re reckless. A liability.” 

Ellie’s nails bit into her palms so hard she thought she might break the skin. “You’re seriously gonna kick me off over one fucking fight?” 

“One fight?” He scoffed. “This isn’t your first outburst, Williams. You don’t listen. You play with your emotions instead of your head. And tonight, you embarrassed this team.” 

Ellie looked around, desperate, searching for someone—anyone—to back her up. 

But all she saw were averted eyes. 

Cat was in the training room, still getting checked out, but everyone else was here. Her teammates, her captain. the people who were supposed to have her back. And yet, no one spoke. No one fucking said a thing. 

Her captain—Maddie—stood near the front, arms crossed over her chest, face unreadable. 

Ellie’s voice was hoarse when she spoke. “You’re just gonna let this happen?” 

Maddie didn’t look at her. 

Ellie’s stomach twisted. “Maddie.” 

Still, nothing. 

Ellie let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Fucking unreal.” 

Coach didn’t give her another glance. “Pack your stuff. You’re out.” 

And just like that, it was over. 

No fight. No argument. 

They let her go without a second thought. She was nothing to them. 

——

The drive back to the apartment was a blur. The world outside the window was streaked with rain, the streetlights glowing in smears of gold and white. Ellie could barely process it. One moment she had a team, a future, a fucking purpose—now? Now she had nothing. 

Joel was waiting for her when she stepped inside, fresh off a late-night flight in from Jackson. She was drenched from the rain, her bag slung over her shoulder like dead weight. 

He took one look at her face and sighed. “Kid.” 

Ellie dropped her bag and collapsed onto the couch, rubbing a hand down her face. “Don’t.” 

Joel ignored her, stepping closer. “What happened?” 

Ellie didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. Her throat felt tight, her chest even tighter. 

Joel sat beside her, silent, waiting. He was patient when he was waiting for her to be ready to talk. Always had been. 

Finally, Ellie exhaled, voice hollow. “They kicked me off the team.” 

Joel was quiet for a long moment. Then— “They what?” 

Ellie let out a humorless laugh, leaning back against the couch. “Coach said I was a liability. No one fought for me. Not even Maddie.” 

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That’s bullshit.” 

“Yeah,” Ellie muttered. “Tell that to them.” 

Joel was silent again, but this time, Ellie could feel the anger rolling off of him. He’d always had her back—always fought for her, even when she didn’t deserve it. And now, when she needed someone the most, he was the only one standing in her corner. 

Not her teammates, not her captain, just Joel. 

The thought made her sick. She had fought for that team. Bled for them. And they let her go without a word. 

Joel exhaled sharply. “You’re not done, kiddo.” 

Ellie scoffed. “Uh, pretty sure I am. No team, no scholarship, no—”

Joel cut her off. “You’re not done.” His voice was firm. Certain. “There’s still time to transfer. I’ll make some calls.” 

Ellie shook her head. “No one’s gonna want me.” 

Joel’s eyes darkened. “Boston will.” 

Ellie frowned. “BU?” 

“I know the coach—he owes me for something I did ages ago. They’re always looking for talent. And you, kid, are damn good. You just need someone who gives a shit.”

Ellie hesitated. The thought of starting over again—of going through another season of proving herself, of fighting for a spot she didn’t even know she wanted anymore—was exhausting.

But what other choice did she have?

Joel leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “My Ellie wouldn’t quit over something like this. I know you.”

Ellie clenched her jaw, staring down at her hands. 

She wasn’t sure if she had it in her to fight anymore. But Joel—he had enough fight for the both of them, and she just had to hope that was enough. 

———

Now, sitting in the BU locker room, listening to her new team talk about you—how you fought for them, how you never let them fall without being there to pick them back up—Ellie couldn’t help but wonder…

What if Maddie had fought for her the way you’d fought for Dina or Vi?

What if someone had stood up for her like you did for Caitlyn, had given a shit beyond just what she could do for the team like you had for Abby? 

Would she have still ended up here? 

Would it have still felt like she was completely alone? 

Because even now, surrounded by her new teammates, part of something bigger—she still felt like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Waiting for them to decide she wasn’t worth it. 

Waiting to be left behind. 

But then—you tossed a protein bar into her lap, your voice breaking through her thoughts. “You looked like shit out there today. Eat, sleep, and be ready to work in the morning.” 

