˗ˏˋ violet ˎˊ˗

19 ★

[dykebehaviour]

Are you a bottom? And if you’re not comfortable answering that, do you think it’s hard to be a bottom or submissive leaning in the queer community while you’re masc presenting?

i’m a switch but yeah i do think it can be hard to be a bottom or submissive leaning while you’re masc presenting, i think the stereotype that masc’s have to be tops & dominant is the reason behind that. more sub & bottom mascs rn!!!! 🗣️🗣️

[vvviolett]

posting our sex tape now who wanna see

[dykebehaviour]

what is it with masc lesbians having sexy big bum fem gfs???

hm never heard of that tbh

[dykebehaviour]

i got told off

my gf has a fat bum

[dykebehaviour]

you and your girlfriend are so cuteee 🥲🥲

dare i say tumblr couple of the year

AYYY TYTY @vvviolett

[vvviolett]

i vote tumblr and discord couple of the year

[dykebehaviour]

Do you have a gf or something?? Not asking you out btw just confused

yes! my gf is @vvviolett

[dykebehaviour]

i love my gf!!!!! @vvviolett

[splyshfysh]

Double Exposure 3

summary: things we'rent looking up for you and ellie... rocky, unsteady like a ship in a storm. but isn't it always like that? ellie never said anything, no, that's not who she is. it's what she doesn't say that breaks you the most.

cw: use of y/n, strong language, ooc ellie, modern au, rockstar!ellie, popstar!reader

wc: 3k

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of business.

Studio. Record songs. Text Lorelai to reschedule the dinner you were supposed to have five days ago. Go home. Order takeout. Pass out on the couch. Repeat.

It was like the second you signed with the label, your life started draining — slow and steady, like a cup with a hole in the bottom. Barely noticeable at first… but now, you were feeling it.

Not to say you weren’t over the moon about finally being signed — because you were. That wasn’t the problem.

It was the loss of a personal life.

The label had wormed its way into every crevice of your world.

Garret made sure your apartment looked like you were living the dream — evidence of the brand in every shot, just in case the press ever stopped by.

Sunset Records was on your walls. On your floor. On your counter.

Your bed.

Every. Fucking. Where.

You couldn’t escape that cursed logo anywhere.

Sunset Records haunted every surface of your life — except one.

The only real escape you had… was her.

You and Ellie met up every few days, mostly at her penthouse.

She’d show you a good time, sweet-talk you to sleep, and be gone before you woke up.

Her distance didn’t bother you. You’d figured it would be this way.

As long as she was still somehow in your life, you were satisfied.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“Els… are you scared?”

She looked over at you, suspicion flickering across her face.

“Of what?”

“Commitment.”

She sighed — not annoyed, not surprised — and turned toward you, taking your hand in hers. Her thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles across your palm.

“Why do you ask?”

You finally shifted to face her too, eyes searching hers for something — anything — that might give her away.

But she was unreadable. As always.

“You never stay,” you said quietly. “You always leave before I wake up.”

A breath.

“It’s kind of ironic, considering it’s your house.”

She didn’t say anything at first.

Just kept tracing those little circles on your palm like she was stalling. Like maybe if she kept moving, you wouldn’t notice how still the rest of her was.

Then finally—so soft you almost didn’t catch it—

“I don’t mean to.”

Your chest tightened.

“But you do,” you whispered.

Her eyes met yours, and for a second, something cracked in them. Not guilt exactly—Ellie never wore guilt like most people. More like… recognition. Like she knew she was hurting you and didn’t know how to stop.

Or didn’t want to stop enough to try.

“I don’t do the whole… staying overnight thing,” she said after a pause, trying to keep her tone light. “You know that.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She let go of your hand then—slowly. Gently. Like the release wouldn’t still feel like a rejection.

“Maybe I’m scared,” she said finally, voice low. “Maybe I’m not built for... all this.”

You exhaled, chest hollowing out.

“But you keep coming back.”

She gave a bitter smile. “So do you.”

You blinked. That stung more than it should have.

Her eyes flicked to your mouth like she was about to kiss you. Like maybe that would shut you up. Reset the night.

But you didn’t lean in this time.

You just sat there, watching her watching you, heart wide open and vulnerable in a way she refused to meet.

“I just want to know what this is,” you said. “If it’s something. Or if it’s just… temporary convenience.”

Ellie’s jaw tensed.

Then she stood.

Just like that.

Her back turned to you as she walked across the room, grabbed her hoodie off the chair, and tugged it on like armour.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

It was a lie. You knew it the second she said it.

But still—you nodded.

Because that’s what you always did.

When you got home, the silence hit like a punch to the ribs.

No music. No phone calls. No Ellie.

Just you, your aching chest, and the piano in the corner — the one Lorelai begged you to replace with something newer. Shinier. More brand-worthy.

You sat on the bench in your dress, heels still on, makeup smudged, heart buzzing like it had unfinished business.

Then your fingers moved.

Slow at first — just chords.

Soft, aching ones.

Minor keys and unspoken things.

Your voice cracked on the first verse, but you kept going. You had to.

The lyrics came out like a confession you weren’t brave enough to say to her face.

"You show up when I’m healing, leave when I need you most...

You kiss me like an answer, then vanish like a ghost."

It wasn’t a hit.

It wasn’t a single.

It was for you.

Just you.

When you finally stopped playing, your throat hurt. Your hands trembled.

You left the recorder running anyway.

Then you went to bed, fully clothed, barely breathing.

It had been a day since you’d seen her.

One full day of pretending not to care.

Of rehearsals and interviews and Lorelai trying to distract you with new beats and outfit pulls.

You were halfway through brushing your teeth when your apartment phone rang.

Landline.

The only people who called that number were your doorman and your label.

You froze. Spit into the sink.

Then picked up.

“Miss Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s an Ellie Williams here to see you.”

Silence.

You could’ve said no.

You should’ve said no.

Instead: “I’ll be right down.”

She was waiting by the front desk, hands in her pockets, hood up despite the heat, like she didn’t want to be seen.

But she still looked like her.

Unbothered. Dangerous. Yours.

You stepped into the lobby with your arms crossed tight, not saying a word.

Her eyes landed on you immediately.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“What do you want, Ellie?”

“To talk.”

You gestured vaguely at the air between you. “We’re talking.”

She shifted her weight. Looked tired. Or guilty. Maybe both.

“I don’t like when you write songs like that,” she said.

You blinked. “What songs?”

“The ones where I’m the villain.”

That made you laugh. Sharp. Ugly.

“Maybe stop being one.”

She winced. “That’s not fair.”

You stepped closer. “You think I’m being unfair?”

Ellie looked at you like she wanted to touch you, but didn’t know if she still had the right.

“I listened to it,” she said. “The one you wrote last night.”

You went still. “How?”

“You sent it to me.”

You swallowed. “So what?”

“So…” She hesitated. “It fucked me up a little.”

You stared at her.

She didn’t move. Didn’t try to make it better.

Just let the moment sit.

“I meant what I wrote,” you whispered.

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m here.”

You looked at her for a long time. Trying to decide what the hell that meant.

If it meant more. Or just more confusion.

Finally:

“You’re not coming up.”

Ellie didn’t flinch. She just nodded. Accepted it.

“Can I call you tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.”

Another pause.

Then she turned to go.

And for the first time in a long time… you let her leave without chasing her.

Your name was on the flyer.

Your photo in the venue window.

The RSVP list had maxed out within 12 hours, and Lorelai swore half of them were industry people, the other half were fans who just “knew you were the next big thing.”

But all you could think about was the demo song.

The one you were about to perform for the first time.

The one no one had ever heard live.

The one about her.

You were backstage, pacing like a feral cat, hands shaking no matter how many times you rubbed them on your jeans.

Lorelai sat on the couch nearby, scrolling through her phone, double-checking that her post about the setlist had gone up.

“You good?” she asked without looking up.

You didn’t answer right away. Just stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself like maybe if you looked long enough, you’d turn into someone braver.

Lorelai glanced up. Her smile softened.

“Hey,” she said, standing and walking over. “You’ve got this.”

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up,” you muttered, half-laughing.

“You won’t,” she said confidently. “And even if you do, I’ll spin it as some deep Gen Z performance art shit.”

You snorted. She grinned.

“Seriously,” she continued, more gently now. “This is your night, babe. Your song, your story. Nobody’s taking this from you.”

You blinked back something sharp behind your eyes. Nodded once.

“Thanks, Lor.”

“Always.”

She pulled you in for a quick hug and squeezed your shoulders before stepping back.

“Ten minutes,” a stagehand called from the hallway.

Lorelai leaned in, grinning.

“Go make them obsessed with you.”

The lights were blinding.

The crowd noise washed over you like a wave — cheers, whistles, phones held up like tiny stars.

But when the opening chords hit… the room quieted.

You stepped up to the mic.

Took a breath.

And sang.

“You haunt the halls of every song I write...”

It was like bleeding in front of a room full of strangers.

But it felt right.

The lyrics poured out like they always had — honest, raw, too specific to be fake.

Halfway through the second verse, you scanned the crowd — out of instinct more than anything.

And that’s when you saw her.

Back of the venue. Hood down.

Eyes locked on you like you were the only person on stage.

Ellie.

You didn’t miss a beat.

