CW; mentions of suicidal thoughts, religious trauma, spiritual abuse, internalized homophobia, queer repression, references to hell and damnation, parental emotional abuse, grief and mourning, panic attacks, toxic family dynamics, religious fanaticism, sexual tension, loss and death, emotional neglect, consensual sexual activity, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving)
Summary; raised in a strict religious family, you secretly date Ellie Williams, a girl who challenges everything you believe. Torn between faith, family, and love, you face painful choices and the search for acceptance in a world that demands conformity.
Notes; this story deals with a very personal and heavy topic for me. I’m not trying to romanticize forbidden love. I want to portray its realness and complexity. I didn’t plan to turn this into a series, so I hope the story doesn’t feel rushed. Please approach it with care and sensitivity. Also the title means holy and damned. It’s Latin :)
Word count; around 11,9k
Taglist; @gogolsbf
You’ve always been someone people called holy. Not in passing, never in jest, but in the hushed, reverent way someone might speak of relics or miracles. “She’s one of God’s favorites,” they’d murmur. “A real angel.” You heard it often growing up, usually with a smile behind it, but always with weight. Sometimes it came from mothers at the church picnic, their eyes trailing your ironed blouse and the cross nestled neat against your collarbone. Other times it came from the girls at school, half in awe, half in warning, like if they stepped too close, they’d burst into flames.
Your father is a priest. Not the kind with a mild homily and a handshake at the end of service, no. He booms. When he speaks, the walls of the chapel breathe in and hold. When he raises his voice, it’s scripture and consequence. And your mother matches him in faith. She keeps her hair braided back and never wears jewelry save for her wedding band and a rosary knotted into her apron string. She prays in whispers, hands always damp from cleaning or clasped together. You remember walking in on her once, kneeling in the corner of the kitchen with tears dripping silently off her chin and onto the linoleum, whispering: “Break me, God, if I need breaking.”
You were raised in the image of all that. You learned to kneel before you could run. Learned how to pray with your spine straight and your mouth closed between verses. Your knees are calloused, the skin pale and thin, so much so that sometimes the bone outlines itself faintly beneath the white. You kneel every morning. Every night. Before meals. During storms. When your father comes home with something new to reflect on, you kneel then, too. The floor knows your weight like a second skin.
Your clothes have rules. Button-ups with collars that kiss your throat. Skirts that pass the knees and make sitting something deliberate. Stockings if you must wear them. No jeans. No bare shoulders. You’ve never owned a tank top. Your mother says the flesh tempts, even when you mean nothing by it. She says your body is the cup, but God is what fills it. Never let someone else drink from it before He does.
Your friend group is small. Tidy. You’re allowed to go to youth group, and sometimes, when your father permits, you’ll attend school events. But only with the approved ones. Mostly girls, a few boys. The boys are like softened bread: polite, sweet-eyed, always saying things like “Ma’am” to your mother and opening doors. The girls sometimes ask questions in hushed voices, behind the locked doors of sleepovers hosted at safe homes.
“Do you ever… think about kissing someone?” Maria once asked, her voice thin, more breath than sound. Her fingernail traced the hem of her pajama sleeve. “Like, not in a sinful way. Just. Wondering.”
You didn’t look at her. You were braiding your hair by the mirror, your fingers steady, your posture so upright it could’ve snapped in half. “Only my future husband,” you said.
She smiled nervously. “Right. Yeah. That makes sense.”
And then she rolled onto her side, away from you, and didn’t speak again until morning.
None of them are exactly like you. They wear bracelets sometimes, or show up to chapel with eyeliner on their bottom lids, or hum Taylor Swift songs during quiet hours. They laugh too loud. They whisper about boys. Sometimes they ask what your family is really like, but they never ask twice. They know. Or at least they sense enough not to dig.
Once, one of the boys, Aaron, offered to walk you home after choir. It was snowing, and he gave you his coat without asking. You said “thank you” and handed it back when you reached your door. The porch light was on. You could see your father’s shadow through the curtain, standing.
“Do you want to come in?” you asked automatically, because hospitality is holy.
Aaron blinked. His cheeks were red. “Uh. No, I’m okay. Thanks. Your dad kinda…” He trailed off, rubbed the back of his neck. “Never mind.”
He left you there with the coat folded neatly over your arm.
You opened the door.
Your father was waiting. “You let him touch you?”
“No, Father.”
“He gave you his coat.”
“I was cold.”
He stared. The room behind him smelled like incense and candle smoke. Your mother was washing dishes in the background, humming a hymn so quietly it was barely more than a breath.
You placed the coat on the table like it might burn you.
He nodded. “Good girl.”
And that was it. But the next day you knelt longer than usual. Your knees went numb. When you stood, you wobbled. Your mother touched your arm, gently. “Pain is purification, sweetheart. Don’t forget that.”
You never have.
And then there was Ellie Williams.
Ellie, with her scribbled-on Converse and pants that never quite looked clean, always with a scuff or some oil-smudge like she’d knelt in a parking lot for fun. Ellie, with her sleeves pushed up to the elbows and pen marks on her wrists. Her hair was a mess. Always. Not messy like effortless movie-girl messy, but frizzy and dry at the ends like she didn’t know what conditioner was for. She had freckles like God had peppered her face out of boredom, and she didn’t cover them up with makeup or even seem to notice them. She’d pull a pencil from behind her ear and use it to scratch her cheek without thinking, then immediately forget where she put it.
And she never shut up. Ever.
“Did you know that when dinosaurs got sick, like really sick, some of them just sat down and waited to die? Like, like they knew. Isn’t that wild?” she’d say, grinning, flipping her pen between her fingers like a drummer. “I mean, imagine just sitting down one day and being like, Yep. That’s it. Lights out. I respect that.”
You’d blink at her. Bite your cheek. Say nothing.
And she’d laugh, not because you were funny, because you never tried to be, but because something about your silence made her flustered. She’d rub the back of her neck, smile all crooked and too wide. “Sorry, I do that thing where I talk and don’t… think. I should probably stop. You’re, like, super quiet. That’s cool. Mysterious. I like that.”
And you’d want to scream.
Because Ellie Williams is everything you are not.
She has one friend. Two, technically, but Jesse doesn’t count. He’s just attached to Dina, who really is her only friend. Dina with the biting sarcasm and the cool-girl earrings and the way she always rolls her eyes when Ellie launches into another paleontology rant. Sometimes you’d see them in the hall, Ellie bouncing beside her like an excited labrador, talking about “this fossil documentary I swear will change your life,” and Dina just going, “Ellie, no one wants to watch that but you.”
And Ellie would grin, shove her hands in her pockets, and say, “That’s fine. I’ll watch it twice and pretend it’s someone else’s first time.”
And your stomach would twist.
Because that girl, that girl, is the one you’re dating. Secretly. Sinfully. Quietly, like it’s a sickness you’re hiding from the Lord Himself. You haven’t told anyone. You wouldn’t. Couldn’t. You still flinch when your phone buzzes with her name. You still delete her texts after reading them. You still go to church the morning after she kisses you and sit there with your mouth shut and your heart knotted and your thighs pressed together, trying not to remember the way she touched your hand under the blanket while you watched a dinosaur movie in her attic.
You still beg for forgiveness when she leaves. Kneeling in your room, face to the floor, whispering “Please cleanse me, God. Please wash this from me.” Like it’s dirt. Like she’s dirt. She isn’t.
But she wears the same hoodie three times a week and makes bad puns about T-rexes and once told you you looked “like a Victorian ghost, but in a cute way,” and you wanted to die and kiss her at the same time.
You don’t even know how it started.
Maybe it was that one time she sat next to you during study hall because every other seat was full, and she dropped her textbook on your foot and said, “Crap! I mean… um.. dang, sorry! Shoot, you probably don’t swear, huh?” And then looked so genuinely panicked about offending you that you almost laughed.
Or maybe it was when you stayed behind in the science lab and she did too, hovering awkwardly at your elbow like she wasn’t sure how to say goodbye. “So, uh… what do you do? Like, for fun?” she asked, tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve.
You blinked. “I read. I study.”
She’d nodded slowly. “Right. That tracks. You’ve got, like, book heroine energy. Mysterious and repressed. In a good way.”
You frowned. “Repressed?”
She bit her lip. “Not like, bad. Just. You know. Like a girl who’s secretly into something crazy but never tells anyone. Vampire novels or sword fighting or, I dunno, wrestling.”
You stared. “I’m not into wrestling.”
She smiled. “Yeah. No. I figured.”
And then she’d left, humming something off-key, and you stood there too long staring at the door after it shut.
The first kiss was an accident. At least, you told yourself that.
It was in the park. You were on the swings even though you hated swings, she’d dared you to, and you lost your balance getting off, stumbled forward, and she caught you. And she was laughing, right up until she looked at you, and the laughter sort of dropped into her throat like a swallowed marble.
“You okay?” she’d asked.
And you nodded, but your breath stuttered, and her lips were right there, and her eyes were so green and so confused and then—
You kissed her.
Or maybe she kissed you. You still can’t decide. You pulled away too fast. Your face was burning. She looked stunned. And then she said, quietly: “…That was really nice.”
You left. Just walked away. Didn’t say a word. You threw up in the bathroom when you got home and didn’t eat for two days.
But you saw her again. Of course you did.
She forgave you for running. She always forgives you. She doesn’t ask questions she knows you won’t answer. She just keeps showing up. Sitting beside you in libraries. Brushing her hand against yours. Laughing at her own jokes and smiling at you like she thinks she’s lucky to be near you.
And you hate it. You hate her. You hate yourself. You love her.
You pray harder now. Kneel longer. Recite verses like mantras. You count her freckles in your head when you’re trying to forget her, and you bite your tongue until it bleeds when she leans in too close.
She doesn’t even know she’s flirting. That’s the worst part. When she calls you “angel” in that teasing way, when she taps your foot under the table like she wants you to look at her instead of your notebook, when she says things like, “You make me nervous, you know that?” and then immediately blurts something about pterodactyls to cover it up.
You wish she’d stop. You wish she’d never started. You wish you never had to stop thinking about her.
But you will. You have to. Because girls like you don’t get to want girls like her. Girls like you get married in churches and wear white and smile and keep their sins buried deep and dry.
Girls like you don’t get to dream.
And still—
You do.
୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧
You’ve been dating for five months now. Not that anyone would know. It doesn’t feel like dating most of the time. It feels like holding your breath underwater, counting seconds, testing how long before your chest caves in. You meet in the woods behind her place, or the storage hallway by the music room where no one ever goes, or the backseat of Jesse’s car when he’s not using it and she’s stolen the keys. You don’t do much. You kiss. Sometimes you talk. Mostly you don’t. She’ll hold your hand and crack some dumb joke and you’ll pretend it didn’t make your stomach lurch.
She touched your breasts once.
It was under your shirt, under your bra, and it lasted maybe two seconds. Her hands were so warm. They trembled like she didn’t know what she was doing, which she probably didn’t. And for one horrifying heartbeat, you liked it. Actually liked it.
You slapped her hand away like it burned. Didn’t say a word. Just pulled your shirt back down, picked up your bag, and left. She texted once. Then twice. Then gave up. You ignored her for a week.
The silence was heavy and deliberate. You fasted. You knelt until your legs shook. You cried into your pillow and asked God to cleanse you of whatever that was, of whatever you are, of whatever she made you feel. You waited for fire to rain down. It didn’t.
She didn’t bring it up again.
You still kiss her though. Softly, sometimes, like prayer. Sometimes more than that. Sometimes it gets too close to something bigger, something deeper, and your whole body goes rigid and she knows to stop. She’s learned your boundaries even if she doesn’t understand them. She never pushes.
But you still beg for mercy every night. Not in church. Never there. You can’t. You’ve thought about it, really, truly thought about kneeling in that wooden booth with the musty velvet curtain and telling the priest everything. But you imagine his silence. Imagine his breath slowing. Imagine him not saying you’re forgiven.
