mdni you will be blocked <3 I am a grown ass woman.
big fan of the last of us (duh), taylor swift, and my cat
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fics, headcanons, blurbs, whateva
most/all are smut, mostly ellie but always open to abby
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open to any women from tlou
I will not write top!reader or dom!reader, sorry lol.
open to any questions/comments/concerns whatever, just please keep it appropriate if it's outside of the realm of fiction. I am taken and my partner kills people.
I think that's everything. It's been so much fun starting up this blog ily all
summary: you met ellie at a late-night dive bar. and somehow, she ended up in your bed by dawn.
word count: 5.5k
THE BAR smelled like beer and cheap cologne, the air heavy with something thick—heat, maybe, or desperation. Ellie was already regretting the second shot of whatever Jesse had shoved into her hand, tongue still numb from it, when they pushed through the doors.
It wasn’t even a cool bar. Not really. One of those try-hard places with neon signs and floor lights, but Jesse had said it was the spot, and Dina had rolled her eyes, and Ellie—Ellie just followed. And she was mid-eye roll, already writing off the crowd, the noise, the way everything felt like it wanted to press in, when she saw you.
Dead center of the room. Laughing. Spinning. Glitter catching on your cheeks like you'd kissed a star goodbye and kept the residue. Your hair was damp with sweat, your chest rising and falling like you hadn’t stopped moving all night. And everyone was watching you—sure, they were. But no one looked at you the way Ellie did in that second.
Like you were a fucking mirage.
It hit her like a bruise. Like a punch to the ribs, slow and blooming. Her hand tightened around the rim of her glass and she almost forgot how to swallow.
You didn’t see her yet. Of course you didn’t. You were too busy dancing like the music was yours, like the whole place was just background noise to the world happening inside your head. Your laugh cracked open the bass, clear as a bell. Your smile lit up the goddamn shadows. And she wasn’t usually like this.
She wasn’t the poetic one. She didn’t fall headfirst. But she could already feel the words clattering around in her mouth. Want. Need. Stay.
“You good?” Dina asked, bumping her shoulder. Ellie didn’t even blink.
“Yeah,” she said, voice rough. “Yeah. I just…”
She trailed off because she didn’t know how to finish that sentence. ‘I just saw God and she's dripping glitter. I just saw the reason I came here and didn’t know it. I just saw you.’
Jesse followed her line of sight and let out a low whistle. “Damn,” he muttered. “She looks like a born again wild card.”
Ellie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her jaw was locked, her heartbeat somewhere in her throat. There were people between you—bodies, sweat, the beat of a remix that barely held together—but Ellie could see you like there was no one else. Could feel you.
You tilted your head back, laughed again, and Ellie felt her knees go soft.
And for the first time in a long time, maybe since the world started ending and starting over and ending again, she wanted something with teeth. Something that didn’t make sense, something stupid. She wanted to walk straight into the storm you were and never come out.
And she didn’t even know your fucking name.
“Ellie,” Dina said again, her voice softer this time.
But Ellie didn’t move. She just stared. Until you turned like you’d felt her looking. Just like that. One spin, hips still swaying, and suddenly your eyes locked on hers through the haze of bodies and bass. You didn’t look surprised. You looked like you’d been waiting.
And Ellie? Ellie froze.
Your smile widened, and her stomach dropped through the floor. Jesse caught it instantly, let out a low “Oh, shit,” beside her, and Ellie didn’t even flicker in his direction.
You didn’t hesitate. No dramatic pause, no slow approach. You walked straight toward her, sweat and glitter still clinging to your neck like jewelry. The people around you seemed to part without even realizing, like the crowd made room for you out of instinct. Or reverence.
You didn’t say hi. You just reached for her hand—warm fingers wrapping around hers, calloused from guitar strings, and yanked.
You stopped and turned around to face her fully. Up close, you were ridiculous. Sparkles dusted your collarbones like stardust. There was a smear of highlighter across your cheekbone, and Ellie had the sudden, awful urge to trace it with her thumb.
Your breath smelled like mint and alcohol, and she didn't mind. She didn’t care if you were drinking something too sweet or if your lip gloss got stuck to her mouth. She’d taste every version of you just to say she had.
You leaned in just enough for her to hear you over the beat.
“That’s okay,” you said, all casual mischief and magnetism. “No one will be watching anyway.”
And then you grinned. Like this was a joke you’d already told yourself and the punchline was Ellie’s heartbeat skipping a step. But everyone would be watching, because you were there.
Jesse’s voice was fading behind her, something about good luck or don’t die or maybe remember to breathe, but none of it registered. Your hand tugged her forward again, and she let you.
She let you drag her into the chaos. The floor swallowed you both whole; the throbbing lights, music that hit in the chest more than the ears, strangers pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. But somehow, inside all that noise, it felt quiet.
It was just her. And you.
You didn’t make her dance. Not really. You just danced around her. Your hips swayed, your arms draped over her shoulders once, teasing and light, and your eyes stayed locked to hers like you were trying to pull something out. Ellie’s hands hovered awkwardly at her sides until you grabbed one and placed it gently—gently, like it mattered—at your waist.
“See?” you whispered. “You’re already doing it.”
Ellie shook her head, cheeks burning, but you laughed again, and she swore it rewired something in her. God, that laugh.
She forgot the music. Forgot the lights. She forgot the fact that she’d come here tonight just to get a little drunk and hide in a booth with her friends. You were here now. You were everything now.
You leaned closer again, your mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “You look like you’re thinking way too hard.”
“I’m not,” she lied, because she was thinking so much. About you. About how you felt in her hands, how you moved like you belonged to the rhythm, and she was just lucky enough to be orbiting in your pull.
“You’re cute when you lie,” you said, pulling back. “Kind of obvious. It’s adorable.”
Ellie tried to laugh, but it came out like a breath.
Then—after another beat of dancing, of you spinning and pulling her close again—your mouth dipped low near hers, and you said, “You’re not from around here.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a knowing. You were full of those truths, wrapped in teasing.
