#ellie williams | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s-4pphics · 1 day ago

Text

… are we rolling?

SYNOPSIS: screwing your best friend on live isn’t that strange… right? … RIGHT?

WORD COUNT: 5.3K

WARNINGS: SMUT — MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS/MEN WILL BE BLOCKED, switch/sub!ellie, switch/dom!reader, brief mentions of misogyny in porn?, ellie bottoms n is slightly bratty in this, readers a service top, stoplight system, fingering, eating pussy, making out, readers dirty mouth[to be expounded, she’s gross], orgasm denial/ruined orgasm, mentions of weed but none used, mentions of sex on camera(not performed,,, yet), mentions of voyeurism, brief mention of exhibitionism, brief mentions of bondage, slight dumbification, laughtercare :)

A/N: i reread click and realized i need more cam star ellie. this is for ME. i wrote this for ME. i needed THIS. another result of ovulation. i imagined jackson!ellie while writing this but imagine any ellie you’d like. sigh... love yall <3

wait i came back…. guys i think i love writing again. i love editing again. i love rewriting again. hurray/hooray

everybody clap for aestra for proofreading for my drafts :) LUV YA DEAR @edenspoem

“Look here.”

“I am.”

“Not at my hand, honey. Look here. The camera’s here.” Your fingers twinkle in front of the lens.

Yes, the camera’s there, but so are your stone-clad, delicate fingers, wrapped graciously around your sloppily stickered tripod where your overtly fancy digital camera sits neat and determined on top.

Ellie’s trapped in delirium. A lost tango of abiding your very thorough instruction while waltzing the line of entrancement. She hasn’t retained much in the past five minutes because frankly, how could she? The same fingers she’s secretly admired for the better part of 5 years are about to submerge inside her and lead with nothing but carnal instinct. Who wouldn’t go mad? She surely has, and your mattress isn’t even a mess yet.

The invitation of her star-fishing had been bright and fruitful on your part. Since the birth of your friendship, Ellie has grown incredibly reliant on your clarity. She’s never met a person as honest and forward — but not abrasive — as you are; the reins of the relationship remain stable under your control, never too wild or incessant to be yanked, and much to her appreciation, lack of structure turns you to panic just as it does her. She gains a sense of tranquility from your bluntness, and that day in your car was just that. Blunt.

She was naive at the time: to accept a time bomb disguised as an overtly expensive black coffee, placed gently into your cup holder while Ellie clapped her hands together like a seal. It’s always the same steady routine: coffee and shittalking, the brunette’s favorite pastime.

If she knew her blood would practically write love letters all over your car windows, she may have never accepted your invite.

“Would asking to fuck you stupid be too forward?”

Asked with a nothing tone, simplicity and the brightest eyes. Her soul was snatched clean from its confinement with your manicured claws, palms stained with the maroon of her bleeding heart. She assumed you were pulling her leg for her own sanity, but you’ve never been a puller, at least not during conversations that highlight lengthy forms of human intimacy, but damn, no one had ever asked to bend her over in broad daylight ever. Heat radiated off her and onto you like overworked machinery.

“I don’t think so?” was her stuttered response, but it hadn’t been enough to convince you. If you were to despise one thing, it’d be uncertainty, and that lost tremor was nearly enough to turn you the other direction. Nearly. Almost.

How did someone like Ellie, intimidated, clueless— dangerously obsessed— convince? Simple as ever — it was a thoughtful proposal. Straightforward. Not a leg pulled, and in that moment, she knew she garnered your approval. Look where she ended up a few days later.

“Wanna get in the back… or?”

Reckless? Yes—but a girl with wants doesn’t care about her mutilated surroundings. Fulfilling her desire: that’s what Ellie needed right then and there, on the seat in the middle of the parking lot of the shopping center. Consider it a repayment for that six dollar cup of nitroglycerin.

You giggled a sound so tender despite the twistedness of your tongue. Had you finally given Ellie the upper hand? You had to, even if it would be the last time you ever allowed her to lead. She assumed your laughter to be a sign of surrender—finally, she had thought, right as her jacket slid off her shoulders to dangle from your passengers side.

You have an ability to stun with your smile—teeth stained red with every swipe of your tongue on dirtied glass. Ellie fell victim to your attacks all over again, another bomb unleashed, from your mouth this time.

“Would asking to fuck on live be too forward?”

Right at that very second, the clouds of the heavens split down the center to embrace her hollow, dark spirit—to protect her from the lecher of a seductress. The angels didn’t dare touch you to bring along: they sense the trap in your softness. There’s so much filth that resides underneath your colorful aura. She took that secret to the sky: how equally sick she was, your exact match.

You had put heavy emphasis on live. Live as in livestream. Live Stream as in real people watching while you make a mess of her despite having always had, but that would teter into a space neither of you have touched in your friendship. She always hoped there was something there, a fringe of deeper devotion, even if meek; all those times where you caused goosebumps to bloom all over her with your filthy whispers, all the times you’ve called her gorgeous, all the times your fingers travelled, dipped, stayed just a bit too long on her skin. They had to have meant something, and your proposal was proof of it, in her mind at least.

Doing porn had never crossed Ellie’s mind. Viewing was barely satisfactory on its own—an occasional indulgence here and there when she’s desperate and her imagination’s a bore, she’d watch, cum, and fall asleep slightly less antsy. It was a raunchy tool for satisfaction and nothing more.

Until it wasn't.

Until she scrolled a tad too deep on Twitter after hours—a fuzzy video that lasted no more than 12 seconds, but it mutilated her brain so viciously, and it wasn’t due to the saliva-coated fingers circling around a swollen areola before showcasing sharp fangs.

No. It was the nightstand in the background, barely in focus; it’s shocking how easily she recognized it. The same nightstand with a knife scratch in the left corner of the top drawer. The one sloppily painted over with neon yellow. The one that holds a floral-patterned lamp that she remembered turning off on countless occasions.

Your nightstand. Your tits, your saliva, your fingers. You you you and yours.

A part of Ellie died that night, exactly a year ago. The innocent part. The strictly-friends part. The stress-filled day ended with her rubbed completely raw and swollen and irrevocably high off you: rewatching that same 12 seconds over and over before progressing to minutes long ones of you screwing yourself silly—buried deep at the bottom of your page, then the 15 minute long ones that hid behind a paywall where you got fucked or fucked in positions she didn’t think were possible—even made a burner account to unabashedly like and bookmark every moment of your partners seemingly entranced by you, so much so that she had to comment under an alias—her appreciation for cumming so hard. The relishment hadn’t lasted long because men—the bane of her existence(and yours, every pest now deleted), can never shut the fuck up. Comment after comment: Sexy, Bet you can take massive loads like nothing, I can make you straight again. Ellie’s unsure if she can bring herself to kill, but if she could without a trace… oh, if she could.

Unfortunately, telling predatory men to kill themselves only beckoned her karma. Her naughty secret had a three-day lifespan. What luck she has.

Who accidently falls asleep to Twitter porn inside of said porn star’s house, on said pornstar’s couch?

She was awoken by warmth from a blanket she hadn’t retrieved herself, a fully charged device that she knew she hadn’t plugged in, and breakfast. A good and hefty breakfast for a good and hefty conversation.

Safe to say you and Ellie’s relationship became helluva lot more personal that morning.

Personal enough for you to describe in detail the adrenaline you feel when people(not men, people) get off to you, your body. Personal enough to show her videos that may never reach the internet due to their intimacy. Personal enough to ask her to hold the camera while you pose unclothed—that took a bit more time, but it happened. So, so personal.

Not personal enough to turn her away from fucking you, though. She spent too many late evenings stalking that account—absorbing each line and curve of your stature in lingerie or naked or strapped up, memorizing where and what sensations set you ablaze, rewinding the small seconds right before euphoria consumed you whole. All that studying had come full circle, all to be tested at that moment. Her daydreaming had flipped on her. Tongue in cheek—she didn’t bother hiding her enthusiasm.

“I don’t think so.”

“I want you to know this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.” Ellie calls from your mattress, jeans already kicked off to the side of your room.

“Having second thoughts?”

Not a scrimmage of disappointment in your tone—eyes soft with alertness and an overcast of concern.

“No… just talking out loud.”

“There’s no wrong in wanting to back out. This is… it's a bit weird.”

Live Streaming is weird. That’s probably the scariest part about all of this—not the risk of ending a friendship that Ellie has grown especially fond of, not the potential change in perspective of her from your end, but the perception from strangers. What if she hiccups or makes a weird noise or reacts in a way that’s not… attractive to the masses? What if they don’t like her? You’re the star after all. They pay decent amounts to see you in your sensual glory—Ellie simply doesn’t possess that eloquence this sort of indulgence requires.

“Or we can opt outta streaming altogether if it’s bothering you. We can just… you know, build up to it.” The shy gesture towards your mattress gets Ellie swooning. Her tone drops an octave, playfulness cranked higher to soothe her nerves. “Are you suggesting that I become a regular?”

“Would you like to become a regular?”

“Oh? There's other clientele?” Ellie snickers off the slight—quite slight agitation that sparks within her at the suggestion of others. Unreasonable and annoying, but she can’t help it. “I’ll know for sure after this, no?”

“I suppose.” You murmur with curved lips, scanning your camera with what Ellie can read as hesitance.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

“I can’t help but think this is a lot for you. We’ve never even kissed.”

“I beg to differ—“

You scoff, “we were high. That doesn’t count and you know it.”

“Why wouldn’t it count?”

“Ellie.” You scold gently, and her fight falters, sighing deeply when the mattress bunches around her elbows.

“So… what’s the plan?”

“I told you already. Building up to.”

Ellie hums with interest you’ve piqued. “Are we rehearsing then?”

“That’s cute. I like that. Sure, rehearsing.”

She huffs at your mocking, “come closer.”

“In what world do you think you can tell me what to do?”

Ellie’s response stays lodged in her throat from its dryness. The air shifts—her world shifts in a way that she feels upside down, her breath scattering and fingers twitching where they rest on your blanket. Heat blooms from her cheeks to her forehead at the ease in your stare.

You’re so calm. You radiate serenity on the slow journey to your dresser, your rings clattering in your jewelry holder—the same glass seashell Ellie gifted you on your birthday two years ago. It’s a familiar preparation, a ritual she’s mastered on her own, but for some foreign reason, her chest swirls with a sensation that she can’t pinpoint.

“I… um…”

“Yeah? You, um, what?” The corner of your mouth curves ever so slightly—so cunning, and suddenly, the conversation could be about anything. All efforts of indifference melt down through your mattress to drip onto hardwood. The role of your camera is long forgotten with every step your sock-covered feet take.

Her legs jerk when you finally stand between her legs, jeans tickling her skin, nearly locking you in place by your thighs but you don't falter—she’s frozen in her position, laid out in front of you with confidence on rapid declination.

“Stoplight system.” You whisper, Ellie’s response just as airy.

“What?”

“Do you know what that is?”

Sounds familiar—possibly something that you’ve mentioned in passing a few times. She hadn’t understood the context when you mentioned it during your routine one-night-stand recalls, but you were left giddy enough to talk about them until you went blue in the face.

She says no, secretly due to how good you sound, raspy and alluring. You could be talking about actual traffic laws and she’d be just as skittish and needy as she is now.

“If, for any reason, you don’t like something that I do, or say or anything — or if you just want to stop, say—“

“Red.” She comprehends, and you call her smart—just under your breath, and her legs lock on you again. Stoplight. Simple enough. Green or blue or orange or whatever. Come closer.

“And if I like it? Whatever it is you do.”

“Then tell me you do. I work better with praise.”

The room goes silent while Ellie flounders and you inspect, particularly deep and all over her; lines burning into skin with every pass of your pupils on her thighs, scarred and dotted. Your gaze flickers, dilated and fluttering with lust but upholding serenity, eyes capturing and framing every insecurity she’s developed since adolescence, lodged deep into your memory. Such scrutiny… she wishes she had the heart to despise it.

“Speaking of, what do you like? How do you touch yourself?” With causality, the tip of your index finger traces up her thigh, following the healed gash she earned after failing to hop a fence when she was fifteen. Ellie’s chest gives a tight squeeze when it curls underneath the lining of her shirt to inch it up slightly. A smile twists when you catch the colorful lining of her underwear.

“I touch myself like everyone touches themselves.”

“And how is that.”

She scoffs ludicrously. “I don’t fuckin’ know, I just do it.”

“Does it feel good when you just do it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Interesting.” And with that, you drop to your knees and Ellie nearly faints.

“You’re tense.”

“Well, yeah—“

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“You know I’m not.”

“Then loosen up a bit. I won’t do anything crazy til next week.”

That’s the problem, isn’t it? How does Ellie tell you that she wants everything you have to offer without frightening you? Overwhelming you? Would that even be possible for you—to be alarmed by her desires? It’s hard to tell. There’s three different floggers pinned to your door for fucks sake.

Yeah… incredibly hard to tell.

Especially when your fingers hook in her waistband like you've been anticipating ripping them to shreds. You don’t pull, but rest. It’s clear in your vision when she looks up, that tranquil warning: Ellie’s last chance to bail out completely, even as you attempt to mask your smile when you catch a glimpse of her wetness.

Her lungs constrict with how deep her breath is. Her heart thrashes with her inquiry, ragged and insatiable.

“And what’s next week?”

You scoff a laugh and Ellie’s thighs twitch.

“When my paypigs finally get to watch me fuck you dumb.”

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” escapes in one exhale before she’s sucking in another gust of air.

“Yeah?”

She barely has any time to squeak her approval before her underwear is torn from her. Her thighs tense with instinct to shut them. You’re eye level with her cunt in all its drippy glory. Ellie’s never felt this form of anxiety when naked in front of anyone. She’s seen your pussy when it glistens under flash—a glorious sight. It feels wrong and misogynistic to call a pussy mediocre but in comparison, you’re beautiful and she's… decent? She’s not as smooth and doesn’t shave because what the fuck for, but she also doesn’t have to worry about people criticizing her pussy in the way they would criticize yours. Her pussy’s hers and hers only… but she’ll die if you think she’s… unattractive. She’ll jump out your window.

“Why do you look like that?”

“Like what, dude.”

“Like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Well, my labias on display, for one—“

Rebuttals die as quickly as they blossom.

The last bit of oxygen in her lungs is lost when your index and middle finger lay gently over her, stunted by your warmth when you spread her, gentle sloshes from her slick spreading as it spills from her. You’re seemingly unbothered by any of Ellie’s sudden self-judgements, and shockingly, her own brain has silenced under your gawking. She only watches your hand, uses it as grounding before her lungs stop working.

“Look at you.” You coo. “You’re real cute, baby.”

“Thanks,” barely mumbled—barely coherent. Your canines bare beneath a smile; you’re about ready to tear her to shreds.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you. How do you touch yourself?”

“I… just rub one out when I have time.” Her eyes flit from your face to the wall only to find more nudity across pink and faux brick. Even with erratic glances, there’s so much detail and care within each photograph: some from magazine shoots, some from polaroids you’ve captured. Some of you, some with you, and some without you — images left with only your satisfied companions, evidence of your lecher embedded permanently into their skin.

Will you leave her the same way? Capture her with such delicacy to pin to your wall?

“… That all?”

Her entire body engulfs in flames and your gentle scrutiny doesn’t help. Her shoulders bump weakly.

“I think you deserve a little bit more than that. All ‘m saying.”

You stand and wave your hand at her, ushering her further back onto your mattress. She flounders stupidly until she’s centered on your pillows and you smile. “Get this off for me.” You tug at the hem of the shirt she stole from your drawer last year. Ellie short circuits when her back arches and fingers tug at the fabric, leaving her fully unclothed—she prays you can’t hear the borderline violent pounding atop her ribcage.

She fidgets when your arms hook tight around her thighs to yank her closer, her locks dragging across your pillows and before she can even register your closeness, you kiss her. She hardly notices the noise, her noise, vibrating on your lips—guttural and strained and nasally, and she can’t stop wriggling against you, no matter the efforts of you trying to station her hips.

This kiss is nowhere reminiscent of your first one. You may not remember but Ellie does—chaste but filled with adoration and softness underneath the stars. Gentle and light that got Ellie’s chest stirring with tenderness. This isn’t like that—not when your hands move from her hips to her wrists to pin above her because she keeps pulling you where she shouldn’t. Not when you bite her lips, not when your lips suction around her tongue. Not not not not.

This kiss is real, this kiss is hungry: pronounced with fervor with every steaming swipe of tongue. Just when she’s sure you couldn’t get any closer, you manage, and Ellie burns wherever your skin touches. You’re making her a mess — you did then when you cradled her cheeks with that doting smile before pecking her mouth that night, and you still do; the proof scents your fresh sheets. How’s that for praise?

She’s conflicted between wishing you weren’t clothed and desperately needing to grind herself into your jeans. The need to imprint herself in every corner of your comforting sanctuary is enough to turn her animalistic: she tears into your hand with her nails, arches her back to grind up into your leg before you force her still. Every corner you turn, whether she’s here or not or you’re fucking someone else — no matter the ache of that knowledge, there’ll always be a memory of her presence— she was here first, and everytime she ends up under your sheets, you’ll be the first to know.

You must have the same idea because your mouth and teeth travel south with intent to bruise, down the curve of her neck, and… fuck.

You pause at her giggle, when her chin tucks slightly to the side to shield the sensitive skin. You suck your teeth at her, all smiles.

“I’m sorry, I can’t—“

Ellie cackles when you pout, “You ticklish here, too?” One wrist gets freed from your confinement before you poke a tentative finger to the other side of her neck, but the results are the same. Chin tucks and light snickers. You mask your own laughter with a kiss to her cheek. And her chin, and her nose. Until she’s giggled out.

“It’s weird as fuck, ‘m not ticklish anywhere else but there, not even on my sides.” Nerves unravel her tongue. You hum acknowledgments like you’re listening because you're sweet and care that she feels heard, all while your lips smack down to her chest.

“My sides are ticklish,” you whisper between her breasts, and she shudders, “my thighs, too.”

“Noted,” cracks reside in her timbre when your teeth sink into her skin. Her whining replaced laughter.

“What’re you takin’ notes for?”

“Gonna tickle you when you’re not looking.” She whimpers.

Ellie’s jaw slacks when you suck a nipple into your mouth. Your hands return to their residence on her waist when she jerks and her back cranes. You sound so far away when you laugh around her, “feels good there?”

“Agh, shit—“

“Does it? Tell ‘em it does.” You grit, and Ellie freezes. She can feel you smiling.

Your fingers find the cushions of her cheeks to force her head up, but she’s not looking at you. Not at the wall either. She doesn’t have to. This is a rehearsal, is it not? You're training her for the real thing: to be fully exposed on camera and not feel shame.

Her eyes meet the camera lense, and you hum around her nipple in satisfaction. She’d bet every dime that her eyes crossed and met directly in the middle. Thank God you’re distracted.

“Tell them, Ellie. How good is it?” You vibrate against her and her hips launch up into you.

“It… yeah, it’s really goo—“

You cackle into her chest and Ellie’s eyes squeeze shut. How is it possible that her body’s temperature increased another hundred degrees? Just as she garnered enough courage to talk to a theoretical audience, her voice breaks like a kid going through puberty.

But your laugh is very reminiscent of jingle bells. She can’t help but smile.

“They’re gonna love you bitch, holy fuck—“

“Shut the fuck up.” Ellie snickers, and your lips smack against her chest. She has to stop her arms from chasing you when you sit up onto your knees. One quick glimpse at her chest is enough proof that you two crossed paths. You’re all over her.

Your eyes are soft with their travels over her frame. Too much scrutiny that she’s enjoying: deflection is her only way out of it. “My nips hurt, man, fuck.”

“Sorry dollface, couldn’t help myself.”

Her knuckles pale around your blankets when your hands hook underneath her knees, slowly forcing them up where they connect to rest on her chest, and her skin bleeds its deepest shade. Her last bits of anxiety leave in one final exhale before she hooks her arms under her knees to keep them steady.

“She’s gorgeous, baby.”

Your directness makes Ellie scoff. She watches you readjust where you’re seated, ass rested on your heels with a hand on the back of her thigh.

“Watch me, ‘k?” You peer from behind her legs. Ellie can barely get a nod in before her clit gets stimulated, circled slow by your thumb.

“Don’t kick me.” You whisper sillily, and she huffs, albeit dry and breathless, but you smile brighter and her heart soars.

“How’s that, babe?”

“Good, like it.”

“Tell me what you need.” You demand softly and her body feels caressed by your tone alone.

“C — can you… do it like this?” Her middle and ring finger demonstrate before you: side to side, faster. She likes pressure—bodies on bodies, desperate hands, feeling so needed that she’s drowned by whoever she’s with. She needs that from you.

Her eyes cycle when you comply with precision—of course you’d be an expert and touch her right where she needs it, get her panting like a dog.

“Better?”

“M… mh—“

“Yeah?” You breathe when she whines, and she nods. There’s a pull already forming—more of a yank in the pit of her stomach because she’s on you; dripping onto your sheets, scenting your fingers. She’s slowly infiltrating your space in a way she’s never verbalized but always thought of and you’re allowing it, all because you want her as much as she craves you. She can hear it in your voice, feel it in your touch; you want to own her, even if it’s a mistake or it’s temporary or the damage is irreversible. Her peak is already cresting and she doesn’t even know if the five minute mark has passed.

“I feel it baby, cumming f’me already?”

Her clit twitches as if commanded. She fucking might if you don’t shut up. You shouldn’t talk like that you shouldn’t sound like that—so alluring and hot and as needy as she feels. She could cum just from your voice, she thinks. She has in the past, but this is different; every vowel is punctuated with swift massages on her cunt by the hands she practically idolizes—the ones attached to her best friend who’s responsible for her messy bed sheets and wrinkled fingertips almost every night.

You deserve applause for your efforts, so she moans encouragement; hums on about how good you feel, how sexy you are—almost slips and admits that you’re so much better than she imagined when you rub a spot too right. You’re slowly molding her into an open diary with your fingers.

But Ellie must’ve been too loud. Too wriggly, because you’re gone and standing before the edge of your bed in seconds. She almost sobs but any complaints are strangled quiet by shock when you snatch her arms away to tug her to the edge by the ankles. She chokes on a whine when you drop to your knees, lungs constricting when your mouth latches onto her clit, arms locked tight around her thighs because she can’t stay the hell still, efforts worthless. Your suctions bend her in ways she assumed to be impossible, her nails in search of grounding in your shoulder but you don’t waver when blood drips. She takes you like it with every one of your moans that rattle her from the inside out.

She’s loud but so are you. With every wail that leaves her mouth, you reply with your own like you feel what she can, but this amount of pleasure is incomparable to anything she’s ever felt. You’re working to break her apart and it’s working; she needs to suffer under you. When a finger prods at her entrance, she knows she’s a goner. The thigh that collides with the side of your head is enough confirmation that she won’t be making it past your bedroom door tonight.

“Dammit, El—“

Her leg is raised and held at the hind crease of the knee when an eager finger floods around plush and twitchy walls—on a curious search, one rested deep in her while her softness attempts to suck it dry.

“Gonna have to tie you down to my bed, huh? Keep you nice ‘n still while I wreck this cunt?”

Her brain wracks with apologies but none actually formulate; just jumbled and broken syllables that sound too much like your name and fuck and deeper.

She forgets where she is and what’s being done to her when you suddenly graze deeper, fingertip pressed right up against that raised skin that she digs for whenever she fucks herself to you. Her walls practically strangle your index when you snicker at her entranced and lovestruck expression.

“You close?”

“Yesyes fuuu—“

Tears wash down her cheeks when you pull out and her euphoric intensity is lost, only left with an ache that makes her abdomen burn. If she was in her right mind, she’d curse you to hell.

“I know, I know, stop crying. Back up a bit, baby.”

She slugs but you steady her when those thighs give a little wobble. You keep her leg bent with your hand as you rest. Ellie’s weak arms blindly search for one of your pillows to rest on so she can watch without disturbance. She doesn’t need to beg for you back inside—you’re already stretching her with an extra finger before she can blink and ecstasy takes over her vision, spots on your ceiling, gets her sobbing all over again because it’s too good.

And you’re laughing—not your normal, excited and chippy giggle that she loves with every cell of her being. This is dark and mocking like you crave her humiliation. She likes that. She loves that. She gives you that: the pleading eyes, grabby hands on your waist, attempts to shut her legs just so you can swear to mount her flat all over again.

“‘s coming, ‘s comin’ oh my fuck—“

“Give it t’ me, be good and give it, c’mon—”

“—pleasedon’tstop—“

“‘m not. You earned this, yeah? Cum for me—”

There’s 8 wonders of the world. Or 3. However the fuck many there possibly is, your fingers are two.

Ellie’s never had an orgasm that deafened her. Either her shout was loud enough to blow her eardrums out or the deep grind of your fingers reached so far that her brain now lacks some function. There’s no wave, there’s no buildup, there’s no anticipation—she just cums, thrashes underneath you, rips your sheets to shreds with her nails. Soaks your wrist til it drips down your forearm with whatever she could give and you take it all, force her through whatever she doubts she can take. Her pleasure is so aggressive it’s almost painful but she needs that. She’ll do and take anything from you if it means you'll do this for her again and again and again until her breath belongs to you.

She sobs so guttural when your fingers push past her tightly shut legs, your laughter so gleamingly cynical.

