welostheplot

[welostheplot]

the secret reason why i have not written anything ab ellie in the canon universe is because this detail haunts me

ellie is stinky. she might be cute and silly and awkward but that girl is stinky. it's canon and you need to accept this

[welostheplot]

ughhhhh as someone who grew up doing theater in school this one tugs at the heartstrings </3 IM SO EXCITED FOR MORE

࿐𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 - 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥.

⚢ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆— Actress!Ellie x Actress!Reader

⊹ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — introducing our charming little lovebirds: a shy, wide-eyed girl with a barbie pencil case and dreams that far exceed the confines of her locker, and a quirky transfer student who believes that spider-man comics outshine the brilliance of stage lights. their paths cross in the drama club, but that marks merely the start—prior to the fame, before the headlines, and before everything unraveled.

⊹ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓— 5,7k

⊹ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒— loser!ellie x loser!reader as pre teens and cute nerdy theater kids, modern au, fluff, purely introductory, internalized homophobia, parental dismissal, quiet yearning, high school awkwardness, AFAB!reader, multiple part series.

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⭒࿐

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

“𝐈𝐟 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.”

← 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 →

"𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝑨𝒕𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅." — 𝑺𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒉𝒐, 𝑭𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝟏𝟕

𝐅reshman year was a letdown. 

You’d imagined something cinematic—hallways with lockers slamming shut in rhythm, a secret staircase where cool kids smoked after lunch, someone falling in love with you in the library. You thought it’d feel like High School Musical.

But it didn’t. It felt like the cafeteria smelled like boiled carrots and the fluorescent lights buzzed loud enough to fry your nerves. It felt like a blank notebook you were afraid to mess up.

The other girls at fourteen seemed like they were living in a different timeline than yours. They knew how to contour, how to gloss their lips just right, talked about boys like it was a language you’d never learned. Who kissed who at Maya’s party, who was chatting with a sophomore. They had hundreds of friends on Facebook, cropped tops from Forever 21, and big phone cases that matched their nails.

You didn’t hate it, not at all, it just wasn’t you. 

You weren’t the cool girl, not even close. You had glasses way too big for your face that always slipped down your nose no matter how many times you pushed them up. You had pink braces that clicked when you tried to laugh quietly, and a glittery pink pencil case with matching Barbie notebooks that nobody except you thought were cool. Your backpack was covered in pins of cartoon characters and hand-drawn hearts, crooked little doodles you’d outlined in gel pen the night before the first day of school. You weren’t popular, you weren’t stylish, you weren’t mysterious. You were just… there. Quiet. Easy to miss. But honestly, you didn’t mind it. Being invisible was safer. Less room for disappointment.

Your two best friends from middle school had moved away over the summer. New cities, new schools, new lives that no longer included you.

But had one thing.

One bright, shining, indestructible thing: acting.

It wasn’t just a hobby— it was the thing that made your chest feel full, that made your skin feel electric. Since you were old enough to talk, you were reenacting movies in front of the mirror, memorizing monologues you didn’t fully understand, and watching the Tony awards with your heart in your throat. 

You’d seen your first broadway show at six—Annie—and something cracked open in you like a warm, glowing firework. The lights, the voices, the way everything and everyone seemed larger than life when it was onstage. It was like magic. And from that moment on, it wasn’t even a question. You knew what you wanted.

To be there. To make people feel something.

You said it out loud for the first time at eight years old.

“I want to be an actress.”

Your mom laughed. Not cruelly, not with venom, but in that soft distracted way parents do when they don’t think you’ll remember. 

“Sweetheart, don’t be silly….that’s just a phase. Like when you wanted to be a vet, remember?”

And she never really got it.

She said she didn’t want to encourage you too much, because “you’ll just get your hopes up and be let down.” She said it kindly. With love, even. She made your lunches and tucked you in and told you she was proud of your grades. But when it came to acting, her face would always go still, eyes shifting to the left like she was already preparing for your heartbreak.

“You’re smart,” she’d say. “You could be a lawyer. You could be anything…else.”

Your sisters were no help either. Both older, both terrifyingly cool. At dinner, the conversation always veered toward their lives.

“Sarah’s studying for her MCATs.” 

“Caroline made homecoming court.”

Sarah was in college already, pre-med. She had a boyfriend who drove a Jeep and wore cologne that made the whole house smell like a department store. She wore real makeup and never got pimples. Caroline, the middle one, was a senior at your high school and acted like she didn’t know you in the hallways. She had perfect hair, long and glossy and always curled just right. She was in student council, dated boys on the football team, and once said that drama club was “just for weird kids who don’t get invited to parties.” 

The first day of drama club was held in the small black box theatre tucked behind the gym, where the lights always flickered and everything smelled like dust and stage paint. You sat in the second row, because the first row felt too eager and the third row was already filled with girls in varsity jackets who’d done Broadway Bootcamp over the summer. You tucked your hands in your lap and tried not to bite your nails.

And then a girl walked in.

Late, obviously. Freckles. Rectangle glasses. Short auburn ponytail. The sleeves of her hoodie were too long, dragging over her fingers. She wore a Spider-Man backpack, one of those bright red ones with the cartoon eyes, and scuffed-up black converse that looked like they hadn’t survived a single day of middle school without battle scars. No makeup, no notebook, and no damn clue where she was supposed to sit

The teacher pointed her towards the empty chair beside you without a word. She dropped into it with a thud, one leg bouncing under the seat, and gave you a quick little smile. Shy. Crooked. Nervous.

That’s when Mrs. Dalton, your drama teacher, clapped her hands and said something terrifying, “Let’s start with the name game!”

Everyone groaned.

She made you go around the circle. Say your name, a hobby, and then—horrifyingly—“Hold hands with the person next to you while you say it. Acting is about connection!”

You wanted to vanish. When it got to you, your cheeks were already burning. 

“Um. I’m—uh—I’m…” you stammered.

“Louder, please,” Mrs. Dalton prompted.

“I’m Y/N. I like musicals. And… I dunno. I have a cat.”

There was a little polite fake laugh from the group. You turned to Ellie. Her green eyes went wide for a second, like you’d passed her a live wire. And then—slowly—she held out her hand.

God, it was sweaty. Yours too. You both laughed quietly under your breath.

“I’m… I’m Ellie,” she said, voice scratchy like she hadn’t used it all day. “I like comic books.

And that was it.

You liked her right away in that instant, safe way girls sometimes find each other when they’re young and dorky and alone in a too-bright school with tile floors and slamming lockers.

You squeezed her hand, just slightly.

“Nice to meet you, Ellie.”

You early noticed that Ellie was like nobody else. 

She couldn’t sit still for more than a second—always fidgeting, bouncing her leg, interrupting herself mid-sentence to chase some new thought. She didn’t care about boys or lip gloss or whatever shoes were trending. She liked the things boys liked, carried herself like she didn’t notice or didn’t care who was watching. Once, her shirt rode up when she stretched, and you caught a glimpse of Superman boxers hanging loose on her hips. You remembered blinking, your curiosity sparking sharp and sudden like maybe there was a whole universe inside her you didn’t understand yet, but wanted to.

Two weeks after those first drama club afternoons—smiling at each other in the hallways, passing notes instead of real conversations—you finally sat together in the cafeteria and actually talked. You asked where she was from, and she told you, matter-of-fact, that it was her first year here because she and her dad had just moved after the accident. No sisters, no brothers—just Joel. Her mom had died in a car crash last year, and she said it like she was filling out a school form, clear and steady, not a flicker in her voice. But you saw it anyway, in the way she didn’t quite look at you when she said it, in the way her thumb kept worrying the edge of her tray.

“Joel’s cool,” she added, shrugging, “You should come over after school if you want. We can watch Marvel movies or…something.” 

And just like that, with those green eyes and a lopsided grin, she cracked your whole world open.

You became the kind of girls that got shushed during warmups.

The kind that whispered through tongue twisters and giggled through breathing exercises, who were always caught mouthing the wrong lines during someone else’s scene. The kind that stayed after class to “rehearse,” only to end up curled sideways on the prop couch with your heads pressed together, talking about life and movies and dreams.

You always sat together in class, in the back row, whispering commentary during boring lectures and pretending to take notes when really you were writing fake movie scripts in the margins of your notebooks. You shared your snacks. She gave you her hoodie when you forgot yours and never asked for it back. You even had your own handshake.

