Show & Tell
Andulka
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
todays bird
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Sade Olutola
will byers stan first human second
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
trying on a metaphor
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Janaina Medeiros
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Cosmic Funnies
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@theartofmadeline
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@miajooz
「 ✦ Mia’s Blog ✦ 」 ★
｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。★ hellooo! my name is mia! ❤︎𐙚 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°
ﾟ･｡･
｡𖦹°‧. ★
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ. ‿︵˓ ʚ♡ɞ ˓ ︵ ͜
★ infp - cancer - 7/04 - 19 🦢ྀི
｡°‧ 𖦹
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ. ︶ ͡ ۫ ˓ ʚ♡ɞ ˒ ۫ ͡ ︶
i’ll write mainly TLOU (Ellie) but I’ll do arcane if requested! I am uncomfortable with writing non-con, illegal age gaps (minor + adult), any incest, ect.
18+ content! Minors + Men DNI★
｡°‧. .‧.
⋆｡𖦹° carrd ! ★ masterlist ! tag list ❤︎
most recent - cybersex - ellie.exe (camgirl ellie)
ㅤ free palestine help ukraine
i just had a dream that i got cracked by both vi AND caitlyn. Someone knock me out
i’m alive!! sorry for disappearing..my life has been kinda evil lately. i don’t know if i’ll come back and write but know im thinking about you all!!
i was gonna try and finish off the fic, but i’m really sick 😞😞💗💗 i’m sorry my loves
sorry for not writing my loves, going through stuff 😭💗💗 trying my best i SWEARRRR. maybe ovulation will rescue me.
i know you | e.w
“I'm here regardless of the pain
Don't ever tell me to go away
From you” — Faye Webster
summary: your girlfriend, parker, hasn’t been ellie’s favorite person but she puts up with her for you. when parker behavior pushes ellie too far, she reveals how she truly feels of parker and you.
pairing: ellie williams x f!reader
contains: displays of a toxic relationship, sweet heart!reader who deserves better, yearning!ellie, protective!ellie, love confessions, first kisses and fluff!
word count: 4.9K
a/n: deticated to the lovely @korn-dawg & @elliescoquettegirl <3 well, hello everyone! i missed you all :,) here’s a bit of ellie fluff to kick off my comeback! comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♥︎ ♥︎
There’s a fine line between romantic and platonic love.
Ellie felt like she was battling that every second she spent with you. The two of you have been friends for four years now, escaping the horrors of high school to enduring the struggles of your early twenties together. You became friends in senior year through a mutual friend and had been inseparable since.
The irritation that spikes in her veins watching you from across the table at this group hangout at the local bowling alley lit her skin aflame. You lean into your girlfriend, Parker, as you chuckle softly at something she said in your ear. You shake your head, standing up to bowl next, as Jesse walks back with a groan and curse at his turn.
THE QUEEN IS BACK OH MY GAWD
i drew baby unscripted/loser ellie from my wife’s @valeisaslut new fic 😋
click for better quality !!!
tumblr made it look a little weird but idc anymore this took me like 15 hrs
unscripted is amazing go read it if you want a good ellie fic!!!!
CUTEEEE AAJJJJJJ OMGGGG!!!
Hi love!!! So excited for camgirl!E just remember, take your time —you do not owe us anything, ever. You’re so talented, don’t rush it. You’re doing well.
IZZZZIIIEEEEEEE MY LOVEEEEE 😭😭😭💗💗💗 you’re such a sweetheart i appreciate you so so much. i’ve been super stressed lately because i have been struggling to write and it feels nice seeing this, it really does mean a lot to me. AND THEEEEEE IZZIE CALLING ME TALENTED?? i’m so so flattered!!!! love you so much!! 💗💗
patiently waiting for camgirl!ellie x pillow princess reader 😔
i’m sorrryyyyy i’m working on it 😞😞💗💗 i haven’t been able to write like..at all. but i promise im getting to it!
࿐𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃-𝐜𝐡.𝐭𝐰𝐨
⚢ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆— Actress!Ellie x Actress!Reader
⊹ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — A cracked-mirror apartment, two kids with a dream, and a desperate choice that buys a month of rent and a lifetime of consequences. Years later, one buzzing phone turns memory into combustion—careers teeter, lovers and lies scramble, and a room full of handlers can’t keep the past from walking in. On a wind-stung terrace where smoke curls and old gravity hums, tenderness and fury circle like magnets, and the difference between survival and surrender narrows to a breath.
⊹ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓— 13,2k
⊹ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒— LORE PACKED, smut (Ellie x reader), angst, panic/anxiety, internalized homophobia, time jumps/flashbacks, jealousy, alcohol + cigarette use, explicit language, emotional infidelity, tense relationship dynamics (ellie x dina / reader x abby), malicious outing & revenge porn (non-consensual leak), on-camera sex references, PR/media scrutiny, physical altercation, career/brand fallout, multiple POVs, AFAB!reader, modern AU, multi-part series. minors and men DNI.
𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⭒࿐
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎
“𝐄𝐫𝐨𝐬 & 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬.”
← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑟𝑒𝑒 →
“𝑬𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒔 (𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏) 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒊𝒏” — 𝑺𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒉𝒐, 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 130
𝐖hen school ended, you and Ellie packed everything you owned into the backseat of Joel’s truck and moved into your first apartment.
Well, apartment is a generous word. It was a crooked box with windows. A third-floor walk-up in a building that looked like it was holding itself together out of spite.
The rent was cheap because the place smelled faintly of mold—as if someone had tried to drown it years ago and it never fully dried. The bathroom mirror had a crack running through it that split your reflection in two, so every morning you had to choose which half of yourself to look at. The tap in the kitchen sink dripped constantly, and there was a stain on the carpet shaped like Argentina that no amount of scrubbing would erase.
But, you didn’t care. You were eighteen and had a single dream split between two hearts: become actors or die trying.
And if that meant learning lines on the floor, or eating dollar ramen while Ellie patched a hole in her Converse with duct tape, so be it. If it meant holding auditions in damp rehearsal rooms that smelled like dust, or memorizing monologues on the subway, so be it.
Both your parents and Joel slipped you money every so often—just enough to keep the lights on, never enough to feel safe. It felt like an unspoken bet they’d all placed on when you’d finally quit. Joel handed Ellie a folded hundred like it was nothing, muttering don’t spend it all on coffee, but there was a flicker in his eyes that said he didn’t believe she’d make it past Christmas.
Your mom mailed you envelopes with fifty-dollar bills tucked between “just checking in” notes, the paper smelling faintly of her sickeningly sweet perfume, but the calls that followed always circled back to when are you coming home? She’d never say it outright, but you could hear it—the weary sigh, the pause before she hung up—like you were the family’s one-way ticket to disappointment.
Joel was dismissive, your mom acted like you were the black sheep, and neither of them had much faith in that dream you and Ellie clung to like it was oxygen.
The biggest problem was, you couldn’t prove them wrong. One entire year trying, and nobody actually called you back. Ellie auditioned for an indie film, got the part, and then found out they could only pay her in “exposure”. The talent scout you’d met had laughed, actually laughed, when you said you wouldn’t do nudity. You landed a part in a commercial for laundry detergent—only to be cut before filming because the director decided you didn’t “look believable as someone who does laundry.”
Some days you ate cereal for dinner because it was all you had. Some nights you lay awake counting how many days you had before your phone bill was due and how long you could go without paying it before they cut you off.
But there was a lot of love.
Love in the way you held onto each other when everything else in the world felt like it was trying to shake you loose.
Love in the way Ellie would scribble dumb little cartoons and bad puns on the margins of your audition sides just to make you laugh when you felt like crying. Love in the way you’d walk her home after late rehearsals, splitting a single umbrella while rain slid down your sleeves, your shoulders pressed together so tight your arms ached.
Love in the way you’d sit on the fire escape every midnight, a blanket draped over both your knees, sharing a single cigarette between you and watching the windows across the street flicker on and off like little stages opening and closing.
Ellie pulled a pack of Marlboro Reds from her hoodie pocket, shaking one loose with that same lazy precision she always had. She handed it to you first, like she always did.
“Ugh,” you muttered, examining it between your fingers. “You bought reds? They taste like ass.”
“They were the only ones they had,” she replied, lifting the lighter to your mouth and flicking the wheel.
“Liar. You bought them because they’re the ones you like.” You scoffed, putting it in between your lips.
“...Yeah. Sorry love,” Her lips quivered as she leaned way closer than necessary, holding eye contact while lighting it for you. “I’ll buy golds next time.”
You rolled your eyes, drawing in a slow lungful despite your complaint. You then exhaled into the cold night, a slow stream of smoke disappearing into the dark before you passed the cigarette to her.
“Think I’d kill it in a comedy,” Ellie said then, the corner of her mouth lifting into that cocky smirk you knew too well as she took a drag—like she could already see her name splashed across a movie poster. “Or, like… some cheesy rom-com where I’m the hot love interest that shows up halfway through and then falls into a pool or whatever.”
You roll your eyes but giggle. “You wanna be Hugh Grant?”
“Exactly,” she grinned, tapping ash. “But gayer.”
“I’d like to play someone dark,” you said, leaning back against the brick wall, “Really dramatic and kind of twisted. Like... Natalie Portman in Black Swan. Or—oh, oh—Charlize in Monster.”
“You’d look really hot killing people.”
You nudged her knee with yours. “Shut up.”
“No, I mean it. You’d be like—” her voice dropped into a faux-trailer rasp, “—‘She’s broken, she’s brilliant, she’s beautiful. This summer... love bleeds.’”
You dissolved into laughter, accepting the cigarette back. “Okay, but I’d also do a romance. Like, a real one. Something soft and tragic like Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”
Ellie just nodded, agreeing.
You were quiet for a second, flicking the filter before taking another drag. Then, “You could be in that one with me.”
She looked over at you. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “We’d be good at yearning.”
Her smile softened in that way it always did when she didn’t want you to notice, before bumping her shoulder against yours, a little too shy to look at you for a second.
“Yeah,” she murmured, “Guess we’d be good at that.”
Months passed and rent was late, the panic eating both of you alive. Ellie came home with a crumpled paycheck from a three-day role in a student film — twenty-five bucks, barely enough for takeout, let alone bills — and you’d just been fired from your waitressing job for telling the manager to go to hell when he suggested “showing you how to make a martini” in the walk-in freezer while his hand found your ass.
That night, the idea didn’t come like some grand, premeditated scheme. It came the way most things did with you and Ellie — tangled up in each other on the couch, bodies loose and warm from cheap white wine, the last of the microwave ramen sitting half-forgotten on the coffee table. You were in her lap, your knees bracketing her hips, your hair falling into her face as she kissed you with the lazy hunger of someone who knew they’d have you as long as they wanted. The TV was still playing some grainy 50’s black-and-white you’d put on for “background noise,”.
Sex was… constant. And not just constant — it was the one thing neither of you had ever managed to mess up. Through every late bill, every petty fight, every panic spiral over rent or rejection letters or your mom calling too much, you’d always been able to find each other that way. It wasn’t just the fire —though God, there was fire— it was the way it made the rest of the world fall away for a while. The way her mouth on yours could pull you out of your own head, the way her hands could wordlessly tell you she loved you more than anything.
She kissed you slow and sloppy, her hands wandering under the hem of your shirt like she didn’t have the energy to keep them still. You could feel the easy heat building between you—that magnetic, familiar pull that had been there for five years and somehow hadn’t dulled a bit.
She broke the kiss suddenly, breathless and grinning in that lopsided reckless way, and mumbled against your mouth,
“Babe…I have an idea.”
You huffed a laugh, brushing your nose against hers as you adjusted in her lap, your hands finding the back of her neck. “That’s dangerous.”
“No, seriously,” she said, voice dropping into that low, conspiratorial tone. Her eyes were half-lidded, her cheeks flushed from the wine, her hands gripping your hips.
“Hear me out. We make an account and a few… tapes—” she stole another kiss, this one deep enough to leave you dizzy— “Nobody will know it’s us. And, like… we have great sex, someone would definitely pay to see it.”
“You wanna make… porn?” You froze for a second, pulling back just enough to search her face. “Ellie, are you serious?”
She only grinned wider, that shit-eating smile spreading. “Not like porn porn. We just make a few videos, rake in some cash, and then delete everything. What could go wrong?”
“What could go wrong?” you echoed, “Famous last words. Also, that was literally the definition of porn."
“Okay, but just think about it. Rent, groceries, no more begging Joel or your mom for cash every week.” She leaned in until her forehead pressed against yours, her voice softening. “You hate that part. I hate that part. This way, it’s ours.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And what about the part where strangers see my ass?”
She smirked, her palms gliding higher under your shirt, fingertips dragging slow against your skin. “They won’t know it’s your ass. We use fake names. Easy.” A beat. “Jason told me he and his girlfriend made, like… twenty grand doing it.”
“Who the hell is Jason?”
“That guy I shooted the short film with? the one with…doesn’t matter.”
You blinked, pulling back just enough to search her face for any sign she was joking. But she was dead serious—well, serious in that mischievous, Ellie way, the kind where you couldn’t tell if she was plotting a prank or she actually thought this was the most brilliant thing she’d ever come up with.
You sighed, your palms settling against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your hands. “I don’t know…”
Her thumbs stroked gently at your ribs. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to. Ever. But… c’mon. All we have to do is fuck. And, babe—” she grinned, leaning closer, “we’re already really good at that. We just gotta record it. It’s genius.”