You didn’t stop singing.

But your voice trembled — just a little — on the next line.

She was everywhere.

In your lungs. Your lyrics. Your goddamn career.

And of course, she was here now.

You hit the last note of the song — the one that started everything — and the crowd erupted.

But all you could think about was the fact that she was here.

Ellie.

Still standing in the back, face unreadable, arms crossed over her chest like she belonged in the crowd. Like she had a right to hear those words live.

You didn’t let yourself look at her again. Not directly.

Instead, you smiled for the fans, gave a breathless thank you into the mic, and stepped back as the band transitioned into the next song. One of the newer ones — upbeat, catchy, written for the streaming algorithm more than the soul.

You went through the motions. You danced. Hit your marks. Hit every note.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Not fully.

And Lorelai saw it.

From her spot just off-stage, arms folded, headset around her neck — she saw how your eyes didn’t light up the way they usually did. How your energy dropped the second the lights dimmed after that first song.

She saw how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

She watched you power through three more songs, each one more flawless than the last — and yet… You looked like you were singing from underwater.

By the time you hit the final chorus of your closer, the crowd was screaming your name.

But Lorelai wasn’t looking at them.

She was looking at you.

The second you stepped off stage, your legs went weak.

Adrenaline was still crashing through your bloodstream like a freight train, but your chest was tight. Too tight. Like someone had wound piano wire around your ribs.

You pushed past the tech crew with a mumbled "thanks," and ducked into the green room. Lorelai was already there, bouncing on her toes, phone in hand.

“Holy shit, Y/N—you fucking did that. They’re losing their minds out there. Twitter’s already lighting up. I mean, Jesus—did you see their faces during the second chorus? You wrecked them. In a good way. In, like, a ‘your career is about to skyrocket’ kind of way—”

You dropped onto the worn-out couch, elbows on your knees, and pressed your palms to your eyes.

“You okay?” Lorelai asked, voice dipping just enough to cut through the buzz.

You didn’t answer.

Not right away.

Not until you could breathe again.

“She was here,” you said quietly.

Lorelai blinked. “Who?”

You lifted your head slowly.

Met her eyes.

Didn’t say it.

Didn’t have to.

Her whole face shifted.

The joy, the hype—it dropped in an instant. Replaced by something sharper. Protective. Knowing.

“Ellie?”

You nodded.

“She watched the whole thing.”

Silence.

Lorelai sat down beside you, not saying anything for a moment. Just letting it sit.

“How long has this been going on?” she asked softly.

You swallowed. “Since before the deal. Since the club. Since before I even—fuck, since forever.”

Another pause. Then—

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged, voice raw. “Because it’s nothing. And everything. And I knew if I said it out loud, you’d remind me what I already know.”

“Which is?”

“That she doesn’t stay.”

Lorelai’s jaw clenched. Not in judgment. In pain. For you.

“I hate that you’re okay with scraps,” she said quietly.

“I’m not,” you whispered. “Not really. But it’s what I get. It’s all she gives.”

Lorelai leaned back, dragging a hand through her hair.

“You can’t keep writing songs that tear you open and then go home alone with her name still ringing in your ears. That’s not love. That’s a leash.”

That hit harder than you expected.

Your throat burned. But you nodded.

“I know.”

She looked at you like she wanted to shake you. Or hug you. Or both.

“You’re going to be huge, Y/N. You already are. Don't let her drag that down. Not again.”

You looked down at your hands.

“She always shows up,” you murmured. “No matter how far I get. She places herself into my life like a queen on a chess board”

“Then maybe next time,” Lorelai said, standing, her voice steady, “you don’t let her back.”

------------------

{flashback in Ellie’s POV}

She stepped up to the mic, swallowed the lump in her throat, and pretended it was adrenaline.

The lights were fucking blinding.

The cheers thundered through her bones.

She could feel the subwoofers in her spine, the sweat beading at the back of her neck.

The crowd was packed wall to wall — sold out, apparently — screaming her name like they knew her.

Like she hadn’t written this entire album about someone who wasn’t even here.

She adjusted the guitar strap across her shoulder. It was the same guitar you gave her on your last birthday together.

The same one she swore she’d never use for “just any song.”

But tonight? Every goddamn chord was yours.

The lights dimmed just enough for her to see the sea of phones pointed at her. Recording. Capturing.

Making something permanent.

She cleared her throat.

“This first one’s... kind of where it all started.”

She didn’t say your name. She never did.

But the lyrics were a dead giveaway for anyone who used to know her.

The intro chords rang out. Familiar. Sharp.

“You had a laugh like summer lightning—burned fast, left echoes in my chest...”

The crowd sang it back to her.

It should’ve felt electric. Addictive.

It just felt… wrong.

You should’ve been in the front row.

Not literally — you hated crowds, you always said that — but you should’ve been somewhere.

Side-stage. Backstage.

In her life.

Instead, all Ellie could think about as she sang each line was the voicemail you left the night you finally stopped replying.

“I can’t keep being a ghost in your songs, Ellie.”

You were wrong about that.

You still were.

Because you weren’t a ghost. You were every goddamn line.

By the second verse, her voice cracked. Not enough to throw her off — she was too professional for that now — but enough to remind her body that this wasn’t just performance. This was a confession.

“You kissed me like a promise, then left like a warning—”

The crowd screamed that line louder than any other.

She remembered writing it on the floor of her bathroom.

Back when losing you still felt fresh.

Back when she thought putting the pain into lyrics might help her survive it.

Now here she was, selling it to a crowd of strangers.

She forced herself through the next few songs.

The one about the night you almost ran away together.

The one about the first time she called you baby — too soon, too scared, but too in love not to.

The one that didn’t have a chorus because she never finished it with you.

Each time, the crowd yelled louder. Each time she smiled for them.

But inside?

She was bleeding on cue.

At the bridge of track five — the most brutal one — she closed her eyes.

“You still exist between my teeth, in every note I fail to sing...”

You told her once that you hated bridges like that. Too poetic. Too on-the-nose.

You said people didn’t want metaphors. They wanted the truth.

But Ellie only knew how to write about you sideways.

Because if she was too direct, she might actually fall apart on stage.

And tonight wasn’t about falling apart.

It was about arriving.

Or at least, that’s what the label said.

The set went on. Song after song.

The faster ones felt like panic.

The slower ones felt like missing you in HD.

And when she got to the final track—the one she almost cut from the album because it was too raw, too vulnerable—she didn’t even bother looking at the crowd.

She looked up at the lights.

At the rafters.

Anywhere you might be, if ghosts were real.

“This one’s the last thing I ever wrote about her,” she told them.

“If she’s out there… I hope she knows.”

She didn’t say it into the mic. Just out loud.

For herself.

And maybe, stupidly, for you.

Then she played.

Fingers trembling. Voice steady.

“You never left my bloodstream—just changed what I ran on...”

The song ended in silence.

Then the applause hit her like a wave.

She smiled for the crowd. Bowed.

Said thank you like a singer should.

But in the back of her throat, in the corners of her chest,

all she could think was:

You should’ve been here.

But she was the reason you weren’t.

---------------

A/N: holy shit. i honestly feel like im living through this fic and im the one who wrote it... am i glazing myself? most definitely. who cares though? anyway, i hope yall like this, please let me know if any inconsistency in the story, or if anything touches your heart. i'd love to hear feedback

[vvviolett]

hi i wuv u baba 🥺🥺🥺

gtfo my phone

i wuv u too

[vvviolett]

lying about ur age isn’t cool btw ur not 18 unc

shhhhhh i don’t want pred allegations for dating an 18 year old 🤫🤫

[dykebehaviour]

haiiii can i request ellie making reader hold their pee the while she fingers them :)

the weight of obedience

summary: ellie knows exactly how to push your limits, and tonight, it involves a full bladder and her talented fingers.

cw: dom!ellie, sub!reader, praise kink, denial, fingering (r!receiving) piss kink.

the need had been a dull throb at first, a quiet, insistent whisper that you’d tried to ignore.

you’d been curled up on the couch, watching some terrible reality tv show, when ellie had leaned over and pressed a cool glass of water into your hand.

you’d drunk it without thinking, and then another, and now the whisper had become a demanding shout, a heavy, aching pressure low in your belly.

you shifted, trying to subtly cross your legs, but ellie’s eyes, sharp and knowing, caught the movement instantly.

she paused the show, the sudden silence amplifying the frantic drumming of your heart.

“where do you think you’re going, baby?” her voice was low, a velvet rasp that always made your skin prickle with anticipation and dread.

“i… i just need to use the bathroom, ellie,” you mumbled, the words tasting dry and weak.

she didn’t move from her spot, just watched you with a slow, predatory smile. “oh, you do, do you? that’s a shame. i was just starting to get an idea.”

she finally moved, sliding off the couch and kneeling between your spread legs.

the sight of her there, so close, so dominant, made the muscles in your core clench involuntarily, a desperate attempt to hold back the rising tide.

“you’re full, aren’t you?” she asked, her tone conversational, yet laced with a dangerous authority.

she didn’t wait for an answer. her hand, warm and calloused, cupped the heavy mound of your lower abdomen, pressing just enough to send a jolt of panic and a fresh wave of need through you.

you let out a small, involuntary whimper. “ellie, please. i really have to go.”