So instead you confess at home.
You wait until midnight, like God might be gentler when the world is quiet. You kneel by your bed, fingers clenched together so hard they go white, and whisper it like it’s a secret even He might flinch at.
“Forgive me. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to enjoy it. I didn’t mean to let her. I didn’t mean to love her.”
Sometimes you cry. Not sobbing. Just little gasps that get stuck in your throat. Like you’re drowning in something that’s not even wet.
You told her once, just once, that you think you’re going to hell. She was sitting beside you, chewing on a Twizzler, feet up on the dashboard of Jesse’s car.
She blinked. “You think you’re going to hell… because of me?”
You stared ahead. “Because of me. For letting it happen.”
She was quiet. Then: “Okay, but like, if we’re both going, can we at least sit next to each other?”
You looked at her. She grinned, stupid and crooked and sweet. And you hated how much that made your chest ache.
୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧
She went to church with you once. That was your idea. You still don’t know why you invited her. Some kind of test, maybe. Some awful, subconscious attempt to prove something. That you could bring her into your world and it would all be okay. That maybe she’d hear the Word and run screaming. That maybe you would, too.
She didn’t have clothes. Not those clothes. So you picked them out yourself. One of your white blouses, buttoned to the throat. A long navy skirt, ironed flat. Tights with no holes. You brushed her hair yourself because you couldn’t stand how it looked when she did it, like she’d used a fork or maybe just her fingers.
She fidgeted while you buttoned her cuffs. “I feel like I’m about to take my fifth grade school picture,” she muttered.
“You look fine,” you said.
She looked at you in the mirror. “I look like I’m about to burst into flames.”
You forced a smile. “Just… sit still.”
And you lied to your father.
You told him she was from church summer camp. Visiting for the week. Her parents were missionaries. You watched his eyes narrow as he shook her hand. She didn’t know how to fake it. Called him sir instead of Father, said yeah instead of yes and smiled too wide.
“Do they do this every week?” she muttered after the second hymn. “My knees are gonna dislocate.”
You elbowed her. She grinned.
She sat through the whole service. Even the sermon, which was about purity. About sin and temptation and “unnatural urges.” You didn’t look at her once. Not when your palms started sweating. Not when your stomach rolled. Not when the priest said the flesh deceives and the Lord knows what lives in the dark corners of the heart.
She was silent beside you.
Afterwards, in the parking lot, she made it to the curb before vomiting behind a bush.
You rushed over. “Ellie—?”
She wiped her mouth, leaned against the tree, and said, “I think the sins just got baptized out of me.”
You stared.
She blinked up at you, then grinned. “Too soon?”
You didn’t want to laugh. But you did. Just a little. Your hand flew to your mouth, but the sound had already escaped. It felt wrong, too bright, like laughing in a funeral home, but she looked so pleased with herself. So you let it happen. Let the laugh stay. Let her think it was okay. Even if you knew it wasn’t. Even if you’d kneel longer than ever that night. Even if you’d stare at your hands and wonder if they’d ever feel clean again.
Because sometimes, when she makes you smile, that feels like the biggest sin of all.
୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧
You’re back in Ellie’s room again. It’s a small, cluttered space. Posters peeling at the corners, clothes tossed over the chair and a faint smell of old sweat and something floral you can’t place. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes glued to the TV, fingers twitching over the controller as some dumb violent game blares out explosions and angry shouts.
You’re on the bed, knees tucked under a thin blanket, absorbed in one of your little books. The ones you hide away because they’re safer than a journal, but more private than any prayer. The words feel heavy tonight, like they’re sinking into your skin and sticking there, making you smaller. The pages smell like old paper and guilt.
Ellie keeps glancing over, biting her lip as if she wants to say something but doesn’t know how. After what feels like forever, the sound of her controller tapping stops. The game goes silent.
You look up just in time to see her crawling onto the bed, knees pressing into the mattress, hands brushing your book aside with a gentle thump. Your book lands open on the floor, pages fluttering.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, eyes wide and sheepish. “Didn’t mean to toss your book like that.”
You say nothing, heart already hammering. She scoots closer, her breath warm against your cheek. “Wanna kiss?”
Her voice is soft, hesitant, but she looks up at you with those earnest eyes, the kind that don’t lie. It’s almost like she’s asking permission but already knows the answer. Like she’s bracing herself, waiting for you to push her away, and daring you not to.
You nod.
She smiles, a little crooked and shy, then leans down. Her lips brush yours. Soft, tentative and unsure at first. But then she presses closer, like she’s pouring all her nervous energy and excitement into that kiss. Her hands find your waist, fingers curling gently.
Ellie straddles you on the bed, her knees pressing against your sides. You feel the weight of her. Solid, warm and real. And for a moment it’s like the world outside doesn’t exist. There’s only this small room, this shaky breath between you, this impossible thing that feels both wrong and so achingly right.
When you finally pull back, heart racing, you say, voice barely above a whisper, “My dad… he talked about them again.”
Ellie blinks, frowning. “Who?”
You swallow hard, words tasting like ash. “The monsters. Queers. Gays. Whatever they called it.”
She waits, silent.
“He said… they have to be exorcised. On the spot. If that doesn’t work… they get hanged.”
Your hands clutch the blanket, knuckles white. “Because that’s what they did back in the day. He said it like it was a story, but it’s not. It’s real. It’s his truth.”
Ellie’s fingers trace tiny circles on your arm, slow and steady. “That’s… fucked up.”
You bite your lip, ashamed. “I’m supposed to be holy. To be better. To never want this. But I do. I want you.”
She looks at you, eyes soft but firm. “Then you’re already braver than anyone who talks like that.”
You close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. The shame, the fear, the love, twisting into one unbearable knot.
Ellie’s voice breaks the silence again, quieter this time, almost a whisper. “I’m not some monster. And neither are you.”
Her hands squeeze yours. You want to believe her. You want to be free of the chains that bind you in darkness.
But tonight, the weight of his words still hangs heavy, like a noose tightening around your chest. And yet, here you are. With Ellie. Straddling your doubts and fears and sins. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to keep going.
Ellie’s lips pressed harder against yours, like she was trying to swallow every sound you could make, every breath you tried to catch. Your heart hammered, too fast and too loud as her fingers tangled clumsily in the hem of your skirt, tugging it up like she was afraid someone might walk in and ruin the moment. You wanted to pull back, to tell her to slow down, but the words tangled in your throat and she had that wild, desperate look in her eyes. Like she was trying to convince herself this was okay, too.
When her fingers brushed the delicate white lace of your panties, you froze. The soft gasp she made against your mouth was almost embarrassing in how raw it was.
“I thought you only wore those big granny panties,” she joked breathlessly, voice low and rough, but the teasing was laced with something softer, something that felt like awe. You wanted to slap her for it. The insult stung, but so did the heat pooling deep inside you. Instead, she laughed quietly, a little breathless, and her mouth found yours again, softer this time, but just as urgent.
Ellie didn’t wait for permission, not in the way most people did. She hovered, breath warm and uneven, eyes searching yours like she was waiting for you to flinch, to pull away, to say no. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. You only gripped the edge of the blanket tighter, heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out. And that was enough for her.
She exhaled shakily, then leaned down and let a slow string of spit fall onto the damp lace stretched between your legs. The heat of it landed like a brand. You twitched, half reflex, half instinct, but you didn’t move away. Couldn’t move at all. Not when her lips pressed right against the soaked fabric, kissing through it like it was the only thing tethering her to earth. Her breath was hot, humid, and every slow stroke of her tongue made your thighs clench involuntarily.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed between kisses, her voice cracking like she was trying to hold something in. “I shouldn’t. I mean... I didn’t even ask—” Her lips trailed lower again, mouthing along the seam of your panties, nosing in gently where you were soaked. “Please don’t hate me. I just—God, you’re so beautiful.”
You opened your mouth to speak but all you could do was pant, shaky and too aware of the wetness she was licking through. Her tongue flattened against you, pressing the lace tight to your swollen clit. The friction made you jolt, one hand flying up to your chest where you gripped the small silver cross hanging there, knuckles white.
You didn’t know if you were grounding yourself or begging for forgiveness. Maybe both.
Ellie’s voice broke again, muffled against the fabric. “Tell me to stop if this feels wrong.” She looked up, lips slick, eyes wide and afraid, but never greedy. Never cruel. “I swear, I’ll stop.”
Your answer came out hoarse, nearly inaudible. “Don’t stop.”
She blinked, stunned for a second, like she hadn’t expected you to say it. Then her mouth returned with purpose, licking a long, slow stripe up your center, the lace warm and clinging now from your slick and her spit. She moaned quietly into it, a helpless sound, grinding her own hips softly into the mattress as if the taste of you through the fabric was too much to bear.
“Fuck,” she whispered, exhaling hard against you. “You smell so good. You’re so wet, I can feel it through everything.”
Her hands slipped under your thighs, lifting and pushing them apart a little further. Then her tongue pressed hard against your clit again, this time slow and dragging. You gasped, back arching slightly. The lace only made it worse, better, trapping the slickness against you, making every lick feel twice as intense.
Her hand slid up your side, cautious and reverent, until her palm cupped your breast through your top. She hesitated, then gave a soft squeeze, her thumb brushing over your nipple in slow circles. The dual sensation, her mouth below and her hand above, made your breath catch in your throat.
“I want to take these off,” she murmured, voice low, face still pressed to the heat between your thighs. “Only if you say yes.”
You nodded too quickly, breathless, voice cracked. “Yes. Please.”
Her fingers hooked into the waistband, dragging the lace down slowly, watching every inch of you like it was sacred. Once they were off, she settled back between your thighs with a look that was almost reverent. Then she licked you for real, no barrier, no hesitation, just slow, firm strokes from base to clit that made your legs shake.
Her arms wrapped around your thighs as if anchoring herself there, her mouth working you open with a kind of trembling hunger that didn’t feel greedy, just desperate. Needy. She moaned into you, lips wet, tongue flicking and curling until your fingers threaded into her hair, holding her there, not guiding, just needing.
“Ellie—” you gasped, hips twitching as she sucked your clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it gently before letting go. She looked up, lips shiny, cheeks flushed, breath coming fast.
“Tell me what you want,” she said, voice thick. “Please. I don’t want to mess this up.”
Your chest rose and fell with shallow, shaking breaths. “Just don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
She smiled then, shy, a little broken, but beautiful, and kissed the inside of your thigh. “Not a chance.”
And then she went back to licking you like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
You weren’t sure when you started whispering it. Maybe when her tongue circled your clit just right, when your hips lifted off the bed in slow, involuntary jerks. Maybe it was when your vision started to blur, when the pleasure hit too deep, too holy. But the words came anyway, half-breathed, half-prayed.
“Forgive me… oh God, forgive me…”
Your fingers gripped the cross around your neck like a lifeline, like if you held it tight enough, it would tether you to something pure. But Ellie’s tongue was still moving in slow, deliberate strokes, dragging from your entrance up to your clit and back again, licking like she was savoring every drop.
Ellie groaned against you, the sound vibrating through her mouth. Her grip around your thighs tightened like she needed to hold you there, to keep you from slipping out of her grasp. She pulled back only far enough to murmur, breathless and raw, “Can I use my fingers? Please. I want to feel you.”
You nodded hard, chest heaving. “Yes. Please.”
Your panties were already on the floor, forgotten. Ellie sat up just enough to watch your face as her hand slid between your legs. Her fingers found you easily. Everything slick, everything aching. She teased at your entrance first, rubbing slow circles, then slipping one finger inside with careful pressure.
The stretch made your jaw fall open. You gasped, thighs twitching around her wrist.
“Jesus,” she whispered, eyes locked on the place where her finger disappeared into you. “You’re so tight… fuck, you’re clenching so hard already.”