“No,” Ellie admitted. “First time at this place.”
You smiled like you’d known that the second you saw her. “Figures. You walked in like you didn’t want to belong to any of it.”
“Yeah?” Ellie tilted her head, biting her lower lip with nervousness. She should’ve said something cool. She didn’t. Instead, “what’s your name?”
You looked at her, eyes glinting, and said, “Does it matter?”
“I kinda think it does.”
You thought about that. Really thought about it. Then leaned in and whispered your name like it was a secret you were letting her borrow, just for tonight. It rang in her chest like a melody. Like something she already knew.
“Ellie,” she said back. “That’s mine.”
You repeated it, now closer to her lips. And she could've sworn her knees buckled. Ellie’s hands didn’t float at her sides now; they rested on your hips like they belonged there. The crowd didn’t feel as loud anymore. Like you were both underwater and only each other’s faces were in focus.
And then you got close again. Really close. Close enough for your lips to graze her ear.
“I want to tell you something,” you said.
Ellie swallowed. “Yeah?”
You pulled back and looked her dead in the eye. Serious, for the first time. A flicker of something behind your smile. Something just shy of sad.
“I think you’re gonna fuck me up,” you said.
Ellie blinked. She didn’t know what to say. You didn’t wait for her to figure it out.
You were still dancing. Still shining, and your mouth keep whispering wild things to her. Things like stay a little longer. And who has she to decline such an offer?
Time felt drunker than she was. The lights pulsed softer now, more like a heartbeat than a strobe, and Ellie’s feet barely remembered what not dancing felt like. Her mouth was dry, her fingers still ghosting your skin like they hadn’t realized the song was over.
You were leaning against the bar now, one arm slung lazily across the counter, your glitter mostly smudged and sweat dampening the curls at the back of your neck. You looked at her like she was the most interesting thing in the room—even now, even after hours of everything.
Ellie didn’t know what to do with that.
You ordered two drinks with a grin and the kind of charm that made the bartender smile too long. You turned back to her, eyes heavy, pupils wide, cheeks pink with warmth or alcohol or both. She’d lost track of how many drinks she’d had, only knew her body felt light, and her brain felt loud. And you were everywhere.
Before she could say something stupid—probably about how your nose scrunched when you laughed or how you hadn't let go of her hand all night—she heard Jesse’s voice from behind.
“There you are,” he said, low and amused. Dina stood beside him, coat over her arm, tired but watching Ellie with that look that meant we’re gonna talk about this later.
“We’re heading out,” Jesse added. “Want a ride?”
Ellie blinked. She looked at you. You were looking at her, waiting.
She shook her head. “Nah. I’m good.”
Dina raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Ellie said. Her voice was steady, but her chest wasn’t. “I want to—uh. I’m staying.”
Jesse smirked, and Dina tugged his sleeve. “Text us if you need anything,” she said, voice softer now. And then they were gone, the door swinging shut behind them.
You slid her drink toward her. “Friends leaving?”
“Yeah,” Ellie said, fingers curling around the glass. “I’m staying, though.”
The bar noise kept spilling around you both for a while, until you leaned in close again, that breathy little edge to your voice that made every word sound secret.
“Wanna get out of here?”
Ellie nodded before her brain even caught up.
You took her hand again—fingers laced this time—and pulled her through the crowd like you were leading her to something holy.
YOU LIVED just past the 7-Eleven.
Ellie didn’t know that until the two of you were stumbling down the sidewalk, half-dizzy from the bar’s warmth and the weight of everything unsaid. You’d peeled her out of the last chorus, fingers laced with hers, saying something like ‘Come on. It’s not far.’
She hadn’t even asked where.
The street was quiet, dipped in shadows and old porch lights. Somewhere behind you, the world was still spinning its noise, but here—it was just the smell of pavement and wet leaves, your voice like sugar melting in her ear.
“So,” you said, swinging your arm lazily in hers, “what’s your damage, Ellie?”
She laughed despite herself. “Jesus.”
“You’ve got baggage,” you added, like it was charming. “So do I. Don’t worry. I won’t unpack mine if you don’t.”
She almost said something like I don’t want to fuck this up but swallowed it. Instead, she squeezed your hand a little tighter. You tugged her to a stop at the crosswalk. The red light lit up both your faces, washing you in color. Cars passed slowly. You looked like a movie scene she’d never admit she’d dreamed of.
Ellie didn’t mean to say it. Not all of it. But your hand was warm, and your thumb was brushing back and forth against her skin, and your hair was a mess, and she was just drunk enough to be honest.
“I don’t do this,” she said. You looked at her. “I don’t let people in,” she added, voice lower. “Not fast. Not like this.” You didn’t say anything, not right away. So she kept going. “I feel like I’ve known you longer than tonight. And that’s stupid. And I’m probably reading this wrong. But I don’t want it to be nothing. Does that sound stupid?”
You tilted your head. A car whooshed by. The red light held. And you didn’t answer, you just smiled. But there was something underneath it. A sadness she couldn’t name. The light turned green. You crossed the street in silence, hand still wrapped in hers, and didn’t let go even once.
Your apartment was a few floors up, door painted a chipped blue, a wind chime hanging that didn’t match anything else. Inside, it smelled like sage and vanilla and something soft. You dropped your bag. Toed off your shoes. And fell onto the couch like you’d done it a thousand times before.
Ellie stayed standing.
“You want another drink?” you asked, already reaching for a bottle on the counter.
“Sure,” she said, but she didn’t care about the drink.
You poured two, and handed her one. She took a sip. Winced. “Jesus, what is this?”
“Courage,” you grinned.
You sat next to her again, this time with your legs crossed under you, arm along the back of the couch, eyes watching her like she was a stranger you wanted to learn. Your warm skin was touching hers, and she suddenly felt dizzy.
“You always spill your guts at traffic lights?” you asked.
Ellie rolled her eyes. “Only for you.”
Now, the bottle was almost gone. It sat on the table, the last inch settling thick and dark in the bottom. The glasses had stopped being topped off—just sipped slower, stretched thinner, like time itself had started running out with it.