“i know you do,” she murmured, her thumb tracing the line of your hipbone. “and that’s exactly why you’re going to stay right here.”

her fingers, two of them, cool and slick from a quick swipe of saliva, found their way past the damp lace of your underwear.

the sudden, invasive pleasure was a shock, a brilliant flash of heat that momentarily eclipsed the dull ache of your bladder.

“you’re so wet for me already,” she praised, her voice a low hum against your thigh. she began to move, slow and deliberate, pressing against your g-spot with a rhythmic, teasing pressure.

the pleasure was immediate and overwhelming, but it was inextricably linked to the growing panic.

every thrust, every rotation of her wrist, sent a tremor through your body that threatened to break your control.

the muscles you were trying to keep tight were now fighting a war on two fronts: the exquisite, demanding pleasure from her fingers, and the urgent, physical need to release the pressure building inside you.

“good girl,” she whispered, leaning in to brush her lips against your ear. “i want you to focus on me. don’t you dare let go. not until i say so.”

the praise, the command, the sheer audacity of her control, was intoxicating. you squeezed your eyes shut, a silent plea escaping your lips as she found a new angle, a deeper, more insistent rhythm.

the pressure in your bladder was now a searing, almost painful distraction, a constant reminder of your vulnerability.

you could feel the slight, involuntary spasms, the tiny leaks that you desperately tried to clamp down on.

“tell me what you need, baby,” she demanded, her fingers never faltering.

“i… i need you to stop,” you gasped, but the lie was thin and weak. what you really needed was for her to push you past this edge, to break you completely.

“wrong answer,” she chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound.

she sped up, her movements becoming frantic, demanding. the world narrowed down to the two conflicting sensations: the blinding, spiralling pleasure, and the agonizing, desperate need to empty yourself.

you were shaking now, your hips bucking against her hand, a low, guttural moan trapped in your throat.

“you’re so close,” she breathed, her eyes locked on yours, watching the struggle, the surrender. “you can hold it. you’re so strong for me. don’t you want to earn this, baby? don’t you want to be a good girl?”

the words were the final key. the combination of the praise and the denial was too much.

a final, powerful thrust from her fingers sent you over the edge.

your body convulsed, a wave of pure, white-hot pleasure washing over you, your hips arching high as you cried out her name.

the sexual release was a momentary reprieve, a beautiful, shattering distraction. but the pressure remained, a heavy, throbbing weight.

ellie pulled her fingers out, leaving you slick and trembling, and finally, mercifully, she smiled.

“now,” she said, her voice soft, but still commanding. “you can go.”

you didn’t need to be told twice. you scrambled off the couch, your legs unsteady, the immediate, frantic rush to the bathroom the only thing on your mind.

the sound of her satisfied, low laugh followed you down the hall. she always won. and god, did it feel good to lose.

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[dykebehaviour]

soft moments with wife!ellie ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

the water was almost scalding, just the way you both liked it, filling the small bathroom with a thick, comforting steam.

you leaned your head back against the cool, tiled wall of the shower, letting the hot spray beat down on your face for a moment before ellie’s warm hands found your hair.

her fingers, strong yet gentle, began to work the fragrant shampoo into your scalp, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

“mm, that’s the spot,” you hummed, your eyes fluttering closed in pure bliss.

the rhythmic massage of her thumbs at your temples was enough to melt away the last vestiges of the day’s stress.

you could feel her smile against your wet shoulder as she leaned in closer.

“you’re so dramatic,” she chuckled, her voice a low, rumbling melody that vibrated through you. “but you have so much hair, it’s a workout.”

you reached back, your hands finding the soft skin of her waist, pulling her flush against your back.

her chin rested on your shoulder, and you could feel the soft brush of her wet hair against your cheek.

“it’s a labour of love, isn’t it?” you teased, tilting your head slightly to nuzzle her jaw. “and besides, you love my dramatic sighs.”

“i do,” she admitted, her lips brushing your ear. “i love all your dramatic sighs. now, hold still, i’m rinsing.”

the water intensified, sluicing the suds from your hair, running down your back in warm rivulets.

you closed your eyes again, savoring the simple, profound intimacy of the moment.

it was a ritual, this shared shower, a quiet understanding that spoke volumes without a single word.

when it was her turn, you took the shampoo, carefully working it through her thick, auburn strands.

her head tilted back, eyes closed, a mirror image of your earlier contentment. “don’t fall asleep on me now,” you whispered, gently scrubbing behind her ears.

“never,” she mumbled, a soft smile playing on her lips. “too busy enjoying my personal hair stylist.”

“only for you, my love,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss to her wet forehead as you rinsed her hair, feeling the silky weight of it in your hands.

these were the moments you cherished, the quiet, tender exchanges that wove the fabric of your life together.

the soft, crackling melody of an old jazz record filled your living room, a warm, nostalgic sound that ellie had unearthed from a dusty crate at a local thrift store.

she stood by the record player, swaying slightly, a contented smile on her face.

then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she turned to you, extending a hand.

“come on, sleepyhead,” she said, her voice a playful coax. “dance with me.”

you laughed, setting aside the book you were pretending to read. “you know i can’t dance, ellie. i have two left feet.”

“nonsense,” she countered, already pulling you gently from the couch. “you just haven’t found the right partner. besides, it’s just us. no one’s watching.”

she pulled you into her arms, her hands settling comfortably at your waist.

you wrapped your arms around her neck, resting your head on her shoulder, feeling the steady beat of her heart against your ear.

you swayed clumsily to the music, occasionally stepping on her toes. “ow! my poor feet,” she’d exclaim dramatically, but her laughter quickly followed. “you’re a menace, you know that?”

“only for you,” you murmured, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of her, a mix of her favorite soap and something uniquely ellie.

the city lights twinkled outside your window, a distant, glittering backdrop to your own private ballroom.

you hummed along to the saxophone solo, feeling completely at peace in her embrace.

“this is nice,” ellie whispered, her voice soft, her cheek resting against your hair. “just us. no deadlines, no emergencies, no chaos.”

you chuckled, tightening your hold. “just us. and this ridiculously romantic music.”

“the best kind of ridiculous,” she agreed, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

you continued to sway, lost in the music and each other, until the record spun to a silent halt, leaving only the quiet hum of the city and the gentle rhythm of your breaths.

the next morning dawned with a familiar, comfortable chaos.

you and ellie stood side-by-side at the bathroom sink, the fluorescent light casting a soft glow on your sleepy faces.

you were both brushing your teeth, the rhythmic scrub-scrub-scrub filling the silence.

without warning, you nudged her hip with yours, a playful challenge.

ellie, mid-brush, paused, a grin spreading across her face, toothpaste foam clinging to her lips.

“oh, it’s on,” she mumbled around her toothbrush. she bumped you back, a little harder this time, sending you stumbling slightly.

“hey!” you protested, laughing, and retaliated with a more forceful bump.

soon, the quiet morning routine had devolved into a full-on hip-bumping war, punctuated by muffled giggles and the occasional splash of water.

you both had to spit out your toothpaste, laughing so hard your stomachs ached.

ellie leaned over, her eyes sparkling with mirth, and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, leaving a small, white smear of toothpaste behind.

“you’re such a dork,” she said, her voice thick with affection.

“takes one to know one, loser,” you retorted, wiping the toothpaste from your face with the back of your hand. “now, finish brushing, or we’ll be late.”

“yes, ma’am,” she saluted playfully, and you both resumed your brushing, a comfortable silence settling between you once more, broken only by the occasional shared smile in the mirror.

the soft glow of the bedside lamp was the only light in the room when you felt the familiar dip in the mattress.

you were already half-asleep, drifting in that hazy space between dreams and wakefulness, when ellie slipped into bed beside you.

she was still cool from the night air, but her warmth quickly radiated as her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you gently against her back.

she nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck, her breath warm against your skin.

you felt the soft brush of her lips as she trailed a line of tender kisses up to your ear.

“sorry i’m so late, love,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and exhaustion. “they needed me to stay for a bit longer in work.”

you stirred, a soft hum escaping your lips, and reached back to intertwine your fingers with hers. “it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice raspy with sleep. “i’m just glad you’re home.”

she tightened her hold, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin behind your ear.

“missed you,” she sighed, her body relaxing against yours. you could feel the tension slowly draining from her as she settled in.

you turned slightly in her embrace, nestling deeper into her warmth, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing.

“i missed you too,” you whispered back, your eyes already closing again.

the scent of her, a comforting mix of her work clothes and her own unique fragrance, enveloped you.

you drifted back to sleep, safe and secure in her arms, knowing that even after a long, difficult day, coming home to you was her solace.

the pillow fight started, as most of your domestic skirmishes did, with a single, well-aimed pillow to the back of your head.

you had been meticulously smoothing out the duvet, trying to make the bed look presentable, when ellie, ever the instigator, saw her opportunity.

the soft thud and puff of feathers made you gasp, spinning around with a look of mock outrage on your face.

ellie stood at the foot of the bed, a mischievous grin plastered across her face, her weapon, a fluffy decorative pillow, still clutched in her hand.

“oh, you are so on,” you declared, grabbing your own pillow from the head of the bed.

the battle was officially joined. you lunged, swinging your pillow in a wide arc, catching her squarely on the shoulder.

she let out a surprised yelp, stumbling back onto the bed, dissolving into laughter.