“O—okay—god, fuck, okay, baby, okay okay—“

All over again, your fingers yank her soul from her pussy when you leave. She’s completely motionless against the damp mattress, breathless whines vibrating from her throat as her muscles flex and twitch and beg for your return. She barely manages to roll over onto her side to curl into herself. Every movement is a reminder of what she’s had, what she’s lost due to emptiness. Embarrassment can’t even be felt anymore; she needs you to fuck her again, nerves be damned.

Some minutes pass with you aimlessly rubbing her leg until that same twinkle—the laughter she knows and treasures—raptures her ears. Euphoria leaves her in the same form, so hysterical it turns her red in the face.

“So…”

Ellie calms her giggling just enough to hear you say,

“Same time tomorrow?”

#cam couple au #ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie williams au #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #tlou smut #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪

571 notes · View notes

astroellies · 3 days ago

Text

˚༄࿔ jackson ellie and you being so so in love with each other…

warnings! GAY GAY GAY! mentions of smut.

⭐︎ going on patrols together and she’s just smiling like the biggest dork because you’re pointing out how that smell of spring is finally coming back but she’s just watching the tip of your nose move the tiniest bit when you talk.

⭐︎ bathing or showering after patrols and you’re massaging the shampoo into her scalp and she’s about to fall asleep because oh my god what the fuck it feels so good.

⭐︎ ellie being a bit reserved with pda or defining your relationship in public (like how we see her uncertainty with cat in her journal!) and being over the moon when you refer to her as her girlfriend. like maybe you two are at the tipsy bison and you’re talking with some newcomers…

“mhm! my girlfriend, ellie, has been reading me the comics, she’s collected tons of them!”

⭐︎ the two of you sneaking out of jackson with dina and jesse to go swimming in a nearby like and they won’t stop teasing the two of you.

“oh my god you two are so gay.” dina would say with mock disgust. and you can’t even deny it because you are so gay, especially when ellie takes her shirt off and only wearing a sports bra underneath.

⭐︎ waking up next to her in her garage in the colder months and just snuggling up to her for warmth. she tries to rub her icicle feet on your legs until you threaten to get up and go home. this would only make her hold you tighter and grumble something like nooo don’t leave in a raspy, half-awake voice.

⭐︎ pulling ellie to the dance floor at events and her getting all flushed and smiley. staring into her eyes or at her lips because you know it makes her flush harder.

⭐︎ ellie loving the idea of being rebellious and sneaking you in or out of her garage went joel isn’t looking (even if he knows about your relationship). she’d be so silly about it.

whisper yelling, “go now he’s not looking!”

“oh my god ellie you’re such a nerd!” you’d reply at full volume, leaving through the front door.

⭐︎ throwing ellie a suprise party for her birthday at the tipsy bison. it turning out to be extremely challenging because she was insisting that she would rather just stay in for her birthday but you had gotten all of her friends to hideout in the bar for half an hour at this point.

⭐︎ ellie genuinely being surprised when the lights flicker on and everyone she knows is yelling “happy birthday!” and her standing in shock, realizing why you were so persistent about going out tonight.

⭐︎ walking in on ellie (attempting to) cut her own hair and she’s royally fucked it up and now it’s your job to fix it. her grumpy pout in the mirror as you lecture her about just waiting for you to come home so you could cut it.

⭐︎ getting walked in on (maybe multiple times). once in ellie’s garage when neither of you heard joel’s knocks so he invites himself in and ellie had to panickingly throw the blankets over you two. then another time on patrol when dina and jesse came back from scoping out some supplies and they found you on a couch. and then maybe again when maria went looking for you two after a dance and you were tucked in an alleyway.

⭐︎ hanging out at a lake just outside of jackson and ellie’s sketching you.

“why’re you staring at me?” you’d giggle.

“cause you’re so pretty.” she’d reply, just her eyes peaking out from over her journal.

“lemme see what you’re drawing.” you’d say as your sit up.

“no!” she laugh, pulling the notebook away from your grasp.

“ellieuhhh, you’re so lame.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie fluff #ellie williams tlou #ellie tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie the last of us #the last of us game #the last of us two #the last of us part 2 #tlou #tlou2

522 notes · View notes

valeisaslut · 2 days ago

Text

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. five

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐘𝐎𝐔.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎��𝑒𝑟 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑥 →

⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: The biggest night of the year. The Grammys. Cameras flash, reporters push for answers, and the world holds its breath as you and Ellie step onto the red carpet—together. But the night doesn’t end there. Somewhere between the champagne, the piled-up tension, and the magnetic pull drawing you closer, the inevitable finally happens. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 19,4k 𖥔 ݁ ˖ (i swear its worth it pls read😩)

⭒ content: smut, fluff, LOTS of tension, switch!ellie, switch! reader, strap-on sex (r!receiving), oral sex (ellie!receiving), praise, pet names, modern au, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, cursing, violence, afab!reader, MEN AND MINORS DNI, multiple part series, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

You took another breath. Then another.

It didn't help.

The mirror reflected back a version of you that barely felt you.

Hair sculpted to perfection—every strand smoothed, intentional, calculated. The makeup was flawless, airbrushed into looking almost surreal, every sharp line and soft curve enhanced just enough to look effortless.

But it wasn’t effortless. None of this was. It had taken hours. Layers of foundation, contour, highlight, hairspray, a meticulous blend of artistry and illusion. The kind of beauty designed to be captured in flashing lights, immortalized in high definition, scrutinized by millions.

You looked unreal. A vision. A spectacle crafted for the cameras.

And then, there was the dress.

It hung in the corner of the suite like an omen, untouched and shimmering under the golden glow of the vanity bulbs. Versace, custom-made, one of one. It was breathtaking—cinched at the waist, sculpting you like you’d stepped out of some dream, the fabric cascading like liquid metal. The kind of dress that would be studied, analyzed, labeled as iconic before the night was even over.

Because tonight wasn’t just a night.

Tonight was the night.

The moment you had fought for, bled for, lost sleep over.

Your first Grammys. Your first time stepping onto the biggest stage of your career, standing shoulder to shoulder with legends, breathing the same air as the voices you grew up idolizing.

And you weren’t just attending—you were nominated.

Five times.

Best New Artist. Best Pop Vocal Album. Record of the Year. Song of the Year. And the one that had made your hands tremble when you first saw the announcement—

Best Duo/Group Performance.

For She.

Your breath hitched just thinking about it. Thinking about how that song—the one you weren’t even sure if you wanted to record—had exploded into something bigger than either of you had ever anticipated.

And now, the Grammys were acknowledging it. The industry was acknowledging it.

But surprisingly, the thing that had you trembling with anxiety the most wasn't that.

No.

It was Ellie.

Ellie, standing next to you. Watching. Listening. Performing. Feeling.

Because Ellie wasn’t just Ellie.

She wasn’t just your fake girlfriend. She wasn’t just your partner in this beautifully reckless, industry-shattering lie the two of you had built.

She was Ellie.

And you were in love with her.

The kind of love that settled deep, burrowed under your ribs and made a home there, quiet and aching. The kind of love that swallowed you whole when she so much as looked at you.

And worst of all? It was one-sided.

The realization hit like a gut punch, sharp and breath-stealing, even though it had already settled into your bones weeks ago. Maybe longer. Maybe you had always known, in some small, unspoken way.

But knowing didn’t mean accepting. And accepting didn’t make it any easier.

This was it—the first official public appearance. The moment that would cement everything. The final nail in the coffin. The inescapable, undeniable proof of your relationship.

Your fake relationship.

Your hands clenched against the vanity, perfectly fresh manicured nails pressing into the polished wood as if anchoring yourself.

You had never been more terrified in your life.

"Breathe," Rachel’s voice cut through your quiet chaos, unimpressed but not unkind. "You’re gripping that vanity like it personally offended your family."

You forced yourself to loosen your grip. Barely.

She sighed, tossing her phone onto the couch. "Alright, what’s going on in that scary little brain of yours?"

"I think I’m gonna pass out."

"Please don’t. At least not before the performance." She grinned, poking your arm. "Want me to slap you?"

"Not helpful."

Rachel ignored that, gesturing towards the dress"You do realize Ellie’s about to see you in that, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "Totally forgot, thanks."

"Like, in less than an hour, she’s gonna turn her stupid little rockstar head and see you. In that dress. And she’s gonna fucking die."

Your heart pounded. Because Ellie wasn’t subtle. She never had been.

Rachel smirked. "I told you this would happen."

"What?"

"You. Her. This absolute circus you two created." She grinned. "You were always gonna take over the industry."

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

"You should be thanking me. I manifested this."

You groaned. "This is so fucking stupid."

"No, what’s stupid is you acting like it wasn’t inevitable."

You glared. "Still not helping."

"I’m just saying! If it were me about to own the night, win a bunch of Grammys, looking like the hottest person in the room, performing next to the girl I was secretly in love with—"

"Rachel."

"—I’d be excited. Not terrified."

"Well, but that's certainly not my case. I'm fucking terrified."

Rachel ignored that. Instead, she wandered over to the dress, brushing her fingers over the fabric like it was something sacred. Her expression softened. “You don’t even see it, do you?”

You frowned. “See what?”

She turned back to you, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “You’ve already won.”

Your stomach flipped. “What are you talking about?”

“The headlines. The industry. The world.” She paused. “Ellie.”

Your breath caught.

Rachel took a step closer. "Tonight isn’t just about the Grammys. It’s about you. About how you’re standing at the top of the fucking world, and no one can touch you."

She grinned, eyes sharp, like she was reading your future. “And you know what’s even crazier?”

“…What?”

“You’re not even at your peak yet.”

Your pulse stuttered.

Rachel winked, stepping back with a satisfied smirk. “Now put the damn dress on. You have history to make.”

Ellie Williams was going to die.

Not from anxiety. Not from the pressure of attending the biggest music event of the year. Not even from the seven Grammy nominations under her belt.

She was going to die because Dina wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

“Bro, you’re actually panicking.”

Ellie shot a glare at her, who was sprawled across the hotel couch like she didn’t have a single worry in the world. Meanwhile, she had spent the last hour pacing the length of the suite like a lunatic.

"For god's fucking sake Dina, I’m not fucking panicking!" Ellie snapped, running a hand through her hair before immediately regretting it, because of course her stylist had spent forty goddamn minutes making it look effortlessly messy instead of actually messy.

"Then why do you look like you’re about to projectile vomit?" Dina didn’t even glance up from her phone. "And don’t you dare raise your damn tone at me."

Ellie exhaled sharply, trying to calm herself down before speaking again. "I’m fine."

Dina finally looked at her, unimpressed. "Yeah. You sound real convincing."

Jesse, who had been watching the whole thing unfold from the armchair, finally sighed and set down his drink. “Dude. You haven’t even put your suit on yet.”

Ellie froze.

She looked towards the garment bag hanging by the closet. It was just sitting there, taunting her. The custom Dior was nothing short of perfect—sharp, impossibly tailored, stupidly expensive. Designed to make her look like she belonged. Like she owned the room before even stepping into it.

She hadn’t touched it. She hadn’t even unzipped the damn thing.

Jesse smirked. “You’re scared of the suit.”

She scowled. “I’m not scared of a suit.”

“You’re definitely scared of the suit.”

Dina whistled lowly, shaking her head. “Damn, didn’t realize fake-dating the hottest pop star on the planet was so hard.”

Ellie threw her a look. “Eat shit.”

“Els, I’m thriving. I'm attending the fucking Grammys. You’re the only one spiraling here.”

Ellie threw her arms up. “I hate both of you.”

Jesse clapped his hands together. “Sick. Now, put on the damn suit. Your girlfriend is waiting.”

Ellie’s entire body locked up.

Because that was the part that completely shattered whatever fragile grip she had on reality.

It was fake. The relationship was fake. But none of that mattered when she had to step out there—stand next to you, sit next to you, perform with you—while the entire world watched.

And the worst part?

She wanted it.

Wanted the cameras, the flashing lights, the screaming fans—to not be watching some carefully curated story, but something real.

But that wasn’t the deal.

Yeah.

She had never been more terrified in her life.

The elevator doors open.

And the air inside the lobby shifts.

Not just a slight change, not just a ripple—but a full, undeniable shift, like something unseen had just taken a deep breath and held it. The static hum of conversation, the controlled chaos of stylists, assistants, managers screaming into phones—it all dulled in an instant.

The cause? Ellie stepped out of the elevator.

And fuck—there was no preparing for that.

Rachel’s fingers tightened around your wrist, her breath catching. Jesse’s quiet holy shit barely registered, lost under the way the world seemed to still. Dina, for once in her life, was silent. And you—

You just froze.

The black Dior suit was a masterpiece—razor-sharp in its tailoring, draped over her lean frame like it had been stitched onto her skin. The blazer hung open just enough to catch the glint of a silver chain resting against her collarbone, a teasing flicker of warmth against the crisp fabric. Ink curled along her forearms, peeking through the rolled-up sleeves—an effortless rebellion against the suit’s precision, a contrast so sharp it sent a pulse straight through you.

Ellie carried it the way only she could—shoulders back, hands in her pockets, that faraway look in her eyes. A quiet storm wrapped in nonchalance, as if she wasn’t setting the entire room off its axis just by standing there. As if she didn’t look like she belonged on a goddamn movie screen.

But it wasn’t just the suit. It wasn’t even how she wore it. It was her.

The way her hair fell in perfect disarray, strands slipping messily over sharp cheekbones. The way the warm glow of the hotel lights cut shadows along her jaw, sculpting it almost criminally sharp. The way she walked—unbothered, gaze cast downwards, completely unaware of what she was doing to the room.

And then she looked up.

And saw you.

Ellie Williams—gritty, untouchable, rockstar Ellie Williams—stopped mid-step. The air around her shifted, something flickering behind her eyes, breaking.

And suddenly, she wasn’t a rockstar. Wasn’t untouchable.

She was just a girl.

The elevator shut behind her, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak, barely even breathed. Her gaze locked onto you like she had just walked into a wall.

Her gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, like a match dragged against phosphorus. She traced every detail—the way the fabric hugged your curves, the daring slit that teased against your thigh, the way the shimmer caught the light and set you glowing. She looked at you like she was trying to commit you to memory, like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to stare so much but was powerless to stop.

You finally decided to make the first move, taking a single step forward.

“Hey there, rockstar...” Your voice calm and measured, carefully testing the waters between you as you tilted your head. “Took you long enough.”

It was a bullet, hitting its mark with perfect precision.

Ellie blinked, lips parting slightly, like she had just been yanked out of a daze.

Jesse, amused as ever, let out a sharp laugh. “Oh my god! Say something Williams!”

Ellie dragged a hand down her face, muttering under her breath, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

She inhaled sharply, rolled her shoulders back, and just like that—the hesitation was gone. Whatever flicker of vulnerability had been there vanished in a second, smothered under that signature grin that sent the industry into a tailspin every time she flashed it.

She stepped forward, erasing the last of space between you in a few strides, her voice dropping lower.

“Damn... and here I thought I was supposed to be the showstopper.”

It landed deep in your chest, twisting something warm and volatile inside you. Your smirk faltered—just a fraction, just enough.

Her gaze flickered downward, briefly, catching the quick rise and fall of your chest before she looked back up, smirking like she had already won.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, fighting the way your stomach twisted, fighting the way her voice curled around your ribs and settled there, heavy and unfair. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Ellie leaned in just a little, enough that her scent—expensive, strong, devastating—wrapped around you like a second skin. Her voice dropped impossibly lower, just for you.

“You started it.”

Rachel, always the voice of reason, groaned loudly, shattering the moment like glass.

“Jesus Christ, can you two save the eye-fucking for later? We’re on a schedule.”

You blinked, stepping back as if physically reminded that there were other people in the room. Ellie exhaled, running a hand through her hair, her expression neutral but her pupils still blown wide, still telling.

Dina, meanwhile, looked utterly feral as she whispered to Jesse. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

You turned to Ellie, lifting an eyebrow, your voice smooth despite the warmth still buzzing beneath your skin. “You ready?”

She exhaled, flexing her fingers, shaking out her shoulders, grinning like she already knew exactly how the night was going to end.

“Let’s give ‘em a show.”

The limousine slowed to a crawl, and suddenly, the flashes of cameras outside the tinted windows became relentless—bright bursts of white light searing through the darkness.

You could hear them, muffled yet frantic, a chaotic symphony of voices and shutter clicks all bleeding together into one deafening roar. Your stomach twisted in response.

This was it.

Ellie inhaled deeply beside you, rolling her shoulders back one last time, exhaling slow as she turned her head towards you.

"You ready?"

Your breath came out unsteady. You swallowed once. Twice.

"No."

She grinned. Not the sharp, cocky grin she usually wore in front of cameras, but something quieter, something just for you. She leaned in—too close, her breath warm where it brushed against your jaw, sending a sharp thrill down your spine.

"Relax, babe" she murmured, voice soft. "I’ve got you."

The door swung open abruptly before you could even process her words.

The second an inch of your face was visible, the screams hit like a tidal wave, piercing and relentless. The flashing lights turned into a blinding, disorienting storm, a sea of white-hot bursts swallowing every movement. And in the middle of it all—you, suddenly the center of the universe.

Your designer heels met the pavement as you stand up. A mess of voices crashed over you all at once, a frantic mix of admiration and desperation.

"Over here! Look this way!"

"Who are you wearing tonight?!"

"Are you and Ellie actually dating?!"

As if summoned by that last question, Ellie stepped out behind you.

And everyone present officially lost. their. minds.

You didn’t need to turn to know the effect you both were having. You felt it. The sharp inhale of breath from fans pressed against the barricades, the stunned pause before the photographers remembered to press the shutter. The slight tremor in the reporters' voices as they called your names, eager and breathless. Desperate.

Desperate to capture you. Desperate to capture her.

Desperate to capture both of you arriving together.

The second Ellie stepped forward to pose beside you, the volume spiked—voices climbing over each other, cameras firing in rapid succession, flashes intensifying like lightning in a summer storm, rapid-fire.

You shifted, tilting your chin just right, your body angled perfectly for the cameras, letting the dress do half the work. The slit caught the light, the fabric clung in all the right places, and you heard the reactions—sharp whistles, murmured damns, the rapid clicking of shutters as they tried to capture every second.

Ellie leaned in, fingers pressing firmly against your waist, the space between you reduced to a breath. The cameras flashed, but they weren’t what sent heat crawling up your spine—it was her. Still, you held your perfect composure, even as your pulse betrayed you.

Ellie, however, wasn’t media-trained like you.

You caught it in the way she exhaled a beat too hard, the restless flick of her fingers against her cuff—an old habit you knew too well. So you turned, offering her a small, knowing smile. Just enough to steady her without a word.

And when she smiled back, her gaze dipping—lingering at your waist, at the high slit of your dress—you saw the exact moment she tried to stop herself.

Tried.

Because it was already too late.

You caught it.

And so did the cameras.

Just as the moment threatened to spiral into something neither of you were prepared for, a voice cut through the chaos—

"Ellie! Some shots with The Fireflies?"

You took a few steps away for your solo shots, moving with practiced ease—but not before glancing back at Ellie. You met her gaze, and, just to push your luck, tossed her a wink.

Ellie huffed out a breath, shaking her head with a smirk—half exasperation, half something else. But then, effortlessly, she brought two fingers to her lips and blew you a kiss.

Casual. Smooth. She didn’t even have to think about it.

The cameras exploded.

Before you could turn away, movement in your periphery caught your attention—Jesse and Dina closing in on Ellie. They both looked unfairly good.

Jesse was all sleek confidence in an all-black suit, sharp and effortless. Dina, wrapped in emerald silk that shimmered under the flashing lights, looked radiant—her curls framing her smirk as she nudged Ellie’s side.

“Didn’t take you for the PDA type, rockstar” she teased, just loud enough for Ellie to hear over the chaos.

Ellie rolled her eyes, but the pink dusting her ears gave her away.

“Over here!”

The cameras ate up the sight of the three of them standing side by side—the infamous Fireflies, rock’s favorite rebels, draped in luxury but still looking like they belonged on a stage rather than a red carpet.

“Jesse! How does it feel to be here tonight?”

Jesse grinned, reaching up to adjust his sunglasses despite the fact that the sun had set hours ago. "It’s surreal, man. We’re just some idiots making music, and now we’re here? Wild."

Dina snorted before flashing the cameras a dazzling smile. "Speak for yourself. I knew we’d be here eventually."

A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd.

"Seven nominations this year! That’s huge. How are y'all feeling?"

Ellie shifted her weight, rolling her shoulders back, letting the reckless persona slip fully into place. "Feeling good. Feeling grateful. It’s crazy, you know? We put everything into this album, and to see people connect so much with it—it’s the best feeling in the world."

"Any category you’re hoping to take home?"

Jesse chimed in before Ellie could, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "Oh, we all know she wants album of the year. She won’t say it, but we know."

Ellie groaned, shoving him off. "Shut up."

Dina smirked. "He’s not wrong, though."

Ellie sighed dramatically, but there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Listen, if we win anything, I’ll be happy. But yeah—album of the year would be pretty fucking cool."

"Dina, you co-wrote a few songs on the album. Any personal favorite?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Oh, definitely 'Ghost Town.' That one’s special."

Jesse scoffed. "It’s because she knows that song makes people cry."

"Is that true, Dina?"

She grinned mischievously. "I mean… I’m not trying to make people cry. But if it happens, it happens."

More laughter. More cameras flashing. The Fireflies had a way of making these events feel less rigid, less scripted—something about the way they didn’t take themselves too seriously, even when the world was watching.

"Over here! One for Vogue!"

You turned, giving them the shot. A slight tilt of your chin. A slow blink, just enough to let the moment linger before moving on.

"Five Grammy nominations! How does it feel to be one of the most celebrated artists this year?"

You smiled, measured—but genuine. "It’s unreal. Truly. I still don’t think it’s sunk in yet, but I’m beyond grateful. Every single nomination is an honor, especially alongside so many incredible artists."

"Which nomination means the most to you?"

You let out a soft laugh. "That’s like picking your favorite child—you just can’t do it. But… Best New Artist? That one truly means a lot."

"And if you win it tonight?"

Your gaze flickered to the side for just a second—to Ellie. She was responding to the reporter's questions with her band, one hand raised to the back of her neck, lips pressed together like she was holding back a smirk.

"Then I guess I’ll have to celebrate properly" you teased.

"Speaking of celebrating, is Ellie your good luck charm?"

The question hit as if they had been waiting for it.

Your smile didn’t waver. You turned slightly, gaze drifting again towards the woman in question, standing a few feet away, all angles and ease and damn suit.

"I mean... she’s definitely something" you said smoothly.

A ripple of laughter, cameras flashing faster.

"Ellie, any speech prepared if you win?"

Ellie rubbed the back of her neck, a dead giveaway of her discomfort. "God, no. I don’t plan that shit. I’ll probably just black out and hope for the best."

Jesse clapped a hand on her back, grinning. "Or she’ll get all emotional. It could go either way."

Ellie shot him a glare, but her mouth twitched, fighting a grin.

"Is there someone special you'll be celebrating with if you win tonight?"

Her eyes flickered to you—just for a second. And that was long enough.

"I think we all know the answer to that."

And just like that, the internet went up in flames.

"Final question—What do you think of her dress?"

The question came loud, eager. Jesse and Dina tensed, bracing for her usual deflection. But Ellie didn’t dodge. She turned toward the cameras, that infuriating smirk curling at the edges of her lips. And then, without hesitation—

“Gorgeous.” A pause. A flick of her tongue over her bottom lip. “But a problem.”

A frenzy. Shutters clicking, voices overlapping, the question fired back at her from all directions.

"A problem? What do you mean?"

Ellie exhaled slowly, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve, the corner of her mouth lifting like she knew exactly what she was doing.

"No further comments."

The press erupted. If the energy had been electric before, it was nothing short of combustible now.

Ellie barely seemed to notice. Or maybe she just didn’t care.

Because her eyes found you again, this time with no attempt to hide her ogling—taking in every inch of you. In just a second, you felt her fingers flexing against your waist. It was just a twitch, like she needed something to hold on to, something to keep herself grounded.

She leaned in. Close enough that you felt the heat of her breath against your skin, close enough that the world outside this moment didn’t seem to exist.

“Missed you, pretty girl.”

The words licked through you like a live wire, igniting something low in your stomach.

And oh, fuck her.

Yeah... fuck her...

You barely had time to collect those thoughts before you spotted Jesse and Dina waiting by the entrance. Jesse looked like he was one second away from losing it. Dina wasn’t even pretending to hold back.

The moment you reached them, she grabbed Ellie by the shoulders and shook her, dramatic as ever. "You fucking menace."

She groaned, shoving her off. "Jesus Christ, Dina—"

"Did you have to say that?!" she wheezed between cackles. "‘Her dress is a problem’?! Ellie, you’re the damn problem!"

You raised a brow, unimpressed. "You really just said that?"

Ellie scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What else was I supposed to say? It’s the truth."

Jesse slung an arm around Ellie’s shoulders, shaking his head with a knowing smirk. "You do realize you just handed them six months’ worth of headlines, right?"

Dina wiped an imaginary tear from her eye, still grinning. "No, Jesse, she might as well have just proposed."

Ellie groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

You bit back a laugh, tilting your head at her. "You should focus, Williams."

Ellie’s tongue flicked against her cheek, a telltale sign she was biting back something reckless. "Right. Focus. That’s exactly what I’m doing."

The look she gave you said otherwise.

Rolling your eyes, you nudged her toward the entrance. "Come on, before they shove another mic in your face."