You were curled into Ellie on the couch, legs draped over hers. The mood had dipped quieter for a while, but something in the silence had started to change.
She could feel it in your laugh. Looser. Drunker. In the way you played with your own ring, twisting it around and around your finger while you talked about nothing. In the way, your leg shifted just a little—closer. Seeking friction. A touch. An answer.
Ellie caught your eyes for too long on her mouth.
So, she did something about it.
Her hand, slow and warm, slid along your thigh, her fingertips just barely pressing into your skin through the soft fabric of your jeans. Her pinky lingered, teasing the edge of the rip near your knee. She didn’t look at you right away, just smiled to herself.
A shit-eating grin.
You glanced down at her hand, then back at her face. “Oh?” you said, a single eyebrow raised.
Ellie met your eyes, still grinning, still slow and unreadable. “What?”
“That’s a bold move,” you said, breathier now. Your lips curved into a grin of your own, like a dare. “You trying to be slick?”
“Is it working?”
You snorted and leaned forward until your faces were close again. “You’re lucky I’m tipsy,” you murmured.
“I’m lucky either way.”
Your mouth twitched. Then your hand was on her neck. Just like that. Your own fingers grabbing her short auburn locks like they were your own anchor, and pulling her in like it had been inevitable. And maybe it had. Your lips met in the middle—open and warm and shameless. It was messier. No hesitation.
Ellie kissed you like she’d wanted to since the moment she saw you spin in the middle of that dance floor. Like she’d waited long enough.
You straddled her on the couch, knees pressing into cushions, one hand braced against her chest, the other tangled in her hair. She groaned when you bit her bottom lip, and you grinned against her mouth, drunk on it. Drunk on her.
The couch groaned with every shift.
Ellie’s hands slid under your shirt, warm palms against warmer skin. You laughed into her neck, breath hiccupping.
“I thought you didn’t do this kind of thing,” you whispered, voice broken with breath.
“I don’t,” Ellie said, mouth chasing your jaw. “But I do you, baby.”
“Fuck,” you muttered, laughing again. But your nails dug into her shoulder like maybe she just knocked the air out of you a little.
When you pulled back, your pupils were blown wide, lips swollen, glitter smudged across your cheekbone like war paint. You were art, and Ellie was too far gone to pretend she wasn’t starving for it.
“Bed?” you asked, voice rasped and daring. She nodded without thinking.
Your room was smaller than Ellie expected. The walls were covered in posters, torn magazine clippings, books stacked in a corner with no shelf. The sheets were half-made. The window was cracked open to the humid night, letting in a soft breeze that raised goosebumps across your arms.
You climbed onto the bed first and flopped back, limbs sprawled, breathless from laughing at something dumb Ellie said on the way down the hall. You looked up at her, all soft and dangerous, and held your hand out.
She took it.
When she leaned over you, her hair fell forward. Your fingers caught a strand and tucked it behind her ear, eyes never leaving hers.
“You’re trouble,” you whispered.
“I know,” she said. “So are you.”
Then it got quiet again. Like, even the air knew something was about to crack wide open. Her lips met yours again, and it was different now. Slower. Hungrier.
She kissed down your neck, pausing at the collar of your shirt. You nodded, and she tugged it off, tossed it somewhere behind her without looking. Her mouth followed the trail of exposed skin like it was instinct.
You arched under her, breath catching, chest pressed to hers. Her hands knew exactly where to rest. Your hips rose, legs wrapping around her waist. The contact was almost unbearable now.
“You good?” she asked, forehead resting against yours.
You nodded, panting slightly. “Just kiss me.”
So she did. She kissed you until you weren’t laughing anymore, just moaning softly, whispering her name between gasps and half-laughed curses. Your hands were under her shirt now, lifting it slowly, nails dragging across her ribs. She hissed at the contact, and you smiled, smug.
“Sensitive?”
“Shut up,” she muttered into your neck, biting just enough to make you squirm. Enough to leave a mark.
Clothes fell away, piece by piece. The bed creaked under you. The sheets tangled. You kissed until you were both raw from it, until everything sticky and loud turned tender again—hands on hips, fingers in hair, the space between your bodies so thin it felt holy.
You whispered things. Some of them true. Some of them you’d pretend you didn’t remember in the morning. Ellie held you through all of it. Pressed kisses to your shoulder, your cheek, your sternum. Told you between sighs that you were beautiful when you called her a liar. Called you dangerous when you grinned into her mouth.
The glitter was gone by the end of it. Just sweat now, and heat. The kind of closeness that didn’t have a name but didn’t need one either.
And somewhere between a kiss and a laugh, you fell asleep with your face tucked into her neck, and Ellie stayed awake a little longer—just long enough to memorize the rhythm of your breath.
ELLIE woke up smiling.
Not the usual twitch of her mouth when a dream made her laugh. No. This smile was full. Real. A slow, stretching kind of smile that bloomed across her face like sunlight through a cracked window.
She blinked into the soft haze of your room. Bare legs tangled in thin sheets, the scent of your skin still clinging to her. Her arm reached across the bed instinctively, fingers grazing a pillow still warm on one side.
But you weren’t there.
She sat up slowly, her body sore in the best kind of way. The room was quiet, the morning light dull and golden, drifting through your thin curtains.
Then she saw you.
You were across the room, near the window, half-lit by the sun. Wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie. It swallowed you whole, the hem brushing your thighs, sleeves too long for your hands. Your makeup was smudged, the glitter from the night before a faint shimmer across your cheekbone, lips still faintly stained wine-red. Your hair was a disaster.
And you still looked like Aphrodite, dragged through war and woke up winning.
You turned when you felt her eyes on you. Your smile was quiet. Gentle. But distant in a way that made Ellie’s stomach twist.
“Hey,” you said softly.
“Hey,” she murmured back, rubbing a hand over her face. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
“Mm,” she stretched, muscles aching. “You always look like this in the morning?”
You smiled, a little sad this time. “No. Just when I’m trying to figure out how to say goodbye.”