By November, you weren’t just best friends. You were limbs tangled in a heap on the auditorium floor after rehearsals, breathless from laughter. You were secrets whispered behind the curtain, gum shared under the risers, matching doodles in the corners of each other’s binders. She always carried an extra sharpie, and everyday you both drew something stupid on your arms—stars, a frog, dumbass in messy block letters. Neither of you washed it off.

By December, there was no you without her. You didn’t sit anywhere unless she was already there, kicking her feet against the table leg, saving you a seat with her backpack. You didn’t walk to class without her shoulder brushing yours. She didn’t go to the library unless you tagged along.

She made stupid jokes every two seconds and talked about Superheroes like they were real and the best thing in the world, debated why Andrew was a better Spiderman than Tobey with her whole chest, and made you rank the movies on a napkin at lunch. You instead talked about musicals—The Last Five Years, Waitress, Hamilton—and she’d pretend to hate them but knew all the songs.

One afternoon, when rehearsal ended early and she was walking you home, you asked, “Okay, but if you don’t like musicals, why are you even in drama club?”

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected you to call her out.

“I like acting,” she said with a shrug. “But like, dramas. Serious shit. Not all the singing stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow. Ellie. Serious. Yeah, sure.

She groaned. “Okay, fine, the main reason was because I wanted to make friends. Happy?”

You smiled, eyes soft. “Did it work?”

She looked at you for a second. Then grinned, crooked and sheepish.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think it did.”

She tried to educate you on what she called “real music,” rolling her eyes at your room full of Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift CD's before handing you a stack of Joel-approved essentials — Led Zeppelin, Nirvana, Pearl Jam. One afternoon she even played guitar for you in her garage, perching on an amp like she was at the Michigan Stadium. It was objectively terrible; her fingers stumbled over the frets, her voice cracked on the high notes of Stairway to Heaven, but you’d clapped like she’d just won a grammy and told her, “I’m sure you were a rockstar in your past life.”

She’d rolled her eyes and muttered, “...You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

Then smiled like maybe she didn’t mind.

You told her about your mom, about how she always said it was just a phase. You told her about your sisters, how they never saw you as anything but the weird one with too many dreams and too little chill. 

You told her you wanted to be an actress. Like, a real actress. Capital A. The kind who gets her own trailer and the biggest line on the poster, the kind who cries on cue and wins Oscars and thanks her high school drama teacher in her speech.

She tilted her head at you, fingers laced behind her neck, one foot thrown lazily over the arm of the couch. The overhead lights buzzed, but in that quiet little pocket of the world, it felt like the only thing that existed was her gaze—steady, unreadable, resting right on you.

She looked at you like none of it was embarrassing. Not the dream. Not the barbie notebook stuffed with movie ideas. Not your pink braces or your crooked glasses or the pimple that had just appeared in the middle of your forehead. She looked at you like it all made sense, like maybe you could actually do it.

“You’re gonna be famous one day,” she said. “And I’m gonna tell people I knew you before you were cool.”

You rolled your eyes. “So you don’t think I’m cool now?”

“You’re cool in, like… a deeply tragic loser kind of way.”

You hurled a throw pillow at her head. She caught it, laughed, and pulled you down onto the couch with her in retaliation. You ended up tangled in a heap, breathless and cackling, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

“I don’t believe in God,” she then said, voice low. “But maybe I believe in fate. Especially if fate’s pretty and knows every lyric to City of Stars.”

Your face went hot immediately. You tried to scoff, but she just grinned, smug and soft all at once, like she knew exactly what she’d done.

And in that moment—pressed against the cushions, your hair static-stuck to her shirt, your cheeks aching from smiling—it hit you.

It didn’t matter what your mom said. Or what your sisters thought. Or how invisible you felt most of the time.

Because someone finally believed in you.

Not out of obligation. Not out of kindness.

Just because she did.

It happened on a Tuesday. Two weeks after you turned fifteen and right after fifth period. You were halfway through blocking Act II, Scene 4—the scene with the kiss.

Originally, your scene partner was supposed to be Jackson Mullins, a sophomore with a fake mustache he definitely drew on with eyeliner and a tendency to say “line?” every ten seconds like it was part of the script. But he wasn’t there. He’d skipped rehearsal to go to his cousin’s birthday or something, and Mrs. Dalton—already ten seconds from full meltdown—rubbed her temples and asked if anyone could just step in so we can please move forward today, thank you.

Ellie raised her hand immediately. Way too fast, like her elbow had launched on instinct.

“I’ll do it!” she said, voice higher than usual. “I... I mean—if that’s cool. Or, like… not weird.”

She then blinked at you through her glasses.

You shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Yeah. Sure. Cool.”

Your voice cracked on cool.

Everyone assumed you’d skip the kiss, that’s what most people did. Block the scene, wave vaguely at the kiss line, mutter we’ll add it later, and move on. No big deal.

But that afternoon, something felt… different. The air buzzed, the stage lights were too warm, the script pages in your hand felt heavier than usual. When Ellie stepped into Jackson’s spot, her hoodie sleeves half-covering her fingers, eyes wide, chewing on the inside of her cheek, you didn’t want to pretend.

The script said: She moves in close. Then, with a pause—she kisses him.

Your palms were sweating and so were hers. You could see it.

And still—you reached out.

Ellie’s breath caught. She smelled like cinnamon gum and that exact kind of Axe deodorant boys wore in middle school, except it didn’t bother you. It smelled like her. And she was standing so still. She didn’t even blink when your fingers brushed the sides of her face.

You leaned in without even thinking.

Your noses bumped and your lips landed crooked and too soft. It was quick, awkward, sticky. You forgot to close your eyes. She gasped—literally gasped—like someone had spoiled the ending of her favorite movie. Then she jumped back, hand flying to her mouth.

Silence. Total, all-consuming silence.

The entire cast stared. The sound of a water bottle dropping from someone’s lap echoed like a gunshot. Mrs. Dalton’s mouth was halfway open. Even the tech crew peeked out from behind the curtain.

Ellie stood frozen, then she blurted out, “Thatwasmyfirstkiss.”

The words came out like one breath, fast and panicked, and the second she realized she’d said them out loud her hands flew up to cover her face.

“Oh my God, that was—sorry. That was dumb. I shouldn’t’ve said that. That’s so dumb, right? I just—uh—yeah. Sorry.”

You blinked as your heart was hammering. You could still feel the ghost of it—your lips on hers, the way she smelled, how warm her cheeks were under your fingertips.

“D-don’t worry,” you said quickly. “It was just for the scene. I don't know why I did it.”

A lie. Not to hurt her, just to protect the moment. To not make it worse.

But she looked at you, a little too long. A second passed—then two—before she nodded, eyes flicking down to her converse.

“Right,” she said softly. “Yeah. Totally. Scene stuff.”

Mrs. Dalton clapped her hands once, too loud. “Okay! Great work, girls. Let’s… move on to Scene 5, please."

After the kiss, things with Ellie were a little… different. Not bad or weird, just tight. Like a string pulled between you that neither of you wanted to tug on too hard. You still sat together every day and shared oreos and playlists and whispered about the drama club mean girls like nothing had changed. But there was something in the air now. Charged. Floaty. The moment before lightning.

She’d brush your hand when passing you a pen, and your skin would sizzle like she'd pressed a lighter to it. She’d laugh at something you said—really laugh, full-body, head thrown back—and your stomach would do this horrible, fluttery thing that made you want to throw up and kiss her at the same time. You’d catch her looking at you sometimes when you weren’t doing anything special—just tying your shoe, or doodling mandalas in the margins of your papers—and your face would flush so hard it made your ears ring.

You told yourself it was nothing.

You didn’t like girls. Right?

But the truth was, you’d never liked boys, either. You’d never daydreamed about kissing them or held your phone waiting for texts or felt anything when they smiled at you in the hallway. You used to think you just hadn’t met the right one yet. That your crush would come like a lightning bolt. 

Unlike you, Ellie had always known she liked girls.