You whimpered, trying to breathe through it, your hand still fisted around the cross like it might save you. “I-I shouldn’t want this,” you choked. “I’m not—I can’t—”
But she kissed your inner thigh again, lips hot and soft and full of something too tender to be wrong. “You do,” she whispered. “You do want it. It’s okay.”
Then she pushed in deeper, curling her finger slow and sure, her thumb brushing against your clit like a benediction. You cried out, a soft, strangled sound, legs kicking weakly. The shame twisted deeper, but so did the need. You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t even slow it down.
Another breathless prayer left your lips. “God, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”
Ellie pressed a second finger to your entrance, testing. “Can I?”
You nodded frantically. “Yes—yes, please, I want it.”
She slid it in beside the first, your body stretching around her, slick and desperate. The fullness made your eyes roll back. She fucked you slow at first, curling her fingers inside with gentle, precise pressure. Her thumb never left your clit, rubbing slow circles, syncing with every thrust until you were trembling apart under her.
You couldn’t stop the way your hips moved, chasing it. Couldn’t stop the way your voice broke again and again. “Forgive me,” you whispered. “God, forgive me, I can’t stop—”
“I don’t want you to stop,” Ellie said, voice wrecked and sweet. “I want you like this.”
And you let her want you. Your legs shaking, your mouth open on gasped prayers and curses and her name. Her name. You said it like you needed it to survive.
“Ellie, please—”
“I’ve got you,” she breathed, kissing your thigh, your hip, your stomach. “You’re doing so good. Let go for me. Just let go.”
Her fingers fucked you faster, deeper, the rhythm sweet and devastating, wet sounds filling the room as you clenched down hard around her. Her mouth returned to your clit. Licking, sucking and her tongue flicking with just enough pressure to tip you right over.
You came with a sob, body arching, hand fisted tight in her hair, the other still clutching your cross. It was too much, too good, too close to something divine. Your whole body pulsed around her fingers as she fucked you through it, never letting up, her tongue dragging you deeper into it.
When it finally slowed, when your legs fell open and your breath came in broken gasps, Ellie didn’t move right away. She rested her cheek against your thigh, lips brushing your skin like a thank-you. Her fingers slid out slow, your slick coating them, her hand trembling just like yours.
You looked down at her, skin flushed, pupils blown wide, and she looked up like she wasn’t sure if she’d done something wrong or holy.
You didn’t know either. But you reached for her with shaky arms, dragging her up into a kiss. She tasted like you, sweet and raw, and you kissed her like you were still falling, still asking to be saved. “Don’t leave,” you whispered.
Her hand found yours and squeezed “Never.” And for the first time, you stopped apologizing for how much you wanted her.
୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧
The next morning, the car hummed steadily down the quiet road, the windows rolled up tight against the fading chill of evening. Ellie sat beside you in the backseat, tapping her fingers anxiously against her knee while Joel drove ahead with calm focus. You kept your hands folded tightly in your lap, your thoughts swirling like a storm behind your eyes.
Then, without warning, Ellie’s voice broke the silence. “Hey, Dad,” she said, a hint of pride threading her words, “I ate her out for the first time last night.”
The sentence landed between you like a slap. Your breath caught. Your heart felt like it had suddenly tripled its beat rate, pounding so hard you were certain Joel could hear it, even from the front seat.
Joel’s hand gripped the steering wheel a moment longer, and then, to your utter disbelief, he let out a low, amused chuckle and said without missing a beat, “Good for you, kid.”
You blinked. You were caught somewhere between shock and bafflement. You’d expected anger. Disappointment. A sermon. But Joel just hummed softly to himself and kept driving like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Ellie gave you a sly grin, eyes shining with mischief. She didn’t look at you directly, but the subtle wink she shot your way said everything, this was exactly the kind of rebellion she loved.
You wanted to say something, maybe protest or explain, but the words jammed in your throat. You clenched your fists tight in your lap, the silence stretching out and filling every inch of the car.
When the car pulled up in front of your house, you were shaking. Not from cold, but from the weight of everything, the secrecy, the thrill, the guilt.
You stepped inside and made a beeline for the bathroom, locking the door behind you with a soft click.
The harsh bathroom light flickered on, unforgiving and clinical. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. Your face was pale, eyes wide and haunted.
Slowly, trembling, you peeled off your clothes. Each piece that dropped to the floor felt like shedding another layer of sin.
You turned on the cold water, splashing your face again and again, scrubbing your arms and shoulders with rough soap until your skin burned red, raw from the friction.
“Please,” you whispered, voice trembling, “forgive me. I’m so sorry.”
You couldn’t stop the tears that slid down your cheeks, mixing with the cold water.
Later that night, you knelt on the hardwood floor of your room, hands folded tightly in prayer. “God,” you begged into the silence, “please have mercy on me. I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared I’m going to lose everything.”
The moonlight filtered softly through your curtains, casting gentle shadows that flickered like spirits dancing on the walls.
The next morning, before the sun had fully risen, you slipped out of your room and quietly made your way to the church. The stone walls towered above you, ancient and sacred. You breathed in the scent of incense and old wood, a bittersweet comfort. Inside the dim confession room, you knelt alone, clutching your rosary, the cold kneeler pressing into your knees.
The door creaked softly, and a voice, calm and steady, greeted you.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a day since my last confession.” You hesitated, then began to pour out everything; the secret relationship, the stolen kisses, the sinful touches.
You confessed the shame that wrapped around your heart like chains, the fear of your father’s judgment, the nights you spent scrubbing yourself raw, begging for mercy.
The priest listened silently, his presence steady and kind. After a long pause, he spoke, voice low and gentle. “You carry a heavy burden, child. But there is no sin too great to be forgiven. But you must learn to forgive yourself as well.”
Tears stung your eyes. “I don’t know if I can,” you whispered.
“Grace is not about never falling,” he said gently. “It is about rising again, each time you stumble.”
You stayed quiet, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a fragile shield.
“Go in peace,” he said finally, “and remember God’s love is wider than any fear or shame.”
You left the confession booth trembling, stepping back into the vast, silent church. Outside, the world felt both impossibly large and suffocatingly small, caught between the person you were and the person you wanted to be.
But somewhere deep inside, a small flicker of hope stirred. Fragile, uncertain, but alive.
When you came back home around 2 hours after your confession, you didn’t even make it past the threshold. The moment the front door creaked open, your father stood in the entryway, his silhouette stark against the hall light behind him. Your mother, pale and silent, stood just a few steps back, clutching her rosary like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to Earth.
You’d barely muttered a soft “Hi” when your father’s hand slammed against the doorframe.
“Whore,” he said. Not a whisper. Not a yell. Just a cold, measured word spat like poison from between clenched teeth.
Your heart stopped. “What?” you asked, your voice suddenly small, the syllable catching in your throat.
“You think you can go crawling into bed with a girl—” he hissed the word like it burned his tongue, “—a dyke, and walk back into this house like nothing happened? Like we’re fools?”
Your mother looked away. She didn’t cry. Didn’t speak. She just gripped her rosary tighter until her knuckles turned white.
You tried to speak, tried to form the word no, or maybe I’m sorry, or maybe just please, but you didn’t get the chance. Your father’s hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you hard enough to make your knees buckle. Your shoes scuffed against the tile floor as he dragged you forward.
“Please,” you said breathlessly, stumbling after him, “I—Dad, please—”
“Don’t call me that,” he barked, spinning on you so fast you nearly crashed into him.
They didn’t let you go upstairs. Didn’t let you sit down. Didn’t let you breathe. You were shoved into the car. Not a word spoken on the drive. Your father’s hands white-knuckled around the wheel. Your mother quietly reciting a prayer under her breath. The same prayer she used when someone died.
The church was open when you arrived. Of course it was. The sanctuary glowed dimly with candlelight, the pews empty, cold, waiting. You knew then that this had been planned.
Your footsteps echoed loudly as they pulled you down the aisle, past the altar, past the statue of the Virgin Mary whose eyes seemed to follow you like she knew what you had done. You were taken into the back, the air thick with incense and something else. Oil, you realized. You could smell it. Holy water. Salt. Burnt herbs. A room with a wooden table and a white cloth spread out like something from a hospital. But it wasn’t mercy they had in store for you.
“Get on your knees,” your father ordered.
You obeyed.
He began the prayers. The priest stepped forward a few minutes later, his voice smooth and familiar. You looked up, only once, and felt your stomach drop. It was him. The one you had confessed to just this morning. The one whose voice had seemed kind behind that curtain.
“Do not look at me,” he said.
You stared back down at the floor.
The prayers began slowly. Latin. Holy water flicked over your face. Salt rubbed along your skin. Your mother clutching a crucifix and whispering tearfully, “She doesn’t mean it, Lord, she doesn’t mean it.”
And then the real part began. The shame. The pain.
The priest’s voice hardened. Words like demon, perversion, unclean, unnatural spat out between sacred verses. At one point they forced your mouth open to drip oil on your tongue, said it would cleanse the filth, make you pure again. You gagged. Coughed. Your chest heaving, eyes tearing.
The oil burned your throat.
Your wrists were held down when you tried to get up. Your father’s hands tight around your arms. Not bruising. But close.
“Please,” you sobbed. “Please stop—please, I’ll change, I’ll be good, I’ll—”
“You lied in the house of the Lord,” the priest snarled. “You let that girl touch you, defile you. You brought evil into your soul willingly.”
He knew everything. Every detail. Every touch. Every word you had whispered through tears in the confessional, believing you were safe. You had trusted him.
And he’d gone straight to your father.
You cried until your body shook. You whispered sorry a hundred times. You clawed at your own skin, your arms, your thighs, like you could dig the sin out with your nails. You wanted it gone. You wanted to be clean.
Your father finally let go. You collapsed onto the church floor, chest heaving, salt stinging your eyes.
“Don’t let her back into the house,” the priest said coldly. “Not until she’s ready to truly repent.”
And your father, your father, nodded.
୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧
You hadn’t answered a single one of ellie’s messages. Not the “hey,” not the “are you mad at me,” not even the dumb meme she sent around midnight of some T-rex in sunglasses holding a Bible.
You sat in homeroom with your hands folded neatly on your desk, spine rigid, jaw clenched so tightly you were starting to taste blood. You didn’t look at her. Not once. Not when she passed you in the hall. Not when she slowed beside your locker like she wanted to say something but didn’t. You couldn’t. You didn’t know what would happen if you did. Maybe you'd cry. Maybe you'd scream. Maybe you’d beg her to erase the memory of her mouth on your body, of your own voice moaning in a stranger’s house, in sin.
Ellie didn’t push. Not right away. She gave you the space you clearly wanted. She didn’t even try to sit next to you at lunch.
But you caught her looking.
Every time you dropped your gaze. You couldn’t hold her eyes without feeling the sting of oil burning your tongue again.
By last period, she snapped. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just, Ellie. Quiet, clumsy, sincere. The way she always was.
She caught you by the side entrance, between the gym building and the old boiler room no one ever used. A blind spot. No one ever came back here. You froze when you heard her footsteps, but didn’t run.
“Hey,” she said, hands stuffed into her hoodie, thumb nervously flicking at a frayed seam near the cuff. “You’re, uh, ignoring me?”
You said nothing.
“I figured you’d be pissed,” she said, trying for lightness. “’Cause of the, you know… sex thing. I know I was kinda forward. I was kinda expecting the silent treatment, but—”
You choked. Literally choked on your own breath. She stopped talking.
You covered your face with your hands, but the sob came out anyway. Wretched and wet and humiliating. You turned toward the wall, shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I’m—I didn’t mean to ignore you, I just—”
“Woah, woah,” she stepped closer, alarm spreading over her face, “Hey. Hey, it’s okay, look at me. Hey, what happened?”
You turned to her. Your voice cracked around the words. “My father knows.”
Her expression shifted in a second, something like fear, or guilt, or realization flickered in her eyes. She stepped even closer, instinctively reaching out but stopping short of touching you. “How?”