Ellie blinked. “…What?”
You stepped toward the bed, bare feet soundless on the floor. Sat on the edge beside her. Close enough that your thigh brushed hers, but your body didn’t lean in. Your hands stayed in your lap.
“I don’t want to be confusing,” you said quietly. “Last night was real. Every second of it.”
Ellie watched you carefully, that smile fading from her lips. “Okay…”
“But this is where it ends, babe.”
She froze. You didn’t say it with cruelty. There wasn’t anything sharp in your voice. No mockery. No regret. You said it like it was just the truth. Like it had always been the plan, even if she didn’t know it.
“I don’t do the morning after,” you continued, eyes still on your fingers. You winced, still not looking at her. “I should’ve warned you.”
She didn’t know what to say. A dozen things rushed to her tongue—half of them defensive, the other half just hurt. But none of them left her mouth.
“Was it something I did?” she asked finally, voice hoarse.
You looked at her, eyes softening. “No. You were… honestly, you were better than I ever expected”
Ellie shifted on the bed, blanket falling to her waist. Her hand reached for your thigh, but she stopped just before touching you. Let it hover in the space between.
“So that’s it?” she asked. “We don’t get to see what happens next?”
You hesitated. “I don’t think you do wanna know what happens next.”
There was silence for a long beat. Then Ellie leaned back, dragging a hand through her hair, trying to mask the ache blooming in her chest.
“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath.
You stood slowly, tugging the hem of the hoodie lower. You turned your back to her, busying yourself by folding a blanket that didn’t need folding.
“You can stay a few more minutes if you want. There’s water in the kitchen. Toothbrush in the drawer.”
“Wow,” Ellie said, dry. “This the deluxe split package?”
You glanced at her over your shoulder. “Ellie.” Her name sounded like a sigh. Like maybe, you wished you were someone else too. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you said.
“Well, you’re doing a fucking stellar job anyway.”
You nodded. Took that. Accepted it. Ellie stood up, slowly, grounding herself. She pulled on her jeans, her sports bra, her shirt, all in silence. You stayed near the window, arms crossed, eyes not on her anymore.
You still looked like a dream. Even sad. Even untouchable. And that was the worst part.
By the time she made it to the door, Ellie paused, her hand on the knob. She turned to you one last time. Then she stepped out into the hallway. The door shut behind her.
And just like that, you were gone.
IT HAD been months.
The bar hadn’t seen your laugh since that night. No glitter, no flash of thigh catching the strobe lights. Dina stopped mentioning your name after the third day. Jesse had told Ellie to move on. And eventually… she tried.
But your absence lingered in her like an unfinished chapter. Until the day Ellie took the long way home.
The engine of her bike purred through a side street, the air dry and the sun dying orange behind the horizon. She was late, hungry, pissed about her dead phone battery. She almost didn’t notice the car on the shoulder.
She slowed instinctively.
And then she saw you.
Bent slightly over the engine, hair tied up, grease on your cheek and frustration painted all over your face. Your car door was open. Music played softly from inside—Fleetwood Mac, of all things—and you were muttering to yourself like you were about to commit arson.
Ellie’s heart nearly stopped.
You turned, and your eyes met hers like the universe had planned it. She could barely get off the bike. Her legs moved before her brain caught up. You blinked, startled. And then your face did something strange—this flicker of recognition, disbelief, and then—God, something like guilt.
“Ellie,” you said softly. “Holy shit.”
She stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets. “What happened?”
“Car’s dead,” you muttered. “Won’t start. I’ve been here for over an hour.”
Your smile was cautious. Tired. Silence stretched, awkward at first, but not cold.
“I can give you a ride,” Ellie offered, regretting it instantly.
You hesitated, eyes flicking to her bike, and nodded. Ellie handed you her helmet and tried not to smile like an idiot when your fingers brushed. Dina would’ve slapped her silly, but right now, she didn’t mind. She chose to be selfish, even for a couple of minutes, if it meant she could have you.
The ride was quiet. No words between you, just the wind, her heartbeat pounding, and the pressure of your arms around her waist. You didn’t let go quickly when the engine cut off. Not even when she reached back to shut it off. Your chin lingered on her shoulder for half a second longer than it needed to. She noticed.
Her place was quiet. Dina was staying with Jesse in Jackson for the week. A blessing Ellie didn’t deserve, honestly. Inside, you stood in the entryway, glancing around like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to step deeper.
“You want a drink?” Ellie asked, already walking toward the kitchen.
“Sure,” you said. “Surprise me.”
She cracked open two beers and tossed you one. You leaned against the counter, sipped, then looked down at the bottle like it held answers. “I was kind of a bitch that night, huh?”
Ellie raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip. “Mean as fuck.”
You laughed, and Ellie couldn’t help but smile.
“God,” you muttered, brushing hair behind your ear. “I thought about apologizing like... five hundred times.”
“You should’ve,” she said easily. “I looked hot as hell, heartbroken.”
“Jesus,” you muttered, laughing again. “You’re still such a smug little shit.”
“And you’re still unreal,” she said, stepping closer.
You didn’t move back.
“I hadn’t stopped thinking about you,” you whispered, suddenly serious. “The way you tasted. The way you looked at me.”
Ellie’s fingers brushed the hem of your top. “Still looking.”
You inhaled, as your lips crashed against hers—hungry, messy, no time for permission.
Ellie dropped the beer bottle onto the counter without looking and pulled you in hard, teeth dragging on your bottom lip as you gasped into her mouth. Your hands found her jaw, her shoulders, then her waist, like you were starving for a map and she was the terrain.
You stumbled backward, slamming into the couch, never breaking the kiss. Ellie’s hand was already under your top, fingers grazing your bare waist, pulling you onto her lap. You moaned against her mouth, grinding down hard, and she hissed between her teeth.
“I swear to God,” she muttered against your throat, lips brushing your skin, “if you disappear again, I’m suing you.”
You bit your lip, breathless, already half-undone. “No chance,” you panted. “Not letting you go twice.”
