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vamp0rivm · 14 days ago

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garden daisy (part 2) // ellie williams

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: ellie makes a new friend, and you feel all weird about it.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: modern!ellie x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 1.6k

this is part two of this series! find part one here

okay so i feel like the way i've organized this series is kind of confusing as it started as a random blurb... technically part one is this blurb however the real story starts in the xmas fic! the blurb just kind of exists floating around somewhere before the events of that and sets up the dynamic. call it part 0.5 i guess. also i'm so sorry if ur name is haley it was genuinely the first name i thought of hahaha

after christmas, once you’re all settled back into life at college, ellie gets a new job. it’s just a few shifts a week at a music store, but she seems to be enjoying it. you’re happy for her; it’s nice to see her getting out of the apartment more, doing something that allows her to be in her element.

but then she starts mentioning a girl she works with. like, a lot.

“dude, look at what haley sent me today, i was dying.”

“haley had, like, the coolest shirt on at work.”

“oh my god, so i found out haley likes comics, too.”

at first, it doesn’t really bother you. then, it’s a case of you trying not to let it bother you. why even should it? she’s allowed to make new friends; her life doesn’t revolve around you.

still, you don’t like the way your chest starts to twist every time she gets mentioned, every time you see ellie smiling at her phone. you can hear them on facetime frequently through the thin walls of your apartment, and you more often than not end up shoving your headphones in to drown it out.

they start spending time together outside of work, too. she mentions that they’re going to see an exhibit together on a shared day off, and it takes everything for you to look up from your laptop, give her a tight smile and utter, “cool.”

you can tell she’s a bit dispirited by your reaction, like she’s debating saying something. she leaves it, though, just nodding once and pursing her lips before walking away. you kick yourself for it immediately — wishing you’d tried harder to appear enthusiastic for her. you’re worried it could be the seed of a wedge being driven.

it’s not like she’s completely neglected your friendship. you live together. you see her every day. she still gently knocks at your ajar door, poking her head around and asking if you want to watch a movie with her. you make dinner together on friday nights, something you’d done since you moved out of the dorms and got a semi-decent place.

you’re just so used to it being the two of you. sure, you both have other friends, but you’re best friends. you can’t help but feel a little uneasy all of a sudden someone new is making their way up the ladder, ellie not having quite as much time for you anymore.

at least, that’s what you tell yourself the reason is. you know the real one.

you eventually meet the esteemed haley when she comes over to hang out, and to your petty dismay she well and truly lives up to the boasting. you’ve seen pictures of her (as in, you found her on instagram and stalked her at two in the morning), but she’s even prettier in person. she’s sweet, too, giving you a hug and saying how great it is to finally meet you. ellie talks about you all the time, apparently.

the evening’s spent with the tv on, a few drinks sipped. you’re on one side of the couch, ellie on the other, new friend in the middle. you hate how genuinely likeable she is; she goes out of her way to speak to you, asking you questions about yourself and chatting jovially when you find common ground. she’s cool, smart, witty — it’s impossible not to compare yourself, and feel subpar. like old news.

and you wish you weren’t, but you’re reading into every little thing. the way the two of them easily bounce off of each other’s jokes, the way you can see even where you’re from how ellie’s eyes light up when she looks at her. deciding three’s a crowd and you’re just hurting your own feelings, you call it pretty early.

when you stand after finishing your drink and announce that you’re going to bed, you note the way that ellie’s face drops. “oh… really?”

you scrunch your nose, trying to sound untroubled. “yeah, i’m kinda tired, so…”

“m’kay,” she replies, chewing slightly at the inside of her cheek. she knows you better than that. since you first met, you’ve never been ‘kinda tired’ by nine.

after a pause and a quick look back and forth between the two of you, haley gives you a smile, reiterating her earlier statement. “well, it was so nice to meet you, anyway.”

you return it, nodding. your eyes flit to ellie for a split-second. “yeah, you too. see you both later.”

with that, you place your glass in the sink across the room and head off down the hall.

you change and get ready for bed, although the plan was never to sleep. you’re nestled under a blanket, lights dim and a candle burning as you keep your eyes trained on the bullshit stream of youtube videos you’d put on. you’re not really paying attention, mind well and truly elsewhere; simultaneously feeling sorry for yourself, and like the most petty, mean person in the world.

you feel pathetic for wishing ellie’s new friend wasn’t so easy to get along with. she came off as a nice person, and not in a sickly, fabricated way. you could understand how she’d easily tugged ellie out of her shell. a part of yourself had been secretly hoping she was irritating, or bitchy, or weird towards you — you just wanted something to latch onto, something to validate all the uncomfortable emotions that had been swirling ever since she became prominent.

but there was nothing. now all you’re left with is a weird bitterness towards a perfectly normal, sweet girl, her only crime being fetching up a childish possessiveness within you.

you don’t even understand why you’re like this over her in particular; ellie was always an introvert, but it wasn’t like she was a complete recluse. she’d had a serious girlfriend in high school, seen a couple of girls your first year of college, and you don’t remember feeling anywhere near how you are right now. you just guessed you didn’t have as much understanding of how you looked at her back then, combined with the domesticity of now having your own real place luring you into a warped way of thinking.

you hear haley leave around an hour and a half after you’d taken yourself to bed, followed by ellie shuffling around the kitchen space. the tap runs and there are a few clinks as she washes then places the three glasses to dry, hitting the lights off. her room’s further down the hall from yours, and she hesitates as she’s making her way there.

a few light taps sound from the other side of the door. “you asleep?”

“… no,” you call out softly, watching as it cracks open and ellie picks her way in. wordlessly, she plops herself onto the bed next to you, arm behind her head. you shift away a little, offering her more room.

“what’re you watching?”

“uh…” grabbing the remote, you pause the video for a beat so the title shows. you’re not even sure; you’d just selected the first you saw, then let the rest autoplay. “… ‘six most disturbing forest encounters caught on camera’.”

she chuckles. “spooky.”

“eh… they’re all fake.” you look up at her, smiling a little.

“could’ve fooled me.”

“i’m sure,” you laugh lightly, feeling the need to turn away when she goes to meet your eyes.

it’s quiet for a while, but you can sense she wants to say something. it’s not like one of the times she waltzes into your room simply to hang out, sit at the side of one another peacefully.

“you okay?” she eventually asks gently, turning her head to regard you. you don’t meet it.

“yeah, i’m fine.”

“you sure? ‘cause… i don’t know. you seem a little…”

“i’m all good.” glancing up, you offer an unconvincing, flickery smile. “don’t worry.”

“… okay.”

you can tell it offers no comfort, but she doesn’t push it. just settles further into the bed, scratching at her chin.

her eyes dart from the tv screen to the wall, then back to you. “haley’s cool, right? guessed you guys would get along.”

“yeah, she seems nice.”

she’s really not being subtle; but then again, neither are you. you’d been perfectly friendly while you were all together, but the way you’d disappeared coupled with your increasingly half-hearted responses whenever she was brought up pointed elsewhere.