You shook your head, tears spilling now, hot and angry. “The priest. The one I—I confessed to. He recognized my voice. He told my dad everything.”
Ellie blinked. Her mouth fell open like she wanted to speak, but nothing came.
“They did—” You looked away, voice strangled. “They did something to me last night. Said it was an exorcism. Said I had to get the demon out.”
Ellie’s face went slack.
“They held me down, Ellie,” you whispered. “They poured oil in my mouth, they shoved salt in my skin. My own father told me I was possessed. He said I’m not welcome back in my own house until I stop loving you.”
Ellie’s breath caught. Her mouth opened. Then shut. Then opened again. “Jesus.”
She reached for you again and this time you let her. Her hands cupped your face, thumbs wiping at the salt-streaks across your cheeks. Her voice trembled. “You should’ve called me.”
“I couldn’t.”
She pulled you forward and you collapsed into her like a dying thing. Your head against her shoulder, her hoodie damp from your tears, her hand stroking the back of your neck without thinking. You could feel her trembling too.
“I thought I could make it right,” you whispered. “I prayed so hard. I said sorry so many times. But nothing, nothing, fixed it.”
Ellie didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, softly: “Come home with me.”
You pulled back. “I can’t skip school, I—”
“Fuck school.”
Her voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even loud. It was just… final. “Come home with me.”
So you did.
You didn’t even hesitate. You let her take your hand and lead you around the back of the school building, through the side lot where no one would see, all the way down the street to where Joel’s truck was parked out front of their small house with the dented mailbox and the dog who barked at every goddamn thing that moved.
Joel wasn’t home for at least another three hours.
Ellie shut the door behind you gently, like she knew you were still too fragile to hear anything loud. Then she tugged off her hoodie and tossed it on the couch, motioning for you to sit.
You stood. “Do you think I’m sick?” you asked, voice barely audible. “Do you think they’re right about me?”
Ellie walked toward you, slow and careful, and looked you right in the eye. “No,” she said. “I think they’re sick. And I think if God’s real, he’s crying seeing what they did to you.”
You couldn’t help it. Your knees gave out.
She caught you before you hit the floor, arms around your waist, forehead pressed against yours. “I don’t care if we never have sex again,” she whispered. “I don’t care if you never wanna kiss me again. I just wanna be next to you. I wanna make you feel safe. You deserve that.”
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You just leaned into her, skin still raw, heart still burning, but held. Finally held.
“C’mon,” she whispered, touching your wrist so lightly it felt more like a suggestion than a grip. “Let’s go upstairs.”
You followed.
The hallway light flickered behind you as she led the way, steps creaking up the old wooden stairs, her hand trailing back once in a while to touch yours, to make sure you were still there. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. The silence between you was heavy, but not suffocating. Not like home.
Her room smelled like clean sheets and faint weed smoke and something warm and sharp that was just… her. The fan in the corner ticked quietly, pushing humid air in lazy circles, and a pile of laundry sat forgotten in a chair, half-folded. She hadn’t expected company, clearly. But it didn’t matter. It was safe. It was hers.
You stood there, stiff, arms folded around yourself like armor, and she reached for you slowly. Palms open. No pressure. Just an invitation.
You stepped into her.
And she wrapped her arms around you like she’d been waiting to. Not tight, just enough to say I’ve got you. I’m here.
You melted into her without a word. Let her guide you backward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress and she pulled you down with her, curling around you in that soft, yellow-lit cocoon of her room. The ceiling fan clicked above you, the curtains drawn tight against the world. And her arms came around your waist like a blanket, like a prayer.
You buried your face into her neck, your skin still humming from earlier, your chest still tight from home.
She hadn’t said anything in ten, maybe twenty minutes now. Just kept kissing your hair, one hand stroking the back of your head and the other wrapped protectively around your waist, thumb brushing the fabric of your shirt in slow, quiet rhythms.
You couldn’t stop whispering. Couldn’t stop the soft, wet prayers that trembled out of you like blood. You didn’t even know who you were praying to anymore. Not really. Not after the way the cross around your neck had felt like it was burning. But you whispered anyway. Mouth trembling. Eyes shut. Repeating all the words you’d been taught to say since you were small, even if they didn’t hold meaning anymore. Even if they’d never held mercy.
“Forgive me,” you murmured again. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to be—”
Ellie didn’t interrupt. She didn’t shush you. Just held you tighter and pressed her mouth to your hair again and again, as if kissing could stitch something broken back together.
Her voice was so soft when she finally spoke. “You don’t have to say sorry for existing.”
That made you cry harder. Silently. Bitterly. The kind of cry that left your lungs shaking and your mouth clamped shut so tightly your jaw throbbed.
It was maybe ten minutes later when your fingers gripped the hem of her shirt.
You didn’t think about it. You weren’t even sure why you said it, just that it burst out of you with desperate heat, your voice hoarse and cracked and pleading: “Ellie. Please. Please fuck me.”
Her body stilled instantly. You felt it, how her breath hitched, how her hands froze against your back.
You lifted your head to look at her. Eyes swollen. Mouth raw. “I want to,” you whispered. “I want you to do it.”
Ellie stared at you like she didn’t know who you were for a second. Not because she was disgusted. Not because she didn’t want it. But because you’d never, ever, spoken to her like that. Your words were too deliberate, too raw, too broken. Your voice shook too much to sound flirtatious, and your eyes were too wet to mean it the way she knew you thought you did.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then finally said: “No.”
You blinked, dazed.
“No?” you echoed. “Why?”
“Because you’re not okay,” she said gently. “You think you want it, but this—” she motioned vaguely between you both, to your tear-drenched cheeks and trembling fingers “—this isn’t the part of you that wants me. It’s the part of you that’s hurting.”
You looked down. Embarrassed. Angry, maybe. But more than that, ashamed.
Ellie reached for your face and cupped it again with both hands, forcing you to look at her. “I want you,” she said, voice low and shaking. “You have no idea how much I want you. But not like this. Not when you’re gonna hate yourself for it after. Not when you’re still whispering prayers into my fucking shirt.”
A hiccuping sound escaped you. Something between a laugh and a sob. “Why are you always right?” you whispered.
Her forehead bumped yours. “Because you’re not.”
You both smiled, just for a second. Just barely. A thin little thread of something warm, even in the ache.
“I’m scared,” you admitted.
“I know.”
“I think I ruined my whole life.”
“You didn’t.”
You looked away, tears brimming again. “You don’t know that.”
“I know I’m still here,” she said softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
You buried yourself in her arms again, dizzy and ashamed and safe.
And Ellie held you, quiet and close and warm, until your whispering stopped. Until your heartbeat slowed. Until you could breathe again.
The next morning you didn’t say much during the car ride back to your house. Ellie was curled beside you in the backseat, her arm lazily draped across your shoulders, her hoodie swallowing most of her body, the smell of her shampoo comforting in a way that made your eyes sting. Joel didn’t ask anything, didn’t make any comments. Just hummed quietly along to the radio, tapping the steering wheel. He gave you a small nod as you got out, his gaze warm but unreadable, like he knew more than he was letting on.
Inside, your house was too quiet. You could feel it before you even stepped through the front door.
Not the kind of quiet that meant peace, but a silence that crouched in every corner, tense and waiting.
Your mother sat at the kitchen table, thumbing a rosary bead by bead. She didn’t look up. Your father was already in the living room, Bible open in his lap, murmuring something about “the demons not releasing fully” and “evil lingering in the air.”
They didn’t ask where you’d been. Didn’t raise their voices or press you with questions. That made it worse. The stillness. The calm that wasn’t calm at all.
You smiled when they spoke to you, bowed your head when you passed them. You cleaned the plates after dinner even though no one asked. Said “yes, sir” and “thank you, ma’am” and didn’t let your hands shake too much when your father rested his palm on your shoulder and said, “I scheduled you to meet with Pastor Elijah again this week. He’s found a young man who’s just returned from mission work. A real good influence, I think.”
You nodded. You even smiled. It hurt like something ripping.
Upstairs, your room was too tidy. You made your bed twice. Rearranged your bookshelf alphabetically. Scrubbed under your fingernails and checked the crucifix over your door to make sure it hadn’t tilted.
You were shaking. But not from fear. From how calm you felt.
The night folded in on itself. You didn’t cry. You didn’t speak.
You knelt one final time, right beside the bed. Your knees found the spot they always did, soft in the carpet from years of prayer, and your hands folded automatically, trembling as you whispered your apology to God. Again. And again. And again.
When you rose, you sat at your desk. Opened your drawer and pulled out the nicest paper you owned. You didn’t rush. You took your time. Chose a pen that wouldn’t bleed through. Drew the little margins just like you’d been taught in school, and began to write.
Not fast. Not panicked. Just steady. Just quiet. Just careful. The room was too silent for anything else. And you kept writing.
୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧
You didn’t show up to school the next day.
You didn’t wait for Ellie like you always did, leaning against your locker with that quiet, half-sleepy smile and your hair still a little damp from your rushed morning shower. You didn’t wave when you saw her coming down the hall. You weren’t there at all.
And for once, the silence hit harder than anything else.
Ellie sat alone at her locker, her foot tapping restlessly against the tile, twisting her phone in her hands. She kept looking up, every few seconds, hoping to see you turn the corner, late but grinning, maybe mouthing “don’t ask” about some dumb excuse. But the hallway kept emptying out. First period was about to start. The bell rang. Still no sign of you.
She swallowed the rising tightness in her chest. Her thumb hovered over her screen again, nerves buzzing like static under her skin. She still hadn’t gotten a reply. And she kept rereading the last thing she’d sent. It was from early that morning.
“Good morning. i had a dream about you and now i’m mad you’re not here to finish it >:( please wear that dumb shirt i like. i’ll make fun of it but also stare at your tits the whole time. also ur coming over after, no excuses x”
It had been flirty, soft. Normal. She’d woken up smiling when she wrote it. But now? Now she just stared at that message, the little “delivered” tag mocking her. No response. No “typing…” bubble. Just silence.
Something wasn’t right. Ellie bit the inside of her cheek. Her knee bounced. She tried to brush it off, tried to tell herself maybe you were sick, maybe your phone died, but deep down, her gut twisted hard. This didn’t feel like nothing.
Finally, after hesitating too long, she typed another message.
“Hey… where are you? Didn’t see you this morning.”
No reply.
First period ended, and Ellie’s nerves spiked. Her stomach churned as she lingered by the lockers, phone clutched in her hand like it might suddenly light up with everything she needed to hear. She glanced down again, thumb hovering, then finally typed another message, her fingers trembling as she hit send.
“Okay, you’re not here. This isn’t like you. Are you okay?”
Still nothing.
Second period started, and Ellie’s heart felt heavier with every passing minute. She glanced at the classroom doorway, half expecting you to walk through. But you didn’t. The hallway was full of other students, but none of them were you. None of them were the person she cared about most.
Her texts began to pour out, a flood of worry and confusion.
“Please reply. I’m really worried.”
“Did something happen? Did I do something wrong?”
“If you’re upset or angry, please just tell me. I can handle it. Just don’t leave me in the dark.”
“I’m at school. Waiting for you. Please say something.”
Her voice, usually light and teasing, was gone, replaced by something raw and fragile.
She swallowed hard, blinking away tears that threatened to fall, then sent another desperate message.
“If you’re ignoring me, I’ll understand… but please don’t make me worry like this.”
The bell for third period rang, but Ellie barely noticed. The cafeteria, the noise, the people, it all blurred around her. She was consumed by the gnawing ache of your absence.
Her phone buzzed once more, this time, a message from a friend asking if she was okay. She didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed glued to the screen, waiting for a sign from you.
Finally, with trembling fingers, she typed again.
“Please. I just want to know you’re safe.”