Your lips trembled despite yourself, a reluctant laugh escaping from them… and okay, maybe she had a point. But mostly, it was that saying no to Ellie had always been impossible. You were both so young and so in love that if she told you to jump off a building, you’d do it without hesitation—and then she’d leap right after you, just to land in the same place.
You tilted your head, pretending to think about it before giving in.
“Mmm… fine,” you conceded “I'm in. You’re a genius, baby.”
“Mm. Say it again,” she teased against your mouth.
“You’re a terrifying genius,” you corrected.
“Close enough.”
And just like that, she was pulling you back down onto the couch cushions, sealing the deal in the way the two of you always had — with a kiss that felt like home, and the kind of love that made everything else seem almost survivable.
You were nineteen. The walls were thin. The future loomed like a storm you couldn’t outrun.
And the first tape came easy.
No lights. No script. No plan. Just the two of you sinking into that sunken thrift-store couch—the one with the busted spring that jabbed your thigh if you sat wrong. Ellie sprawled between your legs, looking up at you with that slow hunger she always got right before she turned a bad idea into the only thing that made sense.
Another video was nothing but the two of you scissoring on the bedroom floor, the camera propped haphazardly on a stack of books. It caught every soft gasp and shaky moan, your knees knocking together, Ellie’s hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. You were both laughing breathlessly between kisses, your hips moving in slow rolls like you wanted to drag the moment out forever, the sound of skin on skin echoing faintly in the small room.
Another was you between her thighs—her hands tangled in your hair, holding you there. The camera caught the way her knuckles flexed, the subtle tremor in her grip, the way her hips shifted as if chasing something she couldn’t stop herself from wanting. Your hair spilled through her fingers in messy strands, her thighs tightening around you like she was afraid you’d pull away, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.
The videos were always the same kind of messy, home made magic. Filmed with a $200 camera she bought secondhand off Craigslist, the lens a little smudged, the sound tinny and intimate. The account’s name was Erosandatthis—a reference that meant nothing, unless you knew the two of you.
There was too much emotion in them to be sold to strangers. Neither of you once looked at the lens. Sometimes you caught glimpses of your faces in the playback—your parted lips, her flushed cheeks, the shadow of a grin when she realized you were close. You edited and cut around them, but sometimes you let them slip, too in love or too reckless to notice.
And people loved them. Comments started trickling in after the first post. Then more. Little typed confessions from strangers who said it felt real, like they were watching something they shouldn’t, something too tender to be shared.
And Ellie somehow bought a strap. “Priorities,” she’d said, tossing it onto your shared mattress like it was a solution to every problem in your lives. You’d been broke enough to split a single croissant the day before, but in some such way, Ellie had money for a harness and a strap in her preferred shade of dark purple. You never asked how, but you sure as hell didn’t argue after the first time she used it on you. Fuck rent.
The first tape that made big numbers was the one of you riding her, your knees digging into the cushions, her hands gripping your ass tight, pushing and pulling you exactly where she wanted you. She never took her eyes off you, not even when you gasped and grabbed her shoulders for balance.
Ellie had always been good at talking during sex, but on camera she was even worse— whispering “God, I love you” in that raspy, characteristic voice of hers so quietly you didn’t hear it until you played the video back.
By the time you had six tapes, the money was real. More than either of you had ever made waiting tables, handing out flyers, or playing extras on shitty films. Enough to cover rent, groceries, and still have a little left over for a bottle of wine or a night out—not that you were going out much anymore. You’d built a world you didn’t want to leave.
Another video—shorter—was in the pale early morning light. The kind that slipped through the crooked blinds and painted lines across bare skin. You were on your back, tangled in the sheets, Ellie above you in that lazy, unhurried way she had when the day hadn’t quite begun yet.
The strap was already inside you, her hips rolling with that half-asleep rhythm that felt more like being loved than fucked. You whimpered into the pillow, your hands coming up to cup her jaw, pulling her down until your noses brushed.
She kissed you between thrusts, open-mouthed and warm, her breath tasting faintly like coffee. Her fingers laced with yours beside your head, her forehead pressed to yours like she couldn’t stand the space between you.
“You’re the love of my life” she murmured against your lips, voice thick and raspy from the night, forgetting the camera and the concept of porn completely.“Fuck, I love you. I love you so much.”
You said it back without hesitation, the words catching on a gasp as her hips sank deeper.
It was barely more than two minutes of footage— cutting off on the kind of passionate kiss that could’ve ended a movie, not a porn video. The last sound the camera caught was your high, breathless whine of “Ah! F-fuck, I’m gonna—!” before the screen went dark.
Somehow, that one was the favorite. It racked up almost one hundred comments, one that stuck in your head for days: i would die to be loved like that.
When the balance hit ten thousand dollars, five months passed, and there were twelve tapes sitting in that private account, you sat side by side on the couch, old laptop balanced between you. The glow of the screen lit Ellie’s face in soft blue, her fingers brushing yours as the cursor hovered over delete account.
“You’re sure this will delete everything? Like… forever?” you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
Ellie glanced at you, her mouth curling into that certain smile she always wore when she wanted you to trust her.
“I’m sure, love.”
𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒆, 𝑨𝒕𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, — 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒆! — 𝑨𝒉, 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒈𝒐! 𝑨𝒔 𝑨𝒑𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒆'𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 — 𝑨𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝑨 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘! 𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒚 —
— 𝑺𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒉𝒐, 𝑻𝒐 𝑨𝒕𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕
𝐘ou’re still wrapped in that fragile haze between dreams and daylight when the vibration on your nightstand starts buzzing against the wood, steady and insistent. The sound weaves itself into whatever dream you were having until it’s all you hear, rattling the half-empty glass of water you’d left there last night.
The night before had ended quietly after Abby dropped you off at your apartment, leaning over the console to kiss you goodbye. She’d murmured that she couldn’t stay over—early training in the morning—and you’d pretended not to feel the small pinch of disappointment as you stepped out into the hallway. The ride up in the elevator had been slow, the kind of late hour where the city’s noise felt far away.
The last thing you’d done before bed was check your phone. The internet was buzzing about you and Chris at the premiere—side-by-side on the carpet, smiling like you’d been born for it. Your feed was flooded with clips from interviews, people dissecting your dress, your makeup, your laugh. You’d scrolled until your eyes blurred, watching the same ten-second clips on loop. You looked good—better than good—and you let yourself bask in it for once. By the time you put the phone down, a little smile lingered in your lips.
Now, hours later, the vibration pulls you toward consciousness in uneven tugs. Your eyes stay closed, head still heavy against the pillow, as your hand reaches blindly towards the sound. Your fingers brush the smooth edge of your phone before curling around it.
You don’t even bother to check the screen—your thumb slides to answer purely on instinct, voice thick and hoarse with sleep.
“Hello?”
At first, there’s nothing—just a faint, uneven sound of breathing.
“Hey,” Rachel then says, but it’s not her normal voice. It’s soft, hushed, like she’s speaking to someone who’s just been in an accident and she’s afraid they might break if she’s too loud. “Okay, listen to me. Focus on me. Don’t hang up, alright?”
You blink into the light filtering through the curtains, a pale, harmless wash of morning that doesn’t match her tone at all. Your eyebrows furrow. “Rach? What—”
“Don’t—” she cuts in fast, sharp. Too sharp. “Don’t open Twitter. Don’t check any notifications. Don’t look at anything right now. Just… stay with me.”
The bottom drops out of your stomach before you even have time to think. That kind of don’t from Rachel never comes without reason.
Never — not once in all the years you’ve known her, not when she’s pulled you out of red carpet disasters, smoothed over PR nightmares, or whispered damage control into your ear — have you heard her like this.
Her voice isn’t just tight; it’s trembling in places, like every word is balanced on the edge of breaking. The sharp, clipped demands don’t sound like her either. Rachel’s usually the calm in the storm, the only person capable of keeping a smile plastered on her face while the world is burning behind her. But this? This is a crack you’ve never heard before.
You sit up fast, the sheets catching and tangling around your legs, the sleepy high from minutes ago evaporating as steam. Your pulse kicks hard, a steady thump beginning its punishing climb towards panic.
“Why? What’s going on?!”
“Please,” she says again, “Just—don’t look. Promise me.”
The room feels smaller suddenly, like the air’s been sucked out.
“Rachel.” You say, firm. “Tell me what’s happening right now.”
There’s a long beat. Too long. Then, in this strange, halting rhythm, she says:
“You… you told me you knew Ellie Williams.”
The name lands low in your chest, already aching. Her, again.
You can’t immediately piece together why Rachel would be calling you about Ellie. Your mind scrambles for possibilities, and it goes to the worst place first—something horrible happened to her. An accident. The kind of bad news you only ever get over the phone.
Your pulse spikes and your stomach feels like it’s sinking straight through the mattress. You reach for levity, but it comes out brittle.
“Uh… y-yeah? Why? Did something happen to her?”
Another pause.
“Not... exactly,” she says, and you can hear it now—the sound of her swallowing hard. “You forgot to tell me a lot of things.”
Your heart twists in on itself. “Like what?”
“Like…” She exhales, and it’s shaky, not even trying to hide the tremor.
“Like whether you two... have ever… made… a sex tape.”
For a second, the words don’t compute. They just hover there in the air, hollow and unreal, and your brain tries to quickly protect itself and imagines you misheard. But then, like a delayed punch, they drop into place and every part of you goes cold. Your fingers stiffen around the phone until the plastic creaks.
The room feels too bright now, the sunlight pouring through your curtains suddenly invasive, spotlighting you, tracing every inch of bare skin. Once, that light had been warm. Now it suddenly sharpened, splintered into fine points, each ray like a needle pressing in, pricking at you until you can’t tell if it’s heat or pain.
And your traitorous mind immediately yanks you backward.
Back to the third-floor walk-up with uneven floors and a bathroom mirror that had a crack running through it. The smell of the sheets when she’d pull you down onto the mattress. The way she’d grin into the camera, her deceiving gaze that made you forget there was a lens at all. How your voice sounded and your body looked in those clips. How her hands always knew exactly where to hold you so you stayed in frame.
You don’t need Rachel to finish. You don’t need to see anything.
The realization crashes over you like a wave of icy water.
“What?”
The word comes out too sharp, too loud, scraping your throat on its way out.
“Have you?” she asks, quick now, as if she spits it out fast enough it won’t hurt. “I’m not—look, I’m not judging you, I just need to know how—”
“Yes!” you blurt, already throwing the blankets off, your bare feet hitting the floor. You start pacing, fast, like movement might somehow untangle the knot in your chest. “Yes, okay? Why? Why are you asking me that? Rachel, please—please don’t tell me—”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice splintering completely.
“Yes.”
Your knees nearly buckle.
“No. No, no, no, no—no.”
“Don’t check, please, Y/N—”
But you’re already taking the phone away from your ear and opening the apps, almost dropping it because your palms are slick. Your own breathing is suddenly loud in your ears, ragged and uneven. The edges of the world narrow—just you, the phone, and the horrible anticipation crawling up your throat.
Rachel is still talking, saying your name over and over, but her words are static. You can’t hear her.
Your X icon is right there, and your thumb moves before you can stop it.
You don’t even need to search. Your name is at the top of the trending list, paired with hers.
Y/N and Ellie Williams leaked.
The letters blur and sharpen again.
The first post has a video attached. The thumbnail is small, fuzzy—but your brain fills in the gaps before your eyes can. That’s your room. That’s your skin. That’s her. That’s you.
A scream rips out of you before you even know you’re making it—raw and jagged, tearing up your throat, something between a sob and an animal howl.
Your vision explodes white at the edges, the room tilting and spinning as your body forgets how to stay upright. You stagger backward until your hip slams into the dresser, the impact rattling the lamp and sending the glass of water on top trembling dangerously close to the edge.
Something in your chest clenches so hard it’s almost pain, a fist curling around your heart and squeezing until it’s nothing but pulp. For a split second, everything inside you goes still. And then your heart kicks back to life in a frenzy—too fast, too hard, rattling your ribs like it’s desperate to escape.
"Y/N—breathe for me. In—breathe in—" Rachel’s voice is frantic, but it’s muffled, warped, as if she’s shouting through ten feet of water.
Your chest is pumping too fast, lungs dragging in air only for it to slide right back out in shallow, broken gasps. Every inhale tastes wrong—metallic, sour. Your hands feel numb. Your knees are weak enough to fold, so you drop onto the edge of the bed, legs trembling, the mattress dipping under your weight like it’s trying to swallow you whole.
The phone slips from your grip and hits the hardwood with a muted thunk. You press the heel of your palm into your eyes until sparks burst across the dark, as if pressure alone could blot it out, could push the world back into some version where this wasn’t happening.
But no amount of force can stop the truth from searing itself into you.
It’s out there.
𝐃ina’s warmth is the first thing Ellie registers when she surfaces from sleep.
Ellie is curled around her, her front pressed to Dina’s back, arm hooked tight around her waist. Her palm rests low, fingers curled just under the hem of her t-shirt, skin against skin. She can feel the slow, even rise and fall of her breathing, the faint tickle of curls brushing her chin.
They’d come in late last night, slamming the door behind them with the argument still hot in their throats. Neither had been willing to let it go until the fight burned itself out the way it always did—with them backed into the nearest flat surface, still angry but already kissing hard enough to bruise. It was messy, rushed, a clumsy tangle toward the bedroom that ended the same way most of their fights did: bodies pressed together, trying to outdo the other’s stubbornness with touch.