Ellie blinked, looking down at the bar in her hands. When she looked back up, you were watching her, expression unreadable. 

And for the first time in a long time, Ellie felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest. 

Hope. Hope that maybe, this time would be different. Hope that if push came to shove, she wouldn’t be alone on the ice with a chasm between her and her teammates. 

Hope that you would toss a rope bridge over the break and hold her hand as she crossed, and fight for her the way no one else had. 

This is part three of a multipart series!

<- previous part | next part ->

If you enjoyed this series, please make sure to check out my others!

Taglist: @vahnilla , @sevyscoven , @taurtel , @liasxeatt , @aliluvszs , @riiinnniiieeee , @dreamersbelieveinus

[nomie-11]

Lover Girl

masterlist!

synopsis: vi was a loser, a lover girl, and head over heels for you

pairings: vi x reader (no use of y/n)

Vi was a loser. 

She was always reminded of her pitiful stance as a random masc lesbian on campus when she passed by you on her way to her afternoon lab. She would watch you walk by, curls bouncing, heeled boots clicking against the pavement as you laughed along to whatever the gorgeous Kiramman girl on your side was saying. 

Vi didn’t stand a chance, not against the Kiramman and not against every other gay within a 50 kilometer radius of you that so desperately wanted to get between your beautifully toned thighs. 

But Vi had a plan. It wasn’t a good plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. Step one: casually run into you at the campus coffee shop. Step two: say something cool. Step three: make you fall madly in love with her, or at the very least, get you to remember her face. 

Simple, right?

Wrong. 

Because the moment Vi stepped into the coffee shop and spotted you at the counter—hair tossed over your shoulder, Caitlyn leaning in to say something that made you grin—her brain short-circuited. her heart pounded like she’d just run sprints, and suddenly, she forgot how to be a normal, functioning human being. 

Ellie, ever the devil on her shoulder, nudged her forward. “Go on, lover girl. Say something smooth.” 

Vi swallowed hard, adjusted her jacket, and sauntered up beside you, trying her best to look effortlessly cool. Instead, she tripped over absolutely nothing and lurched forward, her group on her coffee slipping. Time slowed as the cup tilted, then tumbled, and in an instant—

SPLASH. 

A flood of piping hot coffee cascaded down the front of your pristine white shirt. 

You gasped, eyes wide as the liquid soaked into the fabric, turning it completely see-through. Vi’s own traitorous eyes followed the path of destruction, trailing powder, until—

Oh. Oh no. 

Your bra, lacy and delicate, clung to your skin in a way that should be illegal. 

Vi’s brain short-circuited. Every neuron in her dumb, gay little head misfired at once. She was looking—she shouldn’t be looking—but she was looking, and oh god, she had to stop before you noticed—

“Vi!” Ellie hissed under her breath, jabbing an elbow into her ribs. 

Vi snapped out of it so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. 

“Shit! Shit, I—oh, fuck—I am so sorry!” Her hands hovered uselessly in the air, unsure whether to help, to flee, or to simply melt into the crack in between the ratty coffee shop tiles and hoped you forgot about her. 

Your lips parted, eyes flicking down to assess the damage. “Well,” you said, voice amused despite the mess, “that’s one way to see my tits.” 

Vi wanted to die. Just perish right there in the middle of the coffee shop floor. 

Instead, she sprang into action. “Here—uh—take my jacket!” She shrugged off the worn leather in record time and practically threw it around your shoulders before anyone else could get an eyeful. “Just—yeah, cover up—uh, not that you have to! I mean, you look great—not like I was looking! Or, like, not in a creepy way—oh my god, I need to shut up—”

You laughed, warm and bright, as you pulled the jacket tighter around yourself. “Relax, Vi. It’s just coffee.” 

Vi, who had gone stiff as a board at hearing you say her name, blinked. “You know my name?” 

“You sit behind me in human physiology,” you said, smiling. “And you’re kind of hard to miss.” 

Vi’s brain fully melted. She really, really thought she would just die. 

Ellie snorted, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “Congrats, lover girl. You’re unforgettable now.”

Vi was malfunctioning. 

It had been a full five minutes since she’d doused you in coffee and humiliated herself in front of the entire campus, and yet—somehow—you were still talking to her. 