The day stretched on, each moment heavier than the last. Homeroom started like any other day, but the atmosphere quickly shifted. The classroom door swung open, and the teacher stepped in, sweat gleaming on his forehead, his usual composed demeanor shattered. His eyes darted around, avoiding contact. He cleared his throat, voice trembling as he spoke.
“Class… I have some very difficult news,” he said, struggling to keep steady. “Last night… one of your classmates… she hung herself.”
The words hit the room like a storm. A suffocating silence fell over the students. A few gasps, whispered prayers, and then it clicked. It was you. You.
Ellie’s world tilted and then crumbled. Her breath caught in her throat, chest tightening unbearably. She barely registered the chaos around her, only the raw, unbearable truth that you were gone. She felt her knees weaken, eyes blurring with tears. Dina was immediately by her side, wrapping strong arms around Ellie, shielding her from the shock that threatened to consume her completely.
“Ellie, breathe. I’m here,” Dina whispered, holding her close as her whole body shook.
The teacher’s voice cut through the haze. “Ellie, the principal needs to see you. It’s about… about a letter she left.”
With trembling hands, Ellie followed, every step feeling heavier, like walking underwater. At the principal’s office, the stern-faced principal handed her a thick envelope sealed with your neat handwriting.
“The police found these,” the principal said quietly, “Three letters in total. One addressed to her mother, one to her father, and… one for you.”
Ellie’s fingers trembled as she broke the seal. She pulled out the letter, hands shaking so badly she almost dropped it.
Her eyes scanned the words, and the tears fell uncontrollably as she read:
My dearest Ellie,
If you're holding this letter in your hands, then I’ve already gone where I hope there is no more fire. No more trembling. No more nights where I lie awake begging the heavens to make me whole. I’m sorry. I don’t even know where to begin, how to explain what this weight has done to me. All I know is that I tried, Ellie. I really tried. I prayed until my knees went numb, until my voice cracked and the salt from my tears soaked through my pillow and burned my skin.
But nothing came. No answer. No mercy. Just silence. And shame.
I want you to know, with every ounce of love that’s ever lived in me, that this was never your fault. You weren’t the reason I broke. You were the only reason I ever felt unbroken at all. You were my safe place, my breath of air after hours underwater. I think maybe you were the only truly holy thing I ever touched in this life.
But the world around us… it wasn’t kind. My parents looked at me like I was already halfway to Hell, and I started to believe them. I started to believe I was something that needed to be cleansed, fixed, sacrificed. They wrapped their love in fear and called it God. And I followed them, hoping that if I tried hard enough, if I just hurt enough, He’d see I was serious about being saved.
But I was so tired, Ellie. So unbelievably tired. Of the guilt. The fear. Of waking up every morning knowing that to survive meant lying to everyone, even to myself. I was tired of looking at the girl I loved and feeling like the whole sky would fall down on me if anyone knew. Tired of praying to be made different, to be washed clean, when the love I felt with you was the only thing in my life that ever felt clean.
I didn't want to be forced into that life they kept carving out for me. A life with a boy I didn’t love, a wedding dress I’d feel like a ghost inside, a family built on a foundation I couldn’t survive. I didn’t want to lie anymore. Not to God, not to them, not to you.
And I especially didn’t want to live in a world without you in it.
Ellie, I hope you remember how your laugh used to bounce off the walls when we watched those dumb cartoons. I hope you remember how you’d tap your fingers when you were nervous, and how I used to cover your hand with mine to steady you. I hope you remember the first time we kissed, how afraid I was, and how you just looked at me like I was the whole sky. Like I was something to be loved. I never felt closer to heaven than I did in that moment.
But heaven still felt locked to me. Closed. Like no matter how hard I knocked, I was too dirty to be let in.
Do you think He’ll let me in now? I don’t know. I hope He’s more merciful than His followers. I hope He sees that I only wanted to be good. That I only wanted to be loved without having to bleed for it.
They always said God is love, didn’t they? Then why did love feel like a curse in me? Why did it hurt so much to hold your hand, to dream of a life with you, to imagine growing old beside you in a world where we didn’t have to hide? I loved you with a heart that never stopped begging to be accepted, Ellie. And when it wasn’t, I just couldn’t keep walking around in a body that felt more like punishment than promise.
I hope someday you’ll forgive me. I hope you’ll laugh again. I hope you’ll fall in love again, and I hope that love is loud and shameless and full of sunlight. I hope no one ever makes you feel like you have to earn your place on this earth. I hope you tell stories about us when you're ready. I hope you feel me with you when the stars come out and you find yourself still looking for me in the quiet.
Please live, Ellie. Live fiercely. Live with both hands open and your heart unhidden. I wasn’t strong enough. But you are. You always were.
And if there's a heaven, I’ll be waiting. Watching over you. Praying that somehow, somewhere, God lets me hold your hand again.
I love you. In this life, and whatever comes after.
Forever,
Me
Ellie’s sobs exploded, raw and desperate. The walls of the principal’s office seemed to close in, the weight of your pain crushing her spirit. She collapsed into a heap on the floor, clutching the letter like it was the last piece of you left in the world.
Joel, was quickly called to come pick his daughter up. He arrived quickly, worry etched into every line on his face. Without a word, he wrapped Ellie in a firm embrace, letting her cry into his chest as the world around them shattered.
Ellie didn’t set foot in school for weeks after. Joel had been surprisingly understanding. He knew how raw everything was for her, how impossible it felt to face those halls without you there. She barely left her room, hardly answered her phone, and the world felt like a dull, hollow place without you in it.
When the funeral was announced, Ellie had been ready. She had saved every penny she had, bought a suit that wasn’t perfect, but was decent enough. A black jacket, a crisp white shirt, the kind of thing she never imagined needing. She wanted to be there for you, to say goodbye one last time.
But your parents forbade it. “It’s not appropriate,” they said coldly, their eyes hard as stone. “She’s not family. This isn’t her place.” Ellie had begged, pleaded, even sent a note she never got a chance to read aloud. They shut the door on her, and the weight of that rejection shattered something inside her. She couldn’t even bring herself to go to your funeral, not knowing you were lying there, gone forever, while she was kept outside.
For months, Ellie avoided your cemetery like it was poison. Every time she thought of going, panic would coil in her stomach. She imagined your parents seeing her, judging her again, pushing her away. So she stayed away, the silence growing louder in her chest.
Then, one gray, chilly morning a couple months later, Ellie finally showed up.
She didn’t bring flowers. She didn’t have anything shiny or perfect. Instead, in her hands was a worn copy of that stupid PG-13 movie you’d been too scared to watch, the one you’d finally braved with her, half laughing, half hiding behind your hands as the cheesy love scenes played out.
She stood by your grave, eyes scanning the simple stone etched with your name. The wind tangled her hair, and for a long moment, she just stood there, the DVD case pressed tight against her chest.
“Hey,” she whispered, voice shaky, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I wanted to come earlier but... I was scared, okay? Your parents didn’t want me there. I guess I get it, but it still fucking hurts.” She took a deep breath, wiping away a tear that slipped down her cheek.
“I miss you so much. I’ve been trying to keep going, but it feels like a part of me went with you. I wish… I wish you could’ve run away with me. Just left it all behind, you and me, somewhere far from all this. But you’re not here, and I’m stuck with all this.” She crouched down, her fingers brushing the cool stone. “I’ve been talking to you every day. Like you can hear me.”
Her voice broke as she started telling you about everything she’d been through since you left. The nights she cried herself to sleep, the little victories she held onto, the way people didn’t laugh at her anymore. Hours passed unnoticed, the sun dipping low, the sky bleeding orange and purple. She didn’t want to leave, but the cold was creeping in, and the cemetery was quiet except for her soft voice.
When she came back the next time, the DVD was gone, probably taken by your parents, who maybe didn’t want you remembered like that. Ellie fell to her knees in front of your grave, the emptiness heavier now without that small piece of you. For almost an hour, she sobbed, letting the grief pour out until she had no tears left.
Then, wiping her face on her sleeve, she whispered again, “I’m still here, you know? I’m still trying to be brave. For you. For us.”
Her voice cracked but carried the fierce determination you’d always seen in her, the kind of stubborn love that refuses to fade.
“I love you, always.”
୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧
Slowly, like the first fragile shoots of spring breaking through frozen earth, Ellie began to find her footing again. The world, once a dark and endless void without you, started to hold moments of light. Small and hesitant, but real. She kept talking to you, always, but the sharp edges of pain softened into a quiet tenderness, a bittersweet memory she could carry without being crushed by it.
One afternoon, months after her long visits to your grave had become less frequent but no less sacred, Ellie sat beside your grave and whispered, “Guess what? I got accepted into the college I wanted.”
Her voice trembled with the kind of hope that had once felt impossible to feel. She laughed softly, “You’d be proud. I’m going to do this. Live, learn, maybe even be happy.”
Then came another surprise. Ellie found love again. Not the reckless, desperate kind she’d clung to before, but something steady and kind. Her girlfriend understood the piece of you that Ellie carried deep inside her heart, the part that never faded or fully healed. Instead of jealousy, there was respect, an unspoken promise that you would always be a part of their lives.
When her girlfriend found out she was pregnant, the joy in Ellie’s eyes was like sunlight piercing through clouds. They decided to name their child after you. A way to keep your memory alive, to weave your name and spirit into the future. It wasn’t about obsession anymore; it was about honoring a love that shaped them, that refused to be erased.
Years passed. When the child was old enough to understand, Ellie took her hand and led her to your grave. She knelt down, brushing dirt from the stone as she spoke softly, telling stories of you. Your laughter, your kindness, your quiet strength. She made sure your story lived on, in gentle words and loving memories, a legacy of grace and heartbreak and unbreakable love.
“Here’s someone who loves you too,” Ellie would say, her voice thick with emotion. “She carries your name, your light. We won’t let her story end, not really.”
And in that sacred space, beneath open skies and whispered prayers, the past and present mingled, a bittersweet harmony of loss and hope, pain and healing, a love that transcended even the deepest darkness.
Description: Ellie is a broke college student whose options are either selling weed on campus or doing filthy things on live for her mainly female audience. When another famous camgirl joins one of her lives, she is about to have the collab of a lifetime.
Content / Warnings: Femme camgirl reader, headcannon-style fic, explicit content, Jesse and Dina make cameos woah, Ellie is all cute and nervous for the first half, masturbation on camera, fingering & oral sex, use of strap-ons, reader is on receiving end, feminine reader, use of petnames (baby and mamas), breeding kinks, mult. orgasms. Enjoy the ride.
Word Count: 3.3k
★ Camgirl Ellie who is a sophomore in college, so broke and extremely desperate come with the territory. Like, Taco Bell is a luxury broke, and desperate as in she has applied to every job around campus. She even thought about dealing for a while, but as much as she loves a good smoke sesh, she'd rather not risk getting kicked out of school for something as dumb as selling blunts.
★ Camgirl Ellie who laughed when her friend Jesse suggested her being a camgirl.
"Why the fuck would I give old creepy dudes jerk-off material?"
Jesse laughed, grabbing a handful of cheetos from the bag in her hand. "Dude, you wouldn't be doing it for men. I mean, look at you." Jesse took a good, hard look at his friend; the several silver rings across her five fingers, a short-sleeve blue button up layered over a white wife-pleaser, and for god's sake, a pair of jorts that only Ellie could pull off. "You're clearly not for the male gaze."
After much (15 minutes) contemplation, she decided that maybe it'd be fun to get attention from girls and money at the same time.
★ Camgirl Ellie who is actually rather awkward and quiet around girls in the real world, cursing "fuck" under her breath when she sees a pretty girl but just doesn't know how to impress women in a way that doesn't come off as too forward or weird. That being said, she actually likes having a persona online where she can say anything she wants, and she definitely abuses the fact that she is allowed to say anything she truly feels like saying, and women will go crazy for it.