“no mercy!” she cried, scrambling to her feet and launching a counter-attack.

feathers flew through the air like soft snow as you chased each other around the bedroom, dodging and weaving, your laughter mixing with the soft thuds of the pillows.

you finally managed to corner her by the dresser, pinning her with a barrage of soft blows.

she collapsed onto the bed, breathless and disheveled, her hair a wild mess around her face.

you hovered over her, a triumphant grin on your face, your own pillow held aloft.

“surrender?” you panted, your chest heaving from the exertion and laughter.

“never!” she gasped, but her eyes were sparkling with mirth.

she reached up, pulling you down onto the bed with surprising strength, your pillow falling harmlessly to the side. you landed on top of her, your faces inches apart.

you were both breathless, flushed, and utterly undone.

you looked at her, her cheeks rosy, her lips parted in a wide, joyful smile, and you thought she had never looked more beautiful.

you leaned down, slowly, and kissed her, the taste of victory, and something much sweeter, on your lips.

her arms wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until the last remnants of the pillow fight were forgotten, replaced by the soft sighs of contentment.

late one evening, the soft glow of your phone screen illuminated your face as you scrolled idly through social media, half-listening to the distant murmur of the tv from the living room where ellie was supposedly ‘reading’.

the bed was warm and comfortable, and you were just about to drift off when a sudden weight pressed down on you.

“what are you doing?” ellie’s voice, muffled and playful, came from somewhere near your ear.

before you could answer, a flurry of soft, insistent kisses began to pepper your face – your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, even your eyelids. each kiss was accompanied by a soft ‘mwah’ sound.

“ellie! stop it!” you giggled, trying to shield your face with your hands, but she was relentless.

her hair tickled your skin, and her lips were warm and soft against your protests. you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest.

“you’re ignoring me,” she accused playfully between kisses, her breath warm on your skin. “my beautiful wife, glued to that little screen, when i’m right here, neglected.”

“i wasn’t ignoring you, i was just… winding down,” you managed to say, still laughing, as she finally paused, hovering over you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

you reached up, cupping her face in your hands.

“you’re ridiculous,” you whispered, pulling her down for a proper kiss, one that was slow and sweet, a stark contrast to her earlier attack.

she hummed contentedly against your lips, her arms wrapping around you, pulling you close.

“only for you,” she murmured, pulling back just enough to rest her forehead against yours.

“now, put the phone away. it’s cuddle time.” you nodded, a soft smile on your face, and tossed your phone onto the bedside table, happy to trade the digital world for the warmth of her embrace.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ perm taglist: @yasmilks , @frosttbitten , @lovemiraamira , @ellies-real-wife , @wewerewildandfluorescent , @jullsii , @eyesttokill , @dmenby3100 , @bunchogravie , @oneinameliann , @intheshadowofthestars , @pariiissssssss , @musiclovingdyke , @madsxh1022 , @rbnvrnxoxo , @firefly-ace , @alyaserrax , @silly-pigeon69 , @glassofgreenteapls , @serpentskrtt , @m0th3rcal , @sincerelyherz , @0phantom0 , @ggutpunch , @leeidk87 , @mikellie , @celiacallsitcasual , @gurlbownerr , @l0veylace , @bluminescent-moon , @oatmatchalatte , @hitmehardmommy , @iadorefineshyt , @jksevendays , @liztreez , @clemrules , @yourl0caltrash , @rootytootymeow , @thebadwritersposts , @vanillacigarettes777 , @soltwent , @allisonsivy , @lesbian-useless , @lovewitchss , @abigail-andersons-wife , @valeisaslut , @ssijht , @meow4510 , @vixenkii , @modernvenuss ,@pryncess123 , @frey-williams , @hxneybugsworld , @iloveclairo2016 , @shadowybasementmiracle , @nutmegsnorter , @improbablynotpoppy , @simpingonwinonaryder , @e-l-l-i-e-w—p-a-i-g-e-b5 , @elliewilliamkisser2000 , @newjupiter , @willowlovestheweasleys , @tr0928 , @caitvisthirdmember , @honeyylovee , @idek4bands , @andreaaaxoxo , @mymy2o1 , @ur-local-astronaut , @laiim , @like-a-dirty-french-novel , @pearlescent0o , @icong-nizo , @girlsatourbest , @0ngeeked , @celinealways , @kikispool , @hyperbabes , @hauntedclaudio , @shakeyodreadsshakeyodreads , @roseegallagher , @ferretthegremlin , @smellslike-updyke , @nikaaaaaapple , @lynn5783 , @nahuyul <3

[dykebehaviour]

car sex with ellie.

you don’t even remember what she said that made you laugh, but your hand’s still on her thigh when the smile drops from her lips and her eyes flick to yours, sharp, focused, dangerous.

“sit back,” she says. and you do.

the way she throws the car into park like it’s second nature, like she’s done this before, shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

she turns to face you fully, elbow resting on the back of your seat, fingers tracing the line of your jaw like she’s deciding what to do with you.

“been driving me crazy all night,” she murmurs, eyes on your lips. “you’re lucky i pulled over.”

you open your mouth to say something smart, but she’s already leaning in, already kissing you like she’s making up for lost time. it’s messy. needy. her teeth catch your bottom lip, her tongue parts your mouth, and you moan - soft, instinctive - into her.

she smiles against your lips. “there she is.”

you don’t even realize your hips are moving until she groans and presses her thigh up between them. the friction makes your breath hitch. you chase it - grind down again, desperate for more. she watches you, hooded eyes, lips wet from the kiss, hands firm on your waist like she owns you.

“this what you needed, baby?” she whispers, hot against your ear. “my thigh between those pretty legs while we fog up the whole fuckin’ car?”

you nod, too breathless to speak and that’s enough for her.

her hands slide under your hoodie, greedy and rough, thumbs brushing over bare skin like she knows exactly where you’re softest. one hand comes up to cup your chest through your bra, and she mutters a low, “fuck,” like she wasn’t expecting you to feel that good.

you’re moving against her thigh faster now, gasping with every shift of pressure. the car’s rocking slightly. the windows are completely fogged up. the overhead light flickers when your head hits the roof.

“look at you,” ellie grins, breath ragged. “grinding on me like a fuckin’ mess.”

her mouth is everywhere; jaw, neck, collarbone, biting and sucking marks into your skin like she wants everyone to know exactly where you’ve been.

your hands scramble at her hoodie, desperate to feel more, but she grabs your wrists and pins them above your head against the car door with a low growl:

“nah. not yet. let me take care of you first.”

you’re not sure how she does it, how she can look so calm with you completely unraveling beneath her.

your wrists are still pinned above your head, her grip rough but steady, and you can feel the heat of her body everywhere. her thigh’s soaked through, your hips grinding down like you need her there, like the second she pulls away, you’ll fall apart.

ellie leans in close, her nose brushing yours. her voice drops.

“you’re so wet, baby. can feel it through my jeans.”

you whimper. she grins.

“don’t get shy now.”

her free hand trails down your torso, slow. teasing. “you were all confident back at the diner. talkin’ back. rollin’ your eyes. that mouth of yours…”

her fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings. pause. wait.

“lemme hear you say it.”

you swallow hard, hips stuttering. “i want you to touch me.”

ellie’s eyes darken. “yeah?”

you nod, breathless. “please.”

that please does something to her. she doesn’t make you wait after that.

her hand slips under the fabric, warm fingers sliding over heat and slick and everything you’ve been holding back since she kissed you the first time tonight. her breath catches in her throat like she wasn’t expecting you to feel that good.

“fuck,” she whispers. “you’re soaked.”

you moan when she strokes you, slow at first, just enough to tease, just enough to make you writhe under her touch. your head tips back against the window with a soft thud. her lips are back on your neck, your jaw, biting down like she’s trying to mark every inch of skin she can reach.

“that’s it,” she murmurs, curling her fingers just right. “be good for me, yeah? let me hear how much you like it.”

you do. you can’t help it.

the way she touches you, rough and focused and so familiar with your body, has you falling apart faster than you want to admit. she knows exactly how to work you open. she knows the rhythm, the pressure, the spots that make your thighs shake.

your hands finally break free, fisting in her hoodie as you cry out her name. you’re so close. dizzy with it. overwhelmed. and she can tell.

“you gonna come for me, baby?” she mutters against your lips. “right here in my fuckin’ car?”

your legs start to tremble.

“yeah, you are. look at you. makin’ a mess all over my fingers.”

you’re barely coherent, gasping, grinding down into her hand like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded - and then it hits you.

white-hot. everything all at once. your body arches, you choke out a moan, and ellie doesn’t stop, works you through it, praising you under her breath, kissing your temple while your body shakes in her arms.

you collapse into her chest, breathless, skin flushed, her fingers still tucked inside you.

she kisses your forehead. then your cheek. then your lips - soft, slow, smug.