“seriously, what’s up?” she turns onto her side to face you, resting her head on her arm. “i don’t like this.”

you roll your eyes, sighing as you turn, mirroring her. “it’s stupid.”

“what’s stupid?”

your mind flashes with a million ways you can get an overview of your feelings out, without having to tell her the root cause. “i don’t know, i’m just… like, used to it being… y’know, me and you.”

she pulls a face, letting out a fond scoff and furrowing her brow. “what do you mean?”

a tiny groan sounds from your throat, fingertips rubbing at your eye. “i’m just being stupid. fuckin’ embarrassing.”

laughing quietly again, she narrows her eyes a little. “what, are you, like… jealous?”

“no, i just… i don’t know. ignore me.” you’re trying to ignore the way you can feel your cheeks heat up when she says that word. you’d known all along that’s what you were, but being confronted with it is a whole other sensation entirely.

she doesn’t say anything for a moment, just keeps a small smirk on her face and looks down. “that is stupid.”

“right. thanks.”

“no, like…” subconsciously shuffling closer, her leg brushes yours. she quickly moves it. “dude, i can have other friends, but no-one’s gonna be you.”

you blink, thrown by her sincerity. you’d half-expected her to poke a little fun, call you a dumbass. she continues, your eyes meeting hers as she settles her head into the palm of her hand. “you’re always gonna be my best friend.”

yeah, i know, you think. that’s the problem.

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vamp0rivm · 16 days ago

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IM GETTING SO HIGH TONIGHT FUCK YESSS

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vamp0rivm · 17 days ago

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more fluffy mom!ellie texts because everyone liked the last bit.. feel free to request more from this pair! been thinking about jackson!mom!ellie, but i can't exactly put that into text format, so that will have to be a genuine excursion! enjoy.

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vamp0rivm · 17 days ago

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appreciation post for ellie's build here good fucking golly

#🤤

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vamp0rivm · 18 days ago

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why can’t I find embers p2 & 3

hey! i wrote that whole thing a while back and i do not fw it anymore so i privated it but ive been like editing it over the last few days so its not as bad. they’ll be up soon!

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vamp0rivm · 19 days ago

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woah 😨… 😛 … 😞

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫.

⭑.ᐟ｡𖦹°‧ warnings . . . approximately 7k words, smut with plot, cheating, older!ellie (reader is 23), chef!ellie, body hair, fingering/oral (e!receiving), no use of y/n, food play, ellie drinks coffee in this one :p 𐔌.author's note.ᐟ ֹ₊꒱ first post of the year!!! muahahaha (totally not proofread :p) HAPPY NEW YEARRR!!! i just wanted to take a moment to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to each and every one of you who reads and interacts with my writings/posts in general. it truly means the world to me. :3 i also wanted to let my moots know that i love you all, y'all are so funny and cool, and i appreciate you more than you know. even if we haven’t interacted much, just know i’m lowkey stalking your blogs (in admiration, ofc… i’m definitely not hiding in your basement as you’re reading this)

It wasn’t supposed to go this far. You’d never planned to walk this road, never imagined the day you’d become someone like this. A homewrecker, or whatever the fuck people called it. This wasn’t you, not really. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But as you kneeled before the Ellie fucking Williams, none of that mattered. Your soft hands held on to her hips with a fervent grip, almost as if your life depended on it, tongue dragging up her dripping heat, collecting every bit of that sweet, sticky honey from the slit of her soaked pussy to the carved ridges of her toned abs. She was a masterpiece, sculpted by Michelangelo himself, and you were hungry for her essence, desperate to savor every inch she had to offer. No matter how many times you have done this before, it never gets old—she never gets old.

Golden syrup trickled from the curve of her perky breasts, pooling in the valley between them before rolling down to her hardened nipples. You couldn’t just ignore them, couldn’t leave them standing there neglected. Slowly, deliberately, you made your way up, tongue swirling, teeth grazing, your mouth worshiping her as she deserved. She whimpered—soft, breathy, almost vulnerable.

You’d done that. You made her sound like that.

But Ellie wasn’t one for patience, not in the kitchen, nor in a different context. That was her thing—impatience, control—making things happen whenever she wanted it. Her calloused hand gripped your shoulder, pushing you back down with the kind of force that sent a jolt straight through you.

“Get me off, like you always do, will ya?” her voice rasp and lazy, dripping with authority.

You looked up at her, smirking despite your knees throbbing from the cold tile beneath you, bruises blooming on your skin like pretty violets, a dark reminder of how many times you’d been down here like this lately. “Yes, chef.”

You didn’t break eye contact as you sank lower, lashes fluttering, bambi-eyed and eager. Ellie always had this power over you, this hold that went deeper than lust. You admired her. You wanted her job, her life, her. You wanted to be her, and fuck, you wanted to be with her, too. But that was a dream too big for the likes of you, and you knew it.

So for now, you gave her what she wanted, what she demanded, losing yourself in her, the scent of her, the taste of her. Your tongue laid flat and ready, exposed for her, and she didn’t waste a second. Instinct took over as her hips bucked against your pretty face, her throbbing, greedy clit grinding against the wet muscle of your tongue. Her desperation only fueled you, and as her heat consumed you, your breath hitched. Your free hand slid down, pressing against your own aching core, rubbing yourself through your soaked panties while you devoured her.

In minutes, you were a wreck. Hair tangled and wild, her hands yanking at it with no care for gentleness. She didn’t give a single fuck if she was hurting you—not now, not ever. That’s just how she was, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The pain only made you hungrier, needier, leaving you gasping for more.

“God,” she gasped, her voice breathless, “She doesn’t do it like you do.”

Your heart skipped, your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t stop yourself from humming proudly against her. The vibrations made her hips jerk, her clit twitching against your warm tongue as you worked on her with even more determination. Your fingers moved faster, circling your swollen bud through the drenched fabric of your panties. The soft moans that escaped your throat only made her rougher, fingers digging into your scalp, pulling you closer as she chased her release.

“Fuck…” she cursed, her voice breaking as her head tilted back, her eyes fluttering shut. She was gone, completely lost in what you were giving her. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

The words hit like a shot of adrenaline, causing a fluttery, erratic sensation to erupt in your stomach. You sucked harder, more hungrily, her juices dripping down your chin and mixing with your spit, your tongue lapping it all up like you couldn’t get enough.

A low moan rumbled from your chest as you got more of her taste, vibrating against her clit and making her cry out in return. Her toned thigh tightened around your head, pulling you impossibly closer. You could barely breathe, your nose buried in her trimmed, reddish bush, but you didn’t care. Her other hand released its grip on the steel counter behind her, letting her back fully press against it to seek steady support while she trapped her stiff nipple between her fongers. Each calculated motion you made left her gasping, her shallow breaths hitching as if she were on the verge of losing control.

Your fingers slipped past the waistband of your white panties, eagerly teasing your slit before pushing them into your pulsating walls without wasting a second more. You were too wet, too sensitive, and way too horny to be patient, couldn’t wait until she came to feel good. You winced slightly, stifling a soft mewl as you sank them deeper and deeper.