Sitting on her couch, propping up her iphone 11 on the coffee table with a pop socket she got like, 6 years ago so that the fans have a wonderful view of her stroking a strap-on with cheap lube she picked up from her local Walmart. Her bush is slightly peeking out from the harness, and the fans are getting filthy. Not as filthy as camgirl Ellie, though.
"Fuck, feels so good on my clit.." she groans, throwing her head back dramatically.
dykeluvr69 commented: oh my god y'all her happy trail i'm throbbing
wet4williams commented: i wish i could ride that strap
andersonsabs33 commented: mid💀
Ellie squints, anticipating all the thirsty comments, and scoffs at one, her hand jerking away from the silicone shaft for a moment to tell off some random.
"Suck my dick, andersonabs33."
fairydustonmyclit_2 commented: me next please!!
★ Camgirl Ellie who doesn't always have to be explicit to even get views. She finds that focusing the camera on her fingers while strumming her guitar can work wonders online. If she has had an exhausting day or is feeling anxious about getting naked in front of an overwhelmingly growing audience, she can always just show off her hands or say sweet things to her fans.
★ Camgirl Ellie who is not a virgin. She's had a few past girlfriends, no casual sex, but is pretty experienced from her long-term relationships. That being said, she never once has considered doing actual sex on camera for money. That changes when another famous (and nearby) camgirl joins her livestream.
Ellie's once again on her couch, two fingers doing figure eights on her clit as the view count rises. She's basically man-spreading to give her girls the best view possible, and not holding back from letting out breathy little groans and loud curses. Her fans go crazy when she has her tits out, so her sports bra is hitched up, her perky tits free and her nipples stiff.
"F-Feels so good, holy shit, wanna cum for my girls so bad," she groans, closing her eyes. Ellie doesn't view real masturbation as anything like her online work; if she were actually to be playing with her pussy all alone with no audience, she'd cum by now. But that doesn't make a profit, no. Longer time is important, and the more she ups the antics, teases her fans, the more comments can come in. The more donations arise and all that good shit.
Ellie teases her entrance with her middle finger, and her eyes flutter open as she eases the digit past her puffy folds.
She reads through the chat to hold out from cumming too quickly.
elliessluttygirl commented: i wish that was my hand playing w ur pussy ellie:(
Ellie smiles, curling her finger and moaning. She smiles lazily. "Yeah, slutty girl..wish it was yours, too."
As she adds a second finger upon the majority request in her comment section, she pauses at the feed.
urfavfemme has joined the livestream. Say hi!
Holy fuck. Ellie hasn't seen your videos, but the pink checkmark on your name means you're verified. Suddenly, Ellie is nervous as hell now. How is she supposed to act now, with some famous, probably fine woman watching her? She swallows and continues bucking up into her palm, but her fingers are slightly shaky now.
urfavfemme commented: ur pussy is so pretty.
Ellie laughs nervously at that. What the fuck is happening? But maybe she can use the situation to her advantage.
" 'urfavfemme', huh? Cute username," she coos, a little breathlessly because now she's getting closer to cumming, her nerves dying down as her fingers massage her sensitive walls. Ellie is so fucked up, she thinks to herself. She doesn't even know what you look like yet, why is she getting so crazed by you complimenting her?
urfavfemme commented: i wanna see that pretty pussy squirt please..
Ellie moans and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, trying to wrap her head around it all. She gets dozens of comments just like these, thirsty ass girls drooling to her playing with herself or showing off a strap-on. Why is it that the idea of you, a self-proclaimed 'femme' making these comments is the thing that makes her belly all hot with the familiar ache of true need?
pixiestickpussy commented: holy shit this is so hot
wet4williams commented: is it just me or is smth going on with ellie and this camgirl chick
imonherefortheporn69 commented: i checked out the girl's content she's super hot dude
Ellie's head is spinning at the whole situation. It's overwhelming and she wants to just turn off the camera, but she's so close and getting desperate to cum. It is just so fucking hard when all of her girls are in an uproar over you.
urfavfemme commented: stretch me out on those fingers.
"Oh- Oh, my fucking god!! 'm cumming-" Ellie can barely keep herself from crying out as the waves shoot through her body throughout, a finger covering her clit to extend the orgasm that hits her so deeply. Her fingers are soaked more than usual, juices trickling down her knuckles. Her other palm is massaging over her tits, and for a moment, she forgets she is on camera. Forgets the thousands of people watching her, probably fingering themselves just like her. The though that is usually so overwhelming is forgotten.
Her body is warm, and if she could describe how this nut feels right about now, she'd say it's hot pink. It's light lightning, and for some reason, all she can repeat in her head is "thank you thank you thank you urfavfemme" because seriously, this has been one of the most insane experiences of her life. When she finally comes down, she has to take a few moments to catch her breath.
The aftermath of it all hits her. She did not just cum like she does in private. The usually dramatic orgasms the viewers got are nothing like that, and for what? Some girl she hasn't even seen yet?
The comments are going off, praising her and thirsting like she's never seen before, but she is still panting and flushed on her couch.
urfavfemme has donated $1000.
urfavfemme has left the livestream. Bye!
Ellie is quickly turning off the stream with a half-assed goodbye, and collapsing back onto her couch. She cannot believe that she just lost control like that. Her mind is processing the huge donation, too. A whole thousand is more than she's ever gotten in donations on a single live. How famous are you?
Ellie can't dwell much, because as her body cools down, she realizes how soaked the towel she is sitting on is. Oh, my god. She actually squirted on live.
★ Camgirl Ellie who searches up your username on google a few days following the squirting contest incident, and is soon brought to a url that hits her like a flashbang as soon as it loads on her ancient ass laptop. Her screen is covered in pink, and a pretty white font with your username is front and center. She then sees your face and nearly nuts. You're fucking gorgeous, definitely out of her league.. How are you the same girl that talked her through an intense orgasm over a livestream the other night?
★ Camgirl Ellie who spends the next few hours watching your videos. She has found a new obsession, that's for sure.
She has hearts in her eyes watching you bounce on a fairly-sized dildo suctioned to your floor, helplessly groaning with a hand down her basketball shorts as your pussy swallows the length of the toy. Your moans are what really gets her. You sound like anything but the pornstars she's heard, instead moaning like you're really getting it. And suddenly, Ellie wants to be the one to give it to you.
★ Camgirl Ellie who types out various messages to send to your gmail so conveniently linked on your website until she finally settles on something not too awkward
You were in my livestream the other day. I'm Ellie from the camgirl website, and I wanna know if you'd like to collab? (If you're around my area, of course).
Reading it back after she sent it, she sighs. That looks way too fucking professional for a request to do porn together.
★ Camgirl Ellie who anxiously waits for about an hour, not even Borderlands 3 able to distract her before she finally gets an email back.
Hi!! I'm in Fairview, WY if you're near? I'd love to collab:)
★ Ellie, who is freaking the fuck out now. She hadn't had sex in two years since Dina traumatized her with the worst break-up possible, and you're one of the hottest girls she's ever seen. Plus, she is only an hour away from you.
Jesse laughs when she rants to him about the whole thing.
"So you've got a fine ass girl offering to have sex with you? What's the problem?"
Ellie scoffs and gives him a glare, but there isn't any true malice. "That's the problem, idiot! She is way hotter than me. Plus, I haven't even had any practice in so long. What if I can't make her cum? What if I embarrass myself on live in front of both of our fan-"
"C'mon man, you gotta get out of your head about this. Does she seem nice?"
Ellie nods.
Jesse sighs, and slightly softens his tough-love look. "Look, she is probably just as nervous as you are. Give yourself a break, and go have fun with the pretty femme girl."
★ Camgirl Ellie who shows up at your apartment a little earlier than she meant to. She didn't mean to speed, but she was nervous on the road, anxiously tapping the steering wheel.
★ Camgirl Ellie who is greeted by you in a robe and what she assumes is going to be either nothing or lingerie underneath. That makes her heart beat even faster. She feels like she's gonna puke from how nervous she is, you're even more gorgeous up close.
★ Camgirl Ellie who takes in your bedroom compared to her own small apartment's bedroom. You've got posters covering your walls of various artists like PinkPantheress and Joan Jett and the Blackhearts; your bedsheets match your whole feminine vibe, and you have a whole camera set up with a stand. There's a box with a harness and different sizes of dildos inside of it. All of this is making Ellie even more nervous, like, shit her pants nervous.
You seem to take notice of her nerves, because you have clear concern on your face as you guide her to sit on your bed.
"You okay, Ellie?" voice so sweet and soothing, it could make her heart stop.
"Yeah..I'm okay.." she sighs, and anxiously chews on her lip, "I'm just like, me.. and you're super hot and all-"
Ellie's self-doubt is choked off when you cup her face, leaning in. "Do you know why I donated?"
"Why?" Ellie sounds shaky, a little confused on where this is going.
You give her a sweet smile, your glossy lips catching the ceiling light. You lean in even closer so that you can speak quietly, intimately. "I thought that you were easily one of the hottest camgirls I've ever seen on the website."
Ellie's eyebrows shoot up at that. "No fuckin' way you think that.."
Your smile doesn't falter, and you lean in even closer. "I do. I want you to fuck me, Ellie."
★ Camgirl Ellie who didn't know how passionately one could eat a pussy until she got a taste of yours. With the camera all set up and the live on, viewers roll in quickly at the promise of a collab between their two favorite lesbian camgirls. Ellie never forgot about the camera when it came to her solo steams, but you just have an effect on her that makes her head dizzy and her pussy throb, and all of a sudden she has her tongue deep in your wet pussy, alternating between tonguing your holes and tasting your clit. You're sprawled out on your bed, completely naked with Ellie between your thighs, and your moans are even louder than usual. They're angelic sounds that make the comments roll in like crazy.
dykeluvr69 commented: ellie eats pussy like a madman and i am so jealous rn
andersonabs33 commented: she's too sloppy with it, slow tf down girl.
This time, Ellie is far too blissed out devouring you to even pull away and tell the troll to fuck off.
"Mmmph, pussy tastes so fuckin' good.." You can't make out her muffled declaration, but the vibrations on your clit have you creaming for her.
Your pussy just sings for her. Three orgasms in, and she hasn't even used the strap she's wearing yet. She wants to savor every soft whimper you make when she nibbles on your neck before making out with you, tongue shoving into your mouth so that you can take your own perfect pussy on her tongue.
★ Camgirl Ellie whose fingers curl inside of you relentlessly, pumping into you, coaxing out orgasms like it's nothing. To her though, it is truly everything. You cry like you're pleading for her to never stop. It feels like hours that she's been tending to the perfect cunt you've got between your legs, and she doesn't know where she even learned half of the shit she's done. It isn't too hard to please you when she craves your sounds, though. She craves the feeling of your thighs squeezing the apples of her cheeks, making her lightheaded.
★ Camgirl Ellie who saves best for last, finally rubbing girthy silicone against your clit, making you whine in the process. That sound goes straight to her clit.
She grins with a newfound confidence, one she think that she has been given from a witchy ritual or something, not lesbian camgirl sex.
"You want me to fuck you good, baby? Fuck you 'till you squirt on my dick like you made me squirt?"
"Please, fuck, Ellie..." You're babbling nonsense at this point, legs spread wide and knees almost to your ears at you nearly sob for her dick.
"C'mon mamas, I wanna hear you beg for me." She taps the tip against your clit repeatedly, holding you down by the back your thighs to keep you from trying to squirm for more.
"Please, Ellie!! Fuck me, make me cum. I want your dick."
Ellie groans as she finally parts your soaked folds with the tip, sinking into your heat slowly as to not hurt you, but she soon finds that your walls are just swallowing her completely. All that foreplay must've really paid off.
★ Camgirl Ellie who practically goes from a nervous wreck to a pornstar in a matter of minutes, because she insists that she can feel how tight you are around her huge dick.
"Fuck, baby. Gonna fuck this pussy so good, gonna make you scream my name." She manhandles your legs around her waist so that she can hold your hips while she pounds into you, creating a whole bonfire of heat in your pussy.