“told you i’d take care of you.”

perm taglist: @yasmilks , @frosttbitten , @lovemiraamira , @ellies-real-wife , @wewerewildandfluorescent , @jullsii , @eyesttokill , @dmenby3100 , @bunchogravie , @oneinameliann , @intheshadowofthestars , @pariiissssssss , @musiclovingdyke , @madsxh1022 , @rbnvrnxoxo , @firefly-ace , @alyaserrax , @silly-pigeon69 , @glassofgreenteapls , @serpentskrtt , @m0th3rcal , @sincerelyherz , @0phantom0 , @ggutpunch , @leeidk87 , @mikellie , @celiacallsitcasual , @gurlbownerr , @l0veylace , @bluminescent-moon , @oatmatchalatte , @hitmehardmommy , @iadorefineshyt , @jksevendays , @liztreez , @clemrules , @yourl0caltrash , @rootytootymeow , @thebadwritersposts , @vanillacigarettes777 , @soltwent , @allisonsivy , @lesbian-useless , @lovewitchss , @abigail-andersons-wife , @valeisaslut , @ssijht , @meow4510 , @vixenkii , @modernvenuss ,@pryncess123 , @frey-williams , @hxneybugsworld , @iloveclairo2016 , @shadowybasementmiracle , @nutmegsnorter , @improbablynotpoppy , @simpingonwinonaryder , @e-l-l-i-e-w—p-a-i-g-e-b5 , @elliewilliamkisser2000 , @newjupiter , @willowlovestheweasleys , @tr0928 , @caitvisthirdmember , @honeyylovee , @idek4bands , @andreaaaxoxo , @mymy2o1 , @ur-local-astronaut , @laiim , @like-a-dirty-french-novel , @pearlescent0o , @icong-nizo , @girlsatourbest , @0ngeeked , @celinealways , @kikispool , @hyperbabes , @hauntedclaudio , @shakeyodreadsshakeyodreads , @roseegallagher , @ferretthegremlin , @smellslike-updyke , @nikaaaaaapple , @lynn5783 , @nahuyul <3

[dykebehaviour]

knuckle velvet!

chapter 1 : literally ratio

twitter!stan!ellie x twitter!stan!reader

⭑ twitter smau. you and ellie are rival twitter stans who beef constantly until it becomes painfully obvious to everyone online that you’re actually flirting.

⭑ a/n: the black twitter screen is ellie & the white twitter screen is you!!

⭑ masterlist

⭑ previous | next

⭑ taglist: @elliexbuckets , @rijfjfufjfjfuc , @letmebeurbaby , @andreaaaxoxo , @mo0nnstarz , @girl-so-gay , @jul1ettt , @ellieskitty , @ar1-angel , @elliesngirl , @draculsstuff , @vahnilla , @emmyluvsclarkkent , @elliesdrummergf , @mari-ibarrafan69 , @yasmilks , @munequitaas , @alexaisalpha <3

[dykebehaviour]

knuckle velvet!

masterlist

twitter!stan!ellie x twitter!stan!reader

⭑ summary: you and ellie are rival twitter stans who beef constantly until it becomes painfully obvious to everyone online that you’re actually flirting.

⭑ general content: smau, angst, enemies to lovers, fandom wars, fluff, some slightly suggestive comments.

⭑ a/n: been a while since i made a smau, hope u guys like it yayaya :)

comments, likes & reblogs are really appreciated!

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic !!

none of the images are mine, they are all from pinterest.

⭑ introductions

⭑ chapter 1 : literally ratio

[vvviolett]

wooooo guys so exciting yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[splyshfysh]

Double Exposure

summary: you told yourself you were over her. that tonight was about the music --- not the memories. but one look across the club and you remembered exactly why she was your favorite mistake.

cw: strong language, fem!reader, ooc ellie, modern au, use of y/n, rockstar!ellie, oral sex r!recieving, fingering r!recieving.

wc: 3.6k

Lorelai, your only real friend, held up a golden swoop neck bodycon dress, eyes bright.

“This is perfect. Try it on!”

You rolled your eyes, but you still took the hanger from her and slipped into the dressing room, pulling the curtain closed behind you.

The dress slid on like it was made for you—hugging everywhere it should, making you look somehow even hotter than you already did. Lorelai’s impatience echoed through the curtain as she practically yelled for you to hurry up and show her.

So you did. You pulled the curtain open and stepped out, giving her a slow little twirl in the dress.

“Holy— dude, you look like a fucking supermodel.”

Lorelai practically launched herself out of the chair, circling you like you’d just walked off the runway, then immediately shoved you toward the mirror.

“I can’t wait for you to come with me tonight. I’m gonna introduce you to so many people—maybe even get your work out there.”

“Calm down, Lor. I don’t even know if I’m gonna bring my demo yet,” you muttered.

Your voice came out small and distracted—your attention was way more on the dress and how it made you look. You chewed on your lip, running your hands down your sides, smoothing the dress even though it already fit like a glove.

“Y/N! You have to bring your demo. How else are you gonna become famous? You’ve told me you wanted that since you were a kid!”

You shrug, not sure anymore. “It was a dream I wanted to accomplish with someone else, not by myself.”

Then you disappeared back behind the curtain, slipping off the dress and putting it back on the hanger.

“I just don’t know, Lor. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”

You said it from behind the curtain as you slipped out of the dress and pulled your regular clothes back on, the shimmer of gold pooling at your feet like a choice you weren’t ready to make.

“Y/N! Don’t think about the past when the present is right here—offering you your dreams on a fucking platter.”

You stared at yourself in the dressing room mirror, chewing the inside of your cheek. Your arms were folded tight across your chest, one foot tapping against the marble floor in a slow, restless rhythm. You were really thinking about it—about finally putting your work out there. Everything you’d poured yourself into since your teenage years. Since her.

It didn’t feel right to just… do it without her.

You took one long, steady breath before pulling the curtain open again—dress in hand, a semi-confident smile tugging at your lips.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆

You and Lorelai arrived at the VIP club where the industry party was being hosted. Lorelai was already deep in the music scene—and trying desperately to drag you into it too, since it had been your dream for as long as she’d known you.

The sleek limo rolled to a stop, and the two of you stepped out onto the red carpet. Flashing lights and low thumping bass greeted you immediately. As you walked, arm linked with Lorelai’s, memories flickered through your mind—quick, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

“We’ll walk red carpets hand in hand.”

You tried to blink the memory away, but it clung to you.

“Y/N, promise we’ll never leave each other?”

The words hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the air right out of your chest. You lifted your chin for the cameras, forcing a brave face, but Lor noticed the shift instantly. Her smile faltered for half a second before she guided you inside, away from the flashes and into the club—where the music was loud, bass-heavy, pumping some 2000s top-hits playlist that rattled the floor.

And you couldn’t lie… stepping into that sound felt like stepping back in time.

Weirdly comforting.

Weirdly soothing.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks, babe. Relax—have some fun before we talk to the label reps.”

You nodded as she slipped into the crowd, leaving you standing in the centre of the club. Your gold dress made you stick out like a sore thumb, glittering under every passing light.

Then… you see it.

Tattoos.

Clothes that were way too casual for this kind of event.

Short auburn hair.

And that fucking smirk.

She saw you, too. Ellie’s whole body stopped dead across the club. Your eyes locked—just for a second—before Lorelai reappeared, grabbing your arm and steering you toward a booth.

You were still flustered when Lorelai handed you your drink—vodka tonic, your favourite. Your cheeks were already warm as you took a long swallow, trying to convince yourself you were imagining things. That she wasn’t actually here. That your brain was just messing with you.

You finished the last drop and set the glass down a little too hard on the table.

“Where’re the reps?”

Lorelai gave you a once-over, brows scrunching like you’d suddenly sprouted five heads.

“Girl, what the fuck is going on? You can’t go talk to label reps looking and acting like you just watched twelve people get murdered in front of you.”

You shook your head, brushing off her concern with a tight breath.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Where are the reps?” you asked again, suddenly way more eager—desperate, even—to talk to literally anyone else.

“Oh my god, whatever. They’re over there.”

She pointed.

At Ellie Williams.

Standing with two pleasant-looking men in suits, like she belonged there.

“For fuck’s sake.”

You buried your head in your hands, exhaling a long, steady breath before pushing yourself to your feet. Right then and there, you made a decision: you were going to pretend you didn’t even remember Ellie. She didn’t deserve a second of your time—so why should you give her any?

Lorelai talked the entire walk over—rapid-fire instructions about what to say, what not to say, how to stand, how to smile. You nodded at all the right moments, barely hearing any of it.

Then you reached the group.

“Trevor! Garret! This is Y/N—the girl I’ve been telling you guys about.”

Both Trevor and Garret turned toward you and Lorelai, matching pleasant smiles on their faces. Ellie stood beside them, but you didn’t spare her a single glance.

Didn’t have to.

You could feel her staring into you, like her eyes were burning straight through the gold of your dress and the armour you were trying so hard to keep together.

You caught her in your peripheral vision—Ellie’s mouth parting like she was about to say something, only to snap shut just as quickly.

“Do you have your demo with you? We’d love to listen to it,” Trevor said, and Garret nodded in agreement.

A smile tugged at your lips as you dug into your handbag, pulling out the CD that held one of the best songs you’d ever written.

Trevor took it gently, then led you and Lorelai toward a private room. Garret slipped ahead, sliding the CD into the stereo and turning up the volume while Trevor motioned for you both to take a seat on the couch.