Now, hours later, the only trace of it is the faint ache in Ellie’s muscles, the lazy hum in her limbs, and the way Dina’s body fits against hers as if they’d never been at odds.
The alarm cuts through the stillness—sharp, mechanical, a jarring intrusion. Dina stirs against her, groaning softly. “Ughh—turn it offff.”
Ellie’s hand gropes blindly across the nightstand until her fingers close around her phone. She silences it with a sleepy swipe, her thumb clumsy from half-consciousness. The thought of going right back under, sinking into that same warmth, is tempting enough to make her eyelids droop again.
But she glances at the screen out of habit—and freezes.
Her notifications are a wall, a solid, endless flood of messages stacked so high she can’t see where they start.
For a second, she blinks at it, her mind sluggishly offering the most logical explanation: The Emmys. It has to be about the Emmys. Her win. Maybe the speech, maybe some photo that went viral.
But something’s wrong, something in her chest doesn’t match that explanation. It’s a pressure she can’t name, but it’s already making her pulse start to tick faster.
She scrolls without meaning to, and the first thing she sees is her publicist’s texts in all caps. Then another. Then another. Everyone from her team. Lawyer. PR manager. Even her stylist. The kind of people who do not text in caps unless the world is on fire.
The warmth drains from her limbs.
Ellie sits up so fast the mattress dips sharply, jostling Dina. Her girlfriend groans again, squinting into the half-dark.
"Ellie, what happened?" her voice is thick with sleep, the words stretching into a yawn as she props herself on one elbow.
Ellie doesn’t answer. She’s already swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet pressing into the cool floorboards. Her phone is in her hand, her thumb hovering over X like she’s bracing for impact. She’s not breathing right—her inhales are short, clipped, barely making it past her chest.
She opens the app.
And the first trending topic, burning up the feed in bold black letters:
Y/N and Ellie Leaked.
The words glare at her from the screen like they’ve been carved there, too sharp to look at, too loud to unsee. And then her eyes drop lower—down to the thumbnail sitting beneath the headline.
The gasp that leaves her is small but sharp, punched straight out of her lungs. It comes with this awful choking hitch, like she’s swallowed glass. She slaps a hand over her mouth, as if that could pull the sound back in, as if she could hide the way her body just betrayed her.
It’s a screenshot, frozen mid-motion. Her face is right there, turned toward the camera, hair sticking damp to her temple, mouth parted like she’s caught between a breath and a sound. And you, unmistakable even in the grain of the image. Skin. Movement. The telltale mess of sheets she knows by muscle memory.
One of the videos. The exact one she’d watched alone two weeks ago, in the quiet dark of her apartment, when it was still hers and no one else’s.
Her mind starts clawing at itself for an explanation and finds nothing but static. Did someone hack her? Did something glitch? Did she slip, leave something in the wrong folder? Did you—? The thoughts sear through her so fast it leaves nothing but white noise in its wake.
Her head fills with questions she can’t pin down long enough to answer, her vision blurring around the edges. It’s like the oxygen has been yanked out of the room. Her throat closes around the air she’s trying to drag in, each inhale catching on itself until she feels like she’s choking.
Her vision blurs before she even realizes she’s crying. The tears spill fast, unannounced, cutting hot tracks down her cheeks. Her chest is tight, rigid, and the world around her feels suddenly too detailed—every shadow, every crease in the sheets, every speck of dust in the air standing out in painful clarity.
"Ellie?" Dina’s voice is sharper now, edging towards alarm. She sits up fully, the sheets falling from her chest. "What happened? What is it?"
Ellie shakes her head once, hard, her hair falling into her face. Her legs move before her brain catches up and then she’s crossing the room in quick, uneven steps, pacing without purpose except to keep from collapsing.
Dina’s still talking, asking, but it’s just sound in the background. White noise against the rush in her ears.
Ellie doesn’t want her to see. Doesn’t want her to ask. Doesn’t want anyone in the room with her. Doesn't want any eyes on her, maybe ever again. The air feels too thin for two people.
She yanks the bedroom door open.
"Stay here," she gets out, voice almost breaking.
She doesn’t wait to see if Dina listens. She’s already gone, feet hitting the hall in a staccato rhythm, the phone burning in her palm.
Ellie doesn’t even remember pressing the call button. Her thumb just moves, finding Erin’s name. The dial tone feels like it stretches forever, each second tightening the knot in her chest.
“Ellie,” Erin answers on the third ring. “I was going to call you.”
“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!?” Ellie’s voice comes out too sharp, too loud. She’s pacing the living room now, feet dragging over the rug, phone pressed hard to her ear.
“I’ve been handling it,” Erin says, a little too smooth, a little too calm. “I didn’t want to tell you yet until I had it under control—”
“Well it’s not under control!” Ellie snaps, the words punching out before she can stop them. “Have you seen fucking twitter? Have you seen the vi—” Her throat catches around the word, as if even saying it would make it more real.
“Of course I’ve seen it,” Erin says, the sigh in her voice almost patronizing. “You think I’m just sitting here with my thumbs up my ass? I’ve been on calls since five a.m. trying to contain it.”
Ellie stops pacing, presses her fingers hard against her temple. “How the actual fuck did someone get that video from?!”
There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for it to feel deliberate.
“That’s what I’m asking you,” Erin says finally. “Because it didn’t exactly come from thin air.”
Ellie swallows hard.
“We—” She glances toward the bedroom door, where Dina is still in, and lowers her voice. “We dated. Me and her. I had that video on my iCloud.”
“Mhm.” Erin’s tone doesn’t change, but the hum sits heavy, as if she’s already filing this away. “So maybe someone hacked your iCloud.”
"Wait,” Ellie says instantly, words cutting sharp through her teeth. The call with Erin stays on the line as she swipes through settings with quick, jerky movements.
She dives into her account security, heart pounding in the hollow of her throat. The familiar menus flash by—password, devices, login history—and she’s holding her breath like she’s bracing for impact.
Nothing. No alerts, no suspicious sign-ins, no password change notifications. The last “new device” login is from her own phone, weeks ago. Every line looks clean, ordinary, infuriatingly untouched, as if the universe is mocking her.
“There’s nothing,” she says, thumbing back and forth through the log just to be sure. “No password changes, no sign-ins from new devices. I’m checking right now—nothing.”
Erin lets out a short, humorless laugh, the kind that feels more like a slap than amusement. “Ellie, you sound awfully sure for someone whose private porn just went public.”
Ellie’s chest tightens, a retort already building “Erin what the fuck—?!”
But Erin is quicker, always quicker. Her voice cuts in before thoughts can even finish forming, ponty and unyielding.
“No,” she says, fast, almost overlapping Ellie’s words, swatting them out of the air. “I’m asking you: are you telling me the whole truth?”
It’s so abrupt that Ellie’s mind stutters, caught mid-step, the question landing before she can prepare for it. Erin never leaves space for her to think, never lets silence bloom long enough for Ellie to find her footing.
The pause feels like it lasts too long, stretching into incrimination.
“…No,” Ellie says finally, forcing the word out like a confession. “We uploaded them, back then. To this… account. But we deleted it after some months. All of it.”
“Ellie,” Erin says slowly, with that infuriatingly calm cadence of hers, not entirely mean but far away from gentle. “The internet is forever. You don’t just delete something and poof—it’s gone. Someone saves it, screenshots it, archives it. This isn’t magic, this is reality.”
Ellie can't really believe what she's listening, “You’re acting like I should’ve fucking known this would happen!”
“You should have,” Erin says flatly. “And now we have to clean up after it.”
Ellie’s head is pounding. She wants to argue, to tell Erin that no, she couldn’t have predicted someone digging this up years later, but the words feel useless. Erin’s voice just keeps rolling over her, a tidal wave she can’t stop.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Erin continues, tone brisk, managerial. “We’re arranging a meeting between your team and hers. Today. I've already booked the flights. We need alignment, a joint statement, and a strategy for minimizing fallout. I’ll text you the details.”
“I—” Ellie starts, but Erin is already talking again.
“Shower, breathe, and for the love of God, don’t post anything. I’ll handle the rest.”
The line goes dead before Ellie can say another word.
Ellie just stood there in the hallway for a moment, phone hanging loose at her side, pulse still thundering in her ears from Erin’s voice cutting out. The silence felt too loud, pressing in on her temples, so she pushed herself forward—back toward the bedroom.
The door was cracked open. She could see Dina sitting up against the headboard, blanket pooled around her waist, hair mussed from sleep. But it wasn’t the sleepy softness Ellie had left her in. Dina’s shoulders were tense, her jaw tight, her phone clutched in both hands.
When Ellie stepped in, Dina didn’t look at her right away. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, wide and glassy, and it made something in Ellie’s gut sink fast.
“Dina,” Ellie said, voice low, pleading. “Please. Don’t.”
Dina finally looked up, and her face made Ellie want to turn and walk straight out of the apartment. And never come back. It wasn’t just shock—it was betrayal, confusion, hurt sitting right there under the surface. Without a word, she turned the phone in her hands and held it out, the screen catching the dull morning light.
Ellie’s stomach dropped. Her face. Yours. Bodies moving in sync, hands tracing skin like a language only the two of you had spoken. The grainy, dim-lit warmth of a video she knew too well to be proud of.
But the meaning of it is now irreversibly changed, shifting from something cherished to something dreadful. Her pulse spiked, nausea clawing its way up her throat until she thought she might actually be sick.
“What the fuck is this, Ellie?!” Dina’s voice cracked halfway through the question, her eyes already wet.
Ellie’s chest constricted. She shook her head too fast, words tumbling out without air. “Dina, don't watch it—are you fucking kidding me? Don’t—!”
“You never told me anything about this!” Dina shot back, her tone rising to match the sharp edges in the room.
Ellie took a step closer, her hands half-raised like she could calm this down by sheer proximity. “Because it’s not—it’s not something I thought would ever—”
“Oh, really?!” Dina’s laugh was short and hollow. “Because it looks pretty fucking current to me. Like, I don’t know, two people who clearly—clearly—” She stopped herself, lips pressing tight, eyes flicking away like she didn’t even want to finish.
Ellie’s throat was dry.
“We dated,” she said finally, the words heavy as lead.
Dina’s head snapped toward her. “What?”
Ellie’s breathing was uneven now, hands curling into fists at her sides, not in anger but in the way you do when you’re barely holding yourself together. “It was before you, way before. I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter anymore—”
“It didn’t matter?! You’re literally calling her the love of your life!’” Dina’s voice cracked loud enough to bounce off the walls. “And now I’m finding out because her face and your face are all over the internet in some fucking sex tape!”
Ellie winced at the words, as if they were made of glass and she’d just stepped on them barefoot. “Dina, I didn’t—fuck—I didn’t think this would ever see the light of day. We deleted it. We deleted the whole account. It was gone—”
“Clearly not gone enough,” Dina bit out, tone sharp with disbelief. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, but the tears kept building.
Ellie started pacing, fast, the way she always did when her brain was firing too fast for her mouth. “I don’t even know how it happened. I don’t—Erin’s saying someone downloaded it, but nothing adds up, and now you’re here looking at me like—” She broke off, shaking her head, voice straining. “Like I planned this or something!”
Dina’s voice dropped, quieter but not softer. “You didn’t plan it, but you sure as hell didn’t tell me the truth either.”
Ellie stopped moving, her breathing ragged, eyes darting anywhere but Dina’s. Her fingers dragged through her hair, tugging hard.
“Because I didn’t want to lose you over something that happened years ago, okay? Because I didn’t want to have this fight, and now it’s happening anyway and—” She cut herself off with a choked sound, her shoulders curling inward.
Dina stared at her for a long moment, eyes searching, but the space between them felt like it was getting wider with every second.
“You should have told me,” she said finally, voice low and uneven. “Before the whole fucking world did.”
Ellie’s jaw clenched, her chest heaving as she fought to keep her voice from breaking.
“I know.” she said, barely more than a whisper.
𝐓he locker room was humid with the after-sweat of practice, the low hiss of the showers somewhere in the back. Abby was at her locker, peeling off her shirt and grabbing a towel, when she noticed the two forwards from her team huddled together a few feet down, their heads bent over one phone like they were plotting a heist.
They weren’t even pretending to change—just standing there in their sports bras, eyes glued to whatever was playing. Every few seconds one of them would gasp, or let out a muffled laugh, then lean in as if the phone was telling them a secret.
“Oh my god,” Andy breathed, her hand clapping over her mouth. “Rewind it, rewind it—”
“I’m not rewinding it, it’s already on a loop,” Nora muttered, grinning. “Holy fuck. Look at the way she—”
“God, I’d kill to be them right now,” Andy cut in, half-laughing, half-serious. “They’re so into it.”
Abby smirked and wandered over, rolling her shoulders loose.
“What’s got you two so glued to the phone?” Her voice was light, teasing—locker room banter without thinking—but her eyes flicked between them, curious.
Andy glanced up, cheeks flushed like she’d been caught. “Oh, you’d never believe this.”
Nora bit her lip, eyes still darting down to the screen. “No, seriously, this is—like—huge. Insane.”
Abby cocked her head, leaning on the locker next to them. “Now I’m curious. Spill.”
Andy grinned. “Okay, so—you know that actress? The hot one—”
“That narrows it down to, like, fifty.”