It wasn’t dramatic or difficult or complicated. It was just the truth. It was there when she saw Megan Fox bend over the hood of that yellow Camaro in Transformers, her whole body going still in the living room as unknown tingles curled in her lower belly. It was there when she developed an impossible crush on her sixth-grade biology teacher. When she realized she liked girls in tank tops and girls in band tees and girls who would never, ever like her back — and she’d carried it with her like a secret she never thought was shameful, only inevitable.

But when it came to you? It was different.

You made her feel fuzzy and stupid, like her chest was too small for her heart. Like the world narrowed every time you said her name. You made her feel like maybe being fifteen and confused and nervous was the best thing that could ever happen to a person.

She stayed up all night sometimes, filling her notebook with dumb little comics of you and her. She’d draw herself as Spiderman and you as Gwen Stacy, swinging between buildings, saving you in the nick of time, being impossibly cool — at least on paper. She’d kick her feet while she sketched the upside-down kiss, giggling like a crazy person, erasing and redrawing your smile until it looked just right.

One time Joel walked in without knocking, and she panicked so hard she literally chucked the notebook across the room like it was about to incriminate her in court, then immediately leaned back in her chair in the most unnatural, “I’m totally just chilling” pose the world had ever seen. Joel just gave her a long, confused look, shook his head, and scoffed like he didn’t even want to know.

One night, at a sleepover, you were lying side by side on her bed, both in old pajamas, your legs tangled under the blanket. The lights were off, just the soft orange glow of her lava lamp filling the room, and your arms were barely brushing. You’d been talking about nothing until there was a charged pause.

Very softly, Ellie asked, “Have you ever… liked a boy?”

You swallowed. “I…I don’t think so.”

There was a long silence as you felt her breath shift beside you.

“Like, like liked?” you added. “No, you?”

Ellie exhaled as a little laugh slipped out. “Hell nah.”

You waited. Then you whispered, like it was a secret passed under a pillow. 

“Is that… weird? I mean, girls our age are fucking them.”

“I mean, I don’t think it's weird." She laughed, nervous, small. "It's just the way... we are. There's nothing wrong with it, right?”

You turned your head to look at her, and she was already looking at you. Your faces were close. Too close. Not close enough.

You could see her freckles in the dark, the way her mouth parted like she wanted to say more. But she didn’t. Neither did you.

You didn’t know if you liked girls. You just knew you maybe liked Ellie. Her smile. Her jokes. The way she said your name. The way she tapped her pencil against her nose when she was thinking. The way she looked at you sometimes behind her glasses, like you were something more than just her best friend, and how much that scared you, and how much you wanted it anyway.

It was so pure, so naive. A little clumsy, a lot of heart.

But still — you couldn't be in love with your best friend. You were just fifteen. You still wrote your i’s with hearts. You were still figuring everything out. And you couldn't fuck up the best thing that had ever happened to you just by being confused... right?

But the inevitable happened on the opening night, months later.

The curtain was scratchy velvet and the stage lights were blinding, the whole auditorium smelled like hairspray and old wood. You’d spent the entire afternoon in the girls' bathroom with a hot curling iron and glittery eyeshadow, reciting your lines in the mirror until someone banged on the stall door and yelled “five minutes!”

Jackson had come down with the flu three days before opening. Typical. Left the whole production in chaos and Mrs. Dalton nearly cried in the hallway. 

But Ellie—Ellie, who had been helping with props and lights and knew every line by heart just from being around—offered to step in. She’d shrugged and said, “I mean, I’ve seen the play like a hundred times. How hard can it be?” She’d spent every lunch since then cramming monologues with you in the corner of the cafeteria, script pages stuffed between your trays of pizza and chocolate milk.

She was so nervous that night. She tried to hide it, but she kept tugging at her costume collar and muttering things like “Do I look like a ghost? I think I look like a ghost,” and “If I forget my line, just, like, improvise. Or faint. Fainting’s dramatic, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “You look fine.”

“Fine?” she gasped. “I was going for devastatingly handsome.”

“You look like a Shakespeare nerd lost in a thrift store.”

She grinned, cheeks flushed under the warm buzz of backstage light. “God, thank you. That’s literally the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

The show went perfectly. Better than perfect. You remembered every line, every cue. Ellie stumbled once and called a chandelier a “lamp-thingy” by accident, and it made the audience laugh right on cue, and Mrs. Dalton whispered “genius” like she’d planned it.

Under the amber stage lights came the slow dance. Just the two of you, swaying in time to the quiet swell of strings, her hand on your waist, your fingers laced with hers. The backdrop faded. The audience blurred. All you could feel was her—warm and nervous and whispering the lyrics under her breath like a secret only you were meant to hear.

The kiss scene was late in the second act. The theater was hushed. Every spotlight was on you. The music swelled, soft and slow, just like you’d rehearsed.

You stepped toward her.

Ellie’s hands were shaking. You could feel it when you reached for them, pulling her closer. Her eyes were huge and terrified and starry, and you mouthed it’s okay just before your lips met hers.

This time, you got it right. Your noses didn’t bump. Your eyes closed exactly when they should. The whole auditorium exhaled with you.

And right there, forehead to forehead, breath shared between words you weren’t even acting anymore, it hit you like a line you hadn’t rehearsed.

You were in love. Real, actual, heart-thudding, word-stumbling love. And from the way Ellie looked at you—like you were the scene and the spotlight and the whole damn play—you were pretty sure she knew it too.

The audience exploded when the curtain fell. Parents clapping, people cheering, Mrs. Dalton actually wiping a tear under her little glasses. You searched the crowd, heart in your throat.

Joel was in the third row, standing on his feet, clapping harder than anyone. Big proud-dad smile on his face like he’d just watched his own kid win the Super Bowl.

Your mom didn’t come, neither did your sisters. But somehow, that didn’t sting as much as it used to. Not with Ellie beside you, grinning with glitter smudged on her cheek, hands still warm in yours.

Backstage, amid the chaos of costume changes and crumpled programs and half-finished water bottles, Mrs. Dalton talked to the principal. Her voice was low but firm, sharp in that way only theatre teachers could pull off when defending a choice they knew was right.

You didn't know it but apparently a few parents had already filed complaints. Said it was “inappropriate” to have two girls kissing in a school production. Said it wasn’t “family-friendly.” The principal mumbled something about context and community expectations, but Mrs. Dalton only crossed her arms and said, clear as day, “They’ll have to get used to it.” And that was that. She walked back inside with her head high and gave you and Ellie the proudest smile either of you had ever seen.

You noticed Ellie was standing weird when she came inside your dressing room after knocking. Her shoulders were drawn up tight, chin dipped, her weight rocking almost imperceptibly on the balls of her feet. She’d changed into those too-big pants she always wore some minutes ago, the ones that swallowed her whole, and she had her fists shoved so deep into the pockets it looked like she was trying to disappear into them entirely.

Her glasses kept sliding down the bridge of her nose. She didn’t push them up the usual way with her index, but with the side of her knuckle, like she couldn’t risk unclenching her hands. A small, jittery motion, over and over.

You turned slightly in your chair, wiping the last bit of stage makeup from under your eye, yapping without really thinking like you always did. “You did really well on stage, Ells! Seriously, I think Mrs. Dalton is gonna want us to do, like, waaay more plays together after this. You were totally in character the whole time, and—”

Ellie wasn’t listening to a single word you were saying. She was too busy staring at you, the way the yellow bulb above the mirror caught in your hair, the way your face always made her feel weirdly punched in the chest, as if some ghost pressed its hand into it.

You’d always been beautiful to her, since the first time she saw you.

Not in the way people said it casually, but in the way that kept her up at night. Dreaming about you so much it almost felt like a sickness, wishing you’d stop looking at her like she was just your friend and start looking at her like she was something you could maybe want. She wanted to kiss you again. God, she wanted that so bad her hands were still shoved in her pockets so she wouldn’t do something stupid like reach for you, but before she could even—

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Your brain stalled, the makeup wipe freezing mid-swipe. Your jaw dropped just a little bit as your head turned sharply toward her. Ellie’s eyes then went huge, wide, green and panicked like she hadn’t meant to say that, the words had slipped out by accident, tripped over her tongue and tumbled into the air before she could stop them.