Trevor and Garret listened closely, their expressions unreadable at first. Garret’s head bobbed to the beat every so often. It was a pop song… about her. The kind you wrote from the part of your chest that still ached when you breathed too deeply.

When the last note faded, Garret let out a low breath, eyebrows lifted, looking genuinely impressed.

“That was by far the best song we’ve listened to in a while…” Garret said.

“Yeah, it’s like one of those songs you’d put on repeat for an hour and never get tired of,” Trevor added.

Then—like they’d rehearsed it—they looked at each other, then at you, and said in perfect sync:

“We’ll sign you.”

☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆

{It is recommended to listen to Gasolina by Daddy Yankee for this section <3}

You and Lorelai screamed, clinging to each other as you downed shots, the adrenaline still buzzing through your veins. You were finally signed.

“I knew you could do it, babe. I had no doubt!” she shouted over the music.

You smiled and grabbed another shot glass, tossing it back. The liquid burned all the way down—sharp, stinging, somehow weirdly soothing.

You could feel her somewhere nearby—hovering at the edges of the room, watching you, waiting for the exact right moment to approach.

You grabbed another shot from the row Lorelai had ordered in celebration. This one burned harsher, stinging in a way that wasn’t pleasant anymore, but you swallowed it down anyway. Tonight was supposed to be fun. She wasn’t going to ruin it for you.

“Let’s dance,” you slurred slightly as you pushed yourself up from the booth, dragging Lorelai with you. She giggled and followed you onto the dance floor.

♪ “Zúmbale mambo pa' que mis gata' prendan los motore’” ♪

Your bodies moved together, swaying and spinning as the bass thumped through your veins. The world blurred out until it was just the music and the two of you—laughing, breathless, weightless.

♪ “A ella le gusta la gasolina… dame más gasolina” ♪

But then her face flashed behind your eyes. You blinked hard, once, twice, trying to shake her loose, but she clung to your thoughts like a hook. Wouldn’t leave. Wouldn’t fucking stop.

You stopped dancing. Your gaze swept the room—fast, frantic—until it landed on her.

Ellie.

Already staring at you.

Already sporting that stupid smirk.

God, you wanted to wipe it off her face so bad.

Lorelai got distracted by some random guy, and now she was grinding her ass on his bulge. Fucking gross. You shot her a look, sighed hard, and turned away. Whatever. Let her have her fun.

You headed for the bar instead, hoping you could drown the thoughts clawing at your brain with another hit of vodka.

You ordered your signature tonic and downed it the second the bartender set it in front of you, not even giving yourself time to thank him. You wiped a stray drip from your chin, fingers clamped around the glass like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You were fighting—hard—against the thing you wanted to do so fucking badly.

“Fuck it.”

You slammed the glass onto the counter, tossed the bartender a twenty, and turned around.

She was right there.

Directly across the club.

Her eyes locked on you like she wanted to devour you whole.

You started walking toward her, and the world seemed to slow around you. Your gaze dragged over the way her muscles shifted under the tight shirt she was wearing—and fuck, it was sexy.

You stood in front of her, and her smirk wasn’t even close to being wiped off.

“Long time, no see, hm?”

Her voice curled around you like smoke—teasing, smug, way too pleased with herself. She leaned back against the wall like she owned it, like she owned the whole damn club, eyes dragging over you slow enough to make your pulse jump.

You swallowed, trying not to show it.

“Didn’t realise you missed me,” you said, keeping your tone flat, cool, controlled.

Her smirk deepened. “Oh, please. You think I didn’t see you staring the second you walked in? You practically announced yourself.”

She pushed off the wall, stepping into your space—not close enough to touch, but close enough that you felt the heat of her. Close enough to remind you exactly why seeing her again had thrown your whole night off balance.

“Relax,” she added softly, eyes glinting under the club lights, “I’m just saying hi.”

But the way she said it didn’t sound like hi at all. It sounded like a challenge—a spark. A door you weren’t sure you wanted to open again… but couldn’t deny was tempting.

“Right,” you murmured, forcing yourself to look unimpressed. “Hi.”

She laughed—a low, satisfied sound—like she’d already won something you didn’t realise you were playing for.

Her fingers dragged softly up your forearm, like a taunt—she was showing you she definitely still owned you.

Her touch sent a shiver down your spine, though you still maintained your poised manner.

“Why’d you come over here, y/n?” Her question didn’t hold the bite her voice usually had; it was like she was genuinely curious, wanting to know why you would risk your entire perfect night for an interaction that wouldn’t last ten minutes.

“I don’t know, I just… did.”

Her hand trailed your shoulder, then your neck, and eventually your jawline. You lifted your chin a bit, trying to contain yourself, but she just inched her face toward yours.

“Tell me why.”

You took a deep breath before speaking again, a quiver betraying you the second it hit your voice.

“I don’t know, Ellie.”

She tilted her head at you like she was studying something pathetic, something predictable. That slow, cruel smirk curled back onto her face.

“Yeah. You do,” she murmured—then, without giving you a chance to argue—

“Come with me.”

It wasn’t a question. Ellie never asked you for anything. She issued orders—softly, calmly—because she already knew you’d obey. And the worst part? She was right.

Her fingers wrapped around your wrist, cold and sure, guiding you toward the hallway like she was leading a pet. Two guards blocked the entrance, but the moment they recognised her, they didn’t just step aside—they practically scrambled out of her way.

She didn’t even thank them.

She didn’t have to.

Ellie yanked you down the hallway and shoved open a private bathroom door. The lock clicked the second you crossed the threshold, and suddenly it was just you, her, and the sound of your pulse slamming in your ears.

You looked at her with suspicion—or maybe fear—you weren’t sure. She was.

Because deep down, you already knew exactly where this night was going. And she knew you weren’t going to stop it.

“How much did you miss me?” she asked, stepping into your space like it belonged to her. She pinned you to the wall, her grip on your waist bruising, claiming.

“I didn’t.”

Another lie. And she didn’t even have to call you out on it—she saw it all over you.

Ellie dragged her other hand up your body in a slow, taunting path, her knuckles brushing your breast just because she could. Her fingers slipped around your neck, not squeezing—just holding. Controlling. Reminding you who you were with.

Her face hovered inches from yours, so close you could feel her smirk on your skin.

And you didn’t turn away. You didn’t even try.

“The way you’re standing here,” she whispered, her thumb stroking your pulse like she owned it, “letting me touch you like this? Yeah… that’s your real answer.”

You inhaled shakily, trying to keep some shred of composure, but it was useless around her. Ellie had a hold on you no one else ever came close to—because she studied you, carved you apart piece by piece until she knew every switch to flip. What made you tick. What made you whimper. What dragged your voice into a broken scream with her name on it. And the worst part?

You could see it in her eyes—she fully intended to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

“Tell me what you want.” Her voice dropped to an almost-whisper, low enough to feel dangerous. Her grip on your waist tightened, just shy of painful—on purpose. It made you squirm, and she definitely noticed.

“I don’t know.”

Ellie let out a quiet laugh, one that held zero humour.

“You do. You always do. And I’ll make sure you remember.”

Then she kissed you — hard. Not soft. Not sorry. Not the kind of kiss two people share after years apart. Ellie didn’t do gentle. She kissed like she owned the air in your lungs, like if she pressed hard enough, she could pull your memories straight from your skull. A kiss that made the room tilt, made your fingers twitch toward her like they’d never forgotten how to reach.

And she knew it.

She always knew.

You kissed her back. Of course you did. You’d known — deep down — this was where every word tonight had been headed. Hell, you knew it the second you saw her across the club. She wasn’t just familiar — she was the part of you you’d pretended you didn’t need.

Her hand slid from your waist and disappeared under your dress, lips still fused to yours like she was trying to rewrite history through contact alone. Her fingers hooked around the thin strap of your thong — and when she tugged, it drew a whimper from your throat.

That’s when she pulled back, breath grazing your lips like a dare.

“Do you know what you want now, baby?”

You nodded — of course you did. You’d known before she ever opened her fucking mouth. But you weren’t going to give her the satisfaction just yet.

“Tell me.”

You bit your lip, head tilted, pulse pounding, her fingers pushing the soaked fabric aside.

“I want you to fuck me, Ellie.”

She smirked — slow, triumphant. That was what she wanted. Your surrender. Your submission.

And you gave it.

Two fingers plunged inside you without warning.

Your back arched like a live wire had snapped through you, hands flying to her hair, gripping tight like she was the last thread holding you to earth.

“Look at me,” she said — low and steady, soaked in control.

You lifted your eyes, breath ragged, body betraying every ounce of resistance you’d tried to hold onto. She didn’t just know how to touch you — she knew how to unravel you.

“Fuck, Els… please—don’t stop.”

She smirked wider, her pace quickening, fingers curling like she’d been waiting to ruin you all night.

“That’s my girl. Let me take care of you.”

Her fingers slowed suddenly, dragging deliberate tension through your hips, her eyes locked on yours like she had all the time in the world.

“I know you missed me,” she said, curling her fingers inside you again — deep and purposeful. Your back arched. Your breath hitched.

“Did you think of me while you were fucking other girls, hmm?”

She was taunting you — and god, she was good at it.

“Ellie…”

She shook her head, pace snapping faster again. She could feel it — you were close.

“You know how I make you feel. Say it.”