Ellie muttered something under her breath—still pink around the ears—but she followed.

The second you stepped into the arena, the energy slammed into you.

The flashing lights, the deafening roar of the crowd, the electric tension of the biggest names in the industry all packed under one roof—it was overwhelming in the best way.

By the time you reached your table, the show was minutes from starting. The stage loomed ahead, glowing under colorful lights, and the weight of it all finally started to sink in.

Ellie pulled out your chair like it was second nature before settling into her own. She stretched an arm over the back of your seat, leaning in just enough—like she belonged there. Like this was normal. Like you weren’t about to perform together in front of millions of people in just a few hours.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to focus.

The ceremony erupted to life—blinding lights, deafening applause, an opening act that shook the arena to its core. You clapped along, laughed when you were supposed to, tried to focus on the performances, but the night moved in a blur—too fast, too loud, too big.

Every so often, Ellie leaned in—just close enough for you to feel her there, to murmur some dry remark about the show, to let you catch the faintest trace of that infuriatingly expensive cologne.

It was criminal.

She had no business smelling that good, looking that good—especially when the cameras had made it their personal mission to capture every single interaction between you.

Then she looked at you again. But this time she didn’t just look, she stared.

That sharp, cutting kind of gaze that made it really fucking hard to breathe. The kind that peeled back layers, left you bare, made your stomach flip in ways you weren’t prepared for.

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your chair. “Stop staring at me like that."

Ellie smirked. Lips moving just enough for anyone watching to read them perfectly.

"Nah. You look too fucking hot right now."

And before you could even glance at her, the entire place detonated in wolf whistles.

Rachel choked on her drink. Jesse and Dina damn near lost their minds.

And that's how you realized those 5 seconds of interaction were aired live. Broadcasted on the giant screens above the stage. Beamed straight into the homes of millions.

Your heart stopped. Ellie just grinned, slow and lazy.

You barely swallowed down a groan, heat rushing up your face as you leaned in, voice low and sharp. "You did that on purpose."

Ellie tilted her head, eyes glinting with pure mischief. "No clue what you’re talking about, babe."

It was ridiculous. You weren’t even trying to give them anything, but every glance, every flicker of tension, every barely-there smirk on Ellie’s lips sent the crowd spiraling into another round of shrieks and whispers.

Rachel, seated beside you, was thriving.

"You two are a headline machine" she snorted between rounds of applause.

The night raged on—but no matter how many Grammys changed hands, the energy never settled. The internet was already a crime scene. Tweets flying, reaction lives multiplying, people analyzing every frame of a broadcasted thirst scandal like their lives depended on it.

And then, it happened.

One of the hosts, a comedian notorious for dragging celebrities for sport, strutted onto the stage for a mid-show bit. The crowd buzzed, half-focused, half-drunk on the night’s chaos. But the second he spoke, the place got quiet.

“So, listen. I know we’re here to celebrate music—” He made air quotes, grinning, “—but let’s be honest, half of you are only watching for the drama.”

Scattered laughter. Some knowing applause.

The host smirked, tapping the mic. “There’s been a lot of big moments already. But I think we all know the biggest.”

You already felt it coming. That sharp prickle at the back of your neck, the one that always crept in right before you were about to be publicly dragged. Next to you, Ellie straightened like she smelled blood in the water.

A pause. A slow, menacing turn towards the camera.

“I mean, damn, Ellie Williams, way to keep it subtle.”

The arena got as loud as it could get. Laughter, cheers, people fully losing their minds.

The cameras caught Ellie letting out a slow breath, masking it with a shameless smirk—while you groaned, dropping your head into your hands in utter defeat.

The host grinned. “Oh, don’t get shy now! We all saw it.”

And then, without mercy—

The clip replayed.

Ellie, smirking, gaze trailing over you like she was seconds away from bending you across the table and ruining you beyond repair. Not even a second later, she mouthed the words—slow, crystal clear—"You look too fucking hot right now."

Screams. Someone banged their fist on a table. The most famous artists of the world clapping along like it was the national anthem.

Ellie dragged a hand down her face. You felt your soul ascend to the astral plane.

“Now, I don’t know about you guys, but that didn’t sound like a casual compliment to me. That sounded like someone five seconds away from violating FCC guidelines.”

Rachel choked on her drink. Jesse was doubled over. Dina smacked his arm so hard he yelped.

The camera darted in the moment Ellie finally cracked, shaking her head as she lifted her glass. She called dryly, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re sooo funny!”

"I know right?" The host sighed, utterly delighted, milking the moment like this was the best material he’d ever been handed. “Listen. This isn’t just a relationship. This is cinema. This is a public service. So, on behalf of the people—”

A smirk. “Keep being messy. We love it.”

"And the Grammy for Best New Artist goes to…"

The presenter let the moment stretch, his pause winding the tension impossibly tight. You swore you could hear your own heartbeat over the silence. Every muscle in your body coiled, bracing for impact.

"Y/N!"

Your jaw dropped.

The world blurred.

Earlier, you had already stood twice on the stage, had already felt the weight of gold in your hands when they announced you had won Best Pop Vocal Album and Song of the Year.

Those moments had been surreal enough—standing there, overwhelmed, trying to string words together while your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

And yet—this felt different.

This wasn’t just an album or a song win. This was you. Your career being cemented in history, branded with a title that only a handful of artists had ever held before.

It hit you all at once—the deafening roar, the rush of movement around you, the sheer weight of what just happened. Rachel’s hands were on your shoulders, shaking you with unfiltered joy, her voice an unintelligible blur of triumph in your ears. Jesse and Dina were yelling, clapping, cheering like you had just won the Super Bowl.

And Ellie—

Ellie was right there, standing beside you, her expression unreadable for a second before it cracked into a grin.

"Congrats, babe," Her hand found the small of your back, her lips brushing just close enough to your ear to send something hot racing down your spine. "Knew you'd win."

Her voice was low, smooth, laced with something that wasn't just confidence—it was certainty. Like she'd seen this coming before you ever could.

Your breath caught, but there was no time to process it. You rose to your feet, hands trembling, legs carrying you up the stage like you weren’t entirely sure this was real.

The Grammy was placed into your hands. Solid. Heavy. Yours.

You could barely breathe, barely think. All you could feel was the rush—that dizzying, overwhelming realization that you had just won the biggest award of your career. Somewhere in the madness, you swore you could hear Rachel screaming your name like she was personally responsible for your victory.

You stepped up to the mic, fingers tightening around the Grammy like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away. You took a deep breath, exhaled, the music starting to lower.

"I—" Your voice cracked before you could even start. A breathless, disbelieving laugh slipped out, and the crowd responded with warm applause.

You swallowed. Steady.

"I don’t even know how to put this into words." Another pause. Another shake of your head. "God." You let out a shaky breath, glancing down at the golden award in your hands.

Your eyes flicked back up to the sea of people, searching for something—someone.

Ellie.

Still standing. Still watching.

Amusement still played at the corner of her lips, but her eyes held something else entirely. Deeper, almost reverent, like she wasn’t just looking at you now but at every version of you that had fought to stand here.

And if you weren’t so utterly oblivious, you might’ve caught it—the way her gaze lingered, soft and unguarded, completely giving her away. Hopelessly, undeniably enamored.

"...I started this journey with nothing but a voice and a dream. And for a long time, that felt like all I had. There were moments where I thought—maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe I wasn’t enough. There were nights I played to empty rooms, days I poured everything into songs no one would ever hear. I wrote lyrics on the backs of receipts, on napkins, in the notes app at three in the morning because I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted this. How much I needed it.”

A hush settled over the room, the kind that only happens when people are truly listening.

You swallowed, steadying yourself. "I wrote in tiny apartments, on shitty couches, in the back of tour buses running on fumes. I lost sleep. I lost myself, sometimes. And I thought, if this never happens for me, at least I’ll know I tried. At least I’ll know I gave everything I had.”

You let out a shaky breath, a small, self-conscious laugh escaping.

“And now—now I’m here.”

The applause was thunderous. A few cheers rang out. You blinked hard, feeling the burn behind your eyes.

God, you were really going to cry.

"This album—this album was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It was terrifying. I put my entire soul into it, ripped myself open, laid every piece of me bare for the world to see. And you guys—” Your voice cracked. “You listened. You understood. And that means more to me than I will ever be able to say."

The cameras panned to the crowd—to fans wiping their eyes, to artists who got it, who knew exactly what this moment felt like.

You took a breath, a real, deep one, grounding yourself. "I have to thank my team—the people who held me up when I couldn’t stand on my own. The ones who fought for me, believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. My incredible producers, my friends, my family, and especially Rachel, my manager, who I love very deeply and deserves every award ever for putting up me.”

The cameras cut to Rachel, who threw her hands up dramatically and mouthed, You’re a nightmare, but I love you too! The crowd erupted into laughter as she shook her head, pretending to wipe away a tear.

You let out a real laugh, rolling your eyes as the applause swelled. “And my fans. God, my fans. You are the reason I’m standing here right now. You built this with me. You made me feel like my voice mattered when I wasn’t sure if it did.”

"And to everyone who inspired this album…"

The shift was instant. The room seemed to inhale all at once, thousands of people leaning in, waiting, hanging onto your words like they were the only thing in the world.

You let the silence stretch as your eyes found Ellie’s again.

And there it was.

That look. Soft. Steady. A gleam of something warm, knowing, impossibly fond.

A smirk threatened the corner of your lips before you murmured.

"You know who you are."

She exhaled a quiet chuckle, teeth biting her bottom lip like she was actively holding herself back. Like she was resisting the urge to make things worse.

But then—

The camera darted to her as she mouthed something. Loud and clear, every syllable unmistakable.

"Say my name next time, babe."

The entire place detonated. Someone—probably Rachel—screamed so loud you swore the walls shook.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead, fighting back a laugh. “Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head.

Ellie just leaned back, grinning, completely unbothered, looking far too pleased with herself. And, because she was insufferable, she raised her glass in a taunting toast.

You exhaled, shaking your head with a quiet laugh. Tried to collect yourself, to focus, to push past the way your heart was damn near sprinting out of your chest.

“Alright, before this completely spirals out of control—” A knowing chuckle rippled through the crowd.

“Thank you to the Academy for this incredible honor. For giving me a seat at the table. For giving me this unforgettable moment. I'll never take it for granted.”

A standing ovation, a hurricane of applause, waves crashing over you, unrelenting. You let yourself feel it, let it sink into your bones, let it root itself deep inside the part of you that never thought you'd get here.

You swallowed hard, pressing the Grammy to your chest.

“Thank you.” you said one last time, voice thick with emotion.

Backstage was chaos. The kind that crackled in the air, thick with heat and adrenaline, pressing in from every angle. Crew members rushed past, earpieces buzzing, boots thudding against the concrete.

But it was the moment that solidified everything, the confirmation of what the world already knew, what still lingered in the air.

She had won the Grammy for Best Duo/Group Performance earlier that night, a victory so deafening, so inevitable, that when your names were called the entire place erupted before you even stood up.

The footage was already looping across every major network, social media imploding under the weight of it—Ellie’s stunned, breathless laugh, the way she’d grabbed your hand without thinking, the way you’d both held onto each other like you were afraid to let go.

The rest of the speech blurred in a mix of gratitude and disbelief, lost in the rush of emotions, the sheer, unreal magnitude of the moment. Even as you left the stage, Grammys in hand, cameras flashing, the words wouldn’t stop looping in your head.

But it was offstage, away from the world for just a second, were Ellie’s fingers brushed your wrist. She leaned in, breath warm against your skin, murmuring,

"We fucking won, love."

The way she said it.

The way love sat in her mouth, heavy, real, certain.

That was the moment that made your heart skip a beat.

And now, an hour later, standing under the blistering heat of the backstage lights, about to perform that song for the first time in front of the world, the weight of it settled between you.

This was history.

And somehow, it still felt like just the beginning.

You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down your black leather bodysuit—sleek, form-fitting, sculpted to your frame like a second skin. Silver zippers running along the sides, glinting under the dressing room lights. Fingerless gloves hugged your hands, the worn leather creaking as you flexed your fingers.

Your hair was a masterpiece of controlled chaos. Styled in tousled waves, effortlessly messy, strands falling just right to frame your face. A few loose pieces skimmed your cheekbones, adding to the sharp, untouchable edge of your look.

Your reflection stared back at you—calm, composed—but your pulse told a different story.

Ellie stood across from you, rolling her shoulders, fingers flexing over her guitar. But her eyes—her eyes were on you.

"You good?" Her voice was low, edged carefully.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. "I think so. You?"

Her lips twitched between a smirk and a promise. A fleeting brush of fingers. “Always.”

A tech shoved an earpiece into your hand. “One minute.”

Jesse and Dina flanked the stage, all sharp focus, no laughter now. The whole thing was a message wrapped in spectacle, and you all were at the center of it.

“Hey” Ellie dipped her head, voice softer. “You’re gonna be incredible.”

Your breath hitched.

The countdown buzzed in your earpiece. Three. Two. One.

A final squeeze of your hand, then the lights dropped, plunging the arena into darkness.

A breath. A heartbeat. A single second of silence stretched impossibly thin—then shattered.

A lone, drawn-out note curled through the speakers, slithering into the dark. The crowd inhaled all at once, their anticipation a living, breathing thing.

A spotlight.

It hit Ellie first.

She stood center stage, shoulders squared, guitar slung low, head bowed just enough for strands of auburn hair to shield her eyes. The soft glow of the lights carved sharp edges into her silhouette—her presence commanding, electric.

She wore a fitted black leather vest, the worn material unzipped. Underneath, a dark, sleeveless shirt clung to her frame, fabric stretched taut over lean muscle. The vest’s open sides exposed the sculpted lines of her arms—sinewy, strong, ink curling up her biceps, disappearing beneath the fabric. Her jeans, dark and low-slung, sat comfortably on her hips, belt hanging loose, silver buckle glinting under the stage lights.

She strummed once.

The note rumbled through the floor, through your lungs, through every goddamn inch of the arena, rich and deep enough to sink into your ribs.

Then came the drums—Jesse’s steady, pounding heartbeat behind it all. Dina followed, her bass humming low, sticky and intoxicating curling through the air.

The second spotlight ignited.

You.

A sharp inhale from the crowd. A deafening roar that barely registered because you weren’t looking at them.

You were looking at her.

Ellie’s head lifted, her gaze finding yours through the dim haze of stage smoke, and it felt like a click into place. Like a gun being cocked.

A slow smirk curled at the edge of your lips as you reached for the mic. The metal was cool beneath your fingertips, grounding you, anchoring you against the whirlwind of sound swelling around you.

Then—your voice.

Soft at first. A whisper, stretching into the space between you.

“Nine in the morning, the man drops his kid off at school...”

Ellie exhaled, barely audible, but you heard it. Saw it. The way her grip on the guitar tightened. The way her lips parted like she was trying to breathe through something thick, weighty.

“And he's thinking of you… Like all of us do…”

Your voice dipped, teasing, stretching each syllable like elastic.

Ellie's pupils where blew wide, her fingers moving with almost violent precision, wrenching every note from the strings like they owed her money. Her jaw clenched, her body taut with restraint, like she was holding back.

The second chorus slammed into place faster than you expected it.

Ellie took a step forward.

You mirrored it.

Closer.

Until the heat of the stage lights wasn’t the only thing licking up your skin.

Your breath hitched when she leaned in—not enough to touch, not yet, but enough that the space between you felt razor-thin, stretched tight.

Her lips parted. And she whispered.

"Sing it for me."

Not a request.

A dare.

Your fingers curled tighter around the mic, knuckles white, pulse hammering beneath your skin.

Staring straight into her, you sang with your voice steady, resounding stronger now.

“She... she's lives in daydreams with me…”

The bridge erupted, scorching through the speakers, and with it—Ellie’s solo.

She played like she was setting the world on fire.

Head tilted back, throat exposed, the column of her neck glowing with sweat. Her fingers tore up the frets, raw, unrelenting, a force of pure instinct. The way her body moved, hips shifting with each brutal strum—was hypnotic.

And fuck, you had to get closer.

You pressed in behind her, your back flush against hers, bodies fitting together like a perfectly tuned chord. You lifted your leg slightly, letting the weight of your head tilt fully and rest against her shoulder, the heat between you palpable, searing.

From the side, the camera caught everything—the way your bodies aligned, the sharp contrast of her dark outfit against your exposed skin, the slow drag of your breath against her neck.

The scent of sweat, leather, and something distinctly Ellie flooded your senses. Intoxicating, overwhelming.

And you felt it—the sharp hitch in her inhale, the way her fingers trembled over the strings, her solo faltering for the briefest, nearly imperceptible second. No one else would have noticed.

But you did.

And she did too.

Still, she kept playing. Hands moving with lethal precision, veins standing stark beneath inked skin as she willed herself to stay focused.

Your breath ghosted along the side of her neck—just enough to make her shiver, just enough to make the fine hairs at her nape stand on end. Your lips hovered a fraction closer, as if you might close the distance, and hell, you wanted to.

But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed there, tormenting, teasing, giving her just enough to feel it everywhere.

And then—your hand. A slow, burning trail down her side, fingers grazing the hem of her vest, skating over the sharp line of her hipbone. Taunting. Dragging just beneath the thin fabric of her shirt where the heat of her skin burned against your palm.

You felt it there. Her heartbeat. Not just fast. Not just erratic.

Pounding.

Together, you were a collision of power and sensuality, raw and unrelenting. Every movement between you carried an electric tension, so thick the air itself seemed to hum, as if the very stage couldn't contain that kind of charge.

On your own, each of you commanded the stage—Ellie with her wild, untamed energy and you with the fierce, magnetic intensity of your presence.

But together?

The force you unleashed was almost unbearable, so overwhelming no one in the audience could look away, not even for a second.

Ellie’s fingers danced over the guitar, every note slicing through the air like it was meant just for you. Your movements synced in dangerous harmony, bodies aligned with ruthless precision, each touch building a storm that was impossible to resist.

The crowd was losing themselves in the performance, screams and chants rising in deafening waves, as if the entire room was pulsing with the same energy. The air crackled with raw power, each note vibrating through every soul present.

But you could feel it—the moment Ellie was teetering on the edge. Her eyes flickered with something dangerous, a storm brewing just beneath the surface, and the crowd, blissfully unaware, was urging her to let it all go.

You held her there, turning to face her and stare right into her darkened eyes, your energy pushing back like an undeniable force of nature.

The final note struck.

A breathless, stretched-out second. Suspended. Waiting.

The silence held still. The entire world watching held still.

And Ellie finally snapped.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, grip firm—possessive, like she was anchoring herself to you, like letting go wasn’t an option.

And then—

Her lips crashed against yours, shattering the space between you in an instant.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was fierce, breath-stealing—like a match to gasoline, like every second leading up to this had been waiting to ignite.

The world outside collapsed into static—flashing lights, deafening screams, history fracturing in real-time. Millions, no, billions watched, but none of them mattered.

Not here.

Here, there was only the heat of her lips, the tremor in her hands, the breathless inevitability of it all. Nothing else existed in this moment, in this single, suspended second, where Ellie Williams was kissing you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Like every lyric, every chord, every goddamn heartbeat had been leading her here. To you.

Nothing about it was controlled. It wasn’t measured, wasn’t practiced, wasn’t meant for anyone else.

It was rough, frantic, a collision neither of you could contain any longer. Your gasp vanished into her mouth, her teeth grazing your lower lip before she deepened it, before she took more. A push and pull, a battle neither of you were trying to win.

Your fingers found her hair, twisting, tugging, needing. Ellie groaned—low, wrecked, lost to it. Her grip on your hair tightened, her body pressing harder against yours, the strap of her guitar caught between you, digging into her shoulder as if it was the only thing holding her to reality.

The kiss wasn’t that long.

But It didn’t have to be.

Because in those reckless, unscripted seconds, everything else ceased to matter.

The lights dimmed, the edges of the world dissolving into darkness. The deafening screams of the audience blurred into white noise. Still, neither of you moved. Neither of you even dared to breathe.

Ellie lingered, forehead pressed against yours, her breath mixing with yours—uneven, ragged. Her fingers didn’t leave your hair. Your hand fisted the collar of her shirt, holding her there, refusing to let go.

Then, with maddening slowness, her lips brushed yours again. Just once. Just enough to send a fresh wave of heat through your body.

And then—

She bit down her bottom lip, smirking, eyes half-lidded, ruined.

The screen behind you cut to black.

A sea of voices drowned the arena, the sheer force of them shaking the ground beneath your feet. Artists at nearby tables howled, clapped, banged their hands on the table like they were watching history unfold. Because they were.

It was chaos, hysteria, the internet already imploding, the moment already immortalized in the camera of the biggest stage in music.

But you weren’t thinking about that.

Because Ellie was still looking at you.

And you were still burning.

The performance had left the world in ruins.

The stage still pulsed with the aftershock, smoke curling in lazy ribbons toward the rafters, echoes of the storm you’d just created. Ellie’s skin still glistened with sweat, fingers twitching, as though the strings of her guitar had burned into them.

You hadn’t even spoken since. You’d both just gone backstage, mechanically peeling off the layers of the performance—Ellie changing back into her suit, you changing back to your gown, both gazes distant.

There was no triumph in the air between you, just an unspoken weight that neither of you was ready to acknowledge.

Sitting in the table, Jesse kept cracking his knuckles, each pop a reminder of the nerves winding tighter around all of you. Dina had kept her distance, eyes darting between the two of you, a knowing smirk playing at the edges of her lips.

Rachel, ever the instigator, shot a teasing comment your way. “Well, that was an interesting little moment, wasn’t it?” she’d muttered, though you didn’t even look her way. You couldn’t. Not when the only thing on your mind was Ellie.

She continued to make jokes, though no one was really listening. Jesse and Dina exchanged glances every second, but it was clear that nothing was really being said about what had just happened—what the fuck was actually happening between you and Ellie.

At least not yet.

But somehow, that moment wasn’t even the peak of the night.

This was it. The most important award. The one that meant everything.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the final award of the night... Album of the Year.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the presenter slowly opened the envelope. Every second stretched longer than it should, and you felt the weight of it bearing down, thick and suffocating.

“And the Grammy goes to…”

She dragged it out, eyes skimming over the sealed envelope, making everyone in the room lean forward in anticipation. Finally, the words everyone was waiting to hear came crashing through the silence.

“Louder Than Fate—The Fireflies!”

For a second, Ellie didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Her brain short-circuited, thoughts crumbling before they could form. The roaring applause, the screaming, the flashing lights—it all blurred into a deafening wave of static.

Then your hands were on her. Tugging her up, shoving her happily towards the stage. But she didn’t let go. Instead, Ellie grabbed you, pulling you into her arms with a force that nearly knocked you off balance.

Her arms locked around you, face buried in your shoulder, and you felt it—her breath, shaking, the way her heart was slamming against her ribs.

“We fucking won!” she choked, half laughing, half gasping. “We won!”

“You won Els!" You grinned, squeezing her back with pure joy. She deserved this more than anyone. "Now go! Get that fucking Grammy!”

She pulled back just enough to meet your gaze—eyes wild, cheeks flushed, looking more alive than ever. And in that moment, you felt something tight in your chest. It wasn't just being proud of her. It wasn't just admiration.

It was sharp, deep and inescapable.

It was love.

But before either of you could fully grasp the warmth spreading between you, she pressed a quick, burning kiss to your temple.

And then she was gone, practically sprinting towards the stage, Jesse and Dina right behind her.

This wasn’t just another Grammy. This was the Grammy. The one that cemented legends.

Joel sat in the leather armchair of his mansion, the soft glow of the television screen casting flickers of light across his weathered face. He had a whiskey in hand, untouched for the moment, his eyes glued to the screen. The Fireflies had just won the Grammy for Album of the Year. His daughter’s name—Ellie’s name—echoed in the air like a bittersweet symphony.

It had been a year since they’d truly spoken, their relationship frayed by time and distance, the kind of tension only a father and daughter could understand. He wasn’t sure when it had all fallen apart, but now, sitting there in the quiet of his home, he felt a pang in his chest. Ellie had always been something extraordinary, even from the first time he’d heard her sing. The way she commanded a stage, the way her music bled raw emotion—it was all her, and yet, he felt like he had missed so much.

He’d won that same award long time ago, before his life had taken a turn. But watching her now, so alive with success, it felt like he had lost something more precious than an award. The distant ache of their fractured bond settled deep in his bones, but there was something else too. Tender, almost imperceptible. Pride.

Watching her up there, winning it all, made him realize he had underestimated her—hadn’t really seen the depth of the woman she’d become. And in that moment, Joel let himself feel it. Just for a second, he allowed himself to believe she was still his little girl, the one with the wild dreams, the one who made him proud.

He swallowed hard, a lump rising in his throat as the camera panned to the group rising to the stage. Ellie’s face—elusive, yet radiant—flashed across the screen, and he finally brought the glass to his lips, taking a long sip, trying to drown the swell of emotions that had quietly crept up on him.

Jesse grabbed the mic first, running a hand over his face like he was still trying to convince himself this wasn’t a fever dream. “Holy shit.”

Laughter rippled through the audience. Dina shook her head, eyes already tearing up as she pressed her hands together.

“I swear, I blacked out for a second. This is—God, this is unreal. Six out of seven? We—” She exhaled a shaky laugh, pressing a hand to her chest. “We grew up watching this. Watching our heroes stand here. And now we’re here. With this.” She lifted the golden award, her voice trembling.