She noticed, of course, she did. “What a fucking slut you are,” she chuckled, her voice a breathless mix of amusement and disbelief. Her hips ground impatiently against your mouth, her grip on your damaged hair tightening to the point of pain. “Just like that,” she gasped, her head tilting back again as her body tensed. “I’m close already.”

You couldn’t stop a giddy chuckle to slip past your lips. The sound was soft, playful, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Her head snapped downward, her brows furrowing in confusion as her gaze locked onto yours.

“Something funny?” she asked, her voice sharp despite the breathlessness.

“What, your wife doesn’t touch you at all?” you taunted, your voice laced with mock innocence as you pulled back just enough to meet her hooded gaze.

“She does,” Ellie shot back almost instantly, her voice sharp and defensive. But her actions betrayed her words as her hand gripped the back of your head, forcing you down again with the kind of need that spoke volumes. She was selfish about it, pressing herself against you without hesitation, demanding more of you like she always did.

You gave in, plunging two fingers deep inside her, curling them just right, finding that sweet spot that made her body restless and her moans grow louder. Your mouth stayed busy, lips and tongue working on her rose nub in tandem, sucking and flicking in rhythm with the movement of your hand. Her body was tight, trembling under your touch, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride knowing you were the one making her feel like this—pulling sounds from her that her wife hadn’t in years. It was wrong, but Ellie couldn’t bring herself to stop. Not with the way your fingers worked inside her, not with the way your tongue seemed to know exactly what she needed.

You looked up at her briefly, catching the flicker of something in her eyes—guilt, maybe, or shame—but it was quickly replaced by hunger as her fingers tightened in your once-soft hair. “Don’t stop,” she rasped, her voice growing desperate. And you didn’t.

How could you sleep with another woman’s wife? The thought lingered in the corners of your mind like a restless echo of a whisper, making you feel guilty and disgusting, until your gaze landed on her again, and suddenly, the guilt felt distant, almost irrelevant, like it was never there to begin with.

Even a blind person would succumb to her allure, you told yourself, as if that excused anything. That charisma of hers—it wasn’t just a pull. It was a wicked spell that left you weak in the knees. The world around you always seemed to fade into a hazy blur as she walked into the room, her presence overwhelming and intoxicating. Self respect? It vanished the moment her soft lips crashed against yours, leaving you drowning in the pounding of your heart and your feelings for her.

Maybe it was her beauty, effortless and unassuming, the kind that seemed to defy time itself. She wore it effortlessly, as if time itself had conspired in her favor. She looked fresh, radiant even, no matter her age. Thirty-six. Was that too old for you? Surely not. There were worse gaps out there, you reasoned, though even the thought of reasoning felt ridiculous when it came to her. She made rationality crumble, made you question things you never had before.

Ellie hadn’t always been this person, this version of herself that took and took without restraint. She hated it, hated the way she’d sunk so low, but she couldn’t stop. Not when it came to you. She’d had plenty of pretty girls come and go in her kitchen, of every age, bright-eyed and eager to prove themselves. But none of them had caught her attention the way you did. There was something about you that made her stomach twist and her chest flutter in ways she didn’t want to admit.

It made her feel disgusting.

The guilt clung to her like a parasite, heavy and suffocating, consuming her at night as she lay next to Dina. Sweet, devoted Dina, who didn’t deserve any of this. Dina, who kissed Ellie goodnight with the same tenderness she had ever since high school, who still looked at her with love in her eyes, even though Ellie knew she didn’t deserve it.

But the truth was undeniable. Dina didn’t make her happy anymore. Maybe it wasn’t even Dina’s fault, maybe the problem was Ellie herself. Years of love, years of marriage, and yet something had changed. Dina was steady, reliable, safe. But safe had grown boring. Too domestic, too… predictable.

Then you walked into her restaurant.

Ellie remembered that day like it had been etched into her memory with a hot iron. You had this nervous energy about you, your manicured hands trembling slightly even as you tried to project confidence. It was endearing the way you squared your shoulders and forced a smile despite how jittery you clearly felt. Ellie couldn’t take her eyes off you.

Your nerves were a tangled mess, a whirlwind of excitement and dread swirling in your chest. Meeting someone you had admired for years was thrilling, yes, but it was also overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected. Your love for cooking had always been an anchor in your life, a passion ignited by your dad—a man whose laughter echoed in every inch of the house on cozy Sunday afternoons, whose hands expertly kneaded dough or seasoned a sauce with precision and care. Those moments were your happiest memories, fragments of a simpler time.

When he passed, it felt like a part of you went with him. Alongside the grief came a determination that burned quietly within you. You owed it to him, you told yourself. You had to carry on his passion, keep alive all the little tricks and lessons he had passed down. He never got the chance to go to a culinary school, never had the means to chase the dream he so clearly deserved. You’d been luckier. You had opportunities he could only ever dream of, and for that, you couldn’t complain.

However, somewhere along the way, doubt began to creep in.

It was subtle at first—a quiet voice in the chambers of your mind that questioned if you were truly good enough. That voice grew louder with time, eating away your confidence. Even after you graduated from a prestigious culinary school—one that rarely opened its doors to just anyone—you couldn’t shake the feeling that others were better.

More talented. More deserving.

Still, you pushed forward. Giving up wasn’t an option, not after everything you’d invested: all your savings, grueling hours of study, sleepless nights, sacrifices you had made, and the moments you had teetered on the edge of failure, only to claw your way back. Quitting now would mean throwing all of that away. Worse, it would mean letting down the one person whose opinion mattered most to you.

How would your dad react if he were still here? Would he understand your struggles, or would he shake his head in disappointment? Those unanswered questions haunted you late at night, swirling endlessly in your mind as you tossed and turned in your bed. Would he be proud of the path you had taken? Or would he see your insecurities as a weakness?

You didn’t know. You might never know. Yet that was part of what kept you going, clinging to the hope that, somehow, all of this would be worth it.

When your culinary school recommended Ellie Williams’ restaurant for an apprenticeship, your heart nearly stopped. You couldn’t afford not to say yes, but that didn’t stop the nerves from turning your stomach inside out. She was a legend, known for her perfectionism, innate talent, and the kind of reputation that inspired both awe and fear. She wasn’t just a great chef. She was the chef, and to top it all off, she’d walked the same halls at your school. Knowing she had started where you were now gave you hope, but it also set the bar impossibly high.

Ellie was why you chose that school in the first place, and now you were walking into her domain, hoping you wouldn’t screw it all up.The interview wasn’t something you could avoid, no matter how much you wanted to. Everything about her was intimidating—the stories of her strictness, her infamous zero-tolerance policy for mistakes, and her disdain for laziness in any form. All of it left you shitting your pants in anticipation.

The moment she stepped into the office a waitress had told you to wait in, the air felt like it had shifted, and the chatter of the bustling restaurant beyond the door suddenly muted. She carried herself with confidence, the intimidating kind. Her auburn hair was pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, a few rebellious strands framing her freckled face. The years had carved faint lines into the corners of her olive eyes, but they only added to her beauty. Her gaze was piercing, the type that made you feel stripped bare with just one glance.