"Feel you so deep in me, Ellie!" You almost break when she starts leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on your neck.
"Yeah? Gonna make you feel me in your tummy, mamas. Gonna put a baby in you." Where in the hell did that come from? You both roll with it, if not getting even more riled up by the idea of Ellie cumming in you and knocking you up.
"Please, Ellie. 'm g-gonna cum for you-" before you can finally have your orgasm, it's ripped away as she pulls out of you. You can't even protest or make a loud whine before Ellie is flipping you onto your stomach, frantic to tuck one of your pink pillows underneath your tummy. She lines back up with your sloppy hole, slamming back into it to earn herself an actual sob from you.
You cry into the pillow, not from pain at all. No, this is probably one of the best fucks you've ever had in your life. Ellie doesn't start slow again but rather pistons her hips into yours, bony hips slamming into the fat of your ass upon each thrust until you finally get the intense orgasm you need.
"Pleaseknockmeup-" you cum with a broken cry, a couple euphoric tears streaming down your face. Your poor bedsheets, all soaked from you and Ellie's pussies and your tears. At this angle with the pillow raising you, you believe you can truly feel Ellie all up in your stomach. The waves are more like knots of a rope being snapped in half deep inside of you, and Ellie only keeps you riding the pleasure with her little sloppy grunts audible behind you.
Ellie groans as the friction to her own clit is vastly more intense with each grind to meet your body, and now she is humping your ass to get herself off. After she cums with a "gonna fucking cum in this pussy", she goes limp on top of you, her sweaty body covering yours, her tits pressed against your back in a way that is more comforting than arousing now.
★ Camgirl Ellie and you who entirely forget about the live and fall asleep in your bed together, snuggled up with you the big spoon, and the cum-coated strap on thrown somewhere across the room. Your bodies are flush against each other and your hands are wrapped around Ellie’s stomach, holding her closely.
fairydustonmyclit_2 commented: aw this is actually kind of cute
pixiestickpussy commented: i wanna be sandwiched between them wtf
limpbizkitsbitch commented: ts gonna be awkward when they wake up
synopsis: after you sleep with one of ellie’s worst enemies, she reminds you who you belong to
a/n: toxic ellie u will always be famous
warnings: DON’T LIKE DON’T READ ! — toxic relationships, friends with benefits, useless lesbians, cursing, rough kissing, hate sex, scissoring (YIPPEE), fingering (r! receiving), a little bit of her eating u out, cum play (?), cunt slaps, threats of her belt being used lol, degrading, pet names, hoe ellie williams, abby anderson mentioned, lots of spit as usual, manhandling, overall aggressive lol
wc: 4k
This game was almost too easy to play, as it had been ongoing for nearly a year.
You and Ellie would fuck, she’d ignore you for a month, and then make some excuse to come and see you. She’d act as if nothing had happened, as if you had no idea that she was fucking other girls even though she purposely made out with people in front of you at parties.
But you weren’t one to let her have all the fun, as you were finally fed up with her just using you like you’re any other girl that is dumb enough to believe that Ellie truly cares about them.
So, you made the choice to see other people but unlike Ellie, your revenge on her was silent. You let her hear through rumors about who you were sleeping with but never truly appeared at any events she was at so she could have proof of it.
You were driving her insane without ever having to see her, as now she would immediately scan any room she was in for your presence, hoping for the smallest glimpse of you. The absence of your presence was punishment enough for her and she refused to back down, pretending as if her jealousy was warranted in some way.
Her calls and texts went unanswered, her frustration only building with each passing day that she was denied the ability to see you. All the while you couldn’t help but silently hope that she was at least slightly upset and finally getting a taste of her own medicine.
Unfortunately for you, Ellie is not one to let things run on for too long before she starts speaking her mind.
After two months of radio silence from you, she is standing outside your apartment door, her lips set in a firm line. You were simply settled on the couch, some horror movie playing quietly in the background as you mindlessly scrolled on your phone.
Yet the sound of a harsh knock on the front door yanks you from your daze and you flinch in the slightest, your brows furrowing as you register how late at night it is.
Quietly, you make your way towards the door, your hands pressing against the cool wood of the door as you look through the peephole. Much to your surprise, you can see Ellie standing right outside with her eyes burning holes through the door with how firm her gaze is.
You have to shove down your excitement, feeling proud of yourself for getting the high and mighty Ellie Williams to be the one showing up to your doorstep late at night. With a deep breath, you unlock the door and open it up just enough for her to be able to see your face and the slightest bit of your body.
“It’s late, why’re you here?” you immediately question in a disinterested tone. You don’t meet her gaze, staring at the wall behind her instead as she stands before you.
Your tone makes Ellie’s eyes narrow, not used to being treated in such a way. She was used to you letting her in, forgiving her time and time again for her mistakes. But this was all new territory for her and she had to play her cards carefully.
“Nice to see you too” she scoffs, her arms crossing over her chest out of sheer frustration. “Just wanted to see you for a bit, maybe smoke a little if you’re up for it” she offers, trying to keep her cool and deciding not to bring up the fact that you’ve been blatantly ignoring her.
“Sorry, busy tonight” you lie through your teeth, as your plans were to rot away on the couch until you could muster enough strength to get up to go to your bed. You can see the anger building in Ellie and it feels so good to know you are making her feel the same pain that you felt countless times.
“Y’know it’s common fucking courtesy to look at someone when holding a conversation” she seethes, not liking the way you’re dodging every single one of her attempts to get a good look at you. “And busy doing what?” she questions, before something dangerous flickers across her features.
Before you can give another snarky reply, she’s making an attempt to shove the door open, standing on her tippy toes to try and see past you and into your apartment. “Who’s here?” she questions, immediately jumping to the conclusion that you had another hookup planned for tonight.
You keep your hand placed firmly on the door, pushing it closed as much as you could without completely slamming it in her face. “No one is here, can you back off?” you huff, finding it hard to keep your position with how strong Ellie is.
She finally stops pushing on the door, her brows still furrowed as she looks at you. “Then what are you so busy with?” she questions swiftly, not missing a beat.
You can only shrug your shoulders, not really having an excuse ready. “I’m just busy, okay? Plus it’s not like you should even care. You’ve got tons of girls just begging for you to choose them for one night” you state bitterly, your mind flashing through each time you had seen Ellie with another girl.
Your snappy remark didn’t seem to phase her, in fact it brought a slight grin to her face. “So you’re being a bitch because you’re jealous, is that it?” she questions, now seeming amused over the situation.
Ellie’s harsh words make you wish you never opened the door, as she always played dirty during fights with you. “I’m not jealous of anything. Sleep with whoever the fuck you want and I’ll do the same” you say with an annoyingly fake smile just to get on her nerves.
And it works, as your words remind her that she had heard rumors from mutual friends that you had slept with Abby, who she just so happens to despise with every fiber of her being.
Acting only based on her emotions, she shoves your door open, stepping inside quickly and shutting it. “What? So just because I’m not giving you a ton of attention suddenly you need to go out and fuck the one person I hate the most?” she questions, her voice raising in the slightest.
Your eyes widened after she managed to get inside, your mind going a mile a minute as you try to think of something quickly. “Fuck you” is all you can manage to spit out, your anger nearly making your whole body shake.
Ellie just shakes her head, her shit eating grin only growing. “You already did that, remember? But maybe that’s what this is all about, huh? You’re just acting out cause no one has been fucking you properly?” she questions mockingly, taking a step closer and completely invading your personal space.
The accusation makes you want to scream at her and yet at the same time it stirs something within you, some awful part of you that knows the tension within you would be eased if Ellie were to touch you.
But you choose to let your anger speak instead.
“I don’t wanna fuck someone who sleeps around with every slut that’ll open their legs” you scoff, not even thinking of the consequences of what you had said.
A thick silence hangs over the two of you for a moment, the lack of movement or noise from Ellie making your stomach sink as you watch her expression twist into one of pure anger.
“Why do you always have to run your mouth? I don’t care about those other girls, I came here because I want to be with you but you’re shutting me out and having a goddamn pity party” she spits, absolutely despising the tone you had taken with her.
Your tough exterior began to crack in the slightest at her words, silently cursing yourself for the butterflies that filled your tummy from her saying she only wants to be with you right now. You part your lips countless times in an attempt to say something, but your mind is growing hazier by the second.
Ellie can sense that she’s got you right where she wants you and she is more than willing to take advantage of that. “See how easy it is to just be quiet for once?” she questions, leaning down so her lips are inches from your own and suddenly you are hyper aware of just how close she is to your body.
You only nod your head, no longer in any mood to argue, needing Ellie more than anything in this moment. She hums in approval of your silence, finally connecting her lips with your own.
It’s so rough, the both of you expressing your hatred through physical touch that left both of you gasping for air. She tugs on your lip with her teeth, purposely biting harder than usual just to prove a point. You return the favor by letting your hand tangle in her hair, tugging roughly as her lips move against your own.
You know you shouldn’t be doing this. She’s using you but fuck it, you’re using her too and at this point you can’t give two shits about what you should be doing.
She lets out a particularly loud moan when you tug on her hair, finally pulling back from the kiss, only for a string of spit to connect your lips to her own. Without a single word, she is dragging you towards your own bedroom that she had been in countless times.
You don’t even fight back, only snatching your wrist away from her once you reach the bedroom. Ellie only glances at you before rolling her eyes, using the back of her hand to wipe her lips that were still glossed with spit.
She tries to tug up your shirt but you shove her hands off, pulling it off by yourself instead. “Unlike those girls you fuck, I actually have a brain. Don’t need your fucking help” you mutter bitterly as you pull down your pajama shorts, discarding them onto the floor without a single ounce of care.
You are left completely bare on top, Ellie’s eyes dropping shamelessly towards your tits that were now on display. Even with the situation, you were fuming, and yet Ellie made no attempts to console you.
“Just get on the bed and shut up” she mumbles, lifting her own white tee and unbuckling her belt, her jeans hitting the floor with a soft clatter. You really aren’t about to argue with her, as the only time you’ll obey her is when you know she’s about to give you the best fuck of your life.
You crawl onto the plush bed, feeling the mattress dip as Ellie settles between your legs. Your panties are uncomfortable when they are soaked by your arousal, your hips twitching unintentionally as Ellie glances down to where your underwear was still covering you.
“You told me you have a brain but you kept these on?” she questions, yanking at the waistband of your underwear down to give you a hint of what to do. “I’m trying to fuck you, not sit here and have a sleepover or some shit” she mocks, making you feel stupid over something so small.
“I do have a brain, asshole” you mutter, shimmying out of your underwear and pushing them onto the corner of the bed so they are out of the way. It’s as if Ellie can feel relief washing over her at the sight of you being completely bare for her once more, so vulnerable and all for her.
“You’ve got a smart mouth too” she quips, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear quickly before laying down between your legs, carelessly pushing your thighs open so she can get a perfect view of your cunt.
You ignore her comment, not really wanting to prove her right. The way she handles you is so rough, the frustration of these last few weeks weighing down on her as she finally takes you in completely.
Without warning, she gives your pussy a firm smack, the pain blossoming from your core and spreading enough to make you flinch. “Pathetic, stupid” she mutters, delivering another hit before you can even try to get away from the harsh treatment.
Each hit has you crying out, low whines leaving your lips as pleasure and pain blur together enough to leave you lightheaded.
“I have to find out from other people that you decided to go out and fuck Anderson” she continues on, her eyes focused on your core that was undeniably aching. “And then you give me all this fucking attitude, treating me like shit just because you’re a little jealous” she huffs, one hand gripping your waist with a bruising grip to ensure you can’t escape the punishment.
“M’ sorry, Jesus, I’m sorry!” you groan, your brows knitting as pain overcomes every inch of your being and yet it feels too good, the way her hits are landing against your clit making you gasp weakly.