“It’s—fuck—so good, Els. So fucking—”

Her fingers hit that spot again, and a helpless whimper broke from your lips.

“—Good.”

“Yeah?” she whispered.

Then she pulled out — and you nearly cried from the loss. But you still looked at her like she was the only thing you’d ever wanted.

“Open your mouth for me, baby.”

You did. She slid her fingers between your lips, and you sucked them in without hesitation — licking your own wetness off her skin, tongue curling around the taste like it belonged to you.

Her eyes never left yours.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

She withdrew slowly, savouring it — and then she dropped to her knees like it meant nothing. Like this was routine. Like she owned you. Because she did.

Her hands slipped under your dress, pushing it up to bunch at your waist. Her face hovered inches from your cunt, breath hot and steady.

“Tell me you want me,” she murmured, voice low enough to vibrate straight through you.

“Please, Ellie,” you breathed. “I want you so bad.”

She smirked — slow and smug — before dragging her tongue in one deliberate stripe up your soaked, pulsing clit.

The contact alone nearly undid you.

Your hips jolted, thighs twitching, but she caught your reaction instantly. Her hands gripped your legs and swung them over her shoulders, locking you in. Now, she was the only thing holding you up — the only thing keeping you tethered.

She kissed your swollen clit again, softer this time, and looked up at you with that look — the one that always felt like a threat and a promise all at once.

“Ask nicely, baby.”

You bit your lip, pulse thundering. God, you hated how much you loved the way she made you beg.

“Please, Ellie,” you breathed. “Please — I want your mouth on me. Need it.”

That was all she needed.

Her lips curved with satisfaction, and she dove in — like you were a five-course meal she’d been starving for.

You swear you were seeing stars — heels digging into Ellie’s back, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping the counter like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away. Moans poured out of you like a waterfall; she was fucking ruining you.

Her mouth worked magic between your legs — tongue moving in swift, circular motions over your clit, thumb pressing at just the right spot. It was precise. Intentional. She knew your body like it belonged to her.

And right now, it did.

“Let go for me. Let me taste you properly, love.”

And like clockwork, you did — falling apart on her tongue, every muscle giving out as she slurped up your release like she’d been starving for it.

When she finally set your legs back on solid ground, they barely held you. Shaking. Weak. Like jelly and cement at the same time.

She gave you one last look from between your thighs, then dragged her thumb across her bottom lip — slow, deliberate — before rising to stand over you.

“You’re such a good girl for me.”

She kissed you — just like before. Deep. Certain. Possessive.

And as her lips stayed pressed to yours, she tugged your dress back down, fixing you without ever pulling away.

You pulled away this time, arms looping around her neck as you met her gaze.

“You gonna disappear on me again, then?”

Something in your voice hit her — and for a second, just a second, her eyes softened. That same flicker of vulnerability from when you were young flashed through her, raw and unguarded.

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“Then I won’t.”

☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆

a/n: holy SHIT this chapter was so complicated to write, not only was this MORE than double the wc from last chapter, I have learned that me and writing smug do not mix. it's like oil and water. BUT I hope yall enjoyed ch2, ch3 will be coming soon!! [I have made a playlist for this series and I'm gonna link it up top of every one of the upcoming chapter and go back and link it in the first chapter AND this one!!]

taglist: @dykebehaviour @vvviolett @aspentrees16

[vvviolett]

hannah cooking once again

[vvviolett]

exploiting a poor dogs private parts on the internet…cancelled

looks a right monged dog tbh

[splyshfysh]

Double Exposure

summary: your life had settled into something small, safe even-- until ellie's newest song cracks it wide open. every lyric is a ghost of you, of her, of what neither of you ever said out loud. you shouldnt care anymore, but you do, and that might be the worst part.

cw: strong language, ooc ellie, modern au, use of y/n, rockstar!ellie

word count: 1004

☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆

laughs are memories. if you think hard enough about it. they cling to the people you shared them with. its fucking terrifying to realise that one summer youre playing dolls in your bedroom with your best friend... and then suddenly youre here. working 40+ hours a week. no friends. a boss whos basically a bull, only opening her mouth to tell you what youre doing wrong. customers chucking coffee at you. family cut off. and her... the worst part... shes not in your life anymore. after everything that happened, why would she be?

you dusted off the display glasses for the tenth time that day, desperate to push time forward, but time refused to budge. eventually, though, your shift ended. you pulled off your faux brown leather apron and hung it on the hook by your locker, grabbed your bag, and practically scurried out of the coffee shop like a mouse bolting from a broom.

you stepped outside, inhaled the "fresh" city air -- and instantly regretted it -- then headed down the street toward home. your phone came out automatically, thumb scrolling through random posts... until one stopped you cold.

a rockstar girl. familiar face. sharp jaw. tattoos. that damned smirk.

holy shit.

ellie fucking williams.

you clicked on the post instinctively, reading through the comments, frozen on the sidewalk.

"holy. fucking. shit."

who wouldve guessed? your ex best friend turned rockstar. discovery of the goddamn century.

ellie releasing another banger is definitely what i had on my bucket list.

another:

i swear ellie writes these songs about someone... theres just too much truth for it NOT to be about a real person.

and then--

ellie pls tell us who this is aboutttt we're desperate!!!

you swiped through the collage she posted: her in the studio, her strumming her guitar like it was the last thing tethering her to the world.. and then it hit you.

that was your guitar.

the one you gave her for her birthday.

the last time you saw her

the last time you spoke.

the last everything.

you shut off your phone with something close to rage and kept walking, breath uneven. the thoughts in your head didnt slow -- not even by the time you reached your apartment building.

you step inside your apartment and shut the door with a heavy thud, kicking off your shoes in a rush before collapsing onto the couch. your phone is in your hand again before you even realise it--open, glowing, begging you to keep stalking her page.

and then you see it.

"its never to late to come back, butterfly."

butterfly.

the nickname she whispered when you cried about your parents.

butterfly.

the name she only ever use when your life was falling apart--when she eanted you to believe she could piece you back together.

your stomach twists. where did she get the fucking nerve?

☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆

shared giggles filled the room; you never stopped laughing when you were with her.

"y/n, promise we'll never leave each other?"

ellie's voice cut through your laughter, soft but serious. you turned your head on the carpet to look at her. she was lying beside you, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it held answers.

"i promise," you said. "we'll always have each other."

you rolled onto your side and reached for her hand, hooking your pinky with hers.

ellie finally looked over at you, something fragile shining in her aventurine eyes. her lips parted--as if she was about to confess something--then closed again. whatever she almost said swallowed back into silence.

your pinkies stayed linked for a beat before she let her fingers drift down, folding over yours in full, warm grip--like she was afraid to let go first.

"do you ever wonder what we'll be like when we're all grown up?" her voice cuts through the quiet--fragile, almost scared.

"yeah... but isnt that the point of childhood? to wonder how we're gonna turn out?"

she looked back up at the ceiling and gave your hand a soft squeeze. "i guess so... what do you think we'll both be like?"

a small smile tugged at your lips as you mirrored her stare. "famous. we'll both be famous. we'll walk red carpets hand in hand and live in a luxurious penthouse with two cats--one of them has thumbs."

she let out a breathy laugh. "thumbs?"

"yes! thumbs. his name will be thumpy."

"and the other cat?"

"stumpy." you fired back instantly, like youd been waiting your whole life for her to ask.

she turned to look at you, her eyes were filled with something different now--something you couldnt quite nane. it wasnt fear, or sadness, or even that soft curiosity she usually saved just for you. it waz something deeper, something that made your chest feel too tight for a moment.

"i cant wait."

☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆

the song blares through the speaker in your living room, a strange kind of fresh air that you didnt ask for. that voice--her voice--fills the space like it always used to fill your head at night, singing you to sleeo when your eyes were too heavy to stay open. the guitar, too. the same one that she wrote that stupid little medley on just fot you. every note feels like a memory trying to claw its way back into your chest

"you haunt the halls of every song i write."

you close your eyes, letting the line loop as the song replays again and again. and again. each repeat makes something click sharper, clearer, crueler.

she ruined "us."

she ruined everything you couldve had.

then, a voicemail, at the end of the song, her voice, that you loved, then learned to hate-

"if you listen to this, youll know i never learned to forget you. youll always be the one in my dreams, the one invading my thoughts, the one fluttering around my life like a butterfly. i love you, forever and always, this isnt a goodbye, merely a see you later."

☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆

a/n: OMG this took practically all day to write, but im so glad i did!! i changed up the way i wanted this fic to go numerous times before settling for a modern au. this is also my first time writing a fic, so please, give me your opinions!!!! i will be updating frequently on my page about the progrezs of ch2. if you want to be added to the taglist, please lmk!!! liking and reblogging help me alot, thank ya, mwah xx

taglist: @dykebehaviour

[dykebehaviour]

agora hills ! ୨୧

summary: you’re rich, spoiled, and bored. ellie’s your plug, your problem, and maybe your favourite distraction. one night, homework turns into something else.

cw: rich!bimbo!reader, drug!dealer!ellie, hyperfem!reader, teasing, smut, finger riding (r!receiving), praise & degradation.

a/n: i listened to agora hills by doja cat 63 times while writing this.