She wore her chef’s jacket open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms adorned with faint scars and a faded tattoo. Her stance was casual but strong, her crossed arms flexing toned muscles beneath the freckled skin. She looked like someone who had worked for everything she had and who wasn’t afraid to call you out if you hadn’t done the same.

The interview itself was mercilessly brief. Ellie didn’t waste time, her words were stern and straight to the point. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable except for the slight downturn of her lips. It wasn’t just that she looked unimpressed, it was as if she had already decided you had something to prove.

Her voice cut through the silence with a rasp that spoke of too many late nights and maybe one too many cigarettes in her youth. “I’m not here to hold anyone’s hand,” she began, “And I don’t give out praise for showing up. I want to know why you think you can keep up here when most fresh-out-of-school types run for the door the second they realize what I expect.”

You stumbled over your words at first, her intensity throwing you off balance. Her stormy green eyes stayed locked on you the entire time, dissecting every word that left your mouth. You couldn’t help but notice the faint quirk of her brow, a hidden challenge laying in its arch, daring you to falter.

When you finished answering, her expression didn’t change, her arms still crossed in that stance that screamed impatience, like she had better things to do. She let the silence stretch, as if weighing your every word. Finally, she nodded, just once, curt and decisive, before standing.

Your posture straightened awkwardly, every muscle stiff as you tried to hold her gaze. You didn’t want to look nervous, not to her. Ellie Williams wasn’t the kind of person who tolerated insecurity, and the last thing you wanted was to give her the impression that you didn’t know what you were doing.

“I’ll give you a week,” The older woman conceded, “A trial. During that time, you’ll work every shift I tell you to—no complaints. If I think you’re slacking even once, you’re out. Understood?”

Anxiety coursing through you at her words, the pressure settling on your shoulders like a lead apron. You nodded, swallowing your nerves and summoning every ounce of determination you had left. “Understood, Chef.”

“Good.”

Ellie pushed herself off the desk, her hand extended toward you, and for a second, you froze. When you finally reached out, your fingers met hers—rough, calloused, worn down by years of relentless labor in kitchens like this one. Her grip was firm and commanding, her knuckles marked with tiny cracks and the faded scars of burns long since healed. You couldn’t help but notice how her hand lingered just a second too long, enough for you to feel the weight of her scrutiny.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t,” you promised, your voice cracking slightly, betraying how much you wanted to sound confident.

Easier said than done.

The week passed in a blur. Each day felt like a battle that tested you to your limits. The kitchen wasn't just hectic; it was hell. A scorching inferno of non-stop work. Pans clattered, oil sizzled, and the air seemed perpetually thick with heat and the aroma of garlic and herbs. Voices shouted over the din, and orders barked with urgency. The counters gleamed under the lights, every inch of the space immaculately polished, ready for Ellie’s scrutinizing eyes to find fault in it.

And find fault she did.

It was like suddenly, you couldn’t hold a knife to save your life. Ellie would swoop in, catching you mid-slice with a firm, “Stop—just stop for a second.” Her voice cut through the noise, causing the chattering to quiet down. Suddenly, all eyes were on you. It felt so humiliating. “Are you a chef, or are you a five-year-old holding a knife for the first time?” She’d stand there, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, watching you squirm. You tried to steady your hands, gripping the knife tighter, and all you got was a scoff, a look that made your stomach twist.

Then it was the mess. “Look at this mess! You think I’m running a playground here?” The older woman would gesture around your station, eyebrows pinched, lips in a tight, judgmental line. “Clean as you go, or you’re out of my kitchen.” There was no leniency. Her gaze was like a hawk’s, sharp and all-seeing. The second you moved a dish or reached for a towel, her eyes were back on you, always expecting you to fail.

And food presentation? Forget it. “Did I ask for a food explosion?” She’d glance at the plate you’d put together, her mouth twitching in that grimace that made you feel about three inches tall. “Plates come out looking perfect, not like someone took a bite out of them before they left the kitchen. This isn’t cafeteria food; it’s a reflection of our work—my work. Start over.”

Every mistake felt magnified, like each misstep was some personal insult to her craft. One evening, she caught you hesitating by the stove, trying to balance the pan with a little too much caution.

“What are you afraid of, a little fire?” She stepped up, snatching the pan from your hand and demonstrating with quick, fluid movements, flames licking up as she seared the dish. “If you can’t handle a hot pan, you’re not going to last five minutes here. Heat means flavor—no hesitation. Either own it, or let someone else do it who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Each critique came hard and fast, like she was testing just how much you could take before breaking. But you’d see that flash in her eyes, just for a second, when you corrected yourself or caught her rhythm without her saying a word—a glint of approval, almost pride, though she’d never admit it. That kitchen was hell, and Ellie was the one lighting the fire.

Gradually, you grew on her in ways Ellie refused to acknowledge. At first, it was your dedication that caught her attention. You were so damn passionate, throwing yourself into every task with a fire she hadn’t seen in years, not even in herself anymore. It reminded her of how she used to feel about cooking, back when it wasn’t just a job, back when she wasn’t doing it for anyone but for herself. A sparkle that had been her whole world until the sparkle began to fade.

That same drive she once held was mirrored in you, and it hooked her in a way she didn’t let you see.

At first, it was harmless, or at least, she told herself it was. Viridescent eyes would wander absentmindedly while you worked over the stoves, catching the way you moved, the confidence in your hands, and the soft furrow in your brow when you were deep in concentration. It wasn’t even intentional at first, just a passing glance, a stray thought. Then she noticed the way her gaze lingered longer each time, how her mind wandered just a little too far. And once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop.

She made sure you never noticed. Ellie was good at that—at control, at holding the reins so tight they left marks in her palms. Whenever you turned her way, she’d tear her eyes away before you could catch her looking, busying herself with anything else. But there was no denying the way her focus shifted, no longer just assessing your technique or critiquing your timing. Her gaze followed you for other reasons now. The curve of your body in those faded denim jeans seemed to pull at her attention no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, and every time she brushed past you, the accidental touch of her hand against yours sent a spark up her arm that she couldn’t shake.

Still, she kept herself professional. She corrected you like she corrected everyone else, keeping her harsh tone and her words blunt. You weren’t special, she told herself. You couldn’t be. And yet, when her fingers lingered a second too long while adjusting your grip on a knife or guiding your hand to the perfect spot on the cutting board, she felt the edges of her resolve begin to fray.

Then came the night that changed everything.

The last customer had left, the dining area was quiet except for the faint buzz of the lights. The rest of the crew had clocked out and gone home, leaving you alone in the kitchen, scrubbing at a caramel spill that had hardened into the countertop like cement—a clumsy incident of yours. Your movements were hurried, and your brows knit together in frustration as you scraped at the sticky mess.

Ellie stayed behind, like she often did, overseeing the final cleanup before heading home to Dina. The thought was always there, hovering at the back of her mind like a shadow, but tonight, it felt distant, blurred. She stood at the far end of the counter, arms crossed, her gaze glued on you without even realizing it.