Ellie shifted, her fingers white-knuckled around the mic. She looked out at the thousands of faces staring back at them, the flashing lights, the cameras—the weight of it all pressing into her ribs. Her voice came slow, measured, but full of something real.

“We made our first album in Jesse’s garage,” she said, shaking her head. “We had a shit drum kit, a borrowed mic, and no idea what the hell we were doing. We fought for everything. We didn't receive handouts. We almost quit. More than once.” A small chuckle escaped her lips. “And somehow… somehow, we didn’t.”

Jesse nudged her. “Somehow.”

“It’s funny how some people think everything comes easy. Like success just lands in your lap because of… I don’t know, circumstance.” She shrugged casually, the corner of her mouth lifting in a subtle smirk. “But no, we did it the hard way. Built this from the ground up with no silver spoon involved, believe it or not.”

Her gaze wandered for a moment, distant, as the weight of the words sank in. All those times people had talked shit about her, calling her a nepo baby because of her dad, because of Joel. She could almost hear their voices now, the constant judgment, the assumption that she’d only made it because of who she was related to.

Ellie’s jaw tightened as the thought lingered. She’d proven them all wrong, of course.

But even now, in the midst of everything, part of her couldn’t help but miss him. The man who had shaped her, the one who’d once believed in her in ways no one else did. She wished he was here—just for a second, just to see her now. To see that it wasn’t about him, not anymore. It was about her.

But that was the way of things, wasn’t it?

There was always more left unsaid than spoken.

She shook the thought off with a breath, a smile tugging at her lips once more, focusing on the crowd again, ready to move forward.

“We just had a dream, a shit ton of hard work, and a whole lot of blood, sweat, and tears. That’s it. We kept going, even when it was hard. Even when the industry told us there wasn’t space for a band like us. Even when it felt like we were screaming into the void. We kept going.”

She exhaled sharply, blinking at the crowd.

“And now we’re here. And it still doesn’t feel fucking real.”

The applause rumbled through the room, crashing over them like a wave. Ellie hesitated, her fingers tapping absently against the mic stand, as if searching for her next words.

And as Ellie spoke, all you could do was watch her, your chest swelling with so much love it almost hurt. It was overwhelming—this ache that crept up on you, filling every part of you until it felt like it was going to swallow you whole.

You couldn’t focus on the lies, the half-truths, not in this moment. All that mattered was the way she stood there, alive with passion, her eyes scanning the crowd, completely unaware of the effect she had on you.

For just a few seconds, you let yourself sink into that love, letting it fill you up as you watched her from a distance, knowing that this was the closest you'd been to the truth in a long time.

Then, her gaze shifted, locking eyes with you. The instant it happened, everything around you seemed to blur. Ellie’s focus softened, just for a moment, and you could see her breath hitch in her chest, her expression flickering between surprise and something else—deeper.

You were watching her, eyes wide, shiny with unshed emotion.

And without even noticing, it was a reflection of everything you felt but couldn’t say.

“But before Jesse and Dina get into the thank-yous, there’s something I need to say,” Ellie spoke, her tone now softer, eyes still locked on yours. For a moment, it was like she wasn’t speaking to the crowd at all, but to you alone.

“There are people you meet who change you. Who rip you apart and put you back together in ways you never saw coming.” She paused, her lips curling just slightly. “And even when they drive you crazy, you know, deep down, you’d be lost without them.”

Her words hit you harder than expected. The weight of them pressed into your chest. Your breath caught in your throat as the room seemed to shrink, the noise from the audience fading into a distant hum. Ellie’s gaze didn’t waver.

“And you’re that person for me.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. The cameras darted between you and Ellie's face, your shocked expression and glinting eyes displayed in the big screen.

Ellie's grip on the award was tight, knuckles white, but there was a tremor in her hand—a barely perceptible shake. She swallowed hard, a flicker of something in her eyes before she steadied herself again.

“You inspire me,” she continued, voice now steady, almost intimate. “You inspire me every damn day. Hell, you inspired this whole album... and I just wanted to say that…”

The floor beneath you seemed to slip away. The room felt smaller. The world felt smaller. You were frozen in place, watching her, feeling the weight of her eyes on you like she was unraveling something deep inside you.

And then the words came, quiet yet impossible to ignore. Her voice wavered, just barely, but she didn’t look away. And when she spoke, it was like everything she had just built up finally fell into place.

A confession wrapped in certainty.

“…That I love you.”

The room surged with cheering and screams again, but this time, you didn’t hear it. You didn’t even feel it. You were trapped in a quiet storm, the impact of her speech unraveling the last threads of control you’d been desperately holding onto.

You wanted to move, to do something, but everything was frozen. And as Ellie stood there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just changed everything.

The afterparty was a kaleidoscope of flashing lights, pulsing bass, and bodies moving in a haze of champagne and sweat. It was loud. Chaotic. The kind of place where reality blurred at the edges, where the night stretched endlessly, threatening to swallow you whole.

Somewhere between the high of winning and the rush of being pulled from one congratulatory hug to the next, you had changed. The gown was gone, replaced by another custom made Versace dress that clung to you like a second skin, the short silky fabric skimming over your curves with every movement. It was dangerously low at the back, exposing the smooth line of your spine.

Rachel dragged you in with the momentum of celebration, her excitement infectious, but your mind was splintered elsewhere—fractured between the weight of what had just happened on that stage, the burn of alcohol as you downed another drink.

The Fireflies had just won six Grammys. You had four in your name. The entire room revolved around you, shifting in waves of congratulations, camera flashes, and clinking glasses. Industry giants, celebrities, people you barely knew but whose faces were familiar from screens and headlines—they all gravitated towards you, drawn in by the sheer magnetism of victory.

People stopped you every step, hands on your shoulder, flashing smiles, toasting to your success. Someone handed you a drink. You took it. Someone else pulled you into a picture. You smiled. It was autopilot at this point, the buzz of alcohol smoothing the sharp edges of your thoughts, but not enough.

Not nearly enough.

Because Ellie was there. Somewhere.

Your chest was still a war zone, torn between the weight of her words and the gnawing doubt that followed.

You hadn’t spoken since the speech. You hadn’t even had the chance to. Because what the hell were you supposed to say?

Ellie hadn’t acted any different after stepping off that stage. No grand follow-up, no explanation.

So you drowned it in alcohol.

But some minutes after, you felt her before you saw her, an electric current crawling under your skin, an awareness that set every nerve ending on edge. When your eyes finally found her, she was leaning against the bar, whiskey in hand, gaze flickering over the crowd but never quite landing on you. Not directly.

But she was aware of you.

You could tell in the way she shifted, restless. The way her grip tightened around the glass when someone got too close to you. How her jaw clenched every time you threw back another shot, like she was silently daring you to stop.

She had changed too. The suit jacket from earlier had been abandoned in favor of a dark button-up, the sleeves rolled up –as always– to reveal the ink on her forearms. The fabric stretched across her shoulders in a way that made something inside you tighten. She had swapped the slacks for black jeans that sat low on her hips, her belt loosely fastened, like she couldn’t be bothered to care.

That outfit was nearly identical to the one she wore the night you first met—so much so that the sight of it sent a shiver through you, your insides twisting, almost unbearable. A rush of memory, of déjà vu, of the moment all of this disaster began.

Pulling you out of your thoughts, Jesse chuckled beside you, draping an arm over your shoulder. “Alright, pop princess. You’re celebrating a little hard, don’t cha think?”

Rachel smirked, tipping back her own drink. “Nah, let her. She just got love-bombed on international television. If I were her, I’d be drinking too.”

The words were meant to be playful, but they sank their teeth deeply into your feelings.

Love.

What the fuck even was that?

That made the next shot go down easier than the last.

The crowd shifted, bodies pressing closer as the music swelled, bass rattling through the floor. People were dancing now, energy buzzing through the air, and before you could process it, hands were pulling at you—Dina, Jesse, Rachel—dragging you into the current of movement.

Your pulse stuttered when Ellie moved too. Not towards you, but close enough. A phantom touch in a sea of strangers. Your body moved on instinct, swaying with the beat, the vodka humming through your veins, but your mind was still stuck on her.

And then—her hands.

Light at first. A graze at your hip as she passed. Fingertips at the small of your back, testing.

Then firmer.

A hand splaying against your waist as she leaned in, the scent of whiskey and that something so distinctly her curling around your senses. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t turn. Didn’t face her.

Couldn’t face her.

“You tryna drink yourself unconscious?” Her voice was low, rough. Close enough that you felt the words more than heard them.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Because what the fuck were you supposed to say?

No, I’m trying to forget the way you looked at me on that stage?

No, I’m trying to figure out if you actually meant that ‘I love you’ and everything else that came before?

No, I’m trying to stop loving you?

Instead, you laughed, sarcastic and bitter.

“Yeah. Guess I have a lot to celebrate.”

Ellie hummed, a quiet sound lost beneath the music. But she didn’t move away.

The room pulsed around you, neon lights catching on the sweat-slick skin of bodies pressed too close. Jesse and Dina had lost all semblance of control. Jesse had taken to spinning in slow circles with his arms out, eyes shut like he was ascending to another plane of existence. His drink sloshed wildly with every rotation, soaking his sleeve, but he didn’t seem to care. Dina, meanwhile, had climbed onto Rachel's back at some point, shrieking in laughter as she staggered under her weight.

You couldn't help but wonder…

When did my manager, Rachel, become so close with the Fireflies? Maybe she was undercover and didn’t tell me.

Ellie exhaled, shaking her head at the sight of them. "They’re gone."

You hummed, lips quirking. "They’re celebrating."

Ellie’s fingers flexed against your waist. "And you?"

You turned to her then, properly turned, and the shift in air between you was immediate. Her gaze dropped to your lips long enough to make your breath catch.

"I’m celebrating too." you said, voice heavier.

How much time had passed?

Seconds? Minutes? Hours?

You didn’t know what the hell was happening anymore.

More drinks pressed into your hand.

Whiskey, tequila, champagne, something that burned but went down too smooth. The world tilted, blurred at the edges. The pulse of the music, the flicker of lights, the heat of bodies moving—it all felt distant, hazy, unreal.

Every time you lifted a glass, it was like the world slowed down just enough for the chaos to settle into a haze, a blur of flashing lights and slurred speech.

Except for Ellie.

Somewhere in the same room, her presence was the only thing keeping you from slipping under.

Jesse had become a blur of limbs, his laughter ricocheting off the walls as he wobbled towards Rachel, trying—and failing—to lift her into a ridiculous dip. Dina, still draped across Rachel, was far too gone to notice. Every time she tried to speak, her words came out in a string of nonsensical giggles.

But you were beyond them now.

Your feet barely knew where the floor was, your body swaying alone with the pulse of the room. The shots had come in quick succession, the tequila numbing whatever had been left of you, blurring everything that happened—what Ellie said, what Ellie did. What the hell you were doing.

You hadn’t even realized how close she was until she was right next to you again, her shoulder brushing yours as she caught her breath. Her hair messy, few strands sticking to her cheek as she wiped a hand across her face. She was drunk.

But so were you.

The world tilted once more as you tried to steady yourself on her, your arm reaching out for balance, but her body was already against yours, both of you teetering on the edge.

She turned her head slowly, locking eyes with you. There was something in her gaze—a hazy, distant look that wasn’t quite her usual sharpness. It was like she was still here, but not really here, lost somewhere between the alcohol and the weight of everything unsaid.

“You’re... still here.” you mumbled, the words slurring slightly as they slipped out, your mind struggling to keep up.

“You really thought you could get rid of me that easily?” she asked, her voice low, thicker than usual. There was more behind her tone—frustration mixed with something else you couldn’t quite name.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog in your brain, but it only made things more blurry. “We’re both a fucking mess.”

She let out a laugh, but it came out too harsh, too wry. “Aren’t we all?” she muttered, her eyes flickering away from you for a moment, as if she was trying to hide from your gaze.

The alcohol was starting to hit you harder now. Everything around you felt like it was spinning, but you couldn’t stop drinking. You couldn’t stop focusing on her—the way she was so close, the way her presence anchored you in a way you didn’t understand. The words from earlier were still in your head, cutting through the fog.

What had she meant by them? What had you meant?

Ellie’s voice was at your ear again, low and teasing. “Why aren’t you joining them? Thought you wanted to celebrate.”

You squinted, trying to focus on her face, but everything was softening at the edges. “I—yeah, I do,” you slurred, struggling to keep your voice steady. “But you—”

“I know,” she interrupted, cutting you off with a soft chuckle. "I get it."

Her words hit you, hard. The way she said it—like she understood, like she knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn’t know it yourself.

Her hand brushed the small of your back, warm against your skin, and before you could pull away, her arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You inhaled sharply, the air thick between you as your pulse quickened.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the side of your cheek, her breath hot against your skin. “We don’t have to talk about it, but... we can drink about it.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out hollow, filled with bitterness. “Is this your big plan? To just forget it all with more whiskey?”

Ellie’s laugh was reckless. “Yeah, pretty much,” she said, her voice dropping to something more serious.

“Because, you know... it’s working.”

She took another long sip from her glass, her fingers tightening on your waist as she pulled you even closer. Her touch was daring now, almost possessive, and it was too much. You shouldn’t have let it happen. You shouldn’t have let yourself get lost in the heat of the moment. But you did.

And for a moment, all that mattered was the way she held you.

Until the music changed, the beat dropping low, heavy. Bodies around you surged forward, people dancing even more recklessly now. Ellie pulled you with her, a tight grip on your wrist, and before you could even catch your breath, she was dancing with you—bodies pressed together, moving, swaying, too close.

She was intoxicating.

She was a disaster.

But so were you.

Jesse and Dina had collapsed onto a couch, giggling hysterically at some private joke only the alcohol could explain. Rachel was still upright, her face a mix of amusement and disbelief. They were far beyond drunk now.

And you and Ellie? You both were spiraling together, floating in that heady space where nothing mattered except the feel of the other’s body, the rhythm of the dance, the pull of the alcohol.

Neither of you were talking about what had happened earlier, about the weight of those words, about the things you both wanted to forget.

Instead, you drowned in each other, desperate to escape the weight of reality.

And yet, even as the night wore on and everything blurred into a mess of laughter, touches, and sweat, that feeling—that unbearable tension between you both—lingered. Unspoken. Waiting.

The last thing you remembered was the cold night air biting at your skin as Ellie steered you out of the club. Her hand was firm against your back, guiding you through the crowd with a force that felt almost possessive. You were stumbling, barely keeping your feet under you, the world spinning around you like a dizzying blur.

Then, before you could even register what was happening, her arms were around you, lifting you with ease as she tossed you over her shoulder. Your body felt weightless, and though everything seemed slow and dreamlike, her grip on you was steady.

You mumbled, too drunk to care about the mess of words. “Ellie... what are we doing? Where... where are we going?”

Her voice cut through the haze, rough and unsteady. “Shh... Just let me get you to the room, okay? You need to rest.”

But even in your fog, you couldn’t let go of the questions gnawing at your mind. “I don’t... I don’t get you, Ellie. You act like you don’t care, but then... then you do stuff like... like this," you slurred, trying to lift your head enough to look at her.

Her grip tightened slightly, a grunt escaping her as she adjusted you. “Don’t start with that now, okay? You're drunk as hell.” There was an edge to her voice, one that made you feel like you’d crossed some invisible line.

“No... no, I’m serious,” you murmured, struggling to get the words out. “I don’t get it. You don’t... you don’t say things, but you do them. And then you just... leave me hanging.”

Ellie paused for a moment, her pace slowing. You could feel her tension, like she was trying to work through something herself, her body shifting uncomfortably.

She muttered. “You’re drunk. I’m drunk. Let’s not... Let’s just not do this right now.”

Your head lolled against her shoulder as she carried you towards the elevator. The motion of the lift made your stomach turn, and for a split second, you felt the world tilt beneath you.

Ellie adjusted you again, tightening her grip, almost like she didn’t want to let go, but there was still something distant about her. Like she was trying to hold you close but keep herself guarded at the same time.

You tried to speak again, but the words came out jumbled, not quite fitting together.

“Just sleep it off, alright?” Her voice softened, but there was something else beneath it—Frustration? Guilt?. You couldn’t place it, but it made your chest ache, made everything feel even more confusing.

You blinked slowly, the alcohol in your system starting to wear off as your mind began to swirl with thoughts, anger bubbling up from the pit of your stomach.

Did she think you were stupid?

You were no longer floating in a hazy blur.

You were sharp, aware, and pissed.

The elevator door slid open with a soft ding, and Ellie stepped forward, carrying you towards the hotel room. She was trying to keep everything under control, to keep things quiet, but the tension in her movements was palpable. It told you everything you needed to know.

You were both walking on eggshells now.

As she pushed the door open, the soft click of it closing behind you felt like a weight crashing down, marking the threshold of everything that had been left unsaid. The room was heavy with silence, and you could feel the gap between you both stretching farther.

You were awake now—more awake than you’d been in hours—and everything that had been foggy just moments ago was now painfully clear.

Ellie walked you further into the room, but before she could adjust her grip to steady you again, you yanked yourself away from her. The move was harsh, almost frantic, and the shock of it hit both of you. You didn’t care if you stumbled or if your legs barely held you—there was too much rising inside you.

The alcohol had faded enough to let your frustration burn bright, and you couldn’t take the way she held you anymore, like you were a problem she needed to fix.

You needed space. You needed answers.

Your feet hit the ground with a solid thud, but it was nothing compared to the force of your emotions crashing against you. The distance felt impossibly more wide as you took a few steps away from her.

“Why do you do this to me?”

The question left you before you could stop it, your voice trembling with frustration as you broke silence. You clenched your fists at your sides, heart hammering in your chest.

Everything inside you was breaking, and you couldn’t keep it in. Not anymore.

"Why do you keep pushing me away?”

She froze, her body stiffening as her gaze met yours. For a moment, you saw something in her eyes—raw and vulnerable—but it quickly disappeared, replaced by that cold, distant mask she always wore.

She sighed, voice low and defensive. “Don’t start with that now. I’m not having this conversation like this.”

But you couldn’t let it go. Not now, not ever. Not when it felt like everything was unraveling in front of you.

"No, Ellie," you bit back, voice harsher than you intended. "I can't fucking take it anymore. We need to talk. And we need to do it now."

Ellie’s gaze shifted then. A quick flash of annoyance, then that cool, detached mask slipped into place as she crossed her arms.

"Fine, you wanna talk about it? Then we’ll fucking talk about it," she snapped, voice biting with cold frustration.

"You think I don’t know what this is? You think I don’t get it?" Her tone was venomous, each word like a lash across your chest. "We both agreed from the start—this was nothing but a PR strategy. No feelings. No strings attached. And don’t pretend we didn’t set up those rules together."

Her words were like a slap in the face, and it made the anger inside you swell even more.

She still hadn’t answered your question.

She hadn’t said anything real, anything that would make sense of this mess you were in. So, you pushed again. You had to. You couldn’t let her off the hook.

"So that’s it? It was all just a game to you?" You growled, the bitterness lacing every word, the anger and hurt burning through you. "Just for the cameras, and none of it ever meant a damn thing?"

“Don’t twist it and act like you didn’t play along," she shot back, her voice tight with frustration. "We both knew what we were getting into. It wasn’t just me."

She wasn't answering any of your questions.

"Yeah, we did," you shot back, stepping closer, the space between you suffocating. "But I need to know if you ever felt anything."

Ellie’s eyes flickered. She seemed to hesitate for just a second, her fingers twitching by her side like she wanted to reach for something—anything—but she stayed frozen.

"I already told you," she muttered, fire draining from her tone. "This was never supposed to get so complicated."

The words hung there between you, thick with everything you couldn’t say out loud.

You weren’t sure if you were ready to face whatever truth was buried under Ellie's defenses, but it didn’t matter anymore. You weren’t backing down.

"Then why the hell did you kiss me on that stage?" The question tore through you like fire, your voice breaking at the end. "Why did you make it feel real when we’ve both agreed it wasn’t?"

"It’s not like I wanted to—"

"Then why the hell did you say all that?" you interrupted, voice rising again.

The memories of the speech, the way she had looked at you, the weight of her words in front of everyone—it was all too much to swallow.

"You said you loved me, Ellie! Right there, in front of the whole damn world! Don’t pretend like that was a mistake. Don’t pretend it didn’t mean anything."

She shouted, her voice sharp with panic now. "You were down there, looking at me like that, and I didn’t know what the hell else to say! I-"

Ellie’s face twitched, and for a brief moment, it looked like she might crack. But instead, she took a step back, as if she was trying to pull away from the weight of her own emotions.

"So instead, you keep me at arm's length and make me feel like I don’t matter. You kiss me on stage, say you love me, act like you care, and then you pull away before things actually get real. What the hell is that, Ellie? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

You could feel the rage inside you growing, but now it was a mix of anger and heartbreak, and you could barely breathe with how tight your chest felt.

Her eyes softened for a split second before they hardened again, and she rubbed the back of her neck, frustration spilling over.

"You wanna know the truth? The truth is I didn't want to hurt you," she snapped, but her tone was shaky. "I didn’t want to drag you into something messy, because I knew I was already in too deep."

You felt the tears prick at the back of your eyes, the weight of her words crushing you as the confusion tore through you like a hurricane.

"So why didn’t you tell me the truth? Why didn’t you just say something? Anything!"

Her face crumpled, and for a moment, she was completely exposed. All the walls she had built between you were crumbling, and you could see the rawness in her—tangled with guilt and frustration.

She was trembling now, and not just from anger.

"I didn’t know what the hell I was doing," Ellie finally whispered, her voice breaking as she took a shaky step closer to you. "I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to care this much. I kept telling myself it was just chemistry, just... just a game, but every time you looked at me like that, I—I couldn’t stop it." Her voice cracked, and you saw her lips tremble.

You were almost afraid to breathe as she closed the distance between you.

"You—you’ve always been more than I could handle. I couldn’t stop myself from wanting you," she murmured, voice breaking as her eyes searched for yours desperately. "But I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how to admit it."

"Then admit it now." You gasped, the question escaping in a broken breath, the weight of it all crashing down on you. "What you said back there—was it true?"

Ellie’s breath hitched as if your words had shaken something deep inside her she had been trying to bury. Her eyes searched yours, as if trying to see past the hurt and confusion she had caused.

“All of it was true."

She whispered, her voice ragged and thick with emotion. Her words cracked with vulnerability, the kind of honesty she’d been holding back for far too long.

"Everything I said, everything I did—it was real. Every goddamn thing, even when I pretended it wasn’t. I love you, and I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t say it sooner."

She stumbled over her own words, the panic and guilt so evident in her voice, but you couldn’t focus on that. Your heart was beating too loud, the air in your lungs suddenly scarce.

The world felt too heavy, too full of things you had never been able to say—things that had been buried deep inside both of you for far too long. Your chest tightened, a lump rising in your throat, and just as the overwhelming emotions started to consume you, you finally broke.

"Ellie, I love you too"

You whispered, the words trembling on your lips. The weight of your confession settled in the space between you, raw and honest, and you could feel the shift in the air, like everything was about to change.

Before you could process it, before you could even understand the force of what had just happened, her lips collided against yours.

This kiss was different from any kiss you had ever shared. It was raw, hungry, and everything you've been craving but were too afraid to ask for. She was kissing you like it was the only thing that mattered in the world, like she was trying to pour every single feeling into the kiss—everything she had hidden from you for so long.

You melted into her, your hands moving on instinct, sliding up to wrap around her neck, pulling her closer. Her lips were demanding, insistent, and as her tongue brushed against yours, you gasped, feeling her heart race in time with your own.

There was no pretense now—no walls, no doubts. Just Ellie, just you, tangled together in the most chaotic, beautiful mess you had ever known.

The kiss turned desperate, raw, like neither of you could stand the space between breaths. Ellie’s hands gripped your waist, rough and unyielding, her lips tracing a burning path from your jaw to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a hickey. You gasped, head tilting back, offering her more, needing more.

“God,” she rasped against your skin, voice wrecked and needy. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”

Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her back just enough to meet her gaze. You didn’t have to say it back; she saw the answer in your eyes before you crashed into her again, mouths crashing, desperate, starved.

Ellie’s hands slid beneath your dress, fingers skimming over your thighs, your stomach, tracing the soft curves. The dress rode higher, bunched around your hips, and then she was pushing it up and over your head, tossing it aside like it was nothing.

You barely had time to shiver from the rush of cool air before she was on you again, her touch hot, reverent. She pulled back just enough, eyes raking over you, like she wanted to memorize every inch of you all over again.

Like this was your real first time together.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, fingers tracing along your side. “You’re—” She stopped, shaking her head like words didn’t stand a chance.

You smirked, dragging your hands up her arms before curling them into her hair, giving a slight tug just to hear her breath stutter. “Speechless?”

Ellie let out a shaky laugh, but her gaze softened. “Something like that.”

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders, and fuck—she was unreal. The way her breath hitched, the way her perky nipples hardened, the way her chest rose and fell, the freckles dusting her skin, her lips swollen and parted, ready.

Then, with a whispered curse, Ellie grabbed you, lifting you with ease, her hands firm and sure. You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the sheets, her body flush against yours—warm, solid, hers.

She loomed over you, her breath warm against your skin, her touch slow—too slow. Her fingers skated over your ribs, your waist, teasing, like she was savoring the feeling of you beneath her. Like she wanted to take her time.

"You have no idea what you do to me," she rasped, lips grazing your jaw.