Nora rolled her eyes. “The hot one. The one from When We Fell. The one people are obsessed with. Y/N.”
Your name hit Abby like a slap she didn’t see coming. Her shoulders tensed before she could stop it, something coiling low in her gut. Her grip on the towel tightened just slightly, but she forced a scoff, making her voice lazy.
“…Sure. What about her?” she finally said, making her tone casual even though the entire situation sent shivers skittering up her spine. Still, she played it cool, smirking faintly.
Andy bit back a smirk of her own. “She has a sex tape.”
Abby’s brows shot up, the laugh that came out more like disbelief than humor. “Nah. You’re lying.” She was already bracing herself for the punchline, waiting for them to admit they were messing with her.
“With Ellie. fucking. Williams,” Nora cut in, voice pitching up like she could barely believe it herself.
Abby’s brain tripped over the name. For a beat, she felt like she’d misheard it — like there was no way that’s what she’d just said. “The one from Backstage? Short hair, tattoos, never smiles?” Her laugh came sharper this time, riding the fantasy of incredulity. “Nah, no way. You’re fucking kidding.”
But Andy was shaking her head, looking giddy to be the one delivering the news. “Nope. And it’s everywhere. Blowing up.” She grinned wider. “Ten seconds in and they already look like they’re about to eat each other alive. Full-on eye contact. You can feel it.”
Something icy was starting to spread through Abby’s chest, wrapping around her lungs. She kept her arms folded, kept her face flat, but every nerve in her body was on high alert.
Nora smirked, eyes still locked at the phone, as if it was just impossible to stop watching it. “And they both have huge relationships, like, serious ones. Isn’t Y/N super straight and dating Chris Parker? This is… honestly? Historic.”
The name hit Abby again, this time harder. The casual way Nora said Chris Parker made her stomach twist — the public version of you, the one everyone thought they knew. Not her version.
Andy laughed under her breath. “Historic’s one word for it. Fucking insane is another. I mean—Williams’s got her hands everywhere. And Y/N? She’s…” She trailed off with a low whistle. “Let’s just say she’s not shy. You can see everything.”
The words felt like grit under Abby’s teeth. Her jaw locked so tight it ached. She didn’t want to picture it — you, like that, with someone else’s hands on you — but the images were already there, uninvited and ugly.
Nora leaned in closer to the screen, biting back a grin. “She’s gorgeous, though. Like—even better than I thought she’d look naked. And the noises—holy shit.”
That was it. The heat under Abby’s skin turned darker, meaner. She couldn’t stand the way they were looking at the screen like you were just another piece of gossip to pass around. Her heartbeat was hammering in her ears, but her voice stayed level.
“Alright,” she said, stepping forward, “let me see the fucking tape.”
Andy blinked. “Uh—”
Before she could finish, Abby’s hand shot out and snatched the phone clean from her grip. Andy’s startled hey! barely registered as Abby tilted the screen toward herself.
It hit her instantly—you.
So familiar it made her stomach drop; so utterly, irrevocably you that it was impossible to imagine it could be anyone else. But your body younger, your face and skin unstripped, unarmored. A version of you she had never met.
Then came the sound—Ellie's, low and intimate, threading through the static: “Fuck, I love you. I love you so much.”
And then your voice. Soft, but sure in a way she never heard before, saying it back.
Something in her chest cinched tight, a wire pulled until it snapped. Every muscle locked, breath wouldn’t come. The white-hot rage was instant, irrational, and blinding—a betrayal she had no claim to, but surged up and flooded her all the same.
Before her brain could catch up, before thought could intervene, her hand moved on instinct.
The phone flew, hitting the cinderblock wall with a sharp crack. The spiderweb of shattered glass froze over the image of you and Ellie, the sound cutting dead.
Silence. Nora and Andy stared like she’d just swung at them instead of the phone.
Abby’s breath stayed even, but it was an effort. Her jaw was clenched so hard it hurt, and she could feel the pulse in her temples.
Without a word, she turned, towel slung over her shoulder, and walked straight out — not trusting herself to speak, because if she did, the whole locker room would hear exactly what she wasn’t supposed to say.
𝐓he conference room smells like too-strong coffee and fresh paper, the kind of sterile, overlit space where nothing good has ever happened. The table is long enough that the person at the other end could vanish if you wanted them to — which you surely do.
Rachel is beside you, her palm covering yours under the table. Her grip is firm, steady, as if she knows you’re one breath away from falling apart.
You’ve been here for twenty minutes already. Your team is scattered along your side, murmuring into phones, shuffling papers, pretending not to glance at you like you’re a bomb they’re trying to keep from going off. You haven’t moved. The dark clothes you're wearing swallow the light, not a single inch of skin exposed. You sunglasses help—they’re the only thing hiding how your eyes are irreparably swollen, raw from hours of crying you couldn’t control.
To make it worse, Abby isn't responding to any of your texts. Not the first, not the eight that followed, not the two missed calls or the voice message where your voice cracked so badly you had to hang up. You tried to explain, tried to get something — anything — back from her side, but there’s been nothing. Just silence. And that’s how you know she saw it.
The door opens.
The air in the room shatters, goes solid and dense all at once. Erin walks in first, her black stilettos biting into the carpet, her ginger hair perfectly styled, her blue eyes sharp and hostile. Behind her follows the rest of Ellie’s team.
But it’s all a blur in your periphery because then you look up, and time doesn’t just slow, it disintegrates.
Ellie.
She stops in the doorway like she’s been hit. Black on black, the fabric swallowing her whole, sleeves down to her wrists, even her collarbones hidden from view. Auburn hair pulled back in a bun though a few strands have rebelled, curling against her temple. Sunglasses that hide half her face, but not the exhaustion dragging at her posture.
The room falls away. The murmured phone calls, the shuffle of papers, the tension coiling between your team and hers, none of it exists.
It’s just her and you now, trapped in this horrible, suspended moment where nothing moves except the pounding in your chests.
Neither of you lower your glasses. They’re the only shield you have left, the only thing between you and the ruin of letting her see what’s underneath.
She’s always known the weight of your silences, and you’ve always known the way hers press into the air. Right now, those silences are screaming. She knows how you feel, even now, even after everything. You know how she feels, even with every wall she’s tried to keep.
You can’t hide from each other. You never could.
Your eyes burn under the tinted lenses, tears pressing hot against the edges. You remember her laugh without meaning to— the way it used to split open a room, how it used to hit you like the sun catching on glass. Tons of memories appear and disappear so suddenly that your throat closes around them.
Ellie’s mind is already trying to walk somewhere else as she forces herself to take the next step inside. But the numbness she’s been clinging to all day falters the second she’s close enough to see the shape of you in the chair.
You both want to do everything at once—vomit, scream, run, jump from the window, kiss, hug, fight, bolt to an island where no one knows your names, where nothing like this could have ever happened. Where nothing at all had ever happened. Where the concept time ceased to exist. Where she’s still yours and you’re still hers, and the rest of the world rots, far, far away.
But you don't do anything.
She sits across from you, slow and deliberate, as if she’s afraid of waking something volatile. Between you, unspoken and blinding, is the same truth that’s always been there: no matter how much you try to hide, there’s something in each other you can’t unsee.
It’s ridiculous. The two of you dressed like matching shadows, both concealing yourselves behind darkened glass from strangers at a table that know too much and eyes around the globe that you can't see, yet still can’t hide from each other.
Your nails find your covered thigh under the table. You pinch hard. Then harder. A small, sharp pain over and over, trying to prove you can wake up if you try hard enough.
You keep doing it, waiting for the snap, the jolt that’ll pull you out of this. But the bruise is already there, deepening under your skin, and the fluorescent lights are still buzzing, and Ellie is still sitting across from you.
Not a dream. A nightmare made reality.
“Fine,” Mary—your publicist—is the first one to talk, her voice like ice cutting through the room. “Before we even talk about how to clean this up—” she glances from you to Ellie like she can’t decide which of you to strangle first—
“explain why there’s a sex tape of you both.”
The silence after that is suffocating.
Your pulse thrums in your ears, loud enough that you almost miss the scrape of Mary’s chair as she leans back. Your sunglasses feel suddenly too heavy, pressing into the bridge of your nose. You feel Rachel’s thumb move in a slow, grounding stroke, and it’s the only thing that keeps you from bolting out the door.
You clear your throat, but the words still come out in a shaky whisper. “We… we dated. When we were teenagers.”
Across from you, Ellie’s head snaps up. Even with the sunglasses hiding her eyes, you can feel the way they lock onto you, how her skin prickles when she hears your voice.
“Yeah,” Mary says, her voice low but not gentle in the slightest. “That part’s pretty obvious. But why the fuck does a sex tape exist?”
The directness of it makes your chest burn. You look down at your lap like a guilty kid, at your thighs covered by black pants.
Across from you, Ellie exhales, forcing herself not to snap. “Because we were nineteen and broke,” she says. Her voice doesn’t shake. “We didn’t have any money. We were… stupid. Desperate. And in love.”
The sound of her voice jolts through you. You look up without meaning to, and there’s something in the way she says it — as if handing you back a piece of your shared history you’ve been pretending wasn’t still yours. Your eyes sting, and you have to look away again before the tears push through.
“So you… what?” Mary asks slowly from Ellie’s side. “You filmed yourselves?”
“We made an account,” Ellie says before you can. “Back when no one knew who we were.”
“And we made sure to keep it private,” you add quietly, your voice breaking on the edges. “We deleted the videos and the account together.”
Mary’s brows lift, her voice rising with it. “Videos? Plural? So there's more? Are you two fucking kidding me?!”
You flinch. Rachel’s grip on your hand tightens. Ellie’s jaw clenches, the muscle twitching like she’s physically holding herself back from saying something worse.
“I don’t know how it resurfaced,” you say quickly, trying to inject some kind of calm into your voice, some kind of damage control. “Maybe—maybe someone hacked the site, or—”
“Or maybe someone downloaded it back then and waited for the perfect time to leak it,” Ellie says, cutting in.
Mary lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Perfect time? There’s no perfect time for this.” She slams her palms down on the table, startling half the room. “Do you even understand what this is? This isn’t bad press — this is a PR nuclear bomb. I’ve been on the phone with every studio exec from LA to London, trying to keep them from pulling contracts.”
Your stomach drops.
Rachel’s voice cuts through, sharp as glass. “Mary.”
But Mary’s already wheeling toward her. “No, Rachel, don’t even start. I’ve spent the last twelve hours trying to figure out if this is a deepfake or a fucking career death sentence, and now I find out it’s real?”
“I said don’t start,” Rachel snaps. “They were kids. They didn’t leak it for a publicity stunt, they made a few private videos and took them down years ago. You want to crucify them for that?”
Mary scrubs a hand over her face, pacing a tight circle, then looking at you. “I don’t care what or who they were then, I care about what and who they are now. Your brands are in flames. You want to know what the top comment was on Variety’s post? ‘Imagine being the director trying to make her cry on cue when the internet’s already seen her come on camera.’”
The words slam into you like a punch. Your throat tightens; your nails bite into your thigh under the table.
Ellie’s voice spikes, sharp with heat. “You don’t need to throw that shit in her face.”
The room stills.
Mary turns to her, eyes narrowing. “Then help me understand. Help me fix this. Because right now, both your names are being dragged through the dirt, and people are already speculating that you leaked it yourselves. If there’s anything else you’re not telling me—”
“There isn’t!” And then you snap, your voice cracks, but you don’t care. “You fucking think I wanted the entire world to see me naked?!”
Ellie’s head tilts at your tone, hearing the edge in it, the exhaustion beneath the anger. Her hands are clasped together so tightly in her lap you can see the tendons straining.
The silence fractures when Erin leans forward, palms flat on the table, her voice brisk, professional, and merciless.
“Alright, stop. Here’s what we’re going to do.” She looks to Mary. “We coordinate public statements, both of them separate but aligned, and we do it today. Within an hour.”
Her gaze cuts to one of the assistants at her side. “Start drafting. I want language ready in the next thirty minutes.”
Mary doesn’t even look at you when she adds, “We also have to initiate takedowns immediately. Scrape every copy, every repost, every screencap we can from the internet. DMCA, cease-and-desist, whatever we need. I don’t care if we have to call in favors from every fucking tech lawyer in the state, I want that video gone yesterday.”
The room comes alive all at once — chairs scraping, phones being pulled from pockets, assistants murmuring into headsets, the low drone of legal jargon bouncing between corners. Erin is already on a call before she’s even done speaking, pacing tight circles like a predator that smells blood.
They’re talking about you. About Ellie. About the thing that has both of your lives in flames. And they’re talking like you aren’t here at all.
Mary slides a yellow legal pad in front of her, clicking her pen. “The statement from your side—” she looks at you for only a second before flicking her eyes back down — “will say you and Ellie dated briefly, years ago. That the video was private and you were hacked. No mention of any account, no mention of how many videos there were. We control the narrative, we don’t owe the public a play-by-play.”
You open your mouth to speak, but she barrels on. “And—” her tone sharpens — “because of Chris, your statement will include that you are in a happy, stable relationship, and that this leak is a gross violation of your privacy.”
One lie, one truth, you think.
Across the table, Erin is nodding. “Same with you, Ellie. Your statement will say this was a long time ago, something private you never thought would resurface. Keep it short, keep it cold, no details for the vultures to chew on.”