Something about the way you moved hypnotized her. The way your lower lip caught between your teeth, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead from the heat of the kitchen, the fluid way your body bent and shifted—it all made her stomach twist in ways she hadn’t felt in years. You were stunning, achingly so, and the red-brown-haired woman couldn’t stop herself from noticing every little detail about you.

Her chest tightened as she battled the strange, unwelcome flutter deep in her gut. It wasn’t just attraction—it was something more insidious, something that made her feel both exhilarated and ashamed. She didn’t feel this way when she went home to Dina anymore. She hadn’t for a long time.

Ellie furrowed her brow, her thoughts an unsteady swirl as she watched you wipe at the counter, your features etched with determination. She told herself to leave, to walk out and go home, but her boots stayed rooted to the floor.

When you finally finished and prepared to leave, you took a deep breath, the familiar wave of intrusive, overthinking thoughts gnawing at your self-esteem all over again. You steeled yourself, fighting the inner tension, before turning toward Ellie. She was focused, double-checking a few final things, but your stomach twisted with nerves. You couldn’t let her walk out without asking, without knowing. It might have seemed pathetic, but you needed the truth, needed to know if you’d wasted your time, if you should’ve just walked away and taken a job at McDonald’s instead. Because if that was all you were capable of, then why bother aiming higher?

“Can I ask you something?” you ventured, stopping the older woman in her tracks. Your voice carried a note of hesitation, the vulnerability in it impossible to miss.

Ellie paused, glancing over her shoulder before turning fully toward you. She wiped her hands on the apron snug around her waist, her expression shifting from its usual intensity to something softer. “Sure,” she uttered, curiosity flashing in those green eyes.

You hesitated for a beat, your fingers nervously brushing over the edge of the counter. Then, before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “Am I completely helpless? Like… am I trash?”

The insecurity in your voice hung in her ears, and for a moment, Ellie just stared at you, her mouth tightening as the question sank in. Something about the way you stood there—your shoulders slightly hunched, your gaze fixed somewhere below hers, bracing yourself for the worst—tugged at her chest.

She recalled that feeling all too vividly. The nights spent doubting herself, the pit in her stomach as she questioned if she was good enough to stand in a kitchen like this. It was a memory she thought she’d buried, but now it resurfaced in the form of you—young, insecure, and so painfully earnest.

“No,” Ellie reassured, her voice was firm but not unkind. She stepped closer, her apron swaying slightly as she moved, and her eyes softened into something warmer, a nuance you had never seen before in those irises. “You’re not trash. You just… need time to find your footing. Everyone starts somewhere, and I’ve seen enough to know you’ve got more potential than you give yourself credit for.”

You weren’t helpless. You were just trying to figure it all out, and she couldn’t help but see herself in you, more than she cared to admit.

It wasn’t then that things started between you two. Not that night. But exactly a week later, it began.

It happened during a chaotic morning when you accidentally nicked your finger while chopping vegetables. The cut wasn’t deep, but the sight of blood had you panicking. Ellie had swept in with a surprising amount of care, guiding you to her office to patch you up and calm you down.

She hadn’t pictured you as the panicking type—self-assured was more the image you projected—but that moment revealed something else entirely. You were sweeter than you let on, a little naive, even, but there was a warmth to you, a vibrancy she hadn’t realized was there.

At first, it was innocent enough. A lingering touch as she wrapped the bandage around your finger. Then came the late nights in the kitchen, staying behind to help her with something small or lingering because she had promised to teach you a few of her tricks, always claiming you were the only one worth teaching.

Initially, it felt special, as if you were being singled out for something significant. You didn’t realize that those excuses were designed to keep you there longer than anyone else. You had no reason to suspect otherwise. Ellie was subtle and calculated in her approach, so it never occurred to you that she might be making a move—especially with a whole wife waiting for her at home.

Ellie knew what she was doing, she always did. Once you had let her see the cracks in your confidence, the way you second guessed yourself, she used it to her advantage. Whenever you vented about your insecurities or the weight of expectations, she was there, whispering reassurances in that husky voice of hers. Her praise was addictive, and you found yourself craving it more than you’d ever admit.

Before long, the lines began to blur. Innocent late-night conversations with a married woman gradually evolved into deep discussions over shitty after-hours coffee as you sat on cracked stools in the empty kitchen of her restaurant, the smell of grease still lingering in the air. She’d vent about her wife, about how distant things had gotten, how they barely spoke unless it was to fight. All you’d do was nod, offering words of comfort because that’s all it was supposed to be. Comfort. But then her hand brushed yours one night, and everything started spiraling.

Those comforting touches soon escalated into stolen kisses in her office, the kind that left you breathless. Her hands explored you sinfully, and she couldn’t get enough. Then you’d find yourself waiting for everyone to pack up and leave, your heart thrumming in your chest like never before. For the lights to dim, and the sound of keys to jingle when Ellie locked the front door, making sure to keep any potential intruders out. When the coast was finally clear, she’d be on you, no hesitation, no second-guessing. Her lips, as soft as petals of a blooming rose, would crash into yours like she’d been starving for it, her hands rough and desperate, would shamelessly yank at your shirt, your pants, anything that was in the way.

It was always messy. Messy and quick, like you didn’t have time to think about what the hell you were doing—perhaps because she didn’t want to think about it, not before, not during, and certainly not after. She’d leave the moment it was over as if it had never happened, leaving you with only the echoes of what had happened. She’d shove you up against the cold steel of the prep table, and it’d be so fucking wrong but so fucking good all at once. Her lips, her hands, her voice—it was addictive. The way she whispered filthy things in your ear completely contrasted the sweet nothings she used to talk her way into your bed.

The only other sounds were the occasional car passing by outside and your obscene whimpers, loud and unrestrained as she shoved her fingers deep inside your cunt. She liked it that way, liked seeing you lose control while she stayed so composed. Her wedding band glistened under the low kitchen light, covered in your juices, the gold stained with the sin of what you both knew shouldn’t be doing.

It wasn’t love, not really. Or maybe it was, in some twisted, fucked up way. Whatever it was, it kept you coming back.

Maybe it was because of the way she looked at you as if you were a risk worth taking—it made you feel invincible. Special. Because she had chosen you, of all the girls that worked for her. She hadn’t even chosen her wife, Dina, who waited at home every night as she fucked you roughly on the kitchen counters, bending you over the surface as your hard nipples pressed against the cold metal and her fingers plunged deeper into you. That was enough to make you dumbly believe she couldn’t live without you, that she’d be willing to leave Dina for you.

It was in those moments that you felt like you were her everything.

After six long, agonizing months, the truth hit you in the back of the head like a ton of bricks—you weren’t special.

You weren’t the one she picked. You were just another victim of her lies. She was just that—a cheater. And just like every other cheater, she promised you love and loyalty only to pull the rug from beneath you when you least expected it.