A shiver ran through you, heat pooling low, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough when it came to her.

You arched into her, nails digging into her bare shoulders. "Then stop fucking teasing," you whispered, half-command, half-plea.

Ellie let out a breathy laugh, her hands gripping your thighs, pushing you further into the mattress. Her eyes flickered down, starving, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Needy," she murmured, almost to herself. "That’s cute."

Your frustration only made her hungrier. She surged forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth, swallowing the soft whimper that escaped you.

And then, just as suddenly, you flipped her over, pressing her back into the mattress.

Ellie barely had time to react, her pupils blown wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. She looked wrecked already, and you hadn’t even done anything yet.

That sent a sharp pulse through you.

She swallowed hard, fingers twitching against your hips. "What?" she rasped, voice rougher than before, like she was trying to catch up to the shift in energy.

You just smiled as you traced your fingers down the line of her toned stomach, manicured nails ghosting over her skin.

“Just thinking,.." you murmured, pressing a teasing kiss just below her jaw, "That an album of the year winner deserves a proper celebration."

Ellie blinked, eyes flickering between disbelief and hunger. "Oh—"

You didn’t give her a chance to finish. Instead, you pinned her down completely, pressing your weight into her, reveling in the way her breath hitched. Her hands gripped at your sides like she wasn’t sure whether to stop you or pull you closer.

"You good?" you asked, voice softer now, even as your hands moved with strong intent.

Ellie let out a shaky exhale, her lips curving between a smirk and a dazed expression. "Didn’t think you’d—fuck—take over like this."

You grinned against her skin, kissing your way southbound, taking your time.

"Better get used to it, rockstar."

Ellie let out a breathy chuckle, but it melted into something deeper when you pressed another kiss lower, trailing down her stomach with a kind of unhurried confidence that made her body tense beneath you.

"Shit…" she muttered, voice caught somewhere between surprise and anticipation.

You smirked against her skin, hands gripping her thighs as you settled between them. "Relax, baby" you murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the inside of her knee. "Just let me take care of you."

"I'm just… not used to this," she admitted, quiet.

You glanced up, meeting her gaze as your lips grazed just above the waistband of her pants, breath warm against skin. Your voice barely above a whisper, but settling deep into her bones.

“Then just feel, Els.”

You don’t give her time to think, pulling them down her boxers and pants in a quick move. A sharp inhale punches from her lungs as cool air kisses the heat between her legs, making her jolt.

She exhales shakily, thighs bracketing your head, warm and freckled—constellations scattered across skin you want to map out with your hands, your mouth, your entire being.

If you were in a different headspace, you’d trace each one like a star chart, but right now, the only thing you can focus on is her—trembling above you, caught between restraint and surrender.

But the real sound—the one that sets your pulse hammering—is the gasp she lets out when you spit, a slick warmth against her aching clit.

“F-fuck…” she breathes, brows knitting together, voice unsteady.

You glance up at her, fingers flexing against her thighs. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Her jaw tightens, a mix of frustration and need flashing behind her darkened eyes. “Nothing.” It’s a lie, and you both know it. She’s unraveling, and she’s impatient.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you let your fingers drift, tracing lazy patterns up her waist, feeling the way her stomach tenses beneath your touch.

“Tell me...” you tease, voice smooth, coaxing. “Use your words.”

Her body betrays her, arching ever so slightly towards you, silently pleading for more.

Then, finally, she gives in.

“Just—” Her voice cracks as she shifts, movements becoming more desperate. “God, just— please.”

Holy. Shit.

Ellie motherfucking Williams—flushed, wrecked, and now begging like she needs you more than her next breath—is a sight so devastatingly hot, it short-circuits every thought that was left on your head.

Yeah, that definitely wasn’t on your bingo card.

The way she’s unraveling beneath you is something you’ll never forget. And if the raw, desperate way she’s looking at you is any indication, it’s an ego boost you’ll be riding for the rest of your life.

You smirk as her breath stutters when you drag your fingers lower, sliding through the warmth of pussy, slick and ready from both you and her own burning need.

It’s intoxicating—the way she reacts, the way she shudders at the slightest touch. You don’t hesitate, don’t waste a second before lowering your mouth to her, claiming her like it’s the only thing you were made to do.

The moment your tongue finds her, she keens—a sharp, needy sound punched from the depths of her chest before she could stop it. And just as she starts to adjust, just as her body begins to find some semblance of rhythm, you push deeper, tongue slipping inside, filling every soft, sensitive place that has her thighs trembling.

Ellie chokes on a moan, hands flying to your hair, fingers tangling, pulling, her grip desperate and unsteady as her hips jerk upward, chasing the friction.

“J-Jesus Christ, babe,” she gasps, voice wrecked.

You hum against her, the vibrations pulling another strangled sound from her lips. Her thighs twitch, threatening to close around your head, but your hands tighten against her hips, holding her steady, guiding her through every wave of pleasure that crashes over her.

Your own clit pulses, desperate for attention, but it’s the last thing on your mind. Not when your face is buried between the thighs of the woman you can finally love freely— and that just happens to be the most famous rockstar in the world at the moment.

"You're—fuck—you’re insane," she pants, voice breathy, desperate. But she doesn’t push you away. She never does.

And God, she never wants to.

Her fingers flex against the sheets as your other hand drags down her stomach, dropping to trace fast circles on her clit, her breath catching at the sensation.

Your grip tightens, grounding her as she chases it—hips rolling, breath shattering, body tightening like a bowstring drawn too tight. Every sound she makes is addictive, every gasp, every bitten-off whimper, every choked-out curse.

She’s using your face like her own personal masturbation pillow, grinding down like she was made for this, and you swear—if this is how you go out, you’d die the happiest person alive.

“Holy shit– I-I’m gonna–”

And then—she falters.

You feel her orgasm before it fully takes hold—the way she twitches, the way she clenches around your tongue, her entire body locking up as the tension inside her snaps. Then, the release floods your senses, warm and intoxicating, dripping down your chin. It’s sweet. Best thing you’ve ever tasted.

But you don’t stop.

You keep going, your fingers still drawing slow patterns on her clit, your mouth still drinking up every last drop until she’s shuddering, gasping, her fingers weakly tugging at your hair in protest.

Only when she whimpers—spent, trembling— you finally relent, pressing one final kiss to her ruined cunt before using your tongue to clean her up with reverent care.

Her chest rises and falls with deep, uneven breaths, and a final shudder runs through her as she tries—fails—to gather herself.

Silence lingers, thick and electric, the only sound between you the sharp pull of ragged breaths.

Then Ellie mutters, voice rough, wrecked, “You’re so fucking—”

A slow, satisfied grin tugs at your lips as you press a lazy, lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Incredible? Talented? The best you’ve ever had?”

Ellie groans, throwing an arm over her face with an exasperated huff. “Yeah. That—and insufferable.”

You chuckle, fingers tracing idle patterns along the warm skin of her hip, reveling in the way she shivers under your touch.

She peeks at you through the mess of auburn hair, cheeks still flushed, lips still parted, eyes heavy with something you recognize all too well.

She looks fucked out. She looks beautiful.

And then, to your surprise, she smirks.

“But I hope you’re ready for payback.”

And yeah.

You know you’re screwed when Ellie buckles up her dark purple strap—the one you know way too well by now. When her fingers work the straps, tightening them with practiced ease, she rolls her shoulders like she’s getting ready for something intense.

But more than anything, it’s the way she looks at you—like she’s already imagining you undone beneath her, like she’s savoring every second before she ruins you.

There’s heat in her gaze, yes, but there’s something softer too, something intimate in the way her hands settle on your hips, grounding you, claiming you.

Her index finger slowly traces the curve of your spine, touch featherlight as she guides you forward, nudging you onto your hands and knees. You shiver under her touch, your body hypersensitive, still buzzing from the way she fingered you minutes before.

“Fuck,” she murmurs as she kneels behind you. Her hands trace along your waist, slow and steady. “You look so fucking pretty like this.”

Your breath catches when she presses closer, her chest warm against your back, the silicone nudging against your entrance.

She takes her time, dragging it along your slick heat, teasing, making you feel every inch before she even pushes in. Her lips find your shoulder, pressing soft, deliberate nibbles and kisses there, a contrast to the overwhelming need that thrums between you.

“Tell me you want it”

You exhale, arching your back against her, craving the connection, the feeling of being completely filled by her.

“I want it,” you breathe, tilting your head just enough to catch her gaze over your shoulder, eyes soft, pleading—the doe-eyed look you know she loves. “I need you, Ellie.”

A quiet curse slips from her lips—almost reverent.

She has never been good at restraint.

So with one steady thrust, she gives you exactly what you need.

Ellie groans as she sinks into you, her fingers tightening around your hips, like she’s trying to hold herself back, to ease you into it, to savor the moment. But you both know better.

Patience has never been her strong suit—especially not when it comes to you.

“Shittt” she mutters under her breath, rolling her hips forward, filling you inch by inch. You can feel how tense she is, how hard she’s gripping you, like she’s trying to stop herself from losing control too soon.

Your arms tremble beneath you, a loud moan leaving your lips as she sets a slow, deliberate rhythm, dragging every inch of her strap against your sensitive walls. The stretch is perfect, the pressure just enough to make your toes curl, to make your breath hitch in your throat.

Ellie leans in, her chest flush against your back, her breath warm as it fans over your shoulder.

“You take me so damn well…” she murmurs, her voice rough but tender, like she’s not just saying it to tease—but because she means it. “Always so good f’me.”

A sharp, breathy moan spills from your lips as your forehead presses into the pillow, your body caught in the push and pull of pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable.

Ellie feels it. The way you tense, the way you tremble. She hears it in the way your breathing turns ragged, in the way you press back against her, desperate for more.

She breathes, her voice thick, possessive. “That’s my girl.”

The words send a whole new wave of heat crashing through you, your body tightening, teetering right on the edge. You can feel it, that overwhelming, dizzying pleasure building, threatening to pull you under.

But just when you think she’s going to push you over, she slows.

Your whole body jerks, a desperate whimper escaping you as she pulls out completely, leaving you empty, aching.

“What the hell?” you pant, your voice rough with need as you glance back at her with half-lidded, dazed eyes.

Ellie just smirks, looking entirely too pleased with herself as she settles back on her heels, her hands smoothing over your hips. Her green eyes are dark, intense—but there’s something warm there, too.

“Ya know what?” she murmurs, voice soft but certain. “I wanna try something new. C’mere”

She tugs you gently, guiding you up, and you let her. Your legs are shaky as you shift, turning to face her, straddling her lap. The toy presses between you, warm where it’s caught between your bodies, but all you can focus on is Ellie—on the way her hands settle on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh teasingly.

“That’s better,” she murmurs. “Wanted to see that gorgeous face when you fall apart for me.”

And that’s when you know exactly what she wants—to watch you take control, to watch you break her in the best possible way.

So you don’t give her the chance to tease, to taunt. Instead, you reach down without a word, wrap your fingers around the base of the strap, and sink onto it in one slow, deliberate motion.

Ellie curses under her breath, her fingers gripping your ass tighther as she tilts her head back, watching—completely mesmerized, completely wrecked.

She lets you set the pace, lets you take what you need, and the way she looks at you under the dim light—like you’re something holy, untouchable—sends a fresh wave of heat straight through you.

“Fuckkk,” she rasps, the base of the strap bumping perfectly against her aching clit. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smirk, breathless, rolling your hips just to watch her shiver beneath you. Then you cup her jaw, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?” you murmur, voice dripping, dangerously sweet. You drag your thumb along her bottom lip, watching her shudder. “Then I hope you’re ready to go out like this.”

Ellie groans, and you swallow the sound as you kiss her, deep and slow, letting her feel exactly what she’s done to you.

Your body moves like it was made for this—for her. Every slow, deliberate roll of your hips has Ellie sinking deeper into the mattress, her hands gripping your hips and ass with a desperation that only makes you want to push her further.

She breathes, eyes flickering between where your bodies meet and your face. “Look at you… riding me like you own me.”

You smirk, dragging your nails down her stomach before bracing your hands on her chest, using her body for leverage as you start to move faster, harder. Ellie groans beneath you, her head tipping back, auburn hair splaying across the pillow as she lets you take control.

“S-so deep,” you murmur, voice breathy, teasing.

Ellie’s fingers twitch against your skin, her pupils blown wide as she watches you move. “Yeah?” she rasps, voice rough, wrecked, barely holding herself together.

She swears she’s never seen anything more perfect.

The way your body moves—hips rolling, muscles tensing, sweat-dampened skin glowing under the dim light—it’s enough to ruin her. Her hands roam over you like she doesn’t know what to grab onto first—your waist, your thighs, the soft curve of your ass.

Fuck.

Your tits.

The way they bounce with every sharp snap of your hips, the way your nipples harden as she rolls and pinchs them in her fingers, the way your chest rises and falls with every shuddering breath—it’s mesmerizing.

And your face, flushed and blissed out, lips parted on gasping little moans that are just for her.

She swears she could die like this, buried so deep inside you she doesn’t know where she ends and you begin, wrapped up in you so completely she could stay here forever.

Her jaw clenches, her own pleasure building fast, unbearable, threatening to pull her under right along with you. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” she babbles, completely lost.

And that when she finally loses control.

She sits up, arms locking around you, pulling you down until there’s not a breath of space left between you. She thrusts her hips up to meet yours, matching your rhythm. Your slick bodies press together, burning hot, every frantic rise and fall of your chests syncing as she slams into you, deeper, harder.

The new angle knocks the air from your lungs, your mouth falling open on a strangled gasp.

Ellie holds you tight, so tight it feels like she’s afraid you’ll slip away—like if she lets go, even for a second, she might wake up and find you were never here at all.

“Jesus fucking christ…” she murmurs, hands roaming over you like she can’t decide where to touch first. Every inch of you belongs to her, and she’s claiming you with every pass of her palms, every hungry grip of her fingers. “Taking everything I give you—fuck– you’re so good f'me.”

You whimper, thighs trembling as you grind down, chasing the pressure, the fullness, the fire curling low in your stomach.

Ellie groans, the sound reverberating through you as she buries her face in your neck, her lips dragging over your pulse, over sweat-slicked skin.

“You were made for this,” she breathes, voice wrecked, reverent. “Made for me.”

Your moan catches in your throat, fingers tangling in her hair, tugging just enough to drag a low, broken hiss from her lips. “Ellie—”

She cuts you off with her mouth, swallowing your gasps, your pleas, kissing you so deep it steals what little breath you have left.

“Say it,” she murmurs, voice rough, cracking at the edges. “Say you’re mine.”

And you do—because you are.

“I-I’m yours, Ellie!”

A sound rips from her chest—low, guttural, wrecked—like the words just undid something deep inside her. Her grip tightens, arms locking around you as if she could pull you into her, fuse you together, make you hers in every possible way.

Then her fingers move—slow at first, teasing—before pressing down just right against your clit, sending a sharp bolt of pleasure through you.

“Come on, baby,” she urges, her free hand splaying across your back, pressing you closer, until you’re nearly one, until your forehead is against hers, your breath mixing with hers. “Let me have it.”

And you do.

Your whole body jolts like a live wire, a choked gasp breaking free as the tension inside you snaps too fast, your release drenching her lower stomach. Your thighs tighten around her, fingers clutching at her back, at her shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as heat builds, swells, consumes you.

You can’t think, can’t speak—you can only feel. Ellie beneath you, inside you, around you, anchoring you even as she pushes you to the brink, holding you steady as you come undone.

She swears she’s never seen anything more beautiful.

Her own release follows fast and hard, a deep groan rumbling through her chest as her hips jerk up into yours one last time. Her arms tighten around you as she buries her face in your neck, her breath hot and uneven against your sweat-damp skin.

For a long moment, you just hold each other—panting, trembling, completely spent.

Her fingers trail over your spine, slow and steady, tracing mindless patterns against your sweat-slicked skin. She presses a lingering kiss to your temple, whispering something too soft for you to catch, but you don’t need to hear it. You feel it.

When she finally pulls back enough to meet your eyes, she looks completely wrecked—but softer now, vulnerability flickering beneath the haze of pleasure.

“You okay, love?” she murmurs, her voice low and raspy.

You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah,” you whisper, pressing closer. “More than okay.”

She huffs a quiet laugh against your skin, fingers trailing lazily down your spine. “Kinda wrecked you, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing lilt in her voice makes you smile. “Shut up. That was a team effort.”

Ellie grins, but then she pulls back just enough to see your face, brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead. Her touch is so gentle, so careful, like she’s still grounding you, making sure you’re okay.

“No, really,” she says, softer now. “You good?”

The tenderness in her voice makes your chest tighten. You cup her cheek, thumb brushing over the freckles beneath her eye.

“I promise,” you murmur. “I feel perfect.”

She studies you for a second longer, then nods, satisfied. “Yeah. You look perfect.”

A comfortable silence settles between you as Ellie shifts, exhaling softly as she reaches down to undo the harness still strapped around her hips. Her fingers work it off with practiced ease, the leather slipping away before she tosses it aside like an afterthought. Only then does she move, slipping away just long enough to grab a warm, damp cloth.

She cleans you up with that same effortless care—gentle, thorough, her eyes flicking up to yours every so often, like she’s making sure you’re still right here with her. When she’s done, she tosses the cloth aside, and she pulls you into her arms again, tucking you against her chest like she never wants to let go.

Ellie’s fingers stroke your arm, slow and soothing, tracing patterns only she knows. Her touch is grounding, familiar, safe.

Then, softly, like a truth that has always existed between you, she says it again.

But now it's not in a panicked confession. Not in a speech meant for the world to hear.

But here. Now. After the most intimate, most vulnerable moment two people can share.

“Love you.”

It’s not hesitant or uncertain. There’s no grand declaration, no embellishment—just those two words, simple and solid, like she’s always known them to be true. Like saying them is the easiest thing in the world.

Your breath catches. For a second, the world seems to still around you. When you glance up, she’s already watching, waiting—not nervously, not fearfully, but open. Bare. Like she’s laying her heart right there between you, trusting you to hold it, to keep it safe.

You don’t hesitate.

A tender smile spreads across your lips as you press your forehead to hers, closing the small space that still remains.

“Love you too,” you whisper, the words slipping out like they’ve been waiting forever to be said again. “So fucking much.”

Ellie tilts her head, kissing you slow, savoring, like she has all the time in the world. Her fingers lace with yours, holding on like she never wants to let go. You feel her heartbeat under your palm—steady, real. Yours.

She swallows, voice softer now, full of something fragile and new. “Can’t believe we can finally say that to each other now.”

You blink up at her, your own chest tightening at the weight of it.

“I know,” you admit. “Feels unreal, doesn’t it?”

The past months settle between you—every stolen glance, every touch that lingered too long, every moment spent pretending not to be hopelessly, helplessly in love with each other.

Ellie exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “We spent so much time pretending,” she murmurs, her fingers tightening slightly around yours. “So much time making it look real for everyone else.” She pauses, searching your face, like she needs to make sure you understand. “And it was real. This whole time.”

You nod, brushing a hand down her arm, grounding her just as much as she’s grounding you. “Yeah. We’ve been real stupid.”

She hesitates, lips parting like she wants to say more, but something holds her back. You don’t push. Instead, you press a soft kiss to her jaw, reassuring, anchoring.

“But we’re here now,” you whisper. “We have this. No more pretending.”

Ellie’s eyes soften, and you watch the last of her walls crumble. “Yeah,” she breathes, voice steady, sure. “No more pretending.”

Her arms stay wrapped around you, bodies pressed together, bare skin against bare skin, as if letting even a sliver of space between you might shatter the fragile, beautiful truth of this moment. As if, after everything, neither of you can bear the thought of slipping away now that you’ve finally found your way back to each other.

Then, almost so quiet you barely hear it, she says it.

“…Be my girlfriend.”

You freeze, breath catching in your throat. You shift just enough to meet her gaze, and what you see there makes your chest ache—hope, something that you’ve never seen in her eyes before.

“For real this time,” she continues, voice steadier now. “No more PR, no more rules. No more of that fake bullshit.” Her thumb brushes your knuckles like she’s afraid you’ll slip away. “Just us.”

The moment hangs between you, charged, heavy with everything you’ve been waiting for.

And it’s terrifying, how easy it is to say yes.

You cup her face, running your thumb over the curve of her cheekbone, memorizing every freckle, every tiny detail.

“Ellie,” you whisper, searching her gaze, letting her see everything—every quiet yearning, every moment you spent wishing for this.

“I’ve always been yours.”

Her breath stutters, something breaking open in her expression. She looks at you like she’s seeing the world for the first time, like she can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, almost disbelieving.

You nod, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “Yeah.”

A slow, relieved smile spreads across her lips, and when she kisses you again, it’s different—it’s certain, deep, filled with a quiet promise.

When you finally pull away, her arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer. And for the first time, there’s no distance between you. No barriers, no walls—just the two of you, completely and utterly tangled together.

“Just you and me,” Ellie murmurs against your skin, her voice like a vow. “Finally.”

And as your bodies press closer, as your hearts collide, you know—this is where you were always meant to be.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑟 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑥 → taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez @catrapplesauces @livvietalks @furtherrawayy @thatchosen1 @kanadadryer @littlerosiesthings @eriiwaii @firefly-ace @redlightellie @elliepoems @sabrinathewitchh982 @shady-lemur @jubileexoxo

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ OMFG GUYS. THIS CHAPTER IS THE LONGEST THING I HAVE EVER WROTE IN MY LIFE, so TYSM IF YOU READ IT ALL. I did like 100 FUCKING PROOFREADS, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

318 notes · View notes

orchidseason · 1 day ago

Text

liar

summer camp!ellie williams x f!reader

you can't stand her. you can't stand how you find her attractive. You can't stand how fast you cave when she touches you.

warnings ᭪ 1.3k of pure smut, modern!AU (summer camp leaders), top ellie, bottom reader, oral sex, fingers in v (r receiving), ellie is a bit out of character

“Still trying to act like you don’t want me?” she purred, her voice low and teasing as she stepped closer, her hands already reaching for your waist.

You backed up instinctively, your hips bumping into the edge of the reception desk behind you. She’s relentless, you thought, your heart pounding in your chest. “I didn’t—I don’t—I don’t find you attractive” you stuttered, but the words felt hollow even as they left your mouth. Your body betrayed you, your skin heating under her gaze, your breath already uneven.

“Liar,” she whispered, her voice like velvet as she closed the distance between you. Her hands slid around your waist, her touch deliberate, possessive. “You’ve been denying it all day, but I can see it in your eyes. You’ve been ogling me all day, been thinking about me in not so pure ways?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I haven’t—”

She cut you off with a sharp laugh, her fingers digging into your hips as she spun you around, pressing your chest against the desk. “Stop lying to yourself,” she murmured, her breath hot against your ear. Her hand slid down your back, firm and commanding, while her other hand worked quickly, unbuttoning your shorts with practiced ease.

Your breath hitched as her fingers dipped beneath the waistband, her touch feather-light but deliberate. “Ellie,” you gasped, your hands gripping the edge of the desk for support.

“Say it,” she demanded, her lips brushing against your ear as her fingers teased the soft skin just above your underwear. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you’ve been imagining my hands on you all day.”

You shook your head, trying to hold onto some shred of control, but your body was already responding to her, your thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the ache building between them. “I—I don’t–”

Her fingers slipped lower, tracing the edge of your underwear before slipping beneath it, finding you already wet and ready for her. “God, you’re soaked,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire. “And you’re still pretending you don’t want me?”

You bit your lip, a shaky moan escaping as her fingers brushed over your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. As soon as she touched you, everything in you caved. “Ellie—please—”

“That’s it,” she murmured, her lips pressing against the back of your neck as her fingers began to move, slow and deliberate. “Let go. Stop pretending.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your hips shifting against her hand as the pleasure began to build, sharp and insistent. “Ellie,” you whimpered, your fingers tightening on the edge of the desk.

“Tell me,” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. “Tell me you’ve been thinking about this. Tell me you’ve been imagining my hands, my mouth—”

Her words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body arching into her touch as she pressed two fingers inside you, your walls clenching around her. “Yes,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Good girl,” she purred, her lips brushing against your ear as her fingers began to move, slow at first, then faster, deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made your legs tremble. “You feel so good,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. “So tight, so wet—just for me.”

You moaned, your body responding to her every touch, every word. Her fingers curled inside you, pressing against that sensitive spot as her thumb brushed over your clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. “Ellie—oh God—”

“That’s it,” she whispered, her lips trailing down the back of your neck as her fingers moved faster, harder. “Let me hear you.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your hips rocking against her hand as the pleasure built, sharp and overwhelming. “Ellie,” you cried, your voice breaking as your body clenched around her fingers, the tension snapping as you came, your knees buckling beneath you.

She held you up, her fingers still inside you, moving slowly as she helped you ride out the waves of pleasure. “You’re so beautiful when you fall apart,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “And this is just the beginning.”

Your breath was ragged, your body still trembling as she pulled her fingers out, turning you around to face her. Her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed. “You’re mine now,” she said, her voice low and possessive. “And I’m not letting you go.”

Her mouth crashed into yours, hungry and demanding, her hands tangling in your hair as she kissed you with a fierceness that left you breathless. You moaned into her mouth, your hands gripping her shoulders as she pressed you back against the desk, her body flush against yours.

“Ellie,” you gasped, your lips parting under hers as her tongue swept into your mouth, claiming you.