She didn’t know how or why. Maybe the universe had finally decided to cut her some slack. Maybe she’d actually died of embarrassment, and what is was the afterlife. Whatever the case, she wasn’t about to question it. 

“So,” you said, adjusting Vi’s jacket around your shoulders. It was comically broad on you, the sleeves dangling past your hands, the scent of worn leather and something undeniably her wrapping around you like a hug. “I think this means you owe me a coffee.” 

Vi blinked. “I—yeah! Yeah, totally. Whatever you want.” 

You smiled. “Cool. I’ll take a caramel macchiato. Medium.” 

Vi scrambled to order, fumbling with her wallet as Ellie watched in barely concealed amusement. When the barista called your name, you plucked the cup from the counter and took a slow, deliberate sip, eyes locked on Vi the entire time. 

“Thanks, Vi,” you said, licking a bit of coffee foam from your lip. 

Vi’s soul left her body. 

“Y-yeah, no problem,” she stammered, gripping the edge of the counter to keep herself from toppling over. “Sorry again about, y’know, ruining your shirt and, uh, your day—”

“You didn’t ruin my day,” you cut in smoothly, taking another sip of your drink. “Just my shirt. And honestly? If this is your way of flirting, keep it up. I like it.”

Vi forgot how to breathe. Ellie choked on her own drink. 

“You should do it again sometime,” you added, winking before turning toward the door. 

Vi watched you leave, slipping your arm into Caitlyn’s as you giggled, the coffee shop suddenly feeling a lot warmer. 

Ellie whistled. “Holy shit, lover girl. You might actually have a shot.”

Vi, still reeling, stared at her with wide eyes. “I need to lie down.”

————————

Vi didn’t expect to see you again so soon, but campus had a funny way of throwing her into awkward situations. 

The next morning, she was rushing across the quad, still half-asleep, when she heard someone calling her name. 

“Vi!”

She skidded to a stop, heart already hammering. She turned to find you walking toward her, wearing her jacket. 

Her poor, gay heart couldn’t handle it. 

“Oh, hey,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Uh, how’s your shirt situation?”

You laughed. “Better. But I figured I’d keep this for a bit longer. Hope you don’t mind?”

“Mind?” Vi said, as if the thought of you wearing her clothes wasn’t currently rewriting her entire brain chemistry. “Nope. Not at all. Keep it forever, if you want.”

You raised a brow. “Forever, huh? You sure about that?”

Vi’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, before she managed, “I mean—you look good in it, so—yeah?”

Your lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. 

“Good,” you said, stepping a little closer. “Because I was thinking… if you wanted your jacket back, you might have to take me out to dinner first.”

Vi stared. You smiled. Ellie, watching from Vi and her dorm window, fist-pumped the air. 

“I—uh—” Vi cleared her throat. “Dinner. Yeah. I can do that. Totally. Absolutely. When—uh—when were you thinking?”

You pretended to think, tilting your head. “Tonight?”

“Tonight,” Vi repeated, still buffering. “Yep. Cool. Great. I’ll—uh—I’ll text you?”

“Looking forward to it, lover girl,” you teased, before turning on your heel and strolling away, Vi’s jacket still draped over your shoulders. 

Vi stood there for a solid minute, staring at where you’d been. 

Then she pulled out her phone and texted Ellie:

Vi: I think I just agreed to a date???

Ellie: YOU WHAT!!!!

——————————

Vi was sweating. 

Which was ridiculous, because it was cold outside, and she was currently standing in front of your dorm, hands stuffed in her pockets, trying not to hyperventilate. 

She’d spent way too long getting ready—changing shirts three times, debating whether her other leather jacket was too much (Ellie convinced her it was ‘peak masc lesbian energy,’ and Dina agreed so she must have been right), and trying not to puke from nerves. 

And now, she was here. About to take you on a date. 

You swung the door open before she could knock. “Vi!”

Oh. Oh. 

You were in a black dress, snug in all the right places, and Vi swore she momentarily lost all motor function. 

“You good?” You asked, smirking. 

“Yeah,” Vi said, voice cracking like a teenage boy. She cleared her throat. “Yeah. Totally. You look—uh—wow.”  

You laughed, locking your dorm behind you. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

Vi absolutely wasn’t blushing. Definitely not. “I’m not nervous.”

“Mhm,” you said, linking your arm through hers as you started down the hallway. “So, where are you taking me, lover girl?”