Your heart dropped when you saw Dina walk into the restaurant, bouquet in hand, her son clutching her hand like a lifeline. It felt like the world spun too fast, and all you could do was stare as she sauntered into the kitchen, greeting everyone with that perfect, beaming smile of hers.

And then Ellie—your Ellie, the one who made you believe in something real—just kissed her. Not a quick peck, but a real kiss. One that felt too familiar. A kiss that made you sick, made your stomach churn like you had swallowed rusty nails. You could hear their voices, muffled through the noise of the restaurant, but the words were clear as day. Trivial shit. Talking about their son. Pet names. Casual chatter, the kind that could’ve been any couple. But it wasn’t supposed to be them. Not when Ellie had kissed you like you were the fucking air she needed to breathe, like her wife had failed her in ways you couldn’t even begin to understand. Ellie kissed you with that desperate hunger, like she was starved for something real, and you naively fell for it.

When the auburn haired woman looked back at you, for a split second, everything froze. She saw the pain hiding behind your strained, faint smile, the hurt you were barely managing to mask. Her face went pale, and then, like a fucking coward, she ditched her wife, brushing her off with some lame excuse about being too busy. You saw the fear of being caught. The guilt. The shame. All of it etched in her face, and you hated her for it.

You confronted her, demanded answers, tried to make sense of the lies she’d spun to you for months. But she stuck to her story, every word coming out of her mouth an excuse to protect herself. “It’s not like that, it’s all a facade. She’s not like this at home.” Fucking bullshit. Dina was the perfect wife. The kind of woman anyone would kill to have by their side. Ellie was the fucking problem. She couldn’t stay away from things she shouldn’t want—you. She never could.

She convinced you, promised you she would leave Dina, that one day, it would be just the two of you. But when that night came—the night you spent together, tangled up in sweat and passion—it was the end, one you never knew was coming. You were still panting, your heart pounding, when she rolled off of you.

“Babe, where’re you going?” You croaked, your voice strained and filled with disappointment. Your arm reached out slowly, but she was quicker, already perched on the edge of the bed, ready to up and leave. You could hardly keep yourself together as she pulled on her clothes.

“Home. To Dina.” The words fell from her lips so casually, as if they didn’t tear you apart to hear them, as if the aftermath of your activities wasn’t still gripping your chest, stealing your breath. You propped yourself up, your hair a tangled mess clinging to your sweaty forehead, forcing a playful expression, masking the pain inside you with a fake pout.

“Five more minutes? Where’s my aftercare?” You hoped your teasing would soften the moment, maybe make her cave the way she always did. It was a little game you’d played, and it usually worked.

In return, she dropped a whole bomb on you that made your chest tighten painfully and your stomach sink, “Look, we can’t keep doing this.” Her back was to you, her muscles flexing as she reached down for the rest of her clothes, the soft moonlight casting a faint glow over her freckled skin, leaving you drowning in the silence that followed.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Your eyes trailed over her back, over the red scratches you’d left there in the heat of it all, unable to comprehend how things had turned upside down so fucking fast.

“You heard me.” Her voice grew colder all of the sudden. “I have a wife, and I’m not gonna divorce her, no matter how bad things are.” She sounded so final, like her decision was set in stone and nothing would sway her.

You tried everything. You begged her, your voice breaking as you told her to stay, to not walk out of your life just like that. You yelled, you cried, you threw every last ounce of yourself into making her see what you two had, what she was throwing away. Nothing worked. She still left.

It didn’t just end there. She had one more kick to land. A week later, she fired you.

Fired you.

She called you into her office, and just when you thought she was about to offer even a shred of compassion, there was another cold punch to the gut. She handed you a card with a number on it, and you stared at it, bile rising in your throat. As if everything you two had could be wrapped up in a neat little package with a goodbye card like you were nothing more than some evidence she needed to get rid of in order to clean her conscience and carry on with her life like you never happened.

“What’s this?” You had questioned, confused, pissed off by the lack of any emotion in the exchange.

“Another restaurant that would much appreciate your devotion. She’s my friend and—” she kept going, but you couldn’t hear it anymore. The more she spoke, the more you felt the anger boil inside, hot and suffocating. You couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Are you firing me?” you snapped as the realization hit you harder than it should’ve. You’d fucking hated this job, she made you hate it, but it had been the best thing that ever happened to you. And Ellie knew that, she knew how much it meant to you. She simply couldn’t stand to look at you anymore. Guilt had started eating away at her—after six months of sleeping with you, no less.

Ridiculous.

“No, my friend Abby told me she needs more—” She tried to bullshit her way out, but you saw right through it. She sighed, frustration in her voice as she planted her hands on her hips, looking down at the floor, avoiding your gaze like the coward she was. “Yes. I’m firing you,” she finally admitted, cutting through her own bullshit.

“Is it because of—”

“Yes.” She confirmed, not even letting you finish the question.

“Wow.” You blinked at her, the words heavy in your mouth, disbelief written all over your face. You barely managed a faint frown, feeling your insides twist. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stomped out of her office, ripping your apron off like you were shedding the last bit of dignity you had left.

That’s what led you here. Sitting in your car, parked in front of Ellie’s house—this massive, gaudy mansion that felt like a fucking slap in the face. Too perfect, too shiny, too fucking out of reach for someone like you. Your fingers dug into the steering wheel, gripping it as if you wanted to rip it apart, your eyes locked on Dina’s silhouette as she paced back and forth behind the windows. Meanwhile, Ellie was still at work, living her life as if nothing had happened, while you were left drowning in your stupid, fucking choices. Only because you fell for her words, her kisses, her promises.

She couldn’t just ruin your life and walk away without consequences. No, you wouldn’t let her get away with this shit. You felt like a goddamn homewrecker, not only because you had slept with a married woman, but because of what you were about to do now.

Your hand hovered over the doorbell, your fingers shaking as you tried to convince yourself this wasn’t a mistake.

It was too late to back out.

The seconds dragged on like hours before she appeared. Dina, standing there at the door with that look on her face—confused, curious, like she was trying to place you before she realized she had never seen you before.

“Sorry? Do I know you?” Her voice was soft, too soft, as if it was meant for someone who had slept with her wife. Those warm, brown eyes staring back at you made you feel like the lowest piece of scum, causing your words to catch in your throat, tangled and desperate. It was as though they were trying to strangle you from the inside.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything, sweetie?” Her tone shifted, softening as she noticed the panic clouding your eyes, the tremble that gripped your body. But no amount of softness could quell the scorching anger inside you. You wanted to throw it all out—the truth. The ugly truth.

Before you could even utter a word, her son appeared from behind her, his small hands holding up a drawing, pride beaming from his small face. “Mommy, look!” His innocent, excited tone cut through you, “Can’t wait to show mama, too.”

Dina gently hushed him, running her fingers through his brown hair, and your eyes locked on the ring glinting on her finger. Your gaze lingered on Dina for a moment before drifting to the family photos adorning the wall behind the woman. Some captured small trips, others moments on the beach, while a few were wedding and baby pictures. Then, your eyes returned to the child’s innocent face, his tiny hand clutching the drawing—it made something inside you crack, without a warning.