Ellie hasn’t moved. Her sunglasses are still on, her jaw tight, and you can’t tell if she’s agreeing or if she’s imagining throwing a chair across the room.
Mary looks at Rachel, tone clipped. “The agency’s already on the edge because of Chris. We can’t have him blindsided in the press. And if he walks out from the relationship, you know exactly what happens to half the contracts in your queue.”
Rachel’s lips part like she’s going to fight, but she closes them again, leaning back with her arms crossed. Her eyes cut to you — not pitying, but calculating, already searching for a way to keep you from breaking in the middle of the conference table.
On Erin’s end, one of her assistants murmurs something about “media cycle” and “timing drops,” and Ellie’s head turns slightly, as if she’s hearing her own life reduced to bullet points.
Then twenty minutes pass, or maybe it’s been two hours. It’s impossible to tell when time has stopped meaning anything except the space between your heartbeat and hers. The room still hums with the drone of voices — Erin, Mary, Rachel, and a half-dozen others trading strategies, deadlines, soundbites. They’ve forgotten you’re there, or maybe they’ve decided you’re furniture now.
Your chest feels too tight to sit still.
You murmur something about needing air —not loud enough to really ask for permission, not soft enough to be mistaken for anything else— and stand. You just leave, the scrape of your chair swallowed by the low static of the meeting.
Ellie sits there, eyes tracking you in the dark tint of her lenses. She watches the way you push the door open, the flash of daylight across your hair, the quick set of your shoulders. She swallows, turns her head toward Erin’s voice, then back to the door.
Five minutes later, she rises slow, careful, as if standing too fast might make the whole table look at her. She leaves her sunglasses on the table before stepping out into the corridor, letting the heavy conference room door click shut behind her.
You’re on the terrace.
A sweep of glass and steel stretches into the skyline, the air still warm from the sun that’s already dipping toward the horizon. The city sprawls below, impatient and loud. You’re leaning back against the low wall, head tilted, looking at nothing in particular. Maybe the sky, maybe the reflection of the clouds in the hotel windows across the street. Your sunglasses are in your hand now, the skin around your eyes raw from salt and hours of rubbing.
From the doorway, Ellie stops.
She sees you in a way she hasn’t in six years—no screens, no photographs, no subway ads. You. Here. Now. In front of her.
Her chest constricts, a painful, beautiful squeeze that feels like it could split her apart. She pinches the inside of her arm once, hard, just to make sure this isn’t another dream she’ll wake from with wet eyes and clenched teeth. It hurts, and you’re still there.
And then you see her.
It’s not dramatic, no startle, no gasp. Just a slow turn of your head, as if you knew she’d come eventually. Her sunglasses hide nothing now, her gaze bare in the open air and the open wounds.
And in that unflinching moment, you both feel it—almost sick at how beautiful yet different the other looks. Your gazes are tired, worn at the edges, your features sharper, carved by the years apart. And still, somewhere in the lines and shadows, you each catch a glimpse of the younger selves you once knew, flickering through like ghosts. Your stomachs twist in unison.
Ellie walks towards you, each step like the space between you is a little alive thing she’s trying not to scare off. She stops beside you, close enough that the air shifts with her warmth, her cologne threaded with faint cigarette smoke.
Neither of you speak until she pulls a pack of Marlboro Reds from her jacket, tapping the bottom so two filter tips peek out.
“You still smoke?”
You didn’t even mean to talk, but your mouth acts faster than you, as if speaking into a memory.
“Yeah,” she replies, eyes still on you, offering one between two fingers. “Do you?”
You shake your head. “No.” Then, after a breath that tastes like the past, “But sure as hell I need one right now.”
When you take it from her, your fingers brush. It’s barely a touch, skin on skin for less than a heartbeat, but it’s enough to feel the shock of recognition under your ribs, a spark that lights every part of you that’s been dormant since the last time you touched each other.
Ellie then quickly lights hers, the flare of the match catching the hollow of her cheek, her auburn hair, those locks you used to thread your fingers trough. She turns toward you automatically, lifting the lighter—the same motion she made a hundred times before, on sidewalks and fire escapes and the edges of your shared bed. Muscle memory, betraying her.
You take the lighter from her hand before she can close the distance, knowing by heart what she was about to do. Your palm slides against hers for an extra second you can’t help but steal. You hold her gaze as you flick the wheel yourself, the tiny flame catching the cigarette between your lips.
“You still hate the taste?” she mutters, her eyes locked on yours, entranced.
“Of these?” you ask, holding yours up slightly. “Yeah.”
You take another drag anyway.
Smoke curls up into the dusk between you, and for a moment, it’s almost like the years never happened.
Almost.
Her mouth curves, not quite a smile, more like recognition. “Some things don’t change.”
“Some do.” Your voice is softer now, and she catches it.
“Yeah,” She hums under her breath, “Some do.”
Your eyes then fix somewhere over her shoulder, the edge of the sky where it blurs into the city, so you don’t have to watch her face twist when your murmur,
“I can’t believe this is how we see each other again.”
Ellie exhales smoke in a practiced stream, the red tip flaring once before dimming.
“Yeah,” she says, voice quieter than you expected. “Real full-circle shit.”
Her jaw works, the muscles there tight, and she flicks ash to the pavement with a sharp little snap, as if the gesture could keep her hands from shaking. She leans her hip against the low wall beside you, close enough that you can feel the ghost of her movement but not so close that it would look like leaning.
“Could’ve been worse,” she adds after a beat, tilting her cigarette between her fingers as if weighing its truth. “Could’ve been a commercial.”
That earns her the smallest huff from you, not quite a laugh, not even close to humor—just a sound with edges.
“Could’ve been not at all.”
You risk a glance at her then, brief. She’s watching you already, one hand in her pocket, the other curling loosely around the cigarette. She looks like she’s carrying something too heavy to set down, and the sight of it makes your chest ache so sharply you have to look away again.
The lighter is still in your hand — you realize you’ve been gripping it since you took it, thumb pressed hard enough into the metal to leave a faint dent in your skin.
“I don’t know if that would’ve been better or worse,” she says, finally.
You glance at her, “Not at all?”
Ellie’s mouth twists, as if chewing something bitter.
“Not seeing you for six years was bad enough. This? Feels like it’s trying to kill me.”
You look back at the skyline because it’s easier than looking at her.
“It is,” you admit quietly. "It's trying to kill us both."
Ellie tilts her cigarette between her fingers, watching the ember flare when she drags from it. Silence creeps back in, but it’s not the same as before. It’s heavier, loaded with the words you’re both dodging.
“It’s horrible,” she says finally. And there’s no bite to it, no sarcasm, just the naked truth laid between you. “All of this is horrible.”
“I know.” Your voice breaks on the last syllable, the sound so quiet it almost dissolves into the noise of traffic below. “I wish—”
You stop yourself before you can finish, clenching the lighter in your palm until it digs into your skin.
She runs her tongue along the inside of her cheek, inhales slow, eyes locked on you like she’s trying to memorize you and forget you at the same time. Her knuckles flex around the cigarette before she drops it, grinding the ember out under her boot with the edge of her sole.
You drag in smoke and let it out in one slow, trembling exhale, then drop it to the ground too. You try not to think about how easy it would be to close the distance, to put your head on her shoulder the way you always did on nights when the world was too loud, when nothing existed except the warmth of her skin and the sound of her heartbeat in your ear.
Ellie’s fingers tap against her thigh, restless, like she's having the same thoughts as you. Her gaze flicks from your profile to your hand clutching the lighter, back to your red, watery eyes.
Neither of you move. Neither of you say what you actually mean. But the silence between you is so heavy you can feel it pressing into your skin.
The street noise is sharper, impatient. And beside you, Ellie feels less like someone you’d conjured from memory and more like someone dragged out of a dream you aren’t nearly ready to have again.
“You’re quiet,” she says at last, almost conversational.
“Didn’t realize I was supposed to make this pleasant.” you reply, meaner than you intend, the mess of contradicting feelings creeping up in your head and tone.
“Wasn’t asking for pleasant,” she says, voice lower. “I just—look. You don’t have to worry. This… won’t tank your career.”
“Maybe not yours. But mine? It already is." The words slid under your skin and a bitter laugh slips out before you can stop it, resentment winning over love. "You already have prestige. This isn’t gonna ruin you the way it will ruin me.”
Her jaw tightens, a flicker of something crossing her face—impatience, maybe, or the crack of a dam she’d been holding for too long. All the feelings she's been bottling up for years.
When she spoke again, it was too fast, the kind of blow you throw before you can think about how deep it’ll land. There was no calculation, no measured cruelty, no clever timing. Just the snap of the first nerve.
“Worried they finally figured out who you really are?”
Your head snaps towards her.
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t think I haven’t seen the interviews.” Her shrug was a little too casual, the kind that masks anger. “You talk like it never happened. Like we never happened.”
Your pulse kicks. “Still obsessed? Thought your little model girlfriend would keep you busy.”
“That’s not your business,” she adds, edged like a warning.
“Oh, but mine is yours?” Your voice rises, the control you’d promised yourself you’d keep slipping. “Guess what, Ellie—my life, my career, the person I am now? None of it belongs to you anymore.”
She doesn’t wonder. “No. But I know what was real. And no red carpet, no magazine spread, and no little boyfriend will ever touch that.”
“You have no fucking idea of what your talking about. Don’t act like I’m the one who forgot.”
Ellie’s gaze snaps up to yours, as if she’d been waiting for the opening.
“I didn’t forget.” You almost tell her to stop, you almost turn around. But then her voice softens — just enough to make it worse. “It meant everything to me.”
Your throat aches, but you don’t answer.
“The only one who acts like it didn’t,” she added, voice breaking on the edges, her face coming closer to yours, “is you.”
“Fuck you,” you say, because anything else would have been too dangerous.
“Already did. Three million views, apparently.”
You blink once, hard, your eyes stinging at her careless words. “You’ve changed.”
“Yeah?” she shots back. “So have you.”
The words didn’t sound like hers—not the hers you remembered, not the one who used to look at you like you were the only thing worth being gentle for. No, these belonged to the Ellie who had been festering in the dark for years, feeding herself on resentment and restless nights, on half-truths and grainy interviews she’d watched through gritted teeth.
You step toward the door quickly, the cool metal handle biting your palm. “Congrats on the Emmy.”
“Thanks,” she said, the syllable too light, too casual for the weight between you. And then—like she’d been holding it in her cheek, letting it dissolve until it was sharp enough to cut—
“Congrats on your boyfriend. He’s now got a full-length tutorial on how to make you come.”
You froze. Your hand locked on the door handle, the metal digging into your palm, grounding you just enough for the rage to hit like an undertow. There was no time to think, no tidy arrangement of words to choose from—just the white-hot instinct to hurt back.
The slap landed before you even knew you’d moved. Skin against skin, the sound loud enough to startle you, the recoil of her cheek beneath your palm jarring through your arm.
Your own breath betrayed you, hitching hard. Heat flooded your face, anger burning so fast it left you dizzy. The tears were instant, cutting down your cheeks in thin, scalding lines.
“You don’t even realize how fucking horrible this is! You have your Emmy, your status, your own name, everything i don't!” Your voice cracked and rang in the air like a dropped glass. "My career, my life—everything I’ve worked for can be gone tomorrow, the entire world is watching us at our most vulnerable, and you’re here being petty? You’re still so fucking childish!”
She didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Just stared, wide-eyed, as if she was watching you from miles away—as if she’d been waiting years for you to finally hate her out loud. And then, slowly, as if it took her by surprise, her own eyes began to gloss over.
“You don't know me anymore,” you threw at her, voice unsteady under the weight of your own heartbeat. "And I sure as hell don't know you anymore!"
Something in her face broke at that. A faint wince. And then she moved—hesitant steps, like she expected you to vanish if she got too close. You barely registered her closing the gap before her arms were around you.
“Don’t—!” you shoved at her shoulders, the coarse cotton of her shirt rough under your palms. “What are you—let go—!”
“No.” Her voice was a raw, splintered thing. One hand cradled the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair like she was holding the only lifeline she’d been given. Her forehead dropped to your shoulder, and then she buckled—silent at first, her body trembling against yours, her breath wet and uneven as her tears bled into your shirt.
You stood rigid, every instinct screaming to keep the walls up. But then came the sound—her breath catching, low and guttural, pulled from a place you remembered too well—and your resolve faltered. Her thumb was tracing slow, desperate circles at the base of your skull, grounding you in a way that made your anger harder to keep hold of.
“I’m sorry—” her voice cracked so hard the word almost broke in two. “I didn’t mean it. I swear to God, I didn’t. I just—fuck—I can’t stand that I haven’t seen you in so long, and now you’re right here, and everything’s so different. I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at the years. At all the shit we didn’t get to say.”
You hated that you could feel it in your own chest—the truth in her voice, the wreckage she was trying to hand you like an offering. You hated that the scent of her—smoke and shampoo and the faint trace of the old cologne you’d once chosen for her—was enough to make your body lean in even as your mind screamed to pull away.
Her chest pressed to yours, her fingers tangled in your hair, her heartbeat thudding erratically against your ribs as if it trying to remember a rhythm you’d both forgotten. And somewhere between the silence and the breath, the fight stopped being about careers or status or your relationships or the mess you're both in. It stopped being about winning at all.