“I—shit—no, wait, that’s not what I meant, I didn't mean to say that— I mean, I do like you. Like like. A tiny amount. A normal, non-psychotic, totally chill person who definitely wasn’t thinking about how your laugh makes me feel like I’m standing under a stage light—oh my God, I fucked up so bad—”

You blinked and stepped forward, your heart threatening to jump out of your chest from the force of its beat. “Ellie.”

“You probably think I’m just some creepy obsessed dyke now—”

“Ellie.”

“I mean I do like you, but like a normal crush. My brain did a stage dive.”

“Ellie.”

Her mouth finally clamped shut as you reached out, your hand going to her warm freckled cheek.

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

She stared at you. “Wait. Like... actual love love? Or are you just saying that because I blacked out and confessed like a total loser?”

You laughed, cheeks burning too. “I said it for real, dumbass."

Her whole face turned red. She looked like her brain had blue-screened, like her Gay Windows XP had a shutdown. And then, very softly, in a voice like she was trying not to explode: “…cool. Coolcoolcool.”

You snorted.

She blinked, like she needed to reboot again. 

“So like… um…” She cleared her throat and scratched the back of her neck. “Would you wanna—do you wanna, maybe… be my girlfriend?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

Her face dropped. “Wait—fuck, no—I didn’t mean like—shit, I made it weird again, didn’t I—”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you interrupted, smile so big it made your jaw hurt.

Her mouth dropped open. She blinked again as her even her ears turned red.

“Wait—for real?” she whispered. “Like… seriously? You’re not just saying that to be nice? Oh my god, you’re gonna realize later this was a mistake and dump me in the cafeteria and I’ll have to transfer schools and—”

You just leaned in and kissed her. Quick and soft, just enough to make her shut up.

Her hands stayed awkwardly at her sides for a beat too long before they finally floated up, hesitant, brushing your elbows.

“Wow... I have a girlfriend…I think I’m gonna die.”

You laughed. “You’re not gonna die.”

“I am. But like, in a good way.”

“𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒘 𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 / 𝑻𝒐 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 —” — 𝑬𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝑫𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒆

𝐘ou sit back in the chair, legs elegantly crossed beneath the gentle cascade of your black velvet dress, the slit high enough to catch the glimmer of studio lights with every subtle movement. A thin microphone is clipped to your collarbone, delicate as jewelry. Across from you, the interviewer leafs through her notes with practiced grace, her smile gentle, professional.

And then—like it’s merely another item on her agenda, just another piece of trivia—

“So, you’re dating Chris now… but who was your first love?”

You hesitate. Your smile doesn’t fully blossom—just lingers there, ghostly, like a memory tucked between the pages of a cherished book.

“...My first love?” you echo, voice softer and deeper now. It had traveled a long way to get here. “I was fourteen.”

Your gaze drifts slightly off-camera, as if you’re observing something invisible to others. “It was very important to me.”

A pause stretches. The interviewer leans forward slightly.

 “And… how did it end?”

Your hand shifts against the satin armrest. Sitting a bit a bit taller, shoulders drawn back like a shield. Yet your eyes lower, just for a moment. Just long enough to reveal something—grief, guilt, perhaps a blend of both.

“Uh…”

You clear your throat, smile thinning to a fragile thread.

“Can we… change the question?”

𝐄llie reclines in the chair, one boot casually hooked on the stool's rung, her fingers idly twisting the silver ring on her thumb. Her short hair is tousled, pushed back with a carefree ease, as if she had just stepped out of the rain or simply skipped the mirror. She wears a faded black shirt rolled up to her elbows, and jeans that fit just right. Ink traces her forearm, faintly visible under the lights.

Her posture is relaxed, but her eyes tell a different story.

The interviewer’s voice is warm and manly. “So, Dina is your first public relationship. But… was there someone before?”

For a moment, Ellie remains silent, pressing her thumb against the ring, watching it spin. Then, without the usual smirk that cushions her truths, she replies quietly:

“I had a big someone before,” she says, voice raspy but softer than the room around them. “She was like… my first everything.”

A shift in the atmosphere, the kind that goes unnoticed by those not paying close attention.

“And what happened?”

She raises her gaze just enough to meet the question, then lets it fall again. Her expression flickers—something unnameable dances through it like a breeze behind a curtain. The usual sharpness of her jaw softens. Her lips part, then close again. She almost speaks, but hesitates.

And when she finally finds her voice, 

“I’d rather not respond.”

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ OHHH MY GOD. i’m so, so excited for this new chapter, this whole new era of writing we’re stepping into. i genuinely can’t believe i’m launching myself into actually starting this series, but here we are. i won’t lie, i feel a lot of pressure, but it’s the good kind, the kind that means i care so much about making it special for you. i’m so ready for you to follow me into this new journey that is unscripted, to build this world together the way we did before. it makes me so happy to be writing a series again, and even happier to be doing it with you. love you all endlessly <3

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓— @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andieprincessofpower @mayfldss @sunflowerwinds @coastalwilliams @hotpinkskitties @ssijht @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @sewithinsouls @beeisscaredofbees @d1catwhisperer @the-sick-habit @elliescoquettegirl @elliewilliams-wife @yueluv3rrrr @your-eternal-muse @ellies-real-wife @katherinesmirnova @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @thxtmarvelchick @natscloset @lesbiansreverywhere @2against3 @wwefan2002 @ilahrawr @harmonib @piastorys @azteriarizz @starincarnated @natssgf @ukissmyfaceinacrowdedroom @iadorefineshyt @claudiajacobs @urmomssideh0e @kingofeyeliner @womenlover0 @ferxanda @imunpunishable @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @les4elliewilliams @elliewilliamskisser2000 @azxteria @elliecoochieeater @doodl3b3ans @savagestarlight28 ࿐

[welostheplot]

some day i'll finally kick my ass in gear and post threshold to AO3.

today's not that day.

but SOME DAY!!!!!!

[welostheplot]

how i feel going through my requests

but do not worry (nobody is), i am locking in and writing these damn requests‼️

[welostheplot]

OKAY JUST HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

streamer ellie again but this time she like genuinely forgets to mute the mic or something 😊

i’m hearing you anon!!!! but as a streamer myself, i honestly and truly can’t bring myself to write this and I’M SORRY i don’t want to let you all down (◞‸◟,)

i know exhibitionism can be a fan favorite! but the knowledge of this being like truly career-ending for streamer!ellie on top of the second-hand horror i get at the thought of this actually happening holds me back

i hope the little tease of it i put in friendly fire suffices </3

[welostheplot]

i'm thinking lots about this.... and perhaps writing lots about this too.

I have a serious problem.

[welostheplot]

trust that everything will fall into place without you forcing it there.

[welostheplot]

── friendly fire

a one-shot about streamer!ellie being shamelessly flirted with by another streamer — and you reminding her exactly who she belongs to (a part two to stream sniped).

content: streamer!ellie x influencer!reader, modern au, established relationship, twitch chat antics (if you love me you'll recognize the work i put in to be consistent with the usernames from the last part), jealousy, possessiveness, reader's kinda bossy, little loser ellie loves it, MDNI 18+, slight dom!reader x slight sub!ellie, tribbing

word count: 2.6k

author's note: guys... i did not want to write more streamer!ellie. to be clear this is NOT a series. but y'all love her so much and this request was cute so here you go i'm feeding the children.

you were halfway through your eyeliner when the laugh caught your ear—ellie's giggle, tinny through the wall, the kind she only did when she was nervous. and not in a flustered-cute way.

no. this was her "i don't know how to handle this" kind of laugh. the one that came out when she was on the phone with a big-shot company discussing a paid partnership or when you forced her to actually order for herself in the chick-fil-a drive thru.

you paused, liner pen frozen mid-wing. you pressed your ear to the wall, but her words were muffled by the sheetrock and insulation between you two—you were in the guest room because the lighting was ass in hers.

then, casually—you weren’t nosy, not at all—you unlocked your phone and clicked into the twitch app.

twitch.tv/smellie — LIVE: collab night! w/ @ cataclysmik 😻🔫

you blinked.

oh. that’s cat?

she was hot. like, annoying hot. box-dyed black hair, perfect makeup, cat-ear headphones hot. and she was currently leaned all the way into the camera, chuckling at something ellie had just mumbled.

you glared at the screen. ellie could've mentioned that the collab stream she forgot she committed to—the one she just couldn't cancel and was the reason you had to change your dinner reservation for date night tonight to later—was with a chick who looked like she was the subject of everyone's wet dreams.