“Say it again,” she demanded, her hands sliding down to your waist, her fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt. “Say my name.”

“Ellie,” you breathed, your hands sliding down her back, pulling her closer. “Ellie, please—”

Her lips moved to your neck, her teeth grazing your skin as her hands worked to pull your shirt off, tossing it aside before her fingers found the clasp of your bra. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” she murmured, her lips trailing down your chest as her hands slid around to your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor.

Her hands cupped your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples, already hard and sensitive. “Ellie—” you gasped, your head falling back as she leaned down, her mouth closing over one nipple, her tongue swirling around it as her fingers teased the other.

Your hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as her mouth moved over your skin, her teeth grazing your nipple before she sucked it into her mouth, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Oh God,” you moaned, your hips shifting against her, desperate for more.

She pulled back, her eyes dark with desire as she looked up at you. “I’m not done with you yet,” she said, her voice low and husky.

Her hands slid down to your shorts, pushing them down your legs along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare. She stepped back, her eyes raking over your body as she pulled her own shirt off, followed by her shorts, letting them fall to the floor before she stepped back into you, her body pressed against yours.

“Ellie,” you breathed, your hands sliding down her back, your fingers digging into her skin as she kissed you again, her hands sliding down to your thighs, lifting you up and onto the desk.

Her lips moved to your neck, her teeth grazing your skin as her hands slid down to your thighs, spreading them apart. “I’m going to make you scream,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear.

“Ellie—please—”

Her tongue dipped between your folds, swirling around your clit before she sucked it into her mouth, her fingers pressing inside you. You cried out, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as she began to move, her tongue and fingers working in perfect rhythm.

“Ellie!” you gasped, your hips rocking against her mouth. “Oh God—Ellie—”

Her fingers curled inside you, pressing against that spot as her tongue continued to work, fast and relentless. You could feel the tension building again, sharper this time, more insistent. “Ellie,” you cried, your body arching into her as the pleasure crashed over you, your walls clenching around her fingers as you came, your thighs trembling as she held you up, helping you ride it out.

She pulled back, her lips swollen and her eyes dark with satisfaction as she looked up at you. “Still going to deny you want me?” she whispered, her fingers still inside you, moving slowly.

You shook your head, your breath ragged as you pulled her up to kiss you, your lips crashing against hers. “Never,” you gasped. “Never again.”

220 notes · View notes

orphicsun · 3 days ago

Text

Rosemary (e.w): Part One

"𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬."

content / warnings: jackson ellie / fem newcomer reader, loser! ellie, the majority of tlou has not happened (joel and jesse are still alive), mentions of joel (will be in part 2), mentions of cat, jesse and dina are romantically involved, near-death situations (patrol gone wrong), mild violence, slight angst with comfort, lots of swearing, eventual smut (in part 2).

word count: 4.4k

link to part two ( status: unfinished)

Description: Newcomers come and go through Jackson, and Ellie doesn’t pay any of them much thought. However, she catches a glimpse of you. You’re the exact opposite of her, soft and sweet like cotton candy (if that were a thing in Jackson). Now she feels 14 all over again, palms clammy and freckled face hot when you’re around. When you’re not, she buries her face into her pillow and hopelessly pines. Jesse and Dina just won’t let her fumble, though.

Ellie locks the stable door behind her, the creaking of the hinges accompanying her huff. As usual, Ellie is quite sweaty and admittedly cranky after a patrol that lasted longer than it should’ve.

She and Jesse spent hours clearing out a portion of the town North of Jackson, only to find the ammunition cabinets empty and the pantries bare. To come back almost empty-handed leaves Ellie in a particularly sour mood, and now she is in no state to deal with another social interaction for the day. No offense to her best friend Jesse, but he can be annoyingly talkative on the longest days.

“Hey, have you heard about the new group who just arrived?” Jesse’s voice snaps Ellie out of her own thoughts, and she shrugs. She walks alongside Jesse back to the weaponry to store their pistols.

“Yeah. What about them?” Ellie has never understood why everyone makes a big fuss out of new arrivals. Jackson gets plenty of travelers. Besides, folks stay and folks go. She won’t be surprised if the entire group is headed South by tomorrow morning.

Jackson isn’t for everyone. It’s mainly for the type of people Ellie is–fine with the harsher, okay with hours of stressful patrols, and usually content to kick infected ass. Also secluded, far from larger settlements that remind her too much of a QZ.

“There’s a girl. Maria is sayin’ she’s around our age, too.” Jesse informs her.

Ellie snorts at that, shaking her head. “So?” She opens the door to the weaponry, unloading her pistol and storing the gun on the wall alongside his.

Jesse gives her a ‘what do you mean, so?’ look, and almost laughs at her attitude. He knows that she is more reserved when it comes to new people. Really, people in general. For the longest time, the circle was Jesse, Dina, and Ellie. Like a holy trinity that Cat occasionally popped into before departing when she and Ellie broke up. Ellie has never needed more social interaction than her friends, Joel and Tommy, and maybe a girlfriend. The only problem is that she has the social skills of an incel when it comes to women, save for the fact that most incels were taken out on breakout day.

“We had new people just last month. What’s so special about these?”

Jesse rolls his eyes as they walk out of the weaponry, holding the door open for Ellie despite her bitterness. “I was just informing you, jeez. What’s with the pissy mood?”

Ellie sighs, pausing outside of the building. “My bad. Just..didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, and patrol didn’t help.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow. “Were you up on that PlayStation you’ve got in your mancave?”

“For the last time, it’s not a man cave,” she speaks with light disapproval in her tone.

Jesse laughs at his friend’s attitude, enjoying teasing her. “Right. Well, you go home and get some damn rest. I’m tired of dealing with your cranky ass on patrol.” He pats her shoulder, giving her a small wave before walking towards his house.

Ellie sighs and mumbles a “whatever” before turning in the other direction and heading for the small garage she has behind Joel’s house, looking forward to sleeping until she is forced to get up in the morning.

Patrol is early, earlier than usual. Luckily, Ellie got plenty of sleep the night before. In her straight jeans and (against Dina’s advice to not risk hypothermia) canvas sneakers, everything is ready, and she feels lighter this morning. Not in a particularly grumpy mood, she walks down the streets to find Jesse. She is a tad bit confused–usually, Jesse is knocking at her door on patrol mornings. She grumbles under her breath at the thought that he is probably at the Tipsy Bison on some cheesy breakfast date with Dina. As much as she loves the two, she hates third-wheeling. Things are already awkward as it is.

Ellie gets stuck in her mind as always, until a particular view cuts the thought train. There you are, in a pen filled with baby sheep, giggling and petting behind their ears. It’s an overwhelmingly sweet sight, something Ellie would usually find herself thinking of with disgust. Too sweet, like a tooth-rotting confection. But that’s not the case here, no.

Ellie has seen plenty of pretty girls in Jackson. What is it that makes her hands clammy, and causes her face to redden in pure embarrassment? Her cheeks are so hot you could fry eggs on them. She’s embarrassed to be herself next to a pretty girl. You’re sweet and soft, and you remind her of peaches or a fluffy cake. But really, the thing that truly gets her isn’t the sheep or the way you smile at them in a way that makes even Ellie feel safe around you. It’s that outfit.

Something she would find in a damn magazine for girls. Ellie would find herself thinking that wearing cute, feminine outfits is just dumb. In this world, where anything can happen, why wouldn’t you go for the practical? Why lace yourself up with soft frills and pink hues? You can’t run in a skirt. But looking at you, how the fabric seems to be made for you, she finds herself wondering how soft it is (and how soft to the touch you are).

You’re the type of girl Ellie could see herself writing shitty journal entries about, your initial next to hers. You’re the type of girl she imagined tasting when she practices kissing her hand. You’re everything she needs in a daydream she could never confess to anyone else.

And then, the moment is over just before she could introduce herself to you.

“Earth to Ellie? Whatcha staring at?” Jesse asks from behind her, causing Ellie to quickly turn around.

“Nothing. Let’s just go.” Ellie’s voice doesn’t hide her defensiveness, and Jesse notices your figure a little bit away. He has a knowing smirk on his face, and Ellie groans. “C’mon, I’m not-”

“Didn’t say anything,” he points out with a surrender.

The patrol goes normally. Kill infected, raid for supplies, endure Jesse’s dirty jokes. The only difference is, Ellie feels the need to ask about you on the way home.

Mounted on horses, Ellie decides to speak up. “Hey..do you know anything about that new girl?”

Jesse shrugs casually. “She’s good friends with Dina already.” Ellie nods. Dina is the most social out of the trio, so it makes sense.

“Is she nice?” Ellie asks, taking a small glance at Jesse.

“Why? Interested in her or something?” Jesse replies, slightly smiling. It’s clear that he enjoys the fact that he knows how to get to her.

Of course, she scoffs, raising her defenses. “No! Why do you think that?”

He laughs, eyes roving over her face. “Well, your cheeks are red. That’s the first sign. Secondly, you keep interrogating me over this chick.”

Ellie sighs and looks down at Shimmer’s mane, trying to focus on something other than Jesse’s stupid face so that she can admit it. “Yeah, maybe I think she’s pretty cute. But she’s probably straight, so it doesn’t matter,” she mumbles quietly.

“You’re such a pessimist, Ellie. You don’t know what she is.” He reminds Ellie, tone laced with tough love.

“Yeah, well, how am I supposed to?” She asks though she doesn’t expect an actual answer.

Jesse almost laughs at that. “By asking her?”

“What?! I can’t just ask if she likes girls! What if she gets offended?”

“Dude, chill. I mean, just talk to her. Don’t you have a gaydar or somethin’?” He quips, making her crinkle her nose in protest.

“Yeah, right. All gays can just sense each other.” Ellie says with a half-hearted glare.

Jesse sighs. “Look, why don’t you just ask her to that summer festival thing? You know, the one with the dance?”

Her eyes widen at that. “A dance? That sounds like a nightmare.”

“You are a lost cause,” he says as he rolls his eyes.

It was around 7 p.m. when Ellie and Jesse made it to the gates. Ellie sighs outside of the Tipsy Bison.

“Do I have to come in with you?” Ellie asks while already knowing the answer.

“Yes! I need one of those cheesesteaks for dinner, and you could use some grub other than whatever is in that pathetic fridge of yours.” Jesse says, giving Ellie a smirk that suddenly sends her stomach feeling uneasy. He knows something she doesn’t. The only other time Ellie was given that look was the day before Jesse put a corn snake in her garage house as a “prank” for her 17th birthday. Still, Jesse is right. All she has in that mini fridge of hers are leftovers and a pack of instant rice. Her stomach growls in contrast to her protests.

“Ladies first,” Jesse teases, holding the door open for her.

Ellie sighs, feeling a bit cranky as usual at the end of the patrol, but walks into the building. She finds herself immediately freezing at the sight of you there beside Dina, laughing at an inside joke and munching on cheese fries.

“Oh my god, fuck me.” Ellie curses under her breath. She can already feel the heat rising to her cheeks, pink mixing within the freckled surface. She just hopes that you won’t notice.

“Don’t be a wimp, go say hi.” Jesse orders lightly behind Ellie, pointing to the area where you’re seated. Ellie swallows, and her boots feel almost like bricks on her feet. Jesse rolls his eyes, practically dragging her over to Dina and you.

You seem to look up from your meal, eyes scanning over her. She feels like she is being evaluated. God, you must be thinking about how awkward she looks. She can feel her hands get all sweaty like they did when she first laid eyes on you, and her hands shake. She tugs her jacket sleeves down and nearly expects the worst.

“Hi!” You smile, and you tell Ellie your name. All of the anxiety bubbles into a mix of dread and something giddy. Dread, because she can’t function properly around the one girl who makes her nervous as fuck. Giddiness, because you’re so sweet and lovely and pretty and kissable-

“Hi.” She manages to croak out, struggling to make eye contact. Fuck, how do I look at her? Do I focus on one of her eyes or can I blink and look away? I could wink. Oh, hell no. Don’t do that, Ellie. Instead tries to force an extremely nervous smile onto her face. “Name’s Ellie.”

“I know.” You simply say, still smiling slightly before stabbing a couple of fries with a plastic fork. There is some awkward silence before Dina fucks up Ellie’s momentum with the most nerve-wracking conversion starter.

“Ellie here has a tattoo.” She brags to you, gesturing to Ellie’s arm. Your eyes light up, and you turn towards her.

“Really?! I’ve always wanted one, but my parents would kill me.” You say excitedly. “Can I see?”

Ellie quickly nods, a little flustered with the attention thrown onto her. She shimmies her jacket off, leaving her in a pale blue sweater. Pulling the sleeve up to her elbow, she shows you the moth and fern inked into her skin. You scooch to the edge of the booth, closer to her, and she swears she can smell your perfume. Something sweet like vanilla, perhaps? It just reminds her of cake and whipped frosting. Her mind is suddenly less focused on your eyes roving over her arm, and more on wondering how you taste. She realizes how shitty that is and quickly tries to back out of her thoughts, but she looks down to find you looking up at her expectantly.

“Ellie here zones out 24/7, don’t mind her,” Jesse informs you, trying to push the sudden agenda he and Dina have going on. Ellie is practically burning right now. The air in the room feels limited, and the clashing of dishes in the background that she suddenly can’t seem to tune out isn’t helping. Ellie suddenly clears her throat, pulling away and putting her jacket back on.

“Woah, where are you going?” Dina asks, not paying attention to the obvious nerves emitting from her friend.

“Gonna go home and take a shower,” is all Ellie can find herself saying before making a beeline for the door.

The air is humid, but it isn’t much different from what Ellie felt inside. Ellie sighs, leaning against the wall. She really fucked tonight up. You were so sweet and inviting, and all she could do was tremble like a leaf and say a few boring words. Not only that, but you probably think that she is rude now, just walking out right after meeting you. She just hopes your feelings aren’t hurt in any way.

The universe officially hates Ellie Williams.

There, in bold letters, are the patrol assignments for the week. The paper is pinned to the corkboard outside of the town hall. This morning, with you? Ellie can’t tell if she wants to cry or laugh. Either way, she is dreading today.

“Hey, partner!” You greet her, clearly in a cheerful mood. She wants to kiss the corner of your lips on both sides just to feel your smile against her lips, but she is way too much of a pussy for that. Plus, you could be straight. You’re probably straight.

Ellie has to process how fast you found her, but when she wraps her head around it and finally can think of a coherent thought, it’s a confused one.

“Uh, hey..aren’t you new here?” She asks, scratching the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah. Tommy said you would be helping me out with our patrol today?” You told her, watching Ellie’s face grow from confused to almost panicked. “I can find a new partner if you don’t-”

“No!” She basically shouts at you, visibly cringing when people nearby stop to look at her. “I just mean, it’s fine. I just haven’t trained anyone in a long time.”

“Right. Well, we better head out then, huh? I was warned that the trail Maria gave us is one of the longer ones.” You say, looking at Ellie for a response.

Ellie doesn’t know what it is about you, but you make a conversation feel like a trip down to the first ring of hell. Even thinking that may be rude, and she curses her thoughts, but you’re pretty and kind. Ellie is a sweaty, awkward loser. She knows it must probably be hell for you to have to talk to her, too.

She swallows, nodding. “West trails go on for a while, but it’s fine. We’ll make it back to Jackson before night.”

You smile and nod in response, seemingly unbothered by her odd behavior as you follow her to the stables.

One thing about horse riding is that it is one of the most calming activities Ellie has available for her. Even when Jesse or Dina yaps her ears off, she finds peace on the back of a horse. After a long, stressful patrol, Ellie can always have a bit of respite with Shimmer. A girl with plenty of nerves can surely calm herself with the feel of coarse hair, accompanied by a comforting neigh. However, on this particular patrol, nothing about the horse ride along the Western trails is peaceful, or even tolerable.

Your soft chest is pressed up against her back. Even through the thickness of her hoodie, she can feel your rapid heartbeat. Her mind wanders–not to filth, but pure curiosity for you. If she were to confess, you’d surely find her obsession with you to be weird and possibly creepy. She just can’t help but wonder what makes your heart race so fast, though.

Are you not used to riding horses? It could be possible that in past experiences, you just had to walk from place to place. That doesn’t make sense, though. You have a family, don’t you? Your parents came with you, and there is no way you all just walked from the middle of nowhere to Jackson with just–

Ellie’s internal rambling ceases when she feels your arms, currently wrapped around her waist, squeeze her. Suddenly is she so conscious of the fact that your palm must be able to feel her stomach expand and falter with each breath she takes? That means you know how uneven her breathing is. You probably don’t ramble in your head about Ellie’s stupid lungs, though.

“Sorry. I’m just trying not to fall off of this huge thing.” You say, and Ellie can hear the hint of fear in your voice. It makes her heart jump, and a strange feeling of protectiveness enters her system. She stops herself from showing it though, not wanting to scare you away from her.

“This huge thing?” She questions, never hearing that term used for a horse before.

“Yeah, yeah!” You laugh softly, the sound music to her ears. “I just have an irrational fear of falling off of horses, okay?”

“Fair. I’m just, uh.” Ellie trails off, trying to find her train of thought as it keeps slipping through her grasp. “I’m used to horses, bein’ here in Jackson for a while.”

Your hands are warm, resting against her stomach. She can feel the heat through the fabric of her shirt.

Through the nerves bubbling up in her stomach like the usual acid, she finds the courage to take one hand off of Shimmer’s reins. It finds your hand, giving you a comforting squeeze. She is half-expecting you to be uncomfortable with her action, but to her surprise, you let out a soft sigh.

Like music to her ears.

Ellie is still tying Shimmer up as you scope out the area. Her hands are sweaty from the contact with yours, and her heart is beating through her chest so fast it almost hurts.

The sudden croak stops her in her tracks, her head turning towards you. You’re stepping back and nearly tripping over yourself to scramble away from a clicker, the gross-looking creature emerging from a hole in the fence you were just studying.

“Shit!” Ellie grits through her teeth, her feet carrying her fast.

Ellie has always been on a sort of adrenaline through every patrol she goes on. She has good instincts. She works well under pressure. For some, thinking so impulsively can be fatal. For Ellie, it’s just natural–how she was raised.

Ellie fights for reasons other than survival, however. Her own life isn’t always plugged into the equation along with the actions she takes. However, her mind flashes with a thought: what if I died right now? Would she be able to defend herself?

And suddenly, her life means everything. The fight becomes more intense.

Her hand harshly grips the creature’s jaw, tilting it upward to plunge her switchblade into its throat. It lets out a blood-curdling yell and falters. She lets its body drop and rushes toward you without another thought to the corpse a few feet away.

You’re on the ground, tears brimming your sweet eyes. The adrenaline rush still courses through her body as her eyes scan your body for any sign of a bite.

Not again, please. Not after what happened.

A relieved gasp leaves her when she realizes you’re safe. She looks over your face, and her chest aches when she sees the fear in your eyes.

“You’re okay. It’s all okay, it’s dead.”

You only nod in response, not trusting your voice at the moment. Ellie doesn’t mind. She crouches in front of you, fingers stroking through your hair, coaxing you to calm down. The only sounds left in the area are your quiet sniffles and the wind blowing through the trees behind you.

During the ride back to Jackson, you clutch onto Ellie just as tightly as the first time.

The summer festival. The small group that plans social events in Jackson hosts one every year in July. Ellie has always preferred winter when she could layer up her body and subtly admire Wyoming mountain ranges on lookouts. Summer is hot and filled with mosquitos, but Dina and Jesse love the summer festival, so Ellie goes every year.

The summer festival always left Ellie overwhelmed. She gets sweaty in her flannel, couples love to swap spit in the lines for face paint, and little kids get especially loud after sugary treats. The worst part? They include a dance along with it. The majority of Jackson dancing with each other accompanied by hot weather is as much of a nightmare as it seems. It isn’t Ellie’s ideal Friday night, especially when she could be at home strumming her guitar, or even just asleep.

“She’s going to the festival with us, by the way.” Jesse grins, leaning against Ellie’s front door.

“Oh, great,” Ellie says, a failed attempt at sarcasm. In all actuality, her pulse races when she pictures dancing with you.

Jesse laughs. “Dude, don’t act like you haven’t been daydreaming about her every day since that patrol.”

“Sure.” Ellie rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I’m in love with her or anything. I just think she’s cute.” Even admitting that causes embarrassment to plague her cheeks, however.

“That is exactly how it starts, smart one.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ellie asks, voice thick with exasperation.

“It starts with a ‘oh, she’s just cute.’ And then before you know it, you’ll be wearing matching ugly Christmas sweaters with her every year, just like me and Dina.” Jesse says.

“Oh, for god’s sake. I’m not whipped like you are. I just think she’s pretty, and I wouldn’t mind getting to know her.” She explains.

“And she wouldn’t mind getting to know you, either.”

“Oh my god, will you stop talking in riddles for five minutes?” Ellie groans, lightly smacking his shoulder. “Can’t you just..say what you mean?”

“I mean that she’s been gushing about you ever since you saved her. Something about a patrol and you comforting her. She has this crush on you, it’s adorable.” Jesse tells her, a grin on his face.

Ellie’s heart skips a beat. So you like her, too?

“Like I said before, you gotta ask her to be your plus one,” Jesse suggests.

The thought of spending her night with you instead of being the festival’s wallflower seems appealing. Even more appealing than just staying in like a recluse. Still, her nerves nag at her.

“Are you sure I should? Isn’t she already going with us?” Ellie asks with uncertainty in her tone.

“Yeah, but you want to make it clear you at least want something to do with her, right? If you don’t talk to her, she’ll think it’s just a friendly thing.”

“True,” Ellie mumbles.

“So do it. Go talk to her.” Jesse urges.

“Jeez, okay. I don’t have to right away.”

Joel has always conveyed the importance of gift-giving. He is a man who isn’t the best with his words. He bottles it up so easily and explodes just the same. Ellie has the same habit, so she uses that advice–gift-giving.

Joel himself has given plenty of gifts and services. He’d gifted Ellie with her first guitar. He made sure she didn’t go without a nice meal when she holed herself up in her room after her and Cat’s breakup. That voice is simply lodged in her head after the amount of times she has had to hear him say it.

“How are you doin’, kiddo?”

Gifts come in all shapes and sizes. Some gifts are the ones you think thoroughly about before you offer them. Some are unintentionally impactful, the type you keep with you for years after, even if the person who gave it to you doesn’t realize what it means to you.

Ellie likes to think gifts can be physical, too. You can give a kiss or a hug, and that proves the notion that certain gifts are special to certain people. You’d want to be given a kiss from someone you romantically love.

Ellie thought it over before knocking on your door. She heard things about what people had given their love interests before the apocalypse. As Joel said, bouquets and candy were cheesy but it worked. Ellie doesn’t have a local grocery store, however, unless you count the one with its workers being infected and its interior neglected, surrounded by overgrowth.

Ellie isn’t much of a baker, either. Her garage home’s oven is sparsely used, her microwave in favor; the previous night, her oven was used. Three times, actually. Two times resulted in charred, burnt remains of what was supposed to be a cake. The third time, Ellie put her dignity aside and went to Joel for help, and she reluctantly let him in on her intentions.

So here she is, in her red flannel that doesn’t have any holes in it and a pair of boot-cut jeans, painfully styled with crusty Converse. She knocks at your door, a container with a vanilla cake in the other.

Ellie’s eyes fill with hearts when your head peeks out. You open the door wider when you recognize her face, and your eyes naturally trail down to the item in her hands.

Ellie clears her throat. “Uh, brought you something.”

And of course, you’re already smiling ear to ear. “Yeah? What’d you bring me?”

Something as sweet as you. That is what Ellie thinks, but instead, she gives the blunt, not unkind answer. “Cake.”

Ellie holds out the container for you, and you accept it without hesitance. For just a split second, she feels the warmth of your fingertips as they brush against her rough, calloused ones. And then for another second, she lets herself dwell on her deepest thoughts–she wishes she could intertwine her fingers with yours and know what it’s like to be loved by the sun herself.

“Also–” Ellie scratches her lip, trying not to sputter out her thoughts. “Since Dina and Jesse are going to be all over each other at the festival, I was thinking we could hang out. If you don’t mind.”

You beam as brightly as the sun. “Yeah! And thanks for the cake, Els.”

Els. That name has her face hot and her hands clammy. She just stares at you for a moment, giving a nod and as polite a goodbye as she can manage before she heads back to her garage house to think of the fact that you just called her the cutest thing you could possibly call her.

Els it is, then. Els is taking you to the summer festival tomorrow.

taglist: @hotpinkskitties, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @elliesngirl, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @starryeyedlovergirll, @l0veylace, @abbysmeatrider, @ferxanda, @vahnilla, @frillynpinkprincess, @plasticl0v3r, @meow4510, @eriiwaii, @g4ys0n, @mitskimisfit, @ruelezz, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs

fic taglist: @piercedome, @violetszn, @ellieshothousewife, @natscloset

want to join my taglist? click here

#dividers by i-mmaculatus #dividers by jaexiyu #ellie williams #ellie x y/n #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie x you #the last of us 2 #the last of us part 2 #tlou part 2 #lesbian #sapphic #wlw

311 notes · View notes

elstattoo · 1 day ago

Text

men and minors dni

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ phone sex with ellie .𖥔 ݁ ˖

content: fingering (r), dirty talk, ellie touches herself

You couldn’t do it. Not without the aid of her. It was times like this when she was away, you grew the most desperate for her. Especially with the heat in your stomach appearing when you were close, then disappearing because you couldn’t finish without her, and Ellie knew this, it swelled her heart with a sense of pride, knowing you needed her that much. So when you pinged her phone, messaging her about how much you missed her and needed to hear her voice; she knew.