And you finally broke. The dam inside you cracked with an audible ache, and you were moving before you even realized—arms circling her, pulling her in, burying your face in the slope of her shoulder like it might be the only safe place left in the world. She stiffened for half a second, as if she couldn’t believe you’d surrendered, and then she was holding you back tighter, almost bruising, her body starving for the weight of you.
It hit you all at once: that feeling you hadn’t let yourself touch since the last time you saw her. You inhaled deep, greedy—her perfume, the faint salt of her skin, the heat radiating through her shirt—and it was surreal, almost frightening in how instantly it pulled you back to when she was yours. You weren’t sure if your body knew it was the present, or if it thought you’d slipped through some impossible tear in time. It felt surreal.
I missed you so much, you mumble into her shoulder, so quiet you aren’t sure if the words were even sound or just breath.
She doesn’t hear it, or maybe just convinced herself she imagined it.
You pull back only slightly after what feels like hours, just enough to breathe, but not enough to break the pull between you. The air feels thick here, in this fraction of space, a small, suspended world where nothing exists beyond the two of you. Your eyes lock, and for a moment it’s like staring into a mirror warped by time—everything familiar, but older, heavier, steeped in years of absence and things unsaid.
Then her gaze moves, subtle but devastating, slipping down for the briefest, dangerous second to your lips. The motion is so small you almost doubt it happened at all but the shift in the air is undeniable, charged.
You're close enough that she can count the lashes on your cheek when you blink. Her pupils are blown wide, and when her eyes flick back up to yours, it’s with the barely restrained force of someone standing on the edge of something they’re not sure they’re allowed to want.
And then the door flew open.
“Babe, are you okay? You gotta help us with—”
Rachel’s voice cut through the moment like glass shattering, sharp and jarring, slicing the air between you before either of you could make sense of what might have happened next.
You both flinched—an instinctive, almost physical recoil. The spell broke so violently it left you unsteady, the ground beneath you suddenly too real, too solid after the strange, suspended weightlessness of being close.
You stepped back first, a motion that felt like ripping velcro, every inch of separation tugging against the stubborn need for her touch. Your fingers rose automatically to your cheeks, brushing away the tear tracks with the kind of speed that comes from practice. You could feel her eyes on you, heavy and unblinking, the way they used to follow you through a room.
Not even five seconds later, you turn to Rachel, your sunglasses already halfway up your face. The hinge clicked softly as you slid them into place, and with them, the rest of you followed—a practiced composure snapping into place over exposed edges.
“Yeah,” you said, voice stripped of warmth, its cool steadiness a weapon and a shield in one. “Let’s go.”
You don’t look back at Ellie.
࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ OH MY GOD. WHAT A CHAPTER HUH. 15k words and these two little lesbians didn’t even speak to each other 😭 lord have mercy we are in for some serious yearning. sorry i’m a certified yapper and had to explain their entire tragic little backstories LMAOOOO but don’t worry… the drama is coming next chapter. and i mean DRAMA. love you all endlessly—thank you so, so much for reading 💌
𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓— @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andieprincessofpower @isabelckl @sunflowerwinds @coastalwilliams @thinkingabtellie @ssijht @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @sewithinsouls @beeisscaredofbees @d1catwhisperer @the-sick-habit @elliescoquettegirl @elliewilliams-wife @yueluv3rrrr @your-eternal-muse @ellies-real-wife @katherinesmirnova @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @thxtmarvelchick @natscloset @lesbiansreverywhere @satellitespinner @yunaversalluv @wwefan2002 @ilahrawr @harmonib @piastorys @azteriarizz @starincarnated @natssgf @ukissmyfaceinacrowdedroom @iadorefineshyt @claudiajacobs @urmomssideh0e @kingofeyeliner @womenlover0 @ferxanda @marscardigan @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @les4elliewilliams @elliewilliamskisser2000 @azxteria @elliecoochieeater @doodl3b3ans @savagestarlight28 ࿐
HELL MF YESSSSSSS.
1000 FOLLOWERS OMG GOOD MORNING???? MY JAW IS IN THE DEPTHS OF THE OCEAN RN. thank you all so so much for enjoying my writing, it means so much to me!! 😭😭💗💗💗
camgirl ellie won by a landslide AGAINNNNN. good grief
would yall believe me if i told you im a virgin.
♱ Good Girls Go To Heaven ━ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ♱
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘐𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶
˗ˏˋ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: atheist! Ellie Williams x religious! reader ˎˊ˗
˗ˏˋ 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Ellie Williams is the newest student at the Saint Benedetta Carlini Academy for her senior year, where she meets you, the class president. Although you two have your differences at the beginning, you'll find that love is the strongest force that has ever existed. Will what you two have be able to survive in a hostile environment that is constantly trying to convince you that what you're doing is wrong? ˎˊ˗
𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Fluff, Angst, academic rivals (for a little while), mentions of religion (catholism to be exact), toxic depiction of religion, ellie has abandonment issues, reader has religious trauma, mentions and exploration of the character's mental health, eventual smut (both characters are over 18!), alcohol consumption and weed use, homophobia both internalized and externalized, religion used as justification of homophobia.
𖹭.ᐟ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ━ 4.9 k
HYPE HER UPPPPPPPP THIS IS SO DAMN GOODDDDDDD. you’ve been talking about this for so long and now that it’s here im so happy—especially for you. SO EXCITINGGGGG!!!
hii my loves! what’s next!!
sub!boss ellie x dom!secretary reader
sub!professor ellie x dom!professor reader
camgirl ellie x pillow princess reader
˗ˏˋ 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 ˎˊ˗
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘐𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶
Good Girls Go To Heaven
𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: atheist! Ellie Williams x religious! reader
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Ellie Williams is the newest student at the Saint Benedetta Carlini Academy for her senior year, where she meets you, the class president. Although you two have your differences at the beginning, you'll find that love is the strongest force that has ever existed. Will what you two have be able to survive in a hostile environment that is constantly trying to convince you that what you're doing is wrong?
𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Fluff, Angst, academic rivals (for a little while), mentions of religion (catholism to be exact), toxic depiction of religion, ellie has abandonment issues, reader has religious trauma, mentions and exploration of the character's mental health, eventual smut (both characters are over 18!), alcohol consumption and weed use, homophobia both internalized and externalized, religion used as justification of homophobia.
Prologue drops Sunday 10/08/2025 at 7:00 pm Colombia time (UTC -5)
𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
This is my first time publishing a story here, and I'm so excited to share it. I've been planning to do this since May, and it has finally come to life. A big special thanks to my friends @valeisaslut who helped me proofread and motivated me to write this, @satellitespinner who helped me with the graphics and the dividers, and everyone who motivated me to keep writing!
Thank you, my loves, without you, this wouldn't have been possible ♡ ︎
I really hope you guys like it, and I'll see you in a few hours for the prologue!
IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU ANDIE BBYYYYY!!! IM DO EXCITED TO READ EHAT YOU MAKE! you’re seriously such a sweet and talented person, i just know this is gonna be so tea
sub camgirl ellie
݁₊ Cybersex ⟡ Ellie.exe ݁₊ .
warnings ೀ Sub!Ellie, Dom!Reader, reader is called ‘Angel’ a lot, Ellie receiving all, streamed sex, fingering (e & r recieving), strap usage, swearing, vibrator usage, pussy slapping, praise, degrading, finger sucking, edging, darcyphillia, overstimulation, squirting, probably more..
word count ೀ 6.7k
Ellie.exe.
Was it a file? A website? An app?
No, it was a username. A username that was spreading across the internet insanely fast. Tiktok comment sections targeted towards desperate, horny lesbians? It was there. Reddit on the /lesbians tag? Dominating. Tumblr? 69 hashtags in counting and were made in the span of a week.
This woman was a huge hit on the queer community, a newer camgirl that was spreading like wildfire in places she shouldn’t have been. Her popularity genuinely needed to be studied—maybe that’s what was so damn intriguing about her. The fact she managed to infect every social media platform, the fact she made straight girls realize being a little bit gay was possible. Or maybe it was her presence in general—it felt different from other camgirls
Her content lived on a website called ‘CelestialLive.com’—what a professional name for something so filthy.
Ellie wasn’t the only one on this website—no—there were hundreds of camgirls on here. She wasn’t even the only one who dominated the lesbian section. Despite her growing popularity, there was an unforgettable member who was practically a kickstarter to the whole damn website.
It was you—AngelMuse. Such a pretty name for such filthy acts. That’s what you were known for—you were the kink queen! Nobody knew your real name, you were just called Angel, or Muse, or baby, or slut—woah—let’s stop there! Anyways, you had been a camgirl on CelestialLive for around 3 years before Ellie came along.
You never once felt threatened by her insanely quick grow in popularity. Maybe because you knew she watched you.
The comments she’d leave in your chat when it was a little more quiet stood out the most to you, you knew she wanted you to see it. She’d say the most adorable things, you’d listen to her without even needing a donation. If she told you to go faster? You would. Something about her just reeled you in. Maybe you liked her attention the most.
More so when you saw her face for the first time. You knew she’d be big—she had the kind of features people could only wish for. But, oh..she was so, so attractive to you. That little eyebrow slit? Her freckles? Her green eyes? You were soaked seconds into her first stream. Maybe she knew that, she knew you were watching.
It wasn’t just her looks that made you so drawn to her—it was something else.
You inspired her to be a camgirl, and you knew that. The ego boost that gave you was fucking monstrous. Not so angelic of you to be stalking her streams like some creep, right?
Every subscriber she got, every comment you saw about her on another platform—it all fueled you so immensely.
Interacting with her and finding her wasn’t hard. That’s because Ellie wanted you to see her. She had been crushing on you so hard for so long—she needed this—she needed to be seen by you, needed you.
How you became a ‘thing’ was a mystery, it all happened so fast. It was built on 6 dates, sexing until 3am, late night visits, filthy comments on each other’s streams, and such a deep rooted obsession for each other that never seemed to quiet down. Though you didn’t really know what you were, a couple? Maybe. Hookups for fun and adrenaline? Also maybe. But you did know you loved her.
The best part is that nobody knew you were together. Watchers begged you two to collab, found crumbs of you interacting and fucking rode with it. Seeing the two biggest lesbian camgirls together would be earth shattering, it had to happen!
And they knew it was coming, because it was the anniversary of CelestialLive.com. You had a tradition, actually. Every year on the anniversary, you’d collab with another camgirl. Everybody knew it would be Ellie, she was the most popular! Those tumblr hashtags doubled, most taken down for promoting something so raunchy.
A website filled with dirty content for everybody? Who wouldn’t spread the word? Sane people for sure wouldn’t!
And then it came: the anniversary.
Other camgirls were streaming at the time, but people were only on there so they could wait. They were waiting for either you or Ellie to go live.
And you knew that, of course you did. And for a change, you didn’t stream it on your account. It was Ellie’s profile that lit up. It lit up like a sword found in a cave, like a flower that was prettier than the others—something special, something sacred.
When people clicked—they saw it. They saw you sitting on Ellie’s lap like it was a throne, that seductive smile plastered on your face—the one everyone loved. And then there was Ellie, she looked a bit nervous but there was definitely excitement there too. She was fidgeting with her fingers over your thigh, a gesture the chat was extremely fixated on.
You didn’t say anything at first, after all this was Ellie’s page. You’d let her have control for a little bit.
“Uh, hey. I guess you guys guessed right..” she mumbled, patting your thigh with a shaky hand. She never streamed with somebody else before, so the nerves were there. She wasn’t a ‘professional’ like you were. “Everyone welcome AngelMuse. Well, I’m sure you already know her but..” she trailed off, the corner of her lips upturned as her eyes darted between the camera and the bag on her floor.
She was proud. So fucking cute.
You didn’t look at her yet, eyes still glued to the camera like you were seeing the viewers directly. Your eyes darted towards the chat, reading the comments with a grin.
“Well aren’t you guys just so smart. Knew I was gonna collab with the newbie?” you questioned, watching the chat explode. You heard Ellie laugh behind you, a noise you grew familiar with over a short amount of time. It was always there, either in your brain or actually playing in your ears. To you, she was the most adorable person to ever exist.
“Well, lucky for you all.” you started, “me and Ellie have tons of special place for this anniversary.”
Heart emojis, cheers, gifts, all of it came through at once. The viewer count was rising by the second, something that seemed to fuel you. At this point..what didn’t fuel you?
Ellie could feel it. She tried to still the shakiness in her hands by gripping the plush of your thighs, but to no avail. “Angel is gonna explain what we will be doing. I gotta..mentally prepare.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, that familiar rush of excitement flowing through you. That feeling you had the first time you clicked on her streams, the first time you saw her under you—fuck.
A donation came through, booming through the monitor. “Awh, Ellie’s nervous. Fuck it out of her, Angel”
Starting off strong..wow!
You giggled, feeling Ellie’s body tense. Through the camera you could see that her cheeks had flushed a bit, but she was still smiling softly. “Man, is this how your chat always is? Watch it, this is my stream.” she joked.
With a hum, you looked at her directly instead of through the camera. “Sorry, baby. You’re gonna have to deal with it since I’m here. Shouldn’t you be used to filthy donations by now?”
Ellie looked down, the lack of eye contact was intriguing. “I’m used to them when I’m alone, not when they’re telling somebody else to fuck me.”
You side glanced the computer, the chat was getting quieter. Something you didn’t like.
Without further thought, you grabbed her jaw and pulled her head up a bit, making her look at you. “You have the most precious face when you cum, baby. No wonder you get such filthy messages.” Now the chat was blowing up again, donations stacking up like paperwork.