That wrecked her.
Ellie shoved the coffee table aside with one foot, her other hand gripping the back of your neck as she kissed you harder. You were already rocking against her thigh, sweat sticking your clothes to your skin, and every touch between you was fast, greedy, heated like the heater behind the couch that buzzed faintly against the cold walls.
“You’re so fucking hot,” she whispered, lips at your ear. “You always were. Thought about this every fucking night.”
You whimpered—actually whimpered—and Ellie nearly lost it.
Her hand was between your legs before you realized what was happening, teasing you through your jeans, making you squirm. You yanked at her shirt, her hair, anything to get more skin.
“Say it again,” she whispered, tongue against your jaw. “Tell me you missed me.”
“I fucking missed you,” you breathed, hips rolling helplessly. “Missed your mouth—missed your hands—missed you.”
“Yeah?” she grinned, cocky and wrecked. “Still taste like heaven?” You nodded frantically. “Prove it,” she said, dragging your hand to her chest.
And then it was just mouths and breath and sweat and denim and sighs and heat, heat, heat—until neither of you could speak. Until your fingers were tangled in her hair and her hands were under your clothes and the only sounds were the heater clicking, the couch creaking, and the gasps you made in her ear.
You stayed there for what felt like hours. Limbs tangled. Hearts pounding. No wine this time. No morning after to fear. Just you and her and a chance neither of you expected—but weren’t about to waste again.
THE COUCH cushion was warm under her back, your body draped half across her chest. Your breath was soft now—finally—even if your heart still beat against her ribs like it didn’t know the night was over yet.
The room smelled like sweat and skin and something sweeter. Maybe you. Maybe just relief.
Ellie stared up at the ceiling, one hand resting on your bare back, slowly tracing invisible lines. She felt like she’d run a marathon without moving. Her legs were jelly. Her mouth was wrecked. Her hoodie was probably lost under the coffee table, and your jeans were hanging off the side of the couch like they’d been in a fight and lost.
You were quiet. Still. And she was scared to break it. Then you spoke—barely above a whisper. “I thought about that night way more than I should’ve.”
Ellie’s fingers paused on your spine. She turned her head slightly, looking down at you.
Your face was buried in the curve of her neck, lips ghosting her skin.
“I felt so much that night, I panicked,” you continued. “Like, I walked out before it could ruin me.”
Ellie didn’t say anything yet. Just waited. Let you spill it.
You pulled back slowly, sitting up on your elbow, the blanket clinging to your bare skin. “I didn’t think you’d look at me the same if you knew how messy I really was,” you said, voice trembling slightly. “If you knew how easy it is for me to fall apart.”
Ellie sat up, hand sliding up your arm, fingers curling at your shoulder.
Your throat bobbed. You looked away. “I’m still scared,” you said. “Like… this could be nothing. Or it could be everything. And I don’t trust myself to know the difference.”
Ellie leaned in, forehead brushing yours.
“It doesn’t have to be, either,” she murmured. “It can just be right now.”
You let out a shaky breath, and that’s when Ellie saw it—your eyes glimmering, raw and red-rimmed, not from sex or sweat or makeup, but from vulnerability. From trust.
“I haven’t let someone stay in years,” you admitted, voice small. “And I usually leave before they wake up.”
Ellie pressed a kiss to the side of your jaw.
“Stay this time,” she whispered. “Let me make you breakfast like a loser tomorrow.”
You laughed into her collarbone. “Like pancakes?”
“Like whatever the hell is in the fridge that isn’t expired.”
Another breath. This one easier. Deeper. Your body softened against hers again, forehead resting on her shoulder now. She curled her arm around your back, thumb grazing slow, sleepy circles.
The heater buzzed softly. And then your voice came again, almost a murmur. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”
Ellie closed her eyes. Let the words settle into her chest like warmth, like truth.
You weren’t glittering under club lights anymore. You weren’t laughing in the center of a crowd. You were naked, quiet, curled into her side, and letting her hold the parts of you that no one else got to touch.
And somehow, this was even more intoxicating than the first night. Then your lips found hers, slower this time. Lazy. Soft. Her hand slid under your thigh again, more tender now, more reverent than teasing.
You sighed into her mouth like you could stay like this forever.
Reader asking Ellie to record them fucking, and Ellie ends up getting really into it (love your writing btw!! 💋💋)
say hi to the camera ─⭑.
⭒ word count: 3.6k 𖥔 ݁ ˖
⭒ content warnings: film student top!ellie x sub!reader, oral sex (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), strap-on (r!receiving), pussy slapping, hair pulling, filming kink, AFAB!reader, cursing, pet names, rough sex, degradation + praise, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖
࿐not part of the collide au (rip my absolute queens... this actually hurt my SOUL but hey sometimes we gotta go out of our comfort zone and get feral for... the craft)
you said it as a joke.
but it landed like a command.
it happens halfway through straddling her on the couch, your body already buzzing from the way she’s kissing you—slow and deep, like she’s trying to memorize your mouth. her palms are hot under your shirt, fingertips dragging slow up your ribs.
you lean back just enough to catch your breath, grin sharp as ever.
"you should record this next time."
her lips pause at your throat. she stays there, a little shocked, mouth barely grazing your skin, and then—voice low, amused:
"you want me to record you while i fuck you?"
you shrug, all fake casual, even though your pulse jumps.
"i mean… why not? could be hot."
ellie pulls back just enough to look at you. blinks once. and then she grins—all trouble. her hands drag down your sides, deliberate now, like she’s already directing the first shot.
"you want a sex tape, baby?"
your smile widens. "just for me. like, when you're gone late working on a project and i’m in bed missing you."
she groans. like, actual full-body groan. throws her head back against the couch, rubs a hand over her face like you’ve just ruined her life.
"jesus fucking christ. you’re evil."
you tilt your head. "you love it."
her gaze snaps back to you—darker now, her pupils blown wide, her lip caught between her teeth.
"i will story-board the fuck out of it. lighting. blocking. sound. i'll give you a score."
