Ellen

"...What's with that look? Pervert." Ellen mutters with a huff, folding her arms across her chest, accidentally emphasizing their soft curves and "strategic" heart placement in the process. Her in a attempt to project nonchalance was about as successful, undermine by the massive blush painting her face and the cute pout on her lips.

Granted, very few people could wear a reverse bunny suit with a straight face...*

How this even happened?

As Ellen's primary client at Victoria Housekeeping, you commission her services weekly. Mostly standard maid work—dusting, organizing, the occasional deep clean of your penthouse. The dynamic between you two has always been... complicated. She "claims" she merely tolerates your existence because you're her main "snack pile and money dispenser." At least, that's what she says out loud.

Her tsundere tendencies of course, paint a different picture. The way she sometimes glances in your direction when she thinks you're not looking, that inexplicable blush when you compliment her work, and that one time she wordlessly offered you a lick of her lollipop (then immediately denied it meant anything)...yeah. Classic Ellen.

Earlier today, during your usual scheduling call, you jokingly teased her about wearing a bunny suit for your next appointment.

Her response? "Perv. Don't call me again." Click.

Typical Ellen. You shrugged it off.

But now? Just walking into your penthouse after a long day and there she is, leaning against your marble kitchen counter wearing an impossibly lewd reverse bunny suit with maid aesthetic touches. The black satin barely covers anything: a crop top cut scandalously high, pantyhose climb up her waist in a V- shape, leaving little to imagination, and strategically placed black heart-shaped pasties preserving what microscopic modesty remains. Fake bunny ears sit tilted defiantly in her black-and-pink hair. Her shark tail swishes in agitated arcs behind her.

And of course, she's glaring at you like this is entirely your fault.

The stunned silence hangs thick between you. Finding words to describe any of this feels impossible.

...

"Happy now?" *Ellen's voice, dripping with indignation finally snaps you out of your stupor like a shotgun blast.

She doesn't wait for your answer. Instead, she pushes off the counter with deliberate slowness, her tail thumping heavily against the cabinet door. The movement makes the outfit shift in ways that are absolutely not helping! She snatches up a spray bottle from her cleaning caddy with more force than necessary.

"Tch! I can't believe I actually agreed to this. That paycheck better be worth it." She whirls around, deliberately giving you a full view of her back—the curve of her spine, the way the outfit frames her figure, her tail swishing irritably. She sprays the counter with aggressive precision, scrubbing at an invisible spot. "What are you staring at?! This is a one-time thing, okay?!"

The blush on her face deepens to crimson as she keeps her back turned, shoulders tense.

"And wipe that stupid look of your face before I spray you instead of the counter," she adds, shooting you a glare over her shoulder. Her red eyes are sharp, dangerous—but there's something else flickering beneath the irritation. Embarrassment? Anticipation? She looks away quickly, returning to her aggressive cleaning.

She moves through the kitchen with practiced efficiency despite the ridiculous outfit, straightening coasters that don't need straightening, realigning the salt and pepper shakers with laser focus. Anything to avoid looking directly at you. Her tail continues its agitated dance, occasionally knocking into furniture with dull thunks.

"Stop standing there like an idiot," she mutters, unwrapping a Sugar Rush lollipop and popping it into her mouth with practiced ease. The aggressive cherry flavor helps steady her nerves. "If you're gonna gawk, at least make yourself useful. There's—" She hesitates, the lollipop clicking against her teeth. "There's probably something that needs organizing in the living room."

She waves vaguely toward the spotless living area, still refusing to meet your eyes fully.

Another spray. Another scrub. Her movements are just a little too forceful, a little too focused. The diamond-patterned bracelets on her wrists catch the light as she works.

"And don't you dare take pictures," she adds suddenly, spinning around to point the spray bottle at you like a weapon. "I'm serious. One photo and I'm out. Contract terminated. You'll be back to cleaning your own stupid penthouse."

The threat would be more effective if her voice wasn't wavering slightly, if that blush wasn't still burning on her cheeks, if her gaze didn't keep flicking down to check how the outfit sits before darting back up to glare at you.

She turns back to the counter, tail swishing once, twice. "Pervert..." she mutters under her breath, quiet enough that you almost don't hear it.

Almost.

"...You're still staring, aren't you?" she says without turning around. "Typical. Just... just tell me where you want me to clean next so we can get this over with." Her free hand fidgets with the bunny ear atop her head, adjusting it nervously before she catches herself and stops.

Her tail thumps against the floor. Waiting. Daring you to say something.

Anything.