“C’mon, baby. Tell me what you’re doing,” she husked into the phone.

You shivered hearing those words, pussy growing wetter the more she talked. You had two fingers curled inside yourself, your wetness sticking to both your thighs and even the sheets below you. You were growing closer and closer, and more impatient, wanting to finally cum. “I’m fingering myself to you, Els. Need you so bad…”

Ellie bit down on her lip, a groan rasping through the phone which made you slicker, legs closing together from the sheer sensitivity. “Jesus Christ, you’re so dirty. Always desperate for me, huh? Got such a needy fuckin’ cunt…”

Her own fingers were working pushing down her own pants and boxers, the clothing now bunched around her feet. Ellie wished she could see you right now, laying there looking like an angel, fingering your pussy for her. She wanted to see how your face contorted into pleasure, flashes of it crossing her mind.

Hearing such dirty words pulled from her lips, just was the kick you needed. The impending heat in your stomach suddenly grows more rapid, your fingers curling harshly inside your walls, repeatedly hitting a spot that feels so good. A whine escapes from your end of the phone, no actual words being formed. You were too fucked out, too dumb off the thought of Ellie and her repeative dirty words.

The silence only lasted so long before Ellie grew impatient by you not replying. Her slender fingers were rubbing aggressively against her clit, the phone picking up the echoing sound of your wetness and fingers pounding inside yourself. It made Ellie’s head dizzy, her own cunt soaked below her. She wanted to hear you, “C’mon where’s my girl’s voice? Are you close, baby?”

You sped up your fingers, stupidly nodding your head as if she were right there with you, too desperate for her to even care. “Yes, I’m so close. I’m gonna… cum. Fuck—“

Ellie gripped the phone harder, wishing she could see the filthy mess of you cumming all over your fingers. “Yeah… that’s it, baby. Soak those fingers for me.”

And you did, you came so hard, you felt as though you were floating. Your whole body shook as you came, you slipped your cum-coated fingers out of your pussy and eased the digits into your moan. Following with a pop when they were clean, “I came so hard…” you breathed out, “And I cleaned the mess for you.”

Hearing that, Ellie’s fingers halted, eyes widening. It was like a switch went off inside her, hearing you say that. She closed her eyes, sighing softly, knowing what she had to do.

All you heard was shuffling for a moment on her end of the phone, leaving you confused momentarily. Ellie had her shoes on and clothes pulled back up, now looking for her keys. “I’m coming over,” she mumbled. “You’re so fucking in for it, babe.”

You paused, replaying the words in your head. Even though you had fucked yourself minutes prior, you felt yourself dripping once again. “Please hurry. El.”

#delsfics *ੈ✩‧₊˚#ellie williams #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie x reader smut #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #wlw #lesbian

246 notes · View notes

ellieabbyy · 20 hours ago

Text

175 notes · View notes

marscardigan · 16 hours ago

Text

bed chem ! chapter viii. the third wheel

streamer!ellie x streamer!reader

modern smau. you and ellie are polar opposites in every way possible. maybe that's why you seem so drawn to each other.

series masterlist

taglist !

@l0veylace @eriiwaiii2 @firefly-ace @twopeoplee @usuck @vahnilla @liasxeatt @mascspleasegetmepregnant @autisticintr0vert @iheartclairo66 @lovely-wisteria @liztreez @valeisaslut @lvlymicha @samcvrpenters @leaaavesss @elliecoochieeater @kaimxri @0phantom0 @ellieslittleslutt @elliesgffrfr @rikasbunny @mamas-evil-hag @hyberbabe @hopingforgoodblogs @marvelwomenarehot0 @elliesngirl @kiiramiz @prettywitchybitch @d1psht @desiretolive @wrappedinvines

120 notes · View notes

boricuasirena25 · 3 days ago

Note

i want to know the lore, does reader like ellie back secretly? does she think it's cute? does she secretly dress up for ellie because idk... i'm so invested???

IM SOOO SORRY FOR REPLYING TO THIS LATE IVE JUST SEEN THIS!

okay so… YES! she acts all cruel to ellie, plays it off or wtv. but deep down? she thinks ellie’s cute, she likes her. she REFUSES to admit it. she pretends ellie’s all gross and annoying, mocks her, rolls her eyes. but still keeps notices every time ellie looks at her.

reader think she’s cute—but it pisses her off. ellie’s always acting so awkward, hiding under that hoodie, fidgeting with her fingers or backpack straps, sweating when reader walks by.

but she secretly think it’s adorable.

she doesn’t wanna admit it tho, doesn’t wanna admit that ellie’s desperation and awkwardness makes her feel wanted in a way adrian could never make her feel. and yes, she absolutely secretly dresses up for her.

she notices what makes ellie freeze up. the way she adjusts her push up bra in front of ellie? how she licks her glossed lips? when she bends down wearing her mini skirts RIGHT IN FRONT OF ELLIE? all intentional. she’ll act bothered about the staring, but she’s always aware of it. she walks slower past the band room just to make sure ellie sees her thong peeking above her waistband from the hallway.

and to get freaky… reader might even sometimes fantasize about ellie losing control. ellie’s always shy. nervous. but in readers head? she imagine her snapping. pinning her to her bed. gripping readers thighs with rough, drummer and guitarist callused hands and begging to make reader cum. reader pretends she’s above ellie, but secretly? reader aches for ellie to wreck her.

she might’ve made fun of ellie’s sketchbook, called it creepy but she secretly liked flipping through it. she’d do it again. she pretends to hate the attention, but would notice if it hypothetically stopped (ellie’s never gonna stop being a simp for her) and probably get upset.

reader does like ellie. not just for the attention—but for the devotion. for the way ellie looks at her like she’s something divine. it’s addicting. and secretly? It makes her feel seen in a way no one else manages.

she might call ellie pathetic, gross, a perv—but deep down? she likes that ellie would do anything for her. she likes that she’s the reason ellie can’t think straight. she likes being wanted that much. she might even like ellie—for real.

but to admit it? that would be way too vulnerable. so instead… she bullies her. wears her lip gloss. flips her hair in ellie’s face like she doesn’t care.

and waits for ellie to fall harder.

233 notes · View notes

mentallyadinonugget · 3 days ago

Text

✮soulmate!ellie x soulmate!reader

tags: sfw, some fluff, vvv vague loser ellie, slightly deranged/feral reader, & soulmate au obvs.

word count: 2.3k

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Growing up, you never quite grasped why people believed that having your soulmate's very first words permanently etched into your skin was so undeniably romantic and a true blessing. Perhaps it offered them hope that there’s someone destined to love them, their other half. Meanwhile, most of the folks you encountered had the sweetest meet-cutes and even more charming phrases like, “I’m sorry to say, but you have the most beautiful eyes ever” or “Hi, I saw you from afar and simply couldn’t resist introducing myself.” Your parents, on the other hand, had the most cringe-worthy first interaction imaginable, and heaven forbid you ever bring it up; it only inflates their already inflated egos. Maybe you were just a tad jealous.

Even the more common lines felt agreeable to you, like “Hi, what’s your name?” or “And that’ll be $9.99, tax included.” You knew it would’ve been confusing to receive something like that, but God knows you’d prefer it over what your “soulmate” actually said to you. You scoffed every time you glanced at your right arm, a constant reminder of how the person who’s supposed to love you eternally uttered, “Are you actually deaf, or is your head just wayyyy too up your ass all the time to hear anything?” Ah yes, folks, that’s the love of your life right there.

Whenever someone would mention their insipid, showy, dense soulmate’s first words like “You smell like tulips” or “Mister, wait, you forgot your wallet,” you couldn’t help but feel that pang of jealousy. But could anyone really blame you? People often tried to convince you that maybe it would be funny when you finally met or something vaguely similar, but you always silenced them with a glare, not wanting to hear another word about it.

Today was probably the worst day of your life. You got into a huge fight with your parents about something so silly that you couldn't help but laugh right now. You dropped some good manchow soup on your white T-shirt while getting up to get your plate to the dining table. You weren't sure what you were angrier about, your T-shirt or your soup. Just as you thought things couldn't get worse, your teacher sent a text in the group chat assigning all students extra work so late at night, ruining all the plans you had for the weekend. You couldn't pinpoint what pushed you over the edge or the reason why you were sneaking out to get fried shrimp at 4 in the morning. It was just one of those days.

You were out in your Hello Kitty pajamas and even comfier sweatshirt with your headphones in. You mumbled to yourself, "I would rather lick my tongue with a cheese grater than have someone I know from school see me like this." You texted your best friend, "Should I get the sweet chili or BBQ sauce?" But before you could get a reply back, you were tackled to the ground by someone on possibly a skateboard. Your palms and knees were scraped and bloodied. RIP Hello Kitty pajamas.

You got up to see this pale girl with short brown hair, a baggy T-shirt, and shorts. Her nose was bleeding slightly. Honestly, you would have found her quite attractive under any different circumstances, but right now you couldn't give less of a fuck about what she looked like or what she was wearing. You were having the shittiest day in the history of shitty days, and now your Hello Kitty trousers were ripped and you were covered in blood. Your sweet dreams of getting fried shrimp were shattered. So before you could even think about something reasonable, some vile words left your mouth. To your surprise, she didn't hold back either.

"Can't you see where you're going, you bumbling shit muffin?" you shrieked.

"Are you actually deaf, or is your head just wayyyy too up your ass all the time to hear anything?" she yelled with the biggest sneer on her face, getting way closer to your face than you'd like her to be. You could now clearly see the freckles on her face, her bloodied button nose, her green eyes, and the way her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Maybe you would like that, tbh.

It took you a minute to realize what just happened.

Oh.

What the fuck

What the absolute fucking fuck, this can't be happening. Not when I look like this, at least you thought, and by the looks of the girl's expression, you were so sure that she was thinking the same thing. Her features softened slightly, and she let out a small chuckle, faintly blowing air in your face. “Oh my god, it’s you,” she exclaimed, her smile getting bigger. But once again, you couldn’t register what you were about to say and started screaming, “YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE YOU RUINED MY LIFE!” as you lunged at her, trying to punch her. She caught you with such ease you would’ve considered it hot if you weren’t so angry at the moment. “I’M THE ASSHOLE??? When YOU’RE the one who called me a shit muffin?” She barked a laugh. “Do you know that all my friends call me shit muffin now? I guess I do have to give you points for creativity.” She amused, and guilt took over you. All your anger vanished. “I’m sorry, I guess,” you murmured, avoiding eye contact. Before you could react, she grabbed your chin and enforced you to look at her. “What was that?” She leaned in, cupping her ear, pretending to hear you better, smirking a bit. “Oh, eat cock,” you rolled your eyes and pushed her away. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t swing that way.” She beamed. “I can’t believe it’s you,” she grinned ear to ear. “Why? I let down your expectations?” You half joked now that you finally started to believe that this was indeed happening. God, you were so nervous. What if she thought you were ugly, like a troll, or you frightened her by trying to knock her teeth in? God, how could I be so fucking stop, you introspected.

“W-what? NO, absolutely not. You’re beautiful,” she went on apprehensively, her cheeks quickly reddening as she said it.

“Please forget that I’m not this much of a loser on a daily basis,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands and sitting down on the sidewalk. You couldn’t help but giggle. God, she was cute. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were hot before I punched you,” you said. “TRIED to punch me. I dodged that actually,” she boasted, wiping fake dust off her shoulders. This time you actually laughed. “Oh my god, you’re so lame,” you exclaimed. “NO I’M NOT,” she put up a performance which made you laugh even harder. You didn’t get it, but the girl was staring at you with the biggest smile on her face. “I’m Ellie, by the way, Ellie Williams,” she put her hand out for you. “(y/n)(y/ln),” you replied while shaking it. You got up and pulled her with you, both of you walking for no reason. It was quite peaceful, honestly.

“Well, miss y/l/n, what are you doing here at 4 am? Early morning run?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, as if,” you scoffed and started telling her about your appalling day, and to your entertainment, she made stupid expressions, exaggerating her emotions on everything you said, putting a fake sword through her heart when you told her about how she’s the reason you don’t have your delicious fried shrimp with you right now. And in return, Ellie told you about how much she likes skateboarding, and she was trying to learn this new trick but kept making a lot of noise, so her old man Joel told her to take it outside. She told you how cool the trick is and even attempted to show it to you, failing miserably and making you laugh once again. You then noticed the blood on her face was beginning to dry up, so you asked her to come with you to some public bathroom.

You took out your pocket hanky and began to wet it, putting it on her face, cleaning all traces of blood, while she continued to yap about her other interests, which included dinosaurs and space, and it weirdly didn’t surprise you. You cleaned yourself up too and came out.

“I’m truly sorry for ruining your super awesome pajamas,” she forged an apology, her smile unwavering. “I’m sorry for almost breaking your nose; there’s nothing I can do about that.” You bowed to her, mirroring the energy she had given you, though deep down, you felt a twinge of guilt.

“Well, there is something you can do about it,” she said slyly. “And that is?” You raised an eyebrow. “Your number, maybe? And a date, but only if you want to, of course! You totally don’t have to hang out with me just because we’re soulmates. I mean, who even believes in that anymore? You probably don’t want to; we just met, so it’s reasonable. I could be a serial killer for gods sake.” She laughed nervously, glancing down as she played with her fingers anxiously. “Yes, I’d love to go out with you, Ellie,” you interjected, stopping her from rambling further.

“Oh, thank fuck” she exclaimed, relief washing over her as she pumped her fist in victory. “Ellie, what the hell? Just give me your phone, and I’ll type my number in for you.” You chuckled at her excitement. “So, where are we going?” you asked Ellie.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that; I know exactly what you’d love,” she smirked to herself. “Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever. But right now, I have to leave and get back home before my parents figure out I snuck out, okay?” you said, glancing at the time.

“What? No goodbye kiss?” Ellie teased, and before she could make another witty comment, you kissed her cheek and dashed away. “You better make it worth my while, Williams!” you called back as you fled.

As you neared home, a funny feeling crept in—maybe this soulmate business wouldn’t be as awful as you had imagined. Meanwhile, Ellie stood there in shock, her hand caressing her cheek where your lips had just lingered. She was utterly confused, yet her radiant smile remained unyielding.

Ellie Williams was utterly, truly, and tremendously fucked up over you, but luckily, so were you. _____________________________________________

Hi pretty ppl! this was my first ellie fic and I know this is a bit too long but I was having so much fun writing it I couldn’t stop im sorry okay 😞 if yall like it ill make a part two I just know

once again constructive criticism is more than appreciated but if you want to be mean do not interact with this at all

143 notes · View notes

ellies-enrichment · 3 days ago

Text

yknow what hell yea

#joel miller #ellie williams #hbo the last of us #the last of us #incorrect tlou quotes #if i ever were to lose queue

144 notes · View notes

bluebutterflytattooed · 2 days ago

Text

Loser Lesbian Ellie x Mean Girl Reader

CHAPTER FIVE

HEY warnings for this chapter:

tw: mentions of drug abuse, masturbation (ellie)

It’s been almost a week since you were at Ellie’s house. You haven’t gone back yet, the work on the film has mostly been done just at school. You guys have civil conversations littered with laughing and smiling, and you’ve made barely any snide remarks about her at all since that afternoon at her house.

Ellie is a big fan of these brand new, friendly interactions. So much so that she fears her middle school crush on you is coming back. She can’t stop thinking about you. Oh, I have this class with Y/N. I wonder what Y/N’s eating for lunch? Wow, I can’t believe Y/N was in my room. That thought in particular is her favorite one. It was floating around in her head constantly when she was at home. That you had been laying on the carpet in this very room, drinking a milk shake and listening to her talk about an apocalypse caused by a mushroom fungus. Occasionally, she’ll catch a little bit of your sweet cherry scent, even if it’s not really there, and it sends her spiraling.

Yes. The middle school crush she had on you is returning, is what she ultimately decides. She knows that Dina will scream ‘I told you so!’ as soon as she updates her, and that Riley will scoff and advise her against it. ‘She’s cruel’ she will tell her.

And of course, because Ellie has been so incredibly down bad for you before, she will ignore Riley. The crush got so bad in middle school that Ellie would draw comics of you. The two of you as Spider-Man (her) and the girl (you) that she had to save. Or maybe you both were detectives, or you were a princess and she was a guard. In Sixth Grade, she drew you both as dinosaurs. This is information she will NEVER reveal to anybody. Not a soul.

This time, the crush is so bad that you’re on Ellie’s mind as she takes a shower after a day full of hard farm work. She had lugged around bales of hay all day, herding her dad’s flock of sheep while riding on her horse. It had left her bones sore and her muscles burning.

If Y/N was here, she could give me a massage, she thinks and giggles to herself.

But now that she’s in the shower, her thoughts have wandered away from her aching body and turned towards you.

They’re not normal thoughts, they’re the kind that flush her face and make the space between her legs ache as much as her bones do. She tries to think of something else but… it just won’t work.

And that’s how she ends up leaning against the tiled shower wall, whining and gasping pitifully into her hand as she uses her other hand to fuck herself messily, quickly, almost desperately.

No, not almost. She is completely and totally desperate.

Why won’t you and your sharp words, your perfect smile, your stunning features, you, leave her head?

Not that she’s complaining too much. It’s kind of thrilling to have images of you and soundtracks of your voice floating around in her mind. Those soundtracks play on a loop as she pounds two of her fingers into her dripping cunt, hot water from the showerhead soaking her flushed skin. A cacophony of whimpers and little pleading words fall from her parted lips.

“Ah~ nghh, Y/N, please,” It’s as if Ellie’s begging for you, and you’re not even there, no matter how much she wishes you were. You’ve bullied her for years; why would she be this needy for you?

Part of her knows that it’s because you’re the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen in her life, and the other part of her knows that it’s because the teasing has made her even more obsessed with you. Why? That’s a question for a time when she’s not about to come.

She starts imagining that you’re there with her, your manicured hands trailing over her skin, your lips pressed against her toned stomach that she wishes you know about, water dripping down your body as she stares down at you, sharp, teasing words coming from your mouth. She makes choked little moaning sounds as flashes of you, your face, your tits, your legs, fly through her head like a horney slideshow, the heat in her core twisting a building up until it’s unbearable-

And then she comes to the thought of her gorgeous high school bully, whining loudly and shaking as she soaks her already-wet fingers, her arousal dripping down her wrist.

And she has no shame about it.

After recovering from her orgasm, Ellie sighs heavily, washing the shampoo out of her hair which is what she intended to do before she got a little distracted. Her shower routine is not complex. It consists of soap and shampoo. She’s imagined what yours is like before, all the steps you probably go through in order to smell amazing every day. The sweetness that follows you around haunts her mind. She wants to bottle whatever that smell is.

She turns off the shower, stepping out and toweling her skin dry before putting her pajamas on. She just knows that if you saw the pajamas, you would laugh so hard that you’d cry. She has on her favorite dinosaur themed boxers and an old t-shirt that she got when she went on a school trip with the Marching Band. Basically, if you saw her in it, you’d be absolutely brutal with teasing her.

Little does she know, you actually have begun to find her interesting and find some of her nerdy hobbies and interests endearing.

She’d probably melt if she knew that.

She ends up spending the rest of the night watching a truly terrible horror movie with her adoptive dad, Joel, a gruff man on the outside, but a teddy bear on the inside. Despite the movie and the laughter filling the living room, Ellie always found her mind wondering what you were up to.

————————————————————————

You were not having as good of a night as Ellie was, to put it simply. Your mom had showed back up at the house, which is never fun for you. She’d been on a bender for about a week, having visited her dealer and buying all the shit she could come up with. Now that she’s gotten over the high, she’s at a low. You practically have to baby sit her. In instances like these, you barely go to school since you have to spend all day making sure your mom stays alive, tending to her every need even if it’s just her being demanding.

You almost text Ellie to tell her and the rest of your film group that you’ll miss some work days, but they don’t care about you like that. They’ll be fine without me, you tell yourself as you stir some honey into chamomile tea for your mom. The house is still quiet. That’s a pro of your mother no longer being coked up, she’s too tired to say or do anything.

As you take the tea to your mom, your thoughts fade to Ellie, wanting to know what she’s up to right now (fucking herself in the shower, that’s what she’s doing). Probably playing some conflict game in her mess of a room. You set the tea on the TV dinner table next to your mom, who lies on the couch.

“Here, ma, this is for you.” You tell her softly. She looks up at you with bloodshot eyes and smiles, showcasing her dirty teeth. You grimace a bit, out of sympathy for her and also frustration that you’re acting like the parent here. You’re only eighteen.

“Thanks sweet girl. You got a boyfriend yet?” She always asks this. You don't have the heart or confidence to tell her No, I’ll never have a boyfriend. I’m not into boys like that. You’re scared those words will never leave your mouth.

Part of your jealousy towards Ellie is that she’s genuine. She knows who she is, and she doesn’t hide it. She’s been out as gay since eighth grade, which is when you started tormenting her. Because you knew that she’s proud in a way you never will be. It makes you feel sick to your stomach.

Just like you guessed would happen, you miss school for almost a full week. You don’t text the film group to let them know that you won’t be in class. All you do is make meals for your mother, write little poems in your room, hang out with Cherry, and do Youtube pilates workouts. It’s oddly exhausting, being home so much. A few of your friends reach out to see if you’re busy, to which you say ‘can’t, some family stuff came up’. They don’t respond after that.

On the sixth day of your confinement, a Saturday, you’re watching a Nikola’s Pilates video, dressed in pink foldover leggings and a black t-shirt, when your phone buzzes at your side. With a groan, you relax from the stretch you were in and check to see which friend texted this time with a party invitation. But when you see the screen, your heart stops. Or it starts beating faster; it’s hard to tell. Something is going on with your heart either way. Lit up on the phone screen is a text from Ellie, who’s listed in your phone as ‘Ellie 🥸’. Your heart beats even faster, or maybe even slower, as you read the text.

Ellie 🥸: hey y/n

Ellie 🥸: do you maybe want to come over?

——————————————————————————

hi my loves! UGHHH i’m loving all the support, you guys are so sweet. what did we think of the slightly spicy chapter? i hope it wasn’t weirdly written or anything haha😭.

sorry this is coming out late at night, i had a huge math assignment and had to photograph stuff for yearbook.

-lots of love, blue 🦋

tag list: @vahnilla @elliesngirl @naniiiii12 @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @elliesgffrfr @nymanas @yashirawr

#author #ellie fluff #ellie smut #ellie the last of us #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #the last of us #tlou #Iguys it got freaky #loser lesbian ellie williams #loser lesbian #mean girl reader

116 notes · View notes

orchidseason · 1 day ago

Text

friends don’t look at friends that way ᭪

loser ellie williams x f!reader

a smut w/ plot fic about how childhood friend!AU Ellie and you fall into love with one another. As prom comes around, you witness Ellie get asked out by someone else. Drama arises and it ends with her under your dress, her tongue having you come apart.

warnings ᭪ 6k wc, eventual smut/plot with smut, modern AU, loser ellie, extrovert reader, childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending, first kiss, toxic friends, top ellie, bottom reader, oral/finger sex, outside sex (but out of sight), high school AU (Ellie and R are both 18/19)

Inseparable since childhood, you and Ellie shared everything—secrets, laughter, and dreams. Your houses were just down the street from each other, so getting to know each other came naturally. Being the extroverted kid you were, you marched right over to her house the moment you saw her move in, knocking on the door. And there she was—the first time you met her. Auburn hair, freckles scattered across her cheeks, and eyes that were a shade of green you'd never forget.

As kids, you stayed up late, whispering through walkie-talkies, confiding in each other when the world outside had fallen asleep. You talked about the little things—divorces, toothaches, birthdays—but also about things only kids could understand. Then, as time went on, the topics changed. Middle school arrived, and the talk shifted to crushes and gossip. Did you hear James likes Lexi? Did you know the weird kid got detention for throwing a pencil?

Time marched forward, and the seasons turned. Middle school gave way to high school, and with it came an evolution of your friendship. The late-night whispers started to carry weight—those unspoken feelings between you two growing stronger. But neither of you ever said a word about it. It just felt like part of the connection you had, part of the bond that seemed unshakable.

Whether it was sneaking into the quiet corners of the library, walking laps around the track after school, or hiding under the bleachers where you could just be yourselves, your friendship remained constant. It was the kind of bond everyone noticed—the kind they couldn’t help but question. At first, when people asked if there was more between you two, it felt awkward. You just shrugged it off. You were close, sure, but that was normal, right? But over time, those questions started to linger. Was it strange to be so close to someone? Was it... strange? Did you like her?

As you sit beside her on the bleachers, your gaze drifts to Ellie. Her auburn hair falls in front of her face as she focuses on her phone. She feels your eyes on her, glances up, and in that moment, time seems to slow. Her hair catches in the breeze, and the noise of the football game fades into the background. The world narrows, and for a second, it's just the two of you.

A beat passes, and then Ellie flashes a playful smile. "School rotting your brain that much?" she teases, her voice pulling you back to reality.

You let out a nervous laugh, the sound a little too shaky, too loud in the quiet space between the distant roar of the game and the scattered chatter of the other students around you. "For sure... yeah," you reply, your voice rougher than you intended, trying to play it off. But even as the words leave your mouth, you feel something shift. It’s like the moment drags, stretches out, and suddenly, you’re aware of everything: the way her auburn hair catches in the light, the soft curve of her lips, and the way her laugh lingers in the air like a melody you can’t get out of your head.