"you’re such a nerd."
“and you’re the one asking a film major to make a porno, so who’s the real nerd here?”
you laugh, leaning in to kiss her, grinding down on her lap.
“bet you’d narrate the whole thing like, ‘scene one—fucking my girlfriend. interior. night. single cam. practical lighting.’”
she chokes on a laugh, then groans, fingers digging into your hips. “shut the fuck up.”
“no, seriously—‘fade in: slut on couch. extreme close-up. one long take. raw as hell.’”
“i’m gonna ruin you,” she growls, and this time it’s not a joke—rough, all threat and promise.
you just smirk, mouth barely brushing hers.
“yeah, but make it auteur.”
she doesn’t bring it up again for a week. you think she’s forgotten, or maybe it was just talk—a shared fantasy that slipped between the couch cushions and the memory of her mouth on your neck.
but then it’s saturday night. you’re fresh from the shower, hair damp and clinging to your neck, skin still warm, still smelling like her soap. you’re wearing her old gray t-shirt—soft, stretched, worn in the best way—and nothing underneath.
ellie’s already in the bedroom. the lights are low, shadows moving slow across the walls. deftones plays from the speaker—just enough to feel in your ribs, not loud enough to distract.
when you step into the room, you freeze. she’s sprawled out on the bed in a black tank top and boxers, one knee bent, and a camera aimed straight at you.
not her phone. not some propped-up, shaky little attempt at homemade porn. a real camera—matte black, compact, handheld, with a flip-out screen angled toward her face and that unmistakable red recording light already glowing steady.
the kind of camera that says she’s thought about this. planned it. maybe even fantasized about how she’d frame you, light you, direct you. and now you’re here. standing in the doorway, already caught in the first shot.
“wait,” you say, blinking. “are you for real?”
she doesn’t even flinch. just looks up from behind it and grins, wide and wolfish.
“oh, i’m for real,” she says, voice warm and smug.
you snort, tugging the hem of your shirt down instinctively, "with a real fucking camera?"
"yeah, wanna see it in 4K" she responds, tilting it, lens still trained on you. "why? don’t get all shy on me now, babe. you're the one who said record it."
“yeah,” you arch a brow. “i just didn’t think i was dating a one-woman a24 production crew.”
“you’re not,” she says, adjusting the zoom. “you’re dating a visionary.”
you try not to laugh but fail.“you look like a lesbian scorsese.”
“and you look like the hottest thing i’ve ever filmed,” she says, voice thick, thumb adjusting the focus. “so maybe be nice to your director.”
you stay where you are for a second. let her film you standing still. let her zoom in the curve of your thighs, the way the shirt clings to your chest, the outline of your nipples through the fabric. the tension builds between frames, between your breaths.
“you’re actually committing to this?” you ask, voice softer now, a little breathless, as if the heat in the room just kicked up a notch.
“baby,” she says, adjusting the focus without even looking away, “i’ve been storyboarding this in my head since before we even spoke.”
her voice is calm, almost sweet—like it’s not the filthiest thing she’s ever admitted.
“freak,” you mutter, but you’re smiling, laughing again—breathier this time. your body already giving in. you step closer, hips loose, eyes locked on hers.
ellie lifts the camera a little higher, tracks the shift of your body as if she’s afraid to miss a second.
“show me,” she whispers, tone low but teasing. “come on, give me a show.”
and you give her one. you lift the hem of the shirt slowly. not for her—for the lens. you know exactly how this is going to look in playback. the glow of your skin in this light. the way your body starts to reveal itself, line by line.
you pull it over your head and let it drop to the floor, nipples stiffening in the cold air. your stomach tenses under her gaze, and you don’t try to hide the shine between your thighs.
she makes a noise—somewhere between a sigh and a curse—and the camera dips for half a second, like her hand twitched. you see her throat bob as she swallows.
you know that look. she’s not sure whether to keep filming or drop the thing entirely and fall to her knees.
and god, it turns you on even more.
"still rolling?" you ask, voice sugar-laced, cocky.
ellie nods once, "yeah. fucking hell, yeah."
you step closer, slower this time. not acting. not pretending. this isn’t performance—it’s instinct. it’s power. the way she’s looking at you, mouth parted, eyes glazed behind the viewfinder. you know she’s turned on before she’s even touched you.
“you better not cut the part where i called you a pervy little director,” you tease, all teeth.
ellie lowers the camera just enough to meet your eyes, flushed and slightly out of breath. hand still holding the lens like a lifeline.
“cut it?” she says. “i’m putting it in the trailer.”
you grin. shift your weight, your thighs brushing.
“turn around,” she says next, and it’s not a suggestion.
it’s gravel and gravity, all command. her voice has slipped into that other place—firm, sure, focused. all director mode.
you smirk but do what she says. slowly, hips swaying. your hands drag down your own waist as you pivot, and when your back is to her, you arch slightly—just enough. let her see the full curve of your ass, the slick glinting between your thighs.
behind you, there’s a sharp exhale.
"jesus christ," she mutters. then the soft mechanical buzz of her adjusting the zoom.
you don’t need to see her to know she’s locked in. her eyes drinking in every inch, the red light on the camera the only thing keeping her from touching you already.
you glance back lazily. “so, you gonna keep filming, or are you gonna fuck me?”
and that’s it.
the camera dips. her body snaps to attention like it’s muscle memory.
you’re pulled back towards the bed in one smooth movement—no hesitation. the backs of your knees hit the mattress and you drop, your body folding back on your elbows, legs parting without a hint of shame.
ellie stands over you, camera raised.
“holy shit,” she mutters.
she brings the camera lower, letting it drink you in, between your legs, over the slick. the way your chest rises and falls, nipples peaked, skin glowing.
“look at you,” she says. “you’re already dripping, just from being filmed.”
you shift, thighs tightening, and she catches the movement.