You swallowed hard as you blinked, fighting to compose yourself.

“Sorry, I was looking for... Jake. I must’ve gotten the wrong address.”

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vamp0rivm · 22 days ago

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vamp0rivm · 25 days ago

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𝙱𝙴𝚈𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝟶𝟺

summary: you haven’t spent the night with ellie since she left, and you didn’t think you would ever do so again. but now you’re here. and there’s this random ass dog here too ig.

a/n: LOLLLLL I DID IT!!!!! this is 75% yap but I swear it gets cute at the end plz just read plz istg

tag list: @diddiqueen, @amberputh, @fatbootymuncher, @sapphointhe21stcenturyposts, @jadelovesyou00, @ravyaryn

series masterlist

You turn your phone off, eyes fixed on that same blurry fleck on the ceiling as darkness floods back into the room.

03:17

Unfortunately, those are rookie numbers to you, especially since that little get-together: the night you ended ‘things’ with Alexis over the phone, which somehow went surprisingly smoothly, on your part at least.

Well, you hung up before gauging how she took it. The only implications were the incessant buzzes of your phone against the smooth wooden surface of your nightstand, now cluttered with junk accumulated during the past few days. Over the course of them, the buzzes slowed before dying out completely. Then came the silence, in which you were left to rot in your thoughts.

That day, you came home and embraced the emptiness of your bed after going so long with a stranger lying beside you, and you immediately began abusing the absolute tragedy of it all, using the breakup as an excuse to laze around constantly, take a day or two off work. The reality, quite clearly, try as you might to conceal it (which isn’t much), is that you’re not really at the appropriate level of impacted by the whole ordeal, whatever that would be.

Perhaps the worst part of it all - what you truly feel the most guilty for - is that your thoughts keep taking a turn towards Ellie. It’s like the area of your mind dedicated to her suddenly flourished with greenery and colour following her return like rain crashing down against the dry sands of a desert, and it has only amplified since that night. A constant reminder that the markings she left on the enclosure of your skull will never fade.

Maybe you should be annoyed - mad, even - about the way she acted. But none of the emotions clustered inside you come even remotely close to that. Too far in an unprecedented direction.

But it’s not unprecedented. Not really. You’re acutely self-aware; you’ve always found it difficult to lie to yourself.

You think about her a lot, most of all about how she’s doing all alone in that house. You hope for a lot of things for her too. A lot. Things you shouldn’t hope for people you were supposed to have left in your past.

Ellie felt like dookie, which wasn’t unusual, quite the opposite. However, the reasoning was new. She felt like shit for that ugly thing that came over her, jealousy. She felt like shit because it was wrong to be jealous over the woman she once belonged to, the woman who also belonged to her, who doesn’t look in her eyes the way she used to, who laughs with someone else, holds someone else, loves someone else the way she used to love Ellie. Well, Ellie knows you love her because she knows you, but not the way you used to. There is a sadness there, a sort of pity, which irks her. It made her scared that you’d never see her the same way again.

And she wasn’t sure she’d be able to let the walls between you crumble even now, after everything. Still so on guard.

She wanted to do whatever it took to be part of your life: be respectful, give you space, be a friend, and she fricked up because you were supposed to be hers, and you would be, if she hadn’t lost her mind all that time ago.

She tried to ease the anxiety by texting you after the party, but when she looked down into the glow of the phone screen, rereading the words she’d typed out in apology, they seemed like the most laughable thing on the planet: rambles of incoherent, disconnected foolishness. She almost unsent them. You didn't respond anyway.

Tossing her phone aside, she picked up the guitar tilted against the side of her wardrobe with hesitation, and held it to her body, adjusting to regain fragments of familiarity. It felt a lot heavier than it used to, like the shadow of an old soul lingers around it, shaky fingers, greyed hair, gruff hum.

Her fingers strummed discordantly, in some distracted attempt at stringing together a tune, but no words came to mind when it was rampant with great hurricanes of guilt that dated back to times she didn’t even remember. A problem she couldn’t quite seem to rid herself of.

Now, she squats beside the dog’s makeshift food bowl under the porch light as fireflies flutter between the clusters of cobwebs bound to it, and she inspects the flecks of dust settled over the pet store biscuits when something clicks in her mind. The dog’s been acting weird. The barks have quieted to naught, he hasn’t gone outside to take his daily shit yet, and come to think of it, Ellie’s not sure he went yesterday either, but most importantly, the food has gone untouched.

After a Google search, Ellie bounds up the stairs, scouring the rooms for him, and stopping with a thumping heart when she spots his dark coat flopped atop a rug dejectedly. She kneels beside him and runs her fingers through the tufts of fur, muttering,

“You not feelin’ too good, goober?”

A wheezy sigh fills the silence, almost as if in response, and Ellie’s brows furrow in worry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. C’mon, let’s get you to the vet.”

10 minutes later, she’s in Tommy’s truck, the engine growls but she realises she doesn’t think she can do this alone. She’s formed a weird bond with the dog, greyed coat and warm eyes. They feel homely in a way that makes her stomach churn and her throat tighten. There’s a slight squeak of the leather steering wheel in her grip as she tenses.

Tommy’s out, Ellie’s not quite ready to see Maria, Jesse’s working nights, and a quick text exchange reveals Dina’s currently being knocked out by cramps.

She holds her phone in a shaky hand, glancing back at the dog who’s laying quiet on the floor and then looks back at the screen. It often hits her how small the number of people she can turn to is. Well, the list isn’t quite empty now. She’s yet to ask you.

So, with a thumb hovering over your number, twitching in hesitance for a few moments, she decides to bite the bullet and hits call. A few rings pass, each saturated with the increasing intensity of her heartbeat, and then you answer.

“Ellie?”

Your mind is foggy with sleep but you find yourself sitting beside her once again. The journey is quiet; you don’t feel the tension you thought you would. Maybe it's the fatigue obscuring your observation skills.

She steers the truck into the car park and gets out, jogging over to your side to open your door and help you down. She grunts as she urges the dog out of the van and they scuttle along down to the entrance side by side. You smile to yourself at the sight a couple of steps behind.

Not many questions were asked during the short phone call.

“I uh- Are… Are you free - right now?”

“Um, yeah, I’m free, why? Is everything okay?”

“My dog’s not looking too great and I gotta take him to the vet, I guess… I don’t really know… what I’m doing.”

She has a dog?

“Okay… Do you… Do you want me to come with you?”

The receptionist tells Ellie the dog needs to be on a leash and she apologises before taking a seat.

The waiting room’s quiet and Ellie looks a mess. Her hair is shorter, choppier, just barely hanging over the curves of her ear. You remember it looking longer in the pictures of her while she was back in LA. She needs help fixing it up. You can picture her craning her neck in the mirror to snip at stray locks. Cute. She bounces her foot incessantly and the fidgeting doesn’t hide the shaking of her hands. Her eyes tell you she’s somewhere else - a place you think you recognise from all those years ago.