————————

Vi had racked her brain for the perfect place and eventually settled on a nice, cozy little restaurant near campus. It wasn’t fancy, but it was real—warm lighting, a killer burger menu, and a jukebox playing old rock songs in the corner. 

You slid into the booth across from her, propping your chin on your hand as you watched her. 

“So, Vi,” You said, eyes twinkling. “You gonna tell me why it took spilling coffee on me to finally make a move?”

Vi groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Can we not talk about my tragic lack of game?”

You grinned. “I think it’s cute.”

“You think everything is cute.”

“Not everything,” you teased, leaning forward. “Just you.”

Vi choked on her water. 

The rest of the date was… perfect. 

You talked, you laughed, you stole a few of her fries like it was the most natural thing in the world. Hi was completely gone for you, and by the time you both stepped outside into the crisp night air, she was wondering how the hell she’d gotten so lucky. 

You walked side by side, the streetlights casting a soft glow around you. 

“This was fun,” you said, tugging Vi’s jacket around you a little tighter. 

“Yeah,” Vi agreed, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I mean, aside from me embarrassing myself every five seconds.”

You stopped walking, turning to face her. “You didn’t embarrass yourself.”

Vi huffed. “I literally poured coffee on you, made an idiot out of myself, and nearly passed out when I saw you in that dress.”

You tilted your head. “Oh, so you liked the dress?”

Vi blinked. “Uh—yes? Obviously? Have you seen yourself?”

You stepped closer. “I have,” you said, voice soft. “But I like seeing myself through your eyes.”

Vi forgot how to breathe. 

Then, before she could process what was happening, you reached to her, gently tugging her up by the collar of her jacket—

And kissed her. 

It was soft at first, hesitant, like you were waiting for her to freak out—but Vi wasn’t that much of a loser. 

She kissed you back. Harder. 

Her hands found your waist, pulling you in, and you sighed into her mouth like you’d been waiting for this just as much as she had. 

When you finally pulled away, Vi was dazed. 

You smiled, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Took you long enough, lover girl.” 

Vi let out a breathless laugh. “With the wait?”

You grinned. “Definitely.”

And then you kissed her again, just because you could. 

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[nomie-11]

The General - Part 2

masterlist!

synopsis: hockey had always been ellie’s first choice. yours? not so much (soulmate au)

pairing: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

Ellie was nine when she was adopted by a fifty-one year old man named Joel Miller, who had lost his one and only daughter when he was thirty-four. They didn’t have much to talk about, much to bond over, except for Ellie’s love for comic books and dinosaurs, and his love for playing her favorite songs on his guitar. 

She didn’t know much about her birth family—didn’t know much about her mother or where she was from, all she knew was Joel, his house in Jackson, and her aunt Maria and uncle Tommy. That was her entire world, and she was content with her world to be that. 

Until one freezing December where a lake outside of Jackson froze over solid, and the boys from the high school cleared out a section for hockey, where Joel put her in a pair of Sarah’s old skates and a puck in her hand, and taught her to skate. 

Ellie was nine when she first stepped onto the ice. 

From then on, her world was that: hockey, Joel, Jackson, aunt Maria and uncle Tommy. 

Joel had been hesitant at first—Sarah had been more into soccer, and Ellie had the foot-eye coordination of a baby deer on a good day. But after weeks of watching the older boys play pickup games on the frozen lake, Ellie had begged to go out again. And Joel, who had already lost one child and was still figuring out how to love another, couldn’t find it in himself to say no. 

She had started with Sarah’s old figure skates, the leather stiff with age and the blades dulled from years in the attic. They were a size too big, and the first time she stood up, she fell flat on her ass. Joel had just laughed, crouching beside her with his own skates laced up tight. 

“Alright, kiddo,” he had said, offering her a hand. “First lesson: learn how to fall. Second lesson: learn how to get back up.” 

And that was how it started. 

Joel taught her how to find her balance, how to push off with just enough force to glide without toppling forward. At first, she wobbled like hell, arms flailing as she tried to keep herself upright. But every time she hit the ice, she got back up, scowling, determined. 

And then Joel gave her a pair of hockey skates and a stick. 

That was when something clocked. 

Ellie didn’t just like skating—she loved hockey. She loved the speed, the way the puck glided across the ice, the sharp scrape of her skates when she made a tight turn. She loved the way Joel’s face softened when she scored against him, how he called her kiddo with something like loving pride in his voice. 