She gulped. You laughed.
Ellie tried to recover, lopsided smile peeking through. It was adorable how she didn’t even look at the camera—only you. “Then it’s no wonder people wanted to see us together. You’re such a people pleaser.”
A donation came through again: “Ellie, can you tell us AngelMuse’s real name?”
Ellie looked at the chat, struggling a bit due to the grip you had on her jaw. “I don’t know it. Sorry, sweetheart.”
Bullshit.
“Maybe my name is Angel.” you chimed in, turning Ellie’s face towards the camera while you squished her cheeks with one hand.
“Well you sure aren’t one.”
“Watch your attitude baby, you’ll be crying and squirting by the time I’m done with you.”
“That’s not very angelic.”
“I mean, you’ll be in heaven, soooo..close enough?” you smiled innocently, the sound of Ellie’s laugh driving you insane like always.
The viewers has enough of your bullshit, one person sending $10. “You guys would be a great couple, but can you start already? My pants have been off for like five minutes.”
You and Ellie both laughed at that, causing you to finally release her jaw. “If someone sends $50 I’ll start right now.”
Ellie looked at you like you were crazy, she never asked people to donate money in her streams. The differences between you two is what made your dynamic so interesting, she was addicted to it—and so were you.
But it worked regardless. Someone sent the money with a note that read: “Room for one more?”
You smiled, leaning down and grabbing a bag off the floor. “Sorry, baby—we’re booked. You can watch, though.”
Ellie let out a shallow breath when she saw the bag, she knew what was in it because she helped you come up with this dirty, sinful idea.
You cleared your throat, taking one item out of the bag: a vibrator. It was pink, the chat went wild since they had recognized it from your streams.
“We’re gonna play a game. Super fun, trust me!” you started, but then you stopped and turned to Ellie. “Wanna explain it, baby?”
Ellie looked at you, pupils slightly dilated. Oh, she was so in love. She smiled, still feeling nervous. “Yeah—yeah, of course.” and rubbed the back of her neck, looking at the camera. “Well, you guys get to control the settings on this thing. And more stuff later.”
The chat was extremely satisfied, cheering and sending emojis and cute reactions.
“You guys get to pick whatever we do—surprise.” she explained, her voice far too monotone but in a charming way.
“Pretty fun, huh? Well, gonna put you on my lap now.” you smiled, getting up from Ellie’s lap and swapping places with her. She plopped down on your lap, all cute and exposed to the camera. Though, she wasn’t nearly as exposed as she would be later.
You hummed and wrapped your arms around her, hands sliding up and down the front of her body. “Eyes on her.” you whispered, loud enough for the camera to pick up. You slid your hands down, toying with the hem of her shirt for a bit before slowly pulling it up.
The camera was used as a mirror, and for a way for you to look at Ellie’s adorable face. “Oh, look how cute.” you cooed, pulling her shirt up enough to show a teasing glimpse of her bra.
“You’re always such a tease.” Ellie scoffed, though she was smiling a little. You wanted to wipe that smile off her face so fucking bad.
And you would. Just like always.
“Good girls stay quiet, Ellie. Watch it.” you reprimanded, successfully pulling her shirt off and rubbing her nipple through her sports bra. She flinched a bit at the feeling, lip caught between her teeth. Her chest instinctively bumped towards your hands a bit, causing you to press harder on her nipples. A sigh left her throat, something she seemed to have been keeping in for awhile.
You continued toying with her, loving the slowness of everything right now. It was like the call before the storm—it made imagining the future of this night so much more fun.
The chat blew up, causing the smile on your face to grow a bit. “Well, sweethearts. Should I keep rubbing her through the bra, or take it off?”
The replies you got were nothing short of chaotic, scaling from begging you to take it off to begging you to keep playing with her. But they knew only a donation would matter. Soon enough, one came through. It read: “Take it off. I love seeing those little freckles on her chest.”
What a smart viewer! You couldn’t even put into words how much you adored the freckles scattered all over her body. They were cute on her face, but when they were on her body, it gave you more places to trace your fingers over.
So, you complied. Your grip on the bottom of her bra tightened, before you slowly pulled it up—revealing her tits once you got it off her head. A sigh left the both of you at the same time, perhaps for similar reasons.
You immediately smiled and looked at her through the camera, hands already palming her nipples. “So adorable. Doesn’t she have the cutest nipples?” you questioned, pinching the left one between your thumb and pointer finger.
Ellie let out a soft sigh, seemingly keeping her noises down a bit. But you didn’t like that, not at all. With more pressure, you pinched her nipple again—eliciting some sort of sound between a whimper and a gasp.
“Ughh..fuck.” she groaned, blinking a moment longer than she should’ve. You simply giggled, easing up your grip and simply rubbing them again. God, she looked so fucking cute like this. You wanted to ruin that semi-calm expression on her face so badly—make her cry and beg for you in front of all these people.
“I think it’s time I take care of you.” you said simply. You looked back into the camera with a smile, “she’s been so needy all day, just begging to be touched.”
Ellie scoffed out a laugh, probably to cover up the embarrassment she was so clearly displaying in front of all these people. “Don’t believe her. You know how she is.”
You raised an eyebrow, looking at her through the camera. The chat was exploding, already shipping the two of you. “Awh, am I that bad, baby?” you questioned, tone sarcastic and teasing. She loved when you talked to her like that, you had used it every time the two of you hooked up.
You didn’t give Ellie a change to respond, starting to gently slide your hands down her body in a way that made her shiver. There was a small pink tint hiding behind her cute little freckles, something the camera could barely pick up. Your hands reached the button of her jeans, your finger swirling around the button like it was her clit.
“Gonna take these jeans off if that’s okay with you, my loves.” you explained to the chat with that seductive voice of yours, eyes on her like she was prey. You unbuttoned Ellie’s jeans, burying your face into her neck as you pulled the zipper down. She let out a small sigh, eyes half lidded and lips threatening to part. She loved the feeling of your lips on her body, they were so soft but so heavenly.
Ellie lifted her hips up, helping you get her jeans off. She leaned into the sweet sensation blooming on her neck, eyes struggling to stay open.
Fuck, she needed this bad. So did you.
The rush from doing this in front of a group of viewers never got old, never faded. It was entertaining every single time—even if it was mainly just you.
The chat was blowing up, full of ideas you already had. They were telling you what position—even though you hadn’t even mentioned using a strap.
Then, a donation came through: “You should finger her first, you know, get her ready.”
Ellie opened her eyes at that, pupils dilated and her cheek caught between her teeth. She loved how your fingers felt inside her, though she’d never taken them on a livestream before.
“Sure thing!” you replied eagerly, biting back a laugh when you saw Ellie’s adorable face. You reached around with one hand and grabbed her cheeks, squishing them again. Your other hand slid down and cupped her pussy through the last layer she had.
“No sexy panties for me, baby?” you teased, a fake pout on your face.
“No..that’s more of your brand. Sorry to disappoint.” she joked, words heavy with something close to panting.
“No need, this is rich enough.” She was absolutely soaked, you let your finger slide up and down her clutch covered cunt. “So wet..take your boxers off, sweetheart. You gotta work for it a little bit.”
A small sigh left her, almost forming into a whimper. She was so desperate for any friction she could get—so to say she rushed to slide her boxers off was an understatement.
You moved both hands to her legs, pushing her knees almost up to her chest and spreading them for the viewers to see. The camera got a glimpse of her wet pussy, which made them to go absolutely feral.
Ellie looked at the camera with half lidded eyes once again, not too embarrassed since they’ve seen her body before. The look on her face is what captivated people, she always looked so serious and calm until she was spread open and desperate.
“You’re so good, Ellie. All wet and ready for me, hm?” you murmured into her ear, biting it softly just to feel her shiver. Your hand slid down to her pussy yet again, fingers finding her puffy clit and tracing gentle circles on it.
That’s all Ellie needed to moan. She let out a soft sound, breathing getting heavier. “Fuck..”
You looked into the camera, applying more pressure onto her clit and drawing little circles. You zeroed in on her pussy displayed for all the viewers, all wet and aching for you. The chat was losing it, commenting on how cute she looked on your lap, or how her expression looked so pathetic.
Ellie tried to reply to the compliments, thanking people with a weak voice.
You got off to that an unreal amount. The struggle and desperation in her voice made it hard to hold back. But, this stream had rules.
“Well, what should I do?”
“Use the strap!”
You didn’t like that answer. That was a con about these streams. “Lame, that’s for later. Come on, look how patient she’s being.” you may have been breaking the rules a bit but..you were in control here. Your game, your rules.
You took two fingers and made a ‘V’ shape over Ellie’s waiting pussy, spreading it a little for the camera to capture. “I mean..if you were in my position, what would you wanna do to this pussy?”
“I want your pussy, Angel.” Oh, for fucks sake.
You smiled anyways, “who doesn’t? Come on girls, play this game before I get bored.” somehow, everyone loved this cocky attitude you had. You were so full of yourself—people loved seeing you break.
But it was Ellie’s turn to break.
Finally, someone said something worth your time. “Put your fingers inside her.”
Your smile grew, along with that eager light in your eyes. “Yeah? How many?”
You looked at Ellie, she looked almost out of it. She bucked her hips up a bit, you stuck your middle finger near her hole and dragged the slick seeping out all over her cunt.
“Two fingers.”
You complied, almost immediately. “Two? Like this?“ you questioned, starting to slide two fingers inside her. You paused, pressing down on her entrance to have her all cute and squirming on your lap. Just from feeling the entrance—slick gathered on your fingers. She was sopping wet, wet and ready for you.
“Fuck—oh, fuck..” she groaned out, though it was more from neediness than feeling.
“Oh, I know. You’ve just been begging for it, huh?” you cooed, quickly sliding both digits deeper inside her throbbing pussy. You could feel the way she clenched around them, as if she was trying to keep them inside her forever. That was believable, especially with the way she was bucking her hips up.
You placed one hand on your hip, other hand still as your fingers warmed inside her. “Ah, ah. Nobody said you could do that. Want me to stop?”
Ellie didn’t respond—she just whimpered and avoided your gaze in the camera.
This left you unsatisfied, where’d this confidence come from? You liked it better when her eyebrows were knitted and her lips were tuning pretty little sounds into her ears. Your hand came down on her clit, not hard enough to hurt much—just as a warning.
“—Shit!” she cried out, jolting up and fucking herself deeper onto your fingers. She finally looked at you, eyes slightly widened and eyebrows pointed towards her cute freckles.
You grinned, patting her clit and looking at the camera again. “Guide me, cuties. Come on.”
They listened. “Go faster, and rub her clit too.”
Without saying anything, you did just that. That seemed to be a common theme for you.
Ellie sighed, maybe in relief or something else you didn’t care to name. You pumped your fingers in and out, loving the way she stretched to accommodate your fingers comfortably. Starting off with two was just downright mean, but she seemed satisfied.
“Ugh..please.” she moaned, a sound you drank like fucking wine. It took everything she had to not start grinding against your fingers—her motivation was the knowledge that you’d stop if she did that.
After a good minute of fucking her open with her fingers, you picked up the pace. Your other hand started rubbing her clit again, sending her eyes almost bobbing towards the back of her head. The pleasure she felt was unreal, she didn’t want it to stop—it couldn’t stop.
“O-oh, fuck..don’t stop. Please don’t stop, baby.” she practically whined, eyes on herself in the camera. Her cheeks were flushed, small beads of sweat gathering on her forehead from the tension and the pleasure.
The chat was going absolutely crazy, thirsting over this whole situation with the two of you. This was the most legendary collab in lesbian camgirl history. That wasn’t very long history, but it was important!
You looked at Ellie through the camera again, eyes halfway into a squint and your cheeks sore from smiling so much. It couldn’t be helped—it was all so perfect. It was just how you wanted.
Ellie looked at you—but not through the camera. She looked in your eyes, not the reflection of them she looked at for these people’s attention. She then tried to chase your lips. So fucking adorable.
You tutted, hand leaving her clit and grabbing her chin to stop her. She looked disappointed, moaning when you curled your fingers to keep her satisfied. “You’ve gotta ask, sweetheart. Ask them for permission, but not from me.”
Ellie blinked twice, you could physically see her try to register the information in her slightly foggy mind. She turned towards the camera, trying to clear her throat but her attempt being overwritten by a moan. “Can I..please kiss her?”
She saw one yes in the chat and ignored the no’s—then turned her head to you again. She immediately crashed her lips into yours, desperate to taste you and maybe muffle her moans a bit.
You giggled into the kiss, your hand finding her waist. The angle wasn’t the best for kissing, since the view was mainly blocked and her neck was strained—but neither of you cared. The kiss was messy, all tongue and panting. Your tongues swirled together, saliva catching on the edge of her lips. She let out weak nosied into your lips, tongue faltering when you’d curl your fingers again.
Eventually you broke the kiss, trailing kisses down her jawline. You pumped your fingers roughly, catching her by surprise and causing her to whimper louder than before. Your fingers found her clit again, and it felt even better than before. “Feeling good?” you questioned, earning a moan in response
Ellie was seeing stars, her stomach tightening and loosening. The wet sounds of her pussy being fucked open to your liking echoed back into your ear from the camera. The chat was going crazy, donations flooding in and telling you how hot you looked together. And it was true—you genuinely looked perfect together.
“A-angel..I’m gonna—“
A donation.