“oh my god, ellie, do you always bite your lip when you’re concentrating?” cat’s voice lilted flirtatiously through the stream audio, followed by a soft, knowing laugh. “cute.”

even with how small the preview was on your phone, you could see how ellie was fidgeting with her hoodie string, face flushed as she hunched deeper into her headset.

"uhh. yeah, i guess." her voice cracked. "it's my focus face."

v4nitymirror: all that focus with 2 kills LMAOOOO princessp3ach: not her stuttering ellieuseslightmode: CAT RIZZING HER UP???? altaccnumber26: doesn't ellie literally have a girlfriend? tima0911 replied to altaccnumber26: well where she at then 🥱

you finished the last flick of your eyeliner, rolled your eyes at your reflection, and moved to respond:

pastaluvrrr: 😐 i’m literally right here

“wait, you’re cracked—holy shit,” cat’s voice was syrupy sweet through your phone speakers. "you're carrying me, babe."

ellie's chest puffed up a little at the statement. ignoring the petname, she boasted, "yeah, that's what i'm here for. fortnite carry god, remember?"

you didn’t know if you were more annoyed at cat's persistent flirting or the fact that ellie didn't seem to notice you were in the chat. your acrylics tapped away at the glass screen of your phone as you typed up another message.

mikuirl: BROOOOO dusty_diamond: you literally killed a bot it's not that impressive ellieclips: alright dont get ahead of yourself smellie pastaluvrrr: huh. didn’t realize it was that kinda collab stream 😇

“oh shit—hi, baby,” ellie smiled dorkily at the camera, so excited to see your message she accidentally threw a shield pot instead of shooting the player in front of her. “you’re—lurking?”

babygirltummyache: 😳👀 elliebutinallcaps: OMG GF IN CHAT iclutchforpastalover replied to pastaluvrrr: LEAVE ELLIE FOR ME I'LL TREAT U GOOD I PROMISE pastaluvrrr: yeah. stream’s so fun. cat’s super friendly ❤️

ellie swallowed audibly, scratching the back of her neck nervously as she noted your sarcasm. cat just giggled. “that your girlfriend in chat? she’s cute.”

ellie coughed. “haha yeah. she’s… literally in the house right now. visiting for the weekend.”

cat hummed, not acknowledging that. "well lock in, there's only 13 people left. we can soooo win this."

you got up from where your makeup was sprawled across the vanity and took the short walk down the hall to her bedroom. ellie sat at the desk in the corner, headphones crooked, one leg bouncing like she was trying to take off.

you strolled in and flopped dramatically across her bed, the hem of the dress you were wearing sliding up to show more of your smooth thighs. if it was on purpose, your face didn’t give it away.

she saw you in her peripheral and froze, the tips of her ears turning pink.

whiffytiffany: SHE LOOKS SO GOOD WTFFFF nonbinarybullets: no fucking way maybemaddie: GF CAM GF CAM GF CAM timcanrust: her dress is a little short, no? message deleted by a moderator elliesdischarge: THAT SHOULD BE ME IN THAT BED

ellie’s voice was shaky. “i’m, uh… wrapping up soon. we’ve got—like, a thing tonight. reservation.”

cat pouted. “aw. that's a shame, babe, we were just warming up. now who will carry me when you're gone?”

usuallylurkin: she’s right there??? ellieuseslightmode: WHY IS CAT STILL FLIRTING nerfventure: girl. be serious. chousey203: NOOOO DON'T END STREAM

you watched ellie try to laugh it off. a few more minutes passed. they lost—placing third—and queued back up, cat making some obnoxious comment about how they should match skins this time.

growing agitated, you eventually stood, padded over barefoot, and crouched down next to ellie’s gaming chair.

she startled a little, tilting the mic up. “baby, i’m almost—”

you leaned in close, lips brushing her ear, your voice perfectly crisp in the mic: “you should end stream so we can fuck before our date."

topnoodle44: 💀💀💀 leilaniiii: DID SHE JUST— ghostpeekr: AYOOOOOO maybemaddie: I’M ON MY KNEES

she whipped her head toward you, eyes wide and mouth agape. you were smirking, all soft and smug, trailing a hand up the back of her neck.

she fumbled for a keybind, the screen flashing to her "be right back" screen—some dumb meme of her photoshopped onto a png of an alien.

“i’ll get off in like, five minutes,” she whispered, breathless. “let me just close out, say bye.”

"nuh uh.” you kissed her softly, nicking at her bottom lip. then leaned even further to suck a mark into the curve of her jaw. “don’t care about the outro. right now.”

she shivered in her seat, her hand reaching to hold your head there as she let out of a soft, audible moan. "ah— feels good."

macetotheface: YOURE NOT MUTED YOURE NOT MUTED YOURE NOT MUTED elliesdischarge: HOLY WHIMPER elliesyumyum: SHES MOANINGGGGGGGG ellieclips: NOT AGAIN

cat’s voice suddenly cut through her headphones, making her jolt.

“…umm. ellie? i think you forgot to mute. but—i had fun. play again soon, yeah?”

ellie slammed her hand on her stream deck. everything on the screen cut to black.

“oh my gooood,” she groaned, slumping back in her chair with her hands over her face. “i think i just committed career suicide. chat definitely heard all of that. cat definitely heard all of that.”

"honestly? good. maybe now she’ll get the hint.”

ellie blinked, wide-eyed, throat bobbing as your thumb brushed over her flushed cheek. you slid into her lap carefully.

“you’re mine,” you murmured, voice low but sharp, every word deliberate. “not hers. not anyone else's. mine.”

ellie nodded so fast it made you smile. “y-yeah,” she breathed, hands twitching against your thighs. "yours." you pulled her into a kiss.

“you’re insane, you know,” she muttered against your mouth. “you can’t just say shit like that into my mic—”

“oh, i can't?” you teased, dragging your nails lightly down the back of her neck. “but it's good for engagement! what's that shit you're always talking about? clip farming, right?”

ellie groaned—actually groaned—and her hips bucked under you, shifting like she didn’t know what to do with herself.

“fuck you,” she whispered, chasing your mouth despite the words.

“you will,” you said sweetly, then kissed her like you meant it.

she melted, her hands everywhere at once—sliding under your dress, gripping the backs of your thighs, dragging you closer until you were straddling her properly, knees pressed against the arms of her chair.

“god, i love you,” she mumbled, pulling back just long enough to press her lips to your jaw, your neck, the edge of your collarbone. she was all over you. “but jesus, you’re fucking mean. coming in here, making me—”

you tilted your head back when she bit at your throat, gasping softly. “making you what?”

ellie’s breath stuttered. “making me fucking whimper on stream like an idiot.”

“mm.” you smirked, threading your fingers through her hair and tugging just enough to make her groan. “you want me to feel bad?”

“yeah,” she whispered, a little laugh in her voice. “but you won’t.”

“nope,” you agreed, and leaned down to kiss her slow and deep, grinding down just to feel her curse into your mouth.

ellie’s hands slid up over the dress now, fingers skimming your ribs like she couldn’t believe she was allowed. she tugged at the zipper, impatient. “take this off. please.”

she unzipped it fully and you pulled it off immediately, tossing it somewhere behind you. her hands immediately cupped your chest through your strapless bra, thumbs rubbing lightly over the fabric, making you shiver.

“you’re so fucking hot,” she murmured, almost reverent. “can’t believe you’re mine.”

“say that again.”

“you’re mine,” she said instantly, eyes dark and wide.

“that’s right,” you whispered, tugging at her hoodie now. “now take this off and prove it.”

ellie scrambled out of her hoodie like it was burning her skin. she practically vaulted it across the room before her hands were on you again, tugging you closer until your chest was flush against hers.

"you're so bossy," she muttered, and you smirked, rolling your hips into her. "and you're so fucking slow. you gonna make me wait all night?"

ellie’s breath hitched. she didn’t answer—just slid her hands up your back to unhook your bra.

you stood just long enough to shove your panties down your legs in one go, stepping out of them and tossing them aside as well. when you settled back into her lap, fully bare, ellie let out a punched-out breath.