"such a fucking dirty girl," she mutters, one hand ghosting over your stomach.
she places the camera down on the nightstand, still rolling, still angled at your spread legs and heaving chest. her focus is so fucking precise it sends a wave of arousal through you all on its own.
and then ellie kneels between your legs like it’s her altar.
angel starts playing low in the background, slow and dark.
has she even prepped the soundtrack? you wonder for a second, half-laugh, half-moan.
(of course she did.)
she starts with your knee. presses her mouth there, slow and warm, a kiss that lingers just a second too long before she trails it upward. her hands follow—one curling firm around your thigh like she owns it, the other gliding up the center of your stomach, dragging heat in its wake.
she slips her palm higher, sliding between your ribs, under the soft weight of your breast.
her thumb brushes over your nipple and you gasp, chest lifting into her hand like you’ve forgotten how to do anything else but respond.
"you feel that?" she murmurs, voice low, like it’s just for you even though the camera’s still blinking red. "your heart’s beating so fucking fast."
you open your mouth to say something smart, something flirty, but then she’s kissing up your thigh again and the thought dies on your tongue.
she reaches your stomach, then your sternum, then your collarbone—and instead of diving down immediately, she pauses. tilts her head. looks at you.
and kisses you.
hot and deep, all tongue and teeth. one of those messy, all-consuming kisses that steals the breath right out of your lungs.
you moan into it—she swallows the sound greedily. her fingers are already moving again. one circling your nipple, the other caressing your side.
she pulls back just enough to speak, her lips grazing your cheek, then your jaw.
"you're perfect" she says, kissing beneath your ear, down your throat, impossibly reverent.
your hips roll up involuntarily, and she smiles against your collarbone.
"getting impatient, baby?"
"ellie—fuck—"
she chuckles. not unsympathetic—just pleased. her mouth finds your nipple next, tongue dragging over it slow, flicking, then sucking it into the heat of her mouth. her other hand moves to your other breast, squeezes gently, then rougher, thumb teasing over the tip until you whine.
"god, these tits," she mumbles against your chest, "camera’s not even doing them justice."
your back arches when her palm lands flat on your stomach, sliding lower, past your hip, fingers teasing the edge of your thigh.
"ellie," you gasp again, helpless this time.
she lets your nipple go with a soft, wet pop. looks up at you from your chest, mouth slick, green eyes lit up with that impossible mix of her—tender and ravenous, as if she wants to worship you and devour you in the same breath.
she shifts downward, dragging her tongue along the slope of your breast, down your stomach, until she’s eye level with your pussy. you’re throbbing, already wrecked, thighs trembling just from the anticipation of her mouth.
she glances at the nightstand, double-checking the angle like it matters. then brings her fingers to your folds, spreading you open with both thumbs, totally entranced by the sight.
“say hi to the camera, baby,” she teases, looking up at you.
and then, without warning, her tongue drags a slow, devastating stripe from your entrance to your clit.
you moan—loud, raw, helpless, trying to lift your hips but her free hand is already there, pressing you down into the mattress.
"f-fuck!" you whimper, voice cracking.
"that's right," she murmurs, licking again. "let it hear every fuckin’ sound."
she starts working you in earnest now—tongue circling your clit in tight, practiced spirals, her mouth warm and greedy. she moans against you, like the taste of you is enough to drive her insane. you can feel every vibration down to your toes.
your hands are tangled in her hair, thighs wide open, whole body arching into her mouth. she slips one hand between your legs and slides a finger inside—curling just enough to make your spine seize.
"holy shit," you gasp. "oh my god—Ellie—"
"more," she whispers against your clit, sliding in a second finger "let it see how messy you get for it."
and then she reaches back—without stopping—grabs the camera from the nightstand with her free hand, flips the screen toward you, and holds it low between your bodies. the image blinks into view—a live, unfiltered shot: your pussy stretched around her fingers, your mouth agape and brows furrowed, your thighs shaking with every thrust.
“you seeing this, baby?” she mutters, eyes flicking between you and the viewfinder. “fuck, look at you.”
and god—you do. you watch yourself fall apart in real time, every wet sound, every twitch of your stomach from overstimulation, every pump of her fingers, every gasp on full display. like it’s art, like it’s proof.
and it’s probably the filthiest, most turned on you have ever felt in your life.
its holy and obscene at the same time—your body laid bare, her fingers deep inside you, your face twisted with pleasure, and all of it immortalized in perfect footage.
you can’t look away.
neither can she.
"ellie—please—I’m gonna—"
"do it," she growls, "come f’me, come for the camera."
you come with a cry that splits the room, loud, shaking. your thighs squeeze around her hand and your back lifts off the mattress, body wrung out like a rag.
she doesn’t stop, just slows her pace, works you through it. you’re trembling when she finally pulls away, kisses your thigh, and sits back with the camera resting on her bent knee. she lifts it, points it at your face.
you’re flushed, sweaty. lying in a wrecked halo of your own making.
“so damn perfect like this” she mutters, voice a rasp. "you want more?"
you nod, chest heaving.
"words."
"yes," you whisper. then louder, like she needs to hear it. like the camera does, too. "yes. fuck, yes. please fuck me."
and she grins like the devil.
she tosses the camera onto the nightstand—still recording, angled just right, lens slightly askew—but it only makes it hotter, messy, real. something she’ll watch for hours with her hand down her boxers.
she doesn’t say anything as she crosses the room, opens the drawer, and pulls out the harness. it’s not slow or performative. it’s practiced, casual. she straps it over her black boxers with one hand, the other slicking lube over the thick purple silicone cock. it gleams in the low light, catching the flash of the camera’s red recording dot.
you’re already moving, your body shifting on instinct—onto your hands and knees, face buried in the sheets, ass high in the air like it’s muscle memory.
ellie looks at you and lets out a sound from deep in her throat. almost a laugh, mostly a groan.“stay just like that.”
she climbs behind you, smooth and silent. spreads your cheeks with both hands and groans when she sees how soaked you are.
"fuck, baby. you made a whole fuckin' mess back here."