She started playing with the older boys on the lake, bruises blooming on her arms and legs from rough checks and missed falls. They played hard, but Ellie played harder. She never backed down from a fight in the corners, never shied away from a body check, even when she was half the size of the guys coming at her. 

Joel saw it in her then—that aggression, that fire. 

She tried playing with the little girls’ league in Jackson for a season, but it didn’t last. Teh coaches kept telling her to be gentler, to play nice. She got called for roughing in every other game, even when she ‘barely touched anyone.’ When she checked a girl ‘too hard’ into the boards one time, her coach benched her, saying she needed to learn some self-control. 

Joel hadn’t been angry—not with her, at least. He had just sighed, shaking his head.

“Think you need a different league, kiddo.” 

So Joel fought for a spot on the boys team, and she played with the boys instead. That was where she learned how to really play. 

They didn’t hold back, and neither did she. She fought for the puck like her life depended on it. She took hits that rattled her ribs and gave them right back. The boys stopped underestimating her. They stopped treating her like some little girl who couldn’t take a punch.

She wasn’t just good. She was vicious. 

And then the scouts came, and then the offers, and then the University of Vermont. 

Hockey was her whole word, and she was good at it. But then—

University of Vermont Women’s Hockey got destroyed by Boston University Women’s Hockey Team Ellie’s sophomore year of college, and she got into a few too many arguments after that loss. But after being kicked from the Vermont team, Joel didn’t let her quit, and Ellie went to open tryouts for the very team that wrecked her. 

And suddenly, she was here, stuck at Boston University, being forced to play on a team that had steam-rolled her. 

Ellie thought that the Boston University team was just… better. There was nothing more to that, they had stronger players, the individuals were just better. But then she met you—The General—and her army. 

Ellie hated you. 

She had hated you front the second you told her to pass the stupid puck like the tattoo imprinted on her wrist in a radiant gold. 

You were the perfect captain—the golden child of BU women’s hockey, the one every listened to, respected, her soulmate. You played like you had something to prove, like winning was the only thing that mattered. And worst of all, you were right. 

Ellie had spent years thinking she knew hockey better than anyone, that she didn’t need a cohesive team, that she could bulldoze her way through any defense if she just tried hard enough. 

But you—you had systems. Strategies. You saw the ice like a general plotting a war. You read plays before they happened, called shots before they were taken. And every time Ellie ignored you, every time she tried to do things her own way, you made sure she paid for it. 

By the fourth week of practice, Ellie had bruises in places she didn’t even know could bruise. 

She had learned fast—if she didn’t pass, Vi would crush her into the boards. If she didn’t keep her head up, Caitlyn would pickpocket her before she could blink. And if she let herself get distracted, even for a second, you would strip the puck right off her stick and leave her in the dust. 

She had never played hockey like this before. 

She had never played smart. 

And she hated that it was you teaching her. 

It was after one particularly brutal practice—after Vi had laid her out twice and Abby had chirped her so hard she nearly threw a punch—that Ellie found herself lingering by the locker room, still fuming. 

She had been careless. Sloppy. 

And worst of all, she had let you see it.

You walked past her, still in your gear, your helmet under your arm. You didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at her. 

That pissed her off even more. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Ellie blurted. 

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “What?” 

Ellie scowled. “You act like you’re fucking invincible out there. Like you know everything.” 

Your eyes flickered, something sharp and unreadable behind them. “I know the game, Williams.” 

“Yeah? Well, guess what? So do I?” 

You exhaled sharply, turning to face her fully. “Do you?” 

Ellie clenched her jaw. “Yeah. I do.” 

You stepped closer, your expression unreadable. “Then prove it. Play with us, not against us.” 

Ellie scoffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t need a lecture, Captain Perfect.”

You held her gaze, unwavering.

And then, quietly—

“Why are you really here, Williams?” 

Ellie froze. 

She knew you weren’t asking why she was standing in the locker room. She was supposed to be at Vermont, not Boston, playing D1 on a team that had given her a full ride, not a team that had picked her up on a whim, making a name for herself. 

But she wasn’t. She was here. And she didn’t have an answer for that. So she just swallowed hard, set her jaw, and shoved past you. 