"jesus christ," she whispered, hands gripping your hips. "you’re so—fuck—you're perfect."

you tilted your head, feigning innocence. "you think about me when you stream? think about this?"

"yeah," she admitted hoarsely. "always thinking about your pussy—fuuuck, baby—thinking about how wet you get."

you gripped her jaw, made her look at you. "you liked her flirting with you?"

"no," she groaned, hips jerking helplessly under yours. "hated it. i just kept… picturing you. how pretty you look when you do your makeup. how gorgeous you were gonna look tonight at dinner."

"mm," you hummed, inwardly preening. even in the middle of sex, she couldn't help but compliment you. always so sweet, your ellie.

but then, coming to, you leaned in to nip at her earlobe. "maybe next time i'll make you cum on stream."

ellie whined—actually whined—and you smiled.

"bed," you commanded, climbing off her lap. "pants off. now."

she scrambled out of her sweats and boxers so fast it was embarrassing. she was wet, a sticky mess coating her thighs, and when you drew two fingers up her slit to feel for yourself she groaned like she was in pain.

"babe, please," she panted, hands twitching at her sides. "i need you so bad. don't—don't tease me."

you pressed her back onto the bed and climbed on top of her, lining yourself up with her.

"who do you belong to?" you asked, gripping her thigh.

"you," she said instantly, without hesitation. "always you."

"good girl," you murmured, and settled down, your centers meeting with a wet squelch.

ellie choked on a moan, head thrown back against the pillow.

"fuuuck, you feel—" her hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, like she was holding on for dear life. "oh my god, babe, you feel so good."

you rode her slow at first, savoring the way her jaw went slack, the way she tried so hard to keep her eyes open and watch the way your hips undulated above her.

"please go faster," she begged, thrusting up into you with clumsy, needy rhythm.

"you don’t get to tell me what to do," you said sweetly, dragging your hips in a pointed circle that made her curse.

"i'm sorry," ellie babbled, already wrecked. "just—please—i wanna make you cum."

you leaned down, kissed her hard. "you will," you whispered, and then you started to move for real.

ellie was incoherent within seconds. her hands gripped your ass and your hips and anywhere she could reach as you rolled into her, wet and messy and loud in the quiet room.

"oh my god," she groaned, jaw slack. "baby—fuck, you’re—i can feel how wet you are—shit—"

"you’re so loud," you teased, riding her harder. "would probably be this loud even if chat could hear you, huh?"

"i don’t—i-i..." ellie gasped, thrusting up into you, eyes glassy. "fuck, i’m close—please—"

one hand still gripping her leg beside you, you leaned down to pinch one of her nipples, tugging at the pebbled peak. the combined feeling of her against you and the erotic visual sent you over the edge fast.

"ellie—" you gasped as you came, clenching hard around nothing.

she followed with a broken moan, hips bucking so hard she almost toppled you over. "ah— fuck, baby!" she clutched you like you were the only thing tethering her to earth.

and when you finally collapsed on top of her, both of you sweaty and gasping, ellie pressed sloppy kisses to your temple, your cheek, your shoulder.

“i love you,” she murmured, voice raw. “so, so much.”

you laughed, breathless, kissing her back. “i love you too, smellie.”

ellie groaned, hiding her face in your neck. “we definitely missed our reservation,” she mumbled, voice muffled against your skin.

this work is mine. please don’t repost, copy, or publish elsewhere without permission. thank you!

[welostheplot]

── masterlist ! 𓇼˖ . ݁

── ellie

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

threshold (twilight au) 8 chapters — ongoing

𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬

threshold!ellie (aka vampire!ellie)

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

stature (tall!reader)

𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

little black dress (ex gf!ellie) 2.6k stream sniped (streamer!ellie) 5.6k friendly fire (streamer!ellie, jealous!reader) 2.6k

── abby

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

threshold (twilight au) 8 chapters — ongoing

𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬

threshold!abby (aka werewolf!abby)

𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐬

blinging on my hotline (phone sex) 0.8k

[welostheplot]

I love ur writings sm IT WAS SOOOOO SCRUMPTIOUS LICKETY LICKETY SLURP SLURP SLURPPPP have a nice day<3

THIS MADE MY NIGHT!!!! thank you babe this is so kind. have a nice day/night/afternoon/life!!! MWAH ♡

[welostheplot]

*cracks knuckles* drop a specific request you say?

OKAY SO spinoff idea where reader gets jealous in chat when ellie does a collab stream with a hot female streamer😛😛😛

BONUS IF YOU MAKE IT SMUTTY PHONE SEX DISCORD SEX IN PERSON SEX IDK GO CRAZY

alright! ALRIGHT!!!

i've seen all the requests/suggestions/demands.. FINE i'll write more streamer ellie. but after this no more!!!!

unless there's another really good idea that inspires me like this one, then maybe i'll write more LMAO

edit: i posted this here!

[welostheplot]

i love when i get a little train of notifications when someone has started threshold for the first time and is liking the post for each chapter as they read through it’s so cute 😭🤍

[welostheplot]

Ellie Williams in The Last of Us Part II 11/??

[welostheplot]

── 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 ᨒ↟☾.࿔*:･ 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐢 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: vampire!ellie williams / werewolf!abby anderson / reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: birthday highs give way to heartbreak as abby suddenly disappears without a word. stubborn as usual, you track her down, but when the truth finally comes to light, it’s more than you bargained for: abby knows what the millers are. and she knows you know, too.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: honestly? no warnings for this chapter! oh, except for angst. there's quite a bit of angst here.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.4k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: so i think this is the first chapter that really highlights the main difference in the connection reader has with abby compared to bella and jacob’s vibe. it’s decidedly more romantic. and if that differentiation bothers you due to inaccuracy, i apologize! but i like it this way. (ᵕ,—ᴗ—) also, y'all mind if i non-consensually virgo-ify you? LMAO but seriously, bella was a virgo so reader must be a virgo! that's the way the cookie crumbles. happy birthday!

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐈 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: "another year around the sun"

YOU WOKE UP BEFORE YOUR ALARM.

which didn't happen on most days.

but it wasn't most days.

it was september 13th.

your birthday.

you laid there in bed staring at the ceiling for a while, motionless under the covers, pretending you couldn’t hear the faint clatter of your dad making breakfast downstairs. pretending the weight in your chest wasn’t there.

the concept of a birthday hadn’t felt so terrible in the past. growing up, you actually used to love them. it meant your dad would wake you up with heart-shaped pancakes and your mom would pull you out of school for a half day spent getting mani-pedis and mcdonald’s.

now, all you could think about was how you’d turned one year older. you were haunted by the dumb conversations you and ellie used to have about ending up “old and wrinkly” while she’d always look twenty. you’d always roll your eyes, insisting that she should just turn you to avoid it, and she’d say, deadpan: “don’t care. still gonna kiss the shit out of you, even when you’re geriatric.”

now she wasn't even here to say happy birthday.

if she even remembered.

you dragged yourself out of bed eventually. got dressed in the first clothes you touched. avoided your dad’s playful attempt to ruffle your hair as he handed you a plate of toast—the bread cut into hearts, of course.

when you reached school, you kept your head down. avoided eye contact. took the long way to homeroom.

“guess whaaaaaat!” cassie sang the second you walked into the classroom. you froze. she stood on top of a chair, all eyes turning toward you, grinning maniacally.

"please don’t," you mumbled, already sinking into your seat.

it was too late.

“THE BIRTHDAY GIRL'S HERE!” she declared, and the room burst into scattered applause and fake gasps. someone across the room yelled, “you can buy cigarettes now!”

you covered your face with your sleeves. “i hate you.”

“no you don’t, my beautiful birthday princess,” cassie chirped, moving toward you with arms outstretched in mock celebration. you sighed and let her wrap you in a dramatic hug.

during third period, nat slid into the seat next to you at lunch, carrying a tray with a single apple and a candle jammed right into the top. “happy birthday!”

"please don't light that."

"too late."

she flicked a lighter and held the apple out to you, flame flickering in the fluorescent light, while your table of friends broke into an off-key version of the birthday song.

leah leaned across the table, snapping a picture of you. "make a wish!"

"no."

"okay, but at least blow it out before you set off the sprinklers, sourpuss."