“No, wait. Edge her.”
Your lips curled up, fingers stopping their circles on her clit and your other digits sliding out of her. Ellie choked on a moan, jaw slack and breath caught—muscles still tight from all that build up with no release.
“Too bad, baby. Be a good girl and don’t whine, okay?” you cooed, brushing some hair out of her face so the camera could see her expression.
She looked incredible like that. Her eyes were all teary, breaths coming out heavy and short, eyes almost widened—she looked priceless. Her pussy fucking ached, she was so we she was sure it was inhuman.
“Oh, poor baby. Don’t worry, you’ll cum soon enough.”
Ellie didn’t complain about it—she knew it’d only make it worse. So, she did something else.
“Please, I-I just wanna cum. Please let me.” she said straight to the camera, the chat a mix of pity and excitement.
You patted her sensitive clit, pondering your options. “Okay, fine. You guys can pick the next thing we do—just..she gets to cum this time.” you explained, knowing you’d make so much more money if people saw her cum because of you on livestream.
There was silence for a moment, before a donation came through: “Go put the strap on—vibrator usage too? I don’t even know, I’m so freaked out right now.”
Your eyes practically sparkled. Ellie seemed to notice since she smiled a bit despite her devastated state. She was leaking all over the place like a fucking faucet, hole throbbing and aching.
“Well, hold on then.” you maneuvered Ellie off your lap, leaving the frame for a few seconds.
Ellie looked at the camera, pupils blown wide. “If i touch myself right now will you snitch?” she asked, trying to bite back a smile. The chat told her they’d keep her secret—probably just wanting to see her touch herself. So, she did. She slid her fingers in between her thighs, middle and ring finger finding her clit. Before she could even do anything, you were back.
“You’re so pathetic, baby.” you giggled, a pink strap now secured to your hips. You waved her out of the chair, sitting in your respected spot again. The chat went crazy over seeing you with a strap on—they’ve never seen you wearing one before.
“Holy fuck, me next.” a donation said, making you laugh and shake your head. And then, “I’m already bent and ready, Angel. I’ll send you my address.”
“You’re all so naughty, I told you I’m occupied.”
Ellie looked down at the strap, breath caught in her throat. She was itching for it, she needed to feel it inside her so fucking bad. She bit the inside of her lip and looked at you desperately.
You immediately caught on, looking at the camera. “Well, use your words for something useful.”
“Use the vibrator first.”
You smiled, grabbing her hips and backing her up a bit. Ellie hovered over the silicone dick, breath labored and pussy practically weeping. “No, baby. You have to wait.” you murmured, pushing her hips to sit down on her lap—the strap pressed against her back.
“Are you serious?” she complained, looking at the camera with almost a scowl. She wanted to be full so fucking bad—why were her fans so cruel? Maybe it was your fans. You had some pretty pervy fans for someone called ‘Angel.’ Somehow everything related to this website and you contradicted itself.
“Quit complaining and grab the vibrator. You act like I won’t satisfy you.” you practically scolded, though there was no bite to your tone. “Unless..you don’t want it.”
You could see Ellie’s face drop in the camera. Cute.
“N-no, no. I’m sorry—please..” she practically choked out, stumbling over her words just to get them out quicker. She reached for the pink vibrator wand on the desk, the same one you used.
You took it from her, waving it in front of the camera like it was a treasure. To them, it was.
“Pick a starting setting. I’m sure you all know it’s 1-10. Unless you’re new here.” you explained, tapping the item against Ellie’s thigh softly.
“Start with three.”
Without warning you pressed the wand up to Ellie’s puffy clit and set it to the third setting.
She immediately jolted, gasping and grabbing onto the edge of the chair. “G-god..this thing is good..”
You giggled, moving it softly over her clit. “Good? You’re on a pretty low setting, baby.” you teased, looking at the camera expectantly. You moved the vibrator in gentle circles around her clit, feeling her squirm in your lap. So badly you wanted to feel her pussy pulse, but you held back somehow. She was soaking the tip of the wand, and you proceeded to spread it all over her pussy.
You enjoyed how she looked a bit calm—the vibrations pleasing her almost just right. You loved the way you could feel the lust roll off her body in waves, or roll of her tongue when she moaned. It was beautiful, perfect for your taste. She squirmed softly, clit pressing harder against the toy.
Finally, A donation: “Maybe put it at 8”
Ellie’s eyes widened a bit, her face crumbling when you bumped it up to 8. Now she was really squirming, weak moans leaving her as she tried to stay seated and behaved in your lap.
Your eyes locked on hers in the camera, face mockingly pitying. “Oh, look at her squirm. She can’t even handle it.”
The vibrations being sent on her poor, aching clit were nothing short of brutal. Her legs shook and squirmed as she tried to keep them spread and up for the camera, eyes rolling back and jaw slack. The chat missed her pretty, green eyes—but they looked better this way. Rolled back and glazed over.
“T-too much..too much..-!” she tried to complain, as if her hips weren’t bucking against it. As if she wasn’t drooling, wasn’t making the most delicious sounds. A bit of her juices splattered when you moved the vibrator down too far, something that earned this stream countless donations and praises in the comments.
“You know you want it, sweetheart. Be a good girl and take it, mhm?” you cooed, looking at her expression through the camera. You looked over her shoulder, eyes locked on her pussy. It looked even better in person—so pretty, so wet. And it was all for you, you got to flaunt it in front of all these people.
“Angel..please—“ you cut her off, stuffing two fingers into her mouth. Her facial expression turned pleading, moans and cries trapped in her mouth in the cutest way possible.
“Well, come on. Want me to leave it at 8?” you asked, loving how Ellie looked when she was all weak and needy.
“Put it on 6, and let her finish.” a donation said, these people had the right idea!
You turned the settings down twice, vibrations still working her poor, tired clit. Ellie moaned around your fingers, sucking and swirling her tongue around them. You knew she was close by her actions: hips bucking faster, breath even more labored, and eyes squeezing shut. Your fingers almost fell out of her mouth from how much she was moaning.
“Yeah? Wanna cum that bad? Go ahead, you’ve been so patient.”
That’s all it took, and all that build up was so worth it. Ellie threw her head back, your fingers sliding out of her mouth, she whined out—incoherent and breathy. Her back arched a bit, sending her closer to the wand—closer to those brain shattering vibrations.
And when it was over and she was left panting? Overstimulation.
Ellie whimpered and squirmed, grabbing onto your arm weakly. “Baby—please..I can’t take it.” she complained, her fucked, tired pussy still taking it. “Please—too much, too much-!” her clit ached with sensitivity, each vibration making her sob.
You looked at the camera, hand unmoving besides to circle her clit with the vibrator. “Well? what should i do?” you asked, waiting for a donation.
This wait was torture for Ellie—she already started crying. Pretty tears streamed down her cheeks, over her cute little freckles. “You’re so precious when you cry, Els. So, so adorable.”
A donation finally came through, thank god. “Turn it off. We wanna see her ride you, Angel.”
You immediately turned it off, letting her crying pussy recover. The fingers that were previously in her mouth slid down to her wet cunt. You dragged them up and down the slick, gathering the stickiness between your fingers. You showed it off to the camera. “Look how wet I make her.” you bragged, sucking the wetness of your fingers.
The chat exploded, going feral in ways you didn’t even know were possible. That’s what made this all so fun—it was so unpredictable.
You patted Ellie’s shoulder, trying to check up on her. This situation was fun, but if she was too tired to continue then that was that. “You okay? Still wanna continue?” you whispered, quiet enough for only her to hear.
Ellie was still recovering, looking back at you with a soft look in her eyes. “Yeah, yeah of course. I’m good—I still wanna ride you.” she whispered back, trying not to laugh when she saw your eyes practically sparkle. She loved when you did that—you were so expressive and easy to read. Yet, you were hard to understand.
“Yeah? Wanna repeat that, sweetheart? Don’t be shy.” you giggled, looking at her expectantly.
Ellie laughed a bit, letting you wipe her tears. “I wanna ride you, baby. So fuckin’ bad, please?”
The sheer need in her tone. Fuck—you could’ve came on the spot. You quickly recovered, though, grabbing her hips to help her up. “Then ride me.”
Ellie stood up a bit, scooting back a bit and hovering over the silicone once again. This time, she knew she’d get it. She slowly sunk down, tip pushing past her entrance. A sigh left the both of you at the same time—for you, it was the view.
“That’s it, keep taking it.” you praised, grabbing her hips softly to help her out. She was further down now, going super slow to maybe spare herself for a bit.
It was no use.
“Hey, slam her down.”
You blinked a few times, then smiled again. Your grip on her hips tightened—allowing you to slam her down on your faux dick, sliding it deeper inside her.
Ellie immediately yelped, back arching like a cat. She scowled at the camera, breath caught. “Fuck yall. I was trying to make it slow and seductive.”
“Don’t lie, you just wanted me to spare your pussy for a few extra seconds.”
“Why would I wanna be spared?”
“Because you’re a baby who can barely take it rough. You’re always like this.”
Always like this? Fuck, slip up. “..You’re always like this on your streams—always struggling to take it even when you’re doing barely anything.”
Ellie tried not to laugh at you, raising her hips up and looking at you in the camera. “Right. Right, babe.” she eased back down, groaning as she felt the silicone stroke the walls of her pussy perfectly.
You held her hips, starting to bounce her a bit. Her tits bounced with her, something the chat seemed to like. You wanted to grab at them, so you let one hand go and reached for her perky nipples. They felt so soft and perfect in between your fingers, and she loved having them played with.
“Wanna make me proud, baby?” you questioned, voice low and seductive.
Ellie moaned and nodded, eyes half lidded as she rode you like it was a profession. “Yes, baby—fuck..t-tell me how..” she managed, pussy squelching with every little movement. It felt so unbelievably good, her thighs were shaking and the beads of sweat on her forehead grew. She was sucking the strap deep inside her cunt every time she bounced, one tit bouncing in your hand.
“Spell Angel. Do it now, fucking spell it while you ride me like that.” you ordered, gasping when she slammed her hips back down harshly. You could feel the friction of the strap rub against your puffy clit—pussy begging to be tended to. All of this made you so horny—but you were more focused on Ellie.
Ellie gasped, moving her hips like you said. She spelt it slowly—A, N, G, E,L. She said every letter under her breath as she spelt it, like she was letting your name take property inside her. Like she was trying to dig it out. Like she was reciting something she already knew—something she knew was hers.
“That’s a good girl.” you praised, moaning into her shoulder. The donations were quiet, everyone hyper-focused on what was happening. The scene was delicious—both of the top camgirls moaning as they pleased each other.
Ellie reached her hand behind herself, finding the hem of your pants and sliding her hand down. She passed your panties, fingers finding your sopping cunt. She immediately shoved two fingers in, making you moan into her shoulder—biting the skin softly.
She continued, fingers shaking as she bounced on the strap, pussy being fucked open in the most perfect way. She was sure nothing could feel better than this—it was ruining her with every moan.
Ellie’s fingers stayed inside you, just bumping your g-spot perfectly. When she hit it, you just bit down harder. She yelped, arching a little bit and changing the angle. The new angle absolutely broke her, she choked out a whine when the silicone hit that perfect spot inside her, greedily fucking herself on it over and over.
You smiled against her neck, finally looking up. “So greedy. Keep using it, baby.” you murmured, biting the inside of your lip, reading all the comments fussing over this moment.
Ellie’s breath started to get more labored—and so did yours. “F-fuck Els..are you close too?” you asked with a breathy voice.
She nodded, unable to form words. All that came out were weak little babbles and pleads. The pace was kept, donations flooding and begging you to cum so they could as well.
Ellie came first, hard. Her breath caught, jaw slack—and then, she squirted. It was quick, unpredicted, and sexy as hell. She let out the most pathetic noise, head falling forward as she whimpered and rode out her orgasm. Her pussy squeezed the strap, making it impossible to keep going.
When you saw her squirt—you finished right then and there. Your eyes rolled back, lips slightly parted as you moaned beautifully into the sex scented room. You soaked her fingers even more, pussy hugging them tightly as if she was milking them for something.
After that, you just panted. Stayed like that without even looking at the camera. Eventually you did, your pupils blown so wide you thought they’d pop. All you knew was that you wanted to get off this stream. You wanted to be alone with Ellie—needed it.
“T-thank you all for joining this stream. I hope this anniversary and stream was as special to you as it was to us.” you said, almost rushed.
The chat was confused, a lot of people also recovering from orgasms. Though, the girl on your lap was in the worst condition.
Ellie looked out of it, reading the chat but struggling to do so. “Love you guysss..fuckk..” she groaned, weakly reaching for the mouse and ending the stream.
Silence. Well, at least for a moment.
“Are you all good, babe?” you checked, placing your chin on her shoulder. “Sorry..I just felt like that was enough. I wanna be alone with you..”
You couldn’t believe you were being so stupidly sappy after all of that, but Ellie seemed to bring out traits and feelings you didn’t know you ever had. Especially when she looked all wrecked in your lap—you wanted to take care of her.
Ellie nodded, a weak smile on her face. “Yeah..that was crazy. But, super fun.”
“I think i deserve to get my pussy ate for this, babe.” you giggled, hands teasing her sensitive nipples.
“I’d be happy to eat you out, Angel.”
“Pfft, you don’t have to call me Angel now, we’re off stream.”
“You’re right, doesn’t suit you.”
“You’re such a brat!”
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