"ellie—"
she leans down, kissing the small of your back, then bites your ass, playful and sharp. one hand grips your hip, the other slides between your legs—and she slaps your pussy once, just enough to make you jolt and whine. it’s wet, loud, dirty.
she groans at the sound. "jesus. dripping."
then she drags the head of the strap between your folds, slow and heavy.
"you ready for it?"
you nod frantically, pressing your face into the mattress.
“say it.”
“please fuck me. please, i want it. i need it so bad—”
she wanted to draw it out—make you beg, make you squirm—but she’s just as wrecked as you are, barely holding it together. so when she finally thrusts in, it’s with one deep, steady stroke that knocks the air straight out of your lungs.
you gasp, choking. “jesus christ!—”
“god, look at that,” she breathes, pulling back, watching the way you stretch and suck her back in with the next thrust. “you’re fuckin’ swallowing it.”
her hands find your hips. she sets a brutal rhythm, dragging you back onto her cock with every thrust, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls. the sound of your moans, the slap of her thighs against your ass, the headboard slamming the wall—it’s filthy.
she leans forward, chest pressed to your back, and wraps one hand around your breast, squeezing, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you whine. her other hand tangles in your hair and yanks your head back.
“you like getting fucked like this?” she hisses in your ear. “like a toy on display?”
“yes—fuck, yes—”
“touch yourself.”
you obey instantly. one hand between your legs, circling your clit in frantic, desperate little motions while she fucks you from behind like she’s trying to split you in two.
you notice that closer is softly but steadily playing, and the camera’s still rolling, capturing everything. the curve of your ass, the tremble in your thighs, the way your body jerks every time she bottoms out.
ellie groans like she feels it too—because she does. she’s grinding against the base of the strap, hungry and relentless, chasing the friction like she’s starved for it. the harness is soaked, her boxers nearly translucent with how wet she is, and every time she thrusts into you, the base rubs right against her clit.
“you gonna come like this?” she pants. “gonna soak my dick like a good little slut?”
“yes—yes—fuck, ellie, i’m gonna—”
“say it.”
“i’m your slut,” you cry out. “i'm your fucking slut—”
and right then, without missing a beat, she grabs the camera off the nightstand, angles it behind you. the lens catches the mess of your ass bouncing against her hips, the wet slap of skin on skin, the slick sound of your cunt stretching around the purple silicone.
and then she slaps your ass, hard. loud enough to echo through the room.
"fuck!" you yelp, back arching, legs shaking violently.
and you come like a landslide. body seizing, muscles locking, then breaking all at once as you scream into the mattress. it rolls through you in waves, loud and long, your thighs trembling, fingers still working yourself as you ride it out.
you feel it when she starts to lose it—her rhythm falters, hips stutter, breath hitching into short, high little gasps. her fingers dig into your waist and she presses forward, deeper, harder, her chest flush to your back like she’s trying to crawl inside you.
“fuck—fuck, baby—i’m—”
her voice cracks, and then she whines—high and helpless, the kind of sound you didn’t know she could make. desperate and slutty and fucking perfect. her whole body goes taut, then shudders, her thighs shaking as she ruts through it. she comes with her face buried in your shoulder, teeth clenched, breath shivering.
the base of the strap is slick and messy between you now, but she grinding against the harness like it’s not enough, never enough. she groans into your skin, broken and dazed, and you can feel her heart pounding against your back.
and when she pulls out, it’s slow and careful, hands suddenly tender where they'd just been rough. she leans forward and kisses your spine—once, then again—her breath hot and uneven against your skin.
“you okay?” she murmurs, palm sliding up your back in soft, grounding strokes.
you nod, barely able to form the word. “better than okay.”
she laughs, quiet and breathless, into your shoulder. a little dazed, wrecked herself.
she rolls you onto your back, her hand never leaving your skin, and collapses beside you. the room is humid with sex, thick with sweat, heat and the echo of everything that just happened. the air itself feels heavy, slow.
in her hand, the camera is still rolling. its red light blinks steadily, casting a faint glow over the two of you.
ellie flips the screen towards herself, then turns the lens on you—zooming in dramatically on your wrecked face.
“say hi, baby” she teases, still catching her breath.
you blink up at the lens, dazed. hair a disaster. lips kiss-bruised. eyes glassy like you’ve just returned from the dead.
“hi,” you mumble, grinning like a fool, “i just got fucked into the stratosphere.”
ellie then pans the camera to her own face—sweaty, flushed, hair sticking to her forehead—and raises both brows like she’s in a documentary.
“filmmaker. method actor. strap goat. i do it all.”
you burst out laughing, weakly swatting at her.
she grins, crooked and proud, turning the camera back to you. “and you just won best actress in a leading role, doll.”
“so, what’s the title?” you ask, giggling into the pillow.
ellie snorts—eyes gleaming like she just won an oscar and knocked someone out in the same damn night. she adjusts the angle, tilts the camera so you’re both in the frame: flushed, sweaty, radiant, completely ruined.
then, with the most serious voice she can manage, she deadpans to the lens—
“the slut and the lesbian scorsese.”
you wheeze. “shut the fuck up.”
“already submitted to sundance, actually.”
“you’re insufferable.”
“director’s cut drops next week.”
you try to slap her but miss—too sore, too high on her, too in love. she just laughs, smug and glowing, and zooms in one last time on your face.
“five stars,” she murmurs, “would absolutely fuck again.”
࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ omg… first fic NOT set in the collide au in literal MONTHS and it feels SO weird but soooo good to write something different omfg 😭 rockstar!ellie and popstar!reader yall still haunt me everyday. my favorite lesbians for the rest of the eternity. i’ve missed this kind of chaos. huge love and tysm to my gorg mootie who sent this amazing request before i even started collide—you live in my brain rent free forever bby!
i might play around with a few more fics + requests before launching the next big series i’ve been outlining (👀), so stay tuned babes. ily all dearly ♡
Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on my perm taglist!
credits for divider: @cafekitsune <3 – images from pinterest - edited by me
Do you think Ellie says she’s going to be a dad not only for the humor of it but also because that’s the only parental figure she’s ever had and would know how to emulate for her own adopted child?