THE HOUSE WAS QUIET WHEN YOU GOT HOME.

just the hum of the fridge and the rhythmic tick of the kitchen clock.

you dropped your bookbag by the door and were kicking off your shoes when your eyes landed on the kitchen counter.

a plastic grocery container of vanilla cupcakes sat waiting for you, still sealed, and next to it was a folded square of notebook paper torn from your dad’s legal pad.

his handwriting was messy as always—slanted hard and barely legible: sorry i only got to see you this morning briefly on your big day. working late tonight. enjoy another year around the sun, kiddo. love you.

you blinked a few times, then peeled open the container. picked the one with the most frosting. the sugar hit made your jaw twinge, and you winced mid-chew.

“surprise,” said a voice behind you.

you almost dropped the damn cupcake.

“jesus—fuckin' hell, abby!"

you spun around, hand to your chest, and saw her standing just inside the kitchen doorway, holding a tiny box wrapped in shiny paper. her smile was crooked and a little bashful.

"i honestly have no clue how you didn't notice i was here," she said, not even a little apologetic. "you've got the survival instincts of a worm."

"shut the fuck up, oh my god."

she laughed and walked closer. "happy birthday, by the way."

you wiped frosting off your fingers with a paper towel. “thanks.”

“i got you something,” she said, holding the box out.

you hesitated—then took it, smiling shyly up at her. it was light in your hands, no bigger than your palm. you peeled off the paper and popped the lid open.

inside, nestled on a small velvet cushion, was a silver charm bracelet. just one charm dangled from it so far: a tiny, beautifully carved wolf, its body curved mid-run, teeth bared like it was protecting something.

your breath caught.

she scratched the back of her neck. "i, uh... i carved it myself. was a bitch whittling at something so small but... worth it."

you looked up at her, still holding the box, your throat tightening. “abby, this is... actually really nice.”

her brows knit. “it's not too much?”

“no.” you shook your head quickly. “no, it’s—perfect.”

something swelled in your chest and you stepped forward before you could stop yourself. your free hand reached for her flannel sleeve, fingers curling into the soft fabric. she didn't move.

“can i kiss you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

she nodded. “please.”

your lips met hers, soft at first. careful and sugary-sweet from the vanilla frosting earlier. her hands found your waist, pulling you flush against her, and you sighed into it.

then, the tension cracked open and everything sharpened, heat coiling low in your stomach as her mouth moved against yours with a hunger that surprised you both.

you kissed her harder, tilted your chin, opened your mouth just enough for her to deepen it. her tongue slid against yours, slow and exploratory, like she was learning you by taste and feel. you moaned quietly when she pressed her thigh between yours, pinning you against the counter.

you dropped the box somewhere behind you—didn’t even hear it land—as you wrapped your arms around her neck and let her press into you. her hands were on your hips, then under your shirt, rough palms on bare skin.

you gasped into her mouth, and that’s when she stopped. pulled back with a shaky breath, eyes wide.

“shit,” she said, voice rough. “okay, okay,” she breathed. “fuck."

you blinked, dazed. “what?”

“as much as birthday sex sounds... extremely enticing,” she said, chest still rising and falling fast, “i really, really don’t wanna go too fast. i like you. a lot. and i don't wanna fuck this up.”

you stared at her, flushed and breathless and blinking slow, like your brain needed a second to buffer.

then laughed, soft and relieved. “that’s... kind of stupidly sweet.”

she grinned, still looking a little wrecked. “yeah, well. don’t hold it against me.”

and later that night, curled up in bed with the sterling silver cool against your wrist, you traced the tiny wooden shape with your thumb and smiled to yourself.

it was the first night in...too long that you'd slept completely through the night.

YOUR LOCKER GROANED AS YOU SLAMMED IT SHUT.

you had hoped you’d be assigned one less dingy with the new school year—however, fate hadn’t been on your side. at least this one was relatively dent-free. for now.

you barely had time to adjust the strap on your backpack before nat was in front of you, leaning far too much into your space.

"movie night," she said with no preamble. "you, me. giant popcorn, terrible previews. a nice, cheesy romcom. sounds good?"

you raised your eyebrow. "that's your pitch?"

she shrugged, unbothered. "c'mooooon. you're finally back to your old self now that you're not all... sad and selectively mute anymore. it's hot. let's celebrate."

you opened your mouth—and caught the way she was looking at you. hopeful, like she had a chance again. it made your stomach twist a little. “uh—sure. how about we invite the others?”

her smile faltered.

you spotted devin and leah headed toward the stairwell. "hey devin!” you called, “movie night this weekend?”

he looked vaguely confused but nodded. “sure?”

“leah?”

“yeah, okay,” she said slowly. “what’re we seeing?”

nat opened her mouth to protest, but you cut her off. “thinking action. that new one with explosions and zombies. it’s supposed to be really good.”

“that’s not what i suggested,” nat muttered.

“i’ll text cassie and marcus too,” you went on, ignoring the way she seemed to physically deflate behind you. “group hang, yeah?"

but by saturday, it was very decidedly not a group hang so much as an awkward third-wheel setup. every one of your so-called friends had mysteriously bailed. leah had some club obligation. devin claimed his car wouldn’t start. cassie had work, and marcus was “babysitting his cousin,” which honestly sounded fake as hell.

the only one you could actually get to come?

abby.

you spotted her outside the theater, leaning against the brick wall, one boot crossed over the other.

“nice turnout,” she said as you walked up.

you sighed. “don’t.”

nat arrived a few minutes later, eyes flicking from you to abby, smile a little too tight. “didn't realize there was still going to be a guest."

abby shrugged. "i'm not sharing my popcorn, by the way."

inside, nat picked the seats—middle of the row, perfectly centered. the lights dimmed. the trailers rolled. you did your best to focus on the screen.

half an hour in, you noticed nat inching her hand toward yours on the armrest. you shifted slightly. she adjusted. a few minutes passed. her pinky hooked yours, subtle and slow.

you made a grab for your popcorn bucket, desperate to have an excuse to break the contact.

then came the moment: a burst of gore on-screen, viscera flying in cinematic slow-mo. nat let out a sharp noise, slapped a hand over her mouth, and shot out of her seat.

you and abby exchanged a glance. “i’ll go,” you whispered, already standing.

“i’m coming too,” abby said, already moving.

in the hallway, you leaned against the wall outside the women’s restroom. abby stood beside you, arms crossed.

“you okay?” you asked.

she didn’t answer at first. just stared ahead, jaw tense.

finally: “i don’t get it. are you into her?”

you blinked. “nat?”

"because she's definitely into you. been all over you all night."

you laughed at that. “that's nat for you. she's got the subtlety of a foghorn."

she didn't even crack a smile. you frowned. "are you okay?"

"i just—look, i like you. and i keep thinking about how i’m in this now. whatever this is. with you.”

your heart stuttered. “abby…”

"i know you're still figuring things out," she said quickly. "but i'm in deep. and i need you to know... i won't ever, ever hurt you. i won't do what ellie did to you."

there was heat in her voice, something shaky and raw around the edges.

before you could respond, the bathroom door opened and nat stepped out, wiping her mouth with a paper towel and flashing a wobbly grin. “whew. do not recommend the nachos. so, did i miss the good stuff?"

abby stepped back like she’d been burned.

“oh,” nat said, glancing between you two. “did i interrupt something?"

abby scoffed under her breath. “she also tried to hold your hand like four separate times, by the way.”

nat raised an eyebrow. “and you were watching that closely why?”

“i was sitting right there.”

you sighed. "okay, can we get back to the movie now?"

but abby didn't drop it. "just saying. maybe you'd benefit from taking a fucking hint." her fists were clenched, jaw tight like she was holding something back.

"jesus, what crawled up your ass?" nat snapped, straightening up.

“guys,” you said sharply, stepping between them. “seriously? chill.”

they stared at each other. the silence stretched.

then abby turned, muttered something under her breath, and walked straight out the front doors.

nat watched her go, still fuming. “what the hell’s her problem?”

you didn't answer. couldn't. because you had no idea either.