“No, you’re not” she interjects, although her hits finally cease, making your eyes drop down to where she had settled between your thighs. “But you will be” she adds on with a pleased hum, your cunt pulsing with pain as she admires her own work.
Just as the punishment began, it ended. The soft pads of her fingers gently run along your slick folds to soothe the pain. The solace of it makes you whimper, a soft curse leaving your lips as your head drops back against a pillow.
Going weeks without her touch was too much to bear and you couldn’t believe your plan actually worked but you didn’t have any time to dwell on the matter.
With you being reduced to a complete mess, Ellie can’t stop a sick smile from taking form. “Had to hurt you just like you hurt me, sweetheart. You understand that, don’t you?” she asks in a voice that feigns sympathy, lazily rubbing your clit as she focuses more on your body’s reactions to her touch.
The way your body relaxes despite the intensity of the moment is proof of how much Ellie’s presence soothes you and that is enough to make her ego grow even larger.
You nod slightly at her words, weak moans tumbling from your lips. “I know, Els, I know” you breathe out, feeling the way her thumb lowers to gather more of your slick before smearing it against your clit is enough to make you let out a light groan.
The way you comply so easily makes her feel like she finally has control over the situation once more and that only makes her want to ruin you more. “Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me that you won’t ever fuck anyone else while you’re seeing me” she demands, spitting on your cunt and beginning to ease her middle finger into your tight heat.
“I’m sorry, okay? I won’t fuck anyone else, I swear” you state in a shaky voice, your moans filling the air around you as she pumps her finger in and out of you with ease. You’re lying through your teeth and even if both of you know that, Ellie can pretend to believe you in that moment.
“That’s what I thought” she quips, lowering her head to messily lap at your clit as she adds another finger. The touches that should be intimate feel so dirty, so utterly wrong but there is no way you can feel bad when there is so much pleasure clouding your mind.
She’s always messy, uncaring of the way her spit runs down your cunt and onto her fingers that are now curling at the most perfect angle. It’s as if she is desperate to make you come, desperate to prove that she is the only one that can make you shut your mouth for once.
“Ellie, slow down” you whine breathlessly, not even truly meaning your words but you’re so overwhelmed that you can’t think of anything else to say. She refuses to yield, needing to taste you more than anything.
Instead she chooses to suck harshly at your clit, slow and deep thrusts of her fingers making your eyes roll back. No words are needed between the two of you, the obscene sounds of her eating you out while she fingers you being enough to satisfy you both.
She only pulls back to make a demand, still so close to your cunt that you can feel her breath fanning against you. “You better say my fucking name when you come or I swear to god I’ll use my belt to smack that pretty pussy of yours” she threatens, burying her face between your thighs the second she’s done speaking.
And you are absolutely going to obey her, knowing that she will follow through with her words without hesitation. Your moans build, each one growing more high pitched than the last as you near your orgasm.
Ellie keeps the perfect pace, the way she is moaning against you sending vibrations throughout your cunt that were just what you needed to push you over. “Ellie!” you cry out, your voice coming out far weaker than you intended.
She always makes sure to fuck you through your high, letting you ride it out as long as possible. It’s almost hard for you to come back down, the feeling suddenly becoming too much as over sensitivity quickly sets in.
You try to push Ellie’s head away, whining as you make a weak attempt to get her to ease up. “No, sensitive” you mutter, your mind barely able to form proper sentences anymore. Reluctantly, Ellie pulls back and gently eases her fingers from your cunt.
“Missed your taste, so fucking good” she sighs as she quickly runs her tongue along her lower lip. You barely register her words, only giving a tired groan in response as you try to catch your breath.
Ellie scoffs at the sight of you, already used up just from the slightest touch from her. “Don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet” she sighs, shaking her head as if to scold you. Her words are enough to pull you from your daze, your eyebrows raising in the slightest.
You glance in the direction of the closet, knowing a strap is hidden away that only Ellie, Abby, and a few other hookups know about. You never wanted anyone to bring one, as at least you knew the one you owned would only be used on you and you alone.
“You wanna fuck me?” you question with a slight smugness in your tone even after you just got turned into a complete mess by Ellie. The idea leaves you eager, knowing rough fucks with her tend to be some of the best.
Much to your surprise, Ellie makes no movements towards the closet, instead finally deciding to shed her sports bra and boxers. She is left completely naked, a rare sight for you if you’re telling the truth but it makes your heart beat far faster than usual.
“I’m gonna fuck you, sure. But I’m not using that strap, fuck that” she sneers, finally joining you back on the bed. Her words confuse you, as you’re not exactly in the right state of mind to be processing information.
That is until she starts manhandling you, pushing one of your legs up and slotting herself against you so her cunt is brushing up against yours in the slightest. “I don’t need that shit to make you come, unlike those losers you fuck. Gonna make sure you feel it when I come, gonna make you remember that you’re all mine” she huffs, her anger returning and burning deep within her.
You are completely at her mercy, your cunt sore from all that it had taken tonight yet you were still greedy enough to want more. She doesn’t waste any time, finally pushing her cunt right up against yours and rocking her hips slowly to find a proper pace.
The way you can feel her clit pulsing against yours makes you moan, her cunt completely soaked from being able to get you off so easily. It’s absolutely filthy, the way her pace picks up with ease so that there's a squelch from the wetness shared between the two of you as she grinds her hips like it is the last thing she will ever be able to do.
Even in this moment of unbridled lust, your mind runs through all the times you’d seen her with another girl once more. The memories make your stomach burn with anger and you don’t want to bite back your words anymore.
“I, fuck that feels good— I fucking hate you. You’re such a dick all the fucking time” you groan, although your actions don’t match your words. You are frantically rubbing up against her, letting her clit brush against yours perfectly so that you’re both reduced to moaning messes.
Your insults only get Ellie more worked up, her heart practically soaring as you confess to hating her. “Yeah, sweetheart? Well I hate you too and you’re such a fucking bitch all the damn time” she scoffs, her brows furrowing as she glances down, trying to memorize the way you look in this moment so she can get off to the memory for weeks to come.
Her heated words make you grin, the two of you fucking against each other like rabbits in heat, only focused on pleasure and nothing more. Her slicks mixes with your own, heavy grunts leaving Ellie’s lips as she does her best to keep fucking you at the perfect angle for the both of you.
“Gonna come inside you, baby” she mutters, the filthy words rolling off her tongue as if it were nothing. You know she just means that she’s gonna come but it’s enough to push you over the edge, your nails digging into Ellie’s soft hip as the two of you come at the same time.
The room is a mess of moans and groans, Ellie giving a few more weak thrusts before her hips still. With blurry vision, you can make out the beads of sweat rolling down her forehead, taking in the way her nostrils flare in an attempt to get more oxygen.
It feels like a privilege to see her like this, completely fucked out. “Christ” she mutters, shakily pulling her hips away from your own but quickly moving one hand between her thighs.
For a moment you are confused, watching her movements as closely as possible. She uses her fingers to gather her own arousal before recklessly pushing her fingers back into your cunt and fucking them into you slowly.
She was fucking her cum back into you, keeping her promise that she had made earlier. And holy fuck did it feel good, being completely claimed and used by her.
You manage to let out a few broken moans, grabbing at her wrist and trying to tug it away. “S’ in there, promise. Just can’t take anymore” you whisper weakly, and within a second she has eased her fingers out of you so that you can recover.
After all, she had done what she intended to do and she could finally feel the tension leaving her body. She falls onto the bed beside you, her breathing just as frantic as your own.
Ellie was never one to show any sort of affection after sex, always being quick to pull on her clothes and out the door. However, tonight she pulled you close to her own body, burying her face into the crook of your neck and breathing in your scent to soothe herself.
“I missed you” she mutters, no traces of malice in her tone. It is so hard to register that she is being truly vulnerable for possibly the first time ever but you carefully wrap your arms around her anyways, returning her affection. “Missed you too” you whisper back, letting your eyes flutter shut as you feel the flames of anger that had been burning for so long being put out in an instant.
You knew she would be gone in the morning with no explanation, but for this moment she was all yours and no one could take that away.
Reneé Rapp calling for a permanent ceasefire in Gaza.
Keep in mind that this is the first, major award she's won for her music in her burgeoning career, and this fairly new artist is not afraid to do the right thing.
do not become immune to seeing this. "israel" and the usa and the uk are killing children.
"The Palestinian child Mustfa Abu Shalbak (16) who was killed by the occupation forces whist raiding Al Amari refugee camp." from Hisham Abu Shiqrah, 04/Mar/2024:
Indirect talks between Israel and Hamas have not brought the war to an end - and a pivotal few weeks looms.
Hamas representatives and mediators have arrived in Cairo to escalate hostage and ceasefire negotiations after Israel BACKTRACKED on accepting a 6 week phased hostage and truce deal.
These talks are contingent on BOTH parties accepting a new deal, otherwise Israel will ESCALATE GROUND ATTACKS and continue the bombardment of Rafah on MARCH 10.
March 10 is the start of the Holy Month of Ramadan for the Islamic faith, and Israel has already demonstrated mocking and taunting with leaflets dropped yesterday:
But do you know what else is on 10 March?
THE OSCARS.
Israel KNOWS that eyes will be turned away from the conflict, and towards our TV screens. they are BANKING ON IT so that they can intensify their genocide of the Palestinian people without the watchful eye of the media and the people.
an estimated 1.5 MILLION PEOPLE (26 Feb) are seeking refuge in Rafah right now, with more continuing to flee from the north as malnutrition, famine, and Israeli settlers take hold.
maybe we should stop worrying about if a FICTIONAL (not real) character is a top or bottom, getting into any general discourse about her, AND actively uploading fics when there’s a strike going on because there’s a literal fucking genocide happening right now. get your priorities straight guys seriously it’s sickening to see. i refuse to believe anyone doesn’t know what’s going on at this point there’s no excuse if you’re on tlou tumblr there’s like .01% chance you have not seen people talking about israel and palestine. i know this second strike isn’t getting as much attention but if you do see the post please participate in it, it’s really not that hard just for one week.
as a fanfiction writer, even though i am just a small account, it is important to me that my readers understand which side of humanity I stand with. down below a list of links you can visit where you are able to donate, and links that provide information and updates on palestine.
DONATE
donate to tell us representatives and biden to call for a ceasefire.
heal gaza's children.
medical aid for palestine.
donate one time or monthly to help gaza.
IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO MAKE A PHONE CALL, TEXT "resist" TO 50409. IT IS A BOT THAT WILL HELP YOU WRITE A LETTER TO SEND TO CONGRESS.
STAY UPDATED:
r/Palestine (REDDIT)
TIMES OF GAZA (X)
Palestine News (X)
Eye on Palestine (INSTAGRAM)
INSTAGRAM ACCOUNTS YOU SHOULD FOLLOW:
BLUE EYE SAMURAI
and michael green, the co-creator of the show.
let us consider what blue eye samurai is about. it is disappointing to say that a show about anti-colonialism is created by a person who supports the active genocide against palestine.
here are screenshots of him posting and retweeting israel propaganda:
if you still want to watch it, then 🏴☠️🏴☠️🏴☠️ it! there is a ton of websites just for that, and it takes one search.
THE LAST OF US
and neil druckmann, the creator of the game.
neil druckmann is an avid supporter of the occupation of palestine. it has also come to my attention that the last of us 2 was inspired by the genocide, the game providing caricatures to mock the ethnic cleansing of palestinians.
here are screenshots that provided me with this information:
if you still want to play any of the naughty dog games, then buy it secondhand. try finding the games on etsy or mercari.
that is all the information i have right now for these two pieces of medias. since i write fanfiction for mizu, ellie and abby, it is important that i know where humanity stands for these characters' creators. if you like reading my fanfics, i need you to be on the same page with me otherwise i really don't want you near me. no more excuses, be aware and alert when it comes to the medias you consume.
FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
areudirty
germansingergirl
gummygunk
vaporwave
stormborns
origamiaround