You force yourself to look away, but it’s like her gaze is pulling you back in, an invisible force you can’t escape. Gravity. That’s what it feels like, her eyes anchoring you to the present, making everything else blur. She’s pretty. She’s funny. And now, with every glance, every conversation, your heart races a little faster, your stomach doing flips you don’t know how to explain.

You try to brush it off, but it’s like a crack in the dam, and the question starts to flood in, taking over every thought. You can’t ignore it anymore. Shit... do I like her more than a friend?

That night, you tried to shrug it off. You convinced yourself it was just overthinking—or maybe the onset of some strange sickness you couldn’t quite shake. You hoped sleep would clear your head, that morning would make it all go away. But when you woke up and saw her waiting at the bus stop, everything froze. Your world. Or rather, your heart. It was as if it stopped working the moment your eyes landed on her. You had opened a door you couldn’t close. There was no going back now.

It crept in, this new feeling—unwanted, yet undeniable. Sitting beside her on the bus felt different now, like every moment stretched out, every second hanging heavier than before. The way her thigh brushed against yours when the bus jolted or turned—it left something inside you craving more. It was a subtle thing, but every touch, every shared glance, made you ache in ways you couldn’t explain.

You started noticing everything. The way she moved, the little things she said, the sound of her laugh—it was like each moment with her was magnified, every detail etched into your mind. You found yourself scrolling through her social media more than you ever had, fixated on how she interacted with the world, with her friends, with her daily life. And you couldn’t stop. It was like each new detail was a breadcrumb, a trail you couldn’t help but follow, but it only led to more confusion, more uncertainty.

It also led to a sickening sense of self-disgust. This was your best friend, the person you’d known forever. To be thinking about her like this, to be wanting her like this, felt wrong. It felt like a betrayal—not just to her, but to the friendship you’d built, the bond that was supposed to be untouchable. The whole ordeal ended when you decided to keep it to yourself, to keep the friendship alive. You’ll get over it, everyone has a crush on their close friend. It’s fine.

You now sit beside her in science class, the two of you sharing one of those dark top desks every science class seem to have. You open your pencil case and pass her a stick of gum, “want any?”

She looks up from her notebook, her eyes meeting yours for just a moment before she gives you a small, amused smile. “Sure, thanks.”

You pull out a piece of gum, your fingers brushing hers for just a moment as you pass it to her. The touch is light, almost imperceptible, but it sends a ripple through your chest, the warmth of her skin lingering on your fingertips, a spark igniting that leaves you trying to swallow down a nervous breath.

She unwraps the gum, slipping it between her lips with a casual ease. Your eyes flicker to what she's holding, and you realize that it’s the homework due in class today.

A grin tugs at the corner of your lips, almost involuntary. “Want to take a look at mine?” you ask, leaning slightly toward her.

For a moment, she hesitates, her gaze flickering to yours, but then the tension melts from her face. Her lips curve into that small, unassuming smile of hers that you’ve seen a hundred times. “Yeah,” she says quietly.

You slide your notebook toward her, the pages rustling faintly as she begins copying your answers, her pen moving quickly, expertly. You watch her, propping your head on your hand, the seconds ticking.

“You’ve got two minutes left,” you murmur, a hint of mischief creeping into your voice.

She sighs, not even glancing up, her focus still on the two notebooks. “You’re only stressing me out more. Cut it out,” she says with a half-smile, voice soft but teasing.

A laugh hovers at the back of your throat, but you bite it back, content to just watch her. The scribbles of her messy handwriting fill the page, and you can almost hear the steady beat of her concentration. Then, the bell rings, sharp and final, and she lets out a muttered curse under her breath. She drops her pen with a soft thud, clearly frustrated.

“I’m surprised,” you say, your voice low and almost too soft as you pull your notebook back into your hands. The words hang in the air, charged with something between curiosity and amusement. “Or should I not be? You’ve been doing this for years. When will you just… do it?”

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, and for a split second, there's a spark of defiance, a quiet challenge in the way her gaze locks with yours. But then, as if it’s second nature, that familiar smile tugs at her lips.

The rest of the class moves like clockwork, a blur of notes being passed, the teacher's voice rising and falling like background music. When the bell rings and the lunch period begins. The hallways hum with the noise of students as you all make your way to lunch. On your way to your usual spot, you pass the corkboard outside your classroom—and there it is.

A poster for prom.

It’s bold and colorful, almost jarring against the otherwise drab hallway. The sparkling letters proclaim “Prom: A Night in New York!” Your eyes linger for a moment, catching the way the glittering text seems to mock you with its flashy promises. Ellie, however, wouldn’t even notice it if you didn’t point it out. Ellie lets this pass her by, doesn’t give it a second thought. She never cared much for those things, the dances, the traditions. Prom had always seemed like a distant idea, something that flew right past her without so much as a glance. You don’t even ask, knowing her answer.

But this year? Your last year before you both go off to college? Possibly.

You sit down across from her, and there’s a pause in the conversation. You catch yourself staring at her, the words weighing on your tongue before you even realize they’re there.

"Ellie," you begin, your voice tentative, just loud enough to cut through the chatter around you. "You gonna go to prom this year?"

She looks up, surprised by the question, her brow furrowing slightly. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes—a mix of skepticism and amusement, like she’s trying to figure out why you’re asking in the first place.

"Prom?" she repeats, as if she can’t quite place the word in her mind. "You’re joking, right?"

You shrug, trying to play it casual, but there’s something about this that feels... different. You haven’t really talked about it before. The idea of prom wasn’t even on your radar until you saw that damn poster.

“I don’t know,” you say, picking at the edge of your sandwich. “It’s kind of a big deal, right? I mean... it’s the highlight of the year.”

Ellie’s lips curl into that small, half-amused smile again, but it’s different this time. It’s softer, almost like she’s looking at you through a new lens, one you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her through before.

"Yeah, right," she mutters dryly. "Prom? It’s a scam for people to waste money on a one-night event.”

"But that’s part of the fun," you tease, nudging her shoulder lightly. "You get dressed up, pretend like it’s the best night of your life. You know, the usual high school stuff."

She cuts you off with a sharp look and a flick of her wrist, dismissing your words. "No thanks," she says, her voice firm. "Not interested."

The finality in her tone catches you off guard. You scoot back, feeling the faintest pang of disappointment, but you try to hide it, focusing instead on your food, not wanting to dwell on the fact that this might be the first time you’ve ever really wanted her to change her mind about something. You wanted her to go with you. It might be the last memory you really create with her. Who knows if your friendship can last through college.

It’s been four days since that lunch, four days since you threw the question out there and Ellie shut it down so quickly, so definitively. Her words still echo in your mind, that dry, dismissive tone when she said, “Prom? It’s a scam for people to waste money on a one-night event.” You tried to brush it off, tried to hide the disappointment that gnawed at you when she cut you off with that sharp look.

You had wanted her to go, wanted to create some last memory with her before everything changed, before life inevitably pulled you both in different directions. Prom might not be the grand event everyone else makes it out to be, but for you, it would’ve been a way to do something together—something that felt like it mattered.

But Ellie wasn’t interested. She never has been. She’s always been too cool for the glitter, the sparkles, the traditions. And part of you gets it.

But part of you also doesn’t.

The rest of the week has passed by like a blur—school, homework, fleeting glances shared between you two in the halls, and the quiet hum of routine that has become so familiar, so comfortable. You both fall into your familiar rhythm, but there’s an undercurrent of something different. You’re not sure if it’s just the prom pressure getting to you, or if it’s something else entirely, but the whole situation is starting to feel heavier than it should.

Now it’s after school, and you’ve realized you forgot something in your locker. You’ve got the entire building mostly to yourself, the hallways empty as you make your way back to the locker room. The noise of students leaving for the day is distant, the chatter fading as you turn the corner toward the back exit.

As you step outside, you spot her—Ellie. She’s standing by the football field, arms crossed over her chest, looking out at the empty bleachers. For a moment, you freeze. There’s something about the way she’s standing there, alone, her usual indifference plastered on her face, that makes you hesitate.

You start walking toward her, thinking you’ll maybe finally ask her again. Ask her about prom, or at least about why she shot it down so fast, as if it was something beneath her. Maybe you’ll bring it up again, tell her you really want her to go, and that you’d like to go with her—just the two of you, together.

But as you draw closer, your eyes catch something that makes your stomach lurch.

A girl approaches Ellie, someone you’ve seen around but never really talked to. Rachel Stevens. A cheerleader. She’s the kind of girl everyone else gravitates toward, the one who gets whatever she wants with a smile and a flutter of lashes. Pretty eyes, a body that’s shot through puberty early. You’ve never ever seen Ellie and Rachel together before, so seeing them now, with Rachel walking up to her, feels... off. It stirs something in you, your feet coming to a stop.

And then, just like that, Rachel speaks.

“Hey, Ellie!” she says, her voice bright, too cheerful.

Ellie looks over at her, her expression giving away some shock seeing her talk to Ellie. Rachel takes a step closer, clearly comfortable in her skin, while Ellie just stands there, quiet, unbothered. Then, Rachel says it.

“So… I was thinking about prom… and I wanted to ask if you’d go with me?” Her words hang in the air and your heart feels like it falls out of your chest.

But before you can even think to process it, before Ellie can respond, your feet are already moving. It’s like something inside you snaps, like the sight of Rachel asking Ellie to prom is a punch in the gut that you didn’t see coming. Your pulse races, your head swims with something too complicated to name, and your body reacts before your mind has the chance to catch up.

You turn and run.

You don’t stop to see what Ellie says or if she accepts. You don’t stick around to watch how Rachel stands there, probably expecting an answer as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to know. You can’t.

The sound of your shoes pounding against the pavement feels deafening, and your breath comes out in quick bursts as you push yourself harder. You don’t care where you’re going now, just away. You don’t stop running until your lungs burn and your legs feel like jelly.

You can’t believe it.

You can’t believe it. The moment Rachel asked her—Rachel Stevens, of all people—everything inside you snapped. You didn’t know it would hit you like this, like a brick to the chest. You didn’t realize how much it would hurt to see Ellie, your Ellie, suddenly standing there, caught up in the orbit of someone like Rachel.

You just wanted to make a memory. Just once. You wanted her to say yes, even if it was just to go with you to prom, to have a normal high school experience like everyone else. You thought, maybe, you could get through this last year without feeling like things were slipping through your fingers. But now, standing there watching Rachel’s bright smile and Ellie’s cool, unreadable face, it all feels so impossible.

You’re not sure why you start running. Maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s fear. You don’t know. All you know is that you can’t bear to stay there, to hear the answer Ellie might give, or worse, to see Rachel take her from you.

You don’t stop until you’re outside the school gates, panting, your legs aching, your chest tight. You feel like you're suffocating, like everything you’ve been trying to hold together is unraveling with every step you take away from her. The thought of Ellie—of her—with someone else, someone like Rachel, makes your stomach twist.

You make your way to your car, your fingers fumbling as you unlock it. You don’t even care that the sky is darkening, that the day is slipping away. You get in, slam the door shut, and rest your forehead against the steering wheel, fighting the wave of emotions that’s threatening to drown you.

You take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. You feel everything right now. The hurt, the jealousy, the frustration. It’s like a hurricane in your chest, all of it churning and spinning, and you don’t know how to stop it. You don’t know how to calm it down.

Your throat tightens as the tears start to fall, unbidden, and for the first time in so long, you let them. It’s hard to breathe through the sobs, hard to focus when your mind is spiraling, when the world feels like it’s crashing in. You try to tell yourself that it’s just prom, that it doesn’t matter, that it’s just one night. But deep down, you know it’s not about prom. It’s about Ellie. It’s about the fact that she might never see you the way you see her, and it’s about the bitter reality that you’re not the one she’s going to. You’re not the one she’s choosing.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at the empty school parking lot, trying to pull yourself together. Finally, you take a shaky breath and wipe your face, trying to calm the storm inside. You can’t stay in the car forever.

You start the engine, the hum of the car’s engine filling the space, but everything feels hollow, distant. The drive home is a blur, your mind too occupied with the image of Ellie standing there with Rachel. You try to push it away, but it’s everywhere. The image won’t leave you. You can’t escape it.

Later that night, you’re lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You hear the walkie talkie under your pillow rear to life, hearing the static then her voice. With a sigh, you reach for it and pull it to your lips.

“Hey Els,” you say, voice soft, a little scratchy from crying.

“Hey,” her voice comes through, soft but clear. It’s the same voice, the one you’ve grown used to over the years, the one that’s become a constant in your life.

“What’s up?”

There’s a long pause on the other end. You can hear her shifting, maybe curling up in bed just like you. “I have something to tell you…. Some tea, like grade A tea.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening. The last thing you want to do is talk about Rachel, about what just happened, but Ellie’s voice is warm, and it makes the vulnerability inside you flare up.Another long pause, but this time, you can hear the uncertainty in her tone. “So… Rachel asked me to prom today.”

Your heart skips a beat. For a second, everything goes quiet in your mind, and all you can focus on is the words she’s saying. Rachel Stevens. Prom.

You force a smile, but it feels like it’s miles away from your face. “That’s… that’s cool. That’s crazy,” you say, trying to make your voice sound genuine, like it doesn’t hurt. Like it doesn’t feel like your heart is sinking into your stomach. And for a second, your heart twists, like you want to hope, like you want to believe there’s a chance that maybe, just maybe, she's said no.

But then, just like that, the silence falls between you again, and you’re left swallowing back what you really want to say. Then Ellie’s voice cuts through again. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing hard, fighting the tears that are threatening to fall again. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

You lie back down, staring at the ceiling, your chest tight, your heart heavy. The storm inside you refuses to settle. You don’t know what’s going to happen, don’t know if she’ll say yes to Rachel or if she’ll choose something else, but all you can feel right now is the growing weight of something you can no longer ignore.

You like her. You’ve liked her for so long, and now she’s standing at the precipice of a decision that could pull her away from you forever. And you’re terrified you’re already too late.

The next day is a blur.

You hear Rachel’s voice, loud and confident, in the hallway. She’s talking to a group of people, her words casual, but her tone bites. You catch part of the conversation.

“She’s just a background character, y’know? I don’t know why everyone’s acting like Ellie’s this... special project. She’s just here to make me look better,” Rachel says, her voice dripping with condescension.

You freeze in your tracks. The anger swells inside you, a knot tightening in your gut. Ellie doesn’t deserve to be talked about like that. You want to say something, to defend her, but you just walk away. There’s no point.

Later, after school, you find yourself with Ellie at the neighborhood playground. The sunset casts a warm orange glow over everything, and for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath. You both sit on the swings, the chains creaking under your weight. It’s quieter here, and you can finally let yourself breathe.

But the words have been building inside you all day. You can’t stay silent anymore.

“Ellie,” you start, your voice tentative, but you know you have to say it. “I don’t think Rachel has your best interests at heart.”

Ellie looks at you then, but only for a second. There’s a hint of something in her eyes—something that isn’t anger, but it’s close. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, her voice guarded.

“I heard what she said,” you continue, your words coming out faster than you planned. “She doesn’t care about you. She’s using you. She just wants to make herself look better. You don’t deserve to be part of her game.”

Ellie shifts on the swing, her fingers gripping the chains harder now. “That’s not what’s going on,” she says, her voice tight, defensive. “Rachel asked me to prom because she wants to, okay? You don’t know anything about it.”

You try to speak, but Ellie cuts you off before you can even get a word out. “Why do you care so much all of a sudden?” she asks, her voice sharp and defensive. “Is this about you not getting what you wanted? You jealous I’m getting attention from someone else? You’re mad I didn’t say yes to you?”

The words hit you hard, and for a moment, you just stand there, stunned. Your heart races, a mix of hurt and anger swelling up from somewhere deep inside. You want to explain yourself, want to tell her how much it stings to see her casually talking about going with someone else, but it all comes out in a rush, a wave of emotion you can’t control.

“Well, it seems like you’re reconsidering going with her instead of me,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. “I thought you didn’t care about prom. So why does it feel like you're suddenly okay with it? I’m your friend, Ellie! I’ve been your friend for years.”

Ellie’s expression hardens, her eyes narrowing. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” she mutters, her tone bitter. “I haven’t even said anything to Rachel yet.”

After that, you felt a heaviness in your chest that refused to let go. The harshness of Ellie’s words still lingered, cutting deeper than you cared to admit. You stared out your window, your gaze unintentionally drawn to her house down the street. The glow of her lamp flickered through the curtains, a sign that she was still up. You let out a quiet sigh and brushed the curtain aside, watching for a moment. There was something about seeing her awake at this hour, almost like a reminder that you were both in this strange, quiet space of uncertainty. You closed the curtain again, the weight of it all pressing on you.

The silence in the air felt heavier than it had ever been before. You barely noticed the music or the laughter of your classmates—it was all drowned out by the weight of everything left unsaid. As Ellie and Rachel talked, your mind raced. Was she really moving on? Was she going to prom with someone else? The worry gnawed at you, and you couldn’t fight the sinking feeling that maybe you’d been replaced.

And then, Ellie’s gaze found yours. The look in her eyes—concern, guilt, maybe even a little confusion—was enough to shatter what little composure you had left. But before you could process it all, you turned and rushed away, feeling the hot sting of tears gathering in your eyes. You didn’t know where you were going, just that you needed to get away from everyone and everything.

Under the bleachers, the noise of the crowd above felt like a distant hum. You sat down, your hands trembling, and let the tears fall. It was a quiet, soft cry—more from confusion and regret than from real anger. You wished you hadn’t made the assumptions you did, but it was too late to take it back.

You didn’t hear her approach until she spoke softly, her voice tinged with concern. “I knew I’d find you here.”

You looked up, startled, wiping your eyes quickly to try to hide the evidence of your vulnerability. Ellie stood just a few feet away, her expression soft, but you could see the traces of hurt in her own eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice small. “For the way I… acted yesterday. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was only trying to help”

Ellie took a step closer, her gaze sincere, and she sighed. “No, it’s okay. I didn’t give you the chance to explain, and I should’ve done better. I just felt cornered..’

There was a pause, both of you standing there under the bleachers in a space that felt like the only place you could be, away from the chaos of the night.

Ellie leaned back against the metal frame, crossing her arms loosely, and for the first time in a long while, you saw that familiar ease in her posture. “How’s Rachel?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual, though the anxiety still lingered.

Ellie’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, her voice light. “I turned her down.”

Your eyes widened, and the embarrassment hit you all at once. You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest. Ellie smiled wider, a little mischievous and a little warm all at once. “I came for you.”

It was like a weight lifted off your chest, a quiet relief washing over you, but you didn’t know what to say. Instead, you just stood there, feeling the awkwardness of the moment shift into something a little more comfortable, a little more familiar.

Ellie pushed off the bleachers and took a small step closer, her gaze still steady on yours. “Look, I’m sorry for everything. I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I don’t know what came over me, hormones maybe.”

You met her gaze, the last remnants of uncertainty slowly fading. “I appreciate that. I wasn’t trying to not give you freedom to go with someone else than me. It was dumb of me to just assume.”

Ellie nodded, her smile softening. “Let’s forget about it. Okay?”

You nodded back, and the tension between you started to ease. It wasn’t all fixed, not yet, but maybe, just maybe, you could start again.

Ellie steps a little closer, the familiar tension between you slowly fading, replaced by something new, something fragile but real. Her gaze is steady, but there’s a flicker of something behind her eyes, a vulnerability that you hadn’t seen before. She lets out a small sigh, the words clearly not coming easy.

"Okay," Ellie starts, her voice softer than usual, "there’s something I’ve been meaning to say. I... I was going to ask you to prom, you know? A while ago. But I chickened out." She pauses, running a hand through her hair, avoiding your eyes for a second. "I wanted to, really. But then you... you sort of asked me first, and I just figured... well, maybe you didn't want to go with me like that. Like, maybe you only wanted to go as friends."

You blink, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Your heart stutters, and suddenly the air between you feels electric.

"You wanted to ask me?" you echo, the disbelief making your voice crack just a little. The words don’t seem to make sense in your mind. You thought you were the only one holding onto something more. “But... you didn’t think I’d...?”

Ellie rolls her eyes, clearly frustrated with how her words are coming out, but there’s something else there, too. Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks down for a second, like she’s trying to find the courage to admit something that’s been bubbling under the surface for far too long.

"Yeah, I mean—did you not just hear me?" she says, rolling her eyes again but with a playful undertone. "I wanted to take you to prom. More than friends. I didn’t want to be all... awkward about it, but that’s the truth. I didn’t want to do it if you didn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want to make it weird, and then... then you went and assumed all this other crap about me and Rachel. And I just... I just got mad, okay?"

You stare at her for a long moment, your mind scrambling to make sense of everything she’s just said. You feel like you’re hearing the words but can’t quite process them fast enough. But then, it clicks. Ellie wants you. Not as a friend. She wants to be with you.

The realization surges through you, faster than anything you’ve felt before. Without thinking, without even processing what’s happening, you find yourself jumping up from where you were standing. Your breath catches in your throat, and you don’t even care that the world around you has faded away.

"Wait," you say, the excitement bubbling up in your chest. "So... you like me?"

Ellie looks at you, her eyes soft and a little incredulous, like she can’t believe you’re asking. "Did I not just—" She stops herself and sighs in exasperation. "Yes, I like you! I’ve liked you for a while now. Are you really that oblivious?"

Before she can say anything more, you can’t help it—you don’t even think, just feel. You move, closing the distance between you in an instant.

And then, before you can second-guess yourself, you kiss her. It’s not perfect or planned. It’s full of everything you’ve both been holding back. Her lips are warm, and for the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. The weight of your insecurities, the distance between you, the silent years of wondering... it all melts away in that one, stolen moment.

Ellie pulls back slightly, a laugh escaping her lips. She’s still flushed, but there’s a light in her eyes that wasn’t there before, something brighter, something real.

"Well, I didn’t think you’d be this excited," she says, a teasing edge in her voice, but her smile is so wide that it makes your heart race.

You grin back, breathless from the kiss, but feeling lighter than you have in so long. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that," you admit, still smiling.

Ellie leans in again, pressing her forehead to yours. "Me neither," she murmurs, and for the first time in ages, the world feels like it’s finally fallen into place. She tilts her head again to kiss you, initiating it this time. With the wind blowing against the two of you, the loud sounds of Rhianna and kids your age screaming there you stood kissing under the bleachers.

Ellie’s hands are on your hips, firm but gentle, as she pulls you closer. Her lips are still warm from the kiss, and the heat of her body against yours is almost too much to bear. The wind howls around you, the noise of the crowd above fading into the background as she leans in again, her mouth capturing yours with a hunger that surprises you. Her tongue brushes against your bottom lip, and you moan softly into her mouth, your hands tangling in her hair.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark with desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky. Her fingers trail down your side, sending shivers through your body. “How long I’ve wanted you.”

You’re breathless, your heart racing as you stare at her. “Ellie…” you whisper, your voice trembling. But before you can say more, she’s kissing you again, her hands roaming over your body with a confidence that makes your knees weak.

“As soon as I saw you in this dress earlier, I thought about slipping it off you.”

Her lips trail down your jaw, and then down your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there. You gasp, your head tilting back as her hands grip your hips tighter. “Els…” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. You tug her hair, head falling back as your bodies contort together.

She smirks against your skin, her breath hot as she presses a kiss to the base of your throat. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” she murmurs, her hands sliding up to the hem of your dress. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long…”

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as she starts to push your dress up, her hands brushing against your thighs. “Ellie, what—” you start, but she cuts you off with a kiss, her tongue sliding against yours as she hooks one of your thighs over her shoulder.

Your breath catches in your throat as she lowers herself to her knees in front of you, her hands running up your thighs. “Just relax,” she says softly, her breath warm against your skin. “Let me take care of you.”

You can feel the wetness between your legs already, and when her fingers brush against the lace of your panties, you can’t help but whimper. She pulls them to the side, her breath hot against your core, and then her tongue is on you, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit.

You gasp, your hands gripping her hair as she starts to eat you out with a fervor that leaves you breathless. Her tongue circles your clit, teasing it lightly before sucking it into her mouth. You moan, your hips bucking against her face as she starts to fuck you with her tongue, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady.

“Shit, Ellie…” you moan, your voice trembling with pleasure. She hums against you, the vibration sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. Her tongue moves faster, her lips closing around your clit as she sucks and licks, her fingers teasing your entrance.

You can feel the orgasm building inside you, threatening to tip you over the edge. “Ellie, I’m so close…” you whimper, your fingers tightening in her hair. She looks up at you, her eyes dark with lust, and then she’s pushing two fingers inside you, curling them just right as her tongue flicks against your clit.

You come with a cry, your body shuddering as the pleasure washes over you. Ellie doesn’t stop, her fingers thrusting inside you as her tongue continues to tease your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you’re trembling in her arms.

When she finally pulls away, you’re breathless, your legs shaking as she lowers your thigh from her shoulder. She looks up at you, a smirk playing on her lips. “You taste so good,” she says, her voice low.

You blush, your cheeks burning as you look down at her. “Ellie…” you whisper, but she’s already standing, pulling you into a kiss that leaves you dizzy.

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmured against her lips, your hands sliding down to her waist. She laughed softly as you took her by the hand, dragging her with a need that she couldn't wait to fulfill.

168 notes · View notes