But as she walked away, her wrist burned. 

And she hated that, too. 

—————————————

Before hockey, there had been figure skating. 

Before Ellie Williams and her infuriating smirk, before the rough checks and brutal scrimmages, before you had built a fortresss of a team around yourself—there had been sequins, music, and the dream of gliding across the ice like you were weightless. 

You loved figure skating. More than anything. 

You had started young, barely old enough to tie your own skates, chasing after the older girls at your rink with wide eyes and boundless energy. The first time you had landed a jump, you thought you could fly. The ice had been a blank canvas, and you had painted it with your blades, carving out stories with every routine, every careful, practiced step. 

And for a while, it had been perfect. 

Until it wasn’t.

Until your coach started correcting things that had nothing to do with your footwork. 

“You skate like a boy.” 

“You’re too stiff.”

“You don’t have the grace for this sport.” 

You tried to fix it. Tried to make yourself softer, quieter. More delicate. You watched the other girls, their effortless elegance and beauty, the way they seemed to float rather than skate, and you tried to be more like them—be more normal. But it never looked right. Never felt right. 

And then, when you were thirteen, your coach found out you had a crush on one of the other girls in the club. 

The comments changed. 

“That explains it.”

“No wonder you skate like that.” 

“You’re too much of a man for this.” 

The whispers spread through the club like wildfire, turning warm smiles into cold shoulders. One by one, the girls you had spent years laughing with started avoiding you. They avoided the locker room when you were in there. Invitations to hang out after practice stopped. You were alone, locked out of the one place that had always felt like home. 

And suddenly, the ice didn’t feel safe anymore. 

You held on for as long as you could, forcing yourself through practice after practice, pretending it didn’t sting when your coach praised the other girls for their ‘feminine grace’ while you got sharper criticisms and even sharper glares. But eventually, it became unbearable. 

You quit. 

You quit, and for the first time in your life, you thought you might hate the ice. But the ice wasn’t done with you yet. 

Because while the figure skaters had turned their backs, the hockey girls had welcomed you with open arms. 

They didn’t care if you were graceful or not. They didn’t care if you were too sharp, too aggressive. In fact, they liked it. They wanted the power, the strength. When you skated, it wasn’t about looking delicate—it was about speed, control, and dominance. 

And you thrived. 

At first, hockey had just been an excuse to keep skating. A way to stay on the ice without the crushing weight of expectations you could never meet. But then, something shifted. The first time you laid someone out with a clean, brutal check, you felt something electric in your veins. The first time you won a puck battle, fought for it like your life depended on it, you felt it. The first time you scored? The roar of the crowd, the way your team tackled you in celebration, the rush of it all—that was when you realized. 

You didn’t just love hockey. You were made for it. 

So you fought. You trained. You climbed. You worked harder than anyone, outskated every single person on the ice until you had no choice but to become the best. Until you made it here—captaining the Boston University team, leading your girls into battle, proving to every single person who had ever doubted you that you didn’t need to be graceful. You didn’t need to be soft. 

You would carve your name into the ice with your skates, with your bruises, with your victories. 

You were Boston University’s General—fearless leader of the women who believed in every play you called, and you wore that title with pride.

And then Ellie Williams showed up. 

Ellie, who played like she had something to prove. Ellie, who fought against her own teammates instead of with them. Ellie, who burned with the same kind of rage you had buried deep in your bones. 

Ellie, who had your words etched onto her wrist. 

“Pass the stupid puck.” 

It made you sick. Because she didn’t listen. She never listened. 

And yet…

She had something. Something raw. Something untamed. Something you recognized because you had spent years trying to beat it out of yourself. 

You hated her. You hated her because you saw too much of yourself in her stubborn defiance, in her reckless style, in the way she played like she was trying to prove something. 

And you hated her because she saw right through you, too. 

You could feel her eyes on you every time you yanked your sleeves down, every time your fingers twitched toward your wrist. She hadn't figured it out yet, but she was curious. 

And curiosity was dangerous. 

So you did what you did best. 

You kept your distance. You shut her out. You reminded yourself that she was a liability, a problem to be fixed, not someone to be close to. 

But then, in a late-night practice, when the rink was empty except for the two of you—Ellie finally passed you the puck. 

And you thought, just for one second, that maybe you were both exactly where you were supposed to be. 

This is part two of a multipart series!

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