THREE DAYS.

that’s how long it had been since the movie night. since abby had stormed off without a word. since she promised she wouldn’t hurt you and then did exactly that.

you were trying not to spiral, but it was getting hard to pretend it didn’t sting.

you stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing out a mug you’d already washed twice. your phone sat on the counter next to you, screen unlit. you didn’t even know why you kept checking it anymore. hope was starting to feel embarrassing.

your dad walked in, kicked off his boots, and went straight for the fridge like always. “you good?”

you didn’t answer. set the mug down a little too hard, water sloshing.

the fridge door shut. “okaaaay. that’s a no.”

you sighed. “i just haven’t heard from someone in a few days. it’s whatever.”

he raised a brow and leaned against the counter. “that someone got a name?”

you glanced at him, already feeling your chest tighten. “i haven’t heard from abby.”

his expression didn’t change — just softened a little, barely there. “ah.”

you tapped your nail against the still-dripping mug. “she said she wouldn’t just disappear. wouldn't act like..." you cleared your throat, unwilling to actually say her name. "and then she did.”

your dad glanced out the kitchen window, squinting from the sunlight. “you remember when you were little and you two were at hers that one time she ran away from home ‘cause you touched some poison ivy in one of the fields and she thought you were gonna die?”

you huffed. “you can't just tell me a childhood story about us every time we're on the rocks to make me feel better."

he grinned and forged on. “she biked for over an hour barefoot to get to our house. showed up with a pocketful of granola bars and a plastic knife in case she had to fight bears.”

you smiled, despite yourself.

“abby’s always been intense,” he said. “but she’s never been the type to bail just for the hell of it.”

“people change,” you muttered. “you said it yourself — that was when we were kids.”

“sure,” he agreed. “but word travels fast ’round here. and i heard through the grapevine abby wasn't feeling well. hasn’t been at school or nothing.”

your head snapped toward him. “she's sick?”

he nodded. “as a dog. laid up pretty bad, apparently."

your chest went tight. “oh.”

“look,” your dad said, voice gentler now, “i get being mad. really. especially with how ellie…” he trailed off, noticing your physical wince at the mention.

“i just remember a few months ago when you couldn’t get out of bed. and abby was there for you. didn’t matter how shut-down you were — she kept showing up anyway."

you swallowed.

“maybe give her a little grace,” he said. “she’s earned it, don’t you think?”

you didn’t want to. god, you did not want to.

she'd promised. she said she wouldn’t leave you hanging.

and you hated that he was right. hated that it only made you feel worse. your fingers drifted to your wrist — to the bracelet she gave you, thumb rubbing over the carved wood of the charm.

“she still could’ve sent one text...”

THE RAIN HAD STARTED HALFWAY THROUGH THE DRIVE OUT.

thick, relentless drops blurred your windshield despite your wipers screeching away on the highest setting. you took the familiar turns by memory, headlights carving through the gloom, fingers clenched tight around the steering wheel.

you’d almost turned back twice. once when the check engine light flicked on. again when your stomach twisted at the memory of abby’s face at the theater—earnest, soft, when she swore she wouldn’t hurt you.

when she'd lied.

but now you were here, pulling up to the familiar gravel road—now a churned up mudslide—and climbing out of the car without bothering with an umbrella. you stepped out into the storm and let it soak you, hair plastered to your cheeks, jeans clinging to your legs.

and there she was.

standing under the overhang of one of the storage sheds, barefoot in sweatpants and a sports bra. decidedly not dying or even remotely sick.

"seriously?” you snapped before you’ve even fully made it across the lot.

abby turned slowly at the sound of your voice, face flattening like she knew this was coming. “what are you doing here?”

“what am i—are you serious right now?” you were already shivering, but the cold had nothing on the heat bubbling in your chest. “you haven’t talked to me in days, and now—what? you’re miraculously cured of whatever fake fucking sickness you’ve been telling everyone you've got?”

she looked away, jaw flexing. “you shouldn’t have come.”

“oh, sorry,” you bit back. “didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to give a shit about you anymore. what the hell happened, abby? why won’t you talk to me?”

she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "it's... hard to explain."

"god, of course it fucking is." your hands flew up, exasperated. "you said you wouldn’t hurt me. remember that? said you weren’t like her.”

abby stepped forward at that, expression stony. “and i meant it.”

"then what the fuck happened to you?"

silence. just the sound of the rain and your own pulse crashing in your ears.

and then you couldn't help yourself:

"did owen get to you? is that what this is?"

"you wouldn't understand," she muttered.

"what does that even mean?" your voice wobbled on the last word, your breath coming quicker.

“you need to go,” she said, voice lower now.

you blinked. “what?”

“i said you need to go,” she repeated, firmer. “i’m trying to protect you.”

you let out a hollow laugh. “god, you sound just like her.”

that made her flinch. you pushed on, voice thick. “ellie said the same thing when they left. that it was for my own good. that i was better off.”

abby's eyes flashed. "stop comparing me to that filthy fucking bloodsucker."

your breath caught.

"what?" you whispered.

"you heard me."

you stared at her, the rain pelting between you. "i— i... don't know what you're talking about."

"you know exactly what i'm talking about," she cut you off, practically snarling. "and since you asked, owen's trying to help me. but like i said, you wouldn't understand. especially considering you're still trying to protect them, even after what they did to you. what she did to you."

you said nothing.

“i knew something was off,” she kept going, quieter now. “back then. the way you acted around them. around her. i didn’t want to believe it. that you already knew. that you were keeping it from me.”

“i—” your voice cracked. “i didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

abby let out a bitter laugh. “too late for that. you think i don’t know what they are? what she is?”

you didn’t answer. couldn’t.

“and you think i’m just like her.” her expression twisted. “you couldn’t be more wrong.”

you stood there, sniffling, rain and tears mixing on your face.

then she said it:

"look, we can't be together anymore."

you broke. “i know i should’ve told you. i know. but it wasn’t to hurt you. and it’s been eating me alive. i’m sorry, abby. i’m so sorry—”

“don’t,” she cut you off. “i’m not even mad at you. it's me that's the issue."

you chuckled wetly. "oh so it's the 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit, right?"

“it’s true,” she said, chest heaving. “i’m not... good. i used to be. your dad even said it all the time—‘a good kid.’ but that’s gone.”

you stepped forward, grabbed her face, and kissed her. desperate. frantic, even. her lips were warm despite the rain, and your grip tight like she'd disappear on you. “you are good,” you whispered against her mouth. “you’re good for me.”

but she quickly pulled back, breath ragged and everything caved in again.

“i’m not,” she whispered. “and we can’t do this. not now.”

you shook your head, sobbing. “you promised.”

“i promised i wouldn’t hurt you.” she leaned her forehead against yours, voice steady now. “and this is me keeping that promise.”

your stomach dropped as she stepped back.

“go home. don’t come back.”

“abby—”

“if you do, you’re going to get hurt.”

you didn’t see owen or the others until she was already jogging toward them—half-shadowed under the trees.

and this time, you don’t stop her.

this work is mine. please don’t repost, copy, or publish elsewhere without permission. thank you!

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @oneinameliann @taronyuhunter @tenebrisirae @stravvbwerry @panic4sage @valeisaslut @moonysheartbreak

[welostheplot]

ugh I'm in love with your twilight/tlou fic

what inspired you to write it? I'm curious about your process and what keeps you going!

i'm so glad you love it!! i love writing it + that love keeps me going!!

i've always loved twilight and the idea actually came to me on a flight. i was watching new moon and all i could think about was how seamlessly i could blend tlou into the plot. got out my notes app on my phone and started building out the storyline and boom my baby threshold was born!

so yeah thank goodness for delta airlines offering the entire twilight series. and yes, i now watch a twilight movie every time i fly.

[welostheplot]

and if i said i wanted to take a nap in the gap between her eyebrow hairs is that doing too much—

this is so pretty k keep thonking about it

[welostheplot]

feed us more streamer ellie PLEASE. FUCK THE MASTERLIST WE WANT STREAMER ELLIE!!!!

🥥 ~

okay so here’s the gag:

i’ve gotten several asks regarding part two of streamer!ellie and tbh i did not plan on writing more 😭 i closed off the one shot establishing her and reader’s relationship very clearly to leave not much room for anything else!

so in terms of more for her, i honestly had nothing in mind! BUT, if you drop me an ask with something specific you had in mind for her, i’d be honored to fulfill the request ◝(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)◜