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the mansion is too quiet again.

it’s a thick kind of silence, the kind that clings to every polished surface and glassy corner. you can hear the hum of the fridge from two rooms away, the faint tick of the clock above your vanity. it’s one of those nights where you swear the air itself is bored of you.

you’re cross-legged on your bed, a pink pen dangling from your fingers, staring at a half-filled math worksheet like it personally offended you. there’s a perfect little pout on your lip glossed mouth, a curl in your hair that you keep twirling every few seconds.

“stupid numbers,” you mutter under your breath, stabbing your pen into the paper. “literally no one cares about parabolas.”

you sigh, loud and dramatic, letting yourself flop back against your mountain of pillows.

the ceiling twinkles with the reflection of your chandelier, a soft golden light catching on all your shiny things; your perfume bottles, your jewelry trays, your framed selfies. everything looks like it’s trying too hard to keep you company.

and for a moment, you consider trying again. just one more question.

but the thought of doing math alone in your giant, echoing house feels unbearably tragic.

so, naturally, your brain goes to ellie.

you scroll through your contacts, the girls from school, the ones who’d answer just to gossip; your stylist; your nail tech; and then: ellie williams.

just seeing her name makes your thumb hover a second longer.

you call. she doesn’t answer. you call again. nothing.

so you hit record, voice all syrupy and sweet, and say,

“ellie, can you call me back? i miss you. it’s so lonely in my mansion.”

you hang up with a little smirk. because you know how that sounds. you know what you’re doing.

fifteen minutes later, your doorbell rings.

you almost laugh, because of course she came. ellie always comes.

when you open the front door, she’s standing there with her hands shoved into her jacket pockets, eyes half-lidded, mouth set in that permanently unimpressed line. the porch light hits her hair, making the copper strands glow faintly under the shadow of her hood.

“you’re lucky i wasn’t busy,” she says, voice low and even.

“you weren’t going to call me back?” you shoot back, leaning on the doorframe.

ellie shrugs. “wasn’t sure if you were serious.”

you tilt your head, smiling like a challenge. “do i look like i joke about being lonely?”

she stares at you for a moment, gaze slow and deliberate, sliding from your eyes down to the lace strap of your camisole, the soft hem of your shorts, the shimmer of gloss on your bottom lip. then she exhales. “guess not.”

you step aside, motioning her in. “come on, before the neighbors think i’m picking up strays.”

“real funny,” she mutters, brushing past you.

her converse echo against marble floors. the foyer smells like roses and money. you see her glance up, at the chandelier, the sweeping staircase, the perfectly still air, and something in her jaw tightens.

“so this is where you disappear to after school,” she says.

“surprised?”

“not really.” she smirks faintly. “figured you lived somewhere rich and glamorous, just like you.”

“cute,” you say, turning toward the stairs. “come on, my room’s upstairs.”

“dangerous words,” she says under her breath, following you up.

your bedroom looks exactly like what people expect when they think of you: a pink explosion. fluffy carpet, heart-shaped pillows, vanity littered with various pink makeup products and dainty hand mirrors. fairy lights drape across your vanity mirror. ellie stops at the door, eyes scanning it all with open disbelief.

“holy shit,” she says. “this room looks like it was attacked by victoria’s secret.”

you grin, sitting on the bed. “you love it.”

“it’s… a lot.”

“you’re a lot.”

ellie laughs quietly - a short, breathy sound - and drops her bag beside her shoes. she looks so out of place here. all dark clothes, scuffed jeans, a chipped ring on her finger, a tattoo curling down her forearm. she’s sharp edges and low tones in a sea of pink.

and you like that she doesn’t belong here. you like how much she stands out.

“so,” she says, pulling out the bag of weed, “where do you want me to-”

“wait,” you interrupt, “i was actually trying to study.”

she blinks. “you? studying?”

“shut up,” you say, rolling your eyes. “i was trying. it’s just… math is dumb, and i’d rather die than look at another parabola or whatever.”

ellie smirks, leaning on your dresser. “you don’t even know what a parabola is.”

you frown. “it’s, like, a triangle or something.”

she laughs, low, rough, warm, and shakes her head. “jesus christ. no. it’s a curve.”

“whatever,” you say, crossing your arms. “point is, i hate it.”

“so you called your dealer?”

you flash her a grin. “you’re not just my dealer.”

ellie goes still for a second, eyes flicking toward you. “yeah? what else am i?”

“someone who answers when i say i’m lonely,” you say softly.

for a second, the tension thickens. her gaze drops to your lips again, then she pushes off the dresser and walks over to the bed.

“scoot,” she says.

you blink. “what?”

“i’m helping you with your homework.”

you burst out laughing. “you? serious?”

“yes, serious. hand me the worksheet.”

you hand it over, still half-smiling. ellie sits beside you, her knee brushing yours, the faint scent of smoke and soap filling your space. her handwriting is neat, precise, the total opposite of your bubbly pink scrawl.

“okay,” she says, tapping the page, “this one’s just substitution. you take the y from the second equation-”

you stare blankly. “you lost me already.”

ellie sighs, leaning closer. “look,” she says, her voice low but firm, “you’re not dumb. you just don’t try. stop acting like you can’t do this.”

“i’m not acting,” you murmur.

“yeah, you are.” she looks at you. really looks. “you play stupid because people like it when you’re pretty and helpless. but you’re not helpless.”

for once, you don’t have a comeback. your mouth opens, then closes again.

ellie’s smirk softens, almost imperceptibly. “now,” she says, tapping the page, “try this one. i’ll watch.”

you do. you scribble something down, mess it up, groan dramatically, and then try again. ellie corrects you, not gently, but not unkindly either.

every time you get close, she mutters, “good,” or “almost,” and it makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t want to think about.

after what feels like forever, you actually get one right.

ellie glances over your shoulder, checks your work, and says, “see? not so hard.”

“you should get paid for this,” you tease.

“don’t need payment.”

“then what do you want?”

ellie looks up, eyes unreadable but steady. “you finished your homework. that means you get a reward.”

you blink, slow. “a reward?”

“yeah.” she leans closer, her voice softening, almost mocking. “that’s how you work, right? pretty girl does good, pretty girl gets something shiny.”

your heartbeat stutters. “and what if i want something shiny?”

her mouth curves; not a smile, not really. “then ask for it.”

for a second, neither of you move. the air feels thick with perfume and tension and everything you’re pretending not to want.

you reach up, brushing a piece of her hair off her forehead, and she catches your wrist halfway, her thumb dragging slow against your pulse.

“ellie,” you whisper.

her voice drops to something dangerous. “yeah?”

“i’m bored again.”

her smirk deepens. “guess i’ll have to fix that too.”

and then the math book slides off the bed, landing open on the rug. the fairy lights blur, the room softens, and ellie’s hand finds yours.

ellie tastes like smoke and a little weed and way too much patience.

you straddle her thigh on your bed while you lick into her mouth like you’ve been dying for it. your laced cami is long gone, your shorts pushed to the side, her calloused fingers rubbing tight, slow circles into your already soaked blue panties.

“god, you’re so wet for me already?” she murmurs condescendingly. “you’re fuckin’ dripping. how pathetic.”

you moan, actually moan, into her neck, your hips grinding down against the strong muscle of her thigh. it’s too much already and not enough.

she pulls back just enough to press two fingers to your lips. “c’mon,” she says. “open up.”

and of course you do. of course you suck her fingers in all slow and sweet, tongue curling around the tips while your lashes flutter like you’re embarrassed.

“fuck,” she mutters, voice wrecked. “gonna make you taste yourself next.”

you whimper and clench down around nothing.

ellie’s laugh is low, hot in your ear. “yeah. you like that, huh?”

she kisses down your chest, sloppy and wet, teeth nipping at your nipple through your matching blue bra until you’re arching into her, panting her name. and then she’s got her hand in your panties, sliding two fingers in with no resistance at all.

your back bows.

“oh my god-ellie-“

“you’re such a slut for me, baby. fuckin’ perfect though,” she whispers, pumping in deep, curling her fingers just right, thumb rubbing in tight circles on your clit. “gonna fix your boredom, yeah? make you glad you called me.”

you’re already close. but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. just keeps kissing you like she’s starving, fingers fucking into you until your thighs shake around her wrist and your hips stutter forward, chasing every bit of friction.

you finish with a full-body twitch and a sob into her mouth.

but she doesn’t stop.

“ohh, we’re not done,” she says, grinning against your lips, cocky now. “c’mon.”

her fingers are deep in your pussy again, and you’re riding them like you’ll die if you stop.

she’s lying back, watching you with such pride on her face. other hand guiding your hip, jaw slack as she watches your slick drip down her hand.

“that’s it, baby. look at you - fuckin’ dripping. all that for me, huh?”

you’re a mess. lip quivering, thighs trembling, drooling down her throat from all the sloppy kisses.

she grabs your chin, makes you look at her. “ride me pretty girl. come on my fingers. show me how much of a dumb whore you are for me.”

you do. with a sob, again. she slips her fingers into your mouth again and you suck them instinctively, tasting yourself like she promised.

your whole body’s shaking. you want to stop. you can’t.

she makes you come one more time like that. then once more with her tongue - very sloppy, very loud, one hand under your thigh and the other holding you down while she moans into your pussy like she’s never going to get enough.

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