You know what she needs, watch her distant eyes flit down to the sight of your hand over hers, bringing her back to the surface. Baby steps.

When the vet gives the verdict, that the issue shouldn’t last longer than a week, injects antibiotics into the scruff of the dog’s neck, Ellie’s shoulders seem less tense and you set off home.

There are thoughts that sometimes should stay internal, impulses you probably shouldn’t act upon.

But you love her. And you’re older. Less kind feelings about the concept of regret.

“Are you okay?”

She sighs, a slight croak in her voice but she smiles,

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. You-uh still living with Dina?”

“Mhm, but don’t drop me off there.”

Ellie turns to face you, eyes glancing back at the road repetitively,

“What? You don’t- You don’t have to do that-”

“Obviously I don’t. I want to.”

There’s a slight pause as she looks over your features and then shifts her focus back to the road, whispering,

“Okay.”

Then, Ellie looks up at the dog through the rearview mirror.

“You scared me there, old man, thought you were gonna throw up on my bed or something. Shit in the bathtub or something.”

You chuckle and she grins in that adorable way that drew you to her in the first place,

“I don’t know, dog’s are dumb. They do dumb shit.”

She tells you she just calls him Buddy and Buddy seems better already. He sleeps soundly in the backseat as Ellie’s fingers tap idly against the steering wheel. She glances over at you now and then, like she’s trying to make sense of the thoughts in your head through the expression on your face.

The door to the old house is like a portal to the old world, and when it’s open, you’re stepping into a memory. You can’t figure out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. Ellie drops her keys onto the counter and moves to let Buddy settle in the corner of the couch, running her hand over his fur with veiny hands and tender movements, you almost feel a phantom touch down your spine. What it elicits in you seems a little dangerous.

A worn pair of sneakers is sprawled out by the door. How the fuck does she still have those?

You take a seat by the dog and try not to sound too tense,

“How have you been? I mean… with everything?”

It’s a loaded question, and she knows it, maybe too much so. Her jaw tightens for a moment, but she exhales slowly and settles beside you, her knee brushing yours, and, even though she’s very aware of it, she doesn’t move it away.

“Sobriety?” she asks, her voice careful. You nod.

Ellie leans back, resting her head against the couch. She stares at the ceiling, her fingers drumming against her thigh before curling into fists and imprinting crescent moons on her palm. Is she fighting the urge to pull away? She was always retreating when things got too close, too real. Your stomach is sinking.

“It’s… hard,” she admits, taking you by surprise though her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Some days are better than others. I haven’t…”

She pauses, taking in air like it’s suffocating to think about.

“I haven’t used anything in a while. Not since LA.”

“Good. I’m glad, Ellie. That’s good.” you say softly, knots loosening in your heart, but you keep your eyes trained on her, analysing every little expression, every little movement. Her lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile.

“Yeah. But it’s not just about not using, you know? It’s… so much… Everything else. Dealing with everything else… It’s so hard not to keep… chasing something, distracting myself, running away instead of facing it…

I fell into it so quickly before… I shouldn’t have… I should’ve tried to let you in.”

Swallow, the memories are filling your mouth, and they sting your insides as they move through you, still sharp as ever. Peace is all you need for her. Peace is all you need for her.

You don’t really go to her gigs anymore. It’s a wonder she still does them, comes home drunk out of her mind every time.

It’s haunting her every day.

The door opens, not surprising. You could hear her fuck around with the keys outside the door for a while before a gust of wind washes over you. She rushes to the bathroom and throws up again, dry heaving because there’s nothing to come out but alcohol.

It’s almost 4 AM. You rise to your feet and crouch down beside her, rubbing small circles over her back and feeling the nubs of her spine and the ripples of her ribcage beneath her thin T-shirt.

“Stop,” she spits out with a scratchy throat and through a choked sob.

You sit with her for a while, until she gets up and walks to her office.

The door closes behind her, leaving loud nothingness in her workroom.

As you lay in bed, gasps carry through the air. You wish, with everything in you, there was a way to heal these wounds, but you can feel it sinking, crashing.

“We can’t change the past, Ellie. And even if it hurt, I don’t blame you for what you did. You needed to leave. And… I just wasn’t what you needed at the time… You weren’t ready for a relationship. Running was all you could do.”

“I don’t want to run anymore,” she whispers, her voice firm despite the tremble in it,

“It’s weird… You’re right. I think I needed to get away from this place… Being here… The posters, the books, the desk, it’s like I kept finding little pieces of… kid me. And Joel.”

Her voice almost catches on his name but she looks at her hands and navigates the minefield of memories, so much better than she used to be able to.

“But looking at them now… I just… I feel like I can face it.”

Laced through her words, images of his face. Grief which rushed through her, mind, heart and soul. The guilt - the longing, that burdens her spirit, little by little, pieces dissipate into fireflies and fly away. Fragile steps towards being able to look him in the eye - the essence of him left behind in her life.

250,000 Miles is whirring through an old CD player, there’s a box of stir-fry on the table by Ellie. You’re sitting before her, laughing at her for pretending to know how to use chopsticks, and at the fact that she’s absolutely tanked at this game of Catan. But she’s grinning at you, and her chest feels warm.

“Alright, it’s literally 1 AM, we need to pack this up. I’m becoming delirious.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You scoff, your lips still curved into a smile, getting up to carry your dishes to the sink, “Shut up.”

She scoops the empty cans of cola vanilla scattered around the table into her arms and drops them by the sink to rinse them out beside you as you dry your hands. You catch her smirking and nudge her, watching her scoff and whisper,

“What?”

Ellie turns to you and her cheeks are tinged pink. You're grinning at her and she's smiling at you and it feels so natural, the soft curve of your back, the chub of your cheek, natural to fall back into that old rhythm; it’s so easy to forget that she isn't years back in the past, to just lean in so you can feel the warmth of her breath fan your lips.

An exhale catches in your throat, a sharp thrum in your chest as your eyes flit down to her lips. You begin to close the distance, but hesitation is inevitable. The fear of hurting, of falling into the ravenous love you felt before it's ripped away from you again.

Ellie doesn’t push, her eyes dropping to the space you give. She knows she fucked up. You have a girlfriend, and you want to be nothing more than friends.

“Sorry,” she mutters, her voice thick with regret.

But you need her to know now, that you want this as much as she does, that you need her as much as she needs you. That you miss her so much.

“I broke up with Alexis.”

Ellie looks up at you with those wide eyes.

“Let’s take our time, Ellie. We don’t have to rush into anything.”

She can’t help the way her eyelashes flutter, lips curve down into a reverse smile.

The couch is a tight squeeze with Buddy still asleep at the end of it.

You told her you were okay with sharing the bed, but she insisted, not wanting to push any further after what transpired earlier. The living room is cold - must be a draught coming in from somewhere. She knows she won’t be able to fall asleep here.

Hesitant again, she sits up, and then makes her way to the bedroom, taking her place on the left side of the bed, facing you. And when you open your eyes, she doesn’t turn away.

“Night, El.”

“Goodnight.”

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